Excerpt

The crowd on Bourke Street parted like the Red Sea as the Dewosaurus rampaged down the tramlines. The noise, the confusion, the incessant dinging of the tram bells and now the blaring sirens all combined to confuse the great beast. The ringing in his ears, the noise, the colour.

He picked up a car and threw it smashing into the plate glass windows of a coffee shop, sending the latte sipper inside scurrying for cover. In the tumult that was his brain, the only thought he could hold onto was Bunyip. He had to find Bunyip. He to save Bunyip from living the hellish life he had.

The Dewosaurus headed up the Bourke Street hill, unaware that the police had set a trap for him. As he lumbered through the intersection with Exhibition Street, divisional vans screeched to a halt on all four corners. Immediately, policemen took up position, their service revolvers pointed directly at him.

The crowd quickly surged behind the police to encircle the Dewosaurus. He was trapped. He quickly looked left, right, even above him the police helicopter hovered.

He roared at the police but unlike so many times before, they did not flee at his threat. Instead, they held their ground, knuckles wrapped around pistols turning white with determination.

A expectant hush fell over the crowd. The Dewosaurus snorted and pawed at the ground. Would he charge? One last desperate bid for freedom? Surely such a brave but futile act could only be met with a hail of bullets.

Then something magical happened. From out of the crowd came a slight figure, hands outstretched.

The Dewosaurus caught its scent. Soft, unthreatening, nothing to be afraid of.

The figure approached the great beast and laid a tiny, womanly hand on his heaving snout.

“Hello. My name is Bryce. What’s yours?”