Once there was a mighty wind. It whirled and eddied around the entire planet, causing fear. Families huddled together in their homes and watched it on televisions, watching brave and stupid reporters as their hair whipped about their faces and they tried to stay upright. Jamie wasn’t watching television, huddling with his mother and father; he stood in front of a rattling window in his bedroom, watching as the trees in his backyard jerked and spasmed, and the one bird in the sky which tried to fly in a straight line. The clothes line had a set of white bed sheets pegged to the outermost lines, and these flapping sheets were like sails, they caught the wind and forced the line to spin. Jamie watched, transfixed, as the clothes line spun. He wished he was allowed out, wished he was pegged to the line like the sheets, spinning around as if he had his very own carnival ride. He didn’t know it was possible, but somehow the wind became stronger; the clothes line spun faster. The sheets became a white blur and the clothesline detached from its pole and shot into the sky. Jamie ran down the stairs and into the living room. His mother and father sat on a couch they had pushed closer to the television, holding hands and nodding each time the reporter spoke. ‘Mum, Dad!’ he yelled. ‘The clothesline spun into the air!’ Mum and Dad didn’t even turn around. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Dad said, ‘That’s impossible.’ ‘But I just saw -’ ‘Shhhhh,’ Mum interrupted. ‘Just go upstairs. We’re watching the reports.’ Jamie wanted to scream at them, to force them outside to see, but he knew he’d get a spanking from Dad and a cold stare from Mum. He trudged upstairs again and went into his room. He closed the door and stood in front of the rattling window. From his vantage point he could see his neighbours backyard, and his neighbour’s neighbour. Both had clotheslines with clothes on them, both spun in the gale. Like helicopter blades the clotheslines whirred and chopped at the air. They spun free of their poles and whirled into the sky. Jamie followed their ascent, noticing there were more and more clotheslines that had come free, popping out of the earth. He imagined God blowing lightly on a dandelion. He knew what went up had to come down so he stepped back from the window and ran back down the stairs. ‘Mum!’ he screamed. ‘It’s happened again.’ This time she turned. ‘What, Jamie?’ ‘The clotheslines. They’re all in the air!’ His dad turned too. ‘What have I said about telling lies?!’ ‘I’m not lying.’ ‘Just go,’ Dad said, pointing to the staircase. Jamie turned and started walking. His dad turned back to the television. Jamie didn’t go upstairs. He went out the front door, trying to keep the rage and tears inside his head. The door slammed shut but neither of his parents noticed as they were hypnotized by the televisions’ apocalyptic display. On screen a reporter stood outside a suburban street, hugging a lamp post. The camera work was shaky, the cameraman obviously holding onto something and trying to train the camera on the reporter with a free hand. ‘As you can see,’ she screamed, ‘the westerly has picked up and the wind has now been measured at two hundred and ten kilometres an hour!’ Jamie’s mother and father shuffled closer to each other on the sofa. The journalist looked up and tried to scream. A clothesline descended and its spinning edge sliced her head off cleanly at the neck. A splat of blood hit the camera lens, magnified on the plasma screen TV. Her headless body let go of the post and fell. The camera fell to the ground, still trained on the reporters surprised, severed head. Blood dripped down the screen. Lightning struck and the television went black. The lights sighed out and only the wind’s sharp whistle remained. After a moment the sound of something crashing from the sky. Two sets of parental eyes widened and turned to each other. ‘Was that the front door before -’ Dad started to say. ‘OhmyGodJamie.’ Mum and Dad leapt off the sofa and ran outside. Jamie laid in the driveway, a clothes line trapping him like a fly in a spiders web. His body broken; arms and legs bent into unkind angles. His smashed face turned to the sky, perhaps to God, with an accusing expression lining it. ‘Jamie?’ Mum said seconds before she pitched forward like a drunk and fainted. The wind stopped. Almost suddenly. Clotheslines fell to the ground like metal snowflakes, pounding cars and houses. Clean clothes and sheets that had come free of their lines fell too, bright swatches of fabric floating down like feathers. A white fitted sheet gathered the air in its bunched up shape; a giant jellyfish billowing and flattening as it descended. It landed on the clothesline that trapped Jamie, swallowing it. Dad’s tears landed on Mum’s cheeks and she regained consciousness. She opened her eyes and saw a clothes line on their roof, perfectly upright, trapped in the television antennae. She nodded.
In one hand she held the full laundry bag, the other clinging to the next rung on the ladder. She struggled up the ladder, hoisted herself up and onto the roof, heaving the full bag with her, trying to stay balanced on the tilted surface. Sometimes she wished she’d fall off the roof and break her neck. But she never did.
