an aussie in austria

I’m not a huge fan of sharing my fiction. I guess I’m worried someone will tell me my writing is no good. Still, every now and again I let one out of the cage. So, here’s a story that was included in one of Stringybark Stories’ many published books. The theme was that it had to have a twist. Enjoy!

(You can visit http://www.stringybarkstories.net for more info on Stringybark Stories).

Peter the Orphan

I don’t want this to seem like a sob story, I’m not trying to reach out for help. I’d just like to tell my story because I’m not like everyone else. Because I remember.

I remember being born – my first glimpse of the world, wet and a little sticky, everything glazed and out of focus as my undeveloped eyes took it all in. I mean, I don’t remember every second of it, not like it was yesterday, but I do have a memory of it, and that’s more than most can say.

I had a relatively normal upbringing. Well, at the start anyway. Mum, Dad, five brothers and sisters. Dad’s memory slowly fading, forgetting things easily: what he did this morning or what he did just now. But Mum’s was razor sharp and I guess that’s where I got it from. None of my brothers and sisters remembered their births, or much at all about their childhoods. I tried to remind them with my stories but they just gazed at me with big eyes and Tad always rolled his slightly before turning away. I knew they made fun of me. I was the smallest one so I got picked on. For being small and for being different.

When I was still quite young, tragedy struck. I awoke one morning to find the family clustered around Dad, his eyes rolled back and his body puffed and swollen. There was much distress and before long his body was taken away. Days of aimless drifting ensued. Mum was taken ill a week later and the rest of us knew what was coming. Now, as orphans, we would be separated.

I wasn’t really unhappy at the prospect. I’d always known there was something bigger out there for me and I held no sorrow for my brothers and sisters as they waved goodbye. I was sad to see Mum leave my world. She had always been the only one who understood me and I knew that with her gone part of my childhood had gone with her.

Soon enough I was sent to my new home. It was a long journey. From the city where I’d grown up, I’d always been able to see tall buildings and cars going past, horns tooting, the constant noise lulling me. But this car ride was long and silent. Outside the sun was bright, high in the sky. The houses grew smaller, then further apart, then disappeared altogether and there were only fields of wheat and corn and sheep grazing. And then even less, dusty plains, settling deep into the hot glow of the sun.

The house itself seemed pleasant enough. A wooden shack with a fresh coat of paint and a few small trees struggling around it. The environment was arid, dry and though there was some greenery in the distance, most of the land around us was flat, barren and exposed to the elements. It was a different life out here.

The children, three of them, were loud and unsettling. They ran around, stopped to stare at me and ran away again. I kept to myself and most of the time they left me alone. Though one of the children, Betsy, in particular didn’t like me. She would come and stare at me for hours, it seemed. I tried to match her stare but eventually I’d grow anxious and turn away, hiding, only to peer out and see her wicked grin as she realised she’d frightened me. Kids can be so cruel.

My new mum was a lot nicer. She ensured I was fed and cleaned, which is more than someone in my position can usually hope for. Though I lived a relatively lonely existence, I amused myself by inventing games and telling an invisible audience stories of my childhood. Remembering was indeed a blessing for someone like me. I remembered the stories Mum would tell, the way I would always be up front, in rapt attention, as she focused solely on me. My brothers and sisters held little interest.

Betsy continued to taunt me. She would play near me, but never with me, all the while smirking and glaring as if to say ha, you can’t play with me. After some time her behaviour took its toll and I found myself slowly sinking into loneliness. The hope that one day I would make it out of here was fading and all I could see was the glee on Betsy’s face and the worry etched on Mum’s.

One night, while the family was asleep and I tossed and turned restlessly, I realised that it was time to do something about my situation. It was time to stand up to my bully, regardless of the consequences.

The next morning, Mum was busy and so eventually Betsy drifted over to stare and make faces at me. I had prepared myself for this and had gobbled all the food I’d been given that morning for extra strength. I waited until Betsy was right close to me, her face almost touching mine, and I jumped.

I used all my strength and I absolutely flew into the air and hit her smack in the face. She squealed and took a few steps back, staring at me in shock, her expression a mask of horror. I lay on the ground, momentarily stunned, struggling to breathe. Perhaps, I thought, this wasn’t such a great idea. But as I looked up and saw Betsy’s face and how she trembled and struggled to regain composure I knew that it was worth it. I had stood up to my bully.

Then the tears started and Betsy backed further into the corner, while I lay, slowly losing energy. She was crying and screaming now, her face wet. My eyes began to close and my breathing shallowed, but it was an overwhelming feeling of pride and satisfaction I remember the most.

Mum came into the room and saw what had happened. Before I knew it I had been sent back and Betsy was being comforted, sobbing in huge heaves. All the while Mum was looking toward me, a curious expression on her face.

I wondered what the backlash would be. Would I be punished? Would I be sent away? A few days went by and Betsy kept her distance – victory. I jumped and leaped around, doing somersaults in happy arcs. Whenever Mum saw me her face held a serious expression and I knew she was contemplating what to do with me. For the moment though, I didn’t care. I felt like I’d achieved something for the first time in my life, something all of my own.

But then a surprising thing happened. I was not sent away as I’d expected, in fact, quite the opposite. One morning I woke up to a loud noise and found someone staring at me. She was beautiful. The most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. A golden colour emanated around her and her eyes were deep and pure black. Her body was lithe and fit. I stared at her and she stared back. Within hours we were fast friends and I hoped liked nothing I’d ever hoped before, that this was just the beginning. I found myself pouring my heart out to her, telling her the stories of my childhood I’d practised alone for so long. I watched her laugh in pleasure and she herself told me a few of her own. Because it seemed, she too was a rememberer.

The next day Mum brought Betsy over. I could see that Betsy was struggling but Mum cajoled her closer until they sat nearby. I had told Amber (that was her beautiful name) about the Betsy incident and she had laughed with me and also looked at me with a newfound respect that stirred something deep inside me. I felt like I had finally taken the leap from childhood to adulthood.

Mum was hugging Betsy on her lap and pointed at the two of us.

“See,” Mum told Betsy. “Peter’s happy now. Look how they like each other. I think that perhaps before he was just lonely.”

Betsy had nervous tears in her eyes and I knew that she would never bother me again. She was nodding but desperate to get away. Before they left the room Mum turned around and gave me a reassuring smile.

In response I did a backflip and swam over to Amber, my eyes goggling in happiness. And I knew that life had changed for the better. My life was with Amber, in the country, in our happy little goldfish home with our happy little goldfish memories. Because we didn’t have seven second memories like the others… we were different. We remembered the good and the bad, and we’ll keep our stories alive, passing them onto future generations to come.