CCW House Writing Competition Winners 2020

Cathedral College Wangaratta

House Writing Competition Winners

2020

DD oo uu bb ll ee ss Authors Abby Llwellyn (Year Seven) ‘Opposites’ Max Sammon (Year Eight) ‘Doubles’ Ruby Hanlon (Year Eight) ‘A canine’s spirit’ Mia Crothers (Year Nine) ‘Pride that reflected passion’ Sarah Wilson (Year Twelve) ‘A binary complex’ Abbey Collins (Year Ten) ‘Last moments’

Opposites Abby Llwellyn I flip through the channel’s casually yawning as I shove pieces of popcorn one after another into my mouth. The TV is the same every day, boring news expressing every possible horrible thing that has happened in the world…then suddenly...

The lights flicker vigorously, I tiredly turn to see what has happened. Seconds later, and the lights are back to normal. I look back at the TV and at some singers on the screen. You know...one of the limited few that make it to the top, so far that they make billions of dollars while everyone else suffers at the neverending bottom.

Basically like my life. As I listen closely I hear something, it is weird. Like I've heard it before. I snapped my attention back to the screen, the singer had brown hair and brown eyes, I could even see a birthmark just under her chin. It looks exactly like mine.

“Maybe it's just a coincidence, though it's not like mums telling me i have a celebrity twin sister!” I shake my head, after all these years after mum had died and dad had left I thought I'd have to brave the world by myself. But maybe there is someone else out there just like me, we sound and look exactly the same as well as having the same birthday... so it's possible.

My eyes flutter open, it's the next day. Yesterday went like a blur, one minute I was watching TV. The next minute I was considering a possibility that I have a long lost singer that's ‘Evelyn Taylor’ the Pop star and No.1 on Trending.

I guess there's only one way to find out. I ran out to my car, or what you could call a car. I have been stranded in what feels like the middle of nowhere for almost 18 years now, I was

only 5 when my mum died and my dad basically died with her. I don't remember anything except how I was taken away. And now i'm here going to find someone that probably isn't even related to me, but i guess i have nothing else to lose.

I make my way through the city, heading towards the center knowing that the concert that was advertised was there tonight. If there was a chance that she was my twin then maybe i’m not alone after all. I arrived at the Pinsent Hotel, a five star hotel that her concert is at. I rush out of the car making my way through the buzzing of the cars and enter the hotel.

Everywhere around me there are people, streaming out of the hotel, so much so that no one notices me slip in and jump into the elevator.

As the elevator ticks through the multiple storeys I consider what will happen. Maybe she will accept me straight away, or she could throw me out with her many bodyguards. Either way I have to try.

“DING” The elevator doors slowly open, through the metal I see the stage and the directors setting up for the show. I slowly creep through the stacks of chairs and dodge the glances made by stage hands. I dangerously dash up the stairs and find myself in a world of chaos that is backstage.

No one notices as I tiptoe quietly to the change rooms. I notice a glimmer of gold, it's a star on a door. I head over to the door. “KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK”.

“Come in?” I hear a small voice yell. I slowly turn the knob of the door… Inside is a young woman, I scan the room. There is dust, alot of makeup, a cat, but otherwise we are alone.

“Hi… I'm Eva, and you're Eveyln right? I was coming to ask yo-”

“EVA?!” She stares at me, her mouth gaping open.

I nod slowly, I was in a state of confusion. She knew who I was…

She ran at me almost knocking me over with the weight of the hug she gave me.

We talked for almost two hours, people came in and out, people did costumes and makeup, but through all of that we chatted about our lives and what had happened after our mum had died, she had known i was alive my entire life, someone must have told her when she was taken to a foster home.

Finally we had to stop talking and Evelyn went out to perform, I watched her sing from backstage as I was now permitted to any event ‘as her sister’.

She sounded like an angel, I do regret not taking singing seriously as an occupation…

Though I could always do it now, who knows maybe me and Evelyn will be the first ever, newly reconnected, twin sister, singing duo.

Doubles - Max Sammon

So there I was, sitting in my cold, comfy chair, watching over nine of my ten chickens when there was cluck and a squawk and out came my tenth chook. I got up considering that it was time to collect the eggs. So right now, I’ve got ten chickens and when I lifted the egg collector lid there were eleven eggs! I thought so hard that my head hurt. My conclusion was that nothing was out of the ordinary except that it was strange to have two eggs from one chook in a single day.

The next morning I woke early and went to see how many eggs there were. Six eggs, that's not unusual. I left them there and went back to bed.

I came back outside just before lunch and looked to see how many more eggs had been laid. I found twelve; two pairs of eggs looked identical. I left them there that day just curious to see how many there would be the next day.

