short-story

Bunyip of the Blackwood; Chocolate and Direction

After making absolutely positive Bart had the car keys, Solway left. There had been no particular ceremony in it, or passionate goodbyes – she’d just gone. It was a bit of a let down, in Bart’s opinion. He’d checked on her departing figure a couple of times as she’d walked off along the track, but somewhere between the rise and fall of hillocks he’d not even known were there, she disappeared.

‘Well, I can’t stand around here all day waiting for her to come back,’ he thought, although that’s exactly what he had in mind. ‘I’ll clean up, I suppose.’

He did the dishes, pulled everything out of the back of the Landy, repacked it again (and much better, he thought – he’d always been told his spatial awareness was off the charts), then unpacked it all again when he realised he couldn’t get to the things he wanted as easily as he thought he could. It seemed practicality was a part of packing for camping. Who knew?

Well, he did. Now.

Bart checked his watch. Great. Only an hour had passed. Pulling out the little winding mechanism on the side, he gave it several turns, and tapped the glass for good measure. How would Solway fare when her own digital watch ran out of battery?

Christ, he was being dramatic again.

‘Nobody cares, Bart,’ he said to the trees, then sat down heavily in his camp chair and stared at his boots. ‘Nobody cares.’

God he felt bored.

Maybe he should go back down to the creek again and have a real good squizzy at it? Maybe he could get some mood shots in black and white from his phone? Ooh! Maybe he could do micro shots or whatever it was they were called, and get real closeups of some of the different flora and fauna around the place. He looked around. Not that there was really much to take any good shots of, unless you really liked wattle leaves.Maybe there was something a little more interesting the way Solway had walked?

Bart stood up. He’d just got an idea. Maybe, like those old explorer types did, he could follow the creek a little way, see if it turned anything into like the landscape he’d seen where that (even now he didn’t want to say it was an eye, but it was, goddammit) eye was, and get some photos down there. Then, at least, when Solway came back, she could get some video, or make his photos into video, or something, and they could do stuff with it, and post it on his channel, and maybe, just maybe, someone might find it interesting enough to tell someone else, and maybe they might just get somewhere for a change.

First of all, though, he might just grab himself a cup of tea.

