Twilight

I watched as the beaten-up paddock Ute drove down the dusty road, carrying my Ella and our kelpie pup inside. Those same wheels that would go fetch lost sheep was now town-bound, towards safety. I wanted to go, and I knew I should have, but I couldn't lose the house, not like this.

The evacuation warnings had been circulating all arvo, 'leave now before it’s too late' they pleaded, fabricating a sense of atmospheric static that hung in the air like the smell of a hot bin. I wondered what too late meant. But now I could see it. The roar came over the hill like nothing else, a thunder like rumble that you felt in your bones. I picked up the hose and angled it onto my little wooden shack, my castle. The well fuelled flame had reached the chook house now, just a couple hundred metres down, engulfing the little shed that Ella and I had spent a hot Sunday building and the poor chooks inside. The range was alive, spewing ash and orange everywhere it went, chasing the screaming rosellas into the grey sky. Bloody hell. The bush is burning. I scrambled inside. Ella's words echoed in my head from this morning, "woollens. Wet 'em." The bathtub tap started spluttering, showering the last memories out of those thick jumpers, including the smell of her cheap supermarket perfume, the one I loved most. I flung them under doors and around windows, trying to block out the smoke, and then I went outside. Apocalyptic terror met my eyes, bushfire black with hints of smouldering gum was all that was left of the hillside now. The scorching smoke-filled air ran up the side of the house, followed by an agonizing noise of choked baas and bleats. It was here. Ten metres away, along the fence line. The fire was here. I looked down at the hose, trickling a weak stream of warm water onto the deck. And then it spluttered, once, twice, releasing its final aid. The pump had conked out. No more water. No more fire shield. I ran then, as fast as I could, doubling back on my castle towards the pump with the heat singeing the sun-bleached hairs on my arm. Dehydrated dandelion crunch echoed under my worn-out thongs as I scrambled, tripping over tree stumps and fallen limbs of skyscraper trees. The copper-coloured blanket was suspended around me, clouding my vision. I knew the pump was here. Somewhere. Its close. I spun aimlessly, squinting through smoke-prompted tears, and then I saw it. A calcified glow in the orange-tinged dark, the pump, already burnt, already blackened. The bush was thick, but I pushed my way towards the little melted metal contraption, lifting my legs over the tangled scrub and fossilised black berries. Miniscule barbs of rusted wire camouflage so well into the prickle bushes that it took me a while to realise what had happened. Twists of wooden limb and of glowing branches watched as streams of blood escaped like restless prisoners from my thigh. My eyes moved up, the inferno still blazed, closer to me now, picking up speed. I thought of charcoal flesh, I had to keep going, to keep moving. My knees started to buckle, weakened by an undying awareness of termination, and as I tried to move forward, I realised it was over. A red-stained bed of dried grasses and leaves had been made, embracing my body as it hit the ground. My head, supported by a pillow of bottle brush shrubs, cradled me as if I were a baby. Bright orange glow reflected off the white-trunked gums, flickering and pirouetting like a ballerina on fire. She danced, the blistering pleats in her skirt gently grazing the trees in front of me. Her glowing arms outstretched, drifted close, warming my bones in her delicate movement. She was dangerous, but beautiful, welcoming trees to her warm bosom in ethereal elegance like no other, and I knew I would be welcomed too. Would there be some kind of comfort in letting go? I felt a breeze move along the bridge of my nose, and down my body towards my engraved legs. The angelic ballerina took flight, retreating off her stage, away from the wind, and the copper-coloured clouds followed too. They rolled backward, back towards my castle, back towards where the chook house stood, and the spring lambs use to frolic. The blanket of smoke thinned, and the luminous light of a full moon shone down, accompanied by twinkling stars. A bioluminescent glow radiated from the bed of grey ash and smouldering tree stumps, reflecting the moons lustrous gleam. For a moment I forgot about the pain and found comfort in the unpromised future, the stars sung a silent lullaby, their celestial song alleviating my agony. The blackened treetops are darker against the twilight sky now, but the stars still gleamed their soft phosphorescence telling me that everything is ok.