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Fortnightly Fiction

Drip, drip, drip

There’s something highly disconcerting I think (though I won’t go so far as to say disturbing) about entering the home of a close neighbour for the first time. One night, early on, just after teatime, circumstances required that I visit…

Cleo and the Sea

Is love a practice or a place?  And where does it go, when it comes?   "Paco came from the sea," she said.  It was all she had ever said. Long before the wind was captured.  Before a word was ever spoken.  Before darkness became…

Draw’n to the River

The glow of the screen was the only light in the room. Its hollow light fell onto his fingers,  hovering over the keyboard, giving them a slightly ghostly hue. “Please,” she said, almost  whispering, cringing a little, as she…

Beneath the Ashes

A handful of lentils boil in water with a generous dash of turmeric to forget the taste of death coating the tongue. On good days, you add some chillies and garlic. Not today. As you drink it, you succumb to a raking cough. It’s a while…

Slump

Slump  Mister Bayliss, of Bristol, businessman, makes his way steadily down O’Connell Street, squinting into the low sun, eager for breakfast, the essential ingredient of any successful day. The portly gentleman could have taken a taxi…

Soleado

Denny Murphy sat firmly into his spot on the bench-seating that lined the Luas carriage and curled his head towards the glass of the window. He didn’t care that the tram was packed and that there were probably older people and women…