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Letting Go
Jessica Hepworth
Isobelle Carmody Award
for Creative Writing
Highly Commended
Sometimes, the things we love most, are the things that tear us apart.
Looking across the horizon, I watch the setting sun turn
skyscrapers into dark and looming shapes, their silhouettes piercing
the soft, peach coloured sky. The air is still, yet holds a breath of
warmth which comforts my shaking body. In the distance I hear the
call of a bird and the waves of the ocean which lie beyond the city
skyline. Slowly these peaceful sounds are drowned from my mind,
consumed by the cacophonous crowd which has gathered below,
staring at the young man perched on the building’s balcony. I
swallow the feeling of nausea, but this only lets it spread like a disease
until my whole body is frozen with fear. I turn and take one last look
into the room, its walls covered in baby blue wallpaper with little
stars decorating the border…
…floor 50…
I walked slowly into the classroom, my eyes downcast. It had taken all of the
courage in the world for me, to let go of my mother’s hand. When the teacher asked
my name, I looked up and saw a sea of small, blank faces, staring into my eyes with
such intensity it felt that they were looking into my soul. But there was one face
which was different. Her hair was the colour of flames and burned bright in the
sea of blonde and brunette children. Her lips were as red as a freshly picked straw-
berry, ripe and juicy and delicious. Her eyes were green like the emerald necklace
my mother wore around her neck. Then she looked at me and smiled, and her face
lit up the room like lights on a Christmas tree.
…floor 41…
We were inseparable. I was the plain, logical vanilla ice cream, and she was the
chocolate topping and sprinkles which brought life to the whole dessert. We had
walked to and from school together for as long as I could remember. She danced
alongside me, her eyes dancing with fire to the same extent she herself moved. She
was beautiful.
When we arrived at my house, she said goodbye before crossing the road and
continuing down the street. I watched her until she had turned the corner and I
could no longer see her. Then I kept my-self busy to help pass the hours until I
could see her again, when I would meet her outside my house in the morning.
…floor 35…
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