GUM: Lizz Clarke
Her mouth moved rhythmically with the sway of the subway. The gum sticking and releasing. Everything about the way she stood signalled ‘Don’t mess with me’. © Lizz Clarke 2021 Continue reading GUM: Lizz Clarke
Her mouth moved rhythmically with the sway of the subway. The gum sticking and releasing. Everything about the way she stood signalled ‘Don’t mess with me’. © Lizz Clarke 2021 Continue reading GUM: Lizz Clarke
We’re excited to share our stories and would be even more thrilled to share yours. If you have a story you’d like considered for publication, please email us: editors@fremantlewriters.com.au Subscribe for updates. Note: Fremantle Writers is having a break this week and will be back with a new story next week. Continue reading Tell us a story
He’d ordered a burger in Breaks, his local cafe. It arrived dead on arrival, a knife driven though its heart. Detectives quickly arrived from the police station over the road. After a brief examination of the murder scene a detective announced: “It looks as though he’s had his chips.” © Roger Garwood 2021 Continue reading THE BURGER MURDER: Roger Garwood
The wheels, the chain, stop turning as the bike comes to a halt, marking the dirt. A new petrol station. Huh. The old trees turn to face him, empathetic, and he looks forward. He’s seen everything here. The chain goes taut, the wheels turn. © Hunter Haigh 2021 This flash fiction piece was written at the Lunchtimes are lit! workshop at Raine Square, run by Night Parrot Press and WritingWA. Hunter Haigh is 16 and has been writing for many years. His works mainly include flash fiction and short stories. Aside from writing, he is a jazz vocalist and an … Continue reading EVERYTHING HE KNEW: Hunter Haigh
I suddenly remember that I don’t remember. I try not to panic. I try not to analyse what this might mean in terms of my mental health – then and now. I have to relax my jaw and keep breathing. I remember what Brenda taught me about breathing through my feelings rather than thinking about them. Yes, analysis. That’s the problem. If only I could suspend the thinking – the endless turning things over, this way and that – as if life were a series of problems and events that could be neatly dealt with by thinking – and then … Continue reading THE LEAVING: Terry Finch