Ridley House Writing Magazine 2025

AGS’

House Writing Winners 2024 With the theme “Messages”

AGS House Writing 2025 Ridley Edition

Refuge

01

08

16

MY DEAREST MOTHER (PART ONE)

WHY DO PEOPLE HATE REFUGE?

THE STARE OF THE STORM

By Lewis B. (Ri12)

By Harry P. (Ri7)

By Suwayne W.K. (Ri11)

02

09

17

THE TV CHANNEL CHANGED

A KNIGHT IN THE NIGHT.

BLANK CANVAS

By Vivaan D. (Ri8)

By Elliot K. (Ri9)

By Khzir H. (Ri12)

03

09

18

HOME. HOME IS A REFUGE.

I FEEL SAFE.

REMEMBER, FOR A BETTER FUTURE

By Leon A.P. (Ri7)

By Alexander Cr. (Ri11)

By Alfie F. (Ri12)

04

10

19

HOME OWNERS OF THE WHITE MALL FELDSTRASSE BUNKER

SILENCE

By Zirui W. (Ri7)

By Euan C. (Ri10)

By Nat M. (Ri13)

05

11

20

MY SPECIAL PLACE...

MERECÍA EL REFUGIO

REFUGE

By Benjamin C. (Ri8)

By Sam T. (Ri13)

By T.C. (Ri9)

05

12

21

A MESSAGE FROM MYSELF:

A WARMING WINTER STEW

REFUGE

By Hassan L. (Ri10)

By Alexander Ch. (Ri11)

By Sriram C. (Ri11)

06

13

22

FUGITIVES OF THE FIRE.

UNCOMMON COMMONALITIES.

POLITICAL TERMS OR PEOPLE

By Alexander P. (Ri9)

By Caleb E. (Ri8)

By Ellis W. (Ri12)

06

14

23

THE DIARY OF A REFUGEE

THE COMFORT IN OUR SHELLS

By Oliver R. (Ri11)

By Umar H. (Ri8)

By Rishi p. (Ri11)

06

15

23

IN A CAVE OF DARKNESS

MR. KIM’S ESCAPE

IINTROSPECTION

By Maharshi P. (Ri7)

By Steven D. (Ri10)

By Dominic S. (Ri12)

07

16

24

ANORA: A FILM IN REVIEW

CALMED.

MY DEAREST MOTHER (PART TWO)

By Stanley S. (Ri13)

By James R. (Ri10)

By Stanley S. (Ri13)

BLOOD, FLESH AND BONE.

Table of Contents

FROM THE HEAD OF HOUSE HOUSE WRITING 2025

Welcome to the 2025 Ridley House Magazine which, this year, focuses on the theme of ‘Refuge’.

As always I would like to thank all our students who submitted an entry for this year’s House Writing competition. We have received a large amount of work from across the House so it has been a considerable task for the editors to whittle down all of our submissions into a twenty-five page magazine. I would like to congratulate those students whose work has been selected for inclusion.

In particular, I would like to thank our chief editor Stanley Sturgeon in Ridley 13 and his team of editors for all their hard work in putting the magazine together.

The 2023-24 academic year was a memorable year for Ridley House. The Watson Trophy did not go according to plan where Ridley finished in last.

The obvious highlight was first place in the House Writing!

The Brodie Trophy was a different matter entirely. At Christmas Ridley were in last place in the standings. However a remarkable run saw victories in the basketball, football and tennis competitions. As we approached the final Brodie event of the year – House Athletics, it was still possible for any one of four houses to win the Brodie Trophy. Although Phillips House won the overall competition, fortunately they were not one of our title rivals. A second place overall finish was enough to pip Denson House to the overall Brodie Trophy title by the smallest of margins (0.5 points) at the end of a gripping year of sporting competitions.

I hope that you enjoy reading this year’s Ridley House Magazine.

Mr. Barrie HEAD OF RIDLEY HOUSE

PREFACE

My Dearest Mother I hope this letter finds you, though I am afraid my words might not even reach you. It has been long since I last saw your face, since I felt the warmth of your hug, your soft embrace.

These days, I long for those moments as though they were dreams I could wake up to again, dreams that return to kiss greater life into my ever-decaying soul.

Here, these sepulchral days stretch endlessly, mother. The walls that surround me are not like the ones of our little home in León, where every corner harboured your love, where even the cracked tiles on the floor whispered soft songs of life. Here, they are cold and bare. They know nothing of me—nothing of the girl who used to run barefoot through the fields, laughing as you called me back for supper.

Mother, I am scared. I thought leaving would mean finding safety, a place where my life would flourish, like the flowers you used to plant by the window. This place does not feel like the refuge I thought it would. It feels like exile. The sallow moon, hung far away from my small bedroom window appears a stranger to me, distant and uncaring, a pall draped across my shivering body. The shadows it casts whisper fears I cannot name, and in its pale glow, I feel more lost than ever.

I wished to tell you that I am strong, I so wanted to. The truth is that I am surrounded by many, yet I have never felt so alone. I watch mothers holding their daughters’ hands on the street, and my chest tightens as though shards of glass were lodged deep inside. I clutch your scarf, pressing it to my face, hoping to sense the faintest trace of you. But all I feel is the cold, the weight of emptiness once where your warmth used to be, now nothing more than a reminder of what I’ve lost.

Please tell me you have not forgotten me, mother. Please tell me you still whisper my name in your prayers. You are my refuge, my home, the sole reason I hold this ever-dwindling hope in my heart. One day, I will return to you, I promise. Until then, hold me in your heart, as I hold you in mine.

Te amo para siempre, Isabella

01

BY LEWIS B. (RI12)

The TV Channel Changed...

This is an emergency broadcast from the SCP Weather Anomaly Foundation. This is not a drill.

‘SCP:WeatherAnaomaly - 1’ will breach in the next morning.

A worldwide storm will be created and will cover outdoor floors with 10 cm of water.

