The Starting Paragraph

The Old Treehouse

2010-08-05T23:21:00.000-07:00

Cidershine glared from the bay window of the old treehouse; it was built in the french style with a box seat serving as a window sill. Cidershine didn't move, yet pulsed with rigid, fixed attention, whiskers twitching, muscles tense, whilst sulfur crested black cockatoos screeched from a nearby branch.

Reckless Riding

2010-08-04T23:15:00.000-07:00

"You might think that but I couldn't possibly comment..." echoed through my mind as she raved, and raved, on and on and on about some idiot who had overtaken her on the left only to immediately turn right.It was a few days later when I heard that the police had arrested her and sent her down for 'reckless riding.' Apparently, the 'idiot' had crashed after the turn, and ended up in a private ward in the People's Hospital.

Seven Days

2010-08-03T23:13:00.000-07:00

In seven days we'll be on he mountain, pristine alpine forests, fresh air, clear running streams and mineral springs! Fish, and birds, and small wild game! And Wood! Wood to burn! Only seven more days, what could possibly go wrong?

Prime Suspect

2010-08-02T23:06:00.000-07:00

The Accountant was seated in a yellow pool of light. Rats nibbled on her ear lobes, there was no other movement. Motorbikes passed mindlessly by paying little or no attention - it was somebody else's problem. That somebody turned out to be me. She was the girlfriend reported missing a few days ago by her family and now, I was the Prime Suspect. I stepped sideways and took another photo.

The Crooked Letter

2010-07-13T22:45:00.000-07:00

"Papi, Why is the sky blue?" Rachel asked. She was lying on her back in the shallow meadow, bits of grass and catkins clinging to her green and white checked frock and pinafore. Nearby sat her father on a fold up stool, under the weaping arms of an ancient willow tree, emptying the picnic hamper they'd packed earlier that morning. "Papi, Papi! Why is the sky blue?" Her father smiled and answered ryely, "Because 'Why' is a crooked letter that can't be straightened, Sweety. Come here and help me with the sandwiches and chicken."

The Retired Elite

2010-07-12T15:47:00.000-07:00

The throaty, throbbing roar of a dozen panheads devoured the tinkling of bellbirds waging war over nesting territory, and spread through our township as the sun rose into the pale grey of early morning. I was walking briskly as four of, "The Great Hairy Unwashed" arrested me with a growl of implied threat, "Where do you think you're going, Old Man?" "Back to my camp," I replied, "You can follow if you like? I care not." They laughed with mirthless, cock-sure glee, and herded me forward with their bikes. They had no idea; and few knew of this, out of the way, high country, enclave. Or, that behind its painted facades, it's paintball, lasertag and mythbuster clubs, lived a retired elite; former members of a nation's once proud volunteer militias. The alarm had finally been sounded, and like the peel of the start of some boxers' bout, the game was on, now it was time for some fun.

The Water Carrier

2010-07-11T15:58:00.000-07:00

"Hummel, Hummel!" yelled Dirk as he ran across the street to join me. "Morrs, Morrs!" I chorused in reply. "Who do you think will win the match today?" I asked, as we continued to jog the crowded path that flanked the edge of Hamburg's Binnenalster. "St. Pauli, of course!...?..." shreiked Dirk, as he stumbled and fell down, stone lined, stairs and into the water, disappearing under the bow of the docking 'Saselbek.'

Hot!

2010-06-21T16:09:00.000-07:00

Hot! 53 degrees Celsius, in the shade, and a thunderous torrent, falling from the sky. Hot! Too hot, even to stand out in the rain! Hot! The sweat pools in every fold of my skin: I cannot move and my electricity supply has inexplicably stopped.

Emptiness

2009-11-02T16:39:00.000-08:00

Blistering under a sweltering heat, impaled on a vertical shaft, the pork bleeds beads of sizzling fat with every rotation. The Doner Kebab attendant is absent, and all 'round the streetcar there is an uncanny silence.

The Wait.

2009-08-21T16:17:00.000-07:00

For the third time this week, I sit by a window at Cafe Goethe whilst a dark pedestal fan carries out sentry duty. Students of the Institute, occupy the pavement between classes but when the break is over, and the pavement empty, there is an suffocating quiet, a quiet, disturbed only by the propeller beat of this oscillating fan. I am waiting.

