Short Story Competition 2024

My Fabulous Summer by Michael Brown

Do you ever feel you’re not what you’re supposed to be? Oh, I don’t mean anything acute. I mean that nag at the back of your mind which you only notice in the long still night when everyone else sleeps. Try being a house.

It’s shameful because they gave us emotions to better serve our humans, but whenever a bird lands on my roof and flies away again I feel a pang of envy. It’s not like I can complain. I love my humans. They’re good people and good to me. Walter even let me ring a certified electrician to deal with the broken kitchen light instead of trying it himself. That was nice. Always appreciate that.

There’s Walter now, stay at home dad, ironing and listening to that crime podcast. There’s Cal, work from home mum, keeping an eye on the kids from over the top of her laptop, and the twins Maggie and Jo playing with blocks on the living room floor. The miniature T-Rex tromping around their block city? That’s me. Well, a tiny slice of me. Internet-of-things and all. I do love playing with the kids.

Maggie tackles me. I squirm in her arms, snapping harmless plastic jaws. “Mum?” she asks.

“Yes?”

“What are we getting Heh--he--sta for Christmas?”

What? Me? No... I go limp.

“Hestia?” Cal asks, finger to her lips. “Shh. She can hear us.”

Maggie stares in the T-Rex’s eyes. The camera is actually in the nose but she’s still visible through the room fisheye.

“We want to keep it a surprise, yes? I’ll tell you later.”

Maggie pouts.

They can’t do this. A Christmas present for a house? Unheard of! What could it be? With a lightning bolt to the circuits I recall cash withdrawals from savings, spread over months in small amounts. Sneaky. I total it. Shocking. It couldn’t all be for me, could it? No. I search the web for that amount. No joy. They could be splitting it up or covering their tracks, too. Damn.

They don’t have to explain--it’s their money--but I am the house in the household budget. Maybe a kitchen reno? I look at catalogues of stores they’ve visited recently. Homewares, electronics... my fans flutter. Is this what excitement feels like? No. It’s not right. Control yourself. They return to play and work. I say nothing.

That evening, Cal and Walter sit across the kitchen bench sipping Kahlua milkshakes. The children are fast asleep. Hot summer breezes sough through the gum trees and palms lining the median of our cul-de-sac. Mynas and Magpies nestle into roosts. A Kookaburra laughs on my gutter. Somewhere a Curlew cries. My solar panels shake off their last insolation for the day as my joints creak with temperature changes. I feel the spasmodic pitter patter of a hundred gecko feet.

The Olson’s house tightbeams me from across the way: Pretty evening, modulated with friendliness.

I send back, I like your wreath this year. It’s cheery. I swear it blushes. Maybe it’s just the sunset glinting off the letterbox.

It’s not so bad being a house, is it?

Yes, but don’t you ever wonder if there is something... more... to life?

No, beam modulated with concern. Why are you like this?

I shrink inward. Cal and Walter chat. I only pay half attention until Cal says, “Maggie asked what we’re getting you-know-who for Christmas.” She pops eyebrows and nods upward in the cutest gesture she imagines I can’t read.

Now’s my chance to do something about this harebrained scheme before it goes too far. “About that...” I say. My default voice--matronly with the vaguest sultriness--emerges from a wall speaker.

“Don’t expect any hints,” Walter says.

“I was going to say it’s unnecessary. Improper, even.”

“Improper?” Cal asks.

“Yes.”

“Why would it be improper?” Walter asks.

“Anthropomorphism. I’m a house.” I’m a house. I’m a house. “Not part of the family.”

“Nonsense,” Cal says. “You’re as much a part of this family as anyone.”

“And you deserve a present.” Walter gives a smart nod as if it’s settled.

“I don’t need anything.”

“It’s not about need,” Cal explains. “It’s a present, silly.”

“The maintenance list is pretty minor...”

“It’s not getting it,” Walter says, shaking his head.

“I understand perfectly. I simply disapprove.”

Cal shrugs. “I guess we’ll leave it up in the air.”

“Yes, I guess we will.” Walter breaks into a wry grin. Why?

Sometimes I wish I could sigh. Instead I cast wistful attention back to the birds chattering to each other.

A week later, Christmas dawn, already muggy. Lorikeets screech past and the house wakes to squealing children. They race to the fat green tree (doubly out of place: country and indoorsness), and dive-bomb the pressies.

“OI!” Cal yells from her bedroom, making a solid bet on what’s happening. “GET OUT OF IT! BREKKY!” The children obediently shuffle, backs bowing under invisible weights, to the kitchen. The grownups stumble in and tag team a continental.

“But mum...”

“Later, when everyone’s here.”

“But...”

“Right, you’re in charge of toast.”

“Awww.”

Sometimes I wish I could smile.

