Vomica Vita--The Curse Of Life

• Matea Bozic, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2010

...A fire burns in my throat, my thirst almost unquenchable. My hands shake as I reach for the murky water of the small, foul smelling pond, the water spilling over my finger tips. I feel so weak, as if I could never stand again. There's no will left in me, not even to live. The pain is unbearable.
But my quaking body still reaches for more water; my treacherous lungs still inhale shallow, rapid breaths. The water rakes at my throat as it slides down, filled with bracken and dirt. It falls to the pit of my stomach, heavy and toxic. My shuddering frame cannot carry the extra load. I hit the ground hard, with barely a gasp. I’m too weak to even cry out. The relentless sun beats down on me, burning me, killing me.
I glance down at my tiny body, at my hips, the bone poking out like it was a mere millimeter away from ripping through my bruised and filthy skin. I look at my rotund stomach, the result of living a life of starvation, at my scrawny limbs that look as though they can not hold my weight. My breath rattles in my lungs and I know I am about to join my ancestors in the spirit world, finally putting an end to this cursed life.
Lying sprawled on the dry ground, I wonder at what put me here, my heart lurching at the very thought…
I've done nothing wrong in my life, no great sin, no foul deed. I have hurt no one; I’ve but laughed and run around in the scraps the rich have left us, their old, befouled clothing, their meager canned foods, their discarded medical supplies. I've watched as many before me have collapsed, watched as their spirits fled their bodies because the white man cannot spare enough to give us lives. And now I lie here, under the African sun, waiting for the wind to take me, waiting for the ground to soak in my soul, for my time to enter into the earth.