Please respect copyright and do not use any part, reprint or use for AI training without the authors permission.

LOST IN TRANSLATION

Ernie was pale as he said ‘oohh daaamn!’  He was holding the joystick with bloodless fingers and I could only stare at them because, looking out the window meant I had to see at the planets surface coming up way too fast.  And seeing, more clearly than anything, the last seconds of my life. I couldn’t face that.

‘Jay.  Grab my hands on the stick and pull with me as hard as you can,’ hissed Ernie urgently.  We struggled with the manual control. There had been a major flame-out of the onboard computer because of the meteor strike that hit the ship in the wrong place.

Afraid but ready to do anything to live, I jumped out of my seat, lent over Ernie’s armrest and clamped my hands over his.  With my feet jammed against the stanchion of his seat I added extra leverage. I could feel the joystick begin to inch backward, to level out the shuttle ever so slightly.  But not nearly enough.

We were still high over the forrested escarpment that ran nearly eight hundred miles down the west coast of the largest continent.  To the left was thirty miles of forrest which slowly changed to savannah and then desert some eighty miles away. To the right I could see the fertile fields that started from the bottom of the escarpment to the ocean ten miles away.

There was no way we could move the joystick to land over the ocean or even the desert.  We were heading straight into the forrest belt and collision with the centuries old trees, many which stood close to three hundred feet tall.  No soft landing there.

‘Pull!’ Ernie screamed and I pulled with all the might my fear lent me.  The nose of the shuttle edged up another degree.  ‘More you mongrel!’ yelled Ernie and I wasn’t sure if he meant me or the shuttle.  Not that it mattered, I pulled with everything my body and mind possessed.  Another degree and instead of heading straight down we now were coming in at 85 degrees.  I quickly checked the altimeter and saw we were only 27,000 ft up and the dial was spinning to zero alarming fast.  My heart beat frantically, I was sweating, panting and my head was starting to swim from the adrenalin overdose and holding my breath.  I pulled harder than I ever thought possible.

Slowly, too slowly, the nose came up another few degrees. 

We hit the tree tops angled at 55 degrees.  I heard a noise like a thousand nails raking down a blackboard.  Then everything went black.

I woke with an acrid smell tickling my nose-hairs.  I made an effort to open my eyes but only one would respond.  Myopic, I saw smoke, twisted metal and tree branches.  Then I heard a moan.

‘Ernie?’  No response.  I didn’t think I had moaned.

Slowly getting my elbows under me I managed to roll from my back to my side to come face to face with a bloody visage.

‘Ernie?’ I asked again and gently touched his shoulder.  I could see he was still strapped into his seat but two blue orbs managed to blink and I knew he was still alive.

‘We need to get out of here!’  I knew it was a stupid understatement even as my banged up hands were undoing his seat belt.  I moved my legs and quickly guessed nothing was broken, although I hurt all over.  Ernie was not so lucky.  His left shoulder looked funny so I got my arm under his right one and we both rose awkwardly together.

Ernie groaned again and when I looked into his eyes the left pupil was slightly dilated and I knew he was in trouble.  But it would be worse if we didn’t get out of the wreck before it went up in a ball of flame.

Slowly but surely we worked our way out of the mess.  Just as we were about to scramble out of the cockpit I saw Ernie’s flight bag,  grabbed the strap an slung it over my head.  I had no idea what was in it, but it might have something useful for survival.  We needed to hang in until someone came to rescue us, always assuming people knew we had crashed and where.

It took quite some time to get a reasonable distance from the crash site with poor Ernie’s injuries.  Every moment I expected a blast from behind would finish us.  But we were just a tiny bit lucky. The shuttle didn’t blow.

An hour later we had gone about eight hundred feet and we hunkered down behind the trunk of a fallen tree.  Panting I grabbed Ernie’s bag and rifled through it.  Two chocolate bars, reports and a map.

‘Ernie, do you know exactly where we went down?’

‘Not really,’ he grumbled.  ‘I was working on trying to fly.’

‘I hope someone comes soon,’ I said.  ‘You don’t look too good.’

‘You want to be inside here with me,’ he joked half heartedly.

As I was studying the map and trying to remember any specific landmarks from my glimpse when we came down, I saw the name of the forrest.  Then, probably because of shock and surprise that we were still alive I began to giggle.  It grew into a full blown hysteria and I howled and couldn’t stop.

‘Jay! Hey Jay! What’s the matter?’ Ernie asked anxiously.

Getting partial control I said between bouts of giggles and wiping my eyes, ‘I just found the name of the forrest.’ It lies between the coast and the desert.  They gave it a suitable name.’  Giggles overtook me again.

Finally, I regained enough control to see Ernie’s worried features staring at me. 

I took a deep breath and said as straight as I could, ‘Ernie, we are lost in “Translation”!’

FINDERS KEEPERS

His pick struck a very hard piece of rock, bounced back at him and nearly hit him in the forehead.

