Fictitious Facts I 'Cultivation of a Murderer'. continued CH16

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Chapter 16

A New Friend - Kolora

Eternal ennui set in from the tedious participation of eight months already served at high school. Don was going through the motions of a daily grind without expression of contempt, this change in behaviour come about because he knew his parents were content. His consideration for their feelings was closely attributed to the understanding of their struggle to date and a beginning of his own maturity.

Each morning, from the cul-de-sac in which Don now lived, demanded a long walk down the hill to the main road to board the school bus. He found a shortcut through a narrow track adjacent to his home which offered a quicker access to another pick up shelter on the same route. It was this track he walked daily and would keep to himself, except for this one morning which fate coerced a chance meeting with a girl. As he appeared from the cover of the trees on the way to the bus stop he was confronted by a girl being bullied by a smaller but intimidating flabby boy. The boy snatched her school bag and ran away acting like a pudding head. She gave chase with loud abusive language. Don shouted;

       “Stop! Bring that back here and stop being a dick head. Drop my bag I said or I’ll smash your head in.” When he saw Don approaching in canter he ran faster and purposely opened the bag spreading the contents over the footpath, then he threw the case to the ground and disappeared while shouting snide obscenities. Don helped the girl gather the scattered material and asked;

       “Why did he steal your bag?”

       “I don’t know. I think he’s a bit retarded. He doesn’t go to school and some mornings he waits here and bothers me. I’m scared of him. I told my dad but he goes to work early and doesn’t believe me anyway. Thanks for helping. My name’s Kolora. What’s yours?”

       “Don,” he replied with a smile.

She was pleasant and welcoming on first meet, unlike others so far acquainted with. The first distinguishing feature was her huge breasts which took one’s attention away from other attributes. They engulfed a rather short but curvy stature hidden under scraggy shoulder length black hair and freckled cheeks. She was about the same age as Don and dressed in the school uniform of the day; a pleated grey hemmed petite skirt, a white collared blouse buttoned up the front, black shoes, short white socks and a green and red striped tie. She proved to be very inquisitive. He knew his sexual edification was developed for his age because of relations with Fran and the infantile sexual discussions he hears from others older than himself at school, but whether he was as sophisticated as he thought for his age was yet to be confirmed. One thing he did know, he wanted to fondle those two soft fleshy glandular organs sticking out so prominently from her chest. They boarded the bus together, swapped family stories and immediately developed a friendly relationship.

From that point onwards, on the trip to and from school Kolora would summon Don with a wave or other gesture for him to sit with her on the back seat of the bus; usually in the corner where the lower parts of the body were hidden from the mirrored view of the lecherous glares of the driver. The bus was never crowded allowing them freedom to move and to some degree privacy to share their stories and intimate indulgences. As they grew fonder of each other, Kolora would snuggle closer and constantly tease him by running her hand up and down between her legs, lifting her skirt higher with each roaming search and pausing intermittingly at the top of her inside thigh. Don could only imagine how moist her canal was and the thought of rooting someone besides Fran presented a mental picture of ecstasy and excited him to the point of seminal fluid leaking and making wet and uncomfortable his underwear. He went one step further by squeezing and caressing her breasts but it was difficult to impress because of the awkwardness of space and the thought of unwanted intrusions. Besides, he wanted to be a little hesitant in showing unbecoming fascinations, he did not want to seem over eager and blunder future opportunities. It turned out his concerns were unfounded because it became quite obvious she wanted what Don fantasized about.

Another day she instigated every move, she placed her hand on his bare knee, and beyond her years while stroking herself she slowly and gently slid the other up his shorts smothering his penis and rubbing it gently; from side to side, up and down. Although her hand movements were restricted it was sensually mind-blowing for Don, and totally different to the ‘slap bang thank you mam’ in and out sex of past experiences. His excitement grew and grew, now he knew there were no boundaries to her cravings for sexual participation. Alone on the back seat, yet still showing a sense of guilt, he took the precaution of putting his jumper over their lap to evict prying eyes, or on the off chance someone decided to walk up the back to meddle. He rested his hand on her leg, she reacted forthrightly exerting control by pulling it upwards onto her wet panties and manoeuvring it in a circular motion over her vagina. Through the thin cotton he could feel the thick bushy hair and a fine notable and distinctive crease. They were nearing their destination, Don did not want the fondling to end, but in one way he was glad because he was burning with desire and another minute would have caused him to fully blow his bolt. He considered ejaculation to be messy at the best of times, let alone in his pants and thought: ‘A wet patch would be embarrassing and terribly uncomfortable, and under the circumstances everyone would notice it when I got off the bus.’

The bus slowed, they giggled and straightened their attire. Don wrapped his jumper around his waist in a knot with the sleeves covering his exaggerated damp area. Kolora had red rosy cheeks, her hair was brushed back with perspiration and when they stepped off the bus the driver gave a sly grin, a look which could be mistaken as contentious or envious. They were unsure if he knew of their promiscuous activities or was just being pleasant. When the bus drove away and they crossed the road she said with cunning intentions;

       “Com’on, I’ll walk home with you.” They were in earshot of others from the bus. Don scanned their mannerisms and wavered in thought; a conscious impression of sniggers and whispers formed in his mind assumptions of sarcastic mockery; just like the bus drivers smirk. Maybe his response was a misrepresentation in interpretation of people just completing their day in normal natter, nevertheless, he incriminated himself by assuming they all knew what happened on the bus, and for a moment this reduced his confidence into a state of self-doubt. She continued her encouraging endearment with caper and slapstick; he took a deep breath and tried to dismiss all negativity associated with a cautionary approach, besides the lure of her appeal far outweighed possible busybodies spreading rumours. She had him wanting; he developed an impassioned concupiscence for her flesh, finally but eagerly he replied;

       “Okay, that‘ll be great. What time do ya ‘ave to be home?”

       “Anytime,” she replied. “My parents are at work and don’t get home ‘till dark. Anyway we won’t be long.” Don was unsure what she meant by; “…we won’t be long.”

They continued with gaiety to the entrance of the track, talking and sharing in childish pranks like pushing and prodding explicit areas of choice, all the time she knowingly used her puckish charm to seduce his inner desires. She pushed him hard on one side of his chest knocking him off balance, then run quickly away on the narrow winding track into the woods. Don gave chase and caught her quickly in a place of seclusion, he dropped his school-case and clutched her around the torso; she turned around laughing. While he squeezed her huge breasts into his chest she linked her lips onto his with explicit timing. Her conduct took him by surprise, he had never been involved in passion; just sex. It was an emotional sensation never before experienced and wholly approved by clenching her tighter and joining the action. Tingling sensations ran rampant through his body giving instant rise to his penis. His hard-on pressed against her and he began gyrating, she released her grip on him and stepped back a pace. He thought: ‘I knew it was too good to be true. What have I done wrong? My lack in skills has undone a perfect root’. Unknown to him she was in complete control and in an orotund tone of uncouth rawness she asked;

       “Have ya done it before? ‘ave ya fucked?”

       “Yes, of course,” he answered in a proud and bumptious manner. “Many times.” Impishly initiating a seduction she asked;

       “Good, let’s do it now. Do ya won’t to?”

