Culture@Colfes

INDEX:

TALKING WTH THE TEACHERS THE REEL THOUGHTS ON THEATRE READING BETWEEN THE LINES UP FOR DEBATE! SCIENCE IN ACTION INTERLUDE OUT AND ABOUT COLFE’S IN CONVERSATION FICTION

TEACHERS Talking with the

THIS ISSUE: MR. RUSSELL

What did you want to be when you were younger?

"Not a teacher!" was his honest answer. Mr. Russell’s interest lay in Archaeology (he graduated with a classics degree from Cambridge) and he didn’t like the traditional options after University, which were restricted to "law or finance." He "sort of drifted into teaching," and "being a teacher gave me long summer holidays to spend in Greece, studying archaeology." Luckily for Colfe’s, it turns out that Mr. Russell "loves teaching" too and has done so for the 17 years he has been headmaster here.

Who or what inspired you to be a headmaster?

He reflected on the fact that every career has a momentum of its own, and that ultimately, "a desire to do something very important and do it well," was his main inspiration.

Is there a particular historical event that has shaped your outlook on life, or greatly affected you?

When Mr Russell was nine years old, ‘Bloody Sunday’ occurred in Derry, Ireland -an event which led to the deaths of thirteen people. During ‘Bloody Sunday,’ British soldiers shot twenty-six unarmed civilians protesting in Bogside, Derry. Though he didn’t know it at the time, this event “determined the context in which [he] grew up." It is the political event that personally affected him most and he believes that this event was what caused him to become engaged in politics and, more recently, feel so impassioned by Brexit. He adds that he was and continues to be “horrified” by Brexit.

Looking back, what’s the most valuable piece of advice you wish you had been given in school?

His Latin teacher once told him when he was about to go to his Cambridge interview, that one should “just be themselves.” This is what he would tell others.

What are the traits you most admire in a person?

Integrity, honesty and dignity.

Mr. Russell went back to his childhood with his first recommendation, referring to The Lord of the Rings as his first real literary interest. I can only further his love of the Tolkien saga, as it was one of my first major reading endeavours too. Although he did go on to tell us that after reading the three-book saga a whole five times, he’s not eager to give the books another go anytime soon. He then went on to talk about another piece of literature which he loves: The Iliad; an epic Greek poem, and still one of the most widely read pieces of literature ever! However, Mr Russell did acknowledge the challenges of such a text with a younger audience and recommended his favourite film: Cinema Paradiso. As someone who has listened to this recommendation and watched the whole film, I can only further his comments. The film is a masterclass in cinematography and addresses the history of cinema in an entertaining but also informative fashion. By the end, I was left wanting another hour with these characters. I hope many of you - like me- will also heed his advice and give this film (and The Iliad) a try.

dinner party?

Mr. Russell spoke to us with his characteristic dry humour and his genuine love of teaching shone through. Thank you, Mr. Russell, for the chance to interview you and for agreeing to be our first interview in this first edition of the Culture @ Colfes journal.

Do you have a particular piece of film, music or literature that you would want to talk about and recommend to others?

Who would you invite to your dream

I don’t really like dinner parties….

REEL The Film Reviews

After speaking with Mr. Russell in our interview, I felt compelled to go and watch his recommendation of Cinema Paradiso, a film that he told me was “essential viewing for anyone who cares about film.” As someone who gives myself such a title, I felt I had a duty to watch it. Here is my spoiler-free review on the 1988 Giuseppe Tornatore classic :

Cinema Paradiso

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The first thing that drew me into the film was its setting: a beautifully shot Italian village; actually, the same village the director of the film grew up in. It isn’t just beautiful -it’s teeming with life. We meet recurring characters, such as the town drunk, and the village priest and many other seemingly insignificant characters who all contribute to the homely feel of the film. The characters all grow so much that by the end you’re left wishing for just another hour with all of themanother hour by the seaside in Italy. Our central protagonist is a young boy, and he is played wonderfully by the young Salvatore Cascio. One forgets that he is acting as he is so convincing as a child existing day-to-day in this post-war town.

