Write a Book in a Day 2018

-Chapter Two- A thundering crash wakes me from my fragile sleep. Heavy footsteps echo through the room, each ‘thud’ sending waves of fear through me. A vibrant red figure moves towards me - I slip into the shadows at the back of my cell. The window shatters and glass rains around me - I see my opportunity, and I escape from my prison. I don’t look back - I resolve that I won’t, not ever. Excitement courses through me - I can see my family, after so many years. I can once again hear my true name. The novelty of a prison name has worn off - ‘Silver’ no longer excites me the way it once did. As I hurry towards the exit, I see flashes of colour. I sense the thrill of my freedom mixed with an overwhelming fear. My inmates are rushing towards the exit as well, desperately seeking the freedom we have long desired. I passed the gate, sensing my frantic pursuer. I scampered up a looming fig tree, my pallid skin uncomfortably scraping across the prickly bark. I wait in a heavy silence, my entire world consisting of his reckless footsteps and deep breaths. After what seems like a million years, he leaves. I am too exhausted to feel relief. I have plodded across this rocky terrain since the great ball of fire above began its slow cycle across the sky. It now sits at its zenith, and still I trudge on. My body is weary, the landscape around me indistinguishable. The only thing that changes is the cars. As each one rushes by, a dusty cloud chokes the air around me. The desolate dirt road burns in the morning sun and I feel the heat coursing through my veins. I weakly signal to the passing traffic, yet they don’t seem to see me. I continue on, defeated, until a car halts beside me. The passenger door (emblazoned with images of my home, Kakadu National Park) swings open through a thick plume of dust. The driver is wearing an orange shirt, her eyes seem to droop in exhaustion. She mutters something about being in a hurry as I lower myself into the seat, and reaches over the shut the door. I’m thankful for the help, so I don’t mind her bluntness. Anything is better than those bleak prison walls, that void of unrelenting noise - the prison where strangers would stare at me with wide eyes. The sound of my driver’s scuffed boots dragging across the pedals brings me back to the present. “To Kakadu, please” I politely suggest to her.