2013

2

Editorial 3

Superpowers Survey 4

Poetry 5-13

Quizzes 14

Answers 15

Short Stories

One Foot Forward by Guy of Lusigan 16-17

A Worn and Weathered Life by Melody Pond 18

When You are Lost for Words by Sinta Baker 18

Angels Behind the Glass by Vestie 19-20

The Rose of Verity by Grace 20-21

The Annexation of Acre by Ethan Perkins 22-23

The Haunted House by Alexander O’Byrne 24-25

The Yearbook by Emma Magil 26

Lost in France by MKBE 27

His Dream by Red Angry Bird 28

Hope by Abby Claridge 29

In Too Deep by Crystal Dew 30

The Secret Cellar by Riley Nelson 31

Nobody Can Rain on Her Parade by Chloe Diment 32

Ghosts by Elizabeth Margaret 32

Horoscopes 33-34

Blue Competition 35-39

Contributors 40

3

Welcome to the 2013 edition of The Word. This year the theme for the

magazine is ‘Blue’, and we have received some magnificent entries for

the ‘Blue’ competition that we have run. Entries for the competition are

on pages of the magazine. Also in this edition are horoscopes, quizzes ,

facts, poetry and short stories. This year the committee has expanded

to include all stages of the process of making the magazine, including

editing and formatting.

A lot of hard work has gone into the magazine this year and we hope

you enjoy it!

NOTE: A list of contributors is at the back of the magazine.

Kelcey

4

Students were interviewed about which superpowers they want-

ed. There were many options and the graph above shows the re-

sults from our SUPERPOWERS SURVEY!!!

5

Peace

There are so many things to worry about, yet there is none, So why do we sacrifice fun? Why be mad when there are so many things to be happy about? Why can’t we all smile instead of pout? I cannot find an answer; it’s nowhere to be found, Yet there are so many accusa ons around. Why do we fight instead of love? And look for answers up above?

Why would you rather see two men holding guns, than holding

hands?

And trying to acquire more occupied land?

Fighting each other to win ‘peace’

Peace can’t be built on the bodies of the deceased

When will we learn to be cheerful and content?

Why wait until our guns and money are spent?

But instead we try our best to be the most important.

Lucy Hill

Persistence

Nothing in the world can take the place of Persistence.

Talent will not;

Nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with

talent.

Genius will not;

Unrewarded genius is almost a proverb.

Education will not;

The world is full of educated derelicts.

Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.

The slogan 'Press On' has solved

And always will solve the problems of the human race

Calvin Coolidge

DID YOU KNOW…...

According to popular wisdom, you should only eat oysters in months whose names contain the le er R

6

In a cold bare land Wai ng for endless night’s end In complete vain, vain…

Chika Sunarto

Chika Sunarto

7

8

Your Blood Flows Red

Corrosive resistant

Pla num strong

Hard as diamond

That's you in their song

They graph you like

You're a func on's deriva ve

Can they derive who you are

From what you seem?

Does the hardened, weathered outside

Depict what is inside?

Walls of resistance -

An Alloy designed

To replace the bricks

Erected in your youth.

In mida ng grey

Cold to the touch

Moulded masked expression

But doesn’t your blood flow red?

Your face paint hard years

No equa on could describe.

If I could chip away a window

Would you let me see inside?

Would the hard lines on your face

Melt away a li le smoother?

Your blood flows red

Not a heavy grey lead

Toxic, they say -

Society's menace -

A reject nobody wants to know.

A concoc on of me and pain

Drove the light out of your gaze

Hollow…

Mere existence…

For fied

S ll, your blood flows red

I see you as corundum

Yielding to pressure

The typical would break -

But you would emerge

A rare red ruby

Broken -

Silence screaming in your ears

Incompetent -

Terrified, wan ng, longing

Hard -

Vulnerable, bri le, fragile

A er all, your blood is red

My hand is extended

Take it.

You don't have to travel through

Lonely or alone

Take this friend when

Everybody leaves you on your own

Like yours,

My blood flows red

You’re not a body made for clothes -

A fabrica on of atoms, skin, senses

A brew, or a mess.

You’re not a shell or

Some worthless rust.

I am under no illusion

Your blood flows red.

YBFR

9

I love my bro!

They think it silly though!

How many older sisters

Would admit it?

Loud

Cranky Clumsy

Silly

Too much gel

Strong BO

A show off

That's my bro!

But I love my bro!

On that I'd bet my dough!

Sharing

Caring

Affec onate

Daring

He won't admit it

He s ll sits on my lap

Though when too cheeky -

Watch out I might slap!

I love my bro!

Not afraid to say it so!

TV master

Remote controller

Glued to the screen

Loves to preen

Finding his way

Through this crazy years

A typical tough guy

Don’t see any tears

I do love you bro

I just want you to know

I like you as you are

You'll always be my star

Rough, smooth, angry, silly,

For My Brother

Honest, though ul, com-pe ve, true

Don't go changing on me

I love you as you

C.L.U.E

10

The Rain The rain on the days that pass through with a misty haze,

It drops down from the sky onto you and I.

It makes kids sad and grownups mad

They shout at each other when they have to come inside.

The thought of rain makes me shiver and feel cold

But I will march through it for I have to bear it un l I’m very old.

Gabrielle Watson

My Cat An elephant is huge

As a mouse is small

Some dogs are short

And all giraffes are very tall

Snakes slither quietly

Monkeys cha er and call

But my cat purrs quietly

And I love her best of all

Gabrielle Watson

11

Nature Spiders spin

Worms wiggle

And bees buzz round and round

Frogs jump

Slugs slide

And fish swim round and round

Swans glide

Ducks dive

And swallows fly round and round

they are off to a land, far away

Where it’s sunny and warm

Not cold and grey

Gabrielle Watson

12

Louder than…….

Louder than a pecking bird,

Louder than a cuckoo clock

Louder than my grandma cooking, listening to old fash-ioned rock,

Louder than a kitten’s purr,

Louder than a dog’s bark,

Louder than the animals, traveling on the great big ark,

Louder than a squeaky toy,

Louder than a girl’s scream,

Louder than the under nines, brand new football team,

Louder than a baby’s cry,

Louder than my dad’s drill,

Louder than the “pang” of the supermarket till.

M

Lollypops

Juicy, sticky, sugar Licking all day long

The never ending sweetness Lollypops

The Lake The eagle’s claws skim through the water,

as he flies low.

His reflection is crystal clear,

in the sunlit lake

You can see the ripples echoing through the water,

as the sun sets in the distance.

MD

13

The Fox Phantom By Liza Kozlov

14

You’ve seen the film, but how well do you know the book?

Take our “true or false” quiz and find out whether or not you

belong in Middle Earth!

(Answers are on the next page.)

1. Bilbo’s surname is Took. T or F

2. The novel has 19 chapters. T or F

3. Gollum appears in chapters 5 and 6 T or F

4. Wargs are wild wolves. T or F

5. There are 13 dwarves. T or F

6. Sting is the name of one of the dwarves. T or F

7. Hobbits are also called “Halflings”. T or F

8. Beorn is a shape-shifter. T or F

9. The Great Goblin is killed by Gandalf. T or F

10. The Arkenstone is the main stone in the

front entrance to the Lonely Mountain. T or F

11. The Wood Elves are led by Elrond. T or F

12. Gollum wins the riddle game. T or F

13. Bilbo joins the group as a cook. T or F

14. Trolls should avoid daylight. T or F

15. Hobbit houses have triangular-shaped doors. T or F

16. The Necromancer lived in the Shire. T or F

17. Bombur would have helped others if he had lost

weight before they entered Mirkwood. T or F

18. The squirrel tasted delicious! T or F

19. The spiders are killed by Gandalf. T or F

20. The ring has magical powers. T or F

DID YOU KNOW…..

Iceland is some mes called the Land of Fire and Ice

15

1. F – it’s Baggins of course!

2. T

3. F – tricky question as Gollum is in Ch.5, but not Ch.6

4. T

5. T

6. F – Sting is Bilbo’s “sword”

7. T

8. F – sounds true, doesn’t it? Beorn is a skin-changer

9. T

10. F – the Arkenstone is the gem from the heart of the Lonely Mountain

11. F – Elrond leads the Rivendell elves and the Wood-elves have a king

12. F – another one of those tricky questions…Bilbo “won” the contest, but he cheated!

13. F – Gandalf chose Bilbo to be the burglar

14. T – sunlight turns them into stone

15. F – naturally you knew hobbit doors are O, not

16. F – in the southern part of Mirkwood

17. T– Bombur was the fattest of all the dwarves. Of course, he was the one to end up in the

enchanted river, falling into a deep slumber. The others had to carry him!

18. F – even though they were so very hungry, nothing could have made that stringy squirrel

tasty

19. F – NO, not Gandalf! It was brave Mr Baggins who killed the spiders, using Sting

20. T – which leads straight to the LOTR trilogy (oh, if you’re not sure what LOTR stands for,

that will be the subject of our next fabulous quiz)

What does your score out of 20 mean?

