#WEP #AprilChallenge - my #flashfiction - The Reunion (#fantasy)

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A QUICK NOTE FOR BLOGSPOT BLOGGERS INTERESTED IN THE COMMENT DEBACLE WHICH MAY HIT A BLOG NEAR YOU.

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If you're not the patient type, stop reading and keep on using pop-up. 

Many blogspot blogs have had problems with replying to comments due to some Google messing around months ago and the only fix was to return to the old pop-up type comment where you have to do a roll-call of replies in several sessions - ugh - hate that. 

MY FIX:

- Go to Settings and change back to 'embedded' comments.

- To Reply individually to comments, hover over 'Reply'. It will be live, but not quite - wait for the cursor to show the 'hand'. 

- In a little while (this is where patience is required) you'll sing a song of joy when the little 'hand' shows up. (I go read blogs while I wait for this miraculous event).

- Click on Reply again and you can then reply individually. Woo hoo!

(You can't hurry the process but it works!) For me anyway. Check my comments! Just thought I'd share something I've discovered.

Time to publish my #flashfiction for the WEP Life is Beautiful challenge. 

POST April 19 - 21

 Here I offer one of my few forays into #fantasy. Written many moons ago, I think it encapsulates the theme. 

Enjoy my story. Click on names in my sidebar to read more.

 

The Reunion

 

Charlotte scarcely remembered the long bus ride from Sydney through the rugged countryside, so focused was she on seeing Jack again.

 ‘We’re here.’ The driver pulled his lumbering vehicle to the side of the road. ‘You’re being met?’

 ‘Yes.’ Charlotte slashed her lips with the bright red shade Jack loved.

 Slinging her black tote over her shoulder, she walked carefully down the aisle and thanked the driver who helped her alight.

 ‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked. ‘People who wander into the Australian bush, often never wander out again.’

 Charlotte was the happiest she’d been for years. Her heart thumped in her ears when she said, ‘I’ll be fine.’

 The driver’s eyes roved the empty road. ‘No luggage then, love?’

 ‘Not this trip.’

 ‘There’s no one here to meet you.’

 ‘He’ll come.’

 ‘But who? The houses were bulldozed years ago.’

 Charlotte smiled, turned away, slipped a pill under her tongue. ‘Thanks for bringing me so far out of your way, young man.’ She handed him a tiny red rose from the posy she carried.

 He twirled the flower. ‘I’ll come back. One? Two hours?’

 ‘Thanks, but no. Be on your way now.’

 ‘I really don’t mind.’

 ‘It’s fine.’ Charlotte walked away, tugging her bright red coat around her shoulders. She was relieved when the bus’s engine ticked over. 

~*~

 It was hard going on a track that was no longer maintained, but she made it to Gulliriviere, the tiny settlement where she once lived with Jack and their friends. It’d been named by Irish ex-convicts who were used to plentiful rains in their home country. How flummoxed they were by a river that bore nothing but gravel year after bitter year.

 Leaving the abandoned shacks behind, further into the bush she trudged. Her steps slowed as she put distance between her and the desolation of the little street where houses were sacrificed for a lumber mill that was never built.

 Logging.

 Controversial even then.

 The ‘greenies’ had chained themselves to the trees and no one could budge them.

 As she passed by, the eucalyptus trees rustled their arms in salute.

 Home.

 But home had left. Only the scraggly beauty of nature remained. Where once their cabin stood smugly, framed by the white picket fence Jack built and the fragrant flowers she planted, there was … nothing.

 ‘Jack,’ she whispered, ‘there’s no clue we ever lived here … Oh … but I’m wrong. Look!’

Charlotte creaked to her knees in front of her tatty rose bush, surviving after all these years. She tugged out weedy grasses, revealed tiny closed buds, then inhaled the earthy smell. ‘Not everything’s gone, darling Jack.’ She lay the posy beside the rose bush, memories rushing through her head.

 She recalled her twenty-three-year old self following her love to his rough-hewn shack in the Outback, two hours’ drive to the nearest town and a light plane trip to Sydney. She loved the koalas who lived in the trees nearby, she loved the solitude and yes, she even loved the big red kangaroos who nibbled the green shoots in her garden, looking cheekily at her over their shoulders as they loped away.

 She’d set her easel amongst the trees and paint miniatue bush flora until the sun set on the faraway horizon. Her paintings would continue to hang in art galleries in Australia and the Musée du Quai Branly in Paris long after she was gone.

 Living in the bush had been good.

 Leaving it had not.

 After their cabin had been razed to the ground, they’d relocated to Byron Bay. Plenty of flora for her to paint, but Jack had to fly in/fly out to continue his work on the western Droughtmaster grazing property.

 ‘Hello, Madam Charlie,’ Jack would greet her at the airport. Tossing his duffle bag in the trunk, he’d hurry to the passenger door, wrench it open. ‘Come here,’ he’d growl, kissing her over and over much to the delight of the traffic inspector.