by Josh Rees, Y12

The boy’ s passion is cinema; he collects reels, sneaks into the pictures and even befriends our other main character, Alfredo the projectionist. Set in a time when Cinema was just developing, I found this film to be both highly entertaining and informative. I got to see excerpts of the classic films of the era, as well as witnessing the sense of community that cinema once brought to a small village like this and how all of this has changed through time. It felt almost documentary like in its portrayal of cinemas evolution, but never in a bad way. cinema once brought to a small village like this and how all of this has changed through time. It felt almost documentary like in its portrayal of cinemas evolution, but never in a bad way. Being someone who also has a deep love for cinema I found myself caught up in the film watching experience and wishing I too was sat in a theatre in a small Italian village watching the works of Chaplin. A specific moment I loved was the sequence on New Year's Eve in the village where fireworks ignite in the air, illuminating the pastel village with bright neon’s of green and red. This sequence was especially well shot with breath-taking wide shots.

The only thing I struggled with was the language barrier - I was a forced to watch the film through the often filtered lens of subtitles. However, overall, I can see why Mr. Russell pinpointed this film as his favourite of all time, as it is a perfect encapsulation of the golden age of cinema. Can’t wait to see what the other teachers will recommend!

Now In Cinemas!

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever

Wakanda Forever is a triumph for the MCU but not perfect. It’s Ryan Coogler proving that unlike some of Marvels creatives, he’s still got it! Whilst it does falter under the same limitations that every Marvel film seems to face nowadays: lacklustre CGI due to the sheer scale of reliance they place on the green screen over practicality, the push towards weirdly Power Ranger-escque suits and the demand for every film to set-up a 3+ spin-off series, the film still retains a feeling of originality. It is not shot in the same basic MCU formula and instead takes risks and acts as a fitting tribute to Chadwick Boseman’s legacy without coming across as overly depressing. Whilst it does skim over the details of his death, this doesn’t bother me and actually helps streamline the film, removing details that would only slow the narrative down further. It’s Marvels best film this year, maybe of phase 5 and I hope they push for more of this and Werewolf by Night over the mess that was She Hulk.

The Banshees of Inisherin

This film is just poetic. To explain it in such a brief review would be to do it an injustice, but I will say this : it’s depressing and not in the uplifting way, but in the shockingly real kind of way. It’s about a small feud in a town in Ireland between two seemingly normal men that escalates and escalates out of control until we are left as the audience wondering how we got here in the first place. It also helps that it’s beautifully shot and takes me back to the Brecon Beacons where my family are from. If you want a film this month to be impacted by, watch this one.

Thoughts on Theatre

RHEARSALS-CLUBS –REVIEWS

by Rosie Carey, Y13

As one of the leaders for Year 7 Drama Club, I always want to make sure that every week is different and entertaining. We always start off with a warm-up game that animates the students’ voices and bodies and sharpens their focus. We do a range of different exercises every week. For example, improvisation activities where the students explore characterisation through vocal expression and physicality. The year 7’s have also engaged in activities where the students respond to a setting or a prop as a stimulus from which to develop a scene. As an A-level Drama student, I find it really rewarding and enjoyable to connect with the new generation of Colfieans -as well as learn a thing or two from them!

Having seen The National Theatre’s The Crucible on the 28th September, I would say it’s the best play I’ve seen in 2022! Lyndsey Turner’s politically charged production was performed at the Olivier Theatre and explored the inconsistencies of the Salem Witch Trials within the eery setting of 17th century Massachusetts . As a young adult in the audience, I felt that the the play was extremely successful in commenting on the importance of integrity as a means of staying true to oneself. Turner’s production of Arthur Miller’s 1953 play, speaks to all audiences and made the play relevant to young people of my generation. The play resonated with me due to the universal truths behind the text; the witch hunts relate to fake news in our 21st century world of technology. The trending of fake news that I see constantly on social media as a young adult is not too dissimilar to the diffusion and web of lies in The Crucible. Lyndsey Turner’s works are known for being politically charged with messages for our modern age; The Crucible left me reflecting on how preserving one’s reputation can end up harming others.

