Killing time – by Konstantinos Skrepetos
ISLAND | ONLINE ONLYFROM THE UTAS ‘LOVED STORIES’ PROJECT
2026’s UTAS third-year creative writing students were challenged not to ‘write what you know’ but to ‘write what you love’. What they produced were stories that range from the most personal memoirs to the most outlandish fantasies.. We’ve featured excerpts from five stories on Island Online - read all the excerpts from 2026 and 2025 here - and one full story will appear in Island 179
The little floating heads stared at Cyrus. Cyrus stared at the little floating heads.
‘I’ll circle back to you offline,’ the head named Laura said, ‘which brings us to the end of the agenda. Any further business?’
‘I’m really looking forward to the new management structure you’ve outlined and synergistic improvements under your leadership,’ said the head called Dave.
Cyrus snorted. ‘Oh, for fu—’
‘Please mute your microphones if you’re not actively contributing to the discussion,’ Laura said.
Cyrus fumbled for his mouse and disabled his microphone. His Zoom client flashed a message from Mia from Finance:
‘Idiot :)’
‘Cyrus, I’ll speak to you after lunch in our one-on-one,’ Laura said. ‘We’ve got a lot to unpack now that you’re back on deck, and I want to make sure you’re ready to be effective.’
The call ended. Cyrus’s laptop displayed his next meeting reminder:
Wednesday 3 December
2:00 – 2:25
Daily Meeting
Laura Paull
Meeting Room 1
Enough time for lunch first.
Cyrus sat on a bench in the building’s courtyard.
‘That looks nice and healthy,’ said Mia from Finance, sitting down next to him.
‘Well, it’s healthy,’ Cyrus said, poking his salad with a wooden spork, ‘but it’d be nice if it had some flavour. Leafy greens taste like dirt and sadness.’
‘Haha. It’s been boring without you here. How are you feeling after your first week back?’
‘Yeah, I’m alright. Meds keep me sane and stable. A bit dizzy and dry, but I’m fine. Hey, y’know − everything you did for me while I was in hospital? Meant a lot.’
‘Aw, that’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’d better get back upstairs – I’ve got to finalise the budgets.’ She gave Cyrus a quick, awkward hug. ‘I’m glad you’re okay.’
***
‘’e won’t last the night, poor child. Best fetch the vicar. There, there, lad, that’s a good boy. Nought to worry about now. You did a man’s work today an’ kept good time.’
***
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”.’
Laura appeared on the large monitor at the end of the room.
‘Andy is here to explain the new work arrangements,’ she said. ‘He’ll lead today’s meeting. I’ll stay online to answer any questions.’
Laura disappeared from the monitor and her name hung in white letters on the black display. Andy opened a plain yellow folder and removed a single sheet of paper.
‘What happened to you wasn’t our fault,’ he said. ‘Obviously, we’re glad you’re back and all set to be the rock star project manager we recruited, and we’ll support you as much as we can, but the three months you were away—’
‘Which I took as unpaid leave,’ said Cyrus.
‘—because of your … situation … leaves us in an odd position. While we want you to pass your probation singing—’
‘Like a rock star?’ said Cyrus, staring at the pen in Andy’s hand. ‘Is there some suggestion that my performance won’t be good enough?’
‘No,’ said Laura, speaking without showing her face. ‘We’ve had the same kind of conversation with all the team members – base-lining expectations. You’ll report directly to me now. Legally, we can’t restart your probation period so there’s only four weeks to get you over the line.’
Andy pushed the paper towards Cyrus and offered him the pen.
‘This formalises the new structure and confirms you’re well enough to recommence full-time with no issues.’
***
‘The boy looks too young to need my services. Very small,” said the vicar, setting his bag at the foot of the bed.
‘This is John,’ said the nurse, ‘an’ he’s thirteen years old. Drummer boy for the Twelfth Regiment, marched upon the miners at the stockade. They pelted the poor thing with rocks, but he kept marching until ’e was shot in the leg. Left bleedin’ at the side of the road. It’s a miracle he’s alive.’
‘Miracles? The Lord doesn’t show His hand in such a manner,’ the vicar said through wrinkled lips − then added quietly, ‘He doesn’t show His hand at all’.
The vicar removed a small vial of anointment from his bag and placed the container on the bed near the child’s head; from the folds of his black gown, he retrieved a brown notebook. It fell open to a familiar page.
‘On this, the twenty-eighth day of November, in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and fifty-four, I lay my hands on you in His name,’ the vicar said. He dipped his finger into the chrism then blessed the boy’s forehead with holy oil.
‘No … want … another day …’ John whispered.
John’s head lolled onto his left shoulder and his whispers ceased.
***
‘My time’s up,’ Cyrus said. ‘Laura wants me gone. She wants to make her mark before the merger: “Look how I synergised team operations. Efficient. Effective. Nobody dead in the trenches”.’
‘Nah,’ Mia said, ‘it’s not like that at—’
‘Spirit Financial, where we’re all one, big, happy family,’ Antoni from IT shouted. He pushed through the crowded pub with their drinks. ‘We really care – about our bottom line, bitches!’
Antoni slid into the booth with Mia and Cyrus and pushed a beer towards each.
‘Don’t listen to her,’ he said, tilting his head at Mia. ‘She’s all sunshine and roses. It’s bullshit. Take a stand, Cy – Laura’s only been here five months, like you. Same rules apply to her, the most important being: “don’t piss off us plebs”.’
‘It’s not the plebs I’m worried about,’ Cyrus said. ‘Management love her. She’s thinning out the numbers and thinks I’ll slow down the herd.’
‘Maybe speak to someone at the union,’ Mia said. ‘You can’t get the sack for health reasons, and—'
‘Bugger that. Spirit headhunted you! You didn’t take three months off for a lark. I mean, c’mon mate − heart surgery, holy crap! Four weeks isn’t long enough for a fair go. Get her to admit this isn’t about work and it’s all about health,’ Antoni said, draining the remnants of his pint, ‘and then you can take them to the bloody cleaners. Stuff ‘em. It’s war! And, more importantly, it’s your shout.’ ▼
Image: AndreaPiacquadio - Pexels
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