JOINT WINNER,
SIDERIUS LONGER FLASH FICTION
COMPETITION, 2024
SIDERIUS LONGER FLASH FICTION
COMPETITION, 2024
The City spoke to Hazel in its many voices, informing, tempting, cajoling, pleading. Tonight though, she wanted her own voice, her own desires, to be heard.
She thought about the letter sitting on her kitchen table, crumpled by arthritic fingers inflamed with rage. ‘Premier Shopping Mall Planning Process: Consultation re proposed compulsory purchase of private residences’ read its heading. The anger still filled her, contempt for the faceless businessmen and their bought politicians and bureaucrats swirling like a tornado inside of her.
She knew the value of their proposed consultation, knew that regardless of what was said, money had already changed hands, bargains had been made. They sought to manipulate the legal and political system to their own ends, their hearts filled with the desire for more; more money, more profit, more prestige. They had no respect for community, for history or sentimentality, for the love of a home lived in by generations of the same family.
Well, they had their machinations, but she had her own resources too. Like her mother and her mother before her, she had the sight. She could see things, see the strings that linked seemingly unconnected people, objects and places. See where synchronicity could be coaxed to work its magic.
So, that evening, she walked the neighbourhood, opening herself up to the sounds, the movements, the potential in the air, the events waiting to happen. Her senses heightened, her mind sifting through the voices of the city, she found where she needed to be; a place where a little pressure applied could result in an outcome sought.
A black cat appeared. They locked eyes then she shooed it away. It ran across the street and there followed the squeal of brakes, the jarring crash of an impact. A burst fire hydrant spilled water out onto the road. The black cat hurried on away down the street, while a motorist got out of his damaged vehicle and cursed loudly.
She returned home and followed the story over the next few weeks. The flooding of the road caused it to subside. Engineers on site discovered human remains under the street. The police were called and later, the archaeologists. “A discovery of international significance” the media called it. “Plans for new Mall put on indefinite hold,” the papers reported.
Hazel smiled to herself, sitting in her comfy chair, watching the letter burn in her fireplace. Outside on the street, children played, neighbours chatted, Mums and Dads worked their gardens, life continued as it always had.
And while there was strength left in Hazel’s body, then so it would continue.
She thought about the letter sitting on her kitchen table, crumpled by arthritic fingers inflamed with rage. ‘Premier Shopping Mall Planning Process: Consultation re proposed compulsory purchase of private residences’ read its heading. The anger still filled her, contempt for the faceless businessmen and their bought politicians and bureaucrats swirling like a tornado inside of her.
She knew the value of their proposed consultation, knew that regardless of what was said, money had already changed hands, bargains had been made. They sought to manipulate the legal and political system to their own ends, their hearts filled with the desire for more; more money, more profit, more prestige. They had no respect for community, for history or sentimentality, for the love of a home lived in by generations of the same family.
Well, they had their machinations, but she had her own resources too. Like her mother and her mother before her, she had the sight. She could see things, see the strings that linked seemingly unconnected people, objects and places. See where synchronicity could be coaxed to work its magic.
So, that evening, she walked the neighbourhood, opening herself up to the sounds, the movements, the potential in the air, the events waiting to happen. Her senses heightened, her mind sifting through the voices of the city, she found where she needed to be; a place where a little pressure applied could result in an outcome sought.
A black cat appeared. They locked eyes then she shooed it away. It ran across the street and there followed the squeal of brakes, the jarring crash of an impact. A burst fire hydrant spilled water out onto the road. The black cat hurried on away down the street, while a motorist got out of his damaged vehicle and cursed loudly.
She returned home and followed the story over the next few weeks. The flooding of the road caused it to subside. Engineers on site discovered human remains under the street. The police were called and later, the archaeologists. “A discovery of international significance” the media called it. “Plans for new Mall put on indefinite hold,” the papers reported.
Hazel smiled to herself, sitting in her comfy chair, watching the letter burn in her fireplace. Outside on the street, children played, neighbours chatted, Mums and Dads worked their gardens, life continued as it always had.
And while there was strength left in Hazel’s body, then so it would continue.
