Memories

• Ashtyn Mcmaster, Grade 12, Loreto College
• Short Story
• 2014

Excellence Award in the 'Write As Rain 2014' competition

The river flowed sluggishly, muddy-brown water drifting slowly past the bank. The gum trees swayed slightly in the wind, leaves brushing gently against the rough bark of the trunk and each other. Accompanying the sound of the leaves was the splash of a fish, the whistle as a fishing line was cast into the water, the scrape as someone repositioned their camp chair on the hard, dusty ground.
A young girl, no more than twelve years old, perched precariously on a fallen tree limb, watching as her grandfather and uncle set the yabby trap. Knee deep in the silty water, flannel shirts rolled up to the elbows, hats tipped forward to protect their faces from the hot sun. Her sandal shod feet traced patterns in the cool, sandy dirt below, erased as quickly as they had been created.
Finished with the yabby traps, the two men made their way to the camp chairs, readjusting the position of the fishing rods, eyes carefully on the lines and patterns in the water. The girl followed, sitting down on the bank in front of them. The hot sun beat down on the sand in front of her, and with the light reflecting off the water onto her face, she drifted off.
The girl awoke to the sound of scraping and rustling and triumphant whispers. One of the rods had bent and the line was taut-a fish had been caught! Her grandfather beckoned her over and handed her the rod. "Reel him in, love." he told her. She pulled the line as instructed-right hand turning, left hand clasped tightly. She would not let go. She struggled with the fish-the tide of the battle turning frequently. Sometimes the fish would look to be winning, sometimes the girl would take the upper hand. Eventually, the fish seemed to tire, its struggles growing weaker. With one last almighty heave, she hauled the fish in. Later, as she stood holding the fish and beaming proudly at the camera, she thought, "I will never forget this."