Category Archives: Fiction

Wayne Russell, People are generous when life is good

wayne21.1.15

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I’ll never know how the hell I made it into the new year, no not this time. Shit, I must have nine life’s like some sort of cat or something. That mid grade heroin that I shot up with that hooker from Sprool Avenue, should have taken me out easy. I wanted to pull the plug on life this new years eve, what’s the point of living anyway? Everyone I had loved in my relatively short life, was now dead and gone now.

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Belica-Antonia Kubareli, La Maladie de la mort n’existe pas in her hands

belica3.12.14

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I remember her hands: The most lively, expressive, talkative hands in the world.

When laughing at an unexpected joke she would erupt with a sudden stretch of the arms high up over her head, clapping with the fingers open – a fleshy fan.

When crying she would hide her face into those hands making her sorrow more visible behind the unseen tears with the fingers shaking, the knuckles whitening, the nails in the flesh of her cheeks.

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James Joyce, Eveline

joyce17.9.14

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She sat at the window watching the evening invade the avenue. Her head was leaned against the window curtains and in her nostrils was the odour of dusty cretonne. She was tired.
Few people passed. The man out of the last house passed on his way home; she heard his footsteps clacking along the concrete pavement and afterwards crunching on the cinder path before the new red houses. One time there used to be a field there in which they used to play every evening with other people’s children. Διαβάστε περισσότερα-Continue reading

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