Monday, June 14, 2021 | Editon 2
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NTCI Creates
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Cover by first place art winner Baran Forootan
graffiti
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NTCI Creates
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o celebrate the creativity of our NT community, Graffiti has partnered with the NTCI Music Council and Art Council to continue hosting the school-wide contest for creators! In addition to celebrating creativity, NTCI Creates aims to highlight the importance of the arts and their creators in society. This year, we received a total of 58 submissions across three categories: Literature, Visual Art, and Music. In order to ensure that judging is done in the most equitable way as possible all submissions are anonymous to the judges and voters. At least two judges grade the same one piece across different categories: Skill/Technique, Creativity, and Message/Thought process. We then proceed to add the scores, and the top winners go to our final stage of school-wide voting. We thank everyone who participated in this contest and congratulate all of our winners!
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students’ pick
1st
‘‘The Critic’’ ‘‘Reflection’’ by Amara Syed- b y E s t h e r Mohammed Won
LITERATURE
‘‘Permanently Guilty’’ by Sean Lee
3rd
MUSIC
ART
LITERATURE
MUSIC
ART
‘‘Lavender’’ by Alex Kossak
LITERATURE
‘‘Josh is Dead’’ by Jonah Wineberg
Frédéric Chopin Etude Op.10 No.12 “Revolutionary” by Iva-Mari
‘‘Wait for it’’ by Sean Lee
ART
‘‘Set in Stone’’ by Baran Forootan
Miskulin
2nd MUSIC
‘‘Eshtiag’’ by Nikki Ghobaei
CONTRIBUTORS ORGANIZERS
Nathalie Adriana Funes Serna | Anna Sum | Marilyn Lutala
JUDGES Literature
Janna Kazerani | Sofiia Savchyn Suhani Sharma | Sarisha Panday Jalil Sabine Art George Trendafilov | Alice Romanovski Stephanie Reyes | Elena Prescott Sofiia Krasnenkova | Sophie Block
Music
Henrique Saraiva | Blaize Exeter Sophia Gaber | Annika Chisholm Olivia Culver | Kennedy Williams
LAYOUT HEADS
Abigail Shin | Kiana Sharifi
LAYOUT TEAM
Shreya Pawar | Danielle Xin Michelle Wong | Suhani Mahindru
STAFF ADVISORS
Baruch Zohar | David Silver Ms. Marquis | Ms. Monteith
PAGE REFERENCE Art Winners........................................3 Music and Literature Winners............4 Submissions......................................5
CONTACT US Instagram : @ntcigraffiti Website: www.ntcigraffiti.com Email: ntcigraffiti@gmail.com
JUNE 14, 2021 | NTCI Creates | 3 E
1st
art winners Set in Stone By Baran Forootan Judges’ comments: The mix of styles is quite interesting and unique, and effective in creating some intrigue.
2nd
3rd
Reflection By Esther Won
Lavender By Alex Kossak
Judges’ comments: Distinctive style and interesting composition - use of blur and lighting and perspective to draw the eye and create atmosphere. Creates intrigue and draws the viewer into the situation - definitely holds interest.
Judges’ comments: Clean looking digital art, intricate details, and captivating colour scheme.
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literature winners
1st
The Critic
by Amara Syed-Mohammed Judge’s comments: I really enjoyed reading this and was immediately impressed by how such a concise piece of writing could touch me so much. This message truly spoke to me and I was absolutely appalled by the calibre of writing in this piece and the fluidity and harmonization truly shocked me. It was a nearly perfect piece in my opinion, well done!
3rd
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Permanently Guilty by Sean Lee
Judge’s comments: The complexity of the piece and the question of morality that exists in the piece surprise me and get my attention in terms of manipulating my mind... The message is thought-provoking which makes the entire piece captivating and interesting.
2nd
Josh is dead
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by Jonah Wineberg
Judge’s comments: The medium works great with the message. I wasn’t expecting humor, the work definitely shocked me.
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The Backup Plan
by Amara Syed-Mohammed
You delivered your message really well, especially with your tone of frustration and phrasing. I think the way you express your feelings rings true for a lot of people in the same predicament, and that is infinitely useful in sending a message. Not to mention, incredibly raw lines that I think will inspire readers. One such example is in “Does anyone see, there is a space between embarking and failure; this space says ‘what if ’, and is filled by you.” I really loved that.
music winners Eshtiagh
1st by Niki Ghobaei 2nd 3rd
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Wait For It
by Sean Lee
Eternal Exhaustion By Baran Forootan, Grade 10
Frédéric Chopin - Etude Op.10 No.12 “Revolutionary”
by Iva-Mari Miskulin
JUNE 14, 2021 | NTCI Creates | 5
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submissions
Twins in Wicklow By Ysa Dan Mari Fajardo, Grade 12
Reflection By Esther Won, Grade 11
Melancholy By Alisa Lukinykh, Grade 9
Racing Day at Daytona International Speedway By Andrew Toy, Grade 10
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Oh Brother Please Do Not Go
The Critic
Oh brother my brother, please say this is not the end, You have been a faithful partner and a valiant good friend, As we traversed the landscape foot and toe, You lived courageously, as it was yours to bestow, I don’t know how, but I find you grey on this field, Even to my own dismissal, you chose to remain my humble shield, To the savagery of man, As the world burns in the sea, the air, and the land, Many chaps have met there end quickly, But you die so leisurely, As your crimson and tan stained blood flows like a stream, I hope your end is as if you float off into a dream, I will send your mother the details of your final moments, As you pass in front of me, courageous and brave, as your body fails to make its needed atonements, Your passing comes at a horrible moment, As it seems the slaughter only grows in ferocity, Everyday, there is more brutal atrocity, And as I become lonesome in the fight for king and country, You’ll be gone, with only the lord left to protect me, As I now traverse the valley of the shadow of death solo, Screaming, oh brother where ar’t thou? As the dead bodies become that of only marrow, This baron landscape, what must be hell itself, My faithful comrade gone, Reminding me of the forthcoming and most certain brutal death of thyself. Like the urchin spirits, Ignorance and want, Three goblins: Fear, Doubt and Shame, choose this mind to haunt. I slipped and surrendered to succumb to your voice, Yet in hindsight I see that was not a wise choice. Your identity has been unveiled, an inner child Needing to be soothed, not left to run wild. Your cries are being heard, sorry for the confusion, Now put your head to rest, knowing control is an illusion. A former critic, no longer grapples for power, Clearing space in the mind for a garden to flower.
