Father Come Home

• Sienna Waller, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2010

I stared at the thick iron bars. I also stared at the tiny picture on my wall. After my father joined the army, I entered depression. I spent my pocket money on buying a large cage. The expensive part was getting them to make it stronger and more convincing as a jail cell. The man in the store looked at me like I was crazy. And I am, about my dad. I did it to make sure that my fears couldn’t leave this cage, like I couldn’t.

Since my dad set off I have been feeling invisible, like there’s no reason why I should be allowed to live anymore, like there’s this game of table tennis going on inside my head. I have a weird feeling of loneliness in my stomach like a bullet has shot through the middle of my heart, and in the distance I saw my father crouched down holding his rifle aimed directly at me.
Sometimes I sleep-talk about war. How I feel about it. My father felt it was best not to tell me about it in case I got nightmares.



I awoke after a sleepless night. The scrappy bed I found at the dump had a broken spring that stuck out. It slouched inwards and the wood underneath had fallen apart. It kept me tossing all night. It was chilly and I guessed it was about 4am. I just stared at the ceiling and thought.

The next day, my mother Teresa came into my cell. She handed me an envelope. I took it and turned away. I felt her pain. Her face was hurt. She had long brown hair, messily tied up in a bun. Her lipstick imprinted on her teeth. Her eyes were red from tissues and wet with tears.
I opened the envelope that was addressed to Keilyn Roberts. The note read out…

Dear Keilyn,
My girl. I’m sorry for leaving. I have hurt you, I know, but it’s best for the country. Please forgive me. You are such a special girl and you deserve the best.

Just remember the last time I held you in my arms. Remember the last time you sat on my lap. Remember me, don’t forget. Live with me. If I don’t return, I will return in your heart. I love you forever.

Your Papa

I let my tears fall. Smudging the beautiful handwriting written from his soul. My father was a good man. He volunteered to go to war, he chose to.

Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. The wind was howling like a wolf. It thumped against the roof heavily. I tossed over and stared at the barred ceiling of my cage.


“I am worried about her,” my mother cried distantly. “She locked herself up. It’s terrible.” I heard a blabber of muffled noises from the other caller.
“Send a therapist, someone!” Mother pleaded. She hangs up.

I was worried about dad. My psychic ability tells me he isn’t going to survive.

After three months

Same cage. Same expression. I hear a knock at the door. A few murmurs, nothing much. Someone knocks on my door, enters the room and says,
“Hi Keilyn.”
I open the cage and leap into his arm. I sit on Papa’s lap and don’t move. I don’t care that my father has one arm. I just have my father. He doesn’t question the cage and I don’t question his arm. I’ll never trust my psychic abilities again!