WRITERS COLLECTIVE VOLUME II
Once Upon A Time
CONTRIBUTERS
William Addison, Max Armbruester, Elena
Bouffin, Katharine Bryson, Isabella Carellas, Annette Edeke, Mimi Emmett, Scarlet Fearn, Lilly Foster, Vibhishan Gohel, Elena Gohill, Lily
Hardcastle, Isabella Lenton, Amber Macey, Lily
Macey, Yasmin Mitchell, Greta Rota, Keagan
Stricker-Timmermans, Georgia Thomson, Lara
Wadey, Emily Westgarth
A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR
We are delighted to publish Volume II of The Writers Collective. The concept, the name, the focus and the copy have, once again, been shaped and driven by our talented students, and we are excited to share their writing with you here.
This year’s inspiration came in the form of a visit from Box Hill School alumnus Tomi Oyemakinde. Tomi’s first novel, ‘The Changing Man’, was published in 2023 and he joined us on World Book Day to lead workshops and speak to members of The Writers Collective about the writing process. You can read all about Tomi’s experience, as a writer, and the advice that he gave to the members of our Collective inside.
As Tomi had chosen to set his first novel in a boarding school and focus on the experience of childhood and growing up, we decided that the theme for Volume II would be ‘Once Upon a Time’. This has led to the creation of a wide range of poetry and prose, including poems about childhood games, inspired by Vernon Scannell’s ‘Hide and Seek’. Some interviewed loved relatives about their school days. Others have chosen to twist well-known fairy tales; get ready to feel sympathy for the witch in ‘Hansel and Gretel’! So, pop a copy of The Writers Collective: Volume II into your suitcase this summer and let our students whisk you away to ‘Once Upon a Time’.
MS KATHARINE BRYSON HEAD OF ENGLISH
INTERVIEW WITH
TOMI OYEMAKINDE
ALUMNUS, AUTHOR OF ‘THE CHANGING MAN’
INTERVIEW WITH TOMI OYEMAKINDE
Tomi
Vibz
Thank you for joining us today, Tomi. We're excited to delve into your journey as a writer. Let's start from the beginning. Could you share how your love for reading influenced your decision to become a writer?
Absolutely. I’ve always loved reading. No matter where I was, I’d sign up at the local library and dive into books, usually getting through five or six each month. Crime novels were my favourite. One day, while reading, I thought to myself, "I could write something like this." It was a bit of a healthy illusion, but it sparked the realisation that I could indeed write.
Vibz
How did your experiences at Box Hill School shape your writing style or the themes you explore in your books?
Tomi
Box Hill School had a profound influence on my writing My book, ’The Changing Man’, is set in a boarding school and reflects a lot of what I saw. I loved my time there and I was fascinated by how students transformed over the years. I wanted to explore what happens if a school, unlike Box Hill, doesn’t nurture integrity or moral values but instead focuses solely on academic achievements. The significance of friendships also plays a major role in my story. I remember making lifelong friends at Box Hill, like my friend Henry, who helped me navigate the computer room and introduced me to Facebook. Despite our differences, we shared a similar outlook on life.
Mimi
How do your themes resonate with your own experiences, and how do you approach them in your work?
Tomi
My own sense of wanting to belong and feeling lonely at times strongly resonate with my characters. When I arrived at Box Hill, I had a strong sense of self instilled by my parents, but I still felt lonely. Overcoming that loneliness through friendship is something I wanted to explore. My character in ‘The Changing Man’ is someone who is uncomfortable with vulnerability and forming connections, but learns the value of friendships. These relationships can sustain you through turbulent times.
Mimi What themes are explored throughout your work?
Tomi
Human dignity is crucial to me. Many societal problems stem from not seeing the value in others. This lack of recognition leads to conflicts, whether it's racism or global conflicts. I wanted to explore this theme deeply. Recognising each other's worth is fundamental to creating a better society, and this idea is central to my work.
Mimi Are any of your characters based on real students or staff from Box Hill School?
Tomi
Yes, many of them are inspired by real people. For example, there’s a character based on Miss Appleton, a beloved teacher, who handed out Rocky bars and chocolates to students. There’s also a chef in the story who reminds me of a chef from my time at Box Hill. Even the headmaster character, who knows everyone by name, is inspired by my old Headmaster. The setting and scenery are heavily influenced by my memories of Box Hill.
Lilly
Tomi
I’ve always had a wild influenced by one of m ‘Watership Down’ by R creating interesting sc adventures. Initially, I fantastical elements lik and talking animals, b needed to be more gro message I wanted. It’s balance creativity with storytelling.
Lilly
What inspired you to pursue fiction?
What advice would you give to aspiring writers in secondary school who dream of publishing their own books someday?
Tomi
Keep writing and enjoy the process. Write the stories you want to read because someone else will want to read them too. It’s important to be resilient. The journey can be challenging, but maintaining your passion and surrounding yourself with a supportive community can help you persevere.
Greta
Tomi
Could you tell us about your writing process and any routines that help you stay focused and productive?
