more fictionish writing

read part one first

part two

Canterbury, New Zealand, 1986

The noise constant from the waterfall belittled Jason’s sobbing, as though no tears he could muster would compete. He sat on a stool fashioned from a tree stump, staring at his father’s back, hoping to be attended to. As he choked back clusters of phlegm pooling in his throat, his breathing became heavy gasps, as though air could be the only salvation from the dread crawling through his veins.

Philip was climbing on rocks by the pooling water of the falls while Dad placed cold chicken pieces on brown bread, spread out on a small tablecloth on a wooden bench. Jason sobbed louder, thinking his father was ignoring him, but it didn’t draw Dad away from the food preparation.

He looked beyond Dad towards Philip who had found something to throw stones at, and he could no longer wait.

‘Dad,’ he whined.

‘What is it?’

‘Dad,’ he repeated.

‘What?’ Dad asked again as he half-turned, now seeing a red face swollen and in misery. ‘What’re you crying for?’

‘What if we don’t make it home tonight?’

‘Ay?’

‘What if we get stuck up here in the dark?’

‘Don’t worry about that, matey,’ Dad said, showing his watch to Jason. It was 3.30pm. ‘There’s plenty of time in the day yet.’

Philip climbed back down as the sandwiches were distributed and, once spotting Jason’s face, screwed up his own.

‘What’re you crying for?’ he said.

‘He’s okay,’ Dad said, ‘just hungry. Let’s get a move on, boys. Knock this bastard off then get back to town before the game starts!’

Mount Isabel was Dad’s test to see how much these boys could handle. They were old enough to start hiking soon and they’d need to show a bit of guts and strength climbing up a couple of small peaks first. Until this moment, he hadn’t thought they’d ever have a problem, but a shiver went up his spine. It wasn’t a shiver of fear or concern, but rather, a shiver of disgust. These boys may be weak, he thought for an instant.

He packed the backpack and pointed at the trail they were following through the forest that lined the valley, and without so much as a second to reflect on his tears, Jason bounded up the rest area’s path and began running uphill, Philip quickly in tow.

Dad followed them up the trail, the blue sky of early afternoon having turned to grey. As the trees were left behind and the stones and gravel of the summit path beckoned, he came across Philip sitting on a rock with Jason standing before him, hands on hips. Philip looked exhausted.

‘I’ll wait here,’ he said.

‘Oh no you won’t,’ Dad said. ‘C’mon, the best view is always at the top.’

‘But I’m tired.’

‘It’s not far,’ Dad said. ‘It’s just past those mounds over there.’

Philip stood dejectedly, starting to stride like an elephant plodding out of a mud pool. With each step, he could feel anger swelling up in his gut, his heart, his head, and his hands. Why he was being made to go further, he didn’t know. What was the point of this, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. Within a few steps, he vomited his thoughts out.

‘I DON’T WANT TO GO!’ he yelled angrily. “This is stupid.’

‘It’s not stupid,’ Dad said impatiently. ‘You’re doing well, just stop acting up and move.’

The summit wasn’t around the first mound of gravel, and nor was it around the second. Five minutes of climbing went by with Philip feeling his temples thump with anger, frustration and exhaustion.

‘I can’t make it,’ he said angrily to Dad, Jason being further up the hill out of earshot. Dad drew near, looking Philip in the eye.

‘Yes you fucking-well can, now move it.’

Philip was stunned. He’d never heard his father say THAT word before. He looked up as Dad’s jaw hardened and eyes burrowed deep within his soul. And he felt something snap. Mentally. Or emotionally. Or psychologically. Or simply.

He felt his own jaw lock, and his eyes stared into his father’s. His hands clenched into fists and he felt himself breath in fire. Without hesitation, he started running. The wind at the summit buffeted him as he leapt over rocks. His shoes took on stones quickly, but he ignored them as he heard Dad right behind him.

They both passed Jason in moments, rounded another mound, and saw the summit peak directly before them. Philip felt his face spreading into a huge smile as he kept running towards the metallic sign. They arrived side by side laughing together, circling the sign while they caught their breath.

Dad found himself with hands on his knees, smiling and looked up to see Philip with eyes locked on him.

‘Good one, Phil,’ he said.

Philip didn't respond, still breathing fire. He studied the sign, 'Summit, Mt Isabel'. His fists clenched, he used them with one swift motion. The metallic sign earned a new dent from the punch, and Philip stepped away, holding his fists in the air. He screamed to the clouds, an unintelligible, triumphant scream.