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The Thought Fox

The ISH Creative Writing Magazine Spring 2013 Issue

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We trust that you will enjoy this spring edition of The Thought Fox. In this magazine we feature a great deal of Year 7’s poetry, stemming from a maths and English cross-curricular project as well as from the Water Project. We also have cartoons from Ms Bergman’s group; an Egyptian adventure; a scary story and the middle section of our special story feature. We

are reprinting




we attributed it to a different writer in our winter gies,

Scarlett, as edition; apolo-

story called,



thanks to

Jesse Sigal


making of this magazine and to

Adil Akif


van der

for their design and


once again,

for her cover art.

Also thanks to the writers who have contributed to this edition. Did you know that we are also featured on i-shMoodle under students and extra-curricular activities? It is possible to submit via the i-shMoodle page as well as via our email account: Keep writing!


-Ms Wheelhouse

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By Samuel de Morant

Lonely Have you ever had this negative feeling, Where you think you are on the edge and that you’re falling, And suddenly walking down a street which is parallel to the darkness, With an odd taste of loneliness, And it seems like your heart is acute and always getting smaller; filling with fear, And no percent of love to say to you my dear, Then the less you think it’s just a feeling, you get the impression millions of shadows are jumping into the side of your mind, An area of you wants to run back to reality but the darkness makes you blind, The multiple of thoughts make you dizzy and tired, But an angle of your brain knows it’s nearly finished, Positively you come back to reality and your fright is already healing.


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Scarlett By Amy van Rooyen I looked up from my book when I heard an engine roar. Seconds later a red and black Suzuki motorbike rolled into school grounds. The bike shuddered to a stop; the rider swung her leg over. The heel of her black leather boot made a soft clank, gripping the attention of those who weren’t already starring with mouths unhinged. She slid off her helmet and her long jet black hair tumbled out and landed perfectly straight, framing her high cheek bones. I just managed a glance at the girls’ eyes, piercing amber, before slipping on a pair of dark sunglasses. She had sun-kissed skin, making her luscious blood-red lips stand out. She wore a black leather jacket over her fingerless leather glove and a tight red top over dark skinny jeans. The mystery girl stood there for a second, taking us all in or letting us take her in, before she picked up her shoulder bag and made her way to the door. But instead of needing to slither her way through like the rest of us mere mortals, the sea of students parted for her in a two lines, giving a pathway straight to the door. She barely acknowledged it, though she was probably use treatment like this. The girl made her way to the door, but a girl in cheerleading outfit and a clipboard jumped in front of her. I recognized her immediately. It was Kelly, head cheerleader, and by the look on everyone faces we all knew what she was going to do, we just didn’t know how the new girl was going to react. The girl stopped so abruptly, her shoulder bag swung at her side. She looked Kelly up and down and raised an eyebrow “Hi,” Kelly said with a nervous wave “so I’m Kelly, head cheerleader, what’s your name?” The girl raised her chin a little before she said “they call me Scarlett” “Ok, so we’re a bit short on cheerleaders so practice is at Thursdays from four to five and on Tuesdays from-” “No,” Scarlett said. “What?” “I’m not doing it.” “Oh I’m sorry,” Kelly replied sarcastically “but according to school rules each student must 4

attend to at least two extracurricular lessons to pass the year and all the other clubs are full so you have to join.” Scarlett stood there calmly, but even through her sunglass I could see her eyes blaze with fury. “I said no.” Scarlett said through gritted teeth “Yeah well it not up to you.” Scarlett took a step forward, and Kelly took a step back. ‘I’m not doing it’ Scarlett growled, shoving past Kelly, who stumbled back in surprise. “Idiot!” Kelly yelled throwing her clipboard at Scarlett’s head. At the last moment Scarlett dropped to the floor in a crouching position. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Scarlett said sweetly. Then, like a cobra, she struck. •

A Cautionary Tale By MNE

Water, the uncelebrated goddess of life flows through this world, Uncelebrated. Water, the uncelebrated goddess of life exacts vengeance on those who are ignorant, Cruelly. Water, the uncelebrated goddess of life twins with her sister, the Ocean, Secretly. Water, the uncelebrated goddess of life demands sacrifices, Frequently. Water, the goddess, needs no celebration because she is LIFE.

