Category: Literature

Late Developers By Elspeth Leadbetter

In the last few weeks of her life, I caught him peeing in the sink. I came through the back door, as all of us always did, via the porch with its fly papers and window-ledges and stands chock-full of plants, straight into the kitchen and there he was, in side profile standing on his

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Leftovers By Kimbalena Zeineddine

If pushed, Maisie said the TV was crap, the weather was crap, the food was gross and the art gave her nightmares. But Grandad was OK. That was, if pushed. Usually Maisie’s phone conversations were a series of grunts and monosyllables. Her mother let her express her feelings. ‘O.K., talk to you on Wednesday, Green

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Out of the Woods By David Mills

It’s strange how very good or bad news hits you from out of nowhere. So thought Michael Vogt as he lay down, drowsy after a simple yet full lunch. He had woken today futureless and unemployed. Then the phone rang. The call had vitalized him, setting his mind abuzz all morning with his changed fortunes.

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What’s on the Moon? By Elliot Harper

“What’s on the Moon tonight?” I’m so sick of that question. Every single day I get asked that same thing. As though I’m some kind of expert! I’m no more of an expert than anyone else in the office. I can search online, just like everyone else can. I don’t understand why Dan always asks

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Listen and I’ll Come To You By Eleanor Hickey

The West Lighthouse is the taller of the two, a simple structure that is pleasing in its symmetry, a tower of patchwork stone. The original oil-fuelled beacon that once guided sailors safely to the pier was later replaced by electricity, but even that has long-since burned out. Now all that can be seen is the

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Mango Season By Dorothy Cornish

A story for Ieva We move in right before new year. Glasgow, Scotland, as the Americans say. Top-floor flat. Cold, bare, tall ceilings. I am used to terraced houses in a way I don’t quite understand, and the tenements impress me. They are surprisingly solid, hard – like the first time you punch someone’s face.

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Killing Hope By Aaron Edwards

“You ok mate? You look a bit down. Everything alright? What’s up? What’s happening? Nothing. It’s ok. I’m ok. Honest. It’s just, well, I didn’t want to put all my problems onto you. It’s not fair. You’ve your own problems to deal with. You don’t need mine too. Come on mate. Don’t be like that.

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Tethered By Jane Finlayson

Doug liked his volunteer gig driving Barney to hospital appointments. The guy made him laugh, the way he flipped wildly from one topic to another like a human pinball machine. A fast talker for a guy dying slowly. Doug had Deb to thank for suggesting that he volunteer in the first place. He just couldn`t

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Clay By Rachel Sloan

From: k*****@*******.com Sent: Monday, 15 May, 20— 6.38 pm To: m*****@*****.com Subject: vase Dear M, It was such a surprise to bump into you at the fair on Saturday. To be honest, I nearly didn’t go over to your stand, but I overheard you talking to another customer about your process and your favourite glazes,

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Tourist Vans by Rajiv Ramkhalawan

I am that kid on a grubby, dirt street in Bihar. Where rats scamper in sheets of blackness along channels of moss laden ditches. Where throngs of decrepit, wooden stalls, not more than a foot away from these nostril-filling canals, populate the air with–quite paradoxically–aromatic street food. Litti accompanied by a side dish of roasted

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