Category Archives: Gunnas-Masters

A Goodbye – Amanda D

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Three faces, two olive-skinned and tanned from the summer past, the
other pale and drawn, stared glumly at each other.  At the age of
sixteen, they had barely been apart for more than a few days since the
age of six.  Closer than sisters, these friends could almost read each
other’s’ minds.

“We can write” said Bibi.  “And maybe visit one day?  My mother says
Uncle Fred and Auntie Til are going to Australia too.  Maybe I can
come too?”  “They’ll never let you” said Laila with a grin.  “You’re
much too wild to be let loose without a husband”.  Yasmeen laughed
along, happy to have a brief pause from the sadness.  “Excuse me
girls, you both know perfectly well that I’ll be the first one
married… Danny has already asked papa… so I’ll be the one to visit
first!”

Laila sighed.  It was all right for them.  They still had each other.
She looked over at her parents, nervously checking and rechecking
their papers.  Ever since her sister Rafi and her husband had
resettled in Melbourne, Australia, the plans had been in motion to
follow them.  Now Laila was to miss her final year of school just so
her mother could be near her precious first born.  The boys didn’t
care… five brothers and all of them useless, in Laila’s opinion
anyway.  But she had plans.  Sister Aggie had already written to three
universities, and she had been sure to get in to study law.  If only
they could have waited… just a few more months!  But no.  They were
all on their way to Australia, and she simply could not find a way out
of it.  Australia!  Nobody knew anything about Australia.  Stupid John
and his stupid plans.  If he and Rafi had gone to America like she’d
suggested, well, things could have really been exciting.  Imagine,
Harvard Law School! But no.

She’d even considered accepting Ahmet’s proposal – not that it was
much of an offer.  That wouldn’t have gotten her any closer to law
school, she knew that.  Still, mother had promised she could finish
school once they got there.  She knew she’d be fine… her English was
perfect, Sister Aggie said so.  She looked around… ah, there she
was.  Deep in conversation with her mother.  Well, if she would listen
to anyone, it would be Sister Aggie, and Laila knew she’d be doing her
best to see her favourite pupil in university.  She sat back, suddenly
relieved again.  Maybe it would be fine… it might not be America,
but it was still far away from here.

She looked around at the rest of the farewell party… her entire
class had come to wish them well, but the truth was they mostly hated
her.  Except for Yasmeen and Bibi that is. Her best friends in the
whole world, and the only ones she felt at ease with.  Everyone else
was either beneath her or a competitor.  Jealous of her pale skin and
blonde hair, Laila knew she not only looked different, she thought
differently too.  Not content to giggle and pout, Laila knew she was
prickly, and a little too proud.  She didn’t care though, if truth be
told.  She had a plan.  University, then law school.  Maybe she would
marry, but not till she was at least 35.  After accepting her first
diplomatic posting of course.  Despite herself, she laughed out loud.
She wasn’t sure what would shock her father more… but that was all
right, her mother (and Sister Aggie) were on her side.

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The Devil Loves Secrets – Almitra McQuade

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Hard boots scrape across gravel and she hears them in her sleep. Every day. Sometimes in the background and mostly peripheral but they are always there. They were there in the throbbing old broken bone in her foot that was never seen to and healed incorrectly, even after in middle age she has major surgery to correct the congenital bunions that compound the broken toe. The toe that he broke. With his boot. In the gravel.  A hot day in Adelaide, summer 1972.
Every day, even though she wakes up and cuddles her little dog, breathing in the fresh green air of the rainforest.
One day, she knows, it will all eventually fall away but today she wakes and it is there. Hard and vicious in the morning light like a drunk when the ugly lights come on. No flaw, no detail left unexposed, lurching up close and demanding to be faced. On this day all the green serenity of the forest cannot flay its oily hide. Because of that she will hold it at bay by hunkering down, let it be an elephant, a raging snarling rabid dog that she puts on a chain. But the chain is always long enough for her to feel it’s breath on her ankles as it stretches on it’s tether, encroaching on her personal space, to where she can always see and feel it’s glaring starkness.
Because of this she fled. And because of that so many things began and were and are, that would never have otherwise been.
I am one of those things, and as such so is the rest. My daughter, her grand daughter. The cycle of life continues. We are a babushka, one inside the other inside and another but we keep on growing and producing and changing and there is always a story. A reason. Until finally we reach a moment, a space in time where we are weightless and able to consider the long line of mothers and ancestors that have come before us, who still exist in our stories and in our bones. Fragments of stars that sun and water and some kind of energy created by life’s longing for itself transforms into the next generation.
But today she will hunker down. Today is not the day to feed that dog. Another day will come and the sharp edges of secrecy will recede. The devil he loves secrets but she’ll not let him win.

