These short pieces were written in a flash fiction workshop - 5 minutes for each. It centres around one word from my childhood 'Topdeck' a word that made me vulnerable.


'Heeey Topdeck!'

Topdeck, a cadbury confectionary became my nickname at highschool. White choc on top and dark layered underneath. Everything that I came to understand as a colonised identity. I laughed pretending that I was cool with it. Inside peices of myself were falling apart. For years such a surface application of who I was botherd me. Eventually I unravelled those parts and picked up my real self bit by bit to stick it firmly back together. It's got nothing to do with who they think I am. I am Wiradjuri. I am part of the country, my fathers country, not seperate or whole individually. Topdeck is a myth to make them feel better cause it's scary for them to think I am just as real as a full block of chocolate. 


You know you are like a topdeck cause you look white and then you are black.

Yeh I supposed but that would make you a flake cause you aren't all there.

Why don't you just pretend you're white so ppl aren't reacist.

Dunno cause.

You know when you talk you say things funny.


Like when you speak like someone from Tingha.

I am from Tingha.

Yeh but you know when you say la and stuff.

What do you mean?

Well what does that mean?

It's like saying look over there.

Well it's funny.

I didn't even notice I did it.

Yeh but you don't speak as much like them.That's why you're a topdeck cause you're a bit more like us.


She's wearing the school uniform skirt too short with the wrong shoes, the popular kid at school. Sitting in the exclusive table under the gohst gums. Facing the oval as the boys pretend to just play touch while they tackle. She's listening to her friend, her friend that is a way of being cool. It's only cause this friends let's her sit with the, at lunch that she doesn't have to sit on the other side of the school. Sometimes she'd sit on the other side in the shade of the bus shelter. Watching people take shifts on the lookout for teachers to call out with enough time to chuck a butt in the gutter. So it was on seperate sides of the schoolyard she wondered between the segregated spaces. Today she's on the bench but tomorrow she might be off the team.