tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39374743187635910112024-03-12T20:25:42.919-07:00JOHN ROSS. AUTHOR.AUSTRALIAShort stories. Both general fiction and science fiction. If you enjoy them please leave a commentJohn Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-11301428051977714322020-12-29T16:47:00.002-08:002020-12-29T16:47:51.333-08:00<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">SATURDAY ARVO AT THE RUBBITY<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: center; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(Saturday afternoon at the local pub)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: right; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">John Ross ©<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: right; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘G’day Bert
you old bastard. Haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. Pull up a stump and
I’ll shout you a cold one. Where you been hiding? The missus come the raw prawn
or you been crook or sumthin?’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Yeh. G’day
Dave. No. That misery guts of a boss of mine has been working me as hard as a
drover’s bloody dog. Coupla weeks ago I told the drongo that he was stark
raving mad putting on his drop kick of a relo as the new super. Well he lost the
plot, got his undies all twisted, and gave me a right mouth full. End result
I’m on extra hours all bloody week. I complained to the union but that seat
polisher of a bloody rep told me I should just cop it and enjoy the extra dosh.
Any way how you travelling Dave? Your missus had that new sprog yet?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Yep. Two
weeks ago. What a bloody disaster. The bloody Commodore died on the way to the
hospital. A walloper got all bent out of shape cause I stopped in a bus zone.
When he saw that Maggy was about to drop the kid he suddenly changed his tune
and took us in his car. It was one of those new turbo Falcons. Bloody heck
could it go. Took off like a startled deer. 0 to 60 in 7.5 so the copper said.
Good fuel consumption also.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Yep,
bloody nice wheels. Me mate Bob’s got one. Boy or girl?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Boy. I wanted
to call him Donald Bradman, but the missus threw a wobbly and so Archibald
Andrew Angus it is. Three A’s. Bloody Alcoholics Anonymous Australia. What a
shockin thing to lumber the poor kid with. Here comes Smiley.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Hi ya
Smiley. How’s that footy team of yours goin?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Footy
team! Bloody bunch of prima donna bloody ballerinas more like it. Whatcha
drinkin fellas? The usual? Can I order you blokes some tucker while I’m at the
bar?’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Smiley
returns with just three schooners. ‘We’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of
getting any tucker today. Some dozy dropkick called Alberto the chef a bastard
and he’s taken his bat and ball and gone home.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">All the
surrounding patrons in unison, ‘Who called the bastard a chef?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Silence.
Deep contemplation of the increasing frothy rings descending in their glasses. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Ya watch
the fight last night. That Yank bloke couldn’t fight his way outta a wet paper
bag if his life depended on it.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Na the
missus likes watchin the Aussie Rules. I think it’s their little tight shorts.
I got meself banished to the shed when I called it aerial ping pong played by
the Royal Ballet discards. What about you Smiley?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Now don’t
you idiots laugh. I had a date.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Wow
Smiley. Yer poor old mum come over for a meal?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Yeh. Yeh.
Laugh all you want. First time out with a bird in five years and I think I
impressed her.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘You charm
the pants of her with yer cultured ways, handsome smiley face and la de dah
manners eh Smiley.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Well she’s
meeting me again next Friday for a return match. So put that in yer pipe and
smoke it.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Silence.
Deep thought. Contemplation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Been
unusually hot for this time of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The bloody lawn is still grow’n.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Had to tell the missus that the mower was cactus or she would have had
me mow’n it again.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘That’s
gunna change real soon Dave there’s a cool change on the way.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I haven’t
heard anything about that.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘It actually
looks real cold and frosty. Its yer missus, she has just walked in with a pram and
is headed this way.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Bloody
hell, the meeting with the priest about the christening. Quick fellas think of
an excuse for me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Bert and
Smiley. ‘Well gotta go Dave. Leave ya to it.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 10.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-79600945400195347942015-09-07T21:46:00.000-07:002015-09-07T21:46:15.098-07:00THE BEGINNING A Bluey, Snowy and Mad Mick Molloy story.
<br />
<div align="center" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">THE BEGINNING</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Bluey, Snowy and Mick were fishing down where the
river took a sweeping bend around some rocky outcrops. It was Saturday
afternoon in late summer, the sun was hot, the slight breeze was hot, the beer
was getting too warm and they had caught absolutely nothing.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Bluey, who with much swearing, had finally put a new
sinker and hook on his line after he had snagged a floating log, picked up his
rod, stood up and prepared to cast his line out into a deep spot close to the
opposite bank. He looked behind him and said to Snowy, who was sitting on a
large boulder directly behind him, ‘Keep your head down Snow or you’ll get
hit.’ He swung his rod over his head in a perfect cast and his line snaked out
true and straight and he sat back down.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Snowy moved down to sit beside Bluey and said to
him, ‘Blue do you remember the first time you said that to me?’</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
It was a completely different scene. It was cold,
very cold; the freezing wind blew the snow showers almost horizontally. Lance
corporal Mick Molloy blew on his freezing fingers and placed them back on the
butt and the trigger of the Bren gun. Trying to remain as still as possible so
as to not attract the attention of an enemy sniper, he blinked the snowflakes
from his eyes and concentrated on the line of trees from where the last attack
had come. Beside him, below the top of the pit, private Snowy Black was busy
filling the empty magazines for the light machine gun with fresh rounds; his
rifle propped beside him. He counted as he slid the bullets into position; just
thirteen left. He knew that another sustained attack and they would very
quickly be out of ammunition.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
They had met just two days before when Mick’s
original loader had been wounded and Snowy had been delegated to replace him.
During this time they had not had time to properly get to know each other as
they had been in constant action. Mick yelling, ‘Load’ and Snowy responding
with a new magazine for the Bren had been nearly their only communication.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
They had been sitting in this small pit that they
had scraped out of the snow and rocky ground for nearly twenty four hours now
and they were hungry and desperately tired. The first push by the North Koreans
supported by hordes of Communist Chinese had dislodged their battalion from the
valley that they had held close to the northern border. They had fallen back
just five hundred metres to their rear positions close to battalion
headquarters and dug in. Here they had repelled repeated attacks whilst on
either side of them troops of other nationalities had retreated in total
disarray.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
It had been a surprise when the Communist Chinese
had attacked as the rumour amongst the troops was that the North Koreans were
defeated and they would soon be going home. Now the battalion was strung out
along the ridge in whatever shelter they could find. They had suffered many casualties
but had held their positions.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Mick and Snowy heard the slight noise behind them
at exactly the same time. Mick tried to swing the Bren gun around and Snowy
reached for his rifle. A muffled voice cried out, ‘Take it easy you blokes.
It’s just us poor sods from the reserve area here to save your bacon. Now more
over and let some real soldiers in.’</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
A silent figure slid forward and rolled into their
pit. He pushed his scarf back grinned and said, ‘Bluey Jones at your service
and I come bearing gifts.’ With that he pulled two full magazines of ammunition
from one pocket and from the other three clips of rounds for Snowy’s 303 and
two tins of bully beef.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Snowy stood up and went to take the ammunition but
Bluey pulled him down just as a snipers bullet clipped the side of his helmet
and sent it spinning into the pit. Bluey picked it up placed it back over
Snowy’s blond head and said, ‘Keep your head down cobber or you will get hit.’</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
The fishing forgotten the three mates swapped
memories of that time when they had first met. They never talked to other
people about their experiences in Korea but on rare occasions like this they
shared a few yarns and mostly happy memories. They had remained together through
some of the worst fighting experienced by the Australian troops on the Korean
Peninsula. Many times they had been tested to the limits of their courage and
endurance. They became a single unit that instinctively knew how each other
would react and many times this bond and trust had saved their lives. Their
friendship became strong and enduring.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Mick stood up and stretched and said, ‘There’s a
lot of fish in that bloody river but also too much water for the blighters to
swim around in. Now, talking about liquid, a nice cold schooner of beer has my
name on it at the pub. So, as the senior rank, due to my lance corporal stripe,
get a bloody move on.’</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-29686478871903627402015-01-19T18:54:00.001-08:002015-01-19T18:54:13.042-08:00JUST ANOTHER DAY
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">JUST ANOTHER DAY<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">John Ross ©</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Clang. Clang. Clang.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
It was so loud it was
painful.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Ok. O bloody K. I’m
awake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
I knew I had to get out
of bed to turn it off. If I didn’t it would just get louder.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
I was still feeling
dopey after a long sleep.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
What if I ignored it
for long enough? Would it stop?</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
No way. I give in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Up. Alarm off. Get
dressed. Breakfast. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Transport at the door.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Down to work.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Usual reports. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Tick. Tick. No. Yes.
Next shift can handle that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Boring.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Lunch. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
30 minutes of exercise.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Not in bad shape for an
old guy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Catch up on the goss on
the private channel</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Tick. Tick. Yes. Yes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
One day I should put a
cross instead of a tick.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Coffee. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Aircon always too
bloody cold.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Now for the highlight
of the day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Talk with the BOSS.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Yep. Never felt better.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
I know he means the
systems but it’s my little joke.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Log off</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Last minute checks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Tick. Yes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
All OK</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Time to head back.
Shift finished.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Dinner.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Boring movie.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Time for sleep</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
Settle down. Put on
mask. Activate system.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
The ship’s <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">B</b>iomass <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">O</b>perational <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">S</b>upervisory <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">S</b>ystem wishes me a good sleep and will
wake me in another 50 years.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-82634891849404418832014-04-28T01:56:00.000-07:002014-04-28T01:56:27.699-07:00THE TRUTH<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">THE TRUTH<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
John Ross ©</div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I am just about ready
to give up on today and go to bed. I have a black eye, a sore shin, a suspected
cracked rib and many other bruises and scrapes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Yesterday at confession
I admitted to the priest that I had told a few lies lately and as a penance he
asked me to spend a whole day where I only told the truth; the whole truth and
nothing but the truth. He said it would feel so good that I would continue to
do it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Well he was wrong it
feels bloody awful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
First thing this
morning when my boss asked me what I thought of our latest product line. I told
him the truth. It was ill conceived, poorly engineered and marketed. Then he
asked me if I thought his judgement was flawed. I told him that he would not
recognise a good idea even if it bit him on the nose.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
An hour later,
unemployed, out on the street, I ran into the next door neighbour’s son on his
way to school. He asked if I had enjoyed his innings at last Saturday’s under
12 cricket match. I gave him a truthful critique of his style and told him he
should take up net ball with his sister. Continued on my way with a very sore
shin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Limped into a coffee
shop only to be met by my mother-in-law who asked if I liked her new blue rinse?
