This section publishes creative contributions mostly from currently and formerly incarcerated people. It includes short-stories, poetry, creative nonfiction, art, and much more.
If you have something creative to submit to us, we would love to read it, or see it, and publish it in About Time – please write to us!
Even if positive life events have been few and far between for YOU/now, the ingenious design of our transport allows you to revisit them time and again.
If you could travel in time, would you change anything? Or would you simply see for yourself how life has evolved? How far in time would you travel back or forward too?
It was late afternoon when he opened his eyes. The blanket of clouds had broken in several places, and beams of golden light planked the valley floor, illuminating the tops of the ruined buildings.
My record would be clean, I wouldn’t have hurt so many people, done so many burgs, or maybe I wouldn’t be raised by gangsters and by feds, but then who would I be?
I am or “was” a journalist – I was tasked with documenting and reporting advancements in technology. Recently a form of time travel was discovered.
Our time machine doesn’t take the form of a Tardis, or DeLorean, yet it does represent an equally large figure in pop culture and science fiction (at least those forced into hard labour on a mining planet colony usually got a spectacular view of the galaxy around them).
The decay of an atom indicates that time itself has passed, it is the origin of our concept of time.
Have you ever found yourself at the bottom of a well?
Time, for me, was at first just “the clock on the wall” at high school. When is lunch? When will this test finish? And when is home time?
A cheesecake recipe from inside, sent in by Timothy from a prison in QLD.
I’m sending a drawing I have done – I’ve only been drawing for about eight months now and I’m happy with my progress, as before I could only draw stick figures.
Today I went down the solitary lane, to seek revenge from who owe me pain. What I saw was horrifying, people gathered there too were crying.
Life is what you make it, my friend. The only opinion that should matter is your own. Why? Because beauty is in the beholder’s eyes and in the end, the grass isn’t always greener on the other side.
My life confined to a white sack, they dress us all the same. The sack is heavy, dragged around, but weighs less than my shame.
I wrote this song when I started my sentence in June 2026.
Somebody’s Daughter Theatre offers women within the prison system in Victoria, the opportunity to participate in weekly art workshops.
I felt compelled to contribute so here follows a few submissions for your consideration.
Dear Dad – entering into a trance, muttering words of vines, love stories you wrote, were magnificent and great.
Oblivion comes at a price I will not pay, I look to you every time as I begin words I pray. Rest my weary soul upon this red I lay, as this body of mine grows fatigued by words I tire.
Do you see what I see? I can’t see what you see. If you could see what I see, and I could see what you see. What would we see.
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