It will rain ice shards and any living beings directly exposed to the water or come into contact with the storm will die.

There will be no access to sunlight and many crops will wither.

Seek refuge at the closest SCP Weather Anomaly research site as soon as possible.

It is advised to ration food and only go outside with proper equipment for an unknown period of time.

Remember these instructions. Good Luck.

Aze: Well, you heard what it said. C’mon, we have to go to Site 115!

5 Hours later…

Aze: Well we’re here. Site 115.

Elen: Holy… That's one big storm!

Aze: Well let’s get in, before ‘the big storm’ kills us!

Elen: Yeah I’m coming. *Aze and Elen start running towards the site* Elen: Why are the shiny things in the sky getting bigger?

Aze: ……R U N!!!

Head of Site: *Opens Door* Quick, in here! *The Head of Site closes the door just as Aze and Elen get in the Site. Shards shatter just outside the doors.* INT. THE SITE - NIGHT. Head of Site: Hello survivors. Welcome to Site 115. Before you enter, I’ll need to register your names.

Aze: I’m Aze and this is my bud, Elen.

Elen: Hello!

Head of Site: Well then, make yourselves comfortable.

02

BY VIVAAN D. (RI8)

Home. Home is a refuge.

But what if you don’t have a home? A refuge? A life.

Look, I don’t want you to think that I’m the only refugee out here.

I’m not a special kid with certain V.I.P treatment.

I’m just another kid, writing to no one.

Long story short, I’m resettling in another country called Iran.

I’ve never heard of it. You could say I’m trying to run to Iran. Get it?

These little things are keeping me sane, or insane. I need help.

Not mentally, or physically, but spiritually. Yes. Spiritually.

I’m losing faith.

So, if anyone is reading this, whatever the religion, pray for me.

Meditate for me. Hope for me. Whoever you are.

Find help.

03

BY LEON A.P. (RI7)

Home Owners Of the White Mall JORIS BOHNSON 100 MIDDLING STREET NORTHMINSTER IH70 3AM JORIS_BOHNSON@UK.GOV 29/02/2020 WHITE MALL HOMEOWNERS 1 UPPING STREET EASTMINSTER HI68 2AM

Dear The Home Owners Of The White Mall, This is a letter to show my appreciation that you gave us somewhere to stay after our flight was delayed to the next day because of a thunderstorm. I really appreciate your hospitality due to all the hotels being closed. We were about to sleep a rough night at the airport but your hospitality saved us and the passengers of the light by arranging accommodation. Your large and relaxing fields provided us with the food we required and the beds were so comfy.

How can I ever repay you?

To express my gratitude I will leave nine twenty pounds in this letter and a thank you poem written by my daughter: Greeted with terrible news, Responded with dread, All is not well, The night will be rough, In the mist of panic, The heroes arrives, Undertakes the misfortunate, Delivers warm meals, Everyone is sleeping optimistic and well.

Thank you for everything, Overwhelmed with joy, Yours sincerely cannot cover it all, Obviously we express gratitude, Ultimately we are all thankful for you.

Thank you, The Bohnsons.

04

BY ZIRUI W. (RI7)

A Collection of Poems My Special Place...

When life feels loud and starts to sway, There’s a quiet spot where I can stay.

Tall trees around me softly sigh, A peaceful place where worries fly.

The flowers are bright, the stream flows clear, In this safe space, I have no fear.

When days are heavy, and I feel small.

This refuge catches me, helps me stand tall.

With every heartbeat, I start to heal.

In this warm place, I truly feel.

Whether it’s nature or friends by my side.

This is my special place, my place to confide.

BY BENJAMIN C. (RI8)

A Message From Myself: In this test that is life we must seek refuge. A stepping stone to becoming the best version of ourselves, not for someone else but for yourself. On the journey of life, refuge comes in many shapes and forms, all stepping stones on the path to being our own best selves.

For some, it is the peace they find in nature, a silent forest or tranquil beach; for others, it might be the pages of a book, where stories create ideas and create passions. Be the best because being number 2 just being the first to lose. Embrace anything you want whether in the form of art, music or sport. Anything you do ,don’t for anyone else, just your own self. Refuge should be seen as a constant reminder that taking refuge is not running away, but a form of growth as we become better versions of ourselves.

BY HASSAN L. (RI10)

05

Fugitives of the fire.

Green grass blows in the breeze.

Leaves glide through the air Children frolic in the meadows The sun glimmers across the land But a fire is brewing The smell of warm bread permeates the air The hooves of horses drum against the ground The melody of people's laughter ripples in the atmosphere Merchants scramble about over the Cobblestone roads But a fire is brewing Suddenly violent crackles fill the air Wafts of smoke flood the area The horizon glows red, consumed by the relentless blaze.

The storm of fire approaches stealthily But the village is fast asleep The crashing of trees shakes the ground Thatch roofs are incinerated in an instant.

Screams and cries for help consume the village The pounding of feet fleeing shakes the earth But there is hope The smell of ash floats in the air Charred wood crumbles in the wind Survivors shuffle along the dirt road Safety is far from here For now their only refuge is each other

BY ALEXANDER P. (RI9)

In a Cave of Darkness Before my eyes, My house crumbled, Like a house of cards, Collapsing with a slight movement.

Blood, Flesh and Bone.

I have come from a faraway land, With a tongue that is strange and old, Stretching an outstretched hand, That reaches from the cold, I have spent many months seeking, Yet shelter, still, it eludes me, I should not be hidden, sneaking, Aboard a vessel across the sea, Welcome me, let me in, My anonymity is not my sin, You may treat me alien, Different to your own, Yet our composition is much the same, Blood, flesh and bone.

BY OLIVER R. (RI11)

Explosions close and distant, Cast shrapnels of metal and glass, Tearing at your ankles, As I see a fairytale come to an end.

