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AL BATEEN SECONDARY SCHOOL

An Introduction by Eoin Colfer My parents turned me into a writer in a very sneaky fashion.

Before I even started school they were leaving art materials around and speaking casually about stories like they were no big deal and everyone went around writing stories and drawing cartoons.

As I grew older I assumed in a soft focus kind of way that I would get published around about the age of twenty five but shock horror, it didn’t happen. I submitted manuscript after manuscript which were gently but insistently returned to my door. It took fifteen years of trying to finally get that first published novel in my hands and let me tell you something; it was worth the wait.

I would have waited for twenty more years to slide my sweaty hands over that first glossy cover. I may have clasped it to my breast and dropped to my knees in thanks. I definitely wept.

But seriously, young writers, do not stop improving. Think of your writing process as a big lump of stone and you have to keep chipping away to reveal the beautiful sculpture beneath.

Eoin Colfer

Published by Scholastic Ltd for Al Bateen Secondary School Scholastic Books Ltd Windrush Park Range Road Witney Oxfordshire OX29 0YD Š Al Bateen Secondary School First published in Great Britain in 2015 All rights reserved. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher.

For permission to reproduce extracts in whole or in part, please contact the above school directly at the postal address shown on this page.

All work is reproduced by kind permission of the authors, as identiďŹ ed in their original submissions. All work is assumed to have been produced by the stated author, original and free of copyright and Scholastic Ltd accepts no responsibility for any infringement on behalf of the author, whether intentional or otherwise.

Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

Foreword

At Al Bateen Secondary School, we have been working on a collection of some of our best pieces of writing with the aim of putting together a book that celebrates our finest achievements.

We would like to thank you for all your

outstanding contributions. Thank you to all of the incredibly hardworking Year 9 students who helped this book become such a piece of art: Aaliyah Khwaja’s Editing Team, Zeyad Wadi’s Food Team, the Design Team consisting of Aisha Garsaa and Ahmed Da’na, Sarah Abdalla’s Advertising team, Diana Majeed and Sarah Kuleib’s film crew and, our teacher, Mrs Francesca Smith! Without her support and all the other teachers in the English department - Mrs. Henderson, Mr. McMahon, Ms. Greaney, Miss. Cox, Mrs. Watson, Miss.

Donnelly, Mrs. Fry, Mrs. Coom and Mr. Daly - this book would never have been completed.

A special thank you goes out to our generous sponsors: Mrs. Hania Kuleib from Inspire Sports and Mr. Mohammed A. Al Qubaisi from Finance House. Without their generosity, this evening and the creation of our book would not be possible.

Shaymaa Khan and Agnes Widensky

Contents

Year 7

1

Aisha Al Mazrooqi: Wintery Wonderland

1

Maryam Al Rumaithi: My Wonderland!

2

Alya Al Zaabi: White

4

Muhammed Arryan: Krag’s Speech

5

Ciaran Duffy: My Wintery Wonderland!

7

Mahum Jahan: Dystopian Fiction

8

Mahum Jahan: My Wonderland

12

Wilf Marshall: Crackling Fire!

14

Valerie Peychev: Ant Speech

15

Alexandros Rizzi: Green

16

Salma Yasin: Pink

17

Salma Yasin: The F1 Race!

18

Year 8

19

Farah Abo Asali: A Bad Habit

19

Abdulla Al Hosani: Liwa Desert

21

Mohammed Alkhyeli: THE ALIEN!

22

Saeed Al Mansoori: The Friendly Alien

25

Salem al shabibi Al nahdi: The clever alien

27

Manif Al Nahdi: Macbeth- A dierent story told

29

Sara Al Shehhi: The poem of Shakespeare

31

Mariana Alvarez: Dear Macbeth

32

Mariana Alvarez: My Dog

34

Mariana Alvarez: The World Of Nature

35

Mohammed Al Zaabi: Father

36

Maha Baranzanji: Shadows

38

Camilla De Leo: My Extraordinary Story

41

Lea El Maalouf: Wonderland

44

Alice Ferrarese: UAE Writing

46

Yousef Fouad: Candy In Wonderland

47

Usama Jones: The Soldier

49

Aliza Solario: Deep Down a Rabbit Hole

51

Nikola Stamenkovic: The Next Best Thing!

53

Rashid Suroor: THE ALIEN

57

Year 9

59

Sarah Abdalla: A Mysterious Place - Wonderland

59

Sarah Abdalla: A Proud Arabic Heritage!

61

Sarah Abdalla: Reading Assessment

63

Odai Abushreehah: Room 101

68

Mohanned Ahmed: Croglin Myth

70

Mohanned Ahmed: The Adventury Adventures of the Adventurous Ghastly 74 Sameed Ahmed: Wonderland

78

Mohammed Al Ameri: Description of Swat Valley

80

Mohammed Al Ameri: The Love of my life!

82

Mariam Al Hashemi: Granny

84

Hamad Al Qubaisi: Neverland

85

Yomna Al Sanabary: Life at War!

87

Khalifa Al Suwaidi: Rhyme and Reputation

89

Zayd, Joachim and Yousef: Soldiers are warriors!

90

Alexander Azzawi: Eating animals is wrong!

91

Mohammed Babu: ME!

93

Amani Belhimer: Wonderland

94

Tanishqa Biswas: The World Without Barriers

96

Kevin Calmeyer: Swat Valley

97

Agnes Clara Widensky: Computer Addict!

99

Agnes Clara Widensky: The Next Best Thing!

100

Ahmed Da’na: My Wishful Wonderland

105

Antonio De Leo: I Am Malala

107

Antonio De Leo: Il Paese delle Meraviglie

109

Antonio De Leo: Wonderland in Winter!

111

Sarah Kuleib and Diana Majeed: Empire

113

Trishan Dissanayake: I wish, I wish

115

Hayam El Asswad: Writing To Argue: Car Accidents and Seat Belts 117 Jasmin El Badawy: Inspired

119

Ibrahim El Ghazal: Decisions Upon Us

121

Safwat Farahat: Malala Autobiography

124

Aisha Garsa: Tired

126

Kieran Griffiths: My Grandma!

127

Alexandra Hamouda: Battlefield

128

Henry Johnson: This is not War, This is Murder

130

Mariam Kabashi: Persuasive Speech!

131

Shaymaa Khan: Make It Shine!

133

Shaymaa Khan: The Sacrifice of Love!

135

Atef Khasawneh: Homelessness

139

Aaliyah Khwaja: Swat Valley

141

Aaliyah Khwaja: The Fighter In Our Women

144

Aaliyah Khwaja: The Next Best Thing

146

Aaliyah Khwaja: Wonderland

150

Dalia Kotb: My Grandma

152

Heen Mahir: IF?

153

Heen Mahir: The Next Best Thing!

154

Ali Majeed: The Performance

163

Diana Majeed: Wonderland

173

Khalid Malik: Persuasive Speech

175

Fiona McGeachy: Ebony Lattice

177

Fiona McGeachy: English Essay: ‘Are young people today under too much pressure.’

178 Fiona McGeachy: Transcribed Tragedies...

181

Lina Said: The Next Best Thing

192

Lina Said: WONDERLAND

197

Aditya Sateesh: Malala’s autobiography

199

Isabella Schwarz: In a World of my own!

203

Zayd Shokair: The Kingdom of Wisdom

205

Iben Thomasen: Heavenly Wonderland

207

Zeyad Wadi: How Wonderland Died

209

Gence Yalcin: My Grandma

211

Owen Yates: Swat Valley

212

Year 10

214

Sarah Abimhamed: Why Shouldn’t I?

214

Hanaa Ahmed: Glory Of The Commander

218

Hanaa Ahmed: The UAE

219

Felix Franke: Once Upon A Time

224

Maha Ghannoum: Golden Summer

226

Malek El Gorni Sanchez: The Arabian Desert

228

Mohammed Hajsaleh: Terrible World

231

Ahmed Haweel: Black or White?

233

Saria Idris: Learning to Cycle : My First Experience

234

Ahmed Jabour: Once Upon A Time!

237

Sara Jibril: Breathless

238

Laith Najim: The Deception

241

Laith Najim and Nayan Muhammed: A Letter From Death

242

Layan Wadi: Once upon a time!

244

Hala Younes: The Love Twist

246

Jelena Zivkovic: National Day In The UAE

248

Year 11

250

Yazan Abu Yousef: Coward

250

Amer Al Fraih: Black Green

264

Jude Al Qubaisi: Coughing

268

Jude Al Qubaisi: Disillusionment’s Nostalgia

272

Omar Aqil: Self-Pleasure or Self-Sacrifice?

274

Sami Azzawi: Smoking is Bad!

277

Jason Craddock: Short Story

280

Gianna Cruze: Growing Up With the Animals

282

Miruna Engi: Just another Autumn Day

289

Colombine Lord: Elizabeth Brown

292

Marius Pakstys: Shadows

294

Marius Pakstys: The Flame!

297

Marius Pakstys: With Chalk

302

Saulius Pakstys: Africa!

303

Saulius Pakstys: Darkness

307

Noah Sutherland: Expiration

308

Stefan Vasic: The Lottery

310

Zena Younes: The Puppet and I

314

Year 12

320

Hamdan Al Zaabi: The Interview

320

Amanda Baldwin: The Great Gatsby - Written Task 1

325

George IskaďŹ : EX-SOLDIER INSPIRES STUDENTS TO JOIN ARMY 330 Urshita Khare: The Next Best Thing!

336

Kristen Louis: Written Task 1

343

Charlotte Patricolo: Journalism Interview - Living in fear

347

Rushali Srivastava: I AM MY CULTURE!

352

Wintery Wonderland Aisha Al Mazrooqi Year 7 The sky is dark and the ground is white.

The world is peaceful on this wintery night.

No one around, not a sound to be heard.

Not a laugh, not a car or even a bird.

For a moment, it’s just the snow and me, I smile inside, I feel so free!

1

My Wonderland!

Maryam Al Rumaithi Year 7 I view peace, joy and freedom, Surrounding me closer and closer‌ My wonderland.

I breathe tranquility, Tip- toeing with my hands open.

A smile showing up on my soft delicate face, My wonderland.

I wander slowly further into my version of fantasy‌ Marshmallow-made elves welcome me with both hands, A warm welcoming smile My wonderland.

Color dazzles my eyes, Splashing like a professional artist.

As I sense the slight drops Of purple water, I beam to myself.

My wonderland.

Color, color, color.

2

This is my dream.

The blanket of vivid colors.

My wonderland.

My dreams extend unlimitedly, As I day-dream more, This is heaven to me, Forever and always it will be, My wonderland.

3

White Alya Al Zaabi Year 7 White is a sparkling snow ake, sugary marshmallows and the shine of a diamond.

White is the taste of yummy vanilla ice cream.

White smells like gumdrops and cotton candy.

White makes me feel as happy as a warm cat, on a snowy winter day.

White is the sound of squishy goodness and music to my ears.

White is an icy mountain, paradise and home.

White is a free spirit.

White is the marshmallows to my hot cocoa.

White is the fur on my cat.

White is magical.

4

Krag’s Speech Muhammed Arryan Year 7 “My fellow ants, today an ant that we thought was our mother, has betrayed all of us here. You may not believe me, but it is one hundred percent true. I saw it with my bare eyes.

I was shocked of what I heard and what I saw. Our mother, the ANT QUEEN, has betrayed us! I was furious at what happened and believe me, this is as bad as you think it is.

I was thinking that this was a lie, but what I saw was not a lie.

You might not be with me in this one. That is fine because I know how stupid this sounds. But, I am going to tell you what that wicked witch planned. She was talking to herself, ladies and gentle ants. It was horrific, what I heard from the Ant Queen. She was planning to somehow get everyone in one place. Then, this I believe, will scare most of you. She wanted to bomb that place to kill all of you, so she could have all the honey for herself. She would do all this only for honey. She would kill all of us just for that. You might be horrified and think that she is mad. She does not know that if you cheat on your people, you are not only cheating them, but you are also cheating yourself. Imagine if the Ant Queen caught me 5

listening to her; imagine what she would have done to me.

Luckily I escaped from there. Please fellow ants, help me on my quest to stop the Ant Queen. It might not be easy but if we go down; we go down for our nation. So fellow ants are you with me to stop THE ANT QUEEN?�

6

My Wintery Wonderland!

Ciaran Duffy Year 7 Winter wonderland has trees made of ice, that make hot chocolate which tastes very nice.

Inside the log cabin, the fire flares and if you take your shoes off, you’ll get toasty feet.

Near that log cabin there is an ice rink which is actually colder than you think.

Talking teddy bears sit perched on floating reindeer but I don’t think they realise that height is one of their many fears.

Exited children play and dance, while some lucky adults sunbathe in France.

Right, my friends it’s time to go, as I am going out to enjoy the snow!

7

Dystopian Fiction Mahum Jahan Year 7 Our world is destroyed; not as you may think. On the outside all you can see are massive, blue, gleaming skyscrapers. My forefathers first came here to start again. People say that if it wasn’t for them we would be in ruins; literally. I hate it here.

People would die to be in my place, when in fact, they’re the lucky ones.

At a first glance, I look like a 30 year old, when actually I’m merely 17. My name is Pale, Jordan Pale. I see the world as a trap. Whatever you do (post on Facebook or shoplift some cheap sweets) will remain with you for the rest of your life.

Over here, there is no such thing as ‘delete’. If you make the wrong move, you will have to pay for it.

Growing up without a mother is hard; especially when you’re the one to blame. My loving mother passed away while giving birth to me. I have had this guilt hanging over me all my life. Nowadays, child birth never goes well. No chance.

Not with all the chemicals everywhere, most of which are harmful and toxic. However, I am extremely lucky to have a devoted, caring dad.

8

As I walk down my favourite alley, there’s not a sound to be heard. Just my careful treading tapping against the plastic, white pavement. I make a quick stop at one of the many coffee shops Dad owns; he’s the CEO of the coffee company.

As I heave open the jammed door, the silence is broken by the quiet buzzing of a camera, which means it is taking my picture for evidence, should an incident occur. Monitoring us behind these cameras are the Relosis. They are specially designed by the NSS (National Security Society) to observe and track where we are going. They are built with no mercy at all. If they see someone doing anything illegal, the Relosis have a right to exterminate that person; then and there.

I notice something is going on as soon as I walk in. Firstly, Dad is here. This is unusual as he has so much ‘work’; he’s usually stuck in his office. Secondly, he’s talking in a hushed voice with one of his old friends. Trying my best to be wary, I lean in and eavesdrop when both of them spot me. I have an ability to read my father’s face and now it clearly expresses a look: worry.

“Matt, just remember”, his friend calls out and makes a speedy exit. Since Dad and I have been so close all my life, he tells me everything, not even missing out the slightest bit. Listening carefully, I only manage to pick up a few things because he’s talking so fast. The main thing was that there has been a glitch with the Relosis and they are killing anyone they find without a valid reason. Those they kill are then reborn and re-programmed to carry out the same job.

9

“Then what was your friend asking you to remember?” I interrupt.

“Well… he wanted me to help the NSS and in return the government would grant us our wishes and desire,” Dad answered. “But I can’t! It’s just too risky and dangerous. Plus, if I die, you’ll grow up without a father, and you know I don’t want that to happen.”

“I’m seventeen!” I shouted and storm off.

I can’t believe it!

He still thinks I’m a baby.

I’m old

enough to take care of myself! I hate it when he gets all overprotective. Guilt starts creeping up on me when I think things through and within a few minutes, I’ve made up my mind to go back and apologise. Just as I turn around, I hear a scream which turns my blood cold. Through the transparent glass, I see a woman who looks like she’s frozen in time. Next to her is a broken bottle with lemonade pouring out onto the sidewalk. She appears to be a waitress from the café across the street. Her fists are clenched and it’s easy to see that her knuckles are snow white. My mind starts racing, trying to figure out what has happened.

I bolt back to the shop and realize that the whole place is completely deserted. It takes me a second or two to fully grasp the scene in front of me. A Relosis is standing behind her with a knife stabbed into the woman’s back. Out of curiosity, I take a closer look. I see that the Relosis has been shut down; manually. Mesmerized by what I have just seen, I don’t hear the tapping of someone’s shoes until the last 10

second. Turning around in a blink of an eye, I let out a gasp of relief seeing Dad. I look down at what he’s holding and see that it’s a razor sharp knife. A thin, sly smile forms on his lips and the last words I hear from him come out in a harsh whisper: “You probably didn’t see that coming, did you?”

With that, he plunges the knife directly into my heart.

I can feel all my organs shutting down; one by one. My heartbeat slows down and my eyelids start to droop. I inhale one last time. All that remains is pitch black…

11

My Wonderland Mahum Jahan Year 7 The crisp white blanket of snow crunches underneath my feet, Looking up I see confetti and multi-coloured unicorns, A stream of glitter flows freely in the horizon, Defying gravity, Defying anything that you don’t want, This is… my wonderland.

Indulging in a worry-free world, Tranquility, Serene views, That’s only just the beginning, A picturesque mirage in the desert, But the only difference is that this is real, This is…my wonderland.

Touching anything in this place, Is like touching a Persian kitten’s fur, It’s like plunging in to a hill of cotton balls, With every step that you take, 12

The terrain changes according to what you desire, Be it a bouncy castle, Or a paradise beach, Or even walking on marshmallows!

This is… my wonderland.

This place is like play dough, You can do whatever you want with it, Everyone’s dreams put together, A world of endless ecstasy, This is… my wonderland!

13

Crackling Fire!

Wilf Marshall Year 7 A single fire burning brightly in the desert, A single fire represents the blood and sacrifice!

A single fire of the vast expense, A single fire abandoned by the sun, A single fire which has just begun!

The night is falling and the sand is crawling, The night is crumbling and the fire is crackling, The night is somehow bright, Because the sun will not give up in a fright.

The wind howls loudly as the fire bellows, The wind creeps up on the abandoned sand, Which shines a bright yellow, The wind cries loudly as the sun rises, And the deserted desert shines again.

Finally, the fire cools down.

14

Ant Speech Valerie Peychev Year 7 Ants! Today is the day we ďŹ nd courage and true power. It is time we unite with the wasps and change our colonies and this garden into a true nation! We must stop disasters and make things right. The ant queen does not want any alliances which makes us weaker! When we have alliances, we will become a powerful colony in the future; if you follow me. Let us stop taking orders from the queen! Let us have a community of ideas and leadership! Let us be free and make wise choices for ourselves and each other! Have you ever wanted to do something for yourself, but never had the chance to, because the queen said NO? Well I can help you, and you can help me by making this garden and colony better. I can change things! We can change things! Come, join me in victory. Kill the queen and let us rule this colony and garden TOGETHER!

15

Green Alexandros Rizzi Year 7 Green is lying down in a grassy field.

Green is the sound of the wind rustling in the forest and country music.

Green smells like scented candles and the aroma of the finest flowers.

Green is having good luck.

Green makes me feel happy.

Green is the taste of carefully prepared salad.

Green is a vast meadow and the deep jungle.

Green is the gentle buzzing of a bee, something pleasant and walking through a garden.

16

Pink Salma Yasin Year 7 Pink is a field of flowers in spring, bright lipstick and feeling flattered.

Pink is the taste of juicy lemonade.

Pink smells like my grandmother making cake batter.

Pink makes me feel like I’ve overeaten.

Pink is the sound of a baby’s laugh and a ballerina’s graceful steps.

Pink is the Sheikh Zayed Mosque, a bakery and a Utopian world.

Pink is glancing at a masterpiece.

Pink is sitting in a calm library.

Pink is perky.

17

The F1 Race!

Salma Yasin Year 7 As I entered the arena, I started to feel like I was living a dream! I had mixed emotions and didn’t know how to react at all! This is how it all started…

When I walked in, the crowd was roaring and the smell of smoke drilled through my nostrils. Each car thundered as it passed each lap. The whole crowd was so excited, that for a minute I thought they were going to jump onto the track. I felt like I could hear the racer’s hearts beating like the drums being played by a band. As each car drifted across, the friction of the wheels and the tracks gave off a burnt smell, as if there was a barbeque cooking nearby. Slowly, one after another, cars passed across the finish line and the checkered flag waved in the air like a jellyfish swimming in the sea.

I felt as if this was my home and that this is where my heart belongs.

18

A Bad Habit Farah Abo Asali Year 8 I have a secret that I want you to keep, When I am in class and I look like I’m asleep, I’m actually away, far away not here or there.

Away in my wonderland, where I just sit and stare.

Bursting Coke fountains and lollipop trees, Cotton candy clouds and Choco-fudge seas.

Shortbread biscuit houses and gingerbread roads to march upon, And trust me I’m telling you, you’ll never ever yawn.

The children always greet you with a smile on their face, Not with a frown that only ugly monsters embrace, The energy will be positive that’s for sure, And all the bad vibes I’m sure they’ll cure.

And that’s why, my dear teacher, I drift off in 19

class, I’m not slacking off so please let it pass, I promise I won’t drift off again during this lesson, But I can’t guarantee you this habit will lessen.

20

Liwa Desert Abdulla Al Hosani Year 8 In Liwa city there is nothing impossible, It’s so nice and enjoyable.

We hike in the desert, And the sun shines so bright.

We always look all around at each wonderful sight.

A hawk soars above, Each wing like a sail, And it shakes its tail.

Huge tortoises move, Without making any sounds.

A desert seems empty.

But open your eyes, Because every sand dune has a surprise.

21

THE ALIEN! Mohammed Alkhyeli Year 8 One stormy night there was a smooth slimy alien which crash landed on planet earth. The alien was tall and scary. He had sharp teeth and huge black eyes. He had three long legs and his head looked like a balloon. The alien was very stretchy; he could spin all of his body 360° around in a circle.

The alien crashed behind our house, in the garden. The crash was so strong that the space ship dug underground.

The crash sounded like a building breaking down. I went behind the house, the space ship opened. When I saw the alien I was very frightened. I asked the alien, “Where are you from?”

The alien replied, “I came from Mars.” The alien’s voice was very difficult to understand. The alien was here for the green diamond key. The green diamond key makes Mars bright and beautiful.

The alien was walking around in the city; he was so surprised because he had never seen any cars or motorcycles before. The alien was thinking about driving a car but nobody stopped because there were going so fast. The alien kept 22

on walking around the city, suddenly he saw a shop full of guns, so he went inside the shop and every one was afraid of him so they ran away. He tried using some of the guns but he took the pistol because it was very light. When the alien got out from the shop he kept on shooting everyone he saw, he killed someone who was driving a car. He walked towards the car and pushed the person out and drove the car and kept on shooting. The alien was driving at full speed and drifting. Suddenly he saw a motorcycle race. He went to the motorcycle race; he took a motorbike and joined in the race. He didn’t know how to drive a motorbike so he just kept on going full speed, high jumps and drifting. The person in charge of the motorcycle race called the police, and after a while the police came. The alien was frightened by the noise that was coming out from the police car so he ran away. The police man quickly started the car and kept on following the alien. When they reached the alien the tazered him with a tazer gun and the alien fainted.

When the alien woke up he had blurry vision. He was in jail so the alien screamed to call his alien friends. When his alien friend reached him they blew up the police station and took the alien and went wandering around for the green diamond key.

The alien suddenly saw the green diamond key at top of Liberty City, they went there but they couldn’t reach the green diamond key. The aliens blew the entire Liberty City up and took the green diamond key and went back to Mars.

23

They returned the key to Mars and it glowed and became beautiful and all of the aliens were happy.

24

The Friendly Alien Saeed Al Mansoori Year 8 Once upon a time there was a boy called Saeed, who was riding his motorbike in the desert. Suddenly, in the distance he saw a huge U.F.O; he ran back and hid behind a tree.

Saeed saw a green, gooey, and tall alien going out of his U.F.O. Saeed ran back to his motorbike and the alien started following him. He went to the alien and asked him, “Where are you from?” He replied back, “I’m from Trolololololololo Planet”.

After ten minutes, Saeed tried to come up with an idea to get rid of the alien. Suddenly, Saeed tried to hit him with a gun but his ammo finished; Saeed hid behind the house. The alien quickly duplicated the motorbike and stood in shock. A few seconds later Saeed’s friend approached to ask him what happened. Saeed told him about the alien. Saeed’s friend didn’t believe him and just returned home.

A minute later, Saeed went to the car beside the alien and suggested: “Hop on.” Saeed took the alien to the army.

They asked, “Where did you find him?” I replied, “Back in the desert”.

25

They kept looking at the alien; however Saeed realised that he should save the alien- he felt bad, so he took the alien and ran away to the desert. Saeed took the alien so the army can’t find him. He went back to his U.F.O and said happily, “Thank you for saving me”.

The alien suggested, “Do you want to see my U.F.O?” Saeed replied back, “Yes let’s go!” When they went, he saw a lot of buttons and gooey food that was round and really huge that can fit 100 people. Saeed told the alien “Thank you.” The alien took Saeed down by teleporting him. Saeed was so happy that he photographed it so he can show all his friends.

The next day, Saeed took his phone to show everybody his picture. He went to his friends and showed them the picture.

They all said “Why didn’t you kill him?” I replied back, “ No, he was kind.”

26

The clever alien Salem al shabibi Al nahdi Year 8 On a sunny day in the vast desert of the Area 51, USA, a bright light flashed in the clear blue sky. No one actually gave any interest in it and all the mine workers kept working underneath the hot and burning summer sun. Suddenly, this flying, unknown object crashed into the Rocky Mountains and fell with the speed of light in the deepest valley in this empty desert. Every worker in the area ran toward where the accident took place.

They stood speechless from the sight of a spaceship that just landed on planet earth.

A thick cloud of smoke and dust covered the entire place, leaving everyone around coughing and with tears in their eyes.

The most unbelievably strange and weird creature abruptly came out from this huge spacecraft. IT WAS AN ALIEN! He looked very different from any human being, he had smooth, bright, blue skin and he had one eye in the middle of his oval face. He was really creepy, and he smelt like a rotten onion. He was as tall as a building. He used his spikey, 27

black wings to fly around his planet.

He was desperate for help from anything he can find, because his spacecraft was damaged. He went to the farm so he can get some tools from the garage to fix his large, wrecked spaceship. He found a scarecrow standing in the middle of the farm, so he got a brilliant idea to dress up in his outfit to be able to blend in. So, he wore the clothes and covered his face with a bandana and went looking for help.

He found a tall man, wearing huge thick glasses; he was coming closer and closer.

The Alien approached the old man and started chatting with him, because this clever alien had a built-in multilingual translator. The tall man was clueless; he had no idea he was talking with an alien and helping him to fix the large damaged extra-terrestrial vessel space ship.

With the old man’s helpful instructions, the clever alien was able to finally repair his craft.

It was definitely a very happy ending, the Alien was able to go back home safely!!!

28

Macbeth- A different story told Manif Al Nahdi Year 8 Three old-aged weird women were out in a frightening storm.

Meanwhile, there was a battle. Macbeth was a strong, brave man who killed many people in that battle. The three weird women came to him on the top of an enormous hill. It was night-time, “Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! You should kill the king and take the throne.” One of the women instructed him. Banquo, Macbeth’s friend had heard what the old women had said.

Macbeth had returned home to his wife, Lady Macbeth.

Lady Macbeth did not know what happened to him above the hill, with three old women but she liked that idea of him being king, so she persuaded Macbeth to become king, but without any result. She continued to encourage him to kill the king, until eventually he wanted to kill him and agreed with his wife that this would be a good idea.

After a while, the king had heard how Macbeth was a strong brave man. He also knew how well he had fought in battle.

Now it was the time Macbeth should kill the king. Macbeth 29

went to the king’s bedroom while he was sleeping and killed him.

Eventually, everybody knew that the king was killed but nobody knew who had done it. Macbeth became suspicious that Banquo knew something about it so he sent people to kill him. They tried to kill him but they could not.

The next day, the king’s son had taken the throne. At this time Macbeth got jealous, so he killed new king and became the new king.

After a long time, everybody knew what happened to both of the kings before him, so Macduff and Malcom went to his home. Everybody was there except Macbeth. Malcolm and Macduff asked Lady Macbeth, “Where is your wife?”

“I do not know!” she replied.

They had killed Lady

Macbeth and her children; there was not any soul in the house.

Malcolm and Macduff searched for Macbeth. They found him and started fighting. “It is you who started it and we will end it!” Malcolm and Macduff yelled while they were fighting.

After a while Macbeth killed Malcolm and he continued fighting. Macbeth was really tired because he fight with two people in the same time so Macduff had killed Macbeth easily. Macduff had become the king and they lived happily ever after.

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The poem of Shakespeare Sara Al Shehhi Year 8 Macbeth is scared, His wife is rare.

Duncan comes here tonight, But not to ďŹ ght.

He leaves tomorrow, With no bow or arrow.

Macbeth feels down, But Lady Macbeth wants the crown.

She convinces Macbeth to kill the king, But this has no joy of spring .

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Dear Macbeth Mariana Alvarez Year 8 Dear Macbeth, I am writing this letter to suggest some ideas for your future life. I know that you were forced to kill the king and you are a bit anxious, but let me tell you that it wasn’t a good idea to do that. You will live your life full of regret, but I am writing to you to try and give you some useful advice.

First of all, I would like to give you some advice on the pressure you felt when your wife told you to kill Duncan.

Now, you should not have listened to your wife because you are freaking out and going mad, so next time don’t go and do it. You should have gone away for a while to think things through. If that wasn’t enough, you could go and tell the king or the police. What you did was horrible and there is no way in this world that you will ever forget.

Now in the present, you can change some things. Now, I know that you are feeling very guilty, make sure that you will not go and tell someone. This is because they will kill you and you don’t want that. What you should do is be very nice to the king’s family and offer them a beautiful house somewhere far 32

away. They will not interfere with you and they will think that you are very sorry for what happened. If anyone suspects, make sure they go away and talk to them but don’t kill him because then people will be doubtful.

Future advice, your wife may get a little crazy or she will start feeling pressure, but make sure she doesn’t tell anyone and make sure that you will not visit anymore of those witches.

Don’t go mad yourself either, because if you do, you will be caught. Rule the country as a wise king so no one suspects, and care about your people.

It was nice to talk to you and I hope you will listen to my advice, but make sure you burn this paper after reading it because if anyone reads it you will be in big trouble.

See you soon, Mariana Alvarez

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My Dog Mariana Alvarez Year 8 My dog is my best friend, Even until the end.

I love his cuddles, The way that children like jumping in puddles.

He is the best dog ever, And he is mine forever.

Let the world know, He is the best the dog I know.

He has a eyes like diamonds, That are the colour of the ocean surrounding islands.

He is hairy, But not scary.

He hates water, And he has sotwo ns and two daughters.

He ate a belt, And I can’t explain how sad I felt.

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The World Of Nature Mariana Alvarez Year 8 Shhh…..

Went the nature, Where there is no danger, A place where you play, And spray.

Happiness, In this world only happiness is alive, And no words to describe, Where the queen and princess, Aren’t vicious, But there’s a side, That no one knows, Where the witch lives, And plants don’t grow.

The spooky side of that wonderful world, It’s where everything goes wrong, In that side there isn’t a bite of sweet, And dreams don’t grow, The magic doesn’t appear.

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Father Mohammed Al Zaabi Year 8 He was my hero when I was a child, And his words were always mild.

He was always kind and had a pure heart, He told me how to live from the very start.

I felt like he was too soft, And as I grew older I knew that’s what he wants .

As I go through my day, he is always by my side, Following, watching and also being my guide.

I always pray he would visit me while I sleep, Dreaming of him is a good thing that goes too deep.

When I hear my dad’s voice in my ear, It makes me get rid of all of my fear.

He is the angel of my past, When I see him, I want the feeling to last.

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I’ll miss him every day until I’m no longer on earth, And when I see him, it will be like a re-birth.

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Shadows Maha Baranzanji Year 8 Shadows trail Beatrice, hushed as the night, as the day whisks away. It joins her once more hailing like an old friend, it mirrors her actions as though looking up to her, surveying Beatrice’s every move. An immaculate outline of her shape, an echo of her movements; it shadows Beatrice. She looks up to the sky that was once bright as your wildest dreams now it is dark as your scariest nightmares. Beatrice saw some birds looking free, careless and stress-less and she wondered to herself if she would ever be like them. If God gave her a chance of being free, not insecure and fearful. If one day Beatrice won’t care about her posture looking straight and elegant, if her clothes are not to a certain class and most importantly she wouldn’t care about being liked.

Here she was roaming down the deadly, haunted street with Beatrice’s shadow following behind, after being kicked out from Grandma Wolf’s house. Beatrice started to feel these several emotions building up inside her, she couldn’t help but feel lonely, heartbroken, abandoned and miserable but that is not because grandma wolf kicked her out of the 38

house but it’s because Beatrice isn’t going to see her parents for another 2 years! Beatrice always thought that it was all her fault that her parents started traveling; she was the one to blame for all this. Beatrice she thought that her parents didn’t want her and that she was full of bothersome and disturbance. She always blamed herself for something she wasn’t responsible of. Beatrice tried to be mature in front of grandma wolf and after all these night of washing the dishes and drying her clothes, trying to be the most perfect girl ever.

It was all for nothing. Beatrice felt hot water gathering in her eyes ready to burst out in tears.

After wondering around the deserted streets, Beatrice saw an old ancient looking bar that was standing alone looking lonely and broken down just like Beatrice was feeling. When she came closer the smell of cow pat and alcohol crept up Beatrice’s nose and the feeling of disgust took over her body, but she needed to find the closest shelter. Beatrice opened the door slowly which caused a deathly noise that rang through her ears. When her shaky foot took a step forward, her heart suddenly started beating rapidly, Beatrice hands were covered in her own sweat and her mind exploded with horrible possibilities that might happen. Beatrice trailed her eyes around the draughty corridors, icy bitter wind rattles and the water lazily drips from the dusty A.C vent. Spiders scurry in dark corners clinging to the ghostly fingers. In the corner, gigantic men sip lazily from their dirty jugs and some other men drink from their stained mugs while looking right 39

through me. At that very moment Beatrice regretted coming in.

Beatrice quickly turned around to the dusty doors when suddenly she felt a tight grip on her wrist, she turned around to find a violent looking man with a lip piercing hanging out from his thick lips and his lips started to move saying ‘’ You’re not going anywhere” . All Beatrice could think was: ‘This is all my fault once again.’

Beatrice didn’t know what to do so she kicked him in the shins as hard as she could giving all her force and mighty to her leg. The psycho loosened his grip on her and that is when she ran for her life, she sprinted through the doors in the icy cold air but she didn’t stop, Beatrice’s legs were full of energy and they kept moving one after the other. After a while she knew that she has lost the psycho killer, Beatrice kept walking still unsure of where to go then she felt the chilly wind sprint through her dirty blonde hair down the street as if it is on a never ending race. Out of nowhere Beatrice saw a modern looking building that said in bold writing: ORPHANAGE CARE. Beatrice couldn’t believe it, she didn’t know if this was a miracle or a nightmare but she knew that that building is where her future is going to be, that blue yellow building is where she going to spend her future. Beatrice thought in her mind: ‘ Well let’s get this future on a road’…

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My Extraordinary Story Camilla De Leo Year 8 It all started with a normal falcon, he was born in a small, dirty and untreated nest with his mum and dad, but no siblings. They lived happily and joyfully for some time, but as time passed; the weather started getting hotter, so things changed. A random man, who was hungry, tired and out of food and water, was dragging himself in the boiling sand, leaving a trail behind him that looked like a snake. As he squinted, trying to look upwards, he heard the humming sound of the falcon’s father.