My writing process is a mix of chaos and order. I start with a rough outline just bullet points of key events. As I write, I connect the dots, sometimes taking detours Consistency is key I try to write regularly without putting pressure on myself to reach a specific word count. I often write in coffee shops, surrounded by a bit of hustle and bustle, which helps me stay focused.
Greta
What challenges did you face while writing The Changing Man and how did you overcome them?
Tomi
One major challenge was realising I had gone in the wrong direction, losing the thematic thread of my story. I had to backtrack and delete about 10,000 words To overcome this, I focused on what I was trying to say and brainstormed different possibilities for what could happen next. It was about reconnecting with the core of my story and rebuilding momentum.
Greta
How did you choose what to study in the IB, and do you think it influenced your career path?
Tomi
Choosing what to study was quite anxiety-inducing. I picked subjects like higher-level maths and physics, thinking they’d be manageable, but they were quite challenging If I could go back, I’d choose differently and be braver in my choices, picking subjects that interested me and offered a broader perspective. It’s important to remember that your studies don’t necessarily dictate your career path. Many skills are transferable, and it’s valuable to explore different interests.
Will
How important do you think it is for young people to see themselves represented in literature?
Tomi
It’s hugely important. Young adult fiction often tackles big emotions and ideas, helping readers see themselves in the stories. It’s crucial for young people to see characters who look like them, speak like them, and share their backgrounds. This representation encourages reading and helps young readers feel understood and valued.
Will
Tomi
Can you share any upcoming projects or stories you're working on?
Sure! My second book, ‘We're Hunted’, is coming out at the end of August. It’s a bit like Jurassic Park set on a luxurious island, following two brothers and their dad as they navigate survival and family dynamics. It tackles themes of guilt, spectacle, and the dangers of captivity, inspired by figures like Elon Musk It’s a thrilling adventure that also explores deeper issues.
Mimi
Do you think the transformation that your protagonist undergoes in ‘The Changing Man’ reflects the changes in the community around them?
Tomi
Yes, definitely. The protagonist’s journey is both similar to and different from the changes in the community. When the "changing man" gets to them, they lose their individuality and fall into a homogeneous group, which is damaging. The protagonist resists this, highlighting the importance of diversity and individuality within a community. It’s about finding a balance where differences are celebrated and respected.
POETRY
Once Upon a Neverland
Once upon a falling star, children gathered from afar. Dreams of growing up too fast, dusty dolls still wait for touch
Dreams of never growing up, once you see the moments lost. Looming destiny’s ahead, now I’m missing mother’s touch
Bones that grow, then bones that rust, Skin will stretch and wrinkle up. Mind will grow, the heart won’t budge, Filled with pain, still carries love.
That’s the child that lives within north to south, women and men. Peter Pan still holds my hand, when I cry, he understands.
Once upon a Neverland, Once upon a Neverland, Once upon a Neverland
The Dance of Tag
Footsteps quick, a joyful race in the open field, an endless space
Awaiting the first player to forfeit, Tag! You’re it
Echoes of laughter in the setting sun, on the count of three, we take our run!
‘It’ scouts out his next target
Deciding whose legs aren’t an asset
‘You’re it!’, the cry in the summer air, through tangled grass everywhere. Chasing shadows, spirits light, Tag! The game of pure delight.
Bulldog
Sprinting and rushing through the green grass, Waiting for the hunter to attack in a flash!
One fallen after another. I cannot lose the others…
My life on the line, to not get a bite! For others, I must fight pounce and pounce, another one falls and becomes my enemy amongst the walls.
Eyes locked on, I was struck with his eyes locked on like a truck. The evil ignites amongst one’s eyes, With a breath, I realise I must die.
In my dreamworld
In my dreamworld… the summers are warm, the snow is cold and so are the storms. Blazing hot heat feels great on our skin, to try and cool down we go for a swim
I jump in the pool…
but then I wake up, and I’m in a cold sweat Knowing my dream is not real yet, I fall asleep.
In my dreamworld – we're all friends. We go to the cinema at the weekends Friends that laugh, friends that cry.
Friends as friends who don’t have to try. I reach for your hands
But then I wake up, my eyes are askew. Realising my dream will never come true, I try sleep.
In my dreamworld… we're all free.
Free from the clutch of what we try to be We wake up late and we don’t care, Not an hour early to tend to our hair
I have a big smile…
But then I wake up, confused and scared I fix my hair
Feeling my dream close, but not quite there, I can’t sleep
But in my dreamworld… there is no fear. Hiding from planes I happen to hear. I can walk around and wear what I want I can walk around with my head facing front and I feel so happy
But then I wake up, a pit in my stomach I shake my head.
Seeing my dream is already dead, I refuse sleep.
Once Upon A Time
Once upon a time, we were playing in the park, we were practising writing; we were scared of the dark.
Once upon a time, we would sing in the choir, we would scale climbing walls, seeing who could reach higher.
Once upon a time, we were drawing in crayon, we were looking for grass in the field we could lay on.
