In June, the Dunedin National Flash Fiction Day community contributed to the year-long UNESCO City of Literature 10-year anniversary with a local poster series featuring emerging voices. The 20 posters included micros written after artworks from the 2024 Arts + Science Exhibition. Here we include a handful of these contributions, some from a few of our youngest participants from secondary schools. This series was made possible with support from Dunedin UNESCO City of Literature DCC Creative Communities and the Dunedin City Library, plus Alexander Pianos.

Many thanks to the writers who took part, some with work featured for the first time!

 

Chris Griffiths

Micro biome

If you lie like a supplicant on the forest floor you might hear the faint crackle and creep of the carpet of mycelia below as it moves gentle as breath from large bronchi to the delicate alveoli of the forest lung, whispering the secrets of life.

You might imagine a rose-pink inhalation, exhaled in a soft grey starburst, white cobwebbed underbelly of moss and a blackblood cardiac line tracing the rhythmic heartbeat of the forest, a rise, a fall.   

You might hear the sound of conversation, tree to tree, fern to fern. Try to listen. Learn.

 

Ridima Jain

Très tranquille

He was awakened by the darkness, the gentle sun having rested for the night. The previously golden sky was painted squid ink, navy blue dotted with flicks of starlight. The tranquil silence pierced by the sharp calls of the ruru in the hollows.

He sighed and briefly felt the snowy blanket disturbed. Below, the river rippled. He knew that she was gazing upon the sudden shadow. She’ll get used to it, he thought.

But this wasn’t a moment to think. The winter sun meant a day of sound shaking his age-old figure. Instead, he let the light wash over him.

 

Bram Casey 

So it’s called a murmuration

maybe he’ll call you
and tell you what’s what
and all of the little bits of you
wedged in gaps between word and meaning
will float up and circle, pressing against the ceiling
until it breaks, teaching the stars new ways to mangle themselves
into pretty patterns for a cosmic audience
teaching them a blood stain
a rolling of dice
a wheeling flock of birds
or a smattering of stabs
like god is keeping you in a box
and poked holes so you could breathe
you put the phone down and exhale
and your insides go glassy

 

Harriet Rowe

Hunger

She flickers in and out of sight as we weave through the storm of people. The smell of sweet lemon gets stronger and my mouth starts to water. I speed up not wanting to miss out. “Wait,” she says, falling behind. I sigh, and stop. I hate having younger siblings. I grab her by the hand and drag her through the crowd. We’re not too far away now. “You go,” I say, putting the few pennies I have left into her hand. She becomes peacefully full as she savours the perfect taste. I become full too, with jealousy.

 

Emily McDowell

Listening

The ear, silent, dusty, listening. Still listening for the sound of them. But they were not coming back. I had been listening ever since they left, hopeful, eager, waiting for their  return. But I knew there was no return; it had been a long time of listening and waiting. A long time where the only sound was the ear cracking deeper and deeper, gathering dust. A long time of nothing.

 

Lucy Feillet

Lonely Aurora

The cold captures my breath, colours dancing on my face. The glowing aurora appears from behind the mountain at a steady rhythm, long awaited. A dense outline of landscape stretches across, making for a picture-perfect contrast. It’s silent, blended with pinks, purples, blues and greens. ‘POP’! It sounds, exploding in the night. Glistening, fading, burning away the sky, as if reaching out a hand to be taken. There is something missing in this aurora, a friend, maybe, to cheer it up, although it seems to have everything it could ever need. Now finished, it disappears.