Short Fiction

I stand there, motionless, waiting for the prevailing west wind to trouble the branches above and lure away their progeny. Like a pied piper of the woods. I come here to play a game, and to remember the friend with whom I played. We were just eleven when it began.

It’s Monday morning and I’m trying to not look tired or hungry because if teachers think you are hungry they might think you are not being looked after properly by your parents and they might phone Dad. Miss Chapin is just the sort of teacher who notices things like children being tired or hungry

Marj stands at the borderline, mustering the courage for what she must do. She has endured enough: The growling diggers uprooting her world, the concrete monstrosity growing up in its place, the arrogant tradies stomping over the strewn entrails of her former life.