17 – 20: Middle Earth welcomes you with open arms. Well done! 13 – 16: The dwarves and Smaug reject you, but everyone else is OK 8 – 12: The dwarves, Gollum and Gandalf reject you … Elrond, the men and Beorn are so-so 4 – 7: The dwarves, Gandalf, elves and the eagles reject you… note the goblins’ eyes have a hungry glint 0 – 3: Not even the kindly hobbits want you. Be er luck next me!

DID YOU KNOW…..

Freeze drying was the main meth-od of food preserva on used by the Incas to store their potatoes

16

One Foot Forward

It was difficult, becoming the puppet. I’d been the one pulling the strings for so long that it felt undeniably wrong

to have the roles reversed. I’d been the king, the leader, the valiant defender of a kingdom, and I’d thrown it all away. And for what? The slim chance that I might have saved a faceless population of Christians across the desert? I should have known better. All my regency I’d known that I had to be tough, I had to be the one who’d make the hard deci-sions. I knew that I’d have to sacrifice the few for the good of the many. But in one careless moment, one ill-considered order, I’d destroyed everything I’d worked so hard to save.

Tiberias. The glorious northern bulwark, named after the second Roman emperor. Tiberius had laid down the foundations for the northern frontier, and the city embodied that action. As a holdfast that protected the rest of the Crusader states from the Seljuk Sultanate to the north, the city of Tiberias represented strength in the face of con-stant danger. It was a symbol, a proud beacon that stood before the tide of darkness.

That wasn’t the reason I had chosen to lead my armies to its defence, though. Of course it was a factor, but the real reason was more personal. Saladin had defied me at every turn, but there had been no evil in him, only the desire to protect his land. I’d respected his place, his power, but more importantly, his honour. For him to break even a temporary treaty and turn against Raymond was unthinkable. I’d thought Saladin to be a man of nobility and honour, but it seems even a king can be wrong. Raymond was a fool and we rarely saw eye to eye, but he was one of us, a Crusader. And so it was I marched my soldiers to the aid of his city, to teach Saladin the price of treachery.

Every instinct I had told me to hold my armies back, to let Tiberias fall and ensure that the same would not hap-pen to Acre, or Jerusalem when Saladin and his Saracens came knocking at the gates. But I’d ignored my misgivings and marched from our strongholds in the south, spurred by the support of Grand Master Gerard and my close friend, Raynald. I was blinded by foolish notions of bravery, of selflessness, and now Raynald is dead. Hell below, it was he who told me that the greatest evils could arise from the best intentions. In my pride - no, my arrogance - I couldn’t have foreseen the damage my recklessness would cause the Kingdom. My Kingdom.

The sun was beating down on us when we were attacked on the Horns of Hattin, on the way to Tiberias. There was no warning. I only realised what was happening once my vanguard had already swept aside by a cavalry charge. We tried to fall back to the Horns, to higher ground, but there was no retreat.

The Saracens had set fire to the plain. The rest of the battle had passed as a blur. To this day, images of that bloody battle flash across my mind, as if I

was still there. A screaming horse. A bloodstained axe with bits of brain still clinging to the blade. A severed hand pointing imperiously at the sky. A bleeding helm with Satan looking out from the darkness behind the visor. A pile of bloodied corpses all tangled up, as if searching for a warmth that they’d never find. A man, fallen to his knees. His eyes were turned skyward, his gaze raking the burning heavens. He was searching, I knew, for God. A fool’s wish. God abandoned us that day, and left my soldiers, my people, to die. All because I made a wrong decision. All because I was an idealist, leaving the havens of the southern bastions to play hero.

With me out of the way, Saladin was unchecked as he undid everything the Crusaders had accomplished in the First Crusade, everything I’d fought so hard to protect. Acre, Nablus, Jaffa, Toron, Sidon, Beirut, Ascalon. Even Holy Jerusalem herself. All taken by our enemies. Our walls, breached. Our soldiers, slain. Our churches, defiled. Our men, killed. Our women, enslaved. Only Tyre was spared, and for that Conrad of Montferrat deserved our praise and our thanks, but that alone. Ever since that day, when my armies had been destroyed at Hattin, I’ve woken, hating myself and what I’ve been forced to become, in order to protect the kingdom I almost destroyed.

I’d been the defender of a nation. I’d been the protector of a kingdom, and I’d been replaced. Of course, this is the natural order of the world. A leader will rule until he is old and weak and his wits are feeble, then he’ll be replaced by a fresh young leader. However, I am neither old nor weak, and my wits are as sharp as they’ve ever been. Allowing Saladin to lure me beyond my bastions was my one mistake. And it ruined me.

DID YOU KNOW…..

-40 degrees Fahrenheit is the equiva-lent of -40 degrees Celsius

17

One Foot Forward (continued…)

But I’ll not play this game by its own rules, and I’ll not allow myself to succumb to the naive temptations of valour

again. I will reclaim the shattered pieces of my empire and forge them into a bastion so strong it will never fall again. I will rise out of Richard’s shadow and show the Holy Land what it means to be a king.

When the Lionheart had arrived in the Holy Land with his armies I’d honestly believed that he shared my goal, that he would aid me in my glorious ascension. In time, however, I realised that Richard’s aims for the Holy Land were for total annihilation. Even with our... differences, my victory seemed certain, for a time, at least. Then came the election, the fixed ceremony that saw every noble in the Kingdom side with Conrad over me. The day I ordered his assassination was one that will linger in my memory until the day I die. I could feel Lucifer laughing in the confines of my soul as the order escaped my lips. It was a despicable act. Yes, despicable, but necessary. Conrad’s rule would have destroyed the kingdom.

Montferrat was bronze. Shiny and pretty to look at, but weak. I am black iron, steadfast and strong. I’ll break be-fore I bend, and I’ll never forget those who have wronged me, wronged my kingdom. The Lionheart is convinced that I’m completely on his side, even after all he’s done, all he’s forced me to do in the pursuit of victory. I can’t sleep, be-cause of the lies I’ve told and the orders I’ve given to ensure the survival of this kingdom and the defeat of our ene-mies. My mind is a dark and bloody whirlwind of pain and regret. A thousand voices torture me at night, howling into the swirling maelstrom that my soul has become. All those prisoners at Acre, executed on my word...

All I’ve done has been for the Kingdom. My path is a narrow one, and never entirely in the light. On either side lie the drops of chaos and destruction, and I cannot allow myself to fall. Ahead, I know, lies the light of glorious victory. Of course, the purity of my destination doesn’t make the journey any easier. I’ve become the monster, the man in the mask. I am hated and feared, but it will all be worth it.

I can still save my soul. I believe that. I have to believe that. To defeat evil, one may be forced to take evil into his own heart. I know that now, thanks to my past, thanks to

Hattin. If God looks down on me as an evil man, then so be it. I will be forgiven when I save the Kingdom, when I free my people from the foolish games of powerful men.

Morality is tied inextricably to power, I’ve discovered. Power corrupts, of course, but it’s the only way. The good will rise and the evil will fall. So sayeth the Lord, and the Lord is my shield.

All faith aside, morality is a naive concept. It doesn’t take into account all the little things that can upset the bal-ance of good and evil. Good men may be forced to do evil in pursuit of a greater goal, and evil men often believe they’re doing the right thing. I just wish, when I stand in front of my mirror each morning with my hands splayed across the bloodstained washbasin, looking into those dead eyes staring out of a gaunt, spectral face...I just wish that I knew which one was looking back at me.

It’s a dark and twisted path, but I have to keep walking. One way or another, this will all be over soon. All I have to do? I keep walking.

Guy of Lusigan

DID YOU KNOW…...

There is more vitamin C in a sweet red pepper than in a Valencia

orange

18

A Worn and Weathered Life

It’s about dawn when they come. When they start moving; when they start walking on top of me. Most of the time it’s not so bad, they are gentle, they are kind. Sometimes they give me a big scratch when they play those games, kick-ing a ball along my back. I am always here, I have changed, I have evolved but I am practically the same. In some parts of me, generally when the sun is hot and the waves are strong, people come in large groups. They poke poles in my back, the children run and laugh and play. The adults play too, they laugh, eyes shining even when some-thing happens, when a child falls or the rain begins. Their eyes are still alight with youth. I love watching them, I love seeing them play, they are all like my children, like my friends. Even those who sleep be-low the ground, or those who fly above the clouds, they are all mine. While they are in those sunny places they eat different foods, foods that smell different and feel different when they fall on me. Sometimes there is a glow in a pot or in a hole, sometimes that glow falls on me. It smoulders getting hot-ter, hotter, too hot, why, why, why? What is this thing? Why is it so cruel? fire Fire FIRE, burning, Burning, BURNING out of control. How does it stop? The trees are screaming, the grass is dying, the people are all gone, the animals are dead. The pain is gone for now, but it will come back, I know it will. My children will continue to play with that horrible flame. They will continue to poke and prod. And some, not many, but some will light my back, will light the fire, set the burning in motion again. I will endure, I must endure; I am not truly alive, so I therefore cannot die from this pain, this agony of the fire. No, I cannot, so I must carry on in this worn and weathered life.

