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Popshot MagazinePopshot Magazine

Popshot Magazine

May 2019

Popshot is an illustrated literary magazine that publishes short stories, flash fiction, and poetry from the literary new blood.

United Kingdom
Chelsea Magazine
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5,89 €(Incl. tax)
19,61 €(Incl. tax)
4 Numeri


access_time1 minuti

What do you want to escape from? Have you already managed to outrun your enemy, or wriggled out of binds that confined you? Is there something fundamental – about your life, self or history – you would break free from if you could? These are the essential questions explored in this issue of Popshot Quarterly. Indeed, they are central to many works of fiction. From Dickens’ Great Expectations to Stephen King’s Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, readers have long been fascinated by feats of fictitious escape that make Harry Houdini’s efforts look tame. For me, reading has always been escapism and I really enjoyed going through the large volume of submissions we received from you. It was striking how often the idea of escaping death came up. I had expected stories…

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a fairytale

The family had lived for some time beyond the edges of civilisation. Their home was positioned within a clearing of woodland, some miles from the nearest village. They were four—mother, father, daughter, son—and existed together there in quiet contentment. However, it was now the winter season, a period that brought with it specific hardships. Their small field grew resistant to putting up crops, the goats milked slowly, and evening arrived in late afternoon. One cold night, they were eating their final meal of the day, when the mother expressed astonishment. “God almighty!” she screamed. “Look—the window!” The three others turned in their chairs to understand the source of her fear. Behind the window, clouding the cramped pane with breath from its nostrils, was a monster. The father roared, pushed back his chair…

access_time1 minuti
lost in a room where you’ve never been

you may be suffering from memory lossor abandonmentor stuck in a dream from which you can’t awake.You may be an older/younger versionof your better self or disguised as someone else, unableto spot the difference.The walls start closing in, or maybe it’s an optical illusion.Maybe you’re imagining this, thinkingyou’re reading a poem about how you’re lost in a room;and upon the wall,a clock’s hands move backwards ’til you feel yourself sheddingthe weight of your years. You searchbehind the clock for an escape route, how maybethe room’s a metaphorfor the life you’re leading, or it’s a meeting placefor the inchoate, where possibilityflutters like a moth in moonlight, its wings trembling;or, more likely,it’s just a room, and a poem’s only what we wish it to be,even as we start to feel the wallspressing up against us.…

access_time1 minuti
magic show

i’ve begun craving absinthe shotslicked bare from bars topsmore and more because i’m justso fucking boredof children’s parties smiling from our fold up chairsus adults sit like crusts of breadmake conversation suitablefor parents we don’t know yet yes, my child is that oneyes, we’re very blessed the more orange squash i pourthe more pissed i long to get little jamie says he hates orangeit’s summer fruitsor nothing else little jamie can fuck off,i think. i lie:say there’s just orange left i help to hand the food outcrisps and pigs fill paper platesparents hover, panicked - trying desperately to sell some grapes jake’s dad adds three carrot sticksjake looks at his dad like cuntsomeone tells me that the waiting listfor cubs is almost one year long and i nodand i panicunsure how to respondbecause from marrowbone to blood to skini just…

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the bargain

I feel your hand in mine as we walk the path back from the night into the light. Your warmth dripping into my hand like ink onto paper, the flowers around us turning from black to red as if bleeding back into living. The further we walk from Hades the more I can taste the air on my lips. It has a fruity taste, reminiscent of a juicy pomegranate. I feel the fruit reaching out for me, licking my lips I want to take just a bite, but your hand in mine will not let me go astray and so we continue forward, you leading me away. The further we walk the less it feels like a graveyard with birds chirping in the distance instead of the sounds of howls…

access_time3 minuti
observations from mars, 2040

The dust storm this Martian summer blotted out the sun for nine Earth-weeks – much longer than we have previously experienced during our decade here. Our solar panels have been smothered by the dust, and the battery back-up that keeps our systems going is nearly exhausted. Now that the storm has died down three of us don our spacesuits and go out into the night sky’s dim light to clear the dust from the panels. Bright dots against the star-speckled blackness, Earth and the moon are perfectly aligned with the sun that’s already below the Martian horizon. Before we went out, we had been observing through our station’s telescope the dramatic sight that has delighted us at intervals during the time we’ve been here, always reminding us of the scene in…