‘Bother,’ he mumbled crankily as he resettled the pick in his calloused hands and began to dig out around the obstruction.

Lurk-Behind-Stones was tired and bored. Digging deep in the tunnels for the elusive ‘Amulet of Sist’ was hot and monotonous work, but unlike his dwarf brethren he did not relish the shared physical labour or the dank smell of the cramped tunnels. At a very young age he had accidentally taken a wrong turn from the foundry where he was learning to make halberds and swords. He found himself at a tunnel exit. At first the dim light sweeping in from the bend in the tunnel had hurt his eyes but curiosity made him creep forward. He found his eyes adjusting and he edged closer to the turn. Finally, with heart throbbing and nerves a-twitch, he looked around the corner. Just ahead was the opening which, when he got to it, lead onto a plateau high up in their mountain stronghold. The sunshine was new and warm, the grasses and trees a feast for his eyes and the smells were fresh and uplifting.

Lurk-Behind-Stones saw the ‘outside’, and it was beautiful.

He had run back to his home recess in the main cavern deep within the tunnel system. Initially his race back had been painful as he stumbled into walls and stubbed his toes on rocks in his path while his eyes re-adjusted to the dimness of the torch-lit tunnels. He ran to his mater and began to tell her excitedly about the ‘outside’.  His babble stopped when his mater thumped him on the head hard enough so that he saw little coloured lights and fell to the ground.

‘Foolish dwarf, stupid dolt. How many times have you been told about the dangers of ‘outside’,’ his mater scolded.  The lecture from his pater and the ridicule he got from his siblings soon stopped Lurk-Behind-Stones from telling anyone about his adventure and, much to the delight of his mater and pater, he settled down to study metallurgy and smithing. But something had changed. When it came time to choose which smith-master to apprentice with, Lurk-Behind-Stones could not decide. He was sent to the mine to work until he came to his senses. That was now many birth anniversaries ago.

Another bouncing strike against hard rock bought Lurk-Behind-Stones back to current predicament. He was alone in this branch of the main mine. No-one really liked to work with the silent and surly dwarf and the mine supervisors had taken to sending him into small confined spaces to work alone. Lurk-Behind-Stones had become used to it if not entirely reconciled to his fate.

‘Bother, Crumble and Rockfall!’ he swore as he put his pick down and brought the torch closer to the stubborn rock.

‘Oh My!’ he whispered when he saw what was halting his progress. Using his neck cloth and dampening it with water from his canteen, he wiped loose dirt and rock from the dark crystal-like protuberance he had unwittingly dug out. The additional light reflected off the facets of the crystal but deep inside Lurk-Behind-Stones could just make out the outline of a dagger.

‘Lurk,’ roared his supervisor from the side-tunnel entrance. ‘I can’t hear digging. You slacking off again! Do I need to come down there?’

Not wanting company, Lurk-Behind-Stones answered, ‘No, just taking a drink,’ as he pick up his pick and began to work the crystal from the rock wall.

Satisfied he heard work being done, Green-on-Rock, his boss, moved on to check on his crew working down the main tunnel.

Now Lurk-Behind-Stones worked as if his life depended on it. In no time at all he had extracted the two-foot semi-round crystal from its thousand year hiding place. As he placed it down at his feet, Lurk-Behind-Stones heard Green-on-Rock returning.

‘Good work,’ called Green-on-Rock as he heard the furious clanging of the pick and he returned back to his cave to write his mid-day report in the heavy ledger.

Making a carry bag from his coat, Lurk-Behind-Stones put the crystal into it and, checking at the entrance to his branch and seeing no-one, began his journey back to the ‘outside.’ He took a very circuitous route to avoid being seen and, panting heavily, hungry and not a little afraid, made it back to that plateau before the end of his shift. No one would know where he had gone and he had no-one he regretted not saying goodbye to.

Rain ‘outside’, made it easier for Lurk-Behind-Stones’ eyes to adjust to the additional light. He walked out into the light drizzle and away from his home and everything he had known. When he reached a pile of rocks some two kilometers from the tunnel entrance he stopped and sagged to the ground, overcome by his daring, lack of food and water as well as the weight of the crystal now cradled between his knees.  He reached down and untied the arms of his coat and laid the crystal open to the light. As the diffused sunlight hit the dark crystal a flare went up and when Lurk-Behind-Stones could see again, he found himself in possession of the second most sacred icon of dwarf legend, Grim-the-Night’s dagger.

Lurk-Behind-Stones took the dagger in his calloused hand and raised it toward the brighter patch in the cloud cover. He felt the magic it contained begin to work down his arm.

‘Finders, Keepers,’ he yelled.

APOPHIS

Note: This story is based on a real asteroid called Apophis that it is due to pass in near-Earth orbit in 2029 and again in 2036 (see Wikipedia entry). The story seemed appropriate after a near miss a few years ago when the small bits of an asteroid that hit Russia.

