Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2013 7:29:01 GMT -6
Heavy wreaths of consciousness slowing made their way into the spirit’s psyche, forcing him to absorb his surroundings. He immediately wished he hadn’t. Above him the harsh light of the moon seemed to bore through his frail figure as if intent on dissolving what few atoms he possessed. Its soft half light was far too much for him and momentarily blinded his vision. The wind picked up slightly. The spirit could not recall ever being bothered by a breeze before, but now it seemed strong enough to cut him to pieces and scatter his fragments far and wide. He lay very still, trying to withdraw within himself as much as possible, trying to find himself. Where had he gone? Where was he? Who was he supposed to be? He didn’t know. Spirits are not meant to shiver, but there was an unmistakeable tremor that ran along the entire length of the spirit’s form as he tried to not let the thought of no identity disband him completely.
The inhabitant gazed down at the guest floating before him, the soul of the body now resting somewhere secret. “You know… even for a spirit, I must say that you are quite pathetic,” the reaper spoke quietly, mostly to himself, before he shook his hooded head and leaned his skeletal face near Australia.
The spirit had not been aware that he was capable of movement, but as soon as that thing drew close to him the secret of motion returned to his form and he drew back away from it. What was that?
“Welcome dear guest!” the Inhabitant exclaimed, acting as if he had never insulted Kyle, “Now, I know that you must be experiencing an immense amount of confusion at the moment but I must express the importance of my next instructions, for I will not repeat them and I will not remain to be questioned.”
Immediately several dozen questions surfaced in the spirit’s mind but he did not speak them. With any luck the creature would tell him his Moiety. Then at least he would know who he was and would be able to piece the rest of himself together.
The reaper then swept his arms wide and bowed, “I am called the First Inhabitant and am titled as such for my twin brother and I are the loyal servants to our Master, the Baudeau Manor,” with his introduction aside, the Inhabitant swept his skeleton hands within his large sleeves and began to recite his instructions with a sudden boom of his deep voice, “You are dead! Is that not wonderful?”
The spirit did not agree with this. He wasn’t dead. Death had its own path and place. What he was feeling now did not feel like what death should have been, death was part of a connection, a cycle. Right now all the spirit could feel was a deep and painful ache where he had been severed, disconnected. He was no longer part of the world (living or otherwise) and as the world was everything, that meant that he was lost from it. No wonder it felt like his being was being precariously held together by the determination of a few atoms.
“You have been freed from your physical form and are now a spirit within my Master, but do not despair if this is not fitting for you, for there is a way to once more live! Once I vanish, you will feel the urge to travel and will come upon the great graveyard of the Baudeau Manor. In the spiritual realm, it is far greater than it would be if you were living and it is your choice to find… well, your grave.”
This bit of information made slightly more sense to the spirit. Wanting to travel was the same as wanting to find your roots, who you are. If he had to travel to a “graveyard” to find his “grave” (whatever those were) then so be it. Anything was better than this dreadful feeling of being separated from who he was.
The First Inhabitant grinned wickedly, not giving the nation a moment to register his words before he continued, “Now, I do realize that your memory is not what it used to be and I’m afraid you may not even know who you are, but…. it’ll come with time!” With that, the reaper began to turn to leave but paused to look back at Kyle to say in parting, “However, I would recommend that you do not take too long to return to your body because, my Master’s great power will begin to… change you if you hesitate. Best of luck and I bid you farewell!” The skeleton ended with a hearty, dark laugh and began to move towards the wall, which he plainly materialized through and disappeared, his laughter echoing down the hall in his wake.
The spirit did not like the sound of being changed or the idea of a deadline. PUN. The spirit had told him to find his grave, but how could he do that when he had no Moiety? He really was lost. The best that he could hope for was that enough of his memory would come back to him to find his way back before that inhabitant and his Master could take him.
As an experiment the spirit tried to recall anything that he did remember. But as much as he strained his memory he couldn’t see anything further than the too-bright light of the moon above him. Beyond that there was nothing. The spirit sighed, give it time.
He moved cautiously along the uneven platform he’d been floating on. Not being able to feel its surface did not help matters, he could not tell if he had made a good step or a bad one. The spirit looked out to the grim landscape before him and contemplated jumping. Perhaps if he fell to his real death he would be rejoined to the world that way. But when he tried to jump on the spot he discovered that spirits did not fall, they sink like a drop of honey into milk. And they didn’t stop sinking when they made contact with whatever they had been standing on. In fact the spirit had made it into the room below before he managed to catch himself.
