Author: DennisCarter

It was a sky of grey slate which the ravens perforated that morning. They sat on the branch of the great tree, and every morning it was the same question. –”Papa, when shall I have one of the black birds?” –”You can never have one Millie, my silly, they are wild things and will snatch

She was occupying the bathroom. He needed to shit or puke… one or the other, or both. He giggled, he couldn’t wait for her to get out because he wanted to see her, but he also needed to shit, to puke, to piss, to clean his face and go ‘aaah.’ He was drunk, and so

by Judy Swann I decided to call the guy up and leave some Dylan on his machine. I practiced how I would tell him I was changing my name. I was driving behind a pickup, wobbly red butt straight ahead. To the left the snow-covered hills and ovals of cradled grain. Prickly grass still peeked

by Lara Schembri “This is the night…in which all the horses…are sickly white.” The voice was placid and flat like dead calm in open water, though the context led one to hear an imaginary satisfaction in the tone, a hint of cackling. It didn’t fall out of an open maw, it floated inside a sealed,

It was cold, it was dark, and it was humid. Another unbearable winter morning on this godforsaken island. Moments like these made me question my choice to relocate here. What the hell had I been thinking? Sexy women in bikinis, long summer nights, drinking fancy cocktails with the umbrellas in them… It was good while

Fredrick arrives ten minutes earlier than expected, and I put my hands in my pockets to hide their nervous tremor. Tonight is probably the most important evening of my career. If anything goes amiss, I’ll be humiliated. Fredrick smiles warmly and hugs me. “Damian. It’s good to see you again.” “How was Algeria?” “Fantastic.” He

Tip-tap, tip-tap, goes leather sole on cobblestones. He must hurry, he has one last errand to run tonight, and a steamer to catch in the morning. Still, he is calm, and careful, he threads his path across this city with the precision of a dance. Every action is meticulous – years ago, he had planned

The girl in the garden has just lost a child and has realised, for the first time, how red blood is on a clean white dress. The bundle lies face down in deep grass with limbs splayed like a swastika. The girl has a long face and long eyelashes and she is crying. She closes

The question had been rhetorical, thrown into space by boredom from lips that seldom idled with such insignificances. The answer was known to every person in the kingdom, would certainly be known by erudites down the ages, yet it was not the one the empty room provided. Had it come from any other source, he