COLLAGESisp’s literary magazine

[SPRING/SUMMER 2011]

From the EditorsIt is with pleasure that we present the second and final edition of this school year’s Collages to you. Our team of resident writers have been working hard on different themes since the beginning of January. There was a slight change in the crew: one of our co-editors had to leave school and we welcome Dylan Mansfield and Sambhavi Priyadarshini. With them came new ideas, inspiration and energy. We believe that together, we’ve created a beautiful final edition over the usual cookies and candies.

After some initial discussions and debates about the style and themes of writing we managed to combine our skills to create this Spring/Summer edition. A lot of time and effort was put into this by the resident writers. Submissions from non-resident writers in various languages have also been included and are greatly appreciated.

The themes vary from love to fantasy- variety is encouraged in the Literary Magazine. We represent the variety of nationalities in our school through the different themes and styles of the students’ literary works. Students from various grades have submitted poems and short stories of different lengths and structures that we hope you would enjoy have been included in this edition.

We, the editors have also worked very hard on this edition, conquering our different views and beliefs and managing to work as a team. We hope you enjoy it and would also like thank all students for their submissions. Big thanks also to Ms. Craig for her supervision and guidance in making sure everything went well.

Happy reading!Anna Meng, Dylan Mansfield, Sambhavi PriyadarshiniCo-editors

Faculty Advisor

Editors

Contributors

Ms. Joanne Craig

Anna MengDylan MansfieldSambhavi Priyadarshini

Blythe EdwardsAshleigh CraigMadalena BottoLara WorthingtonSophie StretchArissa ZaifulConstance GozlanShana InchNare HakobyanHonor KalkinVictoria StraussEmma GabolaIsabella BorgersPieter FabryInes Pozas

In this issue...001 - 002 Forever004 - 006 Love poems007 - 008 There Is No Escape009 - 010 The Boy Who Would Never See The Light Again011 - 014 Ballads015 - 016 All Because of Yesterday017 - 018 Poetry019 - 020 Shipwrecked 021 - 022 Poetry023 - 024 Paris025 - 028 Pastiche029 - 030 Poetry

I can see her walking down the aisle, linking arms with her father. She seems to be restraining herself from running, and her delicate footsteps appear to be forced. ‘Here Comes the Bride’ choruses from the organ. It sounds like a death march. I feel cold, very cold. She shouldn’t be walking down the aisle, clutching her balding father’s arm like a china doll in her ridiculous meringue dress. She shouldn’t be here, because it is my husband who waits for her at the end of the aisle with a shy smile painted on his face. We aren’t divorced. We haven’t even argued lately! So this woman, this imposter, should not be here taking my place. I don’t even know why I’m here. I’m wearing my suit and clutching my briefcase so tightly, my white skin appears to be stretched across my knuckles. Why I’m dressed for work, I’m not sure. But it is a minor detail in this nightmare, hardly important. The woman has reached him now, and beams at his face. I feel so sick I have to shut my eyes and crouch in my seat. My briefcase falls to the floor... silently.

I don’t pay attention to anything until I hear his voice again.

“I, James Rogers, take you, Tabitha Jones, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life. I, James Rogers, take you, Tabitha Jones, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.” “If anyone knows any reason why these two should not enter into holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” I stand up nervously. “I do! I object!” My voice wobbles dangerously, and I’m on the verge of tears. I wait for the horrified silence that should follow, but it never comes. Nobody has heard me. I try again, but the service continues flaw-lessly.

And now tears do spill onto my cheeks as I sit down heavily. I’ve failed.

They take out the rings, round and golden. A symbol of forever. But this should be my forever, not hers. Not hers.

Forever

1

Now they’re married. I wait, wanting to die, wanting to escape the stifling church. It empties slowly. People dawdle and chatter on the way out, but I stay still, frozen. I’m not alone. James and his new wife are here as well. She begs him to come outside, even though snow is now falling quite heavily. She wants her second kiss. She wants her forever to start now. He assures her that he won’t be long, giving her a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Neither of them notices me. She shrugs, and walks out of the church, twirling around as if she has all of the time in the world. James steals a rose from a bouquet to the side. It is red, the symbol of love. He walks slowly down the aisle, his feet dragging behind him slightly. I fol-low him hesitantly, always a step behind. His wandering takes him to the graveyard. Gently, he eases the gate open. His feet make sharp imprints in the snow. I shiver, my eyes blinded by the dancing flakes or tears. Does it even matter?

Now he walks briskly, sure of his destination. He stops just before a neatly kept gravestone. Again, I trail behind, not wanting him to see me. “I’m sorry Callie,” he whispers, his voice stirring the cold air. I feel my heart tingling as he murmurs my name. Then he lays the rose on the grave, where it is soon dusted with snow. “I’ll love you forever.” I turn back to the grave, uncomfortable to look at his face now that he belongs to someone else, and still remain hidden from his gaze, so tender that I can imagine the snow melting beneath it to reveal early spring grass. And there, engraved neatly on the stone, I see something that knocks the breath from my lungs.

