Under the Neat Pavers

Outside plumbers were working, removing roots that tangled and broke into the drain. Who knew, the tree, this huge healthy beauty that shaded afternoon naps and fluttered like the sound of a waterfall, who knew underneath, unseen, the tree was desperately searching for a drink in drainpipes, with a wretchedly clenching grip that cut off circulation. The pavers were ripped up, strewn around the trunk and over by the shed. A deep trench around the house dug, it began to rain. Mud clumped so tightly it stuck to the spade, requiring another spade to scrape it off.

Inside the house it was not quiet and Sam was a tightly scrunched anxious little ball of crinkled skin and skeleton, and some pudgier bits, on the kitchen floor, except he was sitting perfectly upright at the table, but emotionally he was the ball tightly wound. So he wrote a letter. 

Dear Sam,

I know you're really busy at the moment. I know it's loud inside and out, but calm the question and know it will be ok, that is surely and has so far always been true. You've never been here before and that is the best place to be. You'll never be here again and that's the best place to leave. Things will move on and on. 

The plumbers stopped in the backyard, then there was a knock, a conversation and they left through the rain down the side path. The sound of rain. The sound of the tree enjoying the wind in it's hair as it let its roots do the work.

morning coffee

You're in the hotel room. You're not allowed to have guests here, cheap hotel. I park in a space across the road. It's quiet, no other cars, I sneak towards the back of your room, I'm pretty excited. You're still sleeping. I push the window open and climb in, with a coffee for you. I take the trumpet out of its case, I take off my clothes until I am completely naked. This will be the funniest thing to wake up to I think. But just before I'm about to play, I worry that it might be a bit too intense, so I climb into the closet and start playing some stupid jazz from in there. You spring out of bed, and see the window ajar, pick up a belt and fasten it around the two closet doorknobs, I'm trapped.

"You scared the shit out of me" you yell at the closet.

"Sorry, I got excited. Now let me out."

"No it's your punishment"

There is a knock at the door. Quickly you go to the door, "hello" you say to the closed door.

"We've had a complaint, we need to come in." 

"Oh is it about the trumpet, sorry I've stopped."

"No it's not about that. We need to come in I'm afraid."

"Oh, ok." You open the door a little. "It's really fine, I've stopped playing trumpet."

"Do you have someone else staying with you?"

"No, no, I'm completely alone."

"Sorry could you please let me in, we need to check your room."

"WHat for?"

"Someone reported seeing someone climb in the window. We need to check your room"

Meanwhile I'm naked, locked in the closet holding a trumpet.

Sunday

It is a Sunday that fills its mind with rain and footsteps. Walking down to the park as a rite, coffee as a rite; but it doesn't do what it should, it doesn't mend you a like-new week. It doesn't fix your tired neck that creeks in loose collars. What does a Sunday like this do? It lays you down early and turns off the radio because it was only playing static and you didn't even notice. It puts a glass of water beside the bed and takes your socks off. It says, "I know you want a holiday, but you've just had one, so you're going to have to think about going to bed a little earlier more often".

Wolf

"I'm not sure it was a wolf. It was more likely a fox or a dog"

Well, that's it. That is all there is to it then. There is nothing else to say. Laura has stamped her opinion on the matter and everything after that is void. The fact that there is doubt totally discredits anything that Kyle can say after that. This story is over.

Kyle finishes the last of his watery lemonade, then casually shrugs and with a twinkle in his eye says, "You were pretty eager to get back on the track then, if you thought it was just a dog?"

Bold manoeuvre from Kyle, Laura won't take kindly to this.

"I was just getting bored, that's all, just bored." Laura sighs then continues, "to be honest, Kyle, the whole waterfall thing was pretty unimpressive." 

"Well, you rushed back to that track pretty quick, for someone who was bored. You kept tripping over. And then you insisted we come straight back to the burrow and just leave those berries that we'd spotted. You were totally shitting yourself. Bored? Yeah right, more like terrified."

Feeling like he's won, Kyle takes another sip of his lemonade forgetting it's empty, he lifts it, then lifts it a little higher, then higher again and then he finds himself completely under the cup, the cup is embarrassingly high and disappointingly dry.

