1. Life-cycle

   by Sally Curtis

   You were never afraid to hold the maggots, chuckling as the curling creatures tickled your palm.  I showed you how to pierce their flesh, how to loosen the line and, my hands encasing yours, cast off, throwing our hopes into the breeze, watching them bob on the water, waiting for life to bite. 

   You treasured your first rod, beaming as you slung your line unaided, reeling your catch. Gradually you found your own spot further along the bank. 

   Bittersweet the day I found your bait box abandoned.  I lifted the lid and, in a whorl of blue energy, you flew.

2. Tithonus

   by Peter Hankins

   He withered. His hair went white, then went. His knees knocked, and receiving no answer, went too, followed by his mind. His skin fell loose, slack and spotted while his nose and ears grew like a goblin’s. It seemed to happen quickly: to the gods ninety years ain’t much. It did not stop there, for Tithonus. He shrank and shrivelled further, into something like an insect, not older but more aged than any man.

   ‘Forgive me, my love,’ said Eos as she locked the squeaking nubbin into a golden box forever, ‘I got you immortality but forgot eternal youth.

3. Voices

   by Malcolm Todd

   When I was a stone, I did not think, only knew:

   Knew my place, my weight, my shape

   Knew that gravity was my friend

   When I was a tree I did not speak, only reacted:

   Grew leaves in springtime, acorns in autumn

   Drank deep of rain and sunshine

   Passed on strength to my saplings and

   Knew joy

   When I was a beast I had no words, only feelings:

   Fear of the hunter

   Desire for a mate

   Hunger and thirst

   Now I am a man:

   My feelings I abjure

   I know that I know nothing

   But

   I have opinions about everything

4. Weird Little Insect Boys Shouldn’t Be Allowed Sleepovers

   by Mary Cohen

   Naturally, Gregor’s parents didn’t buy it. And when they caught him jerking it to Animal Planet, they sent him to an old man who scratched into a clipboard and ordered Gregor to engage in human activities - like listening to records and going to the movies and laughing when everyone else laughed.

   But Gregor really did become a man the day he met Stacey. They held hands and made out to Spiders from Mars. When she lifted her skin, he gazed into her compound eyes and exploded with love - and didn’t struggle when she began eating his face.

5. Rescue 

   by Emma Moran

   His ribs are prison bars.  He seems concave, flanks shrinking inwards with every hard-fought breath.  Bare skin where his coat should grow.  He holds his muzzle barely above the dry earth.

   We bring food and kind voices.  He stays outside – perhaps he doesn’t understand walls.  We give him time, wishing we could give him back the time that was stolen.

   His head lifts, little by little.  His colour starts to appear, amongst the scars.  He takes up a little more space.  One morning, as I put down his hay, his breath tickles my shoulder.  The gentlest whisper of change.

6. Amber Nectar and Liquid Gold

   by Joel O'Flaherty

   Jimmy lingers before the fridge in the Nutley Lane Co-op.

   Outside, a blistering June afternoon has ushered Brits nationwide into pub gardens and barbeques – beer weather, his father always called it.

   Jimmy’s gaze dances across bottles pearled with condensation: amber nectar and liquid gold, aglow and begging to be enjoyed on such a sweltering day.

   Yet his hand pauses on the handle.

   In his mind’s eye he sees those knuckles bloodied, hears her scream.

   His other hand rummages in his pocket.

   His fingers seek it: his bronze chip.

   One year.

   He clenches it tightly, steels himself.

   And he walks away.

7. 370 Million Years In A Day

   by James Hancock

   Mudrana bursts through grey bubble muck, and breathes. Crimson clouds roll, parting for the mighty to gaze in wonder. Night comes swift as rain rages over coastal bogs, peppering pisces who flip and dance en mass; gasping as waters retreat. Mudrana fights on, struggling against the thick sludge of grey-green quagmire. A million migrants, born of sea, find crooked limbs a new. A new life. New world. The mighty smiles as first steps birth from staggered learning and Mudrana stretches an awkward vertical. Dawn comes and all look to blue skies and green valleys. The age of man has begun.

