Fend

• Claire Matthews, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2015

Sheltered underneath a bridge, my younger sister and I curled up on the cold, hard, concrete. Somehow, my sleeping bag didn’t seem as comfortable or as reassuring as usual. I thought I'd never fall asleep. A thousand thoughts whizzed through my mind. We'd been betrayed by our own parents. Betrayed. Rejected. Unwanted. Thrown out like the trash.
Their arguments had escalated recently. But, I had never imagined it would end like this. That Dad would leave, forever. That we'd be abandoned. Ordered to clear out.
Tonight was our fist night out on the streets. Life would never go back to normal. In the space of one morning, normality had been flung out the window. I suddenly had to become an adult, and be responsible for Emily, my sister. Tears streamed down Emily's face, as I softly sang her to sleep. She had realised that we were never going home.
A leaf crunched underfoot, echoing out across the still night. I snapped wide awake. A shadow loomed over me. Instinctively, I reached for my pocket. But the shadow was faster. It held a knife poised at my neck. My heart pounded. I gulped down deep breaths. "What do you want?" I demanded. The reply was cold and harsh: "Your food, or your life."
"No. I have a four-year-old sister to look after," I protested. Emily was sitting bolt upright, trembling in fear. His face clouded with guilt as he glanced at her. But, he inched the knife closer.
The terrified scream of a small girl filled the air. "Don't do it," I begged, "for Emily's sake." "What's the use of saving her? She's gonna die out here anyway. You idiot. You really think you can help her? Leaving home was a horrible mistake," he hissed, too quiet for Emily to hear. Anger boiled inside me. "You think I chose to leave home? You think I wanted this to happen?"
"Trust me, whatever hellhole you just left, you're about to wish you were back in it," he threatened. "Trust you?" I echoed, my temper rising.
I swung out my leg, kicking him. He fell over backwards. I quickly wriggled out of my sleeping bag, and stood protectively in front of Emily. He was back on his feet, clenching his hands into fists. "Bring it on," he muttered, stepping closer.
He swung his fist at my head. I ducked, and then planted my foot into his stomach. He howled in pain, doubling over. I whipped out my pocket knife, "Two can play at that game," I growled, pointing it at him, and flicking open the blade.
Fists clenched and unclenched.
Calculating eyes flickered to one another.
Two knives hit the concrete.
A silent agreement.
He stalked off, not defeated physically, but emotionally. He was torn inside. His heart was like a shattered light bulb; so fragile, easily destroyed, but difficult to repair. Broken pieces litter the floor, waiting for someone to gently scoop them up, and stitch them back together. But, that someone wasn’t going to be me.
I cradled Emily in my arms, as she sobbed into my chest. I felt like I was her only protection, against a cruel and menacing world. Was there any way back? Not only for us, but for the thousands like us?