I feel like this is a good point for me to diplomatically include myself, "Well, I don't think I've ever gone off the track, I've never been game, so well done."

"Well, Kyle insisted we go see this so called waterfall" Laura sighs and plays with her whiskers.

Kyle puts his cup down and says "It's actually quite nice".

I reply quickly sensing Laura is ready to rebut "Well, you'll have to take me some day."

"Don't bother" there she goes, as predicted, "it's just a trickle, and there are stinging nettles absolutely everywhere and spiders, don't get me started on the spiders, they're as big as my..." Laura stops dead still.

All of a sudden there is a loud, sharp howl from close outside in the dark. We all instantly bound to our feet and scurry down to the deepest part of the warren.

"Should I dig us a little deeper." Kyle speaks crouching, poised to begin digging. 

"It couldn't hurt" I reply quickly, seeing that he's totally freaking out. 

Laura steps in, grabs Kyle by his fury ears and throws him backwards, then with a hushed voice looks deep into my eyes and says "Are you serious? They'll hear us! If Kyle starts digging they'll hear us for sure"

"Yeah yeah, ok, lets just ride it out here then" I sit down. Laura is deeply in love with Kyle

Waiting

The old man reclines on the soft grass in a park. The quarantined dog lies on a blanket. The tree eagerly watches as her shadow reaches towards an over exposed sun-baker. The bird chirps on a brick that has fallen from a crumbling wall. The skull of an extinct animal lies unseen in the ground. The pair of jeans hang on a rack. The newspaper lies in a bin bag soon to be buried by a machine. The extraterrestrial being sits backstage ready to receive an award for discovering life on another planet. The sleeping child in a sun filled room twitches in a bed of white sheets. The hot runway presents his belly for an aeroplane to smoke up her wheels on. The pineapple rots in a bag. The florist raises his hands in an empty room and weeps for his father behind the curtain, gone. The gyms digital screen clock observes a teenager drawing a picture of a turtle smoking a cigar in detention. 

I, with nothing better or worse to do, sit on a step under what should be sun but is only clouds. 

Tomorrow at the fountain

The craters on the moon are insignificant tonight. Old things don't mean anything to you

right now. Not when you're feeling like this. The shadows of those trees, the mountains that

stare over you, the occasional left over cloud from a rainy day lit by the moon, 

it means nothing. 

The ancient rain that runs down the hill, fills the puddles, like it always has, wets your feet,

it's irrelevant tonight.

You're standing at the bar now, your shoes squeak. 

Your thoughts are loud but you still can't make out the lyrics. 

Everyone around you is percussive.

A timpani of tongues bumping around their mouths, clacking lips smack around their faces,

as they laugh and banter. 

Slapping backs, 

jangling coins, 

flapping notes, 

slugging drinks, 

tapping footsteps.

Quick noise that never stays. 

But then she glides past like a flute in the racket. Like a shark from the fog, sliding down a

grassy hill, swimming through the blades in the night, belly grass-stained green.   

She willingly scatters her glances all over you. 

Her eyes shine like shattered glass in the moonlit dew. 

Your coins twinkle when the moons out like this, 

glorious. 

Coins are counted for one more when the moon's out like this. 

You can't think. You loose your coin count.

It's not a good sign as the barman hovers, 

you can do this, just focus. 

It's done.

Well done.

 But you look around and she's gone like a shark in the trees.

A thick-armed drummer swings around with a laugh. His elbow hits your face. Your own

tooth pierces your own lip. Your own blood dribbles out. 

Where did that come from? It's like you've been exposed to something you cant perceive.

The drumming stops around you, someone places a beermat under your bleeding face, you

don't make eye contact, you can't. You just look down. The barman returns with your drink,

but offers you his cloth instead. Who do you think you are? Sitting in the bar with your

blood face. 

The blood runs from you, but you cannot run from it on a night like this. 

She appears, 

the flute,

the shark,

but this time she's a bird on your shoulder, only she's too big for your shoulder and she's got a tissue. 

You drain into her tissue.

