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The Worst Place
The Worst Place By Martin John The chemical perfume of hospital-thick antiseptic wipes hung heavy in Marlo’s shared accommodation. This was the worst place. Her roommate moaned endlessly. She had expected Chariots of Fire as her recovery’s soundtrack, but the neighbour’s unh, unh, unh burrowed into her thoughts. The fluorescent orange earplugs the nurses supplied sucked; they amplified the agony: UNH,… — read more
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Flash Fiction #1 – If Shoegaze Were Fiction
He thought he was plain walking up the street in that jean jacket and jeans so tight they could be painted on, his hair cut into a planned-tangle, wearing cheap white Chucks for pounding the pavement. In fact, he thought he was plain, quite ugly, and simple. The he bore were planned in the way… — read more
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Hello, I’m Martin
Martin John was born in Northern British Columbia in Canada, and is a member of the Tl’azt’en Nation living on the lands of lək̓ʷəŋən and W̱SÁNEĆ peoples. A member of the inaugural class of the Audible Indigenous Writer’s program, Martin has received several grants from the Canada Council for the Arts, and has been shortlisted for… — read more
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