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TRANSGRESSION Featuring
Amber Lee Dodd . Duncan Taylor Matt McGee . Matthew Dexter Pauline Masurel . Rhuar Dean Shannon Bennett Mystery Issue, March 2013 | 44
WEDNESDAY 8 MAY, 7PM THE COSMO DAVENPORT-HINES MEMORIAL MEETING
Damian Barr and
Tracey Thorn Mid-life memoir SOMERSET HOUSE, LONDON When you consider the wealth of national and international culture it delivers, an RSL membership isn’t just a bargain, it’s worth the world - Ali Smith Membership of the RSL is open to all. Please contact the Membership Manager Joe Bibby on 020 7845 4676 for further details
FOR BOOKING INFORMATION rslit.org / 020 7845 4678
Book now
16 March – 9 June 2013 www.royalacademy.org.uk Friends of the RA go free George Bellows, Stag at Sharkey’s (detail), 1909. Oil on canvas, 92 x 122.6 cm. The Cleveland Museum of Art, Hinman B. Hurlbut Collection. Photo © The Cleveland Museum of Art
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Litro Magazine Transgression
EDITORIAL It’s difficult to define what we mean by transgression. That’s partly because transgression is a relative term—there are some acts and ideas an individual might call transgressions, while society might have a totally different opinion on the matter. And then even those opinions aren’t concrete, because what we (or society) might call transgressions don’t always stand the test of time. Naturally, there are some transgressions we could argue are absolutes—murder, rape, incest. But there are those that become normalized—women’s suffrage, for example, or homosexuality; and others still that become taboo— slavery, child abuse, rape. (And if you ever thought rape wasn’t taboo, watch 1985’s adorable time-travel comedy Back to the Future and have your mind blown as you realise Marty McFly’s mother is victim of an attempted rape by the man who ends up happily running errands for her future family. Oh, that Biff. What a character!) So bear in mind that this month’s issue of Litro is simply a time-capsule of sin—featuring sexual fetishes, cannibalism, rape, homosexuality, criminal trespass, and murder. In Amber Dodd’s Dark Matter, a young woman struggles not so much to come to terms with her own sexuality, as society’s reaction to it; in Duncan Taylor’s Jørgen Opdahl: Celebrity Burglar, we feature home invasions as entertainment, while in Shannon Bennett’s Visiting Rachel, breaking and entering takes on a more cathartic purpose. Ironing Night by Pauline Masurel is a traditional boy meets girl, boy irons girl’s clothes, boy is sexually aroused by ironing kind of a story; Matt McGee’s New Ground, Again finds us literally unearthing a transgression of the past, but without the same kind of due diligence we might expect from Waking the Dead; in Matthew Dexter’s The Bird in the Urn, we find ourselves in the company of a bereaved father enacting a distinctly Jacobean revenge in the American Southwest. Finally, we witness to a lifetime of transgressions in the confessions of a homeless drifter in Rhuar Dean’s Dinner for Two. As you might expect from a theme like this, these stories will hopefully all provoke a reaction. But it may be that in twenty or thirty years’ time, some of the transgressions we feature in this month’s issue will seem quaint—and in some cases, I very much hope so (it’s heartening to know that even as I write this, the ban on gay marriage in California, and by extension, the rest of the USA, is being challenged in the US Supreme Court). That said, I’m going to go ahead and throw my hat in the ring and say feeding your dead child to old people will never be considered an acceptable act under any circumstances. But hey. You never know. Andrew Lloyd-Jones Editor April 2013
CONTENTS Events
04
Amber Lee Dodd
07
DARK MATTER
Duncan Taylor JĂ˜RGEN OPDAHL: CELEBRITY BURGLAR
Matthew Dexter THE BIRD IN THE URN
Matt McGee NEW GROUND, AGAIN
Pauline Masurel IRONING NIGHT
Shannon Bennett VISITING RACHEL
Rhuar Dean DINNER FOR TWO
COVER ARTIST Mona Choo
monachoocreates.com
10 16 21 22 25 31
Choo has exhibited in New York, London, Australia, Hong Kong and Singapore. Her work is in the permanent collection of the Singapore Art Museum, and private collections, including the United Overseas Bank of Singapore, Leo Burnett, and personal collections in the UK, Switzerland, Australia, the US and Asia.
EVENTS THIS MONTH BOOKS Lates: Telling Tales at Two Temple Place Two Temple Place 2 Temple Place, WC2R 3BD Wed Apr 3, Free Graphic novelist Karrie Fransman scribbles stories inspired by the interiors of Two Temple Place. She'll be giving tips to budding comic artists on how to construct narratives, lay out pages and breathe life into your characters.
