Salvation Seeker

• Valerie Ong, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2014

The boat rocks backwards and forwards, like a child consoling itself, in the midst of the storm. The tears of the world rain down, heavy and hard. I feel sick; my empty stomach churns and swirls, like the storm, only inside of me. The dark, angry skies light up with angry strikes of lightning. The cracks of thunder boom across the empty sea around us, reaching and invading my wet ears in loud bursts. The icy cold tears pelt our shivering bodies; they form a watery curtain in every direction. On board this bucking attachment of wood and metal cresting the rough waves, the other passengers moan and retch, heave up the empty contents of their stomach. If we survive this we will be even more hungry, my mind tells me in coldly. My mind is cold and my body is cold, I will need warmth to survive I think. I shiver and curl closer to my mother. Her thin arms encircle my body and hold me to her. We hold ourselves in a familiar position, my body next to hers, and leaning towards each other. It is a position we have held many times in our home, when our street was a smoky arena for fighting and chaos, this position is one of comfort in the face of fear. My father sits next to me, his arm lays curled around my shoulder, one of his hands rests on my mother's shoulder, and his other hand reaches across me as if to hold us together. The ship creaks and cries and groans. I'm not sure how long it will stay together. I'm not sure if we will survive this. My hands and feet are icy; I press them together, as if to stop the heat of my body from escaping. It is futile. I want to cry. I want to scream and yell and roar, roar like this storm. I want to shout the injustice of the world and hope that the world will change for the better with my pained words. The sharp flashes of light boom as the storm wears on, the thunder yelling into my frozen ears. It is a scene of perpetual darkness with little fragments and whip-like cracks of thunder in the cacophony of incessant rain. I have given up hope I think. My family and I wait like this for the end. But, it never comes. A boat, much larger than ours, is battling its way to us. Some of the passengers on this cramped, tiny boat sway on their feet with their arms waving; as if they are afraid the boat will turn away from us and leave us desolate once again. My father looks at us and holds us closer. Just above the storm I think I hear him say 'salvation'.
We are not yet in salvation; still, after many months of detention, we face desolation in our lives. We are not sure if we ever will be processed into a greater life.