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A Fist Full of Tears
A kid sits at the spitsplit from the family(with no idea of the convorunning rampant behind him) hepicks up two stickscontemplates his next dig,lines in the sand draw the perfect …
Seeing Daylight
He walks me through the doorway to a brightly lit room with a white tiled floor. I am made to sit in what feels like a leather chair – old, …
Long Beard
The rain subsided though water still covered the road, washing in to the gutters. Jemmie and I were looking to make shenanigans, since the pub had forced its lights and …
Small Things
A one-hundred word story. I’m cashing today’s sales at the bank. Five thousand and sixty-eight dollars. My finger tips steal over the notes. The lady at the teller, I recognise …
Louie, Louie
I see him, old Louie and he just stands there and stares like some big old thing. His shades loping. His brows furrowed. His sills dusty. But everyday I sing …
Waxing Lyrical
Sam’s specialty was Brazilians so she easily formed more intimate relationships with her clients who waxed lyrical about Sam’s skill and confidentiality. Sam knew them well: there was the lady …
Martha’s Picnic
Despite the warnings offered by her friends, Martha decided to go anyway. She scaled her way up the mountain, clutching spiky shrubs and clasping solid tree limbs along the way …
Writer’s Block
Unleash the inner light, the inner thought, the inner shadow that lies in between dos and don’ts, in between yeses and nos, in between comes and goes while the grit …
A Love Story
Too impatient for the lift, he takes the stairs, the tail of his coat nips his heals as he swings his body around each corner railing between floors. In his …
A Cuppa Before You Go?
Guest Post By El Steppenwolf A soft death, the rattle heard in every whispered breath. The flickering television light bleaches all colour. It plays about the tired face, flushed red …
Six Small Holes
Guest blog post by El Steppenwolf Often discredited with having little heritage, Sydney yet has its secrets. Happy white collared soldiers, those oblivious executives and their coffee-makers, march by unknowingly …
Joan and Judy
Joan and Judy Joan Dennison and Judy Partridge were long time residents of Pickleberry. They met at the 1950 town bake-off, bonding through the delight of shared recipe tips. The …
Jack
I met Jack, a while back, down at the tavern. He seemed busy looking for something in his schooner glass. All I could see was sediment. Jack, what’s it like? …
Nightmare
It was a nightmare. The sky looked bruised. Wounded. There was a girl. She cried. She threw rocks. She saw a spider trying to walk, its legs kept sticking to …
Bitch Hysteria
Instead of witches, we call them bitches. Irritable bitches. Complaining bitches. Whining, whinging, annoying bitches. Any emotion a man feels is given the excuse of being a man. What about …
Stir The Paint
Stir the paint. Wet, thick paint. Black bristles stick to the wall. Though the brush is balding, the wood looks perfect. Lacquer the walls with smells if folly! (While you still …
Society’s Most Spectacular Dish
I’m in a jar. The lid is screwed on tight. I’m still pushing against it everyday, harder and harder. When I first pushed against it I heard a popping noise …
The Wall
Are the students learning anything? They never listen. They show no respect. They can’t talk without swearing. They never show up, can’t assess them. Frankly, there’s no hope for them …
Fallen Eyes
She doesn’t look at me in the same way anymore. I tell her everyday I still love her but she doesn’t hear me. She’s moved on. We used to take …
The Sting
The daffodil sits quietly in the garden bed. He flies towards her, rests himself on her bosom. He kisses her slowly, tastes her pollen, then he draws hard and fast, until …
