Fiction

Poetry

Floral straight jackets hiding women
It’s too pretty to get dirty.

Neth Brown

Poetry

In our attic, among things, as it seems of past lives, lives a bitter God. When guests come to our house, we don’t mention him.

Ernad Osmic

Fiction

At first, the dreams were jagged and bewildering, like migraine lightning or a Dali canvas.

Carl Boon

Poetry

She cornered herself against the shoulders of two meeting walls and wrote her screams into the plaster. The sun was a blade against her skin

Valentina Cano

Fiction

How do you photograph silence? Is it represented by an empty room? A sleeping baby? A seascape?

Constance L. Lieber

Short Story

The city centre fast food restaurant, part of a chain known across the world, was empty when the young couple entered. They paused to survey

John Butterfield