“H...hello?” He called out and gave a start at the sound of his own voice. It sounded so thin and pale, so very spirit-like. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. But I’m looking for my uh, body. It’s in a “grave”. Have you seen it?” He got no reply. “I would tell you my name but I can’t remember it. I can’t even remember my Moiety.” Still no answer, but he did catch a glimpse of something flickering within the confines of a large old cabinet. The spirit moved closer to the source of movement. “Are you stuck? Maybe I can get you out.” He reached out a ghostly hand to the cabinet’s ornate handle, and gaped when his fingers passed right through it! He hadn’t even felt the pressure of the wood on his palm. The sight of his arm halfway through a wooden panel made the spirit feel faintly nauseous.
Without any warning whatsoever a loud wailing shriek sounded from within the cabinet. A shocking blur of white burst forth and to his horror the spirit realised that it was a phantom ghost, much like himself. With wild deranged eyes that did not even see him, the other ghost seemed to be rampaging through the very depths of insanity. Who knew how long it had been like this or who it had once been. Driven from its hiding place was enough to send it in a mad screaming rage. Not even bothering to skirt around the various object that covered the room it headed straight through the wall, it’s moans echoing as it floated off into the distance. The spirit shuddered, he felt sick. If that’s what the inhabitant had meant by the power of its Master beginning to change him, then he wanted to return to his original form as soon as possible. He needed to find his body.
Oh but what had he looked like? What had his friends called him? What had he called himself? The spirit shut off his vision (having no eyelids to speak of) and thought hard, turning his mind upside down and inside out to try and recall anything at all from his time as a living being. He couldn’t even recall how he had died. Would his memory start from when he had died? Would he recall the feeling of a pulse faltering before ceasing altogether? Or perhaps he had died quickly, gone before he even realised what had happened. Had there been blood? Suffocation? Tears? He had no idea.
Or perhaps his memories would start at the beginning, when he was created. Would he remember who had been his caretakers? Had he grown up with others of had he been alone? Perhaps he’d had brothers and sister to fight and play with. He really didn’t know what he’d been like and it was extremely disconcerting. Logic dictated that he should not miss what he could not remember, but he did. He missed it because it had been taken away from him, snatched and locked away by thin-skeletal hands into a grave. Now he had a small window of opportunity to get it back, a chance to be reconnected with the cycle and with his being. It was either that or end up like that screaming banshee that had fled the room. The spirit moved on from the attic, there was nothing here for him.
After passing through several long and darkened corridors the Spirit came across a door that was closed. Deciding to try out his “ghostly” abilities he pushed a hand forward and passed right through the wood into the room beyond, and damn it felt weird to do so.
Inside the room were several large appliances of some sort, chic and modern in comparison to the dusty and ancient design of the house in general. Buckets and bottles of some description lay about the place, shelves stack with white cloths lines the walls. And huddled in the far corner was a small, furry and grey...
“MATILDA!”
The koala looked up as the spirit rushed forward to try and scoop her up. He of course just passed right through and would have gone on through the other wall had he not caught himself. Matilda’s eyes widened at his appearance and she scuttled hastily to the other side of the room. This spirit noticed this and did his best to curb his enthusiasm...somewhat.
"Matilda it’s me! A-ah actually I don’t remember who I was, but I remember you. You were my animal companion. We met when you dropped down on my head from a tree when I was a kid. I named you Matilda. We went everywhere together. People wrote a song about the two of us." The koala nodded, she remembered this as well. Slowly she crawled back across the floor to where the familiar looking spectre was hovering.
“Of course they got it all wrong. They thought you were a sack or something, pretty silly really. But by the time we found out it was too late, the song had already become a hit and we just had to live with it. I think you were always a bit annoyed by it though, weren’t you dear?”
Matilda nodded again and reached about a paw to the spirit. She gave a start when it just passed straight through him. The spirit looked at her sadly.
