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emerald eyes
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By Hannah Tuisaula

My back slammed against the cold brick wall, as I stammered backwards from the angelic creature facing me. His dirty blonde hair shaped his stone like face, his eyes like little emerald gems glued on to his face, scanned mine. Looking for any sight of fear. I tried to make my face look brave. He smiled a crooked grin. Making my heart race. He slowly parted his perfectly sculptured lips, revealing a row of sharp k-nine teeth. A scraping noise echoed around the small alley way. The creature seemed happier once he had back-up. I forced myself to stop looking at the marvellous face staring intently at me. Ten pairs of emerald eyes greeted me.

My life was simple. Easy even. My parents were still madly in love, even after twenty years of marriage. I had a little brother, Jamie; he was like all little brothers. Always in my face, and annoying me every second of my life. Our lives would have stayed the same. I would have been graduating with all my friends next year, Jamie would have been starting his first year at high school. Everything would have stayed normal, safer. Instead it turned to cautious, when one rainy evening; my dad got an unexpected phone call.

I willed my pile of scrap metal, or what other people would call a car, to make it the next fifty metres to my garage. It didn’t seem to hear me. A giant noise like two pieces of metal grazing against each other erupted from my 1967 Chevrolet Pickup Truck engine.” Arghhhhh! Why do u have to break down now?” I yell at my steering wheel. If someone was watching me from the soaked grass, they would have thought ild gone completely mental. Seeing a seventeen year old screaming at her car. I hung my head over my shoulders, so my head is resting on the aged upholstery on the steering wheel. Calm down becks, I repeatedly say to myself. Taking deep breaths I slowly lift my soaked head. I wouldn’t be soaked if I’d parked closer to the school, but no, I had to park the furtherest away because I had a stupid thought that the torrential rain would stop in six hours. Wow. Did I think wrong. My eyes try to make out the vintage house; my family call our home, through the thick blanket of rain. I can make out the aged white balcony, which surrounds the front of the house. The front garden or what’s left of it anyway, is a messy as always. Weeds instead of purple flowers that goes with the usually vintage houses in our plain neighbourhood. My hands slowly find their way to the car door handle; I reluctantly push it open into the wet evening air. I quickly run to the back seat and grab my old puma bag and sprint up the cobble pathway to the front door.

My footsteps echo against the timber balcony, just as I reach for the front door handle, it flings open sending a gust of home cooking and warmth into my face. “You’re in so much trouble!”Shouts my brother in my face. What a nice well come home. “REBECCA SMITH! CAME TO THE KITCHEN EMEDIATELY!” my mum’s voice echoes around the ancient house, the neighbours can properly hear the commotion going on. “I’m coming, I’m coming” I say lightly. I slowly walk into the lounge to put my bag by the enormous fireplace. Our lounge is what you’d call a library really. There’s no TV, no big couch where the whole family can sit on. Instead ours is filled with books. Every shape, size, colour, and every author you can think of, we have that exact book. It also has faded floral wallpaper wrapped on the wooded walls. I then slowly make my way to the kitchen. I parse my mum and dad’s room. I take a quick look inside, yes! Dads not home, I don’t have to get a thrashing from him at the same time as mum’s giant talk, for whatever I did. I then quickly walk to the kitchen “Hey mum, how’s your day been?” I ask sweetly, I hope to soften her up a bit, but by the look of her face as she stares intently at me from the old oak kitchen table, it’s going to take a lot of smooth talk for her expression to soften. I make my way to the fridge and take out a can of coke, then quietly go to the table and sit opposite her. Better to be as far away as possible, so I didn’t go deaf when she starts yelling. “So.......what’s up?” I ask gently so I don’t burst the volcano of emotion I can see bruing inside of her.

“What’s up? You know what’s up” she calmly says to me, but I can see she’s going to blow any second.
“Mum, I really don’t know what I did”
“Why didn’t you tell me, I should know these things!” she cried at me
“Know what? What on earth are you talking about?” I shouted back at her.
“I can’t be leave you don-“the sound of our front door opening stops my mom from going any further with our conversation. Heavy footsteps echoed down the old hallway. Then my dad came into the kitchen, grabs a stein larger and walks silently towards the table and sits on the chair opposite me. He starts tracing invisible patterns on the table, his eyes following his fingers. He usually only does that when he’s nervous. The rain goes down to a pitter patter on the windows, like the weather wants’ to know what’s wrong too. He brings his old mechanics hand that’s holding the cold drink up to his mouth and takes a long sip. Then slams the bottle back down on to the table.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” mum asks, it almost sounds like she pleading with him.
“nothing.......” he quickly replies, then moves his stare to my pale hazel eyes. “ every things going to be fine” he says as me notices my scared expression. But I can tell he doesn’t be leave that ‘every things going to be fine’. We keep our eyes locked on each other. The high pitched tune of our telephone makes me jump, nearly falling out of my chair. Dads face drops; his mouth turns into a whale back as it jumps out of the water, into the cool air. He reluctantly gets up off the chair and reaches for the phone. I look at my mother; she just keeps her eyes at my dad and ignores my brother trying to get her attention. My dad answers the phone in a calm voice, but his face gives him away.” Hello?” He pauses for what seemed like a life time, then slowly turned to me and my mother and whispered “they’ve found us”.



Brian Falkner Books