Issue 86.7 (Hearsay)

ISSUE 86.7

Upcoming Issue Contribution Due Dates Issue 9: 7th August Elle Dit: 21st August We’d love to hear your ideas! Email us at onditmag@gmail.com

– On Dit –

ON DIT CONTENTS Editorial Adelaide University Union Notice of 2018 Election Student Representative Council Notice of 2018 Election

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EDITORS Aiden Bedford Ethan Penglase Nuer Deng

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STORIES/ POETRY Angular Fish A Baptism An Ode to My Last Cup of Coffee Extremes Bubbles Failsafe Karaoke in the Afternoon Ochre Golden A Place That Inspires Me My Nightmare Awakens Forward MOD The Dreaded Question

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Message to the US City Chick Omnomnomable Chad Krogers Curse Le Heist

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ARTWORK "Whale" by Claudia Watson "Koi Fish" by Claudia Watson

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SUBEDITORS Austin Frape Dylan Rowen Hilary D’Angelo DESIGNERS Anzelle de Kock Jennafer Milne

COVER ART "Dive Deep"

By Claudia Watson CENTREFOLD

By Tess MilfordBehn

On Dit is produced on the land of the Kaurna people. We acknowledge them as the traditional owners and custodians of the Adelaide Plains. Their land was stolen, never ceded.

It always was and always will be Aboriginal land.

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– On Dit –

EDITORIAL

Literature? What’s that? Ideas become narratives and then narratives become stories. Give some time (a hundred years or so) and suddenly that story has become a classic, if it’s lucky, perhaps literature. Absorbed into the canon. But then, that canon is always changing, morphing, reshaping itself. Literature can change lives. Words can influence action. Everything in this issue is special because it has the power to change the world. Yes, even the cringey fanfiction in this issue could influence the course of human history. No, that isn’t an overstatement.

We hope you’ve enjoyed your first week back at university and enjoy this issue of On Dit.

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– On Dit –

ADELAIDE UNIVERSITY UNION NOTICE OF 2018 ELECTION POLLING DATES: Monday 27th August to Friday 31st August 2018

NOMINATIONS: Open at 9.00am on Monday 6th August 2018 Close strictly at 4.00pm on Friday 10th August 2018

POSITIONS AVAILABLE FOR ELECTION: GENERAL MEMBER OF THE AUU BOARD (5 positions; each elected for a term of two (2) years) - the AUU Board is the governing body of the AUU and is responsible for managing its affairs. The AUU provides funding for activities, events and services on campus, as well as providing support and assistance to affiliated student organisations. The Board meets monthly and has various sub-committees in which Board members are expected to participate.

NUS DELEGATE (7 positions) - the National Union of Students is the body that is charged with the responsibility of representing student interests. Delegates will be invited to attend State and National conferences of NUS and are expected to contribute to the development of policy and action at a State and National level.

ON DIT EDITOR (1 position, however up to four (4) students may nominate to be joint editors) - responsible for the publication of the AUU’s student magazine which is published during academic term-time. It is highly desirable that the successful candidate(s) have some knowledge of print media (if you are considering nominating, please find out what is involved).

STUDENT RADIO DIRECTOR (1 position, however up to four (4) students may nominate to be joint directors) - responsible for the coordination of the Student Radio programs on Radio Adelaide and the coordination and training of students involved in producing programs. It is highly desirable that the successful candidate(s) have knowledge of producing radio programs (if you are considering nominating, please find out what is involved).

TO NOMINATE AS A CANDIDATE: 1. Only students currently enrolled at the University of Adelaide who are financial members of the AUU may nominate. Members must be over the age of 18 years, able to hold a liquor licence and be legally able to hold the position of a director of an incorporated association.

2. Nomination forms must be either: a) completed and submitted online at www.auu.org.au/elections or, where a candidate is unable to submit online, b) obtained from AUU Reception during opening hours and once completed given in person to the Returning Officer or their nominated delegate or mailed to the returning officer via registered post.

3. A policy statement and photograph can be submitted, if desired, online at www.auu.org.au/elections If you are unable to submit your policy statement or photograph as above, please contact the Returning Officer at returningofficer@auu.org.au to arrange an alternative method of submission.

Policy statements must not exceed 200 words including the candidate’s name and the position for which they are standing; any words over 200 will not be published.

No policy statements or photographs will be accepted after close of nominations.

If you are unable to submit your policy statement or photograph as above, please contact the Returning Officer to arrange an alternative method of submission.

4. All AUU Board candidates will be required to attend an information session, to be held before the elections, outlining the responsibilities of an AUU director and the structure of the organisation.

NOMINATIONS RECEIVED AFTER THE CLOSE OF NOMINATIONS WILL NOT BE ACCEPTED POSTAL VOTES FOR THE ELECTION: Applications for a postal vote should be made in writing to the Returning Officer, by no later than 4.00pm, Friday 17th August 2018.

QUERIES: Any questions concerning the Election should be directed to the Returning Officer via returningofficer@auu.org.au or 8313 4406.

Published and authorised by the Returning Officer, July 2018.

Please recycle.

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– On Dit –

STUDENT REPRESENTATIVE COUNCIL NOTICE OF 2018 ELECTION POLLING DATES: Monday 27th August to Friday 31st August 2018 NOMINATIONS:

Open at 9.00am on Monday 6th August 2018 Close strictly at 4.00pm on Friday 10th August 2018 POSITIONS AVAILABLE FOR ELECTION: SRC PRESIDENT (1 position) – responsible for the overall co-ordination and leadership of the SRC and as chief spokesperson for the SRC. GENERAL SECRETARY (1 position) – responsible for calling meetings, taking minutes and general administrative roles.

EDUCATION OFFICER (1 position) – Acts to highlight issues relating to student’s education and other academic concerns.

WELFARE OFFICER (1 position) – Acts to promote the welfare of all students and to promote and strengthen support for students.

WOMEN’S OFFICER (1 position) – Acts as an advocate for women’s interests, a co-ordinator of women’s action on campus. To be eligible to nominate for this position candidates must identify as a woman.

QUEER OFFICER (1 position) – Acts to advocate on behalf of queer students, to promote and strengthen the rights of queer students on campus and to combat discrimination at university and the wider community. To be eligible to nominate for this position candidates must identify as queer.

INTERNATIONAL STUDENT OFFICER (1 position) – Advocates on behalf of students enrolled as international students at the University of Adelaide, and to promote equality and opportunities for international students. To be eligible to nominate for this position candidates must be enrolled as an international student at the University of Adelaide.

POSTGRADUATE STUDENT OFFICER (1 position) – Acts to advocate on behalf of postgraduate students of the University of Adelaide. To be eligible to nominate for this position candidates must be currently undertaking postgraduate study at the University of Adelaide.

ETHNO-CULTURAL OFFICER (1 position) – Acts to advocate on behalf of students with a cultural or linguistically diverse background. To be eligible to nominate for this position candidates must identify as having a linguistically or culturally diverse background.

ATSI OFFICER (1 position) – Acts to advocate on behalf of students who identify as Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander. To be eligible to nominate for this position candidates must identify as being Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander.

ENVIRONMENT OFFICER (1 position) – Acts to advocate for environmental sustainability within the university and broader community.

SOCIAL JUSTICE OFFICER (1 position) – Acts to highlight issues relating to social justice.

MATURE AGE OFFICER (1 position) - Acts to advocate on behalf of Mature Aged students. To be eligible to nominate for this position candidates must be over the age of 25.

DISABILITY OFFICER (1 position) – Acts on behalf of students with a disability on campus. To be eligible to nominate for this position candidates must identify as having a disability, mental illness or chronic illness.

RURAL OFFICER (1 position) – Acts to advocate on behalf of rural and regional students. To be eligible to nominate for this position candidates must have must lived in a regional or remote area, or have moved from a regional remote area, within the last three (3) years and within six (6) months of commencing their studies at Adelaide University.

GENERAL COUNCILLOR (8 positions) – Acts as an advocate for all students, assists office bearers in the fulfilment of their functions.

TO NOMINATE AS A CANDIDATE:

1. Only students currently enrolled at the University of Adelaide who are financial members of the AUU may nominate. Members must be over the age of 18 years, able to hold a liquor licence and be legally able to hold the position of a director of an incorporated association.

2. Nomination forms must be either: a) completed and submitted online at www.auu.org.au/elections or, where a candidate is unable to submit online, b) obtained from AUU Reception during opening hours and once completed given in person to the Returning Officer or their nominated delegate or mailed to the returning officer via registered post.