Boy has she got a strong right cross. I think my eye is not permanently damaged
but it sure is sore.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Retreating from the
streets into a quiet bar for a pick- me-up, the barman asks what I thought of
the bloody referee’s decisions in the footy game on the weekend where his team
lost by a large margin. Again I had to tell him the truth. They were a hopeless
lot of sissies and deserved to lose. The ref was technically right in every
decision. Straight scotch can sting when it hits you in the face; especially on
your newly damaged right eye.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Escaped into the local
park to sit alone on a bench; lost in thought. Suddenly find myself surrounded
by a mother with a pram, her husband and three other women all ardently
admiring the baby. Before I can escape, and believe me I tried, the father asks
me if his daughter is not just the most beautiful baby I have ever seen. I
should have known from his build that he was probably a professional boxer. I
must get my ribs x-rayed as soon as possible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Well I think you get
the drift of how my day of telling the truth has gone so far.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
In my pyjamas and
trying to pretend to be asleep when my wife comes in dressed in her latest
purchases. She asks that dreaded question. Yes you are right! ‘Does my bum look
big in this?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Weeelll I am going
straight to hell when I die. The truth is not all that it is cracked up to be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
‘Yes darling those skin
tight jeans look wonderful.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-44919747492190198772014-04-03T17:49:00.003-07:002014-04-03T17:49:39.147-07:00FABULOUS WEALTH<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">FABULOUS WEALTH<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
John Ross ©</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
‘Bwana. You want guide.
I good guide. Very reliable. Very cheap. Please Bwana I have three wives and
six children; all eat much; need money.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Charles Goodbody was
about to shrug off the man tugging at his sleeve but when he turned to face him
he saw a reasonably well presented, tall man in his early thirties, dressed in
clean khaki shorts and open necked shirt. He had been looking for a guide for a
week and was tired of being accosted in the streets of this dusty outpost by
would be guides who were unsuitable.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Charles had spent the
last month in Africa putting together an expedition that was to travel into an unexplored
section of the vast Sahara Desert. This expedition had been his burning
ambition ever since as a very young child he had heard the stories about a lost
Roman city deep in the Sahara Desert. Its
houses were said to be lined with gold and silver and its inhabitants dressed
in fine linen adorned with precious stones. Raised in an aristocratic family
that had fallen on hard times his dream was to find the city and restore the
fortunes of his family. Graduating from university with honours in Ancient
History his dream became closer to reality when he discovered a map in an old
Roman scroll purporting to show the location of the city. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
After a brief
discussion Charles hired the guide whose name was Magnus. The expedition
positions were now filled and the next morning they set out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
A week later they were
well into the desert and Charles called a meeting because some of the porters
were starting to complain about their pay and conditions. A promise, by
Charles, of an extra bonus soon calmed everyone down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
However the next
morning Charles awoke to find that during the night all except two of the porters
had packed some supplies and water barrels onto three of the horses and
absconded. Magnus, the guide, assured Charles
that they still had enough water and food to continue. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The going became
increasingly hard. The temperature soared above 120 degrees during the day and
below freezing at night. On the tenth day they came to high ridges of sand that
stretched out into the distance. Climbing the ridges was exhausting work and a
day’s travel was down to just a few miles.
On the fifteenth day one of the remaining horses lost its footing and
rolled down a sand dune and broke its neck. Its pack consisted of four large
water barrels that split and the water drained away into the hot sand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Magnus was adamant that
they must continue as they would run out of water if they tried to go back.
Their only hope was to find the lost city. They struggled on with water
severely rationed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
At dusk on the
twentieth day, and with their water now completely gone, they crawled over a
rocky crest that protruded from the endless sand and there before them was a
large green valley dotted with clumps of palms and scattered settlements. In
the distance a walled city glistened in the sunlight. Cattle grazed on the lush
grass and large tracts of land supported many types of crops.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
At the foot of the
slope a group of men and women were waiting for them. As they neared some of
them called out a greeting in Latin and a woman with a baby on her hip ran up
to Magnus and hugged him. A tall elderly
white man walked forward and said, ‘Welcome Charles.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Charles was dumbfounded.
How did they know who he was and that he was coming? </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The elderly man, whose
name was Ignatius, insisted that Charles partake of water, food and a long bath
before he would explain everything to him. Charles was escorted to one of the
many low wooden houses in one of the settlements. It was richly adorned and
contained beautifully carved furniture that was inlaid with silver. He bathed
in a deep tub made from marble and was fed a sumptuous meal served on gold
platters that were brought to the table by young women clothed in the finest
silk. Refreshed and with his curiosity at bursting point Charles was eventually
shown into another house which was even more ornately decorated and where Ignatius
and Magnus were sitting side by side. Ignatius spoke for many minutes. Charles
felt a wave of weariness creep over him and he slipped into a deep sleep. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
He awoke with a start.
He was lying in his bed, in the room, in the seedy hotel, in the town where he
had set out from. It was all just a dream; but it had been so clear, so real.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
As yet unseen, beside
him, was a small silver box filled with large green emeralds. The lid was
inscribed in Latin. ‘You dreamed of fabulous riches and dared to follow that
dream. Use what you have been given wisely.’</div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-4869726954449728322014-03-22T15:39:00.001-07:002014-03-22T15:39:43.495-07:00BUT IS IT LEGAL<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">BUT, IS IT LEGAL<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
John Ross ©</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I am, and always have
been, an ideas man. My older brother Bertie, well just let us say he is
‘practical’. By that I mean he always poured cold water on my ideas and
ambitions. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
At school I loved
science. I was never happy with the pathetic little experiments that the
science master demonstrated during class. I always wanted bigger and better. My
very first experiment was with the black powder that I had hoarded from the big
‘bungers’ that dad had bought for cracker night. My big brother prophesied
danger and doom and perhaps he was right to a certain extent. No one was maimed
or even hurt, but it did shatter the side window in our garage, shred mums
whites on the clothes line and earn me double helpings of spinach for a week.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Probably my next most
memorable experiment was to try to make my push bike rocket powered. I got the
idea from a book that described how to build a real rocket. Bertie said I would
probably end up in jail, either because I had nicked the book from the local
library, or because I would end up killing someone. Well this time everything
went smoothly, except, I started too close to the front fence of the old codger
who lived next door. It was a brush fence and the exhaust from my rocket set
fire to it. It didn’t take long for the fire brigade to put it out. Two weeks
of spinach.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
There were many more
memorable and some best forgotten escapades as we were growing up in suburban
Sydney. I will mention just a few. An attempt to dig an underground bunker in
the back yard. A mortar constructed of a piece of gas pipe, a penny bunger and
a large steel bolt. Stink bombs made from rolled up negatives from my mum’s old
box brownie camera. I think you get the drift.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Ever practical Bertie
went on to become an accountant and me, well I never could abide working for
someone else and became an inventor of sorts. You may have heard of some of my
successes. The push bike safety belt. The all in one raincoat and umbrella. Shoes
with retractable roller skates, (saves energy going downhill). Double ended
cutlery (fork on one end and spoon on the other, sadly this was superseded by
the spork), and my most famous one, the edible school lunch box. Unfortunately
none of these life changing inventions brought me much in the way of wealth or
recognition.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I was rather at a loose
end just after my thirtieth birthday when my brother offered me a part time job
doing data entry in his accounting firm. On day one he gave me a list of
instructions. They included. Do not change the settings on the computer. Do not
interfere with the coffee machine, the electric kettle, the document shredder
or the photocopier or for that matter anything electrical, mechanical or
organic. He forgot to mention the phone system so I changed the ring tone to
play God Save the Queen. Unfortunately the first time it rang he had a
delegation from an important client in his office. The Australian Republican
movement.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
After six months of
penance in the mail room, stuffing outgoing accounts into envelopes I had a
brilliant idea. Instead of Bertie’s accounting firm just processing his clients
accounts and income tax returns why not advise them of ways to minimise their
costs, especially their tax liabilities. I spent the next two months working on
the tax minimisation schemes before presenting it to Bertie. He, as usual, was
very sceptical. Over and over he interrupted my spiel by asking, ‘But, is it
legal?’ I really had no idea and was not bothered with the unimportant details.
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
One year later I was
back living and inventing in my parents’ garage and poor Bertie still had four
years and six months to serve. </div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-23087107325109001002014-02-06T13:48:00.001-08:002014-02-06T13:48:28.329-08:00THE WIND
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">THE<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WIND</span></u></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>©JOHN ROSS</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Darkness had long since settled over the city. The
night was dark, humid and the sky was full of the threat of a summer storm.
Now, however, the wind was so gentle that it made no noise as it ever so softly
meandered through the back yard of the large house. The leaves on the tall gum
tree near the back fence hardly moved, apart from those on the very tallest
branches. Even here one would have had to watch very closely to detect any
movement. Two large white towels on the clothesline hung perfectly still; in
the darkness they appeared like two dim windows into another dimension. A large
spider had strung its web between two pot plants on the back porch and now it
carefully investigated a leaf that had fallen and become entangled in the web.
