The Kingdoms

by Natasha Pulley

even the steam had a shadow, a shy devil trying to decide whether to be solid or not.

It was as though the forgetfulness wasn’t so much an absence of memory, but a shroud that clung to him.

Little echoes came back to him after a while, having explored by themselves.

women all through history had been lucky if anyone treated them more like human beings than expensive cows whose only relevant bits were the ones designed for the production of more men.

Sometimes I feel as though the voice of the English upper class has been specifically tailored to sound as though it is addressing a favourite dog, even when it’s aimed at people.