2022 School Magazine

DAISY

Looking down into those fathomless eyes, he saw more than just a dog. John saw someone in need of a bath, a meal, and love. He could do that for her. He could love once more. ‘Come on!’ John instructed, standing to leave. But there was no need for his command. The puppy was already six feet ahead, charging towards the house. Perhaps this was what Marie had envisaged. He knew she would not have borne it, seeing John so alone, and he realised that he could not bear it anymore either. ‘Stay now,’ John mumbled as they made it to the porch. She looked up at him and cocked her head to one side, her big eyes twinkling like stars and filled with questions. ‘Don’t worry’, he laughed, I’ll be back before you know it.’ A drop of drool escaped her mouth, falling right onto John’s boot. Shocked at how long it had been since he had last laughed, John walked into his dingy kitchen. He started to reach for one of his two regular bowls, but stopped himself. Surely his new companion was worth more than a vaguely unwashed, musty second-hand bowl? If Marie were here, she would insist on bringing out the finest dish for such a good dog. The drawer creaked open, sealed from years of disuse. An assortment of ceramics lay there, bound in bubble wrap. John grabbed the first bowl and removed it from its cocoon, revealing a pale pink dish daubed in delicate daisies. Marie's favourite flower. John recalled how excited Marie had been to bring this ceramic home from the markets. According to her, it had endless uses— We’ll use it every day! —yet she had never a chance to show them to John. Instead, it lay idle, gathering dust in the bottom drawer. Deep down he knew that this dusty existence was the opposite of what Marie would have wanted, and cursed himself for not using the bowl sooner. John twisted on the tap and waited for the pained gurgling noises to stop before filling the dish with cool water. Careful not to spill anything, John kicked open the tatty flyscreen door and placed the water bowl next to the swinging chair, under the shade of the porch. She was there waiting for him, wagging her tail in frantic excitement. As she raced over to lap at the water, John lowered himself into the swinging chair, the rusted chains groaning and creaking. ‘Hey girl,’ he cooed, ‘welcome to our home.’ For the first time in a long time, John Crawman looked forward to tomorrow. Perhaps they would mow the grass together and play fetch, or perhaps they would tackle the peeling paint. No…tomorrow they would get a collar and a tag. A tag engraved with the perfect name for the perfect companion. Daisy. KATE IRELAND (11O)

John Crawman looked down in disgust at the dilapidated house squatting at the bottom of the hill. Its paint job was dismal: half peeled off, half covered in mould, and its windows appeared to be welded shut. Overgrown grass encased the perimeter, acting as a warning to any visitors senseless enough to approach it. It was impossible to call this house a home, as misery radiated from its walls and melancholy festered within. John could not believe that anyone could inhabit this wreck. More so, he could not believe that person was him. Of course, there was a time when this house was not so run down, but time is a cruel creature. John and Marie had purchased this little slice of country as giddy newlyweds ready to take on their next big adventure. Marie had infinite dreams for their little home and had managed to coax John into supporting her numerous plans, projects, and schemes. Her most prized achievement, however, was the little patch of daisies that had sat just beneath the kitchen window. John had spent many of his afternoons on the porch swing, watching Marie nurture her flowers until they could be picked for display in their cosy kitchen. He looked back to the worn house now. The porch was derelict of life; the patch of daisies was now lost underneath the monstrous tangle of wild, overgrown grass. An unavoidable sigh escaped John’s mouth as he remembered those halcyon afternoons. How foolish he had been to take them for granted. His heart ached at the memory, burdened by the loss of his wife, best friend, and world. Snap Startled, John whipped his head around to face the direction of the sound; his tired eyes scanned the foliage, searching for the culprit. It must have been over a decade since he last had a visitor—let alone an intruder—making a ruckus in the bushes. ‘Oi! Who’s there?’ John called, a slight hint of unease in his voice. In response, vicious snarling and growling noises erupted from a nearby bush. John’s heart leapt out of his chest. Maybe there was a beast … or a whole pack of beasts. The bush trembled before its foliage gave way to reveal the beast. Its fur was burnished, gleaming like copper in the setting sun. A large tongue hung from the left side of its mouth, dropping drool as it bolted towards John. It was collarless and muddy, unbrushed and unkept, racing towards him faster and faster… But, it was just a dog. A puppy, really. John looked down into the puppy’s eyes—big, round, and brown like great pools of chocolate—and gave it a scratch behind its ears. Marie had always wanted a dog. Countless times she had begged John for one, and now he deeply regretted his answer each time. Not yet. Not now. No.

BRISBANE GIRLS GRAMMAR SCHOOL 2022 | 121