The Boy Who Danced with the Fishes by Dakshika Cooray

Nestled into a hillock, emerald green and trimmed in a giggling lace-white spring, the estate bungalow he called home, overlooked four hundred acres of a tea plantation. It belonged to one, Mister Peacock, who looked nothing like a peacock. Kelum would know.

Grey Matter by Irenosen Akharele

I have always wondered what it would be like to eat my brain. Not quite in a suicidal way, nor in a scientific way – more a thing of idle fascination.

I imagine it will be a rainy day, and I will be dressed in pink, craving something warm.

Crossword by Ian Carass

They managed to arrive at the cafe, walking at pace, without getting soaked.

The sun had not made much of an effort that morning, as the year drifted into dilapidation. A thin blear of cloud covered the sky; a fretful, cold drizzle fell intermittently. The sea, always there in the…

Camera 3 by Favour Emmanuel

It’s 3:17 a.m. The building is mostly glass, and the cold is spread across it like when you breathe on a window. From his little booth, Musa can see the glass panes stretching up into dark floors above him, the kind of architecture that feels proud of itself.

Where the Flowers Go by Franklin Obiekwe

When my grandmother died, I had to deal with the deep distress that comes with having something close to your heart taken from you, the distress of losing something special. I lived with this woman for six years, perhaps more, and within those years of living with her, I learned…

Transatlantic Coffee by Neil James

I’ve pictured this scene a thousand times. A table by the window, people-watching in Manhattan, waiting for Sapphire.

Rush hour’s a restless river of frantic wipers, headlights, and honking horns. Rain bounces off the sidewalk like bullets while people in raincoats rush for doorways. Meanwhile, I sip a latte, watching…

In Florence by Kathy Prokhovnik

The entrance to their hotel is a heavy door directly onto the street. Behind the door is a little red-carpeted lobby and a high desk in front of pigeonholes and keyhooks. A young woman sits behind the desk, ticking numbers on a sheet of paper and adding them under her…

That Little Purple Pill by Douglas Young

The thought of struggling out of bed felt like a baby being expelled from a blissfully warm womb into a cold, merciless world. The twenty-five-year-old had battled depression since age thirteen, but had recently felt better dating her best beau since high school. That made his breaking up with her…