       “Yeeaaa,” he drooled. “That‘ll be great,” he added with pompous enthusiasm. She picked a patch of grass-covered ground, clear of hard objects like sticks, and spread both jerseys over it before pulling her skirt up around her waist and sitting. The impression of hesitation on Don’s face was obvious. She asked;

       “Don’t ya want it now? ‘Or ‘ave ya changed ya mind? Are you scared?” Defending his mettle he retorted;

       “No! I’m not scared. Of course I want it.” The truth was he was very nervous, yet motivated by the fear of failure. Without delay, with a compulsion to prove his manhood, he undone the clasp on his shorts, unzipped his fly and dropped his ‘duds’ to his ankles. Kolora leaned back resting on her elbows with her legs slightly apart. He kneeled and took hold of the top of her pants to remove them. With her knees bent upwards, her legs closed willingly for the strip. She lay back fully, spread her legs again and rest in waiting, then without a sound she undid the buttons on her blouse, removed it and rolled it into a pillow for her head to rest on. Her breasts were beautiful. They were large, well rounded with nipples projecting like a mouthpiece on a baby’s bottle. Don’s penis was protruding above the elastic of his underpants; he could not take his eyes off her and shed the diffidence accompanying earlier thoughts. On opening her legs fully she exposed naked a huge bush of black curly hair parted down the middle in perfect symmetry. A full and throbbing dick generated an unfamiliar side effect; all the blood cumulating in one area left him with a vertiginous rush.

After managing to steady his-self, he inserted one finger into her mushy tight opening. She let out sighs of pleasure and swirled her thighs erratically;

       “Ooohhh, don’t stop, don’t stop, oohhh.” Now, her full wetness ensured, with wild enthusiasm she bent forward and tugged at his underpants. Don stood and removed them, and not before time, if he kept fingering her it would have been too late because the feeling of a warm irritation inside wanted to release imminent pressure in mid air. His body shrouded hers and gradually, without burden, slid his solid penis into her inviting cavity. She wriggled and clinched him tightly into her breasts. Her upper leg joints clamped together, inserting an unbearable but exquisite force around his member; his brain and body was hers to rule. Ten seconds of racy ‘humping’ was all it took before the enjoyment converged with impending results; the pleasure was too great. He could feel the irrepressible urge to ejaculate, yet knowing it was too early he tried to hold it back while simultaneously not wanting to slow down. Accelerated violent thrusts stimulated a large gush of creamy sperm to its journey end; it catapulted into her foreign passage. The inexplicable impulse ended way before he wanted it to, but he was happy with himself and considered the triumphant finale a conquest.

After lazing a second he lifted his weight off her and kneeled in ready to stand, she smiled and relaxed in the horizontal for half a minute while Don slid into his underpants. Instantly his thoughts aligned to the potential problems of pregnancy. He was educated enough to know about the implications of shooting one’s load inside a female, and about the importance of pulling out in time, but the gratification of ejaculation was far better and quicker than ejection, and his brain, taken prisoner by lechery, worked just as slow as his common-sense. Don pulled his shorts up while she stood, wriggled into her knickers and fastening the buttons on her top, she leant forward, pecked him on the lips and said;

       “I ‘ave to go now, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

       “Yeah, good. See ya later.” This was about the only response he could muster. Although aware of his swiftness in delivery he was of the understanding she took pleasure from his performance and was expecting an accolade or two, but it was not to be and he began to feel a little humiliated. He compensated for any hurt in pride with egotistical self-regard and concluded there was no imperious demand to provide his partner with sexual satisfaction because the point of gratification was self absorbing.

Kolora picked up her school bag and slowly walked away giving one last wave as she moved out of sight behind the thick vegetation. When Don got home he was glowing from ear to ear and beaming with arrogance; he was very pleased with himself. Strutting around like a lone bull amongst its harem, his mother’s womanly intuition sensed something different about him and asked;

       “How did you go at school today? Did you enjoy yourself? How come you’re so late?” He was not sure which question to answer first but realized they were asked with a degree of flippancy, therefore he was careful not to display excitement because he definitely did not want to be interrogated; besides she was accustomed to his apathetic responses where school was concerned, so while proceeding eagerly to his bedroom he replied;

“Yeah okay I guess. I was playing with friends.”

: Fictitious Facts 1: 'Cultivation of a Murderer', continued. Ch15 "Beginning of Don’s Transformation"

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Chapter 15

Beginning of Don’s Transformation

The police officer drove to the shop on many occasions and never did get his date with Zoe. Bing was still visiting and courting her stronger than ever, even though the relationship was made difficult by distance and hard times it flourished. Bing would always bring with him a rifle or two from camp; ‘.303’, ‘.22’ or others such as a shotgun and sometimes a pistol, he said he borrowed them from camp, but no one really knew where he got them. He taught Don to hold and fire a firearm and the importance of gun safety. Bing was not one to kill animals for the sake of killing so they would shoot set targets such as bottles or cardboard diagrams. Killing kangaroos was not a sport because there were so many grazing in open space and in such close proximity to the house; it would have been an inconsequential slaughter of harmless creatures. Bing introduced Don to a ‘.303’ rifle, it was as long as he was tall. He rested its barrel on the porch balcony for support because his strength was incapable of holding it horizontal long enough and steady enough to hit a barn door. The first shot was aimed at a branch of a tree not far away into the bush, the recoil was so great it flung his tiny physique backward through the fly screen door; his father laughed but his mother was not impressed.

With his parent’s permission Bing gave Don his first rifle, it was a ‘Diana’ single shot, break barrel, spring piston air rifle shooting ‘Wasp’ slugs for projectiles and was of such low power it would not penetrate a sheet of two ply timber. It was old and the spring weak but it served Don well in fun and taught him the importance of gun ownership. He was allowed to take it with him when he went to his friends. Weepy would borrow his brother’s single shot .22 and Sam would borrow Fran’s older brothers’ rifle to stray in the hundreds if not thousands of acres of bush and many cleared paddocks to hunt. Don’s gun was incapable of doing any damage to anything larger than a ‘Cicada’ but the others with their .22’s would shoot to kill anything moving; kangaroos, possums, koalas, birds, lizards and the main target rabbits.

Don was speaking up more and more now, and his discourse towards his friend’s scourge of life became a growing variance of opinion which usually ignited childish and heated dispute. He internally contemplated and reflected on death by sometimes verbally announcing the ramifications of their cruelty and articulating it as:

       “A sad waste of innocent life.” They were cavalier about death and ignored his frustrations. Don was not perturbed about the killing of viral rabbits because they were rampant and diseased with myxomatosis, they should be put out of their misery; but he was against killing other animals. Yet the others seemed to thrive on it. Once they killed a kangaroo or a wombat or something, they would kick it about, or watch the dogs rip it apart, or shoot it repeatedly after death, or just leave it to rot. In all facets of life and with little respite they displayed moments of cruelty, corruptness and decadence of morals. Nothing he said could change the way they behaved, after all, he and they lived within a different domestic environment, they had different family values and collaborated in the company of each other on a daily basis, Don would only see them on weekends or intermittently at play in school. He was not destined to commingle habitually, without the same continual social contact to form the same bond meant most individual traits were kept separate and distinct between him and them. Bing would never have agreed for Don to fire the rifle for wrongful use and would have been infuriated by the misuse of guns by Weepy and Sam. He, as Don, had a soft heart for animals and saw killing as a reprehensible act of butchery.

