Fire

• Miller Phillips, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2021

Hisssss… I lay restlessly awake in my confined bed. It is unreasonably difficult to sleep when someone is beckoning you. Someone or something. The begging is deafening when all else is silent, sleep seems impossible. It was especially puzzling that the other kids in my dormitory were still deep in slumber. Tossing and turning, I start to perspire. Hot sweat dripping down my forehead, my heart beats a thousand times a minute. The sound still beckons.

Hisssss… there it is again. Thoughts cloud my head, questions without answers. Who is calling? Should I follow? Or should I be hiding? I had to think quickly otherwise the other children would start stirring. I don’t want that, they will tease me again. Creak, the ancient floorboards make a disturbing noise as I make every move subtle through the empty corridor. Bitterly cold air overcomes me at first, the darkness intensifies my fear. I see a gentle flicker of golden light at the end of the long hallway. It soothes me.

“Hello?” I question the dark eerie space. “Is anybody there?” I cautiously approach the unused room. It is ghostly and depressing, just like everywhere else in this orphanage. Dusty cobwebs were tangled in corners, barred windows blocking out light and ravenous rats infested the room. I can see a boy sitting on the ground cross legged. He doesn’t seem like the other kids; grimy, knotted hair, a ragged old top and an unwashed, emotionless face. He has different skin than the rest of them. I thought I was the only one but he is just like me, an aboriginal.

“Kaya?” He asked me.

I realise he can’t speak English.

“Kaya,” I smile back, suppressing my forming tears.

His eyes are a deep chocolate brown, his pupils transfixed on an object. As he speaks he doesn’t look at me, only past. His orbs were completely dazed; they looked almost lifeless. Almost. Then I realise what he was looking at; a fire sits in the middle of this lonely room. It was what had been beckoning me. It was different. The multi-coloured flames illuminated the air giving off neither heat nor smoke, only hues. Flaming red, burnt orange, amber yellow, golden green, azure blue - the spectrum of colour drew me in. I was mesmerised.

“Fire!” I gasp, shocked. I had forgotten that he couldn’t understand me. “Yau yee!” I tried again, silently begging he could understand.

“Nawa! Yau yee,” he replies, grinning. We watch in awe as the embers hiss and crackle. Together we hold hands, finally someone can understand me! I realise even more than ever how hard it was living here and being different to others. This boy must be feeling similar.

The fire dances gracefully before us in light, delicate movements. Soon it diminishes and evaporates into the night. The boy and I smile knowingly as we share the same strong connection. We knew it would always be there when we needed it.

Only we knew.