We’re pleased to announce the winner of the June WWWC: Julia Archer. Responding to the prompt ‘down by the river’ Julia’s winning piece ‘The Gallery Goer’ follows a down on his luck fellow making the most of things.

Read her winning entry in full below. This is Julia’s second WWWC win – her first was in May 2023. Read that entry here.

I go to the art gallery most days in the summer and the winter.

They let you hang around for hours, and there are places to sit. Sometimes there’s special exhibitions, so that’s something new to look at. And if you get tired of the paintings and different bits and pieces, you can watch the other visitors.

The school groups are the best, all the kiddies reacting to the art and the rest of it, and the bit of push and shove that can go on. There’s always a teacher explaining stuff and that’s interesting to listen to. I’ve heard so many talks, I even know if they’re dead wrong about something.

My favourite painting is Down on His Luck. There’s a bloke out in the bush, by himself, sitting on a log, with a little smoky fire going. He looks like he’s having a really hard time of it. He hasn’t shaved in a long while, and everything he’s got is wrapped in a grey blanket beside the log. But he’s dressed warm enough, and that’s something I’d notice.

Down on His Luck, Frederick McCubbin, 1889

So what happened to him? How did he end up like that?

I know what happened to me. Bit too much to drink, a few times. Well, maybe more than a few. Missus took the kids in the end. Then I lost the house.

But I’ve got a better spot than this bloke. Well, his is nicer, the bush and that. But it’s going to be miserable when it rains.

I’ve got a good possie under the bridge. The pigeons roost on the other side so that’s alright. I’ve got used to the traffic rolling like a thunderstorm overhead, and the joggers and the cyclists on the river path don’t even notice me up there. The Council don’t move me on. Nah, it’s good.

Down on my luck? Yeah. I suppose. But there’s others worse off.

Every morning I scramble up the bank above the cycle path to the road, and not far along there’s a bus stop, and in fifteen minutes I’m at the Friendship Centre for breakfast.

 I can hang out there for a bit, or if the weather’s nice some of us sit around in the park. The church across the park does a lunch for two dollars.

And if the day’s too cold, or hot, or wet, I go to the art gallery and hang out with my mate in the picture. He’s actually a down-on-his-luck celebrity. Which is funny, if you think about it. I’m one in real life, and the visitors stand for hours with a brochure and study him, and pretend they don’t see me at all.

But life’s pretty good. No complaints.

So last night I was just getting comfortable on the ledge above the concrete slope down to the cycle path. Got my stuff all laid out, and the traffic’s gone a bit quiet, and it’s going to be a good night. Not too cold. Pigeons have stopped cooing, gone to sleep.

Then there’s this almighty Bang! overhead, something big and dark is rushing down the dirt slope, blocks out the electric light a moment, and Crash! onto the path.

From the path lights I can see it’s a small white car, on its roof. Engine running.

I  scramble down, kneel on the path, and I can just see a middle-aged bloke inside, hanging head down in his seat belt. He looks at me, and I bang on the glass and point and yell, ‘Open the window!’

He must press a button, because the glass slides up.

‘You okay?’ I ask. It’s weird to talk to a man hanging like a fruit bat.

‘Yeah. Think so. Dunno what happened.’

‘You come off the bridge, mate.’

‘Oh. There was this huge bang. And it rolled over.’

‘Yeah, it did, mate. You’re a bit down on your luck, aren’t you, except you’re not dead, and you could’ve been.’

He squints at me, ’Where’ve I landed?’

I’ve had such a scare, but he’s okay, and I’m okay, and it’s suddenly funny, and I start cackling.

‘Upside down on the river path, matey. Upside down by the river!’

People are running from all over, they’ve seen him come off the bridge, and they’re yelling into phones and getting down and peering into the car and telling him the emergency are on their way.

The pigeons and I aren’t going to get any sleep for hours.