outgrown her life

A friend, who lives remotely, holidayed in the city. Upon returning home, she felt she'd outgrown her life. I knew this not by speaking with her or hearing of her predicament; rather, I saw images of her caged inside her home. I could see her looking out her window and she was far too big for the room. She had to duck her head to fit inside and her arms and legs pressed against the walls. She no longer belonged, nor could she fit back into her existence.

spots, fever, layers, song and shower

In the late afternoon, in the family home of my teenage years, I noticed a ring of raised red skin on my forehead, and another on my chest below my collar bone. I went to my father, who was sitting in his chair in the lounge room, to show him. We found a few more and I was a little perplexed. I needed to be somewhere in about half an hour (a class?) and I noticed I was wearing a green tailored suit, not at all suitable for where I was going. I thought I'd race upstairs and leave the jacket on but swap the pants for jeans; however, in the process of dressing, I realised I was thoroughly saturated with perspiration. I needed to have a shower and quickly. In the bathroom, with the door locked, I began to undress and, while I did, I sang. The acoustics of the bathroom were wonderful and I played with pitch, high and low, devising the song as I went. My clothes, soaked through, were difficult to peel away, and I seemed to remove layer upon layer. Jumpers, tops and more tops. Pants under pants under pants. Even when I finally made it down to my underwear, I found I was wearing several bras and layers of underpants. People - not family - began to queue at the door, waiting to use the bathroom, and I knew I was running late. After discovering yet another layer of underwear, I decided that I would shower regardless. I closed the glass door behind me and washed away the sweat, all the while singing a lilting, lovely song. Upon finishing, the door opened and two old women wandered in. I tried, kindly, to usher them out, encouraging them to wait just a few more minutes while I dressed.

music in the rain

I was in the suburb of my childhood, staying in the house of a friend. The garden sloped away from the house, merging with a park. In the early morning I went outside in the rain to brush my teeth at the tap. The man next door was in his garden, eyes closed, playing a violin. I leaned into a shrub, hoping to remain unseen, so as to listen. I could only just hear the beautiful music over the rain and I realised this was why he was out here: playing his violin, the sound masked by rainfall, so as not to disturb his wife or the neighbours. I felt both joy and sadness, witnessing an old man delight in his passion, but having to be so discreet.

clumsy and floating

At the back door, trying to get in. Locked. I walk around to the sliding glass door; also locked. Back to the back door. If I simply push it ... Yes. I didn't realise that it was this easy to get in. I'll have to look at fixing that. Walk through the back room, which is filled with all kinds of bric-a-brac - vases, books, bowls, sculptures, kitchen utensils and more. I bump a metal bowl filled with flour. It spills onto the floor and I crouch, scooping the flour back into the bowl. There's blue fluff in it. I pick out the fluff, cleaning the flour so as not to waste it. Walk into the central room of the house; the living room. My mother is there. I knock something else and it falls to the ground. I right it and wonder why I am so clumsy today. In fact, I am feeling strange. I tell my mother and sit down in a wooden chair. I feel light headed, giddy, as though I am no longer contained within my body. I levitate - still sitting on the chair - and float around the room. My mother is surprised and looks at me with wonder. As I float over a high cupboard, I see some plants, which are in pots sitting on the cupboard, on fire. Smoke drifts across the room. The leaves are too close to the ceiling and I rearrange them, extinguishing the flames.

nightmare

Night. The home of my youth. My family, gone. Stay very still. Hold my breath. Something unfolding. A woman and three men do something wrong, something unspeakable. They don't know I'm there. From another room, I spy them. They gather, look down at something out of my view. Pin something down. A squeal, blood and a satisfied smile on the woman's face. Something killed - an animal? I run. Into the dark, bare feet on the drive, loud steps follow. Search for my car. Gone. I'm not fast on foot. No choice but to hide. Run down a sharp-stoned lane into shadow. Scale a fence and creep under a neighbour's house, bury myself behind the foundations, disappear into the dark.

