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The manual for egress – by Franklin Barker
Fiction Franklin Barker Fiction Franklin Barker

The manual for egress – by Franklin Barker

The manual for egress was their bible, written some hundred years before by Dr Osram – the worst of the magicians and a man they worshipped. After long nights at the Bistro Eileen or the Club Marguerite they would drunkenly quote at one another in unlit parks occupied only by tramps.

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Killing time – by Konstantinos Skrepetos
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Killing time – by Konstantinos Skrepetos

Cyrus was surprised to see Andy from HR sitting in the meeting room. ‘Sorry, mate – I’ll wait outside,’ Cyrus said. ‘No, no, come in,’ Andy said. ‘Laura asked me to sit in today to ensure your transition back to the office is as smooth as possible. We care – you know our core value: “people are at the heart of everything we do”.’

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Foos Yer Doos? – by Amelia Warman
Fiction Amelia Warman Fiction Amelia Warman

Foos Yer Doos? – by Amelia Warman

I felt swallowed by the shimmering granite walls, lost in the surging throng. An intruder in a city still recovering from a blizzard I had narrowly missed. Maybe that was why everyone else seemed so eager. The people on the streets and in cars alike had been trapped inside for days and were now finally bursting back into their lives.

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Old growth – by Benjamin Wong
Fiction Benjamin Wong Fiction Benjamin Wong

Old growth – by Benjamin Wong

I can’t stay here any longer, and I know Mum can’t either. She will have to wander her mindscape looking for sanctuary, leaving a trail of ephemeral daisies behind her on whatever ground her feet might grace with their touch. The clouds spiral about Ah Gong’s head, the winds hasten, and the spreading darkness threatens the starlight. I could jump out of Mum’s mind as a last resort, but I need to look for her while the night is young. I must make for the old-growth forest.

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Venus flytrap – by Sagar Nair
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Venus flytrap – by Sagar Nair

One day, I got an anonymous comment on my blog: ‘Are Venus flytraps your entire personality?’ It was on a picture of me at the beach, wearing a Venus-flytrap-themed swimsuit, holding my Venus flytrap up to the sun like an offering to God.

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Oval – by Matthew Green
Fiction Matthew Green Fiction Matthew Green

Oval – by Matthew Green

Bobby gave a thigh a squeeze, reached toward the glovebox and popped it open. It hinged violently. He rummaged through the junk inside and pulled out a torch.

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Unconfirmed – by Emma Ashmere
Fiction Emma Ashmere Fiction Emma Ashmere

Unconfirmed – by Emma Ashmere

She’s never been a dress wearer but says all right I will, if you promise to buy me a new dress. And shoes. Not hand-me-downs. Or home-made. The dress I mean. And I hate white. And it has to be dye-able. She’s dyed things before. Overalls. Her (half)brother’s old singlet. Her mother’s glory-days fake pearl-buttoned gloves. Tried and failed to paint brown shoes black. Left stains on the laundry lino in the shape of something haloed according to her mother. A money-spinner her (step)father said. No a miracle said her mother so we can’t mop or sweep the floor again.

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The hold down – by Jenni Mazaraki
Fiction Jenni Mazaraki Fiction Jenni Mazaraki

The hold down – by Jenni Mazaraki

Something has taken you the twelve seconds are up. Her body near yours forever she’s reaching but your body has given itself over and under you are nothing and everything you are her daughter and no one’s you are older than you …

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Jack and the Argonauts – by Grace Heathcote
Fiction Grace Heathcote Fiction Grace Heathcote

Jack and the Argonauts – by Grace Heathcote

Cars begin to queue near the boarding ramp, waiting for the ferry to arrive. Gulls perching atop the billboard shit on the artwork below. As the ferry slides into view, Jack sees a line of pedestrians form on its walkway, impatient to disembark.

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Irukandji Death Syndrome – by Tabitha Laffernis
Fiction Tabitha Laffernis Fiction Tabitha Laffernis

Irukandji Death Syndrome – by Tabitha Laffernis

I came up for air. And everything got worse.  

The water was crystalline, warm and salty as sweat.  

‘Happy honeymoon,’ the concierge had said when we arrived, smile pinging against a tan. His face took in nothing, betrayed nothing.  

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Hellsite – by Jane O’Sullivan
Fiction Jane O'Sullivan Fiction Jane O'Sullivan

Hellsite – by Jane O’Sullivan

Eva fusses with the burner and when it doesn’t ignite, she gets the lighter and rasps it hard. The flames go up with a whoosh. Orange and blue. What colour is that, I wonder? Smauglust, maybe. Glimmertod. She sets down the frypan and I think the conversation must be over because she just stands there with her hand over the pan, feeling it warming up.

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La Moustache – by Howard McKenzie-Murray
Fiction Howard McKenzie-Murray Fiction Howard McKenzie-Murray

La Moustache – by Howard McKenzie-Murray

Although the babysitter hadn’t budged on the sunlounge in 30 minutes, a singularly shitty mood radiated visibly off her. She lay supine by the pool way beyond Cancer Council recommendations under a double coat of SPF 50+. 

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333532 – by Ouyang Yu
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333532 – by Ouyang Yu

When a writer is reaching his year of never-never, do you know what goes through his mind on a daily basis? Even after he has lived for more than thirty years in a country that is a cultural, linguistic, political, philosophical, poetical and pathological antithesis to his home country, these things that come to haunt him remain an antithesis in themselves.

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The humming – by Meisha Simpson
Fiction Meisha Simpson Fiction Meisha Simpson

The humming – by Meisha Simpson

In the sea, a wolfish grin. The oily head of a seal, whiskers dripping and twitching. The wave, curling the seal with it, one body in motion. Flex, release, and slide with the wave like a seed from a pod. Rolling water, shattering, splintering.

On the shore, a boy and a girl. The boy is on his knees, digging a hole. The girl is brushing sand from her wet purple tights. There’s a dark shape to the left of them, a lump of brown, scaly with sand, a golden strand of seaweed like a wreath on its head.

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The colour of perception – by Tony Barrett
Fiction Tony Barrett Fiction Tony Barrett

The colour of perception – by Tony Barrett

Robbie was a volunteer driver. His first pick-up was in Warrane, a largely public housing suburb on Hobart’s eastern shore. Reno, a cancer patient, was in his mid-seventies, though the disease made him look older. He had far more reason than Robbie to think his day had begun badly, but he didn’t. He’d been a concreter for over fifty years, so he knew about structural weakness and had recognised it in himself long before the specialist delivered his dismal sentence.

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Fish inside a birdcage – by Samuel O'Neil Hamad
Fiction Samuel O'Neil-Hamad Fiction Samuel O'Neil-Hamad

Fish inside a birdcage – by Samuel O'Neil Hamad

‘Winkle-dink, there’s been another one.’

Winkle-dink is an unsightly albatross in his forties with a crooked foot and a mucked-up eye. He’s been off the field for ten years, but he’s still the best detective the Bureau of Investigative Research and Detection (BIRD) has. Mr. Hamburger would trust Winkle-dink with his life and then some.

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