Once upon a time, our biggest concern, was finding our library books to return.
Once upon a time, a new year changed the rules.
We’ve moved on now, we’re at different schools.
I miss those years the fun and the laughter But I’m sure we all will go on to live happily ever after.
Princess
In depths of dreams, a princess did dwell A young heart prolonged for love’s enchanting spell. But little did she know, her treasure did lay, not in the others, but within her own way.
She sought for love in lofty towers high, in handsome knights with gleaming steads nearby Yet time and time again, her hopes were crushed, for true love’s touch, she yearned but was hushed.
Until one day, she gazed into her eyes, and a spark, a flame did mesmerise. Her own reflection held the key, she knew, to finding love that is pure, and always true.
No longer charmed by others’ shallow charms, she journeyed through her soul with open arms.
And there she found love so sweet and rare, A love that bloomed, in her own self-care.
Once Up A Time
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a princess who had something else planned
No usual princess’s life she lived, didn’t need a prince to save her She fought for herself If there was any danger.
No evil queens or kings, no big strong hairy beasts, no scary pointy things just calm safe streets
She didn’t burst into song, or wear puffy gowns No dramatic life-story when a challenge comes around.
She just goes to school with her friends like everyone else. Doesn’t try to talk to animals And stays her princess self!
Once Up A Man
Once upon a time, there was a man with a plan, to be happy and live a long time.
He had a little life, and liked to catch fish Ten a day, five pounds each. He was happy, with his boat, his blue hat and his yellow coat.
Until one day a man, in a blue suit and a yellow tie, approaches him with a question, “Success or happiness?”
The man thinks, pulling on his beard, “I would like to say both, but I’m scared that I can’t Money isn’t everything, so I’ll take happiness.”
Yellow tie chuckles, sarcasm lacing his voice, “Money, is happiness, because you can get what you want.
What do you do now? How much do you have?”
The man ponders the question… “I catch fish, and then go home to my wife, spend time with my children It’s a nice little life.”
Yellow tie chuckles, sarcasm lacing his voice “I have some advice… Catch more fish, make more money, move to the city, start a company, sell it for more, and move back here, for retirement of course!”
The man listens, and then he nods. “Then what?”
Yellow tie chuckles, sarcasm lacing his voice “You can sell fish, then go home to your wife, and spend time with your children.”
Once upon a man, he had a plan to be happy. Sometimes little is more, and more is less. Money is nothing if you can’t afford, the burden, of something small
CREATIVE
ONCE UPON A TIME THERE LIVED A GIRL
Once upon a time there lived a girl; this girl had a dream. In New York city was where you could find her; her name was Gertrude (Trudy) Ederle. She had a passion for swimming and loved to encourage others to try it out too. No cold water could stop her. As a young girl she wanted to show all the women around her that no matter what, we will always be as or more capable than the boys whatever the task, so don't let society stop you! Gertrude then decided to train and compete in the Olympics. No one was stopping her now!
In the 1920s she was a teenage Olympic Medal winning sensation, but she still had one wish which was soon to come true. She wanted to prove that a woman could compete in a swimming challenge, said to be as difficult and dangerous as climbing Mount Everest. Trudy wanted to be the first woman to swim across the freezing waters of the English Channel! People started to wonder if her plan was just a little too far.
This was it! On your marks! Get ready! Set... fail.
Due to the bad weather in 1925 her first attempt didn't succeed but this wasn't stopping her. In August 1926, at the age of just 19, Trudy waded into the sea in France, called ‘Cheerio’ and set off on her second attempt to swim the English Channel. She decided to use her strongest stroke – American crawl (even though everyone said breaststroke was better). She fought strong currents (ignoring people telling her she must give up). Gertrude ate sugar cubes (even though everyone thought that it wasn't enough food) and kept her stroke in time by listening to her favourite song on a gramophone!
Finally, after swimming for 14 HOURS and 31 MINUTES – around 35 miles – she reached the English coast. Trudy had swum it her way and set a new record time, which was TWO HOURS FASTER than any of the men who had previously completed the swim! Back in New York Trudy made a splash of excitement! Crowds flocked to celebrate her enormous achievement. She was a hero! She was... one of the great women who changed the world.
LAND OF THE GNOMES AND FAIRIES: A MAGICAL LANDSCAPE
DESCRIPTION BASED ON MY LIVED EXPERIENCE OF NORWAY’S FAIRYTALE FORESTS.
The deep, copper creek trickles down the forest floor. Rich and glowing, like syrup still, despite the little light littered through the pinched pine branches. Past it, a steep dirt mound, covered in handlebar roots and layers of old soiled leaves: an alluring path. Outlined by bright red toadstool mushrooms and leading to a place where one should not go. An entrance not easily traversed with a simple step, nor seen with plain sight… It is a place not for us.
