Mayhem - Issue One - March 2014
ISSN 2382-0322
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Hamish Ansley
Glowstick
Somewhere in the bush on the side of a mountain. That’s where we were. One hundred and
fifty fourth-form students subdivided into smaller groups and led by teachers we had
previously known only as figures in brown suits behind desks or in front of whiteboards. The
same as every other school camp, as far as I could tell. A sensory overload of gravel tracks
and greenery that the curriculum deemed somehow character building. I watched the sportive
among my group leaping confidently over mud-filled ruts and climbing steep rock grades
with ease. I heard their energetic shouts ahead of me and, behind me, the wheezing of the
asthmatics and those who spent intervals and lunchtimes smoking in the C-block toilets.
The track wound and descended to a clearing by a ford, which we were to cross to continue
our hike. I lingered at the edge of the clearing for a bit, sitting on a stump, not wanting to join
the others and their enthused chatter just yet.
She appeared beside me at the edge. Two white legs in denim shorts and hiking shoes. She
paused for a moment. Said nothing. I just looked up at her and then back down at the mud.
She leapt child-like down the short drop, joining the rest of the group. I followed.
A few had already begun to cross the ford, stepping deftly from rock to rock, avoiding the
stream which was shin-deep in places. I did my best to appear confident and did the same –
making it nearly all the way, before hesitating between two rocks which could both have
taken me across. I thrust my foot at one courageously, before changing my mind,
overbalancing, and slipping into the water. Laughter and sarcastic applause hit me, colder
than the stream. One wet shoe and one dry. She gave me a sympathetic smile as I climbed the
bank.
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© Copyright remains with the individual author
Mayhem - Issue One - March 2014
ISSN 2382-0322
__________________________________________________________________________________
– You ok? She asked. The first words she had ever addressed to me.
– Fine. I said, not knowing what more to add.
She walked several places ahead of me – an exquisite creature among the incessant repetition
of nettles and ferns. The greens and browns of the world around me swirled with her image in
my mind, muddying the clarity I sought about how to confess my adoration. The twisted
branches were bars between me and my desire to speak to her. I wished to set fire to them all,
and was thankful when we finally emerged from their oppressive arms. The long summer day
was just fading as we gained the lodge, greeted by warm chicken wraps and cool drinks. I
watched her assemble hers delicately, with a pair of fine white hands and a turquoise bracelet
on her wrist. She sat with friends, chatting amiably but not finishing her meal. She became
sullen and quiet as it grew dark, turning the bracelet around her wrist nervously. The colour
of her confidence had disappeared along with the daylight.
Though the night was clear and warm she grew visibly more anxious as we were led up the
hill. It was only then I realised why. We would each be dropped off, one by one, in the bush
and left for two hours. Alone. Two girls nearby were carrying torches, but they were soon
confiscated. We were to sit in complete darkness. That was the point. I relished the thought.
Two hours to just sit and be! She clearly detested it. Even in the low light I could see her
pupils wide and her cheeks flushed with triangles of red. She spoke frantically to her friends,
saying she didn’t want to do it, she wanted to go back, could she be left somewhere where
she could see the stars? Her voice was hoarse and her breathing shallow. I had smuggled a
glowstick in my jacket pocket. Much easier to conceal than a torch. I knew it would shine
yellow when I snapped it.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
© Copyright remains with the individual author
Mayhem - Issue One - March 2014
ISSN 2382-0322
__________________________________________________________________________________
I could give it to her. She’ll appreciate it more than me. I don’t mind the dark. How I wished
to be the one to assuage her anxiety.
We reached the edge of the bush, and stood in loose clusters, waiting to be delivered into the
darkness. I approached her. Her anxiety had reached its peak. Her hands were clasped under
her chin and she was trying not to shake. Her friends continued to console her. I willed them
away silently. I wanted to speak to her alone but they wouldn’t leave. She shivered though it
was warm. I stood sheepishly on the edge of her group, my hand clasping the glowstick in my
jacket pocket.
A stern voice in the dark called for us to form a queue. Quickly. We were led into the bush, a
procession of bodies, and dropped off one by one. I sat on a patch of decaying leaves and
took out the glowstick. It had snapped in my pocket and radiated yellow.
I saw myself in the darkness and threw the glowstick into the night.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
© Copyright remains with the individual author