Diary entry: 19 February, 2036. Apophis is closing. We have been observing the asteroid every nanosecond of the day and tomorrow we attempt its destruction. It has to work. Everything says this is the optimum distance; one that has the highest probability of success. But I’m worried. It all relies on my work, my calculations. Did I get it right? Did I miss something? I know it’s all been checked by anyone who’s anyone in the astrological community, but still, what if I’m wrong. I could be responsible for the destruction all human life on Earth.

Garland woke early next morning to bright sunshine that highlighted the dust motes as it shone through his bedroom window. His head ached and his stomach still had not settled. Gathering his painfully low reserves he struggled to rise, the room spinning as he stood. He waited until his equilibrium was somewhat restored and headed for his morning ablutions. An hour later, after a rushed breakfast, he was at his station in the observatory. It was 7am. There were only 52 days until Apophis was due to strike Earth.

Garland looked up at the composite photo made by the ArchAngel satellite sent to orbit the asteroid. It showed all 325 meters of icy, pockmarked space rock. As early as January 2013, Goldstone radar had ruled out any possibility of it striking Earth in 2036 – at odds of 140,000,000 to 1. But something had altered Apophis’ course after its last near-Earth visit in 2029. No-one knew what had happened in the outer reaches of the Solar System, but Apophis, named after the Egyptian sun god Ra: Apep – the Uncreator, was heading straight for central Australia. The speed of the asteroid, its mass, even after bits burned off on entry to Earth’s atmosphere, would have a relatively smaller but similar outcome as the impact of Chicxulub, the 10km asteroid that hit in the Yukatan in Mexico 65 million years ago. That one resulted in the death of the dinosaurs; first and directly by the tsunami, then by acid rain and fires that destroyed plant life leaving 90% of life within thousands of miles dead and affecting the weather and tectonic actions, spreading the effect worldwide.

Although significantly smaller than Chiculub, Apophis’ impact would have a disastrous effect on Earth’s weather patterns, exacerbating the already problematic climate change. It would still be enough to eventually wipe out human life on Earth.

            ‘Morning Garland,’ called a chirpy voice. Adeline, the administrator’s assistant, was an optimist with no reservations about the success of the ArchAngel mission.

            ‘Morning,’ replied Garland with little enthusiasm.

            ‘Don’t forget the 8am meeting in the Conference Room, Garland,’ she said as she approached. ‘Today’s the day!’

            ‘Argh!’ he muttered in response as Adeline sailed off to the office suite.

            Four hours later the entire staff of the observatory was gathered in the Kennedy space centre-like control room watching the visual screens that sent images from ArchAngel. Garland was watching the cool and calm Air Force pilot at the controls of ArchAngel while his own sweat beaded his hairline and showed up as dark patches on the back and underarms of his shirt.

            ‘Please, please, please.’ Garland muttered the begging mantra under his breath.

            ‘Seven minutes from separation,’ said the calm voice of Colonel Anderson, the pilot.

            Garland was close to hyperventilation.

            ‘Two minutes and counting,’ noted Anderson.

            Garland passed out.

Diary entry: 7 March 2036.  I finally have the energy to pick up my pen and continue this diary. I knew I had some of the calculations wrong. I knew it. The observations suffered from a slight misinterpretation of ArchAngel’s readings. I should have looked at them myself, but they wouldn’t let me. Just said I was paranoid. Now they know. Now they understand how important it was.

            I don’t know if I should be happy, angry or simply sad. ArchAngel did its job, sort of. Apophis the asteroid will not hit Earth. The nuclear device that was part of ArchAngel separated and went off just like it was supposed to but the miscalculations meant that it didn’t hit exactly where it was supposed to.

The result is that now the bits and pieces of Apophis are still on a trajectory to Earth. They are much smaller, but they will still cause havoc. They will hit the atmosphere all over Earth with unforeseeable consequences. Certainly, there will be loss of life.

            But Earth is saved.

For now

            And there is another, larger asteroid on its way.      

#########

Help In Need

by C.M. Sheely

Astra hurried from her parked the car behind Woolworths as the winter wind cut up under the hem of her down parka. Her fingers ached bitterly from the early morning cold and for the thousandth time and she wished for a warm pair of gloves.  Urgh, winter in Goulburn! she grumbled inwardly. The Southern Tablelands of New South Wales were notorious for the chilly winds.

   Warmth enveloped her as the sliding doors of the store drew her in.  With a sigh she hurried to the baby section to pick up the disposable nappies and baby food she needed. Her war-widows pension only ever cover the basics, the mortgage and little more.  Just to go shopping she had to rely on her elderly neighbour to sit with Cilla and she felt she could not leave for very long.  Back out to the cold and the drive home;  the old car heater barely making a difference even though the engine was warm. ‘Hi, I’m back,’ she called as she entered the old government house on Findlay Road she and Paul had bought just before he left for Afghanistan.  The fibro three bedroomed house needed insulation and was always cold despite the large electric heater in the small sitting room.  They’d had such hopes for this little place; such plans to do it up when he returned.  All gone now.

