It’s here – the July Furious Fiction creative showcase. A chance to celebrate the sparkling cocktail of stories that we received in response to this month’s story prompts:

• Each story had to take place at a BACHELOR or BACHELORETTE PARTY! (aka stag/buck’s/bull’s night, hen’s/doe’s night, ‘kitchen tea’ etc)
• Each story had to feature at least two characters arguing.
• Each story had to include the words BLOCK, CLOCK and SHOCK.  (Longer variations were acceptable e.g. “blocked” or “shocking”)

So, with the invitations sent out, we waited to see just what kind of parties would result. And you didn’t disappoint with the phallic party favours, cheating partners and bar-hopping hijinks! 

While most stories focused on the assembled party guests, we did enjoy a handful of different perspectives as well as some surprising settings and genres. Plus with a guaranteed argument baked into the prompts, there was no shortage of drama, spilt drinks, missed calls and SHOCKING revelations. (Even the odd CLOCK-BLOCKING…) 

The best man-uscript as decided by our team of judging aunts and tut-tutting mothers-in-law wins this month’s Top Pick – an award that is truly made of honour. So without further ado, let’s get out the boombox and reveal that story – belonging to Immy Mohr! You can read the story below, along with other showcased stories and our longlist at the end. And congratulations to all those who took part in this month’s challenge!

JULY TOP PICK:

TAKE IT OFF by Immy Mohr, NSW

“GET ON THE FLOOR!” Jimmy raised his shotgun.

“WOOOOOHOOOOO!”

Jimmy stopped, shocked. Not the reaction he'd anticipated.

“I SAID GET ON THE FLOOR! NOW!” The balaclava itched his skin.

The crowd, all of whom were women, continued gyrating on the dancefloor.

“About time you showed up.” Two approached him, one smiling, one scowling.

He'd seen movies. Armed robbers commanded the room. This was typical of his life though. Everyone underestimated him. ‘Jimmy's a nice lad, but he's not the sharpest tool in the shed.’ Maybe they were right. A better man wouldn't be in this mess.

“GET DOWN!” The desperation whined in his voice. He heaved the unloaded shotgun menacingly.

It was meant to be loaded. Boss had insisted, but Jimmy didn't like violence. He couldn't shoot a mouse, let alone a… he shuddered.

“Is this your first time? You seem nervous.”

Jimmy blushed. At least this time, those words didn't come halfway through losing his virginity.

The friendlier one proffered an envelope. “Did you want payment now, or after, you know…” She glanced down to his groin.

What in the hell was happening? Didn't they understand this was a hold up?

On stage, three women with pink Bridesmaids sashes dragged a woman wearing a BRIDE TO BE shirt to a chair.

“Please no,” she argued, covering her face with her hands. “I don't want this.”

“Have some fun!” The bridesmaids waved fistfuls of dollar bills in the air. “Yeah, Stop being boring!” “Enjoy yourself!”

“I really don't want….” the bride was drowned out by the crowd chanting:

“Take it off! TAKE IT OFF!”

“Sorry, they're not normally like this.” The nicer woman grimaced, envelope still outstretched. “We've never hired a, sorry, is it stripper or do you prefer adult entertainer?”

Her sidekick glared, “He can call himself whatever he bloody wants, except punctual, Jane. We’d better not have paid $500 for a bloody amateur.”

An amateur? Jimmy fumed. How dare she? He was holding a goddamn gun!

“The agency said he was excellent. He looks the part, don't you think? Very intimidating.” Jane smiled, encouragingly.

She didn't seem very intimidated. Jimmy snatched the envelope. Presumably it held $500. Hopefully enough to satisfy the boss.

“Sorry.” He couldn't help but murmur to Jane. She seemed sweet. Unlike her counterpart.

“POLICE! PUT YOUR HANDS UP WHERE I CAN SEE ‘EM!”

A large policeman blocked the door and Jimmy panicked. Armed robbery was probably twenty to life. Without thinking, he ran into the crowd. A raucous cheer erupted. Women grabbed at him, his balaclava ripped off, someone pinched his bum. He was forced forward, unable to resist the push up onto the stage.

“TAKE IT OFF!”

Bridesmaids whistled and clapped.

“OI, YOU!” The cop lunged, his shirt torn along Velcro strips. “THAT'S MY MONEY!”

A swift uppercut clocked Jimmy on the chin.

