adding shivers of fine white light to spectred lands.
thin pines are bent over backwards,
wildflowers wilted,
silver grass a burnt amber.
hoisted lumps of earth scatter the horizon
Tufts of ash-snow cap each separate peak
jagged hillsides are minatory and oppressive against blinding blue hues of light pockets through clouded sky.
And brass at the bottom of a white pine frame reads
‘mountain scape, oil on canvas, 125 x 60’.
When man first rose, She did what she could,
Sustaining them, providing water and wood,
And Man was grateful at first,
But it all turned to greed,
And She birthed a species to take over and exceed.
It started off with fire, burning higher and higher,
Consuming the wood she gave and making her drier and drier,
And She was fine at first,
But as Time marched on,
She birthed a species with respect forgone.
It moved on to farming, taking all of Her water,
Now concerned She fought back, but they too fought Her,
And now She was scared,
And as Time went forward,
Man gave no cares and left Her tortured.
Then with civilisation came industrialisation,
And the skies filled with smog and the rivers contagions,
And now She was dying,
And as Time went flying,
She contained a species with care denying.
The skies once blue, had turned dull and grey,
Places once teeming with life, now in disarray,
And as blood stained the ground,
She cried out aloud,
For She knew the next time around, She’d no longer stand proud.
But the next time around, She had a plan,
And by this next time round Mother Earth began,
But by the time Man realised,
It was too late,
And with Man’s demise she destroyed to create.
See, with a cruel twist of vengeance Earth had reflected,
The neglection, pollution, the genocide all corrected,
Back onto mankind,
Like Her own mirror,
And now no longer blind, mankind’s end drew nearer.
They called it climate change, they called it global heating,
Assigning underwhelming names for an end so defeating,
So Man postponed for a while,
Ensuring their expiration,
But even with all their denial, they couldn’t avoid termination.
And Man’s advance was too fast, man’s advance was too quick,
To halt all its progress couldn’t be done with a flick,
And too late, overdue,
The end inexorable,
Man’s power once absolute, had a decline no longer ignorable.
“What will happen next?” mankind pondered,
People were trying to help, but the past had been squandered,
Yet Earth sighed with relief, thinking,
“It’s up to man now,”
For Fate is unblinking, and Time will not endow.
See, it was all for development, it was all for progression,
Yet in Man’s pursuit for dominance came unhealthy obsession,
And with Time counting down,
And the end inevitable,
For a species so all-rounded, they just couldn’t get it all.
It’s unfortunate really, for so much power,
Mankind saw its faults and simply cowered,
And as Earth continued with business, man’s attempts were not fruitful.
Fate is a cruel mistress, but vengeance is brutal.
COVID 19 do we really need to take it that seriously?
Before we thought nothing of it, now we Panic
Everything was normal, people chatting, planes zooming
But we never knew the war without weapons was coming.
We all had to face challenges and hardships
Like pieces of a puzzle in a Rubik’s Cube
We have been twisting and turning throughout the year
Trying to comprehend and solve the unknown.
Yet the solitude in our homes has given us peace
Resting, relaxing, recuperating!
Time has handed us back what really matters.
Connection with our families
Eating, laughing, talking!
How did we become strangers?
What’s happened to all the sounds?
Cars on the streets, planes in the sky?
It’s like the whole entire world went to sleep
And hopefully one day it will all wake up again.
It had been four days since they landed on that beach. That hellish beach. A stretch of sand that would forever live in infamy, the place where many took their final breath. A graveyard of young men furthering the course of freedom, for those whose freedom hangs in the balance. The beach represented for them, the soldiers, the complete and utter failure of the human experience. A system that had failed them long before they exited the landing crafts into a hailstorm of lead. A system that was doomed to fail for one simple reason. Those pulling the strings, the puppet-masters, forgot the one and only rule of War; Freedom is not Free. It has a cost. An unquantifiable, unjustifiable cost.
Four days later, which is a long time when you don’t expect to see the sun rise tomorrow, Lieutenant Summers of Easy Company, accompanied by Sergeant Mallarky and Private Luz, sat alone in the quiet cover and stillness of the French countryside, abandoned by those who had sworn to protect, but with a mission that would turn the tide of the war. A mesmerizing field with a sickening beauty. A place that would forever change the course of history; not for the better, nor for the worse. It would change the lives of many, forgotten to time; and like a stopwatch, it would mark the minute that the system had failed three American servicemen, faced with a decision whose outcome is condemned to end in blood.
