“Bastard,” she said under her breath, “like you know how to shoot that thing.” It was a bad war. And all wars are bad. But it was before that whole 1967 thing. You know what I mean. This was way back when America was America. Criticizing the red, white, and blue simply wasn’t allowed. Okay,
She was curious. Peering inside the bottle she saw only darkness. A bottle of black. A long time had passed since morning; she had been a different person then. The past several hours had been a frantic chase, a furious worry, a frustration. She had been unsuccessful in all her endeavours, her day a spiralling
Wilmott was a bully. He had a shock of dark hair, and dark brown eyes. He was suntanned, had polished football boots. He was fine-boned and agile. He had a smart leather wallet. There was a photo of a girl in it. He stood upright and confident. He would speak to the masters ingratiatingly and
Two weeks since her re-entry, with barely five words shared between them. Emma’s feet take longer to settle with each trip away. She’s slowly remembering what it is to just be in her husband’s everyday. But she’s still full to bursting of twinkly spotted black, of pirouetting round the planet, of dreaming to go further,
Migraines– So, I’ve been dealing with this for quite a while now. The best thing to do is to get some quality ice packs. Not the hard-as-a-brick blue plastic Freezee King ones or whatever they’re called. Those things are for putting in lunch pails filled with egg salad sandwiches or coolers full of beer. You
“ Did you remember to get the milk?” “Yes” “It’s not in the fridge or on the table” ‘Well what happened was … when I went outside, the sky was a beautiful powder blue and the afternoon was wonderfully warm. It reminded me of when I lived in Cadiz. I started thinking about that chord
He is distracted by the empty cigarette case. The room is otherwise preserved as he remembers. The stained mattress. The sunburnt curtains. The shredded carpet, its threads snaking beneath the mouldy bedframe. But the cigarette case. Where did that come from? The smell is wrong too. Staler, but that’s to be expected. Could someone else
First, there was the craving. He could take care of it himself, but it would return by the end of the day. So he made the call. There was always excitement and anxiety in the hour that followed. There was hope that she would look just like her pictures. Maybe she would treat him like
I took no pleasure in severing the leg. It was no fun to dig the blade across the skin and watch blood scurry from punctate pricks in the parted dermis. My stroke wavered above and below the pen line, drawn like a scar already across the skin, Sabapathy’s hand resting on mine, orbiting me around
I look at every little girl I pass on the street. Even though I know that whoever took her would not bring her back here, to the town where she grew up, where her face is most burned on the collective consciousness. I know this, and yet I stare at every little child I see,
