DOODLES DOODLES DOODLES
LIGHT AND SHADOWS
EDITORS’ NOTE
From left to right:
Back: Klara S, Florence W, Pearl M, Keisha A, Ms Myatt
Front: India R, Saranya K, Shivali G, Orla P
Welcome to the sixth annual edition of Doodles!
Our theme this year was Light and Shadows, and the entries show extraordinary interpretations of the concept. The Doodles team have been honoured to curate this year's collection for the magazine, where each piece offers a unique glimpse into how light and shadow shape our imagination. We were impressed by the sheer quality and variety of the submissions, which made our selection process extremely challenging!
We hope this issue offers an insight into the outstanding talent from across the school We are also delighted to spotlight the stunning cover art by Florence W (Year 12) whose painting captured the essence of our theme We hope this issue sparks your own creativity and encourages you to create art and writing outside of lessons.
We hope you enjoy this year's edition!
The Doodles Team
THE TALE OF THE LIGHT AND SHADOW
By Fatima A-H (Year 7)
It was a normal afternoon; well, as normal as an afternoon can be when you live next to a forest that’s been there since the beginning of time, or at least that’s what my grandma says. I was sitting by my bedroom window, bored out of my mind, watching the sun start to dip behind the trees. That’s when it happened the shadows started moving
At first, I thought I was imagining it. But then, one of the trees bent. Like, it just leaned over, stretched, and reached for the ground.
I could’ve pretended nothing was happening. But the thing is, once you’ve seen the shadow of a tree moving, it’s really hard to pretend it’s not happening.
So, I grabbed my jacket and I headed for the door. It was like the world knew I was about to do something, because the wind picked up and the air felt... different.
As I got closer to the trees, I saw the light again It wasn’t the sun anymore, because the sun was nearly gone. This was a bluish glow coming from deep in the forest. I didn’t know what it was, but it was calling me. Maybe it was a good thing; maybe it wasn’t But I wasn’t about to stand there and wonder
I stepped into the forest, the ground crunchy under my shoes, and the trees whispering in the wind The shadows were creeping, swirling around my feet, but the glow in the distance kept getting stronger. It was kind of like a lantern, except floating in midair and pulsing.
Then, out of nowhere, I heard a voice It wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t soft either It was right there, in my head.
“Turn back,” the voice said, smooth like silk, but kind of cold too
“Uh... no?” I answered, even though I wasn’t sure who I was talking to. There wasn’t anyone around, right?
The voice came again, and this time it sounded a little more... urgent. “The Shadows are awake. They’ve been waiting for you.”
I didn’t really know what that meant, but I figured I was already too far in to turn back now. Besides, how could Shadows wait for me? They were just shadows.
I walked towards the glow, and that’s when I saw it; a huge, ancient tree, bigger than any tree I’d ever seen. Its bark shimmered with the same eerie light, and the shadows around it twisted and turned like they were alive. They were alive; I could feel it
YOU ARE MY BEACON IN THE BACKSTREETS
By Mr Piesse
The voice spoke again, but this time it sounded more... friendly? "Come closer, child. You’re the one we’ve been waiting for ”
I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or worried. But I walked closer anyway. You can’t back down now, not when something so weird is happening Plus, I had to know what was going on.
As I reached the tree, the shadows swirled in front of me and formed a shape. It was like a person, but made entirely of shadow It was tall, with no face, just a silhouette that shifted and changed like it was made of smoke. It reached out a hand, and before I could even think, I grabbed it.
And that’s when it happened.
Suddenly, the shadows weren’t scary anymore. They weren’t creepy. Instead, they felt alive Warm, even It was like I could see all the things hidden in the dark that I’d never noticed before. I could see the way the shadows moved around the forest, and how they made the trees sway, how the air around me danced with light and dark, like a secret world no one had ever seen
The shadow-person whispered, "You’re part of this now. Light and shadow are two halves of one whole Without both, nothing makes sense ”
And then, just as quickly as it had all started, everything stopped. The light flickered, the shadows froze, and the trees became still. The glow disappeared and the forest felt normal again I was standing there, alone, holding nothing but air
But something had changed; I could feel it. The world around me wasn’t just trees and dirt anymore It was alive with possibilities The light and the shadows had become... something else, something I couldn’t explain. But somehow, I knew they were always going to be there, watching, waiting. Like they had been before.
I turned to go home, but before I left the forest, I looked back once more The tree stood tall and silent, the shadows wrapped around it like a blanket. And even though it was getting dark, I felt... okay. The shadows weren’t so scary anymore.
As I walked back to the house, I smiled. I didn’t know what I’d just experienced, but one thing was for sure; the world wasn’t as simple as I had thought.