Lieutenant Summers, the ranking officer, stood up from his hollow ditch and turned to face the prisoner. A shell of a once vibrant man in a German uniform. A Kraut, a Hun, a Jerry, an enemy. Yet there was nothing outwardly evil about him. His hair was rugged, his face a scarred map of previous encounters with death, and his body crippled from what had the distinct marking of an American bomb. A violent, patriotic bomb. “What are we gonna do about him, Sir?” asked Private Luz. Summers chose not to reply to a question that he had been asked for the better part of two hours. “Sir, the Geneva Convention says that we have to let him go.” Summers chuckled in retort. The Geneva Convention, born from the failings of a previous generation; a piece of legislation intended to prevent future conflicts. You shall not fire unless fired upon. Once again, the puppet-masters, sitting behind their desks, playing God with their figurine soldiers forgot the one and only rule of Peace. You cannot legislate your way to Peace. By doing so it creates a system riddled with envy, ready to burst like a poorly built dam. A system ready to collapse more disastrously than it did in 1939.
Yet, Summers had considered the consequences of showing mercy to a crippled German prisoner. He had proven himself capable of understanding the English that spilled out of their lazy American drawls. Their mission would be entirely compromised, and the lives of their comrades endangered. “If we let him go,” stated Mallarky in an authoritative tone, “he will run back to his little Kraut pals, and within thirty minutes the German High Command will know our position and the position of the rest of Easy Company.” This was also true. They had no way to tell how much the prisoner had understood from their conversations and no way of ensuring the safety of their men and their country, whom they had sworn to protect and defend. How befitting. Democracy’s henchmen, serving a system they did not create, nor did they understand, but a system that wholeheartedly supported the cause of freedom.
As the golden sun began to set over the French countryside the necessity for a decision grew closer and the weight on Summers’ shoulder grew greater. He began to pace around the small trench they had found themselves in and examined the prisoner carefully. There was no fear in his eyes nor any tremble of his teeth. Knowing full well that the German had heard the contents of their speech but not the thoughts inside his head, Summers knew that a decision had to be made, and that he alone was responsible. An instant. An eternity. The chain of command that had condemned Summers to be a ruthless mercenary serving the cause of freedom.
Finally, Summers spoke, “I Lieutenant Summers of Easy Company, 506 Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division hereby sentence you to death.” Sentencing a man with a power he did not have. “Do you have any final words?” asked Summers, whilst pulling the hammer back on his 1911 pistol, like a judge’s gavel sentencing a convicted criminal; he condemned a man to death. Not Guilty. Not Innocent. There was no fear in the German’s eyes but his face broke into a twisted, sadistic smile. He raised his right arm in an entirely recognisable salute, revealing two lightning bolts tattooed on his upper neck and spoke the words Summers had longed to hear, “HEIL HITLER.” Pull, Click, Bang, Dead.
The prisoner’s body slumped onto the ground never to stand again. They all stood there in a stunned silence, but it was Mallarky who broke that silence, “You did the right thing, Sir.” The reality was that there was no right decision. Only wrong ones. Only decisions that would lead to death and destruction. Only that Summers knew his decision was unjustified but necessary. Only that they had all willingly enlisted into a system where the boundaries between right and wrong were blurred beyond belief. Only that they must believe that they are fighting for a cause that is just. And only that they do not fight because they hate what’s in front of them, but because they would do anything to protect what’s behind them. Because they are the difference between the freedom of the world and its enslavement. Fighting for a cause that has a cost. An unquantifiable, unjustifiable cost.
As I submerged myself into the cool, clear glass water I felt the waves crashing above.
I feel the water moving dancing in any direction it pleases to go. The waves chase each one after another. As I paddle my hands push through the water making swirls and
whirls like a twisted web.
As I sit out the back waiting for a surge in the ocean, I feel free and relaxed, all my troubles and issues flush away like yesterday’s lunch. When my ticket out of this work and stress filled world comes, I take it, I use all my effort and take this opportunity as it is the last. I pop up
explosively.
I ride down to the bottom of the wave and use the speed I have gained to go into a turn and at that very point I exert all my fear, sadness, stress and pain at once, my worries fade away like the spray of that turn. I pump down the line racing the wave in a battle like chasey,
the wave starts to hollow out.
I take this opportunity and the wave engulfs me; I fall into a coma of happiness as I ride through this shield from the outside world. I wish I could stay here forever, but alas I have to leave as the wave comes to its end. I fly through the open gates and shoot back into the stressful world. I look back at that magical wave once more.
As I start to slow and the wave has died, I feel at peace. I am stuck in a coma of happiness, I feel forever at peace; at last my worries, pain, stress and sadness cannot reach me now. My mindset started as low as hell and now God has to look up to me. The glass that I paddle through back out to my isolation of happiness.
Magpie looked around at his little collection of shiny things. Each one was a small piece of the outside snatched up and brought home. Each piece drew him in uniquely and absolutely. Some were hard and sharp, others soft and scratchy, but none of them satiated his obsessive desire to collect.
So, he searched further, his beady eyes scrutinised every gully and crevice of the outside. Two disks of hazelnut combing through the evening vista. The sun languorously threw long rays of light from its perch on the horizon, coating everything with viscous golden luminescence. Deep shadows flowed and greedily stretched across the ground like molasses, eagerly awaiting the coming night. The tall gumtrees on either side of the thunder-path formed long processions of undulating, unchanging brown, wizened and wicked in their form. Wind meandered through their out-stretched branches, rustling Magpie’s feathers. It carried upon it the acrid greasy stench of an approaching shine-monster.
These creatures terrified Magpie, they came roaring along the thunder-path with bellies full of two-leg-food-givers. Their shiny metal shells would accrue endless admiration from other watching birds, but Magpie knew the truth. Any attempt to snatch little pieces from the shiny carapace of these creatures resulted in birds falling still. Grim reminders of this fact lay strewn on either side of the thunder-path; the permeating stench given off by these would-be snatchers is temporarily masked by the foul odour oozing off of the shine-monster that had just pushed its bulbous body over the horizon.
It grumbled and roared and growled, straining to drag its gargantuan frame across the thunder-path at incomprehensible speeds. This one must be hungry, only one two-leg-food-giver was trapped in its belly. It raced towards Magpie’s home sending up a spiralling column of rustling leaves in its wake. It operated with a feverish intensity; foul black exhaust fumes poured out of its tail.
Suddenly, the side of the shine-monster slid open and from within the belly of the beast Magpie saw a dazzling spark. The spark coalesced into a dense circle of light, the sight of which dredged up a fierce primordial desire within Magpie. He had to have it.
The circle was violently ejected from the shine-monster by the somehow still alive two-leg-food-giver in what seemed to Magpie to be a brazenly wasteful act. He tracked the circle’s fall with the intensity of a starving dingo hunting its prey, all the while fantasising about its place amongst his collection. The shinning circle struck the ground, clinking and bouncing along the thunder-path. Magpie was completely enthralled by it as it jingled to a stop.
It lay dazzling in the middle of the thunder-path, shimmering gold back-dropped against the pitch-dark road. Light bounced off the circle in a playfully lazy manner tempting Magpie with its bright attractive nature. The smooth regularity of its curves stood out from the surrounding nature to an alien degree. Further tempting Magpie was the colour of this mysterious shiny thing. So golden was its complexion that it almost seemed to melt into the warm evening light. It was as if the two-leg-food-giver had snatched a piece of the sun and thrown it onto the road just for Magpie.
So beautiful was the circle that Magpie’s reservations and well-earned fear of the thunder-path melted away; he realised he had to dive onto the path to get the circle. He saw in the surrounding trees many others coming to the same conclusion.
Suddenly, the air was alive with a squawking cacophony as birds, like so many soldiers rushing into the maw of battle, took flight towards the prize.
Magpie dived, tucking in his wings tightly around his body; the wind whistled and cracked across him as he pealed through the air. His eyes were wholly engrossed by the circle, the thunder-path rushed up to meet him. Magpie could sense the presence of others behind him; he would have to be fast.
With eyes still locked upon the object of his primal desire he flared his wings. Such was the speed of his dive that the air had turned into a thick, rendering fluid that tore at his feathers with screaming intensity. His joints strained in agonised protest against the air, his wing muscles a caterwaul of agony. Throughout this Sisyphean effort Magpie never lost track of his goal. He was bustled and jostled and pecked at from all angles but still managed to sneak his beak down and snatch the little piece of sunshine off the ground. Bitterly fighting gravity, Magpie beat his wings ferociously; he clawed at the air straining to gain height. Prize in possession and tracked by a procession of rival birds he began to dart through the trees in order to escape.
Elise Bowman saw these events through her rear-view mirror as she drove along the highway. Her wedding ring formed the centre piece of the mad bedlam. Tears slid down her cheeks and coalesced along the edge of her broken jaw, like rain collecting on the edge of a roof. Once there, it mingled with blood and spittle before dribbling down her neck.
She couldn’t feel it.
The real pain came from her heart. See, the issue was that she still loved him, her husband. Deep down her heart still sung in time with his, but no amount of love could protect her from his alcohol-fuelled fists.
It was an insidious thing, love. Despite all that he had done to her, leaving him was still more painful than the blows. But, she had to. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t fix him, and no matter how much she cried he wouldn’t relent.
So, she left.
She knew love wouldn’t protect her, but distance might.
The golden band of matrimony that had once bound, now tied. It tied her to the man she loved, the man she hated. She knew that in order to release herself she had to undo the shackle, and so, out the window it went.
Out the window, went the last thing tying her to the man she loved, the man she had to escape.
The magpie alighted upon its nest having escaped the flock. There, standing amongst its little collection of little things, it added another to the pile. Built in with the hard things, the soft things and the shiny things was a small piece of yet another broken dream.
The magpie looked up and warbled triumphantly into the evening air; it couldn’t know what the ring meant and frankly, it wouldn’t care.
The bird didn’t care about the woes represented, only the shine, and the way it presented.
The bird felt more satisfied yet still unfulfilled, it left the nest, still needing to build.
So outward it leapt
Air under wing
To find the next,
Shiny Thing.
Man sits at the bus stop, drowsy and dreary.
The arid heat of July piercing his cracked face,
The dull golden blur fills the world around him,
His destitute presence contrasting its rapid pace.
