WELL-BEING
LEARNING
Protect
A short story based loosely on the Middle Eastern theatres of World War I and II, from whence the gazelles roamed By Anonymous, Year 9
D
usk was arriving, the sky a swirl of azure and persimmon sinking, dripping through the sand dunes and scattered cacti like a blanket unravelling upon the dreary gloaming. Rays of golden sun drizzled down the arid knolls like viscous yet mellifluous honey, and the lizards that once basked in their heat scampered under rocks to hide from the waking night. The yolk-sun oozed, sweltering heat seeping, seeking shelter beneath the sandy hillocks of which cloistered the slumbering critters. And as the world darkened, a myriad of wrens plummeted downwards to nestle in the branches. The desert lay in eery stagnation. Upon the distant horizon, a marching sound arose. And like a line of ants the soldiers emerged one by one, footstep after footstep, scattering the slumbering animals with the heavy thumping of their leather boots. 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4... Rhythmic beating permeated the thick air. With fatigues matted to chafed skin and their M249s slung loosely on their worn shoulders, they headed toward the remnants of a dilapidated town. Abandoned she lay, yet an air of dread lingered; the metallic scent of trepidation embroidered into the rubble. Even the birds – as though aware of the danger arising – wailed, warning cries strangled in their throats. As night unveiled itself, they trudged on through the debris. Two men approached first, dog tags reading ‘Alec’ and ‘Frank’. The remaining trailed along in heavy silence. 12
• Bangkok Patana School
After a thorough search of the area, Alec’s voice rang out, “All clear!”. Then – flooded with heavy languor after hours of walking – the men relaxed, idle chatter echoing into the starless skies. And as they settled into the ruins, the night descended into a cold, languid sleep. Where they gathered – herded like a pack of wolves – a fire was lit, sparks falling at their feet and warm flames licking at their heels. Their worn limbs lay stretched across logs, weapons scattered beside them, chatter and jokes of trivial matters pervading their speech. Alec shuffled past the boisterous shouting of his comrades to sit next to Frank. “It’s pretty dark tonight, huh?” Frank tensed – fingers instinctively snapping his rifle’s safety catch – but he relaxed his hands upon noticing it was merely his friend. He murmured a quiet reply, “Mm, quite cold too”. Alec offered him a cigarette and he gladly accepted. They sat there for a while, soft gazes meandering the lifeless hills. A pair of ears perked up, sepia fur rustled by the wind, then gone again. A crinkling of paper caught Alec’s attention. It was a crumpled photograph in his friend’s hand, “Your mother?” he asked. “Yeah”, Frank replied wistfully, his eyes clouded over in thought. “I think… I think I’d like to go see her, when I get out of
