At twelve, I spend most of my time at Helen’s, sunk in a stained leather sofa, the lounge lit by a crack in the curtains drawn against daylight; the blue shaft of second-hand smoke from her mother like a cinema projector. We’re watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Nightmare on Elm Street, The Exorcist. Her mother lets …
He comes into the kitchen with blood on his hand, forearm, elbow. A deep cut, down to the bone, is snagged across his index, middle, third finger. Unclean. Serrated. Right where the inside of the knuckles bend. He shuffles to the sink, boots smearing car grease on the tiles. The tap judders as he twists it, and he …
You reached for my hand as we stepped onto the shingle. The tide was out and the beach was a moonscape of wrinkled rocks. Under the overcast sky the sea glimmered like pearl, and two tankers lingered silently on the horizon. Perpendicular to the shore, lines of tree trunks had been planted to stop …
Working late tonight. Don’t need dinner. Don’t wait up x Hera’s phone was already in her hand when the text from Bruce popped up. She held onto the double-decker bus railing with one hand, the phone with the other, and stared at it. It had been going on for months, and it was getting worse. …
She throws the hand-painted gravy boat at him. It hits the door frame and shatters. He shouts, I wasn’t with any damned librarian. They held me late at the docks, a shipment of oysters. Ask anyone, ask Mr. Lambert for God’s sake. He leans against the folding table. Even in this moment she is breathless, …
The floor was thin muck, tacky with sweet liquor and sweat. It was dark and the party was polka dots. Your favourite song played, and I remember, because you pulled me close, and shot me That Look. Your eyes gave me vertigo and I was dizzy on your skin. Every molecule of the air …
Kind, understanding eyes are unbearable when you don’t want to be understood. Or do you? Bad things happen to good people, but there’s no point in talking when there’s no point in being. There’s been no you left—not for years. And yet you tell. You step back into that sweltering Saturday morning that killed you …
1) Smoothness Sissy rubs her fingers around the edge of the glass. It never gets old, the cheeky smile playing on her lips as she shouts to her father ‘I’m touching glass Daddy!’ and instead of telling her off he bites his lip and gives her a pretend serious look. ‘Just you be careful,’ he …
The Exceptional Properties of Sea Glass by Katy Madgwick Read More »
There is a hole in my chest where my Grandpa used to be. The smell of freshly shaved pine and musty old books sometimes fills it up and the hole becomes whole for a drifting moment. But, the smells dissipate and meander their way back out of the pores of my skin. And that spot …
He’s written it down for them. Taken a seat. To wait his turn. He’s been polite. As always. He’s asked about a cup of coffee. Enquired, politely, if it would be possible. He coughs. Could there possibly be –? A cup of coffee? The supercilious laughter upset him. It was a perfectly polite request. From …
I’m preserving lemons when my phone lets me know you’ve texted but doesn’t tell me what you’ve said. I watch until the glow dies out of the screen again before turning back to them. And they spit as I work my knife through the sunshine rinds, so that soon I’m skin-full of the scent of …
We meet at a bar. It’s swish and quiet with chrome stools that make it look surgical. Sanitised – it is not a place she will like. So much time has passed I wonder if I’ll recognise her. Is someone waiting for her outside, or back in a home they share. I want to ask …