Luke Allan
Ursula Cheng

Carolyn Angelo
Tobias Cook

Tom Benn
Kirsten Cowie

Emily Bone
Andrew Denholm

Sarah Christie
Elizabeth Stewart

Jack Clark
Eileen Glass

Edward Keeble
Imogen Scott

Kerrick Newstead
Anette Fritsen

Laura C-Harries
Lindsay Grime

Daisy Dawes
Alison GlanvilleJones

Sam Elliot
Laura Darling

Martin Gaston
Gillian Kirkland

Mary-Caitlin Hentz
Sarah Tanat-Jones

Kirsty Kelly
Jaimie Lane

Miranda Jackson
Trine Mangernes

Ailish McA Green
Lindsay McBirnie

Gina Mortlock
Lucy McCririck

Richard O'Brien
Elizabeth Walker

Vidur Nauriyal
Sophie Newell

Sophie Playle
Marc Noble

Kirsty Smellie
Fiona Purves

Frankie Taylor
Genevieve Ryan

   

            That was “Then.” They’ve never given it a name, but whenever it was, I am a result of that which has now passed. A survivor made cynical by the saddest song ever played on this earth, instruments in the forms of bombs and men dying. I don’t play the violin anymore; it sounds too much like screaming.
            The smouldering ash spits from the end of what he affectionately calls my ‘easy way out.’ The bastard. I see their suffering every day at work; they may smile, in their tombs of intravenous liquid and ivory hospital beds, surrounded by pink lilies, but their eyes are shattered glass. I don’t smoke because I want to die; I smoke because I have to keep living. And subtle masochism’s better than meeting your end altogether, isn’t it? Besides, I wouldn’t know if he’s actually bothered anyway.             What’s killing me slowly makes me thinner.
            My father, and his father, and his father before him. The room is stained the colour of rust by the fading sun, the medals blazing brilliant like torches against the light. The man who wore this suit now in his grave, wishing that he could see his daughter without a grimace on her face or tears in her great blue eyes for once. The picture frame next to my bed is highlighted gold now, his face blazing sable in the aged photograph, the distinctive pride of the man who I thought would live forever still there. Memories of playing soldier in our fort on the roof come back to me in a monsoon; the way that it would fall down in the rain, the way that the red and white flags would vehemently endure the pounding wind and bleach a little paler each day without clouds.
            And suddenly, I am once again that stick-legged girl, the one who dressed like the boys in colours of the earth, her brown hair always finding its way into her mouth as she laughed.
            I am once again that little girl who missed her father every time he said…            “Goodbye, Lisae.”
            “Goodbye?”
            I turn towards the door, but he is already gone

 

TEXT by Carolyn Angelo + IMAGES by Tobias Cook