StoryreaderAcceptance
November 29th 2006 11:01
The vegemite jar spoke to me. I thought nothing of it. I knew what I was going
to do. I opened the glass sliding door and slid the flyscreen closed behind me.
I let my eyes roam around, resting on each familiar feature in turn - the treetops framing my piece of sky, the brown and gray mottled tree trunks, the different shades of green and finally the creek idling past.
I closed my eyes, hung my head and sighed. I dragged a chair, its paint
peeling and peeled, over to the railing, climbed from it onto the top rail. I
space.
If I didn’t die or break any bones then at least I’d bruise up bad, twist
and ached. I liked the feeling of wind rushing past me, falling. This must be
how a raindrop felt on its way down.
It was too strange landing on my feet without even jarring. If I could try
I’d have burst into tears like a spoilt brat. Instead I kicked the retaining wall and
walked up the stairs. Inside.
The vegemite jar was still on the table. I almost lost myself starring up at
the knots in the high pine ceiling. I laid my head on my arms.
All I had wanted was to feel pain. To convince myself that I was capable
of feeling.
I was born with a coldness around my heart. The only thing I ever felt
close to was this place. The ice water that flowed down from the Dingo Tops
was the blood in my veins.
Last night I heard that my sister was dead. She had lived with me for a
be taken to town. I threw her out. She took up with a guy. He killed her.
I was responsible. I knew it, but I felt nothing. My head told me that this
was wrong.
I fixed my eyes on the vegemite jar. It laughed at me.
My family would come to heap reproaches on my head and tear at each
other’s throats over beer and cask wine.
I went to put my hair up, but could not see myself in the mirror.
Then I walked to see my neighbor. He has been here longer than me. He
too has a coldness in his heart and claims to be organically part of this place.
His skin is translucent green.
Magpies sat on his roof while robins and wag-tails danced across the lawn.
He never smiles and says a lot without saying very much. He was
drinking coffee on his veranda with a possum on the table.
I told him what had happened. He shrugged. ‘What of it? We are here.
We belong. Nothing else matters.’
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