{By Maebh Butler} I wonder whether I hate him or is it that I hate everyone.

{By Shane McDonnell} At this particular point in my life, everything I wrote was appallingly bad. We’re talking unreadable shit. In my battle to sleep at night, ideas arrived partially formed, like embryos. Over the next day or two, the idea would mature in my head as I walked, and fulfil their potential.

{ By Justine Carbery } And then he was picking her up and hugging her as if he wanted, no needed, to draw the life blood out of her, as if his caresses could dissolve the pain.

{By Michael Donohue} It must have been after three when we stumbled through the exit. It was starting to drizzle but we hardly noticed, insulated in our intoxication.