Alyssia Balbi
Bio
Hey, I am Australian and I am around 22 years old...I love to write, on my deck, with a cup of tea...this is just my being really, I am sure you will not judge. Thank you for coming here.
Stories (18)
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What Grandad Jack Built
I got to the farm close to 4:00pm, there were cars parked on the lawn, the driveway, all the way down the country road. The sky had started to blush and the cockatoos had begun their end-of-day pilgrimage across the bush. I parked at the end of the country road, Grandad had always been popular, it was no surprises that today of all days would be as busy as a funfair.
By Alyssia Balbi5 years ago in Fiction
Champei's Amok. Top Story - July 2021.
When I was eighteen, I was in the peak of my youth and having just been freed from the clasps of school, I packed a bag and lived solo in Cambodia for six months. The first moments that I spent in Cambodia, from stepping off the plane to sitting on the gutter with a lady who had no teeth but the biggest smile eating amok are the clearest in my memory.
By Alyssia Balbi5 years ago in Feast
Woman and the Shower
When I was little, about four or five, I used to take showers with my dad. It was a 70s style shower, nestled into the corner of the bathroom, with a glass door and dark blue tiles. We would sit on the tiny shower floor and play with plastic bath toys. We would pretend to be witches and make potions out of conditioner and soap. There was no shelving, so all of the shampoo and conditioner and soap bottles were kept in a corner on the floor; that to us became a castle, a mystic fort of our kingdom. Sometimes we would create a wild flood scene by sitting on the drain, or there would be a battle between the farm animals and the dinosaurs. We would sit there, in our square meter world and play until the hot water ran out.
By Alyssia Balbi5 years ago in Confessions
Flesh of the Babe
We slept in what was once a Catholic church. I lay on my back, my eyes fixated on the above. The ceilings soared, dust particles flew between the rays of dawn sun that escaped through the cracks in the curtains. The dust, seemingly borne on the wings of some unbroken, gently tumultuous breeze, a baby breath of freedom, the beat of a moths wing…
By Alyssia Balbi5 years ago in Fiction