The leaf was slowly swinging back and forth in the gentle breeze. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Inside a man sat watching a football replay on the
television, a half empty bottle of beer beside him. In the kitchen a women was
washing dishes in the sink and listening to classical music on a radio. The man
turned towards the kitchen and said, “You coming to watch the telly and don’t
forget my coffee?” The women replied that she would be in as soon as she had
finished.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Minutes passed and now the wind had become stronger.
It made a rustling noise as it pushed its way through the yard. The leaves on
the gum tree had started to dance to its tune and those at the very top were
carried back and forth as the smaller branches moved under the influence of the
breeze. The white towels on the line now swayed in unison like twins performing
at some macabre ceremony. The spider had realised that the leaf was not its <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>hoped for evening meal but now crouched at the
centre of its web believing that the breeze might bring it an unsuspecting
insect. A small lady beetle flies dangerously close to his web.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
The man, starting to get annoyed that the woman
had not come out of the kitchen, yelled in her direction, “What on earth are
you doing there woman and where is that bloody cup of coffee that you promised
me ages ago.” He then settled back and opened another bottle of beer. The woman
visibly jumped at the sound of his voice and in her haste dropped the bottle of
coffee on the floor.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Even stronger now the wind made a loud whistling
sound as it forced its way through and around the objects in the back yard. The
gum tree had now become a living thing as its branches yielded to the force of
the wind and the occasional leaf gave up its grip and swirled away into the
darkness. The towels now gyrated wildly, giving up any semblance of unison as
they strained against the pegs that held them attached to the line. The spider
clung grimly to the centre of its web. He was now in danger of being blown away
but still had the strength to try to move over to the lady beetle that had been
blown into his web. He knew that this might be his only chance of a meal that
night. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Finishing another bottle of beer the man was now
constantly yelling at the woman to bring him his cup of coffee. When she did
not reply he got up and went to the kitchen door and said, “I want my coffee
now and if I have to ask again you will be bloody sorry.” Seeing the woman
still trying to clean up the spilt coffee he kicked the dustpan out of her
hands and when she cringed back dropped the empty beer bottle on the floor and
said, “Clean that up. That’s all you ever do clean, bloody clean. Now get up
and get me my coffee.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Outside the wind was now a brutal force as it
howled through the yard threatening to smash and dismantle anything in its
path. The gum tree was now bent over by the winds power and its branches
thrashed madly as leaves and even small branches were blasted away and sent
crashing into the back fence. The towels unable to break free were being torn
and shredded by the wind’s fury. The spider still concentrating on getting to
the lady beetle in its web did not notice as the leaf in its web was torn away
and sent spiralling into the darkness. It did not see the large piece of debris
that smashed into its web and carried it away into oblivion. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
The man, his anger now in full flow, was cursing
at the woman and trying to drag her to her feet. When she resisted he slapped
her hard across the face. At first she shrank back trying to protect herself
but when he continued to hit her she picked up the empty beer bottle from the
floor and hit him with it as hard as she could. The bottle smashed as it
crashed into his skull.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Suddenly the wind died away to just a whisper. The
gum tree quickly returned to normal; standing tall and majestic in the bright
starlight that now washed over the yard. The two white towels, although
tattered and torn, had survived all that the wind could throw at them and now
shone like two welcoming beacons in the yard. The spider would never see the small
lady beetle as it broke free of the last strands of the shattered web and flew
away. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-16905802631349110912014-01-22T16:51:00.000-08:002014-01-22T16:51:09.800-08:00BEACH FISHING AT DAWN
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">BEACH FISHING AT DAWN</span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">REFRESHING THE MIND AND THE SOUL</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: right;">
John Ross ©</div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
caravan is parked very close to the beach, and the sound of the waves as they
pursue their relentless assault on the land ensured that I had a restful sleep.
I am awake as the first faint light on the horizon starts its daily ritual of
pushing back the darkness of the night. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
dress quietly, as to not awaken my still sleeping wife. Breakfast can wait, as
I am keen to get onto the beach. My fishing rod is already rigged and all I need
to do is retrieve the bait from the refrigerator, pick up my creel and I am on
my way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Outside
the morning is already warm with the promise of a hot, sunny, summer’s day to
come. The grass is soft and wet with dew beneath my bare feet as I climb the small
tree covered bank on the edge of the beach. I pause at the top to take in the
view. The curving sweep of the sand is just visible in the soft light and is outlined
by the darkness of the tree clad hills on one side and the long lines of almost
luminous white of the breaking waves on the other. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
is low tide, and as I walk across the sand I marvel at the work of the small
crabs that have once again cleared out their burrows, and rolled the small
balls of sand out into a pattern around the entrance. The beach resembles a
large yellow table laid with intricate lace doilies of every shape and size.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
am quickly ready for my first cast and as I walk down to the water’s edge I
glance behind me. There are no lights, no buildings visible, just lush
vegetation reaching down to the edge of the sand: my footsteps, the only foreign
marks on nature’s pristine canvas. For a few moments I am the first man, back
in a time when the world was new and its beauty untouched.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
line snakes out, far and true, out to the deep water beyond the breakers where
the beautifully streamlined tailor and jewfish live and hunt. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
stand just back from the water, but am totally connected to and immersed in it.
The unceasing sound, the tangy salt smell, the ever changing shape of the waves,
my finger on the line feeling the vibrations and pull and push of the swell.
The anticipation, expectation of that first tug on the line that is just that
little bit different from the normal feel of the water’s movement. Again my
mind takes me back to a time when man had to fight nature and the elements to
feed himself and survive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
is a time to be patient, alert, at one with the line, instinctive, ready to
strike: too soon or hesitate and the opportunity is lost.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
small arc of brilliant light appears on the horizon and a wide path of liquid gold
leaps from it to end on the wet sand at my feet. Slowly the huge orb of the sun
pushes itself up from its watery grave until its full fury is revealed. I will
soon have to retreat to the cool shade of the caravan park.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
beach starts to come alive. First a lone jogger runs towards me; head bowed,
wired for sound, oblivious to the sounds and beauty of the morning. Next an
older couple walk hand in hand down to the water’s edge, stand silently and gaze
out towards the horizon; they see me watching and we exchange a smile; they are
kindred spirits.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
am thinking of packing up, as breakfast and a hot shower is calling, when I
feel that tell tale pull on the line. I wait and count to three and then strike.
The jewfish fights strongly, leaping and twisting, sometimes totally clear of
the water, its body shiny, silver in the sunlight. It is a battle that lasts
for many minutes and a small crowd gathers to watch. Finally the fish is clear
of the water, struggling and flapping on the sand. One of the onlookers asks if
I am going to have it for breakfast, and for a moment I relish the idea.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
has been such a magical, renewing morning that has cleared my mind and
refreshed my soul that it would be wrong for it to end like that. So with the
fish safely returned to the ocean, even though the deep seated hunting instinct
within me said that I had earned it, and it was mine, I trudge back up the
beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fight my way through the
oncoming tide of determined beach goers with their umbrellas, buckets, spades,
balls, surfboards, towels and music machines. They will leave footprints, build
sandcastles, carve intertwined love hearts on the sand but the next high tide
will wash it all away. Tomorrow, at dawn a new day, a new beginning.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
is cereal for breakfast and from my wife, ‘What! No fish, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">again?</i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">’</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-65422770502419719582014-01-10T21:34:00.002-08:002014-01-10T21:34:49.774-08:00SOLITARY CONFINEMENT<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">SOLITARY CONFINEMENT<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The door to the room must be kept
closed at all times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Visitors are
strictly limited. No more than two at any time. Their identity virtually hidden
behind all enveloping plastic gowns, face masks, hair nets and gloves.
Definitely no children. All must pass through a screening process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Food is tightly controlled and specially prepared.
Everything entering the room is checked. No fresh food. No organic material at
all that has not been previously agreed to. Definitely no flowers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Every four hours a fully gowned attendant enters the
room and checks on the occupant. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There is no defined duration of one’s stay here. The
length of time depends entirely on the say so of four men who control the area
from remote offices. You will only leave when they deem you fit to again enter
the outside world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This is the reality of what I have ahead of me
beginning tomorrow afternoon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">During my time in “solitary confinement” I will
undergo full body radiation, chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant. I
really have no choice in the matter if I wish to be around in the near future.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukaemia in July
of 2010 and since then have lived by a very simple philosophy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There are really only three periods in our lives.
Yesterday, Tomorrow and Today. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yesterday. I cannot change what has happened in the
past. I can only learn from it and apply that knowledge to Today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tomorrow. Well tomorrow is only a possibility and will
be greatly influenced by what I do Today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Today. This is all we really have. I will enjoy it and
cherish it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If we live in the past we miss out on all that Today
has to offer. If we are overly concerned with Tomorrow the same applies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-4070122093312407052013-12-29T14:44:00.001-08:002013-12-29T14:44:19.972-08:00THE GARDEN
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">THE GARDEN</span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></b><span style="mso-tab-count: 11;"> </span>John
Ross©</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mark
Smith was four years old when he first told his parents about the dreams that
he had nearly every night. It was always the same. First he would hear a man’s
deep voice telling him that he must follow the path. Then an elderly woman, who
Mark thought looked like his maternal grandmother whom he had never met, would
take him by the hand and lead him to a massive stone gateway. On entering he
would be filled with happiness as he walked forward alone along a path strewn
with golden sand. He would then pass through another gateway; this one was very
small, made of moss covered wood, with long green vines hanging down from a
wall that extended into the far distance on either side. Ahead he could dimly see
a beautiful garden that was full of flowers of every shape and colour
imaginable. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
Mark’s dreams had not stopped by the time of his eighth birthday his concerned
parents took him to see their local doctor. Unable, or unwilling, to express an
opinion the doctor referred him to a neurologist. After x-rays, scans and many
tests the neurologist referred him to a psychologist. After nearly a year of
analysis and many more tests, and at huge expense, the psychologist admitted
that she had no idea what caused Mark’s dreams or how to stop them from
occurring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mark
was a below average scholar and struggled at the private school that his
parents sent him to. He did however excel at art. By the time of his final year
at high school his paintings had been featured in two major exhibitions and
were selling for well over a thousand dollars each. They were all landscapes
featuring either stone or wooden arches that framed scenes of spectacular
floral displays. The archways were always painted in clear, stark reality,
whilst the flowers were ill defined and as one art critic said, ‘as seen behind
a veil’. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
increase in popularity of his paintings enabled Mark to set up his own studio
and to earn a very good income from their sales. He became well known in art
circles but led a reclusive life. The few people that managed to visit his
studio found it crammed with books on famous gardens. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His nightly dreams continued. Ever so slowly
as the years passed his vision of the garden at the end of his dream became
clearer. Then one night just after his thirtieth birthday his dream did not
stop at its usual place but continued. He was inside the garden, surrounded by
brilliant flowers, his senses filled with their scent and his heart bursting
with the beauty of it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
very next morning, the first day of spring, Mark followed his usual pattern at
that time of the year and set out to visit the many gardens that were open for
inspection in the mountain above where he lived. He had ventured out further
than he had in previous years, and was ready to turn back as he had not seen an
open for inspection sign for some time, when he was approached by an elderly
gentleman. The man asked if he was looking for gardens that were open. When
Mark replied that he was, the old man indicated a small path that Mark had not
noticed. He told Mark that at the end of that path was the most beautiful
garden in the whole area. Intrigued Mark entered the path.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Just
ahead he could see a very old woman limping along the path carrying a very
large basket. He stopped and asked if he could help her. The woman let him take
her basket and holding onto his arm for support they continued down the path.
