Have Hope

A piece for my school's anthology, about a young girl running from the terrors of the Vietnam War.

The small girl ran from the screams that were echoing behind her, the smell of burning filling her nostrils as the images of acid orange flames biting into the homes of her family and friends seared through her mind. She stumbled, her tiny hands beating at the waxy leaves that blocked her path as she glanced urgently around her. The whirring helicopters above cast shadows on the leafy carpet of green beneath her bare feet. Thick streams of sticky gloop screamed from the helicopters, hitting the remains of trees that stood scattered around her, engulfing them in gaseous flames. The air grew thick, choking the girl. Panting heavily, the small girl increased her speed, the panic licking at the pit of her stomach mirroring the fire licking at her home.

 

The sound of her own breath filling her ears, the heady scent of burning plants mingling with the heat of the smoke burning her nostrils, she fell on a small clearing through the devastated trees. The grass was soft between her toes, a small sense of security in the midst of the chaos that was currently swallowing up her beloved Vietnam. Gazing around her, the young girl realised that the screaming gunfire had slowed; she was safe here, for a moment. The half-trees provided a sparse wooded wall, sheltering her from the death and destruction behind her. Above, the helicopters of the enemy flittered across the cloudless sky like birds, darting away, no longer needed. The girl looked around her in wonder, catching her breath and wondering what on earth happened. She’d heard news of this destruction from her dada, she knew that the Murricans were trying to stop the Gorillas, but she didn’t know why. Whenever she’d tried to ask her dada about it, he’d told her to hush and pushed her away. Her friends from the village pretended to be monkeys running from the thick, sticky oil that burned through the trees. No-one was allowed to touch it; no-one was allowed to go near the trees at all. The girl whimpered, fear making her turn cold.

 

Crack!

 

The girl whirled round, eyes wide. Something snapped from within the trees. Watching the sky had left bright sun-spots in her eyes, blinding her against the predator that lay waiting for her in the darkness. Holding her breath, the girl peered into the darkness, desperately trying to see what was lying behind the smouldering, splintered trees. From beneath the shadows, a crouching figure began to move, straightening up until they were standing in front of the girl. Startled, she stumbled backwards. The figure, a silent silhouette against the bright sun, reached out, offering the girl a scrap of paper. She stiffened against the gesture, head turned away. She felt something brush her arm; the paper floated towards her from within the trees. All around her, absolute silence. Curious, she took the paper: a beautiful painting of a traditional Vietnamese boat on a pale blue river, surrounded by soft pink blossom trees, painted on a canvas of crumpled paper no bigger than the palm of her hand. She turned it over in her hands, something scrawled on the back: “Have hope.” The girl gasped, and looked up to thank the mysterious figure from the trees.

But they were gone, and the girl found herself alone in the midst of destruction once more.