Tag: Cathleen Davies

FICTION: Untitled: (Self Portrait with Blood) by Cathleen Davies

Mary couldn’t feel the cold, though her sister complained it was freezing. Perhaps she was warm from all the love and generosity. More likely, it was all the jumpers she’d nicked. The year was creeping into October, and while the sky was bright and the air fresh, biting chills were starting to take effect. According

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FICTION: Respite by Cathleen Davies

An essay in happiness gathered over the course of five and a half summers. ‘I think you’re afraid to write a story with a happy ending. That’s what I think.’[1] One summer, when I was sixteen years old, I had to get the morning-after pill. A few days before I’d been at a party where

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