A Glistening Deathwish

• Micheala Krass, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2011

The glistening jewel lay contently in my hand, the colours seeming to waltz and flutter under its surface. The gold seemed to caress the gem in a tight embrace and the diamond that sat proudly on top seemed to indicate its worth. The swirling colours of the stone seemed to emphasis the coarseness of the hand enveloping it, a brilliant spark in comparison to the rather plain features of a lowly girl. I stared in stupor at the new found item, its majestic qualities, something I wasn’t used. It had come in a letter, left specifically for me, well…that’s what cook had said. From table 16, that lady with the strange looks. Not being able to read, I hadn’t been able to understand the scrawl that wound in looping figures across the page. The note that had accompanied it had been discarded quickly at the appearance of the opal. Gathering it in my hands, I headed for my meagre accommodation with the other poor workers of the kitchen. I stopped dead in my tracks. If they ever realised the worth of what lay in my hand, I was sure to be robbed. With few other possessions than the clothes on my back, I left hurriedly, knowing with certainty I wouldn’t be missed. My footfalls echoed softly through the deserted street, only accompanied by the eerie dripping of water. Cautiously I stayed in the shadows, my eyes twitching with the strain of looking for a possible foe, as if the very wells of light that were provided by the lamps, were to attack me from behind. An almightily crash resounded from a side alley, as the lid of a trash can idly rolled my way. With a start, I darted away to the sound of voices cursing. My heart threatened to break out of its confines and my ears still rung with the assault of noise from the alley. Finally, believing I had outrun my invisible invaders, I slowed as I reached a line of warehouses that ghosted suddenly out of the lingering mist. I walked past the gaping maws that led into each warehouse. As I paused beside one, a hand snaked out to bind my mouth, and another immobilized my arms. A face hovered in my peripheral vision.
“Well met, Ms Kellingham” my captor announced before we were both swallowed by the hungry jaws of the warehouse.

A lone person swept with a broom, sending puffs of dust cascading through the air. A piece of paper was swept up in the buffeting affront. The person caught the dancing strip, searching the page with curiosity

If you value your life get rid of the pendant immediately.
Ms Kellingham.

With a scratch of his head, the figure discarded the paper, and continued his sweeping.