Steve Noyes: The Member

  Honourable Speaker, Picture a motel corridor. Exit signs, arrows. Carpeting. Metal receptacles. We’ve been here. Door at the end of the corridor, propped open on light, pure, of the palest candescence peculiar to a Northern B.C. midsummer. Our camera enters a room. The recordist, his face cubistically altering, sits at a small desk writing

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Heather Clift: One More Chance!

An elderly man, his clothes threadbare and dirty, sat next to a rusty shopping cart parked to the left of the door. It was heaped with miscellaneous detritus and several small plastic bags filled with aluminum cans were tied to the outside. “Hey, kid. Got any spare change? Help a Vet get his mornin’ cup?”

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George Huntington: [Somnia]

The hotel is a large boxy square sat facing the beach, much like the other boxy squares sat either side. The elderly flaking paint is peach coloured and ugly. The windows, though equally old, are scrubbed and the frames careworn. The resulting effect is that of a treasured family mongrel having been groomed for a

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Charles Bane Jnr.: Davids Engines

W​hen my son was born, I had every expectation that I would leave behind me one day an industrious, kind and well-educated young man. Very few are remembered for their accomplishments, but a child will remember you if you are loving and supportive. I would be such a father, and the exact same feeling in

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Lawrence Pratt: “Blind Faith”

Steve Dunn lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the near-dark of his bedroom. His wife, Linda, was on the other side of the bed, sound asleep and oblivious to her husband’s insomnia and building frustration. How, Dunn wondered, could the events of the past few hours have occurred? After all the work and prayers

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David Calcutt: Inferno

The lad sat on the wall top, legs dangling down. Sallow face, thin mouth, close-cropped stubble of hair. His world crudely made, his mind given to violence. Frost sparkled on the shards of glass set into the concrete on either side of him. He raised his head to the clear, midwinter sky. There was a

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Tomek Dzido: Snakes and Ladders!

On her upper arm, curling around her bicep, is a silver snake. ‘Is anyone sitting here?’ I ask. ‘No,’ she replies. I eat my sandwich and stare at the snake, its scales glimmering beneath the light. ‘That’s a beautiful bangle,’ I say. ‘Sorry?’ ‘The snake. It’s beautiful.’ ‘Oh…’ she looks down at her arm. ‘Thank

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Anthony Self: The House on the Hill

‘…Can you believe that?’ Amy said. Calvin was silent. He’d drifted off into his own little world again and hadn’t been paying attention. There were only two options available to him now; he could release a non-committal grunt to whatever Amy had been prattling on about, in the hope that the sound that produced from

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Lauren Bell: Looking for Grey

His name is Luther Grey. And he is out there. Somewhere. Of course, Luther Grey is just a pseudonym…he wouldn’t give me his real name now, would he? There are tears on the periphery of my vision, blurring my sight, making the world unstable, non-permanent, transient. I keep blinking them back but they reappear again

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Sally-Anne Wilkinson: A Language Called Water!

The water is where I belong.  It’s where I always belonged: submerged and concealed from the world.  I blink and examine my surroundings.  I don’t remember my journey.  One minute, I was on the ward and the door was open; the next, I was here.  I don’t recall ever knowing this place existed.  I am

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