Larnook. Monday, 4pm
I look to the sky. I’m waiting for something. But there’s only the sun. It’s winter and
there is, finally, a chill to the air, but the sun is a yellow orb of dessication laying
waste to the land. I don’t look at it. Only fools and presidents look at the sun.
The grass, once green, is brown, and it crumbles into dust as I plod wearily upon it,
carrying a cup of water to the garden. The wind whips around me, carrying away the
dust and sucking the moisture from my lips.
My water tank is the lowest it’s been in years. I climbed the tank this morning, opened
the hatch and looked into the void.
‘Hello’ I cried.
‘Hello, hello, hello…’ came the echo. Despite the emptiness, I smiled. It’s nice to have
company.
I dropped a stone into the tank. It took an age before I heard a splash.
I’ll have to stop watering the mondo grass beside the path and focus on the parsley. I
mean, who cares if you have an attractive bed of mondo grass when the end times
come?
Will Jesus, back again, walk along my path and make pleasant commentary on the
mondo’s luxuriant growth? No, he won’t. Sure, last time around, he was all peace and
love, and probably would have commented on the mondo out of politeness, but for
Jesus II, it’ll be all business, with antichrists and climate change deniers to smite with
his mighty sword. No more Mister Nice Guy.
Depending on where you live, it may not be Jesus who comes a-smitin’ though.
In the Islamic tradition, when there’s terrible corruption and chaos (about now, I
calculate), Mahdi will ride into town on his white stallion, heralding the Day of
Judgement. He’ll fight the false messiah and desert makers – with the help of Jesus –
and win. (Yes, Mahdi and Jesus are a team, like the Avengers.)
Parsley contains a lot of vitamns and will keep you alive even when you wish you
were dead. It really is the end-of- days food. I’m surprised it’s still legal.
I pour my cup of water on the plant. I gently pick a posy of parsley. If it ever rains
again I will plant an acre of it. Promise.
Maybe Mahdi’s white stallion would like to eat some parsley? The end times will be
hot and difficult times, even for holy horses, without a lot of fresh grass available.
White horses feature promininently in the end times. Not only does Mahdi conquer
evil on his white horse, but Vishnu’s final inacrnation, Kalki, rides a white horse into
the call centre on the banks of the Ganges, to signal the end of the chaotic Kali Yuga.
Appalled at the avarice, and ignorance of dharma, Kalki swings his blazing sword
with a fury.
‘Bugger off, Kali’ he shouts. ‘Bugger off, Telstra!’
Go Kalki! Another Avenger.
I hear a sound from above. I look up (but not into the sun). Is it a bird? No, it’s a
plane. Oh…
I wander back into my shack under the cliffs at the end of the world.
These are the end times. Pestilence and plebiscite plague us. I guess that’s why many
of us are retreating into the cool unrealities of the internet, becoming just shadows in
the real world. But we shouldn’t abandon the real world. It needs us. We need to
believe.
My altar is on top of the fridge. I place the bouquet of parsley at the idol’s feet.
I mutter a few holy words: ‘Truth, justice and the sustainable way…’
I push the red button. The idol whirrs into life life, cape fluttering and right arm
rising. It speaks:
‘The world is in danger. This is a job for Superman.’
For four decades The Echo has printed the stories some people loved, some people hated, and some pretended not to read. If you want us to keep telling the truth, the real truth, not the sugar-coated version. We’ll need your support to keep the presses rolling. 
