Young Authors Booklet - 2015

2015

Young Authors Awards Prix jeunes ĂŠcrivains

Young Authors Awards 2015

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PREFACE

Congratulations, Young Authors / Jeunes écrivains!

This collection is a celebration of the literary talents and accomplishments of the provincial winners of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association’s 2015 Young Authors Awards / Prix jeunes écrivains.

We applaud all of our winners as well as the thousands of students across the province who participated in the classroom, school and unit levels of the awards program. The insightful, skillful works crafted by these young authors remind us that the great Canadian writers of the future are presently in our classrooms.

2015 marks the 30th Anniversary of OECTA’s Young Authors Awards / Prix jeunes écrivains program. The enthusiasm and dedication of every student and supporter ensure that the Young Authors Awards / Prix jeunes écrivains program continues to grow and improve with each year. We deeply appreciate the commitment of our wonderful teachers, whose inspiration and encouragement provide students with the opportunity to empower themselves through this competition experience.

The Young Authors Awards / Prix jeunes écrivains program would not be possible without the hard work of many OECTA members across the province. Teachers, OECTA School Association Representatives, Unit Presidents and Unit Executive members all play critical roles in directing the program in their respective classrooms, schools and units. Members contribute their talent, time and effort to preserve the spirit and continued success of the awards. Together, we honour the outstanding work of our teachers and students.

We cannot overstate the value of the contributions of all the dedicated members of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association, who ensure that this program flourishes each year for the benefit of our students.

Thank you, and keep on writing!

Susan Perry Professional Development Department Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS 2015 Jasmine Assefi, BILINGUAL EDITOR, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT Dianna David, ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT Anne Denning, ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT Fernanda Monteiro, DESKTOP PUBLISHER, COMMUNICATIONS DEPARTMENT Wanda Wilcox, ENGLISH EDITOR, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT

PROVINCIAL SELECTION COMMITTEE 2015 Cynthia Gittins, CO-CHAIRPERSON Nancy Molnar, CO-CHAIRPERSON Lorain Beraldo-Turner Margaret D’Agostino Nayana D’Costa Eric Démoré

Antonella Di Carlo Sarah Gallah

Laryssa Gorecki Tracey Helliwell

Aleksandra Lada

Anne Marie Landon Maria Massarella Kelsey Molnar Anne O’Neill

Vincent O’Brien Craig Phillips

Anna Przybylo

Angela Rzazewski

Jeanneda Saulnier Sou Yen Shu

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JACK AND THE SNOWMOBILE

SCHOOL: St. Elizabeth TEACHER: Bianca Lailey SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Maureen MacLean UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / SHORT STORY

by Zackary Carter Phillips

One day Jack was on his snowmobile. He accidently bumped into Bill. The snowmobile fell into a snowbank.

It disappeared!

Jack and Bill were still friends and they said sorry to each other. Jack let Bill go on his snowmobile back to his van.

In the spring they went back to the forest and the snowmobile was there!

The End

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JESUS LOVES ME

SCHOOL: St. Elizabeth TEACHER: Bianca Lailey SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Maureen MacLean UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / POEM

by Ava Moulaison

Jesus Earth Sun Under the star Super hero Loves to help On the cross Very nice Everyone Special and sweet Magnificent Extra loving

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MY SISTER BONNIE

SCHOOL: Bishop Macdonell TEACHER: Kirsten Sommerville SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sima Craig UNIT: Eastern Ontario UNIT PRESIDENT: Barb Dobrowolski JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / NONFICTION

by Patricia Gardiner

Bonnie is a baby girl. She is my sister. She is one year old. Bonnie is cute. She can stand up. She likes playing with baby toys. She naps a lot. She screams a lot too.

She has a saucer that she goes in. Bonnie makes me happy. I like playing with her. Sometimes I read books to her. I love Bonnie.

The End

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A WACKY DAY AT SCHOOL

SCHOOL: St. Paul, Norwood TEACHER: Sally Kloosterman SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lisa Cossar UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence GRADES 1-2 / SHORT STORY

by Casey O’Brien

I was walking down the hall at school when BAM! I hit a pole. The next thing I saw was a beautiful beach and some elephants singing. They were singing my favourite song, “Roar.” If you’ve never seen elephants singing, it’s pretty weird. They were wearing big wigs, ballet slippers on their feet and purple dresses. They swung their trunks back and forth and flipped themselves into bridges, all the while singing at the top of their lungs. Their back-up singers were a group of penguins who were wearing huge polka-dotted bow ties. Before I knew it, I was in a sparkly pop star dress.

Then POOF! I was up on stage. They wanted me to dance with them, so I got up and showed off my moves.

As the crowd started clapping, the picture changed. This time I was on a spaceship flying through space. The captain was yelling at me: “Catch those numbers! We have to do the math before we hit the end of space.” We collected 100, 2, 4 and 5. We were missing one number, 25, and we couldn’t find it anywhere. The captain said, “We’ll have to do the math without it.” But just before we came up with a total, we hit the end of space and I jumped again.

This time I was in a cafeteria with Tinkerbell and R2-D2. Pinocchio was giving me a drink, soda mixed with hot chocolate and a hint of apple juice. “Bleah!” I spat it out all over Pinocchio.

He was super mad at me and said, “You stained my wood.”

“Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to, but the drink tasted bleah.”

He took a sip and said, “This drink tastes fine to me.” Then his nose grew!

Tinkerbell said to me, “Don’t worry about him, come fly with me to visit Pixie Hollow.” So she sprinkled me with pixie dust and off we went. There I met Beck, an animal fairy, and she took me for a ride on a squirrel. As the squirrel climbed up a tree, I fell off!

I could hear Beck calling to me, “Casey, Casey, Casey.” I kept hearing my name over and over: “Casey, Casey,” but now it sounded like my teacher. I opened my eyes to see her standing over me along with the rest of my class. I was lying in the hall with a sore head.

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They said, “Casey, are you alright? You walked into a pole!” I said I was fine. It was just a bump on the head, but I did get to go on a little adventure.

My teacher said, “Well, it’s time for math. Come on.”

“Nooo,” I said, “I’ve already done my math!”

And that’s my story of a wacky school day.

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COLOURS

SCHOOL: St. Mary, Elora TEACHER: Claire McElhinney SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Carolyn Bowen UNIT: Wellington UNIT PRESIDENT: Mark Berardine GRADES 1-2 / POEM

by Isabella Faith Smith

Pink is a big pot of bubble gum rising.

Red is like the feelings inside you when you feel mad.

Blue is like the wailing ocean that calls your name.

Purple is like a big whale in the sky.

And yellow is like the sun that shines on you.

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LIFE IN THE FUTURE

SCHOOL: St. Paul, Norwood TEACHER: Lisa Cossar SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lisa Cossar UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence GRADES 1-2 / NONFICTION

by Alberta May Robertson

Where could you go to see flying cars, talking houses and robots? If you said the future, you are right.

A day in the future would be really different. Pretty much everything would be different. Well, everything except our parents.

There would be flying cars. If you wanted to see Ripley’s Aquarium, but it took too long, you could use your flying car and it would take five minutes. These flying cars would be expensive. I would really want one. It would be automatic so you could tell it to start or where to go. I guess we will need flying licenses instead of driving licenses.

There would be talking houses too. For example, if your mom were carrying lots of heavy groceries, she wouldn’t have to open the door! She would just say, “Door open.” If the sun were in your eyes, you’d just say, “Curtain close.” For your shower, you’d just say, “Water on.”

There would even be robots to do your housework. Say your dad told you to clean your room, you could just tell your robot to do it. How great would that be? It would not be all work with your robot. You could play any game with your robot too. You could teach your robot words. Scrabble anyone? Chess? Maybe you would like being outside with your robot. You could even get a minibike for your robot and go exploring with all your friends and their robots.

The future to me looks really exciting and bright and very, very different. I wish I could go there now.

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A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A HIPPO (IN GRADE 4) SCHOOL: St. Joseph, Toledo TEACHER: Cathy McDonald SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Julie Marshall UNIT: Eastern Ontario UNIT PRESIDENT: Barb Dobrowolski GRADES 3-4 / SHORT STORY

by Reed Huntley

Guess where I went today? If you said St. Joseph’s School, then you are correct. I had to go on this thing called a school bus. The doors were so skinny I could barely get in. It felt so weird for me because I’m used to swimming to the places where I need to go.

When I got there, I had trouble putting my bag up on the hook. I had to ask Ashton the Gorilla to hang it up for me because I couldn’t reach with my short legs.

Next was silent reading time. Since I didn’t have a book, Ms. McDonald said to go get one from the library. I checked out a book about Canada, since I’m from Africa.

Language Arts was hard for me because I can’t write a paragraph. The only thing I could write about was my favourite food, marsh grass.

Next was snack. I had—you guessed it—marsh grass. The lion beside me almost threw up because he was so disgusted. But I didn’t think his gazelle meat looked very good either.

Then it was time for Music. Mrs. Del Riccio told us to make up a song. It was easy. I was the best singer there because I communicate with my fellow hippos by making noises with my mouth.

You might say we sometimes sing to each other. Ashton the Gorilla, with those neat hands of his, was able to play the electric guitar while I sang, “Give me some marsh grass, baby, give me some marsh grass now.”

Math was our next subject. We played a game called “Around the World.” I came fifth. I think that’s pretty good for an animal like me. The grizzly bear won when he had to answer five times four. All he did was count his claws.

Then it was lunchtime. I was so excited! I had a marsh grass sandwich with water plants on the side. Mmmm, mmmm!

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When I finished my lunch it was recess. I had a lot of fun running around the yard with kids riding on my back, but we got into a little bit of trouble from the yard supervisor who said there should be no hands on.

I was so nervous because next was French. I had a tough time trying to speak French. Mr. Parrot was the only one who could repeat after Madame. I think he was just showing off. I’m still learning hippo language, so I don’t think I’m quite ready for French.

In gym class we played a game called basketball. Ms. McDonald kept blowing this thing called a whistle at me. She said I was “travelling.” Travelling?!? Try riding in something you have never heard of, from Africa all the way to Canada. Now THAT’S travelling!

During Religion the class tried to teach me how to bless myself. Apparently you need to have skinny, long arms to be a Christian. I didn’t give up though, and after about forty-six times I finally got it. I learned just in time because Ms. McDonald said it was time to say our goodbye prayer.

I had a great time at school. I hope I get to go another time.

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THE STRANGE BOOK SCHOOL: St. Gregory the Great TEACHER: Angela Musso SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: John Ricci UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 3-4 / POEM

by Marie Galleta Lacaden

I never liked books, not one, not two.

My books from my home are now old, not new.

They were always so boring and put me to sleep.

They weren’t objects that I wanted to keep.

Until the day I saw one of my old books on the floor, one that was different from the other books galore.

So I picked it up in a curious way and kept it in my room until the next day.

The next day the book gave me a strange feeling.

Do I think this book is going to be appealing?

So I sat down and read a couple of lines.

I actually enjoyed this book of mine!

So I started reading many more books some about fairies, some about crooks.

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Some made me giggle, emotional, or sad, Others made me happy, shocked, or mad.

From this day onward, I’ll keep on reading.

I won’t ever stop, I’ll keep proceeding.

Some people think that books are just logical But me, I think that books are just magical!

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LYLA

SCHOOL: St. Pius X TEACHER: Nicole Murray SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Susan Letwin UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald GRADES 3-4 / NONFICTION

by Torrin Isabella Bigrigg

I love my baby sister, Lyla, but it wasn’t always this way. This is the story of how my youngest sister came to be.

It was a beautiful day near the end of May, and my parents had taken my sister and me to Churchill Park in Cambridge. This was surprising because my mom had been quite sick for the month or so before. We played in the park for a while, went over to the pond, and went to see the animals until my parents sat my sister and me down on a bench. I was standing up, about to run back into the park, when my parents said, “Don’t leave. Just stay here awhile and relax.” So I sat down, frustrated because I wasn’t allowed to go back and play. My dad started saying something but I wasn’t listening. I was busy thinking. “Look at all the little ones here today,” my dad told me. I just answered back with a simple, “So?” My mind was racing. I had a hunch that my mom was pregnant, but I just wouldn’t let myself believe it. It didn’t make sense for Mom to have a baby.

She had said her whole life (well, more like all my life), “I’m never going to have another baby, ever, even if there was a fire.” You see, my parents really liked the movie Step Brothers and that’s their favourite quote. It was beyond crazy to think that Mom was having a baby. “How would you like having a little one like that, all your own?” my dad asked. It struck me hard in the gut. Mom was having a baby. This was big.

My sister, Keira, started jumping around excitedly. I, on the other hand, was bawling my eyes out.

I don’t know if I felt betrayed, if I didn’t know what would await my future, or if I was just shocked.

Whichever one it was, the punch in the gut didn’t feel good. When my sister started crying along with me, my parents knew it was time to leave the park.

The day went on with lots of tears and boredom. So did all the weeks. The fun part was telling my cousin and friends the news. My parents had told all the grown-ups already. So the months went by with my mom feeling sick, barfing and having cravings. In the middle of August, we found out the gender of the baby. We went into the ultrasound clinic and checked in. We sat down in the waiting room, and about five to ten minutes later, Mom was called in. Keira and I waited, and waited, and waited, until finally, FINALLY, we were called in. Mom already knew the gender of the

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baby. The ultrasound technician asked if we wanted Mom to tell us the gender. “Can you show us?” I asked, while pointing to the screen. She answered back, “Of course!” She rolled around the screen until it finally showed the right spot. I put my hand over my mouth in complete shock. I stuttered and sputtered out, “It’s—It’s—It’s a girl! I was so excited and jumping around like a lunatic.

My sister just smiled disappointedly. She had wanted a boy.

The months continued to pass. Mom’s tummy was getting bigger and bigger and bigger. Before we knew it, Mom had a giant belly measuring 40 cm from top to bottom. Names were being thrown around, but we hadn’t decided on anything yet. Time was ticking away. Mom’s due date was January 7. When I woke up on January 1, the first day of 2015, I was really excited because I was going to the theatre to see the new movie version of Annie. It was pretty much your average morning until the point when Mom got worried. The baby wasn’t moving very much in her belly.

We quickly phoned my grandparents to come over to watch my sister and me. When they got to our place, Mom and Dad rushed to the hospital. As soon as my other grandmother arrived, we went to the movies. We went to my Gran and Papa’s house for dinner that night. All four of my grandparents were there, my one aunt, and my three cousins. We received a message saying that Mom and Dad couldn’t make it. They were back at the hospital. The baby was coming that night.

I started freaking out with excitement with my cousins and my sister. We were so excited and filled with joy. We were playing with my baby cousin Emery on the floor, wondering what having a baby living in our house would be like. We had dinner and then we were on FaceTime (which is like Skype) with my dad. Mom had just had her first C-section. I got to see Mom on FaceTime too, as well as a bit of my brand-new baby sister.

The next day Dad came to my Gran and Papa’s house to pick up my sister and me. We were going to the hospital. I was finally excited, like I should have been the day I found out that Mom was pregnant. Remembering that day makes me feel sad, upset and hurt. I acted like an awful person that day.

We got into the hospital room at last. I looked at the beautiful baby girl in Mom’s arms. I hugged Mom and whispered in her ear, “I missed you!” then turned to sit down in the chair.

“May I hold her?” I wondered aloud, gesturing with my arms.

“Sure!” my mother replied.

I held her in my lap and brought up the conversation that was on everyone’s minds.

“What are we going to name her?” I asked, feeling antsy.

“Well, your mom and I thought of the name Leighton,” Dad answered.

“I don’t like that,” I said firmly. “It sounds like “latin” and our baby is not Latin.”

It took some hard-core decision making. I was begging the whole time, saying, “She looks like a Lyla! Can we name her Lyla!?” I was getting a little overexcited. After much debate, my parents said we could name her Lyla.

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“What would her middle name be, though?” my dad wondered aloud.

We said whatever names came to mind until I piped up, “How about Kinley?”

My parents thought long and hard about this. The suspense was killing me.

“So what do you think?” I asked.

Then Keira said, “How about we take a vote?”

“I’m in!” I replied. “All in favour of Lyla Kinley raise your hand,” I demanded.

Keira, my dad, and I all raised our hands. “Kent!” Mom cried out. We all laughed.

“I guess I’m outnumbered no matter what I choose,” said Mom. “So that settles it then,” I stated. “She’s beautiful baby Lyla!”

We all laughed proudly and cheerfully at our decision. The rest of that day is history.

I love Lyla. I love her so much. I don’t know how I could have been that sad the day I found out about her. I’ve now realized how awesome she is. True, she steals the attention from Keira and me, no one ever comes to see us anymore, but that doesn’t change how much I love Lyla. Would I love another baby, though? Well, that’s a different story.

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THE TERRIBLE TROLL UNDER THE BRIDGE

SCHOOL: St. Ignatius of Loyola TEACHER: Katherine Kenny SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Roberta Casagrande UNIT: Wellington UNIT PRESIDENT: Mark Berardine GRADES 5-6 / SHORT STORY

by Brayden Mathia

Once upon a time, there were three mice from Mouseville who moved to Guelph, Ontario. The youngest mouse was named Harold, the middle, Simon, and the oldest mouse was named Colton. They were very excited about moving from the country to the city. They were also happy about going to their new school, St. Ignatius of Loyola.

On their first day of school, they packed their lunches and headed down the path to the Speed River. The school was just over the bridge. Just as they were about to cross it, they heard a rumble.

A loud clash of thunder and a bolt of lightning flashed in front of them. Suddenly, a troll appeared in front of the mice. He was hairy, scary, and gooey, but he wasn’t big. He was as small as a Chihuahua!

“Who dares to cross my bridge?” the troll asked loudly. The mice were so scared that they almost dove off the bridge and into the water.

“Who are you?” the mice asked, trembling.

The troll replied, “I am the troll of this city and no newcomers should try to cross this bridge!” How were they supposed to get to school? They needed to find a way to defeat the troll first.

Back home again, they sat down together to think. They needed to come up with a plan. After sitting for a few minutes, young Harold came up with an idea. He told his brothers his plan and they jumped up immediately to try it out. Hopefully, it would help them cross the bridge to go to school.

Harold and his brothers crept up to the bridge. Making sure the troll was out of sight, they counted, “One, two, three,” then off they went, racing across the bridge as fast as they could go. They were almost halfway across when the troll appeared and screamed, “Go back or suffer the consequences!”

They stopped in their tracks and then flew back to where they had started. Harold’s plan to outrace the troll did not work. If they didn’t come up with a new plan, they’d never be able to get to school! After thinking for a long time, young Simon came up with a new plan. This had to work.

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carrying their boat to the river, they hopped in and used sticks to paddle their way across. Halfway to the other side, the troll appeared in his own boat and let out a mighty roar, “Go back to where you came from! You are not welcome here!”

Shivering with fear, the mice spun their boat around as fast as they could! Then they paddled all the way back to where they’d started. They needed to come up with another plan, but it had to work.

Colton came up with an idea this time. It was actually the perfect plan. They’d wait for just the right moment to cross the bridge. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long! They tiptoed to the foot of the bridge and hid behind a bush. After a few minutes, a teenage girl ran past on her jogging route, but she was heading in the wrong direction to take them with her over the bridge. Then, two young boys on bikes went by. They were moving too quickly for the mice to jump on. The mice sat down and waited some more. Finally, an elderly man wearing a long raincoat shuffled past with a cane. Colton nodded to his brothers, and off they went!

The mice ran up the man’s cane and hopped into the pocket of his raincoat. Cuddling in the bottom, they said a few prayers to get across the bridge safely. The man didn’t seem to notice what was happening. They listened to the man walking across the wooden bridge. It seemed to take forever.

Then young Harold scrambled to the top of the man’s pocket and peeked out. The troll was in the distance, sleeping, so he hadn’t noticed anyone crossing the bridge. The mice were so excited.

They climbed out of the man’s pocket, slid down his cane, and ran all the way to school.

Just as the mice entered the school yard, the bell rang. They hurried even faster, for they didn’t want to be late for school, not on their first day! Boy did they have a story to tell their classmates and teacher! They had a great day at school. They learned to sing a new song called “Three Blind Mice,” they enjoyed their cheese sandwiches at lunch, played Pin the Tail on the Kitty, and learned about mouse safety.

They had so much fun at school that they forgot about the troll. They forgot that they would have to face him again on their way home. Halfway across the bridge, the troll suddenly appeared and demanded, “Who dares to cross this bridge?”

The three strong mice quickly opened their lunch bags and each threw a piece of Swiss cheese at the troll. The troll caught the cheese in his mouth and enjoyed it very much. He said, “Thank you. Please come by again tomorrow. I would love to see you again as long as you feed me some cheese.” The mice looked at each other and broke into smiles. It would be much easier to cross the bridge from then on!

Tomorrow would be an even better day.

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HEART

SCHOOL: St. David TEACHER: Clara Butrico SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Beverley Baxter UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 5-6 / POEM

by Sebastian Perruzza

When life has just begun, We are all born with one.

It pumps and works day and night.

It can also measure our might.

It may be the strongest muscle.

It’s also the source of our hustle.

At times it doesn’t get used for what it’s created for, Because it can definitely do a whole lot more.

It can push us further, With an unknown fervor.

It will help you achieve your goal.

And embrace life as a whole.

I have talents and qualities, I know.

These qualities will really help me to grow.

I want to try out for the team.

I want to fulfill my dream.

I’m not the tallest or the strongest.

I may be one of the smallest.

I am not the fastest.

But I am not the slowest.

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They say I can’t do it.

Maybe you should just quit.

They say I am too small.

You have no chance at all.

They say I am not talented enough and I can’t play a part.

But I say to them … “Have you seen the size of my heart?”

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TERRY FOX BIOGRAPHY

SCHOOL: St. Emily TEACHER: Robert More SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sarah Eady UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Beth Dowe GRADES 5-6 / NONFICTION

by Jenna Latulippe

INTRODUCTION Since the day that Terry was born, he persevered in everything he did. He faced a lot of challenges throughout his whole life. At the age of 18 he was diagnosed with cancer and had his right leg amputated. Most people would have given up hope, but not Terry. He was determined to beat cancer and to give courage to people who suffered from cancer. His dream was to run across Canada to raise money for cancer. This would later become known as the Marathon of Hope. Terry did not know that he would become a famous Canadian hero. He did not realize that he would be an inspiration to his friends, family and to people all around the world, spreading hope.

FAMILY Terrance Stanley Fox was born to Betty and Rolly Fox on July 28, 1958, in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

These two very proud parents had four children, including Terry. Terry had an older brother named Fred, a younger brother named Darrell, and a sister named Judith, who was the youngest of the family. His family loved him very much and supported him in everything he did.

EARLY YEARS When Terry was a toddler, he stacked and restacked wooden blocks. If they fell down, he wouldn’t cry or give up, instead he would rebuild the blocks. Even as early as two, his mother, Betty Fox, just knew he would grow up to be very determined in all that he would do. He would spend hours playing with blocks and toy soldiers. While he lived in Winnipeg, Terry enjoyed building snowmen with his younger brother Darrell. When he was quite young, the family moved to Port Coquitlam, British Columbia. This is where he met Doug Alward, who would become his best friend and stick by him like a rock for years to come.