They arrived at a stone archway where the old woman indicated that the garden
was just beyond another arch made of wood further up the path.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
Mark saw the wooden arch he was suddenly struck with the similarities to his
dream. He was overcome with a sense of terror and yet at the same time a deep
longing and compulsion to continue. His inner voice was urgent in its
insistence that he continue. Was this the garden in his dream that he had for
so long been searching for?</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In
a dream like trance he walked down the golden path and through the wooden arch.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
garden was even more beautiful than in his dreams, the scent more powerful and
the feeling of peace and fulfilment that filled his mind lifted his soul above
its mortal bounds. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
glanced back at the arch but it had disappeared.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
was surrounded by beauty.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With
a soft sigh he relaxed and allowed himself to sink into and be totally immersed
by it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>All
around him he could hear small voices whispering. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘You
are here at last. We have been calling you for many years. You now belong to
us.’<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mark’s
family, friends and the police searched for him for many months but he was never
found.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Below
the mountain a four year old boy dreamt of a golden path and a beautiful
garden.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-39573611990906533732013-12-07T21:55:00.004-08:002013-12-07T21:55:55.001-08:00DOUBLE KNEE REPLACEMENT.Back home again after a week in Nepean Private Hospital and two weeks in a rehab hospital.<br />
For those that are not aware I have had a total replacement of both knees. This involved literally cutting out the old knees and replacing them with metal and plastic.<br />
I was up walking just two days after the operation and am now on two walking sticks. The pain is bearable but the worst problem is trying to sleep all night on my back.<br />
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-92103614958692988202013-11-10T17:03:00.002-08:002013-11-10T17:03:47.460-08:00THE CHALLENGE
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">THE CHALLENGE<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 10;"> </span>John
Ross©</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was a cool windy afternoon but I decided to go for a walk anyway. I knew that
the path across the headland and down to the beach would be deserted on an
afternoon like this and, in my present mood; I would prefer to not meet anyone
I knew. I just wanted to be alone. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
had just celebrated, and that is the wrong use of that word, my sixty fifth
birthday two weeks ago and one week later had to retire from my job where I had
worked for the past thirty five years. I felt old, unwanted and useless.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Right
out at the end of the headland, high above the ocean, there was a wooden bench
next to the path. I had sat on this bench many times in the past, in all
seasons and all weathers. It had become like an old friend to me; somewhere
where I could internally discuss my problems, rejoice in my triumphs or just
sit and enjoy the view. It always listened in silence, never complained or was
critical.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
I approached today the bench was outlined against a leaden sky that was dressed
in ragged white clouds and adorned by screeching white seagulls that soared and
dipped in the wind. To my relief there was nobody there.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
sat down and gazed out over the ocean. White horses chased each other endlessly
all the way to the horizon. Patches on the water were alternately rippled and
flattened by gusts of wind. The air was full of the noise of the birds, the
crash of the waves on the rocks below me, the sigh of the wind as it carried
the salty spray over the land and the sense of the timeless battle of the ocean
against the land.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
was so entranced by the view, whilst at the same time, lost in the mire of my
emotions that I did not notice him until he was right in front of me. He smiled
and said, ‘Do you mind if I join you?’ At first I was so distracted by his
appearance that I did not reply. He was very old with a bushy white beard, long
straggly white hair and dressed in an old fashioned crumpled woollen suit. He
was bent over with both hands resting on a black cane with a large silver top.
Stirring myself I motioned for him to sit.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
sat in silence for fully ten minutes before he suddenly said, ‘You look like a
man with a lot on his mind.’ Afterwards I was never sure why these simple words
opened the floodgates within me. I told this stranger things that I could not
talk to my friends or even my wife about. I was terrified of the future and the
creeping destruction that old age would bring to what I had been and still
thought of myself as. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
I had finished he said, ‘Each day think of tomorrow as a new country that you
have never visited. Do not be afraid, be excited about the new things you will
see and experience. It may not be familiar to you and you may not be able to do
all the things you do today but do not turn your back on it because of that. Life
is a series of adventures that are waiting to be explored. The day you stop and
look only to the past is the day you really start to grow old. You cannot
change the past but the story of tomorrow is yet to be written.’</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
soon as he had finished he stood up and said he had to go. I stood next to him,
shook his hand, thanked him and asked if he would give me his name. He gave me
another of his shy smiles and said, ‘Rupert Rudolph Rumpstead. My parents never
did apologise.’ With a smile that almost turned into a laugh he turned and
walked off slowly down the path. I watched until he was out of sight.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
sat back down on the bench and it was few moments before I realised that now I
was just enjoying the view. Ideas of what I might do during my retirement
filled my head.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Just
as I stood up to go my pullover caught on a rough patch on the back of the
seat. As I disentangled it I realised that it was caught on the edge of an old
plaque that had been painted over. I had never noticed it before. With some
difficulty I read, ‘This bench is dedicated to the memory of Rupert R
Rumpstead. A man who lived life to the full.’ It was then dated October 14
1928.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-67835202666431571022013-11-10T16:59:00.001-08:002013-11-10T16:59:40.974-08:00THE QUIET (A science fiction story)
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">THE QUIET<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We had just spent three earth years on this stinking
Grade 3 planet when I received a message from Control. There were three more
scientific types on their way from Earth.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if I wasn’t
already up to my neck in scientists. There were already nearly five hundred of
them here in the settlement. It was my job to keep them safe. I should say ‘try
to keep them safe’ as they were always inventing new ways of getting themselves
into trouble. To top it off I only had a single platoon of marines to do this
and most of them were on their first off earth rotation. Thank the heavens we
had not had to use any force against the native inhabitants.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The natives had been nicknamed ‘The Quiet’ as they
appeared to be dumb. In three years no one had ever heard them utter a sound.
They were bi-pedal and in body shape much like us except for their head. It was
overly large and their eyes were also much bigger than ours. They wore only the
minimum of clothing and no shoes. Their feet were wide and flat and they made
no noise at all as they moved around. They lived in small villages and each
stone house contained a large family group. The scientific types had not
discovered any use of sophisticated mechanical devices. In fact they appeared
to gather everything they needed from the dense forests that covered most of
this planet. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When we had arrived we had to blast out a clearing for
our landing and my marines were the first to exit to secure a perimeter. We
were ready for any eventuality, or so we thought. The natives greeted us with
total indifference and it took us many weeks to realise, that to them, we just
did not seem to exist. Every attempt at communication failed and as strict
protocols did not allow us to interfere with their lives, unless invited by
them to do so; we just went about our mission to see if the planet offered any
useful resources. The scientists did what scientists do and my men quickly
became bored with the daily routine of escorting them and forever pulling them
out of swamps, rescuing them from cliffs and the myriad of other ways they
seemed to get into trouble.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The climate here had not changed since we had landed.
Every day dawned clear and hot. By the middle of the day it was cloudy, humid
and hot and by late afternoon it rained. It did not just rain but came down in
bucket loads. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was becoming difficult to keep my men motivated and
as the months dragged on into years they became more and more vocal about ‘The
Quiet’ and their dumb ways. I was forced to discipline some of them when they
had tried to provoke a reaction from the natives. Nothing that they did got any
response and this annoyed them even more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, the three scientists arrived by shuttle
accompanied by nearly a tonne of equipment. They took two days to set it all up
in one of the empty accommodation modules. They had just finished when we
received an order from Control that we should all gather in the main hall for a
meeting.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When we had all finally arrived and settled down the
Chief Scientist took the podium. She announced that for the past two years they
had been studying the natives with remote devices from the orbiting Control
centre. ‘The Quiet as you call them are not so quiet after all.’ She said as
she switched on one of the machines. The room was filled with high pitched
noises that seemed to ebb and flow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">‘We have changed the frequency so that you can hear
it, but what you are listening to is one of the natives ‘talking’ to another.
