Ink Stains 2016 / 2017

INK STAINS

SUMMER 2017

SECONDARY SCHOOL

AN IB WORLD SCHOOL SINCE 2000

A PLACE WHERE WE BELONG

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CONTENT 4

FOREWORDS

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ALEXANDER LITERARY AWARD WINNERS 2017 LOW E R M Y P

UPPER MYP

DP

10

P O E T RY

19

P O E T RY

44

P O E T RY

12

PROSE FICTION

24

PROSE FICTION

46

PROSE FICTION

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NON FICTION

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NON FICTION

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NON FICTION

THEME “TRANSITIONS”

F R O N T COV E R : S O F I I A Y E V D O KY M E N KO , G R A D E 10 T R A P P E D, PA P E R C O L L AG E , 2 0 1 7

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WINNER

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HONORABLE MENTION

TS 62

ALEXANDER LITERARY AWARD CONTEST SUBMISSIONS 2017 LOW E R M Y P

UPPER MYP

64

P O E T RY

78

P O E T RY

67

PROSE FICTION

80

PROSE FICTION

88

NON FICTION

DP 98

P O E T RY

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I N K S TA I N S • S E C O N D A R Y S C H O O L

FOREWO Ink Stains is a celebration of different creative styles and artistic expressions. Once again we are excited to present excellent examples of creativity and learning in various forms from students of all ages. Many students chose to submit poems and prose pieces while for others it was easier to express themselves through visual art or theatrical performances.

This year’s Ink Stains theme, Transitions and New Beginnings, was inspired by our visiting author, Marc Levitt who works with Third Culture Kids. Our students, belonging to an international community are regularly faced with the challenges and opportunities that accompany that lifestyle.

The chosen theme gave students the opportunity to reflect upon their personal experiences in their writing.

Transitions and New Beginnings is a recurring theme throughout all of our lives; reflecting on what has happened and contemplating what needs to be done are key components in moving forward. In our ever changing world making personal choices becomes essential but with the freedom to make such choices comes great responsibility both to ourselves and those around us. A popular Chinese proverb reminds us that “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step” (Lao Tzu). Often the choices our students make now will impact their future and it is also our responsibility as educators to ensure that the opportunity is not missed, the step is in a right direction and that our students are prepared for the journey of their lifetime.

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At the secondary level, students engage in all types of writing across age groups and areas of study. In the Language & Literature department we are thrilled with the breadth of written work we receive from students for submission to the Alexander Awards, as this is an opportunity for them to submit work they are truly proud of, not because of a grade or a favorite class, but because they believe that they have written something unique, a text of which they can be proud.

The submissions this year range from work that may or may not have begun in the classroom that jumpstarted the imagination of a student allowing them to let ideas pour onto the page, to work that involved serious inquiry and research, precision of language and revision after revision. We are thrilled with the work this year, as it shows the dedication of the students to create in potentially new ways and leaving themselves vulnerable to criticism in this public forum.

In this edition of Ink Stains you will read excerpts of novels, poetry, fictional memoir, research essay and more.

And while the work has been lightly edited for grammar, spelling, and punctuation, the editors have worked hard to maintain the integrity of the work.

As you read, join us in congratulating this year’s winners and other participants!

POLINA SPENCER AND PAM YORK

KELLI KARG

PSI Librarians

Head of English

ORDS One must be brave and bold to share such personal ideas of beauty, controversy and wishes for change. In this edition of Ink Stains, students from grades 6-12 share their artistic visions through drawings, paintings, sculptures, printmaking, collages, textiles and performances. Many students dedicate practice time outside of class to add details to a piece or to edit and refine skills. Though plans for many of the works began in the classroom, students followed their own voice and made individual choices about how to best convey their ideas to an audience.

Art is rarely just an aesthetically pleasing image. Art is a tool used to question, to provoke, to remind us, to connect us, to educate us, to inspire us. The Arts combine imagination and knowledge. The Arts give us a voice, allow us to discover and celebrate differences, while connecting us and celebrating our shared humanity.

We are consistently impressed with the dedication of our students to exhibit their personal, creative best.

Congratulations and thank you to the students who have shared their work with us. We hope the Art you see may inspire memories, appreciation for the everyday, action for an important cause or may even evoke dreams for the future.

Through the arts we strive to reawaken the imaginative quality that we all possess. One of our main goals is to encourage students to live ‘outside themselves, to think and act spontaneously, thereby revealing a little of their own true nature. This connection is important for us all to be genuine to our true self and not the self our environment wants us to present.

It is an interesting phenomenon that, as many students grow older, they often become more self-conscious and chose to stay within a strict mode of behaviour for fear that they will embarrass themselves in front of their peers. A lot of younger students, on the other hand, are far less inhibited and are willing to be risk-takers with their thoughts and imaginations. When we see our older students (and adults) at ‘play,’ it is a very different visual picture. Somehow, as people become older, this area of their lives dissipates or is buried deep to protect or project an image of themselves.

Recently students have really extended themselves through directing and performing in the production of Carol Ann Duffy’s ‘The World’s Wife’. The acting, direction, and design were all student led and showed a maturity beyond their years. Over 40 students performed in the spring production of Oliver! This was a great chance for students to become fully engaged on all levels of the production and they are showed an excellent level of dedication and creativity.

RACHAEL HUDDLESTON

SIMON FERRY

Secondary Visual Art Teacher

HoD Arts

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BACK ROW: 01.

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JAMES SPENCER SONJA RINGGER DR. DAVID FREEMAN RICHA SINGLA CORY HAUGEN STEFAN CHORDAS PAUL CHRISTOPHER OLESIA SHEREMETA KELLI KARG ANDREW SPENCER

FRONT ROW: 11.

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SENA CINAR ALEXANDER WERNER SIMONAS KONCEVICIUS LEO BUCKLE LIZA SHEVETOVSKA ELYSE DEMKIW ANASTACIA REYNOLDS ALEXANDRA ZHYGALKINA

NOT IN THE PICTURE: 19.

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MAX KONSTANTINOVSKY GEORGE KENT LARA ARENCIBIA PENDER NIKITA KYRYLLOV

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I N K S TA I N S • S E C O N D A R Y S C H O O L

ALEXAND LITERARY WINNERS LOW E R M Y P :

Poetry Winner 10 ENGINEERING Simonas Koncevičius (Grade 6)

UPPER MYP:

Poetry Winner 19 BEAUTIFULLY A WOMAN Sena Cinar (Grade 9)

Poetry Honorable Mention 11 I AM A DREAMER Anastacia Reynolds (Grade 6)

Poetry Honorable Mention 20 TRANSITION Nikita Kyryllov (Grade 10)

Prose Fiction Winner 12 A DESPERATE MESSAGE Alexander Werner (Grade 6)

Prose Fiction Winner 24 THE HEART IS A HOLLOW 40 Non Fiction Honorable Mention ORGAN THAT PUMPS BLOOD THROUGH THE THE TIDES OF THE CIRCULATORY SYSTEM HUMAN MIND Sonja Ringger (Grade 10) Max Konstantinovsky (Grade 10)

Prose Fiction Honorable Mention 14 THE HUNTER Leo Buckle (Grade 8)

Prose Fiction Honorable Mention 28 8 O’CLOCK Non Fiction Honorable Mention 16 IS REHABILITATION MORE Andrew Spencer (Grade 9) EFFECTIVE THAN JAIL? Alexandra Zhygalkina (Grade 6) 8

32 Non Fiction Winner ORANGE BLACK BOXES Stefan Chordas (Grade 10) 36 Non Fiction Honorable Mention THE HANDMAID’S TALE: A REFLECTION OF THE 80’S Lara Arencibia Pender (Grade 9)

DER Y AWARD S 2017 DP:

Poetry Honorable Mention 44 QUITE TRANSFIXED STOOD HE Richa Singla (Grade 11) 46 Prose Fiction Honorable Mention THREE SISTERS Liza Shevetovska (11)

THEME “TRANSITIONS”

Non Fiction Honorable Mention 52 WHY DID THE TSARIST REGIME SURVIVE THE 1905 REVOLUTION, BUT PERISH IN THE MARCH 1917 REVOLUTION? George Kent (Grade 11)

Winner 56 TRANSITION TO THE RUNWAY Elyse Demkiw (Grade 8) Honorable Mention 58 THE PHILOSOPHY OF IMPRISONMENT Sonja Ringger (Grade 10)

48 Non Fiction Winner ATTITUDES TOWARDS RELIGIOUS ETHICAL FOUNDATIONS Olesia Sheremeta (Grade 11)

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I N K S TA I N S • S E C O N D A R Y S C H O O L

P O E T RY W I N N E R

ENGINEERING SIMONAS KONCEVICIUS

Engineering consists of many things: ICT, electronics and design.

It also has a portion of physics, Many small parts of maths fit-in just fine.

I adore this mix, it’s my favourite I am ready to dive into it now, So I grab my soldering iron and Get instantly inspired; God knows how.

I build a 3D model out of this, And print it out with a 3D machine, I feel so enormously happy for making such a totally useless thing.

Last Monday I made a 3D cupcake, Today it’s time for a little baboon!

I can’t stop thinking of a new project As I’ll start doing it this afternoon.

So far I have made only few projects: A car, a cute kitten, a black headset And a plastic cake topped with foam cherries, But the joy that I felt I’ll never forget.

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V O L O D Y M Y R L A S H K U L , G R A D E 6 , U N I T : F A N TA S T I C C R E AT U R E , P A P I E R - M Â C H É , A C R Y L I C P A I N T, 2 0 1 6

GRADE 6

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P O E T RY H O N O R A B L E M E N T I O N

I AM A DREAMER ANASTACIA REYNOLDS GRADE 6

First Stanza In the night, darkness all ‘round, surrounds me.

It is pitch black. I can’t see anything.

Suddenly, I stop. I slip, I fall. Deep.

Deeper and deeper, into a trance.

Nothing can stop me. I feel limitless.

I explore, run, fly over people’s heads.

Friends, the sky, the buildings, I look and see.

I look happy, confused, maybe, amused?

Encountering familiar places.

Second Stanza Whirling, swirling, all ‘round me. A figure.

That figure, a form, walking towards me.

I see, a clear image. I’m in a movie.

What’s my morale? Is it high, is it low?

Well, I better get up and go!

Third Stanza I laugh, and I cry, I smile, I die.

Exceeding this place of memories, I wake up.

This. This is me as a dreamer. Dreaming.

Asleep. Making things in my mind. Slides.

A slideshow. A movie. In my full mind.

It doesn’t matter if I am not tired.

How hard it is to fall asleep.

I can still imagine. It’s in my soul.

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DREAM,

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PROSE FICTION WINNER

A DESPERATE MESSAGE ALEXANDER WERNER GRADE 6

— Being an Account of the Gods and the theft of the Quinar-el When Axarn was new, the ten gods dwelt in harmony, and the races and classes were one. Astar, the youngest of the gods, was beloved by the humans. He abode with them, and cherished them, and they prospered in his care. The other gods also gathered peoples around them, and each god cherished his own people.

But Astar’s older brothers, the triplets, were gods over no people. They were born all together, oldest before all the other gods. They dwelt apart from men and gods.

Now it happened that Riva, god of the elves, took up a crystal in the shape of a rhombus, no larger than a man’s beating heart, and he turned the stone in his hand until it grew purple, and shone with a living light. The power of the living crystal, which elves called Quinar-el, meaning crystal of life, was very great, and Riva worked wonders with it.

Of the gods, the triplets were the most beautiful, yet they commanded none. The day came, however, when the triplets heard of the Quinar-el, and from that moment they knew no peace.

Finally, in disassembling guises, they went to Riva. “Our brother,” said Nithys, the middle triplet. “It is not fitting that thou shouldst absent thyself from our company and council.

Put aside this jewel which hath seduced our friendship.”

Riva looked deep into Nithys’ soul and rebuked him. “Why dost thou seek lordship and dominion, Nithys? Do not in thy pride seek to possess the crystal lest it slay you.”

Great was Nithys’ shame at his brothers’ words, and he raised his hand and smote Riva. Taking the crystal, he fled with the other triplets.

The other gods besought the triplets to return the crystal, but they would not. From high in the mountains, Nithys raised the jewel and forced its will to split the earth asunder. The mountains were cast down, and the sea came in. But Riva and Astar joined and put limits upon the sea, and quickly, Quinny, the dwarf-god, crafted borders to protect all mankind.

Now when Nithys raised the living jewel against the earth, 12

its mother, it awoke and began to glow with holy flame. The body of Nithys was seared by purple fire. In pain he cast down the mountains; in anguish he cracked open the earth; in agony he let in the sea.

When the flame subsided, Nithys was horribly disfigured.

Quickly, Okros took the crystal lest he save his brother, but the flame sprang to him, and his skin was turned blood red. Sek took the crystal from Okros, but the flame once more came to another. Sek suffered no physical damage, but his heart was poisoned with an immense blackness.

The triplets, with the jewel fled to the half of the world that had been torn when the Quinar-el cracked the world.

Among endless plain and western mountains, they boiled in their misery and torment.

To comfort them, the triplets raised horrible creatures from the depths of the abyss, they raised creatures of pure evil. They raised black orcs and blood red demons. To heal their pain, they raised imps, who worshipped them utterly. To craft them a fortress from where they could rule their spawn, they raised goblins and great wolves to the south of the mountains.

As they finished, they were no longer brothers to the gods of the continent of Axarn, but gods of darkness and evil, rulers of the continent Onyx. Nithys was orc-lord, Okros was demongod. But above them, was Sek, god of evil.

The centuries rolled past in Onyx. In the very back of the Mountains of Karn, lay Fort Darkness, throne city to the three gods of evil.

Astar had taken the humans to Human Territory in the north. Of the races, they were the most warlike, and Astar trained them, should they need to stand by the elves to combat the hordes of darkness.

In Elven Territory in the east, in the seaport capital of Ra-quen, Riva sat, his face thunderous. He planted a deep hatred of the orcs in the hearts of the elves, for they were the subjects of Nithys, thief of the Quinar-el, jewel of the elves.

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Thus was it time winter, when High King Elhar of the elves, journeyed to King Marth of the humans. “The time is ripe.” says Elhar. “Our armies are massed, now we strike”!

And so High King Elhar, and King Marth journeyed with their armies behind them to Ra-quen.

Upon ship they journeyed, but without their armies should they not be needed. Upon ship stood Riva and Astar, ready to reclaim the Quinar-el.

With silent feet crept the four, and Riva found a secret way into Fort Darkness. They crept past the three sleeping gods of evil, and up iron shod stairs, until they reached the room where the Quinar-el stood.

Riva crept up to the Quinar-el, and took in his hands. “So be it.” sighed Elhar, knowing the doom which would be placed upon his god.

So when Nithys woke and saw that the jewel of the elves was missing, the wrath of the gods of evil was horrible.

They marched, and took their great swords, and called thunderously to the hosts of orcs. “Because ye have been unwatchful, and have allowed my prize to be rend from me, we will drive you forth to war”!

And it was on a rise in the grassy plain near Elven Territory on Axarn, where the massed armies of humans and of elves met the hosts of Onyx.

There came a great rolling of drums like thunder, then a braying of horns that shook the ears of all who listened.

Innumerable numbers of orcs assailed themselves upon the ranks of the armies. Upon the one hill, High King Elhar and King Marth stood together swords drawn.

The smell of orcs was foul. The sun set, leaving the sky a red color, then a dark black. Spears at the front of the ranks bristled and swords clashed in the air.

Fled from the battle, did Riva and Astar. Nithys grew restless, watching his men slaughtered. He sniffed the air like a hound and fear began to dawn in his eyes.

“It is near.” he breathed. Then his eyes widened. “That was his plan!” he said in anger. “While my subjects slaughtered themselves, that fool Riva would take the Quinar-el to Elven Territory.”

Then, at the moment the Quinar-el passed borders to its home, a white light shone, brighter than any had seen before.

Thunder clapped and the hosts of orcs fled with their masters and gods. No force on earth could have stopped the fleeing of evil.

And so it happened that evil withdrew to Onyx. Immediately, Nithys and Okros assembled their troops and building armies.

For Sek knew that the time would come when the forces of evil would be able to march upon the lands of Axarn, and wage war upon all they held dear.

So began the Great War between good and evil, and it would happen that it may drag on to the end of time.

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I N K S TA I N S • S E C O N D A R Y S C H O O L

PROSE FICTION HONORABLE MENTION

THE HUNTER LEO BUCKLE GRADE 8

The Hunter Prelude I’m Woody - the world’s one and only brown wolf. I never used to like getting my perfect brown fur dirty and therefore hated hunting. That all ended with my hunting success.

The Hunter It’s been a while since I learned how to hunt; now I Iove it!

I try to go out hunting as much as I can, I’m want to be the best hunter in the world. There are so many techniques that I need to learn but I am working hard to master them all. I’m confident about reaching my goal; ever since my first hunt I was no longer afraid of mud or dirt spoiling my perfect brown fur, I can always wash myself off later.

I know that becoming a hunter takes a lot of work, especially if I want to be the best at it. I have to aim for the top, otherwise there is no point in trying. I’ve been working on my goal for a long time, I don’t really know how long because I don’t count the days, I know that it will take as long as it takes. I used to have lots of friends but now they think that I’m strange and we don’t talk much. On the off chance that we do talk, we exchange unpleasant remarks. I don’t know why they changed their feelings towards me, although I think it is because they are jealous of my dedication.

My parents woke me up. I could feel the sun burning on my fur. Last night I’d slept outside so that I could get used to being alert even when I was asleep, my father told me that hunters often sleep outside if they’ve found a good hunting spot. My parents had prepared a rabbit for me and I quickly ate it for breakfast. It was delicious however I couldn’t savour the taste for too long; I had work to do. I walked out from our little clearing and off into the forest, looking for any hints of prey. I found a some small paw marks around a pine tree; they were dried up. They must’ve been quite old and I figured that the rabbit would already be a long way away.

Most of the other pups would go out hunting with the pack making it easier for themselves to hunt and learn. I knew that 14

they didn’t do anything to help those packs but rely on their parents to catch them food so that they could eat. It took no talent or work whatsoever, so I hunted by myself.

It took me a long time to find any more hints of prey, there were a few birds but I knew they were too fast for me so I didn’t bother going after them. Suddenly, my nose twitched, I could smell the scent of a rabbit, I creeper closer and closer towards it. As I peeped out from behind the bush, I saw a massive rabbit in the clearing in front of me.

“Jackpot,” I thought to myself and I began to slowly move up to it. Soon, I was up right next to the rabbit. Right as I was going to pounce, the rabbit shot off into the distance.

This sudden reaction took me by surprise, nevertheless, I scampered after it. It was hard work keeping up to the rabbit and pretty soon I gave up because it was far too fast for my little legs to chase. “It’s okay,” I thought to myself, “they’ll grow.”

I felt really hungry because I had been working hard all morning and it was time for lunch. I went to back to our cave to see what my parents had brought back for lunch. On my way back I could see a couple of my old friends sharing a large duck.

“What losers, can’t catch food on their own and pretend like they’re something special eating it,” I said to myself quietly. It must have not been quietly enough though since one of them replied: “The only one who thinks that they’re something special is you Woody, lying around all day, pretending like you can hunt.” I couldn’t believe he had the cheek to says that, but, I knew that there would always be doubters. I simply ignored it, knowing that I’d prove him wrong sooner or later.

When I got home I saw my parents, they’d managed to catch two rabbits and a large duck. “Good on them,” I thought.

My parents offered me some of their hunt for a snack; they had always supported my decision and, most importantly, my dedication towards hunting. When I had finished my lunch,

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dad asked “Why don’t you come with the pack and hunt with us for once, just to learn a couple new techniques. It’s been a long time since you came back with a catch.” before I had a chance to reply to him my mum chipped in,”Yeah Woody, maybe you should come with us, at least once, all the other pups are catching food left and right.” What my mother said came as a surprise to me. Could the other pups really be catching their own food? There was one way for me to find out.

I ran back to where I had seen the other pups. I found them in the same clearing as I had done before, this time, they were gnawing on a second rabbit. I was disgusted. “The cheek that they must have to steal more than one rabbit from their parents” I thought to myself. There was still no doubt in my mind that they weren’t able to catch anything by themselves. I ran up to what looked like the eldest one and roared as fiercely as I could “I challenge you to a hunting battle.”

“What’s all this yapping about Woody?” he asked in a calm but stern tone, before I could answer he continued, “You? A hunting battle? Why only last week did you learn to wash your paws, you must be joking.” I couldn’t believe it, how could he insult me like that?

“We go out hunting tomorrow, whoever catches the most wins. That should teach you a thing or two about respect,” I said, and with that, I was off.

The next morning I got up as early as I could, I didn’t have any breakfast because I wanted that little bit of extra motivation for the challenge. I was about to walk out of my

WILL PURCELL, GRADE 6,

cave when I saw the other pup coming back. “I see you’re up bright and early,” he said teasingly, “I’m just going in for lunch.”

I didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to talk to this disrespectful prat. I ignored him and walked past, deeper into the forest.

It was a long day, I spent almost all of my time in the forest trying to locate and catch rabbits. This proved to be a great success because I managed to catch a rabbit. It was a great feeling but I couldn’t celebrate for long because I would’ve wasted a lot of my time. After my rabbit success, I didn’t find any more of them. Of course, there were tracks but I knew they’d be too far away. I looked around for a long time but I didn’t see anything. Along the way I kept thinking about my old friends, why did they hate me? Was it because I worked so hard to be a great hunter and didn’t spend time with them, or was it just because they were jealous of me? Thinking about this suddenly made me sad. I felt rather lonely, I hadn’t had anyone to talk to for a long time and it had certainly taken its toll. I couldn’t get my mind to think straight so I headed for home confident that I’d caught more than the other pup.

The next morning I strolled out of my cave with the rabbit I had caught inbetween my teeth. I saw the pup standing there with his friends surrounding him.

“Caught something I see,” he said with a smug smile, “not bad, it’s one more than I thought you’d get.” I felt the rage building up inside of me. His friends moved to the sides revealing a huge pile of rabbits and ducks. “Must’ve stolen some more from your parents,” I said and turned away, trying to hold my emotions. “Whatever, I’m still a great hunter,” I reassured myself .

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I N K S TA I N S • S E C O N D A R Y S C H O O L

NON FICTION HONORABLE MENTION

IS REHABILITATION MORE EFFECTIVE THAN JAIL? ALEXANDRA ZHYGALKINA GRADE 6

Whether you are an adult or a child, rehabilitation is a better way to serve the crimes you’ve committed. As opposed to too many children in jail, kids grow up more severe and are more likely to commit crimes in the future. As a country the United States has to spend more time on juvenile rehabilitation. This essay will show why severe punishment is bad for juveniles.

Each state in the US has a special court called the juvenile court. “Each state has special courts – usually called juvenile courts – to deal with minors who have been accused of violating a criminal statute,“ (Gilligan, 2012). This first quote shows that each state has a special court for underaged criminals so they wouldn’t be taken to regular court. This court also has other laws for children so that they wouldn’t go under the same punishments as adults. This system of having a different court for juveniles and adults could be done so children don’t get punished as much as adults so they won’t grow up severe.

Children are more likely to commit crimes by looking back at their experience. “Generations of research has shown that the more severely children are punished, the more violent they become, as children and as adults,” (Michon, 2017). This quote is showing that children learn from their experience. It’s much easier to learn from what other people did to them and they think that being severe is fine. Looking back to the way children are treated in their childhood they can also see that jail is not the only consequence for crimes, but they are also afraid that they might get into jail so having one or the other is a good decision.

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There should be an even amount of jail and rehabilitation or only one or the other, to balance out the consequences for the crime committed. “Our country is plagued by the shameful disproportionate treatment of minority youth at all stages in the justice process, and stands alone in the world in our punitive approach to children,” (Cose, 2010). This quote represents the thought that the US is full of uneven treatments of crimes. There is an uneven amount of Jail and Rehabilitation. Trying to balance out the amount of juveniles sent to jail and rehabilitation it might be hard so a good decision might be to pick one method rehabilitation or jail.

No matter which age you are or which crime you’ve committed rehabilitation is the best decision. As a country the United States has to spend more time on juvenile rehabilitation.Rehabilitation is a good consequence because it will decrease the amount of crimes because people are going to understand the consequence that may happen and why is crime not ok, which will make the US a safer country.

You can persuade people that have been to jail to make better decisions and send them to special counseling again so they would have a double effect.

Bibliography: Company, (2017). Punishment Fails. Rehabilitation Works. - NYTimes.com. [online] Nytimes.com. Available at: http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2012/12/18/prison-could-be-productive/punishment-fails-rehabilitation-works Michon, K. (2017). Juvenile Court: An Overview | Nolo.com. [online] Nolo.com. Available at: http://www.nolo.com/legal-encyclopedia/juvenile-court-overview-32222.html Newsweek. (2017). Rehabilitation Beats Punishment for Juveniles. [online] Available at: http://europe.newsweek.com/rehabilitation-beats-punishment-juveniles-71201?rm=eu

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P O E T RY W I N N E R

BEAUTIFULLY A WOMAN SENA CINAR GRADE 9

I haven’t any secrets Nor am I built to be a model.

And when beautiful women wonder My mystery that lies within I tell them, It’s only me.

My wide hips, Never been enslaved.

My free hair, Each strand tells its own story.

Beautifully, A beautiful woman.

My own woman.

The irrefutable woman.

With each weighty stomach, Carrying the next generation.

Us women, envying doll-like complexions Longing to become one,

Falling on our faces, Wearing the artificiality crown.

