tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39225837552641552024-03-13T13:35:19.279-07:00Square Pegs E-zinean eclectic collection of short stories for your reading pleasureDA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-65684287094736344222021-10-27T20:33:00.006-07:002021-10-27T20:34:21.622-07:00Capricorn Moon<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj4bfnSgOfmY-lkQSxLwnC_xoMnX_uK8xJVoan2Vjaj1Ss2bHys6-8NGhM7yqTCF43ZVggi45EDhhhWlibqZKiko1hZON-xtcj4qc58gozf9_11LZHgO1nXjCKEz5ow1JtXWtDw7IzoMY/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj4bfnSgOfmY-lkQSxLwnC_xoMnX_uK8xJVoan2Vjaj1Ss2bHys6-8NGhM7yqTCF43ZVggi45EDhhhWlibqZKiko1hZON-xtcj4qc58gozf9_11LZHgO1nXjCKEz5ow1JtXWtDw7IzoMY/w400-h400/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>‘The moon rotates on its own axis a hundred times slower than the earth.’</p><p>‘Really,’ she says. </p><p>She seems interested, but logic tells the selenologist that he has insufficient experience with women to correctly determine her level of engagement. He continues because he’s afraid of silence. ‘The dark spots are craters filled with basalt which is a very dense material.’</p><p>She picks up the salt shaker and jiggles it. ‘Is basalt like table salt?’</p><p>Hoping the smile he squeezes out does not reek of condescension, he answers, ‘Basalt is a dark-colored, fine-grained, igneous rock composed mainly of plagioclase and pyroxene minerals.’</p><p>With no response, other than a quizzical stare at the salt shaker, to guide his next words, he’s lost for a moment. He resorts to knowledge because he knows that knowledge is interesting, powerful, even intoxicating. Intoxicating? Really? Whatever its effect, he has a plenteous supply, and he knows he must play his strong suit. Before he speaks, she asks a question. She’s hooked. She must be.</p><p>‘How big is the moon?’ </p><p>Although he knows the exact figure, he doesn’t want to show off so he says, ‘The moon is roughly 3.8 billion hectares’ He lets the words float in the aromatic air between them. He’s an expert on the moon so he knows what he’s talking about. There’s no question of his superior intellect, nor any doubt that she will yield to its force. But she’s so beautiful he can hardly breathe and he fears his normally irresistible attempts to assert himself via intellectual assault will fail. Shipwrecked by the storm of his emotions. The lighthouse of her eyes pulling him closer rather than warning him away from the rocks. He feels, and it’s like the first time he has felt. What is it exactly? Extraordinary. He wants to be wrong. Why? Will she seize on his vulnerability? Will she be seduced by his weakness. He wants her to.</p><p>‘What star sign are you?’</p><p>She’s leaning forward across the table but he doesn’t know if it’s because she wants to be closer to him, or because she can’t hear properly over the noise of the busy restaurant. Her blonde hair falls around her face and onto her shoulders in soft fragrant curls. The question she asked is backed by bright green reptilian eyes which grip him and cause him to tremble. He doesn’t want to talk about pish posh astrology. It’s so unscientific, it’s positively offensive. Yet he’s compelled to answer. Her liquid voice is truth serum. Her sexuality overwhelms him. She radiates seduction.</p><p>‘Capricorn.’</p><p>The woman bounces in her seat and her head moves around. She’s smiling, tittering. She’s excited by him being a Capricorn. This is so stupid. Insulting, but dammit if beauty was brains she’d make Einstein sound like Britney Spears after a night on the tiles.</p><p>‘Okay.’ She takes a melodramatic breath. ‘Let’s see. Moon in Capricorn means you don’t like taking risks so you plan ahead, and you feel safe when you organize things, and try to cover all eventualities.’</p><p>Apparently, she’s waiting for the selenologist to respond in awe to her astrological sagacity. He’s amused rather than awestruck, so he holds his tongue.</p><p>‘You come across as a bit cold because you aren’t comfortable with your feelings, and especially avoid sharing them with others. You also don’t like others pouring their hearts out to you. It’s just way too messy.’</p><p>He realizes, as he watches her elegantly sip her cocktail, that he doesn’t know her name. She asked permission to sit with him, and he consented out of courtesy. Despite feeling the onus was on the woman to initiate conversation due to the fact that she had invaded his space, the selenologist had spoken first. That had surprised him. This astrologer was right when she identified his need to control situations. That was why he started talking to her. He couldn’t stand the awkward and potentially embarrassing quiet. She had seemed perfectly at peace, and he found that disturbing. Remembering the onset of their discourse, he realized he had forgotten the pleasantries: simple greetings, introductions and mandatory small talk concerning the weather. The selenologist had dived straight in to his comfort zone: his area of expertise.</p><p>‘Look, Miss…?’</p><p>‘Call me Angel.’</p><p>He reaches for his glass of whiskey and recklessly empties into his mouth. It burns his throat and he coughs. When he feels confident that he can speak, he can’t bring himself to call her Angel.</p><p>‘I…’ he begins but can’t continue.</p><p>Undeterred by his sudden dysphasia, Angel leans forward once more and says, ‘Moon Signs help define our emotional development. They express the unconscious side of our personality. It explains why we do what we do.’ </p><p>The selenologist musters his resolve and decides to attempt to regain control. ‘The moon is a satellite which orbits our Earth in twenty seven days, seven hours, forty three minutes and eleven point six seconds.’</p><p>‘Moon signs are a very accurate description of what a person is like,’ Angel counters. ‘People born under a Capricorn moon are usually very intelligent, with a deep respect for knowledge, and are adept at using it for their own benefit.’</p><p>‘If you could drive a motor vehicle to the moon, although obviously you can’t, it would take one hundred and thirty days of continuous driving.’</p><p>‘Authority and knowledge help you to feel more in control. You are afraid of rejection, and rarely at peace with yourself.’</p><p>With a stalemate thus established, the selenologist and Angel gaze into each other’s eyes, and are swallowed by the poignancy of the moment. He’s aware of blood rushing to his head and experiences breathlessness, so he looks for any similar signs of discomfort in Angel’s pretty face. He warns himself not to lower his eyes but the warning itself is enough to cause the action. If Angel notices his quick peek at her chest, she manifests no awareness. The war within him is exhausting. There is no sensible reason for him to resist her commanding charm. The pleasure he feels is terrifying and Angel offers nothing to suggest she means him any harm. Quite the contrary. Every word she said about him was true yet her tone is devoid of implied criticism. He could infer it if he wishes, but Angel completely lacks malice. He knows emotional vandalism: God knows how many times he’s been on the receiving end. This beautiful astrologer is the epitome of enigmatic. The selenologist intuits the significance of his next words so he chooses them carefully: editing and revising in his head as Angel persists in holding his gaze. It seems as though she worries that if she releases him, he will fall and shatter on the floor.</p><p>Finally, as the suspense threatens to detonate his conflicted mind, Angel averts her eyes and fumbles for her handbag which sits beside her feet. The selenologist slowly releases the breath he has been holding. He suspects every patron in the restaurant hears the hurricane howl as he exhales. Angel rummages in her bag and he watches, wondering.</p><p>She’s holding a business card which she places on the table in front of him as she stands. Smoothing down the front of her blouse draws his attention again to her chest but she’s not looking at him anymore. The spell is broken. Free of the enchantment, the selenologist reaches for his glass but he’s forgotten that it’s empty. He clings to it nonetheless. He glances at the business card then at Angel. Although ready to leave, she waits. What’s she waiting for?</p><p>‘We should talk again sometime. I’ve really enjoyed it,’ she says. ‘Call me.’</p><p>The selenologist watches her leave. He’s dazed. His head spins as he picks up the business card and reads it. He’s drawn to the large font overlaying a photograph of a full moon. It says Capricorn Moon. He orders another whiskey and stares at the card. An unfamiliar rumble inside his heart shakes him and produces a strange sound which he hopes no one else hears. He recognizes the sound now. He’s heard other people refer to it as laughter. </p><div><br /></div>DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-10595907915645677152021-04-04T18:09:00.000-07:002021-04-04T18:10:12.656-07:00Top End Angel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvgNkwP4FueNrqXCqh3t8Gu83dRE0Kr3-_BFoceVUkj2TydVpyA66QPZaumUPhvQ1uPIGwD1zDhVS_gufnHBcnp50tz87RDgTFPC_z50nSmEbozQSLvA3JnhYQxtvMkjt7p_MDuQMd5Q/s2000/Christine+Bell+studio+angel+painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1863" data-original-width="2000" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvgNkwP4FueNrqXCqh3t8Gu83dRE0Kr3-_BFoceVUkj2TydVpyA66QPZaumUPhvQ1uPIGwD1zDhVS_gufnHBcnp50tz87RDgTFPC_z50nSmEbozQSLvA3JnhYQxtvMkjt7p_MDuQMd5Q/w400-h373/Christine+Bell+studio+angel+painting.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;">(contemporaryartbychristine.com (image used with permission of the artist)</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">There was a bombardment of crocodile jokes when I
started sharing the news I was moving to Darwin. I didn’t know anything much
about Darwin, apart from Cyclone Tracy and a vague awareness of the bombing of
Darwin by the Japanese. I knew it was the capital of the Northern Territory,
and that it was our smallest capital city, smaller by half than my hometown of
Wollongong. I also knew I wouldn’t be encountering crocodiles roaming the
streets of suburban Darwin, any more than I met kangaroos bounding free, left,
right and centre in the suburbs of Sydney and Wollongong. I also knew Darwin
was a hot place.</span></p><p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">With my marriage over, and the demise of the
substitute relationships I got involved with afterwards which caused trouble in
my family, particularly with my children, I felt like it might not have been a
bad idea to get away. I’d become very good at making bad decisions which had
unpleasant consequences for me and those I loved. My hope was that this was a
good decision: a strategic move to help me and those I’d hurt recover. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was early in 2016 and I had been working for
Mission Australia in Wollongong for three and a half years. I’m an English
language teacher and as all teachers in this sector know, the availability of
work relies heavily on the number of students we have enrolled. When
enrollments started to dry up, and classes were being collapsed, I could see
the writing on the wall. I needed something stable in my life and work had been
that one thing during an incredibly difficult four year period. Had I lost my
job at that time, it would have been devastating so I decided to take matters
into my own hands. With nothing tying me to Wollongong, and a feeling that it
might be good if I removed myself from everything and everyone familiar for a
period of time, I applied for teaching positions all over the country and
around the world. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">In July of 2016, I treated myself to a holiday in
Alice Springs; my first venture into the Northern Territory. I had wanted to
experience Uluru for as long as I could remember so I booked a tour to ensure I
got maximum bang for my tourist buck, and that I did. Whilst in Alice Springs,
I received a job offer; the only one out of all the applications I had sent
out. Due to the desperation of the company looking to employ me, I was able to
negotiate a very attractive salary which included my airfare to Darwin. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was one other stumbling block to me leaving
Wollongong. My dad had been recently diagnosed with stage 4 mesothelioma (lung
cancer). There was every chance that, although he was relatively healthy at
that time, he could rapidly deteriorate. I was moving thousands of kilometres
away from him. If he went downhill, how would I get to him? I asked him how he
felt, and he unsurprisingly told me to go for it. Whether he thought it was a
good move for me or not, he told me it was, and his confident assurance sealed
the deal. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was excited at the prospect of a new job in a new
state. I was confident God was again directing my steps and that this was
indeed the right move for me at the right time. A few months after I left
Mission Australia, they lost the government contract which had kept me and my
fellow teachers employed. My colleagues all lost their jobs, but I had already
moved on to bigger and better things. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">Darwin smacked me in the face, (the heat was a fiery
wall of welcome as I left the airport terminal) then embraced me like a
long-lost brother. Australia’s northern most capital felt like a big country
town. I quickly lost myself in the new job, and finding somewhere to live, and
learning how to get around on the buses. I enjoyed the lack of traffic, the
friendly vibe, the lack of pace. I quickly found my groove and was too busy and
too enthralled in exploring my new life to miss anyone back in Wollongong.
Sadly, I never saw dad again. He died in December, and I was unable to return
in time to say goodbye. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finding a church enabled me to quickly make new
friends. I took a gym membership and settled into a very happy routine. After a
failed attempt to breathe life into a dying relationship back home which
involved the person in question moving to Darwin and us renting an apartment in
the city, I began to feel like I needed one more very important piece of the
puzzle to be put into place. I did not want to live alone so I commenced a very
serious search for love; a relationship which I hoped would lead to marriage. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">In January 2018, after three months of using the
eHarmony website, I was ready to cancel my membership. The novelty of searching
for a life partner online had well and truly worn off, and I was disappointed
at the lack of results. At the very end of the month, I saw a new profile on
eHarmony and I sent a message. I believed then and still do, that God had sent
me an angel. Thus began a great romance which we believe had God’s fingerprints
all over it. After a couple of months, I decided I had to meet this amazing
woman who I had been chatting to. At Easter I flew to Vietnam to see if the
chemistry I felt online with her would translate into real life magic. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was so nervous about meeting me, she had not
slept the night before, but I knew immediately the magic was there. As soon as
I embraced her at the airport and kissed her cheek, I knew I would marry her. I
held her sweaty hand as we walked away to her friend's waiting car and all the
way to a nearby restaurant where we had our first meal together. He friend
joined us to save my angel from her oppressive shyness. Later she relaxed a
little, and we walked alone on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City, stopping for a
quick game of imaginary tennis on the sidewalk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">And so began a series of trips to Vietnam which
thrilled my senses and made my heart swell with love. When my angel came to the
Top End for her first visit in August 2018, I had been living in Darwin for two
years and was excited to show off the charms of the Territory. Despite being a
little overwhelmed, particularly by how quiet it was compared to Ho Chi Minh
City, she spoke enthusiastically about our future life together in the
Australia. On August 18, we got married at Cullen Bay in front of a small group
of family and friends, at sunset. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">By this time, I was housesitting full time, and
loving life in Darwin more than ever. The plan was to save money and pay off
some debt in preparation for my wife and children to move to Darwin. We put in
the visa application in December and so began our long wait, scheduling
holidays as frequently as we could; the first of which was to her hometown,
Buon Ma Thuot where we had a traditional Vietnamese wedding ceremony. On February
26 the wait ended with the grant of the visa, and now our dream to live
together in Australia as a family has come true. For this we thank God, and
we’re also grateful to the laidback, tropical city of Darwin and her people. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’ve seen plenty of crocodiles in my four years in
Darwin, but aside from the Adelaide River residents who amuse tourists, I
haven’t seen any outside of the zoo. I’ve learned more about Darwin too: her
proud and resilient history, and her culture, but most importantly I’ve learned
a lot about myself. Counterintuitively, coming to live in this remote, and oft
maligned frontier city, a place which many call a wilderness, full of ruffians
and runaways, has tamed me, calmed me down. It’s also true that my Top End
Angel has done immeasurably great things to being me some peace. You could say
she is a miracle: the answer to my prayers. I say that and I believe it.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="css-1p1gtan-node"><span style="font-size: medium;">by </span><span style="font-size: large;">D.A.Cairns</span></p>DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-15539734982113479632020-06-12T15:12:00.001-07:002020-06-12T15:12:55.061-07:00A Sympathetic Interlocutor<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A Sympathetic Interlocutor</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">by</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">D.A.Cairns</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhmSUzOOrQcP0YB4Oni26ETHXbcbVfn7_xVekOdyEM4Ubes7Bodu7khPACDE5lgEQ7um6WKYu8qrtWXQmch9ky_QZmhfo6S02dNQccuI99vSRW216T_mOLb88TdXSRirIU7bzYnZs984/s1600/interview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="316" data-original-width="474" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhmSUzOOrQcP0YB4Oni26ETHXbcbVfn7_xVekOdyEM4Ubes7Bodu7khPACDE5lgEQ7um6WKYu8qrtWXQmch9ky_QZmhfo6S02dNQccuI99vSRW216T_mOLb88TdXSRirIU7bzYnZs984/s320/interview.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-AU">Decorated was the word that first came to
mind when he noticed her cheeks. Breaking eye contact only very briefly because
he wanted to hold her gaze as long as possible, the strange patterns on her
cheeks caught his attention. They might have been scars, burn scars or, had
they been located somewhere else on her body, the kind of scars left after a
surgical attempt to remove tattoos. The thought intrigued him and suspended the
moment of greeting in time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Suddenly aware of her soft hand inside his,
he let go and stepped back gesturing for her to take a seat. When he had
settled himself opposite her, he saw that she was watching him and he
instinctively stiffened. Her eyes were huge, round and dark chocolate. Adorned
with lid liner and shadow, her lashes were spruced and unnaturally thick, and
she would have elicited a comment in his mind about her being overdone had she
been someone else. Had they been somewhere else. Everything seemed different.
He felt different. She shifted her weight slightly and tilted her head to the
right, apparently waiting for him to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and
summoned sufficient strength to concentrate on what he was supposed to be
doing. But even as he spoke, those funny marks on her cheeks wrestled for his
attention. They could have been freckles, although they were lightly coloured
in contrast to her olive complexion, but not single freckles gathered together
in clumps. More like thousands of them packed into adjacent rooms for all night
dance parties. This thought amused him, and his accidental smile was returned
warmly and sincerely. This woman was breathtaking. Not classically beautiful
because of her cheeks and the way her thick black hair was held away from her
face in a clumsy ponytail -she looked like she had spent all her preparation
time on her face and not left enough to do her hair properly. She was
indisputably stunning nevertheless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Why are you here?’ he asked her. ‘Why have
you come here today?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Well,’ she began slowly, finally looking
away and thus releasing him from the spell she was casting over him. ‘I think I
need to improve my reading and writing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">A perfectly constructed sentence delivered
in a languid Middle Eastern accent. Improve, he thought, how could you improve
on perfection?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Is not being able to
read and write as well as you would like to stopping you from doing something
you want to do. Like further study, for example?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">She thought for a moment, averting her eyes
and thus giving him the chance to study her more closely. From her full lips
dressed in red, over her chin and down her slender neck, his eyes stopped when
they reached a golden angel sitting astride her cleavage. The line of the thin
chain which suspended the angel matched the low vee cut of her white dress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I would like to go back to work now that
my children are older.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He loved the way information was revealed
slowly during these interviews, morsel by juicy morsel, peeling away the layers
of protection, the walls people built around their personal lives. Those walls
invariably crashed to the floor as the interview progressed. Whether verbally,
in their speech or their writing, or non verbally in their body language, they
communicated their lives to him, their hearts and minds and he was an avid
reader.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘How old are your children?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I have three. Thirteen, eleven, and nine.
All girls.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">It was impossible not to stare as the
enchantment grew, filling the room like fog. He had thought she was probably
aged in her early thirties. It was hard to tell sometimes, especially with
women who were able to hide their age so much more efficiently than men.
However with children that age she was more likely to be in her late thirties,
even early fortes though that was scarcely believable. Desperately curious to
confirm his suspicions that she was older than she looked, he selected a piece
of paper from the pile on the desk which filled the space between them and
placed it in front of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Please fill in this form.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Date of birth was the fourth question so he
watched eagerly as she wrote, his eyes glancing occasionally past her hands
with jewelled fingers, to her breasts which seemed to have risen higher, threatening
to spill out of her dress. Maybe it was the way she was sitting, leaning
forward with her arms pressed tight into her sides. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">She wrote 11/9/64. He wanted to tell her
how surprised he was that she was forty three and how beautiful she looked but
he couldn’t. How could one compliment a woman without her thinking that you
were a pervert at worst, or a sleaze at best? The words would always be
construed as flattery with intent, no matter how politely you phrased them. How
could one be sure in himself that the words were merely a genuine compliment
and not expressions of desire, or worse: lust? How could he be sure? There was
a place, an inside world where he could be alone with his thoughts and
feelings, where he could sift through memories and adjust them as necessary and
use them however he wished. A place to fantasize and twist reality to feed his
insatiable lust. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a place of both
refuge and repression. A haven and a hell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The interview proceeded normally; she
answered questions, did the tasks, the reading, the writing and the mathematics
while he filled in forms, ticked boxes, interpreted and analysed both her and
her work, made her laugh, made her blush, made himself blush with his boldness,
noticed the delicate chain around her ankle and her painted toenails, and
averted his eyes when she needed to adjust her clothing to recover what was
being gradually, conspiratorially revealed. All the while he wondered whether
the chemistry he felt between them was real or imagined, and whether the way
she tilted her head and played with her hair was flirtatious or merely absent minded.
He even went so far as to suggest they could go on talking for the rest of the
day, and she had agreed, and although the exchange was light hearted he felt
the words expressed genuine sentiment. He really did enjoy her company. This admission
was followed by a fist of guilt jabbing him in the ribs a few times. He was married
and so was she.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘The interview is finished now. You can go
and have a nice cup of coffee. Thanks for your time and good luck,’ he said,
slowly standing up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">She smiled as he took her soft hand in his
and he wished her well a second time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">They stood behind the door in the small
interview room savouring a ridiculously long good-bye. The truth was he did not
want her to go and she was in no hurry to leave. In the pregnant silence, he
began to feel dizzy and was still holding her hand when he opened his mouth to
speak. Nothing but air escaped his nervously dry lips, and soon he felt as
though he was drowning, like he had fallen into the deep, deep pools of her
eyes and they had magically stolen his ability to swim. Seconds passed
recklessly into what felt like long minutes as they stood there. Still, no
words were spoken and the door to the outside world remained firmly shut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Finally he released her hand, more from the
carelessness of drowsy enchantment than deliberate action, and she looked away.
The moment was over. The spell, shattered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Goodbye,’ she said quietly as she opened
the door. ‘Thank you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He swallowed and managed a very faint, ‘You’re
welcome. Good luck.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Then she left the room and walked away down
the corridor. Away from him, away from the mysterious connection they had just
undoubtedly shared. He smiled. She was now a new resident in his inside world.
