WAVELENGTH 2015

EDITORIAL Welcome to the 2015 Wavelength edition! Wavelength is an annual magazine highlighting creative work from students of Nagle Catholic College. This year, Wavelength has included an eclectic range of creativity ranging from narratives, art pieces to song lyrics. Wavelength is an outlet for students to let their talents come to life and express their individuality, imagination and vision. Once again, this magazine has provided an opportunity to highlight these talents as well as providing both a social and academic platform for students to believe in themselves and ultimately shine! Well done to Joaquin Atizado in Year 10 for producing the cover design and to all of the students who have submitted and had their work featured. I am pleased to be a part of such an inspirational magazine and encourage you all to appreciate and enjoy the issue. Miss Jenna Borojevic1

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FOREWORDCREATIVITY IMAGINATION FREEDOMWords such as these enable people to connect more closely with their inner spirit and their own life experiences. By their nature, our young people have copious amounts of creativity, imagination and freedom and their beautiful inner spirits are freed by it. Their works, in this edition of Wavelength, reflect their views of themselves and life itself. I commend their works and invite you to enjoy the creative fruits of their imagination and freedom. I congratulate the students upon their endeavours and thank their teachers who have guided them. I also thank and acknowledge the work of Miss Jenna Borojevic and Mr Matthew Grigsby for their efforts in producing this edition of Wavelength.DIGITAL ARTWORK Mr Rob CrothersROBYN DUNCAN PrincipalYEAR 12 3

WRITTEN CONTENT 7 ‘BUSHFIRE’ COCO SHAW YEAR 7 8 ‘PRESSURE IS ON’ MARTHA SCHENK YEAR 8 9 ‘LIFE OF GRAFFITI’ SUMMER TOKE YEAR 7 11 ‘ASHA’ MEERA JOHNSON YEAR 12 14 ‘THE GUARDIANS OF AEROLANDIA’ ETHAN NORRIS YEAR 7 17 ‘THE HILL’ SAMUEL COMBES YEAR 9 18 ‘MY PLACE IN WA’ SASH EASTOUGH YEAR 9 19 ‘MINIMISE’ LAWSON O’BRIEN YEAR 7 22 ‘NO-ONE EVER LISTENS’ SASH EASTOUGH YEAR 9 24 ‘LITTLE BIT MORE’ MAZVITA MACHIRI YEAR 10 27 ‘SNOW WHITE INNOCENCE’ KYLE SCHNEIDER YEAR 9 28 ‘SAVING THE FRANGI FOREST’ ANNALISE PAPPIN YEAR 7 31 “SCIENTIFIC OBSERVATIONS...’ ROXANNE ROUX YEAR 8 35 ‘THE LOTTERY’ ABBY ATTRILL YEAR 9 36 ‘TIME IS RUNNING OUT’ ROXANNE ROUX YEAR 8 39 ‘THE WILLOW TREE’ COCO SHAW YEAR 7 40 ‘HAIKU & CINQUAINS’ ETHAN NORRIS YEAR 7 41 ‘A SEA OF RED’ CLAIRE SHERWOOD YEAR 9 42 ‘ST CLARE AVENUE’ DANIKA ABRAHAMS YEAR 11 45 ‘THE END OF THE EARTH’ TAFADZWA DZOMA YEAR 10 48 ‘INNOCENT HEART’ JESSE COOK YEAR 9 53 ‘MY SPECIAL PLACE’ MONTANA O’BYRNE YEAR 9 54 ‘OH, GRANDAD’ SAMUEL PURBA – BARNARD YEAR 9 56 ‘OBLIVIOUS’ STEELY DOYLE YEAR 10 58 ‘MY PLACE IN WA’ TIM WATTERS YEAR 11 59 ‘MY PLACE IN WA’ LAWRIE PASSMORE YEAR 12 61 ‘EIGHT’ SEAMUS KEEFE YEAR 11 64 ‘HISTORY OF EUREKA’ ADEN MARSHALL YEAR 8 67 ‘TRUE LOVE’ ZOE STOTT YEAR 12 68 ‘DONT MIND ME’ HANNAH POULTNEY YEAR 12 73 ‘THE INVISIBLE MUSICIAN’ ALICE CRISP YEAR 12 77 ‘POVERTY POEM’ MADDI BROADHURST YEAR 11 80 ‘TEARS OF THE NIGHT’ DANIKA ABRAHAMS YEAR 11 82 ‘RUNNING’ SARAH SIBSON YEAR 7 83 ‘THE STORY OF THE MOON’ MIKAELA MCAULIFFE YEAR 7 84 ‘WARS COST’ MAGGIE KEEFFE YEAR 94

87 ‘ASSUMPTIONS’ JADE BRIGGS YEAR 12 90 ‘WINFIELDS’ CASEY SWEENEY YEAR 12 94 ‘HAIKU’ YEAR 11 JAPANESE 96 ‘I FEEL EMPTY’ SOPHIE MCCAGH YEAR 7 98 ‘MY PLACE IN WA’ TYSON FARRELL YEAR 11ARTWORKS 2 DIGITAL ARTWORK ROBYN DUNCAN YEAR 12 6 ACRYLIC PAINT LAUREN MOFFAT YEAR 11 10 BEADS & FABRIC DARCY SYMINGTON YEAR 12 12 DIGITAL ARTWORK ANGUS DUFOUR YEAR 12 15 POSCA PEN COCO SHAW YEAR 7 16 DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY TYSON WATKINS YEAR 10 23 GRAPHITE JAHNI O’MEARA YEAR 12 25 DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY CHRISTINA JONES YEAR 11 26 DIGITAL ARTWORK TIARNA MORGAN YEAR 12 30 ACRYLIC PAINT ON FLOPPY DISCS ROBYN DUNCAN YEAR 12 34 GRAPHITE JANNEKE NEL YEAR 12 37 DIGITAL ARTWORK ANGUS DUFOUR YEAR 12 38 DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY CIARA COONEY YEAR 12 44 WATER COLOUR PENCIL ON PLYWOOD JODIE SKENNAR YEAR 12 46 GRAPHITE ASHLEE LOCK YEAR 12 50 DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY TYSON WATKINS YEAR 10 52 COLOURED PENCIL SKYE NEWTON YEAR 11 60 DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY CHRISTINA JONES YEAR 11 66 PENCIL AND CHARCOAL MAYGAN ROBERTS YEAR 12 70 MICRON PENS AND PENCIL OLIVIA HENDERSON YEAR 12 72 ACRYLIC PAINT & POSCA PEN EMILY GILL YEAR 11 76 DIGITAL ARTWORK ROBYN DUNCAN YEAR 12 78 DIGITAL ARTWORK COREY MORRIS YEAR 12 85 GRAPHITE JAHNI O’MEARA YEAR 12 86 DIGITAL ARTWORK ANGUS DUFOUR YEAR 12 91 DIGITAL ARTWORK DARCY SYMINGTON YEAR 12 95 MICRON PENS & WATER COLOUR GEORGIA WEBB YEAR 11 97 MIXED MEDIA JOSEPH TANTI YEAR 12 5

