Anne-Marie Turner

Iris fumbles with the clasp of her handbag and rummages inside. She pauses, adjusting her bifocals to inspect the contents – coral-pink lipstick, embroidered handkerchief, keys for the Corolla and the house, bankbook and purse.

Matt Freeman

The place where they brought him back to life was worse than the place where he almost died. 

Kirtsen Parris

Keith stood in the doorway of his old bedroom. All was quiet, except for the synthetic-blend carpet, which was loud and proud in both colour and pattern.

Sarah

My therapist said I should write my mother a letter. A letter to say thank you, go fuck yourself and I love you

Chloe Bloom

Figure 1: my wallet. Peeling navy pleather, scratched and scuffed by years of being handled. Inside, my cards and coins are stashed, and a single stick of spearmint gum. I still carry around the black and white photo strip we took in the city, the summer before we started our final year of school.