spiritual warfare

Serial Story Saturday–Diamonds in the Cave (2)

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[Diamonds in the Cave–

Undercover Minna is building up a case against her enemies Maggie and Tails. Her life and plans unravel as her enemies incite the Wend village to hunt witches. And Minna becomes their main target.

In the coming episode Minna receives bad news. She and her husband must move from their idyllic life in Luthertal. Read the complete chapter (or chapters 1&2) on Diamonds in the Cave on Wattpad]

The Habit of Playing the Devil’s Advocate

Light streamed through the slatted shutters and lace curtains. Had morning broken so soon? I rose and opened the window to greet the day. Pastel lime-green wispy clouds streaked the sky. Luminous clouds shone against the black night sky. The stellar show brightened and dimmed as dying coals on a fire do. I stood at the window transfixed by the cosmic aurora so brilliant that the land was touched with an eerie glow.

‘Wow!’ I exclaimed and scampered back to the bed and Günter buried under the quilt. ‘Günter! Quick! The sky is brilliant!’

Günter dug himself deeper into the bed linen and mumbled, ‘Just let me sleep! I’ve got to get up early to milk the cows.’

I sighed and gazed out the window watching the dying star for a few moments and then crawled back into bed.

 ‘You need your sleep. I understand. Anyway, you’ve seen more awesome cosmic fireworks when you traversed the galaxy with Boris as his 2-i-C.’ I was glad he was free of Boris’ hold and those days were behind him.

Wide awake, I lay in bed on my back, watching the light dancing on the ceiling. Under the covers Günter slumbered. He rolled towards me and draped an arm around my mountainous waist. Concerned that it was not good for Günter to be buried, carefully I peeled back the covers. I turned and stroked his hair from his face. I mused at how dark his hair looked in the night. As Andreas it was ash blonde. The lights brightened for a moment. In the dusky hues of the room, I imagined Günter as I had met on the beach all those years ago, ebony locks cascading over his tanned neck. I withdrew my hand and whispered, ‘No!’

Then I shook him. ‘Günter! Your hair’s gone dark.’

‘Really?’ Günter rolled the other way. The light went out turning the room pitch black again.

I wandered into the kitchen, the light of morning glaring in my sleepy eyes.

‘What time is it?’ I asked Salome and then poured myself a cup of tea.

She sipped coffee freshly picked and ground from the Convent plantation. ‘Breakfast time!’ She placed a hand on my arm. ‘Relax! Günter’s out doing the chores, it gives us time to talk.’

It was the way she emphasized “talk”.

‘What do you want to talk about?’ I asked, gazing at her.

Salome leant forward, clutched her knees with each hand and locked eyes with me. ‘I’ll get to the point.’

‘What point?’

‘Boris is back.’

I choked on my tea. ‘No!’

‘Yes, and we need Günter’s help.’ The nun flattened the white tablecloth over the roughly hewn wooden table.

‘You can’t take him; I’m having his baby.’

‘I’m sorry, you must understand this is of intergalactic importance—not to mention Earth. You’ll have to manage without him for a while.’

‘I can’t. I won’t! Can’t you find someone else?’

‘There is no one else.’ The holy sister’s words were infallible.

Stars clustered before my eyes. The headache intensified. Pounding. Pounding.

‘I have to go lie down…’ I staggered as far as the armchair before flopping into it.

My world turned white and hazy…

[continued on Wattpad…click on the link Diamonds in the Cave (2)]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: Seacliff Sun © L.M. Kling 2016

***

Read more, and lose yourself in this tale where the nineteenth century meets the twenty-first…

Just click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends…

Serial Story Saturday–Diamonds in the Cave

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[I’ve taken the plunge and launched my latest novel, (still in manuscript form and needing beta readers), on Wattpad. You can check out the first chapter of Diamonds in the Cave there and give feedback, dare I say, honest. Once the book is completed with helpful suggestions from my readers, with hopes that it is the best in quality that it can be, I will be doing the usual and self-publishing on Amazon.]

The Enemy Within

Diary of Minna Thumm

Life, my life undercover as Anni, wife of Andreas (Günter), was ideal. We fitted together like violin and a bow, the notes of our personality blending together, in perfection.

On this pristine planet, we work hard and enjoy the warm friendly atmosphere that the Wendish community afforded. Boris had kidnapped these little-known villagers of Luthertal as they travelled along the River Elbe on their way to Hamburg. This small but pious clan of Wends had planned to emigrate to Australia. But Boris who led the band of travelers had other plans for them. The IGSF (Intergalactic Space Force) rescued the Wends from slavery and being swamped by cockroaches at the hands of Boris. As Earth, in the early 21st Century, had changed so much since they had left, the Wends chose to settle on the Pilgrim Planet.

We lived the incognito life of disguise, the young husband and wife team, Andreas and Anni. Soon I was with child making our lives complete.

After all Boris was dead. Our duty to the IGSF had become redundant. Minna was dead to all except those in the know—my mother, Dr. Mario Leonardo and his wife Monica and Günter’s sister, Salome. Günter according to all who knew him, (just a handful of people), was some unknown loser frittering away his life in some forgotten corner on Earth.

On the Pilgrim Planet, we were free to live undisturbed while keeping an eye on those partners in crime, Maggie and Tails. I lived to avenge the murders of my brother, John, and others of the IGSF team who had died fighting the War against Boris.

As for my brother John’s death, I am certain Maggie and Tails were responsible—just have to prove it. We’d befriended the pair, and gradually, had made progress on the dossier pertaining to their guilt. Still that crucial piece of evidence eluded us. Meanwhile, my mother, Frieda Thumm as Admiral roamed the wormholes of the galaxy mopping up the mess left behind by Boris.

My father, Wilhelm Thumm had also died; killed when he was driving my Mazda. He was “gunna get round to fixing the brakes” but…

[continued on Wattpad…click on the link: Diamonds in the Cave]

Diamonds in the Cave

Minna and Gunter live the idyllic life as under-cover agents  in the village of the Wends…Minna is building up a case against her enemies Maggie and Tails, and suspected of being Boris agents…

…But when the IGSF (Intergalactic Space Force) sends Gunter on a secret mission in the war against Boris, Minna alone and vulnerable encounters the son of Boris…

Their idyllic life unravels…as does the Wend community.