Eventually the tough man

brought out his powerful gun, aimed at the bird and took a shot – and missed. He took another shot and it went straight through his left wing, on his third and final shot, he didn’t even have to shoot since the bird had already landed on its face. The little falcon had only realized this occurred, when the man was walking with the falcon on his shoulder with its beak wide open. As the little falcon turned to face his poor mum, she stood still, with eyes and beak wide open – she had a heart attack. That is where his extraordinary adventure started.

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“I am lonely now, my parents are gone and I don’t even know how to fly. What do I do? Should I just be human’s food or try to live my life? It’s hard without anybody that can look after me and stay with me. I have decided that I will travel with my small feet and learn how to fly. Alone. As the days are passing, I am getting stronger, bigger, confident and more independent. One day I tried to fly, I failed. Every day I have been trying and I finally flew! Now I can travel longer in a shorter time, which I am very happy about. The desert is massive and immeasurable. Trying to fly to the end would be a miracle, so every day, I provide myself with food and water to have the energy to fly. I have spent 2 years to try and reach the end of the desert. I have had 3 to 5 shots by mad humans that tried to kill me. But all that matters is I am surviving.”

“My first stop is a city called Abu Dhabi. It’s all new to me; I don’t know where to go or what to do. The world is ahead of me and I need to get on with it. All I see are gigantic buildings and many roaring cars, but in the night, it is a fabulous sight. There are lights everywhere, humans walking on the beach, palaces and too much to absorb. There’s a problem: no nature, not many flowers and not many trees. I have travelled for 5 to 6 hours to end up in a bigger place with more nature and a spectacular sea. I have decided to stay there for longer to provide myself with food for my thin body after an exhausting trip. The sun is shining and the opaque flowers gently swing with the wind. Life is perfect.”

“But my life cannot stop here. I don’t know where to go 42

because I am new to the world, so I just y and y where the wind carries me to. I suddenly stop because guess what: I am in the same place where I was born and instead of me, there is another small falcon with no dad and mum. There is always a new start for everyone.�

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Wonderland Lea El Maalouf Year 8 The dream began, with me in the forest.

A house full of candy appeared.

But witches threatened us all, Flying over the sky, crunching on cockroaches, I felt scared and alert.

Started looking for a way to escape, A huge bird appeared next to me.

So we ew away to candy land.

It had houses brightly colored, And dancing fountains of chocolate.

I was very fascinated by the tasty, marvelous and colorful sweets.

They were jumping around me with happiness and joy.

And suddenly, I saw a little girl who was really sad.

Her golden, Rapunzel-long hair, Flew behind her in the fresh breeze of fresh air.

Her ocean blue eyes ďŹ lled with crystals tears, 44

They were shining and glittering from far away.

And matching her wonderful, light, glowing gown.

The magical animals around the girl.

Were really kind and gentle.

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UAE Writing Alice Ferrarese Year 8 A racing heart soars through the air, Like in an exhilarating race!

My jumbled mind praying silently, That I will make it through.

My racing heart fills explosively, With sparks of fire.

Heart speeding, Feet pacing, Adrenaline rushing, The flowing of blood in my veins, Throbbing.

Lights flashing violently within the street.

What is it?

It’s the light of a true falcon’s heart.

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Candy In Wonderland Yousef Fouad Year 8 Candy and wonderland, what a beautiful name.

There are cute little elves and horses you can tame.

You can find loyal puppies and cute ginger cats.

And they come in handy when it comes to rats.

You will get frightened when you see the huge trees.

No one could get past them, not even those bad thieves.

But everything always has two sides.

It’s either the good ones or where they kill their wives.

But that’s a bad story, no one wants to go there.

But it also doesn’t matter because it is pretty rare.

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So this is the place, it’s almost perfect.

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The Soldier Usama Jones Year 8 The dirt was soft underneath him. The sand bags around him were thick and heavy. He felt safe, he was wrong.

The sun shone with a violent beauty as its rays heated up everything around him. Surrounding trees provided good cover from the bombardment of gun fire that was now raining upon them. One young soldier was brave, or stupid, enough to shoot back, Jordan. He was the youngest of our unit, but definitely one of the bravest. He always shot with deadly accuracy, that’s why he was the sniper of our deployment.

His unit was in a gun fight but Jordan was equipped with his knife. He decided to put it to use. Around him were destroyed cars and broken parts of machinery, he could use those for cover, there was a lot of soft dirt which would help soften his footsteps. He wasn’t worried about sound; he knew the cacophony of ‘BANGS’ and ‘BOOMS’ would cover up most noises he could create.

Sneaking around a flipped tank, he heard voices. He knew he had arrived on the enemy’s front lines. He turned a corner around a flaming Humvee and sure enough, there were 9 49

soldiers crouching behind a wall of thick sand bags. Silently slipping out his arm length bowie knife, he crept forward.

When he got close enough, Jordan swiftly swiped through the air implanting the cold steel of his knife into the first soldier’s neck.

Blood squirted out, but Jordan didn’t have time to worry about that. He swirled around in a whirlwind of dark green, red and pale white. Jordan grabbed the second soldier by the scruff of his neck while the others were still discombobulated.

Slitting his throat, he seized the third soldier and used him as a human shield. The fourth soldier shot him. Letting go of the now limp, lifeless body Jordan charged at the fourth while he was reloading.

A quick jab through the heart killed him. Jordan fired of with feral ferocity, fuelled by the anger of his nation.

His action startled the fifth soldier which gave him the opportunity to strike. As he ran his knife through the soldier’s eye, he heard a ‘bang’ and felt a sharp pain in his side. He looked down. A hole. Blood pouring out like a waterfall, gushing. He heard two more ‘bangs’ and felt two more piercings, this time in his chest. He dropped to the dirt.

Jordan was gone.

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Deep Down a Rabbit Hole Aliza Solario Year 8 Deep Down a rabbit’s hole, Lies a strange and wonderful place Where there is no such thing as time, Or sanity or space.

You fall into a room, Where there’s a drink that can make you small.

A door so very little, And a cake that can make you tall!

A garden where flowers can talk, Where a smart mouthed caterpillar makes smoke rings.

An island where dodos live, And where birds and sea creatures sing.

Down the road live a hatter and a hare.

Their cakes and tea are the very best!

Both so mad and very insane; Asking why a raven is like a writing desk.

In a palace lives a Queen, 51

Who is very short tempered, And with just four little words, She can have your head dismembered!

A yard where they use flamingoes and hedgehogs, To play a game of crocket, And forests where bread-and-butterflies, And rocking-horseflies come out and play!

Up a tree lives the Cheshire cat, Who slowly disappears...

Telling a young, blonde haired girl, That almost everyone is mad here!!

In this place it makes sense, That what it is, it wouldn’t be.

And what it wouldn’t be, it would.

Logic of childish insanity!!

So you are happily invited, To this place so eccentric and grand!

Where nonsense is your guide, To this unknown kingdom called Wonderland.

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The Next Best Thing!

Nikola Stamenkovic Year 8 Sparks were flying. With every blow, blades are clashing - each seeming stronger than the previous one.

The

opponents never broke their gaze as the reflection of the moon beamed against their swords.

The moonlight

illuminated the battlefield. The desert plain they battled on and the structures behind them collapsed, as the fragments flew past their faces in directions unknown. The blades were in lock now, with each soldier determined to win the battle with a single slash. As the blades collided yet again, the desert faded like a dream, long lost in reality.

Naomi woke up. Her black hair rubbed against her pale face as she lay on the ground. A broken billboard shined in her face reading ‘Welcome to Utopia’. With a smile on her face, she looked at the barren and over-populated city that was once Utopian; a sanctuary of hope if you like. Grabbing her pistol and blade, she headed down into what was left of the city. A foul stench grabbed her nose and the sound of rats running made it no easier to pass through the Dystopian city.

The streets were filled with beggars and people wearing poor 53

clothes, all trying to earn some money, but she wasn’t here to sight-see. She was here to find someone. As she passed the mounds of futuristic shops and weapon stores, she managed to find the location where she was to meet the client. The time was 2:30. Perfect.

“Long time, no see Naomi” an elderly voice could be heard from the alley way. “Spare me the small talk gramps; I’m looking for a job” she replied. “Well, if you want a job, why not get one here?” the old man asked. Naomi didn’t even bother replying. “There’s a criminal on the loose. You might know him, his name is Caign.” The old man said, walking into the mist. After the elderly man spoke, he could be seen no more. Naomi exited the alley way into the slums of the city.

Pungent, she thought. She quickly made her way past the tremendous amounts of tech filled stores. She did however, stop at one. ‘Billy Jeans, Home to the Gun you need’ the sign read. She opened the door only to be greeted by a familiar sound of a wind chime. Loud steps could be heard as a tall, muscular, dark-skinned man made his way down the spiralling staircase obviously too small for him. “Welcome to Billy Jeans home to-” He stopped. “Naomi, is that you?”

Naomi nodded. “It’s been quite a while” the man shouted.

“Why are you here again, in the slums of Utopia?”

“James you know me as well as I know myself, so you should know why I’m here.” She replied. “So you still haven’t given up on that Bounty Hunter job, huh?” He replied.

“How’s the old man?” He asked.

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“The old man’s good,

but I need to ask a favor.” Naomi said.

“Can you get

my sword sharpened by tomorrow morning?” She asked, handing James the sword. “My, my, you’ve got it quite blunt, but sure, I can get it fixed in no time” he said. Turning around, Naomi headed towards the door, with her hand behind her in the ‘thumbs up’ position. “Oh, and just one more thing Naomi” James began. “Don’t get yourself killed out there on the surface, will you?”

The next morning, as she left for the surface, Naomi noticed an unusual sight in the rigorous land of the undergrounds. Plants were starting to grow. Of all the things, it was a beautiful white and rose pink flower. Naomi admired it for a minute, asking herself how a living thing could be so carefree. However, as she neared the hatch, the dreaded anticipation got to her, and she was anxious to get out.

She sat down in the pod, looking around the small white circular object. “Please, enter your ID and we will begin your tour to the surface world” the voice box asked. Naomi did as she was told. “Naomi, of the Military Enforcement and Containment Unit” The voice box spoke in a soft tone.

“Prepare for liftoff”. The incredible speed of the pod was only rivaled by her incredible need to vomit. Once on the world’s surface, Naomi took a second to look at the world and its scenery - or at least what was left of it. The scorched and equally rotten wasteland was black. Most of the trees were now burned to ashes and anything that resembled a building, was now completely broken. Naomi quickly put 55

on her gas mask, which read that it had six hours of oxygen left. More than enough, she thought. She ran past the wild west - looking at buildings set up and into the Forest of Black. The odor was foul and smelt of rotten eggs. Hydrogen Sulfide, she remembered her chemistry lessons. She ran past the scorched landscape towards the cliff of doom. The cliff she jumped off of. If it weren’t for the long fall boots she was wearing. Her dark hair flicked past her as she walked towards the targets location. Sparks were flying. With every blow, blades are clashing each seeming stronger than the previous one. The opponents never broke their gaze as the reflection of the moon beamed against their swords. The moonlight illuminated the battlefield. The desert plain they battled on and the structures behind them collapsed and the fragments flew past their faces in directions unknown. The blades were in lock now with each soldier determined to win the battle with a single slash, and as Naomi’s blade hit the target, he spoke, “The Eden you seek is north of here.” With his final breath, the soldier died. Her hands now bloody and trembling, she ran north. With awe, she found what might be the earth’s one and only hope of reincarnation. The New Eden.

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THE ALIEN Rashid Suroor Year 8 On a dark gloomy night, my best friends and I decided to go camping.

It was not the best idea! The sky was pitching black, and the hooting of the owl was rising in the air. It was very creepy and scary.

We were playing football next to the tents; when suddenly one of my friends kicked the ball so far and high, it went into the deep woods. So I went and ran quickly after it. I was walking with hesitation in the mysterious forest looking for a lost ball.

BAMMM! I saw something covered in orange with yellow stars on it. I thought it was the ball, but when I went closer and looked at it, I was shocked! It wasn’t what I thought it was.

The weird object wasn’t like anything I have seen before.

It looked really weird, I never seen anything like it before.

It was crashed and on fire! I went running back to my friends and I told them about everything. We ran back to the same place then we poured the bucket of water at the fire.

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We were looking at the rocket; suddenly we heard a strange noise. I stopped moving, but one of my friends said, “It’s the wind.’’ We continued looking at the rocket; we heard that eerie noise again then we all shouted, ‘’who’s there?’’ We heard it once again! So we ran back to the car.

When we arrived, the noise was still haunting us! We decided to go home. When we went into the car we heard that noise again! A friend of mine started to drive and he’s only fourteen years old! I felt safe, but then I saw something running as fast as a bullet. I was sitting at the back row when I was talking to my friend; then I thought I saw a weird face staring at me. My friend drove fast, because he was scared that the police will spot us and follow us.

We were all scared and my friend started to drive even faster! We were going right and left until we……

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A Mysterious Place - Wonderland Sarah Abdalla Year 9 Crystal clear waters and lush green fields, Monsters and creatures and evil beasts.

There’s angels, there’s devils, there’s good and bad, So what in the world is this Wonderland?

Is it a place where dreams come alive?

Or is it a place where lost heroes lie?

Some say it’s magical, some say it’s real!

Some say it’s haunted, some say it’s surreal…

I don’t know if my eyes are playing tricks, But I just saw some laughing bricks!

Wait, look, there’s a talking mug, And a white cute bunny, but a little smug!

Look around, what else do you see?

Is that a human, or a talking tree?

Wait a second, who is he?

He doesn’t look familiar to you or me!

Go say hi, or give him a pea, 59

Oh wait, no, he’s flying a huge bee!

This place is mysterious, or so they say, There are a lot of unicorns and a bunch of hay!

So here my friends our journey ends, This isn’t good bye, but a see you soon.

Don’t be gone too long, you shall be missed, When the night comes and your cheeks get kissed, Goodnight mom! Goodnight dad!

And say hello to our Wonderland!

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A Proud Arabic Heritage!

Sarah Abdalla Year 9 A proud Arabic heritage, United and one!

Possessed by the determination, To establish a nation, beyond compare.

A proud Arabic heritage, With a glorious history!

Built above tombs, And around pyramids.

Inside they rest their mighty kings, Believed to raise again someday!

And with them lie the ďŹ nest gold, Among the marvellous treasures untold.

A proud Arabic heritage, Who remember their soldiers, Sweat dripping and tears shedding Forever branded into our memories.

Honour and dignity, In red, white and black, As we raise our ag and represent; 61

A proud Arabic heritage!

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Reading Assessment Sarah Abdalla Year 9 I am Malala - a novel written by Malala Yousafzai with Christina Lamb. This autobiography is about a girl (Malala) and her difficult journey to earn an education. It was written to show how hard life was for her to receive something we take for granted: education. A main character that has a great influence on Malala is her father, Ziauddin Yousafzai.

One of the important features of the father is his public speaking, which has an impact on Malala. That is shown when Malala says, “I have a father who isn’t scared, who stands by me. He said ‘you are a child and it’s your right to speak.’”

The father’s journey through public speaking blossoms, as the novel progresses. We learn that his stutters never held him back, no matter how weak his father, Rohul Amin, who was famous for his speeches, made him feel. Ziauddin had entered a public speaking competition when he was thirteen.

Ziauddin told his father and he was stunned, “how can you?”

Rohul Amin asked, laughing. “You take one or two minutes to utter just one sentence.”

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“Don’t worry,” replied Ziauddin,“you write the speech and I will learn it”. This extract clearly shows how determined Ziauddin is to make his father proud and to get his voice heard. This was the beginning of his public speaking voyage.

Ever since that incident happened, he has taken every opportunity to speak publically. Ziauddin had entered the district’s annual public speaking competition. “His teachers and friends tried to dissuade him, and his father was reluctant to write the speech for him. But eventually, baba gave him a fine speech, which my father practiced and practiced.” It is shown here how persistent he is to impress his father, to show him he is worth something and his weakness is nothing other than his strength. It is the strength that he uses to make his father proud. The strength that showed he is a Shaheen – a falcon – “because this is a creature that flies high above other birds!” This metaphor captures the father’s determination to lead and guide his fellow citizens to ‘fly high’ above others and progress in his achievements. By including the word ‘high’ in this context, it shows how he stands out from his peers. To ‘fly high’ is to be above something, making you a leader and a role model to all those around you.

Ziauddin Yousafzai is an incredible public speaker, because he speaks English and Urdu fluently, making him a great communicator both inside, and outside of Swat Valley. In addition to this, he is chosen as spokesperson even though he is not an elder or a Khan, as he is a very strong speaker who is not afraid to speak out. He is always at seminars, or 64

on the media challenging Fazlullah. He would say to Malala, “Any organisation which works for peace, I will join. If you want to resolve a dispute or come out from conflict, the very first thing is to speak the truth”. The word ‘work’ and ‘join’ are key in this excerpt. If you work or join something it means you stand for it and support it. It suggests that you agree with the concept and proud to show that in public. By saying this, Ziauddin is encouraging Malala to speak out, and not to keep the truth hidden and to stand up for her rights. He also gives the idea of ‘working’ and ‘joining’, to help the community, creating a better place for people to live in where the ‘truth’ would resolve conflicts.

In addition, Yousafzai gives advice, not just to Malala, but to everyone. “The very first thing is to speak the truth”. This short excerpt tells us a lot about Ziauddin’s personality, and how he is a very honest person, who strives to support the community. He is also not afraid of the consequences it might create at the start, however is determined to achieve his goals through hard work and is striving to ensure that people have faith in what is right. His strong sense of morality is captured in his encouraging words: “the truth will abolish fear”.

As the father’s public speaking career flourishes, so does his confidence.

As the military and ISI were extremely

powerful, most people did not like to voice their hate for them publically. Ziauddin and his friends however were not scared.

He really hated how people never spoke 65

up.

That meant that even if they did not agree with

the government, they had no one to stop them from the inhumane activities. Malala’s father would always say, “don’t support the Talibanisation, it’s inhumane. We are told that Swat is being sacrificed for the state.

A state is like a

mother, and a mother never deserts or cheats her children.”

By adding this simile, the writer’s intention is to give the reader something to relate to.

She does this by giving

them the image of a protective mother, which generally all people could understand. The reader’s response is a sudden understanding and sympathy towards the people of Pakistan. This proves that Ziauddin Yousafzai wants people to be encouraged and speak out against the brutal acts of the Talibanisation.

Ziauddin gave interviews to TV reporters during October 2008 about the destruction of the Sangota Convent School for girls and the Excelsior College for boys. He is extremely depressed about the looting of the destroyed schools. The furniture, the books, the computers were all stolen by local people, which he described as, “vultures jumping on a dead body.” This metaphor helps paint a very unpleasant, but realistic, picture in the reader’s mind, of the Taliban attacking helpless establishments. A vulture is a cruel bird that feasts on dead powerless animals that they have not even killed themselves. When the writer said ‘dead bodies’, this meant that the schools were already vulnerable and anyone could attack them. And so he went on a live show on the Voice 66

of America and angrily condemned the attack, because he believed someone should stand up for these immoral and useless activities.

This novel clearly shows the struggles both Ziauddin and Malala Yousafzai have to go through to communicate the things he feels strongly for: education, human rights and the Taliban. Ziauddin uses public speaking as a tool to communicate his beliefs to other people.

His kind and

encouraging words are listened to by many people, especially his daughter who turns out to be as confident as him, because he once told her, “you are a child, and it’s your right to speak!”

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Room 101 Odai Abushreehah Year 9 In my life, there are many things I love and others that I want to banish them from the world, to room 101. How would your life be with all the stuff you hate banished from the world?

Firstly, EGG PLANTS!! Who likes these disgusting plants?

It’s like an uncooked egg in a plant. These are slimy, slithering seeds in the colour of disgust. Who would like to eat rice with egg PLANT in it, it’s like dirt in the rice which rewinds the whole meal. Stop buying them, stop eating them, and stop growing them!

As much as I hate eggplants, something else is related to them, and I strictly want to banish it from the world, it’s MATH. The word show its meaning, Mental Abuse to Humans. All the numbers, equations and lessons are boring; that they bring you to sleep.

I mean why they

invented calculators - but we still have to study this boring, complicated subject. Its mental methods mess up the human brain. Banish the math teachers, banish math books, and banish it out to room 101.

Moving out of subjects and food, there is a person who 68

doesn’t know what teamwork is, what passing is, what giving a chance to teammates, WHAT FOOTBALL IS. Ronaldo, you feel it whenever you hear the word.

Since Messi

got an award for him beating top records and having the most undisputed records, Ronaldo changed his moves, his marking, everything. He only likes playing and passing with players he wants to play with. Now he wants to make records although his position is not it, he can’t be in a position that he doesn’t belong to. He’s not respecting his team mates, not giving them a chance, only want everything for him. Bite him Suarez, block his defence, and banish him out of the world.

My life is much better now, all the thing, subjects, and people that I undoubtedly hate should be banished. How amazing this feeling is! Room 101 makes your dreams come true.

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Croglin Myth Mohanned Ahmed Year 9 The area around Croglin in Cumbria has always been linked to beasts.

Many people say that they were attacked by an ugly monster, but others laugh and say it is a bat. However, it was after a century that the monster attacked again.

Croglin Grange, standing on a hill looking over a valley, is a brick farmhouse near a churchyard. In 1800s the owners of the farmhouse, The Fisher Family, rented the house and moved out of Croglin Grange.

The next spring dwellers moved in.

They were three

young Australians: Edward, Michael and Amelia, who visited England as they found themselves falling in love with the Cumbrian countryside and the isolated, beautiful house.

They became popular through the valley as they were very friendly with the locals.

One summer night in 1876, Amelia went to bed early. It had been very hot so Amelia decided to leave the window of her bedroom open.

The old farm was ďŹ lled with shadows.

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Among the

shadows, Amelia noticed two flashing eyes far away near the churchyard. As the eyes came closer, she tried to figure out what animal it was, but she could not. She shut the window and locked the door, and then went to bed to try to sleep.

After a while, she heard a swishing sound and looked up to see the eyes, staring at her through the window. Around the eyes, Amelia spotted a decayed brown face. She heard the terrifying sound of scratching at the window pane. Amelia hopped from her bed and hurried to the door, her heart beating as hard as she tugged at the handle. Remembering that she had locked the door, she fumbled for the key.

Her hands shook so bad, that she mishandled the key and could not open the door. The next sound made her heart stop. The glass shattered, as the bony arm came through the broken glass and opened the window. Amelia desperately rattled with the key.

Seconds later, she realized that something was in the room.

She tried to scream, but no sound would come. The terrible creature moved towards her. It started twisting its long, bony fingers through her hair. Blood curdling screams brought her brothers running to the door. They smashed the door open and rushed in to see Amelia lying on the floor, with blood draining from her neck.

As Michael looked after his sister, Edward rushed to the window. He could see through the broken glass, a strange figure vanishing through the arch in the farmyard wall. The doctor was called and he gave Amelia a sleeping draft. He 71

advised the brothers to take Amelia on a long holiday to get over the shock. The doctor thought it was a madman, or an escaped monkey from a circus.

As soon as Amelia felt a little better, they left for a holiday in the Swiss Mountain and returned back to the farmhouse the following year. The Swiss air and atmosphere had dimmed the horror to a misty memory.

However, this time Amelia always kept the windows closed and Edward slept with a gun beside his bed. Unknown to Amelia, while they all were away, there had been many reports in the area of girls being attacked by a strange bony creature. Edward heard of these things and he began to worry.

In a night of March 1877, Amelia heard the same horrid sound of fingernails on the glass. The creature broke open the window and tried to get in - when her screams brought her brothers to her room. Edward ran into the moonlight and caught sight of a tall, shadowy shape. As the beast tried to escape, Edward fired his gun and the beast let out a loud howl and stumbled towards the churchyard. The next day at dawn, the brothers gathered together, with some men from the village and went to the foggy graveyard. They saw that the top of the Fisher Family vault had been moved, lay out of place.

Inside the tomb was a mess, except for one coffin. Inside the coffin lay a terrible mummified figure with its features still clear on the brown, wrinkled skin. In the thin brown skin of 72

one leg, was a fresh gun wound!

One of the villagers said that this is the same creature that attacked and killed his sheep. He also said that the only way to get rid of it is with fire. The shocked villagers all agreed that the corpse should be burnt immediately.

The men hurried away, to find wood and they built a huge bonfire. With shaking hands they lifted the bony creature and threw it in the fire. As the sun rose, the beast crumbled to ashes in the flames. Since that day, the terror of the Croglin beast has never been seen again.

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The Adventury Adventures of the Adventurous Ghastly Mohanned Ahmed Year 9 From my experience as a detective, magician and warrior, I learnt that sometimes I have to put myself in danger and sacrifice many things, to save the world from evil. You might ask, ‘Then what is your job?’ Well basically, I fight criminals and seek crimes to solve.

I woke up and walked to the window. It was a dark, cloudy day. I went to my mirror and touched it. My reflection stepped out to replace me at school during the day, as I was off to save the world. I changed my clothes to the black suit that had saved my life countless times. I made sure that no one was looking, and I felt the air with my hands pushing down and lifting my body. I flew out of the window and landed on the street to wait for the Bentley to arrive.

As soon as David Bespoke arrived, I got into the Bentley.

David is my skeleton friend and companion in my adventures.

He is 524 years old. We were heading to the Demon’s Cave.

Serpine already knows the location of the sceptre. He is a criminal that wants the sceptre to kill me and David, so he 74

can open the gate for the Faceless Monsters.

“How are you Ghastly?” David asked me.

“I’m fine. Is Serpine bringing company with him?”

“Probably, Alder Sanguine and Billy Vengeous.”

We arrived at the caves. A black Jeep was parked outside. I knew at once that it was Serpines’s car. We entered the cage.

It was very dark and damp. I raised my hand and summoned a flame to light our path.

“Which way are we heading?” I asked.

“The left one,” David said.

I felt a bit sacred but I was more excited. As we walked I heard some whispers and then an evil laugh. We started to run. As we approached a big part of the cave I saw Serpine, Sanguine and Vengeous. Serpine was about to reach to the sceptre, when David threw a fireball toward him. Serpine ducked, and then turned slowly, looking very angry. His right eye turned blue as his left one went red.

“You are ruining my victory David Bespoke. You and the kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” I replied defensively.

“Serpine, you better stop what you are doing,” David said.

“Sanguine, Vengeous get rid of them!”

Sanguine ran towards me as Vengeous went for David.

Sanguine jumped and landed with a kick, but I dodged it - which made him go tumbling behind me. I turned and punched him in his face as soon as he got up. Sanguine fell on one knee. I kicked his stomach several times and then a 75

final one to his face. He fell completely to the floor. In the meantime, David and Vengeous were exchanging punches, kicks and fireballs. I turned to Sanguine; he was trying to get up. I summoned a flame and pressed it against his thigh. He was screaming loudly in pain.

“David, the revolver. Give me your revolver!”

He threw it to me and I aimed for Sanguine’s head and fired two bullets. Just to make sure he was dead, I pressed my flaming hand against is leg and he did not move or scream.

Serpine was still trying to pull out the sceptre that was wedged in a boulder. If he had it, he could change anything into dust. I walked quietly behind him and hit him with the muzzle of the revolver, as he cried in pain turned to me. He held my wrist, punched me in the face and I fell.

“You are nothing more than a fly making me lose my temper.”

I saw David walking slowly behind Serpine and he smacked his head with a glossy shield. Serpine fell down. Then he suddenly kicked my stomach.

“One more move and I kill Ghastly.”

Serpine was a first-rate magician. He knew lots of magic and he was clever.

Suddenly Serpine vanished. He then appeared behind David and he kept kicking and punching him until David fell to the ground, Serpine pulled out the sceptre. Dark light rose out from the sceptre and Serpine started to glow red and laugh evilly.

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“Finally, with the sceptre I will destroy the world.”

“You can’t. You have to kill me first!” shouted David.

Serpine aimed the sceptre at David. It flashed as David was picking up the shield. The sceptre stroke light. The light reflected from the shield and it went back turning Serpine to dust.

After our last victory, I knew that we still had to save the world and stop crimes as they never end. At the end it was our job.

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Wonderland Sameed Ahmed Year 9 A land of utter enchantment and bliss Deep in my dream…

An ideal locale only for me it seems.

A land of fantasy and imagination, A place of undoubted fascination.

A kind of life which we experience not usually, Here, I hanker to stay incessantly forever… eventually.

Utterly breath-taking and enchanting, Angels flowing in silky gowns, melodiously chanting…

“Welcome to our wonderland!”

A garden where flowers can talk, And trees can moonwalk!

Where animals eat with a tong, And birds sing melodious songs!

No hatred, no heart breaks and no evil, My house is a ravishing castle, Where I do not have slightest hassle.

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Rainbows overhead like a crown, Here, can anyone dare to frown Valley of rubies, diamonds and pearls…

Rivers of dazzling whiteness flowing in curls, Silvery fishes gossiping and chatting.

Frogs busy bowling and crocodiles batting, A land of no lies, no troubles, no hatred, no pain…

It is a paradise of only love and gain?

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Description of Swat Valley Mohammed Al Ameri Year 9 A hidden gem, Swat is a village in Pakistan.

Swat is

mesmerizing, it is like a paradise. It even has a ski resort, the first ski resort in Pakistan! Queen Elizabeth II once visited Swat; that is how beautiful it is!

Ravishing, with a heavenly kingdom of mountains, resplendent fields of flowers, gushing waterfalls, crystal-clear lakes, trees that grow mouth-watering fruit - it is always a race between the birds and the people of Swat to get the fruit - and vibrant green meadows. In autumn, chilly winds would come, in winter all of Swat gets covered in snow and the children often go outside to play. They make snowmen, have snowball fights, but the best things are the icicles that hang from the roofs, they are like daggers that the people there liked to snap off. The hair-raising view of the mountains that changes during the seasons is heart-stirring.

Every day the sun would smile at the people of swat, until the Taliban came and changed everything… The smiles turned into tears of sadness. The stone-hearted Taliban brutally massacred men, women, even children! The Taliban 80

were deleterious. Detrimental. These cold-hearted soldiers slaughtered children, they did not allow children to go to school - however, the children went to school secretly - they even had checkpoints around the valley and Talibs were spread all around Swat.

Inequality, that is what women suffered from. Women were not allowed to go out of their homes; they were considered pointless. They were not allowed to be educated - if they were, they would be punished. The Taliban destroyed schools and thought that women’s only purpose was to get married. However, the women of Swat are not petrified, they are not scared of Taliban, they WILL fight the Taliban and they WILL defeat them.

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The Love of my life!

Mohammed Al Ameri Year 9 Red, green, white and black, Are the colours of the Emirates ag.

Seven Emirates united, By our father Sheikh Zayed.

The land of love; the land of glory, Our home which once was only sand.

The love in my heart, No words, no symbols can describe.

No ocean can drown it.

No winds can wipe.

Billions of stars in the sky Yet one shines brighter I; cannot deny.

A love so precious, a love so true.

The angels sing when you are near, Within your arms I have nothing to fear When I gaze upon your beautiful eyes.

I lift my head high And I am proud of you.

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I love you my country with all my heart, Together, forever and never apart.

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Granny Mariam Al Hashemi Year 9 We hug, we smile!

She gathers us together from everywhere.

She never sits until we are all there, She’s sweet as honey, She’s a small story told, My grandmother is like a treasure filled with gold!

I love the smell of oud that she uses.

I love the way she looks, I love the way she dresses.

I love the part when we travel, I love the part when she’s there.

I love my grandmother whatever you say, She’s still a person that raised you.

My grandmother is the best when she tells me,” I LOVE YOU ALL, AT THE SAME STAGE!” She’s like a blossom flower that you can’t see all day!

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Neverland Hamad Al Qubaisi Year 9 In a wonderland of happiness and fortune, The people of all shapes and colours, The night sky as blue as the moon, There you will ďŹ nd bright minds a few.

But hidden under its beauty lay; Most people rather not say.

There is a kingdom of darkness and demise, The poor innocents run for their lives, An army of paper rank after rank, On they marched to the river bank, Destroying everything they saw, The citizens put down in awe.

But out of the darkness came a hero, You could tell he had no fear absolutely zero.

Charging into the crowd he went, Their leader no discontent, He fought for an eternity, You could see he was worthy.

The dark witch standing by, 85

She had a black eye.

Leaping in he struck, Taking her down with a chuck, Setting the prisoners free, This is Neverland, Neverland.

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Life at War! Yomna Al Sanabary Year 9 Life was so hard during the war, Mud everywhere and more.

Trying to run away from death, Soldiers were tired with no health.

Every step we lose our breath.

Everyone was walking like a spinning wheel, Cuts in our legs and no one bothered to care.

No one was able to walk, And suddenly we heard something.

GAS, GAS RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!

I ran till I got my mask on, Wait! Our friend couldn’t survive.

I couldn’t help because he had already died.

Everyone has gone away, Couldn’t see anything so I had to stay.

My comrade came to me with no mask, I knew I couldn’t do anything, It was a very hard task.

Would you like watching men die?

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I’m sure if you were me you will start to cry.

He was saying his last words, “Save our country from world wars”.

He started coughing blood, I was shaking till I fell in the mud.

If you ever think that its glorious, To die for your country, then think twice.

Because it’s better to keep trying to survive, So you could make peace when you fight !

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Rhyme and Reputation Khalifa Al Suwaidi Year 9 He opens his mouth, but the words won’t come out.

He’s choking, so everybody is joking now.

The whole crowd goes loud.

He opens his mouth, but the words won’t come out He’s choking, so everybody is joking now.

Snap back to reality, Oh there goes gravity.

He opens his mouth, but the words won’t come out.

He’s choking, so everybody is joking now.

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Soldiers are warriors!

Zayd, Joachim and Yousef Year 9 Soldiers are warriors, Holding their guns they come and they go.

Don’t ask any questions just go with the flow, Everything is based on your determination.

To save your sweet beloved nation, Despite all the devastating irritation.

What’s necessary is your motivation.

Days come by and aeroplanes fly.

Dropping bombs and heroes die.

When will this sweet land dry?

Imagine a life without your beloved ones.

No time to even think of them, how sad would that be?

Look behind you it’s the silent killer, It will make drown, die and shiver.

Not knowing what to do just waiting for death, We are talking about something serious, not Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

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Eating animals is wrong!

Alexander Azzawi Year 9 Good morning, today I will talk about why eating animals is wrong. I believe that eating animals is wrong because we are murdering families and herds of animals every day.

When you go to KFC, do you ever think how they get chickens? Of course not! We don’t care; all we think of is that we’re hungry and we want to eat. But what we don’t think of, is that the chicken was a living being, with feelings too. Do you think chickens or other animals die a peaceful death? They die a horrible death. Such as chickens, they’re thrown across the room for you. Cows: kicked, punched, and beaten to death for you. Fish, they have their lungs cut out and are gassed for you. Did you know that 20 adult sheep die of cold, starvation, sicknesses and injury or pregnancy problems every day?

Do you ever think of what happens when a chicken can’t lay eggs or when a cow can’t produce any milk? You guessed it! It’s the slaughterhouse! Chickens can only lay eggs for 72 weeks and are forced to lay them. After those horrible weeks are over they get sent to the slaughterhouse to be turned into 91

fast-food. It’s even worse for cows, they are meant to live up to 25 years but they only live for 5 because they get sent to the slaughterhouse, after they can’t produce any more milk.