Calliope Marie Rogers 1979 – 2007 It was meant to be forever.

by Sophie Stretch, G7

2

Love is like a burning candleOpposite the black crystal moonlight

The treasured wax falling over the limitsLike my bursting spirit

My blazing valentine

Love is like a waterfallA radical dive, then an eternal silky ride

Eventually sliced at heartOn a knife’s edge they rode

My smouldering valentine

Love is like a shattered glassOf the sparkling mirror on the wall

The self despise that muses Until it dies and crushes to darkness

My fiery valentine

Love is like a spreading vineProducing a single drop of wine

Our hearts that interlace like needle and thread Drunken with prosperity

My glowing valentine

Love is like a growing oak treeTurning into a vacant pixie hiveFinally slashed by the cold steel

The scarlet hurt dripping from the lingering brush-wood

My valentine forever more.

-by Madalena Botto and Lara Worthington G6

Valentine

4

Love is a scarf It will choke you.

It will bring out your best features: Kindness, compassion, warmth.

It will make you look good in the eyes of some And bad in the eyes of others.

Love is a pen It will write well if you choose the right one,

And bad if you choose the wrong one.

Love is a bookIt will make you cry or laugh or think

It will have you hooked Or bored.

And you may feel Like putting down the book

Throwing away the pen And forgetting about the scarf.

Or you may want to keep them for a lifetime

-by Blythe Edwards G6

Love

5

Anak kuAdakah anda menyayangi ibu kamu

Ibu mu ingin tahuDengarlah buah hati ku.

Cinta adalah sesuatu yang suciBila ada cinta jangan lepasinya

Anak-anak pergilah cariBila sudah mencari ibu akan bertanya

Cinta berada di mana-manaTetapi jangan mimpi

Cari mengguna mata tidak akan berjayaCari lah menggunakan hati.

Cinta ada perasaanAda perasaan sedih, gembira, marah, cemburu

Jangan ada malang Nanti badan berbulu

Jika ingin cintaJangan guna duit Guna lah tanda

Yang diberi oleh Tuhan

Ingat anak-anakGunakan hati

Jika tidakNanti bersendiri

My childrenDo you love your mother?I want to know.Listen my darling Love is something pureWhen you have love don’t let it goChildren go find the loveWhen your done finding it come here, I want to tell you something Love is everywhereBut don’t dreamIf you use eyes it won’t workUse your heart to find love Lovers have feelingsThey are sad, happy, mad or jealousBut don’t have bad luckThen you won’t have love If you want loveDon’t use moneyUse the loveIf not, you will be lonely

-by Arissa Zaiful G6

Cinta

6

The sharp gunshot rang in my head over and over again. Horrified expressions of the crowd and a blurry image of the man in a dark blue suit were all I remembered. I remembered the man in the blue suit yelling at the people. I remembered how he shot his gun in the air and screamed these piercing words that are still ringing in my head like a bell.“What is the point of running when there is no escape?” I opened my eyes and felt the rain falling hard on my cheeks. The man’s voice echoed in my head - “There is no escape... there is no escape...” I was starting to get my senses back when my head started aching and I lost all feeling in my legs. For a second, the horrifying thought that they had been chopped off, crossed my mind. I lifted my head and gasped at the awful sight. I had wide gash-es all over my legs and my clothes were soaked with blood. What were these visions? Where was this crowd? Who is the man in the blue suit? Where was I? I heard a monstrous cry and turned around. What I saw was dread-ful but I could not move. Tess woke up screaming. She had been having this nightmare often these days, but she could never reach the end. What was this dreadful thing happening to her? She kept hearing this monstrous cry – who did it belong to? Her parents were taking her to a psychoanalyst every week to talk about the problems she had been having dealing with her dreams. Tess didn’t like it. Every time she mentioned her dream, the fear returned. “In your dream, what is your name? Is the person you, or is it someone else?” The analyst was extremely calm and never gave the slightest hint of what she was thinking.“The person seems very familiar to me. It feels like it’s me, but that girl seems young-er. The man in the suit seems familiar. It’s like a distant memory from my childhood – but they’re not my memories!” Tess felt a knot in her stomach. “I see,” replied the analyst. As always, her thoughts were a mystery. After some time, Tess’ meetings with her psychoanalyst began to worry her. The more she talked with her, the more visions and unknown memories would flash to her mind. Eventually, it began to happen in daylight hours. She was crossing the road as she walked home from school. One day, when she saw a policeman in a dark blue suit and without warning, she found herself thrust back into the dream world. This time though, she was on a veranda. After a moment, the man from her visions appeared before her. “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” Nothing daddy. Nothing at all.” She came back to reality when she heard a woman yelling at her. She suddenly realized she was standing in the middle of the street and a car had nearly run her over. She blinked twice in shock and ran to the other side of the road. She had had enough of these mysterious visions. Who was that man? Why had the girl in her dream called him daddy? Was that girl her?