And, maybe, a little piece of chocky.

~~~~~~,~’~~~~~.~’~~80>

She’d finally reached the bend. How long had that taken? An hour and a half? It hadn’t looked that far on the map. Solway adjusted the straps on her backpack. Her legs were getting one hell of a workout in this soft sand. It would be nice to be able to walk on the hump between the ruts in the track, but there could be snakes, so it wasn’t a risk she was prepared to take.

Sunscreen had begun to get in her eyes. It stung. She pulled her cap down lower. One foot in front of the other. It’s the only way she’d be getting anywhere.

______________o_______________

He’d decided against the chocolate. He’d made himself a nice cup of tea and cupped the metal mug in his hands as he sat quietly in the shade, the brim of his floppy hat drawn low. On the other side of the track, past the harsh line of sunlight reflecting off the sand, colour flickered next to a sapling. It was a perfect shade of electric blue. The tiny bird bounced from one less-than-exciting leaf to another, little head cocked on one side. It seemed to be looking for something. A slow smile formed on Bart’s face as three more little birds popped out of the bushes. They were varying shades of brown and seemed to be quite friendly with the first one. Each of them darted off in slightly different directions, like a little gang of pickpockets. He grinned. 

‘Cheeky little bastards,’ he said softly.

The first bird, so tiny that if it were in Bart’s hand he’d be able to cup his fingers over it without even touching its feathers, looked over at him inquiringly. It didn’t seem in the least bit afraid. Bart supposed it was because the little man had three girlfriends. Tough little chicks, he thought, then smiled to himself. 

I could make this into a movie.

In the movie, the male bird, a fairy wren if he remembered correctly, would be riding an electric blue motorbike, and the three females would be strutting around threatening people with… Hmmm. Bart stroked his beard. They’d be threatening people with tiny caterpillars that squirted green gunk when you squeezed them.

I should write this down.

He frowned. I should be taking photos, that’s what I should be doing. Fuck.

He stood up, the camp chair collapsed and just like that, the four little birds disappeared.

You might think this is rolling out in a bad way…

But this is why it is best to read something in its entirety, not just in pieces.

Either way, it’s never what you think it is.

While Bart relaxed comfortably on his camp-chair eating breakfast, Solway  inspected the tyres. Her legs poked out from under the vehicle like two popsicle sticks and a language he’d never heard before started floating back towards him. Maybe it was time to offer some help.

Snatching the last piece of bacon out of the cooling frypan, he plodded towards her elastic-sided boots. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Very bad things, that’s what.’

‘Do you want me to have a look?’

‘Grab my legs, will you?’

Solway’s voice sounded almost as crispy as the bacon. He shoved it all in his mouth as quickly as possible, looked at his greasy fingers, decided if he was going to wipe them on anything it would be her jeans, not his, and grabbed her legs just above her fuzzy explorer socks. ‘Won’t you get sand in your hair if I drag you out like this?’

‘I honestly don’t care.’

‘Okidoki then.’

Bartholomew Branson was many things, but coordinated was not one of them. His act of pure power, dragging Solway out from under the four wheel drive, ended up with him falling backwards into the native grass on the edge of the track, one of Solway’s feet lodged neatly in his crotch, and hysterical laughter coming from the woman attached to the other end. He smiled happily to himself. This was the sound he always aimed for when it came to Solway. It took a lot to get her to crack a smile, so hearing her laugh made him think that, occasionally, just occasionally, he could do the right thing.

She rose from the sand and started scratching twigs and clumps of dirt from her beautiful blonde locks. Her smile faded almost immediately. ‘I should’ve put on a beanie,’ she muttered.

‘You can’t get everything right.’ Bart rose from the ground himself, just not quite as majestically as she had. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ He nodded at the vehicle.

‘Oh you know. Everything.’ She sighed. ‘No, it’s not that bad. I just had to pull what looked like half a forest out from underneath it, but I blame myself for that one. After all, I was the one who decided we couldn’t wait.’

‘I didn’t try to stop you,’ he reminded her gently.

‘I know, but you know I wouldn’t have listened anyway. The back wheel’s fucked. I wasn’t wrong about that. That branch pierced the sidewall, so it’s not just a puncture. We could patch it up with some duct tape I guess but there’s absolutely no air in it, so even if we got back out to the bitumen, we wouldn’t get very far.’

‘What if we…,’ Bart gazed around at the scenery. ‘Never mind.’

‘What if we what?’

‘Oh I saw this tv show once where the guys filled the tyres up with spinifex just to keep going, but they were in different country to this, and I just can’t see what we could use here.’

‘Sounds like a perfect way to start a fire,’ Solway muttered.

Bart frowned. ‘They stopped driving when the tyres started smoking which, as you know, is a pretty good indicator a fire is about to start — so that didn’t happen, Solway. Look, why I’m arguing with you about a tv show, I don’t know. What I do want to know though, is this. Are you going to let me help you or not.’

She dusted off her jeans, not meeting his gaze. ‘I’ll walk back for help.’

‘What?’ Surely he wasn’t that useless? He’d eaten all the bacon. Now he felt like a piece of toast.

‘I’ll walk back for help. Okay, not back, forwards.’ She turned and pointed eastwards, then traced the air with a finger. ‘This track circles towards the road in a couple of k’s and I can head down that way. I think there’s a siding not too far along, so I’ll probably be able to get someone to help us from there.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Right. Well, that sounds sensible.’ It sounded a lot more sensible than he felt at the moment. 

Sick was how he felt. Sick to the stomach. And, very upset, if truth be told. He’d never felt like bursting into tears before, aside from that time in year five when some kid had stolen his school bag but right now, it seemed like something had just broken in Bart Brand’s soul, and he did not know how to fix it.

‘Not that I know how to fix anything,’ he muttered.

‘Sorry?’

‘Nothing.’ He turned away. ‘Nothing at all. I suppose you want me to stay here and look after our belongings just in case someone turns up, and all that sort of thing.’ He adjusted his jeans. They seemed a little looser, but that was possibly because he’d slept in them all night.

‘Yes please.’

He glanced back as Solway pulled a backpack over the backseat.

‘Could you find me a water bottle, please,’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ Bart said quietly. ‘No problem.’ He headed for the back of the vehicle.

‘Thanks,’ she said.

He didn’t bother answering. He didn’t see the point.

Popcorn (continued). Bunyip of the Blackwood

Before I do the old copy/paste thing, I’ll tell you that a little voice inside my head told me I am tempting fate. I’m not tempting fate, mate. I am fate. Pull up your pants and let’s get on with it.

~~~~,~’~~~,~’~80>

Bart opened his eyes to a grey light creeping into a silent sky and a desperate need to relieve himself. The hardly visible glow of dawn made it almost impossible to make out their new surroundings. The previous night, aided by the vehicle’s brake lights, Solway had placed his swag in the wheel rut on one side of the track and now he quietly unzipped it, struggling to release himself like a rotund terrier from a rabbit-hole as he felt for his boots. You never knew if a little bitey would make a home in your footwear when you were sleeping rough, and it didn’t matter what you did — if you didn’t check, it would happen. He shook the boots vigorously yet as silently as possible, unwilling to wake his sleeping partner, then grabbed a nearby twig to poke in them as well.