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 I Love Mondays – Xavier P. Nowicki

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Prologue

The outsiders probably reckon we’re a ragged bunch, a bit rough around the edges.

But I’m pretty sure our teacher thinks otherwise. Because he always says with a smile, that he’d take a bag of rough diamonds over smooth pebbles any day! I’m not really sure what he means – but I guess pebbles will always be pebbles, but a polished diamond could be worth a million bucks….and that’s a-whole-lot-a-money!!!

We might be loud, we might challenge authority from time to time, but we care for one another, we’re creative, we’re readers and thinkers, and most of all WE’RE FUN!!!

So kick back, slip your shoes off, get yourself a milo and get comfy. Throw your dog a bone to keep it occupied, and step inside the class of 2N, 2016 for a day. TBC

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Time matters – susan romyn

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Time that we have..It is so much and so little
We have no time
We have happy time
Sad time
Times
We fill our time
We seek time

We are jealous of people who have time
Or
We have so much time we are jealous of a perceived importance of someone else’s time
I want you to spend time with me…I want to spend time with you
Who is TOO BUSY

Time can fall to history…time spent to be shared later….

I dropped in for a coffee with my father today for half an hour…a short period of time…but a moment in time where many important things were said…happened…expressed

More than has been said for years…
“…I am like you…laugh
…She makes me happy
…It really upset her
….She bought me this
….I can do that
….I love your space
….I am so like you
….Apples don’t fall far from the tree
….I am proud of my kids
….I have made me secure for them…
….Moving now will be good for me
….Can we meet
….To go there…it looks amazing
….I will be tired but it is worth it
….She would really appreciate it
….I can do that
….Remind me……”

Time may be little but nevertheless full of importance

We don’t notice it any more …

I WANT TO NOTICE

I want it to matter…those small amounts of time… Time spent with another in your head….in your heart.

Time is important…used well by the wise. ….sometimes for all.

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DOGS IN SUITS – Dumb Poetry

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Once upon a time in Victoria an old man decided he had no need for his clothes.  He started a nudist colony in his home so he put his old clothes in a pile on his front verandah and left them out for others to take.

That night, a few of the neighbourhood dogs came sniffing around the house, drawn to the stench of the old clothes.

One of the leading hounds, who felt the cold, decided it would be better if he wore the clothes rather than steal them, so he carefully worked out a way to put on the old suit and asked the other dogs to help dress him. Finally, just before daybreak, he was dressed in a shirt, tie and suit.

Everyday the dogs marvelled at the sight of their leader dressed like a human.  Soon, word got around the humans of the neighbourhood that one of the dogs wore clothes.  The dogs decided to move to the local dump, where they could hide, but people gathered around, first by foot, then as the dog’s fame grew, they drove by and children stared and pointed at the clothes dog.

Meanwhile, the old man tired of being a nudist. He was cold and alone.  Nobody joined his colony so he went looking for his clothes. He looked high and low but was perplexed.  Where were they?

One day, while walking around the neighbourhood, he encountered the local Brothel Madam, who noticed he was completely naked, so invited him up for free sex.  It was on the house because she was so impressed by his audacity.  They had sex, but because she had such a shit box, he ran away.

Because of that, he was more determined to find his clothes.  He continued walking and noticed the crowds outside the dump and saw his clothes on a dog.

The man yelled “that’s mine, you varmit” and the troupe of dogs snarled and bared their fangs at him, eyeing off his naked skin.

He had to think quickly and yelled “hey dogs, how would you like to make some money?” The dogs wagged their tails.  He found an old chair, some gumboots and a hat.  He persuaded the dogs to come back to his house.

