Short Story - A Smudge on Time
A Smudge On Time
Burnt Ochre :
“Why is she sprawled so awkwardly in the hot dust?”
“And where is her hat?”
“What foolishness is this? The girl is too fragile to withstand this star’s blazing rays! Why has she no protection?”
“And water! She must drink or she will not survive - not in this land of burnt ochre.”
English Pink :
I’m such a fool! I never dreamed this could happen! I mean… the farmhouse is just up the hill… maybe if I rest a minute longer I’ll be able to make it back? Strange! I’ve always thought houses were simply places to live in, yet suddenly I feel Aunt Hilda’s place is my only chance of survival. How can it be so close yet so out of reach? What happens if I can’t get back? If only someone would come … but who knows I’m here? Oh God…this is such a mess! And I feel so bad… so ill.
All I did was take an early morning walk. Am I that useless? Aunt Hilda used to call me her ‘English Pink’ I know she was teasing but look at me lying here. I am so pathetic, and so… pink! It never occurred to me that such a monstrous thing could happen.
Black & White:
There had been no work for Mitzzie since her master became ill. Every day she sat by his side, just waiting, but for some reason this man; this ruler of her life had been relegated to an old couch on the side veranda. So here they sat day after day, both gazing longingly across the brown, unused land.
People appeared and then were gone: feeding them both, making sure they were safe but never staying.
Since the cattle had been sold there wasn’t much reason for anything, but the dog sat on, always hopeful for any kind of movement that might break the monotony.
At dusk Mitzzie had taken to chasing kangaroos but it was nothing more than a game, just something to do.
Slowly over time the boredom of each day wrapped the black and white collie in a deadly shroud of apathy, so this morning when a column of dust spiralled into the sunlight Mitzzie became excited. Sharp canine eyes pierced the paddocks to where the creek cut a border between the two properties.
Yes, it was the newcomer from next door!
The dog had given a small yelp of delight as she leap off the veranda, streaking out across the dry land. Walking with this stranger was becoming a new routine; sniffing around wombat holes, chasing rabbits - these delights had reignited her joy of living, so the crashing confusion when she disturbed the ‘roo had been as much a disaster for the dog as it had been for the newcomer.
Pasty Yellow:
The scrubby bush is hot and hushed, forced into silence by layers of dehydrated cloud. Nothing moves in this windless world. Every leaf hangs motionless, every ant aches for the smell of rain. It is as if the pasty yellow sky is sucking the world dry.
As the heat presses in We notice the girl has a sudden insight. She is grasping the enormity of her reality, knowing the dusty stillness in which she is lying has existed here since time began; even in the iciest London winter this ancient land has always smouldered here.
Bruised Purple:
It had been such an ordinary thing to do. In fact she had not left her Aunt’s property! The house was on a ridge, maybe five minutes climb above where she lay, and because she had left the back door slightly ajar for the cat, she worried that the house would be full of flies.
Her intention had been to take a short walk before breakfast. No need to tell anyone, no reason to take a mobile phone or wear a hat; just a quick trip down to the creek to check on the water holes. The water for the garden and orchard was pumped up from the creek and Aunt Hilda had asked her to keep an eye on the levels.
“I’m only here to help out…I have to go home soon,” she protested to the empty sky, surprised by how the sound of her own voice eased her panic.
It had been lonely travelling all this way out to Australia yet not actually seeing her aunt. They crossed mid air - she on the British Airway’s flight that landed in Sydney almost at the same time as her aunt was arriving at Heathrow.
“And just look at me!” Amazing how talking to herself really was helping. “I hurt everywhere… in fact I feel like a bruised plum!”
Her voice trailed into silence as she tried to inject order into her jumbled mind. Should she be waiting for help? Maybe she should try to get back to the house. Was dangerous to move? But who would come? Nobody knew!
“I think I need to rest,” she soothed herself with a gentle whisper. “Best stay here a while longer.”
It was meant to be a break from college. Getting her future into perspective now she had accepted that John would not walk away from his marriage. Her friends insisted she keep playing, telling her this was just a hiccup in her career, but even before this she felt her life teetered on a knife’s edge.