As a child, Terry liked to play long-lasting board games. He liked to play table hockey and he loved sports. He played baseball, soccer, rugby, and was on the track and field and cross-country teams at school. There was one sport which he wanted to play, but wasn’t good at. That was basketball. Even though Terry wasn’t good at basketball, he never gave up. He practised all

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summer with his best friend Doug. And, guess what? He ended up making the high school basketball team and went on to play university basketball. When he graduated from high school, Terry was awarded the Athlete of the Year Award with Doug. He then attended Simon Fraser University and hoped to become a high school physical education teacher.

HOBBIES Terry’s hobbies were basketball, running, wrestling, baseball and hockey. Did I mention he loved all sports? When he had his leg amputated, he played wheelchair basketball.

CAREER When Terry was ten years old he worked picking berries. He wanted to buy his own clothes and other personal stuff. Terry was very ambitious, even when he was young.

Terry is known for his Marathon of Hope. He wanted to raise money for cancer. His goal was to raise one dollar from each Canadian. He ran a full marathon, every day, for 143 days, which totalled to 5,375 km. It is beyond me how someone could run a marathon a day for that long—and to think he did it with an artificial leg.

FAME Terry Fox is famous because he inspired others to have hope and to raise money for cancer.

When he decided to run across Canada, he didn’t do it to become famous. He did it because he cared about finding a cure for those who suffered from cancer. He started the Marathon of Hope in St. John’s, Newfoundland and made it as far as Thunder Bay, Ontario. Unfortunately, Terry was having chest pains and asked Doug to take him to the hospital where he found out that the cancer had spread to his lungs. He was unable to finish running across Canada, but he still didn’t give up hope. Terry said that he would fight the cancer and someday finish the run. By February 1981, he had met his dream to raise more than 24 million dollars.

Terry was awarded many honours. He was the youngest person to be awarded the Companion of the Order of Canada. Terry was also awarded British Columbia’s highest civilian award, the Order of the Dogwood, and the American Cancer Society’s Sword of Hope. Terry Fox died shortly after that, on June 28, 1981. He was 22. His dream did not fade away though, it has continued on and is alive today. Every year, people around the world run the Terry Fox Run. Terry Fox has become a Canadian hero and there are monuments of Terry in Ottawa, Thunder Bay, St. John’s, Port Coquitlam and Vancouver. After his death, he was inducted into the Canadian Sports Hall of Fame. Terry has had coins and stamps made in his honour. Many schools, buildings, parks, roads, a mountain and even a ship have been named after him. He was voted Canada’s Greatest Hero in 1999 and declared a National Historic Person in 2008. Many Terry Fox awards have been created and given to people who have demonstrated courage.

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OTHER INTERESTING FACTS Terry was always a believer. He wanted to give courage to those who had cancer, and he dedicated his life to that cause. I am similar to Terry in some ways. For instance, I believe in miracles and I try my best to never give up. I try my best to be like Terry—to be kind, empathetic, motivated and, of course, courageous. I believe that you can do anything if you put your mind to it, and I know that Terry lived his life believing that “dreams are made if people try.”

There was only one thing that I could find that Terry was not good at, and that was essay writing.

CONCLUSION When I think of a hero, Terry Fox is the first person who pops into my head. A hero is someone who doesn’t want fame, but wants to leave the world a better place. A hero is someone who strives to be the best they can be: to be positive, to be motivated, to be courageous and brave. A hero is one who puts other people first, someone who is empathetic and sets a good example. In everything he did, Terry showed all the characteristics of a hero.

When Terry’s run was over, he said, “Even if I don’t finish, we need others to continue. It’s got to keep going without me.” I think his cause will go on forever, as long as we keep reminding people who Terry was, what he did, and why he did it. The world gets closer and closer to finding a cure for cancer with each dollar raised because of what Terry Fox did. I believe, like Terry did, that someday we will find a cure for cancer. On that day, I know that Terry will be looking down proudly and thinking that his miracle came true.

TERRY FOX WAS A HERO TERRY FOX INSPIRED OTHERS

BIBLIOGRAPHY Scrivener, Leslie. Terry Fox: His Story. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 2000.

The Terry Fox Foundation. www.terryfox.org Trottier, Maxine. Terry Fox: A Story of Hope. Toronto: Scholastic Canada, 2010.

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WITHOUT REGRETS

SCHOOL: St. Joseph, Acton TEACHER: Nina Bekanovic SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Patricia Birk UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Nina March GRADES 7-8 / SHORT STORY

by Emma Grace DaCruz

I have regrets.

I regret my mistakes.

I wish I could fix them, bind them, make them better.

But I cannot.

They are etched in time.

I do not have the power to change them.

But I do have the power to remember them. ~~~.~~~ She dropped the glass plates, the fine, expensive china. They hit the ground and shattered into tiny pieces, shifting and scattering themselves across the wooden floor. Her hand gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady herself, trying to keep herself from falling to the ground.

“You did what, Al?” my wife Isabelle asked, in a whisper so soft I could barely hear it.

I breathed out, “The war, I signed up for the war.”

Isabelle drew in a short breath, as if trying to block her tears. But it didn’t work. Drops of sadness were rolling down her cheeks.

“When?” she asked. Isabelle was on the floor now, rocking herself back and forth.

“Tonight,” I muttered. “Bells, I’m sorry. I was going to tell you sooner, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the heart.”

“But you do now? Al, how am I supposed to care for the children and tend the farm without you?

I can’t do that. And what about the money? Al, we can’t afford to lose you. Please stay, back out.

We need you. We need you here, with us. Please.”

“You know I can’t back out now, Bells. I’d be shamed forever—known as the man who was scared. The man who chickened out of going to war. My Grandpa, he fought in the First World 30

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War. He would be proud of me; he would want me to go.”

“I’m not saying that I’m not proud of your decision. I think it’s incredibly brave to sign up for war, to put your life at risk for your country’s freedom. But Albert, we can’t survive without you. I’m not a farmer. I don’t know how to tend the crops, and I can’t care for the livestock. If we don’t bring in any money, Annabeth and Jonas won’t be able to go to school. They won’t get an education.”

I walked over and helped her get to her feet. I put my hands on her shoulders, gave her the slightest shake to indicate that I believed otherwise and said, “Isabelle, you’re a strong woman. You’ll be okay.”

“Why do you keep making excuses? Are you not happy? Do you want to leave?” she asked me.

“No Bella, I just—” “Just what, Al? If you don’t like it here, if you would prefer to be overseas fighting in a war that we have no part in, then who am I to stop you?”

“Bells—” “Stop calling me that! Leave, okay? If you want to wake up every morning to gunshots and bombs falling from the sky, then leave. Just leave. Go to war. I couldn’t care less! I hate you!” she screamed at me. ~~~.~~~ I know what you’re thinking.

“He regrets the war. He regrets signing up for it.”

But I don’t. I don’t regret the war.

I regret the way I left.

I regret that her last words to me were, “I hate you.”

Bullets zoomed past. Bombs fell from the sky.

From the corner of my eye I saw it.

On the Nazi side: a soldier.

A boy.

He had his head turned.

He didn’t see the bullet flying straight toward him.

The force of it knocked him over.

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He didn’t get up.

I felt dizzy, confused.

My head was pulsing. I felt faint.

That’s when I remembered it.

Another regret. ~~~.~~~ “Albert Raymond?” called Commander James Van Pelt, my least favourite person on the base.

“Here,” I said as I saluted him.

“How many times do I have to remind you, Raymond? It is, ‘Here, Sir,’” said James.

I remembered. He had probably told me that about a million times since my arrival in October. It was now May, and I hadn’t seen or heard from my family in several months. I wrote, but Isabelle refused to write back. She could hold a grudge. But everything would be alright soon. Soon the war would end, and I’d be back at home with my family.

“Raymond!” yelled Van Pelt.

I shook my head a little and rubbed my eyes. “Yes,” I mumbled.

“YES, SIR!” said James, frustrated now, “SAY IT!” I felt a grin slowly creep its way onto my face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. The last thing I needed was a fight with Van Pelt. “Yes, Sir,” I said.

There were a bunch of us who had been there awhile, who had volunteered to show some newbies around camp. We were in France. We were fighting for France.

“You’re very ignorant and difficult, Raymond. Let’s see how you do with a newbie who’s just like you. Emerson! Front and centre,” James yelled.

The soldier on the far left stepped out of line and walked toward Van Pelt and me. He was tall and thin, like a beanstalk. But his eyes, they were green. A piercing green. He looked naïve. He looked like he should have been going to university, not war. He didn’t look ready for war. He didn’t look ready for its harshness, its scariness, its secrets.

I stuck my hand out. He shook it.

“Max Emerson. Good to meet you.”

“Raymond, Albert Raymond,” I said to him. “This way, newbie. To the trenches. It’s where you’ll be spending most of your time.” We started walking.

“It’s nice to finally be here after spending weeks on that ship,” Max said.

I turned on my heels and grabbed him by the shoulders, “War ain’t nice newbie. Don’t be calling it that.”

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We walked a little more until Max spoke again.

“So, should I call you Albert or Raymond?” Max asked me.

“Raymond. That’s what everybody around here calls me.” ~~~.~~~ Max. Little did I know that Max would be my saving grace.

That Max would be the light at the end of the tunnel.

That he would become my drive, my energy.

I glanced back at the dead boy on the Nazi side.

He lay slumped back, against the trench.

A rat was biting at his thigh.

My eyes moved upward, to his face.

I guess he hadn’t strapped his helmet on properly that day, because it had fallen off.

His hair was cropped close to his head.

It was a light sandy brown.

I wished that I could see his eyes, but I couldn’t.

They were closed.

I imagined them as a warm, inviting hazel.

Flecks of green, gold, and brown.

Green.

Those were the colours of Max’s eyes.

I remember the last day I saw him.

Max. ~~~.~~~

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Isabelle was dancing. So were Annabeth and Jonas. We were having a picnic in the meadow like we used to. Isabelle stopped twirling, ran over to me, and lifted me to my feet. She spun us around. She was smiling and laughing. She was happy.

Then she slapped me. Isabelle’s face slowly dissolved and Max’s replaced it.

“Ray! Wake up!” Max said as he shook me. “They’ve started again! C’mon!”

We were on the front line. Ever since Max had arrived he wanted to be on the front line. He wanted to be the first to hear the attacks, wanted to be the most at risk. We had been doing pretty well, holding steady for about a week and a half. Carefully, I stood up and brushed the dirt off myself. I looked around at the trenches. They were dirty and disgusting. Dead bodies littered the ground, rats feeding off their flesh. Disease, disease was everywhere, lice crawling along everything. I grabbed my gun, which was resting beside my feet. Quickly, I fired off a few rounds. I glanced over at Max. He was utterly focused on what he was doing, murdering a man—murdering a husband, a father, a son.

“Max,” I said. I waited until he looked at me, “Do you have a family back home?”

When he spoke, I could see the sadness in his eyes. “No. My parents died when I was really little, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Do you?”

“Yeah, I do. A wife and two kids,” I told him.

“Two kids?” he asked.

“Yeah, Annabeth and Jonas. They’re twins, and they’d probably be around six now.”

Max smiled at me.

I turned my attention back to the battlefield. I couldn’t help thinking about what Max had said.

That he didn’t have a family. If I hadn’t known that, I would have thought that he had a family. The way he carried himself, how he smiled. How he stayed positive when he was caught in the middle of it all—war, death, and destruction.

I glanced back at Max. He looked the same as he always had: focused. But then his face erupted into a state of pure panic. He jumped towards me, pushing me down. I found myself lying on the ground. I was covered in blood. It was fresh and sticky. And it wasn’t mine. Max lay on his side, his hand clutching a small space just below his left shoulder. Blood was seeping through his fingers.

“Max, what did you do?” I asked, even though I knew exactly what he’d done.

“The … the bullet was coming towards you,” he said breathlessly. “You have family. I don’t. Promise me you’ll survive. Promise you’ll go home to your family.”

I nodded.

“Say it!” Max grabbed the front of my uniform and pulled me towards him, “SAY IT!” “I promise,” I said softly.

“Good.”

“You’re going to be okay, Max. Don’t worry,” I said. I was fighting hard to keep back the tears.

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He shook his head at me.

I sat there motionless, watching the life drain out of Max Emerson. ~~~.~~~ I regret Max. I regret telling him I had a family.

I regret killing him.

There’s only one left.

Only one left.

Only one more thing I would change if I could do it again. ~~~.~~~ The metal was cold in my hand. It stung. I breathed out; it was now or never.

In my head I said a silent prayer. I prayed to God asking him for forgiveness, asking him to bless my children and wife, asking him to watch over the soldiers fighting in that nasty war. Dead or alive.

I lifted the gun to my face. I pressed the butt of it to my forehead.

On the count of three.

One. I’ll see you soon Max. I’m sorry your sacrifice was in vain.

Two. Be happy, Annabeth and Jonas. Be happy. Remember that your daddy loves you even though he’s gone.

Three. I love you Isabelle. I love you to the moon and back. I have always loved you. I will always love you.

And then there was nothing. ~~~.~~~ I regret killing myself.

I regret breaking my promise to Max. I regret not going home.

I regret building a wall around myself.

I regret giving it so much power that it suffocated me.

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I regret letting it kill me.

I have regrets.

I have made mistakes.

Everybody has.

Everybody wishes regrets never happened.

Everybody wants a time machine so they can go back and fix them.

But everyone knows that’s not possible.

Regrets are a part of life.

You can’t avoid them.

But it’s how you choose to deal with them that sets you apart.

The strong from the weak.

The brave from the cowards.

I am dead.

I lived my life like a coward.

Never moving on.

Never letting go.

I cannot change my regrets.

I cannot move on.

I cannot let go.

But you can.

You are alive.

So live like it.

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LOOK IN THE MIRROR

SCHOOL: Sacred Heart TEACHER: Michael Bortolin SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Michael Bortolin UNIT: Windsor-Essex Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Donald Garant GRADES 7-8 / POEM

by Mackenzie Amlin

Sometimes she feels so empty inside that she swears there’s a cave deep within the depths of her soul where her happy self hides Other times she is a volcano of emotions with hot lava running through her veins until she finally erupts wreaking havoc everywhere She’s an utter emotional wreck I mean, what did you expect?

The pressure to be perfect is stronger than ever before pushing in on all sides constantly demanding you give more It comes in different forms whether it be a model in a magazine or the boy next door She becomes delirious with this vision of intelligence and clear skin of being the perfect person in every way possible Well, that’s just not possible She becomes defined by opinions and numbers Her self-confidence is deteriorated with a CRACKLE, BOOM of thunder She lets herself be lulled into the illusion of the perfect person YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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She cries herself to sleep each night because she’s not pretty enough or smart enough or funny enough That’s simply not right She changes every aspect of herself until she is as plastic as the dolls on the toy shelves She conceals the imperfections hoping to win even a sliver of affection She knows this she preaches against it But we both know she’s a hypocrite And this is what I say to her Look in the mirror Make your self-image a little clearer You don’t need makeup You are enough You don’t need to starve yourself or try to be anyone else You’re beautiful And the truth is I’m not lying but you never hear it enough Do you?

Nobody really feeds into the positive images in your mind They rip you apart and sometimes have no clue “She” is we You and me We have the same feelings emptiness, loneliness, self-loathing, pain, regret We’re filled with too much emotion to carry The same emotion we tend to bury We need to take care of each other Truly love one another Instead of leaving emotional scars say “I think we’re enough just as we are.”

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ESCAPE FROM INSANITY

SCHOOL: St. Luke TEACHER: Pat Murray SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Jennifer DeVuono UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence GRADES 7-8 / PLAY

by Catherine Rose Cadigan

CAST OF CHARACTERS SISTER ROSEMARIE: A justice-seeking nun who will stop at nothing to keep her career safe.

LUCIE BOWHEART: A young, innocent girl accused of doing something not so innocent.

JONATHAN TIMMS: A twenty-year-old psychopath and all-too-concerned husband.

TAISSA ROBERTS: A sarcastic teenage girl who also happens to be dead.

DAVE QUINTO: A psychiatrist with a guilty conscience that won’t let up.

JAKE SIMMONS: A middle-aged detective with a ruthless nature.

NO INTERMISSION The story is set at the Tillons Institution for the Criminally Insane in 1960.

SCENE I INT. MIDAFTERNOON (On a sunny afternoon, SISTER ROSEMARIE is sitting in her office, worriedly discussing matters with a fellow employee, JAKE SIMMONS.) SISTER ROSEMARIE:

(Yelling) This is a disgrace, Jake! We can’t allow this to happen again!

JAKE:

Our new patient is female, so she should be easier to control. Three days is a short time, Sister Rosemarie. We’ll get by.

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SISTER ROSEMARIE:

We’ll get by? We’ve lost twenty-three mental patients in the last week. It’s going to be a daunting task to make sure that no one escapes. And I wouldn’t exclude women from the people who may try to leave the institution, Mr. Simmons. We shall have to watch this one carefully.

JAKE:

My team will see to it that not one more escape attempt succeeds. Would you like to review the criminal record of our new patient?

SISTER ROSEMARIE:

Please.

(JAKE opens folder and removes documents. He sits down at the desk.)

JAKE:

Her name is Lucie Bowheart. She’s sixteen years old and grew up living beside her victim. Last year, they started a courtship and became very close. Her boyfriend, Jack Carmen, committed infidelity. When Lucie found out, she blew up his house, with Jack inside of it. She was found lying in a ditch on the side of the road and was brought to the police station, where she denied her actions.

SISTER ROSEMARIE:

It has always fascinated me how the power of love can drive people to do such horrific acts.

JAKE:

As it has me, Sister.

(SISTER ROSEMARIE stands up from the desk and walks over to JAKE.) SISTER ROSEMARIE:

Let’s go visit the patient, then. I have a feeling that this one might be a handful.

(JAKE and SISTER ROSEMARIE exit stage left. Blackout.)

SCENE II INT. MORNING (LUCIE has been brought into the common room by several guards. She sits down on a couch in the centre of the room. Another patient sits down beside her.)

JONATHAN:

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LUCIE:

I didn’t kill him. It was someone else.

JONATHAN:

Why are you here then?

LUCIE:

‘Cause they think I did it. Why else would I be here?

JONATHAN:

I don’t know. Sorry. I just thought you could help me.

LUCIE:

Why can’t I help you anyway?

JONATHAN:

Because only crazy people can get out of this asylum.

LUCIE:

Let’s say I were crazy. Why would I help you escape?

JONATHAN: Oh no. I wasn’t talking about me. I deserve to be in here. I meant you. Don’t

you want to get out of here? I know you just arrived, but no one enjoys living in a madhouse.

LUCIE: Of course I want to escape. I have to prove that I’m innocent. But why would you help me?

JONATHAN:

I need to get a message to my wife. But she won’t come near me anymore, and I deserve to be here. I was thinking that if I help you escape, you‘d get that message to her for me.

LUCIE:

Okay. If I can get out of here.

(JONATHAN leaps forward and grabs LUCIE’s shirt in desperation.)

JONATHAN:

(Crying) Don’t sound so sarcastic. You have to help me. You’re my only chance.

LUCIE:

I’ll help! I’ll help!

(JONATHAN sighs and lets go of LUCIE. He gets up from the couch.)

JONATHAN:

When did you get here?

LUCIE:

Just yesterday afternoon. They basically locked me up in my room for the rest of the day.

JONATHAN:

(Laughing insanely) I know why. But I’m not telling you.

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LUCIE:

Tell me.

JONATHAN:

(Singing) You have three days to live, little girl. Three days! And then you’re going to die, die, die …

LUCIE:

What are you talking about?

(JAKE enters and grabs JONATHAN. He begins to lead him out of the room.)

JONATHAN:

(Singing/laughing) Three days to live, three days to live …

LUCIE:

I’m going insane …

(LUCIE begins to cry and drops to the floor. Blackout.)

SCENE III INT. AFTERNOON (LUCIE enters the office with JAKE at her side. DAVE, the psychiatrist, is waiting at his desk at the front of the room. DAVE rises from the desk and sticks out his hand to greet LUCIE.) DAVE:

Hi, Lucie, I’m Dave Quinto.

LUCIE:

I don’t care.

(DAVE sighs and then sits back down again. LUCIE has not accepted his handshake.)

DAVE:

I know you don’t. I’m here to—

LUCIE: Assess my mental condition and decide whether I stay here or go on trial.

I already know.

DAVE:

Oookay … so your criminal record states that you deny your crimes, and you claim you have no memory of travelling to the ditch.

(LUCIE jumps forward onto the desk. DAVE leans backward.)

LUCIE: (Shouting) I know what I said. And I don’t care what you think. I know that

I’m innocent. I was assaulted, and someone blamed me for Jack’s murder.

I don’t care that he’s dead because he hurt me, and the murderer knew

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that and that’s why he made it look like I hurt Jack. You need to catch that person and charge them with assault and first-degree murder, but you’re too incompetent to see that.

(JAKE runs forward, grabs LUCIE, and begins to wrestle her off the stage.)

DAVE:

Wait. I want to talk to her some more.

(JAKE lets go of LUCIE. She walks back to the chair and sits down.)

DAVE: Normally, I would diagnose a person like you with acute anxiety, psychopathic-like

traits and acute clinical insanity. And this will still be your diagnosis. But I agree— (Clears throat loudly) Jake, could you give us some privacy perhaps?

JAKE:

Of course. If you need anything, let me know.

(JAKE exits. DAVE turns back to LUCIE.) DAVE

I apologize, but I don’t trust Jake. Something seems wrong about him.

LUCIE: (With sarcasm) Just like everybody else here?

DAVE:

(Exasperated) I am trying to help you, Lucie.

LUCIE: (In a curt tone) Don’t pull that on me, Dave. You shrinks seem to think that

just because you say we’re crazy, it means that we don’t know that

you don’t care about us.

DAVE: I do care about this case, actually. Because I know something is not right.

I think that the court did a horrible job of assessing the situation, and I

apologize for that. But I can’t break you out of here. I’m not in

a position to do that.

LUCIE: (Excited) Sure you can help me. You just don’t know it yet. You can help me

escape. There has to be a way, somehow.

DAVE:

(In a cold, mean voice) You don’t know, do you?

LUCIE:

I don’t know what?

DAVE:

The Tillons Institution has a problem, Lucie.

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LUCIE:

What kind of problem?

(JAKE enters stage left.)

JAKE:

Your visit time is up.

(JAKE walks over and hoists LUCIE up, and he begins pulling her off the stage.)

DAVE:

Thank you, Jake. We will continue our session tomorrow.

(Blackout.)

SCENE IV EXT. EVENING (It is around midnight. LUCIE has snuck out of the asylum and is taking a walk around the grounds. A girl in her early teens walks out from the shadows and blocks LUCIE’s path.)

TAISSA:

For an asylum under a lot of pressure, I find it surprising that they let you out.

LUCIE:

I snuck out. Who are you?

TAISSA: (Snottily) Taissa. But I know who you are.

LUCIE: (Sarcastically) Who doesn’t?

