Author: Lauren Thomas

She got unsolicited comments on her hair every day. In addition to the sideways glances of adults or the open mouthed faces of children, she was told that it aged her. That it looked dirty. That she looked ridiculous. If only they knew. If only they knew how it had felt to watch strands disappear…

When he found the tunnel he knew he had finally found the thing that would make him interesting. He would no longer be the kid with red hair. The kid with the weird, angry dad. The kid with the dead mum. He would be the kid with the secret. He thought about who to share…

She was known as the girl with the too big coat. It didn’t matter what the season was. She wore it over thick sweaters and under heavy scarves in winter, her hands plunged deep into the pockets despite the hole in one of them. She wore it over floaty dresses in summer with flat sandals…

Her family couldn’t understand why she moved where she did. She had no connections to the town and no friends amongst the neighbours. When they were finally able to visit, they cooed over the neutral decor, the vast green space outside, and the huge curved windows of her bedroom. “I mean, it’s lovely. But you’re…

They looked forward to the maze reopening every year. The hedges reached eight foot tall, preventing even the tallest people with the most powerful jumps from seeing their way to the centre. Despite its proximity to a busy road, the maze felt other-worldly, muffling the sounds of the man-made world whilst heightening those of the…

He told everyone that the tree grew pears. The fruit that dropped certainly looked like pears. But when bitten into they became something else, showing the consumer their deepest desires and the path they needed to follow to fulfil them. He was particular about who was allowed to eat from the tree, mindful of those…

She was a thief her entire life. As a child she swiped penny sweets from the tubs in the corner shop. She graduated to chocolate caramels from the Woolworths pick and mix and eventually grapes from fat bunches in supermarkets. She thought everyone did it. When she entered the workplace, she took credit for the…

Getting ready for this first day of secondary school, Rupert chewed thoughtlessly on the toast his mother always managed to burn at the edges and blame the toaster for. She could never remember which of her sons preferred peanut butter and which marmalade, and inevitably she would hand him the wrong plate and a flurry…

In winter she swam, cracking the ice on the surface and holding it up to the camera like a trophy, grinning through chattering teeth, a hat tight on her head. In spring she swam, her toes wet from the dew on the grass before she even entered the water, the morning light warmer. In summer…

After she became bored with paper, she painted every surface she could find. At first it was the bathroom mirror, a mountain range in shades of burgundy and brick red, her mother’s lipsticks decimated to stubs. Next it was the garage door, this time with permission, which she turned into a tulip field, ablaze with…