DAY & NIGHT
By Shivali G (Year 12)
THE PEOPLE’S GAZE
By Kate M (Year 8)
There was a faint buzzing of activity by the pier; the fishermen setting up their stalls, the merchants cooing over their colossal sized ships and the sailors murmuring their dose of gossip. But there was one. A small shadow against the lapping water, resting serenely against the caress of the sun; peeking above its duvet, yawning. It looked like a shape. A shadowy shape of a ship, floating above the horizon. Her sails flapped, the zephyr skimming its cloth body.
Above, slowly and surely, the sun rose. A tangerine against the musty earl grey of the sky, a splatter of colour across a painter’s canvas. In the distance, there laid a blob of activity; the other side of the coast. It snoozed, its breaths coming out in small, deep huffs, a melody and a testament to the sunrise.
Bystanders watched and clamoured, their eyes fixated on the mesmerising glow of the day. Silent hums of awe and wonder rippled through the coast, echoing through the small town bordering the sea The muted, quiet sea stilled, its presence turning to the majestic shape slicing through the backdrop like a knife in butter
Nearby, a little girl’s footsteps pittered and pattered over to the wooden extension of the seaside; a rickety bridge-like structure that carefully cradled her in its warm embrace In her small, chubby hand was an old, worn-out bear, cherished by her so dearly Then, everything clicked into place The clementine sun halted in its path, spotting the child looking up to it with her pure, loving eyes, illuminated by its own light. It stared back, with surprise, before that spell was lifted. It seemed as if everyone awoke.
Life rushed in, filling the people with enthusiasm as they went about their day. The calm, serene pier was now filled with shouts and whispers. “Fish for sale! Fish!” one yelled. “Any discounts?” another said.
Still the little girl stood, unmoving. Gazing. Gazing at the sunrise that captured her in a spell.
The sunrise that signaled the dawn of a new day. A fresh start.
Inspired by Claude Monet, Impression, Sunrise (1872)
NADAAN PARINDE
By Anaiya D (Year 11)
I REMEMBER WHEN THE DARKNESS CAME
By Daisy G (Year 9)
I remember when the darkness came. I was sitting in my room alone, watching the candle’s shadow dance across the wall, thinking. Thinking about how pretty the shadow looked, about how we always seem to take it for granted. Now we will never take it for granted. I like to think that it was me who first felt the darkness. First saw the darkness. First heard the darkness. First smelt and tasted it. First sensed its evil.
I remember when the darkness came. A deep sense of uncertainty spread through my chest, flowing through my arms and clouding my thoughts until I was almost numb. It felt like electricity, buzzing, eager to escape. The room began to spin around me as the darkness flooded my brain, taking over me. The last thing I remember is gripping my bed frame, and hearing my own voice, raspy and unnatural, saying ‘Now it shall begin.’
When I woke up next, it was darker in my room. My candle was blown out, which was strange because my window was not open and so there was no breeze. Lightly, I pinched the wick. It was cold. Ice cold. My fingers brushed against my wall; it was freezing. I ran over to the window. Ice was spreading over the glass, thick and fast. I recoiled in horror. I looked around at the room and what I saw only fed my terror. There was ice covering my walls, spreading quickly, all around me, closing in on me. But this ice was not normal. It was pitch black, the colour of dread and death. I could feel the blood rushing in my ears, my heart thumping in my chest.
I ran over to my door, trying the handle, but it was unmoving, stuck firmly with ice. My breath was now short and fast, and I could see it too! The temperature was dropping fast, the thermometer on my wall now showing -5 degrees. Suddenly, I felt something brush my feet. Something cold. Ice. Screaming, I ran over to the door again and yanked the handle with all of my remaining strength. No use. I couldn’t see now; the ice had covered all light sources, and I was plunged into darkness.
I hadn’t actually seen the darkness yet. No. I hadn’t seen the thing that now plagues my thoughts and holds me hostage I hadn’t seen the thing that whispers my name with utter hatred and embodies my fear. But I was about to I woke up for the second time Or at least, I thought I did I couldn’t see anything.
FLOATING IN SUSPENSION
By
Imogen H (Year 11)
It was dead silent Not a sound Not even my breath, although I was breathing. Then a sound resonated from behind me. I whipped around. There was a pair of eyes Faint But definitely real And they were staring right at me. A voice came from where the eyes were positioned, deep and growling.
‘Hello Casey ’ I stopped ‘I have been waiting for you ’
‘Who are you?’ My voice came out, small and afraid
‘I think you know who I am, Casey ’ The eyes moved, circling around me I was paralysed in fear.