The handy female brain, Strong cord holding left and right, Sparks of never-ending knowledge, Flowing through every second.

How does the woman know?

She listens.

Lock this biological genius, In your treasure box.

Don’t ever let go, Because the woman would never leave, If she knows you long for her company.

She is why, You are here today.

A beautiful being, Made beautifully By the beautiful woman.

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I N K S TA I N S • S E C O N D A R Y S C H O O L

P O E T RY H O N O R A B L E M E N T I O N

TRANSITION NIKITA KYRYLLOV GRADE 10

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We are born into nurture, love, and care, Not a thing in the world do we worry about.

Of broccoli and napping we must beware, But we can deal with all that if we pout.

It’s hard for us to feel all pleasant; We turn in essays, works and texts.

We do not think about the present; We wonder what will happen next.

We are kings to both our parents; They act like servants towards us.

We can act both bold and errant; We are the tops of food chains, thus.

We graduate, or we do not; We enter strict society.

It is as if from iron wrought; We must adhere to the propriety!

We do not think about future or past; We live in the present, a world uncruel.

But good things must come to an end, at last, And then we are forced to go to school.

We do not have the time to frolic; Don’t work enough? Live on the street.

You work too much? A workaholic, You must stay running, on your feet!

There is happiness, sadness and tears aplenty, When we’re forced to go to that wretched place.

You will stay there till you are just about twenty; You must learn to wear a smile on your face.

We are but cogs now, we must rise, Above our peers, above our parents.

Composed we must be, also wise; We must amass our own adherents.

We learn to write, we learn to read, We learn that life is good, but stings.

Some of us serve, some of us lead; We start to wonder what the future brings.

Then we succeed, or don’t, it varies.

A perfect man, a perfect fit, To be complete he loves and marries; He understands where he must sit.

We’re no longer kings, we’re simply students, We have to learn our place in life.

Be smart, polite, respectful, prudent; We just begin to know of strife.

Six figure job, a pretty house, A couple dogs, a garden, kids.

If you don’t have that, you’re a louse; Society of you must be rid.

Then we are teens, we love, we cry We learn, do sports, and maybe drink.

We get good grades, at least we try, And then we really start to think.

We do not think about the past.

What happened, happened; now is now.

We must get rich, be happy, last, Until first wrinkles plague our brow.

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The future holds less place in life, When you are living happily.

You have your children, and your wife; That’s not too bad you must agree.

Unless you have a life worth living, You will be forced to realise No matter how much work you’re giving, Time is just something you despise.

You must succeed, do what you like, Unless that brings no cash back home.

Do you want poverty to strike?

Then leave society and roam.

It slowly drips, year after year, Of work, and suffering, and success.

Some people will not shed a tear, Others will, and with excess.

It’s not to say you will be sad, That you can’t do whatever you want.

That happiness is not to be had, But let me be quite honest, blunt.

You have the money, you have the time, But it gets hard to walk and eat.

Up flights of stairs you cannot climb; You are infirm on frail feet.

Life can be cruel, and it can hurt; Some people age quite fast.

Unless yourself you do assert, Your happiness won’t last.

When you grow old, you’re frail and thin; Your body starts to fall apart.

It starts to wither from within; You look for comfort in your heart.

Your wife may leave, and take the children, You might get fired, have no home.

You might decide to be a pilgrim; You might decide to live alone.

The ones you’ve loved, the ones you’ve lost, The memories you’ve gained and given.

Your heart might be encased in frost; Your fist just then might slightly stiffen.

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I N K S TA I N S • S E C O N D A R Y S C H O O L

22

When you are old, your riches fade, Into obscurity and unimportance.

Beneath the tree of life, it’s shade Might make you cry, or give supportance.

It might be money, large or small, Your prizes, tournaments, acclaim.

It might be rising after a fall, Or sheer and life deciding fame.

You do not care about your state, In time and place that’s current, real.

You wish you could restart your fate; You yearn to passionately feel.

No matter what, you understand As children, we do not think at all, Then at the crossroads do we stand, And ready ourselves for the upward crawl.

But you cannot. Your body’s dying, Your mind is clouded and has slowed.

To turn back time you keep on trying, But you must gather what you’ve sowed.

We think of the future, and when it comes, We think again of current days.

No matter where, a house or slums, To find true bliss we search for ways.

You seek retreat in memories, both ancient and quite recent.

Some, you see as enemies, Some of them quite decent.

Then we are old, we might’ve succeeded Or fallen flat on all our hopes.

We might’ve gotten all we needed Or snapped our only safety ropes.

The ones that’ll surely bring you joy Have been decided prior.

Some might destroy your will to live Or reignite your inner fire.

No matter what, live like you want!

And try to make it count, my friend.

Because we all become quite gaunt And all must face a certain end.

You might’ve worked hard and gotten wealthy, Or you have your family to love.

You might’ve lived your life quite healthy, Or maybe all of the above!

In happiness, or melancholy, You will rethink your life.

It might’ve been quite jolly; It could have been filled with strife.

You might be poor, but working there Where every day is paradise.

You could search decades for that place; Life’s like a roll of random dice.

Live presently, appease yourself, Don’t dwell on past mistakes.

Place all your worries on a shelf; Just think about the stakes.

When you are old and when you die, And up the stairs to heaven climb, You say to things you love goodbye; You look at them one final time.

Lives aren’t something you can print, There aren’t many, live for fun.

The number you’ll get is very small, a hint, You will get only, simply, one.

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I N K S TA I N S • S E C O N D A R Y S C H O O L

PROSE FICTION WINNER

THE HEART IS A HOLLOW ORGAN THAT PUMPS BLOOD THROUGH THE CIRCULATORY SYSTEM SONJA RINGGER GRADE 10

I stepped outside of the yard and onto the dusty road. Small leaves littered the pebbled road that lead to the city. I crossed myself and with one last Amen I stepped on the path that would lead me to Würzburg.

They were going to burn witches again. It has been like this for years and years already, so I was no stranger to the baptism by fire. Except for this time my mother would not be attending the event.

She had caught a terrible cough right after father died.

She told me to stay away from her, but I had to take care of her after all. Her fingers curiously started to turn black two days ago and she required help with lifting up everything.

It worried me slightly to leave her behind like this, yet she was a strong woman, even if she was already 32 years old, and had been an honest Christian. The Lord would protect her, she had said as I had helped her kneel before the bed.

I cursed the evil witch that had placed the spell of sickness over my mother. May she suffer in the hellfires of damnation for eternity. Our former neighbor was one of the many that were to finally meet their end today in the main square. I made a quick promise to myself that I would ask a monk to help me get my mother to church tomorrow so that she may be healed in the face of God. Of course, this would come with a fair donation to the church in form of a few chickens, but we could spare the animals if it were for a good purpose.

Placing one foot in front of the other, I entered the market.

It was empty at this time of the day, because what person 24

would have the time to buy goods when one could see priests dealing out the justice of the Lord to a burning witch? An abandoned stand of apples slightly tempted me, but I gladly reminded myself of the words of Torah.

“Thou shalt not steal’” I whispered into the empty air and scolded myself for being tempted at all. The basket I had carried with me from home would be filled soon after the burning, with salt bought from an honest farmer with the honest Pfennig I had hidden well within the pockets of my honestly acquired dress.

As I neared the main square I could hear the people shouting and screaming in hatred at the subjects of today’s event. I caught the familiar shouts of “Elendes Hexenweib!” and “Verfluchtes Satansvolk!” ringing through the square. I myself had often stood amongst that raging crowd, screaming “Verbrenne!” as loud as I could, pouring out my hatred for the witches at my heart’s content. My throat was itching to join the crowd today as well, and I gave in to the temptation.

The anger was coursing through my veins in strong, powerful bursts, and as the first woman was lead onto the square to the crowd that had become savage, it spilled over like a boiling kettle. White hot it washed over me, this hatred, this absolute disgust for the creations of the devil, and it poured out of my throat, like a great waterfall of pure madness.

Never had I felt so strong before.

SOFIA LUOMANEN, GRADE 9, PORTRAIT OF FINNISH SINGER, ELLINOORA, T H R E A D, N A I L S , 2017

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*** It is not I who is making the walk through a crowd of bloodhounds, not I who is asked to confess before God, not I who is tied to a stake, weeping and screeching.

Not today.

My eyes train towards the stake, towards the beautiful figure that weeps under the questions of the holy man.

I know her eyes. They are of the most radiant green. So green that even the forest is second to their depth and beauty.

There are specks of yellow in those eyes, scattered like the evening light that falls through the greenery and leaves small sections of the ground illuminated in a rich gold. I have spent a fair amount of time studying those eyes.

I know her face. A high brow regally ruling over her eyes, high cheekbones and a button nose covered in a galaxy of freckles that I have counted countless times. Pink lips curve under those cheeks, smiling slyly and mischievously back at me, guarding behind them a silken voice, a laugh as clear as

the morning air, and a sharp tongue that could match wits with any scholar.

And how could I forget the mass of red locks falling down her back, cascading like a wild waterfall bathed in the bloodred light of a glorious sunset.

Oh my beautiful Jonatha! My flirtatious, adventurous Jonatha! My darling, bewitching Jonatha‌ How radiant your beauty was, no, is. How it caused in every man adoration and in every woman jealousy. You are the prettiest girl in town, Jonatha, see where your beauty has brought you now?

To the stake! My beautiful Jonatha, tied to a stake in front of a crowd that demands blood, pain, suffering. In front of a hysterical crowd who is cheering because every witch they curse is not them.

And I love you, Jonatha, I do so sincerely with all my heart, but I too am a bit relieved that it is not I who was accused of being a witch, not I who will burn today.

Why do you weep, Jonatha? Is the man cruel to you?

Have they hurt you, Jonatha? By God, and all other things 25

I N K S TA I N S • S E C O N D A R Y S C H O O L

holy or unholy, your eyes look beautiful when you cry. I always admired that about you, Jonatha. It is your eyes I dream about, your eyes veiled in tears as you cry on a fellow sinner’s shoulder, my shoulder.

We are no saints, Jonatha, far from it. I was ready to leave this town with you, Jonatha, for my heart leapt with every time you smiled at me, or held my hand, only to sink as you proceeded to tell me how some striking lad or another had looked at you during your trip to the market. One day I wanted to be you, the next I wanted to kiss you.

I used to think of you as a wild rose. The most beautiful of flowers, delicate and joyful, yet equipped with thorns and quick to wilt away once plucked. I took great care to never pluck your rose, Jonatha. Every day from dawn to dusk I admired your red petals, your enticing scent, your luscious green and your thorns that made you strong, independent, capable.

Have they clipped your thorns, Jonatha? Why do I behold in front of my eyes not an immortal syren, but merely a young woman tied to a stake? Why, after years and years of my admiration for you, do you chose your final moments to reveal yourself as human?

Perhaps you are a witch, for you had long bewitched my heart when we were green and young, running barefoot through the fields, making flower crowns.

I cannot look away, Jonatha, forgive me. If only I was brave enough to run up to you, to untie you, sweep you off your feet and flee with you away, far far away, like in my dreams. If only I knew that you loved me as feverishly as I you.

The fire starts to crackle, and I hear you scream. Your screams are still melodic, still beautiful as is the rest of you, and the closer you are to death the more I love you, and the more I hate you for it.

I cannot avert my eyes from your writhing form. Iron constricts my chest, encloses my ribs, and the same hot coals that sting your skin eat my throat alive. I struggle to breathe, my vision clouds, I sway uncertain on my feet until my brother steadies me and asks if I am well. He looks into my eyes, knowingly, and I could leave if I wanted to.

But I do not. In this final moment of your life I do not run, I do not betray you. I cannot, will not, stand and burn beside you, but the least I could do for you is to stand by and watch. I do not fight against the iron in my chest, not against the coals in my mouth. I stand still before your pire, as your friend and admirer, loyal to you until your end, bleeding from the heart a stream of tears that never reaches my eyes.

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Farewell, Jonatha. If only I loved you a bit more and myself a bit less. *** The crowd was quick to scatter in the afternoon, after the last innocent woman was turned to coal and ashes. The market was bustling, merchants loudly acclaiming their goods and women and men haggling for the best prices they could get their hands on.

In the midst of this business, a young girl makes her way through the crowd. She is dressed cheaply, but nicely. Not in cloth she would fear to attract thieves, but no cloth to be ashamed of either.

If asked, no one in Würzburg would know her name. She is a newcomer, travelling north with her mother and sisters, up to Brocken, though if a townsperson were to ask her, she would tell them that she was headed for Kiel.

In her left hand she clutches dinner in the form of two chickens, and in her right she had gathered three loafs of bread. She walks fast, scared by what she witnessed this morning. The crowd seems to part like water before her, the determined look on her face speaking louder than her words would have.

She comes from the very heart of Bavaria, from the dark, deep forests that let through no light and no people except for those who know the trees. This town is unfamiliar to her, it is to open, and she longs to be out in nature again where she can hear the birds chirp and her spirit finds rest.

She is not aware of it, but the farther she walks, the faster her steps get. She resists the urge to look over her shoulder, acting as though evil itself is chasing her. She is oh so afraid.

Her steps turn into a run now, and she’s bounding down the streets chasing her freedom. Her heart races and leaps with her every move.

When she runs into a young woman eyeing the apple stand she does not apologize. This woman is wearing a cross around her neck and had just attended the burning. She stands at the apple stand to buy apples with an honest Pfennig.

But the girl hurries on, to the outskirts of the town, skirts floating behind her. Her hands are trembling, her feet shaky, her knees jelly, and she thinks of the screams of those burning.

She can still smell the burning flesh, the smell is ingrained in her clothes, her hair, her being.

She hurries along. Summer solstice approaches.

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I N K S TA I N S • S E C O N D A R Y S C H O O L

PROSE FICTION HONORABLE MENTION

8 O’CLOCK ANDREW SPENCER GRADE 9

NOVEMBER 12, 1970. 19:30 ENTRY OF MAXIMILIAN JAEGER As I was exiting the building of the Deutsche Bank headquarters, I felt a gentle splash on my new leather coated fedora. Thank God for the November rain that helped wash away all the stinking garbage off these streets. I’m sick of the people. I’m sick of all the shit in the streets. I’m sick of Berlin.

On every corner is drugs, child prostitution, and a man with a gun trying to take your wallet. We need a real rain, to cleanse us of the layers of sin and taboo that have grown on us over the years.

Life is short, better make it last. I’ve been working on an idea. Yesterday, I was coming home from work and walking along my street of Bernauer Strasse, and noticed a slight hole in the ground. I went to investigate and found a tunnel, seemingly leading to the West. This got me thinking, I’ve wanted to move to the West since the beginning in 1961.

I’ve decided that tonight, I’m going to pack my bag with food, money, and my combat knife from my father’s time in the military. I am going to leave this godforsaken place tonight, once and for all.

I arrived at the tunnel point at 22:00. This was the time the guards would usually change shifts, meaning there would be less attention at the border. I approached the tunnel, and began to crawl. As I crawled through the grimy, wet mud of Berlin, I was wondering if I’d gotten to the West yet. I thought about all the things I’d do when I got there. Go to the cinema, read banned books. All I really wanted to do was be free, and do everything East Berlin banned, as a sign of an ‘F you’.

As I neared the exit of the tunnel, I felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and worry shower over me. When I got to the end of the tunnel, I made a quick exit out of it. Having no plan as to what to do next or where to go, I decided my trajectory was to go forward. Not 30 steps forward, I spotted a guard taking a piss in the bush nearby. I looked at him, and he looked at me. Without a second thought, I ran to him and tackled him to the ground. He tried to draw his gun, but it was too late. I had dug the cold hard steel into his heart, and the warm red liquid spurted out. As I sat there, his body in my arms and his blood on my face, I felt something I had never felt before. I felt...

28

free. I felt...excited. I felt...godly. I enjoyed killing that man. I killed him, and it felt good. I retreated back through the tunnel and home. The whole time I was thinking about his death and finally, for the first time in years, I was truly happy.

NOVEMBER 12, 1970. 23:55 ENTRY OF ALEXANDER ROMANOFF Sarah’s been a real pain in the ass, lately. She’s been saying “Al, you really oughta spend more time with me; who knows when I’ll die.” Work’s also been a pain. I got a call from our Stasi General that there’s been a stabbing on the border.

Some maniac killed a border guard. Shame, probably a nice kid. I told some of my boys to go down and investigate. It’s too late at night anyway, and I haven’t finished my whisky yet.

DECEMBER 1, 1970. 20:30 ENTRY OF MAXIMILIAN JAEGER It’s been 2 days since I killed my 4th victim. It was another worthless border guard with no real ambitions in life. So who cares if he’s dead or alive? I realised now that all I had to do once I got out the tunnel was to run straight ahead to the park next to the wall.

As I reached the park, there was a young family of 3 there with a baby son. I couldn’t do anything to them because they were young and innocent. I had morals. Border guards were rats. Expendable pawns for the government to move to prevent the freedom of Berlin. They disgusted me.

I spotted a young guard standing by the fountain, alone. I watched him, like an eagle watches a snake, ready to fly down and strike. As I crept closer and closer, I saw the guard was an older and stronger looking person, meaning I had to move hastily.

As I got right next to him, I stabbed him deep in the back and let him fall to the floor. As he was falling to the ground, he had gotten a handful of my coat and pulled me down. As I was being pulled down, the pocket of my trench coat ripped and was in the guards fist. He died immediately after that. I ran back to my home, and again the moment of satisfaction came back to me as I felt free and happy from killing another of the government’s henchmen.

L I U B OV B E SA R A B, G R A D E 10, T W I ST S A N D T U R N S, C H A R COA L, 2016

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DECEMBER 5, 1970. 19:57 ENTRY OF ALEXANDER ROMANOFF I took the case of the border guard 2 weeks ago. I’ve been looking into all the murders associated with the first one, and they are all on the wall border and all the victims are border guards. There was no evidence, except one 4 days ago which gives us a lead. The latest victim, victim 5, had a piece of a coat on him. I will investigate further, and we will find this son of a bitch.

DECEMBER 6, 1970. 18:04 ENTRY OF ALEXANDER ROMANOFF Our first suspect is a man by the name Constantin Leiß.

Leiß is a 40 year old man who owns a 1965 trench coat with both pockets ripped out. This gives us his suspicions that he is involved in this somehow. I interrogated him once he had come home from work. This is the written record of our conversation: — Mr Leiß, my name is Al and I am a major for the secret police.

— Alright then, — Mr Leiß, I understand that this coat is yours and has been yours for 5 years, is this correct?

— Well yes, I got it for my birthday from my wife.

— Where is your wife currently?

— She’s with her family currently — I see, so she won’t be back today?

— No. — Okay good, because we might make a little mess.

(Al grabs Mr Leiß by the hand and proceeds to break middle finger on the right hand) — We’re not messing around Mr Leiß.

— JESUS CHRIST! — Now, I’m gonna ask you some questions Mr Leiß! DID YOU GO OUT ON DECEMBER THE 1ST? — NO! — ANSWER, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! — I DIDN’T, I SWEAR! — Tell me anything suspicious you’ve seen!

— NOTHING! THIS IS A CALM NEIGHBOURHOOD. — THINK. HARDER! (Al starts cracking the middle finger) — OH GOD! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!

— ANSWER THE QUESTION! — WELL THERE IS ONE THING! — SAY IT! 29

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— MY NEIGHBOUR MR JAEGER, COMES HOME AT AROUND 12AM, EVERY NIGHT, WITH A DIRTY COAT. — WHAT KIND OF COAT?!

— THE SAME AS MINE! — Thank you Mr Leiß, for your cooperation. Get this idiot outa here.

I have a new lead, a certain Maximilian Jaeger. I will investigate further and search his home. Hopefully, we’ll get this damn killer before his next move.

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DECEMBER 7, 1970. 16:06 ENTRY OF MAXIMILIAN JAEGER As I exited the building of my workplace, the air felt cool and fresh. The frost was trickling from the heavens and the sound of crunching beneath my feet gave me a feeling of welcome and happiness. I wanted to forget about my mistake from my last killing and just escape it, and the weather was beautiful today.

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my suspect and confront him.

With my new-found evidence, I have been following Jaeger through his normal day. Nothing is unusual in his behaviour and there is no sign of him getting physical, but I have high suspicions he is the killer. The way he looks at people, it’s almost….animalistic. Like he’s ready to pounce and strike at them. Tonight, I will confront Maximilian Jaeger at his home and arrest him.

DECEMBER 7, 1970. 15:00 ENTRY OF ALEXANDER ROMANOFF Jaeger was at work. I was at his house. Simple. It is hard to use one word to describe Jaegers house, but the word most fitting would be barren. The house was almost empty except the bare essentials of furniture. My team and I looked through the house, and it was innocent, well, all but 2 items. There was a newly polished combat knife in the kitchen drawer, and a muddy pair of army boots. This gives me reason to pursuit

DECEMBER 7, 1970. 20:00 ENTRY OF ALEXANDER ROMANOFF As I walked up to the front door, I had the feeling I was walking to hell’s door, and then I knocked on it. A slender, but muscular young man appeared. His face showed sophistication, insanity, and intelligence. He was a man not to be reckoned with. “Are you Maximilian Jaeger?” I asked in my firm voice.

“You already know the answer to that, don’t you?” He replied almost instantly. He was a smart man. Capable of murder.

“Mr Jaeger, you are under arrest for the suspicion of murdering 5 border guards and illegally crossing the border.

Your house has been searched and evidence of the body has matched to you. Come with me now.”

Jaeger’s reply is one I’ll never forget. “Piss off.” With that he ran.

I ran after him as fast as I could. We ran and ran. I pulled out my Colt 45 1911 and fired a shot. A miss! Another shot.

Shit! It bounced off the railroads of where we were running and bounced past me. Jaeger had led me to the train tracks behind his house, near the wall and the place he crawled through. All trains were gone, but there were the old trains, the trains used in the 30’s.

I fired again, a miss. We were approaching a corner and I was confused. Why did he lead me here? He’s surrendering, but there must be something else. “Time’s up, asshole. Any last words before I blow your goddamn brains out?” I was getting hot-headed, it was because of the running.”Yea, I have a question.” I had to play along. “What?”. “Is your wife’s name Sarah, by any chance?” How did he know! Oh god no, he couldn’t have! “How do you know her name? HOW DO YOU KNOW HER NAME! YOU FREAK, WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!” “You motherf…...WHAT DID YOU DO!” I shot him. Right in between the eyes. I killed him. As I sat there, in a stranger’s blood I realised, Jaeger had won. He wanted to be free, to get rid of all the people stopping him and he did what he enjoyed.

All I wanted was to be with my wife.

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I N K S TA I N S • S E C O N D A R Y S C H O O L

NON FICTION WINNER

ORANGE BLACK BOXES STEFAN CHORDAS GRADE 10

On March 27th, 1977, a series of events occurred on the small island of Tenerife, in the Canary Islands, that lead to the most deadly aircraft disaster in aviation history. But most aviation accidents don’t just occur because of one reason, it takes a long series of events to take place that finally lead up to the disaster of an airline. In the case of the Tenerife Disaster, the story begins at midday on the 27th of March, 1977. Two flights are headed to Las Palmas, the main island in the Canary Islands . The first flight is a Boeing 747, the largest commercial aircraft at the time, PAN AM flight 1736, which took off from Los Angeles the afternoon before. Just in front of the PAN AM flight, is another Boeing 747 operated by KLM, flight 4805, that took off from Schiphol Airport in the Netherlands. Most passengers in both aircraft were holiday goers, getting ready to set sail on a cruise leaving Las Palmas later that day. At the time, a group of terrorist were attempting to separate the Canaries from Spain and make the Islands an independant country. As a way of making themselves better known to the public, they set off a small bomb in a flower cart at the main airport. Because of this, both the PAN AM, the KLM, and all other flight heading towards Las Palmas, were redirected towards a regional airport on the smaller island of Tenerife.

Because it was a Sunday, only two people were working at the Air Traffic Control tower at the small North Tenerife Airport.

As the parking spaces filled up, the two flights made their landings on the single runway, and were told to stay there until the major airport was reopened. At the time, the KLM pilots were eager to get back to the major airport and drop off their passengers, because they were on the edge of passing their sleeping hour requirements, and still needed to get back to Amsterdam. As fog started to cover the airport, the pilots began to worry that they would be stuck in Tenerife for the night. (Air Crash Investigation (TGL), 2017).

After hours of waiting, the airport at Los Palmas was finally reopened, the two Boeing 747’s began taxiing down the one small runway. This action of taxiing down a runway 32

is fairly common in small airports, and is called ‘back taxiing’.

The back taxi was part of a plan made up by the air traffic controllers to get the two big aircraft off to their destinations as quickly as possible. The original plan was to have the KLM, which was in front, to turn around at the head of the runway and wait for for the PAN AM to pull off onto a small taxiway.

The KLM could then take off, and the PAN AM could freely follow it out off the same runway. But the KLM pilots made the decision to takeoff without Air Traffic Control permission, and without realizing that the PAN AM was still taxiing on the same runway, took off and collided with the PAN AM at 150 MPH. At the time of the collision, the visibility had dropped far below the standard allowable distance, and the KLM was fully loaded with 42 extra tonnes of fuel, and hundreds of passengers (Air Crash Investigation (1), 2017).

After the Tenerife Disaster, as it became known, the NTSB (National Transportation Safety Board) sent scientists from the U.S. to investigate. Originally, there were conflicts between the Canarian Aviation officials and the NTSB Investigators, but the Americans were eventually allowed to work on uncovering how two of the world’s biggest aircraft ended up on the same runway at the same time.

