Indigenous Rising

'This morning I woke up feeling like all of the secrets that belong to all of the endless languages of all of the ancient nations were buried under my tongue.'

THE MOLOTOV COCKTAIL

God

'Ask Him and He’ll show you His miracles; they litter every surface, flat or vertical, framed and mounted. God is very proud of His miracles.'

REFLEX FICTION

The End is Always

'It made me think of lust and love, or the insides of the human heart. Perfectly exquisite, painful and pure. I promise you, there is nothing quite like the colour of the moon as it hits the earth.'

THE MOLOTOV COCKTAIL

Swallows

'Mrs Cranberry could hear them in the walls at night, fluttering up and down the pipes. Sometimes they would sing the briefest of songs at sunrise, when the sky was ripe like a blushing peach'

FICTIVE DREAM

What We Find in the Guts of the Bodies that the Rives Gives Us

'It is becoming a certainty among our people that the gods are being slaughtered. It is a knowledge like the faith of dawn or the necessity of dusk.

THE MOLOTOV COCKTAIL

Selfless Love

'Gradually your shadow reaches one hand down between its legs and brings the other up to its mouth, gently inserting half-solid fingers into semi-transparent lips. Still smoking your cigarette, you watch as your shadow begins to pleasure itself; arching its spine across the spine of the plastic slide, which is moist and slippery with midnight dew. '

STORGY

Love

'I came across him one hot November’s night. The air tasted of sorrow and decay. He wore an old city uniform and a high-viz jacket. His sleeves were torn and his shoes were loose and caked with mud. Everything about him was ugly and unwelcome and unwashed.’

REFLEX FICTION

This Thing of Darkness, I

'They have been known to show kindness, on occasion. Yes, there are tales of their exploits which paint them in a pretty light; as heroes, saints and kings. But they are none of these. They are bottomless pits of fear and longing. Stomachs that cannot be filled. Hearts that bite instead of kiss.'

THE MOLOTOV COCKTAIL

Luna

'She had skirts like rags and pus-filled eyes like wounds. Walking with my head to the ground, I saw her slippered feet first; pink with little white hearts turned grey from age. Blinking in the blackness, I let my eyes decipher her silhouette from the shadows. ’

REFLEX FICTION

Keepsakes

'I find them on my travels, pick them up from the bottoms of bottles and the peaks of cliffs. Places my work takes me. I have to journey often. It’s part of my contract. Really all I do is go from here to there and there to here, pulling tokens and gifts behind me like shadows. Remembrances of my ways.'

FLASH FRONTIER