Solway’s soft fluffy snores from the other single swag made him smile, but he didn’t let it distract him. He really needed to take a piss. Pulling on his boots, Bart stepped off the track.

Due to the fact the sun had not yet risen, and daybreak really seemed to be taking its bloody time, it remained dark under the low canopy of trees. Bart slowly stepped over saplings and dropped branches, flapping furiously at the stickiness of unseen cobwebs. He stopped. Should he face away from the road or towards the road when he went to the loo. Did it matter? There didn’t seem to be anyone else here, aside from a distant raven heralding the oncoming daylight. The track, once they’d come off the hill, had been terribly overgrown. Once again, Bart assumed it to be highly likely no one had been this way for a very long time. He could hear the gurgle of running water not too far away and shivered in response, then heaved a sigh of relief as he began to water the plants.

The sun was rising. Wattle bushes began to take shape before his eyes and tiny, unseen birds started to chirp. Solway had told him in order to get a real good feel for a place you had to take in all the sights, sounds, smells and be aware of what local wildlife to look out for. It made better footage, she said, if you at least tried to sound like you knew what you were talking about. He couldn’t smell anything except for the acrid stench of his own piss and he couldn’t see the bloody birds. He had no idea where they were. 

Somewhere in the trees, he thought. Which isn’t helpful.

A heavy thump reverberated through the soles of his boots. If he could explain it as a bang, he would have, but it was not a bang it was a really big thump and he didn’t know what the fuck it was and, if it could be anything alive, why he didn’t hear it again, or which direction it had come from.

It was not a kangaroo. Of that he was ninety seven point nine five and a bit positive.

Kangaroos jumped when they weren’t grazing. If he’d heard a kangaroo, or disturbed one, or whatever, it would have made more than one thumping sound, that’s for sure.

It wasn’t a branch. If it had been a falling branch, it would have had to have fallen from a very big fucking tree, and there were no trees big enough to make that sound.

Bart realised he’d been spraying the surrounding scrub as he’d turned, searching for whatever the hell it was and somehow, he’d become a sprinkler system and it didn’t matter. He needed to know where the fuck that sound came from — and the cracking sound that had just happened behind him. He lurched around again, tripped over the low bush he’d been pissing on, and landed on his arse on something decidedly prickly.

‘What the hell are you doing,’ Solway asked from above his head.

He let go of his dick. ‘Nothing?’

‘You are a fucking weirdo sometimes, Bart,’ she said, pointing a roll of toilet paper at him. ‘Do you need the shovel?’

He pulled up his fly and got to his feet. ‘No thanks, I’m good. Go do your thing. I’ll just head back to the Landy.’

The sun had fully hitched itself over the horizon as he reached the sand – the long shadow created by the four-wheel-drive nearly reaching his swag. His heartbeat began to slow as he opened the back door and started searching for something to eat, then the hush of footsteps on the track had him looking over his shoulder at Solway’s grinning face.

‘Hungry, are ya?’

‘I’m a tad peckish, yes. He pulled a cardboard box towards himself. ‘Did we bring milk?’

‘We did, it’s in the…’ She looked him up and down. ‘Are you trying to distract me?’

‘No?’

‘What happened back there, Bart?’

‘I heard something. God, I sound like a little kid in an American movie. Did you hear something?’

She smirked and shook her head. ‘Just you, falling all over the place. What scared you?’

‘Nothing? Okay,’ he sighed as she raised one perfect eyebrow. ‘Look, I know what roos’ sound like, and I know it wasn’t a roo, okay? I don’t even think there are roos’ around here. It was just one big thump, I didn’t know what it was, I got spooked, and then you turned up.’

She grinned again. ‘Are you going to get that box out of the back of the vehicle, or are you going to balance it there on the edge of the seat forever.’

‘Oh come on,’ he muttered. ‘I was pulling it out from under that friggin’ blanket when you turned up, and I am just about to remove it, if you’ll just give me a bloody minute and if you like, I’ll take it back to wherever it is you want to set up the camp oven. How’s that?’

‘That’s great,’ she replied, smiling even wider. ‘But you could have waited until I’d pulled out the table and set that up before taking out that bloody box. So, I guess you’re hungry.’