In most cases, air crash investigator’s first step is to locate the crash site, but in the case of the Tenerife Disaster, the entirety of North Tenerife Airport (Los Rodeos airport as it was called at the time) was covered in aircraft wreckage. The first step the Investigators took, was to study the layout of the airport, to find why the PAN AM, had not gotten off the runway.

This is where the investigators first began using the black box of the PAN AM. Black boxes, are specialized recording devices used in aircraft to help show how an aircraft crashes. The black box contains two pieces of recordings: the CVR (Cockpit Voice Recorder), which tapes the sound from the cockpit, and the FDR (Flight Data Recorder), which records all inputs to the aircraft systems. In the case of the Tenerife Disaster, the CVR showed that there was some confusion as to which taxiway

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the PAN AM was supposed to turn off to, as to let the KLM have an empty runway for takeoff. But the taxiway given to the PAN AM required a turn that was too sharp for the giant Boeing 747 to make, so Captain Grubbs (The pilot of the PAN AM), chose to continue on to the next taxiway, Charlie 4 (Seconds from Disaster - Tenerife disaster, 2017). The following is the exact words heard from the CVR of the PAN AM: Control Tower –“-ah leave the runway third, third to your left” PAN AM First Officer (Copilot) –“Third to the left, O.K.” PAN AM Flight Engineer (Second Copilot) –“Third he said.”

PAN AM Captain (Pilot) –“Three.”

Control Tower – “...ird one to your left.”

PAN AM Captain (Pilot) – “I think he said first.”

PAN AM First Officer (Copilot) – “I’ll ask him again.”

(Last Words, 2017).

This showed the investigators that the PAN AM was not clear as to where they should get off the runway. When they saw that the original taxiway had a very sharp turn in it, they figured it would be okay to continue on to the next taxiway, which had less of a turn. The KLM pilots figured that the runway was clear, and it would be okay to takeoff. So the next place the investigators looked into, was why Captain Van Zanten

(The Captain of the KLM, who was so senior that he rarely flew. In fact when he wasn’t at photoshoots, he was teaching young pilots how to fly the 747s) had taken off without ATC Clearance. In the CVR Recording, it is clear that there was no real reason as to why the KLM Captain took off. But evidence shows that the KLM Pilots were eager to get out of Tenerife to avoid having to spend the night, due to the incredibly low visibility, and the sleep requirements of the pilots. (Air Crash Investigation (2), 2017) KLM First Officer (Copilot) – “Wait a minute, we don’t have an ATC clearance.” [This statement is a response to an advancing of the throttles in the KLM by the pilot.]

KLM Captain (Pilot) – “No, I know that, go ahead, ask.”

KLM First Officer (Copilot) – “The KLM four eight zero five is now ready for take-off and we are waiting for our ATC clearance.”

Control Tower – “KLM eight seven zero five, you are cleared to the Papa Beacon, climb to and maintain flight level nine zero, right turn after take-off, proceed with heading four zero until intercepting the three two five radial from Las Palmas VOR.” [These are instructions by Air Traffic Control on how to get to the main airport, not a clearance for takeoff, the tower also recited KLM 8705, instead of the actual flight number KLM 4805] 33

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KLM Captain (Pilot) – “Yes.” KLM First Officer (Copilot) – “Ah roger, sir, we are cleared to the Papa Beacon flight level nine zero until intercepting the three two five.”

KLM Captain (Pilot) – “We are now at take-off” [This is the KLM accepting the instructions, In addition, the words “we are now at take-off” are not common for takeoffs].

The term ‘black box’ is one that is thrown around quite a lot when talking about plane crashes. But many people don’t know what the black box is. In a nutshell, the black box is a piece of electronic equipment used to record data of a flight.

It is made up of of two separate boxes, which are actually colored orange, not black (this is for investigators to locate it easier if it get lost on impact). The first section, is the FDR, or the Flight Data Recorder. The FDR is used to measure changes in the aircraft’s state. Changes in altitude, airspeed and heading are fairly standard functions. But modern FDR’s can record autopilot and fuel changes, and also movements of the various panels on the aircraft such as flaps, ailerons, elevators, and the rudder.

The other half of the black box, is the CVR, or Cockpit Voice Recorder. This piece of tech is a crucial part of reconstructing air crashes. The CVR’s first and most obvious job, is to pick up all sounds made by the crew in the cockpit. Investigators listen to see if the crew may have pointed out any abnormal instrument readings, or if there were any loud bangs that may point to an explosion. Thanks to the advancement of technology, modern CVRs are not only used to pick up noise made by the crew, but also noises made by the plane. Once played back, modern CVRs can isolate any noises in and out of the plane, from stall warning bells, to changes in engine RPM. The Black Box is potentially the most important piece of the puzzle when solving an airline crash, and because of it’s importance, it is made to be able to withstand enormous amounts of stress. Each unit typically costs from 10,00015,000 dollars, and have been engineered to survive any type of airline crash. The two recorders are designed to always loop, and record over themselves every 30 minutes. This means that after the Black Box is disconnected from the aircraft’s electrical system, it will stop recording, so investigators get 30 minutes of data of the plane’s last flight. The black box’s shell is made up of three layers that are built to withstand extreme pressures, heat and survive underwater for months.

It also has multiple beacons, including Underwater Locator Beacons, and capsules that leak luminous fluid into the water to make locating it easier in case of a water landing (Bonser and Chandler, 2001), (Flight data recorder, 2017).

Black boxes are made to help investigators discover the 34

crucial moments and decisions that pilots make before an aircraft crashes. But just discovering the reasons behind a crash is only half the battle. The Black Box is made to help us learn from our mistakes, and change them accordingly. We can use it to fortify the safety of the millions of people flying in aircraft each day. Because the black box is a recording device, it is understandable that due to certain political factors, it may run in the way of some problems.

In 2014, Malaysia Airlines flight 17 fell out of the skies over Ukraine. But only the black box recordings could show what had really happened. Despite Russia being blamed for the air crash, with many sources stating that a Russian SAM, or Surface to Air Missile, shot MH17 out of the sky, the black box recording showed no evidence of any explosions in the cockpit (The Huffington Post UK, 2017), (BBC News, 2017).

Because of the controversy between the USA’s and Russia’s information, the reason behind MH17 crash is still under investigation.

The flight recorder helps us realize what needs to be changed in our modern aircraft. In some cases, a crash happens that shows investigators that all aircraft are in jeopardy, and could have the same fate as the one that crashed. An example of this is American Airlines flight 96. Which, due to a faulty latch system, had it’s rear cargo door blown off at 30,000 feet.

This lead to an explosive decompression, which eventually killed over 300 people. After investigators found the cause of the crash, all McDonnell Douglas DC-10’s were grounded, and recalled to the factory, a new cargo door latch had to be put onto all of the 382 aircraft. The entire recall and modification process cost McDonnell Douglas thousands of dollars. (Air Crash Investigation, 2017).

Not everything is perfect, and unfortunately, that includes the safety of commercial aircraft. Due to safety requirements made by the Federal Aviation Administration, or FAA, all electronic equipment in aircraft are equipped with circuit breakers to avoid fires from spreading, in the case one starts in a specific piece of equipment (Smith, 2017). This is how investigators believe the famous airline hijacker of MH370 got away without anyone knowing who was in the cockpit. If it was a hijacking, which is still unknown, the hijacker could have stopped the black box recording. In addition, smaller planes are not required to carry black boxes. But despite this minor flaw, the black box has helped in almost every single investigation, and is almost always to the leading reason as to how the investigators know how a plane crashes. Without it, the process of investigating would not only take twice as long, but also would not be as backed up by actual data. The system not only tells us how a plane crashes, it also tells us what we can do to prevent future disasters.

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References: Air Crash Investigation (1), (2017). Air Crash Investigations Mayday Behind Closed Doors American Airlines Flight 96. [video] Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wP8aqW8bwY [Accessed 20 Mar. 2017].

Air Crash Investigation (2), (2017). Crash of the Century. [video] Available at: https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=AaFO9dEeCBQ [Accessed 17 Mar. 2017].

Air Crash Investigation (TGL), (2017). Air Crash Investigation Disasters The Tenerife Air Disaster. [video] Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1elmW-vx4k [Accessed 17 Mar. 2017].

Airport Layout. (2017). [image] Available at: https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTyFc0JloCjEziIg5JmUf0WtdwasnbtlNvPOc1xnTuR1TX_rge1mA [Accessed 22 Mar. 2017].

American Airlines Flight 96. (2017). [image] Available at: https://turkishdc10.files.wordpress.com/2007/08/door.jpg [Accessed 23 Mar. 2017].

BBC News. (2017). MH17 Malaysia plane crash: What we know - BBC News. [online] Available at: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-28357880 [Accessed 23 Mar. 2017].

Black Box After Crash. (2017). [image] Available at: https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSglG1jPlPKUZONl8nF4vIcNc153j29235SugwNqLoXhr70S0_r [Accessed 23 Mar. 2017].

Black Box on Aircraft. (2017). [image] Available at: https://media.licdn.com/mpr/mpr/ shrinknp_400_400/p/2/005/05e/356/03f2a69.jpg [Accessed 23 Mar. 2017].

Bonser, K. and Chandler, N. (2001). How Black Boxes Work. [online] HowStuffWorks. Available at: http://science.howstuffworks.com/transport/flight/modern/black-box.htm [Accessed 20 Mar. 2017].

Captain Van Zanten. (2017). [image] Available at: http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/tenerifecrash/images/f/f2/VvZ_at_work.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20111030221243 [Accessed 23 Mar. 2017].

Cockpit Aftermath. (2017). [image] Available at: https://www.awesomestories.com/images/ user/8fa84e79ac.jpg [Accessed 22 Mar. 2017].

Digital Rendering of Collision. (2017). [image] Available at: https://i.ytimg.com/vi/gyOTeaz5aTE/hqdefault.jpg [Accessed 22 Mar. 2017].

Flight data recorder (2017). Patent US20140177146 [online] Available at: https://www. google.com/patents/US20140177146 [Accessed 20 Mar. 2017].

KLM 4805. (2017). [image] Available at: http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7ZpfFuNqMs8/T8B14KTmvRI/AAAAAAAAAR4/ac7H3BJ5L50/s1600/1977_news_boeig_747_ph_buf_02.jpg [Accessed 22 Mar. 2017].

Last Words. (2017). CVR 721229. [online] Available at: http://www.planecrashinfo.com/ cvr770327.htm [Accessed 20 Mar. 2017].

Los Rodeos Airport. (2017). [image] Available at: https://photo.tinhte.vn/ store/2014/03/2438039_duong-bang.jpg [Accessed 22 Mar. 2017].

National Geographic Channel. (2017). Air Crash Investigation. [online] Available at: http:// natgeotv.com/uk/air-crash-investigation/black-box [Accessed 20 Mar. 2017].

Seconds from Disaster - Tenerife disaster. (2017). [video] Available at: https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=B4hTTlJeBbE [Accessed 20 Mar. 2017].

Smith, P. (2017). Question to A Pilot.

The Huffington Post UK. (2017). MH17 First Findings Reveal Crew Had No Warning Of Explosion. [online] Available at: http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2014/09/09/mh17-crashmalaysia-airlines-black-box-recorders_n_5789224.html [Accessed 23 Mar. 2017].

Wikipedia. (2017). Tenerife Airport Disaster. [online] Available at: https://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/Tenerife_airport_disaster [Accessed 17 Mar. 2017].

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NON FICTION HONORABLE MENTION

THE HANDMAID’S TALE: A REFLECTION OF THE 80’S LARA ARENCIBIA PENDER GRADE 9

The Handmaid’s Tale is a novel about a woman called Offred who lives in Gilead, the United States of the future. She is, like many others, a “Handmaid”. Essentially a glorified sex slave, her only purpose in life is to produce children for infertile or “barren” influential couples. Written by Canadian author Margaret Atwood, this dystopian novel demonstrates one of the possible futures of the world, as inspired by the time it was written in, the 1980’s, a time of nuclear disasters, HIV/AIDS and feminism. However, more than anything, the 1980’s were a time of change and new ideas, which directly influenced Atwood’s writing of The Handmaid’s Tale.

One of the most monumental phenomena of the 1980’s was global warming and the need for environmental action.

Atwood would have been exposed to the importance of nature from an early age, as “her father worked as an entomologist (insect scientist)” (Astor, 2017), and she lived the first decade of her life in the middle of provincial Canada, far away from urban life. She would therefore have learned a lot about the importance of living beings, no matter how small. Another environmental issue during this time was the effect of war on the environment, as evidenced by the devastating effects of the Vietnam War on the Vietnamese jungle. The eradication of entire swathes of forest and other landscapes as a product of war would certainly have made a great impact on a young woman raised in nature, and would therefore have affected her opinions on global warming and the environmental issues 36

of the time. The last significant event during her life that would have impacted her opinions on environmental issues was the increasing amount of nuclear disasters, many of which occurred during the 1970’s and 1980’s. “The most serious of these in America was the Three Mile Island plant incident in 1979” (Crossref-it, 2017), which would have demonstrated to Atwood that nowhere was safe from the devastating effects of radiation. These events would go on to impact her writing, as she created Gilead, a country with devastating environmental issues. In fact, Gilead almost directly mirrors the current events of Atwood’s time, as an ongoing war in Gilead causes devastating environmental changes on the land, with Offred describing news stories in which “Below them, a group of trees explode.” (Atwood, 1985, pg. 92). Furthermore, Gilead is Atwood’s prediction of the future of the world, the United States in particular, and what would happen to its inhabitants, should humanity continue to harm the environment. In The Handmaid’s Tale, children are often stillborn or are born with horrible mutations, because “The air got too full, once, of chemicals, rays, radiation, the water swarmed with toxic molecules.” (Atwood, 1985, pg. 122). These devastating occurrences would turn out not to deviate too far from reality, and as humans slowly deteriorate the world around them, they can slowly be seen appearing more and more often. From her own experiences and events she has seen or been a part of, Atwood creates a world which is, at the same time, both

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imaginary and entirely probable. A terrifying warning, but certainly an accurate one, Atwood paints a vivid picture of the inevitable destruction of the world by its inhabitants, and in The Handmaid’s Tale, strikes too close for comfort to the truth.

Nevertheless, environmental issues are not the focus of The Handmaid’s Tale. The most recurring theme is instead the treatment of women and/or feminism, which is the epicenter of a host of issues within the novel. During the course of her life, Atwood had many experiences which would have contributed to the opinions present in The Handmaid’s Tale. She herself was “active in women’s and human rights issues” (Breuer, 2003), and had been privy to the differences in societies’ views on women, such the conservative views of countries such as India or China as opposed to more “liberal” countries such as Norway or Sweden. However probably the most impactful trip she made was when she “traveled to Iran and Afghanistan, and the repressive rules for women she encountered there were also part of the inspiration for the near-future dystopia of Gilead.“ (Cook, 2011). This as well as the common epithet “a woman’s place is in the home” (Cowie, 2008), and the rise of the Pornographic Industry in the 1980’s, would certainly have changed the way Atwood saw a woman’s place in the world, a view which we can see clearly in The Handmaid’s Tale. In her novel, Atwood takes these “ordinary” ideas and views and radicalises them to the point at which they become absurd. For instance, Atwood uses the idea that a woman is inferior to a man, and turns it into a physical reality in Gilead, by creating a world in which one

man is equal to several women in court, as “Evidence from a single woman is no longer admissible” (Atwood, 1985, pg. 43).

These offensive or unfair stereotypes about women continue to crop up throughout the novel, including the clichés that a woman must be monogamous in a relationship, should not seek sex unless to have children, should only do housework and be subservient and mild-mannered, and should depend on a man for sustenance instead of making her own fortunes.

These institutionalised “ideals” are particularly interesting considering the decade in which The Handmaid’s Tale was written. The 1970’s-1980’s were a period of transition in women’s rights in many parts of the world, especially Western Europe and North America, whereby these conventions became redundant as women slowly began to seek power for themselves. However not all change was for the better, as the 1980’s also saw a large increase in the production and sales of Pornography magazines, which slowed the process of female empowerment. Women’s disdain for these magazines is visibly championed by Atwood in The Handmaid’s Tale, as in the time just before Gilead, Offred describes women getting rid of these magazines, saying “the flames shot high, and then they began dumping the magazines” (Atwood, 1985, pg. 48). However, it also serves as a cautionary tale, because in The Handmaid’s Tale, this banning of racy magazines eradicates all of the power women had to be sexual beings, reducing them to mere vessels for children. In doing this, Atwood makes it plain that women have the power to change their lives, but also points out that all actions have repercussions. If anything, her experiences and her novel would have demonstrated to her 37

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that a perfect world, especially with regard for women, does not and cannot exist.

Undoubtedly, if a perfect world is not likely in reality, in Gilead it is impossible. Another of the issues on Gilead’s long list is infertility and declining populations. This too is a product of some of the current events that took place during Atwood’s life. The two most significant factors contributing to infertility and declining population at the time of the novel’s creation would have been HIV/AIDS and the beginning of the fall in birth rates. The 1980’s are very well known as the decade of the AIDS epidemic. In fact, “In America it was first recognised and HIV identified in the early 1980s, shortly before Atwood wrote The Handmaid’s Tale.” (Crossref-it, 2017). The recent nature of these events would have been fresh on Atwood’s mind as she wrote The Handmaid’s Tale, and indeed could have been part of her reason to have infertility and declining populations be the main issue in her novel. The other real event which may have inspired her choice of declining birth rates as a theme was another recent issue, which was also considered an important one, as it was often hypothesised at the time that there would be “no Germans by the year 2020 because their birth-rate is so low” (Cowie, 2008). This urban myth may have also been partly responsible for this storyline. In The Handmaid’s Tale, while Offred is having a flashback about her daughter, she tells the story of a time when, while in the supermarket, she “turned around and she was disappearing down the aisle, in the arms of a woman I’d never seen before.”

(Atwood, 1985, pg. 73). This already indicates the problem of fertility and declining populations even before the creation of 38

Gilead, as infertile women unable to produce offspring resorted to stealing other women’s children. After Gilead’s creation however, conditions worsen, and Handmaids such as Offred are so important to create children that “We are containers, it’s only the insides of our bodies that are important.” (Atwood, 1985, pg. 107). This shows that conditions were so dire that it was possible for people to be dehumanised just so that they could fulfil a purpose for society. For this reason at the time, The Handmaid’s Tale would have therefore been incredibly topically relevant and indeed prophetic of the terrible events popularly considered to be the real future.

Although The Handmaid’s Tale would have been relevant in the 1980’s it was also relevant historically, in particular with regard to religion, another frequently discussed topic in The Handmaid’s Tale. This evident interest in religion can be directly linked to Atwood’s own life experiences, as she was exposed to very radical forms of religious belief throughout her life. Atwood attended Harvard University in her early 20’s, and while there, “she learned a lot about New England and Puritanism” (Breuer, 2003), a very strict and radical form of Christianity. Furthermore, during the 1970’s and 1980’s “she found herself increasingly alarmed by statements made frequently by religious leaders such as Jerry Falwell in the United States.” (Cowie, 2008). A few years later, while she was writing The Handmaid’s Tale, “Atwood asked herself the following question: If you were going to take over the United States, how would you do it?” (Cowie, 2008). Her most logical conclusion was that it could be done by convincing people that it was “God’s will”, and that religion was the most

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powerful tool at a person’s disposal to control people. All of this thinking is evidenced in her novel, as “In the Republic of Gilead, biblical references, mostly from the books Jeremiah, Genesis, and Job, run through every aspect of daily life.”

(Breuer, 2003). This includes everything from shop names to the names of people’s occupations, such as the secret service being called “The Eyes of God” and Gilead’s leaders being the “Commanders of the Faithful”. Furthermore, the entire premise of the main character Offred’s task comes from a few lines in Genesis, whereby “Rachel insists that her husband Jacob bed his handmaid because Rachel herself has failed to conceive.”

(Breuer, 2003). In Gilead, this quote is taken literally, and girls like Offred are forced to conceive “for” barren or infertile couples. In short, the source of all of Offred’s troubles is the radicalisation and putting into practice of excerpts of religious texts, which is a direct product of Atwood’s experiences and fears at the time.

Ultimately, Atwood’s life and the times she lived in directly influenced the writing of The Handmaid’s Tale, the product of which is a reflection on human behaviour and its consequences.

By taking common values, conventions, ideas and practices to their logical conclusion, Atwood demonstrates that humanity is essentially teetering on the edge of a very dangerous precipice, and that if we were to fall, we would bring everything crashing down with us. Using her knowledge and experiences as inspiration, she creates one of the most prescient and alarming portraits of the human race, which warns of the probable future the human race is creating for itself, and proves that we take many things for granted. However, in writing The Handmaid’s Tale as a prediction

for the future, Atwood also reminds us that the human race has the power to prove her wrong, and that all is still not lost. There is hope for us yet.

Reference List Astor, J. (2017). Margaret Atwood Biography. [online] Notablebiographies.com.

Available at: http://www.notablebiographies.com/An-Ba/Atwood-Margaret.html [Accessed 12 Dec. 2017].

Atwood, Margaret. The Handmaid’s Tale. 21st ed. London: The Random House Group Ltd., 1985. Print.

Breuer, A. (2003). The Handmaid’s Tale. [online] Heliweb.de. Available at: http:// www.heliweb.de/telic/breuer.htm [Accessed 15 Dec. 2017].

Biography.com. (2015). Margaret Atwood - Biography. [online] Available at: http://www.biography.com/people/margaret-atwood-9191928 [Accessed 12 Dec. 2017].

Cook, N. (2011). Girl Detective » Blog Archive » On Margaret Atwood and “The Handmaid’s Tale”. [online] Girldetective.net. Available at: http://www.girldetective.net/?p=3831 [Accessed 15 Dec. 2017].

Crossref-it.info. (2017). Atwood’s use of actual historical events » The Handmaid’s Tale Study Guide from Crossref-it.info. [online] Available at: http://crossref-it.info/ textguide/The-Handmaid’s-Tale/31/2091?jump=h2-3 [Accessed 15 Dec. 2017].

Encyclopedia Britannica. (2017). Margaret Atwood | Canadian author. [online] Available at: https://www.britannica.com/biography/Margaret-Atwood [Accessed 12 Dec. 2017]. scholarship@cc. (2008). The background to The Handmaid’s Tale. [online] Available at:https://schol.wordpress.com/2008/06/01/the-historical-and-political-context-of-the-handmaids-tale/ [Accessed 15 Dec. 2017].

Thefamouspeople.com. (2017). Margaret Atwood Biography. [online] Available at: http://www.thefamouspeople.com/profiles/margaret-eleanor-atwood-2238.php [Accessed 12 Dec. 2017].

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NON FICTION HONORABLE MENTION

THE TIDES OF THE HUMAN MIND MAX KONSTANTINOVSKY GRADE 10

Incantation

By Czesław Miłosz

Human reason is beautiful and invincible.

No bars, no barbed wire, no pulping of books, No sentence of banishment can prevail against it.

It establishes the universal ideas in language, And guides our hand so we write Truth and Justice With capital letters, lie and oppression with small.

It puts what should be above things as they are, Is an enemy of despair and a friend of hope.

It does not know Jew from Greek or slave from master, Giving us the estate of the world to manage.

It saves austere and transparent phrases From the filthy discord of tortured words.

It says that everything is new under the sun Opens the congealed fist of the past.

Beautiful and very young are Philo-Sophia And poetry, her ally in the service of the good.

As late as yesterday Nature celebrated their birth, The news was brought to the mountains by a unicorn and an echo.

Their friendship will be glorious, their time has no limit.

Their enemies have delivered themselves to destruction.

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Poetry serves many a purpose, but it primarily attempts to empower an idea. A variety of poetic devices can be used to indicate the key concept to the reader. The work Incantation

by Czesław Miłosz successfully illustrates this. Its main idea lies in the strength of the human mind and is conveyed by personification, metaphors, end-stopped lines, capitalization and connotation.

The first line of the poem, “Human reason is beautiful and invincible”, serves as the thesis. It is the first example of personification. By giving human reason human characteristics, the author outlines the importance of wisdom and reason to the concept of humanity.

The first line is also an indirect metaphor which compares human reason to something elevated by beauty and invincibility. Reason also has the connotation of mind and rationality, something that makes us human. This concept can be summarized in Aristotle’s statement that humans are rational animals. The line also establishes the lense through which the content of the poem is observed. Miłosz separates individual ideas by ending lines with a full stop, evidenced by the first line which establishes a concrete thought.

The second and third lines explore the surface level of the power of human reason, touching upon its invincibility in the face of physical force. It states that physical limitations cannot be imposed on the human mind. That is evidenced through the historic connotation in the second and third lines. The author uses imagery of the Holocaust such as book burnings and the “bars and barbed wire” of concentration camps. Using the word sentence, which has the connotation of something that is imposed by humanity (usually some

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sort of punishment), the author conveys that people cannot defeat the human mind through violence. It can also be interpreted as a literal sentence. In this case, the line would focus on words attempting to diminish the human mind. The act of banishment also references the deportation stage of the Holocaust.

These lines are tied to Miłosz’s personal history and his family’s experiences during the Second World War. The second and third lines illustrate a single idea, thus they are not separated by a full stop. The third line, however, is an end-stopped line because it concludes the idea of the human mind’s invincibility towards physical force.

In lines four to six, Miłosz explores the power of the human mind through language. The word language, in the fourth line, has the connotation of communication and literature.

