“Jimmy, keep practicing that paradiddle, loud and in time.” It was up to the boy now. Dave lay back exhausted.
The boy banged that hollow log, eyes closed, finding comfort in the rhythm.
He played and played, his cheeks wet with tears.
The rescuers heard the call.
Was Dave alive?
Feeling optimistic after the success of her first submission, Anmari decided not to kill Dave off.
It was handwritten, the song on her son’s unmade bed. The lyrics flowed. There were verses, a chorus, and guitar chords.
She googled snippets. No matches. She was amazed and impressed. He was only thirteen.
It began with ‘Save me’ and ended – well, it ended.
She was scared, so scared.
Anmari lives in Sydney. She writes more in her head than makes it onto paper. She is scared of what might come out, but is taking small steps and getting braver every day.