Time To Write: 2013 short story prize

by Yarra Bend Press

  Isabelle turned to see what he was so intent upon, when her breath caught in her throat as a choked gasp. Everyone snapped their heads to attention at this sound, eyes widening to the size of saucers and mouths gaping. It was Hazel who finally spoke up, her voice – though it was soft – sounded excruciatingly loud, as she pointed to the object of their terrified fascination. “Is that a real dead body?” She asked.

  Category 12 to 14 Years: Honourable Mention

  The Jade Jewellery Box by Haini Jiang

  My mother was always yelling at me and scolding me for my clumsiness. "Alice, you are like a bull in a china shop!" Vases, dinner plates, photo frames; I was forever breaking something through accident. But the day I broke my mother's treasured, jade jewellery box was an entirely different matter.

  Melbourne, April 15, 2012

  The Year of the Dragon

  My family came to Australia twenty years ago, fleeing Beijing after Tiananmen Square. My

  father and sister arrived with just a few reminders. But the jade jewellery box was the only thing my mother brought. I hate her. She's mean to me because I was unplanned. Dad ran away because of me. Mum hates me because I shouldn't exist. There was never supposed to be a me.

  I had invited some friends over for a party. We had a great time turning the music up loud and dancing but then Mum came home. She took in the scene. She grabbed me and slapped me across the face. I couldn't help but let a tear slip from the corner of my eye. She yelled at everyone in broken English, “Get out house now! Go! Out! Nobody allow here!"

  I was so embarrassed. Everyone got up and left. I heard people mutter and watched as my friends filed out the door. I wanted to leave with them but I stayed, feeling the shame as the pain in my cheek dimmed into numbness and staring at the walls of this house, covered in pictures of China and scripts of Chinese writing. For the first time, I saw how Asian I was and I hated it. I hated her. I hated my sister. They were always in the clever Chinese world, speaking a language I barely understand. I was a child born in Australia and so I was treated differently. I didn't belong amongst the cheongsams, lanterns and lucky bamboo. I longed for a big backyard, a cricket pitch and a barbecue. So, when she embarrassed me like that, I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to prove that I didn't care about the past and the old stories. So, when my mother had tired of berating me, I walked down the hall and into her room.

  The jade jewellery box. The very last piece of Beijing she has here in suburban Melbourne.

  I stared down at it, running my fingers over those fine designs of the dragons that danced. Then, I picked it up, hesitating for bare seconds before smashing it onto the timber floor. Upon hearing the noise, my mother came running. She saw the mess, the flushed look on my face and my shaking hands. She didn't move. Just stared at the scene. I pushed past her and called Thalia, my closest friend and asked if I could come stay with her for a few days. She wanted to know what was wrong and called out to her mum, asking if I could stay. When I heard her mother’s 'yes', I immediately relaxed because I couldn't stay here. I packed a backpack with my school uniform and my phone. I heard a honk outside and I walked to the front door via my mum's room.

  She was sitting on the bed, staring at the broken pieces of jade. I announced I was leaving but she didn't reply. I shrugged and walked out, slamming the front door behind me.

  Beijing, April 17, 1989

  The Year of the Snake

  Fear surrounds the city as pro-democracy supporters are hunted and killed. It is not safe for us. We have said too much and written too much against the government. We have passage to Shanghai from where we can fly to Australia. They are providing safety for people like us. But we must hurry. We cannot take much.

  How would you decide what to take? A lifetime of memories and objects that mean so much. I look around our small apartment, not knowing where to start. What will we need? What will I miss the most?

  There is the jade jewellery box. Part of the Lau family for generations, handed to brides to remind them of their family’s past. Centuries of precious rings, bangles and jewels have been stored in this. Safe. Yes. The jewellery box can be reminder of home. I can build a new life with clothes and furniture but this box will be my link, my tie to my home.

  Melbourne, April 15, 2012

  The Year of the Dragon

  I arrived at Thalia's house just in time for dinner. But first I went to their guest room. I sat on the bed amongst the things I’d brought and fell back, sighing with exasperation. Thalia asked, "Why did you ask them over in the first place?"

