Tent Town

• Kate Robinson, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2016

My feet pat lightly along the ground as I stumble through the harsh, rugged landscape. The roads are packed, full of people trying to escape the horror of the place I used to call home. It triggers an immediate memory of all the screaming, the shouting…all of it just as terrifying today as what it was back then. I’m about a week away from France where my Aunty lives and then soon after that I can move to Britain to start afresh - a life away from the daily terror and fear.
~ * ~
‘Go on then!’ Shouts the young boy, shoving the shoulders of another defenceless child. He stumbles back, bumping his head on the bookshelf. I sigh and continue stacking shelves, hoping that one day soon I won’t have the responsibility of caring for so many orphans. Suddenly, a little girl of no more than five walks through the open door, tears streaming down her pink cheeks. I drops my pile of books and walk over to her hastily. A deep gash marks her arm.
She sobs, wincing in pain. ‘They hurt me.’ I quickly finds a bandage to cover it while simultaneously realising that my chances of being able to go outside without being beaten like the little girl are now non-existent, but I know that these kids need me. The orphanage where I sleep at night is just as much a sanctuary to me as it is to the children.
~ * ~
The sounds of gunfire hammer against my eardrums and my heart pounds in my chest. People around me are screaming and crying out in pain but they merely register as muffled sounds in the distance. Everything around me is a blur of red and grey and all of my senses feel completely numb. The ringing in my ears grows louder, adding to the unknown terror of this dehumanised space. I can’t feel any parts of my body; everything is a haze.
~ * ~
‘Are we nearly there?’ I ask, looking up at my older brother. He nods. We were working underground today. It’s different to what I imagined. We didn’t get to wear special helmets like my toy miners did. We just had to go down and work, they said.
‘Will we be there soon?’ I ask. Just as I speak, we arrive. Standing on top of the hill, we can see thousands of people lining up and slowly moving towards where we sleep. All of them in the same dirty clothes as me. I rub my hands over my bald head, reminiscing on my old hair. Mummy said that it would grow back soon. My brother told me they escaped, but deep down I know they didn’t. I know that they took them - just like they took our sister. And I know that soon they’ll take me too. That’s why I don’t want to go back. Not to the tent town.