by Jocelyn Saunders
The elephant used to be grey, but the dirt-coated land they tread transformed him. His left ear had torn off leaving only a hole oozing stuffing, and he had one surviving eye, dangling by a single blue thread. He used to be a strong loyal soldier, but the battlefield had aged him – changed him. The elephant didn’t know what to believe anymore.
The child didn’t care, the child didn’t see the imperfections. The child saw the crisp clean toy it once was, given to him by a mother and father he once loved. But the toy like his parents had been replaced, replaced by the new world.
The elephant had two other friends, two other remnants of a life before. The squirrel used to jump from tree to tree – a product of his overactive mind, but now he sat restless.
The platypus used to be lively, telling stories that could brighten the worst of days - but since the war he only looked towards the horizon. When the sun was bright, he would tell stories of the land they were heading to. Australia he called it. He spoke of the land’s peace and the family he would meet there.
The child would watch the three friends talk, and he would watch them argue. They argued more often these days.
There was scratching and clawing inside his stomach, like a monster trying to get out. Like a leopard. The elephant told him it was because of the government, but the child couldn’t imagine a whole government fitting inside his stomach. The child wished the leopard would stop scratching, so he could finally get some rest.
The child wasn’t dumb, he knew the real reason why his stomach had receded, and then grown again like he’d swallowed a balloon. He heard the animals arguing about it all the time, he heard the whispers of anger and discontent in the group.
He knew not to ask about the food, he saw what happened when people did. There was still a red stain on the elephant. He didn’t want to scream like that animal had.
The child hadn’t seen the squirrel in a while, not since that night. They’d woken the child up wordlessly and rushed him underground, into a room like a sardine can, him and the animals squashed within. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew to stay quiet.
The noise that accompanied the group dissipated, leaving only silence like you find at an abandoned playground. Through the silence he heard footsteps. The child didn’t know who it was, but he knew they shouldn’t be up there. He looked around at the animals, and didn’t understand why none of them let the stranger in. After a moment the child moved to open the entrance, but the elephant held him tighter. The child’s protests were silenced by the elephant’s eyes.
The footsteps had stopped, and there was quiet.
And then there was a bang.
The last he heard the squirrel was going to the toilet, the child didn’t think he made it to the sardine can.
The child asked the elephant once who they were hiding from, how they were getting to Australia. The elephant wouldn’t answer him. All he said was that they where going to a better place. The child rejoiced, for he knew that he would soon reunite with his parents.
He would see squirrel too, when he was in A Better Place.
About the Author
Jocelyn Saunders lives in the middle of nowhere in Victoria, Australia with her loud but supportive family, and her needy dog Merida. She is an emerging writer, a written piece of her's published in Okay Cool Magazine and a stop-motion animation shown in the Victoria Arts Learning Festival.