Tears cloud my eyes, As I see littered corpses left and right, Fire as far the horizon goes, Smoke closing around me, trapped like a bird in a cage.

Then out of a thick screen of dust, Comes a white van, glistening in the fires ablaze, Two black letters on the side, U, N, This is the refuge I dreamed of.

Like a hope in a cave of darkness

BY MAHARSHI P. (RI7)

06

Anora A film in review.

Sean Baker’s 2024 “Anora”, starring Mikey Madison is one movie that blew me away when watching this for the first time. Premiering in the May of ‘24 at the Cannes Film festival and no less than one year later securing Best Picture at the 97th Academy Awards. What was an independent movie by NEON costing 6 million to produce and quickly becoming one of the most popular movies of the year, “Anora” completely renews the movie going experience. One user writes: “Sean Baker does for sex workers that Martin Scorsese does for gangsters.”

Sam on Letterboxd In its essence it's a refreshing movie in what could be described as a “real world” Cinderella story to a very extreme.

An epic three part structure applies to the movie, the high of the montages in the first act then immediately crushed in the second. I feel that you don’t really connect with the character of Ani until the second act though, which Madison makes an excellent portrayal of as she accurately navigates the field of the character. Even so, the fact the marriage is so rushed feels as if this was intended with the production. We as the audience don’t build a connection with Ani until the second act where all of the problems of her new perfect life start to fall apart. And in Cinderella terms: The clock has struck midnight.

LOVE IS A HUSTLE. Anora, a young sex worker from Brooklyn, gets her chance at a Cinderella story when she meets and impulsively marries the son of an oligarch. Once the news reaches Russia, her fairytale is threatened as the parents set out for New York to get the marriage annulled.

Release: 2024 Letterboxd: 4.0 IMDB: 7.7 Rotten Tomatoes: 93%/89% ½

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Mikey Maddison gives such a raw character throughout the entire piece. The entirely character driven movie shows she is comfortable with her somewhat uninspiring life as it’s portrayed, chirpy in her workplace but dull and lifeless at home. Even in the final scene across from Igor, seeking her refuge in the feeling of a transaction being made so she “owes” him something makes your heart sink after you see her regress back into the life she had before her marriage.

Moreover the subtle hints throughout that Vanya was “lying” to an extent throughout feeds into Mark Eidelstein’s performance’s greatness. The scenes with him feel so natural, especially in the first act of the film (notably the scene when she first arrives at his home) and his excitability over the prospect of refuge that Ani gives to him. Moreover his absence in the second act mirrors how he is simply expressing himself freely in the first act. As one of his first breakout roles, the Russian embraces this role perfectly and steals the show as the love interest.

07

The unofficial theme in the Take That remix fit the movie even better than anything else, it made scenes especially the mall scene sing to the highest of highs. As it was the greatest day for both Vanya and Anora respectively. The remix making it feel more dreamlike and yet modernised than the original song frames the whole sequence of the first act, the chance of the new life given to her. Furthermore it plays in the first scenes with Ani working in the club, showing how she is comfortable with her life even if it could be deemed as somewhat undesirable in some people's eyes.

A lingering moment for me is the mirroring of the first and last times she stands at the window. This in turn is extremely heart wrenching. Perfectly shot to mirror the weather on the outside, and her fashion also makes this even more sad. The first brilliant blue Hervé Léger dress she wears was made popular in the 00s as a red carpet look and a symbol of confidence and allure that Ani wears when going to Ivan’s house for the first time.

BY HARRY W. (RI7)

It also symbolises that of the American Dream and costume designer Jocelyn Pierce mentioned that they didn’t even realise this until after it was shot, however it perfectly frames that dream that people strive for being offered a new chance at life, the sought refuge.. This contrasted with the almost lifeless black and white shorts and top emphasises to the audience that she's lost more than a marriage. The whole American Dream, Cinderella story has been crushed.

At large “Anora” will turn into a cult favourite, and the colour washing from the Kodak 35mm film compliments the scenes so much, giving it a more raw look than if it wasn’t used. And the last lingering sound of the car running into the credits brings all the feelings from the movie into the credits, not giving a nice cheerful THE END! Your classic Cinderella fairytale would have. Because after all it is a fairytale. This is reality.

BY STANLEY S. (RI13)

Why Do People Hate Refuge?

People hate refuge for many different reasons. But why? Some people think that refugees will lower their pay or take your job as there are more people meaning that there are more people who want jobs meaning that a refugee might take your future job. Another reason for hostility against refugees is a social functioning threat (the creation of ghettos), other people think that there is a safety threat involved in letting refugees into england as people think that immigrants will commit crimes when they are in the country making them a threat to the safety of the people who live in the country that they are seeking refuge in. These are some of the many reasons that some people hate refuge. But are they good enough to let people deny people refuge? Some people need refuge as they are escaping from a country that is in a war but over refugees are just escaping for a better life. The UK is one of those places which accept refugees. We do this as we are bound to do so by international law.

08

BY ELLIOT K. (RI9)

Starlight, or the first shiver of sunlight? Glinting off their blade, it was the last thing he saw that night.

For when the Knight took flight from his fight he sought sanctuary, refuge from his enemy so that he might survive.

‘If only,’ the Knight thought, ‘I can make it through this night alive’. At the end of his stumbling, his mind was tumbling so he fled over a dirt lane and inside a stone church. As he rested in a pew, his mind withdrew and he began to appreciate the simple light. The light flew quicker than his sword drew, over the dirt lane and through a cracked window pane, to simply throw itself upon the floor. But its simple beauty made him appreciate it more.

He watched the light flicker as he heard two ravens bicker. Dark shadows crossed the window pane, as the crunching of gravel sounded from down the lane. The Knight shifted from the pew to view the door. His enemy approached. There was no trick. No slimy lips had let secrets slip. His enemy's sword was out.