A traveller who had landed on his planet and not been allowed to leave, despite
wanting to. A fellow prisoner, though not consciously aware of the fact, or
even vaguely impacted by the reality of her incarceration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Liliane,’ he breathed wistfully. ‘Goodbye
Liliane.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He sat down, and when he had completed the
paperwork and written in his comments and recommendations, he collected all her
papers and placed them neatly together inside a red manila folder. He closed
the folder and read her name one last time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-76538943689592512642020-02-16T00:15:00.001-08:002020-02-16T00:15:35.805-08:00Flight. Fight. Fix. Part 3<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Part 3: The Fix </u></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">by D.A.Cairns</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys had never told Rhonda why he had perpetually resisted
pushing her to go all the way with him. She didn’t understand him, and that was
his fault. He’d never told her that he wanted to wait. He had said that, but
never in such a way as to make it plausible or acceptable. It didn’t make sense
to her. The culture clash left her crippled, bleeding but unrelenting. He
chugged on his beer draining half the bottle. It was cowardly the way he had
handled this relationship. Rhys saw that now, felt the sting of remorse, of
self-recrimination. He had not been honest with her, but that was not the worst
of it. Rhonda had loved him despite his unwillingness to tell her the truth.
What was the truth?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs3JnPI9Jo3kmzAa_J6W1kvrg_PKQKqn5EBzcTuLSeytES-Gt8_0QaBaIY_n32K_XLO0fkfmz9Bcmu6ICJPh3G5AVbU4L_1EYWvadrA2LjGCvqWcbMDVn34LHRx3hbfFyqedFyiS7HyPc/s1600/the+fix+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs3JnPI9Jo3kmzAa_J6W1kvrg_PKQKqn5EBzcTuLSeytES-Gt8_0QaBaIY_n32K_XLO0fkfmz9Bcmu6ICJPh3G5AVbU4L_1EYWvadrA2LjGCvqWcbMDVn34LHRx3hbfFyqedFyiS7HyPc/s320/the+fix+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The sun began to set over the sea brightening the room,
making it glisten here and there, throwing random slivers of blinding light into
his eyes. Rhys stepped out on to the balcony and looked down to the pool below.
He could see Rhonda in the water. Gliding, diving, surfacing, shining. What was
the truth? She was beautiful. A beautiful person; so full of life and
irresistible positive energy and so full of grace. That word again. It was an
irritating quality to those who lacked it. An aggravation born from
subconscious envy. The truth was he was a bloody idiot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dashing for his suitcase, rummaging for his boardies,
stripping faster than he ever had, after a few frantic minutes, Rhys was ready
to hit the pool. Ready to dive in. Ready to quit the stupid game he’d been
playing. Ready to be the man Rhonda had fashioned him into courtesy of
unrelenting patience and love without strings; without visible limits. Once he
left the room, he began to rehearse his apology en route to the elevator.
Several versions came to mind, but in the end he was left with a choice between
exuberance and humble contrition. Both of these were out of character for Rhys
and when this realization struck him fully, he panicked. Pressing buttons on
higher floors to reverse his course, to give himself more time, but the lift
proceeded stubbornly to the lobby. The doors opened. There were people waiting
to get in, waiting for him to get out. He was stuck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Coming or going mate’, said a man with a large rose
coloured and unshaven face. He stopped the door as it began to close and
entered without waiting for Rhys to answer or move. Others followed. Among them
was a fragile looking woman who appeared to be with the redneck Aussie. The
doors closed and up they went.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Are you scared of water or sunlight,’ said the man without
looking at Rhys. ‘Or both?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">For reasons unknown to Rhys even years after this moment in
his life, whenever he regaled audiences with the magnitude of the moment, he
said to the man; ‘Neither. I’m scared she won’t accept my apology.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The man turned his huge bull head and stared at Rhys as
though he might be insane. ‘Well you’re not gonna find out by riding up and
down in the bloody lift, are ya?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys held the man’s gaze, marveling at his temerity, envying
his conviction. ‘I guess not.’ He shifted his gaze to briefly meet the eyes of
the man’s wife who smiled knowingly. She smiled from her eyes and it was
genuine; simultaneously warm and wise. Rhys looked away, embarrassed by the
attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘What’d ya do?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was too late to escape now. Rhys wished like hell he had
simply strode confidently out of the lift as soon as the doors parted. Marched
to the poolside and quickly do what he had come to do. Damn the theatrics. No
more charades. Just straight up, sincere remorse which was exactly what he
felt. He could have been in the cool clear water now, playing around with
Rhonda working up his appetite, stoking the fire which would eventually lead
them exactly where they both wanted to go. Instead, he had baulked and now he
was trapped. These were not the kind of conversations he had with anyone,
especially not with complete strangers in elevators. Yet, some weird compulsion
pushed words from mouth. ‘I’ve been acting like a dick.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The woman laughed politely; self-assured, but not arrogant.
‘Pretty standard behaviour for boys, isn’t?’ Surprisingly, nothing happened in
the deliberate vacancy she left at the end of her question. ‘Care to be more
specific?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Playing around with other girls?’ suggested the man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Ignoring her for the sports feast on satellite TV?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Planning the whole holiday around what you want to do?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Drinking too much?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Okay,’ said Rhys, raising his hands in surrender. ‘Okay.
Okay.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The elevator stopped. ‘Why don’t you come and have a drink
and tell us all about it,’ said the woman. ‘I’m Jean by the way and this lovely
big oaf is my husband Jack.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys was trying to politely refuse the invitation and share
his name as they bustled him out of the lift and into the hall. ‘Come on love,’
said Jean. ‘We’ll sort you out and get you geared up for your big moment.’ She
walked away as Jack’s heavy hand fell on Rhys’s shoulder, causing his knee to
buckle. ‘You wouldn’t wanna go off half-cocked, would ya?’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Soon they arrived at an open door. Jean had already
retrieved three beers from the fridge and loaded them all into stubby holders. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Have a seat Rhys. Tell us all about it.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">One hour later, Rhys left Jack and Jean’s room and the
security of their not so gentle wisdom, prepared, he hoped, for his encounter
with Rhonda. Doubt jumped on his back as soon as his closed the door. Fear
landed on his shoulders from a great height. His throat once again craved the
sweet bitterness of cold beer. The elevator met him. He pushed the button and
waited. The counsel of his new friends rolled around in his head while he
fought to put everything in order, to bring some discipline to the chaos. His
mind was a playground filled with children hyped up on sugar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The door opened. Rhys entered. His feelings did not change
at all as he watched the descent of illuminated lights on the display panel.
The lift stopped. The door opened. He stepped out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘You changed your mind.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys looked up to see Rhonda’s radiant smile and was
instantly paralysed from head to toe. She entered the lift, pushing him back in
as she did. Others followed her in and was trapped. It seemed he was destined
to never reach the lobby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Are you okay?’ asked Rhonda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I’m really sorry,’ said Rhys without looking at her as they
stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder. At least he though he spoke those
words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘What did you say?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys finally turned to look at Rhonda, only to discover she
was already staring at him. ‘I said I’m really sorry.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhonda looked away, mysteriously silent. The silence
persisted all the way back to their floor where they exited the lift, at the
same time but not together. This was going to be much harder than Rhys had
imagined. He hadn’t counted on the longevity of Rhonda’s antipathy. Surely, the
pool had cooled her temper as well as her body. She looked refreshed, she
smelled fresh. Shed smiled at him when she entered the elevator. Had his first
pitifully soft and ineffective apology destroyed any chance he’d had at earning
her forgiveness. It was unlike her. Rhys didn’t feel like himself, and Rhonda
was also askew; out of character as well. Had he fallen into a parallel
universe? Did he unwittingingly step through a portal somewhere? What was going
on? Rhys felt an urgent, nagging and tension in his stomach as he followed her
along the corridor. She said nothing. He might as well not have been there. He
wished he wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">At the door, Rhonda turned and looked at him. She seemed
surprised: unsure what to say; perhaps conflicted within herself. Rhys
attempted a smile. Rhonda turned away, pushed open the door and entered the
room without waiting for him. Rhys stood still. He thought for a moment he’d be
well advised to go back to see Jean and Jack and give them an update on the
situation. They’d be able to boost his flagging spirit; redirect his
reconciliation efforts. Or they would just say the same thing. F=Give him
another beer and a kick up the backside and send him back to Rhonda to sort out
his problem. The problem he created.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6nwgkhhu6Fos1bCzKIJDjMGurc7cud8ZoFORX4ZFzq2m03weEvkkuLmPNTcS5uGOhWX4dvPueUVYYLOaMLvGoS3GFRJ4YNXJ4HK1q-XLdHbB1JCzq04sXVWdwsuWJw1Q_CurLbUeFjWc/s1600/the+fix+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1010" data-original-width="1600" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6nwgkhhu6Fos1bCzKIJDjMGurc7cud8ZoFORX4ZFzq2m03weEvkkuLmPNTcS5uGOhWX4dvPueUVYYLOaMLvGoS3GFRJ4YNXJ4HK1q-XLdHbB1JCzq04sXVWdwsuWJw1Q_CurLbUeFjWc/s320/the+fix+1.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">He didn’t want the relationship to end. In fact, now as he
stood, helplessly trapped in Rhonda’s rejection of his words, even his
presence, he knew he would do anything to keep her. Anything to make it right.
Summoning hidden reserves of courage from the four corners of his mind, Rhys
opened the door and walked towards Rhonda who was sitting on the bed staring at
the wall even though she’d switched the television on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sitting beside her, Rhys carefully lifted her hand and held
it firmly in both of his hands. Rhonda didn’t pull away. Thus encouraged, Rhys
began, this time in a contrite but intelligible tone. ‘I’m really sorry,’ he
said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">After a very long pause which caused Rhys to again wonder
about whether he had actually spoken the word aloud, Rhonda said, ‘It’s okay
Rhys. I understand. It’s over. I’m in love with someone else.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-76871377978263729552020-01-31T21:00:00.001-08:002020-01-31T21:00:29.449-08:00Flight. Fight. Fix. Part 2<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Flight. <u>Fight.</u> Fix. Part 2</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">by</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">D.A.Cairns</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="font-size: large;">The Fight<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmDdGiP0BXnHVKzdCwe7OU9G95gpEGOdr9SondVVSLf6dOJxCph-M3QJAz8lZpiUa0V_oKxG9dgXDMDQO4SUcrjuqgc-BplSHmwn84_E90VlS6c4yuK67AqmRfAPXtMShfPieG44QQhAo/s1600/immi+queue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="955" data-original-width="1300" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmDdGiP0BXnHVKzdCwe7OU9G95gpEGOdr9SondVVSLf6dOJxCph-M3QJAz8lZpiUa0V_oKxG9dgXDMDQO4SUcrjuqgc-BplSHmwn84_E90VlS6c4yuK67AqmRfAPXtMShfPieG44QQhAo/s320/immi+queue.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">‘I don’t know what that was Rhys, but I sure hope you got it
all out of your system.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The line at immigration moved forward. Rhys shuffled:
feigned a contrite look and shook his head. ‘Sorry baby.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I hope to God you aren’t planning on ruining our holiday
like you just ruined everyone’s flight; especially mine.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘It’s not like I planned it.’</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhonda glared at him until he reluctantly met her gaze. ‘It
looked exactly like you planned it. Like it was scripted.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys laughed. ‘Get serious.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Do I like look I’m joking?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">They inched forward again as another visitor had their
passport stamped by a serious looking individual in a khaki uniform. ‘I’ll
behave myself. I promise. I won’t put a foot wrong for the rest of the trip,
and If I do it will be entirely unintentional.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I’ll give you entirely intentional,’ she said before
punching his arm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys had overdone it on the plane. Rhonda had simply ignored
him, as had Deep Voice, even when Rhys had lowered his seat right onto the guys
lap. The flight attendants remonstrated with him with every drink they brought
him, as did every passenger whom he bumped into in his way to and back from the
lavatory. During a quieter moment he had decided to try something else. Even
though he had no original thoughts on how to force this break up, he managed to
delude himself otherwise. Next was the flirt. He searched the adjacent queues
on either side of theirs until he found something pleasing to his eye, then
stared. Eventually Rhonda noticed his concerted attention and followed his
gaze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Don’t stare Rhys,’ she said. ‘It’s rude.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Do you think her breasts are real?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Do you think that’s any of your business or of any interest
to me?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I never asked about yours,’ said Rhys suddenly turning back
to Rhonda, to her face first then to her chest and quickly back again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I gave you plenty of chances to find out for yourself,
dumbo.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I’m going to go and ask her.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">They shuffled forward. ‘Ask her what?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys offered no reply, and before Rhonda could protest or
grab his arm to hold him back, he was in the next line chatting to the woman
who may or may not have had breast implants. He started with a smile and a
quip; ‘I want to hedge my bets for the fast lane.’ She rewarded him with a
smile which revealed she had spent a small fortune at the dentist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Your teeth are amazing,’ he said. She thanked him. ‘I’ve
had so much trouble with my teeth. I was thinking about ditching them all and
starting again, but I can’t afford it.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The woman nodded. The line moved again. Rhys waved at Rhonda
who had not moved. ‘Your wife? Girlfriend?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Can you keep a secret?’</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She frowned an impossibly cute frown. ‘Yes.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘It’s our farewell tour.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The woman’s frown deepened into something less appealing;
something suspiciously like dim wittedness. ‘She brought me on this holiday to
dump me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘That’s horrible.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Anyway, we were talking about how much your breasts cost.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys wasn’t sure what he was looking at now, but he didn’t
like it. He liked it even less when it hit him in the face. ‘Arsehole!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">As he walked quickly back to join Rhonda he avoided looking
at her and also tried not to laugh. Maybe he was losing his mind. His behaviour
was further out to sea than he’d ever travelled, but instead of being
concerned, he felt pleased; almost delirious. This was fun. Back in the queue,
he received a pinch from Rhonda, then turned to smile at the woman behind him.‘She has trouble controlling me,’ he said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The woman stared at him just long enough for Rhys to receive
a mixed signal. Open to interpretation, he opted for the most self-gratifying
explanation. He lowered his voice and leaned towards the woman who took a small
step backwards. ‘Maybe you could do a better job.’ He winked and cringed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘The line is moving,’ she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys turned and followed Rhonda who had moved a few paces
forward courtesy of a whole family passing through the checkpoint. There were
only two people in front of them now. Rhys had always thought he was charming.
Always believed he was cool and impressive in a very masculine way. He’d never
really tried out his skill though. Previously successes had been accidental.
Even meeting Rhonda had been a case of serendipity. With the fireworks going
off all around them, he’d never really had to try to win Rhonda’s heart. It seemed
she was a ripe mango swaying on the tree. Open to love with all its mystery and
adventure. Rhys was more like an overripe banana. Why was he thinking in fruit
metaphors? It sounded ludicrous. It matched his sentiment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhonda was very quiet, no doubt upset by his behaviour. A
tiny seed of remorse threatened to bud in his heart. He wasn’t really a mean
person. Not intentionally, though he was aware he lacked sensitivity. He was,
as he had so amply portrayed on the plane, quite intolerant. He was even intolerant
of himself sometimes. This moment felt like one of those times. As people do
when they are trying to avoid awkwardness, Rhys brush stroked the silence with
inane small talk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘That was a relatively quick march.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘It didn’t take long at all.’</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Soon we will be out of the airport and in Bali.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhonda finally turned her head and sighed. ‘Where do you
think this airport is?’</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">A few clever quips sprang to mind, but Rhys held his tongue.
His strategy, mixed and haphazard as it was, appeared to be having some impact.
The decision now was whether to back off, maintain, or escalate. By following
every little impulse, each mischievous prompting, he was not only wearing
Rhonda down but also having fun. However, it was important to manage the
timing.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1c1e21; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">They walked from the terminal out on to the concourse and
were immediately assailed by a gang of hawkers. Rhonda was ready to talk turkey
until Rhys reminded her they had pre booked a shuttle to the hotel. After a
brief search they located their driver who was holding a handwritten sign with
their names on it. While the driver led them to his vehicle, Rhys looked
around, admiring the collection of ladies; both local and foreign. Rhonda
ignored him, but he only cared a little bit.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVLMIW7_zL4CpWFnDTif7hC1jx08pN4u9CPzvOuTfpIhsXhbAjrITktUGx4erwIJrD5bqOO-QTntyqpI16DzKlTdDCOh8-U27jfINyLJxAA4eGH_MP3Lp0w_n6IFP6D3Jid61wCJfLIq4/s1600/bali+resort.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVLMIW7_zL4CpWFnDTif7hC1jx08pN4u9CPzvOuTfpIhsXhbAjrITktUGx4erwIJrD5bqOO-QTntyqpI16DzKlTdDCOh8-U27jfINyLJxAA4eGH_MP3Lp0w_n6IFP6D3Jid61wCJfLIq4/s320/bali+resort.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">At the Bali Dynasty Resort, Rhonda returned to her bubbly
self, gushing about the lavish lobby bursting with greenery as it was,
interspersed with gleaming marble and brass. Large wooden blade overhead fans
moved the air around just enough to take the edge of the humidity. The peaceful
and elegant tropical ambience seeped into Rhys’s bones calming the poltergeist
within. He would lay off the bad boyfriend routine for a while, if for no other
reason than he didn’t want to blow the holiday to hell too soon.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘How good is this place!’ he said as they followed the
porter to the far end of the foyer and into the elevator. Rhonda rewarded his
new found positivity by taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. He kissed her
cheek. She grabbed his face and forced her lips onto his. He nearly fainted.
The discreet porter stepped from the lift when they door opened and quietly
asked them to follow him. Rhys had trouble walking straight. ‘How good is this
place!’ he said again.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was normal for a natural wonder to far exceed the muted
beauty displayed in photographs. Hotel rooms were a different story. Rhys
braced for the disappointment as the porter opened the door. The first thing
which always struck him upon entering a new hotel room was how much smaller
they were in reality. The air conditioning had been running for some time;
providing a perfectly comfortable interior which was tastefully furnished and
not overcrowded. The bed was huge. A king which Rhys knew was two doubles
cleverly conjugated. Beyond the bed sat a sofa which housed a pull out bed.
Rhys had checked that. In case the bed was too small or if he should decide
that he simply would not be able to sleep with Rhonda so close. He gulped,
wondering how he was going to avoid nature taking its course. Still recovering
from the forceful passion of Rhonda’s elevator kiss, Rhys began to seriously
doubt his ability to resist. If he surrendered, all would be lost. He would be
stuck.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Enjoy your stay,’ said the porter quietly before slipping
away to allow the door to close softly on Rhys and Rhonda. The former ambled
over to the double-glazed sliding doors which opened on to the balcony exposing
a panoramic view of the ocean, the latter flopped on the bed and flipped around
like a fish out of water. Rhys tried not to think about tsunamis. This was so
stupid. He imagined his mates telling him what a dick he was to be trying to
avoid what everyman lived for. They’d crap on about silver platters and looking
gift horses in the mouth, and with every attempt to damn him with clichés, he’d
find himself weakening. A rushing wall of water was on its way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Let’s go for a swim!’ he said, wanting to get out of the
room before wondering how on earth seeing Rhonda in her bikini was going to do
anything to cool the fire in his loins. A voice in his head told him to get it
over and done with. She wants it. You want it. What are you waiting for? What
was he waiting for?</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Sure’ said Rhonda, springing from the bed to land beside
her suitcase which she tipped on its belly and ripped its zipper, opening it.
She quickly found her bikini: the royal blue one. Rhys loved that colour on
her. Loved it. Before he could say anything, she disappeared into the bathroom
mercifully choosing to change out of sight. In his heightened testosterone
fueled condition his imagination was more than capable of compensating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">When Rhonda emerged from the bathroom looking like a goddess
or a sexy queen or something impossibly tanatalising, Rhys averted his eyes,
then turned away.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Something wrong baby?’ she said. ‘This is your favourite.’
She was moving closer breathing her words. ‘I could take it off if you don’t
like it.’ When her breasts pushed into his back, Rhys felt his knees tremble.
He was about to turn and take what she was offering, close to letting her feel
how much he wanted her, on the verge of exploding. Her hand slid down from his
stomach to hit the target. Rhys leapt out of her embrace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Fuck Rhys!’ she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">He looked at her face, but did not see what he expected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Why?’ she said, her voice crumbling, tears welling in her
eyes. ‘Why?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys had never felt more guilty or stupid, or whatever the
hell crazy mix of foolishness this was. Rhonda’s wounded expression quickly
gave way to anger. ‘Fuck you!’ She shoved him in the chest, snatched up her
towel and tote bag before storming out of the room. Rhys might have called out
to her; to apologize, to beg her to stay, to say anything, but he was too busy
collapsing on the floor in exhausted impotence. ‘Fuck Rhys!’</span><o:p></o:p></div>
DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-45038371362125246282020-01-17T18:51:00.001-08:002020-01-17T18:51:17.956-08:00Flight. Fight. Fix. Part 1<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Part One: The Flight<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">by<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">D.A.Cairns<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizpXLemCFcsKP0Y6cV3OyKySGbfED97UZvStEqVZjnOIVMkkj9E6m5MVta-jiSxdLYkKgV3zJlw9MA7sO0n7_Czi8sypya2JLdrSN2TvQZAMopmWsIDx7qQWN7p5Os83Z3nbfOhnvotkE/s1600/plane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizpXLemCFcsKP0Y6cV3OyKySGbfED97UZvStEqVZjnOIVMkkj9E6m5MVta-jiSxdLYkKgV3zJlw9MA7sO0n7_Czi8sypya2JLdrSN2TvQZAMopmWsIDx7qQWN7p5Os83Z3nbfOhnvotkE/s400/plane.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">When the key broke off in the door, Rhys knew it was an omen. The key could have been old and soft like his body, or
he could have been unaware of the new power he had found at the
gym whilst trying to pretend his body was not old and soft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">A face greeted him, yellowed teeth protruding from within a
bushy grey beard. ‘I timed that well,’ said the old man who owned the beard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘You did indeed, mate,’ replied Rhys, giving serious thought
to the issue of timing. He was ahead of time and would arrive at the airport
early. Instead of being sensible and allowing him to pick her up, Rhonda
insisted on making her own way. She’d burst into the cool of the terminal like
a westerly blast, looking all flustered, desperately searching for him. That
was Rhonda’s style and although he criticized her for it, it was almost as endearing
as it was frustrating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The two men smoothly swapped positions in the gateway, and
Rhys proceeded to his car without another word or even another thought for the
old man who lived in unit one. Rhys lived in number eight, also on the ground floor
but on the other side of the expansive foyer which featured an tacky side table
adorned with old paperbacks, and a kooky array of plastic vines dangling from
the fenced promenades above. To the left of the elevator was the staircase. To
the right the laundry. Rhys had moved in three weeks ago and had only in the
last few days managed to expel the toxic fume left behind by the cats who previously
shared the unit with their human. The eye watering stench should have been
enough to deter him from taking on the lease in the first place, but there was
something about the unit which spoke to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys was halfway inside his white i30 when his phone rang.</span><span style="font-size: large;">‘Hi baby.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Are you there yet? At the airport?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Just leaving home now.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Okay. See you there,’ said Rhonda. ‘Love you!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Love you too.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Based on instinct, Rhys had chosen to live in the former cat
parlour; convincing himself everything would be okay if he could survive the
detoxification period. As the days passed, thankfully carrying away vestiges of
the former occupants, he convinced himself he had made the right decision. Even
as he battled the headaches and nausea brought on by necessary visits to the
laundry, he remained patient and positive. On the other hand, his relationship
with Rhonda was wearing him out. He turned the key in the ignition, fastened
his seatbelt then changed the radio station. Community radio with its extremely
limited playlist and terrible news and advertising copywriters was also wearing
him out. Rhonda was a lot like a community radio station. Something different,
somewhat intriguing, occasionally entertaining. He had discovered over time,
six months now, that she too had a limited playlist and her scriptwriter should
have been fired for lack of originality, excessive use of cliché, and basic
grammatical and factual errors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The trip to Bali was her idea. He’d resisted to the point of
rudeness, risking the relationship in a game of brinkmanship, before backing
down. Bowing to her will, bending apologetically. Now he was on his way to Bali
where every second Australian holidayed at least once, usually multiple times.