“I’m afraid there will be no piggy backs until I get back to my body. It’s sort of hard to explain. Why don’t we walk while I tell you everything?” The spirit waited while his companion climbed up the door to open the latch and let herself out before he floated through the empty doorframe. Then he began to talk. “I woke up like this several floors up. I think it was on the roof. A disgusting skeleton like thing was with me. He told me I need to find my grave in order to become alive again. If I don’t I’ll stay like this and his Master’s influence will “change” me. I think he meant I will become like him in some way.”
“I..” If the spirit had vocal chords his voice would have cracked here, but as it was the words continued in the soft whispery tone of spirits. “I want to find my grave as soon as possible. But I don’t know how. I can’t remember anything about being alive, or how I died. I can’t even remember my Moiety. How I going to know find my body if I can’t remember that?”
Matilda looked thoughtful for a moment. Then without any explanation she ran up the side of a wall and launched herself from the top of it into the air. Landing on the floor with a plop she looked pointedly at the spirit. The spirit looked back at her blankly.
“Are you trying to tell me that I was called Drop?”
The Koala shook her head.
“Fall?”
Another shake of the head.
“Um, Gravity?”
Matilda threw her arms up in exasperation and gave up.
They continued along the corridors for a while in silence. The spirit was busy trying to remember anything from his past that might help him now, and Matilda didn’t usually say much anyhow.
A snake.”
Matilda turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.
“I remember a snake, no a serpent. It had scales as black as night and it glowed with all the colours of a rainbow. It moved mountains across the sky and carried rain in its mouth to places of thirst. It knew a great many things, like how to ahh...” The spirit’s voice halted “I can’t remember what it knew.” He frowned, thinking hard “Was I the serpent? I know about it which is promising, but I can’t remember what the serpent’s teachings were. I don’t remember being a serpent, but I don’t remember anything else so that doesn’t say much.”
“Perhaps I just knew of it.” The spirit thought to himself “But I honestly don’t know where I knew it from. I can’t remember a beginning; it was just always there, constantly travelling but never going anywhere. I remember it sinking into the ground. It said... what did it say again? Could it even speak? Am I just pulling things out of thing out of thin air now? Making stuff up to fill in the gaps? I remember Matilda and she’s physically here, but where did the bloody snake go?”
Did it even exist?
“Matilda do you remember the snake?” The koala shook her head.
“Maybe it didn’t then. I think some creature once told me the serpent was evil. He was a rabbit. I hate rabbits.”
They continued on down a flight of stairs. Matilda was used to being carried down these structures but things being what they were she had to do it on her own. They soon found out the best way to get down the steps was to turn around and head on down feet first. It was slow going (especially since the spirit could easily float right over the steps) but he wasn’t about to leave a companion who was his only link to the life that he had once been.
The floor they found themselves on looked much like the one they had left, dark, deserted and depressing. They followed the hallways but did not stop to look in many of the rooms. At one point the spirit stuck his head through a door on a whim. But when he spotted an ornate grand piano standing to the side of the room the strangest feeling of annoyance came over him and he immediately pulled out again. Then they found a door that was conveniently (and suspiciously) open. The spirit paused in front of it, not entirely trusting the room beyond to be safe. But then again, there was little harm that could be done to him as he was already dead. But then once again, Matilda was alive and therefore vulnerable.
“Stay here” he told the Koala “I’ll call out if it looks alright.” With slightly more practiced ease than before he floated through the door and into the room beyond. He could immediately tell that the room was a library, it was full of books that were not new like those in a bookstore; some of these volumes looked like there was more dust to them then pages. After skirting through several shelves and finding no one he went back to the doorway. “It looks safe enough Matilda.”
His Koala trundled in and looked immensely unimpressed at the ancient and dusty wealth of information that lay before her. She climbed up the tallest shelf in the middle of the room and made room for herself amongst the contents. “Watch it!” The spirit called out as several papers and tomes crashed loudly to the floor. “Now look at what you did. There’s no way I’ll be able to return these until I get my damn body back.” The Spirit bent down to examine the papers. Some of them were hand written, the parchment so brown and the ink so faded that they were almost impossible to read. Others looked newer; they were copies of original texts and were printed on off-white paper. One of these leaflets lay directly at the spirit’s feet and he bent down to read it.
“The Transportation Statute 1717. An act for the further preventing robbery, burglary, and other felonies...” The spirit’s reading faulted, he knew these words. They had been etched into his memory, branded with chains and lashes and sweat. This Act had been terribly important to him somehow. Images of men, woman and children with prison pale faces and unsteady sea legs flashed past. He remembered wearing clothes with arrows printed on them and running barefooted through half built streets which still smelt of fresh timber.
