Trove 2023

trove

cover: Collective Organic by Year 9 Students

Jack Brazier, Roman Calvert, Xavier Cook and Joshua Burling, Samson Connolly, Samuel Naylor,

Finlay Brophy, Samson Connolly, Xavier Fitzpatrick,

Owen Fallis, Jack Hamilton, Samuel Naylor (Year 11)

Finlay Brophy, Samson Connolly, Owen Fallis, Oliver Garvey, Jack Hamilton, Jarran Mitchell-Bathgate,

24 Chess and Backgammon Set

Daniel Marden (Year 12)

Front

Woodwork

A Maths investigation

28 Designing a Rollercoaster

Kalen Pintaudi (Year 11)

A collection of creative writing

36 Selected Poetry

Anonymous, Darcy Clark, Tyler Morris, Hamish Preston, Toby Romaniello (Year 7)

44 Creative Composition

Haris Fallah (Year 8)

46 Opinion Pieces

Ryker Rijs, Luka Ristic (Year 8)

50 Creative Compositions

Xander Burling, Heath Johnson (Year 9)

56 Open Letters

Jack Dudley, Oliver Renouf-Sanderson (Year 9)

60 Creative Non-Fiction

Blayd MacMillan (Year 10)

62 Song Lyrics

64 Short Stories

John Tayag (Year 11)

Micah Renton (Year 11), Owen Goodwin and Riley Woods (Year 12)

70 Drama Script

Harrison Ricci (Year 12)

74 Poem

Adrian Campana (Year 12)

76 Interpretive

Samuel Cruzado (Year 12)

foreword

In our third annual edition of trove, we honour the incredible talents of our students across a range of disciplines. As in previous years this is a celebration of work from the learning areas of Visual Arts, English and Media. However, as special inclusions we also welcome the contribution of a Technologies piece and a Mathematical paper this year. Continuing with tradition our students have been innovative in their work, proving that creativity is our most powerful, indeed magical, tool to shape the world we want to live in.

In Visual Arts, students have manipulated a wide range of media to craft their fascinating interpretations in two and three dimensional forms. In English students have tapped into their impressive command of language and concepts to produce outstanding imaginative, interpretive and persuasive texts. And lastly, our Media students have shown their mastery of multimodal elements to create striking digital film posters.

The curation of this anthology has been a labour of love, so we hope you love it too!

Ms Mikayla Connolly

English and Drama Teacher

Ms Tavia Pursell

Academic Excellence Program Coordinator

English and Literature Teacher

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

For their support and assistance with the creation of trove thanks to Visual Arts teachers Carmen Stewart and Zoe Francis, and Media teacher Lana De Palma for selecting and supplying the wonderful array of Visual Arts and Media work. Thanks also to the fantastic English Department staff for selecting and forwarding a range of excellent pieces from their students, and much gratitude to Marilyn Schmidt for Maths Investigation. Lastly, a huge thanks to Ms Cathy Broad and Ms Hiva Shafiee in the Community Relations and Marketing Department for their patience and dedication in creating our enchanting third edition.

This text was produced on Whadjuk Noongar land. We acknowledge the traditional owners of this ancient land, the Whadjuk people of Noongar Boodja. We recognise their continuing connection to the land and waters and pay our respects to elders past, present and emerging.

“If you take any activity, any art, any discipline, any skill, take it and push it as far as it will go, push it beyond where it has ever been before, push it to the wildest edge of edges, then you force it into the realm of magic.”

Tom Robbins

VISUAL ARTS

A series of Visual Arts pieces by students from Year 7 to 12

Bailey RiemannPsychedelic skateboard

Roman CalvertDeep sea skateboard

Jack BrazierIndigenous skateboard

Xavier CookMushroom skateboard

CollectiveShades of blue (Year 10)

Collective

Organics (Year 9)

Samson Connolly

Samuel Naylor

Joshua Burling

Noah Woods

Oliver Garvey

Samuel Naylor

Finlay Brophy

Samson Connolly

Xavier Fitzpatrick

Jack Hamilton

Samuel Naylor

Owen

Fallis

Jarran Mitchell-Bathgate

Jack Hamilton

Vaughn Kirby

Owen Fallis

Oliver Garvey

Finlay Brophy

Jarran Mitchell-Bathgate

Samson Connolly

Xavier Fitzpatrick

Matthew Sapienza

Kyan Mathews

TECHNOLOGIES

Woodwork

Daniel Marden

MATHEMATICS

Designing a Roller Coaster

Maths Investigation Designing a Roller Coaster KALEN PINTAUDI YEAR 11

Kalen Pintaudi (Year 11 Maths Methods)

Introduction

Rollercoaster were first invented by LaMarcus Adna Thompson, who was the father of the Gravity Ride, and used wooden tracks for his ride in 1884. The properties roller coasters can be described using the mathematical transformations of polynomials, such as linear lines, quadratics, and cubics. The following design specifications were considered:

1. The first segment of rollercoaster starts at ground level and follows the rule: ℎ = 5���� for the initial 20 horizontal metres. ���� is the height in metres above ground level and ���� is the horizontal distance travelled from the beginning of the ride.

2. The second segment of the rollercoaster extends for the next 6 horizontal metres of the ride and follows the rule: ℎ = ����2 + 45���� 400

3. The rollercoaster must be made up of exactly four (4) separate segments.

4. The additional segments need to be: 1 linear segment, 1 quadratic segment and 2 cubic segments, in any order.

5. The segments must join together as smoothly as possible, to prevent cart derailment

6. The ride is powered to get the cart to the top of the second segment of the roller coaster, after which point the ride is completely gravity driven.

7. The ride must finish at ground level 100 horizontal metres away from the starting point.

8. Due to friction, the maximum rebound height the cart can achieve is reduced along the track (represented by the dotted line in the diagram).

9. To make the ride more fun it needs to have at least three peaks as close as possible to the maximum rebound height.

Segment 1 & 2: Constraints, Design Specifications, Deliverables (Black)

To begin my rollercoaster, I graphed the second, and third constraints, in accordance with the 1st and 2nd design specification, choosing h to be height above ground level (m), and d to be the horizontal distance travelled from (0,0) (m).

The second constraint is a linear segment with a gradient of 5 and domain of {0 ≤ d ≤ 20}, with the third constraint being a quadratic segment horizontally translated to the right by 22.5 meters, then vertically reflected over the x-axis, and finally, vertically translated 106.25 meters up, with a domain of {20 ≤ d ≤ 26}. The point at which they meet is (20,100).

It contains a turning point of (22.5, 106.25)

∴ 5���� = ����2 + 45���� 400

0 = ����2 + 40���� 400 (Using quadratic formula)

���� = (40) ± √402 4( 1)(400) 2( 1)

∴ ���� = 20

���� = 20; ℎ = 5(20)

∴ ℎ = 100

∴ ������������ = (20,100)

Segment 3: Cubic (Green)

To have my cubic meet with the previous segment, I found a dilation factor of 1 13 83593617, which would allow the cubic to meet the previous parabola as smoothly as possible at (26,94)

This meant the root formula of my cubic was: ℎ = 1 13 8 (���� 33.1)2 (���� 51.8) effectively allowing the cubic to plummet to the ground before swiftly recovering and heading back up, to allow for as much entertainment as possible. This means that overall, to transform the cubic I applied a horizontal translation of 33.1 meters right to the parabolic root, with a horizontal translation of 51.8 meters right to the remaining root, whilst also applying both a vertical dilation of 1 13 8 meters, and a vertical reflection over the x-axis.