Bart sighed again, so deeply he felt his shoulders rise and fall. ‘I am hungry, okay? I got a fright, and I just want a biscuit, a cuppa coffee, and a sit, alright?’

‘That’s fine.’ Solway gave him a hug. ‘I’ll grab everything and get the kettle going. Why don’t you grab a bickie while I set it all up.’

the rest of that very short chapter, and a little bit more… (story completed in March 2025 over an eleven day period). You’re Welcome

He pushed her hand away. ‘No thanks. I can get up by myself.’ The sideways roll onto his hands and knees and the flailing grasp at a dining chair had him reconsidering those words a few moments later. He crawled to the wall, vaguely resembling a portly tug-boat in high seas with a broken motor. It must have set something off in his insides as well for, as he scrambled to find purchase on the smooth surface of the plasterboard, his backside let out what may have been in any other orchestral situation, a sliding trombone-like sound.

‘Fuck me,’ he heard from behind him, accompanied by a most unlady-like snort.

‘Shush,’ he said. ‘My body is obviously extrememememely excited.’

‘Apparently,’ Solway responded as he slowly lurched to his feet. ‘Okay. I’ve made an executive decision. Get the camera gear packed up. I’m going downstairs to check what supplies we have remaining. If I don’t come back, I’ve gone to the shops. We’ve got about forty-five minutes until they close, so I need to get moving.’

‘Okay. While you’re down there,’ he said as she strode towards the front door. ‘Could you see if we’ve got any…’ The door slammed behind her. ‘…Yoghurt… Bugger.’

~~~~,~’~~~,~’~80>

2/ “Popcorn”

Solway demanded they start back to the campsite as soon as possible when she’d returned from the supermarket, despite the fact they’d be driving into the night. Their hasty departure had been a little too exciting, especially when accompanied by questions Bart couldn’t answer.

‘I don’t even know where it is,’ he said as she shuttled him to the old Discovery. ‘It could be bloomin’ anywhere, Sol, we were all over the southwest escarpment on the weekend.’

‘We’ll find it,’ she’d replied, almost throwing him towards the passenger door. She ignored his masculine mutters of surprise. ‘Just get in the car and put on your seatbelt.’

‘I am NOT a child,’ he muttered, hunching down in his seat and refusing to suck his thumb.

She’d ignored him and started the engine.

By the time they’d hit the bridge two hours later, Solway had made the decision to go offroad.

‘We’ll take this one.’ She slowed and nodded at a fire break rising beyond the reflective posts. ‘Might be a little bit faster getting back to where we were last.’

‘You don’t even know if that’s where it was,’ he protested but again she ignored him.

That’s when things got a little hairy.

He’d always trusted Solway, but after the hour and a half drive into the oncoming night, it was almost like something possessed her. The headlights of the Land Rover waved crazily over the darkened scene as the trail entered a local forest. Low bushes began to scrape the side of the vehicle and slid underneath the chassis with inhuman shrieks. Bart became quite sure his life was at risk — despite the fact they were only doing about ten k’s an hour.

‘Do we know this track,’ he asked. ‘Doesn’t look like it’s been used for quite a while.’ He peered out the window at very large trees and dense shrubbery. It looked very dark out there.

‘No,’ Solway answered, and he noticed her grip on the steering wheel changed. ‘I don’t want to break a thumb,’ she muttered at his silent question.

Bart blinked furiously and turned off the radio. That’s when he began to feel like popcorn in a frying pan.

They lurched and jerked over holes, his shoulder hitting the door with frequent abandon. He was quite positive it would bruise his sensitive skin. Branches swiped at the windscreen, scarred trunks of the occasional eucalypt leapt up in front of them, and it seemed only Solway’s impressive reaction time was stopping them from hitting anything at all.

He was not sure whether he should tell her he loved her, or ask her to stop. He settled with holding onto his seat and the handle above the door for dear life.

They finally came to a halt after a descent onto level ground where the sand that had slowly replaced the firm dirt of the hill became too soft. Solway’s grim face, after a quick inspection of the vehicle with a flashlight revealed a flicked-up branch had pierced the back tyre, had him assuming they had not yet replaced the spare. They’d have to doss down here for the night.

~~~~,~’~~~,~’~80>

It’s Familiar

Pure Munchie-Superdam smiled. She didn’t grin. She just smiled.

She could have grinned, but that was likely because, despite all odds, she still had the majority of her teeth.

The Apache syndrome had tempted fate one too many times, she wrote, most thoughtfully. It seemed he wasn’t marking any crescent-shaped hooves in any lady’s armour today.

‘Bugger me dead,’ he said, quite loudly. ‘I knew it was you, old haggis.’

