The Rifle

The Morning was hot already and it was only 8am. Another scorcher. The quicker I checked the snare traps the quicker I could get home.

I was riding shot gun and he was driving, we pulled up at a snare and the kangaroo was dead.

Now I know some will be mortified to read this, but we lived on a farm. Unfortunately Kangaroos are known as vermin and it was a normal practice to rid your property of such. Today however I take a some what passive attitude, only because I no longer live on a farm, but I still accept that farmers rid their property's of vermin.

I got out of the old yellow range rover and took the rifle with me just to make sure the kangaroo was dead. I nudged the kangaroo with the rifle and confirmed it was dead. I then returned to the range rover and placed the rifle back. I put the butt end in first leaving the muzzle of the rifle facing me. As I put the rifle down, eight shots buzzed past my right ear. The rifle had discharged its self. Missing me by only millimetres.

I was shocked and felt the blood drain from my face as a hit of adrenalin charged through me. He sat their gob smacked, mouth open and eyes wide, just staring at me in disbelief.
"Fuck," he said "That was close,"
I tried to open my mouth to reply but my mouth was so dry I could not speak. I looked at the rifle to check if I had cocked it ready, but no it wasn't cocked. A freak chance of an accidental discharge could have proved fatal for me.

It was the rifle I had always used and like a rabies dog it turned on me. The same rifle I knew better than the back of my own hand. The same rifle that he made me pull apart, clean and reassemble with my eyes closed. The very rifle he used against me in his fits of uncontrollable rage. It had no loyalty. It was, just a weapon.

I have read and researched about accidental discharges and the sad fact is that rifles are not perfect and do have flaws. In most rifles they do not have a drop safety or a firing pin block. It seemed that the rifle fired because of the term known as 'dropped firearm'.

I know I should have gained more respect for such a dangerous unpredictable rifle, but at age fourteen you don't really think about such things.

The Sentence

This piece of writing is a work in progress.



I can not recall if I read it or some one said it to me, but I remember that sentence very vividly. It has been the life jacket to my soul. Depression is anger turned inward.
As these words entered my life, I felt different straight away.


Now before I continue, this sentence doesn't necessary apply to everyone. However, for me and the issues I faced, that sentence was the key to my survival. So this piece is about that sentence and me, no advice given here is meant for anyone other than myself. However, if you feel depressed seek medical advise.


I was a very angry young woman. But from the outside you would never have known. On the outside I painted a beautiful picture of calm. Inside I was a raging tornado.


I was blaming myself for all of what I had been through. I suffered and put myself through hell, because I believed what I had been told. I hurt and denied myself happiness, life and well being. I was on a destructive path, out of control, I just stumbled through each day. I was lost on the road to recovery.


I followed people aimlessly through their lives. Doing what I thought they wanted me to do and sometimes getting myself into such a frenzy, that I would just walk away, never to return.


For nearly ten years, I became my own ship wreck. But then that sentence came into my life and for the first time I felt a weight shift off my shoulders.


Me being me and very analytical, I tore that very sentence to shreds. I needed to know every inch of what gave that sentence such power and why was it having a profound effect on me. As a thorn in my side, that sentence made me squirm uncomfortable. But I was attracted to it, like a bug to a light.

I remember sitting outside under an old fig tree, when for the first time, I asked myself, "What was I angry at?"  With that one question I began the journey of healing. It has not always been pleasant, but it has been fruitfully. Slowly and surely I have chipped away at the answer to that sentence. I have found the power behind the words and made them my own. I have taken responsibility for my actions and gained maturity, freedom and growth.

I put the anger back on the people that I was angry at. Taking it off me and rightfully depositing it where it should have been. Suddenly day by day, the black dog became less and less and a bright wonderfully opening of possibilities arose.

I am today who I have always meant to have been. I am at peace with myself. I believe I am worthy of all that I dream of, desire and want. I create for myself a life full of abundance. My journey still travels, but it is much nicer when you own the truth.

Spider in the Loo

One day, after spring cleaning my house, I was hot, sweaty and smelly. In desperate need of a hot shower.


As the warm water massage over my tied shoulders, I let out a rejuvenating sigh. It was a heavenly feeling to let the warm water washing over me. I turned to let the water run down other parts of my body and noticed I was standing in water. The bath had begun to fill and was over my ankles. I thought, I must have left the plug in and scooped down to pull it out and drain the water. But what I felt, was no bath plug, it was hard and scratchy.


I tried to get a good grip, but it get slipping through my fingers. I dug at it with my nail and finally had enough to get a good grip. I tugged and tugged, till finally I pulled it out and there dangling before my eyes, was a black disgusting clump of hair. Horrified I threw it into the toilet bowl, thinking I'd flush it later. I went back to my water massage and forgot about the rudely interrupted moment.


About an hour later, feeling refreshed and carefree, I need to use the toilet. Waltzing into the bathroom, I promptly sat on the toilet, I needed to finish off with the paper work. I then noticed with my peripheral vision something stuck to the side of the toilet bowl. Thinking the worst, I lept out and over the toilet. I couldn't for the life of me think how that dirty great big spider got into the toilet.


I was freaked and with shorts hanging around my ankles and toilet paper still in hand, I headed for the fly spray. After all no matter how scared I was of spiders I couldn't flush it alive. I shuffled back to the toilet and from a good arms length away pointed the fly spray towards the toilet bowl and sprayed. I then used the broom handle to close the seat lid.


I decided to let the spider breath the spray in for a few minutes and to also allow myself some composure, as I pulled my pants up.


Several minutes ticked by and my curiosity got the better of me, I went for a sneak peek.


I sat up on the vanity cabinet and again using the broom handle, I lifted the lid, I could just see the hairy spider still clinging to the side of the bowl. Fuck, I thought. Well I'll just flush now anyway, good bye nasty spider. As I lent forward to flush, I kept one eye on the spider and then I busted into laughter. It was then I recognised the clump of hair I had pulled out of the bathroom drain earlier. So, my hairy spider was no more so that my hairy hair. Gees I was relieved, and thankful to my embarrassment no one was around to witness my episode.