Today, in the village of Mayday, only ticketed tourists walk the parade route, led by dead-eyed actors in cheap costumes who spout fast and dubious facts. But the actors are bit-parts in the theatrics of Mayday herself: England’s Village of the Vanished. The tourists frame the route on their phones. The…

Shatterback is like putting your face through a pane of glass, and then the stench of stagnant pond water fills your lungs. It makes you feel unreal, as though nothing in the world matters, like you’re balancing on a knife-edge of emotions, mainly despair tinged with utter desolation. And then…

Dedicated to physicist Carlo Rovelli Tomorrow, a physicist sat on your sofa. He sipped politely the tea you had made for him, and nodded sagely to acknowledge your many questions. These were, he said, quite normal for someone hearing his ideas for the first time. His own students raised similar…

The magic of the Visupada* (autumnal equinox) was in the air. Trees danced in the breeze, birds chirped from their nests, stars sparkled in the inky sky. Dressed in dark robes, a woman rushed through the woods to the tree that carried her child. It was a strange land where humans mated…

They called her Titania and rumoured she was unsinkable. She was created in the image of our beloved Queen who was admired by all, even God. That’s why he decided to make her immortal. HMS Titania, the largest cruise ship in the world, was supposed to sail the waves until…

Once upon a time (though he couldn’t have said which, anymore) there was an accountant, much like any accountant anywhere, from the days of the ancient Chinese with their beaded abacuses and nimble fingers to the futuristic post-postmodern age where sleek uninteresting machines take care of all those numbers for…

The minute hand on the old grandfather clock moved sluggishly to rest on the 12 and the deep melancholy voice called out, announcing the arrival of midnight. There was a knock on the door. The man in the faded blue armchair, who’d been intently watching the time, slowly stood up.…

The floors were impossibly white. Whiter than anything Garrett had seen in his lifetime, except maybe the blistering sun on a July afternoon. The overhead lights reflected on the smooth tiles, casting miniature pools of delicate light under his scuffed brown boots. Clouds of dust drifted from his feet with…

“And nothing can we call our own but deathAnd that small model of the barren earthWhich serves as paste and cover to our bones.For God’s sake, let us sit upon the groundAnd tell sad stories of the death of kings.”– William Shakespeare​​ The metallic tearing of the breakfast tin didn’t…