A Punctured Region – Jas Saunders

A Punctured Region

Like Vance Joy, Jas saunDeRs is also scared of dentists, the dark, pretty girls and starting conversations.

“Ladies, gentlemen, boys and girls, I welcome you to tonight’s Cycling for Contributions 2072 – and I have a real show lined up for you tonight!”

The hearty echo boomed through the room as the audience roared and cheered. The presenter bounded upon the stage like a leash-less puppy, buzzed on the adrenaline that I wished I had. I watched him flash his pearly whites to the audience, so close to the edge of the platform that I thought he would fall right off. He didn’t. He was a professional, entertaining them, prancing about in bright blue, platformed boots.

“As always, I’m your host, Kallix Hesper and these,” the presenter roared, pointing to me and the other participants behind him, “are your kind-hearted, charitable Samaritans for our 38th anniversary of this event!”

I gulped, thankful that my clip-on microphone didn’t project it to the entire room. My heart was in my mouth. Not a single seat was empty - I couldn’t let the audience down. I felt boxed in by the royal purple curtains bracketing the stage, like a small child performing for a school assembly. My eyes floated around the room - they stopped on Meredith. She flashed me her best attempt at a reassuring smile. We hadn’t been dating long, but after eight years of friendship, she knew most of my mannerisms and anxious tics inside out. It wasn’t my idea to participate in this event. Perhaps if I had anything to blame, it would be her loving encouragement – as much as it pained me to do so. She’d attempted to style her hair to match the eccentricity of the other crowd members, with a handful of glitter sprinkled in. I was pretty impressed with how it looked since I couldn’t style my own.

In the rest of the crowd, I could see the families of the other four contestants. My heart went out to them. It was cruel that we were competing against each other, when all we wanted was to win for our families’ sake. However, I was reassured to see that they were country people too. Maybe we weren’t as ostracised as we thought; maybe the city folk actually not only needed us but respected and actually cared about us.

I wasn’t nervous just because of the crowd and the cameras pointed onto me, but because of the IV drip piercing my chest. Just in case of

Art by Pauline WonG.

accidents, the nurse who injected it had said, but that didn’t hearten me. Something about it made me uneasy.

“The goal is simple,” Kallix boomed. “Our fastest sin-bike cyclist will have their kilometres ridden matched to money for their families. Who will ride the fastest and the furthest?”

I stifled a groan. I hadn’t trained enough for this, let alone watched the show in years. I had no idea what to expect. I felt like an octogenarian compared to the other riders down the line. They would certainly raise more money than me. Their muscles bulged through tight shirts on the verge of splitting, honed from farm labour. My own attire revealed only scrawny, gangly limbs. There was no strength to be gained in supplying textiles from my sheep. I was tall for a woman here, without the need of the city’s highheeled footwear, but I had never felt so small until tonight.

I snapped out of my daydream as I saw Kallix signal. The sequined tassels of his sleeve swayed wildly, glistening like the rubies only the rich could afford and took as their own from our mining towns. I used my frustration to push the pedals as hard as I could. Overindulging do-nothings… they wouldn’t know a day of hard work and physical labour if it hit them. They had used us for far too long. They lived in cities, with all the technology and resources they needed. We were the cows they milked. They abused their power with flashy clothes and gadgets, and shiny false promises to look after us traders. I had to win this, for Meredith, for a comfortable summer when yarn season was quiet.

IT WAS ALMOST THE SOUND OF A WATER bALLOON THROWN ONTO THE PAVEMENT, LIkE WE’D DONE AS kIDS TO kEEP COOL.

I rode to the rhythm of my heartbeat, steady and comforting – something that I knew best. The others around me, however, rode manically, wildly. It made sense: when I met them tonight, I learnt of their families, small children to care for. I paused to catch my breath. I panted for only a second when I heard the first one.

SPLAT!

It was almost the sound of a water balloon thrown onto the pavement, like we’d done as kids to keep cool. My eyes darted towards the first cyclist, his eyes bulging at the pool of blood on his chest. The crowd applauded as the dark red liquid danced wildly through the IV drip. It took a second for us to realise what was taking place – his heart had burst, pushed to the limit by exertion.

SPLAT! SPLAT!

Two others averted their eyes to their chests. Their mouths widened in anguished pain. Red painted their shirts too. SPLAT!

The fourth farmer, the last before me, let out a cry like a hunted, wild animal. The city folk cried, crocodile tears compared to the country families beside them. I waited for my own heart to burst. It only seemed to pound harder, like knocking frantically on a door for refuge. I waited and I waited, eyes locked on Meredith’s anguished face. I gripped my handles tighter.

Kallix broke the silence. Walking over to me, he grabbed my arm, waving it in the air defiantly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, wasn’t I right about tonight? Thank you to our cyclists for their brave contributions; now we have all the fresh country blood needed for the season!”