Benjamin – Australia

Struggling in my grasp the invertebrate’s needle like teeth sink deeper into my flesh as its slippery skin evades my purchase once more. Its body undulates as it drinks more of my precious life blood, in a greedy attempt to satiate its mindless hunger.

I renege on my feeble attempt to wrest it from my skin, pausing to steady my breathing and calm my frustration.

“Piss off you insi-!” I mutter as my self-control slips for an embarrassing second.

Opting to direct my annoyance at a physical entity, I reposition my hand into a thumb and forefinger pincer, and attack anew.

Using my fingernails to gain purchase on its fiendishly evasive form I finally gain suitable traction as I pull its embedded maw from my skin.

“Haha you little bastard!”

I crow triumphantly whilst holding the squirming leech aloft. Sadly I do not have salt with me, so I have to throw the engorged sucker far away and hope it forgets the delicious taste of long pig.

Picking up my chainsaw I squelch through the muddy terrain toward my target, assessing again its formidable girth.

The Rubber tree’s trunk measures at about my full arm span, which means that to chop it, I have to cut through at least 1 meter of its sap infested wood.

Checking that no one has entered my poor excuse for a paddock during my leech-scapades. I once more confirm the area’s free of any potential casualties before depressing the chainsaws fuel primer several times, flicking on the choke and pulling the rip cord to absolutely no bloody effect.

So, you know how in those horror flicks where the guy instantly starts the chainsaw and chases after the scantily clad, overly developed and hyper sexualized teenager girl as she screams and the chainsaw’s engine blares threateningly?

Well for the most part that’s just not how Chainsaws work. Oh sure you can get one of those fancy schmancy battery powered ones which buzzes like a vibrator and doesn’t cut through anything thicker than your leg due to lack of torque. Then you can get one of those on off buttoned ones that requires a battery to replace to ignition process…which requires charging…

But if you want to cut down a big fuck off tree with minimal fuss and charging a battery like a latte sipping leftie?

You need a fosil fueled engine saw with some cc’s behind the chain.

So I once again pump the fuel primer and yank the ripcord to…..no effect, but after a minute of consecutive tugs to the point where I think I am going to flood the thing and have to sit down for half an hour while it clears. It bucks to life with a rumbling *wwWWWWWAAAAAAAAAHHHHhhh*.

And while its busy damaging my hearing, I grin like an neandertholic idiot at the destructive power, barely contained and vibrating in my grip. Adjusting my goggles and earmuffs before double checking the paddock is clear of any idiots beside myself, I put its ravenous chain to good use.

As the chips fly and the smell of burnt wood and petrol overpowers the fragrance of dewy grass, I make final preparations to fell this ridiculously large tree in the name off ‘fire prevention’.

Don’t get me wrong. Its an invasive species and should be felled to stop its cancerous roots damaging the nearby creek and surrounding ecology.

But these days, unless you have a reasonable cause to cut something down, even if it isn’t a native orchid the size of my pinkies toe’s nail, you better have a bloody good reason ready and waiting.

So with the wedge in the trunk already half a meter deep thanks to my trusty sledge hammer, and reasonably sure I’ve cut it on the side that most of its canopy is weighted on I position the idling chainsaw and pull the trigger to unleash its controlled destruction anew.

Normally if you were a trained arborist and not an amateur like yours truly, you would be up in the canopy first, with ropes and harnesses and all that shit…but seeing as it’s only me and a paddock, why the fuck bother?

I hear the first ominous *Crack*’s come from the trunk and pressing the chainsaws kill switch, I begin to *squelch* away with gusto, to the uncut side of the towering invader. Mr Tree just hangs on the brink for what seems like an eternity before another much louder *CRACK* is released.

I realize I’ve been holding my breath and release it while the tree teeters before beginning to fall in the planned for direction.

Standing in the sodden green and shin length grass, I marvel at the sheer weight of the thing as it travels, ponderously, in its predetermined arc.

To my left there is a streak of brown. My eyes try to focus on the blurred form, but my view gets blocked as the tree makes landfall with a cacophony of breaking branches and fractured boughs.

Still not quite sure if I was imagining things or not, I drop the chainsaw and scramble unceremoniously toward where the blur disappeared.

When I get closer I see something brown and red beneath the teal trunk as it squirms to get free. Fighting through the downed trees foliage I get to within a meter of the fury brown and red streaked thing.

