Woes Of The Wild Wind

• Leann Sequeira, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2022

Chasing after the cranes in the backyard, dirt all over my face, I rub against the erupting pieces of white growing inside my mouth. Buried under layers of handed-down clothing, mistaken for one of my brothers or sisters. I’m the last piece of coal added to the fires of my joyless family. It’s funny that I’m lonely in a family of nine.
I wailed uncontrollably when my mother dumped me on the highchair and jabbed a spoon into my mouth. As I flailed my arms around, the cling clang of the spoon and bowl ringing in my ears, beady green peas scattered around the floor. My mother then dropped me into my dishevelled crib and left through the door.
In my adolescence, my lanky legs would gingerly walk through the school’s front gates. I was adrift in the solar system of friendships that orbited around me. I watched my classmates' holding hands, giggling as they sipped their juice boxes and shared their sandwiches. When I walked back home in my cramped shoes, my knees buckling, behind me, I sensed my seniors following me, like lions trailing after their next meal, their insults spilling into my ears. My fingers wrapped tighter around the jagged rocks in my palm. I turned around, letting the rocks escape my hand and strike them. I ran, my feet tripping over each other. I felt the weight of muscular arms grabbing me and I dropped to my knees. When I got home, my mother regarded my bruised body. She looked away; her footsteps heartlessly headed to the kitchen.
When I turned eighteen, the rebel within me had spiked. Every night I escaped from home into the crisp night. I would sit amongst them, in the alleyways and in the fire escapes of buildings. My fingers around my cigarette like a vice, I would shut my eyes and let my thoughts mingle with the wild breeze. At dawn, I would walk the empty streets, the honeycomb streetlights flickering above me. It was then that I saw four boys leaning against the post, aching with laughter. As my loneliness gnawed back at me, I shattered a bottle and rammed into them. My untamed nature had overcome me, again. Even when they were gone, they would not be forgotten. Their classmates would swarm their caskets in the morning, sobbing in agony. When I returned to my room, my mother’s affectionless eyes watched me, regarding the blood splattered over my face, my hands trembling. Tears brimmed in my eyes as her footsteps got further and further away from me.
I sit now, the metal handcuffs cold around my wrists. I watch the police officer clicking his pen. He asks me flatly if I have any last words. A smile branches over my mouth, “If you can’t bend as a sapling, you sure as hell can’t bend as a tree.” The police officer signals to the doctor. He jabs a syringe into my arm, and a permanent unconsciousness engulfs me.