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Anthology

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Activities

Activities

Sir James

The sky was red, the sun was falling, dusk was coming. The hero of the night was here, his red velvet cloak blowing in the wind, his armour shining in the night sky. He was here to save us all. Taller than mountains, he stood on the castle walls of King William the Great. Eagles called his name, for he was called James, bringer of war. He was here to defeat William the Great as he has sentenced innocent people to death. His crown was smashed to pieces but he was ready for war with soldiers being forced to fight. The church bell rang, this was the sign that war had started. One man versus an army, fighting for their will. Who would win? “Surrender now, you have no chance against us!” “Maybe I die here but I’ll fight for my people.” The army charged slicing their swords here and there, but the knight simply whistled and everything was gone. No castle. No army. No nothing. All that was surrounding him was white. He blinked and he was back. People, screaming, suffering. This meant one thing, King William was here. It was all up to him to defeat the King…

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By Willough, Year 4

ARTHUR B, YEAR 3

A Song about Lockdown

I’m so sick of lockdown Wretched covid, covid Number 19 ringing in my ears So much stress and tears

I need to find my peace Wind in my face staring east It’s time to saddle up my pony And no longer feel lonely

Billy dog at my heels Sammi grunts and squeals As I gallop as fast as I can Moving from boy to man

Sam’s snatching at the reins, Rid of all the mental pains She wants to go faster and faster Jumping ditches with her master

Is that rain on my face? I am in a different place I’m free in my mind and soul Now I feel complete and whole.

By William Golds., Year 4

The Wall

Nothing came to mind. With pen in hand and paper on desk, he still couldn’t think of anything. He felt as if he were in a cage with no exit. He sat staring aimlessly out of the window, watching the birds fly freely around the open sky, all the while he was trapped. Trapped in a room of misery, facing a wall of impossible, the only sound coming from the clock on the wall. Ticking, ticking, ticking. What felt like hours later, and the page was still empty. The clock still ticking behind him. His mind still dry of imagination. Looking around for inspiration, he found nothing. Moments later an idea came to him. He pondered for a minute, picked up his pen, looked at the clock and began to write.

By Sam J, Year 8

Dear Bumpa,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I am in my last term in Year 3 and I thought I would write and tell you some of the things I have been doing. My favourite lesson is Geography because I like the world and travelling. When you were at school what was your favourite lesson? My favourite sport is rugby and cricket because it involves catching. What was your favourite sport at school? Did you win any medals? I have some special friends at school. They are called Jasper, Zander, Arthur L, Arthur B and Chips. At playtime we enjoy playing football and tag. Did you have some special friends at school and what did you do at playtime? Please say hello to the dogs. You can send your letter to school, I can’t wait to hear from you.

Love Albie, Year 3

Imprisoned

In the two seconds he had before he hit the lake, he could only register the astonishing heaviness of his body, flailing clumsily in the air. The crack when he hit the ice was a gunshot, and the explosion of cold water almost stopped his heart. Instantly his ears, eyes, nose and mouth were filled with inrushing water, so icy it felt like a million needles. His chest jerked once with shock and his throat went into spasm as the lake probed callously down towards his lungs. He felt his eyes roll up into his head, sinking, hair caressing his face like a grieving mother. His last view was of the rising moon, blurred and bright, through the ballet of fractured glassy shards in the indifferent water which had claimed him.

By Will S, Year 7

Trapped

Bong! Bong! Bong! The church bell rung at three in the afternoon, its deep voice echoing around the zoo. Through the bars of my cage, I could see little children running around outside. I should be outside as well, in the jungle, hunting for my dinner. Here, there is no chasing the meal, there is no thrill of the fight. All they give me is a sad piece of mouldy steak, uncaringly shoved through the bars of my cage. I drag it into the shadows where I drown my misery with food. They come towards me now, shrieking and point in my direction. “Mummy, daddy! Look! Look! A tiger!” I hate them. I hate them all for trapping me here, away from my jungle and my fresh delicious food, only to press their fat, ugly faces against the bars and stare. Occasionally, a person who understands me will come. They will respect my distances, they will not scream and shout, and they move on swiftly. Only sometimes though. Those who do not understand me though, I will lash out at. I swipe at them with claws out and teeth bared. I will growl at them, and they will run away, hiding behind their parents. This satisfies me. But mostly I know not show myself at all, and all the time I do not look at the gift store, at how it makes a mockery of me and my kind. I can only sometimes hold back my temper, and when I am angry, things get messy. Sometimes they will close my cage for the day, which is fine with me, but other times they will give me less food, and it is hard enough with what they give me already. So I try to hold back my temper, but I am a caged tiger, what do you expect from me?

