The sea was just visible between the pine trees and the high rise. The blue was so blue, it could just sit still and be a blue block if it so chose. Continue reading “The Key – by Patrick McAnelly”
Some years ago, the New Zealand Academy of Fine Arts invited printmakers to submit three pieces of art for consideration in an upcoming exhibition. Continue reading “I’m So Sorry, Shirley Curley – by Andrew Bairn”
Saint Kilda was always frayed around the edges, but oh so comforting. Our neighbour, Mrs Smith, felt sorry for us eating our dinner of stuffed cabbage instead of a nice steak. Continue reading “Only in Saint Kilda – by Marika Rothbaum”
The autopsy occurs between friends in a chain of telephone calls.
“Mick – that’s right, hit by a car in Prahran.”
They imagine him standing on Dandenong Road, glaring into the sun. Continue reading “Interstate – by Paul South”