Waterstone's Piccadilly and Kingston Writing School Waterstone's 203-206 Piccadilly, SW1Y 6WW Wed Apr 3 , Free Tutors from Kingston Writing School discuss the ins and outs of teaching creative writing and read from their own work. Rachel Cusk and Jane Yeh appear on Apr 3; while Apr 10 welcomes Fiona Sampson and James Miller.
Squat Betty Spoken Word Night The Duchess of Cambridge 320 Goldhawk Rd, W6 0XF Mon Apr 8 Brilliantly witty stand-up comic Richard Sandling brings his Southend spoken word club to London. Expect poetry alongside music and comedy.
Murder in the Library British Library 96 Euston Rd, NW1 2DB Sun Feb 24 – Sun May 12 A chance to immerse yourself in the history of the whodunnit as the British Library takes a quirky look at crime fiction. Fea¬turing familiar and loved writers, such as Agatha Christie and Arthur Conan Doyle, alongside the unknown and unexpected, this exhibition showcases manuscripts, books, rare audio record¬ings, artworks and intriguing artefacts from the library's British and North American collections.
Alchemy Science Museum Exhibition Rd, SW7 2DD Mon Feb 25 – Tue Apr 30 A display of 20 rare books and two illustrated manuscripts relat¬ing to alchemy from the museum’s library and archives, on show alongside objects from the Wellcome and Chemistry collections including an alchemical scroll.
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EXHIBITIONS Mark Wallinger: Labyrinth Until Fri Feb 7 2014, Free Various London Underground stations In recent years, Mark Wallinger has emerged as the go-to guy for a certain kind of public art commission–for projects that are smart and thoughtful, but also fun and lighthearted: a breezy, accessible, avowedly populist kind of conceptualism. He’s a logical choice for Transport for London, to help celebrate 150 years of the Underground.
Chuck Close Prints: Process and Collaboration White Cube Bermondsey144-152 Bermondsey St, London, SE1 3TQ, Until Sun Apr 21, Free You might be able to achieve a similar effect in Photoshop and, yes, there’s certainly now also an app for that. But Chuck Close’s pixelated, exploded views of the human face predate the digital era, even if his work now relies just as heavily on the technology that it prophesied.
Codebreaker: Alan Turing’s Life and Legacy Science Museum Exhibition Rd, SW7 2DD Mon Feb 25 – Sun Jun 2 An exhibition to mark the centenary of the birth of Alan Turing (1912-1954). The show looks at the achievements of the man whose wartime codebreaking helped to shorten WWII by years and whose influence on computer science is still felt today. On display are arte¬facts including machines devised by Turing, such as the Pilot ACE computer (the fastest computer of its time), along with the electro¬mechanical 'bombe' machines which were used to crack codes during the war.
Doctors, Dissection and Resurrection Men Museum of London 150 London Wall, EC2Y 5HN Sun Feb 24 – Sun Apr 14 ‘I have only got a leg and thigh,’ wrote a disgruntled William Hamilton in 1878, referring to his difficulty in finding enough material to complete his surgical training. Hamilton was relatively lucky.
Amongst Heroes: The Artist in Working Cornwall 2 Temple Place, London, WC2R 3BD Until Sun Apr 14 Two Temple Place stages its second winter exhibition with a major survey of work by Cornish artists. Created in partnership with the Royal Cornwall Museum in Truro, the show continues Two Temple Place’s aim to showcase collections from outside central London while providing opportunities for emerging curatorial talent – this year’s show has been
Trangression Issue, April 2013 | 5
curated by Courtauld Institute student Roo Gunzi, who is completing a PHD on Newlyn painter Stanhope Forbes
The Huguenot Legacy Bank of England Museum, Threadneedle St (entrance in Bartho¬lomew Lane), London, EC2R 8AH, Until Fri May 10 The achievements and legacy of the Huguenots, the French prot¬estant refugees who came to Britain during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, are celebrated in this exhibition, which takes a look at Huguenot contributions to British culture –including banking. Figures explored include the first Governor of the Bank of England, Sir John Houblon, who was the grandson of the Huguenot refugee. Nearby Spitalfields is the ideal place to continue an exploration of Huguenot London.
