Fiction
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PARAKEETS OF LONDON, by JB Smith
If you take a walk through one of London’s many parks, the chances are you will see a parakeet. Indeed, the likelihood is you will see dozens of the things, caterwauling amongst the trees in rowdy flocks of yellow and green.
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IOCUS MORTIS, by Joey Barlow
It’s another sellout crowd for Hugh Briss—his third in as many days at the famous Club Comedia. His set, titled ‘Laughter for a Lifetime’, consists of only one joke—not a particularly funny one, and one that isn’t even originally his, so they say, but according to the critics it’s all in his delivery. See, he…
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CUE BALL, By Tom Meadows
Most people don’t live in a building with a Wikipedia page, or in a flat that would bankrupt you to rent, a flat that needs three boilers to heat, a flat that should normally be owned only by overseas oil barons. It squats across the top three floors of an old Georgian building plastered with…
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THEY CALLED ME KYLE, by Owen Bridge
They can only see me if I let them, not like Emma, she doesn’t like to be seen. When I was little, before I moved here, I lived in a big house in the countryside.
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NOT THE END OF THE WORLD, by Annabel Banks
Their fight will begin after dinner, once the plates are in the dishwasher, the surfaces wiped. This is unavoidable.
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DRIM, by Nick Norton
In The Villa they now wore grey jumpsuits, Velcro fastening, staff and guest alike wore the same. Ignatz alone wore a white jumpsuit. Everyone looked similar, although Garry Gold smelt very different.
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ANIMAL HUSBANDRY, by SJ Ryan
“Little old ladies…they should be taken out and shot.” Flecks of saliva spat from his mouth as he banged down the discoloured telephone.
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DEAD MOUSE, by Charlotte Turnbull
When we finally found it in the corner of the downstairs loo – the dead mouse – the children covered their noses with their sleeves and refused to eat breakfast in the kitchen because of an alleged lingering smell.
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MOON, by Jo Stones
For the third time this morning Mary looks through all the spaces, turns her head left, right, imperceptibly alert
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THE DEAD GOOD FOOTBALLER, by Tarina Marsac
I love playing football. In a different life, I would have been a professional football player. In that life, I would have been good enough to be a professional football player. I would have played for Arsenal and England.
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