FICTION ARCHIVE

JUNE 2025

I sit on the bed and observe my husband, bent over his work, eyelashes fluttering in the dim light. His demeanor is boyish, a reflection of the childhood friend I once raced along the quays of Dublin Bay.

JUNE 2025

The purpose of the field is still a mystery. A single structure stands nearer my side, pitched roof and boarded doors and dilapidation encroaching, and I still don’t know what it ever was. 

JUNE 2025

“Is this ‘harvest moon’ one of those things where rebels meet behind a barn and plan an act of subversion or something?”

MAY 2025

The drifter’s hands smelled of alcohol and cheap cigarettes, and for a long while, the mutt would associate this aroma with the ragged man’s essence. Together they would face the hardships of the contemporary world as an inseparable duo. 

MAY 2025

I don’t watch pornography. I don’t read it either. That doesn’t make me a prude. Sex is simply low on my list of interests.

I wonder how much of that can be blamed on my husband?

MAY 2025

The night before the joyous event, Isabelle lay in the dark, mouthing the vows Hilda had written for her. Worse. Poorer. Sickness. Obey. Isabelle’s grandmothers, aunts and cousins had all made these pledges, and now it was her turn.

APRIL 2025

I’ll tell you the things I remember, then you can show me the things I don’t. How does that sound?

APRIL 2025

Never made it beyond captain. Spent all those years in the Marines and that’s as far as he got. Kinda tells you something.

MARCH 2025

Hate is to love without desire, and desire is to pity what can never be.

MARCH 2025

It was a novel idea for a shop in Lower Manhattan, that capital of the world. One room, four walls, one book.