TALKS Legends of Underground London Kensington Central Library 12 Phillimore Walk, W8 7SA Thu Apr 11 , Free
The author of 'Subterranean City: Beneath the Streets of London', Antony Clayton delivers a talk on the folklore beneath our streets, such as pigs in the sewers, secret tunnels and buried trains. Spring Culture Series 2013 The House of St Barnabas 1 Greek St, W1D 4NQ Wed Apr 17 , price varies
Before the not-for-profit members’ club opens here in the autumn, they will be holding a season of cultural events in St Barnabas’s house chapel. Titled ‘A Mighty Big If’, these soirees will offer intimate performance and spoken word events.
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DARK MATTER There are some things you can’t learn in school.
by Amber Lee Dodd The risk of being struck by a falling meteorite for a human is one occurrence every nine thousand three hundred years. Those were her first words. We sat together in Science. Not by intention or design but because her usual partner Katie Miller had fallen three stories from an open window. Some said she had jumped, others said she had been pushed, but most likely she had just been the one in fifty-eight thousand who falls out of windows. We knew these sorts of things because of Mr Edwards. Mr Edwards was a cover teacher. He spent the first twenty minutes of every lesson making the class recite ‘fascinating’ facts to their partner. The next forty I spent staring at her. Her name was Carrie Birch. She was short and brunette and smelt of sweet spice. She walked like she was just about to break into dance. She talked with her hands and she had a laugh that made her seem much older than her fifteen years. It started small, first I became obsessed with science, and then obsessed with Mr Edwards’s class, until I realised I was obsessed with her. Then my world became tunnel visioned. As if I was looking through the wrong end of a telescope. One day we touched elbows. A supernova explodes at ten times the speed of light. It had nothing on me. I spent every lesson trying to touch her arm with mine. Finally it became habit, my chair moved closer, our desk seemed smaller. Our arms lay next to each other, just touching. The flesh under my sleeve electric. Maybe I would have been that girl who forever spent her life in rooms daring herself to touch the arms of other girls. But one day Carrie took the tips of my fingers, wrapped her thumb and index fingers around them. Briefly, without looking. After that everything was different. There are unquantifiable amounts of nerve endings in the body. If even a fraction of them were to transmit pain at the same time you would go into shock.
Transgression Issue, April 2013 | 7
JØRGEN OPDAHL: CELEBRITY Burglar There are different laws for the famous.
by Duncan Taylor Massie Road on a cold night in January. I'm sitting in a parked car with a man dressed in black. He's pointing a gloved finger at a semidetached house a few yards away. “That's first on my list tonight,” Jørgen says to me. “Owner's on holiday and there's no burglar alarm. Easy peasy.” Jørgen Olaf Opdahl is not a name that roles off the tongue easily and indeed, it's a name that carries few connotations in this country. In his native Norway, however, Jørgen has been a household name for many years. At the age of just nineteen he was cast as the loveable Espen Eggebraaten in Hotel Caesar, Norway's most popular soap opera. “People still come up to me and say, 'Hey, Espen, watch out for that tractor!'” he claims. Following his character's death at the hands of the villainous farmer Björn Torkelson, work came in the form of a blink-and-you'll-miss-it part in the 2010 cult film Troll Hunter, and well as TV appearances on Norway's Next Top Model and 2011's Big Brother: Norge. Then six months ago, not content with his modest success, Jørgen bought a one-way ticket to London and made forging a UK-based career his raison d'être. Tonight he's invited me to witness a sneak preview of his new reality show: Celebrity Burglar. “I've done it all,” Jørgen says in impeccable English, his soft Norwegian accent giving way to the occasional American twang. “I've been an actor, I've been a singer, I've been a reality star. And now I've got one more feather to my cap: I'm a burglar.” Jørgen starts up his car and takes me for a drive around his new home town of Hackney, thanking me for taking the time to talk to him. Celebrity Burglar was his brainchild and, like many great ideas, it came from a time of personal upheaval. “I was not in a good place when I committed my first burglary,” he admits. “I was in debt, I'd just fired my agent, the ex was ragging me over child support, blah, blah, blah. But then it hit me. All this breaking and entering would make fucking great television! In Big Brother, people saw me sit in a house. Why wouldn't they want to see me burgle a house?”
