By Zara Martins run my nail along the spine like a lover i crease thick paper and it cracks like splintered bone cold pressed cartridge warm after my caress slot and suture, every stitch a pregnant press until the textured skin is pierced…
By Genevieve Nix For my 17th birthday, my parents graciously gifted me hardcover editions of Emily Wilson’s The Iliad and The Odyssey. The cover art is gorgeous, but for those out of the loop, these copies are also the first…
By Cameron Joseph Walker An ambitious 17-minute single-take comedy filmed in Samford Village brings together more than 75 Queensland creatives in one of the region’s most technically demanding independent productions. Independent Australian short film Gorilla, Guerrilla has officially entered post-production…
By Charlotte Kelly There’s a contradictory quality to The World Belongs to the Children. On one hand, Raya Goldtwig’s lyrical memoir was 250 pages of beautifully told heartbreak. But on the other, I read most of this book on the train or bus…
By Sidra Farhang i opened my history book and searched all its pages to look for my people erased through the ages how stupid of me to forget the reality that truth had been buried denied by authority but i flicked through the book and searched page…
By Ollie Linton Darcy would like this desk, he thought, running his fingertips over the lacquered wood. It was the same one he had seen Darcy putting together through the window last Tuesday after he got home from the recording…
By Emily Sherwell First Summer is Ekin Oklap’s debut novel, centring around two girls on the cusp of adulthood who find solace in each other and their shared adoration of a children’s sci-fi novel. This is usually where I’d provide…
By Izabella K. North The boxes and bags are finally still –The ones that carried my life here,From one fragile estate to the next. The tracks ran north,and I too took that train –I watched. While the cows grazed amongst…
By Ella Gill Some friends we lose. Others we shouldn’t keep returning to and yet… we do. Pulled back by something neither logic nor distance can dissolve. Each time, the years fall away—like you were never apart at all. Frida…
By Tori Brown Our coach slows to a stop before the metal framework of the Queens’ Park. The horses whinny as our coachman dismounts his seat to open the door for us. I am sure that this proposition is a…
