I’m standing in the wide, white rooms of Contemporary Art Tasmania, staring at Figure Holding Ground.

Floorboards groan under my weight like a hundred old men.

I frown at the wall.

It’s hard to concentrate.

A wizard clomps up the stairs. “There you are!” she says.

I blink. “Huh?”

She checks a piece of paper. “You’re Isabel?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“I need your help getting some things.”

“What? Why?”

“Because that’s why you’re here. You’ve been waiting, right?”

I frown at her. “I mean, yes. But I have to be somewhere later.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you round. Just go through the motions.”

Then she shoves me at the wall.

Downfall, Collins St 5pm 2023 (After Brack), I Hope This Painting Ends Up In The Collection Of Parliament House

“First up,” the wizard says, “I need a bit of God.”

We’re sitting in the back pew of a church. A line of people shuffle down the aisle.

The wizard jerks her thumb at a middle-aged white guy on her other side.

“This is Parliament House,” she says. “He knows a lot about God.”

“Hi,” he says.

“Is it left hand over right, or right over left?” I ask him.

“Left over right,” he says. “Or you can stick out your tongue.”

“That sounds … gross.”

His eyes flicker. “It’s personal preference.”

“Do you prefer the priest’s finger on your tongue?” I ask.

He pretends not to hear me.

I join the queue, and Father Collins puts a thin, white wafer in my palm.

“The body of Christ!”

“Thanks.”

I shove it in my pocket so that it snaps in half before I turn back to the wizard.

“What next?”

Mia and Eliza Frazer

“I need some white tears,” the wizard says.

She seats me in front of a white woman in a three-star restaurant.

The woman smiles and shakes my hand. “You look a bit exotic. Where are you from?”

“Uh.” I glance away. “I was born here.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean – I …” she stammers, face crumpling. “It’s so hard, you never know what you can ask these days …”

“It’s okay,” I say. Then I feel annoyed at myself.

“Oh. Well.” The woman smiles. “I just love the food here. It’s so authentic.”

“Oh?”

“I have lots of friends who cook this stuff at home. It’s the real deal, you know?”

“Oh.” I grimace.

“Like, this so good,” she mumbles through a mouthful. “I can’t believe some people don’t appreciate the people who make it. So narrow-minded.” She sighs.

“Don’t you mean racist?” I ask.

“No!” She frowns at me. “No, not that bad. They’re just a bit … ignorant.”

“It’s racism,” I repeat.

“What?! I’m not –” She puts down her fork. Then she starts crying. “I can’t believe you would … say that. That’s so horrible.”

The wizard reappears at our table and wipes the woman’s face with a serviette.

“Nice and salty,” she says.

Civil War (Constructivist Combat Drones), Force Majeure (Underworld Bunny)

The wizard taps me on the shoulder, and I blink.

We’re in front of the largest tree I’ve ever seen. Its branches stretch further than I can see, and its roots are thicker than my arms. But the leafless limbs are rotten, and the smell of decay fills the air.

“I need you to find some new growth,” the wizard says.

“On this?” I sniff. “Looks long gone.”

“Down there might be different.” She points into a hole between the roots.

I try to step into the hole carefully, but I slip on some mud and tumble through dirt and bugs until I land in a wide, empty cavern. There’s a thick, rotting stench.

I dust myself off and look for something green.

Cold mud squelches under my feet.

Then, I hear something move.

Kksst-kkstt.

In a dark corner, a white bunny chews on a cluster of fresh, green leaves.

I kneel beside it and pluck one. The wizard appears beside me.

“If this is the last bit of growth, won’t the bunny kill it?” I ask.

“Maybe.” She takes the leaf. “It might die on its own.”

Grotesquerie no. 19, The Lamp, Monkey Business 2024 (taken)

The wizard leads me into an office with a little, yellow-haired man.

“We’re going to get some pansies,” she says. “This is Doctor Grotesquerie.”

“Hi,” says Doctor Grotesquerie. “I need you to get undressed, please.”

My skin crawls, and I scowl. “I hate these. Do I have to?”

“Just a routine check.” He smiles carefully. “For your wellbeing.”

I lean back and stare at the ceiling.

I feel something cold. A pinch. A stab.

“Ow! What the–“

“Wow!” He lifts his hand from between my thighs, and a tiny sprig of purple pansies stands up between his fingers. He looks at it in wonder. “How’d that get in there?”

I snatch it away.

“That’s mine.”

We’ve Been Talking, Blood is Tender, Five Year Plan

The wizard opens a trapdoor on the floor.

“Follow my lead on this one,” she says.

We’re in a narrow side street. The ground is cracked and dry, and the air is thin.

The wizard opens the door of a blue and white car and leans under the wheel.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

There’s a snapping sound, and the engine revs to life.

“HEY!” Someone yells behind us.