ACRYLIC PAINT LAUREN MOFFAT YEAR 116

THE BUSHFIREHow much can a koala bear?Sometimes life just isn’t fairThe smoke, the heat, the fire and flamesThe unfolding tragedy of climate changeFive days straight of fifty degreesHad brought the bush to bended kneesLike walking on burnt bits of toastThe animals always suffer the mostBANG! Went a tree as the fire spreadThe bush was an ocean of fear and dreadThe flames arose with an evil grinThe lives of animals worn thinClinging for life to a smouldering wattleDrinking water from a plastic bottleHow much can a koala bear?Sometimes life just isn’t fair COCO SHAW YEAR 7 7

PRESSURE IS ON Competition entry is about to close I have written neither poetry nor prose I was gonna write something really deep Or something humorous about counting sheep But time went by in a lightning flash And now I won’t win that much-needed cash! My page is still eternally blank For which I have my mind to thank I’m suffering from writer’s block My mind is working like a rock My favourite black pen’s ink ran out And I still don’t know what to write about! On the desk I bang my head After this I might be dead All my thoughts appear to flee Oh poor, poor unfortunate me Only now do I accept my plight; Randolph Stow’s on and I’ve nothing to write! MARTHA SCHENK YEAR 88

LIFE OF GRAFFITI As shadows gaze across a wall, so does he He approaches as a silhouette, dodging the sight of lights The opened cans in his stained bag of colours glowing like neon lights Rattle with excitement as his breath heaves Through the city’s dark smoke The wall, awaiting Silently, for emotion to pour onto its bitter surface Watches its familiar fate as he approaches The bag is then thrown onto the rugged alleyway floor Before unzipping the stiff zip and shaking the first can The alleyway was dark, but now, with the sound of spray cans frothing He opens the long, rugged life of a survivor who seemed like he’d gone through hell To be where he is today Happiness mixed with the sadness Love is mixed with hate A survivor pours his life on a plate His signature is sprayed on like a scar Before leaving the wall, now with emotion of a life lived to be told As colours of orange and pink come across the sky Onlookers stand with wonder and awe As the blank wall is No more.SUMMER TOKE YEAR 7 9

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ASHAI feel that as a young woman from a modern, first world society who has visited a developingnation and seen the social injustices rooted within its culture, I am obliged to comment on theeveryday experiences that can and do incomprehensibly influence one’s identity.Asha.It was a disgustingly humid day in the overcrowded streets of Delhi, as if the sun had decided thathe was positively miserable and none of the billions of living organisms below him would benefitfrom his life-giving rays. The girl’s grandfather was the Admiral of the Navy, Indian royalty and theleaf did not fall far from the tree. The intense heat and beads of damp sweat clinging to Devika’sskin only bothered her momentarily, as she left the up-market boutiques of Greater Kailashand plonked down into her comfortably air-conditioned driver’s car, off to the fourth shoppingdestination of the day.In amongst the chaotic Delhi streets, the car stopped at a mile long traffic light. Devika - atypically gorgeous and egocentric teenaged girl sat down waiting impatiently for the masses ofvehicles to hurry along. Her impatience stemmed from a narrow-minded obsession to buy thebeautifully silk-embroidered handbag she had envisioned on her elegant arm so admirably, daysbefore leaving home to Australia. As their driver, Raja, started up the car again, Devika and hersister gossiped aimlessly about the incompetence their cook exhibited when presenting theIndian breakfast dish, aloo-bhatoora, the same morning.Driving past the destitute and poverty-stricken Chandmari slums hidden within the mostglamorous and wealthy neighbourhoods New Delhi had to offer was the typical sight one wouldsee from inside Devika’s car. Here, you are labelled as either extremely rich or extremely poor,the unjust and corrupted caste system prohibiting one class from interacting with the other.Belonging to the ‘rich’ caste the young girl didn’t usually have time for the inferior and penniless,however a spark of compassion and charity fostering deep within her exploded from her heart onthis day.Looking out longingly at nothing in particular as Raja stopped the car in the motionless trafficonce again, something caught Devika’s eye – it was two more eyes. The big brown eyesgazing back at her were mesmerising and caught her completely off guard. At that moment sheabandoned all thoughts of self and focused on the young street urchin who seemed to be sellinga combination of tacky, beaded necklaces and beaten up, second-hand magazines. The childlooked to be about seven years old. She was entwined with ripped, unfitting cloth, embodied ahead of tattered hair and her at least ten-kilogram-underweight body was smeared with dirt andgrime appearing as though she belonged to a coal mine, however she still managed to flash arotten-toothed smile.It may have been Devika’s Anglo-Indian lighter skin that compelled the urchin to run towards thecar longingly, or maybe the small glimmer of nurture reflecting from her deep hazel eyes. The childeagerly urged Devika to wind down the window.“Don’t wind it down! Do you know how many more peasants you will attract if you give it money?”Devika’s sister dictated. But she was still completely fixated on the zombified looking childoutside. Without hesitation she reached for her Bottega Veneta handbag and took out 2000rupees, wound down the window and handed it to the impoverished silhouette of a child. Tearsstreaming down the little girl’s face.BEADS & FABRIC 11DARCY SYMINGTONYEAR 12

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ASHA“Thank you didi (sister), thank you thank you!”Devika reciprocated the little girl’s tears and in that moment she jumped out of the car tearingaway from her sister’s firm grasp and delved into the warzone that was Indian traffic. She dodgedthe hundreds of misdirected cars, finding herself on the side of a putrid, urine reeking alleyway.For once she didn’t think about her car, her family or her money. Instead she was sweptover with emotion - too overwhelmed with anger, sadness, frustration and most importantly,disappointment in herself. The urchin came running to her side, taking her by the hand.“My name is Asha.” She spoke to Devika in Hindi.Devika watched her car slowly slither away into the traffic abandoning everything she was everfamiliar with inside. Asha took her hand and ran into the eerie, monochrome alleyway she hadonly just moments before encountered. No fear was felt. No words were spoken. They just keptrunning through the seemingly endless pathway until they reached another network of identicalalleyways. There were many children and women walking through the alleyways intriguinglybalancing heavy bricks, cement and brown, dirtied buckets of water on their heads. They wereheaded into the heart of Seemapuri slum.Men stared at Devika, yelling out obscenities. Women and children in the same, drained state asAsha ran up to her begging for money, but all of her possessions were left in the car. Asha guidedher into a tiny shelter made from mouldy blankets and rusty, metal sheets built on a bed of foulgarbage. Inside the crowded shack were six children aged between one and twelve, all staringat Devika in confusion and bewilderment. Asha whispered to a man and woman, her mama andbaba and gave them the money. In moments the woman embraced Devika with her fragile andworn-down frame, followed by her husband and children. They all wept continuously and praisedher for her generosity. Their gratitude was inspiring. Asha’s father said that the money wouldfeed his children for months. Devika hadn’t realised the profound impact forty dollars could make,in her world it would barely suffice to buy her lunch. She realised that this feeling of charity madeher feel worthy, it gave her purpose. Devika hugged Asha one last time, kissed her silky-smoothforehead and said goodbye.That night when she returned to her grandparent’s lavish mansion in the prestigious gardens ofChittaranjan Park, after getting into deep trouble with her unmindful mother, she reflected onAsha and the events that had led her to a life-changing realisation. She decided that when shereturned to Australia, she would not be studying business-law as pressured by her culturally-ignorant roots, instead she would help children like Asha and make a difference in the lives of thepoor. She would tackle all of the hardships that this ambition entailed with grace.Asha.She finally remembered the meaning of the big-brown-eyed girl’s name.Hope.DIGITAL ARTWORK MEERA JOHNSON YEAR 12ANGUS DUFOURYEAR 12 13

