by Pat Skinner, Winner of the 1995 Queer Lit Prize for Best Humorous Fiction My maternal grandmother was always ready to hand out free advice to us kids as other grandmothers reputedly doled out Fantales and Minties from their bottomless handbags. 'Always wear clean underwear,' she'd...
by Vesna M Teki North from Adelaide and finally out of the City. Over the range the land was beginning to plateau out. She stands on the verge. The verge of that mottled blight man calls a highway fingering out like a web across the nation. Scouring...
by Maz Darce What is it that makes us risk, makes us go outside ourselves to reach for another? The young have their reasons. Those older have theirs. Is it better to starve to death, or to risk and pay a price? You see, I want to...
by Rene Up in the mountains it was a wet, winter's night. An icy wind howled down the dark alley where Senior Constable Denise Randy was on duty, all alone in her police car. All alone because of a staff shortage. There wasn't much traffic about...
by Theresa Origlia I'm very proud of my walls. They were part of the package, when I bought my new apartment in the Underground. All four walls of my bedroom, plus the ceiling, are coated in image fabric. The fabric displays live images that are supposed...
by S I'm 30 and 4 months ago I met an older woman, who is the topic of this true story I would like to share today. This woman and I have worked in an organization as volunteers. As soon as I met her, I loved...
© Pearlie McNeill, August, 2011 About this story This story was written when I was living in the UK. One Friday a judge in Leeds had allowed a man accused of murdering his wife to change his plea to manslaughter, because of the man's plea that his...
by Clement Wood © 2012 Gentle reader, I sometimes wonder if my life consists of nothing but going to meetings and conferences; I probably go to more than my fair share, being free of family ties and fond of travel. The Windang experience came out of the...
by Jan Aitkin © 2015 By the standards of the tiny quiet suburb of Bexmore, my friends Millie and Maudie were probably the quietest people there. Their small wooden two bedroom cottage stood in a tiny neat garden, a remnant of the 30s or 40s or...