Tag: short story
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Within the Viewfinder
Marie slips the nail of her ring finger beneath the sleeve of her thick woollen jacket, peeling it back to reveal the watch face. Its little hand paces impatient circles around eight forty-five, collecting frantic seconds. She sighs with frustration, shuffling her boots in the snow. He is fifteen minutes late. The newspaper has tasked…
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Poo Man
Poo Man thought he would make a new hat. He had plenty of things to make a hat. He needed a shave too. He had been so involved in his project lately that he was starting to forget to look after himself. Israeli power stations seeped into the afternoon air. The park that Poo Man…
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The Friend
There once was a boy named Craig who was very unfortunate. One of these misfortunes was that his name was Craig, and not something like Daemon, or Link or Zuko (as his fellow classmates were named). Other misfortunes involved said classmates with whom he went to school, and if he were to really pity himself…
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Served
Tonight, I am ethereal, and I glow. With a midnight blue light stretching across my skin, I am an alien. Tonight, you ask for a shot and a cocktail and a cigarette and a resurrection of your soul. And tonight, I am a human-like alien. In a bar, in the rushed streets of nightlife Melbourne.…
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Strawberry Blonde
TW: Pedophilia By Chloe Payne The shit and piss soaked rug burns into my nostril hairs late in the night. It gurgles and splutters lively out of its host — before setting into a burgundy crisp mess on the wooden floor panels. Crimson specs can be seen on an orange left alone. I begin to…
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Familiarity
I know those eyes. The cold unfeeling blue. I know that malicious smile. The grinding and retching of the teeth. I know those freckles. The splattered pattern like a bleach stained dress. The blonde hair. The gaunt cheeks. The vacant stare. I know those features. Because they are features of me. I slowly reach out…
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We Need a Pianist
I arrive at the Pavilion at 7:30pm in my best maroon suit. Stressing about my fingers. I’ve parked, engine’s off. Unfurl my fingers, staring, and thinking, they’re not broken anymore, and there won’t be an accident tonight that changes that. So, I go inside. The Pavilion is one of those old and grand buildings that’s…
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Siege
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…
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Doomsday, Man
I’m no blushing bride when it comes to a good snog sesh, but someone’s stank ass breath can really kill the vibe. This gaping maw throws an absolute rancid gush of air at me, landing like a wet sock across my cheek. I am not breathing that. Not chill, dude. Their little liver-purple tongue is…