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The Group

TEXT BY: Nod Ghosh // New Zealand || ILLUSTRATION BY: Falco Verholen // Netherlands

She left the group before I did, even though my partner joined before me. A sanctuary for people like us, the group should have been somewhere we both felt safe…
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The Christening

TEXT BY: Jocelyne Rigal // Ireland || ILLUSTRATION BY: Tigrowna // Germany

I broke the uneasy pause which followed, with a statement which boomed throughout the car. ‘But that’s nothing to worry about!’ I said, making a wide gesture as an invitation for tolerance.
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My Two Mothers

TEXT BY: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || ILLUSTRATION BY: Elizabeth Watkin // USA

My mothers are two women in love and they raised me just fine. They are the best example of a prefect family and I am forever thankful that they taught me how to respect everyone else’s identities and sexual orientation without bias.
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Exposed

TEXT BY: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || ILLUSTRATION BY: Elizabeth Watkin // USA

I want this mysterious woman to have me. To take me in a way known to her and make me moan endlessly. To touch me in places that crave for touch; a woman’s touch and make me moan.
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If I Should Fall Asleep – CW: Suicide

TEXT BY: Cassia Gaden Gilmartin // Ireland || ILLUSTRATION BY: Avital Yomdin // Germany

It’s nine o’clock, evening but not yet night, and the sky is the colour of peaches. Colours, rather. A pinkish red in the high places and yellow nearer the horizon, as if the sun’s split open and leaked all over the sky.
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Eat, Pray, Puke – CW: bulimia

TEXT BY: Nate Eileen Tjoeng // Singapore || ILLUSTRATION BY: Falco Verholen // Netherlands

My name is Beverly. I am 29 years old, I have bulimia and I have lived purging what I consume for 13 years. It all started when I was a plump kid at 16. The mockery and scorn tore me apart.
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In Ireland and in Love

TEXT BY: Jocelyne Rigal // Ireland || ILLUSTRATION BY: Lea Daniel // Ireland

How do you heal a broken heart? Mine had been reduced to shreds by Mairead, an out and proud lesbian I met at work. Mairead, all hoodies and short hair, didn’t take my feelings for her seriously because I’d had two babies
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Nyelethi

text by: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || photo by: Ambika Thompson // Canada

That surprises me. She never talks about us when we are together. To her, I am this dirty little secret, something she enjoys having by her side. I am okay with that. Personally, I am not out looking for anything that would tie me down.
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Quest as in Question or Quest as in Journey

text by: Julius // Trinidad and Tobago || illustration by: Elizabeth Watkin // USA

I stared into his dark eyes. I was washed with pure hate. He hated me. I had no idea why. Three words separated me from gaining his acceptance. I am gay. Those words rang in my ear and danced in the whirlpool of thoughts that strangled my mind. He hated me.
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Dark Juices

text by: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || illustration by: Lekouzinthomas // France

The prospect of getting laid sends chills down my body. Exhilaration dances through me. I miss the touch of a woman so much that I am on the brink of insanity. Just kidding.
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Kasper the Ghost

text by: Roland Taureau // Australia || illustration by: Falco Verholen // Netherlands

The first thing I remember is the yellow and black neon sign: men’s bar. It stuck out in the cold, foggy darkness of the Copenhagen night. I was drunk as usual. A lone traveller doing the rounds of a new city’s gay venues.
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What (Is) It Like…?

text by: GVGK Tang // USA || illustration by: tom moore // Germany

The ambience shifts. What looked like a stilted high school dance – stagnant bodies strewn awkwardly across a dance floor – now feels like an Ivy League dining club. The white male old heads all know each other and group off.
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Pixie

text by: Dan Ayres // Germany || illustration by: Renaud Helena // Germany

Paul’s booze-sodden brain was at the beck and call of an indecisive octopus, pulling on levers protruding from the neurological coral that sent his body conflicting messages. Some of these were organic – sensible motions willing him to eat
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Dirt

text by: Jane Flett // Germany || illustration by: Nami Nakano // Japan

That was the summer I finally grew into myself, fitting into my skin like a hand in a tight cotton glove. All summer long, I ran my hands across my life, marvelling. I could feel the neat, tucked seams. The stitches.
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The Jobs I’ve Found on Craigslist

text by: Anna Geary-Meyer // Germany || photo by: Verena Spilker // Germany

The second job I find on Craigslist is wiping the butt of a three-year-old whose favorite food is salami. No one tells me three-year-olds need help on the toilet, so this comes as a surprise. We get in a fight over the last bread roll one afternoon and I quit.
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Burned by the Stake

text by: Ambika Thompson // Canada || illustration by: tom moore // Germany

I was passing through the main square of a village, selling pelts so I could feed all the children I have at home, when a man tried to stick his hand up my skirt. Without hesitation I slapped him in the face
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Smear Signal

text by: Corinna Cliff // Germany || illustration by: tom moore // Germany

Eleanor froze. Unable to move, she saw Mandy materializing in front of the wall. She was drenched in blood, just as she looked like when they found her.
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Roseus Lupus

text by: Janielle Love Williams // USA || illustration by: Verena Spilker // Germany

I’m the descendent of a lineage of lycanthropes. As far back as we can trace, the Martins have shed their human coats at midnight of the full moon and roamed the night in packs. Shape shifting is an ability granted only after puberty. Needless to say I spent my childhood in anticipation.
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No Rest for the Brave

text + illustration by: Renaud Héléna // Germany

I push the table away to be more comfortable. In the formula, it must be at night, so I close the shutters. They say that this recipe works perfectly, it does miracles. I light two candles and I sit on the carpet. I take the bay leaf and the lighter. I think hard about Vincent. I desire him.