Incited by her enemies, Tails and Maggie with fear and

superstition, the Wends succumb to a full-scale witch hunt…and Minna becomes their prime Target.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: Saas Fee, Switzerland © L.M. Kling 2014

Fantastic Friday Fiction–Choice bits (4)

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Last Slice of the Black Forest — Gunter’s Wish

Gunter hobbled up the path to his house. His feet squashed into shoes too small for him. Just before he entered, Gunter examined his reflection in the window. He touched his pink cheeks and admired the sculptured perfection—the high forehead with no acne, the strong chin with no spots but a beard like a man, and hair straight golden and manageable. He patted the top of his head. ‘Hmm, a bit thin on top,’ he mumbled. ‘Oh, well, now I can be happy that not even my brother Johann was perfect.’

Grandmother flung open the door. Gunter slammed against the window. The wood panel blocked her view of Gunter. ‘Now what am I going to do? The dinner is burnt,’ she said. ‘Where is he?’

‘Forgotten something?’ Boris said as he peeped around the corner of the house. He handed Gunter a pile of folded clothes. ‘Can’t go around the village dressed like a boy, now can you.’ Boris then vanished into the night.

Once Grandmother withdrew back into the house, Gunter tip-toed to the outhouse and changed into Johann’s dapper tights, striped breeches and white shirt with the obligatory lacy sleeves. As he strolled to the front door, he heard screams and then a slap. Then he observed Anna run down the path, and a gangly looking fellow in underclothes loping after her.

Gunter pushed open the door and waltzed into the kitchen. Grandmother continued to sweep the cracked black and white tiles. A cloud of dust chased her around the room as she swept. ‘Your soup is on the stove, Johann.’

Salome leaned on the balustrade of the stairs, her blonde locks pasted to her perspiring temples. She shook her head. ‘At the inn again, I presume.’

Gunter tugged at the hem of his shirt as Johann always did and said what Johann always said, ‘A man has got to do what a man has got to do.’

The door burst open and his brother stumbled in sporting a red welt on his cheek.

Salome launched into him like a fish-monger’s wife on an errant husband. ‘What have you been doing? How hard is it to find your brother? No supper for you. Off you go—bed—go on!’ She grabbed Grandmother’s broom and chased Johann in the form of Gunter into his sleeping quarters with Johann crying protests all the way.

Gunter hid his urge to smile behind his hand.

After helping himself to pumpkin soup and bread, Gunter yawned and mumbled his excuses for an early night and trotted upstairs to the bed he shared with his older now younger brother. Oh what a night it would be, sleeping on the less lumpy side for once, hogging the quilt and tormenting his brother. It was payback time.

The benefits of being Johann did not stop there. Next day, as he strolled in the village streets, men tipped their hats, women weaved out of their way through the crowd over to him and gifted him with fruit, home-made honey biscuits and apple cake. Milk maids, those same ones who reviled him the day before, this time, fluttered their lashes, blushed and shot him sideways glances. The tallest of the three sidled up to him as he stood talking to the tailor as they discussed his jacket for the May Day dance, and she pressed a note into his hand. Mein Gott, what a life!

Meanwhile his brother languished under the whip of Grandmother’s broom when she heard he’d been expelled from school—again. Ah, sweet revenge.

Then the icing on the kuchen—lunch with Anna. He arranged a picnic by the river. Blue skies, tulips blooming, green grass, the birds singing and the bees humming. What a picture! What a day with is maiden in his arms. Anna talked non-stop the whole two hours. Gunter as his brother, held his tongue when she prattled on about how much she didn’t like Johann’s younger brother, especially after the prank he pulled the previous night.

‘He’s creepy,’ she said and shuddered, ‘he tried to grope me. Ugh!’

Her words stabbed at his insides. He realised as Gunter he never had a chance.

After Gunter walked Anna back to the school where she helped her father, he spent the afternoon brooding, drinking beer at the Bierhaus until he was almost sick. Then he tramped through the forest alone. The novelty of being Johann had worn off and revenge didn’t seem as sweet anymore.

At the dinner table Johann as Gunter raged. ‘I’m not Gunter,’ he yelled and stabbed the table with his fork. ‘What is wrong with you people?’

Their mother made one of her rare appearances downstairs but she seemed far away and unmoved by Johann’s tantrum.

Gunter decided he had to leave. His face tingled as he slipped out of the house and hastened to the clearing with the moss-covered log; the meeting place designated by Boris.

The ground glowed with warped and weird shapes under the strange luminous disk that hovered over the hill. No frogs croaked. No birds chirped. The air was still and cold. Even the cows refrained from braying.

Gunter sat on the log and waited. Time seemed to stop in the silence.

A beam shimmered from the disk. Gunter rubbed his eyes and blinked. Boris materialised in the centre of the beam. He appeared cockroach-shaped, then, as he strode toward Gunter, he morphed into human-form.

‘Well, now, Herr Fahrer, have you decided?’ Boris asked.

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Well, then.’

‘More than anything else, I want to be handsome, brave, attractive to the ladies like my brother Johann. But, I want to be myself, not someone else.’

Boris raised one side of the hairy eye-brow that spanned his forehead. ‘Very well, then.’

‘And one more thing, you know, like a package?’

‘Yes?’

‘Could I, with this new face, have a new life, say like in the Great South Land?’

‘Hmm,’ Boris nodded, ‘that can be arranged, if you wish. But…’

‘What?’

Boris coughed and flapped his wings. ‘You’re not going to fit in with the people who live there at the moment. I’d say wait until I’ve finished with Great Britain…’ He paced the clearing with his hands tucked behind his back. ‘In the meantime, I could take you on an adventure up there, into the far reaches of the galaxy. Consider it an added bonus, seeing what no man on this planet has seen before. What do you say?’

‘Ja, voll!’

‘Just sign here.’

Boris presented Gunter with the tablet, its screen chock full of tiny black lines. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘it’s all routine. Just basically says you take responsibility for your decisions. Just covering my back and yours. You know, some civilisations can be quite litigious.’ Boris handed a fine pointy stick to Gunter. ‘Use this pen to sign your name.’

Gunter wrote his name using the fine script he had learnt at school, and within seconds, he sat in a velvet-covered chair on the bridge of Boris’ ship. The walls shone with fresh white paint, the silver instruments gleamed, and the furnishings were scented with potpourri. He studied the sun as it shrank to just a speck of light amongst many specks of light.