Harvest Time

2009-05-28T16:23:00.000-07:00

A warm, brisk, breeze blows across dry, paddy fields carrying with it the smokey stench of dead rats and the smoldering ruination of shredded, rices stalks. Old men swing the sickle in timeless rhythm whilst the less experienced gather up sheaves to be hauled away, two by two, from the fields by foot, cart or boat, prior to being threshed at some designated collection point. It is late May and the Harvest has to come in.

Fisherman Paul

2009-01-12T16:32:00.000-08:00

"Moin, Moin!" said Paul in a deep, gutteral growl through his beard and whiskers; his fisherman's cap leaning lopsided over one ear. I waved as he continued, "Na, wei geht's?" "I'm good," I replied, "so, Paul... what's got you dragging me out of bed at 3 am in the morning?" "The fish Bettina, they're glowing! You've got to see the fish!"

Two Minutes

2008-12-08T21:09:00.000-08:00

"Two minutes is all it takes, to cross the bridge of welcome." droned our guest speaker from the dim lit podium at the front of the restaurant. It was another JCI event and I'd just dozed off. It was only two minutes, but it seemed like the passing of generations, one REM stutter after the other.

Like Name, Like Nature

2008-09-16T07:44:00.000-07:00

It was the height of Summer and I was on the wrong side of a long line of drinks lying empty, on the bar of The Saxophone. Her name was "Sweaty Pouch." Names... they are beguiling things, names; rarely suiting the mantel of those who wear them, yet! Never has there been such a case as this... of... "like name, like nature."

Demise

2007-06-06T00:17:00.000-07:00

They crawled over my office space like bugs and worms devouring every morsel of office document in their path. "Bloody Auditors" I thought, black bag men for the Tax Department. "Our hard earned tax dollars being put to good use" - exterminating small business startups - Corporate governance gone mad, intolerant of anything outside a multi-national framework for the future of our society. A society of drone laborers, fuelling the coporate machine, individual private enterprise a fabled myth, extinct, like free speech, self-determanism, individual liberty, and evenhanded justice. Alas, they have found my worn copy of deBono's "Handbook for the Positive Revolution." They look at me like some terrorist... The jackboots are coming.

Beginings and Endings

2007-06-04T00:10:00.000-07:00

The maestro took the stand and with a soft voice filled the hushed silence that waited with anticipation. His words as clear as the tinkle of a crystal clear stream in some early morning mountain air, words spoken with a quiet but firm resolve, that held us in awe and stunned confusion, "There is a time for beginings and a time for endings, but who can say where one can be differentiated from the other, for all the time we have is... now!" The last word rang out like a shout as the first of a thousand micro-metorites ploughed through the sky and into the auditorium. Few, like me, survived. The apocalypse, foretold by a thousand generations, had finally come.

A guru's advice

2007-06-01T00:04:00.000-07:00

"What you bring with you is what you will find!" swooned some wannabe guru as we trugged, huffing and puffing, struggling under the weight of our equipment, up the worn steps of another sacred hill so devoid of senic hutzpah as to leave us devestatingly passionless about the landscape. Another guru wannabe, lets fly from some semi-hidden alcove dug into the side of the rockface, "The outer journey is but illusion, a manefestation of the inner journey, the only true journey. Look inside!" "Bloody useless advice," I muttered, "You can't photograph what's within!"

Tiffany Twisted

2007-05-23T23:59:00.000-07:00

"...'last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I couldn't find my whay out...there seemed to be no way out! Suddenly, there were voices down the corridor... it was too dark to see. The smell of earth, damp from the rain was strong. The next thing I remember was opening my eyes to an early morning, pale sunrise..." "So, what do you want from me?" asked the dusky coated private eye. "Mr. Jones, I want you to find her. Whereever she is, just find her."

The Baiting Game

2007-05-21T23:56:00.000-07:00

"Grim days lie ahead." He said as he put his empty stein on the table. George couldn't resist, "Where ya from, Catweazle?" "Do you know me boy! Do ya think ya're being funny?" retorted that shaggy, white-haired man with handlebar moustache and goatee beard. The game was on, and George took to it with relish, he loved baiting old folk, "Keep ya shirt on, Nostradamus! I was just being friendly."