Should you continue, ensnared like a moth to a light, up the small hill, you would find it nonetheless. The minimal vegetative forest flooring quickly transforms into a vast emerald sponge underfoot. The ceiling of sparse branches creeps lower and lower, denser and denser, from a city of skyscrapers to a short infinitely wide room: a miniature world. The creek splinters upstream to form rivers, valleys and hills, untouched moss becoming vast forests. Regular trees become large pillars of pine wood dispersed and varied throughout, holding up the low green roof that matches your height just barely. Bright mushrooms cluster together with small, coned heads peeking up like the towers of an old castle. Springing up from the moss and standing tall, they are the skyscrapers of this world.
With a step forward you would quickly find your foot sink deep into the ground, swallowed but not stuck. Upon your next step, looking behind you would see it, the large dent, the imprint, left behind by the sole of your boot. You can continue forward into the depths of this place, discovering and belonging to it, or turn back and break the spell. To remain separate, afar and seeking, for something else once upon a time.
SHOOTING STAR
The moment I woke up I realized that it was too late. Glancing down, I took in the barbed dagger sticking out from my flesh and the pool of crimson that was steadily growing larger and seeping into my carpet. Beside me lay my assassin, and our pools of blood joined together to form a snaking river of crimson. The only difference, however, was that my assassin had not woken up and I doubted that he ever would. But when it would be my turn to pass into the void of death, neither would I. That I knew from the moment I woke up
I slowly replayed what had happened in my mind. I was sleeping when suddenly I woke up and saw him moving silently as a shadow across the room towards me, dagger glinting dangerously in the moonlight. I took my own dagger out from under my pillow and then we simultaneously lunged towards each other, hatred and fear blazing in our eyes. I mortally wounded him before he plunged his dagger into me. Then I passed out.
My flesh suddenly started to crawl as if it had thousands of squirming ants on it which brought me back to the present. I was painfully aware of how little time I had left, the seconds ticking away on my watch. Tick, tock, tick, tock. I glanced up at the night sky. The stars were so bright, blinding me. My fading consciousness went to seek refuge in the pleasant memories of my childhood.
Once upon a time I sat on a bench in a park, staring at the beautiful azure sky I then found myself realizing all the things I never got to do. I screamed into the night sky, “I’m not ready!” But then you never are, are you, it seemed to whisper to me. A shooting star blazed a path across the night sky and lit up the room, but I was no longer alive to see it...
ONCE UPON A TIME
Once upon a time, on a bitter night, an extreme blizzard came sprinting across the arctic. Tibble, the little blue creature, was all alone. Lost. His navy-coloured tears came oozing out of his eyes. He sat star gazing for hours. Waiting for someone to find him. He was dreaming of somebody taking him home.
After painful hours of looking into the distance hoping someone was out there searching for him, Tibble fell into a deep sleep.
The wind was howling. Waves crashed up against the great iceberg. Frightened, Tibble woke up. Everything was dark, until a ray of light came bursting out of the sky. Then everything went dull again. No sound. No light. Just the unknown lingering in the darkness…
ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS NO TIME...
Once upon a time, there was no time: no clocks to tell you when your next meeting started, no stopwatches for you to set your new PB, no timers so you didn’t burn your ‘running late for school’ piece of toast. Nothing! Nothing at all. For all the citizens of this kingdom knew, light meant day and dark meant night.
This all started in, oh, wait, hang on… I forgot there was no time! Well, how about, no. Let’s just start again. Okay, you know what let’s just get straight to it then.
The name of this kingdom was Noageville. The king was a short-tempered man. He was the kind of person that you either despise or love.I chose to despise him.
Five years before his unfavourable reign, he was Prince Hasan and his younger brother (by seven years) was Prince Gabriel. All of the royal family stored magic within them. When they were children, they didn’t get along. Many arguments would float through the house.One specifically still walked through the castle halls of their minds. It lingered around the archaic floorboards and the castle’s numbing stone bricks on the outside of their ‘family home’.
The two brothers grew apart and Hasan settled in a kingdom of his own and started a life with all the necessities and more; his worthy citizens had insatiable respect for their ruler and soon he became King Hasan. For five years, Hasan’s life ran smoothly . He was adored and extremely well-liked and he made all the right decisions.
Then one day… Hasan woke up and sat in his desk chair staring at the mirror.The embroidery on the chair was a canvas of colours twining in front of his eyes. The golden template surrounding his mirror was embedded with carvings of detailed patterns and fossilised gems. He scooped up his comb and began to brush through his locks. Slowly a wispy strand of white hair swayed down on the desk. Hasan’s eyes began to widen as he slowly overthought it; turning into restless nights, eventually he became depressed and imagined himself all shrivelled. Days of painful silence in his mind. He didn’t want to grow old.
One day he spent the whole night thinking about how to stop this unsightly tragedy, until he recalled the magical side of himself. Disobeying every single word of what his father had told him, he decided to freeze time. He imagined himself freezing time and began to feel a vibration underneath the skin of his fingertips, crawling up to his elbow joints and through his shoulders until, suddenly, he imagined the conversation with his father…
‘Son, don’t ever use your magic. If you do, you’ll encounter your two spirits that grow on either of your shoulders… one angel, one devil! But first the devil will force you to put things right and it won’t be easy!’