Boris reclined on his seat, fully armoured, fully cockroach. ‘You should notice the changes in your form soon, my fellow.’

Gunter tingled all over and he glanced at his hand. His warm, fuzzy sensation turned to cold hard panic.

‘My hand!’ he cried wriggling his three elongated fingers. ‘I’m turning grey!’

‘So, there you go,’ Boris said as he adjusted his light shields. ‘Right on schedule.’

Gunter picked up a looking-glass placed at his side and his hand trembled. He glared bug-eyed at his reflection. ‘I’m turning into a praying-mantis.’

‘You didn’t specify you wanted to be human.’

‘But a stick-insect? I’m hideous!’

Boris folded his four hands over his barrel chest. ‘So? Most Greys are females. So you, as a male, will be most attractive to them.’

Gunter unstrapped himself and jumped from his seat. He ran to the viewing screen. With his long fingers he traced the planets and sun of his solar system. ‘I have changed my mind. I want to go home.’

Boris smacked his lips and readjusted his bottom’s position on his seat. ‘Too late. You’ve signed the contract. Didn’t you read the fine print? All choices are final and cannot be changed.’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018; updated 2023

Feature photo: A door, Romantic Road, Bavaria © L.M. Kling 2014

***

Read more of the consequences of Gunter’s choices, the adventure, the war against Boris. Discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Gunter and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in my novels…

The Hitch-hiker

Mission of the Unwilling

The Lost World of the Wends

Or

Join the journey of discovery,

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Fantastic Friday Fiction–Choice Bits (3)

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Short Story: Black Forest…in Bite-sized Bits

Bit 3

The Temptation of Gunter

‘What’s the matter?’

Gunter glanced up. ‘Nothing.’

He sniffed and observed the slim man with a pale face and a monk’s haircut. He held a thin tablet similar to a slate under his arm.

‘Doesn’t look like nothing,’ the man said.

‘Nothing you can help me with,’ Gunter replied. ‘You are the magic man, are you not?’

The man threw back his small head. ‘Hardly magic, my son. Merely science. You have heard of Physics?’

‘Yeah..but…’

‘Tell you what, you look like you’ve had a rough trot.’ The man took what looked like a thin book from under his arm. The book had a shiny surface. ‘How about I make your day.’ He ran his finger down the front of the book.

‘Who are you?’

‘Just call me, Herr Roach.’

‘Herr Roth? Mr Red?’

‘No, Roach, as in Cockroach?’

‘Huh?’

‘Never mind—call me Boris,’ the man answered as he cleared his throat.

A whirring sound came from behind him and for a moment Gunter thought he saw dark wings of lace flutter and then snap into the man’s back. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

Boris’ mouth spread into a wide grin with teeth in a neat row like keys on a piano. ‘Now where were we? As I was saying, anything you want, anything at all. Whatever you desire, your wish is my—oh, dear, that sounds a bit lame. Now, what is your greatest desire and I will make it so.’

‘You will?’

‘Yes, I will.’

Boris balanced the book on the tip of his finger. ‘Money, gold, wisdom—women and so on—you know the drill. Whatever.’ He flicked the book front with his finger and made it spin through the air around their heads.

Gunter, his eyes wide, gazed as the object slowed and fluttered into a butterfly and then settled on the log where he’d been sitting.

‘Wow! How did you do that?’

‘I’m still awaiting your answer. Anything you want.’

‘But it changed shape. You made it come alive.’

‘Never mind that—anything at all, it’s yours.’

‘Aber, what are you?’ Gunter asked. He tried to catch the butterfly but it flew high above his head.

‘Oh, that’s hardly important,’ Boris said. ‘Come on, I’m waiting for your answer.’

‘I want to know,’ Gunter reached for Boris, ‘where you are from.’

‘Not from this world,’ Boris stepped away from him and his arm became a tentacle and whipped Gunter’s hand. ‘Now hurry up! Tell me.’

Gunter rubbed his fingers. ‘Are you a demon?’

‘Oh, Herr Fahrer, how could you think such a thing? I’m insulted.’

‘Ja, aber for a man, you have some strange appendages.’

‘That’s because, I’m evolved, my race is superior to yours.’ Boris narrowed his beady eyes and antennae sprang out from the top of his head. With his mouth closed he fed thoughts into Gunter’s mind. ‘I don’t need a voice or a mouth. I can communicate my thoughts to you. So much simpler, don’t you think?’

Boris clicked his fingers and the butterfly floated into his open hands and turned once again into a tablet.

‘Now what will you have,’ Boris demanded with his thoughts, ‘Anything you want.’

The young man scanned the darkening sky and then spotted the first evening star glowing on the horizon.

‘Nay,’ Boris said, ‘further than Venus. Much further. The other side of the galaxy, if you must know.’

‘Galaxy?’

‘Come on, I’m waiting, I haven’t got all century. Then in thoughts almost a whisper. ‘Got slaves to catch, planets to conquer.’

‘What? Did you say something?’

‘Are you a dumkopf? Tell me what you want!’

Dumkopf! Dumkopf! Gunter hated being ridiculed. No, he wasn’t stupid. He sighed. ‘I hate my life. And you know, I hate this world I live in. I hate who I am. No one will miss me if I go.’ He trod towards Boris. ‘Can I go to your world?’

Boris edged away. ‘Well, now, there’s the thing. My world sort of exploded. You could say I’m homeless.’

‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’

‘Any other suggestions?’ Boris’ eyes glowed in the navy blue of early night. ‘I can change you like I did the booklet, if you like.’

Gunter picked at his nails. ‘I would not like to be a butterfly.’

‘You can be anything—anyone.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, no trouble at all.’

‘I could be a different person. No big nose. No brown curly hair. No pimples.’

‘Certainly, if that’s what you want,’ Boris said and flashed his wings.

Gunter pondered. Maybe demons do exist. Maybe his grandmother was right. ‘I don’t know.’ A shiver coursed down his spine. ‘I think I should be getting home. I am late for dinner.’ As he backed away, an owl hooted.

‘What about a free trial? Can do no harm, Herr Fahrer.’ The man-beast followed Gunter down the path. ‘Just one day, no obligation.’

Gunter stopped and turned. ‘Only one day?’

