Vanished Hope

• Oliver Jackson, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2016

The door swings open and Doctor Grey strides into his office, closely followed by my little sister, Mary. He deliberately waits to speak and the silence seems to last forever. He then quietly says, "I'm so sorry. Mary’s got cancer." My mother gasps and whimpers. She clutches Mary firmly and sobs quietly into her tissue. My world is spinning out of control. Tears stream down my pale face.  
***
The lock was difficult to open. Covered by layers of dust and grime, it had started to corrode. It began one wet Sunday afternoon, Mum’s idea of a clean out. My job…the shed! The shed was at the rear of the garden, among a jungle of shrubs and weeds. It hadn’t been opened since we moved here a year ago.

I was dripping with sweat and my hands were aching but I finally succeeded in opening the door. I hesitantly stepped into the gloomy room and was overcome with a musty smell emanating from the room. Sitting gracefully amongst the rubbish was an antique chest.

I ran my hand over the beautiful designs, noticing the exquisite and intricate detail and patterns. I slowly opened the chest. Stacked up neatly was a massive pile of banknotes! Visions of a surfboard and Xbox consumed my imagination. I quickly closed the lid, vowing not to tell anyone.

Later that evening at the local Chinese restaurant, I could sense that something was wrong. The silence was oppressive and only the scribbling of my sister’s coloring-in pencils could be heard. Finally, my mother spoke.

“There is an alternative treatment for Mary’s cancer,” my mother said in a somber voice.
“But, it’s very costly. We can’t afford it.”
My heart immediately sank until I remembered the money in our back garden.
“How much is the treatment?” I asked tentatively.
“Twenty thousand dollars,” replied my mother.
A cloud of doom was disappearing. I was going to make things better.

We walked home in the enveloping darkness with only the soft glow of the moon lighting up the night sky. It was a beautiful evening, one I will never forget, as I walked hand in hand with my little sister.
“Max, am I going to die?” she asked sweetly. Tears stung my eyes and a lump swelled in my throat.

I tossed and turned all night. Should I use the money for Mary’s treatment? My vivid dreams alternated between her surviving and dying. I woke up exhausted, but I had made my decision…
***
As I sit in the Church, I know I should be listening to the Priest’s booming voice. But my mind is drifting as I recall showing my dad the money, and my disappointment when it turned out to be fake. In the end, my grandmother paid for Mary’s treatment but it didn’t make a difference. My mother is sobbing quietly into her tissue. My world is spinning out of control. Tears stream down my pale face.