They say it began in the age before tumble-dry,

when gods still meddled in the laundry,

and mortals feared borax.

Argyle, minor deity of pattern and warmth,

wove his devotion into a single pair

diamonds aligned like prayers,

a geometry of care and cold mornings.

But the Fates were mischievous.

One cycle too many through the Whirlpool of Time,

and one sock slipped the spindle,

vanished into that ...

Letters in her drawer

each one unsigned, same perfume.

She smiles, never tells....

Once upon a time, in a bio-geologically stable sector of the Northern Temperate Zone, there existed a juvenile human female known locally as Red Riding Hood, a nickname derived from her signature photonic-absorption garment. The textile, saturated with synthetic anthocyanin analogs, operated as a high-visibility wavelength marker at approximately 650 nanometers, optimised for daylight scattering ...

Marla always had a knack for landing on her feet, even when the ground was made of quicksand. I met her back when we were both broke enough to call a half-empty pack of smokes dinner. She had that kind of charm that made men forgive her before they knew what she’d done wrong. Then she vanished for a year. When she came back, she was all shine, new car, high-rise apartment, clothes that whispered ...

I knew Marla back when she was scraping lint out of her purse to buy cigarettes. She had a laugh like broken glass and a walk that made men forget where they parked. Then one day she’s sliding out of a black sedan wearing a coat that cost more than my car and a smile that could buy its way out of hell.

She said she’d been “doing better.” That’s all. No job talk, no explanations. But I could smell...

When the connection dropped, Mia stared at the frozen screen, the picture her brother’s face caught mid-laugh before it vanished into static. The satellite link was her only tether to the world beyond the island.

She stepped outside the hut, tablet in hand, waiting for the signal to blink back to life. Waves hissed against black volcanic rock. The generator coughed somewhere behind her, tired as ...

His sword came down, and I saw my people’s faces in the blade.

Not reflections, not light bouncing from steel, but faces. Real faces, or as real as ghosts can be. They crowded in front and behind each other, the length of the weapon, each one caught between agony and accusation. Some were open-mouthed, screaming without sound; others stared, blank and resigned. I recognised them all. Every farmer...

He used to own the sky.

No ticket, no border,

just wind on tap

and the sun as his spotlight.

He was motion

feather, flash, freedom.

Didn’t walk anywhere

he arrived.

Every horizon was a yes.

Every storm was a remix.

Now

he’s grounded.

Earthbound.

Human.

Gravity in his pockets,

rent due on Monday.

He checks his phone

like it’s a cage.

But sometimes

yo, sometimes you can see it:

that twitc...

They called it Black Barton for a reason. The smoke never cleared, and neither did the temper of the place. Every wall was grimed with coal soot, every cough thick with it. Men worked, drank, slept, and worked again. Outsiders said Barton folk were surly, but what they called pride was mostly survival.

A potter’s day began early, before the light reached the valley. Clay was dug by hand from th...

The evening hums with half-forgotten fears,

A dinner plate lies cracked, the milk spilt wide,

And patience, thin as thread, at last, shears

The peace unravels, pride and calm collide.

A clock ticks loud, like judgement in the hall,

While whispered threats are sharpened into sighs,

The toys lie still, awaiting some downfall,

And bedtime looms beneath the weary skies.

The light goes out, but not b...