The ambition and pride in his heart is dim,
Denial and rejection suffocate his soul at every turn.
He has searched and searched and found no bliss
And so his eyes rest, his legs too, as the sultry air and his body become one.
As he drifts into a haze, his ears still ring
With the laments of the everyday man in front of him.
As his consciousness fades, an emerald hue is shone upon his face,
He quickly opens his eyes, and what he finds seems so out of place.
Like a feather in the wind,
It floats and sways,
Dancing and prancing
Delicate and divine.
A quaint fern sprouts from the ground,
So small yet so profound,
It seemingly emits light
A beacon of hope in a world filled with blight.
He is suddenly awake,
No longer wearied from his woes,
He fixates on the quaint beauty across from him.
Soon, a crisp air envelops his cheeks,
Like a winter sea, it floods away the misery and chills the soul.
The horrendous heat fades away,
Left only is the sun’s glorious ray.
The once empty pit inside him, now overflowing
A sense of euphoria ever-growing.
As he imagines a flourishing forest,
Lively and vibrant,
Standing tall, filled with life.
Crisp waterfalls washing away evil,
Birds singing and chirping
Each note gleaming with joy.
Trees dwarfing the virgin earth,
From a time before humanity’s birth.
Soon a blistering wind knocks him from his feet,
His lucid vision escapes his mind.
The midsummer misery drains his soul yet again.
The world no longer green and alive,
But crippling destruction in overdrive,
Cracked concrete-covered streets engulf his entire reality,
As he observes humanity’s harsh brutality.
The fern now worn and weary,
Tired from the world around it,
All life drained away.
He sits and wonders how something so seemingly meek,
Had provided such a great mystique.
And mankind something so bleak.
My home is beautiful and free, so much fun.
My home is beautiful because where I live I have stunning land and sea,
My home is beautiful and it is so quiet during the day and night.
Where I live I go hunting and fishing. I go hunting for goanna.
I hunt for turtles, dugongs, turkey, kangaroos.
I hunt with spears, guns, boomerangs and sticks.
I hunt these animals for food for family and elders.
My culture has hunted for hundreds of generations.
I spearfish for barramundis, mangrove jacks and reef fish.
I spearfish with a speargun when I dive on the rocky reef,
I spearfish, diving around heaps of big bombies and under their ledges
Crayfish to take home and make dinner for family.
My family of many people make me feel like I belong,
My family of Mum, Ashley, Azali, Qwayde and Aivah.
My family of heaps of aunties and uncles, cousins and grandparents.
Broome is my home and I live with my family.
The streets were as quiet as a mouse.
A sight I thought one would see once in a blue moon.
It’s only been a day, but I feel like I’m drowning in this black sea.
With everyone stuck inside, uncertain of what is yet to come.
We try to make our own fun, though our ideas are often undoubtedly dumb.
Quarantine, it’s similar to chewing gum, however nowhere near as fun.
Excited to start, but that excitement slowly fades away.
But the emotions hit when we realise we’re not even halfway.
The coughs of the sick echo through the streets
As I sit in my bed, crying under the sheets.
As the never-ending restrictions stay the same; the number of deaths soar high.
A single bird wandered lonely as a cloud, in a city of nothing.
The city that never sleeps; late and soon.
Oizys watching us from above, how could it be so hard to find passion and love?
We wait, wait for the day when the virus we will never forget goes away.
For now, the best we can do is pray.
We will never take life for granted again.
From a simple handshake to a conversation with a friend.
I imagine the day when life will be the same again.
A host of trees, between the buildings, beneath the bees.
The leaves fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
We pray, “Do not let this happen again, please”.
Whilst, for now, we sit until we release the doves.
Have a glimpse of the world we used to be, when happiness echoed through the streets.
The people of this city, riding down Broadway Street.
Ten thousand at once,
Crying out loud in tears of joy.
The birds follow them in a city of excitement; late and soon.
The morning air was crisp and icy. There was a sigh of relief as the sturdy wooden boat that had been our home for so long finally reached land. “Land holt!” the captain yelled. A wooden staircase that led down to the dark sand was erected once the overwhelming excitement died down among the crew. I finally set foot on solid ground for the first time in a four-week period, which seemed to extend on far longer than that. The land in which we stepped was cold and wet from the morning dew, and the sunrise illuminated a foreign environment.
The trees and bushes looked hostile. We got to work setting up camps. I chopped down dozens of trees, and the crew spent the hours of the day clearing the areas in front of the vessel and building a suitable camp for the 132 members of the ship. The Captain, Sir James Cook, wrote a letter to His Majesty the King which actually featured my name, Simon Butler. As dawn approached, I crouched around the campfire with my friend from the journey, Allan Nicholson. We chatted about what we were going to do on this seemingly untouched land. I told him I wanted to start a farm, with many types of vegetables and grains. He wanted to become the village doctor, as he was qualified in that field. We conversed deep into the night, and I dreamt pleasantly that night of the future.