I woke up the next day. With nothing unusual happening, I went out to collect the eggs. I had recently bought a new roll away nest box that came with a compartment that the eggs rolled into after they’d been laid. I’d noticed that all of the chickens except for a few chose the nest box on the left, but when I opened it, there was a chicken sitting in the nest box on the right.

When I lifted the lid the chicken eggs rolled down, ​perfect timing​ I thought! But as I was watching there was a little ‘pop’ sound and suddenly there were two eggs rolling down the chute. This was shocking as there was only one chicken on the nest and chickens aren’t known for laying two eggs at once. I tried to make it make sense. ​There must’ve been an egg already in the chute​ , ​maybe I actually have twelve chickens and I have just never noticed, whatever the case, it was weird.

On my computer later that night, I looked up where rollaway nest boxes are made. A search result came up as “Is a rollaway nest what I need?”, another, “What are rollaway nest boxes”, and finally! “Where, What and Who… The magical rollaway nest box makers”. I thought for a second, a magic nestbox? Is that what I bought? I clicked on the link and it brought me to a colourfully decorated page full of facts and interesting information. I scrolled down a bit until I saw a heading, it read: Where, What and Who? I scanned the text for company names, Doubles & Co . That’s it! I wonder if they named their company, after their magical nest box duplicators. If not then I have no clue what. I clicked through to their store. I was hatching a plan!! If I got another magical nest box then I could endlessly multiply the eggs. I could then sell the eggs to make my money back and get a profit. I ordered another nest box and it arrived the next day. It came with an extra basket but I think it must have just multiplied itself.

Last week I sold six dozen of my magical multiplied eggs. This is how it worked: once I had a full dozen, I rolled the eggs through the chute until I could fill my order needs.

Tomorrow I have another six people coming to collect two dozen eggs each. This continued on for weeks and I have built up my orders to 10 dozen a day. I had made $3000 and I am ready to upgrade my flock and get a bigger, better coop. The other day I traded in some of my eggs for fertile ones and put them through the duplicator chute a few times, and then into the incubator. I am now waiting impatiently for my thirty chicks to hatch! *2 months later After building a bigger coop and getting better surroundings for my chooks, I made a final decision to donate all of my extra, unneeded profit to the local kids charity. This mysterious duplication opportunity came and went just like my cash. I stopped using the Doubles & Co nest box as I felt bad for the local egg farmers having a hard time while I had an infinite advantage over them. I reflected on my experience and what was really important to me was the health and happiness of my chickens as I loved them as my family, I stopped worrying about their potential and about what I could do better for them, so that I could simply live and enjoy each day without the worry of their health.

A Canine’s Spirit

By Ruby Hanlon

The smells of the Earth beg me to follow their scent. Noise. So much sound. Humans bustle past, a variety of emotions flowing off their skin. Through the thick cloud of sentiment I smell her. My tail flicks back and forth, as Viera meets my gaze. Chin up, shoulders back she walks towards me.

Despite her ragged clothes, Viera stands tall, as any strong women should. Her unbound hazel hair and emerald eyes catching the light of the unforgivable sun.

Viera’s heart of cosmic flame is what willed me to choose her in the first place. My unexplored second soul instantly intertwined with her blazing spirit. I have been bound to her ever since. It is hard for me to grasp the concept that my spirit is split in two. Common knowledge deems it impossible. Although what good is the general thoughts of other animals anyway? No good, that’s what. Dogs are the superiors, having the wisest souls of all.

Except that half of mine flickered and split, coiling around Viera’s essence like fire to wood.

Interrupting my spider-webbing thoughts, a gentle scarred palm brushes against my fur. “Hey Hope,” Viera whispers, gazing into my endless eyes, “Good girl. Have you waited here for me all day?” In answer, I nudge her hand and release a soft whine. A honeyed laugh escapes her lips, as she sits down beside me. Together, we silently view the broken village we call home.

Clusters of ashen dwellings stand out against the carpet of snow. People of all ages scramble to find a fire haven. Some wait for sickness to claim them. Some beg for coin. Some lay dead.

A thick scent of bloodlust and blind obedience clogs my nose, raising the fur on my back. A growl slips from my jaw and I take a defensive stance bearing my canines. Viera stands up, attacking the horizon with a vicious glare. I see them before she does.

An army of men spread before us, like the darkest of inks. Even the Sun cringed away into the safety of clouds. They are a solar eclipse, a shadow coming to extinguish our light.

Inevitable. Immediate. Indefinitely.

Minutes feel like stolen love.

Wishfall is a town embedded within the exposed mountains enwrapped in winter. No one will hear our screams. No one will come to our aid. No one will witness the bloodshed about to disperse, except perhaps the cowering Sun. My Viera dead. No. No. No.

