Cirrus@Austlit

Lia goes through phases. Right now, she's obsessed with Lana Del Rey. She does her hair pi-up style ans gets her nails done. I watch her type. It's impractical, but she doesn't seem bothered - she types as efficiently as you or I would. All day and night, the apartment is filled with Lana Del Ray interspersed with the soulful crooning of Billie Holiday. I don't listen to Jazz and don't know much about it, but their is one track I've become fond of =. Until I heard it, I never knew I needed such a song in my life. (introduction)

The night air smelled stale and damp. It reminded Ibu of the pandan rice she left out yesterday. It will be sour by now , Ibu thought. She adjusted the sarong until it sat comfortably, flattening her sagging breasts. She sat back on her favourite rattan chair, enjoying how it had curved to the shape of her body. She thought about her visit to Bogor last week. As she made her way on foot into the kampung, a gaggle of children tugged on the ends of her sarong to ask for spare change. Ibu didn't have anything to give. She had brought just enough money to pay the Dukun, and he had accepted what little Ibu had in her savings tin. That day, Ibu learned that even the blackest of magicians were capable of compassion.

'In the gilded sacristy of the Spanish-colonial cathedral, I stood frozen near the doorway. I griped my seven-year-old sister's hand, making sure she wouldn't bolt away into the foreboding, ancient church. Located inside the walls pf Intramuros, this was the most immense church we had ever seen, and we could easily get lost inside.' (Introduction)

It's Monday and Myer is having the greatest stocktake sale of all time, and a giant backlit poster of Miranda Kerr smiles indulgently with a wrist of pearls, and the shopping centre is flooded with daylight and hope. There is a girl sitting on a unicorn in the middle of the shopping centre and the artificial trees are green and shimmering and the lady at the makeup counter waits with an armful of flyers and a cherry-flavoured smile. (Introduction)

'Wakes in real life were nothing like those in movies. The Introvert was trying to remember the last wake she had been to before this one. It was a week-long mourning ritual involving monks, a camera crew and so much food. It was her great grandfather's wake, and she was eleven. Photos of him showed him drinking liquor from bowls. He had no teeth, which made his cheeks and lips sag. The Introvert's mother would taunt her when ever she refused to brush her teeth as a child, pulling down her own cheeks until The Introvert shrieked and obliged.' (Introduction)

'Dukhe lifted his shaggy brown head and sniffed. The villagers were at it again - burning incense, beating rapid footfalls on the hard clay earth and chanting in low, guttural voices and they did on the eve of each shrinking moon. Dukhe was so used to these strange monthly rituals that he let his eyelids grow heavy and stretched his forepaws towards the campfire flames, soaking up flickers of warmth. But as he was about to rest his head again, he caught a whiff of something heady, pheromone rich, skirting the opposite bank of the river just beyond reach of the firelight. The scent may have eluded a lesser nose, but it set the coarse hairs of his haunches bristling and exposed his canines to their root.' (Introduction)

The burning, the explosions, the ruination was punctuated by dead birds falling out of the sky and cries from those whose flesh was scorched, melted to bone and ash by the fires. It was a horrific end to the war that began with the heralding march of doom.

'I'm sitting at a picnic table watching him and he's ticking all the boxes. Cute, compassionate, friendly. I'm not referring to Monty, our mini-foxi, who is playing with a little white poodle, but Jon, my adorably quirky, good-natured boyfriend. He's chatting to the owner of the poodle and keeping an eye of the pets while they play. They share a laugh about something and part ways. Jon sits opposite me raising his eyebrows.' (Introduction)

'Today I'm going to run, I told myself. My office had roped me into a charity fun run. It was easier to just do it instead of giving in to a moaning depressing monologue on my body's appalling level of fitness, ravaged by mental illness, drugs and infrequent eating habits.' (Introduction)

'I remember bright comforting lights, and a welling hotness that came out of nowhere on a winter night. I remember pink cheeks that felt before they where seen; furtively coughing down pixie sticks while our mothers dinners gurgled in our bellies. Backstage, we were dancers of anticipation, moves mapped out on our bodies like a dance step card. School ties were loosened and tightened, blazers buttoned and unbuttoned, starched collars pried from our throats. We sat perched on rocking desks, legs swinging, lamenting our unpolished shoes, while excitement fled from tapping fingers.' (introduction)