12A Nerissa Marcon In an instant

Ok. Here's my new ending. What do you think?

In an instant

An unfamiliar sound wakes me from my sleep and I open my eyes to darkness which surrounds me. I sharpen my senses with effort and listen intently to hear what sounds like running water outside my bedroom window. I search the confines of my mind to determine the possible source and recall the tap located beneath my back veranda. The thought of water pouring freely in the midst of water restrictions runs through my mind and I jump up from the bed in search of my slippers. I stumble, half asleep, towards the back door, running my fingers through my hair and tracing the wall of the corridor with my other hand for direction. I glance at the clock in the kitchen as I pass, noticing the time is 2am and curse that I have woken at such an ungodly hour.

My fingertips clumsily find the key in the lock and I turn it gently to the open position, hearing it click. I pull the door ajar ever so slightly and look through the wire security door. Instinctively, I pause and look out into the dark night for signs of movement. My eyes survey the yard from the tallest gum trees on my left to the small wooden playhouse on the right and I find nothing amiss. The heat from the summer night envelopes me and the smell of freshly cut grass permeates the air. The water continues to run and while I cannot see the tap from this angle, I can see its trickle glisten in the moonlight; running slowly in my direction and then trailing off under the house. I wonder momentarily how the tap has been turned on but my desire to turn it off at once is strong and I reach for the latch on the wire door. As I do, I feel a tap on the back of my thigh and jump with a start. I shriek without thinking and turn around suddenly to discover little hands reaching towards me and eyes wide with fear.


My four year old throws her arms around my legs and wails, “I’m scared.” I bend down and put one arm around her, hugging her to me whilst the other falls reluctantly from the latch. I close the door with my foot to keep the hot air out and pick up my daughter. I bury my face in her hair and kiss her gently. The sound of the water fades slowly as I carry my little girl up to her bedroom. I lay her softly on her bed and cover her with the sheet. She reaches for her pink pony and clutches it to her chest. I smooth her forehead tenderly to sooth her tired cries and within moments, my angel is once again in a quiet slumber. The air from the fan overhead swirls gently as I walk quietly out of her bedroom, retracing my steps towards the back of the house.

The thought of calling my father to come and help me fleets through my mind but I dismiss it readily. He would not appreciate being woken in the middle of the night for something so trivial. Besides, I must prove to him that I am a responsible parent, despite of my youth. I have fought hard this last year to convince him that I can raise my daughter successfully and alone. I shake my head to clear the angst and reassure myself that I must do this. I can do this. It is, after all, simply a running tap that needs to be turned off. With renewed determination, I flick the latch and step out into the darkness.

I turn towards the tap and stop short as the vision before me takes hold. I jump with a start and my heart begins to beat uncontrollably. There is something there. There is someone lying there. My mind begins to panic and I see two long legs splayed either side of the tap. The water runs freely between them and down past bare toes dug into the mud that surround them. The man is lying face down, half buried beneath my bushes, his arms up beside his head. It suddenly occurs to me that he must be dead! I fight the urge to turn away and run back into the safety of my home. My eyes adjust quickly to the light and I try to detect signs of life. I stare at his back, watching for a rise or fall, as I have been taught in first aid training, but do not discern any. Bile begins to build in my throat and I feel myself losing rational thought at the sight which confronts me. For some inexplicable reason, I bend and pick up a nearby stick. I hold it out hesitantly and ever so softly poke the edge of his leg. Nothing happens, so I edge closer to do it again with more force. In an instant, his body convulses and I hear an awful, guttural cry. His hand moves into sight and a glisten appears in the moonlight from the broken liquor bottle in his hand. He moves like a panther in the night and I turn to run.

In my haste, I drop the stick and make for the wire door. Thoughts of my sleeping daughter flicker through my subconscious and I realise I have failed her. I have put her in danger. I lunge through the doorway and attempt to close the door behind me. I hear him shout again - a wild, deathly sound that reverberates through my entire body and sends shivers down my spine. I push the door closed with both hands but I am stopped by his fingers in the way. He tries to pry it open but I am overcome with a strength I never knew I possessed and I scream with all my might as I shut it closed. By some small prayer, I succeed and I pause, trembling from fright. I turn around slowly, placing my back firmly against the door and wait for him to try and knock it down. I struggle for breath and my knees crumple involuntarily as I fall to the ground.

An eerie silence follows, broken only by the sound of the water still running from the tap outside and I know that this is not how it ended. My stark vision fades rapidly back into blackness and the sound of water is replaced by a piercing alarm which sounds over and over. I struggle to gain a sense of what is actually happening and try without much success to open my eyes. I can feel my body continuing to shudder and convulse yet I am powerless to stop it. The voice of my father is calling nearby, "It's happening again. Please help her." I want him to hold me, to stop the shaking but I feel nothing.
Unfamiliar voices begin to murmur around me and mercifully, the alarm stops its' ringing. Like an angel, I hear the sweet sound of my daughter as she asks softly, "Why won't mummy wake, grandpa?" I can hear the urgency in her voice, pleading for an answer that makes sense to her. I want to reach out, hold her, tell her I'm awake and that everything will be alright but the reality of my horrid situation returns and I recall with clarity that I cannot. I hear my father whisper gently in reply, "Mummy is here darling but she is different now. We must not give up hope. We must pray that one day she wakes and is with us again." I imagine my daughter clutching her pink pony, just as she had done when I had last seen her. My emotions boil over within and a small, barely detectable tear slides effortlessly down the side of my face.

My father stands beside the bed, casting a shadow over my rigid body. The faint smell of alcohol mixed with tobacco, his signature vices, wash over me and I’m reminded of the nights he drank too much when I was a child. My daughter’s quiet voice calls his name nearby and I see her small figure standing beside him from the corner of my eye. She raises her tiny arm up to pull on his sleeve and asks to be picked up. “I can’t pick you up” he responds, “but we can get going now.” He reaches down to pat her tenderly on the head and as he does I see the flash of a bandage around his hand. I watch in horror as my daughter skips ahead of him, calling back, “What happened to your hand grandpa?”