By Tess, Year 6

ISLA D, YEAR 3

The Positive and Negative Consequences of Obsession on the Individual and their World

In the Oxford English dictionary, obsession is defined as something you cannot stop thinking about. If we consider this definition of obsession, we can see that in a way, obsession can make people slightly mad, as they can’t stop thinking about something. This is evident in Patrick Ness’ And the Ocean Was Our Sky where Captain Alexandra is so obsessed with killing and hunting down Toby Wick that she leads her apprentices and herself to their death. Whilst it’s obvious that there are mostly negative consequences with obsession on an individual and their world, we must also consider the positive effects. Being obsessed with something can prevent you from getting bored because you are always thinking about it. Also, it can distract you from bad things in your life. There is an example of this in Ness’ And the Ocean Was Our Sky when constantly thinking about Toby Wick helped Bathsheba not think about her mother’s tragic death. Being obsessed with something can help you get things done. On the other hand, the negative effects of obsession, especially when considering the plight of Ness’ characters, appear to outweigh the positives. Patrick Ness shows us in And the Ocean Was Our Sky that obsession can sometimes be dangerous because being obsessed with Toby Wick eventually made the characters die. As I said earlier, being obsessed can distract you in a bad way. This occurs in And the Ocean Was Our Sky, when Captain Alexandra is so obsessed with just defeating Toby Wick that she didn’t think about what happened to her friends and what could and did happen to her apprentices. She also didn’t even consider making peace with humans and not putting other innocent whales’ lives in danger. In conclusion, although it can be a good thing, and a way to get things done, obsession is a bad thing because it can lead the individual to a bad consequence because they haven’t been taking notice of other things. That is why it is clear that obsession is not a good thing.

By Charlotte, Year 6

Prologue

The initial week of November is a miserable dreary time, far away from summer, but there is still a decent chunk of the year still to come until Christmas and the New Year. It’s like a train after you depart from the station, you have to endure the journey until the destination. The sound of leaves dropping is as monotonous as a metronome, tapping away. There isn’t the fiery embers of colour like in the previous months, just the boring grey-brown colour I loathe. It’s frequently raining but when the clouds take pity on us, it becomes cold. Not snow cold, just bitter coldness. It is a time to prepare for the frigid winter that is about to ensue, the calm before the storm, the time for berries to fall off the bush and get squashed by hikers. It is a time where people may stuff their pockets for the hardship ahead.

By Sam H, Year 7

A Recipe for Winter

YOU WILL NEED: • A coat • A hat • Some gloves • A sledge • A pair of boots • Waterproof trousers And of course… SOME SNOW!

So get some fresh air and have some fun!

The animals enjoy the snow too. A frosty, fierce, furry fox crosses a freshly frozen pond. A fluffed up cat as orange as sunset stalks across the garden Looking for a freshly frozen mouse supper. Owls are flying in the night sky, hooting like bagpipes. When you wake up you can have some fun,

And when you get back home you will feel so good that you have been outside. So when you are bored, just go outside and play, Sledging all day. Until you hear your parents calling, “Wilfred, come in it’s time for your next lesson.”

Oh no, NOT MORE HOMESCHOOLING?!

By Wilfred M-H, Year 3

The Market

I ran into the market and I smelt the sweet summer air, I saw the colourful clothes of the men. I felt the smooth, marble buildings, I heard the crowd voting for the important politicians. I tasted the rough, spiky fruit.

By Max Sh, Year 4

What Are We Going to Do?