robbery

I heard a noise and woke, knowing that someone was in the house. I crept up the stairs and saw two young, fair boys - brothers, about 14 and 10 - in the midst of a robbery. They did not seem in the least surprised to see me, nor concerned; they continued taking my things. I noticed that my computer was missing and, worse, so was the external hard drive on which I back up all of my work and creative projects. I asked them to return it as it was very important to me. They ignored me and went about stealing. Knowing I would have to do something drastic to get through to them, I grabbed the younger boy around the throat and squeezed; not tightly enough to choke or strangle him, but enough that he was distressed, which frightened his brother. Again, I asked them to return my external hard drive. The older boy ran out of the house to retrieve it and, while he was outside, still holding the younger boy firmly by the throat, I called the police. The line was bad and the police seemed not to have a sense of urgency; nonetheless, I told them I was being burgled and where to find the house. The older child returned with the hard drive and I let go of his brother. I could hear voices outside and ventured out into the dark where a gang of youths were waiting. Although they were all involved in the crime, none seemed particularly dangerous. Rather, they seemed to be stealing for thrills, sending the young ones in to collect what goods they might. There were too many of them to counter, so, instead, I acted casually while observing as much as I could, studying the details of their appearances and their vehicles. One young man, barely out of his teens, a big and burly boy with dark, curling hair, cigarette in hand, spoke with me while he waited for the group to reassemble, to leave. I gathered that this was something they'd starting doing regularly to relieve the boredom. He bragged a little, and so doing let slip that they'd robbed someone called Janine twice, and that Charlie had something to do with it. I did my best to appear unperturbed, but committed the names and our conversation to memory. Soon, they all piled into the two cars and sped away. Only moments later, appearing from the opposite direction, the police arrived.

trapped

Early evening and the streets were in darkness. I was in an unfamiliar town, heading home, walking with three tall, burly, bearded mountain men. I liked them immensely, but I knew them little. We reached a narrow lane and the man started down it. I hesitated, scanning the crossroad, realising I had a choice: I could go with them, trust them, or walk back the way we had come and navigate the dark streets alone. Neither option seemed sensible. The men urged me to join them and appeared mystified as to my uncertainty. 'I don't know you,' I said. I looked again back down the road, a few people now milling under the street lights, and thought I'd go that way. Immediately, a gate closed across the lane entrance. A third time, I looked back down the road  and now the people were in turmoil: men hurting women, women hurting one another, gangs travelling up the road toward me. Violence, crime and torture. I ran at the gate, it opened and I fled down the lane, calling to others in the lane to run, run. A young girl started screaming and I clapped my hand over her mouth, running with her, anxious that we should escape unheard, unharmed. At the end of the lane, I emerged into a maze of streets, alone but for the three men. Finding my car, I jumped in and the men all helped to push the car into a secure position from which to climb the steep and alarmingly narrow road. I drove up and, upon reaching a huge step, poked my legs through the car floor and stepped up, dragging the car with me. At the top of the hill I looked back to see that the men had driven a different route and I wondered, had I gone the wrong way? I continued on foot, turned into a dark tunnel and climbed up the steep stairs inside. A crowd of people followed, all desperate to go home. At the top of the stairs, the tunnel opened to a lane that ran between tall buildings. I peeked out. Soldiers waited at one end of the lane to my left, and soldiers wearing a different uniform guarded the other end of the lane to my right. We could not go forward and, because the long, long line of people stretched all the way back down through the tunnel, we were unable to retreat. We were trapped. A soldier appeared at the doorway and was about to blow the whistle when he spied someone he knew, someone he once fancied, standing third in line. She, knowing the privileges of being in his favour, stepped outside but asked to bring one other person with her. She chose a young man from the front of the queue. I held two old women who leant against me for support, tears spilling onto my cheeks as I could see no rescue, no escape. There was no future for those of us trapped in the tunnel, the soldier about to uncover us.

