This story was written for a challenge that required the use of the following four words to make a story: Great Zen Areas Year The great white shark scans the depths. It’s in a Zen state as it pores over its domain. It isn’t looking for food though - it’s looking for the last of … Continue reading Great White Shark
This story was written for a challenge that required the use of the following four words to make a story: blackness, crewmen, teriyaki, interior. The planet has dried up. There are no more seas. Only salt-pans and whale carcasses. The creatures that inhabited the blackness of the ocean depths now form a briny slush over … Continue reading The Expedition
The cacophony of birds before dawn makes it impossible to sleep. The humid air has condensed on the pile of leaves that I’ve heaped on top of me, but I’m dry and warm beneath. I can hear the bugs crawling through the pile, but as far as I can tell they haven’t bitten me all … Continue reading The Sounds of the Bush
Franklin Xavier-Moore pulls out his rip-stop nylon compression sack and unbuckles the polyethylene clips. He tugs and out pop the carbon fibre tent poles and 5000mm polyurethane coated inner-tent. The polyester tent fly is stuck in the stuff sack with the titanium pegs and Kevlar guy wires. A shake of the stuff sack liberates them … Continue reading Top of the Line
He’s the king of the birds, and this evening he’s eating like a king. The rain has stopped and the worms are coming up for air in the waterlogged soil. The magpie barely needs to work to fill his belly. A human is watching and that’s okay, as long as he keeps his distance. If … Continue reading The Grass is Greener
“Bong!” There are footsteps. Then again. “Bong!” More footsteps. “Bong!” No, it’s not a bell-ringer practising his repertoire. It’s a farmer walking along his row of water tanks. “Bong!” Footsteps. “Thunk!” The last tank in the row is half full. It’s barely enough to supply the house, let alone the livestock and the crop. The … Continue reading The Big Instrument
I’m standing in the national park visitor centre and I have the ranger’s full attention. She was practically raised in these mountains, but she’s never heard of the Broken Duck Spur, Left-Foot Peak, the Dodo Saddle or Belt-Buckle Ridge."Strange,” I say to her “my dad’s been hiking these mountains for years, and that’s what he’s … Continue reading The Mountains
The pollen has all been swatted out of the air by the falling raindrops. The smell is clean and the air is pure, but the hiker is still thirsty. He knows not to drink the surface water for fear of contamination. He could spew himself inside-out if he drinks from a tainted stream. He practically … Continue reading The Hiker
Tandi Tales 