My name is Marilla. I think when my mother named me she was hoping for me to be elegant and graceful like my name, though I have not turned out elegant or graceful. My hair is not fair like my mother’s, it is raven black like my father’s, and even he can wear it with style. I cannot. We are a rich family (though I would rather be poor and they loved me than rich and they are disappointed in me), and when my mother tried to curl my hair it just looked sad and limp, like me. I am ever so lonely on my own, sometimes I wonder if my dolls like me. The reason my mother is so disappointed is because I spend so much of my day outdoors. Mother thinks it best for me to stay inside and learn to stitch. Our manor has such big grounds I don’t know why not to explore them. Sometimes I hear mother muttering, “Oh what are we going to do? At this rate she’ll be lucky to marry a fisherman, let alone someone with respectable manners and money.” This made my eyes swell with tears knowing that no one liked me, so I ran off into the woods until I felt that my eyes were not red and tearstained. I ripped off my petticoats and it reminded me of the time when mother forced me to wear a corset when I was just 12 and I screamed because it we so tight. I screamed until my throat was sore. I clutched my throat now, as if I could still feel the same pain. I heard the sound of the rippling stream and I knelt down on my salmon-coloured frock, I hated the colour salmon almost as much as I hated my mother and I wept. I wept for a loving mother’s love. The woods were so welcoming, I stayed there all day.

By Sofia, Year 6

Spooky Writing

There are rickety old trees. Tilting, the graves lie. The misty moon changes in the sky. Mist lazily sleeps in the air. The dusty earth rolls over the bumpy ground. The only thing that I can hear is the whispers of the dead underground. Eventually I reach the black gate with peeling paint like flakey skin. In the distance, I see the vivid outline of something I just can’t make out. As I get closer, right there, tall and grey, is a magnificent large house. When I am standing right there, thinking what to do, my legs suddenly take on a mind of their own.

Grey pillars guard stone steps. The gothic mansion has a tight roof. Like coal, the glass in every window is black apart from one. Suddenly, a scream cracks the stone cold air like a trumpet exploding into a silent crowd. There is also a scurry of paws. Now I am close enough to pick up the smell of fresh flesh, stomping its way out of the open, lit window high above. As I tiptoe through the ginormous copper door, an unbelievable sight hits my eyes…

By Sophie R, Year 5

KIT M, YEAR 3

Mi Instituto

Hola. Mi instituto se llama Beaudesert. Estudio en un instituto privado y mixto. Hay uniforme es verde. En mi instituto hay unas aulas normales también unas aulas especiales. También hay un sala de informática, de dibujo, de tecnología, unos laboratorios de ciencias, una biblioteca y un gimnasio. Hay un teatro, dos piscinas y un patio. Estudio muchas asignatura. Mi asignatura preferida es el inglés porque es interesante y útil, me gusta la historia porque es divertida y práctica, No me gusta el Latín ˆy las mathemáticas porque son aburridos y difíciles. Me parece un colegio muy bueno.

Benedict, Year 8

Beowulf

As the ship sailed across to the Land of the Danes, Beowulf stood guard. Beowulf was a brave and young man and his appearance showed just about that. He had glossy, blonde hair that rested on his straight shoulders. His eyes were blue and they were hungry for adventure, but if you looked closely you could see a flicker of sadness swimming in their depths of them, probably a lost soul that left a hole in his head. Though his back was straight and he marched with pride.

By Romy, Year 4

Sunday Morning Post

It was a Sunday morning when the parcel arrived, packaged in brown paper and tied with string that was frayed at the ends, fluttery strands that had escaped the tight weave of the twisted twine. It sat on the doorstep, complacent and at home amongst the wiry hairs of the doormat that bristled around it but it had a compelling and alluring ambience. Fingers trembling, I picked it up, clutching it against my chest, protective of the small bundle of string and paper that was cradled in my arms. I brought it into the cool kitchen which was tucked out of reach of the hot midsummer sun and placed it carefully on the scarred wooden table, pock-marked with burns and deep grooves. I silenced the shrill howl of the kettle that rocked on the stove then turned back to the parcel whose presence seemed to burn a hole in the back of my head as I moved, silently and swiftly around the room. I didn’t even need to read the address to know the sender. The lazy loops and curls of the letters sprawled across the tattered paper, the handwriting of an educated man whose qualifications meant nothing in the deep mud and gunfire of the trenches. The wrapping ripped easily as I gently pulled it away from its unknown contents.