Everything started to spin.

He stumbled. Fell onto the bride.

“I'm not into strippers, but your theatrics are fantastic.” The bride whispered whilst the crowd roared: “TAKE IT OFF!”

FURIOUS THOUGHTS

From the moment Jimmy’s threats are met with a collective “WOOHOO”, we know we’re in for a fun ride with this one! Yes, Jimmy is not the sharpest tool in the shed, but to be fair, that’s not the tool these women are interested in. And so this hilarious case of mistaken identity plays out – the offers of cash only serving to confuse matters further for our poor robber. Extra clever is Jimmy panicking when the ‘cop’ arrives. But of course, well, that velcro shirt says it all, as the real stripper “clocks” (fun use of that word!) our thief with an uppercut. A tight package of a story that gyrates with comedic gold and captures the chaotic essence of a bachelorette party gone wild!

PINK TUTUS, FAIRY WINGS AND A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE by Suzanne Wacker, QLD

‘I don’t want to die.’ Malcolm’s face is covered in Brad’s blood and he’s still wearing a pink tutu and fairy wings covered in golden glitter. Every time he moves, the little bells in the wings tinkle joyfully.

His t-shirt is splattered in blood but I can still see the picture of the clock and the words, ‘getting married, no more time to run.’

The pounding on the storeroom door matches beat for beat the pounding in my head. I shut my eyes, trying to block out the sounds of the zombies moaning and Malcolm crying.

I wince. ‘Shut up! I’m trying to think.’

Malcolm wipes his eyes with a glitter splattered hand. ‘I’m in shock! Brad was my best mate!’

A little shiver of vindictiveness runs up my spine. ‘Brad groped that poor waitress all night. It was karma that he was the first one she bit.’

Malcolm groans as if I’d punched him. He blinks and the glitter shines through his tears. ‘Tim, we’re going to die in here! Can’t you be more supportive?’

I grit my teeth. ‘I didn’t want to come to your stupid buck’s party! You begged me, remember?’

‘You’re my best mate! You had to come.’

‘I thought zombie Brad was your best mate.’

‘Can’t I have more than one best mate?’

The fragrance of booze and body parts is heavy in the stale air. I open my mouth to take a breath and a stream of vomit hits Malcolm in the face.

‘Ahhhhh!’ He frantically swipes at the mess. ‘Get it off!’

The zombies outside howl, a terrible shrieking that speaks of unimaginable longing.

‘Shut up!’ I grab him by his tutu and put my hand over his mouth. He bites me.

‘Shit!’ I make soothing noises. ‘Shhh, please be quiet.’

Malcolm draws in a breath to scream. I put a finger to my lips and he breathes out instead, hiccupping. ‘Tim, if we’re going to die, there’s something I need to tell you.’

‘Can’t it wait? I’m not really in the mood.’

He shakes his head and the bells tinkle. ‘I need to get this off my chest.’

I sigh. ‘What?’

‘I slept with Sarah.’

‘You what?’

He starts to cry again. ‘It was an accident!’

‘An accident? You accidentally slept with my girlfriend?’

‘We were both drunk! I’m sorry.’ Fat tears drop onto the t-shirt and tutu.

I stand up and reach out my hand. ‘It’s OK, I forgive you.’

‘You do?’

I nod. ‘Let’s go. We can’t stay here. We’ll starve to death.’

Malcolm grips my hand. ‘You’re a true mate.’

‘Yeah, your best mate. Now on the count of three, we open this door and push our way through. Ready?’

Malcolm nods.

‘One. Two. Three!’ We open the door, I push Malcolm out, and slam it shut.

Over the howling of the zombies, I hear bells tinkling.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Who doesn’t love a zombie apocalypse? From the little tinkling bells and blood splatters, it’s clear something has gone very wrong at this bachelor party. (A great use of the CLOCK prompt too – we can totally see a groom-to-be wearing that.) In this scene, Tim and Malcolm reflect on the events that have led to this trapped-in-the-storeroom moment and it soon becomes clear that Malcolm (that name rings a bell) has a confession for our narrator. Pacey, silly and yet full of cracking dialogue. Also, did anyone else find themselves singing: “now we got Brad’s bloooood (hey!)” in the style of Taylor Swift?