And because of that, he set the leading dog on the chair fully clothed and charged the crowd admission to come to his yard see the amazing clothed dog.

Soon he made enough money to buy himself some clothes and employed the Brothel Madame as his assistant.  He fed all of the dogs very well and they lived a great life, until one day, the old man died of pneumonia and syphillis, no doubt caught when he was nude and after his encounter with the Madame and her shit box.

The dogs mourned the old man and removed all the clothes from the leader.  They ran down the road, ready to start new adventures.

They say if you ever drive around any Victorian country town at night, look out for the ghosts of an old naked man, a brothel Madame and several dogs, one of whom is completely clothed, sitting on a chair and staring at you.

 

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Danger Will Robinson……..we have insurance! – Sally Cant

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Why is that sign there?…..     It doesn’t make sense!!!

I need to take time out to think about that sign – maybe I can just sit with a cuppa and look out at the ocean to ponder the question that is bewildering. I’m not in any hurry and a cuppa always helps.

I ask the waitress to bring me a black tea – she doesn’t speak English…oh well, sign language works just fine. I’ve been here for two days, so I can manage that. She writes it down – what’s with that – why does she need to write down a simple order of black tea!!!!  I don’t really care – because all I need is that cuppa and I can work this through in my brain

This was no ordinary day……I was on holidays – and that means adventure. I always take the less travelled path. I like the adventure, not always knowing how the day will pan out. So today was another opportunity for a wonderful memory. Earlier in the morning I’d taken the local bus, as it wound around a narrow road at the top of the volcanic island.Wandering around the village with no plans in place I decided to take the cable car over the edge of the 400 metres high caldera to spend some time down at the water’s edge. This in itself was quite thrilling – only a very short ride but none-the-less a very steep descent that took my breath away.

I stare out into the wide space of this beautiful choppy ocean – people everywhere. A cacophony of sounds which make no sense to me at all! It’s another thing I love about travel, being able to detach myself from trying to take on-board what I can’t understand. It’s actually something I look forward to – being the only one who can’t understand the language and having to stay silent. All my travel is as a solo traveller and this means much of my time is spent listening without commenting. Listening with interest to the other languages but not being invested in it!  Some people nearby are chatting away loudly, some are doing what I’m doing, just looking and watching.

I think about that sign once again – We have insurance!!

It’s doing my head in. Why would they put that sign there? Does it make me feel safe or is it doing the opposite? I’m not sure I really want to know the answer to that question – but I have to, if I want to move forward.

Sally, seriously, what are you worried about? You’ve travelled the unknown path for some 16 years, what is worrying you? For some reason I have uncharacteristically questioned myself about this path I’m about to take.  Why have I stopped right here, in front of this enormous expanse of ocean, in this very public place to take stock of what I’m about to do? Why has that sign bothered me so much?

I take more than a few deep breaths whilst I take stock – Oh Sally, get your head out if it…. No, you don’t need to go to the toilet. No, you don’t need permission. No, you don’t need another cuppa. Just do it….  Ok…I get off the chair and get myself ready to go. Oops sorry, I say to myself – let’s pay the bill first before I get taken off by the police and end up in a foreign jail. With the bill paid I take a few hesitant steps towards this path, slowly, slowly, I check my breathing and I stop. I have to listen intently – to ensure I am breathing.

Oh for fucks sake – what is the problem……..   I realise I have to pass that sign again. Ok, so don’t look at it…. Just move towards that path and get this started.

I’m probably only 50 steps through a narrow blue-stone passage and I can smell this most grotesque smell…. What is that? I can feel my heart racing once again…. But I gingerly continue along this path knowing that, even though there are voices shouting in my head, I do want to experience this adventure.

I turn the corner and here is the reason for that foul smell – a Greek man clearly drawing back on a foul smelling cigar – and a bottle of something – which I can only assume is some type of alcohol. God mate! Have you not thought of having a shower before work each day. He takes one look at me and his face is congruent with what I assume my face says……lol.