  "I dunno. I wanted to piss her off." I replied, staring at the ceiling. I sat up and headed down to dinner with Thalia. I watched the easy relationship of mutual respect and laughter that flowed between mother and daughter. I felt jealousy. Then I pictured my mum. Alone in her room with the shattered pieces of her beloved jewellery box. "I have to go," I said and ran. I ran all the way home, tears streaming down my face. All the feelings boiling over. I flung open the door to find her still sitting on the wooden floor of her room. But she was no longer crying.

  "Alice. I love you. I'm sorry I hurt you. I just want you to be safe." She whispered.

  I hugged her for the longest time. I realised that all the rules and regulations were not to punish only to protect me. "I'm sorry Mum. I will try to be a better daughter."

  Melbourne, February 10, 2013

  Chinese New Year, The Year of the Snake

  My mother and I stroll arm in arm, through the sights and smells of New Year celebrations in St Barice Street. In the corner of my eye, I spot a small store. "I'II be back in a minute…" I tell her.

  I search my purse and find enough money to buy the intricate jade box. It's not very old. It may not even be from China. But it will be our family heirloom. And I will give it to my mother for its safekeeping.

  Category 12 to 14 Years: Honourable Mention

  The Lost Locket by Ciara Brennan

  Fierce waves burst, white and frothy as they collided with the ferry, rocking it back and forth. Feeling unsteady atop the craft, Isabelle decided to go and stand at the prow where the wind could lash her face and the sea’s spray shower her with its iciness. Her companion, Eileen joined her, where, laughing they looked beyond the seemingly bottomless ocean, out to the horizon and the gradual approach of an island.

  Isabelle had woken early that morning, to see the sun slowly ascend into an azure sky, promising another hot summer’s day. Shortly after, she and Eileen had assembled their luggage and begun the three-hour drive that had concluded aboard this ferry bound for Kangaroo Island. Over the pounding waves, Eileen exclaimed. “Look at the dolphins!”

  “Where?” Isabelle scanned the waves and catching sight of half a dozen grey creatures diving in and out of the sea.

  The next day, Eileen and Isabelle drove straight to the Kelly Caves where they joined a tour. In their group there was a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, a lady with a very wrinkled face and two girls who appeared to be best friends. Their tour guide was a sharp lady in her early forties, who wore a broad-brimmed hat, sunglasses concealing half her face, and a dull green ‘Kelly Caves’ uniform. Both her skin and hair were dark.

  Guided around the cave, Isabelle listened to the click of the lady guide’s boots as they echoed beneath the story of the cave’s formation, millions of years ago. Very few questions were asked – in fact, the only people asking questions were the two girls.

  Isabelle gazed at them – one of the girls was thin, with auburn hair, soft brown eyes, and a pale face dotted with freckles. The friend was taller, had eyes that glowed sapphire-like, and were fringed by curly, honey-coloured hair. They asked questions that seemed peculiar to Isabelle and even the tour guide had trouble hiding her dislike for them, sighing whenever either of them spoke. With the conclusion of the tour, Isabelle and Eileen were trailing behind the guide, Isabelle deep in conversation with Eileen, when she broken off to ask, “What was that? I thought I heard something.” A
nd it was then that Isabelle saw a flash of metal out of the corner of her eye. “Look,” she whispered to Eileen and stooped to draw a thin metal chain from off the cave floor. Isabelle turned the chain with a little metal container on it, over in her hands. It was a locket, dull silver and, in addition to some complex patterns, it had a square engraved on it. There was a diamante in its centre. It was both old and precious, vaguely resembling a flower on a long, thin silver chain and unlike any jewellery the girls had ever seen before. “It’s beautiful?” Said Isabelle.

  “But who could it belong to?” Asked Eileen.