(TAISSA rolls her eyes and snorts in amusement.)

TAISSA:

I saw you talking to Jonathan. He’s so clingy. He can’t seem to let go of his wife, yet she’s scared to death of him.

LUCIE:

What did he do?

TAISSA:

He drowned all three of their children in the bathtub. He claims that he was “confused,” but we all know that he’s an obsessive jerk. Couldn’t stand to see his kids get all the attention.

LUCIE:

Oh my gosh …

TAISSA:

Exactly. And he wonders why no one in the asylum likes him. Even if they

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did, he wouldn’t talk to them anyway. He’s a coward; he can’t speak to any guys. That’s why he came to you for help. Didn’t you think that it was odd how he decided to corner the newbie when Sister Rosemarie wanted you to stay even more than usual?

LUCIE:

How do you know that?

TAISSA:

I watch you. A lot, actually. I think that your case isn’t fair. And you won’t last long here. You are the only girl patient.

LUCIE:

So what’s your point?

TAISSA:

I used to be a patient here, Lucie. I was sent to the asylum for arson. I burned down my church after my mother died, believing that it was God’s fault. I now realize that what I did was stupid, and I want to help you escape. It’ll be an act of justice, and maybe if I succeed in helping you escape, God will grant me mercy.

LUCIE:

That’s horrible. You’re sick, get away from me—

TAISSA:

Sick? Do you know what else is sick? Blowing up your boyfriend’s house because he cheated on you. Do you not realize how sick that is?

LUCIE: (Screaming) I didn’t do that!

TAISSA: (Calm) As far as the court is concerned you are classified as a ruthless killer.

So I would shut your mouth about what’s sick.

(LUCIE begins to walk away, but TAISSA grabs her shoulder and turns her around so that they are facing each other.)

TAISSA:

Before you think about escaping, you’re going to need details. You don’t know the secret passages, or how badly they don’t want you to escape. If you let me be your accomplice, I can get you out of here for good.

LUCIE:

I don’t need your help. Jonathan and I will be fine.

TAISSA:

You won’t be fine. You’ll need me. If you agree to work with me, I can guarantee you won’t be here any longer than tomorrow.

LUCIE:

Fine. It’s a deal.

TAISSA:

Great. Now tell me what you want to know.

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LUCIE:

What do Dave and Jonathan keep trying to tell me? They’re talking about something important, saying that I am going to die …

TAISSA:

Sister Rosemarie is under a lot of pressure to keep you in this asylum. She’ll do anything, really. The institution has been told that if they allow any patients to escape, Sister Rosemarie will not be allowed to be head nun any longer.

A couple months ago, they started losing patients daily: tons of them. It keeps getting worse, and the government is fed up with having people on the loose.

LUCIE:

So it’s going to be almost impossible to get out of here.

TAISSA:

Exactly. But it can be done. With my help, obviously.

LUCIE:

I have to get back before Sister Rosemarie catches me.

TAISSA:

Okay. Meet me in the upstairs hallway at six o’clock tomorrow. And bring your two friends as well. We can use them.

LUCIE:

I’ll be there.

(LUCIE begins to walk away but turns around again.)

LUCIE:

Taissa, how’d you get out of the asylum? Did you escape too?

TAISSA:

No. I died.

(TAISSA exits stage right. Blackout.)

SCENE V INT. MORNING (LUCIE is sitting in a chair in her bedroom. SISTER ROSEMARIE walks into the room and stands beside her.)

SISTER ROSEMARIE:

We need to have a conversation.

LUCIE:

I’m not in the mood.

(SISTER ROSEMARIE grabs LUCIE and lifts her up so that they are standing side by side.)

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SISTER ROSEMARIE:

I don’t care whether you’re “in the mood” or not. We need to have a discussion.

LUCIE:

Okay …

SISTER ROSEMARIE:

There has been talk of an escape throughout the asylum. Normally, I would classify this as a rumor and pay it no attention, but circumstances are different. I assume you know about our little problem?

LUCIE:

Yes. It is not my fault that you lack the ability to control your patients.

SISTER ROSEMARIE:

No. It is not. But you do have control over whether you choose to escape or not. Please sympathize with me, Lucie. My career is on the line here. I have worked hard to be in this position, and you must understand that I am desperate to keep it.

LUCIE:

Your career is on the line? My sanity is on the line. Think about it, Sister. You and I both know that my case was not handled fairly. I’m innocent. I have every right to escape. You are more of a sinner than anyone in this

asylum if you choose to deny my innocence and keep me here.

SISTER ROSEMARIE: There are certain things in life that require you to do things you wouldn’t

normally do. This is one of those things. I am sorry, Lucie, but I cannot let you escape.

(SISTER ROSEMARIE grabs LUCIE and starts to tie her to the chair.)

LUCIE: (Yelling) You can’t do this! Let me go!

SISTER ROSEMARIE: You will understand when you are older, Lucie. Then you will be able to forgive me.

(SISTER ROSEMARIE exits stage left. Blackout.)

SCENE VI INT. AFTERNOON

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(LUCIE is strapped down in the chair. TAISSA, JONATHAN, and DAVE walk onstage into the room and begin to untie LUCIE.) TAISSA: Honestly? Just leave us at the meeting place, wondering where you are?

Really classy, girl.

LUCIE:

Sister Rosemarie knew about the escape. She tied me down, and I couldn’t have gotten to the meeting place anyhow.

(TAISSA finishes untying LUCIE and LUCIE stands to face her accomplices.)

LUCIE:

Since when is Dave coming with us? I thought—

DAVE:

It doesn’t matter what you thought before. My sister died for unjust reasons, and I felt bad for not saving her. I couldn’t stand to let you rot away in this institution knowing that you are innocent.

TAISSA: Okay, great speech, but we need to get going. I know a tunnel that leads outside.

JONATHAN:

Then let’s go! If we don’t leave now, that nun will be checking in on Lucie.

She’ll catch us if we stay any longer.

(The group runs, exits stage left. Blackout.)

SCENE VII EXT. AFTERNOON (LUCIE, TAISSA, DAVE and JONATHAN have run outside. They stand in the sunlight, rejoicing.

JONATHAN is jumping up and down.)

JONATHAN:

Yeah! Woo Hoo! You’re free!

LUCIE:

Thank goodness! Now I can prove my innocence! I’ll do it somehow.

(DAVE walks over to LUCIE and gives her a hug.)

DAVE:

Thank you for helping me to relieve my guilt.

TAISSA: Yeah. Thanks for giving me a chance at mercy. I might be able to rest in peace now.

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JONATHAN:

You have to bring my wife this message, Lucie.

LUCIE:

Of course. What do you want her to know?

JONATHAN:

That no matter what has happened to us, I still love her, and I will love her forever. Please don’t forget to find her and tell her that, Lucie. It’s the thing that I want most in the world.

(JAKE comes running onto the stage, followed by SISTER ROSEMARIE.) JAKE:

(Shouting angrily) Hey! Stop right there! You’re not going anywhere.

DAVE: Run, Lucie!

(DAVE pushes LUCIE and she starts to run off the stage. JAKE begins to run after her but SISTER ROSEMARIE grabs his arm and stops him.)

JAKE:

Sister, what are you doing?

SISTER ROSEMARIE:

It is not holy to punish innocent people. We must let her go.

(LUCIE runs off the stage. Blackout.)

SCENE VII (LUCIE walks onto the stage.)

LUCIE:

I hope that this story has shown you that however bleak a situation may seem, there is always hope. People do have the ability to change, whatever those changes may be.

(Whole cast joins LUCIE on stage. They stand side by side, link arms, and bow.)

THE END

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KIDS AND CURRICULUM

SCHOOL: St. Kateri Tekakwitha TEACHER: Richard Wagner SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Michele Pawlak UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy GRADES 7-8 / NONFICTION

by Joshua Meyer

Close your eyes for a moment and imagine a school system where solicitous students finally stand up, wrestle the reins of education back from mysterious, nameless powers that be, and drive a wagon headlong into an educational dawn of their own making. In other words, kids creating curriculum. Ahh … what could possibly be better? What could possibly go wrong in this cerebral utopia?

Before this fanciful dream turns into a noxious nightmare, let’s wake up and smell the coffee! Take it from a turbulent teenager, this is a TERRIBLE idea! Leaving a horrendously hormonal brain in control of life-altering decisions is the equivalent of shutting down your neighbourhood Tim Horton’s during Monday morning rush hour. Just as nothing good happens before a caffeine boost, nothing sensical really comes from unbridled adolescent perspectives.

I thought about it for about, oh … five minutes before I conceded that homework, evaluations and content would be as chaotic and unpredictable as my mood swings if I were steering our curriculum. Would I seriously choose to study art history and the mystery behind Mona Lisa’s alluring smile when I could choose to learn something really important, such as how to master the perfect selfie? Would the gang that chills at the skate park rather learn about the benefits of physical education, or how to grind out a sick 360 without losing a pair of pants perched preciously south of the Joe Boxer line? Would the giddy gamers among us spend time trying to unravel the irony behind Shakespeare’s Macbeth or Romeo and Juliet when there are so many marvelous miles of Minecraft to manoeuvre? Shakespeare! Seriously people, the dude speaks a form of English less recognizable than the sort heard in a pub full of Irishmen on St. Patrick’s Day. The loopy list goes on—history or hockey, trigonometry or twerking techniques, science or social networking? Suffice it to say, the choices may be muddled at best.

Which brings us to another chink in the armour. Who in their right mind would teach these kooky classes? How and, more to the point, what in the name of heaven would they prepare? Where would this topsy-turvy teaching take place? How relevant would public schools become if they churned out graduates with a mastery of Bubble Gum Blowing instead of Biology? I might be 50

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mistaken, but I have not heard of any Fortune 500 companies clamouring for diplomas that resemble the crumbly prize at the bottom of a Fruit Loop box. Even Shakespeare would be impressed by the tragedy that would be sure to unfold were students to seal their fate as frenetic fast food workers by rallying for Skateboarding 101. The simplest of jobs would surely reject such a ridiculous resume. School enrollment would plummet as parents ran like a pack of rabid wolves to remove their little lovelies and deposit them in the sensible sanctuary of private schools. Which begs the question: would public education cease to exist? Would anyone want to participate in the classes they’d so heartily campaigned for in the first place?

Let’s be honest, my flaky friends. As smart as we may be, we just are not intelligent enough to create class curriculums. I hate to admit it, but the more seasoned adults out there are right when they profoundly proclaim that as adolescents, we don’t even know what we don’t know. Leaving us in charge of choosing our own curriculum would be akin to a captain deserting his sinking ship. Doomed and dumb we would sink to unfathomable depths, bravely tweeting all the while #HUMPF? Admittedly, experiencing yet another goofy geography graph is about as annoying as the incessant beeping of a 6:00 a.m. weekday morning alarm clock. But just as the alarm prevents us from sleeping through the best parts of the day, experienced and insightful adults, teaching well thought-out subject matter, prevent us from sleepwalking through our prime learning years. Are we going to thank the fearless leaders who endeavour to strike the appropriate educational cord for us? Umm … I sincerely doubt it! Are we going to cease repeating our diurnal mantra of, “When will I ever need to know this in real life?” Heck no! A bad attitude is just part of a teenager’s job description. It’s how we roll. But with the steadfast support, guidance and wisdom of our unappreciated leaders, we might find ourselves qualified enough to take over such roles in the future. If there is one thing my turbulent mind is fairly certain of, it’s that a solid grasp of cool lingo isn’t going to get me there, but the likes of law and chemistry just might.

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IT MUST BE FATE

SCHOOL: St. Anne TEACHER: Lori Rozic SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Dean Hughes UNIT: Windsor-Essex Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Brian Hogan GRADES 9-10 / SHORT STORY

by Jaime Bordonaro

Have you ever heard about The Red String of Fate? It’s the name of an old Japanese legend telling of the belief that the gods tie an invisible red string around the fingers of two people who are destined to be together. The two people connected by the magical thread are soul mates, despite time or place. The myth also states that the two ignorant lovers will know that they are meant to be together if ever they meet. Apparently, they’ll just know. The feeling is puzzling, really. It’s been compared to a strong sense of déjà vu, or an overwhelming thought that tells you you’ve seen this person before, but you can’t recall where from. When you meet this special person, they’re the one who you truly fall in love with. It’s like a fairy tale. That’s why no one believes in The Red String of Fate.

Well, this fairy tale is true. But I have to admit, they got some crucial facts wrong. First of all, the strings aren’t even red. They’re a bright, pinkish-orange colour that sounds pretty, but isn’t really.

Trust me, I’ve seen these strings every day for as long as I can remember. The vibrant, hideous hue just gives me a headache. Also, the string doesn’t actually connect us by our fingers. Nope, it goes straight through our chests and deep into our hearts, as cliché as that sounds. Don’t worry, it’s painless. You don’t even know it’s there, like a ghost. You don’t automatically know when you’ve come into contact with your soul mate, either. I’ve seen countless people connected by the thin cord just walk right past each other on busy streets; or give the other their mumbled thanks when one holds the door open for them, and then go on their separate ways. It’s nothing short of frustrating for me when I see these clueless soul mates interact in the smallest ways and then go about their days as if nothing happened. I have to remind myself that I’m the only one who can see these so-called “invisible” strings.

I don’t know why I can see them. When I was younger, I asked my parents about the mysterious floating strings on their chests. They just laughed, ruffled my hair and praised me for having such a brilliant imagination. I tried to brush it off like they did, but it was kind of difficult since I had a string attached to me, too. Everyone has a string. It took me about a year to realize that some people were connected by the same string. Then I wondered why I wasn’t connected to anyone; my string stretched far away into the distance. I was confused for years, too timid to share my special sight with anyone. That is, until I was sent to the optometrist at the young age of eight.

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As I was getting my eyes examined, the optometrist was very intrigued by my eye colour. At first I didn’t know why she said that; my eyes were just plain brown. Then she told me and my confused parents that my iris had specks of red in it. I was almost certain that my slightly red eyes and my ability to see the crimson strings were connected, but I didn’t say a word. I sat quietly while the eye doctor assured my parents that the strange colour wasn’t the cause of my farsightedness, and that it was most likely just a rare occurrence that would not be a problem nor affect my life.

Easy for her to say. My eye colour became more noticeable over time and turned a deep mahogany.

This made countless people assume I was doing drugs, which got me into a couple of uncomfortable situations trying to explain my eyes to many concerned teachers and disgusted classmates. By the age of ten, I was sick of the questions. I had too many of them myself. So I discovered the internet and spent hours researching what was wrong with me. Then I found The Red String of Fate. The legend was like a faint beam of light at the end of a tunnel. It gave me hope and understanding about the strings. Sure, it didn’t say anything about anyone being able to see them (they were classified as “invisible,” after all), but at least I knew why they were there: to connect soul mates.

Then I realized that my parents’ strings weren’t connected. Their thin cords went through the wall and beyond my line of vision. This really worried me. Why weren’t they meant to be together?

Were they unhappy? The fact that I knew they were supposed to be with different people was unnerving, which led to some existential questions. How important was it to be with your soul mate, anyway? Can you still have a long, happy relationship with someone you were not destined to be with? Was I even supposed to be born?

I answered those questions myself, trying to be as optimistic as possible. My parents seemed perfectly fine together. They hardly ever fought, and when they did, they would just talk it out, compromise, and move on. They defied their separate destinies and fit each other perfectly: like a glove. It wasn’t a mistake—it was a miracle. As sickeningly sweet as that sounds, it was true. It was a miracle.

That’s when I started wondering where my soul mate was. Sure, I knew it didn’t really matter, but I was curious. With my luck, my soul mate was probably on the other side of the world. I remember making up scenarios in my head—how we would meet, how they looked, and how they acted.

This went on for years. All throughout grade school I pondered the unknown, even the depressing thought that I might end up alone. I tried not to focus on those thoughts even though it was nearly impossible. Having short, hopeless crushes on a wide variety of my friends and classmates didn’t exactly help me try to ignore the seemingly endless string attached to my heart.

I dreaded high school too—more people meant more glowing strings to blind my vision every day.

When I walked into the overpopulated school, I discovered I was right. I ended up getting an awful headache halfway through lunch, causing me to be unable to pay attention to anything anyone said in Math and Gym. It was the first day, however, it’s not like we did any work or physical activity.

That was all reserved for the second day of grade nine.

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I had no problem with most of my classes. I’m not going to lie—I’m one of those smart, over-achieving teacher’s pets that you either like or secretly hate. But the one class that was a living nightmare for me was Gym. I was probably the least physically active guy in the class, and I can’t even walk up a flight of stairs without stopping to catch my breath. So when the teacher ordered the class to run around the track for what seemed like an eternity, I started literally to feel nauseous by the first lap. I ended up telling the teacher. She took pity on me and called another student over to walk with me back to the school to get a drink. One glance at the student with the overly happy expression and my heart stopped.

He was tall, with reddish-blonde hair and pale blue eyes. But his looks weren’t the thing I focused on. The first thing I noticed about him was the glowing string connecting his chest to my heart.

I had just met my soul mate. I had just met the person I’d been daydreaming about for years. Only all of a sudden, he was right there in real life. If I could’ve stopped gasping for breath and tried to say something intelligent, that would’ve been great.

“Hey! I’m Pete!” He introduced himself enthusiastically, walking closer to me. The string connecting us shortened and gleamed more fiercely. It hurt my eyes when I stared at it, and blurred my vision.

Then he reached out and put his hand on my shoulder in a comforting gesture. As soon as I felt his touch, the string didn’t look orange anymore. It was glowing to such an extent it looked white.

The string burned me as if someone had pressed a flaming match to my chest. So much for it being painless.

I don’t remember what happened after that. I woke up on the damp, rough ground, totally confused.

My glasses weren’t on, so everything looked cloudy and dull. I think the teacher was saying something to me, but I couldn’t hear him. Long story short, I ended up being sent home. I dreaded school the next day—not only because I was embarrassed, but I had to face the person attached to the other side of my beaming string. I wasn’t surprised that my soul mate was male; I always knew I was attracted to both genders. But I never expected to meet him so soon. I know it sounds quite hypocritical of me since I always wanted to meet my soul mate as soon as possible to satisfy my curiosity, but I dreaded seeing him every day in a class that would shine me in the worst light possible.

I’d only known Pete for five seconds and already I was worried about what he thought of me. I thought, “That’s normal, right?” First impression is key, after all. Well, if that’s true, he’s probably never going to speak to me again. Do I care? Of course I do. I’ve been looking for this person for years, as weird as that sounds. We’re destined to be together. I can’t just ignore that. I’m not looking for a relationship. I don’t have any romantic feelings towards him right now. I just want to know more about Pete to see why were connected. To be honest, I don’t even think we could form a friendship without it being awkward. The string isn’t going anywhere. If we become friends, I’ll have that constant reminder that we were meant to be something more …

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Obviously Pete didn’t care about my failed first impression the day before. He just walked over to me the first minute of class and started talking to me in that permanently cheerful tone he had.

“Hey, Charles! What’s up?”

I took a step back, afraid of any pain the string might cause me if I got too close. “Nothing, really.

How about you?”

As soon as I asked, he started rambling on about having too much homework and annoying classmates.

He didn’t stop talking to me throughout the whole class. It was like he was trying to get close to me on purpose. At first I was a bit confused, but by the end of the period I didn’t mind at all. He was really friendly and had a good sense of humour that distracted me from the string between us. We seemed to get along perfectly.

I didn’t dread Gym anymore. Every day we would talk about anything and everything, and I was learning a lot about Pete. His favourite subject was Science. He had two cats, was lactose intolerant, loved horror movies, and got lost in a haunted house when he was ten. He would buy a lottery ticket every week and lose every time. He had a younger sister in grade six, and an ex-boyfriend who had broken up with him the Valentine’s Day before. Believe me, when Pete started talking, it was like he couldn’t stop. Then he started hanging out with me and my friends at lunch. My friends found him a bit weird, but later accepted him into the group. In mere weeks, Pete became the reason I didn’t mind going to school.

I noticed over time that the string was getting brighter and brighter, as if to mock my attempt at ignoring it. That made me wonder if I was starting to like Pete as more than a friend. I wasn’t really sure, so I came to the conclusion that it was all just in my head because I was so used to seeing the string connecting us all the time. Although I thought I wouldn’t be shocked if I actually had feelings towards him. He was my soul mate, after all.

One day I helped Pete look for one of his contact lenses for a half hour. I was a bit surprised when he said he had contacts since he had never told me that before. But I just followed him to where he’d dropped it—the empty Science room. I had a lot of questions (like how he’d lost it in the first place) but decided to not bother ask them. After what seemed like forever, Pete told me he’d found his contact and turned away from me as he placed it back in his eye. When he glanced back at me again, he tilted his head as if confused.

“Why are your eyes red?”

He’d never questioned my eye colour before. Why then, suddenly? I felt uncomfortable, and avoided looking at him even though I knew he was staring at me. “They just are,” I said.

“Does it make everything look like you’re wearing the red lenses of 3D glasses?”

That was a first. “No, everything’s … normal. Completely normal.”

He ruffled my hair and giggled. “Nice hesitation. Totally made me believe you. How does it affect your vision?”

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I wanted to tell him. I really wanted to share what I’d been seeing all my life with someone I trusted.

Would Pete really believe me, though? It’s not like he could see things through my eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“Now you’re scaring me. Come on, I won’t laugh.” Pete reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. I flinched as I expected to feel some sort of pain, but there was none.

My face grew warm as Pete awkwardly pulled his hand away. “Sorry. You don’t need to be scared, you just won’t believe me.”

He crossed his arms, a determined look on his face. “Try me.”

There was no going back now. “I see things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Have you ever heard about The Red String of Fate?”

To my bewilderment, Pete nodded. “I’ve heard that story. Why? Do you see those strings or something?”

“Yes.” Pete smirked, shaking his head a little. “No way. That’s insane.”

I felt my throat close at his words, and my voice cracked as I replied, “Y–yeah, I know, you don’t buy it. I’m just insane.”

Pete turned away from me, and I was sure he was going to laugh. But he stretched his hand out to show me something. There were two blue tinted contacts in the middle of his palm. Then I raised my head to see Pete’s dark red eyes.

“Don’t worry, Charles. I’m insane, too.”

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WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT

SCHOOL: Loretto Abbey TEACHER: Mary Harper SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Paul Andreacchi UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dave Szollosy GRADES 9-10 / POEM

by Miranda Bundgård

When the lights go out The bogeyman will creep out of your closet And ask if you are scared When the lights go out The fire-drake will light the flame Of your trembling heart When the lights go out The dullahan will knock on your door Looking for its lost head To follow the creature Would surely be a mistake But would it?

To follow the creature Is to open your eyes To a new world To follow the creature Would surely cause an untimely demise But would it?

To follow the creature Is to be swept up In a new world

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To follow the creature Is to travel to a secret space To see a grimalkin stalking through the bushes The faeries dancing in the mushroom rings The centaurs prancing in the forest To hear the banshees crying softly in the night The hellhounds whimpering for their masters The dryads whispering in the wind Should I leave this place?

No Should I go?

No But I must For in the morning They will leave me To flee from the blinding light And I will be all alone How shall I go?

