Henry - part two

Photo credit - cwd0107

Read part one first !!



Looking to the sky as it changed from bright blue to darkish grey, He sighed heavily, as deep thunder rolled on the mountains edge. The weather turned nasty and a swirl of dust and autumn leaves weaved under the legs of the horses. Fidgeting they pranced: keen to move away from the impending storm. Henry unhitched them and led them to the barn. One horse was a grey mare issued to him when he signed at Bellow Bluff Creek. The other, a brown horse, belonged to his cousin Ralph, who fell at the battle of Red Tree Hill.

Henry's callous hands pushed the heavy oak doors open and the roof beams creaked loudly. A loft of pigeons hasty to retreat, flew out leaving a swirl of dirt, dust and straw. Peering through the dust, Henry could hear his father's voice echo as he retold the story of the barn.

One hundred years ago, his father's father had lumbered every plank from the forest by the creek and had forged every nail. Like the aroma of home from a Sunday roast, the barn stood as a symbol for he and his ancestors.

The shadows disappeared as the day darkened and a deep gurgling rumble of thunder heralded the storms arrival. Henry shoved his hands deep inside his pockets and sauntered back to the manor. But as he sat on the steps of his family's home, he felt enriched by the legacy etched in his veins.

A tear, rolled down his cheek when he remembered, what he promised his mother, at his father's death bed, he vowed to return.

The war hardened him. His face grimaced. The reflection of blood shed stained in his pupils.

But, as the drops fell, he was reminded of what his father scolded to him all those years ago, there was no place like home.

Tay and Me

Photo credit - plrang

Like a freeze frame photo, capturing that one instant moment of joy, laughter, tears, fear and sadness, I stared at her beauty of vision. Her red hair captured my intentions and her green eyes coloured my life and made me gasp for breath. I blushed as she looked up at me from the other side of the table, she caught me looking at her...soaking in her existence.

The tea room at work buzzed with people scoffing down lunch and yet through all the hype, noise and chatter, we shared a silent moment in heart beats. That silent connection of two people longing to be with another and it was then we saw each other.

Never before had we exchanged the idea of interest and never before had either of us been so open about it. We stared into each others eyes as if we saw each other for the first time, as if life its self was glowing alert signals of inhibitions spared.

The words 'girlee spot' flicked brightly in fluorescent pink. I liked the atmosphere of the club, I could be my true self. No masks and no hiding.

A group of girls stood close to me and their laughter exploded as they teased a girl sitting alone at the bar. She had been there for many hours, just sitting, staring deep into her drink. Stirring the ice cubes around and around with her straw. I was so occupied with fitting into this ignorant group of people I had not even looked at her and had blindly laughed at their hurtful comments.

“Look at her,” one girl said, stretching out her arm and with a sharp finger pointed.
Caught up in the shallowness of humanity, I pushed past the girls to spy a look at what dastardly thing sat alone at the bar. As I pushed through the crowd she turned to walk out and we stood face to face...it was Taylor.

We had worked together for three years. Pleasant and friendly, she kept some what to herself. What would she think of me being at this place......what did she think I thought of her being at the same club. Keeping work life and private life separate was easy up to now, but now I felt like a naughty little girl with my hand in the cookie jar.

“Hi Jilly,” her voice cheerfully.
“Hi Tay,” I mumbled out, ashamed of my primitive behaviour.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her red hair hung gracefully on her shoulders...she always wore it up at work...she flicked her hair back and a piece fell over her face, without thinking I gently brushed it aside, her hand caught mine and in that second my pulse raced around my body faster than a V8 hot lap.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Tay asked,
“Strong bow,” I answered.
She let go off my hand, I'm not ever washing my hand again...and put my hand in my pocket as if to preserve the impression she left.

The crowd I'd been hanging with stumbled into me...their fill of liquor obvious from the slur of words.
“What are you doing?” Their ignorance now became annoying. How the hell did I end up with them?
I looked at Tay and longed to take her...her smile said it was ok to leave, but no, I wanted to be with her.
“I'm having a drink with Tay,”
The group screwed up their faces like a pug dog and stumbled back into each other as they wafted back to the dance floor.

“You don't have to stay,” Tay said doubting how much she was affecting me.
“Yes I'm staying...” I said confidently... “I want to know how this ends...”

The River Ride - part two



Photo credit - coniferine



Read part one 

I eased off, not really wanting to witness what I knew was going to happen. The horse didn't stop at the swollen raging river, he leapt into it, tripping as he went causing him to somersault into the water. The rider thrown under him, she disappear from site for a few seconds before thankfully surfacing on the other side, disorientated and hurt, but alive.

I yelled to her not to move and wait for help. There was a family nearby fishing who had witnessed the event and on my prompting them they came to her aid.

I then turned my attention back to young boy, he was slowly walking back, his sister walking next to him. When they arrived at the river, we decided that the young boy would have to be first to cross, as he was injured, we later found out he had cracked ribs. We had to cross at the river mouth, it was deeper and more torrent, but further up the river was quicksand.

