INFERNO
By
Ashleigh Neame
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Ashleigh Neame on Smashwords
INFERNO
Copyright © 2010 by Ashleigh Neame
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblances to persons living or dead are purely coincidental. The setting is based on Manurewa, Auckland in the 1900’s.
No Adult Material.
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Many thanks to my Year 11 English teachers, Mrs Pulsford and Mr Dave Dearman (Author of Tui Brown and The Spiral) who helped me write this short story as part of my Year 11 English Coursework. Since then, it has developed, and this is the final product.
Please note that I use New Zealand spelling throughout, and this differs from American spelling.
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The sky glittered, decorated with sparkly little silver stars that shined brightly against the deep blue expanse above us. It seemed like tonight, the world was entirely at peace.
It was December, 1923, and Christmas Eve was upon us.
It was an unusually hot one, what with temperatures in the low thirties here in New Zealand.
I was kneeling on the window seat in my cotton nightdress, peeking out the window between the yellowing lace curtains. The delicious aroma of turkey and cranberry wafted into the living room. My stomach growled.
"Anyone would think you were underfed," my Papa said, smiling at me from his worn tartan chair.
I smiled back and turned my head towards the closed kitchen door. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my two younger brothers racing each other to the dining room. A small giggle escaped my lips.
I decided to follow them, and my worn slippers made tiny pitter-patter sounds on the threadbare carpet as I walked.
On entering the dining room, I grinned madly. My eyes struggled to take in the magnificent feast laid out in front of me. I rudely ignored the cheery decorations my father had put up just hours before. They were nothing compared to the food. I was so hungry it made my mouth water.
The table groaned under the weight of all the food. The traditional Christmas ham glistened and gleamed in the light. The pineapple on top seemed to ooze juice. The golden roasted potatoes and kumara just added to the appeal.
This is almost worth missing the party at Nathan Homestead, I thought to myself.
I eagerly took the seat nearest to me, not noticing that I had the wobbly chair until it was too late. I groaned, but waited patiently for my mother to finish putting little baby Joanna in her high chair, silently planning my meal.
I was thinking of having a spoonful of freshly picked peas...a thick slice of ham...definitely a slice of turkey. I'd even have potatoes, although I didn't like them much. I'd never tried kumara before, it being a traditional Maori vegetable, and was eager to try it.
"Margaret? Are you alright?" my mother asked, her concerned voice breaking through my daydream.
I smiled at her. "Thank you, Mother, I am well. I have just been planning what I would have for tea."
Father laughed at my answer, a deep throaty chuckle. "Of course."
I smiled, but that smile was quickly wiped off my face when we heard the loud crack! Screams followed it, ear-splitting shrieks that cut through the air like a whip. In our house, there was complete and utter silence.
"Goodness, what was that?" my mother said politely, pausing in her feeding of Joanna.
I don't think anyone was prepared for father's reaction. He pushed his chair back so fast it screeched on the polished wooden floor. He stood up in one swift, completely unnatural movement. We stared at him.
He ignored our shocked looks and moved quickly to the door. Screams of terror filled the air again and we all jumped into action.
"The Maori are attacking!" my mother screeched, conveniently forgetting that the conflicts with the Maori were long over. She bundled Joanna up into warm blankets and cradled her close.
My father scoffed. "The Maori are not attacking Elizabeth. Pull your head together. Boys, Margaret, put something warm on. We're going out."
The boys shrugged into their new coats and I pulled on my dressing gown.
"But Papa, something's wrong. We can't go out there!" I screamed.
He looked at me. "Yes we can Mags, people are in trouble, and they need our help."
"But John, you can't risk our children like that!" my mother said, panicking.
He shook his head at us and pulled open the door, tugging harder when it jammed.
He raced into the night, and we ran after him.
We lived in the poorer part of town, where the roads were dustier and the concrete was cracked, so we weren't the only one's not at the party tonight. Many other neighbours were pouring out of their front doors in slippers and dressing gowns too. They all joined us as we bolted up the road, in the direction of the piercing screams. The crowd seemed to grow as we moved, and the road seemed to never end. We were so desperate to help the people in trouble. We couldn't help it, it was who we are.
Suddenly we turned the corner and were faced with the utter horror of the situation.
Flames licked hungrily at the sky, setting it ablaze with its iridescent colours. The orange was such a stark contrast to the deep navy blue of the night. The loose stones crunched underneath our feet as we sprinted up the long driveway. Smoke slowly filled our lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe. Flowers seemed to wither and choke as we passed, their petals curling in to protect themselves. We could hear sobbing children and wailing women. The men had pained looks on their faces, some disbelieving. They had their arms wrapped around their chests, barely holding themselves together.
They looked almost comical in their fancy dress.
Many women were wringing their hands, and Mrs Nathan had her head in her hands. Her youngest son was tugging on her skirt with tears streaming down his face. I moved my way closer and cuddled him, trying to calm him down. I looked around and saw my school friend Lawrence standing next to his father. He looked stunned, and tears were silently streaming down his face. I wanted to go over and comfort him, but I didn't know how.
I could only imagine how it felt to see your house go up in flames, especially on Christmas Eve.
We watched as the intense heat shattered the windows, sending splinters of glass all over the ground. Flames peeped out, hungry for more destruction. We winced when we heard the sound of the first floor crumbling.
United, we silently watched as the roof caved in, snapping the framework and sending it crumbling into oblivion.
The fire department could not save the remains, and we watched as everything turned to ash.
Eventually the flames died out, the Homestead nothing but a burnt pile of soot. The only sign that a house had been there was the concrete foundation that had not burned.
We stayed there until daybreak, supporting and consoling those who needed it.
I wondered what would happen in the future. What would happen to the Nathan's? Would they still be around this time next year?
Silently, the crowd began to disperse, leaving to return to their own lives. I'm ashamed to say that we were one of the first to go.
To answer my questions, the Nathan family decided not to rebuild, and moved away. We never heard of them again.
END
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