| General Fiction posted August 22, 2022 |
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A storm and its consequences.
Flashpoint
by LisaMay
Sharon had visited the Aboriginal art studio against Tony's wishes, delaying their journey by an hour. Now the air crackled with electric tension. Alternating between hot air and an icy blast, Tony's words over the bike-to-bike intercom gathered force and battered Sharon's ears. Apparently it was her fault they were in their current predicament, still sixty miles from the next town and with an ominous storm approaching.
She'd never gotten used to his blaming outbursts; he was as changeable as this pre-monsoon weather. The man she'd fallen in love with, so generous and caring, at times could suddenly be transformed into a bully. Each storm blazed a hole, searing their relationship just a little bit more. Soon there'd be a flashpoint and something would blow apart. Would it be her heart?
They crossed a bridge over a dry river bed and pulled into a roadside lay-by to discuss their options while having an afternoon snack. A trail of industrious ants carried away some crumbs, laying up stores for their anthill fortress. Sharon envied their committed teamwork for the greater good. Out here in this harsh environment in Northern Australia, sticking together meant survival.
"Here's a little bit more for you," she murmured, placing a small piece of muesli bar on the table-top for the ants.
Tony was all for continuing their journey, pressing on to their destination, but Sharon hesitated. They hadn't seen another vehicle for several hours. True, traffic was scarce out here, but had other travellers already sought shelter? The wind was picking up velocity; the scraggly acacia trees beside the picnic table were beginning to thrash their branches, and dust devils were whirling out on the plain, plumes of red dirt spiralling upwards. Clouds formed on the horizon, exactly where the road was headed. Thunder rumbled in the distance – Namarrkon was restless.
Sharon had been reading about the Aboriginal gods. Travelling by motorbike with Tony was challenging; his temper outbursts frayed their relationship, but Sharon's inner spirit was strengthening as she developed an affinity with the landscape and its ancient people.
Namarrkon was sending a message. Sharon paid attention; she sensed a connection. In Aboriginal mythology, Namarrkon, the Aboriginal god of storms, lives in a puddle, but when it is raining this Ancestral Being unleashes his power with a booming voice while hurling lightning bolts.
"We should stay here," Sharon said decisively. Tony looked at her with surprise. He was the one who made the decisions.
"No. We'll keep going. We can still get there before dark."
"Let me re-phrase what I said, then. I'm staying here. It'll be dangerous in the open with lightning strikes."
"What a fraidy-cat you are, Sharon. It'll just be a little bit of passing rain then the heat will dry everything out quickly."
"I'd rather be safe than sorry. There's shelter here. We can tie the tent to those trees to be secure, or perhaps to this concrete picnic table."
The wind nearly whipped away his words as Tony said abruptly: "Well I'm looking forward to a pub dinner and a comfortable bed for a change. I'm going. See you in town tomorrow." He pulled on his helmet, straddled his motorbike and roared off.
Sharon felt a momentary sense of relief, free of Tony's dominating presence. Then dread set in, but she got busy readying the flapping tent, making a quick decision about its position in the trees. The air fizzed with foreboding as the sky darkened. Suddenly the deluge was upon her, drops of rain gathering force into a solid wet and wild curtain. Sharon cowered anxiously inside the flimsy tent, wondering how Tony was getting on. Her attention was jerked back to her own problems when all at once the tent ripped open and she was deafened by a thunderclap overhead. The tree the tent was tied to splintered into flaming sparks as a lightning bolt struck it.
In terror, Sharon grabbed her carry pack and sprinted to shelter under the bridge they'd ridden across earlier, while thunder and lightning boomed and crashed around her like a war zone. Once safely under the bridge, wet and cold, trembling with fear, Sharon pulled on another layer of clothing from her carry pack. She found the matches and managed to make a fire out of debris from a previous flood. Her scalp prickled. Flash flood! The riverbed was dry, but water could be flowing her way right now!
Suddenly the bridge reverberated like a bomb went off. Sharon's mind spasmed on overdrive, but in a moment of clarity she realised it was a truck driving across the bridge.
All through the dark, restless night, the flames flickered like dancing Aboriginals. Perhaps they were guarding her. The rain stopped; the flood didn't come.
In the glare of a calm, sultry morning, Sharon rode her motorbike towards the town. She wasn't looking forward to the reunion with Tony. She knew he wouldn't be sympathetic about her awful night. She could hear his words now: "You could've been warm and dry if you'd stayed with me, but oh no, you thought you knew best."
She snapped out of her imaginings and her heart plummeted when she saw a police car parked beside Tony's motorbike, lying on its side in the scrub by the road. Shocked, she jumped off and rushed forward, screaming: "What's happened? Where is he?"
"Struck by lightning. A truckie brought him in to town last night. Sorry miss, but he didn't survive. We didn't know he was travelling with someone. We thought he was alone."