His sister and I carried him into the torrent. I was wearing long riding boots and as soon as the water reached the top of the boots they filled with water and I lost my footing and was carried away beneath the foaming water for about one hundred meters. I surfaced gasping to take a breath, but swallowed more water than air. There was a fallen tree that I was able to grab hold off and pull myself to the safety of the bank.

Petrified of my near drowning, I got to my feet and staggered back, feeling obliged to get these young riders safely across. I took off my boots and jeans to keep me lighter. On the second attempt we made it successfully across.

Unfortunately, for me, I had to cross back to get my horse - the bottom of the river had a few exposed rocks and I unluckily tripped on one of these and again was swept away under the water. This time however I did not surface so readily, in fact I could feel the air escape from my burning lungs and wanted to gasp. I did gasp as a reflex and swallowed a large amount of muddy water. I couldn't see and I was unable to think as the torrent waters tossed me about effortlessly. My arms bumped into rocks and some how my psyche told me to grab hold. I raked my fingers threw the mud feeling for rocks and when I felt one I grabbed hold.

Holding onto the rock was enough for me to be able to pull myself above the water. Chocking and spitting out water my lungs screamed for fresh air. Those first few gulps of air I took felt like a knife stabbing my body and I could hear the water gargle in my lungs.

I dragged myself up the river bank and I felt something nudge me and opened my eyes to see Bindi standing over me. I heaved, coughed and spurted out muddy river water. I remember looking up at the sky, thinking, that was close.

I felt weak, my legs felt like lead. Somehow though I managed to crawl up on my horse and he walked along the bank of the river a few strides before he stepped in. I clung to him as tight as I could and he walked bravely into the river. The river swept us away briefly, but Bindi swam and he was strong horse, he pulled us through. I looked back at the other riders and could see they were all safe and an ambulance had arrived for the beginner and young boy. Satisfied all was ok, I said to Bindi 'take me home'.

Henry

Photo credit - woopido2

Part One

Strong dry and hot easterly winds stirred, they introduced the big black clouds looming on the horizon. White flashes of lightning impressed upon the drought stricken land that a definite change was coming.

Henry was one of seven children. He was the only son of an aristocrat father, who, scolded him the day he decided to leave. Stubborn until his dying breathe - his father blamed him, for abandoning the family legacy and bringing shame and embarrassment to the family name.

Henry broke generations of tradition and defied his father's will. The patriotic longing to serve his country was more profound than tolling the soil of the family heritage and it kept him away for to long.

The old carriage squeaked to a halt, Henry pulled the two tied horses to a stop. Their flanks, from haste, were dripping with sweat. Henry wiped the sweat from his brow, and he scanned the long track that led back to the manor. He noticed the calibre of oak trees had become over grown. The bright white paint of the wooden fences that lined the farm boundary had faded. The wooden panels were broken and in need of repair. The wrought iron gate that he and his father had built, and once proudly displayed the family name, was now rusty and swung from one hinge.

The easterly wind pushed hard and a loud crack startled the horses as a branch from an oak tree snapped off.
“Steady,” his voice, warmly reassuring.
Henry turned his collar high around his neck and pulled his worn hat further down.

A slight tap of the reins on the horse's back gave the signal to move on. Henry let the horses walk at their own pace. There was no hurry now he was back. The clip clop of the horse's hooves on the gravel combined with the carriage wheels, echoed soothing sounds. Henry felt a warm feeling sweep through his body. A flood of childhood memories clouded his thoughts. The years seemed to blend in together, fogging clarity, he realised he had lost track of time and places.

Rounding the last bend in the road Henry smiled, as he saw the grand manor still standing tall. It's grace was a little worse for wear. The gable hung loose and the roof balustrade was missing. The once shining white columns, weathered. The prestigious and vibrant garden beds that laced the crisp cut lawns had become overgrown with weeds. The pristine roses that bloomed annually had withered and died. A sad lonely silence filled the air.

Returning home was not quite what he had pictured in his mind. The last time he had returned five red setter dogs came barking out to meet him, followed by six boisterous boys and two blonde curled girls, the children of his siblings. The fresh perfume of newly budded roses and the sweet smell of fresh cut oaten hay, scented the air. Workers cheerfully whistled, busy in the garden grounds. Henry's heart sank, saddened by reality, that the bustling field activity he remembered had ceased long ago.

...To Be Continued...

Go directly to part two

The River Ride - part one

Photo Credit - Vixs

Often after a long days work, a few of us would saddle up and go for a relaxing ride along the beach. There is nothing more quaint, than a ride on a pristine white sandy beach with crystal blue water washing on the shore. The continual roll of the waves caressing your inner soul peacefully.


That day, I decided to ride bareback so I could take my horse, Bindi, in for a swim. Swimming a horse is an amazing experience, you put your feet on the horses chest and hold on up near the bridle. Their power in the water as is out, is awe inspiring and the way they propel you through the water like the bow of a ship is pure unbridled strength.


Six of us were experienced horse riders, but one girl was a beginner and no one seemed to take heed except me. I kept a close eye on her, as the horse she was riding could be a handful.


We got to the main beach and the tide was out, which meant we could cross the river with ease. However, none of us were aware that within minutes of us crossing, the tide turned and turned into a raging torrent, leaving us stranded on the other side.


