The dream does not leave his mind with the rising daylight; it sinks in deeper, taking hold of him and forcing him to view the truth of what he had been stopped from doing.
– raccoon and thought of you, how you lay in the hospital bed, breathing so heavy, hooked up to that machine, and the raccoon breathed the same way, so if I closed my eyes I would’ve thought it was human
In Paris, every advertisement is a painting. The city is wallpapered with them: vibrant, colorful posters that grow like moss on every surface.
Fiction | Dear Sleuth Readers: The following content is an excerpt from a letter currently on display in the National Museum of Tourism and Immigration.
“Love has no exit interviews,” I say. “Closure is the poor man’s time travelling.” My voice is cold over the phone. I tell myself the situation calls for it; I’m speaking to my ex-girlfriend, after all.
It often feels like there’s nothing left to say. Let me clarify: there’s nothing peaceful left to say.
I remember Calvin and Darwin being spoken of with the same tongue, seeing our King James Bible beside A Brief History of Time, and the theory of relativity being used to prove the immanence of the divine.
Fiction | Who are you? A combination of thoughts?
Chrissy stopped in her tracks and turned to Helen in excitement. “Look, Mum,” she said. “Look at the sparkle in the water. It’s gold, I swear. I’m going to be rolling in it, just you wait!”
There was a firebird in Bangkok, two days after Valentine’s Day. The first sighting of the bird was at 4:57 pm: a woman selling fake iPhone cases on the street near the Tesco Lotus at On Nut called 191 and reported that she had seen wings in the sky, just above the Skytrain – wings bright red and orange and crackling with fire.
Over in the eastern sky, the large yellow disk of the sun was making an appearance. A gleam of light shone through the narrow gap of the olive-coloured curtains at No. 47, a modest house in typical suburban Surrey, a place where the same events occur each day and change is unwelcome.
It used to be that the land was enough for me. I liked the solidity of the ground beneath my feet. I could walk for hours, run as far as my feet would carry me. It is not enough for me anymore.
Smoke obscured the view for a moment as Oksana searched for a sign. She squinted but there was no platform, only the wide blurred plain, covered in mist. This was nobody’s stop.
I am one. I am one of millions of mothers out there trying to understand this COVID-19 pandemic. I want to cry, scream, throw my fists in the air and punch this invisible enemy.
Remembering gets easier with practice. Practice by pulling out the yolk of nostalgia, feeling for the overdue residues. The cardboard cut-out birthday cake from kindergarten class, with paper candles, icing, and painted flames.
It was time to get naked and face the ugliest parts of myself. The water roared and the trees glowed, taking on a life of their own in the Costa Rican jungle.
I was supposed to be at Corinna by now; they were expecting me at the pub, but the journey had taken longer than I thought.
Growing up, I saw Princess Diana a lot. In newspapers, on TV, smiling from photo frames. Suspended, headless, in the centre of porcelain plates on plastic stands never intended for use.
Noelle had promised she would write. She was different when she said it. She was the straight-backed, empty-eyed Noelle I’d come to loathe in our last weeks together.
The last memory I have of Cuba was from the back of a car, seeing my grandmother fade away. Had I known then what I know now, I would have held her a little tighter for a little longer.
A scruffy valley of fields lay behind me. I had lost my path and stumbled along amongst the cabbages for the better part of the day. Before me I found an impenetrable snarl of shrubbery. Then, surprisingly close, the clang and grind of a heavy metal lid being moved.