S h o r t S t o r i e s / F l a s h F i c t i o n / Po e t r y
P OPS H OT QUARTERLY THE ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE OF NEW WRITING
BUMPER ISSUE 27 stories and poems inside!
THE UNCENSORED ISSUE Issue 34 – Winter 2021
“When quiet people open their mouths the whole world listens.” – Li sa Tad d eo, T h re e Wo m e n
U N CEN SO RED | Illu stration by Jorge Margar ido
A ROT TEN ORCHARD Poem by Madeline Wierzal Illustration by Andy Kenneth Edwards
I have become comfortable with sitting in a bruised silence, perfect stillness, no sweating, as the air around us turns into the soft and darkened spot on a piece of fallen fruit, the trick being to keep your mouth shut, and be careful how you breath in. If I unsealed my lips, the soft mealy pulp with a metallic aftertaste would bloom like a carrion flower on my tongue, and from there the only way to safety is to run and find that smallest break in my wall, the crack by my bedside leading into an abyss, a hidden spot where I go to spit out on the stones, the pits and cores and rotten fruit I find piled on my plate most mornings. Each night I scream until the sour rotten taste falls away from my mouth and thank the small pocket of abyss for stowing away the foulest part of my life. So that one day I might leave this hole behind and, in the sun, speak these sour things aloud.
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WE DON'T TALK ABOUT THAT HERE Short story by anonymous Illustration by Pablo Tesio
At twenty-three years old, I fell in love with a man who – given the right circumstances - could have been old enough to be my father. I can’t remember the first time I saw his face. To be honest, I can’t even remember the colour of his eyes. Logic tells me they were brown, but I’d need to check pictures to be sure. What I do remember was the look they had: a predator in reach of his prey. As his eyes shifted over to me, I know now I should have run. But I didn’t. The first time we had sex, he choked me. I didn’t know how to react. So, in the dim glow of the streetlamp that lit up the bedroom, I smiled at him. He just licked his lips. Young branches have an uncanny ability to bend without breaking. I thought I did, too. I found out about you huddled into the corner of a stone-tiled bathroom. I heard the birds chirp and twitter outside the bathroom window, their dark shadows flitting back and forth in front of the fly guard. At least, I must have heard them, but I can’t remember much other than the white noise buzzing inside my head, and my voice cracking as I held up the pregnancy test he had bought for me. “Please, no.” But the two lines inside the little white window didn’t care. They stood their ground, red against white. Just like the scars on my wrist. 24
“When ““When you you tear tear outout a man's a man's tongue, tongue, you you are are not proving not proving him him a liar, a liar, you're you're onlyonly telling telling the the world world that that you you fear fear what what hehe might might say.” say,” – G e o r g e R. R. M a r ti n , A C lash of Kin gs
UN CEN SO RED | Illu stration by Agatha Filia
Popshot is a beautifully illustrated quarterly magazine showcasing imaginative short stories, flash fiction and poetry by the best new writers. The Uncensored Issue is a collection of vivid writing, exploring our deepest internal thoughts. It cuts deep, with tales of devastating loss, secrets and lies, humour and indecent disclosure told in verse, flash and compelling short stories.
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WINTER 2021