Triangle of Shadows
Outside, there were footfalls on the gravel at the front of the house. Heavy boots, caked in cow dung were making their way up the drive towards a line of trees and scrub by the fence line of the eastern paddock. The breath of the heavy set figure was laboured, snorting short bursts of steam into the night air. They wore a red flannel shirt under a fleecy windcheater that smelled of hay and sweat. A black beanie had been pulled down hastily over the head. The figure muttered something to themselves as they trudged into the shadows up the drive.
In the house, upstairs, the boy lay awake in his room. Moonlight spilled through the window and bathed the bedclothes in chalky white. The blind was drawn up, and he was watching the crisp, glittering stars wheeling across the night sky.
From the thicket of scrub up by the fence line, there was a clear view of the house. The figure crouched in a tiny clearing between two gnarled banksia's and pulled on some yellow washing gloves. Their breathing was getting sharper.
The front of the house was a wide semi circle of gravel bathed in moonlight. Potted Geraniums lined the front of the house and cast spidery shadows over the gravel. A geen Land Rover was parked a the side of the house, with the passenger side half in shadow. The four yawning windows facing the drive were darkened. No lights fickered anywhere. It stood as a border between the eerie white moonscape of the driveway, and the plunging hill behind that sloped down in deepening darkeness to the dam at the bottom of the hill. The dam mirrored the grim line of trees that stood like grey bush sentinels at the edge of the southern fence line.
All was silent. Washed in moonlight. The Child lay in his bed, his eyes growing heavy with sleep. It gathered around him, but he struggled against it, like he did everynight. Waiting for the noises downstairs.
There were more footspteps outside. The boys eyes blinked awake and focused intently on a triangle of shadow on the ceiling. Brisk, light footsteps were moving from the house in an easterly direction. Another figure came into view. the drivers door of the Land Rover opened and a yellow light washed over the face of someone rummaging around in the consol. They scrubbed the scales of drowsiness from the side of their jaw. The muffled sound of the car door being slammed again reached the boys ears upstairs, and his eyes blinked awake again. The figure stood there by the side of the Land Rover for a few moments, contemplating something. The glow from the last drag on a cigarette illumiated half a face, before they flicked it into the darkness, and it somersaulted into the air and it rolled away in thegravel under the car and died.
The stars were wheeling impercptibly across the night sky. The figure by the side of the house turned on the ball of their foot, and then the shot came. The force of the noise brought the boy up suddenly into full consciousness, then he began to have the feeling that he was falling through a dark chasm without end. There was another shot. Then another. The flash washed faintly across the walls of the boys room, and the model planes suspended from the ceiling, like lightening flashing across distant fields. Then there was a few moments of hard silence which seemed to stretch on for as long as the moonlit land.
A crumpled form lay in the gravel by the side of the house. The boy sat up in his bed and looked down on the moonscape from the second floor window. The figure in the fleecy windcheater and beanie came striding quickly down the sloping drive, then disappeared from view.
The figure now stood over the moaning figure they had just shot. The clencched set of their jaw could not be seen in the triangle of shadows at the side of the house. They bent down over the wounded man and inspected his face. Their blue eyes were watery with rage and pain. The figure in the windcheater felt in the mans pockets, and finally found the keys to the LandRover in his blood soaked hands that were clutching at his abdomen. The figure stood up. Their breath was heavy and trembling as they removed the yellow washing up gloves that were now stained with dark clots of blood.
The boy lay frozen in his bed, his eyes fixed in terror on the triangle of shadow on the corner of his room. He listened without hearing to the footsteps on the gravel by the side of the house, being broken intermittently by the sobbing murmurs of his mother. He couldnt hear the groans of his father, as he lay dying in the gravel.
In the house, upstairs, the boy lay awake in his room. Moonlight spilled through the window and bathed the bedclothes in chalky white. The blind was drawn up, and he was watching the crisp, glittering stars wheeling across the night sky.
From the thicket of scrub up by the fence line, there was a clear view of the house. The figure crouched in a tiny clearing between two gnarled banksia's and pulled on some yellow washing gloves. Their breathing was getting sharper.
The front of the house was a wide semi circle of gravel bathed in moonlight. Potted Geraniums lined the front of the house and cast spidery shadows over the gravel. A geen Land Rover was parked a the side of the house, with the passenger side half in shadow. The four yawning windows facing the drive were darkened. No lights fickered anywhere. It stood as a border between the eerie white moonscape of the driveway, and the plunging hill behind that sloped down in deepening darkeness to the dam at the bottom of the hill. The dam mirrored the grim line of trees that stood like grey bush sentinels at the edge of the southern fence line.
All was silent. Washed in moonlight. The Child lay in his bed, his eyes growing heavy with sleep. It gathered around him, but he struggled against it, like he did everynight. Waiting for the noises downstairs.
There were more footspteps outside. The boys eyes blinked awake and focused intently on a triangle of shadow on the ceiling. Brisk, light footsteps were moving from the house in an easterly direction. Another figure came into view. the drivers door of the Land Rover opened and a yellow light washed over the face of someone rummaging around in the consol. They scrubbed the scales of drowsiness from the side of their jaw. The muffled sound of the car door being slammed again reached the boys ears upstairs, and his eyes blinked awake again. The figure stood there by the side of the Land Rover for a few moments, contemplating something. The glow from the last drag on a cigarette illumiated half a face, before they flicked it into the darkness, and it somersaulted into the air and it rolled away in thegravel under the car and died.
The stars were wheeling impercptibly across the night sky. The figure by the side of the house turned on the ball of their foot, and then the shot came. The force of the noise brought the boy up suddenly into full consciousness, then he began to have the feeling that he was falling through a dark chasm without end. There was another shot. Then another. The flash washed faintly across the walls of the boys room, and the model planes suspended from the ceiling, like lightening flashing across distant fields. Then there was a few moments of hard silence which seemed to stretch on for as long as the moonlit land.
A crumpled form lay in the gravel by the side of the house. The boy sat up in his bed and looked down on the moonscape from the second floor window. The figure in the fleecy windcheater and beanie came striding quickly down the sloping drive, then disappeared from view.
The figure now stood over the moaning figure they had just shot. The clencched set of their jaw could not be seen in the triangle of shadows at the side of the house. They bent down over the wounded man and inspected his face. Their blue eyes were watery with rage and pain. The figure in the windcheater felt in the mans pockets, and finally found the keys to the LandRover in his blood soaked hands that were clutching at his abdomen. The figure stood up. Their breath was heavy and trembling as they removed the yellow washing up gloves that were now stained with dark clots of blood.
The boy lay frozen in his bed, his eyes fixed in terror on the triangle of shadow on the corner of his room. He listened without hearing to the footsteps on the gravel by the side of the house, being broken intermittently by the sobbing murmurs of his mother. He couldnt hear the groans of his father, as he lay dying in the gravel.
posted by urbanmonk at 10:14 AM
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