DiseaseThe school bus leaves Cassie at the end of their driveway. Alex runs ahead, his schoolbag bucking on his back. On the other side of the paddock her father throws up dust with the slasher. The forever sky stretches from horizon to horizon, open, empty, not a cloud to hold onto. The dull sun, too tired from the day’s excess, casts shy shadows over the track.
Cassie kicks a piece of grey gravel and trudges. Her schoolbag digs into her shoulder, the muscles in her neck pull against the weight and her forehead aches. She changes the bag to her other shoulder, but it makes no difference. Her eyelids grind over her eyes. She has only skimmed the surface of sleep since the ball. Since Ida fell. She fingers the tarot in her pocket.
The sound of hammer on metal reverberates like a dentist s