‘I am everything, I am nothing, I am here, I am gone, I fear the sun and you fear me. I am the darkness.’
The last four words echoed in my ears. I took a step away from the eyes, which had now resumed their original position and were staring right at me.
‘No. No. You, you’re lying. You can’t be the darkness. The darkness does not turn rooms into ice and have floating eyes and speak!’ I began to run from the darkness, stumbling, the same four words ringing in my ears. I shook my head in disbelief, trying to stop the voice. Trying to escape. But I was locked in an endless void. And the darkness had swallowed the key. I turned back to the eyes. They were far away from me now, but seemed brighter, more distinct.
‘Why am I even here? Why me?’
A distorted laugh ran through the void, echoing, before settling right by my ear in a whisper.
‘Casey. Oh Casey.’ The eyes came closer until they were right in front of me. I could see the faint outline of a person. ‘Casey,’ The darkness gestured towards my hands. ‘You are the only thing that can stop me. You, Casey, are the light.’
I looked down at my hands. They were alive. With fire.
THE WINDOW
By Marija R (Year 7)
Through the window I shift my gaze
The morning sunlight gently caresses my face
The bird chirps on the windowsill bathing in the golden rays
A fresh breeze peeks under the drapes
I think to myself I have found the perfect place
The sweet smell of love and primroses sparks under my nose
I wake with a thick yellow blanket of warmth over me.
There is no need for any other kind.
It reaches out grazing my cheeks, giving them the same colour as the coral in the sea.
Warm blankets piled on top of one another, fire, reignited with a blow. Sharp cold wind sneaks into my room.
People huddle together and watch the snow.
My gorgeous primroses frozen in full bloom.
A lonesome maple leaf gently meanders onto the scene. I wake to the sound of heavy raindrops plummeting down to the concrete. The wind blows; however, our friend is nowhere to be seen, Stuck behind masses and masses of cotton balls.
From this window we watch, every season, every memory that passes by, Each month’s light flickering by and casting a shadow on its past.
WHY ARE THE SHADOWS SCARED?
By Allegra V J (Year 8)
Why are the Shadows scared?
When light extends its holy hand
And washes the empty land with warmth? They scurry off silently, hiding away.
They huddle where the sun can’t see them, Shying away from the dancing rays
Always there. Never there.
Why are the Shadows scared?
NIGHT OF 1943
By Martina B (Year 7)
It was the night of 1943 My plane had crashed in Nazi territory and a German soldier had taken me into custody My life as I knew it was going to tragically end and that could’ve been the last time I would ever see the sun again
He spared me
Sometimes I wish he hadn't known that I was a British spy that could’ve given his Führer useful information. Sometimes I wish I had ended up in flames like the pilot driving my plane.
They kept me in a damp, dark cell which used to be where they kept their sniffer dogs. I hadn’t seen food for 3 days straight and my bed was a thin layer of leftover straw from their horse's food.
The only few hours I had out of my cell each week was spent in a room where the only source of light was from a candle. I was chained to a chair and I was to write about everything I knew about British plans, plane and weapon depots, and what they were going to do next. I was growing thinner and thinner by the day; my skin was becoming see-through, like the books ageing in the corner of my cell.
The soldiers in the camp were all very old; they pitied me, I know they did. But they would have suffered the same fate or worse if they were ever seen interacting with me in any way pleasantly. The leader of the camp was called Ludolf von Alvensleben and I was sure he was the most cruel man on earth. He knew that I wrote all I could in the time given to me, but he took pleasure in seeing me whipped on my bare skin or tied to a pole with torrid chains. When I was ever granted the pleasure to eat or drink, von Alvensleben made me eat out of a dog’s trough Sometimes they forgot me there, and I ended up sleeping with the dogs
There was a minuscule window at the very top of my cell I could hear the Dutch people cursing out on the streets when they were caught stealing a batch of bread or the Nazi soldiers shouting orders when they found a Jew in hiding I was thankful to not be them right now, although sometimes I wish to have died an abrupt and quick death rather than have to suffer torture and punishment from the Gestapo as well as betraying my country in giving up all I knew
I missed my family and my home; most of all I missed being outside, taking in fresh air and absorbing the sun's rays. I missed being able to walk or going to the toilet of my own accord.
I missed the days before the war, I missed my life; I missed my freedom.
They haven’t told me what they are going to do to me when I finish surrendering my knowledge; they don't need to tell me. It’s almost protocol; either I get tortured to death in the process of making me cough up knowledge, or they’ll shoot me once they think I’m no use to them anymore.
I’m going to die either way.
There's no denying that.
