Declan’s Hand by Caitlin Donovan

Senior Short Story Entry

Safely swinging back and forth, kindly wishing for more and less. Rusty kinks of the metal scratched its way through my mind as I swung. Warmth from many memories swept off the seat and onto my thighs. Like sharp daggers of fear, the splinters of the seat wedged through my fare skin. As the wind dried my tears before they dripped down my face, I realised I shouldn’t wish.

That day I felt one with myself. Well as though I gathered my memories together like a small storybook bound by a small and fragile piece of string, representing me. Each different story had entirely different titles, as my memories differed a lot. Some where happy, some where sad, some were sappy, some were bad. Yet in the end, they were the very memories that made me who I am. Unfortunately I couldn’t see it that day. My more tragic memories shone the most, blinding me from what I had. Without thinking, I began wishing. Oddly enough, I wish for what I didn’t have, which is a trait all teenagers carry. However, my wish was a bit more complex, so I realised when it came true.

Intentionally, I fell of the swing in hope it the fall would bring me back to reality. Instead of bringing me back to reality, it shattered my sense of thought. Forgetting all the wonderful memories I have, I wished I was nothing with nothing to remember. As any other cloned teenager, I thought I might be different and my wish might come true. But nothing happened. I was still me with my silently grateful memories. Disappointedly, I walked back home without any sense of care left in my bones. All that I could feel were the bruises from falling off the swing.

After coming home to my aggressive household, I decided to skip dinner and just refuge to my bedroom. Quietly, without being noticed, I locked the door. My soft footsteps tapped on the floor as I tiptoed to my small and broken bed. Lying there, looking up at my ceiling, I grasped the loose ends of my doona. With many thoughts running through my mind, I began contemplating all of what had happened that day; the memories I recalled, the wish I had made, the feeling of my childhood swing and the withdraws I maintained. The surrounding air fogged my vision causing me to blink rapidly. With every blink came every opportunity to let out a cry. Though, as usual, something was holding me back. Trying to figure out why, I exhausted my mind to an extent I miraculously fell asleep without a good feed.

Morning had arrived, the sun awoke. Well really, I couldn’t see the sun from my room because I was given the room facing a brick wall. Some days I just wanted to knock it down so I could actually witness a sunrise from my bedroom. Waking up to yet more disasters, I found my mother crying on the furniture. Her emotional distractions were always good enough for me to sneak out because she was always so absorbed in her and didn’t care about me. I was just beginning to regret returning to the swing when I noticed it was gone. Sub consciously I always referred to that swing as my memories so I found it rather astonishing that it had disappeared. In hope I was just imaging things, I ferociously began pacing back and forth. How could something that had been there my whole life just disappear? Most importantly, why would it disappear?

Swiftly, I moved my head, searching for whoever it was that stole my utter most treasured gift. Scanning the green mysterious park, my eyes met the eerie vine fleeing from its chosen tree. Every vine flees from its chosen tree, but this vine looked as though it fled from its tree in a great hurry and panic. It was a very dark and dull green with leaves clinging onto its body. The very tip of it hung down like the finger of the pumpkin king. Just as it came to recognition, the tip of the vine pointed to the missing swing. Without realising I was shouting to a vine I yelled, “I know. Did you see who stole it?” Unexpectedly, it turned the tip of the vine to itself. It made no sense that the vine seemed to be giving me messages and there was definitely no sanity in me seeing a vine blame itself for the theft of a swing. I thought I was crazy, like my father, and I started walking away. As my right foot landed on the leaf of the lower part of the vine I heard the most horrible and loudest screech I had ever heard before in my life.

Automatically my head turned, my feet stopped and my heart froze. Right behind me was that very vine with water dripping off its body. I asked what was wrong but it didn’t reply. Yet again, I thought I was crazy so I tried walking home again. Like the sound of a car trying to stop a huge catastrophe, I heard an un-humane voice, “yo-yo-you hurt me!” Being un-certain about what I heard, I tried to keep walking when the nice soft feel of the vine wrapped itself around me. The touch of its presence of nature gave me a warm and comforting feel. I no longer wanted to run away from it, instead I wanted to be it.

