narratorAUSTRALIA Volume One

  *** Editor’s Pick ***

  Police Report On The ‘Dr’

  Mark Govier

  Warradale, SA

  The ‘Dr’, as he is called, by himself, and by the Court of the Galactic Federation, was finally arrested in Monstadt. This is the third moon of the planet Soll, in the star system of Jovus. The ‘Dr’ was arrested at 5 o’clock in the morning, Monstadt time. He was placed in the holding cells, in the Central Police Station, in the capital, Zova. He had been staying, or rather hiding, in a rented farm house some distance from Zova. In his bedroom, the Police found sleeping pills, chocolates that had been mixed with sleeping medication, a variety of devices used by such criminals to disguise themselves, and a large library of illegal sub-adult pornography. Such items are, as is well known, banned throughout the Galactic Federation. The ‘Dr’ put up no resistance when captured, and submitted to an incapacitating injection for his transportation. He was dispatched by Police Transport to Zova. The farm was thoroughly searched. Nothing further was found.

  The owner of the farm was arrested, later in the same day. He was not a person of note, unlike the ‘Dr’. He had been under Zova Police suspicion for some time. It had been long suspected he had been renting out his farm, and its animals, to deviants and other criminals. 13 goats, 8 donkeys, and 22 chickens, each showing signs of some defilement, were flown back to the Central Police Station, as evidence. Police Animal Inspectors established each animal had been abused. Pictures and laboratory tests were made. Given there was no one to take care of all these confiscated animals, they were later negated.

  The ‘Dr’s’ small space-time machine was not found at the farm. In Police custody at Zova, the ‘Dr’ was injected with a standard dose of Xaljozic, a disclosure drug. He successfully fought its effects. No results were taken. After seeking approval from superiors, Police Medical Officers doubled the dose of Xaljozic, and also gave the ‘Dr’ a standard does of a much older disclosure drug, Altopic. He fought this combination, but eventually succumbed. As a result, the space-time machine was located in the garage of a house close to the farm. Investigations showed the ‘Dr’ had been renting this house, a small ‘holiday home’, for six weeks only. With the entry code, obtained from the ‘Dr’ using the disclosure drugs, the machine was opened. Inside a locked room, at the back of the machine, two children were found. None was from an official or important background. One was aged eight, the other aged nine. Both were female. They were from the planet Frampton, the second planet in the dual star system, Tigris-Nul.

  Police Medical Staff inspected both children. They were found to be physically well, but mentally and psychologically in severe distress. Closer related inspections revealed both had been subject to heavy and repeated violations. Both said this had been with animals, and the ‘Dr’. They were injected with a disclosure drug. They said they had been approached by the ‘Dr’ together outside a primary school in Xy, a town on Frampton. They said he had told them they could go anywhere in space-time, in his machine. They said he told them that, at the end of their journey, he would return them to the exact space-time coordinates they had left. They said that, at the start, he did not mention anything of a deviant nature. When he proposed activities with him, they at first agreed. They said they initially found the activities unusual and exciting. Soon after, they said they found them disgusting, and they did not want to take part. They said they asked him to let them out, at the same space-time coordinates he picked them up. They said he refused, and after drugging them with various substances, locked them in the space-time machine. They said he told them that he would take them back to Frampton, if and only if they performed with animals, and a group of men he was in contact with. They said he brought animals into the machine. Both children became too upset to continue. There were no further details of their encounters with animals.

  At a later stage, both children were given further doses of disclosure drugs. They said they were forced to engage with chickens, goats, sheep and even a bull. They said they only did this in the hope that the ‘Dr’ would take them back to Frampton. They said they were waiting in the locked room on the machine for the arrival of the group of men. On the final investigation, the two children said the ‘Dr’ had recorded their activities with the animals. They said he told them he had sent images to people all over the Galaxy, and that the two children were now quite famous. Once their statements had been taken, contact was made with adult persons they had identified as being their legal custodians on Frampton. Both legal custodians stated their two children had been missing for over 10 weeks. Once it was proven these individuals were the two children’s legal custodians, both children were sent back to Frampton.

  Based on the testimony of the two children, the ‘Dr’ was again injected with a combination of disclosure drugs. He said he had abducted the two children from Frampton, abused them himself, and forced them to have relations with various farm animals. He also admitted he had arranged for a group of men to come to Zova to engage with the two children. He said he was going to take pictures of this, and send them throughout the Galaxy.

  With all the testimonies in order, the ‘Dr’ was brought before a Sentencing Judge, the Learned Plozno. When he read the case details, the Judge immediately closed the Court. Only the Learned Plozno, the ‘Dr’s’ representative, and the officials of the Sentencing Court were permitted to remain. The Learned Plozno said he was very angry with the Court. He said that he did not want to handle a high level political case. He said the ‘Dr’ was the son of a well known person who occupied a very senior position in the Galactic Government. He said that if he gave the ‘Dr’ the required penalty, which was castration, 10 years in prison, and perpetual surveillance, his own career would be ruined.

  The ‘Dr’s’ representative argued that the Learned Plozno was exaggerating. He said it was the ‘Dr’s’ first offence only. He said his client deserved a second chance, and that the Learned Plozno should use this opportunity to show mercy and leniency, by putting his client on a three-year surveillance bond, with the payment of a large sum of money to the parents of the two children. He said the payment would account for any wrong that had been done, and pay for any medical or psychological treatment that may be required. The representative said the amount would be sufficient to pay for the two children to study, at a high level, if they were capable of this.

  The Learned Plozno was far from amused. He said that the representative knew he could not pass the case to another Judge. He said that if he gave the required penalty, his own career was ruined. After fuming for some time, he gave the ‘Dr’ a three-year surveillance bond, and a large payment to the parents of the two children. He also banned the ‘Dr’ from using space-time machine of any variety, for three years. Lastly, he stated the verdict could not be published anywhere in the Galaxy. The representative thanked the Learned Plozno, and the ‘Dr’ thanked both. The ‘Dr’ was free to go, and whether or not he is still active, in this regard at least, no one is in a position to say.

  Ed: On first read this was a very confronting piece, but when it came to it, we appreciated the social commentary, the concept that, no matter what world we live in, no matter how hard we try to have an honest, just and democratic society, there will always, sadly, be those that receive leniency due to their social position and ability to influence others.

   

  Saturday 30 June 2012

  The Boys’ Birth Night

  Paul Humphreys

  Oxley, ACT

  The tall, old building had very few distinctive external features. Nonetheless, its height dwarfed the shops and dwellings on either side. The building was purpose built in 1893. At the time of this story it was almost 80 years old. Sydney people were accepting of its imposing presence in the city and the pivotal role it provided in the life of the city, surrounding suburbs and incidental visitors.

  The building dominated the streetscape: on this particular night the lights formed a haphazard pattern reminiscent of boat lights
on a becalmed harbour. The early January air was hot, humid and still. There was a sense that the city and its inhabitants needed a cool southerly respite just to make it possible to meet the next day with some basic level of civility and calm.

  I travelled by car to this edifice as if a messenger of destiny had called me; actually it was my wife who had asked me here. After experiencing difficulty parking, even though it was 10 o’clock at night, I made my way to the entrance. The harsh heat of the day radiated back into the surrounds from its broad stonewalls.

  The third floor room to which I was directed was nondescript and uncomfortably crowded with a motley group of people. One window had been opened to try and grab some breeze from the outside but there was little respite from the heat and the humidity. The paint on the wooden frame of the window was peeling and discoloured. Furniture was old, badly worn and in poor repair. It could have been a garage sale job lot from one of the down-and-out suburbs of inner Sydney. The tawny brown coverings of the two lounges and the three mismatched chairs were badly stained and spotted with occasional cigarette burns.

