Welcome. Anonymous Author holds a mirror to the face of humanity, asking what it really means to be human,

and in doing so blurs the line between what is good and bad writing.

Follow AnonAuth on Twitter

Friday, August 12, 2011


...long drives on tarseal roads. The engine hums vibrations through soft seats and Julie, his younger sister, babbles excitedly about her first family holiday. Tearing past sports grounds and small towns and tussock paddocks full of sheep and cows and, if the fences give it away, deer, even though he never sees the deer. They don’t like standing near the road, maybe. The beach, the beach! Julie yells. A second person is in the front now. Two shadowy figures. One driving – must be dad, and one sleeping – must be mum; but they change like smoke into shapes of teachers and priests and friends and strangers, and it doesn’t really matter who they are. The car suddenly swerves across the centre line on a collision course with another. The nebulous driver smiles...