You know I'd never lie to you. How could I? It's the Talls campfire and these are the oral-lit smoke trails that swirl about you, never to dribble drivel upon you. You can be sure you'll only get what's inner-heard. I embellish you not.
Surely you remember Wi, a name especially chosen to fit our attention spans? The world-record kidnappee, nabbee, swipee, snatchee, hoisted so many times even he's lost count? (How about those three times in five minutes effort? That takes rare raw talent, that does.) I mean, if it wasn't for our Wi how many of these yabbers, yarns, shaggy dogs and yank-your-chain whoppers could I trot out for you? Even getting across one's not easy when it's always against the wind from people laughing in your face. No, really, without our Wi, where would all the odd-balls be, drowning their sorrows by ingesting the food in Dominic's Eatery, swallowing whole mouthfuls without a thought for their own safety? Would any plate get the Wi wipe and come out miraculously unscathed from what had been just laid upon it? Without Wi, how many screwballs could have hired him to do all they've always wanted to do?
God knows, and the Talls say `God knows' because, if you take it that God made him in His own image, then maybe you've stumbled across the one time God spoke too soon. Okay, setting that aside, coming to you is a cast of Lankan characters - and you'd cast too -- and barf, and burp - if you had some of Dominic's food inside you, let's not kid ourselves. Not all of us have cast-iron guts and can absorb what could canonize you if you kept it down.
And our Wi can't help being White, either. Did he ever ask for the hoists he's had to suffer, or complained about the lack of duty-of-care his kidnappers have shown him -- their kidnappee, after all? No. All he asked was a hideaway high above the stars so bright. At least he got that. And, though having to watchfully wait, at least he received the epiphs, too. With the epiphs, he could epiphicatedly dream, so I guess he had something going for him.
And let's not forget he's Talls recorded as having said, `Just let me know if I'm breathing too much and I'll stop'. Hey, what kidnappee or country like Australia gets a kidnappee so considerate? Is he a peach of a pooch, or what?
Author Biography:
Bill Reed is a novelist, playwright and short-story writer. He was born in Perth, Australia, but grew up in Adelaide and Melbourne, where he is better known as a local author. His nine professionally-produced plays include Burke's Company, Mr Siggie Morrison with his Comb and Paper, Truganinni, Cass Butcher Bunting. These plays have also been published. His twelve novels have included Dogod, The 1001 Lankan Nights books 1 and 2, Me the Old Man, and the novel tetralogy Throw Her Back, Are Your Human?, Awash and Tasker Tusker Tasker.
The Australian Script Centre has accepted 32 of his plays of various genres for listing and purchase through its official website Australianplays.org.
He has worked as editor and journalist both in Australia and overseas. In Australia he has been Publishing Manager of such major book-publishing houses as Rigby, A.H. and A.W. Reed, and the Macmillan Company of Australia. His novel Stigmata won the Fellowship of Australian Writers' ANA award. Among his awards for drama are Critics Choice and The Alexander Theatre Award for Burke's Company and Cass Butcher Bunting. He has won national competitions in all three categories of drama, novels and short stories, including the National Short Story Award.
He now divides his time between his native Australia and Sri Lanka.