Coming level with the creatures head I see it is in fact a roo that for some fucking reason ran into the path of the falling tree.

As the blood foams in ragged breaths from its dying mouth and its fearful, pleading gaze meets my own. Freezing in place at the enormity of what my actions have just done to it.

The creature from my countries coat of arms breath is shallower now, its struggling eased to little more than feeble tremors. I’m not sure how long I have sat in the mud near it with my back against the rubber trees bough, but I can feel the cold and damp has already seeped in before I begin to notice my surroundings again.

Still shell-shocked, I try to think of what course of action to take. I could cut it free but the thick branch stuck in its torso means it wouldn’t survive the 20 minute bumpy ass drive to the vet in any case.

There is only one decently humane thing left to do that I can think of.

I have to end its pain.

Hating myself for what I’m about to do but knowing it’s the only way to be quick about it, I go to retrieve my chainsaw.

On the way to it and from it I do my best to keep calm and ignore the taunts as I rebuke myself for not having a knife handy.

Stolen story; please report.

Standing over the impaled herbivore I start the still warm chainsaw first try.

“Now you start you fucking piece o-”

I cut off the angry utterance as I focus on the terrified and still suffering creature, and as the blood and woodchips spatter my googles, I flick the chainsaws kill switch and try not to hyperventilate.

Slumping in almost the same position as before, I engage the breathing techniques one of the psychologists always spouted at me.

‘in 234 hold 234 out 234 hold 234 in 234’

Continuing this until my heart stops trying to escape my ribcage, I chuck away the googles and wipe my tear streaked face with the crook of my arm only to realize to late that I just coated myself in sawdust, woodchips and red furry bits of kanga-

‘in 234 hold 234 out 234 hold 234 in 234’

Ignoring the harangue about how I’m a murderous cunt who doesn’t deserve to live, I reach for Max who’s not there.

‘Fuck I need to get ho-‘

But I can’t finish the thought because the Roo is still moving.

‘What the shit?’

Uncertain if the adrenaline and shock have caused my hallucinations to migrate to the physical, I reach a trembling and bloodied hand toward the headless marsupial.

My shaking stills as I’m weirdly reassured by the fact that the kangaroos lower half is indeed in motion. Afraid to get closer yet unwilling to not find out what the fuck is happening, I edge closer still, despite my earlier breakdown’s and welcome the frankly bizarre distraction.

When I get above the pinned creatures headless body a small head pops out from the red and matted fur of its stomach.

I try to control my reaction, but fail miserably as I trip and fall backwards over a sodden and half buried tree limb. Indifferent to the scratches I receive from the rubber trees foliage I land in, I start shaking again as I frantically try and face the alien monster bursting from the dead corpse, just four feet from me.

After looking at the squirming creature anew, my ragged breathing catches as I realize what the hell it is. The alien which is not an alien is in fact a joey who’s mum I just killed.

‘May a noodley appendage save me!’

Staring dumbly at the baby as it squirms from dead muma’s pouch, I’m in the position of not having a fucking clue what to do once more.

Now that I can see something other than death before me I begin to come up with a plan, but only after I waste precious seconds stopping another panic attack from suffusing me.

Unbuttoning my flannelette shirt I swaddle the joey, uncaring of the gooseflesh that finds my exposed skin. Leaving the chainsaw and its mother’s body behind us, I haphazardly try to squelch-run us to the rust covered Ute I call my ride, parked near the paddocks gate.

Reaching the rust bucket and planting the baby on the passenger side floor between my boots, I turn the key and pray that old Bessie hasn’t given up the ghost just yet.

Her engine coughs to life like the sound of a smoker with emphysema and I jolt into reverse to begin our bumpy journey to the shack I call home underway.

Nervously flicking my gaze to the bouncing joey on the floor beside me I begin to lose a bit of my tension despite called a useless faggot, because I can see home and more importantly Max, through the grubby windscreen.

Stopping and closing Bessie’s door, I reach the gate to the ‘homesteads’ paddock and make to unchain the twin gates when I see another fucking leech has taken root on my forearm to busily suck me dry.

Ripping the little turd off and ignoring the trickle of blood from the fresh wound as it merges with the muddied Roo’s viscera. I unchain the gates and ruffle the ecstatic Max’s furry ears as he barks like an idiot and tries to lick my bloody hand clean.