There Is No Escape

7

The next week she told her psychoanalyst about her new visions and this girl with her dad. “How old is the girl in your dream?” asked the analyst. “She must be around eight years old.” “Do you remember your dad wearing blue suits? Was he ever a guard or a po-liceman?”“I don’t know. It’s actually quite strange, because I don’t remember any of my life be-fore my tenth birthday. My parents talked to me about how I was when I was a small child, but that is all I have of my past.” Her analyst simply smiled and scribbled down a few notes. The session was over.But it was there in that session that she realized the possible significance of her miss-ing memories. They could solve this mystery once and for all. She decided to ques-tion her parents. Upon arriving home from the psychoanalyst’s practice, she asked her father if he had ever worked as a guard or ever worn a dark blue uniform like a police-man. Surprisingly (and infuriatingly) her father just changed the subject. The following morning, on her way to school, she saw a young girl running after her sister. She didn’t think anything of it, until the girl spoke.“Emma, wait for me! Emma!” With those words ringing in her ears, Tess’ sight faded and she found herself back in her dreams. All she could see was black.“Emma, go clean up your room.” “Sweetheart, you better do as your mum says,“ said the man in the dark blue suit.Tess opened her eyes. She could hear a distant beeping sound, and her head throbbed. She looked to the right to see a heart rate monitor. Raising her hand, she felt a bandage tight around her head. Tess tried pulling it off but it was too tight. She was in a hospital. Before she could come to terms with her surroundings, a doctor entered the room.“So, you must be Tess?” “Yes, I am,” replied Tess in a croaky voice, “Where am I? What happened?” “You had some kind of blackout in the middle of a road and you were hit by a motor-cycle. It’s a miracle that you’re alive.” Suddenly, it all came back to her. The man in the blue suit was her dad and he worked in the army. Her name was Emma, not Tess, and her real parents had died in a tsunami. That horrible nightmare she was having was actually her real past, and the monstrous cry from her dream belonged to her little sister. All the people she loved died in that wave! Those words her dad had growled in her dream - “there is no es-cape” - were not true, though. She was alive. She had made it out, somehow. Emma fell asleep in her hospital bed, and that night she dreamt of her past one last time.I heard a monstrous cry and turned around. What I saw was dreadful but I could not move. A wave that blotted out the sun, casting its terrible shadow across the land, was coming towards her, faster, louder and more terrifying than anything she had ever imagined.

by Constance Gozlan, G7

8

The Boy Who Would Never Adrian’s whole life was lived in obscurity. Never being able to see the sun, play with friends or even go outside. The only person that was precious to him after his par-ents died was his little brother, Jamie. Jamie was the light of his life and the reason he wasn’t miserable. This is Adrian’s story. Since he was born, Adrian wasn’t normal like all the other children; he wasn’t allowed to set foot into the sunlight. He had a very rare illness called “Xeroderma pig-mentosum.” He lived with foster parents and spent every sunlight hour locked up in the house! Curtains and shutters closed and electric lights everywhere. I remember him telling me,“I feel surrounded by them, as if they are invading my life or keeping me prisoner.” Adrian had never seen what the real world was like during the daytime; until one Friday morning when several doctors came to see how his condition had progressed. They told him that he was allowed to open the shutters as long as he didn’t have direct contact with the sun. He felt as if he was being born again, living for a second time in a whole new different world. Adrian rushed to the windows and opened the shut-ters wildly as if a lion was pounding on its prey. When his eyes had adjusted, he was stunned. It was the most spectacular day of his life and one he would never forget. When Jamie came home from school as usual he sat on the couch and told Adri-an about his day and how people were. Adrian loved hearing all his stories because, believe it or not, he was fourteen and had still never been to school. Adrian would slow-ly take him in his arms and rock him like their mother used to until he fell asleep. My name is John and I was Adrian’s best friend. I had known him since the be-ginning of time. Our mothers had been best friends forever until that terrible accident. Afterwards, my parents adopted Jamie and Adrian and we three became as close as brothers. We were only children, but all we needed was each other. Even though Adrian couldn’t go outside we’d play games indoors like charades or card games. I loved spending time with him and convinced him that we could go outside at night time as his disease only prevented him stepping out in sunlight not moonlight. At first, my par-ents were very hesitant to let us go out, but when they realised how much it meant to Adrian they didn’t object as long as we stayed close by. Little Jamie, on the other hand, was not allowed out with us as my parents explained he would be tired for school the next day; I was bigger and would cope. These night time adventures were wonderful for both of us and allowed Adrian to experience the world rather than just looking at it. We would go down to the pond and try to catch the frogs that were croaking at night; we would hide

9

when we saw the bats flying low we would run after the rabbits which came out of their burrows to play in the field... but we never lost sight of the house and the reassuring light that hung on the front porch. One day Jamie came back from school and my parents asked Adrian to take care of him whilst they took me to the dentist. They told him he could let Jamie go outside into the yard when he finished his homework but under no circumstances was he to go outside the garden. He could play basketball against the side of the house. When my parents and I waved goodbye to Adrian, we didn’t realise that it would actually be for the last time! These are the facts that we have pieced together from little Jamie. He had finished his homework and gone outside to play basketball while Adrian looked on through the window. Suddenly the ball had bounced away from the house and out onto the road, little Jamie, unaware of the danger, had run after it. Adrian must have seen the bus coming at full speed down the hill and run out into the sun-light to save his brother... The bus had narrowly missed them both and Jamie was stunned but safe, but Adrian had disappeared into thin air.

