Wind Walker

• Ashley Ting, Grade 6, St Gregory The Great Primary School
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'Read Write Repeat 2015' competition

A strong breeze rustled through White Thread Valley, toying with sleeping Minkels. The Minkels were an almost invisible race, beings that were circular and made of cotton wool. They resided in White Thread Valley, an immense expanse of tough, white stalks growing together in rolling hills. In this way, the Minkels blended into their surroundings, therefore living basically uninterrupted lives.
Malan clung drowsily onto his stalk in fear of being blown away. The Winter Gales could spirit you anyway. Life being a Minkel was dull. The days blended into each other, and life was pointless. The breeze that had come through left in silence, but gave way to a scarlet sky. A hurricane was brewing, the worst sort of weather. Winter brought all sorts of unpredictable weather. A soft whisper spread through the valley. Most had seen the tumultuous sky. Minkels talked in hushed whispers that were distinguishable by tone. Malan hurriedly rolled down his stalk until he reached the root, which was the toughest and the safest part of the stalk. Malan scrambled into the emergency opening. Now the hushed whispers increased like the humming of locusts, which was equivalent to screaming. Malan binded the entrance together in haste with thread, like layers of web used to patch up a hole. The flimsy wisps didn’t hold, and all in a rush, the Elder One pulled out Malan with the force of the wind. Malan collapsed, and left his life in the hands of the air.
A shrill whistle pierced the space, like a bird call. Malan shook his head to clear the butterflies inside. They fluttered and twittered and crammed his mind. They ate all his emotions except for fear, which floated and twisted in and out of the crevices in the dark. Then all was still.
Malan opened his eyes to towering wire structures that entwined into complicated models, spiralling up beyond. The towers were empty and silent. Malan froze as he heard distant thumps that reverberated across the mud-caked ground, sending him rolling like tumbleweed. He rolled along, gathering speed and mud like a snowball until he hit a stout boulder, which launched him into the air. He was caught by the wind yet again, which constantly blew the sands over the plain. The currents seemed to play with him, dropping him and taking hold again at the last moment. This went on for quite a while, until he was dropped into another plain.
A fellow Minkel shrieked in surprise as Malan plummeted in front. “Where have you sprung from?” spoke the Minkel. “I have travelled across the winds of sky,” replied Malan. “Wind Walker!” gasped the Minkel. “Quick, you must come to Elder Bahama. He will explain.”
Elder Bahama was an aging Minkel and the wisest of his valley. “Come, and seek new winds to fly on. You are the prophesised Wind Walker. It is what you were born to do.” Before Malan could respond, another current whipped around Malan and took him away.