Tears From This Unfair World

• Mikayla Finn, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2012

The wind whipped viciously through the tall palm trees in the small town of Ferndale on the northern coast of California. The thundering waves on the wide beach crashed against the white sand, whipping salt into the air. Thunder and lightning cracked against the pitch black and cloud covered sky; the only light in the town was from the untamed sparks that zapped across the darkness. Annabelle watched the storm wreak havoc on her small town as warm tears streamed down her flushed face. Why couldn’t I have that iPod for my birthday! She screamed in her thoughts as she sobbed endlessly into her pillows. I never ask much and I get nothing. This world is so unfair!
“It looks like England is in for yet another day of inside play,” The television blared in the lounge room of Mel’s home. She glanced out of her ice and snow covered window, only getting a smear of the empty street. Flakes of ice started to drip from the sky. A loud buzz echoed throughout her bedroom, she turned to pick up her mobile phone. Her face fell as she started to read the message. ‘I’m sorry, this isn’t working for me. It’s over. We’re over.’
“No!” she moaned at her mobile phone, it was barely surviving the tight press of her fingers.
Her boyfriend had just left her, after just buying him that expensive watch for Valentine’s Day. She silently sobbed in the concealment of her room, she tried so hard, she gave him more than she should’ve, everything she could and now he was gone, quicker than a butterflies wing beat. I only try to be the best and I still get nothing. This world is so unfair!
Little Isakk ran through the dense bush surrounding his small home village in the undisturbed lands in South Africa. Many young, skinny children rushed through the village, all belonged to the Wuraji Tribe. He ran through the thick undergrowth that was concealed by the sky scraping trees above. He finally reached an opening to his crowded village; chaos was painted on their faces and sealed their voices like the fine strokes of a detailed painting. He remembered the white people coming to say,
“There are not enough people here to waste doctors or food on.” He remembered every single shard of his heart that broke when he heard the words. He shook his head, careful to not spill the water and he ran to the disfigured little hut where his sister laid. As soon as he placed the bowl down, his stomach growled violently. He grabbed it in shock and in pain; his last meal was days before. He returned to his pale sister, tilting her head slightly up to give her the vital fluids. He held her hand in his and gulped, squeezing hers tightly to show he wasn’t giving up. I have been trying my best, please let her get better. Help this unfair world! He cried in his thoughts.