“Ah, sorry,” I realized I was running late and tripped over my shoelaces on a sprint out of Mr. Barker’s shop. “Quinn, you’ve got big eyes, but they seem to miss what’s ahead”, he joked. “I’ll try to be more careful next time,” I yelled as I jetted off, hoping I didn’t miss the Bus. Thankfully, I legged it just in time; a lady was boarding with a baby and a pushchair, which bought me an extra couple of minutes. The driver lowered his eyes at the buggy. “That kid stinks, probably hasn’t been bathed in weeks, no surprise, a quick look at the mother tells you everything,” he huffed. “Who thinks that about a baby?” I blurted out, quickly realizing that I may have heard it, but no one else did or could, even if they tried. “How did you… “What? What?” the driver questioned me, puzzled at how I somehow heard his thoughts. He then started to wonder whether he said it out loud. “Are you gonna give me my ticket or not?” The mother asked, confused at the driver’s sudden deviation. “Sorry, love.” The woman snatched the ticket out of the machine and huffed out “wasteman” and straddled her pram into the buggy zone and sat down. Sniggering, I showed him my pass and plunged onto a seat at the back (he still looked puzzled).
Hi, I’m Quinn. There’s not a lot to say about my life. I’m 15, I go to school, and I live in a little town called Novelly, North of The Shires. And yes, it sounds like a cute cottage in a fairytale or the lead in a cheesy Hallmark film, but it’s just where I live. There’s not a lot of mystery or magic here; the most renowned thing about us is our fire service and the “state-of-the-art” shoe museum down near Town Hall. I’m not sure what’s to be revered about 60-year-old loafers with a tear down the middle, but I digress.
My parents moved here 20 years ago from a little nation called Songo. It’s not on most maps, guides, class globes, or satnavs; it’s discreet, heard sometimes but never acknowledged or seen. My mother, Tulie, says that where she grew up had a lot of potential but lacked stability. According to her, Songo is split in half; one half known as Malamu, which is very happy. Everyone there looks out for one another and helps care for the land. The people of Malamu grow their own food, harboring Songo’s best crops for the harvest season. Ambient green rainforests scatter Malamu with palm trees that line the trail of every road, and seas of seeds are drained over every inch of the coast that bloom into the best fruits. Trees in timber, ivory, and gold with a skirt of Sapele sit above a sand tongue set on high. Mom says from the plateau behind her old school is where you’ll catch the best view of the late sunset.
This was written by our contributing writer, Julia Cawele.
Image Source: Unsplash, Kobby Katalist
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