Huff Huff Huff

This year the Vancouver International Writers Festival, in partnership with Youthink magazine held a writing contest for grade 8 – 12 students.

At the beginning of a class period, students were given the following words: compost, Skytrain, Facebook, sob, what if, labyrinth. They had to write any form of prose, poetry short story, screenplay etc within the class period, using all those words.

From approximately 1600 participants, here is one of the grade 9 winners (it was a tie)!

“Huff…Huff…Huff..;”
It’s a never-ending war…
“Huff…Huff…Huff…”
I raced down the hallway, hearing the sounds of nearby gunfire behind me.
“Huff…Huff…Huff…”
I couldn’t find a way out of this labyrinth. It was a putrid cesspool underneath the ground where waste and compost slowly rotted. But it was my only method of escape.
“Huff…Huff…Huff…”

Breathing heavily now, I stop suddenly. Listening intently I can hear their footsteps and their fast breath. I can’t outrun them.

I continue dashing, hoping to find an exit or at least a hiding spot.

“Huff…Huff…Huff…”

To my right I catch a glimpse of a barred off area of the sewer. Frantic now, I hurl my body into it. The damp plaster slowly began to weaken and I continue my assault.
I can hear them breathing now.

“Huff…Huff…Huff…”

I throw myself into the thick iron bars and the plaster gives up the fight. The grate breaks loose and I duck inside the pitch black grotto.

“Huff…Huff…Huff…”

They stand in front of me, the horrible aliens, their mouths open and gasping, drool dripping out. I hear them muttering gibberish. Their language so different from ours. They begin to walk in opposite directions, and I slowly exhale. I walk deeper into the sewer and, suppressing a sob of despair, pull a small stick from my pocket. “fsshhh…”
The match flickered nervously as I continued with some light.
I came to a patch that was somewhat dry and let myself fall into a fitful sleep.
Later, when I woke up, I sat and thought about what happened. I ran it over in my head, how we went from peaceful planet to one overrun by sadistic aliens.
“What if?!” cried Martin.

“What if there really were aliens out there, sentient life we could communicate with?”
I don’t know sir. What’s the point?” I inquired.
“The point Bartleby? The Point?”

Mathew frowned intensely at me then continued, “The point would be to communicate with them. Bond with them! Who knows what sort of goods they possess? What sort of stories and cultures?”

“but we can’t commu-’

“YES WE CAN!” he said with a triumphant flourish.
“I have created a device which will allow us to find and communicate with any sentient being on any planet within one hundred million light-years of our own planet!”

He continued huffing and puffing away with his theory.
He caught my attention though what if we could communicate with aliens?
We did.
We shouldn’t have tried.
They were, at first, afraid of us, and us them, what with their strange tone of skin, their unsightly appendages and mouths.

But, slowly, we began to relax and decided that if we could take the first step to establishing peace and trade routes it would be for the better.

We sent five trading ships to their planet, bearing gifts and a translation device. We couldn't find the remains. The aliens swooped in before we could prepare ourselves and launched a devastating attack, wiping out two-thirds of our population. Their love of violence and destruction was horrific.

Now they hunt us on our home planet. They tear up our resources and use them for their own greedy needs. They kill us mercilessly. Some, they torture for information on our last underground resistance.
I was being hunted now.
I was torn from my memory of the past when I realized that my match had burn out.
I lit another and felt the ground as a makeshift Syrian flew overhead.
The aliens used these Skytrains to cross the area when they are hunting us. In the resistance we had this particular Skytrain Facebook due to the fact that it resembles a stack of books lined up, with a face at the front.
I felt so weak. So powerless. We never had the need for weapons before they showed up, which why we couldn’t defend ourselves. True, we fought some wars long ago but we realize how harmful it was, how useless.
The aliens didn’t see it that way. They loved war; love to use precious resources just to see some blood fly.
To dominate.
To rule over everyone and everything.
I hate them. The sadistic, war—loving aliens call themselves…Humans.