I call it the critic, A deceiving dictation claiming the truth Despite no valid evidence, hence no form of proof. Carrying weighted words composed of empty threats. Faceless and fraudulent it resides in dark depths.
By Cameron Gilliland, Grade 12
By Amara Syed-Mohammed, Grade 12
When were you born? I would have to retrace, Back down memory lane, to find the time and the place. Or maybe there is no location at all, Not formed overnight, instead fed to grow tall. You desire control of myself and all things, While reveling in the comfort these fool’s errands bring. Persuading me of the worst is your daily pastime, Facing no repercussion, no ticket or fine.
Women By Alisa Lukinykh, Grade 9
Pipay and Puyo By Ysa Dan Mari Fajardo, Grade 12
JUNE 14, 2021 | NTCI Creates | 7 E
My Essence By Felicity Hughes, Grade 10
Leftovers By Suhani Sharma, Grade 10
Best Friends By Stella Sternberg, Grade 11 The Light By Ava Ireland, Grade 11
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The Backup Plan
By Amara Syed-Mohammed, Grade 12
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s children we were allowed to be whoever and whatever we wanted to be. When a little beacon was illuminated with dreams of becoming a superhero, towering figures applauded, wide-eyes mirroring the glow from a vessel of wonder, cheering at the courageous exclamation. Singers, ballerinas and artists were all highly acclaimed, and embraced with encouragement; ‘the sky’s the limit’, ‘the world is your oyster’, adults chirped astoundedly with accentuated facial movements. I have since come to unveil the harsh truth behind this roleplay; the sort of snake in the grass that I once frolicked amongst. Why now when I exude the same energy and zealous pursuit of becoming an actress, I am faced with apprehensive expressions and stuttering eyelids, altogether forming a perplexed yet sorry gaze. This special sequence is followed by the all too scripted line of sympathy ‘awh, well good for you’. A bilious belly flop of a backhanded compliment, slapping its sickly sorry syrup across my shameless statement. This is of course, only dealing with polite individuals who prefer indirect forms of disapproval for me to decipher. However there sure is another breed; your local busybody, domineering male figures who make no such effort to mind their tongue, intrusive family members gathered to interrogate, and so forth. When conversing with these characters, you are launched at with the classic, ‘oh, whats your backup plan?’, bullseye, a perfect shot to test one’s navigation of self-assurance. Inevitably, they stare, brows twitching in conjunction with eyes so callous and concrete, awaiting a satisfactory re-evaluation and retraction of my claim. It is quite apparent that age is now indirectly proportionate to societal support and freedom. Up until a transatlantic relocation to North America, I was raised in England, more specifically, I was a candidate within the British private school system. Academic excellence, scholarly reputation and unparalleled graduation rates were the pillars each uniform classroom strove to uphold. Certain arts were well respected as entertainment for educated onlookers, with a preference for traditional Shakespearean genre or for a light-hearted option, the London ‘West End’. Yet, the appreciation of modern film within school is minimal to non-existent, and the concept of students pursuing a career in these fields remains on a faraway back burner. In the race to gain superiority and respect, the choice to wander astray is essentially seen as a waste of schooling and potential academic success; therefore, it truly baffled my teachers when I expressed my lack of yearning to pursue a desktop destiny. Indeed, it is less of a tragedy when an individual is in fact academically weak, fallen from ranks and forfeited their place in the survival of the fittest; leading to Post-graduation eradication, with the obligation to fend for themselves. In addition to the incessant flow of pamphlets, speakers, university tours and school trips, workshops, seminars, quizzes and psychology career tests; a key Antidote was prescribed as a last resort to salvage the two small groups of individuals that were evidently lumped together. Those who were unsure of their entire life path, and the immune subjects that remained numb to persuasive propaganda; myself being a proud member of the latter. The solution being an on-site career counsellor, serving as rehabilitation for those who could not navigate themselves in the appropriate direction. From here, treatment began from a single dose appointment ranging to reoccurring meetings, dependant on factors such as the severity of the case and the stubbornness of the patient…I mean student. I feel it is safe to say, I was absent to my consultation and all appointments due to follow. When it boils down to outwardly voicing responses to specific questions like: ‘what are your university plans for next year?’, ‘What will you be studying?’, I have found there are two stages of reaction, to my honest response. The first level of concern begins at the non-normative subject of my pursuit being acting, and the second, alerts the concerning adult that I will in fact be roaming free in the world instead of in a dormitory room. Too many a time, our supposed superiors stand gobsmacked with stunned expressions of dismay after hearing my disheartening response. When I trialled a dishonest response, maintaining the false intention to attend drama school, a visible relief could be seen within the receiver of my information, a certain de-inflation of the chest and reregulation of heartrate to just above baseline functioning. The number of cardiac arrests I have prevented with no medical education and the simple use of a white lie is impressive. When I compare my experience to living in Toronto, traditional hierarchies are similar with regards to post high school pathways, yet thankfully the level of individual pressure and persuasion is significantly less. However, obtaining an academic university degree is simply an inherent social norm, and thought to be the ‘natural path’, thus only perpetuating expectations. I would also argue as to whether this course of action is in fact ‘natural’, however that is another debate. Students alike, hold their own form of disapproval for alternative choices. Yet, one cannot blame them, for they have simply been duped into a stagnant state of foolery, struggling to grasp the concept of success that stems from colouring outside life’s application guidelines. I can immaculately recall an encounter that occurred a year ago in the foyer of my high school, a gaggle of gossiping girls in my grade decided to probe at my intentions for university as I awaited the rescue bell. After casually expressing my famous lines in the most blasé manner possible, ‘no I’m actually not going to uni, and I’m doing acting…for film’, I barely mouthed the last ‘m’ of my sentence before the tail end was nipped by the stupefied goose to my left:
‘WHAT? You’re not going to university?’, Her flock soon circled closer and squawked simultaneously, ‘If you’re an actor what movies have you been in?’, ‘How do you even study acting? like you just speak right?’, ‘What famous people have you met?’, ‘Whats your backup plan though…because, you know?’.
