Slow Burn


I wonder how I will die. I pray I don’t have a drawn-out death. A disease that hacks away at my bones or heart. Something relentless and brutalising and demeaning to my quality of life. I don’t want people



The doctor had large leathery hands, the size of a frying pan. Warm, unhurried hands, searching hands. They had large veins running behind them, like a secret underground network. He had been touched by many healing hands before; small

The Mystery of The Pastry


A bunch of you want to know what happened to the cake from last week’s story. The damn cake. A woman suffers a serious medical condition, a man loses his arm, his freaking arm, and all you want to

Arm and a Dress


Here is how this works. I meet the subject at a cafe and they start telling their story, right? I interject to ask questions, to get more details. Minute, seemingly useless details. If the story is wild or unbelievable

Chia Seeds and Moving Out


I’ve been listening to a lot of Michael Buble lately. We all know that anybody who listens to Buble is either heartbroken or planning to commit themselves in an institution. I’m neither. I’m in the blues, a writer’s blues.