Success

2007-05-19T23:49:00.000-07:00

It is Saturday, a day pretty much the same as every other Saturday before it. On this day, thie sun shines brightly in a clear blue sky. The gardens, a paradise to behold, are gently caressed by a cool, sea breeze. Fresh coffee in a clean cup rests on my outside table. I am immersed in all the trappings of success - environment, home, family, domestic staff, and pets... a living, breathing 'Hell on Earth!' there is no joy to be found in any of this, and nothing nourishes my soul.

The World of Bob

2007-05-17T23:49:00.000-07:00

There is a place for everything and everything has it's place in the world of Bob. If you move something, put it back, exactly where it came from. Even a minor displacement can wreak havok elsewhere. The world of Bob is the engine of the universe. The butterfly effect has real meaning here, it's not just a theory.

The Migrant

2007-05-11T23:54:00.000-07:00

When I was a lad, a minimum serve of chips cost around forty cents and with a piece of flake (gummy shark in batter) the total was less than a buck. Within five years the price had doubled. I learned how price was tied to the market fluctuation, partcularly the cost per ton of potatoes. In a period of ten years the owners of the local fish shop had changed from Anglo to Greek to Asian. Jimmy, the first Greek owner made the best hamburgers in the world. It was at this time I started to try and understand migration, and the way migrant families worked, hard, together, to make it in a new country, and make it they did. I never realised, or dreamed that one day I too would be some kind of migrant, expatriate, but first I had to transition from local ittinerant worker to world traveller. This is my story.

The Future

2007-05-08T18:11:00.000-07:00

"Predictive forecasting of future change to society, as impacted upon by technological development is difficult at best..." droned the Professor, "...that we know with hindsight change can be swift and pervasive, is an accepted fact..." I shifted uneasily in my chair and fought to keep my eyes open, "...assimilation of change has not resulted in radical makeovers of the social setting, such as depicted in the works of Wells, 'Doc' Smith, Gibson, or even mine, for that matter." A forced giggle bubbled through the auditorium. "You're a blithering idiot..." I thought, not for the first time.

Found

2007-05-04T18:23:00.000-07:00

Officer: "Sir! Take a look at this."
Supervisor: "What's the problem?"
Officer: "Well... that's just it, there isn't one... exactly... Sir... just this man there, who doesn't look right - act quite right."
Supervisor: "What do you mean?"
Officer: "Well Sir, it's just that he's not afraid Sir, not even just a little bit..."
Supervisor: "OK. Run a facial scan, let's see what we've got."
Officer: "I did Sir, he's a frequent flyer, but even FF's have a little fear of the security check, yet this guy... Infra-Red, Biometric, Racial, Religious, & Psycho-Stable screening all show this guy is green... super green... I think we've found him, Sir!"
Supervisor: "Who?"
Officer: "The Outlier... Sir..."

The Red Cowled Witch

2007-05-03T18:20:00.000-07:00

You may not remember Rupert, he was the old wolf that lived in the forest. Good fella he was, used to protect these lands from marauding humans, well, up until that little, red cloak wearing, sorceress of a girl came along and enchanted some hapless hunter into killing him. Listen now to the tragic tale of the wolf and the red cowled witch.

BBq's

2007-05-02T18:15:00.000-07:00

"Bbq's are funny things," he said, "not the physical cooking item but the event itself - you never really know when you're gonna have a good one." The Tong Master of the day reclined in the camp chair, lifted a beer in a silent, reverential toast to the day, upended the can and suddenly began choking on the ring pull that he'd stuck into it earlier in the day. Blood everywhere and a few minutes later we were racing to the hospital. What a disaster!

The Tale

2007-04-26T19:23:00.000-07:00

"Sit ya right down there and for a beer I'll tell ya a tale that'll turn ya hair white and leave ya sleepless for the rest of your days!" said an old, white-haired man at the Sailor's Inn. We'd been exploring the Reeperbahn district looking for a 'real' seaman's pub. What we found will turn your hair white and leave you sleepless for the rest of your life.

THe Hunt

2007-04-25T18:54:00.000-07:00

Dust hung in the air like a superfine, dry mist. With each stepfall and turning, beams of light filtered through holes in the ceiling to take definition as near-solid, slowly-moving, columns of gold. This mosque had not been used in a long time, yet all the signs showed that our quarry had recently been here...footprints in the dust, the blood and feathers of a chicken beside a small, warm pile of ash in the corner... we were close, very close.