June 14, 2021 | NTCI Creates | 9 E Ah, the backup plan, we meet again. I was quite perplexed at whom or what I should address first, and found myself humoured by the feathers I had riled. Instead I skirted the edge of the pond and simply smiled, ‘I know I’ll be fine, I have plans and university just isn’t for me.’ The result of our brief exchange being a state of ambivalence for the crowd, and the clear notion that my dreams were destined to amount to a floundering futile fiasco. One would have hoped that I could seek solace amongst family, with them serving as a source of constant support, planting seeds of inspiration through our tree of life before I fly the nest. Well, flying solo it is, with the only faith coming from my mother, the rest attempting to pry steel wings shut and steer my aspirations south. May I present, the strongest advocates for the backup plan, the founders and representatives of path 2.0. Their method of conversion being word of mouth marketing and affiliate links to university admission pages. Would they rather I simply attend a university for the sake of it, and pull a programme from a hat like a rigged game of Russian Roulette, where every option involves the abandonment of my ambition…quite the unlucky dip. Why though? Why is it this way? Why is my choice so unproductive? Why is my determination seen in vain? Does anyone see, there is a space between embarking and failure; this space says ‘what if ’, and is filled by you. All being said, there are circumstances when someone’s pursuit of an alternative route is praised for its prestige and granted the utmost respect. I am applying the following factors to acting, but the idea can also be seen with dancers, musicians, athletes, artists, fashion designers and chefs; funnily enough I have wanted to be each of these at some point in time. The grand scenario that begins to reimburse for previous lack of support, is when a person gains fame, money and a subsequent reputation. Only then, will the said individual be viewed as successful, having made a name for themselves. Comparative to traditionally well respected professions such as medicine, law and economics; whereby an individual is provided with immense praise, support and resources for simply choosing to pursue this path. This path they haven’t yet ventured down, let alone made something from a degree. These individuals are proudly upheld right from the beginning of their mission, whereas others are only recognised once the highest calibre has been achieved. Imagine if society refused to acknowledge doctors as successful, educated or even real doctors, unless they made it to the highest rank and salary position within their workplace, as well as becoming world renowned. What I find truly nonsensical about the societal definition for ‘non-academic’ pathways, is the implication that no academic skills are required for the craft. For instance, when I receive a script, the literal words are a last priority. Instead, a process of text dissection, character analysis and research is followed by memorisation; all of which in isolation would be classed as academic skills, correct? It is interesting, in a schoolroom the students would churn at the mere mention of a presentation, defined by the ability to speak confidently, comfortably and with diction in front of an audience. Hm. Similarly, throughout the audition process actors must be self-aware and patient as well as resourceful with the capacity to adapt and metabolize criticism. Are these not skills admired by universities, required for corporate jobs or deemed useful for society? The fact remains; there is an unspoken disparity between the perception of academic university pathways versus less formulaic routes that connote to the stereotype of a ‘starving artist’. This is why fame and money catalyse one’s exterior title for success, as if to say ‘‘Wow you achieved the impossible! Now we are proud.”, as society claps for the child who dreamed of being a superhero.
Trip By Angel Guo, Grade 12
Lulu Capone By Alexandra Tarud, Grade 11
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My First Face By Jasmine Noone, Grade 10
Harry 2 By Felicity Hughes, Grade 10
Core By Angel Guo, Grade 12
Roadway Sun By Chantal Nguyen, Grade 9
June 14, 2021 | NTCI Creates | 11 E
The Mexican Standoff
By Jonah Wineberg, Grade 12 INT. ABANDONED BUILDING -- DAY Three men point guns at each other in a Mexican standoff style formation. They all glare at each other intensely. SANTIAGO End of the line, Collins, this ends today. COLLINS Only for you, Santiago, you’re going down for what you did. And don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten about you, Wilson. Wilson laughs sadistically. WILSON Oh, I’m counting on it. I want to be the last thing you think about when I kill you for what you did to my brother. Collins looks confused. COLLINS ...Wait I thought I killed Santiago’s brother. SANTIAGO No, you betrayed me after we took down Wilson’s cartel and you ran off with the money, you killed his brother. COLLINS Oh, yeah, right. They go back to standing intensely. WILSON ...Wait wait wait, I thought you were betrayed by him and that he stole my drug money. COLLINS No no, Santiago’s right, I stole your money.
COLLINS (CONT’D) But if that’s true why do you two wanna kill each other?
WILSON Why didn’t you mention that before!?
KENWAY You’re gonna pay for kidnapping my wife!
Santiago aims his gun at Wilson’s head
SANTIAGO I forgot, okay?!
SANTIAGO (seething) Because he killed my wife.
COLLINS See, this is why I never do Mexican Standoffs. This happens every time. I should never have gone deep undercover to take down the cartel.
SANTIAGO, COLLINS & WILSON (frustrated) Aww! INT. ABANDONED BUILDING -- NIGHT The four men are sitting on the floor in a circle trying to sort out their dynamic.
WILSON Wait, I’m the one who’s deep undercover!
SANTIAGO So then you crashed Collins’ daughter’s birthday party...
SANTIAGO YOU WERE NEVER A COP, THAT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE!
KENWAY Right, and that’s after you cut me off at that intersection.
WILSON What? No, I kidnapped Collins’ wife. SANTIAGO Wait wait wait, then why do you want to kill me? WILSON You killed my brother! SANTIAGO No! Collins killed your brother, we’ve already been over this! COLLINS Ok, what the hell is going on here!? Why do I want to kill you guys? WILSON Hold on! Let’s work backwards here. (gesturing with guns) So he betrayed you. SANTIAGO Right. WILSON And I killed your brother. COLLINS Uh huh. WILSON Then Santiago kidnapped my wife. SANTIAGO No! COLLINS No! SANTIAGO I arrested your father.
COLLINS Let’s try this ONE MORE TIME! I betrayed Santiago while deep undercover and killed Wilson’s brother, Santiago arrested Wilson’s father, and Wilson kidnapped my wife. Right?
COLLINS Yeah yeah, and that led to Wilson stealing Santiago’s baseball cards... WILSON Which led us here. COLLINS Ok, wow, we did it.
Santiago and Wilson pause and then start nodding in agreement.
They start to rise to their feet and brush of their pants.
SANTIAGO Alright, all cleared up. Thanks, Collins.
