A Second Life

• Audrey Allan, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2022

Before:
The IV beeps. My heart rate monitor points off the chart. Then suddenly, it stops. Through the darkness, I pull myself towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

Birth:
The light’s blinding. I blink, blink, blink, trying to clear my vision. Then I start to cry, remembering everything. The gun, the noise, the scream. I can’t handle this.

3 - 5 years:
I keep getting flashes, when I look at anything shiny, metal, black. I hate this, I hate that person who killed me. I hate that birthmark on my temple.

6 - 10 years:
At my mum’s favourite ANZAC museum, the sight of a gun makes me almost feel possessed in an extremely fuzzy way. Who is that person with that gun? Are they pointing it at me?

11 - 13 years:
Loud bangs make me jump sky high. I imagine myself reaching out, grabbing that… shiny thing that I can see in the distance.

14 - 17 years:
I hardly get this, but sometimes when I stare into a window the view blurs, shifts and changes into strange, black and white open plains. Sometimes, I jump, and then I can’t even remember why. It’s too confusing.

18 - 21 years:
The little voice inside me, the shy one, or almost never comes out, tells me not to read murder books - but I do it anyway, and even though I’m an adult reading Young Adult Fiction, it scares me like it’s reality.

22 - 69 years:
I get fralier, but I hope I don’t get moved into residential care - is there something wrong with me? Why can’t I look or even think of a gun without tears emerging?

70 - 81 years:
I get moved into residential care - my worst nightmare. I can’t explain why I have random strokes after hearing thunder, or drop something. I blame it on getting old.

82 - 83 years:
I’ve been in this bed for a while - all my food and clothes are brought to me, and I have assistance eating and changing. This life is relaxing, but extremely boring. I kind of look forward to climbing towards the light again - hang on, why did I say ‘again’?!

84 - 89 years:
I decide that this is it - I’m hardly even living anymore and the mention of anything metal, or a gun makes me pass out. I’m too old for this life, and yet, I don’t want it to end.

90 - 92 years:
I finally realise that the birthmark on my right temple looks like a bullet went straight through there. It’s too late though - I only realise after a cold, shiny, silver thing is pressed there by a robber. In my head, I say goodbye to my dear friends and family, and once again climb towards the light, finally accepting both of my past lives and their traumatising endings.


These kinds of things really stick with you, but the purpose of having a second life is to learn to accept it.