Erin

It’s hot, the kind of heat where the air closes oppressively around you. Erin is crouched down in the shade of a banksia, its honeyed perfume filling her nose. The constant buzz of cicadas fills her ears. The sound of it is maddening; an unvarying drone that threatens to draw her ear deeper, to find the space between each click.

She had gone down the little slope from the fire trail, looking for a place to hide, past the screen of grasses and wattles.  Somewhere nearby, Trinh and Mike are looking for her.  She’s very still, eyes locked on the loop of scales in front of her.  She can see them rise and fall with each breath.  A dark, bifurcated tongue flicks out, tasting the air.

There is the sound of voices up on the trail nearby.  The coils move, dry scales rasping over each other.  Like that, it’s gone; flowing like water into a cluster of nearby grasses.  Erin breathes and the drone of the cicadas fades into the background.

Advertisements

~ by Electro-mechanical Man on March 25, 2011.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: