40 minutes south of Wild.

 

Trudge, trudge, trudge.  God I don't feel like doing this.  My feet sploshing through muddy puddles, my mind running over and over the same old line.  Why am I leaving home? The home that was my prison, despised for its crumbling walls and faulty electrics. The home that started as salvation from the abuse and has ended up as depressing and anxiety inspiring as a beating.  Just keep on walking.  Everyone says walking is good for the soul, it clears the mind.  Deep breath in, deep breath out, and on I plunge into the rain.

 

The wind blows bitterly in a sudden gust, freezing me instantly, signalling an excuse for my return.  That's ok.  I'm ready to get off my sweat and rain soaked tshirt, grab a bite and settle back on the couch to dwell further on my self loathing.  I've got more boxes to pack, more dodgy parenting to enact, more procrastinating to do.  Every where I look at home there are piles of rubbish, books, CDs, clothes.   It just never seems to end.  How is it that we collect so much useless nonsense in a life time?   Oh why am I moving? I cannot collect my memories in boxes and I am so worried that without my pretty house to tether them to they will fly off into the night, and I will no longer know who I am.  I sometimes think that every decision I've made since birth has been defective. 

 

 

Kicking the gravel in the gutter gives me a glimpse back to childish pleasures, and a smile in the corner of my mind.  But not for long, I'm heading home.  Home for now anyway.  I wonder if the boys have done the dishes, I wonder if Glenn is high.  I wonder if tonight is the night when I may be able to tolerate or even enjoy the high spirited play fighting, pranking, arguments, music.  Or will I retreat to my room again, dont bother mother, she’s not well you know.  I live in hope that I will do better when we move, but troubles are like a snails’ shell, they travel with you where ever you go.  I'm certain that my geographical location has little to do with my inability to cope with my responsibilities, or with my dissatisfaction of life in general.  At best I can hope that the unsettling new surroundings will rattle me enough to motivate me to action. 

 

Darker, darker, darker.  To the south I can see the storm clouds gathering, looking rather ominous.  Ive made it as far as the new estates, with their suburban 4wds and there Lego identi-kit houses.  So characterless, so bereft of memory.  So opposite of my beautiful little crumbling, falling down home.  They've all got their fake manicured lawns, I have my wayward jungle.  They have their modern dual flush toilets and I have my outdoor dunny, with louver windows that leak on your head when you sit down, walls that crumble as u brush against them and a constantly alternating supply of resident huntsmen.  It wont be like that when we move, I'll have joined the masses and conformed.  I'll be one of them.  I'll have to start listening to Maroon 5 instead of Nick Cave and wear high heels and pretty dresses.

 

I remember when I first found my house.  I was so excited about having a home again for the boys, a safe place to rest.  I was delighted with the old ceiling roses and cornicing.  I was enchanted by the stained glass windows and the gigantic open fire place.  It was charming and romantic and I loved it from the start.  The locals seemed friendly, the school appealing.  The main street with its general store and pub and misspelt ‘Telegraf Post’ post office, seemed quaint and full of country comfort.  But not anymore.  Not once the whispered voices started, the local old women feeding their tales on the tragedy that is my life. The hours of entertainment I must have provided!   Now I'm moving to a new life.

 

I'm moving far away from my troubles in the past.  I'm moving to a house that is modern and airy and light.  I'm moving to be with a man who is sweet and kind, who will be good to my boys and who is not an alcoholic. I'm definitely moving away from my miserable past, my punishment for all my long forgotten  misdeeds.  My new life will be beautiful and pure and clean.  So why does the thought terrify me so?

 

The rain is coming in heavy now, and I just want to be home.  The streets are silent, all bar an occasional car sweeping its headlights past me in judgement.  What is she doing out on a night like tonight? What is she running from?  Little do they know, I'm running towards something.  Feet moving step by step, faster, my breath coming heavy now.  Its time to put some speed on.  Coming up the road makes me feel nostalgic, and alone.  Soon I'll never walk this route again. What need will there be? I'll find new places to walk.  Coming up to my rusted front gate I know that my life will be so much different from here on in. Even the simplest choices change the path, and this move is something pretty major.  I'll never be the same person again, and I like that just fine.

 

End.

 

Reviews

[SEO]

I think the heart of this piece lies in these beautiful lines where your narrator sums of a situation, problem, aspect of life such as "but troubles are like a snails’ shell, they travel with you where ever you go." And also the instances where she characterizes herself through statements like "They have their modern dual flush toilets and I have my outdoor dunny, with louver windows that leak on your head when you sit down, walls that crumble as u brush against them and a constantly alternating supply of resident huntsmen" this really gives insight into who she is as a person and it makes her feel alive and real. Well done!

[Asb]

Oh i loved reading it....i could picture and hear what you want to say.....
Like the positive ending and the faith in the decision....
Peace
Asb

[RileyRedding]

I really enjoyed this piece. Very heartfelt, and your "but troubles are like a snails’ shell, they travel with you where ever you go." is a killer line. The story takes a semi-conventional theme, and tells it unconventionally.

[Hutch]

So much feeling in your writing...i love your rebellious and independent thoughts and ways. "They've all got their fake manicured lawns, i have my wayward jungle." Wow!

[Delmar Cooper]

Once I realized the situation I was enchanted by the story. As writer you allow me, the reader, into the mind of the narrator - character in a very effective manner. The hook is that I at first believe she is running away from home, which in a sense she is though not in the way you initally force me to believe. All in all it is clever and tightly written. Thanks for sharing.

PS somewhere in the text is a "there" that should be "their."

[Jayne Disdaine]

I am so sorry in the delay, I have only just seen your review. Thank you so much.