Isobel Kantaris

Descriptive writing.
The boy stands: waiting. Waiting for a sign, a sound that will confirm that this
devastating desert of rubble is his reality. Yet he is only greeted by a superior
silence that towers over him before engulfing any hope that was still clinging on.
He stares at what used to be his life, his memories- stolen. Fragments of the past
float by, though he does not see them through the blur of tears drowning his
vision. Pain strikes across his face as he looks down at his bare feet. Most of the
dried blood has been washed away by the trickling water that slides over them.
Sitting down heavily, no energy to break his fall, he starts to violently rub at the
redness. Even when his skin shines bright, he still peruses his task. Attempting to
rub away his grief then stops abruptly. An emptiness overwhelms him, seeping
into his very core; he realises he is now completely alone.

Finally giving into exhaustion, he lets his eyelids close. Skin meets skin clamping
shut like the door of a vault where flashing memories of terror forces themselves
at him. There’s no escape. He sees vague dark shapes running through the
choking smoke that fills every pocket of fresh air. Impossibly loud gun shots still
ring in his ears. Each explosion destroying his world. A constant scream runs in
the background and petrified shouts get closer. He stares at his house, chunks of
the walls once full of life come tumbling down to just in front of him. Reluctant to
leave his home as his mother screams his name. That acrid smell of death rapidly
returns again, never too far to make him suffer.

His eyes flick open, he is in the present. Now a stillness takes over and a sense of
calm after the life wrecking storm. He looks down at the ground where dust
covers rubble and sees the tip of something emerald green, fresh life growing
where there appeared only destruction. He pushes away the debris creating a
stage for the thriving new-born. Plucking a leaf, he touches it to his cheek
allowing the damp moisture to heal him. As he looks forwards he knows he has a
future, something that he can build for himself. He sets up and strides away
without looking back, a new confidence fills him, some kind of will from within. It
is hope. He has hope.