THE GUARDIANS OF AEROLANDIA I am Flamewing Flapps, a Griffin from Aerolandia and so are my friends! They are Rocky, Icey, BlueTail and Acerbus. But we are no ordinary Griffins, we have special powers! It was a hot and sunny day. We were all playing chasey and as usual, Acerbus wasn’t playing by the rules. We flew up to him. “Why can you never play by the rules?” Icey asked. “Because I hate your rules and you are as stupid as they are!” exclaimed Acerbus. “It’s more fun when I play by my rules.” We were so angry at Acerbus. Suddenly the sky started to light up and make sounds like an earthquake was erupting. Then flaming rocks started to fall from the sky. We all flew as fast as we could to get cover. Finally when the rocks stopped falling we went to investigate. Acerbus started to walk into the dark forest. “What are you doing?” asked Rocky. Acerbus just ignored him. I ran to him and tried to stop him but he just shook me off. He was unresponsive. It almost felt like he was being pulled into the forest. We all followed him in. The dark forest was a place we never went but strangely we all felt something “calling us” in, then we discovered two enormous meteors. One was glowing black and red and the other blue and white. Acerbus started walking towards the black and red meteor. I screamed at him, “No Acerbus, don’t touch that meteor it’s cursed!!” “No it’s not, Flamewing,” snapped Acerbus like he was possessed by a Devil. “You always make the rules, I can chose to follow my own if I want.” Then Acerbus leant forward and touched the meteor. Suddenly a vortex opened up behind Acerbus and was sucking him in. “Take your claw off,” yelled BlueTail. I reached out and placed my claw on the blue and white meteor and it began to glow brighter. The other three reached out and when their claws made contact with the meteor there was a huge explosion. This explosion was so powerful it knocked everyone out unconscious. When they all came to, Acerbus had vanished, the Vortex was gone and the meteors had disappeared. We all got up off the ground and to our amazement we had been given special powers. Rocky had become as strong as a rock, BlueTail could control the weather, Icey could freeze anything and I seemed to be able to shoot fireballs. We use these powers to protect the innocent and imprison the bad, bringing justice to the land of Aerolandia. We are now THE GUARDIANS OF AEROLANDIA! ETHAN NORRIS YEAR 7 POSCA PEN COCO SHAW YEAR 7 14

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DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY TYSON WATKINS YEAR 1016

THE HILLI walk. Upwards would be a direction I suppose. Thehigher I climb the stronger the wind. When I reach thetop it’s almost knocking me over. I feel it take no heedto my presence and I let it envelope me. The fresh,bitter cold, whirlwind pricks and scratches at my skinwhilst I lean into it. All my worries are taken with thisrenewing gale and all I do is be one with the moment. Iclose my watering eyes and wish I could stay up hereall day with the mighty gusts, the sun and the sheep-likeclouds, all following each other, and then I realise thatI can. I look out over the land at the shades of greenspeckled with grey and brown rocks and boulders. Thesunlight peeks out between the drifting clouds, warmingthe ground. I look down at the earth between my toeswhich is covered in lush, sweet smelling, light greengrass. I lay upon it and look up at the sky once morebefore closing my eyes and start to fall into a warmslumber as one of the warming beams of light falls overme and then, I sleep. SAMUEL COMBES YEAR 9 17

“MY PLACE IN WA”– YOUNG WRITERS INITIATIVE It’s dark. I like that. I’ve always been a little nyctophilic. The dark catches me, keeps my head on straight. The light flashes, and for a brief moment, my surroundings are illuminated. The jagged, jutting rock, limestone cliffs that seem as though they are still part of the seascape that they once adored. The small hardy scrubs and shrubbery that make do here push through the ground, only to be tussled and torn at by the vicious winds. The sea should normally be one of my least favourite places to be, roars violently, waves being forced out by the storm to crash and pound against the ground. If the tide rises too much, I may have to move from my perch. Well, for now, I will stay. Who cares if I get a cold? The rain sweeps in heavy waves across the rippling, thrashing sky face. No signs of life move, at sea or at shore. What animal out there would be out in a storm? Heh…. Me I guess. The flash fades, and with it the light, plunging my surroundings once again into the blue-black haze of the night. The rolling black clouds overhead block even the moon’s vague light. I close my eyes and revel in the storm. The cold, cooling my anger, my rage, my hates. The rain, washing over me, ridding me of my stresses and worries. The wind pounds away pulling off my jacket, threatening to pull my hood off along with all the problems it blows away. A few of the sharp ridges of the limestone cliff dig in my rear as I sit legs dangling over the edge of the abysmal sea. Nothing but a minor, easy to forget. I breathe in deep, salt, sand, but mostly, the rain, the oddly luring yet soothing scent of ozone clearing my mind. Some think me strange for doing this, whenever the storm comes I sit outside. Pervade all company, let it wash over me. I think they’re the fools. They’re sitting inside a dusty old ten ton, the Tamilin beach, whereas I get to sit out in the purifying wrath of the storm. Heh. Maybe I am strange. Maybe I am crazy. But for now, I am where I belong, the eye of the storm, heart of the chaos. I am home. And I am free. SASH EASTOUGH YEAR 918

MINIMISEMum, Stanley, my brother and I were driving through the country.The lakes patched the horizon and the light was flickering as we drove through theshadows of the trees.“Leon, can you put in a CD?”I rummaged around in the console until I found it, and put it in the player. My brotherStanley groaned.“Change it please!”I set it to a song we all liked then read the back of the cover. ‘Uptown funk, see youagain, shut up and dance....the music began to play when...’Suddenly I wasn’t in my seat anymore, I was on top of something. I looked around,and then down, I noticed that I was standing on letters! I tried figuring out what theletters spelt. UPTOWN FUNK. How’d I get here? My eyes shot forward; there I sawmyself, a bigger me, sitting in the passenger’s seat singing along to the ‘See youagain.’Confused, I started thinking of how I was going to get big again. Mum took theCD out of the player. She picked up the cover I was standing on. I raced down thewords of the song list like steps but as I got to the last one I tripped. I fell. It felt likeI was skydiving (even though I’m only 12 and I’ve never been skydiving before). Ilanded on the console, just as Mum opened it to get out another CD. I hung on fordear life. I started to lose my grip. My palms became sweaty and my hands began toslip. I looked down; I shouldn’t have!I was hanging on with three fingers, now two, now one, I let go. Mum closed the lid. Icaught the base. I managed to haul myself up and back onto the lid.I had to make a decision,“Get to the dashboard and I should be safe.”My first obstacle was the gear stick. I put my back against it and slowly edged myway around it. Then Mum’s coffee; if touched I would get burnt, so I took it verycarefully and made my body as flat as I could to squeeze past it. With one foot infront of the other I made my way across the edge, the whole time saying to myself,“Just keep steady”!This was torture.I could see where I needed to be but then the worst obstacle appeared! “Fisherman’s Friends”! 19