Melody Pond

When You are Lost for Words

As I look through the photos all sepia toned, I wonder and ask did you feel all alone? How did you survive? How did

you withstand? Death creeping up on you, death upon man.

Did you lay awake at night listening to all the bombs fly? Getting down on the ground watching bullets go by.

Trying to focus always thinking of your home place, it’s the question that reads on each brother’s face. Will I make it

out of here? Will anybody care? I fought for my country, I fought for fair.

Knowing I am only a 12 year old girl, trying to make sense of this complicated world, we live in a free country, we

have our free rights, but this wouldn’t have happened if miraculous soldiers hadn’t gone to fight.

As of the story, that will be forever passed on, is of outback Jack, my new hero and mate.

Sinta Baker

DID YOU KNOW…...

Over 85% of people breathe through only one nostril at the

me.

19

Angels Behind The Glass

Threads of pain shoot up my leg as I struggle to my feet, forcing me to drop back to the ground, a gasp escaping me.

That had been my third attempt at standing and my chances of success are slipping further from me with every

effort. I take a moment to regain control and breathe deeply.

From my vantage point on the floor, I regard the room, chest heaving. Across from me, I can see a dark shape

through my flooded eyes. Recognising it as human, I lurch forward slightly, wiping my sleeve across my face to clear

my vision. While the movement is painful, I continue to stumble forward, neither standing nor sitting, until I can see

her clearly. Her hair hangs around her cheeks in dark curls and her eyes are huge with desperation. I try to smile in

reassurance, but my cheeks only tremble with the effort and I’m defenceless against the fresh tears. Maybe it is the

building pain in my head or perhaps it is my overwhelming ignorance that’s causing me to cry, but I can tell my

grief’s distressing the girl. She too sits on the ground sobbing, staring helplessly at me. My immediate thought is to

say something comforting, but my mind is apparently incapable of this kind of thinking. My eyes drop to my hands

that lie clasped in my lap. They are covered in various cuts that seep clear liquid. Where did they come from? The girl

across from me has them too; deep ones, shallow ones, cuts that still ooze blood. They look painful but the girl is ig-

noring them, instead choosing to regard me with curiosity. There is still pain in her eyes but it isn’t quite as intense

as when I first saw her. I’m relieved; she’s going to be alright.

Pulling a thin leg gently around my body, I take in the room properly this time: no furniture, no colour, no natural

light. Why would anyone build a room like this?

Why am I even here?

Where is here?

Pain tugs gently at the back of my head as I strain to remember. All I can recall are the people who brought me here.

All dressed in white, like angels.

What if they are angels?

No, why would angels carry me to a strange room?

Perhaps this is Heaven.

I never thought Heaven would be this painful.

I look back at the girl only to discover that she has been watching me. Blushing, I turn away, absently picking at the

cuts that cover my hands. Hot pain rushes up my arm as I dig my nail into a deep slash on my palm and I gasp aloud.

It hurts. And I pick some more, ripping open the wound. Heavy footsteps and a voice speaking words I don’t recog-

nise suddenly sound through the room, a figure appearing next to me. She is ripping up my sleeve and jabbing my

arm with something sharp. I shudder as cold fluid is injected under my skin, but I don’t fail to notice the woman’s

clothes: white and soft.

Another angel.

She continues to speak a language I don’t understand – I’m sure I’ll learn the seraphim language soon enough – but

it is drowned out by the buzzing that fills my head and the blurring darkness that corrupts my vision. The floor

lurches up to meet me and a firm hand slides under my shoulder. An angel’s hand…

***

20

Angels Behind The Glass (continued…)

My eyes flutter open and, as I try to sit up, dizziness floods my brain and I slump back to the floor, eyes squeezed

shut. Slowly, I open them again and stare up at the ceiling. The sky of Heaven is surprisingly dull. Slowly rolling up, I

wince as my spine hunches over my body, but I’m finally upright again. The cut I had been picking at is closed now

and I am tempted to poke it, but I resist, knowing it will only bleed. Glancing at the side of the room again, I am glad-

ly met by the girl’s warm eyes. Her hair is more dishevelled than before the angels had visited, but she doesn’t look as

tired as she had.

Once more, I stumble to my feet, staggering as my legs struggle to support my slight weight, but I’m encouraged to

continue the effort when I realise the girl is standing too. I reach a shaking hand out in her direction and she does

the same, her pale fingertips extended towards me. I take a shaky step forward and when we are almost close enough

to touch, I extend my other hand so both are stretched out before me; I want to reach her.

Just as I should have been able to clutch her fingers, my hand hits something cold and flat. We both paw at the glass,

desperate to reach each other until I stop. She stops too, looking at me in horror. She mirrors my action perfectly,

her face twisting in the same pain. I glare at the girl. At myself. My mind is numb, but I can feel the ice of anguish as

it floods my brain. This is all her fault. I punch the mirror hard, sending cracks across the girl’s – my – face. I throw

fist after fist and while it hurts my hand, the satisfaction in seeing her face smash is far more powerful than the pain.

A final punch and my fist goes through the glass, the jagged edge leaving deep slices in my arm. I can see a bewil-

dered face staring out of the hole I’ve made.

It’s an angel.

A harsh cry rips at my throat, but before I can lunge at the mirror, hands are pulling me back. The strong fingertips

dig into the cuts on my arm and I collapse into their arms, overcome by the pain. A two-way mirror, a bunch of an-

gels and Heaven – who knew it was such an excruciating mix? They drag me away, already jabbing me with their nee-

dles. They drag me away from the broken remains of the girl and I want to scream at them to stop, but the darkness

is again dancing on the edge of my vision. One tear presses under a scrunched eyelid and it leaves a warm track down

my cheek. I don’t want the angels. I just want them to leave me alone.

Vestie

The Rose of Verity

Hear the sea, wind and rustle the tug and tease of sand.

Hear the rustle of the wind.

The leaves and the flower scents of tea.

See the wind amidst the trees.

See the barren plain of grass.

DID YOU KNOW…...

When it was first built the Eiffel Tower was called the ‘Tragic Lamp-

post’ by na ve Parisians.

21

The Rose of Verity (continued...)

Burnt rock on top of hill. Castle ruins and turrets high, but without keys.

For once this was all in same.

The palace in the plains was stone, The forest pallace marble.

Heed the tale of Verity McHolpi-Taim.

One of the loved in the high court. For one who was of silver. Pale skin flame-like hair.

She could lie naught.

For none she could trick. In the blooming of the rose.

Bright it was, crystal red and shining emerald.

But she was bessotted by Sir Nick.

He tricked her into love. But he was of no magic,

with a heart as black as mud.

He made our poor Verity as frail as a dove.

Her evlen rose withered and died,

shedding leaves over the land, the petals were pulled, by Verity’s horrible man.

The frost grew tears as the leaves flew. Creating glistening drops of frost. Clover sprouted hither and far. Covered in new morning dew.

Heed the tale of Verity’s rose, Hear it loud and true,

For verity brought truth upon the land. Do not let your faith of truth doze.

By Grace Based on the legend of Verity’s Rose

22

The Annexation of Acre

I want the world I leave to be better than the one I entered.

At the time, Garth had thought that his father simply meant that he wanted to make the world a better place.

Doesn’t everyone? he’d thought. Now, looking over the broken and ravaged remains of Acre, he began to doubt that

very much.

He stood on the east wall, looking out across the city with the sun at his back. There were thick plumes of smoke ris-

ing from every gatehouse, and bodies were being piled at the docks. The lifeless husks would not be buried; they

would be sailed out to sea and dumped in a current that would take them away from the city. Nobody wanted corps-

es drifting into the arsenal while they were mending their ships. Such things were... inconvenient.

As he watched, tendrils of smoke began to drift lazily into the skies from the final gatehouse. He watched the signal

slowly thicken for a moment before sighing. It was done. The city was taken.

I thought this would be different, he thought. We were meant to be heroes.

Garth turned and made his way along the wall, pausing to offer a some hollow words of congratulations to his fellow

soldiers. Some of his men clapped him on the back, making naive statements like ‘I knew we’d do it!’ and ‘We couldn’t

have done it without you!’ He made his way down the stairway to the street below, passing the guards posted at its

base. The streets were empty as he approached the square where the rest of his men were resting up.

Now what? he wondered idly as he passed under a stone archway. The city is ours... what comes next?

He imagined they would consolidate their position. They’d rebuild the defences in case the Saracens tried to retake

the city... but it all seemed so pointless. The city of Acre was essentially a gateway into the rest of Outremer. Now

that it was theirs, reinforcements would begin to pour in from England and France, and once the route between Tyre

and Acre was re-established trade would begin to flourish again.