See The Light Again

by Shana Inch

10

Once the ship of dreamsMy mighty bow knew no rival

Now only sought by diving teamsNow my memory is my survival

Men praised my beauty, my speed, my sizeLadies waltzed across my wooden deck

Now there remain no admiring eyesNow my distinction is in my wreck

Like Persephone to the underworld dragged downThe icy killer was my Hades.I too was to gain my crown

Now the Queen of drowned ladies

I was celebrated as a floating palace of luxury and excessThe fine and fancy folk gazed up at the stars

Their dancing feet to my parquet back were like a gentle caressLadies sipping champagne and gentlemen smoking their cigars

A sovereign of the seas, cutting through the wavesMy subjects never saw the revolution coming.

Swift as the executioner's axe we were sent to our gravesAn iceberg as deadly as it was numbing.

My reign was shorter than Lady Jane Grey'sThe revolt was unforeseen and in disguise. I was queen of the ocean for only four days

The looming assassin held the element of surprise!

Beginner's luck doesn't always holdThe noblest dreams can easily shatter.

The quest for perfection can end in fool's goldWhen the dice are cast nothing matters!

The Queen Loses Her Realm

11

Did the ladies faint? Did the men shout?Swim to safety ship, sail along

Was it chaos when the world got outSinking more likely unless you were strong

The waves of a thousand soldiers watching my demiseThe steel of my armour, modern and new

The berg, their silent captain, cutting into my sideA chink in my armour that nobody knew.

I feel the last gasps of air escape me.

My body breaks in two like the sacrament bread.My water-tight hull was no guarantee

I sink to the ocean floor with the other dead.

I failed my helpless subjects, now floating up aboveThe depths of my sorrow are deeper still than the ocean floor

Their panicked memories won't remember my loveNever again will I see a distant shore.

A beautiful boat no morecovered in rust and grimeI lie upon the ocean floorA curiosity lost in time.

The Queen Loses Her Realm by Blythe Edwards, G7

12

Inside the cockpit of the planeOne of the pilots is insane

With all the passengers unawareThat he will do what no one else would dare.

Yet according to the management at K.L.M.He was the company's brightest gemHe'd had enough and wanted to leave

A little island called Tenerife.

And something strange is about to happenInside the airplane's quiet cabin

So he decided Grand Canary or bustAs he brought the engines up to full thrust.

As the airplane picked up speedHe thought not of the warning he did not heed

And he could not see through the thick fogAs the plane charged down the runway like a mad dog.

And as the engines began to roarThe plane's front wheel lifted off the floor

But if only the pilot had had a headFor another plane was further ahead!

He tried to pull up but it was too lateAnd they were doomed to suffer a terrible fate

Though through his career he'd climbed higher and higherHe was now doomed to explode in a great of fire!

Many Pan-Am passengers looked out in wonderas the KLM exploded with a crack of thunder

With all the passengers frozen in frightAs the K.L.M. crashed from a very low height!

Tenerife Air Disaster

13

And as the second story lounge explosively collapsedthey realized this was the largest of airplane mishaps

All the passengers tried to escapeAs the plane's fuselage melted out of shape.

Many tried to use the main hatchBut the debris had jammed the latch

Some tried to walk on the wingAs the fire flew along the wing.

But the passengers had to be hastyJust to have hope of getting to safety

While inside so many chokedAs they were consumed by the thick smoke.

For those still inside it was the endAnd death is damage that no-one can mend

You could hear many shouts and the occasional screamFrom those who were stuck in this bad dream

Many who saw it stared in horror

for no other memory is sorerAnd those who survived stared in dismayAt what had become of the main runway.

