eth i n g So m
Real
by H
elaina
Water: isn’t it beautiful, trickling down a shimmering stream? My name is Argentina. My mother told me that my name comes from the Latin word, Argenti, which means silver. I wasn’t named after silver itself, though. I was named after the mysterious Silver River that is in the Island of Dreams. Apparently, the river is actually made of Silver Water and the magic of the island, and the river will make anyone well and live a happy life until they die. People say that it is just a legend now - that the island isn’t even real. I am in a beautiful copse of trees with a little spring in the centre, bubbling out of the ground. It is dark, but there are enough fireflies in the air to allow me to see. My father told me to get out of the house and come here when I heard someone scream. I don’t know who it was, or why they were screaming, but it was close. Very. I wish I could go back; I’m freezing. After all, it’s mid-winter.
SNAP! What was that?! I feel nervous now, and I want to go back home. SNAP! There it is again. I look around, wary and wondering what made those sudden sounds that shattered the silence. Then, all of a sudden, a man comes crashing through the trees towards me. I scream, but then I look up into the part of the face the isn’t covered by fur, and my body relaxes. It’s my father, come to collect me. Hang on, something doesn’t seem right. He looks really worried, and do I see tears in his eyes? Is he crying? ‘Come on,’ he says, and walks off. I follow him, stumbling as my legs try to learn how to walk again. ‘Wait!’ I cry out, as I try to catch up with him, but he only beckons me with his hand, and continues walking. Around half an hour later, we are arriving at a hospital, with ambulances wailing into a disconcerting chorus of despair. ‘Dad,’ I say, ‘Where’s Mum?’ But he does not reply. I’m starting to get really worried now. Dad goes over to talk with some concerned-looking men and I’m left standing there, alone and scared, in a hospital car park. Then, after a few moments, Dad beckons me and I hurry towards him, but this time I don’t say anything; I know he won’t respond. We journey through the hospital, until we reach some large doors and we stop and wait. Finally, a doctor opens the door, and allows us in. I gasp. I’m back in the copse of trees, only this time I don’t sit and appreciate its beauty. I just hurry to the thickest clump of trees and bushes, and I collapse on the ground and cry. I cry until there are no more tears left in me. I just can’t get the image of my mother, my beautiful mother, lying in that hospital bed with dozens of different tubes sticking in her arms, with her body maimed by deep cuts that look serious, if not fatal. Then the doctor asked my father what happened, and he said that a burglar had broken in, that my mother had tried to put up a fight, but the burglar had a knife, and had slashed and cut her. My dad ran downstairs at the sound of her screaming and called the police and the ambulance, then cleared up the blood. As I’m thinking about her, something else comes to my mind. The doctor said that there isn’t really anything they could do, and they are trying to make her last days the best they can be, but I am thinking back to when I was little and my mother would tell me about the Island of Dreams and the Silver River, that would heal anything or anyone – and that could have healed my mother…
52
THE CHRONICLE
2021/2022
