content warning: death

Money Meal

Written by Ava Nunan

Money tastes like sweat dripping from the armpit of a vogue model. Rarely does one get the opportunity to savour such a distinct flavour—like how the poor love oysters. I have always fancied the rare, the refined; despised the ordinary and its proponents. Today, I can smell the tantalising history residing in my money-meal. Filtered from a small busin

My boss died on the 17th of February 2021. I found his diary when I was cleaning out his office. As it turns out, choking on a $100 note wasn’t a freak coincidence.

Redeath

Written by Sophie Breeze

The bedroom was dead. She had no way of knowing when this had happened, or what the cause had been, but she glanced up to see photographs leached of their colour, bookshelves caving in, and trinkets disfigured in dust. She might as well have been sitting smack bang in the centre of a casket. In the black screen of her laptop, she could make out a reflection. One face, leached of colour; one ribcage, caved in; one body, a mangled heap of limbs. She stared at the walls of her bedroom. She realised she was cold.

Pixie

Written by Marija Mrvosevic

Pixie’s soft fur felt wet under my fingers. She’s getting sicker. The vet said it may get worse before it gets better. I’m waiting to send her back out there to find my baby—she will show me what happened to Daisy. I never should have let her walk Pixie by herself. I thought with a dog as protective as Pixie nothing could ever go wrong. Eventually, Pixie shows me the way. And my baby is fine! But as we go back, Pixie tumbles to the ground. Later, the vet will say it was an aneurism.

My Tragedy or An Argument with Vogue

Written by Elina Pugacheva

If Vogue were to shoot me for a cover story about home, it wouldn’t be here. The homeless dogs ruin the landscape, they’d say. The apartment is too Soviet-y. Slush on the pavement? But we Westerners can only stomach snowy fairy tales in this godforsaken country. But this is my home, I would plead. If only your home was in Moscow! Or even St. Petersburg. Does Russia even have other cities? Yes, it does. And one of those unpronounceable cities with depressing courtyards is the only place I’ve ever truly felt at home. Isn’t it tragic?