Stressed animals can get diseases and later on pass it to us because we eat them. Such as heart disease, strokes, weak bones, BSE, bird and swine flu, campylobacter and salmonella. There are other ways to get your protein and your vitamins, just eat potatoes and nuts!

Please don’t eat animals. What have they done to you?

And you think you help the environment? You are such a horrible, hideous human.

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ME! Mohammed Babu Year 9 Me - running through the sickening mud, Crying out loud like a baby who is lost.

Bombs going higher than the 7 heavens, Before coming down to cause total chaos.

Blood squirting out of men, Like water squirting out of a bottle.

Rats feeding on death, While soldiers run out of food.

“Get me out of here!’’

I heard a solider scream.

If only you could see what young men go through, Just to avoid shame.

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Wonderland Amani Belhimer Year 9 In wonderland they sleep, But not always you see, They run, they jump, they slide, and they swallow But they’re not always free for all you know.

Queen of hearts may ruin your soul.

But never the mines filled with coal, Maybe they do, maybe they don’t!

Maybe they’re just the same, Oh No! Deception and Perfection are wonderland traits White will breathe love, the red one, hate You find them with the lonely hearts, Under they’re after a brand new start.

Everything is white and red.

They might feel like there’s nothing left.

Instead of love and fun and laughter, All they get is happy never after.

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But deep down all they want is fun.

The pure kind, we all dream of.

But we cannot escape the past, So red and hearts will never last.

Falling in a lonely hole, May feel like it’s nothing at all.

Only when you think it through, Maybe then you’ll be damaged too.

Oh how lovely would it be?

To feel the pain, then never ever, you see.

It really sounds like a lovely past, But wonderland has nothing for the class.

Every queen is the one, Until otherwise proven, The good is never easy, the easy never good And love it never really happens like you think it really should.

In wonderland they sleep But not always you see, They run, they jump, they slide, and they swallow But they’re not always free for all you know.

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The World Without Barriers Tanishqa Biswas Year 9 Somewhere near the horizon, The point where the world comes to an end, And, ends with it, all the worries and impurities, Starts a new world...

A world of complete ecstasy and freedom, Where love is not a sin, Where there is no “honour” in honour killing, Where skin complexion is nothing more than just a colour, Where in the name of peace people not only recognise doves and the colour white, Where this won’t be classified as fiction or a WONDERLAND...

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Swat Valley Kevin Calmeyer Year 9 As midnight passes over Swat, it’s illuminated due to the stars.

Schools hidden in the shadows of the night, get darker and darker. The smell of the river is like a skunk releasing its horrid gas through the Valley of Swat. The cold wet blades of grass digging into my legs along with, a prickly tree pressing against my spine like the needles of a porcupine.

The sun calmly takes it’s time like an old man getting out of bed. The shouts of the people trying to sell their products at the markets echo throughout Swat. People running about like an army of ants, attempting to avoid the evil force known as the Taliban. Fear lingers over the people from the events that had occurred.

The hospitals are quiet today. Everyone is probably scared to the bone of people with weapons walking about. Doctors mumble about things as they walk by with their chocolate brown clipboards. A woman walks by with two little boys.

One with crow black hair and the other with shocking ginger hair. They passed by so fast, nobody was able to see what they wore.

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As midnight comes again, everyone hurries back home to prepare for another day‌

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Computer Addict!

Agnes Clara Widensky Year 9 Enter the world of endless chance, Waterfalls of numbers in bright green.

Typing and clicking like you’re in a trance, Your life on a glowing screen!

Pixels are swirling, Your mind is whirling, Websites make up your world.

This matrix of possibilities, Characters of unnatural abilities, Guide you on your way.

Animals only found in fairytales, Many hear its enticing call.

Knights on search for Holy Grails, A slip, a trip, and you will fall.

But by the end, you’ll have to die, That’s it. Game over. Please retry.

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The Next Best Thing!

Agnes Clara Widensky Year 9 It was dark. The only source of light was the constantly flickering torch suspended securely on the rock wall. Its light danced through the looming shadows, coaxing out a golden gleam, from the scattered jewels with every move, daring the darkness bravely to block its lonely path. Dust in the air floated lazily, heavy with ancient mysteries that were long forgotten. Stories of valiant heroes, vain noblemen and hoarding thieves were only remembered in the histories of the artefacts now so haphazardly scattered over these damp floors, lying out in the open. Though still so hidden for anyone not powerful enough to have permission to seek them.

Today, however, something was out of place. An ancient tomb of relics had been disturbed from its brooding slumber.

There were footsteps in the dust. Hushed voices in the dark.

And the light of a gaping door, left open for all to see.

Now it wasn’t the lone light sparkling in the dark anymore, but the quivering of sprinting shadows dashing across the illuminated world outside, as the silence was sliced by the 100

clink of metal, the swoosh of swords being drawn and the sound of heavy chainmail being dragged hastily over heads. More and more sounds mixed into this improvised cacophony of hurry. The heavy, synchronized footsteps of soldiers which knew what to do, and one shout that stood out above the rest. “The golden chests are gone!” It echoed ominously against the bleak stone.

Greenfell was definitely the liveliest of all the Southern Kingdoms, with the travelling tradesmen often joking how it was the only place where they had more lordlings than beggars. Endless fields gushed over the land’s gentle waves, dotted with numerous merry little villages that rang with unbridled laughter.

However it may look to the outsiders, the spring happiness humming in the air never quite managed to cover the tangible taste of tension hovering wherever you went. Daily, when the sun couldn’t linger any longer and the darkness came, people watched the sky anxiously, searching in vain.

No star had been seen in this doomed land since their neighbouring king had declared war on Greenfell.

King

Andrew the Cold had declared war on their beloved King, Leon the Golden, due to some centuries old quarrel about borders and land. Now, the population was worried about what the notoriously sly villain would do as his fist move.

And now he had done it.

Hastily, a fully armoured young soldier dashed up the suddenly endless corridors of the Greenfell Chateau, as 101

quickly as his heavy weaponry would allow him. Clanking harshly with every heavy footstep, he burst into his liege’s library, where King Leon could be found whenever there were no councils to attend.

The soldier burst through the door in a whirlwind of iron, gasping while the king leapt from his velvet chair with surprise at the late disturbance.

“What is the meaning

of this?” He demanded of the winded man, searching his reddened face with a frown.

“Your daughter’s gifts… Gone!” These words were the only ones discernible between the heavy breathing.

No more was needed. Racing outside to where his guards stood silently, Leon shouted for his fastest horse and most trusted knights to be brought to him immediately. Then he took the stairs two at a time all the way down to the courtyard, his blond mane flying behind him, to where his blue-clad men already stood eerily readily. Unquestioning their sudden appearances, King Leon swung himself onto the back of his dapple grey stallion and galloped down the cobblestones without a second thought, to whether his men could follow at such a risky speed for a moonlit ride.

At the edge of the forest that started just outside of the defensive walls, it was the only thing that lay between his kingdom and that of Ironstone, King Andrew’s. Leon parried his horse and looked back at his home. Whether it was his imagination or not, he couldn’t tell, but he thought he saw the shadow of his daughter silhouetted against 102

one of the windows, flickering warmly in the candlelight.

Sighing, he wheeled his stallion around to face the darkness of the gnarled trees bracing him for the hardships ahead.

Throughout the night, as he was following the thief’s path, he remembered that image of his beloved Leonie.

He returned the next morning with his hope as weary as his froth-covered horse. Heavily, Leon dismounted and trudged to his chambers, only pausing to hand the reigns to a confused young stable boy who had just run up. The king’s back was uncharacteristically slumped, his midnight cloak leaving a trail of mud all over the polished floors. His faithful knights (which had given up the chase hours earlier) were only met with empty looks when they tried to approach him in worry.

Leon trudged into his bedroom, discarding his onyxembedded circlet and cloak onto his bed without a second thought and walked out to his balcony. He had scraped together what was left of his royal dignity for his return, but now it failed him. Stooping, he sat down in a corner and looked blindly across the great kingdom that was his responsibility. ‘Congratulations’, Leon of Greenfell thought, “You manage to keep every single citizen of your country safe, but you don’t manage to protect one box which is located in the centre of the realm, under your very nose, guarded by your best men. And then you can’t even see to the fact that the perpetrators are captured before they cross the border back into enemy lands!” Leon sighed tiredly.

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The box was so important because it was going to be a gift to his only daughter, Leonie, for her seventh birthday. A birthday which just so happened to be tomorrow.

In his sorrow, he didn’t hear the creaking of his room’s door being opened. He didn’t see the green-eyed young girl that entered with a sense of resolution uncanny for her age. He didn’t notice the crown of flowers until they were set upon his bowed head with gentle fingers. He looked up to see his daughter’s face smiling down at him. “Father, mother says you are upset because of me. Don’t be. You can give me something else for my birthday.”

Hesitantly his smile returned. Leon knew that his original gift couldn’t be replaced, but he wouldn’t stop until he’d found the next best thing.

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My Wishful Wonderland Ahmed Da’na Year 9 Prancing around on soft pillow clouds, Where all mystical creatures lie around, From minute floating flies to daring dragons, This might seem surreal but this is what I feel, A wild wonderland with nothing but me! **** I see shining stars that end so far, I hear gregarious giggles coming by, And smell perfume diffused in the air, It’s the chocolate aroma that jolts me up.

Next come the jelly beans that raid my tongue, Like it’s a disco where all are there! **** As I touch each star, they evolve and evolve, Into something that I really can’t solve!

But just until I look again, It has turned to the thing I adore the most. **** If you want any wishes, * * 105

Such as not doing the dishes, * * Then this is the wild wonderland just for you!

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I Am Malala Antonio De Leo Year 9 The stars dimmed out as the sun rose up above the dark silhouettes of the city. This is paradise on Earth. Lush, green meadows with trees popping over the hills, crystal clear lakes reecting the high mountains, topped with sugar-like snow and surrounding a tiny town called Mingora.

The birds were chirping while I took deep breaths, the fresh air was owing into my lungs. A popping sound suddenly broke the tranquility and silence. We waited a few minutes in front of the cramped compound, but we later hopped on the antiquated Toyota, which made squeaking sounds on the bumpy tracks of the mountains but was still better than walking for an hour between the areas dominated by the Taliban. We were chatting and gossiping with Usman Ali, the entertaining driver who made the rides fun and enjoyable, other than unimaginable ora and fauna which covered the valley creatively.

The air smelled like just-cut grass and tasted like pine trees.

Seeing a car was extremely rare because the richer ones lived in the more developed areas and not in a little area in 107

Northern Pakistan. Nevertheless, I thought that I couldn’t have lived my childhood in a better place. As a result, this valley was nicknamed “the Switzerland of the East” by Queen Elizabeth II when she visited our country. We were half way to school, but then someone stopped us. Tension quickly built up in the bus and I admit it, I was extremely frightened, and so were the others, one of them was Moniba, my best friend.

Usman was suspicious and they told me the man had asked for directions.This area was a peaceful one some years ago, before the Taliban came and controlled it. Unfortunately, I never reached school that day.

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Il Paese delle Meraviglie Antonio De Leo Year 9 I fiocchi di neve scendono, Sulla cittá pacifica e addormentata.

In ogni direzione, a destra e sinistra, Alberi altissimi che diventano bianchi.

Cristalli trasparenti cadono dal cielo, Raggiungono cautamente la mia vista.

Il mio naso diventa rosso, E continuo a camminare.

Sento urla venire da lontano, Diventano piú forti e si avvicinano.

Sento la brezza ghiacciata, E mi viene da starnutire.

Gnomi che spuntano dalla foresta, Mi accogliono nel migliore dei modi.

Biscotti, torte e bevande, Ce n’é una in piú dopo ogni istante.

Le loro case bizarre a forma di fungo, Sono piú comuni di pietre.

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Ricevo migliaia di bei regali, E cerco di pensare il contenuto.

Strana e divertente ĂŠ come la descriverei, CosĂ­ sarebbe il mio Paese delle Meraviglie E questo posto rispecchia me.

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Wonderland in Winter!

Antonio De Leo Year 9 Snowflakes floating down, Onto the peaceful slumbering town.

Everywhere you look, left and right, Towering tall trees turning white.

Transparent crystals falling from the sky, Reaching cautiously to the view of my eye.

My nose quickly becomes red, As I curiously keep walking ahead.

I hear laughter coming from a distance, Getting louder as I quicken my pace.

I feel the ice-cold breeze, As I’m about to sneeze.

Gnomes popping out of the forest, Welcoming me in the warmest of ways.

Cookies, cakes and drinks , There’s one more after every blink.

Their mushroom shaped homes, Even more common than stones.

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I receive thousands of presents, As I wonder their contents.

Weird and fun is how I would describe it, As you are reading this poem and trying to imagine it.

This is how my Wonderland would be, And this Wonderland perfectly reects me.

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Empire Sarah Kuleib and Diana Majeed Year 9 Happy Birthday to this beloved land, This beloved land which was once a grain of sand.

Honouring people who opened the door, Helped create the paths we will soon explore.

Honouring the victors that achieved their goals and more, Carriers of the gulf only a reminder of dreams carried to shore.

Honouring the workers that built the roads to success, The cleaners that allow us to live with no stress.

Honouring the teachings and education, Allowing us to live in peace and civilization.

Honouring the ag of might, Displaying beautiful colours, red, black, green and white.

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Honouring our leaders of such wisdom and bravery, Insuring our health and safety daily.

Honouring this beloved land, This beloved land was once a grain of sand.

Now an empire so grand.

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I wish, I wish Trishan Dissanayake Year 9 The future: a chamber in which 99% of all productivity and effort is sealed in tightly. A privilege shrouded in negativity.

A wonderland enveloped in a great war. Some see it as a tranquil and forgiving land, whilst others tremble at the mention of it. My hopes for it are comparable to an absolute drop of water in a boundless ocean. Nonetheless, one day this minute drop of water will be acknowledged and will be voiced!

Though I see somewhat of a bright future for myself, it is not something I say for this desolate land we call our planet.

As we move along the years of our history, it almost seems as though we encounter more problems. One major problem being corruption, justice is not justice if justice is corrupt.

In fact, what is justice? We have already lost the definitive answer. I wish that one day we regain that answer.

Although this may seem vague, I most definitely hope that in the future, everyone is able to live in unity. This being either physically and figuratively. I will leave this open to you, take it as you will.

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My ďŹ nal and possibly, most recognised hope is for world peace. As generic and common as this one may be, just imagine a world in perfect balance. Now snap back to the world we are living in. War, crime, hunger, poverty, inequality and power. See the dierence?

It is evident in our day today lives, which not everything is perfect and there is always room for improvement. All we can do is hope that in the future, it only gets better.

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Writing To Argue: Car Accidents and Seat Belts Hayam El Asswad Year 9 Some people believe that seat belts are not important and will not even protect you during a car accident. However, I am going to tell you the advantages and disadvantages about seat belts in car accidents.

Did you know that half of the world’s population’s death is because of car accidents, speeding cars and people not wearing seat belts? Therefore, I believe - and everybody else believes that you should were seat belts while driving, to prevent you from losing your own life. In addition, another problem is that many people who get into a car accident, or don’t wear their seat belts could get seriously injured. Also, if the injury is very serious you could end up dead or paralyzed for life - you wouldn’t want that would you?

Alternatively, seat belts may not always protect or save your life if you are in a car accident. If you’re in an accident and you have your seat belts on, it may not always protect you from how serious the accident is. Sometimes you can still die from car accidents even if you put on or wear your 117

seat belt.

Moreover, seat belts save your life or help you from getting injuries during car accidents. Did you know that 8.6 million people in the world die because of car accidents and for not putting on seat belts during an accident, which could save your own life, your friend’s life’s, and your family’s life!

On the other hand, seat belts sometimes leave serious marks on your neck and bruises on your stomach because of the strong force when the seatbelt stops you from flying through the front glass, getting hurt, injured, or even dying.

In my opinion, I think that everybody should wear a seat belt all the time, even though it leaves marks on your body.

In the end, what would you choose? To die and regret not wearing your seat belt, or being able to live again to warn people to wear seat belts because they might have a high chance of getting killed or injured?

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Inspired Jasmin El Badawy Year 9 You could say Kitty was an ordinary 25 year old lady. She was single; looking for a job and… broke. She was majoring in art like she always dreamt of, but surprisingly she had nothing to paint .

She would stare at the canvas for hours, and like the canvas; her mind was blank. She scribbled some lines before groaning in frustration, and laying her head on the canvas.

“Did Picasso ever feel like this?” she asked herself aloud.

“Yes, yes I did,” someone answered.

She lifted her head to see the man himself, a palette in one hand, and a brush in the other, leaning against the wall. She blinked once, twice, nothing happened. He was still there.

“Don’t just stand there; get me some red and blue!”

Kitty skillfully watched him splash some paint against the canvas, slowly giving it life. She rubbed her eye and in front of her was not Picasso but Dali. She stood up, watching him exaggerate with the hair line and lip shape, adding a light pink color to the lips and fixing the cheekbones of the face on the canvas.

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A few minutes later, Dali had disappeared and in front of her was Van Gogh, fixing the ears, before winking at Kitty and cutting off the girl’s ear.

“It’s going to be a trend someday, trust me!” he said, before flicking paint in Kitty’s eye, which woke her up. She was inspired…

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Decisions Upon Us Ibrahim El Ghazal Year 9 Every year, one billion animals are killed in the UK alone for human consumption!

Firstly, secret filming by animal aid in Britain of slaughter houses has horrified people because of the cruel and inhumane way of killing. The films show sheep getting hung by the ear and thrown across rooms, pigs getting regular kicks in the head and cows getting inedible parts of their body cut off while still alive! Is this a fair and humane way of slaughter?

Secondly, scientific evidence demonstrates that fish are capable of feeling pain and stress. Moreover, overfishing causes populations, such as the cod to collapse.

On the other hand, eating farmed fish is worse; this further increases problems, because three to five tonnes of ocean caught fish are needed to produce feed for one tonne of farmed fish.

To continue, saturated animal fats found in meat and dairy products raise cholesterol and can increase the risk of heart disease and stroke, by blocking blood flow through the arteries. Dietary cholesterol is found only in animal products.

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Solution? A diet rich in whole grains, vegetables, beans and fruits is free of artery clogging cholesterol and is low in saturated fat.

Also, excessive animal protein consumption, through a diet rich in meat and dairy products can lead to serious health problems. Such diets make the blood more acidic, as the body tries to neutralise this, by draining calcium from bones into the blood stream, which is then ďŹ ltered through the kidneys. So, the more protein consumed; the more calcium the body needs to balance the losses. This means that too much protein in a diet, actually leaches calcium from bones and contributes to weak bones and osteoporosis.

The Green House Eect has accelerated dramatically during the past 50 years. Scientists around the world are trying to decelerate this process for a better future. Methane takes a big part in this, therefore scientists are mainly focused on decreasing the amount of methane made on Earth.

Animal farming is also the number one source of methane, (a gas that is 21 times more powerful than CO2!)

It is

produced during the digestive process of sheep, cattle and other ruminants and is released from their untreated manure.

Finally, the largest worldwide studies look at the eect of diet on our health. This study indicates a direct link between animal protein and cancer. This link shows that the higher the amount of animal protein in a diet, the higher the risk of certain cancers!

In conclusion, I think that eating animal products and 122

animal protein is wrong, because of the inhumane ways of slaughter and the numerous amounts of disadvantages outweighing the advantages of eating animals.

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Malala Autobiography Safwat Farahat Year 9 It all started when I woke up. I made my bed and sprinted down the stairs to eat breakfast .I checked in the pantry to see what we had, I found half a bottle of milk and some cereal, so I ate cereal with milk. However, when I was half way finishing my cereal the school bus arrived outside my house.

I quickly leaped off my chair and grabbed my school bag to go on the bus .I sat next to my best friend Moniba. We were both chatting on the way to school. I glanced out the window and realized how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful place .My home, Swat valley.

I was still doubtingly scared of Taliban. I was hoping that they will not come after me or more importantly, my father.

I had the bus driver to take my mind off the Taliban; he took my mind off the Taliban with his bazar and funny stories.

We reached school and I saw everyone playing in the playground. I played for a while, but sadly the school bell rang and everyone ran inside like mice running away from a cat.

My first lesson was English. I loved speaking other languages; especially English because it is spoken by many people and it 124

waters my education bush. It helps it advance for it to grow into an amazing beautiful tree.

When school ended, we all got into the school bus. We talked and had a good laugh. Suddenly a man stopped the bus to talk to the driver. Meanwhile another two men approached the back of the bus. One of them had a gun. He said violently, “Who is Malala?”, but no one answered. He then shot three bullets from point blank range. “I dreamt of a country where education would prevail.” Two bullets hit the girls next to me and the third bullet went through my left eye socket and out of my shoulder. My friend then held me, then I slumped forward and there was blood all over Moniba’s lap.

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Tired Aisha Garsa Year 9 When your eyes seethe heat and burn, Lids hot and heavy with distress and aching.

And you’re still talking because, You must go on.

Even if you’re tired.

When your voice creaks, And your hands no longer spill the passion that trickled down your veins.

And you’re still listening because, You must go on.

Even if you’re tired.

When your mind hisses with disapproval and malice, And your emotional vocabulary consists of the bland and the distraught.

And you’re still breathing because, You must go on.

Because you’re tired.

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My Grandma!

Kieran GrifďŹ ths Year 9 My grandma is as sweet as sugar, She is always smiling and cheerful, She always comes to our birthdays, She is an amazing cook, Especially cakes, which have a blissful bite.

She is caring and loving, Even at the worst times, And that is my grandma!

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Battlefield Alexandra Hamouda Year 9 Pacing through dirt, Helpless screams, as the gun shots fire.

Injured minds, injured bodies, tortured.

They call me a liar But I must say, it is a great lie to tell children: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

It’s not as it seems To become a tourist, and to die in triumph.

It is a great lie to tell children: Dulce et decorum pro patria mori.

A game of death it is!

Boys playing till the end.

So blind to the fact that, It is the last sunset for them.

Screaming, crying like new-borns.

Wishing for glory!

Boys longing for a return home.

But as soon as they were ordered to no man’s 128

land, They take their last breath and souls escape.

It is a great lie to tell children: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

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This is not War, This is Murder Henry Johnson Year 9 Bombs drop, shells shocked, The distant thunder of artillery fire.

The thuds of bullets hitting their target, The shouts of frightened soldiers, Suddenly, silence… a whistle blows.

A cry: shrill and eerie, as the boys prepare.

Suddenly floods of soldiers arise from the ground, Then a rattle of machine guns, screams of pain.

Then a rumble of a machine, a vast metal machine, A tank! It drives straight over all the corpses of fallen comrades.

To the surprise of enemy soldiers, it wouldn’t stop; it was a beast from hell.

Quickly the soldiers were overwhelmed, frightened soldiers crying in dismay, This is not war. This is murder.

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Persuasive Speech!

Mariam Kabashi Year 9 In 2002, approximately 52.3 million deaths worldwide were caused by war. Given the increase in global violence, that number has surely gone up. The world will be better if we get rid of disease, war and hatred.

The leading cause of deaths is cardiovascular disease.

Every year nearly 1 in 3 deaths in the USA are caused by heart disease. Many of these deaths are preventable by making healthy life choices, like regular exercise and good eating habits. Another leading cause of deaths is infectious and parasitic disease. One common cause of death is diarrhoea deaths. It usually happens because of lack of clean water.

Diarrhoea deaths cause 13.2% of childhood deaths if you take out the adult’s percentage. Imagine how much that would be. In 2002, a shocking 4 million children died from these illnesses. The World Health Organization labels these deaths as preventable deaths.

Doesn’t this make these victims

deaths even more tragic?

Another preventable type of death is caused by war. Is there any meaning to these deaths? No, the people who die 131

in war are just victims of their leader’s conflicts. The leader should consider the citizens before resorting to violence.

Some wars are a result of desire for recognition and others for power. The devastation of families and destruction of lives far out wishes and benefits as a result of war. These victims who die in war are like odd socks, left out and disconnected.

Historically, wars are caused by irrational hatred. World War One was caused by hatred based on territory. World War Two was caused by hatred for a group of people. Another war was caused by hatred based on religion. Hatred is frightening because it harms all levels, not just globally. Hatred leads to bullying. Every day 3.2 million children get bullied. That is more than the number of deaths caused by infectious and parasitic disease in an entire year! Every day! Recently, a 12 year old boy committed suicide after years of bullying.

Bullying leads to depression. At its worst, depression leads to suicide. Suicide is a result of around 900,000 deaths each year. Every single day 160,000 teens drop out of school.

These statistics are just depressing. Imagine if it were you, or one of your family members. How would you feel?

Wouldn’t you want to live in a world free from war, disease and hatred? I do. We should all work together to get rid of these causes of deaths if we can’t wish them away. Can we?

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Make It Shine!

Shaymaa Khan Year 9 You don’t have to be afraid, to put your dreams ahead, In a world of our imagination, you don’t have to run, Don’t have to hide, seek out the light, And Make it Shine!

In the darkness of my wonderland, You shall seek the best of yourself, Leave everything behind, hold yourself to the light.

Think it through, it could be the real you!

If you ever had to ask for anything in the world, What would you wish for?

Would it be love or money?

Freedom, time or happiness?

Don’t say it out loud, Just believe and your world will change, Just like mine!

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Never fail to be the main attraction, in my fantasy, Don’t have to run, don’t have to hide, Seek out the light and I’m sure, We’ll make it SHINE!

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The Sacrifice of Love!

Shaymaa Khan Year 9 Everyone in the world has a wish that can come true, but just one. If you don’t use it wisely … you don’t get it back. I had mine…

Nikki is the best person in the whole universe, only because she changed me. Made me into myself … A better person! Unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance to repay her for her kindness. Instead, I betrayed her and I shall, probably, never forgive myself for doing that. After all, what happened to her was my fault.

I worked in a part-time job alongside my friend Nikki. We chose to work in Baskin Robins, since it’s our desired place from childhood! We were overjoyed about the fact that we get free ice cream every day!! That is probably why we chose to work there in the first place and probably the only reason!

One day, as we were closing up the place, we received a last call. I was dead exhausted. Stumbling, I still managed to grab and pick up the phone.

“Can I have 2 chocolate milkshakes, please?” spoke a sweet voice.

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“Of course, your address please?” I replied instantly. I guess you get used to it.

“The Beach Bay Alley, Villa no. 4” came the melodic voice.

Then the phone died.

A sudden thought came to mind, “Why would someone live there? It was quite an isolated place, considering the fact that Dubai was a commercial emirate. It was supposed to be full of life. I wonder why they keep that place so distant.

Frankly, who cares? Better not to stick my nose into other people’s business!”

Anyway, as soon as I’d finished making 2 chocolate milkshakes, I fished my scooter keys from the countertop and tentatively made my way to the door. I came to a halt.

Nikki was still waiting for me! Not really a surprise, because she always does that. That’s what makes her different. She offered to make my delivery, seeing how hard I’d worked today (well I guess so). An overwhelming sensation spread through my body.

“Nikki, you are the best!!” I managed to say. I thought to show her some respect and offered to drive her to Beach Bay Alley myself. After all, a friend’s got to do what a friend’s got to do. It was quite far, because it wasn’t in the main town.

Although, I don’t think I should complain, because I owed Nikki my life and then again, the traffic of Dubai gives me a headache!! About half an hour later, we arrived upon a well-constructed, yet haunted looking house. The bottom floor looked like a graveyard. No life source detected. The 136

bedroom lights were on though, which gave me the creeps.

I was going to go back as soon as I dropped her, however looking at this place I’m thinking Nikki might need me.

Hesitantly, Nikki decided to go through the mist and I did nothing but watch her back. A tear of perspiration slid down my forehead and landed on the floor with a PLOP! A minute passed when I heard a shrilling ring of the bell echo around the area. I could hear voices from far and then silence.

Then the silence gradually began to build. That’s when I realized something evil was plotted. I decided to see what was happening and as soon as I had decided that, something fell in front of me. Through the mist, I couldn’t even see my feet properly. When I bent over to see, I saw a body covered from head to toe in splashes of deepest red. In shock, my blood raced around my body again. I touched the hand that was lingering beside the body. It was ice cold! Just then, I started praying, “Please let it not be Nikki, Please not Nikki, oh please, please.”

Cautiously, I turned the bloodied body over to reveal the face of Nikki and her Baskin Robins shirt with her name stitched on it, also covered in blood. My head froze for a minute and I couldn’t think properly. Slowly, a tear slid down my cheek leaving a trail of water and salt all over my face…

Until now, I’ve hidden Nikki’s death from everyone. I told them Nikki had a car accident, however the truth was some bullies had done her in. They were from my high school and this whole plot was set up for no one else but ME! I know she 137

would be really angry if she found out I had lied to everyone.

When I went to her funeral, I was so ashamed to stand up there in front of everyone to make a speech about someone who shouldn’t not have died and wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for me. She sacrificed herself for me to live freely and I couldn’t even spare one little wish? I don’t deserve to be called her friend.

If only I had made the delivery myself that day, I could’ve save the regret today. Nikki didn’t deserved it. I did! That delivery was meant for me. If only I had sensed a vibe, if only I had taken the delivery…. Oh Nikki! Every time I think of her, I wonder why I had stood there helplessly. I could’ve effortlessly wished for time to go back or wished for her life back, but I didn’t, because I’m stupid and careless to let something like a wish affect me. I always wanted to wish to fly to Amsterdam or America, nonetheless my big dreams ruined someone’s life. Someone who was extremely close to the heart! I didn’t think on the spot, due to frustration and now … it’s too late! Since then, Nikki hasn’t returned home and it’s all my fault!

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Homelessness Atef Khasawneh Year 9 Some people believe that homelessness is a very large issue on this planet, and in my opinion I do think that it’s unfair because the homeless have failed in life and deserve a helping hand. There is no doubt that it’s a very sad topic to talk about, although it can be easily solved.

Put it this way… Would you like to be the person on the floor begging for money… food… water? Is it right to leave them? They’re doing nothing but begging for someone to save their lives and get them out of this misery. No one can deny that this is a huge issue on our slowly dying planet, but on the other hand it won’t look good to have many homeless on the streets as it promotes a very bad looking country, to make it even worse.

Consequently, you see in the news that a lot of homeless have died and that’s due to the homeless having no money and risking their lives for the sake of survival. Alternatively, they would join gangs, deal with drug dealers and get into many monstrous acts like murder and even greater… suicide!

Since no one helped them, they lost the battle.

What 139

could have you done?

Imagine if you helped that one

man? Where do you think he will be right now? However it could be argued that it’s bad influence to our children, as a consequence of the homeless on the street. It would promote others to homelessness thanks to the others joining because they are taking belongings that they didn’t buy/ own, even though they truly deserve it.

Here are some facts and figures for you: there are over 2 million children in the U.S.A that are homeless. 1 out of 753 Americans are likely to become homeless in one night. How would you feel if that was you feel if that was you? The other 752 will sleep on their comfy beds in their mansions watching an HD TV the size of Godzilla, not even caring about the outside world, or what the homeless are doing. It’s true that it is not their problem that they are poor, though it’s not right to leave them there, isn’t it?

This is the most inhumane problem occurring in our world, even so it’s the most straight- forward obstacle that can be dodged with ease. As this problem continues in our planet, and with no hope of them surviving… how can you help this mayhem?

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Swat Valley Aaliyah Khwaja Year 9 Swat Valley.

Renowned for breathtaking sceneries,

enchanting foothills and exquisite nature. These qualities were confused by the rest of the world after Tuesday, October 9th, 2012. Locals of Swat are aware of the lingering gang of terrorists aiming to take over most of humanity and their rights to live in liberty and faith. The Taliban. They seize freedom and justice, torture women and capture innocent youth to repeat this over and over again in villages including ‘The Paradise on Earth’. Apart from limited lifestyles, Swat Valley is well established, safe and interconnected between descendants of Yousafzais, Pashtuns, Kohistanis, Gujars and Awans. A bustling town in Southwestern Swat symbolizes proceeding development.

Swat itself isn’t much of an

industrialized state. Mingora is the largest city in Swat, even though Saidu Sharif is the capital.

Springtime is when Swat is at its peak greenest.

The

breath of the air carries scents of Eucalyptus blossoms and rice fields, filling the area with freshness. Before peaceful plants bloom and grow, winter sprinkles flakes of white ice 141

onto the fresh grass.

Shivering children laugh and play

outdoors, building snowmen and making snow-angels, while their parents warm themselves up under roofs carrying icicles on their rim. Fall ends its journey when the polished peaks glisten white like pearls, surrounding villages of families freezing, yet enjoying the warmth winter brings to themtogether. But when fall arrives in town, blowing its crisp gust of air, all the villagers know who has come. Hued leaves dance in the wind until they settle down on the earth. Reds, yellows, oranges and greens are stamped onto the vast, green envelope surrounding Swat and on the banks of crystal-clear canals of spawning trout.

The Taliban shot an inspirational Yousafzai who was born in the summer of ’97. Malala is her name. Her (and other Swatis’) favorite part of the year is the season in July; midsummer. Sly, dry heat sits around the Swatis for three months, even though daily activities carry on, disregarding it as usual.

During the time that summer casts its rays on Swat Valley, the only people who get bothered of this, are those who are near streams. But why is the presence of being close to streams aggravating? Well, the stench of dumped garbage is so.

Considering throwing away trash somewhere else

just doesn’t come to mind to the careless people who ruin summer pungently for others.

An undeniable, unchangeable part of our Earth is the home of numerous species, as well as such a humble population. We should have pride for living in such a place 142

with eight wonders of our world. Swat Valley.

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The Fighter In Our Women Aaliyah Khwaja Year 9 Life seems easy to the man, No hard work, no responsibilities, just time in hand.

Full freedom spread across all, Is it true? Or do some fall?

Indeed, it’s a fact, not all rights are given, But who is it? It’s our women.

Now that’s why they face these problems throughout, How they manage is to be able to never doubt.

Only a man can judge something by uttering, ‘like a girl’.

What’s wrong with that? It cannot be life’s hurdle, Although there are insults, embarrassment and torturing experiences, Everyone else says, ‘that is what life is.’

They have hardships which we think are 144

intangible, While they try to make life manageable.

When we start to crumble from within, That’s when we find the fighter in our women.

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The Next Best Thing Aaliyah Khwaja Year 9 The 11th of September, 2013 wasn’t just the 12th anniversary of 9/11, but a revolutionary day that was a beginning of a change to the world.

My friends would describe me as creative, hilarious and crazy (in a good way). That’s why I made up a new trend on the 4th day of school in Year 8. At the beginning of the day, I found a bowtie and attached it onto my shirt below my collar, how you would normally wear one. During break time, I decided to call that day Bowtie Wednesday. So then, as it sounds, every Wednesday after that, a random group of Year 8s in Al Bateen would be seen wearing bowties. It was a joke at first, but then I kept that trend going strong for the rest of the school year. During the time that BTW (BowTie Wednesday) was evolving as a fashion, Bowtiers (the people who follow BowTie Wednesday) would take selfies of them and their bowties and share the pictures of them following a brand new movement on Wednesdays. Even my best friend, who is on the other side of the world, in Arizona became a Bowtier! After a while, even her school friends would wear 146

bowties on Wednesdays too! By New Year 2014, there were teens and kids of a range of ages doing BTW. Everything that I started on a normal day in school turned into a whole new chapter of my life.

