Prose & Poems

The Big Red Button

It appeared on the high street on a Wednesday morning; nobody knew where it came from. A red button atop a plain, black box. Above the button was a sign, upon which, written in bold, red capital letters were these words: DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE PRESS THE BUTTON...

Whatever Happens At 4am

Somewhere in the fug of the night amid the din of the music and swaying bodies and narrow shafts of jagged white light that criss-cross and flash in fit inducing intermittence above the heads and across the sweaty walls, you walk with a stagger then a helpless dance,...

A morning without care in the middle of nowhere

I was the first to wake up most days, a fact that’s always filled me with an irrational and frankly pointless sense of pride. This was one of those mornings. It was difficult to know exactly what time it was, the clock on the TV across the room was blinking a...
When Desmond Punched Me in the Face

When Desmond Punched Me in the Face

To the best of my knowledge I’ve been punched in the face twice in my life. The first time was by Andrew Passolini when I was in standard three (year 5 in the modern parlance), who put fist to face after a brief squabble over who was ‘it’ in a game of off-ground...

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