The Colour of Kerosene and Other Stories by Cameron Raynes
By Cameron Raynes
In those fourteen tales, Cameron Raynes traverses landscapes of remorse, pleasure and redemption. In a rustic city, a lady plots to spoil her rival with an act steeped in racism. A welfare employee is requested to secret agent on a colleague. And within the award-winning name tale, a taxi motive force accepts a fare he is familiar with he shouldn't: "They headed east, the nude hills of the Geraldton plains, stripped in their bushes a century sooner than, leaning into them on either side because the motor vehicle climbed into the marginal kingdom. at the back of him, Luke heard the gurgle of fluid sluicing out of a bladder and right into a cup, smelt the candy stink of inexpensive wine. Itoccurred to him that it was once no longer too past due to show back." "Reading the tales in 'Kerosene' will placed airborne dirt and dust below your fingernails. Raynes's imaginative and prescient is hard-edged and infrequently downright brutal but it's studded with empathy, compassion and truth." - Patrick Allington
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Additional resources for The Colour of Kerosene and Other Stories
Little black flies swarmed around the fruit. Sam stretched out one arm and grabbed a banana, and the monster trembled. He pulled but the banana wouldn’t break loose. He glanced down and around at the townsfolk. Everyone was silent, watching him, waiting, he thought, for him to make a mistake and fall. Crazy Sam Briggs. “Okay,” he said. ” He jerked at the banana, once, twice, and it came away in his hand. She groaned. Where the banana had been attached, bright red blood gathered and fell in slow drops to the dusty street below.
He let them bunch up at the door behind him, then stepped aside and switched on the light to reveal a lavishly appointed dinner table. The walls of the dining room had been papered white with a faint red rose pattern. A picture Stuart had first mistaken for a big photograph mimicked a window on one wall. When he looked a little closer he saw it was a painting. Not a very good painting. He doubted even a very good painting would have chased away the overwhelming sense of being underground. It had something to do with the way light and sound behaved, something about the earthy smell of the air.
There’s still time for negotiation, Jessica,” I said. ” Jessica was doing what the nanopeople thought was Mom’s voice. I wasn’t fooled. Mom never whined. Not the old Mom anyway. At least we had the nanopeople’s attention these days. At first, Jessica had not bothered to even acknowledge our existence. Then we started pushing Mom into water over her head, and Jessica decided to talk to us. I tied the big rubber bands to Mom’s boots. “The word is bungee, Jessica,” Ada said. My sister was becoming one scary chick, I thought, what with her horse tattoo and western hat and the ever-present toothpick in the corner of her mouth.