Short Story Competition!

The Bottle

by Elisabeth (Year 9)

"Camp for troubled teens." More commonly known as Camp Rage. A two week program that supposedly cures kids of their anger management issues. It's held on the coastline, in this shabby building by the beach. I dunno why. It's not like the waves and sand can cure the rage in us. I'd like to see that. I've been to this camp for five years running, ever year it's the same thing. Kids come forced by their worried parents. I think my folks have given up on me and yet they still send me every year- hoping for a miracle, I guess. Waste of money if you ask me. The cheesy camp games and the deep-and-meaningful chats seem pointless. The other kids are just as stuffed up as me, some even worse. There's this one kid, Jamie Tanner, who has a habit of snapping his toothbrushes. He's gone through six on this camp already. Half of the kids here don't admit that they have issues, and to prove it they do strange stuff. Adam drank a mixture of toothpicks and sand before being raced to hospital, Nancy paints frightening murals on all of the walls and Naomi cuts off her hair only to hide it in peoples' beds. Maybe those kinds of kids are at the wrong camp, they should be sent to Camp Loony or something. Somehow, amidst all the chaos, the teachers are able to put on a smile. Don't even get me started on the teachers.

They casually come into your cabin at night pretending that they 'accidentally' came into the wrong room. They sit down on the bunk next to you and pat your knee, "Hey, Kiddo. What's up?" This has happened to me so many times, I've come up with the perfect solution: stuff my headphones in my ears, face the wall and completely ignore the pestering adult. They eventually sigh and leave. No one understands that you don't have to have a reason to be angry, I am always angry.

I woke that morning to put my feet into a slimy mess on the carpet. Great, my day was looking fabulous already. I dawdled into breakfast only to find that all of the good cereal was finished. Looked like I was having burnt, cold toast then. As I buttered my toast, (which was more similar to cardboard), my acute hearing caught on to an argument two tables away. It went along the lines of: “How dare you read my magazine without asking!”, when the first spoonful of sloppy yoghurt was thrown. In less than 30 seconds the whole room was ducking and chucking. Fruit was flying and unidentifiable bits of food were splattered onto you from all directions. Everyone was getting rid of the rage that they were not supposed to express.

After the breakfast clean up we went to the beach to do a scavenger hunt, (today's activity). We were put into groups, so I was stuck with Brodie and Kelly. Let me introduce you: Brodie. A fire-crazed 14 year old who is not afraid to bite you. Two nights ago he burnt a hole in our cabin's carpet. He tried to bite our supervisor, Tony, when he came to investigate. They're all a bit worried he'll become an arsonist. Kelly isn't too bad. She's a real brainiac when she wants to be. She spends most of her time in the kitchen, sitting next to the knives whilst staring into space.... very strange kid.

I hate group work. No matter who I work with they get on my nerves. I get so angry that my hands automatically become fists and then they rest is not pretty. Tony handed my group the list of objects we needed to find to Kelly. It was pretty basic: a feather, something shiny, coral, the strangest object, the most interesting shell. They explained the rules and threatened 'isolation' if you breached them. Oh yeah, 'isolation' is practically the equivalent of being grounded. The worst parts of it are missing out on dessert and having to sleep in the same cabin as the teachers. I have had it many times in my 5 years. I immediately volunteered to go scavenge the rock pools. This was so I could be alone, without being burnt, bitten or stabbed.

I like being alone. I set off to the rocks gazing out onto the horizon. Though this camp wasted two weeks of my summer holidays, the ocean was beautiful but vicious as it crashed up onto the coastline. I bent over the kelp covered rocks in search of a suitable shell when a green bottle caught my eye. It was an old beer bottle that had washed up. I strolled over- maybe we could use this as our 'strangest object'. I twisted the lid then shook it upside down. A lock of golden hair fell out onto my palm. It was still dry and silky. I stared at it, puzzled. Then I saw the note still inside. I stuck my fingers through the neck of the bottle when I heard “Taylor! Oi, Taylor!”

Christopher would have to be my least favourite person. He thought he was the king and ever since I busted his nose on last years' Camp Rage he has hated my guts. He and his two minions were jogging towards me. I did not want them taking my bottle, my treasure. I stuffed the hair back inside and screwed the cap on tightly. I swiveled to run in the opposite direction when my thong slipped on the kelp.

My Mother always regretted not getting me swimming lessons. Too late now. The water pulled me under and I couldn’t breath. I grasped the bottle to my chest- it was all that mattered now. I had never had anything to protect before. I closed my eyes and relaxed allowing the current to push me around. In a strange way I was relieved. I was no longer angry.