   ‘Hello Astra,’ replied old Ernie from next door.  He was well into his seventies and a Vietnam veteran.  Astra was sure he felt a duty to help her since Paul was killed in action.  With her family an eight hour drive away in Cobar, she had no-one else.  She’d not had time to make any friends and Paul’s family were distant.  They blamed her for his death somehow.  They lamented the fact Cilla was a girl and left her to it.

   Cilla was happily asleep in Ernie’s arms.  At seven weeks she had become quite accustomed to Ernie’s old man smell.  Even to Astra it was a small comfort and reminded her a little of her Gramps.

   ‘I see she’s been good.’

   ‘Oh yes, a real sweetie.  Makes me remember my Alice at that age,’ the old man replied.  I was away a lot of the time but there for Alice’s birth.  Weren’t there for Tommy though.  Elsie did most of the hard yakka with the kids.’

   She’d heard this a few times recently and knew Ernie had a deep regret about not being there for his kids and Elsie.  His kids, living in Sydney and Melbourne, rarely visited.

   Astra gently removed Cilla from Ernie’s arms and placed her in the cot that lived in the warmth of the living room.  ‘Can I make you a coffee, Ernie?’

   ‘That would be lovely,’ he said with a smile.  ‘You know, Astra, you can count on me.’

   She turned from the sleeping Cilla and gave Ernie a warm smile. ‘Yes, I do. And it’s a great comfort Ernie.’

   Two days later she went next door when Ernie hadn’t come in for his morning chat.  The front door was unlocked.  Her heart skipped a beat. She knew something was wrong. Pushing through the door with Cilla snuggled in her arms, she found  Ernie in his recliner in front of the television that was happily blaring away.  Ernie was pale, eyes open and and cloudy and very dead.

#

‘Mrs Ferne,’ Harkin the lawyer said gently, ‘Mr Grimes left you a small something in his will along with a letter.’  Harkin was sitting at the small dining room table, papers open in front of him and a small box beside them. 

   ‘Oh,’ was all Astra could produce.  Cilla was being grumpy and was wriggling on the blanket a few feet away from the heater.  Her cry distracted Astra.

   ‘I’ll leave them with you,’ continued Harkin, ‘and if you have any questions you can call me at this number,’ he added, leaving his business card on the small box. He rose to leave.

   Remembering her manners, Astra led him to the door a few paces away. ‘Thank you,’ she managed as she closed the door on the compact, grey-suited man.  Then she turned to pick up a squalling Cilla and wondered what she would do without her kindly neighbour.  Her eyes teared up and she shook her head. I need to be strong now, she told herself.

   She fed and changed Cilla and cuddled her till she slept before placing her carefully in the cot.  Then she remembered the box and the letter.  She opened the letter first.

   Dear Astra,

You remind me so much of my Elsie.  She was a strong and capable woman.  I know it will be difficult for you but I’m sure you will get through any problems you face, just as my Elsie did.

Elsie was a special person and she had a depth I cannot fathom.  She always had a particularly special place for this little box and when things got bad she would take it and sit with it quietly somewhere, alone.  I have no idea why, but something about it helped her at the worst times.  She told me it was her saviour when I went missing in action.

I thought you might like it.  I don’t have a key for it but I’m sure you can organise something.

Thank you again for your company and sometimes remind Cilla when she’s older that there was an old man who was happy to be there for her.

It was signed in Ernie’s elegant cursive script, Ernest M. Grimes.

  Astra went to pick up the box. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed as she touched it and immediately jerked her hand away. She’d felt a tingly electric change shoot up her fingers and arm. ‘Oh!’ she said again as a feeling of peace and harmony enveloped her for just a second or two.  And a third, disappointed ‘Ohhh!’ as the feeling dissipated.

  ‘What on earth….’ She said out loud and eyed the box suspiciously. Mr Harkin had handled it and he showed no sign of it affecting him.  Ernie’s letter didn’t mention that it had any special charge or to be careful of it.  But then he wouldn’t, would he, she thought. He’d want to keep it a secret.  If he knew.

  Cilla got restive again and then began to cry loudly.  Already upset, Astra felt she didn’t need a bad day from her little girl.  She wanted a sleep herself; needed it actually.  With a resigned sigh she went to pick up Cilla.  But this time Cilla wouldn’t settle.  She curled her little knees up to her tummy and waved her arms about, wriggling like a worm.  Damn, realised Astra, she’s got colic.  Now what?

  Two hours later, totally worn out, Cilla finally passed a great deal of gas, burped a few times and fell into an exhausted sleep.  Astra lay down on the couch, deeply fatigued and also fell into a deep asleep … and dreamed peaceful dreams.

