Sense of Place

“Where are you heading?” He asked, dabbing his face with a scrunched up bundle of tissues.

He was too wet to ignore, “Central Station.”

We made the kind of small talk that doesn’t commit to the conversation. He told me, “I have this post-card from my sister, she bought it for me at the eighty-eight world expo. I used to use it as my bookmark. Here, careful. Brisbane always seemed a little water damaged. I guess I didn’t help with that impression. I bet ya the city doesn’t look a thing like this, all bright and lit up for the fair.”
I joked in a hushed tone, “We still get electricity.”

“And jokes, I see. The city was very clean back in Sir Joh’s run. I saw his son on the news recently. Running for the Palmer party. I recognised his voice before his face. Sir Joh used to say you could count a city’s future on the amount of cranes you can see on the horizon.”

I felt the flush of politics in my face, “He gutted a lot of buildings though, to make way for that, right? Seemed he liked his name on plaques.” There were a few seconds of silence. “And Cheques” I added, connecting semantic dots.

“Do you not like the city?” he asked.
I imagined people were staring at us, vying for silence, but something pushed me on. ”I accept it for what it is.” I thought back to the postcard, “Even if the reason it has water damage is no-one gets the gunk out of the drain.”

He smiled the smile of a priest, that frustrating acceptance, “Sure Joh might have had some problems, but he did well for city.”
“Plenty of cranes on the horizon.” I replied.

We slid back into small talk and I turned to watch the water running down the window as the train hurtled along the tracks, the blinding flash of the suburbs surrounding us. He looked down at the postcard in his lap and lamented, “Oh, I do hope it hasn’t changed much.”
I mumbled, “Don’t worry, people still voted for Bjelke.”

Who Am I?

The bathroom was dim and dank, humid to the point of sweating. If you closed your eyes and ran a tap someone could almost mistake the tangible presence of a waterfall in a rainforest, except instead of the smell of moss and damp decay you were instead buffeted by the acrid stench of urine. Instead of gushing water, the private flushings of the modern man behind wooden doors and tiled floors.

He sprayed the walls with bleach before moving to wipe down the basins. Pausing at the mirror, he tried to clean off a smear in the shape of an oily hand print. He stepped back and noticed me in the reflective surface. We both turned gradually but he seemed to hesitate before meeting my eyes. Grinning for a moment, the look faded away leaving his face to relapse into boredom. Our hands went back to cleaning the glass.

He was tall and lanky, with an added affectation of having his hair tied up in a man-bun atop his head. His uniform was country grass green, which sort of made him look like a string bean. Cleaners have a secret interest in working around the eyes of the public. The best are never noticed: in their effort or in their visits. No consumer wants to think about the vast waste they leave behind in their day-to-day existence. So, he took pride in invisibility.

As he moved to exit, a balding man in a charcoal suit pushed his way into the bathroom. His name was Joseph, but the housekeepers had a penchant for calling him Jofish.

Jofish looked towards him and wrinkled his flat nose, a look of accusation crossing his face. “Look, Mitch, do you have some kind of bowl problems?” He spat.

Mitch raised his eyebrows, “No, I am fine?”

Jofish lunged, leaning in he asked, “Well you just seem to be spending a lot of time in the bathrooms today.”

Mitch looked to me for a moment and turned back to Joseph a little bewildered. “Yes, I clean them.

At How Things Turn Out

Consider this, I was forty floors up, in an unoccupied room. A room I was supposed to be cleaning. The night was overcast and the wind felt like the weather was halfway through a thought. The balcony needs sweeping. I look over the edge of the railing and stare down at the strip clubs and party people and I get that urge I sometimes get when I am high up in tall buildings or on bridges. The urge to jump.

I pulled my phone out and dialed her again, the fourth time in the last two weeks. My forehead felt hot and my vision was blurred to the point of tears, the wind whipped cold salty air into my face, which couldn’t help. She picked up.
“Hey darling,” she drawled into the speaker like she always did, “How are you?”
“Are you busy?” I asked, agitated. I needed to talk, but only to her.
“Yes, I am free now, what is wrong?” She asked like she didn’t already know like it hadn’t been the reason for my other calls.

This time I spelled it out clearly, trying to trap her, but I could never say the words I dreaded as if they held back the flood of emotion that was just beginning to slip.
“You know how we talked about the dream I had, well how I remember and how I think we kissed, are you sure it didn’t happen?”
“Look, Mitch, I remember we had some action together but that was before Emily, you don’t have to worry.” I could feel her pity through the phone. I stared out of the window of the room I was supposed to be cleaning, down at the colourless beach of the night and off the coast.
“Are you sure?” I asked, waiting for an answer.

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Testing for the ‘Other’: Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Blade Runner, Ex Machina and an exploration of the Science-Fiction genre

This essay will first explore the notions of science fiction as a film genre, before examining three films as examples of this genre. The films selected are Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), Blade Runner (1982), and Ex Machina (2015).

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Anna and Rumpelstiltskin – Meta-Analysis

One day Anna was working in her family home, when the King, who was passing by, spotted her through the window. The King, who was a greedy man, spotted Anna when he was entering the house and instantly became infatuated with her. He pushed past her father, the Miller, and stared down at her. “You, you come to my castle and live with me as my wife.”

Anna laughed, she thought the king was joking, and upon hearing her laugh the King became enraged and red in the face. He yelled for his guards to seize her and take her to the castle. The Miller family fought to stop this, but the King had too many soldiers and they took Anna away.

Back at the castle the King bought his advisors to him and asked them how he could get her to marry him. The advisors conferred and came up with a suggestion.

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A Flash of Revelation: Epiphanies in Short Stories

Used effectively, an epiphany can be a powerful literary device for an artist working in literature and most especially short stories. They can not only create understanding in a character but connect the audience to the story in a deeper way.

To explore epiphanies in short stories this essay will first explore the notion of literary epiphanies themselves. Then it will explore the epiphanies in the short stories, “The Dead” by James Joyce, “A&P” by John Updike, and “A Good Man is Hard To Find” by Flannery O’Conner.

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Offworld – Script Outline

Act 1

We open on a vast urban slum covered in trash. We focus on Batty (The Protagonist) rummaging through piles of trash and scrap. Occasionally, a flying truck will pass by and dump rubbish like it is spraying corn, litter and paper floating gently down onto the top of the streets. At the bottom of a pile and under some bricks he removes some plastic finding an old stained suitcase. Opening it he finds some toy soldiers, several pieces of paper and a book of beat poetry.

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