'Maria' by Andrew Rees

My name is Maria. This has always been important to me, my name. It is the name of the mother of Jesus. It rings like a hammer striking a clean bell.

'Slumbering Through Time and Trace (a modern adaptation of Revenge of the Flowers' by Freyia Lilian Porteous

The second hand alarm clock, which perches, owl-like and wise on her windowsill, reads three thirty two. Father time, she bought him from a flea market, attracted to the strange tinny sheen and old-fashioned bell mechanism. He began his life in the 1950s. 1952 to be precise. On the 15th of February, around midday he was finished, and polished, and packed. He was first sent to a department store in Wakefield, where he was purchased two weeks later by a woman named April with a bad stutter and very bright blue eyes. After serving her faithfully for twenty four years, the clock was lost when April divorced her first husband, and moved to London. She has since lost her bad stutter, as well as her faithful clock.

'The Book of Longing and Regret' by Sahera Parveen

No more birdsong and the sky is cobalt and mercury. As I close my eyes in meditation I see a quick flicker of hot, white light. I think it's just a trick of the mind, but I could be mistaken. Maybe it's the future trying to push its way through.

'In What Capacity' by Mazin Saleem

'See? So the universe can't be empty or heartless.' She'd finally stopped looking at the laptop. I went for broke. 'In fact, everything means something. Understanding must happen! Connection is real! Love exists! And why?'
'Um.'
'Because you do. You're the universe's opening eye. You're the-'
'Um, can you not do that please?'
'What? Oh that,'
'That makes me feel really uncomfortable.'
'Sorry. But I thought. Sorry.'

'Designs On Life' by Elizabeth Stott

Victoria lies back with her eye mask on her forehead and looks at Charlie's latest picture. His report says that he is exceptional, and that the money they send helps him to stay healthy and pays for his schooling. But if only he could find a sponsor to send him to a private school where his intellect could be developed...To send a child to private school here would cost thousands. She wonders if she'll ever have her own Charlie. Forty is not really so far away now and Annie has told her how expensive children are and that a woman must make sacrifices, especially in the you-know-what department. But Victoria is proud of her toned body. So many of her friends have sagged in the middle after children, despite being Yummy Mummies on the outside. She imagines a huge baby stretching her skin, ruining her pelvic floor, tearing her perineum, her breasts overflowing with milk and all of her becoming a pile of wobbly jelly.

'Buffeteering' by Adrian Slatcher

The three of us walked back down Market Street reluctant to split our separate ways but unable to think of a reason to prolong the evening. The septagenuarian flute player is still playing the melody line to 'Money, Money, Money' above a tinny backing track outside Boots on Market Street. Tom and Helen walk off and I stand next to him, unable to move. In my jacket pocket I've a handful of Euros. He nods a thank you. I drop the coins into his open flute-case and hope he doesn't notice I've scammed him. After all, we'll both be back tomorrow.

'The Green Book' by Steven Yates

We can't afford it.
The four words rang through his mind like a thorn in his eye, a constant hinderance.
His mother had constantly said it.
His girlfriend now constantly said it.
He was now saying it to himself as he saw yet another item that was meant to keep him indoors. An item that would be added to his useless bundle of items that he rarely used, nor needed but wanted once. And yet the film he wanted that would at least give him an hour and forty two minutes of ignorance to the world, was out of reach, the glass being a shield and the price tag being a spear, warding him off.