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issue 24

Things We Did by the Windmill, by Katie McIvor

Baba lay slumped on his desk, his pen dangling from his parchment hands. His grey hair lay in knotted clumps over the notebook, his tongue sticking slightly outwards, almost licking the page he was writing on. His last scribble was his own name, Parikshit Mehta, with the ‘a’ trailing off, ending in an ink trail, his last act a death-flourish of his own signature. His eyes stared at the wall clock lifelessly. In them, I could see the glint of midnight, as the second hand struck twelve.

Pilgrimage, by Saheed Sunday

On the street of Ikorodu, a boy painted in the color of his fatherland stuffs all periodic elements in his mouth like a bowl of akamu. I don’t know what…

Jar, by Erin Brown

Baba lay slumped on his desk, his pen dangling from his parchment hands. His grey hair lay in knotted clumps over the notebook, his tongue sticking slightly outwards, almost licking the page he was writing on. His last scribble was his own name, Parikshit Mehta, with the ‘a’ trailing off, ending in an ink trail, his last act a death-flourish of his own signature. His eyes stared at the wall clock lifelessly. In them, I could see the glint of midnight, as the second hand struck twelve.