MINIMISEThey are a lozenge that taste like dirty cat’s hair and pepper (that’s what Dadsays)...Mum says they ‘keep colds at bay’. Right now they smell putrid and look likethey have something growing on them.The packet with the disgusting tablets was in front of me, I decided I would leapover them and not touch them at all, I backed up and leapt; my foot hit the cornerof the packet! CRINKLE, CRACK! I didn’t stop, I just kept moving and tried to findthe first foot hold to start the climb up to the dashboard. My peripheral visionsaw something move. I turned around and you wouldn’t believe what I saw! TheFisherman Friends had legs, gruesome hairy legs and even worse, huge teeth,but they had no eyes, just gigantic nostrils- no nose! The Brown blobs gave chasegnawing their teeth. I began the climb up the high wall with storage compartmentsas foot holds.60cm is tall when you’re 5mm in height, it’s scary! I had a good lead so I waved myarms hoping that Mum or Big Me would see me, but no! Mum was focused on theroad and Big Me was focused on the iPad... (Mum might have a point, too muchelectronic time!). No help. I was being chased by mutated lozenges! Higher I went;the disgusting tablets on my tail. I could see the top of the dashboard, so I pushedmy body even harder to get up. I just passed the CD player when my foot snaggedon an air vent, I wriggled and squirmed finally I was free! The Fisherman’s’ Friendsbreath was warm. I heard a song come through the speakers, ‘A long way to thetop,’ what a coincidence...!I was climbing with the last of my strength. I climbed past the air-conditionervent when the mutated lozenges stopped. Mum had put the air con on and theFisherman’s’ Friends were frozen! Hallelujah! I let out a sigh of relief and climbed tothe top with more ease.At this point I was going to slap Big Me to get me out of this problem, when Mumopened the window. I could feel myself being pulled out by the suction of the air,I started running, the wind pulling me out, I began to tire. Yanked out the window, Isaw flies waving and smiling at me as we rushed through the air. Mum closed thewindow and the vacuum stopped completely. I landed on high speed on a flyinginsect, but facing backwards! The mosquito tried shaking me off but I held on tightlike squeezing a stress ball. Finally it stopped, my problems were sorted. I justneeded it to fly into the car. I looked into the distance and saw three bright longbodies and super-fast flapping wings; one red, one blue and one green. Dragonflies!They sped towards us at lightning pace, forming a triangle. The two backdragonflies flew so low that you couldn’t see them behind the dust cloud madeby the car tyres. Out from nowhere they appeared just behind us. They were likewinged assassins, and now I could see the third getting closer. The mosquitododged and weaved around the dragonflies’ repetitive attacks. All three winged 20

killers were now attacking the helpless insect. Thinking on my feet I sprung fromthe mosquito and spun around in the air so I would land on the dragonfly correctly.I didn’t want to get eaten too! Using its head to control it, I flew around the carlooking for a way to get back in. I was surprised that the dragonfly didn’t try andthrow me off. I saw the mosquito being taken down into the dust cloud, then I hearda yelp....that was the end of the mosquito.The car started to slow down and then stopped on the side of the road. They werehaving loo runs! All the doors were open; I drove the dragonfly into the car and didmy best to descend. I redirected the dragonfly up and saw my own face. This wasmy chance to get some attention! I backed up to fly the dragonfly into my face. Wehovered near Big Me’s face and then I used all the dragonfly’s and my force to goforward. We were now centimetres away; abruptly the dragonfly threw me off! Iwas falling through the air again thinking,“This is how I die?”Time froze. I could see the dragonfly just touching Big Me’s cheek, then we bumpedand landed and I bounced into Big Me’s ear.I felt myself spiralling down when I blacked out.As I awoke I was sitting in the passenger’s seat, stunned, then Mum asked me,“Do you want a Fisherman’s Friend?” ............................................LAWSON O’BRIEN YEAR 7 21

NO-ONE EVER LISTENS I raise my head as she bursts through the door She shuts it tight then heads to that drawer She makes odd sounds as her eyes begin to flood And pulls out that sharp, pretty thing that brings so much blood. To her side I go fast, for I wish her no harm She stares at me, sorrowed, it shines against her arm I lay my head on her shoulder, eyes begging her to stop She embraces me, sobbing, that dreaded toy forgot. She smelled of the sea; of the salt and the sand She said, with a sob, “Only you understand” I told her I loved her, but listen she did not For with the figure at the door, all thought was forgot. It was a hulking creature, beastly, invoking fear And I knew, with savage hate, why it was here For though father it may be, in him savage cruelty boasts And he was here to hurt the one that I loved most. His small eyes aflame, he blustered and yelled His breath smelled worse than the rotting of hell I told him to leave, before he did something he regrets But he didn’t listen, no one ever listens, and he threw me by the neck. Through pain-blurred eyes and a metallic taste I saw my dearest attempt retreat with fear, with haste But the figure grabbed her viciously, and he did not let her go Until she struggled free and fell, the corner of the drawer dealing a terrible blow. I leapt to my feet, a vicious fury burning in my heart I knocked her father over, biting, and he cried out with a start I yelled that this was his fault, and that vengeance shall be dealt And I attacked at his throat; his flesh was more fetid than he smelt. I limped to my most dear, I hoped that it couldn’t be Her eyes stared wide and hollow, open, but she couldn’t see I told her to get up, I begged her as her blood glistened But she didn’t, she didn’t hear me, for no one ever listens... SASH EASTOUGH YEAR 922

GRAPHITE 23JAHNI O’MEARAYEAR 12

LITTLE BIT MORE [SONG LYRICS] I remember the first day we met one look and I already knew listened to my heart I took the bet but kinda already knew it was you One step at a time we didn’t rush but my heart was telling me it was time every time I look at you I felt but a blush coz loving you this much felt like a crime I say you say yeah you took me by surprise and brought my heart to life I might love you just a little bit more I say you say yeah cross your heart and hope to die that you’ll always be by my side and I might love you just a little bit more one chance, one chance baby it’s all we got one chance, one chance baby it’s all we got live it up, let it be or you’ll never know how love feels like a million butterflies I say you say yeah you took me by surprise and brought my heart to life I might love you just a little bit more I say you say yeah cross your heart and hope to die that you’ll always be by my side and I might love you just a little bit more MAZVITA MACHIRI YEAR 10 DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY CHRISTINA JONES YEAR 1124

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DIGITAL ARTWORK TIARNA MORGAN YEAR 1226

SNOW WHITE INNOCENCEThe blood corrupts the innocence of the crystal white snowThe white turns to red as the massacre leaves a path of destructionThe blood pools around the innocence, drowning itPulling it down to the bowels of the earthSeeping into the snow, staining its purityThe bullet rips through the flesh as it penetratesTearing through the bodyEmbedding itself into the muscles of the heartBlood gurgles from the mouth of the soldierThick dark blood ebbs from his mouthPermeating into the snow, marring its beautyThe thick fog of death rolls across the battlefieldCarrying with it the putrid smell of rotting corpsesThe injured lay flounderingWishing the thick fog would embrace themEyes wither and death finally triumphsThey lay lifeless as they are curtained by the snowSoldiers scarred by the horrors of warVictims of the pointless massacre fuelled by anger and greedMarionettes, puppets of the puppeteerLives ended for someone else’s fightTheir blood, added to those who have diedNo longer just a stainNo longer a sea of redKYLE SCHNEIDER YEAR 9 27