The author states that “[the human mind] establishes the universal ideas in language,” using the word universal to state that the human mind unifies mankind, overcoming the lack of communication and humanity’s potential differences illustrated in the word language.

The author also uses indirect personification in line four, giving the human mind the ability to establish and, further, in line five, to guide. The author continues to develop the connotation of language as literature in lines five and six through a strong metaphor that compares human intention in written work with the guidance of the human mind.

The author uses capitalization to illustrate the importance of Truth and Justice while diminishing lie and oppression.

Capitalization has been used to signify the beginning of a new sentence, giving lines five and six the context of a new

beginning. The capitalization also has another meaning.

Historically, the word God and words of reference to Him have been capitalized. Therefore, line five can have the intention of elevating truth and justice to the importance of religion and faith. This weakens lie and oppression through contrast, identifying them as unworthy of praise. Furthermore, human reason and reference to it (such as It) has been capitalized throughout the whole poem, disguised by beginning every new idea separated by end-stopped lines, which then proceeds to conclude the relationship of the human mind with language; the idea has been established.

In line fifteen, the author uses capitalization similarly. The word philosophy is written in the way it was first conceived in Greece, philosophia. Capitalizing this word identifies it as the inception of human reason, once more referencing the capitalization used when beginning a sentence. However, the division of the word into its roots, Philo, for love, and Sophia, for wisdom, suggests that the author uses a technique, similar to that of lines five and six, to establish their importance.

Love and wisdom are elevated to sacred proportions. This technique is also used in line seventeen to achieve a similar effect with nature.

The division in line fifteen, made by splitting the word, cements the independent power of both concepts as well as their ability to successfully work in tandem. The author also uses personification, stating that philosophia is “beautiful and very young”. This bonds it with the concept of humanity which had similar description in the first line.

Line fifteen flows into line sixteen, tying the love of the human mind to Miłosz’s own craft; poetry. The author brings 41

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reason to his own incantation by using a metaphor that depicts poetry as “[Philo-Sophia’s] ally in the service of the good.” He not only promotes the virtues of human reason, but also vividly displays his own contribution to them. In addition to that, the metaphor of ally and service has a militaristic connotation. The undertone of the phrase suggests that philosophia and poetry are waging war on lie and oppression, referenced in line six. This concept comes to an end with another full stop.

The last line delivers the final blow in a metaphor about the enemies of the human mind. With a deadly, decisive tone, the author states that lie and oppression have already shown to bring only despair and mayhem. This is best evidenced in the strong word choice such as enemies, delivered and destruction.

The poem has an optimistic perspective on the direction of humanity, illustrating the power of the virtues of love, wisdom and justice by stating that oppression has been destroyed once and thus can be destroyed again. The last line brings the tone of faith into the poem, as if the author preaches to the audience that the goodness of the human mind will prevail.

Czesław Miłosz’s Incantation evidences the power of human reason in itself. The author entrusts the reader with deciphering the meaning of the piece as he leaves clues in the form of personification, metaphors, end-stopped lines, capitalization and connotation. These are used to deliver the key concept that human reason will prevail. Miłosz’s trust in the reader is the final arbiter to his trust in reason, allowing him to succeed in capturing the essence of poetry; the idea.

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P O E T RY H O N O R A B L E M E N T I O N

QUITE TRANSFIXED STOOD HE RICHA SINGLA GRADE 11

Quite transfixed stood he, The beauty of nature lay ahead.

The humming spread across by the bee, Calmed his body like a bed.

The traveller, quiet in serenity Relaxed as the mesmerising melody, Took over. Eyes closed, Memories in his head replayed, Standing alone in the wood, An escapist of his own hood.

Long inhales of his cigarette, and a deep journey of hand through hair, Flinching with memories of regret, Visualising him and her in the air.

The relief of pain unexperienced once Now a constant companion Sunlight scattering through the high canopies, Felt like light in dark times A compensation of the unheard cries, And a likely escape from harsh realities.

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PROSE FICTION HONORABLE MENTION

THREE SISTERS LIZA SHEVETOVSKA GRADE 11

Dearest Varvara Grigorievna, My name is Irina Sergeyevna, I’m a daughter of your friend, the late Sergey Prozorov. Throughout his life, my father kept a box of letters in his room. After he passed away I retrieved the box, and being unable to help my curiosity I started looking through the letters. I found some of those written by you.

From what I have read I gathered that you knew my father for a long time and that you visited our house in Moscow quite often back when my family lived there. In your letters you mentioned that you hold a post as a headmistress of a gymnasium in Moscow. You are a very lucky woman, Varvara, very lucky indeed to be living in Moscow and spending your life in the company of scholars, working for the sake of a better future and bringing purpose to the lives of children!

You may remember me as a very young girl, since I was only nine when my family left Moscow. A lot of time went by since then and let me assure you, I’m not a little girl anymore.

I am still quite young, twenty-three years of age, nevertheless I’m highly educated. Our father, God bless him, made sure the four of us received a good education. Olga, Masha, Andrey and I know English, French and German fluently, but I also know Italian! I love learning. I think life would completely lack purpose without it. I can imagine nothing worse than growing up to be a clueless woman who wakes up at midday and spends hours dressing without a care in the world, unable to lift a finger. You see, Varvara, I believe there is hope for us. I believe that in the end, all our hard work will mean something and it will all be worth it. I believe work is the key to our joys and our happiness. Otherwise, I just don’t know what else matters.

I really think I am fit for such an important job as a schoolteacher. I have work experience at two other jobs and I have a teacher’s certificate which I earned with my sincere efforts. I quit my previous job at a telegraph office because it was completely demoralizing and exhausting. This post just wasn’t for me at all. It lacked meaning and poetry and I didn’t feel like I was growing. To be honest, I hated the person I 46

became there. This is embarrassing to tell, but one day a lady came to send a telegram to her brother in Saratov–her son died that same day, but she couldn’t remember the address so she just sent it to Saratov. She must have felt miserable and I was so rude to her for no reason! I couldn’t recognize myself.

But my longing for work didn’t leave me. Later on I got a job at the Town Council but I despised it too. This position dried out my brains! I worked hard, like a cursed horse; I became thin and ugly and it felt like I wasn’t doing anything of value, of substance! It was meaningless, what I did there, a waste of time. There was no knowledge, no prospective! I never felt so depressed in my whole life. But I thought, well, it’s God’s will that life is the way it is, and we all just have to live our lives the way we do until….well until we start to live differently. But I didn’t lose hope completely. I still believe that there’s chance for a better life for me in Moscow. Oh, Lord God in heaven, I dream of Moscow every night. If I could fly like a bird in the sky I would fly straight to Moscow!

Moscow is my hometown, I was born there… at Staraya Basmannaya Street, and ever since my family left the city, I wanted to return. I don’t have many memories from Moscow but I do remember how happy our family was. I really wish we stayed.

Working in Moscow, as a teacher in your gymnasium would be a dream! I want to work to the sweat of my brow, and dedicate my life to building a better, brighter future. Dear Varvara, you are the only one I know in Moscow. You are my only thread of hope. I will be forever grateful if you take me in.

Believe me, I am ready to dedicate my entire life to work, so long as I do so in Moscow.

With tears of hope I conclude this letter. All the best to you and your family; I hope to hear from you soon.

My kindest wishes, Prozorova Irina Sergeyevna

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U N I T : F A N TA S T I C C R E AT U R E , P A P I E R - M Â C H É , A C R Y L I C P A I N T, 2 0 1 6

POLINA NIKITINA, GRADE 6

Have a safe voyage, Karpova Varvara Grigorievna

A L E X A N D R A Z H YG A L K I N A , G R A D E 6

I have carefully read your letter. Yes, it is true, your father and I were good friends before he passed away. My condolences. It is also true that I am currently holding a post of a headmistress in a local gymnasium in Moscow.

I do remember you as a young girl and I’m certain you changed into a responsible young woman. Your father must have taken great care of your upbringing and invested in your learning. The enthusiasm you express for work is commendable, however I do require a tête–à–tête interview prior to making any final decisions about your acceptance.

Let me know when you are Moscow and we will arrange the meeting.

FINOLA QUINN, GRADE 6

Dear Irina Sergeyevna,

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NON FICTION WINNER

ATTITUDES TOWARDS RELIGIOUS ETHICAL FOUNDATIONS OLESIA SHEREMETA GRADE 11

Religion is a key aspect that influences individuals in a society.

The play Antigone explores themes such as civil obedience and family loyalty, however the main virtue of value is religion.

Looking through the lens of faith, the knower witnesses impact that religion has upon ethical foundations such as categorical and consequential thinking. These ethics drive the behaviour of two main characters in the play, Creon and Antigone, both different in terms of attitude towards religion and following the law. However the main differences lie in the personal morals of the characters, and how they choose to follow society’s ethics. In the play Antigone, Creon and Antigone’s behaviors change in accordance with their attitude towards religious ethical foundations.

The base of ethical foundations in ancient Greece resonates in the religion. Gods punish or reward the character as a consequence to the action committed. Therefore the character finds morality in the act’s consequence, influenced by widespread religious ethical foundations (Sullivan and Pecorino, 2002). Antigone demonstrates consequential behaviour through a religious necessity- her brothers burial- an act she plans to achieve at any means necessary.

“You, though, dishonor the god’s commands, if you wish,” (Sophocles, 2005, line 77) Antigone says to Ismene, following the consequentialist ethic because she knows that god’s will honor her for the burial. She discovers morality in the consequence of the act, in this case - heaven being god’s reward. Thus her moral situation requires her to reject the ethics of following the laws of the state. The knower sees that not only can god’s reward someone for a good deed, they also grant a person power, which also leads to consequential behaviour.

In ancient Greece, kings were believed to be appointed by gods, therefore following king’s orders reflects in the society. Disobeying the king meant disobeying the gods, the 48

consequence for which being a severe punishment. Therefore participation in religion leads to following consequential ethics, the knower can view this consequentialist behavior through Creon speech “The gods have set right again our city’s affairs...now I hold sole power and the throne...whomever the city chooses must be obeyed in all things, ”(2005, lines 234256). Creon finds morality of punishment in the consequences of it, which in this case obedience from other members of society. Creon believes that as he was appointed by gods, his laws shall be obeyed. If one defies the laws, consequences follow. This creates conflict when Creon faces Antigone, who also acts in accordance with consequential ethics, by burying her brother. This personal moral act does not go against the ethic of following the gods, but rather against the ethic of following the state’s laws. Religion influences the ethical foundation of consequential reasoning as well as promotes categorical thinking.

Obeying the gods leads to categorical thinking because no matter the consequence, characters believe god will be on their side. As mentioned above, Antigone displays consequential reasoning behind her brother’s burial; however she displays elements of categorical ethics as well. She follows personal morals and goes against the ethic of following the state’s laws. As Antigone mentions “Because it wasn’t Zeus who pronounced these things to me...” (2005, line 373), she talks about how the law of prohibition of the burial was stated by the king, not by the gods. Antigone makes a categorical decision as she does not obey the king, locating the morality of her action in her duties as a sister and as a religious being.

She doesn’t think about the consequences of her actions, rather her only goal is to have her brother buried. In addition, a character not approving of the gods having the main power results in categorical thinking as well.

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In Greek times, religion represented the ethics of the society; therefore, being a non-believer resulted in unethical behaviour. This practice leads to categorical behaviour as the character finds morality in the duty of the act rather than the consequences. An example of such categorical thinking could be seen in Creon’s portrayal of the punishment for lawbreakers, even though his law contradicts the law of Gods. The quote “Am I wrong to protect my own empire..You don’t protect it when you trample the honors of the gods,” (2005, lines 753-755) shows how Creon’s son believes that Creon is going against the gods, thus will destroy the empire as a result because religious ethical foundations are rooted into the society. Despite this, Creon bases his categorical reasoning in the morality of punishment and his duties and rights as a king, even if the act committed by Antigone was ethical in accordance with the gods. Moreover, evidence shows that characters can change their ethical foundation as a result of the influence of events or other characters.

Change from categorical to consequential thinking can happen through character development in the play. Creon exhibits this change as his attitudes towards religious ethical foundations evolves. Freeing Antigone at the end of the play contrasts with his previous decision of punishing her. Creon goes against the ethics of the religion by condemning burial of the corpse, yet later gives up personal morals of duty as king. Creon says “I myself, since my judgement has turned and seen better ways, I bound her and I will go and release her, for fear that it is best to keep the established laws as long as one lives” (2005, lines 1119 - 1123). By “established laws” Creon means the laws of the state; however the laws of the state are the laws of gods due to strong religious roots in society.

When Creon ordered Antigone to be punished for following her morals of her brothers burial, he applied categorical thinking because he located morality in his duty as a king, regardless

of the consequence. Here when talking to Tiresias, he realized that morally she did the right thing because she followed god’s orders therefore should not be punished. This shows change from categorical to consequential thinking, because Creon realized his moral consequences of the burial which follow the established law, are stronger than the moral consequences of his duty to punish Antigone.

Through the faith way of knowing, the knower exhibits actions that support the individual’s religious morals and ethics. Antigone and Creon, both share the same ethical foundations, however behave differently in accordance with these ethics. Through the religious aspect of Antigone, the reader knows that ethics and personal morals influence the characters behaviours. These behaviours change analogously with their attitude towards religious ethical foundations, resulting in categorical, consequential thinking. Faith is rooted in the ethical foundation and character’s moral judgement, therefore religion fuels each action that the character takes.

Reference List: Changingminds.org. (2011). Values, Morals and Ethics. [online] Available at: http://changingminds.org/explanations/values/values_morals_ethics.htm [Accessed 19 Oct. 2017].

Diffen.com. (2017). Ethics vs Morals - Difference and Comparison | Diffen. [online] Available at: http://www.diffen.com/difference/Ethics_vs_Morals [Accessed 19 Oct. 2017].

Sophocles, (2005) Antigone. Translated by J.E. Thomas. Unites States of America.

Sullivan, S. and Pecorino, P. (2002). Consequentialist vs. non-consequentialist theories of ethics. [online] Qcc.cuny.edu. Available at: http://www.qcc.cuny.edu/ SocialSciences/ppecorino/ETHICS_TEXT/Chapter_4_Ethical_Theories/Consequential_or_NonConsequential.htm [Accessed 20 Oct. 2017].

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N A D I I A H AV R Y L E N K O , G R A D E 1 2 , C A M O U F L A G E , G R A P H I T E , A C R Y L I C , P R I N T I N G I N K , 2 0 1 6

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NON FICTION HONORABLE MENTION

WHY DID THE TSARIST REGIME SURVIVE THE 1905 REVOLUTION, BUT PERISH IN THE MARCH 1917 REVOLUTION? GEORGE KENT GRADE 11

During the early 20th century, Tsar Nicholas II had to do everything in his power to preserve the declining tsarist regime. The Russian people disliked the state of their nation under the tsarist system. Tsarism narrowly avoided its downfall in 1905, but finally perished in March of 1917.

It survived the 1905 Revolution because of the disunity of revolutionary groups, the granting of additional liberties in the October Manifesto, the loyalty of the army, and the effective governance of Pyotr Stolypin. Tsarism finally fell in 1917 largely because of the effects of Russia’s participation in World War One, which included a breakdown of infrastructure and vast change in the military personnel.

Although the 1905 Revolution did not succeed, it marked the beginning of the end of the Tsarist regime. The system experienced pressure from the masses unlike any time before.

The humiliation in the 1904-05 Russo-Japanese war angered many Russians. Not only was the Baltic fleet destroyed in less than 24 hours by the more technologically advanced Japanese navy, the Russian army in the east experienced crushing losses against the Japanese army. The war consumed many of Russia’s resources and impoverished the country. The common people were starving and angry, which convinced many to protest and riot all over Russia. Father Gapon led the largest of these protests in front of the Winter Palace in St. 52

Petersburg. Authorities panicked about the size of the crowd and opened fire. More than one hundred innocent civilians died at the hand of the military.

In 1905, there was no leadership or common goal among the people. Workers, liberals, peasants, soldiers, students, and nationalists did not act at the same time. They did not coordinate their riots, protests, or strikes effectively because they were not unified and could not communicate with each other well, as the communication system in Russia was rudimentary and inefficient. The peasants wanted more land, while the workers and soldiers wanted better working conditions. The liberals wanted a constitutional monarchy and a greater voice in politics. The liberals and the workers came together in one instance in October of 1905, and this visibly shook the system. When workers in Moscow tried to to revolt by themselves, they were easily crushed. Because of this disunity, the so-called revolutionaries of 1905 did not pose a serious threat to the Tsarist regime, as the military could put down revolts with ease.

Another effective measure the Tsarist government put in place was the October Manifesto. The Manifesto promised to give the Russian people an array of civil liberties such as freedom of speech, press, and assembly. It also promised to create a legislative body called the Duma, whose members

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would be popularly elected and whose approval would be necessary before the enactment of any legislation. Around this time, Nicholas II also removed redemption payments from ex-serfs, which eased pressure from the peasants. This Manifesto quelled much resentment against Tsarism, and the revolutionary movement quickly fell apart. The Regime relieved the strain on the system.

However, the main reason the 1905 Revolution did not succeed was because the military, which returned form the Russo-Japanese war, remained loyal to the Tsar. Although the war with Japan humiliated Russia in some respects, the war proved to be short and limited in effect. Teddy Roosevelt and the United States mediated a peace treaty between the two nations. Other than some minor mutinies, the Russian army remained loyal to the Tsar. In addition, the effective governance of Pyotr Stolypin helped preserve Tsarism.

Stolypin ruthlessly crushed the revolutionary groups. In addition, Stolypin implemented several agricultural reforms which eased the pressure from the peasants, which left the working class dissatisfied and isolated. This made the threat of a successful revolution very unlikely, as the military continued to easily crush resistance. Tragically for Imperial Russia, Stolypin was assassinated in Kyiv in 1911, removing Russia’s most effective administrator.

The success of the 1917 revolution directly correlates to Russia participating in World War One. The war affected Russia’s population and economy significantly. Inflation rose to abnormal levels, while food and fuel shortages made urban populations miserable, especially during the harsh winters.

The infrastructure broke down, as most of the nation’s resources were expended on the war. There was enough grain in rural areas; however, the system of railways were not functional in many areas, which prevented grain from entering the urban centers of Russia. Resentment towards the war and Tsarism grew to an unsustainable level. Everybody was affected by the war, which included industrial workers, white collar workers, government bureaucrats, and the police.

The negative effects of the war unified the people of Russia against the Tsarist Regime, as they blamed it for the failures in the war and the hardships in the nation.

Another aspect which weakened Tsarism while Nicholas II led the Russian troops on the front was Tsarina Alexandra’s and Rasputin’s involvement in state affairs. Rasputin strongly influenced the Tsarina as he allegedly eased the pain of her hemophiliac son. Rasputin was seen as a vile stinking peasant poisoning Tsarism. The Tsarina’s and Rasputin’s involvement in state affairs made the autocracy more inefficient than before. The system essentially weakened itself from within, which made it easier for people to rally against it. This caused

the liberals and monarchists alike to gather against the crown.

Monarchists wanted to remove the current Tsar, while the liberals wanted to get rid of the Tsar entirely and be governed by the Duma. Either way, people in Russia unified under the banner of removing Nicholas II, a factor the revolution in 1905 lacked. The unity of the masses and the frustrations of the Duma strained the Tsarism to its limit until the system collapsed upon itself.

The most important element of the 1917 revolution, however, was the soldiers in the army. In 1905, the army remained loyal to the Tsar, an instrumental component of the preservation of the regime. However, during WW1, the Russian army experienced massive casualties because of supply issues and German superiority. The majority of the veterans loyal to the crown died in the fighting. This meant that Russian military in 1917 consisted of young conscripted soldiers who did not fully support the Tsar and the regime. On International Women’s Day, thousands of people in Petrograd took to the streets in peaceful protests, and workers went on strike. The military was able to contain the situation until, on February 27, the army mutinied, allied themselves with the protesters, and successfully occupied the Winter Palace. Of the 160,000 soldier garrison station in Petrograd, half mutinied. Revolutionary leaders quickly called on other soldiers fighting in the war to rebel against their officers. As a result, Nicholas II abdicated the throne, and the Duma took over the governance of Russia. The 1917 February Revolution succeeded, and Nicholas II proved to be the final Tsar.

In conclusion, the Tsarist regime survived the 1905 Revolution because the revolutionary groups were disunified, which prevented any successful action from taking place.

The implementation of the October Manifesto quelled many people’s grievances, and the loyalty of the army and the governance of Pyotr Stolypin effectively crushed any threat to the system. When studying the events surrounding 1905, one might question if a revolution even occurred. The movement lacked many hallmarks of a revolution, as it was not organized and had no real goal or leadership. However, Tsarism finally fell in 1917 largely because of the effects of Russia’s participation in World War One, which included a breakdown of infrastructure, widespread hunger, and vast change in the military personnel. The Tsarist regime fell in March 1917; however, the Provisional Government proved incapable of solving the country’s many problems. These, in turn, would eventually fuel the Bolshevik Party’s seizure of power in October later that year. By 1918 the 300 year Romanov Dynasty was no more, the royal family executed outside Yekaterinburg.

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J E N S L I D É N , G R A D E 10, CO L L AG E , C A R D B OA R D, AC RY L I C , 2016

I I A K A R A M A N I S H V I L I , G R A D E 9 , U K R A I N I A N G E O R G I A , W E AV I N G , E M B R O I D E R Y, 2 0 1 7 55

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THEME “TRANSITIONS” WINNER

TRANSITION TO THE RUNWAY ELYSE DEMKIW GRADE 8

I stood in the white room with several other potential models; we waited for our names to be called so we could go into the judge’s room. We all kind of looked the same and were all about the same age, 20. I was so nervous my arms and legs were shaking, I felt there was more weight on my shoulders than all the other stick thin girls. I went into the next room as soon as they called my name, “Kiana Johnson.” I kept a big smile on my face and cat walked to the middle of the room.

The judges gave me a stare up and down. I went through the curtain, down the runway waving my hips. My curls bounced lightly as I owned the room with my huge smile and huge… boobs. I didn’t want anyone to ask too many questions, I was comfortable walking and being a model, but not when they were asking me questions. I felt like I was being interrogated.

The judges looked and smiled at me as I stood there posing at different angles.

“Well, Kiana, you sure are beautiful!” said the female judge, “Thank you!” I exclaimed.

“You may make your way to the callback room; we would love to see more of you.”

Have you ever had a feeling like your life was about to turn around completely even if it wasn’t for sure, my smile got 10 times bigger. I walked to the room that had a huge label with the words “PHASE 2.” Only 6 ladies would make the cut to the biggest fashion show of the year, Victoria’s Secret Fashion show. Another hour passed and we got called back into the room with all of the judges.

“All of you ladies are beautiful; it is a big accomplishment to even make it this far,” the female judge with black hair told us.

My feet were aching, my head was spinning, I was tearing up.

“Can the following ladies please step forward, Julia Smith, Gigi Hadid, Jasmine Harman, Elena Dawson, and finally, Kiana Johnson who will wear our 10 million dollar fantasy outfit.”

I started crying, we all hugged each other and were 56

escorted to the hall where we had a short interview. We went into the changing room and changed our clothes. My best friend Emma was waiting for me and we cried together; we were so happy. We went to our shared condo and just as I arrived I got an email saying the schedule of meetings, workouts, fittings. In that moment it all felt so real. 8 months till the actual show, I cried all night as I told my family. As excited as I was, I had a past I didn’t want people to know about. One that could have ruined my career.

3 months before the show I started my extreme fitness routine. Working out 7 days a week. Getting so toned, nothing would stop me. At that point I had gained 1 000 000 followers on Instagram because of all the agencies that came to me, But I still kept my past on the low. Before going out, even just to get a loaf of bread at the grocery store I would have to put on quite a bit of makeup; I didn’t feel confident enough.

Especially with all this fame that followed me. It was so much work; I never questioned anything, I was blessed. I got so many brand deals and I lived like a millionaire. Emma was my publicist and together we bought a beautiful penthouse. The stress was getting to me; I figured that after a few weeks of the show airing on television I would resolve some issues so my past wouldn’t bite me in the ass. Until then it would be a lot of work because some parts of me just resembled my former self, but I really did change. My anxiety worsened, I just felt alone and that I wasn’t worthy. But I was so excited for the show to happen, it would be my moment, a moment that would make every dream of mine ever come true!

The night before the show I had to do a bunch of different things to make sure I was in perfect shape. I couldn’t be bloated, I couldn’t breakout, I had to be hydrated because it was going to be a LONG day. I had a 9 hours of sleep, surprisingly I slept great. I woke up at 7 am to get ready. I packed my bags; I didn’t really take much. I hopped in my car at around 9 am and met Jasmine. We went to the runway the

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show was being held. My heart stopped. I practiced a bit in my highest heels and felt like the stage was my home. 5 pm we had to start getting ready. Beforehand we were taken on a tour where everything was. My makeup artist was named Natalia. She was amazing; I never felt prettier. After my hair was curled, I went to the meeting room. This is where a lot of influencers interviewed us and took videos. I loved this part it was really fun! Then the show came, I re-applied foundation to some irregular parts of my body that I didn’t want to show.

I put on my first outfit, it was a beautiful blue, yellow, and red tropical piece with parrot inspired wings. The crowd was screaming and I even felt more alive. I was waved over and on my cue I was the first to walk down the show. I kinda felt a bit stiff. After my second run I felt extremely comfortable and I was dancing around with the musicians who played. Beyonce performed and danced with me. Hands down, best experience of my life. Lights everywhere, music bursting, crowd cheering.