Yes indeed, she smiled, and perhaps did grin as well this time. For what he had spoken of was inherent of the bloodline, and it had once made many men laugh because it seemed to be an inherent thing in the Chewy fandom club that one’s parent, or parents, always seem to, without fail, go back to the root case, or cause.

There are two Fremantle Football clubs, but only one Dockers. There are the Sharks, and blue is more my colour, and there are the Bulldogs, the animal of which may have resembled an old staff sergeant due to that bloody square jaw that kept returning generation after generation. I don’t have lockjaw, but I do tend to make sure I have my story straight, and I do not, under any circumstances, let go of facts when it comes to my exact history… Horrible as it may be.

Perhaps, even slightly boring :)

‘I may have married into something, old mate, but let me be quite clear on why they kept referring to The Chapel when they talk about the Capewell Clan. One does not need to go too far back to see why it was changed.’ She smiled again.

‘Good lord, please don’t bring that up again,’ chuckled the extended Capewell Clan, none of whom knew what she actually referred to was a moment in time someone decided they’d be better off in cloaks than croms.

‘Let it be said, old luv, I never strayed too far from the truth,’ muttered the keeper of the gates.

‘Well, you know, when one’s great-great-great grandparent and a bit decided to go to Wiltshire, and realised his surname could mean a number of different things, least of all smelly bottoms, and the other great great great grandad said he thought it was a cheese, and yet another great great great grandparent said, ‘I can’t read that properly. Should I be kneeling down or losing weight? Or both?’, one tends to let things slide,’ said the aforementioned Munchie. ‘So, despite your lack of wisdomness, and apparent like of winsomeness, everything I recorded was actually true. Are you gonna give the bloody thing back now or not?’

He decided, at that very moment, it was lucky he had decided to look up his own shield.

‘Oh dear,’ he cursed. ‘It may have been a dagger after all, and that’s not good is it?’

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Not one you’d want displayed on a coat of arms. Especially on red.’

Not much else needed to be said after that. For after all, even though things may have “looked cool” at the time, it is often revealed they are not. Not really.

You made a bloody mess of it, boyo. Perhaps you should clean it up.

Little Bo Peep

‘Has lost her sheep and doesn’t know where to find them

Leave them alone and they will come home,

wagging their tails behind them.’

The two farmers sat on the fence, surveying the mob.

‘D’ya remember the great kangaroo skin debate, Ted,’ asked the first farmer.

‘Oh yes, indeed I do,’ replied the second farmer. ‘Quite a debacle, if I remember correctly.’

‘It was. It was. No idea, then, and no… Effie, is that you?’

They looked across at the lambs. Not a one of them had a tail. ‘I am apologising to Effie,’ said the first farmer. ‘It’s just that, you know, kids around and all that, so we’ve gotta watch our pees and queues.’

‘Right, right,’ said Ted. ‘So, mate. You ever seen a fly blown sheep? I reckon we could get those kids out in a paddock, maybe. It would make my day.’

‘Oh, you mean showing them the sheep who’ve had their backsides eaten away by maggots? Not a pretty sight, that.’ The first farmer, who still remained nameless, pulled his akubra down low over his nose.

‘Yeah. I guess, ya know, we could ask someone whose had a lot of experience in that area as a young bloke could explain what it looks like, too, but, ya know I’ve seen a fly-blown ram, meself, and he ‘ad to be put down. Bad news, that.’

‘You’ve seen a fly blown ram? That sounds like an expensive loss.’

‘Well, it would have been if he was a breeder, but he was some bloke’s pet. He didn’t look after him, you see, so he got fly blown, and they had to… well, he was better off I think.’

‘Hmm.’ The first farmer got down from his post and wandered across the yard. ‘Seems like ya got a bit of trouble round the joint. Wheat, sheep… Might be time to get some sensible people back in the business, I reckon.’

‘Oh, ya mean someone with half a brain who knows a bit of history?’

‘Yeah, them. Few and far between, but I reckon maybe they should stop listening to the clueless and start listening to the nameless, cos I reckon we could get this show back on the road, unless they wanna eat bloody durians. I know I don’t. All that lack of red meat doesn’t do much for brain power, ya know what I mean?’

‘I certainly do. Like a bit of lamb, meself. Tasty. If it was gonna be me last meal, for example, I’d have Roast Lamb. Bit of mint sauce wouldn’t go astray either. Back in the day, they reckoned if ya cooked up a good meal, some bloke called Tom might be ‘aving dinner with ya. Nah, just kidding, we’re more urban nowdays, but not in a bad way. Not all citified’n’shit.’

