The Rapture: Australia Undone

  Under attack from some of the most corrupt elements within the Australian government, or that's how it felt, he had no idea how to deal with the torment being inflicted upon him. They were dishonest. They were liars. They had gained advantage through their lying. They had been tormenting him for three years now. It had begun at exactly the same time as his mother was dying a sad sad death made worse by the Australian government's endless Covid restrictions.  And it continued to this very day, chasing him across Asia. It was his 73rd birthday. And they were determined to destroy even that. Cloak yourself in armour. Be strong. Be brave. Let the storm pass over you.  How was it that these things could be allowed? How was it that this dishonesty ran rampant through the system? Surrounded by the buzz of an Asian city, he ran into an old acquaintance, Robyn, who had been stranded in Australia for three years during the Covid era. And that's what he said about Australia, it wa...

  All those cold spirits which flowed down from the mountain and echoed from other forces, those moments when he crashed to Earth and endured a terrible regret, the time lord who repeatedly whispered "100 million years 100 million years", a time stamp beyond human comprehension, that was it. He stared out the window and realised that time was passing. Under attack, he crumbled. While only days before the spirits were cloaking him with high grade, multi-tech armour to hold true. But true to what? Sometimes you have to pay attention to his own instincts, but he trusted them no more than he trusted the voices that came and went in their enchanting, terrorising beauty. When he came out, when the animals emerged from their protective burrows, when humanity shifted a gear, mobilised by the ubiquitous spread of mobile phones, of all the clarity, all the clarion calls, a gigantic spreading network.  He shouldn't have been frightened, he shouldn't have tried to destroy himself...

  Now is the time, they said, in that cascade of messages he tried his best to block out. The river of crystalline marbles, millions of them, flooded down the escarpment for days, each an infinite universe within itself.  He had fallen off the cliff and was only slowly regrouping. War was breaking out in the Middle East. There were a number of expats in Saigon, but few of them were complimentary about their homeland. "It's sensory deprivation," Robin said. They had communicated during the lockdowns back in Australia, in those darkest most impossible days, most outrageous flights of government mismanagement and malfeasance, while in the aftermath many continued to suffer the consequence.  Bui Vien remained a colourful cavalcade, although it was clearly not tourist season, with many of the streets, bars and restaurants all quiet. He was glad to be away. Iran and Israel played constantly in the background.  A Tucker Trump feud broke out, which interested him greatly. Ma...

  In that dark heart of betrayal, when he lamented everything, most particularly falling off the wagon, bullets burrowing through his brain, staring at the floor, staring out the window, a suicidal self abnegation, there seemed, for a moment, no hope. All the images were strange. Millions of crystal marbles flowing down from the escarpment, flocks of birds circling over carcasses on a battlefield, the derelict outskirts of cities where all had been destroyed, a spooky sense of everything lost. He just needed to go walkabout.  The wild crew he had hung with half a century before were mostly gone. Had died at the scene. Were long gone. And those who remained were all on the way out. Poor old Dr Stephen, who had outlived his cancer prognosis by several years, was now on his very last legs.  Michael, now 72, who he had known since 1970s, was hanging around in Bondi waiting for a call from the hospital to have a heart operation. After having the jab in order to travel. Althoug...

  There they were then, this terrible assault on all dignity. He betrayed himself, he betrayed his supporters, he betrayed his own destiny, and sank, sank. For a time. He had no idea why this terrible collapse. And so it was, those dark windows, that gale that blew through everything.  Farewell, my friend, said one of the Watchers on the Watch before he left Australia, and all he could think was, "my friend?". Why didn't you say that before? But he wouldn't have believed it anyway. Part of the disillusion was centred around the election, the sweeping victory, if not mandate, of the Australian left, the total collapse of the conservatives. He had always thought that Peter Dutton would one day be Prime Minister, and would return the country to the sensible middle. But a truly gormless election campaign, where he stood for nothing and simply echoed Labor, the left, meant only that he had had a better offer.  And would do the 50 metre dash to the nation's boardrooms. ...

  It began in cyclonic circumstance, with the wind whipping off Bondi Beach as he struggled through a gale up and down the beachfront. There was no life. The bars were all closed or closing. There were few people about. The gale was a dark force, or remained dark within him, as he fled sanity and constellations of connected intelligences and instead buried himself in the ordinary, a collapsed individual seeking abnegation.  It was hard to know what brought it on; although the Sense8 style hiding from other operatives was always a part of it.  He could hear them echoing in the land beneath the escarpment, propelled from the deep spirits of the forest, caring for what he did not know.  He really did not know. He moped around the house and lamented getting older, more ordinary, more convinced of deceit and abnegation and ordinary things; longing for purpose or confidence or identity, or just youthful determination. He prayed for courage, strength and determination, and ...