by Rafael S.W.
They packed in silence and although everyone was excited in one way or another, it would almost have seemed rude to talk about excitement. Excitement was for people who knew that what is about to happen is a single moment in a long line of moments. Nina didn’t have many moments left. She wasn’t cute and she wasn’t dying. That was what Nina had heard her father say, and he was right. She wasn’t dying. But everyone had treated her like she was. The class had even made her a card. Her mother, in an effort to be caring, had asked her what she would like before she went to hospital. It wasn’t even extravagant enough to warrant the effort of the Make-A-Wish Foundation; she just wanted to see the snow.
It was autumn. And even in country Victoria, there was rarely snow. They drove to Mt. Buller and as they were driving there Nina’s brother said, “Look! Snow!” but it was only rain. Her father said it would toughen up, not to worry. He took a drink from the thermos and drove with one hand.
Rafael S.W. exists for the glorious stories. He has been giving them out like strange candy for about 11 years. He is studying at RMIT, where he is one of the founding members of their newest secret society- ‘Dead Poets’ Fight Club’. Rafael, the writer of broken-hearted boys and the ocean. Rafael whose soul is electricity and banks.