SAVING THE FRANGI FOREST I lived in a town called Dustberg. It sat on the edge of a deep and mysterious forest. Dustberg was home to a nuclear power station which employed most of the people who lived there. My dad was one of the bosses of the power station. One night, I was walking home from my after school job when I heard a noise coming from the rubbish bins in the town park. I thought it might have been a cat or dog so I went to investigate. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There were these little witch fairy type creatures fighting over an old chicken bone. They stopped and looked at me and I screamed and that’s all I remembered…. I woke up and got the sense that I was somewhere in the forest. I tried to sit up but I couldn’t. My arms and legs were tied down to the ground with vines. It was pretty dark but I could just make out the silhouettes of the little creatures I saw in the park watching me. They were keeping their distance and seemed to be whispering to each other. Then all of a sudden I felt one of them climb up onto my chest. “I am Lucinda and I am the leader of the Frangi Fairies. We used to live in peace and harmony in this forest. We were always beautiful creatures until your people built that horrible thing that blew out some sort of magical gas. It made us sick and killed many of us. Those of us who survived now look like me.” I realised she was talking about the power station. We knew that there was always a risk living in a town with a nuclear power plant but we didn’t really consider the damage it would cause to the forest and its creatures. “We need help. We have a plan but we are not strong enough to carry it out,” said Lucinda. “My people are weak and hungry as the poisonous gas that blows out of the big chimneys has killed all the bubble berry bushes which was our main source of food.”28

I started to feel sorry for the little creatures. They were desperate. I had to helpthem.“Ok, so what do you want me to do?” I asked.Lucinda told me the fairies’ plan. They wanted me to break in and blow up thepower station. That way it would stop running and there would be no moredangerous gases in the air. I agreed to help them as long as no one was hurt in theprocess.They untied me and I got to work. I ran home. My mum and dad were busywatching tv. I crept quietly into the kitchen and took my dad’s work keys fromthe bench. I snuck out the back door, grabbed my scooter and headed for thepower station. Lucinda and a small gang of other fairies were waiting for me. Theyhad made a special explosive potion which we were going to use to blow up thebuilding. The potion was harmless to humans.I unlocked the main doors and in we went. The fairies sprinkled the potion all overthe power station. My job was to light the match and then run. I lit a match andthrew it on the ground. Then I turned and ran. I got a couple of hundred of metresaway from the main gates of the station when I heard a loud bang!I knew that we would have to leave Dustberg as my dad would lose his job but I wasrelieved that I was able to help the Frangi Fairies.Hopefully they would be able to live in peace and harmony in the forest. ANNALISE PAPPIN YEAR 7 29

ACRYLIC PAINT ON FLOPPY DISCS ROBYN DUNCAN YEAR 1230

3.99SCIENTIFIC OBSERVATIONS OF A YEAR OLD“I’m the king,” Rous announced standing on the branch, towering over Dillon and Roxanne.“I can be the king, I challenge you to a stick fight,” Dillon stated standing with a stick in his hands.“No, you will be my knights, greatest honour ever,” Rous replied moving towards Dillon to dub himhis knight.“What about me? I want to be a knight too!” Roxanne yelled standing up with a stick too short tobe a sword.“Hmm, let me think, no, you can be the kingdom’s witch and be burned at the stake, or bea peasant who pays me with rare, red leaves found by the bee hive.” Rous smirked at herknowingly.“I’ll be the peasant,” Roxanne said clambering up towards her brother.“Stop peasant! Knight, slay her at once!” Rous ordered Dillon who was already one step awayfrom Roxanne. She had two choices, die at Dillon’s sword or fall from the tree to her death. Dillontook advantage of Roxanne’s distraction and stabbed at her but missed as she fell backwards.Fear gripped Roxanne’s throat as she fell, then a thud as she hit the ground followed by thefootsteps of her brothers.“Ssh, don’t tell mum, you’re only winded, you can be a knight too,” Rous comforted as hecrouched next to her, but it was too late, Roxanne was on her feet half jogging and half staggeringto the house.“If you three don’t hug each other and say sorry, there will be punishment,” Gail growled.Gail was the queen and mother of Roxanne, Rous, and Dillon. Gail could change from queeninto the town witch instantly. As the witch, she could make up some pretty crazy punishments.Like the time Rous, Dillon and Roxanne fought over who came first in the bike race. Naturally,Roxanne came last, but still fought with her brothers. Queen witch made them ride around thesandy horse track, non-stop for ages. If they dared to stop she threatened them with her toes!Toes was the most unique feature about their mother, she could pinch just as hard with her toesas a Kalbarri mud crab, in fact she revelled in showing off her toe’s power.Today, hugging each other and saying sorry was not an option for the trio, so they were preparedto ride out any punishment thrown at them from the darkest pits of hell. In this case it meant theyheld hands, while their arms were bound together by duct tape, to teach them to get along.“If you don’t keep this on for the rest of the day, my toes will be waiting for you,” Gail sneered withan evil smile. It’s unnatural to make your children fear toes.… .The children walked together all day, fought together, jumped on the trampoline together andexplored together. It was hard for the middle person, Dillon, to eat since he had both armsattached to another person’s. Rous and Roxanne shovelled food into his mouth, only leaving asecond gap between stuffing food into it, laughing heartily every time he choked or snorted foodfrom his nose and mouth.The next day was a lazy Saturday and Roxanne was day dreaming on the trampoline thinkingabout horses and how her brothers told her that every time she ate a carrot a horse died.Another thought crossed her mind as she saw her mother doing the washing, stopping andbreathing fast, then carrying on. She looked like one of those people in a book she was reading.Roxanne could read, but she didn’t understand the word pregnancy. She did, however, think that 31

