Gigantomachy

Ever since then the feet are so quick, the feel of the leather is almost as soft as when I was a cadet, sometimes I think I am still just a child and that I haven’t learned anything from anything, now they make space for me and I sit, agile, liquid, it must be that the faggots don’t dare, I struggle, I jump, it must be that the rabbit-kid was reabsorbed within me, but it’s Treviso and it’s raining like the devil and tomorrow the film is done, tomorrow they’re going to damn me, they’re going to jump at my throat tomorrow, revenge for their compatriot, they said it would be better for you not to come, there will be a row, but they shouldn’t blame me or chase me, and that’s the reason for the poker face and the tap-tap of the video game. There should be a video game of poor kids against me, me executing poor kids with blows to knock a rabbit’s head off in revenge for all the old geezers dragging themselves on the court like Moses Malone, sneakers with wheels for us, retirement with Admiral’s honours for us, a regular life with a wife and regular children who aren’t conspiring against you or telling you you’re inconvenient or ugly, it would be better if the two of us lived alone without you, of course I still love you, it’s something else, something else.

In Treviso. The streets. The taxi. It can’t be that hard to find a pharmacy.

All the contributors to our latest issue have been recommended by previous Best Young Novelists, who have written responses to their stories. Read:
– Adam Thirlwell on Andrés Barba
– Christopher Coake on Oliverio Coelho
– Ben Rice on Andrés Ressia Colino
– Esther Freud on Federico Falco