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Inspired by flash fiction and the narrative non-fiction form, Memoria is a show which explores slices of life; moments in time that have transformed people and shaped who they have become. Whether it was the moment leaving a destructive relationship or the joy of discovering the taste of Wizz Fizz sugar packets, these 400-word snapshots will be adapted into audio stories with actors, music, and sound. Hosted by Nat V with illustrations by Peta Manning.
 
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About You Podcast flash story by Jennifer Crane This piece relates to a dream I had shortly before the unexpected passing of my husband at our property. I ask myself every day what I could have done to prevent an outcome that devastated our young family forever. 'If only' is hard to live with and writing the words doesn't answer the questions but e…
 
Silent Sisters Podcast flash story by Jay Alter I wanted to explore a moment in my life that fills me with regret to this day. It was life-changing, not only for myself but for my entire family. I'm just sharing my story. About the author Jay Elle Alter is an Australian based creative studying Journalism at Charles Sturt University. Living in Armid…
 
Dr Who in the kitchen of my childhood Podcast flash story by Marina Byrne I come from a family of 8 kids. We had very little money and I always had the sense that I needed to walk on eggshells to avoid triggering simmering tensions. With so many kids to feed, the kitchen in my childhood house was always in use and was the backdrop to a lot of confl…
 
The rollerskaters Podcast flash story by Suzanne Hermanoczki The Roller-skaters is a short memoir piece about roller skating. My best friend’s dad used to take a whole bunch of us kids either to the rink or the drive-in. The rink was one of those 80’s Terminator and Stranger Things all-ages kids’ with big hair hang out kinda place; with video games…
 
An L-shaped room Podcast flash story by Maria Griffin This is about processing a profound life transition. I was a chronic insomniac and operated on about 3-4 hours of sleep for the first 9 months of my daughter's life. I had very low coping resources and found the first year of being a mother very hard. Recently, I recalled these half-awake halluc…
 
So now I’m lying in bed and listening to the rain. The sky is grey and heavy, the rain is heavy and wet. Fat drops fall to the concrete like drip drip drip. I could be anywhere in the world but I’m not. I’m in Budapest and the city is crying big fat tears. The Danube is flowing and filling, the Danube is threatening to flood. I’m safe in my bed and…
 
The joint was artfully constructed with three Tally Hos; a sort of stoner oragami. I sparked it behind Grandpa’s old shearing shed and it smouldered in the stifling Christmas Eve sun. Inhaling deeply, I felt my eyes droop and my brain numb. As a teenager on Christmas Eve, I escape the watchful eyes of my relatives for a moment of solitude. However,…
 
My Chinese herbalist is coming down off E She drinks diuretic tea on weekdays / on Sundays takes MD She talks the walk / connect the dots / as she aligns my chi Dysfunctional / functional / holistic / ballistic This lifestyle’s feeling so sadistic In my quest for health, I became sicker and sicker. I followed the advice of people in the fitness and…
 
I heard the creak as our bedroom door was opened, very slowly, and left ever-so-slightly ajar. The thin shaft of light revealed the shadow of a man moving towards the bed behind the door. The bed of my eight-year-old sister. In the late 1960s, family structure was largely uncomplicated: hardworking dad, stay-at-home mum and a couple of well-groomed…
 
75 years, 8 months and 19 days seems like a very short life, doesn’t it? I stand here and see hundreds and hundreds of you here to grieve my father, a man so widely loved and admired. When my father died, my brothers and I talked about what, if anything, we would say at his funeral. For reasons that this piece hopefully makes obvious, we chose not …
 
I have died. I have died many times—before I was even born. After my birth, they still wanted me gone, but they failed. They pressured my parents to sign me away for adoption, but my mother held onto me for dear life. The story of my birth defined my personality early on, and it continues to inform who I am. When I tried to write about walking acro…
 
Tweenage angst. A first sexual awakening. So many hopes and so many regrets. My first kiss was about to happen and - stupidly, stupidly, I tried to outsmart it. Because I felt so smug, being able to spy through some holes in my straw sunhat. Oh, how I regretted doing that. I would never have this opportunity again. I thought immediately after the m…
 
Spirit of Punk Live storytelling The final part of our two-part series of live stories we recorded in conjunction with the Spirit of Punk at the end of last year at Buck Mulligan's bar in Melbourne. The principle of Spirit of Punk is simple. All you need to do is show up and read a piece of your work no longer than the duration of a Ramones song. H…
 
Spirit of Punk To begin our new season, we have something very special for you. A series of live stories we recorded in conjunction with the Spirit of Punk at the end of last year at Buck Mulligan's bar in Melbourne. The principle of Spirit of Punk is simple. All you need to do is show up and read a piece of your work no longer than the duration of…
 
