I Am

• Airlie Smith, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2021

I am big. I am strong. I am tough. I am scary. But that is all on the outside. On the inside I am small. I am weak. I am soft. I am scared. You may look at me and see a rough, weathered corpse. Worth nothing. I have always felt that I am, and always will be worthless if that is all everyone will ever see. So your thought process has to change. You have to change the way you perceive someone or something.

Every day I greet the sun. No matter the weather. Rain, hail, snow and shine I am out there every single morning without fail. Sure, I have no choice but I worry that might all change. For years no one has even cast a look at me. I have seen so many things, heard many different conversations but they were never about me. I remember when I used to stand proud over my land, green blossoming from my arms and head. I used to have an important job. Provide shade for any animals inhabiting my paddock. Now I have a puny little shadow that only one horse at a time can fit under. No one bothers to look at me anymore. Now I am just the carcass of a once-mighty natural statue. A piece of art. Now I am just thought of as a perch, a “spooky” piece of firewood. Until the small girl came along.

She was short, had piercing blue eyes and long, wild white-blond hair. She looked up at me with curiosity and excitement. Her face was flushed from her horse ride and joy. In her eyes, I saw something I had not seen since I had died. Admiration. I heard her ask her mother how old I was. I tuned out of that conversation and listened to the birds instead. I didn’t want to know how long I had been watching the same, ever-changing skies. I looked back at the girl when I thought she would have become disinterested in me. I was shocked to find her skipping closer to the fence so she could see me clearer. I didn’t know what to feel. It had been so long since anyone had acknowledged me like this. So many emotions burned through me like a blazing wildfire. I was so scared and happy all at the same time. She had recognised me. Someone had finally recognised me for who I was. To this small child, I wasn’t just a piece of firewood.

As the years went by, I watched her grow up. I saw her when she was sad and I saw her when she was riding the wind. Every day she looked up at me and I looked down at her. When she was old enough to take decent photos she would come and kneel at my roots to take photos of me. I loved the protection that she gave me. I loved being recognised for who I am.