The general format:

ℎ = ����3 13 8 + 118����2 13 8 4524 77���� 13 8 + 56752 598 13 8

The cubic peaks at a point of (45.567, 70.018) coming close to the maximum rebound height line Although, as I wanted the cubic to flow smoothly onto the fourth segment, I chose to not include it’s second root, making its domain {26 ≤ d ≤ 50.8728061541}, cutting the cubic off at the point (50.87, 21.225) ������������:

2�������� ���������������������������������������� (���������������������������� 2): ℎ = ����2 + 45���� 400

3�������� ����������������������������: ℎ

����2 + 45���� 400 = ����3 13.8 + 118����2 13.8 4524 77���� 13.8 + 56752 598 13.8

0 = ����3 + 131.8����2 5145.77���� + 62272.598

���� ≈ 26 0

����ℎ�������� ���� = 26;

ℎ = 262 + 45(26) 400

ℎ = 494 400

∴ ℎ = 94

∴ ������������ = (26,94)

{72.76532558 ≤ d ≤ 88.990999} To solve for such a point however, I would first need to convert the parabola’s transformation format, to the general format:

ℎ = 0 1����2 17 998���� + 810 8200

������������:

4����ℎ ����������������������������: ℎ = ����3 30 + 187 8����2 30 11621 60999���� 30 + 118742 78 15

5����ℎ ����������������������������: ℎ = 0 1����2 17 998���� + 810 82001

������������ �������� �������������������� �������� ����ℎ��������ℎ ���������������������������� 4 = ���������������������������� 5

∴ ���� 3 30 + 187 8����2 30 11621 60999���� 30 + 118742 78 15 = 0 1����2 17 998���� + 810 82001

0 = ����3 184.8����2 + 11081.66999���� 213160.9597

����ℎ�������� ���� = 72.76533 (���� ≈ 72.77);

ℎ = 0.1(72.76533)2 17.998(72.76533) + 810.82001

ℎ = 30 668926 ∴ ℎ ≈ 30 67

∴ ������������ = (72 77,30 67)

Segment 6: Linear (Blue)

The final segment is a linear function with a gradient of -0.09990009990009985 and a vertical translation up by 9.990009990009984 meters. The formula for the line was; ℎ = 0 09990009990009985���� + 9 990009990009984

To have it start as soon as the parabola ended, it met the parabola at point (88.991, 1.1), and had a domain of {88.990999 ≤ d ≤ 100}, finishing perfectly at 100 meters from the starting point, at (100,0). This was to ensure the rollercoaster would be stopped cleanly by whatever would be used when it reached 100 horizontal meters, and to help the device which would be taking the force of the ride, and attempting to stop and slow it down, as much as possible.

������������:

5����ℎ ����������������������������: ℎ = 0.1����2 17.998���� + 810.82001

6����ℎ ����������������������������: ℎ = 0 099900099900099���� + 9 99000999000998

������������ �������� �������������������� �������� ����ℎ��������ℎ ���������������������������� 5 = ���������������������������� 6

∴ 0 1���� 2 17 998���� + 810 82 = 0 09990009990���� + 9 990009990

0 = 0.1����2 + 17 8980999���� 800 83001

���� = (17.8980999) ± √17.89809992 4( 0.1)( 800.83001) 2( 0 1)

∴ ���� = (88 9910991,0)&(89 99015014,0)

Second point can be discarded, as it comes after the first point. ∴ ���� ≈ (88.991)

When d = 88.991: ℎ = 0 09990009990009985(88 991) + 9 990009990009984

ℎ = 1 0998002

∴ ℎ ≈ 1 1 ∴ ������������ = (88 991,1 1)

Conclusion

In conclusion, I was able to use my knowledge of transforming polynomial functions, especially linear, quadratic, and cubic functions, and form a rollercoaster that is both safe and entertaining. If I were to complete this investigation again, I would use a more advanced method of finding the intersection between segments, such as calculus to find the instantaneous rate of change at the intersecting points.

ENGLISH

A collection of creative writing

Run-Away Bird

ANONYMOUS

YEAR 7

It was my first

And my cousins third

It’s a cruel, arrogant legendary pokemon

But as I knew after two hits it would be gone

I’ve always wanted a galarian bird

When my brother caught one

My anger stirred

Articuno my favourite of the three

My heart dropped like the leaves on a tree

I threw the pokeball

Knowing it would not stay at all

I had my fingers crossed

But once I saw the light

My hope was lost

Just as I thought it was over

I saw a pokeball on my screen

I was surprised, I thought it’d be mean

Although it has a high flee rate

I used a golden razz berry for bait

Then spun the pokeball

Attempting to hit a curveball

I hit the red circle, and it was very exciting for me

But then it broke free

And it would then flee

My anger inside was burning

As I watched it fly

It was very upsetting I almost cried

The birds are rare

That’s what I had learned

And that’s my story

Of the run-away bird

Sleep, the elusive dream.

A peaceful respite from reality’s schemes.

Our eyes, so heavy, shut tight,

We drift off into the world of night.

Our eyelids, a curtain drawn, We step into the realm of dawn.

Our minds, so active, yet at peace,

As we slip into the world we cannot perceive.

Sweet dreams, our mind at rest,

Comfort of sleep, the nights blessed.

Sleep is rest, a calming embrace.

Our minds escape, a happy place.

We enter a world we cannot see.

In sleep, we rest easy.

Sleep

DARCY CLARK

YEAR 7

Fallen into a bed so soft, Pillows fluffy and cleanly washed.

A bed to sleep is like wood to a fire,

Because it’s a bed at night to which we retire.

A realm of silence and unheard words, Of unseen secrets hidden by veil of night.

The moon watches as our minds take flight.

The thoughts of the day, drift off far away,

As nonsensical nonsense fills our dreams.

Until the distant sun rains down in beams...

Yet the peace of mind is not always common,

To some, the concept foreign.

The worries of the day plague the mind, It is sleep, we cannot find.

Unsolved problems soon close in,

A concern that will always win.

As our fears chase slumber away, It is us who will have to pay.

As the unfruitful night soon wears on, All hope of rest is nearly gone. Both sides of the pillow warm, Dawn now begins to form.

Tired, unshut eyes,

Mind restless as it flies.

Body aching,

A tantrum making.

A long day ahead, “5am” the alarm clock read.

Tangled blankets feel all too heavy, Sleepless mind all too messy.

Minutes tick by, taking their while,

Even time, is moving slowly.

But night will come again.

So let us sleep, our minds unchained, Rest unfeigned...

A Life Once Tall TYLER MORRIS

YEAR 7

I remember when life was like a dream, I swayed in the breezy winds.

Critters came,

Climbed in with no shame,

Like the wind beneath my wings.

Ants marched along me, one by one, In search of sweet treats.

Climbing on eaves, And carrying leaves.

Working the ground beneath.

Squirrels danced among my branches, Feasting on my fruitful produce.

The sunset did glisten, A purple/orange ribbon.

Lined by a forest of spruce.

I woke to the golden sent of sap, And birds’ gossip like an alarm. Then humans took that away,

So, I could only pray.

For them to not cause any more harm.

Hibernating animals, woken from their slumber, And birds were forced to migrate.

I sat there alone,

Listening to engines groan.

A miracle is what I await.

The night sky once glittered with constellations, Now I see but a star.

Light beamed from the houses, Which multiplied by the thousands. Every night I dream of somewhere far.

I long to get away from this torture, My heart ached for comfort and joy.

Those heartless trolls,

Have no idea of the tolls,

They take on nature with their new toys.

The hiss of machines covered sounds of nature, And peace seemed like a distant melody. They hacked my forest down, Which was my hometown, And now I stand, “The last tree”.

I am glad I lived such a great life, For I did stand tall and proud. Then humans whacked, And sliced and hacked.

So now I’ve fallen, forever bowed.

I wish I could go back,

To the days I now recall.