SANTIAGO It took some work, but in the end we figured it all out.
COLLINS Just glad I could get this all sorted out. We all good?
WILSON Good work, guys, job well done. Alright, so, what were we doing again? Oh yeah.
Santiago and Wilson nod. COLLINS (CONT’D) Great. Now shall we continue? WILSON Yeah, let’s do this. Just as they’re all about to shoot each other, KENWAY busts in to the warehouse pointing a shotgun at Collins.
They all pull out their guns and fire their entire rounds into each other. They all fall to the floor, instantly dead. FADE OUT. THE END
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Nostalgia By: Lucas Djaroyan, Grade 10
Liquid Gold By Claire Knapman, Grade 11
Girl in Green By Alex Kossak, Grade 12
Droplets By Chantal Nguyen, Grade 9
June 14, 2021 | NTCI Creates | 13 E
The Traveller
By Theodore Alexander Hall
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he Cadillac zoomed along the deserted highway. My hand grasped the wheel as tight as possible, my heart racing with excitement. The car was a rental, a newer model having only been built in ‘72. Something had happened, something I had waited all my life to even dream of seeing. I could hardly believe my ears earlier today when they called.. The road was windy and the forest veiled in fog, gloomy and dark. My headlights barely pierced through the dark abyss of leaves in front, the Corporal beside me sat, lips trembling, his fingers fidgeting nervously aroundhis holster, sweat dripping off his shadow casted face. “Nothing to worry about,” my voice quavered as I spoke. I quickly turned. The black car almost skidded off the road, dirt and rock spewing up into the air as we went down a rickety gravel path. I could see a checkpoint up ahead, the thick fog thinning to reveal the shimmering beam of a searchlight. Pushing back my sweat drenched black hair, I grabbed my I.D and a plastic binder off the dashboard and tucked them under my arm. We parked at the side of the road, a bush squashed by the car, surrounded by a plethora of vegetation. Two Hummers lay sideways, concrete barriers inserted firmly in front. A soldier in a grave stance beckoned for our identification. Their torch was blinding in the eerie darkness. We both flashed our identification hastily and hurried past, dirt and mud caking our shoes as we shuffled through. I couldn’t make out much in the shimmer of moonlight. It was barely 2:00 am and the soldier’s uniform covered most of his face. I was grabbed by the arm and taken through a gap in the iron perimeter fence; the dirt trail was rough and scattered with stones making it hard to move. A vast tented complex had been sprung up in the middle of a massive smouldering dirt crater, billowing pillars of smoke could be seen towering above and seeping into the night’s sky. As we glided through the pit, the soldier and I parted ways but soon another hurried forward carrying a tenacious grin. “Dr.Smith?” “Please call me Jason.” I shook the man’s hand firmly. “I’m Major Trepple, Foreign Military Affairs contact.” “What’s the situation?” “Something came down and you have to find out why,” he replied as if the answer would make everything clear. Entering the next room, I quickly took a seat beside Trepple, the folding chair buckled under my weight. A surgeon cleared his throat and continued speaking, a mixture of green and red blood splattered maliciously across his blue fatigues. “When the shuttle landed, the crew was evacuated. At first it was thought that all were dead. However, I was performing a field anatomy test when a single one woke up. Apparently, they have no pulse. There is no telling if the creature’s condition will remain stable. It’s most certainly dying meaning we have limited time. No one has attempted for communication so far. It seems to be in a passive state.” “Mr. President. Please give us your opinion?” “The creature is in a stable condition, I don’t think we can afford to waste any more minutes of its precious life. Prepare to view the specimen.” “Dr. Smith is here from the university. What does he think?” All eyes shifted towards me as I muttered a solution as loudly and confidently as I could conjure from my hastily scrambled notes. The creased and torn papers crumbling in my sweat-drenched palms. “The creature could have a completely different form of dialogue so it is important we use extreme caution when talking. I will be leading the communication team so it is important we express no hostility and prepare to interact.” “Well, let’s see it!” The steel doors opened to reveal a platform, armed guards stood solitarily on either side. At last, we reached the airlock. The door was slid open to reveal a command centre and the sheer terror of what lay in front. Scientists buzzed over equipment and generals stood flabbergasted, their empty eyes, transfixed upon a single object. Through three inch thick plexiglass stood a sight that was beautifully terrifying. The wreckage of a ship portraying the colours of the cosmos stood behind it’s interior and hull tarnished in the crash. In front perched or lay something I am lost for words to describe. A beast so ineffable it would be similar to describing a new colour. My first interaction with an extraterrestrial being. A humanoid body with no hair, large eyes and a disproportioned head. 3 fingers on each scaly foreign hand. The solemn silence was broken by a single scientist. “Dr. Smith, would you like to bridge the gap?” I slid on a radiation suit and inched forward. With every step taken, a wave of nausea and fear swept through my veins. The second airlock hissed opened, and I took a deep breath, the filtered air pilfering through my lungs. Slowly and cautiously sliding forward I heard the smouldering ground crunch beneath my boots, The creature in front slowly slithered towards me. Before I could react, it leapt forward and thrust something into my thinly gloved hand, the moment the metallic object touched my skin, a voice penetrated my thoughts. “They destroyed my world but there is still time to save yours. They are coming and will be here in less than a decade, my time is short, I will soon join my people, so listen with care” an unearthly voice echoed in my mind riddled with despair. “Who will be coming?” I questioned.
14 | NTCI Creates | June 14, 2021 E
A memory flashed across my mind, hazy, but understandable. Terror blazes across the skies, Alien craft lighting up the twilight moon. The Earth crumbles and shakes. The CN Tower collapses, spreading a shockwave of rubble streaming through the downtown streets. Billions scream and weep in withering agony desperate to get to an unfound safety as a barrage comes down from the heavens. A lone police officer stands in awe staring in disbelief as the remains of a burned calendar floats by, embers corroding a single date, 2046. The city deploys its final defense. Anti-air cannons fire aimlessly into the sky allowing an aroma of smoke and fire to pepper the air. Alien craft drop like flies, but the swarm still stays strong. A ship’s hull is cracked by a barrage of repeated fire, sending it spiraling in a flurry of smoke into the middle of the dome. The vessel opens, a trail of carnage in its wake, as the glass slowly pulls back a stream of gasses float out as a grotesque green beast emerges and emits a bone chilling cry. The alien mothership stood strong against the consistent volley strewn from it’s attackers. Powering up it released one continuous final blow. The blinding beam of light, shimmers with power, as it comes crashing down upon the surface. The Earth shudders splinters and cracks, a cloud of death veiling the atmosphere and the southern hemisphere is no more.
