SpineOut : August - September 2016
tower clangs when the hour finally makes its way to 9:00. I rush to the milkbar by the harbour. There I see Bonnie, dressed in yellow, red hair pinned on the side of her head. I call to her and we embrace each other. ‘Elizabeth, it’s so good to see you!’ Her smile reflects the iridescent yellow she wears. ‘You too, although it hasn’t been that long,’ I reply. ‘Well it seems like for ever to me,’ she giggled. We both break into laughter and take our seats at the table. We chat for what seems like hours. After a while we make our way back down to the harbour and take a seat on a bench. The salty breeze stirs up my hair as Bonnie and I engage in another interminable discussion. After a few minutes my attention on Bonnie slightly averts. It almost seems like there is a humming on the horizon. Bonnie gazes at me, confusion painted across her face. We both notice the sound and agree on making our way back into town, our eyes steady on the horizon. Just faintly against the skyline is a blur. I rub my eyes thinking they are deceiving me. The swarms of people around us lift their heads to the sky as the blur moves its way towards us and the buzz turns from a hum to a roar. The blur forms into the distinct sharp lines of enemy planes making its way to the soul of the city. The crowd turns from orderly to chaotic, people scrambling to shelter. Bonnie grabs my hand and rips me into the swarm of movement. We stumble and trip over flailing limbs. The first bomb plummets, a few hundred metres to my right, on the harbour. People scream adding to the ear-splitting pandemonium. The throng of people around us ushers us in every direction and my body is completely consumed by fear. My thoughts are frantic and bouncing around my head focusing onmyfamilyandmyhomeandmy-Ifeel my body tumbling through the air I am thrown to the side and my head cracks against the sidewalk. I can’t hear except for a metallic ring embedded in my head. I roll to the side, my arm caked in blood. I am hurt and afraid but I have to move. My surroundings become almost audible as I search the crowd. There lying against the side walk is Bonnie. I rush to her. I place my arm around her waist and drag her to cover. We lie there for a while, bombs still raining down on Darwin, the ground shaking with each assault. I tend to Bonnie and my own wounds, my own blood seeping down onto the pavement and staining my dress. Darwin is nothing but smoke, fire and ash. After 40 minutes the bombing stops and Bonnie finally wakes up, her striking yellow dress stained with blood and dirt and her fiery hair tangled in knots. We grip each other and make our way through the debris and devastation. I make my way to where my house once stood, the trees scorched and half of the crisp cream panels singed away. I run inside. There with a halo of dark curls is my mother, her hair out of its neat bun and her lipstick smudged across her cheek. I run towards her and she encircles me with her warm tender arms. My siblings join the embrace as a family. I can finally breathe again, knowing that my family is okay for now. But looking around at the devastation of my home, our fates seem too entwined with death to escape. Basedonatruestory Isabella, Year 8 Mount St Benedict College Pennant Hills NSW short stories CONT.
June July 2016
October - November2016