Category Archives: Creative

Not One Before The Other

Emily let the tiny, cloth-bound book fall open in her hands. Like a woman spreading her legs, it offered up its unique scent. Beneath the musty, sweet smell that all old books have, this one surrendered hints of pine resin, tobacco and the tart creaminess of baby’s milk. Eyes closed, she brought the open tome Continue Reading

Flesh Composed of Suns

The boxroom smelled like her cunt. Naya was unsure if the room had always smelled this way and her cunt had taken on its scent, or whether these sagging towers of paper had absorbed, had inhaled and held onto, the tang of her sex. She’d had so much sex there, it was impossible to know. Continue Reading

Remapped

“Let me call you Daddy,” I said. There was nothing but hiss of a bad digital connection. The screen’s cold glow cast harsh shadows across the rumpled landscape of my bedclothes. I was glad, now, that Blue* had refused to use the camera on Skype. Glad he couldn’t see me because, as the hiss stretched Continue Reading

Back to Nature

The girl’s hair is short and of no particular colour. That mid-brown so many American girls have and dye to something more interesting. Elizabeth suspects she cuts it herself, in despair, in front of the bathroom mirror on Friday nights when her loneliness threatens to choke her. The girl—because she is just a girl, really—is Continue Reading

Laughing Man

Men don’t cry like women. I’ve always thought that most of the ways in which people say that men and women are different was bullshit. We’re not from Venus, they’re not from Mars, and all that gender stuff. That layer’s not as thick as everyone wants to believe it is. Maybe it’s just that I’m Continue Reading

Little Prick

I sat up amid the swaddle of bedding in the berth and rolled up the sleeve of my cotton nightdress, waiting in a tangle of fear and anticipation, hating the idea of having a piece of metal stuck in my arm and yet bearing the pathetic hope that the medicine would make me feel instantly Continue Reading

Three Little Letters

“What’s the R for?” I asked her, in an offhand way I hoped sounded like I didn’t care all that much. “Oh, that,” she drawled, pulling out the a and flattening it like a ribbon. She glanced over her shoulder and gave a soft, low laugh, like she’d forgotten it was there. “Dumb stuff you Continue Reading

The Desire Artist

You know what it’s like. You’re only reading this because you think that maybe you’re different from everyone else. Maybe you aren’t seeing things, feeling things right, but you are. But I’m going to write this anyway. Just so you know. So you can think: well, at least there’s someone else out there who thinks Continue Reading

Machines

The toy was pink. Sticky pink in that way only a boiled sweet mistakenly left in the sun on the dashboard of your car can be. Hard, molded, Chinese factory pink. The cockhead-shaped tip was only translucent, but beneath it, the plastic was transparent; the metal capsule of the motor and the brutalist ball-bearings showed Continue Reading

Nathalie’s Tailor

It starts like a low, slow rip of paper, just audible over the hiss of shower water on the slate tiles. A slow exhalation of sharp-edged things that tear at her throat on the way up, making a larger hole for the louder sound that follows. Until she’s crouched in the corner of the glass Continue Reading