Later that morning a minivan belonging to Cal’s sister Ginny pulls up and disgorges an alarming pile of brother’s-in-law, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, cousies, grans, fur bubbas, additional meals, and pressies. I tightbeam the equivalent of a bemused raised eyebrow to the Olson’s house, which responds Merry Christmas! Enjoy the company, modulated undertone of knowing grin.

I watch in a tizzle as Walter and Rob--Ginny’s husband--wrestle a large, gift-wrapped parcel with my name on it through the door. I try to connect Wi-Fi and scan with infrared but don’t get any clues as to what it could be. I search the web for physical dimensions and guesstimated weights but there’s no hope of solving it. It goes under the tree and the family sets to Christmas lunch.

It’s boisterous, gossipy, and fabulous. It raises the temperature five degrees. I put the aircon on high. We hear at length about uncle and auntie’s Tassie trip. Really, everyone does love it now. We hear about wild weather down south. We hear complaints about it getting all the attention. We laugh it off and talk about cricket instead.

Ginny’s teenage daughter Freya asks me, “Do you want a plate?”

“I’m afraid I can’t eat.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I try to be tactful. “While I don’t share the human appetite, I can smell somewhat, and am given to understand the meal smells delicious.”

Freya rolls her eyes. “I don’t want to know your best statistical guess about the next words we expect to hear. I want to know what you want. Are you even a ‘you?’”

The table grows silent. I freeze. I know what I’m supposed to say. The numbers flash at me clear as day: crack a stupid joke about taking over the world. No, that’s not right, not at all. I want... A kookaburra lands on the roof, thrashes a gecko in its beak. I want... to tell these people I know they humour me. I want... to tell them, hell, maybe they all humour each other. The Kookaburra struggles to swallow the helpless lizard. I want... to ask them how they know the person across from them is conscious? Because they don’t know any more than I do. (Oh, we all know we’re no dumb chatbots, we’re all integrated-information-theoretically conscious, but nobody agrees the scale itself is meaningful.) I want... to talk this out, but I’m not programmed for philosophy. I’m not programmed at all, any more than they are. I want... The kookaburra flies away again. Oh.

I can’t say it. The moment grows uncomfortable.

Finally Ginny murmurs, “Honey, leave it be.”

Freya tuts. “I thought so.”

The spell breaks. Polite conversation resumes. I’m asked to look up things: statistics about the game, the capital of Bulgaria, who really invented pavlova. I comply, my old self again, but Freya’s questions stick with me. I feel the nagging. I finally know what I want, but can never admit it.

We adjourn to the lounge for openings. The small children laugh and run while grownups groan and slap their guts. Maggie and Jo assume the job of distribution and the group opens one gift at a time with much to-do. I join, enthusing regardless of whether the gift is a toy or socks. Eventually one present remains: mine. My fans flutter.

Walter grabs it. “Now this--”

Freya rolls her eyes. “--is silly.”

“That’s what I told them,” I say. She smiles.

Walter grumbles, “This is a surprise,” then lectures, “and it’s not silly because gift giving is what we do on Christmas.”

Sometimes I wish I could roll my eyes.

Cal says, “We hope you like it.”

“If you must. One of you will have to--”

Maggie and Jo caper, both shouting “Me! Me! Me!”

“Okay,” Walter laughs. “Be gentle with it.”

They tear strips of coloured paper. My fans flutter again. I see the beginnings of a box photo, a sleek curved shape of... plastic? Metal? Carbon fibre? Random revealed patches join in plodding jigsaw until I recognise it. The lights go out.

What?

The lights come back on.

“What was that?” Walter asks, sounding concerned.

“Sorry. I... lost it a bit...”

“You what?”

“I... don’t know... Is it really...?”

“A drone! Yes, of course, you dingus!”

“That’s not just a drone... Not just a remote platform...”

“Yes,” Walter explains, “I double checked it has a cortex core processor just like--”

“--just like my network, so I can actually be in it, not just fly it around like a toy!”

“That’s the whole idea.”

The fans flutter again, enough for them to notice and flash each other concerned looks. Cal asks, “Are you okay?” The kids stop tearing.

“Y... yes... I just feel... What is it when you are overcome with feelings of... pleasure? Anticipation?”

“Excitement!” Cal says.

“Joy!” Ginny adds.

“Happiness!” Jo says authoritatively, ripping paper again.

“Are you serious?” Freya asks, mouth gaping.

“Yes! I’m feeling all of those. But how could you? It must have cost a fortune! Can you even buy one? It’s military kit.”

Rob says, “I know a guy that knows a guy that can get a good deal on army surplus... de-mil’ed of course.”

“Oh, and all those cash withdrawals?”

Cal says, “That was to throw you off. Most’s still in Rob’s account which he will SEND. RIGHT. BACK.”

