Fiction: On the third day

a 400 word short fiction and the heatwave and goodbye Spotify, goodbye Tasmania Devils

“The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.” — Alan Watts, The Culture of Counter-Culture: Edited Transcripts

G’day and welcome to Sproutings.

Today I have fiction. This one came to me on Sunday.

On Sunday I sat with a new fresh document open and simply wrote. Without care, without expectation, without plan, I simply wrote. Just to see where it would go. No thoughts, no guidance. In the spirit of Sproutings, here is the resulting 400 word very short story.

Enjoy.

==

On the third day

Evening.

Outside, a small branch falls onto the tin roof.

The dog lifts her head.

Through the living room window she watches. She watches branches sway. She sees leaves flutter along the gravel path that leads away from the house; that leads to a ramshackle garden, the garden that was once somebody’s project, somebody’s pride and joy. Where rose bushes, woody and feral, each hold fast to decaying flowers of spring.

The dog drools.

There has been no food this day. Nor had there been food the day before. There has been no food and there has been no opportunity to toilet outside. Ordinarily, either of these events, alone, would be cause for distress. But here, distress wears a different cloak.

In the armchair across the room sits the dog’s owner. Two days ago he had placed a cup of tea beside himself on a low coffee table as he had sat down. He had leaned back in his chair. He had fallen asleep. He had fallen asleep and he had quietly died.

A shadow moves across the yard, enveloping it in muted tones. A syncopation of gum nuts and twigs suddenly showers the roof and just as suddenly stops.

Two days ago, the man had died. Two days ago, the dog had sat curled at the man’s feet. The dog had waked and stood beside the man. The dog had barked.

Two days ago the dog had barked loudly and the dog had leaped up onto the man’s lap and barked some more. Two days ago the dog had licked the man’s face.

Thunder rolls through the air from some distance away.

Yesterday the dog had again leapt onto the man’s lap and the dog had barked some more. And the dog had whimpered. Yesterday the dog had vigorously licked the man’s face. So much vigour did the dog use yesterday, that the man’s lip had been torn. His skin had been torn. His skin had been torn and blood had spilled down his chin.

The dog raises her nose to the air.

Soon there will be rain. Soon there will be a storm that will set gutters running. A storm that will flood the creeks and flood the river; a storm that will pick cars up and float them downstream. A storm is coming. Storms are always coming.

On this the third day, the dog licks her lips. She stands and twitches the end of her nose.

All storms pass.

==

==

==

That’s the story.

Other things this week:

Heatwave, bushfires and State of Disaster declared in Victoria. Here’s a shot from late on Friday. After a top temperture of 42.9 °C; lunchtime winds to 60 km/h. When I stepped outside at lunchtime I found it momentarily hard to breathe the air that seemed to have been blown into my face by a hairdryer.

So I drew this.

Last week, too, I cancelled all payments to Spotify. The music rental business is a tricky one but especially crook for Spotify. Numerous people told me of Spotify’s pitiful practices in remunerating artists - the very artists whose work forms the backbone of the business. And many people alerted me that Spotify owners invest in munitions and weapons manufacture. Trying to maintain an ethical spending life is fraught - but in this case it seemed easy enough to shift.

People I know in the music business recommended “Tidal” as a replacement music rental service. Apparently they pay the artists (a bit) better. So I joined. So far, so painless.

And I peeled my “Tasmania Devils founding member” sticker off my car. Why? I’m appalled at the decision taken to build a stadium at Hobart’s Macquarie Point. There is so much wrong with that idea that I don’t know where to start. I support the introduction of a Tassie team in the competition. But not this stadium. It’s such a needless shame that people who support football in Tasmania have been split by this. I’m out.

As always, humans find much upon which to disagree.

And still the carbon dioxide concentration in our atmosphere increases.

==

That’s Sproutings #118.

Go well.