by Anonymous, G6

14

As I was running I could feel the weakening of my limbs, and hear the stum-bling of my feet on the silky smooth hospital floor. I couldn’t stop to catch my breath. My heart pounded against my chest. I managed to stop a doctor; his fright-ened expression made me afraid. The minutes it took for him to take me to her room were excruciating, the images rushing through my head made me feel guilty and that’s when I felt salty drops of water trickle down my face. The closer we got to her room, the more torturous sounds of screaming filled my ears with pain. She was saying something, something about me, something to me. I had to run to make sure I got there before they gave her morphine to take the pain away, causing dizziness and sleep. I slid in through the door and saw my par-ents break down, crying in the corner, trying not to watch as their daughter suffered. I stood there motionless, watching her cough out blood as she tried desperately to say something to me. “I..tt..ss n-not your..your.. f..ault.” And while the doctors tried to keep her silent and stable I stood there thinking about the previous day. “Lucy, why? Why can’t you let me do anything for myself? I’m not two any-more I can take care of myself and I don’t need you!” The words fluttered around my mind. The things we said, the stuff I didn’t mean. I was trying to figure out if I had said anything. “Amber, I’m not doing this for me OK? I am doing this to teach you that life isn’t about fun and games and you could have gotten hurt! Imag-ine what mom and dad would have said, I would be dead because of you trying to act all grown up!” That whole conversation kept on repeating in my mind; it was as if my brain wanted to remind me that I did this to her. Gripping her hand, I was try-ing to make her hold on, I kept on squeezing it tighter as the monitor indicated that her heart pressure was rising. I froze as the doctors started to pile in. The room fell silent to my ears and I swear as they pushed and screamed I physically felt nothing. The only thing I felt was my world ending right in front of me. “Yesterday...” I said in a cold voice under my breath repeatedly. The doctors made us leave because I wouldn’t stop saying it; they mentioned something about me losing myself, losing my sanity in all the action, so they forced us all out. My parents were scared, their faces looked so helpless, like small puppies in a storm. I wanted to tell them what happened yesterday when they asked what I couldn’t bring myself to tell. I said “I wanted it to still be yesterday.” Lying to them had made me feel nauseous and sad. My dad ran in when he heard the doctor screaming for his scalpel,not know-ing what they were doing to her was unbearable. My mother and I rushed in after him trying to find a way to see what they were doing to her. I saw something, it was blood, blood from her stomach. They were performing surgery right there in the room without any time to spare. The

All Because of Yesterday

15

room started to spin. As the nurses ran in, one after another, the floor began to feel as though it was breaking right under my feet. Families of other patients peaked through trying to figure out what all the commotion was about but quickly stepped aside as the chief of surgery came into our room. I remember his name, it was Dr. Sean Patterson; he was known to be the best in the city but was only needed for the worst and most impossible patients. He gave me this look of sorrow; as if my sister had already died; and then he proceeded to examine her. I was terrified after that one brief look. He started to explain to my parents about her condition and what was happening. At the time it sounded more like an explanation of why not to file a lawsuit. Then he said some-thing about her having a blood clot in her lungs. It was confusing us all because she was a very healthy child so it was impossible for her to get sick so suddenly. As I saw the doctors slowly exit her room, I felt hope exiting my heart. There were only two doctors left and when they looked at me with failure in their eyes, I realized they were now waiting to call it. As I sat there pressing her soft hands against my face the only thing I could think of were the last words I had said to her yesterday. “I wish you would just die!” I couldn’t believe it. It was my fault! This had been my fault. Her getting sick was all because of yesterday and now I can’t change anything!

“Beeeeeeeep.....”

by Nare Hakobyan, G7

16

I am as white as snow,My eyes are as blue as the sky.

My hair shines like the sun,I am like no other living thing.

I am the moon in the sky,My eyes are the roving sea.

My hair is the colour of the clouds,I am like no other living thing.

I am as delicate as a tear drop,My eyes can’t seeMy senses know

That people look at meI am like no other living thing.

Standing out should be exciting.I wish to blend in.

Differences should be celebrated,Not rejected...like an alien.

By Ashleigh Craig

Standing Out

17

Wind whistling past my faceThis is my big race.

I feel the stressTying knots in my chest.

I yearn to make the final turn

But I have to learn.Here’s a little bump

But that’s not the jump.

Sliding, slipping, snowI bend down low.

I’m starting to loose spaceTrying to contain my grace.

I’m at the top

Shooting forward without a stop.I tilted to one sideMy balance died.

Suddenly my skis screamed

As the sun beamed.It seemed I should be dead

But I had only banged my head.

I can’t move but I feel I need to proveThat all is not to lose.

People rushing overI hope I still have my four-leaf clover.

My head is starting to buzzThe images turning to fuzz

Is this what death does?I hear the whirring

Of the rescue occurring.

The world goes blackI feel like a sack

Never scared of an attackI don’t feel the snow anymore

I hear scary voices behind a doorBright lights blinkingFeeling like sinkingDown, down, down without even blinking

People running aroundWithout a sound.Attaching tubesClean white roofs.

People stitching up my groovesI never open my eyesI dream about days with clear blue skies. My room a boxMy life a bunch a boring talksI feel like I’m lying on a bed of rocksMight as well never wake up I want to leaveLife is no longer like I believeAll I do is sit and seetheI want is to be free of this bedElsewhere I want to be lead. Are you here?I feel you near.

Everything is starting to clearYou’re here granting my wishWith one big flourish!

