Michelle Ferguson

Anna had a stiffness about her. She was not entirely comfortable – drawing herself tight, postured like a ballerina, holding herself in perfect straightness. She was thin, almost see-through, her skin pale and bespeckled.

Ashok

The umbrella waited for me in the lost-and-found box like a promise: sky-blue, frayed at the edges and ribs crooked like old fingers.

Rowena Curnow

Something had taken Lexington Ward’s father down quickly.

Isabella Tattersall

I remember the day you left because the trees were covered in silver and the sky was on fire.

Osprey warbled overhead, as a procession of husks moved in staggered steps, to the tolls of the bell, and my mother’s tears. The dirt in my hands was one wet clump, the soil still holding onto the rain from a week ago.

Khaira Rahmat

The sun sank beneath the skyline, taking the light with it.

Lauren Sanders

‘What gate is it again?’ Esther asked, dragging her carry-on through the sterile terminal. Something too small to dislodge, but large enough to render the bag useless, was caught behind the wheel. 

Stephen C. Ormsby

Imagination is such a funny thing. When we are young, we fantasise about sailing around the world on a rollicking adventure. Then we hit our twenties: the annoyance of a career paves the way for leery weekends, and we cannot envision life could be better than booze, casual lovers and football.