Screams from The Shed
By Jeffy, Stage 5
Art Write Light 2021 is a creative writing project curated by Story Factory, in collaboration with visual artist Blak Douglas. During the program, students from Bonnyrigg High School and St Clair High School were introduced to the work of Blak Douglas, and created written and audio pieces responding to his artwork. The audio you’re about to listen to features a young writer from the program reading an extract from their work.
LISTEN TO THE AUDIO OF THE STORY
Screams from The Shed
One by one, their cries softened. “THUMP”. As the clanging of chains gripped them, rustling echoes emerged paralysing me in fear, I suddenly heard footsteps.
Traipsing outside the building, with my hands tightly clenched onto the half-empty bottle of bourbon. Violated and insulted, I needed some fresh air and was desperate for a break. I stared at my glass bottle, when I noticed a hand moving against the wind, with scars deeper than the ocean and red hair shining against the glistening sun like an open flame. I grabbed my metallic pistol, holding it tighter than my bourbon. I lifted it against its thigh and with a second, hit its upper leg. Their cries echoed against the wall, like salt on an open wound. Making my way through the streets of this run down town, it follows. The mutant may not be fast but I’m too drunk for this. I’m flat out running this time, my feet and hands pumping. I can feel my heartbeat, hear it in my ears, rustling faster and faster. Not daring to look back, I’m racing forwards straight as an arrow. I hear it behind me though, breathing down my neck, the stench of them causing my eyes to water. I’m lagging and I know it. All I have to do is make it past the tree-line. Once I make it past the forest, I can easily lose it. Hopefully, I’ll be able to hide out there while waiting for them to eventually give up. Pushing myself harder, the tree-line grows ever closer yet I’m still not close enough. Keeping up the pace is excruciating but I can’t stop, not with them so close. I can’t die not either, not until I find a way to mass produce the cure. The cure my parents failed to provide.
With a cry, I pass the tree-line but it’s not over yet. Continuing on, I hear snapping of the twigs as the mutants continue their chase. Then, unbelievably, the sound of water. Mutants can’t swim, water is one of their weaknesses, besides a bullet through the head or anything that can relatively damage the brain.
Soon the trees open up to give way to a cliff. Damn it! But I can’t stop now, and I push through, my momentum guiding me, pushing me, throwing me over as I call… and fall… and fall…
Much is Rife, Blak Douglas, 2021
Art Write Light is generously supported by the Balnaves Foundation.