Fiction

Dedicated to the letter hanging at the end of the clouds in the middle of the sky. We are a…

At 11.42 p.m., on 1 November, 2016, Peter Abraham Stanhope sat at his family’s old mahogany dining table and slit…

I wish I had amnesia so I could forget Sally Burry. We were at school together, Sally and I, in…

Standing in the shade of a lime tree on a hot dusty afternoon, the boy waited for the bell to…

And now they say you dead. That your body did wash up at Hot Pot in the middle of the…

Hyacinth Ike planned to die on a Friday because it felt right that he complete his life on a day…

The rain pelts down like shattered glass on the sidewalk. Newspapers and oiled brown sheets swirl across the cooling bricks,…

Every day someone is standing on the edge. Today it happens to be me. I feel as bare as open…

Maulvi Mohammed strode barefoot across the green-carpeted plain of the prayer hall like a holy warrior in the field of…

It all start when Granddaddy say he not giving me a dollar to buy a pack of corn curls, so…

'The Sweet Sop' won the overall 2017 Commonwealth Short Story Prize, and the regional prize for the Caribbean.   If…

My earliest memory of my father was the red stains on his mouth from the famous Bolti Bandh Paan of…

This all happened at my school two months ago, in May. It’s the reason summer break started early, and why…

Ophelia's words are sprinkling, tinkling in my ears. They smell like cut grass just washed with rain. I want to…

I will be twelve next month, but I don’t think we are ever going to celebrate my birthday again. Things…

My daddy is Prime Minister. I was born in the back room of a whore house on Popeshead Street. I…