Matong's Story

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Matong is a aboriginal boy who lives with his clan near the ocean. His world is turned upside with the arrival of the strange white men.

Submitted: June 28, 2009

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Submitted: June 28, 2009



Matong’s Story

Long ago, aboriginal people, before the white man came, were very spiritual people. They were connected to the land and creation through the two great spirits. One was the Great Spirit of Good and the other was the Great Spirit of Evil…Satan was the great evil. So there wasn’t much difference in what the missionaries brought and what they already had. This is where Matong’s story begins. The time of the white man’s arrival to his land, Australia.

Matong stood barefoot on the hill overlooking the sea. His brown curls blew gently in the wind. Behind him where his father’s clan was getting ready for the daily hunt. He turned and saw his father with the dingoes ready to leave.

“Please...can I come with you father?” He asked tugging at his shirt.

“No, you’re too young. You must stay with your mother.” His father said and walked off into the bush the rest of the hunters following behind. Matong turned back to face the ocean. He sighed. He was used to this treatment. He turned to head back toward the camp when something silver caught his eye. He turned and looked down at the shore. Why hadn’t he seen them before? He dropped to his stomach and etched his way forward. Men as white as the snow that fell in the winter were climbing out of big metal...Canoes. He watched them for some while. He moved only when they began making their way up the cliff side. Sliding back from the ledge he straightened and ran for the village. His father had yet to return with the hunters.

“Mother!” He called at the top of his lungs as he ran for their tent. A woman walked out with a concerned look on her face.

“What is it Matong?” She asked grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Men, coming up the mountain. They’re not far away.” She straightened up and shook her head.

“It is no big deal Matong; men pass through our camp often.”

“Not these men. They are as white as snow and carry big metal rod things that make a lot of noise!” he yelled.

Before she could even ask how far away they were a loud bang pierced the air. A gush of wind past Matongs head. He looked up in horror as his mother fell to the ground limp. A large wound formed in her chest and blood ran from her mouth and chest. He whirled around and saw the white men entering the camp. The women screamed and tried to run from them. Loud bangs rang out everywhere. Children were being slaughtered everywhere. Some men were tying up the women and pulling them back down the hill.

“Run!” His mother’s last words came in a gasp from her lips. He didn’t hesitate. His legs carried him far into the bush away from the noise. No-one followed him. He ran and ran as far from the sound as he could get. When he stopped, the noise was now just a buzz in his ears. A piercing pain shot through his arm and he clenched his teeth shut to stop him from yelling. He looked down and saw something had cut him across the arm. He picked up a clump of mud from the river bed and held it to his arm. After a while the numbness kept the pain at bay.

Slowly he made his way back toward the camp. No noise came from the camp but to make sure he would be safe he climbed the small over-hang from the mountain so he was just above the camp site. He couldn’t see anything moving. The tents had either been crushed or burnt. Blood covered the dirt making it turn to mud. Flashes of people screaming passed through his mind. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist. The dingoes had all been skinned and then burned and the children were piled in the centre of the camp. The adults were left scattered where they were killed.

He strung his bow incase he saw anyone come back. He looked to where his mother lay. Beside her was his father. His arm draped over her where he had fallen. So the hunters had returned and were killed as well. His clan had been massacred. He had an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. He thought of how his father would act. He wouldn’t be sitting here crying for his loss. He would be seeking revenge on those who had done the hideous crime. He looked around him. First he would have to bury the dead and give them a proper burial. Then…then he would set out after the ‘white men’.


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