LATEST IN PROSE
The Gingerbread Cycle by Jasmine Sawers
A retelling of Hansel and Gretel, both before and after.
Walking Shoes by Mariann Evans
After finding her husband’s old walking shoes, a feisty elderly lady with dementia takes a trip to visit him in hospital, but finds a heart-breaking truth waiting for her instead.
A Night for the Saints by Heather Lee Shaw
A mother and daughter, two moments in time, both running towards and from family.
Transmogrification by Jael Montellano
Queer immigrant lovers attend a phantasmagoric festival on an eve that their relationship shifts.
A Hauf an a Hauf by Peter Bennett
An elderly man reflects on his past and, by extension, his current place in life as he goes to collect his pension and meet a friend for an afternoon drink. (Extract from Peter Bennett’s upcoming novel.)
A City Called Mine by Ranjini Nair
The cities in which we live often have profound effects on our inner lives, particularly when we are made to feel as if we don’t belong.
Mammalia by Helen Bowie
With the desertion of the vermin-people’s utopia, the vermin-children take to their own intergenerational justice, beginning anew through the art of the piper’s song.
In Tempest, or the Night of Nightingales by Jac Harmon
When a stranger comes to stay in Port Tawe, his painting elicits a stream of painful memories and violent melodies for an injured musician.
All Hope Abandon! by Suki Hollywood
Spray and wipe. Spray and wipe. Nemesis cleaned the conveyor belt until it glistened like the back of a killer whale.
MORE PROSE
The Journey by Natalie Nera
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.
The Drive to Corinna by Annette Freeman
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.
The World’s Most Photographed Woman by Katy Lennon
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.
Troublemaker by Robyn Camber
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.
Tunnel Rats by Nick Norton
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.