This is a story Eryn wrote for school last week.
Sharon Saves The Dardale Society Of Babies
G’day! My name is Hayley and I live in Dardale, Australia. It’s a little place in the middle of nowhere where parents rule and kids are slaves. Well that’s how it used to be, I mean. This is the story of one brave baby named Sharon who saved the babies and made Dardale a better place .Sharon was born a hero and that’s a fact. Just take a look at her little head covered with brown curls and the brown eyes so deep they could melt your heart like chocolate. The tiny fists that could carry a punch like a grown man. The cheesy grin that she always seemed to be wearing. The irrational attitude that cut her apart from other girls. It doesn’t take long to realize she’s not one to be trifled with. I found her journal a few years ago buried under the town hall. This is her story.
12:00 – Everything seems OK .Marge is watching Oprah on the magic box and she hasn’t realised that I’ve almost slipped out of her arm. Marge picks up the remote and bounces me on her knee. So close - I want to kick her.
“What!” I yell as she traps me in her arms once more.
“Oh bub you must be tired.” She’s trying to sound sympathetic as she picks me up and trudges down the bare hallway to the dreaded nursery. The door she stops at is grey with peeling paint all over it. I’m quite familiar with this door. There is no doorhandle only a big, brass lock on the right hand side of the door. She produces an old, rusty key from her pocket and slips it in the lock. The door slides open and Marge walks inside. The walls are grey with a metal cot in one corner. The cot has reinforced steel bars and a large padlock. Apart from the barred window there is nothing else in the room.
She walks over to the cot, puts me in it, traps me in a furry blanket and padlocks the bars. I scream at her but she takes no notice. She locks the door with a sneer that is filled with loathing. I am quiet. It’s almost time. I wait counting slowly.
When the magic box starts again I stand up. By now she’ll be engrossed in her program and won’t notice the ping of the metal bars hitting the wall. I flex my muscles and send the bars flying with a good ol’ baby stink bomb. The smell is tremendous and my nostrils feel as though their on fire. I use a pacifier explosion out my rear end to give me a boost over to the window. I pull the bars out with my bare hands and use a baby burp to break the glass. Shards of glass are flying everywhere and I take off out the window.
A warm breeze is blowing through the trees and I soar higher than the birds. I swoop down low over my house and then across the street to Jessie’s. The window is slightly ajar and I slip inside. Jessie is sitting in a jolly jumper that is locked on fast. She’s bobbing up and down so fast she’s a blur. I race over and switch it off before it’s too late. Jessie’s panting hard and when she speaks her face is red with the effort. “Thanks” is all she can splutter. She runs her fingers through blonde hair and gives me a grin. Suddenly the door bursts open and in runs Jessie’s dad, Jacob Armstrong. His grey hair is slick with sweat and he’s grabbing at a stitch in his side.
“Oi You”He seems unable to say my name. He gives Jessie a glare, grabs me and storms into the kitchen. It is a very modern kitchen with lots of silver and gleaming glass. In one corner is a high chair. Jessie’s dad straps me down and grabs a can of baby food, it’s cabbage and strawberry, the type of cheap stuff that tastes no good.
He gets a spoonful of the muck and forces it down my throat. Oh, the pain and the fire. I can’t breath. I can’t speak. I want to hurl and I do, right on Jessie’s dad’s favourite jumper. He is outraged and runs around the kitchen, pulling out tufts of hair. While he’s busy doing that I blast out the window with a bottom ‘o bill.
I know I have to get back fast, before Marge releases her power on the rest of Dardales babies. I’m approaching the house fast and before I know it I’ve smashed the window. Marge stands up and starts cackling loudly. The sound buzzes in my ears and she gives a grim smile. Her teeth are sharp and pointed and her tower of blue hair is wobbling dangerously. I turn around to give her a bottom blaster right in the face but stop when I realize that I’m out of gas. Impossible! Ridiculous! Un – called for. Then Jessie whizzes by the open window on a pair of rocket boosters holding a can of rotten baked beans. She chucks it to me and I grab it deftly, pull the handle back and scoff them down. I spin around and catch Marge right in the face. Her face turns pale and then she began to cough and splutter. Before I could turn around she was lying dead on the floor. Cheering and great celebrations followed.
Ever since I found the journal Sharon has been my hero. She taught me to never give up and stick up for what is right. I look back on Sharon as a hero who saved the babies.
By Eryn Phillips
