B pushes the gun into Z's cheek, and Z knew at that moment, with the cold metal barrel hard against his jaw, that he had finally pushed B too far. He laughs like he doesn't know the definition of fear but he hopes that B doesn't notice that he's just acting. B presses the gun harder up against Z, and the more Z leans away, the harder B presses it. Z falls off his chair and stops laughing. He was always such a tease. He was the child that liked to play with his food before eating it, torture his informants before killing them. Even amongst friends, he harboured a smug self-righteousness that bordered on loathsome. Perhaps Z never understood that claiming every malicious act to be a joke doesn't necessarily make it so. B stands over Z with his gun threatening execution.

Z says, “why?”

B says, “don't take it personal, Z. It's just a fucking joke.”



Hello Britney,

I saw your profile and I think you are the perfect match for me. I am looking for a full-time relationship, so I really hope you would be interested in helping me out there. ;)

Some of my hobbies and interests are:
  • Playing dominoes
  • Collecting miniature soaps
  • Looking at paintings of old people
  • Things that look like other things
Although I'm sure you aren't aware of it yet, I know that we are meant to be together. I can't wait to start my life with you.

Your significant other,




I sit on the toilet bowl and I *hnnn*... I sit and *hoof*... I *hrrr*... plop into the water. A bubbling, sloppy ringing sound comes from somewhere beneath my ass. I stand up and turn around and stare into the bowl. There at the bottom is a phone lit up and ringing a garbled underwater, but otherwise generic ringtone. I stare at it shuffling towards the s-bend. Do I? Don't I? Do I? Don't I?

I pick it up.
"Who is this?"
"What, really?"
"And you, what?"
"Well, shit..."

I hang up and sit back down on the toilet, the wet phone dripping on my fingers.



The window was open just a crack, just enough for voices to slip through. It always seems that when one of them gets angry at her they get angry at each other. A friendly voice ping-pongs about her skull amidst the string of obscenities. Obscenities and suitcases. Hiding in the garden she closes her eyes and allows the tears to roll down her cheek and she mouths the four friendly words and hopes that her parents can hear them too; “it's not your fault.”



Beneath the waterfall there is carved into the rock, our names, for future generations to read and speculate what they might mean. I chiselled it in there because I remembered how much you loved the idea of immortality, and after you died, I felt you needed more than a tombstone to remain behind. So here lies the ghost of you, etched forever in the rock beneath the waterfall, immortalised by speculation, of who we were, who we are, and who we'll grow to be. And while I let my beard grow out, the ghost of you is slowly becoming legend, and while there are many who share your name, the hand that chiselled it into the rock was guided by none other than you. And people will always come here and swim in the river at the bottom of the waterfall, and as they look up, the endless fountain spraying in their eyes, they will look up and see you, see us, and take away with them a part of us, and carry us with them forever.



Hello Britney,

I was so pleased to read your response to my advertisement, and I would be sincerely delighted to meet you in real life.

Here are a few things that you may like to know about me:
  • I listen to smooth jazz
  • I enjoy reading Hemingway
  • I am a member of the local kayak club
  • I have a pet fish called Chester

I hope to hear from you soon, as I am keen to learn more about you. Don't be a stranger now! ;)

Blissfully Yours,

Harold P.