Gently placing the short and overly cheerful letter aside, my gaze moved to the neatly folded silk. It was muddied in places and scorched around the edges but silk was now hard to come by and highly prized. I ran my hand over its surface to feel the smooth and soft texture that was not dissimilar to the skin of a baby. My eyes stung and the salty tears clouded my vision, slowly breaching the high walls of my eyelids and rolling gently in clear shimmering droplets down the great valleys and gorges of my face like a river seeking the sea. I pulled the material towards me taking in its musty smell as if I could sense his presence on the fabric. I made a handkerchief out of it, embellished with scarlet poppies and the initials RG. It lay on his chair at the dining table, awaiting his return but he never saw the love that was sewed into it with every stitch and the care that was taken in embroidering flowers. For the brown paper parcel wasn’t the last thing to sit at the doorstep of the old country house waiting to be picked up and taken inside. Three weeks later on a blustery and callous day a telegram appeared on the bristly mat, formal and an intruder to the peace of the house, informing on the death of Robert Chambers, a Corporal on the Frontline.

By Sophie T, Year 8

Falling Leaves

The summer had turned to autumn and the leaves were falling, spiraling in the gentle breeze, each one different but put together, an orchestra of dancers, dancing across the biggest stage in the world. A leaf holds on as long as it can but when it falls it is like a fish swimming in the clear blue sky. The leaves are frayed, orange, yellow and red, all falling from different trees and when the day turns to night they silhouette in the moonlight and dance in peace like love at first sight.

Leaves hold stories from the summer and spring, of children playing and old people just walking. Dogs, running and jumping. But at the end, they just fall and land on the frozen grass. Now leaves grow silent in the sun, and dance in the moon all over again for that is the beauty of leaves, they make no fuss, just dance in the wind.

By Red Gi., Year 6

The view

I turned my face to the inky black sky where a large snow white moon hung in the sky like a clock on the wall. The stepping stones were islands in an ocean of grass. The small drops of water were like pearls rolling down the grass. The water in the gnarled old bird bath was a mirror reflecting the glinting specks in the sky. The sleeping flowers were like a rainbow in the night. The roses were painted with blood, marigolds as orange as a perfect sunset, primroses a ray of sun, the leaves looked like a healthy tree in spring and the forget-me-nots were like a summer sky. The view was so perfect, you could almost see every leaf on every tree, hear every dog bark, every car start, but now there was silence. I turned my face back to the inky black sky.

By Red Go., Year 6

Peace

I am the green of the brushed leaves. I walk as calmly as the still ocean and I live on the warming planet, but I fear the thunder in my mind. I feel my pulse softly beating when I speak with the thoughts in my mind, I wash away conflict.

By Lochy, Year 7

My Nature Poem

As the leaves fall from the tree,

And they sway in the breeze, I drop down to all fours, And listen to the constant pause.

As the hedgehogs gather food ready to hibernate,

One catches a glimpse of his mate, So they decided to hibernate together, Each with a bed made of feather.

A garden is a lovely place, Some are large and some with little space, Filled with wildlife big and small, Come winter, spring, summer or fall.

By Georgia, Year 3

Confidence

I am the burning joy of sunflowers, The confident stride of a giant. The air of a balloon inflating. The sweet taste of syrup. Rattling bails crashing to the floor. The concentration of the strings of the guitar. The loud sound of the amplifier.