  They both slept for nearly four hours. When Cilla woke Astra with a quiet but happy chuckle, both were in a much better mood.  While Cilla was still happy to keep herself occupied batting at the mobile over her cot, Astra went to make herself a quick sandwich and a coffee.  Then she sat down at the dining room table to look at the little box.

  It had delicately carved figures on all sides. The front had a exquisite silver filigree latch lock with a tiny key hole at the centre.  Gathering up her courage she laid her hand on the box again but this time there was no energy discharge.  She got up to get a paper clip from the papers beside her chair where she kept the pile of bills and bank statements.  She straightened it as she walked back to the table. Sitting down and inserted the metal into the tiny lock.  It just fit.  A little jiggle, a click and the top sprang open.  It contained another handwritten letter but in a different script to Ernie’s’.

To whomsoever opens this,

You have a treasure here that must be carefully guarded and only passed on to someone you can fully trust.  You will undertstand after you have found all its benefits.

But beware, misuse brings calamity.

Elsie May Grimes

  Great, though Astra, no instructions, just a dire warning.

  Over the next six months, as Cilla continued to flourish, Astra occasionally touched the box that now lived as a decoration on the only bookshelf she owned.  When she got depressed she would just lay a hand on the box and the feeling dissipated.  If she got lonely, she placed her hand on the box and someone would knock on the door within the hour. 

  The first time Astra thought it was a coincidence as the new neighbours, who had bought Ernie’s house, knocked to introduced themselves. 

  ‘Hello,’ said the attractive brunette standing in front of a tall man, ‘I’m Margie and this my husband Steve.  We’ve just move in next door.  Thought we’d come over and get acquainted.’  It didn’t take long before they were friends.  They were the best neighbours Astra could have hoped for.

  The week that Margie and Steve left to visit family in Melbourne, Astra again felt lonely and went to the box for comfort.  Ten minutes later a lovely lady from the Uniting Church came by.

  ‘Hi, I’m Elizabeth Rolands,’ her mellow voice explained.  ‘I heard from Steve and Margie that you’re a widow and I thought I should come and visit.’

  By the time Cilla turned one and was toddling about the furniture, Astra was a member of the local Uniting Church and had a lovely coterie of friends.  Every Sunday she and Cilla would go to services.  Each Sunday Astra said a prayer of gratitude to Ernie and his mysterious wife Elsie for leaving her the lovely box.  Goulburn turned out to be a wonderful place. Until Cilla turned fourteen.

#

‘Hello, Mrs Ferne,’ said the stern voice on the phone, ‘I’m Geraldine Murton, your daughter’s home room teacher.’ 

  Astra felt a chill go through her. ‘Yes,’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘Is your daughter at home?’ asked the teacher.

  ‘No. Isn’t she at school?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Ferne, but she hasn’t been at school for two days.  I thought she was ill and was just checking.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she managed.  ‘She left for school normally and yesterday came home at the normal time,’ informed Astra.

  ‘Well,’ there was hesitation in the voice now. ‘I think you may need to talk to her.  And when you do please make an appointment to come and see me before she returns to school.’

  ‘OK,’ said Astra. ‘But why come and see you.’

  ‘It is likely she is to be excluded from school.  She has been some trouble of late and left school ground when she should not have.’

  ‘Why am I hearing about this now?’ demanded Astra, anger suddenly hot, not just at her daughter for skipping school but at the teacher for not contacting her earlier.

  ‘I’m sorry Mrs Ferne, Cilla told us you were very ill.  We thought that was why she was acting out.’  Astra was speechless.  ‘Mrs Ferne, are you still there?’

  ‘Umm, yes.  Yes, I will deal with this and speak to you after.’                                        

  Anger hot as hell blazed in Astra but she set the phone down with great care.  She wanted to throw it hard against a wall but years of parsimony held – she didn’t want to spend the money on a replacement.  It was eleven in the morning and she had no idea where Cilla was; no idea where to look for her.

  ‘I’ll just wait till she comes home,’ she decided.  But she could not sit still.  Her eyes fell on the box that she had only dusted over the past eight or nine years.  She walked over to the bookcase and lay her hand on the box.  Nothing.  Surprised she picked it up and took it to the dining room table that was by now a little the worse for wear.  She opened the box and found, to her amazement, a small roll of parchment wrapped with a thin red ribbon.  She took it out and unrolled it.

  ‘Use your instincts,’ it said.  Nothing more.

  ‘Ahhhh,’ she yelled as she scrunched up the paper and threw it away.  It landed on the table only a foot away.  She felt her instinct was to rant and rave and go out to all the places she thought Cilla might be like the Argyle Mall.  Yet common sense prevailed and she calmed just enough to realise that would not help.  Showing up Cilla before her mates would exacerbate the situation.  She went to make herself a cup of camomile tea and returned to the dining room table.  The box was still open and the small parchment was again rolled up and tied with the ribbon and sat neatly on the soft green velvet of the box lining.

