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Settit Beyene: The Arcamortis
I laid him on the table and traced a finger across his family crest on the box. The mahogany had been bleached by the sun during an indecent amount of jaunts throughout the various coasts of Europe in which I alighted.
Daniel Ogba: Acting
This evening, Betty watched him from across the room — downing glass after glass of bourbon, throwing his head back in stylish laughter that seemed to erupt from the vaults of his stomach at one of the men’s jokes…
Natalie Morris: Falling
Yellow light bleeds in from the streetlight outside our bedroom and turns his chestnut skin gold. His closely cropped coils are tightest at the base of his skull. Warmth radiates from him, and a smell so deliciously familiar it is almost nauseating.
Amanda Aboajewah Kingsley: Accessory
I hated his natural distinction. The easy elegant manner in which he made inconvenient requests. Bitterly, I descended into the dim-lit seating area behind him.