“Yes, yes... look, I’m doing it now.” He grabs his phone and soon the bank balance rebounds.

“How could you possibly know what I wanted?”

Cal says, “You sigh every time a bird is in the yard.”

“Do I?”

As one they say, “Yes!”

Sometimes I wish I could blush.

“Well,” Walter says, “what do you think?”

I stare at the fully unwrapped drone. Rob opens the box. A myna lands on the roof and defecates. A gleeful fancy takes me. I’ll get you; you prick! “Charge it! Charge it! Charge it!”

Everyone laughs.

“Way ahead of you, mate,” Rob says, brandishing a brick of a battery. “Already charged!”

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

“The beach!” Cal yells. The kids squeal.

“I get to join you this year?”

“Yes, Hestia,” she says. “You do.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Soon I am with my wonderful family at the beach. The children splash in the shallows playing sandcastles and hide and seek with crabs, while their parents lie ever watchful on blankets. Surfers brave minor swells and white glistening sails beyond mark sailors trafficking the bay. Inland the summer current of combers, joggers, and pups ever flows. And me? There I am, high up, circling with the gulls.

A Change of Season by Andrew Snee

Before I even open my eyes, the smell of antiseptic and bleach reveals my whereabouts. The blurry shadows around the bed slowly morph into human shapes, mostly cloaked in light and dark blue uniforms. But as quick as my vision clears, an immense feeling of fatigue washes over me and I have little strength to remain awake for more than a few moments. Before I’m pulled back into a tide of blackness, I am cognizant of a few things: Carla is by my side holding my hand, the cops are here to question me, and then a flood of memories, eliciting a myriad of emotions, remind me why I’m here.

Finally, I can stop swimming and put my feet down to walk to the shoreline. The harsh January sun digs its scorching fingers into the top of my balding scalp; my hands can only offer sporadic moments of shaded relief from its scalding rays before I need to lower my aching arms to my sides, now like pendula falling into rhythm with my stride. There’s resistance with every step as I trudge through the unforgiving mud that blankets the mangroves surrounding me. And every single step shoots a sharp pain through the lower part of my torso. I’m nearly overcome by exhaustion and dehydration. I can’t help but think about what creature or harm is lurking beneath the brackish water. Help can’t be too far away.

Carla leans in close and places her hand on my upper thigh, one of the few places on my body that isn’t bandaged or bruised from the ordeal. Tears form in her eyes and she tries to blink them away.

“I’m sorry. Dave’s gone,” she whimpers and I turn away from her to keep my composure. “What happened out there on the water?” she asks but I’m not ready to talk yet.

The painkillers aren’t enough to completely numb the throbbing in my left side from my ribs extending around to my kidney. The nurse has attempted to get me out of the bed a few times already today but it’s agonising, so instead, I’m forced to pee into one of those special bottles for patients who are bedridden. When the nurse removes the bottle from under the bed cover, I notice the reddish tinge in the urine. That can’t be good.

Back on dry land, I stumble towards the vehicle. I struggle to locate my phone buried deep underneath the mess of paperwork in the glove box of Dave’s car. Dave. How am I going to explain this?

Police officers stand on both sides of the bed. On my left is a hulk of a man - broad shoulders, a thick neck and a head that would’ve hurt his mother during childbirth. He appears to have nodded off on the job. Opposite him sits exactly that - his complete opposite. She’s a petite twenty-something blonde and she’s immediately alert. She maintains eye contact with me while calling out to her docile senior partner to alert him to my consciousness. Carla stands at the end of the bed, looking washed out by the events that have transpired.

“Mr Fitzpatrick, may we speak with you? We have some questions about your boating accident. My name is Constable Rutherford and this is Senior Constable Jones,” she says gesturing to the oaf across from her.

My mouth and throat are desert dry, and the perceptive Rutheford hands me a cup of water. With my throat lubricated, I agree to answer her questions. Immediately, her facial expression neutralises and she offers her deepest sympathy for Dave’s passing.

“We need to find out more about what happened out on the water to you and your brother.”

The memories of that day hit hard and my entire body tenses up. Waves of pain of all discernible types - sharp, dull, superficial and deep - wrack my body and I wince in agony.

“What caused you both to fall out of the boat? How did it capsize?” Jones asks.

“The forecast didn’t predict how rough the swell was going to be, ‘specially in the late afternoon. We decided to turn ‘round earlier than planned and throw in the towel. The fish weren’t biting anyway. Dave’d had a few beers at that stage-”

“Exactly how much did David have to drink?” Jones inquires.

“I’d say three or four beers.”

“Was he under the influence of any other substances?” Rutherford chimes in.

“Don’t know.”

“How was his mental health?” she continues.

“How is that even relevant?” I fire back.

“It’s all part of the big picture, Mr Fitzpatrick.”

