Before Emigration

      September 1964, a week before Independence     The summer was bright over the rocks and the sea. A seagull dived into the water. A young boy watched it and thought of German bombers diving over ships and cities during the war. He was young and he wanted to jump into the…

Never Forget Hope

  Zeus was an old man. Still a god but not the indestructible lord everyone on Olympus and on earth thought he was. It happened all of a sudden. Last year, as he travelled to one of his temples in Sicily, Zeus passed out. His son, Apollo, the god of music, truth and most importantly,…

The Games Time Plays

  A game of chess played under a Maltese cherry blossom. The spring was new and Sofia was young. Her father was a fluent chess player in his day and now he was passing on his un-fulfilled potential to Sofia. “Did you know, Sofia, that if you put one grain of rice on the first…

I Want My War

  Dedicated to the survivors of Srebrenica   “The local soldiers didn’t even have a uniform. A lot of them were just kids fighting in their Converse and jeans. When they weren’t at the frontline I saw them surviving like the best animal, and every night they’d be gather around a burning car tyre trying…

The Belly of New York

We need to start talking about why you look Mexican. Being Maltese I am – we are – sufficiently mixed with Latinate blood to pass, especially with the right facial hair, for something resembling a Mexican. Buy, my daughter, why you have to look like an Aztec princess gazing down on a queue of sacrificial…

The Chilean Diaries

      What are you to do, what are you to do when your father is the most hated man in the country? All because of something he didn’t do. A poster-child of alleged child-snatchers among neo-liberals and their political shadows. The “man who kidnapped his own daughter” (newspapers in Malta don’t have the…

For Whom My Children Grieve

  The blown sand heaps on me, that none may learn Where I am laid for whom my children grieve . . . O wings that beat at dawning, ye return Out of the desert to your young at eve! – Rudyard Kipling –   Karen Knudsen Copenhagen She looks literally dead, Anna thought as…

Day of the Dead

In the Xicotencatl, somewhere in the soul-deserting streets of the Coyoacan neighbourhood, Alicia found La Santa Gula. It was the only place in the whole of Mexico City where she could hope to speak Maltese. Her Spanish was pitiful, lazy, and speaking it elicited painful memories that used to be happy. No: she changed too…

Episode 75: Be Just Like Him

Originally posted on No Extra Words:
No one knows life in the ring like “The Undercard.” By David Whippman, copyright 2000, used with permission. Read David’s bio. “First a Woman Then a Man” is a fictional story about the real-life Guevedoce of the Dominican Republic. By Justin Fenech, copyright 2016, used with permission.Visit Justin’s website…

Meet Episode 75 Contributor Justin Fenech

Originally posted on No Extra Words:
Justin Fenech is an author from the Mediterranean island of Malta. He is the author of the novel Too Many Sparrows In Zaragoza and several short stories published in local and international reviews. He is also a travel writer and tour guide whose literature is inspired by the lows…