The following morning my eyes slowly adjusted to the orange sun that beamed through my tent. I was momentarily disorientated, and a satisfying feeling consumed me as the memories of the previous day flooded back. This feeling was erased as I exited my tent and realized the panic around the underdeveloped settlement.
A woman was yelling at the captain, “I saw it! A black man, tall and skinny.” She described with perturbation, “It stole my meat and my grain!”
Murmurs of this mysterious thief plagued the camp, and I couldn’t help but scare myself at the thought of it. Nonetheless, I got to work. The day was red hot, nothing like London, where I had lived my past life, and I sweated in puddles as we laboured tirelessly. We chopped down trees, smashed nails into wood and started to completely transform the foreign land into something recognisable in Europe. Eventually, we hoped to turn this place of immense unfamiliarity into a home. For us at least.
As I lay my head down after a long, yet rewarding day, I couldn’t stop my mind wondering about the particular black man who had robbed our camp the previous night, and the threat of it. As I slept through the night, I grew uncomfortable as I needed the bathroom. Obviously, there was no actual bathroom, and I decided I would just quickly urinate in the bush outside my tent. I stepped out, barefooted on sharp ground, still weary from my slumber.
As I leant over a large tree, a reptile appeared from a hole in the ground under me. As I jolted towards my tent, my foot was caught by an exposed root, and I stumbled to the earth. Whilst I struggled to free my foot, time began to move slowly, and what I now know to be a snake, aggressively slithered to attack me. I was frozen in the moment, and almost accepted my fate of an attack. Abruptly, a dark, human shaped shadow emerged and struck the reptile on the head with immense accuracy and speed. My eyes became fixated on this man. He was tall and slim, and completely unclothed. His darkness was perplexing, as I had never seen a black man before. This mysterious being had a stern, yet inviting expression, and began to free me from my entanglement.
“Thank you,” I said, as I was extremely grateful for this act of kindness that was not at all demanded. He replied using an unintelligible dialect, but as the beaming moonlight shone down upon him, he met my smile with his own. I nodded at the man, and returned to my tent, excited to tell the others of my encounter the following morning.
To my surprise, the following morning had a similar degree of alarm as the previous. There was a huddle around a spot, and I shuffled through the camp to catch a glimpse of what was causing this mayhem. As I peered down, I saw the disembodied, and consumed carcass of the reptile that had attacked me just hours earlier, along with two others. I realised that the friendly person who had saved me, had used the animal as a meal, and as I was about to calm the nerves and explain the situation, I was interrupted by the captain.
“This is clearly a threat, and I will not allow it to go unmet with consequences. If you see the thing that did this, you will be required to destroy it, and if anybody is caught not doing so, they will be punished accordingly. This is our land, and we will fight for it.”
Following this, I spent another tireless day working, but was completely afraid of the threat the captain had made. This companionable man did not deserve to be killed, but I couldn’t risk the punishment to defend him. I had to warn him to stay away.
That night, I couldn’t sleep at all. I spent the entire night peering out my tent, trying to spot him. Trying to help him. The night was a million minutes long, and as the moon became aged, I began to lose hope, until, I heard a rustling. I jumped out of my tent. It was him.
“You must leave!” I spoke with urgency but tried to keep my voice down. “They want to kill you. Please leave!” It was no use. He began strolling into the camp and I panicked. The captain must have heard, as he exited his tent, along with the first mate. They had the man and did as they said they would. The man who tried to help me. The man who truly lived here. An innocent man. So helpful yet made so helpless. A trophy. It was no longer his land. It was theirs.
It was subtle and still and the waves had no feel, yet it was so still,
from the crystal blue water to the clearest of skies,
blue on blue that just puts a twinkle in your eye
and to feel the limitlessness, yet the fear, of the tide which takes you for a ride
yet the fear of a click or a switch from God himself can create the wildest of winds from thrashing to the crashing of your boat that will sway side to side and up and down.
Who knows the result of the ocean?
The ocean so cruel yet so feared from the greatest fisherman to the biggest of captains
the ocean is no playhouse, no fun house.
The ocean so wild so deadly yet it can be so rewarding.
Look to the Titanic trying to carry the most and with fastest time,
the tropical fish to the tropical treasures with shipwrecks from paintings of portraits
to dead bodies that lay within the big seas
only God will redeem the worthy souls that lie there.
Even with thousands of miles and miles of ocean and the technology
we still scratch the surf of the ocean from made up gods to creatures from monstrous depths
so respect something you can’t control because it may turn on you.
Unpredictable.
Sometime.
=BEGIN FOOTAGE
“Charlie, Delta, Foxtrot. Report in.”
Amaya gazed down the sight of her rifle, scouring the beach for her squad mates. The onyx night sky was no help, blanketing the beach in total darkness. She looked up, squinting, before turning back to her rifle and switching on the thermal sight.
The beach turned from grey and milky black to several shades of green and blue. She sighed in relief as she spotted a small dinghy slowly approaching the shallow end of the beach, three red figures hopping out with rifles at the ready.
