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Conditions of release and all that...

5 years ago

December

The boy waited in the early light. Soon enough, the old ute churned the road into opaque clouds, announcing his father’s return from his pre-dawn rounds of the farm. A slow, insidious erosion had left white burnt sods that crumbled to dust where the grass had once grown. Warrego River had turned thick and yellow. The grazier emerged from the dust that had swallowed his truck in the paddocks.

“Luke!”

“Dad?”

“Any calls?”

“Nup... nothin’.”

The grazier exhaled a curse, removed his hat and wiped his brow. He pounded up the wooden stairs to the verandah and leaned against the railing. Turning to squint into the distance, he scanned the horizon - searching for the clouds that promised relief. It was only a habit, rather than a hope. His son joined him.

“Y’know Luke, we’ve been through floods, famine and stock losses, but we can’t keep going anymore.” His voice changed.

“It’ll be alright Dad...”

“We just need some...” he whispered to the skies. The drought had crept up on him, and had struck Bellwood with so much ferocity that it had finally broken his resolve. Decades of his family had been sown into that land.

The phone call mobilised his son. In the doorway, Bellwood blocked the light and shadowed his son to the phone.

“Dad, the mayor wants to speak to you.”

Yes he understood that moving them all was a costly exercise. Yes he understood they had their hands tied. Yes, he understood.

Silence burdened the room and the grazier’s eyes wandered to the pile of correspondence stacked on the desk. A paper weight pinned down the bills, as if it was his final act of control.

He let his words simmer in the air: “We can’t sell, borrow or leave.”

The grazier moved towards a cabinet near the door and removed a long range calibre hunting rifle from its dusty depths. After locking the cabinet, he brushed past his son and moved out to the verandah and then down the front steps. His decision had already been made in the early hours of a Sunday morning, a time when he made promises he intended to keep.

His son opened his mouth to protest, but his attention was stolen by a calf heading towards a large tree just beyond the front gate. As if caught in a strong gust, it swayed and teetered on its spindly legs. Lost without its mother, the baby had wandered from the paddock, guided only by instinct and desperation. Under the shade of the distant spindly gum, the calf bowed its head, and a puff of dust billowed into nothing.

His father noticed it too. The shot blasted through the thick layer of heat that hung between the house and the tree. Without glancing at his son, the grazier moved inside the hose once more and emerged with another rifle; he extended it to Luke.

“Take the bullets. Load the gun and get in the truck... we’ve work to do.”

Dust enveloped the vehicle, announcing their departure.

On the horizon, the white wisps of pale clouds had turned into black bulbs, and the rolling thunder greeted the distant gunshots.

Conditions of release and all that...

5 years ago

Seeing that things didn't go to plan, there'll be more stories coming in future 

            :                         ^)