Introduction  I have always believed that our stories need to be told, that we need to create platforms through which we can curate and shape these stories, especially when there are very few literary journals willing to publish our stories on the continent except if we’ve won or been shortlisted for a major award. Brittle Continue Reading

Boy Lolita

  Boy Lolita   Boy Lolita walks like half ixora, half succubus. The red in him isn’t all his own. He’s not even that young, just beautiful in a nectarine way. Childlike, on the inside. Boy Lolita read a poem by Plath — now he eats men like air. Unless they’re paying for his food. Continue Reading