Hierdie is die LitNet-argief (2006–2012)
Besoek die aktiewe LitNet-platform by www.litnet.co.za

This is the LitNet archive (2006–2012)
Visit the active LitNet platform at www.litnet.co.za

Nuwe skryfwerk | New writing > Fiksie | Fiction > English > Published authors

Published authors

<< 1 2 >>

The quick brown fox
Ken Barris - 2007-11-12
Jay Barrell wrote “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.” It was the whole alphabet in a thirty-five-letter sentence. Now this was a bit short for a novel, even for a very short story. So he highlighted the sentence, copied it, then kept his mouse pointer on the paste button for twenty-five minutes, so copying the sentence thousands of times over. That made a good meaty novel. After reading it for a while, he realised there was a major short­coming — it was difficult...

Poor Kid (Part Three)
Harry Cronjé - 2007-05-21
Part One | Part Two Me and Trudy are playing Snakes and Ladders and I'm winning. I think Trudy doesn't really understand Snakes and Ladders, or maybe Trudy just can't actually count properly. I can count properly. You see, I'm the car and Trudy's the ship, and I'm sure the ship didn't really land on that long snake's head. I think it should've actually landed on that little ladder that goes all the way up to the top. "Nicky," says Trudy, "now remember tomorrow's the funeral,...

Poor kid (Part Two)
Harry Cronjé - 2007-05-09
Click here for Part One "Nicky," says Mrs Kemp, "for the last time, you're not poor; quite the contrary, in fact." "What's the contrary, Mrs Kemp? Is that when you're just a little bit poor?" "Nicky, forget contrary. Forget everything, and listen carefully. You, Nicky Stevens, are not poor. Okay? Don't worry about what anybody says. You – are – not – poor." "Okay, Mrs Kemp." "Right," she says. "I'll tell...

Poor Kid
Harry Cronjé - 2007-05-03
I’m sixty, and the angel by whose bedside I sit is eighty-four. She’s a lady extraordinaire and a keeper of promises. She’s my refuge, my comforter, my encourager, my strength and my breakwater. Her silver hair, splashed across the pillow, frames a face lined by the passage of time but still bright with love’s glow. She’s my treasure, she’s my Ma Trudy. Her favourite song has always been “Swing low, sweet chariot, comin’ for to carry me home …”...

The gala
Anton Krueger - 2007-04-18
My mother loved me very much. She thought I was the brightest and most beautiful boy in the whole wide world, and she made me believe that that there was nothing I couldn't do. I was in grade one at Empangeni Primary School when I heard an announcement made in assembly that we would be having a swimming gala. I immediately fell in love with the word. "Gala ... gala ... gala ...," I repeated to myself as I followed the other children down to the pool. I enjoyed the taste of the word...

A cold cold heart
Helen Brain - 2006-09-05
Sometimes it feels like the wind will never stop. It gusts down the mountain, across the stony scrub, over the back of the church and lifts the roof of our house before it passes and the tin plates fall back into place on the roof beams. It doesn't really lift the roof. It feels like it, though. The wind explodes through the gaps under the doors, through the ventilation blocks near the top of the high walls. Everything in the house rattles. The doors don't fit neatly into their frames - the house...

<< 1 2 >>