short fiction
1998 / angst, death, coarse language, severely depressing / 35 pages
"Joshua Mackenzie rested his arms on the door and watched the trees roll by on the flat plains. Gnarled and bare, they looked just as lonely as he felt. He still couldn't quite grasp the fact that he was alone."


1998 / weirdness / 20 pages
"His eye-lids had drifted closed; his head had wanted to rest on the steering wheel and never lift. Had he been so focused on the road that the only things to make him realise his tiredness were the tacky, blue-neon lights advertising the Hotel California?"


1998 / nostalgia / 10 pages
"In one hand, he carried a black briefcase. The other held the edge of his thick black trench-coat, a feeble attempt at keeping out the bitter cold wind."


1998-1999 / angst, sexual references, drug use / 15 pages
"Zac read through the rest of the letter he'd written. He knew he wouldn't send it. What was the point? Just like all the other letters he'd written while he'd been here, this one would end up in the shoe-box that also held the new pair of Nikes his Grandma had sent him for Christmas"


1999 / supernatural themes, blood / 12 pages
" 'Taylor,' was the word spoken out loud or in my head? Cautiously, I peaked over my shoulder. Nothing there; just my imagination. A tiny rustle in the leaves. I whirled around. Nothing.
'Hello?' I called. The sound was swallowed by the overwhelming silence."


1999 / angst, slight trauma, coarse language / 12 pages
"All he could remember of the past two days was black. It'd been black when he'd gone out walking, black had covered his eyes, black had witnessed his hurts and black had finally claimed his brain."


1999 / angst, religious themes / 7 pages
"Sitting, rather awkwardly in a pew, he glanced upwards at the crucifix hanging above the altar. Everyone else is back in the hotel. I know I shouldn't be here, I should be in bed."


1999 / angst / 12 pages
"His senses piqued as he felt eyes on his back. For one unnerving sliver of time, he thought he'd been found out. A second later, a cold feeling worked its way down his spine. A sigh of half-relief, half-terror escaped past his lips."


1999 / christmas fic, religious themes / 12 pages
"And besides, sitting at the back of a church was always best if you didn't want to be noticed. Sit, duck your head, look like you're praying, everyone'll leave you alone. Of course, Zac never mentioned his ideas on what he liked to call 'Stealth Church-Going' to his oldest brother."


1999 / play form / 15 pages
"The door is opened by a young girl, around eleven or twelve, with witty blue eyes. Her hair is white-blonde and swept back in a braid. She is dressed as if she's about to go on a long hike, warm and sensible, all that's missing is a back-pack."


1999 / apocalyptic references / 2 pages
"Some seditious part of me still hopes. What if they're wrong? Life cannot just be snuffed out like a candle. We cannot all die. No matter what happens, someone will survive. There's no such thing as The End."


2000 / slight angst / 5 pages
"The western suburbs aren't really that bad a place to live, a few years ago – when I found a house that was half-worth the mortgage I had to take out – this part of town was considered something of a hole."


2000 / angst / 12 pages
"Soft breathing serenaded her hesitant vigil. The night just past, exhausted, he'd crawled into bed beside her, had cradled her to him before slipping into oblivion. Only in the long arm of dreams did he appear at peace."


2000 / angst, death / 2 pages
"That's what most people are doing. Talking about plants and grass and dresses and whatever else people talk about to take their minds off what's happening. I'm not a socialite, or even a decent liar. Not like he was.
Bastard."


2001 / stream of consciousness, angst / 4 pages
"Give and give and give and less than a blink-and-you'll-miss-it scrutiny; 'at least it's interesting' – the critic's kiss of death. Never enough is it? Give and give and it's never enough, eaten, digested, donated to the National Trust, it's just never enough."


2001 / original, dysfunction, slight fluffy cute / 14 pages
" You are about to encounter a prolonged, positive cosmic climate, the likes of which you have not experienced since 1987. Remember how, back then, things really started changing; how your eyes began to open wider and your desire to explore new horizons grew?"


2001 / religious + mythological references / 2 pages
"Poets, more than priests or doctors, believe they know death. Sermons or coroners reports are mere scratches on the surface – an imaginative word can pierce the heart of this horrid beast.
How many souls have gaped, seeing Death has the face of an angel?"


2001 / magic realism, slight fluffy cute / 7 pages
"Yes, contrary to popular belief, chaoses could think just like anyone else. And Isaac, despite his lack of vanity (or perhaps because of it, who knows?) was getting bored. Twelve variations on mottled obsidian can only hold one's interest for so long."


2002 / angst / 4 pages
"Every Sunday, you (as head of the family) feel it's your sacred duty to drag me to church. If I'm forced to sit through mass then maybe, just maybe, this time the holy light of God'll beat me 'round enough that I'll swallow it into my heart."


2002 / original, religious + mythological references, based on 'messor' / 16 pages
"Faint sounds - a rustle of feathers and the occasional brush of cloth over metal. The voice of the FALLEN LUCIFER cuts the dark, musical but resigned, and weary."


2002 / original, drabble / 286 words
"He admired the Conquistadors, in their dusty golds and red brocades. Their armour was never polished, so he never polished his trophies."


2003 / angst / 6 pages
"It's like a vigil. Every night once the boy's tucked safe in bed, she takes a jumper and a packet of matches and heads upstairs. The stairs need oiling or polishing or something to stop them creaking, but it won't likely happen with her husband away."