The Indonesian island of beaches and clubs where the government had introduced
a law against fornication in an attempt to deter troublesome antipodean
visitors. Where the predominately Muslim local population tolerated the boorish
behaviour of Aussie tourists because they depended on their money to feed their
children. Rhys had raised the fornication laws during their holiday discussions
knowing full well Rhonda would not be deterred. On the surface she had to agree
with Rhys that it didn’t matter because they were not going to be having sex.
Rhys had knocked Rhonda back numerous times, but not because he didn’t want to.
He did. In fact, it was an almost unbearable strain to fight against his
natural instinct. The reason he didn’t want to go that far with her was simply
a choice he made to protect them both. Introducing sex into a relationship was
like stirring up the mud at the bottom of a clear pond. He simply wasn’t sure
their relationship had legs, so he didn’t want to complicate it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhonda accepted his rebuffs although he knew they hurt her,
but Bali doubtless represented opportunity in her mind. This was how Rhys saw
it. She had to agree that the fornication laws were not a hindrance to them,
but for sure and certain she was thinking Rhys would finally surrender to her.
As this was the first holiday together and they would be sharing a room, there
could be no other conclusion to draw. Rhys had not yet considered how to deal
with the inevitable seduction, the pressure, the power of sexual desire, but he
felt confident he would find a way out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was mystery why Rhonda stayed with him. Women being the
perceptive and intuitive creatures they are know when things aren’t right. Either
she was delusional or she was hopelessly hopeful. Rhys smiled. Same thing
right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Turning off Bagot Rd onto McMillians, Rhys worked on his exit
strategy. It was time to end the relationship. If he could, he would encourage
her to walk away, to see reason if such a thing were possible. He would need to
make himself less attractive in every way. The problem with that idea was he
didn’t know what she found appealing about him in the first place. They met by
accident at the Intercontinental Hotel in Sydney. She was working there.
Something happened which led to some other things happening; the first of which
being a dinner date at Red Lantern on Riley, the last of which being Rhonda
relocating to Darwin and scoring at job at Manta on the Esplanade. It had been fun
for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys parked at the Long Stay plus where he’d snagged a five
day park for only $75. From there it was a three minute walk to the terminal.
He checked his watch. Just after eight. More than two hours until the night
flight direct to Denpasar. Rhys was never late anywhere. His definition of
late included on time. The disparity between his punctuality and Rhonda’s
complete lack of it was just one of the little cracks which she always managed
to laugh off. Rhys was keeping score. He had told her to be at the airport no
later than ten thirty. Now, as she stepped through the sliding doors to the
cool interior of Darwin International Airport, he imagined how fun it would be
to run a book on what time Rhonda would arrive. He amused himself for a few moments,
picturing himself laying odds, running around taking bets. An excited crowd
gathering just inside the terminal doors holding their breath every time a
single woman approached. The wrong woman would then have to deal with the cloud
of disappointment at her arrival. She’d push through the crowd, trying to throw
off paranoid thoughts, oblivious to the fact the punters had long ago lost
interest in her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtjEN6Lift0Rx8aFUXjvwbVzWDxLMlBzsrxSTqGHSLym8ESv1bD9nb6faW3rM387xSCgLUR0LG_0sDw2O0wyNsIxX2_s-eiGBtg34Zm6wKo3rlSyzHAezXTTykpfxQbj011WRPC30EmQ/s1600/coffe+at+the+airport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="801" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtjEN6Lift0Rx8aFUXjvwbVzWDxLMlBzsrxSTqGHSLym8ESv1bD9nb6faW3rM387xSCgLUR0LG_0sDw2O0wyNsIxX2_s-eiGBtg34Zm6wKo3rlSyzHAezXTTykpfxQbj011WRPC30EmQ/s320/coffe+at+the+airport.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">After buying an overpriced coffee at Giancarlo, Rhys found a
seat, pulled F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Curious Case of Benjamin Button from his
backpack and began to read.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Hi baby!’ Her familiar voice was quickly followed by an
exuberant kiss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Startled, Rhys placed the open book on the table, cover up,
and stood. Rhonda latched on to him before he was properly balanced and they
nearly fell together. Rhonda laughed. Rhys frowned. She kissed him again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Made it on time,’ she said. ‘Are you proud of me?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys looked at his watch. Eight twenty five. He cursed inwardly,
then remembered to return her smile and congratulate her. Their second hug
allowed him time to smell her hair. So fresh, and her body so soft against his,
so relaxed inside his arms. Blood moved to a certain part of his anatomy in
response, forcing him to break the embrace. ‘Brilliant!’ he said a little too
loudly. ‘Well done.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhonda kissed him again and he suddenly felt like dropping
to the floor with her immediately. Admonishing himself for this weakness, he
focused attention elsewhere. ‘Would you like a drink? We have time before we
need to check in. Or we could check in now and have a drink upstairs. Up to
you,’ said Rhys, unable to stop despite sounding ridiculous to himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Are you okay?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘What?’ Rhys looked at the floor, then at The Curious Case
of Benjamin Button. ‘Yep.’ More words bubbling at the back of this throat,
splashing on to his tongue. ‘Just nervous about the flight. I’ve never been
overseas.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She laughed as though he had made a joke. ‘The flight to
Sydney is longer than this one, silly.’ She playfully slapped his arm. ‘Don’t
worry baby. I’ll take care of you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">In the headlights of Rhonda’s piercing, mirth filled blue
grey eyes, Rhys had an epiphany. She was too good for him. Too clever. Thinking
he had any control over her was foolishness epitomized. He’d been trying to
keep his distance, guarding his heart, avoiding not only sex, but intimacy. Not
even sex. Intimacy. He was afraid of her openness, her generosity of spirit,
her tolerance, her lack of ambition. He had been wrapped around her finger
since the first word. That something in her eyes at the reception desk at the
Intercontinental. Surely, he had mistaken her professional friendliness for
something more. He lied to himself then, maintain the denial even as he asked
her out to dinner, fostering the falsity all the way from the Harbour City to
the Top End. He was still doing it. The revelation sparked in that instant when
he wanted to make love to her right there and then. Not that he wanted sex. He wanted
to be close to her. To let go. To be vulnerable. The fight against his natural
impulses had been premised upon a need to clarify the strength of the
relationship before making a commitment. However, the evidence supporting this
war was as strong as the evidence against Saddam Hussein which led to the
Second Gulf War.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Baby?’ Rhonda placed her hands on Rhys’s cheeks and
searched his eyes. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting pretty weird. I
thought you were excited about this trip.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Did she really think that, or was it more self-delusion?
Rhys’s heart was racing. He felt like a little child separated from his mother
in a massive mall. Eventually, he squeezed out some words which seemed to
reassure Rhonda who turned away and walked over to the bar; answering his
earlier question. Rhys sat down and concentrated on his breathing. Now what? He
was planning to force a break-up. To either push her into dumping him or doing so
to her. He couldn’t do that now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_HFzlduS_F1uswUDB1byL6EKQGBrEYm-XW80LfaJi8dPA2nRBG9vEcqOJw7y6BuTsHi4HjMbZVtF3RD9EM6_dted5l4yth-NRzBxjycUSQT1v2di-Z6NDav1JLezdtqowof5Dz3sjizY/s1600/plane+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="484" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_HFzlduS_F1uswUDB1byL6EKQGBrEYm-XW80LfaJi8dPA2nRBG9vEcqOJw7y6BuTsHi4HjMbZVtF3RD9EM6_dted5l4yth-NRzBxjycUSQT1v2di-Z6NDav1JLezdtqowof5Dz3sjizY/s320/plane+2.jpg" width="253" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The subsequent two hours passed quickly albeit drenched in
awkwardness.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Watch it mate.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Sorry.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was a classic way to avoid paying for checked baggage;
bring a suitcase on board. Bring a bag and a small suitcase. Add a handbag. Use
up all the allocated space in the overhead locker and under your seat. Hit everyone
in the arms and legs as you shuffle along the aisle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘That’s pretty big carry on you’ve got there.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Pull your head in mate.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Maybe I should,’ said Rhys to the man’s back. ‘That way I
can avoid having it knocked off by oversized carry on luggage.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Sit down Rhys.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">He hadn’t even realized he was standing. Rhonda’s admonition
united with an urgent downward tug of his belt forced him to resume his seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I hope there’s no one in the window seat,’ said Rhys. ‘Then
you can slip over and have it.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘You could slip on over with me.’ She traced the length of
Rhys’s arm with her fingertips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhys’s throat went dry; instantly parched as though exposed
to flames. ‘I prefer the aisle seat you know.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhonda laughed. Rhys turned away. Why did she always have to
laugh at his factual statements? Why couldn’t she tell he was not playing her
game.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Mate,’ said Rhy to the passengers across the aisle. ‘Could
you speak up? I can’t hear you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The two men frowned; simultaneously screwing their faces.
The one nearest Rhys spoke. ‘What?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I said you are talking too loudly. Be quiet. I’m not interested
in your conversation.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The first man looked at the second who said: ‘that’s not
what he said, is it?’ The first man turned back to face Rhys. ‘That’s not what
you said, is it?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Flied lice’ said Rhys. ‘Keep your voice down.’ Placing his
finger on his lips, he added. ‘Speak quietly please. Flied lice.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘What is flied lice?’ said one to the other as they
exchanged puzzled looks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pleased the joke had gone over their heads, Rhys turned back
to Rhonda. ‘The Chinese are so bloody rude. They talk as loud as they want in
their own sing song ching chong language.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhonda stared at him. The stare became a glare. Rhys
swallowed, then averted his gaze, suddenly finding the back of the seat in
front of him highly fascinating. She was a tough nut to crack and for that Rhys
admired her. His behaviour was more overflowing frustration rather than
deliberate belligerence. It seemed an appropriate time to try out a few things
he’d often fantasized about doing. Although he was good at practicing
restraint, Rhys was also good at letting go. When he let off steam he was no
wimpy kitchen kettle. He recalled a former girlfriend breaking up with him with
a torrent of criticism of Rhys’s sarcastic wit. She did not think he was funny,
and she’d made sure Rhys knew that before giving him the finger and slapping
his face. It was quite a spectacle that bust up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">As Rhys mulled over these matters silently, Rhonda returned
to leafing through the inflight magazine. She’d evidently burnt out after
bending Rhys’s ear right up to and including the time they took their seats on
JK162. Taking advantage of Rhonda’s silence, Rhys considered his strategy. He
was definitely viewing this holiday as a last hurrah. The broken key was an
omen. Rhys didn’t believe in portentous signs except when it suited him to do
so. This was one such time. The key snaps off in the lock, locking him out,
preventing his entry without the help of a locksmith. He’d walked away as
though it was of little consequence, and for the moment it was. For the next
five days it was completely irrelevant. Five days in Bali. One hundred and
twenty hours until the end of Rhys and Rhonda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘What are you smiling at baby? Finally starting to relax?’</span><span style="font-size: large;">She kissed him on the cheek. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">He took her hand in his, raised
it to his mouth and landed a butterfly kiss on it. Rhonda snuggled against him,
filling his nostrils again with her shampoo and the intoxicating scent of her
skin. Again, he became aroused; a feeling which was fortunately interrupted by
an announcement from the flight crew manager.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was a familiar spiel requesting the attention of the
passengers for the safety demonstration. Rhys always paid attention and noted
very carefully those around him who did not. On this occasion, the two oriental
gentlemen to his left were carrying on their conversation in more hushed tones
as per Rhys’s directive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Hey!’ he said. ‘The lady requested your attention.’ He
pointed to the flight attendant who at that moment was fumbling with the
demonstration safety belt. ‘Watch the safety demonstration.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The men once more exchanged curious glances; one even
allowed a smile to bend his thin lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Dammit,’ said Rhys, noticing an unfastened strap hanging
from the side of the seat. ‘Fasten your seatbelt.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Mind you own business,’ said Rhonda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The flight attendant twitched ever so slightly, ironically
embarrassed by the attention. A deep voice came through the back of his seat,
piercing his spine with menace. ‘You should listen to her.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Without turning, Rhys replied, ‘That’s what I told Chairman
Mao and Jackie Chan there.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘You’re an arsehole mate.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhonda had moved right away from him, pressing herself into
the curve of the inner wall of the plane, attempting to create as much distance
as possible between them. The flight attendant finished her performance and was
busy checking the overhead compartments were secure, seats upright, window
shades open and handheld devices switched off. Mao and Chan resumed their
conversation until they were interrupted by the flight attendant telling them
to fasten their seatbelts. ‘Told you so,’ said Rhys, adding a theatrical
clucking sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Shut up dickhead!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Although he knew it was extremely childish, Rhys felt
excited by the attention; feathers had been ruffled. He was the chief ruffler.
He wasn’t afraid of the man behind him. Words were like paper airplanes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Why don’t you have a drink?’ suggested Rhonda. ‘Or maybe a
few. Help you chill and stop making such a pest of yourself.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Good idea,’ he said. Rhys pressed the call button, then
immediately called out ‘excuse me miss! Excuse me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The flight attendant dutifully arrived and leaned closer to
speak with him in a sensible tone of voice. As she spoke Rhys enjoyed her
perfume. ‘Please wait until we are in the air, and the seatbelt sign has been
switched off before placing any orders sir.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">'Probably not the smartest idea to give him anything unless
it’s a heavy sedative.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘The sound of your voice will have the same effect mate.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhonda sighed heavily while the flight attendant fought
against smiling. The guy in the seat behind held his tongue so Rhys
congratulated himself. Once the flight attendant had walked away, the seat in
front reclined into Rhys’s lap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Hey!’ said Rhys as he shoved his palm against the back of
the seat. </span><span style="font-size: large;">‘You can’t recline now. Don’t you listen. Put your seat up. And keep
it all the way forward for the duration of the journey.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhonda sighed. Deep voice behind said, ‘Arsehole.’ Mao and
Chan babbled on. The reclining seat offender immediately did as requested and
not a peep did they utter. Rhys sat calmly, looking forward to that drink and
devising ways to annoy everyone all the way to Denpasar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-65959770875693067372019-09-09T04:55:00.001-07:002019-09-09T04:55:29.890-07:00The Back of the Bus<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<u><span style="font-size: large;">The Back of the
Bus<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">by<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">D.A.Cairns<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Sy8WSUAqeLkX6NG04lZrtuIadfkqeOTW9f_gnPLxv7Dr4z3Unvepo9Y3nq3-Sxhc2r-Bhn4Xc3_CODMZkdUAauoePxxV2_yvE3OpCcoCRWeanYRGNgxRSk5yTOxnrDrbYGKzjd__-xA/s1600/back-of-the-bus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="516" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Sy8WSUAqeLkX6NG04lZrtuIadfkqeOTW9f_gnPLxv7Dr4z3Unvepo9Y3nq3-Sxhc2r-Bhn4Xc3_CODMZkdUAauoePxxV2_yvE3OpCcoCRWeanYRGNgxRSk5yTOxnrDrbYGKzjd__-xA/s320/back-of-the-bus.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">There are sufficient seats at the front of the bus so he
doesn’t need to sit anywhere near the back. A stolen glance as he boards and
presses his Darwin bus card against the scanner while greeting the blank faced
driver, confirms this. Relieved, he walks through a curtain of fetid air and
takes an aisle seat so he can move at least one of his legs. The buses are
rarely crowded, in fact on a number of occasions he’s enjoyed their cavernous
and frosty interiors in solitude. The bus pulls out into what passes for
traffic in Australia’s northern capital, before he’s settled, so he’s forced to
grab the handrail and swing his backside down onto the seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Stony faced passengers stare out through the windows if they
don’t have mobile devices, as he allows the icy air to cool his skin. After a
five-minute walk to the bus stop he was sweating already. It’s only seven
thirty but the mercury is already poking thirty and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the build up</i> humidity draws sweat from the skin as though squeezed
from a sponge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">He watches them through the window, meandering through the
park in a loose herd formation. The front runner is dressed in a hi-vis shirt
and King Gees. Thongs adorn his feet, but he’s carrying a Coles shopping bag in
which he probably has a pair of boots. He reaches the bus stop seconds before
the bus pulls in, having received its command via a long high pitched beep
instigated by a passenger wishing to disembark. The bus stops. Two exit through
the back door as hi-vis enters via the front. He shuffles down the aisle
without making eye contact with anyone, and makes his way to the back of the
bus. The back of the bus is dark and it smells. It’s noisy too and with the
arrival of a hi-vis guy, the hubbub ramps up. They appear careless of the
presence of others as they chatter loudly in a language he doesn’t understand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">So far, his curiousity has not compelled him beyond
speculation. He’s still disappointed that the stereotype he hoped would be
destroyed by his actual experience in the Top End, has instead been
unambiguously reinforced. Hi-vis guy is a rarity for two reasons: he has a job
and he’s sober. Listening to the back of the bus jabber makes him wonder why
hi-guy sits with them. The reason strikes him quickly, making him feel stupid.
He is one of them. He looks like them and speaks their language although as
gainfully employed citizen he is inhabiting a different world. There are many
worlds on the bus. Individual planets in which people sit in safety, enjoying
their self-imposed isolation. Darwin draws people from all over the world, but
no matter which piece of geographical space one occupies it is always different
from others. Everyone experiences the world through the lens of their own
culture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The bus stops again, relieving itself of another burden,
before proceeding along the Stuart Highway towards Palmerston. He becomes aware
of other conversations taking place, but they are not in English either. All of
his fellow passengers can speak the local language with varying degrees of
proficiency, which makes it an unsecured mode, and besides it is infinitely
easier to converse in one’s own tongue. Even though there’s no need for
discretion when no one else can understand what you’re saying, most people,
mindful of others, speak as quietly as they can. The mob at the back of the bus
are boisterous, loudly calling to a couple of their members as they leave the
bus at the next stop. Perhaps, it’s the parting shot of an argument now severed
by circumstance, or maybe it’s a hearty wish for health and happiness. It’s
impossible to tell. They always sound angry. The disembarkees, don’t smile as
they gesticulate towards the back of the bus on their way out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Others takes their place, dressed in the uniform dirty rags
of their tribe, and set off nicely by an assortment of bandages and plaster
strips. They fight all the time. He’s seen them in the parks, staggering around
in an alcoholic fog hurling curses and fists at each other. He studies one of
the women and realizes that she might have been beautiful once, before her lip
had been split a dozen times, and her nose broken. She’s shrouded in weariness,
her dull dark face framed by thick unwashed hair. The back of the bus waits for
her: a broken and battered woman bearing ten extra years of life in every
crease of her face. They are not a good-looking race. Oversized noses, brows
and lips. He quivers with disgust at himself, but this latent racism has been
nagging him ever since he arrived. They are more different than any other
people and yet this land is theirs. They belong while everyone else, in one
sense, does not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">He wishes it was different. That his only conversations with
them hadn’t involved humbugging. That making eye contact meant being hit up for
money or cigarettes. He wishes he had not seen them sifting through handfuls of
cigarette butts looking for a smokeable remnant or staggering around the
streets of Darwin in the middle of the day, menacingly intoxicated, or sleeping
in the middle of footpaths and on bus shelter benches and in parks, flat out on
their backs and oblivious. The awful statistics are on the news every night, as
they valiant efforts of community leaders to rescue their people from despair.
He would rather not have seen or heard any of this. The rampant racism and
typecasting he heard back was easy to refute when distanced from actual
experience, and nothing is more powerfully influential than an individual’s own
experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was becoming a torment for him to endure this
increasingly undeniable awareness of his own prejudice. He wanted desperately
to do something about it, to transform himself, instead of merely joining the
eye rolling and long suffering majority who with differing degrees of tolerance
shared the city with its minority of resident natives. His stop was
approaching, and he would soon be at work, fully engaged mentally and unable to
give consideration to the troubling thoughts he suffered on every bus ride. He
often thought of purchasing a car, but it made him feel sick to think that was
his best and only solution to the festering problem of how to live with his
Indigenous brothers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">He presses the stop button and shuffles in his seat. When
the bus stops, he rises and walks to the front<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>door. Fifteen minutes have passed but the stench of the back of the bus
passengers still hangs heavy in the air and it drapes him as he exits the bus
with a nod to the blank faced driver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">As he walks, he thinks of Rosa Parks: a champion of the
American civil rights movement in the 1960’s. Her particular brand of protest
focused on ending the restrictive and racist law which saw negroes forced to
sit at the back of the bus. More than half a century later, black Australians
choose the back of the bus. It’s their territory, as they travel around
aimlessly, resenting the white invaders who stole their land and their
children. The same invaders who pay for their pitiful, violent and alcoholic
lifestyles. The irony takes his breath away, makes him feel dizzy and
despondent.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-86513677463395436462019-05-24T17:30:00.001-07:002019-05-24T17:31:58.739-07:00Twelve Days of Misery<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://cdn.tinybuddha.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/Heartbroken.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for heartbroken" border="0" height="266" src="https://cdn.tinybuddha.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/Heartbroken.png" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It’s been nine days since she left the
country. </span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">Twelve since I last beheld the beautiful enigma of her countenance,
and tasted the salty tears which stained her cheek. She said she had to go.
