The Flying Emu, by Tahlia See

you to make sure my friend is remembered, that our friendship is remembered.

My spirit simply cannot rest until I find you, I've been trotting around for HOURS, I’ve even gotten red swells on my donkey hooves. Didn’t think that would happen when I reached this point in my existence, so I’m hoping this letter will finally reach you. Oh, and I’ve also just realised you really have no clue what I’m banging on about, sorry it’s been a while. Here we goSomehow, I’ve ended up in Anzac Cove, I can see the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps pebbled along the ocean line. The shock of the dead and injured soldiers spread across the cove never goes away and I do believe that witnessing death changes all creatures. Each time I feel a decaying body sprawled on the hump of my back, my eyes get a little darker and my heart sinks a little deeper. These dark thoughts only visit me at night, but they fade off into the mountains of Gallipoli when I feel Simpson pat my head and rub my fur with his large, blistered, dirty hand. But this time, I can't find him. I see soldiers looking around and inspecting me, it must be a strange sight to see a donkey without its owner, after all, we are pretty useless animals.

I trot around looking for Simpson, I poke my nose into tent after tent. I plod along and stick my big snout into a white red cross tent, I look inside inquisitively. To my shock and excitement I lay eyes on a jenny with long, ash grey legs, she’s standing there with her head held high. Wow, she has long eyelashes, oops, I’ve made a noise. I see this beautiful creature turn towards me, “What are you doing here Duffy?” she says accusatorily. I take a minute to compose myself, activating my donkey charm. “Well I guess I don’t have to introduce myself, as you already know my name. What’s your name beautiful lady?” I blink my eyes two times, attempting to be subtle with a hint of chivalry, but I’m sure it looks as though a fly has made a home in the socket of my left eyeball. “Tootsie, my name’s Tootsie, and don’t

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even think about staying here long, these are my humans and MY sick soldiers, so please do trot along.” Sometimes I forget the ear aching noises we must make to humans because suddenly Tootsie gets a large whack to her withers. “Stupid donkeys!” I hear a soldier mutter.

Laid down beside Tootsie is a young man, he couldn’t be over 17, through the watercolour of sweat and blood on his temple I could just make out his youthful eyes. As a donkey I guess I have a natural affection for these humans, I can see what once was and what will never be again. His blue eyes are painted red, and I can see what he has seen, I hear men crying, screaming for their mothers, envision decapitated legs and hands gone rotten -“all went lame; all blind drunk with fatigue”. “Hey, get out of it!” I feel a large force hit me in the barrel, it’s the Lieutenant Colonel. Suddenly cold, metal buckles are being wrapped around my body and what I think must be a muzzle is strapped to my face. The next thing I know I'm walking beside Tootsie, she is clearly not too happy about this as she aggressively rushes in front of me. I try my hardest not to get in her way. Plus if I walk behind her that leaves a pretty nice view….”Ouch!” I neigh. It’s as if she can tell what I’m thinking as her hind legs give me a large, sexy kick to my face. I roll my eyes and look around, where is Simpson? I don’t like this I thought, he never put a muzzle on me. I hear a noise, I can sense Tootsie hears it too. We both stop and stick our hooves into the sand, I feel the soldiers hitting me from the sides, yelling at me calling me stupid and stubborn. Simpson never did this, he trusted my instincts and understood that to humans' great dismay we can hear and feel things these soldiers simply can't. They hit Tootsie and me, but we do not move. Lieutenant Colonel gets off my back and walks ahead of us, he’s trying to show us everything is fine, he thinks we are scared. I yell “Get back, get back!” he responds to my cry for his safety by putting his large hands to his ears

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imploring me to shut up. Quicker than I could process what had happened the Lieutenant was on the ground, his heavy body sinking into the hot Turkish sand. A red patch was spreading through his uniform, running down his shirt like a river, flowing down while overpowering him. Stupid, stubborn donkeys I think, yeah right. I try to start a conversation with Tootsie, I begin with what I think is an original pick-up line, at least this is what I had heard from the soldiers' gossip sessions, “So Tootsie, how long have you been in service?” No response, okay, be cool Duffy. “Erh huh, maybe you didn’t hear me, that’s ok, sometimes it's hard to hear out here, it can get a bit loud..” “No I heard you, I just don’t care or feel the need to talk to you.” Wow, that was way too harsh. I’ve gotten used to it, most of the other donkeys aren’t the biggest fans of mine. I’ve been in service the longest and I’m the longest standing military donkey at Gallipoli. I was even in a newspaper once, I’ve saved the most lives and I have the shiniest hair. I think I’ll leave Tootsie alone for a bit, let her lick her wounds of disappointment. Hours go by and we are yet to pick up any wounded soldiers, not that we haven’t seen any of our friends, sorry, not friends, soldiers just soldiers. Simpson once told me to be careful who you make an emotional connection with as you might lose them sooner than you can realise you care. But the soldiers that lay on the ground before us were dead, gone forever. I heave myself over a hill and I look down below to see a familiar landscape. My head suddenly starts to throb and an image forms in front of my eyes. I see Simpson and me, we are alone in Shrapnel Gully with just one wounded soldier on my back. A dark cloud covers the image and I remember. I didn’t think this happened to donkeys, what the hell. A donkey with PTSD, wow, that’s one for the ages. As I look down in the present moment to Shrapnel Gully I remember what happened and I feel water begin to stream from my eyes. It must look similar to what happens to the soldiers when they read their letters from

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home, they try to conceal their tears from the rest of the troop but we see. We always see. Simpson and I were bombarded by Turkish men, the wounded soldier was screaming but I stayed very calm for Simpson. The wounded soldier was shot first and Simpson jumped on my back and kicked me to go, I ran as fast as I could back up the hill to get back to the cove. But it was at some point during this gallop that I heard multiple gunshots, it sounded like a machine gun and a perfect human-weight left my back. But I remember I kept running back to Anzac cove. Why was I just remembering this and how many days had gone past? None of this mattered now because when I saw this place again I bucked one of the nameless soldiers off my back and galloped down, I could hear Tootsie screaming at me but her voice sounded terribly, terribly distant. To be honest I was running into my death, overwhelmed with the guilt of dropping my only friend off my back, leaving him alone. I kept running and running and I saw a body with the same uniform and figure as Simpson. Somewhere along the line just before I got to him and just as I expected an enemy soldier mistook my desperation to reach my owner as an attack from the opposition and set off a bullet into the sky, aligned for my temple. And suddenly I imagine myself back with Simpson, he is hugging me and we are lying down together next to one of the fires we often made. He understands me and my softness, he understands my stubbornness for his safety and the two of us eventually become part of the same flame, burning up into the sky and into the stars. So there you have it, emotional, right? Perhaps you are slightly teary by now and I wouldn’t blame you. Hopefully, you have some tissues on your oak desk, that’s where I imagine you sitting, reading this. To be blunt, Simpson is gone and so am I, and with that our story. But it cannot be forgotten and it is up to you to ensure this. Write about what we saw, what we felt. Turn our death into life. Write a poem

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about the futility of death and the anguish of the soldiers. Incorporate me if you must, but mostly focus on my Simpson, I am just a stubborn donkey after all. Warm Regards, Duffy.

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THE FLYING EMU

Soul of Emu

Died 1932, Australia By Tahlia See

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