Bing had been visiting Zoe as much as the army would allow leave, now weekends and holidays were not enough, he wanted her next to his side evermore. He finally worked up the courage to ask for her hand in marriage. She was nearly twenty one and certainly had a strong determination of mind, without hesitation she gave him the reply he wanted; she said:

       ‘Yes.” Bing was delighted she accepted the certainty of a future wedding but he still needed to pursue the correct social and conventional formality of asking her parents. He was not a felicitous speaker and approached the obligation with reluctance because as hard as he tried to ingratiate himself with Ted, he did not think he had yet won his allegiance. He was sure Ted trusted him now, but still thought it a scary situation. When he broke the news to Rene she was delighted, it was the opposite for Ted his expression was one of silent disappointment. Ted still harboured reservations about Bing, of special concern was his ability to support his daughter, and he was uncomfortable with the idea of her leaving home. Eventually he substituted his personal feelings for the happiness and welfare of their nuptial day and gave his blessing with minimal verbal conjecture.

The big day was upon them within months. They exchanged vows in a small ‘Church of England’ in the middle of Naretha. It was quite a lavish affair taking into account the modest financial position of the Scotsdon’s. Bing’s parents were moderately rich compared to Ted and Rene but centuries of ritualistic tradition deemed the brides’ parents pay for the wedding. The bridegrooms’ parents paid for the refreshments; each respected the other and honoured their duty. There was still a tight fraternity between those friends who met on the ‘Hostel’ in Sydney, although most of them moved to different parts of the state and others even further interstate, just about everyone who received an invitation travelled the distance to attend. The day was sunny and all went according to plan. Their honeymoon was short because of the need for Zoe to help in the business, and from there it did not take long before she came to realize her independence was important for happy future relations. She wanted for herself and her husband to move and make their way in the world.

Shortly after the decision to move, somewhere around the time of the historic conspiracy connecting Jack Ruby to the deadly shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald, they completed a tearful move to Sydney. It was clear Bing needed to be close to his work at the Ingleburn army camp. Their relocation was very difficult for Rene because she came to rely on Zoe in the day to day operations of the business and dearly missed the company of her daughter. This now meant, during the day Rene would be left alone to cook, serve petrol and cater for customers, an impossible task for one person and while she was outside serving petrol people would help themselves to all sorts of merchandise inside. Each evening by dusk Rene was completely exhausted, her strength drained and legs like jelly. Ted would try to get home as early as possible from his day job to temporarily free her from the slavery of exertion. She needed a rest because this job required a seven day a week appearance and Ted who usually had to travel long distances to get to work would sometimes not get home until after seven at night, he then had to serve customers, do minor repairs on vehicles and prepare such things as the filling of oil bottles and general maintenance in ready for the next day.

Rene was a loveable wife, but at times a tad naive. Her genuine innocence and belief in people sometimes hindered her common sense. One quite day she whined to a customer about the accumulation of creepy crawlies in her cupboards. The customer spun a yarn, he advised her if she wanted to get rid of such things as ‘cockroaches’ or other crawling insects then she needed to sprinkle pepper throughout the cupboards, near the walls and around the borders of the shelves. When she enquired as to the purpose of such a strange procedure, he answered;

       “The insects sniff the pepper, sneeze and hit their head on the shelf or the wall. They knock themselves out. This won’t kill them but while they lay out cold and stunned get your dust pan and brush, pick them up and throw them into the fire.” Rene believed every word and with prompt execution of his idea she spread ground pepper everywhere; it was splashed throughout the shop. When Ted got home he sneezed consistently from the pungent seasoning and queried the liberal application thinking she must have had an accident with a bulk pepper delivery. When she told him with such quality of certitude what the customer told her he could not contain himself, he was in stitches and commented;

       “Ya silly cow, he’s ‘aving you on.” Rene eventually realized the joke and swore she would nobble him when he came in again.

To make matters even more complicated for Rene in the shop alone, she suffered illogical phobias; insectophobia, acarophobia, entomophobia, ornithophobia, mottephobia, and any other phobia pertaining to life with wings. The truth of the matter is; she had to be fearless to live in Australia in constant fear and endured those paradoxical challenges until her death. If a moth, beetle or bird etc came buzzing around, Ted or whoever was in attendance had no choice but to dispose of it. She was petrified, if there was no one around to help she would lock herself away or stay well clear until help arrived. This limited the amount of duties she performed at night due to the large moths and ‘Christmas Beetles’ attracted to the fluorescent lights, in the shop, and directly over the petrol pumps. It became increasingly difficult for Ted because, before Zoe moved she would serve petrol at night and help in the kitchen giving both of them a break, but now certain jobs went unfinished if he did not fulfil them. Another example of Rene’s phobic character is; when starting for town one Saturday morning she attempted to block out the morning sun by folding down the visor, a moth was attached to the back of the visor, when it was disturbed it flew straight into her face. She panicked, maybe her heart stopped. The door opened before the car was stationary and it drove into a ditch on the side of the road. She fled in screams and tears baring a raddled face and a shaking nervous wreck. In hindsight she was lucky it happened at such a slow speed and not doing fifty miles per hour on the highway; it would surely have resulted in another family tragedy.

Episodes of turbulent and highly emotional drama resulted from complications in the daily running of the business. It was taking a debilitating effect on their marriage. Arguments and unbearable emotional, physical and mental torment intensified and the difficulty in managing without help for such long hours was taking its toll on their health. They could not afford to employ labour and had to face up to the facts; it was not working. Paramount to a successful outcome was unity in communication and an exhibition of good judgment or the ordeal was going to ruin them; they made the only logical decision. It was a straightforward agreement from both. There were no arguments or negative negotiations, the time had come to sell and sell they did. It was not on the market long before a young couple displayed affirmative action by calling again and again. A lot of attention was received from many possible buyers and the interest caught them off guard somewhat, but it was the young ones who showed the most likelihood of finalizing the deal; they paid their deposit within weeks of their fourth viewing. From then on, negotiations, finances, and the sale had been sanctioned by the banks. The dream of a debt free breather, and the burdens of extreme commitment being relieved was getting close to happening; with a small profit in hand the reality of the sale was soon to become credible. After countersigning the contracts and acting as caretakers until the new owners took over they closed early every night to relax and convey ideas for future proposals.