RASPBERRY SK-ETCH
By Helena E (Year 12)
DEAD END
By Martha B (Year 8)
I looked around me for any hint of home, but it was all gone. Suddenly, I felt a wave of understanding hit me: I was alone This was my adventure, the pinnacle of my existence, my destiny. The forest was grimy and gloomy, but in the very centre of the path I was on stood a tall, intimidating, blindingly bright yellow sign with the big black words ‘DEAD END ’ It loomed over me A black raven cawed as it sat on its throne, waiting for me to decide my fate. It was evident that this meandering path was not a dead end, only a dangerous road into the unknown. The deathly silence startled me. I gathered myself and strode right past the sign, into the future, into the deep forest
With every step I took, I looked around, wondering where I was and if I was being followed The branches climbed taller the further I went, like the street lamps back at home. The unwelcome wind bit against my skin, and the snap of a branch behind me alarmed me. As I spun around, ready to fight for my life, I saw a deer sprint across the path towards the centre of the forest. Was this a sign? Was there something behind me? Paranoia set in my gut I wasn't ready for this journey to be over, so my instincts took over. I bolted down the path, moving from my quiet, stalking pace to stepping on dried leaves, hearing them crunch metres behind me.
After what felt like forever, I came to a stop. Bent over, catching my breath seemed like a massive task, one that would take everything from me. Eventually, my breath returned, but so did the fear Everywhere I looked, there was high vegetation, so my only choice was forward. I walked and walked. Just when I thought I saw light, it disappeared as if it had never been there. My throat started to dry out. I could feel dehydration setting into my body, and my tongue was starting to crack.
In the distance, I saw another big sign with the same bold writing as before. As I slowly approached, I noticed the writing was different. It didn’t say ‘DEAD END.’ Would this lead me to the end of the path? Within a few metres, I saw the paint dripping, and I leaned forward to touch it. The wet paint stained my fingers, leaving my fingerprint imprinted in it. I didn’t dare touch it again, so I took a step back and read the big bold writing, ‘LOOK UNDER THE POLE.’
Immediately, I glanced down and noticed a small section of string protruding from the earthy soil. Nervously, I swept behind me to see if anyone was following me. No one was there (there was never anyone there), but I still checked every time I gave the string a small tug, revealing more of it, and kept pulling until a small roll of paper appeared. In scrawled writing, it read, ‘You are being followed. This road is dangerous. Only the cursed follow this road, and you are cursed. They will capture you, so you must continue to the end.’
Shaking, I dropped the note and watched it fall gracefully to the ground I was lost for words. My hunch was correct. If, of course, I believed the note; and I did. Mulling it over, I came to my conclusion. Why leave a false note? What would be the point? Whoever wrote this had my back. I had no choice but to believe it; what else did I have to go on?
What had I done to deserve this? Was this just the way it was meant to be? I had just been in the park with my friends, messing around. I wondered where they were now. Were they looking for me, shouting my name into the emptiness of the night? Did my family know I was missing? Were they calling me endlessly? I didn’t want to know; I just wanted to be there. I should have been more careful and stayed in the safety of the streets The park was dark and looked quite dodgy, but I went in anyway because my friends were there, and I couldn’t be the one who was scared.
The past was behind me. Now I had proper evidence that someone was behind me. I didn’t know how far or how close, but I had to keep going, battle through it. At that moment, it was just me and this lonely road that stretched on forever I needed water I had no idea what time it was or how long I had been here There was no sense of time, night or day, as it was constantly misty and foggy with no light at all.
I stumbled to a stop and knelt down, feeling the ground. It was muddy, and mud meant water. I had to find this water source, or I wasn’t going to make it. I needed water, and I needed it quickly Crawling, I followed the mud a few metres off the path, but it was still in sight. A small pool of water lay before me, and I drank from it until I couldn’t drink anymore.
That was when the net fell on me. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I struggled to escape, my heart pounding as if it would burst out of my chest Once free from the net, I was hyperaware, too scared to move What if my follower was the one who set the trap? Fight or flight, which would I choose? Instinctively, I took one last sip of water and sprinted away. Newly hydrated, I felt a surge of energy. I travelled a long distance before I stopped, less scared now. They couldn’t be that close, not after I had run so far
As the adrenaline faded, the seriousness of the trap sank in. Someone was after me and I needed to stay far away from them, because whoever they were, they were not my friend.
Boredom started to settle in, gradually overtaking my emotions I was too exhausted to feel scared. That was when I made my biggest mistake. I was too tired to listen carefully to everything around me. I tripped over a loose rock and tumbled, scraping my arms, but that was the least of my worries. I was being chased, and I was terrified.
