KEVICC Courier Winter 2022

Page 18 Page 18 English Year 7 Alone. I'mall alone on this remote islandwith no food, drink or shelter. It's the 9th of July 1987. Twenty- two passengers were on an EasyJet flight heading to Australia when the plane started to plummet dramatically down to the island, falling at 200mph. Azure, briny water weaves its way through my toes as I stand and watch the confused sea decide which way it wants to go. I think about how long I will be here, if I will get eaten by a bear, attacked by a shark, crocodile or if will be hunger, thirst, hypothermia – anything. This thought makes me shiver with unsettled energy. I hear trees dancing swiftly, birds singing softly and the sea crashing against the shore. The smell of fresh salt and dead fish fills my nostrils. As I head up the beach, I hear a woman cradling her baby tightly wishing everything would be ok. I stumble past the plane, images flashing through my mind. It looks as dead as a fish in a volcano. It's very hot at the moment but I see a storm rolling its way in. I need to find shelter. It's weird to think that no one knows about this crash, that their relatives are on the edge of dying, screaming, crying their lungs out knowing that they'll be dead in the next few days… I’m alive. But how? I was in a plane crash. So how did I survive? Miracles. It must be a miracle. Like mother and father had said: “Miracles exist, my dear, soon you will understand.” I suddenly opened my eyes and bolted over to the wreckage, hurtling over debris and the flames that had engulfed the remains of the now smouldering plane. No. It-it can’t be true. IT JUST CAN'T!! Choking back tears, I screamed out for them just in case, “MOTHER, PAPA!!!”. No reply. Everything seemed to hit me like a punch to the chest. A tall, terribly-minded figure sloped out from behind the sun-seeking palm trees that shrouded the island's forest floor into near darkness. The translucent yet tinted turquoise waves crashed against the rocks like a tsunami on a cliff. The figure, of course, had no reason to be there, or as much as the survivors from the plane crash had. He was dressed in a ghoulish manner: he wore a thin, plump, white-collared button-up blouse, black- business like trousers, pointed, toe-capped boots, a trimmed, black ribboned trilby and a dark trench coat as black as night. He stalked the beach and approached the survivors… The Survival Games by Bessie Dyer Island Child by Sydney Poole