“What was that?”
“The future. Now I will show you the calamities of the past” It’s voice stinged.
A pale green world stands alone under attack, the space above crawling with an armada of death, thousands of ships penetrating the crimson sky in a cataclysmic onslaught of fire.. Towers crackle and shatter as aliens similar to what I encountered flee in harrowing terror, their final attempts at life failing under the sweeping assault of their enemies iron fist. The flagship of the attackers powers up, firing a single long continuous beam at the planet’s tundra surface. For a moment all is silent. Flakes of ground violently peel off the crust, the mantle crumbling into a thin layer of dust until only a bundle of asteroids was left to mark the species’ fate. “Hidden inside the device you hold is the history, technology and culture of my people thousands of years of research enclosed in this package. I am the last of my kind. They are coming.” The creature slowly gilded back snapping me out of the trance, and a final look of pure tormented anguish as it slumped to the ground steam rolling off it’s burnt rotted corpse. I stood cradling the object, awestruck by the events that had just taken place. A voice on a loudspeaker cries out, tearing into the silence.
“What is that? What happened?”
“A chance,” I replied
“A chance?” Thousands of vessels lie dormant in the empty space of a newly formed asteroid field, the wreckage of fleets and once proud vessels now mark a solemn graveyard of the giants. Suddenly a shard of light is emitted from a broken defending vessel, the flagship of an extinct race. The last of it’s power core draining in the drastic action. The ship spits out an escape pod. Speeding faster than light, the tiny craft erupts through the galaxy. Behind, the cruisers power up, their armada continuing on it’s conquest. Pursuing the last contestant in their barbarous quest. They charge forward readying for a battle hidden in the depths of an untold future.
The Weight We Bare By Ava Ireland, Grade 11
Dimentions By Stephanie Reyes, Grade 11
June 14, 2021 | NTCI Creates | 15 E
Deserted During an Apocalypse By Andrew Toy, Grade 10
Afro By Felipe Villar Ramos da Silva, Grade 11
The Path By Esther Won, Grade 11 Macaw Parrot By Prisha Ghai, Grade 11
16 | NTCI Creates | June 14, 2021 E
Stolen Home
Spring Day
Weaving its way up Like capillaries flushed out, Is the dry, dusty smell Snaking through your snout.
The weather was beautiful today, The ecologies resurrection, in real time on this spring day, It was so calm and crisp, but you weren’t here for me to say, How your beauty far outweighed the most lovely of March days,
Red dirt paints your knees Caking under smudging nails. You could finger paint with the earth And sweep your palms through the sails Of gummy trees and the fur valleys of wombats. This sounds like home, no gales, No hail. Nothing but empty trails.
As you didn’t want to stay With me, one crisp winter afternoon, When our love died in a winter storm, Winters purgatory, our time now over, as I mourn, I miss our romance as winter’s dark fades, And springs salvation, fills my very veins, Not as good however, when you were with me, Your light on a deceased winter night, Far greater than the resurrection of our lords light, In lifting my very soul, in the winter chill, Your inebriating presence, like if the lord itself gave me a pill, To cure all my pain, you were my salvation, And you were gone in our new worlds illumination, Your absence taking the life out of my very world, Its so baron, not even a hopeful morsel, To relieve me of my deep yearning,
By Amelie Staff, Grade 11
Fires stamped down these very stalks, The twigs nothing but fuel For what perished the wild dogs. Yet the fat thumbed farmers druel Over the corpses they slayed, Ignorant to how one could be so cruel. Now their damp cheeks and smokey eyes Do not leak enough to put out the fires That roll down the sapling, Leaving nothing but pesky flies. The branches wail, Envious of stumps that only now bear souls, As the flames tickle the limbs of leaves. Fur catches a light and can be heard just like ghouls. Crawling away from the home they once held dear, Away from the gum, The bottle brush, The eucalyptus. Abandoning their lambs Are the round bellied men, Whose gut weighs them down From plates of their cows and hens. After all has been perished This is no longer home. The salty dew that has been sucked back in To the corners of eyes scrunched and crinkled From the sun, As straw hats weep for the wooly lives that were lost. But what they don’t understand Is that very next month, The sheared down little beasts Were to be sent to the house Where they’re strung up by their teeth To trickle veiny rivers of cranberry juice through the cloudy coats, Crusting the skin of gashed open throats.
By Cameron Gilliland, Grade 12
To share our resurrected world, and have my heart once again a’burning, With deep and joyous love, As I once savoured when looking at you, my love.