  Curious, she took it out and untied it.  This time it said, ‘Well done.  Now wait quietly till she gets home.  Then hug her gently and ask her where she’s been.  Don’t judge.  Just talk.’

  OK for you to say, she thought.  Nevertheless, she drank her tea, had a small bite for lunch and waited.  Cilla walked through the door at the normal time of three forty five.

  ‘Hi Ma,’ she called and headed for her room.

  ‘Hi Cilla,’ Astra got out as normally as possible. Then she waited some more until the girl returned, dressed in casual clothes.  Astra thought of her uniform lying crumpled on the bed as usual.  She breathed deeply.

  ‘What’s for dinner?’ Cilla asked as she returned from her room.

  ‘Sausages and vegetables,’ replied Astra.  ‘But I need to talk to you for a bit before you….  Cilla, please turn off the television.’

  Cilla turned to look at her mother, and it didn’t take a genius to realise she’d been caught.  She sighed but moved to a seat at the table.

  ‘I guess you got a call from school,’ she said somewhat defiantly.

  ‘Yes, darling, I did.’ 

  Cilla looked surprised at her mother’s calm. ‘So….,’ she said and it came out more belligerently than she’d expected.  Her face went red.

  ‘So I’d like to know what’s making you unhappy.’  It took great effort to remain relaxed and gentle.  Astra could see it surprised her daughter.

  There was a long silence.  Astra, despite all that was going around in her head, kept silent and poised.  Cilla on the other hand was twisting her fingers round and round and had trouble sitting still.  Finally she said, ‘I’ve been working at Woolworths.’

  Astra, expecting the worst, had to squash a loud ‘What!’ and instead said, ‘Why?’

  ‘Well…..,’ it seemed Cilla couldn’t answer.

  ‘What do you need money for?’  Suddenly the horrible trouble young girls could get into came to the forefront.  She schooled her face and showed little of the turbulence within.

  ‘It was supposed to be a surprise,’ said Cilla sullenly.

  ‘What was darling?

  ‘I’ve been saving for us to go to ‘Love Never Dies’ in Sydney.  I just needed another four hundred dollars before your birthday.  The only way I could do it was to take more shifts.’ It all came out in a rush.

  Astra didn’t know what to do.  Her daughter was doing this for her.  She was tossing up between happy laughter or sobs of relief.  Neither would do.  They just stared at each other.

  The box, still on the table but now closed, popped open right then.  Inside were four crisp new $100 bills.

  ‘What the…,’ began Cilla before clamping her mouth firmly shut.

#

The box sometimes provided and sometimes didn’t.  It did when there was real need and only what was needed.  Sometimes it was medicine when one or other was ill, sometimes it was money but only enough to cover a specific need.  When Cilla went to university the box produced a scholarship paper.  Neither Astra nor Cilla ever mentioned the box to anyone.  In fact neither talked about it at all … ever.

  Cilla completed her law degree and returned to her home town as an articled clerk.  She started with Mr Harkin, now old and ready to retire. Eventually, she took over his firm.  When that happened the old house on Findlay Road, now upgraded to a small and comfortable family home was sold and Cilla moved her mother into lovely townhouse on Crestwood Drive.

  Several days after Astra settled in, she heard a very young baby crying.  It came from the next unit.  Taking a small teacake she had just baked went next door.  The door was opened by a very young woman.  Olivia was a single mother with a three week old baby boy.  She was very tired and she was glad of the company.  Astra was happy to help.

#

‘Are you Olivia Freeman?’ said the dark suited woman.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she said.

  ‘I’m Cilla Balga-Ferne.  I’m Astra’s daughter,’

  ‘Oh,’ said Olivia, a little shocked, ‘I’m sorry for your loss.  Uhm … where’s my manners, please,  please come in.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the lawyer.  When they were settled at the small dining room table, Cilla said, ‘My mother left you a small inheritance.

Strange Weather

by C.M.Sheely

Changeling

by C M Sheely

Shite!  I’m late and hurrying isn’t helping.  The squawk of newly hatched birds and buzz of bush flies hurts my ears.  The pounding in my head isn’t helping my vision remain singular.  Lightheadedness makes my stomach roil.  Brilliant.  All I need at end of semester… the flu.

This dratted backpack, heavy with text books, laptop, notepads, along with the mobile phone, drink bottle and wallet, weighs a ton.   I think I’d feel better if it was a hangover.  But I didn’t go out with the crew last night knowing it was the last lecture of the semester.  My excuse anyway.  Even staying in hasn’t helped.  And then they teased me for begging off; stuff about the full moon and women’s business.  Funny, ha ha… not.   If only.  My ‘women’s business,’ as the boys put it, aren’t due for another week.  And this doesn’t feel like PMT.