We have managed to decipher their ‘language’ and can now understand what they
are saying to each other. We do not as yet understand how they generate the
sounds except that it comes from somewhere within their brain.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There was stunned silence in the room until one of my men
said, ‘What are they saying?’ Another muttered, ‘Just cause they speak don’t
mean they’re not dumb.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The scientist explained that ‘The Quiet’ knew that we
were arriving well before we had even reached orbit and that they also realised
that their planet did not have anything that we would find useful. They had
decided to just ignore us and we would eventually go away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">She concluded by saying, ‘The Quiet are not as quiet
as you thought and also more importantly they are not as backward. They have a
rich and vibrant culture that we are just beginning to understand. So as the
old saying goes, ‘do not judge a book by its cover’.’</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">THE END<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-4306215022255977402013-11-09T12:47:00.003-08:002013-11-09T12:47:45.623-08:00WASHING CHEESE
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">WASHING CHEESE<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Julia is
playing in the sandpit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her daddy
calls out, ‘Julia lunch time.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Julia is
hungry so she runs inside.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lots of
yummy sandwiches for lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Daddy and
mummy have tomato, lettuce, some meat and cheese.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Julia eats all
her sandwiches.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Daddy can I
have some of your cheese,’ says Julia.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No Julia. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s special cheese for big people,’ replies
daddy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Julia is
sad. ‘‘But daddy you said I am big now.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘OK, Julia,
just a little piece,’ says daddy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Julia smells
the cheese. ‘Daddy, please wash the cheese.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her daddy
looks cross, ‘Did you drop it on the floor?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘No daddy it
is smelly.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her daddy
washes the cheese under the tap.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Julia looks
at the cheese and says, ‘It’s wet now daddy.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her daddy
dries the cheese on the tea towel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Julia smells
the cheese again. ‘It’s still smelly daddy.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Julia’s
daddy puts tomato sauce all over the cheese.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Julia eats
the cheese and tomato sauce all up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘May I have
some more cheese please daddy?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">AAAHRGGG.....That’s
daddy.......swearing quietly under his breath. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-92122642583035984492013-11-04T14:16:00.002-08:002013-11-04T14:16:56.122-08:00THE CAT
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">THE <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>CAT<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">They say that families don’t own
cats, that they are just their servants. Some people even add that we don’t
adopt cats, they choose us. Well! In the case of our cat both of the above
observations are definitely true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We first met Squeaky, strange name
but that is what she came to be called, when she was just a small kitten. She
had taken up residence in the storm water drain on the road at the front of our
house. A number of the surrounding families had tried to coax her out with
offers of food and a home. She resolutely refused all their approaches until
our children approached. They had no food to offer and had certainly not spoken
to my wife or myself about a home. When my daughter, who was in the lead, with
the two boys, (not as inquisitive as her), trailing behind the cat rushed out
of its hiding place and rubbing itself around her legs began to purr loudly.
She picked it up and it nestled into her arms and promptly went to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Later that afternoon there was quite
a division in our household; my daughter and my wife voting to keep the cat,
our two sons voting no and myself sitting on the fence. Meanwhile the cat had
been locked in our laundry with a freshly bought tray of kitty litter, a bowel
of milk and a plate of cat food. After a long, unproductive, discussion it was
decided to bring the cat into the kitchen where we were gathered. This idea was
put forward by my daughter as she believed that we were discussing the future
of the cat and therefore it should be present.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Well! You would not believe what
happened next. Placed on the by now cleared kitchen table top the cat made a
bee line for the two boys who after each giving it a pat and a cuddle changed
their votes to yes. That left just me who was still unsure about the idea of
having a pet around the house. As usual in our family with a vote of four to
one, with me being the one (no reference to any TV reality shows) it was not
deemed necessary to further canvas my opinion. I was left sitting at the table,
rather bemused at what had happened during the afternoon, while the others
rushed about with the cat and a multitude of ideas as to how to make the animal
feel more at home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Well the days and then weeks passed
and the cat had definitely adopted us as her servants. I suppose I should, from
now on, call her by her name, Squeaky. As I said before a strange name for a
cat, but one that eminently suited her as when she was excited her meow turned
into a high pitched squeak. My wife had early on decided that she could not
just be referred to as “The Cat” and had started to refer to her as Squeaky.
The name was adopted by the rest of the family but as a protest, probably
childish and futile; I still referred to her as the cat. The cat. Oh. Ok
Squeaky was showered with presents; a cat bed, a coat for the cold weather, her
very own little door in the bottom of the laundry door and even a little soft
stuffed toy cat so she would not feel lonely. The toys! Yes toys for cats. In
no time at all the floor of the laundry and the rumpus room, read those as
Squeaky’s bedroom and lounge room were a health hazard. They were strewn with
all manner of things for her to chase, chew on or scratch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Squeaky and I developed a healthy
respect for each other that did not involve any close contact. I never patted
her and she flatly refused to sit on my lap in front of the television. There
was however the occasional outbreak of hostilities such as the time I woke in
the middle of the night to find her asleep on our bed. I yelled, she ran and my
wife yelled – at me. I refused to allow any more nocturnal visits and there
were a few days of frosty looks from both my wife and the cat. As usual, in
these circumstances, I retreated to the garage or the garden shed. Needless to
say the cat won in the end, but as a small gesture of defiance I would not let
her sleep on my side of the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Over the years we moved house and
city a few times and Squeaky always went with us. She inspected every new house
as if its acceptance by us depended on her approval. She would always decide
where she wanted her bed and her toys placed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After a number of years we moved
back to Sydney and much to the disgust of my family I developed an allergy to
cat fur. I could not even sit on a lounge or chair where Squeaky had been
without developing very itch, watery eyes. The only relief was to wash my face
thoroughly with cold water. It took a few weeks for me to work out that it was
Squeaky’s fur that was causing the problem. The family, of course, had
different ideas. My daughter thought that I was just tired and rubbing them too
much, my wife that it was hay fever and my oldest son just told me, “To toughen
up.” We went away down the coast for a week’s holiday, children stayed at home
to house and cat sit, and the problem with my eyes immediately went away. I had
proved my point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There was no way that Squeaky was
leaving so we had to work out a compromise. She became an outside cat, banished
from the house. This still did not stop her from occasionally trying to sneak
inside. She came to know that I could not be won over and all I had to do was
confront her and point out the door and she would turn tail and run outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A few more years went by under this
new arrangement. Our family grew up and my two sons now lived with us with
their partners. Squeaky was visibly getting older and slowing down. My wife and
I went overseas for a few months leaving our extended family to house sit, mow
the lawns (yeah right!), Look after the swimming pool, (new pump required on
our return), water the plants (not the inside ones every day; flooded soggy
carpet), mind Squeaky. This last simple task turned ugly. You might well ask
how? We certainly did on our return. Squeaky had got very sick and the vet
offered only two alternatives; expensive cure or euthanasia. The house sitters
were divided evenly with one son and partner opting for cure and the other two
for euthanasia. A rather acrimonious discussion continued for days. Neither of
the parties thought to call us for a decision. Eventually the cure camp won out
with the other side washing their hands of the whole thing. So! Result. We
arrived home to an elderly still quite sick cat and a horrendous vet bill.
Apparently Squeaky had spent a week in cat hospital on a trip. I must admit it
brought a smile to my face imagining her lying back on a hospital bed with a
number of nurses to order about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Squeaky never fully recovered and
eighteen months later my wife had to make the sad journey to the vet to have
her put to sleep. She could not eat properly and was becoming weaker by the
day. By then it was only my wife and I in the house so we decided to not tell
the children until it was over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Over the years I had grown so
accustomed to having her around that I found myself missing her presence rather
badly. Sometimes working out in the back yard I was sure that I had seen her
out of the corner of my eye walking purposely towards the back door as if to
challenge my authority one last time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Rest in peace Squeaky you were an
integral much loved part of our family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>THE
END<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-87933331089350410732013-10-23T14:18:00.000-07:002013-10-23T14:18:22.648-07:00A PIECE OF MY HEART
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">A PIECE
OF MY HEART<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
There are many things that I vividly remember.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On hot,
still, summer nights, sitting on the back porch of our house in the middle of
thousands of acres, in the middle of nowhere. The heat like a warm cloak over
our bodies, the stars so bright and so near that if I reached out I could touch
them. Far away in the north the flash of lightning as it illuminates a massive
cloud that for a few moments looks like a giant’s glass house lit from within.
