They Don't Talk About It Read online

  ***

  Olivia stood in the bathroom, her back resting against the door, twisting the new diamond adorning her left hand. She wondered if perhaps, after all these years, she’d finally won.

  ~~~~

  Fish Live In Trees

  “Did you know that fish live in trees?”

  “No, they don’t.”

  “It’s true!”

  “How?”

  “The leaves are little fishes.”

  “Don’t be silly. Fish need water.”

  “Yeah, that’s why we water them.”

  “I mean, they need water to swim in.”

  “Well, these fishes are in hospital. That’s why they’re not in the ocean.”

  “Hospital? But that’s where you go when you’re sick!”

  “Yep. The trees are fish hospitals. The branches are really a life support system that delivers water to the fish. That’s why the leaves – the fish – die if they fall off the trees.”

  “I guess that kind of makes sense…”

  “Of course it does. Would I lie to you?”

  “Well…”

  “Come on, I’m your big brother… Trust me!”

  ~~~~

  Mother

  We have a complicated relationship. I love her and fear her. I cherish her and treat her with indifference.

  She brings me joy and despair. She is beautiful and ugly in turn, or even at the same time – so peaceful from afar, only to reveal harsh facets to her personality when I get too comfortable. She nags me incessantly, gnawing at my guilt, crying that I don‘t help her even though I’ve told her time and time again that I‘m very busy and the spare change I send her should be quite enough, thank you.

  Sometimes she is a calm wave, sweeping across the clean white sand and splashing on my toes. Sometimes she is a furious volcano bleeding with pain. Yesterday she was a rich rainforest writhing with life and today she is a desolate desert suffering beneath the searing sun.

  And sometimes, she just cracks. I never quite know when it’s going to happen or how bad it will be. But as the floor sways beneath me, like I’m taking my first steps on dry land after a rowdy boat trip or a rollercoaster ride, I know she is only getting started. And when I’m knocked to my knees, shielding my face from the plates and glasses and mementos from my life that fly across the room and crash around me, I know that I’ll never be able to go home.

  Hell hath no fury like Mother Nature.

  ~~~~

  Black Dog

  It’s always there.

  When you wake up to another dreary morning, haunted by the ghosts of your dreams, it’s perched at the foot of your bed. Staring at you with big stoned eyes, then pouncing, and pasting a thick dollop of slime across your face.

  It’s always there.

  You stare blankly at grey, sickly features in the mirror. Your features. With a lethargic sigh, you systematically paint on your ‘happy face’ as the shaggy black dog sits dutifully behind you. Its head cocked gently to one side, it observes you with mocking sympathy while you examine the gaunt, scabbed skin stretched across your wrists.

  You mumble cheerful phrases before shuffling from the house to begin another day of existence. Someone calls your name, and you and the dog turn in perfect unison. It’s your best friend. You greet them with a glowing smile, and engage in some excited chatter about the latest episode of some inane TV show you can barely recall. Walking and talking down the street while a ball of matted black fur scurries after you.

  It’s always there.

  You sit gingerly like The Thinker at a cramped desk in the corner and scrawl illegibly onto the page. You vaguely recall a time when being good at school secretly meant something. When life actually meant something. When you experienced the world instead of watching from the sidelines. When you felt real emotion instead of this freefall into a pit of endless nothingness. You glance up at the clock on the wall, hearing each tick echo around your head. Coarse fur rubs irritably against your leg.

  It’s always there. Lurking in the shadows.

  Warm amber liquid slowly pools around your feet. This is a dog you couldn’t abandon; it’s too deeply entrenched in who you are. The black dog is your only friend and your worst enemy. You are the dog and it is you. Bound to each other. The dog tracks your every move, every second of every day. It followed you to school and it will follow you home again. It will be panting at your shoulder as you scribble a short message to the world into your notebook. It will hunt you down when you detour away from your house. And it will be sniffling at your heels when you sway at the edge of the footbridge, peering at the frantic river below.

  ~~~~

  Honesty

  “Why are guys such jerks?!” The young woman smacked her palm on the counter with a thunderous thwack.

