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Journey up into the central highlands of Tasmania, take the Maryborough turn off the Lyell Highway, veer left cresting the ridge where Big Jim Lake hogs the horizon, then head in the general direction of Pine Tier Lagoon and, excepting for breakdowns and consequent misadventures, Bronte Park, home to bizarre doings, will manifest from the mist. Suspend all city sensibilities upon entering the town limits.
Cutting an imposing figure, you may luck upon clan matriarch Ellen Hazel, glaring suspiciously into the spotlight, her fine head of hair, ablaze with friction, streaming into the open light. Her boys were just a few ridges away down in Half Moon Marsh, the word having already been relayed to cousins, large lads with overgrown beards and ponytails, from Collinsvale to Glenlusk. She knew how to muster support. She also knew that something had to be done, and where that good-for-nothing Mick kept the crossbow.
4 comments:
This was a tricky one to write. It was not inspired by the image I have included. It was actually inspired by two things: the wonderful photo of Ellen in the reports of the trial yesterday; and, a trip I took through the hills of Collinvale in Tasmania last September. This was where I found the black-faced sheep and the rusty car upside down in a flooded creek.
I wanted to try not so much reportage as documentary writing. Not the news, but the 730 Report. I will do more of these to see if I can get the style. What I have come up with here is trying to be too sensational. A take on "Deliverance" if you will.
The photo is of a stream in Centennial Park. I wanted to show an image of a backwater where things decay through lack of flow-through.
With your first paragraph, I was ready to pack my bags and get onto the first flight to Tasmania. (“…Big Jim Lake hogs the horizon…” – love that.)
Then with a twist I was confronted with the crazed Ellen and her boys. Okay, backing up. Slowly…
I also liked your “…a backwater where things decay through lack of flow-through” in the comments. Most apt.
The tannin colours make an interestin scene of a not so nice place. The story tantalizing.
That fine head of hair ablaze with friction got me in.
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