"He was. And now I am," Sharon replied in a flat tone. Namarrkon had provided the flashpoint.
Storm Approaches writing prompt entry
Sharon had visited the Aboriginal art studio against Tony's wishes, delaying their journey by an hour. Now the air crackled with electric tension. Alternating between hot air and an icy blast, Tony's words over the bike-to-bike intercom gathered force and battered Sharon's ears. Apparently it was her fault they were in their current predicament, still sixty miles from the next town and with an ominous storm approaching.
She'd never gotten used to his blaming outbursts; he was as changeable as this pre-monsoon weather. The man she'd fallen in love with, so generous and caring, at times could suddenly be transformed into a bully. Each storm blazed a hole, searing their relationship just a little bit more. Soon there'd be a flashpoint and something would blow apart. Would it be her heart?
They crossed a bridge over a dry river bed and pulled into a roadside lay-by to discuss their options while having an afternoon snack. A trail of industrious ants carried away some crumbs, laying up stores for their anthill fortress. Sharon envied their committed teamwork for the greater good. Out here in this harsh environment in Northern Australia, sticking together meant survival.
"Here's a little bit more for you," she murmured, placing a small piece of muesli bar on the table-top for the ants.
Tony was all for continuing their journey, pressing on to their destination, but Sharon hesitated. They hadn't seen another vehicle for several hours. True, traffic was scarce out here, but had other travellers already sought shelter? The wind was picking up velocity; the scraggly acacia trees beside the picnic table were beginning to thrash their branches, and dust devils were whirling out on the plain, plumes of red dirt spiralling upwards. Clouds formed on the horizon, exactly where the road was headed. Thunder rumbled in the distance – Namarrkon was restless.
Sharon had been reading about the Aboriginal gods. Travelling by motorbike with Tony was challenging; his temper outbursts frayed their relationship, but Sharon's inner spirit was strengthening as she developed an affinity with the landscape and its ancient people.
Namarrkon was sending a message. Sharon paid attention; she sensed a connection. In Aboriginal mythology, Namarrkon, the Aboriginal god of storms, lives in a puddle, but when it is raining this Ancestral Being unleashes his power with a booming voice while hurling lightning bolts.
"We should stay here," Sharon said decisively. Tony looked at her with surprise. He was the one who made the decisions.
"No. We'll keep going. We can still get there before dark."
"Let me re-phrase what I said, then. I'm staying here. It'll be dangerous in the open with lightning strikes."
"What a fraidy-cat you are, Sharon. It'll just be a little bit of passing rain then the heat will dry everything out quickly."
"I'd rather be safe than sorry. There's shelter here. We can tie the tent to those trees to be secure, or perhaps to this concrete picnic table."
The wind nearly whipped away his words as Tony said abruptly: "Well I'm looking forward to a pub dinner and a comfortable bed for a change. I'm going. See you in town tomorrow." He pulled on his helmet, straddled his motorbike and roared off.
Sharon felt a momentary sense of relief, free of Tony's dominating presence. Then dread set in, but she got busy readying the flapping tent, making a quick decision about its position in the trees. The air fizzed with foreboding as the sky darkened. Suddenly the deluge was upon her, drops of rain gathering force into a solid wet and wild curtain. Sharon cowered anxiously inside the flimsy tent, wondering how Tony was getting on. Her attention was jerked back to her own problems when all at once the tent ripped open and she was deafened by a thunderclap overhead. The tree the tent was tied to splintered into flaming sparks as a lightning bolt struck it.
In terror, Sharon grabbed her carry pack and sprinted to shelter under the bridge they'd ridden across earlier, while thunder and lightning boomed and crashed around her like a war zone. Once safely under the bridge, wet and cold, trembling with fear, Sharon pulled on another layer of clothing from her carry pack. She found the matches and managed to make a fire out of debris from a previous flood. Her scalp prickled. Flash flood! The riverbed was dry, but water could be flowing her way right now!
Suddenly the bridge reverberated like a bomb went off. Sharon's mind spasmed on overdrive, but in a moment of clarity she realised it was a truck driving across the bridge.
All through the dark, restless night, the flames flickered like dancing Aboriginals. Perhaps they were guarding her. The rain stopped; the flood didn't come.
In the glare of a calm, sultry morning, Sharon rode her motorbike towards the town. She wasn't looking forward to the reunion with Tony. She knew he wouldn't be sympathetic about her awful night. She could hear his words now: "You could've been warm and dry if you'd stayed with me, but oh no, you thought you knew best."
She snapped out of her imaginings and her heart plummeted when she saw a police car parked beside Tony's motorbike, lying on its side in the scrub by the road. Shocked, she jumped off and rushed forward, screaming: "What's happened? Where is he?"
