CafeLitMagazine

             He certainly wasn’t the first man I have killed. And if all goes well, he won’t be the last. It doesn’t bring me joy knowing I ...

  I sit for long hours, I ponder longer. I weave words and worlds until my neck hurts and my legs tingle with little invisible things tha...

  It was Friday night when the war started; he’d phoned the local Chinese restaurant to order his take away and got the message, ‘ The numbe...

Me and Ma stare at the black and white photograph in the faded leather album. “That’s your Da and Dom,” Ma whispers. She strokes the gloss...

I take you back to the night over a year ago when a pack of wolves rushed at me from a forest of data on my computer screen. I shot up, knoc...

It was during the final movement of Schubert’s Ninth symphony in C Major, that I decided I would have to kill him. Once again, his cough was...