Sleep Paralysis by Felix MacFarlane

Originally published in CQ5: Poetry. Felix MacFarlane | they/them/theirs Felix is a twenty-something year old digital artist who enjoys drawing characters/comics, using bright colours, and long walks on the beach.

Unstuck by Hamish McIntyre

She was unstuck in time. She wasn’t sure exactly how it happened. There was no secret military experiment, no toxic waste spill, and no magical McGuffin. One day she just felt a low rumble before being flung back three hours, as if she was the only person on Earth not wearing a seatbelt. There was […]

partial memories of friday night by Liz Duck-Chong

i fell asleep on a train, woke up in a new place, well, not a new place, but i didn’t have all my bearings – a place less travelled, found my way back where i’d come from, wrapped in scarves slowly unravelled. the bus fell halted, held askew, we watched the view, two headlights illuminated […]

Frank Candiloro

Originally published in CQ5: Poetry. Frank Candiloro | xe/xem/xyr Franklin is a comic artist and rad hip-hop DJ currently residing in Melbourne. Xe is also on the hunt for the perfect HSP, and invites others to join xem on xyr journey. frankcandiloro.com

Universe Building by Welton B. Marsland

“You okay?” “Yeah.  I think.  Except … could you let go of my hair now?” Jimmy chuckled and relaxed the hand he’d gripped in Ryan’s sweaty hair.  “Sorry.” “S’okay.” At first, their expressions were sombre and serious, faces just centimetres apart, breathing heavy, both of them a little stunned and uncertain.  Then, slowly, as it […]

Ginger by Katherine Back

Ginger always yowled. He yowled when he was hungry, he yowled when he was tired, he yowled at nothing at all. Jem used to joke that he was yowling because he could see things that we couldn’t; that he was trying to warn us about the things lurking in the shadows. Jem was an asshole […]

Fabric by Hannah Aroni

Vittoria’s office is small and warm. The wallpaper peels from the walls and the window frame rattles in even the mildest wind; if you look too long at the details of the room, they seem brittle, dry, like the wings of an old moth under glass at the edge of an entomologist’s vast proud display. […]