We both don’t get each other, that is clear. But he hardly acknowledges that I’m standing in front of him, as his next customer. Surely business can’t be that good that he risks a customer potentially walking away. After walking closer to him I realise he’s not alone. There are three other men in close proximity that I assume are his co-workers. No-one speaks to me – they hardly acknowledge that I’m there. They speak to each other in loud bursts that to most would suggest they are arguing. But I know better. I know that’s just how they speak to each other here.

Ok, so I’m now thinking – how does this work? How much does it cost? Who do I pay? Where do I go once I’ve paid? Oh for God’s sake, someone show me what I am supposed to be doing. Then “that bloody sign” is back at the forefront of my thinking. We have insurance!!!  Is it a sign that subliminally says “Danger, Will Robinson”….. or am I just procrastinating – which is not my style – or has my wisdom taught me that this is not a good idea Sally – go back – go back right now?

No, I want to be able to say I’ve done it – I want to look back on this and say that I completed this task…. I don’t care who hears it – “I need to hear it”. I may never come back to this place. I may never have this opportunity again.

The main Greek man steps forward, and I can see that he and his ‘old Greek’ mates are talking about me! That’s not funny guys, I’m your customer! Just take my fucking money and let me have this experience!!! Why do I care what is being said by these men – my mind naturally goes to the negative, and I need to take a few moments to check in with myself and say “just shut up – let’s do this”. I have to put all of this out of my mind and concentrate on paying the right money – I’m still in travel mode and have to calculate everything in my head before handing over the correct currency. I pay the smelly, dishevelled, pot-bellied, hairy Greek man his money and he waves his hand dismissively at me in the direction of a concrete platform.  Not having any idea of why I am being directed over there, I stand with my hands out and simply say – “you want me to sit here?” He nods his head, pleased that I understood this most basic of directions.

I sit and wait …… for what seems an eternity. Thankfully there is shade because the weather is hot and I was feeling a little feint. Get the water out – and re-hydrate, I say to myself. What the fuck are they waiting for? Why isn’t anything happening?  When I am on holidays I don’t worry too much about time, I just want to enjoy the experience. So be patient. But time has stood still for the last 30 minutes – in anticipation. I’m still very anxious and excited all at the same time. I am sitting on this concrete for what seems like an eternity – and I finally realise they are waiting for more customers! Well bring them on – I say!!! I’d be happy to share this experience with someone.

I am curious as to why I’ve chosen to sit quietly waiting rather than checking in with them – but I know the answer to that – I’m actually scared at this moment in time. And that anxiety is growing with each waiting moment. Suddenly out of nowhere a couple about the same age as myself appear – and they have a similar experience to me, in that they were also dismissed – and directed to sit near me and simply wait! They didn’t speak much English or Greek – so they were not up for a lengthy conversation.

Out of no-where and with little introduction there was movement at the station!!!! The Greek men had started to move slowly towards us and all of a sudden I realised that this was about to happen. This was my last chance to bail…..did I want to…..I did – but I couldn’t.

The donkeys were starting to get restless – they could see that something was about to happen. It was evident that the men had chosen a donkey for each of us – and went about getting the donkeys in order.

This is where my heart started to race….I have two replaced hips so I need to be careful of how I move. I can’t have that conversation with non-english speaking people – so I need to manage my own safety whilst they mill around me wondering why I was so reluctant to just step up and jump onto the back of this animal who was oblivious to what was about to happen.

The couple had mounted their donkeys and were waiting for me to join them. Where are the reins? Having ridden horses since a teenager I’m quite relaxed and calm riding horses. It was then I realised there were no reins – nor was there anyone leading these animals up that incredibly steep mountain. With a yell and a few loud noises, which I seriously hope was nothing more than to set the animals off, my journey had commenced. It was at this point that I started to feel quite uncomfortable. No actually, that should probably be upgraded to petrified!!

What the fuck……how can these donkeys be expected to traverse this cobbled path up this mountain? How was I to guide my companion so we had a mutually satisfying experience? Lol …..I had no time to consider these questions, because before I knew it a sound was coming out of my mouth that was enough to scare me, the donkey, the couple in front of me and anyone in a 1klm radius……

I could see the lady in front was wearing shorts ….   Whoa that can’t be good!  Her donkey was cantering up that cobbled walkway veering extremely close to the wall which was made of very jagged stone. Within seconds she had blood running down her left leg. And she too was screaming, and panicking, not knowing what to do. I quickly recognised that I needed to put my phone away – did I really think I would be taking photos and videos the entire way up? Just getting my phone back in my bag was a task in itself. Moving my hand, even slightly, increased my blood pressure to a terrifying level immediately. But I had to get that phone back in my bag or risk losing my life….. How can this be possible, how can they offer this as an adventure, that unassuming people like myself take without realising the risk factor?