That we could not continue like this. It wasn’t what either of us wanted. I
couldn’t argue, but I only yielded to her disturbing suggestion that we cut
each off for four weeks because I believed that she would return to me as she
had done before. Many times before. I loved her, so I let her go. The proverb
dances through my mind even now like a frivolous fairy: If you love someone,
let them go…I love her still but I let her go. She said she loved me, whispered
it into my ear in the afterglow, but her words now ring hollow, chiselled out
by her actions. The conflict in in her eyes, the contradiction in her voice.
She was playing with me. Using me to figure herself out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I started it as a game but overestimated my
ability to subsume my feelings, to divorce the physical from the emotional. I
was wrong to think I could fool around. I suck at games. When I fell in love
with her, I tumbled into a bottomless chasm. She said she loved me and she
opened her heart to me. We filled each other with the bountiful riches of
passionate love as we surrendered to the wild affair. We filled each other. We
held nothing back. Now she has taken everything away, and I can’t go on. I
can’t let her go. I don’t want to let her go.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Bereft of words to accurately capture the
pain which has rendered me useless for anything but morbid introspection, I desire
a new alphabet to describe the agony of unrequited love and the subsequent
oxidation of my heart. I’m sure it will burst any moment now. My head. My
heart. My choice to risk everything, to invest so much, has bankrupted my soul.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And yet…I hold on to the hope that when she
returns she will ask me to hold her, and never let her go. And I won’t.</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">written by D.A.Cairns</span></span></div>
<br />DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-53808130185684623042018-10-05T20:01:00.002-07:002018-10-05T20:01:51.919-07:00Mayor Hidey Seek<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Mayor Hidey Seek</u></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">by</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Mitchell Grabois</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Her mama named her Ivana because the name would make her rich. There was nothing else around to pull that trick. Ivana went to the Gracie Mansion looking for Donald Trump, but her teacher told her: This ain’t where he lives.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPQjNtNLCTBEQrdHNVgAj_KCeZbfPdnSYiNOHxzhodGmL9eckJrtfetHGg3TIHwC8h4LkXV3CvXGJ7JBNvoGc9ffZ6WbBXpJDDR45YW9BxAMrtEfA0_xZtLI2OLHGuH7dqpTSvZmKy7A/s1600/dentist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="285" data-original-width="390" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPQjNtNLCTBEQrdHNVgAj_KCeZbfPdnSYiNOHxzhodGmL9eckJrtfetHGg3TIHwC8h4LkXV3CvXGJ7JBNvoGc9ffZ6WbBXpJDDR45YW9BxAMrtEfA0_xZtLI2OLHGuH7dqpTSvZmKy7A/s320/dentist.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">My dentist kicked me out, not out of her office, but out of the luxury condo we shared. From up high we could see cars drive through like baby teeth fleeing childhood. We drank martini’s and watched. I could go back to her office if I want to open my mouth to unendurable pain, but I don’t think I can do that. I suffer from Fear Itself.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is where the mayor lives. The mayor, yeah, thought Ivana, the man that owns where she lives, all the buildings crawling with people like ants, where she sleeps in one room with her seven brothers and sisters and her mama and her boyfriend on torn mattresses.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You’re a baby, a wimp, a coward, my girlfriend, my dentist accuses. That’s all true, I say. What’s your point?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Gracie Mansion. She’s gonna tell the mayor to do something about the rats. She hates rats. Mist’ Mayor, give em a place of their own. A rat mansion.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There are heroes in Iraq and Afghanistan, she continues, and continues and continues, and every day the shrapnel pierces them, roadside bombs blow off limbs and give them closed head injuries, and you--you won’t have a silly root canal.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She’s lookin’ for the Mayor, lookin' for signs, lookin' for the Criminal Minds guys that guard him, keep him safe, keep him away from the serial killers and the perverts who lurk everywhere, who rape you or send you into free fall some other way.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I have no defense. I have to admit she’s right. All I have to fear is fear itself, but that fear towers above me like a monolith about to fall and crush me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But Ivana doesn’t see them. The Mayor’s nowhere in sight. All her teacher shows them is stuff she calls “elegant.” Ivana’s mind tries to computes pawn value, but the numbers in her head don’t go that high.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Even if I had an attorney, I’d have no defense. I only hope she relents, blunts her own judgments, finds some mercy for this poor dental sinner.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Back home, Ivana sees two men in her building knife fighting. She sees a crack pipe on the bathroom floor. Ivana feels it: she is becoming the place. The Mayor is hiding. That’s his name, another girl on the tour says. Mayor Hidey Seek.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u>Bio</u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over twelve-hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He has been nominated for numerous prizes. His novel, </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Two-Headed-Dog-Mitch-Grabois-ebook/dp/B009SB8VP8" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Two-Headed Dog</a><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition. To see more of his work, google Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois. He lives in Denver.</span></div>
DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-31658167309145834612018-09-21T18:07:00.000-07:002018-09-21T18:08:13.783-07:00Quickshift<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
This is the third and final post in the series of "commemorative" stories. Billy buys the car of his dreams, but it drives him into a nightmare. Quickshift was published in Alfie Dog in 2013.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Shout out to Alfie Dog's chief, Rosemary Kind. Thank you and good luck for the future. Check out Rosemary's novel <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B074YKTNY4/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i1">The Orphan Train</a>. I highly recommend it. Here is the first in a series of my short stories which she loved, and made available to short fiction fans around the world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Quickshift<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><o:p> by</o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU">D.A.Cairns<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Are you kidding?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Look at that!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">My eyes followed Billy’s finger into a
ramshackle jalopy shop packed to the gills with overpriced rustbuckets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Buzz boxes,’ I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Dude. Look harder. Up the back.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">On the back row of the lot crammed up
against what was apparently an office were three old cars. Some might have
called them classics but I had already told my mate Billy exactly what I
thought of the whole wretched lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.shannons.com.au/library/images/auctions/FE54FD3BQ85KWGD7/1600x1066/1968-holden-hk-monaro-gts-327-bathurst-coupe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for 1968 holden monaro gts coupe" border="0" height="266" src="https://www.shannons.com.au/library/images/auctions/FE54FD3BQ85KWGD7/1600x1066/1968-holden-hk-monaro-gts-327-bathurst-coupe.jpg" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-AU">‘The yellow one in the middle.’68 Monaro
coupe. 1-2-3 on the Mountain. Same age as me, Cam. I gotta have her.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘You’re in the head Billy. A track version
of that car won an endurance race 38 years ago and you want to buy it?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Yeah,’ said Billy with his tongue hanging
out of his mouth like a hungry dog. ‘Come on.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Three weeks later, Billy called me and told
me he was having some trouble with the car. I told him right off the bat, as
good friends should do, that he had blown his dough on a lemon and I had told
him not to buy it in the first place. He told me I was wrong then and I was
still wrong because it wasn’t the kind of trouble one might have expected from
an old car. Then he told me this fantastic story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The Monaro’s bargain basement price of five
hundred dollars was due to the fact that it was unregistered and undriveable.
Still, Billy saw a body in rust free pristine condition albeit a little dull
and dirty, and knew he could bring her back to life and out on the open road where
she belonged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">A mechanic mate of Billy’s, named Matt,
rebuilt the three hundred and fifty cubic inch Chevrolet engine, replaced the
old transmission with a ratio quick shift, for forty percent more efficiency he
reckoned, upgraded the brakes to discs all round, and whacked in a limited slip
differential. Every day after work Billy called in to see the work in progress
and happily hand over whatever cash was needed to finance the Monaro’s
resurrection. I thought it was like flushing money down the toilet but every
day his excitement grew as he anticipated her maiden journey. There was one
problem though. Dust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Billy’s mate, Matt, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>kept a clean workshop; as clean as garages can
be anyway, but each morning when he opened up, he discovered a thin layer of dust
all over the Monaro. It was grey and silky looking like soot though much
courser in texture but because it wiped off easily he never bothered telling
Billy. He was curious but not enough to investigate the problem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">One morning when Matt arrived at the
workshop, Billy was waiting for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘You’re here early, Billy. What’s up?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘You’re getting’ close, right?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Damn, you’re impatient. I’m not going to
go any harder just because you’re here every bloody day checking up on me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I know. I know. I’m just asking.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Matt nodded and Billy clapped him on the
shoulder.‘Give us a quick look before I go to work.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Nothin’s changed since last night, Billy.
I don’t live here.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Give us a quick look.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">His mate shrugged in resignation and
pressed a button on his keyring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Billy was in, scrambling under the roller
door before it was even half way up. He was dumbfounded when he saw her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What the hell?’ he called out as he ran his
finger through the coat of greyish dust which covered the whole car. ‘How?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘She must have been out for a spin during
the night.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Turning quickly to stare hard at the
mechanic who was now right behind him, Billy jabbed his finger angrily and said,
‘Not funny, Matt. If you drove it without my permission…well that’s bad enough,
but where did you take her for God’s sake? How the hell did she get so dirty.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The mechanic threw up his hands. ‘That was
a joke. The bloody thing has not left the workshop since you rolled it in here
last week.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘How do you explain the dust?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I can’t.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Is this the first time?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘No. Every morning when I come in it’s like
that.’ He pointed at the car. ‘I clean it off and then get to work and it’s
still clean when I leave.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Looking first at Matt and then at the car
then back at his friend again, Billy was speechless. In silence they wiped all
the dust off the Monaro and when they finished, Billy said. ‘I’m going to stay
here tonight.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The mechanic shrugged. ‘See you tonight
then, Billy.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Billy walked out of the workshop without
saying another word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He returned just before five thirty as the
sun was being sucked under the horizon and Matt was closing up. The latter only
hung around long enough to wish Billy luck, before leaving him alone with his
prize possession.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Just to hear the sound of her voice, Billy
kicked the engine over and allowed it to run for a minute or two. The
rhythmical deep throbbing of the mighty v-eight was music to his ears but he
didn’t want to gas himself, so he shut her down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Matt had set up an old cot for Billy in
front of the Monaro, but after thirty minutes of tossing he gave up on getting
comfortable and decided to sleep in the car. Billy opted for the back seat,
hoping that he would be able to sleep despite not being able to stretch out to
his full six foot one. Fully clothed and smothered in blankets, he peacefully
drifted off to sleep with thoughts of driving Mon, as he now called her, clear
across the country filling his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He was jolted awake when the car seemed to
hit a dip and bounce out the other side. At first he thought he was dreaming,
but no dream had ever felt this real, and another violent bounce convinced him
he was awake. Sitting up on the back seat after throwing off the blankets,
Billy noticed that he was alone in the car but she was definitely moving, and motoring
very fast across a desert landscape. At least it looked like desert except for
the colour of the sand which was grey. Billy stared out the window at the world
rushing by and wondered where on earth he was. He felt hot too, sweaty and
sticky but when he tried to wind the window down it was stuck. Looking ahead,
he saw they were approaching a small hill, or was it a pile of rocks. Quickly
it loomed larger in the windscreen and Billy could see a black opening at the
base of the hill. In an instant, darkness swallowed him and he held his breath,
waiting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Light crashed through the windows and onto
his face causing his eyes to flicker behind stubbornly closed lids. It was the
light of a new day and Billy was covered in blankets lying on Mon’s back seat,
dry mouthed and disoriented. He sat up slowly and looked out through the
window. The walls were lined with tools and other equipment while drums and car
parts covered the benches and the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Next he heard shouting.‘Hey, what are you
doing in there? Get out? Who are you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">More demanding questions than Billy could
keep up with. He wiped his eyes and saw a familiar face. ‘It’s me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I said get out of the car or I’m going to
pull you out and bust you up!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What? Matt, it’s me. It’s my car, Mon.
It’s my car!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘This car belongs to a mate of mine. Get
the hell out of it. I won’t tell you again.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Billy carefully opened the door and climbed
out of the back seat. When standing in front of the mechanic, he said, ‘What’s
going on? This is my car. You let me stay here so I could find out where the
dust came from.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘The dust? What do you know about the dust?
Did you put it there?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Billy twisted around and put his hand on
Mon’s roof feeling the dust fluff through his fingers as he did so -it was
thicker than before- a tiny cloud of it puffed up and made him sneeze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Get the hell out of here! Now!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘But…’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Billy did not know what else to say as his
friend obviously did not recognise him. Did he look different? He cautiously
felt his face. He needed to see a mirror.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Last chance,’ said the angry stranger, ‘go
or I’ll call the cops.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Okay, okay,’ said Billy retreating as he
spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The next thing that happened, according to
Billy, was that he telephoned me. I don’t remember that call but he swears he
called me right after he left the garage. This is how that conversation went
down, according to Billy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Cam, it’s me Billy. Something weird
happened.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Sorry who is this?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Billy.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Billy who?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Billy Kavanaugh. Stop stuffing around Cam.
I need your help.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Billy Kavanaugh? Bloody hell, there’s a
name I haven’t heard in years. Since…what? The last year of high school?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Cam, cut the bloody jokes will ya. I’m
sort of in trouble.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘No joke, Billy. I’m stunned. Can’t believe
you’ve called me after all these years, and what? You need some help?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Cam, come on man. You were there when I
bought her.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Bought who?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘The car!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What car? I haven’t seen you for years, I
told you. Are you all right?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Billy hung up by almost pressing his thumb
right through his cell phone, then walked further into town wondering what to
do. A little boy waved at him, ‘Hi, Mr Kavanaugh.’ Billy waved back and smiled
faintly without the slightest idea who the boy was. He bought a Coke and
wandered over to a park where he sat on the grass and drank thoughtfully. The
commemorative plaque in the centre of the reserve said Civic Park which made
Billy scratch his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I thought this was Stanley Park,’ he
mumbled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Deciding to return that night to the garage
and his car, Billy needed to kill eight or nine hours so he went to the local
cinema and watched a few movies and then to the library. Billy liked sci-fi
movies but after an hour in the library he realised that the only explanation
for his situation was that he must have been in a movie. His town was in some
ways just the same as the day before but in many other ways, completely
different. Of course he wasn’t in a movie and surely he could not have been
still dreaming, so what then?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Alternate realities,’ he said out loud and
laughed to himself before an old lady silenced him with an angry ssshhh!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">That night back at the garage, Billy waited
until closing time and managed to sneak in behind the mechanic’s back and hide
under Mon until he left. Squirming out, he stood and noticed light from a streetlamp
poking in through the workshop window, and dancing on the Monaro’s clean, smooth
lines. He decided to stay awake if he could and besides he did not have any
blankets or a pillow. As he was not planning on sleeping, he sat behind the
driver’s wheel. The radio came alive at his touch and he scanned through the
stations to find something to listen to. He felt very tired and from time to
time his heavy eyelids closed in drowsiness but he was determined to stay
awake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Rattling. Rattle, bang! Rattle, bang! Billy
jerked forward and shook his head. He had slept.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Damn it!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He heard a chain rattling as though it were
twitching and bouncing on a hard surface. A road? Yes, a road. The grey desert
extended to the horizon in every direction. Billy recognised the scene but the
sound was different. Rattle, bang! Rattle, bang! Bang! Bang! It stopped
suddenly and Billy turned to look out the back window but they were moving too
fast to see anything properly. He supposed that something had been caught under
the car and had eventually broken free. Whatever, it didn’t matter. When he
looked forward again, he saw the hill, and the black hole coming up quickly,
and this time when darkness engulfed them, he did not hold his breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Back in the garage, Billy coughed himself
out of sleep and watched some grey dust dance around his face. He was content
to accept the alternate realities concept despite knowing it to be impossible,
and Billy wondered what sort of reception he would receive from the owner of
the workshop this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Billy? What are you doing here, man? How’d
you get in?’ said Matt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Recognition. Beautiful, thought Billy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I snuck in late last night.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Snuck in?’ The mechanic slapped him on the
back. ‘You could have just asked if you needed somewhere to stay. You and Kelly
have another fight?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Kelly?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He laughed. ‘Your wife, stupid. The hottie
you share your life with now.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Yes, I mean no. No everything’s okay.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Kelly? Did he mean Kelly Aspinall? She
married Cam. Billy did not know any other Kellys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘So what gives?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Huh?’ said Billy wondering how he ended up
marrying Kelly and what effect that might have had on his friendship with Cam.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘What
are you doing here?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Checking on Mon. You know to try and find
out where the dust is coming from.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Look, Billy,’ he began but paused and
winced briefly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I don’t know how much
longer I can keep it here. If you’re not gonna fix it up…I mean it’s just
taking up space.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘How long’s it been here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Months. Mate you really shouldn’t have
bought it without asking Kelly first. You know what some girls are like with
cars.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘No.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘They get jealous.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘So you’re not fixing it up for me?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Matt shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘And she’s covered in dust because she’s
been sitting there for months?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The mechanic nodded, before saying, ‘Are
you all right? You really must have hit the cans hard last night.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">After a brief telephone conversation with me
again allegedly, although like I said, I don’t remember- that afternoon, which
included a very large collection of very strong words with some accusation of
‘you stole my girl!’, Billy had decided that this life was all wrong, so he
arranged to stay another night. Matt agreed on the proviso that Billy would
allow him to get rid of the car the next day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Borrowing blankets and pillows, Billy made
himself as comfortable as possible knowing full well that he would fall asleep
whether he wanted to or not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The intense heat woke him this time, not
the bumping ride through the desert. He sat up casually and looked out the
window at the blurred panorama of grey sand and then forward to where he
expected to see the hill and the hole, and he yawned and thought about how this
part of the journey had become a bore. So flat and featureless it reminded him
of a hospital hallway. Where was it? What was it? Perhaps, mused Billy, I will
never know the answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">When his world went momentarily black he
sat there calmly knowing it was temporary, and anticipating with some very
faint wisp of anxiety the next adventure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Sirens wailed. Loudly, they were close.
Billy ducked down behind the front seat, pressing himself as far into the
footwell as he could. He tried to suppress a cough but it forced itself out
through his hands covering them in grey dust. His throat felt parched and sore
but someone was banging on the roller door and soon they would be banging on
the car door. No time to think or feel. They’re after me but why? Do they even
know why I am here or that I am? Irrational thoughts churned in his mind.
Questions led to more questions but never to answers. There was one immediate
need; to decide what to do. To stay and protest his innocence whatever the
charge may be, or run and virtually proclaim his guilt. There was no way of
knowing whether or not his presence in the Monaro was expected or acceptable.
Would the Matt in this world know him?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Billy, come one. I’ll help you get out of
here. Quick! The cops are out front and they’ll be in here any tick.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Looking at the friendly face of the
mechanic, Billy wondered why the police were after him and how they knew he was
here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘How did they know I was here?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Mate, I didn’t tell them. I don’t know
what you did but I’m not going to turn you in, okay. Hurry up and get out, will
ya?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Matt led him into the office where he
pushed the desk to the side and peeled back a large square of worn carpet.
Pulling up the trapdoor, he motioned for Billy to quickly jump in and when he
did so, he shut the door over his head. In the quiet darkness, Billy heard the
desk moving again and then his friend calling out to someone as he left the
office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Just a minute guys. Sorry the door’s
stuck. Hang on.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The banging stopped and Billy waited.
Voices became louder carried by approaching footsteps, and he heard every word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Billy Kavaunaugh? Where is he?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Not here. I haven’t seen him for ages.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘That’s his Monaro in your workshop.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Yep.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘So where is he?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I told you. I haven’t seen him for a long
time, not since he dropped the car off here and asked me if he could leave it
here for a while.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Why’d he want to leave it here?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘He didn’t say.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘You didn’t ask?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Silence. Billy presumed a shrug of the
shoulders or a shake of the head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘So when was he here?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Two weeks ago.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Did he seem okay to you?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What d’ya mean?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Did there seem to be anything wrong with
him? Was he upset or agitated at all? Was his behaviour normal?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He laughed. ‘Billy’s never been normal.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Billy imagined a scowl spreading over the
policeman’s face, before he said, ‘Next time you laugh, it’s gonna be followed
by pain. Understand?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Silence then another question. The tone
strained. ‘Do you know Kelly Aspinall?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Billy gasped and hoped like hell it wasn’t
loud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Yes. Kelly’s married to Billy’s best mate,
Cam. What’s she got to do with anything?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘When did you last see her?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I don’t remember. I hardly see her at
all.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Bulldust,’ spat the angry cop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What about her anyway?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘She’s in the morgue.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">More silence and Billy bit his hand to stop
him crying out. There were probably more questions but he had stopped listening
because he knew that either he had killed Kelly or Cam had, and whichever the
case, Matt was not very likely to extend his help once he knew the truth of the
matter. Profuse denial, swearing on his mother’s grave and anything else he
could think of would perhaps steal some time for him. Maybe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The voices stopped, so Billy assumed they
had left the office and carefully tried to push open the trapdoor. It gave a
little but the weight of the tables still held him prisoner. It seemed a jail
cell might be exactly what he deserved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">When the mechanic finally returned, Billy
had convinced himself of his own innocence and was therefore well prepared to
persuade Matt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Look,’ said the mechanic. He was obviously
disturbed by the encounter with Officer Unfriendly. ‘You can stay here until
dark but then you have to leave okay.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Billy nodded thankfully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Stay out of sight too!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">A quick phone call to Cam was enough for
Billy to realise he had done nothing wrong except fail to protect Kelly. Cam’s
pathetic pleading for help through an alien and obviously inebriated voice was
to Billy’s mind, a confession. Billy couldn’t wait for night fall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">On the fourth night, Billy decided to call
me before he went back to ride in his weird time machine. He explained to me
that the possibilities were endless and his intention was to keep searching the
different parallel universes until he found the perfect one and then he would
stay. I told him he was a lunatic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Think of it, Cam,’ he said with almost
irresistible enthusiasm. ‘I can see the outcome of different choices I have
made, or will make. Which one is it?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I don’t know,’ I said, playing along
because he was my friend and I loved him despite his madness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘In the last one, you killed Kelly.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Kelly Aspinall?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Yeah.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What for?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I don’t know but you were married to her
and the police came after me as the prime suspect. But you confessed to me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘How the hell would I, in any world, in any
time, ever have ended up marrying Kelly Aspinall? Same planet, different world,
me and her.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I don’t know. I haven’t had time to work
through all the intricacies, but I’m taking notes and I’ll put it all together
later.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He coughed a little, then a lot, to the
point where I began to wonder if he was going to be able to stop. Finally he
did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Bloody dust,’ he croaked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What dust?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘It’s from the desert, the in-between land
or purgatory or whatever you call it. It covers Mon every time we travel.