It was a great weight off their shoulders, now they could plan to share time together in fun activities rather than in laborious transactions. There was enough profit to purchase a house of decent quality in Naretha. Many were inspected in a variety of areas. They settled on a three bedroom brick veneer slab construction on a normal building block in a quiet street in suburbia. It had bush on two sides and plenty of neighbours surrounding the other two; lots of houses, a small block of land and no room to move. It was exactly what Don’s parents wanted but it was the opposite for Don, he had adapted to life in the bush. When it was near moving time he was going on twelve and saw the place as it was; alien, he knew no-one there. To be taken many miles away from his human and animal friends seemed unfair. His childlike selfishness offered no regard for the needs of others and he complained bitterly with insinuations it was his welfare everyone should be taking into account, not their own. When the contracts settled and it was time to occupy their new home, Don was tearful for days and tenaciously unwilling for months to yield to the axiomatic truth; they were there to stay whether he liked it or not. As expected, his parents were upset with his attitude, they understood leaving the area he spent his childhood with only memories, to go an area in which he had little knowledge of daily existence would not be an easy transformation, but they knew time was a great healer. They explained to him the best they could the emotions for someone still young enough to be impressionable towards familiarity was normal, and told him those feelings of sadness would pass and he would find new friends. This pep-talk far from constituted a winning exhortation, it did not alter the fact he felt his life should be lived where he learnt to relate to the generous sparse surroundings of Tongerma and Wirrageen; he enjoyed the solitary lifestyle immensely. To add to his misery, he was heartbroken over his collection of animals, most of which remained with the new owners. He left behind; chickens, geese, pigs, sheep, cows, a horse and a pet kangaroo, this accumulation provided much contentment for Don and notably a mediocre self sufficient investment for his family from quid pro quo transactions. Now, without livestock to feed upon and handy crops to pick and swap, the nurturing into a casual way of life meant, all to be consumed had to be purchased by his parent’s, and with it came the realization and cognizance of the enormous amounts of time they were afforded in their newfound modern milieu.

Another casualty of life’s surmountable betrayals disturbed and afflicted Don with inconsolable heartache, his dog ‘Sandy’ was diagnosed with an incurable cancerous tumour. A large lump between her front legs on her chest was an open bleeding wound. He bravely accompanied his father as they transported her to the veterinary clinic for what Don believed was to cure her. She lay still on the table on her side looking at him with such sad sorrowful droopy eyes, fluid dripping from her tear ducts formed patches of moist fur around her nose. She seemed to know what was about to happen. Don was told there was no chance of a miracle cure and his grief could no longer be contained. Pitiful wails could be heard from outside the clinic doors. His frame of mind caved into an uncontrollable state of despair while he patted her gently for the last time. Ted put his arm around Don’s shoulders to comfort and lead him out of the room; euthanasia was the only option for Sandy. He loved her the same way he loved his family. Losing his trusted pet taught him a valuable lesson and gave understanding to his mothers words when he was younger; ‘nothing lasts forever’. Any living creature is expendable at the will of their genetic structure, or accidents, incidents or other factors beyond our comprehension. It took Don time to overcome both, the tragic loss of Sandy and the move to civilization all at once, but as time prevailed everything began to fall into place. In retrospect his immaturity served to augment his egotistical conditioning but his parents knew the move was good for his welfare and took his downcast response with a grain of salt. He was still allowed to go to Sam’s place from time to time for weekend sleepovers when one of his family members took the time to drive him there.

Tim on the other hand, was very pleased with his new surroundings. For him there were bonuses to living in town; less travel, closer to friends and work, he could enjoy the night life with the knowledge of sleeping in the next day and not being dragged out of bed to do extra work in the shop, and it gave more time to chase girls. He could do his own thing, and now the responsibilities of helping run a business was just a bad memory. Ted and Rene had plenty of time to reap the benefits from their tough decisions and could afford to unwind due to the years of hard work and continuum sacrificed in the establishment and growth of their ventures.

Don was going onto thirteen and about to register for entry into high school. Wirrageen Primary was another milestone he took no pleasure in completing. Because of his age he had to enrol at Naretha High and was unprepared for tackling secondary school education. Immaturity, his personal history and his apprehensive disposition had an intervening negative effect on his confidence and ability to socialize and consort appositely enough to advance. His level of scholarly ability was undermined culturally and served as a supplement to his indomitable abhorrence for school in general. In his mind, matters were made worse by circumstantial events beyond his control; events like moving away from the bush. As the months passed he partly accepted his situation, and although he found it difficult to mingle and exchange dialogue with other student’s, and had very few friends, he realised there was no choice but to persist. However, as hard as he tried he could never appreciate the objective of school and was never encouraged by the teaching faculty or provided with information explaining what a decent education could offer for his future; the whole ideological concept of school conditioned his loathing of each irksome day.

Fictitious Facts 1 'Cultivation of a Murderer' continued: "Ch 14 Helping the Collier’s."

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Chapter 14

Helping the Collier’s

Hardship and disaster was fast becoming a memory. With providence finally taking a turn to improve prospects, and life’s many challenges slowly turning positive results, the many neglected recreational indulgences could be appreciated. Don recovered from his injury and sought the company of friends once more. They swung back into all the typical routines of weekend play. This days games placed them between the school grounds and Sam’s place, off the highway and deep into the bush where a team of bedraggled ‘collier’s’ toiled making and selling charcoal; they had been processing the stuff in the same area for years. Not many knew of their existence because their hours of work were long and would go unnoticed when they did surface from the bush. It was always in the dark of morning when they started, and at day’s end few witnessed the handful of thin, wiry, sooty, black grimy men totter out of the airless humid bush and evaporate in different directions in what seemed to be a vanishing act; none had cars and it was doubted a home of any substance. One of the workers, probably the caretaker who lived on the premises of the charcoal-pit, housed himself in a makeshift ‘humpy’ made of barked saplings cut to size for the frame, and tin and boards for the roof and walls. It was one room only, no water or electricity, about nine foot square with a six inch steel round pipe for a vertical flue providing a narrow path for the smoke rising from the dirt floored fireplace. This is where he cooked and kept warm.

Don and his friends occasionally helped professionals undertake the delicate process of piling billets of wood end on end to form conical piles, then cover each pile with moist clay and dirt while ensuring air could be manipulated through the bottom and up through the middle of each one; a fire was lit at the bottom and made to slowly burn upwards and outwards by controlling the oxygen intake. This process turned wood into charcoal and had to be carefully regulated to stop it incinerating the wood to ash. It was hot sweaty work, especially in summer when the temperatures away from the fire reached over ninety degrees Fahrenheit. The dense bush locked out wafts of air breaking through, and failed to allow natural processes to cool the dripping perspiration on the men. The filthiest part of the job was removing the outer substance to collect and stack the charcoal. Don and his mates saw fit not to exert themselves too much in this section of the operation because it was too hard and dirty for boys so young; they would skedaddle for home in a timely manner and always got into trouble from their parents because of their begrimed state. Water was a scarce resource, especially in the dry season. The era was before the supply of township mains so waste was frowned upon. Problem being; their grungy bodies had to be cleaned. The water in the copper soon became tainted, offering it as useless for the next person. Fresh water was needed to replace the old and the copper burnt more fuel in the re-boil. Work in the coal pit was not seen as a popular pastime by their parents.