All the lights…off! All the sound… gone! All the people… asleep!
The next morning, everything was normal. Well, it seemed that way. A week later, Hasan caught on to the fact that it had all worked as combing wasn’t such a traumatic experience anymore. His head was once again a field of soft, plush brown. He announced the news and people began to fall in love with the idea of no aging. He became as popular as television in America during the 1950s.
This all began to take a dark twist when Hasan began to take his unlimited time on the earth for granted. He was careless towards his citizens. It didn’t matter to him if they were unhealthy or sad. Over time, he became a selfish, egotistical man who only cared if it was about him. It was soon clear that he was a dictator. People naturally began to grow to hate him and objected against his views and ideas, but he would have none of it. They would be sent off to work as peasants for a year or stay in the dungeon for a year, a place dripping with unknown goo, a big sack of bats… a place never to have seen the light of the sun.
Until he met his devil. A dark mist spawned above his head, chaotically nearing the ground as if it were being grabbed by the arm and tugged on. Gradually, a red-eyed devil, covered in a wine red, surfaced. Its bloodthirsty look stabbed chills down his back. His face howled but the scream from his mind didn’t even reach his mouth.
Hasan started to realise that the devil was restrained in chains and it started to vigorously heave on them. After five struggled jerks at the rusted chains, the devil was unleashed. Hasan’s heart had left his body whilst he found himself on the floor.
The devil roared in his raspy voice… ‘Hasan, I have come up here to warn you. You are much too fierce with your words and your care for others has been neglected for far too long. All you care about is yourself; all you think about is yourself; all you wish for is for yourself. You have no emotion for others, and you WILL put this right. Do you understand me?’
And so, once upon a time, time was returned to the people of Ageville and all was put right.
ONCE UPON A CAT OR THREE
Deep in the heart of Morocco, the capital Marrakesh, was buzzing and full of busy people, large markets full of fruit and snake charmers, people selling clothes, plates and wooden toys. The market twisted and turned down alleyways. It never seemed to end, but if, just if, you turned enough times you would find yourself in an empty alley. And in a corner three cats would be found, who spend their days lying around in the sunshine, their nights sleeping and their mornings begging or hunting for food.
The leader was a medium tabby, with patterns of light and dark soft, brown fur.Her name was Estrella. She had bright green, piercing eyes and a raccoon striped tail. A bounding, bright, loud, hot-headed cat also lay there. Her name was Virgo. She was the cat with a black tail and a splodge on her side that looked like a heart when she sat down. Finally, a shy, calico cat called Kiki; orange patches lit her eyes. She was skittish and a very fast runner.
One warm spring morning, the cats woke to the sound of the Imams calling to prayer.
‘This is earlier in the morning than normal…’ Virgo grumbled. Virgo hated mornings.
Sitting above her, on the wall, were Kiki and Estrella. They had been awake for hours hunting but no luck.
‘Virgo, you’re finally awake,’ Kiki said, jumping down and rubbing herself up against Virgo.
‘We are going hunting on the outskirts. Wanna come?,’ Estrella mewed, hopping down too.
Virgo stretched her claws flashing. ‘Sure’ she replied, yawning.
The three cats leapt up onto the ancient wall and then across the rooftops. Estrella led the cats’ hop, roof to roof.
Above them, hot air balloons were high in the bright blue sky and below them the whole of the city of Marrakesh spread out. After a while, the cats ran out of roof and started running along the roadside. It was still early, so the roads were quiet apart from a few noisy cars and scooters. They were making their way headlong towards the hotel area of the city, when they heard a strange yodelling cry.
‘What was that?’ Kiki whispered, shakily under her breath, her hair rising on her back.
‘I’m not sure,’ Estrella said slowly. Without thinking, Virgo’s ears pricked up and she started running towards the sound.
‘Virgo!’ Kiki and Estrella shouted after her.
They came to the clearing where a female camel was sitting, tied to a tree with a rope and crying. There were no humans around.
‘My baby,’ she cried out.
‘Excuse me miss…’ Estrella said nervously. Suddenly in a rush of emotion, the camel started to explain how her baby son had been snatched. They had been lying in the sun, when a strange man had snatched him by his rope and dragged him away towards the city, whilst she was helpless to assist because she was tied to a palm tree.
‘Which way did they go?’, asked Virgo. ‘We can track them down for you.’
‘The poor baby. He must be so scared, but we little cats can do something about it. Trust us,’ purred Kiki.
They comforted the camel and left, sniffing vigorously. After a while, Virgo exclaimed ‘I’ve found footprints and a distinctive scent!’
The scrawny gang of cats followed the scent into the main gateway to the old medina, where they soon caught up with a furtive, scraggly man dragging the shaking, petrified baby camel through the market and down a dark alleyway. The cats crept after him and heard him calling out ‘A thousand dirham! Anyone give me a thousand dirham for this healthy, baby camel?’