Anyway, you gotta come with me, Cam. I want you to share this…this unbelievable
thing with me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Nah.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Why? Don’t you want to know what your life
could have been like? Aren’t you curious?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Nah, I’m happy where I am and besides I’m
an asthmatic mate and that dust sounds like hell on earth.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">I still didn’t believe a word of it and to
tell you the truth I was getting tired of the conversation. I had better things
to do even if Billy didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Billy I have to go mate. Look, if I were
you I’d go and see a doctor about that cough and stay away from that bloody
dust.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">I waited for a response but Billy said
nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Billy,’ I said, suddenly fearful. ‘Billy,
you there? You all right?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘You don’t believe me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Damn, you scared me. I thought you’d
dropped off the perch.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘So you’re not coming with me? You don’t
believe me, do you?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘It’s pretty out there, Billy.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I’m telling you the truth. Just come and
see for yourself. Please.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Eventually, I said yes to shut him up but
just after I hung up Kelly Aspinall walked into the room and said, ‘You ready
for dinner yet honey?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">I stared at her not knowing what to say.
She called me honey and was asking me if I was ready for dinner, and I knew I
had to get out of there. Something wasn’t right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Honey,’ she said, so sweetly that I was
nearly spellbound. ‘What’s wrong? You look pale.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Somehow I found my voice and made up a story
about Billy needing my help-it was sort of true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What, now?’ she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Yeah, yeah,’ I said scrambling to my feet
and out of the living room, headed for the front door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘When will you be back?’ she asked quietly
as I wrenched it open.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70B_AqptWw7pDSkw71ENFjS8uwzMESNj1gpJH51X-zD8x4_aGW1PwtgTJ7bKHc0WqjJ9PbAxgb8UsZ-JhdwJgFNo76kdeUfaZuDVumZ3PtmaOVNSg0wO6PYH_ahhO38VnFUsCftotN4Q/s1600/Holden-HK-Monaro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="800" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70B_AqptWw7pDSkw71ENFjS8uwzMESNj1gpJH51X-zD8x4_aGW1PwtgTJ7bKHc0WqjJ9PbAxgb8UsZ-JhdwJgFNo76kdeUfaZuDVumZ3PtmaOVNSg0wO6PYH_ahhO38VnFUsCftotN4Q/s400/Holden-HK-Monaro.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Dunno, love. Later,’ I said, and then as
an afterthought, ‘Another time.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">I heard her pleading cries fade behind me
as I raced across the lawn and jumped into my car. ‘What do you mean another
time?’ Squealing tyres drowned her out as I sped off down the road to meet
Billy and find another life. My life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<br />DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-3092584998075301752018-09-14T18:03:00.000-07:002018-09-14T18:03:53.022-07:00My Yard, My Rules.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 16px;">This is the second in the series of "commemorative" stories. Not quite cricket season yet, but it's getting close, so here's one for the lovers of the greatest game of all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 16px;">Shout out to Alfie Dog's chief, Rosemary Kind. Thank you and good luck for the future. Check out Rosemary's novel </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B074YKTNY4/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i1" style="font-size: 16px;">The Orphan Train</a><span style="font-size: 16px;">. I highly recommend it. Here is the first in a series of my short stories which she loved, and made available to short fiction fans around the world.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU">My
Yard, My Rules<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU">by<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU">D.A.
Cairns<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy really didn’t want to go. He really
didn’t, but faced with a choice between going or staying</span> home and helping his
mum and little sister bake cookies, he took the least bad option. It wasn’t
that he didn’t like cookies. He loved them. Could have easily eaten every
packet which found its way into their home and every single warm and delicious
smelling one that came out of the oven. Jimmy just did not want to make them. He
would rather eat broccoli for breakfast everyday for a week than bake anything.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Are you coming or not Jimmy?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/vKBfyO1cHg8/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for backyard cricket" border="0" height="180" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/vKBfyO1cHg8/maxresdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-AU">Jack was Jimmy’s big brother. The destination
he was so eager to reach was Theo’s house. It was a small ramshackle house on a
corner block with nothing to recommend it except a very big, well grassed and
flat backyard. Every summer it was the place to be. The neighbourhood kids
would flock there each day after school and all across the weekend to play
cricket. The nearest park was ten minutes drive away; too far to walk unless
you were an Olympian, but who needed a park when they had Theo’s big backyard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Yeah,’ said Jimmy with all the enthusiasm
of a cat sleeping by a warm fire on a cold night. ‘I’m coming.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The two brothers walked four blocks to
Theo’s house, opened the front gate, strolled through to the side gate, opened
it and proceeded down the side path, just like it was their own home. If Theo’s
parents had any problem with the constant flow of children to and from their
backyard, nobody knew about it. In fact, nobody knew for sure if Theo actually
had parents because no one had ever seen or heard them, although it was highly
unlikely, thought Jimmy, that Theo would have had the skill or the motivation
to mow the yard. The pitch in particular would have done the nation’s leading
curators proud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘G’day Jack,’ called Theo, looking up
briefly before resuming his crouching position over the bat ready to face the
bowler. The game had already started.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy looked around the yard, searching for
a friendly face. Of course he knew all the kids; mostly boys Jack’s age or a
bit older and a couple of girls who could not play and strangely seemed more interested
in the boys than the game. Unfortunately Jimmy didn’t exactly like any of them.
Maybe it was because they picked on him if <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they bothered talking to him at all. Some
times they just completely ignored him. Jimmy sighed and Jack left him to take
up a catching position at silly mid on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘You’ll get hit there,’ warned Theo with a
smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘She’ll be right, Theo,’ said Jack. ‘More
likely you’ll be out next ball!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘No close in fielders today,’ replied Theo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jack stood up straight, hands on his hips
and stared at Theo. Jimmy thought his big brother looked very threatening. He
had seen that posture before and always surrendered because he knew what would
follow if he did not. Theo, however was nobody’s little brother. He was an only
child.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘My yard, my rules!’ announced Theo loudly
and proudly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy groaned inwardly. Typical Theo. Jack
pumped his fist upwards towards Theo and backed away. ‘You’ll still be out next
ball.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The bowler who had waited patiently through
the tense confrontation between Jack and Theo now began his approach to the
crease. Jimmy watched Shah sprint in from twenty metres back, plant his foot in
line with the stumps and then, with a whirlwind action, deliver the ball from
his hand right onto Theo’s bat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy heard the call of ‘watch out’ at
exactly the same time as the ball thumped into his chest. It knocked him onto
the seat of his pants and he felt tears welling in his eyes almost immediately.
He bit his lower lip and stood up quickly as Jack rushed to his side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘All right, Jimmy?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy rubbed the spot on his chest which
stung like crazy and nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Gimme a look,’ said Jack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Nah!,’ said Jimmy bravely, ‘She’ll be
right.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Missed chance there,’ yelled Theo, still
puffing after completing a double run. ‘That takes me to fourteen.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Shah was on the way back to his mark but
paused to ruffle Jimmy’s hair. Jimmy pulled away despite secretly appreciating
the gesture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘That was no chance,’ said Shah. ‘Pointing
couldn’t have caught that one.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy shrugged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Shah turned and stood at his mark studying
the ball as he waited for Theo to nod his readiness. Jimmy was so glad they
only played with a tennis ball. He could hardly imagine what a six stitcher
would have done to him. The very thought made him shudder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The bowler was on his way again, a
determined look plastered over his face. Jimmy watched hoping like mad that
Shah would get Theo out. That was the only good thing about backyard cricket at
Theo’s; watching him get out. It was like a lonely ray of sunshine on a cloudy
day to watch one of his petulant performances following a dismissal, which
according to Theo was never justified. Jimmy was praying for it. C’mon Shah,
get him out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Flying from the whirlwind, the ball bounced
not more than twenty centimetres in front of Theo and went passed the edge of
the bat and on to hit his shin. Theo winced and staggered forward a few steps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Howzat!’ cried Shah, accompanied by
everyone else in the field. Jack was especially enthusiastic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Not out,’ said Theo. ‘No LBWs.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What?’ protested Shah.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy watched as Shah and Jack and another
boy, Mat, approached Theo. This was interesting thought Jimmy, very interesting
indeed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘No umpires to rule on leg before so we
can’t have it,’ said Theo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘But that was an obvious one,’ said Shah.
‘You know it!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Theo seemed unruffled in the middle of a
circle of anger. His voice was calm if perhaps a little higher pitched than
usual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘My yard, my rules!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><img alt="Image result for backyard cricket" height="225" src="https://cdn.newsapi.com.au/image/v1/7ee54a493fcc003fba344048fed0cdab?width=650" width="400" /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">For a moment it seemed as though that might
have been the end of the game. Jack was so angry and frustrated that he was
paralysed apart from his fist which Jimmy observed was clenching and
unclenching mechanically like it had a mind of its own. Jack was thirteen and
Jimmy had noticed how much he had changed over the last year. Half the time he
could still be kind of cool and fun, the other half grumpy and mean, and every
now and then he would just explode suddenly like a dormant volcano. You just
had to get out of the way when he erupted or get smothered to death by steaming
lava. Jimmy hoped that he would be a bit more controlled when he reached the
big one three than big brother Jack was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Finally after complaints from some of the
other boys, Jack and Shah backed off and the game continued. Shah bowled his
last delivery, a slower one bouncing high outside the off stump which Theo
swung at and missed, and then someone called drinks. It was a good call thought
Jimmy because although he had only been there for a little while and
contributed nothing to the game except amusement for the others due to his
misfortune, it was a hot day and he was thirsty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Theo had other ideas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘One more over before drinks,’ he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy could not see how one more over could
make any difference other than to make everyone thirstier. His mouth was already
as dry as a handful of hot sand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘New bowler,’ called Jack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Let the kid have a crack,’ suggested Theo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">All eyes were suddenly and horrifyingly on
Jimmy. As he withered under the multitude of staring eyes, he tried to speak,
to say thanks, but no thanks. When Shah handed him the ball and wished him luck,
Jimmy’s heart and head were pounding as though they wanted to break out of his
body. Jack strolled over and placed a comforting hand on Jimmy’s shoulder as he
walked him back ten metres from the stumps at the non-striker’s end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Here’s your chance, Jimmy,’ said Jack, too
kindly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I can’t even bowl properly.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Sure you can.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">But I don’t wanna bowl, Jack.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Sure you do,’ insisted his big brother
while slapping his back a fraction too hard. ‘Sure you do.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The walk back to the start of his run was
taking longer than trying to swim through mud. It was only Jack’s firm and
persistent push that kept Jimmy going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Look,’ said Jack as they stopped. ‘Just
bowl it straight. Six balls and then we can have a drink, okay?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘He’ll smash me all over the place.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Maybe he’ll give us a catch then. You
know, he’ll have a false sense of security, and get careless.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy was solidly unconvinced. Jack slapped
him on the back again and made Jimmy cough before he ran back to his position
in the field at deep point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘C’mon Jimmy,’ he called loudly. Other
voices joined in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Shrinking inside and wanting to run away
and hide somewhere, Jimmy rubbed his hand on his pants to get the sweat off, then
stared at the ball. Maybe the ball itself could work some sort of miracle for
him. Jack had said he should just bowl it straight for six balls, that’s all.
That’s all, scoffed Jimmy to himself. I’ll be lucky to get even one ball on the
pitch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">More cheers of encouragement filled his
ears but he wasn’t sure if they were sincere or not. More likely, they were
waiting to laugh at his failure. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as
he squeezed the ball inside his right hand. Then he was off on a slow
deliberate run up which he hoped showed concentration and serious intent to the
batsman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">At the crease he rolled his arm over and
was pleased to see the ball fly straight albeit in an awkward looking high arc.
On descent to the stumps the ball was greeted by the middle of Theo’s bat, the
impact sending it racing through the air, above the grass at square leg, past
the fielder and into the Colourbond fence on the full. Bang!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy jumped at the sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Six!’ cried Theo triumphantly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘It’s four,’ said Jack. ‘Six is over and
out. Universal backyard cricket rules.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Theo stamped his foot. ‘We’re not in the
universe. We’re in my yard and I say it’s six!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Whatever,’ said everyone in unison except
Jimmy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">As he received the ball from Shah via the
ground after he dropped it, he was congratulating himself on bowling straight. Brimming
with confidence, Jimmy marched back to his mark, turned and waited for Theo
before running in to bowl. He ran faster this time, maybe too fast but he
couldn’t stop now. With his eyes fixed on the target, his rolled his arm over,
bent his back and let the ball go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">When he raised his eyes from the pitch,
Theo had already played a shot but Jimmy could not see where the ball had gone.
Then he heard the cries of excitement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘It’s yours Jimmy. Look up. It’s yours.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Catch it! Catch it!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy still couldn’t see the ball and the
sun was burning his eyes and blinding him as he searched the sky. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still they called to him and still he
searched. How could a ball stay in the air for so long? What had happened to
gravity? Where was it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Where is it?’ said Jimmy out loud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Then he saw it. Through tightly squinted
eyes, he saw the furry green ball spinning in the sky directly above him. He
stared at it and raised his hands. The sounds of shouting and cheering were now
muted by his desperate concentration. Jimmy watched the ball descend slowly
towards him, shuffled his feet and lifted his hands a little higher.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Someone was saying something about soft
hands but Jimmy wasn’t sure what that meant. The ball suddenly reached him and
hit his open hand hard. Instinctively he closed his fingers to capture it but
he was too late. The ball bounced up off his palm and into the sky once more.
Still, Jimmy kept his eyes glued to the ball. He took a few steps forward as it
descended again and this time when the furry pelt kissed his hands he snapped
his fingers around the ball like a mousetrap, and made the catch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy gripped the ball tightly as he was
mobbed by the others and jostled with backslaps and hugs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘You got him, Jimmy,’ said Jack
breathlessly. ‘You got Theo out.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘It’s not out,’ yelled Theo. ‘It was a no
ball. Chest high full toss. That’s a no ball.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jack broke from the pack of congratulators
and ran for Theo. He was right up in his face before Theo knew it. ‘You’re
out!’ he snarled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘No,’ said Theo calmly. ‘It was a no ball.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jack turned away in disgust as Theo said,
‘Play on. Four balls to drinks. I’m twenty not out.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy was still floating and still
tenaciously holding the ball in both hands as a chant blossomed in the heat. He
wasn’t sure who started it but it quickly caught on like a fire through bone
dry bushland.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Out! Out! Out!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Everyone joined in, even Jimmy now
emboldened by his success. Theo meanwhile was trying to counter the chant with
his usual words of last resort, ‘My yard, my rules.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Someone changed the chant to ‘Theo’s rules
suck! Theo’s rules suck!’ Then, as a group, they marched off down the side of
Theo’s house, through the side gate, across the front lawn, out the front gate
and away down the street all the while shouting in unison, ‘Theo’s rules suck!
Theo’s rules suck!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">One week later, the neighbourhood kids
gathered for a meeting to discuss Theo’s rules. Jimmy was pleased that his
debut wicket, that of the almighty Theo had been the catalyst that sparked the monumental
protest, but he missed playing. Everyone wanted to play and Theo’s yard was as
close to the Sydney Cricket Ground as most of them would ever get. Theo had
been badgering the kids during the week, cornering them in small groups and one
on one when he could, trying to convince them to come back and play. The kids
all knew that Theo was pretty much only interested in himself and his delusions
of glory on his personal field of dreams, so they held fast. Despite itching to
resume the battle, they resisted his attempts to persuade them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Finally, Jack and Shah assembled the gang
and convinced them to play.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘No more Theo’s rules,’ said Jack. ‘That’s
the deal we take to him, all right?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Right,’ said Shah. ‘It’s cricket and we
play according to the laws of this magnificent game or we don’t play.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy and a few of the others laughed at
Shah’s haughty and indignant tone. They all knew how much he loved the game and
so did they. Jimmy hadn’t stopped bragging about getting Theo out in his first
over. Caught and bowled: the catch of the year, an absolute classic. It was the
hot talking point. That, and the mass walk out which would become a legendary
event in the history of the neighbourhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://cdn.newsapi.com.au/image/v1/e0d3fa9be68c760d04c140e6b2ebb049" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for backyard cricket" border="0" height="180" src="https://cdn.newsapi.com.au/image/v1/e0d3fa9be68c760d04c140e6b2ebb049" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">With the agreement of all those assembled,
Jack and Shah went to talk to Theo. Jimmy tagged along </span>just to see Theo’s face
when the ultimatum was delivered. Theo might not like it, in fact, he’d
probably hate it, but he needed players because cricket is not a game of
solitaire.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Theo looked defiant when they arrived at his
place. He was in the yard tossing a ball up for himself and whacking it against
the fence. Once again, Jimmy wondered about Theo’s parents and their lack in
interest in the pockmarked Colourbond fence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What do you want?’ he snarled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘To play cricket,’ said Jack calmly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Where’s everyone else?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘We need to make a few changes around here,
Theo,’ said Shah.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘If you want to play, you know the deal, my
yard, my rules.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jack and Shah turned away immediately. Jimmy,
suddenly and inexplicably bold, said, ‘Your rules suck!’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Theo lunged forward, but Jimmy stood his
ground as Jack and Shah appeared by his side. ‘You’re a slow learner, Theo,’
said Jack. ‘Cricket rules or no cricket. That’s the deal.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The sound of cicadas became deafening as the
hot westerly wind washed the three boys. Theo was looking at the ground,
scuffing at the grass with his foot, and making grumbling sounds under his
breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What’s it gonna be, Theo?’ asked Shah. ‘Do
you want to play with us, or with yourself?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">It seemed like such an obvious choice to
Jimmy that he couldn’t figure out why Theo was stalling. ‘Come on Theo. What’s
it gonna be? Are you scared I’ll get you out again?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Theo growled but said nothing. Finally, he
nodded his head while continuing to avoid their eyes as they made it crystal
clear to Theo that everyone would get a fair go from now on. Or else. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Jimmy looked forward to every match, and he
marvelled at his earlier reluctance. He never dropped another catch, and he,
like all the other boys, had the chance to bowl and bat, and field where they
wanted to. A new spirit had descended on Theo’s backyard. Everyone was a
winner, and the great game of cricket was honoured. But Jimmy could still not
figure out what those girls were doing there in Theo’s backyard. Maybe he would
ask Jack about it one day, but for now he was going to be having way too much
fun to care about anything else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-76541736191130232752018-08-25T01:40:00.001-07:002018-08-25T01:40:54.850-07:00Body Hugger<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shout out to Alfie Dog's chief, Rosemary Kind. Thank you and good luck for the future. Check out Rosemary's novel <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B074YKTNY4/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i1">The Orphan Train</a>. I highly recommend it. Here is the first in a series of my short stories which she loved, and made available to short fiction fans around the world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Body Hugger</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">by<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">D.A. Cairns<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">(first published in <i>Alfie Dog</i> in 2012)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Whenever and wherever the sales pitch was heard, Dave the
Gadget Lover took it personally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they
said it was all the rage and a real must have, then Dave had to have it. He was
always a sucker for a new gadget, a new toy with which to amuse himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a high paying, low stress job in the
public service and only himself to feed, Dave had more than enough disposable
income to accumulate the latest and greatest scientific novelties and
technological marvels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a
wonderful time with his collection of innovative time-wasters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They called them all time-savers but years
and years of pouring good money down the gurgler had taught him that they saved
him no time and cost him a packet of money.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a bright Autumn
afternoon, Dave walked home from the train station through the shopping centre
and past his favorite gadget shop, Dynasty 21.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He had to look twice to make sure he wasn’t dreaming when he saw the
front window of the store, which was usually reserved for the most eye-catching
and dynamic product currently on offer, boasted three mannequins in suits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Worried the place had turned into a men’s
fashion store, he raced inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
whole store heard Dave’s huge sigh of relief when he saw that everything was as
it should have been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A myriad of
electronic gadgetry lined the walls and shelves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clocks, watches, mobile phones, pagers, heart
rate monitors, mate-finders, electric shavers, toothbrushes, ear cleaners, nose
hair trimmers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The list was endless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still bothered by
the dressed up dummies in the window, he asked the sales assistant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘What’s with the
suits in the display window?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘The latest
thing...’ began the wide-eyed and clean cut young man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here we go again, Dave thought to
himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How much is this one going to
cost me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘It’s called,’
continued the eager sales assistant, ‘a smart suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It monitors your blood pressure and heart rate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Helps regulate your body temperature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Has a built-in internet mobile phone and
personal organizer with appointment reminder service.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had Dave hook,
line and sinker even before his next statement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><img alt="Image result for smartsuit" height="267" src="https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/tardis/images/e/e7/Smartsuit_%28Oxygen%29.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20170514021215" width="400" /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘It can even get
you lined up for Saturday night, if you know what I mean,’ he said as he winked
at the Gadget Lover.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You had better
give me a closer look at one of those,’ said Dave, like the gullible customer
he was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the assistant
showed him one of the smart suits and explained again all its features and a
few others, like its ability to locate lost<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>keys, Dave tried it on and noticed it was heavier than a normal suit,
but comfortable nonetheless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘It’s weighty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s it made of?’ asked Dave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The assistant
smiled widely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘The latest purpose built
synthetic fiber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It generates
electricity when exposed to light.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘No batteries?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘No man, it powers
itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can even plug your laptop
into your pants.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave produced his
credit card in a flash and bought himself eleven hundred dollars worth of smart
suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In his excitement he forgot to ask
how the hell you were supposed to wash it with all the circuitry sewn into it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the inside of
the left arm of the jacket, between the elbow and the wrist was a soft LCD
display panel which he held up close to his face to cut the glare of the
sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave pushed a button and heard a
female voice announce the time, air temperature and his current body
temperature in a deep smooth newsreader’s voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very impressive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time he arrived home, the suit no
longer felt heavy and the Gadget Lover was so pleased with his new purchase he
decided to go out, something which he never did on Monday night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wide-eyed fellow in the shop mentioned
the suit could line a man up with a suitable woman for Saturday night but what
about Monday night?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took some time
to understand how the smart suit’s Hunter program worked but eventually Dave
felt confident enough to go out and test it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Firstly he had to find a girl who caught his eye and then touch her for
at least five seconds, skin to skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Hunter would analyze the DNA sample he collected from the contact and determine
her compatibility rating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently a
score of at least three was needed for the pursuit to be worthwhile as it
indicated friendship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Four indicated
physical attraction on top of friendship, while five was marriage and children
and happy ever after.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bristling with the
kind of confidence only the self assured and self indulgent could possess, Dave
the Gadget Lover headed into the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The local hotels would be filled with men and although he enjoyed the
company of men, he was desperate to find out if his smart suit could really
deliver on its promise to set him on the road to romantic paradise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the ladies would be in the trendy inner
city clubs, sipping their fancy-named cocktails and talking about themselves,
their appearance, their weight, and their love life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was not unreasonable for Dave to expect to
score at one of these clubs even without his smart suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How much more chance did he stand with
it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A betting man would have happily
plonked his house on the Gadget Lover getting a woman’s love within ten
minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At five-thirty he
rode the escalators from the platform up to the Chalmers Street exit of Central
Station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time Dave reached
Elizabeth street, he was beginning to feel some pain in his left arm and that
pain soon became sharp and insistent to the point where he was forced to stop
walking. Grabbing the offending arm as if that would stop the pain he then
tried to push up the sleeve of the suit to look at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt like all the hairs on his arm were
being plucked out at the same time. The suit didn’t move at all as though it
was glued to his arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In panic, Dave
tried to remove the coat but he could not get his left arm out although his
right arm was free and the coat was off his back, turned inside out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He began to pull at it frantically and curse
it, all the while unaware that he was attracting an audience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A brave soul called
out some encouragement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘That’s it mate,
keep fighting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll get it off in the
end.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crowd laughed
as Dave blushed and hurriedly reinserted himself into the smart suit before
sheepishly walking away from the onlookers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The pain in his arm had stopped but the pain of embarrassment burned in
his face as he continued northbound along Elizabeth Street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally he arrived at the door of Lizzie’s
Place, an upmarket cocktail bar normally full of smartly dressed women in the
25 to 40-year-old age bracket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside the bar was
dimly lit and half full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave was
thirsty and more than a little unnerved by the mysterious pain in his arm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After ordering a
Kamikaze he checked to see whether the coat slid up and down his arm easily as
it should have done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It did, but soon
afterwards he felt a tingling sensation run across his back, like a light brush
by a finger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although not an unpleasant
feeling it was nonetheless unsettling as it persisted until Dave could no
longer stand it and he<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>reached around
his back to scratch it. At that moment, shooting pains attacked his right arm
and it began to twitch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instinctively he
held his right arm tightly to the bar with his left hand and decided he should
leave before he lost control of himself totally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave wanted to try to get the coat off but
was afraid of a repeat performance of what had happened earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wondered to himself if maybe he should
contact technical support for the coat, but before he could do anything, the
girl of his dreams elegantly perched her tightly clad rear end on the bar stool
next to Dave, and offered to buy him another drink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that crucial
moment, he had a choice to make and a mission to consider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could he refuse?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Termination now would be unacceptable, so he
extended his hand to her and introduced myself, remembering to maintain at
least five seconds continuous contact in order to get a reading for the Hunter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I was just leaving
actually,’ he said coolly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Seems like I
arrived just in time then, doesn’t it?’ she replied in a delicious voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before withdrawing her delicate hand, she
gave Dave’s a little squeeze, signaling that she wanted him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was too easy but he still needed to know
about the compatibility factor so he discreetly wiped his hand on the sensor
pad located just below his left armpit, and activated The Hunter with a subtle
push of a button.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘All right, I’m
drinking Kamikazes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiled, her
full lips parting to reveal straight, unnaturally white teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Appearances were obviously as important to
this woman as they are to me, thought Dave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I thought a man
could only drink one Kamikaze before he was under the table.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Most men,’ said
Dave, meaning to impress her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A mobile phone rang
and it took some time for Dave the Gadget Lover to realize it was his because
he had never heard it ring before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
pressed the answer key on the control pad and extended the speaker rod from the
suit’s collar, up level with his ear. It was technical support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Were these smart suits mind readers as well?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘This a courtesy
call to see if you and your new smartsuit are getting on, okay?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘That’s an
interesting way of putting it,’ Dave said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not wanting to
have this conversation in front of his new friend, Dave excused himself and
moved out of earshot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he explained
the pain he had felt and the tingling sensation, the support guy told him not
to worry because those feelings were a normal part of the smart suit working
out his body rhythms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You understand
there are electrical reactions occurring in your body almost continuously as
your thirteen million nerve cells and four million receptors relay information
to your brain and back to all parts of your body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The smart suit is merely working out your
individual patterns so it can relate to you better.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sounded like
nonsense to Dave but he asked, ‘How long will these pains continue?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Normally they
occur sporadically over a twelve to twenty four hour period.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I should have been
told that when I bought the suit.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yes you should
have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please don’t worry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your body will not suffer any permanent
damage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We guarantee it.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You guarantee it?’
