Rhea is a Year 11 Student from Melbourne, Australia. She wrote this story in 2018 after being inspired by the stories of many refugees fleeing to Australia to escape their dangerous home countries. She enjoys creative writing, reading, baking and running in her spare time and wishes to continue her writing as she grows older. Her favourite authors include Marcus Zusak and Anthony Doerr. She hopes that this story is able to raise awareness for the growing and persisting refugee crisis and through this story urges us not to turn our backs on some of the world’s most vulnerable.
A Mirage of Freedom
‘The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked as if it meant more’
The young girl rubs at her forehead, the small granules of dust which constantly adorn her skin fall from her fingertips and rest on her slick skin. Her skin is bronzed, tortured by the harsh and unforgiving sun which reigns over the camp. Her face is gaunt and her rough parchment-like skin carves out her sharp features, accentuating the hollows of her cheeks and the sharp edges of her prominent cheekbones. Her hardships are evident through the bruises and scars which mar her body and her ribs look as if they could pierce through her worn skin. Her eyes are those of experience; they have seen hardship and peril that some could not even begin to imagine. They had seen the once-proud city she loved fall into a woebegone rubble of bricks and blood. She is now just a faint and ghostly memory of the young girl who left her war-torn country with only a heart of hope and high spirits.
She struggles to forget the memories of the boat which taint her mind and crawl into her dreams. She tries to forget the oily grins of the smugglers, the long cold nights without warmth or shelter and the blanket of grime which coated every surface of the small motor boat. Sometimes, she can still hear the hushed whispers of the children, who seemed to melt into their mothers in order to avoid the harsh and icy winds. She remembers dreaming of the new country as she used to gaze over the caliginous sky, searching desperately for a glimpse of land on the blank horizon. She remembers the utopia she used to conjure up in her mind. A land which served as an oasis, far away from the war. She can still picture the gorgeous yet foreign landscape which would fill her thoughts. She can still see the soft curves of the hills which would extend further than her tired eyes could see. The hills would be a patchwork of green; the soft grass changing its hue from a fresh young green to a deep and rich forest pine. The soft green would carpet the ground and each gust of cool wind would flatten it into soft combed waves. The grass she imagined would flourish, unlike the wild, rough and slightly yellowing tufts found in her homeland. She imagined the sky to be a pristine blue canvas with soft white brush strokes dappled across it. The serene clouds would sail by, gently passing on to whatever distant place the wind willed them to reach. Everything in this land would have a purpose, even the dew which sat upon the morning grass would mean so much more. She remembered wondering if such beauty existed or if it was merely fiction which appeared in the dreams of the naive.
She now laughs at the optimistic young girl who boarded the boat that sad night. Instead of the remarkable landscape, her eyes now rest on the monotonous grey of the camp which lies in front of her. A tangled mess of barbed metal surrounds the camp, its dark presence looming over the neglected land. The rolling hills are now replaced with the identical bleached white of the collapsing tents, pitched to offer shade from the unforgiving sun. She turns her head, her view of the world outside obstructed by the repetitive criss-cross of the rusting metal fence. It has been so long now. The image of her ideal life has now become nothing but an empty dream. She used to hope for a day where peace would reign over the land and that the fields of war would be where people play. She used to hope for a lot of things to become of the world, however now she just hopes for a place when she can feel safe and is at peace. As she gazes at the barren land beyond the fence, a single tear rolls down her worn skin. She has no strength to wipe it.
Rhea is a Year 11 Student from Melbourne, Australia. She wrote this story in 2018 after being inspired by the stories of many refugees fleeing to Australia to escape their dangerous home countries. She enjoys creative writing, reading, baking and running in her spare time and wishes to continue her writing as she grows older. Her favourite authors include Marcus Zusak and Anthony Doerr. She hopes that this story is able to raise awareness for the growing and persisting refugee crisis and through this story urges us not to turn our backs on some of the world’s most vulnerable.
© Rhea