~~~
Kate woke up lying on the grass. A doctor adjusted the oxygen mask on her face. ‘Where are you Harry?’ she called in panic, although her voice sounded like a rasp.
‘Try not to talk too much,’ the doctor advised. ‘You have swallowed a fair bit of smoke. You will have a sore throat for a while, but you will feel better soon. I’ll leave you with Jenny here. She’ll get you a drink of water if you’d like one.’
Gratefully she croaked: ‘Yes, I’d love one please.’ The oxygen mask felt cumbersome.
A pretty young girl with long blonde hair was sitting on a small stool beside her. As she put another cool cloth on Kate’s forehead she said: ‘I’m Jenny, and I’ll go and get you that drink.’ She was smiling at her with gentle, kind eyes that assured her that things were not too bad.
Catching at the girl’s coat, Kate asked anxiously ‘No, wait – would you know where my husband, Harry Roberts, is?’ She was hard pressed not to sob aloud.
The girl held her hand as she told her, ‘Yes. I know that Harry’s been taken to hospital, in the last ambulance. He’s okay. Some burning at the back, but the paramedics agreed he would be quite all right. You are both very lucky that the firemen got to you when they did, as bits of your clothes were on fire at the time. Did you know that? Your hair is even singed at the back.’
‘There was a little girl – Debbie.’
‘Her mother has her now. She fared the best. You saved her life and her parents hugged everyone in sight when they found her. To say they are grateful is an understatement. You know, while the firemen were rescuing you through the window, her mum and dad were frantically biffing all the people who were trying to get out of the front door, as they were trying to get in to rescue Debbie. It caused the most awful knot of people, and no-one could get in or out. Firemen cleared the door jam, and of course, the one carrying Debbie walked past. Debbie had already recovered. A short while ago a friend picked up the whole family and took them to their home.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ whispered Kate, more relaxed now that she’d heard the news.
‘Some of the people at the back of that group were badly burned I am afraid,’ said Jenny. ‘The doctors here worked on you and Harry for about 15 minutes when you first arrived, but thank goodness, you seem to be recovering well. I come from the other set of flats next door,’ she continued. ‘I only moved in three weeks ago. We heard the bells on the fire trucks first and when we looked across at your building we could see the whole of the top of it was well alight. Flames were shooting through the roof from the beginning.
‘We were all evacuated, so came down as quickly as we could to see if we could help – and we have been quite busy.’ She smiled. ‘Now I really will go and get you that glass of water!’
Kate managed a grateful smile in return.
The grass felt cool on Kate’s back, and the wonderful air that she was now breathing from the mask felt good, cooling her throat. She investigated the back of her head, and sure enough she realised part of her hair had been singed. As she felt it, a piece crumbled away, and she could smell that special aroma of burnt hair quite strongly. I hope it won’t take too long to grow back, she thought anxiously.
Everywhere she looked was a scene of activity. Temporary lights had been arranged somehow. People were on stretchers, chairs, or being helped into vehicles, many wearing bandages. Kate marvelled at all the help that had been assembled so expertly, in the middle of the night, everyone just bent on helping those caught in this shocking dilemma.
She thought of the rough treatment of the panicking escapees who could have caused such damage to the three of them when fleeing down the stairs, and yet out here people were swarming with blankets, towels, anything that they thought might help. In fact, someone had put a blanket over her, she noticed. It’s true, an emergency can raise the best and worst in us I suppose, she mused.
Jenny returned with the wonderful cool water.
‘Thank you. It was all so frightening, but all I can think about is Harry,’ she whispered. She was unable to stop an avalanche of tears.
Jenny patted her hand in sympathy. With a little smile she said: ‘I think you’re so brave. You’ve escaped a vicious fire, and saved a little girl’s life. You’ve done a wonderful job!’
Kate tried to smile. She looked at Jenny – a lovely girl who could have just been watching all the activity from the sidelines, but instead, here she was, in the thick of it, helping out wonderfully making sure we all feel comfortable, she thought.
