Eat Your Bitter Words

• Olivia Kennedy, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2019

"Dayita, we would like to have a word with you about an incident that happened at your school today”, the two men were clearly worried, both were giving each other quick glances as if too ask
“What next?”.
We didn’t see much of the police around here but I’ve seen these men around before. Their unruly, bleach blonde hair makes them look more like surfy clowns rather than professionals who need to be taken seriously. Being a small town the most they come across in crime is stealing linen off someone’s Hill’s hoist. This looked like more than petty theft.
Propped on the end on the lounge Dayita nurses a cup of tea her mother fussed to the officers about making for them. It’s too hot to drink yet, but one of the officers goes for a sip out of his chipped cup anyway; learning quite quickly that hot tea can burn as much as the sun does on his tan skin.
“Great tea ma’am”, the officer said through pained expression, feigning delight.
After what felt like a lifetime, the calmer of the two men spoke, “Dayita, we understand that you have some trouble fitting in at school”
She felt her heart sink. Where was this going?
The officer “We received a call from the school reporting a bomb threat that was made on Friday evening.”
Her heart hurts and her head feels heavy.
“We have reason to believe that you may be responsible for this threat. That’s not to say that this is your fault but you will have to come down to the station to make a statement so that we can resolve this issue.”
Without another word she runs upstairs into her room, locking the door and taking a breath; she doesn't bother shedding anymore tears. Her heart has been ripped from her chest. It has been given to this country, to its people, to this life. She's had enough.

Her breath ripped out in rags.

She was tired of being told she had to belong. She did not belong; not to this town, to its people, to this school.
Why me? Why any of this?.
Her throat was raw, she realised shed been choking back her screams all this time.
She did not belong here. So why could she not be content with being an isolated individual? She did not care that every day, all the other students would see in the shadows of the shade under the creaky old gum tree, was a little loner girl with ebony black hair. Her skin too many shades dark compared to that of the blonde girls at school. They would see her, minding her own business, ignoring the stares, laughs and comments constantly circulating; because of who she was. A non-English speaker. An outsider.
A Hindu.

Looking out of her wide, white window, she sees the horizon where the shining sun set down over the town, indicating night is to come. Her old friends used to love gazing at the sunset so calm and relaxing as the afternoon heat was replaced by the cool, southern sea breeze. The air is refreshing, the breeze feels like butterflies against her skin—soft, ticklish and giving her goose bumps. She inhales, they’ll be coming to get her soon.
She won’t be here when they do. Only shell, the carcass of her being. The object of her identity that was tossed around like a ragdoll. Discarded and bruised, they’d find her. They would finally see what this great land has caused her. So much pain.
Too much pain.
Her eyes moving over the lush landscape of dark green grass, the purple array of sunset light overhead—she sees nature as the world where no one has to understand, only herself—but not only that; she sees and sincerely feels she belongs. Not to the town necessarily, nor to a group of people no, she belongs to herself.
The last stroke of the mason jar glass slides effortlessly through her weakened veins and in her last moment is comforted by the small tear that caresses her face.
They can eat their bitter words.