COUNTDOWN
By Ana M (Year 8)
Jack crouched down behind the old oak tree. His heart thumping, the bark scratched his knees He was out in the garden with Oliver, who was counting to thirty.
‘Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!’
Jack held his breath, staying perfectly still, making sure not to get caught.
‘Ready or not, here I come!’
Jack could tell Oliver was near. He peeked around the tree and crept further into the woods The sun was warm and the birds chirped above, unaware of the young boy sneaking into the forest. Jack’s shoes crunched against the dry leaves, but he tiptoed along, barely making a sound as he vanished behind a thick fern and out of Oliver’s sight. As he crouched low, a strange feeling slipped up his spine. There was a deafening silence that made him pause It was as if the forest itself had gone still Jack glanced around. There was no sound of Oliver’s footsteps anymore, no one calling his name.
‘Oliver?’ he whispered. No one answered.
‘Oliver?’ He called again, louder this time, but still no reply He thought it was strange, as their games were never this long. Maybe Oliver had forgotten about the game? Or he may have gone home? Maybe he had just moved on, leaving Jack behind in the woods?
Jack looked around. Ahead of him, he spotted a faint trail. It was narrow, but there were signs of footprints that looked new. He thought if he just followed the path, he might find his way back and finally beat Oliver in their never-ending game of hideand-seek. He stepped onto the trail, the leaves crunching beneath his feet as he moved forward. The further he walked, the quieter it got. The trees grew thicker, their branches blocking out the sun.
After what felt like hours, Jack saw something ahead; a sign, half-hidden behind a vine. He hurried over to it, brushing the green vines away with his hands. The sign was old and chipped and said one word, ‘Stop ’ Jack wondered who would put a sign in the middle of nowhere. He thought nothing of it, but his heart was pounding. Still, he wasn’t going to stop. The trail pushed him along. Maybe it was a warning, but the thought of dying in a forest all alone scared him, and risking getting lost on his way back seemed worse.
As he walked further, something began to change The trees grew thicker and darker; they felt like giants, looming over him. A whistle that sounded like a voice trailed behind him. His heart was pounding and he turned his head, but no one was behind him, though the trail had changed. The path seemed darker, the trees close; he was certain he hadn’t taken a wrong turn And yet, it felt as though the forest was closing in His breaths quickened, the air growing thick and heavy
He turned around again, but the path had vanished. The trail he had been following was no longer there, only a pile of thorns and brambles. Then, behind him, a shadow emerged. The figure took another step towards him and then spoke in a voice that sounded far too familiar
‘You shouldn't have kept walking, Jack,’ it said. ‘I told you to stop.’
Jack stumbled back, his heart racing. ‘Oliver?’ He whispered, but the words were caught in his throat
The figure tilted its head, a chilling smile curling at the corners of its lips. ‘I told you not to come. I warned you.’
By Mr Piesse Kew moon at night
ETERNAL SILENCE
By Samara A-J (Year 8)
Jemima had always been captivated by the mysteries of the Earth. From a young age, she would read books about hidden caves, lost cities, and forgotten realms And now, she was finally old enough to go and explore the jewel of the Earth in her own city. Everyone in town talked about it; a cave located deep in the mountains said to be as old as time itself Her curiosity had always ignited at the thought Locals spoke about it in hushed tones, nothing above a whisper, but this only deepened Jemima's curiosity. There was something in her soul that desired the unknown, and she couldn't resist the call.
On a crisp autumn morning, she set off alone, only taking a small bag containing necessities. However, the hike to reach the cave was difficult; steep, and for some, even impossible The trail was rugged, the trees dense and ancient, their twisted branches looming over her like spirits. As she ventured deeper into the forest, the world around her grew quieter. The birds stopped chirping and the wind seemed to have lost its voice. Only the soft crunch of her shoes against the leaves accompanied her Crunch After hours of searching and hiking relentlessly, she found it.