We were unaware of our misfortune until I noticed the waves were crashing further up the beach than normal. A panic surged through me like the tide and I stopped everyone.
“We have to go back, I think the tide has turned and we are going to get trapped,”
Everyone agreed although a little disappointed that the laughs and fun were cut short.


A boy of fourteen began to panic, he said that he couldn't swim and was scared of the river being in full flood to cross. I assured everyone we would be ok, as the eldest of the group they all looked to me. However the young boy spooked himself and took off at a mad gallop. The young boy's horse was a tall ex racehorse with an unusually high wither. As I galloped along side him, I noticed his saddle slipping back, but by the time I could tell him, it had slipped all the way back to the horses tail and the boy fell off. The horse gripped by fear changed direction and galloped directly into the sea. The saddle fell off down his back legs and tripped the horse, who fell beneath the waves. He was found several hours later eating grass at the local caravan park. He was ok, less his ordeal.


I pulled my horse up to check the boy was ok, the others had stopped to help, he was badly winded but no broken bones.


My ears filled with the screams blowing on the wind and I saw the beginner rider having no control over her horse as it bolted. Now the rule is: you never chase a bolting horse, as the bolting horse thinks it becomes a race and goes faster.
Afraid she would fall off, I sensed a disaster about to happen and cringed at the thought. I made a split second decision knowing the rule of chasing down bolting horses. This was an exception and I had had experience chasing bolting horses and knew Bindi could catch him.


Bindi reared as I dug my heels into his flanks and did my horsey noise...”sssssss,”
Within a few strides we were in full gallop.

As I was approaching the beginner rider I could see the river swollen with the high tide. I knew this wasn't going to end pretty.
“Pull on your reins...pull on your reins,” I continually shouted at the frightened girl. But fear gripped her and she could not hear me.


To be continued...

Read part two

Gin and Tonic for me please...

The room felt like I was standing on a white sandy beach on a deserted island. The sand squished between my toes and my long hair blown and tangled by the afternoon breeze. Licking my lips I could taste the salt from the sea spray and squinting my eyes to peer through the hazy smoke hoping to spy a face I might recognise. I lifted my Gin and Tonic to my dry lips and sucked it down, cringing as the gin burnt the back of my throat.


A guy looked in my direction and my heart began to beat faster and my palms became sweaty that I nearly dropped my drink. To avoid his eye contact I made out that I was looking at my watch. Thank gawd for that, the last thing I needed was some guy pinning me down to rattle off his exploits.
I kept scanning the room for a familiar face or a laugh I recognised, but nothing, no one.
If I don't see someone soon I know I'm just going to burst.


I flicked my hair back and put my hand on my hip trying to look casual. I took another swig of my drink and it went down the wrong way and I began chocking; I was spitting and spurting the gin back out when I noticed her.


Ok then, chat time, go for it.
I regained some composure and gently patted my lips with the serviette they gave me at the bar with my drink. I tried tucking my hand in my pocket and remembered I was wearing a skirt, I slowly sauntered over to her, being mind-full to take small steps in fear of slipping over on my high heels. Not a good look to see a woman sprawled, legs in ever direction on her back with knickers up her crack on the dance floor...
“Hi,” I said relieved that my ankles and elastics were in tact.


Gracious as ever, she took her hand and with her thumb brushed a splash of gin off my chin...yes kiss me now...just do it...
Embarrassed, I felt my cheeks blush and thought great now she thinks I'm a slob. I held the drink up and plainly stated it was not my first choice of alcohol beverage, I'd rather a cold frothy beer and to show that I was capable of making an informed decision, I promptly signalled the bar attendant.


I slammed the glass that had housed my gin and tonic down on the bar and it sloshed out over my hand. She giggled at my feeble attempt of impressing her. Leaning over the bar to hear the bar tender and shout my request of drinks we knocked heads...great not only am I a slush but an idiot as well...'beer and...' I pointed at the drink she held and the bartender nodded.


I sipped my frothy cold beer and smiled as I looked into her green eyes. She was amused or interested...whatever, she was still here. She stepped in closer and her soft lips touched mine...oh yes...yes...her tongue slid out and she licked my beer moustache, great...turned on by a beer moustache licking lesbian.


I felt the room vibrate and heard cheers from the crowd as the music grew louder. She took my hand and led me to the dance floor and it seemed like eternity before she danced around my body. Every now and then, teasingly, she bumped into me.


Unable to delay gratification, I grabbed her and pulled her to me, my breath quickened with her vivacious smile. Her hand went up the back of my blouse and shivers of anticipation rocketed through my system. She lent in and kissed my neck and whispered “You know, every woman in this room has eye's for me...” yep that was obvious, “...and you're the one I want.”

The Callings

Yearning to belong to this country; I have openly moved my being to greet the elements.

I have over the years of my journey felt the longing call and the inner psyche pull to scoop up pieces of this country's vast history. A shell here, a pebble there.

Each has given me memorable pleasure of self compassion and self development.

The marble of Dimbulah: helped me to see that no matter who you are, it is what you can offer to yourself and then others that is important. My spirit feels the bridled passion of home. Among the red dirt and green gum trees my spirit stands; naked to the presence of this country.