Without warning, the grip on Kate’s hand tightened until it hurt. Kate looked up and saw that Jenny had stiffened, staring at a menacing, semi-crouched grey hooded figure. Jenny looked terrified.
‘Saw you walking with the glass of water. So you’re still alive, bitch,’ he hissed.
Jenny cowered. ‘Bart Mathews, you are not allowed to be nearer than 200 metres of me!’ Jenny’s voice was shrill. Kate could feel that Jenny was shaking badly.
The tension in Jenny’s hand transferred itself through to Kate, and she became terrified too. The hooded young man took a step nearer to Jenny. Jenny shrank as close to Kate as she could.
‘They told me no-one survived from the third floor!’ He spoke in a quiet, but menacing voice. ‘How did you escape?’
Jenny stood motionless. She felt as though she had been blasted by a shock of cold air. With a thud she thought: I used to live in that building. I lived on the top floor – where the fire started. There’s no coincidence here. I’m looking at a man who is a stalker, on drugs, and obviously criminally pathological too.
The sinister figure took another two steps closer, and Kate held her breath. ‘How come you don’t even have a spot of the fire on you …’ He stopped in mid sentence, sensing danger. He turned and went to run, but the police were too quick. All three policemen pounced on this kicking, struggling individual, quickly handcuffed him and bundled him into the waiting police car, followed smartly by two of his captors.
Jenny didn’t release her grip on Kate’s hand until after the car had disappeared, and she was visibly shaking. One policeman had stayed behind to question Jenny. He asked her several questions, and they spoke together quietly just out of earshot. Soon Jenny returned.
‘Who was that awful man?’ whispered Kate. ‘Did he start the fire? Do all of this damage?’
‘I’m sure he did. I went on a blind date with my friend and her fiancé. Bart was the blind part of the date. We went to a rock concert, and I paid for my own ticket so I wouldn’t be beholden to anyone. From the start he was weird. He was like an octopus – all over me and started whispering in my ear what we were going to do after the concert. Straight away I let him know that I wasn’t interested, but he didn’t understand the word ‘no’ to sex – it just seemed to make him more possessive. When the two boys went for drinks I took off and escaped in a taxi. I thought that would be that, but he’s been stalking me ever since – for months now.
‘He turned up at my home, threatened my mother when she tried to warn him off, and we often saw someone in a car parked nearby, just sitting there for hours. We live on our own, and were both terrified. So we went to the police. You saw how big he is, and how scary – and probably mental. We told them that.’ Jenny started to shake again.
‘They said they were powerless to do anything because he hadn’t harmed me – yet,’ she gave a wry laugh. ‘So I went through the courts to have an intervention order put on him, and changed my address – originally to your set of flats. You see, I met this very pleasant young man,’ she said shyly, ‘he lived over here, so I moved in with him. My old flat wasn’t sold, so my name was still on my letterbox. Bart wouldn’t know that. He had the old address, the wrong address.’
Kate was shocked, the tears long gone, replaced by disbelief. ‘You poor dear, fancy having someone like that pester you: and he would start a fire that would kill people, just because he was angry?’
Although Jenny was still ashen-faced, she seemed a l
ittle more relaxed now. ‘Yes, it would seem he would do that.’ With bitterness she added: ‘At least now the police might lock him up somewhere so that he can’t harm anyone else. I’m sorry, Kate, to have caught you up in all this, on top of everything else.’
Kate gave Jenny’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
They watched the firemen still trying to save what they could. Some stubborn flames were dancing at several spots, daring the hoses of the firemen to catch them.
Everything we own will have gone up in smoke, Kate thought sadly: mementos of happy trips, irreplaceable photos, their clothes, Harry’s precious golf clubs, all his prizes, books and music collection – all gone. Even our IDs are gone.
Kate shook herself out of self-pity and remembered. Harry and I were lucky to get out of that mess alive. She had the biggest lump in her throat as she thought of him.
Several photographers’ flash bulbs were going off.
