Issue 12

Andrea Ewing: Selling Yourself

Sabrina is trying to ignore the fact that Mr Bruce Curry has a partially open fly. Even in the pale office light at Barker Cassius Accounting, its bared teeth draw the eye; its silver tab points stiffly skyward. The zip can hardly be blamed, she thinks.

Tracey Schuyt: Bliss

‘Hey lady!’ yelled the skateboarder. His body and his board flew in different directions, but he landed on his feet. ‘Jesus. Look before you cross the road. ’

Xanthe had been distracted by thinking about how happy she was. She apologised profusely.

Aasiya F. M. Glover: The Mississippi Pulls You Under

It was May, and the humidity lay like a wet dog on a porch, panting over the Mississippi River. Memphis slept, and except in the late-night haunts of Beale Street and the brightly lit houses of the city’s teenagers, a thick silence comforted the dreaming.

Carolyn Cossey: Pieces

I knew I would have to let the jigsaw pieces go. In the corner of my lounge were shelves of toys belonging to my daughter Emma, amongst them three wooden jigsaw puzzles.

Jill Varani: My Real Name is Jill

Why ever did my parents call me Jill? I have sometimes wondered. They must have wanted me to be an accountant. As a child I once wished I was Tanya, but in a typical Jill fashion, I was too timid to claim such an exciting name.