Fridays in the Desert

This is my latest short story that I wrote this year in which we had to subvert an Australian discourse. I chose to take a city slicker, put him in the country and see what happened, enjoy!! Feedback would be lovely. (Really bad title, but I was stumped for an idea and was running out of time.)…

The road had no end in sight, just a black strip in the dusty surrounds, heading to the horizon.  Vast tracts of land that seemed to be desolate and a scorching sun hitting the dash of his car left Harry Angus wondering of all the places he could be right now, why was he here?  Harry was a rookie reporter at Melbourne’s Herald Sun and this assignment was to head for a small town in the Mallee district of North-West Victoria and create a story on the country folk.

Harry felt this assignment, his ‘big break’ according to the boss, was merely a joke, or an initiation ritual. He thought that was most likely. “They must have an office rule or something; send the new kid to the outback, leave him there for the weekend and laugh at him when he gets back with nothing. That’d be right, lucky me,” he said to himself.

The car, which was pleasantly air-conditioned, was silent. No radio stations worked out this far, which made the journey unbearable. After an hour of seeing nothing but sand dunes, dust and the odd cluster of trees and scrub, the first wheat fields started to appear and Harry hoped that this was the outskirts of Biloomba, the small town he was headed for.

But these too seemed to never end, until a roof could be seen on the horizon past the fields, followed by walls and a car parked out front. That building, which Harry thought was a hallucination, was in fact the Biloomba pub, one of five buildings in the small town.

Harry pulled up, stepped out and hit a wall of heat he had never felt before. Five hours in air-conditioned comfort is great, but when it is 44oC outside, the change can knock a man off his feet. Harry hurried inside and found to his annoyance, that the pub wasn’t air-conditioned; a reality the city slicker would have to get used to in Biloomba.

His hurried entrance was met with glances of everyone inside; two farmers and a barman. After the uneasy meeting, with Harry standing still at the door, worrying whether he would be met with a shotgun as well, the farmers turned back to each other and continued talking. They sat at the end of the bar closest to the fan, just holding their drinks and discussing the possibility of rain for the next month. The barman was behind the bar, wiping a glass with a cloth and eyeing Harry off.

Feeling compelled to break the silence, Harry spoke; “My name is Harry Angus, I am a reporter for the Herald Sun, I believe you are expecting me.”

“Ah yeah, Mr. Angus from Melbourne, I made ya a bed upstairs,” the barman replied. “I’m Jack and this here’s Peter and Tony.”

“G’day,” was the response from the farmers and Harry nodded and smiled back.

Harry walked up the stairs and found his small room, which to his surprise was quite immaculate, compared to what he expected.

Heading back down stairs, Harry thought of possible story ideas; “Will it rain this month? Harry Angus investigates,” and sighed at the thought of that being his best option. Nothing happens out here, farmers’ farm and barmen clean glasses for the rare customer. But this was his mission, his breakthrough assignment and he wasn’t going to quit and be the laughing stock of the office, not this early on.

He joined the men at the bar, asked for a drink and added: “So what do you guys do for fun around here?”

“Friday nights we’ve got happy hour ‘ere at the pub, gets a bit rowdy around eight o’clock with the crowd, ‘bout thirty show up,” Jack said, who was still cleaning that glass.

It was quarter to eight now and sure enough, the pub was packed with around thirty local blokes. With all the customers, Jack was still behind the bar cleaning that glass, which now sparkled in the lights. Harry was occasionally approached by the locals, asking the same questions: “What the hell you doin’ out here mate?”

“I’m a reporter from Melbourne,” shouted Harry over the music, “I’m doing a story on the lives of country folk.”

To which they usually replied: “Well, you’ve come to the right place for that mate, find me later, I’ll give you a story.” This was strangely followed by a wink.

Harry felt easier knowing that they had stories to tell, but was still worried they might just be  “me wheat grew a whole foot last month while Keith’s next door, only grew two inches;” not exactly front page material. He needed a murder or a three headed cow, anything at all.

The clock reached eight o’clock and things certainly got rowdier after that. Harry looked up and saw that one of the locals was standing on the bar. The bloke shouted: “Come on guys; let’s get the real party started!” After which, he tore his shirt off and swung it around his head, as shouts and yee-ahs rang out across the crowd. The jukebox changed from classic country rock to 80’s dance music and the all male bar began to dance with each other and sing along.

Harry was right earlier in thinking there were no women at this pub. He looked to the bar and saw Jack still cleaning that glass, without an expression on his face. Harry carefully moved over to him. “Ah Jack, what’s going on here?”

“Mate this is happy hour in Biloomba, told you we get rowdy.” As Jack said this he slowly looked up at Harry and gave a seductive smile.

“You know what mate; I think I’ve got my story,” Harry said to him as he slowly backed away from the bar and ran out the door.

The drive back to Melbourne was far better than that of the day’s long haul to Biloomba. The sun was long gone, leaving just thousands of stars in the night sky, something not seen in Melbourne by Harry. His first assignment was quite a memorable one and he couldn’t help but think it was all set up by his colleagues.