  The group of about 25 in the room were predominantly male and a fair slice of all spheres of society. Even though they had come from different backgrounds and circumstances the occupants’ foreheads were universally knitted in worry and anxiety. At this stage in their lives this distraught had lain down on them as they had moved into the room to share in their isolation this life changing event. While the experience for all of them had major common aspects their reactions were different and yet universal.

  The two women in the room were older and they appeared more reserved and outwardly, at least, less anxious. They were dressed in bright coloured dresses, a contrast to the staid and drab clothes of the men. The presence of the two women was also marked with a faint hint of perfume that seemed out of place.

  This was not a blokey gathering. The men were all young and the majority were transfixed in different attitudes or activities steeling themselves for impending crises. Some took solace in smoking. Others appeared oblivious and read. The majority stared at the ceiling or the furniture or the floor with a glazed, hurt expression – a mixture of fear and anxiety.

  This was a new experience for most of them.

  The waiting room at Crown St maternity hospital had probably been the stage for this scene for nearly half a century. Same scene, different actors. The plot was also the same but the outcome was not always predictable. The dialogue in this theatre of production was sparse. It could not be called conversation as the participants were not interested in what they were saying or hearing in reply and for most of the time the banter of words was meaningless but necessary to ease the tension.

  At unpredictable times one of the occupants would break from his world of stress and leave the room to wander apprehensively down the poorly lit corridor to the other sections of the building. Each of these escapees was met as they meandered down the corridor with the familiar dank smell of hospital grade disinfectant and floor polish. This olfactory onslaught was accompanied with the aural challenge of muted moans and cries of pain.

  The escapee had descended from his own realm of anxiety and worry to another of pain and agony. This was real, unnerving and unsettling for each of the escapees. There was a temptation to retreat immediately without engaging the situation directly. To retreat to the sanctuary of the waiting room, the thought being – To wait ’til it is all over. Why not? There were some who had not come this far rather waiting at home for the phone call about the outcome.

  Each escapee found himself in turn in the midst of an amazing industry; ‘baby deliveries’ incorporated, a well-oiled organisation. Nurses, doctors moving methodically between the beds, records desk, supplies cupboards and washrooms. A continuous noise of flat-soled shoes moving spritely, squelching on highly polished floors and earnest conversations between staff and patients. And above all the industry and staff busyness the prominent and pervading overlay of the moans and cries of the many women in labour.

  Each escapee made it back to the sanctuary of the waiting room and his fellow ‘prisoners of circumstance’ as soon as he was able.

  On return of one of these escapees to this morass of common interests someone disinterestingly asked, ‘How’s it going?’ as though it was an enquiry about a major fix on his car.

  ‘Okay, not there yet though.’

  ‘Shit it was hot t’day,’ someone threw into the air to break the silence and the seriousness of the thoughts of those on this stage.

  ‘Y’re not wrong’ someone volunteered, to no one in particular.

  ‘We’ll probably have a drop of rain t’morrow,’ someone else added trying to keep some semblance of the conversation in the air.

  ‘Ya wouldn’t feed those cricketers wouldy?a!’ someone voiced with a little bit of emotion, trying to beef up the dialogue and create something topical of the limp repartee. It was to no avail. No one, it appeared, was the least bit worried about the pitiful performance of the Australian cricket team that day and all slumped back into their world of anxiety and apprehension.

  A young doctor appeared at the door identified by his stethoscope slung around his neck as an emblem of honour and prestige.

  ‘Mr Conti?’ he queried in a voice not directed at any person in particular.

  ‘Si – er, yes,’ a dark haired man quietly responded, a fine-featured person with a small trace of stubble on his cheeks, a dimple like a macho medal graced the middle of his lower chin and a small mole sat just above his lip giving his visage a distinctive and some women would say attractive appearance. He was seated at the back of the room. He immediately rose, straightened his dark blue jacket, and walked quickly towards the young doctor. A smartly dressed woman sitting near him followed him out and the two followed the doctor a little way down the corridor, then they all stopped abruptly and began to talk to the doctor out of earshot of those in the room.