asked Dave dubiously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yes.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Thank you for the
call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good-bye.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apologizing to the
lady, he sat down and sipped his drink when suddenly he became aware of a
beeper sounding and realized again it was the smartsuit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Hunter had his results, and the good news
was she scored four which meant a green light for this relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave was stoked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Let’s go,” he
said, and she simply obeyed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Dave the
Gadget Lover, who just got lucky stood up, he felt his right arm stiffen and
then his left arm, and in a matter of seconds Dave could not move either
one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman noticed and asked what was
going on, so he told her all about the suit and the phone call. She accepted
that with a look of bemusement. Soon the painless paralysis ended and they left
Lizzie’s Place but before they had taken two steps, another beeper started
going off and Dave’s phone rang again. He turned off the beeper and answered
the phone which was a wrong number and then had to clutch his left arm as it
began twitching again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Let’s catch a cab
back to my place,’ suggested an increasingly aggravated Dave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She agreed, they
hailed a taxi, and rode in silence for one hour back to Dave’s home in Gymea
Bay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was clear to Dave that the woman
wanted to have sex and nothing else and there was no way he would complain
about that, but there remained in the back of his mind, the unanswered question
as to whether he would be able to get his jacket off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I won’t need to, he thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what about my pants?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They belonged to the suit as well although he
had not yet had any problems with his legs. He spoke too soon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The step up to the
front door of Dave’s waterfront home was too much for him when his left leg
started to twitch, and before he could get it under control, it turned to jelly
and Dave the Gadget Lover fell in a heap on the balcony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His lady friend laughed believing him to be
drunk, and Dave laughed hard as well in a vain attempt to save face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was looking like a fool but on the
positive side she was still there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His
smart suit had helped Dave close this deal very quickly but it was also the
most likely thing to cause its failure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ran into his
bedroom ahead of her and tried to remove the wretched suit but that resulted in
a fresh outbreak of beepers and buzzers, until he stopped trying to remove
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She called to him from the hall
where he had rudely left her, so he hurried back and immediately kissed her
passionately on the lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the suit
started tickling him and he began to laugh and squirm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Initially she laughed with him but when Dave
failed to stop after they broke physical contact, her laugh downgraded to a
smile and then died to a frown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave the Gadget
Lover stood there helplessly as the suit made his arms swing up and down in an
exaggerated marching fashion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She stood
there, stunned and motionless, her mouth wide open and her chest heaving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is absolute madness, Dave thought to
himself as he experienced a total loss of independent movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally she had seen enough and without even
a smile or a wave she left him there with his smart suit which was making him
feel like a bloody idiot, and had just started to squeeze him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like being hugged except the suit
could embrace much more of his body at once than any two arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Stop it!’ ordered
Dave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Stop it right now and let go of
me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More bells and
beeping sounds followed his command, this time increasing in pitch and
frequency, which Dave took to mean the suit was not going to obey his
wishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again he tried frantically to
remove it, the jacket first then the pants, but it was hopeless and he found
himself unable to suppress the rage which was boiling inside his veins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave the Gadget Lover cursed his so called
smartsuit for its stupidity, in a voice no softer than a scream and he used
words he never used and he exhausted every last ounce of energy desperately trying
to remove the suit, or at least stop it from squeezing him because it was
killing him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sudden realization
that he was being killed by his clothing would have been funny if it weren’t so
terrifyingly real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He began to have
trouble drawing breaths as the pressure on his chest increased and he started
to sweat, but when he wiped some sweat off his forehead he discovered it was
blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Death was upon him and there
would be no escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This wonderful
technology had either malfunctioned or maliciously designed to destroy his life
by extracting the very breath from his lungs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s killing me,
thought Dave, as he felt himself losing consciousness, and he said a prayer
without believing it or knowing why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
final pathetic cry for help of a doomed man with nothing to lose by asking for
the help of a God whose existence he had denied his whole life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Dave woke up,
a comforting warmth bathed him and he savored it. There was a powerful sense of
rightness, a deep sense of belonging soaking into his skin like the ultimate
healing balm. Dave smiled with the realization that he was physically all
right. He had survived. His closed and his smile broadened. A voice invaded his
bliss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘How do you like
those smartsuits, eh?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was laughter
in that voice but not ridicule. Dave opened his eyes and saw a familiar face,
dazzling yet not unbearable. Awesome but not frightening. The sound of many
waters spoke again, ‘Welcome home Dave.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-42438247366135199352018-07-27T20:37:00.000-07:002018-07-27T20:38:23.237-07:00The Road Through Hell<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>To celebrate the recent release of my short story collection, The Devil Wears a Dressing Gown, I present this story as a teaser.</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">The
Road through Hell<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">by<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">D.A.
Cairns<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>(first published in 2004 in Champagne Shivers, then again in 2012 in short.story.me)</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;"> “Slow
down!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;"> “Why?”
said Pete, easing his foot off the accelerator slightly. “It’s three o’clock in
the bloody morning. The coppers are asleep. Gimme that bottle!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;"> “It’s dangerous,” replied his long suffering girlfriend,
Kelly, before reluctantly handing him the bottle. She was used to his penchant
for speeding and criminal disregard for safety. An urgent reminder in the form
of loud verbal abuse was usually all it took to bring him back into line, even
if it never lasted very long.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">“It’s so dark,”
she said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">“It’s night time,
stupid!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">They always
travelled at night. In fact they did everything at night. She didn’t really
know why, it was just the way they were. Living a life of occasional highs
under a smothering blanket of darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">A sign appeared on
the left of the narrow highway, shining briefly in the unearthly glare of the
headlights. Kelly read it out loud in a tone of forced interest, as she often
did, mocking Debra Winger’s senile father in Forget Paris.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">Welcome to Hell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">A <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">New South Wales</st1:place></st1:state>
tidy town.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">pop. 653<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;"> “Wanna spend a night in Hell honey?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">“Why don’t you
drive right on through to Heaven instead?” said Kelly, trying to sound
flippant. She had never felt more afraid and it wasn’t just the name of the
town.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">A shadow moved on
to the road ahead, and stayed out in front of them for a few seconds. Then it
disappeared. Did she imagine it? It returned, quickly growing as though
inflated by an invisible compressor, and began to form into a ragged sphere. What
was it? Could Pete see it?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">She pointed but
Pete was already looking, straining for a better view. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">“What the hell was
that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">He flicked the
high beams off, then on again to see if it was a trick of light. No trick. The
shape grew larger still and was soon joined by another, then another.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">Pete gripped the
wheel in panic, his blood starved hands shared a ghostly luminescence which
shone on his face but he did not slow down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">“Is it an animal?
I can’t see. I can’t tell!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">Kelly was frozen,
suffocating behind a mask of awful terror as she watched a third shape ooze up
from underneath the road. The three things maintained their speed and kept
themselves just in front of the car before suddenly merging into one. The new shapeless
entity was bigger than the car.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">As they stared in
dumb horror, a huge misshapen head extended from the centre of the black
formless mass, followed quickly by two arms, then two long and powerful legs. It was running!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">Kelly screamed as
it turned to look over its shoulder at them. Accompanied by a wide toothless
smile, two bloodshot eyeballs floated in a sea of torn flesh, gawking
mischievously.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;"> Madness gripped Pete, insane fear drove him to
press harder on the accelerator as the monstrous apparition turned its whole
hulking frame to face them. Still running, backwards now, it laughed at them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">“I’ll kill you, get
off the road, I’ll kill you!” roared Pete.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">“I’ll kill you,
get off the road, I’ll kill you!” mimicked the beast, its disturbingly deep and
raspy voice amplified inside the car.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">In the same
instant that the running creature put up his open palmed hands and stopped dead
in the middle of the road, the car crashed into a tree and split in two. Flung
like worthless trash, the twisted halves of metal and plastic sped through the
cold night air in opposite directions, carrying human debris with them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">The crumpled
bodies of the young couple were discovered the next morning, on either side of
a sign post which stood like a sentinel in a grassy field. The doctor rose from
his knees and nodded to the police sergeant who pulled a blanket over the face
of the woman. He looked at the sign and sadly shook his head as he read.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">Welcome to Hell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size: large;">We have two graveyards and no hospitals.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Please drive carefully.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6D3jHn7tX1fUO2wxID0tawofsGAXvKYBNTXfLUP1vKQsOGQohiUA6pIwYawdaVf5pTql-3pZrMfXd2OXu09gM90OfhvK7XX2UCCYkxYABymzs3HoJUw7l-rjIQ-ZV3jGhbeyF4TDX34/s1600/car+wreck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="700" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6D3jHn7tX1fUO2wxID0tawofsGAXvKYBNTXfLUP1vKQsOGQohiUA6pIwYawdaVf5pTql-3pZrMfXd2OXu09gM90OfhvK7XX2UCCYkxYABymzs3HoJUw7l-rjIQ-ZV3jGhbeyF4TDX34/s320/car+wreck.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-14062845342928191612018-06-29T00:33:00.000-07:002018-06-29T00:33:01.215-07:00The Devil Wears a Dressing Gown<span style="font-size: large;">I've recently released a collection of short stories called The Devil Wears a Dressing Gown. It features both previously published and unpublished stories.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">To celebrate its release, and to entice you to buy the collection, I thought I would share some of the stories here.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";">Gravel
Rash<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";">by<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";">D.A.Cairns<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";">‘Don’t fall and get gravel rash.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The voice was
unfamiliar, maybe imaginary, but the message was well known to him. From the
first day he had pedalled free of the training wheels attached to his new bike,
Brendon’s mum had warned him and worried for him, with those words. All kids
crash their bikes and rip up their knees. Brendon had the scars to prove his
childhood bravado just like most of his friends. No big deal. He always replied
to his mum that he would be fine and usually he was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Did he really hear
someone say that to him just now? He was alone, wasn’t he? Gravel crunched and
jostled beneath the tyres as he rode through <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Lakeside</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place>
on his way home from work. Had he started the trip after dark, he would have ridden
the long way home but an extra fifteen minutes to avoid the park was fifteen
minutes he wasn’t willing to give up tonight. He had a date. Samantha Ewells
had finally said yes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Daylight was being
folded away like a piece of paper soon to be imprisoned in the darkness of an
envelope. Brendon pedalled harder. He would probably make it through the park
and reach the freeway before the black night began to reign but he maintained
his pace, even ramped it up a little. There was no way he was going to be late home
tonight. He had to make up time. That truck was to blame. The one which arrived
late at the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Toyota</st1:place></st1:city>
dealership, around the corner from the depot, to unload its cargo of new Camrys.
The whole road was blocked for ten minutes as the driver made numerous attempts
to reverse the truck into the lot. Brendon had sat there staring at it and
tapping anxiously on the steering wheel. Wondering why him, why tonight and
trying to not to think of having to make Samantha wait. She might not wait. He
had cursed under his breath as he waited impatiently. Must have been a new
driver. Inexperienced.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now he was running
late. Running out of time. This was an experience that Brendon could have done
without. He had heard stories about people going missing in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Lakeside</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place>.
Everyone said it was no place to be after the sun had gone down. The only ones
to disregard the danger were the drunken fools and deviates who frequented the
park in order to debauch and destroy themselves under the cover of darkness.
Brendon would have happily avoided them for the rest of his life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the quiet of the
dusk, the only sounds were Brendon’s heavy breathing, a squeak from the pedals
on each revolution, and the chuckle of the gravel underneath his tyres.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Be careful of gravel
rash.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Brendon’s first
instinct was to stop and listen closely without audible interference but fear
kicked in and pushed him on. Was he hearing things? The gravel seemed looser,
less willing to support and carry his weight, and he struggled at times to
control the handlebars and stay on course. The night was black and heavy now.
The acacias which lined the track leaned in closer to him, whispering
seditiously. He flicked on his night light which was perched in the centre of
the handlebars, but the battery was so low it barely reached the spinning tip
of his front tyre. Hot, sweaty and panicking he wondered how much farther to
the freeway? He looked up for a moment but could not see through the opaque
gloom. Suffocating gloom. That was what he felt. This was bad. Very bad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Don’t fall. You’ll
get gravel rash.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Shut up!’ yelled
Brendon frantically at his invisible taunter. ‘Shut up!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Forcing himself to
concentrate on controlling the bike, afforded Brendon some peace from the
persistent paranoia, but some one was watching him. He knew it. Somehow keeping
up with him. One of those perverted pariahs who lived in the park was teasing
him, tormenting him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He felt the front of
the bike dip suddenly and then rise again as though he had ridden through a
pothole. His left hand was jolted free of the handlebar grip but he quickly re
established a firm hold. The knowlegde that he must be nearing the edge of the
park, encouraged Brendon and strengthened his aching legs. He imagined he could
now see the headlights of vehicles flickering through the trees as they roared
southbound along the F6. Then he realised he was sinking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A violent and
immediate stop catapulted Brendon over the handlebars and onto the gravel path.
Having somehow managed to maintain a one handed grip on the handlebar, he
pulled the bike down on top of him as he fell and it landed pedal first against
his chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Too stunned to move
initially, Brendon just lay there. Insistent and angry pain advised him that he
was still alive. A gush of air left his lungs as he exhaled, then he coughed
for a minute or two, wincing with each contraction of his diaphragm. As he
pushed the bike off himself, he felt the rough gravel nibbling at the skin
around the back of his neck and calves. A strong sucking sensation against his
right knee caused a new burst of pain as the sharp edges of the gravel cut his
skin. He heard a sound close to him. Very close. A murmur. Low and indistinct.
Garbled as though someone was talking with a mouthful of food.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No longer pinned by
his bike, Brendon tried to wrest himself free of the disturbingly soft gravel
but the more he twisted the tighter he was held. If he could have he would have
screamed for help but the only sound to escape his mouth was a pathetic mumble.
If he could have he would have kept fighting his unseen enemy but fear
immobilised him. His very last thought as the gravel swallowed him alive and
crushed him, was that if only that truck had not blocked the road, he would
have been home now getting ready for his date with Samantha instead of dying
alone in Lakeside Park. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Just before his head
disappeared beneath the rippling surface of the gravel track, he heard the
voice again, ‘I warned you about gravel rash, didn’t I?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-52446859580024277372018-02-23T18:01:00.001-08:002018-02-23T18:01:51.430-08:00Guinea Pig<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Guinea Pig</i> was first published in <a href="http://www.cynicmag.com/">The Cynic Online</a> in 2012, and is a look at the possible future of medical practice.</span><div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><u>Guinea Pig by D.A.Cairns</u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘How long have you
had this pain?’</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJBR_YfvPusJKYoSJcsRxohQtVX3JHXFvibYXPUkAtzLNOol8BLJq-XGmJDi-LEkO3f04KYIeQWKH3WeELJ5GeEfqBk1TkjYsb5AWRGahJfPT3R0sSOojkzwdXGFPykb0wPeI7V3SS-sY/s1600/guinea+pig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJBR_YfvPusJKYoSJcsRxohQtVX3JHXFvibYXPUkAtzLNOol8BLJq-XGmJDi-LEkO3f04KYIeQWKH3WeELJ5GeEfqBk1TkjYsb5AWRGahJfPT3R0sSOojkzwdXGFPykb0wPeI7V3SS-sY/s320/guinea+pig.jpg" width="277" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Strom tilted his
head slowly and stared at the ceiling for a moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘A few weeks I
guess.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘A few weeks?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Strom nodded,
unfazed by the Doctor’s incredulous tone of voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘A few weeks of
severe pain. Debilitating pain. And you’re only coming to see me now?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">This wasn’t the
first time Strom had heard such words from the doctor, but this time he was
almost certain it would be the last. He had beaten the old mongrel cancer three
times already even as his comrades fell all around him. Somehow he kept dodging
the bullets of death, just like the third Gulf War where his brothers in arms
had been cut down, left, right and centre. Strom had no idea why he had been so
lucky, and sometimes even the question frightened him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Strom?’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Hey, sorry doc. I
drifted away for a bit.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">The doctor leaned
forward. ‘Have you been drifting away, as you say, a lot recently?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Probably. It’s
hard to say. I mean I might not always know when I’m gone, so I don’t know when
I come back either and I don’t think about it.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">The two men
exchanged looks which said that Strom’s statement was a little confusing and they
silently agreed to move on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Tell me about
your general health.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Good as gold. You
know how much trouble I’ve had over the years, but every time those bloody
clever surgeons fix me up, I end up better than ever.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘It’s a miracle,
isn’t it?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What’s that?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Modern medicine.