I needed to make a concerted effort to hang on, and take my foot out of the stirrups and put my left foot out to steer my donkey away from the wall.  How was it that when they got close to the wall – which had a sheer drop over the side – with nothing to stop you going straight over the side – that the donkeys seemed to actually lean towards the wall which left you seriously at risk of falling off! OMG – what the fuck!!!!

Whatever substance these crazy donkeys were on, they were on a mission – “Get to the top in the fastest way possible – whilst making sure your passenger is scared out of their wits the entire time”. I was now starting to seriously question my sanity!!!

Remember that sign? ……   I now know why I was having reservations! But it was too late.  I was on this path, whether I wanted to be or not – and I had to get to the top in one piece – or perhaps find a way to jump off without ending up in the hospital with a serious injury. Or worse!

Now these donkeys are not stupid – they realise they can’t do this in one go. It is a marathon for them – and they need to take breaks. But there is no warning when those stops will occur and they often occur when you least expect it.  What I have failed to tell you is that whilst we are going up this long winding path there are people walking down and donkeys coming back down in between all of us. There are no rules – it is chaos – and anything goes – the donkeys seem to take the path with the highest risk factor. And those donkeys coming down are running at their fastest pace – often heading straight for you. I often just closed my eyes – praying to God that the donkeys would sort it out. And they did…..

A couple of times there were traffic jams where too many donkeys amassed on a corner and they had to decide who would go first to sort this out. Take it from me – we as passengers had no say in this process. They simply worked it out between themselves…..quite impressive really, had it not been so frightening. It seemed to take forever – and each path seemed to get steeper and steeper – time stood still – but at times it was like we were running the 100m at the Olympics! Somehow, when sanity was lost to me, and I felt like I was facing my mortality I did pull my phone out and take a photo. I am not sure where I managed to get the strength and courage to take that unfocused shot as evidence, or that few seconds of video so I could capture what it sounded like, but I am grateful that I somehow lived through it.

As quickly as it had all started we turned a corner to find a mass of donkeys had come to a stop. All of them other, than our three, were riderless. Oh no, this is where we get off. My heartrate increased and I stopped breathing……there is no step – no help – and donkeys were just crashing up against each other. The couple in front were yelling at each other loudly – but they had managed to dismount and were taking stock of the damage. She had blood streaming down both legs – but their attention turned to me – and all I heard in their very broken English was “thank God we’re alive”. I was still atop of my donkey as I had no idea how to get off. With my hips I can’t swing my legs over like most people so I was going to have to slide off…….oh that can’t be good – what an understatement lol……

Another dishevelled, smelly, Greek man appeared from no-where – but to me he was my “knight in shining armour”. Or that’s what I thought – until I realised he was yelling at me to get off….. well if I could I would, I assured him. Help me I yelled at him. No response! I’m not a naturally aggressive or assertive person but I found an inner strength from somewhere. I pointed directly at him and then pointed directly beside me – ordering him to assist me to dismount. I think he got it! Before long he was beside me – and all I can remember is disappearing between donkeys and heading towards the ground – looking from one side to another realising that all I could see was a tangle of legs and a grotesque smell.

Thankfully I was now on terra firma! and pushed myself out from between the donkeys to find safety. I hugged the other couple asking if I could help the lady, but they were out of there before I could take another breath.

We walked together to the top and then melded with the crowd along the narrow path to go our own way – with those memories indelibly imbedded in our brain forever.

When you experience something like this it’s like you expect everyone around you to know what’s happened and want to talk to you about it – praise you for being so brave – or berate you for being so stupid! It was only the day after that I heard a person had died doing the same thing the week before. They had fallen off and had been trampled! But there was insurance!!!  lol

It was exciting, frightening, and crazy but I would not have missed it for the world. Would I do it again – never! Would I recommend it to you – no! But I wouldn’t want you to miss it either.