By the time you leave you've stopped bleeding and you have a name: Anna. 

And a number: 4. 

And some letters: p and m. 

And a place: the fountain.

And a day: tomorrow.  

The Week After Andrew Left

(Continued from The Night Before Andrew Left)

Hotel. Andrew sprawls on top of the bed. Naked, stretching his arms and legs like a poorly broken egg, surrounded by the sea of blanket whites. Sun sizzles through the shitty blinds and the blankets get whiter. Andrew flips himself under, to avoid the light.

Lucy's not there, she's in a different country, a different time zone, she's walking with the horizon's old sun in her eyes. The familiar footpath to the post office, in her hand a slip of paper that says she has a parcel to collect. There's a relaxed pigeon in the gutter ahead, soaking up the last bit of sun after a big day. As Lucy approaches, the pigeon, let's call him Steve, Steve freaks out, starts walking away. Freaks out a bit more, starts running. Shits itself and flies into the air. Swoops around and flies straight for Lucy.  Lucy flinches first and the pigeon claps with delight into the distance.

Andrew jolts out of bed, like he's been burnt and his day begins. Shower, slow, like a carwash, he stays still and everything seems to happen outside of him. The rest of the day is like that. He's in the car, he takes his hands off the wheel and he is guided through. 

Lucy sits in the park, holding a shitty tin whistle. She's pretty happy with herself. Blows on it a little too hard and it screeches loud across the park. A dog gets mad and thinks violent thoughts. Lucy's oblivious, happy and foot-tapping like some sort of medieval folkie, it's sickening to watch.

Steve, stands in a circle of friends (and some passers-by who have stopped) beside the fountain and recounts his recent interaction. There is cheering at his victory and a general insurrectionary outrage among most pigeons there. Their day in the sun will come. 

Insects and Bigger Things

An insect took a little rest on my hand last night.

It was tired, I could feel it.

It's tiny fragile wings were so intricate and exhausted.

I think it had been drinking,
I had definitely been drinking,

We both suffered from the same affliction, 

Fear and tiredness.  

It moved, I flinched, it flinched and took flight. 

It manoeuvred over my treacherous table, 

A productive industrial area of empty glasses: my disassembly line. 

As I watched it flying, or staggering, I felt bad. 

Like, maybe it was drunk? 

I didn't know. 

Can a bug be drunk? 

It looked drunk. 

It appeared like it was unable to make clear decisions, for itself.

The bug wobbled its way towards the open fire.

I looked away. 

I couldn't bare to think about what happened next as the fire crackled. 

But I couldn't help myself. 

I looked. 

I tortured my eyes and I looked over to the flame. 

And there it was torched and turning in the ash. 

Sadly, it still had hope. 

Sadly, I still had hope for it. 

I pushed myself away from the table like a superhero. 

I lunged for the insect, but my legs gave me away to the floor.

My defective legs sold me for nothing, 

To an unconscious dream on the cold, hard, tiles.

And maybe as I lay, dreaming of the fire. 

Maybe something else lunged for me. 

Something too big for me to understand. 

And maybe that other big thing, fell and failed. 

And maybe something bigger lunged for it. 

And maybe hope perpetuated the cycle of failure. 

And maybe we are all drunk and flawed 

And searching for salvation like superheroes. 

Still Soft Dead Fur

Kyle lay on his stomach,

Waiting for his greasy chicken burger to digest.

It wasn't an ideal position for digestion.

But somehow that's where he ended up.

Under the table, surrounded by chair-legs,

He surrendered.

He wrapped himself up in the question that was lying next to him,

Like a carcass.

He was waiting for some scavenger to take them both.

It was late. 

Alone in his apartment.

Slow snow heaped in the back yard of his mind,

All white.

A cold blanket for comfort.

He lay thinking about how he left the party earlier that night.

He'd jumped the back fence,

Into the dark cobblestone alley with the cats.

No goodbyes,

He just left.

It all started in the kitchen

It all started in a conversation with Pamela.

She asked him

"So, what do you really want to be doing with your life then?"

He answered the question with a gesture.

He turned, pushed through the back door,

Ran across the back lawn

And threw himself over the tall back fence.