Under these very words misfits and scoundrels like himself had been sent away to work and reform themselves in a land quite unlike any other. The document before him had named the land America but to the spirit that did not sound quite right. The land that he remembered had been harsh. Bright sunlight scorched and blistered pale skin that was not used to its strength. Rain was not seen for months at a time and when it did arrive it pelted down like cold bullets too thick to see through. Strange creatures that were shy but dangerous roamed the bushland, so quiet that you didn’t know they were there until you had the misfortune to step on one.
Tough as it was the land was good. The spirit knew that the people who arrived there had not come under their own will. They were there because they were lawbreakers, criminals and felons. They had come to be reformed. And the land had given them everything, space to build a hut, tasks to accomplish, and a ticket of leave after seven years. But it was more than that. The land had given these early people a chance to regain the pride, dignity, and purpose which gaols had taken away from them.
This was why the spirit knew the land was not America. People went to that country to seek a new life away from the tyrannies and misfits of their old home; they went there to preserve their goodness. The people who came to his land were the misfits, sent by tyranny; they came to regain their goodness. As important as it was, he still couldn’t remember the land’s name.
“I was a convict once” The spirit told Matilda as they descended yet another flight of stairs. "I wore prison arrows and sometimes chains. I caused trouble from time to time, running away and stealing horses from settlers and whatnot. One time I stole a boat and tried to sail away. I knew a pretty girl who lived up north that would help me but I got caught before I could reach her, I always got caught. Eventually I became a freedman, I became...what were the words again? I can’t remember. Anyway I’ve remembered what a grave is, we’ll have to go outside to find it, after that I don’t know. I still can’t remember what my Moiety is and I don’t even know if it’ll be on the grave, they may use another name.” They rounded a corner and came across a door that led outside. It was closed but Matilda was far to deft a hand for it to really be a problem for her. They passed through the doorway and into the open air.
The spirit froze a moment when they stepped out. Although it was far less windy than up on the roof, there was still that feeling that the slightest movement might shred him to pieces and blow them away. The spirit knew by now that was impossible by it did not stop him from feeling incredibly exposed as they made their way to the gates of what promised to be the graveyard he was looking for.
Passing through the fence was even worse. Almost immediately the world expanded and the spirit felt what fragile memories he had regained split apart into fragments leaving him again with nothing. It was not exactly painful but the shock of having his memory wiped away still did make the spirit shriek in panic "AIEEEEEEE!" Who was he? Where was he? What was his Moiety?
It was some time before the spirit calmed down enough to take in his surroundings. He was floating on an immense stretch of land that was dotted with carved lumps of rock which shone black against the dimly lit sky. Ok, ok it is frightening here, but don’t panic again, let’s see what these stones are doing here. The spirit made his way over to the nearest stone. Quite unexpectedly there was a dark red flower with thorns along its stem. A rose he realised (although he did not know how he realised it). It was interesting, and as the spirit continued to browse through the stones, he discovered that each stone had its own flower, a Plum Blossom, a Tulip, Edelweiss. Each stone felt different but none of them felt right to him, it was hard to explain but he soon realised that he was looking for one that had a certain feel. He almost got it when he passed a Kowhai but it only stirred his attention for a moment before he realised it was not his. It was not until he passed a stone marked with a sprig of yellow and gold that the spirit knew he had the right one.
A Golden Wattle, Acacia Pycnantha. The spirit knelt before the stone and read the text. “So I am Australia huh?" He mumbled to himself as he sank unafraid into the earth “I was a convict, I waltzed Matilda, I knew the Rainbow Serpent and my Moiety is Australia, otherwise known as the Great Southern Land. Not a bad name I must say, better being Terra Australis than Terra Nullius, now I can finally be me again." The spirit sank blissfully into the soil where his body waited for him. On the count of three he opened his eyes.
“Oh for crying out loud!” It did not take a great deal of imagination to figure out by the lack of light that he was trapped in a coffin. Kyle could remember everything, the party, the Manor, being killed, and right now he was as mad as hell.
