'The war was almost over. On the other side of the plain, the enemy artillery base lay silent; no reconnaissance plane had yet appeared on the horizon.'
The sun had not yet risen, but above the grassy plain, the mist was already starting to drift away. The village of Diem–a cluster of shacks along the highway–was emerging from the night.
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‘There’s this paradoxical nostalgia where even though yi suffered, yi miss it.’
Memoir by Graeme Armstrong.
‘She boils her sentences down to high-sucrose sweeties and calibrates her tone for maximum engagement.’
Fiction by Natasha Brown.
‘The monstrous years of my late teens lay lined up alongside the rest of my life like bullets in a gun.’
A story by Sophie Mackintosh.
‘Without waiting for me she removes her white shirt. Each button a piece of my own spine, undone.’
Fiction by K Patrick.
‘I followed him onto the dancefloor and he put his hands on my hips as if he’d known me for at least an hour.’
Fiction by Saba Sams.
‘I wanted to see a communist victory, which I presumed to be inevitable. I wanted to see the fall of a city.’
‘When I look at a word, I can see the thing inside it. The ear inside heart.’
‘I didn’t have the language for why I could not be a tourist in the same way as my white counterparts.’
‘I was glad to see General Pavel at your funeral, Father.’
