The below short story was written by emerging regional author Lauren Selfe based on the life of Frank Thomas. In response, leading Western Australian visual artist Di Taylor created the below artwork Dreaming of Freedom.

The morning began like any other. Frank awoke, just as the night began to fade, and the sun began its routine, slowly emerging above the horizon, brushing lightly against the dew covered grass, creating a warm, gentle glimmer that held Frank entranced, like any other morning. He wondered why other people would want to stay locked in their cages, avoiding a beauty so natural that it made birds sing in wonder. He watched silently as the sun's light kissed the trees, giving the leaves a golden glow. It was magic, he had realised, after watching it so often, the kind that could be seen and felt, by any who waited. It was magic, and he was happily under its spell.

His stomach let out a slight growl, making him aware of the world again. He stood, and glanced around at his makeshift camp, already knowing he wouldn't find any food there, so he stretched the sleep out of his limbs as he walked the short distance to the train tracks. He knew a train passes this point, just after the sun rises every week. So he stood near the tracks, slightly to the side and behind a large bush. The train didn't take long, he had timed his arrival well. He stepped from behind the bush after the first few carriages went by, holding out his arm and getting ready as the last carriage loomed.

He took the last step closer, and, with practised ease, grabbed onto the bar on the side of the carriage that easily pulled him along. The once jarring experience had become fun for him, after he'd become accustomed to the feeling of his muscles straining, almost hurting, but not quite. He loved the thrill of going faster than a running horse, with one thing keeping him from harm; his own strength and muscle memory. He moved along the side of the carriage like he was born to do it, and maybe he was. Born to be an outcast. His stomach reminded him why he was there, and he continued along the side towards the middle, unlatching the door and sliding it open far enough for him to climb inside.

He looked around the dim carriage as his eyes adjusted to the change in light. His eyes were drawn towards a pile of crates, so he moved closer and shuffled through the contents for a few moments, putting any he might like in a pile by the door. Once satisfied, he moved to the door, and threw everything he wanted out of the train and into the bush. He waited until the train slowed and the surroundings became less dense. He tensed, getting ready. He jumped from the train, landing in a roll to protect himself from a broken bone.

He stood and watched the train as it moved further away, then walked back along the tracks to where he had dropped his supplies. Picking up a tin that had broken as it landed, he ate the contents, finally satisfying his angry stomach. Leaving the tin on the ground, he picked up the other items and brought them back to his camp, humming an eerily merry song as he walked.

His eyes opened, and Frank was met with the cruel reminder of where he was. They had caged him. He was no longer able to see the magic that had captured his soul every morning. As he stared at the brick wall, he tried desperately to fall back into his dreams. He became frustrated when his other life eluded him, and he let out a scream, a keening noise that mixed with his anger. The day with the train. He wanted so badly to wake up and be back with the land.