It was a heavy question, a dead beast with glassy eyes.

A deer that had to be dragged up a mountain to save his people.

The question begged action.

So he got out of there.

Kyle walked home that night. 

One hour and forty five minutes.

Walking in the wake of his irresponsible spontaneity,

He realised that he was waiting for something.

Hours later he lay on his stomach under the table,

Digesting some greasy fast food.

Lying next to the question, cold and still, stroking its soft fur.

Waiting for someone to come and drag them both up the mountain.

(image)

Morgan

Morgan was afraid he was turning into a bug. It was embarrassing. He actually sent me a text saying, "At the pub on Tuesday did my legs look shorter?"

Now, his legs had looked slightly shorter, but I didn't want to make a sensation. So I replied. "No, longer if anything."

Unfortunately, last week, when I met Morgan for chips, it was clear that he was actually turning into a bug. Which was good because he'd probably be pretty popular among the bug community with all of his human wisdom. But it was going to make things hard, in terms of dating human women. Not that he was ever a big winner in that department anyway.

Getting the Ghost Out

One winter’s morning I woke up under my bed with a terrible belief that I was haunted. I didn’t think that this was such a bad thing, I just accepted that this was how life would be from now on. I was still charming and playful, and very kind. When people laughed with me I wasn’t shy and when people didn’t laugh with me I was shy. I was still me, but there were heavy clouds inside me. My body was filled with a solid shadow that weighed me down. I used to be able to jump quite high, but I could barely get my feet off the ground. I used to be courageous but I became frightened and it was frightening which made things even worse.

Until, one hot Summer’s day I woke up under a trampoline. I crawled out from underneath and I climbed onto the springy black pad and I bounced. I just bounced. I became light. 

“Hello neighbours over the fence”.  

“Oh, hello there” the words blossomed from their mouths as they laughed and clapped. 

I was a bouncing man. I think whatever was heavy and dark inside me must’ve rattled out; I was no longer possessed. I was still me, but there was light inside once again.

Alas, I became over confident. I discarded my pants, attempting to moon my neighbours. But I bounced a little too close to the edge, my foot slipped off, it was a dangerous affair. My genitals became entangled in the springs, I was trapped. I had visions of becoming like a petrified bat on an electric wire. I wept and wept, waiting for help. But no one came. I yelped. But no one heard. I cried hot tears but the springs would not let go of my soft skin. I dragged the trampoline around the side of the house and onto the street, still attached. I flagged down traffic, but no one stopped. I was too pathetic. Like Icarus I had jumped too high. O how painful it is to fall from such splendour. I hauled the trampoline to a convenience store, stole some butter and eased myself free with it's fatty powers. 

It was a difficult day for me. The ghost in my heart had fled, but I had a shame stain on my soul. I learnt a profound lesson that day.  

The End.