No path leads to this haven I will surely become lost No They will help me The light-bringers All I must do Is follow the will-o’-the-wisp When the lights go out

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IRONY IN FAHRENHEIT 451

SCHOOL: Bishop Allen Academy TEACHER: Catherine Stasiw SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Linda McGlade UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dave Szollosy GRADES 9-10 / NONFICTION

by Lauren Gomes

Throughout the novel Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury paints a vivid picture of a dystopian society that feels the consequences of relying too heavily on technology. Bradbury uses three main forms of irony to portray the main theme of the book to the reader: situational irony is created through what the reader expects, dramatic irony through what the reader knows and verbal irony through what the reader hears. Irony is used to tell the reader that over-reliance on technology leads to a society lacking independent thought or creativity, which in turn leads to a lack of progress and enlightenment.

Situational irony involves shaping the occurrence of events to be opposite to what the reader expects. Bradbury uses this form of irony frequently, one example of it being the “fun parks” described in the novel. These fun parks involve destroying things and acting violently—the opposite of what someone today would consider fun. The reader sees this when Clarisse tells Montag, “They run us so ragged by the end of the day we can’t do anything but go to bed or head for a Fun Park to bully people around, break windowpanes in the Window Smasher place or wreck cars in the Car Wrecker place with the big steel ball” (Bradbury 27). This society’s progression has changed the image of fun completely. The people are so negatively affected by these warped ideals that they find pleasure in destruction, and moreover, this is something that is encouraged.

While today’s readers may find this reality absurd and say that it will never happen, small signs of this are already present. Violent mature-rated games like Call of Duty or Grand Theft Auto are more popular than ever, and parents are becoming more and more willing to buy them for young children.

Another example of situational irony is the fact that the firemen in this society burn houses down rather than saving them. Furthermore, the story’s characters find the simple idea that firemen used to put out fires absurd, as shown in a conversation between Clarisse and Montag:

“Is it true that long ago firemen put fires out instead of going to start them?”

“No. Houses have always been fireproof, take my word for it.”

“Strange. I heard once that a long time ago houses used to burn by accident and they needed firemen to stop the flames.”

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This conversation shows just how much this society has been flipped on its head. What seems so normal to today’s society has become completely absurd, something to be laughed at. The difference in the nature of the actions also speaks volumes about how society has changed. The act of putting out fires and saving lives is kind. This new society changes firefighting into something violent and malicious.

Finally, the comparison of Fahrenheit 451’s society to the legend of the phoenix, as told by Granger, wraps up the theme of the novel perfectly:

There was a silly damn bird called a Phoenix back before Christ, every few hundred years he built a pyre and burned himself up. He must have been first cousin to Man. But every time he burnt himself up he sprang out of the ashes, he got himself born all over again.

And it looks like we’re doing the same thing, over and over, but we’ve got one damn thing the Phoenix never had. We know the damn silly thing we just did. (156) This message emphasizes that despite however badly society might fall, there will always be a chance to change, to turn things around. While this might involve a lot of loss and mistakes, mankind will eventually acknowledge its own flaws and turn itself around. Bradbury effectively uses situational irony to convey his theme, warning society of the dangers of relying too heavily on technology.

Dramatic irony, the second form of irony employed in the novel, involves a contrast between what a character knows and what the reader knows. One example of dramatic irony is the fact that Montag’s wife Mildred cares more about her fake “family” on the parlour walls than her actual family. While obvious throughout their interactions, one moment when this sentiment is displayed is when Montag asks Mille to turn off the parlour so they can talk:

“Will you turn the parlour off?” he asked.

“That’s my family.”

“Will you turn it off for a sick man?”

“I’ll turn it down.”

She went out of the room and did nothing to the parlour and came back. (46)

This moment communicates the disconnect between people throughout most of the society. The technology creates a gap between people that can never truly be closed. Current society has already started down this path. Sites like Facebook have already replaced a lot of human interaction, along with texting and other social media sites. Twitter consists of only 140-character posts, much like how stories and books are shortened down to headlines in Fahrenheit 451.

Another example of this form of irony is how Mildred calls love a “silly” emotion when Montag asks her if her family loves her:

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“Millie? Does the White Clown love you?” No answer. “Millie, does”—he licked his lips— “does your ‘family’ love you, love you very much, love you with all their heart and soul, Millie?” He felt her blinking slowly at the back of his neck. “Why’d you ask a silly question like that?” He felt like he wanted to cry. (73)

In this moment, love is portrayed as something potentially insignificant. In our world today, love is an emotion that brings people together, affecting the decisions they make each day. On the flipside, Bradbury’s dystopian society has made love completely unnecessary. While not devaluing love, many people today replace the work that goes into finding the right person with dating sites that decide who someone’s “perfect match” is.

Finally, Clarisse, a character who is considered strange and antisocial by the novel’s societal standards, is ironically the most social character that Montag meets:

I’m antisocial, they say. I don’t mix. It’s so strange. I’m very social indeed. It all depends on what you mean by social, doesn’t it? Social to me means talking to you about things like this. Or talking about how strange the world is. Being with people is nice. But I don’t think it’s social to get a bunch of people together and then not let them talk, do you?” (26-27) The total flip of the definition of antisocial reflects how this novel’s society has changed as a whole. It is opposite of almost everything the world is currently. Conversation is seen as unnecessary, much like the path the world is travelling down today. Why seek out and talk to a person when texting or messaging is available? People are already becoming socially detached. The use of dramatic irony really helps the reader to understand the theme Bradbury is trying to convey.

The final form of irony, verbal irony, depends on a contrast between words which are spoken and their intended meaning. One example of this is when Captain Beatty says to Montag, “Here we go to keep the world happy, Montag!” Beatty’s pink, phosphorescent cheeks glimmered in the high darkness, and he was smiling furiously” (106). Beatty is more complex than he seems at first.

He acts as if he agrees with how the society is run, but hates it deep down. What is most ironic about this statement is how he calls the world happy when everyone in it is upset, including him, merely putting on masks of happiness.

Another example of this is when Mrs. Phelps, despite insisting she does not care about the possibility of her husband dying in the war, begins crying after Montag reads “Dover Beach,” a poem about war. “‘Pete and I always said, no tears, nothing like that. It’s our third marriage each and we’re independent.

Be independent, we always said. He said, if I get killed off, you just go right ahead and don’t cry, but get married again, and don’t think of me’” (91). This is followed by: “Mrs. Phelps was crying.

The others in the middle of the desert watched her crying grow very loud as her face squeezed itself out of shape” (97). This moment shows the reader the true state of this society. While there

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are people like Mildred, in denial of life’s true nature, there are also people like Mrs. Phelps, who understand the reality of war and death. Mrs. Phelps’ phoniness shows that, in the end, no one in this twisted society is really happy. They lie and act as if nothing bothers them, but really feel for everything that happens. They push their feelings deep into the back of their minds. This relates clearly to Beatty’s ironic statement that the world is happy.

Finally, after a conversation with Clarisse, Montag realizes that he is not happy and that the happiness he thought he felt was fake.

He felt his smile slide away, melt, fold over and down on itself like a tallow skin, like the stuff of a fantastic candle burning too long and now collapsing and now blown out.

Darkness. He was not happy. He was not happy. He said the words to himself. He recognized this as the true state of affairs. He wore his happiness like a mask. (9) The loss of Montag’s “mask” of happiness is important. It allows him to see through other people’s fake lives, and to see what his world is truly like. His understanding helps the reader to see the themes presented, whether they be through other people in the novel or the state of the society as a whole.

Bradbury effectively uses irony to strengthen his message that over-reliance on technology will inevitably lead to a society that pushes aside independent thought and creativity, stifling progress and enlightenment. Whether it be the use of situational irony, dramatic irony or verbal irony, the reader can clearly see the message being conveyed. Fahrenheit 451 is written as a cautionary tale. Bradbury wanted to warn people that this outlandish world that they have read about could easily become their own. Perhaps the most important line in the book comes at the end, as the small group of survivors stare at the rubble of their city. “Come on now, we’re going to build a mirror factory first and put out nothing but mirrors for the next year and take a long look in them” (157). More than anything, humanity needs to take a long look at itself. If humans fail to do that, they are doomed to continue to make the same mistakes.

Bradbury, Ray. Fahrenheit 451. 60th Anniversary Ed. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2013.

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TO RISE FROM THE ASHES AND BE REBORN: A LOVE-GONE-WRONG STORY SCHOOL: Catholic Central TEACHER: Andrea Rice SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Ellie Csepregi UNIT: Windsor-Essex Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Brian Hogan GRADES 11-12 / SHORT STORY

by Christina Danielle Sirianni

Preface I feel my method of storytelling is unique because telling the exact same story from both main characters’ viewpoints allows for readers to absorb more information at a quick pace. In actuality, the time gap between Andrew saying “I do” and his fiancee running out could have lasted mere minutes. A bystander in the pews, for example, would only have knowledge of the “who” and “what.” As a result, lacking the fundamental “why” aspect would make the story significantly shorter. Andrew’s perspective begins in brief and less descriptive sentences, due to the fact he is confused. As he begins to question the situation and progress towards his epiphany, his thoughts increase in length and complexity. As I originally wrote this piece solely from his point of view, I considered it the framework by which Phoenix’s “blurbs” were written. Her blurbs contain more opportunity for setting, description, and explanation, intending to give further insight into their relationship (the trip to France, for example). Her perspective also fills in certain informational gaps that Andrew’s character cannot, such as why she waited until now to call off the marriage and her own emotional struggle over leaving him.

As a default, audiences often succumb to bias and take the side of the narrator or primary protagonist.

This story exemplifies a devil’s advocate third person perspective, as it points out character flaws in both characters without labelling either as an antagonist. Although Andrew displays clear affection towards his fiancee, he is described as oblivious and, at times, emotionally distant. His workaholic tendencies have placed an undeniable strain on his relationship, despite having solid intentions. Meanwhile, some (myself as the author included) could easily characterize Phoenix as unappreciative, hesitant and/or selfish for stringing along family, friends and, of course, her loving spouse as long as she does, up until the very last moment. Others, however, may read this story with a “better late than never” mentality and admire her independence and ability to “rise from the ashes (of her unfulfilling relationship) and be reborn,” reflecting the reason behind the name selected for her character. ~~~.~~~

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Without a moment’s hesitation, a much-anticipated “I do” escaped his eager lips— Phoenix desired nothing more than the thought of somehow evaporating into thin air, away from the six hundred intent-eyed people sitting row by row in the red velvet pews.

Minister Dan’s booming voice dwindled to a hush. As Andrew glanced up towards the strikingly deep, brown pearls of his bride-to-be, Any other day, a room filled with beloved friends, family and co-workers—each unaware that while they fervently awaited her response, she was trying to bask in the last moments before being hated by every single one of them—would’ve evoked more joy and less nausea. Glancing from them to him, shame was unavoidable. to his surprise, the gaze which met his hardly held the fruitful glow of young love.

Her eyes darted desperately away from any promise of eye contact, inspecting the intricate tile workings beneath her pedicured feet instead. The vibrant colours from the stained-glass windows cast a dull reflection onto the newly waxed aisles between the sets of pews. Despite the overwhelming aroma of incense, Phoenix’s nostrils couldn’t help but seek a nostalgic whiff or two of Andrew’s musky aftershave—her favourite. The Minister, however, wore a long-sleeved robe with golden buttons that glistened from the brink of his neck down to the finely-sewn hemline.

The black of his robe contrasted sharply with the white thread of the tasseled sash which cloaked both his shoulders. Phoenix’s eyes continued to wander upwards, analyzing his aged face. One would not describe Minister Dan’s face—with its abundance of liver spots and wrinkles—as soft or youthful; yet as he recited the vows in his thick accent, a hint of buoyancy was still evident to anyone who was listening intently enough. Clutching a wooden crucifix in his left hand, as the minister always does, he gestured towards the window, through which a beam of sun emerged from behind spring’s afternoon clouds. “Is that a sign?” she questioned within her own head. “And more importantly, is this a sign encouraging me to go through with this wedding or—” For the first time in a very long time, Andrew’s undivided attention rested really and truly upon the flush of her cheeks and the evident distance in her eyes.

Suddenly the guilt resided no longer in her chest alone, but in the shakiness of her knees and the racing of her pulse. It was as though her body’s every muscle, nerve and bone decided to punish themselves for the sins of her mind. All of which—aside from rapidly active sweat glands, of course—felt frozen, helpless, and dysfunctional.

Hints could suddenly be spotted in every nook and cranny of her ever-so-familiar face. Is this what my uncles meant about premarital cold feet, or is there some unbeknownst bigger picture here?

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Pain ensued. Now she fought to suppress her increasingly laboured breathing; fought against the overwhelming grasp of guilt’s fist wringing her neck, the muscles continuing to tighten around her airway.

Gone were the once youthful and delicate lines at either end of her lips—only to be replaced by fine creases in the furrow of her brow, an undeniable indication of something in disarray.

And she thought the acid reflux on their post-engagement flight to France was bad? Compared to the violent brew of anxiety and doubt churning within the deepest pits of her stomach—those ten and a half hours were now a memory to be welcomed with open arms.

The same pair of lips which once formed a hairpin curve with every “I love you,” the same pair of lips that curled up at the edges with ease after even the merest of kisses. Recently, her straight line of a mouth ambled through expressionless words. Routine. Habit.

Holding out until the last conceivable moment was foolish and utterly unlike Phoenix. These past few years, in fact, she allowed herself to view life through the eyes of a sheep when she had once been a lioness; grazing aimlessly through the fields of her relationship, merely living by the schedule of a shepherd who comes and goes as it pleases him. For so long she convinced herself that going through the motions—a carat diamond on her finger or a veil upon her head—could be adequate for love.

The first time he saw her, all the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images in his head, just … disappeared. Absolute serenity. Quiet moments of that nature are a rare occurrence for someone whose average week is a juggling act between clients, meetings, paperwork and—on good days—a power nap.

She could handle his long hours and being responsible for the majority of the housework on top of her own job. Heck, she had even learned to tolerate being in the presence of the perverted, arrogant jerks better known as Andrew’s business partners. Phoenix’s problem, however, was their wives, none of whom she had met prior to their engagement party, which had been held earlier that week. An outsider may have referred to it as the curse on an otherwise happy day, but maybe; just maybe, it was the exact wake-up call she needed? Outside of finances, those women had nothing but vulgarities to spew in relation to their husbands. Reality struck Phoenix like a brick to the skull as she observed them in all their barely-legal glory, puffing cancer into their lungs as if it was oxygen, and pressing their lips against the rim of a Jack Daniels’, probably more than they’d felt the lips of their own hotshot husbands in months …

Sure, meeting her may have been a pleasant interruption to that schedule, but “no” is an answer that bad habits don’t take lightly. They linger in the distant corners of your mind, flirting with you,

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cat-calling and persisting that, “a little more can’t hurt.” Some men gravitate towards nicotine and poison, not him. “All my sleepless nights at the office were meant to secure our future …” he thought. “Doesn’t she know a labour of love when she sees one?”

Those miserable people were a glimpse into her future, perhaps even her present. The web of deceit that Phoenix had woven was far beyond the point of amendment, the hardest part being the knowledge that no apology could even begin to compensate. Along with the bad, this would mean a heartbreaking farewell to all the good—his family’s annual Thanksgiving, taking his nieces and nephews trick or treating. And him. An undeniable love still lingered for Andrew in the utmost corners of her heart—as it would until the day she died—but it was about time that some of that love was directed toward her own self. Her own peace of mind.

As much as one warns himself against them, bad habits don’t die easily. In that fleeting moment, Andrew wished he could say the same about passion.

“Well?” inquired the minister, breaking the impenetrable silence that pervaded the chapel.

“I … I … I can’t.” She liberated her fingers from Andrew’s gentle grasp. Jaws dropped, eyes widened, a state of shock engulfed every relative in the pews. Phoenix fit as much of the whitelaced skirt into her balled fists as possible, and assured herself that in no way was going back an option anymore. Unsure of whether to fear the sudden and tremendous weight on her shoulders, or embrace the breath of fresh air she felt for the first time in so long, she did all there was left to do. She waved a white flag of surrender in the face of her own gluttonous pride and trusted her adrenaline-filled veins and throbbing chest to lead her where they would. Without another moment’s hesitation, away she went. Each footstep echoed more abruptly than the last, across the linoleum floor, out the wooden door.

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DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE: ROSA PARKS

SCHOOL: Resurrection TEACHER: Paula Scheben SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Patti Shea UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy GRADES 11-12 / POEM

by Shineese Simpson

Like any other day, a long shift at Montgomery Fair had ended.

I needed to use the city line to get home, walking was not an option.

It never was …

It was a very dark night as I boarded the bus around 6:00.

Tired. Achy. Exhausted. Ready for sleep.

I sat in the middle section. I was able to sit there. I did that right. I always did that right.

Ten seats at the front filled quickly on this dark, tiring night.

Three others and myself were forced to move.

Tired. Achy. Exhausted. I refused.

Why should I get up? I refused.

“Y’all better make it light on yourself and let me have your seats.”

“Have your seats. Have your seats. Your seats!”

His words repeated in my head.

Why should I? Why should I? Why should I? Threats of arrest swung in the air … my ears burning, burning, burning with the horrible sounds of

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J. F. Blake stinging my ears with his awful threats.

I will not move. I will not move!

On a dark night … when walking was not an option.

Booked. Fingerprinted. Jailed.

Violating city codes. Related to racial segregation.

That is what THEY said. THEY. Not me.

As my mug shot was being taken I couldn’t hold back a smile.

Civil rights! Civil rights!

Affects all people who have been told “NO!” Who couldn’t take a stand.

This was the last time I would ever ride in the middle or back.

Forced … under threats!

No more humiliation … ever again … on a dark night after a long shift … when walking was never an option.

We’re free … on a dark night … at last.

Tired. Achy. Exhausted … Free.

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BLOODLINE SCHOOL: Holy Name of Mary TEACHER: Karen Conderan SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Divera Groot UNIT: Dufferin-Peel Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Peter MacDonald

GRADES 11-12 / PLAY

by Keerat Dhami, Paramveer Gill, Harjas Grewal, Sydney Henry, Ariane Pragasam, Savroop Shergill

CHARACTERS NURSES MAIA ELAINE MICHELLE FRIEND GRANNY MARIE GREAT GRANDMOTHER YOUNG MARIE PATIENTS TEACHER CLASSMATE #1 CLASSMATES SCENE I St. Dymphna’s Hospital – The Past (Spotlight on open suitcase down centre, envelope beside it.)

(NURSE enters. She picks up envelope and looks at it. Then she places envelope in suitcase and closes it. NURSE exits with suitcase.)

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SCENE II The Family Room, Family Home – The Present (MAIA, ELAINE, and MICHELLE enter and sit down. ELAINE is knitting. MICHELLE and MAIA are doing their homework. Doorbell rings.)

MAIA:

(Sighs) I’ll get it.

(MAIA exits stage right and re-enters carrying suitcase. FRIEND trails behind her. MAIA smiles at FRIEND and motions to her to come in. FRIEND grins and follows her inside. Other characters do not acknowledge FRIEND.) ELAINE:

Who was at the door?

MAIA: FedEx. (MAIA plunks the suitcase down on the table in front of ELAINE and MICHELLE. They look up.)

ELAINE:

Where’d you get that?

MAIA:

It was just delivered.

(MICHELLE reads the tag out loud.)

MICHELLE: Marie—Oh! It’s for Grandma. It’s from St. Dymphna’s Hospital. Apparently it

closed and they needed to get rid of the things left in storage. Ew. (Looks

at suitcase in disgust) Wait, St. Dymphna’s? The looney bin near the lake?

Didn’t Aunt Estelle…? (ELAINE gives her a look.) Oh, you know, Mom, the

Aunt Estelle that you and Grandma never talk about?

ELAINE:

(Exasperated) Michelle—

MAIA:

(Cuts off ELAINE) Grandma, there’s something here for you!

(GRANNY MARIE enters and stares at the suitcase in recognition. She moves slowly towards it and picks it up.)

(MAIA, MICHELLE and ELAINE exit.)

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SCENE III St. Dymphna’s Hospital – The Past (YOUNG MARIE enters. GREAT GRANDMOTHER hands over the suitcase to YOUNG MARIE.) GREAT GRANDMOTHER: If you want to recover, it’s best if you stay– (YOUNG MARIE stares as if she

has heard a distant sound.) Are you listening to me?

(YOUNG MARIE holds suitcase to herself as she continues to stare off into the distance. NURSE enters.)

NURSE: You’ve arrived. (Smiles tenderly) Welcome to St. Dymphna’s Hospital. Everything

is in place for your visit with us. Here. (Takes suitcase and places it down.)

Leave this here and we’ll bring it up later.

(GREAT GRANDMOTHER is staring at YOUNG MARIE who continues to stare into the distance.)

GREAT GRANDMOTHER: (Abruptly) This is goodbye for now, my child. I am sorry, but it’s for the best.

(She gently caresses YOUNG MARIE’s hair.)

(YOUNG MARIE turns and stares wordlessly at GREAT GRANDMOTHER, as if she doesn’t want to be left alone. NURSE gives GREAT GRANDMOTHER a polite nod and leads YOUNG MARIE by the arm, stage left. Both exit.)

(GREAT GRANDMOTHER watches sorrowfully as YOUNG MARIE leaves.)

SCENE IV Family Room – Present Day (ELAINE, MICHELLE, MAIA and FRIEND are in the same positions as they were seen in previously in Scene II. GRANNY MARIE approaches the suitcase, pensive, as ELAINE takes a step back.

GRANNY MARIE sits down next to the suitcase and puts her hand on it.)

GRANNY MARIE:

(Pauses) She’s home.

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(MICHELLE gives MAIA a sideward glance.)

MICHELLE: Okay. Creepy. (Turns to MAIA) I heard that Estelle was a real freak show.

That’s why she had to be locked up in a psych ward all these years.

Her brain went off the deep end, and eventually, so did she!

Ha! (ELAINE gives her a hard look.) Sorry, not funny.

(FRIEND snickers but no one notices except MAIA. MAIA elbows FRIEND discreetly.)

ELAINE:

Michelle, Maia, please go to your room. I need to talk to Grandma.

MICHELLE:

(Continues speaking, trying to scare MAIA) Mom didn’t want us going to her funeral last year, but look, Aunt Estelle found a way back to us.

MAIA: (Rolls eyes) Or, St. Dymphna’s just closed, and they shipped us whatever was left.

(FRIEND snickers again and MAIA shoots her a warning look.)

ELAINE:

Okay that’s enough. Girls? Room. Now.

(MAIA touches MICHELLE’S shoulder, and gestures towards their bedroom door. MICHELLE exits.)

MAIA:

Should I take this suitcase and put it away?

ELAINE: (Wearily) Yes Maia, thank you.

(MAIA picks up the suitcase. MAIA and FRIEND exit.)

ELAINE: (Frustrated) Wow! Maia is younger than Michelle, but she is so much more mature.

GRANNY MARIE:

(With love) They remind me of you and Estelle. Estelle was always so put together and rational, and you were my little troublemaker.