Max the Sheep

2007-04-24T04:02:00.000-07:00

In a sun-drenched pool of light, breaking through the leafy canopy of a Uyghur courtyard, on a late spring morning, sat Max the Sheep. Now Max was no ordinary, everyday kind of sheep, he was a fat-tailed sheep, and he was THE proverbial black sheep. Max liked sitting in the sun at this time of year, sitting and ruminating over the morning's breakfast. Just then something changed, a shift seemed to ripple through the ground, from the direction of Luolan. It seemed to Max that the 'Smile of the Earth' was beginning to frown.

From out of nowhere

2007-04-23T03:58:00.000-07:00

"There is nowhere you can go, that I can't find you!" yelled a short dark haired, Asian featured woman. I looked around, there was no-one else there. "Who? Me? Who are you and why would YOU want to find ME? Let's face it, this is not a bust!"

Fast Lane

2007-04-10T22:21:00.000-07:00

Rumors percolated through the backlot like day old greywater vapors. Martian Sqeezeeasy, orange of note, writer and dramatist had been segmented. Sergent Cucumber faced a vegetable paparazzi throng as agitated as tossed salad. He took a deep breath and prepared for the oncoming crush of the press.

Greenpeace

2007-03-27T03:56:00.000-07:00

You may not remember your Uncle Vladimir – if ever there was a person at risk of being pounced on by a “Greenpeace Rescue Team” it was him; he was huge! especially on that day when he went down to that beach, just a little north of the Gold Coast, a place well known locally for nude bathing and whale sightings. He’d just finished swimming and was lying at the water’s edge; there was a moderate swell and the waves were gently breaking over his body. Enjoying the sun and water, he’d just closed his eyes, when they came.

The Cadaver

2007-03-17T03:54:00.000-07:00

“Six drops of the essence of terror, Five drops of sinister sauce…” As the opening theme for Milton the Monster blared out from the console, something not so cartoonish was taking place. Frankensteinian castles, exchanged for Corporate Glasshousing – white coats and Teslarian laboratories pushed aside for clean room environments and holographic computational systems. The pink and purple cadaver in the gene pool, not some stitched up bag of decayed flesh, but a Japanese nanotech robotic marvel: “The Android of the Fucia!”

A Big Name

2007-03-16T03:53:00.000-07:00

A drop of water, frozen in a moment of time, in it a teeming pool of microbial life. Another fraction of a second, frozen like a snapshot. The droplet has rotated. Now it is tinged with red, the red of blood that pollutes a watery splash that rises when an assassin’s victim falls in the rain. Its dark; and this victim had a name. A big name.

The Time Lords

2007-03-15T03:53:00.000-07:00

“The keeping of stories is serious stuff,” said the Guild Master, not for the first time. Boergen just yawned, also not for the first time. “Stories, tales, legends, myths, these are the oral histories of our people, their beliefs, values and ideals.” A heavy book snapped closed, ominously close to Boergen’s ear. She came quickly to wakefulness with a start.

Breakdown

2007-03-13T03:51:00.000-07:00

The Flats were hot, dry and dusty, the air shimmering in all directions with heat haze while small, dusty willy-willies danced back and forth along the side of the Princess Hwy. We’d broken down a kilometer and a half, or a bit more along the Maffra Road, from Kilmany – a ghostly speck of a town, devoid of all commercial venture. No water, in the middle of nowhere, the nearest soul a “cut lunch and water bottle” away. The heat can kill, still, even in 2007.

Replay

2007-03-12T03:50:00.000-07:00

“…and he said, ‘There is but only one way! And George Bush is its messenger!’ with that he pushed a button, much like this one. A minute later he blew up! Just like that! Lucky for me, I’d walked far enough away, in time…” “Yes. Thank you for your time, some officers will be in…” For the second time in two days and explosion roared out, destroying government facilities, one minute after the push of a button, by a microbionuclear suicide, “Bushite,” bomber.

Cattle Class

2007-03-09T03:49:00.000-08:00

The train left Chengdu at 5:56 PM. It’s Spring Festival Eve and we’re headed for Guangzhou. I leave the comfort of my “soft sleeper,” shared with three others I don’t know, nor can talk to and walk the corridors. The buffet car is almost deserted, the Hard Sleeper section – the usual crowd of six persons per bunk partition (open faced room). The Hard Seat area, what a shock! People everywhere, shoulder to shoulder, sitting at any available space on seats, bags, and each other. I partly force my way through to the end an meet a locked door. Beyond this portal, face after face, standing room only – “cattle class.” I wait for the next stop. Have a smoke, out, and walk back along the platform.