Veronica

Veronica

Hands in her pockets

It's bus waiting time 

Not her favourite time of day 

She can see the line

The line of shadow that indicates (the end of) winter 

She steps into the light 

On the footpath

Avoiding the poo 

Obviously 

Ohhh

She's dizzied by the light for a moment 

And ends up in a park down the road 

It was a confusing time 

She gathers her thoughts for a while 

Just long enough to skip work for the day 

Just enjoying the befuddlement

Caused by the change in winter 

Ohhh

Maybe she's one step closer

To loosing/leaving her job 

Which is probably the best outcome

For happiness 

Some things aren't the best things

Some things aren't the best things

Some things aren't the best things

Some things aren't the best things

Some things aren't the best things

Ohhh

That Day

Loretta sat on cold grey, a chair made of cement.
Under a dark tree next to a walking path.
In a town she didn't know, after the trains had stopped.
A car park in the distance beamed light out that only just touched her. 
A stark white glimmer on the pink rim of her eyelids.
The day was ending and her eyes were sad and falling.
That sad day was over-shooting itself and the slow, dragging foot.
That day she had tried something useless and useless.
Something stupid and stupid, heartless and heartless, but nothing could stop the pattern.
Just something, to see if it felt different to do something different.
Something to break apart her mortal tank,
That filled and emptied with blood, every smile-less day. 
To feel something.
But she felt none of that now.
That morning in her light blue coat.
She cut the lining in the kitchen at 5am.
She slipped in a knife, a big one, handle down, sharp tip up. 
Just to see if nothing would happen.
She slammed the draw and then the door behind herself.
Crossed the road, cold, walking fast.
That day was all frost, thick on fence posts. 
In her light blue coat and dark blue jeans.
Two shoes poked out the bottom, both brown (both matching - it'd be weird if they weren't).
That day was all steam from plastic chimneys. 
At the station she imagined everyone talking to each other.
Strangers met, and helped each other.
"Your train's here now, you better go. Nice to meet you."
She imagined with her hand in the pocket, next to the sharp thing.
Step on to find a seat.
Legs crossed, one stacked on the other, on the shitty carpeted train.
That day was all slipping out of the station.
Staring out the window.
Thoughts like animals, running free and searching for food.
All, silently gliding out of the city.
All, mist and no sun.
Nose wet, like a stamp sponge at the post office.
That day was all that was.
All, streetlights at dawn.  
All, icicles on electric poles.
All, sweat drips from arm pits. 
All, cuts in the lining. 
That day she took a knife on the train.  
All, frost covered apples on leafless trees. 
All, fox in the grass curled under warm tail.
On the train to see if she could change.
Nervous in the pit of Loretta, she waited.
All that is day, turned into night. 
That day was all that was.
To see what would happen.
In the fault-line of folded arms and daydreams, nothing changed.
This time.
The nerves went dull, cold and hunger-withered.
What happened barely happened.
That day went like the last, which is only just understandable. 
Only just unchangeable.

(photo)

Last Time I Saw My Heart

My heart was a lost thing.

No one knew what it was when they found it.

They put it in a cabinet.

Heaps of people admired it.

Heaps of people hated it.
Heaps of people were moved.

It touched some people.

Some people touched it.

It made them all curious.

They drained the juices out.

They put the juices in a large truck, it moved a bit.

Meanwhile, I woke up and my heart was gone.

Admittedly it had been a big night.

"It'll show up", I thought (what a fool).

It didn't show up.

Most of my friends could tell it was gone.

This was two years ago.

Most of my friends stopped contacting me.

Partly because I moved to another city.

Mostly because they could tell.

New friends admired my brain.

I'd put my brain in the hole where my heart used to be.

It looked pretty similar.

I struggled on (quite successfully).

I still did good things.
But I longed for it.
I couldn't ever forget.
I searched constantly.

This morning I saw it on the internet.
On street view.
It was powering a large truck a bit.
It was boarding a ferry in 2009.

I waited on the other side.
But it didn't show up.

I knew it was my heart.
I could just tell it was.

I thought I'd never see my heart again.

I got that impression.

It was sad. 

I can do without it.

I can do many things without it.

But, imagine.

Imagine what I could do with it.

With the juice flowing in me.

I'm much smaller than a large truck, imagine the intensity.

I haven't worked out how to get it back.

But I'm working on it.

Imagine the intensity.

(photo)

Spillage

She was flawless when she dropped it all. The restaurant looked around as she ducked below table height. Food splatters garnished with shards of plate were presented at Jed's feet, a carrot on his lace. Her smile lifted, like a sunrise withering the heartless night. Beaming above the chaos of cutlery, she yelled "Tony, can you please grab a broom or mop or something. I've made a bit of a mess here". 

As she sprawled to contain the disaster, Jed fell into her like a volcano, he was part of her when he escaped, molten. Jed ignored the gravy in his shoe as a statue of her was unveiled in his heart. She didn't really acknowledge him, she just busily made a scrap heap beneath his table, as he smiled at her scalp. Finally, he caught her eye with a desperate grin like a butterfly net. She tucked away her perfection behind an uncaring look. She was young, wreck-full, tireless and speeding elsewhere.

Without anything she was gone, back to the kitchen, leaving the broken heap of scraps.

Tony emerged to replace her with a cloth.

