Crammed in a closet with barely space to breathe, never mind move, I’ve managed to manoeuvre myself into the most uncomfortable of positions. My knees are near enough kissing my chin, and with each passing second, the flimsy shelf I’m leaning on is seemingly another step closer to collapse. Nevertheless, I’m stuck in this shoebox
Dwight hovered in front of the vending machine. Oversalted chips, over-sugared candy bars, or the caloric emptiness of gum. Why did the hospital offer such faux nutritional alternatives; wasn’t that a conflict of interest? When he was a kid, vending machines meant something exotic or exciting. The rare trips to Father’s workplace had always involved
Dear STORGY readers, My name is Anthony Self – I’m one of the directors of STORGY magazine. We don’t usually write personal messages on the website but it’s with a heavy heart and great trepidation to announce some terrible news. We’ve been monumentally busy over the last six months putting together the amazing short story
“You’ll have full motion in about a week. Just take it easy until then.” I turned my head towards the voice but I could only make out a throbbing white shape. “When can I leave?” I asked, my mouth desperately dry. “You’ve had major surgery, Mr Rae. We’ve replaced your eyes, parts of your brain