I don’t have Instagram, or Facebook, or even Snapchat. I’m not lying. I’m just a ‘regular’ 13 year old girl that doesn’t have a social life - on media like any of my loads of friends that do.

Who cares? When this became an international social media trend as well, every Bowtier wanted to know how this all started and who actually started this too. All over cyberspace BowTie Wednesday was the latest buzz. One of the first Bowtiers, who is a close school friend of mine, couldn’t hold it in anymore. It was only weeks since the beginning! She told everyone on Facebook I started BowTie Wednesday; and that it started off in school after my brain lit up with a light bulb. Everything unfolded. Interview opportunities came every day. I was on the newsfeed in less than a month since I started BTW. I never knew that all of this could occur after a weird idea at 10:00 a.m. in school. A quarter of the USA was Bowtiers already.

At around 3:00 a.m., I got a phone call from the most generous person in the whole world. Ellen DeGeneres! She apologized for waking me up while I was sleeping in on UAE National Day Holiday. She invited my kindly to come to her show (along with my family) to talk about BowTie Wednesday. I was blown away!

This opportunity was exhilarating!

But I was really 147

concerned about my family first.

My brother had been

injured in October. It was really serious. I wanted my brother to come since we have been buddies since we were young.

My brother said I should go. “These things don’t come to you every day you know.” He explained to me. That made me proud to have such a great sibling that is there to support me all the time. Another thing that you might not know about me is that I have a truly amazing memory. I recall many insignificant happenings that other people don’t remember.

For instance, I wore silver studs on the first day of school.

On the show I wasn’t that nervous. My family and friends were there. The best thing was that it was a Wednesday!

I wore the same silver bowtie that I wore on the first day of my trend. The first statement that Ellen said was, “Bowties?! That’s new.” And as usual the crowd went crazy with applause. I replied, “They’re actually from the 17th century.” Obviously the applause remained strong. “Once I started the trend, I realized that I changed the perspective of formal attire. Bowties can be worn anytime - for anything!

Actually, who said that they’re formal? They can be used however you like, because at the end, they’re bowties.” I looked around at the bowtiers and figured out that what I began continued, by people who I barely knew and people who barely knew me. Ellen gifted me blue ‘ellen’ bowtie as well as a pink one since that’s my favorite color. It was Arizona Statehood Day, so that’s another part of that day I remember.

Just less than a week after the show, Bowtiers tripled!!

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Wherever I was, I had a fanclub!

I would practice my

autograph in my spare time. Around the city the requests were either selfies or signatures, sometimes both.

In

school, the teachers would also wear bowties. This Bowtie Wednesday vibe was so surreal.

July 12th, 2014 was my 13th birthday. My cake was a shape of a bowtie, clearly. I was fasting since it was the month of Ramadan, in Chicago on my summer holiday. I had to wait until 8:40 approximately to have my cake. It was totally worth the wait. My gifts were a whole collection of bowties: one for each day of the week, a few with my name on it and some with the school logo as well. They all came in a vintage collection box with my name engraved on it.

When I came back to school I started Year 9. Most of the new students that came to Year 7 or even from different parts of the globe were wearing bowties! This BTW craze was now a campaign. I then made my campaign: Bowtying the World.

I decided that it would also donate to charities annually as well, from the money I get from the campaign. I read the headline of the newspaper a few days after my campaign became publicized. To my surprise and the unraveling of my future, the words I read were, “The Next Best Thing”.

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Wonderland Aaliyah Khwaja Year 9 Intangibility overcomes my senses, Pushing the gate to the real world closed ensuring defenses.

Pulled into a surreal dimension, I have reached to such a destination.

The dawning of an adventure awaits, Creating newfangled fates.

Strolling along paths of red and white swirls, Towards a fortress of pearls, I am shaded by towering toadstools, As I pass beyond owing chocolate pools.

Cotton candy clouds above, Gaze down on the land you could never think of.

Parties of tea surrounded by fuzzy ďŹ r trees, Echo the faint buzzing of bees.

Such a landscape cannot be forgotten, As its inhabitants are far from rotten.

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Tunes of bliss emerge from ora, While dialogue and speech are enunciated by fauna.

The presence of walking clocks, Are accompanied by the rhythm of ticking peacocks.

As I venture further into this foreign land, I realize there will be more sights unplanned.

Spotting dandelions with manes, I introduce myself to fairies with the strangest of names.

In this new area, parrots wear bowties and monocles, I never knew that there were such miracles!

As my journey comes to an end, it is time to head back to square one, I am pushed back to a time that is not so fun.

As I awaken around familiar surroundings it comes to seem, This wonderland was never a dream!

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My Grandma Dalia Kotb Year 9 She’s as beautiful and delicate as the blossoming flowers, She’s as warm as a cup of tea, She’s the breeze of wind that cools me down, She’s so special and unforgettable like Valentine’s Day, “The hard times are going to pass and good times will come, don’t worry” she says.

She’s the stars that lead me in the dark, Grandma you’re the...

Apple to my heart, The cherry on a cake, The treasure in the sea, My heart that competes, You’re a part of me, You complete me, Grandma, Please...

I LOVE YOU! 152

IF? Heen Mahir Year 9 If politicians truly seek peace, Then why do they amplify the sounds of violence?

If politicians truly focus on unity and harmony, So why does it cause mutiny and agony?

If politicians are approaching nobility and integrity, Then why is it ending up in tragedy?

If politicians fully intend to put poverty into elimination, So why do they instead put poverty in illumination?

And without further ado, I would like my last question to pursue, What is the politicians’ essential goal?

Is it amity or having money and that is all?

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The Next Best Thing!

Heen Mahir Year 9 To be quite honest, I don’t really know what the ‘Next Best Thing’ is, but what I definitely know is that even though I am just another ordinary girl, I am a part of the seven billion people around the world.

Like Michael Jackson,

Martin Luther King Jr., Aretha Franklin, Mahatma Gandhi, J.K Rowling and Mother Teresa. I can also be a part of something new, elusive and wonderful. Similar to this girl called Ella, who transformed from a normal teenager, into an aristocratic, sophisticated lady.

Part 1 “Hey ya guys, wake up, it’s the mornin’!’’ yelled Ella, “for God’s sake, ya guys should really work out for tonight’s rumble!’’

Ella was just rolling up her navy blue sleeping bag. While she placed all the filthy broken plates into the scattered sink, Jason sneakily slid behind Ella. Every breath he took was very still and slow, every step he took was like a ballerina gently pointing her toe, and every glimpse he took at her was quick, yet lenient. Abruptly, he shouted as loud as an army of drums 154

over Ella’s delicate and soft ear. Ella twisted her slim body rapidly, her face was burning more than the mighty sun. Her grey eyes slithered like cobra snake, targeting accurately its prey.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?! ARE YA CRAZY? OR DO YA NEED TO GO TO A HOSPITAL OR SOMETHIN’?!” Ella stormed like a lightning bolt.

“Wow, chill sis, it was just a small prank, no biggie.’’ calmly replied Jason.

“No Biggie? NO BIGGIE? I WAS JUST GOING TO HAVE A HEART ATTACK FOR A SECOND!’’ raged Ella.

She persistently kept on punching him on his stomach like a fierce boxer who won about ten golden medals in one year.

But just with one gentle touch, Jason held her finger and crushed her to the floor. She was harshly whimpering for their elder brother Dally. She sounded like a lost child wailing to find her mother.

“What is goin’ on here?’’ asked Dally. Dally was eighteen years old, he was muscular from top to bottom! His hair was as black as ebony, it was a strands of silk lying down on a hard rock. Dally was the toughest guy of the pack, and also the smartest. He loved going to school to learn new and exciting things. But devastatingly, after their parents died during the car crash, everything has changed. Dally had to drop out of school and work on labour force to provide for his younger sibling at age of 14, yet he always had a way to keep his smouldering grey eyes charming, as well as an attractive smile 155

which enchants every single girl in the Big Apple (so ladies, you better watch out!).

“So aren’t one of ya gonna reply to me? Ya know what, I don’t even wanna know, ya guys always fight about ridiculous things!’’ commented Dally.

Both Ella and Jason stood up and dusted their black rocker jackets. The whole pack wore black, edgy, glistening jackets to define greasers as ‘tuff’, but then again, not intentionally meaning the word ‘tough’, but the meaning of being awesome and cool.

Ella sprinted to the bathroom to fix her hair and put on some bright, bold, red lipstick on. Her hair, dark and lustrous, had a gloss like fine hardwood. But that comparison isn’t entirely fair, I suppose hardwood doesn’t swish gently like her hair does, swaying with the words she speaks (even though they are usually rude and offensive). A shiny varnish catches light around it merely, but the depths of that deep chestnut brown reflects all the radiance of her smile. Her light tanned skin seemed to be warm as a milky tea, but it was as cold as a glacier in the North Pole.

“I am so happy that today is a Saturday; every inch of my brain is squashed up by all those complicated mathematical equations.’’, stated Ella across the cramped living room. The walls were old as a willow tree, there were infinite scratches, and you can even spot that the faint coloured wallpaper will tear up any minute, leaving the walls damaged and brittle. Yet even though the condition of the house is not 156

too mesmerizing and grand, it was still home to the whole greaser group in New York.

“Hey guys, where are ya?’’ asked Joseph. Joseph has been their family friend since him and Jason could start to crawl, even though Ella was not on Earth during their period of time, she definitely knows they would have started wrestling since 1st grade.

Jason always looked much more handsome and fetching than the boys in the group. Unlike Ella and Dally, Jason had warm chocolate brown eyes, they simply entranced anyone who got even a tiny glimpse of them, but once you laid your eyes on them, it will take another two centuries to take your eyes off of his seductive spell. Similar to Dally’s hair, his hair would greasily flow into a chocolate river steady when it is straight, but when he washes it, it is a chocolate river crashing on the riverbank around the smooth bits of creamy chocolate. ‘’ Yeah, we’re in the living room ready to go,’’ replied Jason.

“Can I please come with ya guys, I became 15 yesterday and ya guys promised to take me to see the rumble!’’ insisted Ella .

“Uhhh, fine you can come, but stay out of trouble and don’t get inta’ any fights. By the way sis, wipe the bold red lipstick out of your face, you wanna look tuff not flirty to those nasty Socs.’’, agreed Dally.

“C’mon ya guys, we’re gonna be late, and ya know how much I love to light the cigarette before I start ripping those …’’

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“Hey, watch your language Joseph; we’ve got a kid with us,’’ forced Jason.

“Hey that’s offensive to me, I am not a kid anymore!’’ screeched Ella.

As they were walking across the misty night, the crescent was very luminous for the first time, it was trying to outnumber the shadow’s darkness of the night. Out of the blue, Ella stopped and hesitantly said, “I have got a bad feeling about this, I think we should go home.’’

“Oh, stop bein’ a baby, ya wanted to come here to have an experience, and don’t ya worry; we do this all the time, what can possibly go wrong? Trust me, it’s going to be justa’ fair fight with no weapons’’, assured Jason.

But even though he tried to guarantee that nothing bad is going to happen, she could feel her heart-beat rising by the second, because she was worried about the consequences.

The pack met their other friends and started to talk about how ugly the new posh poodle skirts were getting popular during the 1950s. While Ella was slouching against the wall and predicting on what is going to happen. Finally the Socs came, all of them walking at same pace, the same tempo, and the same duration, as if it was a dance choreography. Dally stepped forward, since he was the leader of the greaser’s gang, and there went David, stepping forward as the leader of the Socs. Joseph thought it was so weird seeing them together starting a horrible, bloody fight, when they were 158

once best friends during elementary school.

“It is so weird how conflicts between people can create a hatred, despiteful emotion.’’ whispered Joseph to Jason.

“You know that’s the first time I heard ya say somethin’ which makes sense!’’ joked Jason, He always knew how to lighten up the mood.

Just in a flash, the two packs started gabbling each other like hyenas.

Ella was frightened about what is going to

happen, she could feel her stomaching growling as loud as the parade. The sweat, blood and pain dripped from each and every one of them, But mostly hatred. Who ever knew that hatred is a very dangerous, contagious drug. The Socs were being defeated badly, so David pulled out a pocket knife out and targeted Dally!

“Dally look out!’’ Ella screaming until her voice was shaky and weak.

Jason tried to run to help his brother Dally, “Ya liar, we made a pact that there will be no weapons used in this rumble!’’ Jason shouted furiously.

David replied with a smirk, “But in some cases YOU need to defend yourself! Hahaha…’’

Ella ran as fast as a cheetah to protect her brother. Ella started to bleed quickly, the blood poured like a well which has an endless amount of water.

“DAVID STABBED HER, YOU CRUEL MONSTER!’’ bawled Jason as hard as he could. Furious that David ran away the moment he stabbed her, “YA COWARD! YA LIAR STRICKEN 159

COWARD!’’ “She tried to protect me, why didn’t I listen to her? She was right, I am not ready to lose my young sister too, please Lord save her,’’ whispered Dally weakly. His eyes full of devastation and loss, even the River Nile wouldn’t be able to hold the tears he was sobbing out.

PART 2 “The court’s final decision is that David Hastings will be sent to jail for 8 months for wounding a 15 year old girl, Ella Montgomery.’’, stated the Judge, “And as for Dally Montgomery, he will stay in jail for 1 month because of leading dangerous rumbles on the West Side of New York, in addition to not taking care of his younger sister properly, so after the recovery of Ella Montgomery, she will be sent to a new family, the Fields, next week. End of court’s session.”

After 6 years, Ella grew more beautiful, erudite and well mannered. After she left her brothers, she went through a terrible breakdown, so she was sent to a therapist to recover, but from then she got used to her new family and loves her adopted mother, Emily Field. Ella thinks that her adopted mother did a wonderful job being motherly, kind and caring like Dally.

Now Ella has graduated from IVY League, a

very prestigious college in New Jersey. Even though she promised to forget her previous life, she still remembers a promise she made for Jason. He told her secretly that Dally always wanted the best for her, and whenever she comes home and complains about her day in school, he becomes 160

disappointed because he wants the best for her, he deeply wants her to have the chances to live a better life with a proper occupation, unlike him. So she promised to work hard and to be more discipline in her school work and her priorities.

Ella knows that promises are made, but not made to be broken from a long time ago. When you make a promise, you have to stick by it and have self-restraint.

“Ella, please could you open the door,’’ asked Mrs Emily.

“Of course mother’’, replied Ella properly.

She went

moderately to open the door; her silky pink high heels clicked each step she took until she opened the wooden door. Unlike like her previous home, this door was polished and well designed by famous woodworkers.

“Dally, is that really you?’’, Ella asked in astonishment, “Oh, Dally, I have missed you so much.’’

She went between Dally’s comfortable arms and hugged him so tight, as if he was her oxygen.

“Wow, your accent changed?’’, replied Dally, “and I can also see your also into those new poodle dresses too, right sis?’’

“I am actually! Please come in, the weather is freezing outside, and that black blazer will not keep you warm’’, insisted Ella.

After both of them got in the house, Ella offered Dally a cappuccino, “Want some?’’, asked Ella politely.

“What is that?’’ asked Dally, confused.

“It is a type of coffee, it tastes way better than beer, trust 161

me,’’ answered Ella.

“Sure, I’ll try some of this cappichacha. Ummm… I actually came here to congratulate you, Dr. Ella Field… Sorry, should I call you Dr. Ella Montgomery or Field?’’ asked Dally quietly.

“I will always be a Montgomery, Dally. Do not worry, changing my style, manners and accent will never change my true greasy heritage’’, answered Ella proudly. “And by the way, even though I did not spend 6 years of life with Jason and you, I did accomplish my promise. Yes, I am the next best thing in my life.’’

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The Performance Ali Majeed Year 9 “Cut!” The director slammed his script to the floor in disgust. This was the eighth take. The eighth time his leading actor had blown the scene.

The actor, dressed in prison fatigues, looked across the open set. It was designed to resemble a small, stark attorney – client room in a state prison.

“What’s that stupid director’s problem now?” he muttered to himself.

“Tony… Tony… please, come here…” From off stage a man waved. Begrudgingly, Tony strolled over.

“What is it, Jim?” Jim handed the actor a cup of juice. “Hey, man, relax. Take it easy. You just about got this one in the can.”

“I know…”

“Look, a couple more scenes and we can take off somewhere; blow some of that money they’re paying you.”

“You’re right, Jim.” Tony grinned at the thought and took a sip. “I’m just letting this part get to me, that’s all.”

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“That’s what makes you such a great actor. You get into your character.”

“Thanks.”

Jim was right. Tony would listen to his friend. After all, Tony trusted him with his life. Jim had never let him down.

Jim and Tony grew up in Joplin, Missouri. Jim, Tony and Jim’s sister Melinda were fast friends, inseparable. It seemed only natural by the time they were in high school Tony and Melinda would be romantically involved. Jim welcomed the relationship.

The summer before senior year brought a rival for Melinda’s attention. Brad Stockton was a transfer student, rich, obnoxious and used to getting what he wanted. Once, when he didn’t get what he wanted, things got aggressive.

Too aggressive! Irreversible things happened and a life was sadly lost. His father’s money and influence covered up the incident. But Tony plotted revenge.

Tony and Jim lured Brad to a remote lake on the premise of possessing evidence that would send him to jail. When Brad arrived, Tony was waiting at the water’s edge. Venting his anger, he coldly struck Brad across the head with a rock. With Jim’s help, they stripped the unconscious boy to his shorts, tossing him into a shallow section of the lake. The incident was ruled an accident: the boy had struck his head while swimming and drowned.

Tony and Melinda eventually split up. The two boys never spoke of Brad’s death again. That was over twenty years 164

ago. Tony Howard was now one of Hollywood’s leading men.

He commanded top billing, top pay, and his pick of leading ladies. Jim became Tony’s trusted agent.

“Ok, ok… I get it!” Tony shouted at the director, not caring who heard. “Get off my back.”

Tony’s outbursts were becoming a regular part of the daily shooting.

He constantly missed cues and fumbled

lines. When asked, he angrily shrugged it off, blaming it on a sudden migraine. At one point the studio considered replacing him. But Tony always managed to finish the scene, usually to the raves of studio execs viewing the daily rushes.

“Alright people, alright, let’s try it again.” The director signalled and studio hands sprang into action. Props were re-set; make up was freshened; lights recalibrated; cameras loaded and readied. Rudely brushing off an over attentive wardrobe girl, Tony mounted the stage. He glanced at Jim, giving his friend a curt nod, and took his mark.

“Give ‘em a performance they won’t forget,” Jim encouraged.

“Ready all…” Two dozen workers took up their positions.

“Ready,” the director barked. “Let’s get it right this time!

Lights… speed…” a set of digital timing sticks clicked in front of the camera lens, “…and… action!”

“Damn it Tom, you know I’ve done everything I can!” The actor-attorney dropped a thick file folder on the metal table top. “There’s nothing left… nothing!”

“I’ve got a date with the electric chair in just over an 165

hour and you say there’s nothing you can do!” Tony’s character, Tom, paced nervously, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Across the room, watching the scene carefully, the director noticed the perspiration. It wasn’t in the script. But this was good, by God, this was what he wanted: emotion, raw, honest emotion. He signalled his assistant to let the scene play out.

On stage, Tom spun around to his lawyer. “What about the new evidence?” he asked excitedly, “the DNA thing.”

The lawyer shook his head. “It didn’t pan out, there was no match.”

“Damn it!” Tony, as Tom the condemned man, savagely punched the table.

This is dynamite stuff, the director

thought, grinning, if the set holds up.

“There’s nothing left to do, Tom.” The lawyer tapped the folder in front of him.

“The psychologist signed off this

morning. He says you are sane and fit. Short of the governor there’s nothing left… nothing. I’m sorry.” He lowered his head unable to look at his client.

“Sorry,” Tom said softly. “Sorry…” Tony repeated the line.

He was ad-libbing now, following instincts which earned him two Oscar nominations. A tear rolled down one cheek.

Across the sound stage every eye, every ear, was focused on the tense performance unfolding before them.

“Sorry…”

Tony’s character slowly turned to face the wall, his back to 166

the camera. It was a gutsy move for an actor. The director could have kissed him. It was brilliant.

“Yeah… well…” The actor’s voice was barely audible. “I’m sorry, too.”

The actors froze in position, film still rolling. Finally a silent direction was given. Lights slowly faded, plunging the set into darkness.

“Cut… print… that’s it, that’s it!” The director excitedly jumped off his seat. Wild applause arose, lights flickering on.

On stage Tony stood motionless. His migraine was back but he didn’t care. He knew he nailed the scene. A satisfied smile crossed his lips. “Next picture I’ll hit ‘em up for twice, no three times the money. I’ll get it too!” Tony mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing, I was just…” Tony turned to find himself in a small, drab enclosure. Like the set, it was painted an ugly grey. But it smelled of stale cigarette smoke. A single lamp hung over a metal table and two metal chairs.

Unlike the set, this room was real.

The entire length of one wall was occupied by a large, dark mirror. Opposite it was a heavy looking door. Overhead, the single air vent did little to alleviate the claustrophobic atmosphere.

“What were you saying, Tony?”

A man stood across the table from Tony. He was about fifty; well-dressed, wearing a tailored Brooks Brothers suit. An 167

open brief case sat in one chair, while a file folder rested atop the table. Tony gave the stranger a puzzled look.

“Who… who are you? What…? He looked around then back at the man. “What is this?”

“What do you mean, Tony?”

“Where am I? What’s going on?” There was anger and panic in Tony’s voice.

The stranger held up his hands. “Whoa! Easy, Tony, take it easy. It’s me, Bob, your attorney.”

“What?” Tony shouted. “I don’t know you! Where am I? Who in the hell are you?”

“Tony, I’ve warned you about this,” the attorney said angrily. “Acting crazy won’t do any good!” He tapped the folder on the table. “The psychologist signed off this morning.

He says you are sound and fit. Short of the governor there’s nothing left. We’ve been over this.”

Tony shook his head trying to clear it. “What are you talking about?” He yelled, and rushed across the room.

Instantly the door burst open and two uniformed guards entered. They stopped short as the attorney held up a hand.

“It’s ok, no problem.”

Tony now stood inches from his attorney.

He looked

around at the two guards then returned his gaze to the man.

Suddenly he smiled and began to laugh.

“Ok, I get it. You got me. It’s a joke… right?” He looked around the room again. “Thought you’d put one over on Tony, huh?” He patted the other on the shoulder. “And 168

you… where has the studio been hiding you?

What a

performance!”

Tony staggered over to the large mirror and rapped on the glass. “You can come out now… Mr. Director… Jim… all of you, I know you are watching. Ok, you got me! I give up!”

Still laughing, he spun around and started for the door.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.” The guards seized Tony by the arms and gently but forcibly moved him into one of the chairs.

“Don’t make this any harder on yourself, Tony,” the attorney said softly, trying to calm his client.

It did no good.

Tony continued to struggle.

An elderly doctor entered carrying his bag. Ignoring the guards, he stood in front of Tony. “Easy now, son, it’s alright.”

He opened the front of Tony’s shirt, listening to his heart through a stethoscope. Tony tried to jump up but the guards held him fast.

“What are you doing?” Tony screamed. “Let me go!”

The doctor produced a hypodermic from his bag and began to roll up Tony’s sleeve.

“What… what, are you crazy? What are you doing?” Tony struggled as the needle pierced his skin. A second later Tony stopped struggling.

“He’ll be fine shortly,” the doctor announced, checking Tony’s pulse, “Just a very mild sedative… not unusual.”

The next thing Tony knew he was being slowly marched 169

down a barren green corridor. He was flanked by four guards.

The doctor and another man led the somber procession. His attorney followed.

Tony’s mind reeled. The scene in the grey room played over in his mind… like a movie.

That was it…

Of course!

They reached the end of the corridor and a pair of brown doors opened. Through the pale lighting Tony could see a low wooden platform and the back of a wooden chair.

Entering the room, everything became clear.

Sure, Tony thought, give ‘em a performance they won’t forget. That’s what Jim told him. Well, damn it, he’d do just that!

Looking around, Tony wondered where the stupid director and his cameras were hidden. As long as they got it right he’d give them the performance of his life. “Just don’t screw it up, Mr. Director.” He could feel his migraine returning.

Without protest, Tony allowed himself to be strapped into the chair. He sneered, and then grinned arrogantly. The audience would eat it up.

Secured in the chair, a man Tony didn’t recognize approached him.

“The state has found you guilty and

condemned you to death for the murder of Brad Stockton.

Do you have anything to say?”

Tony looked him in the eye. “Let’s do this,” he barked.

Academy award here I come.

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The man backed away.

A hood was lowered over Tony’s head. Seconds later, loud humming split the silence. The room lighting dimmed and then slowly came up.

Tony stiffened his body, shaking himself violently.

He

pulled and strained against the leather straps. With a sudden burst he tried to come up out of the chair. Then he stiffened again, held it, and collapsed into the chair, his body limp.

“Hold it… hold it…” the director nervously told himself.

“Wait… wait… now… …Cut!” He shouted and jumped from his seat. “Print it!” he called triumphantly. “That’s a wrap!”

From all around applause and cheers rang out. Studio lights came on. Workers scurried about, shaking hands, congratulating each other on a successful wrap.

“Well, Jim,” the director said, proudly shaking the agent’s hand, “our boy did it again! This one should win him the Oscar!”

The celebration was cut short. A shrill scream echoed through the cavernous sound stage.

All eyes turned.

The scream came from a woman who was unfastening the straps on the prop electric chair. Her hand went to her mouth. Shaking, she pointed to the motionless figure still strapped to the chair.

One of the lighting gaffers ran up. He felt for a pulse… first 171

the wrist… then the neck.

The studio fell silent.

The worker put his head against the figure’s chest.

“He’s dead,” he somberly announced, the color draining from his face.

“Tony Howard… he’s dead…”

End

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Wonderland Diana Majeed Year 9 Violent greens, and gushing yellow, Flora that cries your name, Heroic and daring, springs mellow, Just like an ear-splitting game, On the remaining crowds, For when you see this great object, Your thoughts shall remain in the clouds, We flee from all reality, Hidden shadows, and twisted time, Maybe we’ll find mentality, In this boundless mime, “We are all mad here!” he says, Eyes gleaming, torching smile, I do not believe this mess, Aren’t they all vile!

They approached me in their strange way, One that would make me tremble, It felt like I was their prey, Somehow managing to assemble 173

They create this dream they do, With their wonderful speeches they say, With this wild cat, and that mad hat, And that evil queen too.

There must be some truth behind that dream!

But they never knew.

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Persuasive Speech Khalid Malik Year 9 I will be talking about the most atrocious thing living in this time, the most horrifying creature known to mankind, I know its small, but it’s mighty. It is the COCKROACH! I believe that the cockroach serve no purpose in our life, it’s a creature just there to scare the life out of you. Cockroaches are so creepy with their hairy legs; they live in the most disgusting places ever. The bad thing about cockroaches is that they never die, even if you chop its head off it still lives for seven days and if you hit it with a shoe it just stays there as if nothing had happened. When you go kill a cockroach they don’t move, it’s like they are daring you to hit them because I bet they are just laughing away when you bring the bug spray out since they know it doesn’t work.

Cockroaches are the worst thing ever because when you see one you cannot stop thinking about it; you even go to sleep with nightmares about them. Do you know 30 deaths occur every year because of these dreadful creatures?

There was one incident where a person was asleep and the cockroach had crawled into the person’s mouth and choked 175

them to death. That just shows us that they are killers - they are like a pistol: small, nasty and deadly.

I believe that we should get the military involved, they should gather all the cockroaches in one place then bomb them 10 times, then nuke them all 3 times and if there all still alive after that, I think should burn them all then put them in some water with some francium. I think that would do the trick. I hate cockroaches that much, that I won’t even bother looking up to see what they eat, and they are such gruesome creatures.

In conclusion, I believe that cockroaches should be banished from our world, maybe sent to space or something so they are never seen again.

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Ebony Lattice Fiona McGeachy Year 9 Intricate designs.

Dark and dazzling patterns, Mesmerizing me.

Patient steady hands, Practiced ďŹ ngers working fast, People become art.

Hot days and cold nights, The latticework gets lighter, Fill the blank canvas.

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English Essay: ‘Are young people today under too much pressure.’

Fiona McGeachy Year 9 ‘This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.’-Eliot.

Distractions. Most of every student’s favorite thing. They come in a multitude of forms (music, books, T.V. shows and YouTube videos) yet they all do the same thing: distract you.

You must be wondering what distractions have to

do with whether or not young people are under too much pressure. First, please think about why people would turn to distractions. Do you think it’s because they are happy?

No. Imagine a 14 year old girl. Perfectly ordinary right? Pale skin and hazel eyes, she seems quite unremarkable. She is wearing a nondescript cream hoodie, jeans and converse.

You would think so, if you passed her in a street. More accurately, you wouldn’t think anything of her at all. Yet, if you stopped her and lifted the oversized sleeves you would think about her.

Because if you were to lift up the flimsy fabric you would 178

notice that she is drowning.

You would see the raised marks.

You would see the scars.

Born of society’s pressure to be perfect. Visualize that same girl. It’s half past eight at night and she has to go to bed in an hour. She has two essays and a book review due tomorrow morning. What do you think she is doing? Music is playing (it’s a haunting song) and she is writing. Just not what she is supposed to be writing. Instead of a hesitant hand thoughtlessly scrawling empty words and eyes: dull, picture a girl who’s eyes burn with passion. A girl whose hand aches as it desperately tries to keep up with her rapid thoughts and get them all down in the midnight ink. She writes of things that depress her peers when the teacher reads her work out; of child abuse and cancer. Exhausted yet wired, the morbid melody is her inspiration, the fuel top the creative fire burning.

After a while, her eyes go blank. Her frantic scribbling ceases, it slows then stops. The last drops of water falling after the tap is turned off. Hazel eyes shut. The fire is extinguished. She is numb.

When she looks back over her work she finds herself disgusted. She wants to destroy it, yet she decides she will edit it. She refuses to make the same mistake twice.

Another mark will be added: a sterilized steel blade slicing through milky white flesh, crimson drops trailing behind, because she needs an outlet.

179

Needs to drain her loathing.

How can an education system that drives people to this level of emotional instability be considered in anyway okay?

Because the system is at fault.

I don’t understand how

anyone of any intelligence can think otherwise! The current education system drives students to get the best possible grades, that way their future is secure. The problem is, that nowadays there is so much value in that piece of paper you collect at college that there is tremendous competition and pressure to get into one.

This leads to people driving themselves mad trying to get perfect grades, be sporty, involved in school activities and maintain a social life at the same time. People are driving themselves mad to be good enough! To do the impossible and mold themselves into society’s ideal. No wonder there are those who crack and shatter like glass. No wonder some turn to drugs and drinking to escape. The pressure put upon by society to get amazing grades (and the rest) in order to get a good job and have a secure future is colossal.

Furthermore, some unfortunate children have parents who push them too hard. It should be little wonder when they start to rebel.

I am glad that some of these tormented souls at least, are brave enough to stand up.

I wish everyone was.

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Transcribed Tragedies...

Fiona McGeachy Year 9 ‘What if monsters are real? And the only way to defeat them is to be the bigger monster?’

-Prelude- Of ‘Terms and Agreements’ “You agree to the terms then?” Her voice is seemingly emotionless, but to his experienced ear it seems like nothing but a thin veneer, and he can easily detect the barest hint of smugness in her icy soprano.

“Yes,” was his acidic reply. His tongue dripped poison for what else would he reply with? He loathed admitting it, but he was in an extremely vulnerable position.

He

reluctantly conceded that she was in a far superior position, it incensed him, but the entire situation was beyond his wildest imaginings! Whilst she would forever have the advantage in regards to physical prowess, she forced to concede at least some respect towards his iron will, steel nerves and frozen blood, though this only increased her irritation with him. Idly she wondered at his blatant lack of respect. Of course, most of that was owed to his upbringing, yet she had supposed that after the last few months ... it mattered not, she decided 181

after but a moment- this clearly was not the case.

At any rate, they both knew what his answer would be; just as they both knew what she was doing: shoving his weakness in his face because she knew he detested it; she needed to assert some authority, due to that specific condition.

However, her prize was so ... delicious... “Excellent.”

Then, his world went black, and the last thing he saw was her chocolate eyes flash a luminous golden colour that seemed ... ominous.

Chapter 1- Three Years Later- Killing Me Softly…

“I have prepared black forest gateau, strawberry coulis and” “Earl Grey tea. Get rid of the ... cake, I want sponge cake with jam.” He barely keeps from crumbling and she notices.

However she is merely Annette Dumont, a Frenchwoman he had taken in as his housekeeper and maid. She was fortunate to have been graced with such esteemed patronage, her situation was most comfortable and considering her birth she had done extremely well for herself- yet she was unable to rise further and would have to content herself with what she had; no hope for the future. He, on the other hand was the most highly regarded Duke, Lord Noah James Casterleycertainly the wealthiest, at any rate. Besides which, he had the Queen’s ear, something true for increasingly few as the Queen fell ever deeper into her mourning. She was seen ever less in public and had cut off many. Yet Her Royale Majesty was uncommonly upon with her regular correspondence 182

with Lord James, Duke of York. It was extremely irregularthe age difference was rather large, to say the least, the Duke was but sixteen, and the Queen was unable to bear any more children- not that there was any need, and nor did she wish to. It was certainly not something that any would dare mention to either of them.

That is why an uninformed observer would have been most shocked and quite scornful, if they had managed to notice the smirk that flickered across the housekeeper’s beautiful face. “Of course, my Lord. I apologize, most sincerely. I shall be back with your sponge cake and jam. Raspberry as usual I take it, my lord?”

“Hurry, you are late as it is and I am hungry!” he grumbled before getting back to the stack of paperwork that seemed to perpetually haunt him whenever he entered his study.

He was somewhat concerned that dust would gather there - his obsession with having everything clean bordered on fanaticism and was quite infamous. Noah, despite being a very practical sort of man despised grime with a burning passion that left those who knew him feeling more than a little mystified. He sighed softly, placing a pale hand with soft fingers (unaccustomed to manual labour as he was, and adorned with only the sapphire and silver signet ring of his family) to an equally pale face, with noble features.

His straight nose, thick black hair and high brows had been inherited from his father, yet his most distinguishable feature, had been inherited from his mother. Framed by thick black 183

lashes were striking eyes, coloured like the ocean. They were icy now- matching perfectly the frosty air that surrounded him, complementing his bitter perspective and his practically bred arrogance. The paperwork was beyond him now as his thoughts finally moved on from the anguish that the memories brought on by thinking about that ... cake always caused and turned to the revenge that was all he lived for anymore, as it usually did. As they did so he found himself standing up and retiring to the closest parlour equipped with one of the antique mahogany chessboards that Father had coveted and began a game with himself.

He had not moved beyond the typical opening moves when Elspeth knocked twice sharply on the masterfully carved and stunningly cared for cherry wood door. She walked swiftly in afterward and placed the silver tray silently down upon one of the exquisite coffee tables. He noted that she had dared to use the same set of china- Marquilo’s Limited Edition, all blue, greens, thick black lines and simple designs.

He had a migraine, his head was pounding, his eyes felt swollen and he could not help but relax upon feeling Annette’s lean arms wrap around him as she began to sing.

Her voice was as angelic as her appearance, soft and silky.

