Day 7: Completed Story
1.
A friend got me the job – $90 an hour, starting the day after he left on holiday. Seemed a lot of cash to work for the local tourism office.
*
The boss looked at me silently for an hour. “Can you swim?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Can you run?”
“Yes.”
“How long can you hold your breath?”
*
I said, “So, you want me to get attacked by a crocodile?”
“That’s right.”
“For. . . tourism?”
He said, “Works every time.”
I said, “Okay.”
2.
It was a pretty spot, with a handful of limp eucalyptus and the babble of the stream keeping me company. Crocs watched me without blinking.
*
I hooked up a high-tension cable primed to spring the instant I released my grip. Then I put on my wetsuit and jumped in. Nothing happened.
*
Forgot to put the video recorder on! I backed up slowly and realised the sun had cooked its battery. So I SMSed for more. Stupid crocs.
3.
Take two. Camera on this time. I kept a firm hold on the cable release button and went deeper. The crocs didn’t move. Why won’t they eat me?
*
It occurred to me that I actually didn’t want to lose a leg, and then – WHAM! Huge jaws clamped on my foot and SPROING! I flew into the air.
*
The crocodile swung in wild cartwheels with me, like a dog with a toy. We both flew over the campsite and landed sprawling in two trees.
4.
Pretty sure being stuck in a tree next to a croc (also stuck) was tourism gold. Too bad my leg was broken and I couldn’t get to the cameras.
*
A pigtailed girl examined me. She said, “Whatcha doin?”
“I’m stuck, and I need help.”
She shrugged, and went to the water.
“No!” I yelled.
*
The girl’s parents hustled her away, but promised to come back real soon. I saw the dust as they drove away. My crocodile yawped at me.
5.
Thirsty. Leg hurt. Croc looked angrier. The little girl’s parents took a video of me and it before fleeing. At least I know I’m on Youtube.
*
An aboriginal man yelled, “Watcha doin?” until I woke up.
“Help me,” I said.
Then a croc spotted him and ran across the mud to kill him.
*
My new friend is Will: “So, you didn’t think to mention the crocs around here?”
“Sorry.”
Will shrugged it off, shaking our whole tree.
6.
Will’s crocodile guard finally left, so Will went to fetch – something. It turned out to be another camera. Hilarious.
*
The RSPCA arrived before the medical team. They cut down the tree and my croc vanished underwater without sparing me a farewell glance.
*
Morphine! Yes! Besht medicine ever. My leg’s not even broken anymore – I’m sure of it. Can I have a crocodile for a pet? Pleeeeasse?
7.
The boss gave me a cheque, minus expenses. “Well done,” he said.
I shrugged.
He lifted one eyebrow. “Have you ever fought an emu?”
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.
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 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. . .)
Felicity Banks 