Upon the holy ground, the Knight remained devout and let no sound out. For he sought shelter in the little ray of light reflecting off the metal growing nearer. Delicate as a petal his mind grew clearer. He finally decided… It would be starlight that took him to his end tonight.

A Knight In The Night.

I Feel Safe.

The sounds of a busy cityscape melt into a loose, grimy rhythm. A smooth Rhodes dances over the blaring sirens until the alarms and the keys become one and the same. Bass picks up and down over the blowing winds, resonating through the steel and slowly taking me away from the world around me. Yet something holds me back: an overwhelming feeling of anxiety.

A rope tied tightly around my neck reminded me of all the unjust and wrong.

A voice cuts through that rope: a most beautiful voice, a sharp yet reassuring voice. And I slowly drift down that river of smooth Rhodes, strong bass and loose drums. I get lost in the music and for just a few minutes, I feel safe.

BY ALEXANDER C. (RI11)

09

Feldstrasse Bunker Found all the way from areas of Norway to the Pyrenees in France, during WW2 over 25,000 German bunkers were built in an attempt to protect people and supplies from the allied bombings.

In the city of Hamburg, Germany, it was a central hub for submarine and oil industries and was therefore a clear target for aerial bombardment. For this reason, over 1,000 bunkers were built in the city with over 600 still present to this day.

The Feldstrasse bunker, originally known as Flakturm IV, was one of the largest bunkers ever built in WW2 Germany. The structure was constructed by more than 1000 forced labourers. The concrete fortification is 75 by 75 metres and 35 metres high. The walls are three meters thick. According to the American Nuclear society, 2 metre thick concrete walls are required to completely block typical gamma rays and prevent radiation.

Designed to provide refuge for 18,000 people, the shelter became overcrowded during the air raids of Hamburg in 1943 resulting in the shelter being used by over 25,000 people.

After the war the building was too strong to be demolished and so it has been repurposed as a hotel, restaurant, nightclub and exhibition space. The building is now a cultural landmark in Hamburg, a reminder of the vast impact of the second world war.

BY EUAN C. (RI10)

10

Merecía el Refugio Inspirado por las protestas de Ni Una Menos

Ya me ha nacido a este mundo cruel. En una habitación fría, rodeado de enfermedades, en los brazos de mi madre buscó refugio.

Me hago mayor, Mi madre se niega a dejarme a salir. Me dice, “No entiendes sobre los peligros de este mundo cruel” ¿Cuando podré dejar los brazos de mi madre?

Se dice que la mataron en la calle bajo la luz del sol sólo por lo que era. No lo merecía.

Merecía el refugio.

Este mundo cruel me aterroriza con su violencia sin sentido. No vivo en un país pero en una fosa común con un himno nacional sin posibilidad de refugio.

11

BY SAM T. (RI13)

A WARMING WINTER STEW This recipe will offer a warm welcome to anyone seeking refuge from a cold winter storm. It contains potatoes which are an excellent quick source of energy, to help someone seeking shelter and warmth. It is also topped with parsley, one of the most Vitamin C-rich foods, to help the immune system during a tough winter. I recommend serving with some warmed bread, as it brings the dish together, and offers a wider variety of texture.

500ml water 3 carrots, peeled and cut into small pieces 300ml hearty broth 2 large potatoes, peeled and chopped into chunks 1 tsp chilli powder (optional)

1. Start by boiling the water in a pan until steaming. It should be giving off an inviting aroma once ready.

2. Add the carrots and pour in the hearty broth, which was yesterday’s recipe on our website, cooking the carrots on a medium heat until slightly tender.

3. Increase the temperature until it starts boiling again in a friendly manner, and starts to thicken slightly. At this time, add the peeled potatoes. For maximum flavour, stab the potatoes with a fork first, so the flavourful broth seeps into the cracks.

4. Once the potatoes have nearly finished cooking, place in the cabbage leaves.

5. Turn up the heat to maximum for only two minutes, ensuring that the cabbage doesn’t overcook and become mushy.

6. Once the two minutes have elapsed, remove from the heat. Then, add just a teaspoon of chilli powder. While only optional, I highly recommend it, as this helps add a bit of extra warmth to your stew, which is exactly what someone seeking refuge from the cold is in need of.

7. Before serving, top with parsley. Make sure to do this quickly, to prevent the stew from cooling too much.

8. Serve in generous portions, while still piping hot and serve with a smile, as the only thing that a person seeking refuge from the cold needs more than something warm to eat, is a warm welcome and someone to offer them comfort.

12

BY ALEXANDER C. (RI11)

Viktor Demchenko.

The sirens are bellowing and screaming. Again. It’s these Russians causing trouble, as usual, I was trying to sleep in peace. Now I have to ‘hide’ in the bunker, with only the company of my chaotic younger brother, Vlad and my Mum. Her only motivation to get out of bed every day is to nag at me, for my low test scores. She probably couldn’t do any better than me, even at her old age, but don’t tell her I said that.

Vlad and Mum are somehow here already, my brother has probably prepared an entire speech to annoy me.

“Viktor! I’m the greatest predictor, you're gonna get more low test scores which always pricks her, who is Mum, but don’t worry mister Viktor, to you, I’m just a silly trickster!” Vlad says, overly excited, he probably took a month to create that rhyme, he’s no brighter than me.

“To me, you’re an absolute-” “Sweetheart, that’s what he is, a sweetheart,” Mum jumps in as usual, I don’t think she has anything to do sometimes so she sides with my younger brother because she thinks maybe he won’t have as ‘disappointing grades’ as me.

“Is this really what I have to put up with until the siren stops ringing?” I angrily whisper under my breath.

“Of course it is Viktor!” Vlad says sarcastically.

This was just an average ‘day in the life of Viktor Demchenko’, but at least I didn’t have to go to school. ‘Things will go back to normal’ my Mum says but when I’m older none of this will happen, my bunker will be golden and comfy and a place that I want to go to.

