Andrea screamed until her face was purple.
(Jack Marx, Sorry)
Yachts swayed and rattled at their moorings; headlights swept us; the ghost of an old Empire Flying Boat road at the Rose Bay base, and our feet trod the fallen, inedible fruits of Moreton Bay figs—the grey, spreading, banyan-like trees which haunt the streets of Sydney, and whose giant root systems make buttresses and cavities large enough for hiding places.
(Christopher J. Koch, The Doubleman 7.2)
I crawled about the red carpet from book to book; I smelled their pages in a rite of worship; and then I hauled myself on to my crutches and swung to and fro, fairy figures whirling about me, all round the room.
Pointed, feral faces peer through leaves; half-naked, half-childish sprites with butterfly wings fly against the moon. They arch in delight through mauve, Otherworld twilight by Heath Robinson and Arthur Rackham; they soar above the star-soft night-lights of towns by Edmund Dulac.
(Christopher J. Koch, The Doubleman 1.3)
For himself he requested medicine as he was still feel good poorly and his skin was beginning to break out in great red splotches—much to the amusement of the Aborigines who nicknamed hum ‘Ballawine’, Red Ochre.
(Mudrooroo, Doctor Wooreddy’s Prescription for Enduring the Ending of the World 3.V)