Echoes Of The Past

• Calvin Li, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2011

The jagged edges which protruded from every angle continued into the distance forever, slicing the air around it. It was still as unforgiving as it had been when his ancestors ten generations back claimed the land, a gamble which had not been worth it.

When he was young, he would stand outside, barefoot before a big storm. With the clouds brewing above the peak, and the dust swirling around his feet, he would close his eyes and listen.

It was beautiful: the roar of silence, the ancient power of the mountain rushing in to assert its true power over his rebellious mind. Yet, every time he tasted the thick, clammy air of an oncoming storm he would rush out into the yard and stand, eyes closed, feeling the land throbbing under his feet, listening to the trees singing and dancing to the wind. He let the gusty, unbending force flow over his face and whip through his body, bringing with it the sound of scuttling animals and the tittering of squirrels.

Below him, he could see the green clouds etched with vengeance; fluffy arms outstretched like a sin possessed teddy bear. It evoked nightmares within him as he gazed with a shell of defiance at the gliding skyline. Voices would swirl around in a jumble of noise, bouncing from one ridge to another until it was lost in his trail of thoughts. And yet, his mother’s firm voice seemed to dominate the landscape, belittling the harsh beauty of the surroundings.

“Don’t go out there!” she cried.

It was a phrase which repeated itself when he gazed at the monstrous peak, when he stared at the cackling wind entwining around him, a phrase which shadowed every awe-tinged thought.

“How right she was,” he thought, staring up at the murky sky, lost in its endless pattern of mystery. He looked at his hand, still crushed by the boulder, his hand crying out in agony. Staring balefully at it, he made up his mind. Taking a pen knife out, the dull rusty edges teeming with bluntness, he gritted his teeth. Blood spurted out and landed on his face. Exhaustion crept into him, and he used the full force of his surviving desperation to wedge the blunt knife into his jagged bones. Crack!

It shattered into two pieces.
Nausea overwhelmed him. Pain would be better than seeing the nerve, the floppy piece hanging out. He cut it. He stared at the darkening walls around him, the crevice which he fell into and wished for the end.