Hair Spread Like Sea Fronds by JY Saville
The way she remembers it can’t be the way it happened, but it’s the way it creeps into her dreams, soundless and in filtered blue-green light. She floats, anchored by one silver…
The way she remembers it can’t be the way it happened, but it’s the way it creeps into her dreams, soundless and in filtered blue-green light. She floats, anchored by one silver…
When my father was fifty-one, he had a son, Christopher, with his much younger second wife Amanda. Chris got everything my sister and I didn’t have: private school, saxophone lessons, and, worst…
We set up our tent in a campsite midway between the ocean and the salt marshes. Ecosystems crowd together on Assateague island, like a microcosm of the continent: saltwater and fresh, forest…
What if your mother was the woman next door, who has dinner ready at six for her kids, who doesn’t have to call them home, to tell them she has lamb chops…
Precocious children start changing around the age of eight or nine. You’ll see first tufts of fur emerge as their limbs begin to lengthen, as bodies stretch and grow. Stroke their sleeping…
The final curve of a sweeping staircase, rubble and debris littering each step. An empty room, no footprints but mine in the muck that covers the floor. The scattered corpses of furniture;…
‘Positive and Negative’ collects the best of Nick Black’s flash fiction, as seen in lit mags including Ellipsis Zine, Spelk, Splonk, Okay Donkey, Lost Balloon and Jellyfish Review. The book is a chorus of…
Once googling people became possible, I googled him every couple of years or so, in odd idle moments, or at times when I was about to undergo, or had just undergone, life-changes…
I can never tell when a leech bites because Ma doesn’t flinch. “’Tis no bother, Bridget. My old skin’s tough enough!” She laughs loudly then, but it’s not quite real. Hollow, like…
Suppose this man with his sovereign ring doesn’t punch you square in the face, and the bridge of your nose—pierced only Wednesday on a whim for your twentieth birthday—doesn’t pop like a…
You are not scared of the dark – your eyes have grown accustomed to it, to night’s cloaking and masking, its unsteadying of day’s clichés, day’s commonplace shapes and sounds and songs…
Nose: Sweet wafts of honey on buttered toast. I’m alone in this thicket of people, I glide around the party, stream along with the ripple of hellos and sugared air kisses. Watching…