My wish is to escape this war, this conflict; it’s just stupid. It’s like neighbours fighting over parking.

Billy Walters.

Not school again. Anything but school. I get bullied because I like to eat freely, it’s dumb. I love my bed though, it’s where my life goes on, doing homework, playing video games and eating salt and vinegar crisps. Perfection. I owe too much to whoever created the bed. It’s my refuge, my getaway from school, from William Anderson and his friends and don’t forget about the teachers. Those are all menaces.

I wish to never go to school again and stay in my bed forever.

Waluya - Walu.

In Sudan, only the important people use their surnames - I guess I’m not important then. Anyways, I feel safe indoors, nobody can shoot you in the eye when you’re minding your business. I just can’t think about dying, not at 11. Playing football is all I do.

It takes me and sends me to a world with no fear and when that final whistle blows I go back to ‘scared little Walu’.

Football is my passion and removes me from all conflict. I wish I could simply play football all day, all night.

We all seek refuge and wish for answers to our problems, in our own unique ways.

Uncommon Commonalities.

13

BY CALEB E. (RI8)

MARCH 1ST My name is Muhammad, and I'm from Palestine. This day marks another year since war devastated our country, forcing our displacement. The war flattened our beautiful paradise into a dystopian pancake of derelict buildings and separated families. It was like they wanted to iron us out, like we were just creases on their favourite clothes. Today also marks another, sad event - the loss of my cherished sister during a late night bombing. They promised us safety, but all we got was death, destruction and chaos. In the end all we found of her was a torn piece of her favourite white dress, which was now blood red.

Now in case you are wondering what the purpose of this diary is, it’s to tell the people of the future how we are tortured, every single day of our miserable lives.

That was a brief introduction. Now, I will plunge into my life, and what I have been through, but I think this will be it for today. Maybe tomorrow.

THE DIARY OF A REFUGEE MARCH 2ND - THE DEATH OF MY SISTER My body was stiff and freezing when I awoke, on a cold, hard bed of rubble. The rusty smell of blood filled the air. Adrenaline filled my veins. I had just been woken up from my sleep by a loud crash. The air was full of a thick smoke, and as I worked my way through it, I wondered what I would find at the other end. I had a nasty feeling that whatever it was, it was not going to be good. As I emerged from the thick cloud, like a timid chick coming out of its nest, I was struck by the utter chaos. I could see everyone in our village running around, screaming as the bombs hit the earth like fierce fiery raindrops.

Every single part of my body was telling me to run and flee and live another day, but there was only one thing on my mind - my family. I sprinted back to my house, as fast as a lightning bolt. I grabbed my brother and took him out, handing him to my auntie. Then I guided my mother out and handed her over to my auntie. Then, the worst thing that could happen happened. A bomb, a big one, rushed down straight to my house. ‘NO’ I screamed. My sister was still inside. I tried to run in and save her, but my auntie held me back. Tears streamed down my muddy cheeks, wiping away the dirt. There was a pain in my knee, and I was bleeding, but I didn’t care. What I did care about was gone now. Forever. And at that moment, I made a silent vow to never let anything like this ever happen again.

Everything else that day happened in a blur. Or was it the next day? We ran, and ran and ran through the cold, unforgiving night. I wanted to be anywhere apart from the bombs. I remember getting on an orange boat and sailing through the sea, me, my mother, but not my sister, all alone, until we reached land. There was safety, caring people and no bombs or war there. I should have felt happy but all I could feel was a strange, dark void of emptiness inside me. I wish my sister were here to see this.

BY UMAR H. (RI8) 14

Korean navy after 2 hours at sea.

Every year, thousands of lucky individuals manage to escape from the tyrannic, cruel dictatorship of North Korea. According to UN estimates, China has detained over 2,000 North Koreans in recent years for forced deportation to the DPRK, where they ‘would be subjected to torture, cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment and punishment and other serious human rights violations … and even execution.’ But in 2023, less than 100 people managed to escape, almost all of them being women, due to the regime expanding border controls during the pandemic. One of these people was Mr Kim, who pulled off a seemingly impossible escape with his pregnant wife, his mother, his brother’s family, and an urn with his father’s ashes.

Convincing his wife and elderly mother to join proved to be the hardest task, as they were both against the idea of escaping the country. They had many heated arguments, many of which ended in distress and tears, according to Mr Kim. The brothers eventually shouted her into submission and threatened to cancel the escape and blame her for their misery for their whole lives if she didn’t come. She agreed.

Convincing his wife was to be even harder until she found out she was pregnant a few days later. Mr Kim told her ‘You’re not just your own body any more, you’re a parent. Do you want our child to live in this hellhole?’, which was enough to convince her.

They went through the final plan and preparations for the escape during dinner, and decided to dig up their father’s grave in fear of authorities desecrating it after their escape.

The brother’s burned the body in the wilderness. They then scouted a minefield which they would have to cross in the dark, pretending to pick medicinal herbs while they created a path.

Kim had dreamed about escaping the country many times but just couldn’t leave his family behind. But by 2022, life had become so miserable and desperate that he thought he could finally convince them to join. He first went for his brother, who ran an illegal seafood business with his wife. Sadly, recent government crackdowns meant he could no longer fish, even while owning a boat. He was easily convinced.

All that was left was to wait for the right weather and tide.

They set sail on the morning of 6th May, continuing past the legal limit. Reefs and boulders were exposed, forcing them to move slowly, hoping they would look like floating debris on radars. Kim’s heart raced, his clothes drenched in sweat.

When they felt safe, they sped up, carried by the current.

There was a ship following them, but it could not reach them in time. Soon they crossed the maritime border.

Over the next 7 months, the two brothers carefully planned their escape, making sure absolutely nothing could go wrong. Many well-known escape routes had been blocked a few years prior to their escape. Mr Kim lived in the far South West of North Korea, very close to the South Korean border. This meant they could go by sea, the most risky escape route that less than 0.1% of escapees took due to dangerous waters, strict coastal surveillance, and a limited supply or access of boats.