The gratitude rock: reminds me to be grateful to all that has been in my life, the good and the bad. I am consciously aware of my existence.

The angel rock: holding it close to my heart, I feel the angels of loved ones past swoon around me. Their peace and contentment gives me strength and hope to continue on my life's journey and adventure.

The Bloodstone rock: allows me to self heal and believe in the natural healing of the universe.

The owl: (Pictured) called to me while having coffee. I walked along and without thinking where I was going found myself in a quaint second hand shop, tucked away in an arcade. Completely out of my comfort zone I put faith and wisdom in the owl and it led me to see my own eternity of self.

I have answered most calls, but there are a few that I didn't, not being aware that the universe was giving me what I was thinking about. However, my psyche fresh and honed, ready for all that the universe provides is an awaking reality of my purpose here and now.

The treasures are many and many are the stories. The yearning to belong has ceased and my yearning is to be one with you, now and forever in earthly eternity.

Dingo Pup

Photo credit - MSBegy

Legend talks of a bull so mean he was never ridden and the spurs that hang on the old fence is testament to the cowboys who have tried. They say you can hear their voice every eight seconds on the territory wind.


As I cocked one leg on the bottom rail of the old wooden stock yard I listened to the old man tell the story of the meanest bull he'd ever ridden.


When he was young and worked mustering in the outback he remembers seeing the meanest bull.
A tough and rugged scrub bull had his plight changed the day young Jake rode into Arnela station.


Jake steps into the cattle yard and makes his intention known. An eerie silence broken by the swirl of dust and straw. He spies a tornado of blood mixed for ultimate destruction. His pedigree feral. He commands the ring. He demands respect. He gives no mercy.


The Bull whips his head from side to side and sharpens his deadly horns along the ground. A surge of raging power bolts down his legs as he menacingly paws the dry earth, throwing down the glove he makes his challenge. Jake nods his head challenge accepted.


The bull stands steely poised. A picture of brute strength and presence. Clouded by an aura of decree he dangerously gives nothing away. Piercing through he eyes right into the soul and he instills in every courageous cowboy that dares to wear the spur a dripping cold sweat of fear.


He entices Jake into a false sense of confidence as he patiently and calmly stands in the chute. They tug on the ropes and tightening the flank straps. Ready Jake sits over his gloved hand. His heart beat bursts through his chest as he tries to focus on the ride.


The chute gate swings open and the savagery of the bull explodes and there in the presence of the every brave cowboy that has gone before him, Jake's finds his right of passage written in eight seconds on a bull they call Dingo Pup.


Footnote: Alternate


As a young girl in pigtails, I remember great uncle Jake tell the story of a bull. How cowboys from all over the country came to claim their right to passage of eight seconds and so the legend was born.


I had travelled many miles to a destination marked on no map. To see for myself the wall of spurs that hung on the old rabbit proof fence.


A willy willy swirls and twist by me and in the dust I hear their voices tell me the tale of the bull they called Dingo Pup.


Cowboy after cowboy steps into the cattle yard and makes his intention known. An eerie silence broken by the swirl of dust and straw as he spies a tornado of blood mixed for ultimate destruction. His pedigree feral. He commands the ring. He demands respect. He gives no mercy.


The Bull whips his head from side to side and sharpens his deadly horns along the ground. A surge of raging power bolts down his legs as he menacingly paws the dry earth, throwing down the glove he makes his challenge. The cowboy nods his head challenge accepted.


The bull stands steely poised. A picture of brute strength and presence. Clouded by an aura of decree he dangerously gives nothing away. Piercing through he eyes right into the soul and he instills in every courageous cowboy that dares to wear the spur a dripping cold sweat of fear.


He entices the cowboy into a false sense of confidence as he patiently and calmly stands in the chute. They tug on the ropes and tightening the flank straps. Ready, the cowboy sits over his gloved hand. His heart beat bursts through his chest as he tries to focus on the ride.


The chute gate swings open and the savagery of the bull explodes and there in the presence of the every brave cowboy that has gone before him he hangs his spur up too.

The Orange Butterfly

Photo credit - clemmesen

The smell of the damp dirt as it smashed it's way down the hill stuck in my nose. I could hear the silence as it loudly roared in my ears. I frantically clawed at the coffin lid my nails broken and bloody.


The nightmare plagued me every night and it kept me bound to guilt.
"I can't deny it any longer,"
I knew the time had come and in defiance I fought the inner feeling calling me to return to the island.


“How long has it been since you've been back here?” Taylor asked.

“Five years...not since.............." I felt that unsettling lump form in my throat and grief filled tears ran down my face. I wiped my runny nose with my hand."Not since the landslide.”


No one used the remote island for hiking trips any more; it was deemed unsafe. Taylor and I had been walking the old hiking trail for six hours. The track was hidden by thickly overgrown bushy bracken and wound its way through the rugged island hills. When I saw the old tree with the split trunk, I knew exactly were I was.


