The Truth

• Sophie Klettke-Sullivan, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2022

Kirra’s eyes darted around, her eyes shining bright despite her desolate surroundings. The walkway outside her house was covered in cigarette stumps, broken beer bottles, ash, dust, and litter. There were run-down graffitied brick walls and dusty windowsills. She continued with a skip in her step as she patted down her old, worn, dirt-ridden overalls. As soon as she came out of the walkway the scenery changed. The littered floor was replaced by a clean, dirt-free street. The buildings were in much better condition, too. She tied back her brown hair with a rubber band. She half shut her eyelids as she inhaled the scent of freshly baked bread and pastries. Then, she adjusted the strap of her depleted wool pouch and searched it for her coins, placing them into her cracked palm.
Kirra then entered the cinnamon-scented shop and glanced around. She took in all her surroundings before taking her place in the queue. She peered over the shoulders of the people in front of her to look at the display case, containing all the baked treats. She picked a thread on her overalls, as she patiently waited for her turn. Her attention was diverted by a sullen man in a suit coming in. He had a haughty feel about him, that made Kirra feel uncomfortable. Before long, it was Kirra’s turn to order, and she took a step forward, before she was suddenly stopped. The man in the suit cut in front of her and snarled, “Let’s do everyone a favour and get your kind out of this world, shall we.” Her immediate response was to touch her deep brown skin. The man straightened his collar and approached the counter. He glanced around, noticeably taking out his expensive wallet and placing it on the counter.
“It’s not my fault I’m Indigenous, I was born this way.” she thought. Her mind was racing, as she was becoming more and more upset by the comment. Perspiration started to form on Kirra’s forehead and her hands suddenly became sweaty. She could not believe the racism she had experienced. She opened her mouth to respond but no sound came out. Frustrated with herself she scrunched up her face. She collected her thoughts, gathered her strength and loudly stated, “I think this world is a better place with my kind in it.” She confidently marched past the man and ordered. She took her order, thanked the cashier, and strode out of the bakery. Once outside, she pumped her fist in the air with celebration. She had a smile on her face as she traced her finger along her brown arm. She skipped home, proud of herself, her culture, and her family. She waltzed along the cleaner street then as she turned the corner, she noticed something for the first time. Her people were proud of their culture.