Oil Slick

• Holly Fox, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2009

The array of crimsons, scarlet and golden tangerines reflect off the sunlit water. As I stand upon the bridge of the ship, carrying fuel for an entire city, barrels of gross, thick oil curl beneath the deck, trying to escape, to kill and to destruct. I gasp, as the whole world seems to slam on the brakes, to hit a brick wall and collide with eternity. A battered board comes streaming into view. The white of the surfboard is smeared with black marks, the oil slick covering patches of the crystal-like water.
Many bodies are entangled in the water, being dragged down into the swirling destruction, I want to curl up in a ball, but I force my limbs to move one after the other. I reach into my pocket and dial 000 my voice faltering as I prepare to deliver the bombshell. I speak into the mobile, giving directions and all the information I am able to supply. The voice on the end of the phone hushes me into silence and then hangs up, they assure me help is on its way, but can we wait that long?
A head bobbles above the crashing waves then dives under again, into oblivion. My powerful body thrives as I dive into the water, urging its way towards the suffering person, I shiver as the oil hits me, its sliminess disgusting my mind and throwing me off course, but I must reach my target. A life hangs in the balance and I must go on, I must reach it. A figure appears again, swiveling into view and covered in olive green oil and dark red and purple liquid, particularly near her lips. I struggle against the current trying to tear me away from saving her. I struggle on, determination filling my mind and fuelling me to keep going.
I grab the hand signaling for help, for someone to aid her desperate attempt. I grasp it pulling her toward my chest and supporting her skull as I kick towards the shore. The sirens reach my ears, and I feel the gritty sand at my feet. Exhausted, I resist gravity as it pleads me to flop onto the ground and dive into an endless slumber. I try to keep my eyes wide and speak understandable English to the guy who is dressed in white trousers and a sleeveless tank top, a paramedic, I think. I spit out answers to his seemingly endless questions as my head spins and tumbles. My mouth twists into a question, the words slurred but clear, I ask if he is ok. He says yes, and then adjusts his answer as my expression seeks for honesty not reassurance. He says maybe, he says I did well and then I sink into darkness, knowing my job is fulfilled.

I have saved one life but many more may have been lost.