Saturday, October 22, 2011


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It was Friday night and it was crowded at Park Lane Cafe. As usual. Nobody was sitting alone. Nobody was drinking orange juice or softdrink. It was all beer and spirits. It sounded like an orchestra. There was nowhere quiet to go. Everyone in the cafe that night died. And it was horrific. It made the headlines of all the newspapers in the world. Biggest tragedy in the century! But no one but the original town folk knew about it. Then the town slowly died out. No one had children. No one could survive the pain of this tragedy. The streets were threadbare. Nothing but old buildings and shabby loos out the back where left. This was called Nightmare Valley after the big tragedy.

Nothing but the dust stirred when the old Bluebird pulled up in the dust-ridden place. A poor lonely traveller had got lost miles from the nearest highway. His old dinted Bluebird was dusty and the air conditioning had broken down. The poor, hot, lonely traveller went by the name of Liono Vicarichi. His ancestors had come to Australia from Italy because the government wasnt being fair to the country, so his grandfather spent his last pennies on travel tickets for most of them but his little sister had to be left behind. There wasn’t enough room for her even though she had only been born a few days before. She had been left for dead.

As Liono searched for someone to help him, he came across something valuable but to him it wasn’t. It was a beer bottle that had survived the tragedy. This single bottle held information about the tragedy. Liono kicked it without realising he moved dust that revealed the end of a finger. The flesh and nail were long gone but the bones were still in order. Liono kept on kicking the bottle around. Then when he went to kick it again, something told him not to. Something inside told him it wasn’t right. Liono didn’t understand why but he obeyed what his inside was telling him. He trudged, wearily back to his battered car and sat on the dusty, spring busted seat. Liono didn’t even know what he was doing out here. He knew he had got lost on a stupid, unknown short cut to Sydney. Liono didn’t know that that shortcut used to be the main road to this deserted town.

Liono got up out of the car and struggled to open the back door of the worn out, shabby car. For what seemed hours, but was really only minutes, he struggled fiercely with the blue door. Finally it gave way to his slowly fading strength. Liono slumped down on the back seat and fell asleep. While he was sleeping, there was a horrifying dust storm. Everything was blown around, or some how was just very dusty.

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