Once there was a mighty wind. It whirled and eddied around the entire planet, causing fear. Families huddled together in their homes and watched it on televisions, watching brave and stupid reporters as their hair whipped about their faces and they tried to stay upright.
Jamie wasn’t watching television, huddling with his mother and father; he stood in front of a rattling window in his bedroom, watching as the trees in his backyard jerked and spasmed, and the one bird in the sky which tried to fly in a straight line.
The clothes line had a set of white bed sheets pegged to the outermost lines, and these flapping sheets were like sails, they caught the wind and forced the line to spin.
Jamie watched, transfixed, as the clothes line spun. He wished he was allowed out, wished he was pegged to the line like the sheets, spinning around as if he had his very own carnival ride.
He didn’t know it was possible, but somehow the wind became stronger; the clothes line spun faster. The sheets became a white blur and the clothesline detached from its pole and shot into the sky.
Jamie ran down the stairs and into the living room. His mother and father sat on a couch they had pushed closer to the television, holding hands and nodding each time the reporter spoke.
‘Mum, Dad!’ he yelled. ‘The clothesline spun into the air!’
Mum and Dad didn’t even turn around. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Dad said, ‘That’s impossible.’
‘But I just saw -’
‘Shhhhh,’ Mum interrupted. ‘Just go upstairs. We’re watching the reports.’
Jamie wanted to scream at them, to force them outside to see, but he knew he’d get a spanking from Dad and a cold stare from Mum. He trudged upstairs again and went into his room. He closed the door and stood in front of the rattling window.
From his vantage point he could see his neighbours backyard, and his neighbour’s neighbour. Both had clotheslines with clothes on them, both spun in the gale.
Like helicopter blades the clotheslines whirred and chopped at the air. They spun free of their poles and whirled into the sky. Jamie followed their ascent, noticing there were more and more clotheslines that had come free, popping out of the earth. He imagined God blowing lightly on a dandelion.
He knew what went up had to come down so he stepped back from the window and ran back down the stairs.
‘Mum!’ he screamed. ‘It’s happened again.’
This time she turned. ‘What, Jamie?’
‘The clotheslines. They’re all in the air!’
His dad turned too. ‘What have I said about telling lies?!’
‘I’m not lying.’
‘Just go,’ Dad said, pointing to the staircase.
Jamie turned and started walking. His dad turned back to the television.
Jamie didn’t go upstairs. He went out the front door, trying to keep the rage and tears inside his head. The door slammed shut but neither of his parents noticed as they were hypnotized by the televisions’ apocalyptic display.
On screen a reporter stood outside a suburban street, hugging a lamp post. The camera work was shaky, the cameraman obviously holding onto something and trying to train the camera on the reporter with a free hand.
‘As you can see,’ she screamed, ‘the westerly has picked up and the wind has now been measured at two hundred and ten kilometres an hour!’
Jamie’s mother and father shuffled closer to each other on the sofa.
The journalist looked up and tried to scream. A clothesline descended and its spinning edge sliced her head off cleanly at the neck. A splat of blood hit the camera lens, magnified on the plasma screen TV. Her headless body let go of the post and fell. The camera fell to the ground, still trained on the reporters surprised, severed head. Blood dripped down the screen.
Lightning struck and the television went black. The lights sighed out and only the wind’s sharp whistle remained. After a moment the sound of something crashing from the sky.
Two sets of parental eyes widened and turned to each other. ‘Was that the front door before -’ Dad started to say.
‘OhmyGodJamie.’
Mum and Dad leapt off the sofa and ran outside. Jamie laid in the driveway, a clothes line trapping him like a fly in a spiders web. His body broken; arms and legs bent into unkind angles. His smashed face turned to the sky, perhaps to God, with an accusing expression lining it.
‘Jamie?’ Mum said seconds before she pitched forward like a drunk and fainted.
The wind stopped. Almost suddenly. Clotheslines fell to the ground like metal snowflakes, pounding cars and houses. Clean clothes and sheets that had come free of their lines fell too, bright swatches of fabric floating down like feathers. A white fitted sheet gathered the air in its bunched up shape; a giant jellyfish billowing and flattening as it descended. It landed on the clothesline that trapped Jamie, swallowing it.
Dad’s tears landed on Mum’s cheeks and she regained consciousness. She opened her eyes and saw a clothes line on their roof, perfectly upright, trapped in the television antennae. She nodded.
In one hand she held the full laundry bag, the other clinging to the next rung on the ladder. She struggled up the ladder, hoisted herself up and onto the roof, heaving the full bag with her, trying to stay balanced on the tilted surface. Sometimes she wished she’d fall off the roof and break her neck. But she never did.