8. A Kind of Magic

   by Catherine Busch Eberle

   Lord of the Flies, the nights tease me with scents released by dusk.

   I recall long-limbs and sun-kissed skin.

   Haunted, my throat bulging, I burble ballads to deepening skies.

   Fortune frowns. Almost a steely pike’s snack today.

   In the moon’s spotlight I see an outstretched hand.

   My throat swells. I smell magic in the moonlight. Pent-up yearning pushes power into my legs propelling me upward toward the hand. I land with a plop.

   “Must be magic,” she says. “I wonder…”

   Lips on clammy skin. I burst meteor-like onto dry land as a small frog cries “Reddit” while I head homeward.

9. Becoming Fish

   by Emily Macdonald

   They take the gummies, sent from America. Bears, cubes, fish, in lurid colours.
   Mitch takes another. Despite drinking all day, he thinks he’s pacing himself.
   In the homeward cab, Jon leans out, stares, delighted, at the city, racing under Maxfield Parrish skies. He giggles. He soars. He loves London. Loves Mitch— mute beside him.
   Mitch floats, wide-eyed, guppy mouthing, too high to go home.
   Jon sees the clouding water in the morning. Globules stuck on blue-coloured stones.
   Yesterday, they hoped the goldfish might be happy to trip in their tight-turning bowl.
   Mitch, drifted off late. Speechless, he turned in circles.

10. Cicadas

    by Sharon Hancock
    How quiet is the night without their song? In daylight, they dive-bomb my head as I run under trees. Sudden burst of buzzing before thudding dead below. Carcasses scattered, thousands line the streets in various stages of decomposition. Happy fat birds fly off with half-dead winged protesters, surrendering to their short lifespans above ground. Seventeen years buried in earthen darkness. Six legged chrysalis emerges, clings. Exoskeleton cracks, births a cackling, crooked-flying beast. Joins comrades in rattling trees, serenading the southern summer twilights for a short time. Sing, mate, sing, then die. Cycle of change complete, and now—repeat.

11. The Diminishing of Eleanora-Jane

    by Meg Fargher
    When Eleanora-Jane turned eleven she gobbled eleven teacakes. Everyone laughed and called her Elley-elephant. Except Grandma. “Boys don’t like cake, Eleanora. Unless it’s in the right places,” she warned.
    In Year Nine, Eleanora blossomed.
    Grandma said the cake was in just the right places.
    In Year Ten, Elley won the Mathematics Prize.
    “You have to be good at academics…,” said Zach, the boy Elle had outperformed, “… your arse is too big for anything else.”
    So, Elle stopped eating cake.
    In Year Eleven she lay down, just an L-shape, covered by skin as translucent as clingwrap.

12. The Ignorant Changelessness of Brothers

    by Emily Wilcox
    I’m a fourth wall breaker, an identity faker and a stressed-mama maker.
    Like a brain thinking of brains, or a train made of trains or a game about games.
    Like a shapeshifter shifting, or a clothes connoisseur thrifting or a lost soul drifting.
    Like a kid duplicated or a sibling irritated or a brother, emasculated.
    It’s what I am and what I’ve always been - ironically, for what the word can mean.
    I am all of that and a little of this:
    I am meta. I morph. And I am somebody’s sis.

13. Your House is on Fire

    by Jay McKenzie
    Ladybirds are lucky talismans, so they say.
    Fly little bugs! you urge the pupa, your cheeks warm and a tiny knowing smile, hands caressing your belly.
    Your laughter is a song as they crack their toasted coats, stretch their half-moon wings: one catches the air, circling to land on your gently curving stomach.
    And you count: One spot, two spots. Perfect symmetry.
    #
    Ladybird red, the blood, when it comes: as red as elytra. On the monitor, one, two symmetrical empty black spots. A whispered, I’m sorry.
    Fly away home.
    Your lips cry a Hail Mary.
    And your children are gone.
    

The group chose ‘The Diminishing of Eleanora-Jane’ as their favourite. Congratulations, Meg Fargher!