Soon the man grew weary and took his lunch out of his bag and sat slumped on an old carved bench. Meanwhile the feline gang sat on the wall above the thief, devising their daring rescue mission.
After a lot of convincing, Kiki launched herself from the medina wall landing square on the man’s lap and diving for his sandwiches, hissing and scratching at him. The man leapt up, tossing his sandwich in the air and trying to fend off the crazy feline. Quick as a shot, Virgo and Estrella dropped silently to the floor beside the camel baby and whispered in his ear.
‘Don’t worry. We are here to save you. Now, once my friend has bitten through the rope around your legs, we are going to jump on your back and you need to just keep running’. The baby camel seemed scared but nodded.
Kiki hissed one more time, before performing an elegant jump from the man’s scratched and bleeding head onto the camel’s hump. Then Virgo jumped onto his back, as the cut rope fell to the ground. Finally, Estrella leapt onto the baby camel’s neck too. As soon as they were all securely on, the camel sped off down an alleyway and up a street, scattering people in all directions.
After many dead ends, twists and turns, they stopped running at the edge of a busy roundabout. Hundreds of cars and motorbikes and scooters whizzed in and out. Virgo sniffed the air.
‘This way!’ she pointed with her paw.
The camel huffed slightly before running into the road weaving and ducking and swerving. Behind them, the cats could hear shouting and honking, even a couple of crashes but they made it across safely.
Suddenly, he sped up and, with a cry of joy, ran towards his mother, nuzzling into her. Crying with relief, she thanked the cats dearly with her neck wrapped close around her young son.
Later than evening, the sun was starting to set, as the cats sat on a high sandbank in the desert. They had finally found a place with an abundance of food, places to hunt and friends with whom to play. They decided that it was going to be their new home. The three amigos settled next to each other as the sun set, casting a silhouette or ears and tails across the sand.
Another day had come and gone; another animal had been saved.
LOST IN THE SHADOWS
Exhausted and drained, I muster the strength to rise from my bed. Sleep has eluded me for what feels like an eternity, leaving me trapped within a facade that does not reflect who I truly am. My body bears the weight of a thousand burdens, as if it has endured the impact of a train, ran a marathon, and been dragged by a sinking ship. But amidst the pain, the rain offers solace, sheltering me from the torment.
Struggling and desperate, I wade through an ocean of tattered garments that entangle and anchor my feet. Finally, I break free. I catch a glimpse of my reflection, but it's as though I am observing a stranger—someone who exists only in the shadows of other people's lives. My colleagues, those zealous customers, and the joyful followers—they define me, but I am lost. I yearn for liberation, a chance to step out of the background and into the spotlight of my own narrative. But what is this pain that consumes me?
Even sustenance becomes a source of torment. Food becomes a battleground, every bite a reminder of my inner struggle. I scavenge through cold cupboards in a desert of desolation. The pain intensifies, every breath a testament to my enduring suffering. I long for release as I navigate through an endless tunnel of despair. Let me break free.
My dilapidated car becomes a vessel hurtling through a sea of superficial happiness. One meter, two meters, three meters—I accelerate, hoping that speed will drown out the clamour of my suppressed emotions. Yet, everything comes to an end. But still, what is this pain?
Reluctantly, I arrive at my self-imposed prison of isolation. My acquaintances are bound by the chains of illusory happiness, oblivious to the inevitable outcome. Why am I here? Gerry's familiar words echo, "The ball is in your court, make those sales today!" I nod, allowing myself to be played for a fool. In this state of waiting, silence envelops the space. The normalcy suffocates me. And yet, amidst the emptiness, a glimmer of hope emerges.
Wait... who is she?
As if a beacon in the darkness, her presence illuminates the surroundings. Colours burst forth, enchanting my weary eyes with the vibrancy of life. A newfound energy stirs within my soul, and I am inexplicably drawn to her. My tunnel, once shrouded in darkness, is now bathed in light.
And in that moment, I realise... where is my pain? It vanishes, eclipsed by the radiant beauty before me.
SCHOOL DAYS REMEMBERED
Once upon a time, a boy called Tony found himself in a boarding school in Zimbabwe in the 1960s. That boy is my grandad. I wanted to ask him some questions to find out what his school experience was like and how it compares to mine.
What was his best memory?
His best memory was being picked to play A team hockey. They played lots of games and as hockey wasn’t as popular for boys, they even had to play against men’s teams sometimes.
What was his worst memory?
As a junior, my grandad had to do lots of things for the seniors such as clean their shoes, buy food for them, even sit on the toilet seat to warm it up for them. But worst of all, the seniors used to put cricket balls in socks and as the juniors walked through their corridors, they would hit them and throw things at them. One boy even lost an eye because someone flung a rock at him.
What types of punishments did he get?
He usually got the cane, but he also got manual labour where the teachers would make him break up bricks and move them from one field to another for no purpose at all. They also had to pick up tiny stones off the rugby pitches and the prefects could give you punishments too.
What did a school day look like?
