The first time I called myself a ‘Witch’ was themost magical moment of my life. - Margot Adler Every morning, she sips on an innocent Satan, and during the day, she spills dirty smoke into her people’s faces when she splits her tomb-like womb open. She reigns over the palace with her long neck like a stuffed giraffe, mistaking her family members for sugary leaves she … [Read more...]
Born in 1983, Amit Parmessur has appeared in several literary magazines, including Transcendence, Ann Arbor Review, Salt, Black-Listed Magazine, Kalkion and Red Fez. He was nominated for the Pushcart Award and Best of the Web. Hailing from Mauritius he also writes in Creole. Sometimes he just wants to give it up all and become a billionaire.
Years after leaving primary school and losing faith in God again, I heard our Guruji had died in an accident. We never cursed him that much. We only asked for Hindi holidays. Someone else must have asked for his death. Maybe himself. Our Guruji had the biggest bike you’d ever see. You should have heard the noise, and seen how he revved up the engine. Each Monday and … [Read more...]
I watch the children play and the neighbours trespass when my dogs forget to shout at them. I am not Lombard Street, the crookedest. I am simple and straight. I sob when the clouds drool excessively at their own pregnancy. Other times, I am left with unwet memories, feeling biblically dusty. It hurts to have a cul-de-sac; this amputation draws despair on my … [Read more...]
Condemned as a somnambulist, she stole away to the roundabout. She walked about it a first time and flung her slippers away in feigned fury. Another rapid round and she shed her white pyjamas with pink flowers. Black night invented a silence that could terrify any other silences. Crooning narcissistically, she completed a third round, losing her golden … [Read more...]