Marc Allum

  • The Amaranthine Moment

    The slender iron columns resolute in their purpose, curved off towards the tunnel, their rigid equidistance punctuated by people milling, reading, their toes awkwardly kicking the shiny painted paving stones of the platform in anticipation of the train’s imminent arrival. The woman was there again. Her tall and purposeful gait was as slim and strong…

  • The Arduous Hill

    The oily smell in the engineering workshops of the School was distinctive. It infiltrated my young nostrils, neither hateful nor pleasant but indicative of the work that went on there. Lathes worn from use were neatly lined up and decorated with spirals of sparkling swarf, a plantation of post-apocalyptic Christmas trees. My grandfather proudly explained…