The cloth skimmed across Jed's shoe, he mourned for her as steam rose from within. Shoe-gravy steam, in went Tony's finger, beyond sock. Jed didn't look down, he closed his eyes and took what he could get. 

The noise in Nathan's head

One morning Nathan woke up with the ability to stop time, it was a pretty uneventful discovery. He figured it out in the shower, he tilted his head on a strange angle, made a noise in his head and the water stopped in mid air. He started time again quickly because he was all lathered in soap. 

He stopped time over breakfast, so that he could catch up on Facebook. He liked the noise it made in his head when he stopped time, he found it quite calming. On the way to work, he stopped time and wizzed through tight traffic on his bike. It was actually pretty useful.  

But over time the ability to stop time made Nathan quite dull. He was no longer ever late for anything, which was a pretty boring trait. He was always correct in conversation - if there was anything that he didn't know he would stop time, look it up and then start time again. He was pretty dreary to be around. He cheated at cards, stopping time to look at other peoples hands. At parties he would stop time, rehearse pick up lines and then recite them - it was eerie. He became very bland and a little bit creepy.

People stopped inviting him to parties. But he would often go anyway, where he would stop time and wander around pretending to talk to people while they where frozen. He was lonely.

It was a very lonely ability. When he stopped time he was completely alone. He began stopping time for longer and longer, he wanted to know if there was anyone else like him. Anyone else who could move between time. He started searching. He stopped time for what seemed an entire day, searching for anyone else who could continue on.

He became obsessed. He stopped time for a week, he packed a bag, got on his bike and rode around the city looking for any sign of change. Nothing. No one. he stopped time for years and years, he taught himself to fly an aeroplane and searched the earth from the sky. He landed in different countries. He used to be a little scared of foreign language countries. But now he felt free.

He started to let himself go. He walked around naked, in huge cities, through crowds of people, he screamed as loud as he could. He talked to frozen strangers.

Nothing. There was no one else like him.

One day when he was running naked through a huge city, covered in butter, screaming, 

"I AM THE MASTER OF THE WORLD AND THE MAGICAL KEEPER OF TIME!" (he had become quite confident)

he slipped over on a wet plastic bag and broke his pelvis. It was very painful.

He lay on the footpath, naked, surrounded by pedestrians staring at him. They stopped to help him, but he couldn't understand them. He tried to stop time, to learn their language, but he couldn't, he was in too much pain.

They helped him into an ambulance. They were very confused. He spent two weeks in hospital. 

His parents and his sister flew over to look after him in the hospital. They asked him how he got there, what happened. He tried to stop time to make up a good excuse, but his brain had associated the trauma of his broken pelvis with his ability to stop time and it was impossible.

So he told the truth, the whole story, the years of searching, everything. They asked him why he was covered in butter and naked, but he couldn't really answer them, that would be a mystery. In fact the whole thing was a mystery to his family; and to his friends. They all laughed at his story, they thought he was joking. But underneath they were impressed, it was such a strange, detailed and ultimately flawed story but at least it wasn't boring. 

He left the hospital with his family and they flew back home. He lived with his parents for a while, at first he was embarrassed, but he got over it.

And now he fumbles through life with everyone else. 

When Trevor stood on top of his camel he could make out a green patch in the distance, with palm trees, a pool, high diving board and bouncy naked bathers. He quickly dropped down in his saddle put his feet in the stirrups, and turned 180 degrees. He was no fool.

That night, under a cold blue mess of twinkles, Trevor dug a deep pit in the sand. He madly tried to bury himself next to his camel to keep warm, it didn't work. It was a stupid idea.

Nathan the Turkey

It was christmas eve and Nathan the turkey was very nervous, tonight he was hosting a christmas party. And not just any christmas party, but a surprise christmas party for all the other animals in the stable. And they were all due to arrive in 19 minutes, so it was crunch time.

He frantically hung streamers and fairy lights along the rafters. He was very excited, almost everything was ready. 

Nathan had never really enjoyed christmas, but this year he was making a real effort.

As he placed the last of the decorations on the tree he sung a little song that he made up on the spot.

