Settling near a waterhole framed by reeds. Dad built up a fire on the coarse sand while our family friend, TR rolled up his trousers and dipped his toes in the pool. ‘Hey!’ He pointed and did a little dance. ‘A fish! I see a fish!’
‘Aye, Sir.’ I sighed. ‘I’ll look forward to working with you, Captain.’ My knees went weak. I’m working with him! The Captain. Despite his current aloofness, he possessed an aura, powerful, magnetic, and I had to admit, Teutonic. There’s hope. I’ll convert him. Bring out the fun-loving relaxed side of him. There is a fun, relaxed side of him, surely. All this Captain stuff, this serious German thing is an act, surely.
‘Ready Ensign? It’s time.’ Fahrer glanced down at my legs.
‘I’m ready, Sir.’ I stepped towards him, my legs wobbling. ‘I’m all yours.’ Probably not the best choice of words, but then, I’m not known for my choice of words.
Still, nothing like a thorough study of my muse which I have also now painted in miniature on Huon Pine and on canvas in acrylic—each time different.
Read more "Story Behind the Painting: Sala Special"The tiny finger-sized USB jumped out of the suit’s shallow pocket and plopped to the floor. I reached down to pick it up.
It grew legs and scuttled away, under my feet near where the bed’s storage compartment meets the floor.
Huh?
And Rick complained, ‘Would you mind not coughing all over the place?’
‘I can’t help it,’ I wheezed. ‘I need some fresh air.’
Matt held his throat and rasped, ‘I can’t breathe.’
Mr. B glanced back at his son. ‘What’s that, boy?’
‘I can’t breathe,’ his son said.
He turned and beckoned, ‘Come on, Holly.’
I stood, my knees wobbled as the rubber boat bounced up and down on the waves.
Fritz held out his hand. ‘Come on, Holly, you can do it.’
I watched the waters, deep green and laced with froth rise and fall beneath me. ‘Yep, I can do this,’ I squeaked. My knees rose and fell at different times.
‘Grab my hand,’ Fritz urged, hooked his elbow through a rung of the ladder, and reached out to me.
‘Go for it,’ Nathan said.
The creek narrowed, and I scrambled over rocks, pushed through reeds to the spring. Anticipating a pretty pond, with waterlilies, ducks and a kangaroo or two drinking the fresh clear water, I was disappointed. The spring, if you could call it a spring was little more than a pit of slime. A puddle at the end of our driveway at home was more photogenic than this hole filled with muddy water.
Read more "The T-Team with Mr B (9)"