“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” – C.S. Lewis

“Poor Me and Ted”

by Kate Jonez

Glory, Glory, Glory. That’s about the stupidest name you can give a person like me. But my mom had high hopes like lots of hard-working folks do. They use fancy names like they’re magic spells. As if naming a kid could somehow make it better than it really is. I don’t go in for that kind of crap. I named my kid John. Simple. John.

‘I know that mess is up here somewhere, Ted. I know it is.’

“The Beachcomber ”

by L.R. Bonehill

All that came back from the cold sea was Little Rosie-Cheeks. Washed ashore one late afternoon as rain whipped down from a slate-grey sky and a rough wind snapped across the beach. Face down in a rock pool, stranded in shallow water and silt. Red cheeks washed pale, white dress smeared with grime the colour of tobacco. A deep gouge cut across her forehead, the seams flecked with grit.

David held the doll now as he walked along the quiet beach. Held it by the hand as if it were a child at his side. It bumped and knocked against his leg as a litter of shells crunched underfoot. Water leaked through a split in the bottom of one shoe. He could taste salt in the breeze, the tang of brine on his tongue.

“Sanctuary”

by Steve Calvert

Raoul had been sleeping. He did not know what had awakened him. Perhaps his body had grown tired of sleep. Raoul slept a lot–too much–
but his hiding place was small and dark, so there was nothing else for him to do.