:: Fiction

The Oddity published 29/01/2017

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck shit. Shit. Fuck… my…life. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. Fuck… shit. Shit shit shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck two three four fuck two three four. Fuck. Jesus fuck shit. Shit. Shit shit fuck. Fucking fuck fuck shit. Shit. Shit fuck. Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me. Fuck… Fuck. Just fuck me. SHIIIIIIIT. fuck… fuck…fuck. Fuck two three four five six seven eight FUCK! FUUUUUUUUCK! Fuck. Shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck…”

Chapter 14 of EJ Spode‘s novel The Oddity.

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The Cheap Flat published 23/01/2017

‘Dear Landlords,

We need to not pay rent until our financial situation improves.’

By Catherine Madden.

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The Oddity published 22/01/2017

Circe nodded. “I see the problem Spode. You know… the usual advice here is
that you are supposed to take the battering because it’s better to be battered than to be dead, right?”
“Is that what they say?”
“That’s what they have been saying forever, Spode. Think about it. It’s better to be alive and hurting than a zombie.”
“It is?”
“Yes it is. And you know it is.”

Chapter 13 of EJ Spode‘s novel The Oddity.

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The Turn published 17/01/2017

I taste the crab. I lick them to get that kick of seasoning at the back of the throat and in the nasal cavity and the sweet kick of remembering the taste of its meat on my tongue. The taste of the crab is the taste of the sea, a taste of the crab is the taste of family, death and a warning from the sea. A lick of shell makes you taste the sea waving, swinging a bell.

By Jen Calleja.

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Plinth published 16/01/2017

I grabbed my coat mid-film and made my way downhill at a brisk pace. The wind was against me; I had to pull my collar right up. I went to the butcher’s first as I had a funny feeling that the florist would be the one with the all-important news. I had to get the sequence right.

By Christian Brookland.

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The Oddity published 15/01/2017

Circe climbed on top of me and just dragged the point of the knife over my body. Sometimes she would stop and balance it on point on my skin, but never with enough pressure to cut me. I felt her press the flat of the blade against my face, against my arms, my legs. Then my balls. Fucking hell you don’t know fear until you’re tied up by some crazy Serbian woman who has a damn 9″ Bowie knife up against your balls.

Chapter 12 of EJ Spode‘s novel The Oddity.

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Arrows And Exit Paths published 10/01/2017

I look at the miles yet to travel, the miles already travelled, and my eyes slide over them, slipping right off, forgetting in the looking. Just a few minutes have passed since I last forgot these strings of numbers, but it feels like ten, fifteen. The small pride I felt in my willpower trickles away, focus absorbed again by boredom.

By Laura Waddell.

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Cons published 09/01/2017

‘Well, I’m not a fan of dead bodies either,’ I said. ‘I’m sure he’s fine.’

She furrowed her eyebrows, which were thick and black and met almost to her nose when her face was straight; when she frowned, they merged.

‘That’s a very selfish position to take,’ she said.

By Dizz Tate.

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The Oddity published 08/01/2017

Albert Camus once said that the first question of philosophy was “why not suicide.” Well, he may just as well have said “the first question of philosophy is why not tear through your family and friends with a chainsaw and maim them and leave them psychologically broken for the rest of their miserable lives?”

I’m sure this doesn’t sound very politically correct to you, but I don’t fucking care. You weren’t there.

Chapter 11 of EJ Spode‘s novel The Oddity.

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Stardust published 03/01/2017

Dear biped fossils, you think you are intelligent creatures? What kind of intelligence has evolved in you that you are addicted to petroleum, uranium, and electromagnetic waves? They say that intelligence is the property of highly complex matter. What complexity is it that you boast about when you sleep in your own radioactive shit? Maybe if we went back to being unintelligent matter we would avert the bloodbaths, the mountains of garbage, the huge and viscous maritime oil spills. Everyone wants a happy ending. Here’s a happy ending for you: may you all become extinct.

By Hisham Bustani translated from the Arabic by Maia Tabet.

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