Category: Prose
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We Need a Pianist
I arrive at the Pavilion at 7:30pm in my best maroon suit. Stressing about my fingers. I’ve parked, engine’s off. Unfurl my fingers, staring, and thinking, they’re not broken anymore, and there won’t be an accident tonight that changes that. So, I go inside. The Pavilion is one of those old and grand buildings that’s…
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Siege
The Quaint residence abides around a cold street corner at 92 C Gosemer Rd, Meralvile, where tall apartments tower over a red door. The porch angles so slightly to the left, leaving an embellishment of chipped paint on its corner where the timber meets the concrete. This is where Mrs Quaint returns home in the…
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Doomsday, Man
I’m no blushing bride when it comes to a good snog sesh, but someone’s stank ass breath can really kill the vibe. This gaping maw throws an absolute rancid gush of air at me, landing like a wet sock across my cheek. I am not breathing that. Not chill, dude. Their little liver-purple tongue is…
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Nigredo
Truong wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing, unwilling to touch it. He tries to ignore the sound and turns his body to the wall side. Consistently, it keeps ringing, beat after beat after beat. He awakens angrily and proceeds to pick up the phone. “Who is this?” he says with a high-pitched…
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Hold the Note
It’s late morning, and the paterfamilias has donned his formal attire. The toga cloaking the loose folds of his chiton is blue with a fluffy grey lining on the collar and sash. His bare feet are swathed in a pair of long woollen socks, pulled high over the rolls of his baggy grey sweatpants. From…
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Bad Boys Get the Dark
By Jacob Wood When the Dark was in control, Lester had little idea of his surroundings; could see nothing but shifting shadows. For brief moments at a time he could hear fevered shuffling, the scraping of harsh blades and a horrid stench that came over him in fetid waves. For the first time, though, he…
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Seven Strands – Candace Zalloua
The first string was violet, as many were. A co-worker I rarely spoke to, apart from telling her coffee orders. I refused to be excited because I refused to be brave. Then one day, she knocked three coffees off the machine that she was in the middle of making. Hot coffee poured onto her hands,…
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Can one Coco Pop make chocolate milk?
I sit in the empty public bus, my brightness up, my ears submerged in Michael Jackson while delving into an array of Buzzfeed quizzes such as, “What Disney Princess Are You?” (Cinderella) or “Do you remember the entire Twilight series?” (I do). A rich concoction of tunes remains in the queue, a playlist composed of…
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The Season of My Hibernation and Rebirth – Mya Hicks
My transformation began with a single wiry hair—long, grey, jagged at the end—sprouting from under my chin where the flesh is doughiest. I’d always uprooted these rogue hairs as soon as they reared their monstrous heads (as a girl I was taught to be meticulous when it came to my appearance) but on this day…