Before the people arrived, And ruined my life, It was A Life Once Tall.

They tore up my land, acre by acre, Crushing shrubs to make way for roads.

A blanket of smoke,

Make you cough, splatter, choke.

As my hope for happiness erodes.

Place HAMISH PRESTON

YEAR 7

Vibrant colours of coral that glimmers in the piercing sun light Organisations of fish swiftfully gliding below me

Rumbles of the sapphire waves as they crumble ubiquitously

Whiffs of smooth salt infused air climbing up my nose

A song of whistles as they fly over the sand

The calming feel of mellow blue water encasing my body

Strong bitter tastes from never ending amounts of salt

This is the paradise of Exmouth

The Poor Old Tree

TOBY ROMANIELLO

YEAR 7

Creative Composition

The Greatest Prank in the World HARIS FALLAH YEAR 8

The eldest, sneaking through the dark hallway towards the prey. Lights off, quiet creaking. Slowly, but steadily. A blue plastic balloon filled to the brim with water. Knees cracking with mischief. Balancing on toes only. Nearly up to the door, the handle, the greatest prank in the world is about to commence.

Lightly lit room at the end of a hallway, a young girl sat on a pinkish flowery bed. Black wires leading up to speakers on her head. She was in a state of tranquility, eyes closed, resting from a long day of school. Little did she know her day was about to get a lot ‘better’.

The hand rested on the handle, ready to push down in rascality. Heart whacking with excitement, senses pushed to their limitless potential. The steel handle pushed down until a click was heard. Wooden door. Quietly swished open. Silence. A sneer appeared on his face. Down. All fours. Crawling. Balloon in right hand with a pin in left. Eyes sparkling with a spark.

Bass thumping in both ears. A silent off-tune hum. A feeling vibrated through her bones as if something wasn’t right. Headphones slowly lifted off, she noticed everything was silent. Cicadas, Dad’s TV, and especially my brother’s snoring. It’s as if everything, non-living and living, was waiting for something. What was this something? She was about to find out.

The eldest, back cracking, knees becoming straight, he was standing up. Balloon swishing with liquid. His ears roared. He is so close. Everything was slow-mo. Stomach churning, the balloon was dropped, but not on the girl, on the floor. The greatest prank was fluked.

A scream was heard as the girl was shaken like a leaf. She turned her head over the edge of the bed. There he was, staring into nothingness, all that effort and hard work. All gone.

Opinion Piece

Save our Sharks

RYKER RIJS

YEAR 8

If you were to walk into any classroom in Australia, chances are, you would hear something or other about why we need to save our environment. It seems to be a government requirement to educate the youth about the helpless animals that are being constantly killed across the world. This is why after learning of the importance of sharks in several ecosystems, I was shocked to find that Australia is one of the only nations that still permits shark culling. How can we condone this crime? Australians seem to think that the murder of countless marine animals every year is necessary for our survival. This fallacy causes a chain reaction of consequences in the depths of our oceans.

Shark culling is the act of the government deliberately capturing and killing sharks to supposedly limit coastal dangers for civilians, and the negative results of shark culling is immeasurable when compared to the benefits. In defense of the government, sharks are the cause of 70 global deaths per year, however slaughtering thousands of sharks each year is an irrational response to these incidents. Shark culling has been proven to do nothing for our safety, which is why it has been reduced to just a few countries, Australia being one of them.

So, I believe instead of killing sharks we must protect them.

Shark culling has been proven time and time again to do nothing for our safety. The Humane Society International concluded that shark culling programs implemented by the Queensland Department of Agriculture and Fisheries do not improve the wellbeing of civilians and provide a false sense of safety to locals. Evidence of this statement is shown by the rate of shark related incidents in Australia, that has risen to 12.5, from a mere 6.5 in the 1990s, despite an increase in culling. The RSPCA states “The available evidence does not convincingly support the claim that killing sharks will reduce the risk to public safety.” They believe that there are much more humane and effective ways such as tagging and drone use, that will limit how close sharks get to our beaches.

As well as being ineffective, shark culling has also proved to damage hundreds of ecosystems in the depths of our ocean. By removing sharks, we are killing marine life that thrives on sharks’ survival. When sharks eat their prey, they balance the population of thousands of fish, not allowing for overgrowth that results in hundreds of other species dying. When we cull sharks, it affects the whole ocean. As Marine Biologist Professor Robert Day says, “The top predators in any ecosystem are very important because they decide on whether other creatures become numerous or not. If there is a lack of sharks, then fish and other ocean creatures would become too numerous and eat too many smaller creatures and so on, meaning that the whole ecosystem changes massively.”

Research conducted by the National Ocean Service of Australia, concludes most sharks are not dangerous to humans. Contrary to popular belief, a shark’s diet will only consist of smaller fish, and will ignore most humans. As well as the thousands of years where sharks adapted to hunt fish, it is highly inefficient for sharks to hunt and kill humans. Humans are facing an irrational fear of sharks, that causes increasingly selfish acts of murder. We must stand against and defend these sharks, who are only defending their home.

Furthermore, if humans want to change their ways to help the environment, the first step should be to save our oceans. Like turtles, jellyfish and seals, sharks are just living in their habitat and must be cared for, so abolishing shark culling in Australia is a necessity. Rather than waiting and allowing the depths of our ocean to suffer, we must change our ways, we must act now, and we must save our sharks.

Fearing sharks is an expected and understandable trait of humans, however it is needed for us to come move past our dark history and look to appreciate and protect sharks. Sharks are one of the many species that have thrived without us, and we need to grow into the mindset that they are just as valuable and important as any other animal. So rather than ending another species, it’s time we put down the net and save our sharks.

Opinion Piece

We should Spend More Money on Space LUKA

RISTIC YEAR 8

Imagine you are five years old. You feel something flapping about around your ankle, and lean down and carefully secure the Velcro strap on your shoe. Believe it or not, if not for space travel, Velcro wouldn’t exist. It’s not just Velcro either. Prosthetic limbs, wireless headphones, and memory foam were all invented to be used in space. Even to this day, space research continues to help society. If we want to continue making these amazing discoveries, more money needs to be dedicated towards space agencies.

In the 2023 budget, the Australian Space Agency was given only $38.5 million. This is compared to NASA’s $32.41 billion. In fact, every country with a space agency spends much more money than Australia does. This needs to change.

If we want to continue research for space, we need more money to be dedicated.

Space travel has spawned a whole host of discoveries in lots of fields. Some of them even save lives, such as the LVAD. An LVAD stands for a Left Ventricle Assist Device. They basically take over the role of the heart and pump blood around the body. This can give patients with end-stage terminal heart diseases time to find a donor. An LVAD can help a person’s heart continue for up to six years without a full transplant. Every year 8,000 LVAD’s are implanted and save many lives. This is only one example of space technology, proving that it can be vital and even save lives.

In addition to this, space technology is not only used in medicine either. Hundreds of everyday objects originated in space labs, objects that we use every day. In 2022, the mattress industry made US$50 billion. The main material used in mattresses is memory foam. Wireless headphones were also invented by NASA to stop the astronauts getting tangled up in space. IN 2021, the industry produced over 540 million units and generated over US$47 billion. These inventions, and along with others, generate hundreds of billions of dollars a year in revenue. Space research can not only help space missions, but it can also be a form of investment for governments.

Furthermore, there is a third and more important reason to continue funding space agencies: satellites. Since the first satellite launched in 1957, we have relied more and more upon them. Satellites keep us safe, provide internet in remote parts of the world, and help detect world threats. Almost everything we do on a daily basis relies on these critical pieces

of technology. GPS, the internet, communication, predict weather patterns, measuring the atmosphere, astronomy and hundreds of other functions are all possible because of satellites. In fact, satellites can also help us monitor climate change, says Jordan Gerth, a physics scientist at NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration ). Jordan says “...by continuing to watch geostationary satellites, we’re now getting to the point where we can have a very robust, nearly 50-year look at how the atmosphere is changing.” These reasons, and others, provide a concrete base showing how important space exploration really is.

