A second chance.

Annie was thirteen when she decided to undergo euthanasia. Her body would be frozen with her brain and conscious floating in suspended animation, all in the hope of a second chance, a second life.

Annie had grew tired of what she called her half-life. It had been limited to the confines of hospital wards, blood tests and invasive medical treatments. Annie was awake at all hours of the night, unable to sleep due to the extreme side effects of the new drug she was trialling. 

This will work. I know it. 

Her Father kept repeating this meaningless mantra as the Doctor administered the dosage. But Annie could see the doubt in the Doctor’s eyes. And in her Fathers. Her fate was sealed.

Annie would listen to lengthy podcasts during the night with her eyes closed. Drifting in and out of conscious, filling the empty void that stretch out before her. Sometimes she couldn’t tell what was real and what was fiction. Her dying brain choking out narratives and ideas to sustain itself. 

It’s okay if you want to give up. 

Annie would whisper quietly to her brain in the middle of the night. 

I know you are trying, but it’s okay if we die. 

It’s beaten us.

You’ve tried your best.

Annie’s brain didn’t reply. It was preoccupied with processing the poisons the hospital personnel had pumped her body with.

Annie had an inkling about what her brain might reply given the chance.

You know they’d never let us give up without a fight.


One night, Annie tuned into the medical science podcast channel. Sometimes she’d double check that it hadn’t swapped over to the science fiction channel. Science was advancing rapidly with paraplegics gaining the ability to walk through robotics and the vision-impared seeing through electronic contact lens, but the cure for her corrupt, cancerous brain seemed non-existent. 

The topic of Cryogenics was heating up (well, not literally). There had been an advancement in the science that was once believed to be only fiction. A Scientist claimed that she had been able to successfully extract and store the conscious of animals. The method was now ready for human subjects. The extraction of conscious was a huge leap for science, and was the missing link for cryonics. 

People dying of terminal illnesses or old age were entering suspended animation in hope of another chance at life in the future. Their consciousnesses would be donated to science – the consequences unclear. 

They were fuelled with hope that future doctors and scientists would discover the cures of illnesses and perhaps even know how to cheat death. It felt like a one in a gazillion chance. 

But Annie wasn’t looking to live forever. She just wanted to wake up in a world where she didn’t feel already dead.


Annie was cynical. The life in the hospital and the sleepless nights had aged her. She was thirteen going on three hundred. Annie had been promised many miracle cures. She became jaded quickly following her terminal diagnosis. 

One day when she was eleven, Annie and her Mother were sitting in the park eating chocolate ice-creams. A blonde lady in yoga pants walked over with a sympathetic smile. She began asking questions about Annie’s illness, the evasive ones that even close friends don’t dare to ask. 

Is there an estimated date of when she’ll ‘pass on’?

The woman began droning on about a friend of a friend who had managed to cure their brain cancer by only drinking green juice. 

And it tastes great! 

She thrust the green liquid in Annie’s face.

Take a sip, Sweetie

Annie sipped the juice, and noticed how the lady wiped the mouth mark afterwards. You know, just in case. It could be contagious.

What do you think? Can you feel your body being cleansed?

Annie smiled.

I’d rather die next week then live another five years drinking that disgusting gunk.

Annie kept licking her ice-cream.

The woman was shocked. 

Annie’s Mother smiled. 

It’d be a while since she had.

Annie knew the toll that her illness had taken on the family. Some days it felt like they were waiting for her to hurry and die. Her Brother had told her as much one night when he was drunk.


Annie kept a journal filled with her thoughts on being sick, life, and death. She secretly wished it would be published after her death becoming a massive hit, but doubted whether the Australian publishing industry would ever have the balls to do so.

Conscious extraction and cryonics became Annie’s sole focus. It was a long shot, but the slightest chance of waking up cured of her illness in a distant world filled her with hope. She had forgotten what that felt like. 

There was hope that she could live again, properly this time. Hope that she’d kiss a cute girl, or get too drunk on a Tuesday night with a group of friends. Hope that she could travel the world. She wanted to climb a hill, ride a bike, eat gluten, and finish school.

She wanted a second chance and felt like life owed her one.


It didn’t take long for things to come together. Annie would have her conscious extracted and her body and brain frozen as soon as possible. Annie was happy to be a test subject. Her entire life felt like an experiment, why not make her death one as well?

Her parents would have screaming matches in the hospital corridor. Her Father still had hope in the doctors of today. Her Mother just wanted Annie to be happy.

Annie was happy to die in order to live again. She also was fine with the fact that she might die to never wake up again. 

Her Father took the decision to the High Court, but they ruled in Annie’s favour. 

Annie’s conscious would be extracted the next day.