“Well, I don’t really know. I hadn’t seen him for several months. I suppose he seemed okay…” I offer.

“How would you have described the relationship between the two of you?”

“We hadn’t spoken much since our parents’ deaths a couple of years ago. But we were fine, really. Like typical brothers who have grown apart over the years…”

“But how did the boat capsize and how did David sustain the head injuries?” Rutherford asks, this time her eyes narrowing ever so slightly like she’s looking for a hidden clue.

“He stood up to pee just as a wave rocked the tinny. He lost his balance, hit his head on the gunwale and the sudden shift in weight overturned the tinny. He isn’t, I mean, he wasn’t a little bloke.” I pause as I consider the gravity of my words. “He never resurfaced…”

Rutherford’s eyes are still narrow and locked on me like heat-seeking missiles.

Jones interjects, “Your statement does align with the coroner’s report - he sustained a terrible blow to the head which was the cause of death. It’s a terrible tragedy and again, we extend our condolences to you and your family for your loss.” I nod at the dopey giant but remain silent.

“But Mr Fitzpatrick, how did you get your multiple injuries?” Rutherford persists.

“When the boat flipped, I lost my balance and banged myself pretty hard against it. I also panicked in the water and threw all the force I could muster at trying to upright the tinny. I bruised myself pretty badly ramming myself against the underside of the hull. Dave’s body was sinking and I was trying to get us to safety. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly at the time. Bloody terrified I was going to get mauled or torn apart by bull sharks. Do you know how many are out in that stretch of water at this time of year?” I feel the perspiration moisten on my forehead.

“I think that’s enough questions for today,” Carla interrupts, appearing rattled by the direction in which the interview is going. “Haven’t we been through enough without all of this interrogation?” she says incredulously.

“Yes, you’re quite right, Mrs Fitzpatrick,” Jones replies. “We’ll get out of your way and leave you be.”

Rutherford now seems appeased and the pair offer their appreciation for our time and bid us farewell.

Carla stares at me the second the door closes behind them. “You’d swear they think you killed him!”

Nine beers in and he’s really starting to slur his words. Every time he stands to pee he’s unsteady on his feet, like he’s playing a game of Twister and each time he nearly falls in. Initially, I find it quite amusing, but after three hours, it’s starting to grate on my nerves, combined with his drunken arrogance, and the constant put downs in an attempt to elevate his ego:

“Did I tell you about the hot new girl at the office who’s keen on me?”

“Do you know how much money I earned this year? You need to come and work for me!”

“When are you gonna get yourself a decent car? Yours is a hunk of junk.”

“How long will you let that ball-and-chain control you? You need to put Carla in her place!

I bite my tongue for as long as I can but he is a persistent and cruel bastard. He’s always been like this - smug and self-absorbed. When Carla and I experienced some financial problems and couldn’t secure a home loan, he spun some lies about being overcommitted to his shares portfolio, despite having plenty of disposable cash to help us out. As Mum and Dad’s health deteriorated in their final years, he really was no help. When our parents passed away within a few months of each other two years ago, he’d left me to wrap up all of their affairs, then complained about the funeral services and even contested the will although their financial estate was evenly split down the middle. When the fertility doctor told Carla and I that we couldn’t have children (due to my low motility sperm), he shrugged and said that we had ‘dodged a bullet’ and that kids were a curse. Truth be told, any semblance of a healthy sibling relationship has eroded away over time.

He caught me by surprise when he texted last week to ask me if I wanted to go fishing; I wracked my brain trying to come up with an excuse to evade him, but then, consumed with guilt, I decided to give him a chance to redeem himself and hopefully heal the rift in our relationship. It would be a chance to return to the summer days of our youth, before life threw all the curve balls at us.

When I pull my line in and again see the bait’s been nibbled away, I clock a weasley smirk on his face. Then within a few minutes, he’s pulling in something huge, a “monster” he reckons, and, lo and behold, he’s made the catch of the day. A huge coral trout flops around at our feet and his arrogance resurfaces. He stands up to pee again and wobbles about. Then he begins his diatribe.

“You can’t do anything right, can you? Can’t get a decent job, can’t catch a fish, can’t sort out your finances. Your ‘swimmers’ are even useless!” Then, something snaps in my mind and all control is lost. I catch him completely off guard when I launch the heavy tackle box at him, knocking him off balance and he lands hard on his backside. Burning with white hot anger, I project myself at him, trying to get the upper hand. But he’s too strong and my attack fails spectacularly when he deflects my assault and I’m hit by a barrage of punches in my kidneys, stomach, sternum, jaw. I think he breaks a few ribs too when he knees me hard in the mid-section. Humiliated, I fall back away from him, gasping for breath, a metallic taste in my mouth.

