Matilda

• Aida Evenhouse, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2022

Impulsively, I get on the bus, avoiding everyone’s gaze as I hear that familiar bloop! of my opal card. The bus is fairly full, but I find a seat at the back, right in the middle of the aisle. For some reason, this annoys me. The baby crying in the front of the bus infuriates me, and the sixteen year old talking animatedly on the phone with their friend irritates me. I feel the urge to swipe the bright green phone and smash it on the ground.
“Shh, shh…” The man with the stroller sighs.
The teen in front of me whines. “Can you tell them to please text me?” They make a face as they listen to the response.
An old man beside me inhales and exhales, his rattly breaths somehow still heard over the din, and I think that he may need a cough drop. Shame she took them all before she left.
More annoying things distract me from her, slurp of iced coffee, watching as someone gets on the bus and doesn’t tap their opal card, just sits down.
The soundtrack of people becomes old after a while, and once it stops fuelling my anger, I put my hands over my ears and lean my head back against the seat, zoning out.
When I open my eyes and look to my right and left at the seats that used to be filled, I get a short burst of satisfaction when I realise everyone must have had to uncomfortably scoot past my sleeping self to get into the aisle.
The bus is completely empty and there’s no driver anywhere, so I step out of the open doors into cool air, on a hilltop overlooking the ocean. I gasp at the beautiful view, mesmerised by the swirling waves and long grass.
Turning around, I notice a highway curling around cliffs, cars zooming past the little outlook where the parked bus and I stand. I walk forward toward the jagged cliffs cautiously, careful I’m not standing on any loose bits of rock or dirt, and I peer down over the edge.
I narrow my eyes and squint, wondering who is at the bottom on a strip of beach.
“Matilda! Matilda!” I shout when I recognise the figure. “What are you doing down there, Matilda?”
She doesn’t answer me, simply jumps up and down on the sand in glee, spinning around and waving her arms, gesturing for me to join her.
So I start to climb down the craggy rock, holding onto plants and thick roots.
Once I’m halfway down, I look back to call to her, tell her I wish we hadn’t fought, but I can’t find Matilda. Instead, I see cartoon skeletons, bodies with ripped fabric surrounding them. And, a telltale green phone.
“Matilda!” I scream. “Where are you Matilda?”
But then I succumb to gravity and my eyes don’t stray from the green phone as I fall, fall and fall…