Snapshot

The kayaks drift in V-formation down the river, the boy and girl taking the lead with the father dutifully bringing up the rear. The girl looks up, smiling; sun glints down between sparse trees and through long, golden grass, which towers above the river on either side and blocks out a view of anything beyond the bank. The paddles churn, see-sawing up and down, and the water trickling from each end glistens in the sunlight as the droplets run down across her small hands and splatter across her sun-tanned legs.

The boy is laughing as the girl suddenly forges ahead, water rippling and splashing about her kayak. She races down the river, leaving the others behind, and only pauses when she reaches an island formed by the low tide. She thrusts her paddle into the shallow water, allowing the kayak to spin slowly, and she grabs a handful of thick grass shooting up from the small land formation. The voices are growing louder, the others are approaching, but she is no longer hurried. She rests the dripping paddle across the front of the kayak, and floats calmly by a patch of colourful flowers, watching a dragonfly dart back and forth above her.

There is a sudden crunching sound from behind the vegetation on the island, and she jerks, startled. Clutching at the paddle, she moves to push away from the flowers, and gasps when a large creature abruptly forces it’s head through the patch of flowers; a calf!

The girl laughs, no longer concerned, and extends a hand to try and pet the animal, as she calls out to her father and brother in excitement.

"Fragment"

Three children play near a waterfall, catching fish and trying to skip rocks in the choppy aqua-colored water. They all wear shorts faded by the sun, pastels of their original vibrant colours and patterns. Flashes of glare bounce up from the water and onto the dark rocks and as soon as the water splashes up, it appears to be dry again. The children giggle loudly as they chase fish and crabs through the shadows. They splash and shout to one another over the roar of the waterfall. The rhythm of the waterfall is suddenly interrupted by the emergence of a slimy beige creature. One child points and they all scream and scramble further up the rocks. The beige creature begins to amble over the rocks towards the three children, grunting. They scream and begin to pelt rocks at the creature’s head. One boy picks up the biggest rock he can manage and throws it at the creature, hitting it on the top of the head. It grunts and falls between two rocks and dies. The children cautiously approach, poking it with drift wood as it dies. They then push the body into the water and watch it float away. They look at each other and then run as fast as they can home before breathlessly and all at once telling an adult friend that they had found and killed a monster down by the waterfall. The adult runs with them down to the edge of the water and spots the body of the creature washed up on the shore.

Story courtesy of: News.com.au

http://www.news.com.au/story/0,27574,26090458-13762,00.html

Visual Description: Memory images with associated sounds, colours and rhythms

On the mountain, the night is so thick it’s like being blindfolded. Tent flys flap in the breeze like sharp breaths in and out. It smells cold and the air tastes of ice. He daren’t wander too far from his tent for fear of never finding it again. Glaciers sit ghost-blue on the summit overhead and a frosted lake of flat cloud banks out below. He senses his life intruding on the lifelessness of that inhospitable height. His breathing fills his ears: a struggled sucking in and out in time with the tent flys. Tourists ascend well-trodden tracks — like ants on a scent trail — shitting and pissing behind every boulder; the streams descend from the melting glaciers collecting their waste on their way. Water — collected from the streams and insufficiently boiled — bubbles and spits in his stomach, overcrowds his ears with the sound of his breathing. He trips over black rocks on the black ground, scrabbling this way and that. He clenches his stomach, holding the contents inside. A curse accompanies the thud and trip of each toe. He curses the fucker who painted the toilets black on the night’s black canvas. He can find no quiet place to unload his bowels; sound travels on the mountain like birds in flight and tent flys are no noise barrier. He’s running out of time. The tripping, thudding, flapping, breathing, bubbling culminate in his inner ear and he’s hot with panic. He’s run out of choices. He drops his pants and the explosion cracks across the mountain top like thunder after the lightning has bolted.

"Date" Preparation

A short, balding man plops his chubby fingers deep inside a tub of hair gel, greedily shoveling it onto his near-naked head. He directs the few precious oily hairs on his scalp into position with a round purple finger before carefully surveying the result in a grubby mirror. He looks over his shoulder to the kitchen. A subtle orange glow, muffled by a pair of heavy curtains, reveals a table modestly set for two. A small plastic flower waits in a water-filled vase. The man looks back to the mirror. He exhales loudly into his cupped hand before pressing it hard against his face, violently sucking the sweaty air up his nostrils. He casts a repulsed look at his reflection before retreating from the dusky room. Now brandishing a fistful of orange tic-tacs, he squats before a small, whirring computer. The large man appears to be huddled over it for warmth in the dim light. He closes an online chat window and retrieves an email reading, “Importation time 7pm. Pier 37”. He surveys his partially buried watch face before hastily jogging back to the mirror. Whipping a shirt from a haphazard pile he navigates its buttons over his round body, through his thick, grey chest hair. He heaves the final button in place and quickly squeezes a hand into his pocket. It emerges with a pair of vouchers, reading, “10% off 2^nd meal. Thai Palace”. He gazes up to meet the eyes of the short, sweaty man in the mirror, who smiles before heaving himself out the door.

Snap-shot

A minuscule cocoon clings wearily to the underside of a colossal leaf. The chilled breeze sways it slowly, systematically pulling the silk shafts that suspend it. Its dull, dry skin flakes and peels, as a deteriorated roof and chimney groan with the strain. As it settles from the passing breeze, the sunlight bounces off a tiny round disc. A single window, golden in the sun, projects itself from the grey cocoon.

Inside, a stale, cavernous space muffles the needle of light penetrating from outside. The ceiling arches overhead, ultimately engulfing itself in a lofty haze. There is furniture here; a worn leather chair, a twisted coffee table, a minute bronze gramophone and a speckled easel beside the window. Bright paints, spilt over the floor give the impression that colour is leaking through the window. Scraggy brushes and tiny glass bottles of murky water wait silently for an unseen artist. Cluttering the gaping walls are hundreds of meticulously conceived oil paintings. They are hammered haphazardly, despite their uniform size, and densely smother the dark walls. Each painting depicts an idealized impression of the view through the window. Though no sunlight passes through them, their radiant beauty seems to echo that of the shallow light entering the single window. The cocoon creaks softly, and a distant whoosh suggests the cold breeze returning once more. Everything is still however. The faint noise is the only indication of change.