(Highly Commended - Newcastle Herald Short Story Competition 2026) The ghost of your burner’s still here, bro. Top right corner at Queens Wharf, under a Wilko cap. Wilko will never be more than a toy; thinking he can cap your tag with the courage of a street feral marking a power pole when the big dog’s out of sight. Word is Wilko got rolled the other day spraying a nightclub door. Thought you’d like to hear that. Tash reckons he was being paid to do it by another club owner. Whoever said...

(longlisted in the 2025 Sydney Hammond Short Story Competition) My name is Ben. My kids rarely talk to me; it’s not their fault or mine. Just wrong choices bringing pain to too many. Still, they know I love them. Let’s leave it at that because, right now, the pain that’s killing me is on my feet. Every step punishes. And I still haven’t found water. When I turned fifty, I began trekking to balance the monotony of clothes marketing and the misfortune of never taking a business risk in my...

(longlisted in the Newcastle Short Story Award 2025) For my ninth birthday they gave me a Seiko watch with a red and navy nylon strap. The sun sulked behind clouds all day, so its glow dots were sleepy. I guessed it was 1am, unless I’d read it backwards. That didn’t make a squeeze of difference. I was just glad to be awake. At the foot of the stairs, the hall clock pushed its minute hand like a labouring Sisyphus. I padded across the checked tiles, worn smooth by decades of small feet, and...