New Life

• Rivah Scaddan, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2018

The wind blew against my pale face. I shivered and gazed out into the endless black sea. I could not believe the bomb destroyed our whole country. I didn’t want to, either. I glanced at the only other survivor, a tall slender looking man who I hadn’t spoken to, even though we had been in the boat for two days. I didn’t know where we were, but I was certain I wouldn’t step foot in Afghanistan again. I decided to be the first to speak. “Hi,” I said. The man was slumped against the small boat, gazing out at the endless, black ocean. He turned. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Mika,” I replied. “I’m Jay,” he said. “Hungry?” “Uh, yeah” I began. “See the ocean,” Jay indicated, pointing towards the ocean. “It’s beautiful and an incredible source of food.” Jay took off his shirt and stood up. “It’s dark,” he said. “Perfect for most predators to not see humans.” Then he jumped in. “Wait,” I cried. It was dark, something around midnight, and I didn’t want to die. I was so scared. I sat and waited for Jay to bobble back up to the surface of the ocean. He never did. I waited three hours for him to glide back up to the surface. He never did. I was a loner, an only refugee, the only survivor, of the bomb. I cried and cried. Wet tears poured down my face. I felt seasick, too sick to do anything. At last, I dozed off in an uneasy sleep.

Silently, the boat bobbled. Silently, it moved on North. An island came into view. Luckily, the boat kept travelling North and silently hit the surface. Well, not that silently. It crashed with a hard bump and I had a dream.

I was with my parents. Smiling with them, laughing with them, crying with them. Then suddenly, they were being taken from me, and I was flying, away from my home. I would never see them again. I was in a plane, and it crashed. I hit the ground with a loud thump. Was I dead? I couldn’t be, because my arm twitched. I opened my eyes. These were the best times to be a heavy sound sleeper.

Where was the boat? I curiously stood up on my weary legs. The boat looked like it had been shot down. And me? I looked at my hands. They were covered in cuts and bruises. It seemed as if I had broken my hand, as I felt a lot of pain there. I limped forward. Where was I? I was on some kind of island. No, a large island. It must be a beach because a thin path was inviting me towards there. I listened to the path, and slowly began limping towards it. A couple were looking at me strangely. The woman had her mouth wide open. Her partner looked at me in disgust. “Where am I?” I asked him. He hesitated. “Iran,” he replied slowly.