The Sky So Heavy by Claire Zorn

my lungs. I started to cry. I let myself because I couldn’t cry in front of Max. I cried for the year sevens that scrambled to get on the bus. I cried for Lucy and my school and Lokey and Mr Effrez. I had never felt the merciless roll of time like I did then. The pull of it, always in one direction. No going back. I wanted to fall onto my knees and howl but I knew that I would do that and then I’d stand up again and I’d have to keep going and nothing would be any different. But I did let myself cry. I didn’t bother to wipe the tears away, I let them go. I imagined that the moment they hit the cold ground, their warmth would melt the snow for just a fraction of a second before they became part of it.
    I looked up the road toward the highway, the route my bus used to take to school, the way out. The red bricks of some of the houses stood out stubbornly against the cover of grey. I made my way past Starvos’ shop. Posters advertising Cornettos and Pura milk and a scratch and match Coca-Cola competition popped colour. Above the shop the blinds were drawn across the windows of Starvos’ flat.
    There was no plan. I didn’t know where I was going, I guess I thought I’d just keep walking until I saw somebody else, someone who might give me some food. I trudged, eyes searching the blank façade of each house. And then I saw it, further up the street. Someone closing the roller door of their garage. Walking up their path, opening the front door.
    ‘Wait!’ I ran toward the house. ‘Wait!’
    Of course they heard me. There was no other sound. The figure looked over his shoulder. I jogged toward him, up the driveway.
    It was Arnold Wong.
    I stopped. ‘Hey,’ I said quietly.
    Arnold Wong didn’t say anything. He looked at me. In his left hand was one of those green enviro bags. Whatever was in it looked heavy.
    ‘Um, I’m Fin,’ I said slowly.
    ‘I know who you are.’
    ‘Okay, cool, it’s just I wasn’t sure if . . . okay.’
    ‘What do you want?’
    ‘Can I talk to you for a second?’
    The look on his face served to highlight the fact that I was already talking to him whether he liked it or not.
    ‘I live just down the street, round the corner, down the hill, Bellbird . . . um, look, do you know where I can find some food? We’re out. It’s just my brother and me. And our neighbour’s little girl.’
    He looked at me, expressionless. ‘Come inside,’ he said. He went through the front door and left it open behind him. I took off my shoes and went inside.
    The warmth met me as soon as I entered the hall. There was a living room on the right. It had thick brown shag-pile carpet and furniture that looked like it had been found at Vinnie’s, it was crazy-tidy. I followed Arnold down the hall further until it opened into a kitchen on the right. The kitchen had the same old-fashioned vibe as the living room: orange tiles and green laminate bench tops, totally spotless. Other than the cans of food, which Arnold took from the green bag and stacked in the pantry, there were no clues that the world had fallen into disorder. Arnold didn’t look at me or say anything, so I just stood there. A small part of me was tempted to say, ‘Well, how about this weather!’ but I didn’t. Arnold emptied the bag and then turned to me.
    ‘When did you last eat?’
    ‘Yesterday.’
    He looked at me as if I was a bug he was deciding to squash or not, sort of detached. I couldn’t meet his stare.
    The fridge was covered in photographs, lots of a couple I assumed to be his parents.
    ‘My dad’s missing,’ I blurted out. ‘Haven’t seen him since this all started.’
    Arnold’s eyes softened a little. ‘I’ll get you some food.’
    ‘No, hey. I’m not after yours. I just thought you might know––’
    He ignored me, went down the hall and out the front door. I waited in the kitchen. The melted snow in the drainpipes outside dripped like the tick of a clock. The photographs were stuck to the fridge with neon