The doors ease open as he tries to calm his nerves. His mind is churning with thoughts of backing out, of going home and forgetting all about this ridiculous plan. It would be so easy, no one would ever need to know.
One foot after another, it’s almost midnight, dark, he’s the only one standing beneath the harsh glare of the halogen streetlamp, the only passenger waiting by the curb for the last bus. Continue reading
‘Well bud, will we do it?’
Donnie’s proposal left me fumbling for words. A glistening insistence dwelled in his pupils, enough to confirm that this was no joke.
‘I dunno man. Seems kinda pointless.’ By pointless I meant dread-inspiring.
‘Pointless? So getting the adrenaline rush of your life is pointless?’ Continue reading
The girl was paid to be a mermaid. Every evening she fought her way into a mermaid’s tail made of cheap nylon and sequins. The sequins scratched her bare thighs and left behind a purplish rash that wouldn’t heal. Her hair grew coarse and sticky with salt. When she got back to her apartment, usually just as the sun was rising, she curled up in a narrow bed and dreamed of far-off beaches with sand as white as diamonds, and heard the distant roar and slap of the sea.
by Helena Lönnberg
She rose from a pillow that smelt like last night, of cold smoke and rain on tarmac. The mirror was cracked but her teeth weren’t, so it was all good. A good morning.
Somebody knocked on the door just as she put on her rough jeans. The blue cotton slid over brown thighs, enclosed a waist that had changed size many times. Right now it was slim and bony, one could count the ribs if one wanted to. But there was nobody around to care, so it was all good.
Dale comes swinging in through the double doors in a cloud of smoke and I tell you, I’ve had long-burnt chips in the oven that’ve smelled better than that. So I ask him,
“Dale, how’d it go in there?” and he says,
“Oh dandy, Chris, just fine. Like a furnace in there as always, but just fine.”
I can see his goggles have gone and he’s covered in soot, but his hood’s still on and he’s all suited up, so it must have been an okay run. I stick the air conditioning on: high.
Ozymandias gets slung out of a nightclub. He’s in the gutter swilling teeth, jaw shattered against the kerb.
Babylon was his once; he was ‘the man’, the ‘king of kings’: money, Maserati and gold tooth gleaming.