  Suddenly, from the corridor, came the shrill cry of a woman. The cry was then followed with loud sobbing and the murmured talking of two men. Everybody in the room immediately raised there heads and stared at the person closest to them and gave a dour look of concern as all assumed it must have been bad news for Mr Conti and his lady companion.

  A short time later one of the escapees ambled into the waiting room. His face was drawn and it was difficult to read the emotion that was obviously engaging his mind.

  He walked across the room and found a position against the wall. He leant back, gathered his feelings in an audible intake of breathe and then made an announcement to the room.

  ‘The woman next to my lady had some bad luck.’ His voice was a little shaky and he was hard pressed to choke out the words in a fluent stream.

  ‘Baby was stillborn!’ he blurted.

  The effect on the room was immediate and devastating. There were mumbles of concern, regret and increased nervousness. The group somehow displayed all the attributes of a nervous agitation, but remained in their places.

  The news identified, in a simple manner, the prime reason for their fears, anxieties and apprehensions. Now that these pent up feelings were out in the open, no longer a possibility but amongst the group a reality, it was obvious that they were scared of what might occur in their world.

  ‘The mother, ah shit! Would you believe it! She made him kiss the dead baby,’ the lone reporter added in a fit of mild temper and disbelief.

  ‘Must have been that fellow who got dragged out by the young doc a few minutes ago and that was probably the mother who went with’ em.’

  A swarthy lean-faced occupant of one of the battered chairs volunteered this assumption loudly to the group. It was presented to no one in particular but it was loud enough for everyone to grasp and acknowledge with gentle nods or grunts from their own world of concern.

  ‘Crikey,’ someone intoned from the back of the room.

  ‘Bloody wogs are strange sometimes eh?’

  ‘Wouldya believe it?’ someone else rejoined.
r />   My lady was doing well considering the circumstances. Her highly regarded doctor, a specialist, was going on holidays the next day and he, so the word was, had induced all of his patients that afternoon so that he could get away. Twins are always a difficulty for doctors and nurses, but these were large twins according to all who were in the know and that might create additional concerns and complications. This added to my fears and apprehension and the balance of my emotions were slowly moving to a debit side as each incident or delay added to that debit and reduced my credit of optimism.

  I left my lady in agony, heavy breathing and sucking on some magic gas. ‘This all started with a session accentuated with mutual heavy breathing,’ I mused to myself, trying to reinforce my optimism for the future with pleasant but irrelevant thoughts.

  I entered the waiting room and noticed that Mr Conti had returned and he was sitting close to the entry door. His eyes were red and his face was pallid, as though he had had all his blood drained from him in the short time he had left the room.

  I could not avoid sitting directly opposite him so it appeared the right thing to do to comment on his unfortunate situation.

  ‘A bit of bad luck?’ I lamely muttered toward him. It came out as a question when I knew as soon as I said it that I needed to make a statement to allow him just a simple acknowledgement. The response to a question at this time would involve the anguish of talking to a complete stranger about something that was so personal and tragic. I deliberately averted my eyes from his, partly wishing that my lame question would be left unanswered.

  ‘Si, it is not a good for Maria or der family, but we will a make another bambino.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ I muttered and slumped into my own world leaving him searching his for reasons and justifications. I tried to put him out of my mind but his tragedy kept creeping back and I pondered what was he thinking now and particularly what were his thoughts as his mother-in-law asked (or forced him?) to kiss the dead child. I shrivelled from this self-inflicted inquisition and tried to put his circumstances out of my conscious thoughts.

  I needed to again check on my lady.

  Too late. A dour older doctor in white coat despoiled with small patches of dried body fluids appeared at the door.

  ‘Mr Dwyer?’ he mumbled in a less than enthusiastic way as though he was there to deliver a postal item rather than provide information on a life changing matter.

  ‘Yea!’ I responded promptly as though answering a roll call at some important meeting. I quickly recognised him as ‘our doctor’ and jumped from my seat and bounced across the room to shake his hand.

