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crossed in hopes of it colliding with some poor victim’s back. It was
only when she lost her temper had Eerin and Adoni focused on what
was on the board. Looking back on it she didn’t feel guilty for what
she had said.
If you don’t at least try to listen you’re not going anywhere in life.
I don’t care. I don’t even have to be here! It’s your own life you’re ruining
. The
paper planes had stopped and faces turned towards her with
expressions of disbelief. They stayed quiet after that. Good. Maybe
they’ll listen next time.
It had been after that nightmare Olivia realised that the trip was
going to be worse than she had imagined. Seeking distraction she
turned her attention to the passing landscape outside. Whenever
she informed others of her plans so come up here, they told her
about the beauty of the sky and the sand. They told her of great ruby
plains that stretched as far as the sky was clear. They told her of the
glory of the night sky; stars so clear in their multitude that it made
you wish to count them all. But Olivia saw nothing of that. She saw
nothing but death. It was in the moisture-deprived trees, the
kangaroo carcass on the side of the road. Everything was either
dying or dead. The only things that appeared to be alive were her
and the birds that circled high above this barren wasteland.
‘
Each day proved to be another challenge, another bump in the road.
Slowly the kids began to pick up the lessons but her heart just
wasn’t in it. She lost faith in the practice and lost faith in the
students. Three weeks weren’t going to change their lives, why
should she try? Every night Olivia locked herself away in her cabin
to read. She vanished into the vapid selfishness of
Anna Karenina
and
lived alongside the egocentric Scarlett O’Hara in
Gone with the Wind
.
The latest book she read was
Daniel Deronda
, found on the modestly
stocked bookshelf in the cabin. The pages were dirty and paper-
thin, the spine cracked and broken. Yet as she delicately worked her
way through the novel she found herself entranced by the plight of
Gwendolen Harleth. She obsessed over the vanity, the sense of
entitlement, the absurdity of this woman and how she tackled life.
A niggling question tugged in the back of her mind, wondering why
she admired this character. Yes Gwendolen was excellently written,
eliciting both compassion and dislike from Olivia: yet there was
more to this self-centred character, something she couldn’t quite
understand.
Of Dust And
Dirt And Other
Godly Beings
12