The cave's entrance was small, almost unnoticeable, hidden beneath the thick vines and replenished moss. The air around it felt different, heavier, as though the atmosphere was holding its breath. Without hesitation, Jemima tucked the vines behind the cave as if it were a young girl's hair and crawled in Her torch flickered to life, casting weak beams of light that revealed rough, jagged walls. The sounds of her breathing echoed in the silence. She paused for a moment, taking in the atmosphere, the oppressive quiet of the underground world. It felt as if time had forgotten to take its effect on this place
Jemima ventured deeper, following a narrow path that twisted and turned, leading her into the heart of the cave The walls around her seemed alive, pulsing with energy. As she walked deeper, the cave grew darker. The rocks glowed, shimmering on top of the pitch-black cave. She couldn’t help herself, so she touched it. She felt etchings, deep grooves, and markings which had slowly been washed away over the centuries Each carving whispered a story she couldn’t decipher, each turn of the tunnel beckoning her forward. The cave seemed endless. Its twisting passages seemed purposeful, like a bribe urging her forward, deeper and deeper into the cave
QUITE PIECES
By Valentina P-P C (Year 11)
The surroundings became surreal. Stalactites dripped water in slow, deliberate intervals, their soft plink echoing in the stillness Some were enormous, their tips sharp like the claws of some beast. Stalagmites rose from the ground like twisted fingers, as if reaching towards her. Jemima had the uncanny feeling that she was no longer alone Shadows flickered in the corners of her vision, and the air seemed thick with unseen eyes watching her every move. She shook the thought from her mind, attributing it to the disorienting effects of the cave’s unnatural stillness.
The eerie glow of something far beneath the surface caught her attention, and she felt herself drawn to it. The water was unnaturally clear, and when Jemima peered into it, she saw reflections not just of herself but of old, crumbling ruins; towers that seemed to belong to some forgotten civilisation Her heart pounded with a mixture of awe and fear. She knelt down to get a closer look, her breath fogging the surface of the water. The stone walls of the cavern were smooth. Symbols were etched into them, glowing faintly, pulsing with a rhythmic, slow beat, like the heartbeat of the earth itself
Within seconds, hell unleashed itself. Jemima’s foot slipped on a rock, and she tumbled forward She cried out as she lost her balance and plunged headfirst into the water. The cold was overwhelming. The dark water enveloped her, and she sank, the current pulling at her legs as if the very earth was reaching for her. She struggled to surface, but the cave’s depths were unyielding Finally, with a desperate burst of energy, she managed to break through the water, gasping for air. But when she looked around, she realised she was no longer in the same cavern. The water had vanished, and she stood in a new, unfamiliar part of the cave, one that seemed both strange and hauntingly familiar The walls here were smooth and polished, their dark surface reflecting the dim light from her torch. There was no echo, no sign of life, only the crushing stillness of the underground.
Eternal silence.
JUST SHOWING UP
By Esha M (Year 7)
At 4:30 am, the sun rises It doesn’t ask for permission It doesn’t stop to think It just rises, steady and certain, like it always has I think that’s what I love about it
Because life? Life isn’t like that People leave Feelings change One day, everything feels right, and the next, it’s different But the sun? The sun is constant No matter how dark the night is, no matter how long it stretches, the sun always finds a way back.
And somehow, that makes me feel better.
The sky starts slow; pale pinks and soft golds creeping in, turning the world quiet. The air is crisp, and the waves move in a rhythm that never changes. I step closer to the water, watching my reflection blur with the light. And for a moment, I feel... lighter. Like maybe the world isn’t as heavy as it was the night before.
But the best part of the sunrise isn’t the sky. It’s not the colours or the sea or the quiet. It’s the person sitting next to me.
My brother.
He’s not the sentimental type. He doesn’t say things like, ‘This is nice,’ or, ‘I’m glad we do this.’ He just shows up. And that’s enough.
It started as a stupid bet. I told him he wouldn’t last a week waking up this early. He rolled his eyes and said, ‘Watch me.’ And somehow, it just became a thing. No big reason. No deep explanation. Just us, sitting here, watching the sun come up.
Some mornings, we talk Not about anything serious; just whatever comes to mind Old memories, dumb jokes, the kind of nonsense that wouldn’t matter to anyone but us Other mornings, we say nothing at all And that’s okay too
Because it’s not really about what we say It’s about being here
Some days, the sunrise is golden and bright, like the world is wide open and full of possibility Other days, it’s slow and quiet, pulling itself out of the dark And sometimes, the sky is nothing but grey. No colours. No light. Just clouds stretching for miles. But we still sit there, waiting. Because that’s what we do.
Maybe that’s what love really is.
Not big words. Not grand gestures.
Just showing up.
And that’s why, no matter what, I keep coming back.
Not just for the sunrise.
But for him.
THE FLAME THAT TRAVELS DOWN
By Lucy A (Year 10)
All your waking time You spend dreaming a light To stream through your shadows, And show you your might.
Light blinds you, But you say you feel an embrace. You'll hold the poison of your dark, Casting shadows through the holes on your back.
The same sun rises, But you’ll never get enough. You're high on your light, Your smug success.
Light as a feather Into With Hidi You But You But The It bl Dus You The Or is But No s You You You Whi
The feather finally fell To a flame in front of a fire Your movements like clay That needs to cool, That starts to harden.