“Copy team leader. This is Delta reporting in. Over.” A static click emerged from the radio.
“You’re late,” Amaya chuckled bluntly, shifting her sight to the other end of the beach.
Positioned around three Humvees, were fifteen men. All armed. Amaya turned her sight back towards the team as they started wading through the shallow water, towards the target.
“Why are we out here again? I thought upstairs handles this sorta stuff,” Foxtrot grumbled as a small wave crashed into his side.
“Urgency,” Amaya responded. “Now maintain radio silence. We don’t want any….”
She trailed off as something picked up on her thermal vision up near the sand dunes beside the Humvees. It was a figure, at least two metres tall, facing the fifteen men.
“Surprises,” she finished. “Say, do you guys see that up near the dunes?”
Her squadmates answered in confusion, “See what? The sand? Yeah it’s real interesting.”
Ignoring their snark, Amaya took one last look at the figure through her thermal lens. She was unmistaken in that there was a thermal signature popping up on the sight. Moving the lens down, Amaya felt a chill slither up her spine.
No one was there. Not even something that could justify what she saw.
“Team leader, please repeat. You said you saw something near the dunes?” Charlie asked, bringing Amaya back to the current situation.
“It’s nothing. Gimme a sitrep on the dealers.” Amaya tried shrugging off her uneasy feeling, pointing her sight back to the Humvees.
“They’re still chatting up a storm. I say we -.” Before Delta could finish, gunshots burst from around the three bulky cars.
“Move in, move in!” Amaya commanded frantically as she lined up a shot with her sight, focusing on the rapid red outlines of running figures.
Sand billowed upward in an unnatural fashion, as if the sand was both floating and kicking around at the same time.
Amaya’s vision was mildly blocked by scattered clouds of blue, but through that she spotted something that unnerved her to her core.
The same three metre figure was standing amongst the cars. As if nothing was going on. Amaya was able to get a better look at him as she zoomed in on her sight.
The man had no facial features, at least none that the sight could pick up. All there was, was a gaping blue hole in the middle of his head. As a matter of fact, there were many gaping holes all over his body. Even one that had engulfed his arm, leaving no physically possible reason as to why it still operated normally.
As the sand settled, Amaya leapt up from the sniper’s nest that she had dug into the dune. There were fifteen more figures, all identical to the previous ones. She slowly walked down to the beach, turning on her radio.
“Hey guys? Something doesn’t feel right. Get back to the dinghy now.” She was met with protest. “I said now!”
“Seriously? We should at least check what they were trading. Bring it back for the tech team to take a look at,” Foxtrot bemoaned, failing to notice the calm sea behind him beginning to ripple abhorrently.
A geyser of water shot up into the air where Foxtrot once was. Charlie and Delta scrambled to the shore as Amaya captured everything through her rifle sight.
“What the hell was that?!” Amaya bellowed into her radio as she knelt down into the ground, taking aim.
There were now seventeen figures standing in a row, their heads fixated on the fleeing Charlie and Delta. Amaya fired without hesitation, hitting one of the figures right in the throat.
Nothing. It did absolutely nothing. The figure looked more curious than enraged or injured.
Amaya scrambled to her feet as she hurried to push the boat back out. A deafening boom rang as she turned to gaze towards her squadmates. Delta was clambering to her feet, thrown back by an eruption of sand and dirt. Charlie was nowhere in sight.
“Come on! Hurry!” Amaya call out as she pushed the dinghy into shallow water.
She aimed her thermal scope once more at the beach. Eighteen figures were huddled around Delta as she ran to the side of the boat. They simply watched as she gripped onto its side preparing to hop in.
Amaya threw her rifle down to the floor of the boat as she reached out to help Delta, whose feet were neither in water nor land.
Amaya was flung back as a ball of red mist exploded in front of her, sending her tumbling down into the dinghy. She looked back up, rifle in hand, to see that Delta was gone. Only a few faint clouds of red mist remained.
Amaya grabbed her rifle, lining her eye up with the scope as she gazed at the beach. Nineteen figures were calmly watching her as the dinghy drifted away from whatever rested on the dunes.
=BATTERY:DEAD
=END FOOTAGE
NOTICE!
ANY AND ALL INFORMATION SHARED IS THE PROPERTY OF THE FOUNDATION! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
RESULTS OF BLIND BLACK OPS RETRIEVAL –
MISSION: SUCCESS
ANOMALY IDENTIFIED: C-153 AKA THE MELT
CASUALTIES: EIGHTEEN
COUNTERMEASURES: ISOLATE BEACH FOR FURTHER STUDY, CONTACT MILITARY FOR RESOURCES IF NECESSARY,
POTENTIAL BREACHES: ONE
COVER: BOMB TEST GONE WRONG
Thank you for your dedication ladies and gentlemen. The Foundation and the [REDACTED] are honoured to have you by our side.
– The Centrefold.
End.