 Their only argument was over his retirement.

  ‘No, Charlotte, I won’t retire. I’m only sixty-five. Our experiment with the new Droughtmaster breed is ongoing. Perhaps when it’s done …’

 

~*~

 Midnight.

 Phone call.

 Frank Mangin, Jack’s co-worker.

 ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sandilands ... Jack’s gone ... heart attack.’

 The bed caught her as she fell.

 ‘We were working in the study.’

 Garbled noises from her mouth.

 Clunk! The phone hit the floor; Frank yabbered on. 

 ‘Mrs Sandilands? I’m calling someone.’

 ‘No!’ No one could put her back together. 

 ‘Mrs Sandilands! Jack had a message for you. He said, and I wrote it down—um—When it’s time, tell Charlie to come to the shack.’

 ‘Are you sure?’

 ‘Yes. I know your home at Gulliriviere is long gone. But that’s the message.’

 ‘Thanks, Frank.'

 If Jack wanted her at the shack, to the shack she would go …

 

~*~

 Still kneeling at the rose bush in front of the shack’s foundations, she took the gold fob watch from its pouch and let it drop into her palm. She’d bought it years ago to give to Jack when he retired. It was a work of great artistry, with minute patterns painstakingly etched into every chain link. She read the inscription: 

To Jack, my wild Colonial Boy! Yours ever, Charlie. XX

 She brought it to her lips, kissed it.

 The first pain hit.

It's time.

 

~*~

 

The rose bush bloomed with blood-red roses. The fragrance enveloped her as it mingled with sweet summer smells.

 ‘Charlie!’

 With the sweet fragrance of roses whirling around her, she ran through the tall grasses, trailing her fingers over the white, silky flowers. He’d be waiting by the creek just ahead, beyond the grey houses.

 She hesitated at the stand of weeping willows, their lush tendrils like dishevelled hair as they caressed the surface of the water.

 Then she saw him—her Jack—running through the willows, pushing aside the graceful drapery. He hurried toward her—arms outstretched—welcoming her home.

 She beckoned her love.

They gazed into each other’s light-kissed eyes, marvelled at their sun-painted limbs, overjoyed at their reunion. He took the fob watch from her soft, smooth hand, then they strolled away hand in hand across the sparkling water, fading from sight in a gentle swirl of silvery mist.

 Life is beautiful, Charlotte mused.

TAGLINE – Life is beautiful, but death can be even better.

 

©DeniseCCovey2016

 WORDS: 1049

FCA

Be on the lookout for the June WEP challenge -

#WEPff challenge - UNRAVELED YARN - My yarn, A Thirst Before Dying.

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.

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. 

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.

‘What you doin’ sittin’ here in the sun, you silly bugger? Hardly Bondi Beach, you bum.’

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.

What's my blog focus in 2017? C'mon Aussie, c'mon!

Hi there!

I haven't been posting much lately. I've seen posts from fellow bloggers who've made changes to their blogs and have thrashed about ideas for a blog focus. My posts have been fairly random--writing craft, guest bloggers, WEP (Write...Edit...Publish) news and posts, random book reviews, some political flavour, the odd photo essay, an occasional travel article.

But no focus.

So...what to do? Many bloggers have given up the weekly post for a monthly post, only turning up for the IWSG where there's a wider readership. I totally get this, and I've considered it, but the idea doesn't work for me. I totally get how time consuming blogging is, because it's not just about the post, it's about visiting other bloggers, commenting, encouraging, applauding. We all have time constraints. We'd all like more time to write. We'd all like to ignore social media at times. And once a month blogging is better than not at all...but is it? If you want to have a 'live' blog, I think you need to turn up maybe once a week or at the very least, once a fortnight. What do you think? Hit me with your wisdom!

Everyone likes different things so no matter what focus I choose (and I'd definitely like to be more focused) there will be those who like my posts and those who won't. That's human nature.

So, except when I have WEP business (and do note the badge in my sidebar telling you all about our challenges for the year), I'm thinking of making my blog more about Australia. I started blogging as L'Aussie. (I know, yawn, yawn, yawn). Time for bed. Time to run to another blog. We don't have the exciting Donald Trump-- our pollies are boringly normal and earnest people and sometimes even honest which doesn't make good copy. Australians are generally satisfied with their standard of living, high wages, unpolluted air, even if we're feeling the effects of that 'fake hoax' of climate change.

We're sizzling down here and not just from bushfires. (Peregian Beach had bushfires just last week when I was travelling in Northern Queensland -- the tropics).

Our summers have gone from three months to six month heatwaves. We go from air-conditioned homes to air-conditioned cars to air-conditioned offices or to air-conditioned shopping centres (malls), swimming pools, the waterways or beaches (80% of us live 10 kilometres (6.21 miles) from the coast.