Closing my eyes, I was transformed back five years to the very spot. The old gum with the split trunk was where I was standing the day I felt the earth tremble, like I was standing on a rug and two people were pulling it back and forth. I heard the first crack of a tree break as the side of the hill gave way. In one smooth slide the hill side broke away and concertinaed at the foot of the mountain.


My heart started racing and sweat rolled down my face, my hands began to tremble and my whole body shook, as the memory of what happened ripped through me. My legs gave way, and trapped by grief, I fell to my knees. I slowly raised my trembling hands to my face to muffle the moans and cries that escaped my lips. My eyes stung and tears of loss flowed forth like the original landslide. I grabbed a handful of the dirt that took my beloved friends and pressed it hard to my chest...Why was I spared? I smeared the dirt on my tear soaked face and for a moment felt their presences swoon around me.


"It happened so fast. I could hear their laughter; teasing me for lagging behind. Then instantly, they were gone. There was nothing I could do. They just disappeared under the dirt. I dug for hours, I never saw them again........I could see Clare, she had been shouting at me to hurry up and catch up with them but I was preoccupied by an orange butterfly that had landed on a blue flower. The colour contrast was beautiful and I waved to Clare to take a look. She never saw it though. The hill gave way and she was swept away before my eyes. That day my life changed in every possible way. The woman I once saw when I looked in the mirror, disappeared the same second that the landslide took them."
It was the first time I had spoken about the landslide and Taylor held me softly as I cried.


The dirt from the landslide was still there; only the holes of the excavation now visible. When I placed the four white crosses, I scooped up some dirt and rubbed it through my hands; my friends taken, returned hence forth from where they came.

I turned and began to walk away. A flicker of orange caught my attention. I glanced back and there sitting on a white cross was an orange butterfly.

The Protector

Photo credit - Thenys

There was nothing usual about the way the days events unfolded. It was near perfect weather wise. The tropic's in the spring could turn on fantastic sunny days with a hint of a cool breeze.

I had agreed to drop a letter off for my brother to a place where I knew that someone else would be.

I hoped she didn't think I was following her. I wasn't stalking her but I wanted to make it look like an accidental meeting if we did bump into each other. I'd act all coy saying I'd forgotten she'd be here.

I was a little embarrassed too. I was total in love with this women. The way She plays with her long black hair and circles it around her finger. Her beautifully green eyes brighten as she smiles. Never before had I experienced such feelings.

As I stood out front and stared at my reflection in the automatic opening doors I thought, I'll just walk in real quick, drop the letter and walk out. Quick as a flash she won't even know I was there.

I took a deep breathe and walked in. I wish I could of hit reverse and backed straight out but as the young man spun around and pointed his gun at me I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. It tightened not for me but for those I had not seen.

The look on his face showed astonishment. It was obvious when he was planning his day he had not factored in that someone could walk in behind him.

“Fuck” he swore.

Fuck, I thought.

His hand was shaky, sweat beaded on his forehead and he hadn't shaved for days. When he spoke there was a definite nervous crackle in his voice.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

“I'm Jilly...I'm just quickly dropping this letter off for my brother,” I noticed the nervous crackle in my voice too.

He dropped his eyes to the envelope I held in my hand and then using the gun he beckoned me in.

I put the letter on the counter and when I turned back my heart sunk. There was a group of about ten people sitting on the floor. They were huddled together some whimpering in fear and others dumb struck by it. I swallowed a large hard lump that found it's way to my throat. There she was, sitting with her knees up tight close to her chest. She looked and caught my eye. Her stare was one of confusion as to why I was there and then to concern as I stood two feet away from the gunmen.

I looked at her and hoped my expression told her it was going to be ok. I half smiled. My first instinct was grab her and run. But this young man stood in my way. I looked back at him his blond hair all messed up and his eyes dark from lack of sleep. Pure adrenalin kept him upright.

Suddenly reality check slapped me in the face and I could again see my reflection in the automatic doors but when I looked at him the reflection did not change. I saw my own mirror image of a time I too stood in his shoes.

The protector in me was always a strong reaction and feeling that I had nurtured from a young age. Thinking back to a time when at school I would protect the young school children from the bully's. Nearly everyday going home with a bruise or two from a fight. It was automatic like the doors, a finely tuned sensor of emotions to save not only the hostages but the young man as well.

I leaned into him and whispered “hey this is really gonna sound nuts but you know twenty years ago when I was your age I wanted to do this,” he frowned at me confused, I continued “I wanted to kill someone,” his confusion turned quickly to intrigue and he prompted to ask who but no words uttered from his dry mouth. I took a step closer and answered his wordless question “my uncle.”
He glanced at the huddle of people on the floor and I took another step closer “he raped me,”
The young lad looked back at me and for a glimpse I thought I saw compassion in his eyes.


Frightened and confused he stepped toward me and pressed the gun to my stomach. His eyes searching mine for truth. Telepathically I told him my story...I had dreamt I had envisioned I had chosen to do what this young man was doing twenty years ago. I had plotted to kill the man that stole my life. I had been in pain and just like the young man frustrated and confused. I had planned it and I was prepared to go to jail for it...


