The day Khet Thi was tortured to death

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Pollen fever

Poetry*Contrary to what they believed, I was never allergic to skin. Or sunrays. I wasn’t a cadre.**Arrested by three. Tortured by five. Fornication. For...

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FictionNow Pidgin didn’t say much to nobody, but he was different around his feathered friends, and also with me, coming to overlook my human bits. Plus I never poked fun at him the way others did, about the slowness, the bung eyes or walking like a string was tied from his ankle to the back of his nog – you know, pidgin-like – or being good with nothing else but bird things, which never holds much bargain for others, and they’ll want to tease and knuckle what they don’t get. Truth is I was in love with Pidgin, not that he knew – though it could have been mooch, since he was always calling me up.

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FictionLOOK AT THAT lamppost by the newspaper kiosk. No, not the one where the bike is locked. The other one. A woman just walked...

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FictionTHE DELICATE RED filigree of the sea fan coral looked like alveoli in lungs, Clare thought as she kicked through the shallow waters of...