Lifeline

by Jade Angeles Fitton

Jessica had installed the LifeLine kit two days ago. She had been the last of her friends to do so, although living in the comparative isolation of Zermatt, she should have been one of the first. This morning, like most, she woke at 5am and swiped from alarm to email to catch any correspondence coming from PST. There was, as there had been for the past three days, nothing. This happened from time to time; she knew there’d be more soon.

Greetings from Chez Jacques

I wake up, uncertain how many people are asleep around me. Sometimes it’s just Jacques, at other times indeterminate snores ping pong over the fold-down sofa, into the shower unit and across the kitchenette. I slip into my trunks, part the patterned curtains and fall into the pool. At first, we all went over-ripe, our skin blistering tomato red.

Dubious Heritage

I am descended from a long line of liars, which is even less noble than it sounds. It’s impossible to trace my dubious heritage, though I suspect it goes as far back as the Roman Empire, or earlier still. It’s impossible to trace because depending on who you ask, my ancestors are: Italian, Indian, Jewish, Scottish, English, German, rich, poor, brilliant and ordinary.

The Shaman from Monaco

At the start of 2015, I met a Canadian ex-banker-turned-shamanic healer from Monaco, who was in China to close a deal on his robotic inventions. He introduced himself by coming over to my table in a hotel café and asking me what I was doing here. A straightforward question, yet it hung in the air, reluctant and vague.

Somewhere in Between Part 2. Blank Space

Fucking Åmål is a movie about lesbians. It’s probably one of the only good ones, but it’s directed by a man and so is Blue is the Warmest Color, except that’s a bit shit and absolutely not the reason me and Emma are in a car driving 376 kilometres to a nowhere town in Sweden.

Intwine

At first, after I slipped them out of their kidney-shaped chemical bag and slid my lube-covered legs in, they fitted like normal jeans. All those five-star ratings, all those celebrity endorsements, totally vanilla people openly sharing orgasms on a global scale – all through the magic of Intwine.

helloitschloe

Mira would say that Chloe came back into her life the week she got her ass slapped raw in a porn viewing booth in downtown Toronto, but that’s not true. It is true that the third chapter of the story of Chloe and Mira, as scripted by Mira, started then.

A Sugary, Fluorescent Smog

“STORM IS A REALLY GREAT GUY. I THINK IT’S A SHAME THAT HE DOESN’T HAVE A GIRLFRIEND,” lamented an amplified voice on the television, through the locked door. “SO, ONE OF THE GIRLS FROM THE CLUB THAT I MANAGE…” The door-to-door Christian paused in the corridor outside.

To Be Good

‘D’you want a hand with that?’ he says, a hand-rolled fag hanging from the corner of his lip, unlit, of course.

She pushes the crate of milk bottles onto the flatbed of the float.

‘Don’t often see a lady doing this job.’

‘No?’

Somewhere in Between, Part 1: Bad Boyfriend

“It was you,” Shay says slowly, but forcefully, her face lighting up as if she were a cartoon with a bulb above her head, but she’s not. She’s a real, human person sitting in front of me and name dropping a lot. One of the names she’s dropped is Jesse’s and she’s saying it’s hard to work with him and I say I know, in a way that implies I really, really know.