Last Survivor

• Joelyne Roy, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2016

The waves crashed onto the flawless beach when we
got there. It was Bastille Day and I’d just fulfilled my childhood dream. A 22 year old girl, celebrating in the city of Nice.
I asked Julian if I should send mum a video. He said the best bit hadn’t even started yet! I regretted that. Then again I didn’t know that what I thought was perfect would soon turn into a living hell experience. I didn’t know that I would’ve nearly died.
In a second, it happened. People were screaming “GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Young horrified children without their fathers were running, running as if death was chasing them. Truth is, it was. For 86 innocent people that is. I started running. I wasn’t aware of leaving Julian behind. How could I have done that? I was so stupid.
I stopped running and soon turned back, my terrified eyes wandering through a mob of dead people, my eyes finally landing on Julian. He was hurt. Badly. With blood streaming down his face. He looked up as if he could sense me, and mouthed ‘go.’
I whipped out my phone and called Bree. Please pick up! I prayed over and over again.
‘Hello you’ve reached Bree Collins, please leave a message.’ Damn it!
I knew I still had to let her know if even the worst possible thing happened to her.
‘Hey Bree, Julian’s limp in front of ‘Café Voile’ and I’m still running. If you ever see my parents please tell them I loved them. I wanted you to know that I love you as well and I hope that we can...’
My body broke into pain as I was jerked forward at an unbelievable speed. Tears streamed down my face. I landed roughly on the cold road knowing my life wouldn’t be the same again. My head turned slowly but quickly shot straight back as soon as I caught sight of the innocent beings lying dead or injured on the ground.
My eyes were blurry and I could taste blood. Then it all became nothing. Black. Before I drifted off, a hand grabbed my wrist. I opened my eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. A gentle warm hand was holding me. The figure was reassuring me. Telling me that there was hope. That I wouldn’t die.
Moments later I’m being lifted up into a stretcher. I open my eyes and sadly glance at all the dead bodies. But. I’m glad that I’m not one of them. I felt guilty for some reason, thinking that a dead child and I could’ve swapped places!
Approximately 8 hours later I opened my eyes. Still remembering the horrible scene, I blinked uncontrollably, holding in the tears. My saviour, my rescuer, was beaming down at me.
“Thank you” I mumbled weakly.
Bree was beside me as well. My face changed as I realised something.
‘Where’s Julian?’ I blurted out. Bree started crying. In between sobs she stuttered, ‘He’s no more.”