He turned slightly meeting her widened chocolate eyes with his ocean blue ones narrowed. He took in the gentle curve to her soft, plump lips, the way her eyes gleamed, the light furrow between her delicate brows, the seemingly soft air 184

about her as he felt himself drifting off before he noted the way her posture was straight and stiff. No, he could not allow himself to relax for but a minute, not even in his sanctuary, his fortress. Her voice was that of an angel’s, and it killed him as she sang so softly, with a voice so pure, it tormented him far more than actual torture ever could, as he was forced to reminisce about Mother, who sang him so softly to sleep, such tender care and love in her own oceanic eyes, the way her sunshine coloured hair fell in gentle waves about her, forced to recall all that he had cherished ... and subsequently lost. Annette was the Devil in disguise. She killed him softly with her song and he struggled not to give in and relax in her embrace.

“Remove yourself, or I will punish you.” He could hear her teeth grind in frustration and allowed his lips to curl into a smirk. No, he was nothing without his resolve, his hatred and he would not give up! He would have his revenge no matter the cost. She retreated away from him and bowed her head in subservience. “What would you have me do,” here her voice quivered in barely contained rage “my lord?”

“Ready one of the carriages, we leave for London. Call ahead to make sure my townhouse by the Thames, Maliel Hall is in a fit state, order the servants to keep Casterley Castle spotless, pack my clothes and arrange for a party to be thrown. We leave in 2 hours. Ah, I almost forgot, get rid of those wretched cats I know you have been keeping.” He was quite victorious, and she, defeated.

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Chapter Two- The Next Morning- Loyal Spider or Pampered Pooch?

They had arrived late last night. Noah had not missed the terrible city, and Annette was indifferent. She was the only servant Noah was taking.

Naturally this had some

of the other servants irritable and jealous- though neither cared. Noah knew none of the servants would dare bug him with vexing questions, whereas Annette thought them far beneath her. She was the top predator. He was so rich he could easily afford servants in his numerous estates on a permanent basis, and his reputation was the sort that demanded such excess. Since he could not bear the thought of any of his estates being unclean at any point, this was hardly a point of displeasure for him.

He had hosted an evening soiree that had been great success.

Those invited had to have tremendous wealth,

upstanding connections and be of noble blood. Society’s finest. No exceptions. Yet, Noah was superior to all and it definitely showed in the conversations. All the requests to dance- all of which he had declined, he cared not for such a frivolous activity; especially not with those trying to tempt him. They spoke so sweetly to him it made his legendary sweet tooth ache. Noah found them to be nothing more than a necessary evil. Society’s finest, hah! Society’s filth, was more like it. Still, the music was excellent, the food scrumptious and the decorations tasteful. It was bearable.

He was pleasantly surprised that his despicable fiancé had 186

not somehow found a way to come and torture him. That stupid girl was the worst of the lot. He had hoped the years would have granted her a spine, or at the very least an ounce of wisdom. Noah had not been so fortunate and Emmaline Vance had been the same as she had been as a child, when he had seen her six months ago at his Christmas charity ball.

That is to say, a nuisance. He had little patience for her, and avoided her to the best of his ability. However she never seemed to receive the message: to leave him alone. It was all he desired from her, though for some inexplicable reason Emmaline appeared to (mistakenly) believe that he craved her company, and even that he was fond of her. Indeed, Noah very much doubted that even if he was to write her a letter telling her just that she would actually leave him be.

“My lord, your morning tea, eggs and toast for breakfast and today’s newspaper. Would you like the sapphire blue waistcoat today?” distracted as he had been by his thoughts he had not noticed Elspeth’s brisk knocks and entry. She helped him sit up, fluffed his feather pillow and adjusted it so that he would remain upright before putting the tray carrying aforementioned items upon his lap. After that she drew back the thick, heavy drapes to let the pale morning light in. “Absolutely not.” he replied somewhat absently; still quite distracted and groggy from sleep. His eyes were unfocused and his lids at half-mast as he continued “do not be ridiculous Elspeth, it is summer. The sapphire blue waistcoat in which you refer to is cut for winter. It would be most inappropriate; 187

I had thought I had taught you better by now. Matters of this nature are under critical public scrutiny. Do not disappoint me again this morning, or I shall punish you. Severely.”

Noah’s frozen eyes focused upon speaking the final word, for which he used a particularly icy tone. “Honestly, I had thought you were capable of dressing me by this point, it is basic etiquette. Now, fetch me the satin brick red waistcoat, the white silk cravat and the black fine cotton trousers. Also, a fine white cotton shirt, if that was not obvious enough. At once.” As she entered his closet to get the demanded articles, he turned to read the newspaper that was still a touch warm from being ironed, however, in which there was nothing of interest to him written; besides the expected article praising him for yet another splendid ball. The press, while desperate to catch him doing something indecorous had to report on his soiree as he had invited them though they could find no fault.

So, entirely dissatisfied with its contents, he folded the newspaper up and set it onto his bedside table, before turning his attention directly to his tea, (a new summer blend that he had a particular interest in, as he was sponsoring it) that before he had only occasionally been sipping, quite distracted by the newspaper. However now he took his time analysing the still steaming cup of tea. Elspeth had chosen a finer teacup than yesterday, most likely due to his patronage of its contents. It was simply delectable, and Noah was hardly easy to please. He was often referred to 188

as the Queen’s Spider; most commonly so by the criminals of Britain’s Underworld, but the press had nicknamed him the Duke of Delicacies. It was most puerile, but Noah was apathetic.

“Hurry up,” Noah was irked now. For what reason could she possibly be taking so long? “My sincerest apologies my Lord. Most of your attire is still unpacked, and with all there is to go through, I am afraid it took me quite some time to find what you wanted.” Was her apparently apologetic reply as she set the gathered garments down upon his soft bed.

“Never mind your pathetic excuses now, I have an appointment and it would not do to be late.” Noah sneered.

Her eyes displayed an all too familiar golden colour for a moment, though he paid no attention to it. He stood up and strode to the en-suite bathroom, Elspeth following dutifully.

He stood in front of the porcelain sink and bared his clearly cared for teeth. She picked up, the oak and mint toothbrush from the pot on the counter of the sink in which it rested, ran it under the water to soften the bristles and began to gently scrub his teeth. After two minutes, Elspeth cleaned the brush and returned to Noah’s bedchamber whilst he gargled. It was but a moment or two before he returned as well to sit before her upon the edge of his vast bed.

He spread his arms out on either side expectantly and it was at times like these Noah’s arrogance showed through, clear as day. Nonetheless, she unbuttoned the high-necked, long-sleeved, linen and loose shirt that he had slept in and 189

slipped it off before replacing it with the fresh one she had fetched. Then she pulled the red waistcoat on over the top, buttoned it up and tucked a finely chiselled silver pocket watch inside one of the velvet trimmed pockets that rested symmetrically upon either side of the shining ivory buttons.

“Foolish dolt!” He exclaimed, smacking her hand. His hand made contact against her smaller one with a muted thump, and he did not let it go. He looked down at her as she kneeled upon the floor with wide eyes and her pink lips parted in surprise. “What are you doing? I am engaged; therefore the pocket watch must go in my left pocket, not my right! Are you trying to make a fool out of me? If I had the time I would punish you at this moment, I will not forget to do so after we get back. I am the Lord Casterley, I am not lenient and I do not tolerate mistakes.” With that said, he gestured for her to hurry up and continue before letting go of her hand and returning to plotting.

Elspeth reigned in her temper, as she corrected her positioning of his pocket watch, sliding it out of the wrong pocket and into its rightful place, then lifting up his legs one by one and putting his black socks on. Afterwards, she repeated this process to put his short, thin, silken drawers on, followed by his trousers, and then again to ease his polished, and expensive Italian brown shoes on- (they had previously rested beneath the bedside table, where he had left them after the party). She then motioned for him to stand, to which he absently complied, and then quickly pulled his 190

drawers up to his slim hips, rapidly laced the creamy coloured thread up tightly before proceeding to his trousers up and promptly fastened them there with the four lacklustre ebony buttons.

Elspeth then retrieved the bespoke black braces, beautifully embroidered with his family crest in miniature at the tops. They had cost a considerable amount considering they would not be seen. She carefully attached the braces to the buttons and gently let the material rest upon her master’s broad shoulders.

She picked up the dark red

overcoat and put it on him. Elspeth then attached his white cravat, before adjusting the collars and folding up the sleeves and smoothing down the fine fabric. Finally, she procured a pair of white cufflinks which she speedily used to hold the thin sleeves in place. Finally, the finishing touch was to comb his thick black locks.

191

The Next Best Thing Lina Said Year 9 Tulips and daffodils flew into her hand, and then met her basket. The sun was about to say good bye as it swam towards the ground. A sky of blue, orange and yellow glowed luminously across the land. The trees blew, fresh air towards her face. All of a sudden, she saw a diminutive; black dot emerging towards her...It enlarged itself as it came closer.

With a fright, the flowers dropped to the ground, with the basket upside down. Standing fifteen meters away, she could hardly see, as the atmosphere transformed to a glass of blur. Her legs strolled quickly towards her house before her imagination came true...

“Good morning Little Town, today’s news is shocking to hear from this fifteen year old girl.

To begin, she was

picking some flowers, then suddenly noticed an asteroidlooking...”The broken television switched off. Once again, the electricity is dead. The curious peasant family wanted to know more about the world; they needed a life; a life which meant pleasant living conditions. Every two hours, electricity fades away, and there is no solution for the family to catch up 192

with the news. It’s enough that they are peasants, what else?

Two hours later, their dream came true. continued.

The news

The cracked screen showed traces of robots

running behind the bushes...The family of four switched off the television, not daring to listen anymore to the unbelievable myth. They gathered onto the carpet, which extended its silk across the rocky ground, and waited to meet the vegetable curry. A lovely aroma diffused into the atmosphere, as well as crunchy bread, this released flakes of golden brown. The two combinations swam along the throats of the starved family, assembling for another bite.

They believed that one meal a day, and only one meal will be enough to stop starvation; however, not for long. After this one meal: breakfast, lunch and dinner, the daughter collected a one litre bucket of water and shared it, so everybody dipped there cups and filled them with drinking water. As for the dishes, a separate water bucket was filled with two litres. Due to the lack of entertainment, boredom switched off the day. Tomorrow is January 1st , 2030: New Year’s Eve is six hours away...

Tall buildings stood audaciously, beaming their glass and silver lights across the land. In the clear sky, settled hundreds of winged vehicles waiting for traffic lights to turn green. At the corner of Little Town, lived ten cottages. One belonged to the peasant family called the Inquirers. Each cottage family is named depending on their personalities; on the left, lived the Knowledgeable, and on the right were the Caring. Three 193

close neighbors, who never missed a morning without a cup of ginger. Together, they grew a garden of ginger, carrots, apples, cabbages, cucumbers and mangos. The tools of survival were shared as the women watered, and picked a range of crops to feed their family. The routine was constantly repeated, however not for long.

A morning of depression settled on the Inquirers’ faces; hardly any crops were left in the garden. What will they eat?

Suddenly, after a long trip of clearing the garden, rocks began to bounce along the shaking ground.

“An earthquake!”

Thought the father. They all returned to their cottage, and hid curled under the couch. Shaking, the daughter peaked, and stared through the window. A great metallic eye stared back! With a jolt, she yelled at the top of her lungs, and the rest of the family stared with fear.“L-look”, she shivered.

“A metal eye stared at me through the window!”The father glanced at the window, however, nothing resulted what she saw. “Girls these days, they just can’t stop imagining ridiculous things.” replied the father. “Why are we still hiding here? Can’t you see, the rumble is gone” interrupted the brother.

That night, cold air emerged. The daughter woke up, shivering with coldness; goose spots settled on her arm.

The door! A gap extended to the roof top; traces of a head, arms and legs.

Quietly, she strolled through the

silent night. The stars glanced and danced with harmony, showing constellations of astronomy. “That’s beautiful.” She 194

whispered to herself.

“I know.” A strange voice spoke from behind her. The voice was deep like a thousand men singing. It vibrated along her ear. Slowly looking back, frightened, she yelled as loud as a flying jet, and ran for her life. As she ran, she noticed that the earth wasn’t moving and she stayed at the same spot. The Creature held her towards the stars. Covering her mouth with a thumb, he shouted, “quiet!”Her eyes opened widely and rain splashed along the ground. “Don’t be afraid of me, I come in peace. “There was no way out. The cage wrapped around her like tentacles. “Me name Jupiten. Me from Jupiter, and me responsible for your garden. Me was just looking for metal supplies for we to build space ship. We crash landed on Earth due to mission impossible. Asteroid was heading to Jupiter and we in charge of protecting me planet. Help me build space ship.” She looked at him, less frightened. He gently dropped her down, and stepped back.

As she looked up, she saw veins of silver twirled around his body; spikes on his back, and an unclear, messy face with dull silver eyes, nose and mouth. It was about ten feet high, with gigantic hands and feet. She ran away, still thinking of a dream. The next morning, the gap was still there, she awoke her parents and explained her journey with the alien robot.

The traces of evidence on the door’s gap showed how clear her explanation was.

Eventually, the family found the robot and helped him find his metallic supplies to fly back to Jupiter. Therefore, he 195

wouldn’t constantly be asking them for help - in addition, destroying their belongings. As time passed by, the family and the robot became close friends and were sooner ready to head back to Jupiter.

As the ship detached itself from the earth’s surface, a great bullet flew onto the ship. “We found them!” Soldiers exclaimed. “Five of them!” A bomb destroyed the ground, a sandy storm approached.

Flames of red and orange

extended towards the air. Jupiten’s body melted to a pond of silver, his face still alive and his fingers moving. The soldiers aimed another bullet at the center of the target. “Stop!” exclaimed the father, running towards them. “They came in peace, and now they’re heading back, set them free.” Sorrow melted through the soldier’s hearts, allowing the robots to fly back, and save Jupiter.

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WONDERLAND Lina Said Year 9 Soaring trees stand audaciously, Glaring at cotton candy passing by.

Aroma scattered towards a path, A path full of fantasy…

A dress of flowers stretched, In a maze of wonder.

No rumble or drizzle, No racket or clamour.

White roses danced with joy, Shaking off drizzling red.

Welcoming cards and queens, Bouncing on dotted mushrooms.

A rabbit running after time, For an open invitation for all surroundings.

Hidden between the bushes, Lived the heart of ecstasy.

A trapped dream of harmony, In a wilderness of surrealism.

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Birds sing tuneful melodies, On towers of ebony.

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Malala’s autobiography Aditya Sateesh Year 9 I come from a country that was created at midnight and I have an ambition for girls around the world to have an education, because we are not treated as equals. They think we were put in this earth just to cook and clean. I am Malala and this is my story. The day everything changed was Tuesday, October 9, 2012, three months after my 15th birthday. It might have not been the better of days to celebrate in the middle of my exams. But as a girl who treated education as a gift of love, I did not mind exams as much as my classmates. My classes were spent chanting chemical equations or studying Urdu grammar, writing stories in English with morals like “Haste makes waste” or drawing diagrams of blood ¬circulation which was helpful since most of my classmates wanted to be doctors. How I adored the wonders of education and how it could change your life or even the world in the future.

The main thing that bugs me is that, I just do not understand why some people are so against women having a single piece of knowledge in education. I mean, we are all human made from flesh and blood - more or less. It is 199

hard to imagine that anyone would see that as a threat. Yet outside lay not only the noise and craziness of Mingora, the main city of the Swat Valley in north-west Pakistan, but also those like the Taliban who think girls should not go to school; which means trouble. They are the main people who I must compete against for my fight for girls’ education.

The school was not that far from my home, but I had begun going by ¬rickshaw and coming back by bus, because my mother was scared of me walking on my own. I agree with my mother because I understand she is doing this for my own good and safety. We had been getting threats all year. Some were in the newspapers; some were notes or messages passed on by people. This means the people who were offending me or women’s rights itself, must be trying to hunt me down.

The Taliban had never come for a girl, and I was more concerned that they would target my father as he was always speaking out against them. This thought always gets me worried about what the Taliban will do to him and the worst thing is that it is all going to happen because of me. A close friend of his and fellow campaigner, had been shot in the face and I knew everyone was telling my father, “Take care, you’ll be next.”

One day during my shift back home, I held exam papers in my hand proudly until our bus was came that ¬afternoon.

The other girls all covered their heads before emerging from the door and climbing into the white Toyota van with 200

benches in the back. I myself, was very scared thinking who it could be. What I realized is that it was obviously someone who was looking for me. What really got me goose bumps was that, if the Taliban was waiting outside the bus ready to pull a gun out and shoot me… I prayed deeply.

I sat with my friend Moniba and a girl called Shazia Ramzan. We clasped our exam folders to our chests, with our school bags under our feet.

The bus turned right

off the main road at the army checkpoint, as always and rounded the corner past the deserted cricket ground which was abandoned for years, as nobody set foot there. What I remember from my memory of what happened, is that our bus was trapped by a group of gunmen and I cannot catch my memory of what happened next. But I now know that a young bearded man stepped into the road and waved the van down. As he spoke to the driver, another young man approached the back. “Who is Malala?” he demanded. No one said anything but several of the girls looked at me.

I was the only girl with my face not covered. He lifted up a black pistol, a Colt .45. Some of the girls screamed and Moniba tells me I squeezed her hand. I did not know what to do since I was petrified until the man fired three shots.

The first went through my left eye socket and out under my left shoulder. I slumped forward on to Moniba, blood coming from my left ear, so the other bullets hit those near to me.

I just cannot explain how much pain I felt back then, for a girl my age - even thinking about it gives me a well good 201

headache. But there was one last thing I had in mind whilst I slept through my operation in Birmingham hospital. I knew that death was not ready for me yet, especially since in my journey, I got too much worth living for. Once I am healed and perfect to ďŹ ght back for education, I then spread the name‌ I am Malala!

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In a World of my own!

Isabella Schwarz Year 9 In my world everything’s topsy-turvy; Such as straight lines that are curvy, Or big is small, And short is tall.

Where many is few, And old is new...

Even the world’s creatures, Have different features.

It’s the fools that are right, And the looby that are bright.

Where the witch is Haensel and Gretel’s friend, And the king plows the empire’s land...

Where birds are swimming in deep green seas, While the fish are nesting high up in blue trees...

In my world ten suns shine at night, And the shadows – they are all bright!

It’s there that the storm is gentle and befriending, 203

And peace on earth is never ending...

In this world I’d like to live, So I pray every day to god to give, Me a world full of contradictions, And empty of trivial restrictions!

204

The Kingdom of Wisdom Zayd Shokair Year 9 Jordan. A country of power.

That grows every day, like a beautiful flower.

Look left and right, Children unite…

Looking at the sensational sight, We thank our military for every single thing, The same way we stand together and salute the king.

From white to black to red to green , Everything is absolutely keen.

The bright star illuminating in every eye, And trust me its legacy will never die.

Who would like to come to this sweet beloved nation?

To witness the things that would be beyond your imagination.

The sun that will shine every single day, The birds that will sing and fly away.

The mountains that will stand so solid, so 205

straight.

And the aroma of the mansaf plate!

This is my magniďŹ cent tradition, Based on my realistic vision.

Hopefully one day you will come, To experience happiness and have lots of fun!

206

Heavenly Wonderland Iben Thomasen Year 9 A place that has only been seen in dreams, Something even prettier than it seems, Something full of wonder and magic, Something with no problems or traďŹƒc.

Anything you want just seems to appear, Whether you’re far or near, A place that is full of wonder, A place that is yet to discover.

A place that is full of fantasy somewhere I would love to be, Somewhere special where I can only see, Whenever I feel sad and down; I would love to go to my own fantasy world, like a new town.

Somewhere where all my worries are gone, Somewhere where there is no trouble, Somewhere that is undercover, Whenever I feel lonely.

207

I don’t take things slowly, I just go this fantasy world of mine, Where I know like a star I’ll shine, A place that is truly fantastic.

Where there is no one sarcastic.

I can do whatever I want to make me feel happy, A place do whatever I want to make me feel happy, A place that is so cool and fancy, A place I can run away to on my own, A place that is truly unknown, Somewhere I will never feel alone.

208

How Wonderland Died Zeyad Wadi Year 9 Wonderland was a place of tranquility and peace.

But now everything has changed, evil runs through the land.

If one should approach they won’t release, Patiently waiting in a field of sand.

The good vanished like a breeze, it’s done, and it’s gone, Evil emerges, a war began!

Evil is spreading, faster than ever.

Is there no one brave enough to face it?

Wait! What is that? He floated like a feather.

He did not seem frightened a bit!

Everyone confused wondering “Does this man have a death wish?”

“What was his name?” no one knew, But instead of a sword he was holding a fish!

He approached the enemy brave and strong, The evil startled, it’s like it had a nightmare.

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As he flew he yodelled a song.

Has evil never had a challenger? They were thinking “Does he dare?!”

Hope began to fill the land, was this man a saviour?

Could he restore harmony to Wonderland?

Will he sort out evil’s behaviour?

A great battle commenced! Howls of pain and Cries for mercy, everyone observed.

It seemed as if a win for evil was at hand, Thus the evil slayed the good, though everyone knew it was undeserved.

Was this the end of Wonderland?

Was it on its deathbed?

Everyone hoped it was not, and that a return is being planned.

It seemed as if evil killed Wonderland screaming “Off with its head”.

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My Grandma Gence Yalcin Year 9 My Grandma is a super hero, She flies to all my needs.

My Grandma is bossy, But the rules are tiny as seeds.

Like she always says, ‘Don’t do that, you will get a boo boo’.

My Grandma is a genius; She can write a haiku!

My Grandma is amazing, She is always nice, My Grandma is irreplaceable, She is a golden rock in rice.

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Swat Valley Owen Yates Year 9 The long winding roads lead into the once great paradise, now with cracks in the road and old signs, the most prominent being a faded advertisement reading ‘Welcome to Paradise’. In the distance Mount Elem studies everyone, as if it were seeing whether they are worthy to enter its domain.

Twisting, the road mirrors the curves of the river. Cars paralleling the trout that swims playfully in the water. The checkpoint represents the wall of rocks as the people line up to be checked by the stony faced militia.

Beyond the checkpoints many roam the streets freely.

Buying, selling, teaching, learning, where women are forced behind closed doors. Rows of buildings some old, some new, some big, some small, but all poor.

Schools placed down narrow mud lanes, through hidden doors, out of the public eye. Checkpoints at every street, some with smiling soldiers, others where they never even look at you.

Even though death lies at every corner children still play in the old ruins of the Buddhist era and women still talk out on 212

the verandas of many houses.

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Why Shouldn’t I? Sarah Abimhamed Year 10 “I’m finally going to do it,” I thought, I felt this huge rush of adrenalin in my body, as if I was riding the world’s largest roller coaster, as I took the MARLBORO pack from the grocery store and gave it to the cashier. When I gave her the pack to pay for it, she eyed me up and down with this look that screams judgement, which obviously made me feel quite uneasy. Maybe it was my age, all the cool people in my school do it, why shouldn’t I? I tried to ignore my subconscious twisting her hair and saying “I have a feeling this isn’t going to end well,” I had a really tough day today and there was just too much going on in my life, I heard multiple times that smoking is a way of calming yourself down, that’s why lots of people do it. I thought I might try it, besides the fact I am a little underage, but what I have been put through these past 4 years is something no 13 year old can handle. Maybe this will help me. Maybe I will finally start having friends and fit in with everyone else. Maybe.

I exited the store before I changed my mind. I quickly ran 214

to the furthest place away from home and sat on a bench in the middle of a deserted street. I could hear my heart pump loud in my chest like it was about to come out and slap me for what I was about to do. It was probably the running, that’s what happens to your heart rate, right?

I opened the pack, my hands shaking like I was going to murder an innocent soul. I felt thousands of people watching me despite the fact that I was in an abandoned place. “Your mind is playing tricks on you again, Gabi,” I tell myself. Both of my parents smoke, why shouldn’t I? I pulled out the cigarette and for a split second I imagined it as a bullet and my hand being the gun. I ignored the image and laughed to myself, my imagination is at it again. I finally get the courage to light it up and put the cigarette between my lips inhaling the “deadly substance” as my biology teacher called it (such nonsense).

There was this sense of excitement rushing through my veins and blood stream, however I felt the smoke crashing my lungs like little pieces of glass, then my head started spinning, I closed my eyes shut and I felt almost non-existent for a couple of second, similar to floating in space.

Next thing I know, my face met the cement ground with a huge thud. I nearly felt out of control. I stay lying there for 5 minutes, re-evaluating my life. What am I doing here facing the cold dusty ground of an unknown street holding a lighted cigarette on one hand and a lighter on the other with a burning throat and a light head? I thought smoking was supposed to make you feel cool and calm. I thought if I 215

smoked I’d feel different and older. Instead I just felt sick, not to mention the desire to throw up was invincible.

“What did I tell you 5 minutes ago?” my subconscious mocks me, throwing her head back in laughter. “Don’t do it anymore you’re going to regret this,” but there’s still this other part of me that thought I should continue smoking anyway.

I stand up and decide to try again tomorrow. On my way home, I found a crumbled piece of paper landing next to my feet, my curiosity was killing me so I opened it and there handwritten letter read: One of humanity’s great traits is that you can delude yourself, so even at a level where you know that you’re deluding yourself, you’ve deluded yourself, so that doesn’t even matter. It’s like the kind of people who say, “I’m mad, me!” Well, you’re not mad. You’re not insane. You’re not even mildly wacky. If you have to say, “I’m mad, me!” — you’re not.

But the delusion is there.’

I could’ve sworn it was meant especially, for me. Since I am a big believer of “everything happens for a reason” my first thoughts were “Perhaps this is a sign,” If I was honest with myself, I didn’t really enjoy that feeling, people glamorise smoking a lot, like it was some magical feeling. In fact, that’s all incorrect. Once the addiction starts all you’ll be filled with is regret and carbon monoxide. This was almost like a wakeup call. I promised myself I wouldn’t touch that horrible thing ever again and just continue on with my life. It’s not like it’s going to make me any cooler or better, 216

whatever problems I have I can handle it in another, healthier, more eective way.

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Glory Of The Commander Hanaa Ahmed Year 10 There can be no health in us, Nor anything good grow For the land is one with the commander, And he is one with the land.

Soul of ďŹ re, Heart of stone, In pride he conquers, Forcing the proud to yield.

He calls upon the mountains to kneel, And the seas to give way, And the very skies to bow.

Pray that the heart remembers tears, And the soul; love, Pray the commander is always our lord, Pray he is our king.

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The UAE Hanaa Ahmed Year 10 The desert is a strange place; the warmth cradling you, almost cancels out the feeling of bareness that surrounds the ocean of yellow. The land bleached by the sun is almost surreal.

It’s a painting come to life, watching the sand

dunes rise and fall like something incarnate, peaceful and yet terrifying.

I cannot really be sure what it is about the environment I feel so comforted by; the lonely emptiness destroys any hope of reassurance provided by the warm sun, so logically, I should feel rejected more than anything. But there is just something. Something that makes the empty space feel like some sort of haven: that home away from home. There’s this strange form of ease that is brought by the deafening silence: such barren land that is bustling with such miniscule life. People say that the desert is motionless and soundless.

They are right to some extent, but only because your mind feels like it has had a large dosage of tranquilizers that numb the brain. You have to be aware. Listen closely; and you can hear every grain of sand, every hidden animal, every desert 219

palm breathing together as one living organism. That’s how you know that everything in the land is connected as one, and that even though everything lives as a separate part, they all combine together unknowingly, to paint a dreamlike landscape.

The rambling laughter echoing from the men’s tent on the other side of the camp shook me out of my reverie. It sounded deep and throaty, probably because of the pipes they were all smoking, though that was shot down by the high-pitched trill vibrating from the tent behind me. It was only then that I was truly aware of my physical surroundings.

Being in a desert camp, in the middle of nowhere, that was used as a source of entertainment.

The sky above looked like stokes of water-colour, with patches of red and blue that occasionally clashed into a natural purple. I took one last, fleeting look before walking away, past the children running around, and into the tent through the thin cloth that acted as a doorway. Almost instantly, the woody smell of burning frankincense hit me, making me smile at the familiarity.

The ladies tent was large, with full floor seating that was fully occupied and small rectangular tables at regular intervals. The tent itself was made of logs stacked up and woven together, and then covered by long pieces of thick red and black weave. The hot coals in the middle were the only source of warmth as the night was setting in, and it filled the tent with a stuffy feeling.

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I was dragged over by my friends to a small corner where they were all gathered chatting about the latest gossip. It was nice to laugh and joke with them; it felt like a millennium since the last time. Another round of laughter shook the tent as the other women walked in, each carrying large trays of rice and chicken, and setting them out around the room as more women came in, carrying plates and cutlery, serving equal portions out to everyone. I savoured the nutty taste of kabsa rice melting in my mouth, chewing on the thousands of pine nuts and cashews that were floating in between.

Dinner was soon over and the small cups of strong bitter coffee and sweet fresh dates were passed around, while the chatter started again. By now, the hot coals were burning warmth as the cold night time air was drifting through the thin walls of the tent. I had to grab a small shawl to wrap around my shoulders, politely excused myself and stepping outside once again.

The laughter continued in the background, though I was paying it no mind. Instead, my attention was focused on the sky, lit up by thousands of glittering stars. There was a full moon that was glowing eerily, tinting the sand with a silvery light. It was spectacular. Beauty radiated off of each grain as they made the ground look like it was almost floating just spectacular. Though the cool desert wind was blowing against my cheek, I somehow managed to ignore it, stuck in another daydream.

It seemed strange to think that the now quiet desert was 221

once home to full Bedouin tribes that lived and thrived here.

I could almost imagine the way that they would live in tents scattered across the earthy sand. How they would hunt for food and collect water from the oasis and travel from place to place with camel caravans. It would have seemed natural for them to live here, and yet for us, only a small while later, it seems so foreign.

My internal ramblings were again interrupted as I felt a hot mug being gently pushed into my hands. I looked up to see my mother smiling distantly, and then looked down to see wisps of steam from the tea. She walked off again. I couldn’t stop the sarcastic remark of ‘well that was a riveting conversation’ from playing in my head. Chuckling lightly, I took a sip, relishing the taste of the burning liquid as it slid down my throat, leaving a cardamom aftertaste.

I am not really sure when I decided to sit down. Only a few minutes after, did I realise that the sand seemed much closer to my hands than usual. Again, there was another round of laughter as the voices from behind were slowly increasing their volume, disturbing my peaceful serenity.

And sometime during the next ten minutes, I became certain that after a long day of doing absolutely nothing, I could use a nice long night of sleep. I walked back into the stuffy tent to bid goodnight to everyone and made my way over to the tent shared by me and my cousin. We would usually be up until the early hours of the morning talking and gossiping, but today I felt like I couldn’t utter another word 222

without falling into a slumber. I crawled under the sleeping bag and almost collapsed in sudden exhaustion as I let sleep claim itself over me.

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Once Upon A Time Felix Franke Year 10 Once upon a time, Western and Eastern sides, were together.

Forever.

Now, they are all but together.

Fake; never existed.

But now, starts to be in the Westerners Real-is behind bars.

Fake-changes what is true.

What is behind bars cannot be seen from afar.

Fake-takes up all cues.

Stay young, Stick to your roots.

Change and keep yourself true.

Before you meet ruthlessness-with feelings.

If you could.

Teach me.

I want to be What I want to be, Not what I need to be.

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I want to feel joy and happiness.

Not the cold-feeling of nothingness.

Teach.

And live in once upon a time.

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Golden Summer Maha Ghannoum Year 10 It was a boisterous summer, and I was six years old on a beach in Spain. In sight, I observed a consignment of rocks, stacked on top of each other. We climbed over. BAM! It was a shock for all of us; the rough sand was as black as coal. Seeing this soot-like sand was mystifying for me, as I thought that sand had always been brown. Going to the beach in Spain was a tremendous experience. Smiles and laughs were glued to our faces. The clear blue sky sat above our heads. The vast sea that lay in front of us was an introduction without a conclusion. The red striped blanket ew up to the sky, touching the clouds, as it lay in front of us to have a snack.

The plate was like a rainbow with all sorts of fruits and vegetables.

Afterwards, we decided to play a friendly volleyball game.

Diving through the sand like shooting stars, my brothers and I sprang up and bent down landing with a delightful cheer.

The ball ew between our hands. Flicking between the smell of fresh clean air; like a coin uniting hands. The wind would glide us from side to side as if we were a punching bag for the 226

wind.

Looking to the right, a tree’s hands maneuvered and giggled with eagerness. Glancing to the left, waves were overlapping the sea, like a hundred year old person.

Squinting beneath we detected our feet sinking down; to an extent that we identified the heat of the earth’s core. The jokes and stories that would be launched out of our mouth caused the others to burst out laughing. We were volcanoes brimming with excitement.

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The Arabian Desert Malek El Gorni Sanchez Year 10 Carefully, I stepped out of the car and into the darkness. All I could hear was the wind. There was nothing out there, except sand dunes, desert and nothingness. This was the Empty Quarter, the land of nothing, but desert and the dangerous creatures that came with it! Why had I come here?

I don’t really know. Maybe it was my misery and pain that led me here. All I know is that it was going to be a long night and that I might never see daylight again.

Freezing. That would be exactly how I felt. I was numb with the pain of cold. As I trudged through the desert, I kept seeing shadows moving across the sand. They were at least double the size of mine. I thought I might have been hallucinating, when suddenly I heard a deafening sound. A shrill shriek melted all thoughts in to one. RUN! I stumbled across the sand as fast as I could, but I knew that however fast I was, it was faster.

BAM! 500 pounds of pure force sent me flying off my feet and flat onto my face. Pain washed over me, as I finally recovered my senses. I must have broken my ribcage, as I 228

couldn’t move my upper body without feeling soreness. I checked my surroundings; I was in some sort of hole in the sand. Then I saw it. Slowly, the largest arachnid I’ve ever seen scuttled into arm’s length distance. It was a camel spider, the size of a grown camel. It had red eyes and fangs as long as my arm. It was my biggest fear. My nightmare was now a reality.

As I sat there, paralyzed with fear I thought to myself: “This is not the end. I am not burning out like an old star.” I grabbed a dagger from my pocket and pointed it at the spider.

The spider lunged foreword. Ignoring the pain, I slashed its leg off. As the spider stood momentarily frozen, I took the chance and chopped it into bits. I ran way hoping that its companions wouldn’t come after me. I remembered all the remains that were scattered there and recalled why that is the reason nobody has ever come out of here alive.

Once I made it back to the car, I passed out cold. I woke up to the sound of the howl of a wolf – at least that’s what I thought it was. I looked out of my car and noticed an animal the size of my vehicle, with spikes all over its body. When I glimpsed at its face, I knew it was dead. It had pitch black eyes and long, pointy ears. It had a horn dripping with acid and teeth soaked with blood. It looked as if it had just been in a fight, as it had scars everywhere. It was being eaten by a colossal Oryx which was probably bigger than my bedroom!

If this beast could take down an animal like that, what chance would I have?

I hid in my car, hoping it wouldn’t find me – my heart 229

beating hard, as I heard it tearing its victim’s flesh with razor sharp choppers. I risked a peek: I was face-to-face with the monster and a carcass behind it. That’s when I knew it was the end…

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Terrible World Mohammed Hajsaleh Year 10 Problems of the world.........

The air we breathe isn’t always clean, The people we meet aren’t always kind, Everybody seems to be dreadfully mean, It makes you stop and think once and twice, The terrible world is never still, Something always has to happen to make us sad, There always seems to be trouble, Some people are constantly getting mad, We constantly fight a losing battle, We treat each other like wasted cattle, All we do is commit the same old sins; We never learn…

We can make this terrible world glorious and great, We must join forces in a large united crowd.