Eco-flict

2007-03-08T03:48:00.000-08:00

Global warming had taken its toll on the human population by the mid 2050’s. Weather extremes had raged for years in what became known as a, “Battle for the Planet” between star-crossed lovers, El Nino and La Nina. The collateral damage was horrific, whole races of people in 2^nd and 3^rd world countries decimated to the point of extinction, while 1^st world countries, perpetrators of the effect, fought over near depleted resources, while struggling to protect their own: holding a “green card” became the difference, for many, between life and death.

Paperboy

2007-03-07T03:47:00.000-08:00

Over night the rain had splashed down, leaving a damp, slippery wetness on every surface. A paperboy, over laden with the morning news, attending to each of his customer’s individual news needs, took a spill going around the corner. Buried under bike and paper, rapidly getting wetter from the sodden path, he shakes his head, mutters a curse and struggles towards his momentary resurrection, but, he’s stuck and cannot move. A street sweeper rounds the corner spraying more water before it. He cannot move.

Performance Art

2007-03-06T03:46:00.000-08:00

Pods lie scattered over the floor. Pink casings intermingle with mangled purple petals and pale tipped stamens. Everywhere the sign of some unimaginable carnage and, in the middle of all this, she lies in serene state, a performance artist feigning death – pink frock coat over a purple skirt and pale trousers bleeding to white at the shoes: A sign to the side states: “I am the Fucia!”

The Homeland

2007-03-05T03:45:00.000-08:00

“The terrain is difficult,” said the realtor blandly, “cliffs on most sides of a cul-de-sac cove, separated from the sea by a nasty and fickle set of heads: the gap is shallow and uncompromising, you can’t even get a biggish boat in there.” He continued with his litany of faults, but for my purpose, it was perfect, the homeland of my dreams.

The Garden

2007-03-03T03:44:00.000-08:00

“Have you ever seen a garden, an old garden,” he asked, “one that’s been reclaimed by nature, but has yet to forget what it once was?” there were several shakes of heads but otherwise no-one broke the silence. He continued, “I have. It was a long time ago and far from here…”

Eyes

2007-03-02T03:43:00.000-08:00

With a simple blink, they were gone; those florescent green, ‘glow in the dark’ eyes. They were the kind of eyes that seemed to hover, impassive, calculating, aware, unfearful of us or the darkness that enveloped us. Not for the first time did we, the hunters, feel we were being hunted, but by what?

Goodfellas

2007-03-01T03:42:00.000-08:00

“A pinch and a punch for the first day of the month!” said Glenda, attaching with unusual vigor and playfulness; “A hit and a kick for being so quick!” countered Miranda, lashing out with her left foot and failing to connect. The two girls giggled and walked to the teahouse.

Little Johnny

2007-02-27T03:42:00.000-08:00

Steel confetti lie over the ground. In one corner to the left of an industrial stamping machine, a pair of overalls. A horrific pair, stuffed full to stretching seam with the mangled corpse of little Johnny. Inspector Huzit turned, puked, wiped her mouth and grimaced.

Hard Rain

2007-02-23T03:41:00.000-08:00

Three days of hard rain, acid rain, could not wash away that blood soaked image etched into the sandstone causeway; that mangled mash that was once a human being; a human being that carried a consciousness, of which all that is left is this electronic imprint… in e-space… me.

Raiders

2007-02-20T03:40:00.000-08:00

“They’re coming!” cried the old man as he staggered into the village. “Run, run! They’re coming, raiders from over the sea!” And so it was they came, raiders, corporate mercenaries, devourers of private enterprise, true believers in a “flat earth, level playing field and harmonized taxation codes...” resource greedy, rapacious and hungry… we didn’t stand a chance!

Wang 'Eight Eggs'

2007-02-18T03:38:00.000-08:00

The Chinese New Year had once again, come and gone: a hungry Nian, again chased off by a combination of lights and loud noises. Wang ‘Eight Eggs’ sat in a satisfied happiness, his full belly bulging slightly over his belt, as he leaned back from the table.

