A leisurely short stroll became a race to the finish as we struggled to keep up with Dad; scrambling over boulders on the track, squeezing past more tourists going to and from the chasm, Dad snapping and cracking the verbal whip, and Mr. B moaning and groaning that “it’s not for a sheep station”.
Read more "T-Team Series–Standley Chasm (Angkerle Atwatye)"
‘Wilma?’ I asked. ‘But Daddy, why are you digging a hole, Daddy? Are you digging your way to Wilma’s happy hunting ground?’ I had visions of my cat chasing mice in China.
Dad glanced at the box and cleared his throat. ‘Oh, er, no, not really. Just a bit of gardening, dear. Now, run along and get ready for the picnic.’
‘Yeah, well, you never know, you might get sick.’ Dad ushered us out the Mission House and onto the front lawn; just a patch of dry grass. ‘They’ll be ready to go any minute. Better fly on an empty stomach. We’ll eat after, okay?’
Read more "T-Team Series–First Flight"I glance at him—had to see what creep I’m dealing with. Pale, pock-marked face, thirties and just a little taller than me at 165cm. In a grubby white t-shirt and brown trousers. “Never trust a man who wears brown trousers,” my school friend Liesel always said.
Read more "Choice Bites–Minna" ‘Did you have a good sleep, Lee-Anne?’ Dad asked.
‘Yes, I did. I had a wonderful sleep. It’s just like you say, Dad. The hip hole made all the difference.’
Footsteps crunched on the gravel. ‘This is not a joke, Adam. Where are you?’
A cold rush of air barged past her. Hairs pricked up on the back of Amie’s neck.
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