‘The Past Storms’ by Lara Hunter, age 14, Sir Henry Floyd Grammar School

The metal tore at my skin, the wind whipped around my face, the clouds gathered in a dark ominous group above my head, I pushed forward through the remnants of the broken place I needed to find shelter, and soon, once the storm arrived I wouldn’t have much time. I strapped my bag with my few belongings close to my body and began to clamber over the debris of what might have once been buildings, avoiding the scorched ground and scorched, rotting plants. As the blue sun rose and the red one set, I arrived at one of the many, many metal containers I used to hide from the brunt of the storms, but the metal only protected me from the physical effects, there was no escaping what it did to my mind. I set down my bag and curled up awaiting the torture that would arrive with the storm.

The dark red fire and ash consumed the plants, the buildings, the water. They harvested what they could of the plants, they filtered the water, they used the debris as bricks to build shelters, but it changed nothing. The fire consumed them this time. Their faces framed by the poisoned flames, all of them, every face, I knew and they knew me, the pain and sorrow in their eyes ingrained in my mind as we could do nothing to stop it.

My eyes flew open, my heavy breathing echoing in the metal prison I had placed myself in. The flashbacks had begun, the storm had hit.

I had to not sleep, I had to keep my eyes open, I had to stay awake. It was all I could do to stop myself from getting lost in the past.

How long had it been, hours? days? The faint sound of the storm from outside had finally stopped, I could rest.

After my much needed rest I replenished my food and water from the stores of what I had stolen from the old government facilities, in the metal container. Why didn’t the government help them when they needed it? Why did they keep all the safe food and water for themselves, instead of helping others? Why?

Most of them have been killed  by the survivors in revenge, if only they had shared their wealth and safe food and water so many more would still be here today. Maybe then the world wouldn’t have gone to ruins as it did. Maybe I wouldn’t be here, alone, fighting to live, for them.

But it was too late for that, I had to head off before the shadow creatures arrived, or another storm came or the poison fire returned. I scratched my name and another mark into the side of the metal container as I left.

Ekveer.   | | | |