3.99SCIENTIFIC OBSERVATIONS OF A YEAR OLD her mother was going through the stage of life when someone changes. Roxanne thought her mother was changing into a hippopotamus. “Hippotietis!” Roxanne muttered to herself scowling at her mother. Roxanne stopped scowling because she remembered it was her birthday soon. Although a birthday didn’t mean her brothers would stop their “scientific experiments” on her. Recently Roxanne had been given a batman suit, which meant that she morphed into BatRoxy every time she wore it. One day BatRoxy was jumping on the trampoline as high as she could, punching out her fist and pretending to fly, until. . . . Her brothers came up. Being a superhero with brothers was really quite difficult, like the time she pretended to be Mrs Incredible (she could stretch her limbs). She ended up with ropes tied to her arms and legs, pulled apart and tied to the fences, while her brothers observed her from the safety of a tree, timing how long it took her to get loose… for scientific reasons of course… but we’re change the story, back to BatRoxy. “Hey Roxanne, you can’t be batman, you’re a girl,” Rous spat at her, Dillon nodded in agreement. BatRoxy stopped bouncing, positioned her hands on her hips, felt the lava of temper boiling up her body. She was always being told what girls could and could not do. “Yes I can! Girls can do anything!” She yelled at them. “Whoa, calm your farm. Batman doesn’t lose his temper. Anyway you can’t be batman because he can fly and I don’t see you flying.” Dillon jeered at BatRoxy, while nudging Rous. As soon as the words were out of Dillon’s mouth Roxanne jumped horizontally towards the boys. She pictured herself hovering above the ground, cape flapping gently, giving her brothers the death stare, watching the way her brothers’ mouths flew open in amazement. Yep, she definitely pictured it better in her head. Instead she stopped mid-air and thudded on to her stomach and rolled over gasping for air as the sound of her brothers’ laughter entered her ears and filled her head. Roxanne decided she did not want to see her brothers for a while so she grabbed an apple, a So Fresh CD and entered her haven. No boys, no pink, no girl stuff, only her football and the occasional shredded pink felt on the floor. (Roxanne’s mother kept buying her pink horses with felt covering them, so they felt real. In secret Roxanne ripped the felt off so they could be ordinary brown horses, just the way she liked it). The boys wandered in, bored. Roxanne fended them off with her stuffed horses, millions (well it felt like it) of them were thrown across the room, war erupted. Two against one wasn’t so bad if you had all the stuffed horses on your side, but Roxanne was running out. Suddenly, a pain on Roxanne’s knee made her stop. She looked down; skin was missing, blood dribbling down her leg – time slowed down and horses flew over her head in slow motion. “Ahh! My knee is bleeding, stop, stop!” Roxanne screeched. Rous and Dillon ceased fire and shuffled cautiously towards her. “You’ve only scraped your skin, it’ll grow back,” Rous said. “But I liked that skin. I don’t want new skin, I want my old skin back.” Roxanne sobbed, scurrying around the bedroom looking for her skin. “It’s not coming back,” Dillon laughed. “It will,” Roxanne grunted, but realized she was talking to herself, the boys had disappeared. She soon discovered why… her mother was standing in the doorway.32

Roxanne instinctively looked at her mother’s feet, no shoes, no socks, they were ready forpinching. She looked up at her mother’s face, noticing her forehead slicked with sweat.“Roxanne I’m going away for the night,” Gail puffed with short, choppy breaths.“Clean up your room, Rous and Dillon will look after you.” Gail gave her a quick hug and turned toleave.“Mummy, you’ll be back tomorrow for my birthday, right?” Roxanne asked.“Yes,” puffed Gail, “now clean up this room or no presents – just my toes.” Roxanne startedcleaning straight away, too scared to look back.“Happy birthday Roxanne!” Shouted the boys bouncing on her bed.“Come on, there’s presents!” That got an instant reaction from Roxanne.“How old are you now?” Rous asked.“Four,” Roxanne giggled.“Big girl now,” Dillon poked her playfully. Roxanne ripped into her presents of horses, clothes,boots (which she planned to throw into the river later due to the pinkness) and a red football, not apink one, a red one!“Thanks guys,” she mumbled into her brothers as they hugged her.Roxanne had been waiting hours for her mum.“I’m, home. Present time!” Gail called.Roxanne was there in a flash. She looked at the lump on the floor and wondered why it wasn’twrapped.“No, not another doll.” But on closer inspection she realised it was a real baby, that lumpwas her new present??“His name is Taj,” Gail gestured to the lump that now had a name.“Who brings home a baby on their daughter’s birthday? Only my mum, but it is kind of cute,”thought Roxanne to herself. But she said to her mum, “Thanks mum, this is the greatest birthdaypresent ever.”How wrong was she?VERY! ROXANNE ROUX YEAR 8 33

GRAPHITE JANNEKE NEL YEAR 1234

THE LOTTERY23, not 23, please God not 23I have three kids, a wife, please not 23I will be the best father, just please not 23“And the lucky number is... 23!”I’m going to warI dropI look through these portals for eyes and imagineImagine the beastly blood bath I will be enteringThe bullets racing past my faceThe lifeless bodies surrounding meWhy 23Head shaved, boots shinedStanding on the threshold of my youthSaying goodbye to the loved ones I may neversee againGoodbyeThe hard steaming Tarmac stretches before meMy footsteps reverberate like thunder to my earsThe blades of the chopper slice through the airlike a bayonet through skinWith a heavy heart I await my fateThe silence is piercing despite the rotors’ roarMy gun sits in my lapWe stand. We freeze. We jump.ABBY ATTRILL YEAR 9 35

TIME IS RUNNING OUT Along the edge of the bush where the Kanga Paws grow Where the beach meets the bush and the waves hiss and groan Wise little Bungaru, he lays so still Spear in hand, waiting for the kill Stand up little Bungaru, look out at the monstrous sea The white sails are coming, coming to see you and me. As the captain watched the beach he said “Amen” The second in charge shouted out to all the men “I see the shore, watch out for the locals!” “Captain I’m warning you, use your focals.” As the big Endeavour breached the sandy shore The leader lay a foot, he claimed the land forever more. A wave of fear struck the camp of Aborigines As the sailors kissed the warm beach and fell to their knees Aborigines were getting ready to leave their land But white man caught up fast, his aim quite steady Although wise little Bungaru was ready. Finger on trigger, captain was ready when appeared a spear Foreign man’s face lit up, a grin from ear to ear Captain took his finger off the trigger While the other sailors let out a snigger Captain leaned down to speak to him like he was dumb “Help us now or we’ll take the little one.” The Aborigines did not understand the man Although they helped him by taking foreign people’s hand Later on all of white man forgot And they made out to kill the lot All the white men set out to genocide But that was all tied up in history, someone lied. White man destroyed the people’s earth But the natives only wanted to care for the land of birth They still try to care for her today Just years ago foreign man found a way Although some Australians don’t agree We should strive to let the Aborigines be. ROXANNE ROUX YEAR 836

DIGITAL ARTWORKANGUS DUFOURYEAR 12 3737

DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY CIARA COONEY YEAR 1238

THE WILLOW TREEAnnabella swung from vine to vine in order to get to the great king of the forest, thewillow tree. Annabella’s wings were working fine but the feeling of being weightlesswhile she was mid-air seemed more enticing than just flying. She made it to the treebut something wasn’t right, there was sadness lurking in the air.“Papa, what’s wrong?” asked Anna with question.“We have bad news, your aunt, the queen of the dark fairies has just spread theword that she has gained an army and is ready for attack.”Suddenly the light seemed to go fuzzy and the lush, green forest around her startedto spin, why would she do this?Annabella woke up in the kingdom’s run down hospital, hearing the sound ofmetal upon metal, they were preparing for battle. The light fairies were not usedto combat and had very little experience, the only one good enough was the king,Annabella’s dad. Annabella got up and put on her fighting gear, ready for practice.CLING CLANG! The blade of Annabella’s sword glistened so brightly that the sunwas no match for it.“I might go lay down for a minute,” said the King, limping across the courtyard.Annabella had been growing anxious, her papa had been sleeping more and more,as if he were some kind of sloth. She wondered if he would be well enough forcombat. After all, he was their only hope.The willow tree seemed to be growing weaker, taking the characteristics of theking. The leaves were as grey as Annabella’s dress which had been rolled around insnow coloured limestone dirt. Annabella climbed to the top of the tree and saw thedark fairies were camped just over the mountain, they were too close. The sun’srays were streaming down on Annabella as she wondered how they were going towin the battle.The dark fairies had made it and started their descent down to the kingdom, their jetblack wings covered the sun’s magnificent rays, it was sure to go down in history.“Prepare for battle!” yelled the queen.The night was upon them when the force field broke and the horrid creatures madetheir way to the tree, Annabella was the only one who could make it to the tree intime but it was too late, the dark fairies had almost got the light.Suddenly, the queen of light erupted from the kingdom, a fiery gaze upon her face,and zapped the dark fairies with all her might, pounding their limp bodies back, outof the kingdom. The dark fairies never came back.Nowadays, the fairies like to stay deep in the forest, hidden from humans but if youlook hard enough, you may be surprised with what you find. COCO SHAW YEAR 7

