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Fortnightly Fiction

Fortnightly Fiction | Space Junk

Despite it having a month until obsolescence, her car had refused to start that morning. Just what kind of crap were they trying to pull? Didn’t they remember the standards? She dug the owner’s manual out from the glove box, batting through…

Fortnightly Fiction | Home Truths

It’s the air that hits, immediately when you step through the door. The throat gags, just like the last time, and the first time. It refuses the tepid disinfected atmosphere on which floats a spoor of incontinence. They must steam all the…