Day 6: Happy Birthday Me
Really couldn’t think of anything to blog today, so made lemonade out of lemons (literally, a few hours ago).
PG – violence
Time for. . . The Party Story. Each person writes a bit, then scrolls down so just a word or two (mid-sentence) leads on for the next person (who doesn’t read the story in advance). The onyl shared information was that the hero was a female crocodile named Bob.
I’ll start, and (it’s my birthday today), some of my friends will carry on.
Once upon a time, there was a mighty crocodile by the name of Bob. She was beautiful, with leathery skin and a razor-sharp smile. She liked to eat passionfruit and drink mineral water. All in all, her life was peaceful – until one fateful day when Bob went for a walk. She came upon a silver turtle buried in the mud. Picking it up and weighing it in her clawed hand, she noticed a pale glow spreading from its centre. The turtle blinked and, opening its mouth, latched on to Bob’s ear. With a hideous ripping sound the ear came off and was swallowed by a passing pelican, who had previousely been the subject of governemnt genetic testing. Bob, enranged by this act of bodily desecration, opened her mouth as wide as it could go and swallowed the vandal. This act of rage and rash action sent Bob into a melancholy contemplative mood for the rest of the day. While lying on the bank of a river, Bob was unaware of her suroundings. The pelican, who had swallowed her ear and now succumbed to blood lust, dived at her.
Gnawing and gnashing , fighting and biting, they fought. Over, under, round and round. Suddenly there was calm all around.
The battle was over, and the outcome, as expected, was not pretty.
But who had really won? As Bob watched the day’s dying rays glittering on the red slick dissipating through the water, she couldn’t help but shudder as if feeling the chill from some distant plane blowing through her very soul, taking all that she was, all that she could ever have been, and revealing the ultimate truth that lay behind them.
She felt the reflected red of the intermingled gore and blood shining across her once-innocent face. An innocence which had now passed forever.
Vaguely, unaware even of the movement, she began to rub at the stains across her hands. If she had been aware of her action, she would have easily known its futility. The remnants of her actions had seeped as deep into her flesh as they had into her soul. She would never know which she had lost again.
Who had truly won?
As she felt the first whisper of the night-winds cooly caressing her cheek, her eyes remained blind to the world, lost in that play of dwindling day upon the red in the water.
Such a pure red.
At the end of it all, when the day is finally lost and we see we are all becoming one with the ash, as we feel that final coolness invading our bones, is that not – in some way – our final redemption; that purity. That purity of the blood.
The last and first pure thing that our lives can ever claim as their own.
And then, finally, as the bloody disc of the sun sank below the blackness of the horizon, she turned.
What could be left for her now?
For a long time she didn’t move, then her lip lifted slightly in the smallest of smiles, showing only three teeth and a sliver of gum. Muffins. There would always be muffins.
She decided to make a career change so she packed up everything she owned and left for the nearest port to make her life long dream of becoming a pirate a reality.
THE END
Many thanks to my hapless volunteers – Chris M, Black Bob, Jason, Ally, Mel, and Ben. And possibly Jane (I wasn’t paying attention).
PS I did make muffins for a birthday cake thingy, and was given a giant and highly-detailed pirate ship. No crocodiles or philosophers were harmed in the making of this story.
Day 5: Fun Facts
Time for some crocodile facts.
1. Crocodiles can outrun you – even on land.
2. Crocodiles grow up to twenty feet long.
3. Crocodiles are surprisingly stealthy – most people who are attacked never see it coming.
4. The motors of some small boats make a noise that crocodiles find incredibly interesting.
5. Crocodiles don’t chew. They just rip bits off with their teeth. (On the up side, they drown you first.)
Sweet dreams, everyone!
Day 4: Flat Sharks
I visited New Zealand, and at Kelly Tarlton’s (in Auckland I think) I was able to go in the water with some sting rays – one of which was over a metre across and weighed rather a lot more than me.
