1 001

The day the light came didn't feel like a special day. It felt about as mundane and mediocre as a day could be. Work had dragged on for hours - eight, to be precise - and the editor was unusually hard on my writing, as if the Cobbett locals were a discerning readership who cared about grammar and not just about the local footy scores.

At lunch break, I went over to the sushi bar with Morgan, the social page writer. We sat on the bench outside in the sun, filling our mouths and enjoying the warmth of summer on our legs. Morgan was chatty, going on about his weekend, his favourite anime, his new shoes he splurged on at the weekend, the cocktail he drank at the weekend and how he slept off the weekend. I was quite happy to let him do all the talking. I had nothing to say, nothing to add.

I probably looked calm and content on the outside, eyes closed, face upturned to the bright blue sky, legs stretched out in front of me. But that's just the shell. The shell we all wear. Inside I was empty, static. The week had barely begun but I was already feeling emptied out, wrung dry and devoid of vitality. It had been years now, this feeling. It used to start at the end of the week though. Now it usually hit by Monday afternoon.

Leaning back, I opened my eyes, squinting against the glare of the sun. In that split second, a leaf began to fall from the tree above me, flipping and twisting against the sky. It seemed to freeze time, as if it were just me and that leaf on its dancing descent, and, inexplicably, despite me not being at all superstitious, I decided to wish on that leaf. I don't really know what led me to do that, and why I did it with such sincerity. The moment was over quickly. The leaf dipped, spun in a small breeze, and landed on the pavement near a filthy lotto ticket and a squashed cigarette butt. I smiled at the irony, popped my last piece of sushi into my mouth, and nodded about whatever it was Morgan was nattering about. We went back to work ten minutes later, stomachs full but my soul still empty.

By the time I knocked off work all I could think about was a big bowl of mac and cheese and a gin and tonic to wash it down. I cursed myself for deciding to walk to and from work to save money, wishing I could just jump in my car and drive the ten minute commute to my house in the slightly dodgy, but cheap to rent area of town. I hefted my backpack over my shoulders and began walking, taking a back road to avoid the after work catcallers and whistlers on the main road. The late afternoon breeze had picked up and was ever so slightly chilly, especially when I walked under the shade of the trees as I crossed the road to the park. 'Park' is probably too generous a term for the large area of grass and bush that the shire seemed to have forgotten existed. The grass varied between patchy and overgrown, and the shrubs and trees had turned into a thicket that sprawled further each year. The path I cut through on my way home was so narrow and overgrown that I had begun to wonder if it really was a path, or if I'd just created a track by my coming and going, like a wild animal. In winter the path would probably become a mud bath. I'd definitely be taking my car then.

It was while I was traipsing through the bush, untamed branches flicking at my legs, that I first saw the glint of light. It appeared suddenly in my periphery, in the brush to my right. It was so crisp and bright that I jerked my head toward it straight away. It was a sharp, white prick of light about thirty feet away, around eye level. The only thing I could think of that would make that kind of light was a phone torch, but I couldn't see anyone, nor could I imagine that anyone could even get into the dense brush there. I began walking faster as my heartbeat ticked up a notch. I recognised my instinctive fear response kicking in. I trusted my gut and picked up the pace even more, though I kept trying to rationalise in my mind. There weren't usually a lot of other people in the park, but it was quite popular with dog walkers and joggers at certain times of the day. I'd never felt threatened or vulnerable before, but now that I thought about it, here in the narrow bush paths I was completely hidden and probably far enough away from any busy area that sounds would be muffled. Thinking about it, I was very isolated. The more I mulled over it, the more this place felt like a scene that would appear on a true crime documentary around the same time as the phrase "shallow grave". I told myself that the light could be some kind of reflection or something, but it was so crisp and bright that I realised it had to be a direct light. I thought it might be something further away shining through gaps in the trees, but I had to rule that out too. I knew that the bush here backed onto a nature reserve of actual untamed bush, and behind that was Mt Mackie - more a small hill than a mountain, but still steep enough to provide a solid backdrop that meant there shouldn't be anything shining from that direction.

I kept glancing toward the light as I walked, but it stayed completely still, eventually slipping out of sight when I turned a corner. I kept up the brisk pace all the way home, though I felt myself relax a little once I got back out into an open street. By the time I got home, my heartrate has settled down and I'd calmed my mind down too. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, but it was still bright thanks to summer's long days. I locked my door behind me and immediately got changed into track pants and a hoodie before cracking open a gin. I whipped up some mac and cheese, throwing some veggies on the side for good measure. Then I collapsed in front of the TV, too tired to think.

I almost choked on my mouthful when my phone rang loudly. I picked up, coughing a little.

"What's up?"

"Is there food in the house?"

"Some. I made mac and cheese. There's some left over."

"Awesome, thanks Bea! I'll see you in a tic." My housemate Lena hung up as abruptly as she'd called. I sighed and tossed the phone onto the couch, grabbing the TV remote to start channel surfing. My brain tuned out, slowly going blank as I mindlessly skipped over the channels. My shell was hollow again, empty and emotionless. My thoughts drifted back to the falling leaf, the way it had danced and spun in the sky. Its descent had been erratic, yet somehow graceful. As it had flipped, it had seemed to glitter almost as if reflecting the sunlight. I remembered it looking so bright - almost like the light in the park. I frowned. Had I seen that light before, when the leaf was falling? Was that the same sharp white glare? I couldn't remember, couldn't trust my memory. These days I could barely remember my own address, let alone accurate details of the day. I shrugged and kept eating, though the light niggled at the back of my brain. I flicked between ridiculously over-dramatised cooking shows, a depressing news report, an in depth feature on kpop idols, and dozens of ads trying to sell me some better version of myself in shampoo bottles or a new barbecue. My eyelids began to feel heavy, the drone of the TV almost like a lullaby.

I was almost drifting to sleep on the couch when the room was suddenly washed with a bright light.