I mean previous generations were dying in their millions from the kinds of
cancers you’ve had, Strom. Thanks to your bravery…’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘It wasn’t just
me, Doc,’ said Strom humbly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Anyway, you
played a huge part, but let’s get back to your headaches. What pain relief have
you been taking? Anything?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Some pills with
heaps of Codeine, and marijuana.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">The doctor stood
and motioned for Strom to join him as he walked across the room. ‘Let’s rule
out the obvious first, okay. Sit down here please.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Strom sat in the
wide leather seat which immediately began to recline as it simultaneously
elevated. The chair noiselessly unfolded and slid close to the portable MRI
machine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Lie still, Strom.
This will only take a few minutes.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">As he slid inside
the white cylinder, he listened for familiar sounds. His own breathing, a faint
humming from the scanner, and rapid thumping sounds as the MRI captured digital
images from inside Strom’s head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">I’ve lived too
long, thought Strom. I’ve done so much, it feels as though there’s nothing left
to do, no new adventures to be had, no new thrills to be experienced. I hope
they can’t fix me this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Strom? Are you
all right. Open your eyes for me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Slowly, Strom’s
wrinkly eyelids, darkened as they were from sleep deprivation, opened to take
in the sight of the doctor’s concerned face hovering over his.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What happened? Do
you feel all right?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Strom smiled.
‘Apart from the reason I came here you mean?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">The chair quietly
and smoothly folded and descended to its original position and Strom immediately
stood and walked over to the chair beside the doctor’s desk. He sat and watched
the doctor studying images on his computer screen, presumably the pictures of
Strom’s brain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Apparently
reluctant to speak, the doctor allowed an uncomfortable silence to fall over
them, and Strom begin to fidget nervously. He stared at the images on the screen
but they meant nothing to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Finally, the
doctor turned to face Strom, who swallowed hard in anticipation of very bad news.
He didn’t really want to die despite his recent wish. It was just that
sometimes he became bored with life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Has that leg they
gave you ever given you any trouble?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Strom was aware
the doctor was avoiding the issue, but decided to go with him for the
moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Never. In fact it’s stronger
than the one I was born with ever was. Bloody marvellous.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘That was bone
cancer, wasn’t it?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘So it’s the big C
again is it?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘How about your
arm, and your hand?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Doc? Come on.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Bear with me
Strom. Your arm was damaged in the war, right?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘That’s putting it
mildy. Destroyed more like it. But yeah the replacement’s been incredible. I
can crush a golf ball in my hands without even trying.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">The doctor turned
back to his computer monitor and with a few stabs of his index finger on the
screen, he brought up Strom’s medical file.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Artificial heart
and lungs installed two days before your seventy fifth birthday, and a complete
reconstruction of you bowel at age ninety two.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Thanks for the
recap doc, but could we get back to my head. I mean if you’ve found a tumour
just come out and tell me will you. I know they can’t rebuild a brain or pop an
artificial one inside my head so this could be the end, right?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Swivelling his
chair away from the desk, the doctor folded his arms across his chest and
looked directly at Strom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘You’re dead
right, Strom. It’s a very big tumour and they won’t be able to cut it out. Its
wicked tentacles are spread widely through the brain tissue. I am amazed that
you aren’t dead already.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Strom smiled. He
was almost relieved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Medical
researchers have searched for decades and decades for some sort of medicinal
cure for cancer, or at least an effective treatment to ease suffering and
prolong life, but advances in surgical technology and breakthroughs in
cybernetics grabbed a greater share of the limelight and a greater share of the
available research dollars as well.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Strom was getting
bored again. A lecture seemed totally inappropriate at this point. His eyes
began to roam, looking for something interesting in the bland sterile
environment of the doctor’s consulting room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘The reason I’m
telling you all this Strom is because there is another experimental drug trial
currently underway.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘They need guinea
pigs again do they?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘They are looking
for terminally ill patients to join the trial and receive an injection of this
new drug.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘What’s it
called?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘It doesn’t have a
user friendly name yet, and I can’t even pronounce its scientific handle.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘It’s risky I
suppose.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Strom, I’ll be
straight with you. There’s a only a twenty five percent chance this drug will
kill the tumour, and new side effects are still being recorded, some of which
are awful including skin discoloration and severe nausea, but the tumour will
kill you and it won’t take long.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘How long?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Like I said, I’m
amazed you’re still with us.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I’m 101 years
old. Apart from this headache I don’t feel sick. I can’t remember the last time
I was unwell, and I don’t get tired, but I’ve been around a long time. Some
days I reckon I’ve been around too long. I don’t know why I’m still here, but
maybe it’s about helping others. Being a guinea pig.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taking risks for the sake <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">of others.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Strom stood up,
straight and tall and looked at himself in the full length mirror on the wall.
There was no risk involved here except the possibility of more life. He had
never been afraid of death and had come to believe over his century of years on
the planet that death was probably scared of him. But did he want to go on
living? That was the choice before him and it was a more serious dichotomy than
any man should ever have to face. He turned slowly to face the doctor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I could live forever
at this rate, said Strom confidently. ‘Sign me up, doc. Let’s give it a whirl!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">The air was fresh
and cool on his skin and it smelled clean and fragrant, like lavender. Strom
was lying on his back in a vast meadow of knee high grass, and he felt completely
at peace. A sense of well being stronger than he had ever experienced pervaded
his body and his mind. He smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘You never
mentioned a hallucinogenic effect from this drug, doc.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">A whisper in the
broad green leaves of a nearby Maple tree was the only reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Doc?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">Strom sat up
slowly, still feeling calm, and realised he must have been dreaming. Suddenly a
large hand landed softly on his shoulder from behind, and even this unexpected
event failed to disturb Strom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Welcome,’ said
the voice. ‘Welcome to the life you’ve been trying to avoid for thirty years.
Welcome home. Welcome to Eternity.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-35007272497476884082018-01-19T17:56:00.002-08:002018-01-19T17:56:34.120-08:00Chemicals<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">This is the third of three flash fiction pieces by Mitchell Grabois.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Chemicals</u></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I have a fifty-pound bag of Arsenic and DDT, and a round
metal canister filled with mercury infused grain, and 55-gallon drums full of
mystery liquids left by my grandpa. I am as intimate with chemicals as I am
with my wife, and don’t understand either. The mysteries of sex, of emotion,
the mysteries of molecules combining: I’m clueless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The chemicals are mute, secretive. Once released, they do
what they must without my permission. If they want to go against my wishes,
they do. My wife’s the same way. They can both be caustic. I’ve taken chemicals
into the very marrow of my bones, yet despite all my experience, and that of
the generations before me, I really know nothing of their nature. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWa-M_E9hUh2bMLBmqkb-WzAQz5InVg-056mjzX-QDR6X9Amlw8cjxAhAvuK4FEcF0HLBoTP-ZqmFeN6rIC2Lt_7zqspA4xULKok8Tiriyqo1WyXsfqZavq2peyxM5g5rdGlfw_ReBsw/s1600/pills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="184" data-original-width="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWa-M_E9hUh2bMLBmqkb-WzAQz5InVg-056mjzX-QDR6X9Amlw8cjxAhAvuK4FEcF0HLBoTP-ZqmFeN6rIC2Lt_7zqspA4xULKok8Tiriyqo1WyXsfqZavq2peyxM5g5rdGlfw_ReBsw/s1600/pills.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">At work, I find Dexter Troutman playing air guitar in the
middle of the Day Room. He asks: Remember when we had groupies? Remember when
thousands screamed to see us, to touch us? He strums a ripe chord, throws back
his head, and sings: See me, feel me, touch me, heal me! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Remember the hotel suites, thousands of square feet of
penthouse, each of us floating through our own psychedelic space, the sitarist
sitting on the floor in his hairy chest and BVD’s, playing ragas that lasted
for days?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I remember, Dexter, I sigh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dexter launches into a wild air solo, windmills his strum arm
as if he’s morphed from the fab four to the guitar-bashing Who, but he slips on
a gob of phlegm Walter Mac Henry has left. (Walter Mac Henry, shirt over his
head like an Arab headdress, always hacking and spitting when he’s not pissing
into the Day Room heater)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dexter Troutman slips and goes down, hits his head on the
linoleum-covered cement. Out cold. I gently take his guitar from where it lays
across his body and play a few bars of Let It Be before I rush to the Chart
Room for help.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u>Bio</u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u><br /></u></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over twelve-hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He has been nominated for numerous prizes. His novel, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Two-Headed-Dog-Mitch-Grabois-ebook/dp/B009SB8VP8">Two-Headed Dog</a>, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition. To see more of his work, google Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois. He lives in Denver.</span></div>
</div>
DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-78572350820530032272017-08-25T18:46:00.003-07:002017-08-25T18:46:58.052-07:00Ansel<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This is the second of three short flash fiction pieces by Mitchell Grabois.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ansel</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">by</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mitchell Grabois</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ansel Adams awoke in a black and white room.
He’d bled the world of color as effectively as a 1947 Zenith console TV. He’d
fallen asleep on the couch, and when he opened his eyes, the screen was static,
pulsating flecks of Yosemite.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWbtYXZxC4gsfzvk_621TxC5De0_5qXlW-JuuOSLNfRcuUMgg6pSgzufw8pcidwSc4N7zW2FtD183xVw2kf1HdKzL4vlyV_jCHlSQG4T3BVhYJgLIJfnyBMtVq4PCohnvFAjnal9evn3g/s1600/shoe+shine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWbtYXZxC4gsfzvk_621TxC5De0_5qXlW-JuuOSLNfRcuUMgg6pSgzufw8pcidwSc4N7zW2FtD183xVw2kf1HdKzL4vlyV_jCHlSQG4T3BVhYJgLIJfnyBMtVq4PCohnvFAjnal9evn3g/s320/shoe+shine.jpg" width="267" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Noise was white.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">His wife had fallen asleep on the other side of
the couch wearing a white apron tied tightly around her Midwestern middle. His
black and white cat rubbed against his legs. <i>When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence, </i>he
said to the cat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Outside, a city bus rumbles by, accelerating
loudly to make the hill. Jesus the Messiah is on the corner, shining shoes, a
modern version of washing feet. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">He has to get some cash to make His nut, paying
taxes to corrupt conquerors. His brother is a bourbon salesman, Hecho en Mexico,
rotgut, not the good stuff from Kentucky, but he keeps Jesus well supplied.
He’s always been amazed that he’s the brother of the Son of God, and wants to
do what he can to make Jesus’s life better, until Jesus has to run through the
Stations of the Cross, and then it’s all over.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then it’s no more brother. He’ll have to drink
all the samples himself and sit in the corner of the Mercado, depressed and
alone, and worry about his mother, now entirely his obligation. Mary is a sword
swallower on the street. Her partner is a flamenco guitarist. When Mary gets
excited by dramatic strums, her feet start to jitterbug and she cuts her
esophagus and spits red blood, which disgusts and excites the members of the
audience, who know she always puts on a good show.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jesus and His brother say: <i>Mom, you’ve got to stop this. We will support you. </i>But She’s
independent and never listens. It is as if they are speaking another language,
like English. She asks the mirror every day: <i>Why is my life so complex? Why did I have to suffer from mental
illness? Not everyone suffers like this.</i></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u>Bio</u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><u><br /></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over twelve-hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He has been nominated for numerous prizes. His novel, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Two-Headed-Dog-Mitch-Grabois-ebook/dp/B009SB8VP8">Two-Headed Dog</a>, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition. To see more of his work, google Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois. He lives in Denver.</span></div>
</div>
DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-18835560649573673762017-07-07T21:00:00.004-07:002017-07-07T21:00:50.259-07:00Army Brat<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">This is the first of three short flash fiction pieces by Mitchell Grabois.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Army Brat<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">by</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mitchell Grabois</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcVW3ZFpLjTabiiG1Jw99RdkiUdE9z8k-Iub_YTzQz5veVEHCUSK0W3YVZduauOUhGXChh0X8MKAsc2RTMW5tRExbOSF-u0Mbp5kXjK3CZqC5jOrrQExcdb-M1Nr8UtkhoP38DezhIIs0/s1600/army+brat+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="736" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcVW3ZFpLjTabiiG1Jw99RdkiUdE9z8k-Iub_YTzQz5veVEHCUSK0W3YVZduauOUhGXChh0X8MKAsc2RTMW5tRExbOSF-u0Mbp5kXjK3CZqC5jOrrQExcdb-M1Nr8UtkhoP38DezhIIs0/s320/army+brat+1.jpg" width="294" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I was an army brat, we used food stamps to
get by.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Whether my father was with us or gone, my mother felt the weight on her
shoulders.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">He was in an M-48 Patton tank when it was blown
up, fulfilling its fate. The only objects left intact were him and a Bible. He
sat in the dirt among twisted wreckage and reached for the Bible, but couldn’t
extend his arm that far. He thought he’d be frozen in that reaching position
forever, that he had left Temporary Hell for the Permanent One. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">There were many ways to interpret this event.
Most soldiers probably would have decided that God had saved him for a
purpose--to serve Him, that once he left the Army, he should be a minister or a
missionary. My father became a gambler. We never had to use food stamps again.
His luck held for a long time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">He felt like he was ten feet tall. My mother
was shrinking. Anxiety made her hair and teeth fall out. She was clearly
approaching death. <i>Have you made a pact
with the Devil</i>, I asked my father. He laughed at me. He lifted my mother
onto his shoulders and rode her around the back yard, as if she were a disabled
Girl Scout in uniform or a wax saint on a narrow street in Spain, or Queen for
the Day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">He knocked over the barbeque grill. The coals
glowed red. Before I asked him about the Devil, he was about to grill fish with
their heads on and their eyes wide, like his were after that tank blew up.
There in the backyard, he was barefoot. He was fooling around, trying to make
my mother think that he was going to flip her off his shoulders, or just drop
her. She shrieked in his ear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I felt a whiff of melancholy. I wanted to punch
someone in the face. I stood, deathly tired. My mother bit his ear, as if she
were a chimpanzee. She would have torn his face off if it weren’t so tightly
attached. He walked across the hot coals that spread out from the toppled
barbeque. He didn’t plan it, he was just wheeling around like a crazy man. The
barbeque was old and rusty and a wheel had fallen off. He was the first man in
the modern West to walk across hot coals. I saw astonishment on his face--not
pain, or not enough to concern him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I grew up, became hyper-individualistic, detached,
a person who takes his boots off and trims his toenails with a Leatherman when
he gets nervous. My father couldn’t get blown up in a tank, couldn’t be burned
by hot coals. No wonder he didn’t become a missionary. No wonder he felt more
powerful than God, felt it more than thought it. God kept trying to screw him
over, but he kept coming through everything unscathed. I would not be that
lucky.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><u>Bio</u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><u><br /></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over
twelve-hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S.
and abroad. He has been nominated for numerous prizes. His novel, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Two-Headed-Dog-Mitch-Grabois-ebook/dp/B009SB8VP8">Two-Headed Dog</a>, based on his work
as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and
Nook, or as a print edition. To see more of his work, google Mitchell Krockmalnik
Grabois. He lives in Denver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-32317688380790987812017-05-20T03:15:00.002-07:002017-05-20T03:16:23.285-07:00Break Even Stan<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">This is a very old story which I submitted only a couple of times without success. I never though much of it. It's a bit of a 'so what' story, but I thought I'd share it with you because reading it made me aware of how far I've come as a writer, and how I have changed. What do you think?</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Break Even
Stan</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">by<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">D.A. Cairns<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKK6_Mjqw2wXCSyAhmggfvYwMHYhHGB15jC2mUaYPXzAEFYkWymu-BAIBKT935McJA2UygCy8R19Bm2dEUiOtVZwn94oHUUoRvmNq2-XTJOroFW46fK3WC1RuJ96ztEKmgX_yw0tkrrA/s1600/break+even+stan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKK6_Mjqw2wXCSyAhmggfvYwMHYhHGB15jC2mUaYPXzAEFYkWymu-BAIBKT935McJA2UygCy8R19Bm2dEUiOtVZwn94oHUUoRvmNq2-XTJOroFW46fK3WC1RuJ96ztEKmgX_yw0tkrrA/s1600/break+even+stan.jpg" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Stan Ledlin stood staring in
disbelief at the monitor. The race was
over. Running a large hand through his
thick brown hair, he trudged out the door of the Kirrawee TAB. He tore up the tickets and threw them into a
garbage bin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Hey Stan!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He stopped and turned, lifting his
hand to greet his friend Theo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Did you blow much mate?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The two men shook hands and Stan
looked at Theo’s face briefly before settling his gaze over his shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘You win some, you lose some,’ said
Stan with a shrug. ‘I come out even in
the end.’ Theo nodded and gave
Stan a good natured punch on the arm.
‘You always break even Stan. I
gotta go. See you later.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Yeah, see you,’ replied Stan with
a smile. He did usually break even and
that was<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">good enough. It was a bit of fun. Something for a single man to do in his spare
time. Beat the hell out of staying home
and watching the walls. Eating
alone. Drinking alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">His girlfriend Jean came over a few
nights a week to cook for him but she never stayed the night, although he
wished she would.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Stan tugged at his belt to lift his
sagging trousers and made a feeble attempt to tuck his shirt in. Then he shuffled across the quiet street and
entered the take-away shop where he bought a hamburger. Jean nagged him about his love for junk food and the effect it was having on his
waistline but he ate it anyway. It was
convenient and tasty. Years of bachelorhood had made Stan a competent cook but
he could not be bothered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He was aware of his spare tyre
belly and he grew a bushy beard to hide his second chin but generally Stan was
unconcerned about his appearance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Sitting down at the bus stop
outside the shop, Stan munched on his hamburger and contemplated life.
A persistent restlessness plagued him.
He didn’t know why after so many years of happily rolling along with his
simple life, he should begin to feel dissatisfied. Stan was in a rut. His comfortable routines were suffocating
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">After wiping barbecue sauce off his
mouth and brushing crumbs out of his beard, Stan stood up and made his way to
the train station. His mates would be
expecting him at the Gymea Hotel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUwIoesDECRQau2Bmb9muAV3-bOtaYlNhxvf2lhanunWqVTw81avnWSYLFAgkCeRF3wIAdpxlH0K1tJAazxvDufzdWxKk6ZP4fXv8e64FPZCvDYfqWgs06H9A5FKyVhqWuRhCp5Yft5I/s1600/break+even+stan+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUwIoesDECRQau2Bmb9muAV3-bOtaYlNhxvf2lhanunWqVTw81avnWSYLFAgkCeRF3wIAdpxlH0K1tJAazxvDufzdWxKk6ZP4fXv8e64FPZCvDYfqWgs06H9A5FKyVhqWuRhCp5Yft5I/s320/break+even+stan+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Early in the afternoon the pub had
only a handful of patrons. Stan saw John
Miles standing at the bar so he strode over and offered to shout the next
round.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">John was mildly surprised. ‘Did you have a win this arvo?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘No,’ replied Stan. ‘I came out
even.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘I thought you must’ve hit the big
time. You never offer to pay.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Stan was happy to pay his share but
he always waited his turn and if his turn never came that was okay by him. Whenever he stood in the TAB, tickets in hand
and heart in mouth, he imagined how good it would be to win big and shout not
only his mates but everyone else in the pub.
The man who chases fantasies lacks judgment. Which wise man smart arse
said that? Bloody horses were always spoiling his dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Even Stan!’ yelled one of the
blokes at the table, ‘What’s wrong? Not
like you to be so quiet.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">His mate John could read him like a
book, unfortunately. ‘Nothing,’ he lied before taking another mouthful of beer
from his half empty schooner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Seen Jean lately Stan?’ John
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Yeah she was over last night.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘When you gonna marry her?’ asked
another bloke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Pull your head in Chris,’ said
John as Stan retreated to his now near empty glass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Your shout Chris,’ ordered Stan
while giving Chris a mind-your-own-business look. If there was a good reason for
Stan not asking Jean to marry him he wished someone would tell him. She would definitely say yes. He did love her. They had been together for three years and
everyone said they were right for each other.
At forty two years of age maybe he was afraid. His head hurt when he
thought of how much his life would change if he married her. He didn’t really understand what Jean saw in
a stubborn slob like himself. And he was
worried that living together would ruin their relationship. Was there a chance though, of losing her if
he didn’t propose? Possibly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As the minutes passed the picture
became clearer. Stan downed his beer in
one go then said goodbye to his mates and left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Exhilarated by the prospect of
breaking out of his shell and taking a chance, Stan went to the payphone
outside the hotel and called Jean. He
asked her to come over that night because he had something important to say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Feeling like his luck was about to change,
Stan called in to the TAB on his way home for one last bet. An omen bet.
A nag called My Bonnie Bride was running in the last at long odds. Stan laid his money down and waited for the
starters gun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Jean was very pleased with the
wonderful dinner Stan had prepared for her and completely overwhelmed when he
popped the question. Naturally she said
yes and when they finished kissing and hugging, Stan announced that he would
have two pieces of good news for the boys tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘What’s the other one?’ asked Jean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘I backed a horse called My Bonnie
Bride. She came in first at 50 to
1. I won ten thousand dollars!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-77285963557646595082017-02-12T02:53:00.001-08:002017-02-12T02:53:19.618-08:00A Sympathetic Interlocutor<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU">A Sympathetic
Interlocutor<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU">by<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU">D.A.
Cairns<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Decorated was the word that first came to
mind when he noticed her cheeks. Breaking eye contact only very briefly because
he wanted to hold her gaze as long as possible, the strange patterns on her
cheeks caught his attention. They might have been scars, burn scars or, had
they been located somewhere else on her body, the kind of scars left after a
surgical attempt to remove tattoos. The thought intrigued him for a moment and
suspended the moment of greeting in time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Suddenly aware of her soft hand inside his,
he let go and stepped back gesturing for her to take a seat. When he had
settled himself opposite her, he saw that she was watching him and he
instinctively stiffened. Her eyes were huge, round and dark chocolate. Adorned
with lid liner and shadow, her lashes were spruced and unnaturally thick, and
she would have elicited a comment in his mind about her being overdone had she
been someone else. Had they been somewhere else. Everything seemed different.
