Fight for Life - GOLD WINNER
by Sofia Zambuto, aged 9
The silence was terrible. I knew it would hit us at any moment. When it came the wave was colossal and came crashing down on us. Two of my little ones clung to me. They saw their father go under. He disappeared. We didn’t see him resurface. Then we went under too. I was desperate to keep them alive and they clung to me as I fought to reach the top. The deadly foam made it almost impossible to breathe. The wreckage was everywhere. I had heard of the horror of these moments and I knew there would be worse to come.
My children were heaving and fighting to breathe. Their father was nowhere to be seen. Most of the others had been massacred by the torturous wave. The air stank of toxic fumes. The debris of dead bodies, dead children surrounded us. Very soon the next wave would come for us.
I wanted to scream but I couldn’t. My young ones didn’t know what had hit them. If we don’t move now it will be the sure death of us. I had to find a way. I had to find a passage way for us. The water had gone down a good bit and we could move now. Those few who had survived were beginning to run . They were scampering. We were all searching for passage. We kept moving, my children scurried after me not wanting to be left behind. Then I saw it. I SAW THE WAY. THERE WAS A WAY OPEN TO US NOW.
Children we must move now. We must leave our home now. We must find a new home. The wave, the flood is coming again. Run with me now, as fast as your legs will carry you. Follow me now. Follow me!
The passenger was approaching. This was our chance. Our only chance to escape, to survive.
The head was so close now. It had to come closer. We needed contact to transfer. We waited and waited. The new source was close, so close. The foam had been washed away but now the huge nit comb was behind us. Ploughing towards us. Digging up the debris and shells. Splitting the bodies and destroying our eggs.
Fight. Keep fighting. Fight for life. This was it . Head to head. CONTACT. Now! NOW! Run children, run. Cling on! Go, go.
We ran for our lives.
The hair of the new passenger brushed against us. We clung to it, clinging to the strands, clinging for our existence. My children transferred. We had all transferred.
We would survive and multiply again.