Memories of Life

It was not the end of the world; it had only changed. And Robert had seen it change so many times before. From his earliest memories as a child in isolation, on a farm occupied by broken men, he had accepted it with a quiet resilience. Then as a young man he embraced it finding his own way in the world. But change now threatened everything he believed, and loved about his world. Because now he had to fight to survive, and remember who he was.

1. Waiting.

The distant chatter of lorikeets, accompanied by a gentle tapping of dewdrops upon a weathered mac falling from the leaves above wakes the man. Slowly opening his eyes' he observes the fading black of night, transforming into various shades of blue heralding the suns first rays bending around the earth. Trapped in its endless turn, and unforgiving weight.

Propped against the old fig tree in the same position he had fallen asleep, the man waits shielded between two large root columns cushioned by a thinning swag providing comfort for his ageing back. Eyes wide open, he remains motionless peering out into the world like a child under a blanket looking through the smallest opening. Feeling hidden from everything, and everyone, in contented insignificance.

A movement on his thigh brakes the stillness, and gently he places his hand on the being of the offending motion, giving an almost inaudible, reassuring "Shh". A sound to his left in the tall blade grass covering the hill he waits upon, draws his patient attention to another presence he cannot yet see, concealed by the giant trees roots he sits between.

Reaching beside him the man feels the smooth form of his compound bow sat upright against the grey mossy tree. The steel tipped arrow still lay where he had left it, sitting across his lap. Gently raising the bow with his left hand, the man positions the arrow with a silent steadiness in his right, while remaining seated propped against the tree.

The sound of the disturbance in the tall grass then falls silent, replaced by gentle thuds on the soft earth on a small patch of manicured grass in front of him. Drawing back on the bow with his weathered, hardened forearm, the man pauses briefly to hold his breathe, then releases the arrow. The power of it knocks the grey kangaroo from its hind legs as the tip exits the chest. In a state of panic, and shock, the animal thrash's its powerful legs in vain attempting to right itself, startling three nearby kangaroos that bound past leaving their dying friend behind.

The dog who had remained silent and still, head resting on the mans thigh now looks up expectantly at him. Looking back the man shakes his head relaxing the dogs' anticipation, who accepts there will be no pursuit of the escapees today.

Gingerly the pair rise,and go to the animal, who takes quick shallow breathes signalling its death is near. Kneeling beside it the man places his hand softly on its head, looking into its panicked black eyes as the life goes from them, with its final breath. Removing his blade, the man skilfully plunges its tip into the main vessel just under the angle of the kangaroos' mandible, then lifts it by the tail to let the blood drain. The dog who sits with an eager patience is given a simple nod of permission by the man, and begins to lap at the pooling fluid.

The giant fig had always been a well used area by the kangaroo's, and the fresh droppings, with the worn grass had told the man it would be again when waiting in the cool of the previous evening. Then with an effortless ease, refined by experience, the man begins to gut the animal as the sky turns a brilliant, silent, blue.

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With the sun rising just above the surrounding ranges, the man and dog traverse the clear rolling hills along a deep valley between there ever watching, whispering presence. Ahead of them in the distance is a dark green escarpment covered in bush, and filled with rock leading up to a range. And just beyond it a mountain with a plateaued top rises above it all - where the hut, their home is.