I Guess It's Just Me Now

• Kiara Clarke, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2016

I Guess It’s Just Me Now.

I can remember it like yesterday. The day my life changed. Lights growing, bigger, bigger. No. I need to shut out the memories. I can’t let them in. The squeal of tires.NO! A flash of light. I succumbed to the memories.
Three months ago my mum, dad, sister and I were coming home from our family holiday, everyone was in the car ready.Our family were playing ‘I Spy’. We reached the highway. It all happened so quickly. The truck was on the wrong side of the road. I screamed, the lights grew brighter. The truck came closer, dad spun the steering wheel in an attempt to get out of the way. Too late. A sickening crunch of metal. Darkness.
I woke in a bed in unfamiliar surroundings. A strong smell of cleaning reached me. I look around to see a nurse standing by the bed bandaging my leg. My leg hurt like crazy, as if someone was tearing it in half.”Where is my family?!” I notice my voice is hoarse from not speaking. The nurse turns to me, a solemn expression on her face. “I’m so sorry,” she replies softly. “You mean ..... they......” I couldn’t bear to say the word out loud, the truth was too horrific. “None of them?” I say instead. “You were the sole survivor,” says the nurse. The word ‘survivor’ echoes around in my head. Why me? Why couldn’t I have gone with them? And what about that truck driver? Anger bubbles up inside me, starting with my chest, like it always does, working it’s way to my head. I wanted to scream, yell, destroy everything in my path, let out my anger. Instead I try to stand up. Pain shoots up my leg. “Please lie down” the nurse says softly. “NO!!!” I yell. “I am going to KILL that truck driver.” “Please stop yelling,” the nurse says.
Finally I calm down a little and ask,“Who will I be living with?”, trying to keep my voice level. “I’m sorry, but until someone sends in the legal forms saying they can look after you, you will have to live in the orphanage down on Cobble Street,” the nurse said.

I opened my eyes, tears streaming down my face. What I would give to stop that from happening three months ago. I push open the door to the orphanage dining room. The head mistress was striding around the room. She was an intimidating person who relishes the fact that she makes all the children at the orphanage miserable.
Every day I would sit by the window that faced out onto the street, waiting for someone to come for me. For three and a half years I waited. No one came. The next morning the Mistress came into the dorm to wake up the children only to find a dead body in the bed where I was sleeping. Now I was free, riding a pure white horse higher, into the clouds.