I surveyed the bustling streets of inner city Sydney, my kingdom. The cacophony of cluttering horse hooves and the thunder of trains was a song I had replayed thousands of times. But today my feet no longer danced to the rhythm of hawkers’ cries or stepped to the pulse of the station. I no longer waltzed down the cobblestone pathways with a confident stride or laughed with the shop owners. Today I was alone.
The nostalgic smell of baked bread wafted into my nose. A heavy reminder of how long ago my last meal was. I opened my fist hoping a penny would magically appear but all I found was a soggy piece of parchment, its message blurred by the surrounding drizzle. Malnourished orphans littered the labyrinth-like alleyways of Redfern, conscious of the overflowing food carts rolling down the street.
It felt strange that only a few days ago I was in my mothers tight embrace and for a second I was back. The sweet smell of honey, the silkiness of my bed sheets and the taste of weevil-less flour. But as quickly as it started I was tugged back into reality, my body still shivering from the sky’s icy tears, my parents still gone.
I tugged my baggy bright yellow coat closer, no guardian to the evil monster of Redfern’s cruel temperature. Grief still caused an ache in my heart, a growing wound that deepened by time. The memory of my parent’s death hung fresh in my mind, their last words echoing around the roof of my brain. The reek of their sick, feverish bodies nearly overpowering the acrid tang of the station.
I opened the soggy ball of parchment squished tightly in my fist. A letter. Only holding five words, but as important as a block of gold. My only hope lay ahead, the address of a forgotten family member lost deep through conflict and time. Panic tightened its grip on my heart, a snake with an icy coil. The last couple of days had been a blur, a mix of seeking help only to be rejected and the desperate search for food.
Breathing no longer felt like a necessity as anxiety clogged my throat. Why was I so hopeful? This could just be another pointless attempt, only causing more depression. I stopped, temporarily paralysed. My hands gripped the cold bars of the gate. It creaked shut behind me almost like a warning. I clutched the door and stepped inside …
Ava Chowdhary