  Over the next week or so, the girlfriends shared the locket between them. The next place Isabelle and Eileen travelled to was the Remarkable Rocks. It was a turbulent day with winds that slapped their cheeks and threatened to push them over. Completing the walk to their destination, the friends climbed up the awkwardly shaped rocks, where they sat and decided to entertain each other until the wind was less rude. Soon it was and Isabelle and Eileen could safely stand near the edge of the cliff, looking out over the stunning vista of sunny pure blue sea. After that they took a short drive up to an immense rock formation called the Admiral’s Arch. There the girls watched a dozen seals lazing about on the rocks until early evening, when they returned to their accommodation.

  On their third day, Isabella and Eileen visited Stokes Bay. At first, they weren’t sure where the beach was, until they saw a sign directing them. Isabelle and Eileen made their way through a maze of rocks. Isabelle walked ahead. As she cautiously stepped out from between rocks, a pair of girls appeared on their way up from the beach. Something about their faces was frustratingly familiar. Then Isabella recognised them by the silver chain around one of the girls’ necks. “Um... Excuse me,” Isabelle mumbled. But when she realised that the girls hadn’t heard her, she cleared her throat, seeking their attention before they passed her altogether. “Excuse me!”

  All of a sudden one of the girls turned. It was the one with auburn hair. “Yes?”

  “I um... is this um... yours?” Isabelle stuttered. She held up the leaf and its silver chain from around her neck.

  “Why, yes it is,” the girl replied, “where did you find it?”

  Together, Isabelle and Eileen told their story. Despite its return to its rightful owner, it was with some regret that Isabelle let go of the beautiful, diamanted silver leaf on its chain.

  “Thank you. My name’s Sally,” Sally smiled politely.

  “And I’m Adelaide,” the girl with the honey-coloured hair said. “Thank you. This locket has something very important in it. I can’t thank you enough.”

  Without another word, Sally and Adelaide set off through the rocks away and from the beach.

  Isabelle and Eileen had a very pleasant time at the beach, where they stayed for about four hours. As they tiredly wended their way back, Eileen noticed something lying in the sand.

  It was the very same silver locket.

  Category 12 to 14 Years: Honourable Mention

  The Lair Of Anarach The Cloud Breather by Tristan Simpson

  I crouched low on the brown leather saddle. The wind pressing into my face and making me screw my eyes into a squint. The cloud was a writhing mass of tendrils with no body of origin. Adding pressure with my knees the beating of wings beneath me grew louder.

  “Well?” asked Eclipse.

  I looked down into the eyes of my mount – I had befriended him when the rest of the dragon tribe had shunned him, believing Eclipse’s black scales would bring ruin to the dragon tribe.

  “There,” I said applying a different sort of pressure with my knees and we swooped into a whirlpool of clouds, where despite thick fur and cloaking, I was instantly soaked and chilled to the bone.

  With the cloud’s parting and I took in the whole gruesome affair. Men in furs were climbing down the ragged sides of a crater while green-scaled reptiles with humongous wingspans flew above. The crater was five hundred metres from side to side and at least one hundred metres deep and I identified these circling reptiles as drakes. They carried small reed buildings saddled on their backs and from out of holes in the buildings more of the men were rappelling into the crater.

  Slowly, I eased one then the other crossbows from the saddle holds, attached my rapier to my belt and prepared a special type of pouch made from hardened leather, that I had invented to reload my crossbow handsfree. Finally, I placed a dagger in my sheath. I could count fifteen drakes and surmised about three hundred men on the crater’s floor.

  “Vental?” Asked Eclipse.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You sure about this?”

  “I’m sure. I mean, they’ve got Taalia.”

  “It’s just. Well…”

  “Well, what?”

  “Don’t get killed, okay?”

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “That’s the problem.”

  I said, “You worry too much,” and jumped. The wind whistling in my face.

  I landed in a bracing crouch, my boots muffled on the solid scales of the drake. Estimating that this green drake was about thirty metres long, I moved stealthily towards the reed building, attached its back by ginormous leather straps. The building had a hatch and I opened it.

