The Golden Years

Here is a short story I wrote using the activities from this class.
In the years that followed, Ballarat would grow into Victoria's largest inland city -- becoming a vibrant oasis in the countryside, far from Melbourne's crowded streets. Yet, during the early days of the famous Gold Rush, Ballarat was just a small outpost. Shepherds roamed the land, and one hopeful prospector named Abe believed gold was in the air. His eyes sparkled with the promise of fortune.
Abe, a retired shepherd, faced a decade of hardship. Drought and disease had decimated his flock, leaving him broke. Retirement wasn't his choice, but it did give him an opportunity to find a better future for himself. He began panning in nearby waters, fuelled by desperation. An older shepherd had once told him tales of gold-filled rivers. With a twinkle in his eye, he recounted finding a golden pebble while fishing one morning. Its brilliance had caught the sunlight. Inspired by this story, Abe sold his few possessions. He stocked up on food and rum before starting his gold-panning journey in early 1851.
At first, he struck gold. He found a sliver the size of a pea, glinting in the sunlight. His heart raced with hope. Visions of wealth and prosperity danced in his mind. But soon, harsh realities set in. For the next month, his pans yielded only stones, dirt, and emptiness. The riverbed, once full of promise, now felt bare and unforgiving. Then, one fateful day, he woke to find his campfire extinguished. A group of strangers stood before him, their faces weathered from weeks of travel. These men, driven by the promise of untold riches, had arrived in Ballarat. They were fuelled by stories of men like James Esmond. Armed with their own pans and determination, this rough bunch would stop at nothing to claim their share of the gold rush.
"Who are you to trample my fire?" he asked, his hand moving to his hip holster. His revolver had gone unused since he last scared off dingoes from his flock.
"Haven't you heard?" one stranger replied. "Gold. This is gold country. We heard there's a mountain of it here, with rivers flowing orange and yellow."
"Do you think I was born yesterday?" Abe shot back. "What do you think I've been doing out here? How do you know about this place? I don't recognise you, so you can't be locals."
"Better get used to new faces, my friend. Your town's about to grow. Someone from here found the biggest gold nugget I've ever seen. Soon, everyone from the big city will come," the stranger said.
"I even heard this gold news will reach London by winter. Imagine that, the Queen hearing about gold country right here. She'd probably send an army to take it all from us," another stranger added.
Like a storm, everything changed in Ballarat. The town was once peaceful. Locals knew each other's names and birds chirped in the trees. Then, prospectors and treasure hunters overran it. Greed drove them to dig up every inch of soil for the elusive golden nugget. Mines sprang up like mushrooms after rain, transforming the landscape and leaving destruction in their wake. As gold flowed out of Ballarat, filling the pockets of the lucky, Abe remained empty-handed, a small fish in a sea of fortune seekers. He felt like a lone sailor adrift in a stormy ocean, struggling to stay afloat amidst the chaos.
The town's population soared. New homes and businesses appeared overnight to accommodate the settlers. The main street, once quiet, now buzzed with activity. Its sidewalks overflowed with strangers rushing to stake their claims. Abe felt lost among the unfamiliar faces, wondering how his quiet life had flipped upside down. He missed the days when he knew his neighbours and the local shopkeeper greeted him with a smile. The tight-knit community of Ballarat was now overwhelmed by pickaxes, drills, and the chatter of strangers.
On a crisp late afternoon, the sun bathed the settlement in golden light. Abe, driven by near desperation, panned the Yarrowee River, searching for gold. His weathered hat clung to his forehead, a testament to months of toil. Calloused hands ached from endless scooping, yet he refused to give up. As the sun set, casting an orange glow over the makeshift town, he stood knee-deep in the water. His pan felt like a lifeline to a better future, one that could redeem his hard work. Just when exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, the river's siren song called him to scoop three more times. His back bent, movements mechanical, he was driven by the promise of a fortune that shimmered like a mirage. Then, like a miracle, he saw it—a glint of gold in the fading light. This fortune would change his life forever.
Abe's eyes sparkled like gems, filled with triumph. A rough grin spread across his weathered face, marked by years under the sun. He let out a whoop of joy, his voice echoing through the valley. In shallow water, he danced, his boots slapping against the river's glassy surface. As he returned to camp, the crunch of gravel underfoot matched the gentle lapping of the river. It renewed his spirit, despite his tired body and mind. But fate had a cruel twist in store. His boot caught on a hidden rock, and he tumbled into the water. His precious pan and its contents washed away, like leaves in a storm. The river seemed to mock him, sweeping away his fortune as if by design. Abe's anguished cry pierced the night, startling early risers and silencing the birds. Enraged, he kicked the water, sending ripples across its surface. Yet the river remained unchanged, its indifference fueling his fury like a wildfire.