But who says we can keep it? Acre has been conquered and reconquered dozens of times in the past. It’s importance

is its weakness.

His father had often claimed that it was impossible to hold Outremer. Garth agreed wholeheartedly. He hadn’t al-

ways. He’d defied his father and fled the Keep of Sherford. At the docks of London, he’d signed up and been granted a

commission due to his noble birth. What in God’s name was I thinking?

But he knew. He’d been thinking that he would be a hero. He’d thought that he would save the Holy Land. Instead,

he’d taken a step along the road to destroying it. An almost overwhelming feeling of guilt washed over him as he

thought of the soldiers he’d killed taking the city.

‘Woah there, Garth,’ a voice beside him snapped him back to reality. He turned to see his close friend and comrade,

Sergeant Stefan, standing beside him. The blond haired sergeant clapped a hand on his shoulder with a look of con-

cern etched on his scarred and weather-beaten face.

Garth shrugged the hand off. ‘I’m fine.’

‘No, you’re not. Come with me, we’re going to get some drinks in you.’

‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘The docks. I have to go to the docks.’

‘Fancy some sea breeze in your face?’ Stefan laughed. ‘Alright, to the docks. I just want out of this accursed heat.’

23

The Annexation of Acre (continued…)

The pair made their way toward the arsenal. Stefan idly talked about the defence of the city; how they would need to

repair the broken walls and reinforce the gatehouses. Garth barely heard any of it. None of it seemed to matter. He

walked silently, inwardly contemplating his role in the destruction of Acre and attempting to stave off the ever-

present feeling of guilt. Together, the friends made their way into the arsenal. Garth led his companion into the base

of a tower, the structure that marked the end of the city wall. Waves lapped gently at the base of the stonework, ech-

oing up through the stairwell. Garth listened to it as he climbed. To him, it sounded exactly like a man thrashing

about in a pool of his own blood.

Fitting, that the gateway to Outremer should be a port, he mused as emerged into the light. As he gazed across the

ocean, guilt threatened to overwhelm him again. This kingdom is built on a sea of blood after all. And I’ve done noth-

ing but add to it.

Garth stepped forward, so that his toes poked out between crenulations in the low battlements. He gazed out to the

horizon for a moment longer, then turned his eyes downward. Waves crashed over the rocks below, spraying a fine

mist across the side of the tower. As each wave retreated, bloody water eddied and swirled in the cracks and basins

worn into the rocks by a millennia of rushing water.

It would be so easy, he thought, to fall. To leave it all behind and submit to the judgment of God above. All it would

take is a single step. One step, and one fall.

But you’re already fallen, his father’s voice whispered in his mind. You may well have reached the bottom. It’s cold,

and you’re alone. There is no warmth, no light and no reason to go on. Look up, my son. Garth lifted his gaze and

beheld a stormy, but beautiful cloudscape. A single tear rolled down his cheek as the sun shifted, allowing several

rays of light to creep through the seemingly impenetrable barrier. Do you see that? You are never so lost that you

cannot be found. All it takes is a little faith, a little courage. No tree is unclimbable, remember? You told me that, one.

You made me believe it. Believe it now. You have wallowed in destruction for too long Garth, but none of that mat-

ters now. All you can do now is rise. The climb is all that remains.

‘Come, Stefan there’s work to be done yet,’ Garth Caryk said, stepping back from the edge. He listened for a moment,

smiling to himself.

All he heard was water crashing against a stone tower.

Ethan Perkins

DID YOU KNOW…...

The Statue of Liberty’s index finger is 2.4m long

24

The Haunted House

It was a dark and stormy night that saw Tom and Harry stand in front of the door of the abandoned house at the end

of the street. Lightning flashed across the sky and the boom of thunder could be heard for miles around. Tom nerv-

ously gulped and touched the door, intending to gently push it open. CRASH! The door fell backwards making an

enormous sound as it hit the old creaky floorboards. All of a sudden, Tom felt as though he was being watched. In-

stinctively, he stepped off the veranda and looked up at the mansions many windows. A movement caught his eye.

Was that a curtain being closed?

“Let’s go in.” said Harry, sounding unsure of himself.

Inside the mansion it was dark and smelly. Harry yelled as he stepped into an enormous cobweb, while trying to

avoid tripping over the door.

“We’d better turn our torches on,” said Tom, as Harry tore himself out of the cobweb. Tom shone his torch down the

corridor, which turned out to be laced with even larger cobwebs.

The two boys decided to go into a room on the left of the corridor. The room’s door had been torn off its hinges, and

lay on the floor. Just as the boy’s torches moved on from the broken door, a flash of lightning shone through the win-

dow and lit up the room for a second. In that brief period of time, Tom thought he saw something or someone stand-

ing in the far right-hand corner of the room.

All of a sudden the silence was shattered as something broke through the floor and started rising towards the roof.

Harry threw himself to the right and Tom to the left as they avoided the rising object, which appeared to be a wall of

some sort. As Tom got up, he saw to his amazement that the wall had completely split the room in two, and that he

could not see the other side. Tom and Harry were now separated and trapped in their own halves of the room, for

the door frame that they had come through was now covered up by the wall. Tom realised that Harry was now stuck

with whatever had been in the corner of the room before the two boys had been separated.

“Harry, are you okay?” shouted Tom, putting his ear to the wall. The only reply was a sudden scream and the sound

of someone running. “Harry!” yelled Tom, banging his torch against the wall. “Harry!”

Harry was running for his life around the room, trying to find a way to escape from the human skeleton that was

chasing him. He looked behind him and suddenly crashed through the right-hand wall of the divided room, falling in

a heap on the floor of the room next door. He got up and staggered over to his torch. He looked back to see where his

bony pursuer had gotten to. The skeleton had caught its arm in the hole in the wall that Harry had made, but quickly

dislodged it, snapping the arm in half during the process. It leapt forward and the chase continued.

“Harry, are you okay?” Tom continued shouting, then stopped, hearing the fading sound of Harry’s running footsteps.

Suddenly, the room was very quiet. Tom looked over his shoulder at the broken window on the other side of the

room. He really wanted to leave but at the same time knew he couldn’t abandon his best friend to an unknown fate.

Tom looked around the room, searching for a way to escape, and stopped upon treading on a loose floorboard. He

bent down and tried to pull it up. However, something was holding it down and no matter how hard he pulled it

wouldn’t come out. Suddenly, it came loose and with a great ‘crunch’ it came out. Then the whole floor collapsed and

Tom was sent spinning into the darkness below.

Meanwhile, Harry was now being chased by several creatures. The skeleton had been joined by a large spider and a

swarm of bats. Harry had arachnophobia, and was on the verge of a panic attack when he came to an abrupt halt. He

had reached a room on the highest floor and to his horror discovered that he’d found a dead end.

25

The Haunted House (continued…)

Quickly, he shut the door behind him and slid the rusty bolt home. He backed up to the opposite wall and leaned

back against it, trying to control his breathing

There was a loud thud as the pursuing creatures slammed into the door, which almost burst out of its hinges. Harry

slowly turned and faced the door, not wanting to think about what was about to happen. He was too young to die.

The door broke open and the foul creatures charged through. Harry saw his life pass by in slow motion. The skeleton

running at him, its left arm outstretched, and its broken one trailing behind. The swarm of bats swooping towards

him, their high pitched squeals drowning out all other sound. And the spider. The enormous, hairy beast with eight

legs that scuttled towards him, truly something out of his worst nightmare. Harry dropped his torch. He could feel

himself pressing against the wall trying to escape. But there was no escape. Harry closed his eyes and waited for the

end.

When Tom came to, he was lying face down on a concrete floor. Slowly he got up and picked up his torch. He could-

n’t move his left arm, and his nose felt like it was broken. He looked up but could only see darkness. Tom looked

down and to his horror saw by the light of his torch that he’d been lying in something; a large puddle of his own

blood. He put his hand to his head and when he pulled it down, saw that it was dripping with blood. His grim

thoughts were broken by a shout and a thud somewhere to his left.

Tom spun around and the beam of his torch picked up a damp wall and a cracked doorframe. From somewhere be-

yond the doorframe came the sound of someone groaning. ‘Harry’ thought Tom. He quickly rushed towards the

doorway, but steadied himself against it. He had lost a lot of blood and was beginning to feel faint. Much more slowly

now, he headed off in the direction of the groaning.

All of a sudden Tom tripped over something. Turning around and wiping fresh blood from his nose, he saw that it

was the limp form of Harry. His friend was semi-conscious and covered in bites, cuts and bruises. Tom reached for-

ward to him but a bony hand clutched his shoulder. No longer thinking straight, he shrugged it off only for more

hands to descend upon him. “Get off!” he shrieked. The hands began dragging him away. Tom managed to shine his

torch on Harry, who was about to be engulfed by spiders before it was wrenched out of his hand. He could hear

someone screaming and realised that it was his own voice making the racket. Both boys’ cries echoed throughout the

mansion and out into the street. But no one came.