The sun shines gently on the chirping land,
A land continuous as stars that shine.
One tree stands out, one in particular –
Creatures herd towards it, none can defy!
Flashing its very vivacious flowers,
Tempting bees to hover towards in glee.
They buzz in unison but dance alone;
A dance so soothing the flowers agree.
Its interior shelters the fatigued,
Where the birds carol their syrupy tune,
Showing their dazzling colours in the day
And spending nights watching the bright full moon.
But luscious green leaves, they begin to fade.
The weather grows cold, forcing the creatures
To hastily vanish like a sweet dream.
Without friends and stripped of its fine features.
Moody clouds drown out the sun’s bright presence,
Grim quiet brings the conniving raven,
His caws echo throughout the dying land,
Using the tree’s branches as his haven.
This quiet gives the tree time to ponder,
Solitude’s cruel – harsh worlds it can make.
Not a day goes by where the tree doesn’t hope,
For a spring’s dawn, when the land shall awake!
“Mr Buckly, with your permission, I would see it done that your conscious self be transferred into a robotic body”.
Buckly stared at the man from his hospital bed, his thin frame looked weak, his skin matching the pure white bed sheets. He looked into the man’s eyes, spectacles placed upon the bridge of his nose, the one who called himself Tim Alders.
Tim looked slightly uncomfortable, clutching his briefcase as he sat a few metres away from Buckly. Tim’s eyes followed the gaze of Buckly who had turned to look out the window. “So all my memories and feelings will be exported into a robot?” Buckly asked, finally turning his gaze back to Tim.
Tim nodded. “Once you sign the form and after your lawyers agree to the fact that instead of life in prison you will lose your physical form.” Tim pulled at his collar, as he began to sweat. Buckly finally nodded, “Very well. See to it that my body be cremated.”
“After the surgery, of course,” Tim quickly added before Buckly could finish his sentence. After the papers were signed Tim quickly hurried out the room. A man sat at a desk leaning over, peering at a computer screen, sweat drenching his lab coat and his Star Wars t-shirt. The man was wiping trickles of sweat from his glasses. His hair was black and matted and could be mistaken for a bird’s nest. So intent on his work he didn’t notice the man who entered the room silently clutching at a file. The man on the desk froze and turned around. “Did he sign it?”
The man at the door slowly nodded, “Yes, Hernesto, he did.” They both smiled. Hernesto clapping his hands exclaimed, “Good work, Tim, now it is time to ensure that the body that he inhabits cannot be a threat.”
Tim nodded, “Well for a man who killed eight people you would think that to be wise.” Hernesto nodded and pointed to a dog-like robot, its iron body glistening in the small lab. Its legs long and curved like it was ready to pounce, ball-like objects at the end of its feet. Tim walked over to further examine its skeletal structure.
“It is not complete but it shall be ready, when the surgery is over of course.” Tim removed his tie, walked back to where Hernesto was sitting, examined the digits that ran across the computer screen in quick succession of each other. Hernesto checked his phone, his face falling. “Tim, it’s time a date has been set for the concuss redirective surgery”.
A month later. A bright light room, its white walls reflecting the light making it almost unbearable to stay in. A skeletal structure of a dog stood in the centre of the room; men and women in white lab coats all wearing identical face masks stared at the robot. A small disk lay on a metal table on the far side of the robot. A man walked up and took the disk gently placing it into a skeletal head of a dog. A whir and click noise followed by flashing lights,
“It’s accepted the data,” the man said gingerly taking the head and connecting it to the body. Another whir click followed this time by the eyes of the machine lighting up. The man who attached the head knelt down.
“Mr Buckly, it’s Hernesto. The transfer is complete. It should take a few hours…” He was cut off as the robot began to omit a growling noise. Hernesto stood back as the robot raised its two front paws and stood on its hind legs towering over the lab staff. Buckly was free.
Walking through the rubber
Quiet and eerie
Only Footsteps and Chatter
Bang Bang Bang.
The shots ring out
Then silence in the distance
Frantic radio chatter comes in.
Contact.
And that’s when it started
Bang Bang Bang.
Fire ringing out in the distance again
Louder and louder and louder,
Then the radio chatter comes in quickly
Boom Boom Boom.
They have just called in the artillery
Trees getting blown to splinters
Rubber dripping out the bullet holes
Drip Drip Drip.
As the rain comes in
the sound is still ringing
Mud starts to form
the ground sinks
Mud and blood everywhere
The sounds of men
Moaning and groaning in pain
We were stuck there fighting together
As the trumpets sounded
We took our positions
Ammunition was low
And as our last bullets were fired
The rumbling APCs were there
Their 50 Cals making a hell of a racket
Cease Fire Cease Fire.
The battle was over
Four Australians lay there dead
And another fifteen missing
But we had won.
As the Hueys came in late at night
Picking up the wounded we lay there
The only sound was the APC engines cooling down
Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick.
In every state someone lost
A Son.
A Brother.
A Mate.
