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Chris Newlove Horton
Chris Newlove Horton is a writer living in London.

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DATE NIGHT

Prize Entry

April 2016

Chris Newlove Horton

Prize Entry

April 2016

He said, ‘Tell me about yourself.’ He said, ‘Tell me about you.’ He said, ‘Tell me everything. I’m interested.’ He said, ‘I want to...

fiction

April 2015

Heavy

Chris Newlove Horton

fiction

April 2015

It is a two lane road somewhere in North America. The car is pulled onto the shoulder with the...

We’ve been quarantined in the school gym for three weeks when we realise just how much we’ve forgotten Not just about the inseminations, the mysterious stomach-swelling sickness that spread like chicken pox at Elmwood last fall, but everything, way back We make a list, chalk the outlines:   The name of the fourth grade teacher we loved, with the soccer cleats and hair like notebook spirals; the names of boys, their smell; the quadratic formula; what our knees look like   Our mothers visit and they ask, again and again, how could you forget? How could your brain just slide over something as monumental as losing your virginity? Some of you are in National Honours Society Some of you play the oboe/viola/bassoon   When Riley arrives in the gym — late because no one realised she was hiding a baby under that pear shape — she brings reports from the outside ‘Everyone is talking about us,’ she says, awed ‘Our parents are on TV’   She’s smuggled in an issue of Time, with our school portraits tic-tac-toed across the cover We crowd to read it, almost tear the pages we’re so eager Lila Hanson was Miss Teen Indiana and her talent was public speaking: a performance of Yeats in a dress sequined and feathered, to flaps of applause She rips the magazine from our hands and stands on a stack of aerobics steps to read:   “‘Half the honour roll The entire starting squad of the basketball team Why have twenty-three students at Terre Haute’s Elmwood High School fallen pregnant this year? Ed Coolers reports from Indiana’s Gomorrah of Underage Sex”‘   We swear to our mothers we didn’t have sex We sit with them on the bleachers and down the slope of the drained pool, squeeze their hands and vow we’re telling the truth We show them the chastity contracts we signed in health class, the ones they laminated and made us keep in our wallets like drivers’ permits We show them the promise rings our dads gave us, at a ceremony in a banquet hall with Styrofoam Greek columns and napkins folded like swans   Our mothers look back at us as

Contributor

August 2014

Chris Newlove Horton

Contributor

August 2014

Chris Newlove Horton is a writer living in London.

James Richards: Not Blacking Out...

Art

December 2011

Chris Newlove Horton

Art

December 2011

Artist James Richards appropriates audio-visual material gathered from a range of sources, which he then edits into elaborate, fragmented collages.   But whereas his...

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feature

Issue No. 1

In Somaliland

feature

Issue No. 1

On a traffic island in the middle of Somaliland’s capital city, Hargeisa, is the rusting shell of fighter jet...

fiction

June 2016

Beast

Paul Kingsnorth

fiction

June 2016

I stood in the river up to my knees and the river was cold. The water filled my boots...

fiction

April 2013

Popular Mechanics

Gareth Dickson

fiction

April 2013

In simple terms, the process of combustion creates energy that is converted into motion. The ignition by the spark...

 

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