By Johnny G-L, Year 7

Evening view

I step silently outside. It’s my time of day now the lousy humans have fallen asleep. I look to see what is here today. A calm, cool, shimmering mist lies over the tangled mess of the courtyard. There are some muddy Land Rover tyres dumped carelessly in their corner. A thin lattice of a spider’s web sparkles in the moonlight, just centred perfectly to catch the flies as they attempt to fly through the tyres. There is a faint smell of a discarded sandwich behind the dustbins, just what I needed. I pad slowly over there twitching my whiskers carefully. Just as I thought, I’m on my own. The sandwich tastes heavenly. I scramble up the far wall and sit down tentatively on my tail to munch the sandwich. I still hear the faint rustling of pigeons settling down for sleep after a day of scavenging for people’s chips. Now that I’ve finished that wonderful sandwich I spring up onto the rooftops. This view still sets my fur on end. The wonderful view of downtown Paris still fills my tiny heart with pleasure. But that is not what I came for. I came for the Eiffel Tower. I leap soundlessly across the rooftops and down onto the soft grass surrounding the Eiffel Tower. I make my way up to the start of my evening climb. The metal feels cold but pleasurable under my paws. I start the slow ascent to the top. As I gain in altitude the view increases in its magnificent beauty, even in the moonlight. The roofs of the Notre-Dame, the Louvre and the many silver-tinted tiles of Paris still sparkle radiantly. As I reach the top, the river illuminates my soul as it and the surrounding countryside comes into sight. Now this is my home.

By Monty M, Year 7

Nature Around the Pond

The timid sound of slow, never-ending music comes from the little stream next to me as it continues its journey to the shimmering pond below me, like a ray of light from a faraway star travelling to Earth. The chorus of all the birds seems to come from everywhere, bouncing from tree to tree, representing the true wonder of nature. Small yews reach down to the smooth surface of the water, their branches so near, but so far. The moss covered rocks very slowly, year by year, descend into the soft earth like damaged ships sinking into a stormy sea. A crowd of lily pads in the pond sway and grow as they float there, unaware of the years passing and the world changing around them. The gnarled trees above the water drop their leaves like rain, and as their branches sway in the wind, their dark twins projected on the floor sway too. A small bird floats passed me and I am amazed by how easily it can stay in its beautiful airborne position.

By James, Year 6

The Beach

Flicked into the air, the sand goes flying and settles somewhere new. It fits in so perfectly well and it does not settle for long. Soon the warm wind will pick up the grains of sand and blow them somewhere new. The golden beam from the sun made the sea glimmer like sequined fabric. The waves crashed down, foam spreading like an invading army making the shells glisten. The beach starts to chill. The sun is now a rosy pink, the sun is becoming a new character. Its pale yellow colour starts to become a milky white. The wind is changing, the sky is changing. Everything is changing. The once crowded beach is deserted, the great gold specs are now silver but one thing did not change, the glassy blue waves kept on rolling in.

Eliza, Year 7

The Ruined Chapel

There I was, in the gloomy wood, just standing there; waiting, watching, but knowing the dangers. The trees stood tall, towering over the ruin. The chapel had long fingers of ivy creeping up the sides and there was an old, musty smell to the place. As I stepped closer, I noticed some crows intensely watching me like nightmares…

By Genevieve, Year 5

MAGGIE, YEAR 3

Out of This World

I opened my eyes, I was in a room guarded with strange creatures. They picked me up and took me to their leader. “Who and what are you?” I said. “I was a human but I got changed. We have no name”, whispered the leader. “I’m taking you to my home planet.” I waited there for a long time and then we were finally there… Lightning struck, I heard rain tapping on the window and thunder roared. The leader’s face flew to the window and his face hit the window. “Hee hee!” I chuckled, luckily he did not hear me. The leader grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the UFO. “Where are you taking me?” I shouted.

“To your new room!” shouted the leader, and he gave me a sleeping injection. I woke up and I was in a bed. “You are our new leader,” said the soldiers, “you can visit your mum and dad again whenever you want because you have magical powers now.” I closed my eyes and thought of my parents, then they appeared and I changed the planet to a happy place where my parents and I were the rulers.

By Amarah, Year 3

Lonely

The sky turned a dark, depressing blue, The clouds crept closer; the sun hid. Slowly, my hands wiped my damp face. The yard was a gloomy grey. I feared being lonely. Her food would slowly rot, The stable echoed emptily. She pranced a heavenly dance, While I was left alone.

By Isla R, Year 7

A Dragonfly’s Wing

This creature’s pride and beauty, Delicate as a china bowl,

Light as a fluttering feather. Shimmering its patterned church windows,

Worn with pride and passion, Pebbles on a river bed,

Drowned in metallic water.

