Winner - Senior section

Ogilvie High School

Tom

I falter down the rocky path leading to work and watch as my feet disrupt the peace of the pebbles, causing a mini earthquake each time I step forward. I hate my job. The only reason I haven’t quit is because I promised my father I’d look after mother when he left. He passed last year in the war. Mother needs the money and in a place like Tasmania you take what you can get, especially in a small town like Evandale where the quietness is habitual, and almost comforting. Even the trees don’t dare to stir, threatening to disrupt the stillness of the streets. I’m only seventeen, yet I feel like Death’s personal messenger. I’m the Telegram Boy of Evandale.

Edith

“Edith?” Pa says, his voice retrieving me from my thoughts. Damnit, I was drifting off again. I look up from the ink-splattered homework on our

kitchen table and divert my focus to Pa.

“Yes?”

“Your mother and I were just talking about your future after school,” he says,

placing his newspaper on the table.

I look to Ma, waiting for her to speak. Instead, using her wrist, she brushes the light layer of flour from her cheeks. I realise from the sweet-smelling air that she’s baking apple cake. From the look of her butter-stained apron, I’m surprised she hasn’t used all our butter coupons. The dreaded question concerning my future ... I understand why they ask, after all I’m 16, but quite frankly I don’t know what I want. I pick at the chequered tablecloth, thinking about what has been said. When it came to issues like this, I always looked to my big brother, Francis. But he left for war a few months ago.

He was so full of excitement the day he left, it practically took him over. It was only dulled by the sadness our family felt. Saying this, we were all so proud, especially Pa. The post cards Francis sends make up for the days he’s not here with us. The words and pictures they contain bring life and excitement to my small world. His newest is all the way from Papua New Guinea. We’re expecting another soon.

My fingernails dig deeper into the tablecloth, a hole forming as the threads loosen.

“She’s going to be a superhero!” Eddie, my younger brother, squeals with delight

from the floor where he sits playing with his handmade ‘Phantom’ toy. Laughter fills the room.

I lean down and poke him, “No, I’d most definitely be the villain, and guess who I

would come after first?” Eddie stares up at me, his face contorted with thought, eager to hear what I say next. I jump off my chair, tackling him to the ground. “YOU!”

“Come on now, get outside you crazy monkeys, the weather’s perfect!” Ma says,

shooing us onto the verandah. Tall sycamore trees greet me as I walk out, the hint of wind making the leaves quiver. The weather really is perfect. In an instant, I forget about everything. Eddie runs ahead into the garden, birds fleeing as they hear the loud steps of a six-year-old boy.

“Be careful Eddie,” I yell, shielding my eyes from the sun. I would prefer to not deal

with any grazed knees today. He turns back to me, the dappled sunlight from the trees hitting his eyes perfectly. They are a beautiful bright blue, just like Francis’. Gosh I miss him.

Tom

“Hello Tom,” a familiar voice greets me as I enter the Evandale Post Office.

Immediately, my face is hit with a cool breeze, that takes over from the sticky heat an Australian summer day brings. I look up and see Audrey, the post office clerk.

“Hi Audrey.”

The front desk is spotless, as usual, and the lines and patterns embedded into the wood stand out like art. Audrey likes to remain busy, wiping down the desk the second a dust particle hits the surface. It’s really just a downhearted attempt at keeping some order in her life since her brother passed. My eyes are drawn to the centre of the desk where a small piece of paper rests, anticipating my arrival. It stares me down, hungry for the misery it’s about to inflict upon someone, some family, with its hurtful words harshly stamped onto it showing no remorse.

“Another telegram?” I question, hoping Audrey’s response will prove me wrong. Perhaps it’s simply a normal letter, someone writing to relatives. It can’t be another telegram, not yet; it was only last week one was delivered. Audrey nods and knots form in my stomach. I’m about to witness another family’s loss. Memories of my own that resurface each time hurt just as much. A piece of paper has left me feeling nauseous once again. I sling the post office satchel over my shoulder and take the telegram from Audrey, who smiles weakly at me. Placing the heavy burden in my bag, I walk out the door back into the Australian heat.

Edith

I told Eddie I’d play with him, but the heat is unbearable, even under the shade of the trees. Luckily he seems distracted, poking poor little ants with a stick, so I head up to the house to retrieve my homework. The verandah’s beams look weary. They need a new coat of paint. Francis must help me with that when he returns. I grin, reminiscing about when we first moved and painted the beams together. I grab my homework from inside, listening to Ma and Pa laugh, and return to the verandah. Eddie’s freed the ants, as he’s now running through the garden with his toys. Life actually feels normal. I sit down and take a deep breath. Time moves quickly and before I know it, half an hour has passed.

That’s when I see him.

The boy on the bike, in OUR driveway. The colour drains from my face and the closer he gets, the more reality sinks in. I want to believe it’s the normal post, though I know better. The logo imprinted onto his uniform confirms my thoughts. My eyes desperately scan the garden to find Eddie. He’s still playing with those stupid superhero toys. Characters like Eddie’s aren’t real, things don’t end how they do in those stories. I stand, shaking as adrenaline begins to run through me.

The boy is halfway up the driveway.

“Another letter from Francy!” Eddie squeals, running towards the boy.

He can’t find out, not this way, not this soon. I couldn’t bear to see his face if he found out, those precious blue eyes no longer filled with happiness. I run towards him, a ball of angry and messy emotions pushing me forward.

“Go inside,” I yell, grabbing his toys with one hand and his arm with the other.

“‘Play with your dumb toys in your room!” He resists as I drag him into the house and down the hall.

Ma’s running after me. I ignore Eddie’s protests and push him into his room with his toys.

“What has got into you?” Ma says, concerned.

I go to speak, but what can I say?

There’s a knock on the door.

I look past Ma and instead focus on Pa. He’s about to open the door.

“Pa!” I scream but my throat’s closing up, making it difficult to speak. My eyes sting

as I hold back the tears threatening to escape, accepting the truth as they do. “Pa, don’t open the door…” I want to stop him, but my legs are too weak. The door opens. I let my knees give way and they gently guide me to the floor, where I rest against the wall. The boy is standing in the doorway, his face blank as he hands over the paper. I watch as Pa’s eyes widen and his lips begin to shake. The glimmer of pride he once had is gone, replaced by the feelings of loss and pain.

Ma runs to him, looking at the paper before burying her head in his chest as she lets out a scream. They’re meant to be brave. They need to be. I’ve let the stinging stop now, allowing the tears to roll down my cheeks. The noises have all been drowned out, and instead I’m surrounded by a numb silence as I sit alone. I watch as the boy steps back, and for a moment our eyes are locked. In that moment, his eyes tell me all I need to know. They are filled with sorrow and shame for he knows the burden he has placed in Pa’s hands, placed in our home.

Francis isn’t coming back.