The rumble of thunder that reaches us many seconds later that reminds my father
too much of shell fire during the war. A red glow just peeking over the horizon
in the west, another bush fire on the Liverpool Plains reminding us of the
fragility of life here. Tomorrow could bring either flooding rains or more
fierce heat and all consuming fire.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
On a bitterly cold winter’s morning riding my
horse behind a slow moving mob of sheep as the dogs ceaselessly circle behind
them, keeping them together and headed in the right direction. Watching the
skill of the dogs as they seem to anticipate the movements of individual sheep
that try to break away, the short bursts of white breath from their mouths as
they work. The low morning sun strikes the frost crystals on the grass and the
bushes and sends streaks of diamond light across our path.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Out on the edge of the plains taking a rest
beneath a lone gum tree, its leaves hardly moving in a gentle breeze. It is so
quiet that I am sure that if I concentrate hard enough I will hear the living
movements of the tree that I am resting against; its roots drawing in moisture
and food and the trunk transporting it upwards to the leaves high above me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Lying in my bed listening to the sounds of the
night. The sigh of the wind through the large pine tree just outside my window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents talking quietly in front of the
fire in the kitchen. The sound of rain drumming on the tin roof. Sometimes the
unmistakable howl of a dingo that will start off an eerie choir as others
respond. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Visits to the nearest town for shopping, business
for my father and sometimes for social outings such as the annual races or
rodeo. Shopping was always an exciting adventure as we only went to town once a
month on a Saturday. An ice cream was often my reward for behaving myself
whilst the boring business of buying groceries and clothes was conducted. However
I still remember my parents buying me my very first pair of R M Williams and a
proper Akubra hat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Out here in the bush there were only friends and
neighbours. One never had to ask for help as it was always there whenever one
needed it. A handshake was not only a greeting but also a binding contract and
a promise was always kept and a person’s word was his bond.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
I remember the pride I felt in the fact that I was
an integral part of the running of the property. My daily chores which
included, feeding the chooks and the dogs, keeping the kitchen stove supplied
with wood, tending the vegetable garden, making sure the kerosene fridge never
went out, lighting the chip heater for hot water for the bath, all enabled my
father to concentrate on the major tasks that only he could do. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
The freedom to explore and experiment. The
exhilaration of galloping full speed on my horse down the long slope to our
house; the wind on my face, the rhythmic movements of the horse and the feeling
of power that emanated from him. The sense of achievement, and really
contributing, when I brought home the first rabbit that I had shot with my new
rifle and my mother cooking it for our evening meal. On weekends and holidays
riding my horse out to the mountains, ridges and deep valleys that surrounded
our house; watching kangaroos grazing next to the fast flowing streams, the
goannas sunbaking on the rocks and the fish rising to take insects that had
settled on the surface of the water. The never ending story of new birth, life
and death that was played out almost daily on the wide acres of the land. It
was my kingdom and I was free to explore it, to learn from it and to try to
understand it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
The two times of the year that held a magical hold
over me. Shearing time and lambing time. Nearly all year the shearing shed and
the shearer’s quarters were the sole domain of families of mice and spiders but
come shearing time they were filled with movement, energy, laughter and hard
work. For me it was a whirlwind of penning up sheep, sweeping the board,
keeping the water bag filled, listening to the banter of the shearers and all
the time learning from my father who did the wool classing. I fell into bed
every night exhausted but loved every minute of it. Lambing time was also a
busy time but also one of wonder at nature at its best; the miracle of new
life. We had to keep watch day and night over the ewes as they gave birth as
this was a time of great danger for them and their new lambs; dingos, wild
dogs, foxes and crows were always ready to take advantage. It was a time of
little sleep but great rewards and to me watching over a paddock full of
newborn lambs was recompense enough.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
There are many other things that I remember. The
smell of approaching rain, of newly mown hay, the distinctive smell that comes
with the dawn just before a hot summer’s day and the aroma of freshly baked
bread straight from the kitchen oven. The sound that a thousand new born lambs
make, the cries of a flock of hundreds of budgerigars, the thunder of the hooves
of my horse at full gallop, the crack of my father’s stock whip and the roar of
a usually dry stream in full flood. The sight of a lone wedge tail eagle riding
a thermal, of thousands of galahs following the harvester, of horses frisky and
jumpy at the smell of approaching rain, of low branches on a willow tree
trailing in the flowing river, the splendour of hillsides covered in the white
of flowering gums and the brilliant green of new grass after a bush fire.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Mostly I miss the sense of belonging and being one
with something. Perhaps I do not explain myself well but I am sure of one thing
I left a piece of my heart in that place and at that time.</div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-24621257876463958312013-10-18T14:35:00.000-07:002013-10-18T14:35:26.928-07:00A FLORAL WREATH
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A FLORAL WREATH<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mary
and William were married in the springtime in Paris. They were both working
there for the Australian Government immediately after the war. They were very
young and madly in love. For their first wedding anniversary William gave Mary a
linen rose made in an exclusive little shop in Montmartre. They returned home
to Australia shortly afterwards, but each year, on their anniversary William
had one of the linen roses sent from Paris so he could give it to Mary.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sadly
William lost Mary just last year. William had a floral wreath made up from all
the linen roses that he had sent Mary on their wedding anniversaries, and laid
it on her grave after her funeral.</div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
THE END</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-86292519639796247562013-10-15T15:13:00.000-07:002013-10-15T15:13:01.728-07:00AS THE WHEELS TURN
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">AS THE WHEELS TURN<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Quick
decision. I’m going. When? Tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No
time to change my mind. Get on the phone and make the reservation now. No! I
can’t do this. It’s been so long; will I even be welcome? Do it.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The bus comes at last. If it had been
late I’m not sure my resolve would not have faltered. The driver loads my
suitcase. Just one; all my possessions; not much to show for ten years in the
city. People hug and kiss, happy, sad. Alone I climb aboard trying not to look.
I choose a seat right at the back hoping no-one will sit next to me. I still
have time to get off. No, it is time to do this.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
city slides past as we turn onto the freeway. Some good memories, not that
many, bitterness, failure, loneliness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happiness torn to shreds by her sudden
betrayal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if she is still in
the city here somewhere. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does she think
of me? Probably not. Best to try to forget. I’m leaving all that behind me now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Out
in the open country and I think of the e-mail I sent, “I’m coming by bus,
Greyhound, Thursday. Can you meet me?” I should have said more; did not have
the courage. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Should
have brought something to read. Bored. Another eighteen hours to go. Sheep in a
paddock. The grass is lush, they must have had some rain. See, I still think
like a country boy. Why did I leave? No choice really or that is what I had
told myself. No future on the land, drought, debt, relentless hard work. Life
in the city easy, fun. The pull of the bright lights had been irresistible. As
I look at the passing countryside memories come flooding back, the shearing
shed full of noise and activity, milking the cow on a cold frosty morning,
fresh baked bread direct from the oven.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Comfort
stop, fifteen minutes, don’t be late, get off, stretch and join the queue for
the loo. That rhymes. Buy a paper. Luke warm pies, sausage rolls, limp
sandwiches in a coffin of plastic, ten varieties of coke a cola and a pimply
faced youth who asks, “Watcha want?” Nothing thanks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
the wheels turn time seems to slow down. The paper has been read and passed to
a fellow passenger who asked, “You finished with that mate?” Sound recedes,
becomes the gentle lapping of waves on a stony beach, she is walking away, I
want to follow but can’t, she does not look back. A loud voice intrudes, the
driver, we are stopped, “Those of you travelling further check at the transit
counter. Thank you for choosing Greyhound.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Waiting
room; children scamper, some read, others just stare into their personal abyss,
backpackers chatter.... Germans, not sure. I have to get out; three hours is
too long to sit. Walk aimlessly; suddenly hungry. McDonalds; cardboard box,
cardboard circle, cardboard bun, cardboard meat, tiny salty chips in a paper
container. Walk again, feeling better. Small town, small town people. Some nod,
some stare at the stranger. Darkness and cold drive me back to the waiting
room.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Finally
on the last leg, smaller bus, elderly gentleman beside me, says hi, then
settles back and sleeps. Dark night, feel like I’m in a dim time capsule
rocking and bumping though a black void on its way to an unknown future.
Occasionally headlights flash past like comets in the dark.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Try
to sleep as the wheels turn. An hour gone by? No, the luminous hands of my
watch say ten minutes. Don’t look at the watch. The coming dawn tears a long
bright strip in the darkness of the night that slowly turns to red. My body
aches, my head is full of half remembered dreams. Not long now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then
there they are at the side of the road beside a dusty, battered four wheel
drive. My father tall and ramrod straight, my mother, grey hair now, searching
the windows, looking for me. Down the steps, my mother’s warm embrace, my
father’s firm handshake. “Welcome home son.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Yes,
home.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-35159065682519261132013-10-12T18:40:00.002-07:002013-10-12T18:40:41.657-07:00NARRATOR MAGAZINEMy story THE ROBOT has been published on-line on the Narrator Magazine site.<br />
You can access and read it at <a href="http://www.narratorsss.com/2013/10/the-robot-john-ross.html">http://www.narratorsss.com/2013/10/the-robot-john-ross.html</a> <br />
It is free. So enjoy.John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-20682339284070935692013-10-07T15:32:00.004-07:002013-10-07T15:32:45.527-07:00THE TANGLED WOOD
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">THE TANGLED WOOD<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: right;">
John Ross ©</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
young brother and I called it ‘The Tangled Wood’. We had called it this ever
since our mother told us the story of a young knight who had dared to enter it.
The legend said that he had become so entangled in the thick bushes that grew
under the towering trees that he had never returned. She was always warning us
that the woods were full of evil, and demons and goblins lived there. There
were also rumours that a tribe of men who worshipped the devil had made it
their home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Our
estate was the largest in the county and was bordered on one side by the road
to Winchester and on the other three by a brook. The woods began just on the
other side of the brook. My father employed many people to work our land. They
lived in family groups in small villages scattered over the estate. Even as a
very young person I was aware of the vast difference between these folk and our
family. Neither my brother nor I had to work and we had private tutors. The serf
families were very poor; their children received no education and were sent out
to work as soon as they were old enough. This did not overly concern me as it
was the way it had always been. My life was too full of exciting things and I
rarely had time to dwell on such matters. I was very busy with my lessons and
the captain of our house guard was teaching me how to use a long sword. Father
had also told me that after my next birthday he was going to arrange for me to
have lessons in jousting. I dreamt every night of joining the crusaders in far
off lands and winning heroic battles.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
day before my sixteenth birthday my brother John and I had ridden out to the edge
of the estate near the wood. My uncle from Winchester had recently given me a
hunting falcon and we had set out to give it some exercise. We had chosen this
area as game birds often flew out of the wood to drink at the brook. It was
time for my falcon to try for his very first wild kill.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
waited until a large pheasant flew down to the water’s edge and then released
my falcon. The pheasant immediately took fright and darted back into the
darkness of the wood followed closely by the falcon. The falcon is a bird that
lives and hunts in open country so I was amazed to see it enter the woods. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
waited for many minutes but the bird did not reappear. Then my servant tapped
me on the arm and said, ‘Listen master. It’s the falcon can you hear it?’ Just
very faintly from deep in the wood I could hear the sound of the bird in
obvious distress. I immediately dismounted and started towards the brook.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Without
looking back I said, ‘We’ll cross here. We can follow the sound of the bird
into the wood.’ Behind me I heard a gasp from my brother and turned to see a
look of horror on his face. My servant had dropped to his knees and was
fervently crossing himself and mumbling Hail Marys. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
was not going to let a few rumours started by ignorant peasants stop me from
trying to retrieve my prize bird, so ignoring my brother’s pleas and the
servants talk of demons I crossed into the wood.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
had only taken a dozen steps when my courage deserted me. The small bushes that
lined the edge of the wood had given way to tall trees with gnarled twisted
trunks. Very little light filtered down from the canopy far above my head. In
the deep gloom a rotting tree stump became a snarling goblin. A twisted vine
hanging from a branch was the devil’s serpent. Darkness wrapped itself around
my soul and the chill of evil invaded my mind and body.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
cry of the falcon brought me back to reality, and summoning all my courage, I
headed deeper into the wood towards it. To keep my imagination under control I
started to recite the Lord’s Prayer aloud.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ahead
I could see a clearing and a patch of sunshine. Instinctively I changed
direction towards it. Just a few moments in that golden light would lift the
black thoughts from my soul. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
stood in the centre of the small clearing and lifted my head up to the light.