Reading Between the Lines

by Abbie Fox, Y13

Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro explores themes of love and loss, but also of technology and modern society. Ishiguro tells the story of teenager Josie, who lives in a world where she has the option to choose a robot to act as her constant companion. Ishiguro presents the world through the eyes of Josie’s Artificial Friend, Klara, who becomes Josie’s best friend and demonstrates her admirable and human-like capacity for sympathy and empathy, as well as her unique observational skills.

Klara’s compassion and love leads the reader to question whether there is truly an enormous difference between humans and robots, or whether there will be in the future. Furthermore, it is interesting to consider that Ishiguro’s representation of the spirituality of this robot may be the reason why Klara appears to be a bit ‘too human’ . However, there are characters in the novel who are unsettled by the presence of Klara as an Artificial Friend, including Rick and Josie’s housekeeper.

Both characters eventually soften in their approach towards Klara, suggesting that their initial reluctance to accept her introduction to the household lies not with Klara personally, but perhaps with what she represents, and thus a wider and more personal disagreement with the reliance of society on this type of innovative and life-altering technology.

Klara’s main misconception in the novel, namely that the sun is some sort of God or divine being, highlights the dichotomy between her and the humans in her environment. Therefore, the novel forces the reader to question the nature of humanity and what qualities define it. Despite her similarity to them, and her close relationships with them in the novel, Klara still seems to fail to be completely human, and certainly fails to be perceived as such.

The idea that it is impossible for Klara to be truly human is highlighted at one point in the novel, when Josie’s father describes a human heart as “Rooms within rooms within rooms. No matter how long you wandered through those rooms, wouldn’t there always be others you’d not yet entered?”

Ishiguro alludes to the ‘lifting’ of Josie, which the reader must assume is some form of gene editing to enhance her knowledge and talents. However, Josie suffers from an illness, and it is implied that this may be due to this process. This could be Ishiguro’s criticism of this concept, as one which has the potential to become a reality not just in the novel, by warning about the danger of any harmful side effects that we have not yet anticipated. Conversely, Rick, Josie’s friend and love interest, has not been ‘lifted’. His mother’s decision to not go through with this process makes it difficult for him to succeed within society. Although he struggles to find recognition for his natural talents, he does not fall ill as Josie does. This illustrates that in a society that relies so heavily on technology, there is no right or wrong course of action when it comes to important choices, such as whether gene editing for children is the best decision.

Ultimately, this unique book prompts endless questions about the future of humanity, particularly with regards to the progression of technology within modern society. Ishiguro forces us to evaluate human nature and all that it stands for, leaving us with more questions than answers.

Up for Debate! This House Would Colonise Outer Space

by Eleanor Suh and MilliePlassard, Y12

This was one of the motions discussed at debating club during the first half term. Both sides made strong cases, with brilliant scientific, ethical and environmental points. Two speakers spoke on each of the four teams.

Arguments made for:

‘Humanity has been turning to the skies since 1957’ ‘Humanity has a duty to make sure that our children and grandchildren inherit something other than a dying planet.’

‘On a new colony we will build on our failures from Earth and work towards targets of dependency on ecofriendly energy sources.’

‘The golden age for the human race is ahead of us not behind us, it lies in the stars above!’

What would you decide, based on these arguments?

Arguments made against:

‘Space has only ever been, and will continue to be a possibility for the rich.’

Moving to outer space ‘also causes climate change: a single SpaceX flight releases 2683 tons of CO2.’

‘Those who have studied the Cold War will be familiar with the effects of commercialising and politicising space.’ ‘Our failure to look after our own planet highlights our inability to take on the responsibility of colonising space.’

The eventual winners, however, were…Closing opposition: those against the motion!

Science In ACTION

by Max Urwin, Y12

On the 11th of November the Year 12 Biology students (myself included) attended a lecture at the Emmanuel Centre called Biology in Action. Over the course of the day, we saw five lectures on fascinating real world and highly advanced applications of what we were learning. The first lecture was on CRISPR, a revolutionary new technology first discovered around forty years ago which enables us to very precisely edit the inner workings of all living things to induce a very specific change which could be used in the future to remove certain harmful traits or add beneficial ones in entire populations such as mosquitoes' ability to carry malaria. The second lecture was on Astrobiology and the search for microscopic life forms on other planets and the conditions we would expect for life to occur even at that tiny level.

