Olive Tree

• Alexander Thorp, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2014

Everyone has Blonde hair, but I have black. Everyone has blue eyes, but I have brown. Everybody is skinny, but I am fat. Everyone is tall, but I am small. I am different, if you haven’t noticed. This is what I face every day. When I get up, my mum is sleeping, suffering her depression. When I go to school, I am always by myself, the odd one out. Whenever someone talks to me, they bully me. When I walk home, I get bashed up. When I get home, nobody says “Hello John,” I am greeted by my mums screaming, but today, I found my only glimmer of hope.
Our family owns an apple Orchard. Every day after school, I go there. I would walk down the hundreds of rows, looking at the trees. Today, I was doing my ritual. I was walking down row 992. I had never been down row 992. Why, you may ask. Because it was the last row, and I thought that row was weird.
I began to walk down the brown, muddy dirt. Step by step, I could hear the squelch of my rubber boots and the soggy mud. I could smell the apples on the trees, and the freshness of the water dripping down the outer layer of the apple.
Walking on for about one hour, I saw something really strange. I saw a small, black object on the ground. I reached down, picking it up. Then, I wipe off the mud, and then I see the bright, purple shine, and realize what it is: an olive! There are no olive trees around here, so where did it come from, I wondered. I walk on, thinking that someone had walked down here and dropped and olive by mistake. Then, I see another, then another! I began to run, to see where these things are coming from.
My jaw dropped. Colossal in size, making me feel like an ant. I pinch myself, to make sure that it isn't a dream. It isn't. It’s real. In an apple orchard, I am confronted by a humongous olive tree. I could see the dark green leaves and the small black olives, on the tree, high up in the sky. I think to myself, this is amazing. I see plies of the small tangible objects, in neat plies. Should I tell my mum about this, I wondered, but then I think, what she could do? She has her own problems anyway, that have affected me.
My mum is suffering depression. This is mainly because of her drinking and drug addiction. She has done bad things because of this. So bad that I don’t want to mention it.
Today, at school, something came over me. Why don’t I make a new friend? I see a boy, sitting all by himself. I approached him. Then I asked, “What’s wrong Bob? Why aren't you playing with anyone?” He replied, “They found out that I was different.” “Do you want to talk to me,” I ask in my desperation. He responded, “Sure John!”
That day, when I got home, I didn't go the olive tree. The day after that, I made another friend, and I didn't go to the olive tree.
Over the next twelve months, I made friends with everyone. Everyone at school liked me, and I liked them back. I felt better about myself, and I didn't feel different. Today marked the 1st anniversary since I found the olive tree. I decided to go to it. What I couldn't find it