  ‘Mr Dwyer, I have just completed delivery of two boys approximately seven pound each. The babies are fine and normal. Your wife is okay and she should be able to see you soon after the nurses have cleaned up.’ That was it. No congratulations, no well done. A rather matter of fact incident for him, all in a day’s work. I felt a little light-headed and had to sit down. I slumped back into one of the mismatched chairs.

  I felt as though I was in a bath and someone let the plug out. As I lay there I could feel the stress and anguish drain physically from my body. In a streak of selfishness I noticed that it was unfortunate that my seat was alongside Mr Conti’s.

  I obviously could not hide my elation at the news and he forced a smile to his lips but of course his eyes still reflected that bleak visage of his shattered soul. I immediately felt a pang of conscience – it did not last very long but it was painful. Why could I have twins and he lose a child? It seemed unfair but life was ever thus.

   

  Sunday 1 July 2012

  I See Darkness

  Emmett Howard

  Kambah, ACT

  Moon hovered with motionless arcs around his body planet, attached by invisible webs embracing unbreakable bonds. Oblivious to the endless vacuum around him because he did not care for wonders the outer void held. Disinterested by great holes who fill themselves with darkness. He cared not for the supernovas whose brilliant luminescence engulfed entire galaxies with their blinding beauty masking the searing blaze shooting through the dark void. Moon’s attention was never drawn to such wonders.

  Mystified by the growing planet before him, he watched. Distraught when his walking reptiles were mercilessly wiped out, his pain was short lived, as creatures once again rose from the seas. This time furry, fleshy creatures. Some with colour so vivid and gorgeous he had no need for endless flowing art behind him. Some rose from the ground, so proud that he needed not to look into smouldering suns for they burned in these majestic creatures’ eyes. More ascended to the skies, gliding through wind with such poetic effluence, shooting stars themselves stopped to gaze upon the winged beasts’ dance. Seas ebbed around gliding continents as they broke from one another, separating into the warm and the cold, allowing sea life to shoot between continents.

  Moon’s planet was beautiful. He felt the scolding envy of other moons, constricted to their rolling spheres of swirling gas, or desolate rock engorged with heat no life could ever bear. His planet would turn to ice, the glistening ball transcending its cold into Moon’s heart. He would wait while the ice slowly thawed revealing new marvels for him to watch over. He loved each one of his creatures, but one was becoming more intelligent than the rest.

  THE MAN COMES AROUND

  The two eyed furry bipeds climbed higher than any other, taunting them from afar. They slowly made their descent to the ground, where clawed beasts prowled in the swaying grass and slow herds of great tusked behemoths wandered over the stretching plains. His smart mammals spoke to one another nodding and bouncing in the joy of their own comprehension. Sturdy fallen branches were crafted into shelters, saving them from mother nature’s cruel intentions.

  I HUNG MY HEAD

  Their intelligence grew with each new day and they began leaving their mark on the beautiful planet. Smearing paints across rock walls, engraving into the stone, killing the fearsome beasts which once ruled the plains. Soon the animals harnessed powers Moon had only seen destroy entire forests. Two stones were struck, sparks flew igniting the first controlled flame, and so too was their excitement as they jumped and screamed at this new discovery. Fire never left their side: they took it with them to every new place, used it to make new foods and now once occasional eruptions of black smoke turned into a consistent release of Moon’s planet’s energy into his sky with flowing columns of suffocating black smoke.

