by Kinneson Lalor

Mumma named us in alphabetical order, Abel through to Wendy, and I often wondered why she didn’t try for the whole half deck. This was before I knew any better of what it means to carry a child and why Mumma’s teeth fell among her porridge. I especially thought it when Mary fell off a horse and Harry smoked himself to cancer. But then my Adam went off to war and all that came back was his name on a telegram and I knew then that, even if I liquified my bones in a blender to go through the alphabet twice, it would make no difference. I had lost a vowel. There were words I’d never make again.


Kinneson Lalor likes writing, walking, gardening, and her dog. She followed a PhD in Physics from the University of Cambridge with an MSt in Creative Writing from the same institution while writing her first novel, teaching mathematics, and co-founding a supercomputing start-up. She is Australian but has lived in the UK for over a decade. Her work has appeared in The Mays, Tiny Molecules, and Microfiction Monday Magazine, and she writes a regular blog about sustainable gardening for edibles and wildlife.