Category: writing

Share Bags By Andrew Maguire

Conor walked through the cramped service station, past the stacked newspapers and the beige and burnt hot food, beyond the rotating stand of birthday cards and the single brand of mouthwash and toothpaste. The ATM was at the very back, beside the drinks cooler. He sighed when it fired out a fifty-pound note. ‘Useless,’ he said – pausing at

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Order of The Pig By Neil Moran

Ackley surveyed the plot, his narrow eyes glancing over each of the men hauling bricks and mixing the mortar. This will be a fine church, he tells himself, a very fine church. His gaze landed upon Carlyle, who seemed to be idling once again. Carlyle stood with his back to the plot looking across the

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Amongst the Litter By Mark Colbourne

At the point when they’re about to sign, I’m always gripped by the strangest feeling. It’s a rush, I suppose. A chemical release; the flood of endorphins. There are moments when we are all teased by that quintessentially human impulse of self-destruction: the irresistible urge to do something detrimental, simply to see what will happen.

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The Basak Pottery By Alice Read

From advert to interview the time had finally arrived. First day nerves fizzed through her. She rang the bell, straightened her skirt and checked her phone one last time. Mrs Basak welcomed Eva in, told her to wipe her shoes and hang her coat up next to the grandfather clock. ‘The bedrooms are mostly guest

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The Impossible Event By Michael Washburn

We fought our way through the crowds in the heat. In the hazy yellow-brown streets around the famous museum, guys sold Cokes from trunks full of ice, but you had to wait so long under the leering, spiteful sun, feeling the push and pull of sweaty bodies on all sides, that a Coke seemed a

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The Hard Lessons of Old Men By Theo Von Prondzynski

Buddhism has a curious hold over me. I go through a trunkful of Buddhist books every year. I think I’d be a better person if I could put a few of their beliefs into practice. But then I fetch up against some strange epigram that sends me right back to the sense, the safety, of

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When She Opens Her Eyes By Sophie Gregory

She’s dying. She’s dying and I’m thinking: What if I don’t cry? “…wonderful thing about orchids is the variety of species, about twenty-eight-thousand. I bought Gareth a Lady Slipper Orchid and he simply adores it…” My eyes roll so far back they do a full rotation; a morbid one armed bandit where the Reaper always

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Praying For Dad By Nicola Ashbrook

Dear God, Mum said I have to speak to you at bedtime or else you’ll strike me down so, hi. Mrs Jenson, who does RE at school, says you can’t just ask you for stuff ‘cos that’s rude or summat so I’m gonna say all the things I’m grateful for first: chocolate crunch for pudding

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Capturing Op Toral By Bjorn Ephgrave

Capturing Op Toral 1649L How far did we travel, Stevens? My guess it was fifteen, twenty minutes. Eighteen, twenty K, something like that. Recognise anything? Nothing, stinking fuckin’ rag wrapped round my eyes. I was out for a bit, pressed down on the back seat. Couldn’t suss anything out. South, I think. I counted five

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Runaway By Ian O’Brien

It isn’t blind adrenaline or fury that drives her but a kind of flat blackness, a steady humming like the engine, somewhere deep in the gut. Nelly gurgles in the baby seat behind her and when she looks at her in the rear-view mirror she catches her own eye, black and swollen. The last time,

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