‘Am I a sinner?’
‘Were my parents sinners? Please don’t make them suffer . . . don’t make them go to hell. They are still good people!’
The being stopped.
‘Please tell me it’s real. Show me it’s real.’
It seemed like, for a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes, even though she couldn’t see any. Then, she felt a soft touch tracing her shoulder blades, over and over, coaxing wings out from her skin.
An angel.
‘You truly are a good god. I was foolish to not trust your words. Please forgive me.’
She ran to the cave entrance, before jumping. It felt like being on autopilot, flying over the painting-landscape. And like a painting, the lines began to fade, until she was flying over a canvas, the only lines being hers. An infinite canvas, never-ever-never ending, where her wings left an ugly black smear – tainted black evil black engulfing black – and she was falling, or was she rising? She couldn’t tell anymore. But worst of all, maybe she was just flying, with no path or end, into nothingnothingnothing.
The nothingness began to erode, until Sahar could feel the tent nylon beneath her fists, and see the red dye through unfocused eyes, her head touching the floor.
She was praying.
That made her laugh. Until she was crying, her palm line rivers flooding.
‘Are you okay?’
Tamara was standing at the entrance, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and beyond that, obviously concerned.
‘I failed. I don’t know anything more than before. I can tell there’s no more. This is it,’ Sahar said, trying to get control of her limbs. Unsuccessfully. Tamara was by her side in a moment, lifting her up.
‘You can’t find the truth that way.’
‘Why not?’ Sahar was indignant. ‘It felt real – realer than anything.’
‘Imagine a salt shaker.’
‘Doing my best.’
‘It’s pure chemical. Just like the DMT. Obviously, they’re different. But why would one reveal the truth?’
‘Why wouldn’t it? You don’t know.’
‘Well, no. I don’t know, just like everyone else on this planet.’
Sahar sobbed. ‘Then how will I find the truth?’
This was it. Now she was laid bare, a knife poised above an altar sacrifice.
‘What, you expect me to know?’
It wasn’t the answer she expected, but it was the answer she should’ve expected. This girl was not an angel, or a prophet, or a messiah, though in that moment she could’ve believed it. She was just some homeless girl, impermanent and ignorant.
‘You know what your problem is? I bet you’ve been told what to do your whole life. The streets are shit, but it has silver linings, one being freedom. You could leave or steal, help others – it’s your choice how you go about things.’
‘Your whole life, this is what you’ve believed – but don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t mean it’s all a lie. It just means things can change. It means you have a choice. I heard you talking. Well, I don’t know what happened, but you’re no sinner.’
‘Don’t you talk to me about sin! You’re a heretic!’ Sahar stepped back, suddenly fearful.
‘I’m not what your past was.’
Sahar was alone. Again.
When I used to have trouble sleeping, I thought. I thought hard. I thought until my brain gave up, until my brain said, ‘You win’, exasperatedly, and I slept. Or I’d drink some pills. It had always made things easier.
Now, I had no pills, and I couldn’t give up.
So I went outside, silently stepping between the tents and cardboard dens, like they were sleeping beasts. A quiet kind of thrill set itself in my bloodstream. Out here, I could forget. I could forget.
The thought wasn’t helped by the figure standing on the creek bank.
Tamara turned around before I could sneak away. ‘Sahar.’
The voice was weary. I turned back and stepped through the grass, it lapping at my knees.
‘I’m sorry for shouting at you.’
‘I know.’
There was a light breeze navigating its way through the reeds and the leaves, over and over. A perfect cycle. A peace.
‘I’m just . . . I don’t know who I am or where I’m meant to go. I could distract myself before. Now I have so many glaring problems.’
‘They have to come out one day.’
I quirked my lip. ‘I suppose.’
‘You’ll find your way. I’m still finding my way. It wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.’
‘I guess that’s one way to look at it. It’s just – I want this to be over and it feels like nothing will ever change.’
‘It will.’
The stars shone on the water. Sahar smiled.
‘Let’s go to bed.’
About the author
Veronica is a fifteen-year-old girl from suburban Sydney. She’s been writing fiction for most of her life. Other than writing, she likes a lot of things: debating, human and animal rights activism, philosophy, running (away), admiring good cinematography, screaming over good poetry, fencing and thinking too much. She can recommend some good mental health professionals.
Veronica would like to have a scientific or humanitarian career, and alongside that, continue writing. One of Veronica’s main aims in writing is to make her audience feel and philosophise. However, in her eyes, there is a more important aim: she believes that writing is one of the greatest ways for a human being to express and cope with their own suffering and, in turn, give comfort and validation to others who suffer.
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About the Brotherhood of St Laurence
The Brotherhood of St Laurence is a not-for-profit organisation that works in communities across Australia to alleviate and prevent poverty. To meet the great social and economic challenges that persistent poverty presents to our otherwise prosperous nation, we aim to demonstrate how to defeat disadvantage through high-quality research, services and policy development.
Further, the Brotherhood aims to have a national voice on issues that affect the most disadvantaged among us. The Hope Prize short story competition, the genesis of this book, arose from this aim by encouraging fresh approaches to the exploration of hope and resilience in the face of poverty and disadvantage.
Underpinning all our work is the aim to ensure that people who are facing disadvantage are able to speak for themselves and contribute to framing solutions, whether it is rolling out a program in an urban or remote community, undertaking a national campaign using social media tools or establishing a short story competition.
We aim not only to develop services that help individuals and families break the cycle of poverty so they can build better lives, but also to build understanding and knowledge of the causes and consequences of poverty and how to prevent it through research, community engagement and learning from the care services we conduct. We use the knowledge and insights gained to create innovative policies and programs to implement and to share with other organisations and with governments.
We also contribute to policy and service development and delivery that will strengthen communities, particularly those on the outskirts of major cities and in country areas most at risk of poverty and disadvantage.
All the work undertaken by the Brotherhood of St Laurence is driven by the firm belief that wherever we come from, whoever we are, we all share a powerful common humanity that knits us together as people, neighbours and communities. This is at the heart of the common good the Brotherhood of St Laurence pursues.
HOPE SHINES
First
published in Australia in 2018 by
Simon & Schuster (Australia) Pty Limited
Suite 19A, Level 1, Building C, 450 Miller Street, Cammeray, NSW 2062
A CBS Company
Sydney New York London Toronto New Delhi
Visit our website at www.simonandschuster.com.au
© Foreword Quentin Bryce 2018
© Introduction Conny Lenneberg 2018
© individual stories Finegan Kruckemeyer, Tess Rowley, Kim Kelly, Alice Bishop, Melanie Crouch, Vicky Daddo, Elisa Hall, Eleanor George, Jenny Pang, Veronica Hester 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.
Cover design by Jacalin King
Cover image © Abbie/Shutterstock
Typeset by Midland Typesetters, Australia
ISBN 978-1-7608-5015-9 (ebook)
Hope Shines Page 11