The third lecture was on the science of de-extinction and the possibilityfor us to retrieve the genetic information from preserved specimens and bring back a creature from complete extinction. The fourth lecture was more medicine focused and covered a surgeon and his experience in surgical removal of cancer in the oesophagus and some videos of the surgery process. The fifth and final lecture was on the future of food and what an average person's diet might consist of 30 years from now as the population increases and we have to resort to perhaps less desirable, but sustainable,food sources such as insects or algae.

Interlude

By Millie Plassard and Josh Rees, Y12

On Wednesday, 5th October, we attended the Trinity Laban concert, in which a group of five distinguished musicians came to play some iconic tunes. The recital hall was filled with students and teachers, eager to learn more about music. Four trombones, drums, the Irish flute and many more. The group worked through the centuries : starting with a Henry VIII tune played on authentic medieval instruments, followed by a folk song medley; then some timeless classic music, before entering the 20th century with jazz, the Beatles and Bryan Adams. Our favourite song was their rendition of ‘Hey Jude’ in which the audience were prompted to join in for the famous ‘Na-Na’ section. The group changed up the melody of this famous Beatles tune and added in their own styles while still staying true to the original with a stunning final half. We loved it all, but Millie especially enjoyed the jazz, while Josh preferred the Folk music and the Beatles half (as that is his favourite band). He thought it was interesting that they picked Eleanor Rigby for a trombonesection as the song is predominately strings and a track like

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band may have fit better for a Beatles brass section. However,r the rendition was thoroughly enjoyable and a new take on an old classic. The group were also very informative, offering musical knowledge between songs. Did you know that the trombonehas changed in both shape and size since the 15th century?

All in all, it was a very successful and educational evening, we didn’t know what to expect but were thoroughly entertained and we know it was enjoyed by everyone who attended as they had many questions to ask the group afterwards. Can’t wait for the next one!

Out &About with

Foreign Languages

¿Cuál es tu opinión? Quelle est votre opinion?

by Millie Plassard, Y12

Recently, year 12 visited the BFI in order to attend a lecture on the great film maker Pedro Almodóvar and watch one of his films: Realizador. During the first half of the day, we reflected on Almodóvar’s use of colour throughout his films, and his use of symbolism simbolismo. In addition to this, we looked at Almodóvar’s presentation of women, and how this developed throughout his career. Almodóvar was a product of the ‘Madrilenian movement’ which was a counter-cultural movement which arose following the death of the oppressive Spanish dictator Franco. Throughout his films Almodóvar wanted to shock the audience, not through twist and turns, but rather through the raw realism of his work. Following a lunch break, the students watched Almodóvar’s film Todo Sobre Mi Madre or ‘All about my mother.’ Aurelie, a student in year 12, found it to be “extreme, informative…but a lot!” Javier, also year 12, enjoyed seeing “an alternative view of Spanish society and how it has evolved over time. I really enjoyed it!” Personally, I found the film to be intense, yet I enjoyed the blatant realism of it and I was certainly gripped by the plot. Throughout the course of the next year, we will be studying another of Almodóvar’s films : Volver. All in all, it was a very insightful and memorable day.

Another group of Sixth Form students returned to the BFI in order to attend a lecture on French Cinema, in particular La Nouvelle Vague. ‘La Nouvelle vague,’ otherwise known as the New Wave, is the name given to a genre of French films that began in the 1950’s, characterised by four film fanatics (cinéphiles) called Godard, Rohmer, Rivette and Trousseau. Throughout the lecture we compared modern films to those of the ‘Nouvelle Vague’ and reflected on the use of different shots to convey a message in a scene. Films of ‘La Nouvelle Vague’ were understated, with small budgets, unknown actors, and used improvisation. The beauty of ‘La Nouvelle Vague’ was that films were simplistic and relatable to those living in France at the time. They were a response to the over-the-top Hollywood films of the time, which focused on brash special effects. Emilie, a student in year 12, liked the talk at the start because it was “interactive and she had the opportunity to speak to a lecturer.” In the afternoon, we watched Entre Les Murs. This is a modern French film about the lives of students in a challenging class in a school, and how the teacher responds to their needs. Ultimately the teacher wants the best for the students… but he makes some mistakes along the way. The film was most interesting through its depiction of the students and how their lives affect their learning. It was a great introduction to French Cinema.

