An Artist’s Touch

Fireflies float in the dark like enchanted candles. The cold air keeps me awake as I search for the source of the small shining movements that catch my eye. At this point, I notice some more peculiar things happening. The river bends and turns, but when I look back all I can see is a straight river. The mangroves reach across the river despite its width, with their roots holding them further above the ground than should be possible.

The fish in the river swim swiftly, but silently, jumping out of the river at impossible heights to catch small insects. The river sends offshoots through the roots before they come back together like a huddled mess of wires.

Despite being unarmed during the dead of night, nothing is attacking or even attempting to harm me, with my only signs of injury being my bruised arms and legs from the occasional tumble onto the roots. If I want to survive this warped wetland, I must persevere.

I keep walking until the river ends, at which point I pause to check my surroundings and time. My watch says 12:00, but the moon’s position says it’s about 10:00, so either my watch is broken, or the moon is. On top of this, the mangroves continue far beyond the waterline.

As I hop from mangrove to mangrove, using the branches to support me on the roots, I begin to tire. Going from a run to a walk, to eventually a standstill, I survey the area once more. The trees acted like prison guards, ensuring there was no escape. Some of them stand tall, whilst others lie horizontal. The smell of stagnant water permeates my nostrils, and the chirps and trills of frogs and small insects assault my ears, startling me.

After a few minutes of catching my breath and adjusting to the environment, I smell something sharp and metallic. Blood. It overpowers the pungent scent of the water. As I look down at myself, I notice deep cuts covering my arms and legs. Oh no. I’ve got to move, and quickly, before anything tracks me down and decides I look like a good snack.

I break off into a run as I look for a way up and through the trees. The further in I go, the constant buzzing sound of the swamp life intensifies. I eventually find a way up. None the less, propelled by a thought that isn’t entirely my own, I leap between the treetops, careful not to lose my footing. I make out what appears to be a clearing. From beneath my feet, I hear a rustling join the cacophony of nocturnal life.

I arrive at the edge of the clearing, perching on an outstretched branch. From my vantage point I see the painter again with her canvas. Out of the blue, I hear a cracking beneath me, and the branch I’m standing on snaps, sending me plummeting into what appears to be an abyss.

This is the end, I think.

Charlotte Clinckers (Year 10), Madison Every (Year 9), Jack Goddard (Year 10), Felicia Ho (Year 9), Taryn Lee (Year 10), Amber Lynch (Year 8), Kimberley Stone (Year 9) and Kyle Stuart (Year 9)

(An excerpt from a book created in the 2022 Write a Book in a Day Competition)

Home

Home is where the blonde beaches lie, Below summer clouds - seagulls soar in the sky. waves rage on top of the sand, the warm sun leaves me sun-kissed and tanned.

Home is where my friends are by my side, together we have yelled, laughed, and cried. Memories we made I will forever cherish, stored in my heart, they will never perish.

Home is where beloved kangaroos roam the land, koalas comfortably dreaming with eucalyptus in their hand. Echoes of the kookaburra’s laugh embodies peace, I hope these iconic native faunas never decease.

Home is where the Jacaranda trees grow, the scarlet red bottlebrush is the best-dressed flower I know. Lemon banksias are found in every corner of Australia, you certainly won’t find these exotic plants in Pennsylvania.

Home is where I am entitled to my human rights, I live in a society without any wars and fights. I can go to school, I can ride my bike, I can live my life however I like.

Home is where days are long and warm, summer is endless and there is rarely a storm. The silky, soft breeze dances through my hair, the weather never makes me feel despair.

Isabella Leniartek (Year 8)