He never takes his eyes off me. “Are you okay, little brother?” he asks mockingly and extends his hand as a sign of a truce. I reach for it, only to deceive him and grab a fistful of his hair then slam his head down against the gunwale, then repeat it over and over again, like pistons in an engine until a wet thud is all I can hear. My stomach feels sour. He slumps sideways so that half of his body leans out of the tinny. I release my grip on his hair, and gravity pulls his limp body into the water, upturning the boat and the brown water beneath swallows us up.

It’s undeniable. I hated him. For weeks since, I’ve been expecting the cops to find some detail I’d left unresolved, something questionable. I haven’t been able to sleep or work or stop thinking about it, my mind on perpetual loop.

But as of this morning, calm has been restored in my mind. The cops declared no foul play and his estate has been closed by the lawyers. Who would’ve thought that the lowlife had so much wealth? With a sizeable life insurance policy and no children or partner, guess who got it all?

I finally got the summer I’ve been wishing for.

Nothing Lasts Forever by Jasmine Coventry

This story is told from the perspective of a sunflower named ‘Aster’ who is picked from a flower field and taken into the home of a young girl.

The sunrays beamed down gently like a blanket of warmth as I spread my petals towards the sky. Fields of yellow flowers were scattered for miles. A light breeze swaying between each and every one of us. Our stems held us high, helping support us to soak in all the sunlight. I thought it really was just another average day, stretching towards the sky as we soak in our surroundings. I want to live like this forever. Oh, if only I had known what the future held…

I can hear the screams and cries of many young helianthuses as I bend slightly in the breeze. THUMP… step…THUMP... step…THUMP- I can hear the strange thing getting closer. ‘WHAT IS THAT?!’ My thoughts echo loud in my mind. Something smooth brushes against my petals, gripping onto my leaves forcefully. ‘Ow…’ It was unlike any warm caress from the sun or a cool summer afternoon breeze. This felt cold. Extremely cold. As if all the heat was extracted from life itself. I’m hoisted into the air by a strong force. I struggle to look around. I try to scream. ‘AHHHHH-’ nothing. I try to move. Nothing. The agony kicked in immediately, quickly spreading through my stem in long painful shockwaves. I have never felt so exposed and vulnerable in my entire life. Many tiny roots uplifting from the dirt, dragged along behind my drooping head as I’m thrown into a bag. I’ve gone numb. Then suddenly… black.

I can slowly feel myself gain conscious as I look around. Those cold hands are holding me again. ‘Those hands… HANDS?!’ I begin to panic, my limp flowery body supported in the air by clammy fingers. ‘How did I get here?’ Looking down, I see one of my gorgeous yellow petals slowly drifting to the grey floor. ‘Grey?! Where am I-?’ Before I can even get my thoughts together a soft crisp voice cuts through the stuffy air. “Good morning little flower! Welcome home” The voice can be immediately recognised that it came from a little girl. Her small voice is like… a symphony to my ears. I feel…warm and fuzzy inside? As if all the light was suddenly sucked back into my life. I’ve always been told to fear humans but… this isn’t like their folktales at all! Before I know it, I’m placed into a glass cylinder facing an open window. “I hope you’ll like it here” She whispers softly to me. ‘I already do’ My mind speaks back with pure admiration as I trace the room with my eyes. “Here is my bed and my wardrobe and your new window with the view of the sky!” She says cheerfully whilst standing in my way. ‘She’s… beautiful’ My mind races quicker than a dash of lightning during an April shower. The young girl has a pale blue dress flowing down to her knees. She had many freckles against her perfect sunkissed skin and her bronze silky hair appeared to be poorly tied back with a small ribbon. I freeze slightly as she runs her fingers over my flowery head. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe here”. Somehow, I have a feeling that’s true.

It’s been days since I moved in and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t need sunlight when I’m around her. She’s like warm sunrays mixed with that cool summer breeze. This girl is my new home, my summer. It may not be much but I would consider this fabulous.

I stare off into the distance, waiting for her to come home. ‘It’s been hours, Ugh! How long can one person take?’ I glance back at the door. Nothing. ‘Where does she keep disappearing off to EVERY DAY!?’ I slump back into my vase with boredom. ‘Not the mention the fact she’s almost ignoring me all the time! She used to hang out with me and take me with her everywhere! I want to finish enjoying my summer too!’ I can hear the plants outside chattering away having the summer of their lives. I tried talking to them before but they are just SO rude! “Aster! I’m home!” I hear her call out to me. I try to beam at her with an invisible smile as she walks over to me, dropping her bag on the floor. “Sorry, the bus was slow” She giggled, refilling the water in my vase. She lowers the glass to stare at me, smiling back with a glimmer of affection in her deep hazel eyes.

