Competition entries

Amy Dunjey

The Lone Bride

A lone bride stood before the church clasping a posy of irises. Something blue. Her mother’s dress hugged her slight figure. Old and borrowed.
She took a deep breath and pushed through the doors.
A collective gasp echoed through the church.
The bride smiled, pulling out a handgun. Something new.
She pointed it at the altar, where a bride and groom stood before a priest.
“Til death do us part my love.”
The gun cracked and the man’s body dropped to the ground.
The lone bride swept out of the church, the priest’s blood spilling like wine down the aisle.

David Rawet

Under an infinite sky

Mum arranged flowers for Sunday masses. Mondays, I’d help Father Michael with fallen frangipani petals. I was five.
‘Father Michael?’
‘Just Father, Christine. What is it?’
‘I don’t want to be a cleaner, like Mum.’
‘Your Mother brings light into people’s lives. Yours, mine, everyone on this mission. And here, in God’s house.’
‘Is God angry with her for having me?’
‘No. God knows you came from love.’
‘But I don’t have a Daddy.’
‘You have me. Can I help?’
‘Can you get me a brother?’
He touched my cheek.
‘Such absolution isn’t repeated.’
‘Yes, Father,’ running outside to play.

Joel Gibson

and if I don’t see You…

The evening light crackles. It moves along the lines of my dry skin and spins gumleaf shadows. Branches dance in and out of my masonry, casting a pitter pattern, coming along by with a sliding touch. The breeze pulls past. The trees whisper in the wind. And my head rings, it goes ding-a-dang-ding-dong. It’s the only song tonight and the preacher’s not preaching to the choir for there’s none left, not even him. Not even him will hear me sing. The night pushes in.

Stu Knox

Dog

Mister Diggi was a Dibby Dibby Doo. He came to town with a dog named Ding. He looked different talked different dressed different and he prayed to a stra-a-a-ange strange god. Every day, people said see there the Dibby Dibby Doo and his ugly dog. Behind wary eyes smiles lied and chewed bitter on Mister Diggi’s peaceful greeting. One day Ding did a trick. Children laughed. Mister Diggi beamed, crouched, spoke quietly and petted nuzzling Ding. In the adults' faces Mister Diggi saw each see love. He wondered why they chose to hate when love was in their hearts.

Melanie Talbot

Delicate Little Flowers

The roses from those suddenly blank teacups? That was me. I left you the gold edging. Those daisy patterned curtains? Blank now too. I sucked their print up my calves and across my thighs. I drained the couch cover dry; my arms and breasts have become a riot of clashing petals. They’ve started to burst out of my skin. I’m sprouting, blossoming, so fertile I can’t be contained. So feminine. Isn’t that what you wanted? My tree root hands can crush stone now. My face is foliage. Get your own damn dinner, I’m going outside to stand in the rain.

Allan Wills

Photo portrait

On the doorstep the florist had left a flower arrangement with a card attached.
“Dear Jean,
Please accept these flowers in lieu of a photo portrait. I fear you may find my appearance too plain and end our correspondence without discovering my true identity. Do continue writing.
Yours sincerely,
K.”
I kept the arrangement long after the fragrant leaves and flowers had dried. I wrote every few days of the small things in my world and my larger thoughts about them. Every few days her letters arrived telling of her garden and its secrets, pleasures and treasures.

Meryl Broughton

Leaves, sticks and soil

We'd never met before and never would again. It was just another intimate but strange encounter where I would do the looking and listening, smelling and touching. Bits of leaves, sticks and soil were still on her, they had not all been brushed away when she was found, abandoned.
Her skin was pale and felt cold even through my surgical gloves. She did not respond to my touch on her naked body – she couldn't. She wasn't really there, only her mortal remains. And it was my job to determine how she came to be lying on the autopsy table.

Alicia Bakewell

They say when it hits, think of something beautiful

Breathe in. The centre of a daisy is a thousand tiny explosions, barely visible to the naked eye. Hold it. Use your indoor voice. Hold it. All parts of the arum lily are toxic. Hold it. Negative thoughts form new and undesirable pathways in the brain. Hold it. Over one hundred people are killed each year by falling trees. Hold it. Do not wish harm upon your fellow humans. Hold it. Some plants are carnivorous. Hold it. Calm your blood lust. Hold it. Know that nature’s fury is more powerful than yours will ever be. Breathe out.

James Hansen

Aunty Flora

My Aunt Flora is a stern old lady, with a soft spot for me.
“Another scone, James?”
“Please. Have you read my story about pioneer life?”
“Yes. But why did you write about sexual abuse of children on those outlying farms? So awful. Stories should be nice.”
“Aunty, maybe if we face the fact that it happens, we’ll be better able to stop it.”
“It’s not the sort of thing to put in a story. Goodness knows what you’re learning at that university.”
“Aunty Flora, what would you do then?”
She paused, withdrawn. “Me? — I’d shoot the bastards!”

Tess Korten

Visual Eavesdrop

You can’t see me, I’m hiding! I like to disappear into the everyday. To experiment with appearances, camouflaged to the surrounds; feel unified with nature.
Do you like this façade? Oops, you can’t see me, I forgot! It’s easily done, I’m quite talented. I’ll expose myself. Quickly; what do you think? I’ve spent many nights perfecting this image, reflecting YOUR surrounds.
Do you notice me now? I’m staring. Watching you. You interest me. I see myself in you, or maybe it’s desire to be you. But your carefree spirit scares me. I’d rather secretly observe, and live vicariously, it’s safer.