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‘Any spare change?’ An almost toothless man addressed the many
pairs of shoes passing his make-shift home on the dank, artificially lit
train platform.
The man suddenly looked up, feeling the weight of his Styrofoam
cup increase by several gold coins. His eyes met the open, slightly
bulky face of a reasonably young man, who smiled down at him
warmly, even understandingly, before he limped his separate way.
Heph Clemence heard a muffled ‘Bless you!’ as his uneven strides
carried him away from the scene. He smiled to himself; he too knew
what it was like to be an outsider, to be considered unworthy by his
own community. Even though he originated from one of the
wealthiest families in all of Volantis, the great-layered metropolis,
his handicap had dragged him down its levels nonetheless. Heph was
slightly comforted by the fact that others were tangled in situations
worse than his own, a thought that he swiftly expelled from his mind,
the feeling of shame rising in his chest.
Heph had never travelled so far beneath the surface before. He
was two levels deep into the depths of ‘the sewers’, a name which the
citizens of the upper levels colloquially graced the underground
cities. The cities above the surface had been experiencing an
onslaught of torrential rainstorms for the past week, the kind of
storms that flooded the streets almost a foot deep and kept young
children awake in their beds. It wasn’t irregular for unfortunate
citizens of the surface to be caught by falling gallons of dirty water
that had been accumulating in the streets of the upper cities. The
busy train station was frenzied and hazy, as the drains from the
surface leaked into the underground, filling the lungs of its
inhabitants with the sickly sweet odour of rain and the grime and
perversion of the big cities above. Heph could imagine the children
who would inhale the stench, knowing that water fell from the sky
miles above their heads, dreaming they could one day taste it for
themselves…
Heph broke from his reverie, realising he had no clue where his
good foot was taking him. He craned his neck above the crowd, he
knew he could find the right exit if he just found a directory—
‘Hephy? Oh thank goodness, it’s you!’ A large, smooth hand
clamped itself on Heph’s shoulder like a vice, making escape all but
impossible.
‘Hello Vincent,’ he mumbled, his eyes reluctantly meeting his
Cascade
Isabella Poulier
Isobelle Carmody Award
for Creative Writing
Winner
11