The lights and shadows Will play tricks on each other, Watching from above, holding a candle With a flame that travels down Towards the floor, Picking shards of feathers, Burning the wood With blades of unseen light.
ILLUMINATE
By Matilda M (Year 10)
THE BRIGHTEST FLAME STILL DIES
By Saina B (Year 8)
Even the brightest candle can only burn for so long
The candlelight flickered, a small golden wound in the endless dark The room breathed in the shadows, deep and close, swallowing the walls, the ceiling, the farthest corners where even memory could reach She sat still, her body curved like a question, her head resting on her hand, eyes heavy-lidded with the weight of knowing. The flame trembled, uncertain, but the shadows trembled with it.
She sits and stares as the flame withers and stirs. The light flickers into her dull eyes, the flame one of wonder and curiosity, hers empty and unwilling. Her hand lies still, a skull upon it. Maybe that is what occupies her thoughts. The curious flame with the energy she once exploited, with the cruel reality of life in her palm. She studies the flame with the same interest she once had in her books. Her life once had a similar light, if not brighter. Her hair threatens to fall over her face, yet she does not move. How could she? Will another act that seems so simple truly throw her into the dark again? She does not care, but if she does her attention shall remain chained to the tiny light amidst the dark. What is death? A morbid question, she knows.
Her fingers trace the cold skull resting in her lap. Bone, pale as old wax, smooth as the thoughts that circle in her mind, unwelcome and inescapable. She watches the candle flame dance in the hollow sockets of the skull, watches light and dark chase each other across its surface, as if some flicker of life remains in the dead. But the dead do not return, no matter how long one watches.
She had waited. She had prayed. She had bled herself on the altar of her sorrow, believing that if the grief was deep enough, if it burned hot enough, it might be seen, might be heard But the heavens remained silent, their stars distant and cold
And he did not return She could still feel the heat of his skin against her palm, the ghost of his voice in the chambers of her mind His laughter had been light itself, breaking through the thickest dark, casting warmth on her soul His hands had lifted her from the filth of the streets, his words had wiped clean the stain of shame from her name She had believed him when he said she was more than what the world saw She had believed him more than she had believed in any god And then, she watched him die.
She stood there amongst others as they drove nails into his flesh, had choked on the smell of blood, earth and flesh. She had seen the light in his eyes fade, like a flame snuffed by a careless wind. She had screamed, but the world had not listened. She had reached for him, but the world had dragged her back.
The skull in her lap grinned its eternal grin, teeth bared in some private joke, as if it knew the futility of hope. ‘Is that what you make of my pain, a joke?’ Magdalene quietly scowled. She ran her fingers over the ridges, feeling the rough edges of something once whole, once alive. How long had this belonged to a man? How long had it held thoughts, dreams, love? And now, just an empty shell, waiting to crumble into dust.
Magdalene exhaled, slow and trembling, and turned her eyes to the candle's flame. What was light but a lie? A brief defiance against the dark, an illusion of warmth in an endless cold. It would burn until the wax ran dry, until the wick turned into nothing, until the shadows swallowed it whole. Perhaps that was the nature of all things. She had given herself to love, and love had abandoned her. She believed in light, and light had betrayed her. She reached out, her fingers hovering over the flame, close enough to feel its breath against her skin The heat was sharp, sudden, a warning and a promise all at once Light provides hope, but even the brightest candle can only burn for so long; were the ashes really with the warmth?
The candle's light wavered once more, dancing over the skull in her lap, over the curve of her cheek, over the dark that pressed in from all sides. Maybe light was a lie. Or maybe it was a defiance. Either way, she would sit with it a while longer.
THE SMOKING FLAME
By Poppy D R
(Year 7)
The flame flickers, It dances in the dim room, Bringing just a tiny bit of light to the darkness.
She watches it intently as if she’s trying to see something that is no longer there.
Her weary hand nearly crumples under the weight of the heavy head she wears
The heavy head that holds heavy thoughts, full of heavy feelings, tied with heavy knots. For she is alone and alone she will stay.
The only one to comfort her is the smoking flame.
Both inspird by Georges de Latour, Magdalene with a Smoking Flame (c. 1640)
SHADOWS OF SUMMER
By Imi H (Year 8)
Every summer's day,
When the sun would cast its welcoming glow upon the world, She’d be there in the park
Sitting in peaceful solitude on a bench
A little old lady clutching her handbag, Watching trees bursting with lush green leaves
Swaying in the tender breeze.
