Tom Reed

Lives in Melbourne. Writes things. This is one of them. (A little NSFW).


Lucky walks in to find an angry answering machine. It leers out at him from the darkness. A red three hovering above the table. Like an omen. Reflecting off the shitty, cancer-ridden looking tinsel hacked into the wall above it makes the small table seem like a shrine to evil Christmas.

Which you know, isn’t far from how Lucky feels about the holiday.

He flicks his mobile on and sure enough it spasms with the promise of multiple missed calls.

Some from his brothers. The ones that call.

Two from an unknown number.

And one from Dad.


He turns back to the answering machine on the table, still glaring at him for allowing so many messages to build up unchecked.

His finger hovers over the delete button. An instant reaction. Something at the last minute changes his mind and instead a robot fills the empty hall followed by….

His brother Michael: “He must be still driving that stupid...

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