10 | Litro Magazine
Ingenuity by James Steinberg 14 | Litro Magazine
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For more information: Visit us online at www.litro.co.uk. and become a member so you never miss an issue! For general requests and information: Call us on +44 (0)20 3371 9971, or email us at info@litro.co.uk. Transgression Issue, April 2013 | 15
THE BIRD IN THE URN What happens at the retirement community, stays at the retirement community.
by Matthew Dexter The omelet chef sprinkles ashes of my daughter on diced onions and orange bell peppers and beats the eggs with his spatula—a wizard casting a spell with wand coagulated with yoke. The sun peeks through barrel cacti and embraces the arms of rotting saguaros. The omelet chef waves the salt shaker above the labyrinthine wrinkles of his sunburn. Cremated remains rain from calluses into the plates of the wealthy. His white knuckles are cumulonimbus freckles and organic mushrooms frying on the side of his skillet reflect the face of the three-year-old who retirees will digest with mimosas. The woman with the bacon covered in maple syrup is responsible for cracking the angel’s skull against the asphalt. She was my little girl. The omelet chef smashes brown eggs against the side of his frying pan. Why are elderly drivers so careless? What makes them continue pushing cowhide when they are unable to decipher the correct buttons on the elevator? A captain must give up the wheel when he loses the ship. But money buys everything. Why should white old ladies never go to prison? The chef is numb and he tosses tomatoes over the cutting board into the garbage with the sharpest knife in Maricopa County. We listen to their giggles and cackles as gluttonous residents fish for salvation with worms in their stomachs, catching buzzes munching gourmet breakfast, silverware clanging with the zealous reverberation of cymbals in the hands of chimps. A bottle of Tabasco burns into my back pocket. My job is to make the Bloody Marys—squirt lemon and ashes atop crushed ice, cayenne peppers, celery, and Worcestershire sauce. Old fucks love Bloody Marys. The requests have increased twofold since she was scraped from the sundrenched tarmac where senior citizens launch missiles into oncoming traffic. “This is amazing,” the orange hairs say. They lick the ashes from the rim and suck the tangerine slices stabbed with toothpicks. Viscous crimson magic potion swirls in their pint glasses. The omelet chef is plotting revenge. He assures me vengeance shall be served bloody and hot. “Give me a chubby hunk, cutie pie,” says one of the dying cougars. Roast beef is sliced in the spotlight, pink meat glistening beneath a bulb so moist that succulent sprinkles splash our eyelashes. Momentarily blinded by cooked cows, my daughter comes into focus beneath orange illuminated eyelids—warm blanket of dying sparks from fall16 | Litro Magazine
Does the idea of living and working in a library for a whole month sound too good to be true? Now in its third year, Gladstone’s Library is looking for four writers to take up residence in 2014, following in the footsteps of the 2013 winners: Sarah Perry, Richard Beard, Peter Jukes, Vanessa Gebbie, Katrina Naomi and Angela Topping. Submissions open from Monday 1st April until Saturday 31st August. For more details and full rules, visit www.gladstoneslibrary.org
Gladstone’s Library is the UK’s only residential library. Based in beautiful north Wales, yet close to major cities, the Library is the perfect place for an affordable getaway for anyone wanting to write, read or seek inspiration. Gladstone’s Library runs a variety of courses and events throughout the year on a wide range of topics.
Creative Writing Book Launches Theology Film
th
Author Talks History Philosophy Conversation Dinners
6-8 September
Coming Soon!
For more details, visit www.gladstoneslibrary.org Call 01244 532350 www.gladstoneslibrary.org We’re on Twitter @gladlib and Facebook
E-mail enquiries@gladlib.org
Transgression Issue, April 2013 | 19
Treating Osteoporosis Magazine by 20 Ken| Litro Orvidas
NEW GROUND, AGAIN Sometimes the transgressions of the past can get in the way of progress.
by Matt McGee "Goddamit!!!" The moment McCoy shouted from atop his grader I knew why. He shut down the diesel engine and the vacuum his quitting created seemed to trigger the other H-E operators. They shut down their rigs, too. McCoy kept swearing. It would be another day off while the cops, coroner and medical examiner spent the day digging like archaeologists in what was supposed to be just another incoming Vegas housing tract. Goddamn the bones. Some runt who was buried out here by the people he'd pissed off years ago was going to throw twenty guys outta work for the day. But that was the price of sprawl. The early 2000’s were that way for us; we were stumbling over some idiot's shallow grave every few days. "These people are like goddamn dogs," McCoy said. He unzipped and whipped it out to piss up the side of the Cat’s tire. "Out here burying their problems. I’m good and goddamn tired of paying for everyone else’s sins." He finished, zipped up and leaned against the ladder leading to the cab of his rig. “Fuck em. I say this is it. I say from now on we keep gradin' and leave the past be the past." McCoy's closest drinking buddy shuffled his feet. "But what about some kid comes along one day, playing in his yard and digs up Sammy the Stoolie's leg bone?" "Or his dog finds it," said another. "Fuck em," said McCoy, "fuck 'em all. They're all dogs." With that he climbed back on his grader and fired up the engine, soot shooting from its stack like an angry day at Sobibor. "We all are, right? Let's go." McCoy squinted into the Nevada sun and threw the Cat back into gear. And that was the last time anyone stopped working. In fact, it was the last time I heard anyone even mention the bones. I admit it was kind of a relief. McCoy had freed us just to get on with what needed doing, and get past what could easily happen to any of us at any moment.
