QV1

‘Well that’s the problem isn’t it! she shouldn’t have been able to
see us!’ wailed Mrs. Johnson, as they entered their crypt.

‘But mother, think about it- if she continues to be able to see us,
shouldn’t we take it as something wonderful? We will be able to
speak to her, teach her- its more than the others could do to keep
our descendants safe’ Lucy reasoned.

‘Exactly mother, do listen to her’ spoke William, tugging on a
loose string from is shirt cuff, distractedly.

‘Oh alright,’ she sighed, ‘but we must remember- there is still a
chance that what we saw was a product of coincidence’ said Mrs.
Johnson

And for the next five years of Ophelia’s life, she had grown quite
accustomed to the presence of the four ghosts. For it amused her
that her babysitters could appear from any surface of the house-
it made for quite the game of peek-a-boo. The happy gurgles of
laughter echoed in the house.

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Though by the time Ophelia had learnt to speak, her parents
grew concerned. Children often had imaginary friends, but what
was different about this- was that for one, imaginary friends have
names such as ‘flops’ or ‘Mr fuzz’ not Mrs or Mr Johnson. Nor
did imaginary friends talk about the events of World War 1 or
the effect of the plague on the food supplies of innermost
London. Not that Ophelia’s parents noticed this until she began
to talk.

Her parents promptly brought her to a children’s physiatrist.
Another year or two passed and Ophelia had grasped that to be
perceived ‘normal’ one had to keep every interesting thing about
themselves hidden. A strange notion though it seemed to work
for the majority of the population. But that doesn’t mean that
people don’t have their slip-ups. One of Ophelia’s occurred at
dinner soon after she turned seven years old. Dinner consisted of
a fine pork roast, a selection of vegetables and of course,
potatoes.

‘Mum?’

‘Yes, dear?’

‘What is a famine?’ Ophelia questioned as she prodded at her
potatoes

‘Oh!’ Mrs. Hickman startled, ‘did you talk about that at school
today?’

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‘No,’ Ophelia pouted, ‘Mr. Johnson said something about it, but
he wouldn’t tell me what a fam-in is exactly- some Irish thingy he
said, Mr. Johnson doesn’t like the Irish much’
Mrs. Hickman stared at her daughter dumbstruck, while she
returned the stare with an expectant expression.
‘Mum?’ she drawled, ‘What is-a po-tay-to fam-in?’
‘John!’ she screeched.

Lesson learnt. Ophelia had not stumbled in her normality since
that night. Five years had passed- she was now twelve years old
and stood in front of Camberton College- this was her first day
of secondary school.
‘Ok dear, I hope you have fun and be safe-okay’ Mrs. Hickman
spoke into Ophelia’s head of dark hair.
‘and listen to your teachers’ Mr. Hickman grunted from behind
them.
Chuckling half from amusement, half from laughter Ophelia
breaks from her mother’s embrace to look at both her parents.

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‘You two act like your sending me off on the Hogwarts express!
I’ll see you both after school,’ as she turned around and started
walking away, muttering to herself
‘I won’t be alone anyway.’

‘Indeed, you won’t be.’ Ophelia flinched but kept her eyes ahead.
She learnt that looking around in distress would lead to some
curious looks.
‘Thank you Mrs Johnson, but I’m afraid I would much rather
that you lot stay away from me at least for today,’ Ophelia
whispered, ‘and-would-you-please stop-appearing-from-the-floor
and any other solid surface for that matter’ she added in an
annoyed mutter.

‘Oh, alright dear, I got ahead of myself- I’ll tell the others. Have a
good day at school’ Ophelia felt her stomach quench with guilt as
she took in her hurt expression.

With that, Mrs Johnson disappeared through the concrete once
more. Ophelia was left with the thought that she may regret
telling her to go and she’ll most definitely need to apologise later
tonight. But back to the matter at hand, she without even

104

realising had drawn very close to the school entrance, at which a
stern man was waiting to steer other frazzled students to the
right. So, unwilling to approach the man Ophelia quickly turned
and followed the others. Who were all filing into a large red-brick
clad building, which Ophelia guessed to be the great hall, and as
she stepped into the space it was clear she was correct. The walls
were expansive and painted with white- grey as a result of the
limited sunlight streaming into the hall. Students were lined up in
neat little rows and sported identical blue blazers and crisply
ironed white shirts. Like a little sea of hormonal teenagers- no
maybe not a sea- something more manufactured, like a factory.
Schools are factories, aren’t they? Ophelia pondered, producing
carbon copy citizens in order to spend their lives benefiting the
factory owners, otherwise known as the Government. But maybe
she was getting too far into it. The assembly was dry and the
principal too moist, she could see the sweat glistening off his
wrinkled forehead from across the hall. Incredibly relieved when
it was finally over, ten teachers appeared at the front of the hall,
all grasping their own piece of paper and called out their assigned
student’s names. They were sorted into their homerooms,
Ophelia’s teacher, Mrs. Davis, could be best described as
perfectly ordinary; straight brown hair, tanned and sporting a
plastered smile.

