we started at this pond in rockcliffe.
Short Stories
Shrieking wails, carried by the churning wind above, deafens me as the darkness steals my sight.
A breeze tousled the silver birches that loomed above the trail, provoking a flurry of golden autumn leaves.
Some years before, I had moved to a coastal town thinking that fortune smiled on writers in picturesque places.
When we live our lives on the edge, with no regard for how we conduct ourselves or how we treat our mates, it’s no surprise that consequences usually follow.
Illustration by Andres Garzon It was a long drive back from the cottage. We awoke hungover in […]
“You’re late, Isaac.”
Halloween night 1955: a Volkswagen Beetle hit nine-year-old Erika on Decarie Boulevard, corner Monkland Avenue. Notre-Dame-de-Grâce borough.
In my grandmother’s garden there was a stunted, knuckled tree near a ramshackle bomb shelter, a sheet of corrugated iron curved over a shallow hole.
At five o’clock that morning, like he had done every morning, Ibrahim Delgado woke to the sound of screeching roosters.