In this Issue : The Winter Holidays

What is your favourite Christmas song?

Away in a Manger

We Three Kings

Little Donkey

Starry Night

Fairtyale of New York

Last Christmas

Carol of the Bells

Tis the Season to be Jolly Evidently the most popular amongst the students was ‘All I want for Christmas is you’ by Mariah Carey, which has been streamed more than 31.5 million times this year (so far). What performances will you be going to?

Elf The Musical at the Dominion Theatre Hamilton

The Greenwich Pantomime- Robin Hood Nutcracker - The English National Ballet

What is your favourite thing about the holidays?

Answers ranged from visits to the Christmas lights on Regents Street, going to the Southbank Christmas market where one can indulge in street food and hot drinks as well as supporting sustainability and artisanal produce.

We love putting up decorations, spending quality time with family, going on walks and eating together. We love gifts (both giving and receiving them)!

We also celebrate Dutch traditions where one of our pupils traditionally puts clogs out, instead of a stocking, in hope that Sinterklaas will fill them with presents.

Fiction

The first person to the feel the rain is the fool. -a proverb

Have you ever thought how lucky we are to have technology at our fingertips? I’m not talking about the possibility of surgery done by a robot, or an AI kitchen that can cook meals as long as you ask nicely. No, it’s something much more mundane. The weather forecast is something that we take for granted. How many times have you been saved from a sudden English downpour simply because you checked your phone that morning and thought an umbrella would be handy?

This story takes place at a certain time, in a certain place before meteorology was as sophisticated as it is today. People could only stick their heads out of their windows and pray to the rain gods that the weather would stay the way it currently was, which of course, rarely happened.

One day, the market was in town. Wooden stalls strained with the weight of decaying apples, too-soft pears and rotting punnets of strawberries. Fat flies trundled from one slab of meat to circle a tank of lobsters on the stall that sold fish ‘a little past its sell by date FORA DISCOUNT.’Awoman makes her way through the crowd. She is an outsider. No one can exactly place who she is, but all have seen her, and all have heard stories. The stories weren’t particularly riveting, but they were stories, nonetheless. She looks up at the sky, where clouds are beginning to converge.

The threat of rain hangs over the crowds, but no one is prepared.

The woman opens her hand towards the sky, and as if on cue, a fat droplet falls into it. However, she is no fool. As the rain gets heavier, as people run for cover under the stalls that sellers are desperately trying to save, as the open market space clears, she opens an umbrella.

People stare with disbelief as she calmly strolls down to the stall selling the fish that has by now, definitely gone off. The glassy eyes of the fish seem to watch her as she picks up the tank of lobsters, the water inside sloshing a little as she does so. The umbrella is balanced in one hand while she walks off still carrying the tank. Noone knows why she wasn’t stopped. It was a crime after all. Maybe no one wanted to get too wet with that unfortunate downpour.

They talk about that day in the pub afterwards sometimes, over pints of cider on a cold winters evening. Who was that woman? How did she know about the rain? Why did she steal the lobsters? They’re only lobsters, of all the things that were on display, and they were next to the fish which were incredibly mouldy. Some swear that they saw water escape that tank and get onto her skirt, and it instantly vanish, but those people only say that after a few too many pints.

How much change can happen in a universe simply because one woman had an umbrella in a time before the weather report was a mundanity.

We’ll never know what happened to the lobsters.

