Competition entries

Donna Mazza

Half-Life

Last week’s hormone infusion took two hours, so I had a half-day off sick.
I keep tally on my phone: 12.4 weeks of long service, 28 days annual leave, public holidays, ten days sick leave to cover appointments, hospital, a couple of days recovery. If we birth mid-week, we have 17.6 weeks. He has 28 days holiday; three days sick leave to cover the labour.
Each half-day off for infusions cuts into recovery and bonding.
We joined the half-life program. A cocktail of supplements and infusion of hormones every fortnight. We don’t have time for 40 weeks to process this.

Carolyn Nelson

Unguarded confession

Hand fluttering nervously at her throat,
Jean regretted confiding in Sam,
Admitting her crush on his workmate, George
Had her softly exclaiming, “Oh, damn.”
Their close friendship was one few could fathom,
They were teased on romance frequently,
Though reserved, he was not unattractive,
But their bond was of sibling decree.
Being cognisant of Jean’s innocence,
And George’s objectionable traits,
Introductions would be unthinkable
With his conspirator reprobates.
George ‘the rat’ earned his bad reputation,
Sam consoled, as she blushed endlessly,
“I know your ‘I shouldn’t have said that’ face
And your secret is quite safe with me.”

Rachelle Erzay

Greenthumb

Greenthumb? Understatement. Grandmother would pull peaches out of pits, bloom tulips in the summer. The day she disappeared inside her garden, a leather bound book made itself known. Its edges were burned by flame, pages filled with dry soil, sticky red wax and elegant lists scrawled in a cursive language only my father understood. But he wouldn’t touch it, lips pursed white, eyes averted. Mother spat “witch”. I hid my smile. Her blood is seated deep in my bones. Her candles burnt brightest at dawn and beckoned seedlings in the rising sun. And now, so do mine.

Kerry Greer

The Bell in the Sand

Acquaintances who knew us – knew you travelled frequently – ask me how long until you’re back. My tongue swells, a log in floodwater. How many days are all the days? Like autumn rain falling on the parched and unreceptive scrub, it has been too long to answer them with the truth. I say you’re in the desert. There’s an old settlement out there, with a church. You’re on sabbatical, fasting, praying. The place is a ghost town, but the church stands like an arrow of glass, staining the pale sky with colour. I will leave here before they can ask again.

Steve Heron

Kaarak

Sunlight strikes the tails of Black Cockatoos screeching overhead, revealing brilliant scarlet flashes against the darkening sky, like embers rising from a fire.
‘It’s gonna Rain,’ Ryan announces.
‘How do you know that?’ Jason replies.
‘See the Kaarak, Red-tailed Black Cockatoo?’
‘Yeah, I can see them. So?’
‘When they fly like that, it means rain’s coming.’ Ryan points southwest towards threatening clouds. ‘You’re like a Kaarak, Jason,’ Ryan adds.
‘What, that I know when rain’s coming?’
‘Nah. Kaarak is left-footed, like you.’ Ryan holds out his left hand, claw-like, then points at me. ‘And like you, they’re bloody amazing.’

Fionna Cosgrove

Inhalation of Dreams

I breathe in deeply, savoring the familiar scent of decay, burnt parchment and dragon-scales. The light is dim as I navigate my way through the graveyard of bones, poisonous botanicals and red eyed sparrows. Then I spot it. It’s pages are gilded with silver and encased in aged blue leather. As my fingers stretch towards the spine, aching to begin the momentous journey I have dreamed about upon all my waking hours, I hear the voice of the keeper echo across the hall.
‘You need to pay your late fees before borrowing this one, Rebecca!’

Tamara Jones

Someone should seriously write a book about it.

“How was work?”

“Once again, library school didn’t prepare me for true customer service.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Yes! Someone lodged an official complaint because the book they requested, published last week, wasn’t available.”

“Again?”

“Then someone returned a magazine with a Tim Tam squished inside. Absolutely. Disgusting. Remember that toddler last year—almost as bad.”

“Gross.”

“And the Knitting club got into a fight with the Mahjong ladies. I physically separated three Senior Citizens. All before lunch! And the afternoon—Teenagers. Sass. Level. High. You can’t make this shit up. Someone should seriously write a book about it.”

Leslie Davies

In the Mists of Memory

We were all born about the same time in the local cottage hospital, all attended the same school together and grew up in the same hilly, wooded area. We played our childhood games with each other.
Billy Pearson, at the young age of ten years, was the first of us to become invisible. We looked for him but couldn’t see him, someone said diphtheria? After him, over the years many more of out gang became invisible. Now I’m old and alone. If there’s no-one to see me will I become invisible? Perhaps I am already invisible without knowing?

Elizabeth Lydon

Introspection

Amanda was head chef for the most exclusive restaurant in town. Her restaurant Parallax was the darling of food critics from 2025-2031. Her passion for cooking started by watching her grandmother after school in the 2010s; listening to 19C classical music and energetically waving spoons like a mad conductor. Family and friends always begged her for brunch. Amanda could never say no to a dawn beach walk with an Americano. Reflecting on her happy life, Amanda began to be flooded by regret. Her biggest -only - mistake to commit a crime that will wipe her memory in 10 seconds.

Anita Magee

Obscurity

Slipping into the fog of obscurity,
overwhelmed by the pace of technology.
Simpler times replaced by complexity,
social-media the platform for staged identity.
Artificial intelligence no longer a peculiarity,
advancement building upon itself exponentially.
New anxieties bred by hyperconnectivity,
people cannot escape the endless scrutiny.
Digital footprints tracked silently and insidiously,
a risk to our worlds and personal security.
Endless streams of opinion, violence and adversity,
confronted by age old inequalities and animosities.
Extremist ideologies and perverse proclivities,
under the dark web cover of secrecy.
The veil of analogue invisibility torn irrevocably,
swallowed up by the fog of obscurity.