Interview: May-Lan Tan

  I first came across May-Lan Tan in June at the London Short Story Festival. At the time, I was unfamiliar with her work, but Flight co-editor Sanya had read May-Lan’s debut collection of short stories Things to Make and Break and told me I should be excited about her. Seeing May-Lan read, as well as listening to her…

Vanishing Act – Jay Merill

Barbra’s here for a visit. But I can’t see her anywhere. The sky goes racing about my head. Me in the middle of a cloud. It makes me scream and the nurse comes in, says, ‘you still sitting by that window?’                                    …

Yours, Always – Michael Wynne

1. Because I’m thinking: you can’t ignore me all these months and then reach out like that, as if only minutes have passed, like we’re still in bed catching our breaths, or you’re in the bath and I’m on the toilet and we’re chatting about things we used to chat about—the war, hiking in the mountains, the way you’ll…

Horn Torus – A.S. Arthur

From: XXXXX XXX Sent: 29 October 16:06 To: XXX XXXX Subject: Seminars Hi XXX XXXX , It’s XXXXX XXX here from your Department office. I haven’t been able to locate your attendance on either of the registers for your seminars on Thursday and Friday last week. As you know, official notice must be given for…

The Price – Ehud Sela

The TV flickers on. Grey, pale colors, anemic, ill. A horror movie on the flat plasmatic screen: splattered blood on the walls and evil walks out the door. I switch the channel, find soft porn: fake sensuality and bad acting. I switch again: a news channel where the anchors wait for disaster to strike, to justify…

Mania – Thomas Stewart

Clarissa unhooks the rope. Mother falls to the floor, next to Father. ‘For fuckssake, Clarissa,’ Dylan says. She cries. ‘I told you to do one fucking thing.’ ‘Why are we doing this?’ Clarissa and Dylan dragging the first body. It is a grey day. Dark patches, shadows sprawled in vines. The birch tree, the large…

Not Today – Ruvimbo Maria Kuuzabuwe

The sound of hurried footsteps through the mixture of soil and tarmac is masked by the strong winds. Dark clouds blanket the sky, concealing the stars that had been shining. It had to be tonight, they couldn’t leave it any longer. ‘Run, I know you can go faster than that,’ Daniel says in a half whisper….

Yann at Night – Catherine McNamara

Yann’s father liked to drive at night and he drove fast. After the holiday on the island, he drove them back to their mother in Paris. Under Mont Blanc they stopped at a rest area and the vehicle took in black mountain air. The tall peak twisted towards the moonlight, fracturing over a blue concave…