trapped

I was on my way home, having travelled far away. My luggage was packed into the back of a taxi and I sat in the passenger seat, waiting for the taxi driver to collect another person before we could be on our way. The taxi was parked on a road in a park. Rain suddenly bucketed from the sky and pandemonium broke loose. People were running, cars drove wildly around the path and across the grass. In the confusion, the taxi driver started the engine and drove, without the other passenger, attempting to move the car away from the chaos until it had calmed. I was nervous and felt trapped. We drove up the street, through a lot of construction, overseen by numerous police and security guards. We passed a marching band and maneuvered our way through narrow streets and tall buildings. I was lost. The taxi driver, an old man, tried to kiss me. I told him to stop but he persisted until I shouted at him. Even then, he crossed boundaries and I repeatedly had to defend my space. I did not try to leave the taxi; I felt I couldn't. We drove back to the park where we picked up my friend. While the driver was busy with something, I asked her if she would mind being dropped off at my house, then I could drive her home. She was puzzled, but agreed. I didn't want an opportunity where the man might try to come in. I then realised that the man was going to see where I lived, and I tried to concoct a different address. Through the car window, I could see a dear friend in the park and I wanted to go to him, but, again, I felt trapped in the taxi. The driver steered the car across the park and, instead of turning onto the road and going home, he drove through the pond to the other side where he lived in a shack. We alighted the taxi and visited his home. I did not want to be there. The memory of other women haunted the place, women he had taken there. I could not only feel them, but hear them. Some were laughing at us, some were warning. I hoped they knew I was not there willingly, that I would continue to defend my space and that of my friend.

blissful home

We were inside our home with guests. While B was talking with them, I wandered outside into the garden. It was late in the day and the moon had risen; a white disc high in a serene blue sky. The garden was in full bloom and huge soft pink roses had opened overnight. They were fat and lovely, their velvety petals wide and fragrant. I went back inside, eager to tell B and show her our garden. She was in the middle of a conversation so I waited until the time was right and then took her outside. The sea had now risen and instead of a distant view of the ocean, its clear turquoise waters lapped at our garden. We were delighted and surprised. I told B that I thought we were dreaming. She agreed and, knowing that it was merely a dream, we decided to enjoy it, aware that if it was real, many people would now be homeless or drowned. As it was, we experienced a kind of magic. B saw the roses and many other flowers - white and pink trumpet lilies, jasmine and other fragrant flowers - all in bloom.

giant python

I was inside family home where I lived as a teenager. The house had three levels: the garage, laundry and 'rumpus' room on the lower level; the entry, lounge room, kitchen and sunroom on the middle level - the 'heart' of the home; and the bedrooms and bathroom on the upper level. Balconies came off various rooms on all levels. I ran up the stairs from the middle level to the bedroom level toward my bedroom, knowing that there was an intruder, a giant python, in the house. I was desperate to see if the pets and children were unharmed, as the snake was large enough to eat them whole. I raced to the bedroom, calling out to them and, by doing so, distracting the snake, which turned to focus on me. I stayed long enough to observe that the children and animals were alive and well; it appeared that the python was just about to attack them. I then ran back down the stairs, to the front door, the snake - a clammy pale-skinned creature with an enormous head - in close pursuit. I opened the front door and, though the snake reared up and attempted to strike my face, I somehow ushered the snake through the doorway and closed the door firmly behind it. We were safe.

crocodiles and water rising

I was in a room under my family home. The ocean was just outside, waves encircling the house and rising fast. Soon the water gushed into the house and many people swam out into the sea, meeting the waves head on. Rather than venture out, I swam through the now-open glass sliding doors and climbed on top of a corrugated iron shed to watch the crowd. I was eating dates. A crocodile swam out of the shed and into the ocean. I knew that my family were somewhere in the waves and I hoped that they would make it back alive. Twenty or more crocodiles emerged from the shed and powered out into the waves. One huge crocodile lurked below, circling the shed. It reared up out of the water and snapped giant jaws at me. I threw a date in its direction, which distracted the beast long enough for me to leap off the shed into the water and swim back into the house, where the water had now subsided. I closed the doors. After a time, the survivors of the sea left the water and began a long march away from the ocean. The caravan moved steadily, with purpose, the well aiding the injured. I ran through the crowd, searching for my family, and found my mother being carried on a stretcher by a few of her close friends. To my horror, I saw that her hands and her feet had been dismembered, but she had them with her. She seemed to feel no pain and, in fact, was quite happy, confident that her hands and feet would be reattached. She asked me to look for my father. I ran back along the line until I found him, sitting on a hospital bed watching the crowd file past. His legs had been bitten off and he was hooked up to a drip and another monitoring machine. I was devastated, but again he appeared not to be in pain and was sure that it would all turn out for the best. My brother appeared, also searching for family, and we wondered what to do. We were discussing the cataclysmic event and how each of us had done our best to survive it, when again the waves rose and crashed around us. With no time to lose, we unhooked my father from the various tubes, grabbed the hospital bed and pushed him through the waves, joining the procession away from the ocean. I wondered where my sister was and hoped we would find her.

