Believe

«Theodora stared from the plane's window at a tiny speck of white on the blue ocean below. That is one of my several selves, she thought, set free at last from the island of miniatures. Bass strait was not that wide, although she'd have never agreed to sail across it. Not yet, anyway. Living in a Western suburb in Melbourne in the early 1990s wasn't chic. The year after Theodora left Yarraville, a nearby repository of industrial waste caught alight, spewing thick toxic smoke towards the wealthy eastern elite of Victoria's capital city. Her plan, in case of such an event, had always been to drive south-west, against the prevailing winds, and so escape the poison. Theodora rented a house belonging to some church people. It was old and dilapidated, but there didn't seem to be any mice, so that was good. Her brothers always said that no mice meant there were plenty of rats about, eating them. Theodora usually ignored her brothers.»

Recherche*