My husband would be the first to admit he’s not one of the great romantics and he’s given me some very odd presents over the years. Think secondhand breadmaker on my 30th birthday – every woman’s dream. But the most marriage-threatening gift he ever gave me was a day-old lamb he’d rescued from euthanasia. We’d moved from Perth to our barely-converted two-room shed in Margaret River, but he was back in the city for a fortnight’s work. He was acting with good intentions – “it’s company for you” – but… Read more A LAMB IS NOT A MARRIAGE COUNSELLOR: Danielle Haigh →
The billowing black sail flaps around us. Grief emblazoned upon it. Some days the sail is full of memories and pain and I struggle to navigate these uncharted waters. Pulling wildly at the edges, I have no control, my ship threatens to capsize. My crew are young and learning to try and harness this sail for themselves. Some days they are dangerously high in the rigging, fighting with one arm to regain control. Trying to repair the fixtures that have been pulled loose, ripped from the mast in this storm.… Read more UNCHARTED: Lizz Clarke →
Fremantle Writers is a collaboration of writers across many genres and we’d like you to be involved. We are an open-ended forum for ideas, submissions and discussion. The objective is to be community-driven not committee-driven. Please join us and share your stories and suggestions as to how you would like to see the group progress. Subscribe to the site by filling in your email via the ‘Follow’ button on this page. The most important aspect of the site is to feature your stories. With that in mind feel free to… Read more Welcome to Fremantle Writers →
“Nah, like I said mate, you would never, ever catch me riding any sort of bike without a helmet; too bloody dangerous, I value my health and safety a lot more than that. Do you know, seven out of every ten pushbike riders have experienced some sort of serious accident, usually head-related? Nah, always look after your body, Jerry, and it’ll look after you. Anyway, I’ll just finish this and we’ll get cracking, eh?” He took a final, deep drag on his cigarette, flicked it into the garden and walked… Read more Blue Dust Day: Gary McHugh →
Who were these people whose shrouded bodies I now see? Egyptian mummies lying in wait, neatly and tightly wrapped in white body bags stacked on stainless steel shelves. Each body tagged – as if it were a piece of luggage. Otherwise anonymous. Genderless. It’s cold in here and I pull in my jacket and zip it up. Protection. Comfort. What were their stories? How was their ending? Peaceful? Painful? Expected? Did it come after a long illness – perhaps a cancer which ate at their very bodies – and then… Read more THE MORGUE: Terry Finch →
