Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Heat

The harshness of the heat infiltrated my pores, my eyes burning with the brightness of the red desert sun. I had left the coolness of the old sandstone pub in a wave of tears; the disagreement turning to a vicious verbal attack. I gasped initially trying to control my distress but then was gasping to find oxygen - it seemed to have been sucked away by the heat.

The template had been my idea. To be used as a resource to bring the locals found on the extremities of the remote communities into town. A way of showing them where their money was going and how it could be used in different ways so they could have more control of their own destiny.

Who was this person who had come in after living in the Pilbara for what seemed like five minutes, trying to sabotage a plan put in place by those of us who hard worked there for years? A hanger-on. Someone who thought it was ok to not only disagree but turn the disagreement into a personal affront. I had a strong sense of indebtedness to the locals and their knowledge of the country. And yet this person saw fit to disregard us all.

More writing by this author

Blogs on This Site