3. A policy statement and photograph can be submitted, if desired, online at www.auu.org.au/elections If you are unable to submit your policy statement or photograph as above, please contact the Returning Officer at returningofficer@auu.org.au to arrange an alternative method of submission.

Policy statements must not exceed 200 words including the candidate’s name and the position for which they are standing; any words over 200 will not be published.

No policy statements or photographs will be accepted after close of nominations.

If you are unable to submit your policy statement or photograph as above, please contact the Returning Officer to arrange an alternative method of submission.

4. All SRC candidates will be required to attend an information session, to be held before the elections, outlining candidate election campaign responsibilities.

NOMINATIONS RECEIVED AFTER THE CLOSE OF NOMINATIONS WILL NOT BE ACCEPTED POSTAL VOTES FOR THE ELECTION: Applications for a postal vote should be made in writing to the Returning Officer, by no later than 4.00pm, Friday 17th August 2018.

QUERIES: Any questions concerning the Election should be directed to the Returning Officer via returningofficer@auu.org.au or 8313 4406.

Published and authorised by the Returning Officer, July 2018.

Please recycle

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– On Dit –

WINNER

SHORTLISTED

BEST SUBMISSION

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Angular Fish by Max Wurm

Karaoke in the Afternoon by Jack Peach

Failsafe by Catherine Cholich

Bubbles by Michelle Roylance

Angular Fish by Max Wurm "This piece is clever, attractive, highly original and extremely well-written. The funny playfulness in Max's style is not an easy skill to achieve; it's a clear reflection of practice, craft and impressive command over the language.” – Lur Alghurabi

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– On Dit –

ANGULAR FISH Words by Max Wurm Artwork by Adam Hamilton In my imagination he lurks in a dark valley behind a bundle of craggy rocks concealed from the friendly neighbourhood squid who seems to be on the prowl for late night conversation.

The squid is super weird though.

Down here, he can’t see forward ten feet but the surrounding metre of deep sea is lit beautifully by a bioluminescent fixture hanging from a thin appendage bent, to his shame at 90 degrees.

Kinky boy king of the sphere of radius one.

Killer teeth with chitin crunching capabilities make for a situation ripe with alliteration possibilities rather than one harbouring angler anxieties and fragilities.

And yet…

Oddball angular puts himself through too much scrutiny.

Weirdo squid’s compliments are forgotten quickly when the other anglers, with their perfectly parabolic fishing rods smile so slyly, and turn away a tad too hastily.

Angstular fish won’t miss the opportunity for a visit to the shiny rock, behind the anemones to critique his misshapen anatomy in the plunging gloom and darkness of the eternal night.

Too bad he can’t turn off the light.

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– On Dit –

A BAPTISM Words by Emma Mustaca Artwork by Emily Savage

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– On Dit –

for a long time, I floated in a sea of nothing. shock. that was nice, at least. but then came the storms. the echoes of your words on the winds howled through my ears while the rough seas chopped up and tossed my ragdoll body around, drowning me in reality, sorrow, shame. after a while, i didn’t even want to come up for air. then the sea, she rolled me gently onto an island to dry my out. and then, to burn. with the sun’s every searing ray my skin fell from my body like overripe fruit, til I was nothing but my bones. i learned to be alone amongst the other useless rocks, their ancient wisdom imparted things i already should have known, in disappointed, stony silence. but slowly, soft flesh grew again over the wreck of my sun-bleached skeleton, shiny and new. flesh that would never know your touch. or scorn. i walked into the sea, barely wincing as the stinging salt sealed up the old wounds, blessing my resurrection. no shock. no storms. only peace. and so I was born again.

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– On Dit –

AN ODE TO MY LAST CUP OF COFFEE

By Cassandra Cook

How cheap How overused A poet speaking about coffee Like a politician making a promise.

Roses are red Mornings will be hard Oh yeah, I suck at poetry What will I do without you, coffee?

Oh man, I’ve got the cof-feels!

I like you a latte, But now you’re just too bitter.

But I’ll be strong!

I’ll give it my best shot I’ll somehow remain grounded You always did say, ‘Brew can do it.’

You mocha me crazy But I don’t give a frappe Livin’ la vida Mocha!

From here on, I’ll be all about green anxie-tea.

I cannot espresso How much I’ll miss you But love is just like a good cup of coffee We all want a drink without getting burnt.

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– On Dit –

EXTREMES

By Emily Gebhardt The darkness of night, The brightness of day.

Both the extremes of life, Nothing in between.

The love in life, The hate in death.

Where is the grey space between?

Want of something better, Need of something different.

Where does this end?

The jealousy of partners, The forgiveness of lovers.

Everything stands in the way.

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BBQ Hot Dog Pancakes Pizza Curry

Aug 3 Aug 17 Aug 31 Sep 14 Oct 26

Free for Members $5 non-members #AdelUniUnion #getmore

– On Dit –

BUBBLES Words by Michelle Roylance

They floated amongst the graves, popping as soon as they wandered too close to one of the headstones. Their deaths were accompanied by a disappointed squeal that echoed down the aisles of the cemetery. With a subconscious lick of his lips and a gentle blow, Rupert had the pair of little legs

Rupert exhaled heavily, and his shoulders dropped as he lent against a tree.

running after many new fragile illusions.

record. All she smelt was the alcohol on his breath and the time it had been since he’d last showered.

All she heard were false promises and curses on a God who had stopped caring four years ago. She had no idea that what Rupert saw were ghosts of the man he had been. That at night all he heard were the echoes of tires screeching and a woman screaming. How could she know that every time he smelt lavender, or petrol, that he had to run to the bathroom to vomit?

The sun sat in the sky like the dim light that sat on Rupert’s wonky desk at home, in need of a fresh bulb. He knew that it would soon sink into a grave of its own, and that by then he wouldn’t need bubbles anymore, because she would be gone.

Watching her as she weaved through the graves in chase of the bubbles, he wondered yet again, if it was healthy meeting her here. The social worker didn’t seem to think so.

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What did she know? The uptight suit had no idea what he’d been through. All she saw was the band around his ankle and the words written on his

The little legs stopped running and turned.

“Daddy?”

Rupert glanced over at the little girl and sent her a smile.

– On Dit –

“No more bubbles Gracie.” He told her, casting another look at the setting sun. “Let’s go find Mummy, hmm?” He reached out for her little hand and squeezed tightly. The social worker would walk over from her car soon, and his little girl would have to go. He led her down the aisles of head-

“She was so happy when she found out she was having you.” He told Gracie as he placed a trembling hand on the cool stone. “Gosh, you look so much like her.” He focused on a strand of his daughter’s red hair, examining it intently. She was so much like Jackie. A car honked and pulled

stones, and stopped in front of a simple, arched grave that Jackie’s parents had designed.

him from his thoughts. Rupert rose and turned to see the social worker climb from her blue car and stand by the small gate entrance. He looked down where Gracie was and smiled sadly.

Jackelyn Parker, 1989 - 2014 Beloved wife, daughter, sister and friend.

Rupert looked at their daughter, her face a blur as he blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. They escaped down his face, watering the grass that carpeted his wife’s grave.

“You be good for Daddy?” He said hesitating.

“I’ll see you again real soon.” The little girl nodded with a toothy grin, and she started running through the graveyard once more. Rupert shoved his hands in his coat pockets and slowly walked towards the entrance of the cemetery in the brisk dusk. He made a point not to look at the small headstone left of his wife’s. He always made a point not to look at it, and the words that his in-laws had inscribed upon it; Here lies Gracie Parker, We wish the world could have met you.

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– On Dit –

FAILSAFE

By Catherine Cholich

“The ‘home helpers’, formally named ‘humanoids’, have moved into their new roles in the homes of married couples. The humanoids were created to take over the housework of their assigned households. They were expected to be highly popular, particularly because they do not have emotions to get in the way of their jobs,” the reporter said.

The word “emotions” was alien to me and I knew better than to ask Mr or Mrs Cole what it meant. I was the help, present in the Cole household to reduce their labour as much as possible. Humanoids never tired like humans.

began to inflate. It was only then that I realised she was pregnant. When Mrs Cole got a little bigger, she stopped going to work. It changed my working schedule. Mrs Cole was uncomfortable when it was just the two of us at home. As soon as she heard Mr Cole’s car she ran for the door.

One day I was making Mrs Cole lunch because she was feeling weak. My hands were slightly wet from washing them and the glass I was holding slipped and shattered into a thousand pieces.