Murder!

2007-02-16T03:37:00.000-08:00

It was the middle of the rest period, quiet time, the mid-day naptime; the time when the whole city’s official machinery takes a break from its soulless, mind-numbingly goalless endeavors. She shot her, with a 4” pipe gun, and a white rodent as the projectile. “Happy New Year, you Rat!” screeched the Horoscope Serial Killer

Oral History

2007-02-14T03:35:00.000-08:00

There was a time once, when cliffs rose high above the crashing waves; gulls and harriers and eagles soared over the water and swooped the sand; fish were in abundance for the catching; and fresh, spring water filled the well… but that was long ago, before the time of my grandfather’s grandfather…Hear well now, a tale of the death of the world!

Paradise Lost

2007-02-13T03:35:00.000-08:00

Still are the pools of Huafa in the morning. Narry a ripple, even as the reflections of security guards pass over them. I sit and watch as the day unfolds and people go about their morning routines of exercise and social walks. The cats chew grass. I drink coffee. Just another bloody day in a paradise with a rotten heart.

A Paragraph

2007-02-12T03:34:00.000-08:00

A paragraph is a writing device which organizes one’s writing by way of several elements. It contains as a minimum three sentences, which wok together to establish one idea. With proper use, at an advanced level, the paragraph can also influence how a reader responds to the idea.the sentences in a paragraph are usually called Topic, Exposition and Linking sentences.

The frog

2007-02-11T03:32:00.000-08:00

A long time ago there lived a frog. His home was deep in the forest, under a rock, on the edge of a crystal clear, pond of mountain spring water. There were lilly-pads and lots and lots of froggy food. Everything a frog could want, except he was alone and very, very lonely.

Reef Sign

2007-02-09T03:31:00.000-08:00

The currents flowed strong through the ancient channels, ancient even in ancient days past. Natural? Man-made? No-one knew. The island realigning itself with the lunar calendar. The island, a small remnant of a larger, buried temple complex. A fragmentary glimpse of the once “Great Hall of Hermes.”

A Rush Job for Teagan

2007-02-07T03:30:00.000-08:00

A phone rings. It’s the middle of the night. Footsteps recede in the stairwell. The phone stops for a moment and begins its insistent peel again. No-one answers. Teagan Wanabe, in a deep chesty voice says, “I think we’re too late. We’ve gotta get those codes, before the launch!”

Sentient

2007-02-05T03:29:00.000-08:00

Batwing-eared faces stare down from the wall, the way they have for thousand of generations. Criers in the street call the believers to prayer, and buyers to the hawkers. But the energy is wrong, something has changed in Temple Street. A flicker of color shimmers across the eyes of the ancient, watching faces. Something awakens.

Drought

2007-02-03T03:28:00.000-08:00

It was the eight hundred and fifty second day of the drought. The bush fires had all exhausted their natural fuel. Water that once stood in vast, deep lakes, now no longer even ran through artesian streams. It was “The drought we had to have,” or so the Prime Minister said. All the coal beds were burning beyond any hope of control in the ground. The hydro-electric systems defunct and monolithically useless. It was just as well we gone nuclear.

Kasimir and the Rogue

2007-02-02T03:26:00.000-08:00

The skimmer beat its gossamer thin wings at polka time, as it flitted down the tunnels in search of ‘worm-sign’. Kasimir, brooding at the controls as the General Secretary’s words echoed in his mind, “Mars Colony can ill-afford another terra-forming catastrophy! The rogue worm must go!”

The Monk of St. Clair

2007-02-01T03:25:00.000-08:00

In a darkness only broken by the periodic swaying, to and fro, of a head-mounted light, he wrote. He wrote as if demons or madmen were chasing him, as if his very life depended upon it, this monk of St. Clair; or so it seemed in the video surveillance footage that caught his furtive efforts, moments before the quake hit. Destroying everything in its path, except that room.

Water

2007-01-31T03:24:00.000-08:00

Water. Flowing forth from fountain faucets. Bringer of life. A medium for sustenance and aesthetics, irrigation and cooling. It flows. Everywhere. It was in water the found her, an earth goddess corpse.