‘Yes, that’s what I said.’

‘Anything? Anything I want?’

‘Yes.’

Gunter stroked his chin. ‘Well, then, can you make me into my brother, Johann?’

‘Yes, I can do that.’

Boris pulled a stick from his stockings and plugged it into the booklet. He tapped the cover and read it for a few minutes. Then from a pocket in his cape, he pulled out a bottle. He tapped the bottle, picked out a pill, snapped it in half and handed the half-pill to Gunter. ‘Eat this and think of your brother, Johann,’ Boris said.

Gunter gulped down the pill. The slimy coating left a fishy after-taste on his tongue. He licked his lips, he had an idea. ‘I know, even better. Johann can become me. Then he’ll know how it feels.’

Boris rolled his eyes. ‘You’re a bright one, you should’ve thought about that before I gave you the Blob Fish pill.’

‘What? You can’t?’

‘I can,’ Boris said with a sigh, ‘but it will be a challenge. I do have the other half of the pill, so we’ll see what we can do.’ He rubbed the pill fragment between his finger and thumb. ‘Now, then I better hurry to do what you have requested. So, my boy, run along home, by the time you get there, you’ll be Johann.’

Gunter turned to go.

‘Just one more thing, where exactly is your brother?’

‘In the barn, always in the barn.’

‘Very well, enjoy!’ Boris said as wings sprouted from his back, he rose into the air and buzzed all the way up the hill to the barn.

Gunter pelted up the path to his home on the hill.

[…to be continued, next week for the stunning conclusion.]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018; updated 2023

Feature Photo: Butterfly in Motion © L.M. Kling 2013

***

And now, for some Holiday Reading…

Go on a reading binge and discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Gunter and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in…

The Hitch-hiker

See how Boris seeks revenge in…

Mission of the Unwilling

And the Mischief and Mayhem Boris manufactures in…

The Lost World of the Wends…

***

Or if you would like some free adventure…

Some real, historical adventure…

In Australia…

Download

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Free until Monday July 3, 2023

Fantastic Fiction–Choice Bits (2)

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The Choice—Bits

Short Story: Black Forest…in Bite-sized Bits

Bit 2: The Cut Lunch of Gunter

The planks of wood that resembled a door scraped on the stone floor as Gunter entered. Wailing from above greeted him, as did the damp musty smell. A rat scuttled along the wall of peeling rose wallpaper and through a crack. Gunter feared that with the damp and vermin, it would not be long before the family succumbed to Typhus. He’d witnessed the fate of his merchant friends in the village—all eight of them gone in one winter. Their two-storey home in the village square had to be demolished as no one would buy it.

Gunter strode to the fireplace, the flames crackling on the wood chips comforted him. He stood with his back to the fire and watched his grandmother, Sophie emerge from the kitchen wiping her hands on her once-white apron.

‘What’s wrong with her today?’ Gunter asked.

‘Says nurse tried to poison her,’ Sophie said as she glanced at the tall Nordic woman scrubbing a pot in the kitchen wash basin.

His mother’s screams warbled, resonating from the room above them and bouncing off the rose-printed walls. Gunter and his grandmother looked at each other. They knew they couldn’t compete with the Banshee screaming. Gunter heard his sister cooing, calming the troubled beast.

The screams subsided to moans. Sophie wiped her damp brow. ‘We really need to see the priest and get those demons out.’

Gunter tapped his temple. ‘It is nothing to do with demons, Grossmutter. Mutti has something wrong with her mind. Her brain is kaput.’

His grandmother ignored his comment. She manoeuvred her ample form through the labyrinth of tables, armchairs and Gunter’s latest model of the solar system to where Gunter stood. In her hand she cupped yellow powder. ‘See? I got this from the market. It’s called Turmeric. This is what I put in her soup that Nurse gave her. It is a spice from India. It is meant to heal Mutti.’ She lifted the powder to her nose and sniffed. ‘It is wonderful! I have some in my food every day and I swear it has cured my aching bones.’

‘Really?’ Gunter pinched a sample and licked it. ‘It does not taste so special.’

‘But when you put it in—’

The wailing started again. Gunter sighed. Grandmother waddled to the table and began scrubbing it. Despite his sister, Salome’s pleading and urging to placate her mother’s rages, the screams rose to a crescendo.

Gunter shut his mind to the agonised cries and dreamed of a faraway land, the Great South Land. His father had told him about this land. As a lad, Gunter’s age, his father had been a deckhand on a Portuguese ship that had explored the South Seas. The ship had been destroyed in a storm off the Great South continent. His father never really explained how he survived or returned to his home in the Schwartzwald. Most of his family and friends did not believe the salty sea tales of August Fahrer—they were just his fantasy. But Gunter believed his father and he dreamed of one day running away to Hamburg, joining a crew and sailing to that faraway land down on the underside of the world. He also dreamed he’d take Anna with him…so what if she was eighteen and he was only fourteen. So what if she barely noticed him in the classroom. What did it matter she was Herr Crankendinger’s daughter?

‘Gunter!’ Grandmother called, ‘Gunter!’

‘Huh?’ His mother’s warbling like a sad song still rang in his ears.

‘Go and find your brother, Johann. Dinner is ready.’

Gunter tore out of the mad house. He galloped across the yard full of chicks and hens, sending the birds flapping and squawking in all directions. The barn—Johann, since he’d returned from the army, was always in the barn. What did he do in the barn all day when he was home on furlough? Just sharpen and buff his swords? He had other weaponry, but Gunter hadn’t been allowed close enough to examine those items. Johann never allowed Gunter in the barn. That was his domain to sharpen and buff and admire his weapons. Johann possessed a cart that he stored at the side of the barn. But he neglected the cart and it sat, exposed to the rain and snow, wood rotting, leaning on its broken axle and its cracked wheel propped against the shattered side.

Gunter patted the cart-wreck and then poked his head through the wide opening and into the darkness. The stink of horse manure mingled with straw hit his nostrils. He looked around and blinked.

‘Johann!’ he called. ‘Dinner is ready.’

Gunter stepped into the darkness. He noticed propped against the wall a small canon-like weapon. He’d heard about such weapons. What were they called? He stepped towards the weapon, his fingers itching to touch it.

‘Johann,’ he said and paused.

