Fiction

Riley stepped outside the shebeen. Steam was coming off her body. She pulled the grey rabbit-skin jacket around her. Her brown face was bloodless, leeched by the airless underground club. Five o’clock in the morning and she’d had enough of the dub and skanking.

The Strain … Yewande Omotoso … Jumoke, a friend of Femi’s, collected me from the airport. ‘Porpous Estate,’ she said when I told her where I was headed. ‘You know am abi?’ she said to her driver. He nodded. Then back to me, ‘I’m late for a meeting.

The invitation said, “Come one, come all,” but what the hosts of the Barrington Masked Winter Ball meant on that sparkly piece of silver card was, in fact, “You’ve been chosen to attend because of your elegance and prestige.” A beautiful, iridescent…

Kwame Johnson is forty-two and has been coaching Ryan’s football squad since Ryan started playing regularly at eight.

‘A Just War’ … An extract from, South Haven, the first novel by Hirsh Sawhney … As they drove to Deer Run Elementary School on that chilly February evening, a light snow wet the windshield of their rust-coloured car. His stomach gurgled with dread, which mounted as they approached the town centre.

Romy by Shanara Phillips … The leaden sky opened up and let a drizzle of rain fall over us. Despite the downfall, the air fell still and the atmosphere was eerie. I felt as though I were drowning in the sorrow around me. As if their tears weren't enough, I could really feel their pain as they wept.

Wasafiri is delighted to be launching our new Special Issue, Writing the Balkans, guest-edited by writer and academic Vesna Goldsworthy. As a little taster of the issue, we’re publishing this extract here from acclaimed writer Igor Štiks (translated by Andrew Wachtel).