“Red Sky Morning” (Normally, I’d let a long-ish story like this sit for a while before turning it into something with a little more teeth. As I don’t have the luxury of giving it the maturity it deserves, I apologise. Perhaps one day I’ll pick it apart again and make it worth something. At this moment in time, and myself not a script writer, it reads more like something one might just throw out in eleven days, which I did. It is certainly not worthy of being a decent novel. Not yet. After this year, possibly not ever. We’ll see.)

Dawn had just begun to colour the sky when Solway woke up.

She’d fallen asleep on the couch, slumped sideways, a cushion under her neck and her head half hanging off the arm. It was not comfortable. She wiped the drool from her mouth and regarded the uncurtained window of the living room.

‘Oh God it’s morning.’

The notebook she’d scribbled everyone’s names in lay open on the carpeted floor. Most were from the television industry, but there were a few names from her time in the swim team years before, those who she’d kept in touch. One of those names stood out to her now as someone who might come in very handy indeed. She wondered if he still had his pilot’s license.

Her digital watch had gone flat. She scrubbed at the crusty feeling on her cheek and stumbled towards the bathroom. Her mobile rang just as she grabbed the door handle.

‘Solway, it’s Hans,’ said her brother, which was good as she hadn’t looked at the screen. ‘Are you up?’

‘Is this a trick question,’ she muttered.

‘Oh good. I have to wait for places to open before we can hire a four wheel drive, but I have found somewhere, and I’ve also found somewhere where they hire out portable air-compressors that are really not that big.’

‘Thank you.’ She wiped her eyes. They definitely felt crunchy. ‘God I must look like shit.’

‘Probably. Look I’m going to pop around in about half an hour, so have a shower and get dressed will you? I’ll make you breakfast.’

Solway perked up. ‘Will you? Awesome. What will you make me?’

‘Whatever’s in the fridge, I guess. Maybe not. Does it matter? Just have a shower.’

‘Okay.’ She lurched back towards the bathroom, bumping open the door with a shoulder. ‘I think we’ve run out of soap.’

‘Not something I can help you with,’ Hans said. He was beginning to sound slightly annoyed. ‘Can you hang up now please? I’m in my car and haven’t set up hands-free properly.’

‘Okay, whatever, bye.’ She put the phone next to the sink, remembered to shut the bathroom door, and got in the shower. It felt beautifully warm.

______________o______________

Bart crawled out of the swag and waddled down to the edge of the track, It was still very early and the sun had not yet risen. Splendid sat on the edge of a large puddle, looking at his reflection in the water. In his fingers, he twirled a tiny, fluffy, white feather.

‘What happened,’ Bart asked, his heart sinking. He sniffed at Splendid, who smelled sad.

‘Owl. It was Tawny. She’s quite territorial.’ Splendid glanced at him sideways, his beautiful brown eyes liquid with unshed tears.

‘Oh.’ Bart sat down and curled his long, prehensile tail around his feet. ‘Who was it?’

‘Elfie. She was my best layer.’ Splendid cocked his head at the sky and ruffled his shirt. ‘Three eggs. Every time. She’d get confused about what time of year it was though, you know?’

‘You shouldn’t have been up so late.’ Bart traced a line and a half-circle in the sand with one claw.

‘I know. She told me that. But, you know, with all the weather going on it was very exciting, and seeing her for the first time was quite exciting too, you know?’

‘You’re repeating yourself,’ Bart said.

‘It’s what we do. Part of our song, see. I know you see, Bart. Not many do.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Bart, and he meant it. ‘Maybe later we can hold a funeral for her.’

‘That would be nice.’ Splendid wiped his eyes on his jacket sleeve. Most of the suit had turned brown now. ‘You should go back to bed, Bart. Possums are nocturnal creatures. You need to get up high.’ He stood up, shook himself and stretched his arms, knotting his fingers together above his head. ‘It’s time to wake up.’

Bart woke up. The sun had just started to rise.

~~~~~~,~’~~~~~.~’~~80>

The feeling in his chest was an unusual one, and not something he’d felt for a long time. He could also feel it in his throat, sort of like a lump he couldn’t quite get rid of. He didn’t like it much.

Bart crawled out of the swag and put on his boots. The sunrise on the edge of the track had coloured the water sitting in the wheel ruts orange and pink. It seemed fitting.

Red sky morning, Shepherds warning.

Slowly, he walked through the dead leaves and scattered rocks to the bottom of the hill. Next to the water’s edge, impaled on a slender twig, sat a tiny breast feather. Bart sat down next to it and, for no reason he could think of, began to cry.

Two distant ravens started calling to each other, their harsh back and forth echoing across the landscape. Shortly after came some other bird calls he couldn’t quite decipher. Above him, in the low branches of a karri tree, a kookaburra began to laugh.

Bart swore softly under his breath. ‘Fuck.’

It didn’t seem enough. He stood up and turned around, staring back up at the hill and the stillness of the trees and the loneliness of the sanded track and the fallen logs covered with old scars from long ago bushfires.

‘Fuck,’ he said louder, and, ‘FUCK,’ again. His voice echoed through the bushland.

Nothing replied.

Carefully, he bent down and untwined the feather from its little stick. Just as Splendid had in his early morning dream, he twirled the tiny feather between his fingers, marvelling at its softness.

It’s natural, the voice said from beside him. This is what happens. He’ll get over it, eventually. He’ll find another bird and add her to his collection and he’ll move on. That’s what happens.

Bart didn’t turn his head. ‘Why?’

It’s just the way it is. Nothing has changed. Were you expecting a miracle? It’s just a bird. It’s not like it’s human, like you. Are you human, Bart?

He looked down at himself. He was not covered in fur. He did not have four legs, nor did he have a long, black, prehensile tail like he had in the dream. His eyes were not large and brown, and, although he did have an urge to start rummaging in the box of food he’d put under the wattle bush further up the track, he was definitely not a possum.

‘I’m human.’

Glad we got that sorted out. The voice was all business now. Right then. You need to get yourself some breakfast, consider what you are going to do with that vehicle, and decide how organised you need to be. You do not have a time frame for if and when your girlfriend is coming back, so you should probably come to the conclusion, and rather quickly I might add, that you could be here for at least another day. Make yourself a decent camp, and start living a little. Look after yourself.

‘I am looking after myself,’ Bart said, and he turned to see exactly who it was that was talking to him. No one was there.

‘I am looking after myself,’ he repeated. ‘I am.’

He sat down again next to the puddle and placed the feather on the rippling water. It floated there for a little while, and he said all the things that Splendid had told him about the bird it had belonged to.

Then he went back to where the swag and the vehicle was, and began to make camp.