The First Act

• Georgia Newton, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2008

I hear the sounds of guns firing as I huddle inside my makeshift trench. The ear-piercing sounds of shrapnel hitting the metal above me pierce my ears, making me automatically put my hands to my ears. These sounds remind me of what I left behind.
The intensity and sharpness remind me of my parents. They’d always shout at me and each other with the same bitter and pointed tone that I hear now. My mother spent most of her time on the grog, leaving me to fix dinner and take care of my brother. Arriving home she would yell at me asking me why I hadn’t made dinner, then strike me for answering back telling her that there wasn’t any food around.
My father was completely different. He was addicted to work, probably as an excuse not to be at home. When he was home, the fighting was like the roar of the bullets overhead, in a way just as piecing although not to the flesh.
But it was not the noise that was most deadly, it was the silence. I remember the day the silence was deafening. I realised that my father was gone. I knew that it was time to leave too.
I was lucky. An old man picked me up after weeks of homelessness. He housed me for two years until I was fifteen before he suddenly passed away. My most vivid memory I have of him was when he saw me pull a book about acting from his crowded and dusty bookshelves. He smiled and remarked “it will come in handy one day.”
The day after he died I learned of auditions for a movie that involved an orphaned girl and her life during World War II. I guess I thought it like my life and was a sign.
As I walked into the building where the auditions were being held I took in the smell of ladies perfume and the sight of a waiting room full of children with their mothers, all anxiously waiting for their turn. They all looked so composed and well presented, not like me. I took the form on the table and began to fill it in. I remember how my uneasiness turned into focus and confidence.
The stage hand hits the metal dingy. The loud echoing noise brings me back to the present. It’s my cue. I push the boat over and emerge cautiously on all fours, looking to my left, then to my right. I see the bodies of slain soldiers around me, the carnage of war. I hear myself speaking the lines that I diligently learned.
Then I hear “Cut. Let’s call it a wrap. Take five”.
Even though the filming has stopped I continue to reflect on the intensity of feelings that are swirling in my head. I think back fondly to the old man to whom I owe so much.
I smile to myself as I run to join the others.