'Mobile Threats Worldwide' by Molly Lanzarotta

“This hour of classical music has been brought to you by Always On Mobile Security, protecting you from mobile threats worldwide.”
 
She enters the office, yanking a roller bag, trailing the tension of the airport terminal. The man behind the counter smiles.
 
“Yeah, your ad, I want to find out exactly how this works.”
 
 “We protect you from mobile threats worldwide,” he says.
 
“That’s what I heard.”
 
“That’s what we do.”
 
Her expression changes. “Oh god—you’re a Virtual Vendor. OK, I’ll try to keep this simple.”
 
“I am programed to understand,” he says.
 
“Right—so what does it mean, exactly. Protecting me from mobile threats worldwide?”
 
“Always On protects you from viruses, from malware, spyware, adware, from threats to your reputation, from spear-phishing—"
 
“I don’t care about all that. You know, there are other ‘mobile threats.’”
 
“I think Always On addresses everything.”
 
“Well, how about when I’m mobile. Like—I didn’t feel safe traveling here.”
 
The Virtual Vendor blinks.
 
“Or—what if I wanted to go hiking. Just by myself?”
 
“We have an enhanced Advanced Premier Advantage Global Positioning System that would—"
 
“No. I’m not worried about direction. You said protection. I never feel safe, never. You don’t even appreciate how mobile you can be.”
 
“My operating system provides for a maximum—"
 
“No, I mean—why are you Virtual Vendors always men, anyhow?”
 
“We are meant to represent protection.”
 
“So, your looking like a man is supposed to make me feel safe?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Ha. My god. Look, what about hardware, say, a mobile phone that doubles as a mace canister?”
 
“We don’t have that.”
 
“I have to go. And face my mobile threats, face them on my own, as usual.”
 
She exits. The Virtual Vendor sits unmoving as the lights dim until the next customer enters.

'Thank You For Coming' by L Scully

Thank You For Coming.
You say to the guests at your grandmother’s funeral as you bring the gifts upward to the altar.
Thank You For Coming.
You say to your father dropping you off at group therapy in Ohio on intake day.
Thank You For Coming.
You say to your girlfriend lying languid on a pillow nest in the sweat of queer creation.
Thank You For Coming.
You say to yourself as you blink your eyes open and wake up to another day.

'Cock of the Walk' by Amanda Jones

“Oi!”

“What?”

“Who you looking at?”

He doesn’t answer. Bobbie is standing halfway between him and me. She’s looking down, studying the pavement, careful not to look at either of us.

“You looking at my bird?”

“Who says she’s your bird?”

I hope Bobbie will say something, but nada. We’re still setting up home, to be fair, but he doesn’t know that. I hope she’ll move towards me, but she’s as still as a statue. Scared.

“I said, who said she’s your bird?”

He stares at me. Says nothing.

“Think you’re Cock of the Walk, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Cock of the Walk, that’s me.”

I feel myself going into fight-mode, straightening up, puffing out my chest, making myself look bigger.

“Come over here and say that.”

“Cock of the Walk. Cock of the Walk! Nah, mate. You come over here.”

“Don’t go,” Bobbie says quietly. “Leave it Rob. Let’s just get on with what we’re doing.”

But I fly at him, faster than he can think. And then I see he’s only young, just trying it on like I did at his age.

“Rob...” she says again.

And now, it doesn’t matter. Before I reach him, he’s high-tailed it.

She’s right. What we’re doing is far more important. Making a home. Building a nest. I pick up the beakful of dry grass that I’d found for us and swoop over, land next to her.

She snuggles into my feathers. “Oh, Robin,” she says.

'Daisy Chain' by Tilly Greenland

I thought that we would be together
Forever
I thought our days in the sun
Would last for always
Forever

I thought we would climb the hill
And roll back down
Entwined together
Forever

We were born together
Raised together
Reached womanhood together
I thought those days of joy and laughter
Of love and friendship would last
Forever

Everyone noticed you
But they could not have you
You were mine
Forever

And now,
Now you are leaving
Seeing the world, you said
Finding yourself, you said
Going away

But what about me?
What about us?
Just a distant memory to you
A heart aching of loss, to me

One last climb, I begged
One last tumble, I pleaded
One last daisy chain, I implored
One last time

We climbed the hill
Sat under the oak tree
Picked daisies
Made posies
We lay on our backs and watched the clouds
Held hands and kissed
One last time

