Current Issue

“My People Came Down From The Mountains” by Vicki McLeod

My people came down from the mountains, brittle ghosts armed with blades and hacksaws. They were big eared, small-footed and had red-knuckled hands. They carried no expectations. The men were tough and canny, ready with violence, religiously upright, but secret drunks. The women bore the men, bruised and joking.  They were hard and selfish people, except perhaps one great-grandfather. Imagine…

“Nowhere Station” by Tom Hazuka

I was alone in a second-class car on a train out of Madrid, bound for Barcelona. Yesterday I’d spent twenty minutes standing in front of Picasso’s Guernica, which was black and white like old war photographs and far larger than I expected. I was twenty years old. No painting could make me cry back then, at least on the outside….

“The Matador” by Lorette C. Luzajic

The first time I saw Freddie Mercury in our elevator, he caught my eye and flashed me a grin. “I’ve seen you at the Wine Vine,” I said. Everyone in the neighbourhood called him Freddie, because he was a dead ringer. Small and fierce, with big teeth and a clipped moustache. He even dressed the part, rocking skin-tight white jeans,…

“Beneath A Vacant Sky” by Sara Dobbie

The morning after the moon explodes, Marla wonders if she imagined the whole thing. She rushes down the stairs, two at a time, hoping the chaotic images flooding her brain are memories leftover from some surreal nightmare. But no, her mother is pacing in front of the television, cigarette dangling from her lips. Phone cradled between ear and shoulder, shouting…

“Slugs In Designer Colours” by DK Eve

The rain has let up and she’s walking her dog in the neighbourhood park. Broadleaf maples tower above the trail forming a canopy, leaves gleaming bright green, scrubbed of dust. Streams of golden pollen pool at the trail’s edge. The air smells washed, new. There’s a word for it, she thinks. Petrichor. She says it out loud. Pe. Tri. Cor. Her mouth…