{"id":1930,"date":"2017-10-25T14:19:28","date_gmt":"2017-10-25T01:19:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/?p=1930"},"modified":"2019-07-12T12:06:39","modified_gmt":"2019-07-12T00:06:39","slug":"winning-climate-change-creative-writing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/2017\/10\/25\/winning-climate-change-creative-writing\/","title":{"rendered":"Winning climate change creative writing"},"content":{"rendered":"

We are delighted to bring you the winning short story in our Still Waving Climate Action Creative Writing competition.\u00a0 From a very strong field, this is the piece chosen by our judges, creative writing lecturers Dr Ingrid Horrocks and Dr Jack Ross, as the outstanding item.\u00a0 To read others of the top items, click here<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"Image<\/a><\/p>\n

Grass Still Grows<\/strong><\/p>\n

By Sharron McKenzie<\/p>\n

Marianne pulled the cover over the printing press, and packed the last of the slim volumes in the bags on the floor. The nagging ache in her gut gave a sharp twinge as she bent down. Indigestion, she told herself, but she knew it wasn\u2019t. Knowing did no good, anyway. No more chemo, no more wonder drugs. There hadn\u2019t been a shipment of any drugs from overseas in years. These days, if you couldn\u2019t make it locally, you went without.<\/p>\n

She slung a bag over each shoulder and shuffled down the hallway, smiling at Mrs Niroshan, who was tiredly walking back and forth trying to quiet the baby. Behind the closed door of the second bedroom she could hear raised voices. At least the authorities were only sending her one refugee family at a time these days, while they waited for their place on the inland convoys. There had been times when she\u2019d packed up to eighteen people into her three bedroom house.<\/p>\n

Melba greeted Marianne with a loud \u201cMeeeehhhh!\u201d from her stall in the garage. The goat shifted impatiently as Marianne attached the carrier bags to her harness.<\/p>\n

\u201cDude,\u201d she said to the goat, as they walked out to the street. \u201cWhere\u2019s my driver-less car?\u201d<\/p>\n

Melba knew the answer to that one. \u201cMeee!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGoats go where goats want to go. I don\u2019t think that counts as driver-less!\u201d<\/p>\n

She could feel warmth in the wind from the east, bringing a swampy stench with it. And barely spring yet, Marianne thought. The mosquitoes would be hatching in the brackish marsh that covered the remains of eastern Christchurch.<\/p>\n

She could hear high pitched giggles as two little boys played in the water-filled pothole that spanned half the street, conducting a naval \"closeup<\/a>battle with tiny ships made from flax stems. Dot\u2019s granddaughter was hanging out washing in her front yard as Marianne passed, singing in a pure high soprano.<\/p>\n

Rain still falls and the grass still grows,<\/em><\/p>\n

Boy sees girl, you know how it goes.<\/em><\/p>\n

Dot was leaning on the gate watching the kids, and Marianne stopped, yanking at Melba\u2019s rope when she tried to sample a roadside patch of cabbages.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere,\u201d Dot said. \u201cI saved some carrot tops. Did you hear about the latest reading? 10.73 metres! I always wanted a seaside property.\u201d She never seemed to tire of that joke.<\/p>\n

\u201cBetter get that bikini ready,\u201d Marianne countered, as she always did, and Dot cackled happily. The truth was there were no more beaches. There was no edge to the ocean any more. It had gulped down half the city, and vomited back a swamp of stinking mud and twisted wreckage.<\/p>\n

The last ten years had been a frantic race against the tide to render down buildings and infrastructure to their constituent parts. Everything of possible use, including topsoil and trees was removed by the Locust Army, to be loaded onto the electric trucks travelling inland, to the new cities. Fairlie, Ranfurly, and even sleepy Naseby, had been transformed as the coastal refugees fled to higher ground.<\/p>\n

Melba plodded around the corner, a carrot top dangling from her lips. Marianne let the goat pull her along, thinking back over the years. When was it? Was there one particular day? That day we finally realised things were never going to get better?<\/em><\/p>\n

There were those pictures on th\"\"<\/a>e news, back when they still got television broadcasts. That shaky video shot with a phone from the last plane to leave Kiribati. The crowds pressing against the chain link fence at the airport. The wave of brown water churned up by the plane\u2019s wheels as it moved down the runway. The view of that young woman below, waist deep in the swirling water, holding up her baby over her head, mouth open in a silent O as the plane lifted away. Was it then, when the first nation drowned? Or had they still thought something could be done?<\/p>\n