The area surrounding the charcoal district was abundant in wildlife with red and black ‘Bull-Ant’ nests and ‘Funnel Web’ vestibules prolific. Adaptation and confrontation with native creatures like the nasty crawlies growing and living in natural vegetation, together with the variety of snake species and the host of dangerous types of aquatic creatures was inevitable for those dwelling in Australia. Most learn to espouse a healthy respect for those species which can inflict pain, injury, or take a life, but even privileged knowledge in their habits did not distract Don and his friends from carrying out imperceptible acts of callosity on arthropods like myrmecia (Bulldog ants) and other small creatures. Myrmecia can grow to about one and half inches long and probably one of the most dangerous ants in the world; it bites with its jaws and stings its victim at the same time with a release of formic acid through an abdominal stinger. Some can jump and all are fast and aggressive when disturbed. Don and his mates enjoyed planting ‘firecrackers’ in their nests and negotiated expeditious escapes to seek a margin of safety, this was achieved by running to part a distance between themselves and the fractious airborne ants. Not always were they successful in attempts to eliminate the ants defensive mechanism, sometimes the blast would launch an ant or two onto the runner causing instant pain and instigating frantic gestures symbolic of a simpleton. With each ant having the ability to sting over and over again the burning sensation following each injection was agonizingly painful. Being truly territorial and utilizing extensive tunnel systems to escape or attack prey they proved very protective, even to the point of positioning sentinels around their mound. For another pastime Don would catch a few red ants and put them on the edge of a black ants nest, then watch the sentinels raise the alarm, swarms would emerge from the mound to protect their turf and in doing so fight anything ferociously until victory or death.

The hunt for the ‘Funnel Web’ spider was just as ludicrous, Don was fortunate never to be bitten from the many close calls. In numbers the ‘Bull Ant’ has been known to kill people and animals, but it takes only one ‘Funnel Web’ bite without treatment, and sometimes even with treatment to inflict excruciating pain or death. The spider can grow to about five centimetres long and the venom it inflicts through its fangs can offer all sorts of complications to the health and wellbeing of humans. The burrows they defend are not easy to spot for the uninitiated, they are about as round as a two shilling piece and usually have a silk like entrance, but this was not always the case as they nest under logs, in crevices or can be found just wandering around. They have been known to sit quiescent anywhere; in shoes, swimming pools, clothing, or in places completely unexpected, thus giving cause for panic when detection is realized. Any sudden flurry may cause the spider to react defensibly with a bite, if one was in striking range Don knew it best to stay calm and not annoy it. Looking directly down into a ‘Funnel Web’ hole one can see the eyes staring upwards and the silhouette of long fangs at the front of the legs. Often small ‘firecrackers’ were detonated to try and dislodge them from their nest, but the result was ineffective because it would kill them or send them deeper into the burrow. They always tunnelled an escape exit somewhere and one had to be careful not to stand near or over the hole because they would attack in ferocious battle to defend their habitat. Even if the spider was killed in the blast there was never evidence to prove their fate and they would not come out if wounded, so Don invented another strategy to coach them out, a piece of grass was used to titillate the opening, the spider would become curious and stick its head out, but once they identified the danger they quickly reversed to the safety of their tunnel. He experimented with numerous artifices to catch the spiders alive and found the best modus operandi to be the use of petrol. Only a small amount was required, it was poured down the hole, and then he would sit away from the spider’s peripheral vision of exit and wait. Only a minute or two passed before the spider cautiously departed the safety of its shelter. Don had to remain very still until it was satisfied the coast was clear, as it ventured out wholly to escape the effects of the fuel he would close the hole with a stone and cover the spider with a glass jar. After forcing it in the jar with a stick and pouring a little water in to dilute the petrol he secured the lid. Then, what was considered to be fun for a child; two were placed together on the ground to fight. When he was through with his macabre entertainment a match would be struck and thrown on them. The flame slowly burned the watered down inflammable causing popping and low crackling noises. These activities kept him amused on many occasions and paved the way for future homicidal outcomes.

The ‘collier’s’ did not mind the presence of youth hanging around the workplace and confirmed this with proud responses in conscientious efforts through praise and friendly communication. None had a secondary school education and most had no education at all. They simply did what was taught to them by their father’s; making charcoal. Their broader knowledge was limited only to the local area and bush heritage, they did not have enough money to change their lifestyle, travel or buy luxuries, but they spoke of many such dreams. They were hard, rough men, who had no time for the shenanigans and provocations from the opposite sex. Bias and bigotry initiated conversations crude and calumnious, and often construed attacks towards their own partner, or women they once knew. Talk persisted in reference to sexual encounters, female stupidity, a woman’s lack of understanding, and a lack of common sense they believed every woman demonstrated. They united in labelling women as useless by commenting;

       “They are only good for fucking and can’t do even that right most of the time, their own body even rejects them on a monthly bases; and they don’t ever stop bloody winging - ever.” Don was at an impressionable age and whether the mixing with people like the ‘colliers’, together with his locality of development in general had in effect any influence on his upbringing is probable; but uncertainty of relevance regarding the extent it influenced his future behaviours is debatable. He had a loving family and enjoyed every moment he spent with them, and from the area in general he took many pleasures and many disappointments in the friendships and bond he shared with peers such as Weepy, Sam and Fran. Where he lived should have prepared his growth for the appreciation and veneration of all living things; it was not to be.

This may be a sceptic and premature assessment so early in the story because he was not to know, in his future his virtue was to be tested. Within each of us rest circumstantial, social, psychological and intellectual phenomenon possibly effecting detraction from sane reasoning to deprive a good socially accepted character from moral standards. Don’s life to date may have suffered a deep seated emotional disturbance from the witness of his father’s murderous crime aboard the ship from England, and he had an ongoing adverse union of interpersonal situations with Sterge and friends, but he did not yet exhibit any real pathological or sociocultural dilemmas, or not yet lost anyone dear to him or been deprived of discipline or parental love to cause such syndromes, and was given the best affordable from his family. Maybe biological abnormalities, genetic, mental or emotional factors and the billions of neurons and the many glial cells occupying a brain can defect and trigger neurobiological and innumerable disorders, if this be the case it could cause irrational dysfunctional behaviours with unforgivable and unredeemable predatory actions. Even the lack of neurochemicals such as abnormally low serotonin or endorphin or hormonal indifferences can inhibit the perception of various stimuli thus allowing a person to function outside social norms. It is impossible to reason Don’s forthcoming behaviours, but whatever really actuated future events is immaterial because it resulted in turning septic his moralistic judgment, and considering the atrocities he will commit as a decision of revenge, it paved the way for what could be termed a ‘sociopathic personality disorder’, but then, and even today Don would dispute the fact he was in any way cruel, misogynistic or disposed to psychological variability’s, in any case he would rebuff the term ‘psychotic’ because he knew what he was doing and could rationalize each part of his decision making processes.

As for the future of his friends, Weepy, Sam, Fran and to some extent Sterge, Don will later reveal hypocrisy of the Pharisees in explanation for the reasons pertaining to their psychotic behaviour and not his. He believed the crimes they later commit with innate unmerciful attitudes could well have been supported and even germinated by the mundane and regressive lifestyle of not only the company of the charcoal men but their whole social upbringing and seclusion from main social order. The bush had no means for them to further themselves and the lack of rules and regulations gave them sovereignty over their own liberties.

Comprehension of this passage above analysis regarding Don’s past and future impeding dilemmas can only be seen as explicable when his whole life is looked at in context with upcoming mitigating circumstances. When evil within is activated by the demoniac monstrosities of friends it affects his stable ‘modus vivendi’ and causes traumatic change; – read on. WATCH THIS BLOG!

CH 13 Fictitious Facts 1: "Cultivation of a Murderer", continues.

