Burn, Thrive, Burn

By Needle In The Hay, Alicia Bruzzone, Cam Dang and 9 more

Burn Thrive Burn is a collection of original fiction by some of Needle In The Hay's award winning authors.

In this book you'll find stories that span generations. From high school mishaps come back to haunt, to vendettas against the world's wealthy and elite and dystopian futures, Burn also reaches back into mysterious folklore. A bit more about the authors:

Lydia Trethewey - Currently the highest ranked author at NiTH, Perth based Lydia's dystopian short 'We Substantiate Your Claims' is a dark satire about opportunity and idealism.

David R. Ford - Reminiscent of Palahniuk, David's 'Shards' is a twisted revenge tale set among society's 1%. David is based in the UK.

Cam Dang - Vietnamese-Australian author Cam Dang pits two former high school friends in a dangerous game of cat and mouse in The Party

Yuki Iwama - Melbourne based, Yuki's Thrive, Burn, Thrive is a prose poem that runs through the collection like a twisted heartbeat.

Nick Lachmund - Australian writer Nick Lachmund takes aim and corporate politics in 'The Company'

Amber Fernie - North Virginian author Amber Fernie pits a Mother on a desperate search for her son in Safe & Sound

Sarah Henry - Strange Ones is an allegorical myth that has us question the role of madness in storytelling, a chillingly beautiful tale about visitors from another realm. Sarah resides in Seattle.

Madeline Pettet - Good Girl puts the classic high school overachiever on the path to liberation through a once-in-a-full-moon change. Madeline is Brisbane Based.

Alicia Bruzzone - Identifying Truths Sarah questions what's real and what's imagination in this darkly comic short by the Queenland based author

Martin De Biasi is a Senior Editor at Needle In The Hay, and Editor on this project. He's based out of Sydney.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Needle In The Hay
• Release date: Sep 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370124626

Needle In The Hay

Needle In The Hay is the internet's premier weekly writing contest, pitching authors from around the world in fast paced weekly contests with short word counts and fast turn around times. Having helped over 300 writers develop along their journey, we are now excited to start releasing our works to the public. Needle In The Hay is a collaborative environment with lots of exciting authors, dtyles and genres. Feel free to check us out, whether you're a writer, reader, or a little bit of both, you'll find something to do at NITH. www.needleinthehay.net

Book preview

Copyright

Burn

Thrive

Burn

A Needle In The Hay Production

Not for resale, distribution, copy or comment unless authorised by NeedleInTheHay.Net

Individual stories remain the copyright of the authors. Contact information can be found at the end of each story.

Cover art: Alex Braude

All rights reserved

Needleinthehay.net

Table of Contents

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Introduction - Martin De Biasi

Shards - David R. Ford

Safe & Sound - Amber Fernie

Strange Ones - Sarah Henry

The Party - Cam Dang

Good Girl - Madeline Pettet

The Company - Nick Lachmund

Identifying Truths - Alicia Bruzzone

this is to be human - Yuki Iwama

Denouement

Acknowledgements

This book would not have been possible without the support and encouragement of the following people.

Karen & Wally Trethewey

Bryn Pitman

Hannah Brockway

Kate, Andre & Isaac Biondo

Stan & Lesley Rigby

Mal & Robyn Rigby

Andy & Di Rigby

Stan & Madge Rigby

Jose Gacelos

Jewel Tungupon

Kim Ngan Nguyen

Duc Phan-Tran

Loan Tran

Sang Le

Han Nguyen

Kathy Nguyen

Kate, Michael and Hannah Lachmund

Linda Aitken

Maddison Aitken

Amanda Wyvill

Jan Aitken

Yvonne Frenck

Adrian Collins

Brie Stokes

Jeanette Stampone

John Crowley

Kelvin Langford

Rick D.

Lisa Rufus

Brian M.

Mino Magnus

Angela Trbovich

Rachel Ford

Cairlin Moore

Julia Planes

Ian Harrison

Brooke

Radical Raccoon

Elizabeth Khoury

Angela Shortall

James Hodgkinson

Peter Baskerville

thatraja

Jules Orcullo

Teagan Lever

Matthew Morgan

Tim & Carla Gardner

Andrew J Chamberlain

Bruce Wayne

Introduction

Welcome to Burn, Thrive, Burn - a collection of short stories written by some of the top authors to pass through Needle In The Hay in 2015-2016.

American novelist and essayist Walter Kirn once said:

I'm a magpie in my fiction, taking whatever looks shiny and curious to line the nest of my story.

