Safe

• Mia Hourigan, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2019

“Eleven, twelve, thirteen.” Stopping in her tracks she held the worn piece of paper in both hands, stained with coffee and drawn all over. She readjusted the welding goggles from her forehead to the bridge of her nose as if they had importance to her next activity; digging her foot in the muggy ground to mark the spot of excavation. Satisfied, she slanted her shoulder, letting her olive green backpack follow along and down her arm making a deafening, crash sound as all the metal that lay in the bag banged up against each other. Mud flew back, landing on her face and clothes, but she paid no mind to it. Dropping to her knees, mud splashed in all different directions, fully soaking her knees. Hair fell in her eyes, becoming a distraction to her sight, she lifted off her matt black bomber hat, lined with a dusty brown fur. Tucking the hat under her arm, she brushed back the fallen hair and quickly slammed the hat back on her head to keep the hair in place. After she was sure her hair was not to disturb her, she reached stubby arms over to her bag and pulled it in front of her. She drew out a portable shovel fitted with a leaf coloured rubber handle and partially rushed spoon. When the shovel is labelled portable, it means smaller than average of course, though against her height of 4 foot 4, the size was too perfect. Put shovel to mud, she began piling out no more than a grapefruit sized heap of dirt. She bit her lip, praying, that the small oak box she had buried was enough to save what it held inside. The adrenaline that came with the anticipation of finding the box intact, helped her find the box in record timing, that and the fact she had only buried it the length of a 30 centimetre ruler. Both hands dove in at once and pulled out a mildly water damaged box, with bits of the oak eroding in all different places. She set the box on her lap and retrieved a large patterned cloth from her army issued backpack and gently wrapped the box in the cloth. Placing the box in the bag with caution, she flipped the bag flap back over and proceeded to rush home. She darted the length back, never stopping to catch her breath, her bag bounced up and down her back. She reached the inside of her home, leaving mud trails everywhere, headed for her bedroom. Setting down her bag, she removed her hat and fetched the box, removing the cloth with gentle hand. She carefully lifted the lid to the box in the highest of hopes. Seeing the photos still intact and the necklace still shining as bright as before, she gave a toothy smile to the photos. Eyes bright, she took the necklace of a miniature plane and pulled it over her roughed hair. She beamed a smile.
“Hi papa.”