EMPTY CAKE, EMPTY MINDS by Ryan Klemek, USA

High Priest Melvin corners Jerry in the sacred pantry, a seething anger hidden behind his calm brow. He fingers the crystal talisman dangling between his muscular pecs. “I'm disappointed, but not surprised. After all I've done to welcome you into my flock, you still refuse to open your heart.”

Jerry juts his chin in defiance. “You're marrying my wife. You're going to have sex with her in front of me. You forced me to plan your bachelor party.”

Out in the Great Hall, the rest of the men gather, staring at the clock, waiting for their leader's toast. So far, the celebration has been a disappointment, as Jerry refused his most important “Best Man” duty: kidnap a stripper from the outside world, drug her, and prepare her for programming.

Nothing kills the vibe of a bachelor party like a giant empty cake.

“These are our traditions!” Melvin hisses. “Everyone else has embraced them.”

“Everyone else is brainwashed,” Jerry says.

It had been easier for the other men. They were already broken by the time they were asked to give away their wives. The women, of course, were willing participants, and Jerry understands why. Even he's not immune to the high priest's charm.

With sapphire eyes and a shoulder-length mane, Melvin looks like a cross between actor Jared Leto and New Kids on the Block star Joey McIntyre. But Jerry has too much rebellion in his blood to give up his soul without a fight.

“I'll expect you at the Black Temple first thing tomorrow morning,” Melvin says. “Your bad attitude is caused by a high concentration of dark energy in your frontal lobe. Nothing a little shock therapy can't fix.”

Jerry sneers. “I look forward to it.”

By “shock therapy,” Melvin means he's going to connect jumper cables to Jerry's testicles and light him up with 200 volts of electricity. Jerry has already been through three of these treatments, and he couldn't sit down for a week after each one.

He has no intention of keeping tomorrow's appointment. By dawn, he and Beth will be gone.

She may be angry at first, but she'll get over it. He followed her here to protect her, and that's exactly what he's going to do.

As the high priest storms off into the Great Hall, champagne bottle in hand, Jerry can't help but laugh. Melvin is in for a shock of his own. He never did see what Jerry was up to in the pantry, but he's about to find out. The champagne he's toasting with has been spiked with ceremonial Kool-Aid.

This will be one hangover Melvin won't recover from.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Certainly not on the bingo card this month was a cult group’s imminent wedding, so well done to this story for offering a surprising (and hilarious) take on the parallels between one ceremony and another! Here, we meet Jerry – the voice of reason – as he tries to negotiate unsuccessfully with charismatic sapphire-eyed cult leader and professional flock-blocker, Melvin. Like many cult leaders, it seems that Melvin enjoys getting into his followers’ pantries. But never fear – Jerry has a plan. This was a refreshing departure from the night clubs and bars and yet further proof that something different (when written well) can be effective!

IN HER HOUSE by KE Fleming, NSW

“This BLOWS.”

“Barb, babe…”

“BLOWS, Polly. Gale force winds, El Niño-style tropical storm, thousands of dollars in property damage, shock and awe, sturm und drang, BLOWS.”

“… I sense you're upset. But God's Will– “

“Yeah, yeah, I'm not ‘defying God's Will' or whatever, I'm just… whining about it.”

“AND NOW THE BACHELORETTE PARTY SITS DOWN FOR TEA.”

“You heard Her Word, pour us a cup, Polly. And throw some whisky in there while you're at it.”

“Come on, Barb, it'll be alright. She Who Plays has selected you! She's even got the Bratz girls setting up the venue, it's going to be great!”

“The Bratz could create the most stunning steeple to ever steep (although, the Bratz? Come on Polly, it's going to look like a disco ball threw up on a CW set) and I still wouldn't give a steep because I didn't block out my afternoon to get hitched!”

“Barbie…”

“And even if I had, it wouldn't be to Big Ted of all people.”

“Wait, what's wrong with Ted?”

“Nothing, but ‘big hairy bear’ is not my type. Also I'm pretty sure I clocked Humpty Dumpty getting snuggly with that cuddly.”

“Wait, really?”

“YUM! THANKS FOR THE TEA, TIME FOR THE WEDDING!”

“Goddam it.”

“Barbie!”

“Oh, shut it, Polly.”

“AND HERE COMES BARBIE WALKING DOWN THE AISLE.”

“Hey Ted.”

“Hey Barbie. What's new?”