“Aargh!” Tom shot out of his bed, screaming. It took him a few seconds to work out where he was before he realised

that what he thought he’d just experienced had been a dream. He let

out a tremendous sigh. Tom’s mum burst into the room.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah I’m okay, I just had a bad dream,” replied Tom.

“I need to tell you something,” his mum said.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’ve only just received the news” his mum replied. ‘It’s Harry, he had

an accident in that old house at the end of the street last night. Tom’s

head had hit the floor before she’d finished speaking.

Alexander O’Byrne

DID YOU KNOW…...

Coco Chanel called her bestselling perfume No. 5 because it was her

lucky number

26

The Yearbook

I sat in my office, checking my emails as I had nothing else better to do. I was supposed to be at home today but at

the last minute was asked to come in and take some photos of the school assembly. Sometimes I really hate that I

chose to become a photography teacher. For lack of anything better to do, I decided to take a walk around the school.

I went out of the staff room and began walking around to the oval and ended up stopping in front of the old church

that had been at the school since it was built back in the 1800’s. The kids made up all these little stories about how it

was haunted and how ghosts roamed the corridors, of course I didn’t believe in any of that stuff, though I couldn’t

deny there was a certain eeriness surrounding the building.

As the bell rang, I decided I should go back to the staff room, not wanting to be trampled on by the herds of kids that

were finishing school for the day. On my way back, I was stopped by Jane, the head of art. She was such a horrible

lady, she spat every time she talked. I could barely stand talking to her for more than a few minutes, I don’t know

how the kids did it. She asked me if I would be able to stay back tonight and find some old photos of the school to

use for the yearbook that was currently being created. Ugh, of course I have to be the one to do this. Despite my an-

ger at her asking me, I immediately agreed so I was able to get away from her and the sprinkler that apparently in-

habited her mouth.

Later that day, I decided it was probably a good time to go and look for those photos. They were in the room just

next door to the old and eerie church that I passed earlier today on my walk. I walked over and entered the church,

immediately developing an uneasy feeling in my stomach, I shook the feeling away, knowing that it was stupid to be

scared of children’s stories. I went into the room and opened up one of the many boxes that held all the photos taken

throughout the school’s history, I automatically felt a tickle in my throat and began to have a violent coughing fit due

to all the dust had been settling in the box over the years. Thanks for this job Jane, I thought to myself as I regained

my composure and began emptying out the contents of the box. I suddenly felt a chill up my spine so I turned and

closed the door to stop any breeze that may have been flowing through.

After a long night of looking through all the black and white photos of past students and staff from the school’s earli-

est days, I checked the time and noticed that it was 9pm. Definitely time to leave I thought to myself, I can finish up

tomorrow. I got up; bringing with me all the pictures I had gathered and tried to open the door only to find it was

locked. After several attempts at opening the door, I began to feel worried and all the stories that I had heard the

children tell over the years, immediately rushed back into my brain. This caused me to panic and begin banging on

the door even though I knew it was useless as most likely all of the teachers would be long gone. After what seemed

like forever, the door finally opened and I was met with the face of a tall brunette woman - a cleaner. Thank god!

Without a second glance, I thanked the woman and rushed out of the church as quickly as I could.

The next day, whilst at school, Jane came up to me again and asked me if I had finished collecting all the photos for

the yearbook. I told her I still needed more and proceeded to reluctantly make my way to the old room, where last

night’s door drama had taken place. As I walked over, I convinced myself that the door locking was just due to the old

structure and how temperamental the old locks are. Happy with this idea, I went into the room, feeling silly for hav-

ing been scared last night. I spent the next couple of hours looking through the photos until one particular photo

caught my eye. It was upside down, the date reading, 1863, one of the oldest I had seen so far. I turned it over, in-

trigued, only to be faced with something horrifying, staring back at me was a tall, brunette woman - a cleaner…

Emma Magil

27

Lost in France

My Mum is running around like a maniac! My family is about to leave for a holiday in France and she is try-ing to get everything organised. I walk out of my room with my suitcase (packed and checked by Mum about fifty times). “Oh my goodness it’s so heavy,” I mumble as I’m trying to get my case down the stair case.

“HURRY UP MILLY!!” I hear Mum yell from the garage. Forget this I think as I push my suit case and watch it tumble down the stairs.

I’m so relieved to be out of the car. Being stuck in-between an eleven year old and a nine year boy for two hours isn’t good. Jack (the older out of the two) kept poking me and pretending it was Ryan. I’m surprised Dad didn’t lose his temper half way through the trip.

We spent ages going through security because Mum packed everything so tightly the guards couldn’t get it all back in! I am relieved now that I don’t have to carry around that heavy suit case. As a family we wander in the shops for a bit, but then find a place to sit down and wait until we are allowed to board our flight. I’m so looking for-ward to a twenty-two hour flight with my siblings… NOT!

As we take off I’m really happy. I have always wanted to go to France. I still know I have a long trip ahead of me so I finish my meal and slowly drift off to sleep.

My whole family stumble off the plane, dizzy and jet lagged. I’m too excited to even feel any of that. In fact the whole process of travelling to our hotel is a blur to me I was too busy thinking about all the things I get to do tomorrow. In the morning I get an amazing buffet breakfast. I can’t even remember how many times Jack and Ryan went back. Now that they are finally finished we get to go see the Eiffel Tower.

I’m walking around in shock. I really can’t believe I’m standing under the Eiffel tower. All the tourists. All the French people with their groomed poodles! Somewhere in all of that I lost the rest of my family. At first I really didn’t know what to do. I walk around for a bit but I still can’t find my family. As twenty minutes pass by and I’m starting to worry. What if I don’t find my family? What if I’m just stuck here?

It’s been half an hour and I’m extremely overwhelmed. Everywhere I turn, there are people yelling and tak-ing photos. I decide to try and find tourist information building. Maybe the people there could point me in the right direction. I actually do find the tourist information centre and the lady there said there was a family of four looking for a fourteen year old girl.

“Wait. How long ago was that?!” I say frantically.

“Maybe an hour and a half ago,” she says as she looks at her watch.

Before she could say anything else I sprinted out of the tourist centre yelling, “MUM, DAD, RYAN, JACK!” I look around with tears streaming down my face. All I can see is unfamiliar faces staring at me. This is horrible; I lost my family in France. I walk over to a bench and sit down with my hands over my eyes.

Suddenly I feel someone sitting next to me. I move my hands slightly to take a peek without it making it look obvious. It’s a mime. I take my hands away from my red puffy face. He begins to point.

“What?” I say.

He stands up and begins to walk in the direction he was pointing, signalling me to follow. I’m not sure if I should follow him. Oh what the heck, it’s better than nothing. I follow him through massive crowds of tourists, but it is hard to lose him in his stripes and face paint. We eventually end up on the other side of the Eiffel tower outside a gift shop.

“What now?” I say, he just points to the store doors. I walk into the store, looking around I don’t see anything or anyone familiar.

“MILLY, MILLY, MLLY!!!!” I turn around to see Jack and for once I’m actually happy to see him!

MKBE

28

His Dream Jack stood up, unaware of where he was or where he was

going. He saw a dark figure approaching him, and began to

panic, thinking it was a stranger. That feeling disappeared

when he recognised the person as the team captain of his

soccer team, who said, “You didn’t forget about our night

match, did you?” He took Jack to the soccer pitch where

they were playing another team. When Jack was playing, he

saw the ball going up in the air rapidly towards him and it smashed into his forehead, knocking him out.

Jack opened his eyes and realised that he was still in bed, sweating, with his blankets on the floor. It had been only

a nightmare, but his fear of being hit on the head while playing soccer, which began the first time he got hit, re-

mained. His dream, ever since he started the sport, was to be a famous soccer player. Little did he know that soc-

cer was going to change his life in ways he could never have imagined…

************************

His day passed ordinarily - school, bus back home, homework. He had a soccer match that night, just as he usually

did. He played as a midfielder - just as he usually did. Everything seemed ordinary until the time when he kicked a

goal all the way from the side - which generally didn’t happen. The small crowd cheered and the event was rec-

orded. After that game, which his team won by the single goal that he kicked, he went home. This was when his

mother started thinking to herself: Jack has become obsessed with the sport. She was right.

Jack felt as if he was holding his breath through school for the rest of the week, that he was only going to school

because he had to. This was quite a change from his previous self that enjoyed learning from all the teachers and

chatting with his friends during the breaks. The only parts of life that he enjoyed were the times when he was

playing soccer, being determined to be a professional soccer player. He did not realise it, but he was ignoring eve-

rything else in his life. His school assignments and tests were completed very poorly, but he had no idea why that

was the case. Soccer was taking him away from reality stronger than a drug ever could.

