Fact is Stranger Than Fiction - Lost Treasure - Wild Australia, Lost Cities. March Mayhem at RFW.

Hello all

Today I'm starting what I hope will be a regular post on Fact is Stranger Than Fiction. I love coming across these out-of-this-world stories which seem more science fiction than fact. I'd like to share them with you. Who knows? Some of these motifs/legends/stories may end up in your next WIP.

Over 1.5 million people each year visit the Hoodoos in Utah's Bryce Canyon National Park in the States, which were formed a relatively recent 70 million years ago, but the much older, majestic sandstone columns of the Lost Cities in the Northern Territory, Australia, are a global treasure waiting to be explored.

The iron-coated sandstone pillars of the Lost Cities tower above the Limmen National Park. These ancient columns glow a mottled golden bronze as they rise from the Northern Territory gulf savannah.

Lost Cities, Lost Treasure, Pillars of the Earth -- all great motifs/legends peppering many of our favourite stories, films and comics. Where do these ideas come from? Are there such things as Lost Treasure, Lost Cities...?

Click here for a link to the Ten Top Treasures of the World.

Click here for a link to the Seven Lost Cities of the World - amazing images.

I was very interested to come across this account of Lost Treasure in Australia's youngest national park (created in July 2012) in the weekend papers. 

There are three accessible Lost Cities in Australia near Cape Crawford: two in the Limmen National Park and another on the McArthur River Station.Twice as old as Uluru (Ayres Rock), the Lost Cities are what is left of an ocean floor laid down 1.4 billion years ago, making the sandstone towers some of the oldest rocks in the world. The spires consist of 95 per cent silica and are held together by an outer crust made mainly of iron. This accounts for their red colour.

At the time of their creation, they were nothing more complex than bacteria-like life, thus, they yield no fossil record. Buried for millions of years, the sandstone was raised out of the sea by the movement of the Earth's crust. Eventually it cracked and a network of joints emerged around which the unique towers would eventually form.Through exposure to water, wind and plant roots, the cracks became chasms and pillars of sandstone began to take shape.

The drive to Limmen from Darwin, Australia's northernmost capital city,  is a spectacular outback journey across the Top End to the Gulf of Carpentaria. 

Along the Savannah Highway from Roper Bar to Cape Crawford, the unsealed road dips and sways with unexpected water crossings, past gnarly gum trees stunted by the salty soil. Incredibly, there are springs all through the Gulf country and crocodiles to be seen on your journey.

There is evidence that the lost city at Cape Crawford was a sacred place to local Aboriginal people. Two trees have anaesthetic properties - Green plum and Snottygobble (don't you love that name?) These indicate the area was once used for circumcision ceremonies.  

I love tourists!

Another bonus on the journey to the Lost Cities is Butterfly Springs, which is really just a small waterfall in the national park where swarms of black and white butterflies cling to the rocks that tower over the oasis. This is one of the few safe places to take a dip - the waterholes are mostly off limits due to crocodiles. "Don't look for a sign that says no swimming because we might not have got there," warns a local ranger.

Today the city walls are crumbling, but the area teems with life. Creatures nest below lacerating clumps of spinifex and take refuge from the blazing sun in deep crevices between the sandstone towers.

These lost cities are evidence of a much older seawater inundation and of the passage of time itself.

The Heartbreak Hotel welcomes you to Cape Crawford

• I hope you enjoyed your trip to the Lost Cities. Do you have any similiar stories to share?
• Do you have a favourite legend which is based on fact to share with us?

Information provided by: Graham Lloyd, Environment Editor, The Weekend Australian Mar 9-10, 2013

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

If you're up for a bit of March Mayhem, how about writing a murder story/poem up to 1,000 words? RomanticFridayWriters are inviting you to write for them. You can submit your name in my top right hand sidebar or visit RFW. Submissions close March 24.

If you enjoyed this post and would like to spread the word, I'd appreciate a tweet or facebook click of the button...

Romantic Friday Writers Second Challenge - LOST. My story, Lost in France.

Lost in France

‘Have you heard from Jake, Anna?’

The wine glass tipped from her nerveless fingers. The violent splash of colour seeped like blood onto the pristine linen cloth.

Absently, she dipped her finger into the spilled liquid and brought it shaking to her lips. She tasted its sweetness, sharp on her tongue.

‘Anna. What is it? You’re as white as a ghost.’

She looked across the table at Jason. Her cheeks grew warm as if the wine had set a fire inside her.

‘Anna?’

