Issue 9

Alie Benge: No Church in the Wild

I look at the photos sometimes. I always leave them thinking, ‘Why do you do it? Why do you return?’ They’re always together, the beginning and the end. An air hostess must have taken the first one because we’re all in it. I’m peering out from behind Dad.

Daniel T: Sanctuary

So much time at a computer manipulating synthesized sounds acclimatises you to finely tuned rattles and rings. Synths, unrealistic horns, compressed hi-hats, deep 808s.

Leanne Radojkovich: The Plasticine Horse

Rain clung to the window, golden with light from the streetlamp. Looking up from her book, Joy was struck by how some drops were honeyed to the top, while others held the light in their bellies. Beyond the window, dusk was a deepening grey.

Carolyn Cossey: Threads

The chieftain rode down from the Anatolian hills. He came across a small settlement of tents, sheltered against a ridge. Outside one was a newly finished kilim, in vibrant shades of green, magenta and turquoise. The chieftain studied the patterns awhile, stroking his beard.

Aaron Horrell: Hamish's Place

Whatever else people say about Hamish Ogilvie, almost everyone admits he could’ve been a great halfback. Our old teacher Mr Reid once told me, Pound-for-pound, that brother of yours is one of the best players I’ve ever seen.