Three from Color Wheel — Salvatore Difalco

Underscoring the onset of nausea on the pier, feelings of self-loathing
also bubble up to the surface. “I get seasick in the bathtub, man,”
declares a ponytailed dude in Plymouth pink.

The Sea People — Euan Currie

I often fantasise about tipping the cabinet forward until the plastic drawers slide out and spill their contents in a wave of plastic. I tell myself they should be recycled or reused. But in the fantasy it all just spills out and keeps on spilling.

Right There — Lily Blacksell

‘Your place or mine?’ he typed, adding then deleting a winky face and pressing send.
 
‘Neither,’ she replied very quickly, adding ‘obviously.’

Midnight Games – Madeehah Reza

It’s not that she wasn’t happy for her sister, far from it. Nadia only wished she could hold on to her for a little longer.

The Piano Man – Frances Green

That night that the piano man and I first slept together was the night we discovered the pleasure of talking aloud about murder.

Virtue — Clare Healy

A glimpse into a young woman’s summer working in a quaint town in Provence on the night of an open-air concert.

Sustenance – Katy Thornton

Deirdre Murphy died on the 11th June, exactly three years after she should have died of a stroke. She was a despicable old bat, a snobby try hard, an utter sour puss, to name a few of her nicknames.