As we go on and on in isolation

Highway plants shake their proverbial middle fingers at our shameless faces as we struggle to stay in homes we so painstakingly designed—

from those salmon (not pink!) curtains to the perfectly fluffy cushions; from the IKEA dinner table with matching cutlery and crockery to the “essential” side stool even though no one’s used it since we’d bum-tested it at the store—the store that sells so much crap that’d become food for our oceans’ fish anyway—


to spend more time in light airy rooms, reading a book, perhaps, or knitting that scarf we’d promised grandma two Christmases ago; 

to cook more healthy meals using the all-new, matte-finished stovetop, complete with touch-sense technology and auto-off functionality ideal for forgetful and amateur cooks; 

to share a drink with our spouse in the middle of the day, with feet propped up on the luscious leather couch we spent an extra couple hundred to customise with flowers to complement the wall colour, discussing finances and school shopping, and having healthy arguments about whether to buy local, organic produce or help international trade and developing nations by sourcing from less-fortunate economies; 

to relax, after hassling all day at work, on the bright yellow bathtub we’d installed, trying out a new herbal bath salt our slightly whimsical friend had told us about; 

to fishing out the almost-dried out fabric paint from the shed and finish painting the cushion covers we’d meant, engaging the kids, as a nice family activity; 

to fix up the wheel-less mountain bike our old housemate had abandoned in their moving rush;

to finally doing all the things we’d always dreamt of doing if only we had the time.

Well, now we do.

And we can let the world heal.

The usual

It wasn’t unusual—couch drooling over Winslet or Gosling after a brunch of excessive mash, meat, and Malbec. Whiling, watching bikers drift—clearly unnecessarily—it was a perfectly normal Thursday.

This is my entry for day 19 of the Writers Victoria Flash Fiction competition. Today’s prompt: drift.

Desperate times

Nodding vaguely, she turned to the almost-burning garlic. Pasta boiled; news blared. When her teenager returned with candy, she nearly wept.

“But, mum, you said we had toilet paper!”

This is my entry for day 17 of the Writers Victoria Flash Fiction competition. Today’s prompt: vague.

Gone are the days

Creeping through the earth with renewed vigour and joy, darling blossoming buds, trees of tomorrow, and butterflies to be, rejoice as emptiness resounds.

Human buzz, now only a hazy memory.

My entry for day 7 of the Writers Victoria Flash Fiction 2020 competition. Today’s prompt: hazy. Read more on Twitter.

People food

It wasn’t novel. From the winged to legged, cannibals always devoured flesh food. But for once, they were having doubts. Until one braved.

“Oh, it’s just an old blind bat.”

My entry for day 6 of the Writers Victoria Flash Fiction 2020 competition. The challenge: to write a 30-word story incorporating the prompt of the day. Today’s is “blind”. Read more stories on Twitter.