2579. The long and the short of it

It was a catastrophe waiting to happen; at least that’s what Nolan always said. He’d been in two wars and knew these things. It was a catastrophe waiting to happen, and when it does, boy, are we going to know about it.

Nolan’s upbringing had been difficult. He’d been shunted from one parent to another, to several step-mothers, to several step-fathers, and back. At one stage he had eleven grandparents – all useless. Going into the army was a life saver. It turned him into the man he was.

When Nolan said it was a catastrophe waiting to happen he was generally right. While serving in Afghanistan he had successfully predicted at least three events that came to pass almost exactly as he had said. Now he was back home. He had left the army and was working for a drain layer. His was a happy and stable marriage. He was in a perfect position to read the signs of the times and predict any pending gloom.

And then catastrophe struck. It was almost exactly as Nolan had said. It was uncanny. Funny how things like that happen. Some people just know that when ones spouse is doing the baking the cookies will get burnt. Shortbread was Nolan’s favourite, and they were almost inedible.

2263. The tornado

The tornado is definitely heading in my direction. I imagine bits of housing are flying up in the air and getting dumped in another place. I can see roughly where it would be now. It is passing directly through Hornby which is a very hoity-toity suburb.

I’m going down into my basement. I’ve been hanging around waiting for my wife to come home, but I can’t wait any longer. Hopefully she’s safe somewhere. She only went out for a bottle of milk.

It’s an eerie light. I’m a bit scared to tell the truth. I’ve only experienced one before and that was at a distance. This one is heading for my street I reckon. It knowns where I live! Ha ha!

I’ve shut all the windows and doors and put everything away outside that I can. So now I’m going down into the

1881. Cross that bridge

It was inevitable, when Zelda said she didn’t believe in trolls, that something terrible would happen.

She didn’t have to say it just prior to leaving for a bicycle ride with her twelve year old daughter and ten year old son. We shall cycle up the valley on that old dirt road. There are three ancient bridges and wild terrain to see. And what is more, it might be uphill on the way there, but it’s downhill all the way home.

“But what if there are trolls under the bridges?” said ten year old Mario.

“I don’t believe in trolls,” said Zelda. And that was the invitation to disaster.

Off they went! Heading for the hills! Heading for the old dirt road with lots of ancient bridges and no trolls!

They had barely crossed the first bridge when Chiara got a puncture in the back tyre. “That’s no matter,” said practical Zelda who had brought her puncture-fixing kit in her haversack.

Before long the puncture was fixed. Off they went! The second bridge was a little more dangerous. It was a very old bridge used years ago by the forestry trucks. It had no sides. It crossed a narrow ravine with a ribbon of river far, far below. Mario’s wheel got stuck in a crack between the bridge planks. He fell off his bike and almost plunged over the side. Thank goodness he didn’t plummet into the ravine. His jammed bike was rescued. Off they went!

The third and final bridge was crossed without an event.

“Time for the homeward journey,” said Zelda, turning her bike around. “See! No trolls!”

Will that stupid woman never learn? Apparently all hell broke loose somewhere between the third and first bridge.