HEAD
LAND
Literary frontiers & emerging voices
Home
About
About us
Masthead
Issues
Submissions
Extras
Blog
Donate
Contact
Zealandia Te Māra a Tāne Essay Prize
Home
|
Issues
| Issue 14
December 5, 2018
Fiction
The Amazing Crocodilian
The croc tour went bad before it began.
Read More
December 5, 2018
Flash Fiction
Beyond the Twilight
Brad sat at the bar. To the right of him was a large picture window.
Read More
December 5, 2018
Fiction
Brio
I stared at his photo on the cover of his book. I remembered the mental health ads he’d starred in.
Read More
December 5, 2018
Fiction
The Girl who Swallowed a Pencil Sharpener
The smell of new stationery was in the air. The extreme dryness of refill pads and exercise books. The graphite of pencils and tang of ink.
Read More
December 5, 2018
Fiction
Rite of Passage
I am Māori and I am becoming a man. It is dusk in the tohungatā moko, our expert tattooist’s, hut. My days of being a boy are ending.
Read More
December 5, 2018
Fiction
Roadside Goat
There are some roadside goats, tethered to lonely triangles of tin, who used to be loved.
Read More
December 5, 2018
Fiction
Speaking in Tongues
Paul reaches for Dawn’s hand and squeezes it roughly. He has a knack for interrupting her when she wants to be mentally alone.
Read More
December 5, 2018
Fiction
Nights of Everywhere
I remember our first night everywhere cos Māmā always takes us somewhere special to tell us about the whakapapa of a place.
Read More
December 5, 2018
Fiction
Blown off Course
It had been the wettest week since records began. Three streets away the river threatened to break its banks and, around midnight, it did.
Read More
December 5, 2018
Fiction
Chicken Skin
Her skin is raw and pink, fleshy-soft like the fat chicken fillets my mother brings home from the butcher’s that I poke through the plastic bag.
Read More
December 5, 2018
Fiction
The Standing Stones
As far back as we know, the babies die in August. This I will tell my girls and any grand-girls that I come to see.
Read More
December 5, 2018
Nonfiction
There’s Nothing to Tell, Really
Thereʼs nothing to tell, really. Nothing happened. We were all in the synagogue sanctuary, about halfway through the service. The cantor had just finished his midrash.
Read More