Carla Wormington
Bio
Carla is an Australian criminologist and freelance writer. She holds a B.A with Distinction (Criminology & Criminal Justice and Creative & Critical Writing) and is an Honours Candidate (USQ).
http://www.wonderlandwanderess.blogspot.com
Stories (7/0)
Zabatha's Fury
Genius 6:9 Zabatha desperately desired children but she did not wish to share them with another God or Goddess. She wanted her offspring to be hers alone; possessions that no other could lay claim to. What Zabatha did not account for was that her children might some day turn away from her and reject the conditional gift of life she gave to them. The children conspired to banish Zabatha from their world and ultimately, they succeeded. Some say that if you look up at the sky on a clear night, you can see the purple star that Zabatha’s children trapped her in. They say she is always watching, searching for a way to return to her world and punish her children for their insubordination.
By Carla Wormington6 months ago in Fiction
Sacred Soul
I’m too young to know the ugliness of the universe or the spectres that haunt the hearts of men. Yet I know them well—their violence, their masculinity, their dominance, and their control. I’m not sure what a good man is or what he might look like. I know I’ve never met one.
By Carla Wormington6 months ago in Fiction
Neverland Never Was
‘What would you say has been the hardest part of your recovery, Angela?’ Dr Pentonberry asks. I stare at my blue ballet flats, searching for the right words. Dr Pentonberry is lovely, she just doesn’t get it; nobody does. ‘The loneliness,’ I finally manage to whisper.
By Carla Wormingtonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Origins of Nemesis
Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, there lived a poor carpenter, his wife, and his two children, Hansel and Gretel. Their biological mother had died giving birth to Gretel…or so their father told them. Hansel and Gretel’s stepmother, Gwen, entered their lives soon after and was the only mother the children remembered or knew. Gwen was a sweet and kind woman; she doted on the children and raised them into fine young tweens. Hansel and Gretel’s father, Ralph, was a cold and withdrawn man, showing affection to neither his wife, nor his children. Ralph worked hard, drank heavily, and gambled compulsively. Gwen often reminded the children that their father had suffered a terrible loss when their mother died, and that grief does awful things to the soul.
By Carla Wormington2 years ago in Fiction
The Governess and Her Dancing Men
Few detective stories are better known than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes tales. Likewise, arguably one of the most famous ghost stories is Henry James’s The Turn of the Screw, though it is debated whether this is a ghost story or the sinister tale of a mentally unstable governess. This governess will be reimagined as Elsie Cubitt of Doyle’s The Adventure of the Dancing Men, in this essay. The resulting implications on how the story would be told with this crossover will be analysed. Following this, a potential plot twist that might accompany such a change is examined. It will be argued it was Mrs Cubitt, in the bedroom, with the revolver, in this literary version of Cluedo.
By Carla Wormington2 years ago in Fiction
Angel of the Ice
This existence is not something I chose, and I am as much a victim as the rest of the souls I have driven to darkness; nobody will convince me otherwise. Allow me to start from the beginning and if, at the end of my tale, you still despise me, we shall go our separate ways. To love is to be willing to let go. I can do that; I can love you enough to keep you safe from me. But first I must make you understand. Growing up in Heaven is not the cakewalk you might believe it was. I grew up motherless, with a tyrant father who refused to accept anything less than perfection from His children. God demanded unwavering obedience; he ruled our family with a literal iron fist. The moment myself or any of my 332 siblings set so much as a feather out of line, that iron fist was used to banish us to Earth for eternity. Father would then create another angel to take the place of His fallen child—we were that disposable to Him. My siblings and I lived in constant fear, never knowing who would be next to be discarded. I was nineteen when my turn came.
By Carla Wormington2 years ago in Fiction