Nights

• Georgia Gale, Grade 11, St John Paul II College -
• Short Story
• 2019

Excellence Award in the 'Just Keep Writing 2019' competition

These cold hard nights were the worst. I replayed this sentence in my head as I ploughed through the heavy snow that covered the streets. The moon the only thing illuminating my path.
These were the nights where people like me stoop to the lowest of levels to find any sort of warmth, be it stealing, or something much more unforgiving.

The locked doors of the humble cottages lined the path, slowly becoming less grand as I grew further away from the city centre. This continued to happen until I reached the slums, where the doors were replaced with cloths, swaying in the wind.

Every now and then I would spot a family huddled close together, trying to savour the warmth of each other. This placed a frown upon my face, being a grim reminder of my loss of family.

They were respectable people, my mother and father. Both soldiers who fought tirelessly for peace. Both met their end valiantly, by the blade of the enemy’s sword.

I shook off my memories as I began to reach the outskirts of the city. Just as I passed the last of the rundown homes, I reached a makeshift shelter. This one, unlike the slums, was made entirely out of rotting sticks, and would probably collapse once heavy winds blow past.

I laughed at myself, thinking ‘look how far I’ve fallen’ as I walked into the shelter.

Inside there were 5 boys and 7 girls, all huddled up like penguins trying to block out the ruthless cold.
One of the girls looked up to me as I bashed my boots together, and shook off the snow clinging to my clothes. A smile graced her face as she enthusiastically yelled “Ash” as she broke the cocoon of warmth to hug me.

The rest of the group looked up, mimicking the girl's expression.
I grumble a quick “hello, how’s everyone holding up?” before walking over, and joining the group.

I sigh and jokingly said “I can’t get anything past you guys” as I pulled two identical loaves of stale bread out from under my coat. Everyone’s eyes lit up as they stared dumbfounded at the two heavenly loaves in my had. I smile as I slowly break the bread into pieces, and hand each to a member of the circle. I laugh at how each of them practically inhales their small pieces.

For the rest of the brutal night, we talked. One by one each of the kids fell asleep, clinging to each other. When the last laid their head down to rest I got up and creped my way over to the small dresser we had. I opened the third drawer and pulled out a small, stained red fabric. Slowly I unravelled it, revealing the small silver cross wrapped in it. The only thing left from my parents.

I clenched this cross with both my hands as I prayed. I prayed so that one day, we would be able to feast like kings.