1.  Awaken
A baby was crying. Sophia couldn’t stand it when the baby cried. Tonight the baby cried because outside the house was a raging storm with crashes of thunder rolling down from the black sky every time a stroke of white light lit the blue-grey rain. Wind was banging things together and somewhere out the a dog was howling. The house was set back in trees which were hissing from both the wind and sheer weight of water banging into them as it fell. Torrents of water flowed down the dirt road, forming mini-rapids that cleared away the dust and leaves. The old corrugated iron walls and rooves of the sheds just up the road roared through the darkness.
The baby wailed again. Sophia closed her eyes again and pushed her head further into the pillow, pulling the warm blankets up over her head in a vain attempt to block out the babies’ screams. She loved the sound of the rain and the smell of the wet air that it brought. It reminded her, somehow, of her childhood that seemed so far back. But she couldn’t stand a babies cries in the night. However the cries faded and soon after, Sophia was asleep.
The smell of wet grass. Mud and wet grass and the smell of sunlight warming the ground. When sophia opened her eyes for the first time the next morning, she decided to lie in bed and smell the world that wafted in the window. She could partly see out to the green-as-could-be trees and lawns and paddocks beyond that, and she could smell the wet grass. Too soon, however, after her awakening was she forced to get out of the warm surrounds that was her bed. Her tiny clock was ringing through the silence. She had placed it strategically in order to make herself get out of bed to shut off the ringing sound. It sat squarely on a table in the opposite corner of the room to her bed, little arrows on its face indicating the time was just after seven a.m.
Breakfast was hot buttered toast and warm milk coffee and yoghurt over bran flakes. She ate slowly, there was no rush. She had deliberately set her clock half an hour fast because she loved the morning, especially after the storm, and she loved to have breakfast and go outside before everyone else got up and motivated and into the chores that always seemed so abundant. Today, though, she was especially eager to get out of the house. Although she knew it was the same as any other day, she wanted to see the glorious world outside for the fist time as a twenty-year old. 
Today was her birthday.

Whilst walking in the leafy mud that was always abundant after rain, Sophia realised just one thing was odd about the day. She hadn’t been awoken by the cry that usually came around first light, when the baby whose cry she hated requested her breakfast. Perhaps, she thought, it was his way of wishing her a happy birthday. She continued walking, past the old rusty tractor by the shed, around the grove of trees to where the dog kennels were. Of the three normally tied up there, one was missing, his chain torn from its mountings. It had been the lightning and thunder that had caused the dog enough anxiety to break free. The dogs had never liked the storms and the one that had fled had fled many times before.
Then was the scream.
Not the scream of a baby, not a scream of terror. A horrendous wail of a woman who had lost something very close to her.
Her baby. The police had said afterward that there had been no visible sign on break and enter and nothing valuable had gone from the house, and everybody was accounted for and everything was as it should have been. The baby, simple, was just not there anymore. Sophia gave her statement and then went upstairs to her room and fiddled around, passing time and thinking about the night before. Everything seemed fine. The baby had cried, the dog had fled, the storm had lulled her into sleep like it had done so many times before. Of course, she blamed it on herself. She should have gone in to check the baby, to sleep with it, perhaps. She had known it was scared, she had heard the dog barking at something. Perhaps it wasn’t the storm. Perhaps it was some intruder come to steal the child. Perhaps the baby learned to walk and found its way outside and got lost.
As the day wore on, Sophia’s thought became more and more irrational. She became nervous, edgy as if she had stolen the baby herself and hidden it away and someone was about to find her out. Of course she hadn’t, but with her worry and unease, she thought, somehow, that it was possible.

Night came suddenly, it seemed, compared to the usual gradual dimming of the land until it finally drops into darkness. Everthing was centred on one thing- the missing baby. The days chores had been forgotten, the glorious day had become grim and paled into insignificance amidst the tension. The police had checked back with status reports all day. The first day had passed very slowly.
As did the week. Leaves had piled up on the lawn, the trees seemed to be losing leaves as if Autumn had already come. The dog that had fled after the storm was found dead on the road a few miles away, struck down by some unforgiving motorist. The very house seemed very quiet and very empty.
It was then that Sophia left her home. She decided that she had been living there long enough and needed to be away. Her companions (it seemed like a family no more) pleaded for her to stay, but she refused. That morning, one week after her twentieth birthday, she was packed and gone.

1.  Surreptitious
Noise. Water falling- but not like rain. A gentle roar that did not bubble like a small stream over rocks and sticks.A greyish white span bridge across a surging river, a waterfall tossing spray into the air under the very curve of the bridge.
Sophia’s car had run out of fuel and so she had coasted as far as she could then pulled over, took her bag from the cars boot and deserted the vehicle where it sat. She had walked a fair distance that afternoon, down a road she didn’t know, away from her past.
Then, on twilight and many, many miles from her car, she had found the bridge. A single fluorescent light shone down onto the rotting boards of the bridge on either side of the structure, casting gentle rainbows into the misty spray flowing from the waterfall. On the other side of the bridge, Sophia could see a few metres along the small trail that lead back into the darkness.
Halfway across the bridge, she thought she saw something on the other side, something small and furry, but like no other animal she had ever seen before. It was gone before she reached the other side. In her mind came images of childhood stories, of trolls under the bridges, of horrid creatures that stirred at the edge of the cone of light that shone from a lamp, of spiders and snakes and evil creatures that lived up long, dark paths.
‘Myth.’ She said, shrugging the childish fears away. Her voice was soft and very calm, even gentle, as a mothers is for her newborn child. She kept on walking along the dim path until her arms got sope from carrying her bag. Then she sat down, the ground cold but not that cold, leaned against the round bag and promptly slept.

