War/Peace. Matthew Vandenberg

each key a tiny tramp, so smooth, delicate, soft, a single letter in cursive, fine and romantic, which she wrote for Romeo one cold winter's day.

      'You got my letter?' Stephanie whispers, turning to face me. 'Sorry I couldn't come out. Someone might see.'

      'That's ok,' I say. I walk over to her and place one hand on her cheek. 'I meant to visit sooner. I was busy. But now I'm here because . . . I'm stranded. I was in the south when the links between north and south were severed, when the war began so to speak. Now I can't get back. Can't even call my parents on the cell.'

      'My God! Are you ok? How did you get here, to the west?'

      'Hitched it.'

      'You what? You could have been killed. That N on your wrist is so prominent.'

      'Well, I'm here,' I say with a shrug. 'I need a place to stay.'

      'I . . . can't . . .'

      'No no no. I don't mean yours. I would never ask that of you. There has to be a safe-haven somewhere. I was thinking of going to Bondi but I don't know what I'm going to do when I get there. Will I just imprison myself in a house somewhere and remain there until the war is over like I'm Anne Frank? I really need to know about what's going on. Like – I need you to tell me everything you know.'

      'I don't even know what I know anymore,' Stephanie states. 'I just know I know little.'

      'I know. But the cause, the reason for the war, you must know. There has to be a reason, a proper reason. Why are there crocodiles in the harbor for Christ's sake?'

      'The American troops deployed them.'

      'American troops!?'

      'Please. Sit down. It's complicated.'

      'I can stay for a while?'

      'Of course you can. No one's here just now, not that I know of. Look: I've just published a paper. It's in some American magazines that you can't purchase in Australia, especially not now. I detail what I believe to be the causes.'

      'Crocodiles?' I press.

      'Ok look. We're in the south, of course. Sydney has been divided in two, the north separated and cut off from the south. To keep the peace the Americans deployed crocodiles into the polluted harbor waters. How do you know anyway?'

      'I was there. A couple hours ago I was there, standing right next to the bridge.'

      'Oh my God! Are you serious? How badly is it damaged?'

      'It's down,' I say. 'The link is severed. It's a complete wreck. Look, how did the Americans get involved? I don't get it.'

      'You're a protestant, right? I'm surprised you don't know.'

      'I'm from the north, that's all. I'm not a Catholic. If that makes me a Protestant then I guess I am.'

      'Well Protestants generally believe in unionism. They want to maintain legal, economic and political links with the United States of America. I'm sure you saw the Wal*Mart's in the north, north of Hornsby you'll see plenty. There you can buy American food, like Reese's bars – I miss them - , and pop CD's from the US, and' – Stephanie shakes her head – 'nuclear weapons. They say the device that they used to take down the Harbour Bridge was purchased at a Wal*Mart store, just like how a heavy coat placed on a coat hanger will cause it to snap. The reason behind this, we believe, is that the north fears the south will eventually form a majority in their region, in the northern areas, and that the promotion of Catholicism will lead to the willful destruction of the Wal*Mart stores by northerners and southerners alike and that eventually citizens will be forbidden, banned, from purchasing anything of American origin, and denied the right to freedom of speech. Catholics of the south want to re-unify New South Wales. Unfortunately they have stores which are quite similar to Wal*Mart: Bunnings stores, run by scrupulous Catholics who think of nothing but vengeance. Bunnings also stocks weapons of mass destruction.'

      'But the north has had Wal*Mart stores for ages, and the south Bunnings. Why is there conflict all of a sudden? We were all getting along just fine.'

      'The north has always received more funding from the United States Government than the south because those who live in the north generally have poorer standards of health, need to pay more for basic necessities, have lower earnings, and poorer housing, and are less likely to have steady jobs. They need the money. Or' – Stephanie scratches her head – 'rather, they “needed” the money. Now it simply goes towards defense. Just like the United States, almost a quarter of the northern budget goes towards defense, in this case defense against us – those who inhabit the south-side.'

      'Shit!'

      'Yeah. So I don't see no end to the conflict anytime soon. But you're right: there is indeed an area of Bondi, and a few areas around Bankstown, where north-siders are not discriminated against. I'm not sure exactly where but . . . I'm sure you'll find it. I'm really sorry I can't drive you.'

      'It's ok,' I stress.

      'Please stay the night,' Stephanie requests.

      ******

      References

      1 Someday – Nickelback

      2 Mrs. Robinson – Simon and Garfunkel OR Paul Simon

      3 Mosh – Eminem

      4 Barricade – Interpol

      5 The Way It Is – Bruce Hornsby

      6 The article referred to by Stephanie is an adaptation of: Cairns, E., & Darby, J. (1998). The Conflict in Northern Ireland: Causes, Consequences, and Controls. American Psychologist, 53(7), 754-760. [The Conflict in Southern Sydney].

      SHELLY FREEMAN – 12:10am - December 17 - 2011

      'Just inhale, naturally, with your mouth closed,' Hayley says, extending her arm. A small patch rests on her tight and shiny skin, just below the elbow. 'It's a nicotine patch that smells like that number one Rivers fragrance, so fine and just 5 at your nearest Rivers store.'

      'Huh?'

      'Never mind. It help me quit. But not this one, not this particular patch. My girlfriend had one on her arm, it smelled like strawberries and cream, tasted like strawberries-cum-kiwi, you follow?'

      I shake my head.

      'Never mind. The point is that you can fight an addiction by making love. There is nothing love cannot cure. You love me, right?'

      'As a friend, yeah. You smell so nice.'

      'Really. That's just my skin, mostly. It's all sticky now, feel.'

      I run two fingers along Hayley Williams' arm: she cringes as though the tips of my fingers are those of tattoo pens.

      'Are you tired?' Hayley asks. 'We can lie down. We'll say we just fell. That's all. We fell straight into each others' arms. Straight.'

      I take a deep breath as Hayley takes a hand of mine in hers: 'It's ok,' Hayley says. 'This is a daydream.'

      'The words for “sin” and “daydream” are sin-ilar in Russian,' I state. Then I shrug: 'Does that mean we mustn't daydream?'

      'Sin-ilar. That's so cute'.

      'Nice breath,' I say. 'Yeah. I can lie next to you. Maybe just for practice, that's all. For when I sleep with a guy one day.'

      'Shelly, you think too much. That's good, but try affective appraisal, just once. I'm your idol holding your hand, ok. You're lying on a naked, soft cloud. You're totally safe. You can't sin, I've got you. You won't drown. Breathe, deep breaths.'

      'I can't just do anything.'

      'You're dreaming Shelly. You can. Make me lose my breath. Just hit the button once, one tiny button. Nothing to it.'

      'You'll push me away because dreams are wish-fulfillments and I'm still not sure I want to . . .'

      'Then rape me: press a small, slim pinky to my clitoris. It's fine Shelly, you're a beautiful angel any guy or