This is one of the many stories of which I can remember exactly when and where I devised it.
The first draft for The Dance of the Mayflies was written on the top bunk of a hostel bed in Queensland’s Gold Coast, in under an hour. All while I was chatting to some poor European guy, who sought my advice on his plan to pursue his furious ex-girlfriend, who was halfway through a solo trip across Thailand. I wish I learnt the ending to his story, for he ignored my advice and flew off to chase her first thing the next morning.
Anyway, that was June 2023. This short story sat on my computer for two whole years until I finally tweaked it and applied the final edits. Its subject matter is fitting for the time it was written in and remains, unfortunately, fitting for the present day.
It’s not one of my happiest stories, to say the least. But it is one of my favourites.




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