Sand

• Morrison Chris Groninger, Grade 6, Wolumla Public School
• Short Story
• 2016

Excellence Award in the 'Word Zone 2016' competition

I shout. I scream. My voice echoes through the desert. ‘It’s no use Eric’. I turn towards my friend. ‘We’ve got to try Don’. I turn back around and face the endless sea of burning sand. Stranded in a wasteland. Thousands of kilometres from civilisation. Left to die in earth’s hell. ‘Eric! The train!’ I snorted. Yeah, right. A train. I craned my neck over the top of the dune. A train thundered along the track. ‘Duck!’ My fellows fall flat on their stomachs as bullets pepper the sand. ‘That was close.’
I was a runner. Picked by my city to compete in the great race. In other words, a mad scramble for the ultimate prize of lifelong luxury. You have no idea how hot it is. By the end of the industrial revolution, climate change had baked the world into the wasteland it is now in 2443. A searing pain snaps me out of my semi-trance. ‘Man, Eric. We thought you were a goner’. ‘We’ll follow the track. We’ve got nothing to lose.’ My stomach churns at this lie. I’ve got a life, friends and family that will suffer when I’m gone.
We walk, and walk, and walk. The searing metal of the rails stretch off into the distance. Every now and then, a train rumbles by. Some are friendly, some are not. I wonder where they go. Maybe home. I hear the sharp crack of a gear change. A cargo train screeches to a halt as it pulls up 50 metres away. We dive over a dune. ‘It’s automated, Eric. We should get on.’ We trip over in our haste to get on the train. The ground shuddered as the train rumbled to life. The rails screeched as the 30 tonne carriages started to move. ‘Run for it!’ We ran until our feet bled. My soles shone red in the scorching rays of the sun. We jumped. My life flashed by as my feet hit the hot metal. Mike lay sprawled on the carriage. ‘Am I dead?
‘No mike. We’re going home.’
He flipped over. A grin spread over his cut and bruised face. Don’s face appeared from behind a carriage. His face however, was a fearful grimace. ‘It’s not automated’. Mike turned a pale shade of green. We heard the sound of heavy footfalls. A harsh voice shouted ‘get ‘em!’ and gunshots pierced the silence. ‘I found one!’ barked a tall man. He aimed at my heart. As bullets sped at my chest, a figure jumped in front of me. His scream echoed through the wasteland. Mike hit the sand and disappeared in an explosion of dust. ‘These aren’t thieves! They’re kids!’ The tall man walked towards me. ‘I am so sorry about your friend.’
I check the clock. Work time. Just because we’ve stopped climate change (for you guys in 2016, stop it now), doesn’t mean they’re isn’t work to be done. I hear a smart knock on the door. ‘Hello Eric.’
‘Mike!’