Baubles Baubles Baubles Baubles  

Baubles Baubles Baubles Baubles 

Baubles Baubles Baubles Baubles 

Baubles Baubles Baubles Baubles  

After he finished the last of the baubles, he turned on the stereo and put on his christmas playlist, it had all the classics.

As the music began to play Nathan closed his eyes and imagined the perfect night where the surprise was a success, the food was delicious, the games were fun and at the end of the evening he might share a slow and passionate dance with Tiffany the goose. Nathan had a bit of a thing for Tiffany the Goose.

All of a sudden through the cold night breeze, Nathan the Turkey heard the chatter and giggle of the animals as they approached the stable.

He quickly armed himself with streamers and party poppers, stopped the music, turned off the lights and in the dark frenzy he accidentally ran headfirst into a wall and knocked himself out.

He lay unconscious on the stable floor as the animals arrive. They turn on the lights, saw the decorations and then noticed Nathan the Turkey lying silent and still on the floor. 

Nathan had an incredible dream sequence filled with elephants in cardigans on skateboards. It was really quite a magical dream sequence.

Eventually he gently opened his eyes. The stable was dark, Nathan was very disappoint. Christmas was ruined, they must've all gone out. This is the last time I try to embrace Christmas.

Nathan slowly dragged himself off the floor. And as soon as he stood up, all the animals jumped out from hiding spots around the stable and yelled:

"Surprise!"

Party poppers and streamers flew through the air. The music started, the beautiful lights came on and the party began. It was a hit.

In the soft unfocused light Nathan saw Tiffany. She smiled at him, walked over and put some frozen peas on his head. And in the dappled christmas lights they began to sway passionately.  

The party was a hit and despite having a tremendous headache Nathan the Turkey had a wonderful time.

Bevin's Christmas

About two thousand years ago, In a far far away land, lived a boy.

His name was Bevin.

It was Bevin's twelfth Christmas, a hot summers day and he had just received the mother of all presents, the one present that could change Christmas forever, the one thing that he had always wanted, a brand new mountain bike. It had gears and it was red, with off road tyres, no bells, no streamers, just a pure off-road stunt machine. It was to be his trusty steed, his trusty off road stead with twin shock gas compression suspension.

So all christmas morning Bevin spent either riding up and down the driveway or making ramps and planning stunts. Until his Uncle Dave and boring cousin Stacy arrived to ruin the day. He was told he wasn't allowed to ride his bike and he had to hang out with Stacy. 

After lunch Bevin and his brother Kevin were chasing Stacy around the house with high pressure water pistols, when she went missing. They split up, she was pretty crafty. 

Bevin went behind the house and he found Stacy standing behind a big gum tree holding a bunch of white helium balloons. She said they just fell from the sky and hit her in the head, but to be honest, that sounded a bit far fetched. I mean, seriously they could have fallen anywhere and they hit her in the head. Bevin knew that that was a very unlikely scenario, in all his twelve years he had learnt that everything: frisbees, kites, arrows, basketballs… everything always ended up on the roof of the house, it was like a giant magnet. And here was his cousin Stacy trying to tell him that these balloons hit her in the head. Well, it must have been some sort of Christmas miracle. 

And there was something attached to the balloons, wrapped in white cloth, and it was wriggling.

It was some sort of delivery sent from above.

Attached to one of the balloons was a message. 

Fragile, property of M & J, Bethlehem.

Well, there was a Bethlehem Street in Tarrabunga. Tarrabunga was the town where Bevin went to school, he knew the Street, it was the one with the squash court. But there was no number or actual address on the note. And as soon as he had read it, it slipped from Stacy's hand and floated off into the sky. 

Bevin looked down at the wriggling white cloth, whatever it was it was important, and probably worth a lot of money. And he thought that there might be some sort of reward. 

But It was a pretty strange way to have something delivered. I mean, It was a bit hit and miss relying on the weather and the wind patterns and then not having the exact address. 

It's like whoever wanted this delivered was expecting some sort of Christmas miracle. And it had fallen into the right hands. I mean, this was the perfect mission. Stacy and Bevin were meant for this mission. It was their destiny.

