Laura Morrigan

STARS Inspired by Ray Bradbury It was a mild evening near the end of summer; the last rays of the setting sun lay red and golden on the grass and in the branches of the trees, and illuminated the bright hair of the women wandering the meadows in their thin summer dresses. The sun was in their eyes, the hot, slightly scorched smell of the day still hung in the air, as well as its particular taste. The air always felt fresher in the summer, whispering secrets and carrying scents from distant lands. From far off the breeze carried the sound of laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Smith walked hand in together through the meadow, Mrs. Smith Stopping every now and then to pick daisies that nodded among the long grass like fine lords and ladies bowing to one another. Slowly, the light fell from the sky, turning it from gold, to blue, to dark blue, to black. The glittering specks of stars appeared in the night sky. The children were home from school, waiting for them when they returned to their house. They...

I was down in the yard one day, trimming the roses, when I saw it. An ant, trapped in a drop of honey that had fallen from a bees nest. He struggled fearfully, only getting himself further stuck. Perhaps most people would have killed him, but I was a tender young woman, as my pa always said. So it was that I hurriedly brought some water, and carefully, very carefully tipped the tiniest drops of it onto the honey, melting it, so that the ant could clean the honey off himself and be free. It was hard not to drop too much and drown him, but I was patient and slow. Slowly, oh so slowly, the ant worked his way free. Then the strangest thing happened. He seemed to stand up on the back two of his six little legs and it seemed as if he was bowing to me. Very carefully, I got down on the ground to see him better. It was then that I heard his quiet little voice. 'Brave miss, I am eternally grateful to you for rescuing me from the trap my enemies set for me. You are beautiful as well as brave...

Published in Perspectives: The University of Sydney Anthology 2013 The Sparrow Heart or A Father's Gift He still remembers the moment he first knew his daughter was going to die, the look on the doctor's face, a look of utter helplessness and despair. He almost felt sorry for the man, except that it was  his daughter that was dying. He remembered the doctor saying something about her being too small to fight anymore, and he laughed a bitter laugh because she never would get any bigger. He would bury her at this size, in a tiny white child's coffin. He remembered his heart aching in sympathy with hers, that tiny sparrow heart that beat so fast, but could not keep even that tiny body alive.   She had her mother's freckled skin, spattered with tiny brown marks like paint flicked from a paintbrush. Her arms and legs were too thin, sticks that he could wrap his fingers around with ease. She still had the round belly of childhood, and a scrawny birdlike chest to contain her s...

Published in Perspectives: The University of Sydney Anthology 2013 The Exile   It isn't a cell. For that I can be grateful. It isn't the kind of place where the walls reek of disinfectant and hairy-armed women feel me up while I try to speak words that don't ring with the stifled emptiness of the place. But it is so quiet here. At night I can hear my own breathing, my own heartbeat. It's hard to fall asleep when all you can hear is your own breathing. It's like when you start thinking about swallowing and then if you don't think about it, you can't do it, and you start choking, just from thinking about it. It's so lonely here I almost wish I was in prison. I almost long for those sweaty hands and arms, to be bathed in another's sweat. Anything to not be so alone. It is a small plot of land, surrounded by silent forest. Beyond the forest, there are no fences, but I know better than to try to escape. Where would I go to? For me, this is the last place ...

Originally Siren Story Number 8 on Ksenia Anske's blog: a short story challenge, 2012 This story is set on the Australian farm where I grew up as a child. We didn't have cows, but we had blueberry trees, and two rivers, and a lot of long grass. The place has a timeless feel to it. I used to hear her voice, out at the back of the property, down near the river. I would hear her song when I was lying in the grass on summer afternoons, daydreaming. At first I thought it was part of my dreams, but it would carry on, long after I awakened. It was a long time before I realised it was her voice that gave me those dreams. I met her on a long, lazy summer when I was eight years old. The grass was bone dry, and as high as my waist, in the back paddock, where my daddy never mowed. It was so dry, I wasn't afraid of leeches. I was striding through it, pretending I was an adventurer, in my gumboots and my straw hat. I saw a flash of red towards the river, and made my way towards it, think...

  On Sunday 30th June, the delightful Emily and Jacqui came with me on an old steam train ride from Gosford to Hawkesbury river and back! It was a fun day!

Image heavy post The entrance to the theatre Attended 5.30 PM, 23rd September 2018. This was one of the most amazing experiences I have had. A scary, imaginative, Gothic theatre experience! These are photos from the official page. I waited to post this as I didn't want to spoil it for anyone going to see it, not knowing and feeling as if it was all really happening around you was part of the experience. There was no taking photos, you were able to be talked to and interact with the actors. You had to wear those anti-germ masks the whole time so it was harder to see people's faces, which made it more spooky. It is next showing in Perth at their Fringe festival. See it if you get a chance! Emily, Kat, Desiree, me and Fiona Emily, Fiona, Kat, me and Desiree