  Behind the bar, Evan spun around, startled and amused. “Can I get you anything?”

  The woman blushed. “Sorry, I… um… Just a vodka tonic, thanks.”

  Evan scooped ice into a glass and poured in the alcohol, silently watching the woman out of the corner of his eye. She absently raked her painted nails through her auburn-brown hair and sighed: The “Stood Up” Sigh. Evan had pulled enough shifts at the bar now to recognise it.

  He added a lime slice and filled the rest of the glass with tonic water before placing it in front of the woman with a clunk.

  “How much?” she asked.

  “It’s on me,” said Evan. “You look like you need it…”

  She smiled sheepishly. “That obvious, huh?”

  “You get to see a lot from back here,” Evan shrugged, offering his hand. “I’m Evan.”

  “Chelsea.” She shook it.

  “Want to talk about it?” asked Evan.

  “To you?”

  “Sure.” He gestured at the near-empty bar. “It’s not exactly busy tonight and I’m a good listener.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t even know you,” said Chelsea. Under her breath, she muttered, “For all I know you’re part of the problem.”

  Evan thought about arguing, but decided it was best to keep his mouth shut and let her drink in peace. He certainly didn’t want Chelsea storming off into the night, or worse, suing him for sexual harassment. He busied himself by wiping down the bench and restocking inventory that didn’t need restocking, and was about to fix himself a Cuba Libre when Chelsea broke the silence.

  “I want to know why guys lead girls on when they’re only after one thing.”

  Evan let go of the lime wedge in his grasp and frowned cautiously. “Some guys want a committed relationship. Some don’t.”

  “They should just say so, then.”

  Evan raised his eyebrows. “You mean, like… ‘Hey babe, I just wanna hit it and quit it with you’?”

  Chelsea started to laugh. “Maybe not quite in those words. But believe it or not, we aren’t all looking for our future husband in every date.” She knocked back the last of her vodka tonic. “It’s lying about it, promising to call when you know you won’t… That’s what I can’t stand.”

  Evan filled his glass with ice and swirled in the rum and cola. “Everyone always says they want honesty but that doesn’t mean they can handle it. Maybe they just didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Don’t pretend you’re protecting me when you’re really just being a coward, Evan.”

  Evan blinked at the rebuke, before recovering. “Sorry. Here.” He squeezed some lime into the drink in front of him, dropped two straws into the glass and pushed it towards Chelsea.

  “What’s this for?”

  Evan bent down to sip from one of the straws and smiled. “I’d tell you but I’m just a coward.”

  To his relief, Chelsea returned the smile. “Well, as long as you’re honest about it.”

  ####

  Afterword

  The stories and vignettes that make up this anthology were penned over a seven-year period, with “Unspoken” originally written between exams when I was 16, and “They Don’t Talk Abou
t It” written for the #FridayFlash internet meme when I was 23.

  “Mother” was first published in Fault Lines, an eBook put together by Matt Granfield to raise money for victims of the devastating 2011 earthquakes in Japan and New Zealand.

  I would like to thank the community of amazing writers and readers I have met online through Friday Flash. The critique and encouragement they give me has allowed me to experiment and develop my voice through the bite-sized medium of flash fiction. Special mention goes to Chuck Allen, who was the first person to provide me with feedback on my stories, and Icy Sedgwick, whose “Mandrake” photo prompt inspired “Living on a Lie”. It’s a long road to becoming the writer I want to be and I’m not there yet but I’m gradually learning and improving.

  And last, but certainly not least, thanks to you for reading my first book. Your support will always be appreciated.

  About the Author

  Lee-Ann Khoh is a Perth-based Australian writer. She graduated from Curtin University's Journalism and Internet Communications programs in 2010. In March 2011, she was published in Fault Lines, an eBook to raise money for Japan and New Zealand earthquake relief efforts. They Don't Talk About It is her first flash fiction collection. You can find out more about her at www.leeannkhoh.com

  Connect with Lee-Ann

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/leeannkhoh

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/leeannkhohwriter

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