“It’s never enough for you guys is it?” He yelled out loud. “Never mind that you killed me, never mind that you made me search this blasted house for my own body. Now you’ve stuck me in a fucking coffin and expect me to dig my way out as well? You guys are more sadistic than the bloody rabbits!”
4 036 words, man I'm proud.
Tjukurrpa means "Dreaming" which essentially translates as "Beyond living memory". Theoretically when Kyle was trying to recall memories of his life, he was searching for his "dreaming"
Moiety means "Skin Name". For further reading start here
Best read along with this
The inhabitant gazed down at the guest floating before him, the soul of the body now resting somewhere secret. “You know… even for a spirit, I must say that you are quite pathetic,” the reaper spoke quietly, mostly to himself, before he shook his hooded head and leaned his skeletal face near Australia.
The spirit had not been aware that he was capable of movement, but as soon as that thing drew close to him the secret of motion returned to his form and he drew back away from it. What was that?
“Welcome dear guest!” the Inhabitant exclaimed, acting as if he had never insulted Kyle, “Now, I know that you must be experiencing an immense amount of confusion at the moment but I must express the importance of my next instructions, for I will not repeat them and I will not remain to be questioned.”
Immediately several dozen questions surfaced in the spirit’s mind but he did not speak them. With any luck the creature would tell him his Moiety. Then at least he would know who he was and would be able to piece the rest of himself together.
The reaper then swept his arms wide and bowed, “I am called the First Inhabitant and am titled as such for my twin brother and I are the loyal servants to our Master, the Baudeau Manor,” with his introduction aside, the Inhabitant swept his skeleton hands within his large sleeves and began to recite his instructions with a sudden boom of his deep voice, “You are dead! Is that not wonderful?”
The spirit did not agree with this. He wasn’t dead. Death had its own path and place. What he was feeling now did not feel like what death should have been, death was part of a connection, a cycle. Right now all the spirit could feel was a deep and painful ache where he had been severed, disconnected. He was no longer part of the world (living or otherwise) and as the world was everything, that meant that he was lost from it. No wonder it felt like his being was being precariously held together by the determination of a few atoms.
“You have been freed from your physical form and are now a spirit within my Master, but do not despair if this is not fitting for you, for there is a way to once more live! Once I vanish, you will feel the urge to travel and will come upon the great graveyard of the Baudeau Manor. In the spiritual realm, it is far greater than it would be if you were living and it is your choice to find… well, your grave.”
This bit of information made slightly more sense to the spirit. Wanting to travel was the same as wanting to find your roots, who you are. If he had to travel to a “graveyard” to find his “grave” (whatever those were) then so be it. Anything was better than this dreadful feeling of being separated from who he was.
The First Inhabitant grinned wickedly, not giving the nation a moment to register his words before he continued, “Now, I do realize that your memory is not what it used to be and I’m afraid you may not even know who you are, but…. it’ll come with time!” With that, the reaper began to turn to leave but paused to look back at Kyle to say in parting, “However, I would recommend that you do not take too long to return to your body because, my Master’s great power will begin to… change you if you hesitate. Best of luck and I bid you farewell!” The skeleton ended with a hearty, dark laugh and began to move towards the wall, which he plainly materialized through and disappeared, his laughter echoing down the hall in his wake.
The spirit did not like the sound of being changed or the idea of a deadline. PUN. The spirit had told him to find his grave, but how could he do that when he had no Moiety? He really was lost. The best that he could hope for was that enough of his memory would come back to him to find his way back before that inhabitant and his Master could take him.
As an experiment the spirit tried to recall anything that he did remember. But as much as he strained his memory he couldn’t see anything further than the too-bright light of the moon above him. Beyond that there was nothing. The spirit sighed, give it time.
He moved cautiously along the uneven platform he’d been floating on. Not being able to feel its surface did not help matters, he could not tell if he had made a good step or a bad one. The spirit looked out to the grim landscape before him and contemplated jumping. Perhaps if he fell to his real death he would be rejoined to the world that way. But when he tried to jump on the spot he discovered that spirits did not fall, they sink like a drop of honey into milk. And they didn’t stop sinking when they made contact with whatever they had been standing on. In fact the spirit had made it into the room below before he managed to catch himself.