It was everything I ever dreamed of. The whole process really made me feel more comfortable with myself.

After the show I was on top of the world, I swear I NEVER felt happier. But something brought me down. I remembered that in a week I would face my past. I hoped it would inspire people, I regretted not telling people in the beginning. My job could be at stake; this is all I thought about. I had a press conference the next Monday after the show. I had been planning my speech.

I had worn a beautiful black dress with a slit on the side, it was from Chanel (never thought I would say that!). My makeup artist gave me a beautiful rose gold look that complimented my jewelry. I had a glass of wine before the press conference, I figured I needed it! Emma was by my side as we got out of the car. I walked down a red carpet. All the lights and paparazzi screaming your name is quite overwhelming but I got used to it. Then came the speech... I got up in front of thousands of people and news stations that night. Looking

around at all the microphones and cameras I felt like running off the stage. I took a deep breath and said, “Hi, my name is Kianna Johnson. I was not born as a female.” The crowd went silent and I could hear people questioning what I just said. I continued, “Ever since I was born I knew that I was a female in the wrong body, I am fully female now and I just participated in one of the biggest fashion shows of the year. I want to use my experience to show anyone who is going through even remotely the same thing that you can be anything, no matter what the circumstances. I’m proud to be transgender and I don’t expect this to change people’s opinion of me but feel free to unfollow me if you don’t like this part of me.” I closed my eyes for a second, expecting people to call me names but no, everyone cheered and was so happy. As I walked back to my house I told everyone how much they meant to me.

Everyone loved it! I posted on all of my social medias but it wasn’t long before I was on the news, all over the world! I was celebrated for my empowering story and I got several letters saying how I inspired people, it was crazy. I always was afraid of people judging me or still thinking that I am a man. For about 10 years my family had to deal with huge medical bills and judgement. I felt as if I were a burden. But now with all the jobs and publicity I’ve been getting I can give them a life they never thought possible. A beautiful house, stable finances, and most of all, they were inspirations to several people who are going through the same thing. It’s been a few months. I have met people I never thought possible! I also have a boyfriend; his name is Matt and we just got engaged. He is someone who truly loves me. Despite the hate I get on a daily basis, I get so much love. I am now more confident than ever, people always stop me on the streets and ask for pictures. I live an amazing life, and it all happened with one audition. This is my story.

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THEME “TRANSITIONS” HONORABLE MENTION

THE PHILOSOPHY OF IMPRISONMENT SONJA RINGGER GRADE 10

My name is Heinrich Schmidt, 31 years old, Aryan. I studied Polish language, history and theatre in Berlin, and graduated in the early summer of 1937 at the humble age of 24. For a while I worked on translating Polish texts into German, but my young and adventurous spirit soon drove me abroad.

The search finally ended with a job in Krakow, seeking fame and justice in the name of my righteous country, working with the Gestapo. I started my career by translating Polish messages sent from the Underground and worked my way upward towards wherever my talent would take me. I was always open to try my luck in new areas; my enthusiasm was infectious, my knowledge enviable, my youth promising and my work ethic highly praiseworthy. By autumn 1942 I had risen to the ranks of an informer.

Thus followed my glory years. As an informer, it was my duty to infiltrate the Polish underground resistance movement, to expose their leaders, cut off their resources and report their plans to the Gestapo, who would imprison and interrogate them further.

I was marvellous. “The Slyest of them all,” they used to call me. I threw myself into my work, applying all that I had learned in Berlin of the Polish language and of history.

My name was no longer Heinrich Schmidt. I was instead “Andrzej Frankiewicz,” Polish notar, patriot and active part of the Underground, who personally knew 3 officers of the AK which -what a tragedy- were later caught by the Gestapo, who had acquired their names and addresses under mysterious circumstances. (Andrzej Frankiewicz, of course, was there to offer his deepest condolences.)

In June 1944, my career hit its peak. Andrzej Frankiewicz 58

left Krakow to visit his sick cousin (twice removed) in the countryside, and a mysterious man called “Jakub Bartkiewicz” appeared in Warsaw three days later to join the AK Home Army there. People trusted him wherever he showed up. Everything went smoothly, perfectly planned, like a well oiled machine.

Very German.

But there came something even someone as adept as Jakub Bartkiewicz could not have predicted: There came an uprising! On the 1st of August, 1944, while Jakub Bartkiewicz was still sipping his morning coffee in Heinrich Schmidt’s pajamas, the Home Army launched an attack. They fought our forces for 63 whole days before the German Army was able to arise victorious over the failed “heroes” of Poland.

The uprising destroyed me. My career took a dive for the worst, I was no longer Mr. Know-it-all (which, with the Gestapo, is a great compliment), but just some informant who failed to report on what was perhaps the greatest revolt of the Polish underground. I started to fear for my life.

The Reich has no place for screw-ups, no sympathy for the useless and no bread for the weak. Everyone does their job, and does it well; therein lies the famed German strength.

It is the metaphorical iron that coats our glove, the red around our cross and the thick sole of our army boots which will step upon and rise above the others. It is what gives us Germany today, and what promises us the entire world tomorrow. Our strength is what allows us to call ourselves German, to call ourselves supreme. And I had failed my purpose, lost my strength. I was no longer a true German, I was weak. And the weak must be eliminated.

And I was right. No matter how grimly determined I threw

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myself into my work, I was doomed to be escorted to my cell on the 23rd of October, 1944. Allegedly, proof had been found that I was lenient with my task in Warsaw.

I stepped into my office at the Gestapo headquarters, and as soon as my hat and coat were off, three guards came in.

Their names were Hans, Mattias and Paul, and I knew their faces like I knew the contents of Andrzej Frankiewicz’ back pockets. I knew them well, especially Paul, whom I befriended while translating the confessions of a Polish prisoner.

My work often required me to oversee interrogations or to translate for Polish prisoners, so I was no stranger to good old-fashioned (justified) torture, yet the procession to my cell held in it no violence, no malefice and no harsh words, just quiet efficiency.

There it was again, that characteristic German strength.

Their faces were blank, as if carved out of white marble, and their hands gripped my arms (Hans to the left, Paul to the right) not strongly but insistently, letting me know that their grip will become iron if I dare try anything. I did not.

Which brings me back to the present.

My name is Heinrich Schmidt once again, still 31 years old, still Aryan. I have spent the last 2 weeks awaiting my sentence in this cell, my only source of information being Paul, who stands shifts at the prison more often than the others, and whom I can sometimes exchange whispered conversations with if no one is close by. These short discussions usually incorporate him telling me of the weather, of the health of my former colleagues and of my sentence. The day before yesterday he told me of his sweetheart Daniella, whom I already knew about for a year and a half (I am an informant

after all). Whether or not he is aware that she is Jewish still remains a mystery to me.

We do not talk about the war. I have no idea where my Fatherland stands in the conflict, what our Führer has been up to lately and what the news on the Russian Front are. After my imprisonment and unjust treatment, Germany’s advances are the last thing I care about. In a way, that just aids to my feelings of inadequacy in the eyes of my people.

What Paul and I do talk about is my sentence. My past successes allowed me to be escorted without violence, and Paul assured me that my Aryan heritage guarantees me a swift execution, either by hanging or a shot to the back of my head. Favorable ways to go, certainly, considering the history of those who sat in this cell before me.

Sitting in the same cell, seeing the same 4 walls before me has given me a lot of time to think and observe. At first, I tried to avoid thinking about myself and my fate, but these thoughts inevitably caught up with me soon.

Why am I in this cell? Because I failed to report on the Warsaw uprising. But I was not the only informer present at the time, I am certain of it. Perhaps I was the most important, the most relied on, but why should such fate strike me alone?

From Paul I gathered that the other informers were spared, that my death is meant to be a warning, that I am to be made an example of.

What irony!

Where once I was paraded around the office as a prime example of excellent German work ethic, I am now the showcase of failed expectations.

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of many strategically important people of the Polish Underground; I never once lost my cover. The soles of my shoes sported cracks created by the pressure of patriotic fervor, but those cracks were caked with the dried blood of those whose deaths I helped spur on. I was above those whom I spied on; a snake coiled up in the high grass, a lion on the prowl, a wolf among sheep.

But wolves and sheep rot in prison alike. I am in the very cell which once housed many whom I revealed to the Gestapo, with all the time in the world to myself. For every day I sit here contemplating my existence I gain two years of wisdom. In another life I might have called myself a philosopher.

Philosopher or not, boredom in this cell is inevitable.

I used to pace the perimeter of it, counting my steps, or I shouted and rattled at the door, demanding that the guards let me out, fully aware that it will not achieve anything. I used to sing until I lost my voice; songs I knew from my childhood, my time growing up, and ones I heard Poles sing when sitting in this cell. Sometimes my mind would play tricks on me and I could almost hear the guard on the other side of the door humming along.

Another way of relieving boredom is reading and rereading the messages scribbled on the walls, floor and door. Most are in Polish, but some are in Russian as well. I have yet to spot a German inscription. The scratched or written words often tell, as far as the Polish part is concerned (for my knowledge of Russian is severely lacking), of the suffering, of God, Jesus and mother Mary, of loved ones, of days spent here and the names of the authors.

Amongst them is my own message, scratched into the hard material of the wall with the aid of one of the forks I had received for a meal. There, on the wall, written in large letters lies my message to the outside world.

I cannot help but view the me that wrote those words as a young fool. A young and hectic fool, confused by the emotions he was feeling, not knowing how to respond. With every coming day I age and age, until the blue eyes that sparkled with fierce rage at the beginning of my imprisonment grow deep with thought, and once strong shoulders sag under the weight of new wisdoms acquired in too short a time.

You might recall that a few moments (or perhaps a lifetime) 60

ago I asked myself the question: “Why am I here?”, and to that I have now the answer. I am here, in this cell, because National Socialism needs a scapegoat. I, German, Aryan as could be, am in this cell because the new German government cannot function without a martyr to take the blame. I, loyal servant to my Fatherland, am in this cell because said Fatherland is afraid of facing itself. It unites against a common foe, yet once the foe is gone or defeated it collapses in on itself, for people then have the time to think about, question and criticise the motives of the Nazi party. National Socialism does not work without fear.

As circumstance may have it, I have been gifted with the role of the foe, the traitor. I sit here to keep fear in the lower ranks of the Gestapo, to remind everyone of their own mortality and of their debt to Germany.

And Germany is cruel mistress. She takes and demands, she engages and teases, moves about, but never satisfies you fully, leaving you aching with want, ready to sacrifice more each time for her sake.

But I am no longer her slave. I am no longer slave to illusion, to irrationality, to blind pride and loyalty. No, I see Germany’s newest suitor, Fear, for what it is. My eyes are open to the suffering of others under the regime of fear, the regime of the Common Foe, just like me, yet I feel neither remorse nor pity for them. It is what it is, and what it has been for a long time.

Yet Germany is unfaithful. Her suitors come and go, and she fancies a new one almost daily. Yesterday it was Democracy, the day before that Monarchy, and soon enough she will discard National Socialism too. Her moods, and so the moods of her people, move about and vary like the wild wind, able to change direction at any given moment.

Now she may need an enemy, yesterday a prophet and tomorrow perhaps a friend, only to start over once again.

Inspired by my newest musings, I grab the blunt fork one last time. I set it to the wall, feel the cold iron under my fingers, and begin to scrape away. Slowly, bit by bit, letters are formed, which warp into words, that together, over hours of persistence, form what may very well be my last, finite sentence to this world.

“What else is new?”

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ALEXANDER LITERARY AW CONTEST SUBMISSION 64

LOW E R M Y P

LOW E R M Y P

UPPER MYP

P O E T RY:

PROSE FICTION:

P O E T RY:

RACING FOR US

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Alexandra Zhygalkina (Grade 6)

THAT ONE LIE Anastasiya Krupchak (Grade 6)

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SELLING THE CAR Anatoliy Klymets (Grade 8)

72

GONE Ding Yifei (Grade 6)

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DEWDROPS ON A GERBERA DAISY Anastacia Reynolds (Grade 6)

76

THE LOTTERY Maria Houdaifa (Grade 8)

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78

ORANGE Nikita Taratorin (Grade 10)

R WARD

NS 2017 80

UPPER MYP

UPPER MYP

DP

PROSE FICTION:

NON FICTION

P O E T RY:

HOW I TRIED TO MAKE A

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ORWELL’S LIFE AFFECTED HIS

DIFFERENCE: STORY OF ANTONI

FICTION

ULATOWSKI

Sofiya Zhevago (Grade 9)

98

DEAR HAEMON… Kateryna Bessarab (Grade 12)

Nikita Taratorin (Grade 10)

90 82

UNFAITHFUL

SUFFERING AND SELFISHNESS Nikita Kyryllov (Grade 10)

Sena Cinar (Grade 9)

94 86

INVESTIGATION INTO LINKS

THE BOOKSTOP

BETWEEN ECONOMIC AND

Ana Kimm (Grade 10)

SOCIAL STATISTICAL FIGURES TO PORTION OF WOMEN IN LEGISLATIVE BRANCHES Nikita Taratorin (Grade 10)

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LOW E R M Y P P O E T RY

RACING FOR US ALEXANDRA ZHYGALKINA GRADE 6

Racing for peace, Racing for love, Racing for equality, Racing for a dream We try to make our world a better place, And what we get instead?

All hate and anger, is thrown on us, The people chasing peace!

We all need love forever We all want to be loved, We are all made up of love, And love is what we all just cost No matter of gender, race, or age, We still need to have the same rights, We can’t exclude people from the community, Because they’re different that us.

What’s hard about chasing a dream, You don’t see what will happen than, After all of it comes true to life, But we just gotta keep trying no matter what, to reach our dream!

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LOW E R M Y P P R O S E F I C T I O N

THAT ONE LIE ANASTASIYA KRUPCHAK GRADE 6

In a beautiful white forest covered in ethereal snow a spectral light descends from the trees. But a dark soul always follows the light. Exactly two years ago I told my first lie.

It was after school and I got a bad mark: I felt the earth spin when I saw an F on a report that I had worked on for weeks. My stomach dropped and I couldn’t feel the chair I was sitting in. When a teacher came up and asked, “Are you okay?

You look really pale.” I answered with a simple, “I’m fine.” But truly, I wasn’t close to fine.

Afterwards it continued; I kept on saying “I’m fine” but I felt broken inside. I used to keep track of how many lies I told but I stopped - I couldn’t keep count of them anymore.

The sun is setting down now like a horse disappearing around a carrousel, you know it will always come back. I should probably head home now or my parents will have to spend the evening without me again.

I come to a path splitting up in two, one leading home, one to a place I have never been to. I look at the path leading home, I can see its friendly lights shining; then I look to the other path, I feel drawn to go down this path. So I do. “My family can spend another evening without me.”

I walk ahead on the path I have never taken before.

I hear leaves rustle. I feel a million eyes watching me from the branches, behind the trees and in the ambiguous sky. I turn a corner and arrive at an eidolic sublime lake.The lake is covered in a thin sheet of ice like glass separating two worlds.

I can’t resist, I look into the lake. A strange force calls me

and I walk over the thin sheet of ice. I know it is dangerous but I am compelled. I reach the middle of the lake. Then with a silent splash I fall inside. It feels like I am being stabbed by a thousand invisible needles.

Images flash from when I told my first lie to today: All the times I said “I’m fine.” Then my words reverse: Instead of every “I’m fine” I say how I really feel.

I am shown the world I could have lived in - Instead of misery I feel peace and pleasure.

Suddenly the images stop. This time the cold of the lake feels like a wave of heat and regret washing over me, for all the lies I told and the time I have wasted.

I rise to the surface hitting the ice. I am trapped.The air is getting thinner. The sound of my heart pounding is like a hummingbird beating its wings. I felt as if I am floating away, detaching from my surroundings.The lies weigh down, crushing me, from all sides.

I realise what I have done.That all the time I was lying I have been crushing myself little by little. No more lies. I won’t be caught in a web of deceit again.

It is dawn. The sun is melting the ice. I wade out of the memorious lake.

The sun is rising up higher now, the child on the carousel returning.The birds chirp their morning songs as they fly around me. This is a new round of the carousel, but an authentic one.

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SELLING THE CAR ANATOLIY KLYMETS GRADE 8

It was a warm shiny day, when I decided to sell my car. I had a old Renault Clio, it was a bit rusty on the sides, and somewhat dirty from the inside. But I am optimistic and I was going to get a good deal out of it. Honestly, my car wasn’t in the best shape; I got it from my older brother who had graduated from college. I found that my model is a Renault Clio lll 2005 was selling for about 5 thousand on the internet, but I would love about 7 or so. I wanted a bit more college money, and I dreamed of a gaming computer that I had to buy to beat my college friends. Selling the car was the only choice I had.

The first thing that came to my mind was try to sell it on the internet. I searched up a couple websites but they looked a little shady; I didn’t think I should trust them. I decided to just find a decent car dealership that could sell my car quickly and I would get some quick cash. I lived in Boston where every student wants a college car to ride with their friends and hangout in it. That’s why I chose a car dealership called “Perfect College Car”. In my opinion, that was the best dealer for me as they promised to sell my car fast. I made a phone call and talked about our future deal. Tony, the dealer, asked me to come over for him to take a couple of photos.

When driving I was a little disappointed to be selling the car because it was a family car and I felt sorry to get rid of it.

Besides, it was my only car and after that I would have to use public transportation, which is poor in Boston. There would be millions of students in the morning driving around and trying to get to their colleges. On the other hand, I had to sell the car to get pocket money and buy myself a professional gaming computer. The ride was smooth, and I managed to get there in less than 10 minutes, and Tony appeared to be a nice guy.

He surely noticed some of the rusty bits on the car, so he took some nice angled pictures of the car. The car looked like new on the photos, with no rusty spots, and I understood that I found the right guy for me.

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Sitting over a cup of coffee we decided to discuss the deal about my car. Mostly we were talking about the legal stuff and if I had all the papers on the car. But the most important thing we talked about was the price.Tony told me that he was taking a commission from all of his customers. For the Renault Clio the commission would be about 1-2 thousand. It all depended on how high the price was of the car. This totally didn’t go into my plans; I thought I would only pay him a couple hundred bucks. He also told me that the faster he sells the car the more commission he takes. I didn’t agree with his rules at all, because his fee was way too high for me. I had no other choice though, and we agreed. Tony said I have a couple more days with the car, until he finds the customer. I was grumpy about the deal, as I thought I would get more money.

I had only a couple days left with the car, and I wanted to get the most of it. These were the last days when I could comfortably drive to my parents who live about 70 miles away from Boston in New Hampshire, so I took advantage of that opportunity as I did love my car. It is an hour and a half drive.

I also wanted to let them know that I was selling the car. I wondered what my parents would say about my idea. I was nervous as this car actually didn’t belong to me as my parents bought it as a family car so that we all could use it.

I arrived to my parents and it was supposed to be a surprise, but the door was locked. It was a disaster; my surprise failed. They told me they had left for a birthday party and that they would be home in an hour. I had nothing to do but only wait. Meanwhile Tony called and told me to be at the office the next day to show the car to the buyer. It was good news but I still needed to tell my parents that I found a buyer for the car. I had about an hour to figure something out.

I hadn’t thought of some good idea so I decided to just tell the truth. My parents came, and I made some coffee, and told them that I had something very important to tell them.

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We all sat on the couch and started our conversation. It was hard to drive my parents to the main topic, because they had a lot of pointless conversation. Finally, after a ton of side questions, we started the talk about the car. My parents got frustrated at me, as I didn’t ask their permission to sell the car. They lectured me about first asking the family if they need the thing you are owning and whether the family allows you to sell it. But after I told them that I had already found a buyer, they allowed me to sell it. It was hard but I accomplished what I came to New Hampshire to do. I was sorry for making them upset . I apologized and said that I should have asked them first. After speaking to my family I went back to Boston as I didn’t want to drive at night.

It was about 5 p.m. and the sun would go down about 7 so I had just enough time to get to Boston. On the way back I suddenly heard some noises coming from the front left wheel; something was squeaking loud, it might have been the breaks.

In addition, the motor was making some kind of loud roar; all of that didn’t make me feel pleasant. Maybe, most of the weird noises happened before but I just didn’t listen to the car closely. It seemed that my little car didn’t want to leave me.

I almost reached Boston and was a couple miles away from my house. I was concerned thinking about how to fix the troubles with the car; I should do it before calling Tony. But things were going from bad to worse. When I was peacefully waiting at the red light of the traffic light, a speeding Nissan GTR crashed into me. I felt like my body flew back into the seat, and it was terribly painful. People called 911 and helped me get out of the car. Fortunately, I was all right as the hit came from the back. The first thing that came on my mind was about the car - if it was okay and if it was still fit for sale, I hoped that the rear bumper would be just little bent.

When I got out of the car I was limping because my leg hurt. I

limped around the car and saw that it wasn’t that great. The whole back section was demolished and the last 2 seats were ruined. The GTR was going about 70 mph because the damage to it was so significant, the whole hood wasn’t repairable. The paramedics came and first checked the GTR driver, they had to hospitalise him as his legs were injured. He was in a pretty bad shape. The medics checked me out and looked if I was okay, and told me to go to a hospital for a full check this week.

The police came in a matter of minutes after the medics.

The police wanted to see my documents and check my drivers license and insurance. I limped to the car to get the papers out of the sun visor. While trudging to the police car, I was looking through the documents really fast to see if everything was passable. The driving license was fine, but for some reason I couldn’t find the expiration date on the insurance, but I was sure that everything was fine. I came up to the cops and handed them my papers, they checked everything and told me that I had a problem with the insurance. As they were handing the insurance to show it to me, I started to worry, my heart started to pound hard, and cold sweat ran down my back. They showed the expiration date that I couldn’t find, it said, “Expiry Date July 15”. I felt uneasy and almost fainted. It was like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. It was July 16 that day.

As the insurance had expired I could neither get the insurance nor sell the car because it had turned just into a piece of junk, so I was staying with nothing. That was one of the most frustrating moments in my life, I felt absolutely miserable as I was left with neither car nor money. I didn’t even know how to tell about that accident to my parents. But first I had to call Tony and say that I have no car for sale any longer. The hardest part was that I had to cancel my computer order.

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LOW E R M Y P P R O S E F I C T I O N

GONE DING YIFEI GRADE 6

To my greatest memories

Chapter 1 It wasn’t a sunny day outside. No birds are singing, nor cars driving by, but raining.

Martin was running outside, rushing to get home from the raindrops as big as his eyes. His shoes were all wet, and his football jersey was all soaked. But the cruel weather wouldn’t give him any chance of taking a rest. Water was poured above him, running down his black hair and skin. He shivered.

Martin almost give up running until he saw a gate, the gate to his boarding school.

He sighed in relief as he saw the light of the cabinets.

The boarding school he studies in is call Golden Lake, because there is this huge lake in the school, and in every Autumn, October 5 the sun shines in the lake and the lake itself reflects the light and turns into colour gold.

But the weird thing is, today is October 5...

Chapter 2 Martin ran past the cafeteria, the main building, the elementary school cabins. Then he ran into the high school cabin area.

He is a six grader. According to his school system, sixth grade is still in the elementary school. But because Ding, also as known by his real name Pudding, is in the Desser family, which is the top detectives in the world, Martin and Ding got special treatment.

Martin got out his key as he reached for his door, but a simple nudge on the door opened it.

Martin opened and saw a battle field.

The tables was flipped over, the TV’s screen was broken, Ding’s favourite china was shattered.

There were four figures in the room dressed up in their pyjama and robes. No, not all of them. One was wearing a suit.

Martin cleared the rain drops off his face and then looked again. It was Ding, Acacia, Anton and Annie.

The four of them formed a circle back to back.

Ding gestured Martin to join them.

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Martin ran but then he saw Anton jumping over his head and punched something. Punched something big and hard.

The coffee table.

The table broke in two as Anton’s right fist met with the table.

Martin stood there in shock.

Chapter 3 Ding finally spoke. He said two words. Two syllables: “Get Here!”

Martin joined the circle and Annie explained. She said: “Jeff is here. He escaped from his holding cell and wants to take revenge on -” Annie kicked a plate that flow her way and got distracted. “Where were we again?”

“You said Jeff is taking revenge on someone.” Marin said.

“Who are they taking revenge on?”

“Us, they taking revenge on us.” Annie said.

“Who is Jeff?” Martin asked.

“Jeff Limp. Combater, age twelve, from Australia. Arrested for banning the rules of a Combater.” Ding said. “We show no mercy.”

“Combater? Rules? What are you talking about!” Martin asked. “Why don’t I know them!”

“Still too young.” Anton said behind Martin.

“I’m twelve!” Martin argued.

“We are ninety!” Acacia said. “Anton, why don’t you just explain the rules to him.”

“My pleasure. As a Combater, fighting is really important, but we never use our full strength on mortals, we only use our full strength when the Head Detective says so. In our case it’s Ding!” Anton explained.

“Ok, screw it! I’m done! Anton, Dead!” Ding ordered.

“Join?” Anton asked Ding.

“Sure!” Ding said with a friendly tone.

Ding ran forward and then grabbed an arm and pulled the person out.

A bald head boy with a grey football jersey and ripped

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“We will see him soon.” Anton said next to Ding as they high fived.

jeans came out of the dark.

“How can he throw all those tables.” Martin mumbled. “So thin.”

Jeff sprinted around the cabinet, but Annie got the advantage on shifting her gravity and ran at the roof.

“That’s not fair!” Jeff said upside down.

