DUNSBOROUGH resident Glenn Hodgkin has claimed first prize in a national writing competition.
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The ABC Radio National's Pocketdocs short story award asked contributors to write a 500 word story about getting their wires crossed.
Mr Hodgkins drew on an event from his childhood in his story Non-toxic to beat a field of over 400 entrants.
The judges described the tale of a young boy who hounds his father to buy him his favourite toy, as both hilarious and dark.
Mr Hodgkin said he enjoyed writing about his childhood and was planning on publishing and performing his work.
Non-toxic by Glenn Hodgkin
Chapter one
Growing up we were a 'if-you-want-something-make-it-yourself' kind of family, and kites, gings and go-karts were no problem, but then something came along and I wanted it badly—but it couldn't be cobbled together in the back shed.
The first time I saw a commercial for Silly Putty it left me breathless, and not just because it was only 99 cents and available in all good toy stores, but because it was unbelievable!
'It can stretch like elastic, it can bounce as high as a rocket, it can snap like a stick and kids ... just put it in your pocket. '
'How could one thing stretch, bounce and snap?' I thought. Well, as the man in the commercial explained, it was invented by NASA, that's how!
The man even said it was 'non-toxic', not that I knew what that meant, but it sounded clever, so I asked my big brother.
'If you're stupid enough to swallow it, it won't kill you,' he explained, and with that I set about trying to get me some.
Chapter two
My father was a hard bastard.
If I asked him to buy me a toy he would spurn me like I was handing him a Liberal Party how-to-vote card, but when it came to Silly Putty I couldn't help myself, so I hounded him for weeks until he snapped.
'IF YOU ASK ME FOR SILLY PUTTY AGAIN,' he warned, 'YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO SIT DOWN FOR A WEEK.' And that was that.
Chapter three
I think it was a combination of the bottle of sherry Dad drank every Saturday night while listening to the trots and watching a John Wayne movie, but Sunday mornings were always volatile in our house and it didn't take much to get the bullets flying and wagons circling.
I hated the anger and sometimes I tried creating a diversion, like I did the Sunday after Dad warned me to never again ask him for Silly Putty.
Mum, Dad and us four kids were jammed in our Holden HR as we drove across town to visit our cousins, and as always I sat in the front in-between Mum and Dad who, as always, were arguing, but after a while Mum had enough.
'YOU WIN,' she screamed, and then no matter what nasty things Dad said, Mum wouldn't bite, so Dad gave up and we travelled in silence and I watched his knuckles on the steering wheel grow whiter and whiter, so I decided to say something.
'Dad, can you buy me some Silly Putty?' I asked, and that was all it took to get his blood flowing again.
Grabbing my T-shirt he let me have it.
'I'LL BUY THE STUFF,' he screamed with his nose touching mine, 'AND I'LL RAM IT DOWN YOUR BLOODY THROAT.'
Expecting that to be the end of it, he let go of my shirt, so he was shocked when I grabbed his.
'THAT'S OK,' I screamed back in his face, 'IT'S NON-TOXIC.'
Chapter four
Quickly realising what I had done, I cowered and waited for Dad to kill me, but he didn't. He laughed uncontrollably instead. So did everyone else, and all of a sudden it was like I was some kind of miracle-working family therapist but I had no idea why, not that it mattered, because Dad still didn't buy me any Silly Putty.
