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.
I noticed the top joint of his left index finger was missing. ‘Fancy a game?’ he asked.
When we were both ten, Anna told me the reason my wishes never came true was because my birthday cakes were made using margarine, not butter.
When Bernice married, she was innocent in every way imaginable. Kirschbaum, it has to be said, was not.
Emma Venables Tobias crouches, shouts down to the man next to me, asks him to give me a boost up. The man stirrups his hands. I shake my head, take a step back from the wall. Despite the fizzle in the air, the clink of glass bottles, the clank of hammers hacking at concrete, I [...]