Dancing Through Black and White By Ysa Dan Mari Fajardo, Grade 12 It was the burning sensation that kept me wanting to play The desire that draws my fingers to dance To the stripes of black and white Listening while I play drifts me away as I close my eyes And imagine the places I seek to go In the hue of colours, warm, rich, and bright The idea was enticing, an obsession Pirouette along with harmony My greatest amour for midnight and ivory
June 14, 2021 | NTCI Creates | 17 E
Surrealism By Prisha Ghai, Grade 11
Set in Stone By Baran Forootan, Grade 10
Lazy Boxer By Jonah Wineberg, Grade 12 Lavender By Alex Kossak, Grade 12
18 | NTCI Creates | June 14, 2021 E
A Day of Hope
By Jasmine Noone, Grade 11
I
stood beside the elevated stage, hidden by a thick black curtain. I looked on towards the eager citizens awaiting my presence. My stomach turned, my face went pale. I had to do this, I had no other choice. My escort led me up the steps to the stage and I watched as the crowd went silent, everybody staring intensely at me. I adjusted the microphone to my mouth, cleared my throat, and began. The bus ride home from my secondary school was the same every day. I walked up the steep steps and towards the back, to my designated seat. I slid over to the window and waited for her to join me. The younger girl had short blonde hair, green eyes, and freckles. She came towards me and smiled. I turned to look out the window. The twenty-minute drive was always full of loud children talking, girls gossiping, and boys talking about Cristiano Ronaldo. As I sat there, I wished to be back at school. The laidback atmosphere was intensely desirable. The girl beside me happily got off the bus, excited to get home to her family. I lifted my bag from the ground to the empty part of the seat beside me. The driver called out for some kids to sit down, and we turned onto my street. Knowing my stop was coming soon, I threw my bag on my back, and took a deep, steady breath. The bus came to a rough stop, and I slowly walked to the front. I thanked the driver, then went down the stairs and onto the grass laid in front of my house. I saw the familiar stone path, the dying garden, and walked to the front door. My hand reached to turn the doorknob, but it was locked. I knocked quietly twice, with no response. After a pause, I knocked louder. The door was aggressively flung open by my father, and a whiff of smoke and alcohol engulfed me. He had an overgrown beard, messy hair, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The bottom of his stomach stuck out between his stained white tank top and jeans. I couldn’t remember the last time he changed out of that shirt. His dirty, yellow-tinted hands grabbed a tuft of my hair and yanked me into the house. His friends were sitting at the table and laughed at the sight of me. He smacked my face, angered already by my presence, and shoved me to the ground. I couldn’t do this again. I kicked his shin and ran towards the stairs. Skipping two at a time, I heard him yell but couldn’t make out what he said. My mind is always foggy around him. I threw open my door and pushed my nightstand in front of it. I heard him coming after me, and I hid in my closet. It was silent for a few seconds. The door was slowly shoved open, my nightstand fell, and his footsteps came closer to where I hid. He slowly opened the door, looked at me, and yelled.
“You’re gonna pay for that, you piece of shit.”
His hand flew towards his beltline, his belt slithering out of the loops. I compressed my shout at the first hit, tears now slipping from my eyes. I tried to push him away, begging him to stop, but it only angered him more. He threw me to the ground and kicked me in the ribs. I groaned and prayed for him to leave. A hard boot collided with my face, causing a pained sob to escape me. My hands flew to my face, wet with blood from my nose. I cried and cried, but he wouldn’t stop. He never did. He was happy doing this; I deserved it for simply being born. I curled into a ball as I sobbed, his feet and belt hitting my body. He spat in my face, disgusted. Heavy footsteps stormed out of my room to go back to their friends. I lay on the floor until I cried myself into a light sleep. I awoke with a start and looked at my clock. Only thirty minutes had passed, my father wouldn’t have noticed. There was blood on the floor, so I went to the bathroom to get a towel. I ran the warm water over it and wiped up the blood. After rinsing the towel again, I cleaned my face. In the mirror, I saw my puffy red eyes and bruised lip. I returned to my room and silently brought my schoolwork from my bag to my desk. “Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for being here. I hope you are doing well. Today marks the commencement of my presidency of the United States of America.” I smiled at the crowd, looking at the millions of people in front of me. “I haven’t had an easy life. I thought I deserved nothing from anyone, that I was simply a burden on the world. My father taught me that. Someone who was supposed to care for me, love me unconditionally, told me that. I was worthless in his eyes, and he wished me gone. In high school things got bad, and he would abuse me every day once I got home from school. I hated him, and I hated his friends, who would watch him do those things to me. I hated my life, I wanted to get out, to leave, to die.” I looked around at the millions of concerned people who stood in front of me. “I tell you this today because I believe it helps connect us. Everyone has their own struggles, beliefs, celebrations. These are the things that bring us together, bring us closer. You may think you are one singular person in a world of individuals, but really, we are one group of humans, on one earth, in one universe. We are one. We have different lives, but we do the same things. Our stories are different, but they are all the stories of human life.”
June 14, 2021 | NTCI Creates | 19 E “Many years back, during the rough times of my life, my neighbors were celebrating the birth of their new baby girl. They were welcoming her new life into this world. Not far from there, I was at a funeral, celebrating the death of my father.” I paused to give the people time to let that sink in, then continued. “These are very, very different ideas of something good, something celebratory. But, in the end, we were both celebrating. What we celebrated was not what brought us together, it was simply that we were celebrating. Today, our celebration is the same. I have been elected the 60th President of the United States of America! I am here to lead you to greatness, to bring you freedom, and to contribute to a better world.” Cheers erupted from the crowd, brightening my smile. As I stood in front of them, I thought about all the things my father did to me, the ways he damaged me. It took years for me to repair myself, but here I am, standing in front of millions. “My father told me I would never be anything. I was worthless to him. A nuisance he couldn’t get rid of. He made me believe him. For so many years, the world was only a dark place, full of hatred. I am here today, and I see a beautiful, bright world full of hope and possibility. I have learned so much from America and the people that have helped me get here. I couldn’t be more grateful for what this election has brought me! I thank you all for being here, I promise to serve you well. Today is a day of hope... hope for the brighter future that we can create!”
Online School By Jasmine Noone, Grade 10 Matthew’s Overtime Winner By Luke Taylor, Grade 10
Marbles I Couldn’t Collect By Suhani Sharma, Grade 10
Thwiprose DTIYS Challenge By Alexandra Tarud, Grade 11
20 | NTCI Creates | June 14, 2021 E
Permanently Guilty By Sean Lee, Grade 12
$1 000 can get you a lot of shit. Beyond Meat Wagyu steaks, a Joraboni sports car, and a trip to the Arctic (no ice, no parka required). Additionally, if you happen to know the right people, you can get a peek at your Orbit. Under Bill C-105 (The Privacy Act), it is “unlawful for individuals to access their own or anybody else’s Orbit without a court order.” Orbits were only supposed to be used in court trials as evidence, but over time, it became common practice for attorneys to review their client’s Orbits on the black market. Jason yawned.
“Holy fuck man. Let’s review the Orbits and get the hell out of here.”
“This shouldn’t take too long. We just have to look at Mindy and Gary’s.”
I reached into my bag and grasped the smooth spherical metal pieces. I loaded them into the tray and stuffed them into the opening by the projector. A baby velociraptor cried out. I stopped in my tracks with a smirk on my face.
“Oh shit. Do you mind if I go? I’ll be back in 30 minutes.”
I laughed. “Yeah sure. I’ll be taking notes.”
He scurried out the door. I made my way down the stairs before stopping in front of my seat. A gap widened within my chest. My pocket grew heavier with each deepening breath. Inside my pocket resided my own Orbit, stolen during a trip to the National Records. I strode back up the stairs and plopped the spherical device into the projector. Then, I scootedback down to my chair and turned it on. I scrolled through the menu and clicked on July 8th, 2042.