blocking my way

I was in the home that my parents built, where I lived in my teenage years. I was trying to leave the house, hoping to be somewhere on time. I was the only one of my family at home as the others had all left before me. There was, however, another creature, or creatures, there with me, doing their utmost to stop me leaving. The other being was at times one person - a screaming toddler - and at times twins. Sometimes it seemed to be an older, sickly person in a wheelchair. It was both human and otherworldly, perhaps demonic. It had reddish hair and greenish skin, and screamed at the top of its lungs. I ran around the house, doing my best to gather my things, and, at the same time, to find amusements to quieten the creature. It followed me around the house, blocking my path, grabbing at me. It was incredibly strong and its hands were huge, out of proportion with its weedy body. It - they - clutched at me and grasped my wrists, holding me back. Finally, I made it to the front door, but they lunged past me and snatched at the door, again, blocking my way and forcing me back inside, screaming at me all the while. At last, I turned to the creature instead of running from it and talked to it. I cannot recall what I said. But, suddenly, it was quiet. One of the twins, leaned into me, seeking my affection and comfort, but the other turned away from me, distant and cold.

home burned down and snakes

I was sitting on the ground beside a very shallow stream. I was facing the stream, my back to a dead-end area - a small open space flanked by rocks. I was aware that something seemingly catastrophic was about to happen, that a building or a place was about to die, to burn or some such thing, and that the hundreds and thousands of snakes that had inhabited the place needed to flee and that they would be travelling down the stream. I held a stick in one hand and waited for the snakes. They began to appear. First, hundreds of small sandy-coloured snakes swam downstream, following the course of the water. I brushed my stick across the ground at the shore, hoping the vibration would shepherd any stray snakes back into the water, so that they would pass safely by. The snakes doubled, then tripled in number and variety. Striped snakes, green snakes, pythons and more swam down the stream, travelling somewhere. I continued to brush and tap my stick on the shore until I noticed that there were simply too many snakes, that their perpetual writhing motion had caused a rivulet to form that branched off the stream and wound around into the dead-end space in which I sat. Some of the snakes continued to pass by in the larger stream, and some now followed the rivulet and became trapped in the cul-de-sac. I had to leave and the only way to go was up or down stream. I decided to go back to face the disaster, or whatever had occurred. I was grateful that I was wearing high black boots as I stepped into the stream. I waded up-stream, stepping with great trepidation but also a certain calmness, as the snakes passed by me. I was alert for poisonous snakes - brown snakes, red belly black snakes and more - but I did not see any. Most of the snakes appeared quite innocuous, and some were barely snakes at all, more like long leeches. Indeed, some of the leech-like creatures darted out of the water at my legs, most slipping off the wet, black suede of my boots. Again, I was grateful. As I climbed further up the hill, wading through the water, I passed increasingly frightening-looking snakes: huge black snakes with pronounced heads and flared nostrils, snakes with visible fangs and canny eyes. None, however, struck out or bit me. Finally, I reached the top of the hill and stepped out of the stream. I lifted my skirt to check for leeches and, sure enough, there were plenty, attached like barnacles to the area behind my knees and further up my thighs. I set about plucking each of them off, their long green bodies coming away but leaving their mouths still attached to my skin, which I then, with a little more difficulty, pulled off. Their must have been about fifty or more leeches, but, finally, I had removed them all. I looked around me and took in the nature of the disaster: I was standing outside the shell of my first school, which I also understood to be my family home, the place of my roots and my foundations, which had burned down. It was destroyed. I prepared to go inside and salvage what I could, if there was anything indeed that needed to be saved. I was not sure if I felt utterly devastated or greatly relieved, as though now, at last, I could enter a new phase of life. My phone rang. It was my brother, calling to check on me and to tell me that the only thing he wished he could have saved was his music. I told him that I was going in and that, if his music was still there, I would save it for him.

