Blood Stains and Burnouts
Blood Stains and Burnouts
Brisbane was meant to be where I drank enough to forget Afghanistan. Instead, I got Martin for a flatmate — blood-obsessed genius, violin menace, pain in my arse — and two dead blokes from the burnout world at our feet. That should've been enough. It wasn't. Every corpse points back to Dust Creek, the girl everyone said died, the mechanic who took the blame, and the night I ran from so hard I left it rotting in my skull. The past hasn't come back for Martin. It's come back for me this time now.
Brisbane was meant to be where I drank enough to forget Afghanistan. Instead, I got Martin for a flatmate — blood-obsessed genius, violin menace, pain in my arse — and two dead blokes from the burnout world at our feet. That should've been enough. It wasn't. Every corpse points back to Dust Creek, the girl everyone said died, the mechanic who took the blame, and the night I ran from so hard I left it rotting in my skull. The past hasn't come back for Martin. It's come back for me this time now.
CHAPTER ONE: BULLETS, BOGANS & BLOOD SPATTER Part I
"G'day, ya poor bastards. Georgy boy here. Reckon you're wondering how a sun-fried country lad, broke..."
Part II
"You ever had a noise so loud it makes you muted inside? Not peaceful, not meditation, nor yoga, ever..."
Part III
"We piled into her rusty Hilux; the engine rattled like a tin of bolts rolling down a corrugated road..."
CHAPTER TWO: PANCREAS, PATTERNS & PISS-POOR KNOWLEDGE Part I
"Oi. You're back, didn't scare you off with the blood-soaked cricket bat, then? Good. Means you've go..."
Part II
"Living with Martin was like living with a spotless, silent ghost who occasionally left human organs..."
Part III
"Then there was the violin. On demand, when he had an audience, or wanted to show off — and the bloke..."