Clover

2007-01-30T03:24:00.000-08:00

Clover covered everything like a moss gone mad, but it wasn’t clover like you’d find on the fair green isle, nor like the pastoral “red” and “white” common to the sun burnt land, no! this was “Four-Leaf” clover, big! Leaves like the size of tractor tires. Clover never grew like this, anywhere on that once, blue-green ball of rubble that sat, “third rock from the sun”.

Going Bush

2007-01-22T03:23:00.000-08:00

“Lying in the dark is an easy thing to do, especially if you are by yourself,” said the Ranger, “and around here there’s no-one for miles; the only trouble is staying alive, or safe, ‘til dawn.” Someone chuckled in the dark, mirthlessly.

Why?

2007-01-14T03:22:00.000-08:00

“It’s colder than Winter…” sang out a voice from a dusty radio, lying in the corner, on its side. Beside it lay knick-knacks and collectables, memorabilia from a forgotten childhood – cars, lead soldiers, half-chewed plastic ones, pictures and newspaper clippings… “Why?” thought Dougal, “Why paper clippings?”

Screams

2006-12-28T03:20:00.000-08:00

Screams. Screams in the ark and squeals of laughter. For days and days now, with relentless abandonment, an anarchy of celebration eddying through the town with each change of form of merriment. Christmas and New Year was never so frightful, when I was young.

One minute

2006-12-27T03:19:00.000-08:00

10:55AM. Half drunk cups of coffee compete for prominence amongst the breakfast detritus, lying on the table. Sunlight streams in, not for the first time to engage in shadow-play again amidst this unchanged scene. A body, once ripe and bloated lies prune-like in a shroud of dust. 10:56AM. The first knock on the door in six months.

The mouse detective from Bologna Beach

2006-12-13T03:15:00.000-08:00

Slashes of color riot in a whirlwind of dance and movement as she sashays from table to table, her dress the object of everyone’s attention – even Monsieur Michail’s, the mouse detective from Bologna Beach.

Bob the what?

2006-12-11T03:12:00.000-08:00

The corridor was rapidly filling with flames as Bob ran at forefront of the conflagration, arms clutching the precious files to his chest while pieces of synthetic ceiling burst into black smoke and fell spraying hot, glowing plastic shrapnel all over. He fell, not for the first time, “The books!” screamed Bob the Accountant, as he woke with a start.

Pschychominer

2006-12-08T03:11:00.000-08:00

There are places, deep hidden recesses within the mind, that even seasoned dream-searchers and psycho-miners don’t go: not out of fear and terror, but out of sheer bewilderment and inability to comprehend – yet this is where Toth had found herself; inadvertently, and with no perceivable way out.

Diarama

2006-12-06T03:08:00.000-08:00

At two AM in the morning, all was silent until that shot rang out. Like all such great shots that change the history of a people, a nation, a world, this was no exception. Several hours later, they found him lying in his own blood, in the small lane off Main Street… the Taxidermist was dead.

King Billy Bites Back

2006-12-04T03:10:00.000-08:00

Dark clouds roamed overhead as night settled down like a lid on a steaming pot, while the people of the village, agitated back and forth from house to inn to shop, simmering with the latest news – King Billy of Ballarat was still alive!

As luck would have it

2006-12-03T03:04:00.000-08:00

It was the day after the day after that day when my world was “shot to shit”. Three days later! Two if you don’t count, “that day,” and to think when I’d woken up then, that I thought it was going to be, “my lucky day”.

Rising Fortunes

2006-12-01T03:03:00.000-08:00

It is with known acceptance that most people do not handle change well, be it change via success or change via adversity. The upheaval and distress of adverse change is well documented, even down to the vagaries of change caused by minor misfortunes. Here we will not focus on such change, but on the change that comes as a result of New Money becoming Old Money, and collapsing back into New.

Canto-nized

2006-11-30T02:58:00.000-08:00

“Forever Autumn!” that’s what it said, scrawled across the lower right corner of a sun-faded portrait, of the most alluring Canto-Pop Queen ever to grace the airways between Hong Kong and the Zhuhai Sez. Few realized that she was nothing more than an A.I. construct. Even fewer knew that she was no longer even that, or that she was now well and truly, dead!

Sunrise

2006-11-29T02:53:00.000-08:00

Hanging heavy in the morning light, the sun like a dull, red ball, as big as a lunar cheese wheel, slowly rose into the sky. Somewhere in this shimmering mass of air, between Hill’s End and “The Morning’s Glory” at Trentha Falls, a bunyip stirred.

