Creative Corner
One Minute
November Issue Prompt: In a thunderstorm, someone takes shelter under a bridge. An animal scurries past which shouldn’t exist. Against better judgement, they decide to follow it out.
Submissions can include artwork, comic strips, stories, poems, newspaper articles or any other form of creativity. Send them to shane.hunt@educaton.vic.gov.au to be included in the next issue!
Now...
A substance that generates ideas, a spy, 1 minute.
It doesn’t taste like anything, which was my first surprise.
When Agent P told me about The Last Resort, he made it sound like something demonic – dark and glue and hellfire.
It’s not.
I blink, slower than normal.
C’mon, man, for God sake, you only have a minute.
Pull.
It.
Together.
Blink. Blink. Pause.
Wait…
Blink.
45 seconds.
And a wall, and another, and a rat-bitten blanket, and bars. A tiny window, an empty bowl, a bucket. The sun is setting. It’s… cold.
40 seconds.
Move, god damn it.
The wall bites at me, my hands running over the bricks, as if I’ll find something different this time. I crawl along the floor, before I realise what I’m doing.
If this does – here, there should be – now this might –
30 seconds.
My nails are bleeding. Sweat drips onto the floor. I’m standing on the bed, sinking, my hands on the window bars. Sunlight fills my face. I’m still breathing. I’d forgotten I was doing that. The bars under my hands are warm. I didn’t think they would be. It makes sense that they are. That they’re under my hands.
Blink.
15 seconds.
I need to – if – what – if – now – if – if – if – IF –
YES.
Blink.
The floor meets me quicker than it should.
10.
Blanket.
9.
Bucket.
8.
Bowl.
7.
A chip in the wall.
6.
Bars on the window.
5.
Bars where a door should be.
4.
3.
2.
1.
Blink.
“Ready?”
I turn, slowly. The guard I was dreading is standing on the other side of the bars.
I don't dread him anymore.
Swallow. Sweat. Blink.
Do. Not. Smile.
“Yep.”
Evie Taylor, Year 11