HAIKU & CINQUAINS AS COLD AS ICE CREAM IT IS A FLYING EAGLE WHOOSH SKIS GOING PAST. SNOW FAST, FUN SKIING, MESMERISING, FREEZING COLD TEETH CHATTERING TOGETHER WINTER. TREES CLIMB, FUN AGEING, GROWING, LIVING IT’S LIKE A PLAYGROUND BARK. ETHAN NORRIS YEAR 740

A SEA OF REDFields of red gently blowSoft rustles, long and slowOne magnificent scarlet seaPoppy heads stare back at me.I wonder how they must have feltUpon the ground on which they kneltAs dancing bullets spun past their headsI bet they wished they were home instead.The wind begins to whip my faceThe sheer trauma of this placeFor all those who were fatally hurtNow have a white cross upon their dirt.They marched through bush, and rain, and mudThe air around, as thick as bloodStarved of love and in great painWhat did their leaders hope to gain?Vermilion poppies delicately standGraceful, beautiful, on our landTo remind us all of our pastAll of it, over, at long last.CLAIRE SHERWOOD YEAR 9 41

ST CLARE AVENUE I tug my woollen rug around my shoulders, the ragged ends tickling my chin. I tuck my knees closer to my chest and promptly fall off the park bench. I blink. Damn, still night. I have to get some sleep. The cops come round at dawn to check for people like me. My gaze catches that of an elderly woman across the street. She continues to stare disapprovingly. As if she can judge. Her fag is hanging precariously from the side of her mouth. Her drawn on eyebrows are arched the wrong way. A poodle is attached to her head and her bosoms are spilling out of her hippie dress. The newsagency lights flicker, washing out her tanned skin leaving a sickly pallid vomit colour. How dare she think she has enough dignity to think she is above me in this stupid social hierarchy. I brush off my jacket, tuck my blanket into it and fill up my cheeks. I hurl a lovely sized globule of spit at her feet, then flash her a winning grin. She raises one eyebrow as if to say, “Is that all you’ve got?” and turns on her heel. I stumble along still half asleep until she’s out of sight then shuffle back towards my park bench. It’s the safest spot out here. Not too remote that I’m going to have my throat slit in my sleep but not too busy that I’d have the police locking me up, again. The newsagency has a security camera and a direct alarm link to the station, so most of the dirt stays away. Well, except me, that is. I plop down onto the moss-coloured bench. It creaks under my weight even though I know I can’t have been more than 45 Kilos. I weighed myself at the chemist yesterday. I rest my head on its back and gaze up towards the stars, my hair cascading towards the damp grass. I sigh and stride towards the newsagency and pick up the paper. Even the newspaper is different out here. The paper is almost see-through, rough under even my calloused fingers. I flip through absentmindedly to page thirty seven. “Missing Notices.” So Mum and Dad have given up. Susie Parkin’s parents haven’t though. She went missing two weeks before I ran away. My stomach growls painfully. I try to remember the last time I ate. Two days ago? Maybe three? I count back on my hand. Five. I shouldn’t be this hungry but a biting pain hits my abdomen and I gasp. An old Italian guy looks me over smiling with his gums and not his teeth. I scowl and place the paper back on the pile.42

I turn around slowly and admire the colourful wrappers all screaming for attention.“Eat me!” they say. If I take one and I’m caught, I’ll have to find another bench. Idoubt there’s any place this safe for the homeless. I gulp and drop the Timeoutonto the shelf. I don’t remember picking it up.It takes all my will to leave my beloved newsagency but I remind myself that there’sa reason there aren’t burglars. The ebony camera penetrates my soul, unfeelingand unforgiving. My cheeks heat up. Three months on the street and I still feelashamed when I need to steal. I drop onto my knees as another wave of nauseahits me. Tears spring to my eyes creating streaks across my grimy face. I didn’tcome here to die but I don’t think I would have minded if I had. My father’s jeeringface intrudes my thoughts. His slimy hands, so strong, yet so curious. I shudder.Mum didn’t know. She still doesn’t. The night before I left I tried to tell her but shewas in such a good mood that she just kept chattering happily over the top of me.He would be back in the morning, she laughed, stirring the custard in her rougesaucepan. He came back at night though and my room was the first he visited.My skin crawls. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them, taking a deep breath of thecool night air. I lean against the window for support and gradually push myself up. Ican go one more day without food. I’ll sleep it off. God, I was tired. Before I knowwhat I’m doing, I’m back inside the newsagency, three chocolate bars in my pocketand a packet of peanuts and I’m out of there. The alarm starts to ring but I sprintfurther and further away until I can’t even see the newsagency any longer. I pant.I’m safe. I slip into a side alley. I reach into my pocket, my hands shaky, and tearthe wrapper off my prize. The chocolate melts in my mouth. There is good in theworld, I think. Before I’ve finished though, something covers my mouth and I feel theworld slipping out from beneath me.When I wake, I’m inside on a filthy bare mattress and there is man on top of me.I close my eyes and feel nothing ever again.DANIKA ABRAHAMS YEAR 11 43

