He was from the generation where you didn’t speak of loss, or grief. He was from a bygone era, and some days he felt the distance more than others. His friends are the same. A clap on the shoulder is the only acknowledgement he needs, just to keep going. Produced by Postie. Photo by Matej at Pexels.
On the day before a long weekend, the last day of school before the holidays, the blues skies held the promise of fevered anticipation. You see, there was a plan afoot. There was someone in the village who had been waiting, and watching for years. Produced by Postie, voiced by Jacq and Greg. Photo by Elijah O'Donnell
The electricity cut out without warning and a scream left his mouth involuntarily as he raced to find card for the meter. Produced by our award winning sound designer Postie, voiced by Jason and Kadi. Photo by Edyttka Stawiarska.
She had the dream, the dream they all did. The difference was, that she had the means to make that dream come true. She could just pack up and leave. Produced by Postie.
He just wanted some peace at work. It was crowded with people seeking advancement, constant agenda driven behaviour, courtesy-less teamwork and it was exhausting. Just once, he'd liked to be the one people listened to. It was time to escape. Produced by Postie, photo by Feyza (@asumaani) and inspiration from Will & Steph (@picniccafehobart)
Sneaking past the blue bike in the laundry was the hardest. Everything was crammed in so tight it was hard to manoeuvre. Produced by Postie, photo by Leandro Boogalu.
It smelt of dust, stale air and old memories. The sun light filtered through the window as the motes flew around the room in the wake of his footsteps. Once it was empty, a room of promises; a study, a nursery, a sewing room, guestroom and now... Storage. Produced by Postie, photo by Pexels.
Mr MacGregor saw the unfolding of the Big Bank Robbery as he shuffled down the street. It was another hot day, the ground baked and the air dripped, and his town clothes were now coated in a fine layer of dust from the roadside. Produced by Postie, image by Ray Marsh from Pixabay...
Every time he climbs the stairs, she sees that he looks in. Is it a reflex? Is it curiosity? Is it a little more sinister? The stairs run along her loungeroom windows, so many people walking up to the top flats do peep in, then realise what they’re doing and look away quickly. Embarrassed. Produced by Postie, photo by Niels Hunnersen.
For six months he caught the bus in to work. In those six months only two people returned his greeting. Two. Apart from the bus drivers, who always said hello, shared a joke, commiserated on a sporting team’s loss. Produced by Postie, voiced by the Franklin Frosties, and photo from Pexels.
He liked to think of himself as the Bard of the Backyard. The Shakespeare of the streets, the voice to the voiceless and the antidote to the dope of the wires. Produced by Postie, photo by ShonEjai.
A longing. A longing for sea breezes and misty rain. For green, green grass all year round, for trees that stood tall and grew straight. No more red rust dust. The smell of the smelter, it’s acrid taste so constantly depriving his senses of real aromas, of real flavours. Produced by Postie, photo by Button Pusher @ Pexels.
The offender sat quietly in her cell. She wasn’t a flight risk, the door was open, however it didn’t stop the disappointment of the police officer who brought her in, nor the sigh of resignation that came from the duty officer. Produced by Postie, voiced by Lizzie, Greg and Jacq. Photo by Irina Iriser.
She lived alone, and strangers in the valley made her nervous, especially strangers in her driveway... Produced by Postie, voiced by Anthea, Tony and Jacq, and Photo by Pat Whelen .
Swimming gave him the most incredible sense of freedom. He ploughed through the water, spinning, turning, loving, laughing. He moved smoothly, so sign of discomfort. It was his equaliser and he never missed a day. Produced by Postie, voiced by Jacq and Andreas. Photo by Pixabay
Her sisters said it only needed a tiny space to squash into. When it left that space it grew a hundred times bigger. They knew. They’d seen it. They’d only just gotten away with their lives: But her courage was as big as her imagination. Produced by Postie.
Stockings covered the old rusty hills hoist, a legion of legs, rotating in the soft earthy morning breeze. Hung up at dawn before the workers trouped through the apartment courtyard, coffees clutched tightly... bleary eyed and immune to curiosity. Produced by Postie, photo by Ruslan Alekso.
The little tartan shopping trolley had been brand new for four years. It had sat it the corner, collecting dust and detritus while adjusting to its new role, ridiculing its owner with its garish colours.
It was a Queen Anne. A small tea cup with delicate violets painted on the bone china, with a gold rim on the handle and lip.... Produced by Postie
At first he thought it was an apparition…. Then a late night hallucination, brought on by too much work, stress and lack of sleep… But after the third night he realised that what was happening outside was as real as the deadline he was pushing. Produced by Postie, photo by Pixabay.
She saw again the sun baked yard, the droop of the tree, the lowest branches caressing his hat as he slumped in slumber. The sunlight glinted off the glass, that lay underneath his hand on the grass. Produced by Postie, featuring Walter Williams, Erin Grech and Joey Moore. Photo by Pixabay.
Council Clean-Up Day at Three Corners was a Street Shopper's delight; and Morrie, who lived on the outer rim of the town looked forward to it more than Christmas every year. Produced by Postie, photo by zhang kaiyv.
Soft. Smooth. A secret indulgence. Sensible - That's how they see her - Practical. No one would ever imagine that the trips to Sydney to see her brother, always included a visit. Here. A salacious secret. Produced by Postie, Photo by Anna Tis.
His pride and joy was this garbage truck. Small and compact, he washed her every day after the job, cleaning and scouring just like the manual recommended. Produced by Postie
Everyone else dismissed her out of mind years ago. And because she was gone, holding on to that memory felt like a betrayal. Not quite though. Not enough to still her name in his mind. Not enough to quieten her whisper in the darkest of hours. Not enough that her mocking smile didn't egg him on... Produced by Postie, photo by pixabay.
As the man grew older, he thought of it more often, hidden away; the nights of delight, the days of decadence and laughter... When the world held no sorrows, no cares, no worries... He wanted that again. Produced by Postie, Photo by Susanne Jutzeler
He sat still by the phone. Cream, cracked, it came from the old house with him to this tiny apartment. He'd insisted. He wanted his own phone, so he could still chat to his mates. Produced by Postie, voiced by Geoff, Cassie and Andy H, photo by Leah Kelley
They cleared the webs. They hunted fearlessly for the elusive orb weaver... and they speculated, in hushed tones away from the car's owner, about the possibility of an egg sac and multiple little orb weavers adding to the web... infestation... Produced by Postie, photo by Rick Otten
He liked busking as people made their way to work. A melody or tune to make the morning less daunting. Most were wrapped up in their own world, their own music, marching to the beat of the business drum. He enjoyed the surprise that occasionally graced a face... They didn't expect him at that time. Produced by Postie, photo by Markus Spiske
It was a very small patch of sunlight that lingered in the cool of the evening. But it had been there a while; the stones flat surface was warm to the touch and just wide enough for her to settle comfortably on... Produced by Postie, photo by Pixabay.