My time has come. My forests, once so dense and serene, now are barren. My oceans, once so full of life, now sit, with the life I gave slowly asphyxiating from the plastic surface. The future, which once seemed so promising, now seems bleak. I am now a wasteland. An example to others that even the most infinite beings have a limit. And that limit was reached. And surpassed. I have not felt the soft, warm glow of the sun on my plants for years. The light is filtered out by the thick, choking layers of smoke and carbon. My people have taken the decision to leave. Their own home, built around them, has no longer become sufficient to sustain them. And so, the decision was made. To leave in spacecraft, with no aim, but just to escape the one place they once called home. As I watch the first people leave, I contemplate everything I have been through during this time.
I start at the beginning, when I came into existence. Young and fruitful, gifted the chance to host life. It really was a long time ago. I was able to watch these people grow and develop. My humans. They started as nothing, just like me, and they evolved, they changed, they grew into what they are today. We have been through so much together. They risked their own extinction many times, but through great efforts and control they managed to save me. I reflect in sadness; today will be the last day that I am able to look upon my creation. I can’t control myself anymore. I can no longer hold in the steam and superheated metal of my volcanoes, neither can I stop the cascading waves of water. It seems surreal to me, to think that what I created, what I nurtured and brought to life, now is leaving me for a better place. It’s like a parent, who has done their best to support their child, but eventually must face the inevitable end product: a person who must choose their own path and forge their own legacy. It’s not my fault that they must leave. As I feared from the beginning, they did it to themselves.
Allow me to take you to the memory of my world, the world I created before the people came.
The trees sway gently in a cool, evening breeze. The soft trickle of water from a nearby river snakes its way through the landscapes. The tiniest details of my world, I honed to perfection. The dirt was moist, full of nutrients, the foliage green and healthy. Birdsong rings throughout the forest, a sweet and melodious tune. A mother deer guides her fawn through the thick canopy of the trees. The golden sun shines gently down into the clearing, illuminating the smallest elements, all contributing to make one perfect place. Slowly, the river comes into view. It’s as clear as crystal. Fish playfully dart around, turtles swim among eels. Contrasting the birds’ melodies is the harmony of nature. Nature which I created. Nature which they destroyed.
I don’t know how to feel. I know that I am nearing my end. Should I feel angry? Should I be resentful towards them? For all the damage they caused?
The land is barren now, devoid of colour and life. The minerals have been cleaved from the ground; vast expanses of trees have been torn from their roots. Every corner of the planet has been stripped bare. The air is heavy, dark and choking. The icy tips have long since melted, and water laps at the inland. It is the heat that bothers me most, day and night, oppressive.
I watch them go. I wish I could say something. Speak my mind. Tell them of their creation, of how they came to be. But I cannot. All I can see is myself, and even the corners of my vision are starting to darken. I do not know what this means. I was brought into being for a purpose. My purpose was to support life. But now that life is leaving me; what is my purpose? Am I to be cast aside, like a used tissue, to be thrown into the waste and left somewhere? Maybe I will just dissolve into the same nothing from which I came forth. I do not know. I cast my eyes up, towards that last rocket, carrying the last people. I feel saddened that this last generation will only carry away the memories of a desolate wasteland.
As I watch them slowly shrink to a small speck in the sky, their rocket fumes an ironic parting gift, I whisper a final farewell.
I am tired.
I am old.
I am damaged.
I am alone.
The pristine and luscious wall of dappled light and leaves exhilarates.
There’s more life here than anywhere in the world yet somehow, I feel alone.
The world’s filter, a whirlpool of life that attempts to atone for humanity’s greed.
In this world of deep verdant green, I can feel myself finally being freed.
Rivers wriggle through the ocean of green like a snake through the forest floor.
And raindrops, like crystals, pitter patter, covering me in a shimmering sheen.
The insects fluttering around, twirling in the glittering sun, almost like a ballerina.
The picturesque landscape, a sight to challenge the Mona Lisa.
The animals so oblivious to my existence,
To them I’m yet another of the hundreds of glorious sounds and sights that constantly surround them.
Just one spark in a wildfire.
The harpy eagle soars above, watching me just as I would watch the armies of Aztec ants at my feet.
I inhale this vastness, this beauty, this abundance of life.
Amazon, I am replete.
Do you ever feel hot air
Hovering across the land?
Wanting it to end
Thinking we can’t overspend.
Do you ever feel nothing goes your way?
When it never rains
One bad season and everything starts looking grey
When the sheep have no water and there are no profit gains.
Do you ever feel the heat of the flame?
All the crop burned to the ground
And there’s no one to blame
But mother nature.
But do you know there is still a chance?
Because there’s a chance you’ll get to dance
You just got to hope
For the rain.
After that it is easy to cope
After the rain there is a big flow of grain
When you see the crop bright sparkling green
Before it turns into golden-brown stain.
When the grains are grown the machines come out
But they don’t if there’s a drought.
If it rains it gets embraced
So does the cash flow at the end of the day.