by Rusty Free
I am driving. You are sitting on the quad bike behind me. The grass reaches up underneath
the wheels to tickle our ankles. On the way you remind me to slow down and we both duck
under the wire. You tell him that someone will get hurt if it stays there. I forget why
we were in the top left paddock. Coming back I am going fast. The wind is blowing my hair
back into your face. I must slow but not enough to stop what’s coming.
We forget to duck.
I feel the resistance and it reminds me of when the fish first latched onto the end of my line.
That pluck and tug. I look back, and your hands are clutching your throat. There are tears
pooled in your eyes. The bruise comes later. A long, purple line wrapped around your throat
like the ribbon in my hair.
Rusty Free is a Brisbane-based writer who writes in her dreams and snacks during the day. She's currently in hibernation with her two cats.