First the prefects would inspect your room. If it was clean enough you would be allowed to go to breakfast. Every day, they would have an assembly and sing hymns. After lunch their school day would end, and they would have one hour of rest then prep time. After prep they had sport for the rest of the day, then prep again. On Sundays they had to go to church.
Would he prefer to go to school now or then?
He would surprisingly prefer to go to school then rather than now. He says that when he looks back, he did really enjoy his time at school and just in general prefers his school life to mine. He also said that he liked doing more sport than academic work because that brings too much pressure.
FAIRYTALES
WITH A TWIST
The Lost Fairytale
I have always loved books. Since I was a child, I have loved the thrill of a new story So, naturally I made a career out of it Every day I get to discover more about all sorts of books, the stories behind them, and about who wrote them. No one has really understood my passion for this, my drive to discover more about the past that no one seems to care about And yesterday I finally found what the entire literary community has been searching for…
The Lost Fairytale
The rumours say that the Brothers Grimm have a story, a fairytale that was never published No one really knew why it was forgotten. There were many other tales that never went beyond an idea, but this one was different. There was a reason this story was never told, and I wanted to find it Yesterday, I did
The letter from Wilheim Grimm to Jacob Grimm depicting an idea for a fairytale that he discovered. I finally worked up the courage to read it, and I have to say I was confused to say the least. It was not the dramatic, gruesome story I was expecting. I thought it would have to be worse than any of their other tales to be abandoned. But it was mostly all right Much more PG than some of their other tales.
The letter began with some of the regular greetings between siblings, asking about the family and so on. Then he talks about a story he has found. ‘Found,’ not thought of. The basics of the story are this: A poor miller has two daughters; a beautiful but lazy and cruel one, the younger, and an unsightly but very hardworking one, the elder sister The king announces that he wants the most beautiful maiden to come forward to marry his son. The miller puts forward his younger daughter, and the prince falls madly in love with her beauty They soon marry and she becomes a princess.
However, she is still lazy and cruel She treats her servants horribly, often making a mess for them to clean or forcing them to do menial, unnecessary tasks. Her older sister never marries and continues to work diligently for their father. She becomes resentful of her sister as she received everything she wanted just because of her beauty.
One day whilst collecting firewood, she meets a witch and makes a deal with her: if she brings her sister to the witch, then she can take her sister’s place without anyone realising. The sister is sceptical but agrees and brings her sister to the witch under the pretence of showing her a stream which enhances the beauty of those who drink it. The younger sister is forced to stay with the witch and learn her ways as punishment for her cruel behaviour. Meanwhile the elder sister takes her place with the witch’s magic ensuring no one is the wiser.
At the end of the letter, Wilheim says ‘I realise this story may come with some complications, but it is more important to publish it. The people need to know ’ This last line confused me; I was under the impression that this
story was dropped as it was not good enough for the brothers. However, it seems that the story was dropped because it held an element of truth. To make matters more confusing, in the envelope, there was a slip of paper that says, in a different handwriting, ‘drop this story brother ’
Why would Jacob want Wilheim to drop a tale that seemed to fit right in with their other stories? The only explanation I can think of is that there was someone out there who did not want this story to be known Why? The story was true. At least parts of it must have been, or else why was Jacob so adamant about dropping it? On top of all of that, the edges had been burned, as if dropped in a fire then fished out. Did one of the brothers try to destroy it, then thought better of it? Or did someone drop it in a fire, and another saved it? Who was so desperate for this tale to be forgotten, and why?
Whatever the reason for The Lost Fairytale to be lost, I will find out.
HANSEL AND GRETEL
You may have heard of the “old witch” who lives in the gingerbread house, but that's not her name. Let me take you on a journey back in time, when the birds chirped melodiously in the crystal-clear sky, and the leaves swayed gracefully in the wind. It was a normal day until suddenly, a piercing shriek echoed through the air.
'No! Leave me alone!' cried a little girl. The little girl was named Olivia Meyer.
Olivia lived on the outskirts of the village with her mother and was frequently bullied by the children in town because her father had passed away when she was younger. She hated the children and was always worried about when they would hurt her again. She dreaded going out, but sometimes she had to get supplies for her mother and gingerbread – she loved making gingerbread houses.Whenever she was seen by the other children, she would run to the dark forest, for the bullies were scared to go in there.
It made her feel safe.
Things didn’t change as she grew older… She was chased by the townspeople into the forest, because she had learned to be a healer using the herbs she had found in the forest. But the villagers thought she was using witchcraft and they were scared.
Little did the townspeople know, their children were brave enough to chase Olivia, throwing rocks at her. As Olivia ran, she stumbled into the dark forest, hoping to find refuge. The children stopped in their tracks, terrified, like their parents, of the dark forest. Olivia hid between the trees, waiting for the children to go home.
She was angry. In the time she had lived in the village, she had grown to hate children more and more.
