Washed Away

• Elif Bolgil-miller, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2019

The brown bricks aligned perfectly in a special pattern; ivy clambered desperately to the razor-sharp edges of the tenebrous slate that sheltered our home. The number 12 was etched beautifully onto the proud door that guarded our garden. The warm, coastal air licked the walls where a sound as vicious as a tiger trudged into my small attic room. Clouds swam over the sun creating a caliginous and crepuscular atmosphere. I could hear a faint gushing sound sprinting towards me. The sound got clearer and clearer, and I could hear something else, something familiar. People. People were screaming emphatically; I could sense something was wrong, really wrong. I glanced out of my foggy, frost-painted window and I saw it. A massive tsunami was not far away.

Everything skated through my head. My brain knew what to do but I couldn’t move. I just panicked. My childhood home that had so much care invested into it was going to be destroyed in an instant.I felt the tsunami’s cold fingers touch my shoulder tugging me back, and then I knew it was over. I thought fast, I plugged my nose, took a big breath in and let the tsunami sweep me away. It shoved me into my bedroom wall that my mum had decorated for my 5th birthday. I wanted it to be over. I squeezed my azure eyes shut and let the tsunami dance on top of my sinking shoulders. I thought about all my good memories; about mum and dad when they were still together. All of a sudden the tsunami was gone. All that was left was a thin puddle that slept across my wooden floor. I glanced at my baroque dresser and I felt my heart sink. The one photo I had left of dad and mum was smashed to pieces. I felt a tear squirm out of my eye and roll down my rosy face. Our beautifully tiled roof had crumbled and our walls were on the verge of sinking into the now destroyed garden. It was all over…