Headspace

• Shannan Stewart, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2010

A ray of light shone through the dusty blinds early on Tuesday morning into the cramped bedroom of Michael Brock. Michael was a skinny, scruffy man who was lost in the world. A regular job, a regular house and a regular car. Michael Brock was just a regular guy with a sneaking suspicion in the back of his mind, that there was supposed to be something more to his life.
With a groan, he slipped out of bed, shuddering as his warm toes melted onto the cold floor. Bringing his hand up to his face, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and made his way clumsily into the kitchen, where he ate alone, then got dressed.
“Another day at the office”, he mumbled, clambering into his ordinary car.
Twenty minutes had passed when a loud bang ripped through the air. Michael pulled over to inspect the damage. Getting out of the car, he cursed under his breath, is heart sank when he saw a flat tyre. Now he would be late for his regular job and may very well be fired. Up went his regular car, the jack wobbled, threatening to drop its load. With a struggle, the flattened and disheartened tyre gave in and came off, bounced and rolled into the bush along the roadside.
“Hey!” he shouted as he chased the rogue tyre.
Through bushes and shrubs they went until the trees cleared and a pond came into view. Thud! The tyre met a tree and came to a rest. Many others would just walk past the clearing, without a second look, but there was something about this place that pulled Michael. He slowly sat down near the tyre to catch his breath, he lay back with his hands behind his head. It didn’t take long before Michael fell asleep and his worries melted away.
Michael stirred shortly after and sat up smiling, he looked into the pond and saw his pristine reflection. Looking at his watch, he jumped to his feet and sprinted frantically back to his regular car.
He managed to put the spare wheel on and drove carefully to his ordinary job. His fears were realised when he was unceremoniously fired.
“Please John I’m begging you, don’t do this to me”, he pleaded. But it was no use. With his head hung low, he got back into his car and drove home. “What else can this world throw at me?” he thought with glazed eyes.
Michael Brock had failed again, this had been the story of his life so far. When Michael arrived home, he had no appetite and went straight to bed, crying into his pillow.
Something woke Michael suddenly, sitting upright, he panted heavily. He was at the pond again, sitting next to his regularly flat tyre. He looked around and then at his watch, it was still Tuesday. How can this be?