“… now look at me!” she moaned.
Blue on Blue :
You are just going for a walk… yet within minutes you are in agony, wondering how such an ordinary action can disintegrate into this disaster.
Up earlier than usual; taking a short walk before breakfast. Pulling on yesterday’s clothes knowing a shower when you return will hide any hint of grunge; leaving the back door slightly ajar for the cat; just a short walk in an attempt to pour blue daylight over another dark night of regret.
This is not London; you are not being forced into any momentous life changing decision, yet suddenly your very existence is under threat. It seems that life does not change gradually but deviates in surprising jumps.
As you ate a quiet breakfast on the verandah you had no reason to wonder about the fragility of life, or how precious each intake of breath might become. Not even your dreaming hinted at such a truth. A cliché maybe, but life really is a gift! Perhaps at twenty-one such thoughts might be classed as maudlin but had it been known that your life would end before its next birthday perhaps the wonder of such a gift would be recognized. Nothing prepared you. No tutorials about risk, nor warnings about the dangers of daily life. You leave the house, untrained in the ways of the bush, innocently forgoing the style of living you have always taken for granted, wandering away from water on tap, a roof that protects, and a phone connecting you to the world. You leave all this as you walk towards your death.
Orange Chatter:
“She’s not from around here is she?”
“No! She’s from England. She’s come to look after the place while Hilda’s over there visiting her mother.”
“God! How can Hilda afford a trip like that? I thought her place was running at a loss. I mean…who’d plant oranges out here?”
“Dunno! Hilda said she’d put it on the market when she gets back.”
“Yeah… she’s let it go to shit since Tom died…who’d buy it?”
“Who’d buy anything out here right now?”
“Bloody drought.”
“Yer got that right…anyway her niece is from London. When Hilda told me the girl was coming I said she must be crazy letting such a kid stay out there on her own.”
“Crazy!”
“Hilda said the kid plays that big violin thingy.”
“You mean a cello?”
“Yeah. That’s the one!”
“Shit! What’s someone like that doing in this dead-hole?”
“Hilda says she’s pretty bloody good too. She’s at the Con…Conserv…or something.”
“Conservatoire you idiot!”
“Yeah… well… Hilda says she’s real good.”
“Why’s she here then? Why isn’t she home playing?”
“Got herself into some sort of trouble. Hilda said she jumped at the chance to come out here.”
“Drugs I’ll bet!”
“Don’t think so…not from what Hilda was saying. Think she has an affair with some bloke she shouldn’t.”
“Married?”
“Probably.”
“You met the kid?’
“Nah…but Hilda said to keep an eye on her.”
“Yeah…well that’s what we should be doin’. No good havin’ a newcomer alone over there. Shit happens easy.”
“Christ! You’re a worrier Mick!”
“We should go over …see if she’s OK.”
“Well it’ll have to wait till next week. Goffer’s shifting some cattle tomorra and I said I’d help.”
“Make it Wednesday then.”
Ordinary Brown:
Why is this happening to me… they say every action has a re-action… am I being punished for trying to break up a marriage? Well, it’s not fair! Coming here gave me a chance to unwind… a few weeks in the wilds of Australia… up late most mornings, feeding the cat, putting the hens in at night, and watering the garden every few days… so easy, yet I’m laying here in the sun trying to get my mind around what I should do… I know it’ll be all right. I shouldn’t panic but I just want to feel safe… I need to know that I’m right not to move… really…it isn’t fair. Fancy getting bitten! They say to bind snakebites tight so I’ve ripped up my blouse but now I’m worried about sunburn… I’m so mindless…I didn’t bother about a hat… God… I hope I’ve done the right thing. Trouble is… nobody knows I’m here except that stupid, stupid dog. It’s all her fault… but the collie is my only hope…maybe she’ll be able to make someone understand…but… what if she was bitten too! She was chasing a ‘roo out of the bush… I heard her yelp, that’s why I rushed in…didn’t see the snake. It was so scary…such a horrible head, darting out at me like that… but I’m sure everything will be fine ‘cause the snake didn’t seem very dangerous, just an ordinary browny colour. It’s getting so hot and I feel awful. I’ve got the bandage really tight so maybe it’ll be all right if I try to climb back to the house. .. just need to rest a little while longer…get back my strength.
