Some kind of trout

The fish was minding her own business when a fissure opened in the ice above her, and she was sucked unceremoniously upward.

She wasn’t really a fish, of course. But she had fins, she had gills, her shape was ideal for slicing through Europa’s subsurface oceans. The obvious difference, biochemistry aside, was her lack of eyes, and some deep-water Earth fish don’t have those anyway.

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North Richmond Street

North Richmond Street, being blind, was a quiet street except at the hour when, after a daily seven-hour stretch of tedium, they finally let us loose. For the last hour us kids minded more the clock than the chalkboard. The yellow light of the sinking sun would warm our yawning faces, a signal to our brains to shut down; one old Mr Malone, droning on at the head of the class, was somehow insensate to.

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Cappuccino

“Medium cappuccino.”
The grinder released a small pile of grounds into the handle. Dan tamped the pile smooth, then jammed the handle into its socket. As the coffee trickled through he steamed the milk, tiny bubbles rising to froth. He poured a stream into the cup with the coffee and affixed a lid.
“Medium cappuccino!”  

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Skink

The lizard scrambled up the wall, toes seeking tiny ledges in the sandstone brick. At the top she basked briefly in warmth, bubbling up from the brick and beaming down from above. Her forked tongue flicked out. A pungent odor. Human. A shadow fell across her and she dove for cover in the greens beyond.

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Colours

Her eyes were blue. They probably still are. An understated grey-blue, neither pale nor dark, a shade which haunted both my dreams and my waking thoughts for every hour of my life during that time, and for years after. Sad eyes, looking at me from behind the glasses which she disliked so much, but which had become somehow synonymous with her image in my mind. My memories of that blissful time will always be of that grey-blue which attracted me so. And of silver, the silver light that played between her hands as she created.

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Black Cat's City (Schippeitaro)

Hey, you. Yes, you. Don't look at me like that. Come over here. I haven't seen you around before. Enjoying your stay in the city? Hah. Of course not. Who could enjoy such a filthy, worm-ridden hole as this? This city has gone to hell these past few years. Drugs, crime, gangs. The gangs control everything. Steel wool couldn't scrub clean this city’s soul.

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The Quarry Issue #10 is live!

The Quarry Issue #10 is up and running! After all the blood, sweat and words put in by my class and the editorial team, it's good to go!

The Quarry is an annual journal put out by Macquarie University, to showcase work from the graduating class. I was on the editorial team this year, and I helped edit several of the pieces up there.

Things I had a more direct role in are the fiction editorial, which I had a minor hand in writing, and Intro to House-Ape Studies, which is a story I wrote!

A physical version is coming out in a few weeks, which you can buy here.

Cover art by Ailie MacKenzie, Design by Teresa Peni

Cover art by Ailie MacKenzie, Design by Teresa Peni

Valley

The rain was falling, but it wasn’t a sad rain. It was a cleansing rain. Birds flitted through the air, singing and ruffling their feathers at the welcome bath. Old trees greeted it with open branches: eucalypts, bark burnt to iron-black by bushfire, already sporting new growth. Fresh bright leaves sprouted into the clean air, from branches cleared for them by the fire. The ground below was already layered with crisp undergrowth, clamouring to fill the emptied spaces between. And below even that were the shoots of baby gums, germinated by flame.

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Before the Eagle

Far below, Prometheus faced his brother Atlas across the mountain path. The battle raged around them. Smoke and ozone stung the air, carried against the two siblings by the whipping wind. Shock and anger burned in Atlas's eyes. And there was something else there.
Ah, right, Prometheus thought glumly. Betrayal.

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Dubious Honour - Part 2

Elya continued to fly the Supernought as they fled back to the bridge, which was not an easy journey given that his suit's jets, and several of Delton's bones, were broken. The ship was accelerating at full power now, away from the nucleus-forsaken rock behind them. Without the ship's inertial muffling, they would have been no more than red stains on the rear walls; even with it they were struggling to move against the acceleration.

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Dubious Honour - Part 1

The dead ship hung in space, spinning slowly. With active surfaces disabled, its hull mirrored the distant stars perfectly. Even without stealth measures it was visible only by the constellations it altered as it passed before them, blotting out stars and replacing them with new ones. As it turned, however, the craft’s interior became visible, exposed by jagged sections of missing hull.  There were no sparking cables, no vapours leaking from smashed pipes. Just a broken eggshell.
       From the launch bay of the SDU Dubious Honour, Delton watched the incongruous opening draw closer as the Semartus ship matched the Supernought’s velocity. She floated in the airlock with a dozen other crewmembers, both Darax and Semartus, vacuum suits ready and sealed.

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