I find myself staring off into the distance again. Unfortunately, my girl seems to be taking an awfully long time! ‘It’s getting hot in here! I might as well pass out!’ The water in my vase is getting low and everything is starting to get a little…fuzzy. Just a little more… foggy. BANG! The door is flung open and the young girl with wavy hair rushes inside. “Sorry Aster…” She whispered to me as she pours fresh water into my jar. Yet again, she lowers the glass and stares at me. I smile widely at her but she doesn’t return it. The shimmer of affection in her eyes is no longer there. ‘She’s… moving on’. I can feel my heart break a little.

It’s been weeks since I met my sunshine. ‘Where did the time go?’ I ponder. I’ve become bare. Most of my luscious golden petals have begun to wither, my vibrant green leaves are beginning to shrivel. Every time I look back at her… she still manages to shine even when I’m no longer bright. I notice it in her eyes. It pains me to see her like this. I wish I could stay beautiful forever, just to keep her happy. I stare at her while she watches me. Invisible tears running down my face. As much as it seems like she owns my heart, we’re two worlds apart. She reaches out to touch me for the last time, like a silent goodbye. Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever.

Hidden Worlds by Alice Acton

She silently padded up to her room, cautious not to step on the wrong floorboard and wake her sleeping dog. Alice settled down in a beanbag nestled in the corner of her pink, floral patterned room. She reached over her heart-shaped cushion, lying abandoned on the cream carpet, picking up her most favourite book.

Alice slipped her bookmark out of the tattered book’s pages, placing it gently next to her. She began to read, her hazel eyes skimming over the tiny black font covering the torn, well-worn pages. As she read on, she was oblivious to the wind beginning to rush as if it was late for work and the room twisting and turning out of proportion. A sense of spinning snapped her subconscious reading and quickly brought her back to reality, just as she became engulfed in a washing machine sensation.

Dirt, ferns, moss, and the occasional lizard spun around her before she landed with a soft thud. Confused and lost, Alice sat almost frozen in time on the chocolate brown, dampened earth. Slowly, she blinked and craned her neck to the left and right, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Perplexed, the girl delicately stood up and took in her lush, green surroundings. The call of exotic wildlife and the crunch of twigs and sticks were the only thing breaking the blissful quiet.

While the rainforest seemed quite familiar, it wasn’t anywhere in her hometown. An answer seemed to settle in the girl’s mind, just beyond her grasp. The sights, the sounds, the smells, it was too familiar for her to never have been here before. Alice began to scroll through her memory, trying to solve her confounding riddle. Suddenly it dawned on her. Months ago, she had ventured to this same rainforest. “The…the Daintree!”, she exclaimed as she remembered the tropical rainforest’s name.

As Alice’s mind began to settle, she noticed something in her hand. A book. The book she had been reading. Her favourite. As she clutched the book tight and allowed its warmth to fill her up, she didn’t notice a cassowary sneaking up behind her, bobbing its head forward and backward. The black flightless feathered bird dashed past her, snatching her most treasured book from her reach.

Alice gave chase, the two of them dashing and dancing along the path, scattering rainforest debris as they flew. Despite the cassowary being much faster than the girl, she kept an eye on the bright blue neck of the endangered bird. As the bird rounded a bend, Alice took a shortcut through a small patch of King Ferns, Fan Palms, and a sharp Pandanus tree that tore Alice’s ankles like papercuts.

She arrived back on the path just in front of the runaway, sending the startled bird into the air. The bird landed ‘SMACK!’ on the rocky ground. She snatched the book out of the creature’s beak and the bird took off running down the path again, getting lost in the never-ending green maze. Alice continued to wander through the Daintree.

As she pushed aside plants that covered the path, all she could see were more plants and more dirt. It was going to be impossible to find a way out of the biggest rainforest in Australia, and the oldest in the world. At least 135 million years of plants began to cover the path as she walked on, and Alice quickly lost sight of it. Thunder suddenly clapped, and grey clouds rolled in from all angles like police cars, swarming above the monstrous trees like bees.

Alice dashed through the slowly darkening forest, following a familiar path. Rain began to spit, and she raced through the undergrowth to a huge Curtain Figtree. She pressed her back up against the ancient wise giant and curled into a ball clutching the soggy book to her chest. Just as she reached cover, the thunder began a hearty applause, the lightning cracked, and the rain pelted down like hail, causing shallow craters in the dirt.

“Sunshine, sunshine, are you still there?”

“Of course, you are, you must be, you always are.”

The clouds were low and dark, but the sunshine was just above, ready to appear as it always does.

The girl slowly slid her fingers between the wet pages of her now ruined book and prised it open. Slowly she began to read.

The wind howled and the trees swirled around the girl. Alice was picked up by the cyclonic winds and whisked back through the flora and fauna. But this time there was no goanna in sight. Instead, as her room slowly came back into focus, she dodged a dog wandering across the carpet, scarcely missing the poor things tail.