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T he T hought F ox - T he I.S.H. C reative W riting M agazine - A utumn 2012

Mathematical Poem By June Derz My heart has been divided into two When I see him all my thoughts are subtracted from my mind It might be odd but I am on the edge of happiness when I talk to him He adds to my life My love for him is infinite I am positive he is the one Trillions of butterflies flutter in my stomach Together our hearts equal one The capacity of my heart is so big it’s enough for both of us The different sides of me that I didn’t show were in order for him to love me I will love him for million, billion, trillion years I used to be different, From these billions people on this round, circle-like earth I saw everything from a different angle The world was a negative, dark place People used to think the earth was flat Where you would just walk over and fall, in the depth of space But look how wrong they turned out to be People make mistakes, and so did I Drowning in sorrow, sucking the happiness out of me There was no more percentage of happiness in me.


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Mathematical Poem By Saskia Buijs

Life on Earth is viewed from different angles and different time zones but when life dangles like a mid air plane and a single unit, it feels empty like you are on the edge making a pledge The average of this world is completely mean. What happened to all the green? There are billions of people on earth and most of them think the earth is here for infinity. But it won’t be if you don’t treat it with dignity. The world can’t be cubed and isn’t a square, it’s fine and even has flair. Doctors perform operations to save people. Earth won’t survive without people’s care, It’s all that we have, it’s rare and is not one of a pair.


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By Kierra Cuttiford

The smell of home-baked pie fills the air, It takes me me back to infinite possibilities, Where every answer to every question exists, As I square up to slice this dream, how many times Do I search the radius of this pie for the perfect slice, Its area almost beautifully golden brown,my pie seems, To contain no end.


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By Dermot Newton

Have you ever heard of angles? They get me in a tangle What about a sum They make me glum The stuff called fractions Drive me to distractions I give up and make a cone But people start to moan When I have to do more I say what for! Then I do less And make a total mess! During divisibility I hope I have invincibility And when we do equations I hope there’s an invasion I thought I had a rest But instead it was a test Then I lost my work page And, boy, did teacher have a rage! 9

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By Cyrine Mechken Safety is rare, it subtracts by 100 everyday Bombs and guns are to be heard everywhere The sum of all the positive energy, becomes negative in a matter of time But there is no one to blame, because we’re all feeling an average amount of pain

The strong smell of gun powder and dead bodies double continuously My eyes cry an infinite stream of tears So does my soul, my everlasting sorrow will be at maximum for life My shadow illustrates my desperate emptiness looking for some love

When I let the waves of frustration flow over me I feel adjacent to all the other children I try to stay parallel to the bitter feelings of desperation, but there is no cure My blood has the colour of pure red from the never ending flames in my heart The flames that desire to be extinguished

Bunkers as thick as walls multiplied by three won’t keep my blood circulating Sitting alone in a dark room hearing everybody die is only the vertex of all my problems Trusting someone in this world can cause death and beyond But there must be one out of the billions I can rely on

The burning flames in my heart draw patterns in my being The probability of my survival, is as uncertain as may be With the fear of dying, the chance of my end is within reach Unknown is the denominator, for me and my surroundings


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The World Poem By Sophie Fredriksen

You look at the world from different angles. Those angles are the things you look at. The never ending circle of life is continued all over the sphere earth. Some people think that the world has an edge where you can fall off, some say the world will end. But all of this is one angle, one side, the world might never end! To infinity and beyond!


