It's time for the Write...Edit...Publish challenge again. Open to all, this month the prompt is UNRAVELED YARN.
I've chosen to re-post a story I wrote for #FridayFlash several years ago. I've done some re-imagining as I thought of it right away when I saw the challenge.
I've chosen to re-post a story I wrote for #FridayFlash several years ago. I've done some re-imagining as I thought of it right away when I saw the challenge.
A Thirst Before Dying is a TALL STORY set in the Queensland outback. I was actually born on the edge of the Queensland Outback, so I love writing about it.
I've added some images of Australia for you, which will be helpful if you know little/nothing about our culture, especially our indigenous culture.
Indigenous Australians are not only the most profoundly disadvantaged group in Australian society, some say in the world, but they're certainly the most discriminated against because they're misunderstood.
Indigenous Australians are not only the most profoundly disadvantaged group in Australian society, some say in the world, but they're certainly the most discriminated against because they're misunderstood.
There are some references in this story you may not get, but suffice to say in Colonial Australia, Aboriginals were often referred to by a collective title, 'Jacky-Jacky' and Aboriginals used to wryly call themselves 'King George' after the English king at this time. Of course, Indigenous Australians ran rings around the 'white ghosts' when it came to surviving the outback.
If you want to know more about surviving in the outback, watch the Australian movie, Rabbit-Proof Fence, the true story of three little girls who followed the outback rabbit-proof fence for nine weeks, covering 1,500 miles (2,400 klms) to return to their community after being snatched during the Stolen Children debacle.
So, here's one of my favorite stories, told in a sort-of stream-of-consciousness way...
| Aboriginal Rock Art |
A Thirst Before Dying
You don’t want me to stay
with you?
No. I’d prefer to be
alone.
I could stay…until…
No, it’s best to leave now,
Herb. Find a way out of this god-forsaken country.
Look, Paddy, there’s water down
the valley. I know it. I’ll come back with some.
Don’t worry about me, matey.
Listen to me croak. Let’s invent our own bush lore — every man for himself. None
of this laying down your life for your mate…
I feel bad…
No need, Herb. Just go and
let me get on with it. You’d be a silly bugger to stay here. You’re the lucky
one. You know I haven’t got a snowflake’s chance in hell of surviving. I’m roasting
from the inside out. I’m done for…
But…Paddy…
Go, you ugly bugger. Wipe that
doleful look off your face. Get on with it. At least one of us silly buggers
will survive.
Look, it’s my fault. I was the one who got us lost. I thought I knew where I was...
Turns out you didn’t, but
we aren’t the first and we won’t be the last to be tricked by the Australian
bush. We broke every rule—walking away from the car, not enough water, then I go
and break my bloody leg to boot. No chance of me getting out of here. Think
about it. Go!
***
I woke to throbbing in my
busted leg. I screamed as I rolled over, took deep breaths, tried not to pass
out. How fat it’d gotten while I drowsed. I lay there, trying to will
myself to feel nothing even though the sun was frying me like an egg on a car
bonnet.
How
will it feel to die of thirst?
I read in National Geographic about an old salt
who survived seven days in the Arizona desert without water. Well, it’s about
three days for me so far and I know I’m not going to break Mr Valencia’s record.
I ran my tongue around my
mouth…saliva thick as paste. My tongue clung to my teeth and the roof of my
mouth. A golf ball in my throat. My head and neck throbbed like I'd been
hit with a golf club.
I
started working on the strokes to perfect my golf handicap. A completely
useless activity, but it helped take my mind off the pain.
My face felt like a full
moon and my skin was like crackly parchment. Before long I’d be a raving
lunatic. Hallucinating. Please don’t let me be around when that happens.
It was a tossup between
pain and thirst.
Which
would kill me?
***
I’d fallen to my side while
I slept. Was I going to die lolling around like some old abandoned guy in a
nursing home? With a few grunts and groans I managed to heave myself up and
prop my back against the red sandy rock.
The dry valley spread
before me, shimmering in the heat. I swore I saw water, but I knew a
mirage when I saw one. The red and ochre of the steep gorges soothed me, taking my
mind off the possibilities of that inland sea.
I’ve always loved this
country, especially the outback. Unforgiving though. Only the toughest survive.
Add smartest to that. Not smart to get lost, run out of petrol, run out of
water.
Old Herb. I hoped he’d been
smart enough to find water by now or he’d be propping up a rock too, or roasting
in the sand like a pig on a spit.
***
My eyes were just slits,
but I watched a pair of wedge-tailed eagles fly between the harsh blue sky
and the ochre cliffs like children at play. I kept vigil like a protective
parent.
It was a brutal world
out here in the desert. I waved my arm around the red valley: I hereby name you ‘Tarrangaua’. It
meant ‘rough red hill’ in Aborigine. I smiled to myself, feeling smart as King
George.
A thick pain punched my
chest. There was a whooshing in my ears.
Here comes the deafness...
A crunching sound
reverberated around my head. I swear the rock shook, so
I must have reached the hallucinating stage. Didn't even need a pill!
Gave them up years ago. I grinned, feeling my gums and teeth protrude like some
zombie's.
My time had come. Looming over me was the Grim
Reaper. A wobbly outline of a face. I blinked and it morphed into the ace of
spades…with hair and beard white as snow. Topped with an Akubra hat with silver
studs glinting in the sun.
‘Jacky-Jacky?’ Every
Australian knows an Aboriginal tracker is called Jacky-Jacky, even a city
slicker like me.
‘No mate, I’m not Jacky-Jacky.
I’m Mr Theodore White, but who’s askin’? Looks like you could use some help before
you turn into one tough piece of steak.’
‘Hey, I’m King George,’ I
said only half-joking. Who am I
again?
‘That's my line. He died
long ago, mate. You don’t wanna be him.’
He cradled my head in one
of his massive black hands and let me take a few sips from his coolamon.
| Coolamon |
The water tasted real enough.
Its coolness was the most beautiful thing. But I had trouble slugging it past
that golf ball in my throat.
‘That’s enough, King
George. Only a drop at a time or it’ll kill ya.’
I tried not to cry like a
baby when he took the bottle away.
‘Found ya old mate.’ He tended my leg with ancient Aboriginal lore guiding his hands.
‘What? Who?’ I rasped. Oh
no. Old Herb.
‘Poor old bugger. Roasting
in a dry riverbed down there.’ He pointed into the red valley. ‘Musta gone to
sleep thinkin’ he was in the water, seein' a mirage. No savin’ him. His face
was burned to a crisp. But looks like you’ll make it. Ain’t you the lucky one?
No one should die alone.’
I hope you enjoyed my story. Please click on names at the top of my sidebar with DL (Direct Link) after the name. This means the story is up and ready.
Thanks for reading and commenting and sharing if you would be so kind.
I hope you enjoyed my story. Please click on names at the top of my sidebar with DL (Direct Link) after the name. This means the story is up and ready.
Thanks for reading and commenting and sharing if you would be so kind.
