Bridging difference Walk to the edge and jump off. Shylock bleeding out.

Dark, threatening water swirling far below drifted him back to her twenty-five years before. Before famine, armistice, bomb dropping, their world was tense but not like now. Now, no one trusts neighbours, friends or nation. She was breathtaking. He would stand and stare, trying to stop his lower jaw from flopping open. But the mind, the steel trap, now that was the big attractor. Without that her face was mere dressing. Had she forgotten their pledge, lost love-inte

It was an old Stonebridge with arches and thick sides. It must’ve been 400 years old. It was ancient. She was told to come to the bridge and meet her boss. It was a bit of a strange request but she knew her boss had been after her for years and she wanted to see if he actually fit the dropkick persona that she’d always given him. Maybe he was misunderstood and she was the only one that misunderstood him. She walked up the side of the river as the winter rains had filled it

I form into bridge. Today has been a big week. Now for child's pose. David Today has a been a big week, from the downward dog, to forming...

Trees brushed against sky. "It's like a movie," she said. "How is that?" I asked.

“Movement. T-men, squirters, could be locals. Get Terp to ping ‘em.” “They’re coming around.” Creeping a few inches, looking through the infra-red scope. Two thermals moving behind the low cement wall heading for the well. The first-time-out POG kneels, blasting at the wall end. Buckets fly. Diving out, covering the distance in seconds. Two small, mangled bodies in scarves lay still. “How the fuck could we tell.” shouts POG hysterically. Reaching down slow

The westerly wind winds down the valley so heavily that people become winded. It is hard to tell if it is a planetary or a primary wind, like a trade or westerly or even polar easterly. Maybe a periodic or secondary wind like a monsoon, a land or sea breeze. It could even be a mountain or valley breeze. Local winds can include a Chinook, Bora or Mistral. But, it seems, after I played my woodwind I ate a cabbage, bean and curried egg meal and it has given me tremendous gaseous

Lined up in our chairs, waiting to be butchered...I feel like I should know what it’s like to cut through someone’s skin with a scalpel. Instead I wait for my turn to be the butchered. Should I have checked that the surgeon is actually qualified? Instead of just relying on seeing him in a fancy office and taking it for granted. Surely the fact I’m in a fancy hospital with lots of busy nurses running around is a good sign. Mind you I am always confident that I could perform

The children sat quietly, cross legged on the floor. They were small humans, not above 6years of age. Far from fully formed, but getting there. Fairly gullible, but that gullibility was gorgeous. Their teacher smiled inwardly at their cuteness. She was explaining the photos of the animals in the wild. Some are called predators and some are called prey. The small humans looked at her with blank faces. So she went on to explain the difference in a slightly sanitized way. “W

‘Rare or medium rare?’ ‘Well done, please.’ ‘You’ll have to get that from a different barbecue, mate. This isn’t a crematorium.’ ‘Don’t be so mean, Dan. If Scot wants it well done, he’s getting it well done.’ ‘I’m joking. Anyway, the man’s got a gift for incineration.’ Scot laughs and shrugs, visibly annoyed. His plan of feeding Dan shoe-leather next time they reciprocated the invite scrolls like ticker-tape behind his eyes. ‘He was a dragon in a previous life,’ intones Scot’

Slowly. Very, very slowly. Muscles imperceptibly moving. Eyes still, forward, focussed, rivetted, locked on. Mottled light on mottled fur. Head still, level, unflinching. Muscles glide forward. Mouth twitches, chattering silently. Eyes stay locked. Leaves and branches silently push apart. Mottled shadow glides slowwwwwwly forward, soundless. Holding, still, moving, holding. Gliding. Holding. Waiting. Millimetre moving, gliding, holding. Eyes unblinking. Prey stops, blin

Ms Johns stood in front of her senior school English class. They were good kids in general. Keen and enthusiastic. ‘Predator from the Latin Praedari, Praedat, Praedator. Meaning Plunder, Seized by Plunder, Plunderer. Yes Liam?’ ‘So Miss does our concept of a predator come from someone being a plunderer, therefore they take from others by force?’ ‘Yes Liam that is a very observant. They look for someone they can take from first don’t they?’ ‘Ok sure, they try to find s

"Miss, what's history?" "Cataclysm forming now. Tea once hot, sits warm." We dreamed to be them. When scraping marrow from bones, and...

Maria pondered the painting that hung above the sofa in the small apartment she shared with Lincoln. It was just two people sitting in...

Absence, obscene, obsolete, absolute. ‘Paint the space that is not’, they said. ‘Express the vase of flowers through the absence of vase’. Like calculating the motion of orbiting stars. I drew the space that is not, and the eye of chocolate cosmos stared out like black punctures in the space-time continuum, collapsing beneath the weight of the denial of their existence. Are the strokes of my brush now obsolete, now that images bloom from keystrokes? Who am I kidding, they

Presence? Nope Presents? Nope Absents? Nope Sorry folks – too hard. Absence? Absence of words to describe the presence of absence. Easy...

She looked out the window and cried. She was in despair. Her life had fallen apart. He was gone. Gone, but not only out of the house, but out of her life and even out of the country. How could he do that to her. He said he couldn’t take it anymore. Her endless demands, her endless selfishness, her endless righteousness and her endless self-obsession. She couldn’t understand it. She knew, she knew more than him. She knew, she knew better than him. She knew, she knew she wa

“Hey Siri. What’s the time?” “It’s 9:05.” 9:05! No wonder it’s so warm and bright! How on earth did I sleep until 9:05? I sit bolt...

We waited and waited…and waited and waited. His absence was noted and noted…and noted. Why were we always waiting for him? His importance was great…in his own mind. His constant absence was great in our minds. ‘What a cock’ Mike said. ‘I’m over it’, Caroline said. ‘He’s a Pratt’, Jean said. We all fell quiet and waited some more. ‘Why are we waiting?’ Elle queried. ‘Because he has the key.’ ‘Oh right.’ ‘Well, let’s just break in.’ ‘Ok’, they all chimed.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or - as in my as my former beloved once wittily informed me- ‘Absence makes the fond heart wander’....