Fiction

Do You Still Skate?

She stopped in at the bakery most mornings. Always the same: ice-skates around her neck, her face flush, her hair tied loosely back. She was too distant to say ...

Snapshots

I Being a Prof's wife had its perks. So did being married to an archaeologist. Agatha Christie’s supposed to have said that her archaeologist husband was more ...

Charon at the Junkets

McKenna Bybee, eaten alive, Evening Flyer (USA, 2012). Following the rising of the dead, a handful of survivors search for a train rumored to be carrying the li...

The Lover

Janice Janice was growing tired of losing her friends and lovers to bigger and better things than herself. But by the time she recognized the pattern, she ha...

Feeding The Dead

The blight had come and then come back, and the first year was terrible but only the beginning. The shellfish were lost when the ocean brought a red tide, and t...

What Do You Know About Love?

She had touched many skins, but none like yours. Yours was the edge of something else. Your skin was your own, but also hers. She would struggle with this as sh...

Sundowner

I fear this darkness here. What could be out there? What is that? A swooping shape—it makes no sound—appearing out of some black corner of my room and dipping c...

To Pieces

I. When the man who is large takes your hand you must go, your mother at your back like a shovel. Scuffing your shoes, you gain balance and enter The Mouth, as...

Izzy’s House

Beside his bed, on a wicker night table, lay a stained white saucer and on the saucer a mound of ashes. "When will I see the fog?" I asked. Izzy sat on the edge...

Through

You reach a point when you realise it isn’t important whether there was a floor or a bed or even a sofa. What’s important is that there was a girl and you didn’...