His parents called his best friend, wondering whether Jack really was getting carried away by the sport. He re-

sponded, “That’s true. Jack seems so frustrated when I see him and he will not even talk to me.” That did it. They

sought professional help, but the response they got was “He’s growing up. Just wait a few years and you’ll see

where it’s leading”. They persisted and eventually were told to talk to Jack about the problem.

They found out that Jack was thinking of soccer as a possible future career option and that it all started after that

goal, which had made him feel overconfident. They told him that it was all right, but that he should devote more

time to his studies. He agreed. Red Angry Bird

DID YOU KNOW…...

The lion in the original MGM logo killed its trainer.

DID YOU KNOW…...

The Statue of Liberty was given to the US by France.

29

Hope He slammed his hands against the front door. He scratched at the window panes. He threw stones at the windows

and walls. He clawed at the dirt as though he would dig to the other side of the brick walls of the house.

“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!” he screamed.

Over and over again he yelled and screamed that he knew she was in there. He would get her out no matter the

cost. He would get to her. She was not allowed to get away from him. He would not allow her to.

The neighbours were watching behind their curtains. One thought to call the police but knew that no harm would

occur here. He wouldn’t be able to get to her and she wasn’t coming out. Besides, if they called the police the show

they were so avidly watching would end. He was just a young, foolish boy. Nothing would come from this.

He could be heard from a distance. His demands would be first understood as dangerous, harmful. This was from a

distance but the distance is deceiving. The distance revealed the blurred image. The distorted canvas of what was

truly occurring. If one were to look at his face there would see another picture. An image of a face mangled with

pain. Each crevice of his face wet with both tears and sweat from his exertions. They would see the aura of hope he

held as well. The hope that any minute she would come out, running to him; to be with him.

He was a young man; a fool who had somehow kept his childhood dreams of truth and innocence alive. He had the

glint of hope in his eyes - rare in a man of his position and age; a hope that was, in fact, rare for all people. Most

babies learn the terrible nature of the world before their first birthdays. The neighbours would ponder this strange

miracle while witnessing it disintegrate before their own eyes. It was a show after all.

“COME OUT!” he yelled.

“Come back to me,” he whispered.

She was in there and he was out there. One could perceive that they were there together; together in the sense that

they were both alone. But she had made her choice, she had squashed her foolishness. After all, love couldn’t provide

warmth or food or a place to call home. But it could provide hope.

And, for him, that was enough.

Abby Claridge

DID YOU KNOW…...

Earl Grey tea is flavoured with oil from the bergamot orange

30

In Too Deep I was surrounded by water. The strong waves pushed against me, urging me to go let go. I couldn’t

breathe; I tried to hold on to something, anything. But there was nothing there. Panic was arising. My heart was

pounding: adrenaline, fear and regret. I felt my life flash before my eyes, images, memories of my family and friends.

I knew I had to fight, but every part of me just wanted to let go, and slip away into a peaceful sleep.

I remember all the fun times I’ve had with my family. All those great moments with my friends. All of that

will never happen again.

The waves were getting sharper and stronger. I kept getting flipped over. Couldn’t swim up or down. It

was like I was the ocean’s puppet. My bones were getting weak; I couldn’t fight. It was just so loud, waves crashing

against the surface of the water, the birds squealing. I couldn’t think straight.

I was pushed, sharp and quick. There were no more waves. Just a flat surface of water. I lay on the surface

of the water, floating. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t sinking, nor was I swimming for that matter. I just wanted to sleep

as I was so tired.

Soon, before I could close my eyes, a piece of bark floated under me. It lifted me on to it. I thought this

would make it better, but it made it harder to breathe. I wasn’t very well educated as my parents weren’t great

teachers. I never did listen to them. And they told me about right and wrong, and yet I didn’t listen. And here I am.

Stranded in the middle of the ocean, all alone. Drifting, further and further away from home. The sun was setting,

but I wasn’t getting cold. I never get cold.

This was definitely a change of scenery. I just wanted to get away, escape from this boring life of mine. I

had never really seen much of the ‘outside world’. It wasn’t allowed, for a good reason, which is what I’m figuring

out now.

I’m so hungry. I’ve never been this hungry in my life. Time was going slowly; they had told me that I would

die faster than this. Maybe I am dead. It was a high possibility. What if I never get out of this? My irrational

thoughts came. What if a shark eats me? What if I drift so far out no one could find me? Or I die and all that’s left

is my white bone? So many what ifs.

My breathing was getting slower and it was getting really hard to breathe. I closed my eyes, waiting,

dreaming for all this to be over. To be saved or just die. Anything to get me out of this misery.

There is no moral to my story. Well, I guess there is. Always obey rules. Although I’ve been told that rules

were made to be broken.

Either someone was turning off the sun, or my vision was getting dimmer. I hoped that this was just one of

my nightmares, that soon I would wake up. It was just calm, silent death. No screams, drama or suspense.

The wind was picking up, the waves forming, getting stronger and stronger. The sun was still in the same

place as I last saw it. Nothing and no one was in sight. Not even little fish.

The waves were finally bored playing with me. One last strong push and I fell into the water. Deeper and

deeper I sank. I thought that this was it. Bubbles formed around me.

…But it’s okay. It’s not what you think… I’m a trout fish.

Crystal Dew

31

The Secret Cellar

It was Friday, the last day of the week. I was especially excited though because I was going to my friend, Mike’s

house for a sleepover that night with my other friend Dave. We had been friends since kindergarten and now we

were all in Year 8. Mum drove me over to Mike’s house and on the way we picked up Dave.

When we got to Mike’s house it was a bit of a shock to see all the windows smashed and the front door

missing. We called out, but Mike and his mum were both gone. We were scared, but curious to see what had hap-

pened, so we decided to go inside. Everything was smashed and broken. There were a few things missing as well.

We called the police and Dave’s mum. She couldn’t believe what we were telling her. She came over straightaway.

The police arrived and went inside the house. After a long time they came back out and said that there were

no traces as to whom it was. That was when I remembered the secret cellar. I bolted into the house and Dave fol-

lowed me in. We ran down to the dining room and moved the rug and table covering up the cellar door.

We tip-toed down the old stone stairs as slowly and as quietly as we could. When we reached the bottom,

we almost had a heart attack when we saw a German shepherd and a massive muscly man guarding another door

further along. Luckily, they were asleep so they couldn’t see or hear us. There was no chance of us getting past

them, though. We ran up the stairs and told the police. They called their dog handler to come and get the German

Shepherd, so that the police could arrest the man and get into the room.

The dog handler arrived and the police went down the stairs. They told us that we couldn’t go down there,

as it was too dangerous, but we followed them down anyway. It was just too exciting. The man guarding the door

woke up as they were walking down the stairs and the dog started barking ferociously. It was baring its teeth and it

wasn‘t going to let anyone past. The dog handler went down to the dog wearing protective gear. He produced a

bone. The dog jumped at it, but could not reach. The dog handler started walking back up the stairs and the dog

followed. It was like the dog was in a trance. It followed him up the stairs, out of the house and into the back of his

van. Everyone stared in amazement. Then the dog handler gave the dog the bone and locked it in the van.

Now it was up to the police to arrest the man. They made him lie on the ground with guns all around him.

They quickly put handcuffs on him and a couple of officers took him up and locked him up in the back of their car.

The remaining police knocked the door down and piled into the next room. At first they could not see anything as it

was a very dark old room. Then they got out a torch and noticed two chairs in the back of the room. When they

reached the chairs they realised that there were two people sitting on the chairs. Dave and I ran over. We were ex-

tremely nervous. Sitting there, tied up with rope and chain and gags over their mouths, were Mike and his mum.

The police got a pair of bolt cutters. When they came back we had already untied the rope and taken off the gags.

The police cut off the chains and they were freed.

Mike and his mum explained to us how two men had broken in that afternoon and how they locked them

up because the thieves didn’t want anyone to know what had happened. “They took some things and one of them

left,” explained Mike’s mum. “The other one stayed and guarded the door down here. That’s all we know because

we’ve been locked down here since.”

We left the house and went back home. What an adventure!

In all the drama we’d forgotten the sleepover, but it was a day that

we would never forget.

Riley Nelson

32

Nobody Can Rain On Her Parade

Her face shone as she sat on the rock in the moonlight. The summer night’s air swept her brunette strands off her face, her dark brown eyes glimmering as she looked out to sea. Tomorrow was the day of the National Championships Surfing Competition. The waves crashed as they rolled in, lapping against the sand. She hoped the swell would be bigger than it was today. She could almost imagine herself plunging into the icy water she called home. Her surfboard lay under-neath her wetsuit. She imagined the sun beating down on her neck until she was red raw.

She brushed out the long knots from a night of constant tossing and turning. She grabbed her board and raced down to the beach.

The hot sand was burning her feet. She didn’t care though. She could already feel the sun’s rays; it was going to be a scorcher. She signed herself in and zipped up her wetsuit. ‘Good luck Chlo,’ her mum and dad said as she waited on the wet sand for the starter horn, the grittiness of the sand in between her toes.