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Chapter 13

Bad Luck in Three’s

In the same year as Rod Rob’s overdose Don’s brother decided he wanted to leave school. Although his grades were above average the school’s career advisers were as useless as ‘tits on a bullfrog’ and provided no initiative for a continuance in study or made any effort to assist in the forming of plans for employment. At his particular educational institution of attendance students were not informed of the types of occupations available or of their capabilities in achieving a career in relation to their grades; counselling was a word almost unprecedented. Because of this deficiency in the system and the schools neglect to supply recommendations germane to such information, he and others became conditioned to one ambition only; to get a job and earn money - any job. His parents wanted him to stay at school and get the best education possible but his interests were the same as most his age; it rest in cars, women, and money. Tim knew school could not provide those things, and his impulsive obstinance refused to see how education could offer hope for the future, alas, he remained adamant in refusal to change his mind. Ted and Rene had no alternative but to give their consent and conditioned it on the stipulation he would have a job waiting when he finally walked off the school grounds. Work was easy to find, as long as one was not fussy. The only prerequisites demanded for menial labour was to be fit, healthy, and display little bit of social nous; Tim had all those attributes. The first garage he walked into, on the first morning of job hunting, the owner showed interest in his application. It was his lucky day because they were about to advertise for a ‘driveway attendant’. After a few short questions he was given a realistic prospect of employment, all the owner required was for Tim to go home and seek his parent’s consent before induction.

Gaining meaningful employment happened much quicker than his parent’s envisaged but were ultimately bound by their word to let him leave school. A proud Tim gave notice to the principal and prepared for his first paying job. There was one snag to his enthusiastic jubilation; he failed to take into account travel to and from work. The school bus did not go into town early enough to allow him to start at the time specified by the manager; there was only one logical solution. Much to his parent’s displeasure he had to rely on one of them to drive him daily, or if fortunate bum a ride with one of the few customers stopping at the precise time for petrol or shop items. The obligation was draining on everyone; and expensive for Tim because he was made to pay for petrol and the time people spent on him. It was obvious to all those involved he needed his own car, his parent’s were completely fagged-out from so much travel and the responsibilities incommode everyone greatly.

Tim was four months short of legitimately making application for a car license. Naturally he was anxious to acquire independence without delay, so through his father he requested the police department give early approval of a special license to be used in working hours. Only the police knew the legalities of arrangement and judicial workings agreed upon, but one thing was assured, Ted was very resourceful and would have constituted the desired input to seal such a contract; whether his input was kosher or not was unknown to anyone but Ted and the police. Tim could drive well, probably better than most due to the years of practise around the open paddocks, and study of the road rules proved easy; he was ready. When the day came to sit the test he drove into town with Ted and Zoe as passengers. The young duty officer waiting had been informed by his superiors of Tim’s appointment and was set to put him through his paces. On sighting Zoe and taking an instant liking to her, he excluding duty-bound responsibilities for the time being because she became the focus of his attention; he could not resist persistent amorous glances while fraternising to promote cordiality. After extensive jolly from the officer he eventually remembered the task of his authority was to test Tim and told Zoe;

       “I won’t be long. I’ll accompany your brother for a drive around the block and be back soon.” Zoe could not care less but replied politely with a nod in agreement. On the rushed drive the officer asked Tim about a dozen questions, none related to the road rules, all pertaining to his sister’s love life. Tim answered to the best of his ability. When they finished the test the officer got out of the car, ignored Tim and made a beeline for Zoe. With the overbearing paragon of integrity most young policeman attempt to convey he said;

       “Tim did well and should pass.” After a brief pause he proceeded to woo her; “Would you like to go out with me this weekend to the beach or pictures or something?” Ted stood back watching and listening, he was well aware of his daughter’s beauty and it was not by mistake he brought her along; it was an ingenious plan. He knew she would take part attention away from the job at hand, no matter who the policeman was. Zoe was pleasant to him but gave no straight forward acceptance to his proposal;

       “Thankyou, it would be nice, but at the moment we’re really busy in the shop, every weekend actually, sorry (the policeman’s look was one of rejection), but I’m sure I would be allowed another day, on a weekend when times are quieter. Would another day be alright dad?” She stared at her father.

       “Yes. I’m sure we can work something out,” answered Ted without genuine interest, he knew his daughter adopted a strategic decorum to keep him dangling to satisfy her devilish suave femininity; it worked and was enough to give his ego a boost. He passed Tim and stamped his paperwork without asking any theoretical questions regarding the road rules.

A license was the first step to easier travel, now he had to buy a car. For a while the need to rely on others persisted because of an obligation to pay travel fees as well as a small weekly allowance to his parents for lodgings; it took a large slice of his pay. Unknowingly to him, the reality of his situation implied his weekly expenditure to be cheaper than buying, servicing and paying running costs for a car, but insightful types of judicious reference only comes with experience, besides relying on others was seen as overly time consuming and tedious. Nevertheless, after his weekly outlay the remaining money would be allocated to a savings plan. He was quite stingy and within a short time managed to save a sufficient amount to purchase a 1959 ‘Goggomobile Dart’ convertible. It had a red fibreglass body with two small seats, a toy steering wheel and was powered by a 300cc twin cylinder two stroke engine. It ran on the smell of an oily rag, was about ten foot long, weighed around 850lbs and revved out at a top speed of sixty five miles per hour. Like all cheap cars of the day, mechanical malfunctions were frequent and repairs played a vital role in getting to one’s destination, but it did the job, in-between breakdowns it served the purpose and ended up being his pride and joy.

Everything was going well for Tim. He enjoyed his work. The staff and management spoke highly of his likable and honest character, and of his enthusiasm towards allocated tasks. A year into his job, half way through a normal day his father was informed of an accident at Tim’s work. Ted wasted no time in shutting down and locking his grader before driving home to inform Rene; she was shattered. They felt helpless being unaware of the seriousness of his injury and wanted to be with him, but commitments had to be considered. Logically they took stock of the situation and determined the best option for everyone was for Rene to stay and look after the business, as she was accustomed while Ted went to the school to collect Don and drive through to Wollongong hospital; a good sixty miles away. When he went to collect Don for an early finish, he told him;

       “Tim’s an accident and we’re going to the hospital to see him.” Don’s first thought was a car accident and asked;

       “What happened dad? Is he okay?” Ted replied.

       “I’m not too sure exactly, but I think they said he shoved a screw-driver into his eye. Somehow it slipped and went into his eye. I don’t really know but the ambulance took him to hospital.” When they arrived Tim was still being attended to by the doctors who had not yet received test results so information was limited. The medical staff knew the eye had been severely damaged and were sceptical as to the possibility of its recovery. It was well bandaged and he seemed comfortable, but his sensory faculties were lacking orderly continuity due to the amount of drugs and painkillers absorbed in his system to assist in the relief of somatic symptoms. These helped put him in good spirits; unusual considering his ability to remember all the gory details. When Don asked him what happened, he said;

       “When I was doing up a hose clip, the screwdriver slipped off and went in my eye. It didn’t hurt but when I pulled it out and looked in the mirror a clear thick liquid mixed with blood oozed out so I called out to Mitch (his boss) who put a rag over my eye and called an ambulance, it didn’t hurt, just a funny tingling feeling when I pulled it out.” Ted squirmed at the thought and tried to allay Tim’s worries with a few kind supporting words;

       “Okay, you’re in good hands now. You’ll be okay. We won’t know much more until the doctor’s….,” he choked with emotion and paused. “It’s getting late. We’ll head off home your mother will be getting worried. I’ll try to come back in the morning. Will you be okay? Is there anything you want?”

