Waiting
Max Hepworth Year 10
t seemed like an ordinary day; then again, they all seemed like ordinary days. Mark sat, waiting. The day was a Saturday and the air hung heavy with the heat of it. The street outside was still; no traffic came and went. Even Growler, the neighbour’s dog, was defeated. In the corner, a fan fought a valiant battle against the humidity, round and round again, untiring. Outside, a pair of metal swings creaked away, weighed down by decades of rust. He stared at the ceiling. It didn’t move. His mum was due back in an hour and he was worried. She couldn’t know. She would take it away from him, his secret. Beads of perspiration formed on nose and they hung there: in this heat, even they didn’t seem to have the energy to obey gravity. A few posters littered the walls of his room, and toys long-ago passed over lay abandoned in the corner. Mark wasn’t looking at the room, however. The ceiling was all that mattered. It wasn’t an interesting ceiling. It was white and rectangular, with a lamp gently swaying in the middle. The boy’s eyes weren’t on the ceiling, though; they seemed to see through it - beyond it. At first there was a creaking: faint, like a train miles down a tunnel. It began to get louder; the train was pulling closer. However, the boy barely noticed it. All he could comprehendwas the cold. It was a slight touch down his neck, a shiver down his spine. It didn’t belong here – not among the dying hedgerows and burned grass. It stopped. I
His mum was due back in an hour and he was worried. She couldn’t know. She would take it away from him, his secret
The ceiling was no longer there. All he could see were stars, twinkling and majestic. Mark’s face was etched in wonder. It was a beauty unparalleled, and he knew it. He was the only one who knew it. This was his little secret, a sight of the stars. Almost within reach, a star boiled and burned. Giant sunspots erupted and curled into the vacuum. He could feel the heat on his face but it wasn’t the oppressive heat of before.
This heat was alive; it flared over his face, warm andwelcoming. He twitched his head, caught a darkness in the corner of his eye. Nothing. Just an empty piece of space, devoid of life. Every time he saw it, it startled him, the emptiness, the feeling of desolation. Yet somehowhe felt like he belonged there, alone among the suns. He spun this time, pushed by his growing sense of unease. ‘Hello,’ he whispered. ‘Anyone there?’ He was met only by silence, but he could see it now. It was a shape, an outline, a silhouette.
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