“What did you break?!” Mrs Cole yelled from the sofa.

Leaving the TV reporter behind, I took my duster and moved into the main bedroom. There were whispers floating about.

Broom in hand, I bent to the floor. “It was a glass. I’ll clean it up straight away.” By the time she’d waddled over it was cleaned up.

“We have to get rid of it,” Mrs Cole insisted.

I imagined Mr Cole screwing up his mouth. It was something he did a lot because of his wife. “Why would we get rid of something that is doing all our housework for us?”

Mrs Cole’s piercing grey eyes always appeared to be stormy and her straight blonde hair made her look severe. She scrutinised the floor. Her eyes narrowed.

Mrs Cole made a sort of growl. “I hate that it is not human, yet wearing a human body! We weren’t even given the choice to take it.”

To keep on time with my work, I retreated from Mr and Mrs Cole’s bedroom and continued my dusting in the second bedroom. *** A few months after I arrived at the Cole household Mrs Cole started getting sick in the mornings, giving me extra work. I cleaned Mr and Mrs Cole’s bathroom on a daily basis so they could remain as comfortable as possible. The house smelt of cleaning products for weeks. After a few weeks the sickness went away but her stomach 18

“There’s a piece of glass there,” she said, pointing. The piece had landed sharp-end down and lodged itself into the linoleum floor. “If there was a baby wandering around here, it would have stepped on that.” Her voice rapidly grew louder.

“You need to do better! I already don’t want you here! The least you could do is what you were created for.” *** Mr and Mrs Cole made strange noises as they looked down on the baby, so tiny and squirmy.

Mrs Cole had ordered me to keep my distance from the baby. Mr Cole was too preoccupied with her and the baby to make any objections. The house was now a place of strange new smells, all of which offended my nose.

– On Dit –

From the hallway, I used the zoom function in my eyes to get a look at the baby. She had a fair tuft of black hair, like Mr Cole, but her eyes were happy and green.

Mr Cole looked over. “Ensure the nursery is as clean and safe as possible.”

“Yes, Aria?”

“Go down,” she ordered. Setting the mop aside, I bent to the floor and Aria slid off my back.

“Come.” I followed her. She pointed to herself. “I am Aria.” I nodded. “Who you?” She pointed at me.

I shook my head and pointed at myself. “No name.”

“Yes, Mr Cole.”

The nursery walls were mint green and the furniture was a pristine white. I dusted everything in sight, though I’d been doing so every day. I picked up a few out-of-place toys and put them away.

Looking up, I saw a new addition to the wall. In cursive script, the name “Aria” had been painted. I assumed it was the baby’s name. Mr and Mrs Cole hadn’t told me what her name was and I had only guessed from all of the pink baby clothes that it was a girl.

Aria frowned but I could see the cogs in her brain turning as she looked up at me. Then she lit up.

“You can leave now,” Mrs Cole said, standing in the doorway. She backed away as I left, holding the baby as close to her as possible.

Aria was right. Blue was no longer an Earthen eye colour so they were programmed into humanoids as one of our distinguishable traits.

*** The mop almost fell out of my hands when Aria ran in on her chubby two-year-old legs and started climbing me like a tree. Aria had realised that she enjoyed being up high and climbing me was her new favourite activity. She settled on my back, arms around my neck and chin tucked into the dip in my shoulder. Mrs Cole didn’t understand why Aria enjoyed being around me, the humanoid. Human or not, I was woman-shaped and I suspected that Aria could not tell the difference between human and humanoid. She certainly didn’t understand her mother’s disapproval.

“I am Aria,” she began and then touched my hand. “You Blue.”

“My name is Blue?”

“Blue eyes are yours. Not for us.”

“I’m Blue,” I told Aria, who nodded and smiled widely. I felt myself smile in response, something that my body had never done before. Emotions were not programmed into humanoids.

“Aria!” Mrs Cole yelled as she walked into the kitchen. “Are you distracting it again?” She picked her daughter up off the floor.

Aria squirmed in her mother’s arms, annoyed.

“Not it, Mummy. Blue.”

“You named the help?” Mrs Cole narrowed her eyes at me, cold like a winter storm.

Aria tapped my shoulder.

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– On Dit –

The two-year-old clapped, happy that her mother understood, and I picked the mop up again, trying to keep my smile from breaking out. *** In the evenings the Cole household was loud, filled with Aria’s laughter and the footsteps of Mr and Mrs Cole chasing after her. I stood in the kitchen, washing the dishes as I did after every meal.

Mrs Cole had banned me from participating in Aria’s games. As they ran upstairs and the noise faded, I tuned into the kitchen TV. A news reporter was standing in a science laboratory, wearing a white coat. “Scientists are reporting that there is a glitch with the first generation of humanoids. It was revealed that they have the capacity to develop emotions after spending considerable amounts of time around humans. Scientists insist that keeping them emotionless is essential in keeping them useful.

able to speak in full sentences. Mrs Cole walked in and I wasn’t able to quit smiling before she saw.

Mrs Cole took Aria upstairs for a bath and bedtime, leaving me to finish the dishes. I always ended my days at the base of the staircase, waiting for Mr Cole to shut me down.

“Is there anything else you require me to do today, Mr Cole?” I asked.

“That’s all for today.”

Mr Cole pushed my black hair aside to pop open the control panel in my back. I dreaded the coming sensation; the dizzy, draining feeling of being shut down. It always served as a reminder that I did not belong to myself, something humans were obsessed with. ***

However, they were built with a failsafe button in case of problems.” A diagram of a humanoid came up and showed the button, positioned behind the left ear. “Scientists urge families who believe that their humanoids are showing emotions to push that button and restore their factory settings.”

A year ago the first news stories about a glitch that allowed humanoids to develop emotions was aired and a series of follow-ups had come afterwards. How to reset a humanoid was now common knowledge.

I turned from the TV, frowning. It was something I had learned from Aria.

I moved about the lounge room, cleaning up around Aria.

“Blue!” the four-year-old came flying into the kitchen.

“Look at my necklace, Blue!”

It was made of every colour bead she had.

Aria had spilled more than she’d used. “That is an excellent necklace, Aria. Who is it for?”

I put down the plate I was washing and turned to Aria. “Isn’t it bed time?”

“Only if Mummy and Daddy catch me.” I smiled at that, without meaning to. Aria was charming, now 20

Aria held the rainbow necklace out to me. “It’s for you, Blue. I made Mummy one and you’re my second Mummy so here’s yours.”

– On Dit –

I began to smile but a laugh escaped my mouth instead. I’d witnessed Aria laugh all the time but had never experienced it myself. It was both lovely and troubling. My programming glitch was going to get me in trouble.

“What did Mummy talk to you about, Blue?” the girl asked. “Did she like your necklace more than hers? Because I made them both with the same beads.”

I could only shake my head.

“Will you put it on for me?” I asked Aria.

She lifted my long hair from my back and tied the necklace around my neck. “It looks pretty with your black hair.”

“Aria!” Mrs Cole called from behind me. “Play time is over. Head up to your room.” Aria looked at me as if to verify that it was okay and I nodded.

Before looking back to Mrs Cole, something heavy hit me in the side of the head and I fell to the carpet, disorientated. Mrs Cole pushed my hair aside and pulled at my ear until it opened, revealing my inner workings. A pointy object fiddled around inside my head and I wanted it to stop, not because it hurt, but because poking in my head could cause trouble. My consciousness faded quicker every second.

The girl frowned up at me. “Was she mean to you, Blue? Don’t worry Blue, she doesn’t really mean it.”

Finally finding my voice, I asked the most obvious question. “Who is Blue?”

That question appeared to perk the child up because she grinned widely and explained. “You’re Blue, of course! I’m Aria and you’re Blue and you’re my second mummy.” Aria started laughing, though I wasn’t sure what about. Her laugh was so achingly familiar that I found myself frowning, wondering how that could be. The longer Aria laughed, the more connected I felt. Something in my programming allowed a memory to come to the surface: being named by Aria.

*** I woke up with the feeling that I’d been in an awkward position. The room around me was unfamiliar but comfortable, with warm purple walls.

Standing, I went in search of some work to do.

A pile of dirty dishes sat on the kitchen counter, asking to be cleaned. Footsteps pounded down the staircase and steered into the kitchen. I looked behind me just in time to see a small child latch onto my legs. I was unsure what to do.