“…”

“Right. Hey listen, I know this is God's Will and all, but ah… me and Humpty are actually…”

“It's all good, Ted. Green card situation, yeah?”

“Thanks Barb, ‘preciate it.”

“DO YOU, BIG TED, TAKE BARBIE TO BE YOUR WIFE FOR FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER?”

” … Sure, I guess.”

“AND DO YOU, BARB–”

“STELLA!“

A hush fell over the assemblage. The Elder Gods rarely intervened with Play Time, but though She speaks but rarely, She is not to be ignored.

“STELLA, LUNCH IS READY!“

“COMING!”

“Oh thank the Gods. Left at the altar again, eh Ted?”

“Third time this week.”

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

This does not blow – the opposite in fact. (Wait, that would be ‘sucks’?) Anyway, it’s a clever take on a bachelorette party and one which so many children love to act out. In this case, Barbie is none-too-happy to be matched up with Big Ted and lets her bestie Polly know all about it. However, we soon clock that She Who Plays (and speaks in all caps) must be obeyed. We loved the character voices in this one, with obvious nods to the fabulous ‘Toy Story’ universe but with its own style of tongue-in-cheek dialogue throughout. In this case, Barbie was saved by the lunch bell, free to pursue true toy-love with Humpty. But spare a thought for triple-jiltee Ted. It’s almost too much to bear…

HENS ADRIFT by Nicole Lee, NSW

It’ll be fun, she said. A wild ride. On this boat in our torn and dirty satin and sequins, I can’t argue that she had the latter part right.

We’re down to our last bottle of water, hoping for rain.

“Don’t drink the sea water,” Amanda said when Ebony leant over to fill hers. “It will dehydrate you further.”

Amanda was the closest to a Girl Scout in our group. Not that any of us came close to that honour. She’d just done a lot of glamping and private yacht charters in her time. Amanda also loved ‘Survivor’.

“I swear that cloud looks like a hamburger,” Eva pointed at the drifting clouds that were starting to tinge grey.

Everyone groaned. Food talk was off limits. The thought of it elicited pain, like our stomach was trying to eat its way out.

The seven of us were squeezed into a lifeboat with only one oar—the other lost days ago—floating in the ocean to who knew where.

Liz adjusted her tiara and veil on her head—an incidental buffer to the ever-beating sun. “So Siobhan, tell me again why you chose our erstwhile captain?”

“Look, you can’t blame me for this,” she sighed. “He was cheap. I just wanted us all to make it.” She looked at Craig and I as she said this—the two who hadn’t come from money.

“You didn’t think to question why he was significantly cheaper?”

“As shocking as it might sound, no. I just wanted us all to have one last hurrah before Harry blocks you from having any fun with us again.”

“What do you mean ‘no fun’? Harry lets me have fun!”

We all looked down at this. The wooden flooring suddenly became fascinating.

Siobhan cleared her throat, then moved her bloodstained sash that now read ‘aid of Honour’ to her opposite shoulder. “The fact you think he ‘lets you’ do anything says everything.”

“Says the girl whose longest relationship was Doug in the 6th grade.”

She inhaled sharply. “I may not have a lot of long-term experience, but I can still clock Harry trying to seclude you away.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “So now you decide to tell me your true feelings about my fiancé?”

“Maybe it’s just taken being stranded together like this to finally get some time with you.”

The boat was quiet for some time. The only sound was the waves lapping against the side of the boat.

“I was really hoping for mani-pedis on my first hen’s to be honest,” Craig said, looking down at his abused hands.

“Same.” I chuckled, looking at my sunburnt and cracked feet. “The one and only time we let Siobhan be in charge of anything.”

The boat filled with our quiet laughter as we looked out at the endless blue surrounding us. The wind picked up, caressing us with its salty breath, and in the far distance we could see lightning dancing across the sky.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Of all the stories we received this month, only one featured a group of women stranded on a lifeboat. And this is it – choosing wisely not to waste precious detail on how they ended up here, instead letting us in on the sunburnt, dehydrated personal dramas of these castaways. There is something quite delicious (although not as delicious as a hamburger-shaped cloud) about a bunch of characters in a perilous situation who still cannot resist resorting to petty bickering. (See also the zombie store-room this month!) For these hens, they’re all in the same boat as they make waves about the bride-to-be’s overbearing partner – both hilarious and scathing at once. And as the storm approaches, one final shout out to Craig being on the invite list! 