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Mathematical Poem: Love By Basia Zubowska

There once was an odd angle in the world Millions, billions and trillions of people Had a positive side in their life Although there was one special thing in each person It was as small as an acute angle As if it was the shadow of a negative But it was only a feeling Like a drop of water hanging on the edge of a cone Multiples of people are scared to show it But there is just one thing to do to show it You just have to find the sum And you will show your secret feeling To your co-interior partner Love will always be the hidden quotient


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The Big Poem By Paul Domin

I’m sitting here dividing my heart by two, fighting with millions and trillions of words. Somebody is annoying me, but I don’t know who. Even, Odd, Areas and Form, I get everything but not that. Why do we have to write poems, I didn’t chose this it was my fate. The words don’t sum up, the pyramid of darkness in my head is big. There is a stupid hum, and I’m getting slapped by a stick. Algebra is great, Circumferences over here, But writing poems that what i hate, And over my grades i have a big fear, Infinity of words That’s what i see I’m hearing a big MERP, I really got to flee. The area of my brain empties, Decimals are through, I’m getting tramped by ponies There is a ghost that always screams BOOH!!! I give it up My life is hard I failed the jump And I go clean the yard.


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Math Poem By Tristan Pisa

The area I sum up in an angle. I order units. I check they are supplementary and complementary. Square or octagon; my thoughts multiply and divide. What is it called?  I try not to be negative because I’m positive. Then my room is bigger than a revolution angle. Every even has an odd. The prime with the composite- my ying and yang -my room and I. Square, perimeter where I work. My room a magical place of math .


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ENTERTAIN YOUR THIRST (Part 2 of 3) By Sinéad Clarke “OPEN UP,” a voice cried, yanking Mara out of her dreams. Someone was knocking on the door. The knocking was irritatingly persistent. Mara jumped out of bed and pulled open the wooden door of her Saxon apartment as quickly as possible. A pale man with light blue eyes, blonde hair and a long, rectangular face that was ridden with adult-acne met her gaze. His nametag read “Larry”. Mara was told to hurry up and get out. Larry had been assigned to oversee the monthly fumigation of her unit and all residents were supposed to have vacated the premises by 10am sharp or alternatively be subjected to fining. Apparently they had informed one Jacqueline Manne. Typical. Mara called for Rosa who was brushing her teeth and together they started gathering a few belongings. As the girls scampered around the apartment, Larry smiled broadly and produced a set of yellowing, twisted teeth. He chattered about their Majors and UCLA’s reputation with feigned interest; speaking with exaggerated and somewhat invasive enthusiasm that was tainted with condescension. Mara breathed in sharply, steadying herself and in turn, her temper, too. She took in the sweet pinewood smell of the apartment. Chris had walked her home only hours earlier and together they had drunk Moroccan-Mint tea in the living room. Mara laced her black vans and fished her sunglasses out of her drawers. She slung her brown shoulder bag over her head, walked out of the apartment and drew back her shoulders. She had recently been told that she slouched. She spotted Chris on the grass next to Jan Steps. She dropped her brown bag and lay down next to him. She would wait here until the place had been fumigated. She’d brought a book. Mara had first met Chris while running the LA Marathon in March of that year. Gabi introduced them at the start of the marathon and then sped off into the distance. Chris and Mara ran together until mile 18, but then their paces fell out of sync and she took off ahead. Chris was a junior and an English major originally

