![]() The numbering of days has been gradually sacrificed to more pressing concerns the counting up of cans and bottles, the maintenance of nets, the catching and drying out of fish and strange crustaceans. In truth, they have long since lost track. It is a Wednesday, or what they choose to call a Wednesday. ![]() In the thin morning, the lobster shells gleam a slick vermilion, spreading southward like a bleeding on the tide. The salt is heavy here-dead sea, its bodies buoyant. Bobbing belly-up, claws thrown out, like a strewing of tulips. She was commended in the Moth Short Story Prize 2017, longlisted for the Deborah Rogers Prize 2018, and is the winner of The White Review 2018 Short Story Prize. Her work has been published in Lighthouse, Analog Magazine, and The White Review. She has a Masters in Victorian Art and Literature from Royal Holloway University. The following is a story from Julia Armfield's collection salt slow. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |