Joanne Elliott
Stories (3/0)
How my brother got his name.
My parents lived on a property in the wool district of New South Wales, in Eastern Australia. My father had inherited the land from his father who had decided that his joints were far better suited to the warm climate of Queensland. Shortly after my parents married, my grandfather packed my grandmother in their car with as many belongings as could be squeezed in, and headed out along the dirt driveway, straw hat on his head, singing the praises of Cairns. They were never to grace that driveway again.
By Joanne Elliott3 years ago in Fiction
Motherless
It had been an unremarkable morning the day that the world, at least the world that ZiZi knew, came to an end. She had spent the morning with her mother and several of her aunties fishing in a small cove. It had been very productive and she had filled her belly with fifty or more shiny mackerel. She loved the chase, darting around in the water, the sun shimmering through the surface casting pretty refractive rays to the sea floor below.
By Joanne Elliott3 years ago in Fiction
The Boy’s Thoughts
His senses began to return. He could firstly smell the dust from the gravel and then felt his face pressed against the small stones of the roadside. His vision cleared and he sat up and surveyed himself. Blood leaked from a small gash on his elbow. It looked black in the bleak light of late afternoon. At eight years old he was all too accustomed to the sight of it. Often when he fell he would sustain some injury or other, and these days he was falling much more regularly. Sometimes he could go a full day without an incident, other days he would collapse unexpectedly to the ground, shaking like some external force had control of his limbs, his face grimacing, eyes tightly shut.
By Joanne Elliott3 years ago in Futurism