(My excuse for blogging thsi today is that crocodiles and sting rays are linked via Steve Irwin.)
It was one of the most excellent experiences of my life. I learnt a little sting ray etiquette (don’t get in their way; if you step on them they will sting you by reflex ie they can’t help it) and went in. The sting rays, being familiar with the ritual (and the associated feeding), mobbed us. At one point I had two sting rays climbing me like puppies, one on my front and on on my back (both flapping as they tried to rise out of the water). Although I’m usually frightened of sea creatures, I LOVED being a sting ray sandwich.
Pregnant Pause
No, I’m not.
Eating (relatively) healthily has made me think about my future children a lot more – mainly because they’re an inspiring reason for me to practise being healthy. (If I’m not healthy, what chance do they have?)
One thing I like about marriage is that I’ve literally given my life to one person. All my big decisions are his big decisions too. All the good and bad things that happen to me happen to him (and vice versa). It bothers me that so much of my happiness hangs on him (is there anything less reliable than a human being?) Then again, I’ve always liked risk-taking. And I suspect I’d find my happiness again eventually if he suddenly vanished.
I love the idea of becoming a mother – is there anything more frightening, more important, or more overwhelming? As a storyteller, how could I resist? As a human heart, how could I turn away from the opportunity to pour everything I have into someone who is me-and-my-partner-but-also-different?
The cynical part of me thinks the urge to procreate is biological – nothing else. The opposite side of me thinks the urge to have children comes from an unfulfilled capacity to love more deeply. I’m pretty sure both are true.
There are a lot of frightening aspects – how will we cope financially? Will I be a horrible mum (being mentally ill can’t help)? What about all the pain in the world? What if something goes horribly wrong? What about the pain for me when they’re rejected or injured or unhappy?
I treasure the newlywed status of having no children. But I also treasure the sense of anticipation my partner and I share. What will I look like pregnant? How will this change the way we see the world? What will he or she smell like the first time I see my own child? What will they be like when they grow up?
Each month we celebrate our anniversary by doing something special – going out to dinner, having a picnic, seeing a movie, etc. This month we’re borrowing my 4-year old nephew and taking him to Questacon.
We need all the practice we can get.
Day 3: Diagram
Today’s plot is so complex I believe it requires a diagram.
Observant readers will clearly see the high-tension cable flinging human and attached crocodile into the air.
Those of an artistic bent will see much more. The billabong (that’s Australian for “pond”) has the characteristic Australian greenish hue, while the eucalyptus is the kind that turns pink in summer (overseas readers may not believe it, but there are some on my street*).
The narrator is coloured purple to represent the many colours of multicultural Australia. He and the crocodile both have blue eyes, which represents man’s close relationship to nature, and our global responsibility toward our planet.
The crocodile’s red teeth represent blood and gore as he clamps down on the narrator’s leg.
*Okay, they’re mostly white.
Day 2: Gory tale
If you have a sensitive disposition and a vivid imagination, you may not want to read this one (it’s not graphically written, so let’s call it a rather gentle PG rating):
On February 19, 1945, nine hundred Japanese soldiers retreated across a swamp in Burma. The swamp was sixteen kilometres wide and filled with saltwater crocodiles.
I bet you know where this is going.
Twenty soldiers were captured by the British. Five hundred escaped.
The remaining three hundred and eighty men were never seen again.
Day 1: Tourism
This entire story was inspired by the fact that the Northern Territory (that’s a particularly underpopulated state of Australia) has a tourist boom every time someone’s attacked by a crocodile.
Clearly, our tourism ads should be about snakes, spiders and prehistoric monsters, instead of Lara Bingle. (Well, actually, now I think of it. . .)
Had a great title, but forgot it
One of the things that has changed since I married is that I’ll almost definitely have kids one day. (When I had a two-month engagement, a lot of people thought I’d be having kids about 6 months after the wedding, which both amused and disturbed me – like so much in life.)
