LILY PURSS took second place in the 2024 Wangaratta Young Writers Award year 7/8/9 story category with this piece.

The competition was jointly run by the Rotary Club of Wangaratta, and the Rotary Club of Appin Park Wangaratta.

oooo

Lila:

Reaching my hand out towards my bedside table, I reached for the camera that had been placed in the exact same position as the day before. Continuing my regular routine, I flipped open the camera and found myself watching the same video yet again, over, and over. Her ethereal smile was incredibly contagious and brought a deep sense of safety and reassurance to my aching heart. The video had been recorded exactly one week before the accident. My mother, dressed in a floral dress, danced across the screen holding hands with a version of myself I no longer recognised. My hair was much darker in the recording and reached my lower back in length, but it wasn't just my appearance that was different. My eyes glistened, my face beamed, I looked to be overflowing in happiness, now I feel as if I am drowning in an inescapable pit of sorrows. I watched in awe as my mother gently ran her hands through my hair whispering soft words into my ear, words that I still hold so tightly to my heart.

"You're beautiful Lila, I love you," she had said.

Carefully closing the camera, I placed it back into its designated position before switching off my lamp. Lowering myself into a more comfortable spot, I shut my eyes and felt my conscience slip away. The blanket cradled me, bringing with it a sense of solace, momentarily filling the deep void left by my mother's absence.

Ryder:

An ongoing emptiness lay concealed in the depths of my chest. The world was quiet, yet the screeching demons inside my mind remained attached, shrieking louder and louder with every step I took. Once I had reached the familiar pathway, my feet found a rhythm walking between the cracks and narrowly avoiding weeping individuals. I had zero interest in discussing my personal reasoning for being present in a cemetery on a Tuesday morning, I also had zero interest in hearing sap stories from others wishing to confide in me. Pain struck me through the chest like a lightning bolt when I arrived at the grave. In its area, it seemed to be the only one unpolished, it stood out like a sore thumb. Every single grave nearby seemed to be freshly cleaned, freshly restored, all except my parents'. Whilst they weren't the highest-regarded people of Windalow, it takes some serious vengeance to clean every grave but theirs. The small bunch of flowers left behind since my last visit had been stepped on, further igniting my rage.

"Is it seriously that difficult to muster up an ounce of empathy?" I muttered.

Kneeling before the grave, I became tormented by the vicious feeling of grief. It was impossible to comprehend how the two loveliest people I knew, who nurtured me all my life, could in exchange have such a horrific thing happen to them. Crystal tears brewed within my eyes, threatening to fall at any given moment. Walking away from the scene before it worsened, I made my way down a street the opposite direction of my home.

A yellow trail caught my eye, beckoning me to follow it. I reached a small home with one of the most colourful gardens I had ever seen. Bright tulips planted amongst the garden drew me closer. Vicious thunder growled from behind me, the possibility of making it home dry disintegrated as a droplet of fresh rain splashed down onto my nose. Ducking under the shelter of the home, I knocked at the door, praying for a somewhat sympathetic stranger to be inside. With no response, I tried the door handle which surprisingly, clicked open with ease. Calling into the home, I was still left with no response or indication of someone being there. Clambering inside, I shut the door and made my way to the end of a hallway which led to a kitchen and a bedroom. I knew I shouldn't be inside a stranger's home, but the offering of shelter from a storm seemed too good to reject. Exploring further, I made my way into what appeared to be the main bedroom. It was rather bland compared to the other rooms, the bed wasn't made, and a half full glass of water had been left on the desk.

Walking closer, I noticed a camera, identical to the one my mother used to own, on the side table. It was freshly cleaned and appeared to be well maintained. As I began to open the camera, the sound of a garage opening startled me. Racing back towards the kitchen, camera still in hand, I searched for an exit. The front door swung open, and I was stunned to see a young, beautiful brunette enter the home. Her hair was drenched from the rain and her mascara had smudged down her face and around her eyes, she looked a bit like a panda. Clearly taken back by my presence in her home, she dropped her bags and squealed so loudly it still rung in my ears as I escaped out her back door, and my body worked on instinct to jump her fence and run back towards the cemetery, where I stopped to take some deep breaths and find shelter under a small bus bench. Taking a seat, I sighed in disappointment when I realised I still, tightly grasped the girl's camera in my left hand. Guilt rushed through my head, a wave of dizziness drowned me, I gripped the railing as my exhaustion caused me to collapse against the wall. I desperately needed to get home, my legs ached as I forced myself upwards and into a jog. Reaching my bed, I fell into a heap.

"Why hadn't I just given her the camera, and explained myself," I groaned deeply.

My thoughts that were previously scattered and loud faded away, my heavy eyelids fell closed. All would be okay in the morning, I reminded myself before surrendering to the sleep I desperately required.

