This is a short story that I did for school. We had to write about a complication that happened in the 1960's. I chose to write about the Stolen Generation in Australia. It is when the government took the Aboriginal children away from their parents and taught them how to be 'proper'.

Never Said

Before me, finally returned, was my daughter. I didn't know how to feel. It was like being plunged into icy water. I was suffocating. Suffocating in my own failures. I had failed as a mother. The woman before me was only mine by blood. She had grown up without me, without my culture or tradition. And she had turned out perfectly. Clear caramel face, large, deer-like eyes, silky shoulder-length hair, all my best features appeared on a woman who hardly knew me. And it hurt. It hurt to know that this perfect soul was the product of someone else's work. It hurt more than losing her on that fateful day.

The sun was beating down on the tired land. The leaves of the gums cast masterful, dappled patterns upon whatever lay beneath. The summer breeze was greeted with contented smiles. A small group and I were sitting alongside a narrow stream. The water glistened and trickled along with unmatched beauty. I sighed happily. The day was so peaceful. Every colour that nature offered could be seen and appreciated. The purest reds, the bluest blues and the most vibrant greens surrounded me. The air was fresh and familiar. The smell of eucalyptus and honeysuckle mixed, creating an intoxicating scent that caused my muscles to relax and my eyes to droop. The delighted squeals of our children were carried gently towards us, warning us of their arrival. Their smiles of milk-white teeth and their musical laughter was enough to melt my heart. They clambered with natural grace through the underbrush, their bare feet hardened to the unforgiving ground. Everything and everyone was full of life, the spirits were happy. Nothing could disrupt the beauty of the day.

I had closed my eyes for only a while. I could not have guessed that doom-ridden black motorcars were pulling up next to the outcrop of trees. I could not have guessed that unwelcome men in black suits were forcing their way towards us. I could not have guessed that I would soon be awakened by the sounds of desperate, fearful screams. As much as I could not have guessed, it was to be so. Women were yelling at the children to run. The last I saw of my daughter were wide, dark pools of fear, before the bush engulfed her. I turned quickly to see the offending beings. I stalked up to them and clawed at their clothes. I thought that I was strong; I thought that my strength as a mother would be enough. It wasn't. I was roughly flung aside by my hair and was left to flail in the dirt. Wailing and sobbing, I was left to let my soul bleed out. When I heard that one, dangerously familiar scream, I could feel it. My heart broke in two.

All the feelings of self-loathing boiled to the surface as I stared into the kind eyes of my daughter. After what felt like an eternity of waiting and hoping to see her again, here she was. Acting as if it was just another normal afternoon. I expected her to hate me for what I let happen. I wanted her to hate me. She needed someone to blame. I was as good as anyone; I had been blaming myself for years. She stepped forwards; I was ready to be yelled at, punched and abused. What I got instead hurt much more. She hugged me. She hugged me tight and she hugged me lovingly. My body reacted without my realising. My arms wrapped around her gentle frame, pulling her close. Her body wracked with tears. My eyes were blurry and my face grew wet with my own. What went unsaid meant the world to me. All the hate and all the blame went away. It was in that moment, in that simple gesture that we were both forgiven. It was in that moment that my heart starting beating.