It was at times like these, that Harry wished the radio worked, because he couldn’t get “In The Navy” out of his head.

Lies, Blood and a Bottle of Scotch

What follows is my short story from last year that we had to base off of another story we read in class. We were supposed to show another point of view from the other story and make this stand by itself, so hopefully it should make sense to you…

The room was warm and clean; the smell of a roast beef filled the air and the afternoon sun was lighting up the room. In the middle of the room sat a small table. A jar of flowers and stack of coasters sat neatly in the centre. A bottle of scotch was also on this table, dripping with condensation as it sat in the sun and beside it, two glasses: one for a husband returning from work and another for Ann Miller.

Ann was a typical housewife. The red curly hair, a skirt she had sewn herself and she looked perfect for her returning husband. Ann grew impatient. Sitting there alone, while it was warm and cozy, the silence was slowly eating away at her sanity. She would glance over at the clock every now and then, but the time didn’t go any faster. If anything, looking at the clock made it agonizingly slower.

The silence had gotten to her. Ann couldn’t take it anymore. She got up to turn the radio on and put her mind at ease, plus who knows, there may be some news about that man. Ann stood at the window. She was looking at her German Shepherd ‘Lucky’ lying on the grass. Lucky was the Miller’s newly acquired guard dog and a friendly companion for Ann’s lonely days at home.

As the clock neared four, a school bus from the convent in Sag Harbour piled around the bend. Some of the girls hung out the window and yelled, no doubt high on their drugs and crazy music. Ann watched the bus go on up around the corner and into the woods and out of sight. Her eyes wandered back to Lucky and he was still lying there, but he had now moved his head. His ears pricked up and he turned his head sharply in the direction of the woods. But Lucky couldn’t possibly be worrying about the bus, for it had already passed.

Thoughts of fear and panic entered Ann’s mind as she remembered last week’s incident. The image of the man became clear as crystal and Ann started to shake. Was it him who the dog had noticed, was it the same man back for more? Before Ann collapsed with shock, Lucky’s head bowed down to sit on his paw. Pulling herself together, Ann gave a quite sigh of relief and returned to her chair. Those mere five minutes felt an eternity to poor Ann. The only thing keeping her together was the impending return of her husband.

Just as Ann had settled, the phone rang. It was Martha Timothy, the neighbour who had been a guiding light in Ann’s times of need, but still an unexpected call for this time of day. “Hello Ann, I must speak with you immediately.” Martha was slightly whispering, as if to not let anybody know she was speaking.

“Why, whatever is the matter, Martha?”

“I think the man who attacked you is here, in my house.”

Ann was silent for a moment. So that was the man Lucky saw. He must have seen the dog and left with fright. But he was now at Martha’s.

“How did he get in, Martha?”

“I let him in.”

“You what!”

“I didn’t realise it was him until I threw some questions at him. He acted strangely and told some lies to me. He says he drives a truck. What do I do, Ann?”

“Are you sure it is him, Martha?”

“Very sure. Why did he attack you, Ann? You said you did nothing.”

“But of course, I never let on; I simply did as you did and let him inside. He then tied me to the chair and ransacked my jewellery box.” These words were hard for Ann, but she was worried about Martha. “Get him out, Martha. Use a knife if you must.”

There was a brief break from Martha’s voice. “I just heard something downstairs. Ann, if I don’t ring back soon, phone the police.”

“No, Martha, wait!”

There was no reply. Ann put the phone down and ran upstairs. She wasn’t going to just sit around while her friend was in need. Searching through the bedside table she caught sight of what she wanted: her husband’s handgun. She grabbed it with both hands, her eyes opening wide. Jumping up, she hurried downstairs and before she reached the door, the phone rang again; it was Martha. “Ann, he just broke my hand… no time to explain… he his heading for your house.”

This time Ann dropped the phone and let it hang by the table. The faint sounds of Martha yelling Ann’s name filled the hallway, before it was broken by the barking of a dog.  Ann froze with absolute fear before he came crashing through the door.  The man started to explain his intrusion.  “I’m terribly sorry for this Ma’am but I must simply use your phone.  You see I’m a dri…” 

“Lies!” Ann cut him short; she had already reached into her pocket, gripping the gun.  She pulled it out and held it straight at the man.

“Mrs Miller, what on earth are you doing?”

Ann’s mind was set on revenge and nothing could stop her.  She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.  The shot was deafening and Ann slowly fell down with her back against the wall. 

To Ann, everything was spinning around. Nothing made sense.  A lifeless body was folded into itself next to the door, blood pooling from underneath it.  Ann wanted to check him for life; she wanted to believe herself that this was a nightmare, but a familiar voice kept her from succumbing to the darkness.  Her husband returned home and rushed to Ann’s aid.  “Ann, what happened?” 

“That’s the man who attacked me, but now he will never haunt me again”.  She said with a smile on her face.  “What? This is Joe, the driver from Lester’s market”.

 

Ann wasn’t smiling anymore.