Shooing the fool of a dog away with a nudge of my leg, he happily bounds up onto the rusty Utes tray and waits for motion to occur with a wildly gyrating tail as his tongue lolls.

Almost forgetting what I’m about, due to my furry friend’s antics, I scour the burgeoning smile from my mug and get back in to the rust bucket to get us all home.

Pulling up short as the wheels skid in the gravel of the shacks poor excuse for a driveway, I scoop up joey and defend him from Max’s well intentioned inspection as barrel into the front door.

Fumbling the keys for a moment I creak open the sticky door with minimal effort and make a b-line for the landline. Grumbling to myself about piss poor mobile reception as I muddle through the mismatch of papers next to the phone whilst looking for the local wildlife sanctuary’s number.

Finding the dog eared card with the number, I refuse to respond to the fresh taunt and tell myself to man the fuck up and make the call.

Now comes the hardest part.

Dealing with people.

My heart rate begins to climb again as I feel short of breath whilst the phone rings out for a third time.

At five rings someone answers in a singsong lilt.

“Hi this is the Wildlife Sanctuary, Karen speaking?”

‘Oh shit its Karen, why did it have to be fucking Karen!?’

I push ahead despite my trepidation.

“Hi, it’s ah, Its Ben here and I have a joey that just lost its mum.”

Silence stretches.

When she finally replies, her voice has lost its pleasant lilt and is now about enticing as bag full of fermented camel dicks.

“So the out of towner has stopped his deforestation effort and grown a heart, has he?”

Did I mention me and Karen have history?

Well we do and it’s along the lines of. ‘Anyone who buys up a farm and doesn’t farm as he chops down trees and accidently hits a few Roos and a wombat with his shitty Ute named Bessie, whilst not wanting to be part of any COMMUNITY FUCKING SEWING CIRCLES OR IS A MONSTER!’

‘in 234 hold 234 out 234 hold 234 in 234’

Well maybe not exactly like that, but its pretty fucking close.

I realize Karen is still on the stone cold silent line and belatedly supply.

“Uh look…I have no experience with kangaroo rescue, so is it alright if I drop the little guy off with you guys?”

Her tone takes on a decidedly snarky inflection as she shoots back.

”Well it certainly is nice to be needed by a high falootin fellow like ya self now isn’t it?”

I almost lose my shit at the condescendingly salty woman, but her next sentence stops me cold.

“You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to the joeys mum now would ya?”

I start to shake as the struggling bloody creature’s fearful gaze plays through my head and almost collapse on the spot, leaning against the wall for support.

Max is pawing at my leg and whining, and my voice starts to crack as I reply.

“L-look, are you gunna help or not?”

The silence on the line stretches again before she replies.

“Fine ya weirdo…bring in the little one and we’ll see what we can do.”

I breathe a loud sigh of relief and then she continues.

“And try not to kill anything else on the way in.”

The line goes dead and I sink against the wall whilst hugging the joey and the whining Max.

I’m not sure when I stopped crying. It was somewhere in between the point where I broke out of the cyclical thought of ‘Everything I touch turns to shit’ and where I was being called a fucking loser.

Looking at my leech wounds that the irrepressible Max can’t help but lick, I remember the need to clean myself, grudgingly forcing my recalcitrant body to get up. On my way to the bathroom I selfishly eyeball my battle station and the escapism it could provide.

Wresting my eyes from it I remind myself to not hide from the more important issue of the struggling joey in my bloodied and saw dusted shirt.

“I guess game therapy will have to wait till we get back huh buddy?” Max barks happily in response.

Letting out a half-hearted laugh at the friendly kelpie, I shoo him out of the bathroom. After which I re-swaddle the joey in an old towel and gingerly place the squirming bundle of cute atop the washing machine, before disposing of my exceedingly dank clothes in short order.

Setting about showering and cleaning myself and the leech bites, I dress the wounds and towel myself off.

Feeling like half a human bean again, I wrap the towel around my nether regions to keep the air at bay and push past the inquisitive Max in a bid to scrounge up some new clothes.

A flash of blue and white light makes me jump in surprise as a monotonic voice speaks:

“Greetings ‘Human’ 00,210,863,731. You have been transferred to a personal elevation re-education session for practical assessment and aptitude testing, please prepare yourself.”

Surrounded by all white and wearing nothing but a towel I begin to freak the fuck out.

‘in 234 hold 234 out 234 hold 234 in 234’