Seventeen-year-old Jackson hunched up tight against the school wall smoking and laughing to himself, waiting for the bus and coming out of a daydream about performing at Carnegie Hall. He noticed how brightly the dandelions bloomed on the sides of the culvert; the birch leaves fluttered above them. He stubbed out his cancer stick. His friend Robert P. hustled up, hauling a guitar stained dark brown with linseed oil.
Continue reading “Don’t Mess with Me by Harrison Kim”
Stephens Island, New Zealand, January 1894
A small brown bird, mouse-like in size and attitude, tucks under clumps of wind grass, scrapes delicate ruts in moist ground. Nearby ocean spray cloaks shore rocks and humpback blows punctuate the sea surface.
A foreign sound. The bird stops, more curious than afraid, peers past grass blades. On a rocky clearing, motion. An upright creature on sturdy legs, with arms capable of lifting and pulling and throwing. More than a dozen of these creatures, different sizes, dispersing into recently erected wooden structures beneath a tall column, cloud-white, capped with a small sun that flares out into the grey mist.
Continue reading “The Sound That Nothing Makes by Alain Kerfs”
The first wrestling promoter worth a damn I worked for once told me victory happens when ten thousand hours of practice meets a moment of opportunity. Mine came at a Halloween event in 1979 when Ray Race put me over for my first singles title. Everyone pays their dues, and then everyone pays its forward. I stood behind twenty five feet of velvet curtain with the top strap Global Championship Wrestling had to offer and ran through the major moments of my forthcoming Triple Threat match we’d mapped out.
Continue reading “Fake by David Louden”
“How long has he been up there?”
The neighbour shook his head. The man had been there last night when he was taking the bins out. It had been a clear night and he’d assumed the man was stargazing, telescope out of sight.
Continue reading “Neighbours by Chloe McCormack”
The noise was like a loud noise but much louder. I jolted in my seat, sending a blur of cat scattering from my lap. Big Jemmy stayed put. His ears closed over after the great Stomp riots of ’97. He only hears blue now. His eyes remained fixed on the latest episode of Celebrity Death Camp Warden as the players moved in a grotesque mime.
Continue reading “Royal visit by Deborah Thwaites”
Crammed like rats, I drove our home, laden with trash, through much of the Midwest. While Mariane dreamt in the passenger seat, scrunching her half-asleep body into the shape of a ‘G.’ I could tell by the subtle way her breath swayed upon each crack in the road, she was dreaming of her.
Continue reading “Penny Loafers by Connor Beck”
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” the priest recited – as he did every Sunday – but today wasn’t Sunday.
Continue reading “Always by Karen Uttien”
The Doctor is cleaning up Jerry’s mess, as usual. With a grunt, he bends, grabs the dead boy beneath the armpits and drags him toward the stairs. While the Doctor works, Jerry hides in an attic bedroom of their mind, eyes closed, fingers in his ears.
Continue reading “Jerry’s Last Problem by Jennifer Maloney”
Contains references some readers may find distressing, please refer to the tabs at the bottom of the page.
In the library I see a woman photocopying ultrasound scans. At first, I am sure not sure what she is doing, though I can clearly see her take the scan out of a purple folder and place it on the screen of the photocopier, before closing it and moving across to the screen to input her instructions. It is obvious that she is photocopying the scan – after my eyes recognise the black and white image, they then pass over the slight swell of her stomach, the glance more instinct than choice – and yet, it takes a few seconds for the obviousness of it to make sense in my thoughts; there is also a suggestion that I am not thinking of them correctly, that ‘ultrasound scans’ is not the correct terminology, but as to what it might be I do not know right at that moment, and this misnaming is, I believe, contributing to the delay of the realisation.
Continue reading “Scans by Edward Lee”
I’m sleepwalking at night again but my wife sleeps so deeply she can’t hear my cries for help. Tonight, I’m balancing on a boat on the choppy waters of the Atlantic Ocean. I hear hungry seagulls gliding through the salty air. “You can’t make me jump!” I call out to the fleets of ships and submarines that have surrounded me. “I will never give in.” When I crack my head on the medicine cabinet and cotton buds fall to my feet like confetti, I realise the cold tap from the bath is overflowing and I’m standing on the weighing scales, waving a loo roll at the mirror.
Continue reading “Sleepwalking Visions by Tim Frank”