Its warmth renewed me and I felt ready to continue.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Suddenly
the deep piles of fallen leaves around me exploded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
air was full of flying, rotten matter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
terrifying cry rent the silence asunder.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
fell to the ground, my body convulsing with terror.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dimly
through the twisting, dancing leaves I saw them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grotesque
figures with contorted faces. Demons. The spawn of Satan.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
fainted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was dark. I was lying next to a roaring fire over which a deer carcass was
roasting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Two
young men who were sitting next to the fire were looking at me. The tallest one
stood up and walked over towards me. He sat down next to me and said, ‘Don’t be
frightened Master Richard. My men meant you no harm. It was their idea of a
joke. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
I asked who he was he replied, ‘My name is Robin and my fat friend there is
Brother Tuck.’<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-35378694470683475422013-09-27T16:00:00.002-07:002013-09-27T16:02:13.192-07:00RUBY TUESDAY<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">RUBY TUESDAY<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Apologies
to the Rolling Stones<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>John
Ross©</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Samuel
Smyth always thought of himself as being very attractive to the opposite sex
and the events of the past three weeks had bolstered this view.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One month ago a disastrous affair with his
secretary had seen her depart the firm in tears. Then just a week later the
very first girl he interviewed for the position started to flirt with him as
soon as she entered the room. Her name was Ruby and befitting her name she had
flaming red hair. She was not beautiful in the classical sense but had a great
figure, which she was showing to its best advantage. She also had a wicked grin
and a way about her that instantly aroused his interest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was the only person interviewed that day
as he gave her the job and sent the other applicants home unseen.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Within
a week of her starting they were meeting for coffee at a private little cafe
after work. After ten days they would both find themselves ‘by accident’ in the
filing room for a quick kiss and cuddle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then just a few days ago when she arrived at
work Ruby asked if he could drive her home that evening as her car had broken
down. All day Samuel was like a little child who on Christmas morning just
can’t wait to open his presents. All day Ruby teased him whenever she came into
his office; showing just a little more than usual of her long legs when she sat
down and purposely leaning over his desk to show off her ample cleavage.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>However,
all of Samuel’s dreams of an evening of passion alone with the ravishing Ruby
came crashing down when they pulled up in front of her flat. The upstairs light
was on and Ruby announced that they definitely would not be able to go inside
as that meant that her flatmate was home. His disappointment soon changed when
to console him Ruby gave him the most passionate, mind blowing kiss that he had
ever experienced. The car windows steamed up, and Samuel’s mind was just
beginning to think that he might not miss out after all when Ruby leaned back
hard on the car horn. The resulting loud undulating sound seemed to go on
forever. Lights came on up and down the street and one elderly lady actually
peeked out her front door. The moment was shattered. Samuel drove home cursing
and constantly thumping the steering wheel to release his frustration.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
next Tuesday, during their now regular session in the filing room, between
kisses, Ruby asked if his wife was still away on her business trip to Brisbane.
Samuel, instantly realising what prompted the question, said that she was and
would not be back for another week. Ruby, with one of her cheeky grins asked if
it was a king size bed in their bedroom. After another long kiss Ruby pulled
back and said, ‘I know it’s your birthday tomorrow and tonight I want to give
you a special birthday present.’</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was soon all arranged. After work Samuel picked Ruby up a few streets away from
the office. Ruby said they should do this so no one from the office could start
any mischievous gossip. She also insisted that he let it be known around the
office that he was driving up to Brisbane to spend the rest of the week with
his wife. They drove via the back streets to Samuel’s house and before arriving
Ruby got into the back seat and hid under Samuel’s coat. This was Ruby’s idea
so that no neighbours would see her. Samuel drove straight into the garage and
Ruby stayed hidden until the garage door closed.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Samuel
could hardly wait and had his tie and shirt and Ruby’s blouse off before they
even entered the house.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Samuel
fumbled the door into the house open and stumbled into the darkened room.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Suddenly
there was a loud shout of, ‘SURPRISE’, and all the lights came on. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Samuel
staggered backwards with shock. He instantly thought, ‘Shit! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Margaret has organised a surprise birthday
party for me.’</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His
eyes became adjusted to the glare. There was no birthday cake, no candles, no
party hats, no champagne, no friends and the floor was covered in a large
plastic sheet. There was just his wife Margaret and in her hand was a huge colt
45 with a long cylindrical silencer attached aimed directly at his chest.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
was stunned, frozen to the spot and speechless. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ruby
walked over to stand beside his wife and took a small pink revolver from her
purse and pointed it at him.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Margaret
said, ‘Great timing. We are actually ahead of schedule. Plenty of time for me
to keep my rendezvous with that lying, cheating husband of yours and for you to
get home and prepare things.’</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Now,
Samuel where do you think it is appropriate for me to aim first?’ <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-62540675529728130702013-09-25T22:35:00.003-07:002013-09-25T22:35:47.066-07:00THE HORSE
<br />
<div class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<strong><u>THE HORSE</u></strong></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b><u><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span></o:p></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
I always called him “The Horse”. He belonged to me
as my father had given him to me on my tenth birthday. His actual name was
“Tony” but to me that was a silly name for a fully-grown horse. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
From the day that he was
delivered to our farm, as much as I thought of him as mine, Tony had other
ideas. He would never take grain out of my hand, was very difficult to catch in
the mornings, and would always graze in the far corner of the house paddock. So
Tony became known simply as “The Horse”.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
Every time that I went out with
the halter to catch him he would wait until I was very close and then gallop
off to the far corner of the paddock. Here he would stare at me and snicker as
if to say. “I am the boss here. You won’t catch me unless I let you.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would play this game sometimes for nearly
half an hour. The strange thing about him was that as soon as I had saddled
him, and climbed aboard, he became a most obedient and docile animal.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
One morning nearly a year ago my
father wanted me to ride over to one of our neighbours to check on his
homestead. He and his wife were away at the coast on a few weeks holiday and we
had promised to keep an eye on the place while he was away. So straight after
breakfast I walked out into the house paddock to catch The Horse. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
He was grazing alongside the
small dam in the centre of the paddock but as soon as he saw me he was off to
the far corner. I had no alternative but to trudge after him as I had done many
times before. Forty minutes later I had him saddled and we were on our way. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
There was a rough four-wheel
drive track that leads from our homestead to our neighbours but it was a
beautiful day and I decided to take the scenic route. It was considerably
further than the track but it followed the river as it carved its way through a
low range of rocky hills and, most importantly, I could make a short detour to
check out my favourite fishing spot. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
There was no real track, just a
series of cattle paths that climbed over the hills. At times the path was in a
valley right beside the river but was mostly high up on the steep slopes and
cliffs above the river. My fishing spot was on a sort of peninsular that jutted
out into the river where it rushed around a sharp bend and over some rapids.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
There was no path to the spot and
it was quite steep and slippery with loose stones. I should have left The Horse
tethered to a tree on the main path but I was in a hurry as I was probably
already in trouble with my father for taking the long way to the neighbours.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
We were nearly at the flat rock
that I used as a platform to fish from when with a loud flapping, and its usual
whistling sound; a crested pigeon flew out from a bush almost at the horse’s
front hooves. The Horse immediately reared up and then shied violently to one
side. I had no chance and was catapulted over the back of the horse, and over
the steep slope down to the river. I hit the ground hard and my head must have
slammed into a rock, as the next thing I remember is the freezing cold of the
water as it closed over me.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
I tried to stand up but could not
feel the bottom. The current was sweeping me along. I tried to swim but my
right arm would not work properly. Then I realised that as I tried to kick there
was a horrible grating sensation in my right leg. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
For a moment blind panic gripped
me. I was about to scream when the current pushed me up onto a half submerged
boulder close to the bank.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
It took me many minutes to get my
breathing and my mind under control. I looked up to see if I could see The
Horse but he was nowhere in sight. I could see that my right arm was broken
between the elbow and the wrist. Slowly turning around, as I was afraid of
being swept off the rock I looked down at my right leg. My trousers had been
ripped open and I could see a piece of bone protruding from the skin just above
my ankle. It was then the pain hit me and I passed out.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
When I came to I had no idea how
long I had been unconscious. It was then that the real desperation of my
situation hit me. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
My parents would not come looking
for me for many hours and then they would start looking along the four-wheel
drive track. There was no way I could move from the boulder without being swept
away by the river. I was already shivering violently from the cold of the water
and if I was still there when night fell it would get very cold.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
The pain was really bad and I was
only just barely conscious when I thought I heard my father calling my name. I
opened my eyes and saw him scrambling down the slope. Behind him was my mother
talking into a satellite phone as she carefully descended.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
I was in hospital for two weeks
and had two operations on my leg but now a year later I am fully recovered.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
Apparently very soon after I had
fallen off and rolled down into the river The Horse had galloped back to the
house and had kicked up such a fuss at the gate into the house paddock that he
had attracted my father’s attention. Realising what must have happened my
father had alerted my mother and had then, not wanting to waste any time,
ridden The Horse out to look for me. The Horse had refused to go along the
track and after struggling with him for some time my father had let him have
his head. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
He had led my father directly to
me.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
Well! Now Tony is no longer The
Horse but is now “My Horse”.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
The damn thing is still hard to
catch in the mornings though.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<h1 style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> THE END</span></h1>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-84825572876181563722013-09-20T21:42:00.001-07:002013-09-20T21:43:45.273-07:00THE QUIET<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">THE QUIET<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We had just spent three earth years on this stinking
Grade 3 planet when I received a message from Control. There were three more
scientific types on their way from Earth.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if I wasn’t
already up to my neck in scientists. There were already nearly five hundred of
them here in the settlement. It was my job to keep them safe. I should say “try
to keep them safe” as they were always inventing new ways of getting themselves
into trouble. To top it off I only had a single platoon of marines to do this
and most of them were on their first off earth rotation. Thank the heavens we
had not had to use any force against the native inhabitants.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The natives had been nicknamed “The Quiet” as they
appeared to be dumb. In three years no one had ever heard them utter a sound.
