Mates Don’t Grass by Matt Hornsby

The office tea-point was a miserable space; a battered sink, whose hole emitted a cloacal smell, and a kettle thick with scale. A window looked out onto the building’s cavernous atrium. Tom gently swung it open and peered out. His gut untightened. Karen was still out there, thank God – talking to some clients in leather chairs, waving her hands around in histrionic gestures. Dampened by the acoustics of the hall, a few words and phrases echoed up; ‘New standards in lean product design’, ‘restructuring the client-customer interface’. The clients nodded sagely.

He could still feel the email, framed ominously in his ‘sent mail’ box: Continue reading “Mates Don’t Grass by Matt Hornsby”

The Heaviness of All Things by Joseph Sale

I hold the scrawny thing to my chest, cradling it like a babe, its paws resting on my collar bones, its fur smelling like pine, its eyes the same colour as Kinko Bay, which stretches behind us, a black mirror scarred with moonlight, until it reaches the grey tower of Mount Sakurajima. In the state of cold fear our hearts beat at the same pace, knocking against each other, its shivering ribs rubbing over my own.

The fox’s eyes have found mine the way that two magnets lock. I feel, in a way that is outside of any sensory apparatus defined by scientific means, its desire for me to look, its desire to show me something in the mercurial glow of its silver gaze, what I need to know. Continue reading “The Heaviness of All Things by Joseph Sale”

A Weird Little Thing Called Life by Richard Alexander

I have a vague recollection of someone once telling me that when they died they hoped the first thing that happened was that they were presented with a DVD of their entire life. Overwrapped – waiting for them to reminisce in full HD – an agreeable concept. Sugar-coated.

In all honesty, they were not too far from the truth. At least that was the case for me, and that (of course) is all the evidence I have to go on. The experience itself is more spasmodic; less obvious I guess: a balloon burst of innumerable images left to marinate the inside of what remained of my head. To settle, and filter – one at a time – through the two blank exit holes with which I had once been privy to a weird little thing called life. Continue reading “A Weird Little Thing Called Life by Richard Alexander”

Wake Up To Yourself by Aviva Treger

Right now, I’m sitting in a queue about to have my memories erased, and soon they’ll be lost forever – such things are inevitable, I suppose, or so they tell me; but in these last few minutes, while I still can, I want to recall the day I first saw her, before it’s all gone; and when it’s all gone, as a common courtesy, maybe for the time being, you could remember it for me, on my behalf – at least until the moment comes when you have your memories erased too. Continue reading “Wake Up To Yourself by Aviva Treger”

DRONE: A Tale of Life, Work and Chemical Lobotomy by L. L. Kipling

Hello, I would like you to read this if that is okay. I do not remember my name but I can remember when I lost it. It had been a long time since anyone had used it, that being inclusive of myself as I found little need to. Introductions are a very unpleasant experience that I would prefer to avoid. One day, a boss had asked for it, on the account that they had lost all record of my original people-name. Burned in a fire they told me. Continue reading “DRONE: A Tale of Life, Work and Chemical Lobotomy by L. L. Kipling”