Sounds of shuffling and muted giggles filtered down from above. Gunter jumped back from the weapon and looked up. He allowed his eyes to adjust.

More scuffles. Whispers. Was his brother not alone?

‘Johann. You must come to dinner,’ Gunter said.

‘What?’ Johann poked his head over the edge of the loft.

Gunter stared. A scene in slow motion played out on the mezzanine floor. A barrel teetered. It tipped. And then it toppled over the edge.

‘Watch out!’ Johann said, his vocal reflexes delayed by the shock.

The barrel hurtled down. Gunter woke from his brain freeze. Still in slow motion, the barrel cartwheeled in the air towards him. Frame by frame. Gunter’s short life flashed on a screen in his mind.

‘Nay!’ Gunter shrieked and he jumped.

The barrel crashed on the packed dirt of floor, beer exploding and splashing all over his white shirt, leather pants and black shoes staining their square metal buckles.

Johann appeared leaning over the ledge and buttoning up his blouse. ‘Oops!’

‘Was is los?’ a woman’s voice asked what’s wrong?

Gunter caught his breath, as if his heart had jumped out of his throat. He knew that woman’s voice, but he didn’t want to believe it was her.

‘What is going on?’ he asked.

‘This is your fault, Gunter,’ Johann said as he glared at the rivers of beer coursing outside, rivers of blood reflected in the scarlet rays of the setting sun. ‘If you hadn’t interrupted us. How many times have I told you, you are not to come into my barn?’

‘But what are you doing up there?’

‘Never you mind.’

Her small oval face loomed from the darkness behind Johann’s.

Gunter choked. His mouth went dry. ‘Anna?’ he said, his voice cracked into a squeak.

Johann flicked his fingers at Gunter. ‘Get out of here!’

Gunter took a few steps back. ‘Aber…’

‘And don’t you tell Grossmutter! It’s none of her business!’

‘Why?’ Gunter asked. ‘She’ll want to know about the mess…with the beer.’

‘Just don’t. Go! Mach Schnell!’

Gunter backed out of the barn. Blinded by the light and eyes clouded with moisture, he stumbled into the forest.

He howled and hated himself. He sounded like his mother wailing and carrying on but the crying took on a force of its own and refused to stop. Now who would he take to the Great South Land? Now who would share his dreams of adventure and fantasies of travel to the stars?

How could Anna do this to him? She’d painted his portrait, without the pimples and a less prominent Hoch-Blauen nose. Gunter blew his nose on his sleeve. So what! It’s already soiled by the beer. He thought Anna liked him. He’d convinced himself Anna understood him—Anna intelligent, artistic, hair golden like the sun, and eyes dazzling blue like a lake on a summer’s day. One day Anna would get to know him and love him…but no. He whimpered. ‘Johann!’ He smashed his fist into the moss on the log. ‘Always Johann!’

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018; updated 2023

Feature Photo: Barn-like, Bavaria © L.M. Kling 2014

***

And now, for some Holiday Reading…

Go on a reading binge and discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Gunter and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in…

The Hitch-hiker

See how Boris seeks revenge in…

Mission of the Unwilling

And the Mischief and Mayhem Boris manufactures in…

The Lost World of the Wends…

Fantastic Fiction on Friday–Choice Bits (1)

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Bits from The Choice (short story collection in process)

Short Story: Black Forest…in Bite-sized Bits

[Black forest © L.M. Kling 2014]

Bit 1: The Centripetal Force of Gunter

Herr Crankendinger cracked the switch on Gunter’s open hand. The lad, fourteen years old, the in-between of boy and man, clenched his teeth. He locked eyes with the scowling school master. Gunter had the urge to snigger. Not a good urge to have when the school master is beating his hand. Gunter pushed down the bubble of snigger rising from his beating chest. His stomach churned, and all fizzed up, the snigger with a mind of its own, rumbled in his throat and then slipped out of his curled mouth.

‘Dumkopf!’ Herr Crankdinger screamed. He hammered the boy’s palm again and again. ‘You will learn!’

‘Aber, the water in the bucket is held by centripetal force, not magic. The man at the Show is not the devil.’

Herr C’s face glowed red and his ice-blue eyes bulged. He stomped his one foot and peg-leg (a casualty of the Thirty Years War), and cried, ‘Heretic!’

In the candle-lit chapel, thirty-nine pairs of eyes stared at their castigated classmate, and the owners of those eyes froze on their cedar benches. One boy in the back row tittered.

Encouraged by the titter of support, Gunter continued, ‘Gravity, have you not heard of gravity? Have you not heard of Isaac Newton?’

‘Oaf!’ The teacher pointed at the door. ‘Witch! And don’t come back! Your education is finished. Understand?’

‘Never learnt anything here,’ Gunter muttered as he strode between the rows of school boys towards the heavy doors made of oak.

He pushed one open, squeezed through and then bolted. Pigeons fluttered as Gunter ripped through the town square, of the small village in the Schwarzwald (Black Forest). First flush of spring made Gunter a bundle of nervous energy, especially when he saw three milk maids delivering their buckets full of cow juice to the stalls in the square. He looked at the blonde triplets in their puffy cotton sleeves and blue pinafore dresses, and he stumbled on the cobble stones.

The girls sheered away from him.

‘Oh, keep away from the plague,’ one said loud enough for him to hear.

‘Ugh, he smells like cow dung.’

‘No one would want to marry him.’

‘All he attracts is bugs and flies.’

And the three girls giggled.

‘You’re no beauties yourselves,’ Gunter muttered as he dug his hands in his pockets. He didn’t care it was bad manners to dig hands in pockets. Too bad, he thought, then tramped up the hill to his home.

On the way up, Gunter glanced in a pond. His nose like the Blauen-Hoch dominated his dusky face, and pimples gathered in clumps like pine trees on his high forehead, square chin and of course, his mountain of a nose. He pulled his thick dark curls over his face to hide the awkward ugliness, and then with his head down and hands buried in his pockets, Gunter shuffled up to his home presiding over the village, a mansion crumbling with neglect.

How long before his home looks like those Roman ruins down the road? Gunter wondered. Another victim of the Thirty years war that had dominated life in the 17th Century. So close to the sanctuary of Switzerland, and yet…his father had to go and join the cause. So did his older brother Johann. How could Gunter as a boy keep the house and home together?

