Fear

• Felix Le, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2019

My lungs began ventilating. Tears trickled down the side of my cheeks as I looked down at the decomposition of a person that I once knew.

A red gashes pebbled on the side of my left leg, each gash for a loved one lost. I cried out in excruciating pain, unable to contain the sadness within me.
I looked down at the grave once more. Shivers went down my spine. My body remained still. Goosebumps appeared along the side of my legs. Confusion appeared along the widths of my face.
For some reason I had felt uncomfortable but in my comfort zone at the same time. Only days after, I realized what this feeling was; alienation.

Simple stated, I had lost the will to live.
Through several days, my eyes turned red, my eyelashes became scarred with purple bruises. Sleepless nights occurred as the thought of living alone in this cruel, wide world became deplorable.

Images of family flashed through the depth of my head. A smile appeared along the widths of my mouth. For a slight moment, I felt something I had not felt in a long time.
Ease.
However, my mood fluctuated whenever I saw families having the ability to comfort each other in times of need. It all felt bittersweet, knowing this was an emotion I’d never feel again.

After the deaths of my whole family, the police told me they were murdered in cold blood. My face turned red. Anger fuelled inside me. I felt an urge I had never felt for days. At first I thought the world was punishing me.
A young innocent boy that was still learning about the world, unexposed to the diseases mankind brought; murder, crime and depression.
I was six years old when this happened.

With no one to care for me and being underage to live by myself, an orphanage became my new home.

Throughout my time at the orphanage, blood trickled along the side of my cheeks. The carer, Mr Straw have me a backhander. I felt the blood and I fell. He grabbed me by the collar of my t-shirt and repeatedly punched me in the stomach. I felt a searing pain inside my stomach, blood trickled from my lips.

Everyday I would look out the window and long for my right to vote, my right to be a child. The night sky become my refuge. I imagine that the orange, phosphorescent sunshine was my home. The stars became a representation for the past ancestors that were related by blood. Dreams illuminated inside my head; dreams that defied impossible. One time I dreamt of a utopian world, in which everyone is connected through the act of kindness and through the act of a simple gift, the world would become a better place.

Every morning, every afternoon and every night was the same; slavery, fatigue and a whole lot of depression. My back ached and sweat appeared along the side of my cheeks. When would it ever end?