Category: Issue Two

  • Guest Reflection

    Guest Reflection

    By Julia Prendergast It is my pleasure to reflect upon this issue of Other Terrain. I found myself immersed in voices of startling authenticity and yearning. The prose and poetry contributions in this issue indicate a willingness to engage with content and form in an experimental way. This is utterly refreshing: pushing boundaries of saying—of…

  • The Quickening

    The Quickening

    by James Nicolson Jane had seen the news reports. Animated billboards spilled their message as moving colours across travelways; others using public transport would have the same message projected into their eyes from hand terminals, huddled silently on a monotrain. Regardless of medium, the news was always the same: Artificial Intelligence was here.  The AIs…

  • Silt


    By Eloise Faichney Stassi lay with Cole’s corpse for two nights. It wasn’t until the third night that she dared to reach out and touch him. She poked solid flesh with a trembling finger and jerked back in fright, startling her cat, Fuckwit, who lay curled at the foot of her blanket. The feline rose,…

  • Treasure


    By Kathryn Ryman The cave is larger than the beast that keeps it. The walls stretch up high into the dark and the roof seems as distant as the moon when first you enter. The dragon itself is small. It lies stranded in the center of its vast empty domain, a huddle of bones and…

  • The Town

    The Town

    by Keren Heenan Out here the wind always blows up high and hard before a storm; the sudden buffeting of trees against the wall, low murmur building to a howl and the darkening outside the window. There’s a feeling as if the sky itself could fall. And then comes the rain. He arrived on such…

  • Shinkansen


    By Trina Denner It was cold. The carriage doors opened to let in the young woman, and, with her, a gust of wind that carried an assurance of snow. They closed behind, silencing the platform, sealing her in with the fragrance of wool and warm bodies. The train did not dally in its launch, but…

  • New Dog

    New Dog

    By Andy Goss ‘We need a dog,’ she said. ‘There will never be another Suki, you know that.’ ‘Yes. But it was so good, having that other person, that animal person in our lives. It just seems right to me. Suki has left such a hole.’ Joe fiddled with his teacup, turning it round and…

  • The Fishbowl Astronaut

    The Fishbowl Astronaut

    by Clare Millar On the driveway was the kind of van you would expect to be told about before arriving home. Stark white with the letters ‘exterminator’, it was parked right in the way of where Annalise wanted to park. She turned her keys to silence the car. For a moment she lingered with the…

  • womb


    By Eloise Faichney the little girl, quietly climbing the stairs in a large house, escaped from a neglectful au pair’s eyes   step by delicate step, small feet trace the white carpet to the sanctuary, her goal – mother’s bedroom.

  • 276


    By Clare Millar To the 276 girls taken by boko haram, I hope that you’re still 276 whole girls and not 552 half-girls-half-unravelled. It’s been far more than 276 days, and we forgot. We peeled away our sympathy, left it kidnapped somewhere else. Image by Jilbert Ebrahimi.

  • Who am I?

    Who am I?

    By Wendy Dunn My mother told me, ‘You’ll be a wife and mother Just like me Good girls don’t sleep with men But wait for the ring

  • Bully me

    Bully me

    By Sarah Giles Why do you think I am so different from you? My pain and my failings are no different to you. Why do you think I don’t feel what you do? The rejection and depression it haunts me too.

  • Symphony


    By Kainat Azhar I am in love with a dead sage who is an epitome of death and the painter of hell. He puts his fangs in my neck, I experience a new world unfolding itself in front of my eyes: tigers and wolves dance alike on an old symphony of a vanished civilization, blood…

  • Noha*


    By Kainat Azhar Knife in my hand, I fight with the ravens. They visit me when I am alone, I loathe them for interrupting my mental painting of yours.   My ribs have been tied by a chain made of gold. I sing to insomnia and call it sleep.

  • O, my crescent lover

    O, my crescent lover

    By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh Swaying in the light of our crescent host, Of our utmost beaming lady, Who sings to the salmon, Who radiates through me, empowers The pitch black sky to dance through the air.