It's a good policy for editors as well. What makes a great story is as much about its spark and shine as its genre or pedigree. Curiousity is what keeps us turning the page, and authors with curious minds, curious ideas and oh-so-curious characters are what keep us coming back for more.

A Short Note On Format

The works contained in this volume were written in a workshop environment, or two workshops to be precise. Run online through the end of 2015 and start of 2016, authors from Needle In The Hay pitched story ideas, wrote drafts and shared their work with the group for feedback and opinion.

The layout is familiar with a notable exception. We've included author bios and behind the scenes notes after each story, rather than at the end. It just seems like a better way to get to know the authors.

An Even Shorter Note On Language

By and large the works in this book are published in the language of the author. That means this publication includes variations of British English, Australian English and American English.

Much like the dialogue of a Cormac McCarthy novel lends a story its time and place, so too in Burn, Thrive, Burn the integrity of the writer's vision is preserved. As readers we’re exposed to all sorts of language idioms on the internet. We're accustomed to deciphering difference.

Also, while on language, there's swear words in here. I promise.

So... responsibly, irresponsibly, in solitude or with friends, please enjoy the stories in this collection in any manner you see fit.

And if you like them, let us know.

Martin De Biasi

Editor

NeedleInTheHay.Net

We Substantiate Your Claims

Lydia Trethewey

Across Jaike’s desk is strewn the remnants from the Velour Dinosaur commission, designs half-finished and scored out viciously with dark heavy strokes. In one hand he clenches a metal bucket, transparent yellow bile swimming around the bottom. In the other a drawing of a fox in a spacesuit, gouged from the paper with violent biro. Vomit beads his lips. His mouth tastes like rubber and rats milk.

Six hours to the deadline.

5.30 am. The giddy mania from the previous night evaporates in the fleshy light of dawn. Three hours wasted on his little excursion to Southlands. Five hours scribbling nonsense pictures for Erhan. Two hours staring blankly at the dirty pencil-finger smears on the wall.

Somewhere in the fermenting heap of discarded images is the optimistically pre-filled invoice, professionally generated on one of those hack websites.

Bill to:

Erhan Hafstan, Velour Dinosaur

Dollar amount:

Less than this week’s rent

Jaike rubs two graphite-stained fingers into his pulsating temple and feels the rotting in his gut swell and ebb. A smear of yellow, bright like a construction zone, has sunk into the shallow grooves of his thumb-print. A proboscis of solvent and paint reaches up towards his nostrils. A house in Southlands, two obscene plaster columns reaching towards the starless grey sky, a security camera programmed to watch but not record. Jake cradles the bucket in the gap below his ribs and scrunches the space-fox in his fist.

7.00 exactly, soft tapping emanates from the door.

Jaike stares out the circular window at the pink gills of cloud that hang immobile over the apartment complex. The building twists back on itself, forming a bottomless vortex of identical distended cubes, each with a circular window like a stack of discarded washing machines. Guilt settles into the hollowed edges of his stomach, four hours to finish the commission for Erhan and more time spent daydreaming than drawing.

The tapping on the door persists, metronomic. The ceiling fan cuts an arc through the half-light, sounding a low electric hum. A bead of sweat pushes through the mesh of his skin. As he crosses the room Jaike notices the imposing legs of a wolf spider unfolding from beneath a crumpled t-shirt. Next to it lays the paint can, Carnival Yellow, perfect at 250ml for slipping discreetly into a jacket pocket. Designed to be spent all in one go.

He pushes the door open.

On the threshold is a man, a stranger, short and soft-edged with delicate eyebrows and a perfectly circular scar on the bridge of his nose. He extends a hand. Jaike accepts it blankly, searching the man’s jacket for the apartment logo.

‘Good morning, Mr Celrin.’ The stranger smiles, thin lips pulled back to reveal pointed rodent teeth. His eyes are beetle-black and curiously angled. ‘I suppose Mr Walton told you I was coming?’

A house in Southlands with a carport bigger than his apartment and the security code ‘0000’. A message in Carnival Yellow scrawled across the front. Jaike hadn’t thought of Kenny Walton once in the past four years, until the meeting on the bus yesterday; Walton with his ruddy sun-scalded face and irritating, well-meaning reticence, who’d shaken Jaike’s hand vigorously and said they really must get together some time. Walton the unlucky proximal who crossed Jaike’s path just as his soggy brain was rebelling.

‘No?’

The man arches one threadlike eyebrow. ‘My name is Owl Ruko. I work for Mr Walton. He said that it was of the utmost importance that I reach you.’

Jaike nods slowly, slipping his yellow thumb into his pants pocket.