Their first plan of action was to get permission to access the water, which Mr Kim’s brother would do by joining a scheme where he would be sent to catch fish to be sold for military equipment. During this period, Kim made friends with the security guards and coastguards that patrolled the area while subtly gathering details about their routines and movements until he was sure his brother and him could take the boat out at night undetected.

They had done it. Everything had gone perfectly.

‘It was like the heavens had helped us’, Mr Kim said. ‘In that moment, all my tension was released. I felt like I was collapsing.’

As they neared Yeonpyeong Island, the group signalled their light and were soon rescued by the South. Mr Kim’s escape was a miracle that took incredible bravery and planning, not to mention luck. Thousands try every year and many are killed yet only some make it out alive, a perfect example of where resilience in the face of oppression can get you.

Mr. Kim’s Escape 15

BY STEVEN D. (RI10)

People go towards refuge People like you No-one can refuse to believe; nothing to dis-allude Some people go to places to use It for comfort in their time of need; To be Calmed.

No violence, no suffering, no harm No raid alarms, firearms No arms of soldiers left in the street with Nothing to eat Feeling defeated Their country of home, now bittersweet A plea; To be Calmed.

Keeping them up at night This parasite That overwrites the memories; like a gigabyte The gunfights.

Homes are destroyed Now left a void Want to avoid Feel paranoid.

Soldiers deployed People devoid, Of feelings No joy.

Annoyed With it.

They don’t want war, They don’t need more.

They need refuge, A Safe place All grace.

To erase The pain in their veins, Keeps them sane To free rein, To feel again.

Calmed.

Calmed.

People go towards refuge People like you No-one can refuse to believe; nothing to dis-allude Some people go to places to use It is for comfort in their time of need; To be Calmed.

BY JAMES R. (RI10)

The Stare Of The Storm The drops of death cascade down Like a fist of fury, As I watch the outside drown, The hammers hail down so unsurely…

My sorrowful stare looked up to the Storm…

But the Storm stared back with a ferocious face of stone In the moment I just prayed to transform, And fly far away to a better place where I wouldn’t be alone…

The blowing breeze blasting my thoughts into a swirl, I beg to the skies for refuge, But I was met by the raindrops - dancing in a whirl, Mocking me as they refuse…

My gleaming glare gashed straight through the Storm…

With my new-found key of confidence I wanted to prove I had grown Grown into a new character with bravery like a swarm I threw my dart of desperation at the Storm - at once the Storm had blown.

16

BY SUWAYNE W.K. (RI11)

Blank Canvas.

Outside, the cracked roads bustled, a harsh breeze banged at the glazed windows of high-rise apartments, and the sun was esconded within the thirsty clouds. In my compact, cluttered room, I was surrounded by unfinished canvases, paintbrushes and enough paint to fill a sea. The walls were adorned in old paintings I completed in happier times, decorative posters and colourful displays, reminding me of my adoration for creating, staring back at me in silence, almost frozen in time. I felt trapped. All alone, the terrible weather on the other side my window roared, pangs of despair, loneliness and boredom hit me; I had been stuck inside for days on end, searching for a passtime to occupy my repetitious days, seeking a hiding place from the struggles of life, a retreat from my responsibilities: a refuge.

A hardwood easel stood valiantly by my desk, in custody of a fresh, blank canvas, but still I lay in my bed, the pattering rain knocking without end. Beginning a new painting never stood amidst my thoughts, for my imagination had gone numb, and my brain had switched off completely when thinking of art. With each longing day and sleepless night, a new spill of colours bombarded my head - streaks of deep reds, gold and ethereal greens perforated my imagination. Before long, I got out of my warm bed, paintbrush in hand and began to pick at the hardened palette that lay desolate on my scrawny desk.

Seeking the time to let my hands run loose, the canvas before me transformed from a muted blur, to a pretty scene of the city below, illuminated by orange lamplight and draped in cigarette smoke. I hadn’t meant for this to happen. Without noticing, I had returned to my old self, brandishing canvases with my depiction of the world, rather than the gloomy, mundane Earth outside my apartment. With the nature of gravity, paint ran down the threads of cotton, creating a world that only I could see, one to which only I could take refuge in.

Growing partial to the crowds, traffic, and billboard lights, my apartment became my retreat. The newfound freedom I felt dragged me away from the tensure of life that I used to hang on to. The more I attacked the canvases with explosions of colour, the clearer it became: with each stroke, leading me down an obfuscated pathway, my destination became more apparent; colours began to line the edges, highlighting my destiny, defining my refuge.

17

BY KHIZR H. (RI12)

Vicious decrees bound them, Sat like chains, Shackled minds, Conformed into rats, Scared and hopeless, All fetor, frightened Forced to the thralls of predators, Where was the refuge?

Untermenschen.

Sweet lies brood temptation, Soft and subtle, Desire for safety; comfort, Its bloody and raw but they swear it is sweet, Not a taste of refuge.

Separated, Arranged, Filed, Enslaved,

Wooden slats feigned frontward, Carriages slandered steel beams, Offering a refuge...

Bruised and broken, Flocks of malevolent demons cried helpless melodies, Names became numbers, The sign of God emboldened on souls, Stripped of their past, Companionship flowered hope, Striped on their figure, Stems of refuge, Buried alive where history weeps, Fallen on deaf ears, Their voices all silenced, Still whisper in sleep.

Remember, For a Better Future 18

BY ALFIE F. (RI12)

Silence.

