Apple Pie
Mum had a habit of eating the entirety of an apple. The peel, the fruit, the core; all the apple would disappear. The first time I saw her leave an apple core unchallenged, Henry had made a comment, a jibe trying to be a joke that didn’t quite pay off. Henry was always doing that – trying to challenge my mother, to unsettle her. But in his passive aggressive cunning, he didn’t notice the way her eyes glazed over, and how, like hitting restart on a computer, she’d shut down for a short time before putting her face of normality back on and delivering a similarly sharp retort that snapped his neck to the ground with embarrassment. Mum was always doing that – trying to put him in his place, pushing him out of our circle.
Narenda Modi
By Anupam Dubey Continue reading Narenda Modi
Breaker
“He’s got to leave the cabin soon. Right?” asked Casper. He glanced uneasily at the door to the captain’s cabin and shivered. The rest of the crew was keeping a careful distance from it – and the guest within. “Surely he’s got to come and help us at some point?” The two men leaned on the railing of the ship, facing the field of ice … Continue reading Breaker
Selling Myself
I stand in the corner of the room with my mum, polystyrene cups in hand, and five minutes late. When we got here we situated ourselves in the corner, hoping to ignore the loud and enthusiastic chatter between parents, children, and tutors. But other than participating there’s not much to do but watch, so I do; listening as people talk openly about their writing, or … Continue reading Selling Myself
Writer’s Block
The little black line keeps winking at me. One. Two. One. Two. It’s annoyingly slow, like I’d expect it to be quicker, more impatient, more demanding. I’d expect it to match my current anxiety. Instead it takes its time. One. Two. One. Two. Calculating. Menacing. What is it even called? I google it. “what is that annoying black line on the word document called?”. “T … Continue reading Writer’s Block
I
I see a ring a slab a loop a globe a tassel a drop light I am the age of the underworld the depths of the world the sigh upon laugh the dark upon light the veins in the brambles the skeleton in the thicket I take flower-beds out of sunlight eye-holes with my fingers fish-scales through the chink tree-tops from the shadow … Continue reading I
What If Planets Grew On Trees
What if planets grew on trees? Towering trunks made of time, a thousand histories yet to be lived, all creaking under the weight of the fruit blossoming in this celestial orchard. How long did God peruse this garden that had the stomach for infinite Edens before he found the perfect planets for our solar system? What mattered to Him most? The colour? The shape? … Continue reading What If Planets Grew On Trees
Downtown Houston
By S. Iqraa Bukhari Continue reading Downtown Houston
She Dyed
she dyed her hair pink. No one would know that yesterday it was brown. Unless they saw her yesterday, of course, or saw her facebook or instagram or snapchat live stream of the dying process which was also shared to youtube. she dyed her hair pink. Brown haired Amanda is gone!!! #newhair #whodis all traces of … Continue reading She Dyed
Mandala
St Pancras Station, walking to, and you’re already late, or on the verge of being it. You approach the entrance, hurriedly, but in the corner of your eye you see a woman sprawled on the ground. The station beyond is at once glittery and austere; it pulls people in and churns people out – an endless flurry of bodies, giddy and frenetic, like molecules around … Continue reading Mandala
