Moods and Appetites publishes surreal short fiction tell me a story I may as well have been sleepwalking. Either way, I had no opportunity to admire the moonlight flooding into the long corridors, illuminating the stag heads and painted cheeks of long-dead ancestors. read more The last one I tipped over the edge was just like all the others: fragile, pale, humming to himself as he sat on the ledge overlooking the gardens. I didnât think much of pushing him over, a gentle nudge he didnât see coming. None of them did. It wasnât hard, that almost translucent shell offering no resistance to my tiny but still flesh-and-blood fingers. read more I donât wear a hat anymore, not because it would be as old fashioned as putting on tailcoat or dangling a watch from a suit pocket. No, I donât wear a hat because I donât want to spend my nights trapped underground, my wooly wings fluttering against the doors of passing trains as I wander through dark tunnels in fear of touching the third rail. read more
