A witness mark is a groove, a dent, left by people gone before. Sometimes they’re deep, gouged, gone over so many times by people, living and reliving moments on moments. Sometimes they’re just a scratch, easily sanded away.
It was Catia’s first time waking up in a coffin. It would not be her last.
It was a bright Tuesday morning, and the city’s dense, forest-like clusters of residential towers were stirring to life like immense ant hills in the hot rays of the sun. Down on the streets, the waves of commuters came pouring out of the towers to converge on the massive Ninth Gen Maglev Station at the base of the main transportation bridge.
“Kanyakakku sarpa dosham kanunnu,” the astrologer passed his verdict: The maiden had the curse of serpents.
Continue reading “The Curse of Jasmine by Hareendran Kallinkeel”
A thoughtful review of this story from Leila and she hits on some very valid points. Nik Eveleigh is one of the editors – well you knew that – but he’s also a damn fine writer. This is what Leila said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Ella’s Ghost by Nik Eveleigh”
That blue up there, farthest from the looming sun, is the colour his face was when I found him. Or at least it seemed that way in the creeping, early morning light. Face up, with a delicate trail of spittle across his shaven chin; and that unearthly colour staining his body — no film or book had prepared me for that.
A young man sat on a darkened stoop with a small child in his arms. There was lamplight at the head of the street and lamplight at the end, but the stoop where the young man sat was at the middle of the block. Only a bit of the light stretched down to where he watched with the child.
When you’re crawling in the dark towards a desperate destination you can’t drink or drug, you can’t play the guitar, the goal is to duck under the barbed wire fence, under the surveillance and arrive undetected to attain your purpose. You’re crawling with a swede saw round your neck, and you’ve driven all the way from the Rockies, a giant circle travel to this vineyard once again. To exact vengeance. You’ve filled five weeks pruning grapes for nothing, with an oral contract signed by two voices, yours and the owners. And the owner won’t pay. After three weeks, he said the job wasn’t complete. You knew it was. But you wanted the cash. So you did the extra work. Pruning the vines down to the nubs. You laboured two weeks more. And afterwards the owner sighed and said “the field must be weeded and the debris hauled away,” and you said “No. That wasn’t in the contract. I don’t have a pickup to do that”
Continue reading “In The Hills Of The Okanagan by Harrison Kim”
Miss Shaw, please take a seat. I’m Bill Nixon…So you’ve filled in your new claim and you’ve stated that you walked out of your last employment. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“You do realise that you may be sanctioned and won’t receive any benefit?”
“I know.”
“Well in your own words, could you tell me what happened.”
Continue reading “Concealer by Hugh Cron Warning – Adult Content.”
Sometimes you just want to try something new.
Last week I embarked on a project – growing a beard – and tonight, instead of trimming the Christmas tree I never bought, I trimmed my new beard. The electric clipper vibrated too close to my ear, drew blood, and snagged a chunk of my hair. So tonight I also shaved my whole head. It’s fine. Waiting to go bald is exhausting. Now bristly black stubble covers my head and I resemble a mugshot on the news.
Continue reading “Instead of Yelling at the Television by Charlie Rogers”
Leila has chosen a hard hitting – no holds barred piece by Hugh Cron for this week’s Rerun. Adult content and down to earth grittiness – It couldn’t have been written by anyone else.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – A Bad Batch by Hugh Cron”
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