Breaking The Shell

• Lila Krynski, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2019

Eerie wind whistles in your ears. It travels with you across this polluted wasteland. The tiniest part of you puts one foot in front of the other, determined for some reason. The faint light grows darker, and as you prepare for a painful sleep, a bright light shines in the distance. You squint, and soon a small stand is in front of you. It is made from different types of wood, some green from age, some barely used. Rusted pipes stretch out from the reddish roof, pumping out the sweetest smell ever. Oddities in the extreme sit perched on dusted shelves. A man with a long snowy beard pops up. His dark skin seems too vibrant to be real, and some strange feeling tickles your heart. Your crusty lips twitch upward, and before you know it, a weird sound erupts from your mouth. You cover your face, embarrassed, but the man’s lips twitch up and he begins to speak.
“It’s sorrowful that even someone as young as you doesn’t know how to be happy” his voice warms you. “It took me months before my injuries healed after the Downbreak. But it took years for me to regain trust and believe.”
You turn away from him as you begin to cry. The Downbreak: the time where pollution became life. Long before you were born, but nothing had changed. Smoke bites at your lungs, water is poison, and food is dirt beneath your feet. Mum and Dad tried very hard for you, but after they crumbled, you decided to leave.
The man waits patiently, and then asks you; “Why do you grieve the Downbreak?”
The answer was quite clear, you thought, it had taken everything but darkness and despair, but then you remember this man, capable of all that was ripped from the clutches of humankind.
“I believe” you stammer, “it took more than feelings. It took the earth, killed it from colours and plants and animals, made it a shell, never to be broken.”
“Wise words, child. But do you want to change this?”
You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Eerie wind whistles in his ears. It travels with him across this polluted wasteland. The tiniest part of him put one foot in front of the other, determined for some reason. The faint light grows darker, and as he prepares for a painful sleep, a bright light shines in the distance. He squints, and soon a small stand is in front of him. It is made from different types of wood, some green from age, some barely used. Rusted pipes stretch out from the reddish roof, pumping out the sweetest smell ever. Oddities in the extreme sit perched on dusted shelves. A strange feeling tickles his heart. His crusty lips twitch upward, and before you know it, a weird sound erupts from his mouth. As he covers his face, embarrassed, you say; “Do you want to make a change?”
And the shell starts to crack.