Perched in the cloister walk, two monks sat deciding what Heaven looked like.
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I loved him, up until that third bourbon. He was such a fucking amazing person but jesus he was a mean drunk.
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A broken family and a peeping tom.
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We hired him to paint our shopfront. A story about work, and loss.
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She’d been lying awake since the crack of dawn, watching the sunrise creeping through the side of her curtains.
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We decided to build the den from all that we could forage from the forest. The one that breathed down the back of our house.
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World’s Fair, Paris, summer of 1900: we’ve arrived from two dozen countries. Nine hundred ninety-nine women with a single fever dream.
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Amidst this evening’s homeward rush two figures are motionless, one seated on the outer edge of the bridge’s parapet, legs dangling over the sheer drop, the other standing beside him, ...
He was angry online, on Twitter and Facebook, and he was angry at work. He was angry at home when he was with his wife and kids, a boy and ...
He startled awake to find a shadow at his mother’s grave, humming softly as it dug up the soil. Was this a dream? Or was this a djinn taken animal ...
My flipping p is less than naught point two times 10 to the minus effing nine! My p. My p
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A young trans woman gets her ears pierced for the first time.
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You avoid talking about the girlfriend. The less you know, the less you are incriminating yourself in this mortal sin.
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Backfoot’ is set in a world where people can choose to know the date of their death. When Meg discovers hers has changed radically, it throws up doubts about her ...
She walks alone like a ghost and the wind goes through the grass and trees and whispers and is gone.
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The morning after his birthday night out, Cam confides in an estranged friend over his changed expectations and perceived failure in life on reaching the landmark age of thirty. There ...
He is waiting for him. There are no phones. This is 2005.
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A story about a woman recovering from an ectopic pregnancy in Morocco.
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Themes of rejection, loneliness and numbness are used to explore life after losing someone who your identity is inevitably linked with.
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I knew something was wrong with Polly the day she said the sun was dead.
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