FaceFic

She had always wanted to go to Dubbo to find Elvis and Princess Di working at Dubbo Macca’s. Despite zero proof, except the urban myth, she went. She pulls up and walks in prepared for anything. She sees Di serving Diet Coke, Elvis running drive-thru in satin. She snaps a picture and calls her sister: no signal. She drives: no tyres. She walks, and wanders with all the other myth-busters, forever lost. Now she knows.

I am the mythical panther, the sinuous shape on the road, “it wasn’t a wombat, for sure”. I am that unknown shriek in the remote night, when darkness is utter and logic hides under the pillow; I see your tiny lights flicker on and purr. And when you see the blue light shining on the opposite hill “like a huge mozzie trap”, never discover that the religious retreat’s giant Coptic cross is what keeps me from your neck.