Try to understand and learn how to relate; 231

We must all stand tall and proud!

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Black or White?

Ahmed Haweel Year 10 Once upon a time I was black.

Then I got sick…Still black.

Got tired…Still black.

After that, I died… Still black.

Once upon a time… I was White.

Then I got sick...Turned green.

Got tired… Turned red.

I got cold…Turned blue.

Died, Turned grey.

Can you see the difference now?

They call us the coloured ones.

We all have the same kind of emotions, organs and bones though.

So why the hate?

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Learning to Cycle : My First Experience Saria Idris Year 10 I have chosen this topic because like many kids riding a bicycle was one of the most delightful things that I have learned to do. I still have a vivid memory of my first day of cycling.

I got my first bike when I was four years old. It was a birthday present from my grandfather. I remember it was a combination of black and orange with two wheels and a pair of stabilizers. My first riding experience with the stabilizers attached was a piece of cake. I remember as clear as crystal, the first riding tip I received from my mum, which was using the brakes whenever I wanted to stop, rather than putting my feet down. However, the challenge that I experienced was riding my bike without stabilizers, which is the focus of this article.

I remember it was in 2005 on a Saturday afternoon and the weather was pleasant enough as it was approaching winter; I rushed excitedly to answer the doorbell as I was expecting my two cousins and their dad to pick me up for cycling around the compound. My cousin Fatima who was four years 234

older than me and her younger brother mastered cycling without the aid of the stabilizers, something which I had not at that time. I still recall how embarrassed I felt as my early excitement melted like butter on a hot pan. To cheer me up and make my day, Fatima and her dad were kind enough and volunteered to teach me riding without my stabilizers. They were so confident that I could do it. I cannot tell you how joyful and overwhelmed I was at that moment.

Yes, I finally had the chance to ride like an adult. Our housing compound was close to the university where my mum used to work. My cousin’s dad took us to the courtyard in front of the library because it was made of hard concrete with a smooth surface. It was a good and safe place for practicing. Putting on our safety gear such as a helmet and knee protectors, we all were set to go. On that momentous day, which was like the moment of truth, I was wrapped with the thrill of freewheeling. I clearly remember my cousin Fatima who was wearing a purple tee shirt and navy jeans and her dad saying ‘’we will hold the back saddle to keep the balance and you start pedalling’’. Initially, I could smell fear.

Taking a deep breath, I began following their instructions and concentrating on my pedalling to the extent of being oblivious to anything around me. Out of the blue I got this weird feeling so I turned around to find that they had let go and were cheering “Go Saria, go”. It was a victorious moment.

I could feel the fresh air bashing towards my face and the sound of the birds whistling softly. It was a perfect day.

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Wrapped up with my excitement, I started cycling as fast as a cheetah to the extent that I lost control of my balance and fell on the ground. I was in so much pain and bright red blood was dripping on the floor from my right knee despite wearing my safety gear. It seemed so embarrassing now recalling how I busted out crying like a baby. They took me home and cleaned my injury and put on a bandage. This incident did not stop me from going back to practicing with them the next day. After practicing for fifteen minutes, we decided to race against each other. In the first round I came last, however in the second round I came first. I believe they let me win on purpose; anyway I did not really care. I did not want to spoil my sensation of victory.

I have to give credit to my cousin and her dad for their encouragement, support and patience for teaching me how to ride without stabilisers during a very short time.

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Once Upon A Time!

Ahmed Jabour Year 10 Once upon a time.

The government ruled.

The rich got richer.

The poor got poorer.

As a rich person, life was good.

They got all they wanted.

Respected for nothing.

Yet had no love or honor.

As a poor person, life was bad.

They never gave them anything.

Did everything. Got no respect.

But had lots of love and honor.

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Breathless Sara Jibril Year 10 I tried to remain in a calm state; but even I knew that that was a difficult task to up hold. I took deep and ragged breaths.

Each breath causing my throat to tighten, almost to the point where the air was too difficult to grasp, and I was losing oxygen. I waved my hands to see if I could gain anyone’s attention. I tried to scream but no one heard me. It was as though I was invisible to the whole world. Alone, Lost, Empty, and Hollow.

I felt my chest tighten, my throat clenching, my lungs burning. The only relief was the occasional gasp of pollution filled air; but even that wasn’t enough I needed more. I wanted more. The burning feeling only intensified with each breath by then I was ready to die. Ready to take away the pain. My sinful life flashing before my eyes. Every life I destroyed, every life I ended, every soul I tortured to the point of insanity. I knew this was my punishment. The more I remembered, the more I suffered. I begged but no one heard. I screamed but no one listened. The world around me darkened, almost as if all life had been taken away.

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The only emotion I felt was fear; fear so intense it consumed me to the point where I couldn’t feel any other emotions.

Suddenly I heard a repetitive faint whisper in the back of my mind say, ‘No Regrets, No fear’ The ground began to rumble, cracks formed deep into the crust. The earth was dying and I was a witness. Time stood still. I felt something breathing down my back. I saw an interesting shadow appear on the cracked ground.

I looked back and saw white mist occurring on the ground.

I was expecting to see a horrific site, and what a horrific site I saw. I saw a cloaked figure with bone like fingers and tendons hanging on the joints. Each step the creature took you could hear the sound of tortured souls; you could feel the emotions of the tortured souls. The closer it came, the worst it smelled; the stench of decay burned my nose.

The creature reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a dagger, his voice boomed as he shouted “James Miller Arson. You have sinned against the Tetras and you are to be punished, your body is to be daggered and your soul is to be place in the fiery pits of the Earth’s core where your soul shall face an eternity of being placed in the mantle to the point of boiling then be placed in cool water only to have the process repeated again and again to balance the amount you have murdered.”

I felt my lungs collapse. My insides crushed, the lack of air had gotten to me. When I awoke, I was wrapped in chains 239

and my hands bound. I was being lowered down to the mantle ready to face eternity of torture.

I was then lowered into the mantle. I let out a shriek that could even put banshees to shame; however now I knew I could be heard because I wasn’t the only one. When I was pulled up I was met with a disturbing and alarming site that could scar millions. I saw‌

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The Deception Laith Najim Year 10 A thousand miles away in Messina, A great wedding is arranged.

The beautiful Hero covered in white, Does not know the surprise waiting…

As Hero walks to the friar, The brain washed Claudio sees an evil spirit, Poor Hero with hair as silk, Will never feel the joy of matrimony.

Hero’s cousin raging like a beast, Commands her knight in shining armor, To kill the deceived Claudio, How can best friends kill each other?

As Don Jon’s plan has succeeded, He has fled Messina….

How can anyone catch him?

Why did he do this?

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A Letter From Death Laith Najim and Nayan Muhammed Year 10 Hands fumbling, reaching out, for the saviour of life.

At every jolt, blood, spurting, through the forth corrupted lungs.

Death, silence, Nothing is moving.

Suddenly, panic was spreading like a wildfire.

Choking, guttering, gasping, Staring at my face.

I start to grin and smile.

I am obscene as cancer amongst everyone.

All the destruction, the loved ones lost in thin air.

Never to be seen again.

The struggle fighting for a lie.

Not even bothered to bury their own soldiers.

So don’t join this war, a fake war, A war of deceiving and lying.

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A war that can only cause grief and sorrow.

From your dear friend, Death.

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Once upon a time!

Layan Wadi Year 10 Once upon a time, They believed music was art and Music was therapy.

They believed music was an escape and Music was celebration.

Apparently that’s changed.

They now believe it’s only sounds. Only noises.

That it carries neither significance nor beauty.

If only the human race didn’t grow so close minded, So ignorant and so corrupted.

If only the human race didn’t grow so naïve, So disrespectful and so stubborn.

Because they now believe that ‘Music is not art’ and ‘Music is not therapy’.

They now believe that ‘Music is an excuse’ and ‘Music is not celebration’.

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But they’re wrong.

Something so beautiful is not only sound.

Something so significant is not only noise.

If only the happy didn’t grow sad, And the sad didn’t grow sadder.

If only the sweet didn’t grow bitter, And the rude didn’t grow ruder.

Maybe then they would understand That we still believe music is art and Music is therapy.

We still believe that music is an escape and Music is celebration.

Because once upon a time, Nothing’s changed.

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The Love Twist Hala Younes Year 10 A poem based on ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ Being shamed at the wedding, I don’t know who to blame; A tangle of lies, oh how it flies!

“Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.”

She acts like she’s dead Messed up people’s heads.

Hero, never t’was her, Just Don Jon being absurd.

Beatrice and Benedick’s short love affair, She wants his friend dead, he said: “Ha! Not for the whole wide world”.

She got all upset from his harsh, hatred words.

He never meant it like that; He wasn’t being a twat, Beatrice quickly said: “You kill me to deny it farewell.”

They soon find out Hero’s innocent, 246

It all makes sense.

The watchmen, they knew what Don Jon did.

“Write down Don Jon is a villain” Dogberry said.

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National Day In The UAE Jelena Zivkovic Year 10 It starts off with the planes in the sky. They shoot across the sky and leave coloured smoke in the air, signaling to the city of today’s importance. People look up at the sky, smiles dancing across their faces as they watch the aircrafts dip and dive.

Red, green, white, black.

The UAE flag cascades down the tall buildings of Abu Dhabi, fluttering slightly from the breeze that tickles it. The flag isn’t just on the buildings—it’s everywhere: from the cars to the palm trees.

The streets are already full of people during the day, however during the night the number seems to double.

Suddenly, the Corniche and the buildings near it seem to glow, the lights illuminating them with the UAE Colours.

People are either in streets, parks, the Corniche or at home watching, waiting. They wait for the sky to change colour.

When it does, it’s remarkable. The colours explode in the night sky, accompanied by the shoot, boom, pop and sparkle of fireworks. People’s necks are craned upwards to see the sight, the golds, reds, and greens reflecting in their eyes.

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In parks, families are sat on the grass with the barbeque emitting smoke into the air, smelling of the delicious meat being cooked.

They sit and tell stories, the feeling of

familiarity hanging loose in the already humming air.

It’s of coming together and people unite in their own ways, celebrating what is theirs. A night of reunion and a joyful day.

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Coward Yazan Abu Yousef Year 11 Prologue I could hear the shells hitting the shelter, as constant as the drizzle of rain soaking us wet. It was all we could hear, our thinking, our words, and our hopes were all drowned out.

We could feel nothing but cold, smell nothing but old rancid smells reincarnated by the rain. There were faint shouts in the distance; shouts of agony and despair. I knew this was a lost battle. In fact, we all knew, but not one of us dared admit it. The sounds of the bombing overhead ceased, yet the rain continued, drenching us and chilling us to the bone. The mud below our feet would sink in like snow, filling our boots with the ice cold filth, but that was the least of our problems.

“Up! Now’s the time! We’ve received the command to retreat! Get up!”

We could all hear the command but not one person stirred.

I could not recognize the voice, nor could I tell where it was coming from.

“Would you all like to die at some German’s gunpoint? You get up now, or you are left to die! It’s your decision to make!”

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At that, we all stood up frail and broken from the days of waiting in the foul smelling trench. As I stood up, I doubled over due to my stomach cramping. The hunger had been gnawing at us for a day now. Our provisions had run out only yesterday and yet we felt like it had been a week. Tiring work it is, staying silent and still. I would have much rather been out on the field.

“Stay down!”

Silence once again engulfed the squad. We were only sentries, sent out from Point B on the French Border. Voices could be heard, hushed but still audible. Our breaths held, we followed the field officer as he navigated through the wet trench. The voices had begun to creep closer, and then they stopped. They heard us. They must have heard us. We waited for the officer’s command but he gave none. The rain had lessened and become only a light shower, limiting how far we could see or hear.

“They’re only five, we outnumber them two to one. Stand ready”.

At that we prepared our rifles, loading them and slinging them upon our shoulders.

“Get them in your sights” We crouched, only raising our heads high enough to see theirs, all of us, silent as the graves we would all be in one day. The field officer signalled us to wait. To my right, Yvonne seemed determined, but not to succeed. He was determined to return to his family in Bordeaux in France. He 251

claimed to be rather successful before he was pulled into this hellhole of a war. To my left stood the field officer, Winston Neville, standing tall and straight, ready to issue commands that would take our lives, their lives, or his own. His posture alone was enough to make you respect him just as much as you would fear him. Neville always wore a grim face, expressionless, cold, and calm.

In one smooth motion of his arm, he gave the signal to move out. We started crawling through the shallow trench, begging the lord for mercy and forgiveness, hoping we would not be heard.

“Prepare.”

The short command was enough to make our hearts leap into our throats. There were gunshots; only warning shots, for they were fired into the air. They heard us. There was no ‘maybe’. I lifted my head once again, only to see a man’s dirt crusted shoes, right in front of me.

Only the Beginning The sun was high up in the cloudless sky by the time we were all summoned to the main tent. Second in Command John Crackle had ordered us there himself. No one knew what was to happen, whether the news about to be received would be a lifting praise or a demolishing strike. The flaps of the large tent were raised by two guards, a customary procedure when someone of a higher position approaches.

My eyes did not adjust to the lighting quickly. I was left blind for a short period of time, however when it cleared, I 252

could see that something was wrong. The General, Claude Auchinlek, was sitting at the long table in the front. It was a table of elegance and beauty; very expensive beauty at that.

It was made of a fine ebony wood, carved and polished and cool to the touch. The table must have been brought out for him specifically for he did not come to the fields often, let alone the fields of France.

The room itself was bustling with anxiety and sounds of worried fretting. It was relatively warm and humid but most people there were breaking a cold sweat. ‘Something is definitely wrong.’ The tents flaps opened once again, this time, Yvonne Stratholme walked through. He was the lone survivor of the recon squad that went out from Point B. Many other squads were destroyed, but none with a survivor.

Stratholme claimed to have been knocked out and taken for dead, only to wake up in the midst of another battle, where we pushed our front lines tremendously.

The General raised his arm to signal silence. The desired silence swept the room almost instantaneously, only with hushed whispers in the dark corners of the tent. Those whispers were soon silenced and then, there was only silence. The General’s voice pierced the silence. It was deep and rich and he held his head high as he spoke, seeing all that stood below him in the tent.

“During these difficult times, we know few, and lose many.

They are times of death, times of starvation, and times of retrenchment. To add to that, we have received grievous 253

news. Half our recon squads have been torn apart, from the French border to the English border. Gaps have been made in our lines and we are in a very weak state. To make up for that, we must send more soldiers to replace them, however we have none at our disposal.”

He paused, allowing us to think upon what he had said.

Everyone looked confused, the lieutenant sitting to his left included. ‘This was not planned. It couldn’t have been, otherwise the higher ups would’ve known.’ I looked towards Yvonne, who was now seated on a rock by the entrance with two others I did not know. He seemed tired, more than he has been since he suffered the concussion and did not seem to care about what was going on. ‘Of course he does not care. They cannot do anything to him. He has been injured and is about to be sent home. Lucky bastard, getting to leave the war behind with nothing but a head concussion.’ Silence fell upon the tent once again as the general spoke. I could not manage to hear him so I moved forward, asking people to move to the side or pushing my way through when I could. “…James Swan, William John, Alfred Hutching, Edmund Stone, and Ser Liam of Marseille. Those of you who have heard their names must board the train leaving for the south eastern border at 5:30 sharp.”

‘My name was there. Edmund Stone. I was called to battle, yet this should not have happened. I finished my duty and now served as an engineer. I should not be going back out there. Damn him. Sending us all to our graves early for 254

no reason at all. This needs to end soon or there will be an uprising.’ I thought of approaching the General about it but decided against it, knowing I would only be brandished a coward. ‘A retired knight was selected as well. He must be desperate.’ Ser Liam approached me, looking annoyed as much as he was angered.’

“I’ve served my duty and he knows that well. I’ve done what I can and he knows that too! He ought to be leaving me alone after all he’s put me through. Hell, that man is doing it to spite me, after I asked him for a leave. Got no bloody reason to be doing this to us, you and I.” He spoke in a light Scottish accent. throughout the force.

He was known

He was Ser Liam Demworth of

Marseille. He was in no way French, however he had gained his name after the victory at Marseille that earned him his knighthood. Oh, how useless a knighthood is when you are under dirt and grass and yet we all strive to earn them.

And so the next morning came and I was on the train, cursing the general every time the train hit a bump or a jolt nearly knocking me down. It went on for countless hours until eventually, we reached our destination, Point A of the French Border.

The Flight There was danger all around, shells, rifles, and knives, and the only thing there to shield me from it was a stack of sand bags thrown down for cover. Ser Liam had been there too, but was shot down next to me hours ago. His corpse still 255

lay there, his lifeless eyes staring into the sky. ‘He seems at peace. More peace than I am at right now. God save us from this horror.’ Blood stains spotted his grey uniform, spots that covered him from neck to waist. His rifle lay next to his slumped body, its long knife piercing the sand bag next to him, still loaded and ready to fire.

We were all caught before we reached camp. They must have been expecting us, expecting the general to give this command. Unless, they were informed, but that was none of my concern. ‘My life is all that concerns me right now.

Damn the country, damn the war. None of it matters to me.

A foolish squabble is all it is.’

An increase in bombings had begun, I could tell by the sounds in the distance. It was no longer the occasional thump in the distance. Seconds passed, then minutes and nothing changed. ‘I am a coward dammit. I haven’t fired a single shot, I haven’t helped at all and they will know. They always know. I have to do something.’ I stood up, rifle in hand, only to see a plane, not too far away, headed towards me. It was a bomber plane. I could tell by the design of the wheels on the bottom designed to carry extra weight for the bombs to be loaded. The bottom panel opened and something began to drop. ‘So this is it.’ I panicked, thinking of what had happened in the past, what could’ve happened in the future, and what is about to happen. Then I calmed. ‘At least it will all be over soon. I will be at peace. As much peace as the dead Ser Liam. I will not have died an honourable death, 256

however, I will have died in battle, and in that I may find some solace.’ It hit, and all turned black.

My vision was blurry at first. There was a shrill ringing sound in my left ear. The battle was not over. I was alive and sprawled on the floor, nearly unscathed. It was nearly over though, and it looked like we were winning. Our lines were pushed forward and our men were confident. ‘I cannot go on like this. I have to leave. Go somewhere. Escape. Take to the air and fly free.’ I knew what to do. It was greatly frowned upon however I had to do it. I had to injure myself to be sent home.

I stumbled to the front lines, dragging myself along. When I finally reached the front line, I was confronted by two privates, both seemingly new to this. You could tell by their excitement and their anxiousness to claim glory. They didn’t know the truth… None of them did…

“Where are you off to?”

“Beyond our lines.” I managed to answer.

“You’ve gotta be a crazy person to think you’ll go there and return!”

“Then maybe I will not return.” With that, I shoved them aside and walked out.

It was beginning to darken. The vast sky seeming to be completely crimson red, as if to reflect the war.’ All I need to do is walk until they cannot see me anymore, then do it.’ When I was finally behind a dirt hill formed by a shell, I decided that was far enough. I pulled out my small handgun 257

and loaded it. ‘This is it. Hopefully, if this works, I’ll be safe again.’ I noticed tears rolling down from my eyes and pointed the gun at my knee. ‘One shot is all it would take, then a couple cries for help and they will be here.’ I steadied my hand, and pulled the trigger.

I fell straight into the dirt, my facing burying itself deep.

I rolled onto my back and felt the great pain that began to spread. It spread through my calf and foot, then to my thighs and waist. The bullet itself seemed to disapprove of my actions for it hurt more than I expected it to, and I have been shot before.

‘Now shout.

Call for help.’ I

shouted as loud as my lungs allowed me to, and knew that I had been heard. There were distant shouts and commands being issued but I could not make them out. The pain had increased significantly and I began to feel faint and light headed. ‘Blood loss! What if I was to lose too much blood?!?

I did not think this through. What does it matter, it would all be over either way.’ My sight began to fade and I knew I was drifting into unconsciousness. One final thought remained though. ‘Coward.’

Return White light flooded my vision and I had to squint until my eyes adjusted. I was on a bed, a hospital bed. I tried getting up but I collapsed before I managed it. Pain shot through my left leg and then I remembered. ‘It worked! It really worked!

I cannot believe that this actually worked! I am safe now.

All I have to wait for is the General’s signature given to the 258

nurse and I’m off!’ I looked around and saw that the other hospital beds had people lying on them, people on the verge of death. They had gun wounds, knife wounds, and other wounds that could be fatal. And then there was I, with my self-inflicted .45 gunshot to the knee. It made me feel guilty but it was nothing compared to the happiness and glee I had for being able to leave. ‘Coward.’ A doctor walked through the faded blue curtains and walked towards my bed. He wore a deep green suit with multiple badges, the largest one being a red cross, meaning he has fought bravely in the war and has retired to become a doctor. He had a stern face and a sharp jaw but seemed friendly enough.

“A wound to the knee, is it? Rather suspicious don’t you think? Even so, with a wound like that right now, you could never re-join them.” He commented.

‘I knew what he was implying. But the news overjoys me!

I will not return!’

“Luckily for you, the wound only fractured a small part of your bone. Clearly you were ‘shot’ with a faulty bullet. We will be able to mend it within a week and you will be given a week to recover. After this, you are to be returned to your original post.”

‘NO!’ It was a harder blow than any mace could have delivered. It struck me hard. I could not bear it. ‘It was all for nothing… I shot myself in the knee only to be returned in two weeks! I can’t try again. That would be too suspicious.’

“Damn it! DAMN THEM ALL! THE GENERAL AND THE 259

REST OF THEM. EVEN THE GOD DAMNED BIG THREE.” It was only after I said it that I realised I had said that out loud. What would they do… The doctor turned around and looked straight at me. I could feel the eyes of every conscious person in the room, piercing me, stabbing me.

“It must be the anaesthesia. You are probably still under its effect. It will wear off, do not fret.”

‘He protected me. He must have known I was not speaking under its influence and yet, he helped me. Why? Why did I get myself into that position? Why didn’t I get myself out?’ I began to drift back into unconsciousness, the room and the doctor and every other patient at death’s doorstep, it all faded away into the calm darkness. ‘Coward.’

For two weeks, I continued to drift in and out of consciousness, each time I awoke, I half expected to be back in the fields. But the time came.

At the field camp, I was greeted by people I knew and did not know, people old and young. They all seemed to know me but they did not look at me in as much disappointment as I expected. ‘They do not know. None of them do.’ A man by the name of Wilbur Oaklem came up to me and handed me an envelope. It was sealed with red wax and the Major’s stamp.

“Corporal, orders sent from the Major” “Thank you, Sir” I could not tell his position for he was strangely not in uniform. I broke the seal and produced the letter from the 260

envelope. Unfolded, the letter read: ‘Corporal Edmund Stone, I have been told of your supposed wound and your recovery and consider it remarkable that you were able to recover so quickly. You were lucky it was a faulty bullet, and the ballistics report shows that it was shot from a German made gun. They are rarely faulty but clearly the lord is on your side. Anyhow, an update about your current status: You are to be moved from Point A of the French border to our front lines within German territory. It is a dangerous task and a dangerous place to be however I believe you will find it fitting and suitable for a man of your ability. There will be no mode of transportation to get you there so you must begin your walk as soon as you receive this letter. You may select three others to go with you but no more than that.

Also, we have received word that the Axis Powers have been making odd moves recently in the area so you must make sure you are on guard and have your full attention on what is going on. You are to report to me if anything goes wrong or if anything falls out of the ordinary.

Safe travels, Major Edmund Herring’ The letter struck me nearly as hard as the first blow. The front lines are the most dangerous places to be during a war, and I am about to be part of it. ‘One thing is for certain though. I will go alone. I will not drag anyone else to their fate with me.’ I packed my bags and made for the dirt path.

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I finally arrived, after multiple hours of walking and just as many hours of hiding between trees and behind rocks when German sentries went by. Eventually I reached them and joined them, only to witness the erupting of a battle between the enemy and ourselves. I knew I had to reach for my rifle and join yet I stood still. ‘Coward.’ The battle was being lost in front of me, but I stood still. ‘Coward.’ I was knocked down by another soldier, his rifle already loaded. ‘Coward.’ It had to be done. I stood up with my rifle in hand and attempted to load the rifle. It took longer than it should have due to my quaking hands and my blurred vision. I ran forwards shouting something. I could not tell what it was that I was shouting but I was shouting and running forwards into the mayhem. I aimed my rifle at an enemy soldier but I could not pull the trigger. ‘Pull the trigger.’ I did not do anything. The troop turned and saw me. I was done. ‘Coward. Coward. Coward.’

It would not end like this though. I pulled the trigger and he fell, but I felt no glory. It did not end like this for me, but it did for him, and his blood was on my hands. I would not take it. I fell onto my knees and stared blankly at the dead man.

‘Coward.’

A spasm of pain shot through my left arm, starting from the elbow and spreading through my whole body. Another spasm, this time in the small of my back. Another jolt, this time it was in my right shoulder. ‘I have been shot… More than once…’ I did not have to be a doctor to know that that meant my death. ‘No more. Ser Liam had the right of it. It 262

was only in death that you may find peace. But to get to death, you must live through times where peace is scarce.’

I fell onto the floor, as if thrown onto it. My eyes began to drift closed and everything began to disappear. The pain, the worries, the regret, it all just became black. ‘I could have lived had I pulled that trigger as soon as I could have, but I didn’t… I am done now though. I’ll leave the rest of this to the General and the rest of them.’ The sounds of the battle began to fade as well, all of it sounding so very distant now.

Everything was gone now. The life drained from my body.

‘Coward.’

263

Black Green Amer Al Fraih Year 11 Vast verdant lands of glamorous green burn black in a sooty smoker’s throat. Ash trays disappear, tackled under hills of wasted cigarettes. An amble down the streets becomes trudging on a savannah of grass of cigarettes and soil of ashes.

Drinking water to live is drinking tar to die.

I open my eyes, recoiling from my dream, watching my pack of cigarettes staring at me like flaring, angry eyes.

That day, I was walking down the road pavement with my buddy to school; the sun was rising to shine resplendently on a dark, smoking new day. As usual, we decide to open a new pack of cigarettes to rejoice in the luscious flavour of the enjoyable poison of nicotine.

‘So, how was your chemistry homework going with you?’ he asked me on the way.

‘Had to repeat it twice, accidentally burned the first paper with a lit cigarette I dropped on it,’ I chuckled as a reply.

As we puffed wisps of smoke and tar, I started feeling a bit dizzy and slothful as if my brain went to power-saving mode. My friend had that too, it was usual for that to happen 264

for regular smokers like us as we’ve been doing it for the past 2 and a half years, since I ever tried it when my friend gave me one. In spite of the initial coughing and scorching burn of my throat and lungs, there was something that made me passionate about it, which I later found out to be the negligibly notorious nicotine. While the cigarette was still lit, I grabbed my water bottle, twisted the cap off and drank from it. I wanted to immaculately cleanse my throat from the putrid taste of tar, although, it felt like drinking tar-drenched flavoured water, making it worse.

‘Tastes bad, doesn’t it,’ Bill said.

‘The joy of nicotine compensates it at least,’ I counterbalanced.

Nothing would make me resist the

soothing effects of nicotine and its beauty.’

‘Well, don’t take too mu..’ He cut half way through his sentence. The next second he was lying on the floor.

‘Bill! Bill! What’s wrong with you?’

He did not respond. He looked up at me as if he was drugged, made me reminisce of my neighbour’s dog that died last year looking up at me in an unconscious way. With my heart pumping really fast and my mind in a frozen state, I tried to figure something out. I instinctively reached into my pocket, pulled the phone out and dialled 999. The phone beeped twice followed by a rummaging sound: ‘HELLO, HELLO! IS SOMEONE THERE, PLEASE, MY FRIEND’S LYING ON THE FLOOR, something’s wrong, a heart attack probably, I don’t know, COME QUICKLY! STREET 22!’

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‘ON THE WAY, SIR! STAY WITH HIM, WE ARE COMING FOR EMERGENCY!’ the voice on the other side replied ominously, shocked just like I was.

I looked down at my friend who was about to faint. He then spoke, finally: ‘I-I kn-now why-y,’ he hesitated, ‘…smoked a whole pack of cigarettes yester... already was sufferin’ of a weak heart… never told you though.’ His voice was starting to weaken by now, turning to the squeak of a mouse, ‘I should’ve listened to my parents, to myself, but that nicotine, that wretched nicotine… wish I’ve..’

His eyes slowly and very gradually closed. I heard his last exhale of breath diminishing and saw the quivering of his hand from the slight chill in the air repose.

‘BILL! BILLLLL!!! NOO!!! WAIT!!’ But it was despondent.

I heard the sirens in the distance, but knew that all hopes were gone by now… My mind still didn’t comprehend what was happening. It was all too quick and the shock stopped all my deliberate thinking of the present time.

Rivulets of tears began flowing down my eyes. I never knew such an ending could occur. He was too young to leave this life...

The ambulance truck was not far, its sirens heard audibly.

I sat there, releasing my clench on Bill’s clothes. I couldn’t bring him back to life.

I glare at my cigarette on the ground remembering I dropped it.

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I crushed the life out of it with more tears

flowing down from my eyes, watching the tip die in a crimson ember of ash like a butterfly devoured in the pit of a flytrap succumbing to its floral jaws. Do I desire to end, such an end?

267

Coughing Jude Al Qubaisi Year 11 His footsteps were numbed by the thin layer of dust that lay on the side walk. Small tears in the dusty sheet where others have walked before him, showed the red bricks beneath his shoes. Ashes fell from his mouth as he muttered to himself, the burn from his lips the only light in the dark of the night.

He gasped for dear life, only to let out a blow of smoke that danced around his long dusty brown hair tangled around his head. He released onto the sidewalk and closed his eyes for a moment. He was the wasted youth, the wandering and the lost cause.

He had started burning out the fourteenth day of summer ’97. On a particularly cloudy day, boredom seemed draining.

He lied on the floor next to three of the kids his mother had warned him about last year, all of them with an heir of superiority due to the mask of confidence they wore as patches on their cashmere sweaters. Their hair cascaded around the ground while they lay in heaps of blond and black.

The boy whose music was pulsating out of his chest pocket had a cigarette between his chapped lips. He breathed in 268

with an air of authority and let out a blow so deep as though he was releasing all his secrets in the thin fabric of the smoke that escaped his lungs.

The youngest of the group looked onto him, half in confusion half in envy. With awkward words he asked for a cig in the most confident way he knew how. He felt his fingers heating up as he lit the matches and drew them to the end of the cigarette, now in his mouth. As he drew an elongated breath in he began to feel his lungs burning, he felt an odd sense of serenity, almost as though he had begun to balance the burning on the inside with the burning on the outside. It was the beginning of the end for him.

The next months were filled with empty packs of cigarettes on the floor of his bedroom; he had become addicted to the numbness the nicotine brought. He grasped onto the peaceful moments of smoke filling lungs, and itched beneath his skin as soon as he felt clean again. Cigarettes became hookah and hookah became pipes.

He longed for the

moments he could find a corner away from the wind to light whatever was left in his pockets.

He was slipping into dangerous territory, although he felt at peace and alive his lungs began to give out on him and he found the simplest things exhausting. He could not go a day without lighting up whatever he could find. What he once lived so long without became his only solace. He was addicted.

As his lungs gave out he faced his fate, and he walked alone 269

at night because many of his friends were bothered at his smell and constant need to retire to the balcony to breathe in polluted air. Those friends who stayed he did not enjoy the company of. For a while he felt like they were below him. They were burnt out lungs that were going nowhere and gasping for breath, hanging by the skin of their yellow teeth.

But as he looked into the mirror, the thin fog of smoke surging around him, he only saw himself as one of them. A lost soul so far down the path of destruction he was unsure he could ever recover. He began to spend his hours alone walking only in the dark of the night where he could not bother a soul but himself.

His footsteps were numbed by the thin layer of dust that lay on the side walk. Small tears in the dusty sheet where others have walked before him showed the red bricks beneath his shoes. Ashes fell from his mouth as he muttered to himself, the burn from his lips the only light in the dark of the night.

He gasped for dear life, only to let out a blow of smoke that danced around his long dusty brown hair tangled around his head. He released onto the sidewalk and closed his eyes for a moment. He was the wasted youth, the wandering, the lost cause.

His lungs began to give out, the doctors told him it would come, his parents told him it would come, and the world told him it would come. Yet he felt unprepared. His coughs began to grow, louder and louder until he felt a sharp ringing in his ears. He was a match beginning to lose its ďŹ re and now he 270

was fading away.

271

Disillusionment’s Nostalgia Jude Al Qubaisi Year 11 The concrete cracks of your smile seem so overwhelmingly familiar.

Epidermal wasteland.

Memories in ostracized reality.

A map of your offing etched into the interstice of coherence.

I have met you before.

The taciturn of your façade seems so overwhelmingly familiar Sentient apathy Tattoos on scar tissue An anthology of your insomniac lullabies I have met you before.

The sough of your hands seems so overwhelmingly familiar Palms empty evermore.

Scratches in hesitant speech.

An abjuring clenched fist, oscillating. have met you before I 272

You are the mermaid singing sweet melodies while you pull down bodies You are the light in the dark that blinds You are every perfectly phrased disapproval Of course I have met you before My dear friend, Welcome.

How could I forget?

273

Self-Pleasure or Self-Sacrifice?

Omar Aqil Year 11 Death. Never felt so close to it before… Final whispers and thoughts coming to my head, hearing the spirits and angels whisper in an unknown language. The dark devil twisted dim light, approaching me from afar, calling me, as if welcoming me…

As a tree, life was much simpler.

Just having to

photosynthesize all day getting the resources needed for free.

I helped the humans out you know, gave them oxygen during the day. Then there source of repayment, harshly cutting me down with brutal chain saws and severely torturing me I am being cut open! Imagine yourself getting cut open! It was absolute hell...

Why? All to make tobacco to kill themselves! Why kill others and trees that make you live only to kill yourself?

It doesn’t make sense. Then again, do they care? It’s all about their own satisfaction, and that’s always the case with humans, especially tobacco smokers.

I got chopped up and it was gruesome. I ask myself how can something stand so tall and strong and be cut down by 274

the shortest and weakest of beings. I got sent to a factory and was burnt alive from a week! 7 days 24 hours being burnt and tortured. If only it were for a good cause! Looks like to the smokers, how do you pay for your life? By giving others death as well as yourself. It sickens me to talk about those tragic memories…

After that I don’t know what happened. I got knocked out and all I see of myself now is a cigarette pack, why because I am one. Sitting at the back of some tobacco store, looking at people buy trees like me for satisfaction. And for what?

Only to kill themselves. Not that I ever knew how it felt to smoke or get smoked. One day this man walks in and wants to buy a pack of cigarettes; that’s what they called us, and I was hoping and praying to my full extent. I get grabbed and there I go, sold, as a slave to give other satisfaction, but the only difference is, by buying me they are killing both of us.

Yet some people are too blind and dumb not to notice it.

When I was opened severe pain seared across me. Pain I’ve never felt before. As one cigarette gets pulled out of me, I feel a massive wave of agony overcome me and as I drowned with terror trying to predict how much worse it will get.

Then I realized something. Every cigarette taken out of me was killing me, like taking an organ out of me. And then I saw him cough. The sick idiot who bought me. Every cigarette smoked by him, killed one of his organs as well. Every one of me you smoke kills one part of me and him. It’s as if we are one. We are.

275

If we can’t learn to co-exist as humans with nature and with the animals, than there is no chance of survival what so ever.