We also have embraced solar power, a bit slowly for sure, but it makes good sense with all that hot sunshine. Our beach house is covered with solar panels. We sell to the electricity company and have another system that stores captured heat in batteries, so we can go blissfully about our lives not worrying about electricity bills, rather, the rebates go towards trekking the globe.

I know some people in the Northern Hemisphere are sometimes confused as to where Australia is and what Australia is about, and let me tell you, judging by what I read (heaps!) and what I see on TV (24-hour news), Australia and New Zealand are a completely different ballgame (to coin an American phrase). We really are lands of the free, at least up til now. All this CNN watching has cooked my brain, but here are some of the good things about Good 'Ole Oz:

• Our health care is paid for by a small surcharge in our taxes we don't even notice (Medicare) and we can also pay private health care to ensure no waiting for procedures and a private room in hospital, doctor of choice etc... 
• Our food is still close to nature. We usually cook from scratch. We buy organic when we can. Avoid Genetically Modified food. 
• Nearly everyone works out. We're sporty. 'They' keep telling us we're fat, but we don't show up on the Top 10 Fattest Countries list. You don't see many obese people here. Go figure.
• Our election campaigns can be measured in weeks or even days! We'd get too bored if it went any longer. And voting is compulsory. With a population of only 24 million, we need the turnout. We just take it as a necessary evil but appreciate election day being open to all. 
• We're friendly to each other, even though New Zealand won't let us win too many rugby games.
• Despite a couple of big-time crackpots who should not have been out on bail, Australia is a fairly safe country if you can avoid the wild storms, bushfires, floods, the odd earthquake and poisonous snakes. (I can always share snake stories!)

Which brings me to the fact that we like to take the mickey out of people. I've learned to stop joking too much in my posts as I've been misunderstood, but to me and many Aussies, life is a good laugh.

Here's a sample of the Australian Tourism Bureau's Frequently Asked Questions about travelling to our Lucky Country:

Q: Does it ever get windy  in Australia ? I have never seen it  rain on TV, how do the plants grow? ( UK ).

A: We import all plants fully grown and then just sit around  watching them die.

Q: Will I be able to see kangaroos in the street? ( USA )


A: Depends how much you've been drinking.

Q:I want to walk  from Perth to Sydney - can  I follow the  railroad tracks? ( Sweden)

A: Sure, it's only three thousand miles, take lots of water.

Q: Are there any ATMs (cash machines) in Australia ? Can you  send me a list of them in Brisbane, Cairns, Townsville and Hervey Bay ? ( UK)

 A: What did your last slave die of?

Q:Can you give me some information about hippo racing in Australia? ( USA )

A: A-Fri-ca is the big triangle shaped continent south of Europe. Aus-tra-lia is that big island in the middle of the Pacific which does not ... Oh forget it. Sure, the hippo racing is every Tuesday night in Kings Cross. Come naked.

Q:Which direction is North in Australia ? (USA )

A: Face south and then turn 180 degrees. Contact us when you get here and we'll send the rest of the directions. 

Q: Can I bring cutlery into Australia ? ( UK )

A:Why? Just use your fingers like we do...

Q:Can you send me the Vienna Boys' Choir schedule? ( USA )

A: Aus-tri-a is that quaint little country bordering Ger-man-y, which is Oh forget it. Sure,  the Vienna Boys Choir plays every Tuesday night in Kings Cross, straight after the hippo races. Come naked.

Q: Can I wear high heels in Australia ? ( UK )

A: You are a British politician, right?

Q:Are there supermarkets in Sydney and is milk available all year round? ( Germany )

 A: No, we are a peaceful civilization of vegan hunter/gatherers. Milk is illegal.

Q:Please send a list of all doctors in Australia who can dispense rattlesnake serum. ( USA )

A: Rattlesnakes live in A-meri-ca which is where YOU come from. All Australian snakes are perfectly harmless, can be safely handled and make good pets.

Q:I have a question about a famous animal in Australia , but I  forget its name. It's a kind of bear and lives in trees. ( USA )

A: It's called a Drop Bear. They are so called because they drop out of Gum trees and eat the brains of anyone walking underneath them. You can scare them off by spraying yourself with human urine before you go out walking.

Q:I have developed a new product that is the fountain of youth. Can you tell me where I can sell it in Australia ? (USA)

A: Anywhere significant numbers of Americans gather

Q:Do you celebrate Christmas in Australia ? ( France )

A: Only at Christmas.

Q: Will I be able to speak English most places I go? ( USA )

A: Yes, but you'll have to learn it first

Let's see how this goes! 

Photo of koala taken by moi on Magnetic Island off Townsville

Thanks for coming by. I hope you'll be back for more tall stories...

And please note, WEP's first challenge for the year opens on February 1st. I hope you'll get those thinking caps on and join us!