By investing in the space industry, the future could hold discoveries such as more efficient cars and advances on climate change. We have the power to advance space technology further than it has ever gone, and we need to seize this opportunity now. Without maintenance, satellites will cease to work as effectively as they once did, leading to drawback in multiple fields.

In conclusion, space technology helps the economy, saves lives and provides a critical piece of our daily lives. It helps us put satellites in orbit, and spins off inventions that benefit the world. If we want to continue to reap the benefits of space exploration, we need to take it seriously.

Blurred Line XANDER BURLING YEAR 9 Creative Composition

The school corridors hummed with life, as though they were sentient beings, pulsing with an energy all their own. They stretched and yawned, embracing the students who passed through them with open arms, their very essence teeming with vitality and possibility.

And then there was Jax, a boy of only fourteen, yet possessing a certain je ne sais quoi that caught the eye of all who passed by. His flaxen hair, tousled and wild, seemed to radiate a vibrant energy that was impossible to ignore, like a halo of light around his face. It mirrored his lively personality and youthful spirit, embodying a sense of freedom and spontaneity that was both refreshing and invigorating.

When Jax smiled, it was like the sun had descended upon the earth, bathing everything around him in a warm and joyous glow. His tie hung loosely around his neck, a symbol of the formality that weighed upon him, while his white shirt strained against his adolescent physique.

Only he knew the weight of the rock he carried inside. He had been plagued by strange dreams for weeks, dreams that seemed to pull him into a world beyond his own. Each night, he would find himself transported to a dark and desolate landscape, filled with ominous shadows and eerie whispers that seemed to echo in his mind long after he had woken up. The line between his dreams and reality was blurring, and Jax feared that he was losing his grip on both.

Today as he woke, the silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the occasional rustling of the curtains or the mournful sigh of the wind outside. It was as if the room had lost its voice, and with it, any hope of joy or laughter.

The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to be alive, creeping towards him like insidious tendrils, threatening to envelop him in their darkness. The floorboards groaned and creaked, a chorus of lost souls begging for release from the melancholy prison they had been trapped in. It was a cruel and unforgiving place, but he knew that he had to keep fighting, to keep struggling against the darkness until he found a way out.

Jax’s therapist had suggested to “think happy thoughts,” yet the burden of his mother’s demise weighed heavily upon his psyche. Although he tried, the once-vibrant sky mirrored the bleakness of his heart, drained of colour and life as if the world had been stripped of all its joy in one fell swoop.

Despite his attempts to escape into the physical realm by going for a run, the memories of his mother persisted: the peel of her laughter, her soft humming while cooking, the smell of her perfume. It was all a cruel trick, an illusion of happiness snatched away too soon.

The next morning, Jax’s phone began to sing out its mournful tune, reminding him again of love now lost. His eyes slid around the room, seeking refuge from the harsh reality that awaited him. But there was no escape. He was trapped in this room, a prisoner of his own sorrow, with nothing but memories of his loving mother to keep him company.

The phone continued to ring, a taunting reminder of the past, of what once was and could never be again. The walls, once painted a warm and inviting shade, now seemed to mock him with their false cheerfulness. The bed, once a haven of comfort, now felt like a coffin, a constant reminder of the finality of life.

He reached out, to pick up the phone and hear her voice once again, but he knew that it was impossible. His mother was gone, taken from him too soon, and all that remained was the cold, hard truth of her absence.

He did not answer.

Hours of nothingness flew past, then something inside him made him place his feet on the floor and he stumbled out towards the tree. As Jax inched closer, he could see her silhouette against the setting sun, and he felt a pang of hope wash over him. But as he got closer, he realized that it wasn’t her, just the way the light was hitting the tree’s branches and leaves.

Jax sat under the Mulberry tree, the only place he felt a sense of calm. The tree’s sweet fragrance mixed with the grassy smell of the lawn created a soothing aroma that filled his lungs. As he looked up, the leaves danced in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on his face. It was a small moment of peace in his dark world.

He remembered how she used to point out the delicate green leaves that fluttered and whispered to each other in the breeze, and how they would uncover the tiny, juicy berries together. The memory of her gentle voice and loving touch brought a glimmer of light into the darkness that had been consuming him. Jax softly whispered “I miss you mum.” Then he heard her voice, as if she were right there beside him. “Jax, my lovely, don’t be afraid,” she said. “You have the strength to face whatever comes your way. You have everything you need inside of you. Please pick me some berries.”

With a sudden burst of energy, Jax began to pluck the ripe berries from the tree, his fingers moving quickly and purposefully. The soft thud of the berries hitting the ground echoed in his ears, each one a reminder of the love that he and his mother had shared. Jax popped the perfectly plump, purple berry into his mouth, a burst of sweet nectar flooded his taste buds, making his eyes widen in delight. The berry’s firm skin yielded easily to his teeth, giving way to a succulent, juicy center that exploded with flavor.

As he worked, Jax felt a sense of peace wash over him, the weight of his grief slowly lifting. The shadows that had once crept towards him now seemed to retreat, defeated by the simple act of picking and eating berries.

As he continued methodically picking and devouring the bewitching berries beneath the verdant canopy of the tree, the world bloomed around him like a springtime garden, bursting with new life. The trill of birdsong filled the air, like a symphony of tiny instruments, while the soft whisper of the breeze played a tender melody, soothing and sweet as his mother’s lullabies.

Here, in this place of vibrant possibility, the tree offered solace and sanctuary from the darkness that had haunted him, a respite from the agony that had consumed him. In the embrace of its leafy boughs, he felt himself grow calm and centered, as if he were a sapling rooted in the earth, connected to all things.

Contemplating he realised that life was not only about enduring the pain and darkness, but also about finding the pockets of light and beauty that make it all worthwhile. He understood that the tree was not just a place of refuge, but a symbol of resilience and endurance, standing tall and strong even in the face of adversity. And so, he made a silent promise to himself to continue seeking out these moments of light and to never lose hope, for even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of hope waiting to be found.

Nova HEATH JOHNSON YEAR 9 Creative Composition

Ashton Nova was your stereotypical high school, ‘Mr. Perfect.’ Standing at an imposing 5’9, he had eyes as blue as the ocean, sandy blond hair framing his chiselled jawline, and shoulders so broad that he looked like an Olympic swimmer. Ashton had it all. He had striking looks, impressive grades, and (what appeared to be) the perfect family to back it all up. Ashton was even comical. Everyone admired his quick-witted and edgy humour.

On a Tuesday, in Year 9 English class, Ashton told a joke that had the whole class in hysterics. He turned to Tim and said that Tim Fowler’s dad still played hide and seek. This was a rude reference to Tim’s dad not being present in his life. Tim was an awkward shy kid that often kept to himself. Rumours had recently spread regarding his parent’s divorce and how his father had estranged himself from the family. Ashton wasn’t one to intentionally upset others, although he could be naïve to the difficulties that others experienced that he did not.

Wednesday, the following week, Ashton arrived home from school to the familiar sound of his parent’s arguing in the lounge room. This had been going on for months. As usual, he crept past; catching only a few words before entering his room to submerge into his bed. Ashton had heard his mother repeatedly mentioning a woman from Dad’s work. Ashton often brushed these arguments off and considered them usual behaviour for all parents. Ashton continued his usual routine of watching his favourite YouTuber, Big Beast. Ashton cranked the volume, avoiding the negativity.

