Karen Lethlean

“Bug Splat ” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #132

Bug Splat So boring. No one her age. Already run out of books. Less to do than being at home. Sandra felt her feet get heavy in loose beach sand as she tried to dispel inertia by taking a walk. ‘Get out and find something you enjoy. Nature is therapeutic you know.’ Why the hell did her mum think therapy was required? Strange how once upon a time she and her father wandered along these same beaches, christened these walks Morning Explorations and set the task of finding The Most Terrible Thing washed up overnight. Now Sandy stared out ...

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“Cry Babies ” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #131

Note: Contains violence toward children. Cry Babies. ‘You kids! Bloody wood box is empty. Whose turn is it to fill up the bloody kindling?’ As usual father’s shouts reverberate through a house sleep-warmed, closed off from soon-to-be new day. As a result, any remnant slumber is now shattered. Any time of the day or night might be a time for our father to shout, diminish our skills, or admonish for a job not done. There are no turns in this house, no roster charts with lovely gold star rewards, nor an unwritten accord with child age-appro...

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“The Locked Door” by Karen Lethlean

Locked Door We were watching pornography together and having sex in the living room. Then migrated outside. All my idea, because I have this thing about doing it on the balcony, on the deck chair. Something about the notion that a pedestrian might be walking along, look up and see my tight toosh bumping and grinding, well that really does if for me. My accountant has this photograph in his office, of all places. Of an inner city terrace house and there on the balcony was a couple, going for it. Unbeknown to a lovely old lady, handbag, and...

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“Potential ” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #127

What could I have put on the report? “Use dirty praise,” the school executive instructs. “Dirty praise” limits possibilities. But I can understand why we’ve been told this. After all, these final reports will be seen by potential employers. No point in making things difficult for the boys, or the school, with comments about unfinished homework, or their tendencies to talk back, or an obsession with I-Pads, games, or mobile phones. Attendance statistics will tell that employer about punctuality. It’s not my job to make that comment. Not some...

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“Thankless Teachers ” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #121

Thankless Teachers What could I put on these reports? “Use dirty praise,” school executive instructs. Dirty praise, right, limits possibilities. But I can understand why we’ve been told this. After all, these final reports will be seen by potential employers. No point in making things difficult for our boys, or the school, with comments about unfinished homework, or their tendencies to talk back, or an obsession with I-Pads, games or mobile phones. Attendance statistics inform employers about punctuality. So, not my job to make another ...

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“Fish and KIds ” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #119

Fish and kids. A knife slid through flesh, pulling and tugging with a slight squeal. Mala laughs remembering how she showed summer visitors, throwing out a line, lazing over pier fences, how to gut fish. They might waste hours, throwing more than a dozen under-sized tiddlers back. If insufficient bait they’d try bits of green weed. Wouldn’t work. When a legal creature extricated themselves from the deep finally, waves of celebration spread among spectators and fishers. Only to describe such accidental engagements with timid hooks, fish com...

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“Affixing Blame” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #112

Affixing Blame. Dave swings the Ute out in a wide curve onto main road sealed surfaces. First time in a long time, rain tumbled down. His mind full of ribs showing through baby lamb fleece, gasping, and drought affected ewes pushing mewing offspring away. After the latest downpour, he has to head to town, talk to mates, discuss planting crops. Fixated on likelihood the drought has broken, he didn’t see an off-white minivan until he straightened his wheel. Too late to do anything but breathe a word, half obscenity, and half prayer. Onc...

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“Web of Life” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #105

Web of Life Grandmother came over to discuss plans for a baby shower. Arrangements being made for a family gathering, celebrating our cousin, Jenny’s baby bump. On this happy event, Gran wanted, as usual, to stamp her signature. So even though left-over wedding champagne barely consumed, and cake slivers topped with thick white almond icing hadn’t even been fully distributed, plans were well underway to celebrate impending arrival of my new second cousin. ‘You can’t be serious; you’re still doing those cards?’ She asked when Grannie saw Je...

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“Fault Finder ” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #103

Fault Finder Boris poured himself a stiff scotch. Pick your excuse but he needed a drink. Everyone else waited for wine but patience never one of Boris’s virtues. ‘Not possible to rely on eye witnesses,’ said David Meyer. As usual among tonight’s dinner guests. Boris turned from the drinks cabinet and used his lawyer persona to address David, keen to gain one-up-man-ship. ‘Some serious cases are sentenced based on a spectator. Identifying perpetrators seriously influences a jury.’ ‘Yes, but 75% of eyewitnesses are overturned by DNA evidence...

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“Gyre” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #103

Gyre. As in the gold mosaic of a wall Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre. William Butler Yeats 1927 I didn’t mean to hurt you, John, I’m sorry – I’m really sorry…. These words were Stewart’s last, after which voice faded into unheard spaces and stopped less abruptly than his determined heart. Last words uttered as an apology were wasted as they were silence to his hapless trail walking companion. But Stewart struggled against this death as an ending; he tried to push onto something more now his physical life vanished. Once more he...

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“Dine Out Dates ” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #102

Dine Out Dates This happened back in the days when dating someone happened face to face, you found special places to be together, ventured far from the maddening crowds. Sat quietly and partook of wine and food, exchanged small talk across a table. Before on-line-ville, drug addled dance parties, dating sites and being told to …get a room. Not so long ago I decide to ask the man I’d been part of this scene with, as a mere teenager, several decade ago, what he remembered. I tried to see his point of view, invade his thoughts. He did assi...

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“Mystical Country ” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #98

Mystical Country. Hidden in the deepness of my childhood, at either end of this island continent you can be surrounded and be a person of trees – from Valley of the Giants just outside Wapole, or amid dominating tree curtains along Caves Road Yallingup, like fence posts for trolls stand Karri (Eucalyptus Diversicolor) giants. Many rivers flow to the ocean, I will deal with rivers, but I want you dear readers to stand among the trees for a short while. Once upon a time you could drive through a Tingle tree unfortunately this was destroyed ...

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“Break into a Thin Ocean Place” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #97

Break into a Thin Ocean Place Drawing breaths between gritted teeth, in response to more up ended bins, rubbish strewn wide and broken windows. Sonya also noticed still wet graffiti daubed on toilet walls and tried to ignore Faberge egg shapes morphed into sharp edged phallic looking shapes as she walked down to the water. And wondered about necessity to appreciate this daubing as art, no matter how she looks, nothing artistic jumps out and bites her. There, as if an ultimate contrast to her mood, she saw a vision of happiness. A young wo...

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“Make My Own Tale” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #95

Make My Own Tale Sitting up here, breeze through my now short hair is a good thing. Lightheaded sensations, if I shake my head no super-long tresses flop about, no weight making my neck sore. I sense again whisk of his sword pass my ear, rugged tugs and release of strands being severed from my head, each lock a leaden weigh falling away. Who would regard a haircut as bliss? Short hair more like me, fits my stereotype. I should be glad, except so many negatives push in. Firstly, his saddle pommel pinches against my thigh. I’m sure there is g...

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“After Party ” by Karen Lethlean

Submitted to Contest #93

After the Party When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was a nerve behind my knee twitching uncontrollably, as if a fish had swum its way down behind my thigh overnight and become stranded, flapping, at the joint. The sun was already high and my mouth tasted like I’d been sucking on small change coins. I couldn’t remember anything of the night before. Everyone says, when you can’t remember that’s when you know it was a good night. But when the ragged edges of memory begin to piece together, fun does not fill the gaps. A few limbs lay in ...

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