by Nina Smith
Kat swung the car around and drove slowly out of the city. They travelled in silence onto the highway, passed the turn-off to the rail yards and kept going.
Kat pulled over under a sign that announced they were now leaving Hailstone.
Magda couldn’t take her eyes off the sign. It was the best thing she’d ever seen. “Why did we stop?”
Kat reached into the back and pulled out a paper lantern stretched around a wire frame. “Adam gave me this, years ago, for my birthday,” she said. “See, it holds a wick. Give me your lighter.”
Magda took a lighter from her pocket and handed it over. They got out of the car and walked to the edge of the road. Past the railing, the land dropped away into a steep slope; beyond that, red dirt paddocks rolled away. A silver line of ocean gleamed in the distance. Magda gazed at the view in awe. She’d never dreamed something that beautiful was so close by.
Kat lit the wick and they both placed their hands on the lantern.
“In memory of Adam,” Kat said.
“Adam.”
They both released the lantern. It floated up, up into the clear blue sky, a tiny glow on a bright day.
Then they got back in the car and kept driving.
Magda watched the tiny spot in the sky through her open window until it disappeared.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nina Smith is an avid writer, belly dancer and costume designer who lives in Western Australia with her partner, her son and a menagerie of winged and furry friends.
