The clap of sandals as I lick my fingers, chocolate gelato leaking onto my wrists. Should I Google heatstroke symptoms? A young woman lies topless on the rocks below, her stomach chalky with dried salt. I take a swig of lager, the bitter foam spilling onto my beard.
Continue reading “The American by Ata Zargarof”
The night after maami was laid 6ft deep in the ruthless earth, Tunde lit a cigarette and settled at the backyard to smoke. I observed him from the kitchen window. No, I won’t go outside and pass judgement; after all, both of us have been engulfed in our own sins since maami’s death. I was angry, though I can’t quite put my finger on the source of my anger. Perhaps it was Uncle Ade’s bellowing, demanding more beers for him and his friends earlier today at the funeral service. Ever since father’s demise, none of his relatives reached out or showed up. But Uncle Ade had the audacity to come to this house for maami’s funeral, demanding beer to be served to him and his friends. I wished for him to choke on it, his body discarded like refuse on a dunghill. However, this alone didn’t trigger my anger enough; it’s something else I an’t quite fathom.
Continue reading “Red Prints by AJ David”
Sometimes I go to Mordialloc pier to watch people fish. I never fish myself. I hate the smell and getting my fingers sticky with bait and having to watch behind you to make sure you don’t snag anyone with the hook and permanently blind them. But I like watching. Interesting things happen when you watch for long enough. Nothing of the adventurous kind. Just odd, amusing things squeezed between stretches of monotony. I am then assured that my life will, at the very least, be filled with amusing details if I care to look. I don’t hope for adventure anymore. The feeling I get when I return home from one is dreadful. I’d like no more of them.
Continue reading “Mordialloc Pier by Matthew Lee”
By the time my mother mentions falling, I let the drone of her voice fade to the unawake part of my mind. Her words are a steady hum, punctuated by rattling breaths and muffled snorts as she clears the tangy scent of antiseptic from her nostrils. If I let my gaze drift away from her paper-white figure on the hospital bed, I can pretend that I’m alone. In my peripherals, she blends into the monotony, clear and soft as water. The only thing that moves is her mouth, but her ramblings are like static – barely present, and even more unintelligible when I focus on them.
Continue reading “World Tilting at Bedtime by Katya Lee”
It was her father who first showed her. If you pointed your arms straight at two very distant points, features in the landscape, or clouds, or stars, you made yourself the centre of the universe. Everything was drawn into you, you were the fundamental point of a triangle, whose hypotenuse, a funny word at first but easy to remember once you had said it two or three times, could shift between any pair of objects, the sun and the moon, two trees, the chimney on top of the neighbours’ roof and the tv aerial on the top of her parents’ house, any two things, anywhere. It really didn’t matter, it was still a triangle, because of the one fixed point, and the two others.
Continue reading “A Call To Arms by Julian Walker”
Prelude: Native American legend has it that the Pascagoula tribe preferred death by drowning to lives of enslavement by their enemies. According to one “mist of time” story, men, women, and children were heard chanting to their ancestors while walking en masse into this Mississippi coastal river. Receptive listeners, recreating on these waters, have long reported phantom music. In 1985, historians successfully lobbied for a name change, from the Pascagoula to the Singing River.
Continue reading “The Night the River Sang by Claire Massey”
“Alright alright, I gotta tell you about this time Cole almost kissed Jane. Cole’s a good guy, a bit of a fucking nerd if you ask me, but a good guy, an accountant at this firm, just a little one downtown. Doesn’t look like a whole lotta money flows through it. Cole usually parks like a half a block down. Sometimes, it’s really nice out, then I think he walks the whole way to work, something like 7 blocks maybe, but it’s got that shit intersection off State.”
“Right, hate that fucking intersection.”
Continue reading “That Time When Cole Almost Kissed Jane by August Miller”
Adam likes to trade celebrities. He says it makes him feel a little better after someone he particularly revered has died.
Continue reading “The Shrew’s Tale by Simon Nadel”
When I was six or seven and attending a segregated Black school in Virginia, I had a crush on the smartest girl in our class. Gloria was not only smart but cute and friendly to everyone.
Continue reading “I Can See Clearly Now by Frederick K Foote”
Translated from the Korean by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton
The particles of snow, barely visible at first, thickened as the day wore on.
The nuisance of having to leave the comfort of home was tempered by the childlike effervescence triggered in me by this the first snowfall of the season.
Continue reading “Reunion – A miniature by O Chŏnghǔi”