       “No dad, I’ll be okay, see ya tomorrow,” replied Tim. They waved as they left the ward. On the trip home not much was said. It would have been difficult for Ted to take verbal refuge in a child of Don’s age. When they got home Rene was emotionally spent. The knowledge her son was lying in hospital without her and being oblivious to the permanency of his injury added extra strain. She stated in categorical terms;

       “We should never have let him leave school.” Ted replied;     “We can’t blame ourselves, after all what choice did we have?”  “I’m going tomorrow. Bugger the shop. We’ll close the doors. The business can go to hell.” Zoe was unable to manage alone. It was not safe. The next day they locked the doors and spelt out their reason for closing by writing with a white marker on the front window. The sign read;

‘CLOSED FOR DAY DUE TO ACCIDENT IN FAMILY’.

Don went to school on the day of their visit. News from the doctor’s diagnoses and test reports were; the eye could not be saved because the damage done by the sharp object went right through the pupil nicking the optic nerve then into the eyes leathery cavity at the back of the socket, it was damaged beyond repair resulting in the eye needing exenterating immediately after the swelling subsided. Everyone was devastated by the news but accepted the fact it could have been worse, apparently he was fortunate the screwdriver did not break through the orbit of the skull into the brain. His stay in hospital was a drain on the Scotsdon’s resources and constituted a change in their work patterns with necessary periods of absenteeism adding to the enormous stress on finances and stability. Even following the operation and the lengthy stay in hospital was expected months of therapy. Once the dressing was permanently removed Tim was doomed to wear an eye patch until he could be fitted with an artificial eye made of glass, doing nothing to improve his condition but a lot for aesthetics. The passage of time regarding Tim’s medical care caused debilitating issues for his parent’s until finally the months of passing slowly delivered a form of routine. Tim was now recovering well at home therefore eliminating the obligation of excessive amounts of travel and allowing monetary rewards to be re-established in the business.

Ostensibly cursed, their destiny was not yet meant to be carefree it was shaping to endure another calamity. While Tim was still in the process of having his final fitting with a glass eye, the family were once again presented with a misfortune, this time involving the main income earner; Ted. He enjoyed his work with the Council immensely and was given further gratification because the derelict WWII type ‘grader’ he operated daily had been replaced with an up-to-date ‘Caterpillar’. This machine was a lot more advanced than the old one. He had been operating it effectively for about six weeks when the manufacturers decided to send a qualified instructor to his place of work to demonstrate its workings and maintenance procedures. When he was told of this nonsensical insult he offered opinion as to the irrational arrangement;

       “Their a bit bloody late aren’t they? I’ve been using it for months now.” A reasonable sarcasm considering he was left alone for the past six weeks or so to figure it out for himself. Obviously he was already accustomed to its functions and upkeep by reading the operations manual and from the practical need of executing his work duties; thus mocking administrations late effort as a waste of time was well justified.

While operating the machine in his regular environment, miles away from any town and in close vicinity to only a couple of farm houses, Ted saw the dust billow in the distance from a vehicle approaching over the crest. There was hardly any traffic on the road he was ‘grading’, it was only used by those few living there so he was sure it was the person arriving to give the demonstration. He pulled over to the side of the road, on a flat grassy area, lowered the blade and switched off the machine. The visitor stopped and sat in his car fiddling with papers for a while then decided to make his-self known. When he got out of his car Ted thought he looked like a real ponce. He would have been about mid forties and dressed in a suit minus the tie and jacket which were both hanging from a hook in the back seat of his opulent company vehicle. His was short and fat with hair dyed jet black, ‘Brylcreamed’ thick, and pasted back to look like a ‘Mafia’ godfather. He moved like a bad dancer when approaching to acquaint himself, awkwardly like he had a broomstick shoved up his bum, and took great care to dodge any powdery dirt so as not to get his shiny patent leather shoes dirty; he introduced himself as Cyril. Ted tried to contain his manifestation of ridicule as he extended a spirit of friendship by shaking his limp grip, but he could not help a muffled chuckle because Cyril spoke like he had a plumb in his mouth. Ted thought: ‘This bloke is definitely a pansy’.

Cyril turned out to be a real know-it-all. He wanted to exert his authority but really had no interest in being there and gave the impression it was an imposition to have to give instructions. Ted did not want him there either, but had to go along with the charade. There was no pleasantries in conversation such as; “How are you?” or “Do you live local?” etc. He simply wanted to do what he felt he had to do and get out of there as quick as possible. He said with a lisp;

       “Firstly I’ll show you where the grease nipples are because they are hard to find and then I’ll show you the easy way to change the direction of the blade in rotation and various other manoeuvres.” Ted thought to himself: ‘What a fucking idiot’, but went along with his inanity, he reckoned the quicker he went through his steps of monotonous and pretentious twaddle the quicker he could get rid of him. After walking around the machine pointing to all the well greased nipples Ted had obviously greased, he climbed up the steps into the cabin and positioned himself in the operator’s seat.

       “Stand clear,” he ordered as he started the engine and played with a few controls as if to familiarize his-self with their function. He eventually raised the blade and shouted out the door while pointing; “I’m going to demonstrate blade rotation. To rotate the blade you need to remove those two ‘cotter pins’, one on each side.” Ted was getting angry he thought it ridiculous this person who had no idea what he was doing was showing him basic operations and shouted back to him;

       “Yea I know what the pins are for.” But there was no stopping him he carried on regardless with idiotic instructions;

       “Now pull them both out so I can demonstrate the various angles of blade positioning.” Ted was hesitant about getting near the machine with him at the controls and later regretted ignoring his own judgment. To remove the pins it was necessary to stand in what he knew was a precarious and dangerous position but thought nobody could be stupid enough to touch the controls whilst he was doing the task asked of him; he was wrong. As Cyril got off the seat and went to shout a command out the door he bumped a lever forward just enough to drop the razor sharp blade on Ted’s toes; both feet were jammed tight between the soft ground and the hard blade. He screamed out in agonising pain;

       “Aaahh, you fuckin’ idiot, get it off, lift it up; lift it up.” Cyril panicked and took what seemed ages to decide which lever to pull to raise the blade. Finally he raised it twelve inches and turned the engine off. Ted dropped to the ground in agony. Cyril went to his aid shaking, apologetic, and addled in mind;

       “Are you okay? Sorry, I’m sorry, sorry.” Ted had ‘gum boots’ on at the time. They were steel capped safety boots. The force of the blade crushed the steel section bending it into his toes, therefore jamming the boots on. He was a little fortunate in the fact; under his feet lay soft grass and uneven ground, but this was not enough to escape permanent injury. The discomfort of blood loss was evident when he saw red fluid oozing out through the cuts in his boots, Cyril was totally useless and tried to pull the boots off hurting him even more. Ted screamed at him;

       “Fuck off, you’ve done enough damage. Lock the grader, get me to your car and take me to a doctor.” The pain was more than he could bear or he would have driven his own car just to be free of Cyril. Once in the safety of a doctor’s care they filled him with morphine and cut away his boots. His toes stayed mostly connected to his feet but two on the left foot could not be saved and the rest were broken with deep lacerations through to the bone. They reckoned if he was not wearing ‘steel caps’ he would have had all his toes chopped off. Needless to say he never saw Cyril again. When he saw Rene his sense of humour returned with words of comedy;

       “This is the only time in my life I’m glad to see the arse end of a poof.”

