Most girls don’t venture below the waist. They play at it and they feel safe with me. She was the exception on all three counts. She fastened her denim shorts and curled a hand across her stomach. Her shirt was drawn over the hungry yawn of her ribs and knotted above her belly button. Her…
Category: Fiction
Issue 7.2 – Fiction
All she wanted was to get out of this artificial and confining airport. It smelled too much like the menacing city she had just left. She struggled to remember the name – Toronto? Maybe. After running away for years, Cadence just wanted to get back home. If only she could click her heels three times…
Issue 6.4 – Fiction
Sister Elizabeth’s porridge sat in Rachel’s stomach like a brick. She hadn’t slept, knowing today was her turn. The heavy feeling turned to nausea as she and Mary headed out to the perimeter. Stopping by the supply shed, Mary pressed a rifle into her hands, and said: “Remember, it’s you today.” As if Rachel could…
Issue 6.3 – Fiction
6pm Whenever I’m there, she is too. It’s nice to have her company though we are separated by both bricks and water. I see her no matter whether I’m feeding, soothing, winding or watching the world go by reflected in the canal outside my house. She is in a room like mine, often sitting, sometimes…
Issue 6.2 – Fiction
Akua was a tall hard man, I say hard because he could have been made of iron, black as soot with pearly teeth and bulging white eyes. He spoke fast and loudly, seemingly agitated, even when he was being nice. His walk bore the same qualities as his speech; the quick thump of his step…
Issue 6.1 – Fiction
25 December 1989. Leonard Bernstein gave a concert in Berlin celebrating the end of the Wall, including the 9th Symphony (Ode to Joy) with the word “Joy” (Freude) changed to “Freedom” (Freiheit) in the lyrics sung. The rain hit the house as Cara stood snug by the front bay window, holding a china mug of…
Issue 5.5 – Fiction
The first year I lived in a very tall building. The tower was plain, ugly even, despite its remarkable height. It was a place to live. From my window, I could see the offices of electronics companies and, when the haze wasn’t bad, a flat ribbon of the river. The haze was usually bad. Some…
Issue 5.4 – Fiction
His birth name was Brandon Karlsson, but he went by Strom, this was his grandmother’s surname. People imagined that it was part of his work, his rejection of masculinity. His longing for the female. The mother. The grandmother. The womb. He painted a lot of small, oval-shaped doorways. Exotic street foods, Cuban empanadas, cut down…
The Little Things – MicroWork
The Weight of Waiting The altar of my heart collapsed Under the weight Of waiting. Yania is a Puerto Rican bruja/writer/artist and suicide prevention advocate/SME. Her work has been published and/or featured in Aberration Labyrinth, Tupelo Press 30/30 project, The Write Launch,…
Issue 5.3 – Fiction
It’s 11:05 a.m., which means fifty-five minutes till the post is due. I’m in the kitchen, waiting, leaning right forward over the draining board. Through the window, I watch the windsock the weather-mad neighbours across the way have stuck up in their garden, a heavy canvas thing hanging right over their fence. Right now it’s…
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