“That’s very fair!” Ding said to Jeff’s face.

Jeff raged. He landed on the ground and then twisted Ding’s nose.

Ding’s nose got twisted and stood like that like if it was made out of rubber.

“I got your nose!” Jeff laughed.

“I got your face!” Ding said as he punched his in the face and took his mask off.

“What! That’s a mask!” Jeff shouted with confusion.

“You came during my mask time, so no, it’s a key to the Chamber of Secrets!” Ding laughed with a serious tone.

Jeff stood up and cleared the dust off himself.

“Dude! I clean the floor every day and there is no dust!

Stop trying to look cool!” Acacia sat on the sofa with Martin, Annie and some popcorn and Ding and Anton got ready.

Anton lifted Jeff off his feet and then Ding gave him a boost. Anton jumped and then threw Jeff onto the ground while he was still mid-air.

“That was fun!” Jeff said with broken ribs in his voice. “See ya later alligator!”

Jeff ran with a limp after he finished.

“Aren’t we going for him?” Martin asked.

Chapter 4 They all had a good night sleep, except for Anton. He had been used to sleeping on the sofa, but it was broken so he has to sleep in his room.

The next morning when Martin woke up he saw the living room had been fixed. Sofa was replaced, the tables, shelves, all cleaned.

He joined the squad at the breakfast table and heard Ding talking about his plan: “Anton, we need you to analyse the move he uses and his weakness; there are pictures I drew last night on my table.” Ding said to Anton.

“Gocha!” Anton said.

“Annie, we need to know how Jeff was freed from the prison cells, when, and what’s his next plan. If we know this information, Jeff is facing a death sentence.”

“KK” Annie smiled.

“Acacia, I need you help Anton on his mission to analyse his weakness. You are an expert on that.”

“Got it!” Acacia answered.

“I will be analysing his body language and we all need to contact our students, they can help us a lot and we can cover more ground if we are searching for him.”

“What about me!” Martin said with excitement.

“You contact the school director and tell him to evacuate the entire school as quickly as possible. We want no innocent people harmed in this one.”

“But -” Martin was going to complain, but Ding interrupted.

“Mission number one zero six, action code Home Sweet Home.

You have permission to start,” Ding said as he took off his bossy face and put his friendly face, continuing, “So, How’s breakfast?”

To be continued….

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DEWDROPS ON A GERBERA DAISY ANASTACIA REYNOLDS GRADE 6

This book is dedicated to Shizandra Bowden, Stella Turner, and AmyLyn Reynolds.

Prologue Breathing hard, Leonie fought against the Suit, desperately trying to free herself. She had to think fast--how could she get away? Just then, Leonie’s elbow hit the Suit’s sunglasses off its head. Before it could do anything, Leonie shrieked, staring into its eyes. The Suit turned away quickly putting the glasses back on, but it wasn’t fast enough. Leonie couldn’t forget what she had just seen. Could it be true? It couldn’t.

But she knew it was . . .

Chapter 1 - A Few Days Earlier I was running, running. Faster than I had ever run before. Away from someone? Or toward something. I couldn’t tell. But I ran with hate in every step. Regret. Then anger. I ran with fury. I ran as if my life depended on it . . .

“Colette! Are you awake?” Was I awake or still dreaming?

Who was talking? I could barely make out the strained whisper coming from downstairs.

I stumbled out of bed blind, and it took me a few seconds to realize that my brown hair was clouding my vision.

Impatiently, I brushed it out of my face.

“Yes. I am awake,” I called back, almost running into my wardrobe and stubbing my toe. “Ouch!”

“Shhh! Be quiet! We don’t want to wake your parents!

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Now. Do you have everything?” someone whispered in my ear.

I jumped, surprised by how close she was.

“Leonie!” I exclaimed, “I didn’t re-” I got cut off by a loud Boom! Another crash of thunder.

The truth was, Leonie and I were supposed to be off on our way on a trip to Hermione’s house. On the way there, we would pick up Marietta and Callie. We had decided it was time to find out the truth. Our dads had disappeared but no one seemed to care. We needed to find them. The only trouble was that I had totally forgotten that tonight was the night we had planned to leave. I had been planning on tomorrow. I hadn’t packed at all.

When I broke the news to Hermione though, she went on a rant about how I’d said I’d be ready and wasn’t trustworthy.

“Hey. To my defense though,” I replied, “You shouldn’t take my word when I’m just replying ‘yeah, yep, yup, exactly,’ to everything you say!”

It wasn’t the right thing to say and definitely didn’t help me and my chances at calming her down.

“I thought you were listening! Hey you know what? I can do this without you. You have one chance to do this. Get to the gate of the cornershop by five o’clock. I will be there with Marietta, Callie, and Hermione. You be there at five and you come with us, or, you come later than five, and you stay here, trapped and alone. You got me?”

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“Okay,” I mumbled, “fine.”

I did not want to be left behind. I packed and rushed out of the door.

Chapter 2 - The Suits It was 4:46am when I left my house; I found Leonie and the rest at 4:56. It had been ten minutes. I rushed up to them and they glared at me as though I was the enemy. It was Leonie who broke the silence. All of us were soaked, and that didn’t help with the mood.

“Why didn’t you come earlier? We had a plan you know. We had to reschedule our whole escape. All. Because. Of. You.” “Leonie!” I replied, angrily. “You know what it’s like to be late. I’m surprised you’re the one talking! I wish---” I was mad at her for accusing me. She was perfect at everything. It just wasn’t fair.

Callie interrupted me.

“Guys. Would you please stop and just look at where we are for a moment?” She said, exasperated. Her tone was tired but smooth.

She was right though. I didn’t argue back, but that was only because I noticed we were walking. While we were arguing, everyone had started walking. Only Callie had

noticed. She was definitely a natural leader in our group. But Leonie thought she was the boss.

It was awhile before anyone said anything else. This time is was Marrietta and Hermione. In unison, they both started: “Guys. I hate to break it to you, but I think we’re being followed.”

Sure enough, there were five guys in black, crisp suits running after us. They didn’t look happy. Or even the slightest bit friendly.

“Y-yeah guys w-we should p-p-probably g-g-go. “ I replied. Then, I screamed as I saw a black-suited man come still closer toward us, jumping over obstacles that no human could jump. These weren’t just guys in crisp suits. “What are they?” I stammered.

“I don’t know, but I suggest you run!” Callie screamed, practically flying in the opposite direction from our pursuers.

“You guys go with Cal, Hermione and I will hold them off,” Marietta said.

Marietta and Hermione went toward the Suits. I, however, traveled as fast as I could toward Callie (away from the superhuman suits). Hey, I’m not a coward, but I recognize a good idea when I hear it, and letting Hermione and Marietta give the rest of us time to escape sounded like a great idea to me.

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THE LOTTERY MARIA HOUDAIFA GRADE 8

Hello my name is Jake Blake; I’m fifteen years old and this is my first blog post. I’m in 9th grade and I live in Ohio, USA. My favorite food is nachos and I love soccer. My family is poor and they always fight about money. My biggest wish is to win the lottery.

Hello, today is Wednesday 17th of March, 2007. My brother got in a fight today and broke his arm so my family had to go to the hospital with him. I had to pick up my little sister from school because she got a two hour detention for bringing weed to school and now she’s suspended for three days. As we were walking back home, I yelled at her “What’s wrong with you?! You do realize you could’ve gotten in huge trouble!”. She nodded and we walked quietly back home. I’m so sick of my family always acting so stupidly and recklessly.

Today is Sunday the 21th and I have decided to start saving up some money to buy the fifty dollar lottery ticket, they say that’s the lucky ticket. My whole family was going to help me save up and was very excited about this new plan to make us rich.

Today is Friday the 26th and I finally saved up fifty dollars! I am so excited, my whole family is excited. As we ate breakfast, we talked about the things we would do if we won. As we were driving to school, we talked about what kind of car we would get. I was so happy; we all were. I felt so lucky, I really wanted to win the lottery so my family and I would stop worrying about money. I had so much hope. After school, my parents came to pick us up from school. We didn’t even go drop our stuff at home, we made our way to the gas station with our fifty dollars. All that was on my mind is getting that ticket. We walked into the gas station’s shop and I was so preoccupied by the lottery ticket that I didn’t even notice all the chips and chocolates laying on the store racks.

I showed the ticket that I wanted to the cashier and I handed the fifty dollars to her. She took it and gave me my ticket. We were bouncing of joy all the way back home. As we were driving, my mom was singing happy songs and bouncing to the beat which almost never happens. I was so happy, everything was going well.

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Today is Sunday the 28th of March. Today was the day we were going to find out who won the lottery. Everything was great today. I woke up this morning filled with excitement.

Breakfast tasted extra good and the day seemed promising.

My mom told me the winners of the lottery were going to be announced right after dinner at nine pm. I was so impatient and so excited to see us win. That afternoon, I went out with my friends and told them about winning the lottery but they were being negative the whole time.

“Hahaha you really think you’re going to win this?” said John.

“Well yes. My whole family is so excited... I mean I hope that we win.” I said.

“You know that there are millions of people competing for the lottery right?” Said Sam. “Yeah you probably won’t win man…” said John.

“Why do you guys have to be so negative? I’m leaving, I don’t want to hang out with people that bring me down. You’ll see, I will win this!” I said as I was walking away.

I have to be honest, what my friends said made me feel a lot less excited about tonight. As I walked in, my dad asked me “What’s wrong buddy… Aren’t you excited about tonight?”.

I immediately put a smile on my face so my parents would leave me alone and said “Nothing’s wrong. I’m excited for tonight.” and walked up to my room.

As I was walking upstairs, I could hear my family talking about all their plans when we were going to win and I wanted to join them but I had lost my hopes of winning I was in my room for awhile so my mom came to check on me. She knocked on my door and said “Come down Jake, dinner is ready!” I made my way downstairs and we ate dinner.

This time, dinner seemed to taste dull so I sat there quietly as they were talking about the lottery.

After dinner, we made our way to the living room. It was 8:50 and the lottery show was coming on in ten minutes. As the minutes passed, I felt the excitement coming back to me.

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It was finally 9pm and the shows’s song came on. We were all bunched up in our small sofa and my little sister and I were eating some oreo icecream. My mom was praying and my dad was holding our lottery ticket in his hands. The host of the show spun the wheel and was announcing the numbers. We were all so scared and nervous to look at the paper so when he finished announcing all numbers, we looked over to my dad who was crying of joy. I took the paper and saw that all the numbers matched. I couldn’t believe my eyes. “WE WON!” I screamed. I couldn’t believe it, this was my biggest dream and it came true. We celebrated we were so happy. This was the best day of my life.

Hello, today is Monday the 29th of March. My morning was great, everyone was still so excited and I still couldn’t believe that we were going to be millionaires today! We were going to go get the money today after school.

I went to school in such a good mood. When I got to school, everyone was asking me about the lottery. They all seemed to know about my family winning. “What did I tell you guys? WE WON!” I said hoping Sam and John would feel awful about what he said to me yesterday. I had never gotten that much attention from girls ever before, I was popular. When school ended, I ran out of class to go meet my parents who were waiting for me outside.

The whole family was in the car and we were ready to go get our money. We made our way to the bank and we gave them our check. They went to get us the money and we were all jumping from excitement, even my dad. They handed the money over to my dad and I could see his eyes shine and a huge smile form on his face. “Woah” I said, I couldn’t believe all the money we had now. I started thinking about all the things we could do with this money. We could do anything!

Today is Tuesday 30th of March. This morning I woke up to people screaming. At first I thought it might of been my family still celebrating but as I listened more closely, it sounded more like a fight. I didn’t understand, why would they be mad

right now? We just won the lottery!

As I went downstairs, everyone became quiet and I thought maybe they weren’t really fighting. “Why were you screaming?” I said. “Oh, it’s nothing honey” said mom so I sat down and ate breakfast quickly because I was late to school.

I didn’t know what was happening and my parents would always avoid my questions about money. Every time I would ask them what’s wrong, they wouldn’t say anything or they would just walk away.

Today is Friday April the 2nd. The fighting situation has gotten a lot worse. My parents are always arguing now about money. They can’t seem to agree on what the money will be spent on or how it will be shared.

This morning I went to school and when I came back home, mom wasn’t even there. I asked dad “Where is mom?”. He ignored me as he was walking upstairs and said “Goodnight Jake” without answering my question. I really didn’t understand what was going on with my family and I’m starting to regret winning this lottery.

Today is Sunday April 4th. Today was the the worst day. I woke up to them screaming again and even breaking things.

My parents weren’t talking for the whole day and completely left me and my siblings. I was sick of it so I just left the house to go out with my friends. When I got back home, my parents were fighting… again so I just locked myself in my room. I could hear mom throwing my dad’s stuff on the wall. I was so mad, us winning the lottery was supposed to be a good thing but now it is ruining everything.

Later that day, mom and dad brought us downstairs and they looked at us very seriously. As they were apologizing about fighting and leaving us, they told us that they will be taking a break from their relationship. We would have to spend a week at each house. My sister started crying and my brother walked away and locked himself in his room. I regret winning this lottery so much, I wish I could just go back.

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U P P E R M Y P P O E T RY

ORANGE NIKITA TARATORIN GRADE 10

So warm, the color of my soul When I sleep well and do not stress All other colors are so dull While my color, brights the day So hot,often associated with our Star, and, oranges. Never used for bad day We see it as so rich, not sour And some of us use it, every day to pray.

The color of god, fruit, those wild flowers, Can not be seen as bad disgrace.

Our eyes light up, we blink a smile, When we see it, all problems do erase.

BHAMINI KHANDIGE, GRADE 6

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T Y M O F I Y B E R E ZOVC H U K, G R A D E 6

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HOW I TRIED TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE STORY OF ANTONI ULATOWSKI NIKITA TARATORIN GRADE 10

My Introduction I was born in 1920, in a little village named Tuchow. My name is Antoni Ulatowski. Being ordinary, daydreaming boy living in south-eastern Poland, my people didn’t really care about the fact that we lived between two bullies. Two ideologies.

Two dictatorships. My grandparents told me about how they fought in The First World War, fighting against Poles that were on the side of the Russian Empire. My mother remembered the Polish-Soviet War. And now I will tell my kids about The Second World War. It is amazing how living in terror, Poles never lost their identity as a nation. After each multiple tries to destroy them, they gained even more power, failing each regime that came on their way to freedom. I was just another Pole, being a small part of something so huge, that managed to achieve freedom and independence for its people. When I was 17, my country was being once again torn apart. Interesting how then, instead of losing independence to one nation, Poland once again got divided by 2, allies. Germany and the Soviet Union. Two stabs in the back.

My Story The day nazis occupied my village, I joined the resistance. I felt like a fish in the water in my village, as I have spent all of my life here being a farmer’s son. Too young to fight, but too old to understand how things are done, I was told to be 80

a scout for local partisan movement. Destroying the enemy positions, identifying targets. Nobody would suspect me. I was just a teenager wanting to become a medical student in the prosperous newly claimed region by The Soviet Union.

In 1941 the Germans attacked the USSR. For Poles it was nothing new; old dictators were suspended by new dictators, with regime staying the same. With the arrival of the Gestapo, my life turned into real-life hell. For the town of six thousand people, 100 officers was a lot. Ruining the lives of people by a single shot, soldiers were roaming the streets, stopping anyone who was a military draft age, male, or just looking suspicious. Anyone who refused to provide their documents for inspection was shot immediately. Tuchow sunk into oxymorons of political ideologies. Organized chaos, capitalist anarchy, fascist communism.

SS soldiers were portrayed as heroes and liberators of Poles on posters they put on the walls but later we saw those heroes abducting and raping women, beating up Jews and despoliation countryside. Narodowa Organizacja Wojskowa or National Military Organisation was a leading resistance force in the area. The partizan squad where I have served pledged their allegiance to Polish Underground State, making myself and the rest of the partizans officially convicted for terrorism.

There I got my nickname, Waclaw. A nickname that got a chance to stay with me until the end of my life.

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Tuchow, being a small village, was a perfect regional base for organizing underground resistance. Nobody paid attention at villages like these, with them often being the most dangerous, full of angry workers who would be happy to kill anyone who disturbed their seasonal harvest.

In 1941 the Gestapo captured many participants of Polish resistance. For them, it was another minor operation in a small village. For locals, however, it was a try to suppress Polish dignity and contain it in a steel box. For Poles, no steel box is a serious obstacle. For us, freedom, and national dignity are of blood, terror, and propaganda.

I was returning from woods, where I was getting brushwood for my mom to cook dinner. As soon as I opened the door of my house and stepped inside, all of the brushwood I collected instantly fell on the floor with a cracking dry sound.

Flaki was quietly boiling in a still-burning cook stove. But the table was tipped over. Pottery which contained many types of grains are now shattered on the ground. Then I saw holes in the wall and bullet shells on the old family carpet. My skin turned white. I checked the backyard, every room, every place I could think off, there was no mother, no brother.

Then I rushed to the nearest police station, ignoring the fact that I could get arrested and convicted for resisting the Nazis. Running, and ignoring all of the obstacles I crashed into one of the pedestrians staring at a poster on the wall.

Huge, bold, letters said: “Powescenie”, or “hanging”. Under the title, there were the names of 10 people. My sweat turned cold and the eyes teared up when in the last two columns were my mother’s, and then my brother’s names. After I had my feelings and perception return back to me, I saw a bigger gathering in the market square.

It was a medieval tradition to have a market on the main square in cities, towns, and even small villages. Markets were a place for us to express our complaints to local dukes, later to the government. Also to have wide celebrations and of course, trade valuables. Without market squares, the Polish economy would be much poorer, while people themselves would be living very poor, homogenous lives. But then our old market square was not filled with dancing harlequins and little shops cooking shashlik for hungry customers. In the center of the square, nazis have installed a huge gallows, designed to withstand the simultaneous weight of 10 people. In tears, I ran up to the gallow itself, only to get stopped by two police officers. After my tries to break through the polizei border, I fell on my knees, in tears, shaking, crying, stutteringly trying to read the sign hanging on cold bodies of my mother and brother. I couldn’t read a word. Too many tears. When I tried again, I read: “Mother of a partizan” and “Brother of a partizan” on the signs. I then collapsed, hysterically crying out curses

in the direction of the sky: “God, why would you do this! They didn’t deserve it!” *** I woke up from a bright morning sunshine blinding me.

I was still there, lying on the floor, cold, silent. Although the sun was already shining bright, it would take several hours to warm up the cold, autumn air. I stood up, looked at my dead mom, trying to remember when was the last time I said: “I love you!”, to her. Without showing any trace of emotion I turned around and started walking towards my home. Step… step… step, I was staring at the tiled stone bricks on the ground.

Step, step step, I started to accelerate. Step! Step! Step! Step!

I ran. I ran as fast as I could. Without showing a tear I blasted into an open door of my dear house, packed a pair of pants, socks, shirt and a hat. Before I knew it, I was already waiting at a train station, going to Krakow.

The train was nice and warm. Golden autumn landscapes looked like they were painted by a genius artists. Under effects of warmth and feeling of love towards my motherland’s landscapes, I finally felt something. Emptiness. I left my town, left my previous life behind. Going to the heart of Nazi General Government, but also to the heart of Polish resistance.

Even in the times of war, Krakow was a sprawling ancient city. The only difference between now, and before, were the swastikas, hanging down from government buildings, and military trucks with German soldiers everywhere. At my arrival, I went right away to my uncle’s house, near Krakow’s market square.

My uncle was a rare kind of patriot, who was too old to join the resistance but not dead to love his country. His name was Lucjan. Lucjan Ulanowski. He spent all of his life living in Krakow. He left his Tuchow family at the age of 18, looking for a job and career in one of the bigger cities. Lucjan spent last few years reading a lot of books, living off his engineer pension. My footsteps resonated and echoed in the old house’s stairway, as I ascended to the third floor. Then, I rang the doorbell once. No answer. I rang the doorbell again. Old, grumpy man, walked up to the eyepiece and stared at me.

After 10 seconds of awkward eye contact, he asked nervously: “Who are you? And what do you need from me?”

We had a long conversation, with me explaining who am I and what happened. Then I heard few clicks from numerous door locks manufactured before he was born. Lucjan didn’t look as I remembered him. I remembered Lucjan as an energetic old man, who liked kids and ice cream. On another hand, Lucjan didn’t recognize Antoni. He remembers me being a short, whiny, hyperactive kid with a wide smile, which never disappeared from his face.

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UPPER MYP PROSE FICTION

UNFAITHFUL SENA CINAR GRADE 9

August 10th, 1961 Berlin, Germany 6:51 pm Her fingers felt soft on my rough stubble, her petite body dancing before my eyes. The corners of my mouth curved upwards to form an emotion that I seemed to only have when I was with her.

“Thomas! Come. Come, please! Dance with me, Thomas!” she exclaimed as she tugged on my hand. The song playing from the vinyl player was that of a slower one now. I found myself up on my feet, my arms wrapped around her small waist as she rested her head on my chest. It frightened me the most how much I wanted to stay this way forever.

“I wish you could always be here with me,” said Rose in a rather defeated tone. She tilted her head up a bit, looking at me as if I were her whole world.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could say to her.

November 28th, 1964 West side, Berlin, Germany 8:00 pm The whiteness that is coating the ground oddly looks like the coat that’s hugging my body. My teeth are chattering and at the same time I can feel the small hairs on my neck shoot up.

I spot the dull coloured house with the small light radiating through the frozen window. I sigh and watch as a puff of breath leaves my mouth and dissolves into the air. One knock on the door is enough to send Marilyn rushing to open it.

“Oh, Thomas! You’re home! I was worried sick. I thought you were caught by a guard or…”

“I’m home, Marylin. Everything is okay,” I say, interrupting her from her worried rant. I take off my boots as Marilyn rapidly scurries behind me.

“D-Do you want something to eat? I had made some fränkische bratwurste earlier if you want. Or some tea?”

“I am fine. I ate,” I lie.

“Oh, I figured,” says Marilyn coldly. I glare at her and shut the curtains. The fabric is soft, reminding me of Rose’s milk white skin. Marilyn looks at me blankly, as if she zoned out 82

thinking about something.

I decide to speak up, in hopes that I don’t seem too suspicious. “So,” I begin, standing up and taking off my tie. “I heard you were nominated to be in charge of the machinery back in the factory.”

She smiles. “It’s not really a big deal,” she replies. “The lady who’s in charge of it seems to be bored of it -- which is silly to me really, because it’s one of the top positions.”

“If it means that my wife will be coming home later than her husband, then there must be a problem,” I lie and fake a laugh, attempting to lighten up the mood. Not-verysurprisingly, she seems to think I am genuine.

“Oh Thomas,” she says and pushes me down onto the couch lightly. “Do you miss me that much?”

“It’s not the time, Marilyn. I tell you, it’s not the time.”

“But Thomas. I barely see you anymore. It’s a surprise you’re home at this time. Let me…”

“I said no, Marilyn. Go finish your tea. I’ll be in bed.

Goodnight.”

“Isn’t it just a tad bit early?” she says and I turn around to look at her, seeing her pleading from her eyes. I simply continue walking. There is clearly nothing to do than to just flop down on the yellow bed, with the sheets embedded with red flowers. And that’s exactly what I did. The bed frame is a dull black, the colour faded as well as my love for Marilyn.

Underneath is my box full of letters from my lover, all tucked away neatly, where Marilyn never bothers looking.

Going to the East side is much easier now, so I’ve heard.

Obtaining the legal forms and documents was easy enough, although the prices flew up from twelve marks to thirty marks in less than a week. That wouldn’t get in the way of plans, though.

The next morning, I wake up as early as I slept.I take my time changing into my black suit and my ridiculous yellow tie that Rose loves dearly, and I take my time dreaming about how life would be like with the innocent Rose, and the unfaithful me. There are people who believe in love, who are often the people who think they are in love. There are people who do not believe in love, believing that the concept is simply too complicated. Or, that it does not exist and cannot exist. When

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I look at Rose, she makes me forget about all of my worries, my fears and my pain. She traps me in this beautiful spell that makes me go insane whenever she touches me and whenever her perfect lips move to spell out my name.

“Oh, you’re awake,” says Marilyn, snapping me out of my trance. She unexpectedly appears in the mirror. “Look! I wore your favourite dress.” She twirls around in her light blue dress that I got her for Christmas. Back when I truly loved her.

“You look beautiful,” I smile through gritted teeth. I wonder how beautiful Rose would look in that dress. “Ready to go?”

Marilyn nods, “I took my passport, too. Just like you said. I know how important it is to take my passport with me.”

“Good.” I glance at the mirror one last time before heading out of my home, hand in hand with Marilyn.

*** We cross the wall without any major problems, considering the fact that I have insiders at the army. It was all planned for this day.

The East doesn’t look much different to the West. There are twice as many guards scattered around on the streets. The roads are much cleaner, with bins corresponding to different types of garbage. Small flowers seem to have blossomed in between cracks of cement, little flakes of snow still visible on the petals.

“Wow,” cooes Marilyn. “I don’t think I’d ever manage to live here.”

“I wish I lived here…” I mumble.

“What?”

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“Oh! Oh, nothing,” I smile and wave her off. A small hint of guilt pinches the depths of my stomach.

We walk a bit further before I spot the cafe that I had planned for Marilyn and I to go.

“That seems like a nice cafe, doesn’t it?” I say and drop Marilyn’s hand.

“Oh, the drinks look wonderful,” she smiles dumbfoundedly.