 

www.conversationsaboutdeath.com.au

www.sallycant.com.au

www.celebrantstraining.com.au

 

 

 

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Just is – R J

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

My brother in law once told me of his earliest memory. He remembered falling asleep in his father’s arms, laid out on his chest. He could even remember the chair his dad was sitting in and the smell of the room. Safe, secure.

I remember seeing a set of taillights winding down the road away from the caravan I was living in, I remember knowing that it was my mum in that car and that she’d gone. I remember my dad being angry and looking at me as I stood there crying, watching those lights get further and further away. I remember my dad looking at me with disdain and saying, ‘not you too’ and walking away from me. I remember the feeling of fear, the smell and taste of it. I don’t remember how old I was, I’m pretty sure I was standing there in a nappy and singlet. I don’t know what happened after that, mum obviously came back but I don’t remember that. I remember the fear, the fear of being alone and forgotten.  Funnily enough that feeling is my go to when the anxiety kicks in.

I was raped. Orally, anally, digitally. Somehow the fact that it was always his hand or mouth and not his penis made this more acceptable for people, like it wasn’t that bad. I remember it started after I got my first period, like that made me fair game somehow? I was 11, it kept happening for 5 more years. I felt more alone and forgotten than ever, I even forgot who I was and what it was to feel. I don’t think I’ve ever got that back.

I actually quite liked the idea of sex…I remember that I started masturbating from a youngish age (is there a normal age??) you can imagine this like for the idea of sex was completely fucked up once the abuse started…this like for sex has entirely informed myself blame for the abuse. Now as an adult it’s still there, permeating my erotic thoughts and turning them toxic.  Every ounce of logic and rational thought does not stand a chance against the damaging story I tell myself, the story that was told to me.

The story continues, there’s not a happy ending, nor is it plagued in despair. It’s just a story. It’s just my story.

 

 

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Read me – Alli Kett

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Just stay off the internet, Sparkle decries. Stay off the internet? What new kind of hell is this? Distractions in the shape of Vimeo shorts, endlessly linked Cracked articles, that person that I worked with a million years ago’s newsfeed. Absolutely, I can stay off the interwebz.
Etsy? It’s okay to check on the delivery of my hand printed movie poster on a mini easel right? Yeah, that can wait, I can totally hop off the net. Aw, crap, what about the email I got three weeks ago off a travelling mate I met in Riga. I’m sure I haven’t replied yet, I should check, really need to do that.
My favourite columnist has a new post. If it’s only one article, that’ll be fine. Reading it will help to inform my life view, furthering my self-aware education is important. It helps to remind me, to be conscious of being inclusive and intersectional. To come up with another debate point for when I meet a troll IRL. Totes valuable. Oooh, and there’s recommend similar reading, articles by the similar social commentators and journo’s. Not watching tv news or a daily paper, I feel more aware reading online. Though, are these online articles self-fulfilling prophecies, algorithms throwing up suggested reading and me, following links like Alice through the looking glass.
But, if I do stay offline, I’ll miss seeing my far away friends worlds erupt with joy and normality
twists and turn, up and down, deflect and reflect their existences. Frankie’s new hair colour or Julian’s Japanese journey unfold, travel porn and the biggest hot topic,  whether Jo caves and gets a Toothless backpack. After I post this, just five minutes online won’t hurt… Lolz, who am I kidding. It won’t just be five minutes. But hell, I’ll save time by assuming Jo gets her Toothless backpack, anyone would.

It’d be awesome if you checked out our film website, including my review of Six Rounds, a knock-out use of black and white in a small tale around the London riots
https://wemakemoviesonweekends.com/2016/07/07/east-end-film-festival-six-rounds-review/

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DESPINA – Anastasia Panayiotidis

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Twenty five years,

That’s what you were given

For your life.

Two dozen years in health,

From diagnosis to death,

Just over a year,

Twenty five years.

“Fuck Cancer!” you wrote

On your Face Book.

You embraced your suffering

With grace

Without complaint

Your smile ever shining,

Big bright eyes

and courage in both hands.