They were bi-pedal and in body shape much like us except for their head. It was
overly large and their eyes were also much bigger than ours. They wore only the
minimum of clothing and no shoes. Their feet were wide and flat and they made
no noise at all as they moved around. They lived in small villages and each
stone house contained a large family group. The scientific types had not
discovered any use of sophisticated mechanical devices. In fact they appeared
to gather everything they needed from the dense forests that covered most of
this planet. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When we had arrived we had to blast out a clearing for
our landing and my marines were the first to exit to secure a perimeter. We
were ready for any eventuality, or so we thought. The natives greeted us with
total indifference and it took us many weeks to realise, that to them, we just
did not seem to exist. Every attempt at communication failed and as strict
protocols did not allow us to interfere with their lives, unless invited by
them to do so; we just went about our mission to see if the planet offered any
useful resources. The scientists did what scientists do and my men quickly
became bored with the daily routine of escorting them and forever pulling them
out of swamps, rescuing them from cliffs and the myriad of other ways they
seemed to get into trouble.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The climate here had not changed since we had landed.
Every day dawned clear and hot. By the middle of the day it was cloudy, humid
and hot and by late afternoon it rained. It did not just rain but came down in
bucket loads. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was becoming difficult to keep my men motivated and
as the months dragged on into years they became more and more vocal about “The
Quiet” and their dumb ways. I had had to discipline some of them when they had
tried to provoke a reaction from the natives. Nothing that they did got any
response and this annoyed them even more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, the three scientists arrived by shuttle
accompanied by nearly a tonne of equipment. They took two days to set it all up
in one of the empty accommodation modules. They had just finished when we
received an order from Control that we should all gather in the main hall for a
meeting.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When we had all finally arrived and settled down the
Chief Scientist took the podium. She announced that for the past two years they
had been studying the natives with remote devices from the orbiting Control
centre. “The Quiet as you call them are not so quiet after all.” She said as
she switched on one of the machines. The room was filled with high pitched
noises that seemed to ebb and flow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“We have changed the frequency so that you can hear
it, but what you are listening to is one of the natives “talking” to another.
We have managed to decipher their “language” and can now understand what they
are saying to each other. We do not as yet understand how they generate the
sounds except that it comes from somewhere within their brain.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There was stunned silence in the room until one of my men
said, “What are they saying?” Another muttered, “Just cause they speak don’t
mean they’re not dumb.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The scientist explained that “The Quiet” knew that we
were arriving well before we had even reached orbit and that they also realised
that their planet did not have anything that we would find useful. They had
decided to just ignore us and we would eventually go away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">She concluded by saying, “The Quiet are not as quiet
as you thought and also more importantly they are not as backward. They have a
rich and vibrant culture that we are just beginning to understand. So as the
old saying goes, ‘’do not judge a book by its cover’.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">THE END<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-53346875672686226922013-09-15T16:10:00.002-07:002013-09-15T16:10:32.107-07:00PARADISE
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">PARADISE<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
I slowly came awake; stretched, yawned and looked
over to see that my servant had already placed my morning coffee on the table
beside my bed. I sat up and, as usual, my eyes were drawn to the view outside
the glass floor to ceiling windows of my bedroom. The sun was just rising and
its early golden light accentuated the beauty of the tropical garden that
stretched for nearly a kilometre down to the shimmering blue of the lake.
During the night the garden staff had changed the flowering plants in the beds
that surrounded the pagoda that overlooked the lake; they were brilliant red
poppies this morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
Many generations ago my ancestors had settled this
planet that they had named “Paradise”. The name had been easy to choose as it
was truly a paradise. The world wide climate was tropical with the added bonus
that it never rained; just very heavy dew every night provided enough moisture.
There were no dangerous animals or insects and the tropical vegetation provided
ample food. There was no need for farming as the plants produced year round and
were easy to harvest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
My ancestors had found that the planet was
inhabited by a gentle race of people that not only warmly welcomed the new
comers but worshiped them as gods. Over the generations since they had gladly
fulfilled the roles of servants, gardeners, cooks, builders and workers in the
factories that produced all the necessities of life. They had also proved to be
very intelligent and innovative and were continually improving or inventing
ways of making my people’s lives one of luxury and leisure. They asked for very
little in return and were extremely happy and content with their lives.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
My clothes were laid out in the dressing room;
brand new as usual; this morning I was playing tennis with my fiancée and a
selection of racquets was also displayed. Breakfast was served on the back deck
overlooking the ocean and this morning I chose fruit juice, rejected the eggs
Benedict, instead decided on a selection of fruits followed by wholemeal toast
with marmalade and followed by Vienna coffee. My driver was waiting for me when
I was ready to leave and swiftly conveyed me to the tennis club. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
The rest of the day followed its usual pattern of
leisure and entertainment and by six pm I was back in my house settling into
the lounge room after a particularly delicious meal of steamed fish, vegetable
pie and spicy tropical ice cream, (my favourite).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could not decide what to do next so I
wandered into the servant’s area of the house. Here a family of four; father
mother and two adult children, were working side by side. They were laughing
and chatting as they worked; obviously very happy. I listened as they talked
and made decisions about their plans for tomorrow and how they fitted their
work into their family life. Slowly a sense of longing for something lost came
over me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
I stretched, yawned again and came fully awake. My
wife beside me said, “It’s your turn to get the coffee today and hurry up as
you know I am playing squash with the girls today. There is some left over
lasagne in the fridge that you can have for lunch.” Outside the rain lashed the
window and feeling the chill of the autumn morning I pulled on my thick
dressing gown and hobbled on my arthritic knees towards the kitchen. As I
passed the front entrance I glimpsed the sign my wife had put on the outside
wall; “Our Little Piece Of Paradise.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937474318763591011.post-13347125663806273262013-09-12T16:09:00.001-07:002013-09-12T16:09:13.059-07:00THE DEADLY GAME
<br />
<div class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<strong><u>THE DEADLY GAME</u></strong><o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
He was still in the house. I
could not see him. I could not hear him, but I just knew he was still there. It
was like some sixth sense. Call it a feeling in my gut or call it what ever you
like but it had saved me a number of times before.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
I stood just behind my bedroom
door, straining all my senses, trying to pick up the slightest noise or
vibration. Was he just outside the door in the hallway, or had he retreated
further into the house?</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
The pistol was cold and heavy in
my right hand. I adjusted my grip and took up more pressure on the trigger. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
I glanced back at the bed where I
had been asleep just moments before. The evidence of his two shots was plainly
visible as dark marks on the whiteness of my pillow. I had been very lucky.
They had missed my head by mere millimetres as I had thrown myself sideways at
the last moment. Being a light sleeper had saved me once before. He was good
though, and so he should be, as I had trained him myself. I had not heard his
approach until it was almost too late. In my younger days I would have been
aware of his presence before he had even entered the room.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
I stood as still as possible for
what seemed like an eternity. No sound except for the creaking of the house as
the sun rose further and warmed the tiles on the roof.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
There was no choice; I had to go
out through the door. I could not wait any longer. So taking a deep breath, and
keeping as low as possible I jumped out into the hallway. There were only two
ways that I could face first, either left or right. I chose right as that way
the hallway led deeper into the house.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
Nothing. The hallway was empty. I
swung around as fast as I could but the other way was also empty. So far so
good.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
I again waited to see if I could
hear anything. The crash of a garbage tin lid in the laneway beside the house
made me jump and half turn towards it before I realised what it was.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
Nothing! So I began to slowly
make my way down the hall towards the kitchen. Trying to remember my training
from all those years ago I moved my weapon from side to side and kept it
extended, gripped in both hands, in front of me. I knew that ten years of
retirement and soft living had slowed me down but I still felt the adrenalin
pumping and the same old excitement coursing through me.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
Pausing just outside the open
entrance into the kitchen, I again tried to listen to see if I could detect any
movement inside or even the sound of his breathing. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
Hearing nothing I stepped inside.
It was only a small kitchen with a breakfast bar that opened onto a family living
area. There was no one there. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
Then I heard it. Just a slight
scratching sound that came from behind the breakfast bar. I strained my ears
but the sound was gone. Had I really heard it, or were my nerves getting the
better of me? Then it came again, slightly louder this time. He must be
crouched down behind the bar. It was only about waist high and extended halfway
across, dividing the two areas. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
Had he heard me enter the room?
Was he waiting for me to make a move or was he going to suddenly leap up and
fire hoping to catch me off guard?</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
I could not remain where I was. I
had to make a move. I really only had two options, retreat or attack. What to
do? </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
Before I realised that I had made
a decision I was in motion. Three quick steps and I was around the end of the
breakfast bar. There was a blur of movement and I fired. It was the cat. I had
shot my Persian cat.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
Cursing myself for having given
away my position I was about to turn around when I heard the door of the pantry
behind me crash open.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
I knew I would be too slow and
that it was hopeless but began to turn anyway. I was not more than half way
around when the shot hit me full in the back.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
He laughed and said, “I got you
good that time grandad.” Then he fired his water pistol at me again. </div>
<br />
<h1 style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<u><span style="font-size: small;">THE END<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></h1>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
John Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06784513688518451050noreply@blogger.com0