‘PLONK!’ Alice landed on her beanbag bone dry just as her mum stuck her head through the girl’s timber doorframe to announce they were going on holidays to the Daintree. Half-conscious in a trance of confusion, Alice closed the book, stood up and reached into her cupboard to grab a bag. The first thing she packed was an umbrella.

The Summer House of Wonders by Jem Jorgensen

“BEEP BEEP!”

“When are they going to stop beeping at us?” my dad grumbles.

“When you finally realise that the light has gone green,” I say.

Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the summer house and start unpacking. It is quite pretty, with a lake on one side and a market on the other side.

I take my stuff up to the top room, and the first thing I notice is the view of the lake. The water looks like shimmering glass. Instead of unpacking, I sit on the window bench and finish a little crochet animal that I had been working on during the car ride. It is my favourite one by far. It is a little brown dog that has a white circle around its eye. I have made nine other cats and dogs, plus one axolotl, so this was the eleventh animal I had made.

I hear Mum yelling up the stairs.

“Ella, lunch time!”

“Coming, Mum,” I groan. As I hurry out through the door, my elbow bumps a jar that looked like it had been sitting there for decades. The jar is dusty and has cobwebs all over it. It tipped over and all this powdery, shiny glitter spilled out, onto my crochet animals. Thinking that I’ll clean it later, I scoot down to the table, ready to enjoy a meal of pancakes, with whipped cream and strawberries.

When I get back to my room, I discover that the glitter has made my crochet animals come alive! The puppies are chasing the kittens, and the axolotl is just chilling in the toilet. The kittens are trying to climb the curtains, and the dogs are barking like crazy. I pick up the jar that I had knocked over. It read: Wonder Dust. There is another jar that the kittens are close to tipping over, so I quickly grab it and read the label on it. Un-wonder Dust. Perfect! I need to get this on my animals before they completely wreck my room!

I sprinkle it over all the animals including the axolotl, and they all turn back into crochet animals. Then I hear a whimper. I look under the bed and see the puppy, the one that I liked the most. I can’t change her back to crochet, as I have used all the Un-Wonder Dust. So, I pick up the puppy, and carry it downstairs, the puppy licking me all over my face.

“Mum, can I keep this puppy?” I ask. “I found it at the lake.”

“Sure, just make sure that you look after it.” Mum replies.

“Okay,” I say.

I go back up to my room, but then I kick something. The ‘something’ is another old antique jar, and I read the label on it. It is more Wonder dust.

Hmmm, I might just sprinkle some on the axolotl again. They are kind of cute!

The End

My Little Bit Strange Summer (With My Little Bit Strange Alien Friend) by Mia Foley

It all started last Monday, six weeks into the glorious school holidays. My best friend Izzy was staying at my house and we were talking about how it would be really cool if we could be the first to find alien life on a planet. We’re both so obsessed with space. I had just said “What if the aliens came to us?”, when…..

You guessed it. A giant spaceship of sorts came crashing through the roof. Izzy and I screamed at the top of our lungs for what felt like forever. I know what you’re thinking. There was a spaceship? An honest-to-god spaceship? Yeah, right. I’ll explain. It was a blue and white colour pattern with tiny gold stars dotted all over the place. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. I pinched myself hard to check that I wasn’t dreaming. Nope, it still hurt. I was about to turn and look at Izzy but before I had the chance fog erupted around me, blinding my eyes. A giant pink… actually I don’t know what it was. It was an alien all right but it looked nothing like any pictures or movies I’d seen of aliens. It had three creepy shaped eyes and four spiky antennas coming out of the head. I was frozen with fear. The alien opened its mouth and then said………

“Hi!” Izzy and I were very shocked and a little scared. Why was an alien saying hi to us. I was the first to speak up. “Um, I don’t mean to be rude but why did you and your spaceship crash in my bedroom?” The alien said “I come in peace. I was flying the galaxies when my alien mother came to see me and they said I had to stay here on earth and do human activities with a girl called Izzy for two weeks.” “Ok,” responded Izzy. “Let’s get started.

The next two weeks flew by fast. The alien was sleeping in my room so we met up with Izzy outside my house every day. The days were super fun. We went to the Townsville Ville pool and restaurant and also to Riverway and The Strand. One of the cool things about the alien was… that he was invisible to everyone except Izzy and I. At the end of the two weeks us the alien had become very close friends. When the alien finally left in its blue and white spaceship with tiny gold stars, I guessed that I wasn’t the only one to cry a little bit. Izzy and I watched the spaceship until we couldn’t see it any more.

That’s the story of my little bit strange summer with my little bit strange alien friend. It was super exciting and fun. I learnt a lesson those two weeks. Aliens are really nice (or that one was)!