"Struck by lightning. A truckie brought him in to town last night. Sorry miss, but he didn't survive. We didn't know he was travelling with someone. We thought he was alone."
"He was. And now I am," Sharon replied in a flat tone. Namarrkon had provided the flashpoint.
She'd never gotten used to his blaming outbursts; he was as changeable as this pre-monsoon weather. The man she'd fallen in love with, so generous and caring, at times could suddenly be transformed into a bully. Each storm blazed a hole, searing their relationship just a little bit more. Soon there'd be a flashpoint and something would blow apart. Would it be her heart?
They crossed a bridge over a dry river bed and pulled into a roadside lay-by to discuss their options while having an afternoon snack. A trail of industrious ants carried away some crumbs, laying up stores for their anthill fortress. Sharon envied their committed teamwork for the greater good. Out here in this harsh environment in Northern Australia, sticking together meant survival.
"Here's a little bit more for you," she murmured, placing a small piece of muesli bar on the table-top for the ants.
Tony was all for continuing their journey, pressing on to their destination, but Sharon hesitated. They hadn't seen another vehicle for several hours. True, traffic was scarce out here, but had other travellers already sought shelter? The wind was picking up velocity; the scraggly acacia trees beside the picnic table were beginning to thrash their branches, and dust devils were whirling out on the plain, plumes of red dirt spiralling upwards. Clouds formed on the horizon, exactly where the road was headed. Thunder rumbled in the distance – Namarrkon was restless.
Sharon had been reading about the Aboriginal gods. Travelling by motorbike with Tony was challenging; his temper outbursts frayed their relationship, but Sharon's inner spirit was strengthening as she developed an affinity with the landscape and its ancient people.
Namarrkon was sending a message. Sharon paid attention; she sensed a connection. In Aboriginal mythology, Namarrkon, the Aboriginal god of storms, lives in a puddle, but when it is raining this Ancestral Being unleashes his power with a booming voice while hurling lightning bolts.
"We should stay here," Sharon said decisively. Tony looked at her with surprise. He was the one who made the decisions.
"No. We'll keep going. We can still get there before dark."
"Let me re-phrase what I said, then. I'm staying here. It'll be dangerous in the open with lightning strikes."
"What a fraidy-cat you are, Sharon. It'll just be a little bit of passing rain then the heat will dry everything out quickly."
"I'd rather be safe than sorry. There's shelter here. We can tie the tent to those trees to be secure, or perhaps to this concrete picnic table."
The wind nearly whipped away his words as Tony said abruptly: "Well I'm looking forward to a pub dinner and a comfortable bed for a change. I'm going. See you in town tomorrow." He pulled on his helmet, straddled his motorbike and roared off.
Sharon felt a momentary sense of relief, free of Tony's dominating presence. Then dread set in, but she got busy readying the flapping tent, making a quick decision about its position in the trees. The air fizzed with foreboding as the sky darkened. Suddenly the deluge was upon her, drops of rain gathering force into a solid wet and wild curtain. Sharon cowered anxiously inside the flimsy tent, wondering how Tony was getting on. Her attention was jerked back to her own problems when all at once the tent ripped open and she was deafened by a thunderclap overhead. The tree the tent was tied to splintered into flaming sparks as a lightning bolt struck it.
In terror, Sharon grabbed her carry pack and sprinted to shelter under the bridge they'd ridden across earlier, while thunder and lightning boomed and crashed around her like a war zone. Once safely under the bridge, wet and cold, trembling with fear, Sharon pulled on another layer of clothing from her carry pack. She found the matches and managed to make a fire out of debris from a previous flood. Her scalp prickled. Flash flood! The riverbed was dry, but water could be flowing her way right now!
Suddenly the bridge reverberated like a bomb went off. Sharon's mind spasmed on overdrive, but in a moment of clarity she realised it was a truck driving across the bridge.
All through the dark, restless night, the flames flickered like dancing Aboriginals. Perhaps they were guarding her. The rain stopped; the flood didn't come.
In the glare of a calm, sultry morning, Sharon rode her motorbike towards the town. She wasn't looking forward to the reunion with Tony. She knew he wouldn't be sympathetic about her awful night. She could hear his words now: "You could've been warm and dry if you'd stayed with me, but oh no, you thought you knew best."
She snapped out of her imaginings and her heart plummeted when she saw a police car parked beside Tony's motorbike, lying on its side in the scrub by the road. Shocked, she jumped off and rushed forward, screaming: "What's happened? Where is he?"
"Struck by lightning. A truckie brought him in to town last night. Sorry miss, but he didn't survive. We didn't know he was travelling with someone. We thought he was alone."
"He was. And now I am," Sharon replied in a flat tone. Namarrkon had provided the flashpoint.
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Writing Prompt Write a short story where a storm is approaching. Minimum length 700 words. Maximum Length 4,000 words. |
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