I never should have agreed to take care of my father. I was too young to be responsible for a man with seven brain tumors, lung and kidney cancer. He lived for 11 weeks, but the toll it took on my body felt like 11 years. I drank all day and would steal his anxiety
Mahogany masonry, stained-glass chandeliers.Light bulbs, waistcoats, industrial clockwork gears.Intricate carpets. A rickety red street car,A collection of glowing bottles kept above the bar. But we’re no longer trapped by your Victorian era,Now rises the day of the great carbonara.Smoke stacks, steam pipes, factories,Make way for authentic parmesan cheese. The spirits of factory children, tragically deadnow
Alice lugs her duffle bag up the stairs of the bus and bumps down the aisle until she gets to the back row of seats. Hers is the first stop on the route, and it’s pre-dawn. Her eyes adjust to the sharp interior lights. The freshly applied antiseptic cleaner is not fully covering the smell of body odour and
This conversation features writers from the Stone’s Throw conference at Selkirk College, a collaboration between Canadian and American writers. In this recording, Mackenzie Draper, Kyle Bascom, Myra Scott, and Maki Thiersch share excerpts of their work and discuss their approaches to writing, exploring themes like identity, relationships, humour, and vulnerability.
My name is Caddy Conwell, and I’m an evil henchman. Well… I wouldn’t exactly say I’m evil myself, just a henchman. The “evil” part comes from the people I work for. You see, I’ve accidentally gotten myself involved with this large group of powerful people collectively called The Villain Council. Ridiculous name, I know. Each
The warmth of blood beneath her cold lapel, regressed like the distant rumble of a boxcar. Tempest thundered through cracks in the wall, like the blood of tattered men against the haze of an iron sky. Through the wooden carousel, the howl of sunrise tore at her woven heart as she cried out to him
I saw them first on the old Kingsbridge Road that leads to Huntsmouth manor. An unpaved path pitted with stones and heavily furrowed gulleys from hard rain, the road was ill maintained. It was said among the village people that in the ‘70s secret government experiments went on in the manor, strange studies on the
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