Runner up - Junior section
Clarence High School
A display of intense emotion tied faithfully with a wild imagination brings a young boy to the point of ultimate despair. He and his mother wish hopelessly that his father, a fisherman, is indeed safe amongst the waves.
From the bow of the boat, the sound of water pounding furiously against wood competes with the excessive howl of the wind. As the large vessel moves forward, the sides begin to surrender to the relentless push of the ocean. From within the cramped cabins and onto the deck, yells of command fuelled by indefinite fear are muffled by the constant blitz of cold water. Large waves hit the boat, tossing it heatedly from side to side. It’s a force so strong, capsize is within sight. From an ocean once calm, the intense emotion of unyielding anger overpowers tranquilities and thrusts chaos upon the fishing boat.
Out to collect a catch, the fate of today’s trip is far costlier than foreseen. A fountain of cold water smacks the deck and sprays in every direction. The surface becomes ever more slippery. People lurch, dictated by the sea’s passionate will. The spray is grainy with concentrated salt and dries quickly in a crust. The rasp of the wind hurricanes swirls within the eardrum, pounding against a buzzing mind. The storm wishes to tear through, inflict pain, and leave no remnants behind.
Amongst a whirlwind of distress, calmness is found. A storm brewed from a small sentiment begins to find hopeful peace. In his shaking hands, he clutches a small wooden fishing boat. It has a trivial origin, the eye of the storm. The boat resembles that of a handcrafted family workshop project and spans no more than his grasp. By now the water in the tub has cooled and bathes his small body in a bleak pool. He breaths in and out, fast, anxious, and aware of his intense emotions and evolving exhaustion. He looks down at a boat that lived the toll of his storm without a scratch. The salty smell of a raging sea is replaced with the soft scent of his favourite bubble bath.
His mind is spinning with a concept greater than himself. Memories of a man who held him so tight. Memories not of his words but of his merciful touch. When he left, he tried so hard to shake the pain but even a young mind plays hard with the loss of someone they love. Tearing thoughts of remembrance of someone who was strong, brings tears piercing to the surface and tugging at his youthful vulnerability. His lip begins to tremble uncontrollably and grief throws another heavy punch. The water of the bath is calm, but he knows of water that is not. He knows the voices of adults who live under the strain of worry and he hears them low and stern. With a wooden boat in hand, he begins to cry. Slowly at first, but soon tears are joining the water of the bath. With his fists he hits the water with confusion and intense emotion. He soon shrieks. An imagination, the mind is a destructive tool. He has conjured a disaster.
She runs into the room, a glaze of determination upon her face. Immediately she reaches for her boy and draws him from the deep bathtub. Rocking beneath him she collects the wooden boat and places it back in the top draw of the vanity. She shakes her head at her careless move to leave it laying within his curious reach, when his dad is away like this. Around her, the bathroom is sodden. The result of an emotional daydream stretched far from the walls of the room. The water of the bath resembles no past calmness. In fact, the splash of ruthless punches has created waves of frothy water only to drench the floor and ceiling. As she rubs a towel around a fragile body, her powerful emotions are willing to cut through. She wraps her young boy in her arms, his eyes naïve and wide stare intensely into hers.
She whispers into his ear, “Daddy is out at sea, but daddy is safe at sea, he is safe amongst the waves.”