I could just about rip out someone’s throat I’m feeling so pissed off.  Maybe it is PMT?  I feel a deep sigh emerging as I arrive at the statistics lecture.  Just get through it Amanda.  Get it over and done with and you get a few days off with only a tutorial exercise due next week for IT class.  You can write Java in your sleep.

Associate Professor Marshman follows my entrance as I squeeze into a seat in the last row.  The small table set into the armrest sticks as I try to flip it out.  Argh!  Don’t be angry, it’s just a table.  Deep breath.  Lay the laptop down, open it and take notes.  Think later.

Marshmans voice is droning on so I simply type his words as he speaks.  Finally, he moves his attention from me.  It feels like Im on two different planets.  There is me hearing the lecture, fingers are typing out the words and the bit of me thinking about how I feel and how nice it would be to have a raw steak right now.  Great, now Im turning into a werewolf or something.  The guy sitting next to me gives me a funny look and I realise Ive just sniffed out loud at my thoughts.  Brilliant.

“Something funny Ms Adams” I see myself typing.  Opps.  Prof. Marshman is talking to me.  Over my laptop screen I see him halfway up the aisle, heading straight toward me.  What the hell!

He stops right next to me and looking at my laptop as if I am doing something wrong.  He puzzled look is funny.  We both look at my notes, they are verbatim what he has been saying.  He reaches down and picks up my laptop, looking at the lower menu bar.  He opens my Internet program and checks my history files.  Then looks surprised.  Right, thehe last time I checked the Internet was yesterday lunchtime to get my emails.  Ive been feeling so crappy and my eyes are a bit light sensitive so staring at a screen has been no fun.

He just about drops my laptop to the little table he snaps “Whats so funny about an Annova Ms Adams?  So funny it makes you snigger out loud.”

OK, now Im a bit disconcerted here.  I dont think I snorted that loudly.  Better review that based on he reddening complexion.  He thinks Ive been rude.

“Im sorry Professor.” I hear myself say.  “Im not that well and I certainly wasnt sniggering at you or what you said.  Please forgive my rudeness,” if there was any you dork!   I provide him with a genuine embarrassed smile and there is that nasty temper again.

Hes mollified because he raises a quizzical eyebrow, turns on his heel and quickly returns to the lectern.  Great, now Im blushing.  Whats this?  I can feel anger getting worse in leaps and bounds.  The guy next to me  is leaning away.  Where the hell is that coming from?  I snorted.  I was being rude, even though it was unintentional.  Whats the deal anyway?  Buggers cant stand a bit of noise.  Arrrgh!

Hold On?  Im Miss Calm and Cool arent I?  Deep breath, count your blessings.  Whats with the girl with great parents, a wonderful older brother two years ahead Uni.  A good job that allows me to take study leave and I have a great bunch of friends.  So why the hell do I want to rip the Profs throat out.  Ahhh!!!  My muscles are getting ready to leap down after the man.  I want to ….

OK.  OK.  Take another breath, a deep one.  Better.  A few more.  In… out… in… out.  Better… a bit anyway.  Close the eyes, continue to breath deeply.   I hear the guy in the seat next to me rustling around.  Hes moving up a few places, away from me.  Someone around me has bad body odor anyway.  Im sure hes embarrassed.   Hey, whys the guy sitting in front of me is also moving?

Sniff. Whats that really sour smell?  Me?  I unceremoniously stick my nose into my armpit.   Oh My God! Its me!  Im the source of the heavy animal smell. Close the laptop, flip back the tabletop, grab the backpack.  My body is getting me out of here.  Im bloody well feeing the lecture hall.  WTF!

Shit!  What the hell is happening?  Here I am, loping down the corridor and bursting through the double doors leading out into the quadrangle.  I can feel my clothes tightening around my middle and my shoes are feeing awkward, like they are too large.  The animal smell is stronger yet not so nasty. Im panting and I cant get my breath.  Oh, but the sun is warm and lovely.  Please Universe, let this nasty turn stop.  Please.

Hmmm….how long I have been standing here?  Feels like ages.  Good, things are a bit better.  Im feeling much more like myself and at least that damned smell has gone.  Oh and the sun feels good on my back. Hey!  Legs! Hold me up.  Why am I sitting on the grass.  Great Leaping Lizards but Im ravenous!  No lunch in my backpack.  I need to go to the canteen.  Urgh!  Its hard to get up.  What a struggle.  My backpack and laptop are on the ground.  I think I dropped it.  Oh I hope I havent broken it.

A hand lands on my shoulder.  Grrrrr!  I stop in terror.  Its David.  My brother.  And now his hand is holding me in an iron grip.  Ouch!  I can feel my teeth baring.  Grrrr!  Did I really growl just then?  What the HEY is happening?

“Little sister.  Shhhh.  Its OK.  Its just me.  Listen to my voice.  Breathe.  Come on.  Listen and relax.”

