Blood Ties

• Nemi De Silva, Grade 7, Brisbane State High School
• Short Story
• 2021

2nd in the 'The Write Note 2021' competition

The children danced upon the earthen track, one caravan of divine upswept joy exclaimed in those catching grins and giggles. The laughter of the four joyous children brought the playground colours to an ever more heart warming hue. But the giggles soddened as footsteps echoed sharply around the earthen road, sounding overly loud in the girl’s own ears, like the booming heartbeat of a condemned prisoner.
“Bridget! Jack! Stop playing with those black rascals! Come! Hurry!” Hissed Mrs Taylor, the mother of Bridget and Jack.
Mournfully, the now sobered children trailed along behind their mom, giving silent waves to the Wunjurra children. They scowled behind their mother despising her haughty, contemptuous manner. So often, those scathing moans emanated from her snarling mouth and joined with other white mouths, in this neighbourhood.
Home in the weather beaten Queenslander, Bridget and Jack’s parents continued their racist tirade.
“I ain’t make no change...the dirty black...ravaging blackfellers.” Mrs and Mr Taylor were gabbling on and on about how “the dirty-blooded animals” had no right to live in Australia. Yet, the children had only witnessed their kindness. So often in the playground, Oodjurra and Windoni Wunjurra had shared their lunch with them. They played football and hopscotch on the dried grass and laughed in the sizzling sun. But this seemed not to matter to the grown-ups.
But this was all to change.
On packing for the family holiday, Mr Taylor crammed cases into his well-used Holden Commodore. Piling kids, dog and wife into the remaining spaces, the car set off with its usual kangaroo hop, and chugged into the wide, open street. Grey plumes of smoke emitted from the exhaust, but the spluttering could not be heard over the radio blaring out Taylor Swift’s ‘Shake It Up’. Then...suddenly, from out of Jack’s peripheral vision, a car, coming in the opposite direction, swerved. Its tyres skidded in a zig-zag dance and the body side swiped the Holden. The old car spun like a spinning top and came to an alarming halt against a gum tree. The next there were sonorous noises, acrid smells and pain.
Screaming, yelling, tortured cries could be heard. The Wunjurra’s, horrified at the quick flash of events, ran into the crash scene as fast as they could. Coughing and spluttering, the Wunjurra’s took the four Taylor’s out of the ashes and deafening odour of leaking petrol. The first part was complete, but were they going to be okay?
Two hours later, the Taylor children woke up to the darkness of an ending evening and the touch of rough, welcoming hands of the Wunjurra’s. The hospital room was filled with beholden faces.
Mr and Mrs Taylor sat propped up in their beds, with soft rejoicing faces as a surgical doctor bustling here and there assisted with the blood donation as it went. Losing blood, was one thing, but receiving it from someone you thought had no likeness with you, was another. True blood ties.