ELAINE:

Me?! She tore this family apart!

GRANNY MARIE: (Presses her hands to her temple as she shakes her head, then caresses ELAINE’S face gently.) Oh, dear. You know it was not her fault. She was not well.

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ELAINE: (Upset) But we had to pay the price for her illness. Michelle and Maia were

left without a mother. I was forced to give up the life I had planned to raise

her girls as my own.

(GRANNY MARIE covers ELAINE’s mouth with her hands and motions towards the girls’ bedroom door with a shushing gesture.)

ELAINE: (Calming down) And now, a year after Estelle’s death, this suitcase arrives

and opens up the past that I have tried so hard to bury—for the sake of my girls.

GRANNY MARIE:

Estelle tried just as hard as you to be a good mother.

ELAINE: (Firmly) Maybe. But they are mine. Not hers. I was the one who was there

for them. I was the one who took Maia to her first piano lesson. I was

the one who patched up Michelle’s knees every time she fell off her bike. Me. Not Estelle.

GRANNY MARIE: Yes. Yes, my child. We both know you are a wonderful mother to the girls.

But there’s more to being a mother than just being there for them.

Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for your children. No matter what the cost.

SCENE V St. Dymphna’s, Recreation Room – The Past (YOUNG MARIE is sitting on a couch, reading a book. PATIENTS and NURSES are performing their daily tasks/activities in the background. YOUNG MARIE becomes more and more distressed as those in the background gradually become louder and move faster. She shakes her head and places her hands over her ears.)

YOUNG MARIE:

Quiet. Quiet. QUIET!

(All those in the background suddenly freeze and, with the exception of NURSE, exit in various directions. YOUNG MARIE looks at an empty spot down stage, as if she hears someone.)

YOUNG MARIE:

I’m coming … I’m coming.

(YOUNG MARIE starts to walk towards the empty spot.)

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NURSE:

You can’t go there. It’s off-limits to patients.

(YOUNG MARIE looks conflicted but walks back to the couch and sits down. NURSE smiles at YOUNG MARIE. NURSE exits stage right.)

YOUNG MARIE:

(Addresses empty spot) I’m not going with you. (Looks away defiantly.)

SCENE VI MAIA and MICHELLE’s bedroom – Present Day (MICHELLE and MAIA enter carrying suitcase with FRIEND trailing behind MAIA. MAIA sets the suitcase down on a bed. MAIA is whispering and giggling to FRIEND. MICHELLE does not acknowledge FRIEND.) MAIA:

This suitcase is cool, isn’t it?

FRIEND: (Sarcastically) Yeah. Vintage.

(MICHELLE is curious about the suitcase. She struggles with it a bit, trying to open it.)

MICHELLE:

Come on! No? Alright, alright. Let’s try this again.

(MICHELLE continues trying to pry open the suitcase.)

MAIA:

(To FRIEND) I don’t know why she’s trying so hard to open it.

MICHELLE:

(While continuing to work on the suitcase) I’m just so curious.

FRIEND: (Smiles slyly) Isn’t she a little too curious?

MICHELLE: (Stops and gasps as if in realization) Maybe we can sell whatever’s inside.

(Struggles with suitcase again.)

MAIA:

Yeah, I guess so.

MICHELLE:

If I could—only get—this stupid thing—to OPEN!

(MICHELLE gives an exaggerated sigh and gives up on the suitcase, pushing it away.)

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MICHELLE:

Well, whatever, it’s useless. Whatever’s inside is probably just garbage.

(MICHELLE exits. MAIA opens a textbook and lies down on the bed to read.)

FRIEND:

Why don’t you open it?

(MAIA absently nods, focusing on the textbook.)

FRIEND:

Are you listening to me? We’ve been friends for a year now. Don’t you think you owe it to me? Come on, listen to me, Maia.

MAIA: I’m trying to study. We have a test tomorrow.

FRIEND: I’m sure there are more interesting things inside. (Points towards suitcase over MAIA’s shoulder.)

MAIA:

It’s probably just old clothes.

FRIEND: There might be more. Maybe letters. Maybe your dear Aunt Estelle wrote you one. Open it.

MAIA: I didn’t even know she existed for most of my life. Why would she write me a letter?

(FRIEND stares intently at MAIA until MAIA gives in. She half-heartedly attempts to open/investigate the suitcase, but gets called for dinner.)

ELAINE: (Offstage) Girls! Dinner!

MAIA:

Coming! I’ll try later. Let’s go.

(MAIA and FRIEND exit.)

SCENE VII Classroom – Present Day (MAIA walks in with FRIEND beside her. MAIA is holding a textbook. CLASSMATES and TEACHER are present. MAIA sits down at the desk closest to CLASSMATE #1. FRIEND takes an empty desk

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on the other side of MAIA at the end. CLASSMATES sit up straight as TEACHER starts handing out the exam papers. Students start passing the papers back. MAIA turns and places a paper in front of FRIEND.) TEACHER:

Alright everyone. You have the entire period to finish the exam. If you studied, you’ll do well. If not, well, I’ll see you in summer school.

FRIEND: You must be nervous, Maia. Better do well on this, or you might have to skip this year’s vacation.

MAIA:

(Whispering nervously) I should be fine. I studied.

CLASSMATE #1:

(In reply to MAIA) Yeah, me too, but you never know with Ms. C’s tests.

There’s always some sort of surprise. The lesson is 2+2, the homework is 2x2, and the test is 2 to the exponent 2, divided by the square root of the average height of a skyscraper. Times two.

TEACHER:

Absolutely no talking. (Looks at CLASSMATE #1 pointedly) Make sure to write your name on your paper before you start. No cheating. Good luck.

(The room goes quiet. Everyone is focused on their tests. FRIEND doesn’t care. MAIA is trying very hard to concentrate. Little noises and movements, such as pens clicking, feet tapping, fingers tapping on desk, and chair movements gradually get louder and faster. MAIA becomes increasingly bothered and distressed.)

MAIA:

(Hands over ears, eyes squeezed shut) No, no, NO!

(Everyone turns to stare at MAIA. They freeze for a moment.)

TEACHER: (Approaching MAIA) Maia? Maia, are you alright? (Gently touches MAIA’s shoulder.)

MAIA:

(Looks up, startled) Wha—I um, I’m—I’m fine. (She looks embarrassed as she notices everyone staring at her.) I just, um, yeah, I’m okay.

(MAIA looks back down at her paper.)

TEACHER: Alright then. (Awkwardly pats MAIA on the shoulder.) Back to your tests, everyone.

(A few CLASSMATES look at her and shrug their shoulders. A few CLASSMATES give MAIA 76

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weird looks. All CLASSMATES go back to their papers like nothing happened.)

FRIEND: (Whispers) Idiot. Now they’re all going to think you’re a freak.

(MAIA shakes her head and tries to focus on her paper. Bell rings. TEACHER exits. CLASSMATE #1 indicates to friends that she is going to talk to MAIA.) SCENE VIII SCHOOL CLASSROOM – Present Day (MAIA packs up her stuff and takes out a book to read. FRIEND is sitting in a chair to the right of her, looking bored. A small group of STUDENTS are whispering and looking at MAIA. CLASSMATE #1 approaches MAIA.) CLASSMATE #1: (Awkwardly) Hey … Maia.

MAIA:

(Looks up, startled) Oh, um, hi.

CLASSMATE #1:

That was some freak out you had in class. I mean Ms. C’s tests stress me out too, but seriously, you just exploded. (Laughs awkwardly.)

MAIA:

(Put on the spot) Yeah, I guess it all just kind of got to me.

FRIEND:

Careful, she’s on to you, Maia. (Snickers.)

CLASSMATE #1:

Usually when people are stressing out like that it’s because they’re not getting enough sleep or are just putting too much on their plate. Maybe you should … try and take it easy, you know?

FRIEND:

Who does she think she is?! She’s practically calling you a freak to your face!

MAIA:

(Defensively) I’m not stressed out. I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.

My sleeping’s normal. Like I said: I’m feeling perfectly normal. (Gives CLASSMATE #1 a reassuring smile.)

(FRIEND rolls her eyes.)

CLASSMATE #1:

Okay. I was just concerned. You’re usually so put together and you just kinda went a little crazy in class.

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FRIEND:

Did she just call you crazy?

MAIA:

(Through her teeth) I’m fine.

CLASSMATE #1:

(Startled) Oh! Of course you are. I was just trying to see if you were okay or if you needed some sort of help—

MAIA:

(Smacks book down on table.) I don’t NEED help! I’M. NOT. CRAZY.

(Everyone is looking at MAIA, shocked. MAIA gets up to leave, embarrassed.)

MAIA:

(Quieter, she gathers her things hurriedly.) Really, I’m fine. I’m just having a bad day. Sorry I snapped at you.

FRIEND:

Come on, let’s get out of here before someone else calls you crazy. (Sneers at others and drags MAIA stage left before CLASSMATE #1 can react.)

(MAIA and FRIEND exit.)

SCENE IX St. Dymphna’s, Rooftop – The Past (YOUNG MARIE is dragged onstage by FRIEND.) YOUNG MARIE:

We shouldn’t be up here. The nurse said it’s not allowed.

(FRIEND sits on rooftop ledge, dangling her legs, dauntless.)

FRIEND:

Look! I’m on the ledge. It’s not a problem. You’re safe.

(YOUNG MARIE shakes her head in protest and begins to step back.)

FRIEND:

Just stand right here, and look down. It’s so pretty.

YOUNG MARIE:

We should go. Please, the nurse said we shouldn’t be up here.

FRIEND:

The trees, the lake, the flowers—it all looks so beautiful from here. It’s everything they’re keeping you from in this place. This will help you relax and clear your mind. Trust me. (Looks at her sternly) Come.

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(YOUNG MARIE takes a step away and looks back, but also seems like she wants to go forward to see.)

FRIEND:

I know you’re interested. Now just take a peek. Come on.

(Young Marie looks around absently.)

FRIEND: You want to. Listen to me. You HAVE to. They’re always watching, always

too loud. And now that you’re here, they’ll never let you leave. This isn’t a

“visit.” Your mother was lying. Everyone is lying. This is your chance to escape.

LISTEN TO ME. YOUNG MARIE:

I’m scared. I don’t want to listen.

FRIEND: (Gets up and walks to YOUNG MARIE, grabs her shoulder and says loudly in her ear) LISTEN TO ME! LISTEN TO ME! THIS IS YOUR ONLY WAY OUT! (YOUNG MARIE starts to move forward with a blank look on her face.)

FRIEND:

That’s right, keep walking. Come, take my hand.

(FRIEND and YOUNG MARIE hold hands and are about to jump. FRIEND looks powerful, like she has won because she has overpowered YOUNG MARIE, and smiles like a crazy person. YOUNG MARIE looks numb because she has given up.)

FRIEND:

It’s going to be beautiful. You’ll see.

SCENE X Family Room – Present Day (GRANNY MARIE, ELAINE, MICHELLE, MAIA and FRIEND are sitting in different places in the room eating dessert. FRIEND occupies a chair that appears empty to the other family members.

No one notices FRIEND besides MAIA.) ELAINE:

So nice of Michelle to make the dessert. Why don’t you say thank you, Maia? She made your favourite.

FRIEND: Everyone else is going to eat it too. Why should you be the only one to say “Thank you”?

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MAIA:

(Gives FRIEND a look) Thank you, Michelle.

(MICHELLE shrugs her shoulders in a dismissive gesture, mouth full of food.)

GRANNY MARIE:

This is bland. Maia, would you be a dear and get me some sugar?

FRIEND:

It’s not bland. Her taste buds are growing old, like her. Besides, she can get it herself. You shouldn’t have to do everything for them.

(MAIA passes sugar to GRANNY MARIE, looks at FRIEND and then back to her dessert.)

FRIEND:

Maia, you haven’t been listening to me.

(Maia rolls her eyes at FRIEND and continues to unwrap her fork and spoon from the napkin.)

FRIEND: Let’s go open the suitcase. It’ll be fun. You don’t need to eat anyway. You’re not hungry.

(MAIA looks distressed, but ignores FRIEND and continues.)

FRIEND:

Maia, listen to me. Come on, let’s go. I know you’re curious.

(MAIA shakes her head.)

FRIEND:

Come on, let’s go. Let’s go. I know you can hear me. I SAID LET’S GO.

(No one else at the table notices FRIEND besides MAIA.) MAIA:

(Her fork clutters onto her plate.) (Shouting) NO!

ELAINE:

Maia! Where are your manners?

MAIA:

Sorry Mom, I was talking to my friend.

(ELAINE looks confused, then worried. MICHELLE looks at ELAINE with a “what’s up with her” face. GRANNY MARIE’s mouth opens in disbelief.)

MICHELLE:

(Leans to whisper furiously) What friend? Are you on drugs?

MAIA: What? Of course not. (To FRIEND) Don’t be rude. (Leans in to whisper to others) She’s right here.

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FRIEND:

Don’t let her disrespect me like that.

MICHELLE:

Well, someone just jumped on the la la train. You’re not fifteen going on five, Maia. It’s not cute to have imaginary friends anymore.

ELAINE:

Michelle, don’t talk to your sister like that.

(ELAINE locks eyes with GRANNY MARIE, who has been silent throughout the whole ordeal. They trade serious looks. ELAINE covers MAIA’s hand with her own.)

ELAINE:

Honey, there’s no one else here.

MAIA:

What are you talking about, Mom? Is this some sort of sick joke? How can you be so rude? She’s right there. (Motions to FRIEND) Why are you all looking at me like I’m crazy? I don’t understand—

MICHELLE:

(Gasps) Wow. You must be on some serious stuff.

FRIEND:

They don’t believe you. They don’t trust you. They’re judging you. Just like those kids at school. They think you’re psycho.

(MAIA covers her ears, closes her eyes and shakes her head.)

MAIA:

No, no, no.

(ELAINE is at a loss for words. She tries to comfort MAIA, but is in too much shock to say anything.

GRANNY MARIE looks at MAIA with fear and recognition.)

GRANNY MARIE:

This can’t be happening. (Trying to convince herself) Not again—

MICHELLE:

What the heck is going on?

GRANNY MARIE:

Maia, are you— (MAIA has had her hands over her ears and been saying “no” repeatedly since the episode began.)

(MAIA and FRIEND look like they have had enough. MAIA’s anger is building up; she can’t take it anymore.)

MAIA/FRIEND:

STOP IT! (Both MAIA and FRIEND get up and scream at the same time.)

(GRANNY MARIE is looking directly at FRIEND, stricken.)

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GRANNY MARIE:

It can’t be.

(MAIA and FRIEND storm out. Silence. ELAINE has her head in her hands. MICHELLE looks confused. GRANNY MARIE exits behind MAIA.) SCENE XI Maia and Michelle’s bedroom – Present Day (MAIA and FRIEND storm angrily into the bedroom. MAIA throws some things around and screams.)

MAIA: It isn’t fair. Why am I being treated like I’m crazy? I’m not Estelle.

(Gestures towards suitcase.)

(GRANNY MARIE enters.)

GRANNY MARIE:

(From doorway) No. You’re not. (Pauses) Just her daughter.

(MAIA is dumbfounded and stares at GRANNY MARIE in shock. FRIEND laughs.)

GRANNY MARIE: (Sits between suitcase and MAIA and pats the place beside her. MAIA sits there.) Maia, you and Michelle were born to Estelle, not your mother. (Sucks in a breath) Estelle was not … well. She heard

things—saw things—that were not there. I had to have her …

admitted, to St. Dymphna’s. You were both very young. Estelle was

a risk to herself and both of you girls. She never left that hospital. One

day, her illness led her onto the roof of the hospital. She jumped. She died. (In tears.)

MAIA:

Why did you keep all this from me?

GRANNY MARIE: (Hugs MAIA and rubs her back comfortingly) Your mother and I thought it would be best.

MAIA:

You should’ve told me sooner.

GRANNY MARIE:

Perhaps. Maia, this “friend” you see: she’s not real.

MAIA: Yes she is. How would you know?

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(MAIA shakes her head in denial. FRIEND looks outraged and glares at GRANNY MARIE.) GRANNY MARIE: Because … when I was your age, we (Gestures to the two of them) were

more alike than you think. That, (Points at suitcase) was my suitcase first.

Then it was Estelle’s. And now … (Takes key out of pocket and places it in MAIA’s hand) it’s yours.

(FRIEND scoffs, MAIA looks distressed. GRANNY MARIE gets up and kisses MAIA on the head before moving to the door. She looks back.)

GRANNY MARIE:

Get some sleep, dear, and we’ll talk in the morning.

(MAIA sits and stares at the suitcase, deep in thought.)

GRANNY MARIE:

(Aside) It broke my heart to send Estelle there. And I hoped it would never happen to you or Michelle … But it already has, hasn’t it?

(GRANNY MARIE exits.)

SCENE XII St. Dymphna’s Hospital – The Past (YOUNG MARIE is sitting down stage right. NURSE enters with suitcase. NURSE hands the suitcase to YOUNG MARIE.) NURSE:

Your recovery has been remarkable, Marie. I’m so happy for you. Good luck.

(YOUNG MARIE turns to leave, looks back at NURSE.) (Suddenly, as NURSE exits, FRIEND steps onto the stage. Appearing behind NURSE, she walks in the direction of YOUNG MARIE. YOUNG MARIE does not acknowledge FRIEND. YOUNG MARIE exits into the audience. FRIEND stands there, staring at YOUNG MARIE’s retreating back.)

SCENE XIII Maia and Michelle’s bedroom – Present Day FRIEND:

She knows. (Comes up behind MAIA and whispers) Open it.

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MAIA:

But I’m not ready …

(MAIA glances, conflicted, between FRIEND and suitcase.)

FRIEND: (Gives MAIA a hard look) You have the key now. Open it. Now. (MAIA takes the key and slowly unlocks the suitcase. MAIA opens the suitcase and pulls out an envelope. She sinks down to the floor and reads the letter inside. She crumples it up and looks at FRIEND. FRIEND looks triumphant, maniacal. She smiles devilishly and towers over MAIA.) FRIEND:

Pack your bag, Maia. It’s your turn.

(Blackout.)

THE END

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IT DOES NOT HAVE A NAME, BUT SHE DOES

SCHOOL: Sacred Heart TEACHER: Joseph Godbout SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Argiro Levidis UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 11-12 / NONFICTION

by R. Malcolm

When I think of Erin now, I think of a bright, beautiful young woman. A woman with ambitions, skills and an unfeigned passion for her future. She is my inspiration, my motivation, and my biggest role model. But she has not always been. Six years ago, after the birth of my twin sisters Elisabeth and Rosalyn, Erin transformed into a monster that still lives deep underneath the smiles and facades that protect against this past and present reality. In 2009, doctors told us that Erin has oppositional defiant disorder. She was depressed. She was suicidal. She needed help: the kind of help that makes everybody uncomfortable when counsellors, friends and family suggest or offer it. There is not a name for this time in my life. There is no defining word that expresses the effect that year had on my sister, my family and me. It does not have a name, because we did not give it one. The most suitable title for it would be “Erin”—that is what it was, what it still is today, and what it will be tomorrow. My sister, with a past of violent whispers that still echo in the room we used to share, and the memories that remain, reminding me of when we were all prisoners of her cruelly fragile mind.

After the twins were born, my father took some time off work to be with our family. However, with both a demanding job and a demanding family budget, after a few weeks it was unavoidable that he begin working again. This meant that for the few months that followed, my dad had to be travelling outside of Canada, spending a minuscule amount of time at home in between hotels. My oldest sister, Emilie, was in a phase that screamed independence, and under its reign, she spent most of her time outside of the house. That left only my mother and me to share the responsibilities —somebody had to take care of the two newborn babies, and somebody had to take care of the frighteningly unstable tempest that was Erin. It became my job to take care of the babies, which entailed only one mandatory task—lock the door. At the sign of my sister having an outburst, I would perform a routine that is etched into my memory. The twins only weighed ten pounds altogether at the time, so I could easily carry them, four bottles of formula, some diapers and, if I was lucky, a book, into the nursery. It was imperative that I get to the nursery because that was the only room in the house with a door that would lock. I would close the door, turn the key, and place my little sisters in the crib, turning on a lullaby CD in a failing attempt to drown out the sounds of my mother taking on the heaviest burden of all. Her job, painfully indispensable, was

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to physically restrain my sister until she could get to the phone to call the police. In the meantime, my mother had to take the beatings. I would peak outside the door in moments of eerie quiet to see my mom straddling my sister on the floor, while Erin’s fists flailed in a blurry eruption of hate and frustration. When the police finally showed up, they would not let my mom ride in the same car as my sister because the bruises on my mother’s arms, and the tears in her eyes, were too telling. My mother hated riding to the police station for that reason and many more. I hated this because I found myself, at eleven years old, with two four-week-old babies that cried for their mother, while I cried for my sister, who cried for herself.

It is not uncommon for people to describe my personality as mature, responsible and adult.

Those three words are attributed to me so frequently that I almost consider them synonymous with my name. They are usually meant as compliments, but I do not smile when I hear them. The reason that I am mature, responsible and adult is because of the training that I received at the early age of eleven. I am mature because I had to take care of two infants on my own for nearly an entire year. I am responsible because while I took care of my sisters, I neglected to take care of myself in an effort to take care of my mother. I am adult because the two grownups in my life, my mother and father, failed repeatedly to do what parents should, forcing me to act in their place on too many occasions. I carry these attributes because I had absolutely no choice but to learn them and use them. Those traits have never left me, and in all likelihood never will.

Life was busier than it had ever been during the months when Erin turned violent. Little things, like cleaning the house and restocking the pantry, became enormous tasks. There was no time or energy or brain power left to take care of much but my sister. I was sharing a room with Erin at the time, and whether my parents simply did not notice, or just did not have a solution to this problem, I may never know. I was never given a different bed to sleep in, but I guess the real problem was that I was never able to sleep. I would lie down, close my eyes, and it would start. “I’m going to kill myself,” Erin would say, two feet away, sitting up in her bed, and rocking back and forth to the beat of my own racing heart. “I wonder what our sharpest knife is. Do you want to be awake when I do it? I can wake you up. Yes, I’ll wake you up.” I would never have to tell her that waking me up was not necessary, because she knew I was on guard behind closed eyes. I would stay up, eyes rushing open every time I would hear a movement. If Erin so much as rolled over, I would shoot upright, straining to ensure that she was in bed, breathing, and knifeless. Then, I would get up the next day, get dressed, and go to school.

“You are always so happy. You have so much stress, yet you handle it so well,” is often said by those who describe me. I can guarantee that nobody in my grade five class had a clue what was happening in my household during that time. I came to school with a neatly packed lunch in my green lunch box. My homework was finished, my presentations were practiced, and my face was what I would have described as sickeningly cheery. They did not know that my life had been reduced to two purposes: protect my mom, protect the twins. They did not know this, because

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I did not want them to. I did it on purpose. I smiled wider than necessary, worked harder than necessary and amplified my normality to cover up the abnormalities that I was constantly afraid would show. If I did not already have a career in mind, I am sure I could wiggle my way into the theater because I have mastered the art of pretending. I did this because if I told anybody about my sister, I would not be able to hold back the tears. At that time, tears were a sign of weakness, and I did not have the luxury of being weak. I pretended to be happy for my classmates, I pretended to be strong for my mom, and I pretended to be hopeful for myself.