JIM’S STAG NIGHT by The Loaded Doggereller, NSW

Jim was nervous as hell as he sat in the cell, vowing never to do that again!
It goes without saying, that role that he’s playing – the bridegroom tomorrow at ten!
He’d drunk some red wine and then, thinking he’s fine, he’d got stopped at a roadside breath-test.
And the cops, without pity, took him down to the City Police Cells for a bit of a rest.

It came as a shock, when he looked at the clock, and he asked to be freed from this plight.
He’s already late to meet football mates – and it was, he explained, his Stag Night.
The policemen relented, and he then consented to call his best man for a ride.
So he got there belated, quite inebriated; they pledged not to inform his bride.

The Dog and Duck pub served good beers and good grub, and was famous for their celebrations,
A great place for a Stag Night, with a stage and a spotlight, and a band that could shake its foundations!
They’d hired the back room and a girl with a costume that revealed a lot of her skin.
And so when those two entered the focus then centred on that costume and what lay within.

As the evening proceeded, decorum receded, and the lads became just a bit drunk,
And a hulking back rower thought that she was a goer and himself as a bit of a hunk.
And while she danced to ABBA, he leapt up to grab her, and she got the fright of her life.
But the scrum half – alarmed – vowed she wouldn’t be harmed – “Get off her – that woman’s my wife!”

Well, his left hook was blocked, and the ensemble shocked as these two wrestled down on the floor.
And while they were fighting, the pub cut the lighting, so the dancer fled out the back door.
When peace was regained, the offender detained, the dancer’s performance renewed.
And, to the obvious delight of her audience that night, she danced for the boys in the nude!

So, when they were wed, tucked up snugly in bed, they talked of their evenings before.
But, reluctant to inform her about their performer, Jim omitted what little she wore!
But his wife, more forthright, described her Hens’ Night, in terms she had nothing to hide!
Oh, ours was a ripper – we had a male stripper! And the girls went home quite satisfied!

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Rhyming stories can be risky when not specifically requested. However occasionally, they cut through to provide both a compelling story and a clever structure and rhythm too. This story does that in spades, with a delightfully limerick-adjacent style that is easy to read with its internal rhyme scheme and a fair-dinkum dose of Aussie lingo. The result mixes bachelor biffo with bush poetry, even stopping by the final stanza to put a little the ‘hen’ in Henry Lawson! The rhyming is ‘ripper’ and deserving of a showcase spot – we particularly enjoyed ‘decorum receded’ and rhyming ‘ABBA’ with ‘grab her’!

HIS FIFTH WEDDING by Bruno Lowagie, Belgium

“Aren’t you ashamed?” Nurse Billing’s voice cracked like a whip.

The eyes of the three men—Richard, Edgar, and Charles—darted to the floor, dodging her piercing stare. Their average age was shy of eighty-five, but they looked like schoolboys caught sneaking sweets from the kitchen.

“And you, Miss, could you put some clothes on?” Nurse Billing snapped, her tone slicing the heavy silence.

Candy—if that was her real name—stood frozen in the corner, clutching her top, too shocked to redress. Her cheeks flushed as she scrambled for her coat, mumbling apologies.

“When was the last time we had a wedding in this place?” Richard grumbled, arms crossed defiantly.

“Yeah,” Edgar chimed in, his dentures clicking as he spoke. “We’re old, not dead! You can’t deny us all fun!”

Nurse Billing’s eyes narrowed. She had clashed with these men too often. “It was James’ fifth wedding! Surely, he’s had a lifetime to make his fun!”

Love had struck James like lightning when Margaret moved into the block across from his room at Sunset Pines Retirement Home. From his window, he could see right into her room when she opened her curtains that fateful morning. Her silver hair caught the sunlight, and her smile, warm as fresh-baked bread, hooked him instantly. Four weeks later, he proposed, down on one creaky knee, offering her a ring he’d saved from his third marriage.

Margaret, eighty and vibrant, accepted without hesitation. Life was too short to pass up such a spark.

Richard, Edgar, and Charles had pooled their pensions to hire Candy. She arrived with her boombox the night before the wedding. Her routine was, by all accounts, far too lively for the occasion. James, ever the charmer, clapped and laughed, eyes twinkling. Then he paused, put a hand to his chest, gasped, and crumpled mid-dance.

Now, a paramedic knelt beside the groom-to-be, pumping his chest, while another strapped him to a stretcher.

