Cover Art by Mario Loprete
Contents:
Editor’s Letter by Eric Akoto
Notes from a reader M. M. De ...
we (and by we I mean Claire (the woman I swore (vow (we still vow, we still pledge ourselves, like honourable (‘honour you’, that’s a wedding vow (there’s that word ...
On sunny afternoons, I go out to the street to eat tar.
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Art always wakes up before dawn on festival day. Has done for seventeen years and this year is no different.
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November 5th, 2020, eleven weeks before the end of his term, of a bullet wound to the head fired as he addressed a crowd of supporters. ...
I am a rare bird. Almost extinct. There is no one to follow me and inherit my beliefs and practice.
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An account of three lives spurred on by expression, creation and envy.
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“Quick, look up at the ceiling, look up, look up,” before she even said Welcome New Lesbians or Happy New Year. So Grace and Patti Ann looked up. What the ...
Since Mrs. Grey did assess Ms. Yang’s stenography skills as “redundant and useless in the modern age”, Ms. Yang has resolved henceforth to use these skills as her only means ...
Poetry emerges; authorial identity becomes confused, drifts.
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Retreating into the madness..
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A liberating evening sets the girls free as the boundaries begin to blur...
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Nigerian writer Innocent Ilo’s “When You (Don’t) Want to Die” begins as a story about a little girl longing for death, but becomes something more magical
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A man plays a creepier, lonelier private game on the London Underground.
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My memory is of Rolly under me, marveling “we just want to please each other,” while I peered down at my pressed white breasts rocking against his damp chest. The ...
An exclusive extract from Michael Nath’s forthcoming novel, The Treatment. At The Black Gun, Kim’s boyfriend made a fuss of Claire, which was just to be welcoming, and had Kim pretending ...
We pick one from among us. Her name is Karen. Karen can’t believe it. Or at least she acts like she can’t. “Me?” Karen’s eyes, unremarkable only moments ago, become ...
Ordinarily, I would have continued on my way to Enugu and only wondered what some brown huts were doing up a hillock when they should be located somewhere in northern ...
Allan had only just sat down at his desk, but already he could feel the prickly heat radiating off his chest. Appreciatively, gratefully, he looked left out the classroom windows ...
It’s the eyes, man. The fucking eyes. They look at ye like yer something disgusting, something deplorable. But also something to be pitied. Like a mangy dog, man. Like a ...