It was warm, there next to the fire, with him. She had awoken early to find an ageing man starting a fire. He had a kind face, and reminded Sophia of what she always imagined Santa Clause to look like. He hadn’t said a word, just smiled and went about preparing two mugs of tea, waiting for the fire to cook the water in a blackened can. Around them, the morning calls of birds, the endless wind pushing the trees this way and that, the dense scrubby undergrowth, the cold, hard ground. They both sat and stared into the fire, never speaking, just sitting and waiting, in the middle of a small bush track, somewhere. Finally, the old man finished his tea and put out the fire. Suddenly, everything seemed cold.
Sophia had sensed that she was sleeping – dreaming – still and had awoken on a cold section of a dirt path. Very faintly in the distance she could hear the slight rush of a waterfall. She moved on, away from the sound.

The house was empty and locked. Its inhabitents had moved away long ago, she thought, looking at the overgrown garden, broken windows and rusty little front gate. The house was situated next to a narrow bitumen road than snaked its way in and out of dry gullies and tree-dotted paddocks. To the west, the road streched endlessly over the low hills and valleys. Looking towards the east, Sophia could see a broad range of mountains, far away in the grey haze. She stared at the house a long time before deciding to find a way in. She though her stomach was starting to eat itself as it had grumbled and moaned almost constantly all afternoon, and her legs were a little cold, even in the sun.
There wasn’t anything in the house. Everthing was gone from all the rooms and cupboards all throughout the house. It had no power, but contained a sturdy looking fireplace. Sophia had collected some wood and piled it up in the fireplace before realising she had no easy way of starting the fire. She sat in the corner of the old kitchen, staring at the rat eaten debris at the back of a cupboard.
“Fine.” Hollow voice in a hollow house. “Why the hell did I leave the car?”
The time passed as she sang. Her tune was true and the soulful song of the young adults voice swept through the decrepit building, filling it with sound. Birds froliced in the garden, intrigued with the odd noise. A butterfly inspected the broken gauze dangling from a window. The house seemed alive once more.
Nightime was cold, but not as cold as the hard earth the night before. Sophia had unpacked some of her suitcase to prepare bedding and find warmer clothes. She had discovered earlier a packet of old matches in a jacket pocket and lit a fire. She had also discovered that there was running water in the bathroom, though the water looked and tasted like it had been in an old rusting water tank somewhere. She surmised that its source  probably served as a water trough for sheep and cattle, and that a pipe had connected it with the house. Still, she was pleased to find something she could fill her stomach with.
The shadows twisted on the ceiling of the empty room, forging characters long dead in their dark prescence. Sophia lay staring into the fire, tired. Soon, she was asleep, again dreaming of another place, another Sophia who was happy, not hungry, not alone.

2. Open
Lucky for my money, though Sophia. She had stumbled into some small village where she could al least get a good meal. She recieved a few odd looks, but she had expected these from any small town, particularly any town that had a tired and hungry young girl meandering though weilding a suitcase. She had recieved a few whistles and claps from outside the local bar, but had forged onto a small service station and eatery. She was quite pleased to have reached civilisation again.
“Headin’ somewhere, young lass?” asked a fairly old-looking man, who had watched her order then stuff the food she recieved visciously down her throat.
“Uh, yeah. Sort of.” She managed, though she felt as if she could talk non stop for hours.
“I see. Just headin’, then. You wanna lift anywhere? I gotta rig outside. Could take you along, if you’re interested?”

The ‘rig’ turned out to be an old Bedford truck that served as this old mans only means of transport. His actual use for the vehicle, Sophia never quite understood, but thought it must have to be carrying some sort of grain or woodchips as it slowly groaned up the hills then raced down the other sides. She had found out very little about the trucks driver, only that he was heading for a nearby town whose name he never revealed. His name was Ian, but he asked to be called ‘Joe’.
“So, girl,” Joe ventured as the vehicle churned its way up a narrow winding road. “You’re a pretty looking girl. What’s a girl like you doin’ wandering aimlessly around these parts? Looking for work?”
“No. Ah, well. If I could get into something I really liked, yeah. I’m on sort of holiday from my family.”
“Ah, you’ve run away then, eh?” He seemed less than perturbed by his assumption.
“No. Well, not really. My sisters’ baby was, uh, went missing. I left home after that.”
“Ah. Too bad. Still, it’ll do you good to get away from home.”
She stared at him, shocked. He had acted as if the baby had not even existed. She had just told him that the baby had been kidnaped and he had said back that she needed to get away from home, as if she had stolen the little child.
The truck had rolled easlily down the next slope, right down into a town. They were heading roughly south, though the hills around the town and dimming light made it hard to be sure. The sun had set and the twilight was quickly ending.
“You’d better find somewhere to sleep. It’ll rain before tomorrow. Plus there’s things about in town tonight, wouldn’t want you mixed up in it. Anyway, nice of your company, this trip. I got things to do.” Joe rushed her out of the truck as if he were embarrased to have her in there. As she said goodbye she offered a small cash fee, but Joe refused, and as she stepped down from the cabin, she tripped and fell heavily to the ground. Nobody offered help and as she clambered to her feet and watched the truck mosey on down the packed earth street, she figured her knee was bleeding and she was cold, so she decided to find a place to stay.