“P-pl-please don’t hate me. I ju-just granted your wish,” it stuttered while the leaves moved like hand gestures. “What? You mean the wish about me being nothing and having no memories?” I shamefully asked while recalling my silly wish. Slowly the tip of the vine nodded. My heart began to race hard as I instantly knew; if this was true, I’m not alive. Racing each other, my feet ran home. The door open but my mother didn’t see me. Usually I’d just assume she was too caught up in her own problems to notice me, but she came right to the door and stared blankly at me then muttered, “stupid hooligans” and walked back inside. It wasn’t normal. Usually she’d just tell me to bugger off because ‘mummy needs her alone time, sweetie’.

“Okay Mr vine thing, whoever you are, will you grant me another wish?” I kindly asked after returning to the scene of the crime. Not to my expectations he objected claiming I had to find my reason to regret the wish in the first place. How was a teenager like me supposed to understand her reason of being, not to mention the deadline was by midnight, or else my family will have moved on. Strumming my sturdy fingers through my long, thick brown hair I tried to think of why that swing is so important. Meanwhile, I had introduced myself as Faunyia to the vine as it introduced itself as Declan to me. Declan still hadn’t made his completed warm spot in my heart as I was angry that he wouldn’t grant me my final wish.

How could something as simple as a rusty old swing be so sentimental to someone who doesn’t care about anything? As speeding cars, thoughts began racing through my head even faster than usual. Declan kept distracting me every couple of hours with stupid remarks like, “Are swings made of memories?” or “Maybe humans are just memories compressed as one.” Perhaps I would have thought of my reason much sooner if I had of realised what he was saying were actually hints, but at the time I just found him a nuscance.

The stars were my bullet points of ideas as I based my sense of mind in the sky. It was dark, passed dark, it was so dark that it was nearly morning, which meant I had very little time to have a solution. Softly blowing down my body with the wind was the chill. Autumn nights are not the type of nights you want to be stranded outside with. Declan, being the helpful vine he is, was ever so gracious enough to keep me warm by shedding his leaves on me. He and I just layed there in beautiful silence as I mapped out my ideas using the sly.

Eventually, after what had seemed to be a lifetime of distress, I realised my reason of regret. The swing I secretly cherished wasn’t just a swing to me, it was me. Memories that came together to make one book that was written all over the swing and it was all held together by fragile, rusty and kinked metal which represented me. I seem to think I’m tough like metal, but really I’m too rusty to be as tough as I think I can. It all made sense, I regretted making that wish because my memories make me who I am and that swing means ever so much to me because it carries my memories. Swiftly I turned around and asked Declan if I was right. Declan’s inspiring response was simply, “My dear Faunyia, you have now begun your journey of finding yourself. But don’t search too hard because it will take you a lifetime to find yourself, and once you’ve found yourself, you’ll wish you hadn’t because you will have to say goodbye. Enjoy and remember there are no regrets, you just made a mistake.” Within one minute of his honest words the sun peered in through the entire green fauna stronger than anyone could imagine and Declan magically disintegrated into the ground. Sadly I bent down and kissed the patch of mud Declan had turned into and thanked him for helping me realise my reason of regret.

Many moons and many sun sunrises had passed until I could finally have a home of my own. Now I can lay in bed and watch the sun set before the moon rises at night. After long happy dreams I then watch the sun peep over my bed and kiss me good morning. Not even an hour after being greeted good morning by the sun, my children come storming into my room and greet me their own way; with loud thumps and soft jumps all over my bed. Every time I hear one of the 2 very special children of mine say mummy, I feel the same loving way I did every time Declan spoke to me. Declan’s hand pushed my onto the path of finding myself, even if it was simply my imagination, I am grateful someone gave me the power to imagine something so powerful and life changing. Living in a home with 2 young and restless little boys isn’t always easy, especially knowing I can’t hold their hands forever. Though, I know if I’m not holding their little hands, Declan will be.

Still to this day I sit on that swing of mine and gather my memories together. Silent breezes of air brush my face the same way it did 12 years ago when I was 13. Good and bad memories still come flooding into my mind, but I try to focus on the good ones. Peaceful sounds and scenes still and always will keep me safe and wanting more, until my cheeky little sons come screaming down the hills. Somehow, even that is peaceful to me. Maybe love truly is what makes peace.