hey guys!
I was just wondering if somebody could please just have a quick read over my creative and tell me if the element of discovery is expressed enough? I've saved my 15 posts for a while now, though being so last minute wasn't the plan. thankyou so much!
The stillness of the navy tent was perforated by the flickering light of the torch held in Euroa’s hand. As the moonlight glinted against tent’s steel zip, he looked up at the night sky which resembled a blank ocean, blanketed by a canopy of shining stars. Blurry images formed in his mind as he recalled the many nights at home, where he would look at the English night sky and fall sleep with the comfort of knowing that his mother was one of those stars, always watching over him. Yet the Australian night sky offered a different sense of closure that in many ways discomforted him too. It felt as though he knew each of the stars, in the plethora of those that watched him.
Deep in thought, Euroa failed to notice that his grandfather had moved near the periphery of the tent, till the old man’s husky voice sounded. “What’s wrong my boy? The mozzies keeping you up are they?” the old man asked, as he stroked his grandson’s bush of curly hair that danced between black and brown, much like his own.
“No. I just feel like we aren’t the only ones here …” exclaimed the young man, as he tried settling in to his second day of outback living.
“Of course we aren’t!” chuckled the old man, as he played with the terracotta red dirt of the land. “What they sing; it’s true! Our land truly abounds in nature’s gifts of beauty rich and rare. Each of ancestors lives with us. In the sky, on the land and in the sea, they constantly ride with us through this cycle of life.”
A moment of silence passed by, before the young man meekly asked, “Do you really believe that pops? Or do you just say that because it’s your law?”
“Now where’d you hear that young sir?” questioned the elder man, bemused.
“I read ALL about Aboriginality and the Dreamtime pops” replied the young man excitedly.
“Euroa, there are some things that words cannot make justice to. From the reading you’ve done, I assume you’ve heard of oral tradition. Back in the day, nothing was written. And there was no real need for it. But Aborigines like myself, we’re the reason this tradition of writing things came about.” The old man’s voice quivered as he trapped a tear from landing on his grandson’s forehead that rested upon his lap.
He thought back to the day where things had gone horridly wrong.
It had initially been a fine day, like many others. Littered with self-induced bruises from his experimentation with the boomerang, he had returned home with his sister Alkina, covered in terracotta red dirt. A corroboree had taken place somewhere nearby. Glints of umber that were dispersed across the sky that was otherwise swallowed in fumes could be seen and smelt throughout. Buzzing blowflies swarmed about whilst the gleeful galahs flew into and out of waterfalls, as the high pitched “Chet! Chet!” calls echoed throughout the land. As he had sat around the fire with his mothers and siblings, he had felt enveloped and embraced by the warmth of the fire. The events to follow had been a cold slap in the face. His feet had been inter-twined with the red dirt of the land as the officer dragged him along. Swallowing back tears, the old man recollected the looks on his mothers’ faces as they helplessly called out to their children whilst pinned against the dilapidated wooden door by the officers. With his small hands interlaced with Alkina’s and his feet inter-twined with the land, he had been dragged along into the car.
The man had spent the many years after he was taken away from home in a silent vortex of despair. The stagnant scent of stale cigarettes. The slurred sentences that sounded between the smothered moans of the drunk officers dilly-dallying outside. The wails of his sisters as they were being exploited by the monstrous officers. They had all sent the old man into the dark, lonely vortex as he yearned to get his life back. He had been called a “blithering stone age idiot,” and an “incompetent savage.” Such experiences had led him to discover the only truth about what was happening around him. He preached to his fellow brothers and sisters, “we are not strangers in our own country … we are just strangers to a European society.” Although he couldn’t plant his feet firm upon the land, he stood tall with his newfound belief.
The old man’s melancholic reflections were brought to shore as Euroa awoke. It dawned upon him that he had spent the entire night staring out at the land. He shared the thought with his grandson.
“Isn’t that scary pops? This is one the most remote areas of the outback; you’ve never been here before either. How could you …” queried Euroa, bewildered, before he was cut off by his grandfather.
“Who am I to fear? I fear only mankind. The land, the water, the animals, the plants – they are with us and for us, aw we are,” replied the old man graciously.
Euroa smiled in reply. Although he couldn’t truly understand what his grandfather had said, he knew that he had been wrong. His grandfather’s touch had enabled Euroa to envision the pain. As they packed their bags to continue through the desert, Euroa felt as though he was recollecting everything he had left behind when he flew out to England as a newborn baby.
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Topic: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking! (Read 286841 times)