An Ode to Lost Lobsters and the Weather Forecast : Competition Winner

by Victoria Kingsman, Y13

I’m in Rome. The whole city is an ember, a dying flame. There is no one around; it’s the aftermath of a battle. I look ahead. She’s there, Neferet, again. I reach out, with my hands, trying to gesture her to me. In an instant, she is before me, staring into my eyes. The city changes, in the blink of an eye, the flicker of a candle, to the villa on fire. We are inside it, she is engulfed in the flames, yet she does not seem to be hurt by them. Beyond, there are the red eyes again, now even more fierce. Neferet speaks but I can’t hear her; I can, however, read her lips.

‘Find me.’

I open my eyes. I’m back in reality now, away from the dream. The city is still on fire, but it’s now night, and the streets are nearly empty. I look up, and the stars are barely visible through the smoke. I’m injured, with a massive bruise on my side, where I fell. My bruise does not hurt when I touch it, for my skin is completely numb at this point, but every bone and muscle in my body hurts. I need to get up though, I need to find her. I need to find Antonius. I need to finish this if it hasn’t been finished already. I struggle up, holding my right arm, and I limp, slowly, across the plaza. I’m nearly there now; I’m nearly at the end of my journey, perhaps, even, my life. I’ve still got my dagger from earlier, clutched in my right arm. I’m still angry, still ferocious, still ready to kill.

The darkness looms out towards me as I make my way into the night, past the ruin. I can still hear shouts of anguish from other parts of the city…It seems the invaders of Rome aren’t finished just yet. I walk, and stumble, and walk again, and keep going, and soon enough, I can see the villa. I can see the torchlight. It looks almost peaceful up there, like a retreat from all of this.

I don’t decide to pass through the front gate; I take the side route instead, where I can pass through the rose garden. If I’m going to find her, I’ll find her there. As I progress through the shadowy trees, a wolf howls in the distance, and the branches sway in the rising wind.

I open the gate to the rose garden, which is still intact, and I see her.

Finally.

Just like when I first saw her, she’s looking at a rose. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, and she’s wearing a grey gown, that can be scarcely made out in the night-light. She notices the creak of the gate behind me and rises up to meet me. Tears are streaming down my face. After all this time, she has come back to haunt me. After all this time, when I’ve wanted to see her again for so long. My only ghost, before I become one myself.

She nods up towards the villa and speaks. This time, I can hear her.

‘Do it, for both of us.’

Then she fades away. Disappears. But I think I saw something, right at the end. I think I finally saw it.

I saw her smiling.

I walk on.

Only Thirty Seconds Left

by Maggi Zhao Y8

Only thirty seconds left, and I’m fleeing from this huge mistake. This seems to be one way to realise that time DOESN’T stop!

I thought I threw a smoke bombbut turns outit wasn’t... This would never have happened if it wasn’t for the unexpected robbery that diverted my attention. Bad decisions are like Trojan horses-you may not recognise the danger at first, but if you know the Odyssey, you will learn to keep them outside. I must run like a horse to avoid being blown to pieces.

Why does this always happen to me?

Stage Fright

by Emily Harrison Y8

Darkness engulfs me, Stretching on endlessly, My heart pounding violently. “Get me out of here!”

Spotlights illuminate. I surrender to my fate, For now it is far too late, To retreat into the wings. Alump forms in my throat. I feel like I’m drowning in a moat, Struggling to stay afloat. I must overcome my fear.

I will not be defined, By a hurdle in my mind, To which I was assigned. Today I prove them wrong.

I Am Strong.

She blinked up at the ceiling, designed to represent stars in an endless sky. She knew she wasn’t even supposed to be in this room, but she had struggled and then flat-out failed to resist the temptation. The combination lock on the door had been padlocked for this very reason: preventing people’s curiosity getting the better of them. Sage was the only sibling in her dad’s will who had been entrusted with the six-digit code, with the sole instruction that she was never to use it unless she had to. How was she really expected to know if she had to, if she didn’t know what it contained? The others had been frustrated at the prospect of her inheriting some unknown fortune, until they had been told they would inherit the rest of their father’s possessions and estate, acquiring fifty percent each. She was the only Carpenter sibling who wouldn't.

