The Unnamed Boy

• Rhiannon Munro, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2022

The sizzling star remained still as the sky illuminated with bright glittering pastel light that shone over the village. The voices of children laughing and giggling echoed amongst the tribe who were cooking supper. Meanwhile, down by the light blue still creek was a boy. A boy who stood out from his fellow tribe members. The boy had no name because when he was little, his mother and father were taken away from him for stealing months worth of fish from right under the tribe’s noses. Now the boy spent his days fishing.

One peaceful afternoon as the boy was doing that, a monstrous dark shadow cloaked itself around the relaxed tribe as tall men swaggered on their black stallions while they rode across the harsh rocky sand dunes picking up small amounts of rations and throwing them back down on the deserted floor with the attitude of an eight year old boy. Smoke began to rise from the tops of roofs, children were ripped out of their mother's weak arms, and once the poor lonely boy was finished with his humdrum fishing experience, he dropped to his knees and mourned his whole home, which was burnt to the core. The boy was filled with horror and dread and his heart nearly jumped out of his pale beating chest when he saw the people he loved were now gone forever like his birth parents. His eyes became transfixed by one thing: loneliness and despair. He could no longer hear or see happy children running through the streets anymore, he could not see mothers cooking supper for their hungry babies, only the remains of an unfinished platter of fish.

The unnamed boy ended up wandering the desert searching for where the strange men took his fellow family friendly tribe members and his beloved parents. He looked beyond the high sandy dunes of the desert, only to be let down by fate itself, as all he found was miles and miles of sand. Then he wandered further, further than the eye could see to find a shrivelled up piece of fish. “They must be close,” the boy said, rubbing his boney hand across the sand hoping to feel a dent of foot prints. Luck was on the boy’s side because footprints appeared, and they seemed to head in a northerly direction, towards a line of smoke that whisked itself around in the morning wind.

Where the trail began, the boy followed immediately with renewed hope of finding his tribe and being called a hero who wouldn't have to catch fish day after night for his tribe anymore. But when he arrived at the smoke infested location no one was there. He was too late again! He couldn't even save another village who needed his aid. His heart was in his mouth when he looked up and saw the men on their horses. He knew the end was near for his quest was over and so was his life.