tag-zero

Sheet Music __________     The Grosvenor house was a menagerie for merlins, stegosauruses, African elephants, swordfish, a Pegasus and even fighter jets on Wednesday afternoons. Two storeys and one bathroom of wings and fur and engines, it clung with naked supports onto a steep street in Auchenflower with a yard smothered in eggshells, hay bales and fallen shingles. Pushed flush against a derelict park, the back fence was streaked pink with graffiti though the rest of the house was weathered and mottled and boasted no colour except on the eastern wall, which was sanded and mopped with paint but never finished.     The menagerie had seen

With Tired Hands We Play __________     Those people spilling down Edward Street were offered steaming mugs of rum and milk from tables set up along the road, but most had faraway eyes and strode past, gloves crushed in their armpits. Only when their children made a fuss did some adults, with much showy frustration, pause to take a cup and pass it down. Pulling beanies over their eyes, sheepish teenagers lapped the street in packs, draining mug after mug.     With his hands jabbed into his jacket pockets and a brown, diamond-patterned scarf wound around his neck like a rattlesnake, Angus weaved down the busy street, sticking to the veins

Control Yourself. Love Is A Trap. 1. ___  A fire engine was discovered tangled in the shark netting off the coast of Whitechurch. No one could say with certainty how the truck came to be there. Whether it had driven from the beach or another direction entirely, dragged through ocean currents and thrown against the nets, was unclear, though it was likely the unfavourable weather had concealed its arrival. For days, the sky had been bloated with clouds and the ocean, to the horizon, was more whitewash than grey. Down by the water's edge, where it was periodically swept clean, the brown sand was smooth and dense and featureless; half a dozen

.  Thick, cumulous clouds swept the sky clean of starlight, and there was not a single speck of light to be seen over the ocean. A cacophony of weeping gales, rolling currents and flapping canvas sails heralded the approaching storm. Choppy waves lashed against the hull of the White Illusion, sending it pitching and heaving like a drunken sailor. The pirate ship was agitated, and so was its captain.  On deck, Captain Andrea Blanc steaded his voluptuous hat with one delicate hand, the normally languid peacock feather whipping madly in the winds. With his other hand, he levelled a flint-lock pistol at the escaping silhouette. "Stop right th

- When I saw him again, he was wearing a skirt. It was black and cascaded down his legs in dark ruffles and weaves of lace. He was sprawled out luxuriously on the grass like a cat, head bent to one side and legs spread, as if to advertise his clothing further. He was shirtless and bare-foot; his upper body carried considerable weight, and if I had not recognized his face, I might have mistaken him for a woman at first glace. Fortunately, he appeared to be sleeping soundly, as if he were enjoying the lick of the afternoon sun, and did not seem to notice me. I paused and looked around, hoping to share my incredulity with someone. The footbal