Suzanna Fitzpatrick

  Waiting Room, Ward 5b Half five. The sky thickens to darkness through the grime on the tall windows, the claw marks of rain. Someone whistles in the corridor. The drinks machine hums ceaselessly. The TV bracket is an empty gibbet, a bookcase has only a...

Robin Vaughan-Williams

  Cell Division Something is pulling at my T-shirt. Something is holding my hand. I can feel it walking beside me. It almost trips me up as its steps cross over with mine. Parked cars squeeze us against the hedge. I have to tread carefully holding my bag out at...