Using brain scans and specific words, boffins have trained a computer to read people’s minds: “F***… IT… Department!”

Photography by Peter Dean Rickards

The pictures don’t say enough, there is blood splattered on the walls, there are holes through the windows and marrow on the floor, they are gruesome, but they are not enough. It is the smell that lingers, that which struck us most upon entering that house, that smell, like meat left […]

Photography by Peter Dean Rickards

On a Thursday Night in the middle of the concrete jungle, the Lions come out to play. Already notorious for its garrison politics, this particular downtown community cements its reputation by adding brute sport to its list of attributes. Unyielding to outside authority, its proud residents are often misunderstood by outsiders […]

It was the wind that woke her, bringing a cloud of dirt and the revolting odour she now realised had come from her own putrid limbs.

It was early Sunday morning when he snuck back into bed, squeezing in beside his wife, arms wrapped around their child, it seemed she had not moved since he had and never noticed his departure.

She felt as though she was spiraling to hell as she ran breathlessly down the hill. She was not a runner, she had not done this often, but there was a man chasing her and she had seen out of the corner of her eye, the danger he carried in his right hand, its barrel […]