Sage cast her eyes down to search the rest of the room for something more poignant, something that would make all this seem worthwhile. She was trying hard not to be disappointed in her dad, but she could feel her hope extinguishing by the second. She glanced in the mirror at her slight frame and big, mahogany eyes. She wasn’t particularly attractive or unattractive, with long and unruly wavy hair, but she liked to hope that her personality redeemed her somewhat. She was always thought of as the sensible one, or the logical one. And yet, here she was, the only one who wouldn’t receive anything of her dead father’s. She wouldn’t have even minded about the money if she had at least managed to deserve some sentimental reward. She sighed. Becoming increasingly agitated, she took a final look before walking out of the room. Sage didn’t have time for these games. She had more important things to be doing.

Later, at a bar with her friend, she sat aimlessly stirring her cocktail. Ava had already questioned her about what had put her in such a bad mood earlier, but she’d been unwilling to tell her the truth in the suffocatingly expensive restaurant. So,Ava had come up with the brilliant idea that getting drunk on a Tuesday night was the best option to get her mind off whatever was bothering her. After her third drink, Sage was feeling a bit more open, and tilted her head back in a laugh. Ava was less drunk, but enough to join in without knowing the reason behind this random outburst.

“Follow me!” Sage whispered loudly. They giggled and linked arms; Ava was worried Sage might lose her balance.

“How far is this place?” Whined Ava. The decrepit office building wasn’t far, but they had been walking for half a mile and her shoes had already started to hurt.

“Not far,” Sage reassured her, staggering across the road, before announcing with pride their arrival to Ava in a singsong voice. She struggled to put the key in the lock, and eventually relented, accepting Ava’s offer of assistance. Pushing the door aside, Ava walked in and straight across to the room. “Is this the room?” She asked. It was funny, thought Sage, that she couldn’t even remember having told her friend about the room. Although, there wasn’t much she could remember, what with all the pounding in her head, other than the cruel trick her dad had played on her. He’d made her think she had earned her place as one of his children. Maybe everyone had been right when they told her that adopted kids just weren’t the same. She whispered the code toAva, even though no one else was around, because it still felt like a betrayal to her dad to say the numbers out loud, and he’d been good to her. While he was alive, at least. Everything was a blur to Sage. Ava didn’t look too bad, considering it had been her idea to get drunk on a worknight. But Ava was Sage’s closest friend in the office, so Sage had thought it best to go along with the idea.

Somehow, they had gone from outside the door to laying on the floor staring up at the artificial stars.

“Your turn.” Ava pushed the bottle of Jack Daniels towards her colleague.

“But I just had a go?” Sage felt herself slipping deeper into a drunken void but picked up the bottle and raised it to her lips anyway.

“No, silly, I just had some,” chuckled Ava, as Sage glugged from the bottle. She felt numb now, content even. Maybe this idea ofAva’s wasn’t such a bad one after all.

Her head was resting comfortably on her friend’s legs. Until it wasn’t. She called out, not understanding where her cushion had gone. Unsteady on her feet, she fell back to the ground. Resigning herself to her current lack of motor functions, she twisted around until she spotted Ava. Ava, who was standing close, holding a document. After getting no reply when she asked where she had found it, Sage dragged herself closer on the floor. She squinted, just catching the first line, and her throat dried up instantly, despite the obscene amount of alcohol she had consumed.

LAST WILL AND TESTIMONY OFOTIS CARPENTER

She collapsed back onto the floor, too stunned to speak. Her vision had suddenly cleared. “As if he wouldn’t leave the inheritance to you as well,” muttered Ava. “He updated it the day he brought you back from the adoption centre. Your brothers told me all about it. He always wanted a daughter.” She sighed. “That’s why you were always going to be his favourite.”

Ava’s expression showed genuine regret, and Sage couldn’t comprehend the situation, still in her alcohol-fuelled haze. Her best guess was that her brothers had offered Ava some of the money in return for destroying the only copy of this new will. Huh, maybe she really was the logical one.

“You came so close.” Ava said, as she held up a match to the papers.

Sage smiled as the new knowledge finally sunk in. Her Dad did love her. She looked up at the ceiling and blinked. Sage and her dad had always loved to watch the stars.