Once we enter the cafe, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and scented candles could easily be told apart. The smell was lingering all over the shop. I then spot Rose sitting patiently at a table, dressed just like I wanted her to. She is wearing the same light blue dress that Marilyn is wearing. At that moment, the world seems to freeze. The words that line up in my mind to create a sentence somehow get trapped in the back of my throat. The little girl with golden locks bringing a small piece of fry towards her mouth is in slow motion. I observe each individual eyelash of a man’s eye as he blinks. After Rose smiles at me, I come back into reality.

“Would you look at that! So many empty tables,” I say joyfully followed by a cough. On cue, Rose takes her passport out and puts it on her table before taking a sip of her drink.

“Thomas, could you hold my purse for a second please?” asks Marilyn as she leans down to tie the lace on her high heels. I take this opportunity to rapidly snatch her passport.

“I’ll tell you what. I’m leaving your purse on this chair.

I’ll be in the washroom,” I say and turn around, walking over to Rose. You see, I’ve realised that my wife and Rose look a bit similar. I’ve always thought that the reason I love Rose more than Marilyn is because she is young. Marilyn used to be beautiful when she was young, but now she has changed.

I then quickly take Rose’s passport from the table and switch it with Marilyn’s. I go into the washroom, Rose following me closely and we jump out of the wide window. That afternoon, I take Rose back to the West side. Meanwhile, Marilyn is still seated at the table, waiting for me to come back from the washroom.

What’s worse is that at that very moment, I start feeling bad. The waves of curiosity of how Rose would go about without my company start slowly hitting me, as if I’m walking down the shore on the beach. The sea is cold, but the waves aren’t the strongest they’ve been. The cold luxurious water washes over my bare feet, which makes me bury them in the moist sand. Which is exactly what I did with my worries. I suddenly didn’t feel bad anymore.

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*** As time went by, I started missing small things about Marilyn. The way her hand would gently caress the laundry after she folded them and the little freckles that plotted her back like the starry sky at night. I miss her dreams about having a house with a pool someday, and having two kids named Julie and Jannette. How she wanted a wide backyard with a breathtaking view, because she loved to paint. She said she wanted to paint more. She never had time for it before.

As time went by, I also started realising that Rose doesn’t actually love me. I realised that she used me, just so she could come to the West side to meet with the person she actually loves. Someone much younger than myself.

One night, strange urges started slithering their way into my drunk state of mind. The wine bottle in my hand had suddenly felt denser, and my arm fell limp, following the bottle crashing onto the wooden floor. I laughed. Not because the bottle fell, but because I accepted the fact that I never really loved Rose. Her beautiful spell wasn’t so beautiful anymore. I knew I wanted to go back to Marilyn. I also knew she wouldn’t take me back. I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds, imagining what would it would feel like staying like that forever. And never knowing about it. I concluded that it would be a pleasant feeling at this stage of my life. I would cross the wall, I would ring Marilyn’s doorbell, and I would tell her everything. I would tell her how much I love her, how big of a bastard I am and how much I need her. I knew she would love me again. There would be nothing that goes wrong with this plan. If I couldn’t cross the wall, I knew I would die. And I knew I wanted that sweet taste of death. If I did cross the wall, I knew for sure that I would find Marilyn. Where else would she be hiding? Of course she would be in our house. If I couldn’t find her, I knew I didn’t want to bother committing suicide. It would be too time consuming. I woke up at four AM, with the mindset that no one would notice if I simply climbed over the wall. Once I got to the border, I climbed the first wall, and I landed on sand. I cautiously started walking over to the second wall when I heard a voice call for me. I didn’t answer and simply pretended that I was deaf.

I was really close to the second wall at this point, but after I heard the voice call for me again, a gunshot came with it as well that pierced through my chest. It only took me a moment to feel the sudden pain that spread all over my body like wildfire. I cried out in pain as I felt the blood start oozing out of my chest. The pain was so much, that I simply went black, and there was no ever after.

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UPPER MYP PROSE FICTION

THE BOOKSTOP ANA KIMM GRADE 10

It was a sunny afternoon, and the clouds performed gentle glides across the blue canvas of the sky as I walked down the gum ridden pavements of London, my shiny brown shoes clicking with every step.

Normally I don’t find myself wandering around the streets at this time, perhaps instead I’d be huddled up on my windowsill, reading a book or scribbling nonsense they call writing on old paper.

Though today it was different, because for days I sat at that same windowsill next to my ‘to-read’ list, huffing and pacing around my creaky floors frustratedly, waiting for an idea to come to my head. For weeks my mind had been empty and I would find myself in-over-my-head for absolutely anything substantial to write about.

These events had brought me to this fateful day, in which I hoped that maybe at least I would get some sort of idea.

So when I reached what I thought was the end of my walk, I found a dusty windowed shop with strings of mostly broken fairy lights - some of them flickering their last peeps of electric breath. And in mid July as well.

Normally, though this wasn’t a normal day, I would go right past it and shake it off as some cheap second hand shop. But on that day I decided, why not, and stepped right in.

As soon as the door closed behind me with the sound of a little bell ringing, I smelled the distinct scent of burning wax. Of course it had to be some gimmicky shop with an old woman selling some overpriced stones. But looking around, I saw little to no stones. Instead, the shop was filled wall to wall with books of all sorts. The sun shined on the dust that surrounded the room and illuminated the shop in a beautiful layer of gold; all sorts of things were left around on wooden tables and cases, but mostly books of every type; history books, art books, books from the other side of the world - torn books, books with languages I didn’t recognise, others looked like terrifying children’s books. Just books - any books.

An old man stood behind the wooden counter, smiling profusely. It seemed that nobody else was in the shop, so I wandered around, both intimidated and entranced by the sense of vellichor as I traced my fingers along the leather spines of books far beyond my time. When it seemed as 86

though I had gone through the whole shop twice, I heard a voice behind me.

“Can I help you?”

I jumped, then turned around. It’s the old man behind the counter. His voice was coarse. I awkwardly neatened my coat before replying.

“Well, I suppose I was just looking around. It’s a very nice shop you have here.” I replied.

“No, really. You’ve been in here for fifteen minutes now.”

He laughed. I laughed as well in my attempt to be polite, though I was very shy.

“Well, I was just having a walk and I found this shop. The titles of some of these are so interesting, I thought it might help me with my writer’s block.”

“Ah… I see…” Just as a stereotypical wise old man would, he stroked his beard whilst thinking. “Alright. I think I know a book that might help.” He stood up and got out a ladder from under his stool and placed it by the bookcase - climbed up and reached for a book, came back down and placed it on the counter. The cover had a stain across it and needed a good dusting.

THE MOST MYSTERIOUS PLACES ON EARTH AND ALL ABOUT THEM I curled my lip as I opened the book carefully as to not damage the old leather. Inside, the writing was small and it seemed to have lots of pictures of maps and other things. It was interesting for sure, so I asked the price and bought it before going back home. When I went up the stairs, into my flat and perched myself onto the same old windowsill, I opened the book and read through it.

Although it was very interesting and the places were in fact, very mysterious, as the title suggested, my writer’s block had still not been cured. I sighed again, my chest untensing as I put the book to the side, rolling my eyes. I was not ready to write another cliche story about the Bermuda triangle like in tenth grade.

So once again, another day later that week, I found myself walking down the same still not cleaned streets of London and reached the end of the street, my green eyes greeting

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the same very visually pleasing old shop. The same little bell chimed and since I had already come into the shop and it looked very much the same I had no business pacing around for fifteen minutes again.

“Ah! It’s you again!” The old man announced, standing up.

“Did you cure your writer’s block?” He asked.

“No, I’m afraid not.” I replied, sighing. “I looked through the whole book.”

“Oh dear, oh dear…” He seemed to be thinking, whilst of course stroking his beard like all old wise men do - “Right.

Alright. Nothing geographical, eh? I think I know what.” Once again, just like before, he got the ladder from under his stool and placed it against a bookcase, reached for a book and placed it on the counter. I looked at the new book he offered, the title was beautifully engraved in a gold colour.

WRITING PROMPTS FOR THE NEW WRITER Well, that was very direct and would probably tackle the

problem, I thought. I once again bought the book, went up the same windy stairs, into my flat and on the windowsill where my ‘to-read’ list stood shamefully on the side. I opened the new book and looked inside, though I was disappointed when I found that these prompts were clearly not written for a writer or by a writer. I didn’t feel like writing about ‘the time I fought my fears’ or ‘my first pet’. So without even getting to the third page I put the book down over the geographical one and sighed AGAIN. Thinking that it couldn’t possibly get worse, I ended up on the same dirty as ever pavements in London. Once again I reached the end of the same bloody street and into the same very familiar shop, this time, not opening the door as quickly so that the bell wouldn’t make the same racket it normally does.

“Again? You still have writer’s block?” The old man chuckled.

“Yeah… and somehow I am here again.”

“Alright. Then let’s make this the last time.” He rubbed his shaky hands together and did his same little routine as the times before and put down a book. It seemed very old, and dare I say, handmade. I was even more curious about this book, but it was sealed by string so I decided not to open it. The title was carved into the leather a little clumsily, almost, and it read: PEOPLE WHO HAVE COME UP WITH GREAT IDEAS Of course, I bought it again, as I always do when I see an interesting book. I left the shop, went down the street, up the stairs, into my flat and on the same windowsill with the pile of shame and the two books I bought previously next to it.

Gently, I undid the string and opened the book. Dust surrounded me as soon as I did and I coughed, waving one hand in the air to get rid of it. I looked at the first page - but there was nothing there.

Curious, I thought. Perhaps there’s just an extra page there for some reason. I flipped it over. Okay, maybe an extra three pages. As a went through the whole book, I realised that the pages were all blank. I smiled.

I took a pen from my pocket and started to write without stopping.

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UPPER MYP NON FICTION

ORWELL’S LIFE AFFECTED HIS FICTION SOFIYA ZHEVAGO GRADE 9

All fiction has a partial truth to it, a relation to the author’s life. Dystopian literature is very popular and is available to all ages however some pieces have a very big meaning behind it, as does 1984. George Orwell, born 1903 and died 1950 was one of the most influential dystopian authors in his century.

He was born in India but later moved to England to study in Eton. He is most known for his books Animal Farm, and 1984 (Nineteen eighty-four). Orwell lived through the rise of technology and the creation of the atom bomb. He was a man with very strong opinions that formed and changed as his life went on. By examining the external factors and life experiences of George Orwell it can be safely assumed that they played a big role in his life perspective and influenced the writing of the book Nineteen eighty-four (1984).

In the novel 1984, the story is set in Oceania, a large state that occupies the Americas and Australia. The author writes about the world being divided into three states, all very strong and different. The ideologies of these states are very different, and their alliances always changing. The wars are constant between them, with Oceania, the country where Winston lives in, at war with Eurasia at the moment. However these states are not destroying each other, just fighting in a never ending war. The quote, “At this moment, for example, in 1984 (if it was 1984),Oceania was at war with Eurasia and in alliance with Eastasia.” (p.35, III) supports the statement. This can is linked to the military development at the time the book was written. In 1949, the Soviet Union tested its first atom bomb, and was successful (Pearson, 2017). Before this time only the US had an atom bomb and was a major influence in the world due to its power. Now the world had two superpowers, large states that had the best military technology available and could easily destroy. These “superstates” were very influential and did not have good relations. The Soviet ideologies were vastly different from those in the US and they were at a 88

constant state of a “cold war”.

George Orwell lived through a time when technology was making its rise and was becoming a greater part of the people’s lives. A large factor of Winston Smith’s life is the telescreen in his house, because it limited his actions. Quotes like “The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely. “(p. 2, I) support the idea that through telescreens someone was always watching you. Furthermore in 1949, when the book was published (Cavendish, 2012) technology was rapidly developing and making its way into households. Televisions were not so uncommon anymore and the concept of someone watching through the screen was not so unbelievable.

Many things influenced George orwell into writing 1984, one of the most influential dystopian pieces at the time. In this novel he tried to show the people what our world could become if it kept developing in the same way. During Orwell’s life, many key events happened that shaped the way the world is today. He lived through the development of technology and the cold war and one can assume that these events influenced the way he wrote 1984, since all of these are represented in the book. On the other hand we cannot make certain conclusions, the author is not living anymore and we may never know the exact events that influenced Orwell to write 1984.

Orwell was largely influenced by the time he was living in.

In front of his eyes leaders like Stalin and Hitler rose to power and implied their rule. The book portrays these leaders as “Big Brother”, someone who knows everything, someone who is always watching. He made sure the Big Brother presented in the novel was the same kind of potentate leader such as Stalin and Hitler. However, it seemed that George Orwell had his eye more focused on Stalin rather than Adolf Hitler. Even in the portrayal of the character Big Brother even looks more

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like Stalin. Furthermore, considering the demographics and descriptions that were used in the novel, most totalitarian states are rather looking all similar. In the novel, Big Brother has focused hatred on his archenemy which was Goldstein which was Trotsky or the Jewish people. Big brother was the head of The Party which then is the most powerful system of censorship, torture, propagandas and suffering. The novel clearly depicts the need of the society and every individual to conform to the principles and notions of The Party which was common for all communist country. In the book, Big Brother even ordered for history to be rewritten in order to suit the ideas of The Party.

References: Cliffsnotes.com. (2017). Book Summary. [online] Available at: https://www. cliffsnotes.com/literature/n/1984/book-summary [Accessed 12 Dec. 2017].

Online-literature.com. (2017). 1984 by George Orwell: Characters. [online] Available at: http://www.online-literature.com/orwell/1984/1/ [Accessed 12 Dec. 2017].

Sparknotes.com. (2017). SparkNotes: 1984: Context. [online] Available at: https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/1984/context.html [Accessed 12 Dec. 2017].

Marshall, C. (2015). George Orwell Explains in a Revealing 1944 Letter Why He’d Write 1984. [online] Open Culture. Available at: http://www.openculture. com/2014/01/george-orwell-explains-in-a-revealing-1944-letter-why-hedwrite-1984.html [Accessed 16 Jan. 2017].

Pearson, (2017). What Happened in 1949 including Pop Culture, Significant Events, Key Technology and Inventions. [online] Thepeoplehistory.com. Available at: http://www.thepeoplehistory.com/1949.html [Accessed 16 Jan. 2017].

BBC News. (2013). 1984: George Orwell’s road to dystopia - BBC News. [online] Available at: http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-21337504 [Accessed 16 Jan. 2017].

Biography.com. (2017). Cite a Website - Cite This For Me. [online] Available at: http://www.biography.com/people/george-orwell-9429833 [Accessed 16 Jan. 2017].

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UPPER MYP NON FICTION

SUFFERING AND SELFISHNESS NIKITA KYRYLLOV GRADE 10

Throughout the novels Night and The Diary of Anne Frank, many quotes are present which, while being written to relate to the terrors of WW2 and the persecution of the Jewish race stand strong against the test of time and apathy. Rather than losing their relevance over years of change and improvement in the understanding of the moral and ethical obligations of the human race, these themes have proven their significance to every human individually and to humanity as a whole. These novels are powerful reminders to the mighty and pathetic of this world alike. The themes present in these books are a powerful tool for improving one’s life choices and actions, and the most important and relevant theme in these novels would be that difficult situations cause humans to become selfish in their actions.

Throughout both of these novels, different degrees of suffering are present. They range from the mundane, to the difficult and all the way to completely unimaginable. However, all of these hardships are linked together by one major factor which is invaluable to understand in the relations with other people - while the gravity of suffering changes, the actions undertaken, either consciously or subconsciously by those affected remain similar. A great example of this would be Mr. Dussel, who, while living in the relative comfort of the secret annex acted incredibly selfishly in relation to the other inhabitants of the annex, while not being in direct danger of anything. On page 77 Anne writes :“It’s absolutely disgraceful that Dussel, whom we’ve treated with such kindness and whom we took in to save from destruction, should stuff himself behind our backs and not give us anything.” (Frank.

A. 1997). Mr. Dussel decides to act selfishly, and hoards his food as a sort of precaution against starving. However, this is eerily reminiscent of the actions of the unfortunate prisoners that Eliezer saw in the boxcar. Having suffered through many months of malnourishment and grueling work, they did not care whether they were selfish or not, survival was all that mattered. Once a citizen threw a crust of bread into a boxcar, 90

nothing else mattered except for that crust. The prisoners fought tooth and nail, while a few bystanders, which included Eliezer, watched. A frail old man prevailed however, and had a chance to rejoice at his victory, but not for long, as his own son attacked him with inhuman brutality. The old man pleaded for his life, however reasoning with someone who was reduced to such state was impossible. After suffering many blows, “The old man mumbled something, groaned, and died.

Nobody cared. His son searched him, took the crust of bread and began to devour it” (Wiesel. E. 1958 p.101). What is most troubling about the similarity of these situations isn’t how, while with different levels of violence, both of the subjects of these events sought to deprave the others of their food to increase the chances of their own survival, but the way that this decision was made. The son of the old man didn’t make a conscious decision to murder his own father, he simply viewed his father as a person who had bread while he himself didn’t. He would no doubt later regret his actions gravely if told of them, while Dussel does not have this excuse. While showing such incredible selfishness, Dussel didn’t show any signs of regret for the deed that he has done. Furthermore, the decision to hoard his food was completely conscious and evidently thought through, while not even being in immediate danger. In both of these cases the subjects were suffering difficult situations, and while one might have been many times as dire as the other, selfishness does not care where it rears it’s ugly head, only the presence of suffering is what bothers it.

Selfishness, while seeming reasonable, is a dangerous characteristic of any person, even more so for people suffering dire situations. One of the main symptoms of this illness of the mind is ingratitude. While it might seem harmless, ingratitude can ruin relations, pit people against each other and destroy the moral foundation beneath a person’s feet.

Ingratitude is shown in many instances in the novels of Night and The Diary of Anne Frank, however three of them stand out

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among the rest. While living in the secret annex, Mr. Dussel never respected the rules of his temporary residence and endangered his residents at his whim. On page 77 she wrote that “Dussel is terribly lax when it comes to obeying the rules of the house. Not only does he write letters to his Charlotte, he’s also carrying on a chatty correspondence with various other people”(Frank. A. 1997). Apart from this being highly irresponsible, dussel shows his lack of gratitude towards the Franks, and further proves it later. On the first anniversary of his arrival to the annex, “Instead of making use of the opportunity to thank us — for the first time — for unselfishly taking him in, he didn’t utter a word” (Frank. A. 1997. 111).

This solidifies his ingratitude and selfishness as well, as it is obvious that Dussel doesn’t do this out of malice. His selfish instincts just don’t see how thanking thanking the franks holds any value to him, and recognising the “uselessness” of this action decides to abstain. This outlook is very dangerous, because when self preservation becomes the goal, things such as morality and ethics become irrelevant. Selfishness and ingratitude could justify any sort of terrible behaviour, or lack thereof, such as that demonstrated by Eliezer in the latter stages of the novel. After laying his father to rest outside of the barracks he returns, and while he searches for his father a thought crosses his mind: ”Don’t let me find him! If only I could get rid of this dead weight, so that I could use all my strength to struggle for my own survival, and only worry about myself.” (Wiesel. E. 1958. p. 106). This action is horrifying because of it’s selfishness, but for a person whose main goal is self preservation and his main tool is selfishness, this would be a completely reasonable thought. Moreover, the action of abandoning his father would also be completely reasonable and justified by his main goal. While Eliezer immediately felt ashamed of his thoughts and kept his humanity, this is an important lesson about what selfishness and ingratitude can justify.

It is undeniable that selfish actions, while being scolded by many, for most of those people would constitute a valid response to other selfish actions, and for some they would even be an automatic subconscious response. Tension begins to rise in the secret annex fairly early on in the novel. In the diary, Anne wrote that “For the umpteenth time, Mrs. van Daan is sulking. She’s very moody and has been removing more and more of her belongings and locking them up. It’s too bad Mother doesn’t repay every van Daan “disappearing act” with a Frank “disappearing act” (Frank. A. 1997. p.33).

For many people, such a response would be quite reasonable

and wouldn’t trigger the same emotional response as the examples provided before, but while “an eye for an eye” might be a feasible strategy for some people, such mentality locks one in an endless cycle of immoral actions, only justified by the fact that “they also did it” or, once again, by selfishness.

With this in mind, a logical deduction would be that selfishness breeds only more selfishness, while still justifying immoral and harmful actions against others. Selfishness is also an automatic survival instinct for some people, and they might, subconsciously or otherwise think or do things that can be called immoral at best. Selfishness does this so effectively that when Eliezer’s father died as a result of his inhuman suffering, Eliezer’s subconscious selfishness still held him hostage to his own primal instincts, even in the harshest of times forcing him to act selfishly towards his own father’s death. On page 112 he writes : “I did not weep… And deep inside, if I could have searched the recesses of my feeble conscious, I might have found something like “free at last””(Wiesel. E. 1958).

Even Eliezer, a person who throughout the book has helped his father in any way possible, has succumbed to the cold rationality of his now completely selfish and egotistical mind.

Throughout the novels Night and The Diary of Anne Frank, many highly significant moral, spiritual and ethical themes are present which are reinforced by thorough explanations of the horrors of life in a concentration camp and the similarly difficult life in a secret annex. While written to explain the hardships that the Jewish people have endured throughout this dire time, these themes are more important today than ever. Selfishness is a highly unproductive characteristic, and a selfish worldview is dangerous at best. Throughout this book, many examples exist that prove that difficult situations cause humans to become selfish and egotistical. Humanity can learn from this theme, because it is important to understand the dangers of selfishness. When a person’s, group’s or a country’s goal is survival, power or any other goal and main tool for achieving this goal is selfishness, any actions is justified.

Murder, segregation and even war are all justified in the eyes of the people who hold self preservation above morality or ethics. There exist no boundaries as to where one might go if he acts selfishly at any danger. When selfishness sets in, human dignity, morality and respect are thrown out, tattered, broken and completely disregarded. The novels Night and The Diary of Anne Frank are grim and powerful reminders of how dangerous selfishness might be should one succumb to it’s powerful yet deceiving allure.

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OLIVER!, MUSICAL DIRECTED BY SIMON FERRY, MUSICAL DIRECTION MICA GAARD, 2017 93

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UPPER MYP NON FICTION

INVESTIGATION INTO LINKS BETWEEN ECONOMIC AND SOCIAL STATISTICAL FIGURES TO PORTION OF WOMEN IN LEGISLATIVE BRANCHES NIKITA TARATORIN GRADE 10

Introduction: Our world is rich in different cultures, religions, and customs.

The mentality, forged by the society’s pressure to follow the diverse unwritten rules of life called traditions. Many times these traditions are interpreted as supreme to basic human right to be equal. Right that will make every human have a voice in the system of government he or she is a part of.

Historically, there have been significantly more male monarchs than female. Even in the birthplace of democracy, in the citystate of Athens, women were not allowed to attend forum meetings, discriminated together with slaves, non-citizens and children (Mueller, 2017). Currently, there is a stereotype that lower the development of the country is, more unequal their society is. This investigation will look at the following research question:

Is there a relationship between HDI or real GDP and the percentage of women in legislative branches (e.g. Parliaments)?

And will debunk, prove right, or correct the stereotype that countries with low HDI are more unequal.

The reason I chose HDI, is because this index is the best representation of how developed the country is. THe indicator 94

is composed out of many other indexes such as Education index, life expectancy index, and GINI index. In their turn, those indexes are generated by considering even more factors. HDI is a good variable to investigate because it is easy to find, comprehend, and count it as reliable source. As t is created by the UN. I have chose to investigate this topic to gain knowledge that might help me evaluate and even possibly shape politics in the future. If one of the goals of humanity is to become equal, then world need to know what factors influence it and use this information to generate development plans. This research question will also help me to find proven connections between something materialistic, like doctors per capita, and something as big and as abstract as equality. According to my political compass tests I am more left that right by economic standpoint. And from research coming from my personal project, being on the left is all but to reach equality.

On my opinion the topic is not too broad and the research can be answered with simple statistical data analysis.

A L E X A N D E R L I T E R A R Y AWA R D C O N T E S T S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • U P P E R M Y P N O N F I C T I O N

What are the countries with lowest and highest HDI levels?

According to latest research, Least 5 countries by HDI is Niger (188th Place), Central African Republic (187th Place), Eritrea (186th Place), Chad (185th Place), and Burundi (184th Place).

Top Countries by HDI are countries of the old world. THey are Netherlands (5th Place), Denmark (4th Place), Switzerland (3rd Place), Australia (2nd Place), and Norway (1st Place).

(Hdr.undp.org, 2015) Here on the graph below, you can see botton and top 5 against world average by HDI. HDI Level vs. Country

It is important to not that countries held their most recent elections in the last 4 years. So the results about equality may be still considered as up to date. Only exception is Yemen, where last lower house elections were held in 2003 and upper house elections are older than me, that were held in april of 2001.

Is there a link?

There is no direct link between the HDI level and the parliamentary equality. At least no obvious one. None of top five countries by HDI are in top 5 by equality and vice versa.

This can be proven by the graphing HDI levels of best and worst countries against each other in a scatter graph.

Norway Australia Switzerland

HDI Level Compared to Parliament Gender Equality

Denmark Country

Netherlands

70

Chad Eritrea Central African Republic Niger 0

0.25

0.5

0.75

1

HDI Level

Data from: (Hdr.undp.org, 2015)

From here we can see that top countries are all located in europe, while worst countries by HDI are located in Central Africa. They are both very contrasting, and even if the world average is added to the graph. The feeling of black and white still remains in place.

Which countries are most and least equal in their parliaments?