105

As Ophelia and the rest of her class followed Mrs. Davis to their
new homeroom, she couldn’t help noticing the increasing
rowdiness of her peers. All giggling amongst themselves in small
groups, most already knowing each other from primary school.
Unconsciously, Ophelia had seemed to be excluded, that was
until a gangly girl with dirty blonde hair approached Ophelia with
an uncertain expression.
‘Hi’ she said
‘Hi?’ Ophelia replied with a level of confusion; most people
tended to stray away from her.
‘My name is Lucy, what’s yours?’
‘Huh? -oh-um Ophelia. My name is Ophelia ‘she stuttered
nervously.
‘Cool name always wished I had one- a cool name that is. Could I
call you Leah? She spoke hurriedly, her freckly face appearing
especially large as she leant towards the other girl as they spoke.
‘Ah, sure, no one’s ever called me that before’ she spoke with
thinly veiled trepidation.
‘Well I mean I won’t if you don’t want me too’
‘No, I like it- Leah’s… cool’
Both girls were grinning as they entered the classroom.

106

Maybe it was a good thing that Mrs Johnson and the rest of the
ghosts stayed in the graveyard.

Just maybe.

On the same day at 3 o’clock, Ophelia’s parents saw their
daughter outside of the school gates wearing an easy grin, which
upon seeing sparked great sense of relieve in Mr. and Mrs.
Hickman. Who had been just a little more anxious then most
parents, for they knew that their daughter could be a little, for a
lack of a better word- shy around people her own age.

‘How was your day dear?’ Mrs. Hickman asked her daughter
softly.
‘Oh Mum, it was great really. I met a friend. Her name’s Lucy
and we are in most of each other’s classes. Which is great cause
you know its school.’ Ophelia spoke hurriedly and full of
excitement.
Though this wasn’t really true, it wasn’t that she felt shy around
people of -similar ages, Ophelia wasn’t used to talking to people
that were… you know, alive.

107

‘That’s great, terrific really’ Mr Hickman huffed, his chest rising
with pride. He took his wife’s hand into his own and looked
towards her, ‘I believe that our little girl is growing up’.

Over the weeks, Ophelia had settled into the familiar school
routine. Wake up, have breakfast, get dressed, pack bag, brush
teeth, go to school, sit through lessons, have recess, sit through
lessons, have lunch (with a bit more enthusiasm than the rest of
the day), sit through lessons, go home, complete homework and
then finally, finally go to bed.

But there was a glaringly obvious thing that simply wasn’t in the
list anymore. The Johnson’s weren’t, you know, floating around.
Which at first was terrific in Ophelia’s mind. She could spend the
day as a normal person. Though the only problem was that being
normal is completely and utterly boring. It was like watching the
masterful art of filing, tasteful- useful but dry. She needed to get
them back. But Ophelia never had this problem before, she
never had to call them because they were always... there and she
couldn’t just ask them how to call them because she would need
to know how to call them in order to be able to call them.

108

The more Ophelia thought about it, the more complicated the
whole situation got, so instead, she decided to eat. It’s funny how
eating can solve any problem, as long as the food is good. And
the best food Ophelia could think of was chocolate. So, with a
quick trip to the kitchen pantry, Ophelia was now sitting on her
bed once more, this time holding a half-eaten bar of chocolate in
a tight grip. The world seemed so much brighter now that she
had eaten.

Now, she just had to think of a plan. And think of a plan she did,
she thought all night (or was supposed to be the whole night
until she inevitably fell asleep) But for purposes of dramatism
she’ll respond to anyone that asked what she had been doing that
night with ‘I stayed up the whole night doing terribly important
business, business that is top secret so don’t even bother asking’
So I’m sure your wondering what she came up with, what she
came up with was so simple it was devious, ‘Search the
graveyards’ yep that’s it, the masterplan. Search all of the
graveyards in this city and if she can’t find them there search the
next city, then the next and the next. A fool proof plan when you
think about it, well if you don’t account for the average human
life span and the ability for ghosts to transport themselves almost
anywhere and inhabit everything.

109

Well, there was one thing to it, Ophelia just needed to start
searching.
So, the next day came, it was thankfully a Saturday which meant
that she could tell her parents that she was going over to Lucy’s
house, while she would really be looking around the town’s
graveyard.
As she packed her bag and left the house she was filled with
equal amounts of excitement and guilt.
But she just had to find her friends,
You see, Ophelia started to feel lonely without them.
Resolute she started down the street, her phone clasped in hand
with Google Maps blinking up at her.
It took approximately ten minutes for Ophelia to reach the first
Graveyard. It looked much as you would expect, overgrown with
wilted flowers hanging limply off the stone slab that stood in
front of every headstone. The entire (mind you, small) area of
the graveyard was enclosed by a white picket fence. This was not
the type of graveyard that you would expect to host ghosts,
ghouls’ banshees, vampires or anything else even remotely
mystical.

