December 2018 Third Place: The Tape Unspools by Anna Forward

The Tape Unspools

By Anna Forward

The datsun’s door creaks shut behind me and I slide across the vinyl, clipping myself in. From the tape deck The Clouds compete with the starter motor, but as we pull away down the bitumen road the girly harmonies swirl through the car body. We’re humming now, laughing at our apparent inability to learn the lyrics despite having listened to these songs countless times. In the front seat Dave winds the window down and I can smell salty rain being blown towards us from the beaches we’re passing. We round the crescent of road and I see a turn-off sign but suddenly, inexplicably there’s a car facing us. It’s a tan car, driven by a woman and her face is contorting in shock. There’s no time in the grinding seconds before the deafening crunch and suddenly I am tiny again, a seven year old sparrow of a girl, learning to ride a push-bike.

I perch and pitch atop this thing that will not be controlled. I grip the handlebars and glance hoping my father will keep me from falling but he’s just yelling “pedal, pedal, pedal”, and I want to scream and I want to laugh, but I’m going to crash. My mouth is dry and the ground is coming up fast and then there’s the pain. A red-white flash, sparks in my skin, and I spin through the earth – its gaping maw. I’m deep in this maw as I shriek and where are they . Im alone, being gobbled by the earth. I’m in its crust, feeling its lava biting. “Dad, I scream; Dad! Dad!

Then I’m back in my car seat again. My body thrown forward by the impact, into the seat in front. But we’re still now.

Anna Forward is a writer and English teacher in Tasmania, Australia.