It was emotional to say goodbye to her family. Her Father didn’t say a word.

Annie tried to keep the mood light. 

It’s almost like I’m travelling to space or something, I’m just taking a big nap beforehand! 

Maybe I’ll send you a postcard from the future!

The look on her Father’s face was almost enough to change her mind. Maybe she was being ridiculous. Did she really want her brain, her body and her conscious experimented on?

But, there wasn’t time for second guessing now. 

She was part of something bigger now. Something that would alter the world in a way she wouldn’t expect. 

Annie entered suspension. 


Annie’s story is the first of three in the greater story of SUSPENSION which will be written as a science-fiction surrealist play. 

Intimacy Issues in review

From August 12th to 17th, Ivana and I poured our hearts out on stage while we performed Intimacy Issues. It was a gamble performing on opening night, no one but the tech operator had seen the show. The words were no longer for us, they were exposed to the audience and to criticism/critique/analysis/discussion.

But the audience were more than forgiving, it feeling like less of a performance and more an exchange.

I was surprised by the audience’s reactions to the work. Expressing when I spoke of deep insecurities of being along was met with laughter – not malicious, but still surprising.

An hour of me expressing my problems and insecurities somehow resonated with audiences from all different ethnicities, ages, sexualities, and background.

It feels so frightening yet reassuring that my personal insecurities are universal.

Josephine Alexandra wrote a response to the show which was featured on Verve Zine.

The piece can be found here.


Owning the embarrassing period experience

Check out the article I wrote about the depiction of menstruation in CIS* female coming-of-age stories

*I apologise that I do not acknowledge the fact that menstruation does occur to trans men and non binary people, this article solely focuses on the role of menstruation in cis female experiences (as drawn from my own experience)

Woof – Nina Buxton

Sunsets. (P1)


It’s a gorgeous orangey pink. Bloody beautiful. The mere sight of it takes my breath away. But, that’s more to do with the fact I can barely draw oxygen into my lungs due to the packed train. 

It’s 5pm on Tuesday. Everyone is itching to get home. I’m staring out the window. A sole audience member for the show that the sky is putting on. Everyone is looking down at their screens. The sky could literally be on fire and they wouldn’t even notice. Maybe if I tweeted about it they would. They’d look up, snap a pic and upload for it everyone else looking down at their screens.

I want to scream at them. 


They wouldn’t even notice. Or they’d film it and I’d go viral. Not sure what’s worse.

They are wired in and tuned out. These fancy phones are sucking the lives out of them – out of us. Life has officially become a passive experience. I used to not mind – everything looks better with a filter. 

I’m hungry for something different now. Something gritty. Something chaotic. Something real. That word has lost its meaning. The idea of being authentic on online is an oxymoron. 

I spend all day, alone, sitting in an empty bookshop. 

The yuppies come in here, snap an Insta pic and then leave. 

“It’s all online now. Joe got me Kindle for Christmas and it’s been fabulous. There like a million books on it and it weighs less than an iPad – Genius.” 

I feel like stabbing them. 

Nobody buys books anymore.

The truth feels cold and hard. It leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth. 

But, I can’t ignore it.

Print is dead.

And you’ve all killed it. 

Sitting alone and watching people walk past the store, devices in hand, has made a particular idea stick in my mind. 

Maybe print is dead in the ground, but it shouldn’t have gone so quietly. It could have kicked up a fuss, made a scene. Perhaps then we wouldn’t have mindlessly let it die. A papercut bleeding out to an agonising slow death. 

Print deserved better. And that shiny, arrogant wanker, digital fucking media, shouldn’t get away with a cold-blooded execution. 

And so, it was decided – I would avenge the unjust murder.

This simple idea has begun to spiral. 

I found myself awake at all hours of the night, obsessing over what would make print top dog. The answer was staring me in the face. 

I was gonna kill the internet.


An angry bookseller attempts to revive the medium of print by destroying the internet.

Introducing Intimacy Issues

India and Ivana have intimacy issues.

They don’t know what they want from relationships (or if they want relationships at all). They’d both been journaling in silence about this for years, but when they compared notes, they realised how much they had in common.

This show is an autobiographical theatre piece made up of verbatim excerpts of their diary entries, navigating their often contradictory and fickle relationships to sex and romance. Organising the show into three confessional sections – UNCERTAINTY, NEED, and POWER – the pair delve into desire, sexuality, guilt, shame, fear, social media, gender, identity, bodies, honesty, and love.

Written and performed by India Alessandra & Ivana Brehas

Showing at The Butterfly Club

Monday 12 August 20197:00pm
Wednesday 14 August 20197:00pm
Thursday 15 August 20197:00pm
Saturday 17 August 20197:00pm