The Arrow

• Ethan He, Grade 5, Beecroft Public School -
• Short Story
• 2022

Excellence Award in the 'Summertime Fun ONLINE' competition

Grey and foreboding, the castle looked down on the hill. At the topmost tower and in the highest window stood a small child. His name was Otto. His face was pale and waxy as he looked down at his father who was trudging away from their home with his back drooped and his walking stick trembling under his frail arm. Alabaster motes slowly drifted down, covering Otto’s father’s ushanka and cape. He was going to fight for Russia, the Red Army and the glorious empire!
Otto watched as the silhouette faded into the horizon. He knew that the only news of his father would come as either the ringing knell of the church and a fresh headstone in the graveyard or a haunted one with a dead look in his eyes.

But Otto recalled the words that his father had whispered to him before adjusting the ushanka on his head, picking up his stick and hobbling away.

“Shoot an arrow in the sky to show that you still remain,” he told him, his voice gravelly as though he had feasted on sandpaper. His voice was dry with days of unuse, having been used instead to utter soft whimpers of pain with his bad leg. Otto’s father handed him an ancient bow and one arrow.

Otto kept repeating what his Father had said to him over and over again, as though it was a mantra that he could use to gain strength. A bow and arrow. A bow and arrow.

But as Otto waited, he began to lose hope. He was the only person living in the castle, and his food supply began to dwindle. He kept on eating plain bread, drank only a little water and started pining away for his father.

But then it was the day when Otto woke up suddenly. He had a bad feeling as though something had dug something out of his heart. He felt uneasy as he looked around, then realised — there were tramping noises outside!

He got up immediately. Otto peeked outside — and there he was! His father!

He ran to the window and grabbed a bow and arrow. He shot the arrow far into the sky. It burst through the clouds.

The distant strains of triumph burst agonized and clear. The arrow was his happiness, soaring up to cloud nine then bursting with joy.