Was it the summer the farmers built pyres of black and white carcasses, sending columns of stinking smoke rising up from the plains, after the ships stopped coming and the dairy industry collapsed?<\/p>\n

Was it the winter that the flood waters covered south Dunedin, the Hutt Valley and Greymouth, and never receded?<\/p>\n

Or that summer the meteorologists added new colours to their temperature maps, and half of Australia went up in flames? Or the autumn that the first F6 hurricane hit the Caribbean joined up?<\/p>\n

Was it the neo-dengue fever epidemic of 2037, or Black Tuesday when the banks went down for good?<\/p>\n

Or that one terrible night when a dirty bomb rendered Sydney uninhabitable. And then likewise Chicago, Los Angeles, Tel Aviv, Manchester\u00a0and Marseilles? Or the vicious twelve day war that turned both North and South Korea into radioactive wastelands, and the last frantic flailing \u2018accidental\u2019 missile strikes that took out Japan and half the coastal cities of China?<\/p>\n

Marianne shook her head. Maybe it was a different day for everyone who\u2019d lived through the last twenty five years. She tied Melba to a post outside the old supermarket, now filled with a combination farmer\u2019s market and traveling garage sale. A hand painted sign in the window of the old pharmacy offered \u201cBooks, Drugs and News for Sale. Gossip for Free.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marianne stuck her head in the door. \u201cHey, Sam,\u201d she said. \u201cGot a fresh batch for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMarianne, lovely to see you,\u201d Sam said, stepping outside to help her carry the bags inside. He laid the slim volumes on the counter, one hand absently scratching the lumpy melanoma on his left ear.<\/p>\n

\u201cDiphtheria, symptoms and treatment,\u201d he read slowly. \u201dWhat else have we got here? Goat husbandry, compost toilet construction, Ross River virus, radio operation and repair. Excellent. Riveting reading as always, Marianne.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least I achieved my life\u2019s ambition,\u201d she said, with mock hauteur. \u201cI am a published author, with sales in the hundreds.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe should have a book launch party.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes, with wine, and those little canapes on silver trays!\u201d<\/p>\n

Sam laughed. \u201cI really don\u2019t know where I\u2019d get the smoked salmon and crackers.\u201d He took out a small notepad and added up some figures.<\/p>\n

\u201cWith what you brought me today, here\u2019s what you have to spend. What can I get for you?\u201d<\/p>\n

She was looking out the window at the hills. \u201cSomething from the back room. I need 200 mg of morphine, Sam.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, my dear,\u201d he said. \u201cSo soon?\u201d<\/p>\n

She avoided his eyes. \u201cNot yet. But I\u2019d like to be ready. I don\u2019t know how much longer I\u2019ll be mobile.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked at her for a moment longer, then turned and unlocked the door behind the counter. He returned with a small plastic container.<\/p>\n

\u201cSend word when it\u2019s time,\u201d he said, coming with her to the door. \u201cI\u2019ll come around.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will,\u201d she promised. \u201cI\u2019ve put some books aside for you.\u201d\"Springtime<\/a><\/p>\n

Outside, Melba had finished the carrot tops and was chewing on her lead rope, a thoughtful expression on her face.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, you silly goat,\u201d Marianne said. \u201cLet\u2019s go to the park and you can have grass for lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMeh,\u201d Melba said, agreeably.<\/p>\n

Marianne looked up at the green hills as they walked. Rain still falls and the grass still grows, she thought. Maybe I have not had that one particular day yet.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We are delighted to bring you the winning short story in our Still Waving Climate Action Creative Writing competition.\u00a0 From a very strong field, this is the piece chosen by our judges, creative writing lecturers Dr Ingrid Horrocks and Dr Jack Ross, as the outstanding item.\u00a0 To read others of the top items, click here. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":14,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[101,1,13,66],"tags":[184],"class_list":["post-1930","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-events","category-expressive-arts-subject","category-theatre","category-wellington-campus-campus","tag-climate-change-theatre-action"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1930","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/14"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1930"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1930\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1967,"href":"https:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1930\/revisions\/1967"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1930"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1930"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.massey.ac.nz\/expressivearts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1930"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}