Donuts on Phillip Island

“Donuts! I want donuts!” my teenage body screamed. Fresh baked donuts with cinnamon sugar on top. Hot donuts that burnt the inside of my mouth.

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Out of the Chocolate Box (59)

After taking off my cloak, I hooked the cloth in the crook of my elbow and charged through after her.
Several beings, solidly built but half my height, greeted us.
I froze. ‘Wh-what are they? Munchkins?’
‘Meet the “Morphans”, Holly,’ Commander D replied. ‘They won’t bite.’
With pleading eyes and stretching out their hands holding bowls, the “Morphans” cried, ‘Food! Food! Food!’

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Race Against Giles-Time

Ten minutes later, Dad dragged himself over the last ridge and limped to the summit. There, he sat on a rock and rubbed his knee. ‘O-o-oh!’ He inspected the damage, red and swollen. ‘I tripped and fell on my knee. I hope I can get down alright.’
‘You better,’ C1 laughed. ‘You can’t exactly camp up here.’

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Out of the Chocolate Box (58)

The viewer showed a mass of black-brown lumps. The stench like rotting fish stung my nostrils.
I sniffed. ‘Can you smell that?’
‘What?’
‘That smell.’
‘What smell?’ The Commander remained unaffected by any smell.
‘The rotting fish smell.’ I put a handkerchief up to my nose and mouth. My eyes streamed. I gagged. ‘Sure the Storm hasn’t cracked…’

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Out of the Chocolate Box (57)

‘It’s the pollution. I must warn you about this planet. The laws on this planet are, that there are no laws. Every man does as he sees fit, to quote the Bible. When I read about Sodom and Gomorrah, I think of this planet,’ the Commander added. ‘Remember your spiritual armour, you will need it. And don’t forget your guardian angels, too. And whatever you do, stick by me, don’t go wandering off on your own—it’s a demonic jungle out there.’

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Out of the Chocolate Box (56)

Driver picked her crowded teeth with the end of a paper clip.
We sat at the bridge of the “Storm”, a small craft, but we did nothing, and the computer did everything: Navigation, piloting, maintenance—you name it, the machine did it, even serving tea and coffee.
‘I suppose a hundred years has passed back there,’ I said.
‘Oh, no my dear, nothing like that! Time doesn’t pass that quickly.’ Driver corrected. ‘Only a few months really.’

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