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.
Often I try to self-reflect which turns into waves of rings around me. This picture reflects my days in general; life is static, surrounded by waves around.
The cage stands bold, with its steel-clad mesh. For within its grip, it’s us it holds. Ten foot walls, of cold creme concrete. For outside we muster, like horses in stalls.
I know you think you’re broken far too much to ever heal properly, like all those other folk that make life seem so real.
“The colours of the rainbow so pretty in the sky." The colours of my jocks lying, on a bench. Uncovered by shutters. Unarmed waiting snakes.
You begin to scream and shout. Roll about time to let it all out. Emotions running wild from the hurt and pain. It’s starting to hurt my brain.
Do you feel confined, please sympathise my pain. The lack of understanding, I find it very vain. Just imagine freedom, independence stripped from you, how would you feel and what would you do.
Another day another cell, can’t believe I’m locked in a cell. Imagine this is what it’s like living in hell, lawyers to pay but no money and nothing to sell!
Here’s a little rhyme. As I’m chilling doing time, paying the price for my crime.
What did you see when you looked at me? Just a little girl, I had no voice, you kept me down without a choice. You gave heartache and pain, said I was your endless shame.
They talked to us about our struggles, their words we could not hear, while being condemned and held accountable; our vision was not clear.
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