- by Honor Kalkin G6

Too Young to Die

18

Shipwrecked Sophie stared out the portholes of the tiny cabin at the churning waves. Her stomach lurched. She forced herself to look away and collapsed on the filthy mat the captain called a bed. The Arlbergs were the craziest foster parents ever. What were they thinking? Who sends a twelve-year-old girl on a sea voyage in a rickety sailboat boasting an “F” in hygiene and safety? An impatient knock halted her thoughts. Sophie turned calmly. Before she could reach it, the creaky door flew open. A bony sailor sneered as he put down a watery bowl of soup, muttering that women on boats were bad luck. Then he stumbled out; the lock clicked; Sophie was alone again. Remembering her raven-ous hunger, Sophie gulped down the soup, making a face at the taste of rotten fish, knowing no one would see it. After every drop of the revolting soup was licked away, Sophie lay down on the grey mat, facing her hardest challenge of all, sleep. Creeeee-aaaark. A horrible noise woke Sophie up. Eyes still closed, she mumbled, “I was just getting to sleep. What now?” As she began to sigh,a wave of water flooded Sophie’s mouth. “Ahhhggggl,”Sophie gurgled. Jolting upright, So-phie looked around the cabin. Shredded pieces of it were snapping off and bob-bing away on jumpy waves. The boat! Sophie knew it was sinking. Where was everyone? Her eyes strained against the dark. There in the distance, she could just see a small wooden raft with six ragged men. The crew! Clinging to what had been the cabin door, Sophie screamed and flailed her arms in the air, but the raft did not turn back. The unmistakable figure of Captain Smith was waving. On and on Sophie drifted until she lost track of time, until she lost hope, until land! Sophie laughed with relief. Almost gently,she washed up on a sandy beach. It seemed calm and peaceful. Then loud whistles and yelps and short shouts pierced the air. Wildly, Sophie spun around trying to locate the source of the noise. She saw them emerging from behind mounds of sand all around her - tribesmen with painted cheeks, pierced body-parts, and curious looks. They formed a circle around her. When an elder tribesman gave three whistles, the tribe surrounding her dropped to their knees and started chanting. Sophie stared around, bewildered. Like a bank of storm clouds forming, an army of soldiers in dark cloaks appeared on the beach. They marched in time, their eyes black. As the soldiers moved closer and closer, Sophie noticed the tribe had become tense, ready to run. The army surrounded the tribe, then swiveled their heads to watch a tall, skinny woman in a long black gown. The woman’s dark hair was swept up in a gold net, and she wielded a trident in her right hand, pointing it at Sophie who stared dumbly at her. The woman commanded her minion soldiers –“Chase down the barbarians! Capture the thing!” Sophie,sensing danger, ran as fast as she could, further and further, until the army was out of sight.Panting, and certain that the island was not normal, So-phie sat down, exhausted and afraid. After a while, a strange sort of air - coloured and oddly scented- surrounded

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her. Sophie tried to wave it away but her arms lay limp by her sides. The air formed animal visions and rabbits danced around the petrified girl. “I am Rubric,” said a deep, commanding voice. “Follow the stream. Find the garden and enter. Fairies there will try to lure you asleep. Resist them, and walk to the garden’s center. Ask how to defeat the evil human you met this morning. She has ruled the island of Alan for years. The fairies will tell you the secret to defeating her, but you must not sleep.” Everything stopped - the multi-colored mists, the rumbling voice, everything. Sophie, although it seemed mad to her, started walking downstream. She found a small fence circling enormous red flowers petals that were wrapped around the sleeping bodies of dozens of dwarves, tribesmen, centaurs, and fawns. Each had a smile of complete peace on his face. Sophie understood this was the fairy garden. Boldly, Sophie took a step inside and instantly felt the urge to sleep. She saw slightly blurred figures of fairies invisible from outside the garden. A soft lullaby played. The grass felt gentle under her weak legs. Knowing she would never wake if she slept, Sophie staggered on,forcing her reluctant legs to move. Finally, she reached the garden’s center. Sophie felt a sharp tingling and was spurred awake. She asked, “How do I defeat the evil queen of this island?” A high voice replied, “Find the tribesmen. Tell them to distract the army, lead them to the ocean. The mermaids will drag them down. They will understand your words. You must reach the queen. Talk to her about the world in which you lived. She has made herself drunk with the waters of the immortal waterfall, and lost her memory. Bring it back and she will perish, as will her castle.” In a heartbeat, Sophie found herself on the beach. She looked and saw the tribe. Remembering the voice, Sophie tried to say,“Distract the army! Lead them to the sea!” But it came out as a series of clicks and whistles. The tribe nodded their heads and sprinted off into the darkness. Sophie followed. Reaching a black castle, they began chanting. As planned, the army marched out in rows. The queen followed. The tribe ran away, then stopped, then ran back, teasing.The army, frustrated, ran after them and away from the queen, who seethed with rage. With the soldiers gone, Sophie slipped next to the queen and whispered into her ear about the world where she used to live. As easy as that, the queen fell down into the dust, dead, defeated. Sophie’s eyes twitched open. Ah, what an interesting dream.

by Blythe Edwards, G7

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The rain lashes downThe trees whip their branchesThe sunlight is distant and far awayAs the river churns in fury.

