Category: Fiction

“Miss, there’s something I’d like to show you.”  Miss Ogbemudia turned – a sharp movement of her upper body that cut her tailored shirt into creases. The winter sun was sinking, filling the room with its last light and with her face towards the windows, she glowed like an icon. Lola took in the image…

Ron picked me up from school and asked what’s new, I told him I have to write this journal and he laughed. “Mr Big Shot,” he said, so I called him an idiot. “Your idiot, though,” he said, which was sweet.

I’ve never doubted that Chester is the love of my life. And yes, I hate phrases like that: love of your life, other half, soulmate. Especially the second two. What happens when your soulmate dies or cheats on you? Does having another half mean you’re half of a person without them?

“You’re going to have to try harder, sir.” The old man pushed down on the unmade bed, the yellowing sheets, the stale rugs, the scent of Bill and semen and the true, sea-smelling salt of life.

Heated unseasonably, ground baking dry, every lawn shrinks a fingerwidth back. Track. Daily I walk town and country, find newly-mysterious things. Images, scratched into stone and dried earth, made from twigs. The same figure, I figure. The artist unknown. But I watch, for the pure joy of seeing. The being. Whomever, whenever. Awaited, awoke.

On the shore, Helen hiked up her pants. She shaded her eyes with a freckled hand. There, way out there. A plume of smoke. What was it? “It’s a barge,” Frank said, shaking out his newspaper and digging his feet further into the sand. “What do you mean, a barge?” Helen felt herself spit at…

Kingsley lay on the straight-small bed in the backyard where they carried him. It was warm under the sagging roof, with a pile of assorted junk in one corner – a dirty motor tyre, sundry split and warped boxes, and an old display sign where the enamelling had cracked away to reveal the map of…