© Andrew Bowers and Requiem for the Damned, 2018.
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Chapter 4* I had known all along that my parents weren’t really my parents. Not only did I bear zero resemblance to either of them, they were both Viking white while I was perpetually bronzed, my skin the approximate hue … Continue reading
Chapter 2* “Ve’ll be zerrre soon, Kyaptain,” said my relentlessly young Uber driver in a thick Russian accent. He was blinking at me nervously in the rearview, face aglow in the dashboard lights, as if I was a cop who … Continue reading
Chapter 1 My license having been revoked pending my sentencing hearing, I sat in the bar car of the train lazily roaming westwards from New York City. It would stop at every speck on the map between there and my … Continue reading
“…and that’s exactly when all the lights came back on!” my older brother Phil chortled, ironing the crimson tablecloth on either side of his plate with large powerful hands topped with patches of rugged black hair, a thick gold bracelet … Continue reading
Hauling himself to his feet, his bones creaked almost as loudly as the old floorboards. Clutching a mug in both hands, as if its steaming contents were an unstable potion at risk of detonation, he uncertainly navigated the cluttered kitchen … Continue reading
LEGS DANGLING OVER the dock in Hout Bay devouring thick filets of freshly grilled snoek, a snake mackerel inhabiting only the most far-flung waters of the Southern Hemisphere, its tender meat glides off long curved bones absently flicked into the white … Continue reading