I was on my way home from school when the sun touched the earth.

February 7th, 1983. The hottest day in living memory, according to the weather this morning. 43-point-2 degrees in the shade. 

From where I was standing, it felt like the end of the world.

The heatwave had been baking Melbourne for months, but a storm was on the way. They said it would bring enough dust down from the Mallee and Wimmera to block out the sun, breaking the never-ending heat. The end was in sight, or so they said. It sounded too good to be true.

I had never walked home from school before. I took the tram most days, but today wasn't most days. Even the tram drivers wouldn't dare leave the house, and who could blame them? I would have chosen to spend my last day on earth with my family as well, if I'd known.

I was seeking shelter from the sun beneath a large Ngargee tree in a thicket of native plants, in a forgotten corner of Albert Park. It was not lost on me that the foliage was designed for this kind of weather, and even it seemed to be struggling. The tree's leaves had been turned brown by the heat. Warm eucalyptus filled my nostrils. You could almost hear the gum leaves sizzling in the canopy above me. The sun felt closer than ever.

Pools of mercury shimmered on the horizon. I would have given anything for a sip. I licked my lips, cracked dry by the heat. Now or never. I pulled the water bottle from my schoolbag, and gently shook it from side to side. It was almost empty. I had been rationing my water for the unknown length of the trek home, but this would be my final sip. I unscrewed the black metal cap and tipped in half a mouthful.

It seared the inside of my mouth, like biting into a too-hot pie at the footy, but I choked the water down. I tasted blood.

I needed to get home.

I pulled my legionnaire's cap down firmly on my head, and set out through the dense underbrush.

I burst from the grevillea onto an empty street. There was not a single soul on Fitzroy Street. This wasn't the kind of weather you walked your dog in.

As I stepped out onto road, the air smelled of iron and smoke. I looked both ways for traffic that wasn't coming. I saw a tidal wave of red dust, looming high over the city. The storm was here. The sun felt closer than ever. The wave of dust crested in slow motion, set to crash through the city and wash the buildings away. I could almost see the four horsemen, shapes in the cloud, galloping towards me.

I turned to run, but my left foot was stuck firmly to the tram track beneath it. Momentum yanked my shoe off, sending me sprawling across the hot road. The rubber sole of my shoe had melted into the tracks.

I lay there in the middle of road, too afraid to lie still, and too exhausted to run. Lyrics found their way to my ears.

Time flies, time crawls.

Mirages aren't real, and storms don't have soundtracks.

Like an insect, up and down the walls.

My ears were clogged with dust, but I recognised the song. The band was Magazine, or someone was doing a very good cover. I could hear footsteps over the snare drum, getting louder. They were galloping towards me. The horsemen were moving faster than I thought.

The light pours out of me.

The world turned red. 

A strong hand clamped down on my left shoulder, and my lizard-brain decided I wasn't going down without a fight. I took a wild swing, barely missing the chin of a young man wearing a blazer and a shoestring necktie. My momentum carried me back down into the hot bitumen.

"Cool your jets, Sugar Ray!"

I opened my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself but got a mouthful of hot red dust instead.

"It's hotter than a shearer's armpit out here. Need a hand?"

I spat on the ground, then looked up to see a pale hand outstretched through the dust. I didn't have a choice. I grabbed his wrist, and he pulled me upwards.

"Up ya pop. Come on, you wouldn't wanna miss the end of the world, would ya?"

He dragged me towards the music. The guitar licks got louder. The sun was closer than ever, still bright through the dust. While the sun tried to roast me alive, I hopped along with one shoe missing, to keep up with my companion. I hopped across the sticky road; tar melted in the heat. I hopped up the gutter, down the pavement, and up a short set of stairs. The muscles of my left leg burned, but so did the rest of me. I felt like a leg of lamb on a Sunday afternoon, and it was so, so bright.

We arrived at a great pair of obsidian doors. Two panes of reflective black glass with two bronze handles holding the door shut. The bronze took the shape of two merry women, drinking wine and dancing. My companion pulled on them, hard, but they didn't budge. The bronze women revelled in their power.

Then one of them spoke.

"Fuck off, Alistair. I told you, you're not welcome any more."

A woman's voice came from somewhere behind the glassy door.

He took a step back, placing a palm on my shoulder. I felt like a human shield. "The poor kid is dehydrated. Can we come inside for a glass of water?"

"Appealing to my motherly instincts? That's a new one. The boy is welcome, of course..."

The door gently slid open, then stopped. The gap was barely enough for me to squeeze through.

The sun was so, so bright.

I closed my eyes, held my breath, and wedged my sweaty frame into the crack. For a brief moment, I wondered if this was how my underwear felt, and then I was through, spilling out into the darkness.

"...but I said 'fuck off'."

The door slammed shut, echoing through the mosaic-tiled foyer I found myself in. The white tiles reflecting the party lights from a room upstairs. The dust storm was a distant memory. Music filled the room.

In the darkness, a cigarette lighter flickered to life. For a split second, the face of a young woman appeared. She couldn't have been much older than me.

She came closer, and the cigarette glowed on her lips. She took my brightly coloured school tie in her left hand, tightening the knot with her right. I could feel her long fingernails through the thin cotton of my shirt. She pulled me closer. I could feel her eyes analysing my fringe, matted to my forehead. She moved her attention to the sweat pooling on my upper lip. Her gaze trickled down my body, moving back and forth like a typewriter carriage.

She burst out with laughter.

"Where's your shoe?"

I gestured feebly towards the door, towards the fading sound of the raging dust storm. She smiled.

"Wearing two shoes is conformist bullshit anyway. Now go on upstairs, the party's started."

She took the half-smoked cigarette out of her mouth and placed it in mine.

"Welcome to the Crystal Ballroom, kiddo."

I walked through the marble entryway, toward the source of the music. Her cigarette felt strange in my mouth. Black curtains did their best to keep the sun out, but light wormed its way through the fabric. 

The white marble staircase was immense, draped with young people like diamonds around a neck. I had forgotten how thirsty I was. 

The music pulled me up the stairs, like a moth to a flame.

A lad wearing sunglasses emerged from a cloud of dense blue smoke to ask if I had a lighter. I shook my head and puffed on my cigarette. The smoke was rough. Nothing compared to the dust from outside, but it still made me cough.

The young people were sparkling in the darkness, like constellations. A woman with short rose gold hair, deep blue eye shadow, and a silver cross around her neck flicked ash at me playfully. Mascara and tears ran down the cheeks of a boy in a different school uniform, clutching a pint glass like his life depended on it.

The music pulled me past them all, to the top of the stairs, and into the ballroom.

The room heaved with sweaty bodies in various states of undress. 'Mouldy Fig' was the name of the band on stage, if the posters were to be believed, and the song they were playing was reaching a climax. The front man smashed his guitar into one of the two large speakers flanking the stage.

White noise poured from the front man's shattered instrument. I could almost see the energy spill over the edge of the stage and out onto the crowd.

There was no more music, but it didn't matter. The crowd was in a frenzy, dancing to the atonal hum of the ruined speakers, singing along with the high-pitched audio feedback that filled the room. In a room full of people, I had never felt so alone.

Then the light returned.

Beams of sunlight fought their way through the gaps in the curtains. Light poured into the room, bringing the heat with it. It was more intense this time. Hotter and brighter. So, so bright.

The curtains turned to ash.

The cigarette turned to ash in my mouth.

I closed my eyes, but the light shone through.

The sun was closer than ever.