Ricci Schwarzler – Tent

The crows called in the distance. Waaing their way across the grey green sky. Wha whaaaa.

We were snuggled in the old canvas tent sleeping bags pulled tight around our necks, beanies on to ward off the winter chills rising out of the ground and whisping around the trees. The silence settled in as birds also snuggled down for the evening. Albeit without their sleeping bags.

The moon wandered its way across the sky. The green foretold of hail.

‘Bloody hell, will this old thing handle hail?’

My partner in crime raised his beanie above his eyes and stared at me.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just what I said. The tent was your great, great grandfather’s.’

‘Oh.’

‘Just get to sleep.’

‘But Mum, what will we do?’

‘We’ll work it out.’

We both nodded off to sleep after contemplating how exactly the tent would fare.

RUMBLE, CRACK!

‘Oh.’

Pitter, patter.

‘Oh well, maybe it will not actually hail.’

Louder, SMACK, SMACK!

‘OH. That’s the hail,’ my partner whines.

‘It’ll be fine.’

Then my partner-in-camping yelled out,

‘OW, that hit me in the head.’

It’s fine I answered, wondering what to do if more bits came through.

SMACK, SMACK, OUCH.

‘Oh hell mum what will we do?’

‘Okay they aren’t hitting me yet so let’s see if it stops soon.’

‘Muuumm’

Then SMACK on my head. I turn on the torch and look up. The tent is getting pelted. Holes appear.

‘MUM!’

Then the whole fabric gives way in tatters.

SMACK, SMACK, OUCH

‘MUM! COME ON, we need to do something.’

‘Okay let’s leave everything.’

‘ EVERYTHING?’

‘YES, let’s just sprint for the back door. It’s unlocked.’