She stumbled to her feet, knocking her chair over in her haste to escape.

‘Anna!’

Safely in her room, she turned the lock. She stumbled to her bed, wrapping herself in the quilt. Too numb to cry, she huddled in a ball, drowning in humiliation and misery. She imagined the turn the conversation had taken the minute she'd left the room. She’d heard it all before.

‘A nervy piece.’

‘Perilously unsocial.’

‘Can’t handle her wine.’

‘Wouldn’t you think she’d accept he wasn't coming back by now?’

‘He’s lost to her.’

‘She says she’ll wait forever, foolish girl.’

‘Never marry a soldier I always say.’

‘It’s a long time to be missing in action. Maybe he’s found a mademoiselle in one of those little French villages. Maybe he just decided not to return. Grass is greener and all that...’

She crammed her hands over her ears to stop the voices. She lay motionless, watching the moonbeams on the water. Remembering the feel of Jake in her arms, their bodies entwined in sheets, kissed by starlight. Oh, Jake, why did you have to go?

She reached for her Bible and opened it to the page where she’d hidden it. The letter was crisp and strange in her hands. She knew she’d have to tell them, but not yet. Let them wait. She reached for the picture of Jake she kept by her bed. She touched her lips to his then lay it down gently. She picked up the letter again and began to read...

Dear Mrs Adaire

I regret to inform you…

She began to sob, harsh racking sounds.


Jason stood outside the door, listening.

‘Ah, my girl, he’s not coming back, is he?’ he whispered.

‘Go away Jason,’ she cried.

‘I can wait you know. I’ve waited a long time already. I’m a patient man.’

I hope you enjoyed my story. There are more like it. Click on the Romantic Friday Writers badge to read more. Or click on one of the pretty faces in the sidebar ('cept they're not all showing up!) Or go to #romanticfridaywriters on twitter to find stories.

Image: discountpostersale.com

Bad Boy Blogfest entry

I'm sorry I'm a bit late for the blogfest. I got my dates mixed up. I didn't have time to conjure up a new bad boy for this entry, so I'm using a story I jotted down last week and it was the only one that came close to the criteria. I haven't had time to polish it, but I had to get something down quickly. I  hope no-one is offended by the subject matter. It is Flash Fiction, a complete story as it stands...

Lost Treasures

I was dreaming of the sea again. It happens every night. I open my eyes and watch the moonlight creep across my bed with a soft lover’s caress. The sheets are tangled and fall over the bed like waves. I kick off the covers and throw myself across the bed like a beached whale.

The moonlight dancing on my bare skin makes me look beautiful. Its gentle light overlooks the angry welts criss-crossing my legs. Instead, it hovers over my belly like a benediction. The welts throb, but I have no ointments to ease the pain. But that is his intention.

I hear his loud breathing coming from the next room. Loud snuffles and snorts as he sleeps the sleep of the damned. I hear him tossing and turning. I pray he stays asleep. For a long time.

***

‘You will not marry that infidel!’ he’d screamed.

‘Ahmed? An infidel?’ I’d begged. ‘He is of the same religion as we are.’

A vicious fist across my mouth.

‘You will marry who I say,’ he had spat in contempt.

His eyes had turned red with rage and he’d reached for his belt. I couldn’t believe what had happened. My father had always been the gentlest of men.

‘Father!’ I’d screamed, ‘don’t do this!’

My pleas were ignored.

The hard leather bit into my soft skin. The pure force of his anger made the blows harder to bear. My heart broke afresh with every slap of the tough hide.

‘I will kill you!’ he’d screeched in his rage.

‘Mumma, help!’ I’d pleaded to the black-clad figure cringing in the dark corner. She remained silent but I could feel her pain for me.

***

Night after night. Night after night. The beatings continue. Only the moonlight and the night sounds are my friends. My door is bolted against the outside world. The food is passed in, served without love, eaten without relish. No-one speaks to me. I am a prisoner. Just me and the new life growing in my belly. I’m sorry.

The crashing waves are coming closer and closer as high tide is reached. Soon the water will be just below my window. I hear its relentless pummelling. The sound and rhythm reminds me of my father’s blows which continue without mercy. He will not be denied his will.

There was a big storm earlier in the night. Tomorrow there will be rubbish lining the beach below the dunes. My father will leave his bed early to collect it before the tide snatches it back again. He loves to find treasures that someone else has lost.

He will be surprised at the treasure he will find tomorrow.

The open window draws me. The moonlight bathes me. The sea calls my name.