  Two men with long swords died before they realized my bolts had found their way to their hearts. Reloading, I turned to a whimpering that emanated from the darkest corner. “Vental?” A voice asked.

  My heart rose. “Taalia. Is that you?”

  Taalia stepped into the light with the dark brown ringlets of her hair flowingd over her shoulder in a wave. “Thank the Divines,” she said. “They took me prisoner.”

  “Do you know how to get away from here?”

  “Yup, I’ve seen these guys fly this thing enough.”

  “Alright. Go north. Okay.”

  “North it is. See you in Tarriel.”

  From the building’s narrow entrance I call Eclipse, and springing onto his back, we spiral up amongst the green drakes. Flying from one drake to drake another, I fire a few careful shots from both of my crossbows, smashing the iron buckles on the leather strap and causing the buildings to topple and fall from off the drakes.

  I had managed to destroy five before they were even aware of me and just eight were left before they could defend themselves. But now the air bristled with whistling arrows. I wheeled about and shot both bolts. Slowly another construction tipped, and fell. I turned Eclipse to face the penultimate drake and readied my bolts.

  On the ground below several men lay dead or injured, but they grimly fought on towards their goal, an abyss at the blackest centre of the crater. I watched one of the men, teeter upon its edge before tossing his axe into it. There came first a thundering and then the crater floor began to quake as an enormous grey tentacle emerged from the hole. Where a giant octopus would have had giant suckers, here there were giant spines, jutting sharply at irregular intervals.

  The tentacle fell to ground, crushing men and more of the fallen reed structures that littered the crater’s floor.

  This tentacle slid out and sought the furthest radius of the crater walls and slowly it began to roll clockwise, gathering speed and impaling the unfortunates as it went. It completed its circle and began to recede, pulling all, both dead and alive down into its lair.

  My left arm felt numb, I couldn’t hold my crossbow and it fell from my grasp. Then the pain hit me. I saw that an arrow protruded from my arm, blood staining my jacket. I brought my remaining crossbow to bare but a whistling enemy arrow struck me in the guts. And then, echoing the buildings that I had so recently loosed from off the green scaled drake’s backs, I too was slipping and falling from off my steed and into open space.

  Category 12 to 14 Years: Honourable Mention

  We Are Birds, We Are Free by Ella Crosby

  The fence stretches forever, across the world, but to most it’s invisible. It’s there, tall and oppressive. Always on the horizon but unreachable. And on the fence’s other s
ide there are those who have clung to life. They’re from all times, all places, all races and they must wait. Only someone who pines for a love-lost to the other side can see the fence where they all must wait. But the most heartbreaking of these stranded are children. Lonely. Confused. Bewildered. Lost. Utterly alone. The children reach out into the ghostly void, searching for a warm hand; for the hugs they took for granted; for the people who loved them, unconditionally.

  Some of these children stand bravely. Patiently waiting for the loved ones. Pressed up against the fence, they stare through to snatch glimpses of the living, seeking recognition in vain from the other side.

  One of these children, one of the strongest was Amora. Amora was determined to reach the other side. On the other side was Carmen, her twin. They had been two halves of a whole. And without each other they were nothing. Amora would be reunited, regardless. And so she made a bargain with Death. In return for her service to Death in perpetuity, Amora might be reunited with Carmen. Amora’s only condition was that should anything untoward happen to her or her twin on this day of their reunion, one of them would be granted freedom from death’s dominion. A freedom that would allow one sister to travel freely between the worlds, across the fence. And so it was that Death assented and Amora returned to her twin, Carmen, for one final day.

  Amora appeared to Carmen and it was like old times, they wandered the city, admiring the grand houses, splashing in the fountains, scattering the pigeons, behaving as if nothing had changed. But it had. And as the evening drew in, the city fell into muted pinks and oranges and Carmen, drew forth a photo she held close to her heart. A photo of the sisters and their parents. “We were all so happy before pneumonia stole you from us,” Carmen reflected and stepped onto the road that held the home they had shared.