I watch her.  She sits hunched over her smooth wooden desk, pen in hand like a brave warrior wielding their weapon. Her ink-stained hands scramble over the yellowed paper, swiftly creating neat, curved letters, as if by magic. She sinks deeper and deeper into her imagined world. Silhouettes shimmer in and out of existence, occasionally looming closer as she pores over the gradually disintegrating notebook, the pages that have been filled are curled and dog-eared. Suddenly, a tap on my shoulder. I jerk back, look backwards. Phoebe is looking at me, snatching looks at the classroom door hurriedly. “Leona… you know, we should go out now. Gale says nobody’s allowed…

The bully stood confidently, measuring his opponent with cool, steady eyes. 30 seconds? He thought to himself. Naw, this one’s a weakling. 20 seconds. Twenty seconds, the bully calls out, and cracks his knuckles menacingly. The regular commotion begins. Bets are placed, some confidently, some gingerly. C’mon, Braw calls. He’s gonna beat him bad. You can’t lose! Grimy hands reach in again, place more bills on the asphalt floor. Braw scoops them up victoriously. Ok, chaps, now who’s betting on the weakling? Braw sneers. Silence. Fine, who’s betting that the weakling will win in ten hours? Braw raises an eyebrow, mockingly. Jeering laughs. Ten days? Braw calls out in mock…

The sun rises, orange and yellow, illuminating the endless mountains that stretch out further than the horizon. The forest wakes, along with the sun, birds singing as the sun rays make the green of the trees greener than ever. All along the mountains, creatures of the forest rise from their sleeping places and announce the coming of the day. The sun alights on a purple blotched caterpillar, climbing into the wrinkled veins of the wild leaves that populate the forest. Its legs skitter around as it slides along the leaf on a drop of morning dew. Its movements suddenly halt – freeze – and in a blink of the eye,…

The glaring lights, in the flashing darkness, the reflections of the tuxedoed strangers that, apparently, were my family’s blood and flesh. The pencilled eyes that looked at the children, the raised eyebrow of ‘Whose kid is that?’ … the endless photographs, snapping at the victims with a flash. Then it was I, the helpless girl in a stiff dress, patterned with ridiculous rosebuds … and the bride is hugging me, and all around me I’m hearing crooning voices, ‘Look how good she is with children’ … ‘(and a sigh) maybe she will be a mother soon, as well!’, but I feel her manicured fingernails digging into my shivering spine and…

You were always in my life, although you weren’t. Lurking in the black-and-white photos, where you and Maddie looked so happy together. You both are wearing sunglasses, and you were smiling, and you looked so handsome and young. But Maddie’s bitter tales tell another story completely, and I flip the page and see how in the next photos, you are not there but Maddie is, with a swollen belly. How you never replied to letters or answered the desperate voice mails. How you weren’t there for me as a father, when you should’ve been. But that was years ago, and you are just a silhouette – a silky shadow that…

As I woke up that morning, I could sense that everything was different, just like my father had told me – with that wistful look in his steady eyes. Birds seemed to chirp louder, more melodious and the younger children seemed mere dwarfs, scurrying along to escape their mothers’ sharp slaps and scoldings. I knew that turning eight – a real man now – brought on many more responsibilities and duties, yet I felt a deep gratitude and joy at making it this far. Today, instead of joining the long line of women and children at the water hole, I skipped along the well-worn paths with my father. His whole…

There was a flutter of velvet red and licorice black as the robin swooped down from its perch, a solitary streak of colour against the dull acres of woods that stretched out further than an eagle’s eye could see; sloping hills behind sloping hills eternally behind sloping hills. The plumes of the robin’s feathery chest brushed the miniscule slate gray pebbles that littered the packed mud forest floor. The she-robin seemed to smile as she chirped merrily to its offspring, dropping convulsing worms into eager upturned beaks that mirrored their mother’s as she leaned over their bobbing heads. As she fed each in turn, she dropped a small acorn into…

Mmlbrghmmgrglmmgrgl. A single bubble rose up from the dark. It popped. The sound reverberated through the endless space, bouncing off walls that did not exist. Mmlbrrrgrglgrgrrrl. The being slowly came to life, a milky liquid dribbling out of his slit nostrils and swirling out in a spiraling, malevolent cloud. It dissipated in the musty air. The being opened its eyes, its moonlike pupils dilating, piercing and glowing in the darkness. Its hands fumbled about the monstrously oversized head, the furry scales on the twisted fingers recoiling at the touch. ‘Too much… too much!’ It was barely more than a whisper, but it contained the whole world, spreading and hissing through…

Angus Hied felt his way into the plush chair gingerly, slipping into the dent where equally-uncomfortable guests had applied their considerable weight. “The next president, sir, you really must make a decision concerning the lawsuit! The press is all over the issue – everyone’s demanding a reaction, a decision of some sort.” Flustered, he glanced at the president’s chubby face, reflected unflatteringly in the polished depths of the lacquered coffee table. Hied leaned on his elbows. “..Mr President?” The president’s voice rose irritably, his expression unchanged. “Let life run its course, Angus! It’s got me here so far, it’ll keep going even if I don’t make a goddamn decision!” He…

“Grandpa, tell me a story,” begged the little boy, toddling up to him with outstretched, pudgy arms. The old man reluctantly bent down from his worn chair and took the boy into his arms. Both the man and the armchair were old, and faded – so faded, in fact, that when the man shut his curiously bright eyes, nearly no one could distinguish man from chair. The man’s earthy smell had seeped deep into the folds of the armchair, marking it eternally. Man and chair seemed to have grown into each other, become each other – often, they both were still and silent, listening intently. For what, no one knew.…