Watching “Torchwood” (written by seriously depressed types with an urge to convince the world how depressing it truly is), and the various horrible things that could, perhaps, happen to my kids some day (except, probably, for the alien bits) made me realise that I DON’T want to keep my kids safe. Not as a first priority, anyway. I want to teach them that they can handle anything. Absolutely anything. Death, murder, assault, broken hearts, debt, mental illness, their own worst failures – anything.
Of course, I’ll probably panic and lock them in a padded room from birth.
But the sentiment is there.
Paranoia Girl is so right
I emotionally crashed on Tueday. It was Australia Day, so my partner and I chose to celebrate our anniversary mainly on that day, with our traditional picnic, plus seeing “Sherlock Holmes” (which I reviewed over at http://twittertales.wordpress.com) and going and eating Chinese for dinner.
I freaked out for no reason around 11am, and stayed freaked out all day, unable to make basic decisions or generally enjoy the enjoyableness of the day. It sucked a lot.
But, setting aside my mentalness, I feel pretty good. My renewed peacefulness and excitement about God is still there (under the public crying and urges to pull out my own eyeballs). Today I bought loads of brightly-coloured booze for my birthday, and also didn’t eat my usual pile of chocolate. I had a milo, which is practically fasting for me. I keep a careful eye on my drinking, because (clearly) I have an addictive personality. Thus far, however, I can use small amounts of alcohol (like one or two standard drinks – strictly AFTER work) as a substitute for large amounts of lollies (like 300 grams).
Just now I wrote a short story (a tad desperately, since I REALLY need to finish a twittertale ready for February 1, and it isn’t happening). It’s not a happy tale (it’s white trash crime), but finishing a new story always makes me feel good, which generally leads to more writing.
I’m gonna go attempt a 7-day twittertale, just to buy myself some time.
First – more booze. (I predict a problem in the future. . . but it IS really good for switching off my editor side.)
Day 6: Complete Story
For the Man who has Everything
Sat 23 Jan
My beautiful new wife gave me the “Genuine Castaway Experience For The Man Who Has Everything But Happiness.” It’s so peaceful here!
*
Why won’t the monkeys stop screaming? I’m reminded of the days when I was still allowed to see my grandkids. Bad memories, as I now recall.
*
Drank fermented coconut milk and passed out. When I awoke and threw up, I knew I didn’t miss my youth after all. Epiphany after epiphany!
Sun 24 Jan
The “Genuine Castaway Experience” has given me a deep new gratitude for my life – especially coffee and my iphone.
*
Very glad the “Genuine Castaway Experience For The Man Who Has Everything But Happiness” only lasts three days. Food poisoning continues.
*
One more night with the monkey screams and belly cramps. My new wife’s very savvy for a twenty year old. After this, work will be heaven.
Mon 25 Jan
Too thirsty to sleep. Where’s my chopper? Stupid wind sounds just like helicopter blades.
*
Soon it’ll get dark. Did I count the days wrong? Mouth is dry as sand. Too weak to throw rocks at monkeys. Beginning to get less grateful.
*
“GENUINE Castaway Experience” they said. But they didn’t mean. . . they wouldn’t. . . would they? Poor Anna must be terrified for me.
Tue 26 Jan
Made an iphone out of coconuts. Called Anna for long talk. Felt much better until I realised I’d hallucinated the whole thing.
*
Anna will sort this out. She’s a smart girl. The blonde’s artificial, anyway. She’ll give that company what for!
My stubble itches.
*
Drank more coconut milk. Threw it up at once. Still better than the yellow choking bile of this morning. Legs covered in bug bites.
Wed 27 Jan
Tried to build a raft. Arms don’t work. Need a lie down, and a nice massage. Monkeys getting braver, and gnashing their teeth right at me.
*
Seawater isn’t like coffee at all.
*
Anna?
Th 28 Jan
. . . . . . .
THE END