Matt McGee lives outside Los Angeles and writes short fiction in the local library until the staff makes him go home. His previous collections Diversions and Leaving Rayette are available on Amazon, as well as his poetry collection We Liked You Better When You Was a Whore. Transgression Issue, April 2013 | 21
IRONING NIGHT What’s more important? The fetish or the relationship?
by Pauline Masurel When a man loves to dance the rumba, enjoys embroidery and owns three ironing boards, it’s inevitable that some of his friends will assume he's gay. Neville was untroubled by the beliefs of others and adopted a policy of ‘neither confirm nor deny’ regarding his sexuality. On vacation he further confounded his friends' expectations by scaling mountain peaks, roping steers in Arizona or white water rafting his way up rivers. But on a Wednesdays, when there were no dance classes, sewing circles or cocktail hours to attend, he could be found at home watching a black and white 'weepie' while simultaneously indulging his love of steam. Crisp white shirts stood to attention on hangers around the room. Egyptian cotton bed linen formed neat ranks on his Lloyd Loom chair and Neville pressed pleats into his second-favourite dress shirt. While Scarlett O'Hara flounced petulantly on and off screen, he spruced up the ruffles with generous puffs of steam. Neville loved the smell. That almost-singed, musty aroma reminded him of rotting logs, damp sand and soggy hounds. Silk and polyester slithered against his fingertips as he gave the fabrics the lightest of goings over, crimping them gently, just where they needed to be folded. Even with the costume requirements of his dancing endeavours and outdoorsy weekend pursuits, there was often insufficient laundry to occupy a whole evening. Neville drew the line at ironing underwear; so instead, he washed machine-loads of monogrammed handkerchiefs, lightly starched to perfection. Or took down the curtains in the spare room to get them thoroughly, gratuitously, clean and neat. Neville believed there was a distinction between an innocent enthusiasm and a full blown fetish. He preferred to regard himself as merely keen on ironing, rather than actually dependent upon it. Neville's girlfriend, Marie, had learned to suffer his obsession silently. Indeed, she was not above sometimes taking advantage of it. She would arrive at his house toting a large holdall. Coffee, cuddles and conversation generally ensued. She would drop some frail excuse about being on her way back from the launderette, even though none but a simpleton would actually believe that a woman's washing machine could break down so often. Then, somehow, one thing led to another; she would end up staying the night. Marie would be woken, sometimes after midnight, by the sound of soft rustlings downstairs as Neville abducted her bag of laundry. She would lie awake, warm and safe in Neville's bed, wearing a 22 | Litro Magazine
VISITING RACHEL Clara decides to spend the afternoon with Rachel. She just doesn't bother inviting her.
by Shannon Bennett “Just drop me off by the school.” David turned his battered 280z into the parking area a few lots up from Clara’s house. The car was a hand-me-down from his mother and ugly as sin, and David was inordinately proud of it. Clara called it the Flying Booger, but never in front of him. He leaned over to kiss her and their lips tangled awkwardly for a few beats before she pulled away and fumbled for the handle. As soon as the door shut behind her, he drove off. She watched the dark green car exit onto the main road and rapidly disappear from sight. She had no idea where to go. Every time before this, Clara had had an empty house to return to afterward. A safe haven in which to sort out the emotions an afternoon with David would inevitably stir up in her psyche. This time, her parents were home, and she just couldn’t face them. Not right now. Not when the memory of David wiping his semen off her breasts with the shirt from his McDonald’s uniform was so fresh in her mind. As the sun beat down, she began to make her way across the blistering asphalt. The lot was vacant, free of cars for the summer. At the edge lay a dip of land separating the houses on her street from the road that led down the mountain. Three hundred metres of open space yawned in front of Clara, the only dangerous part of her impromptu and unplanned flight. Hopefully neither of her parents would choose to glance out the window until she was safely out of sight down the road. She hustled along the gravel shoulder, head down, avoiding looking in any direction but directly in front of her. Cars passed intermittently and she prayed that none contained an overly observant family friend. When she reached the shelter of the trees on the other side of the field, she felt her tension ease. From here it should be safe. Ten minutes later, she stood at the top of a driveway leading to a small white and yellow rancher. The late model Taurus belonging to Rachel’s mother was in the carport, but Clara knew she would be leaving soon. Rachel had to be picked up from work. Clara started down toward the house.