Whenever Erin was away from the house, I would clean and prepare frantically. A moment of silence was a rarity, and if I got the chance to be in my room without having to guard the door, I would rifle through things and tidy up. I will never forget the day I found Erin’s journals: bent, tear-stained notebooks, presumably bought for school, filled with pencil marks and profanity, aimed at my mother, my father, and me. The hardest part to read, however, were the passages in which my sister described how much she hated herself. One of the lines, forever engrained in my mind, read, I hate myself, because they all hate me, and if nobody loves me, why should I love me? I have never felt more ashamed of myself than in that moment. She had hit me, yelled at me, spit on me, and threatened to do so much worse, but she had never said that she did not love me. Worse, I had never reminded her that I did love her, or recognized how badly she needed to hear it.

I have always felt incredibly accountable and behaved accordingly. If you ask me to pick up milk on my way home, the chances of me arriving empty handed are incredibly slim. I do not like to disappoint, or fall short on my responsibilities, and that is because when I read my sister’s journals, I realized I had fallen short in the most important responsibility of all. I am accountable because I would never blame my mother or my father for the things that happened, but I know that I cannot blame my sister either, and that leaves only me. I am obligated, not just because I am her sister, to tell Erin that she is loved. I fell short, we all fell short, and I will not forgive myself for choosing anger instead of trusting in love. Of course, I do not believe that I had the power in my eleven-year-old mind to pick my sister up out of the depths of depression, but there is no fathomable excuse for forgetting to love, cherish and respect my sister. I will not ask for forgiveness that I have not yet earned, and to this day I am working towards absolution.

It has been several years since my sister has had a violent episode. With therapy, medications, and support from my family, she has grown into an extraordinary person. She has singlehandedly taught me that I am beautiful, strong and smart, and perhaps that is why I dwell so much on my actions during her time of need. I spent a year of my life being scared of my sister, when she was just as scared of herself. Now, I owe most of who I am to her. I have learned everything that I know from Erin, and even though a lot of that comes from a time when we were both victims, I am eternally grateful. I do not have a name for the period of time in which she was violent. I do not have a name for the way that I was taught to love her. I do, however, have a name for the reason that I am who I am today, and that name is Erin.

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Prix jeunes ĂŠcrivains 2015

NIKI QUI A PERDU LA MITAINE

SCHOOL: Jean Vanier TEACHER: Linda Cinelli SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / SHORT STORY

by Craig Allan Element

Grand-maman fait les mitaines pour Niki.

La mitaine tombe.

Les animaux vont dans la mitaine.

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HOLLY

SCHOOL: Jean Vanier TEACHER: Linda Cinelli SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / POEM

by Holland Parker Sutton

Holly est une fille spéciale.

Holly aime les bijoux, Surtout les bracelets.

Ses couleurs préférées sont rose et violet.

Son nom est spécial.

J’aime Holly.

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LES CHATS

SCHOOL: Jean Vanier TEACHER: Linda Cinelli SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / NONFICTION

by Alexandra Kivell

Les chats sont adorables.

Les chats sont petits, moyens et grands.

Les chats sont gris, bruns, noirs et blancs.

Les chats habitent à la maison et dehors.

Les chats aiment manger, dormir et jouer.

Est-ce que tu as besoin d’un chat ?

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UN JOUR…

SCHOOL: St. Theresa TEACHER: Monigue Lebel SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sandro Zimbalatti UNIT: Nipissing Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Linda Gordon GRADES 1-2 / SHORT STORY

by Maeve Elsey

Un jour Jake veut aller jouer avec quelqu’un mais pas avec Maddie, sa sœur, parce qu’elle brise toujours les choses. Alors il va à la maison de Maggie. Il demande à ses parents, Tara et Bryan, s’il peut aller en premier. Ils ont dit oui. « Au revoir, maman et papa, Jake dit. Quand il arrive à la maison de Maggie, Maddie est là.

—Oh! Maddie tu es ici ! Est-ce que tu veux jouer dehors ? demande Jake. Les filles disent oui.

—Viens avec moi, dit Jake.

—Oui, mais est-ce que tu entends ce son ? dit Maggie.

—Oui, est-ce que c’est un fantôme ? J’ai peur ! dit Jake —Ok, ok, ok, mais j’entends encore le son, dit Maggie.

—Oui, moi aussi. dit Jake. En regardant derrière, ils voient un flocon de neige qui parle.

—Quel est ton nom ? Est-ce que tu es un garçon ou une fille ? demande Maddie.

—Ha, ha, ha, je suis une fille et je m’appelle Suzie, répond le flocon de neige.

—Oh, j’ai peur, dit Maggie.

—Non, non, non je suis un bon flocon de neige.

—Oh, fouf, dit Maggie.

—Je peux t’aider avec le bonhomme de neige, dit Suzie.

—Tu dis que tu veux faire un bonhomme de neige. Ok. » dissent Jake, Maggie, et Maddie ensemble.

Les amis ont joué longtemps et ils ont eu beaucoup de plaisir.

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MARIE

SCHOOL: Loretto TEACHER: Maria de Benedetti SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Colleen Bartolini UNIT: Niagara Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Marie Balanowski GRADES 1-2 / POEM

by Liana Maria Perri

Marie Spéciale et fantastique Aime, Dort, Pense Marie aime Jésus Joseph

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J’AIME MON POISSON

SCHOOL: St. Joseph TEACHER: Tennille Kirkpatrick SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Claire Blahnik UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence GRADES 1-2 / NONFICTION

by Evelyn Gerasimov

J’aime mon poisson parce qu’il fait « glou glou glou ».

Je joue avec lui. Il est violet. Il s’appelle « Poipoi ». Il est petit parce qu’il a six ans comme moi. J’aime mon poisson beaucoup !

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LE MIRACLE DE NOËL

SCHOOL: St. Joseph TEACHER: Lisa Pipe SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Claire Blahnik UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence GRADES 3-4 / SHORT STORY

by Ella Rhiann Harnum

« Pourquoi suis-je dans un magasin ? » dit un petit chaton noir. « Ça fait cinq ans que je suis dans ce magasin. Je veux me trouver une maison avec une famille. » À cinq kilomètres du magasin, une fille qui s’appelle Rebecca veut un chaton pour Noël. Elle ne le dit pas à ses parents mais elle écrit une liste de ce qu’elle veut pour Noël. Un nouveau lutin qui s’appelle Twinkle trouve la liste de Rebecca puis il l’apporte jusqu’au Père Noël. Le Père Noël pense, « Hmmmmm ! Où est-ce que je peux trouver un chaton comme ça ? » Une heure plus tard, le Père Noël regarde la note du chaton noir qui l’avait écrit qu’il voulait vivre dans une maison avec une famille. Alors le Père Noël a donné le chaton noir à Rebecca et elle l’a nommé Mitaine. Depuis ce jour-là, Rebecca et Mitaine sont des meilleurs amis.

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J’AIME L’HIVER

SCHOOL: St. Gregory the Great TEACHERS: Angela Musso/Franca Ciccolini SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: John Ricci UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 3-4 / POEM

by Tatiana Rountes

Quand automne s’en va, L’hiver bientôt arrivera.

La neige blanche tombe partout, Et moi, je mets ma tuque.

Il fait froid et je dois mettre mon manteau.

Quelques fois j’aime aussi boire du chocolat chaud.

Les enfants aiment faire du patinage, Du toboggan et jouer au hockey.

Moi, j’aime surtout jouer dehors avec mes amis.

Faire un bonhomme de neige, c’est une belle activité.

Moi, j’aime l’hiver, c’est ma saison préférée.

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LA PUISSANCE DE LANGUE

SCHOOL: St. Nicholas TEACHER: Angela Vitorino SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lori McKenna UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy GRADES 3-4 / NONFICTION

by Fiona Tian Tian MacDougall

Savez-vous quelle langue est parlée le plus souvent au monde ? L’anglais ? Non. Le français ?

Non. L’espagnol ? Non. Permettez-moi de donner la bonne réponse—c’est le Chinois ! Plus de gens parlent chinois que toutes les autres langues dans le monde.

En réalité, environ 20 % de la population mondiale, ou plus d’un milliard de personnes parlent Chinois comme langue maternelle. Je suis l’une d’être eux. J’ai commencé à apprendre le Chinois depuis que je suis née. Je dois être honnête avec vous- le Chinois est très difficile à apprendre.

En fait, je suis 50 % chinoise parce que ma mère parle chinois, mais mon père est un peu francophone.

Le chinois est une langue avec 4 tons qui a des différentes significations données à un mot. Par exemple en chinois : « mā » signifie la mère en Français, « má » signifie chanvre, « mǎ » signifie un cheval et « mà» signifie fâché. Est-ce que c’est une confusion ? Ce n’est rien en comparaison aux chinois écrit. Le chinois écrit est considéré comme le plus long système d’écriture utilisée dans le monde et peut être tracée il y a 3 500 années.

Contrairement à l’anglais et le français, il n’a pas d’alphabet, il est plutôt formé de caractères en formes carrés avec de nombreux coups. Pour un grand nombre de caractères, par exemple: 4 000 caractères. J’ai encore un long chemin à faire.

Je suis très fière de parler chinois. L’été dernier, je suis allée en Chine avec ma mère pour rendre visite à mon grand-père. Il m’a offert un emploi comme caissière au dépanneur de mon grand-père parce que je parle chinois très bien. J’ai dit Bonjour à mes clients, j’ai répondu à toutes leurs questions et j’ai pris l’argent chinois qui s’appelle « Reminbi ». J’ai même eu à manipuler une caisse enregistreuse avec des boutons chinois. À la fin de mon travail, mon paiement était de choisir des boissons et des collations pour remplir mon sac. J’ai été très bien payée. Mon Chinois m’a aidé à obtenir mon premier travail dans ma vie.

Récemment, une nouvelle fille qui arrive de Corée du sud est venue dans notre classe. Elle est

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entièrement nouvelle au Canada. Elle parle chinois. Quand elle a besoin d’aide avec son anglais, je suis capable de traduire les mots d‘anglais à Chinois pour elle. Mon chinois m’a aidé à faire une nouvelle amie d’un autre pays du monde.

J’aime apprendre le chinois. Il m’aide à comprendre la culture de sa racine et m’aide à avoir un meilleur rapport avec les gens partout dans le monde. Pour moi, il contribue certainement à apprendre l’anglais et français.

LE CHINOIS EST PUISSANT !

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MON ADOPTION

SCHOOL: St. Nicholas TEACHER: Angela Vitorino SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lori McKenna UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy GRADES 5-6 / NONFICTION

by Quinn Lang

En Chine, il y a une loi. La loi est la suivante : vous pouvez avoir seulement un enfant. Beaucoup de familles ont des garçons parce que le fils aide ses parents quand ils deviennent plus âgés.

Beaucoup de filles vont au Canada parce qu’au Canada il y a l’égalité de droit. Chaque année, il y a des milliers de filles qui sont adoptées. Je suis une de ces filles.

Je suis née à Guangchang, en Chine, mais j’habite à Waterloo. J’ai été adoptée quand j’avais 11 mois. Mes parents ont voyagé en Chine, en 2004. L’orphelinat où j’habitais est à Guangchang.

J’étais sous-alimentée quand mes parents m’ont adopté et j’étais très petite pour mon âge.

Avec moi il y a 10 autres filles qui sont aussi nées à Guangchang. Six familles se réunissent pour célébrer les vacances Chinois et Canadien. Par exemple, nous célébrons Noël, mais aussi, nous célébrons aussi le nouvel an chinois et le festival de la lune, j’ai un lien spécial avec mes amis dans ce groupe. Elles sont comme moi, parce que nous sommes nées à Guangchang et nous somme adoptées. Un autre lien est-ce que nous sommes toutes nées à la fin de mars et d’avril.

C’est difficile de ne pas connaître mes parents biologiques. Quelquefois je me demande qui sont mes parents biologiques ? Quelquefois je me demande pourquoi est-ce que mes parents biologiques n’ont pas voulu du moi ? Je ne sais pas pourquoi. Mais, au Canada il y a beaucoup d’opportunités et en Chine je ne peux pas jouer au futbol.

Le côté positif de mon adoption est que j’ai une sœur que je n’aurai jamais eu si je n’avais pas été adoptée. Ma sœur aussi est adoptée en Chine. Elle est très comique et intéressante. J’ai les meilleurs parents qui sont très magnifiques et spéciaux. J’ai mes amis et ma famille, qui sont très importants pour moi et très gentils aussi.

Une autre partie qui est très importante est l’école. J’aime l’école beaucoup parce que j’aime les sujets que j’étudie. Par exemple, j’aime les mathématiques et les sciences.

En conclusion, j’ai de la chance avec ma famille. Mes amis qui sont très magnifiques et des opportunités spéciales. Je suis très contente d’avoir été adoptée ! Merci d’avoir lu mon histoire.

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LES ANIMAUX

SCHOOL: St. Joseph, Oakville TEACHER: Jeanneda Saulnier SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Angela Rzazewski UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Nina March GRADES 5-6 / POEM

by Audrey Seatle

Oh là là, les animaux !

Comme je les aime Ils sont très beaux, Ils ne sont pas les mêmes.

Mais comme j’ai dit, Je les aime!

Les animaux peuvent êtres sales.

Quelquefois ils sont gloutons, Et parfois ils font mal.

Oui, je sais Ils ne sont pas parfaits, Mais je pense qu’ils sont mignons.

Les animaux peuvent manger du garçon, Ou peut-être des fruits.

Les girafes mangent des feuilles.

Et peut-être j’ai tort, Mais cette nourriture les rend forts.

Les vaches marchent sur quatre jambes.

Les baleines ne marchent pas.

Les flamants restent sur une jambe.

Et les guépards peuvent courir là-bas.

Les chats, les chiens et les chevaux.

Ce sont tous des animaux !

Mais celle qui est la plus belle Est ma chienne.

Mignonne est-elle.

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LE PIANO HANTÉ

SCHOOL: Good Shephard TEACHER: Ghislaine Trépanier SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Margot Canough UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Beth Dowe GRADES 5-6 / SHORT STORY

by Jessie Fournier

Ma famille et moi restons dans une belle cabane sur l’île mystérieuse. Nous sommes les seules personnes sur l’île en plus d’une vieille dame qui s’appelle Mme Couchette. Mon frère veut explorer l’île et mes parents ont dit oui. Mes parents, Adam et moi allons pour une longue promenade autour de l’île mystérieuse. C’était très amusant alors nous sommes restés dehors toute la journée. Nous avons regardé les étoiles qui brillent dans le ciel. J’aime observer les constellations comme la grande Ourse et Andromède. Quand nous sommes retournés à notre cabane en bois, nous avons entendu un son qui provenait de notre salle de séjour. Le son entendu était comme un piano qui joue mais toute la famille était dehors. « C’est probablement juste Mme Couchette. » Dit ma mère. Mais quand nous sommes entrés dans la salle il n’y avait personne qui jouait.

C’était très mystérieux, il n’y a pas Mme Couchette qui joue sur votre vieux piano. Il n’y a pas personnel là. « C’est un fantôme. Dit mon frère d’une voix hantée.

—Le piano n’est pas hanté, dit mon père.

—Comment le savez-vous ? demande mon petit frère, Adam.

—C’est simple parce qu’il n’y a pas de fantôme. Il n’existe pas. répond ma très jolie mère.

—Oh regarde l’heure ! C’est onze heures trente, dit mon père, —Ahh ! Je veux résoudre le mystère du piano hanté.

—Tu peux le résoudre demain. » Après mon frère et moi sommes allés dormir et mes parents sont allés dans leur chambre pour regarder les nouvelles à la télévision. Encore une fois, j’ai entendu la même chanson qui provenait du piano. Bizarre, je pense.

Quand j’ai dormi, j’ai rêvé que j’étais le très connu Sherlock Holmes. C’est un très, très bon détective qui résous toutes ces énigmes difficiles comme des meurtres. Dans ce cas-ci, Mme Couchette était morte de façon criminelle et je ne peux pas trouver les indices pour expliquer qui a tué la très gentille madame. Mais j’ai trouvé les petits morceaux de fromage cheddar qui mènent au piano. J’ai pensé que l’horrible meurtre de la belle Mme Couchette était vrai car le rêve semblait tellement réaliste. Quand je me suis réveillé en sursaut à six heures trente, j’ai entendu Mme YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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Couchette qui parlait avec ma mère. Ouf ! Je pense. Je suis allé dans la cuisine et j’ai mangé les délicieuses crêpes avec du sirop d’érable. Adam s’est réveillé à sept heures et il veut chercher le fantôme. J’ai besoin de l’attendre pour chercher les indices. Mon frère est finalement prêt et il a mangé son déjeuner. En premier, nous avons cherché autour du piano mais nous n’avons pas trouvé les indices. Après, Adam a regardé les murs pour les maques ou des empreintes et il n’a rien trouvé. Nous avons cherché dehors autour de la cabane mais encore une fois, nous n’avons pas trouvé les indices. Maintenant je me rappelle que mon père nous a déjà dit qu’il y a un très, très petit trou sur le côté droit de la cabane. Quand nous avons cherché l’endroit précis où se trouve le trou nous sommes ensuite allés dans la cabane pour constater qu’il mène au salon ou se trouve le piano. « Est-ce que nous pouvons arrêter notre recherche ? gémit Adam.

—Pour maintenant oui mais ce soir nous allons rester dans le salon pour voir qu’est-ce qui se passe avec le piano. » J’ai répondu.

Nous avons attendu la soirée en jouant au badminton et au football. « Finalement c’est nuit. » dit Adam avec impatience. Quand nous sommes entrés dans la cabane nous avons entendu la musique qui joue. Encore cette petite mélodie venant du piano. Je sais que mes parents ne jouent pas parce qu’ils sont allés chez Mme Couchette pour diner. Mon frère et moi avons couru le plus vite possible en direction du piano. Il n’y a pas d’autres indices autour du piano. » Aide-moi à lever le partie supérieure du piano. » J’ai dit. J’ai oublié les mots que mes parents m’ont enseignés parce que je suis très excité. Adam m’aide et nous regardons dans le piano. « Regarde ici. dit Adam.

—Oh très intéressant c’est un très, très vieux piano, » j’ai répondu.

Notre piano dans la cabane est du type où tu peux mettre les notes de musique dans une pièce circulaire et quand tu la tournes la musique joue pour toi. « Regarde. Oh. Ils sont très mignons. » Mon frère a dit. J’ai regardé ou il a pointé son doigt et j’ai vu les petites souris qui étaient en action. Une des souris court dans l’objet circulaire et la musique commence à jouer comme par magie. « Ca c’est très adorable. » Adam a dit. « Maintenant, nous avons résolu le mystère du piano hanté. » dis-je.

Je suis très contente que notre piano et notre cabane ne soient pas hantés. Nous avons pris les souris dans nos mains et quand nos parents sont revenus nous leur avons montré les souris qui s’exécutent. « Est-ce que nous pouvons les adopter ? » demande Adam. Mon père a répondu « oui » pour mon plus grand plaisir. Avec un grand sourire, Adam a décidé de la nommer la souris qui court, Bolt.

Mon frère et moi sommes allés dormir très excités des évènements de la journée. J’ai rêvé encore mais cette fois j’ai rêvé aux animaux très mignons que nous avons adoptés. La nuit était très

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longue parce que je voulais voir Bolt et les autres souris. Quand je me suis réveillée, Adam était déjà dans la salle de séjour et on a joué avec nos nouveaux animaux de compagnie. Quand nous avons mangé ce matin, mon père avait une mauvaise nouvelle. Il a dit que son patron l’a appelé et qu’il a besoin d’aller au travail demain. La mauvaise nouvelle est qu’on doit retourner à la maison tout de suite. Ma mère a décidé que l’on doit laisser les souris en liberté car nous avons un gros chat qui s’appelle Minou chez nous. Nous sommes très fâchés car hier mes parents avaient dit oui. Quand nous avons laissé les souris, j’ai vu un renard près de la cabane et j’ai eu peur pour la sécurité des souris. « Maman on ne peut pas laisser les souris. Il y a un renard qui rode à côté de la cabane ! » —On a besoin de partir maintenant! » dit mon père.

Adam et moi étions très tristes mais on a laissé les souris en liberté. Après, nous sommes montés dans la voiture pour partir. Quand la voiture est sortie du chemin, j‘ai vu le renard attaquer une des souris. On non ! Après j’ai vu encore le renard attaquer une souris mais cette fois c’était Bolt ! Je ne sais pas ce qui s’est passé avec Bolt parce que nous avons tourné au virage mais je pense qu’il a couru loin du renard. J’espère que oui.

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INÉGALITÉ DES SEXES

SCHOOL: St. Joseph, Cambridge TEACHER: Nathalie Leduc SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Nancy Montes UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy GRADES 7-8 / NONFICTION

by Holly McKenzie

Pouvez-vous imaginer une vie où les femmes n’ont pas le droit de conduire les voitures ou les bicyclettes dans les rues publiques et n’ont pas le droit de quitter la maison sans un voile et la permission de leur mari ? L’inégalité des sexes est un problème grave en particulier pour les femmes. Etre une femme ne devrait pas être une raison de nous refuser une éducation.

Il ne faut pas être une motivation a me paye un revenu inférieur qu’un homme, et bien sûr il ne devrait pas être une raison pour moi d’avoir besoin de cacher mon visage. Les femmes autour du monde ont honte à cause de leur sexe; elles sont dénigrées à cause du fait qu’elles sont des femmes.

Ma question est pourquoi ? Pourquoi est-ce que les gens croient que ce n’est pas grave de faire des distinctions et de sous-estimer les femmes simplement parce qu’elles sont des femmes ?

Pourquoi est-ce que les gens exploitent les femmes parce qu’elles sont considérées comme « faibles » ? Ce discours va adresser le manque d’attention portée sur l’injustice de l’égalité entre les hommes et les femmes.

En moyenne deux femmes par semaine sont tuées par leur compagnon ou ex-compagnon au Royaume-Uni. La violence envers les femmes comprend les sévices sexuels, les violences conjugales, le harcèlement et la traite des femmes et des filles. La violence contre les femmes peut être causée par beaucoup de choses comme : ne pas obéir à leur mari, répondre à son mari, refuser les rapports sexuels, ne pas avoir le repas prêt à l’heure, négliger les enfants, questionner un homme à propos de ses amies ou de l’argent et enfin utiliser l’argent sans permission. Battre ou tuer les femmes pour aucun raison n’est pas acceptable à mes yeux ou même au Canada.

Les femmes représentent soixante pourcent de la population pauvre du monde. Il est estimé que les femmes gagnent soixante-seize centimes pour chaque dollar gagné par un homme pour réaliser la même tâche. Une partie de cette disparité de revenus peut être expliquée par le fait que plus souvent que les hommes, les femmes choisissent les emplois à faible revenu parce que ces

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emplois ont moins d’heures de travail, donc les femmes peuvent rentrer à la maison pour prendre soin de leurs enfants et leur mari.

