melbourne by dusk

In the end, we had to to lock the staircase up to stop it from...

Sat, 01 Sep 2012 13:58:25 +1000

In the end, we had to to lock the staircase up to stop it from straying.

~
image & text: David Witteveen

In the end, we had to lock the staircase up to stop it from...

Fri, 31 Aug 2012 13:57:00 +1000

In the end, we had to lock the staircase up to stop it from straying.

image & text: David Witteveen

He tried to say something, after he dumped the last armful of...

Tue, 21 Aug 2012 08:34:00 +1000

He tried to say something, after he dumped the last armful of clothes in the boot of his car. An apology, perhaps. Or a plea for forgiveness.

She ignored him.

Her eyes itched from crying. The pain and the anger and the betrayal were burnt out. All she felt was exhaustion.

He drove away in unsatisfied silence.

It’s over, she thought. Done. Rule a line under it and move on.

But then the metaphors started haunting her.

text and image: David Witteveen

Casings rust. Components fail. Technology becomes obsolete....

Mon, 13 Aug 2012 13:58:04 +1000

Casings rust. Components fail. Technology becomes obsolete. Desperate for spare parts, the robots crouched in the grass, waiting to ambush a train.

~
text and image: David Witteveen

We hid under the shop awning, while vast and silent creatures...

Fri, 10 Aug 2012 13:40:00 +1000

We hid under the shop awning, while vast and silent creatures stalked through the rain.

text and image: David Witteveen

Seed #14 ~ image: David Witteveen

Wed, 03 Aug 2011 08:05:05 +1000

Seed #14

image: David Witteveen

My Father Told Me About This: On the left, there’s the...

Tue, 02 Aug 2011 08:05:06 +1000

My Father Told Me About This:

On the left, there’s the front of a building that is now a dojo - but back in the Sixties, it was a dance hall, and quite the place to go of a Saturday night.

Through the bridge, there’s a red brick building, which is a police station.

It all looks very peaceful, but back in the day, it was a pretty rough sort of a venue. You could pretty much rely on a fight breaking out every weekend, and if you weren’t near the door, you’d have to grab onto one of the coat hooks that lined the wall, and hold on for dear life.

It was also an oddly safe venue, so you wouldn’t need to hold on for very long, though. Because each time a fight started, the management would turn off the light under the eave - and before long, the police would notice it was off and come a’running, and a few would-be tough guys would dry out in the holding cells until Sunday morning.

image & text: Loki Carbis

When the meteorite struck Earth, most of the dinosaurs and ...

Fri, 15 Jul 2011 08:07:05 +1000

When the meteorite struck Earth, most of the dinosaurs and pterosaurs and other large reptiles died out. Only a few managed to escape, finding means - lucky accidents, really - to slip away from the dust-choked surface. Like the plesiosaur that descended into the deepest of lakes, becoming one with darkness and depth and cold, cold water until there was very little to distinguish beast from loch and certainly little enough to be concerned with minor details like breathing. And the pliosaur that went in the other direction.

There isn’t much to eat in the sky; no wonder the poor thing has gotten so thin. Still, she seems to like it up there. The cirrus are sly and slippery fish and when she can catch them she snaps them up in her dolphin-teeth. Only the dense, black cumulonimbus are large enough to present much of a threat - and having evaded them successfully for the last 65 million years, it seems likely she will continue.

She is, on the whole, unbothered by cryptozoologists or camera-wielding tourists. Only the occasional aeroplane, buzzing past her head like a fat blowfly.

image and text: Hespa

They huddled in the trees along the banks of the creek watching...

Thu, 14 Jul 2011 08:11:05 +1000

They huddled in the trees along the banks of the creek watching the orange digger approach. This was their creek, along which they used to play, along which they danced and sung and celebrated the turning of the seasons.

The concrete paths got laid, the fences were built, the pile of stone and metal got larger and larger. How shall we fight it, they cried, how shall we keep our creek, how shall we get the power we need to save it.