Transgression Issue, April 2013 | 25
DINNER FOR TWO A fall from grace in three courses.
by Rhuar Dean Graham took his wallet from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. A bulge of twenty pound notes stuck out of the top. He placed it on the table in front of him, letting his hand rest on it for a moment before slowly withdrawing. Andy looked on, cocking his head to one side and creasing his forehead. “I only wanted some change mate, what’s all this about?” He felt like a child again, called on by the teacher to answer a question he hadn’t even heard. The waitress came over. “Excuse me sir, I’ve asked you before not to bother our customers. Can you move on please.” Graham held up his hand to stop her, offering the chair opposite with an open palm. Andy’s gut told him to say no but he pulled away the chair and sat down. The waitress paused before nodding her acceptance. “I’ll get another set of cutlery and glasses,” she said as she returned into the restaurant. Graham picked up the menu and calmly browsed the options, feeling a stirring hunger. He took a deep, absent sip of his beer and decided to have steak, letting the memory of Malbec and red meat wash through his mouth. He took another long sip of his beer and the waitress returned, setting the table for Andy. “Here is your menu. I presume you are paying?” She turned to Graham. He nodded but didn’t look up from the menu. “And would you like a drink?” she asked Andy. A fizz of excitement pushed at the back of his eyes. “I’ll have a beer, same as him. Please.” “I’ll have another as well.” Graham looked up with a serious frown. “And a bottle of the 2008 Catena Alta.” “Certainly.” The waitress took the wine list and left. “So what’s your name?” Andy asked, but Graham had returned to the menu, weighing up whether to go for the shrimp causita or scallop tiradito for his starter, and if he was hungry enough to eat both. The waitress returned with the beers and the wine, which she opened and set on the table. Graham drained the bottle he had been drinking and handed it to the waitress. “Are you ready to order sir?” “Yes, I’ll have the scallops followed by Churrasco de Lomo, rare.”
Transgression Issue, April 2013 | 31
Publisher & Editor-in-Chief: Eric Akoto eric.akoto@litro.co.uk Magazine Short Fiction Editor: Andrew Lloyd-Jones andrew.lloydjones@litro.co.uk Online Short Fiction Editor: Katy Darby katy.darby@litro.co.uk General Online Editor : Emily Cleaver litrolab@litro.co.uk Book Reviews & Interviews Editor: David Whelan david.whelan@litro.co.uk Film & Arts Editor: Becky Ayre becky.ayre@litro.co.uk Contributing Editor & Web Designer: Emily Ding emily.ding@litro.co.uk Contributing Editor: Sophie Lewis Magazine Layout & Design: Laura Hannum Sales & Marketing: Angelina Wangsha
Litro Magazine is published by Ocean Media Books Ltd. General inquiries: contact info@litro.co.uk or call 020 3371 9971. Litro Magazine is a little lit mag with a big worldview, pocket-sized so you can bring it anywhere. Our mission: to discover new and emerging writers and publish them alongside stalwarts of the literary scene. We also publish regular features on literature, arts and culture online at www.litro.co.uk. Please keep this copy of Litro safe or pass it on to someone else to enjoy—we like to think of Litro as a small, free book.
LITRO | 124 Transgression
The omelet chef sprinkles ashes of my daughter on diced onions and orange bell peppers and beats the eggs with his spatula—a wizard casting a spell with a wand coagulated with yoke. The sun peeks through barrel cacti and embraces the arms of rotting saguaros. The omelet chef waves the salt shaker above the labyrinthine wrinkles of his sunburn. Cremated remains rain from calluses into the plates of the wealthy. His white knuckles are cumulonimbus freckles and organic mushrooms frying on the side of his skillet reflect the face of the three-year-old who retirees will digest with mimosas. From The Bird in the Urn by Matthew Dexter: pg 16 Cover Art: Possession by Mona Choo www.litro.co.uk ISBN 978-0-9554245-5-7
43 | Litro Magazine