The Pole Shift

Sean and the Pole Shift

Outside, the day had darkened and a groaning wind snapped trees and swirled debris. One of his chickens came squawking by then was flung up and away as if by catapult. Sean found it hard to keep his feet. Fleetingly he saw red break lights next door, and a figure cowering at the bottom of his driveway.  Prophet was saying:

                "Return to the cellar." Sean ignored the instruction, and made his way to the walnut tree and climbed up, all the while being whipped by falling branches. My Christ It's really here he thought, and was agog  with fear and wonder. He looked towards the Mountain Ash trees, bent like old men, they were cracking and falling, hitting the ground with what sounded like sonic booms. The air seemed to be vibrating and the sound of grinding got louder, he expected to see the oceans break through the trees and devour him at any moment.

                The waters did come, but instead of bursting through the hill, the flood, full of broken Melbourne, rushed around Mt Dandenong and up the other side. He saw the far hills, the Great Divide, disappear and he held his breath for when he looked up the dark ocean hung above him like the night, ready to collapse, and it seemed that all around him it did, yet he remained in the walnut tree untouched,

                It went completely dark. He felt it freeze and his breath plumed. Balls of ice thudded and bruised. With his hands on his head he sat in the walnut tree and waited for death. Prophet instructed him once again to return to the cellar. Below him water was rushing across his land, knee deep. Minutes passed, and still death did not come.  The cold now threatened him and at last he splashed onto his lawn and fell, soaking his clothes and slowing him as the cold clutched. He returned to the flooded house with great difficulty. Prophet said:

                "Light the fire." Incredibly, the fire had been arranged, he could not remember doing it, but he remembered cutting the wood in the early days for just this moment, how grateful he felt, how proud. With blue fingers he wrangled with the twigs, adding fire light after fire lighter, water passing through his house like a nosey neighbour.  Prophet urged:

                "Drink some vodka."  The motivation he suddenly felt had him stumbling to the cellar, it was filling up with flood water but quickly he gathered up an armful of bottles and returned to the cracking flames. He upended a bottle and drank fully, spluttering and suddenly warmed by both liquor and flame. He gathered the furniture and made a nest above the water, only occasionally leaving it to add logs to the fire. There he stayed and drank, the freeze went on but he was in a bubble of warmth where he lost track of time. Outside there came a mixture of light and dark, there was flashing and sometimes what sounded like screaming. Metal objects crashed. Prophet was talking to him but he didn't understand a word it said.  At one point he noticed the waters had receded leaving an oily mud ankle deep in his living room.  He cackled, announcing:

                        "Who's gunna clean that up? "

                Cracking noises from within the Earth continued for days, but they became part of his dreams in which Giants ordered each other about, and when they could not agree would resort to beating each other with enormous basalt clubs. There were other dreams, of Macka and Lett, of a boy and a strange child like woman. There was some glimpse of a future where he sat under the Mountain Ash and looked across a new ocean, waiting.

                When his alcoholic stupor passed, the World had come to rest. He snapped awake sweating, the fire was out but it was very hot. Through the windows streamed sunshine. Thirsty, he staggered outside to a broken but New World.