Gumshoe

2006-11-21T02:41:00.000-08:00

The promise of rain, lying in fat droplets on a teak-stained boardwalk, harassed by a fickle wind, waiting like some shadow-shrouded sidewalk-swallow for an opportunity to approach. I pulled up the collar of my trench coat, against the moist kisses of the wind, and walked on.

Not the brightest kid

2006-11-20T02:38:00.000-08:00

Clouds raged! Across the sky, encroached bolts and sheets of lightning. Each thunderclap, announcing post-haste that War, had broken out! Between Air and Water, using Fire and Dust as media to wage their conflict. George stood under the only tree on the high, barren, promontory and watched: he wasn’t the brightest kid on the block – he liked to talk of dragons. In years to follow, some would call him a Saint.

Three days out

2006-11-07T02:37:00.000-08:00

Three days out on a long, straight road, seemingly going to nowhere, we found it, a low, long eroded and slowly sinking ridge, once previously known only to Lockhart – fortune and glory…and gold!

End Over

2006-11-05T02:34:00.000-08:00

Shadowed shapes loom out of the flat, pale twilight of pre-dawn. A car, hops madly from patch to patch of ground-loving mist, rushing, lights off, towards some destination. The last fateful day of Earth had just begun.

A clawful affair

2006-11-04T02:33:00.000-08:00

Throughout the far flung reaches of the tidal pool, floating on eddy currents, spiraling against the flow, bits of news touched rock and shell and fish alike – the “Crab” was dead!

Was Life

2006-11-03T02:32:00.000-08:00

In the last years of the twentieth century, the rains fell – little did we realize the seeds of humanity’s destruction lay dormant in each drop that fell. Once it was, that water was life! But now, mid-way into the first century of the new millennium , death stalks even the smallest drop.

All in good time

2006-11-02T02:31:00.000-08:00

“Wind blows, fire burns, rain falls, and all that is on Earth settles to nothing more than a handful of dust!” The guardian rasped out the ancient litany, last of her kind, ready for the passing over… it was her time, but she would have to wait; another millennia to be exact!

No one wants

2006-10-28T02:29:00.000-07:00

Like a faded blue tuft, solitary in a fields of green, it lay there defying all attempts to identify it from a distance: singularly ugly, abandoned by accident, by choice – the hat that no one wants…

Assasin

2006-10-26T02:23:00.000-07:00

In the extreme small hours of the final day of occupation, he stood silent and contemplating at the semi-open door of their room, waiting, watching, listening to the concert of breathing issuing from man, woman and child. The ghost, smiled, and descended upon his victims; in decreasing order of size.

Sentinel

2006-10-25T02:22:00.000-07:00

Days come and go, drifting by like clouds of imagination, too distant to grasp and remember, too similar, one to the other to stand out clearly. Still. Lying as silent as the earth. He lay wide eyed and still. Alive. Waiting.

The Wastes

2006-10-22T02:20:00.000-07:00

Vast waste lands, stretched out beneath my feet, like a day’s old beached whale finally free of the pestering of a Greenpeace Rescue Team. The glistening of the sun’s reflection, almost too painful for the eye. Petroglyphs dance! Petroglyphs unannounced in any guidebook seem to move with such liveliness as to almost free themselves from their tombs of ancient rock.

The Wind

2006-10-18T02:17:00.000-07:00

There’s a rocking chair on the terrazzo, sage-green, grey and black, with regularly intermittent splotches of rust dotting its frame. it rocks by unseen hands – the hands of the wind, caressing it into each stroke of forward and back, a wind both gentle and fickle. There is something about it, this wind.

Peak Season

2006-10-16T02:16:00.000-07:00

It’s the peak season. Small blue grey butterflies flit in the grass. The weather is noticeably cooler. More and more frequently, the winds pick their way the leaves and branches of anything green. Even the cats need attention – lots of it. Fair time has come to the Pearl River Delta: Canton Fair, Hong Kong, Dongguang and Zhongshan, all vying for the attention of buyers, and all during the same wee… It’s Peak Season!

Sounds

2006-10-10T02:19:00.000-07:00

Midday. The air hums and shrieks with sounds: sounds of cars and trucks hurtling by; sounds of pruners hacking at the dead leaves of tall palms, browned off with decay; and the sounds of two cats seeking affection.