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– On Dit –

Karaoke in the Afternoon Jack Peach

Franklin, the Irish setter, was at her feet. She had been rubbing his soft, brown back with the soles of her feet for a good twenty minutes now, and the rhythm had become a welcome distraction.

For Chloe abhorred her parents’ Sunday afternoon pergola parties. It was always the same. Her father’s friend from work, with his wife, and the neighbours from two houses down would arrive around noon, partake in some preliminary discussions concerning the changing of the weather and the general passing of time, before beginning the main event of the afternoon—a sincere and entirely serious karaoke session. Chloe partook in neither the small talk nor the karaoke.

She could never understand why her mother insisted that she join them, but at any hint that she would decline the invitation her mother would promptly and expertly express her sadness that they were growing apart, and that her daughter would soon be a woman and would no longer need nor want her mother.

She had managed to get through the first half hour without interacting with anyone, and it was now time for her mother to bring out the platters. The food was always the same too: salmon and cream cheese tartlets with two or three capers sprinkled on top, a chopping board of various charcuterie, along with water crackers and grapes, and finally, her mother’s prized devilled eggs. Of course nobody ever ate anything, with the exception of her father, who could always be relied upon to clean up the cured meats. In fact, Chloe often wondered why her mother bothered to prepare the platters each week, but only had to imagine how terribly disappointed the guests would be if there were no spread on show. It would surely affect the karaoke. However, this week was slightly different, as the son of her father’s friend, whose name had slipped her mind, had taken a particular fancy to the devilled eggs.

He had gotten into the habit of standing up from his chair every five minutes or so and proceeding to walk towards Chloe and Franklin, so that every

Alas, Chloe was sat on the picnic chair, Franklin at her feet, on this delightful Sunday afternoon.

Except this time, it was worse—her father’s friend from work had brought his son. Of course, Chloe knew very well why the son was here. She imagined her mother telling the friends how worried she’d become about her daughter’s distance of late, and how she couldn’t remember the last time she heard her Chloe mention a young man from class. She stopped herself from thinking about it and tried to refocus on Franklin, who had surely noticed that the rubbing of his back had become quite out of tempo.

time he did so Chloe feared that he might be coming over to introduce himself. But instead he would continue over to the table where the food had been laid out, before returning to his seat with egg in hand.

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“Karaoke!” shouted Chloe’s mother from inside the house, beckoning her guests to follow her into the living room. The adults all took a seat on the large Redwood leather sofa, whilst the boy brought over a stall from behind the TV set and Chloe sat awkwardly on the small Ottoman that was positioned perpendicular to the sofa.

– On Dit –

Her father always sang the first song, and this week he had prepared “Isn’t She Lovely” by Stevie Wonder—a typical choice for him. It was an instant success, and the crowd exhibited both laughter and genuine appreciation as he negotiated the chorus expertly. And every so often the couple from two doors down would smile eagerly at Chloe’s mother, as though all this was meant for her only, and wasn’t she lucky.

Her father received a round of applause as he retook his seat on the couch. Chloe’s mother gave her husband a loving kiss on the cheek as she got up to take the microphone. However, as she stood up in front of the guests her face began to change. She looked as though some small detail that only she could foresee was bothering her. As the music began she took a deep breath inwards and started to sound out the first words. It was “What’s Love Got to Do with It” by Tina Turner. Her voice sounded oddly different, so that even her husband felt uneasy. Chloe too was suddenly drawn to her mother’s singing, and the background noise of the afternoon gave way so that everything seemed to rush at her at once. The chorus was sung with both conviction and weariness, as the words “secondhand emotion” lingered in Chloe’s mind. She began to remember her mother’s past as though she had lived it herself. She recalled how she had been married to another man before her birth. She thought of the wedding dress that had been passed down from her grandmother to her mother, and which now lay deep in the chest at the foot of her parent’s bed.

And then she was walking. Chloe was leading her father’s friend’s son over towards the small park opposite the house. She couldn’t be exactly sure what she was doing, or why she was doing it, but it felt good to let this unspecified urge take over her. She stopped, facing a gumtree, as the boy positioned himself in front of her. For a short moment Chloe just stared at him, as though she believed by studying his face she would find the answer to some question that was puzzling her. And then she pushed him, hard, into the tree behind. He fell to the floor, perhaps more from confusion than force.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Chloe rushed to help the boy to his feet, a faint smile on her face.

“That’s okay,” he replied. They were both very glad that she had pushed him into the tree.

They both headed back to the house, but as they entered the driveway Chloe paused, and let the boy go ahead inside. She turned towards her father’s black Lexus. The remaining light from the afternoon sun reflected off the metallic paintwork. Chloe rested her head there and, feeling the warmth of the day gone by, a deep weariness came over her.

She stayed like that for a while, with her arms and head spread across the hood of the car, as if in some prayer of adoration or thanks.

23

chr

I did not believe I could want a stranger Until you bestowed the room your summer presence.

It was nonsensical. Perhaps heat-stricken cherubs had struck my head, For February filled the room and drenched us all in a sweat.

My makeup dripped like wax and ochre clung to your clothes, As you rose, while the mass fell mute and my sight gave a start.

From across the space, you could look however I chose.

Though no stunner, I made you the siren song of my heart, With those mocha-stained eyes, a tawny complexion, and dense umber hair.

Every week, I’d hope to see you there just to take a sip of your savoury voice.

That clumsy smirk could start a revolt in my chest, Yet, I remained concealed in the flock of faces And admired you how I knew best: silently.

When you passed one winter day, I saw you right up close.

The rose-tinted glass shattered, and the freed butterfly was a moth.

Those caffeine eyes were really an ocean of weeds, The smooth face was creased like my neglected tan jeans, And a leaden crop grew barren at the scalp.

Nonetheless, when you met my eyes and saw straight through, There was not a dent in my daft desire for you.

Words by Emma Carson

GOLDEN

– On Dit –

Regardless of light, you shine Regardless of touch, you emanate warmth.

Effortless moves lead to breathless response, I think you're truly golden.

I'd steer off my path just to meet you I'd lose myself at a glimpse of your glow.

Give up hours of my time for a minute of yours, Devotion's worth nothing less.

The gold I will find stands stark The love I will feel shields my heart.

Against silver and platinum and measly diamonds, You'll complete me like they never did.

Brief looks, on tenterhooks I'm glued to your shoulder.

The shine in my eyes is light all the same, right?

My gold heart already soaked it in.

Words by Elise Billing

25

– On Dit –

A Place That Inspires Me Words by Zoe Koulakis Artwork by Mollie Barker

Lower Manhattan is like a wormhole; connecting the past to the present; a vortex of old and new; native and traveller. No matter where you are in New York City, you are sure to find the rushing businessman, the mouth gaping tourist, and the multicultural local. Downtown offers something more. It offers a rare group of silent onlookers; people who are contributing to the streets’ vast history. Some of these onlookers are conscious of their contribution, while others walk unaware. As I walk down the cobblestone streets, I see myself becoming one with the city’s awe-inspiring culture and history. No, I am not going to be immortalised in history books like others before me, but I am nonetheless a part of New York’s history .

27

– On Dit –

When we think of this history we think of George Washington — the general who led the colonies to victory, and first President of the United States, or perhaps Charlotte Perkins Gilman — the wonderful poet, author, and suffragette- a stalwart champion of women’s rights. Seldom do we think of ourselves as a part of history, and yet walking down these streets makes me feel as important as Washington himself. That is the way Lower Manhattan inspires its visitors; it invites with open arms not only to teach history but also to inspire the visitor to make their mark on world the same way that America has and continues to shape our world.

History, much like America, while built by people and their actions, is remembered through politics, culture, art, and architecture. Downtown Manhattan marries both into a vast experience of visuals; The Trinity Church, with its spiking pillars and colourfully stained windows, calls out to onlookers, demanding to be noticed. One cannot simply walk past this monument without remembering all the patriots who fought in the Revolution and now peacefully reside in its yard. While Trinity is not the most popular church in New York, it’s certainly the one with the most expansive history, having held sermons for almost all of the founding fathers.

28

As you walk down Wall Street, away from the church, you find yourself in amazement once again at the Hellenic-style columns that surround you.

From the New York Stock Exchange to the pillars of Federal Hall, there is once again no escaping the history of the street. The sky-high ceilings and marble-finished floors of Federal Hall makes you feel important and one with the history that took place in the building over two centuries ago. The Hellenic style, which continues inside, makes the place feel as influential as the ancient Greek Empire in its golden age.

