Issue 12

Isabelle McNeur: Holes

As Jude watched the mourners huddle around the coffin, she wondered whether it would be better to fake sadness, blankness or pity. What she really wanted to broadcast was impatience, but that had to be even worse than pity.

Nat Baker: Animal Life

Sarah waited by the letterbox, at the end of the cobbled footpath under the tall green trees that filled the front yard and concealed the house from the street in summer. Even though it was too early, and she wasn’t expecting anything, she checked for mail.

Sijbren Kramer: Basnig

I couldn’t tell which way the world was around. Stars flickered from all directions. The ocean held the image of the sky perfectly. There was no bearing to find myself, nothing to ground me. My mind was free to twist and turn, and nothing would change. Everything was perfect.

Rachel Smith: Buttercups and Bullets

“Do you like butter?” The yellow petals flutter under my chin. “You do – you love it. You want to marry it,” Alice shrieks. She drops the buttercup at the side of the road, hoists her backpack higher and runs ahead.

Carly Thomas: Dirt

I bought an old house and I forgot to look at the piles and scratch my chin whilst gazing sceptically at the roof. I forgot to be shrewd and instead gushed at the heritage dahlias. My old house is a foreign land.