I stand up and things are kind of funny beneath my feet. The earth presses down, I feel the sink of it, then there's gravel and bitumen and that does the opposite, pushes me up. Our feet scrape across the road and I worry about being run over we're going so slow. We're not getting anywhere quick. Halfway there and the bitumen darkens. We both stand in the middle of the road and look up at the sky. There's a plane up there and the clouds are coming over. Unlike us they're travelling fast, in top speed, and I shiver with the change in temperature. She says it looks like rain, 'Could do with some rain.' The chainsaw stops.

So does everything else. Her head stays looking at the sky, the plane suspended, glittering. Neck all stretched out, and I notice the movement of blood. Her blood's the only thing that's not stationary. How thin her skin looks, a very fat artery. There's a bulge, a blueness, and the smell is overwhelming. I run my tongue along the edge of my teeth, test their sharpness, and I want to get it out, rip her open. I move in closer, reach over, and a ute blasts its horn as it passes. Two sheepdogs hang out the back of the tray barking like crazy, their lips pulled back and showing long skinny teeth. Miss Bradley waves like she's seeing someone off on a holiday, and the pink dust from the side of the road shoots up, settles down.