~~~
Within the hour Marc was being wrestled out the door of The Crown Regal by the proprietor and two burly patrons after he had mouthed off at the cantankerous bar woman.
‘If she’s gonna speak to me like I’m a piece of shit then I’m happy to reciprocate!’ Marc yelled at the proprietor. ‘What kind of an establishment are you running?’ Marc asked, stumbling over the word ‘establishment’. ‘Do you screen your staff before you hire them or just drag them right out of the fucking gutter?!’
‘Fuck you!’ the bar lady screeched vehemently from the safety of The Crown Regal’s doorway.
The men wrestled Marc to the kerb. As he tried to stand, one of the men slapped Marc across the face with the back of his oversized hand. Marc slumped back down against the rough concrete path and shook his head, momentarily dazed by the blow.
‘The police are on their way,’ the proprietor called back at Marc, gently coaxing the bar woman back through the doors.
The sound of sirens faded quickly into the discordant ambience of the night as Marc careened towards the next suburb over. He pulled into the practically deserted car park of a twenty-four hour arcade and stumbled out of his car. Placing the cool tips of his fingers against his swelling cheek, he brushed the dirt from his clothes as best he could and stood up tall and composed.
The penetrating smell of hair product assaulted his nostrils as he sauntered past the hair dresser; smells only to be replaced by the repugnance of a rundown Vietnamese restaurant. He experienced a brief respite as he paced by the DVD rental joint but the abusive lights and sounds of the video arcade provided a renewed onslaught to his senses.
His steps grew extensively unbalanced as he navigated his way around the convenience store and entered the bottle shop. He managed to purchase the cheapest available bottle of bourbon without exchanging words with the teenager behind the counter before staggering back to his car. By this time he had already worked the lid off the bottle and had downed a quarter of the foul liquid.
Marc reached the car and fumbled for his keys. The bottle dropped. The keys followed. Marc stumbled back and looked at the puddle of broken glass encircling his keys. Without warning he simultaneously slammed his fist into the driver’s side window and rammed his knee full force into the panelling of the door before recoiling in pain. Screaming, he reached down for the neck of the bottle, the largest piece of the broken glass and hurled it across the car park. It shattered against the ground outside the doors of the hairdressers sending fragments through the doorway. A short shrill scream brought stunned faces out into the car park.
Ignoring the assembling audience Marc reached down for his keys, slicing his finger in the process. He briefly examined his mangled fist and the bleeding finger tips of his trembling hand. He whimpered at the sight of it and quickly turned his head away.
When he arrived home he made no effort to stifle the sounds of his presence. There was far too much evidence to bury under wraps this time. There was too much to confess. He sat for a moment, staring. His hand continued to tremble. His leg felt like a dead weight. Reaching over himself with his good hand he pulled the latch that popped his boot open. He delicately stepped from the car and limped over to the boot where he retrieved his possessions, the physical confirmation of his inadequacy. His failure.
When he entered the house a movement in his peripheral caught his attention. Jamie. She stood in the dim light of the living room. Even in the fading light of the evening her beauty was remarkable. The unblemished skin. The prominent cheekbones and round piercing eyes. The freckles sprinkled across her cheeks like chocolate powder on light frothy milk.
Jamie remained across the room, unmoving. She nodded slightly at the sight of the box in Marc’s arm, her hair falling across her face. She hastily pulled her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. Marc looked at his own appearance in the reflection of the living room windows. His cheek was swollen with a distinctive purplish hue enveloping much of his face. His weight rested on one leg, the other was bent out awkwardly before him. Beyond his reflection his eyes fell upon the dented panelling of his driver’s side door. He blinked slowly, processing the damage done. What it would take to undo it. Time and money could fix so much.
It was the look in Jamie’s eyes that proved irreparable. Her involuntary recoil at his touch. Enduring. The trust they once shared. Gone. Marc’s gaze fell to the floor. He breathed in deeply, stifling a sob. He had been dry for four years. Jamie would not forgive him again. Could not. He didn’t blame her. How could he expect her to truly forgive him if he had not forgiven himself. The beauty of her face served as a permanent reminder of his crime, of what he once recklessly robbed her of.
Tears welled up in his eyes. This time he failed to suppress a great sob. He wiped his eyes with his good hand and forced his eyes to fall on hers. Her gaze was fixed. Determined. Her body shuddered sporadically and yet she maintained her stance.
‘I’m leaving,’ Jamie said, her voice wavering. She took a deep breath but kept her eyes fixed on Marc. ‘I won’t be your punching bag this time,’ she whispered through pursed lips.
‘What? No!’ Marc dropped the box and moved towards her. She moved back mechanically and withdrew a carving knife she had been concealing behind her back. Marc stopped. He stepped back and collapsed in the armchair. As the sun dipped down over the horizon the room was all but consumed in creeping darkness.
Marc furrowed his brow and massaged his temples as he stared at the glint of the knife.
‘I can’t do this again,’ Jamie cried, lowering the knife.
‘I know ... I know,’ Marc replied gently. ‘I understand.’
Monday 23 July 2012
The Last Hunt
David Anderson
Woodford, NSW
The day of hunting was unfulfilled
As he entered the cave and his home.
But his woman and child lay dead,
Taken by Yorith, the Great Bear.
He lay them in the soft earth and
Adorned them with red ochre,
Beads of animal teeth and shells.
He sat for days, unwilling to hunt,
Waiting for Yorith to return for him,
Until his body grew frail and cold.
And the fire pit turned to cool ash
He sensed creatures before him and waited,
But the South People found him dying and
They warmed him with fire and animal skins.
Fed him and fetched water for thirst.
But he grew weaker and lay unmoving.
The last face he beheld as he closed his eyes
Was strange and flat, but full of warm pity
She brushed his full brow and wondered
Why she had not seen his kind before.
And on his last breath she knew not, that
She had given peace to the last Neandertal
Tuesday 24 July 2012
The World Of Growth
Emma-Lee Scott
Callaghan, NSW
Following the shadows of our
memories,
The path which we followed years
before,
With friendships renewed,
And the days beginning afresh,
The peace of life flooding back
again,
With new tribulations starting,
But easier to face step after step.
Straining and excelling,
But continuing forward,
Not gasping for the breathe of freedom,
But relishing what is given.
Following the lead of others,
But also leading for those to follow,
Treading a trail that may only be
trod once,
Learning abilities that few have
mastered,
The scenes of remarkable,
Etch upon our minds.
A road stretches forward to reac
h
our destination,
That will be of epic proportions,
And amazingly blissful.
Twists and turns of the day,
Become our greatest
accomplishments,
What we fail to do becomes a
regret,
But in the end we intrigue our minds.
The rising cliff faces and the
whitened peaks,
The stiffened shoes and iced hands,
Tools of another trade,
Fearful at first but friends by the
last,
That provide the chance of a
challenge.
As the world of wonder comes to a
close,
The ordinary becomes less,
But we become more,
As the transformation of the soul,
A metamorphosis of the mind,
And the provision of the physical,
We become the changed as everyone
else remains changeless.
Freedom, friendships, strength.
This piece was written during a cross-country skiing expedition with old friends and remarks of the personal growth that we made during the difficulties of this new experience.
Wednesday 25 July 2012
narratorAUSTRALIA Volume One Page 38