“We only did what he wanted,” Charles muttered, his voice barely audible as he wrung his hands.

Nurse Billing crossed her arms. “Is that how you’ll tell Margaret her wedding is off?”

Charles shrank at the thought of facing Margaret. His face went pale as if he, too, needed a doctor.

The paramedic glanced at the clock on the wall. “Time of death: 10:45 PM,” he announced, his voice flat, professional.

The three men gazed at their friend one last time before the sheet veiled his face.

“At least he died with a smile on his face,” Edgar said, his voice cracking.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

It seems appropriate to end this selection with a smile on our face as Richard, Edgar and Charles are three naughty boys caught pooling their old-age pensions to hire a stripper for their friend James’ bachelor party. We saw a number of retirement home style stories this month – always a fun way to subvert a mostly younger trope, and a few made the long list below. But this one stood out in particular for its hilarious guilt-ridden trio and concise structure that starts with the aftermath and fills in the blanks. It’s true that Nurse Billing has her work cut out for her, but you have to feel more sorry for both heartbreaker Candy and poor off-screen Margaret in all this. Efficiently and expertly delivered, and a good send off for both James and our July showcase!

THIS MONTH’S ‘LONGLIST’

Each month, we include an extra LONGLIST (approx top 10%) of stories that stood out from the submitted hundreds, were considered for the showcase and deserve an ‘honourable mention’. Remember, all creativity is subjective – but if your story made the list this month, take a moment to celebrate! 

THIS MONTH’S LONGLIST (in no particular order):

• HOLD MY BEER by Tania Bardsley, VIC
• THE SENDOFF by Karen Element, NSW
• CHICK, HEN, ROOSTER by Andrew Moore, QLD
• THE BACHELOR – SEASON 47 by Jaime, NSW
• THE PARTY by Marie Low, NSW
• TO HAVE AND TO EAT IT by Dean Gaudoin, VIC
• THE MAID OF HONOUR by Andrew Brown, NSW
• BUMP AND GRIND by Dayle Fogarty, NSW
• NO USE CRYING OVER SPILLED SOURS by Alwyn McNamara, NSW
• THIS IS WHY YOU’RE MAID OF HONOUR by LonelyWriterGal, QLD
• NOT-SO HIGH TEA by Sarah Fisher, QLD
• WHAT’S A BLOKE DOING HERE? by Lorena Otes, NSW
• OUR LAST KISS BEFORE FOREVER BEGINS by Jade, NSW
• THE CLOCK STRIKES 8 by PJ, WA
• THE BACHELOR by Rob Tuckerman, ACT
• AMELIA by Richard O’Neil, USA
• KILL MARRY KILL by Andy Woollett, SA
• FURIOUS AT FICTION by Loueen Winters, NSW
• HENS DO… DON’T THEY? by Jenny Lynch, WA
• THE RAINBOW DISCONNECTION by Suzie Qupid, VIC
• THE FEUD AT DEAD MAN’S CREEK by David Wilson, VIC
• SECRET POLICE by Seth Geltman, USA
• STRIPPER by Jade Hanthorn, NSW
• BOOZY BRIDE-TO-BE by Rachel Jennings, VIC
• THE MAN LED HER INTO THE SMOKY BAR by Marie Smith, NSW
• AMONGST THE RUBBLE by Sussan Khadem, VIC
• WHATEVER COULD… GO… WRONG…? by Bill Boyd, NSW
• A TALE OF TWO SHIPS by Michelle Oliver, WA
• TO BE OR NOT TO BE by DSM Christensen, VIC
• THE CELESTIAL BLOCK by CSY, Malaysia
• SOUL OF THE PARTY by Megan Hippler, QLD
• GOTTA HAVE FAITH by Maya Dunin, ACT
• GLADYS CRASHES A BUCKS PARTY by Athena Law, QLD
• THE ROAD TRIP by Melanie Hawkes, WA
• RAY’S LAST HURRAH by Charis Gillespie, QLD
• THE GODMOTHER by Amanda Hayes, QLD
• DUDE, WHERE’S MY CLOSURE? by Corey Picaro, QLD
• AN ANCIENT RIDDLE by Cleo Patthra, VIC
• AXE THROWING HENS by Marc Gijsemans, Ireland
• JUDGEMENT by Stephen Lowcock, NSW