Lealeh’s hair is snow white. Snow white and wrapped in a hair-net. A hair-net that glitters. Glittery studs in her ears. Her ears are small and elegant. Elegance of her fingers, wrapped around the cigarette holder. Her cigarette holder is…
Look, I know it ain’t much, a bottle of fizzy pop, nabbed after last night’s shift at the Golden Dragon, but your mom’s got foil, paints borrowed from working today’s kids’ club, and paper, all crinkly like, for flames from…
When she picked me up from arrivals for the first time, she was wearing a soft jeans-coloured overall amounting to little more than a tank top and shorts. Her bare arms and legs were golden brown, her breasts girl-like, free…
The Skipper yells at Gilligan and you know it can’t be good, but you’re okay with it because getting off the island is the last thing you want to see happen. In the background, the Major drops a duffel bag…
His name was Carl. Her name was—I’m not sure what her name was. She was the barista who worked Sunday mornings. That was all I knew. Helen. Or maybe she just looked like another woman I knew, either in real…
Some homeschool days, the lounge is a sea, stairs a snowcapped mountain, bathroom a jungle, Mum and Dad’s bedroom a sun-seared dessert… The stories in The Stairs Are a Snowcapped Mountain speak of togetherness and separation: how we strive to connect with…
After her husband, Bryan, calls her toxic and walks out for good, Crystal cleans. She dumps stacks of his mail and papers into a huge black trash bag, including his car registration, the one two weeks ago he claimed she’d…
Make the paper by hand, sieving the pulp between mesh, hang to dry. When it accepts the ink, transcribe the poem you wrote to declare your feelings as you started courting. Look for a T-shirt – something that reflects you…
Today is Mina’s first day on the new job. She takes more than usual in the shower, lathering and scrubbing, applying berry-scented shaving cream over parts of her body. She follows carefully with a sharp pink razor that leaves smooth…
The man who sits all day in the hot afternoon sun can only see out of one eye. Covered by a thick and egg-white ooze, the eye moves, and the film moves along with it, as he shifts his gaze.…
So you want to write a piece of flash fiction. But how do you start? Where do story ideas even come from? And how do you develop them once you’ve found ‘em? One of the great things about flash fiction…
It’s unusual to get a table seat to yourself at rush hour. Maybe this is the good omen I’ve been seeking since I got up this morning. This particular day has been so long coming I expected to be…