Cette explication de la disparité des revenus découvre le terme « employée de col rose ». Une « employée de col rose » est un terme pour attribuer les emplois différents comme une serveuse, une infirmière, une enseignante ou une secrétaire au sexe féminin. C’est basé sur les stéréotypes que les femmes sont plus réconfortantes et attentionnées que les hommes donc elles ne travaillent pas sur des postes comme la construction. Bien que ce terme explique pourquoi les femmes travaillent à des niveaux inférieurs que les hommes sont moins payés, ça n’explique pas pourquoi les femmes qui travaillent aux positions supérieures que les hommes sont aussi payées moins.

C’est pourtant le cas. Cela n’a pas de sens. Et ce n’est pas juste.

Dans le passé, les femmes n’ont pas eu le droit de vote, mais en 1920 les femmes ont pris position et ont enfin gagné le droit de voter. Cela démontre comment peu à peu il est possible de faire progresser la société concernant l’égalité des droits.

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NOËL EN FAMILLE

SCHOOL: Notre Dame TEACHER: Ewa Molenda SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Gabrielle Porco UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald GRADES 7-8 / PLAY

by Morgan Hoppe

C’est la veille de Noël. Julie et Marie sont dans le salon.

JULIE :

Que faites-vous ?

MARIE :

Ma sœur Lexi et moi nous emballons les cadeaux et nous nous habillons bien pour la nuit. Nous allons chez l’oncle Pat et la tante Sherrie.

JULIE:

Est-ce que vous y allez pour le dîner ?

MARIE : Oui, on va dîner ensemble et on va échanger des cadeaux. Puis on va jouer ensemble.

JULIE:

Avec qui vas-tu jouer ?

MARIE :

D’habitude, je joue avec ma sœur Lexi et mes cousins Luke, Olivia et Isabelle.

Nous aimons jouer à cache-cache. Nous jouons aussi avec nos petits cousins Jack, Owen, Chase et Leanne.

JULIE:

Où est Kristina ?

MARIE :

Elle est chez sa maman. Elle va venir chez nous demain.

JULIE :

A quelle heure est-ce que vous retournez à la maison ?

MARIE :

Apres minuit.

JULIE :

C’est tard. Vous allez être très fatiguées.

MARIE :

Julie, avant d’aller au lit nous mettons des cadeaux devant la cheminée. Nous mettons un grand verre de chocolat au lait et des biscuits sur la table basse pour le

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Père Noel. Il faut aussi préparer des carottes pour les rennes.

JULIE :

Vous préparez des carottes pour les rennes ?

MARIE :

Mais oui. C’est notre tradition.

JULIE :

Joyeux Noel, Marie !

MARIE :

Joyeux Noel Julie !

Le jour de Noel. Tout le monde se réveille. Les enfants vont voir les parents.

MARIE :

Regardez ! Les chaussettes sont pleines de nos bonbons et chocolats préférés. Il y a des cadeaux tout le monde. Kristina et les invités vont venir chez nous. J’adore passer Noël en famille.

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LES HUMAINS MÉCHANTS

SCHOOL: St. Joseph, Oakville TEACHER: Angela Rzazewski SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Angela Rzazewski UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Nina March GRADES 7-8 / POEM

by Katja Lee

J’étais une vraie beauté, admirable pour tous les yeux.

Comme le vibrant soleil qui brille pendant des heures.

J’étais le sujet de nombreux poèmes.

L’image de perfection et de beauté.

La seule chose qui était délicate au monde.

J’avais un remarquable talent, mais maintenant il disparu Tout ce qui était pur et simple est contaminé et perdu.

J’étais généreuse, en fournissant plusieurs faveurs et cadeaux Ils les ont agrippés. Sans un mot de gratitude.

Ils m exploitent pour tout ce qui était mien Ils m’abiment de façons que personne ne peut imaginer Détruire tout ce que j’ai eu et construit Ne jamais penser à ce qu’ils avaient fait.

Ils disent que je suis responsable de la mort de plusieurs personnes.

Mais ils ne savent pas, que je ne suis pas en faute.

Le seul coupable est celui qui a laissé ça arriver.

Ils commencent à m’oublier, en me laissant dans la poussière.

Les distractions ont bloqué l’importance Comme un mur de briques solide et permanent.

Il était trop tard et il n’y avait pas d’Esperance Je suis la Nature et les humains sont méchants.

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UNE FILLE AVEC UNE PARAPLUIE

SCHOOL: St. Joseph, Oakville TEACHER: Angela Rzazewski SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Angela Rzazewski UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Nina March GRADES 7-8 / SHORT STORY

by Reina Habesch

Il y était une fois, une très simple fille avec un très simple parapluie bleu. Elle n’avait pas d’ami, seulement son parapluie bleu. Chaque jour, elle se préparait pour aller dehors et elle prenait son parapluie bleu. Même s’il neigeait ou si c’était un très beau jour, elle le prenait. Tous ceux qui voyaient cette fille avec son parapluie bleu, pensaient qu’elle était très bizarre, elle marchait seule toujours et parfois elle se parlait. La fille avec son parapluie bleu était réputée pour être un peu folle.

L’année passée elle a sauté dans la rivière du village, trois fois et à chaque fois que les auxiliaires venaient pour la sauver elle leur disait qu’elle nageait dans le Nil avec des crocodiles. Une autre fois la fille avec le parapluie a dansé dehors pendant trois heures sous la pluie. Elle disait qu’elle dansait avec les oiseaux dans la forêt tropicale.

Personne ne savait ce qui se passait dans sa tête. La fille avec le parapluie bleu ne croyait pas aux téléphones, elle pensait qu’ils interrompaient l’aventure. Alors, sa famille devait toujours lui rendre visite pour dire des choses importantes.

Il y avait une mauvaise chose dans sa vie, elle ne travaillait pas et elle perdait son argent très vite.

Elle décidait de demander à ses parents un peu d’argent, mais ils n’aimaient pas ses jeux qui la distrayaient. Ils disaient que la seule condition pour lui donner de l’argent était si elle se Marie à un homme sérieux qui avait un travail sérieux. Donc elle s’est mariée avec un homme qui n’aimait pas les aventures.

Ils vivaient ensemble. L’homme sérieux comme toutes les autres personnes n’avait pas compris pourquoi la fille avec le parapluie bleu était « imaginative ». Il décidait de la transformer en une fille plus normale. Il donnait à sa femme des tâches qu’elle devait faire pour occuper tout son temps afin qu’elle ne rêve pas, comme aller faire une course ou cuisiner. Mais à chaque fois elle utilisait son imagination.

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Quand elle devait faire une course chez l’épicier la fille avec le parapluie bleu faisait semblant d’être dans une course d’auto.

L’homme devenait frustré. Alors, il choisissait de faire quelque chose que personne n’avait jamais fait. Il demandait simplement pourquoi elle faisait toujours des bouffonneries. Tout le monde assumait qu’elle était folle, alors il ne demandait pas pourquoi elle était dans un autre monde.

La fille a répondu : « Quand j’étais petite j’ai vu les adultes, qui n’étaient pas contents et très souligné et qui avaient toujours des problèmes. Je suis contente chaque jour et je vie ma vie au maximum. »

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LES HISTOIRES DU SOIR

SCHOOL: Father Bressani TEACHER: Biagio Aulino SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Wendy Hofstatter UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald GRADES 7-8 / POEM

by Teodora Marginean

Chaque soir, dans mon lit, ma mère me raconte des histoires, Je dévore tous les mots et mes yeux s’éclairent comme des étoiles.

Ma chambre devient un monde mystique et plein d’aventures, Je voyage dans les pages et je peins mon propre univers par l’écriture.

Mon favori est le conte avec les pirates fanfarons et leurs vaisseaux, Je suis le capitaine, je barre entre les vagues, les roches, et les tourteaux.

La couverture devient le sac pour le butin et les trésors, Le parfum de l’océan m’encercle et j’entends les oiseaux dans l’essor.

Hier, ma mère a narré une histoire avec des chevaliers courageux, Mon pyjama s’est transformé en une armure luxueuse.

Je n’avais plus de peluche, mais un vrai cheval vaillant, J’ai battu un dragon tonnant et écailleux avec mon épée puissante.

Aujourd’hui, je vole à toute vitesse dans une fusée dans l’espace, La lampe de chevet est comme le soleil, et je peux toucher la surface.

Je visite toutes les planètes connues ; elles sont très majestueuses, Tout à coup : une soucoupe volante ! Quelle observation mystérieuse !

Demain, je veux voir des lutins dans l’atelier du Père Noël, Mon lit va être le traineau et la neige va presque sembler réelle.

Je vais boire du chocolat chaud et manger des biscuits, Et puis, je vais faire une promenade en traineau dans la nuit.

Les histoires ne s’arrêtent pas avec le sommeil, Mais elles continuent dans mes rêves, Et quand je me réveille, je dis adieu à mes amis, Tous les pirates, les chevaliers et les lutins.

Ils se couchent dans les pages des livres et s’endorment.

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UN TRÉSOR INESTIMABLE

SCHOOL: Bishop Allen TEACHER: Mirela Leopold SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Andrew MacDonald UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dave Szollosy GRADES 9-10 / SHORT STORY

by Magdalena Kajo

Je suis née à Tirana, la capitale de l’Albanie. J’ai vécu là jusqu’à l’âge de cinq ans parce qu’en 2005, ma famille et moi avons immigré à Toronto. Je me souviens de ma cousine Lola et son père qui est venu nous chercher à l’aéroport Pearson. Quand Lola a essayé de me parler en anglais, je ne l’ai pas comprise puisque je ne parlais que l’albanais. Quand je pense à Tirana maintenant, je me souviens de petites choses comme mon ancienne maison en plein milieu du centre-ville, les terrains de jeux, la plage pendant l’été, mes cousins et les promenades du soir, où je tenais les mains de mes parents, sous les étoiles. Il y a différentes communautés ethniques partout dans la ville. Il a aussi une meilleure infrastructure, des gratte-ciels et un meilleur système de transport. Quand ma famille et moi sommes allés à la tour CN, c’était une expérience magnifique parce qu’elle est la tour la plus haute que nous n’ayons jamais vu ! De plus, la première fois que nous avons pris le métro souterrain, c’était une chose fascinante parce qu’il n’y en a pas un à Tirana. La densité de la population à Toronto est aussi impressionnante parce que c’est presque six fois plus grand que la densité de la population à Tirana. Mais, le climat au Canada est plus froid qu’en Albanie puisque l’Albanie est située à bord la méditerranée.

Cependant, la plus grande différence et barrière pour moi a été que les personnes parlent anglais et français à Toronto, non pas l’albanais. Quand j’ai commencé la 1ère année, je n’ai pas compris pourquoi il fallait aller à l’école parce que je ne parlais pas anglais et je ne pouvais pas comprendre mon enseignante ni les autres enfants. Donc, mon enseignante m’a inscrite à un cours d’été pour mieux apprendre l’anglais. Je l’ai appris vite en le pratiquant chaque jour avec les autres enfants et en regardent les émissions télévisés. En 3ième année, j’apprenais l’anglais si bien que j’en avais oublié comment parler l’albanais. Mais, mes parents ne m’ont jamais laissé oublier mon héritage et ils m’ont toujours dit que connaitre des langues étrangères est un trésor inestimable. Donc pendant tout l’été, ma mère m’a enseigné comment lire, écrire et parler l’albanais. Cela m’a bien servi parce que je peux parler couramment à mes cousins qui ne connaissent pas l’anglais. En 5ième année, mes parents m’ont inscrite au programme de français intensif à l’école. Au début, c’était très difficile parce que tout de suite la moitié de mes cours ont été en français et mes parents ne pouvaient pas m’aider parce qu’ils ne parlaient pas le français. Cependant puisque je parlais l’albanais et l’anglais, apprendre une troisième langue n’était pas aussi difficile pour moi que les autres enfants qui ne parlaient que l’anglais. De plus, il y a quelques mots en albanais qui 114

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ont le même sens en français comme « plage » ou « trottoir », donc cela la rendait un peu plus facile pour moi.

Mon parcours de langues est formidable. En ce moment, je parle l’albanais (ma langue maternelle) et l’anglais couramment. Je parle bien le français et en continuant le programme de français intensif, j’espère le parler couramment à l’avenir. J’aimerais continuer mes études linguistiques à l’université ou j’aimerais apprendre l’italien et l’espagnol aussi. Les langues sont avantageuse pour ma carrière future, mais je les aime aussi parce qu’elles me fascinent. C’est une merveilleuse chose d’aller à l’étranger et d’être capable de communiquer avec les locaux. Elle est utile pour ne pas se perdre, mais aussi parce que c’est un symbole de respect pour les résidents en ayant pris du temps pour apprendre leur langue. Normalement, ils vous souhaiteront la bienvenue.

Comme enfant d’immigrés, j’ai vu comment mes parents ont travaillé fort pour améliorer notre quotidien. Donc, ça me pousse à travailler fort pour qu’ils soient fiers de moi et pour qu’ils sachent que leurs efforts n’ont pas été vains. Je suis vraiment chanceuse de grandir à Toronto ou j’ai des occasions infinies pour accumuler autant de connaissance que possible. Mais comme mes parents disent toujours, parler les langues étrangères est un trésor inestimable.

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LES DAUPHINS DE TAIJI

SCHOOL: Bishop Allen TEACHER: Julie Buljan SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Andrew MacDonald UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dave Szollosy GRADES 9-10 / NONFICTION

by Emily Sodhi

Vous souvenez-vous d’être allez a Seaworld, Marineland ou MarineWorld ? Là, on admire les orques qui font des sauts époustouflants et les dauphins avec leur sourire contagieux. Avez-vous déjà songé à ce qui se passait dans les coulisses ? Ils sont enfermés dans des petits espaces.

Ils en deviennent tellement tristes qu’on doit les droguer. Si vous croyez que cela est terrible, attendez d’apprendre comment des milliers de dauphins de cette même espèce sont tués chaque année !

Si jamais vous allez à Taiji, au Japon, vous penserez qu’il s’agit d’une ville où l’on vénère les dauphins.

On voit des monuments et des statues de dauphins à chaque coin de rue, mais ce n’est absolument pas le cas !

Quand les dauphins passent par la cote de taiji, les pécheurs les entourent avec une vingtaine de bateaux et les forcent vers une crique en frappant des marteaux sous l’eau pour leur faire peur.

Une fois arrivés dans la crique, les dauphins y sont enfermés pour la nuit. Le lendemain matin, les pécheurs reviennent accompagnés d’entraineurs d’aquariums, comme Seaworld et Marineland, venus sélectionner les futurs dauphins de spectacle. Chaque Dauphin vendu rapporte $ 150 000. Les dauphins qui n’ont pas été choisis sont menés de l’autre côté de la crique à l’abri des regards. Là, ils sont massacrés ! Les pécheurs prétendent tuer les dauphins d’un coup, mais en vérité ils prennent leur temps pour voir les cétacés souffrir. L’eau de la crique une fois bleue claire, prend une teinte rouge opaque de sang de dauphin. Sadique, ne trouvez-vous pas ?

Et que font-ils avec tous ces dauphins assassinés ? Ils vendent leur viande aux supermarchés pour une somme alléchante de $ 600 ! Etiez-vous au courant que la chair des dauphins contient une très haute quantité de mercure, jusqu’à environ 100 ppm (parties par million), l’élément non-radioactif le plus toxique au monde. Il est recommandé de seulement manger des poissons qui contiennent moins que 1 ppm de mercure. Chez les humains, le mercure cause le minamata, une maladie qui engendre des déformations ; des oreilles qui n’entendent pas, des yeux qui ne voient pas. Elle peut même susciter la mort ! A date, 12 617 personnes ont été affectées du minamata au Japon et ce nombre ne cesse d’augmenter. Pourquoi ces pauvres bougres en consomment-ils ? La viande de dauphin est vendue dans des paquets qui indiquent que c’est de 116

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la viande de baleines. Non seulement ils vendent cette viande toxique aux supermarchés, mais ils en vendent aussi aux spectacles de dauphins au Marineland de Taiji. Donc, tu peux manger du dauphin pendant que tu en regardes d’autres faire des spectacles !

Actuellement, la Commission Baleinière Internationale, également connue sous le sigle CWI, a mis en place une loi qui protège 9 des 80 espèces de cétacés, toutes des espèces de baleines. Ils ont aussi mis en place une loi qui interdit de tuer des baleines pour le plaisir. Malgré cela, l’année suivante, les Japonais ont multiplié les massacres de dauphins et de baleines par 3 !

Il est pourtant peu vraisemblable que les pécheurs de Taiji renoncent à cette pratique. Chaque année, les pécheurs ont l’occasion de chasser des milliers de dauphins. Le meurtre annuel commence en septembre et se termine en mai. Comment rester insensible à ces actes inhumains contre des êtres vivants doux, paisibles et qui ne nuisent nullement à l’environnement ? Jusqu’où ira l’homme au nom de la convoitise, et du matérialisme ? Mettons fin à ce carnage !

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C’EST TROP TARD

SCHOOL: St. Robert TEACHER: Marylisa Castelli SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Don Devine UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 11-12 / SHORT STORY

by Eliora Wee

Le nom de mon frère était Antoine. Il était grand et nous partagions des caractéristiques similaires.

Des joues potelées, les cheveux bruns et les yeux perçants. Antoine et moi étions comme tous les autres frères et sœurs. Nous avions toujours des disputes qui devaient être résolus avec l’aide de nos parents. Par exemple, nous nous battions pour la télécommande de la télévision. Il prenait beaucoup de temps dans la salle de bain quand j’avais besoin de me coiffer et me maquiller.

Il faisait de son mieux pour m’agacer et pour m’embarrasser devant mes amies. Antoine semblait être un frère ordinaire, mais il y avait quelque chose qui le distinguait des autres garçons de son âge : il était autiste.

L’autisme est le résultat d’un trouble neurologique. L’impact sur le cerveau affecte les habiletés de communication et d’interaction sociale de la personne. Généralement, les personnes autistes ont des difficultés telles que le contact visuel avec les autres personnes ou se faire des amis.

Cependant, chaque personne autiste est différente et a des forces et faiblesses différentes. Si on voyait Antoine se promener dans la rue, on n’aurait jamais deviné qu’il était autiste jusqu’à ce qu’il parle. Sa voix était comme celle d’une personne de dessin animé et il parlait lentement. Ses phrases étaient toujours très courtes et directes. Parfois, pendant une conversation, Antoine était comme un perroquet. Il répétait des mots et des expressions au hasard qu’il avait entendus dire des autres personnes ou d’une émission de télévision. Il fallait beaucoup de patience pour communiquer avec Antoine, même pour sa famille.

Je voyais beaucoup de gens se moquer de mon frère sans qu’il le sache. Quand j’étais avec lui, j’observais toujours comment les gens autour de lui se comportaient et ceci brisait mon cœur.

Maintenant, dans notre société, les personnes handicapées sont toujours méprisés de nombreuses personnes. Ce n’est pas juste parce que ce sont aussi des êtres humains, et ne méritent pas ce traitement.

Bien qu’il soit autiste, Antoine sentait le bonheur, l’amour, la tristesse et d’autres émotions, mais il ne pouvait pas les exprimer. Il avait également un talent exceptionnel. Si on lui donnait une date, il serait capable de dire en quelques secondes le jour de la semaine qui correspond à cette date.

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Cependant, les gens considéraient Antoine comme « enfant attarde » ou « gars bizarre ». J’étais toujours gênée de la personne qui devait être mon frère ainé.

Un lundi après-midi, quand mes parents sont rentrés chez nous rois heures en avance, je sentais que quelque chose n’allait pas bien. La maison était complètement silencieuse. Le visage de maman était taché de larmes et mon père n’avait aucune expression sur son visage. « Stéphanie » m’a-t-elle dit, comme un murmure, « votre frère a eu un accident, il est décédé » Ma mère a éclaté en larmes et mon père a commencé à montrer une certaine tristesse sur son visage. Je n’ai pu ni parler ni pleurer. Je ne pouvais pas croire qu’il était vraiment mort.

Au cours des semaines qui suivaient la mort d’Antoine, je suis passé à travers un énorme sentiment de chagrin. J’étais convaincue que j’étais toujours embarrassée des comportements d’Antoine et pour cette raison, j’étais une personne horrible. Je voulais reprendre tous les moments où je souhaitais avoir un frère « normal ». Ce qui me faisait sentir encore plus mal c’était que je ne pourrais jamais avoir l’occasion de m’excuser et de dire à Antoine combien j’étais désolée. Je voulais lui dire que j’étais si piteuse de ne pas avoir été une meilleure sœur.

Un des moments les plus difficiles de ma vie c’était assise pendant les funérailles d’Antoine. Non seulement j’étais obligée de dire « au revoir » à mon seul frère, mais j’ai dû m’entourer des gens que j’avais observé se moquer de mon frère. Tout le monde agissait comme s’ils étaient les meilleurs amis d’Antoine. Cependant, la plupart d’entre eux l’avait rencontré seulement une ou deux fois.

Tous ces gens qui avaient jugés mon frère pour son handicap pleuraient sa mort. Cela m’a tellement irritée : on s’intéressait à Antoine seulement après sa mort.

J’ai toujours voulu être un enfant unique, considérant la condition de mon frère autiste. Je suppose que je devrais être heureuse après le décès d’Antoine. J’ai reçu exactement ce que je souhaitais.

Cependant, je ne suis même pas proche du bonheur. Je ne m’étais jamais rendu compte que j’aimais Antoine à ce point. Il m’a rendu meilleure, il m’a appris à être patiente et à trouver le bonheur dans les petites choses de la vie. Je regrette que je n’aie pas chéri les moments que j’avais partagés avec Antoine. Je suis dévastée de ne plus l’avoir dans ma vie. A l’avenir, mes enfants n’auront pas un oncle et Antoine ne sera jamais là pour me voir marcher dans l’allée à mon mariage. Il ne me verra jamais recevoir un diplôme de l’université. C’est vrai qu’on ne réalise pas ce qu’on a jusqu’à ce qu’elle disparaisse.

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ÉCOLE: LES DEVOIRS EN DIX LECONS

SCHOOL: St. Elizabeth TEACHER: Michelle Guinci SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Karen Ebanks UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 11-12 / NONFICTION

by Vanessa Sinagoga

Dans la société d’aujourd’hui, avec plusieurs distractions comme les téléphones cellulaires, internet et même nos propres vies occupées, il est difficile pour les enfants de faire leurs devoirs. Dans l’article, l’auteure s’est concentrée sur les moyens que les parents peuvent impliquer dans la vie de leur enfant pour l’aider à faire ses devoirs. C’est tellement important pour un parent d’être une partie du processus de devoirs. De simples choses comme : un bon environnement et du matériel, être en mesure de répondre aux questions, l’indépendance de l’enfant, et de demander de l’aide quand vous en avez besoin, peuvent vraiment avoir un effet positif sur la qualité des devoirs. Si vous suivez les leçons suivantes, le voyage que vous prenez chaque soir pour finir les devoirs avec votre enfant, serait beaucoup plus facile : 3 Etablissez une routine 3 Fixez des limites 3 Soyez disponible 3 Ne jouez pas au prof 3 Ne faites pas ses devoirs à sa place 3 Laissez-lui le droit à l’erreur 3 Soyez ferme…mais flexible 3 Rendez-le autonome 3 N’hésitez pas à chercher de l’aide 3 Restez en contact avec son professeur Selon, l’auteure de l’article, il y a des bonnes méthodes pour aider votre enfant avec ses devoirs.