two steep hills

My sister and I were riding bicycles down a very steep road. My sister seemed to have no difficultly and she streamed ahead of me. Everything about her appeared relaxed, even her clothing. She did not wear a helmet, her hair whipped up in the wind, and she wore a blue patterned summer dress that allowed her ease of movement. I, on the other hand, found the steep hill extremely challenging. I felt restricted on my bike, and I could see potholes and gaping gutters appearing on the road. I steered my bike to avoid some of them, and rode - fingers crossed - over those I could not miss. My bicycle felt out of control, flying down the hill at breakneck speed. Even so, my sister was well ahead of me and stopped, halfway down the hill, to wait. As I reached her, I applied the brakes but, in so doing, I toppled the bike and skidded some way down the hill, gripping the road with my body to stop the motion. I was not hurt, though I was shaken. I warily hopped back on the bike and, together, we rode the rest of the way down the hill.
Later, I was driving through the streets of Newcastle, going home. I felt that I had travelled a long way to be here. I was only a street away and I had to turn right and drive down the steepest hill in the city. The road was long and built on such a slope that it was nearly vertical. With my foot planted on the brake pedal, I drove cautiously down the hill, my muscles clenched. At any moment, I felt the car could roll as the nose was pointing so low, or the brakes could fail and I would go sailing off down the streets and crash into the harbour. I passed other cars parked on the hill and I wondered how the owners could park there and feel relaxed about it. I felt that I would be fearful of both the actual act of parking and that, once parked, my car might slip off the hill. I braked all the way down until, finally, I reached the bottom of the hill. Through the window of the house I could see my family and my extended family - including family members no longer with us - gathered in the lounge room, but the gate in the fence around the garden was locked. I lay down on the ground and began to crawl under the gate, until my mother appeared to open it for me. Her cheeks were unusually flushed, as though wearing rosy blush.

family home

I was about to travel home with a companion. Instead of the coastal route, or even the usual inland route, we had just discovered that we were to drive from Queensland to Newcastle via western New South Wales, skirting the border of South Australia. We called my aunty who gave us directions, and, as she did, a hand-drown map of New South Wales appeared before us. She told us the name of a particular road we were to take; the name of the road, although now unclear, had something to do with the word 'safe'. The road appeared on the map, and I circled it. The map and the added markings were in black ink.
Next, I was in Newcastle, walking the streets with some of the male members of my extended family. We were heading to the beach, but we seemed to travel an indirect route, via the railway lines close to the suburb where I lived as a child. We climbed the stairs and crossed the pedestrian bridge over the railway line. As we passed a public pool, I asked my family to wait outside while I ducked in for a moment. I felt I needed to dive into the pool, to do a few laps. Joy surged through my body; I anticipated the wonderful ease of movement and strength I would feel as I moved through the water. I stripped off and jumped in but, instead of feeling lithe and powerful, I felt greatly encumbered. Each stroke took enormous effort. My arms were like heavy weights dragging me down, with very little strength at all. I knew, however, that, should I complete two laps - to the end and back - I would begin a journey toward wellness, and that tomorrow, the laps would be a little easier, and easier again the day after that. I struggled on, willing my arms to circle through the water with each stroke. On the homeward lap, I chose to backstroke, as this had once been my strongest stroke. I tried to find ways to make my arms and hands glide through the water, but still it was as though I had bricks tied to each hand. Nevertheless, I continued until I reached the side of the pool. I jumped out and dried off, dressing again. I checked my reflection in the mirror and noticed that I was still wearing lipstick and, satisfied, I carefully collected my belongings and a few items of my mother's. I was worried that I had taken far too long, but my father, my uncle and other family members were still waiting outside. We continued on. On the way, we stopped at the family home, which was now occupied by my uncle. I had the sense that this house (that does not in real life exist) had been passed down through the generations of our family. We all sat in the lounge room, enjoying one another's company until a team of workmen entered who had been working outside. The leader told my uncle that the work that needed to be done would cost a great deal more than he had originally quoted, and he mentioned an estimated figure that was huge. My uncle stood up and told them to leave, ushering them out the door, a little red in the face. We were all quiet and we could hear the workmen laughing and visiting the hotel across the road. We were not sure if this meant that we would lose the family home or if we could find a way to raise sufficient money to repair it.

