Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Also a big shout-out to writer and publisher Karen Andrews of Miscellaneous Press - she conceived the idea for this project last year, when debate was raging among the intelligentsia over whether anything published on a blog was any good. Karen seemed to think it was and, voila, the idea for a book was born. She put a call out for Australian bloggers to send in their best work and I was fortunate to have 'No Sanctuary' selected for the anthology.
The press launch will be held at Readings in Carlton, Melbourne on 14 April.
You can order the book here. Postage (within Australia) is free on purchases before 1 April. While you're visiting Miscellaneous Press, check out Karen's book for kids - Surprise - my little ones love it.
Jessie scraped at the verdigris on the bronze art deco sculpture with her thumbnail. Visiting granddad was like going to a museum, only this time she could touch. She traced her fingers along the objets d’art stuffed into every spare space in the large walnut bookcase. Her granddad was a fossicker and collector, born between world wars, when reusing and recycling weren’t the latest fad but a simple matter of survival. She had never respected his need to keep everything, just in case. A kid of the disposable generation, she sneered at his frugality.
Jessie remembered the time she’d been messing with granddad’s prized crystal set. He had picked it up at an estate sale and, when he discovered it wasn’t working, pulled it apart, fixing it with patience and determination. Strictly forbidden to touch it, she had dared one day when he wasn’t looking -- a resin knob came off in her hand. Having never confessed, she still felt the guilt.
Her mum came out of the main bedroom, her face raw with emotion. Jessie was shocked – Sarah had always been stoic, her father’s daughter.
‘You’d better go in,’ said Sarah. ‘There’s not much time.’
Jessie stepped into the room, the bed was as she remembered, but the bedside tables had been replaced by beeping, whirring machines. The nurse sat on a low chair near the wall, not looking up from her knitting.
Settling upon the bed, Jessie took the dying man’s hand, cradling it in hers.
‘I’m sorry granddad,’ she whispered.
‘I broke your radio.’
This week's #fridayflash story is a slightly modified version of an entry into Every Day Fiction's String of 10 Two contest. (It didn't win, clearly!)
Friday, March 19, 2010
By Lily Mulholland
The surface tension of the dark pond pulled the small, upturned yellow leaf toward others similarly caught, hostages of Mother Nature. Hunched on a coal-black rock at the water’s edge, Alisha watched the leaf-boat collide with the rest, the cause of its doom a breeze so slight it created not a single ripple.
Worlds away, Alisha did not notice the wispy clouds coalesce into grey cotton balls until they passed between her and the sun and the afternoon grew cool. Before the wind’s breath corrugated the pool, Alisha glanced at her reflection. Not since she admired her youth in the iridescent dew drops decorating the forest on a cool spring morning long ago had she really looked at herself.
Gone were the dazzling coats, the lustrous fibres that adorned her silky limbs. In their place were tattered, dust-encrusted rags. Her face, once smooth and pearly, was dun-coloured and parched; the bloom of youth was short. Alisha was not worried for her children – she had made them a home, they had food to eat. She knew their lives would not be easy, but they would survive without her.
Stretching her wings, her antennae quivered in the strengthening late afternoon breeze and Alisha knew it was time to go, to find a place to rest, a place to die. She lingered a few moments longer, watching an eddy corral the leaves on the pond. They would circle the pool endlessly until, at last, they submerged and drowned. They had served their purpose.
Friday, March 12, 2010
By Lily Mulholland
She thinks if she stares long enough at the sea she might just disappear. Beautiful once, the tides of loss have hollowed her skin with the painstaking care of a taxidermist. Grief’s handmaiden, she’s been taken apart like an Escher drawing, pieces drifting just beyond reach. Though the tears have run dry, she can taste the salt on her lips; he is gone but love's pain lingers. She stares at the sea, hoping she might just disappear.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
by Lily Mulholland
Nellie was becoming a little tired of Wilbur. Take, take, take. He never gave her anything except a growing list of words he wanted her to weave. Well she’d fix him. The country fair was coming up and Wilbur was pegged as the star attraction.
The day of the fair arrived and the Zuckermans transported Wilbur in his five-star trailer. Nellie still had to ride in the truck with the other animals. They were installed in a curtained exhibit and Nellie went to work.
Crowds arrived for the big unveiling.
The crowd gasped. Charlotte’s daughter smiled.
Published earlier this year at Flashshot. Also published at Short Humour.