Not sparing another glance at oncoming death, I slice my front leg on a jagged tree branch. Before Viera could scream at me, I leap, knocking her to the ground. In a matter of seconds I smear my lifeblood onto her neck, face and arms. She stops struggling, when I lay on top of her softly growling. I try to will her into acting dead. Viera angles her head so she can see my eyes. “Hope,” her voice breaking, “do not sacrifice yourself for me.” I only rest my head down in warning to stay still.

I gaze into her tender green eyes.

She gazes into mine.

Tears silently leak down her bloodied face My other soul wildly beats against her quickening heart.

The townsfolk screeched in terror as the blackness flowed in.

A growing pool of red liquid stained the snow. Children’s flesh littered the ground. Screams began a thrilling symphony. Metal sliced limbs.

Any resistance was solved with a blade through the heart.

An armed warrior stalked up to where we laid. Clad in chainmail with the royal coat of arms etched into his silver helmet. He roared a non-human sound, revealing his yellow teeth. Taking a mighty leap, he unsheathed his sword and aimed for Viera’s bare neck.

Time slowed. The chance I needed to intercept the killer blow. I pounced, not away, but towards.

Steel met fur.

My second soul lurched, clinging to Viera’s inner core, unwilling to let go. I yelped. She screamed.

The last thing I saw was the ember of fire burning in her eyes, stark against her fresh tears. My heart failed, severing our linked souls.

Some wonder what occurs after death.

Forgiveness? Oblivion? Immortality?

Yes and no.

It is different for each being. For me Realisation was gifted. I do not only have one soul, but two.

I am double souled.

One soul filled with knowledge, the other a protector.

I died to protect Viera, having the knowledge that she would do the same for me.

I am wise. I protect. I am a dog.

Pride that reflected passion Mia Crothers The morning sun breaks through the windows reflecting off the mirrors that run the length of the room. The white tarquette floor lining the big open studio with elegant high ceilings.

Giving the space a sense of natural beauty.The smell of a new day, fresh studio and the scent of success fill my lungs with every inhale. Throughout the early hours in the empty studio there is only me, my exaggerated pride I take in my dancing and the grand piano in the downstage corner.

I head to the barre who has become my only friend and my constant companion. I begin my checklist: Turn out, instep up, straight knees, squeeze your inner thighs, use your rotators, ribcage in, shoulders down, grow through your spine, poise‌ Now I’m ready to begin. My body is immediately filled with comfort and pleasure as I make my way across the floor with great elegance using the empty studio to my advantage: upstage, downstage, centre stage. I catch the reflection of another dancer. As I now begin barre work. The natural light gives warmth as it emphasises my lines while I perfect each step with elegance through every exercise.

I finish my barre work and head into the centre where I am again followed by the other dancer. She moves like me but there is something a little different about her. She is softer somehow, she is not like me as I have an intensity that this girl is missing. Maybe that is why everyone wants to be me, and why this girl will never reach my level of perfection. I begin with port de bras. The slow movements allow me to observe my body, my shapes, my lines, my poise and once again, the perfection in which I execute even the most simplest of steps.

My perfection is continued to be followed by her presence. Following my counts, attempting

to copy my lines, and execute the same poise as me. She will never be me, and even though she is a hard worker, she does not understand how powerful, natural ability is. She does not understand that you have to be willing to leave others behind and allow your pride to take over.

Eyes follow me in the foyer, as I slick my hair back into a perfect bun, as I wrap my ribbons tight for the hours of rehearsal ahead of me. Their jealous gaze acts as glue, where they cannot look away, even if they tried. I own the studio and the others step aside as I take my place at the front of the barre. As I move with confidence into the centre: front and centre. I know the whispers that act as my shadow and constantly attack my persona: “she thinks she is so good.” “She use to be different.” “She has not only had a change of movement quality but a change of heart.” “She is so blind to her own faults.” But you know what? I don’t care.

Those whispers just fuel my fire. To be better. To be perfect.

We start our first exercise. It is a dance from the syllabus. It is soft, constantly moving and transforming between steps with an effortless quality where the steps blend one into the next, like a gentle wind. It is as if she is glued to me somehow. Her reflection continues to follow me. I continue to rehearse - legs shaking, muscles tightening, sweat pouring down my back: staining my leotard a deeper colour. But I refuse to give in, I refuse to take a break. The drops of sweat slowly creep into my eyes and it stings, but I welcome the pain. My arms feel like lead and are getting heavier. But no matter how tired I am, I have to remember, turn out, instep up, straight knees, squeeze my inner thighs, use my rotators, ribcage in, shoulders down, grow through my spine, poise…

By this stage I can see my feet starting to bleed through my shoes and hers are too. I stop and look closely at her. And it surprises me that I start to see some similarities between us. We both take pride in our dancing, but me moreso. We both work hard and respect the art of classical ballet; but she will never uphold the perfection it requires. I recognise deep within her, a similar softness I once had. A sense of happiness, pleasure and passion for our artform.