She was always sitting in the exact same spot, In no hurry to go anywhere Or do anything,
She would just gaze at nature’s beauties with a warm smile upon her face. My heart filled with joy
To see someone appreciate the world without any worries. All the while the sun glowed over the park, Filling every corner with its mellow embrace.
But seasons change.
The world started to darken, And shadows crept into the park. They started at the edges And then worked their way in.
Green plants would turn grey, Beautiful flowers that once blazed with colour Would lose themselves to the cold.
The little old lady was still there, But the warm smile on her face started to disappear Almost as if she was fading?
One terrible, dark winter's day, I walked into the park
The sky was cloaked in ashen clouds, Dingy and gloomy
I hopefully looked towards the bench
But she wasn’t there
I looked to all the other benches, by the pond, th Nothing.
I asked everyone I knew
About the little old lady sitting on the bench, Clutching her handbag, But no one remembered her.
Over time, my memories of her Start to fade as well.
I wish she was still here.
I wish she could bring back the sunlight the park
Because now she’s gone, And all that's left are shadows.
BLUE FLAME
By Shivali G (Year 12)
THE SHADOW OF THE LIGHT
By Sophie T (Year
8)
A figure stood in the light A crowd stood in the shadows around him A wind tore at their cloaks furiously, howling, screeching But the figure was still No wind disturbed his cloak No shadows fell on him
He had no shadow
His head raised slowly, and the crowd shivered as one. They stood as one and yet none looked at each other. They were together and yet they were apart. A woman shifted and the figure’s head snapped towards the subtle movement, revealing a pale white face framed with hair so white it seemed to glow. His grey eyes burned; not with warmth, but something cold. Something ancient. He wasn’t old, yet the look in his eyes made it seem like he had seen everything, like he knew everything. Everything and more. The wind cried. And when the people looked back, the woman who had moved was gone.
A wooden staff whipped towards a child beside me. I flinched as staff and skin connected. The child cried out but nobody looked at her. Nobody moved. I looked up to see the staff bearer sink back into the shadows, and sighed inwardly. The child being hit had been me too many times before. I risked a quick glance towards the child, and then looked away quickly when I saw the red welt forming on her cheek.
Footsteps.
The room stiffened My heart thumped against my ribs and I felt my breathing speed up Every child in the room stared at the double doors Every child in the room prayed
The doors were thrown open with a burst of cold air, but nobody shivered We had learnt a long time ago that shivering meant a staff whipping towards us A slender woman flowed into the room, her white gown snaking like smoke behind her Her sharp grey eyes swept around the room deliberately as she walked to the dais It was painfully silent as she stepped up and stood before us
Her eyes landed on me. And stayed there. I stared back, knowing that if I looked away I would get something a lot worse than the staff bearers. I felt everyone’s eyes on me, and for once no one was hit for looking away from the ground. She spoke.
‘Come, child.’
I swallowed, still looking at her eyes, and forced my feet forward, the children parting wordlessly, letting me pass. I walked past their blank staring faces. She never looked away from me. I stopped in front of her, covered in cold sweat, my breathing ragged. She didn’t speak, but her hand reached towards me, slender and poised.
Her sleeve slipped up, and my breath caught at the sight of an inked symbol on her wrist A snake She noticed my eyes on her wrist and quickly pulled her sleeve down before I could try to remember where I had seen it before I looked back at her eyes They seemed to darken when I met her gaze Her hand hovered in front of my forehead I shivered And then her fingers brushed my head and everything dropped away
A face. Flashes of light. Or was it flashes of dark? A face again, a face I knew. Was it…?
No.
I shoved the thought out of my head. A voice spoke.
‘This isn’t the end, El ’ shar.’ My name. My father’s name.The voice was harsh in my ears. Each syllable felt gritty. It scratched against my ear drums and clawed at my mind.
‘You will pay for what your father did.’
You will pay. You will pay. You will pay.
Pain lanced through my head as the voice echoed over and over again, growing louder and more relentless, each word dripping with hatred for me. And for my father
My father I hadn’t thought about him in a long time Or at least I hadn’t wanted to think about him I had forced the very thought that he existed out of my mind And yet it hadn’t worked It had come back to haunt me Who was this person, or thing?
The face appeared again And this time it was clear The memory of my father surfaced, unwanted, unwelcome A pale face Hair so frosty white it almost glowed Those grey eyes My breath caught I had spent so many years hating him and running from his name that I had forgotten what he looked like.
I hated him. At least I wanted to. I wanted to forget what it had been like to have a father. To have a family.
Then I saw the inked snake behind his ear.
The mark. The curse that stole my father before I knew he was gone and left only a shadow behind.
The shadow of the light.
Pomegranates
by Helena E (Year 12)