He felt different. She shifted her weight slightly and tilted her head to the
right, apparently waiting for him to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and
summoned sufficient strength to concentrate on what he was supposed to be
doing. But even as he spoke, those funny marks on her cheeks wrestled for his
attention. They could have been freckles, although they were lightly coloured
in contrast to her olive complexion, but not single freckles gathered together
in clumps. More like thousands of them packed into adjacent rooms for all night
dance parties. This thought amused him, and his accidental smile was returned
warmly and sincerely. This woman was breathtaking. Not classically beautiful
because of her cheeks and the way her thick black hair was held away from her
face in a clumsy ponytail -she looked like she had spent all her preparation
time on her face and not left enough to do her hair properly. She was
indisputably stunning nevertheless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Why are you here?’ he asked her. ‘Why have
you come here today?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Well,’ she began slowly, finally looking
away and thus releasing him from the spell she was casting over him. ‘I think I
need to improve my reading and writing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">A perfectly constructed sentence delivered
in a languid Middle Eastern accent. Improve, he thought, how could you improve
on perfection?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Is not being able to
read and write as well as you would like to stopping you from doing something
you want to do. Like further study, for example?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">She thought for a moment, averting her eyes
and thus giving him the chance to study her more closely. From her full lips
dressed in red, over her chin and down her slender neck, his eyes stopped when
they reached a golden angel sitting astride her cleavage. The line of the thin
chain which suspended the angel matched the low vee cut of her white dress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I would like to go back to work now that
my children are older.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He loved the way information was revealed
slowly during these interviews, morsel by juicy morsel, peeling away the layers
of protection, the walls people built around their personal lives. Those walls
invariably crashed to the floor as the interview progressed. Whether verbally,
in their speech or their writing, or non verbally in their body language, they
communicated their lives to him, their hearts and minds and he was an avid
reader.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘How old are your children?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘I have three. Thirteen, eleven, and nine.
All girls.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">It was impossible not to stare as the
enchantment grew, filling the room like fog. He had thought she was probably
aged in her early thirties. It was hard to tell sometimes, especially with
women who were able to hide their age so much more efficiently than men.
However with children that age she was more likely to be in her late thirties,
even early fortes though that was scarcely believable. Desperately curious to
confirm his suspicions that she was older than she looked, he selected a piece
of paper from the pile on the desk which filled the space between them and
placed it in front of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Please fill in this form.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Date of birth was the fourth question so he
watched eagerly as she wrote, his eyes glancing occasionally past her hands
with jewelled fingers, to her breasts which seemed to have risen higher, threatening
to spill out of her dress. Maybe it was the way she was sitting, leaning
forward with her arms pressed tight into her sides. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">She wrote 11/9/64. He wanted to tell her
how surprised he was that she was forty three and how beautiful she looked but
he couldn’t. How could one compliment a woman without her thinking that you
were a pervert at worst, or a sleaze at best? The words would always be
construed as flattery with intent, no matter how politely you phrased them. How
could one be sure in himself that the words were merely a genuine compliment
and not expressions of desire, or worse: lust? How could he be sure? There was
a place, an inside world where he could be alone with his thoughts and
feelings, where he could sift through memories and adjust them as necessary and
use them however he wished. A place to fantasize and twist reality to feed his
insatiable lust. It was a place of both
refuge and repression. A haven and a hell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The interview proceeded normally; she
answered questions, did the tasks, the reading, the writing and the mathematics
while he filled in forms, ticked boxes, interpreted and analysed both her and
her work, made her laugh, made her blush, made himself blush with his boldness,
noticed the delicate chain around her ankle and her painted toenails, and
averted his eyes when she needed to adjust her clothing to recover what was
being gradually, conspiratorially revealed. All the while he wondered whether
the chemistry he felt between them was real or imagined, and whether the way
she tilted her head and played with her hair was flirtatious or merely absent minded.
He even went so far as to suggest they could go on talking for the rest of the
day, and she had agreed, and although the exchange was light hearted he felt
the words expressed genuine sentiment. He really did enjoy her company. This
admission was followed by a fist of guilt jabbing him in the ribs a few times.
He was married and so was she.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘The interview is finished now. You can go
and have a nice cup of coffee. Thanks for your time and good luck,’ he said,
slowly standing up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">She smiled as he took her soft hand in his
and he wished her well a second time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">They stood behind the door in the small
interview room savouring a ridiculously long good-bye. The truth was he did not
want her to go and she was in no hurry to leave. In the pregnant silence, he
began to feel dizzy and was still holding her hand when he opened his mouth to
speak. Nothing but air escaped his nervously dry lips, and soon he felt as
though he was drowning, like he had fallen into the deep, deep pools of her
eyes and they had magically stolen his ability to swim. Seconds passed
recklessly into what felt like long minutes as they stood there. Still, no
words were spoken and the door to the outside world remained firmly shut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Finally he released her hand, more from the
carelessness of drowsy enchantment than deliberate action, and she looked away.
The moment was over. The spell, shattered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Goodbye,’ she said quietly as she opened
the door. ‘Thank you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He swallowed and managed a very faint, ‘You’re
welcome. Good luck.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Then she left the room and walked away down
the corridor. Away from him, away from the mysterious connection they had just
undoubtedly shared. He smiled. She was now a new resident in his inside world.
A traveller who had landed on his planet and not been allowed to leave, despite
wanting to. A fellow prisoner, though not consciously aware of the fact, or
even vaguely impacted by the reality of her incarceration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Liliane,’ he breathed wistfully. ‘Goodbye
Liliane.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He sat down, and when he had completed the
paperwork and written in his comments and recommendations, he collected all her
papers and placed them neatly together inside a red manila folder. He closed
the folder and read her name one last time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-16557866033307728822016-09-17T22:43:00.002-07:002016-09-17T22:43:35.852-07:00New story: Racing the Train<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Racing the Train<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">by </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bob Carlton<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">It
was 3:15 am when I got to the main highway. Running ghostly in the night, a
freight train sped down the tracks that ran parallel to the road on the other
side. I took a right and was soon keeping pace with the train, both of us
southbound doing fifty. At this point I realized that in four and a half miles
I would have to take a left and then wait at the crossing for the train to
pass. No telling how long it was, or whether or not it would be stopped at the
crossing, inching back and forth as cars coupled and uncoupled in some freight
yard I couldn't even see. I might end up sitting there for quite a while. Then
I noticed the engines were only a few car lengths ahead of me. If both of us
hit that intersection at the same time, that could be a long wait indeed. Only
one way around that.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Almost
as soon as I decided to race the train I hit a red light. It changed quickly,
and I was faced with a decision: drive at a leisurely pace and face an
inevitable albeit shorter wait at the crossing, or try and get ahead of it and
risk not only a longer delay if I don't get there in time, but also the very
real possibility of getting pulled over for speeding on this deserted highway
in the middle of the night. I floored it.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Just
as I was catching back up to the locomotives, the highway took a slight curve
westward, while the train continued in a straight line to the southeast. During
daylight hours, the highway's alteration in course was almost imperceptible,
and one could debate whether it was really the road itself which swung away
from the tracks to such a degree, or if the tracks themselves did not veer off
at a rather sharp angle at this point. I don't suppose it really matters. The
fact was that the train was on a more direct course to our future point of
intersection. As our paths diverged, the train shot off behind a line of trees
in the distance. I was soon alone on the road, with no sense of either progress
or regression. Until I turned left in two miles, when the railroad crossing
would be one block away and directly in front of me, I could not gauge my
position in relation to my opponent.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYPo9qY74See_NO8eIw_pOpo37x1UCOUkkuDxTPc-4KFdVUoituu2VVJ0sc2vlIQnQF2el2Rm2tbpa-iEbAl12PoJo5IYuHPinHPkVJvZWGr9rHADso30WHxSKREfbYzOGtUe4M1B2WU/s1600/train+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYPo9qY74See_NO8eIw_pOpo37x1UCOUkkuDxTPc-4KFdVUoituu2VVJ0sc2vlIQnQF2el2Rm2tbpa-iEbAl12PoJo5IYuHPinHPkVJvZWGr9rHADso30WHxSKREfbYzOGtUe4M1B2WU/s1600/train+2.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">When
I finally made that turn, no train was in sight. As I crossed the tracks I
looked left and saw a headlight, though I could not really judge the distance.
I was pleased with myself, though not nearly as much as I was three seconds
later, when I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw the flashing red lights
and descending barrier arms announcing imminent arrival. I grinned widely,
filled with a solitary and satisfying sense of triumph. It had been that close.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Two
minutes later I pulled into the parking lot, right on time for a job I hate.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.bobcarlton3.weebly.com/">Bob Carlton</a> lives and works in Leander, Texas.</span></div>
DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-35143111149180394972016-08-27T22:21:00.001-07:002016-08-27T22:22:03.211-07:00DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-30802699784193434042016-08-27T22:21:00.000-07:002016-08-27T22:21:59.713-07:00Wombat Juice<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Wombat Juice </i>was written in 2005, and published twice: 2009 in <i>Delivered</i>, and again in 2012 in <i>Glassfire</i>. Presented here for your enjoyment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Wombat
Juice<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">by<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">D.A. Cairns<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘I
can’t tell you what’s in it. It’s a secret recipe,’ said Hartley Gregg to an
appreciative and curious customer. ‘Why do you think people come here? The
exotic and mysterious food we make, that’s why.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The
customer slowly shook his head, disappointed but understanding, and returned
his attention to the Chef’s special of the day, Boomerang Stew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘Enjoy,’
said Hartley smiling and bowing slightly before moving away to pander to his
other customers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> All
his competitors used digital waitresses to take orders and automatons to
deliver the meals to the tables because it was the most cost effective method,
but Hartley liked to give people a choice. So from the three dimensional
interactive menu displayed above the table at eye level, they could chose a
real waitperson to come and serve them or just place their order
electronically. Despite these necessary concessions to the modern restaurant
business, Hartley ran an old fashioned establishment where the people who
served contributed as much to the ambience of the restaurant as those who were
served. He liked to get around to the
tables himself too whenever possible, to talk to people and make sure they were
enjoying their dining experience at Sanctuary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> At
the bar, Hartley ordered a Wombat Juice for table three and smiled as he
watched the barman prepare it. When he finished he placed the glass in
Hartley’s hand and said, ‘First one, eh Boss?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘Yep.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘How
do you think it will go down?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘We’ll
soon find out.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> As
part of his drive and determination to be on the cutting edge of Australian
cuisine, Hartley was always experimenting with new recipes. His father from
whom he inherited the business would not have approved at all of all his son’s
innovation. He was a traditionalist. A straight up and down, meat and three
vegetables, football loving, beer swilling Aussie bloke who reckoned he knew
what people wanted and that’s exactly what he gave them. That attitude might
have worked in his father’s time but now the competition was so fierce that to
be successful one had to have an edge. Hartley’s was food that one could not
find anywhere else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> When
the Red Centre opened up to major development, including the construction and
establishment of three entirely self contained satellite cities surrounding <st1:place w:st="on">Alice Springs</st1:place>, many entrepreneurs were excited by the
possibilities offered by a twenty first century gold rush. Hartley Gregg was
one of these, but he came to his fortune via an unexpected route.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Long
a fan of kangaroo meat, especially barbecued steaks, Hartley had an idea that
perhaps some of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Australia</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s
other native animals would also make exotic and sumptuous fare. The problem
was, all but the kangaroo, which was considered a pest throughout most of the
nation particularly to farmers, were protected by conservation laws. They could
not be captured or hurt let alone killed and eaten by hungry or curious humans.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> In
the southernmost of these new satellite cities, the imaginatively titled
Sandtown, was a native wildlife sanctuary maintained by private sponsorships
and grants. Befriending the chief zoologist there, Hartley learned of the
development of a new drug designed to improve the breeding success of
endangered native species. The engineers of this pill, had in mind the
repopulation of large sections of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Australia</st1:place></st1:country-region> with native animals.
Hartley, however saw another use for a possible excess production of native
animals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘What
do you think of that?’ said Hartley as he placed the tall glass of Wombat Juice
on the table in front of a wide businessman who sat straining at the seams of
his dark suit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘It
looks like fruit juice.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘What
did you expect? A frothy brown liquid with hair in it?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> An
equally rotund lady sitting opposite the man snorted her disapproval. ‘Mr
Gregg, please, I’m trying to eat.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The
fat man dismissed his partner with a wave of his fat hand and laughed heartily.
‘You kill me Hartley,’ he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Go on and
try it.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> He
lifted the glass slowly to his lips and sniffed at it as though it were fine
wine then sipped and swallowed some. A look of bewildered satisfaction came
over his fat face and he smiled and said, ‘Damn that’s a peculiar flavor.’ He
lifted the glass to eye level and stared at its contents. ‘I’ve never tasted
anything like it.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘Do
you like it?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> ‘I
do, Hartley, I do,’ said the man. Pointing his glass at his partner, he added,
‘Better get another one over here for my lady.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Hartley
nodded, smiling then turned and walked away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Success!
Winning the approval of the fat man, whom he had hoped would be the first to
sample his new creation, was a coup for Hartley. The man was not simply another
valued regular customer, he was the Chief Magistrate for the satellite cities.
His opinion counted and those he favored, were truly favored. His patronage had
helped Hartley establish The Sanctuary Restaurant in the first place, and
thereafter forge for himself the reputation of being the finest restauranter in
the country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Winking
to the barman as he passed on his way to the kitchen, Hartley congratulated
himself. The initial results of the trials of the new breeding drug were very
positive and so, ignoring possoms and koalas due to their cute and cuddly
factor, he started to talk up the likelihood of a plague of hairy-nosed
wombats. Although the wonder breeding drug eventually failed on all species,
Hartley wanted to do something with wombats. So before the results of the trial
of the breeding drug were announced, he fabricated a story and released it
through his media contacts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The spin
was that for some completely bemusing reason the breeding program had been
hyper productive with wombats and now the tubby native beasts, verging extinction at the beginning of the twenty
first century, were proliferating like rabbits. The problem was how to use the
surplus of wombats. Zoos all over the world wanted them, intending to populate
their own nations with these distinctive Australian citizens, and there was
significant interest in them for scientific testing and research but still
there were too many. Having to cull a creature once so close to extinction was
a bizarre twist of fate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> What
about serving them up on the dinner tables of The Sanctuary’s patrons. Hartley
cleverly ruled that out on the grounds that it was theoretically good but
highly problematic. Wombat meat was tough, foul smelling and very high in fat.
Good for pet food maybe, but not for people. These facts avoided the reality of
not having any wombats. Still the idea persisted that some product may be
attained and marketed, as being made from wombats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Wombat
Juice was his brainchild and now its inevitable popularity would ensure he
stayed on top, and that was exactly where Hartley Gregg wanted to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> The
next night everyone demanded Wombat Juice. Hartley was stuck behind the bar
helping to prepare the hottest new drink on the menu when a film crew arrived
at Sanctuary wanting to do a story for the evening news. Hartley quickly
ordered his security automatons to refuse them entry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Despite the
obvious success of word of mouth, Hartley did want to get the word out about
Wombat Juice to as many people in as short a time as possible, so he consented
to an interview with a journalist he knew personally. She and her photographer
were instructed to remain seated at the table during the interview and asked to
keep it brief.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Passing
table four on his way back to the bar, Hartley took another order for Wombat
Juice which he delivered to the overworked barman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Boss, I
need a hand here.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Right,’
said Hartley graciously, ‘I’ll do this one myself, no problem.’ To the empty drink shaker he added sliced
mango and pineapple, then a teaspoon of salt, and a cup of fresh strawberries
followed by one shot of white rum and another of vodka.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Don’t
forget the Wombat, Boss.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Hartley
smiled at his cheeky barman as he reached under the bar for a bottle of thick
brown liquid labeled Wombat. He popped the lid and poured it in. ‘<st1:place w:st="on">Milo</st1:place> milk and Vegemite. Ridgey didge, my friend,’ he said
as he switched on the blender and watched his secret concoction evolve before
his eyes. ‘Truly Australian product.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘How long
do you reckon it will take someone to figure it out?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘I don’t
know,’ said Hartley, ‘but we’ll make a packet of money and have some fun while
we’re waiting, won’t we?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Yeah. Hey
what about all the real wombats?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Hartley
smiled. ‘So you believed the story about the hairy-nosed wombat population
explosion did you?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The barman
shook his head and laughed. ‘You got me there Boss. You got me there.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-54310439066350176092016-07-09T15:40:00.001-07:002016-07-09T15:40:20.404-07:00The First Six Months<span style="font-size: large;">Some six months after the launch of Square Pegs e-zine, I have to report on its sadly underwhelming performance. The anticipated flood of submissions has been less than a trickle, and I have resorted to publishing some of my own stories to keep the site active.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Duotrope has contacted me about my weekly publishing schedule which hasn't eventuated, and as usual I am left scratching my head as to why my endeavours do not flourish. As far as I know I am the only editor who has video submissions guidelines, and that alone should have attracted more attention. Nevertheless, I persist, as I have done for many years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm reminded of God's chat with Joan Baxter in the diner scene from <i>Evan Almighty</i> as she struggles to cope with the what's happening to her husband, and her life. "Let me ask you something,' says God in the guise of a waiter. "If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Square Pegs is open and I am here, ready to receive and read your submissions. Publishing will be on an irregular basis depending on the quality and quantity of the stories, and my time.</span>DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922583755264155.post-38225247684224679772016-05-13T15:57:00.003-07:002016-05-13T15:57:58.584-07:00A Place of Refuge<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I wrote this story in 2002, and its publication in The School Magazine in 2003 remains one of the watershed moments in my writing career. It was four years after I started pursuing writing earnestly, with the ultimate goal of becoming a full time writer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Being paid for my work was a thrill. Still is. <i>A Place of Refuge</i> has since been re published three times in The School Magazine (2007 & 2015) and in <a href="http://defenestrationism.net/books/complex-fairy-tales/">Complex Fairy Tales</a> (2015).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>A Place of Refuge</u> by D.A.Cairns</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m so tired of this weather,’ said Spider.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Me too,’ agreed Beetle. ‘I want to be out running around in the
sweet, long grass feeling the sun on my back.’ She extended and beat her wings
suddenly out of frustration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Calm down,’ said Spider. ‘It can’t rain forever.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘It feels like forever already,’ said Fly, coming in to land
softly beside Spider.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Watching Fly land and settle himself, Beetle tried to control a
shiver of disgust. Flies are so ugly, she thought, so unpleasant, I feel like
flying away. Politeness restrained her.</span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Perhaps, she wondered, spiders find flies equally disgusting to
look at and that’s why they eat them. They couldn’t possibly taste good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Aren’t you going to say hell to me, Beetle?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Hello,’ said Beetle in the coldest, most unfriendly voice she
could muster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I was just knocked down by a raindrop,’ said Fly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Silly to be out trying to fly in the rain, don’t you think?’
sneered Beetle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Spider looked at Beetle and then back at Fly, wondering how long
it would be before Beetle’s rudeness caused Fly to lose his cool. They might
even kill each other, thought Spider happily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I had to try to get home between showers because my wife was
expecting me,’ said Fly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘It’s been pouring rain continuously for days,’ said Beetle.
‘How could you have possibly flown in between showers?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’ve been waiting in here for days,’ said Spider. ‘Putting up
with the cold and the smell and the occasional human. It could have stopped
raining briefly.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Nonsense,’ said Beetle to them both. Then she said directly to
Fly. ‘You’ve been buzzing around inside liquor bottles again. You’re drunk!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Now listen here!’ said Fly raising his voice and twitching.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Come on, my friends,’ said Spider. ‘As we are stuck in here
until the rain stops, why don’t we try to get on. It’ll make it so much easier.
I mean it’s bad enough being stuck in here without having to listen to you two
argue.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I just don’t like flies,’ said Beetle to Spider loud enough for
Fly to hear. ‘No wonder humans are always trying to squash them or poison
them.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Spider reared up on his back four legs. ‘Who cares what humans
think or what they do?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘That’s right, Spider,’ said Fly. ‘Who cares? We were around
long before they came along and we’ll probably be here for a long time after
they’ve gone.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Beetle eyed Fly, then shuffled around to face Spider who was
stretching his long hairy legs in all directions. Spiders aren’t exactly the
most attractive species either, thought Beetle, but at least they have decent
manners, and my, what wonderful engineers they are. Those beautiful webs!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘It’s not true,’ Beetle said, ‘that we have been here longer
than humans. Everyone knows humans came first and then we came along with all
the other creatures and humans gave us our names.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘You are so stupid to believe that, Beetle,’ said Fly. ‘You
think like a baby – I suppose you still believe in Santa Bug.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’ve had enough. I’m sorry Spider, but I am going to have to
leave. It was nice chatting with you until Fly came along,’ Beetle said,
staring at Fly for as long as she could stand the sight of him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fly buzzed right up to Beetle’s face but backed off when Spider
reared up again to threaten him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m sorry too,’ said Spider as he watched Beetle zoom up
towards the gap in the toilet block between the roof and the wall. ‘Really
sorry.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fly watched Beetle as she flew straight into a web and was
helplessly entangled before she knew what had happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Excuse me,’ said Spider to Fly. ‘It’s lunchtime.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Sure,’ said Fly suddenly
worried about spending too much more time in this place of refuge. ‘I have to
get going, anyway.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘What about the rain?’ called out Spider as he scurried up the
wall towards Beetle who was lying still, trapped in his beautiful web.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fly ignored the question as he buzzed upwards and headed for
another gap in the toilet block wall. He could faintly hear Spider speaking
over the sound of his own wings beating but he didn’t care to listen. He just
wanted to get out of there alive and home to his wife and children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Spider has spun intricate traps across all but one of the exits
from the toilet block. Unfortunately, Fly chose incorrectly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now ensnared and still, Fly cold hear Spider talking to Beetle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘It’s nothing personal, Beetle.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Beetle thrashed around in one last desperate
attempt to free herself, but Spider was soon upon her, and Fly watched in
silence knowing he was next.</span><br />
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DA Cairnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14891944631357476250noreply@blogger.com0