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  • Writer's pictureAshley Geoghegan



The ocean was beautiful and new, another world. It was mysterious, cleansing and comfortably deep. Somewhere he could belong.

A wasted talent

The elastic bands were tied around his ankles before he began doing training laps in Mr Frederick's pool. Olympics were calling, but the cloud of negativity from his home created a dark shadow upon him; killing all that was great, too much for a sensitive soul to bear.

A humble place

Murphy was a blue heeler; he was loyal and extremely protective; space was necessary as was a good leader. He appeared to be where he belonged, but he needed a different environment, so did Murphy. Simplicity, home-baked sweets and savoury. A humble place with acres of greenery.

A good heart

Authenticity, humility, integrity and passion, he was all about heart. Drugs are a terrible thing. They eat a man's soul, mind and flesh. The life force is gone, the brain is vacant, the heart barely hanging on. No matter how much gets lost, you can still see the reality of a good human.

The devil’s playground

Coins went in the jukebox, and the devils heavy metal began to thrash. Spark up a Winfield red and stare down the bad men on the other side of the pool table.


The road was rough and winding through different parts of the small village that was full of people stuck in the past like he was.

Missing dreams

His dreams were few and far between. He had them, but his mind wasn't strong enough to realise them. They were all somewhere in the background of his confused and gaslit mind.

Living hell

This place was full of battered women, doormats and rednecks who were drowning their demons with liquor. It all went unnoticed in that stunning town of paradise. He never conformed to the bad man's world, and he never found his place, he just stayed in a living hell numb. At least he had Murphy.

"Robbie, you wan anotha schoona mate?" Harry yelled like a yobbo from the bar, across the dingy hotel room where the air was cloudy, reeking of smoking tobacco.

"Yeah, brother give me anotha one," Robbie said, smiling, showing his missing front teeth before he leaned down and roughed up Murphy by smashing his cheeks around.

Harry stumbled back from the bar and poured his change onto their table as he swayed sideways with coins scattering everywhere.

"Rack 'em up," I'm puttin some music on." Harry slurred as he proceeded to the jukebox with his clumsily selected coins.

Harry's music selection always gave away his truest, most-deepest self, the part of him that was left. He sometimes told his poetry to the demons he hung around; poems that revealed his hope for a better place for his and Murphy's and the rest of the heart of the world.

Image credit: USGS

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