When I was fifteen I was working a lot. I was also a very sporty individual and one contraption I loved was the Trampoline. We’d sometimes go to Mandurah—Western Australia’s down south town—and the caravan park had four huge in the ground trampolines. So, it’s no wonder one of the first things I bought for myself was an above ground one.
My younger, but not the youngest sister, was… unpredictable, a dirty fighter, when it came to her and I. We’d get along, but I’d never know when she felt angered, or become upset with me, until I received a cork punch between my shoulder blades while my back was turned.
It always dropped me like a bag shit.
There’s no victory in that.
So, when I arrived home from work one afternoon, to say my murder button hadn’t been activated wouldn’t quite be true. I saw her on the trampoline and walked over for a quick chat. The scene that played out before me was horrific, if you were me.
The trampoline was getting old, it got a bit of use, and around its corner sections the mat had begun to fray, but it was still working just fine.
There she was, lying on my trampoline with a lit cigarette in her hand burning each frayed nylon strand, one at a time.
What did I do, you may well ask? Well, I got on the trampoline and rammed her head through the springs. She was stuck, so stuck, not even I could pull her head out.
One of my uncles would park his truck at our house every afternoon. He pulled up, heard my sister screaming, “You’re a dog Karen, You’re a dog.’
I looked up to see him walking towards us. I had my knees wrapped around her neck on the trampoline, and my hands thread through the springs under it. He laughed his arse off, and still does to this day.
He separated the springs enough to get her head out, but as fearful as I was that my father’s wife would find out I’d harmed her precious daughter, I still took a quiet moment, because there was victory in that.
“You’re a dog Karen, you’re a dog,’ I hear before I catch sight of uncle. It was the funniest thing he’d seen, and too good to forget.
I didn’t use it again, the trampoline that is. Like white smoke caught in the night on a soft breeze, I too, dissipated into the ether.
I became a missing person not too long after that, but that’s for another post.
Further posts will be sporadic at best. I’m also writing seven novels this year. Five are already in different states of edits. The only one I will release this year will be The Book of Matthew.
Please, be smart, and stay safe.