Drowning. Gasping for air. Reaching for the surface. Choking. You wake up in a hot sweat, still gasping from the endless nightmares. Through the prison-like bars you see the television buzzing like bees with talk. They talk about you and your ‘kind’, they talk like you’re animals. You back into a corner, hold your head and rock. Your mind is so cumbersome with thoughts of your old life; the smells, the food, the little things that used to annoy you. You speak in second person, because you feel that your memories and emotions no longer belong to you, like you’re constantly reminding yourself that those memories are yours. You lift your head and turn to the little pink box with your name engraved on it. You open it and it plays a tune so familiar and reminding it makes you cry.

“Get up!”

You’re confused, a little scared. The guard opens the door of your prison like cell.

“Come on! You’re free!”

You grab the little pink box and slowly walk out; out of your cell, out of the refugee camp, out of imprisonment. Even though you were free, your mind was still prisoned with thoughts, you were free, but you weren’t. The guard chucked you out and you landed in the mud. It had been raining, but from your cell you wouldn’t have known. The sun was blinding you as you walked towards the port. People were shouting at you to come to the small boat moored at the flaky jetty. The people on the boat were smiling and laughing. For some reason they wanted to go to this strange country, even after the torturous year of not being allowed here. As the boat leaves, thoughts of your imprisonment, the war and fleeing your country all come flooding into your head. You see families together and the rusty, old sign that reads ‘Christmas Island Refugee Camp’.

You wake to the sound of laughter. You get up and walk onto the deck. There are people waving and cheering as the boat comes to port. There’s a stampede of elephants as everyone unloads off the boat. You’re greeted with presents, chocolates and toys. Men in black suits give each and every one an envelope stating what they do from here. The loud noise is giving you a headache. You’re suffocating. You run as fast as possible out of the crowd. Sitting on the soft grass, you open the envelope. There are some documents and letters. It states what happened to your Mother. You know all too well what happened to her; she was shot. You held her in your arms, rocking her head and upper body. You sang her a lullaby as she drifted into a cold, dark sleep. For four days you cradled her and sat in the blood stained snow.

3 Months Later

You haven’t heard from your brother or father in over thirteen months. Every night you have nightmares about the look in your mother’s eyes when she died. Your foster Mum treats you differently to her other kids and every time you mumble that you want to go home; she beats you. The television is always buzzing with new changes in the refugee policy. You’re staying, you’re not staying. You don’t know what to believe now. You don’t feel safe anymore; since that refugee was murdered in your street. Toady you got a letter stating that you go home in two days.