110

But Ophelia had learnt to not judge based solely on appearance.
So, with little apprehension, she opened the gate and stepped
inside. The ground squelched beneath her feet as Ophelia started
to wander the rows of gravestones.
As she walked past the first few rows of pristine stone with their
freshly placed bouquets, she disregarded them and continued
deeper into the graveyard. As she began to roam, the
atmosphere seemed to become gloomier. The slabs of stone
become less identifiable as such, but more like differently sized
rocks thrown haphazardly onto piles.

But still, Ophelia pushed on, as if entranced. She didn’t even
realise the sun had begun to sink like a ship, disappearing under
the waves of the horizon. It was now pitch black, but luckily
Ophelia was still able to make out the shapes of some of the
more solid gravestones. But that didn’t comfort her from the
realisation that she was sure she had to be walking for hours, and
yet the graveyard seemed to be never-ending. With a stone-sized
lump in her stomach, she pulled out her phone and switched on
the flashlight. When she tilted it up in front of her all she saw
were rows and rows and rows of gravestones, stretching as far as
she could see. Blinking back tears, she sunk to the floor. She was

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scared, it was dark, and she felt even more lonely then she had
before.

‘I’m so stupid’ she whispered into the darkness.

And as if someone had heard her, a beam of light was suddenly
directed onto her face. Ophelia flinched and knitted her eyelids
tightly together.

‘AH SORRY ABOUT THAT’ a deep voice boomed, and the
light was redirected at her feet.

Snapping her head up to look towards the voice, she took in the
unexpectedly slender silhouette, stark against the starry sky. The
figure had hair cropped to the shoulders, but nothing else about
them seemed distinguishable.

‘That’s okay’, Ophelia sniffed and then asked, ‘Who are you?’

‘MY NAME IS ALEX AND THIS IS MY HOME. SO, I MUST
ASK, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?’

112

The voice was still incredibly loud to Ophelia’s ears, whether that
was because of its sheer volume or the dense silence that was
broken every time they spoke.
‘Well, I’m sorry for trespassing, I didn’t think anyone would live
here. I’m actually looking for some friends. Oh, and my name is
Ophelia’ she rushed out hurriedly.
Alex huffed and motioned for Ophelia to stand, so stand Ophelia
did and from this height and distance she finally had the
opportunity to see Alex’s face. And to her shock, Alex’s face was
made of stone. In fact, as Ophelia ran her eyes over their form,
she realised their whole body was. Pale stone- marble if she had
to guess with deep, cracks running along its pearly surface. One-
the most noticeable marred Alex’s face, stretching across her face
and over their left eye. Alex wore clothes that Ophelia could not
pick out, but to her, they looked ancient. The folds of cloth that
seemed to ripple over their skin or would it be stone? And came
together at their shoulder.

‘SO, WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS LOOK LIKE? AND WHY
DO YOU THINK THEY WOULD BE IN A GRAVEYARD?”

113

‘The same reason why you would be in a graveyard I suppose…
and they are a family of four- the Johnsons, all of them are quite
friendly and well a bit odd. It comes with being in their current…
state I reckon,’ Ophelia reasoned.
As she spoke Alex had started leading them further into the
graveyard

‘AND WHAT STATE WOULD THAT BE?’ Alex asked

‘Ummm,’ Ophelia hesitated, she WAS talking to living stone, but
it seemed kind of weird to admit that she was friends with a
family of ghosts to someone she’s just met.

‘New York, yes that’s the state, a bit loopy you know those New
Yorkers I reckon, but the Johnsons are quite alright’ Ophelia
said. She felt as her comeback was weak, but it had to do and
according to Alex’ s contemplative expression the excuse would
do.

‘ALRIGHT THEN, I’LL HELP YOU LOOK FOR THEM’
Alex said, Ophelia’s head snapped up from the floor to look up
at them.

114

‘really?’ she asked, trying not to sound too grateful. It was better
not to give some people the impression that you were prepared
to rely on them, and Ophelia couldn’t be sure that Alex wasn’t
one of those people.

‘OF COURSE, I TOLD YOU THAT THIS IS MY HOME.
WHO BETTER TO HELP YOU THAN ME?’ Alex stated,
while abruptly turning to the right. To which Ophelia followed
hastily, almost tripping over a crumbled headstone. When she
looked back up and in front of her she realised that the graveyard
seemed to continue in this direction too.

‘That IS true I suppose,’ Ophelia started, ‘And if it’s not too bold
to ask, is it just me or does this graveyard seem to be- I don’t
know… never-ending?’

‘OF COURSE, IT IS, THIS GRAVEYARD MIRRORS THE
VERY UNIVERSE. AND THE UNIVERSE IS ALWAYS
EXPANDING IN EVERY DIRECTION DOES IT NOT?

