When she is gibbous, I dread. When full, I madden. Waning, she is a jealous old woman. I sew cloaks all day and into the…
Deirtear go gcailltear an duine faoi dhó. Nuair a fhágann an anáil dheiridh do scamhóga agus an splanc dheiridh d’inchinn tá tú marbh. Is cuma…
‘Thall ansin,’ a deirim le Caoimhe, ag díriú mo mhéar ar chúinne iargúlta den áiléar. An bhfeiceann tú an blúire dearg sin taobh thiar den…
Níl tú marbh ach, ag an staid seo, n’fheadar an ndéanfadh sé difear ar bith dá mbeadh tú. Fad is atá do chorp suite ar…
Chonaic mé mo dheirfiúr tráthnóna. Sílim. Bhí sí ag siúl i measc na scaiftí taobh amuigh den phictiúrlann ar Bhóthar Átha Cliath. An ise a…
‘Oíche Dé Sathairn, Tigh Uí Bhriain ag a hocht a chlog is tú breá cluimhrithe’. B’in an méid a fuair mé sa téacs ó Shíle.…
Can you tell us a bit about your relationship with flash? Why it appeals and what frustrates you? I’m usually working on some flash fiction…
Abi Hynes is a drama and fiction writer. Her short stories have been widely published in print and online, including in Litro, Interzone, minor literature[s]…
Life better now. Easier. No adult. Only children and animal. Why? Why anything? Why sun fall down? Why ant crawl onto pangolin tongue? If other…
Somehow she’d never imagined it to be this easy; there had not been any moments of hesitation, of wondering whether she shouldn’t turn around and…