I looked at the young man as if seeing him for the first time. I felt compassion sweep through me for the lost feeling he was experiencing, the feeling of utter hopelessness, despair and guilt. He was suffering from the effects of another person not taking responsibility for their actions and he was suffering the consequences as if they were his own.


I told this young man the plot I had planned the term of jail I was prepared to endure the regret of decisions and then I told him why I had not followed through with murder.


“You are angry but not at these people, you are angry at someone else who makes you feel insignificant and unworthy” I paused “you are not to blame for this you must put the anger back onto the person who has hurt you.”


He dropped his hand and removed the gun pointing at my stomach. He looked at me and then turned his back to me and placed the gun to his temple. Shit no I thought not like this.


I ran forward and put one arm over his shoulder and the other around his waist and bear hugged him. I felt him quiver in my arms as his knees buckled from under him and he collapsed to the floor.


I looked over at the crowd of hostages and every one was looking at me. Stunned by the scene that had just unfolded before them. I nodded for them to go outside and one by one they got up. As she walked passed me she stopped and looked at me her eyes beguiled by the event she had witnessed. I smiled at her and ushered her to go outside.


I sat down next to the young man the gun laying between us.
“You know that the police will come and want to talk to you,”
He nodded.
“Don't be afraid this is how your healing begins,”
He looked at me and the tears in his eye's told me his story.

Alternate ending....

I ran forward and put one arm over his shoulder and the other around his waist and bear hugged him. I felt him quiver in my arms as his knees buckled from under him and he collapsed to the floor.

I looked over at the crowd of hostages and every one was looking at me. Stunned by the scene that had just unfolded before them. I nodded for them to go outside and one by one they got up. As she walked passed me she stopped and looked at me, her eyes beguiled by the event she had witnessed. I smiled at her and ushered her to go outside.


Covered in his blood, tears swelled in my eyes, as I held his body in my arms, I swore to the young man his abuser would not go unpunished, somehow and by some means I would tell his secret.

Photo credit - Lusi

Part Four



He burnt his lip as he sipped his coffee, distracted and disgusted he threw the local paper in the bin. He didn't need to have it flaunted in his face.


The papers were calling it, the R. M. Murders, for Random Male. The town was beginning to lose it's self in fear. The streets were quiet, the pub was bare, not even the barber opened his doors.


The locals barricaded themselves inside of their homes. Detective Sergeant Floyd, had no leads, no evidence, nothing.


His thoughts were interrupted by the coffee shop door, squeaking open. He looked up, surprised to see someone brave enough to venture out. They glided in, as if sleeping beauty herself had entered, an entourage followed by chirping and attentive sparrows and the butterflies hovering ahead, attracting attention to the peachy innocence that radiated from them.


They caught him staring, mouth open, he smiled and quickly looked away. They had flashed him a provocative smile and sent him racing back to a teenage boy. He glanced over the rim of his cup and looked them up and down. He noticed he was instantly attracted, and wished he could reach the paper he threw in the bin, to hide his interest. Without a word the sisters had seized his attention.

They giggled and whispered, holding their finger a second longer in the mouth of the other as they feed each other the strawberry muffin. They knew who he was and just as a cat teasingly plays with the mouse, the sisters teasingly seduced, Detective Sergeant Floyd.

The Fly By

The windows in the house shook as the plane flew low over the house. We all ran outside to get a better look. The plane circled and prepared to land. The pilot set the plane down on the paddock, it bounced over the small rocky terrain, before coming to a stop.


I was impressed, but the other kids just sniggled. They didn't seem to get how cool it was that we had a plane land on our farm, with no airstrip. The cockpit door opened and a short plump man got out. The other kids all laughed at the sight of him and he didn't help himself by carrying an armful of papers and folders. Especially when the wind nipped up and took a couple, which he later retrieved.


The plump little man looked confused and it was then I realised why. There was no gate to enter through and the fence was high. He looked for a way round but he seemed to think it was to much effort and with arms full he tried to step over the two strand high barb wire fence. Suddenly his face grimace he froze in mid stride. His pants were hooked in a delicate spot on the fence. All the kids busted out laughing. There in the middle of a lovely summers day, a pilot with arm full of papers and files was caught by the go nads on our two strand barb wire fence.


His faced turned red quickly and his feeble attempts to unhook himself just made the matter worse as the barbs dug into his flesh. He looked up at us kids, I could see the pleading in his eyes. I broke free from the laughing mob and went to his aid.


"Gday," I said as I reached for the papers and files.
"Hello," He embarrassingly answered.
"Got ya self caught up," I continued trying to make light of the situation to ease the embarrassment.
"Yes," The pilot replied as he ripped his pants free.
He then hoped around on one leg while trying to swing the other leg clear of the nasty barbs. Unfortunately he was to short and couldn't free himself. He lost balance and had to plant the other leg on the ground and in doing so got his pants hooked back in the barb wire.


"I'm gonna have to cut the wire to get you free," I told him "I'll be right back, just get some pliers,"
The pilot nodded, afraid to speak in case a shriek escaped from his lips.


I ran inside and put the papers and files down and then ran out to the ute and found the fencing pliers. As I ran back to were the pilot was waiting, he was now standing on his tippy toes. The barb wire had a good grip of his, umm, pants.


