Pulpy Puddle, Mouldy Stars - By Amélie Bush

Written By: Amélie Bush

Category: Short story, poetry

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Delve into the evocative world of Amélie Bush with her submission, "Pulpy Puddle, Mouldy Stars," a compelling entry in the Short Story category of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This narrative traverses the complex landscapes of memory and emotion, capturing the reader's imagination through its vivid imagery and introspective tone. With each word, Amélie crafts a journey that invites reflection on past experiences and the intricate web of human relationships.

About the Work

"Pulpy Puddle, Mouldy Stars" masterfully explores themes of nostalgia and the passage of time, weaving a tapestry of imagery that ranges from the mundane to the surreal. The work's tone is reflective, evoking a sense of longing and introspection. Through its rich and textured language, the narrative immerses readers in a world where everyday objects and experiences are imbued with deeper meaning, prompting contemplation on the nature of memory and personal history.

1.) Pulpy puddle, 2.) Mouldy stars

Original Submission by Amélie Bush

Pulpy puddle:

Soggy orange juice tissues, a little drip drop on your lap. A lick of cold stickiness down the inside of her thigh, she spits a glob of guilt onto your face, down your cheek, eventually its in the puddle.

The drive home is bobbed wire and nauseous grey skies. Caffeine jitters from lunch. The general feeling is of an old burn being knocked against a very triangular piece of wooden furniture.

Dads laugh seemed more disingenuous today. Memories of sticking stickers onto his bald gleaming head force the corners of your mouth to curl upwards. Until, wait. That memory was a movie scene from a block busters dvd rental. Instead, your palms burn at the memory of grazed palms without any kisses to soothe the hot rash in between your fingers. My fingers meet my palms, crawling inwards, like they used to when I held his finger with my small hands. I think that one is real.

My old room is bulldozed with construction site dust and plastic covered walls. Dreams of renovation. Another spit bubble of guilt, inconvenience, and loss. “Excuse me miss, where’s my dad?” In a dirty Pick n Pay barefooted. I wear shoes now, it’s still dirty. Miss doesn’t know where dad is.

The aisle with the jelly jolly somethings would make me jump up and down. Tireously anticipating a sugar rush and then a crash. Things don’t really change all that much.

Grey skies still make me nauseous, my palms still burn when I trip, he’s lost somewhere in the orange juice puddle.

Mouldy stars

Soft panting of a gruesomely large dog on a spring afternoon. Snails are leaving snotty trails across face bricked boulevards, going home to overgrown weeds and rotting piles of leaves.

Maybe he leaves them there on purpose, I’ll make up any excuse for him.

Soft panting becomes alive with a wagging tail and obnoxious big steps. Crush go the snails on their way home from work. Two or three woofs upon my arrival and a gasoline scented hug from the other one.

Through the rickety structures of dead branches and snail corpses we’ll find the carpet. It’s fill of cat piss and whoever else’s hair. This is where I’ll sit, strategically. The trick is not not let your sweaty palms catch anything lying on the surface. Wear only tough fabrics or well-worn jeans in this space.

Something else always seeps through.

There’s a small ecosystem in these carpets, in the duvets too. If you lie on your stomach and let your chin seep into your knuckles you may catch all sorts of colours and scents sweeping past. Busy lanes of ants, small spiders, flying specs of dust and god knows what else crash, dance, and die in between the ruffles. Small neon green worms tuck themselves into the unwashed grey sheets next to us. They’re imagining shapes inspired on the mould on the ceiling like we do with the stars.

In summary, he didn’t own a vacuum.

There was a broom! And always a pile of whatever the broom was tasked with ushering out of the way. This pile was less exciting. Moving on.

The graveyard of cigarettes existed in the braai area. Skit marks of dirt(?) tyres, and muddy paws decorated the tiles around the ashy surfaces. Inside the ash an array of orange, pink, and red lipsticks sat chit chatting with the flames.

The table is smudged with sticky brandy (do not let your bare elbows touch the glossy surface). Better yet, wait for the cat hair to colonise the surface- nature has its way of adapting to change.

Avoid the pool, there are actually (seriously) lumps of soggy green that sway in its own volatile current. Not even tadpoles dare.

You’ll hear the sound of crashing waves and smell the soft sea air near by. It is imperative you sneak past the snails in a hurry. Drown your soft hair in sand and let the waves swallow you gently so that their current takes you to a safe shore, far far away. To live, happily ever after.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious platform celebrating diverse voices in poetry and creative writing. This competition invites writers from around the world to share their unique perspectives and creative expressions, fostering a global community of literary talent.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Amélie Bush for her powerful contribution, "Pulpy Puddle, Mouldy Stars," to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her work enriches the tapestry of narratives celebrated in this competition, and her distinctive voice continues to inspire and captivate.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.