But that softness within me has transformed and admittedly, I indulge in my natural ability.

She stares at me through the unblemished mirror and I know that there is a sense of loss there. A relationship that I have ruined through my need for perfection and the exaggerated pride I take in my dancing. I left her behind a long time ago and there is no going back now.

She took pride in her ability but I glorify what I was born with. She is me‌ well, she WAS me.

A Binary Complex - Sarah Wilson I exist in two realms, Each a measure I must meet Like thunder every morning- my soul splits in half One on each arm, my heavy heart their leverage My reflection is deceptive, The room feels too full The crack becomes a cavern, I watch the imposters settle in I can’t help but wonder what Alone feels like One of them smiles, Glitter on her skin She lives in my head- Shoulders back, chin high She makes me feel brave, her surety almost mine The other is shrouded, She’s hard to love, She lives deep in my chest- her fist around my heart Each rope of my sanity, slowly snapping in her grip So as I tie my tie I ponder symbiosis and look in their eyes They are me, I am they- yet we are not one in the same Because I am nothing, but a vessel for their amusement

Sarah Wilson

Last Moments Abbey Collins

It was a Monday when I found out I was dying. For weeks I had been told I was sick, and for weeks I ignored it. But seeing my hair fall out of my head and into my hands made me realise how sick I actually was.

My Nan said the chemo would help and I would soon be getting better, but I knew I was too ill. When the doctor took one look at my results and screwed up his nose and shook his head sympathetically I knew I would lose the long lasting battle.

Chemo is a waste of time. You spend weeks sick and your hair falls out and then what?

Instead of being sad, like people expected, I was just mad. Mad that I had to pretend to be fine and “make the days count” when I knew it would result in nothing. I was told to “go enjoy the sunshine” and “do what makes you happy” but I just didn't see the point. I would have rather died then act all sorry for myself. So I just sat in my white hospital bed, in my white hospital room, as the tight sheets constricted me like a snake to my bed. It sounds drematic, but once you realize death is upon you you either want to live the last moments or end it as soon as possible.

I hated dying. Everything seemed to go so slow. The days dragged their feet and repeated themselves like a broken record. I would do the same routine as the day before, lying in bed while Nan desperately tried to motivate me. The days were always the same. Except for one Wednesday. That's when Brady came. I didn't know who this 6-year-old kid was, but he just showed up. He was really annoying to start, constantly blabbered on about how nice the sun was and how he loved the world. He continued to spit out an annoying fact or tell me some cringy, motivational quote.

No matter how hard I tried, Brady wouldn’t go away, I just wanted to be left alone to die in peace. Even when I rolled over and blocked my ears he stayed there, like he was inside my head. He was always so happy and motivated. It made me sick.

After hours of chatter from this chubby faced kid, I decided to stop trying to make him leave.

Besides, his company was better than my Nans.

When I thought about it, Brady reminded me of myself, but before cancer took over. He wasn’t sick, and he loved freedom. Even his cringy metaphors reminded me of times when I was a kid, reading through novels about romance and mystery. I couldn’t help feeling jealous, as old carefree memories came back to me. I didn't want to remember the good days before all the hospitals, I just wanted to forget.

On Friday I was once again in the operating room. I hated this place. Not because I was scared or afraid that I might not come out of it, but because I couldn’t deal with any more pitying faces glaring at my shaven head. I felt a sink in my gut when the nurse came in and rubbed my shoulder, acting nice and sweet, desperately trying to coax me into the wheelchair.

I purposely made it difficult for her just so she knew how little hope I had in the operating table. But as I was leaving Brady said he could go instead, to protect me. I didn't want to go into the surgery room anyway, so I let Brady do it. I slept for the next few hours delighted that Brady could do my surgery for me.

When I woke up I was moved to the comfy room by the nurses. The walls were pale yellow and the air smelt of moist carpet. I looked around for Brady but he wasn’t there. Instead Nan sat on the end of my bed, tears trickling down her face. I told her to stop feeling sorry for me and instead she made weird choking noises. I started to tell my Nan about Brady and how he was always by my side and went into the surgery so I didn't have to. I also told her about his annoying metaphors, and how he was the thing I had been needing for so long to fill my personality. Nan just nodded and clutched my shaking hands.

Looking back on the moment I had more energy than earlier in the week. Not physical energy, but I seemed to have had more internal energy. Almost like the weight of cancer had been lifted off my shoulders. As my eyes fell heavier and my hand slipped from my Nan’s, I thanked Brady. I thanked him for protecting me so I didn't have to go through it alone. I thanked him for being there, even in my last moments.