Forget Me Not

• Holly Brabner, Grade 11, Beaumaris Secondary College
• Short Story
• 2022

Excellence Award in the 'National Treasures 2022' competition

We are six years old
The playgrounds are our kingdoms, our cities, our empires. We fly through them with wings, with fairy dust, with our magic animals. We skip home after a good day’s work at school, gushing the events of the day to our exasperated mothers. I reach for another book, another story to inspire the next adventure. My heart swells at the thought of another lunchtime spent in our imaginations.
We are nine years old
Our games…our dreams have evolved. We act out entire storylines in a mere lunch period. We slip on the personas of our characters, as if we were trying on an old, beloved dress. We defy the laws of the universe daily—we secretly have magic powers after all. Our numbers grew; sometimes we were three, others five. But always, always, I was there to help conduct the journey of our childhoods.
We are ten years old
By now, we follow a routine. The old, neglected bench in the corner of the school becomes our haven, the place where we let our creativity and love of escaping the real world thrive. I feel an overwhelming sense of belonging: here are the people who care about me and value what I have to say. Here are my people.
We are eleven years old
Our days are numbered. I try to forget about the imminent change looming upon us, but wherever I go, it is at the back of my mind. I feel I am the glue that is trying desperately to keep us all together. But no matter how hard I try, one by one, they leave.
I have never been to a funeral—never even known someone who has passed away. But I feel an incalculable loss as I watch one car drive away, then another and another. And like threads being pulled from a knitted jumper, the people we were unravelled. Until finally, I am left standing alone, with nothing but promises and memories framed in a photograph.
I am sixteen years old
My life is now centred around the future and the pressure of success. With but a whisper of those promises and memories left, I still hoped. I hoped that one day, they would return. And just like those threads that threatened to unravel us entirely, one by one, they slowly creep back. Until my heart swells as I see those cars drive towards me, and not away.