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You stand frozen, staring down at the pieces scattered across the floor like little stars. Blinking a few times, you wait for the enormity of it to stop spinning inside your head.

It doesn't.

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Beyond Repair

by Amanda McLeod

We argue.

I can’t recall what about.

She pulls a card.

We turn into stags, teasing and chasing each other.

The Two of Cups.

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Stags

by Susan Earlam

He should have known better than to go marauding in August.  Heat rises all manner of dark things, not least of all the flies. The fetid remains of yesterday’s efforts drawing them like a cloak, their incessant buzzing ruining an otherwise perfect opportunity.

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Musca Sanguis

by Claire Loader

He measured his days out in rows of pulled, purchased earth.


David studied his garden. The worst summer in decades, the driest the valley had seen. He fought a
heroic battle against weather, the passage of time. What the squirrels hadn’t dug up, destroyed or outright stolen, had withered.


The gutters like margins. A layer of dust.

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The Garden

by rob mclennan

I watch them from our balcony. All dressed in velvet and satin, various shades of black, red and green. The kinds of Christmas parties we used to have. Their fingers grip stems of crimson wine glasses, tongues swilling Rioja around their cheeks. Only four of them, five perhaps. Intimate.

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Eve 

by Jennifer Evans

The storm is over now: no howling wind, no growling thunder; it’s all been whittled down to one tiny solitary dreg of moisture that’s poised against the windowpane like a dagger.  And Kim, she stares out into the street, but she can’t see anything except the thick black smear of night.

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Don't Cry

by Ely Percy

She held the sun beneath her skin giving her a golden glow all year round. There was a
lightness to her being which sparkled and dazzled the eyes of passersby. They would squirrel
away into their safe dark places, the corners of the world where light couldn’t reach and
chitter-chatter about how impossible the Sun Child was.

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The Sun Child

by Lauren Bell

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