Issue 3


The Stories of Your Name

by J. M. Melican

If I were Palaeolithic, I would paint your name on sacred stones with ochre and ash.


by Cynthia So

My mother had been dead just a week when a moth flew into my room.

Jiak liu lian

by Yap Xiong

You catch a faint whiff of blood while selecting durians for the buffet. You smell it, despite the fusion of sweat, lubricant and the sandal-bottom aroma of durian fresh from the tree.


Past Far Gone

by Toby MacNutt

Tell me about her? / I can’t. Too much to be known.

Leda’s Womb

by Alix Bosley

The egg waxes, the yellow white / of moon marrow, of stretched skin, / opaque with the dull stain of life blood speckling / the outer shell, enveloping the hard white.

Additional Content


by Aspen Eyes

Cover Art

The Antidote