[…to be continued]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018

Feature Painting: The Choice © L.M. Kling 2013

***

And now, for some Holiday Reading…

Go on a reading binge and discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Gunter and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in…

The Hitch-hiker

See how Boris seeks revenge in…

Mission of the Unwilling

And the Mischief and Mayhem Boris manufactures in…

The Lost World of the Wends…

Travelling Thursday– Road Trip in the Charger (6)

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Road Trip to Sydney in the Charger (final)

[Based on real events but some names have been changed. And some details of events may differ. After all, it was over 40-years ago.

Finally…the intrepid road trip travellers reach Sydney.]

Feature Photo: Sydney Harbour from Ferry © L.M. Kling 2002

The conference and Rick’s never had a girlfriend

As far as conferences went, not a bad one. Lots of singing, worshipping God, that is, lectures, Bible Study, eating, and meeting new friends and old friends too. Our accommodation was down Anzac Parade, about five kilometres, halfway to the beach. I shared a small apartment with Rick and Dad. Dad drove me back and forth from the conference centre at Randwick. Not sure what Cordelia did, but I think she connected with other members of her family who attended the conference and stayed with them. Rick, I think ferried Mitch and Jack to and from the conference centre.

This arrangement becomes relevant later in the week of the conference.

One session that stands out, was the one on relationships.

Rick and I sat side by side, in the front row.

This will be interesting, I thought. Maybe I’ll get some tips on how to get a boyfriend and be popular like Cordelia.

‘So,’ the speaker said, ‘How many of you have had a boyfriend or girlfriend?’

Everyone including me, raised their hands. Everyone, that is, except my brother Rick.

‘What? You’ve never had a girlfriend, Laddie?’

‘Nope?’

The speaker pointed at me. ‘What about that lovely girl next to you?’

‘She’s my sister.’

Laughter.

[Photo 1: A lone tall ship in Sydney Harbour © L.M. Kling 2002]

Abandoned at the hostel and trek up Anzac Parade

Towards the end of the conference, one more event stood out.

Dad told me to wait for him at the hostel apartment where we were staying. After lunch we had an afternoon of free time before the final worship session.

I returned to the apartment lunch with my brother and friends eager to catch up on some rest and losing myself in a book. Maybe some journal writing which had been neglected in all the activity and excitement of the conference.

However upon my return to the dreary grey corridors of the hostel, my door was locked. Oh, well, Dad said he won’t be long.

I had nothing with me. All my supplies of entertainment and comfort were locked away in the apartment.

So I sat.

For hours.

After two hours, I began to sniff.

Then snivel.

Then finally, cry.

A lady poked her head out of a nearby door. ‘Are you all right?’

I wiped my eyes. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

She retreated into her apartment.

I looked at my watch. Five o’clock! Almost three hours I’d been waiting for Dad.

Convinced that he’s forgotten me and I’d be waiting further five hours with that lady sticking her nose in my business every so often, I stood up. Stiffening my lip in grim determination, I marched out the hostel and strode up Anzac Parade.

I prayed that God would protect me.

[Photo 2: Yachts in Sydney Harbour © L.M. Kling 2002]

Along the cracked pavement. Past long neglected houses. And cared-for ones. Over busy roads at the lights. Narrowly escaping any impact with red-light running cars. In the humidity. Under light rain. Taking a wide berth around the many hotels. And leering drunks who spilled out onto the footpath. In the ever-fading light that faded into dusk.

Five kilometres and forty minutes later, I entered the conference centre. The session where all had gathered, was concluding with prayers. All in a circle holding hands. I slipped in the circle. 

The boy next to me squeezed my hand.

Oh, he’s just being kind to poor little old me, I thought. After all, if even my father forgets me…

After, over tea and biscuits, my miffed Dad asked, ‘Where were you?’

‘What do you mean? I waited three hours,’ I retorted.

‘Couldn’t you be patient?’

‘Not when I couldn’t get into the room,’ I said. There was a limit to my patience.

‘I went to pick you up and you weren’t there,’ Dad said. ‘I told you to wait.’

‘And, what time was that?’

‘Oh, er, um, about…’ Dad’s voice faded, ‘about five.’

‘Well, I was there at five, and I didn’t see you.’ I sniffed. ‘So, I walked.’

‘But don’t you know how dangerous that was to walk here?’ Dad showing so much concern, after forgetting me for the whole afternoon.

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ I replied. ‘I prayed and God protected me.’

‘He did. Praise the Lord,’ Dad said and then wagged a finger at me. ‘But don’t you ever do that again.’

‘Yes, Dad.’ As long as you don’t forget me again.

Passing through the Blue Mountains

[Photo 3: A view of the Blue Mountains from actual trip © L.M. Kling 1979]

Our return to the less crowded and more sedate city of Adelaide, was serene and uneventful as the fair city itself. Especially at the time in 1979.

A few highlights. Mostly, in fact, all associated with the Blue Mountains. We had missed the beauty and wonder of the mountains on our journey to Sydney, so, Rick endeavoured for us to see these mountains in daytime on our trek home.

At the lookout to the Three Sisters, we lunched and admired the majesty of God’s creation. Even Rick using his polaroid camera, took photos of us admiring the scene. He was taken with the layers of misty blues and subtle greens cascading down into the depths, while the cliff tomes forming the Three Sisters presided over the valley.

I burst out in song and Cordelia joined in.

After a chorus, Cordelia said, ‘You should try out for the worship band.’

‘Me?’

‘You have such a sweet voice, although it does need to be stronger.’

On the drive home I considered the prospect of trying out for the band. Perhaps singing in front of the church would make me more popular with the boys. Like Cordelia. But in the end, I decided against it. Too hard. Too much of a challenge for plain old me. After all, the worship band was a highly coveted affair, where lead singers jealously guarded their position. I’d never have a chance. Sweet voice, but not strong voice would never cut it.

Back at school, I continued my enjoyment of music singing in the choir. But I’d always secretly envy the solos with their stand-out song voices. The stars with their melodic strong notes, the audience’s focus on them alone.

Instead, that new year of 1979, my passion turned to art…and writing. These were the gifts God had given me.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: Sydney Harbour from Ferry © L.M. Kling 2002

***

Want more, but too impossible to travel down under? Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981…

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Friday Frolics–Road Trip in the Charger (5)

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Cordelia makes a brief visit to the hospital.

