Tag: Creative writing

  • Teatime

    Teatime

    —

    by

    Zoe Petersen
    in

    TW for unpleasant eating experience/gagging Harry held his pinky out as he drank, pursing his lips to sip a shy mouthful of tea. He smiled and set the cup down on its saucer, careful not to let it clink.  ‘How’d you like it?’ ‘Delightful, madam.’ ‘Try the spaghetti.’ Harry hummed. This moment had happened once…

  • Monday Fever

    Monday Fever

    —

    by

    Adrienne Slattery
    in ,

    To his alarm, great purple hammocks hung beneath his eyes, sore to the morning sun. Wrestling house keys to the car, it had stung to jog, spurred by the memory that he’d done mere nothing of the work his boss had sprung upon him two weeks back… too much among other tasks, and paralysis of…

  • Walking the Rocks

    Walking the Rocks

    —

    by

    Adrienne Slattery
    in ,

    Here squats a sandstone city, its streets choked by motley cloth, Crowd River; bank brimming over toes tucked beneath dark waters cloaked by shade of steel shoulders, hunched, crouching. Light ripples on its water, blending hues which glimmer a vibrant crescendo to grins glistening. Wealthy tourists choose cockatoo or kangaroo memento. String lights gleam like…

  • Bonding

    Bonding

    —

    by

    Kirsten Hammermeister
    in

    I. In the deep woods, the decaying and overgrown world, the twisted vines snap, frail from whips of wind. I am consumed, by the hollowness of the night. Here lie the crystals, the mild candlelight and my sacrifice – a bloody, fluffy bunny. Crafted cantations carved from my carnal craze. Cracking call ringing in the…

  • Siege

    Siege

    —

    by

    Adrienne Slattery
    in

    The Quaint residence abides around a cold street corner at 92 C Gosemer Rd, Meralvile, where tall apartments tower over a red door. The porch angles so slightly to the left, leaving an embellishment of chipped paint on its corner where the timber meets the concrete. This is where Mrs Quaint returns home in the…

  • Ardent Spirits

    Ardent Spirits

    —

    by

    Will Olteanu
    in

    The effects of ardent spirits upon the human body and mind: Obstruction of the liver, Jaundice and dropsy of every cavity in the body, Diabetes,   Voices, music. Now the empty street footsteps and an empty bottle.   Falsehood,  fraud,  theft,  and murder,   An overpass. The tangled veins of the city below. A car…

  • Den

    Den

    —

    by

    Adrienne Slattery
    in

    There are rats nesting beneath the stairwell bordering the doorway to our little shared house. Their little fingers scratch in the dirt, and their black eyes gleam like beads. They scour the alley to glean bits and pieces, fresh nibblings, fine for a rat’s dinner. Up creaking stairs they trot, the chunky food between teeth,…

  • Witch

    Witch

    —

    by

    The Tert
    in

    I am the woman who disappeared into the mist in her last life, The one who ran off the lip of the cliff, And whose body was never found at the bottom, They call me witch, with a hiss. They nudge me towards damnation, And I go with long strides, And a smile, For hell…

  • Hold the Note

    Hold the Note

    —

    by

    Adrienne Slattery
    in ,

    It’s late morning, and the paterfamilias has donned his formal attire. The toga cloaking the loose folds of his chiton is blue with a fluffy grey lining on the collar and sash. His bare feet are swathed in a pair of long woollen socks, pulled high over the rolls of his baggy grey sweatpants. From…