So Zea, I was thinking that for Christmas, maybe we could catch up and spend Christmas in Auckland or something? I could take the ferry over and you could come up and meet me here. I dunno, just a suggestion. Think about it will ya? Get back to me when ya decide.
From ya good ol' neighbour, Australia.
New Zealand sighed, eyes sweeping over the letter that was grasped in her hands, drawing in the smoke from her cigarette before exhaling and folding the letter up. Ever since the two World Wars, New Zealand and Australia had grown closer, sharing a bond, forever vowing to have the other's back. Though they bickered, it was all light-hearted and never intended to hurt or harm the other. Most of the time it was just teasing. It had been quite some time since the two had last gotten together.
Pulling out a fountain pen and her notebook, New Zealand began writing her brother a letter of reply, taking long drawls of her cigarette as she did so.
Hey Aus. Well ain't that something? You're actually offering to come here rather than drag me over there! This is one for the books! Well, might as well. Then I can show you what a real New Zealand party is like.
'Lots of love', New Zealand.
(p.s. I'm not actually sending you any love.)
Oh haha. You're so funny Zea. Maybe I should bring some Australian beer so ya know what real beer tastes like, not that shit ya drink. Anyway the ship gets into Auckland on Christmas Eve. So catch the train up that day and I'll meet ya. It's supposed to get in sometime around Midnight so I'll just hang around the station. Shouldn't be too hard.
Australia.
It had been two months since New Zealand had received that letter. Finally it was the night before her journey, the Kiwi secretly looking forward to visiting her brother and best friend. Stuffing her clothes into her suitcase, New Zealand hummed a tune, taking a quick shower and combing her dark brown hair. She climbed into bed, preparing herself for the long day ahead. She wondered how her neighbour had been doing over the time they had been apart, wondering how he was faring after the war. It had been almost a decade since the war was over, but countries around the world still felt the affects of it. Australia was an odd type, stubborn and loud, however he was always over-protective of his sister, New Zealand. He said it was his 'brotherly duty' which New Zealand found a moronic but sweet sentiment.
Taking a cab into Wellington, the personification of New Zealand got out – after paying the driver – and walked towards the building before her. Wellington Station was a piece of classic Victorian Era architecture, eight concrete columns towering up, raising a concrete pediment which was engraved with 'Wellington Station'. On the pediment was an intricately designed Victorian clock, standing out in contrast to the red brick behind it. It had always been of interest to New Zealand, the Kiwi finding it a fantastic architectural masterpiece.
Walking through the station and onto the platforms, New Zealand caught sight of the train, waiting patiently for the passengers to go through baggage check and board the train in their respective seating areas which determined on what class ticket you held. Turning her wrist, New Zealand checked her watch for the time, the clock reading 'five minutes to three'. She had five minutes; plenty of time to get her luggage through and take her seat.
Once through, New Zealand relaxed into her seat, the train slowly pushing out of the station, steaming down the tracks. The train steamed onward up the North Island Main Trunk Line, puffing delicate clouds of white smoke behind her, the black sleekness of the locomotive standing out among the long grassed paddocks, rolling hills and the over-abundance of pine trees.
New Zealand watched her landscape go by, seeing it change yet remain the same, something that had always intrigued the Kiwi. They passed through the stations of Paraparaumu, Waikanae, Levin, Palmerston North and Fielding, charging onward to Taihape. There they would stop for forty-five minutes so that passengers could buy dinner, go to the shop and send mail. New Zealand got up from her seat, walking out of the carriage doors and into the store beside the station. Quickly paying for a stamp and a bottle of beer, the nation mailed a letter, walking back onto the train, sipping at the liquor.
It was dark, the sky clear of any clouds. Though there was no moon shining, the stars twinkled and danced, surrounding the dark shadow of Ruapehu. The Maori people believed that the way the train tracks cut through their land that it would anger the god, Ruapehu and that he would unleash punishment upon the people. Being native to the country, New Zealand could see why they thought this, she too believing in what they said.
Finally the train continued onward, steaming out, drawing closer to the mountain looming before them. Many people had settled in for the night, falling asleep, children excited about the holiday that would fall upon them the very next day. New Zealand too was prepared to fall asleep, shutting her eyes for a moment, head resting on the back of the seat.
The train suddenly jerked, New Zealand immediately being able to tell that the drivers were desperately trying to stop the train as it roared onto a bridge. Looking out the window, the nation saw a raging torrent of thick, yellow water, surging beneath the bridge as it buckled. Before New Zealand knew it, screams filled the cabin, the carriage and locomotive being tossed into the water as though they were mere toys, landing on their sides.
The glass from the windows smashed, thick water quickly engulfing the carriage as people desperately tried to free themselves of their steel prison, kicking and lashing out at the top glass that had not yet broken. Cries of children filled the carriage as a couple of men used a heavy object to smash the window open, pushing the women and children through the small opening. New Zealand helped guide several people to the entrance, the water now up to her neck, desperately trying to keep her head above the water. She helped the men get the women and children out before they lifted her up and out of the carriage despite her protests for them to go first. Quickly reaching her hands down, she helped a man out of the carriage, two more climbing out on their own. Reaching down to help a considerably small man, New Zealand yelled at him to grab her hands, the man reaching up before disappearing under the water.
Shaking her head, she went to jump back in, only to be held back by the other men who whispered to her that he was gone. Her dark complexion became horribly pale, shaking both in sadness and fear. She went with the other men to help the people out of the other carriages, their being less survivors in each one.
The violent current pulled at their clothes, ripping and tearing it from their bodies, the once beautifully coloured garments now stained in silt and mud. A couple of people ran from their cars to help, but by the end of the night, many knew that there would be a considerable about of fatalities.
The survivors of the disaster were taken on another train to Auckland the next day, the entire train ride silent. No one bothered to speak about how well we played in the cricket in South Africa that day, despite the loss. No one even bothered to speak. The only sound was that of the train upon the tracks and the gentle sob of a traumatized victim. New Zealand stared at her knees the entire ride, not being able to erase the memory of such a tragedy from her mind. Her own people had died right in front of her. She had only seen such tragedies first hand during the wars her country had fought in during the past.
Finally they arrived at Britomart station in Auckland, the passengers getting off. They had no luggage, only their lives and if lucky, their loved ones. That was all they needed. New Zealand finally trudged off of the train, glancing up and seeing a very sympathetic Australian, the man running over and pulling the girl into his arms. She buried her face into his shoulder, finally allowing the tears - that she had refused to let fall - stream down her cheeks, the girl sobbing occasionally. Australia didn't speak, just rubbed circles into her back, shushing her softly.
They would find that of the two-hundred and eighty-five passengers aboard that ill-fated train, one-hundred and one will have lost their lives. Some bodies still would never be found even to this day, believing to of been washed out to sea. The cause of such disaster was a lahar coming from the crater lake of Mount Ruapehu, many Maori believing that to be the punishment for carving through sacred land. Mount Ruapehu looms over the place of the disaster, the Tangiwai bridge. A memorial has been set up beside the bridge and every year at the exact time of the disaster, the train passing through there will stop just before the bridge, the drivers walking onto it and throwing a wreath of flowers into the river with a card saying 'In memory of those who died on the 24th December 1953'.