*This episode contains descriptions of assault that may not be suitable for all listeners. Please use discretion. In a night of real trauma and fear, I had to reimagine and reclaim my role from that of being 'the prey' so that I could survive. Freelance Writer, Fashion Journalist, Professional Movie Critic, Nationwide Australian Style Writer, Yogin…
 
I sat in the waiting room, teeth chattering, gasping for breath between counting down the numbers flashing on the screen next to the TV running the seven am news at ten, the reporter regurgitating reports of this disaster in this country and that tension between those two parties, the volume turned down low, almost deliberately so you were forced t…
 
We’d been planning it for days, loitering at the drinking trough beside the tuck shop window. Leigh distracted him. I snuck up from behind. What a rush! How funny was that? It was 1963—a time when funny was defined by the Three Stooges. The Cream Bun by Roy Mears Few moments from your childhood live on. Memories are often suppressed. Yet, a smell, …
 
Writer Interview Rijn Collins This bonus episode is an interview Nat V had with Rijn Collins about her writing process. The interview was recorded in 2018. Rijn has two stories featured in season two of our podcast: The Eyes of the Bird and Rapunzel, Rapunzel. Episode edited by Nat V. Music in this episode by the Blue Dot Sessions. Special thanks t…
 
Writer Interview Ash Rehn This bonus episode is an interview Nat V had with Ash Rehn about his writing process. The interview was recorded in late 2018. Ash's #flashnonfiction story, Something Beginning With Chaos is our last episode for season two. Episode edited by Nat V. Music in this episode by the Blue Dot Sessions. Special thanks to our Patro…
 
Writer Interview Aprill Allen This bonus episode is an interview Nat V had with Aprill Allen about her writing process. The interview was recorded in early 2018. Aprill's #flashnonfiction story, The Sacrament, featured in episode 1 of our second season. Episode edited by Nat V. Music in this episode by the Blue Dot Sessions. Special thanks to our P…
 
Writer Interview Annie Drum This bonus episode is an interview Nat V had with Annie Drum about her writing process. The interview was recorded in November 2017. Annie's #flashnonfiction story, Tattooed Mother, featured in episode 16 of our first season. Since then, Annie has been on a writing retreat in Amsterdam and is currently being mentored by …
 
Mum’s driving the station wagon, Jenny, Jack and Grace in the back. Butch and Becky in the footwells grizzling. Esky, bags, towels, birdcage. The back-back is full. Suitcases on the roof rack. Butch looks guilty. ‘Mum, Butch farted.’ Something Beginning With Chaos by Ash Rehn Our family holidays were predictable yet anxiety-ridden occasions, drama …
 
I touched his face, his hair. His body. Cold. Hard. His face had no lines. It’s been said, the worry lines leave you instantly upon death. Will I lose my creased brow, I thought. Redemption by Lyn Mitchell Reflections in old age can grab your mind and transport you in fractions of time. Moments in our unique journeys are like flag posts in a desert…
 
Jesus wept, the saying goes, and there he was, on his crucifix, laid out on the unceremonious bench, cast rigid into a plaster block, laid to waste on the Swanston Street spine. Forsaken by Anna Sublet To see a crucifix, abandoned at a tram stop, spoke to me of false hopes, salvation, loss and delusion. Who knows when or if they will be saved? And …
 
There is no photographic evidence of us together; you didn’t bother with the father-daughter bonding this time. You didn’t stay in my life long enough to form any type of bond. Our family of four (soon to be five, with Mum heavily pregnant) shared the winter of 1965. And then you were gone. And Then You Were Gone by Simone Bowers Whoever said that …
 
*The episode comes with a warning. Violence is portrayed in this story. Discretion is advised. Before I had been imprisoned, I never thought of the physical and psychological effects of constant hunger. Some prisoners talked about what food they missed, and how it tasted. Prisoners reminisced about food. One Woman's Struggle in Iran by Nazrin Parva…
 
everyone’s teeth are broken but people keep chewing rocks. everyone’s stomachs are empty but people keep drinking gasoline. Boy in a Closed Mill Town by Zackary Lavoie Rural Maine was once a hotbed for Mill Towns. Entire communities were built around mills, offering a promise of wealth and stability. Unfortunately, most of these mills were eventual…
 
Alcohol is not a necessity when travelling…but it does help. It helps when the cold is so fierce your phone screen cracks. It helps when your housemates visit the local fish factory and realise, too late, that the stench of fish guts stays embedded in clothes for days. It helps when the avalanche sirens make you jump, when you step into a snowdrift…
 
