Eyes shut tight against the water; Andy MacAuliffe fumbled for the shower tap, found it, and twisted it shut. He opened his eyes and stood motionless as the water drained off his body in a shining tangle of shallow rivulets. When the din of tinkling had died down to a steady drip-drop-drip, he stepped out of the shower. He towelled himself dry and took a piss, savouring the long, satisfying gush and the frenetic bubbling as his jet…
“What is story?” the child asks. She is attempting to walk in the prints the man’s bare feet have left in the rough damp sand. His stride is long, so she must stretch her legs to match it. Occasionally, she will venture a jump from one indentation to the next. If she misjudges, the edges of the sunken foot-shape crumble over her small feet. She likes the sensation of the sand scouring her skin. Their way lies just…
An Excerpt From a Novel-in-Progress She woke with the thirst already upon her, still in her clothes, cold from having slept on top of the covers. Two days, three, since she had last changed, the smell of her murky with sweat, fried food, cigarettes. Her underwear’s stink strong enough that it reached her even before moving to squat over an old plastic mixing bowl that lived beside the bed. She steadied her weight on the bedstead with one…