'Single Shot' by Emma Robertson

 

I hold my phone high and take the selfie from above, as is most flattering, and look up from beneath my lashes. I put on my photograph smile and apply a makeup-enhancing filter before uploading.

When there were two of us in the photo, I used to hold my phone sideways on so that we could both lean in, but the wide angle seems empty with just me.

I didn’t bother with filters back then as the crinkled eyes and toothy grins were beautiful in a different way.

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'There Was Nothing Dreamlike About This Dream' by Asha Krishna

It was not supposed to turn out like this.

Two guards were now standing in front of me.

“I am afraid you cannot travel madam,” said the man at the check-in desk handing back a passport not my own.

I shift from one foot to another, fanning myself with the booklet, as the bags inch forward.

A tingling feeling runs through me as I get to the tail end of drop off.

I move towards the board, my eyes scanning the exotic destinations before resting on mine.

We scramble to reclaim our possessions and get off the floor.

“Sorry!” bags and purses collide as contents spill out along with apologetic smiles all round.

Getting out of the cab, I sashay into the enclosed area, my suitcase trailing behind in compliance.

I was dreaming away when the jerk of sudden brakes brought the Departures into view.

The cab ride was smooth, my head buzzing with numerous possibilities.

I was meant to be flying alone for the first time.

'Reverse in Stuck' by Natalie Reilly-Johnson

The burgers leap off the tarmac and up into our hands. The driver’s head bounces back from the windscreen as it un-shatters in ear-splitting tinkles. Blood crawls up into his forehead, the cuts sealing shut. The crumpled lorry reverses, metal screeching, unfolding the back of the caravan like a concertina door. The smell of diesel. Then the lorry snakes back onto the road, erasing tyre marks. The driver’s head bows down to tune the radio.

Dad and I turn back to the counter, lifting the buns and drawing the ketchup upwards into the container. We hand the burgers to the man and he sets them on the worktop, wiping grease off his apron onto his hands. The burgers are dismantled, the money passed from the till back to my Dad. My Dad’s words come out in reverse, unordering the burgers as he pockets the money. A delicious onion aroma wafts from my nose towards the burger van, my mouth un-watering in anticipation. Dad and me walk backwards into the caravan, pulled back into our seats, Mum safely nestled between us.

I linger in that moment. Before the tears ravaged Dad’s face and hunched his shoulders and took the light from his eyes. When we could have decided to stop at the next burger van, at the next lay-by. When we could have carried on driving, the three of us singing along to Madonna. Mum and me miming the actions to “Vogue”. But however many times I rewind it, I can’t undo it.

'The New World' by Annie Bien

We drove home.

She had walked past him. Stepping across the lawn, she pulled the For Rent sign down.

“Hello, I rang about—” my father had begun.

The woman walked past him, my mother, and me. Daddy said, “Excuse me ma’am, I called earlier—”

The front had door opened.

My father rang the doorbell again.

“Daddy, I saw a lady inside.”

My mother said, “Let’s go.”

We waited.

No one came.

Daddy rang the doorbell.

My skirt scratched against my legs but I made sure to look polite, hands by my side, my pigtails still had ribbons in it. We had walked up to the door, got out of the car, my mother adjusting her Chinese dress, a spring cheongsam, with myriad green leaves of different shades. A woman with a blonde bouffant bubble cut had pulled aside the lace curtain, peering out. She saw us. 

The green house had white trim shutters and a realtor’s board on the lawn. So pretty. A diagonal sign across it said “For Rent.”

“She said to come over,” had smiled Daddy, parking. “She sounds like a nice lady with a smile in her voice. We’ll soon have a house to live in. The land of the free, home of the brave. Green card now, next year, citizenship.” He smiled to Mommy. “We’re in America now.”

We sat in the car, breathing.

'A Gift From The Sea' by Sarah Jessen

 

He was far out at sea, too far to be detected by anyone on land.

He smelt her before he was able to detect her by sight, her scent was very distinctive, a mix of rosemary and vanilla, it's what attracted him to her in the first place.  It had been a few moons since he'd last seen her, she looked different, changed. The difference was subtle, but it was a change nonetheless. Her wild hair appeared thicker than before, she was flushed, and he noticed the swell of her breasts and stomach. She looked upset, forlorn. Like she was searching for something but no idea what.

He turned away and allowed the tide to pull him further out. Without a backward glance, he dove into the shoals of shimmering fish.

It had been midsummer, he and some others had come ashore, the moon was full and impossibility bright, the air was hot and heavy. He found her at the fire pit, the glow of the embers made her look ethereal. She looked up and smiled in recognition, without the need for words, he took her hand and for the rest of the night and into the morning, their two bodies contorted and like the waves, crashed together in unison.

The first time, he had watched her dipping her delicate toes in the foam from afar. Her eyes were closed, her head was tossed back, exposing a long neck. He was draped over a large rock, drunk on a rare October sun. The barnacles dug deep into his skin, a little uncomfortable but it was the perfect spot for watching her.

He couldn't wait any longer, shedding his selkie skin, he made towards her.