Honey, Your Breakfast’s Getting Cold
By Nicole Ruf Victoria places her plate on the kitchen table and sits across from him. He lifts his gaze slightly, just enough to see
Nicole Ruf
March 5, 2026
By Nicole Ruf Victoria places her plate on the kitchen table and sits across from him. He lifts his gaze slightly, just enough to see
By Robertha Green Gonzalez The idiom goes: there are plenty of fish in the sea. But things were never that simple, because Frank was a
By Edward Clark We woke up at five and walked to the beach. The sea was cold, cold to the touch as I strode in
By Charles FitzGerald We first met Joanna and Mark when we moved into Crowley Avenue, nearly thirteen years ago. We sent our kids to the
By Lenna Suminski I wish I had grown up with you. I imagine us both sat in the back of a Catholic private school, two
By Lenna Suminski In the escape of answering the what-am-Is that dawned on me and dauntingly demanded, over an extra-dirty, extra-wet gin martini, I gave
By Robertha Green Gonzalez NOA. The surrounding walls seemed to breathe; slow, patient, alive. For a moment she thought she was still inside a flower,
By Matthew Dodd It had been some years since I’d seen him. We’d last met in the early hours of the morning at opposite ends
By Charles Fitzgerald “Oh bother”, said Winnie-the-Pooh. He lowered his bong, constructed from an empty honey pot. He saw Piglet shuddering, clinging onto himself for
By Charles FitzGerald Thursday, 14:31 Jonty: Tell me. Why would a lady as enchanting as you be lurking on an app like this? A
By Matthew Dodd Outside the Caffe Giulia, two old men barked at one another across a table gossamered by empty coffee cups. A russet awning
By Joanna Bergmann Orange peel, placed carefully next to a stack of books – a pinteresty still life. Dust floats in the warm air, visible
By Lenna Suminski In the backseat of this stranger’s car I found out what love was. You thought I was asleep but brushed my hair
By Lenna Suminski I grew up around forests, things change when time passes and people get older and muddier. To the right of my house
By Lenna Suminski He stands there, clad in an armoury of French-pressed linen suits approved by Vogue just last month trying desperately to prove to
By Jiyan Sheppard It was in moments like these that I’d think of what I’d say to him if we were ever to speak, which
By Jude Kirk Fragment of ‘Dear Benjamin’ Another letter to you, my dear. This time, let me take you back to the summer of your
By Matthew Dodd I’d read in a paper not too long ago – The San Francisco Chronicle I believe – about a boy who’d won
By Saoirse PiraOn a Monday morning in November, Marnie will peel a pomegranate. The light through the window is thin and grey, the kind of
By Matthew Dodd It was early in the morning, and for the first time in the year, snow was falling. Plumes danced down through the
By Samara Patel He’s leading her on. Playful touches on her arm when she says something silly, hand on her back leading her through a
by Charles FitzGerald Desperation smells like curdled milk. A persistent, rancid odour which sits in nostrils, clings on clothes and spreads like oil. Tessa could
By Rory McAlpine ‘Insects are drawn to carcasses. They swarm above them- like the ragged form of a departing soul’. (Excerpt from The Meaning of
By Muna Mir ‘You know I hated you when we first met.’ The confession excites me slightly. We’re walking through an overgrown field by the
By Rory McAlpine It consumes you, a dinner party such as this. You become no longer a person but an omnipresent host. You are the
By Matthew Dodd. In a deckchair under the late afternoon sun, he sat lazily writing in a worn leather pocketbook. A pale blue linen shirt
By Tom Edgar Gertrude: Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. Hamlet: Mother, you have my father much offended. He stands on the Thames foreshore,
Haar: a cold sea fog, (colloquial Scottish). Because no one can see what happens, happens among the Haar. You find yourself along the coastline
By Tom Edgar There is a restaurant in Montmartre, a few hundred metres away from the Basilica of Sacré-Coeur, down a backstreet where the narrow
ALERT ALERT
You should see my journal, equal parts
gibberish and manifesto babyyy.
Time enough has passed,
For my eyes and ears to cool,
For my willing hands to pick a pen
Whose nib begins to drool.
Wearing her like a suit
While having dinner with her friend
And wondering if I should undress
For when this night comes to an end,
Slide her off and hang her on a chair
The ward was grey. In fact it was the most obscenely grey place I’d ever been in. The walls, the chairs, the tables, the signs, the clothes, really the only deviation was the dull flesh of the patient who was staring at me as I entered – looking through me as though I were glass.