Erin Porter

Erin’s narrative is about a protagonist who faces internal conflict when she leaves her island home to study in the city, and ends up finding comfort in Sydney’s coastal environment. She took influence from the short story ‘Better Things’ by Balli Kaur Jaswal by capturing the unfamiliar nature of an urban landscape.

Small Fish

Yawning rays stretched over the horizon, painting a golden hue across the island. Sparkles appeared in the gentle ripples of the water, reflecting the sky’s rich colours like a mirror. As the light of dawn filtered through the palm trees, the sun’s embrace enveloped Mickey as she rose out of bed, eager to beat the sun at its own game. The weathered boardwalk to the beach became a ten-metre obstacle course as Mickey sprinted down, her feet moving with practiced precision, avoiding every sharp nail and gap that threatened to send her tumbling into the sand below. She refused to glance down, her gaze fixed on the riot of oranges and pinks that were painted on the infinite horizon.

“I’m looking for Jane or Pat. Either or, tell ‘er the tinny’s playing up.” A stubby bloke crushed his empty beer can with his fist and released it onto the scrap lumber floor, bound together with salt-stiffened rope and rusted nails. A gust of wind invited itself into the wooden shack and rattled a driftwood sign that read “Jensen’s Boats and Bait: A Family Business”.

come all the way out here for nothing…” she pleads.

The air was thick with salt, and the fringed palm trees danced to a rhythm only they could hear. The azure waters mimicked the cloudless sky as the heavy sun cast sharp shadows that outlined the jagged rocks. With a keen eye for detail and a toolbox at her side, Mickey diagnosed the man’s boat with a broken fuel plug. He winced as she dismantled the outboard motor, yet much to his surprise, the engine roared to life after she was done. The man exhaled a staggering breath as if a loved one had been revived, and shook his head. “You sure are your father’s child, let me tell you” chuckling to himself. “Mikayla, is it? I always wonder how you Jensen’s do it. It’s nice out ‘ere, but eighteen years? Don’t youse get lonely?”

She laughs.

Mickey sighs. “No can-do mate, mum’s down at the mainland markets, dad’s at the fish traps. Let me have a look at it, would ya?” He gives her a doubtful look. “Oh, come on, you didn’t

“Call me Mickey.” She pauses. “I don’t believe in isolation. On Pelican Island, we call it freedom. Besides, there’s mum, dad…” Mickey shelters her eyes from the harsh midday sunlight. “Look. In a few weeks’ time, I’m off to Sydney for uni. I’m just making the most outta being here while I still can”.

The day had come. Mickey squinted her eyes into the distance, trying to make out the silhouette of Rockhampton, however a sheet of clouds masked the mainland like a thick blanket, embracing the distant shoreline in a misty veil of grey. Her bags were heavy with clothes, her brain heavy with memories, her heart heavy with emotion. Mickey inhaled a shaky breath and turned to her parents, choked with tears. Her father gazed into her eyes with pride and sadness. “You’ll do great things, my love. The world’s your oyster.” His voice catches, and a heartbreaking smile emerges through his tears.

“Flip to page 652 of your textbook.” The professor’s booming voice ricocheted off the lecture theatre’s towering walls as Mickey scrambled through her salt-stained tote bag. A multitude of plush, upholstered seats, each equipped with its own desk encircled her. The realisation dawned upon Mickey as if the ceiling had caved in on her - she was a small fish in a big pond. A massive pond. Mickey was surrounded by more people than she had ever seen, yet for the first time, she felt isolated.

“Rooster’s Surf Shop?” A croaky voice emerged from over her shoulder, followed by a scruffy hand pointing at the red bumper sticker on her textbook. “I’m Brody. My mates and I are headed to Freshie, you down?”. Not knowing who, what or where Freshie was supposed to be, Mickey nodded for adventure’s sake.

Mickey went to slam the rusty car door, but the view captured her attention sooner. The familiar hypnotic rhythm of the waves reintroduced itself to her ears, while she inhaled the salty breeze as if it was her only source of oxygen. Before Mickey could process the beauty, she found herself in a trance, frolicking toward the waves. The chill of the ocean welcomed her like a long-lost child - the same ocean that surrounded Pelican Island, the same ocean that befriended her eighteen years ago. The arms of the sea protected her, tightening its embrace as she dived in deeper. Mickey closed her eyes and felt the ocean’s heartbeat in sync with her own. As a sprig of seaweed climbed up her leg, it dawned upon her that her home is infinite. For once, being a small fish in a big ocean was exactly what Mickey wanted. •