The digger came closer, threatening…

They banded together and called down the strongest power they knew – they called the Sun, harnessed it, trapped it in the creek.

Now they ask themselves – how shall we use this power.

image: Renee Hobbes

After you left, I found the tape reel in your belongings. I...

Tue, 12 Jul 2011 08:07:06 +1000

After you left, I found the tape reel in your belongings.

I should have mailed it to you, or at least thrown it out. Instead, I threaded it through my 16 track recorder and pressed play.

Your voice floated out from the speakers, warm and close. The fidelity was breathtaking. It sounded as if you were standing right next to me. The hairs stood up on my arms. I could almost smell you.

You used to sing to me, late at night, sitting on the studio floor with half-drunk bottles of wine in our hands. It was your private gift to me.

And then you left.

I stop the tape. Rewind. Play the tape again, dubbing your voice to a second track. Rewind. Dub. Rewind. Dub. The tape warps. Static leaks in.

I repeat the process over and over until there’s nothing left of you but white noise.

image: Angelica East

text: David Witteveen

Toby’s Career These days, Toby had finally achieved his ...

Mon, 11 Jul 2011 08:08:05 +1000

Toby’s Career

These days, Toby had finally achieved his dream of making it big as an actor, starring in a big Hollywood trilogy. He was frequently accused of forgetting his roots, and there were those who felt he should have displayed a little more gratitude to those who sustained him in the long years of temping before his ship came in.

Of course, there were also those who said that people took this too far at times. Like the forklift operator, the interior designer and the four office managers who all thought that his two week stints with them entitled them to a cut of the pie.

Toby’s next film will be “Batman vs Fawkner”. It will be filmed in Vancouver and Sydney.

image: David Witteveen

text: Loki Carbis

When the money ran out, there could be no spending. The urge to...

Fri, 08 Jul 2011 08:07:06 +1000

When the money ran out, there could be no spending. The urge to upgrade, enhance and replace could not be sated.

The people sought meaning elsewhere. In poetry and song. In re-greening their city. In sitting, listening as the elders told tales of the times before credit.

And they smiled as the banks and retail palaces crumbled.

image & text: Tim Pegler

He crosses the wide beach furtively. Foggy days like this are a...

Thu, 07 Jul 2011 08:06:05 +1000

He crosses the wide beach furtively. Foggy days like this are a gift - he can forage during daylight rather than at night - but he still needs to take care. He doesn’t want to be seen.

He stretches his hearing to the limit, but fog muffles sound as well as vision. Finding food will mean taking chances, but then, it always does.

It’s been decades since the waters of Cheviot made him their own, but the price of discovery remains the same: he can live forever beneath the waves, emerging only when he will not be seen; or he can be Harold Holt.

image: Angelica East

text: Loki Carbis

What To Do About Them The first thing people knew about them...

Wed, 06 Jul 2011 08:06:00 +1000

What To Do About Them

The first thing people knew about them was that they seemed to come from bookshelves and filing cabinets. It took a while before they were discovered in papers and the pages of books. Then scientists discovered that they’re born from the creative energy expended by the transfer of thoughts to the page, but many people still have their doubts. Regardless, it still didn’t answer the question of what to do about them.

image: David Witteveen

text: Pete Mawhinney

An Angel of Frequency There is an angel in this park. Look hard...

Tue, 05 Jul 2011 08:06:06 +1000

An Angel of Frequency

There is an angel in this park. Look hard enough, you’ll see her.

She’s bleeding, has been for years. She’s impaled, pinned to a bench by an iron sword. No one knows how this happened, and she refuses to tell anyone the story why. But she will smile at you, through gritted teeth. Her smile tells you she loves you, absolutely.

I’ve watched her for hours, and I’ve watched those who don’t see her.

Yesterday, two children were fighting over a single toy. When they got close to her, overwhelming peace consumed them both. They then sat down together and shared their toy.

Today, I overheard a businessman on his mobile phone, arguing with his wife. When he got close he broke down and cried. He told his wife he’d been having an affair. He promised to do anything to win her back. And she eventually believed him, judging by his later tears of joy.