Let me brush your hair, I whispered in your ear
One last time
Here, lay your head upon my lap
Golden hair glimmering in the failing light
A ring of daisies at your crown

You closed your eyes
And smiled
You breathed in deeply
And sighed
One last time

As the sun began setting behind the hills
I slowly raised my hand above my head
I brought the stone down upon the daisy chain with such force
A strength I didn’t know I had
You had no time to wake
No time to ask why
No time to beg
No time to say goodbye

I kissed your lips and stole your last breath
I brushed the blonde and red hair away from your face
I placed the reddened daisy chain upon my own head
You threatened to steal my life
So I stole yours

'Opposite Ends of the Tracks' by Martha Lane

 

She carefully applies lipstick the colour of cranberry juice. She imagines it is for someone particular. Just for a moment.
He gives his moustache one last comb. He imagines it is for someone particular. Just for a moment.

She locks her door, modern PVC, lifts the handle and twists the key.

He locks his door, old-fashioned, Yale and keyhole, have to have the knack.
She gets on at the end of the Metro where the trains run alongside the ocean, carving through salt mist and stinking of factor 30.
He gets on at the end of the Metro where the trains run below the planes, trembling under chainmail roars and stinking of duty free perfume.
She folds her newspaper back and tuts at the news.
He shakes his newspaper out wide and tuts at the news.
She avoids eye contact.
He avoids eye contact.
She gets off in the middle of the Metro where a stone duke stands tall, and wipes her hands with antibacterial soap as she steps carefully onto the escalator. 
He gets off in the middle of the Metro where a stone duke stands tall, and wipes his hands with an antibacterial wipe as he steps carefully onto the escalator. 
She drops her pass.
He picks up a pass.
She feels a spark as cool fingers touch her skin and a moustache smiles at her.
He feels a spark as warm fingers flex and a cranberry mouth parts slightly.
She walks in pace with size ten loafers. Just for a moment.
He walks in pace with size six brogues. Just for a moment.

 

'Late Home' by Linda Irish

We were late home from school. We let ourselves in through the back as usual.
Carli toe-taps me: no, that’s not true.
Try again.
We were late home. We let ourselves in through the back.
I expect Carli to tap me again, but she’s not there.
The woman’s face is kind.
I was late home.
I let myself in.
“Take your time,” she says.
Is this ‘cause I stole Kerry Day’s Pandora?
She left it in the girls’ changing room.
Like she didn’t care.
I was late home.
Mrs Blunt tried to pull me away with her bare, baggy arms.
There was no back door.
I wanted Mum’s jangly, singing arms.
The warm bones of her.
I was late home.
Detention.
Because of stealing a useless charm bracelet.
I’d been saving up for her birthday.
But we were on an economy campaign. Dad was even going to give up smoking.
I’d have replaced it. When I could.
I was late home.
Mrs Blunt hugged me with her soft, vanilla arms.
I heard the sirens. I thought they were coming for me.
Because of stealing the bracelet.
I was late home.

'The Supporting Character Reflects' by Lucy Zhang

They were so very pretty. But you know what they say about beautiful princes: don’t marry them. I advised the princess to avoid the foreign prince–don’t take random walks in the garden and lovingly cradle fallen petals, don’t risk any chance encounters. Stay here, play with your beheaded dolls, drink tea, eat macaroons, count the fingernails you painted and plucked off prisoners’ hands while interrogating them for embezzling tax funds. But no, the princess visited

the garden while the prince was taking a self-guided tour and they met underneath the garden arbor covered in lights twinkling like little stars tangled in thorns and vines. They were so very pretty. The encounter led to engagement led to marriage too quickly–all I could do was watch and hope for the security of her happily-ever-after-ending. As long as the princess was happy and could find me a cottage and a steady supply of food in a meadow far from the sewage stink or daily execution sites, where I didn’t need to hear soldiers marching or townsfolk haggling or robins chirping because I’d keep my windows bolted shut, and I’d spend all my time fixing that pearl necklace with the broken clasp and fallen beads. It broke a long time ago, before I started serving the princess, when those creamy white spheres were enough to seduce me, before I’d seen real gemstones, gold, diamonds. They were so very pretty. But pretty princes spell trouble. If only the princess had listened to me, she could’ve been spared the heartbreak. Instead, she returned to the kingdom a month later, divorced, and with a new set of fingernails in her jewelry box. They were so very pretty, she told me as I rubbed small circles on her back like the good supporting character I was.