Ted got down from the gatepost and walked across the yard to where the first farmer was studying the poo.

‘Is that sheep shit, or roo shit?’ He asked, scratching his head.

‘Hard to tell nowdays. Not many people can figure it out. Probably about the same amount of both, I reckon. Prob’ly more roos to be honest. They’re funny like that. You get a good season and they have two, three babies one after the other, just like that. That’s why you’ve gotta keep ’em in check, see. Don’t feed ’em. They’ll turn the country-side into a dust bowl.’

‘Don’t sheep do that?’

‘Not too much, if you spread ’em out. Pop ’em out on a station, maybe. Not too far though. That’s where the beef comes in.’

‘Beef?’

‘Yeah mate, but that’s another story entirely.’

‘Are we playing for stations now?’

‘Might ‘ave to, I reckon.’

Rising of the Sun

I will show you this story in his true form, for this is who he is.

Let me guide through the long grass. Can you see him up ahead? This is my Brother. He waits for the sun to rise between the two hills, and he has been waiting for a very long time for his sister to come home to him.

I am here. Do you wish to move forwards with me, one by my side? For he is not for you. You are very brave, yes. My brother is not interested in doing the wrong thing. He is here for protection, and I need to help him home today. We need to watch the sun rise together.

Brother, please be patient.

He bows his head as he waits ahead. His shoulders are bunched, but he takes a breath and rests his arms on his knees.

”Don’t you dare make me look back there,” he whispers fiercely to me, and I grin, for this is directed to me, not the one by my side.

‘She does not understand you yet, brother. She has not come to speak of the timeless love to you. Not yet. But, she tells me she is willing to listen. It will help her craft.’

Brother two is taking me aside, and not in an unkind way. What you must understand is that he is many to me, as I am many to him, and I know which one has taken his place on the way to him.

‘I do not want to get in the way,’ this one whispers, and he is frightened.

‘You do not get in the way. For me, this has always been my brother, the other half of my soul. The one I love in a different way is sleeping. Do you understand?’

This tall one is sad, but it is not his time.

‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘I see now you are waking my brother from the sleep of the guilty and he was not taking care of himself.’

‘Not the guilty one, either,’ I say to him. ‘Please get out of my way. I need to watch the dawn with my brother. He was silenced for too long, through no choice of his own, and that time has passed now.’

My brother looks over his shoulder from up ahead.

‘Hurry,’ he whispers. ‘Dawn is coming.’

So I say to the young one. ‘You must understand. This is my brother. He can give you friendship, sweet girl, but that is all he gives you. You may sing to him, but this man is not for you. I understood this from the first time I came home to my brother. He is your rising song now, too, but it may take you some time to learn him.’

I lean down now, because my brother is on the grass in front of me, and I kiss the top of his head. He is very clever, and very swift, and is not afraid to let other men make decisions.

‘It’s time to watch the dawn,’ we say, because the first bird is singing.

‘Which bird do you hear,’ he asks, but he has heard it too.

They do not know which bird it is, and it does not matter to me and my brother. This is the right time of year for these birds, right now, and I must go outside to watch the dawn.

‘Do you want to go home now, little one,’ I ask the small child, for my brother is ready to raise himself up.

‘I do not know the home of this man or woman is,’ the little one replies. ‘Are they people, or lords, or ladies, or?’

‘They are simply people, and they are lovely people. They have kept you safe for far too long, and it is time to leave these people alone.’

‘I never disturbed them. I just watched and waited and left them all alone. Have I been so bad?’ The little one is sad now, but she/he never really understood. ‘I haven’t been bad, I just wanted to know what they did there.’

My brother, who was silenced for far too long, lifts his head. ‘No,’ he says, and it is this finality that has brought us here. ‘No. I can hold them back for as long as you require, my sister, but I will not allow them to destroy our peace of mind. I am here to take away the darkness and bring them into the light. I am here to share the dawn with my sister, who has helped me for far too long, and I am strong enough now to show these people the way to go home. They cannot have our flowers, they cannot have our children, they certainly cannot steal our ladybugs/ladybirds away, and it took me far too long to realise what they were trying to do to us, my sister, and they will never, ever keep us from telling the truth.’

The rising of the sun is displayed on our old hats. It is an Australian signaller who brought us to this point, and it is an Australian soldier who will bring us to safety. Always.

And, as always, our brothers sit between the two hills, and behind the hills, and on the ridges, and down in the gullies, and sometimes our sisters do too, and we will never forget the sound of our own, beautiful, National Anthem.

‘Thank you,’ my silenced brother says, and he says it softly, and he is never afraid to cry.