from Sacramento, California. Apparently they taken a class together during the Winter Quarter, but hadn’t noticed each other’s presence. They laughed about the coincidence. Only it wasn’t entirely true. In fact, it wasn’t true at all. Later Chris would confess that he had been very aware of Mara, but found it embarrassing to admit upon realising that she did not recognise him. By the end of the marathon, Mara was pleasantly interested. A fortnight later she liked him. And a month and a half later she loved him. Mara walked towards Kerkhoff Hall, finding the sun’s ecstasy of white annoyingly intrusive. It was managing to diffuse around and into the most remote corners of her body, both hugging and imprisoning her person at once. Mara’s hair was also on strike. Her curls were not agreeing with each other; in the morning they’d twisted obstinately in opposite directions and by the afternoon they had withered into puffed, resigned strands, which she had now tucked into the collar of her purple sweater. It was, in fact, way too warm for a sweater. Gabi, whom she’d just bumped into, had immediately commented on the madness of her attire. But Mara did not want to take it off. Mara carried her laptop and Nietzche’s “The Birth of Tragedy” in the square-shaped white shoulder bag that her sister had posted to her from Costa Rica two months earlier. It had a group of brown-coloured monkeys swinging off to the corners and was, despite its plainness, very tasteful an accessory. She had just been sitting in Northern Lights for the past two hours trying to focus on understanding Apollonian and Dionysian duality. She just couldn’t. Her blood and bones ached; her body howled with exhaustion. Her most basic reservoirs of energy had been drained by the energy debt she had accumulated over the week. Her daily runs and late night study sessions were to blame. Nicolette was standing outside Kerkhoff Hall. She was wearing a snazzy little black dress and an unblemished smile that teethed enthusiasm. Her mood was infectious. Within min15

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utes, Nicolette’s excitement at the prospect of ‘baptising’ her in the Inverted Fountain outside Franz Hall infused Mara’s body with the energy that food, rest and will had been unable to provide her with all day. It was Mara’s second-tolast week at UCLA; Nicolette had insisted that she meet her to be properly ‘Bruinized’ before finishing the quarter. Mara had seen no reason to say no. And so they walked to the fountain. Mara stuck her left hand in and - with her right hand resting on her heart - she took a pledge. The ‘ceremony’ did not last longer than a few moments. From then on out, she’d bleed blue and gold. She would hold UCLA in her heart till the day it gave out and forever both champion and treasure the inimitability of the place.

was a fantastic runner. Runs were never as strenuous nor as satisfying as when Mara ran with Gabi. Gabi had gazelle-like movements. She seemed to tune herself to the night and let the city carry her. That night they were running at a good pace, discussing their favourite Lana Del Rey songs. Gabi liked ‘Off to the Races’ (that was also Chris’s favourite), while Mara had found recent resonance in ‘Without You’. It was 11:30PM and the streets were still murmuring. Within the hour that part of Westwood would have begun to drift off to sleep. There were many small side streets that they’d cross; some had traffic lights, others didn’t. This late at night, Gabi and Mara would zoom through them regardless.

The cool blackness buzzed on her tongue and spread to ignite every crevice of her mouth. It sizzled down Mara’s throat, with the stirring coolness flooding her chest. There was nothing like Coke Zero. It lacked the thick, sticky layer that lingers on the teeth after drinking regular coke and wasn’t as watery as Diet Coke. Like with any shot of caffeine, Mara’s body roared into life. She took one more swig and then ran out the door to meet Gabi. They were to meet at the De Neve crossing and were going to run to the Westside Pavilion Shopping Mall on Pico Boulevard. Mara ran with such extended frequency that it was now a pleasantly familiar elevated state of being. After thirty minutes, Mara’s mind would dissipate into the city. She’d become legs and lungs. Nothing more and nothing less. If Mara could lay claim to any form of faith, then running was her religion. It wasn’t just physically electrifying; its therapeutic effects sustained far more than the corporeal fibre of her body. It ventilated her psyche, dissipated her anger and became a physical manifestation of her passion. She’d run with her heart in her legs, running out all her energy and offering up her strength to the world to externalise her desires. She had a hunger for running. However, she found that there were no expressible grounds for it and often disappointingly noted that describing the wells of this addiction did not manage to surface out of the contrived. But nevertheless, it was her answer and it was the antidote to any shape of negativity that was visited upon her. Gabi and Mara raced off into the night. Gabi