115

‘Alright… but if this graveyard mirrors the universe why aren’t
there graveyards in space? Ophelia asked, puzzled, but very
interested to learn more.

‘THE GRAVESTONES ARE THE STARS OF COURSE.’
Alex responded as if it was the most obvious conclusion in the
world.

‘When I die will I become a star?’ Ophelia asked.

‘OF COURSE, YOU WILL’ Alex stated and while doing so,
turned to peer at Ophelia with their stony eyes and it was as if
they had seen everything and nothing at the same time

‘So, what are ghosts?’ Ophelia knew she was dangerously close to
the subject. But she felt in that moment that she could ask Alex
anything.

‘AHH WELL THAT’S A BIT TRICKY, YOU SEE GHOSTS
ARE ABIT PICKY. MOST SOULS ARE PERFECTLY
CONTENT TO SLEEP IN THEIR ORGINAL FORM-A

116

STAR THAT IS. BUT GHOSTS ARE THOSE PEOPLE
WHO ARE RELUCANT TO LET GO OF THEIR EARTHLY
FORM. SO, THEY WANDER THE EARTH, OFTEN
FOLLOWING THEIR DESCENDANTS SOMETIMES
UNTIL THE END OF TIME,’ Alex answered.

‘And if a ghost were to suddenly disappear, where could one find
them?’ she finally blurted. She felt a sinking feeling as turned to
take in Alex’s expression- knowing and with a small quirk to their
lips. For the first time in her life Ophelia had told someone her
secret.

‘AHH THAT’S EVEN TRICKER…BECAUSE I AM THE
ONLY ONE THAT CAN FIND THEM’

117

New Year’s Pretence

By Sarah Huege de Serville

Tick
Tick

Small inexperienced bodies totter with sparklers in hand as
childish giggles resonate, only obscured by elder's booming
cheers. Incandescent light burns in the navy sky, turning the stars
to naught as youthful faces glimmer in the dark; innocent antics
echo between sons and daughters of equal ground. The
concourse await fireworks and the air is thick with frail
anticipation. Candles elucidating the path to the swimming pool
begin to dim yet a father remains attentive to the phantom
outline of his five-year-old son paddling in the water. Shapes
distort with ghostly ripples that coalesce into other children's
touches. Artificial light and laughter become a torrent of abuse to
his senses, cloaking his wife and child in shadow that cannot dim
a faith and, rather than marching to water's edge, he turns the
onions and sausages.

118

Tick
Tick
Tick

Men raise glasses of beer in triumph, drowning stained
remembrances of vain promises from the past 364 days. The
father glances behind at the sound of splashes; his son is
immersed beneath the chlorinated baptism and a fond smile tugs
his lips.

Tick
Tick
Tick

The small boy is lifted from the water and clean laughter extends
to father's ears. The man continues to cook meats and
vegetables; the sweet aroma penetrates the energetic atmosphere
and he realises another oil stain is bleeding through the
previously-clean shirt. Not hours ago, the man would never
sympathise for such an inconsequential mark but today carries
reflection and his untrained eyes catch the minor blemishes: the
eleven loose threads, the faded and worn grey patches, every
crease of the once-perfect material made lesser through use, and

119

a single button hangs loosely, threatening to fall. He would need
a new shirt. Perhaps tomorrow.

Tick
Tick
Tick

An older man — a grandfather with none by his side to share
this night of renewal — offers by obligation to take the other's
place and he leaves for his loved ones. Dessert arrives. A
patterned cake, barren of candles, interrupts the various social
walls at the centre. Divisions close as hearty annually-sun lyrics
lift celebrating spirits.

Tick
Tick
Tick

Voices fall silent. Drinks are held still and plates are lowered and
the needless chatter ends. Even the children's movements freeze,
mirroring the still state of their taller figures. At ten seconds to
midnight, the chorus of voices merge into a single hopeful cry of
numbers counting down to another today; their lazy fingers
twitch in response. At an eruption of “ZERO”s, flashes of

120

artistic explosion, manipulated according to intricate desire,
burst. The juxtaposed aggressive booming to the delicate fickle
light allude to the upcoming year and, simultaneously, the shirt's
button falls; old threads no longer bonded to a promise of
pretence. The ting of plastic against unnatural ground is muffled
beneath the layering uproars of duplicitous dreams.

Author's note: The flash fiction piece outlines various concepts such as false
aspirations, human development, family relationships, and hope. An
additional concept approached throughout the text is religion however, this is
more referenced in order to highlight the main association of New Year's Day
— being 'renewed chances and new birth'. Just as New Year's resolutions
are associated with the day, baptism is association, in religion, as new birth.
While these are positive connotations, they can also be perceived as potential
excuses to not change nor improve at the moment of awareness. This is
addressed through the sentence, “Men raise glasses of beer in triumph,
drowning stained remembrances of the vain promises from the past 364
days.” Just as that sentence is stated, the son is immersed “beneath the
chlorinated baptism”, reinstating the moment of forgetting and ignoring the
past regrets.

