Summertime Sadness

• Arabella Willmott , Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2022

As the sun sets, I walk down to the beach, kick off my shoes and let the sand slip between my toes, the salty wind tossing my hair in every direction. The pink clouds remind me of my friend’s rosy cheeks in the cold, pink against a backdrop of blue. The sand slithers up the beach in ghostly tendrils, biting into my cuts and forcing me into the water. The ocean is a deep blue, blocking the seaweed underneath from sight. I feel a small fish glide around my ankles, “Strange” I think, “there are usually hundreds of fish at this time of year,” they must be moving on.

The walk up to the beach seems to take an eternity as I remember the day before. It was the last day of school, we had the graduation assembly then school was finished, I was no longer a year five student. After the bell, the Year sixes were a total wreck. The march to the gates flashed by in a blur. No matter how many times I chanted the school song in my head, I could barely fight the tears. I wouldn’t be at school for six weeks. No one ever understood my love of new tasks and fresh work. I feel like I’m in a black hole, drowning in sorrow, but it appears, ‘black holes aren’t as black as they are painted.’ Black holes may be black, but they also GLOW. I must remember that.

I stretch my arms and sit up, banging my head in the process. I see a narrow beam of light forcing its way through the shutters,”A new day” I say to myself. My clothes feel tight against my burning skin and the light, which seems blinding wherever I turn, doesn’t help. The driveway has pieces of gravel strewn about it so I spring onto the grass. I get a glimpse of mum’s shopping bag, it means that we’re going to the markets, the place I don’t particularly like to go. However, I brush off my concerns and take a seat.

The car is stuffy and humid, so I’m thankful when we get into the open air. The markets are on a field, the coloured stalls huddled together like penguins. The nearest stall bears a sign sporting the words: PROPHETIC ADVICE.

Intrigued, I walk over to where the lady sits in her chair, unblinking, she glances up at me. I jump. Her eyes are unsettling, they’re pitch black like the night sky. She starts speaking and I recoil at her voice, it has a harsh, raspy quality, like she can’t breathe. “Hello Gal,” she says “I know what you want, your longings. You are skilled. Pick up your pen Gal……”

I enter my room, the darkness casting eerie shadows on my bed. I grab my notebook, scour the pages ‘till my eyes rest on their addresses. I know what I want: be with my friends like always. So I’ll do what the woman said, I’ll make it a reality.