Short Fiction and Poetry

I place my suitcases on the doorstep. Home sweet home. But I am here for a reason that is far from sweet. Had never thought I’d be coming...

Ninety-seven. That's the number of times he's apologised to people for the things he's done. He wrote them all down, counted them. [...]

The strawberries taste of dead people. I imagine, when they burst with flavour on my tongue, that I can taste the bone ash [...]

They told me dying would be just like falling asleep; they lied. I’m not tired. My entire body aches [...]

Roses giving us a reason to talk, like nosebleed stained toilet paper, and what are words, but sophisticated noise [...]

“It’s on!” hollered Asmodeus, from his substantial easy chair. The image began as an angrily glowing cloud, shimmered briefly [...]

April 2015, my first NHL game: staying on a friend's couch in Saint-Henri, I discover a boon of tax-return mad-money in my bank account[...]

“Once again, Pearl, this process starts by me asking you a few questions.” “Hurry up, then. I haven’t got all day."

I fell awake. That mistake again! All these holes to stumble into – some of them the precise shape of the body [...]

Day: Third-day. Month: Late frost. Year: 10, apocalypse era. Sheila luxuriates in the warmth of the bed, and stretches over to John,...