By Clover, Year 6

Excitement

The blue of a snowy piste waiting, Where I explode like a firework. I live in the sharpened blades of skis, But deep crevasses terrify me. I play with ice and snow and contour, I am the shriek of delight; The silence of snow;

The whip of a slalom pole. Coldness made me live.

By Theo M, Year 7

The River’s Journey

Winding like a snake the river flows through Esqual, brave and strong she battles rocks and splinters trees that dare to stand in her path. She had been chosen by God, as a child she had manufactured her way. Starting the path she would take for years. Creating her future. At the start of her journey, she flows down the valley, kind she is, for no one has yet tried to stop her. The trees reach out and drink, their bows brushing her head. She spreads her arms to the inlet where animals wait to drink. But danger awaits, so the animals don’t follow there, or she will catch them in her fury and drown them with her anger. Her dancing turns aggressive, until she is shouting, an unforgiving torrent seeking to destroy the rocks in her path. Slapping and sidestepping the rocks, she tires and slows, becoming gentle and small. She rushes backwards, having ran this route for many thousands of years, she knows what is to come. She screams thundering backwards. Even after all this time, she has never learnt to deal with this pain. It is coming, there is nothing she can do, she closes her eyes and falls asleep, her body moving but her souls sleeping. She falls into what she thinks is her death, but really she is going to her new beginning. Meeting her sisters, finding her mother.

By Hugo H, Year 7

Life in the Jungle

It was cold in the jungle, very cold. The silver moon lit up the jungle and shone through the gaps in the tall, strong trees illuminating everything in sight. I was woken up by a loud rustle in the leaves. I jolted upright and growled fiercely. Slowly out of the sea –green leaves rose a horn smothered in blood. As quick as a flash, the mysterious creature leaped into the cold night air. I sprung off the dirty ground like a jack-in-the-box and thwacked it as hard as I could with my large, scaly tail. The creature I had worked out it was, was one of those warthogs who had seen me killing a fish. Dark rainclouds loomed above my head. I ran back to my muddy shelter I had built yesterday. I gazed up at the sky and spotted the rainclouds closing in on me. I cowered in the shelter as lightning lit up the sky and set trees on fire. The wind howled and the thunder rumbled. It was not safe so I sprinted as fast as my legs could carry me. I heard a thunderous boom and I risked a quick glance back and saw my shelter burning away. Cheerfully, the orange flames flickered in the pitch black night.

By Patrick, Year 5

SKYLAR, YEAR 3

Revenge of the Hornet

I could see the pilot ahead of me, his red neck glinting with sweat. I found some air vents and decided to come in through those. While I was in the vent, I found a dead worm. It was a high class fancy plane, so I wasn’t surprised when I saw sofas and water but I was surprised by the worm. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. But, I remembered my mission was to kill the pilot. I needed to lay low so I flew near the very top to hide out. The pilot deserved what was coming to him because alongside being a pilot, he created an anti-Asian hornet spray called BEE-gone. A spray known to all bees, wasps and hornets. The holy-killer of sprays. It was in this time, that I had to decide to protect my family which meant making the decision to kill the pilot. My first move was to sting him on his neck. It only took one of my powerful stings to kill him but due to the pilot’s skin, my stinger got stuck! The plane was about to crash as I struggled to free myself before hitting the ground. Finally, my stinger got out and I flew through a broken window to escape. Just before I flew out, I grabbed the worm for a snack as I watched the plane go down in flames. By Hugo G, Year 4

The Snake

Slowly, silently, It slithered

Through the grass, A thing of beauty But hatred

A silent hunter

Sliding elegantly A sharp smoothness Chilling the air. It stood, abrupt Waiting For its chance,

A patient killer Its thick tail

Rattling like a war cry. It pounced, smashing through the thickness, Eyes fulfilled with fury, enhanced with rage, Its mouth opened, revealing deadly fangs And a beckoning mouth. He stared On guard, protecting his prize.

By Fred D-P, Year 8

Nativity Acrostic

Nazareth was home to a girl named Mary, visited by an angel in news of a special son. A donkey took her and Joseph to Bethlehem, where only one innkeeper would give them a stable.

