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Last updateTue, 06 Aug 2013 2am

Craig Wallwork

Craig Wallwork

Craig Wallwork lives in West Yorkshire, England, with his wife and baby daughter. After leaving Art College he studied to be a filmmaker before becoming a full-time editor for nine years. In his spare time he writes short stories and is working on his fourth novel. His fiction has appeared in various anthologies, journals and magazines. Follow his progress via his website: www.craigwallwork.blogspot.com

Monday, 12 March 2012 03:16

Soiled Dove

The man paid in cash before resting upon the dead parchment of an animal fashioned into a chair.  From a beaded doorway, five fallen women dressed in bask and nylon stockings swaggered toward him, Pall Malls in hand, and the footplates of heaven seeping from their mouths.  All were alike.  All were different.  It’s easily done.  Tear away the fragility of adolescence.  Peel back the rind of beauty and scoop out the stars and light that reside in her blameless heart.  Powder her skin and rouge her lips; smear the tarmac trails of mascara across wounded eyes.  Bail the straw upon her head into curls and waves, and with poke and prod excavate her innocence until only a desolate hole remains.  Make her a whore, simple and true.  The man gazed at each woman from behind eyes as black as loam.  The rain fell in bullets upon the bordello.  A single sallow bulb flickered with nervous energy as a forsaken tear tumbled down his face.

Wednesday, 03 August 2011 04:46

Mr Wadsworth and the Flea Circus

I noticed it first at the second meeting. His hands were smaller, and when he held the metal high-dive model complete with board and splash, it appeared much bigger than it did in my hand. He asked, “How much water will it hold?” I advised him against adding water to avoid rusting of the metal, at which point he became very animated. “It must hold water! What’s the point of having a high-dive feature with no water?!”” I told him I could treat it with special paints. “And after you do, how much water will it hold?” he asked. A thimble full, I replied. “Good. Good.”