“H...hello?” He called out and gave a start at the sound of his own voice. It sounded so thin and pale, so very spirit-like. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. But I’m looking for my uh, body. It’s in a “grave”. Have you seen it?” He got no reply. “I would tell you my name but I can’t remember it. I can’t even remember my Moiety.” Still no answer, but he did catch a glimpse of something flickering within the confines of a large old cabinet. The spirit moved closer to the source of movement. “Are you stuck? Maybe I can get you out.” He reached out a ghostly hand to the cabinet’s ornate handle, and gaped when his fingers passed right through it! He hadn’t even felt the pressure of the wood on his palm. The sight of his arm halfway through a wooden panel made the spirit feel faintly nauseous.
Without any warning whatsoever a loud wailing shriek sounded from within the cabinet. A shocking blur of white burst forth and to his horror the spirit realised that it was a phantom ghost, much like himself. With wild deranged eyes that did not even see him, the other ghost seemed to be rampaging through the very depths of insanity. Who knew how long it had been like this or who it had once been. Driven from its hiding place was enough to send it in a mad screaming rage. Not even bothering to skirt around the various object that covered the room it headed straight through the wall, it’s moans echoing as it floated off into the distance. The spirit shuddered, he felt sick. If that’s what the inhabitant had meant by the power of its Master beginning to change him, then he wanted to return to his original form as soon as possible. He needed to find his body.
Oh but what had he looked like? What had his friends called him? What had he called himself? The spirit shut off his vision (having no eyelids to speak of) and thought hard, turning his mind upside down and inside out to try and recall anything at all from his time as a living being. He couldn’t even recall how he had died. Would his memory start from when he had died? Would he recall the feeling of a pulse faltering before ceasing altogether? Or perhaps he had died quickly, gone before he even realised what had happened. Had there been blood? Suffocation? Tears? He had no idea.
Or perhaps his memories would start at the beginning, when he was created. Would he remember who had been his caretakers? Had he grown up with others of had he been alone? Perhaps he’d had brothers and sister to fight and play with. He really didn’t know what he’d been like and it was extremely disconcerting. Logic dictated that he should not miss what he could not remember, but he did. He missed it because it had been taken away from him, snatched and locked away by thin-skeletal hands into a grave. Now he had a small window of opportunity to get it back, a chance to be reconnected with the cycle and with his being. It was either that or end up like that screaming banshee that had fled the room. The spirit moved on from the attic, there was nothing here for him.
After passing through several long and darkened corridors the Spirit came across a door that was closed. Deciding to try out his “ghostly” abilities he pushed a hand forward and passed right through the wood into the room beyond, and damn it felt weird to do so.
Inside the room were several large appliances of some sort, chic and modern in comparison to the dusty and ancient design of the house in general. Buckets and bottles of some description lay about the place, shelves stack with white cloths lines the walls. And huddled in the far corner was a small, furry and grey...
“MATILDA!”
The koala looked up as the spirit rushed forward to try and scoop her up. He of course just passed right through and would have gone on through the other wall had he not caught himself. Matilda’s eyes widened at his appearance and she scuttled hastily to the other side of the room. This spirit noticed this and did his best to curb his enthusiasm...somewhat.
"Matilda it’s me! A-ah actually I don’t remember who I was, but I remember you. You were my animal companion. We met when you dropped down on my head from a tree when I was a kid. I named you Matilda. We went everywhere together. People wrote a song about the two of us." The koala nodded, she remembered this as well. Slowly she crawled back across the floor to where the familiar looking spectre was hovering.
“Of course they got it all wrong. They thought you were a sack or something, pretty silly really. But by the time we found out it was too late, the song had already become a hit and we just had to live with it. I think you were always a bit annoyed by it though, weren’t you dear?”
Matilda nodded again and reached about a paw to the spirit. She gave a start when it just passed straight through him. The spirit looked at her sadly.
“I’m afraid there will be no piggy backs until I get back to my body. It’s sort of hard to explain. Why don’t we walk while I tell you everything?” The spirit waited while his companion climbed up the door to open the latch and let herself out before he floated through the empty doorframe. Then he began to talk. “I woke up like this several floors up. I think it was on the roof. A disgusting skeleton like thing was with me. He told me I need to find my grave in order to become alive again. If I don’t I’ll stay like this and his Master’s influence will “change” me. I think he meant I will become like him in some way.”
