SUNSHINE COAST HINTERLAND WRITERS FESTIVAL
2026 WRITING COMPETITION
Second place
Phototaxis
There are 26 tiny moths resting on my balcony window.
It is only the light that draws them. A lamp casts a soft glow in the corner of my room, tinging the searing light of my laptop screen yellow. In the nebulous hours between midnight and dawn, it is the sole spot of warmth in cold inky blue.
It is fake, but they do not seem to care. The cloth mother and the wire mother, I recall, except artificial light cannot provide true sustenance, nor can it provide true warmth. I have shrouded myself in its false comfort, but it feels almost transgressional for nature to tuck itself here, too. As if we were the same.
The laptop stings my eyes. I put it aside, stretch my aching joints, then cross the room to join my companions. All the while, they sit still on the glass. Frozen in amber, almost. I pick a random one and press a finger to its silhouette. Cold glass meets my skin in return.
‘It’s just you and me, huh?’
There is no answer. I retreat in silence.
In the morning, they are gone. I remain shrouded in darkness. Thickened by their departure, it seeps into my head, slow molasses bogging down the gaps in my skull.
Light catches the corner of my eye. I lift my head towards it.
Beyond the glass, the rosy dawn is burgeoning into yellow. I am no exception to its coaxing warmth; I glide towards the outside, laptop lying forgotten on the table, some long-buried instinct swelling inside me at the promise of morning’s glory.
My apartment is surrounded by several concrete giants just like it. On any given moment, they stand silent and barren. This morning, they are filled. One by one, little dots emerge from the windows, all looking up at that same sky. They are so shapeless, so far away, yet I feel the thread of sunrays connecting us all.
Melted gold pours over our heads. We sit still on our balconies, bathed as one under that great big beacon in the sky.
Photo by Iosif Chiriluta on Unsplash