No. The implications of the moment ripped through her body. It pounded in her eyes, pulsed in her stomach; it throbbed in her neck. Her hands were on fire. Yes, they’d been hurt. No – wait. They hadn’t – it was Gabi. She’d tried to help Gabi. No, get off – it was Gabi. It was Gabi. Go to Gabi. It’s Gabi! Gabi’s on my hands. Mara’s shock shattered the margins of her composure. She trembled, shaking from the base of her buttocks up to her devoured fingernails. Her throat clogged. She couldn’t choke. Nothing worked, nothing moved. Breathe. Just breathe – my body doesn’t know how to breathe. Mara’s sanity plummeted into bottomless, shapeless paralysis. Nothing. Move. Just move. No. IT’S GABI! Gabi had been hit. When? Stop. No, don’t touch her. Move. She’d called them? Oh yes. She had. Okay, go. Go ahead. Yes, her – Gabi. Gabriella Lachaster. L-a-c-h-a-s-t-e-r. The driver’s gone. No, gone. I said gone! Don’t bother. You? No. Gabi! Gabi’s hurt. How bad? Ribs? Three. Three ribs. How do you know? Legs. Legs. Head’s fine. Internal, maybe. What? “Internal” what? Internal to what? How do you know? Is she foreign? No. But you are. You must be. Yes - so what? But she’s not? She’s not. She’s groaning. What’s she trying to say? Gabi? Gabi. Twenty. Gabi’s twenty. Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven. Mara paced around the waiting room of Ronald Reagan Medical Cent-

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er. She would try to sit down, but then jump up again. She had to do something. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Mara went on to whisper the Hail Marys and then the Our Father again. Mara was waiting. At first they had let her go into the hospital room, but then Gabi had started to seize and the nurses to flap – reducing Mara’s presence to no more than a hindrance. And lead us not into temptation. Fleetingly, Mara wondered if she was being hypocritical; she had long since convinced herself she did not believe in God. She registered the passing of the thought, but did not entertain it. The nuances of the prayer lit up the scales of her emotion, echoing intimately into the past. And deliver us from evil. The words she’d lisped in her Catholic infancy, effortlessly - almost instinctively - took shape on her lips, still with the imprecise pronunciation of a six year-old who has never read or learnt the words in the song he or she sings. Amen. And her composure was sustained. The light blue Volkswagen had swerved recklessly around the corner and then tried to come to a screeching halt. She and Gabi had indeed been at fault in crossing through a red light, no matter how remote the time and place. Mara remembered little of it. Before she could register what was going on, Gabi had rolled off the windscreen, slipping off to the side. She’d landed on the curb, and had tumbled and twisted. Mara’s memory was fractured. Mara had stroked Gabi’s sweaty blonde head, afraid to move her, and then had watched helplessly as her stunned eyes drifted off into the LA night. Some moments she could replay with excruciating detail, while other crucial linking episodes were absent. Her memory had refused to encode them. The car had left a silence pregnant with danger. That she did remember. A tall, grey-haired doctor walked towards Mara, his expression grave and his thin hands glistening with apprehension. Sirens went off in her chest. Dear God, please let Gabi be okay. Please let Gabi be okay. If Gabi is okay I will not cross a red light again and I will never smoke again. Really? Could she promise she would never do such things again? Yes. She’d have to. It might not be easy, but it was indeed sim-

ple. I swear. God, I swear. Please. God, I will never take my health for granted. Let Gabi be okay. “Two broken ribs. Her right leg is broken in three places. Her head is fine. But we have to check for internal bleeding. It looks like she might be okay, Mira.” “Mara.” “Sorry. It looks like she might be okay, Mara.” Chris came through the doors. He sat with her and they waited for Gabi to come back from her scans. They waited for three warped hours. They were both restless. They couldn’t focus their attention on anything for more than five minutes. They tried to play word games, talk about both light and heavy topics – but nothing worked. Mara was still enveloped by an acute paralysis against which any efforts to move, think and interact for a substantial stretch of time, floundered. She felt guilty. In some perverse corner of her mind she had been hoping for something like this. Not for Gabi to get hit by car. Of course not. But she had hoped for earthquakes, for fires, for hurricanes – something to infuse adrenaline into the most lacklustre pockets of her life and give her a moment from which she could extrapolate purpose and fight. In the apocalyptic scenarios she envisioned, however, she always had the certainty of knowing that everyone relevant to her would be fine. Now she pleaded for the monotony of safety to be restored. Chris was very solemn. If he was nervous, it didn’t show. He had been aware of Mara’s distress, but also at a loss of how to comfort her. An old woman next to them had said, “It’s okay!” and had then resolutely patted Mara’s arm. If she had been able to, Mara would have laughed. The old lady was trying to helpful, Mara presumed; except there was nothing remotely ‘okay’ about the situation. Mara hated when people tried to reduce moments for the sake of stabilising them. It was perhaps normal, but it wasn’t okay. Mara was glad that Chris did not venture to say such contrived things.


