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BURNING HOUSE PRESS

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Fiction

Womannotated – Golden Ticket

 

Two Golden Ticket Dark Chocolate Sonnets:

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illustration by Amy Suzanne

Pipe Dream

“He’s changed!” said Grandpa Joe, peering down through the glass wall of the elevator. 
“He used to be fat! Now he’s thin as straw.” Grandpa Joe on Augustus after the pipe,
Roald Dahl Charlie and the Chocolate Factory 

 All they saw, “thin as straw” Augustus who

once was not.  Boy almost boiled inside

a chocolate pot, consumed post fudge room

before the change.  Chocolate liquefied

Continue reading “Womannotated – Golden Ticket”

First Person Shooter of the Heart by Jane Judith

Continue reading “First Person Shooter of the Heart by Jane Judith”

lV + ll by Reza Pourdian and Callum Leckie

Continue reading “lV + ll by Reza Pourdian and Callum Leckie”

OUTSIDE WORLD – A Multimedia Art Project by Noise Weaver

Small, childish hands of a small, childish body. And its childish legs stood on the ledge of a grey, concrete obelisk. Big, adult clothing was hung around and hugged its body. Slithered its hands and small, childish fingers out of the long, snake-like sleeve with two needles. Threw one over the ledge and punctured the young meat of its finger with the other. In from one and out from the other end. Sew the fabric of reality into itself.

It inhaled the measured, sonic existence of the concrete forest. After its hand came out when it reached into its pocket, the weird, long, white, plastic strand of earphones was hanging from its fingers and small, cute nails.

Continue reading “OUTSIDE WORLD – A Multimedia Art Project by Noise Weaver”

VAMPYR by Louis Armand – an excerpt from a novel-in-progress

For we cannot define everything & must begin somewhere. The atoms whirl about, a picture forms. A hole that is no longer bottomless, contemplation of which, carrying the first sky, falling(mouthless)upon the first watcher…

Continue reading “VAMPYR by Louis Armand – an excerpt from a novel-in-progress”

PHOTOGRAPH OF A WOMAN IN PAIN by Caela Price

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There there there there there there there here on in the wall Onan’s masturbating guiltily again she’s all blacked out out out and up in the clouds cold closing moon’s in the sky I say to her why couldn’t she stay a little longer there’s something in the walls

rrrrrrunning rune ropes thick around the body tight and heavy a storm coming crack open the sky and wait for the apocalypse yes it is coming haven’t you heard and I already made my graving restplace

here now here now here now here now hear me i’m there paralytic and fucked in the basement as the light cracks through schizophrenic mother always told me id end up funny down this path yes and no knowing id believed her at some point going going going gone

Continue reading “PHOTOGRAPH OF A WOMAN IN PAIN by Caela Price”

Short Story by Anna Walsh

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Photo by Daniel von Appen on Unsplash

 

 

short story: Ruined Things Are Only Gorgeous When They Are Not Yours 

 

Driving along the motorway, the radio crackled. She wanted to trace something on the window, but couldn’t think what. She fiddled with buttons, found an old song they both liked and turned it up. She imagined she was going to Berlin, to meet girls wearing orange lipstick and boots, tall and forward in the chaos of other people.  Continue reading “Short Story by Anna Walsh”

Short story by James Cato

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Photo by Jaunathan Gagnon on Unsplash

 

 

short story: M80

 

I remember telling my parents that I was destined to get along with Bud Lykke, with that prosocial name of his, but I didn’t expect such a character. Each morning, he pours a bit of coffee into the hanging plants. After dinner he spends hours inside chunky headphones with “Binaural Beats” blaring, engineered to trigger dissociative states. He grew up in Appalachia, some obscure county in Ohio, and blames his ills on the heavy fracking around there, radioactivity in the drinking water. Continue reading “Short story by James Cato”

Short Story by Jennifer Brough

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Photo by Yuzki Wang on Unsplash

 

 

story: The Somnambulist Party

 

The moon is full and bathing. Light laps each house in this quiet village, casting silver squares through windows with undrawn curtains.
In one such bedroom, a cat bathes too, pale fur illuminated against the floorboards. A clock chimes deep within the house and his eyes flash open. He stretches, unfurling his length, and leaps on the mistress’s bed, pawing at her cheek once, twice, waiting.  
                   
The mistress is between dreams. Within them, a dark ocean crashes into itself. She is expecting an arrival in the foam but is uncertain what form it will take. A vast scattering of shells and flint line the shore but she can’t move quickly enough to search through the piles. When she moves her hands, they leave ghostly echoes of themselves. The sound of waves melts into chiming. It is almost the hour, she knows, and she hasn’t found a thing.  Continue reading “Short Story by Jennifer Brough”

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