Image of the burnt, discarded pages of a book.

Johnny Sweet

A man with so much to offer but so little to show for it is a man who casts a small shadow. Johnny Sweet was such a man. His claim to fame was writing cheap romance novels. He was a good writer. He sold a few books, but the small percentage offered by publishers and the significant competition in the genre left him with little, if any real wealth. Johnny lived in a small, one bedroom flat in the western suburbs of Sydney. He delicately skated across the thin ice that kept him above the poverty line. Every aspect of his existence was a struggle. He struggled to pay his bills, struggled to put food on his table and struggled to sell his writing. His world gradually squeezed in on him. The bills piled up relentlessly, especially his rent. If a cheque didn’t arrive soon, Johnny would be in deep trouble. He’d already contemplated life on the streets among the many […]

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Image of the remains of a destroyed industrial city.

The Dream Writer

How can they expect any sane man to live under these conditions? That was the only question left on his tired mind. He’d lost all hope. His world consisted of a small, windowless concrete room with a single bed and a round-edged side-table securely bolted to the floor. A small, filthy toilet and plastic hand basin occupied the corner opposite his bed. A red button on the wall was his only connection to the attendant somewhere outside, who rarely responded. After five years the world beyond those grey walls was just a memory, and well out of sight. But who in their right mind would want to see the world in such a shattered, desolate state? It’s only a dream, he told himself with all the doubt and disbelief of a man approaching the end of his miserable life. The fact that dreams could come true, as well as nightmares, had become just as real as the cell he now called […]

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