“Not hours ago, the man would never sympathise for such an inconsequential
mark but today carries reflection and his untrained eyes catch the minor
blemishes...” The “untrained eyes” refer to the man's inability to see where he

121

needs improvement and is only willing to admit his faults on this particular
day.
“...and a single loose button hangs loosely, threatening to fall. He would need
a new shirt. Perhaps tomorrow.” The man ignores the need for change but,
again, New Year's Day is the single moment he will admit the need for it.
His mindset is reflected in his reluctant attitude to change what could be
important.

In the following paragraph, an “older man — a grandfather with none by
his side to share this night of renewal — offers by obligation to take the
other's place.” This is used as a reflection of the main persona's future. This
is not explicitly stated and is barely implied through the various connections
between the man and others (his wife, the grandfather, but mostly the
children). Just as the lonesome grandfather is a portrayal of the man's future,
the “youthful faces” and his son reflect his past and overall, the text connects
these moments to the father's life as an endless continuity of “duplicitous
dreams”, where the man lies to himself and others as he promises to change
and yet his consistent “lazy” actions are contradictory.

122

The Memory Machine

By Travis Otley

Memories were once a sacred thing. Irreplaceable moments in
time unique to each person, never to be altered. Invaluable pieces
of a person that could so easily be lost, yet were cherished up
until that moment, and mourned over when they disappeared.
That was, until the Memory Machine came along, and put a price
on them.

No one was too sure how it worked, but everyone knew the
outcomes it could give you. It could create, alter and delete
memories with ease, even with the vaguest request. Perhaps
that’s what enticed the man outside, returning for yet another
visit.

The man stumbled through into the brightly coloured interior,
coated in glowing advertisements for the Machine. He had been
here before - many, many times. Each time his request was the
same: “I’m sick of the life I’m living now, give me a happier life
and make me forget I ever went here.” The machine had heard it
many times, and fulfilled it many times, yet each time he came
back.

Each time the man returned the machine tackled his request
differently. Sometimes he was a family man, with a happy wife
and lively children. Sometimes, the Machine gave him memories
of a solo life, travelling the world and seeing the wonders it held.
Sometimes, the machine gave him a humble life, surrounding

123

him with friends. It was never enough to stop him returning, and
it befuddled the Machine that it could not satisfy his needs.

His weakened legs marched towards the welcome desk. Time had
not been kind to him. Such a strange thing to have, considering
no human had worked here in ages - but the Memory Machine
felt it necessary. It helped comfort and entice potential
customers.

The man rested on the counter and muttered his request once
again. The Machine whirred as it decided how it was going to
fulfil his question this time. Maybe it would give him money and
power, or maybe it would make him a thrill seeker who had
travelled to the corners of the planet.

Eventually, the Machine settled on a simple life - that of a man
who was content and happy with a normal family and a normal
life, nothing more, nothing less. It thought it had been
overthinking each previous memory alteration, putting too much
into a man who wanted simplicity. Once it had created a new life
for the man, it opened the doorway behind the counter, ready for
him to enter.

The man walked through, ready for his new life to replace the
old. The Machine was ready for the man to finally be content
with himself and began to buzz and screech as it processed. It
began by writing the new memories, and finished by wiping the
old, including the one of him coming to the Memory Machine. It
ended the process by spitting him far outside, where the building
could not be seen beyond that which surrounded it, as it had
many times before.

124

Something inside the Machine began to crackle with life, a new
thing that the Machine did not know. A curiosity to see what was
going on outside, and what kept driving the man back inside. It
had many cameras built inside it, for it was a machine, and it was
connected to everything outside. It flicked on the connections to
its digital eyes, trying to find the man outside. It was ready to
learn.

What the Machine was not ready for was what it saw outside. It
had been built with no knowledge of the events beyond itself, so
the sight of the world was a shock to it. What was once a bustling
city was now the smouldering remains of civilisation, not a single
sign of life within. Except for the man.

He was screaming, crying for help. He had seen his own
reflection and was terrified of what looked back at him. A face
no longer of flesh, but of bone and rotted meat, ruined from
eons of uncare. His body was that of a few sticks wrapped in a
paper-thin layer of skin, blotched and blackened beyond repair. A
man too wrapped up in the past to ever notice the present until it
was too late.

The Machine silently watched through dusted lens as the man
came to terms with what he was. His memory etched with that of
disgust at himself, he sat for many moments not moving. Even
his dried eyes remained unblinking.

After what seemed like forever, the man stood up and looked
around at the debilitated world around him. One thing stood out
from the wreckage, a glowing temple with three words sitting

125

upon it: The Memory Machine. He stumbled towards it, not sure of
what it was, but willing to take a chance.
Once he wandered inside, his eyes met with the bright
advertisements on the walls. They promised him a better life, one
without the trauma he now held. At the end of the interior sat a
welcome desk with a singular door behind it. Not knowing what
would happen, he wandered towards it, uttering his one and only
request:
“I’m sick of the life I’m living now, give me a happier life and
make me forget I ever went here.”
And at that moment the Machine pondered if it had ever done
the man good.