After successfully winning all her heats it was final time. As soon as she heard the siren, she paddled out the back and waited for a good set to roll in. She saw a big set emerging and quickly paddled to stay in front of them.

Her arms ached as she paddled furiously. When she gained enough momentum, she stood, cutting back and forth until she was up in a 360, almost as if she was skating.

The crowd screamed, hollered and clapped until their hands were red.

No one could wipe the grin off Chloe’s face as she stood on the podium with the cup raised above her head. No-body could rain on her parade.

Chloe Diment

Ghosts I hear the ghosts. They sing like a gust of wind through the night sky,

whistling their eerie tune. They race towards me, a long wall of white. I

do not fear them; they are my friends. The only definition I have for that

word is ‘ghosts”. My ghosts. They look after me. They are always with me.

They never go away. They say they won’t leave until I set them free, but I

don’t know how. They howl at me with their dead voices, telling me to let

them go.

But I don’t know how.

Elizabeth Margaret

DID YOU KNOW…...

Two dogs survived the sinking of the Ti-tanic

33

Aquarius (January 20th – February 18th) You’re a very independent figure but also take the time to

listen to those around you. Always take the time to listen

to others but always yourself first. As Sheldon Cooper

expertly said ‘Don’t you think if I were wrong, I’d know it?’ If you think you’re right, you probably are.

Pisces (February 19th – March 20th)

Those born under Pisces are usually creative, stubborn,

fun-loving and unpredictable. You are the kind of person

that would try to drown a fish and not give up until it was

dead. It is advised that you invest in some background

music for your day to day activities.

Aries (March 21st – April 19th)

Aries are brave and daring, sometimes too much so. You

always know how to have fun and sweep those around

you off their feet with your emotions. It would probably

be best to keep a close eye on your wallet, as you tend to

not only sweep people away, but you sweep them away

with a great deal of your cash as well.

Leo (July 23rd – August 22nd)

For ages Leos have always been able to love, both them-

selves and others. However the form of self-love can some-

times lead you to start kissing your image in the mirror,

and this is advised against, simply for the poor people us-

ing the mirror after you. Leos are proud and bold, but also

stubborn. If they want something to happen, it will hap-

pen. They can get almost anything with their crafty

tongues and loud voices, including opening most doors if

they scream at them long enough.

Virgo (August 23rd – September 22nd) Pure, delicate and passionate, the Virgos are usually strong

-willed and creative people at heart. Despite this, you can

sometimes find your house and your heart bare. You tend

to feel untouched by what is going on around you. To fix

this, try finding unnecessary reasons to touch people in

your daily activities and talks, you will soon feel much

more connected, and your room will look much more lived

in with a framed ‘Restraining Order’ hanging on the wall.

Libra (September 23rd – October 22nd) Libras are elegant and graceful in soul if not always body.

You can be haughty and if you lift your chin too much

higher, chances are you will break your neck. Remember

that pride can be a positive and negative attribute, and like

sugar, is best dealt with in moderation.

34

Taurus (April 20th – May 20th)

As the sign of the bull, you are a very natural and steady

person. You are usually earthy and grounded, though this

might mean you’d benefit from showering a bit more

often; especially this week. Remember that hygiene is im-

portant in a day to day life and you’ll find that you’re per-

sonality and achievements as well as your body will be

squeaky clean.

Gemini (May 21st – June 21st) As a Gemini you are a very open person though some-

times needs to have quiet time to yourself. Sometimes

you feel like you are defined by what people say about

you or what you look like, remember that it is what you

do and feel that makes the person. If this advice doesn’t

convince you, try breaking a few mirrors and see how you

feel.

Cancer (June 22nd – July 22nd)

People that were born under the sign of cancer usually

see themselves as unlucky, yet it is this mind frame that

sends all the luck away. Cancer people are usually opti-

mistic, lucky and magnets for all kinds of good people.

Every Cancer should have their own miniature magnet

with their name engraved on it to increase their good

luck. Do remember that if you draw too many people

towards you with your friendliness, you will eventually

suffocate under all the bodies. Recall that it is the friends

closest to your heart that you really need.

Scorpio (October 23rd – November 21st)

You’re often secretive and shy around strangers but happy

and uncontrollable when you’ve opened yourself up to

someone. You are something of a superhero; you enjoy

helping people but are always humble when taking credit.

It is recommended that you buy a mask and an arch nem-

esis before continuing your superhero deeds.

Sagittarius (November 22nd – December 21st)

This week your first instinct will be to run away, your sec-

ond will be to first find your legs. Try not to get ahead of

yourself and slow down to take things as they come. You’ll

find that life is a lot less stressful.

Capricorn (December 22nd – January 19th)

Those under the sign of the Capricorn are usually graceful

when alone and clumsy when trying to show off. You can

sometimes feel small or unseen among your friends and

should try something new to express yourself. Stilts are

recommended.

35

Tora A dark shadow ran down the side of the palace wall. Keeping away from the weak moonlight, nearly the entire wall

had been replaced with rough stone and only a few bricks of the original white marble remained. The shadow careful-

ly ran across the ash-laden surface of the once proud palace gardens of Tora. The shadow slipped through the gates

before they closed behind her. All the marble houses had too been reduced to stone and all the gardens were withered

weeds that even could not survive the wrath of the evil sorceress Thagean. The shadow tumbled over a rock, thrown

at her by one of the guards. The bag on her belt rolled away into the darkness. A hand tore at the long red plait hang-

ing at the back of her head. She ran to a sharp rock and the hand gripping her hair slackened in fear. She reached

back and pulled the plait around the rock. With one movement she was free and her long rope of hair was in the be-

wildered guard’s hands. She took this opportunity to run, and retrieve the bag then disappear into the black night.

She ran through the village. All the windows were locked; chimneys sealed and door forbidding entry. Only the light

of the Tora’s forge was lit. Through the peephole in the door a golden candle light streamed. She knocked on the door

again and again, but guards were fast approaching.

She banged on the door in a more urgent manner shrieking into the night “It is I, Nerra! I am Nerra! Open the door! I

am Nerra!”

A weary man guarded the door against a young boy of six. “You are not Nerra! Young boy, never come to my house

again!” he stormed.

“Father it is I…” Nerra’s father slammed the door in his daughters face, knocking her to the ground. She crumpled on

the door step and began to sob. She looked down into the puddle she had cried, and saw her reflection. Nerra didn’t

look like a delicate girl anymore. She looked like a dirty thief of a boy with no home. At least I have dinner to look for-

ward to. She thought as she opened the bag to reveal a small portion of Thagean’s evening meal. First a silky loaf of

bread and thick slices of cheese, then a small bunch of grapes and an herb tea in a small flagon.

Blue Blue,

Mixed with silver

Falls,

Like rain;

But heavy.

Like tears;

But cold.

Each drop shatters

A million pieces shimmer

Broken before they land.

Pia Mutton

36

Tora (continued…) The sound of clanking armour filled her ears as guards approached.

“Hey Jord! Who is this worm of a boy?” one of the guards exclaimed on seeing Nerra’s cowering figure.

“Don’t know Ord. Thagean wants a servant though, spare him! Yes Turk? Ord? Dirk?” The two guards nodded before another snatched Nerra off the stone porch of her shamble home. The guard Jord tightened his grip and led her, screaming and kicking towards the castle gates. Nerra hadn’t lost the fight all the way through the courtyard and the gardens. She stopped however when they neared Thagean’s throne room because Nerra felt sharp eyes staring at her through the window. The guards forced her through the grand doors, carved with lizards, no, dragons, that seemed to shift and glide every step. A figure loomed before her, eyes dark and menacing. The mouth of this creature drawn into a snarl.

“Well who is this?” said the figure on a large throne carved with dragons that were shifting and moving.

“I, I am Ner… Arren of Tora.” Nerra bowed.

Thagean frowned and presented her with an anklet woven with blue rocks and gems. “Wear this always! Now GO!”

Nerra ran out of the throne room and into a small abandoned room filled with chests on every wall. Two on the outer wall had blankets heaped on top of them. It was only one chest that had dragons carved onto its sides. Before she knew it, Nerra of Tora was asleep on the floor.

“Nerra…Nerra, come to us. Nerra! Nerra!” a voice screamed in her ear.

Nerra looked around; she was still in the abandoned chest room. A figure was crumpled beneath the blankets on another chest and moonlight seeped through a small window.

“Nerra, free us, Nerra,” the voice whispered.

She looked around, only the carvings were moving. Shifting and rippling like water. Nerra felt a strange urge to answer the mystic voice, but when she opened her mouth to speak, a sound rasped and rumbled in her throat.

“I am the one you have been seeking! What is it you wish of me?” Nerra roared deep within her throat. One of the carvings began shifting until it was a real dragon standing on the chest in front of her. He was blue to match her anklet and had fierce yellow eyes like her own.