I cut him free and as he stepped out from his capture he straightened and smiled.
"Thank you young lady," he said.


I can still see him hopping from one leg to the other, trying to loosen the barb wires vice grip and how the other kids teased me for helping him. I wonder if he tells the story as I do.

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.

Morning Mob

As I stepped out the fresh air was filled with morning rain. My nostrils sucked it in and held the very essence of new life as the tiny rain particles fell to the arid earth, where they would renew all doubt.


I tilted my akurba at the magpies, a sign a respect to their morning song. A wonderfully relaxing and homeward bound feeling as they cooed the morning bush opera.


My stride was matched with three excited dogs. They leapt around me like a circus ride. Their anticipation was frenzied.


The smell of old leather waved past me as I opened the stable door. A greeting of happiness sounded from the far end of the box.


He was an old gelding, of thoroughbred blood. His legs ran the race course but his heart never past the post.


I settled myself in the saddle and the old gelding pranced his feet. I slightly shifted my weight forward and the old gelding eased into his stride.


As we cantered effortlessly across the arid paddocks, the dogs anticipation grew wildly with every stride.


Coming to a slight incline I reined the old gelding in. There over in the distance was the greatest site I'd ever seen.


A mob five thousand strong, grazed eagerly on irrigated pasture. They looked at me with intent, but with the crack of my stockwhip they herded in a rush.


The dogs let loose their frenzy and kept over on the flank and the old gelding and I bought up the rear.


In the early hours of the morn you can hear the crack of leather and look to the west and see the mob rise over the hill. Headed to the long yard, a shearer's stand waits.

New Ink

My first tattoo was an awesome experience and I was addicted. I wanted another one.

I confidently walked into the tattoo parlour. I'd been there before and felt I was an old hat at getting tattoo's, albeit the only one. But, that was about to change.


He led me through to the back, a room cordoned off by a curtain. Not for the embarrassed hearted. I sat on the bed and looked around the room. The walls plastered with tattoo's of every design and style. An autoclave, ticked by in the corner and a computer hummed on the desk.


“Take your shirt and bra off," he said.
Well duh, I didn't quiet think through the placement of my next tattoo. But, I was here and no way was I turning back. I flicked my bra on the chair, and let any inhibitions float away.


“lay on the bed,” this was beginning to sound like a porn movie, bra off, get on the bed.
Yes, I've watched my share.


I laid back, hands above my head and watched intently as he prepared himself. He began. He put his hand over my right boob and proceeded to tattoo the stars I requested. Suddenly the curtain was ripped back and big burly guy, with a full length beard and tattoo's up his arms strolled in. He leaned over and promptly had a good look. Definitely no room for the faint hearted. There for all to see, my boobs.


The tattoo guy, moved his hand over my boob, he was just positioning it for the best advantage for the tat, but for me, I could feel my nipple get harder. I glanced down and saw my nipple standing tall, pushing into the tat guy's palm. I smirked to myself.


The door bell sounded as four more full bearded, tat guys walked in, each taking their time to have a good look at what and where my tat was going. My nipples both erect, stood up and waved.
One guy, even sat on the chair, I had flicked my bra on, he held it in his hand as he watched.


Five blue stars, now glued to my body forever. I was impressed. It was a very erotic experience. I was not able to put my bra back on and as I walked out the shop, proud of my new ink, my nipples perked through my shirt.


I had no need to smile, my nipples did that for me.



Read More:  http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/

No. Four

Part Three

It was unusually cold this time of year. The day was cloudy, and a light shower fell across the small sleepy town. The occasional swirl of a crisp morning breeze enraptured a chill in the locals, who gathered together to spy on the body found last night.

Brazenly two strangers blended in with the concerned locals. They relied on the trusting country folks nature, not to draw attention. Like vixens they leered at each other. An elated shriek escaped from their lips. Entwined in each others phychi they embraced and savoured the commotion that splayed around them.

The body had decomposed slower than normally. The cool open elements of the rain forest was a great choice to dump the body. The cooler climate would decrease the decaying process and gave the sisters more time to relish.

On the prowl, they sat quiet in a bar. Using a gesture of a stare they randomly picked the next victim. Flicking her hair and seductively smiling, she sheepishly half turned away. She lent into her sister and pretended to whisper they both giggled, looking back in his direction. His eyes wide open and his urge now awakened, he was captured.

Detective Sergeant Floyd drummed his pencil on the 19th century oak desk. He was puzzled. The only common factor about the four bodies was that they were all male. The murderer was picking males at random, the profile read.

Floyd felt frustrated. Residence were to afraid to go out, especially the men. Everyone began to become suspicious, and the local pub hadn't had a patron in days. The pressure was on, Floyd knew he needed a break through, before another body was found.



Read more: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/

The Lions Jaw

Part two

 A chill hung in the air, not from the winters day, but from the skull found in the lions enclosure.

The morning sun peeked through the cloudy sky. A light shower of rain hovered over the wildlife park. The zoo keeper noticed that the big cats didn't roar down to the fence as usual feeding routines go, they slowly rose from their slumber and sauntered down to sniff the meat and play with it, like a cat does a mouse.

