The award winning short fiction podcast on village life - In no particular order. Three Corners is just your average small town. But like all small towns, scratch the surface, and you’ll be surprised at what you find underneath. In that sense Three Corners is really no different to any other small town I know, except perhaps, for some of the characters you might meet.
She had the dream, the dream they all did. The difference was, that she had the means to make that dream come true. She could just pack up and leave.
Produced by Postie.
He just wanted some peace at work. It was crowded with people seeking advancement, constant agenda driven behaviour, courtesy-less teamwork and it was exhausting. Just once, he'd liked to be the one people listened to. It was time to escape. Produced by Postie, photo by Feyza (@asumaani) and inspiration from Will & Steph (@picniccafehobart)
Sneaking past the blue bike in the laundry was the hardest. Everything was crammed in so tight it was hard to manoeuvre. Produced by Postie, photo by Leandro Boogalu.
It smelt of dust, stale air and old memories. The sun light filtered through the window as the motes flew around the room in the wake of his footsteps. Once it was empty, a room of promises; a study, a nursery, a sewing room, guestroom and now... Storage. Produced by Postie, photo by Pexels.
Every time he climbs the stairs, she sees that he looks in. Is it a reflex? Is it curiosity? Is it a little more sinister? The stairs run along her loungeroom windows, so many people walking up to the top flats do peep in, then realise what they’re doing and look away quickly. Embarrassed. Produced by Postie, photo by Niels Hunnersen.
For six months he caught the bus in to work. In those six months only two people returned his greeting. Two. Apart from the bus drivers, who always said hello, shared a joke, commiserated on a sporting team’s loss. Produced by Postie, voiced by the Franklin Frosties, and photo from Pexels.
He liked to think of himself as the Bard of the Backyard. The Shakespeare of the streets, the voice to the voiceless and the antidote to the dope of the wires. Produced by Postie, photo by ShonEjai.
A longing. A longing for sea breezes and misty rain. For green, green grass all year round, for trees that stood tall and grew straight. No more red rust dust. The smell of the smelter, it’s acrid taste so constantly depriving his senses of real aromas, of real flavours. Produced by Postie, photo by Button Pusher @ Pexels.
The offender sat quietly in her cell. She wasn’t a flight risk, the door was open, however it didn’t stop the disappointment of the police officer who brought her in, nor the sigh of resignation that came from the duty officer. Produced by Postie, voiced by Lizzie, Greg and Jacq. Photo by Irina Iriser.
She lived alone, and strangers in the valley made her nervous, especially strangers in her driveway... Produced by Postie, voiced by Anthea, Tony and Jacq, and Photo by Pat Whelen.
Swimming gave him the most incredible sense of freedom. He ploughed through the water, spinning, turning, loving, laughing. He moved smoothly, so sign of discomfort. It was his equaliser and he never missed a day. Produced by Postie, voiced by Jacq and Andreas. Photo by Pixabay
Her sisters said it only needed a tiny space to squash into. When it left that space it grew a hundred times bigger. They knew. They’d seen it.
They’d only just gotten away with their lives: But her courage was as big as her imagination. Produced by Postie.
Stockings covered the old rusty hills hoist, a legion of legs, rotating in the soft earthy morning breeze. Hung up at dawn before the workers trouped through the apartment courtyard, coffees clutched tightly... bleary eyed and immune to curiosity. Produced by Postie, photo by Ruslan Alekso.
The little tartan shopping trolley had been brand new for four years. It had sat it the corner, collecting dust and detritus while adjusting to its new role, ridiculing its owner with its garish colours.
It was a Queen Anne. A small tea cup with delicate violets painted on the bone china, with a gold rim on the handle and lip.... Produced by Postie
At first he thought it was an apparition…. Then a late night hallucination, brought on by too much work, stress and lack of sleep… But after the third night he realised that what was happening outside was as real as the deadline he was pushing.
Produced by Postie, photo by Pixabay.
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