En général, elle pense que c’est mieux de laisser l’enfant faire ses devoirs mais s’il a des questions, vous pouvez y répondre. C’est-à-dire, il est bon pour les enfants de faire des fautes. Elle croit qu’il est aussi important d’encourager l’enfant alors il sera confiant de son travail et du résultat final. L’idée principale derrière son raisonnement c’est que le parent doit être impliqué dans la vie de l’enfant ; il faut être intéressé et curieux, mais ne faites pas les devoirs à sa place. Surtout, la chose la plus importante d’après l’auteure c’est que si vous ne pouvez pas aider votre enfant avec ses devoirs, n’hésitez pas à chercher de l’aide ou à contacter son professeur pour plus de renseignements au sujet de ce que vous pouvez faire.

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Moi, je suis d’accord avec l’auteur ; je pense que les astuces qu’elle a proposées sont les meilleures méthodes pour aider votre enfant à faire ses devoirs. Maintenant, je n’ai pas besoin de beaucoup d’aide de mes parents avec mes devoirs. Cependant, quand j’étais petite, ils étaient très attentionnés au sujet de mes devoirs. Sans leurs conseils, leurs encouragements, et les leçons de la vie qu’ils m’ont données, je ne serais pas l’étudiante indépendante que je suis aujourd’hui. Aussi, j’ai un petit frère qui a treize ans et il n’aime pas l’école ni faire ses devoirs… il est très paresseux. Tout le temps, mes parents trouvent qu’il est difficile de l’aider avec ses devoirs. Ils essayent de l’aider comme ils le faisaient avec moi, mais quelque fois, il n’accepte pas l’aide. Peut-être devrais-je leur montrer cet article pour leur donner des idées !

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LA MER

SCHOOL: Senator O’Connor College TEACHER: Andrew Petrolito SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Alex Klymink UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dave Szollosy GRADES 11-12 / PLAY

by Brian Hanratty

Acte I, Scène I (La scène est noire et ROLLAND raconte) Marie Béliveau a quatre-vingts douze ans et elle vit dans la banlieue de Notre-Dame-de-Grace à Montréal. Ses cheveux sont blancs comme la neige, sa peau ridée forme de petites vallées et des collines sur son visage. Son sourire dénote un mélange de chaleur et de vivacité. Elle peut être décrite comme une femme têtue semblable à un an, mais qui possède beaucoup de sagesse, ainsi qu’une histoire poignante. J’étais très privilégié de l’avoir rencontré. (La scène s’éclaire et deux personnes s’assoient à un café) ROLLAND : Bonjour Madame Béliveau, comment allez-vous en cette belle matinée ?

MARIE :

Enchantée, merci, mais qu’est ce qui nous amène ici ?

ROLLAND : Je pensais que cet environnement diffèrent vous aiderait à vous rappeler de vos

souvenirs du passe.

MARIE:

(elle rit) Oh…M.Rolland cela me rappelle seulement mon âge et la brièveté du temps. Je me souviens lorsque cette façade était une usine de colle. Plusieurs bons chevaux ont été abattus ici, même notre chien familial y a poussé son dernier souffle.

ROLLAND: (il la voit avec regret) Comme c’est triste ! J’en suis désole, je ne savais rien de ça.

MARIE:

(avec un sourire) Non, ce n’est pas votre faute. Alors, commençons !

ROLLAND : Oui bien sûr. Comme vous le constater d’après mon message, je suis un report er de

la Gazette et je travaille sur un article depuis le dernier mois. Il parle de la

marginalisation sociale et les conséquences de la pauvreté. J’ai cherché partout

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une personne qui en connait davantage, et j’ai lance alors un coup d’œil dans les documents paroissiaux…

MARIE :

(elle lance un regarde furieux) Arrêtez s’il vous plait. Le passé reste là.

ROLLAND : Je pense que non. Votre famille a été victime à la roulette de la vie. Il y a plusieurs

familles qui partagent votre histoire, mais elles sentent qu’elles sont seules.

MARIE :

(réfléchissant elle prend une petite gorgée de sa tasse de thé) Vous êtes un homme persuasif. D’accord, mais la prochaine tarte, vous allez la payer. (Elle sourit et ROLLAND salue le serveur)

Acte II, Scène I (La scène est noire et la vieille MARIE raconte) La vie était dure pendant la Grande Crise pour une fille de charpentier à la campagne. Mes parents, Josephe et Amelie, ont fait leurs possibles vus les circonstances. J’avais sept ans en ce temps et la plus jeune des cinq si tu inclus le chien Rouquin.

Pierre était le plus vieux avec ses quinze ans, il avait voulu d’être banquier et se faire beaucoup d’argent mais à la fin il est devenu maçon. Margot avait douze ans et était la plus élégante. A l’école tous les garçons l’aiment, mais elle était comme une religieuse: gentille et responsable. Enfin, il y avait mon cher frère Jacques. Il avait dix ans et je me souviendrai toujours de ce jour en juin. (La scène éclaire et MARGOT, MARIE et AMELIE sont dans la maison de leur ferme) AMELIE : Ta sœur grandit de plus en plus chaque jour. Bientôt, j’aurai à coudre une nouvelle robe.

MARGOT : C’est grâce à ta cuisine, Maman.

AMELIE :

(elle rougit) Ohh…Chérie, tu as le don de la flatterie. (PIERRE entre)

PIERRE :

Salut ! Aujourd’hui c’est le paradis, le ciel est très clair avec des nuages gonflés, il y a une brise fraiche, et les canards sont au bord du étang. (il met sa veste sur le cintre)

MARIE :

(aux yeux grands ouverts) Les canards ! Les canards ! Maman, est-ce que je peux voir les canards ?

AMELIE :

Seulement si Margot ou Pierre vont avec toi.

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MARGOT : Ouais, je pourrais cueillir des fleurs. (MARGOT et MARIE partent) PIERRE :

Qu’est-ce que tu fais Maman ?

AMELIE :

Le diner… (JOSEPHE et JACQUES entrent)…Salut ! Mon amoureux tu es pale.

JOSEPHE : J’ai besoin de te parler. Pierre, va jouer avec ton frère.

PIERRE :

Oui Papa. (PIERRE et JACQUES partent)

JOSEPHE : Asseyez-vous ma chère… (Ils s’assoient et se tiennent les mains)…Je ne sais pas

comment te le dire…notre fils…notre garçon…notre trésor…il a une maladie

terrible…sans traitement, il lui reste dix mois…

AMELIE :

(elle pâlit) Non, je ne comprends pas, ce n’est pas possible, cela ne peut pas arriver.

JOSEPHE : Il a dit que le cout pour les traitements est de cinq cents dollars. Nous n’avons pas

même une fraction de ça.

AMELIE :

Nous devons écrire à Monseigneur, peut-être qu’il peut nous aider.

JOSEPHE : J’ai déjà demande. Avec cette crise, il a dit qu’il doute que l’aide viendra.

AMELIE :

Et, crois-tu ses mots ? Tout le monde sait que le vendredi, il dine avec les riches au château. Il pourrait l’obtenir s’il le voulait vraiment !

JOSEPHE: (il se lève) Non, tu mens ! C’est un bon homme, un serviteur de Dieu, il ne nous

abandonnera pas dans un moment de besoin, il ne peut pas ! Nous allons trouver

un moyen. Il le faut !

AMELIE :

(elle pleure) Il y a seulement une solution. Nous devons penser à nos autres enfants.

JOSEPHE : Non ! C’est notre garçon, nous en sommes responsables.

AMELIE :

Oui, tu as raison. Il est notre fils, mais qu’en est-il de Pierre, Margot, et Marie ? Ils sont aussi de notre responsabilité.

JOSEPHE : (il sanglote) Non, non, non. Mon garçon, il ne peut pas mourir.

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AMELIE :

(elle s’étreint) Nous allons lui donner les meilleurs mois de sa vie.

JOSEPHE : Oui, nous allons utiliser nos économies. Nous allons lui dire au revoir en famille. (ils

baissent leurs têtes).

Acte II, Scène II (Plus tard, après le diner MARIE et JACQUES jouent.)

MARIE :

J’en ai assez de ce jeu. Faisons comme les adultes !

JACQUES : (il sourit) D’accord, vas-y d’abord p’tit sœur.

MARIE :

Hmmm….je veux devenir infirmière et travailler au village avec M. Dubois. J’aurais une robe blanche et bleue avec un stéthoscope.

JACQUES : Qu’est-ce qu’un stéthoscope ?

MARIE : J’ai entendu de Claire que M. Dubois l’avait utilisée sur sa grand-mère pour écouter soin cœur.

JACQUES : Oh, je connais ca maintenant ! M. Dubois l’a utilisé sur moi.

MARIE :

(elle lève les sourcils) Oh là là. Quel est le son de ton cœur ?

JACQUES : Comme rouquin lorsqu’il a faim. (ils rient) MARIE :

Alors, que veux-tu être ?

JACQUES : Un enseignant comme Frère Simon !

MARIE :

(elle croise ses bras) Pourquoi ? Je déteste l’école.

JACQUES : Car je recevrais les grandes pommes juteuses des riches chaque semaine et ma

tête sera remplie avec beaucoup de connaissance. Aussi, je pourrai faire échouer les intimidateurs. (il donne un sourit espiègle).

MARIE :

Me ferais-tu échouer ?

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JACQUES : Seulement si tu manges encore mon dessert.

MARIE : (avec un visage coupable) Mais, c’était seulement une fois…peut-être deux.

(JOSEPHE entre) MARIE et JACQUES : Papa !

JOSEPHE : Mes petits chiots, comment ça va ?

MARIE :

Bien, nous faisons comme les adultes. Jacques est un enseignant et je suis in firmière, donc si Jacques tombe malade, je peux l’aider.

JOSEPHE : (il essaye de sourire) Je suis sûr que tu seras une grande infirmière ma précieuse. (Il

lui embrasse sur le front (Mais, en dehors de ces emplois, a quoi rêvez-vous ?

MARIE :

Je ne demande pas beaucoup, peut-être juste plus de nourriture…et pour ne pas aller à l’école. Je n’aime pas Mme. Vachon, elle me fait mal avec sa règle.

JOSEPHE : N’oublies pas que ton éducation te donne du pouvoir. Et, quelquefois on doit

apprendre par le chemin rocailleux que la vie n’est pas facile. (Il regarde à JACQUES) JACQUES : Je veux visiter la mer, seulement la mer.

JOSEPHE : Mon fils, pourquoi la mer ?

JACQUES :

Mes amis m’ont dit que la mer est comme un grand saphir et pleine de poissons, des requins, et des tortues. Les vagues effleurent vos pieds pendant que le sable les chatouille. La mer s’étincelle pendant le coucher du soleil. Je rêve chaque nuit de la mer et comment est parait.

JOSEPHE : Tu veux vraiment aller ?

JACQUES : Oui Papa, s’y je peux.

JOSEPHE : Je vais y penser. (il fait un clin d’œil à JACQUES, MARIE et JACQUES se sourient)

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Acte II, scène III (Cependant le soir, AMELIE et JOSEPHE s’assoient près de la cheminée. MARIE jette un coup d’œil derrière la porte.)

JOSEPHE : Les enfants, sont-ils endormis ?

AMELIE :

Oui (elle tricote)

JOSEPHE : Jacques veut visiter la mer.

AMELIE :

Pourquoi là-bas ?

JOSEPHE : Ses amis lui ont décrit la mer.

AMELIE :

Jacques voit la beauté de la nature.

JOSEPHE : Nous allons y faire un tour pour quelques jours.

AMELIE :

Et, nous allons essayer d’oublier nos soucis. (ils s’assoient en silence)

JOSEPHE :

(il se lève et fais les cent pas) Tout au long de ma vie, j’étais un bon Catholique.

Depuis mon enfance, j’allais le dimanche pour célébrer mes grâces. J’ai essayé de faire des bonnes actions n’importe quand. Je croyais fort à la société avec toute sa structure, sa hiérarchie, sa compassion. Mais, ce n’était qu’une illusion. Ma foi était une blague, Dieu s’est moque de moi. Il aurait pu m’aider, mais il ne l’a pas fait.

AMELIE :

Non, ce n’est pas vrai. Dieu agit de façon mystérieuse.

JOSEPHE : Je suis désolé, mais je perds la foi. Je demande seulement une fois la charité et il

ne répond pas. Dieu est un étranger pour moi.

AMELIE :

Arrête de penser comme cela ! Nous devons tenir notre foi pour les autres enfants.

JOSEPHE : Bien sûr que je suis mécontent ! Toi, tu ne l’es pas ?

AMELIE :

Oui, je suis en colère contre la vie, mais pas avec Dieu. Je crois que le vrai Dieu existe dans chaque personne sincère pendant que le mal est dans les autres. Le monseigneur et les riches avec qui ils dinent, ils sont le problème, ils font du mal dans la société.

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JOSEPHE : (pensivement) Ouais, nous vivons dans les temps maigres, et ces gens égoïstes ne

se soucient pas de leurs besoins de tous les jours comme nous. Ils peuvent

s’asseoir au premier rang et chanter à haute voix les Evangiles et après ils donnent

à l’église pendant que notre fils meurt tranquillement…Oh c’est injuste ! (il frappe la table) Mais c’est la vie. (il rit sarcastiquement) AMELIE :

Tu dois accepter la vérité même si elle est dure à accepter. Sinon pour toi-même, ensuite pour tes enfants.

JOSEPHE : Oui, je le sais…je le sais, mais dix ans de notre amour et nos efforts sont perdus.

AMELIE :

Au moins, nous avions le privilège de connaitre notre fils. (elle prend sa main)

AMELIE :

Il n’est pas comme nous. Il voit la beauté dans les plus petites des choses.

JOSEPHE : Notre garçon va me manquer.

AMELIE :

Moi aussi. (ils se regardent en silence)

Acte III, Scène I (La famille est à la plage. PIERRE et MARGOT vont se promener le long du rivage.)

MARGOT : La plage est semblable aux cartes postales. Sauf l’air sale qui est diffèrent de la campagne.

PIERRE :

La cote est belle. Je veux vivre ici pour le reste de ma vie. Elle va me manquer lorsque nous partirons demain.

MARGOT : (elle sourit) C’était une semaine superbe ! Je suis allée chez le coiffeur pour la première fois.

PIERRE :

Aussi, Maman et Papa ne se sont pas disputes pour la première fois cet été.

MARGOT : (elle fronce les sourcils) Penses-tu que notre petit Jacques va vraiment mourir ?

PIERRE :

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Je ne sais pas…il est très malade. J’espère que ce n’est pas vrai. Mais, il a l’air fatigue chaque jour.

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MARGOT : Oui, il est très maigre et pale. Mais, il ne peut pas mourir, il est trop jeune.

PIERRE : (il sourit) Je me souviens encore lorsque je lui ai appris à pécher. Sa ligne de pèche

s’est emmêlée sur une buche au-dessous de l’eau. Nous pensions qu’il avait attrapé

un grand poisson, donc nous avons tire autant que possible. Par conséquent, notre

canot s’est renverse et puis nous avons découvert la buche. L’eau était tellement froide… ( les deux rient) MARGOT : Tu te souviens du vieux pommier ?

PIERRE :

Oui, celui tout près de chez M. Guimond.

MARGOT :

Un jour Jacques, Rouquin et moi sommes allés là pour cueillir des pommes.

Jacques montait l’arbre lorsqu’un mouton est venu vers nous. Il était perdu, mais nous pensions que son propriétaire le cherchait. Donc, nous avons décidé de jouer avec lui jusqu’à ce que son maitre soit revenu. Sinon, nous le redonnerons à Guimond. (elle sourit) Toute l’après-midi nous avons joué avec le mouton. Jacques a prétendu qu’il était un shérif sur son cheval.

Il avait l’air surpris lorsque le mouton a commencé à courir, il était super rapide. Enfin, le fermier est arrivé, c’était Claude Poupin. (elle soupire) On s’est bien amusé.

PIERRE :

(avec sérieux) Jacques est trop gentil et joyeux pour que Dieu le prenne. Peut-être qu’il a besoin de temps pour guérir.

MARGOT : Peut-être…J’espère que cette excursion aidera Jacques.

PIERRE :

Même si les temps sont durs, nous ferons notre mieux pour aider Papa et Maman.

MARGOT : Je suis d’accord.

PIERRE :

Viens Margot, je vais nous acheter des glaces. (ils partent)

Acte III, Scène II (MARIE, JACQUES et ROUQUIN jouent dans le sable.)

MARIE :

Mon château de sable est plus grand !

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JACQUES : Non, le trou de Rouquin et plus grand. (ils rient tout bas) Je n’avais jamais vu la mer.

C’est superbe !

MARIE :

Mais peut-être qu’il y aura un orage. J’ai peur des orages.

JACQUES : Il y a du soleil, je ne pense pas qu’un orage va venir.

MARIE :

Mais la mer est en feu.

JACQUES : Non, la mer scintille. C’est normal.

MARIE :

Oh… d’accord.

JACQUES : (il arrête de jouer) Marie… ?

MARIE :

(elle lève les yeux) Qu’est-ce qu’il y a ?

JACQUES : Tu sais à quel point tout le monde est toujours gentil envers moi, n’est-ce pas ?

MARIE :

Je crois que oui. Et alors ?

JACQUES : Eh bien… Je pense quelque chose va m’arriver.

MARIE :

Quoi ?

JACQUES : Je ne sais pas, mais je ne me sens diffèrent dans mon corps. Je suis plus faible et

pale que le dernier mois. Je mange beaucoup, mais je maigris. Et, pourquoi nous

sommes ici ?

MARIE :

Tu as dit à papa que tu aimes la mer.

JACQUES : Oui, exactement.

MARIE :

Mais ou vas-tu aller ?

JACQUES : Je ne sais pas.

MARIE :

Est-ce je peux venir avec toi ?

JACQUES : Peut-être… je ne sais pas ?

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MARIE :

Tu es déroutant.

JACQUES : Si je pars quelque part, je te veux pour avoir cette coquille (il lui donne une petite

coquille avec des rayures de blanc et orange) Je l’ai trouvé plus tôt aujourd’hui

dans la matinée.

MARIE :

(Le visage de MARIE s’anime) Oh Jacques… c’est beau ! Merci. (Elle étreint JACQUES)

JACQUES : Tu peux entendre les vagues lorsque tu la mets à ton oreille.

MARIE :

Dois-tu partir ?

JACQUES : Je pense que oui.

MARIE :

Mais Maman et Papa, qu’est-ce qu’ils vont dire ?

JACQUES : Ils savent déjà.

MARIE :

(elle est perplexe) Je ne comprends pas Jacques.

JACQUES : Tu vas comprendre un jour.

MARIE :

Ou que tu ailles, n’oublies pas de m’écrire.

JACQUES : (ils continuent à jouer dans le sable). Oui, je te le promets.

(La vieille MARIE parle) Le printemps suivant, Jacques est parti avec le gel. Mes parents m’ont dit qu’il était parti pour un long voyage. Pendant quelques mois j’ai attendu une lettre, mais elle n’est jamais venue.

Acte IV, Scène I (La vieille MARIE et Roland s’assoient dans le café.)

MARIE : Ma famille n’était pas la même après sa mort. Mes parents sont devenus plus

distants avec nous et nous nous sommes disputes de plus en plus. L’année

suivante, mon père a blessé son bras au travail. Mes parents ont utilisé toutes leurs

économies à tel point que nous étions forces de vendre notre petite ferme et notre chien Rouquin.

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ROLLAND : Qu’est-il arrive aux autres ?

MARIE :

Eh bien… vous savez que Pierre est devenu maçon… mais il ne s’est jamais Marie… d’une part, il a eu la tuberculose a trente ans et est mort peu après. (elle sourit) D’autre part, Margot a connu du succès. Elle est devenue une chanteuse et a eu une grande famille avec un autre musicien.

ROLLAND : Et vous ?

MARIE :

Je suis devenue enseignante. (ils rient) Je voulais faire ce que Jacques voulait. Et il avait eu raison. Chaque septembre, je m’enterrais avec des pommes…comme Pierre, je ne me suis jamais Marie. J’aurais aimé avoir des enfants, mais la chance n’est jamais venue.

ROLLAND : (incrédule) Je ne sais pas quoi dire…je suis sans voix.

MARIE :

Voilà votre histoire triste.

ROLLAND : Je sais, mais c’est réel.

MARIE :

(elle sourit) Bien sûr c’est réel. Alors, vous vous attendiez à quoi ?

ROLLAND : Je ne sais pas. Au début, j’étais impersonnel. C’était tout simplement une autre

histoire, mais maintenant… (il réfléchit un instant) MARIE :

Oui…mais c’est la vie ! On ne peut rien y faire.

ROLLAND : Je suis d’accord avec toi. (ils s’assoient en silence) (La scène s’assombrit et ROLLAND raconte) J’ai publié mon histoire qui a reçu beaucoup de louange. Je n’oublierai jamais Mme. Béliveau, une femme remarquable et très courageuse.

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GENÈSE CULINAIRE

SCHOOL: St. Theresa of Lisieux TEACHER: Gino Marcuzzi SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Dino Sorrentino UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 11-12 / POEM

by Ioulia Malamoud

La recette est la toile Les ingrédients sont les membres La cuillère est le pinceau Et le four est Éden Il a d’abord verse dans l’eau et l’huile, Ils se sont séparés, ainsi Il a appelé l’eau : le jour et l’huile : la nuit Et il vit que cela était bon.

Puis il ajouta œuf et l’a appelé ciel.

Le jaune était le soleil Et les Blancs étaient les nuages Et il vit que cela était bon.

Puis il verse dans la farine ; création de la terre sèche.

Comme il a durci et émiette Il a créé les montagnes et les canyons Et il vit que cela était bon.

Puis il aspergea le sucre, Création toutes les Étoiles dans le ciel.

Nuit est devenu beau et la recette devint douce, Alors, il vit que cela était bon.

Puis il se mit à ajouter de la saveur : Une pincée de ceci, une pincée de cela Il a ajouté extraits et épices Jusqu’à ce qu’il vit que cela était bon.

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Puis il a commencé à mélanger.

Il foutait et il battait au fouet Jusqu’ à ce qu’il devienne lisse.

Il posa sa cuillère et il vit que cela était bon.

Enfin, il versa dans sa poêle Et le mettre dans le four.

Il essuya la sueur de son front Et puis il s’est réponse.

Après une heure, il le sortait Toute chaude et vapeur Il sentait son arôme Vraiment, sa création était complète.

Tout comme un boulanger fait son gâteau Ou un chef fait son plat, Le Seigneur nous a fait Et il vit que cela était bon.

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2015

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