During her time spent in the forest, she had been working on a project to reignite some of her happy childhood memories; she was building a gingerbread house big enough to live in. She adored building gingerbread houses when she was little, so whenever things had not been good in the village, she would come to the forest and continue to build her masterpiece. It helped her stay calm and happy. She wasn’t planning on staying, but that was the only place she felt safe, so she decided to move to the forest permanently and after a few months, Olivia grew to love her new home and the creatures that lived there with her. She almost had a way of talking to the animals. She felt she had a responsibility to protect them.
Even though Olivia was happy, she still resented the children, and she grew even more bitter and was determined to get revenge on them. She loved the wildlife too much to harm them and she had been isolated for so long, her anger had bubbled up, making her hate children enough to even EAT them! She had been waiting such a long time and could hardly wait for her revenge.
This is where our story ends and another begins, where once upon a time, two children named Hansel and Gretel wandered into the dark forest.
Cinderella
Hurrying, Barry exited the stadium with fans crowding around him. He knew, the moment he laid his eyes on her, that she was the one. No more emails saying how gorgeous his black curly hair was or random strangers holding up signs saying I love you. No, it was his time. As he approached her, she turned around with her energetic, happy smile that she always had and that was when a conversation went down in history
“Oh, hi Barry. I have been such a fan of yours for such a long time now! And, by the way, my name’s Cindy Pleased to meet you.”
With Barry’s eyes the size of the moon, and his jaw nearly touching the floor, she shook his hand and his lips started speaking, without him realising
“Oh, um thank you I didn’t realise so many people loved my music” answered Barry, in absolute fear of nerves and excitement.
“Hey, let’s stay in touch. Can I have your snap?” said Cindy in delight
But if you didn’t think karma was a thing then think again, because suddenly there was a massive roar shouting
“CINDY ELLA WHERE ARE YOU? GET HERE THIS INSTANCE!”
It was her father. She was dragged away, and her melancholic face expressed her frustration and sadness. But all was not lost In the corner of Barry’s eyes, he saw a metallic object drop from her pocket. It was shiny, bright and had her family’s picture printed on it He picked up the object, got back in his limo and went back home
On the way home, he could not stop starring at the shiny badge. He was filled with a sense of urgency, a feeling that he hadn’t felt before.
The next morning, Barry awoke and shouted aloud “I need to return this”
The rest, as they say, is herstory
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
His fingers pushed deep into the blue, plastic box. He was tired of trains, knights and tanks; he wanted to escape into a world of pastels, a world where there was always a happy ever after.He spied a plastic bag, deep in the corner, its opening sealed and twisted with a plastic band. Carefully unravelling the band, he tipped its contents onto the floor: gold turrets, a prancing pony, lilac bricks all spread out around him.
His eyes caught sight of the figures and he grabbed one greedily, cold plastic moulding into his fat palms. He turned the Beast in his fist, examining the royal blue, cyan and daffodil yellow; fingers slid over the bumps of ears, eyebrows and mane. Lifting the figure towards his face, the boy peered into the mournful saucer eyes. He placed the Beast carefully on the rug, shuffling on his bottom and reaching forwards. Mrs Potts. An involuntary smile rose on his face; her tiny spout made him think of an elephant’s trunk and he tested a trumpet sound, twisting anxiously towards the door. But no one came.
But where was Belle? He shuffled through the rest of the bricks and towers. Gilded gates distracted him, but the boy was undeterred. There she lay on her side, head twisted awkwardly to the side. Delicately, he lifted the figure onto his knees and turned her face to the front. A car door slammed shut outside and he held his breath. No sound. His fist softened and he released Belle to the floor.
Pushing the other LEGO pieces away from him, the ballroom blossomed around the beast and Belle. Even Mrs Potts was ignored, as he saw stained glass windows and crystal chandeliers, swirling around them.
‘My lady, would you like to dance?’ the Beast said gruffly. ‘Why yes,’ she trilled back.
And they swayed, side by side, held safely in the boy’s hands as he mouthed a silent tune.
The front door shut below; he grasped Belle and the Beast close to his mouth, whispering ‘don’t be scared. I’m here… and Mrs Potts.’
He pushed one figure into each pocket and clambered towards the plastic mess.Handfuls of LEGO were hurled back into the box. Lumiere flung against the side, winded. Windows and doors clattered together. A carriage with only one wheel toppled in, as he scrapped up the last of the blocks.
‘Robert’ his father roared up the stairs, ‘get down here now!’ He shoved the box back underneath the bed, yanking the duvet cover to hide it.
‘Robert!’
Blood boomed in his ears again.
He stepped towards the door but stopped. One hand pulled out Belle and the other the Beast. They stared at each other, held tightly in sweaty hands.
‘You are a prince really, aren’t you?’ Belle questioned.
Robert’s fingers pulled at the Beast’s mask, which popped off onto the floor below. Revealed underneath, the prince’s benign smile beamed at Belle.
‘Of course I am; you just have to wait a bit longer’.
Robert breathed and tucked them safely back into his tracksuit pockets.He pushed his hand towards the bedroom door and stepped out into the corridor, safe in the knowledge that it would just take a little bit more time. His father really could become a prince after all, and his mother would be able to dance, dance, dance.
