Purple Lies By Alex Z. Salinas

Purple Lies By Alex Z. Salinas   Larry Rios is an expert practitioner of white lies. They’re the lifeblood of this country, he believes. For better and worse. On his way home from work one cloudy evening he ponders what purple lies might look like. Kinda like Prince, he reckons, if Prince had strutted around…

Outage by Mark McConville

Outage. What if the power went out? What if hope crashed like an old computer? People would lose their minds. They would arm themselves with everything sharp and dangerous. Dangerous enough to cut through bone if needs be.   It is cold here, so cold I can’t feel my toes. The attic, painted in vibrant colours looks mundane when…

Skin And Bone by Mark McConville

Skin And Bone. The skin draped over me, itches from the dust of this room. Picture frames hang sideways, and flakes of dry, old, white paint covers the carpet. I have been sitting here in old clothes, admiring the photographs of a woman of wonderment. A woman who chronicled through poems of love, our times…

Losing my Religion by K. A. Laity

“I could do it,” Tony said as I started the engine. “Believe me. Easy.” I backed the Subaru up then eased away from the kerb. An old lady in a Ford pulled into the spot almost before I got out. Life in the congestion zone. “Might better open up a car park. You’d get rich…

MARYLAND CRAB CAKES, BALMER STYLE by Stephen D. Rogers

MARYLAND CRAB CAKES, BALMER STYLE by Stephen D. Rogers   Somewhere east of the Jones Falls, hidden between Chase and Madison, is a neighborhood worse than most.  The crown in this jewel is a house that only two types of people ever visit:  the truly desperate and the uniformed servants of the very rich. The…

The Song of Spring by Sebnem E. Sanders

The Song of Spring   Belma Belma watched over the crowd gathering in the courtyard of the mosque. On the altar, stood a coffin. Draped over its raised head, a muslin scarf with a crocheted edge, and a small wreath of white and purple freesias placed upon it. Her favourite flowers. The men were lined…

Harsh Rain Falls On Holy Stones by Mark McConville

Harsh Rain Falls On Holy Stones. She pulls the cover over her eyes and embraces the darkness. From now on, she’d like to conceal her face and body. Over these past few years, love has been strained, life has been a mammoth task. Smoking cigarettes and drinking cheap vodka delivers the only real pleasure, speaking…

London Bridge Railway Station, Please Mate by Stephen J. Golds

London Bridge Railway Station, Please Mate.   I’ll tell ya summin the wevas fuckin shit today, innit mate? Still good ole English weva though. Ya wotchat show with wos ees face on the tube las night? Whata proppa pila shit that wos. The morra watch that flickerin pissa shit called telavision, the morra feel like…

Cracked Roads by Mark McConville

Cracked Roads. Last summer we spoke about moving away. Paradise beckoned, hope was infused in our alcoholic bloodstreams, but we were steady on our feet, paying our dues and searching for a utopian bubble we could laze around in. Departing this ruined sanctuary, where blood was scrawled in unruly text across walls and doors, kept us awake…