The bridge is flooded with puddlesThe air is cold and harshThe wind shrieks mercilesslyAnd the birds hide desperately.

The lightning crashes across the skyThe thunder rumbles violentlyCrash, bang, crash, bangAnd the houses shake in fear.

The sunlight meekly shines throughThe trees sway in the soft windThe clouds break awayAnd the river ripples gently.

The bridge reflects the lightThe air is warm and breezyThe wind is cool and freshAs the birds chirp happily.

The lightning is far awayThe thunder is long goneThe band’s music is jazzyAnd the houses are still.

The StreetYoung, in the midst of adolescence,Short in height yet tall with soul,With light brown hair that curls and reminds oneOf a modern day flapper.Sweet big hazel eyes that compliment gracefullynaturally coloured rose lips.Sometimes quiet, with a calm delicate voiceYet with an honest smile that shows a strong personality,Often rejected with original style,Mixing a classic simplicity with retro details.A little stylish fairy with sweet resonance.

by Vistoria Strauss G11

Inés

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The clock used to tickTrapped in a prison of time

The hands used to turnRound and round

Tick after tick

Time never endsTime never stops

But an old clock must one day die,Eventually tick one last time.

By Emma Gabola G7

The ClockOs olhos perdidos de uma infancia, os labios calados do rio sem vida Eu vejo o desespero de uma alma solitaria pedindo pra sair da sua prisao. Se escondendo atras de uma illusao de ferro, um generacao de telas vazias Eu fugo a um mundo desconhecido na floresto do samba e prazer eu vivo numa planeta secreta, aonde so tem amor e sabedoria

Les yeux perdus d’une enfance, les levres fermes d’une riviere sans vie. Je voit le desespoire d’une ame solitairequi prit pour sortir de sa prison Elle se cache sous un masque de fer, une generations d’ecrans vide Je m’enfuie dans un monde inconnu, dans la foret de la musique et du plaisirje vie dans une planete secreteou il n’y a que de l’amour et du savoir.

-by Victoria Caetana G11

French/Portuguese

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by Isabella Borgers G11PARIS

PASTICHE: THE UN-BEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEINGby Pieter Fabry G11

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1 Perfection is a concept everyone spends their lifetime trying to achieve, an impossi-bly tantalizing dream of reality. Rene Descartes brought up a broad definition, implying that perfection is only existent in God, who, according to Christians, is obviously the perfect be-ing. Perfection, basically being the complete absence of flaws, is accordingly what Descartes uses as evidence of God’s existence. However, if God is without flaws, then how can he judge who deserves to go to Heav-en or Hell? What one man sees as a flaw another sees as a gift. Prison wardens, charged with disciplining a band of essentially men who are killers, must see compassion as a flaw else risk releasing the threat of their victims upon the world. By contrast, doctors see it as a gift, being able to empathize with patients is an essential tool towards helping them through hardships. So, how can God be perfect if flaws themselves are dependent on the viewer? One can assume that Descartes had it wrong, that perfection isn’t existence without flaws, for the sole reason that flaws are based on judgments. If perfection doesn’t mean the absence of flaws, then what does it mean? I’ve been pondering the question of what is it that is impossible to improve, and conclusively decided that there is no answer. Perfection is relative to what it is compared to. To an early scholar, a typewriter would be a perfect solution to mindlessly recopying the same print, a skill that re-quired years to master. However, as we are more technogically advanced, see the typewriter as inferior, seeing a printer that formulates your thoughts alone as a more perfect solution. Therefore, our idea of perfection has evolved. This is how paradox’s such as a typewriter and a mind-reading printer can exist: they demand a situation changed.

2 I have been thinking of Thomas for many years now. But only in the light of these re-flections did I see them clearly. I see them separated, with only memories to connect them, a relic to the sole perfection I’ve ever had the fortune of encountering, witnessing. Thomas met her in a cafe for a mere hour before he invited her over to his apartment where they made love, another month before he proposed. The wedding was rushed, simple, and private. Neither their friends nor family were informed or attended the wedding. And so they got married, on a bright sparkling winter morning, snow lavishly draped over the church and the streets that they walked along. However, fate was to be aroused, as their rushed and seemingly rash decisions played out. In the months that followed all was fine. They got to truly know each other, know each other’s family, jobs. Neither was particularly sociable, so they cut short as many en-counters as possible. In all their learning they remained in love, and their marriage continued blissfully flawlessly. Indeed, everything that they did together was perfect for Jeanette, per-fect for Thomas. They held a perfect candlelight dinner each week, no interruptions from

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other customers and the food was amazing. We had unnaturally good weather each picnic, on a hillside overseeing a calm lake, where the swans floated harmoniously. Everything was even perfect in bed, each knowing just what to do to please the other. Such a perfect rela-tionship had never existed.