We often consider silence as a sanctuary, a realm of peace away from the unending noise of the outside world. This planet moves fast. It is almost impossible to escape from the news: from the bleak statistics of civilian deaths in current wars, all the way to the freshest celebrity breakup. For urbanites, the angry beeps of car horns simply become routine in their efforts to sleep. In this way, silence is a refuge, far from the knowledge of harrowing world affairs, and the 240 pings of procrastination that every device user grapples with each day. A great representation of the beauty of the refuge that silence brings is the Sentinelese people, an indigenous tribe who inhabit North Sentinel Island in the Indian Ocean. They are among the world’s most isolated tribes, bathing in the luxury of a culture untainted by the modern world.

By nature, their language is entirely unintelligible and very little is known about the tribe, and so they live in refuge, far, far away from the depressing deterioration of the planet in this last century, plagued by the threat of nuclear weapons, malevolent dictators and race-wars fueled by hatred. From this we learn that it is so important to escape and seek refuge from the horrors of modern Earth; the human mind was not designed to comprehend how quickly this world is moving, and so even the smallest attempts at refuge: connecting with nature, spending less time on social media where misinformation is rife, and prioritising loved ones are among the most effective strategies of refuge.

Humanity seeks refuge in the wrong areas. We build homes, we walk with umbrellas, we wear headphones or earplugs in order to escape the conditions of Earth, and yet the real beast we must seek refuge from slips quietly from our minds. Ourselves. Even the Sentinelese people, alone on North Sentinel Island, will not outlast the cancer that is humanity. When the population reaches ten billion, fifteen billion, even twenty billion? There will be nowhere left to provide refuge, and the serenity of silence, far, far away from the human race.

19

BY NAT M. (RI13)

Definition: “The state of being safe from pursuit, danger or difficulty or a place or situation providing safety or shelter.”

Every year over a million people come to the UK seeking refuge. Whether it is from war torn areas or corrupt governments, each individual person has their own separate claim, a reason why they should be given refuge in the United Kingdom.

Syria was the country that the most people fled from in 2024 with 6.15 million people getting out of the country. These numbers are due to a civil war which started in 2011 and continues to worsen by the day. For many of the migrants this would have been devastating as their previous place of refuge, their home, had been torn to the ground by conflict. Each refugee takes their own journey, some being treacherous and others being more simple and legal. Either way these people are just trying to find a home and they would do anything to get one even if it means risking prison sentences or their life.

Germany is recognised as the best place to migrate to if you are a refugee. In November 2024 alone, Germany received 84,000 asylum applications from people begging for refuge in their country. Germany is such a popular destination for asylum seekers because it has a relatively high GDP per capita for such a low unemployment rate which means it is easier to get a job that pays well. Furthermore, Germany has a 43% acceptance rate for refugees and they had 200,000 claims in 2024. The UK has an acceptance rate just over half and they only had 60,000 claims in 2024. Many refugees believe that it is worth the 8% risk to get into Germany, for a better life and a safer place of Refuge.

Aside from fleeing countries, finding refuge can mean as little as finding a place where you feel most comfortable and can get away from all the stress of your everyday life or even a difficult situation as a one off. There are many things but each person will have their own refuge and reasons for it.

For some people it may be playing an instrument or listening to music. This helps the mind to relax and can make you temporarily forget the situation you are in.

For others it is taking a bath that can calm you down and help you relax and get a grip on the situation at hand. This is because the bath can activate your parasympathetic nervous system which allows you to relax and then when you exit the bath the cooling of your body temperature activates a “sleep mode” for your body which allows you to fully relax and calm your anxiety.

My personal refuge and an especially common one is playing sports. When you play sports you tend to forget a lot of what is going on around you and focus on playing the game. My personal favourite is football but others such as rugby can be equally as enjoyable and not necessarily relaxing but something to occupy your mind. Solo sports also work with squash, tennis and badminton all being ways to focus your mind on something else.

So in conclusion finding refuge can be fleeing your lifelong home just to have a chance of survival or it can be going to football training on a cold tuesday night just so you can forget about the awful day you just had.

20

BY T.C. (RI9)

REFUGE

The storm raged, raged like anything. With its waves crashing its mighty fists upon the rocks below. Its devilish accomplice, the wind, howled through the night, concealing the desperate screams of the sea. But nevertheless, far from the chaos shone a lighthouse. Its golden beam cut through the darkness of the night, a single beam. It was swallowed mercilessly by the storm.

Inside the keeper’s house, an old man. The old man was sitting by the window, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Watching. Waiting. He had spent years in his lighthouse, providing the light that guided lost sailors home. To the weary sailors trying to see their family after battle, the man was nothing but a faceless light, an unseen entity reaching out his hand to bring them out. To bring them out of danger. To pull them to safety.

A ringing noise arose; a ship, caught in the waves, fighting against the merciless tide seemingly bound to bring the sailors to their demise. The old man, with his experience, moved his hands steadily, adjusting the lantern’s flame, making sure it burned as brightly as possible.

He knew the sea was merciless. He knew it had claimed too many who strayed too far. Too many who had lost their way before they could find the light.

The lighthouse was more than a tower of stone and glass. A promise. A beacon for the lost, whispering through the wind. It was a refuge.

BY SRIRAM C. (RI11)

21

Political Terms Asylum seekers, refugees, immigrants… political terms or people?

Topical terms in this country in recent years have been extremely exaggerated and pushed into the public image by the media and far right individuals. However, much of this attention lacks compassion and empathy and ignores the human stories behind these terms. Instead, information is mislabelled and distorted by media and far right individuals, who exploit these vulnerable groups for their own political gain and public engagement. This not only distorts reality but also dehumanises those who are seeking safety and a better life.

The language used by the media is often criminalising “invasion”, “illegal” all provoking fear and resentment of these people. These words also reduce asylum seekers to mere statistics, detaching their humanity and stories from their public perception. This has led to hostility and mistrust for no other reason than confusion from media phrasing.

Many asylum seekers arrive in the UK having fled war, persecution and violence. They are not as the media would have you believe seeking to exploit the benefits system but rather had no other choice but to leave their home in search of refuge. Consider those who worked for western embassies in war zones now they may face imprisonment or even execution for their association with the west. Is it right to not allow them refuge or asylum after they have helped our country? The media may have you believe that grouping everyone together in statistics and not giving light to any positive stories of people seeking refuge.