I’ve come here every day this year. I’ve felt so much joy.

When I’m not around, I hurt, and remember why I return. You see, I sold my soul to the Devil. I want him to come to this place with me, so he will forgive me too.

image: David Witteveen

text: David Conyers

We were wrong to be afraid of the dark. All those generations...

Mon, 04 Jul 2011 08:00:06 +1000

We were wrong to be afraid of the dark.

All those generations schooled on the cautionary tales of parents, the scare-stories of siblings, the chills of a hundred horror films. The monster in the night. The murderer lurking, nails on windows tap tap tapping, all feeding the basic human instinct that turns the lights on and pulls the blankets over our head.

We were wrong.

Now we welcome the dusk. Slink out into the lengthening shadows, there. Wait for your eyes to adjust. Feel your pupils dilate. Take your time; we won’t be using any lights. Do you have your foraging bag ready?

Now the night is ours. Because they fear the dark even more than we once did.

And when callous dawn breaks, we repair our inexpert barricades. Retreat into our basements and underground carparks. Wait for their next onslaught.

image: David Witteveen

text: Hespa

They tried to hang on for as long as they could. The current...

Fri, 01 Jul 2011 08:06:06 +1000

They tried to hang on for as long as they could.

The current parking lot of the MCG used to be a meeting place. For thousands of years the tribes would gather, they would meet, they would trade, they would solve disputes, they would arrange marriages, friends and families would join together to remember old times. Slowly things changed, then quicker, the strangers came, they brought the city to life, awoke the beast, changed the rivers to roads and the forests to parkland.

Today, the remnants exist, they can be hard to find and you have to know what you are looking for.

image & text: Renee Hobbes

Bound on the Ledge Long ago, sorcerers cast spells to capture...

Thu, 30 Jun 2011 08:05:06 +1000

Bound on the Ledge

Long ago, sorcerers cast spells to capture the mysteries of the world… Mysteries so deep that only the detectives trapped within them could ever hope to solve them. The sorcerers bound these mysteries into mere words and paper, to prove their mastery over them.

Over time, archivists collected the mysteries and placed them on this ledge. Each mystery waits only for a curious and incautious mind to come by, that will open and release the bindings. The mystery will then sneak into this mind, filling it with imaginings that take up no space but still fill a world.

The mystery will confuse and confound, in the hopes of making its escape. But then the detective within will wake from his long slumber, and battle the mystery, learning its secrets, solving and taming it once more. The mystery subdued, the wiser mind will cage it once more, returning it to the ledge.

The mystery will wait for another incautious mind to come by, to set it loose again. The mystery hopes, perhaps futilely, that next time it will properly confuse and confound, win the battle, and finally escape its prison forever.

All the mysteries on this ledge dream of such freedom.

image: Angelica East

text: Mike Walker

Seed 14 Submit your story for this picture here. Please include...

Wed, 29 Jun 2011 10:01:06 +1000

Seed 14

Submit your story for this picture here. Please include the seed number.

image: Renee Hobbes

Perched Over The City For more than 300 years the gargoyle...

Wed, 29 Jun 2011 08:20:06 +1000

Perched Over The City

For more than 300 years the gargoyle perched over the city. Mere telepathy would have been easy when compared with the complete empathy it felt for the city’s inhabitants. Sometimes, it seemed the feelings of helplessness and despair might shatter its icy, stone body. At least that would be a release.

In days gone by, life (if that’s what you’d call it) had seemed fine. Then, before the change, there had been a strange mixture of complacency and resignation. Like refrigerated raw meat of an unknown age — it was a concoction of ‘it’ll be alright’ and ‘there’s nothing I can do about it anyway’. After that, it was all darkness and cold. Who knew what had happened? The gargoyle certainly didn’t, nor did it care.

More recently, from the gargoyle’s perspective and to its relief, the dark feelings had been receding. For some reason, there were less and less people around until there seemed to be none. The last thing it felt was the fear of a lost child.

image & text: Pete Mawhinney.