While I’d been in the city for just over 2 weeks, this was the first time I truly felt the prestige and importance of New York City. The atmosphere of Lower Manhattan, with its Greek-style building and its merging of old and new, creates an inspiring experience for both the traveller and the native.

One cannot feel disconnected from the culture and history of America while roaming lower Manhattan.

29

– On Dit –

MY NIGHTMARE AWAKENS I see red eyes shining from the darkness, but no face or body. Where am I? I wonder. The air seems to thicken and I feel sluggish. This isn’t normal. What is happening? I descend into darkness.

Waking up with a start, I realise that I am covered with sweat. That nightmare has been the same for the past two weeks. I get up and decide to go for a walk. It is still dark outside, which makes me feel on edge. It was just a dream, nothing to be worried about, I tell myself.

As I make my way outside, I hear a spine-chilling shriek. I should turn around and head inside, but something draws me further into the woods. The air has a paranormal feel to it; a sort of threatening aura is reaching out for me. This is a bad idea, and yet I cannot stop walking towards the shrieking.

I make it to a clearing. It is bare, except for the man with a dagger, and a body. I am terrified. I start to back away, but step on a twig. It snaps. I stand frozen in fear and look at the clearing. The man is gone. I turn around to run, but hit something straightaway, and fall down. I look up and realize that it is the same man from the clearing. How did he get here so fast? I wonder.

As I look at the man, I realise that he is no longer holding the dagger. He has piercing green eyes and shaggy blonde hair. He is wearing an open leather jacket with a white shirt, and torn up jeans with old sneakers. He holds his hand out to me. I take it and he helps me up.

30

“Leave, and don’t come back,” is all he says. I do as he says and run, thinking about getting home. I attempt to jump over a log, but trip and fall again.

This time, I don’t hesitate; I get straight back up and begin to run, but then suddenly I stop. I feel the air thicken. My heart races. Turning around, I see the red eyes from my dream. Surely it isn’t coming true.

Please don’t come true. I start to feel lethargic. By this point I am panicking. I try to back away. My leg feels like jelly. The eyes are coming closer. Someone help me! I collapse from fatigue and my head hits the ground. All is black.

I open my eyes. Everything is dark. I sit up, but immediately regret it. The room starts spinning, so I lie back down. I realise I am on a mattress. I must be in a room if there is a mattress. There must be a way out! But where?

I stand up and walk around the perimeter of the room, with my hand on the wall at all times. I come across a large vertical gash in the wall. This must be the door! I try to pry the groove open with my hands, but it is no use. It won’t budge.

I feel like a volcano about to erupt. I just want to live my life with ease, without all of the complications.

Suddenly, I hear screaming and cracking. Large gaps of light starting to filter into the room. I am terrified.

I run over to the other side of the room, the part farthest from the door. The door shatters. I crouch to the ground while the debris flies across the room.

I look up. Standing in the doorway is the man from the forest.

– On Dit –

Words by Emily Gebhardt

“What happened? Where am I? Who brought me here?” I ask.

“I will answer the questions later. Follow me to get out,” he replies. I follow this man without hesitation, but I feel very wary of him.

“What is your name?” I ask.

“Chase,” he replies.

“Where are we going?” I question.

“Just be quiet.”

We walk in silence, Chase leading the way, but every hallway we reach crumbles like dust.

“Are you doing this?” I inquire.

“Partly,” he says, “but you are the reason the walls are easy to break”.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Your anger is what released your powers. You are not normal. I told you to run in the forest because I knew these people would be out looking for you; however, I thought that they were a fair distance away. I was wrong, and for that I am sorry,” he says, tears glistening in his eyes, while he bows to me.

Suddenly I understand what he is talking about. I remember growing up in a palace with my mother, father and siblings. I remember rejecting that evil man. I also remember loving Chase.

“Why didn’t you say anything in the woods?” I say.

“It was not my job. I was only to protect you, not to tell you. Even now I could be punished for telling you,” he says, wearily.

“I won’t let that happen” I say, sternly.

I am overcome by this pain in my head. I see the future. A war happening, my family being slaughtered, my people being overrun and Chase dying. I see the evil man with red eyes approaching me. ”This is what your world will become,” he says. “You cannot save them. Your rejection of me killed them”.

“I will save them” I say, “You are the one who shall die”.

“Why are you bowing to me?” I ask.

“Do you not remember?” he asks, confused.

“No. Is there something I should know?”

“Yes. Your memories must not have resurfaced yet.

You are a princess of the supernatural realm.

You were brought here two years ago. The person that chased and caught you is evil and wanted your hand in marriage. You refused, and he became mad.

Ever since, you were in danger, and the safest place for you was here,” He states.

31

14 - 27 August, Hub Central Artwork from over 40 University of Adelaide student scribblers, doodlers and creatives.

More info at: auu.org.au/scribblearchive

– On Dit –

FORWARD

Words by Hilary D'Angelo Artwork by Gemma Mckinna

Things looked different that day. The sky was so red. I could hear birds chirping, each sound a separate musical note. It was as if the sky, casting its illuminate glow upon the city, was itself a portal to be torn apart and broken through — a precursor to the place I had for so long wanted to reach but never quite could. I imagined climbing through those pink and red clouds, pushing vivid spheres aside as I made my way through the opening. It was scary and unfamiliar. But the sky had given me its blessing.

But for the sky, that day was like any other. It was me who had changed. The birds, would you believe, chirp every day. But I had never noticed before. Not like this. They sang so beautifully; all notes were a chorus of hope, all chirps were an eloquent comfort.

Iridescent light beamed from above. I couldn’t believe I was awake to see it.

I walked along the flame-tree lined street and felt at ease. The trees swayed in the soft wind, rustling with each breeze. The cool air sent gentle shivers down my spine.

It was time.

Catching my breath, I advanced towards the sky.

Not once did it stop calling. Something about that day was welcoming, telling me that yes I was ready and yes I was brave enough. A reassuring stillness blanketed the surroundings and settled my mind.

It was peaceful. With each step and each parting gesture, I felt myself getting lighter. I pushed clouds and let them fade. As I progressed, I immersed myself in the promise of the sky, in the warmth of opportunity. Shackles fell and fog vanished. For so long it didn’t seem possible.

Birds chirped.

Red gleamed.

I was free.

41

MOD Words by Joanna Pastro Artwork by Nozhat Hasson

– On Dit – “Short black, no sugar. Oh, and a flat white, two sugars.”

I watched the black tar ooze out of the machine into the cup waiting underneath it. I was waiting for you to walk through the beaten down door of the corner coffee shop we both liked.

Taking both the orders I sat down in our booth, the one hidden away in the back. It was a little worn down, the leather stained with years of coffee build up. Who knew what kind of stories this seat could tell if it could talk. It held all of ours. All our coffee dates in this one seat. Just one chapter that could be read by anyone passing by. You’d be able to read it if you looked closely.

Maybe you’d understand where everything went wrong.

The front page of the newspaper documented another rally out the front Parliament House. I missed that rally again. We were getting coffee.

You bought me flowers for no reason, and then we walked through the park. The trees hummed when I walked by, but their leaves moved with the wind like the real deal. You told me that there was no need to change me, perfect the way I was. I had asked if you wanted to go to the museum with me to see the new exhibit, but you said no. You said that you thought it was unnatural. Why could you not understand? I told you about the rally that was going on, but you weren’t listening. Or you had decided to stop listening. You brought up the new employee at work. That they were built for the

“Two tickets please.”

I finally convinced you to come to the museum with me to see the exhibit. You got annoyed because you had to have your phone out to view all of the artwork properly. It was a shame you never got the ocular upgrades.

“People already spend too much time on their phones, and this exhibit is just encouraging that,” you’d say. If you had just gotten the relevant upgrades, you wouldn’t have needed to use such an archaic piece of tech. You’re a little close minded like that.

We continued through the museum with me talking and interacting with the different exhibits. There was one that showed the evolution of children with body modifications. They made humans more adaptable to the changing environment. Especially with rising temperatures.

What ingenuity.

“Who would modify their unborn children?

Look how unnatural they look. It’s disgusting.”

I didn’t even need to look to see the disgust on your face. I had seen it many times before. As we would take walks in the park. Sitting in our coffee shop.

“Humans have a long standing history of body modification. Adding higher bodily functions are no different to the tattoos or piercings adorning your skin. These ones are just more functional.”

You weren’t happy with what I had said. This was definitely a red flag. I should have known better,

job. That was the end of that conversation.