Lila:

My fragile heart pounded rough in my chest, threatening to escape. Crouched into a dingy corner, my throat began to constrict, tears began to pave windy roads down my face, forming dark bruising on the carpet. Feeling like an overly emotional child, I allowed myself to cry until I was no longer capable of producing tears. I washed my face in the bathroom, still shook from seeing a mysterious man lurking in my kitchen. I punched myself for being so afraid and not racing after him to retrieve my camera. The thought of my camera being missing caused physical agony in my chest. It felt like I was being repeatedly punched, over and over again, being winded each and every time. When I reached my bed, I reached for the camera only to be met with the sensation of cold wood.

Whimpering, I reached for my computer on the floor and began to create colourful posters with my details and the situation, I noted how desperate I was and completed the posters by adding an image of the camera I found on the internet. Whilst the camera was important to me, the memory card inside is what really held the most value to me. The card contained videos and images of my mother dancing, smiling, baking, taking care of me, videos that brought me a sense of hope and security. Placing my computer back onto the ground, I combined all images in my mind of my mother to form my own variation of a recording. Whilst it wasn't perfect, I tumbled into a deep slumber.

Ryder:

The next morning on the way to the cemetery, I spotted her walking down the street near her home. She was carrying a stack of papers, stopping every once in a while, to attach what appeared to be a poster to a pole. Realisation and a swamping feeling of guilt struck me in the chest with such a force I questioned my balance. Walking towards the post closest to the cemetery, I began to read her poster.

'Stolen Camera! Camera contains videos of my mother who has passed away. Urgently need at least the memory card back! Call 0456 896 342 if you have any information. Will pay $$$ if returned!'

In that moment, I finally understood the importance of safely returning this camera I held concealed within my pocket. I lay besides my parents' grave, observing the few people entering and making their ways to separate headstones, it had always felt surreal to me how different everyone's lives truly are. Everyone is raised differently, everyone knows different people, and no matter how similar you are to someone they will never be your exact reflection. Surprise sprang upon me when I noticed the camera girl walking towards me.

"You look weirdly familiar; do I know you?" she asked, looking at me half sideways.

I shook my head nervously. She looked a lot cleaner; her mascara wasn't smudged. Reaching over to the gravestone, she swiped away dirt from the two neatly engraved names in the headstone. I had no interest in talking to anyone in the cemetery, other than her. She intrigued me, she was rather friendly, her eyes glistened as the sun caught them after every gentle yet swift movement she made. There must have been hundreds of shades of blue, swimming through her pupils, she was breathtaking.

"Your parents?" she asked, clearly curious.

"Unfortunately, yes," I responded.

"Your parents were in the same accident my mother was in," she said, her posture slouching.

Our eyes connected, desperately searching for information by examining each other. Holding eye contact, I reached into my pocket and handed her the camera and observed as her eyes transitioned from curious to confused and anxious.

"I didn't mean to take it, I promise," I stated, attempting to cure the silence she seemed to feel oddly comfortable in.

Taking a seat on the grass opposite me, she continued to study my face, clutching the camera tightly.

"How do you deal with losing someone you love?" she asked me.

Sighing, after a while I found myself almost hypnotised by this girl. I was willingly answering all of her questions with complete and utter truth, and she seemed to take mental notes on every single thing I said.

"You're not a bad person," she said, nodding her head at me.

"I met your mum once, she was so lovely," she added.

My mum really was lovely, it felt very validating to hear that from an outside perspective considering my grandparents continued to remind me that she was so burdensome and embarrassing for them.

"I'm Lila, what's your name?"

"I'm Ryder, it's nice to meet you, Lila," I answered.

She smiled back at me and let out a small giggle before quickly covering her mouth with her dainty hand.

"It feels so wrong to laugh in a cemetery," she stated.

I began to laugh at her, and she wasn't wrong, it felt incredibly odd to laugh in a cemetery. She reached down to grab my hand as I tugged myself from the ground.

"Let's go get a coffee," she suggested.

I laughed again, properly this time, her contagious smile lit a fire within me. Baby pink lips with perfectly white teeth, her beauty was rather unmatched and certainly addictive.

Lila:

My camera had been returned by the thief that I had once despised, yet I found myself sitting in a café drinking coffee with him, making small talk, and laughing like a little girl for the first time in forever. It's funny how quickly my opinion changed on Ryder, talking to him was easier that talking to anyone and I couldn't help but feel that feeling was reciprocated. His parents' car had crashed into my mother's car, taking all of their lives, it truly was the embodiment of horrific. Now, with my hand tightly intertwined with his, I had a feeling he would not be exiting my life anytime soon.