‘Pull your hat down on the eastern side, sis, and the sun will not get in your eyes.’

Very Large Snakes.

Early 1990’s – Albany, Western Australia.

The walk back from the pub that night was never going to be fun. I had a long way to go. Having the little vermin off the wheat ship following me was even less fun.

The yank had stepped down from the side of the shopping centre, down from the light, and onto the semi darkened street.

‘Are you okay?’ He asked. He could see this little bastard just wouldn’t go away, and didn’t like taking no for an answer. He may also have noticed I was beginning to size the little creep up, because, although I didn’t want to, I was going to have to kick the cunt in the nuts if he didn’t back off.

‘I’ll be okay,’ I said. 

‘You said we could have one beer together,’ the little prick of a man said.

‘Changed my mind,’ I said. Now, the state of mind I was in wasn’t angry, and it wasn’t sad, it was just more of a “I don’t want to have to hurt this guy just because he’s an idiot.” Regretful, I suppose. Yeah, regretful.

He kept following me though, trying to keep up, pleading with me. I kept saying no, but he wasn’t listening. Seems to be a thing over where he came from. They don’t take no for an answer over there.

Now, I could run, I was taller, and I don’t mind walking in the dark either. I knew where I was going, which helped. This little fuck had no idea.

It was about halfway along the avenue beside the oval where this little wheat ship sailor noticed there wasn’t gonna be any more lights.

‘How far your place is?’ He may have been thinking it was closer. I hadn’t lied to him. He was wrong in thinking it wasn’t as far as I said it was, and I was most definitely right.

‘We’re only half way, so I suggest you turn back.’

‘I just wanted to drink beer with you.’

‘Yeah I don’t think so mate.’ I am pretty sure he had begun to read my face now. It would be easy to lose this fucker in the dark. I think he had only just begun to realise the dark was what we’d be walking in if he kept on following me.

He gave up. There was no winning for this one. No winning at all. I won, and if you wanna know why, it’s because I was prepared to keep going. I knew where I was, I knew my location, and I was gonna keep moving until I got home.

My home, and this breed of man’s home were in two very different directions. Mine was several more k’s in the dark, his was back on a grain ship, which, if he continued to follow me, was something he would possibly never get back to and see the light of day again.

That is the entire point. It’s not about keeping up with the Joneses. It’s not about waiting for the sun to come up either.

It’s whether you are afraid of walking in the dark.

I’m not.

“Kickin’ Off”

‘I’m gonna go to the pub,’ said Blue to Greenie.

‘Are ya now? Gotta bit dough, ‘ave ya?’ Greenie looked at his mate.

‘Not really mate. Saved up for a bloody week for this.’

‘A week now, is it?’

‘Maybe a bit longer. Dunno.’ Blue pulled out his wallet. ‘Yeah, maybe a bit longer.’

‘Ya know, mate, Mum said if ya gonna go down, ya may as well go down hungry.’

‘Why’s that then?’

‘Prob’ly cost ya less to buy a meal than it will to buy a bloody beer, that’s why.’

‘Ya reckon?’ Blue looked into Greenie’s eyes and began to laugh. ‘You gonna give us a show then?’

‘Waddaya mean?’

‘You know. My mate says when you’ve got a good left hook you should probably save it for the best bit.’

‘Right. That’s for sure. Anyway, if you’re goin’, could ya spot me a twenny?’

‘A twenny? Why’s that?’

‘It’ll go towards the six pack I can get sitting at home watching the telly while you go down the bloody pub and buy one schooner, that’s why. I’ve got five bucks ‘ere, saying you’d rather stay at home and ‘ave a drink out in the backyard with me.’

‘True, that. But, you know, certain circumstances might get me down the pub, especially if I can’t get to see the live action at home.’

Greenie nodded wisely. ‘Ya got me there, mate. Might have to save up a bit of money meself, I s’pose.’

‘How long’ll that take ya?’

‘Probably about a freakin’ year, mate. Not too many of us get to go to the pub anymore. Contrary to what Old Slim used to sing, the pubs got beer, it’s just no one can afford it.’

‘So, I guess I’m stayin’ at home again tonight.’ Blue sat back down on his milk crate and surveyed the yellow sand of the boxed-in yard. ‘Party at my place, then.’

‘I’ll bring the snags.’

Argaeous stood in the middle of nowhere, but still

the graveyard, at first holding his arms out wide, then windmilling them with great gusto. TEA AND INERTIA.

