A Breath of Life
King George V School, Samanwita Sen, Fiction: Group 3
A
breath. Mere seconds. A distant echo of life, swift and haunting, an abnormality, an
isolated trait of the rare…yet its frail tune is a hope in the vast expanse of unraveling
emptiness which to the eye appears to be a lifeless soul.
They trudged up the severed hill, its surface beaten and jagged, a hindrance to the
flailing blue robes, ornate with golden filigree and white embroidery. Not a word was uttered, only
disgruntled sighs and creaking of rock crumbling beneath feet disrupted the hushed surroundings.
The Elder strode ahead, set to reach their destination, her stubborn pace surprising for her age.
Coming to an abrupt halt, the Elder scanned her surroundings. “Come now, we must make
haste. We cannot afford to stay long, dusk shall soon fall.” The children, silent and obedient,
settled into their designated positions, replaying what had been planned earlier.
“You, come help me with the hearth while I prepare the firewood. Be quick.” Her crooked,
spindly finger brought out a tall, lean boy, his eyes dull and dark, who carried on with his duty
without demur. Fiery flames soon sprang into life from skilled handiwok, signaling the boy’s retreat.
“Much appreciated.”
The bold glow of the fire had thrown all faces into stark illumination; faces long and short,
noses stubby and tall, eyes of hazel to dark brown, children short and tall. The detached presence
of the Elder was not left without notice, whose eyes were engaged elsewhere, her features finally
outlined in relief for the children to notice, her face still and ghastly. As crisp orange beams
began to tangle themselves across the fluttering horizon, stretching away into the unknown,
bobbing, black shapes cast by the shifting figures began to emerge.
A high pitched murmur rang, the content submerged with anger and frustration, strained with
a hint of longing. The Elder’s lips raced, rapid brushes of movement refusing defeat. Her pursuit, it
seemed, was one of great determination.
“Elder, what’s wrong?!” came the distinct fret of a tremulous, shriveled voice.
Suspended silence. Then a sigh.
“You children-yes, this is the only time you’ll be back for the year? And then off to school again?”
Eyes feverishly scanned their neighbours, commencing to the abrupt nods of heads.
“And what exactly, do you learn in this ‘school’ of yours ?”
This time, it was a tender, naïve voice, not yet broken by the blossom of growth. “Elder, what
does it ma-”
“Why? You think because I have been brought up through traditional means that I am
incapable of understanding your ‘school?’”
“That’s not what she meant.” A deep voice sounded. “We learn what any school would teach.
Mathematics, Science, His-”
Her tongue clicked in annoyance, head shaking in disapproval. “No, my intention was what do
they teach you about us?”
“About….us?”
“Enough said.” Another silence lingered, amused at the flustered movement of eyes and
prickling of skin; permeated only by the winds prowling away at the furtive night.
“Truly a shame—no respect, life—death, yes—.”
