Peter Spering
Stories (15/0)
The Time of War
It’s 1918 and you’re a German soldier on the Western Front. In a brief moment of repose, you slip your hand into your pocket and pull out a cigarette case. You open it up, slide one out and light it, closing your eyes as you put it to your mouth. You pay close attention to the feeling of smoke streaming into your lungs as you take the first drag. You’re alive. You’ve made it this far. Your body aches with exhaustion and your skin is decorated with bruises, cuts and scars, but no matter, because your feet still tread the land of the living, and the smoke dancing in your lungs is a sacred reminder of that fact.
By Peter Spering4 months ago in Fiction
The Albion Kiss.
Southwest England, 1943. I want to kill my husband. It’s not entirely his fault; we’ve been stuck in this cold, claustrophobic house together for too long now. Trapped by the remoteness of the endless fields that make up our farm, the rolling hills beyond acting as mighty walls. Our only neighbour is a nosey woman in a cottage on the opposite side of the distant road. I can’t breathe. Nothing exciting ever happens here. Well, except for that Luftwaffe plane crash a little while ago. There was a big search for the pilot by all the locals, but he was never found.
By Peter Spering10 months ago in Fiction
The Trial of the Century: The Murder Which Rocked Chicago.
Pictured above is a 27-year old Nathan Leopold, a man who formed half of the duo that killed a teenage boy. Born in the winter of 1904, Nathan was dubbed a child prodigy the moment his first words passed his lips at just four months old. As he got older, he became fluent in five languages and by the time he was nineteen, he graduated from the University of Chicago with Phi Beta Kappa honours — the pinnacle of academic honours in the United States. On top of that, he achieved recognition in the field of ornithology.
By Peter Spering10 months ago in Criminal
The Heart of the Paradox
"There are three things you need to survive in this world; food, water and a twelve bore shotgun." Looking out onto a barren street, an old woman stood at the grimy window of her musty living room, arms folded tightly. She brushed a few stray white hairs behind her ear with spindly fingers and straightened out her tattered floral dress, before making her way over to the nearest armchair.
By Peter Spering11 months ago in Fiction
Food for Thought...
For some people, the kitchen is little more than a showpiece. Glossy white acrylic cabinets and black quartz worktops with nary a scratch. Then there are others, like myself, for whom the kitchen is a place of function over form, a hub that serves as both a breeding ground for creativity as well as a place of meditation.
By Peter Spering11 months ago in Feast
A Prodigy, Stifled.
William James Sidis. Born to Boris and Sarah Sidis in 1898, William’s fate was perhaps written for him before he was even born. His Ukrainian parents were intellectual refugees who’d fled to the USA to escape political persecution; they were Jewish, so they were vulnerable to the pogroms. They were truly a power couple of the day — Boris was an eminent psychologist who attained four degrees from Harvard and would become known for his pioneering work in the realms of hypnosis and psychopathology. His mother was one of the few women of the time to attain a medical degree and be a practising doctor.
By Peter Spering11 months ago in Education
When Kids Kill: A Tale of Two Ten-Year Old Murderers.
On the 12th February 1993, these two boys led a two-year-old toddler named James Bulger away from his mum, who’d momentarily taken her eyes off him, and out of the shopping centre where they were. The boys had been skipping school that day, and before they kidnapped Bulger, had been thieving from shops and purposefully looking for a target.
By Peter Spering11 months ago in Criminal
White Fragility by Robin Diangelo: On the Crest of a Wave, or Sinking Ship?
Dr. John McWhorter, Associate Professor of English and Comparative Literature at Columbia University, did a piece for the The Atlantic last year, in which he stated that White Fragility is a "dehumanizing condescension toward Black people."
By Peter Spering12 months ago in Humans