It’s just a matter of time before the tobacco industry realizes that.

So this is how it ends I thought to myself, huh? Death.

From afar approaching me, calling me, as if welcoming me.

As I was about to call out for one more chance.

The sun rises suddenly; its morning. Birds singing on my branches as I see humans walk past by me. I realize I was given a second chance. And so were they.

You still have a second chance to stop smoking. It doesn’t just harm you, it harms everyone around.

Funny how it works, huh?

276

Smoking is Bad! Sami Azzawi Year 11 The elderly man stood at the bottom of the flight of stairs, he took a deep breath and started his ascend. Each step took its toll, each step made him grow weaker; each step brought his death bed closer. He huffed and he puffed until he was unable to climb another step. He was incapable of carrying on; he slumped down on a step and lit up a cigarette.

By the time he blazed through his cigarette it was 4:20, he then decided to have another go and try to climb the mountain of stairs. As he struggled up, another elderly man had caught up with him and stormed past him. He felt intimidated and decided to go at the same pace the other man was going at to try not look like he was struggling. After no longer than a minute he had to stop and take a break, his heart was now racing, he was struggling to breathe and his legs were burning. Once again, he sulked back down onto a step, pulling out a cigarette and taking one long drag in attempt of calming his nerves.

As he looked down at what he had covered, he realized that he hadn’t gone far. He had barely walked a few steps.

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He then returned to smoking his cigarette, he suddenly realized that the smoking of cigarettes was the cause of all his troubles. He threw it away in revulsion. He then felt the urge to have another one, he tried and tried but could not stop himself from having another one. He couldn’t do it, he had to have another one, he slowly pulled one out and stared at it with disgust. The one things that brought him so much comfort and pleasure was slowly killing him. He started to reflect to when he first started back in his late teen years.

It all started when he was out with his friends, it was fairly late at night when he and his friends were walking to back from the cinema when all of his friends but him decided to have a little smoke before returning home, he was the only one not to be smoking. It didn’t take long for his friends to realize that he was joining in on all the “fun” and so proceeded to start teasing him for not joining in. after a little bit more mocking, the young man was pressured into having one. He picked out a cigarette from the packet, looked at it with a nervous smile, light it up and put it in his mouth, he had not inhaled the toxic mix of tobacco and nicotine yet.

He took a deep breath of this deadly mix, and it was done.

Every hit he took of the cigarette made him think that he was fitting in more and becoming one of the cooler members of his friends. He was then offered another one straight after and without hesitation he light it up and began the inhalation of the deadly cocktail.

He knew some of the risk of smoking but not much, he 278

didn’t know that it would later kill him on the very step he reflected on taking up smoking. He didn’t know that what he was inhaling was slowly killing him by damaging his lungs, blood and heart. It was much too late to not have given in by his peers. The damage had already been done.

279

Short Story Jason Craddock Year 11 Every time I see the picture I tell myself it was the right thing to do. Although people keep saying it was, I’m never sure. I think, “No I shouldn’t have done it”, but there’s nothing I can do now.

The picture. I took it on the last day that I ever spent with my dog. I always hoped that day would never come, that I would never have to do it, but the time came. I had to put him down.

I remember the day so clearly. I remember asking people, “Is this the right thing to do?” They all reassured me that it would be cruel to let him live. I think I always knew in the back of my mind that it was the right thing to do, but I didn’t want to admit it.

The worst part was when I arrived there at the vets. I couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. I knew what was going to happen, but he didn’t. He looked so clueless and innocent.

Then they called us into the room.

I was constantly asking them, “Are you sure there is no other way? Will it hurt?” They told me that he wouldn’t feel 280

a thing, that he needed to be put out of pain. “Okay, well do it now,� I said. They put the needle in his leg. He was looking straight into my eyes; maybe he knew at that point it would be for the last time. Then he fell, and I knew that he was gone.

281

Growing Up With the Animals Gianna Cruze Year 11 Samiha grew up in the harsh conditions of the Somali Desert in a small settlement called Ghalool, at the border of Ethiopia.

Belonging to the Gulkiyeh tribe in 1965, Samiha, a herder, lives a life among the tribe’s cattle, driven by instinct in an aim to survive and escape her current living conditions. Blinded by what she thinks she could one day have, Samiha makes a decision that changes her life, forever.

I woke with a start. When I opened my eyes I was relieved to find that the skies were still pitch black. I had not missed the break of daylight. Instinct stole me from my sleep. It was time. I felt heavy with sleep, as I stepped over relaxed limbs, careful not to disturb any light sleepers. We all slept on a mat; huddled together to share each other’s warmth as Somali nights were excruciatingly cold. My Father slept off to one side, as our guardian, the protector of the family.

Each morning, before dusk, it was time to take the animals from their pen.

From the tender age of seven, I was

responsible for the plight of leading herds of fifty or sixty sheep and goats through the scorching Somali desert to 282

graze. As a shepherd, survival belonged to the fittest. I had to get a head start so that our herd got what little water and greenery that the land had to offer, before the other herders take it for themselves and their tribes.

My survival instincts were honed to look for weather patterns. I expectantly skimmed the sky for clouds but there were none. I searched for traces of a specific scent carried in the air or even just a gut feeling telling me there’s a chance of rain but alas, I found nothing. It wasn’t going to rain today.

Will it rain tomorrow? Next Week? Who knows…?

“Samiha Samiha!”

I turned to find Jamah standing a few feet away from me, leaning against a tree trunk. Jamah belonged to the Gulkiyeh tribe, the same tribe my family belonged to. As children, we often spent particularly hot summer’s days together with our cattle, under the great African sun, playing tag or hide and go seek to pass time. His face was inviting, as always. Bright brown eyes dominated his face. His cheekbones were dotted with freckles and a tuft of wavy, dark hair swept across his forehead. The Somali Sun hadn’t drawn lines of age across his face like it had for the rest of us. This earned him the nickname, ‘The Young One’ in Somali, among the Gulkiyeh.

We sat beneath the tree for a while watching the sun rise slowly.

It was a ritual of ours that Jamah enjoyed

thoroughly. He was closely in touch with nature, engrossed by the spectacular play of color present in the morning sky.

Meanwhile, I was bored. I was not interested in watching the 283

same old thing every day. When the sun was almost directly overhead, the silence was broken.

‘You behave like the old folk Samiha, I don’t remember the last time we played a game, too serious to enjoy life now?’

Jamah teased with a smile.

‘Very funny Jamah, but life is coming round for me, I can feel it. Father is looking for a suitable husband; he’s meeting a business man who lives in the city today. It is due time, at sixteen, I am older than most of my sisters and time is running out.’ I replied coldly.

Jamah lowered his gaze and focused on the ground. His eyes, so full of life previously were drained and he looked sullen. That side of Jamah surprised me, for he had never allowed me to see anything but his cheerful, charismatic self. I didn’t care… His impulsive approach to life was of no interest to me, yet it still annoyed me.

‘What?’ I exclaimed.

I could see him struggling with his words, his brow was furrowed and his gaze still focused on the floor.

“Why would you want to marry some old man who lives miles away? I will never understand it Samiha.”

Jamah had asked me this before; I knew he only tried to convince me to marry within the tribe. My sister Amaan once told me that she catches Jamah looking at me sometimes but I tell her that I could never go along with the proposal of a nomad. The nomad life is not for me.

“Mind your own Jamah. He can give me what you can 284

never give me. I hate this life. Droughts, death, and disease it’s very depressing. There is no gain, no stability, and no life worth living.”

Jamah looks out and watches the cattle graze, silent, while I’m dreaming about living peacefully, happily in a big city.

I dream of walking out the door in my own house wearing sandals made of leather. I dream of walking to the market in the mornings, with the strong smell of spices in the air, men selling colorful scarves and strange fruits and nuts. Stalls with sandals and clothing and cosmetics made of herbs. I dream of marrying a man that loves me so much, he knows what I want before I tell him and buys me whatever I wish for. That is what I want. The idea of throwing my life away raising goats and sheep in the wilderness with a nomad disgusts me.

I got up from under the tree, collected my herd and left without another word.

I returned home to the sound of men talking. Through the early stillness, I tracked the voices to about half a mile from where I was standing, behind our sleeping hut. They belonged to father and a strange man I took to be the businessman. I knew better than to interrupt, so I went about my day, leading the herd into their pens and helping Mama with the cooking.

Soon however, I was interrupted by father.

‘Oh- there you are my darling, Samiha, this is Mr. Hawiye—‘; I didn’t hear the remainder of the introduction.

My eyes were fixed on the man before me, who steadied 285

himself with a cane. This was not what I had imagined. Mr. Hawiye was at the very least 40 years to my superior, with a grey beard and dull grey eyes. His eyes had sunken into the back of his head and his face was long. There were deep lines drawn across his forehead, like scars. He was short and could barely carry his weight.

‘Samiha! For God’s sake! Say hello to Mr. Hawiye.’

‘Hello Mr. Hawiye.’ I said quietly, respectfully. As expected of me. I wanted to leave, to go to Mama and have time to adjust, but father ushered me closer and sat me down beside him. For the following hour I sat there, the epitome of the perfect Somali bride and daughter, smiling and nodding when asked, as if on an invisible string, held taught by Father.

A week later, I was of brighter spirits. I had heard that the day of the wedding is likely the most beautiful in a young girl’s life. This was the day my new life would begin in Mogadishu, the city that the business man lives in. When a girl marries, the whole tribe comes together to provide her with the most beautiful things. My aunties and cousins brought brightly covered scarves. I was draped in reds and pinks and oranges and yellows. An elderly woman decorated my hands and feet with henna, drawing traditional designs. My eyes were rimmed with kohl and my face glowed golden with a paste made out of a specific flower found only once a year. Mama had given me a golden necklace that was passed down in my family. By the time I walked out to greet my groom, I looked stunning. Family and friends came from far and wide 286

just to see me. Each of them brought a gift to welcome us into married life. There was singing and dancing and a joint meal to close the ceremony.

That was all.

That is how it ended, my old life. Little did I know that I would never see Jamah or Mama again? All I had was the faint memory of her smile as she kissed my forehead to congratulate me as I left.

The next few years I spent in isolation. I never knew where he was, nor did I care. I woke up long before daybreak as he came home late and needed me to serve him dinner. As I sat in the stillness, preparing his meal of meat and rice, I looked out of the kitchen window of our house to try and catch a glimpse of the sunrise. I rarely saw it, for Mogadishu’s high buildings and brick walls towered over our tiny house, oppressing it.

One morning, on the businessman’s day off, the house phone rang. Undisturbed, I continued to hand wash the laundry when the businessman called me into the sitting room.

‘Samiha phone for you, Hurry up!’

I held the handset to my ear and had to be reminded by the businessman to say hello. On the other line I heard a female voice speaking in Somali.

‘Samiha, Samiha, are you there?’

It was Auntie Iman, Mother’s sister.

‘Yes I hear you’ 287

‘Samiha, I’m sorry to be the one telling you, but your mother is dead. She was sick, she died on the way to the hospital, I’m sorry.’

‘Samiha did you hear me? Mama—‘ She tried to explain what had happened but none of it made any sense to me. Mama was very sick, as was typical of our life as Nomads. It used to just be fact, now I am struggling to make fact reality. There is no medical help available. If one dies, they die. If one lives, they live. Life continues on but life didn’t continue on for me. It stopped.

I spent the remainder of the day trying to convince the businessman to let me visit my family in my village but he refused saying it was none of my business and they weren’t my family anymore.

Weeks went by, I became unhappier and unhappier and the businessman became discontent with my work. One day, he plainly said, ‘Leave Samiha, go see your family. You are a burden around the house; I will arrange a driver for you but don’t come back here.’

So it was. Two days later I packed the little things I had and set out to cross the desert with a driver the businessman had arranged. It took us a week to locate my family and when we did, nothing was the same. Father had grown old, he had taken a second wife, to help him with the animals and only my two youngest sisters still lived with him.

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Just another Autumn Day Miruna Engi Year 11 It was just another autumn day, wet and sad like all the days in October. Heavy grey clouds were swimming scarcely through the small and cold raindrops. Pedestrians were rushing, faces towards the ground thinking about their daily affairs. Behind a window, a cheerful girl, was observing the show made by the raindrops, the people, and the trees. You would not think that she comes from a family less than poor. Her parents worked as housekeepers in a huge house and lived in the basement. Megan, the housekeeper’s daughter was of the same age as the daughter of the family they worked for, Annabel. They happened to be very close friends. Annabelle would give Megan clothes in exchange for help in school.

‘Megan,’ said her mom, ‘come take a look at what Annabelle sent you. There are a few dresses in here, a couple still have price tags on.’

She adored the dresses. She went upstairs and thanked Annabelle for her kind act.

In school, Megan was one of the top students. She was well dressed, well-educated and usually praised by all her 289

teachers and friends.

One of Megan’s best friends, Adam, was throwing a party.

Adam’s parents were good friends with Annabelle’s parents.

Megan was very excited about the party and made sure she looked gorgeous.

The party had already started when Megan arrived.

Everything seemed perfect. When Adam caught glance of her his face filled with happiness. He raced towards her and gave her a hug. They were dancing, and she was for one time in her life, in the center of attention. Suddenly, she sees Annabel going on stage, to the microphone.

‘Okay so, you all think she’s so beautiful and well dressed, but what would you say if you found out that it’s all a lie?

The clothes she wears daily are mine. The food she eats also comes from my parents. She is nothing, less than nothing.

Her whole life depends on me and yet she still tries to steal mine from me.’ Megan’s eyes were filled with tears but it didn’t matter for Annabelle, who continued: ‘Do you still see her as the nice, kind girl that she acts as?’

‘That’s enough Annabelle,’ yelled Adam who was holding Megan in his arms, ‘I think you’ve said enough.’

Megan snatched from Adam’s arms and ran off quickly.

Annabelle was her best friend but she represented nothing to her. She was no more than the housekeeper’s daughter.

She felt humiliated. She was disappointed and hurt.

Days passed and she tried to forget what had happened.

One day, while she was going through her things, she found 290

an old family photo. She looked at it and smiled. They were all so happy. She then decided to not care about what had happened because she still had what was most important to her. Her family. She thought that with them by her side, she could do anything. She dreamt of Graduation Day which was soon to come.

Mark, Anabelle’s father was losing more and more things every day. His business eventually went bankrupt, losing everything. Megan and her family moved out of their house into a small apartment in the middle of the city. She and Anabelle had not spoken for almost a year.

Graduation day came quicker than they had all thought.

Everyone was excited for prom. Megan’s mother had saved up money and bought her a gorgeous dress.

A few hours before prom someone rang the doorbell of Megan’s house. When she opened the door she saw Anabelle who looked paler than ever with tears running down her face. She hugged Megan tightly and begged her to forgive her for everything she had done. She asked Megan if she could lend her a dress for prom because she had lost all her things.

Megan invited her inside and took her to her room. The dress her mom had bought her was on the bed. Megan had learnt not to put such a high price on material goods.

She picked it up and handed it to Anabelle. ‘’Here you go, it’s my graduation present for you.’’

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Elizabeth Brown Colombine Lord Year 11 It’s already been five months now. Day after day and still no improvement of any sort in the case. Elizabeth Brown. I can clearly remember her bright smile and continuous happiness.

Her mom came and spoke to me this morning; she gave me one of the pictures that was taken a few days before she went missing.

She was smiling. That kid was always extremely positive and had big dreams for the future. That day, she was getting ready to collect her degree certificate: she had just finished high school. She was wearing a beautiful bright dress that could touch the floor. Her hair, ebony black, was tied up in a bun attached with white flowers. Elizabeth was warmly hugging her father in that picture.

The day she disappeared, she had an argument with her parents. She went with her friend and never came back. But Elizabeth wasn’t a bad kid; she would never have left her parents like that. Even her friends didn’t know where she had gone; she just left. The police had found little evidence: her shoes and her hat. Nothing else. Suddenly, a young officer 292

came in the room shouting, “Detective! We found her bag right next to the river.”

I took my coat, put on my boots, took Elizabeth’s last picture and went to find my daughter.

293

Shadows Marius Pakstys Year 11 Since I was young, I strived to be special. I wanted to be the one noticed for the best tree drawing, or the one who ran the fastest. As a child I obsessed with myself being the best I could be, but, mind you, I still had fun. I was innocent and ignorant, unaware of the impending eclipse that was to cover me.

I remember, one day, in first grade, we were asked: “What do you want to become when you’re older?”

Michael said, “I want to become a professional basketball player!”

Susie countered, “Well, I want to become a writer!”

When it was my turn to reveal my prophecy, I exclaimed, “I want to be a fighter pilot, or better yet, I want to be famous!” A bold statement. The first part was exactly what they wanted me to say, but the second bit, that’s what I wanted myself to say.

As I grew up, I kept chasing this elusive fame, unsure how to achieve it, whether it be through winning the Nobel Prize, or if I was going to be a skydiver or something. I had not an 294

inkling of thought of the damage I was doing to myself, but then again, ambitions are the most damaging, are they not?

Nonetheless, I still managed to stay grounded somewhat, and I still had fun with my friends, who were always worried about what they wanted to eat for dinner, or what videogame had the best graphics and sounds.

I settled for studying aeronautics in university, which sort of did me justice for saying what I did in first grade. I graduated as anyone would, but then shortly after, I came upon a grave realization.

That day came in the form of a job interview. I was applying to work as a plane technician at a local airline- I had to start somewhere.

After what seemed to be routine questioning (all questions which I believe I answered to the best of my ability), the interviewer stood up and said, “I’m sorry, but it seems that you are not what we are looking for.”

I was flabbergasted. “What do you mean? I have the degree, and everything to go with it!”

“Once again, I’m sorry, but the job requires more than just a degree and communications skills- thank you anyway,” came the cold, detached reply.

I walked out that day knowing I had made a big mistake when I was young- thinking that it was all easy in the real world. I realized I was chasing shadows that had no substance, goals that were virtual, and that struck me hard.

My life was eclipsed in shadows, of other people who were 295

seemingly better than me. Towering above me, were my ambitions which, when I was younger seemed to be at waist height. It appears that as you grow; your ambitions just grow faster, defeating you to your death bed. Only a select few can say they got their life’s achievements and I wasn’t part of that elite group.

I walked away to the echo of my thoughts, understanding that now was the time to fix my head, and learn to be realistic.

But the biggest lesson I learnt that day was not that I was thinking wrong, but rather that I had stepped into a world governed by shadows.

Every move is watched, everything is noted. I had stepped into a world better known as the ‘game of shadows,’ where your opponent is yourself, your dreams and everyone else.

Except your loved ones.

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The Flame!

Marius Pakstys Year 11 The wise woman of the village left us for a year. Nobody knew where she went or when she would come back. For one year we lived without her guidance, drifting in between turmoil and calm, until the day she returned.

When the wise woman returned, she appeared as though she exceeded her life limit- the gaunt and weathered features served only to harbor the immense intelligence glinting from her eyes. Everyone crowded around her expecting her to speak, to recount her adventure, but she remained silent, asking only for the chief, while brandishing a small clay pot with small holes at the top and bottom.

The wise woman and the chief spent an unearthly amount of time in the hut, and when they finally came out, the crowd rippled with anticipation.

“Listen friends!” bellowed the chief, “the wise woman has returned with the light! In this pot,” he held up the small clay jar, “there is a flame lit upon a candle made by the people of faith, to whom the wise woman has spoken. This flame will enlighten our village, but under no circumstance is anybody 297

allowed to see the flame. It will be kept with me, in my hut for the wise woman has chosen me to guard it. It will always be here, always burning, always protecting us from our fears.

Our village is safe.” With that he disappeared back into his hut and the wise woman hobbled off to her own hut, one which no one dared to enter.

That is the memory my parents have told me about my heritage, one that did not fail to inspire me. For days on end, I would sit in the hut and wonder about the flame, about how its presence was enough to ignite hope. In between chores, I would daydream of the flame, see it dancing and flickering to the clang of pots and the sound of rushing water in the background.

“Mother, where is the wise woman now?” I asked one evening.

“She passed away not long after she brought the flame, dear,” Mom replied distractedly while cooking dinner.

“And where is the flame now?”

“Still in the chief’s hut.”

“I want to see it,” I murmured, but Mother wasn’t listening anymore. She had more pressing matters to contend with.

That night, when the last of the villagers finally blew out their fires for the night, I crawled out of my mat and slithered to the hut entrance. I hovered at the doorway for a moment, and, satisfied that everyone was asleep, I dove into the darkness outside.

It was a cold, moonless night. The stars, however, were 298

radiating their ethereal brilliance across the forest, and I was struck in awe for some time before I continued my mission, stumbling between the dark lumps of clustered huts.

I reached the chief’s hut shivering, but my resolve to see the flame was still burning. I twiddled the latch and the door swung free-there was no need for anyone to lock their doors as everyone trusted one another. The hut was darker inside than outside. I crept inside, and waited for my eyes to adjust. The dwelling contained the regular belongings normally found in such lodgings.

I was scanning for any clues, when a soft whisper jumped me.

“What do you want child?” The whisper was soft, and kindly, surreal in the overwhelming darkness.

I turned to face an old man I knew to be the chief. I turned to run but he quickly stepped in front of me, blocking my escape.

“Please don’t tell my parents I went into the dark,” I urged.

He eyed me for what seemed eternity, and then said, “What is your name, boy?” His voice seemed strong but gentle, contrasting to his harsh and battered features.

“My name is Awan,” I stammered.

“Do you know what it means?” the chief’s mouth played a small smile.

“It means ‘somebody,’” I relaxed a little.

“Come, sit with me,” the chief invited, and as he was walking over to the rug, he murmured, “A ‘somebody’ you 299

are, to have entered my house in the middle of the night.”

We sat talking for a long time, me being regaled by stories of the forest, and him being humoured by my own tales.

Eventually, I plucked up the courage to ask him of the flame.

“Do you have the flame, Chief?”

His expression turned serious for the first time that night.

“You are a dangerous child, my boy.

I knew you were

searching for the flame when you came in, which is why I attempted at distracting you.”

I sat silently as he got up, and watched him move to the corner of the hut, rummaging within a small chest meant for personal effects. My heart started racing when he revealed a small clay container. When he reached me, he extended the vessel, and let it drop. It smashed on the bare floor, scattering shards and dust in every direction. I sat, stunned now, the breath quickly leaving me.

“There is no flame Awan. What the wise woman brought was an empty clay jar.” The chief’s voice was monotonous.

“But why?” I asked softly.

To that he simply walked over to the hole containing the coal, and reignited it. “Do you need a flame from some distance land to inspire you? The old woman only went on that journey to bring hope to those who needed more than just a story. That is why. She gave me instructions not to reveal this to anyone, but you are an exception. You would have found out anyway. I know how you think. You are the next generation, and you cannot live with an old thought.”

300

After seeing to it that I had returned home safely, having given me speciďŹ c instructions not to reveal this revelation, the chief went back to the chest and brought out a smaller chest, this one locked. He unlocked it and took out the exact same jar, but this one had beams of soft yellow light coming from the holes. He stared at it, then put it back, the heat still lingering on his ďŹ ngertips.

301

With Chalk Marius Pakstys Year 11 On the pavement, I sit With chalk, in hand, I draw, Mummy, Daddy, Granny.

Mummy is happy today, And Daddy, also.

Granny has cookies.

The chalk is getting small now, Time to leave now, And, come back tomorrow.

To redraw my faded ones, Between, the cracks, With chalk in hand.

302

Africa!

Saulius Pakstys Year 11 Africa. A place of beauty and hardship. The place where we humans were supposedly born, and yet, die every minute.

Every moment is a struggle; every footstep is weighted down to the point where meters become kilometers. If I asked you, what do you have? What do you want? What do you need?

Think about it. What do we have? What do we want? What do we need? Just think.

My name is Afolabi; a name with the meaning of ‘child of high status,’ but this couldn’t even come close to my description. I am 16 years of age and for the most part of that time, I have lived in small hut with my mother and my two other brothers. I rarely see my father. He works at a timber factory and sends the earnings to us every month. As he isn’t in our presence, the eldest male must take his role. That is me. Every morning I have to walk two and a half kilometers to a well located outside my village carrying two canisters, one way empty, the other way filled to the brim.

One seemingly usual morning, I woke up and stooped low in our hut, got dressed and slipped on my slippers. I grabbed 303

the two canisters outside of our little haven of a shelter and stared down the dusty track. As my feet found the wellknown rhythm, I noticed a crowd by my friend’s hut. I ran over still holding the canisters, squeezed through familiar faces and found in the center was a white man, holding a camera.

This wasn’t unusual, many tourists walk by our village and from time to time, they wandered in. I pushed out of the crowd and connected with the track once more, setting my direction to the distant source of survival.

Walking back, now with the two canisters filled, I crossed the ridge that would mark my entering of my village. I stopped for a well-deserved break and looking up, I saw the white man with the camera. He was aiming it towards me, and as if shot, I was frozen in place. Suddenly, a wave of anger washed over me and I sprinted towards the man. He looked up from the viewer to find me a meter away from him.

I grabbed the camera and tore it from his hands, throwing it a second later into the bushes with frustration.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled, glaring at me “What the hell is wrong with YOU?” I yelled back defiantly, never breaking eye contact.

“That was a genuine Canon camera, and I had to save up for two weeks to buy it with 200 dollars,” he said. Him saying this I began to rethink what I have done, beginning to feel guilty. But this feeling only stayed for a couple of seconds.

“I don’t care,” I said simply, “who has given you permission to photograph me?”

304

He didn’t answer.

“We struggle to obtain our necessities in this part of the world, and you think that if you are of a higher status than us then you automatically have more rights than us?” I yelled, unable to control my voice from rising.

“Now who said anything about rights? I’ve only come here for a small vacation to photograph the nature and the people and their culture, I didn’t mean any harm,” he said, slightly calmer than I was.

“But you have caused harm, just like others like you who have passed by our village countless times,” I said, anger still present in my voice.

“Why should these other people concern me, the situation at present is that you’ve damaged my camera, meaning you will have to pay for it,” he stated.

“With what, leaves?” I asked furiously.

“Money of course,” he said bluntly.

“Well I will leave that for you to figure out.”

“And besides, was that camera really necessary to your ability to breathe and remain in good health?” as I said this, I turned my back to him and headed to where my canisters were still waiting to be collected and poured into the tub in our hut. I grabbed the two handles, one in each hand, and turning around, I no longer saw the man. Better he didn’t cross my path, I thought angrily to myself, and started the final leg of the routine journey, elaborating the story to my mother and my two brothers once I arrived to our little hut.

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A week passed since I had the encounter with the white man. Again, walking towards the path that would mark the start of my trek to fill my canisters, I saw a figure coming down the road. As we approached closer, I saw it was a white man.

Guess who it was? It was him.

Our faces met and we stood in silence.

“I was looking for you. I was thinking quite a while about our encounter a week ago and I would like to apologize.”

I said nothing.

“And to make up for it, I would like you to have this,” he produced a small digital camera from his pocket.

“What use is this to me,” I asked.

“Well it’s simply a gift,” he said plainly.

“Thank you, but I will not accept it,” I said merely. And with that, I set off to my destination.

So think. Think what you have, what you want, what you need. I did not need that camera. I needed to walk to the well and get water. I wanted to get that water. I had to have it. It is as simple as that. Life is different in different parts of the world, so thinking about that wouldn’t hurt.

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Darkness Saulius Pakstys Year 11 The higher one goes, The closer the sun becomes.

And climbing past, A number of your own; Through a maze of bars and cavities, A sight of freedom appears.

Tap. Tap. It makes its way, Towards you: joy!

Your heart leaps and the ground disappears.

Thud.

Darkness.

307

Expiration Noah Sutherland Year 11 It wasn’t a friendly occasion, nothing about it was. A dead man and the son he left behind. They say he was to blame for the addiction, the black creature that took over his lungs.

The sky was clear and it seemed like a fairy tale day for the Parkinson’s family as their son was accepted into Duke University, however not all families were feeling the love of the day. Across the street was the man. No one knew his story; all people knew was that he moved to the town days before his father died. They called him La Croix, unknowing really of his true name.

They called him “A talent of the future”, “the next best thing in the sporting world”, none of this seemed to neither change him nor faze him. He never stopped. He couldn’t stop. And he saw it constantly. On the walls, on the floor, in the kitchen. It seemed to follow him. However, this thing was not an ‘it’. This thing was a ‘he’. This thing was his father.

The air around him smelt like the creature. The creature, a liability to the rising stars success. Promising yet conflicted, born for greatness yet bound for failure. La Croix never hit the 308

heights. His dad caused the decline. Temper and addiction.

One day he was the prince of the castle, next he is unheard of.

In some places, they called it the stick of death. It didn’t kill you instantly but eventually it would wither you away. The father was to blame, he never meant for it to happen but it was seemingly the best stress relief. What the father didn’t know was that his son would adopt the habit before what seemed normal. The father fell and was dragging his only son down with him, down the path he created; down to the pits of destruction.

It filled the air on that dreaded day, not for the relief of stress but to say goodbye. His father lost the fight with Lung Cancer and the creature consumed him. The mother was gone and the boy was alone. It seemed like the only way of suppressing emotions was to do what cost his dad his life, what he knew best. Nicotine was the relief, tobacco was the release. He knew he had to come to an end. God hadn’t certified his due date just yet.

It was the last of it and he knew it when he got there.

Enough was enough. God knew it, two down one to go.

Accepting defeat seemed too easy.

309

The Lottery Stefan Vasic Year 11 It was 8 a.m. in the morning and he had just woken up, with no feeling that today was going to be any dierent from any other one. Light shone through the curtains of the incredibly dust-ďŹ lled windows which looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years. He got up and slowly made his way to the kitchen to start his normal daily routine. His mother was in the kitchen and on the table was the food there, which he would eat before starting the day.

Afterwards, he carried on with his daily routine, as he had for the last couple of years. But before making his way out, he reached in his pocket and pulled out what he had been pressured to do, he found the lottery ticket that he had purchased the previous day. He glanced at the numbers he had chosen 6, 13, 14, 8, 9 and 20. Without a second thought he put the ticket back in his pocket and left the house. On his way he thought about the same people, the same teachers and the same friends that he would be spending yet another day with, and how it would all start again tomorrow. As soon as he stepped onto school premises, his friend Dan 310

approached him, “Hey man, how is it going?” Then with a monotone voice he replied, “Not much really, same old same old.” The day seemed like it was moving at an incredibly slow pace, but it was finally over and the he made the long walk back to his home where his mother would be waiting.

As he sat down with a sigh of relief, he had a sudden realization that this monotonous routine would not be ending soon; in fact it would only get worse. He was having an existential crisis. The hours passed, as if they had just evaporated - leaving no trace that they were ever there. As he sat there and continued to watch TV, he realized that the lotto numbers would be read out next. This meant that he would be able to get up and retrieve the lotto ticket that hadn’t been removed from his pockets of his pants, which now hung alone on his bed post. The television program began and the lotto numbers were read: 6, 13, 14, 8, 9 and 20. The realization of what had happened, hadn’t sunk into place, so he was unable to react and sat very still since this would change everything: from the same people he was tired of, waking up and doing the same thing, even to the same friends that he has gotten so tired of. He wished for a change: something new and exciting. He wanted to escape from this monotonous lifestyle that has been created for him by his own choices. This was his ticket to change.

A sudden rush of thoughts flooded his mind like, what would he do first once he had gone and collected the money, would he go book a plane ticket and just wave goodbye to 311

everything, or go and spend the money on everything he has ever wanted. Without so much as a second thought, he rushed down to retrieve the money and then proceeded to walk back home only this time his routine that he found so tedious would be over. For a while he lived a care free life off the money he had acquired, spending carelessly and forgetting everyone from his previous life. He lived a life of luxury for a few months, not realizing what would happen once the money was all run out. But that didn’t matter, since for that moment he had escaped and gone into a lifestyle of fast cars, extravagant countries and so called “friends” that were really only interested in the money, not the person.

Eventually he started moving on to gambling, which is a dangerous habit for anyone let alone him: a person who hadn’t yet understood the value of money.

He carried

on spending until one day none was left, at which point everything that money had bought him had disappeared: the friends he had left, the houses he had bought were taken and everything that he wanted had suddenly vanished as if it were never there.

Then he was back, back home to his mom’s house where he had left so eagerly to start a new life and now he was back. In the same place he started, only now he didn’t have any of his old friends that he abandoned. He sat at the same bed and realized that he had made a mistake, which is why he was back in that room with the light shining through the curtains and the windows still filled with dust. Everything 312

the same, except now he was more alone than before. The hours melted away and as he sat there contemplating what he would do, the only words he said; the only words he was able to muster, “Now what?�

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The Puppet and I Zena Younes Year 11 I lived each day lying to myself that tomorrow would bring a difference to my life. In reality I just wasted time and needed energy fixating on these differences. I was, am, blind to change. I am like you; we are ignorant and naïve in the face of the world — that society defines, claims. I am lost; but do I want to be found?

People, no matter where you live, who you are, where you are from, it all comes down to this: society determines your life, who you are, who you will be. The world thrives on this.

We are all born with minds like empty canvasses, spending all our lives filling them up with paintings, colors - or at least this is what we believe. We would all like to believe that we control our thoughts. The simple but terrifying truth is that although we may hold the paintbrush, our colors are handed to us by our peers. This is a defining moment in our lives. Young minds trying to figure out whom they are, acting upon this very question — who am I? Yet these young minds get confused. They have society labeling them, forcing them to become who it perceives that person to be. This is the 314

beginning, the beginning of the end.

For the first decade of my life all I can remember is white pure bliss: and that is what ignorance can bring. My canvas was teeming with yellow daisies and clear blue skies, yet there was always a hint of grey skies hindering at the sides, occasionally demeaning the perfect days by hurling hurricanes at me, tearing away at my canvas. In those days, the difference was that those holes were easily mended.

However, once the world started to reveal itself, once life started to tarnish my mind, my canvas was black, soulless, endless black.

Black emptiness … Let the memories fade , drift away, numbness… Pain shocks my body, hints of my consciousness returning, stirring up life in me.

I awake to the frantic beep of the mechanic, and unfriendly heart monitor. The strong, unmistakable stench of stagnant lives and disinfectant hit me, as did my where a bouts I was undeniably in the ICU. Almost as instantly as my consciousness is regained, I am surrounded by a team of nurses, poking and prodding me without even noticing that I had woken up, almost as if there was something more vital than my presence. As if to instantly confirm my query, I jolt forwards as flames dance on the left side of my chest, licking the insides, burning my soul. This definitely brought attention to the nurses and as the pain blurs my vision , as black spots dance in front of my eyes the only sense left, my ears pick up the diagnosis of my condition.

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“The poor fighter has been at this for hours now” a worried, yet empathetic voice that presumably belonged to a nurse whispered.

“She’s a fighter this one, her vitals are down the drain, yet she is still off the ventilator” My ears pick up the movement of fluids, most likely more painkillers while I hear the rest of the conversation.

“The doc’s worried though, although her body may be fighting , her pulse is dropping and her blood pressure is that of a snake’s, he’s won his case and she’s going into surgery for her lungs. Poor soul, she only just came out of an open heart.”

I am straining myself to listen to the rest of the conversation but I am fighting conciseness with every inch of energy that I don’t have, black flows back and forth and I succumb to the darkness. I assume that my medication, consisting of a strong dosage of morphine and dimorphine, has kicked in because I am drifting away from reality, away from my body. Moments from the past are being opened, as if they were in a rusty old bottle.

