Wind whistles around the mining dongar, sun melting across the rust coloured land and stunted shrubs, reflecting of the dirty white tin walls of the windowless buildings.
I lie on my bed watching the fly buzz around the room. The T.V is on, but I am not watching it, it’s just background noise.
The fly is more interesting than the mind numbing crap they put on T.V these days.
That’s my opinion anyway.
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I said: “when we are born we are shattered into billions of sharp fragments, our faces contorted under the whitest fluorescence, morphing into each other’s noise and collected for analysis - much later. In the meantime we huddle like maggots under neon deserts, and wait for a sign from someone…”
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The aircon is on, a comfortable 22 degrees. Neither hot nor cold, just neutral.
Neutral! What a word. Powerful in its absolute blandness , like the walls surrounding me.
Passionless, emotionless, nothingness.
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Breathe…
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I hear the engine of a 4WD pulling up just a little way of. It competes with the cries of the crows who are constantly calling back and forth to each other about who know s what.
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The trees here too, are broken. White. Barkless. The sand shifts and swirls. Your face cuts the ugly glass. The final unspoken reflection – a kind of red-brown revelation in the hardest sun. Head in a vodka-vice. A dead esky tells a good story. And we’re waiting for them to lay.
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My mouth is slightly open as I continue to breath.
In out, in out, in out.
I listen to my breath, momentarily taking my attention from the fly. I am sure it won’t be upset. Or will it?
I honestly can’t say that I know the ins and outs of a fly’s mind. So maybe it will be upset.
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She hovers and skims above in tight squares. Lands on sweat wet skin and stares. Swat and miss. Of course, there are more as the day gets longer and wider, and fatter. Hot air hurts my throat. And they gather and talk in their hundreds on my back. The slowest of inhales produces the longest exhale. Breathe…
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Anyway, lets get back to my breath.
My mind tends to wonder these days.
As my chest slowly rises and lowers, I start to get lost in the myriad memories stored within my mind.
First day at primary school, high school. First crush. Her name was Lisa, we first meet in grade 3. She was also my first kiss, it was on the school oval.
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He’s punching my face and I’m not fighting back. And summer cracks. And each fist to cheek hurts far more than I thought it might hurt. On TV you can’t feel this shit. And summer cracks as I hit the bitumen, then we’re lining up outside Home Ec class in the white sun. After, I run to the bus. Sprint. My schoolbag flailing. And summer cracks. Breathe…
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Getting smashed at a pub because some girl I fancied stood me up. Later on at home I put my fist through a window pane slicing my knuckles open to the bone.
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Breathe…
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The memories start to come quicker.
Working at a mind numbing dead end job.
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Fucking. We’re halfway up Mt Trio, looking at the cars like glinting toys below. I say: “I wonder if they can see us naked up here”. We giggle in fits in only our hiking boots. Sun on skin. The flies gather and breathe in our shiny afterglow.
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Getting married.
Attending the funeral of my best mate after he necked himself on his 30th birthday......Always said he was going to stop smoking after he turned 30....
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They’re throwing stones at us from the School bus stop. One fist sized rock cops me in the forehead. I slip and fall on the gravel. Black out. When I wake, the world is a red film. And my face is wet. I can taste concrete. And I can hear the flies.
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The memories start to spread forth like an ocean of constant swirling pain, happiness and bitterness.
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Breathe…
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I feel like I am drowning.
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Breathe…
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I start to suffocate.
I can’t breathe.
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BREATHE!
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Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Suddenly the fly lands on my nose. Drawing me back to the present.
I catch my breath, and gaze out at the endless vista beyond my door.
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Some clouds gather to form a party. A movement. A revolution. Then they’re dissolved into nothing, high above the fly country. The spinifex-sky here is so blue it hurts to breathe.
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Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
The fly again, demanding my attention. Maybe it does know more than I give it credit for?
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I said when we are born,
we each die
in a beautiful cluster
of patterns.
Each breath,
perfect.