Misty Grey:
Though your body moves through this harsh landscape child, your reality is centred in the misty grey of that flat in Highbury, seeing him lit by the light of the window, head on one side, listening while you play.
Persevere they told you…time heals all!
So mindlessdly you walked through the bush, unaware of your body’s direction; feeling no heat on the skin, no flies at the eyes; just a tiny fraction of body-consciousness inspecting the landscape.
Living in two places at once the mind is unaware of where the body steps. Such is the intensity of memory! No comprehension of the barking dog, no appreciation of the brown snake; not until your body was attacked.
Instantly your mind is funnelled into a single, hideous reality. Mind and body are unified, but it is too late child! Too late!
Silver:
The sun burns darkly behind custard yellow clouds, while westward a tiny piece of sky peels away allowing a single ray of crimson to pierce the crack.
Soon the sun will be smothered by the night.
Staring up, the girl seems to have a new understanding of how the overheated sky reflects the massive torment - but is it part of the land’s trauma or is it her own?
Her mind flickers unevenly as she tries to sit, but she is too feeble and as she falls back her thoughts flutter to the safety of the house. How is it possible that she cannot lift her head when such a short time ago she was moving through the luxury of her aunt’s farmhouse?
Still the realisation of what had happened refuses to penetrate. Snakebite is beyond the realms of experience.
Again she tries to sit, clutching onto the world as it turns beneath her. Almost without thought she leans to one side to vomit. Nothing is real anymore!
Running a swollen tongue across her blistered lips she vaguely remembers a time when she was worried about losing love. She pauses, confused, unable to remember exactly when those memories took place. Nevertheless she has to accept that love and loss are actually two sides of the one experience. For a moment her mind is soothed by these thoughts then the ugly coil of fear twists again.
The surrounding silence seems to take on its own mysterious shape. It is dark. Is it night or has she gone blind?
Then faintly, like a veil of filmy mist, a second awareness swirls in. Somewhere beyond her normal vision she can see an outline; the carousel of life and death. She wonders why she has not seen it before for she knows it has been slowly and majestically circling forever.
The image subsides.
The pause between thoughts lengthens.
Time fades into starlight.
Later she wakes, momentarily released. Pain is anchored in her subconscious allowing her to float into the dawn of another day.
But time fades again.
Stirring, she drifts, wondering how she will find the house if she is blind, but fever regains its hold and she is plunged into more flames.
Much later, in the sweet coolness of another night, she suddenly becomes aware of a silver expansion opening up behind her eyes. She is exhilarated as she finds she is able to take this silver with her into the abyss. Her body is heavy, full of giddy pain, but a tiny section of her mind is now so clear it is bypassing all agony. The carousel is not about death at all. It’s about life’s never-ending cycle.
Gold Light:
Smashing the darkness our light explodes across the rim of the earth.
Exploratory rays finger the stillness of the girl’s body - she is still alive! But more than this - we sense her state of mind. The change is profound! We witness her new perception. Dying has nothing to do with the reality that is now filling her being. We are in awe, for she has seen through the theatre of illusion. This change never ceases to astound us. The importance of experience - such as the snakebite forcing her to die alone - can change a life. Even the terror of dying has passed. We bow before her. The ego has found sanctuary in the knowledge that only the body dies.
We see a smile on her lips and we smile with her. Wisdom is part of dying.
Fade to Black:
An isolated farmhouse; with dishes to be washed and pretty sheets on an unmade bed; a house waiting for the return of the occupant who will dutifully tidy up and feed the cat.
Scattered clothes, never to be worn again, abandoned shoes, waiting by the back door.
Within days this desertion will become desolation. The cat will join the mice in the wilderness of the kitchen and foxes will continue their hunt through a withering garden in search of another feed of chicken.
Above all else the jangle of the phone will continue to ring out a warning that something unknown has touched this empty house.
Posted by Lyn on October 29th, 2008 :: Filed under Creative Writing, My Books
Tags :: Add new tag, Australian bush, death, short story, trauma