friend, noisy men and colour

All fragmented, scattered dreams of late. Difficult to piece together and communicate.

I was outside the house of my late grandmother and grandfather, having walked the streets to get there. It was now dark and I wanted to go in. I found my dear friend, also heading there, and we arrived together. I felt that we were closely bonded, though we hadn't seen each other for some time. His family and some of mine were inside. I noticed a huge painting on the wall, a dark blue and green abstract of a woman, painted in acrylics. I recognised the style as my friend's wife's. I went into number one bedroom to change my clothing, but detoured to another place, another house. There, I was expected to eat dinner and, although I wanted to see the people there too, I was rushing as I knew I was expected back at my grandmother's house before midnight. I understood that I was to meet someone there. The dinner was delicious seafood  in broth. I didn't want to hurry, but I felt urgent. After dinner, I remembered that I needed to change my clothing. I found a suitcase of clothes and rummaged through it, finding a pale pink shift, jeans, a chocolate coat and brown boots. This would do. I changed and started the journey back, but it was nearing twelve and I could not remember how to get there.

Later, I was driving out of an industrial estate. Buildings ringed with scaffolding, men leaning on ladders, machinery roaring. I wanted to be somewhere quiet. I drove along the footpath, as though walking, and waited at the lights. My car diminished, becoming nothing more than a scooter or something similar. The protective walls of the car were gone. A man stood in the middle of a main road, conducting traffic around the roadworks. Car engines, trucks and heavy machinery; all loud. A young man working on the site, came over and leaned on me, his arms around me heavy and blackened with grease. I felt uncomfortable.

Later again, I was at a hairdresser's studio. I was going to have my hair done and I was looking at colour swatches, to choose a shade. Instead of swatches of hair, the colours were displayed in an intricate drawing, each aspect of the drawing a different colour. It was a complicated system as, say, part of a leaf, or a rabbit, might be a different shade of gold, with no label or information to clarify the shade. I was supposed to find a preferred shade among the hundreds, and name it.

past, glass, man and walking on knees

I was in the neighbourhood where I grew up, across the road from my home, walking through the yards of our neighbours. I was the age I am now and I wondered if anyone would recognise me if they saw me. Apart from a secretive kiss in the shadows, against the wall of the house across the road, I cannot recall what I was doing; I am only aware of revisiting my past.
Next, I was in the bathroom of the family home. It was very changed and now seemed to be open to the public. I put my hand up to a broken window and tried to pull out the sharp shards so that no-one would lacerate themselves upon visiting. I extracted shard after shard, but somehow ended up with dozens of tiny splinters of glass in my hand. I then turned my attention to removing the glass splinters, red blood covering my hand and dripping onto the floor. Someone came in to use the bathroom. I asked them to wait while I cleaned it up a little. I washed my hands and scrubbed the sink and the floor where a puddle of blood had pooled.
Next, I was to meet a colleague who was visiting from overseas. He was a tall, rotund man, around my age. We were to go to lunch as part of business proceedings. I stepped into a toilet cubicle for a moment and he followed me in, assuming intimacy. I asked him to leave, which he did. Outside, my sister appeared and I told her about the man, saying that I thought I should cancel the meeting because of his actions and expectations. She was certain that, indeed, I should not proceed any further with him. I went to find him, but I could not see him. I travelled up and down escalators, climbed endless staircases and crossed vast expanses of empty space.
Next, I was walking on my knees through a crowd. I saw a lovely Chow Chow dog adorned with black jewellery and feathers, walking alongside a circus performer. I fell behind the person I was walking with, as she was standing properly upright, walking normally. I was struggling, each step awkward and labouring. I continued on and eventually sat to rest awhile. A young woman approached and I told her that I thought she had a beautiful face. She said she knew, and, in response to my surprise at her candidness, she said she felt that it was important to be honest and not falsely modest. There were other aspects about her person that she would improve upon, but she was perfectly happy with her face. She was at ease with herself.

