The Great Escape

• Elijah Wood, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2021

The beach absorbed our footsteps as we ran for our target, our escape. The trembling of my hands only worsened as this became closer to reality. The night before our escape, Dad had been informing us that our small time period would become available the next morning. Any later, and our boat would have holes punched into it, any earlier and we would be captured, this was the perfect time. My name is Le Hung, and I am now a Vietnamese refugee. This escape was performed with my brother Hoang, my uncle Nguyan, my father Laman and 3 others from my village. This is my story of pain, grief and deception.
This whole escape took place when the war between the North and the South Vietnam was at its apex. (That didn’t make it easier!) First in this journey, I remember being inside my hut, oblivious to this whole thing. I distinctly remember my Father and Uncle talking in hushed undertones, and whenever they noticed my intent face poking around the corner they would briskly walk away. At the age of 8, many things alluded my attention, this being one of the bigger things. But one day, this kind of good-for-nothing riddle that I had formed became the most pressing matter of my life yet; a war was about to strike.
My life from that point forth was completely changed, from the usual aromatic smell coming from the kitchen to the somewhat dreadful smell of cured meat. The usual sound of kids playing became the groans of the kids sharpening spearheads. The men in the village made it their task to fortify our boundaries and prepare for the worst by loading guns. Although there was an air of confidence running around the camp, when the dark silhouette emerged from the shadows, everyone’s hearts skipped a beat. Tears had streamed from my face, knowing that the end could quite possibly be approaching for my village mates or worse, my dad. But when the engine of the vehicle shut off, even the villagers that were fighting heads turned around in confusion.
A rapid fire Vietnamese discussion between the commander of the vehicle and the village leaders was the beginning of our escape. We were eventually loaded into the vehicle, which I was later informed was called an M-113 military carrier. The heavy metal tracks had wrapped around the rocks of our steady decline down the mountain. With the small cavity that allowed sight from the vehicle, I could observe the sun falling across the hills with the familiar life that we had lived slowly diminishing to nothing.
Finally, my journey came to an end. After the swift journey down the mountain to an open urban area we set off on a boat to Australia. The hardships are unexplainable, but we got through it. That was my journey as a Vietnamese refugee, and now I live a happy life in Australia.