By Daniel Sharp Lighting a cigarette, the old man sat down by the window to wait. The time was coming, he knew, when he would die. Not from withered age would he perish though– he would do his part and bow out voluntarily. The time was coming but until it did, he was quite…
From Fiction
It’s All About Borders
Written by Luis Monroy “Look at the moon. Tell me. What do you think?” I was too incomprehensible to grasp the meaning of those words. My answer was a slight gesture. ‘For me, it is everything. For me, seeing the moon is a sign from God that somewhere in El Salvador my husband is watching…
Three Hours in Hell
Written by Lewis Twiby Guernica, April 25, 1937 “Franco is about to deliver a mighty blow against which all resis…” Testily, Luisa shut off the radio. The rebels had been blasting out their asinine propaganda for the last few hours. It had been affecting some. Over half of her battalion had been destroyed during their…
Three Hours in Hell
Written by Lewis Twiby Guernica, April 25, 1937 “Franco is about to deliver a mighty blow against which all resis…” Testily, Luisa shut off the radio. The rebels had been blasting out their asinine propaganda for the last few hours. It had been affecting some. Over half of her battalion had been destroyed during their…
Fiction: I Lost My Heart at Wounded Knee
Written by Lewis Twiby. Snow drifted gently from the grey sky, matching the sadness in his heart: the heart that had been ripped from him. All the warmth that had been in his mother’s body had started to drift away. A warmth that had kept him safe through his ten years. A warmth that ended…
Fiction: Liberté, Egalité, Tranquillité
Paris, 8th Thermidor, Year II ‘Behold! The head of a counter-revolutionary who would have us bend our knees to a monarchical tyrant!’ To his eyes, Martin Colbert resembled a peacock garbed in his blue and red tailcoat and hat. The matching ribbons placed sporadically on his person added to this effect. Colbert never seemed to walk…
Fiction: The Eclipse
Walking through the cotton fields was one of Sarah’s favourite things to do. Her mother would take her every afternoon after lunch as they were walking to the village and Sarah always looked forward to it. But one day, Mama would not take her. ‘We’ll go tomorrow. Today, I have to make sure the laundry…
Fiction: Mouse Trap Farm
Dan Greenwood Captain FAC Scrimger, 14th Battalion (Royal Montreal Regiment), just outside Yrpres: 25th April 1915. ‘SIR, the last ambulance has left for Wietje!’ a messenger called through the stable door. Blast. I uttered a profanity and wiped my brow with the back of my hand, muddling blood and God-knows-what-else with the sweat and dirt…
