Emotions are Real Creatures 2008
Short story. My first dialogue piece.
Emotions are Real Creatures 2008 belongs to the following groups:
All Things Poetic, Artistic, Philosophical, Short stories - Spherical Scriptings and Something To SayI want to prove emotions are real creatures. The emotions of the murdered Aboriginals filled Glenbawn Dam and engulfed Broads Crossing down stream with cold pain. While we lived there we were cursed.
It is my teenage years. We live near a Y intersection at Rouchel, Upper Hunter Valley. Dad was suffering Major Depression but I don’t really understand. I thought he deserves to feel rotten because he is so bad. Red necks deserve to feel bad. I hate him.
When we drive past the mill I think of my relative being dragged by his sleeve into the machine, crushed to death. Dad ambushes the school bus; he drives his car by cutting it off at the pass, near that twisted spot. We are so embarrassed. The school says my father is mad.
The notorious murderer Kath Knight’s mother died in agony on that property where Dad would stop the bus. The family heaved with violent, swear words. Dad gets the stock whip out when we are driving cattle and says it won’t hurt if you come close, so I run. I am a fast runner. I run to Mum but she does nothing.
When I go home I pass the intersection and another event proves that emotions are real creatures. Crows take flight and perch on people’s shoulders and pick out their eyeballs. Rouchel is derived from Rook Hill, when the settlers saw crows on the hills. Perhaps we should give offerings to Hecate, goddess of the witches, the underworld and crossroads to lift the curse. Broads Crossing sits on a three pathed route and the three faces of Hecate can see your future. Every house has a horrendous tale. They may have to sacrifice a black dog to the triple headed dog of Hecate. The Ancient Greeks and Aboriginals deal with emotional creatures so much better.
A man that works for the horse studs suicides close by, up the road, but no details are supplied. I read the two books about Kath Knight. I can see the carcass draping over the hook but I’m not shocked. I’m used to seeing animals slaughtered at home. She is never to be released. My Dad had an early death; I was so relieved.
The papers tell me another victim comes down at that cold water spot. She lives there, her house for sale. She’s been drinking, taking drugs and driving. She killed a man. The man’s family took revenge; fire bombed her shop in Aberdeen. I don’t know what’s become of her but I know Kath Knight is safe and happy behind locked doors, away from there.
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