WATER COLOUR PENCIL ON PLYWOOD JODIE SKENNAR YEAR 1244

THE END OF THE EARTHWe were in 2035 where there were hovering cars, and fat, lazy people moving around in hoveringchairs with holographic TVs. But Earth was a colourless, unnatural place with tall grey metallicbuildings, woven around with tracks for the hovering cars. Parks were substituted with large opengrounds with artificial lawn and tall metal panels with screens projecting holographic gadgets onsale. New inventions were made, such as glasses that can see the inside of your body. Therewere tall structured buildings with glass windows that illuminated the room with sun light, whereevery room patients had a view. There was no rush on Earth, everybody walked in a relaxed pace.You could only hear the thundering noise of the robotic salesmen selling new merchandise thatbecame out-dated in less than two weeks. Eventually human jobs were replaced, suddenly all wehad to achieve was to control the robots. Life on Earth became effortless.The bright sunlight filtered through the curtains. It was the fourteenth of February, a beautifulsummers’ day. The strong aroma of a fresh cup of black coffee woke me up. After a quickshower I put on my freshly pressed clothes that were still warm. I brushed my long jet black hairback into a low sophisticated bun. As I consumed small sips of my coffee simultaneously scrollingthrough the E-Magazine, to see what the new fashion trends are. I was passionate about clothingeven though my clothing was black, white, grey and the occasional blue. Ding, “Your meal is readySalvatora,” sang the sandwich maker. I tried to keep a balanced diet where I didn’t eat too muchor too little, I liked to say I had a generous weight. On my way to work I passed a massive boardtitled Zenia, where we build the future. After the board stood the Zenia building, where I work. Ialways had an interest in how things functioned, so I became a robot engineer. My boss wouldalways give me praise, saying,“Salvatora you always bring a smile to my face, and you have an amazing work ethic.”Days, weeks, then months, came, soon it was winter. On July the sixth, I dragged my dead legs tothe doors of the engineering room. I flung the doors open to be greeted with an icy breeze, whichfired up my goose bumps and shivers. I made my way to my station to see a mangled robot lyingon the bench. Outside the window I could see the gloomy sky and a massive cloud, that cast adark shadow on the building but didn’t affect the lighting in the room. When I reached the benchI leaned over to examine the lifeless robot. When I finished examining the robot I took out its m’smemory chip, to see what the robot achieved when it was active. I watched the playbacks on theholographic TV and stumbled upon something unusual. The events the robot was participating inweren’t associated with its occupation, as a chef. The robot did unusual things like walk aroundafter hours, when it should be de-activated. To get an understanding of the robot’s intentionsI checked the logbook, and it showed that the robot was de-activated every night since theaccident. The last thing I saw on the TV were bright lights, then the TV went black. That was thelast scene the robot was in. I noted down what I saw in the logbook, and replaced the old chip witha new one. After that I started piecing back some parts and replacing the old crushed parts. Atthe end of the day, on my way back home, a question emerged in my brain. How can a robot walkon the tracks and get hit by a car, when it’s de-activated? Smash, clang, thud came from outside.I came to an abrupt stop not knowing what happened. I stepped out of the car, expecting to seewhat I hit. But what I saw were shards of metal lying on the tracks. Whatever I hit managed to getaway fast.The next day thunder and lightning choked the building. Lights were dimming in and out. And thehallways weren’t empty but not clustered. When I entered the engineer’s room, my manager toldme I needed to assess a de-activated robot. After my manager guided me to the assessing room,I was sent to a glass chamber where a robot laid down on the bench. I reached the robot andconnected a cord, attaching the robot’s head to the computer. Whilst I was scrolling through thecomputer an uneasy feeling washed over me. I stood over the robot and stared at its face and 45

GRAPHITE ASHLEE LOCK YEAR 1246

THE END OF THE EARTHrecalled my memory of yesterday, how I fixed the mangled robot. And the question resurfaced inmy brain. How can a robot walk on the tracks and get hit by a car, when it’s de-activated? Withoutrealising it I was repeating the words ‘the accident,’ until the loud speakers snapped me back intoreality like I was under some trance.“Salvatora, are you alright?”I turned around and gave a nod to my manager. As I turned to face the bench I saw the slightestmovement of the robot’s fingers through my peripheral vision. In curiosity, I leaned over and wasabout to touch it. When its eyes flashed open and it lunged at me, I immediately screamed andfelt my body tense in fear. Four armed security guards came charging in about to open fire. Iquickly pulled myself out of its grip and ran across the room. Finally the men were able to gundown the robot and take it away. I stood in the corner shaking like an earthquake, but when mymanager suggested I go home, I refused and decided to finish work. I wasn’t going to be scaredaway by a robot!I went back to my station and sat in my seat, staring out the window. As I was looking out thewindow a robot stopped and stood, in the Great Court. I looked in confusion, why did it stop?Then the robots head started to turn slowly, until its eyes met my gaze. I sat there frozen in fear.That’s when the robot decided to run, running in amongst the crowd of people. I quickly shot outof my seat and caught an elevator to the front doors. When I got out of the building, it was toolate. As I turned to go back a shiny object caught my eyes, so I picked up the sharp instrumentcarefully. The instrument had a sharp blade which could slice anything in its pathway in onemovement. I clasped the instrument tightly and hid it under my thick coat. Whatever the robot wasplanning to do with this instrument, was going to be very destructive.After work I was walking to my car in the deserted parking lot, when I heard a weird clanging noise.I jerked my head in the direction the noise was coming from, and slowly walked in that direction.My body started to tense, when I turned the corner and to my surprise it was a cat. I released thebreath I didn’t know I was holding and relaxed my body. I did a small pivot on my heels to walkback. As I was walking back with my head down, I lifted my head and stopped in my tracks. Therestood two robots with a red glow, instead of an ocean blue.“Hello Salvatora, recognise me?”I shrugged and replied with, “You all look the same.” The two robots took two steps closer to me, Icouldn’t move back because I was frozen. Once I could feel my toes I bolted to my car, and droveoff crushing a robot.After that incident, things only escalated! Robots refused to take orders, robots twisted thewords their masters used, robots were rounding people keeping them as prisoners in confined,small, cramped places. There were reports of robots wounding civilians who interfered: one manwho tried to prevent a robot from seizing his kids was slashed in the throat. Immediately peoplewent into lock down in their homes, but robots forcefully smashed down the doors. Robots gaveorders to humans and repeatedly said, “Now you are our slaves!” Locking eyes with a robot felt asthough you were looking into a dark, deep void. Then the robots started taking people! One manmanaged to escape! When he emerged from the shadows, onlookers gasped in horror… to see aterrified man trapped in a robot body. When eventually we realized what the robot’s intentionswere, we knew we had taken technology too far and, to our regret, made it the focus of our lives.And wearily we began to search for a solution. TAFADZWA DZOMA, YEAR 10 47

INNOCENT HEARTI hold on to his ever paling faceNever able to let it goTo watch a friend slip awayHis guise now white as snowAgainst a fire-stricken ash fieldLittered with blood, guts and goreOf soldiers of whom died for gloryGlory that is no more.The remaining sorrowed sheep herd upGuns poised and at the readyLevelling ominously, the Turk’s trench in view“Steady, fellas. Steady.”In the next few moments, without so much as a warningWarbled a whistle from the sapsThen CRACK and BOOM, the riffles firedPeople writhing like wind-blown strapsAs bullets thudded straight through the green, they wore soproudAnd splattered a harrowing redRight across their innocent chestsWithin seconds, they were merely dead.The Turks had an advantage over the trenchesThat studded and pockmarked our menBigger, more rapid firing gunsThousands of bullets to our rationed ten.Blood sprays, bones crack while intestines bust outWith every jolting shotA few short moments after beginningHalf our troops had kicked the potMore blood spills while I watch from the trenchAs many meet the same debilitating fateI pray for my family and friends and loved onesFor my life too could evaporate. 48

What feels like seconds flash pastIn a few fleeting moments of dreadThe firing had stopped on both sidesAll our soldiers were dead“Next lot up,” came a blundering voice down the trenchAs I reached out for my gunMy legs locked in a battle of shaking supremacyMy hands reluctantly numb.The air is thin with bloody vapourAnd gun smoke in the breeze“Three, Two, One,” and the whistle blowsOur arsenal drawn with unease.We blaze right over the sodden bagsBlinded by horror, panic and fearWith bullets hailing through the airSpewing the burnt red dirt past my earThere were men shuddering around meBefore collapsing to the groundTheir screams for help drowned outBy the clanking bullet’s sound.I stop for a moment unable to moveAs a Turk whips round his gunThe pain crawls from the side of my chestBreath deplete from my briskly punctured lungThere is a slow and painful sensationAs the bullets rip me apartAnd smothers my body in sticky warmthWarmth from an innocent heart. JESSE COOK YEAR 9 49

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