A funeral on a winter day; wandering alone in a multitude; seeking solitude on a cold, wet night; facing the demons of life as they claw and snarl and do their best to strip away the dignity of humanity... Isolation and grief drive human beings to the edge of their ability to cope, and when one belongs to a marginalised minority persecution and demonisation follow naturally. This is the story of a single terrible day in a young life, of losing a companion, facing the prejudice of society, of being driven away, rebelling against a wicked hand dealt by fate, and finally recovering a humanity all but lost in the turmoil of trauma...

Published by DreamCraft
Cover by Jade
Length: 6,265 words
Format: PDF to suit virtually any device
Price: $1.99


Read an excerpt

I had dreaded this moment. The coffin descended into the earth on its carefully-prepared tackle, and Charise's mother made the offering of soil into the grave, a handful of dry earth from a box, a gesture repeated by others. Handling mud would have been unseemly. I should have been there to farewell her, but I told myself that from where she was right now, she understood everything better than we, and the schism between family and partner was something she would handle in her own way. Part of me wanted to believe she was right here, watching us, it was a comforting thought that helped the grief. And a small part of me, deep down, knew that I could be with her again any time I wished, there was nothing particularly complicated about it.

My eyes brimmed with tears and I closed them, let the tears flow down my cheeks and listened to the funeral party breaking up. The grave was not filled in until later these days, everything was tailored to the feelings of the bereaved. I wondered faintly if anyone had spared a thought for the young woman crying under the tree? The clergymen, the attendants, the funeral directors, anyone...? Maybe, I hoped so. But through my grief I was quite unaware of it, and certainly no one approached me.

Soon I heard engines started and warmed, and flurries of black flowed between the graves as the mourners departed. Some wept openly now, all shoulders were turned, all backs stiff, and I was glad that no one came toward me from that group. I turned my face and listened to the crunch of gravel as the cars drew away, and I leaned against the tree for a long while before I developed the courage to go up to the grave.

A priest looked on from a distance, speaking with an attendant under a broad umbrella, and he gave me a small smile and a nod, the soul of discretion. Ah, he had been aware of me. Priests, like doctors and lawyers, must see it all, and a private farewell for the outsider was a kindness that cost nothing, and which the family in its closed ranks need never be aware of.

I looked down at the coffin, wet with rain, its brass plaque gleaming in the dim, late light. My Charise... No end for a warm soul, a heart brimming with life. Not so early in her days. But in a way I sensed nothing now, as if the animating spark had gone free, and I could more easily let the simple physicality go.

How long I stood in the rain I did not know, my hood streaming with droplets, the patter the only sound in my ears, but soon the sextons needed to get to work to fill the grave, a mound of brown earth that would seal matters until the masons arrived to construct her enduring monument. I took one last look into the earth, wiped my eyes and turned away.



I was not sure where my feet lead me after that. To somewhere dry, I remember sitting in a coffee shop in town, up some street across the busy highway from the sprawling old cemetery, and stirring a cup for so long the contents were merely warm when I put the china to my lips. I stared out at the day as showers came and went, and my depression closed in on itself.

Memory was wicked, and my thoughts were of the person I had lost. The silence of my days and nights. I now shared a bed with none, and my foreboding was terrible. How would it be to once again come home to loneliness? Let alone, to ridicule for my lifestyle choices. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I had not mistaken the looks of disapproval from the evangelical students association these last few months. Sod them, it was none of their business.

My thoughts trended darker as the afternoon wore on, and perhaps I napped in the warm back booth of the café, my second empty cup before me, a plate with a few crumbs testimony to something I could not remember eating. When I looked around at the few patrons I realised the shop would be closing soon and I had to go. Home?

A home is made by the people in it, and I could not bring myself to go back to our apartment. Where, then? Pubs and clubs, bury myself in the blaring jangle of nightlife, to try to shut out all I was feeling? That did not work, I had seen friends drink themselves close to alcoholic poisoning, only to once again remember all that ailed them in the worst hours of it. I felt there was a demon on my back, I needed to strike out at the world, or lose myself in it, something, anything... Anything was better than sitting helplessly and letting life come to me in its own time, with all its pain and betrayal.

Sara talks about Redemption::

This was always going to be an experimental piece, and it shook down from my own experiences as well as a love of the writings of Terry Dowling. At so many levels, this story reflects my own comfortable Adelaide society, though I was careful to never name the city. The sights and sounds, the feel of a winter evening, are all 'sketched from life,' as it were, and the motivating force, rebelling against the prejudice of mainstream hetero culture, is a story endemic to any gay person's life.

I was looking for a synthesis of the old hero formula, in which the protagonist loses all, journeys through a hostile world and overcomes adversity to complete the circle and return to humanity, a classic denouement found in movies without number but harking back to ancient dramalogues. I wanted a character who could be Everywoman -- to wit, she has no name as ever mentioned in the text -- and whose experiences would be familiar to all: ostracisation, criticism, demonisation for her lifestyle choices. And which of us has not had heaven replaced with hell at the whim of fate?

In a sense, it's a Taoist allegory told in modern times about how we can lose ourselves in a situation too terrible to bare, but then rediscover ourselves in the most unexpected place.

I wrote it in three sittings, it just wanted to be told, and Jade's cover has the right blend of plaintiveness and the assault of nature in a bad mood that so frames the narrative. I was very happy with the result and was happy to offer the story as part of the package for the Bookshelf's recent freebies promotion, whjere it remains available to download, just click the link below and scroll down!