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Future Leaders is a national Initiative about leadership and the future of Australia. It seeks to involve, inform and inspire young people.
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Essays by young writers.
Showing essays sorted by BOOK
“It’s the dry season; humid, but with a soft breeze rustling through the leaves in the trees. My eyes follow the green curves of the earth surrounding me: mass graves, a final resting place for many. My curiosity is awakened, my understanding minimal, as I attempt to comprehend the atrocities that have happened …”
“You slump onto your bed. The springs squeak as you sink. Your parents are arguing. You’re used to it. Ever since ‘the incident’, it’s constant. They don’t blame it on you. They assure you it’s not your fault, but there’s always that underlying feeling that it is. Before it happened, before the grey clouds washed over …”
“Mama woke me with a finger to her lips. I felt her breath on my ear as she whispered instructions. It was the middle of the night, but my eyes were accustomed to the darkness. Mama had brought her red handbag, my brothers had nothing, and I had stuffed my favourite book, Abdul and Goat, in my pocket …”
“At the rise of the sun the clock struck one. Kick, thump, roll. Kick, thump, roll. Tom’s shoes camouflaged with the dust on which he stood, kicking the soccer ball against the wall. It wasn’t really much of a soccer ball, it had been once – but now it was a tired piece of leather, the outer layer had been blasted off …”
“Marcus lifted his heavy eyes from the pavement. The expensive suit was tight on his thighs and across his shoulders, the back of his neck soaked in sweat. They were drinking coffee under a thick shadecloth, but the heat was everywhere, beating at the very air until it gave way, shimmering and vibrating …”
“Two years ago I went camping for the first time. A couple of close friends and I drove three hours north-west from Melbourne to the Grampians where, with a bit of difficulty, we pitched our oversized tent. We camped for only two nights – hiking along stone gorges during the days; chatting by the crackling campfire …”
“The roar of the highway outside our Fitzroy apartment sounds like an ocean I once knew. In the mornings as I walk down the narrow staircase to go to school, I like to pretend that I am about to step onto that same Smithton Beach. I can feel the warm, coarseness of the sand, and hear the frothy crash of the waves …”
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