126

The New Life of an Old God

By Lucie Stirk-Wasley

Part One
Hello, I am a god and I hate it. I despise being a god and it’s not
because I hate people loving me and it’s not because I hate
people hating me. I hate my job because it sucks. I am the God
of awkwardness, sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Well, it is.

Imagine being stuck in an elevator and someone farts. Everyone
knows who did it, but the culprit thinks they don’t. Now imagine
that scenario, but it happens every time you go in an elevator
since the invention of elevators. But, oh Gods – it doesn’t stop
there. There are thousands of situations I’m put in every day of
my immortal life. People on the train who fall asleep on your
shoulder… and drool! Walking into a library to work on
something very important and someone starts violently
hiccupping!

I am sick of my life as a God, but this is going to be the best day
of my life since I was mortal.

127

I
Am
Quitting
That’s right!

My one-thousand-year contract was up and I’m about to go have
a meeting with the big guy and tell them to stick their contract up
their electronic paper shredder! No more random dogs peeing on
people’s shoes! No more trumpet nose-blowers in exams! And
most importantly, no great aunts giving you kisses when you
don’t remember them because you haven’t seen them since you
were four… Well, not until the main god finds someone else to
employ.
It’s not like I always hated being the God of awkwardness. It was
pretty fun for the first fifteen years or so, but then everything got
old.

***
I took a deep breath and looked at my watch as I stepped up the
steps to the god of all gods’ office. And I obviously took an extra
step and my foot went down so suddenly that I almost fell off

128

the stairs1, all the way down to Earth. Okay, I was just on time,
God wouldn’t be annoyed. I knocked on the door and stepped in
but someone else was there in a meeting. The meeting had gone
overtime. I had to awkwardly stand there for the next ten
minutes, watching God arguing with a spirit.
“I was perfectly healthy!” She screeched.
“Well, you were obviously uneducated!” God’s deep voice
boomed, shaking a cup of tea on his desk.
“I am a lawyer! You should know that!”
“Well, you aren’t smart enough to know that plenty of healthy
people can die of heart attacks!”
“I deserve to continue in life! I have a new nephew to care for!”
“Get out of my office!”
At that moment I swore that smoke was pouring out of God’s
ears. The slightly transparent woman stormed out of the office
and I sat in the free chair.

God took out the new contract I was supposed to sign and
smiled warmly. “Hello Andrew, let’s talk about your contract.”

1 *Have you ever heard of the man upstairs? Yeah, it’s actually a thing.

129

Any other sane person wouldn’t want to anger God any more
than he already was. But I knew that he treated any client like
they were the first of his day. “Let’s not,” I said.

God looked at me, puzzled, “Oh, do you want to keep the same
contract as last year? You don’t want any larger considerations?
Like… A bigger temple?”

“No,” I stated, straightening my back to make me look sure of
my decision. “I’m quitting.”

“What?”

“That’s right, I was your newest employee but now I’m your
newest ex… employee.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “You might want to buy the
‘Ex-Gods guide: How To Not Lose Meaning When You Quit
Being A God’ educational video,” He leant over to a shelf and
pulled out a CD.

I looked at the tag. “26 gold coins? You will no longer scam me I
don’t need your silly video!”

I stood up and strutted out the door and of course for God to
watch me fall down the stairs. But it didn’t happen! “I’m no
longer a god so my boss will no longer watch me embarrass
myself!” I yelled as I ran down the stairs.

“I’m free!”

130

I ran down the thin marble stairs that for some reason didn’t
have a railing? Gods are immortal but the thing is, this staircase
goes up 17,000 metres and not even spirits can fly. So, if you fall
down, you have to walk up almost 74,000 steps… again.

So I was walking back down to Earth where I’d remain for the
rest of my life, I mean, I feel like it would still be way better than
being a god, but I never knew how long it took to walk down
these stairs because I always used to fall down right in front of all
my respected peers. “I kind of feel like purposely falling down
these stairs… It would hurt but it would be quicker,” I said to
myself.
No. I will stay strong and do things like a normal human, I’m
better now that I’ve quit, and I will walk down these stairs
proudly.

And just then, the god of misfortune passed my way. “Oh, hi
Mark,” I nodded at him.
He waved and I kept walking. Huh, I wonder why nothing
happened that was unlucky, walking past him.

131

And, then I twisted my ankle on a step and rolled the rest of the
way down the staircase. Ouch. It wasn’t long before I passed
7,000 meters; I knew when I did because I saw Hell. Hell isn’t
exactly a bad place and not everyone is tortured It’s just that
Gods are selfish and don’t want spirits roaming around in
Heaven.

