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Weekly Contest #340
Six months after Matilda was born, all eight of her siblings vanished. They lived in a house at the back of their landlord, Mrs Tipper’s property behind the larger house where she lived herself with her husband and four sons. Matilda’s house was small, far too cramped for a large family, but the yard in between the two houses was vast and was theirs alone. Excluding the garden shed which was off limits and secured by four separate padlocks attached to the wide dented door. Her brothers and sisters would play all day in the yard, but Matilda...
Weekly Contest #306
Day One Food diary One glass water — apple cider vinegar.One protein smoothie — organic berries, organic chia seeds, organic coconut milk.Handful almonds — unroasted, unsalted — not tasty.One slice dark, rye bread — all natural, smooth, peanut butter — hemp infused.Two sticks celery — two teaspoons high protein cottage cheese. Two litres water — lemon, lime, mint — BPA free drink bottle. Two fish oil supplements One multivitamin — Vegemite tasting.Exercise diary One hour hike up hill and back — air sharp in lungs, feet steady on mossy roc...
Weekly Contest #304
Feedback day comes around more frequently than my pay checks.It started as a simple half yearly check-in, then changed to quaterly, monthly and now it’s every fortnight. Thats because Gorman Green is continually finding ways we can improve. He loves the word improve and can find a way to fit it into nearly every sentence. He also loves hyphenated or compounded words like teamwork, problem-solving and time-management. He loves cliché phrases like help me to help you, and let’s circle back on that. He opens with the line what do you think you’...
Weekly Contest #286
It haunts me. It hurts — when I think about it. And somehow I always find a way to think about it. You always know when it’s raining from beneath a tin roof. That’s what I grew up under. A tin roof perched on top of weatherboards that my dad would repaint every 5 years or so. Not a single raindrop could go undetected in our house; a cue to snatch clothes from the line and cover the barbecue. We listened to gentle patters turn into frantic downpours hitting the roof like bullets falling overhead. I could close my eyes and know when a storm wa...
Weekly Contest #208
It was the first and last property my Mother bought when I was eight, and my sister Raven was nine. ‘Deceased Estate’, read the sign hammered into the front lawn at an angle. “What does deceased estate mean?” I asked my mum, tilting my head as I read. She explained to me in seven-year-old language, “basically, it means we got a bargain for a dream home.” From that moment on, whenever someone asked what I wanted to be when I grow up, I replied, “Realtor.” Today's property should have sold weeks ago. Victorian style with stai...
Weekly Contest #205
Trevor Christmas is Mother's day in our house. And by that, I don't mean Mothers day gets skipped, but rather that Christmas is the sun, and we are the planets. She has a laminated checklist stuck to the inside of the pantry, it stays there all year round. Under the subheading, October, is "decorating". It begins with a slathering of outdoor lights to the roof, gutters, walls — anywhere that can hold a hook or a nail. Inside, snowflake pom poms are hung from the ceiling and little reindeer trinket dishes are placed ...
Weekly Contest #202
The ink reservoir dropped. Straight out of the holes in the ceiling tiles and onto my desk, branding my nose on its way. I wouldn’t say I was waiting for the moment, but the seat in which it happened to be dangling above for the past two months, was known to be mine. I’d spent hours absently staring up at the ceiling in History class, just waiting for something to happen. Brendan Marshals and Scotty Parnell laughed. ‘Shut the fuck up,’ I said Mr Andrews spun around from the whiteboard, dragging the marker with him and crossing out ...
Weekly Contest #187
Ailurophile "Ailurophile?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "Really? You work in a cat shelter and you don't know what an ailurophile is?” She’s got a lot of confidence for a lady whose foot fat spills over the sides of her heels, “An ailurophile is a lover of cats,” she says, swiping her hair behind her ears. That’s probably why I don't know what one is. I’m not a lover of cats so I have no reason to have ever heard of suc...
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