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Egypt By Cyrine Mechken As I walked past the door, I became curious. I knew there was something for me in there, but I had promised my aunt jackie not to go in. I continued walking but by every step I kept on doubting more. There was something she would’nt tell me, and I hate it when people keep things away from me. Before I could stop myself I opend the door to a narrow stairway. Still doubting I watchfully walked down the stairs to the basement. It was dark in the basement and I could not find out where the light swich was, was there a light swich? Protecting my face from spiderwebs I realised the basement was just like any other basement. Just this one looked 1000 years old. I wanted to turn back to go up the stairway but then, I heard something whispering. I listend carefully it was calling my name. Where was it coming from? By every step I took it kept on becoming louder. Was I going towards it? Then behind a old broken painting I saw a old piece of paper rolled up against the painting. I bend down to pick it up and ran up the stairway with the paper still in my hand. By every step I took I kept on holding the paper tighter this was made for me, I just knew it. I raced up to my room closed the door and sat on the floor. My aunt Jackie was in the kichen so she wouldn’t hear me, what about her dog? To make myself feel better I locked the door and sat on my bed. Now was the time, I could finally see what was inside. I carefully undone the red ribbon around the paper and opend it. Wow how old was this? Before I noticed I was reading the paper, it was a half of a treasure map to find a treasure in Egypt of Tutankhamun’s tomb. I looked up the name in my book and saw it was a old rich pharao. I could not belive my luck, I was struck down with astonishment. I could not think properly, I was going to find the lost tomb in Egypt. I sat on my bed for an other fifteen minutes thinking about my luck but then I called my friend Dora I could not do this alone. “Hello sandra, how are you?” “Dora you cant believe what I just found” I shouted into the phone. “Wow wow calm down san, im sure its 18

not that amazing” “ well it is, I just found a piece of a treasure map to a tomb in Egypt, were going to be rich!”

Maths Poem By Aditi Chitnis

Christmas the season to be jolly Happy tunes subtract the darkness Roaring fire add the warmness I am tumbling down the snow Santa Claus’s sledge is right angled The cone is a Christmas tree like a triangle My gifts are below the Christmas tree And the antlers of the reindeers sparkle like prisms Stars are twinkling in a rectangular shape

My Earth Poem By Naima Adotevi

Some say the world is the sum of its prime factors, Some say that God made the world, But no one really knows who made the sphere we call Earth. This is a mystery to those who are negative, But it is an opportunity to those who are positive. To determine if you are negative or not, It depends on the angle you look at the world, But who am I to determine such things?

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T he T hought F ox - T he I.S.H. C reative W riting M agazine - A utumn 2012