Ashton laughed so hard; it was one of the funniest videos he had ever seen, temporarily drifting off from the drama in the other room. The front door slammed and shook the house, followed by the screech of the car reversing out of the garage at great pace. His sanctuary was suddenly interrupted. Ashton’s younger sister, Ava, burst open his door and pleaded for Ashton’s help. She was normally quiet and kept to herself, but the terrified look on her face told Ashton that something was severely wrong.

“You need to get out here now!” Ava screamed.

“What is it?” Ashton sat up and looked at his sister distressed.

“Dad just left the house and Mum is crying in the living room, I don’t know what to do!” Ava begged.

Ashton leaped out of bed and sprinted down into the living room only to see his distraught mother with her head in her hands weeping on the couch.

Ashton reached for his mother’s hand. “Mum, what’s wrong, where is Dad?” Ashton inquired, he could hear every second of the clock ticking, waiting for a response.

Her face was red as a tomato and her eyes were puffy. “He’s gone Ashton,” she spluttered through her tears.

“What do you mean Mum,” Ashton panicked.

“He’s not coming back; your father has left,” Ashton stood helpless in shock.

He ran to his room and slammed the door. My parents love each other, right? Dad is just going out for drinks, right? Ashton repeated this to himself in desperation, but deep down he was scared.

He awoke with dark circles around his eyes and a pounding headache. Ashton hopefully peeked into his parent’s room but all he saw was his mum sleeping alone. While he felt sick in his stomach, he forced himself to soldier on to school, not wanting to face the drama at home, and wanting to continue the illusion of his perfect world.

“Hey Ashton,” Jake said running up to him after 5th period, “You all good, you seem like a zombie.”

Ashton knew he shouldn’t spill anything, but he wanted to feel supported by someone. He struggled to keep it in all day, so he told him about the arguments, it all spewed out like a vomit he couldn’t control. Jake was his best friend; he wouldn’t tell anyone. Would he?

“Oh,” Jake responded. “I’m sorry to hear that, if you need anything you can talk to me, bro.” He sped off, trying to get to the sixth period before the bell.

Ashton hopped off the bus, dreading what was waiting for him at home, but hoping everything had reset to normal. He walked into the garage, expecting to see his father’s car parked inside. There was no car. His mother was slouched on the couch, the bright TV illuminating her depressed demeanour. Her face was puffy and bloated. He initiated his usual routine of heading to his room but then interrupted himself. He turned and approached his mother.

“Hey, Mom?” Ashton questioned hesitantly. “Why isn’t Dad home yet?”

Her face increased in its redness. She let out a sigh; not looking forward to this conversation.

“Sit down Ash,” his mum commanded. “Your father and I, um, are not going to see each other anymore. We don’t love each other.” A tear trickled down her face. He was petrified of losing his normal life.

“He started seeing someone else, he ch-cheated” Mum wobbled.

Ashton marched to his room and flung the door shut. He didn’t understand why his father left. Why hasn’t he come home? His breath became more rapid, his heartbeat was fast; he was panicking. He sunk into his bed, stressed, and confused.

As the Sun rose, so did Ashton, feeling like he had been punched in the stomach. He dressed, ate, hugged his sister, and made his way to school. Upon arrival, the student’s eyes were glaring at him, watching to see his next move. He could hear people whispering behind his back. Ashton peered to his left and saw Cooper striding towards him.

“Hey, can you and your dad pick me up after school today? Oh, wait. Silly me, he left you.” Cooper joked.

Rage built up in Ashton’s chest. Thoughts rushed into Ashton’s head about how Cooper could know, and how that meant that everyone was whispering about him. He had told one person about his family’s situation.

Ashton flew down the hall, pushing past teachers and students; eyes searching for Jake. He zeroed in on his target at his locker.

“HEY JAKE!” Ashton roared, “WHAT THE HELL!” Ashton pushed Jake over in rage. He felt a rush of adrenalin coursing through him, a new feeling. His hand curled into a fist with his nails digging into his palms. Ashton swung but was interrupted by a cold hand grabbing onto his.

“Principal’s office now!” Mr. Sullivan squawked.

Ashton stormed off, disbelief in his actions let alone Jake’s; he was never aggressive like that. He sat next to a boy on the chairs outside of the principal’s office. He looked closely and recognised that it was Tim Fowler. The kid that he had picked on for losing his father. Ashton felt guilt in his stomach.

“Hey Tim...” Ashton started.

“What do you want?” Tim snapped.

“I’m sorry for picking on you last week about your parent’s divorce, it was wrong and not cool.” Ashton apologized, clearer now of Tim’s suffering.

“Oh, now you’re sorry because it happened to you!” Tim coldly turned his back to Ashton.

Ashton felt alone and isolated like no one cared about him. He conceded and dropped his head in shame.

Tim noticed this and recognised that he was looking in a mirror. Tim returned to face Ashton and begrudgingly responded.

“Hey look, I know what you are going through, it’s not ideal or perfect, but it does get easier. I appreciate your apology.”

Tim offered to catch up that afternoon to resonate and reflect on what was occurring for Ashton. Ashton accepted and a glimmer of hope appeared.

Ashton now realised how naïve he was, living in a perfect world, other people had been in his situation all the time before this. He now saw himself previously as faulty, thinking of himself and his family as perfect and others’ pain worthy of humour. He pledged to improve.

Dear Rottnest,

Dear Rottnest JACK DUDLEY

YEAR 9 Open Letter

As I sit there on the side of my dinghy, bobbing up and down, the sun is warm on my back in the howling sea breeze. As I slip over the side, I feel the cool water slither up my wetsuit as bubbles consume me. Under the water, it is calm like the centre of a cyclone. Life surrounds me. Fish dart here and there. To my right there is a large cave. I dive down, my weighted belt allowing me to fall with ease. As I peer into the cave, I spot a large fish with a pattern across its body like food colouring dropped into water. I swim further into the cave, closer to the fish. It just sits there with its blood orange lip plump like a pin cushion. I look over to my right and I spy two long, red antlers that lead back to a western rock lobster, its eyes like midnight, its body motionless. With my lungs burning I shuffle my way backwards out of the cave. Then, as I break the surface, I feel the cool breeze rush across my face and know that you are my Rottnest.

After being submerged for hours, swimming, floating, snorkelling, stand-up-paddle-boarding, there is something very special about biting into that hot pub chip, letting it dissolve in my mouth.

Salty. Sweet. Stodgy.

After over-indulging in this experience, I suddenly realise that I am about to burst. As my family likes to put it, I have a ‘food baby’.

That is really what makes you special to me. Family. You provide the opportunity for us to spend days on top of one another on our boat, experiencing the majesties of nature together and then sitting down to quick pantry meals before falling into sleeps, deeper than Snow White’s.

What makes a holiday special to me is sharing new experiences with those I love. That’s what makes a holiday significant.

You have given me the opportunity to learn life skills like how to fish and care for you from my parents. You have given me the opportunity to spend time with my brother and parents. You have given me the opportunity to make more memories than many people could in a lifetime.

Up until a few days ago I was oblivious to the fact that you (a place I have visited more times than I can recall) have a much darker history than I had ever imagined.

For Whadjuk Nyoongar people, you are place of great importance. Wadjemup (Rottnest Island) was a meeting place and used for ceremonies. A Walyelup Dreaming story tells of how an ancestral crocodile travelled down from the north, causing disturbances and floods, creating Wadjemup, yourself, 6,500 years ago. But from 1838 to 1931, you became a prison. A place of isolation, trapping those whose ancestors respected you for hundreds of years and separating them from those who matter to them the most, who needed guidance the most.

