By: Paul Beckman The women in his life were killing Murray. His wife and her two sisters all knew what was best for him: Stop stooping. Have that spot looked at. Drive carefully. Drive more carefully. Pay attention. Pay better attention….
By Russ Bickerstaff Dave’s face is a mask. I always get here and I always meet with him here. In this office. And I guess I always wonder what the hell he’s thinking. No idea. We’re sitting there in a…
By: Ruairi MacInnes Three line drama #4 Clones that live a thousand years Working in their mindless jobs Using the time to plan. Three line drama #5 Open plan dead end job. Like hypothermia: Comfort precedes death. Three line drama #6…
By: Gaither Stewart (Reggio, August, 2001) (The chapter is from the work-in-progress novel ‘Fragments’) Circling over the Straits of Messina Airport in Reggio-Calabria, I feel my vision encompasses the entire world of antiquity. Any atlas in fact confirms…
By: Debraj Bhattacharya I Susan looked out of the window of a café on a cold and foggy afternoon in London and wondered whether her life had any meaning. Was she simply a bundle of molecules floating in time and space…
By: David Lohrey When you get to be my age, you begin to put things into categories, make lists, sort people and things by a smaller and smaller set of variables: good and bad, affordable and pricey, attractive and out of…
Literary Yard has spoken to Chiranjit Paul regarding his new novel ‘The Fragrance of Rose’ which brings to the fore the topic of sexual harassment at work. Chiranjit openly shares his insights on the journey of the novel and how…
By: M S Pallister The kettle whistled. Virginia looked at her I-heart-NY cup, sitting lonely on the worktop, and for the second time that morning broke down in tears. Rage tears. What about the allotment I had planned? All the rhubarb,…
By: Dr. Cornelia Păun Heinzel Translated by : Sorana Avramescu Once Cornelia stepped into the city of pools, of romance, of supreme love and of the cruelest betrayals in love, Venice, the land rise of water, she had the feeling…
By: Ginger Simons I knew that the wind was shaking the windows. From the low light seeping in from behind the curtains, I knew that it was either early morning, or dusk. I knew that I was lying in a bed,…