Then I saw my best friend, Rebbeca, the god of Regret walking
up the stairs about 1,000 metres off Earth. “Hey bro!” She called.
“You quit?”
And then she noticed I was rolling down the stairs, and then she
noticed I was getting closer.
“Rebbeca!”
Clunk goes my head.
“I’m!”
Clunk goes my knees.
“Sorry!”
Clunk goes my head.
And then we crashed into each other. Rebbs and I fell off the
staircase into a shallow lake. “Ugh,” she groaned as she climbed
off me and stood up.

132

“I’m so glad this lake isn’t exactly a lake,” I said.
This shallow lake that the stairs led to was an area between life
and death. The lake was about twenty centimetres deep and
didn’t actually make you wet, as if you were hydrophobic sand, I
guess. Rebbs helped me onto my feet. “Sorry about that.”
“I don’t feel awkward after that though,” she said. “So, you quit!”
“Yes I did! The falling down the staircase thing was because I
passed Mark on the way down.”
“Which Mark?”
“Unlucky Mark,” I explained.
She gave a knowing nod. “Anyway, congrats!” She patted me on
the back which sent me faceplanting into the lake again.
All Rebbs did was snort and I had to get up myself. “As I always
say, why am I friends with you?” I sighed.
She laughed, “Because I’m the only one who finds you remotely
interesting. Besides, I’m the God of regret, of course you regret
being friends with me.”
I sighed again, “Where are you thinking of going?” She asked.
“Obviously my Earth apartment.”
She nodded, “Melbourne.”
“Are you coming with me?” I asked.

133

“Well I was going to see Alice upstairs, but I’ll go with you.”

I thought hard about my apartment and fell into the pool of
water. When I opened my eyes, I was in my usually clean
apartment. “Oh, my Gods, what is this mess?” I asked, angrily.
Rebbeca was over my shoulder, “Ohhh, I forgot about this. I
may have had a movie night with Alice.”
I breathed sharply between my teeth, “What is it with you and
Alice!”
“She’s one of the Gods of love. How can I resist?” she stated
calmly.
I put my fingers to my temples and sat down on the armrest of
my newly popcorn-scented couch. “I know you’re regretting
telling me the address of this place!”
“How on Earth, Heaven or Hell can I ever trust you?”
“I’m the- “
“God of regret, I know,” I snapped.
“Oh, come on, don’t steal my thunder. Now I’m regretting
making this place dirty.”
“Well there’s one way you won’t regret it anymore,” I said.
“I am not cleaning up.” She pointed at me.

134

“If I know anything about what Yasmin, the God of Fortune, is
like, then that front door will be jammed and the only way I’m
letting you out is you helping me clean.”
Rebbs checked the door just in case and as I expected, the door
was jammed. “It never jams when you open the door.” She
thought. “I bet Yasmin has a crush on you.”
“I don’t know what to think about that.”
Well I did, actually. I wasn’t interested in dating because I’ve
outlived humans, and I wasn’t interested in dating a god because
I sort of have a grudge against them because I got the sucky job.

So Rebbs folded up blankets, fixed wrinkles in the carpets and
put my clothes that originally were clean, back in the washing
machine as I vacuumed the whole living room. I was about to
open the front door for Rebbeca when I just decided to check
my bedroom. “Hey, why don’t you check that!” I opened the
door. “Later,” she finished.
“You went in my bedroom!” I yelled. “Why?”
“Hey… the television in there has way better quality.”
“There’s a pink stain on my sheets that smells a lot like raspberry
soft drink.”

135

Rebbs shrugged her shoulders sheepishly. “Okay, that was me,
but only because I knocked it off the bedside table.”
I hissed through my teeth, “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she steered me
out of my bedroom and sat me down on the couch. “I’ll clean it
up.”
She went back into my room and I called to her, “Hannah2 isn’t
going to clean it for you, you owe her enough already.”
Rebbs swore, “Damn it, I’ll clean it myself.”

I let Rebbs out once she had cleaned my room and I was alone. I
thought as I hung out my washing on my balcony, I’ve got to act
human for the rest of my life. “What do humans do?”
I leant on the balcony, facing my reflection in the glass door. I
looked the same; did I look like a human? Brown hair, check.
Brown eyes, check. Freckles, check. Average, check. “What do
humans do?” I asked myself again.
I gazed back down into the streets of Melbourne. It was still
bustling although it was midday, and the answer came to me
quickly. “Work.”

2 Hannah – the God of Cleanliness

136

Part 2
I had found a job. I was pretty sure working at a clothing shop
was going to be easy. Enough for food and bills, and a discount
on clothes. I would probably be allowed to stay there until
people started questioning how I didn’t seem to be getting any
older. Then I’d need to change jobs, identity, and cities. Of
course, I didn’t use my real name, Andrew, I literally just
searched up ‘Popular boys names’ and picked the first on the list.
My name is Liam.

