Exercises

100 word Drabble. Slush theme: ‘The New Moon’.

It’s full moon again and I can feel its presence, even behind closed eyes in my dark room with no windows.

They will come for me soon. Take me up to the exposing platform so I may absorb and be changed.

The gong sounds, the chant begins, the monks come for me in their sombre robes. I am eager to look the full moon in its face.

We emerge, the silver rays pass through me. I look up into the intense white globe hanging against a sheet of stars. My wings stir and I am born up into the sky.

by Michele deBes

The New Moon was the name of the band. Those were the heady days of eye makeup, immaculate outfits and elaborate coiffures. And that was just the men. We spent more money on peroxide than drugs, and that’s saying something. I was the most Beautiful Man in Rock, holding outrageous parties that usually began with baths of champagne and inevitably ended with seven women in my bed and eyeliner smeared down my face. Of course it all had to end. Now here I am, twenty-three years later, on tour with the New New Moon. No makeup. No hair.

by Peter Gifford

Barlow clutched his briefcase as he peered at the eight men chained to the island cliff face.

“They drown at the highest tide, so they try to make their stay out there as short as possible,” explained the Warden.

“How?” said Barlow, overwhelmed, having expected to see accounts ledgers, not tortured men.

“They try escaping when the New Moon is closest to Earth. That way they only hang for a few days. But if they get their dates wrong they’re out there a whole year.” He smiled at Barlow. “Remind me to give you a calendar back in the office.”

by Pil Lee

Dust eddies swirled around his feet. Across the open ground he saw a huddle of officials, surrounded by intensive care machines. The land about shimmered, brown and empty but for the skeletons of trees.

An official turned and signalled and in the stadium the spectators stood to attention. Nearby, the Goulburn brass band struck up. His heart leapt and pounded.

The officials withdrew their equipment and raised the security cage.

He bolted, dodging the guards, the batsmen, discarding clothing, gleeful, streaking to the middle of the field. He dived and rolled.

For touching the sacred grass he received seven years.

by Hugh Todd

Around the corner, the river curved away to the right and the current grew faster. Beyond the chocolate waters the jungle on the banks gave way to a clearing, where pale yellow grass grew in a patch of sunlight. A path led from the tangle of green to a small wooden jetty upon which a sign read:

‘Happiness. Population: whatever it becomes if you stay.”

He sighed, tied up the canoe and gazed down the river. Perhaps some fresh white adventurer in a solar topee would come along today. Someone had better come soon; he was running out of meat.

by Slash member Will Belford

The Legacy

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
When I die, I want to leave a mark, an impression.
An impression so great, that it will live on.
Friends and family will visit there, saying things like,
“Ray did a really good thing? I like it here”.
And the impression will grow and live forever.
Well maybe not that long.
But it will live for generations,
always growing, becoming more beautiful.
Until one day,
it will be so great that I won’t even be remembered,
because it is now so wonderful,
no one person could have created it.
And they’ll be right!

by Slash member Ray Lade