Stolen Child

• Grace Connolly, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2021

It was late at night, I was huddled up next to my mothers warm arms, happy and content. The dark night sky covering us like a cool blanket. All the birds had gone to sleep, leaving nothing but the sound of a crackling campfire. Nothing could ruin this moment, I thought. But no one heard the cage rattling on the back of a truck, no one heard the car door opening followed by large unmistakable footsteps, no one saw the long looming shadows creeping towards camp…

That was the day I was taken. I was dreaming about my friends and I playing in the muddy banks of the river, sunlight shining on our bare backs. Everyone was laughing and carefree, but it was suddenly interrupted when a large, strong hand grabbed my arm, yanking me out of it. I was barely awake when I was dragged across the dusty ground, my back occasionally scratching low scrawny bush. My mother was rushing towards us, pleading to the man to let me go, but it did nothing. I could see in his eyes there was no sympathy for either of us. Yet that didn’t stop her. She flung herself at his feet, seizing his ankle. It did nothing except irritate him more. The big man dragged the two of us all the way to the truck, closely followed by the rest of the camp.

He forcibly threw me into the passengers seat, yelling at me to stay while he dealt with my mother. I quickly turned away, not wanting to see what he would do to her. The scream then came, not of the physical pain she felt, but knowing that she would never see her little boy again. The drivers seat door suddenly opened, revealing the man from welfare, his face enraged. I pressed my face against the window, feeling tears run down my cheek. My mother was siting on the ground, crying. Tears streaming down her dark face. This was were we parted. The truck started to move, driving along the soiled, dirty road. I watched my mother, until she was nothing but a small black dot.

The truck ride was extremely uncomfortable. I could not bear sitting next to a wicked man. The wicked man that hurt my mother, the wicked man that took me away, the wicked man that I will never forgive. He said it was for my own good, so that I could fit into society. But I really knew what it was for. It was to get rid of us ‘animals’, the First Nations people. They wanted to mould us into shape, raise us like dirt, then throw us into society with no social skills, no proper education and definitely no money. It was all about what the white men wanted, not about anyone else. In their world we don’t get a say, no one cares about us, we don’t even matter. Nothing matters more then power to them, not even love.