home

B and I were sleeping in the bedroom of what seemed to be a spacious caravan or a boat. In any case, I had the feeling that our home was relocatable, that our current situation was temporary. I woke and looked through the window directly behind our bed head. I could see that we were parked on a road leading to the beach, only about one hundred metres away. The tide was high and giant turquoise waves rose and curled toward the shore. I watched as a surfer braved the mammoth waves, and then saw an enormous shadow riding the wave behind him. It was so vast, dwarfing the man on the board, that I knew it could only be a blue whale, the largest animal on our planet. I woke B to show her as yet another wave rose high above the sea bed, another titanic shadow revealed in the curl of the wave. The waves towered above us, crashing closer and closer until our home was carried by the water, rocking back and forth and butting against the rocks. We were at the mercy of the ocean and cowered under the massive shadows of the whales, which endangered our very lives.

neglect and spiders

I am at my grandparents' home, in the suburb where I grew up. As in real life, they are no longer alive, and the house is run down. I am staying overnight, perhaps longer, and it is dark - time for bed. I am walking around the house, shutting windows and doors, somewhat afraid of what lies beyond the walls of the house. The house itself is in semi-darkness and each corner, each doorway poses a new ordeal: is there someone hiding in the shadows? I walk out onto the enclosed back verandah and notice that I have left the back door unlocked and the window leading into the bathroom gapes open - a black hole. I steel myself and pull the window sash firmly down. From here, I can also see that the laundry windows are open. I step toward the dark doorway, but find myself caught in spiders' webs. Ten or more spiders have built webs that drape over the entrance to the laundry, all non venomous species, but large and frightening just the same. Spiders clutch at my skin. I backtrack, extracting myself from the webs, shaking the last of the spiders free, shuddering at the memory of their touch. I close the back door and then notice Snuffy, my grandparents' dog, sitting inside on the verandah. She looks neglected, her hair bedraggled and wet, her countenance sad. I thought she was dead. I reopen the door to send her outside, down to her bed, but as I am closing the door, I see her plead with me, lifting one paw into the air. I cannot send her outside. I open the door and bend over to pet her. I feel her oldness and her vulnerability and I want to take care of her. It is too heartbreaking and I wake.

spiders

It is the middle of the night and I am going home. Home is my family home, where I have not lived for over twenty years. I am late and I know my mother will be worried; I hope she is not waiting up. I am walking down the street towards the house, urgent to arrive. As I approach the house, I can see that the lights are on. I check the letterbox and there is mail for me - a lot of letters crammed into the box, dated back months, even years. I particularly notice a hand-addressed yellow envelope and I am keen to open it. I go to climb the stairs to the front door, but there is a large spider in its web blocking the way. It is too dark to negotiate a way around the web - I am not certain where it begins and where it ends - so I make my way around to the other side of the verandah, to the other entry stairs. There is more light here and I can see more webs and more big spiders, blocking my way in. There are giant Gold Orb-Weaving spiders and spindly St Andrew's Cross spiders, all passive in their webs. I break a stick off a small tree in the garden and wave it around and around, winding the spiders into their own webs, clearing a path to my home. Later, once inside, I am holding the yellow envelope and I tell my family about the spiders. They notice a spider bite on my hand; I had not noticed it before. There are two punctures on my palm, quite large, most definitely from a spider. I do not appear to be poisoned.