by Annabel Banks || I was fifteen when he first turned up, some flashy guy in a leather coat with starlight in his eyes.
by Gráinne O’Hare || Blanche and Orla don’t notice Laoise crying at first; they are engaged in lively debate about how much vodka a tampon can hold.
by Fionna Cumming || March hits like a fist, these Ides the first we've truly had to be wary of since Caesar bled, and we didn't heed the warnings.
by Sian Norris || "It just doesn't look right," Iris said, wringing her hands. Meghan couldn't take her eyes off those hands. She didn't think she'd ever seen anyone actually wring their hands before.
by Willow Barnosky || Inside a glass box, on a small pedestal, a sculpture of a green woman calls to me.
by Lucia Tang || The gymnast’s mother worked on Minoan Crete, and she loved it the way the gymnast once loved gymnastics.
When you get home you put his watch and wedding ring in a shoe box.
Your name was Antoinette, and you didn’t belong.
The sun marked him as her own while he was still young and tender, a naive fisherman living in a wattle and daub shack by the sea.
If I could be anyone in the whole wide world, I would be nightclub toilet me.