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Weekly Contest #109
The last trains emptied the city of daytrippers and office dwellers as Chris unlocked the door. The cafe was tucked in an alleyway between towers of glass and steel. He walked into the gloom, past stacked chairs, tables, the counter, the coffee machine - an engine all shiny and fawned over. He squeezed into the kitchen, the heart, deeper to the womb. Clad in his apron, hands washed, Chris gathered bowls, flour, butter, eggs, water, rolling pin. The oven growled to life greeting the long night. Like a warlock, he performed the ritua...
Shortlisted for Contest #75 ⭐️
(Trigger warning: Substance abuse, domestic violence)It reminded me of one of the times I went to rehab. She was an older woman. Her face was creased in places that indicated she had a low bullshit threshold. My dumb questions were answered in a hard, clear voice. She wore a navy blue kimono, her blonde and grey hair tied in a low bun. The gold engraved nametag on her chest read 'Maricourt'. We sat in a thoughtfully designed room. Scandinavian aesthetic. Minimal. Not unlike a hotel room. The walls were cream coloured. The soft...
Weekly Contest #61
My wife takes a big, deep breath and smiles. 'Can you smell that?'We are sitting on little plastic chairs at a little plastic table in an open-air hawker centre, a great al fresco food court, at Gurney Drive in Penang, Malaysia. The sun has set. The hawkers are setting up, unfolding the limbs of their metal carts. The sound of music and chatter in a smattering of languages, laughter mixed with knives chopping, water pouring, plastic plates being stacked. The preparation of every kind of food you could ever desire, Chinese, Malay, Indian...
Weekly Contest #59
My pop, my grandfather, lives on the edge of a small town near Broken Hill in Australia. The name of the town doesn't matter. It's unpronounceable, a higgletypigglety mess of syllables, like most Australian town names. It's barely a town at all. More a collection of weatherboard houses held together by rough people who are set in their ways and live out there for a reason. It's country where Mad Max was filmed. It's all red sand and rocks and bush dust, huge clear blue skies as far as you can see, dirt tracks leading to the featureless&...
Weekly Contest #57
Three-quarters of the way through watching The Wrath of Khan with his daughter Alexis, the clock ticked over to a minute past midnight on Arthur Goldbury's 50th birthday. At the end, Alexis wiped her eyes. Her bottom lip trembled. Arthur knew she didn't want him to see her crying.'It's okay, honey,' Arthur said. 'You know Spock doesn't actually die.''I know, I know. But it's still sad.''What was your favourite bit?' he said.Alexis composed herself. She was a tough little 12 year old. A tomboy. A real dad's girl. 'When Spo...
Weekly Contest #56
Congratulations, reads the first page of the self-help book, you have survived all of your hardest days. I can't help but laugh. My precious little Lucy is six weeks old. She cries, wails and bleats her way into the early evening. Recently, like a week ago, she awoke to the world. She became aware of this unpleasant reality, no longer sheltered in my warm, tight womb. It's cold out here. It's bright. It smells funny. It's dry. It's too noisy at times and at others, not noisy enough. She has decided that she doesn't like it. Not one...
Weekly Contest #54
I was pretentious in my first year at Sydney University. I'm not ashamed to say it now. I used words that were too big and I didn't know the meaning of. I only read Herman Hesse, Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Jack Kerouac. My wardrobe consisted of black skinny leg jeans, black t-shirts and Doc Martens. My efforts at expressing my individuality, my personality, lumped me into the 'arty-goth-emo crowd'. We complained about the status quo and talked like we knew something about politics and philosophy. In reality, we knew quite a bit more about fonts ...
Weekly Contest #53
It's a Sunday in December 2018. In Sydney, it's a glorious early summer's day. The cloudless sky is vast and blue and bright. The afternoon air carries the scent of an early bushfire season, that unmistakable, menthol smell of burnt eucalypt. 'Your popsicle's melting,' my brother Adrian says. 'Huh?' We don't call them popsicles in Australia. It's one of those affectations Adrian's picked up since moving to the US. Like the way he pronounces 'r' like an American. Calls thongs flip flops. Seems disappointed when Christ...
Weekly Contest #51
My mother is from the Philippines. Few of my Filipino-Australian friends believe I am half-Filipino, but every year until was seven, we spent at least a month there. My second childhood home was a small village called Aureliana, in a town called Patnongon in the province of Antique on the island of Panay. To my five-year-old self, it was a day and a half on a plane and the better part of another day looking out the window of a van as we drove forever. When we finally arrived, we were in another world. A better place. One much brigh...
Weekly Contest #49
Oh hello, are you awake, little one? Are you hungry? Ah, yes, yes you are. Alright then, just let mummy get herself organised. Well it is... Let's see... Ah, we made it to 1am. Nice one baby Georgie! We'll start with some freshening up. Change your nappy, okay? No one likes to have something to eat with a wet or stinky bottom right? Well maybe your sister... Maybe daddy, hahaha! Just gonna get you unswaddled- bit cold I know. I know. Now just gonna unzip you and take your little legs out. Pop! Pop! Oh! Bit brisk. Now, what have we g...
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