According to (Ipu.org, 2017), countries with the most equal parliaments are Rwanda (61% controlled by women), Bolivia (53% controlled by women), Cuba (50% controlled by women), Iceland (48% controlled by women) and Nicaragua (46% controlled by women). Least equal are: Micronesia, Qatar, Yemen, Vanuatu (0% controlled by women), Oman (1% controlled by women). (Bruce-Lockhart, 2015) That is how this data looks graphed: % of Women in Parliament vs. Country Rwanda Bolivia Cuba

Country

Iceland Nicaragua World Oman Vanuatu Yemen Qatar Micronesia 0

Data from: (Ipu.org, 2017)

17.5

35 % of Women in Parliament

52.5

70

% of parliament seats held by women

World Burundi

52.5

35

17.5

0 0

0.225

0.45

0.675

0.9

HDI Level

Data from: (Hdr.undp.org, 2015) and (Ipu.org, 2017)

As seen on the graph, the country which has the most women in the parliament, also has one of the worst HDI, together with another country, having a similar HDI, but 0% of seats in the parliament controlled by women. On the other end story repeats itself. THere are some countries both of which have high HDI, but one country sees about and equal ration of women and men in the parliament, while second country sees complete male domination in their parliament.

(Ipu.org, 2017)

How about individual wealth?

Since there is no proven relationship between overall level of life and gender equality in national legislative branches, perhaps material wealth is the factor which may direct influence gender equality. Purchasing Power Parity or Real GDP per Capita is “an economic theory that compares different countries’ currencies through a market “basket of goods” approach. According to this concept, two currencies are in equilibrium or at par when a market basket of goods (taking into account the exchange rate) is priced the same in both countries.” (Investopedia, 2017) So basically purchasing power parity is the buying power of the citizen of the country.

It is another way to measure standards of living across given time.

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Top countries by PPP per capita are Qatar ($102 100), Liechtenstein ($89,400), Macau ($88, 700), Bermuda ($86,000), Monaco ($85,000). Lowest 5 countries are Central African Republic ($700), Burundi, Somalia, Zimbabwe ($600), and Democratic Republic of Congo ($400). (Indexmundi.com, 2014) PPP per Capita $ vs. Country Qatar Liechtenstein Macau Bermuda Country

Monaco World Central African Republic Burundi Zimbabwe Somalia Democratic Republic of Congo 0

30000

60000

90000

120000

PPP per Capita $

Data from: (Data.worldbank.org, 2015) and (Indexmundi.com, 2014)

We can see that some of the countries that were mentioned before, were mentioned in this section as well. If put against %of women in the parliaments of these countries in scatter plot graph, we will get these results:

% of parliament seats held by women vs.

Purchasing Power Parity per Capita $

% of parliament seats held by women

70

52.5

35

17.5

0

0

26250

52500

78750

105000

Purchasing Power Parity per Capita $

Data from: (Ipu.org, 2017) and

Looking at these result we can conclude there is also no connection between personal wealth and gender equality in legislative representation.

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Conclusion This investigation has proved the myth I once thought is true, wrong. As shown by the evidence and comparisons by graphs and statistical data, there is no relationship between HDI, PPP and gender equality in parliaments. According to United Nations, the main cause of gender inequality is lack of education. Other factors are culture, religion and partly HDI. THis investigation only partly took these factors into account. (United Nations Sustainable Development, n.d.) The most noticeable example the previously mentioned structure of HDI index. Not only it is calculated out of facilities and their sustainability, but also education rate, general gender equality and literacy rate. So comparing HDI and Legislative Gender equality is possibly having too many variables in the equation, not knowing the most crucial changing one.

Not only thins investigation proved that there is no direct connection between HDI and Legislative gender equality, but also it suggested that there is a variable which does directly correspond. Finding that factor is already a task for proceeding investigations.

In the introduction it was mentioned that conclusions made by this investigations could serve as a guide for lawmakers to create and pass bills that would further make society more gender equal. This investigation has suggested that there are many different factors, importance of which may differ according to location, local culture, history, religions and social norms.

Regarding PPP same story. Material wealth of population doesn’t directly affect its equality. It is shown on the example of Qatar, having the highest purchasing power parity per capita in the world, having gender equality in parliaments as low as poor countries like Yemen have.

In conclusion, this investigation has shown that there is no direct relationship between HDI and Legislative Gender Equality, as well as Purchasing Power Parity per capita and Legislative Gender Equality. But this investigation has also suggested that there are many other factors that might have a direct link to gender equality.

A L E X A N D E R L I T E R A R Y AWA R D C O N T E S T S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • U P P E R M Y P N O N F I C T I O N

Bibliography: Bruce-Lockhart, A. (2015). Which countries have the most women in parliament?. [online] World Economic Forum.

Available at: https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2015/09/ countries-most-women-in-parliament/ [Accessed 5 Mar. 2017].

Data.worldbank.org. (2015). GDP per capita, PPP (current international $) | Data. [online] Available at: http://data.worldbank.org/indicator/NY.GDP.PCAP. PP.CD?end=2015&start=1990&year_high_desc=false [Accessed 5 Mar. 2017].

Indexmundi.com. (2014). GDP - per capita (PPP) - Country Comparison. [online] Available at: http://www.indexmundi. com/g/r.aspx?t=0&v=67&l=en [Accessed 5 Mar. 2017].

Investopedia. (2017). What Is Purchasing Power Parity?

(PPP). [online] Available at: http://www.investopedia.com/ updates/purchasing-power-parity-ppp/ [Accessed 5 Mar. 2017].

Ipu.org. (2017). Women in Parliaments: World and Regional Averages. [online] Available at: http://www.ipu.org/wmn-e/ world.htm [Accessed 5 Mar. 2017].

Ipu.org. (2017). Women in Parliaments: World Classification. [online] Available at: http://www.ipu.org/wmn-e/classif.htm [Accessed 5 Mar. 2017].

Hdr.undp.org. (2015). Human Development Index (HDI) | Human Development Reports. [online] Available at: http:// hdr.undp.org/en/content/human-development-index-hdi [Accessed 5 Mar. 2017].

Hdr.undp.org. (2015). Human Development Data (19802015) | Human Development Reports. [online] Available at: http://hdr.undp.org/en/data [Accessed 5 Mar. 2017].

Mueller, J. (2017). What People Were Not Included in Athenian Democracy? | Synonym. [online] Classroom.synonym. com. Available at: http://classroom.synonym.com/people-were-not-included-athenian-democracy-10349.html [Accessed 5 Mar. 2017].

United Nations Sustainable Development. (n.d.). United Nations: Gender equality and women’s empowerment. [online] Available at: http://www.un.org/sustainabledevelopment/ gender-equality/ [Accessed 5 Mar. 2017].

L I Z A L I N D H O LT , G R A D E 8 , G E T P A I D E Q U A L LY, W AT E R C O L O R , P E N C I L S , 2 0 1 6

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D P P O E T RY

DEAR HAEMON...

KATERYNA BESSARAB GRADE 12

Dear Haemon, Before I say goodbye until the end of time, I wish to lay my conscience clear.

Leave all the filth in Thebes with its immoral leader, and lie entombed at peace.

It pains me to say this, yet you are worthy of the truth.

I can no longer lie: you are a stranger to my heart, you are effeminate, your passion wholeheartedly extreme.

The deep affection that you seek cannot be satisfied.

I have been an unfaithful bride, devotion never pure; My family, my love, it’s them to whom I can devote my life.

I loath the Fates, those vile triplet sisters.

They chose to entertain themselves.

My destiny in their hands has been corruptly fiddled.

Ergo, Creon has issued a decree, which did not sit well with me.

It bears witness to his poisoned mind.

Withal the foul nature of the edict does not defy its being.

Against my will, I was constrained to a decision.

It’s either you my fiancé or my departed brother.

I have to practice moderation and have no power to choose both.

It is a ruthless burden, but I am willing to accept this moral test.

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That being so I had to sacrifice myself.

I let his soul pass the river Styx on Charon’s ferry, pursuing its final resting place.

For this Elysium will be my spirits venue.

My heroic deeds are my precious tokens, Since I breathe according to the will of Gods, they rule over my being.

Whence, I will bathe eternally in paradise.

Howbeit your father is sinful to the core.

How dare the creation disobey its gods.

All sense of wisdom was bygone considering his edict, for this Tartarus will be his spirit’s abyss.

At which he will endure eternal torment, For his arrogance has seen no limits, which brought about his immoral rule.

Such hospitality from Hades is well-earned.

My backbone is that of a fabled Sphinx, this beastly creature portrays my moral fiber.

A woman’s head and breasts, a body of a lion.

Eagles righteous wings, to fly at level with the Gods.

Along with a serpent’s tail, a symbol of my stout-heartedness.

One hit a deadly blow to those who dare cross my road.

I stand before a challenge, no cowardice in sight.

It’s foul for my nature to kneel before the foe, It’s only blood relations that can force my bow.

Creon imprisoned my brother’s psyches in Thebes.

By virtue of an unburied body, his soul was to never find peace and quiet.

Yet it is requisite to bury the deceased.

There may be disagreement, betrayal, violence.

But family is flesh and blood, compelled to stand for one another.

Our minds and bodies are duty-bound.

Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.

As clear as day, my brother is my choice.

A loyal sister will not face hesitation.

My roots are stained in blood and incest.

Yet I will never turn my back, unlike my foolish sister.

A L E X A N D E R L I T E R A R Y AWA R D C O N T E S T S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • D P P O E T R Y

A L E X H U I T F E L D T , G R A D E 1 1 , M A N B E H I N D T H E S C E N E S , A LT E R E D R E L I E F P R I N T S , 2 0 1 7

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1

2

3

Z O YA S C H M I T T , G R A D E 1 0 1 . T H I R D C U LT U R E , I N T E R I O R L AT E X A N D

A C R Y L I C P A I N T, P E N C I L , 2 0 1 7 2 . C O N T I N U A L , P E N C I L ,

I N K O N P A P E R , WAT E R C O L O R , 2 0 1 7 3 . U N C H A I N E D, P E N C I L , I N K O N PA P E R , 2 0 1 7 4 . H I B I S C U S W R E AT H ,

P E N C I L , I N K O N PA P E R , 2 0 1 7

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A L E X A N D E R L I T E R A R Y AWA R D C O N T E S T S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • D P P O E T R Y

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

Ergo there are no limits to my valor.

I stand unbroken, before Creon himself, defiant to submit to men.

I will endure eternal pain from his uproar, but never will I dare efface adherence to my beloved kin.

In sooth you have the peril chance for us to entwine, until the end of time.

Withal, you have to prove your worth to me, submit to my female sway.

To be my flesh and blood you should evince devotion.

You have to spill your blood for me, that is the only way.

I will not push, the choice is yours.

Alas, you’re far from flesh and blood to me.

There was a spark of lust, withal no blazing yearning.

The time has come, the romance withered.

I wish for you the finest life, without evil spirits.

You deserve a doting wife, who longs to sacrifice herself for your wellbeing.

The one who knows her place, to follow in your shadow.

As opposed to me, she will abide to your requests, and never dare speak against your will.

For I have been a leading force and trampled over you.

With me your inner weakness comes to be.

Wherefore, this marriage will never see the light of day.

It’s bound for disaster.

So, leave me be.

I witnessed outrage and terror in your father’s eyes, when I denied submission.

For this I was entombed beneath my worshiped city.

Yet I’m a sphinx; my strength cannot be bound.

My father battled with this voracious creature, he solved the riddle, no man could.

Defeated at her wild game, she agonized herself to destruction.

Be that it may, I stay unbeaten.

Attesting to this is my final act.

I spill my blood with glory, to ruin Creon’s appetite for torment, defying his rule at last.

Ismene is tailor-made to be your wife, her mind obedient and tender.

A divine bottle of luscious wine, to fulfill your valiant lust.

Despite her treacherous decision, she is my blood, my beloved little sister.

Give me your word, that you will be her guard.

An angel who will hold her hand through life.

For she is beautiful as gold, yet fragile as a vase.

These written words have been God’s truth.

Yet there is one salient point, that I have not let loose.

I have no desire to make you choose, but I have sworn to be forthright.

I do not fear my demise; just the reverse, I embrace it, For I will reconcile with my blood in the Elysian field.

I hear Hades calling for me; my time has come.

Rus sultod culibus cla L. Quod se, Palem noccis autebatus poterors a ne hos, que essentrei cris. Fullabus; nequidiemquo Cupiondient? Sim sentrae cturnir auc tabes erfec vil halegilis sest? Catum estor in norterf escesci senatif ectus? quam pulere coerti, Catusse cur are qui sum int in reis; num si conve, nius. Fultorb effres essulius acretrum inceride pat ferdienteme con vitur alego pra, atrat, Cat. Me acciem urniu sultia? Opica consunum pulis? Mum dessis.

Verissunc il crem es stod actus omande peris pubi senteri seracrio ut gratquo coristracta, tum peri, Palat.

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INK STAINS

SUMMER 2017

PRIMARY SCHOOL

AN IB WORLD SCHOOL SINCE 2000

A PLACE WHERE WE BELONG

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CONTENT 4

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FOREWORDS PSI YOUNG AUTHOR’S AWARD WINNERS 2017 KG - G 2

16

NARRATIVE WINNERS

FRONT COVER: JUA CHOI, GRADE 3

2

G 3-5 10

POETRY WINNERS

26

NARRATIVE WINNERS

TS 31

PSI YOUNG AUTHOR’S AWARD SUBMISSIONS 2017 KG - G 2

32

NARRATIVE

G 3-5 56

POETRY

66

NARRATIVE

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

FOREWO Ink Stains is a celebration of different creative styles and artistic expressions. Once again we are excited to present excellent examples of creativity and learning in various forms from students of all ages. Many students chose to submit poems and prose pieces while for others it was easier to express themselves through visual art or theatrical performances.

This year’s Ink Stains theme, Transitions and New Beginnings, was inspired by our visiting author, Marc Levitt who works with Third Culture Kids. Our students, belonging to an international community are regularly faced with the challenges and opportunities that accompany that lifestyle. The chosen theme gave students the opportunity to reflect upon their personal experiences in their writing. Transitions and New Beginnings is a recurring theme throughout all of our lives; reflecting on what has happened and contemplating what needs to be done are key components in moving forward. In our ever changing world making personal choices becomes essential but with the freedom to make such choices comes great responsibility both to ourselves and those around us.

A popular Chinese proverb reminds us that “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step” (Lao Tzu). Often the choices our students make now will impact their future and it is also our responsibility as educators to ensure that the opportunity is not missed, the step is in a right direction and that our students are prepared for the journey of their lifetime.

PAM YORK AND POLINA SPENCER PSI Librarians

4

ORDS There were a few changes to The Young Authors writing competition this year. The theme of ‘New Beginnings’ was chosen and all entries needed to have this incorporated somewhere. We also limited entries to one per person per category. Even though this meant less entries than last year, we found the quality of writing to be the best we have seen. A big THANK YOU to all the judges who took the time to read through all the entries. Finally, to all those students who entered into the competition, we hope you enjoyed the experience and that we will see you again next year when The Young Authors competition once again will be a core part of literacy month.

BRYAN REARDON Organizer - Young Authors Writing Competition

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KG - G2

03

01 02

01. MARNIE CROMPTON

6

02. ROMAN SMITH

03. YAROSLAV KRUPCHAK

G3 - 5

02 03 04 01 06 05

07

01 02 03 04

KATYA NOVIKOVA JULYANA ZHEVAGO LUKIAN KHRANOVSKYI ANDREA NORBERG

05 OLESYA ZHEVAGO 06 RUFUS LIPPENCOTT 07 DARYA ABU SHAKRA

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PSI YOUNG A AWARD W 2017 8

AUTHOR’S WINNERS G 3-5

KG - G 2

G 3-5

P O E T RY W I N N E R S

N A R R AT I V E W I N N E R S

N A R R AT I V E W I N N E R S

10 1st Place REINCARNATION Katya Novikova 5R

1st place 16 THE PICNIC Yaroslav Krupchak 2L

1st place NEW BEGINNINGS 26 Lukian Khranovskyi 5R

12 1st Place STARTING OVER Julyana Zhevago 5B

2nd Place 20 NEW BEGINNINGS Marnie Crompton 1L

1st place FROM NORMAL TO 27 UNEXPECTED...

Andrea Norberg 5B

14 2nd Place NEW BEGINNINGS Rufus Lippencott 4H

3rd Place 22 THE PONY STORY Roman Smith KJ

2nd place NEW LIFE 28 Darya Abu Shakra 4H

15 2nd Place FEAR Olesya Zhevago 5R

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G 3-5 P O E T RY W I N N E R S

REINCARNATION KATYA NOVIKOVA GRADE 5R

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PLACE 1 ST

P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D W I N N E R S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 P O E T R Y

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G 3-5 P O E T RY W I N N E R S

STARTING OVER JULYANA ZHEVAGO GRADE 5B

12

1 ST PLACE

P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D W I N N E R S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 P O E T R Y

B E AT R I C E R E K A S I U T E , G R A D E 3

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G 3-5 P O E T RY W I N N E R S

NEW BEGINNINGS RUFUS LIPPENCOTT GRADE 4H

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PLACE 2 ND

P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D W I N N E R S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 P O E T R Y

G 3-5 P O E T RY W I N N E R S

FEAR OLESYA ZHEVAGO GRADE 5R

PLACE 2 ND

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KG - G 2 N A R R AT I V E W I N N E R S

THE PICNIC YAROSLAV KRUPCHAK GRADE 2L

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PLACE 1 ST

P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D W I N N E R S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G 2 N A R R AT I V E

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D W I N N E R S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G 2 N A R R AT I V E

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D W I N N E R S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G 2 N A R R AT I V E

KG - G 2 N A R R AT I V E W I N N E R S

NEW BEGINNINGS MARNIE CROMPTON GRADE 1L

PLACE 2 ND

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KG - G 2 N A R R AT I V E W I N N E R S

THE PONY STORY ROMAN SMITH GRADE KJ

22

PLACE 3 RD

P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D W I N N E R S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G 2 N A R R AT I V E

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D W I N N E R S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G 2 N A R R AT I V E

J E F F R E Y TO KO , G R A D E 5

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G 3-5 N A R R AT I V E W I N N E R S

NEW BEGINNINGS LUKIAN KHRANOVSKYI GRADE 5R

26

PLACE 1 ST

P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D W I N N E R S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

G 3-5 N A R R AT I V E W I N N E R S

FROM NORMAL TO UNEXPECTED...

ANDREA NORBERG GRADE 5B

1 ST PLACE

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

G 3-5 N A R R AT I V E W I N N E R S

NEW LIFE DARYA ABU SHAKRA GRADE 4H

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PLACE 2 ND

P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D W I N N E R S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

PSI YOUNG AUTHOR’S AW SUBMISSION KG - G 2 N A R R AT I V E

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THE NEW PUPPY

G 3-5 P O E T RY

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Jana Abgaryan Soto KF

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CAVALINO BIANCO

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Daniil Kozhevin 1L

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NEW COUNTRIES

THE PRINCESSES

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THE MAGIC GARDEN

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HORSE RIDING

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IT IS BEGINNING

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PRINCE AND PRINCES Anjelika Kumar 2S

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GAME Pau Abgaryan Soto 2S

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BEST FRIENDS Daria Burma 2L

P.S.I NEW GIRL Sandra and Katya 4A

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Felix Frellesen 2S

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MY FUTURE Darya Abu Shakra 4H

Leah Bakunenko 2S

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NEW BEGINNINGS Artemiy Khomytynnik 4H

Noelia Gomez Farinas 2S

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THE NEW BEGINNING IN MY EYE Anastasia, Fatima and Sandra G4

Sasha O’Bryan 1D

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NEW BEGINNINGS Bhanavi Khandige 4H

Nareh Wilson 1D

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OUR NEW BEGINNINGS Beatrice Rekasiute 3S

HEALTHY LIFESTYLE Angelina Zhevago 5R

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WHO AM I? Darka Lubkivska 5R

WARD NS 2017 G 3-5 N A R R AT I V E

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NEW BEGINNINGS Matilda Crompton 3S

85 HOW TO FIND A KING OF NIGHT

112 NEW HOUSE Nikhil Gupta 4H

Maria Repyeva 3L

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113 THE WORLD OF WONDER…

MEETING EACH OTHER IS HARD Arina Shulmeyster 3S

92 A NEW SCHOOL

Sofia Sheremeta 4H

Jua Choi 3L

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116 NEW BEGINNINGS

THE SUPER STICKY Alina Badritdinova 3S

94 NEW HOUSE

Bhanavi Khandige 4H

Andrej Zulumovic 3L

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120 THE GIRLS NEW BEGINNING

SUPER WATER BOTTLES, SCARY ADVENTURES Maryana Pesina 3S

95 STARTING SCHOOL IN Masha Zhurzhii 3L

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THE REFUGEE BOY

96 TALKING MOOSE

124 ANABEL AND HER DIARY

MAGIC CAT Sophia Spatar 3L

Naomi Nemickas 4H

IN THE FOREST Martina Ghassibe 3L

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121 SOMETHING NEW EACH YEAR

THE STORY OF Ioana Naftanaila 3S

Selin Tezel 4H

KINDERGARTEN

100 THE ODYSSEY

Kate Waskow 4H

Sofiya Krupchak 4A

83 HARD DAYS Mark Lirnyk 3L

126 SPOONS 108 WIZARD HAMSTER AND

Alva Lyth Brand 5B

THE CONFIDENTS

84 MY NEW LIFE,

Andrew Palmer 4A

MY NEW WORLD Shahar Shany 3L

110 NEW BEGINNINGS Valentina Huitfeldt 4H

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

THE NEW PUPPY JANA ABGARYAN SOTO GRADE KF

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

CAVALINO BIANCO DANIIL KOZHEVIN GRADE 1L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

NEW COUNTRIES NAREH WILSON GRADE 1D

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

THE PRINCESSES SASHA O’BRYAN GRADE 1D

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

THE MAGIC GARDEN NOELIA GOMEZ FARINAS GRADE 2S

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

HORSE RIDING LEAH BAKUNENKO GRADE 2S

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

IT IS BEGINNING FELIX FRELLESEN GRADE 2S

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

PRINCE AND PRINCES ANJELIKA KUMAR GRADE 2S

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

GAME PAU ABGARYAN SOTO GRADE 2S

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

BEST FRIENDS DARIA BURMA GRADE 2L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • K G - G R 2 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

OUR NEW BEGINNINGS BEATRICE REKASIUTE GRADE 3S

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 P O E T R Y

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

NEW BEGINNINGS BHANAVI KHANDIGE GRADE 4H

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A N D R E J Z U LU M OV I C, G R A D E 3

P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 P O E T R Y

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

THE NEW BEGINNING IN MY EYE ANASTASIA, FATIMA AND SANDRA GRADE 4

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 P O E T R Y

NEW BEGINNINGS ARTEMIY KHOMYTYNNIK GRADE 4H

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

MY FUTURE DARYA ABU SHAKRA GRADE 4H

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 P O E T R Y

P.S.I NEW GIRL SANDRA AND KATYA GRADE 4A

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

HEALTHY LIFESTYLE ANGELINA ZHEVAGO GRADE 5R

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 P O E T R Y

WHO AM I? DARKA LUBKIVSKA GRADE 5R

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

NEW BEGINNINGS MATILDA CROMPTON GRADE 3S

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

MEETING EACH OTHER IS HARD ARINA SHULMEYSTER GRADE 3S

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

THE SUPER STICKY ALINA BADRITDINOVA GRADE 3S

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

SUPER WATER BOTTLES, SCARY ADVENTURES MARYANA PESINA GRADE 3S

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

THE STORY OF THE REFUGEE BOY IOANA NAFTANAILA GRADE 3S

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

MAGIC CAT SOPHIA SPATAR GRADE 3L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

HARD DAYS MARK LIRNYK GRADE 3L

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

MY NEW LIFE, MY NEW WORLD SHAHAR SHANY GRADE 3L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

HOW TO FIND A KING OF NIGHT MARIA REPYEVA GRADE 3L

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

A NEW SCHOOL JUA CHOI GRADE 3L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

NEW HOUSE ANDREJ ZULUMOVIC GRADE 3L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

STARTING SCHOOL IN KINDERGARTEN MASHA ZHURZHII GRADE 3L

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

TALKING MOOSE IN THE FOREST MARTINA GHASSIBE GRADE 3L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

THE ODYSSEY SOFIYA KRUPCHAK GRADE 4A

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

JACO B I N E D I R KS E, G R A D E 5

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

WIZARD HAMSTER AND THE CONFIDENTS ANDREW PALMER GRADE 4A

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

NEW BEGINNINGS VALENTINA HUITFELDT GRADE 4H

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

NEW HOUSE NIKHIL GUPTA GRADE 4H

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

THE WORLD OF WONDER… SOFIA SHEREMETA GRADE 4H

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

NEW BEGINNINGS BHANAVI KHANDIGE GRADE 4H

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

KILEY KENWORTHY, GRADE 2

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

THE GIRLS NEW BEGINNING SELIN TEZEL GRADE 4H

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

SOMETHING NEW EACH YEAR NAOMI NEMICKAS GRADE 4H

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

ANABEL AND HER DIARY KATE WASKOW GRADE 4H

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

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I N K S TA I N S • P R I M A R Y S C H O O L

SPOONS ALVA LYTH BRAND GRADE 5B

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P S I Y O U N G A U T H O R ’ S AWA R D S U B M I S S I O N S 2 0 1 7 • G 3 - 5 N A R R AT I V E

SAMUEL REYNOLDS, GRADE 3

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