Jack woke and rubbed his eyes. ‘What’s happening?’

‘What are you doing?’ Mitch asked.

‘What do ya think?’ Rick said as he slowed to the 60 km/h speed limit of the town.

Mitch pointed the other way, out of town. ‘Couldn’t we just…’

‘No,’ Rick said.

‘Cordelia’s going to be sick,’ I chimed in.

Rick slammed on the brakes and skidded on the rubble on the side of the road.

‘Not yet,’ Cordelia said in a soft voice. ‘But I need a hospital.’

None of us asked the reason we needed a hospital for Cordelia. Under the light of the newly functioning headlights, I studied the strip map for the district hospital. Not much joy there. The map only showed the strip of road or highway from town A to town B, no diversions. However, we did find a 24-hour service station where Mitch asked the way to the hospital.

Upon arriving, Cordelia insisted on entering the premises on her own while the rest of us waited in the carpark. Making the most of the opportunity not to be cramped up in the car, we sat or paced around the car in the balmy night.

*[Photo 1: Missed—the Blue Mountains © S.O. Gross circa 1960]

An hour or so later, Cordelia emerged feeling better. No explanation.

And once more we piled in the car and headed for Sydney.

‘If we drive through the night, we’ll reach Sydney by morning,’ Mitch said. ‘Plenty of time for the conference.’

Rick adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and grunted. ‘As long as nothing else happens.’

I squeezed myself against the back passenger door. I had lost my place in the front with Rick to Cordelia. I had been relegated to the back seat with Mitch and Jack.

The gentle rocking of the drive lulled me to sleep.

Lost in Sydney

I yawned and stretched.

‘Hey, watch it!’ Mitch said and pushed my hand away.

‘Sorry.’ I covered my mouth and yawned again.

The Charger crawled along following bumper to bumper traffic. High rise buildings towered over the narrow road and every side street garnered either a black and white “One Way” sign, or red and white “No Entry” sign. A bridge looking like a giant coat hanger peeped through a gap in the buildings.

*[Photo 2: Sydney Harbour Bridge before there was an Opera House © S.O. Gross circa 1960]

‘Where are we?’ I asked.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Rick said.

‘Oh, Sydney,’ I said. ‘How come we’re not at the conference?’

‘You tell me,’ Rick muttered.

‘We’re having trouble…’ Mitch began.

‘It’s all these one-way streets,’ Rick said. ‘Who ever designed Sydney must’ve had rocks in their head.’

Jack suggested we head for Bondi Beach for a swim as it’s so bleeping hot, reasoning, that if we hadn’t had the car trouble, we’d have had a day to take in the sights and go for a swim.

‘Aren’t we late for the conference?’ I said.

Rick rolled his eyes. ‘Rate we’re going, we’ll never get there.’

‘But, if we go to Bondi,’ Mitch said, ‘perhaps we can find a park and work out where we are and how to get to the conference.’

‘But how do we do that?’ Rick asked. He moved the car at the speed of a tortoise along the road chock-full with near stationary vehicles.

I pointed at a sign which read, “Bondi”. Head east, follow that sign. I’d given up on attending the conference, and believing we’d be stuck in Sydney city traffic forever, resolved to content myself with the promise of the beach sometime in the next week. Not sure how Dad would feel about us not turning up, though. He’d made it his mission to persuade our little tribe to come. And, here we were, lost in the city traffic, wandering in circles around one-way streets.

*[Photo 3: Speaking of circles, Aquarium at Circular Quay, Sydney © L.M. Kling 2002]

I imagined Dad pacing the floor of the conference centre, wearing a groove in the carpet, glancing at his watch and peering out the window. ‘Where are those children,’ he’d be saying, ‘they should be here by now.’

‘Where, exactly is the conference?’ I asked. ‘Is it near Bondi?’

‘Have you got rocks in your head?’ Rick said. His face was flushed with beads of perspiration dripping from his temples. ‘Of course it’s not. And at this rate, no matter where it is, we won’t get there. We’re stuck.’

‘Um,’ Jack interrupted Rick’s rant, ‘I think it’s at Randwick Racecourse.’

‘And where’s that?’ I said.

‘Perhaps, if we go to Bondi, find a park, then we can study the map, and work out where to go,’ Mitch said.

‘Or we could lob into a corner shop and ask someone directions,’ I suggested.

The guys ignored my idea, as guys do. All this time Cordelia remained silent, contributing nothing to the discussion. Perhaps to be more popular with the boys as Cordelia certainly was, I considered I should remain silent. But, me, being me, I just could help myself. Being one of the “lads” and voicing my opinion, that is.

We reached Bondi. Early afternoon.

I remember the weather. Warm, cloudy and humid. Specks of rain assaulted the windscreen. Despite the inclement weather by my Adelaide standards, the streets around this beachside suburb were cluttered with more cars, and even more people. It seemed to me that Bondi was crowded with the entire rest of the population of Sydney; the ones who were not still stuck in traffic in the city centre.

As a result, no parks. Nowhere. Not a thin strip anywhere to put the Charger.

Rick sighed and drove through the park-less and crowded Bondi, along some coastal road and then up a road heading east again.

*[Photo 4 and Feature: What else, but the Opera House with the Sydney Harbour Bridge © A.N. Kling 2016]

Jack, who had been studying a simple map of Sydney that the RAA strip map provided, pointed at a road on the map. ‘I’m pretty sure if we turn down Anzac Parade and follow it all the way down, we will reach our destination.’

Rick followed Jack’s directions and we arrived at the conference just in time for afternoon tea. And, I might add, a roasting from Dad who could not understand how we could get lost in Sydney.

Mitch, though was philosophical. ‘It could’ve been worse, but I was praying the whole time, and God got us here safe and sound.’

Dad sniffed and tapped his trouser pocket. ‘Hmm, yes, you are right Mitch. Ah, well, praise the Lord.’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

***

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Wild Wends-Day–A Celebration Treat

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Wild Wends-Day — A Special Celebration Treat

Travel to The Lost World of the Wends for Free

A Story where the past and present, and vast distances in space intersect…and Boris does what he always does…

Eastern Europe, 1848

Prussian War raged, and the Wends as a village, left their homeland, with plans to set sail for Australia. From the Eastern edge of Prussia, they journeyed on a barge destined for Hamburg’s port, where they hoped to catch a cheap fare in the cargo-hold of a ship destined for the Promised Great South Land.

