THE ISLAND 

By Tessa Harvey


    When the person called Dee opened her eyes, the boy sighed heavily and walked disconsolately away. Those odd boys had said it would be great to be on a real island. Tom said it had coconuts. So what! You could buy them at mum's supermarket. No water - none! But the sand was just like sand anywhere - except it wasn't. There were bits of clothes, ripped bags. A dead kitten. It was all awful. The kitten was tiny and sad and very much not alive. It lay limp and dead.
    His mind veered away, but it was still the truth that real people might be like that somewhere. Where was his mum? She had heart problems. She did not run after him when he was little and ran away, giggling and hoping, looking back. 
    His dad was hurt and limped, but had hugged him hard, glad to see his boy had escaped physically unscathed.
    Where was Connie? Fine. Dennis was eight. Time to be strong and brave. - a warrior.  He forgot to take water, but he had a packet of purloined crackers in his ragged pocket.
    He did not look back. The boy brandished a stick - sword like a real warrior and moved confidently, leaving all the annoyance of squawking babies and infants, and worse, adult moans. Dennis felt unnoticed by one person. Easy prey, thought Elijah. Dead kids tell no tales. He grabbed a drink bottle.


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