The bell rang at the door, and I looked up to see you stroll in. You always called me perfect, but every time I saw you, it would stop my thought processes. You didn’t hesitate as you made your way over to our booth and slid in next to me.

“Have you been outside? It’s raining buckets!”

It was cute whenever you used idioms.

They’re just annoying now.

“It’s not raining buckets outside? That’s impossible.”

“It just means that it’s raining a lot. You’d think you would have picked up on that by now.”

I would later learn that you didn’t think I was perfect.

but you thought I was perfect, so I was willing to overlook your short comings. You still have them.

We kept walking through the exhibit, and I saw a few algorithms on the wall. One was copying the movements of the person in front of it, and the other seemed to be watching. While the first was just copying, the second seemed to follow its moves, and then adapt to them. The two algorithms were stuck together in an endless cycle, never being able to do anything else. One learned while the other copied and relied on someone else moving in front of it. It almost resembled dancing.

Imagine that, stuck in endless movement with someone for the rest of your life. Where every interaction is reliant on another being’s kindness to stop and interact with you. It made me angry, watching you dance in front of the algorithms.

43

– On Dit – It was the only time you interacted with an exhibit.

I dragged you away, but you didn’t understand why I was angry.

“What if that was me? Do you see any difference between me and those algorithms on the wall?”

“Of course you’re different. You’re not like those things on the wall. They’re just lines of code, programmed to do whatever you want. They’re not alive. You’re perfect just the way you are, stop thinking about it too much.” You laughed, and moved into the next room while I stood there staring at the algorithms on the wall. You will still laugh at those algorithms on the wall when you bring someone else to this exhibit.

The Turing Test developed by Alan Turing in 1950 is a test used to see whether a machine can exhibit intelligent behaviour indistinguishable from a human. His original article would describe a game played by three people. Player A would be played by a woman, Player B played by a man, and Player C, who was the interrogator, played by someone of any sex. Player C cannot see the other players, and can only communicate through written notes. They would then ask them questions to determine who the man was and who the woman was. Player A would attempt to trick the interrogator, and Player B would assist them. Now Turing would take the same game, and replace Player A with a machine who would then attempt to trick the interrogator. Turing posed the question, “could machines therefore think?”

However common understanding of this test changed from whether a computer could fool the interrogator to whether the machine could imitate a human. So the role of the interrogator would be to find which player is the machine and which is the human. It would be up to you to decide.

I remember when this test became standardized for the creation of every machine.

They said it was to make sure that no machine that exhibited higher order thinking would be subjected to the slavery of lesser machines.

Because that’s what it was. Slavery. You could dress it up and believe that the implementation of robots is to help society, but those robots don’t have a choice. They are slaves. If this test is supervised and executed by humans, when do you 44

know when a robot becomes artificially conscious?

You thought that this was a good idea. I would ask you what it meant to be human, but you could never answer me. Do you have an answer for it now?

“Short black, no sugar. Flat white, two sugars.”

It was weird. That this bland and unadorned place had become so significant to me. Whether it was hot or cold outside, the place we always came back to. But now you won’t come back here, repulsed away, fearful I might be here. An unspoken law of our interaction now.

We had a fight last night. You came home with a shopping bag, and I asked what was inside.

I had seen these advertised places. It was a voluntary update, but I thought you said I was perfect? That you didn’t want me to change?

“Why did you buy that? What’s the purpose of it?”

“I just thought we could use it to you know, spruce things up in the bedroom.”

I didn’t want that update. I saw no use of it. Yet, you didn’t want to hear it. You yelled at me, telling me that I wasn’t committed to this relationship, and that only you were making sacrifices for us. I didn’t realise that you were sacrificing so much choosing to be with me.

You came at me, but your reflexes were too slow. Maybe you should have looked into enhancements. Instinctively I grabbed for your hand, snapping the bones in your fingers like they were glass. You are so fragile, but I never fully realised it until this moment. You screamed and fell to your knees like a believer in front of their god. I know I probably should have called the medical authorities then, but all I could do was stare. You were so soft and weak in that moment.

I walked out the door and didn’t look back. Your hand will heal, and you won’t learn after us. You will move on to the next one.

“Short black, no sugar.”

“No flat white this time?”

“No. Not this time.”

I sat in our seat once again. This seat held part of our story after all. I sat there and read over all our coffee encounters. Strange to think I spent all that time with you. I know for sure that I won’t

– On Dit – be with you, and won’t be held back by you.

You won’t come to this coffee shop and read our stories.

I was heading to a rally straight after this. The barista seemed to be heading there too.

“I’m shutting up early to go to the rally as well. Look forward to seeing you there, freedom to the humanoids!”

Freedom to the humanoids. You would have thought that was pointless. “Humanoids already have freedom. More than anyone could ever dream of” you’d say.

You would always say that I was perfect. That you didn’t want me to change. That I was different from the algorithms on the wall. You put me on a pedestal too close to the sun and expected me to jump for you. I never really understood that story, but after you, now I do. I was no different to the algorithms on the wall, just code you could manipulate to suit your desires. You will attempt to do it again with someone like me.

humans are just animals? They may talk, think, and self-reflect, but that doesn’t change them from animals. Neurologically, don’t human and animal brains work the same way? Yes a bird’s brain is smaller than a human’s, but they are much more efficient in communicating with each other than humans. Does that make a bird superior? Because a robot isn’t limited by its body or by its capacity to understand complex concepts, does that make a robot superior to a human? Are robots more human than humans then?

So, after reading the stories set in our coffee seat, after reflecting over all of the encounters we had together, what do you think I am? Do you still think I am perfect? Am I an imitation, or am I attempting to trick you? Just because I think differently to you, doesn’t mean I am not thinking.

Am I a machine, or am I human?

What does it mean to be human? Is it being able to recognise and interpret social behaviour?

Those small cultural nuances that are constantly changing, and being able to understand the complexity of social interaction? What if you could teach a robot to continually adapt with every conversation it had? Does that make it a human?

It’s said that the essential difference between human and animals is the human’s ability to selfreflect. Can the same be applied to a robot? If its artificial intelligence can learn and adapt from every situation that it encounters, doesn’t that make it human? What about the argument that

45

– On Dit –

THE DREADED QUESTION Words by Kathryn Simons

What do you study? They ask.

Bachelor of Arts, English. You answer brightly, but your heart sinks, fearing the lack of weight they place upon your pursuit.

What can you do with that?

The dreaded question, an impossible summons to justify your path. You falter, stumbling over a million answers in search of one.

Do you want teach?

You hurry to distance yourself from the suggestion with the merits of critical analysis.

It sounds weak to your ear, obscuring the truth you do not speak for fear they will not understand your reasons.

46

– On Dit –

Message to the US Words by Amber Chumbley

"When does the ignorance stop?

To ignore what's happening in the world around us?

How many dead does it take for a politician to notice death?

How many screaming teenagers in protests does it take to make a change Will it make a change?

How many more tears must be shed? How many lives must be lost?

How much money do we need to make it stop?

How much importance does the second amendment have at the cost of lives?

Patriotic excuses for uses of weapons against those who will harm us with what, guns You hide behind a flag which is covered in blood while more bodies lie upon the grounds of your ignorance How many views does a news channel need until they realise their content breeds fear and discontent How much will it take to make a change?

Can we?"

47

– On Dit –

48

– On Dit –

49

– On Dit –

MOST CRINGE COMPETITION

WINNER

50

City Chick by Zoe Koulakis While all of the following articles certainly made us wince, City Chick was by far the most cringe inducing for its painful display of teenage romantic desire.

Words by Zoe Koulakis Artwork by Jennafer Milne

CITY CHICK

– On Dit –

51

– On Dit –

Our limo had arrived outside the club; it was summer in New York, which meant that all the celebrities, tourists and locals alike were out on the town. Ed got out of the car first and as I scooted my way out I noticed his hand offering assistance, I took it without hesitation placing my first foot on the ground. As the second foot found the floor my 5-inch heel got caught on the sidewalk, I felt myself

“Well if you don’t stop hugging me I think you're never going to live this down, it will be in all the magazines tomorrow.” I pulled myself well and truly off Ed and stayed away from Liam as well.

fall backwards. Luckily, Liam, who was yet to exit the vehicle, caught my fall, however, the only way he could stop me from falling was to put his hand on my…yes…my ass.

body around.

I was completely mortified. Ed quickly pulled me back up, but of course he over compensated and I stumbled into Ed’s chest. He looked down at me while I tried to regain my balance again before I left his embrace.