I imagine those accused of a crime they didn’t commit, on a boat making its way to the island they’ve heard about for the longest time in their family’s stories. The boat bobs up and down in the harsh chop created by the howling sea breeze, waves smashing against the timber hull. After many hours, they reach the island. As they walk down the rocky road, chains clinking as shackles rub at their neck and ankles, the harsh, exposed limestone underfoot rips into their feet. Then they see their new home for the years to come.

On the outside, a long white veranda runs along the front of the building, only breaking where a large iron gate, hugged tightly by a limestone arch resides in its shame. As they step inside, they look around: walls on every side, no view...no way out. As weeks go by, their friends and even their family die of diseases unknown to them. Then in 1833, 60 of their inmates die from influenza because of unsanitary, cramped conditions. appropriately sombre tone

For nearly all the prisoners sent to the Rottnest Island Establishment, this was their reality.

You were their Rottnest.

Those prisoners sent away to you did not get to experience time with their family. They didn’t get to teach their family life skills. They didn’t get to make the memories they were supposed to. Like I had the opportunity to.

For many of us, we often forget to recognise the significance of the places we visit for not only ourselves but other groups and cultures as well. You are just one of the many examples where history is not recognised and shared enough.

So next time someone visits a place as special and significant as you, they must stop to learn about its history, or history will become legend, legend become myth, myth, a memory forgotten.

Now that I know your history, my respect for those who suffered and for the opportunities I have been granted will forever be greater.

Forever, you are my Rottnest,

Jack Dudley

Open Letter

Vaping: A Nicotine Epidemic

OLIVER RENOUF-SANDERSON

YEAR 9

Dear Mr Albanese

It’s impossible to ignore. It’s in our schools. It’s in our homes. It’s in the lungs of teens all over Australia. Vaping, a product that many teens see as a fun, flavourful way to get a nicotine-fueled buzz that’s secretly destroying their lungs and lives. As a teenager, I’m exposed to vaping every day. If it’s not people on the streets, it’s the nicotine detectors in the school bathrooms, a constant reminder of the infestation that is sweeping through Australia. New vape shops are showing up on every street corner, and no less than three vape shops can be found within walking distance of my school, CBC Fremantle. A black market of sellers and buyers has formed around vapes, forcing teens and kids into a nicotine addiction and acting as a gateway to dangerous drugs. If action isn’t taken to ban vaping soon, Australia will see a new scourge of addicts, and a whole generation relying on nicotine to function.

Evidence that vaping is detrimental to a growing teen’s health is undeniable. Ask anyone who has ever felt the withdrawal symptoms of Nicotine and they’ll tell you all the negatives. Now times that by 20, and you have the effects of what 14% of Australian teens experience without their vape, with Truth Initiative claiming that “one JUUL e-cigarette product contains 20 times more nicotine than a cigarette”. This means that a constant supply of vaping products to avoid the symptoms of a nicotine withdrawal. These symptoms include anxiety, irritability, restlessness, hunger, anger, and depression, making it impossible for teens to concentrate for schoolwork or sport. Along with this, the American Lung Association confirms that e-cigarettes can also “contain harmful chemicals, such as aldehydes, which can cause lung and heart disease”. Is this really what the Australian Government wants for the next generation? Health complications and painful conditions that ruin lives and break apart families?

A week ago, I read a news article from The Age about a five-year-old boy being hospitalised after vaping with his brother and a seven-year-old classmate. The vape was taken by the seven-year-old, who said that it “tasted like grapes” while offering it to his peers. This article shows the scale of the problem with vape marketing, with sweet flavours, such as “Vape Pancake”. Ever since the Tobacco Advertising Prohibition Act of 1992, tobacco advertising and sponsorship was banned. So why is it that vape products can get away with marketing to children? Imagine, for a minute, if the Australian government was to step in, passing law to ban bright colours, sweet flavours, and cartoonish characters from vape packaging. As if by magic, vaping would suddenly lose its appeal in a large majority of the Australian youth, preventing teens from becoming addicted before they even realise, preventing their lungs from becoming weakened, preventing the course of their lives being altered into a state of reliance on nicotine.

While a counter argument that is proposed for vaping is that it is “safer” or “healthier” than smoking, lung cancer surgeon Doctor Stephen Broderick claims otherwise. In fact, “both smoking and vaping will affect the health of a teen in an extremely negative way”, with vaping being a cause of a horrific disease known as Popcorn Lung. The disease gets its name from a popcorn factory, in which workers started getting the disease as a result of inhaling a chemical called diacetyl. Popcorn Lung causes irreversible damage in the lungs, causing scar tissue to build up and block your airways. Unfortunately for teens with a vape addiction, diacetyl is found in different vape liquids to improve flavour. A teenager in Canada even needed to be hospitalised and placed on a ventilator, due to his vaping addiction, with doctors fearing that he would need a lung transplant. Even four months after he was discharged from hospital, he still has trouble breathing. The Morrison government spent far too long beating around the bush, it’s time for the Albanese government to step up before these cases become common in Australia.

High school is a tough time for many kids. Homework and schoolwork and essays and assignments and tests, as well as being a time of growth where many kids are still figuring out who they want to be. Teens turn to vapes, expecting an escape from reality through nicotine. Australia isn’t alone in this, according to teen mental health expert Steven Zauderer, “2.14 million American high school reported that they frequently use e-cigarettes”, while The Guardian has found that “out of all 15-year-old girls from the UK, 1 in 5 vape regularly”. JUUL created the first disposable vape in 2015. Since then, vaping has spread across the world, poisoning the youth as new types of unregulated vapes, such as pens and mods, flood the black market. Enough is enough! When I entered high school, my eyes were opened to this issue. I realised that vaping is a gateway drug to further addiction, and that the issue of teen vaping is like an iceberg. Much of the problem lies beneath the surface, in the murky, filthy waters of drug reliance. Every day that I make my walk to school, passing by vapers and vape shops alike, I think of a world void of nicotine. A world where my school doesn’t need to spend money on nicotine detectors. A world where teens are safe from vaping and other harmful drugs. It’s your responsibility as the leader of Australia to make that world a reality.

Yours concerningly,

Ollie

Creative Non-Fiction

Conquering the Wake: A Thrilling Adventure

BLAYD MCMILLAN YEAR 10

The sun blazed overhead, creating a dazzling reflection on the water as I prepared for an exciting adventure. Strapping on my wakeboard, I felt a surge of excitement, eager to conquer the wild wake that lay ahead. This serene lake, nestled among beautiful hills, served as my sanctuary, a place where I could escape from the worries of the world and immerse myself in thrilling experiences.

As I dived into the refreshing water, a rush of sensations enveloped me. The boat’s engine roared to life, its deep rumble resonating in the air. The crisp breeze carried the invigorating scents of fuel, awakening my senses. Each breath filled me with a potent mix of freedom and possibility. Emerging from the water, I could feel the weight of the wakeboard beneath my feet, reminding me of the exhilarating journey that awaited.

The vibrations from the boat’s power travelled up my legs, forging a harmonious connection between myself and the water. It was a dance of touch, a partnership between human and machine. With the boat propelling forward, the wind whipped through my hair, playfully tousling it in a frenzy. The rush of air against my face was both invigorating and humbling, serving as a reminder of nature’s immense force. It carried with it the scents of sun-kissed skin, fresh water, and the promise of adventure in the distance.

As I carved through the water, ephemeral trails formed behind me. Sprays of droplets burst into the air, resembling glistening diamonds that sparkled under the radiant sun. Some of the droplets landed on my face, their cool touch awakening my senses and quenching my thirst for excitement. The world transformed into a vibrant collage, a limitless blue sky, lush green hills, and ever-changing waves beneath me. It was a visual symphony, a breathtaking spectacle etching itself into my memory.