Lunam and Momkey By Basia Zubowska One day a girl called Lunam went outside to go skateboarding. She was really excited to meet her best friend Momkey and see his awesome skateboard. When they met they started to skate towards the cool skate park they found when they went exploring the day before. When they reached the skate park they skateboarded for 30 minutes until something really weird happened… Lunam heard a loud THUD and a weird cracking sound behind her. She turned around and saw Momkey lying on the ground holding his back and moaning with pain. He didn’t know what he had done to his back. So they had to get back home really quickly before his back seized up. There was one way they both knew about that was fastest to get to Lunam’s house. That was walking through the forest people knew as “The Haunted Forest”. Lunam wasn’t sure if they should go through the forest because she didn’t want Momkey to trip and hurt his back even more. They thought that maybe there was a faster way than going through the forest. But unfortunately they couldn’t think of any other way to get to Lunam’s house. Then Lunam said, “Hey Momkey, maybe we could go around the forest but then quickly so we don’t have to go through the forest…” Momkey answered, “I don’t kno- OWWW!!!!” “Are you ok?!?!?” “NOOO!!! Come on! We have to hurry! The pain is starting to spread through my body!” Lunam was thinking, ‘I shouldn’t go in there but Momkey is really hurts so I don’t have a choice! I have to!’ She grabbed Momkey and pulled into the forest. Lunam didn’t know if she had made a good decision. It was starting to get dark and she didn’t want to get too late for Momkey. They had walked for 10 minutes when Lunam heard something behind them. She didn’t dare look back but she couldn’t help it. 20

When she turned she couldn’t see anything and she noticed Momkey was gone! She was freaking out! She couldn’t think straight. Her mind was spinning. BANG! Lunam fell to the floor and fainted. When she woke up she was leaning against a fallen Oak tree. Next to her was pale white Momkey; almost dead. She was thinking of calling the police but then she remembered she didn’t have here phone with her. She was day dreaming when she had heard a scream from close by. She didn’t think. She shook Momkey, woke him and they ran for their lives towards her house. She could see the white light of the sun blazing through the leaves. She was almost there when Momkey said, “We mustn’t stop running… they want to eat us…” And then he fainted. Lunam ran faster. She reached the edge of the forest when she thought of maybe turning around but then she thought of what Momkey had said. So she ran straight home. When they reached her house, Lunam brought Momkey to her mom because her mom was a doctor. Lunam’s mom looked over Momkey, his spine was bruised but not damaged. After a week Momkey got better. Their life became normal and they almost forgot about the forest incident. A day later they decided to go to the skate park. When they got there they were not aware that they would die so young.

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I’m in Egypt By Anna Decae I’m in Egypt, at the great pyramid restaurant At one point of the terrace I see tourists admiring birds. I sip my tea and add a bit of sugar, more than I want Then I divide my butter and cream sandwich into thirds Looking around the messy area Gives me a negative feeling Maybe I should have gone to Bulgaria? I put on a square face and look at the ceiling I’m on the edge of my seat The paintings on the wall look odd My toes are asleep so I move my feet A man comes up to me and asks for my order, I give a slight nod Later I notice that the glass panes aren’t even, I sigh Even more time passes and I receive the bill More numbers, I add up some of the sums and wave my money goodbye. My multiplication skills haven’t failed me I’m quite positive about the answers. 21

T he T hought F ox - T he I.S.H. C reative W riting M agazine - A utumn 2012

A Potato Love Story By Leonardo Bonifanti As I dwell in my prime oval state I feel zeroed and subtracted from the world I am nothing more than a potato in a pyramidal dimension Oh how I dislike my negative life But as the days pass in their dozens I see a quotient of hope as I become more positive After a long while of waiting in my minuscule perimeter An obtuse hand smashes down the earth and like a kite Fly onto a reflex angled platform and land on a shabby hexagonal table Slowly I think to myself how sad and co-interior & lonely I am But after long hours of waiting at the awkward angle on this counter A stunning and beautiful replica of yours truly is set parallel to me As I edge my way to equal the distance between the pair of us lover My interiors are exploding like atoms in molecular equations But lo and behold before I can introduce my convex self She is ripped away from me and cut up into corresponding pieces And so I dwell in my unequal and negative circle of life


T he T hought F ox - T he I.S.H. C reative W riting M agazine - A utumn 2012


T he T hought F ox - T he I.S.H. C reative W riting M agazine - A utumn 2012


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ISH Thought Fox Spring Issue 2013  
ISH Thought Fox Spring Issue 2013  

Creative writing magazine of the International School of The Hague.