“I..” If the spirit had vocal chords his voice would have cracked here, but as it was the words continued in the soft whispery tone of spirits. “I want to find my grave as soon as possible. But I don’t know how. I can’t remember anything about being alive, or how I died. I can’t even remember my Moiety. How I going to know find my body if I can’t remember that?”
Matilda looked thoughtful for a moment. Then without any explanation she ran up the side of a wall and launched herself from the top of it into the air. Landing on the floor with a plop she looked pointedly at the spirit. The spirit looked back at her blankly.
“Are you trying to tell me that I was called Drop?”
The Koala shook her head.
“Fall?”
Another shake of the head.
“Um, Gravity?”
Matilda threw her arms up in exasperation and gave up.
They continued along the corridors for a while in silence. The spirit was busy trying to remember anything from his past that might help him now, and Matilda didn’t usually say much anyhow.
A snake.”
Matilda turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.
“I remember a snake, no a serpent. It had scales as black as night and it glowed with all the colours of a rainbow. It moved mountains across the sky and carried rain in its mouth to places of thirst. It knew a great many things, like how to ahh...” The spirit’s voice halted “I can’t remember what it knew.” He frowned, thinking hard “Was I the serpent? I know about it which is promising, but I can’t remember what the serpent’s teachings were. I don’t remember being a serpent, but I don’t remember anything else so that doesn’t say much.”
“Perhaps I just knew of it.” The spirit thought to himself “But I honestly don’t know where I knew it from. I can’t remember a beginning; it was just always there, constantly travelling but never going anywhere. I remember it sinking into the ground. It said... what did it say again? Could it even speak? Am I just pulling things out of thing out of thin air now? Making stuff up to fill in the gaps? I remember Matilda and she’s physically here, but where did the bloody snake go?”
Did it even exist?
“Matilda do you remember the snake?” The koala shook her head.
“Maybe it didn’t then. I think some creature once told me the serpent was evil. He was a rabbit. I hate rabbits.”
They continued on down a flight of stairs. Matilda was used to being carried down these structures but things being what they were she had to do it on her own. They soon found out the best way to get down the steps was to turn around and head on down feet first. It was slow going (especially since the spirit could easily float right over the steps) but he wasn’t about to leave a companion who was his only link to the life that he had once been.
The floor they found themselves on looked much like the one they had left, dark, deserted and depressing. They followed the hallways but did not stop to look in many of the rooms. At one point the spirit stuck his head through a door on a whim. But when he spotted an ornate grand piano standing to the side of the room the strangest feeling of annoyance came over him and he immediately pulled out again. Then they found a door that was conveniently (and suspiciously) open. The spirit paused in front of it, not entirely trusting the room beyond to be safe. But then again, there was little harm that could be done to him as he was already dead. But then once again, Matilda was alive and therefore vulnerable.
“Stay here” he told the Koala “I’ll call out if it looks alright.” With slightly more practiced ease than before he floated through the door and into the room beyond. He could immediately tell that the room was a library, it was full of books that were not new like those in a bookstore; some of these volumes looked like there was more dust to them then pages. After skirting through several shelves and finding no one he went back to the doorway. “It looks safe enough Matilda.”
His Koala trundled in and looked immensely unimpressed at the ancient and dusty wealth of information that lay before her. She climbed up the tallest shelf in the middle of the room and made room for herself amongst the contents. “Watch it!” The spirit called out as several papers and tomes crashed loudly to the floor. “Now look at what you did. There’s no way I’ll be able to return these until I get my damn body back.” The Spirit bent down to examine the papers. Some of them were hand written, the parchment so brown and the ink so faded that they were almost impossible to read. Others looked newer; they were copies of original texts and were printed on off-white paper. One of these leaflets lay directly at the spirit’s feet and he bent down to read it.
“The Transportation Statute 1717. An act for the further preventing robbery, burglary, and other felonies...” The spirit’s reading faulted, he knew these words. They had been etched into his memory, branded with chains and lashes and sweat. This Act had been terribly important to him somehow. Images of men, woman and children with prison pale faces and unsteady sea legs flashed past. He remembered wearing clothes with arrows printed on them and running barefooted through half built streets which still smelt of fresh timber.
Under these very words misfits and scoundrels like himself had been sent away to work and reform themselves in a land quite unlike any other. The document before him had named the land America but to the spirit that did not sound quite right. The land that he remembered had been harsh. Bright sunlight scorched and blistered pale skin that was not used to its strength. Rain was not seen for months at a time and when it did arrive it pelted down like cold bullets too thick to see through. Strange creatures that were shy but dangerous roamed the bushland, so quiet that you didn’t know they were there until you had the misfortune to step on one.
