Veins Of Fire And Water

• Aisha Carpenter , Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2019

With my curly black hair flicking in my eyes I desperately skim over the red ground, not paying any attention to the tumble down houses around me. About two hours ago Gapu, my mother was groaning in agony, her olive eyes danced with fire, her long black hair thrown wildly across her shoulders, her bronze skin tinted with red dirt from the house floor. Five minutes ago I couldn’t stand it any more, I just needed to get away. Away from the over powering stench of dirty laundry, away from the familiar piles of rubbish strewn around the house but most of all… Away from the growing tension smothering the house like water does to fire.


Last night I crept into the house and found Gapu in her right state of mind, I laid down next to her our single mattress and felt the comforting warmth of mum’s body next to mine, then I slept. I slept as if my life depended on it. But now standing outside the house I spot her as she strides out of the house defiant to the world around her. I walk alongside her sharing her confident strides towards the crumbling community store. Walking into the familiar store brought me hope for Gapu and my new life without a particular shadow that always looms over us.


To be dissipated by the image of him, blocking our way further into the store. Gurtha, father, fire. Gazing fearfully at his scowling pale white face, I realise he is drunk. Staggering towards us he flings a giant white fist at Gapu but misses. I shout at him to go away, leave us and stop abusing my mother. Cursing at me he punches me in the stomach leaving me to double over in pain, while he stalks over to Gapu. Crying with pain from my wound. I drag myself towards him and grab the wallet that always sticks out of his Levi jeans’ pocket.


Then I run. Run as fast as my bruised stomach permits. Dashing out the shop door, past people and mangy dogs. I peer back through red dust to see father’s eyes possessing cold fire running after me, sending chills crawling up and down my back. Sprinting onwards I arrive at the coal mine that shut several years ago. All because someone lit a cigarette inside, resulting in a friendly never ending fire. I chuck the wallet into the licking flames below, watching as Gurtha scrambles down the cliff to rescue it. To be dissipated by his aboriginal name that my clan gave him. Fire.


I’m forever changed. As five weeks later mother still can smell the smoke clinging to my skin, embedding it’s self into my soul and body, to become part of me. Changed in mind, as I conquered Gurtha, my biggest fear and regret. But my spirit is and will never be changed. I am Dhawungu; steam. Born from fire and water, and this is my story.