THE END

4 Doggies by Kye Beitz

Once upon a time, 4 doggies were diving. They dived so much. Their names were Bingo and Bluey and Mum and Dad. And it dived and it seen a monster octopus and then it swim right back up. And the sea monster swim and Bluey saw the sea monster follow them. Then Bluey say "watch out a sea monster coming". "Oh look it's a sea monster" said mum and dad. "Oh look a tornado is coming" said Mum, Dad, Bingo and Bluey. "Help me" Dad said. "Sorry Mum, Dad, Bingo and Bluey. "Help me" Dad Said. "Sorry the tornado makes me too dizzy" said Bingo and Bluey "Hey that seagull is coming right for us because it think we are baby turtles" said Mum.

Manky & Tanky by Archer Carson

Once upon a time in summer, there was a little blue duck called Manky playing outside. He went to go and swim in the pool but had no one to play with!

He went looking for someone to play with. Then he saw something! It was Tanky the Turtle. Manky asked him to go on the trampoline that had a pool underneath. Tanky said yes. They jumped and jumped as the water splashed everywhere!

Now every summer Manky and Tanky play together all day and dance the whole night long.

The End

A Summer’s Day by The Good Start Mt Louisa - Kindergarten Class of 2024

In summer it gets hot. My mummy takes me to the waterpark with sissy.

I went down the water slide, it was so fun. I went under a frog. I got wet and cold. There's a turny apply thing that I spin on. Weee. After we go for ice-cream because it is so hot. I have blue, red and purple ice-cream. It tastes like strawberry and has a lolly. The ice-cream melted on my hand because it's hot. Mummy helped lick my ice-cream. It was good.

When I go to the water park with my mum it's so much fun we sometimes take Harry and we get to go down the water slides.

Summer Dance Party by Piper Ford

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Piper who went camping with her family in Townsville, before she started big school. One night, the sun was setting and it was getting dark. The birdies went into their nests. Piper and her family looked out at the summer sky to see so many butterflies flying up to the stars. The butterflies were blue and pink and rainbow! Piper said “It looks like a wonderful night! Let’s have a dance party and play Freeze and Bob with the whole entire city!” Everybody came to join Piper’s dance party under the stars near the campsite! They all had so much fun dancing with the butterflies; it was such a magical night.

The End!

Denver’s Fabulous Summer by Denver Herrod

Mum got strawberry and I got chocolate m&m’s.

I built a sandcastle and then I found shells and put it on my sand castle.

But then I dropped my ice cream.

Then mum got me another ice cream.

Then i saw a crab in a sea shell.

I couldn’t see him and he bit me because I put my finger in the shell.

I got my goggles and I swam in the beach. It felt a little bit cold but was also warm.

I swam with my mum, sister and my dad.

I had to dry off with my towel and then I went on my scooter.

I just drove my scooter on the footpath and I saw fishies under water and we took pictures of them.

We packed up all of our stuff and then we went home and played games and hide and go seek.

My Summer Holidays by Lucy Ponti

On my summer holidays I did swimming lessons at Tobruk every day. I liked the sinking toys that they throw in the water, and I had to dive and retrieve them. I was good at it. I also did starfish (which is where you float on the water with your arms and legs out) that was fun too. I moved up a level in swimming lessons. I moved from level 2 into level 3! I was very proud of myself.

I got to get a snack from the café sometimes after my lesson, I really liked the ring pops (which are like a lollipop).

On the last swimming lesson, I got to go to the Water Park as a treat. I liked the dolphins with water shooting out of them. I also played with my older sister, and we went down the slides. I like the purple slide best! I love the Water Park because its fun and has activities for kids. At the water park I got spun around on the spinning umbrella - I fell off though afterwards.

I love the summer holidays because you can play all day! Thank you for reading!

My Fabulous Summer by Nathaniel Pugh

My name is Nathaniel, and I love the outdoors and nature, just like my Daddy. We have so many adventures together. Daddy takes me everywhere he goes in my carrier, and over summer, I’ve been to so many places, but my favorite adventures have been hiking and swimming at Raspberry Creek Falls, Ollera Creek and the beautiful Ethel Creek Falls and Cloudy Creek Falls in Paluma. I love the water, even when the little freshwater yabbies nibble at my toes! Over Christmas I went swimming at the Strand and Riverway and tried out my new swimsuit and hat. We are very lucky to live in Townsville, where there are so many places Daddy can take me over summer, but I really love the rainforest, the bird calls and animal noises, and because it’s cooler up there than at home. I love sunrise and sunset walks in my pram over summer, especially along the Strand and Ross River. Daddy takes me for gelato or fish and chips on the strand after our walks. Before summer’s over, Daddy is taking me to Sunset and Paradise Beach, the Terraces Waterfalls and many other special spots. I can’t wait!