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105
Scientists say that rain is the most misunderstood weather element.
It is complex and powerful. It is the collision of two vastly
different energy sources. Rain is formed by the violent meeting of a
high and a low-pressure system. Each with different intentions,
these pressure systems when combined, result in a release of energy.
Unimpressed, I straighten the knife.
There
. My eyes dart towards
the kitchen, and with them I feel the rest of my body move in a
frantic stride. I open the dishwasher. The hot steam finds my face,
and I can feel my skin give in to the pressure of the heat. A single
drop of sweat forms in the black bags under my eyes and begins to
fall slowly. It eventually joins the others that perch in the bridge
between my nose and upper lip. I pull the warm plates out and place
each down on the kitchen bench with a soft, but hurried
clink
. I look
to the clock, then briskly to the plates. And back to the clock,
realizing that I had looked, but not closely enough to comprehend
the time.
6:48
.
Twelve minutes
.
Twelve
, check on the pie in the oven and the eldest,
finest wine in the cupboard.
Eleven
, make what is a complete mess of
myself, into someone elegant. Someone that would impress even her.
Ten
, cover the monstrosity that was my face.
Nine
, ask the kids to
brush their hair and clean their teeth.
Eight
, demand that the kids
brush their hair and clean their teeth.
Seven
, tell Dave to demand the
kids brush their hair and clean their teeth.
Six
, check on the pie in the
oven, and the eldest, finest wine in the cupboard.
Five
, polish the
cutlery so that I could see the same clear image of a tired, stressed and
worried woman looking back at me.
Four
, light the candles, so that the
warmth could shower her nastiness.
Three
, pat out the creases in my
dress and find the centre part in my hair. It usually fell to the side and
put up a fight as I pushed it to where I desired.
Two
, breathe in and let my chest protrude far from my body.
One
,
close my eyes and let out a large breath. It would be the last one for
the next few hours.
Ding dong
. I have lived in my house for years now, and had become
very familiar with the chiming of the doorbell each day. But tonight,
it scared me. The sound lingers and carries a threatening quality in
its tone. I wait for a couple of seconds, before opening the door to let
in the squalling night air. It was bitter. The wind whistles as Mick,
my brother, gracefully steps through the doorway. Not far behind
him is my high-spirited mother, Karen. The wind roars and with
Petrichor
Meredith Rule
Isobelle Carmody Award
for Creative Writing
Overall School winner
10