Violetta Leigh

In the grey light of the day, Artem climbed the small incline to the post-box. He had never seen the plane land, and when he pried open the metal jaw of the box and peered inside, it was too dark to see whether his letters sat at the bottom, unmoved.

all dogs go to heaven // Litro Magazine

That night, I dreamed of the blackened soil over Fuji’s grave rippling like the lake touched by evening wind. The remnants of the fire amalgamated themselves into a shape: the shadow of a dog. The creature of ash padded across snow, exterior shifting, eyeless and determined.

At first, Sheila only saw the darkness and that it was different from the darkness lurking in the corners of the rooms and under the furniture. Translucent cats draped themselves on the back of the couch. They huddled in groups on the half-unpacked cardboard boxes.

bless our teenage heat // Minola Review

Alison had obsessed over her grandmother’s print until her father bought her a book on Marcel Dyf. She dissolved hours studying his portraiture – the emphasis of pose caught in brush strokes, the expressions toned with careful restraint.