Tough as it was the land was good. The spirit knew that the people who arrived there had not come under their own will. They were there because they were lawbreakers, criminals and felons. They had come to be reformed. And the land had given them everything, space to build a hut, tasks to accomplish, and a ticket of leave after seven years. But it was more than that. The land had given these early people a chance to regain the pride, dignity, and purpose which gaols had taken away from them.
This was why the spirit knew the land was not America. People went to that country to seek a new life away from the tyrannies and misfits of their old home; they went there to preserve their goodness. The people who came to his land were the misfits, sent by tyranny; they came to regain their goodness. As important as it was, he still couldn’t remember the land’s name.
“I was a convict once” The spirit told Matilda as they descended yet another flight of stairs. "I wore prison arrows and sometimes chains. I caused trouble from time to time, running away and stealing horses from settlers and whatnot. One time I stole a boat and tried to sail away. I knew a pretty girl who lived up north that would help me but I got caught before I could reach her, I always got caught. Eventually I became a freedman, I became...what were the words again? I can’t remember. Anyway I’ve remembered what a grave is, we’ll have to go outside to find it, after that I don’t know. I still can’t remember what my Moiety is and I don’t even know if it’ll be on the grave, they may use another name.” They rounded a corner and came across a door that led outside. It was closed but Matilda was far to deft a hand for it to really be a problem for her. They passed through the doorway and into the open air.
The spirit froze a moment when they stepped out. Although it was far less windy than up on the roof, there was still that feeling that the slightest movement might shred him to pieces and blow them away. The spirit knew by now that was impossible by it did not stop him from feeling incredibly exposed as they made their way to the gates of what promised to be the graveyard he was looking for.
Passing through the fence was even worse. Almost immediately the world expanded and the spirit felt what fragile memories he had regained split apart into fragments leaving him again with nothing. It was not exactly painful but the shock of having his memory wiped away still did make the spirit shriek in panic "AIEEEEEEE!" Who was he? Where was he? What was his Moiety?
It was some time before the spirit calmed down enough to take in his surroundings. He was floating on an immense stretch of land that was dotted with carved lumps of rock which shone black against the dimly lit sky. Ok, ok it is frightening here, but don’t panic again, let’s see what these stones are doing here. The spirit made his way over to the nearest stone. Quite unexpectedly there was a dark red flower with thorns along its stem. A rose he realised (although he did not know how he realised it). It was interesting, and as the spirit continued to browse through the stones, he discovered that each stone had its own flower, a Plum Blossom, a Tulip, Edelweiss. Each stone felt different but none of them felt right to him, it was hard to explain but he soon realised that he was looking for one that had a certain feel. He almost got it when he passed a Kowhai but it only stirred his attention for a moment before he realised it was not his. It was not until he passed a stone marked with a sprig of yellow and gold that the spirit knew he had the right one.
A Golden Wattle, Acacia Pycnantha. The spirit knelt before the stone and read the text. “So I am Australia huh?" He mumbled to himself as he sank unafraid into the earth “I was a convict, I waltzed Matilda, I knew the Rainbow Serpent and my Moiety is Australia, otherwise known as the Great Southern Land. Not a bad name I must say, better being Terra Australis than Terra Nullius, now I can finally be me again." The spirit sank blissfully into the soil where his body waited for him. On the count of three he opened his eyes.
“Oh for crying out loud!” It did not take a great deal of imagination to figure out by the lack of light that he was trapped in a coffin. Kyle could remember everything, the party, the Manor, being killed, and right now he was as mad as hell.
“It’s never enough for you guys is it?” He yelled out loud. “Never mind that you killed me, never mind that you made me search this blasted house for my own body. Now you’ve stuck me in a fucking coffin and expect me to dig my way out as well? You guys are more sadistic than the bloody rabbits!”
End of Thread
4 036 words, man I'm proud.
Tjukurrpa means "Dreaming" which essentially translates as "Beyond living memory". Theoretically when Kyle was trying to recall memories of his life, he was searching for his "dreaming"
Moiety means "Skin Name". For further reading start here
Best read along with this