In a daring moment, I aimed to conquer a colossal wake, a towering wall of water. With determination, I launched myself into

the air, feeling weightless and liberated. Time seemed to pause as I beheld the mesmerizing panorama beneath me. However, fate had different plans in store. Gravity, unyielding, brought me crashing back down. A searing pain shot through my lower back, surging through every nerve. I struggled to comprehend the magnitude of my misfortune, caught in a state of disbelief.

Rescue arrived promptly; their faces etched with concern. They helped me onto the boat, and as I pieced myself together, the memory of that fateful day—the heights I soared and the crushing fall—became an integral part of who I am. It spoke of my passion and unyielding spirit, motivating me to conquer any challenge that came my way. Scarred but stronger.

Song Lyrics

Absurd (L’Etranger)

JOHN TAYAG

YEAR 11

[Verse 1]

Welcome to the show (enjoy your stay)

A circus full of clowns (ha ha ha ha)

Facades mask their face every single day

Can’t stand being around these fakes

I never had much to say

So I keep quiet

I’m so tired of it

[Chorus]

They got me pretty absurd

They got me pretty absurd

Lies blind truth they cover your eyes

Habits, goals, they all fog up your minds

Can’t see straight, Sun’s burning my eyes

This is absurd

[Bridge]

Have you no hope at all? And do you really live with the thought that when you die, you die, and nothing remains?

Yes [Chorus]

They got me pretty absurd

Lies blind truth they cover your eyes

Habits, goals, they all fog up your minds

Can’t see straight, Sun’s burning my eyes

This is absurd

Lies blind truth they cover your eyes

Habits, goals, they all fog up your minds

Can’t see straight, Sun’s stabbing my eyes

L’ étranger

Heh, that was strange

Short Story

Transcendence MICAH RENTON YEAR 11

Minutes to hours, and hours to a blur of ceaseless scrolling – a sheath of comfort that engulfed Olivia. She rhythmically moved her thumb up, and down, mindlessly enthralled by the colorful, and captivating content that played before her eyes. Time had lost its meaning.

To her vexation, a gentle rain began to serenade her indolence, disturbing the womb-like void of silence that she had grown accustomed to. The tinkling sound intensified as the first pearls of rain fell - a sound akin the glassy clinking of a champagne flute, which evolved into a ‘phut-phut-phut’ that ripen nuts make when they hit the ground.

As Olivia begrudgingly plugged her headphones in to drown out the monotonous pitter-patter, a sudden vociferous bang roared from outside. She shuddered, as if a volt of electricity had coursed through her veins, and instinctively curled up. Eventually, she drew the courage to drag herself out of bed and made her way outside to investigate.

She noticed in the distance, the source of the loud bang – a tree had collapsed amidst all the chaos. Relieved, she turned to head back inside, but the sweet, hickory scent of the sturdy oak trees mesmerized her.

The raindrops were like soft whispers from the sky, brushing against her skin with a delicate touch. She marveled at the sensation, each droplet, a cool, refreshing kiss that caressed her cheeks, her arms, and her hair. It painted her clothes with dark splotches, adorning her skin with tiny jewels. She closed her eyes and twirled around – her laughter mixing with the mellifluous sound of rain drops hitting the ground.

As the rain continued to soak her skin, Olivia opened her eyes, and in the hazy curtain of the water, she saw the world anew. A teardrop silver, flat metal disc emerged in the distance. A broad span of Tuscany-blue sky was splashed above it. The visage of the lake was glassy and tranquil; a portal of limitlessness, flanked by an avenue of cherry blossom trees, embellished with ivory flowers.

As the rain began to die down, the sun’s golden rays tickled Olivia’s freckled nose as it peaked above the picturesque mountains. Her amber eyes flashed streaks of gold, decorating her pale, soft skin. The gentle breeze flickered her strawberryblonde hair, which dangled in tiny twists. In a trance, Olivia sat down on a mossy rock and gazed at the mirror-like surface of the water, hypnotized by the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore. Her heart slowed, as she felt a profound sense of calm.

The water’s edge crept closer to Olivia, inviting her to explore its esoteric nature. Fueled by curiosity, she lowered her toes, disturbing the lake’s glassy facet. The icy chill ventured up her legs, slowly creeping up her spine until her entire body convulsed in a violent shiver. But, with each passing moment, the pain transformed into a strange, invigorating numbness. There was something therapeutic about the intensity of the cold, she thought, as if it had awakened a part of her that had long been dormant.

The sun slowly sunk into the horizon, melting like butter, painting the sky with a pink and orange wash, as its golden rays diminished. Olivia watched as the ripples from her movements spread across the lake, distorting the reflection of the moon.

The world around her seemed to fade away as she lost herself in the beauty of the lake. 26 years, she had lived here –graduated from high school, got her first job, learnt to drive - and not once had she stopped to appreciate the beauty of her surroundings.

A black navy gradient was the backdrop for a full moon; the night sky so clear you could almost see every crater. Sprinkled behind it was a multitude of little white pin pricks. Olivia remained by the lake, enveloped by its tranquility. She had discovered a moment of divinity in the heart of nature, a sanctuary of stillness, offering solace and respite from the clamor digital world.

Short Story

The Deluge

OWEN GOODWIN

YEAR 12

The sea broiled with fury. Monstrous waves rolled into the side of the boat, shaking it from side to side like a blender. Rain poured from the heavens as if God were trying to smite those below. The wind howled like a pack of wolves and icy water sprayed over the deck, ready to snatch any man who dared challenge the storm’s wrath. Fishermen swarmed across the helm, desperately trying to right the small fishing trawler’s course. Ironically dubbed “Lady Luck”, the unfortunate vessel was tossed around effortlessly, its bright red hull a target for the raging ocean.

This is where Mako found himself – being hurled around, narrowly avoiding being swept overboard into a whirlpool of foam. Water pelted his jacket, little gunshots across his back. His red hat threatened to fly off into the relentless gale, and his oversized boots were becoming filled with water. Mako frantically attempted to tie down the flailing nets – but he’d have more luck wrestling a bear. Ropes flung themselves around with the wind, actively fighting Mako’s efforts to subdue them. Using all the strength he had, Mako grabbed the soaking threads of the net and pinned it to the deck. All he had to do now was tie the net down to the cleat. He inched along the wooden planks on his knees, rolling with the boat beneath him. Soaked from head to toe, he reached out his hand to the fuzzy outline of the cleat...

Boom.

Mako’s world tipped on its axis. The sky became the sea and the sea became the sky. He was weightless, a free spirit, ascending, ascending, ascending.

Falling, falling, falling.

Smack.

Darkness. A ringing. Where was he? Mako wasn’t sure. All he knew was he was wet. Why was he wet? Mako wasn’t sure. His name sounded softly in the distance – why was his name sounding? Mako, Mako. Mako.

“Mako!”

Mako’s eyes shot open with a jolt. Coughing and spluttering like a fish out of water, he sat up.

“You alright mate?”

An outstretched tan hand appeared – covered in sores and calluses, the man it belonged to wasn’t far behind.

“Ike,” Mako said, taking the hand and getting pulled to his feet.

Ike was not a big man. He, in fact, was a very small man. But after meeting Ike, you’d swear he was a giant. A great booming laugh paired with a larger-than-life personality made him an exceptional crewmate, and an even better friend. Ike had tanned, leathery skin and small brown eyes that were sunk into a mass of crinkles, a result of constant grinning. His pearly white teeth shone brightly against his dark skin when he smiled. But Ike wasn’t smiling now.

“You scared me there, mate,” Ike said concernedly. “That wave sent you flying.”

“I’m alright,” Mako replied.

Ike glanced towards the hostile storm clouds. “Let me tell you, I’ve never seen a storm quite like this.”