I had been working here for a few days, just selling clothes and
hanging the new stocks on racks. It was the end of my shift, so I
was walking home. I still lived in Melbourne, the roads were grey,
and every second person smoked, but there were some nice
restaurants around and the community didn’t mind paying a
pretty penny for clothing.

I walked down the streets. Melbourne seemed big but it wasn’t
too difficult to walk everywhere. Anyway, my only life is work
and sitting at home, so I have plenty of time to walk around
town. I must admit, the backstreets were a bit scary, but everyone
always told me an immortal shouldn’t be afraid of anything.
Being stabbed in the gut still hurts! I sped up my pace every time

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I passed an alley but this time, I was too distracted by watching
some pigeons feeding on half a burger bun. It was probably just a
coincidence because the God of coincidence is quite nice (his
name is Henry) but there’s never been a God of jinxing. Anyway,
a man in a dark grey sweatshirt, a dark blue jacket, and jeans
launched out of the alleyway and stabbed me just below the
chest. I lost my breath but managed to keep my balance as I leant
on a wall. No one else was around and I was happy about that, I
tried to punch him, but he obviously went to the gym often and
my punch probably felt like a light tap to him. I wasn’t weak
from the stab; I was weak because I never work out or even lift
anything heavy. I’ve never needed to since I was mortal. “Well,”
I said to the man who had stabbed me. “I’ll give you props, being
brave enough to stab someone.”

I winced as I pulled out the bloodied kitchen knife and handed it
back to the man. He looked at me, slightly confused and I guess I
would be too if I had found out I just stabbed an immortal.
“Anyway.” I pushed myself off the wall, the pain was easing but
it would take a few hours for the wound to heal. “I’ll be on my
way.” I waved at him as I walked off.

You might be confused as well. A mortal can be changed to an
immortal, but you can never be changed back. I don’t know why.
It’s just science

138

I didn’t want to be spotted by anyone and I was close to
Rebbeca’s apartment. I swear she has an apartment in every
major city. I hobbled up the stairs, trying not to spill too much
blood – as if I were carrying a glass full to the brim with water. I
knocked on the door and Alice opened the door. “Oh, hi Alice.”
I had never met Alice before but Rebbs has shown me pictures.
She had dirty blonde hair with dark roots and blue eyes, similar
to Rebbs but her hair and eyes are a bit darker.
“Umm, Andrew, right?”
“Yes. May I see Rebbeca?”
“She’s in the shower.”
“Oh.”
Alice invited me in, and I sat on the couch, I doubted Rebbs
would mind blood on her couch because her apartment was
messier than mine when she used it. Popcorn was on the floor,
there were bags of chips on the couch and piles of dirty clothes,
stacks of plastic milkshake cups were balanced on top of the full
bin. And Alice didn’t hand me anything to stop the bleeding
with. “I guess the man upstairs found someone else to be the
God of Awkwardness,” I said, trying to make small talk.

139

“Yes, I think he’s from Melbourne actually. Some kid who goes
around stabbing people. I don’t know why he was employed but
all is balanced in the world again.”
“Huh,” I thought. Maybe that was who stabbed me? I wondered
if he knew I was in his place just two weeks ago.
“Anyway,” Alice said. “I might as well go now.”
She blew me a kiss, I heard that’s how she said bye to everyone.
But it made me feel even more awkward. Rebbeca walked out of
the shower with a towel around her hair and a towel around her
torso. “I would recognise the back of that head anywhere.
Andrew, how’re you doing?”
She walked around to pick up some clothes when she saw me
trying to hold my stomach closed. “Ohhh, that’s not good, when
did that happen?”
“About ten minutes ago,” I answered.
She started searching her cupboards and couldn’t find a bandage.
“Will some tea towels do?” she asked.
“Well, it’s better than nothing,” I shrugged, taking the tea towels
and wrapping them around my stomach.
“What are you going to do?” She asked as she handed me some
bobby pins.

140

I used them to stick the towels in place. “No clue,” I answered.
“I’ll obviously have to leave Australia or people might wonder
how I survived a major abdominal laceration. But I don’t know
where I’ll go. I mean, I didn’t exactly like Melbourne, but the job
was good. As well as the pay.”
Rebbs nodded, “Well you can take any of my apartments. I
have… New York, London, Houston, Tokyo, Paris-”
I cut her off before I was stuck listening to such a list. “I’ll just
take Tokyo, I heard Japan is clean.”
“Okay,” she shrugged. “You can go once that thing is healed.”
“Nah, I’ll buy a ticket when I get there.”
I started searching through her drawer of keys. “Why don’t you
have labels for the keys?” I sighed.
“Because I can recognise the shape,” Rebbs smiled. “And the
Tokyo key should have Japanese writing on it.”
I held it up to her. “You’re not that smart.”
Rebbs faked an offended scoff.
“Well, seeya,” I waved to her as I shut the door and headed off
to another new life.

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