In a moment of desperation, Abe's hand reached for his revolver. The cold metal offered brief comfort against his failures. Just as he was about to surrender to his demons, he spotted a greater treasure glinting in the dark. The gold, more abundant than he had ever seen, was his lifeline. It felt like a long-lost friend staring back at him. He stumbled toward it, eyes fixed on the treasure and heart racing. At the water's edge, he plunged his hands into the cool liquid and pulled out the treasure, cradling it like a precious child. He gazed at it with the wonder of a new parent, drinking in the sight of the gold. His future unfolded before him like a map. The gold was shaped like an emu egg and reminded him that even in dark times, hope can be found.
"What have you got there?" a stranger asked on his way back to camp.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," Abe replied.
Abe huddled by the fire, his tired face etched with lines of weariness. A hundred pairs of eyes weighed heavily upon him. Desperation, fatigue, and greed marked the faces of those who watched, their features flickering in the firelight. Shadows danced eerily among the trees. Abe's grip tightened around his revolver, his hand ready to draw at the slightest hint of trouble. The cool metal of a gold nugget pressed against his chest, a reassuring weight amid the growing tension. Silence enveloped the scene, broken only by his ragged breaths and the occasional snap of a twig. Time seemed to slow until the crunch of footsteps shattered the stillness. A prospector, drawn by news of Abe's discovery, loomed over him. Envy and malice twisted his features. A rifle hung firmly in the man's hands, its barrel glinting like a coiled snake in the firelight. Tension thickened the air, heavy with the promise of violence. The two men locked eyes, their intentions hanging precariously in the balance.
"I knew you found something," he said. "Now, hand it over."
In the dark, his fingers coiled around the cold metal trigger. He had spent the night on the edge of sleep, waiting for this moment. He sat up suddenly and fixed his gaze on the prospector. The man stood across from him, as rain threatened to drown them both in an overwhelming flood of cold dampness. The fire between them sputtered, casting eerie shadows on their faces. It was like a spirit dancing in the dark. The storm raged on. Thunder boomed like a drumroll, and the air felt thick with tension.
Abe felt the ground shake as lightning struck. His finger tightened around the trigger. He gasped for breath, his hand trembling like a leaf. Slowly, he thumbed back the hammer, the sound echoing through the night like a death knell. In the brief flash of the next lightning bolt, Abe fired. The gunshot screamed through the stormy night.
As the prospector slumped forward, defeated, Abe sprang to his feet. His heart raced with fear and adrenaline. The weight of his actions hit him like the swing of a pickaxe. He knew he had to flee, not just from the storm, but from the consequences. At dawn, when they found the body, the townsfolk would come for him. They would be driven by a lust for gold and a desire for blood, not justice.
In those lawless days, the Great Southern Land had an unwritten rule: take a life, and you would lose yours. Swift revenge was the norm. Yet, Abe faced a strange situation—he wasn't the only shooter. He looked down at his leg. A bright red stream flowed freely, soaking the damp earth below. The cold numbed his senses, but when he tried to move, his leg acted as though there were no muscle left, leaving him crippled. His vision blurred as he crawled slowly to a patch of wet ground. There, the numbness in his wound gave him brief relief. Gathering all his strength, he dug a hole big enough to hide the gold. His hands shook with urgency as the weight of his situation pressed down on him. He buried the treasure, knowing that by morning, even he would struggle to remember where he had hidden it.
Days later, as the hangman's noose tightened around his neck, he thought of the golden egg. He remembered how it could have changed his life, freeing him from poverty and hardship. He recalled the moment he found the gold. He cherished the excitement that rushed through him as he drew the precious metal from the river. Possibility had filled his chest like a balloon. And he had felt, for the first time in his life, whole and complete.
As his life slipped away, a triumphant grin spread across his face. It was the same grin he had worn that fateful day. Gold had given him his only moment of happiness, a brief escape from his hard life. His last breath was filled with thoughts of gold. In his dying vision, he imagined a river of gold flowing through his veins instead of where there was once blood.