Sometimes the most horrible things that happen to us don’t show up in theatres or along the spines of novels. They have no title, and the blurb is too deep and felt too inarticulately to imagine. But horror can rescue us, too. We can’t describe the nameless thing that is trivialized by the mere attempt at narrative. But we can do battle with it. We can fly in the face of the amorphous dark. Horror can be the tale of that kind of love and friendship. We can acknowledge that the awful thing can’t be spoken, not really, but that “I am here with you and I will not leave”. And telling that, even if nothing else can be said, can be the means by which we reach across the night and race in the face of terror on behalf of those who matter to us. If you are interested in this, you are offered this tiny piece of multimedia fiction – a children’s tale if you wish (I don’t mind), because we are all children in the face of our monsters. It is crafted with care and laid gently, like a weaving of twigs, at the feet of suffering. Read the Sparrows’ Tale [Here].