The Road To Ophir

By Adam Kilby

There's nowhere for some men to go, like a man with a forty-two year old back and one word carved into his forehead, one word that makes men lift their guns and say go. There's nowhere for that man to go but that tinpot boilerhouse where the trouble began, but he has to stop sometime, some place where there's heat and he can be easy. And he'll tell his story but he'll only tell it once, he can't help but change the details if he tells it twice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adam Kilby
• Release date: Jun 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476003924

Adam Kilby

In a previous life, not so long ago, I won mentorships with the Australian Society of Authors and the Australian Horror Writers Association and I've been lucky enough to see my Little Red Ute children's books published by Scholastic Australia.

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The road to Ophir

By Adam Kilby

Copyright 2012 Adam Kilby

Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1

So I turned off the road to Ophir and I stopped the car after the letterbox with the cow's horns but before the creek and I sat there, just sat there, wondering what the hell I was doing until the smell of the gravel got into my nose and the windscreen misted over from my breathing. I got out of the car and I sucked in my breath because it was cold, so cold I could feel my balls turning into ovaries. The sky was low and grey and there was no wind, thank God, whoever, so I stood by my car until a wind kicked up, chilling the teeth I knew needed filling, while I held the key in my hand, thinking should I lock the car or shouldn't I. So I stood there, just stood there, thinking, arse turned to the wind, and I weighed everything up, the pros and the cons and it all came down to the same thing, that I was no better off or worse off than I'd ever been, wherever I stood or whoever drove my car, so I shoved the key deep into my pocket and I swore out loud because it was cold, so fucking cold, off the road to Ophir.

I started walking, not far, just back to the letterbox with the cow's horns and I thought here's a chance, here's a guy with a sense of humour and as I walked I thought shit, maybe he has got a sense of humour, maybe he'll shut the door the door in my face, literally in my face so I'm picking the splinters out of my nose because that's his idea of a joke, that's how funny some bastards are, but you have to put up with that sort of stuff, it's not easy to get a job, not even off the road to Ophir when your crime is written across your forehead. But I walked on and as I walked I kicked a rock, a big rock, but I didn't mean to, it was just there. If I'd seen it I'd have stepped over it or around it, maybe picked it up and jammed it in my pocket so I could smash it in the face of the funny guy who thinks it's funny to put big rocks on their driveway and then slam splinters into the poor unemployed guy's face, the guy who can't get a job because of his goddamn tattoo, didn't pay a fucking thing, didn't have to, and his goddamn temper but no - I just swore at that rock, at that goddamn fucking rock and I walked on, a little limpily, not much, just a little, and as I walked I said easy, easy, easy until I was easy like that song, easy like a Sunday morning in some place nowhere near Ophir, some place I could pull my fucking sleeves down and sweat a little.

So I walked a little quicker to warm myself up, with my head down so that I didn't kick any more rocks, my toes weren't as numb as they'd been and the ache was kicking in but I held my tongue, I didn't say anything until the boy of the house said stop, who are you, what do you want and then I looked up and the boy said oh. Shit. And he watched me walk past him, watched my back as I walked on, looked down at the ground quickly when I turned around, misty breath colouring the grey hills beyond.

A wired fence ran either side of the driveway, fibrous strands from some person, some boy's flannelette shirt, waving like flags from the barbs. A filthy brown sheep poked its nose through the fence, dirt-crusted eyes saying pat me, love me, build me a fire, but I walked on, up the two steps and onto the verandah and I didn't have to knock because the boss was there, looking out through the screening at me and there was a heater inside, not a fire, I'd have seen the smoke from the road, smelt it even, but there was no smoke, no crack or pop of the knots exploding and falling to the ash but that didn't matter either way, not to me.

The boss looked me up and down and ran through all the scenarios in his head, he could have run but he must have figured I could bust through the screen door as easily as he could bust out, that the wooden door behind it would be harder