Sacrifices

• Rachel Yang, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2017

The traumatic experience scarred me for life, as the vigorous conflagration roasted me to death. The broiling disaster intensely roared like a ferocious lion to my unconscious as Harrison’s villainous eyes cackled with brutality. We were travelling to camp when the incident materialized. Down the alleyway of Shell Cove Avenue, a Coca Cola truck collided with our miniature shuttle bus and traumatizing fire occurred. Everyone directly scrambled out of the scorching bus to evacuate from the blazing scene, leaving me stranded on the deserted shuttle. As I reached to grab Harrison’s hand when he departed out of the blazing bus, Harrison violently shoved me back into the shuttle, leaving me to sizzle in the raging fire. Once the fire had alleviated, the police discovered my lifeless body and immediately rushed me to the hospital. Luckily I survived but my arms, legs and chest were severely burnt and I had to get my right arm amputated. My ears, nose and mouth were also defectively smouldered, and now my nose looks like Voldemort, my ears are Maltsters and my mouth looks like a stroke sketched by a kindergarten. But my skin is the most unpleasant component. It appears to be like a withered, cooked duck submerged in pickle juice! After the incident, I kept pondering back to the bizarre fire, attempting to imagine the figure who shoved me into the shuttle bus but my brain became immensely obscure and vague. After a couple of months in hospital, I was finally permitted to attend school again. The succeeding day, I was standing in front of Secondary School of Boys as I infiltrate through the school borders, concealing my mortified face. I awkwardly notice many unfamiliar stares at my hideous face but suddenly, Harrison charges over to me, a gruesome smile spreading, like the Cheshire Cat, across his envious face. “Loser!” boomed Harrison as he aggressively thrust me across the pavement floor. An embarrassed tear trickles down my innocent face. But no one stops to assist me. I am just too ugly. Day by day, I frequently notice Harrison glancing at me with a glimpse of sorrow and guiltiness in his eyes. I repeatedly disregarded this, but a week later, a familiar email texted me. As I read the heartfelt message, I have never seen Harrison so compassionate before, but harshly reject his apology. I thoroughly regret not accepting his apology though. The following day, as I was indolently viewing the news, five vexatious words flashed across the screen, that made my blood go cold: ‘Fire at 130 Acres Avenue’. I expeditiously sprint out of the house, streams of opal tears gush down my guilty face. I suddenly cease to discover Harrison’s lifeless body on the ashes of his magnificent house. “NO!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, embracing the motionless corpse to my chest. After a mournful week from Harrison’s loss, I realise he sacrificed his life for our friendship, and now I sincerely forgive him in my heart.