As opportunistic eaters, they didn't eat it, they weren't hungry.

Unbeknown to the keeper, the pride had already been fed. During the dark of night, a fresh kill was devoured by the lions.

The only trace was apparent, when one of the young cubs, ran past the keeper holding a human skull in his mouth.

The wildlife park, was brought to a complete stand still. A body count of workers was conducted, everyone was accounted for. Within minutes, the police had cordoned off the park.
Disappointed tourists were turned away and the gates heavily guarded and padlocked.

News of a murder spread quickly through the close knit town. Reporters began to set up cameras and they climbed trees to try get a better advantage point.


Detective sergeant Floyd, looked at the human remains, hair and skin still visible. The skull was damaged by teeth scratches, and the lower jaw bone was missing. 

Forensic scientists examined the skull for fifteen hours and then reported, that at the time it was found till death, had been less than twenty four hours.

Under police guard, a veterinary surgeon was choppered in and pumped the stomach of every lion. The contents now evidence.

The detective was really concerned. Three bodies had been found in a week. It was apparent a killer lurked in their midst.

Kakadu Poppins

I had made a promise to my six year old son and I needed to keep it, but it involved something that I just couldn't bring myself to do, fly.

Petrified of flying, I couldn't even get on a merry go round. The whole concept of floating around in space without my feet on the ground, made me sweat bullets. I use to carry a brown paper bag everywhere I went, just in case I started to hyperventilate thinking about flying or seeing planes in the air.

I couldn't watch a movie or TV that had planes in them, it freaked me out to much. The last time I did sit through a movie, I passed out and woke up in hospital. Believe me there are not enough words to describe how embarrassed I was.

Every time I looked into his puppy blue eyes, his sadness ripped out my guts. He was so fragile just a little boy, but he was so brave. His mum would have been proud. Four months ago she died of a brain tumour. Together they were inseparable and it made me jealous sometimes. Every night she would read him bedtime stories and tell him of the adventures, she had as a little girl, following her zoologist father around Kakadu. It broke my heart and I would crumble to my knees and cry every time I could hear them giggling and talking. It was a time they needed together and it was a time I needed, but he needed it more.

So when he came to me after the funeral and asked me to take him to Kakadu, tears welled in my eyes and I hugged him tight and said yes.

The day of the flight, I had already been sick three times. He thought it was funny, but I couldn't stop my body reacting. It was on auto pilot. I fumbled the money for the taxi, dropped the tickets at check in and tripped up the stairs to the airport lounge. The handle of my bag broke, the zip on my jacket got stuck and I left my watch on the kitchen bench.

The announcement of our flight ready to board echoed in my ears, but the humming of anxiety made hearing difficult. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. My knees wobbled under me as I stood and leaning down to pick up the bag I nearly fainted.

He, hurried off in front of me, I tried to tell me to wait but no words came out, when I opened my mouth. I tugged at my jacket collar it felt tight. My palms began to sweat. The air hostess ushered me into a seat and he was already in his. I checked our seat belts at least ten times and read the safety pamphlet twenty times.

As the massive engines roared into life and the plane began to hurl its self down the run way, I gripped the arm rest so hard my knuckles were white.
My son tapped me on the arm. I lent down to hear what he wanted to say.

“Don't worry Dad,” his voice reassuring, “Mum said to tell you that Mary Poppins is sitting on the wings.”



Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/trauma-behind-magical-mary.html

http://www.femail.com.au/mary-poppins-she-wrote.htm

The Queen of Everlong

The heavy thick fog of mist valley started to lift and squirts of brilliant sunshine peered through to reveal the small quaint village of Everlong. Hidden by the tall ancient elk trees, a clan not seen to the human eye roomed free among the forest litter.

Rows of blue cottages housed the females while the males lived in rows of pink cottages on the outer skirts. Their service to protect the inner village and more over guard their queen.

Queen Shajul ruled her kingdom kindly. She spent her days nonchalant and frolicking in the garden grounds of her majestic mansion. Her every need catered for and surrounded by plentiful women of natural beauty.

The males slaved their days frantically, working on ways to enrapture and capture the essence of the Queen. In doing so become her betrothed to sire the next royal offspring.

A menacing task daunted most of the males who among themselves found contentment and pleasure. On the phase of the golden night circle, the males, who were brave enough entered the realm. Demonstrating their genius to impress the Queen.

The keeper of the roosters sent his son bravely to address the Queen. Full of confidence and buck, he walked steadily through the beauty that laid revealingly across the floor. Coming into the presence of the Queen made a lump form in his throat and his hands shaking held out a statue of a black cock. Bowing his head in grace he said, “Your majesty I present this black cock to you, so that your kindly eye can look upon it in your garden grounds.”

The Queen summoned a beauty off the floor and whispered into her ear. The beauty stood before the young male and said, “The Queen has no use for a black cock, be removed from the royal chamber.”

Two hefty women stormed into the palace room and grabbed the young male. He dropped the black cock on the floor and it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. The Queen erupted into laughter and the beauties swooned around her, grooming and pampering. The Queen looked at her beautiful temptresses and smiled as she develled into raw passion.