‘Looks as though the press has arrived,’ said Jenny. Then more sombrely, to herself, ‘And they’ll be after all the details won’t they? Look,’ she said brightly, ‘here’s your ambulance. You’ll be with Harry in a few minutes, and then you’ll feel better.’ She gave Kate a little hug. ‘Good luck Kate!’
The ambulance drove up and two paramedics stepped out. In complete opposition to the drama of the fire and Bart’s appearance, they arrived with that calm, quiet competence they always bring, going about their work with cheerful encouragement, finally sliding Kate safely into the ambulance. Kate relaxed for the first time.
‘Thank you for looking after me, Jenny, but after all that drama, shouldn’t you be coming along too?’
‘No, I have something else to do,’ she smiled. ‘I’m going to the police area over there. I will be making a statement, and of course, I’ll be “helping them with their enquiries”.’
A young man had joined her and had his arm around her waist. Jenny waved and went on her way.
Saturday 10 August 2013 4 pm
It Takes Quite Some Time
Lynn Nickols
Griffith, ACT
‘What is it that you see out there? You’re often standing peering out towards the banks of the billabong.’
‘Well, I’m just curious as to what those enormous four-legged creatures are,’ she said. ‘They seem to wander around, munching on leaves and ferns and grass and making the most shattering noises. And haven’t you noticed how they also come down to the edge of our billabong and slurp our water up? That’s why I check occasionally. I’d hate to be too near the edge when they do that. We could get sucked up too.’
‘I don’t often feel inclined to stand up like that. It’s so tiring.’
‘Well, Lazybones, you’d better practise. Who knows when we might have no water left here and have to walk to the next billabong? You’ve developed your lobe fins now, so use them or lose them! And remember you have to breathe differently out of the water. I know it’s a bit uncomfortable, but hey! – worth the effort to find another river.’
Time passed – a very long, long time – and sure enough the freshwater inland lake eventually did dry up. They had moved overland several times to find more water, but now knew that this was it. The rains were not due for another six months and there was no food left for them. They had never learned to eat the tough grasses like those other huge animals. In fact they had outlived most of them, because those animals needed water too. Skeletons ringed their billabong. It looked like hell on earth. Lazybones and his partner touched fins and curled up together to face the inevitable.
‘Goodbye, my sweet,’ she said. ‘It’s been fun until now. We’ll just have to console ourselves with that dream I had and hope it comes true.’
‘Which dream was that?’
‘You know. The one where we become famous. You always wanted to be famous. Well, not in our lifetime. I dreamed that we became posthumously famous. We had to wait until some weird creatures with only two legs found our bones. Then they cleaned us very carefully and thousands of them came and admired us and gave us new names and said we’re from the Devonian Period, whatever that means.’
Lazybones was feeling very weary and weak, but he rather liked her dream.
‘What will our new names be, and how long will we have to wait?’ he asked.
She rolled over with a last wistful sigh and closed her eyes.
‘They will call this place Canowindra and they will call us Canowindra grossi, and you can now settle in for a good, long rest. We won’t be disturbed for 360 million years!’
Sunday 11 August 2013
End Game
JH Mancy
Tallebudgera, QLD
She stood at the window, gun in hand. She drank in the view, knowing she’d not see it again. The countryside was resplendent in all the colours of autumn. It was her favourite season. She’d loved to sit in the dappled shade provided by huge trees the council had planted many years ago in the ‘family friendly’ park near her house.
Too late for such yearnings now. One last check of the room revealed everything in place and in order. Note displayed on bench, where it could easily be seen. Small groundsheet to catch any splatters.
The time had come; but her body refused to move. Her wily enemy, procrastination, had her remembering past hurts. They chipped away at her confidence. Her self esteem had taken a nose dive, leaving her a broken shell. She resented the questioning of her every idea and the patronising innuendoes that she was somehow inadequate. Her opinions not worthy of response.
She was tired of the lack of any measure of support, when every fibre of her being cried out for it. To have been pushed aside, as of no consequence, after being physically attacked and falsely accused by an in-law. To have her name besmirched both in town and in court by her attacker.