“You must be pretty drunk? I thought you weren’t going to drink much tonight and your already wasted. I must be a bad influence on you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, I’m just a clumsy person. And I’m going to have to get pretty wasted tonight just to forget all of this.”

52

We got into the club no problem, Josie went to dance with her three amigos and I clung mostly to Ed who was not so much dancing as throwing his

“Is Liam always like that?” I yelled to Ed so he could hear me over the blasting music.

“What?”

“I said is Liam always a loner?”

“Yes, I got to take a leak, I’ll be back” he squeezed my hand and then advanced towards the bathrooms.

As he left I noticed Liam lurking in the corner of the club. I advanced towards him. “I don’t understand you.”

“Well, good for you.” I was confused maybe he didn’t hear me right, so I repeated a bit louder. “I heard you the first time.”

My face reacted to his rude comment in an almost surprised manner “Excuse me?”

52

– On Dit –

“Kate, please leave me alone.”

“Well what the hell did I do? Shit man I don’t know if you are always like this but it's going to help you a lot one day if you take that goddamn crowbar out of your ass and stop being a total prick. Jesus!”

“I’m a prick? Well you’re being a bit of a bitch right now aren't you?”

“What the fuck! Why are you attacking me?”

“Because you are just a cheap attention seeker trying to get famous through association.” I couldn’t listen to his arrogant voice for one more minute, and without thinking I threw my drink on his face.

“No, Kate I’m sorry, I’m just — I don’t meet people who are genuine, you know?”

“It’s okay.”

“No its not,” He pulled away from me just enough to look into my eyes and without a second thought he laid a kiss on me.

I was caught off guard, I felt embarrassed, and I certainly didn’t feel the same way about him. I didn’t know what else to do so I just grabbed my things and headed for the exit. I got into the cab and headed home to my warm bed.

“Fuck you,” I walked off without turning back and a few seconds later I was joined by Ed on the dance floor.

Blinded by the bright light shining from the cracks of my window, I instantly became conscious. I rolled over and reached for my phone to check the time.

About an hour later, Ed and I were still dancing the night away trying to have a good time when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Liam, who smelt like alcohol, which may have been because I drenched him in my drink but as he stumbled towards me to embrace me with a hug I could see he was intoxicated.

“Ka, Ka, Kate… I’m so sorr-im...orry…” He laughed at himself “Hi, My name is Orry,” he continued to babble about nothing as he clung to me more, more tighter.

“Liam — honestly how much have you drank?”

“I’m not drunk I know my limits,” he yelled in my ear.

“It’s time to go home.”

“Do I get to go home with you?”

“What?” I looked shocked, I WAS shocked.

“Shit,” I lethargically moan, as I realise I’d slept for most of the day, which still didn’t seem like enough sleep. I slowly get out of my bed trying to limit the movement of my stomach because I was ready to hurl at any time (a side effect of the poison I had consumed the night before) “Never. Drinking. Again.” I moaned exiting my room.

“Awake so early?” Beck sarcastically mocked.

“Shut up- I’m no longer drunk so your words hurt.

And my head hurts and my stomach!”

“How much did you drink?”

“No much… okay… maybe a little bit…fine a lot, I got white girl wasted and I am NOT proud of it.”

“Well did you want to get a coffee?”

“You haven’t been out for your morning coffee yet?”

Each morning since we arrived Beck would go for a 7am jog and then her daily chia coffee.

53

– On Dit –

“No, well Tully called at 7, so I ditched the jog and coffee but I’m having serious withdrawal.”

We walked to a café about a block from our place; it was a cute little hipster vintage café with an olden day bike as its window centerpiece. But as we were walking into the café I noticed a newsstand… well I didn’t notice the newsstand, I noticed my face on the cover a bunch of the magazines in the newsstand.

“What the hell?” I rushed over. “Can I get these please,” I roughly threw the gossip magazines to the man who served me.

Trying to hide my face I flipped to the pages about me. “MYSTERIOUS WOMAN IS FOUGHT OVER BY LIAM AND ED!” One magazine claims with a picture of Liam with his hands on my ass and a picture of Ed saving my fall, the article basically claimed that I was being fought over by both men. Liam was depicted as a straight to the point "I want to have you so I’m going to grab your butt" type of guy and Ed as the ‘don’t treat her like a piece of ass, she is much more than that’ type of guy. Both portrayals were somewhat accurate but this magazine had fucked up in one major aspect. THEY WERE NOT FIGHTING OVER ME! The two-page spread was complete with quotes from sources "close to me" and "related to Ed" and "friend of Liam" ect…

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I read one and Beck read a different one and we swapped until we had both read all the articles “Oh my god” Beck reacts. “What the hell? What happened last night?” She nagged judgmentally.

“Beck these are lies! Seriously it was all a misunderstanding!”

“Really, because this doesn’t really look like a misunderstanding, this looks like you leading both of the poor guy on.” Her tone shifted to an accusing manner and I defended.

“Hey wait a second, YOU were not there! YOU do not know what actually happened. I tripped on the sidewalk as I was stepping out of the car and Liam who was standing behind me caught my fall, and yes his hands ended up on by butt, BUT I quickly tried to stand up right and I fell forward and into Ed’s chest.”

“Okay how about this? Can you explain this?” she pointed to the last magazine that she was reading.

There it was, I was dreading it, but there it was, a picture of Liam kissing me for the entire world to see.

– On Dit –

Omnomnomable Words by Cassandra Cook

As I neared the car, I noticed it had certainly broken down. The owner must have been pretty intent into figuring out what was wrong. He was bent down under the bonnet, too interested in popping the engine caps to notice me standing next to him.

He mustn’t have known too much about cars if he thought the caps were the problem.

“Uhm..”, I began to mumble next to this stranger, “Your caps aren’t the issue - your engine just needs a boost”. The stranger went rigid, probably out of shock that someone was next to him. He backed out of his bonnet and turned to face me.

Kind of like a styled mess, just minus the product overload. His eyes were really dark, like a liquidly black. They reminded me of sultanas, added with the heavy eyelashes that complimented them. He had this goofy, shit eating grin that makes women melt.

He wasn’t very tall though, admittedly. Only about half a head taller than I was. What’s that, like 5’4?

5’5? But he had muscles. Not big, bulky ones that scream I take waaaay to many steroids, but enough to show through his yummy tank top.

Overall, he was just… omnomnomable.

Now before I go on, I’d like to make a small disclaimer; I’ve never been too attracted to…well, too many guys before. And never once have I felt the need to want to rip some random guys clothes off and demand he follow my every beckon. But this stranger? Well, shit - he was hot. Like, would sacrifice your nanna to serve his almighty sex-god likeness kind hot.

Too bad I probably looked like a fucking mess.

He was lighter tanned than most. Kind of a super light caramel tan. He had black hair, you know, like most Asians do – Oh yeah, he was Asian. But, his hair was longer than most guys would probably allow theirs to be. It fell in a shaggy mess just above his shoulders, but it was a nice kind of shaggy mess.

55

– On Dit –

CHAD KROEGER'S CURSE Words by Anonymous

I resisted the urge to hit the man next to me as the sound of Nickelback grated in my ears.

Making a mental note to avoid the Friday five o’clock train in future, I politely tapped him on the shoulder. “Uh, excuse me”. The man met my gaze as I was greeted with blood red eyes and wondered why on earth anyone in their right mind would wear contacts of such a colour. “Sorry, but would you mind turning your music down just a bit, please? I have sensitive hearing”. I don’t have sensitive hearing, it’s just that I couldn’t bear Chad Kroeger’s voice for the next twenty minutes of my journey. His deep red eyes fixed on me, the man smiled defiantly and increased his iPhone volume to maximum. I could have sworn he cringed when he noticed the small crucifix around my neck, or perhaps I just imagined it… I scanned the train in order to confirm my initial impression that every seat was occupied. I suppose I would simply have

rummaged through my bag in hope of finding something remotely interesting to keep myself occupied until my time came to disembark the train. My memory played back to this morning as I pictured a shiny iPod Nano sitting on the kitchen table as I rushed out the door – what a shame I forgot to pick it up. Surely my iPod would lessen the agony of my current situation. At least then I would be able to mask Nickelback with the sound of something much more to my good taste.