The baby was born and named Jesus, placed in a manger. “I bring you a message to go see Jesus,” said an angel to some shepherds. “Very shiny gold, frankincense and myrrh!” exclaimed the wise men, clearly excited. In the manger, many people saw Jesus, with presents of lambs, sweet-smelling moisture and gold. They escaped to Egypt, when Herod started searching. You may call that day Christmas, which will never grow old.

By Catherine LB, Year 3

The Hiding Place

The wind was horrendous. Small trees were ripped out of the ground whilst other strong ones were hanging on, just barely. Rocks and boulders were slung down the cliff edge, seeming almost to fall in slow motion. First came the thunder, then mere seconds later, came the lightning. Blue and electric as ever, it came down. As it forked in three places, identical to Poseidon’s Trident, it struck a nearby rock, which traversed down until it came to the sea. Crash! It lay to rest on the seabed. Near the top of the deep, grey, rocky cliff a giant cavern lay, set in the bedrock. Inside the eagle watched. It sat on a colossal stalagmite, looking out to sea. The only sounds to be heard were the dripping of a leak in the roof of the cave and the deep rumble of chaos above and below. The cavern was small and isolated in the middle of the vast rock face and would only be able to be gotten to with the power of flight. The eagle perched there, still and silent, regal and ostentatious. Every so often, she would open up her great, majestic wings to their fullest extent and then neatly fold them back in. Hours passed but, as expected, the clouds eventually parted, the rain ceased and the sun shone, bright as anything. The great creature spread her wings and shot out. She soared to a great height and then dived. She pulled up at the last moment and let out a deafening but beautiful and divine call.

By Herbie A, Year 6

Change

Like a drop of ink into water, The sky darkens. Like an orange being peeled, The leaves of the tree drop. As the clouds open, It’s like a pipe bursting. People don’t notice me, I am invisible But I am always there.

By Sid S, Year 7

The Dive

The boat lurches sickly, sinews tensing, and the swell rises higher and higher. The metal cylinder bites in my back and the sun shies away behind a cloud. Instantly the atmosphere changes. The waves bleed grey. The sky is drenched with heavy clouds, weighed down by rain. I’m forced to tumble to the edge of the boat, the long tendrils of our pipes trailing like the broken strands of a cobweb around me.

The edge of the boat sinks like a void beneath me. The boat sways like a pendulum of a clock. My hands clamp at the side and I lean forward to prevent myself from falling. The sea churns and boils below, and I bend my back as far as I can.

Just thinking of the crashing weight, the swirling black grave in those murky depths makes me shudder. I know it’s coming and although blowing up the life jacket helps, fear has gripped me. I wait for the waves to calm. I wait for courage, which is hiding somewhere deep inside me. Then as I slowly relax, so does the sea. The waves, if for only a second, loosen their coarse muscles and gently exhale. I can see the next bout of swaying, swollen swell and grasp my chance. The world tips like a wheeling seabird diving for a swish of silver, as I roll off the boat into the churning water. For a stolen second I am left hanging in the chasm between air and sea, one element to another. Then I am crashing into the water. I worry my head will hit the boat but as always it doesn’t. My head breaks the surface and I take a deep breath. The waves toss me to and fro, gentler now as though calmed, the tranquillity that only comes from the deep sea. Reaching for my regulator and pressing the air out of my tank, I sink down, down to the unnavigated bottom of the sea.

By Honor F, Year 8

LYRA, YEAR 3

Looking Around

The odd path out from the minute forest of green. The city of the dead. It’s known not where it comes from. But it is there. Its rocky mountains come in all shapes and sizes but from the biggest boulder to the smallest pebble, from the most aged mountain to youngest stone, they are all united. As children come running and playing over them, they miss the chance to ask them what the world was like, instead, they wonder what their future holds.

Far behind the blunt hard stones, the sharp, pointy rocks and the towering tree, lies a small village. A place where children can play and adults can work. Behind every powerful wall, and through each shimmering window, glinting in the sun, a unique story is told. Dramatic arguments, cruel punishments and amazing experiments only scratch the surface of the pages you might read. Even the covers of the stories can amaze you if you take the time to look. So, take the time to look around, the results might surprise you.

By Caspar J, Year 6

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