In Paris, alone, five stories’ high, naked and taut, she perched like a still life gargoyle come to life. The Naked Woman in Paris by Simmon Wagner The Naked Woman in Paris has maturity only in hindsight. On this trip, I was very much in love with my wonderful husband, exploring Switzerland, Italy, France, Germany, Belgium, London and Paris, but in…
 
‘I have not run from the POLICE for over 40 YEARS. But I know HOW to’ Those are my FATHER’s words. It’s the 1ST of October 2017 He is ready to VOTE for a NON-BINDING referendum I am on the PHONE to him and I CAN’T breathe Why You Should Care About Catalonia by Silvia Brown On 1st October, before police used violence against voters in a non-binding …
 
The voices were loud. They always were. Once more he had come home long after dinner. Drunk. Always drunk. *A warning that this episode contains scenes of domestic violence and may not be suitable for everyone. Discretion is advised. Freedom 1964 by Lyn Mitchell I have lived for 70 years and for 60 of those years, I have lived with the knowledge I …
 
I knew I would survive if I lived under my parents’ roof until I was married, however, deep down I knew I wouldn’t thrive. I wanted the same experiences my friends were having. It wasn’t just about the alcohol and drugs, although there was plenty of them around and they were mostly good fun. It was about first times, first partners, first shared ho…
 
I only ever saw Dad go to church for weddings and funerals, and I asked him once, “but why do you believe in all that?” The Sacrament by Aprill Allen My father died of a brain tumour at 69 years old in the January of 2016. He was admitted to hospice on a Thursday and died the Friday of the following week. Nobody really talks about the process of dy…
 
I read about Rapunzel syndrome, where sufferers ate the hair they wrenched free. The strands knotted inside them, plump and dark, deep within their belly like a swallowed secret. Rapunzel, Rapunzel by Rijn Collins For many years my fingers would creep into my hair to wrench it out by the root. The sweet relief of this was extraordinary, and addicti…
 
First came the hair cut – off with the curly locks, never to return, even today. Then taking the scissors to the jeans. Slash, slash, slash. And, of course, boots, Doc Martens. Black, sixteen holes – what else? The Spirit of Punk by Nicolas Brasch Originally wrote this piece for an open mic event I host for emerging writers called The Spirit of Pun…
 
Coming of Age by Anna Sublet Teenage years were interesting for me, as the only girl in a neighbourhood full of boys. But when the boys from the other side of the tracks crossed the line, I had a rude awakening to the threats existing beyond the home zone. 'Smile!' Anna Sublet is a curious reader and an undercover scribbler. She is slowly coming ou…
 
In that moment I knew I loved you. The bitter months that led up to that night were nonexistant. Wiped clean. A different kind of love overwhelmed me. To Wait by Zara Marimuthu We have this picture of what love should look like. We see “perfect couples” and want to embody their relationship. But for me, I had to relearn what that image was. It wasn…
 
He tries to appear calm and explain to the doctor that she is dying. Why am I the one to do this, he wonders? Melting Moments by John Bartlett (part two) Melting Moments' is a reflection on remembering my mother from my childhood and then when she became older and dependent on my care for her like adult to child, all now 'melting moments'. This epi…
 
The kitchen is a warm comfortable womb on these afternoons. From the shelf the old brown Bakelite radio announces in its strident voice —'Portia faces life — for those who are in love and for all those who can remember.' He wonders if this Portia is like his mother? Melting Moments by John Bartlett (Part One) Melting Moments' is a reflection on rem…
 
What is it about lanes? What stories did you conjure up when your curious eye peered through the cracks of rusted corrugated back fences? What feet did you imagine trampled on bluestone surfaces? Lanes by Helena Spyrou Lanes is a remembrance of my teenage hood where I spent a lot of time walking through the lanes of Carlton in the early 1970s. I wr…
 
In the end, she only remembered that husband and son-in-law. Until the last days she’d score them with her wasp tongue. Wasp Tongues by Chaille Bos This story is in response to the death of my grandmother. It was my way of working through the reality that I never knew the real her and never had a chance to, and yet I found myself in a part of her n…
 
The Rock Dove keeps to himself, head down, pecking aimlessly at refuse lining the pillars of the bridge. Rock Dove Under Ditmars by Zackary Lavoie This poem explores the seemingly ignored issue of abuse towards men in today's world. In this moment, a man (a Rock Dove) is verbally abused by his girlfriend (the Falcon) and leaves him to "die" in an a…
 
Each time I entered the room I felt a shift in my body, as if accepting the uncomfortable things I was about to feel. As if knowing, that I was going to grow there. Acceptance, a short memoir by Tah Jimenez While I was writing this piece I felt a shift in my thinking as I walked into the mindset I used to have about mental health. I fit awkwardly i…
 
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