  However, all these creatures were not the same. Huge hot islands housed the strong, fast dark ones. Long wooden weapons killed their prey, but not in the unnecessary abundance the others did. Their Northern counterparts were not so conservative. The white mammals in the East and West became greedy, demanding themselves far more food, more resources, and most of all more answers. With their greed their violence grew, killing brothers and sisters of the earth. Soil and rock moved in search of new resources, iron and steel pulled from the planet’s clutches. Melted and fused to create new more effective means of killing, swords clashed and arrows pierced pristine air as wars raged over the surface. Stone structures erected from the earth. Temples and shrines offered peace of mind to those whose conscience with blood of his brothers, separate beliefs bringing them to fatal confrontation ‘For the land!’ chanted enraged believers from each continent in passionate tongues. Their structures extruded from the changing earth, huge pyramids towering to the sky as slaves were whipped and struck in the name of the lord. Walls stretched over entire continents to fend off rivals. Extravagant churches and mosques provided false peace to those who decided to dwell in their walls and pray to their saviours.

  Why? asked Moon. Why must my beautiful creatures destroy their brothers? All because they share a different answer. They are fools. I cannot allow them to treat my planet like this. Moon shook with rage, transcending his anguish into his world’s atmosphere. An old Kohan sat atop a mountain, sacrificing goat after goat in search of enlightenment. Moon’s rage shook the mountains in which he stood. On
e before him began to glow with heat, and then exploded, spewing its molten contents over the mountainside.

  ‘It’s a sign!’ cried the Kohan, and resumed his work with renewed vigour. Their intelligence grew, as did their understanding of the world around them. They found new materials to harvest, reaping the once untouched earth of its shimmering gold and diamonds. Huge pipes drained the oils and natural gases from their underground sanctuaries. Tree roots were ripped from soil, crushed and split to be used for common objects, but no regard was given to their inhabitants who were now left to roam this planet with no hope, or were crushed under their fallen homes.

  MEAN AS HELL

  As they grew smarter their means of killing followed. Swords transformed into powder filled casings, firing steel faster than the eyes could follow. Simple rock projectiles soon became balls of exploding terror, obliterating wood, earth and rock in the pursuit to create most substantial destruction. Wars burst across the land in search of power. Entire continents invaded by the white explorers, killing their spiritual dark brothers for use of their belongings. Tears and blood stained the surface of Moon’s planet as greed enveloped his smart creatures. Moon moved his angle of rotation around his great sphere that grasped him, and slowed himself in front of the sustaining Sun. This will teach them. The foolish men will be so sad with the disappearance of their great light, they will relinquish their greed and love this earth as I do.

  The blotted Sun took their attention. Churches stopped in time to stare. Workers halted to gaze on the spectacle. All forgot their task in the moment, all stopped to stare. Moon continued moving, allowing light to flood back to their eyes. An Imam sat next to his shrine, overseeing the oil pumps whose profit relied on his approval.

  ‘It is a sign my sons! We are pleasing the lord!’ And with a wave of his hand work continued.

  The world had stopped for a short instant, but momentum in their work steadily increased, and was soon back to full capacity. They took more and more from the earth, draining it of each asset it possessed. Flickers popped in the distant fields and cities, as their flying machines dropped their intentional scars on the face of Moon’s planet. New weapons provided new means of destruction of enemies, and the land on which they lived. Dazzlingly bright flashes on a larger scale tore at life’s integrity, burning through flesh and bone, leaving its radiating aftermath to disfigure all that breathed the air or harvested the soil.

  Moon shook with rage again, not able to comprehend the greed of the creatures he watched. His shaking sent waves bursting onto coastal shores, tearing through towns and dragging all that stood back to the unforgiving seas.

  ‘Such destruction to my people …’ said the old Emperor. ‘We must rebuild, and with haste!’ With that his people scrambled like ants defending their queen, reaping the land for all its worth, desperate to rebuild their stone and steel sanctuary.

  Why do they continue this? Why do they persist in the destruction of my beautiful planet? My proud reptiles killed each other, but only in the need to survive, they did not kill the land. All other creatures from the wriggling worms that live off the very soil which coats this world, to the magnificent eagles who embrace the air on which they soar, nurture this great land, but these smart ones, all they search for is means of violence and destruction. Moon wept for a hundred days and a hundred nights, before his frozen tears sparkled from a glowing streaking making its way around the horizon. His old and only friend, Halley, had come to visit once more. Her beauty ignited his soul and lit a flicker of hope in his heart. She was more beautiful each visit, and more wise than Moon could ever hope to become, for she had seen everything, from the far side of the Sun to the outer edges of the very galaxy in which they lived.