After a few minutes of rummaging through my bag, I discovered a soggy pamphlet containing information about the swine flu vaccination. How this found its way to the bottom of my bag in the first place still puzzles me. It may have been far from my idea of exciting reading, yet it was all I had.

to endure Nickelback for the next quarter of an hour.

pamphlet, I felt a gooey substance dripping on me. Disgusted at this thought, I shifted my gaze to the left and glared at the little boy whose mother sat diagonally across from me and praised her son for keeping his clothing free of raspberry jam.

Within a moment, a well-poised woman dressed in business attire carefully placed herself in the newly vacant seat opposite me. I assumed that the actions of this woman would match those of the quiet yet abnormally-pale skinned man to her left – seemingly average and of no annoyance.

Alas, I was incorrect. I glanced ahead, only to see the woman reach into her pocket and extract a handful of food. My eyes widened as I noticed that

Entering the train one minute before its departure was always an unwise decision. Here I was – redeyed Nickelback fan to my right, little boy loudly slobbering all over a raspberry jam donut to my left whilst licking the sticky red dripping on his hands and forearms. Moreover, I was unable to simply gaze out the window due to the abnormally large head of a certain Nickelback enthusiast. If it wasn’t for my inability to ignore “50% OFF” signs, perhaps I would have arrived twenty minutes earlier and managed to secure a prime seat. I

56

As I was about to commence the reading of said

– On Dit –

the contents of her pocket resembled a mixture of uncooked meat and cat food – revolting! I forced myself to look elsewhere as she raised her hand to her mouth and shovelled the disgusting and bloody mix in. Sadly, my efforts were of no use, as the unbearable squelching of the questionable substance filled my ears. In the attempt to focus on something other than the woman in front of me, my brain wandered back over to Nickelback man, who I had temporarily displaced from my mind. Chad Kroeger’s voice assailed my ears and I couldn’t help but feel relief as my attention left the awful squelching. I then realised that the squelching had stopped. The chorus of Rockstar was screaming at me through the man’s headphones. A short musical interlude was playing before the next verse began, and the squelching was back. Somehow it seemed to be louder than before. I felt like tearing off my ears and throwing

Wedged in between a red sticky little boy and an obscenely loud Nickelback fan, whose feet were tapping to the beat of Photograph, I was fearful for my sanity. Engrossed in my ordeals with the Nickelback songs, red contacts, raspberry jam on my skirt, slobbering, and the train breaking down, the small and soggy pamphlet on my lap had slipped my mind. I’d had every intention of reading such a fine piece of work, yet other things had proved more worthy of my concern.

them at the man. After another minute or so, it dawned on me that this was going to be a regular occurrence: loud chewing in between verses of Nickelback. I looked to the ceiling and longed for a miracle. Suddenly, the train came to a halt in the middle of its tracks and remained stationary for the next few minutes… oh dear Lord.

the headphones from his ears and raised his eyebrows – for the first time I could see his toothy smile. “Can I please use your phone, sir?” He did not speak. His eyes glowed menacingly. I looked around for some reassurance, instead noticing the little boy; with red eyes, he had finished his red sticky donut but still looked hungry. His mother, the woman across from me, even the man to her left… blood red eyes… sharp incisors… menacing smiles... hungry…

Nothing had changed. I could see the rest of the train becoming restless. I could hear the intensity of the chewing opposite me increasing. Clearly the woman was an emotional eater. I couldn’t blame her for feeling nervous, though. I was nervous too.

Abruptly, a voiceover interrupted my valuable thoughts, apologising for any inconvenience and informing us that we would have to evacuate the train, thus confirming the general assumption that the train had broken down. I looked down at my pocket and slowly came to the realisation of what I would have to do. As Chad Kroeger’s number one fan stood up, I tapped his arm. He removed

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Words by Anonymous

LE HEIST

– On Dit –

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A lone man sat at his desk in a new office building in the middle of the city with his vast expenses catching up to him – he was in debt with all the wrong people. Tony was blind, although quite often he had an uncanny ability to detect things a blind man should not be able to; he often raced in his customized Ferrari 360 Modena, and won. He was the head of an underground “organisation” that operated within Las Vegas and would stop at nothing to get his own way. Always wearing a plain black suit with a white shirt and aqua blue tie, he exuded sophistication and confidence and no one still alive had ever seen behind his smooth, dark-tinted glasses. Massive debts owed meant Tony needed money – lots of it. His plan was to rob a casino on The Strip: an old one called Caligula’s. Planning of the heist was essential and it meant the difference between a successful and unsuccessful robbery; Tony had to cover every little aspect if he was ever going to see his men escape with the money.

The team was picked wisely as Tony needed to ensure that there would be no screw-ups. He could not afford that. A total of three men were picked for the job; each of them having big reputations for being the best, Tony knew he could rely on them. Sitting in the chair opposite from him and on the far left was a man who was short-tempered and stood at 6 foot 8: Rob was a force not to be reckoned with. For a living he professionally silenced people – at a cost. The next man was much, much smaller than Rob and only stood at a measly 5 foot 9, although his ego was just as large.

His name was Jimmy and he had been in prison only 3 months ago – for pulling off the largest bank robbery in America in 40 years. Leaning back in his chair, the last man was confidently smoking a pipe. He was known as Big Al and could pull off anything without being caught. He talked only when it was absolutely necessary. This team, Tony thought, will bring him home the dough.

– On Dit –

2 Weeks, 3 days and 11 hours later…...

“PUT IT IN THE BAGS AND LET’S GO, THE COPS WILL BE ALL OVER HERE IN A FEW MINUTES”! screamed Big Al after blowing open the door with high powered plastic explosives.

The three men were frantic, they had executed their plan down to the wire and there was no way they were going to fail now. A sum of 11 million dollars was extracted from Caligula’s state-ofthe-art vault. “We’ve got the cash, now let’s get the hell out of here, and fast”! yelled Big Al – he had taken the leadership position in the crew and earned the other men’s respect. As fast as possible the boys ran up the eleven flights of stairs, three at a time with security hot on their tails. At the speed of light they hoisted themselves up into the ceiling through the hole they had made only 10 minutes before. They took off through the network of air conditioner vents back into the personnel corridors and ran for their life towards the exit which stood a mere 200 meters away; the men could practically feel the fresh air on the backs of their necks; they could taste freedom.

Something had to go wrong though, and before Rob could yell “We’ve made it!” he was gunned down by seemingly the whole police force who had appeared out of nowhere.

“Get cover”! shouted Big Al to Jimmy before they both dived into separate rooms with Rob’s motionless body lying in the corridor between them.

“Oh my god, they killed Rob”! yelled Jimmy.

“I can see that, but we can’t worry about him now, we have to worry about ourselves,”Big Al replied.

“On the count of three we progress 10 metres then take cover, ok?” he screamed over the deafening roar of gunfire. “1, 2, 3, Move!”

As soon as they ran from behind cover the gunfire intensified: bullets were sizzling past Jimmy and Big Al’s heads – millimetres away from their target, they ducked into cover, safe from the bullets for another few seconds. They realised they

were never going to get past the mob of police officers. The men had to find another way. Big Al gestured Jimmy to run over to his side – they were going climb into the ceiling again. Once inside the roof they scuttled towards what they thought was the direction of the exit. Suddenly the roof collapsed; they had found a weak spot in the ceiling unfortunately. They came crashing down on top of a poker table to the amazement of confused patrons. Sprinting towards the exit away from the cops behind them, they noticed a large white van outside – it was Tony. He was so frantic with his hand movements, it looked as if he was attempting to use sign language. The two men hopped in the van and they sped off against traffic flowing in the opposite direction, wondering if they were going to survive the car trip because their driver was blind!

Tony drove to a deserted alleyway about 2 kilometres from the casino. There were three parked cars there – with keys in the ignition.

“Ok, Al and Jimmy take these cars to your planned destination, keep a low key for a couple of weeks and I will pay you handsomely,” explained Tony.

With no warning whatsoever Jimmy exclaimed, “Screw you, I didn’t come this far to give YOU the cash, Tony, it’s mine”! Hurriedly, he grabbed all 4 bags of cash from the back of the van. Before Jimmy could even think of getting in his getaway car, Big Al silenced him from behind.

“Wow, that was unexpected,” said Big Al who was obviously still surprised at Jimmy’s outburst. Tony stood there in amazement at the turn of events, but was glad it unfolded the way it did.

“The feds are bound to be searching the area, we should leave,” exclaimed Tony. The men split the cash and drove off in different directions, never to see each other again…

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IVES E ARCH H T M O FR 1.1 (2013) ISSUE 8

TORY BY SHORT S KSON ANN JAC

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