everanoutsider
New Member
Hey hears a practice short story for the exams. We've been told that it is on the "environment" so tell me what you think.
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[FONT="]As the rope swung towards me, there was a moment of fear. As I caught the rope, that fear, still there, momentarily put on hold as the others urged me on. I steadied myself and let myself swing. I let go as it arched into the sun, the birds singing about their freedom. The smell of the eucalypts, the river, the freedom. I was momentarily blinded as the hope and promise of the future flashed before me. I’m flying through the air. Free. And then I hit the water. [/FONT]
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[FONT="]I shuffle down the path. Remembering this tree, remembering the past. My back aches with the pressure of responsibility, with age. The stick beside me, not a reminder of that freedom, but of my prison. Finally, I reach the river. The water is lower, darker, grimier than I remember. Where the birds had once sung, I only hear the sound of cars, trucks. The city. My jail.
The river’s edge is blocked with rubbish. I bend down, run my hands through the water. It was cold. Where it used to wash my worries away, it brings them back.
I straighten, slowly as the years of bending have permanently stuck me, and make my way back. Back to the present. Back to my prison. [/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]I’m running. Chased by the others. Chased by the future. Chased by responsibility. I crawl into my hide-out. Safe. The birds, interrupted by my flight, resume their singing. They have no worries. They aren’t pursued to grow up. The smell of the bush, once pure and untainted, is now mixed with smells of petrol, of the future.
They will not look for me here. I haven’t been here for years. I can hear them calling me. Calling me back to the house. Why can’t I just be left alone? Left to my freedom?[/FONT]
[FONT="]I’d just met him. Running from class. Running to catch the bus. I couldn’t be late, they were waiting for me. He kept the bus waiting for me. When I saw it was still there, my hope flared. I jumped on, paid, for the short ride. There is a price for everything. He invited me to sit next to him. We quickly got into a conversation. How could someone like this be in a place like this, I kept wondering. My stop was coming up. Would I ever see him again? After a few short minutes, it seemed like I needed this man to keep me afloat. Keep me from sinking into the dark hole that beckons. My jail.[/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]There he was. Lying in those crisp hospital sheets. The smell of disinfectant mingled with disease, present in the air. His body, connected to all those tubes. He looked weak. He looked dead. This was not my husband. This was a shell of him. Why had they done it? Why had he intervened? I knew the answer of this question. He had intervened because he couldn’t help it. An angel can’t help but help. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Pulling the plug. Letting my angel be free. [/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]The door closed behind me. I hobbled to my bed. Stiff from the short hours out. My body has betrayed me. Where once I was strong and could run for hours, I am weak exhausted by the smallest effort. I can hear the prison warden walking by, checking all the decrepit old patients are still alive. Little can she know that most of us are just waiting. Waiting for our freedom to be rewarded to us for all these years alone. I can’t believe this is where I have ended up. Put here by the children I loved so much. Didn’t they realise this place is worse than the hospital? Where is my freedom?
[/FONT]
[FONT="]As I fall asleep, memories flash through my head. The days spent in the river, the day I met him. The day we got married. The day we went to the beach and watched our children run into the surf. These are the memories flashing through my head as I take my last breath. A small smile playing on my lips.
[/FONT]
[FONT="]There he is. By the river. Sunlight behind him. There is no sound of cars. No smell of the petrol. No rubbish is in sight. I walk towards him. Towards my freedom.[/FONT]
Freedom
[FONT="]As the rope swung towards me, there was a moment of fear. As I caught the rope, that fear, still there, momentarily put on hold as the others urged me on. I steadied myself and let myself swing. I let go as it arched into the sun, the birds singing about their freedom. The smell of the eucalypts, the river, the freedom. I was momentarily blinded as the hope and promise of the future flashed before me. I’m flying through the air. Free. And then I hit the water. [/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]I shuffle down the path. Remembering this tree, remembering the past. My back aches with the pressure of responsibility, with age. The stick beside me, not a reminder of that freedom, but of my prison. Finally, I reach the river. The water is lower, darker, grimier than I remember. Where the birds had once sung, I only hear the sound of cars, trucks. The city. My jail.
The river’s edge is blocked with rubbish. I bend down, run my hands through the water. It was cold. Where it used to wash my worries away, it brings them back.
I straighten, slowly as the years of bending have permanently stuck me, and make my way back. Back to the present. Back to my prison. [/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]I’m running. Chased by the others. Chased by the future. Chased by responsibility. I crawl into my hide-out. Safe. The birds, interrupted by my flight, resume their singing. They have no worries. They aren’t pursued to grow up. The smell of the bush, once pure and untainted, is now mixed with smells of petrol, of the future.
They will not look for me here. I haven’t been here for years. I can hear them calling me. Calling me back to the house. Why can’t I just be left alone? Left to my freedom?[/FONT]
[FONT="]I’d just met him. Running from class. Running to catch the bus. I couldn’t be late, they were waiting for me. He kept the bus waiting for me. When I saw it was still there, my hope flared. I jumped on, paid, for the short ride. There is a price for everything. He invited me to sit next to him. We quickly got into a conversation. How could someone like this be in a place like this, I kept wondering. My stop was coming up. Would I ever see him again? After a few short minutes, it seemed like I needed this man to keep me afloat. Keep me from sinking into the dark hole that beckons. My jail.[/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]There he was. Lying in those crisp hospital sheets. The smell of disinfectant mingled with disease, present in the air. His body, connected to all those tubes. He looked weak. He looked dead. This was not my husband. This was a shell of him. Why had they done it? Why had he intervened? I knew the answer of this question. He had intervened because he couldn’t help it. An angel can’t help but help. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Pulling the plug. Letting my angel be free. [/FONT]
[FONT="] [/FONT]
[FONT="]The door closed behind me. I hobbled to my bed. Stiff from the short hours out. My body has betrayed me. Where once I was strong and could run for hours, I am weak exhausted by the smallest effort. I can hear the prison warden walking by, checking all the decrepit old patients are still alive. Little can she know that most of us are just waiting. Waiting for our freedom to be rewarded to us for all these years alone. I can’t believe this is where I have ended up. Put here by the children I loved so much. Didn’t they realise this place is worse than the hospital? Where is my freedom?
[/FONT]
[FONT="]As I fall asleep, memories flash through my head. The days spent in the river, the day I met him. The day we got married. The day we went to the beach and watched our children run into the surf. These are the memories flashing through my head as I take my last breath. A small smile playing on my lips.
[/FONT]
[FONT="]There he is. By the river. Sunlight behind him. There is no sound of cars. No smell of the petrol. No rubbish is in sight. I walk towards him. Towards my freedom.[/FONT]
