Hi. I decided during my hols I would write a short story. The initial 'trigger' to this story is from a picture (
http://members.lycos.co.uk/psychopyk...lue_spiral.jpg) which I had named 'Whirlpool' - I got the idea of 'a picture is worth 1000 words from this site i think...so i decided might as well write a short story. Well, believe it or not, here is the story (the orignal plot changed quite a bit).
Just one more thing...I'm not really happy with the title I've come up with, but i can't think of anything else. any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.
Revelation
Whirling. The coffee to swirls as I absently move the spoon in circles. I take the spoon out and watch as the coffee continues its hypnotic motion. Disturbing the whirlpool, I take a sip of the hot coffee and turn my attention back to my chemistry notes.
PV=nRT, PV=nR…P, pressure…V, volume,…n, moles…R, gas constant…Memories of year 12 came flooding back, lockers, compulsory physical education lessons, boring religion classes and exams. First year university wasn’t as bad as I had imagined. The warm coffee slides effortlessly down my throat as I take another sip.
“…bush fires in Goodoga, northern New South Wales have forced fire-fighters to evacuate 12 homes. Experts estimate the fire started early Sunday morning and are fearing the worst as the weather is forecasted to remain dry with hot south westerlies on Monday or Tuesday. Police have begun investigations to find out if this devastating fire was a natural disaster or the work of an arsonist. Sophie Manderson, Ten News.”
The news report made me turn and look at my overcrowded wall that was completely filled with newspaper articles. “Fire in NSW kills 2…QLD Bushfire Causes Crop Devastation…Child Dead After Clothes Catches Fire…”. Whenever I look at that wall I try to revive memories from 7 years ago - the year of the oldest clipping stuck on that wall - “Arsonist Blamed For House Fire. 2 Dead”. But no memories willingly stand forward, just an empty dark void. All I know is I’m afraid of fire - but that doesn’t explain why collecting these articles have somehow become my second instinct, I just can’t stop. In fact, another four articles sit under my alarm clock - waiting to join the rest. Chemistry, chemistry, chemistry…must study chemistry.
Alkanes, alkenes, alkynes…alkanes, single bond…alkenes…double bond…alkynes…alkynes…My eyelids start to droop, growing heavier with every word. A sip of coffee should help, no, not enough, a short rest should do it, a short 10 minute nap. I’ll wake up at 12:30am.
The lush green grass softly brushes against my bare feet as I slowly walk towards the horizon. I am not sure where I am - no buildings or trees, only grass and sand. I pick up my pace and start to run, faster and faster. My feet start to hurt, the surroundings have taken an abrupt change. Grass no longer paves the golden sand, instead small twigs and stones are scattered over the dry parched dirt. Small clumps of weed huddle together sporadically on the ground. To my left there is an enormous tree, towering above everything, its branches extending far away from the trunk, as if they were trying to escape. I stand motionlessly as I stare in awe at this monstrous beauty of nature. My hands instinctively find their way into the pockets of my jacket. Strangely, there is something in my left pocket, a cardboard box of some kind. I take it out and examine it. It’s an old, half empty matchbox. Matches, I don’t own any…I haven’t lighted a match in my life, I hate fire, I’m scared of it. My right hand gently pushes the tray out of its home and picks up a match. I close the tray with my left hand and strike the match on the box. These motions feel oddly familiar, as if I’ve done it several times in the past…but I haven’t, I’ve always feared the heat and movement of fire, so deadly, so unpredictable. The flame continues to burn, slowly consuming the wood and inching closer to my fingers - but I feel no fear - it seems…natural. I kneel down on the dry grass as the moon illuminates the surrounding. I tilt my head back and I see an old wooden house, the navy blue windowsills a stark contrast to the white paint that had been unprofessionally applied to the entire house. My arm extends forward, toward the splintered wood, the fire still blazing, hungry for more fuel. I can feel my heart beating harder, faster. I can actually hear it…thump, thump, thump…
…thump, thump, thump, I can still hear my heart. A stiff pain in my spine and neck wakes me from my short nap. Short nap! Oh crap, I must’ve fallen asleep…2:00am, crap, chemistry. I must get back to chemistry. My chemistry notes were no longer stacked neatly on my desk, they were all scattered on the floor - must’ve accidentally knocked them during the dream. The dream, no, the nightmare, it was horrible. Leaving chemistry alone for a few more minutes, I opened my drawer and took out the photo of my parents for reassurance. I take another sip of the coffee, disgustingly cold grainy coffee crawls down my throat, I gently put the mug back down and focus my attention on the photo of my parents.
They were standing together, dad’s arm over mum’s shoulder, and mum’s arm around dad’s waist. Dad was just like how I remembered him - tall and sturdy. He had short, spiky hair - like mine. He was wearing a black suit with his favourite tie - the one I gave him for his birthday. Diagonal dark blue stripes on a light blue background, with ‘
Just for You’ sewn in white along every second stripe. Mum was wearing a beautiful silky red dress which came down just past her knees. Her curly hair just touched her shoulders; they were the same shade of brown as mine. My parents’ kind, jovial faces always made me feel secure and more confident when I look at them. I opened my drawer to put the photo back and continue with chemistry. Before I placed the photo into its special compartment in my drawer, I took one more glance at it and I realised they were standing in front of a house - our house. An old wooden house that was painted white, its navy blue windowsills a stark contrast to the flaking white paint... Behind the house to the left was an enormous tree, its branches stretching to the edge of the photo, as if they were trying to escape…I sudden wall of realisation crashed into me. Childhood memories came flooding back, drowning me with forgotten sights and sounds. An incredible sense of regret overwhelmed me - my parents died 7 years ago...in a deliberately lit fire.
so thanks!