‘Mr Walton is an eccentric of sorts. When he has an idea...well, he said you two are old friends from university. He told me, We must have Jaike on board. He’s the best. And so here I am.’

Jaike furrows his brow. ‘Sorry, why are you here?’

Ruko presses his lips together. ‘A job, Mr Celrin. A favour from an old friend. You do know Mr Walton, don’t you?’

~

Erhan thumbs through the drawings, lips drawn into a tight line. Transparent greyness presses against the window, fingerprints of smog running down the glass. A man with a yellow scarf pushes into the café, coughing wetly.

Jaike waits uneasily on the other side of the table. He tears serviettes into tiny pieces and balls them between his thumb and forefinger. In a teaspoon caked with dried milk he seeks his reflection: lips cracked and smelling of vomit, dark hair limp and unwashed, paint dried into his cuticles.

Erhan holds one of the drawings up to his face as if the limp electric light will reveal a hidden image. All black and grey scribble, dissected with ghost lines of pencil.

‘This one I think, for the cover,’ he says slowly, pushing it across the table.

Lazy grey scratches flit around the piece of paper, a hasty rendering of a fox wearing a steer’s skull and moon boots. Guilt corkscrews through Jaike’s gut.

‘Yeah, that’s a good one. You want it coloured and everything?’

‘Well yes. We needed it today really, ready to print. Next Wednesday is the absolute latest.’

Jaike takes a swig of coffee and scalds his tongue. Heat settles into his stomach.

One of the wait staff skims by, her eyes moving rapidly across the two steaming paper cups, the greyscale images untidily spread across the table, the shredded serviette. Her gaze bypasses Jaike and settles on Erhan, following the contours of his high cheek bones, his platinum hair framing sienna skin, powder blue eyes beneath long dark lashes. Erhan doesn’t notice as a blush seeps into her cheeks.

Jaike glares at her.

‘We’re doing the festival the weekend after next,’ Erhan says, eyes fixed on Jaike. ‘We really need this cover. Printer says she can do a three day turnaround but I don’t want to take any chances. You’ll get it done, won’t you?’

Jaike nods and coughs into his hand, the humidity of his breath bringing up the smell of vomit. Outside, a damp grey veneer hangs over the street.

‘I would’ve had it done for today, but the sickness came on again. It worms into my brain and I can’t focus on anything. I’m tired. But I’ll get it done.’

The doctor’s voice echoes inside his head, dripping with patronising sympathy as she tells him that she can’t write any more prescriptions.

‘Next Wednesday, otherwise we’re screwed.’

Jaike looks at Erhan and pictures him standing on a cramped stage, feet wide apart in skinny electric-blue jeans as leads twist around his feet like snakes. He shouts into a dim room and releases jarring notes of guitar strangulation.

Velour Dinosaur’s last gig was at The Arcade, a venue literally underground, beneath a tobacco store in the littoral zone where city bleeds into suburbs. Erhan, the aesthetic lovechild of a Viking and an elf, his cockatoo crest of blond trailing right down to the nape of his neck, the sides of his skull shaved clean. Jaike swimming in the periphery as people laugh and jostle and drink in the unadulterated sound.

Across the café the man with the yellow scarf doubles up under a fit of coughing, his body bent and shuddering. Erhan raises one eyebrow in disgust.

‘Why can’t he go outside to do that,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Does he want this thing to spread?’

‘It’s not his fault,’ Jaike says, fixing his eyes on Erhan. ‘People never ask to get sick. And nobody asked for all the pollutants dumped into the atmosphere.’

Their eyes wander to the window, the tempest of smog beyond. Within the insidious grey breaths, countless microbes gather together and disband, mutating, whipped against facemasks and into cracks in the pavement.

Erhan shrugs and drains his cup. ‘Lucille said you called her last night,’ he says abruptly, ‘asking for a look-up on an address. You know she could lose her job for that right? If her boss finds out. Or the realty company.’

Jaike’s insides squirm. ‘Yeah. It was just someone I used to know from uni. Bumped into him on the bus. Wanted to know how he was going you know, wanted to see. Lucille helped me out.’

‘You didn’t do anything stupid did you?’

Jaike slides his hand off the table, the one sporting a bright red mark where yellow paint has been scrubbed away with turps.

‘No. You worry too much, Erhan.’

‘I worry the right amount. You don’t worry enough.’

‘Trust me, I do.’

Erhan looks across at the counter, to where the waitress is watching him.

‘Remember Wednesday Jaike. We need the image by Wednesday.’

~

‘Nutrial is the client. They’re an up-and-coming health and beauty provider, just reaching commercial success. You’ll be running the tests