Youth.

• Hannah Taylor, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2017

Life was the electric colour in his veins, the neon pulse of his heartbeat. Home was where stress and anxiety wallowed – it could wait. Right now, nothing existed except the city skyline and the ground beneath their feet. Well, and that feeling. Fresh, coursing, sparking through the air and into their lungs. The feeling of being young. It was reckless, laced with the perfect edge of danger, spontaneity and a thumping heartbeat.

It was cold up here, but somehow it was the newest he had ever felt. The frigid air was only evidence that they were oh, so alive. How they had all managed to make it up here was still a question hanging in the air, but the scaffolding on the side of the tallest building witnessed their journey like a solemn elder, still remembering how it had beckoned them with a glint of silver and stories of adventure they all had read once.

Bottles clinked as they made a toast – to them, to Paris and to youth. Everything tasted better here. Bags were opened, food was set out. There were only a few more hours until daylight, and they had to make the most of it. The Eiffel Tower glowed in the distance, reflecting the glow of the faces on the building, of these runaways high on the exhilaration and the night. He rubbed the arms of his leather jacket slowly – the cold seemed to be settling into his bones, the exhaustion creeping up like a black fog. No. Not tonight. Sleep could wait for later, when he was old and had nothing to live for, legs too weak to climb up scaffolding.

It was different, being up here, almost as if the altitude had washed away all of the expectations, all of the masks. Up here, he wasn’t Darren Evans, the kid with the straight-A average and the bad-boy persona. He was just…Darren. It was all he wanted to be, here, right in this moment, with these people, in this amazing place. Breathing in, he extended his arms as if to capture all of the elusive spring night, all of a sudden yelling to the rooftops, a whoop of pure delight. The group on the rooftop answered him with a resounding cheer, too thrilled to think it was uncool. They laughed, inviting him to sit down. He breathes another deep breath, eyes fluttering shut to absorb it all, before lowering himself down on the picnic rug.

Woah. He had barely remembered she was here. Emily. Somehow, she was even more beautiful up here. The dull light, cold air and excitement of the night suited her better than anything he had ever seen her wear. Suddenly, he saw something in her face change. He took a shaky breath. A surprisingly warm hand overlapped his with a strong resolve that this was now or never. Her head was on his shoulder, and all of a sudden, he knew this had to be the best he had ever felt.