CHAD BUNCH: Hush

I sat, staring at the news station, counting the steps to the door. I should go in, tell them what I knew, what I’d discovered. But the people who wanted me to stay quiet were out there somewhere, watching. They could end me so...

SAM CANNING: Footsteps

“You imagined it,” I tell myself. But the footsteps overhead are unmistakable. I force myself to go and check, entering the hall. Faces twist toward me, howling and horror-struck. I scream and flee but still I hear them, one rising above the rest: “Did…...

Disfigured

This is Lola in black and white. The turtleneck accentuates the sharpness of her birdlike bones while concealing her bruised throat. Here she is in colour with her hair pinned up, minus the shirt. That blotchy discoloration runs ear to ear. A physician informed...

Friday Morning

Friday morning. Counting up. Another week of submissions. Another week of acceptances. Another week of rejections. The sum total calculated with a formula known only to the muses. And yet a hint of glory in the ratio. Or was it simple the self-glorification created...

JO WITHERS: Home

Every year, After the autumnal fogs of Mars Have made me melancholy, And the moon’s tranquil seas Have melted my bitterness, I sail to Earth And stroll beside the snapping salty oceans, To my cryogenic grave, Drop petals onto empty casket, And mourn humanity...

PAUL HOCK: Gastogne’s Last Review

Wild Edibles Cafe. We’ll see if they’ve improved. Meadow Salad: two-stars, fresh but terrible dressingVenison: one-star, overcookedWild Mushrooms: five-stars, delicate, flavourful, deliciousWine: two-star, blandDessert: one-star, horrible Gastogne’s last review was under his obituary. The restaurant owner reflected as he read. Ironic that he loved...

Planets

Shadows dance across the wall as the spotlight swings from its broken mount. I see sparks in the darkness of the crack left by my blow. Too long looking! Its backhand catches me and I bounce off a wall. Getting my feet under me...

UNA NINE NINE: Sundays

Withering from within, she huddled her hunched-over spirit through the imposing church doors. In her closed fist was enough shiny and dull copper, grubbed from the streets, to pay. Perhaps crumbs of kind words. Or drops of holy water from the priest’s aspergill. Just...

Bad Blood

Sweating and panting, I skid to a stop in front of apartment 4-G. Old Haxalot might be losing his touch. He normally locates the newbies in half this time. The black SUVs are only three blocks away. On the other side of this door...

A Star is Born

‘Do you think her bum looks big in this?’ ‘The mother says it’s her nappy.’ ‘Can we take it off?’ ‘Not without risk.’ ‘And what about those chubby wrists?’ ‘All the kids seemed to have them. She was probably the best.’ ‘The pot belly?...

JANET KOOPS: The Gist

Introduced by a mixologist, Stan was a zoologist, Evie a geologist. They lived in a metropolis, were happily monogamous, their lives never monotonous. Then Evie saw a gynecologist, who sent her to a virologist. Stan wasn’t a monogamist. Evie thought him the rottenest. He’s...

Scroll to top