3 Thomas felt the curves of his wife, naked outstretched on their common bed every morning before leaving for work. This simple routine exercised daily comforted him, and it comforted her. Never once would he divert from the ritual, never once to rupture the flawless relationship. He knew what it represented to her, the metaphor of the action shared between the two. Both recognized that it represented their perfect relationship, their consistency of love that held no room for improvement. Walking to work Thomas would never question the existence of their mutual feelings, preferring to ponder the purpose of life, whether life has any significance or not. When his wife told him that she was pregnant he was overjoyed. They tried but once to conceive a child and they were immediately granted their wish. Both mutually desired a son. Thomas wanted his son to have a perfect life, a life parallel to his marriage. He wanted his son to be happy. As a result, Thomas questioned his happiness which was absurd seeing as he had nothing to be unhappy about. The next morning Thomas didn’t stroke his wife exposed and dependant in the bed. He stood up, put on his clothes and left, leaving her naked to deal with the morning sickness that accompanied their son alone. What she interpretedwas the truth: The love was gone. Why couldn’t it been seen as a mistake of the mind, forgetting just this once to pay homage? Why did she interpret it immediately as a dismissal of love? And how did Thomas know she would realize this? That night as confirmation of the truth Thomas came home, his hair smell-ing of other women’s groins. Thomas didn’t understand what happened. Each morning before he would rise, feel-ing an undeniable urge to hold his wife. Only self-discipline restrained his feeling of wanting to hold her forever. That fateful morning that feeling disappeared. He only knew her for a year at that point; he had a lover who he had known for three years prior to the marriage, dwarfing their relationship duration. Suddenly Thomas realized this emotion was exaggerated. It was simply hysteria coupled with the icon of marriage that held their marriage together. They created perfection together yet the happiness of their creation was only a shadow of the reality: The only perfection they created was finding the perfect balance between mutual respect, love and lovemaking. Thomas realized this walking through raining Prague that morning, the city’s old gar-goyles leering overhead. Their evil fanged mouths laughing as excess water dispensed itself in a comical fury. He mingled the gargoyle in his thought, concluding that that was what his marriage was: A fountain of perfection. The gargoyles crouch over the entire

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city smiling hauntingly with the sole purpose of expelling water in a creative and new beauti-ful manner. The reality was that they were just decoration, a disguise to remove the dirty rain water in Prague. What separated his marriage from that? Nothing ever went wrong between Thomas and his wife; they always smiled and were happy, and together they removed any flaw and imperfection from life like a gargoyle gets rid of rainwater, smiling superficially about it. However, Thomas couldn’t get the idea out of his mind that the gargoyles smiles were forced, etched by the sculpture into stone to show happiness, paradoxly hiding the real emo-tions it could have shown. Perhaps the most beautiful gargoyle would have been created if the gargoyle was allowed to smile by itself, not designed by others. If they created perfection based on finding the balance between mutual respect, love and lovemaking, Thomas reasoned that to eliminate the forced perfection and thus allow true happiness to emerge, then one of the aspects of the perfection must be removed or altered. So, when Thomas left work and walked to the nearby cafe, his application of this theory emerged. He made love to the bartender who he never once cared about before that day, and never once cared about afterwards.

4Thomas showed me the best explanation to the enigma that is perfection. Is perfection really obtainable? Sure. Is perfection the perfect solution? No. Thomas continues his life without his wife, without his son, and continues to separate love and lovemaking. His erotic relationships stopped his love from being weighed down by meaning, allowing him to smile as freely and feel as happy whenever it suits him solely. However, is this meaningless hedonistic life is the best solution? Albeit not the perfect one. Well, that remains an entirely different question altogether.

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Finding myself in the middle of the seaSalt prickles my eyes, my tongue.

Blue as far as I can seeAnd not a single sound to be heard.

Sinking deeper and deeperBlackness encroaches from below.

As the white rays grow thinI’m left alone.

Trying to reach out- in vain.My arms stretched in all directions

I felt fear, I felt painNow they are but distant memories.

Like the far-off landAnd the burnt out flame

A cold abyss, where all is deadMotionless, all is the same.

Sambhavi Priyadarshini G11

The Sea

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There are different steps in the seasonal moods of winterFirst there are the blues of the early eveningsSunlight is replaced by chocolate and darknessSummer memories are replaced by the despair of snowdropsThen appear in the beauty of the leafless treesThe shivering perception of frozen dreams loses its melancholic feelAs the colourless streets then find their appealLast, there are the cold steps to joyWhat once brought icy tears now shows the most peaceful of loves.

-by Victoria Caetana G11

Stages of Fallen Leaves

Deep breath in,My body swells with airBreathing out.All the opening budsTimidly perfume the air.All the young animalsOpening their eyes To the damp morning.Deep breath in.

-by Ines Pozas G11

Spring

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