Another lengthy stay in hospital for another family member, the primary breadwinner, guaranteed this accident not only had physical consequences, it also added oodles to the economic and mental anguish of the recent events they were striving so hard to recover from. The repercussions of such stupidity seriously affected their income and they found it impossible to repay debt. When he was released from hospital the injuries took a long time to heal, and while lying idle at home he underwent traumatic assumptions, those being; he was letting the family down because he was sitting around being mollycoddled. To add to his troubles, compensation in the form of weekly pay was not forthcoming for four weeks and when it did arrive it was not full pay because he was only entitled to part-payment. There were no total indemnification or insurance policies to claim from and he still had to pay for medications and travel. Suing for negligence within the realm of existence was not popularised as it was in American society, besides it would never enter the mind of most those days, he was from the old school in which patriotism and loyalty was perceived as essential to the welfare of good relations; later he would regard such a view as ridiculous. Alas as always they lived day by day, weathered the storm and survived another dismal affliction from trying so hard to hinder and impede their struggle to bolster a comfortable lifestyle. The Scotsdon’s were tainted with unnecessary and unforeseen troubles resulting from unfortunate events. Each step of progression was thwarted by frustrating and damaging influences. Ted was not healing as quickly and as satisfactorily as he wished, yet there was no alternative, he had to go back to work early. The doctor opposed his decision and told him more recuperation time was necessary. Ted convinced him otherwise and considering his employer was not bound by rules to supply less demanding work limiting his involvement to ‘light duties’, he went back to his normal job and endured the pain.

Shortly after, within the same year, Don was on one of his usual weekend outings at Sam’s. The three of them Don, Sam and Weepy made a catapult each. It was normal play for them to invent and use imagination, each was proficient in the construction of such toys. A green fork in a tree limb would be cut, the longest being the handle and the other two shanks used for knotting the rubber strap between them. The wood was debarked, a groove cut in the top of both shanks, and the rubber cut to size from a bike or car tube. It was cut into a one inch thick strip, thin enough for an easy but strained retraction. In the middle of the rubber band would be a two inch square piece of leather to hold a missile, usually a stone or glass marble, but this was not always part of the assembly as it worked just as well without the leather attachment. They were powerful toys and could easily break the thick porcelain conductors forty foot up the wooden poles holding the overhead electric cables, naturally this was not the sole purpose of their creation, they would be fired at anything seen as fun. One main target was the cicada. Every primary student learnt about the Cicada, an insect similar to a grasshopper or locust but much larger, with bulb type eyes set wide apart and transparent conspicuous thick veined wings. Most names of the Cicada species were tested in exams, such as: ‘cherry nose’, ‘brown baker’, ‘red eye’, ‘green grocer/green monday’, ‘yellow monday’, ‘whisky drinker’, ‘double drummer’ and ‘black prince’. The ‘green grocer’ is amongst the loudest insect in the world, all as one they resonate a unique sound, and in season, in abundance, singing in unity, they present a deafening shrill humming tone. They do not usually bite or sting but do have a long proboscis used for feeding and sucking and Don knew from experience of the pain associated when it pierced human skin, but this was a rare occurrence.

Due to the seasonal infestation of these insects, Don and his friends felt no guilt in their butchery; still, it did not take long to become bored with such easy prey so the games often turned into a war between themselves. In their pursuit of fun and games the dangerous pastime of firing at each other demanded instinctive reflexes when ducking for cover. This day they entered a dry creek bed covered by a double concrete culvert supporting the main road. The idea of the game was for each person to station himself at different positions and shoot end to end and along the edges of the concrete shell; hiding, running, using their prowess to claim victory over the other with a direct hit. Stones were flying everywhere, stinging the body and leaving red welts, then just as Don poked his head out and around the edge of the wall to take aim, Weepy had loaded his weapon and pulled the rubber back to release a shot; he was in pursuance of a counterattack. As he did, in one split second, a stone ricocheted off the wall and deflected into Don’s right eye. The pain was excruciating, he fell to the ground with both hands clasped over his eye and cried and howled without stop. Weepy and Sam had no qualms in continuing firing at each other, they considered a direct hit to be the purpose of the game, but Don’s wailing and lack of participation gave insight to his predicament and eventually they helped him to his feet and assisted him in walking back to the closest house; Weepy’s place. Mrs Rob was never in perfect health but managed to bathe and cleanse Don’s eye as best she could; she could do no more, they did not have a phone or car, nor did anyone else living in close proximity. Sterge was present and commented as to how much of a ‘sissy’ Don was for the constant whimpering. The other two soon got bored and left him inside with Mrs Rob and went back outside to play. He wanted desperately to go home to the comfort of his family and knew the only way was to walk. After saying his farewells, still crying, he began the long walk. With one agonizing mile travelled by foot and one more to go, his brother, whom was driving home from town, saw him staggering head down and holding his hand over one eye. Don was never more pleased to see his brother. They drove home as fast as the ‘Dart’ could go.

His parents took him to hospital. The medical staff saved his eye but the force of a direct hit ruptured the retina which rendered it a serious injury because the vitreous liquid leaked through the tear and pooled under the retina resulting in permanent defective vision. The corollary of the injury was a hole in the pupil leaving two black dots (pupils) in the one eye and a loss of twenty percent vision. It was a stupid, avoidable, and inauspicious incident, another catastrophe for Don’s parents who still had not found a state of equilibrium from past mishaps. As parents do, they accepted the fact choices were non-existent and tolerated the situation to go on living day by day. Don was considered to be lucky by the doctors when comparing his injury to his brother’s loss of an eye, but for his family any thoughts of blessings gave no solace to tangible results; after three accidents in one year in one family they could not believe their string of bad luck. To make matters worse Ted was off work suffering from Malaria more frequently than past attacks. It seemed as if ‘lady luck’ had forsaken them. Finances were dwindling to catastrophic levels due to Ted’s sick days at home, and the necessity for medical attention incurred more expense than the income from the shop could provide; transport expenses, medications, and a slump in business trade all souring to what seemed insurmountable heights. Rene’s devout faith was being tested, her doubts relayed inner contradictions, waning her pietistic values; the rest of the family simply wondered what else could go wrong?

Dejected, demoralized, and filled with disheartenment and gloom brought about a determination, a fighting spirit and belief things would change for the better. Life has a way of flexing ones faith from the doldrums to possibilities of hope and fulfilment. Just as they hit rock bottom, and with wishes of optimism and good fortune, they purchased a lottery ticket. At last, they were blessed with a two thousand pound win. The money was a welcome relief. It was not enough to settle all liabilities but sufficiently conducive to easing mental and fiscal strain; it helped alleviate the aggressive debt collectors, allowed freedom from stress, gave them breathing space, and afforded peace of mind. Once necessities were taken care of a treat was in store, Ted purchased a wireless and stereo combination to replace the old box radio, with it came a record titled; ‘South Pacific’, and they played it over and over and over again until it was too scratched to work. The windfall offered the rare experience of a positive outlook and served to encourage enthusiasm.