My Name is Abbas Abdullah by Wayne McCray

He did it so easily. No one looking like him had done that in a while. Most boys don’t play girlish street games. Except for one, but he didn’t stay around here. That was for sure. But the more Abbas saw of him, the more recognisable he became. It dawned on him: “damn, that’s my son!” He hadn’t seen him in years, but knew it was him by his swagger, and the occasional stoppage of children and neighbours, all clamouring to talk to him. His son would arrive shortly. Now Abbas wished he had left earlier, but it was too late now.  Continue reading My Name is Abbas Abdullah by Wayne McCray

The Red Romper by Eleonora Balsano

When life hasn’t turned out the way you hoped, nor have you found a way – yoga, God, Prozac – to make peace with it, you dream that you’re pregnant. Your baby needs clothes and bottles and a pram and a playmat. You dream of the brood of mums-to-be waddling out of your living room arm in arm. A folded pram in their boot, a bag containing a scented layette on their lap. Your baby’s pram, your baby’s layette, your baby’s scent. You want it all back. Continue reading The Red Romper by Eleonora Balsano

The Tide by David Micklem

I forget about the men. Not actively, like it’s something I need to remember to do. But naturally, as I pull the water around the kayak. I know that this should be a good time to think about work, about how much longer I can stand being in the same room as the pair of them. Or about dating again. It’s nine months since Suzanne left me, and I’ve not seen anyone since. Continue reading The Tide by David Micklem

That Thing I Lost by Tara Van De Mark

On my knees, I reach behind the toilet, but my phone isn’t there. I crawl to the mattresses and reach into the space between bed and wall, finding only used tissues, hairbands and dust. I shake out the sheets and toss the pillows. Nothing. I dig through the clothes on the futon until I reach the dirty red slipcover. Still no phone, not even a handful of coins for a payphone. Continue reading That Thing I Lost by Tara Van De Mark

No Particular Place to Go by Bonnie Meekums

Stella feels a pang of guilt, remembering her carer. Did she say she had recently lost a brother to the virus? It’s hard to recall details like that, these days. She didn’t mean to be unkind, about the wages. Poor woman is only doing her job, and compassionately at that. She’s the one that gives Stella a kiss goodnight and tucks her in bed before she goes off shift. Continue reading No Particular Place to Go by Bonnie Meekums