The recent glorious weather was the inspiration for some summer-themed story telling last week. One of the writing prompts was ‘And that’s when I noticed the beach had gone completely silent.’
Eleanor Rachel in Year Nine wrote this rather chilling piece.
That’s when I noticed the crowded beach had fallen into total silence. I froze. No one was moving. My eyes darted from person to person, face to face. Where was Johnny? I couldn’t see him. But there – yes. He was staring at me, eyes wide with fear. He opened his mouth. I shook my head fractionally.
Without warning, an ear splitting scream pierced the air. Than another. And another. Suddenly everyone exploded into action. I sprinted towards Johnny, but there were too many people in the way, all trying to go in a different direction, all trying to find someone, something, someplace that would protect them.
“Johnny” I cried out. Nothing. I could barely hear myself over the cacophony of screams, shouts, tears. And then he was there, running into my arms, pressing into his face into my chest, heaving with sobs. “It’s alright Johnny. It’s fine.” He nodded, still trembling. I grabbed his hand, started to move. And that’s when the world erupted.
Sand. Everywhere. Clogging mouth, nose, ears. Silence. No. a dead ringing. Shock. Johnny? Lift head. Blood. Too much blood. Johnny. Lying there. Head turned away. Not moving. Not moving. Not. Moving.
“Johnny” I screamed. I gripped his shoulders, shaking him, shouting at him, begging him to move. He did nothing. Why wasn’t he moving? I could see the pool of blood and flesh where his chest should have been. But no. not him. Not Johnny. Too young. He didn’t deserve it. I lay on my side, tears running down my face, gazing at nothing. Why him? Why him? Why. Him.