These villagers, never made their Australian destination. No one ever noticed, nor missed them. The neighbouring villagers assumed they had arrived in the Great Southern Land, and considered them so far away, and too distant to maintain contact. In Adelaide, also, the city for which they headed, the inhabitants were blissfully unaware of their existence. Migrating Prussians had taken their place in the over-flowing cargo-hold and were sailing across the Atlantic to Australia.

On this barge, headed by a man, Boris Roach, the Wends sang hymns of praise to God for their liberation from religious persecution, and the war. They looked to the promise of prosperity and freedom to worship God according to the Word. Their hope that their children and their descendants may thrive in their faith in the Promised Land of South Australia.

A tale where the nineteenth century meets the twenty-first…

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021

***

Read more, and lose yourself in this tale where the nineteenth century meets the twenty-first…

Free from 3 — 7 May 2023

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The Lost World of the Wends…

Wandering Wednesday–Road Trip in the Charger (2)

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Road Trip Adventure in the Charger (2)

Part 2

No Headlights

The highway, so straight, never curving to the right nor the left, was hypnotic. Again, in the late afternoon, the burning sun on the back of my neck, now sinking in the West, and the rushing of air from the open window, lulled me into a state of semi-sleep.

By increments, as sunset turned to dusk, the air cooled. I trusted Rick to keep us safe on the highway to Sydney. I noted Cordelia resting her head on Mitch’s shoulder and then I sank into a deep satisfying sleep.

[Photo 1: Sunset near Sale, Victoria © L.M. Kling 1989]

‘Oh, no!’ Rick said.

‘What?’ Mitch cried.

‘We have no headlights.’

‘What do you mean, no headlights?’ I asked.

Car slowed to a stop by the side of the road, again. Groggy from sleep and the hypnotic effect of the endless highway, we piled out of the Charger and milled around the non-functioning headlights.

Mitch peered at the offending lights. ‘Are you able to fix them, Rick?’

Rick pulled up the bonnet and in the dim light examined the engine. He poked around at the dark nether regions of the Charger’s insides.

Mitch hovered over Rick’s back while he prodded and poked at the parts in the dimness. ‘Do you need a torch?’

‘Do you have one, Mitch?’

Mitch shrugged. ‘I don’t…didn’t think…would you have one in the glove box?’

‘Might have, but the battery’s gone flat,’ all mumbled to the engine.

Mitch had already left to torch-hunt in the Charger’s glove box. At this time, I watched Jack busy himself sorting through luggage at the rear of the vehicle.

Cordelia sat all hunched over on her duffel bag. ‘I still don’t feel well,’ she said.

‘Are you carsick?’ I asked.

‘No, it’s worse than that,’ she answered. ‘I think I need to see a doctor.’

I gazed around the silent darkened landscape. ‘Maybe at the next town, we can try to find one.’

Jack called, ‘Hey, I’ve found another torch.’

The feeble light of Rick’s torch wandered over the car engine. 

‘It’s the alternator, it’s cactus. Needs replacing,’ Rick said. ‘We’ll need to park here for the night and in the morning, I’ll fix it at the next town.’

Cordelia clutching her stomach walked up to the lads. ‘I need to see a doctor; I’m not feeling at all well.’

Mitch glanced at the girl, his eyes wide and brow furrowed. ‘Perhaps we better push on and find a doctor—hospital—something.’

‘How can we?’ Jack said. ‘We have no headlights. It’d be dangerous.’

‘I’m not driving without headlights,’ Rick said.

‘How far to the nearest town?’ Mitch raised his voice. ‘The girl needs help.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘How far is it to Dubbo?’

Mitch grabbed the RAA strip map, Jack handed him the torch and with the stronger light Mitch flipped the pages and then studied the relevant page.

Cordelia sat down on her bag and was silent.

[Photo 2: Twilight at Brachina Gorge, Flinders Ranges, South Australia© L.M. Kling 1999]

‘Says here,’ Mitch began, and then continued, ‘we are twenty miles from Dubbo.’

‘I’m still not sure…’ Jack said.

‘Oh, come on,’ Mitch huffed, ‘only twenty miles. If we use the torches for our light, we can get there safely.’

‘What, waving the torches out the side of the windows,’ Rick said, ‘Are you mad?’

‘If we go slowly, we can make it,’ Mitch said. ‘Come on, give it a try. For Cordelia’s sake, we have to try.’

[Photo 3 and Feature: Rick will save the day…eventually © courtesy R.M. Trudinger 1983]

At Mitch’s insistence to save this damsel in distress, we piled back in the car, and crawled down the highway, torches flashing back and forth from the rear windows.

After a few minutes, Rick shook his head, his curls flopping about his damp forehead. ‘It’s not working.’

‘What about,’ Mitch sighed, ‘what about, if I sit in the front and you and me shine the torches from the front.’

‘If you think it’ll make a difference,’ Rick muttered.

Mitch changed places with Rick who was driving, and Rick moved into the front passenger seat where Jack had been sitting. Jack then bumped Cordelia into the middle and sat behind Mitch.

The car crawled a few metres with Rick and Mitch waving torches from their front positions.

I looked behind me at the expanse of dark landscape, and the sky clotted with the Milky Way.

‘I hope the cops don’t catch us,’ I murmured.

‘What cops?’ Jack said.

The Charger slowed, and then stopped.

‘It’s not working,’ Rick said.

‘But we’ve hardly moved,’ Mitch said.

‘I think it’ll be better if we don’t use the torches and I drive by the starlight.’ Rick sniffed. ‘I think my eyes will adjust. And we’ll take it slowly.’

‘I can do that,’ Mitch said.

‘No, I’ll drive.’ Rick pushed open his door and marched over to the driver’s side. ‘It’s my car. I know how to handle it.’

Mitch breathed in and out with an emphasised sigh. ‘If you insist.’

Rick forged ahead on the highway to Dubbo at a leisurely twenty miles an hour. I know it was twenty miles (not kilometres) an hour as it took us an hour to reach the outskirts of Dubbo. Mitch couldn’t resist the urge to hang his arm out with Jack’s torch, offering slim beams of light to guide Rick as he drove. Fortunately, we met no police on patrol.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

***

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