After two solid years of curating and editing the Flashers project, Thomas Wilson is stepping aside. We asked him to write a note about his experience.Read More
One day, for reasons he didn’t understand, Leonard Ames decided to do something completely out of character.Read More
People living on corners survive longer in our town. It’s as if they have two sides to hang onto when it comes to life, not just the one front fence.Read More
We met over a bunch of seedless grapes.
He was balding and I was suffering from early onset vascular degeneration. He wore elasticated pants.Read More
I’m sitting on a hilltop overlooking the ocean, wrapped in a blanket that smells of my mother. The blanket is made of wool, soft, not scratchy, and its multi-coloured fibres are floral and warm. I smell jasmine perfume and black tea, and the fragrance of just-dried washing: sunbeams are woven through the fabric.Read More
I accidentally bought double bed sheets for my queen sized bed again.Read More
The Concorde came down low over our town, over our street, over our houses. It was sleek and white and it made surprisingly little sound.Read More
He held his new glass eye up to the light. I like it, he said. It has boldness. Depth.Read More
At midday the pools are mostly empty: it’s just old people doing laps, lilac caps and bald heads hauling themselves through the water. The smell of chlorine and hot chips.Read More
The mallow grows slowly, covering the fields in a twist of green vines, for months. Wild horses used to try and run through the old pastures when we first bought the property. The plants worm their way up the animals’ legs, so quickly, and we only ever find their bones.Read More
Getting into the car, winter morning. So fucking early. All dark – just clouds, no sun. Getting into the car, winter morning: she pauses, because the insides of the windows are all fogged up. Fogged up like it’s warm in there.Read More
We saw the sky, cotton candy pink and Slush Puppie blue, turned the corner to a bright gold crease, cracking glass reflective, burning down red balconies – just brick, light and mortar.Read More
My daughter is a bedroom door. We speak to her from the hallway with our foreheads pressed against her broad flat back and our hands hovering over her handle.Read More
I arrive at work still half asleep but the sight of the thick and brightly orange cheese puffs scattered on the floor awakens me.
Last Thursday the world ended. The kids and I were at Maccas.Read More
I am falling, slowly falling, into stars. Spiralling into a tide of darkness sprinkled in light. The swell catches and envelops me. My head is tossed with foam. The water cradles my face, strokes my hair, and still I fall.Read More
Here comes the Armaguard truck . It comes every Tuesday with change for the tills, but it also carries a more precious cargo – the sweaty-fingered thrill of a secret love. Me and Matt sit on milk crates in the loading dock. I unwrap my sandwich: peanut butter. Matt’s eating salami today.Read More
The creature never introduced itself.
It walked through the front door one evening, sat down in the lounge room and started laying out its things. We were all too polite to ask its name, or where it was from, or why, indeed, it had visited us. So, we just... never spoke about it.Read More
I realised today that I miss you. It has been so very long, and I was cruel. I dropped you like a hot potato when something better came along; I get that now. Well that something better was an illusion, a brief distraction as it turns out. It certainly was not fulfilling.Read More
Like a wet mogwai, Fantastica has bubbled from the flesh of Seizure to become its own unique gremlin. Here's the rundown on Australia's newest speculative fiction publisher.Read More