by David Bowles | Jan 9, 2017 | Fiction
2370 Seven-year-old Rodrigo ben-David sat alone in the hovel, spooning the last bit of last Shabbat’s chamin into his mouth and using a hard bit of crust to scrape the pot clean. The thin, cold wind rattled the aluplaz walls mercilessly. Winters in the Hellas Region...
by Ernest Hogan | Jan 9, 2017 | Excerpts, Fiction
By Ernest Hogan An extract from the novel High Aztech: I thought I had died, but it was an ixmictiante flowery death, in a battle with a proud Aztecan warrior, so I was happy. I knew it wasn’t Mictlantecuhtli and Mictlancíhuatl that were waiting for me this time. I...
by Priya Sharma | Aug 8, 2016 | Fiction
I consider my egg; its speckled pattern, its curves, strange weighting and remarkable calcium formation that’s both delicate and robust. It hurts but I’m determined. The old hag promised. I put my egg inside me. — Hot water soothes my skin. It plasters my hair to my...
by Ng Yi-Sheng | Aug 8, 2016 | Fiction
Listen: next Monday at 4.30pm, Singapore will disappear. The entire island, its earth and earthworks, its rivers and reservoirs, its megamalls and museums, will vanish, poof, like so much gun smoke. Its flora and fauna too: its orchards and orioles, its rain trees and...
by Mark James Russell | Aug 8, 2016 | Fiction
When Samjogo descended from the Heavens, it was the first time in six months he had set foot on solid ground. He had never expected to be gone so long, but helping a star recover his wealth and save his family had grown much more complicated than he expected. Samjogo...
by Isha Karki | Aug 8, 2016 | Fiction
Branches jut towards us, splinters scrape our skin and sap leaks from bark split open, coating the curves of our shoulders, pooling in the dips of our clavicle. The forest anoints us. We can’t see through the curtain of leaves; we part our way with batons. A decade...