He says it over and over again and its very soothing.  He had a nice voice.  Always did.  I remember driving him crazy when we were younger because I loved it when he read me stories.

“Deep breath now, angel.  Come on.  In, out.”

I do as he asks.  Between his voice, the oxygen filling my lungs and the sunshine, I feel myself calming down.  Strength is returning to my legs and the buzzing in my head recedes a little.

“OK, sis.  Lets go to the cafeteria and get a bite to eat.  Bet you are hungry enough to eat a bear.”

“Understatement of the year, big brother.”  

We stride down the undercroft, past the medical centre and the student union, bustling through the double doors of the cafeteria.  The food smells fantastic. 

“Meat.  I need meat.”  

“No you dont.  You need a salad sandwich.”

“Dont be stupid.  Im really hungry and I want red meat!”  I can hear a tinge of hysteria in my voice.  David puts a calming hand on my forearm and stops me in my tracks.

“Sit down Amelia.”  Oh, serious voice.  He pushes me to a table.  The rude retort hasnt got time to leave my mouth.

“Now!” he insists, pushing me into a seat with his other hand on my shoulder.  “I will get what you really need.  Then we need to talk.”  Hes looking around, scanning the tables nearby, then back at me, stares meaningfully into my eyes.  “Dont move!”  With that, he heads off to the sandwich counter. 

He has always had my best interests at heart so I guess Ill stay put.  Have to fight my legs because of an almost overwhelming urge to run.  The window next to me looks over the service entrance.  A small truck is unloading frozen food.  The driver is taking stuff from the back and loading it onto a small trolley.  I can see the perspiration on the back of his neck. Hmmnn, how about licking that off.  GAH! What?  I feel my head shaking back and forth as I try really hard to keep my mind here in the cafeteria.

“Keep your attention on me Amelia.”  David is back with a multigrain salad sandwich, packed with carrot and green stuff.  “Start to eat Amme, quickly.  You will feel better.”  He hasnt used the diminutive of my name for a long time.  As I pick up the thick sandwich and try not to spill the contents all over the table, I look up into his eyes.  I see both worry and love in those deep blue eyes.  God, hes absolutely right.  Its delicious.  Who would have thought?

Finished with the first half, Im wolfing down the second as he begins to talk quietly.

“Listen carefully and please, dont interrupt until Im finished.  Promise?”  He looks at me questioningly, one eyebrow raised at the outer corner.

“Yes, I will.”

“OK, this will initially sound a little crazy.  But I know exactly how youre feeling today.”  Then he starts describing a day about eighteen months ago when he had a terrible headache and felt hung over.  It was a Saturday so he stayed in bed.  Hmmm, OK?  So?

“At lunchtime, Dad came in to see if I was OK and if I wanted something to eat.  He had a salad sandwich on a plate. I could smell it, every little detail about what was on it, individually; beetroot, lettuce, tomato, bean sprouts. I could also smell his skin and hair, and his aftershave seemed to fill the room overpoweringly.  I moaned, closing my eyes.  It hurt it was so clear.  Then I had this real urge to hide under the blankets.  I wanted to be as small as possible.  There was this awful squeezing pain all over my body.  It was excruciating.  I cried out.  I could hear Dad calling my name over and over.  He was saying Look at me, David.  Look at me and think of how you look in a mirror.  David.  He said it over and over.  When I did look at him, he looked huge and when I tried to tell him how terrible I felt, all I could hear was a squeek.”

I can feel myself just about jumping off my seat in disbelief.  What the… is this guy for real?

“Amelia, just hang on a minute, OK?  Let me finish.”

“Dad just kept on telling me to remember how I looked in a mirror. Without much thought I looked over to my cupboard.  You know the one with the mirrored sliding doors.  On my bed I though I saw a large white rat.  Then Dad again, louder this time.  DAVID! Hes shouting now.  I returned my attention to him and followed his instructions.  Again that disturbing and excruciating pain but this time it was a stretching feeling.  When it stopped Dad was hugging me tightly.”

The pain of the memory was frighteningly clear in Davids eyes.  He seemed so far away.  Im reaching out to touch his hand lying limply on the table.  The contact brings him back.

Part of me understands what he was saying.  Another part refused to. 

“So what happened to the rat?”

Those deep blue eyes just bore into mine.  He takes both my hands in his larger, long-fingered ones, but his eyes never leave mine.

“Amelia.  You know what this is about.”

Yeah, Pah!  Right I know.  Or do I?

“Are you telling me Im a werewolf?”  The question comes out tentative with only a little touch of sarcasm.

“No.  Not exactly.”

I want to feel relieved, but I dont.  Its going to take me some time to accept this.  And I am going to have a long talk with my parents.  They have some splainin to do.  But I need another salad sandwich because I can feel that nasty rage returning. 

David smiles and heads back to the counter.