Keep going

• Felicity Sutton, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2004

The bucket feels heavier than ever today; my arms ache as I drag it along the deserted corridor. The dirty water slaps against the sides, threatening to splash onto my newly-cleaned linoleum. I sigh, knowing that soon the water will need to be changed. Reaching the stairs, I let my mop clatter to the floor as I lower myself onto the bottom step. To rest is a rare luxury, but some days I need the break. Rubbing a worn hand across my forehead I can feel the calluses on my palms, hardened by endless labour.
“Just keep going, my little one,” my mother’s voice echoes in the back of my mind, an old and distant memory. “You must be strong. Keep going, one day at a time.”
I rest my head in my hands. “How can I, Ma?” I feel like crying aloud. “How can I keep going? It is all gone. Everything is gone.”

I can still remember the peaceful village of my youth, happy and content until the day they came. Panic and rumours spread. A change in government; a new leader with ideals that had a terrifying significance for us. Everyone had to leave, get out, as fast as we could. My mother never showed a flicker of fear but she gathered our family and meagre belongings with an instant determination. Leaving our home, we joined the group of people trekking to the border, seeking solace in a neighbouring land.

The days were long and tough, but our family stuck together. Amazingly, we survived and made it to the border. Collapsing on the other side, we were met with thousands of others also seeking refuge. Camps and makeshift shelters had been set up; food and water were distributed by foreign aid. My mother stayed strong, providing for us all when there was barely enough to live on. She set up a little place for us in the camp and we settled there, preparing to stay but not knowing how long we could wait in safety.

Then, in the cruellest attack, they struck. I returned from an exhausting journey in search of water, to find the entire stretch of camp along the border burnt to the ground. No lives were spared. Horrified, I walked among the smouldering ruins, surrounded by death and devastation. I searched the rubble and soon found all that was left of my family. Falling to the ground, I could have died that instant had I not heard my mother’s voice inside of me.
“Keep going. Be strong.”

How I managed to come here, to this ‘land of opportunity’, is still a haze to me. At first the unfamiliar language and culture overwhelmed me, and I was grateful to receive a job at all. Yet time passes and I feel no more fulfilled. I know I have been lucky, but in my heart there is nothing left. Still I cannot give up, for my family’s sake. I must keep going, one day at a time.