...
“The prosecution is recognized to present the evidence in the presence of the witnesses.” “Thank you, Your Honour.” I stood up with confidence, giving my notes one final glance before beginning. “Ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary of the jury, I would like to direct your attention to the Orbit of the suspect in question.” Every head swiveled towards the white and blue flashes of light that were projected against the wall. Obscure images were swirling around, censored by a mosaic to protect the defendants’ Charter rights. “There is a sad reality in this world. The fact is that there are no such things as facts. From 1989-2018, 71% of death penalty exonerees were convicted through eyewitness testimonies. In the thirty years since then, that percentage has risen to a shocking 82%.Brandon Mayfield’s own lawyers didn’t even believe him when he claimed that he wasn’t the 2004 Madrid bomber. In fact, he wasn’t even in the right continent, but nevertheless, the American government held him in jail over “matched” fingerprints for over two weeks. Independent experts evaluating a Houston Police Department Crime Laboratory found that they misinterpreted even the most basic of DNA samples.” “Objection!” The defence lawyer yelled. “The prosecution is presenting irrelevant information which is wasting the time of the jury and Your Honour.” The judge responded, “The objection is heard. The prosecution is reminded to present the evidence without bloating the record.” I chuckled in disbelief, but in spite of that, I had to persist. “My point is that there is no objective truth. People lie, cheat, murder — all to get exactly what they want. But in a court of law, how the hell would you be able to find the truth?” Silence permeated throughout the court. I continued, “Thanks to the advancements by Edison Inc., we are finally able to determine what happened from an objective angle. In this case however, something quite convenient happened.” I motioned towards the flashes of light that were focusing into a coherent image. After another 30 seconds, four different perspectives of a dark alley were displayed. They then came to life, dancing around in the view of the courtroom. Abruptly, all four perspectives cut to black in sync with each other. Gasps rippled through the crowd. The defence attorney leaned over to their clients and muttered something into their ear. The room awoke from a deep sleep. I faced the stirring observers and pointed towards the image. “For some reason, all four Orbitsfrom the suspects shut off simultaneously. Furthermore, this failure occurred five minutes before the incident in question.”
June 14, 2021 | NTCI Creates | 21
E
I turned to address the jury, “There has never been a coinciding failure of Orbits to this scale in the twenty years that they have been introduced. This is not a disaster; this is an exploitation and admission of guilt. I believe that in the hour that their Orbits were deliberately shut down, they committed the murder of Elizabeth Taylor.” The defence attorney slammed the desk and screamed, “Objection! The prosecution is using circumstantial evidence to defame the defendants. We request that this evidence be thrown out from consideration to circumvent the jury from manipulation.” The judge took a deafening pause before declaring his decision. “The request for the evidence that the prosecution has presented is rejected. However, the claim of circumstantial evidence is heard and the prosecution will not be allowed to finish their argument.”
“Your Honour, I request that you let me conclude my arguments that incriminate the defence.”
He gave a stern, disapproving look in my direction. “The prosecution’s request is denied. Next in the proceedings, the defence will call to the stand their witnesse-” “Your Honour, with all due respect, I will not sit and let the proceedings continue until my arguments are completed.”
“This is the prosecution’s last warning. They are reminded that there are consequences for contempt in court.”
I glared at the judge. “Your Honour, my arguments must be comple-”
The pin was yanked away from the grenade. “MR. TAYLOR!”
He took one big breath to calm his pumping adrenaline. “You will be forcefully seated. We will also add one count of contempt in court to your name.” A swarm of Court Service Officers converged on me from every flank. They seemed like cheetahs on the African Savannah, closing in on their prey. With moments before I was grabbed, I asserted, “All I have done for months is play this scene over and over in my hand. There’s no other explanation. THEY ARE GUILTY!”
...
I paused the video and buried my face into my hands. Fat drops slowly steamed out of my eyes and pooled by my thenar eminence. I couldn’t dare to face the screen again. Once cyanide enters my arteries, it attacks the heart, sucking every last molecule of oxygen within me. “Daddy?”
I perked up. The algorithm had placed itself into autoplay.
“I’m not guilty.”
...
Her crystal blue eyes ballooned. She stayed emotionless to throw off my suspicion. She knew that she could get away with this. She was too good.
“How about this? If you come clean and tell me exactly what happened, I won’t tell mom.”
“Will you still get angry?”
“Maybe, we’ll see.”
She shook her head vigorously. “I didn’t do it daddy.”
I sighed. “Okay, let’s examine the evidence together. The stool that you use to grab objects from the counter is near the crime scene, the lid for the jar is off, and we’re the only people in the house.” “
She crossed her arms. “Well, I guess it’s my word against yours then.” I think your mother would believe me first.”
22 | NTCI Creates | June 14, 2021 E
“Well, then I will take you to the Supreme Court, Dad! Check my Orbit if you have to!” I burst out laughing. That’s my girl.
“Fine, I’ll let you get away with this one.”
She cracked into a toothy grin and nagged, “I beat the lawyer! The best lawyer in Canada!”
I stood there quietly, watching her celebrate. She thought that she was able to get away with the perfect crime, but I knew that her mother would come home and find the incriminating evidence. She would see the chocolate smeared around her daughter’s lips. “This is all bullshit.”
...
Legs from the metal chairs scraped the tiles letting out a high pitched screech. A herd of eyebrows furrowed around me. Many eyes focused on one subject. I pressed on, “I was mandated by the court to attend this meeting, but this is a mistake. The officer that read my screening test believed that it was a mistake and the caseworker that assigned my schedule believed that it was a mistake. I’m just here to fill out my slip with signatures showing that I attended the meeting and that’s it. Nothing else.” The man sitting next to me scoffed in disbelief. He crossed his arms and shook his head. Another man on the other side of the circle questioned, “Are you sure that this is a mistake? People don’t get sent here for no reason.”
I shrugged and responded, “My judge insisted. There’s not really any reason for it.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “Every single person has gone through what you have gone through. We are here to heal together. To crush the devil’s head.” I shook my head. “I’m telling you, I don’t have any problems. I’m fine. I’m just here to fill out my slip and complete my court mandated meeti-” The man next to me shot up and SLAMMED his chair. His eyes shot right to mine. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong?” I furrowed my eyebrows. “What do you mean? I don’t see anything that is wr-”
He gestured towards the rest of the group. “Do you see these men?” I nodded.