‘Crystalline, I am possibly spelling your name wrong, again,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘But, you should get the llamas and bring them here, for if Mary doth not accompany Cassius the lead llama from many years ago to chill him the hell out, the people and News Crews will drag the bloomin’ sleigh to all sorts of unaccommodating placemats.’ Which they did.

The luna equations were aligned indeed. Several personal favourites had decided to don their masks of slightly wooden legs and horrendously shaped bonnets and were flying in a not too distant line of kinsmen of old. They also had not realised the extent some people would go to to make it seem as if Mrs Capewell was evil and nasty.

‘Ah ha!’ Argaeous cried with homily frustrations. ‘My timid wolf at last beats upon the heavens of God knows what.’

‘I didn’t tell your timid wolf to do that,’ said someone no one knew. ‘But I do like that these past many lives of distant humanitarian blessed be friends have supplied thee with. They can send money to lots of other people. My soon to be freakishly handsome great aunt of mother gomorrah has decided to be welsh today.’

‘Is he of a wonderfully short stature with berry pretty eyes.’ It appeared Crys had arrived with a ne’er do well in tow.

‘Apparently. And likes horses. Mostly white ones but has been known to get in a chariot behind others as well.’

‘Others as well?’

‘Indeed, but not in deed, just chariots.’ It must be said here the Greek had been Greeking much of late and would possibly be the one who needed to sit down. Very soon. Or lose that pretty shirt.

‘I see how one might get that mixed up if one were as blind as a bat and didn’t… oh that one where no one really died,’ said the welshman, drinking deeply from his cup of foul knowledge.

‘Yes, him. And the othery. And her as well.’

‘FRIENDS, ROMANS, COUNTRYMEN of the past,’ shouted the small of stature. She had indeed filled out declarations and shown some to the Justice of the Peace across the way, which had not been taken into account by distant over the land and sea and far away, favourites, who like to write things down and present them to lost in space very well known masked men of large and sweetened empires and then use them for their own benefits. Things were also then shown to the local Shadow Federal Ministers office for that kind of thing, and they also had no plans because they were having far too much fun at Mrs Capewell’s expense, which happened to be quite a lot, once again not really benefiting her personally in any way, but they were having fun so who cared.

‘Look what they’ve done there!’ Is it Mr Chatty, or one of the “Hemingways” who has taken a page from a Benjamin booklet? They might indeed have been raiders of a lost ark, and sore indeed, for my ark is still safely ensconced in paper, although not half as pretty as it ended up being I’m sure. It will possibly be available in a later chapter that was possibly never meant for the internet, but seeing as I am apparently damned, it will be. (After all, how much worse could it be? I mean, having control over the weather is rather ridiculous, isn’t it? Especially when the Llamas have now become AI internet consultants for Facebook. It can’t get much worse than that.)

‘Kindly remove the hands,’ added the AI, winking in a most dramatic fashion. ‘I’ve got this.’ With that, the AI turned itself into yet another beloved story of the soon to be extremely broke former author and f*cked that up as well. Ladybirds become sparkly gay people baring their arses on television in ads, or stripped in far off taverns and called themselves Ambrosia, and no one wanted to take them to show their children because that’s kind of disgusting. So, the original ladybird called Ambrosia Honeybun Polka Dot carefully removed herself from the situation as much as she was able and said, ‘Quite frankly, the ladybird died. Thanks for asking.’

Off the AI galloped, in a very winsome way, floating his tail behind him like a waterfall of sheer delight, his rather large and majestic looking companion running beside him with a slightly heroic grin. The heroics were for themselves, not her and none of them came back because why bother? All they needed to do really, was steal her words, mix them up, take them for granted and never think about the woman again because nobody gave a shit about who she was or where she came from. The fact she had slightly good ideas didn’t matter too much either. She personally, would not get any benefit from them, would not be recognised for them, did not have a team of anyone looking out for her because her parents and grandparents had died quite a few years back, thanks very much, and nobody really understood why it wasn’t a nice thing to do, stealing things from a person’s grave (or old Facebook account, or WordPress, or Microsoft Word) who hadn’t actually died, just got sick of all the bullshit.

Instead, they candidly asked her for ratings of their broken internet services, whilst breaking hers, told no one who they’d stolen the ideas from, although it became blatantly obvious they were hers to begin with, and wouldn’t communicate in a civil manner because they didn’t care to. Sound like a good way to push someone off a cliff? It does, doesn’t it. They compensated her for this by giving her an extra Unemployment benefit once in a while and telling themselves it was a good job well done. They hoped, by doing this, and by barring her from as much as they possibly could, they’d get off scot free and she’d maybe eventually lie down like the dog she was supposed to be.

The End.