Then to witness that evil man wooing and dining the very person who was meant to be her protector – and seeing that false protector show tacit approval to the aggressor by agreeing to the wooing and dining, whilst she, the innocent party, had to sneak about like the other woman just to spend a few hours with her daughter.
Turning from the window, she dragged her body the few metres to the bench and with sad heart read the note for the last time. She flicked the switch, empowering the gun and affixed his keys to the wall.
Monday 12 August 2013
Snapshots From A Railway Carriage
Jean Bundesen
Woodford, NSW
Sky overcast
With light grey clouds.
Through a porthole
Blue sky is peeping.
Clouds around suffused
With soft golden light,
As the train hurries
Rattling, creaking
Soft fluffy clouds
Clothe the sky
Golden light snuffed out.
Speeding along
Golden light returns
Feathery clouds
Are shimmering
Home is waiting.
Tuesday 13 August 2013
Window of Opportunity
Virginia Gow
Blackheath, NSW
Know,
When
Crossroads
Beckon us,
Decisions are made.
Keeping faith alive with caution,
Change from possibilities to probabilities.
Life mapping has only the boundaries, which, imposed by law and sensibility,
Allow, like pink heather spilling over a dry stonewall,
Enriched by sun and healing rain,
A bounty of hope.
With courage,
Begin
To
Move.
Tuesday 13 August 2013 4 pm
Do Not Dare …
Felicity Lynch
Katoomba, NSW
Do not dare to become old
Do not dare to expect
Love, fun and laughter
Do not dare to give an opinion
Dress in a modern sense
&n
bsp; Dare not to hide yourself
To feel helpless, getting frailer
No less independent
A little bit forgetful
Or even ‘a lot of forgetful’
Do not expect people to see you
There is so much fear of the elderly
That one day they may be like us
With lined, tired faces and bodies
Our work histories
Our lives before we got old
Young and beautiful
With loving husbands
And beautiful young happy children
Is just ignored
We have no place, not useful
Feeling that if one was dead
The inheritance would be so useful
Shunted off to dreadful retirement homes
We see on our televisions
Frail old people being found
Bashed, dehydrated, drugged, malnourished
And fearful
Death is designed to fit
Pre-planned advanced care directives
Death is our companion stalker
Do not dare to become old
Wednesday 14 August 2013
Darkened Night
Rachel Branscombe
Quakers Hill, NSW
In darkened night I see the stars
Shining against the sky
Golden buttons against a sea of black and blue
In darkened night I see the moon
Sitting boldly in the sky
Its white beams shining brightly
In darkened night I feel the wind
I feel its cold fingers
I feel its breath down my neck
And when I’m alone it sends shivers down my back
This darkened night that I call home
Where night time is my friend
Where hidden secrets rule
This darkened night with sunlight coming soon
Thursday 15 August 2013
Reality Check
Sarah Clay
Athelstone, SA
I was basking in the sunshine when I glanced down at my legs.
I recalled a deep voice saying, ‘That’s a lovely pair of pegs’.
Then I looked again and noticed that my mohair socks had grown
and each hair, sunlight-illumined, had a fish-scale of its own.
I quickly yanked my cuffs full down, resolved right there and then
to lavish, smooth and pamper them when I got home again.
Rough toe nails, set in sandals, had polish in a band,
the cuticles were rigid, the heels like builders’ sand.
These feet that get me through each day deserve to have it right.
I’d give myself some foot care while I watched TV tonight.
At home, life soon got busy, cooking dinner, cleaning up,
with telephone and emails and a lively kelpie pup.
TV was looking dreary so I took a book to bed,
Dozed off, still wearing glasses, woke at three o’clock instead.
As I pattered down the hallway on my journey to the loo
I recalled the resolution of my sunlit point of view.
I could do it, I would do it, they were such an awful sight.
I would give myself some nurture but perhaps tomorrow night.
Friday 16 August 2013