“They have spent the past hour fucking pouring out their lives to each other. Making ourselves vulnerable — showing weakness. And what the fuck do you do when it’s your turn? Undermine and render what has happened useless?”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I don-”
“None of us do this for us. We pull up our bootstraps and fight like hell for our families. What the fuck have you done for your family?” Words got trapped in the spiderwebs of my mouth. Tears trickled down my cheeks as I struggled to release the phrase My Daughter. I finally opened up to the group — biting my tongue until it bled. I love you, but fuck you AA.
...
A man burst through the bedroom door. His eyes were bloodshot red; his hands were shaking; his steps were jagged and lopsided. “Sweetie! Come say hi!” He cried. A girl turned around and frowned. “Leave me alone. I need to finish my physics paper.”
The man laughed. “Come on. It’ll only take a few seconds. Come and give me a kiss.”
“No, get out of my room. I need to finish this by midnight.”
“Come here!” He hobbled toward her and gripped her shoulder to turn her around.
June 14, 2021 | NTCI Creates | 23
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She slapped his hand. “What is wrong with you?”
way.
“Come on sweetie! Stop being so sensitive.” He reached for her shoulder again. She swirled her chair out of his
“Dad, what the fuck? Get out of my room!”
Anger surged through his veins. He saw nothing but red. He grabbed the nearest bookshelf and overturned it. Each book plunged to the ground. He turned and towered over her, huffing from the adrenaline rush. She began to tremble with fear. Her eyes widened at the sight of an unrecognizable being. Her quaking lips gave out the words, “Dad, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Out of shame, the man ran away. By morning, her room was empty. She never entered the house again.
...
I shook out of anger, horrified at what I saw. I screamed at the man to open his eyes, but it was no use. They were figures on a screen. Jason burst into the theatre.
“What the fuck is happening? I heard screaming coming from this room.”
Silence.
He took a glance at the screen and then at my disheveled state. “This was 10 fucking years ago.”
Silence. Jason hurried down the stairs and snatched the remote from my hand. He shut off the system and chucked it across the room. It cracked into three pieces. I managed to let out in a trembling voice, “Jason, what have I done? Jason, what have I done?” He plopped down in the chair next to me. “Joseph, it’s okay. You have done everything possible to make this right. Every judge would free you of your past. You need to move onto the next case.” But it was too late. It takes around 30 minutes to burn a DVD. People always have the option to wipe their old ones or throw them away, but they always end up in their attics, collecting dust. The First Bloom By Stella Sternberg, Grade 11
Sugar By Lucas Djaroyan, Grade 10
24 | NTCI Creates | June 14, 2021 E
Josh is Dead
By Jonah Wineberg, Grade 12 INT. CABIN -- NIGHT A group of four young adults stand in a circle looking at each other cautiously.
Brad and Megan laugh. DYLAN We didn’t even bring jam on this trip! TODD Oh, I uh, went and bought some.
BRAD We all know why we’re gathered here today; our friend Josh has been murdered in this cabin, and all of us are suspects.
DYLAN (incredulous) You bought jam.
Each member of the group eyes each other; DYLAN, MEGAN, and finally TODD, who appears to be covered in blood. Dylan notices and looks concerned. He looks around to see if anyone else notices.
DYLAN You drove two hours to the nearest store and came back only with jam.
MEGAN (pensively) It could be any one of us.
DYLAN And you guys believe that?
DYLAN ...You, uh, you don’t think maybe it was Todd? BRAD Why wouldI think that? DYLAN Well for one he’s covered in blood, you don’t think that’s a little suspicious? TODD It’s not blood, it’s... jam. DYLAN (cynical) Jam? TODD Yeah, I was eating some and, uh, spilled it all over myself. MEGAN See? It’s jam, nothing to worry about. BRAD Classic, clumsy Todd!
TODD Yup.
TODD ...Right.
Brad and Megan look at each other and shrug in agreement.
MEGAN Yeah, it’s honestly making me think that maybe you did it. DYLAN Are you kidding me?! He’s literally holding an axe! Below Todd’s stomach can be seen for the first time revealing he is indeed holding an axe. MEGAN (rolling eyes) Ugh, so paranoid. Todd’s always holding an axe. DYLAN And that’s somehow better?! BRAD He’s always ready do some wood-chopping chores for his friends. (smiles lovingly) Classic Todd. MEGAN Classic Todd.
DYLAN MEGAN See, you two keep saying that, Hey, we’ve all had our cravings, but come to think of it we only right? Ooh! Remember when met this guy like a week ago. Josh ate all those salt and WHY DID WE EVEN BRING vinegar chips? HIM ON THIS TRIP?! BRAD (laughing) Aw, yeah, I remember! (upset) Too bad he’s dead now. Megan frowns and nods. TODD (darting eyes around) Hey, maybe we should all split up and check different rooms for clues... in the dark. DYLAN You guys don’t find that at least a BIT concerning? BRAD Why are you singling out Todd so much?
TODD I think this is getting a little tense guys, we should all just go to bed so we’re all more defenceless- RESTED, rested, I meant rested. DYLAN OH COME ON! He’s not even trying to hide it at this point! BRAD Ok, you’re really starting to sound hostile at this point. MEGAN You’re not helping your case, Dylan. DYLAN Ok, that’s it! If no one else is gonna stop this guy from killing us all, I’ll have to do it myself! Dylan screams and lunges at Todd but is held back by Brad and Megan. MEGAN His true nature has come out, he’s the killer! BRAD Quick! Let’s tie him up and drive him to the police station!
MEGAN (scoffing) Uh, because Todd’s awesome, amirite?
DYLAN NOOO! IT”S TODD, I’M TELLING YOU! IT’S TOOOOODD!
BRAD Yea-yuh!
Brad and Megan exit while restraining Dylan. Todd lifts a jar of jam and eats a spoonful.
Megan and Brad high five. Dylan rests the bridge of his nose on his fingertips. DYLAN (to self) I feel like I’m going insane here. Todd is now holding a chainsaw.
FADE OUT. THE END