It is important to ask anyone critiquing asylum seekers if they were in their situation then would they not want to do the same to better them and their families lives. In reality most people would if put in that situation think to do the same to better the lives of their families.

Yet the far right portray asylum seekers as a threat and call for harsher immigration policies and less protection for these refugees therefore ignoring the fundamental policies of international law.

Ultimately the conversation on asylum seekers, refugees and immigrants should centre on empathy, compassion and real evidence rather than fear and misinformation which causes mass hysteria among the public. Only then should each asylum case be processed in a court of law to grant asylum in a fair way uninfluenced by media narratives.

Or People?

22

BY ELLIS W. (RI12)

The Comfort of Our Shells

Times of distress can’t be prevented just by sitting in a corner, yet I feel like there’s nothing else I can do. As cars hummed by and laughter rang out in the streets below, it was just me playing with my withering thoughts as I drowned in a sea of dust and dim lighting.

BY RISHI P. (RI11)

Social gatherings, hours of working, scrolling endlessly through my phone. Days wasted of me outrunning myself, drowning in noise and motion as I desperately searched for an exit from this moment. Unlike many of the paths in life, this one had an end. The silence I had been dreading stared back at me, as I turned inward.

Similarly to how hermit crabs cling to their protective shells, we often find ourselves comfortably stuck within the confines of our routines. These self-made refuges—our daily habits, familiar social circles, and daily travel routes —wrap around us like armour, shielding us from the uncertain nature of the outside world.

Like tracing my finger along a thread, I unravelled a depressing past of chasing, striving, but never quite arriving. Why does my chest feel light, yet heavy? Am I chasing for something? Is it love? Success? Or just a complete version of me, for I believe the present me is incomplete? An invisible milestone I was chasing, and everytime I felt like the end was nearing, I would watch in horror as it began to shift even further away. Years of my imagination shattered, believing happiness was just around the corner, just one more turn away. A cycle of uncertainty, I felt trapped.

Social media gets turned into our own digital fortress, algorithms are carefully used to create an echo chamber that reflects our existing beliefs back to us. We scroll through feeds that confirm our biases, rarely exploring ideas beyond the safety of our own specific digital spaces. The 'block' and 'unfollow' buttons serve as our drawbridge, our defences, the difficult truths locked away. These create echo chambers which always show you what you want to know: nothing else.

The straight path of life I was so familiar with began to dissolve before me, leaving me in a flurry of monochrome and blurred edges. Unfinished, Undefined. Detached, it seems as if I was looking at myself from another's perspective. Not even a mere reflection, I seemed unrecognisable.

There's a price to pay for this “comfort” unfortunately. Just as a hermit crab must abandon its shell to grow, we too must periodically step out of our comfort zones. Every time we put our heads down and decline a challenge, avoid a difficult conversation, or retreat from a new experience, we're choosing the safety of our routines over the uncertainty of personal growth.

I don’t recall stopping to ask myself where I really wanted to be. The assumption that I was lost seemed to cloud my vision. Believing in the ultimate significance of an undefined future, yet I never stood still in the present. What if the end didn’t exist, and I was just supposed to accept uncertainty, to let go of an idea of who I was supposed to be instead of myself in the moment? Questions that can’t be answered

The worst aspect of these internal refuges is how they mask themselves as protection while constraining us. They may feel safe, but they limit our opportunities. The stress and reluctance we feel when faced with new experiences aren't warnings to retreat—they're growing pains, signals that we're pushing against the boundaries of our self-imposed limitations. These aren’t bad and are purely a symbol of development.

The choice becomes clear: we can remain in our comfortable refuges, safe but stunted, or we can gather our courage and venture out into the wider world. In the end, it’s up to us to break down our walls and have the courage to break out of the comfort of our shells.

In the next achievement, in the next relationship, in the next version of me, exists a future I can’t guarantee. I can’t guarantee the safe space that I’ve built around myself. The last of my refuge looks oddly familiar to the stillness of the present. A destination, not one of arrival, but of acceptance. A destination I’m yet to reach.

BY DOMINIC S. (RI12)

Introspection.

23

My Dearest Mother In my time away I have learnt a great deal about this world I sought refuge to some time ago. I apologise for my silence in the time between my writing, for I have not had the chance to reflect and share this to you in my letters.

Oh mother, I hope this finds you well. For the long days drag into the long nights as my pilgrimage to the safe world you so dreamed about comes to an almost fictitious reality. I am doing this for you for this is what you would have wanted, however I do so wish you were here.

I have made my way to the north of America, the United States. For you say this is the land of the free, so I hope this is true like you said. My travels have landed me in New York City. I live in a small apartment in an even smaller area of the district they call ‘Queens’. The people are welcoming however the further you go into the city the more judgy they become. I’m not sure whether this is because I look different to them or not. I can feel my heart accelerating each time I hear the shout towards me.

Mother I wish you were here, for me to feel your soft embrace as I come home at night, for me to have you sing ‘No Llores Por Mi Argentina’ whilst we watch the television together before bed, for me to taste your food you cook by the stove. Noone cooks like you mother.

For all my worries about finding safety after leaving you have now been corrected for me being safe in my new home, I still don’t feel safe. For you are my safety, you are my home. I long for that feeling to be returned to me one day.

It is upsetting to say I have lost contact with all of those from my journey to get to where I am today, I made a dear friend that I can no longer speak to due to our separation, however I believe she has moved to Los Angeles, in search of a movie career. That would be nice, wouldn’t it mother?

Mother, it is four years tomorrow since your passing, I long to turn back the weary clock every day it ticks by. For you are my refuge, even in death. I shall see you soon mother.

Te amo para siempre, Isabella

24

BY STANLEY S. (RI13)