Bevin went to the shed and grabbed his brand new trusty off road stead. And he tried to take the package from his cousin to deliver it himself, but she punched me in the nose and said, that she'd found it and that it was her responsibility to deliver it. So she jumped onto the handlebars of his new bike and she asked him to give her a ride. Well, it was a pretty long way to carry someone. I mean, Tarrabunga was at least 6 kilometres away, and that's a long way for a twelve year old. It was to be a journey of epic proportions. 

So off they went. 

On the way Bevin got quite frustrated with Stacy, it was quite a tense journey actually, she kept referring to his steed as a donkey, it was very irritating.  

Up steep hills, down dusty dirt roads lined with grasshoppers and into town, the hustle bustle of Tarrabunga. 

They made it. Bethlehem Street was hectic, full of christmas celebrations that spilt out onto the street. There where games of cricket in the street, bbq's on front lawns, kids running everywhere. Kites flying. It was very busy.

They went up to one house and a group of kids launched a full scale attack of water bombs at them. Stacy and Bevin dodged and weaved until they made it to the front door. Bevin knocked and a stern looking old man opened the door. 

"Hello, can I help you?"

Stacy held the white cloth package out towards him. And he quickly said,

"What ever it is you're selling I'm not interested, we're trying to celebrate Christmas, we don't need you lot coming around interrupting our day."

And he slammed the door in their faces.

Back through the front gate, to the house next door. 

At the next house Bevin knocked on the door… no answer… Stacy knocked… no answer… Bevin lifted his hand to try one more time and all of a sudden the door went soft, he looked up and realised that he'd just knocked on a very short lady's face.

Bevin apologised profusely and Stacy giggled. They held out the package and Stacy said

"Can you help us? we're trying to deliver this very important package, but we're not sure where to take it."

The very short lady interrupted her saying

"No I can't help you, we have enough stuff here already. You really have some nerve, you come to my house on christmas day, punch me in the face as I open the door and expect me to help you."  

Bevin protested, "It was an accident, it's just that you have a low face, it's not my fault that your face is at knocking height…"

At that she slammed the door .

They turned around quickly and scurried over to the gate and slammed it behind them.

Feeling a little depress, Bevin thought that maybe they should give up put the wriggling package in the bin and go home, and just try to forget about the whole thing. But Stacy was really keen on the reward, and she convinced him to have one more try.

So they tried one more house. They stood outside, looking into the front window from the street. It was clearly some sort of fancy dress Christmas party, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. They knocked on the door and a kind man dressed as an Inn keeper answered the door. Stacy held out the package and said

"We're not trying to sell anything, we're just trying to deliver this miracle package. Does this belong to anyone here?"

"Well..." the kind Inn keeper said,

"...I'm afraid it's very busy here…"

Bevin feared the worst…

"…But, lets ask around"

He took them inside.

As soon as they stepped inside, there was another knock at the door and three more guest arrive. It was a bit of an embarrassing situation, they had all dressed in the same costumes, with beards and robes and it seem they'd not actually been invited. 

They where all following @brightstar on twitter who had lead them to the Facebook event. The Inn keeper said, "well, we didn't actually expected everyone who clicked attending to show up".

The three (internet savvy) men dressed up in robes and beards, each offered very expensive gifts, and they were let into the party.

Stacy and Bevin made their way through the party it was very noisy and they couldn't really speak to anyone. They were told they should probably head to the back shed where it was quieter and they could actually talk to people. 

Stacy and Bevin made their way out to the shed, it was filled with guests dressed as animals.

All of a sudden, a whole bunch of sheep jumped over the back fence, followed by a lot of confused local farmers. The sheep stopped in the back yard beside an old trampoline. And Bevin heard the farmers saying that they were told to come to 31 Bethlehem Street by a message tied to a helium balloon. 

Bevin yelled out, 

"that was the same as us, Stacy got hit in the head by a helium balloon. And it told us to bring this package here, but at least you got an actual address, we were just told bethlehem"

Then Stacy held up the wriggling white cloth package and said

"Does this belong to anyone"

and at that moment, the music stopped and everyone dropped to their knees.

Better come up with a good story

(image)

In This Shell