“Get in!” The wizard shouts. I clamber in beside her, and she puts the car into gear, stamping on the accelerator.

“Did we just steal this?!” I yell.

We screech around the corner, and she yanks on the glovebox. A half-open packet of Starburst falls out.

“Gimme one,” she yells. “A watermelon one!”

The streets are empty, and the sky is smoke-grey.

I unwrap it while she drives, and she bites it from my fingers.

The tank is almost empty, but she keeps driving fast.

I stow the empty wrappers in my pocket.

The wizard grins at me, pink sugar stuck between her teeth, and something giddy unfurls in my belly.

“Isn’t this fun?” she laughs.

Almost, Big D, Spring (Ride 5)

We screech to a halt outside a plain, concrete building. The door is made of steel.

“Go inside,” the wizard says. “There’s a test.”

“Like an exam?” I ask.

“Basically.”

When I step inside, the door clicks shut behind me.

There’s a metal table with an empty chair at one end. At the other end sits a man dressed in blue. His nametag reads Big D.

“Sit,” he says.

I sit.

A piece of paper is on the table. One sentence is written at the top.

“You have thirty minutes,” says Big D.

I look at the paper.

I look at Big D.

Big D looks back at me.

Seconds tick past.

My breathing feels shallow.

“I can’t do this,” I say eventually.

“You have to do what’s on the paper,” he says.

I look down at the paper.

Create a balloon diplodocus, it says.

I look around. “You didn’t even give me any balloons,” I say. Not that it would make a difference.

“Are you saying you’ll fail?” he asks. “You’ll bomb? Drop out?”

I frown at him, annoyed. “I don’t have to do this.”

I grab the paper and walk to the door, which I’m surprised to find unlocked.

The wizard stands outside, smiling, a balloon animal resting in her hands.

Leapyear Ladies Pop, Cross, Crocodile Milk

“Can you bring me something you forgot?” the wizard says.

We’re standing on my own doorstep.

“How can I bring you something I’ve forgotten?” I ask. “Wouldn’t I forget?”

She opens the door. “You’ll see.”

I walk into my house and see myself.

“Huh?”

I’m just inside the front door. But I’m also in the kitchen. And sitting at the dining table. And sleeping on the couch.

I look older, younger, and the same.

I try to poke the shoulder of my self the couch, but my finger floats through my flesh.

I realise I can’t affect them, so I sit down and watch.

My younger self talks on the phone. “I told you, oat milk. Not crocodile milk.”

My older self googles skincare products that contain hyaluronic acid.

My self on the couch wakes up and leaves the room, forgetting a pair of earrings on the coffee table.

I pick them up, knowing I won’t miss them.

Training day

I wake up in my own bed, with the wizard sitting beside me.

“Good morning,” she says. “Are you making coffee? I need some.”

“Sure.”

I put the kettle on and prepare a cup, a filter, the coffee, the milk.

Put the washing in the machine. Place bread in the toaster.

Boiling, beeping, popping, rumbling.

Everything hums, and I hum along with it.

I open the milk. Pour and oh my god it’s empty what the fuck d–

Wait. There’s another carton in the fridge.

Pour the milk. The coffee drip, drip, drips.

I close my eyes and listen.

Everything in my mind goes still.

Strangers, Between heaven and earth

We go for a walk and find a cave with a huge, round stone beside it.

“You should go inside.” The wizard smirks.

“You’re not gonna lock me in, right?” I ask.

“Nah.”

As soon as I walk inside, she rolls the stone across the entrance.

“HEY!” I slap my hands against the rock and yell. But she doesn’t answer.

In the dark, I curl up on the ground until I have a dream.

It’s about a person I once knew. We eat sandwiches in the park, and I let them stroke my hair. Their fingers feel like flower petals, and I fall asleep in their lap.

When I wake up, I’m lying on the cold ground. The stone is gone and there’s sand all around me.

The wizard is perched nearby.

“Did you have a dream?” she asks.

“No,” I lie.

“Oh.” She looks slightly disappointed.

Back in the gallery, the wizard puts everything into a drawstring bag. Sand, pansies, coffee, serviette, a leaf: it all stacks up into a small, messy pile.

“Is that everything?” I ask.

“Yep. What do you think?”

I think it looks silly, and gratuitous.

Before I can say anything, the wizard cups her hands around the bag, and between her palms, it starts to burn.

My jaw drops in horror. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Long, orange flames lick up between her fingers.

“Breathe in,” she whispers.

I jerk back as the smoke curls towards me, but the smell of it reminds me of something I can’t quite place. I close my eyes, trying to remember, and I hear the wizard laugh.

When I blink my eyes open, the gallery is empty.

The walls are bare, and I’m alone.

I reach out to where a painting was hanging just seconds ago, and a smear appears beneath my fingers.

My hands are covered in dark grey ash.