Here's one of the stories. Thanks to Gillian Profaca for these three words: petrol, cattle, barbie dolls.
The road was flat and wide and straight.
The drone of the tyres.
The hum of the engine.
The whistle of the wind around the battered edges of the car.
The grassland was dotted with desperate trees crouching into the ground to avoid the sun. Hungry cattle huddled in the meagre shade.
The engine gave up first. It had sucked the last of the petrol from the tank and spluttered to a halt with thirst.
He pushed in the clutch and let the car drift on as far as it could. The sound changed as the wheels moved onto the road-side gravel and crackled to a halt.
â€œWhatâ€™s happening, Daddy?â€
â€œWeâ€™re just having a little stop, hun.â€
â€œDoes Barbie need to go to the toilet?â€
â€œOff course not, Daddy.â€
She looked out the window.
â€œNo, I donâ€™t think so.â€
His white knuckles clutched the wheel.