Flight Welcome to issue 10 of Spontaneity, where everything connects. Click on the links and get lost in a creative dialogue between media – and if you’d like to be part of it, get in touch. Enjoy!

You Saved Me by Cath Bore You saved me. You took me from a home all hot slaps of noise and a school intense like Heathers. We watched my school uniform burn, you laughing the loudest and longest. You kissed away the stings from sharp words and bare knuckled fingers, blew on my face and cooled angry skin. As first kisses go, not shabby at all, you said. My first kiss, my first house, all my firsts came at once and made me dizzy. No seconds. I never got to be sixteen. I gave it up because you saved me. You tell me often enough so … Continued Read more

The Succubus in Amber by Glen Wilson I am all turns, my feet, my transport are ready to leave, pointing to the exit, but my torso bends to you, not basking in the light but giving it back, a sacrifice to you. You take my attention, hold my male gaze. I watch you feed but you do not grow. In fact I’ve never seen you grow in all these years even though you smack your lips with mine, Go down, go down, go down, you say, I cannot be at your height, I stoop lick, taste, feel my gut lurch as reply;   all this before I … Continued Read more

The Viewing by Stephanie Conn I admit I came to lay it at your wooden door but stop to let the flaking fact sink in, as if it mattered; you haven’t painted the door in years.   They called it Burning Ember on the colour chart. It’s sun-baked now but still reminds of the buttercup you held beneath my chin, nodding as it shone.   I pretended you were right. For years, when you passed the little gold parcels across a coffee-shop table, I smiled. I learned to like the texture but never the salty aftertaste.   The lock remains, the rim now freckled with … Continued Read more

Heavenless by Mary Gilonne We don’t need shoals of angels, shadows darting fish on witless walls, finning out to net the laden, trawl them freshly gilled like fingerlings, innocent as spawn. Give us bright birds promising plump appled days, drunk on sky. Sap-singing ambles of trees, a coax of buttocky hills. And those slipping hands of lovers, butter-cupped fields of them.       Read more

The Locksmith by Jerry Cunningham ‘My sons already set up the trampolines, they’re great if people bring along their critters. Kids don’t care much for starin’ at a stage all day and the sun boilin’ their heads.’ Peggy smiled at the young stranger who sat next to her on the bus. ‘You been to the festival before?’ Peggy asked. ‘It’s my first time,’ the young stranger said. ‘I’ve only been in Damascus for a couple of months.’ ‘What brings you to our town, other than the biscuits and gravy at my diner?’ asked Peggy with a smile. ‘Well, you know that sign outside of town … Continued Read more

A song in the key of green by Yvonne Marjot The kitchen door creaked as he pushed it open. Mark thought of it as the house saying, “Welcome home, Mark. We’ve been waiting for you.” The floorboard just inside the door creaked too, a different creak, on a lower note. “Me too.” If you push the door almost to the point where it creaks, then slide your foot in, and put down your weight onto the creaky board just as you push the door all the way open so that they both creak at exactly the same moment they sound in harmony. It’s a perfect fourth in the key of … Continued Read more

The Black Rabbit by Sheila Ryder The Black Rabbit watches me, her eyes a green-grey dark. I want her; I know in that moment I have always wanted her. I take a step towards her; she blinks, an invitation to her dark abyss. Did the Black Rabbit smile? Can Rabbits smile? As always on the cusp, I hesitate, unable to grasp her for myself. Perhaps she is a test, a temptation to a hellish unknown. Will red-faced devils and nymphs ridicule and poke me forever with their cynical cutlery of failure? Or will she show me everything I’ve ever wished for – joy, happiness, belonging? Will … Continued Read more

The Wishing Chair by Tony Black Three weeks it had taken Marian to persuade her father to take her to the funfair. His agreement was only finally secured by her assurance that there was a bar on site. Marian loved the fair: the dizzying rides, the feeling of the air rushing over her. At speed, the world softened. Hard edges were smoothed out, cruel words stripped from the mouth and carried away before they could find their target. Once there, her father threw a filthy, crumpled five pound note at her. “That’s it, so make it last. Come and get me here when you’re done,” he … Continued Read more

Inbox (Alt+F4) by Stelios Hadjithomas orange sound, an acerbic thought   the alarm goes off at two to two an instance of wincing every night always the same it turns louder and louder the name never changes (until it stops)   I /ˈaɪ/ in a circle, a serious verjuice yuppie fuck trapped letter in a grey dot fifty-eight, (round late)   incoming memories, translations of the man he longs to be in another language visions of stories visions of him his own visions proprietary function vernacular asleep   alphabet grams heavy in his arms Consolas regular eleven the white space is hurt control ay delete … Continued Read more

The best sex we never had by Rena Garrett In one of those dreams I feel your large hand encase my breast just enough to fill the space the way your tongue had that first night.   Your body larger, stronger than any I have ever been with meditated into a coiled spring of unreleased power   I fear obliteration throw up walls, that you bounce off back to the safety of zen, empty vessels feel no hurt.   Dream-us, move like Sine waves and explode, leaving salt on your skin that I lick, it makes me thirst for more. I surrender until there is nothing left but dust. Read more

© 2016 Spontaneity. Copyright of contributions remains with the artist.