Creative
Hollow
His fingernails are covered in dirt,
their black edges resemble black
moons black wings of Death’s-head
hawkmoths and black birds.
Ho Ho Hold Up!
The night was sweltering, despite all the jingles. Snow was a laughable concept for this part of the globe. A white Christmas even more so. Handcrafted snowflakes in windows were a poor substitute, but this festive season brought out a desperation like no other. Harry made himself comfortable on the roof, keeping his swinging legs from hitting the gutter. It was imperative that his hiding spot wasn’t compromised, for his opponent had been in the game long enough to prove a worthy challenge.
30 November 2018
Dark Imaginings: Three Gothic Tales of Wonder
These three stories are the winning entries from the gothic-themed micro-story competition associated with the exhibition Dark Imaginings: Gothic Tales of Wonder curated by Special Collections in the Noel Shaw Gallery, Baillieu Library. The challenge was to use 300 words (or less) to tell a gothic story. While the exhibition focused on the gothic from c 1750 to 1900, the competition was open to free interpretation of the word “gothic”.
16 November 2018
A Small Collection of Things in Reverse
She was on her knees by a depressive begonia.
“They’re not getting any air in here,” she said when she saw me. “It’s gotten to the point where I have to go around breathing on them, multiple times a day.”
I unloaded the box on the kitchen counter.
Semantics
in a cabin above the irksome sea where the electric heater thaws us we make pancakes for lunch pasta for dinner we play at domesticity we watch a movie we disagree vehemently the night appoints us fools you tell me you love me let’s retire these ugly games and go to bed
24 October 2018
Flash Fiction Eight: Endings.
This story ends with a girl whose hair is too long for her liking. Seven new songs, unwashed swimmers, and a pair of luggage tags for the flight home tomorrow. She has a lump in her throat that’s been there for two months. Everything’s tasted bitter since September.
24 October 2018
Two poems: Ionian cup 570-550 BCE and Life of Art
I sit reading for so long that my legs tingle
with guilt, and the arms of the chair
become my arms. For a moment
I feel the stiffness in your back.
Pillow
I’m not a light sleeper, but something woke me in the middle of the night. It wasn’t something particular—like a sound or smell—but rather, a presence.
24 October 2018
Mince Meat for Magpies
I scoop the complaining cat into my arms and cradle it like a baby. Oliver stands outside the kitchen door, throwing the mince meat balls out onto the lawn. One magpie appears, then two, three, swooping in on the easy breakfast. More magpies swoop from the sky until the lawn is dotted with them. Oliver throws the last ball and comes inside.
24 October 2018