Finest Argument written by William Zhang (Year 10)
An unusual encounter “Please! You have to believe me!” Galiath declared, “they’re real! I saw them myself !”
J
—b—
ohn Galiath knelt outside, on the cold, rough, stoney floor, hands desperately bashing against the closed sliding doors of the poorly cared for and largely forgotton Matheson Institute of Biological Science. His research papers, drowning in nearby puddles, begging for approval. Many people shot quick glances whilst passing by. Some, out of pity. Others, of confusion. Most, of digust, or simply, disappointment. A tall, broad shouldered, intelligent looking man by the name of Dr Morrison, known to be the head scientist of the Matheson Institute, walked from behind John and patted his shoulder’s twice. “Sorry lad, but you’re completely out of your mind! No one would believe you even if they wanted to! Not even me.” Dr Morrison swiped his keycard against the entrance lock. The red light above the doors beeped twice and flicked green, and he entered the science building, the doors slowly shutting behind him, and Galiath, still kneeling. As the doors met, the sound of the collision echoed incessantly in John’s ears, a sound that would haunt him for eternity. Embarrasement, anguish, melancholy, all emotionally developed through the simple display of the doors shutting and the light, flicking red. Rejection.
—b— Galiath reflected upon his memorable encounter exactly a year ago… It was a frosty night in Richmond. John Galiath nuzzled his face into the warmth of his thick Dr. Who scarf that looked like a Tom Baker original. He switched off the lights inside the late 1800’s brick warehouse whose asbestos roof had recently been replaced with carefully selected frosted panes of glass that would control UV levels. He walked out of the entrance into a narrow cobblestone lane that was completely silent apart from his own footsteps that could be heard echoeing against the side of brick single fronted Victorian homes and turned right, progressing down a long narrow street, eventually reaching the end and entering a world of commotion. John weaved his way impatiently between the slow moving patrons who were deciding which of the myriad Vietnamese restaurants along Victoria Street offered the best Pho. He glanced
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