Sunday, 1 March 2015


by W. M. Lewis

“Man can't survive on lemon tart alone,” Pippy Hunter said, the wind whipping the syllables away like a third-rate magician. The smell of fresh bitumen, pigeon crap, and ancient shells permeated the foreshore.

He said nothing, merely looked at the green sea. She scraped her boot in the gravelly sand. He looked hungry. She touched his face. He looked drunk.

When they found her body the next day, a half-eaten tart on the sea wall above her, it was still and quiet.

The birds strutted around like murderers who’d gotten away with it.

The hot sun itself seemed to smirk.

Author bio: I'm an Australian poet and writer. My poetry has appeared in Alliterati Magazine, Best Australian Poems 2011, Cordite Poetry Review, Eclecticism, Multiverses, PoV Magazine, Railroad Poetry Project, street cake magazine, The Night Light and Tincture Journal. My flash fiction has previously appeared in 101 Fiction. You can find me on Twitter at @mindintoword and at my blog,

Tart is part of 101 Fiction issue 7.

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