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Dear Lyn,
My darlin girl – I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact. Your letter found me last Thursday; it arrived crumpled and slightly damp. I wasn’t able to read it for a few days; people are always watching me here. If I could describe what happened to me that day at the library, I would. I wish I could advise you on what to do out there in terms of survival. Something I never thought I would see myself write on a dirty piece of paper. I managed to snatch it off the concrete yesterday in the blowing wind.
I can’t tell you where I am Lyn, as I have no idea myself. A group of us were taken, blind-folded to a location, which smells like tyres, rust, seaweed and coffee. There aren’t any spiders here, but I have this feeling that we are the last ones left. I spend most of my time in a small concrete room with a roller door – a single door carport I suppose. I am with three other people. I was originally in here with four, and one day they asked this bloke named Andrew, a banker, to go with them and he never returned.
The other two blokes are from talk back radio. Brightman and the Ferrett are their names. They argue about the squalor, their constant bickering is driving me insane. One of them (I can’t tell who) constantly wishes for a cup of coffee. It’s unbelievable isn’t it Lyn?
One wish and he asks for coffee? I wish I could see you darlin, and explain that my eyes never meant to wander from you that day at the library. One minute I was watching you squiggle down notes with a crayon and the next, you were gone. I met a nice lady, with blonde hair and a ponytail who tried to keep me calm. She worked at the library, she seemed to know her way around well enough, but seemed so full of fear. I think there was something she wasn’t telling me. It became black; we had to evacuate the building. I was screaming out your name. Even though Dave is a dropkick, I was grateful that someone was with you. I knew you would be calm if you had people around, someone to talk to. I never anticipated the spiders. Come to think of that, in the evenings when we’re sent to our concrete room, a burning smell wafts from under the roller door. It’s gotten stronger every night. Thicker. Blacker.
I can’t seem to process any of this, not even the grief for Ryn, It all feels too unnatural, too much like a bad dream. I’ll wake up at any moment in a soft leather chair at the library with drool down my face and everyone will be just as they were, reading. I knew that taking you to Bunning’s was a good thing. You complained so much, but I knew that some of the things that I explained to you when walking around the place would some day make sense. And as for Dave, well I suppose I never had a good feeling for the guy. There was something always off.
He always had a shifty look in his eye, like he was never really telling you a whole story.
The way you talk about the screaming trees makes me wonder where I am and how far away I am from you. On paper you seem to be right here, in my heart and in my head. But I have no idea where I am or how long it’s been since the flood. I guess we were counting and then we got bored of tallying our survival. It seemed like a point system. I can’t say that I’ve ever had to tally the days of my life before. I always thought I would at least have you around.
If you get this letter, know that you are safe for the moment. If I hear a reply from you, it means I have more freedom than I thought and I will immediately start plotting an escape and get to you, somehow.
Stay strong Lyn,
Dad
Note found in 36 locations around Brisbane:
ReplyDeleteYou have one week to release my father, unharmed. Don't make me come looking.
There may not be much of a world left, but I'll still tear it apart if I have to.