The wind whispers in the moon-lit air. The birds who were once full of life now reserve themselves in the burrows of the trees. These trees see all. Their knots are their eyes, and these eyes see life come and go. They see young boys disguised as menacing men, for his face was covered in the most elaborate curls, only to go off to India to never be seen again. They see the decorators who enter every house on the street, carrying their roles of rich, emerald wallpaper, only for the residents of those homes to slowly disappear until there is only one left. Amother maybe who has now immersed herself in the finest black silks with her eyes sheltered by the lace that is as delicate as tears. I cannot see these stories; all I can do is listen. I listen to the silence and soon made peace with it. For that is all one can do when one is six feet under.

***

It is morning. The sun has awoken once again and I just lay, peacefully, indifferently, asleep. My windows are wide open. I hear all : the birds singing in the morning breeze, the wisteria whispering among the leaves, the wind gathering up the gossip and passing it on to each, other, plant. The star at dawn spurs on the light, urging it to dance around the dainty fingers that are held out like the witch’s fingers by the back of oak that stood its ground, firmly, isolated, alone. One would call it menacing, but I am not one, so I call it home.

Lee,

The light finally reaches the silk pillows of my bed where my head lays at rest. Warmth kisses my cheek. It goes rose in red. My eye lids flicker. My nose wrinkles in response to the subtle yet pleasant aroma of the butter that melted below my room. All was well, for it was Saturday morning; thus my final dress fitting was on the agenda. I found my feet softly touching the antique maple. They moved me to my door. My hands reached out for the blush pink satin robe that Father, oh so very kindly, brought back for me after his expedition to great Prussia. Along with this robe, he brought back stories of the most interesting adventures. As I tightened the robe around my waist, which I was most surprised to find was an inch or so smaller, I put on a performance -as I did every morning. Thinking of myself as a Princess from stories that Mother used to tell, amidst my dancing, I found myself studying myself in the mirror. At first it was a glance, a second in time, but now I just stand there gazing at my reflection. Was that really me? I had been complimented for my looks before, but I was always overshadowed by my once gorgeous sister. I could not comprehend my beauty. My skin had become the colour of settled snow. Through the sheer layer were my veins. The most delicate lines, enriched with blues as beautiful as the pools of the Indian Ocean. My hair was now polished black. My cheeks were radiant with life and my lips were plumped with crimson as if a thorn of a rose had pricked them. I felt as if a trick was played, a hex maybe placed upon me. But as I observe myself longer, I come to realise that this was not a trick of light or a wicked curse placed upon me. This was me. Anew woman, who other women would envy. A new woman who would make her soon-to-be husband proud. Anew woman who will be able to take the place of her sisters. But a toad calls within me. An ugly thing it is. The bells chime in dissonant harmony. As I walk down the aisle, Death closely follows.

Behold!

Frequent visitors in my favoured room Invade the privacy of my poems and prose; Their incessant speeches replace my script, Their fruitless gossip fills my head with gloom, And their vexatious conversation serves no purpose

Other than to annoy me! - Behold! The nondescript.

The Fictitious

Here I am, with visages of my own; My pursuit to find myself... gained nothing. Only to have my identity strown And my inclination writhing; What life is this?

My aspiration to receive a throne Motivated me to veer away from friends, To earn that visage – not of my own, I waited outside, “Until it all ends!”; What life is this?

I tore the fabric of my own visage, And I illusioned I had sewn it anew. I tore the threads into the villenage, And offered them to my fear ofYou; What life is this?

The Fictitious

Writer’s Block

My hesitation blocks me, just as my Illness blocks my sinus; I am unwell

From both a cold and the cold of a stymie

Of thought. Now, disease in my mind doth dwell: Writer’s block.

Whispers of ideas evaporate with The miasma of misery leaving My throat; As I tilt my head back – forwith! -

I could feel my puréed psyche ebbing: Writer’s block.

I can’t write anything; I am unwell; My creativity swiped away with

Every sweep of my nose; My illness quells My presence, my thoughts, my mind – it never ends: Writer’s block.

In loving memory of Harry Noyce