“How is it you speak the tongue of dragons, young girl?” the dragon roared demandingly.

“I do not know, can you tell me? Why am I like this?” Nerra asked.

“You are the kindred of the warlock Eldannen. Brother of Thagean. Heir to the throne of Tora!” the dragon bellowed defiantly, its blue scales shimmering.

“But Eldannen is long dead. Father said so,” Nerra cried in confusion. Unknown to her the boy who had been asleep was long awake.

“You, you’re talking to it? How? Who are you?” the boy stammered in fear.

“I must go back to the carving, but I will leave two things for you as I await your next summons, Princess Nerra.” The dragon disappeared in a white light and only a sapphire scale and an old scroll of parchment remained. Nerra put the scale in her bag and unrolled the scroll..

“What is that?” The boy walked over and saw the scroll that Nerra held. “Is it true you speak to dragons, Nerra?” he asked again.

Nerra raised her eyes and cowered, that boy should not know her name, unless… “Are you Lewin? Niwel of Tora?” Nerra asked suspiciously.

“Yes. But I cannot reveal that to you again, or Thagean will place my head on her mantle, instead of a fox’s tail.”

Nerra loved the story of Eldannen and had since she had been a tiny child. If she were Eldannen’s Heir, perhaps she could use magic. Nerra focused in all her might on the carvings. But nothing happened, instead she had opened the window with her mind and a cold breeze was spreading through the room, forming thick mist and icicles on the ceil-ing. Then Thagean herself came into the room, forming herself out of the mist. And she keenly eyed the scroll in Ner-ra’s hand…

Grace Pearce

37

The Blue Ribbon She wore it in a ponytail,

Not high,

Not low,

The colour matched with her bright blue eyes,

Full of happiness and joy,

When the day of darkness came,

Misery fell upon her when she lost this fine blue ribbon,

She would search high,

And search low,

But everywhere she would go,

She couldn’t find her bright blue ribbon.

Her eyes turned to grey,

In the dark cold of night,

Sitting in her bedroom upon her windowsill,

When seeing her blue ribbon,

Her eyes slowly brightened,

She climbed out of the window into the cold of night,

When she received the ribbon a vision came to mind,

Of when she first touched the silk she felt how it was woven,

But now when she felt that silk it was all wet and broken,

She treasured it forever as it was her favourite gift,

And at that moment her eyes became lighter shades of blue,

Because she found her ribbon she lived with joy forever,

The ribbon slowly lost its life but still remained with her even as threads,

This very blue ribbon was the one thing which kept her happy,

Although her ribbon was no more her eyes remained blue, because the rib-bon lived still in her heart…..

Elisha Smith

DID YOU KNOW…...

On average adult fingernails grow 3 millimetres per month.

DID YOU KNOW…...

The McDonalds in New Delhi makes their burgers with mu on.

38

Them September 19 2012:

It had been three days since the message from them, three days since the world went into a wild state of panic.

Three days since I lost my parents and Jess. I remember the message coming through my phone when I was talking to Quin, a low rough scratchy voice interfering with our conversation.

“We are here, those of the blue”.

A dark chill slithered up my spine, at just replaying the sound of its voice in my head. I was currently in this abandoned place, praying to myself I wouldn’t be taken; it had been like this ever since it happened. Ever since the invasion.

October 16 2012:

It had been a month since the message came through and 30 days since the invasion.

I sat in the old school bathrooms staring at the grimy concrete wall. There were 31 little scratches on the wall; it was the only way I kept track of the days.

I looked down to my clothes, I hadn’t changed in a week, I avoided stealing at all costs, but in these conditions it was the only way to survive.

As I stood I looked in the mirror, there were tiny scratches all over my arms and my eyes were lined with a deep pur-ple. I walked through the eerie halls, my finger trailing along the cold empty lockers.

I crept cautiously down the hall. I only ever left to get food and clothes and this was only when I absolutely needed to. There were still some survivors but I had only come across a few, all of which refused to talk.

The things to watch out for were the changed.

They were the people that had been snatched and turned into emotionless drones ready to kill or take us back to them.

I slipped outside into the cold night air sending chills quaking through my body. The only time that was safe to go out was at night, anyone stupid enough to walk around in broad daylight had already been taken. I walked slowly through the streets taking short moments to look at what the town had become in such a short time. All the buildings had broken windows, boarded up doors or smashed walls. It looked like a typical scene from an apocalypse …but then again I guess it sort of was one.

I had my knife tightly clenched in my hand ready for any attack that might happen. I heard a rustling from the bushes and tensed.

An arm reached out and I jumped back in surprise, clinging to my knife, ready to flee.

But something kept me there; I wanted to see who it was. I stood my ground ready to attack if I needed to.

The man slowly dragged himself out and managed to wobbly stand.

Then I noticed something starting to creep up his leg, spreading.

It was darkness, black.

He screamed in agony as it climbed up his body.

I shuffled backwards quickly, my spine hitting the streetlamp at the other side of the street. But I couldn’t move, all I could do was stare. His mouth was cov-ered by the darkness and all I could hear were gargling sounds erupting from his mouth as if he were underwater. Then his whole body was covered and there was nothing but silence. He stood there, a figure of pure darkness. Then his eyes flashed open, they were an un-naturally bright blue. He wasn’t himself anymore; he had been changed.

39

Them (continued…) I ran for my life.

I sped through the damp streets, my heart pounding as if it were some sort of machine overflowing with electricity.

I clung onto the shop walls using their rough surfaces to pull me forwards. I could feel sweat dripping down my face as I avoided the broken glass. I looked up at the cloudless sky; a full moon hung low illuminating the streets. I turned back to see it sniffing the air, its head turned away from me.

I rushed further trying to be quiet.

Then suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my arm. I had gotten my sleeve snagged on some glass jutting out of a broken window. I stared at my arm in horror as I saw the crimson liquid slither down my arm.

A single drop splashed onto the floor, and its head snapped towards me.

It began running towards me, but I was rooted to the spot. I held my breath as it came closer… so this was the end? It was only a metre away from me when suddenly someone jumped in front of me and stopped it. He had his hands in front of him as the changed one collapsed forwards. I saw the boy properly as he slid the knife back out of its stom-ach.

His hands were sticky with blood; he had unruly black hair and dirt covered skin. He stepped back and let it fall to the floor. The black muck slipped off the person and I backed away as it slinked off to find another helpless victim. The boy looked at me and our eyes met. In silent agreement we decided that we would sur-vive together.

We would make it through this apocalyptic nightmare, no longer alone.

Madeleine Occhino

Sandy Gully Beach, Aireys Inlet, Victoria (in summer) As you descend the weathered stairs, the first thing in view is the sea in the distance, stretching out beyond the hori-

zon. The cliffs stand tall, with the lighthouse proud on the headland. The shore is littered with seaweed and some-

times cuttlefish, which children will collect to decorate their sandcastles. The sea is aqua, calm but with rolling waves;

people throw themselves under or boogie board to the sand. Families lay together under umbrellas that look like

brightly coloured flowers sprouting occasionally along the beach. When the tide is out, people scan the rock pools,

searching for the fascinating creatures that inhabit them. The subtle smell of sand and seaweed lingers in the air. As

the tide goes out, you can see the small number of shells shimmer in the glistening sand along the curved tideline.

The cliffs of The Great Ocean Road tower over you, rising up

despite the weather and storms that they have endured. The

small shrubs on top of the cliff are just visible from below, the

edge of a small forest, such a contrast to the sandy world be-

neath. If you are lucky, and staring into the shimmering blue at

the right moment, you may catch a glimpse of a seabird surfing.

Or maybe even a dolphin barrelling the arching waves.

Tara Sweeney

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Front Cover Designer:

Alexander O’Byrne

Committee:

Formatters:

Alexander O’Byrne Pia Mutton Annika Mutton

Contributors:

Viv Gollings Annika Mutton

Pia Mutton Alex Russell

Alice McKenzie Ebbels Darby Hamilton Bridget Sweeney

Irenie Anagnostelos

Kelcey Brian Alex O’Byrne Alyssa Modica Bianca Josevski

Elisha Smith Grace Pearce Tara Sweeney Chika Sunarto

MKBE Darby Hamilton

Liza Kozlov Pia Mutton

Madeleine Occhino Guy of Lusigan

Alice McKenzie Ebbels Bridget Sweeney

Viv Gollings Annika Mutton

Elizabeth Margaret Red Angry Bird Alex Russell Riley Nelson

MD Melody Pond

C.L.U.E Kelcey Brian

Vestie Irenie Anagnostelos

Ethan Perkins Alexander O’Byrne

Emma Magill Gabrielle Watson

Sinta Baker Alyssa Modica Bianca Josevski

Lucy Hill Abby Claridge Calvin Coolidge Daisy Alexander

Alex Russell Crystal Dew Chloe Diment

YBFR

And everyone who answered our Superpower Survey