Short Story Competition: School Years 8 to 10 Highly Commended 'Unlikely'

By Cecilia Alarcon Bravo

The guns in my heart, the blood on my hands, the bodies in my eyes, the doubt in my brain on what is good and bad, right or wrong, real and fake.

It's been 7 days straight on this bus, nothing to do but think, think about the blood of my very family on my hands, the holes in their bodies when the gun shot at them, the same gun that travels in my ears and fires when the bus hits a bump or when a kid stomps.

I have survived the bombs unlike my sister, the gas that killed my cousins and grandparents, the fires which burnt my mum to ashes and finally the guns that pierced through my last family member.

I stood there as my father fell to the ground with 6 holes in his body. But I think that this bus might be the death of me. There is this question that stays inside my head, one I don't know and don't want to answer, but I can't keep avoiding it.

"Why had I been the one to survive this whole thing?" Was I the one being dragged into the bus to escape when my family was laying on the ground. I didn't want to survive not without them.

The bus finally came to a stop with a crick that set off the gun once again. We all shuffled out, we were all leaving the land we had known for our whole lives and entering one with dangers, but everyone had family, everyone but me. The bus left.

We were alone, we didn't know this land, we didn't know what to do or where to go, we were lost, in more ways than one.

We started walking towards what we thought was north to find the sea, but we had kids and mothers with sad eyes and tired hearts who could not walk for too long.

As we sat down to rest, the men that were traveling with us set up the fire. With every crackle of burning wood, the gun shot, and I flinch, with every scream from the babies, I heard the scream of my sister as the bombs fell and every time, I look up at the fire I saw the burning body of my mum.

We started to get ready to move and soon we got to the sea and there were 4 armed men standing close to a small boat barely even floating and the dread flooded my body. Somehow, I knew that was the ride that I was taking.

Everyone was lining up and slowly getting onto this "boat." As I watched people were giving in money before getting on, I didn't know if I had but I thought they might let me on since I was alone, but my mind changed as soon as a gun fired and a women fell with a hole in her head, these men didn't care if we lived or died, they just wanted their money.

I had no money they were going to shoot me, I was lost, I was alone, I was going to die.

It was my turn next; I was shaking like the inside of the maraca. I was a goner, at least I thought so.

The lady behind me stepped in front and took out a handful of money and shoved it into my hands, she pushed me forward and I came face to face to the man

collecting the money.

My hands moved themselves and presented the money.

The man took it and shoved me towards the boat, I looked back to thank the women back found myself staring that her dead body; that's when I noticed that I was only handed some money but a chance and most of all hope, and I was going to use it, I was going to

survive this.

There was still hope, there always was. I was going to survive this, whether my fate liked it or not. No matter how unlikely it is.

Judge’s Comments:

An example of great story-telling. This short story really takes readers on a journey, the reader is made to walk hand in hand with the narrator through this tense and emotional tale. This writer discusses difficult themes throughout the story and really confronts death, displacement and loss, head on. Despite the fear and horror depicted in the writing the story ends with hope and the chance for regrowth.