  Halley my old friend, behold the destruction of my once delightful planet. My children have become too smart, and full of greed. They have drained it of every life force, and sustain themselves off the violence they have produced in the process. Please, won’t you help me?

  Dear Moon, I have been to see your cousin Pluto and back. I have visited the great gas giants and all their companions who float in the grand rings. I have felt the warmth of Sun himself, but his heat can never compare to the passionate love you held for your planet and its inhabitants. However, I am afraid they have been too misguided and will lead to their own destruction. Your once grandiose planet will slowly wither away as it is too sick to retain itself for a full lifetime. It shares the same fate as its brother, whose red surface is the only remaining beauty after all nutrients from its outer crust was taken, and its protecting atmosphere polluted and broken. I am sorry Moon. Perhaps one day it will return to its former glory, and I will share in your pristine joy. Farewell old friend.

  With that Halley soared through the void in her endless loop, leaving Moon with his sorrow. His tears returned as he helplessly watched his sapphire seas turn brown with waste. He watched as his fertile soil was stolen from the earth, and replaced with products that would lie there for another thousand years, disfiguring a once perfect landscape. He watched as endless pillars of haze billowed into his untouched skies, suffocating his flying wonders, and slashing through protective layers of the planet’s safeguard. He watched, with a freezing heart, as they killed their brothers and sisters, as they stole one another’s future, and as their greed ripped any prospect of survival for them, and Moon’s planet, away from them forever.

  I WILL LET YOU DOWN, I WILL MAKE YOU HURT

  ‘We predicted this,’ said the bearded Pope. ‘It was inevitable friends. God told me himself.’

  Moon watched his planet in its dying days. All remaining life slowly disappeared from existence; sinking back into the dirt which once housed their life. Sea flow slowed as pollution clogged its freedom, and the murky green waters clung to land suffocating any life that stayed in defiance. Air was siphoned from its protective field. Clouds poured and dissipated like foam into an ocean.

  Finally the cold spread, each pole stretching its arms to collide with one another. Solidifying Moon’s wonder in a shell of lifeless beauty. No air, no water, no movement. Still. Just a glimmering ball, spinning in an unyielding hollow path.

  Moon waited and watched. He had been detached from life but not from hope. Time stretched his features, chewing, deteriorating. Universe’s buckshot tore at his skin but he never lost hope. Never thinking to turn away, for he knew the beauty he had seen could not be found again. Time pulled at the Sun, its intensity growing and growing with red fury. Sympathetic planets were swallowed by the growing rage, powerless to combat its force. Moon watched as the ice melted with unnatural pace. It did not flow, they raged. It bubbled angrily as the Sun drew closer, boiling its surface. Steam ripped through the void, Moon’s beautiful planet’s soul escaping its cruel face. His singed face grew tired from pain. Moon relinquished his fate to the Sun, and it too swallowed his sorrow. Moon knew now, at last, he and his planet could be one. 

  WE’LL MEET AGAIN

  Even the Sun’s rage would not outlast time in space, and was soon compacted back into a black sphere of spent energy. Inside it held the lives of all those around it. Trapped in eternal exile. Out in the cold distance a new light flickered. Its shine grew bright, stealing the gaze of stars all throughout the galaxy. Long tail curving in its trajectory to trail such a stunning view. Swerving, gliding, like Moon’s proud birds, Halley travelled free of Sun’s clasp. Past her old friend she mourned but did not look back. Past her previous attachment she flew but was not clung back by its invisible chain. Destruction had made her boundless, to freely explore her own wonders. Her tail whipped, releasing a single flake of memory to her old friend. She was sad, but better things were to come.

