The Cafe Irreal: International Imagination 

Issue Fourteen

The Santa Fe by Terry Dartnall
Butterflies by W.B. Keckler
Tableau by Jake Elliot
The Accordion by Cat Rambo
Watches by Pavel Řezníček
surd person circular by Brian E. Turner
Black Belt Karate Master (1988) by Ethan Bernard
The Room at the End of the World by Brian Biswas
The Mushroom Incident by Olivia V. Ambrogio
A Call to Arms by A.D. MacDonald
Almost Mythological and Duty by James Grinwis
It Works Differently on Writers by Jeremy Tavares
Running by Sarah Bailyn
Of Forests and Trees and Never Met a Fish Taco I Didn't Like by Robert Leach
A Man Of Many Doppelgangers by Jeff Tannen


irreal (re)views


by Sarah Bailyn

I ran. I ran past all the houses in the neighbourhood, past the post office and the hardware store, past the gas station at the edge of town. I picked up speed on the open road. My arms and legs pumped in rhythm as the fields and small towns flashed by one after the other. I ran and ran, overtaking cars and trains. I waved to the occupants, who stared at me. Eventually the towns and fields gave way to rocky, desolate scrub. I had to watch my step so as not to trip.

I reached the border and crossed it without looking back. I kept running as the country grew poorer. I ran through villages with dirt roads and houses that were more like huts. Vegetable patches sprouted pale orange squash and thin beanstalks tied to sticks. I avoided the big cities and soon came to the mountains.

Slowing down on the uphill slopes I climbed to the thin cold air at the top. I chased the goats on the way back down the other side to see them scatter. On the plain that lay on the far side of the mountains I could run even faster. The plain turned to forest, where I had to dodge huge and ancient pine trees.

Suddenly the forest ended and I crossed a narrow strip of sand. I had reached the sea. I wet my feet.

Sarah Bailyn is a transplanted Yank currently living in London. She's been writing for a couple of years and this is her first publication.

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