I am fourteen, and at the height of my troubles. The whole world is progressing and I am stuck in a blizzard, watching the world change and I am just left heaving myself, trudging blindly through the storm, each step an ambivalent choice — even to me my path is unknown.

It was just another regular day of my life, coming back from school, locking myself in my room and breaking down 316

because of the now normal events of my day. Being bullied is not something that one should accept as part of their lives, that is what I told everyone who became a victim to it, yet I was unable to apply this to my own life!? I thought I was miserable, being a misfit, I thought that was the end of the world, at the time.

Time is passing in my mind and the sequences of events that led up to this one, start to unfold. I am fifteen, and I have changed. Sitting in the bathroom with scratch marks from clawing her eyes out to make it all go away. She uses pain that she could control to numb the uncontrollable fires within. Yes, she changed physically, yet her mentality has disintegrated. I am now everything that I wanted to be when I was younger yet I am not happy. I am at rock bottom. I gave society the power to my mind, and that in turn ruined me. True I was popular, I was the girl that everyone wanted to be, yet I had destroyed myself, my personality my traits — everything that made myself me in the process of becoming that girl. I am now even more insecure than ever and there becomes a point when rapid negativity consumes one’s mind.

Perfection; that’s the thing I know now, it doesn’t exist. But it might be too late now, I am at the edge of life and death and it is only now that this realization occurred. Society makes one lose everything in the quest to be perfect, to be happy.

What one doesn’t realize, is everything they already have, they don’t appreciate it until they’ve lost it all.

She lost it all … threw it all away for perfection. Let it all 317

fall away.

Rushing movement and a chaotic atmosphere is what I can sense, although I am conscious, I cannot see or feel, I am numb, like a puppet without strings. The heart monitor is beeping like a bomb counting down the seconds before it explodes. What is left of me, can smell the rotting flesh and decay of my battered body, mixed with all the chemicals that are keeping me alive. Abruptly the ticking of my heart becomes faster, and the noise becomes unbearable. I feel my lungs start to give up on me; the operation has failed. There is no need for self-pity, or for anyone to be sympathetic. It is what it is, I made my choices, and I set my fate the night that I decided I wanted it all to fade away. I can feel the hospital bed move as I am being whisked away to the emergency room.

“She’s slipping away; we need her heart to slow down before it stops altogether.” A panicked voice cried.

“You can do this, it’s all down to you, you can fight this, it’s your choice” it was the empathetic, voice once more.

Once again I am faced with a choice. This time there is no society to make one for me, it’s up to me. Live or die…. Live or die? However she is wrong. I don’t have a choice, but that is the point. I have always had a choice; I was blinded into thinking that society was the only one. A flare of frustration rises in me, stirring pain among it, and my body is tiring out, it is collapsing, shutting down one organ at a time. I heave, and with it, comes a mental shift. Acceptance. Purity. White light. My canvas is blank, ready to be painted with new colors 318

when it is reborn.

The heart monitor is silent, before it alerts the nurses that I have gone. Although they have lost a patient, it is not the end of their world, I am just another girl who has died, they still have more to tend to and they will not stop their lives to mourn over mine. Society will continue as it was, there will be no dent, no impact –it’s just my life which suffered as a consequence. Drifting towards the white light, I am resting peacefully now, there is no more confusion about whom I am or who I will be. All the memories drifting away, all the moments building up to this one… Fast fading is my past and present. And here is my future: I will be reborn.

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The Interview Hamdan Al Zaabi Year 12 Sitting comfortably on the couch at Starbucks whilst talking on the phone, Jacqueline looks unprepared for her interview, as she hastily makes notes in her diary. She seems to be a very busy person with a lot going on in her life. Jacqueline is visiting Abu Dhabi on a vacation, but she’ll be going back to Melbourne in no time - ready for her final term of the year.

So, we have to catch her quick and get to know the thoughts and opinions of someone who has grown up in this vibrant city, who is here more in the role of a tourist.

Every culture has its own opinion about the Middle East, so I’m interested to know the views of someone who has experience of living in two countries. ‘Can you begin by telling me about your family’s background?’ I ask her. “Well... it’s a long story! I was born in Melbourne, Australia and I lived there for the first 8 years of my life but my grandparents from both sides are Greek and they migrated to Australia when they were young, roughly 20. They came to Australia for the chance of a better life and for providing their children with better education and better living standards, and then 320

my parents were both born in Australia as Greek Australians; they met and then had me.”

‘Thanks, now I can get a perspective from more than one culture.’ I can kill two birds with one stone by asking more about her Greek culture, which she mentioned earlier.

“Well....my mum’s side is from Peloponeso, which is in central Greece and my grandma is from a country town called Kalvrita, it’s very beautiful, I’ve been there myself. It’s very rural, there are only about 10 people living there and they’re all her family members. And my dad’s side is from Cyprus, the Greek side of Cyprus, and he’s from a town called Latnaca, I’ve also visited there and it’s equally beautiful.”

I ask her about her family back in Greece and she goes on to say “On my mom’s side, her dad’s brothers and sisters all still live in Greece.” Her mom has a few brothers and sisters that live in Greece as well and some of them have migrated with her to Australia when she moved. “And... (She pauses and shows no interest in Greece) on my dad’s side, his parents got divorced when he was very young. His dad moved back to Cyprus and lives there with his second wife and his children, and my grandmother lives in Australia”.

With such strong connections to Greece, I wonder why Jacqueline has never chosen to live there. She answers this question with great consideration, “... to be honest that’s a difficult question because it’s such a beautiful place and I have such fun memories there. It’s so seeped within my culture that I would love to vacation there and spend long 321

periods of time there, but I don’t see myself live there due to things like education and you know, living standards, which are completely different to Australia but in saying that, I didn’t think I would be able to live in a place like Abu Dhabi before moving here.”

She reaches forward to pick up her coffee from the table as we start talking more about Abu Dhabi. She looked less confident when talking about living in Abu Dhabi but then she explains. “One of the qualities that I really hold here in Abu Dhabi is that it is a place where people can come, go and are accepted no matter where they’re raised and no matter what their age was. I feel so welcome here, everyone’s so loving, caring and accepting and I don’t think you get that in a lot of countries nowadays. One thing I’ve really… (Pauses and takes a deep breath) learned about from living here is how not judge your book by its cover. Basically, because before coming here I never heard of this place and you know...

A lot of people were telling my parents that this was not the place to live because it is a Muslim country and the desert.

Luckily, my parents were brave enough to make the decision and we discovered that it was much more than just a desert.”

There is nowhere on earth that is absolutely perfect, I was wondering if Jacqueline has any negativity towards Abu Dhabi.

“Just awareness I think… (She shows signs

of hesitation whilst saying this) Awareness of, you know, of other cultures (Pauses and thinks) and kind of reviving the culture to just more of a modern frame of mind. The 322

principles remain the same; the values remain the same but…(She seems to think twice before saying this) Just this idea that everyone can dress the way they want you know.. speak what they want, that kind of thing.”

Now that you moved to Australia, is there anything that you missed in Abu Dhabi?

“I miss many things in Abu Dhabi; I definitely miss the beaches, especially Yas Beach. I loved watching the kite surfers over there. I also miss going to Marina Mall and I’m looking forward to visiting Yas Mall, the new one. Events such as The Formula One Final will never leave my memory as they are unforgettable and I highly recommend them.”

Jacqueline doesn’t seem confident of her career path. I question where she would study and what, will she come back to Abu Dhabi, or remain in Australia. She takes another sip of her coffee whilst looking pensive. “I am a passionate actress… And I have been since I can remember and so there are a lot of opportunities for me in Sydney, for instance there is a school called NIDA and it’s a great opportunity, but at the same time there are a lot of opportunities abroad like in England and in America. So what I am counter-planning at the moment is I’m thinking of applying to a uni in Melbourne then traveling to let’s say America, giving it a shot, going to auditions, getting as much done as possible and see if I can break through somehow. If that doesn’t work out, who knows…”

Jacqueline must understand that working in the film 323

industry does not always work out, there should always be a plan B as it is a very risky opportunity. ‘So what’s the plan?”

I ask her. “Well… I’m hoping that I’ll be able to postpone my application for uni so that when I get back I’ve always got that to fall on, say that doesn’t work out, I’ve always got you know.. I’ll go to uni after that…?

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The Great Gatsby - Written Task 1 Amanda Baldwin Year 12 Rationale The Great Gatsby is written by Scott Fitzgerald and is set in the 1920’s. For this task I am going to write a diary entry from the perspective of Daisy, portraying her thoughts and emotions throughout the novel, whilst she is experiencing different events. It will allow the reader to see the different events that have happened in the novel through the eyes of Daisy, rather than of Nick. To capture an authentic epoch of the 1920’s I will be writing in the style of the period and depicting the societal norms of the 1920’s, for example portraying the image of the new woman. I will write in the first person and the style of writing will be quite informal to ensure the reader knows that this piece is a diary entry. I will also include dates at the beginning of each entry, to ensure the layout is clear to the reader. I will exemplify to the reader the relationship between Gatsby and Daisy and also try to put forward Daisy’s arrogance and show that she is a greedy, materialist character, as she has been portrayed throughout the novel of the Great Gatsby.

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July 1st 1922 Dear Diary, I keep getting reminded of him. I can’t stop thinking about him. I heard his name mentioned today at the dinner table when Nick came over. I miss his musky scent that would linger as he held me tight around my waist, with his muscular arms as he whispered into my ears those three wonderful words. I want to be able to kiss his luscious, smooth lips again and feel my heart skip a beat again. I want to run my fingers through his spineless hair and stare into his deep, green eyes while he brushed his fingers across my cheeks. I am truly unconditionally in love with Jay Gatsby. It’s been five long years since I saw him and I still remember the day he told me he had to go out to war; I was so depressed for months. I couldn’t get out of bed, I didn’t eat and it was dreadful. I’m so glad that Tom has come into my life, he helps to take my mind off Gatsby and he is just the best thing that could have happened to me. The day I married Tom, I knew life would become perfect again, for me – he is after all, one of the wealthiest men in East Egg. Tom is my husband, I LOVE Tom. Stop this Gatsby nonsense Daisy…

It was pleasing to see Nick again today – he came for dinner and Jordan was there and it was all so lovely. Except for Tom’s awful behaviour at the dinner table. The phone rang and he went to pick it up and even though I told him not to, he still went and did it; he spoke with a quiet tone and wouldn’t tell me who it was. He makes me so furious! It’s making 326

me wonder… I keep hearing people speak of Tom and his mistress. I don’t want to believe it! Surely he can’t be with another woman… I will not believe it! Tom would never be that uncouth and vulgar as to sneak around. Why would he, when he has me? All of the boys at his country club can’t help but drool when they see me. I see the spark in their eyes when I pull my dress up so the tops of my thighs are on show. And when Tom and I attend the dances, I can’t get the boys to leave me alone – surely Tom wouldn’t be cheating…

I will not believe it!

July 10th 1922 The most wonderful, perfect, most magnificent thing happened to me today! I saw Gatsby! I’m so excited I can barely stay still enough to write.

Nick invited me round for tea and he told me that I must come alone. I thought it was quite peculiar but I didn’t question it, I thought that maybe he had something very important to tell me. I arrived at Nick’s and I told my driver to go off for a few hours until I was ready to be picked up again by him. I gasped when I saw how beautifully decorated Nick’s house was. There were hanging baskets filled with the prettiest of Daisy’s; the luscious green grass was perfectly trimmed, I’d never seen anything like it! Nick’s quaint little cottage looked so picturesque, (even as the rain poured down and my new shoes were getting soaked through!!)

He’s in love with me, I thought – my own cousin! I hesitated but realised I was being out of order so I followed him inside.

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I sat down on a couch in the living room and I heard a noise, I turned around and standing in the doorway, leaned up against the wall was the tall silhouette of a broad shouldered man with a mop of dark hair wearing a white suit. He stepped forward towards me so that the light from the window shone onto his perfectly drawn face. His green eyes shimmered in the summer’s light and at that moment my heart fluttered, I couldn’t believe my eyes – It was Gatsby!

My heart was racing - is this really him, stood right before me? He smiled awkwardly at me, walked slowly forwards and sat down right next to me. Memories came flooding back to me of when Gatsby and I were together, this was the happiest moment of my life. We just sat there, staring into each other’s eyes, I felt like nothing else in the world mattered except the two of us.

He brought me to his mansion, which is next door to Nick’s cottage on West Egg. I was so amazed! The sun had come out and was shining on the front of it so that the whole house shone like the brightest star. The stone house must have been at least 50 metres high and entering it, I felt like a princess in a palace. There were so many rooms and it was so enormous, you could get lost in it! I don’t know how he lives there all alone.

July 18th I’ve just gotten back from Gatsby’s party, with Tom. It should have been one of the most amazing nights of my life and really it was.

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There were so many men and

women, dancing with each other, women wearing the most gorgeous dresses that all shimmered so beautifully in the light, everyone was drinking and having a ball!

But I’m so torn and I really don’t know what to do! Gatsby told me that he is in love with me and he wants me to move into his mansion with him and leave Tom. What would my mother think of me? My whole reputation would be ruined, I cannot have a divorce; it’s unheard of! Can’t I just be with the both of them? I feel so empty and lost… What have I done?

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EX-SOLDIER INSPIRES STUDENTS TO JOIN ARMY George Iskafi Year 12 Why have I agreed to do this? And during a free period of all times! At this point interviewing one of our teachers at Al Bateen feels more like a chore that I want to get over and done with. Nevertheless, I have already set a time and a place for my interview with Mr. Stuart and my journalistic drive is not going to be interrupted by a temporary bout of laziness. In all fairness, if I did have to pick one teacher to interview, it would definitely be Mr. Stuart. We all know the teachers that we like and the ones we do not like as much and Mr. Stuart is definitely the former. As students, we rarely give a second’s thought about the lives our teachers lead beyond school, nor do we consider the life they had prior to becoming teachers but in this particular case, I am genuinely interested. What followed was an enlightening and genuinely interesting interview with the school’s funniest teacher, the ‘comedian’ himself, Mr Stuart.

We find ourselves in the confines of Mr. Stuart’s chilly room, where Mr Stuart makes himself comfortable on the 330

couch and loosens his tie. What double life of mystery did this man lead, I wonder?

We start off slow as I ask him to tell our readers a little about himself, “Myself? Yes. I’m a teacher at Al Bateen School and before that I taught in schools in the UK and before that I spent 22 years in the military as an engineer for aircrafts. I’m married and have 2 lovely daughters who I’ve left behind in the UK. Don’t worry they are old enough, and I’m 21 years old!” he exclaims with a chuckle.

I use this as an opportunity to probe further into Mr Stuart’s time during the army as it played a major role in life. ‘’That was full of emotion, that was exciting, it was frightening.’’ Mr Stuart pauses, takes a deep breath and widens his eyes before continuing ‘’It was very strict and hard to complete but also it was very rewarding if you were able to get through the training. And both from the basic training with the rigors of watching people fail when they couldn’t pass the fitness test perhaps or the knowledge test. But there was an enormous sense of achievement at the end of it to have passed that course and when I look at education, I want things to be difficult, because if it’s difficult, it’s worth something to you, and that was worth a lot to me’’ I am intrigued by his description of his experiences as it sounds like something students can definitely relate to. What did he struggle with the most? “I would fail some things. I knew I had to be able to do a certain number of push ups and sit ups as well as run a mile and a half in less than 11 minutes!

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I could do the push ups and sit ups, no problem, but the run was difficult for me. I can remember finishing that first run in the worst pair of plimsolls,” he proceeds to launch into those long winded explanations we have all come to expect and enjoy…..we all know this is going to take a while, “they were not trainers. They were very flat on the bottom, not suitable for running. I could do that but eventually I couldn’t get stand and ending up collapsing and cut my knees open and I remember that to this day. But I got around that because I had a friend that ran with me, I helped him to shine his shoes because he couldn’t do his and he helped me to run faster.”

As tough as this all sounds, Mr Stuart had his reasons for joining, “Firstly the obvious thing was that, at the time I was considering jobs, there was a lot of redundancy and unemployment and the military had options, and they needed people, at that time there was the Falkland’s conflict.

(War between Argentina and UK, began Friday 2nd April 1982, lasted 10 weeks) When I saw the Argentinians took over Ireland, within days of this happening, I was in the careers information office asking how quickly they can get me there to help, at that time I was too young and couldn’t go, and some years later I still felt the same passion for my country and wanted to stand for it!”

For all of us, I would imagine one of the hardships of joining the army is being away from family and the lack of contact.

I ask Mr Stuart about how hard it was to be away from his family and how he dealt with it. “It was hard in the earlier 332

days because my wife that I’m with now was my girlfriend, in fact I knew her before I joined the air force, so it has been a really long time, and I had to ask her permission if I could join the army. She always recognised, if we were happy doing something, then we are happy together, there will be times where I’m away and all through training…but what we did learn was that absences made the heart grow fonder. When we were together, I would have fun and exciting things to talk about and the challenges ahead” “At that time they (the challenges) seemed absolutely fine, looking back now, They’re awful (laughs) we lived in an eighteen man room with single beds, they were certainly not comfortable, very thin mattresses.

The floor was a

wooden floor which means we had to keep polishing it. Every bed would have one small locker which you would have to keep your things in, and the room at all times had to be immaculate. Every day we got up and had to fold the sheets and blankets…Now I realise they were trying to instil discipline.”

Mr Stuart did exceptionally well during his time in the army and got himself promoted to “Sergeant”. Wow, Sergeant Stuart, can’t imagine he had much of a sense of humour with that title! ‘It must have been quite an accomplishment being promoted….’ I ask him. “Oh that was exciting. I was always proud to put on a new badge on my shoulder, and it was a great feeling. A little nervous because of the responsibility you had but in the same time very proud. And the money 333

that came with it was very welcome and also treated better, not quality like royalty but very nice.”

Obviously, our teacher is still a proud military man at heart, and he beams at the mention of the UAE national service initiative “I saw this the first day it came to the newspaper and cut out the newspaper article and brought it in to school, pinned it on the wall and proudly announced this to my tutor group, a proportion of them was Emiratis who didn’t hear about this news so it was my great pleasure to announce to them that they were going to be conscripted to the UAE army…I don’t think they realise how good it’s going to be for them but I think it’s an amazing opportunity even if it’s only for 9 months…I applaud the fact that’s it’s in the UAE and I wish it was in the UK.” At this point, I expect that many of us are baffled as to how the former army Sergeant managed to transform himself into a teacher after years of dedicated service, he gazes out of the window and begins to recall “I think, going back to school, I can’t think of one good teacher and I don’t think I learned well...and I got very excited when I joined the military, and first, I went on a canoeing course and I taught people how to canoe. I had a great amount of excitement being able to teach people new skills. It’s that moment when they suddenly discover they can do something that I absolutely love. So then within the air force, I taught how to repair airplanes and soon after taught young mangers how to manage…so I found I could do it well and that motivated 334

me to be a teacher. And being honest, two other reasons are July and August (laughs) because it’s nice to have a second career and in the summer take two months off.”

As Mr Stuart prepares for his next lesson, it is clear that he will not be leaving Al Bateen any time soon as he compares us to his former UK students “Here the students are well behaved. I’m used to teaching in schools in the UK where they are not so well behaved and sadly where the parents don’t have high expectations of their children. Here, all the parents do have high expectations of their children and always pushing teachers for more. And I agree with this.’’

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The Next Best Thing!

Urshita Khare Year 12 I was walking stiffly, maintaining a crooked posture, slowly making my way to the person who seemed helpful.

“Hello sir. I’m starving and I have no money. Can you please give me money?” The desperation was noticeable in my weak voice as my eyes gleamed with hope and anticipation.

“Sorry. I don’t have any.” said the man with an iPad. With that sentence my heart shriveled but my conscious reminded me to be hopeful.

As I went from person to person, earning a few pennies and rejection, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to have the luxury to eat plain bread tonight.

Giving up hope for today, I settled down on a wooden bench, with chipped paint and started observing the society with my judgmental eyes. I saw a man busy on his iPhone, while his daughter whined about not giving his undivided attention. He instantly gave her a few dollars which stopped her from crying any further. He told her, demandingly, to buy herself ice cream and to not bother him. I almost chocked 336

myself with laughter, amazed at how he was taking his family for granted. Unlike me, he seemed to have everything. He had a daughter who cared about him and he had enough money to make a living - while I had a rough past with no bright future. My darling mother had abandoned me and my father, for another man. She told him that she never loved my father and that having me was the biggest mistake of her life. This broke my father into pieces of fragments, that could never be ďŹ xed. He made his alcohol his best friend while releasing all the frustration on me, by physically and mentally tormenting me. I still remember those never-ending painful nights where he took his leather belt and gloriously hit me with it. The cycle of hitting me with the belt was unpredictable. Each hit was harder than the previous one.

The cigarette burns reminded me of his love for me. He blamed me for everything. He said that I was the reason where we were today. Eventually, my father thought the best way to handle the situation was to kill himself; leaving me all alone in this cruel world. They never even once cared to think about how their consequences would aect other people. This is where I am now. Having no job to keep me going as I am inexperienced and begging people to give me another day to live.

Disgusted by the memories, I make my way to another person hoping she would give me some money. She was a young lady who seemed to be at her mid-twenties. She was standing parallel to the park waiting patiently in a bus stop.

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The only thing that divided the park and the bus stop was a long convenient road. Keeping my hopes at a reasonable level, I try to think of way to approach her while crossing the road. Suddenly … I was struck by wave of pain and confusion.

My surroundings were being blurred out. I was surrounded with a pool of red liquid that kept flowing out of my body.

I could see people forming a circle around me and a few of them running towards me. The girl who I was approaching had my head on her lap. My toes started to tickle. People began to ask me a series of questions such as “Am I okay?”

“Can you hear me?” Many were worried and a few were on their phones calling the authorities. I felt like a celebrity.

The attention made me feel worthy of myself. Everything started getting dim. The light that was once visible started fading away. The noises that people were making were slowly getting quieter.

I lost touch with gravity as I felt like I was flying in the air.

Moments later, as I open my eyes I notice that I was in a different place. The white washed walls and the sanitizer smell awakened my conscious. There was a beeping noise that was being emitted by a machine. There were people with white coats and dresses, that were busy talking to the people on their beds. I looked down to my naked upper body and found many wires that were stuck to my chest. I immediately got up with panic forming inside of me. I was then held back with agony and suffering which lead out a cry.

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“ARRRRGHHH” The physical pain was a living misery. It was unbearable.

Two nurses came up to me telling me to relax and have some rest. Then a woman with a clip board came up to me.

She wore a coat and black round spectacles that made her look superior. She had a slender face shape with blue eyes and dark brown hair. The name tag suggested she was Dr. Samantha Roslyn. She gave me a pleasing smile.

“How are you feeling?” She asked sounding professional.

“I’m feeling alright.

What happened to me?” I asked

genuinely confused.

“While you were crossing the road a car came and hit you.

It is a miracle that you are still alive.” She said shockingly. I didn’t respond. I was astonished and trying to recollect the missing memories of what happened.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Peter.”

“What is your age?”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Do you have anyone who is close to you that can take care of you?” She said without looking at me into my eyes.

“No. I don’t have a family. I’m alone.” I respond being ashamed.

She looked at me sympathetically while saying “Oh”. She stared at me for a few minutes as if she knew me from somewhere.

She continued being professional and tried to not interfere 339

with my personal life.

“You don’t have any major damages. You can check out of the hospital if you want. And as for the fee it’s free of charge as you are under 18 without an occupation.”

“Thank you.” I said with gratitude.

After resting for an hour, I was interrupted by a nurse. She held a hand full of documents with a title “Adoption” written at the beginning. Suddenly, Samantha arrives. She nods at the nurse who hands her the document. The nurse leaves us alone leaving behind the air of tension.

“What are those?” I inquire.

“These are adoption papers. I have given this a thought and this might seem too soon and awkward, but I would like to adopt you” She said without hesitation.

“But I don’t even know you.” I said having suspicions in my mind. Why would she want to adopt a homeless kid?

She let out a long sigh which indicated that this was going to take a while.

“I had a son who looked exactly like you. He had the same blue eyes and the same black hair. And on one unfortunate day, he died in a car accident. He was so young to die. He had so many ambitions. When I look at you, I am reminded of him.” She paused hesitantly. “So please take this to a consideration. You would no longer have to worry about having no meals. You will also be provided with education.

But please take this to consideration. It is completely up to you”.

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I could notice desperation within her eyes.

I

understand that feeling, because I have felt like that for a long time.

A lot has happened in a day and I have been provided with an opportunity of restarting my life. I started questioning this opportunity. But then I thought of me being in an actually home living with people who love each other.

So I went along with it. I accepted the offer of getting a chance of being loved.

“Can I have some time before I make any decisions.”

“Of course you can.” She said with happiness written across her face.

After a couple of months of bonding with Samantha, I noticed that she was a genuine person who seemed to be down to earth. She loved taking care and helping people.

She considered me as one of her own. She helped me get over depression and my nightmares, that were about my family.

I started realizing that this is where I belong. This is my real home. Many people think that home is living with your biological parents. But for me, home is a sense of belonging which is shared with the person you truly care about. It is a place that doesn’t exist in your dark times, or even times when you are lost or have no place to go. It is not a physical embodiment but a mental peace where acceptance and love is offered and shared, with the people you consider the center of your universe. She is everything I care about. So on April 24th 2014, I signed the adoption papers and moved 341

on to build a better future. This was my next best thing.

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Written Task 1 Kristen Louis Year 12 Proposal: I will be writing a diary entry from Myrtle’s point of view, delving into the emotions and thoughts that she experiences between her two appearances in the novel, i.e. the party in New York and her death. I have chosen this text type as I feel that Myrtle is a very significant character, yet isn’t given enough of a voice, especially at the end of the novel when her voice is cut off altogether. Writing a diary entry from her view allows me to explore her character further and perhaps present my interpretation of her that isn’t shown explicitly in the novel. In addition, each diary entry from Myrtle will be based on the 5 stages loss and grief. Therefore it will follow the steps of 1) Denial and isolation 2) Anger 3) Bargaining 4) Depression, as for the fifth stage, I will not be writing a diary entry that portrays that phase.

Diary Entry: Dear Diary, I can’t believe this! I’m appalled! Horrified! Absolutely sickened! Who the hell does this man think he is to walk into my life, sweep me off my feet, talk to me of marriage and 343

then break my damn nose! And here I was swooning over the graceful man that he was; he even bought me a puppy yesterday! I was ecstatic; I mean buying a dog together is practically like starting a family together isn’t it? It was so thoughtful of him, I’d just happened to mention briefly how adorable I thought the precious dog was, and then he goes ahead and buys it for me. I was taking such good care of it too and was in a delighted mood, I’d even started to think about my future with Tom. I’d finally leave that pitiful man George and Tom would throw Daisy into this hell-hole named the Valley of the Ashes and invite me into whatever glorious house he lives in. We’d be so happy, his friends would love me after meeting me at those fancy parties they have, and I would fit perfectly into the upper-class - I’m already adapted to their lifestyle after all. But then he completely ruins my mood as he had the nerve to snap for no damn reason and punch me! Me! All I did was say, ‘Daisy’ a couple times; I mean it’s not like Tom cares much for her anyway. He’d marry me in an instant if she wasn’t holding him back. I’m sure Tom will come over soon again and apologize, and I’ll consider forgiving him.

Dear Diary, It’s been THREE DAYS since Tom’s come! Where the hell is he?! I deserve a damn apology from him, after that stupid argument! If he thinks I’m going to start missing him after HE broke MY nose, he’s going to be waiting a long time. I mean, what right does he even have to give me the silent treatment?

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He’s the one that lost his temper; all I did was get a little annoyed. I don’t owe that man anything. Not an apology, not forgiveness, nothing! If he doesn’t come by tomorrow evening and beg on his knees for my forgiveness then we’re through!

Dear Diary, It’s been weeks since Toms come to see me; I’m starting to get worried… George is getting more and more aggressive by the day. I think he’s finally going insane. I don’t feel safe here; the look George gets in his eyes sometimes frightens me. Where is Tom? Why hasn’t he come? There’s no way he’s forgotten about me, we love each other far too much to mean that little to each other. I hope. He will come… right? Of course he will! We were talking of marriage after all! But if he doesn’t… what’ll happen to me? I can’t continue to live with George like this forever; maybe I should try and contact Tom. He’ll take care of me; I could live happily with him, even if it means that the Despicable Daisy will be there.

If that’s not enough then he could take me in, whilst I’m in disguise, as a maid of sorts, or the gardener! It doesn’t matter, as long as he’ll take me back, I’ll do whatever it takes. Maybe I’ll only have to play dress-up for a while; after we start to live together he’ll start to realize how much more he loves me and get rid of Daisy. He will come… I just have to wait a little longer…

Dear Diary, I’m trapped here… in this god forsaken Valley of the Ashes.

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It’s impossible for me to get out. Tom hasn’t stopped by since that damn party and I can’t find a way to speak to him.

George is always watching me, he refuses to let me go out whilst he’s working and locks me in this room. The nearest phone is right outside our station, I got to it once but I’d dropped the change in panic to get out. Before I could get it, George came running out and dragged me back, my arm still bruised. He’d thrown me into the room and slammed the door; all I could do was cry… all I CAN do is cry! Maybe Tom’s given up on me, he’s probably living happily ever after with pretty little Daisy, whilst I’m stuck here. What am I supposed to do? What is there to do? Escaping is hopeless and waiting for Tom is like waiting to win the lottery. Sometimes when I’m trapped in this room I look outside my window and ask Dr. T.J. Eckleberg what it is I did wrong… but all I can do now is wait. I can’t even hope anymore, what’s the point when there’s nothing to hope for?

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Journalism Interview - Living in fear Charlotte Patricolo Year 12 Sitting in a rather uncomfortable manor, perched on the living room chair, our victim sits in silence waiting for something to happen. I look around and see a bottle of water which lies unopened glistening on the marble table.

Dressed in ripped jeans and a plain white rose scented tshirt, the anxiety and nervous sense of having to speak out is starting to kick in as I slowly approach.

Bullying is an unwanted, aggressive and vile act of behavior which affects innumerable amount of people across the globe. Is it really necessary? We spoke to former victim Amy Thorpe - now age 17, about her experience in order to try and understand a little more about it and how it has long lasting effects on many.

“I have been effected by bullying for many years now,” she starts nervously, “It is no experience you want to have, not now, not ever.”

Amy is speaking out in the hope that high school students listen to what she has to say, and not just the victims, but the bullies too.

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“It may make them think twice before they try and ruin someone else emotionally and potentially physically,” she explains, with the echo of pain still in her voice.

Bullying is often referred to as the silent assassin, and many people suffer behind closed doors.

“I felt intimidated. I felt that if I said anything, It would just get worse” she says with fear.

I notice as Amy answers my questions she grips her wrist tightly as if the words she is saying are going to be her last.

I gently ask Amy if she wouldn’t mind sharing a few of her experiences.

“I’ve never felt so afraid and alone in a school environment before. It was like the world was closing in on me, like I had nowhere to run.”

I comfortingly explain to Amy that this may help and reach out to others who feel just as trapped and alone as she did.

“I’d never want someone to feel what I felt, to be scared of your own shadow… not being able to walk into a room and be sure that even one person likes you. It’s terrifying.”

The message so far is clear: if you feel intimidated or scared then you must seek help, you must not suffer in silence, there are people who want to help you.

“They would make jokes about my hair and would tell me I was ugly in front of a whole corridor of people – teachers included.” Amy doesn’t seem too distraught at what she was telling me, but somehow I feel this is just the beginning.

“It got worse,” she says quietly, “small gestures turned into 348

outrageous assumptions and threats, and then as if that wasn’t enough they would carry out plans they’d made to humiliate me… “ I wait patiently for Amy to continue, “For instance when I was in science class we were put into pairs to work on an experiment and as we began to work everyone seemed to have backed away from me, and I just ignored it as Its what they always seem to do.. but no.. that wasn’t the reason…”

I notice as Amy pauses and looks down at the ground that her face goes pale and she once again grips her wrist. “There is nothing to be afraid of anymore” I calmly explain to her “You’re not alone.”

Slowly Amy continues her story, “So.. I turned back round to my table and the experiment I had been working on exploded in my face.” Amy pauses to catch her breath and continues to say “I felt like a loser, I was so embarrassed and hurt that someone would do that just to make themselves feel good.”

Various studies and reports have actually established that approximately 15% of students are either bullied regularly or are initiators of bullying behavior.

“They made me feel like I was nothing, because nobody helped me, they all laughed and thought it was funny” she cries out.

I patiently wait for her to wipe her tears, it is clearly an emotional topic, as I expected. Bullies tend to have a particular persona and a way in which they present 349

themselves.

“They controlled me…They always had the upper hand…always bigger than me…stronger than me, and I was obligated to do what they said or there’d be more problems for me.” I got engaged more and more with every second that passed as Amy continued to speak “They would take my lunch money every day, and my taxi fare to get home… so I had to walk most days… and at the end of the week I’d walk home with no shoes…they took them off my feet and threw them into the river across the school gate.”

Any form of bullying whether it is verbal or physical should be dealt with immediately and not left to linger.

“You know...” Amy begins to say something but suddenly pauses and gives a smile, she squints her eyes and looks down, “I never realized this before, but how you treat someone else actually says a lot about you yourself”. The smile on her face slowly begins to disappear and a look of confusion takes over as she robotically states, “I was wrong!

I should have stood up for myself, but I didn’t and it carried on and on until it got to the point I was scared to leave my own house!” I assured her that she had done nothing wrong.

“Anyone going through the same situation should deal with it before it gets out of control and before you become too afraid to say anything” I nod in agreement with Amy as I can see she is getting quickly worked up thinking about everything. “It’s not the way you should live, because living in fear, is not living at all.”

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Amy seems particularly disheartened at this point, so I allow a few moments for her to regain composure. It was obvious that the topic at hand is an emotional one.

It is quite clear that bullying effect’s many youngsters in numerous schools around the world, whether it takes place inside or outside schools grounds; something needs to be done. Wouldn’t you want your child to feel safe outside the walls of their room, their home?

For more information on how to help young ones in these troubled times contact the child hotline for bullying on 02334875.

Don’t be scared to pick up the phone, we are here to help!

Also, If you live close by the local social centre, feel free to pick up a leaflet which includes a free pass to the next “Bully free” workshop.

We hope to see you there!

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I AM MY CULTURE! Rushali Srivastava Year 12 Who am I? Who are you?

Who are we, I ask?

Are you defined by gender, culture, blood or your daily task?

A few might say, “ I am defined by the lord above”, Or even by caste, creed or love.

The others might say that, “it is the sand that created me”, “To whom I shall return, thus it defines me” But when I wonder and guess all the possibilities, My mind lingers on my cultural beliefs.

May it be dawn or dusk, the end or beginning, Mankind has always shown faith in one’s belonging.

Then why is it that one is separated by it?

After all it is thee who created it!

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Above all I regard my culture, so high, Not thee or I can ever deny.

Yet, you can call me a nomad or craze*, But I shall stick by it through every phase.

It is neither thee nor I who makes me what I am, Because it is we, who collaborate, and fight the fam*.

Through centuries we have made it together, This is how I am, the child of my father.

Love, sacrifice, passion, loyalty is what makes me different from the other, Oh my friend, what do you call it: well I call this my culture.

Craze* = crazy person Fam* = famine

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