'Quartet for The End of a Time' by Thad DeVassie

Notice the dichotomy, a musicality with no words, wordless though screaming to be heard. It is a music of the ages, like old rustic hymns that many refuse to acknowledge, dismiss, they being out of step with the times, minor notes in a stream of major keys. The Quartet has composed its End of a Time movement as an elegy so sad, expecting to be forgotten, yet here we are marching in a street named Unison, the echoing tremolos of the crowd, the growing crescendo, the heightened fortissimo. This is no longer an elegy. It is an exodus of elegy, a deliberate walk toward the promise. Some are questioning: Who is this quartet? What are their names? They are many, and they are rolling off tongues like stones being rolled away as quartets of the disfigured rise. Something has died in this time, something unexpected, and almost too late.

'The silence because of what I know...' by Georgia Ashman

I can’t help but look at him differently, my own brother. I walk down the blissful streets of New York and wonder, does that girl know? Does he? They can’t. The little things remind me of that night, the sound of a metal door opening, the ticking of a clock. It haunts me. Why me? Why? Why? Why? But I must stay quiet, they said so. Otherwise it will happen sooner. There’s still a look of innocence in his face, his eyes still glisten when he watches the sunset and his dimples still show when he laughs. I try to take it all in, whilst time flies by. All because of what I know, and the silence that I am with.

 Enjoy their presence, before the evil takes them away. 

'Romulus, Grew, Unsheathed' by Justin Joyce

The Romulus of my dreams only cuts the heart out of Rome in spirit. A blade unsheathed and wrenched deep. When I wander out of bed, I change the sheets to deal with the pooling blood leaking from my ears. My daily ritual, to wash the setbacks of my kingdom, the mistake of my brother. I have been knocked asunder from history, become the footnote of myth. My punishment for weakness is centuries of hindsight. I set the ear plugs in to minimize the risk of bleeding out my greatest failures. The body of Rome would grow off the back of Romulus’s murder, to become the greatest work of mankind. But the heart and spirit died when Romulus founded our legacy on the sporting pedestal of kin-slaying. I clean my sheets. I dress for my shift at Poundland. I affix my name tag: Remus, Fallen Father Of Rome.

'My Eyes Leak Water' by Lynda McMahon

My sons are growing.  Soon they will take part in the rites of manhood and will be taken away from me. Away from the women and softness. I will lose them to the Hunt. They will forget the ways of women and they will grow hard and strong.

My sons are leaving me tomorrow. By the dying fire I sew their ritual garments. Into them I sew my love, my sorrow, my pride, my hopes and fears. With every stitch I sing songs of magic and protection. This to keep them safe from the bear, this from the hunter’s hand, this from other mens’ magic. I sew their past and their future. My heart runs hard.

The men are come. Wearing their robes with pride, they leave me. The next time I see them they will be men. My heart breaks and my eyes leak water. My sons.

'The Hat' by Jo Putt

“Your hats are my one true vice,” said the figure, striking an absurd pose of self-admiration before the mirror. “And this one must be shared,” he added, promptly reaching for his phone.

“I am afraid not,” said Novak. “Sir must be familiar with our rules: no photography by customers is permitted; the secrets of my designs are simply too precious.”

“But, ‘Mr. Milliner’, my friend, I am almost certain to buy it and then your ‘secrets’ will go to all the most fashionable places in this city. Everyone will be as enchanted as I am and come to you for hats of their own,” he said, running his grubby fingers over it.

“For the last time, sir, Safety Supplies does not allow photography,” said Novak, snatching the yellow hat from his customer. “Now, get out!”

“Just one tiny photograph…,” wheedled the man, his hands as if in prayer.