A cancer journey it’s called!

A journey no one chooses to embark on.

But it’s random fate for so many

Genetics?

Environment?

Unanswered questions.

Too many lives

So much pain

Too much suffering.

“Fuck cancer!”

It was cancer

That took your sweet Mother

Less than a year before.

Mother of six

Aged 47

Hope placed in a stem cell transplant

“Remission”

A green light to travel

Hallelujah!

The thrill and joy lasted only

A matter of weeks.

Your dream was to fly to Greece

With your best friend Ilyanka,

Gorgeous girls with sparkling smiles.

That’s the trip you dreamt of taking.

The Parthenon you saw from afar

Not enough energy to climb to the

Top of the Acropolis.

Goddess Athena

Could not equip you

To survive

To live

Fate took over.

“Fuck cancer!”

Taken ill after five days.

Your beloved brother by your side,

Within a week of arrival

You took your last breath.

Hippocrates Hospital

Thessaloniki was to be the sacred place

Of your reposed soul,

And still body.

Where a cousin Constantine

Who had taken the same journey

Passed away

Ten years before.

Twenty five years

That’s what you were given

Beautiful Despina

Aged twenty five.

Red tape.

Bureaucratic obstacles.

Your body flown back.

Like Snow White

In a white coffin

Wearing your black beanie

And a white shroud

Covering the wounds

Of autopsy.

A funeral and a white coffin

That was your destiny

Not a white wedding dress

Nor a wedding dance with your beau

A choir sings the Requiem

Angelic voices reaching the heavens

Songs and prayers

Your soul rose

Transcendence

To the Infinite

Twenty five years,

Just blossomed into

Womanhood,

Beaming in your beauty.

You Took it all with grace

Without complaint

Not a fuss.

You did it your way.

Only twenty five.

Theia Soula

Anastasia

Panayiotidis

A white coffin

Not a white wedding dress

A funeral

Not a wedding dance

With the love of your life

Lying in it like Snow White

With your beanie covering your head

Covering the wounds of an autopsy

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Chemo Day – Sarah Ringcroft

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

It’s very cold here, but the warm socks, thermals, tracksuit pants and faithful green-and-white sweater help ease the ice-cream headache. The drugs don’t hurt either! Well – they do sometimes. Cycle 2 and it’s like I have Tourette’s syndrome. Jerky, misaligned, finding everything hysterical. What a laugh! I can’t eat my sandwich without it hitting my cheek before it finds my mouth. What a laugh! Why am I finding everything so damned hilarious?

I look out, through the vast expanse of glass, over the rooftops of Richmond and I’m vaguely surprised I’m in this room with the cap tightly on my head, elastic strap around my chin. Photos of my daughter and me – “thumbs up”, grinning from ear to ear – manically probably, for how can this be my life?

I look at my husband, my rock. How did he come into my life just when he was meant to? He didn’t sign up for any of this, but here he is. How blessed am I? I get up to go the toilet and I am not sure why, but I am very wobbly – still laughing. It’s all so amusing!

All this to save my hair – whoops, to save my life. Add an extra 90 minutes to everyone’s day, on my behalf. My husband sits there, supportive, rock-like, holds my hand, watches me while I doze (thanks, drugs). My daughter, doing uni work, chatting to me, taking selfies. Nurses check in, put the cap on, tighten the straps, stick me with needles after a warm compress has been applied to my left hand. Always the left – have to look after my right arm. The right side – cheating breast, surgically altered by a brilliant surgeon. Nodes removed, all clear – but my arm could be an issue. No lines, no infection 0 you don’t need lymphodoema on top of everything else.

The puppet master pulls the strings, so we find ourselves here. We have to be here. There is nowhere else to be, nothing else to be doing. I saw ‘we’, but the only one who really must be present in this land of chemicals, large comfy chairs and vista windows, is me. I am the planet; my lover, my family, my friend, are my satellites. They circle around me because they love me and care for me. I am ministered to by caring, loving people who I am lucky to have in my life. I want to be their sacrificial lamb, their scapegoat, because I feel it’s a thing only I should have to do. I don’t want anyone else to do this. I want to do it on their behalf.

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