by Alex Hubbard
Clint Eastwood smokes a sharpened H.B. pencil
and lays a plastic pistol on the lacquered table.
The horizon hangs a submerged orange glow burning
behind the terraced houses and their concrete drives.
Down the dusted road wanders a whistling figure
stroking his face’s un-haired skin.
They meet with the middle of the road between them
engine motors and Ennio Morricone humming behind them
there are twenty seconds till draw and two minutes till tea
but for now they stare, stilled
waiting to see which man will take the first shot.
He dreams she is Charybdis
by Alex Hubbard
We were part of that pack of sweating bodies
drifting like steam up to the stars
and you moved like water, filling everything
until I found myself breathing you in
as natural as air
watching bubbles of breath burst
on your shimmering skin.
‘I am obsessed with drowning within you.’
When I offered this line up
like a prayer
you smiled over me, shook your head
and blinked. The world went dark.
When light pooled itself back in
it was red and green and pulsing,
sounds fell onto us like rain
and you stood in front of me, a body
still and singular. You placed a hand on my cheek,
slapped me hard
‘you need to wake up,’ you said
before disappearing into the crowd.
Alex Hubbard currently lives in West Wales, where is studying for his PhD in Creative Writing. Previously he has appeared in Bandit Fiction and Prole Magazine among others. Interested in the relationship between reader and writer, his work uses experimental narrative to explore space, place and identity.