   

  Monday 2 July 2012 8 am

  Faith

  Barry McGloin

  Holder, ACT

  The pond

  Struck dumb by drought.

  Ducks, dragonflies and frogs

  oh the frogs ... all shot through.

  The stricken
face laid bare,

  cracked and bleached like a dislodged skull

  It won't come back.

  In fact

  it’ll sound down the country

  like a creeping parasitic moan.

   

  Now ... rains

  beat out of a lusty sky

  all flash and clamour

  heaving

  with such urgency

  to jibe and tack

  three days and nights,

  the piracy of a damn fool flood

  hissing and crackling and taunting

  the comatose country

  to ... rise.

  Rise up

  you sleeping rivers and lesser beds,

  I flush and swell your streams and creeks

  rise up rise up

  the sound of fortune sings in your valleys

  awake and sail in my largesse

  billow and bloom again

  billow and bloom again

  prettier than a piece of eight.

   

  Now the frogs are back!!

  The frogs are back

  with their rat a tat tat machine gun chat

  Nailing positions

  just to be sure,

  just to be sure.

   

  Monday 2 July 2012 4 pm

  Old Granny Nullius

  Samuel Miller

  Marsfield, NSW

  She is an ancient Grandmother,

  whose bones show underneath

  Her cracked skin – which belie another,

  distant time, with whiter teeth.

   

  The graves of generations tell

  of when Her dress was green,

  bleached yellow like the sorry shells

  around Her long marine.

   

  But those of us raised by Her now

  are born already old,

  like the tired, furrowed dirt we plough –

  robbed of all its gold.

   

  Nonetheless, She still has a joke,

  and one or two to spare;

  for the Kookaburra’s hardly woke –

  then you’ll hear him swear.

   

  And when the rains return to home,

  (as children always do)

  both the farmer and Her dusty loam,

  grow younger to the view.

   

  She’s a new home to a thousand

  castaways and more;

  and a wise old matriarchal friend

  (with a medal from the War).

   

  She’s been everything, and everywhere,

  you’d ever care the know –

  but to me, in Her old rocking chair,

  She’s my Granny, that I owe.

   

  Tuesday 3 July 2012 8 am

  The Ghosts Of Megalong

  Andris Heks

  Megalong Valley, NSW

  Your air of wattle and eucalypt perfumes my mind with mirth,

  Just soaking you in through day and night softens the driest earth!

   

  When I squat in the rainforest and purse my lips for a ‘coo’ee’,

  I close my eyes and hear echoes of a distant corroboree!

   

  Black shadows slide silent amid the white ghost gums,

  Their chants pierce silence sharper than the settlers’ guns!

   

  Blacks lean over me, white man, with their yellow, wistful eyes,

  Each asks me without words: ‘Gaba*, you see me in the skies?!’

   

  I scrape the soil with my nails; there is blood on the trail:

  Come back now, old Werriberri*, let me hear your tale!

   

  Tell me of your tribe that lived here, who worshipped this sacred place,

  Of the ashes, caves and the koalas that vanished with your race!

   

  Take me around this magic land; teach me track wallabies!

  Find me water in the rivers, platypus and yabbies!

   

  Come back to me, just once more, oh, you black soul of this valley!

  Let me hug you and say: ‘Sorry, for ripping out your belly!’

   

  Sorry, for felling your ancient ash’s arms,

  Sorry for robbing you of your precious charms!

   

  Show me this land Werriberri without the tourist buses,

  Bush tracks, without the tarred roads and the wild carcasses!

   

  But you can’t, of course, Werriberri, for you were chased off the trails,

  By the same smart settlers who’re still chasing their very own tails!

   

  Yet your air of wattle and eucalypt still perfumes my mind with mirth,

  And soaking you in through day and night still softens the driest earth.

   

  Black shadows still slide silent amid the white ghost gums

  And their chants still pierce silence sharper than the settlers’ guns!

   

  Yes! You can still see Werriberri’s ghosts – if you try!

  Look! They still corroboree across the valley’s sky!