Neither had Mako. He’d worked on fishing trawlers for 15 years. He’d well and truly seen his fair share of bad weather, but this? This felt like the sea was actively trying to rip Lady Luck to pieces and drown the insignificant little human beings onboard.

As if on cue, a giant bolt of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a thunderclap as loud as a thousand fireworks exploding all at once.

Booooooooooooom.

“Come on,” said Ike. “We have to secure the mast.”

Mako nodded. “I’ll follow your lead.”

The two precariously made their way to the centre of the ship, all the while being battered by wind and rain. Two crewmembers were already attempting to steady the mast with ropes, but without much success – the mast swayed in the wind like a tree about to be felled. Mako and Ike each took a rope.

“Run men!” One of the crew shouted.

Mako pulled on his rope with all his strength – but the mast did not move. Why was it not moving? Four men were pulling on it. Mako glanced behind him; the other men’s ropes were slack in their hands, and they all stood staring starboard. Annoyed, Mako turned around.

And then he saw it.

A dark mountain approached from the distance. A huge wave, bigger than anything Mako had ever seen, ominously rose from the water. It seemed to be growing as it travelled – consuming any smaller waves in its path. Lightning lit up the sky behind it, casting a shadow over the boat and the crew. Mako stood slack-jawed, petrified in fear as it came ever closer, looming menacingly.

He could do nothing but watch. He watched men panic and pray to their gods. He watched lifeboats be thrown overboard. He watched as Ike slowly embraced him and said his goodbye. And he watched when the ocean brought its full might down upon him, and the Lady Luck was lost to the sea forever.

Short Story

Chips, Dips, Honey and Jam

RILEY WOODS YEAR 12

Chips, dips, honey and jam – a wall full of them all stacked on top of one another. They never leave the stock room, or at least that’s how it seems. I go there often to escape being on display to customers, with all the smiling and acting busy for the cameras. It’s exhausting.

The boss monitors us staff very closely. He has surveillance cameras in every aisle, and in every corner of every room of the shop – all except the overstock room – there’s almost nowhere to hide. He sometimes sends his wife to the store to scout around as I work. She tries playing it off as though she only came in for a quick shop, but I’ve sold her a singular lemon on one too many occasions for it to be a mere coincidence. As she was handing me the fifty cent coin in last week’s encounter, she thought she would ‘let me know’ that the boss was sitting on his couch at home watching me like a hawk. I can’t catch a break.

The other workers and I all seek refuge in overstock. Nothing ever gets brought out and put on shelves like it’s supposed to. We can never remember what product we came to retrieve, it’s usually pasta though – the short loopy ones or the long stringy kind. The products and their titles escape me immediately when I step foot in this oasis. My time here, however, is always interrupted by the piercing sound of a bell.

*DING*

I’m summoned by yet another customer asking if we sell cigarettes. Despite my frustration, I put on a smile again and pretend to show sympathy as I say, “sorry sir but we mostly just sell chips, dips, honey and jam. Have a nice day”. It’s become second nature to me; the bell, the smile, the cigarettes, and the script we were told to memorise. I wouldn’t be so startled by the sharpness of that noise if it wasn’t for the pay. It’s the only reason I continue to return each week to the constant surveillance and the mindless chores.

The middle moments of my shift are where the stacking of shelves really becomes mind-numbing. I walk aimlessly aisle by aisle scanning shelves for gaps and whether or not I have a proper excuse to go back into overstock. I lose myself somewhere on my stroll. Each product appears to be a replica of the last, and I’m mesmerised by the vibrance of their packaging. I couldn’t tell anyone what most products were or which bottle of sauce will go best with their dinner. All I know is where the different shaped glass jars belong in the store and that a little paper bag of sweetened reptiles will set you back three dollars.

I’ve been wandering this circuit for what feels like an eternity. I’ve noticed the customers glancing at me blankly as I forget to smile and greet them the way I’d been trained. By now, I was able to list off the top of my head each flavour of Dorito – along with all the variations of cheap corn-chip spin-offs. There’s ‘nacho cheese’, ‘cheese supreme’, ‘flamin hot cheese supreme’, and then the cheap chips whose titles are similar with words in reverse order. It’s all the same thing.

*DING*

The boss’ wife is waiting at the counter with yet another yellow ball. I veer off my circuit taking position behind the till once again, smiling and saying “hi, how are you today?”. She turns to face me; a phone to her ear in one hand, 50 cents and a dimpled orb in the other. I can do nothing but stand awkwardly smiling as she continues to nod and refrain from handing me the fruit. She stops nodding, and holds out the phone on her palm in my direction: “it’s your boss, he wants to speak to you”.

Drama Script

Room 3A HARRISON RICCI

YEAR 12

Orange lights rise on a Man walking stage right down a street with pink dahlias in hand. He is wearing a tweed jacket and mismatched colours with a visible lack of effort put into his appearance. We can hear a gradual build-up of assorted hospital noises including: ambulance sirens, relentless phone alarms, crying babies, crying widows, screaming and shouting.

The set changes around the Man, shifting into an empty, lifeless hospital scene. There is an unseen reception desk at the back of the audience, where all the staff are placed. A flickering red neon sign with the words “Franklin Hospital” is seen stage left. Meanwhile, the stage lights shift to a clinical blue with 2 rows of hospital beds upstage filled with leukemia patients, who make ominous noises including groaning, wheezing and coughing throughout. There is an unlit room, Room 3A, stage left.

Man: [calling out to direction of Receptionist] Excuse me... Excuse me... [yells] Hello!

Receptionist (VO*): [in an almost piercingly high-pitched voice from behind the audience] Yes sir, hello, what can I do for you?

Man: I’m here to see my wife.

Receptionist (VO): Who is...?

Man: [increasingly frustrated] Amanda. [pause] Gibbons?

Receptionist (VO): [after an uncomfortable pause] Room 3A. [dismissive] Go through.

Man enters Room 3A as faint lighting rises, revealing a stampede of wires invading Amanda’s body. Hospital sound effects fade with heart rate monitor and heavy ventilation sound effects filling the background instead. She is wearing a revealing hospital robe, clinging to her gaunt body. Man places his flowers on a plastic chair and takes off his tweed coat.

Man: Hey sweetheart. How are you? nice. You’ve probably met a guy and about to go off to beautiful Paris [giggles to himself for a brief moment before a suddenly stark pause]. Who am I kidding? Nothing about this is beautiful.

Amanda senses her husband is there and instinctively places her hand on his.

Man: [stuttering helplessly] I – I can’t do this.

Man exits the room with tears swelling at the bottom of his eyes. Lights come down on Room 3A. to rise again. Man glances into Room 3B, (offstage) in which a woman is giving birth as signalled by sound effects including a doctor yelling “Push!”. He turns away in an almost disgusted manner. The melancholy of the Doctor Allegri from behind the audience. He is wearing deep blue scrubs and a bland white coat that drapes his entire body.

Doctor Allegri: Sir, you need to speak to me. wife’s Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, right? sutures immediately if she has any chance.

Man [confused and frightened]: Excuse me?

Doctor Allegri: Sign, it is your best option sir. Trust me.

Doctor Allegri’s pager impatiently buzzes.

Man: Are you sure? Last week, you said ...

Doctor Allegri: I’m sorry, I can explain it further later, I have more patients to see.

Doctor Allegri exits with a cursory tilt of the head. Hospital noises remain. Man takes a seat on a decrepit hospital seat. Doctor, Resident 1 and Resident 2 enter from behind the audience. All dressed in similar blue scrubs and concealing white coats.

Doctor: Doctors, follow me.

They enter Room 3A.

Man: Hey, what are you doing?

Doctor [ignores Man]: Doctor Smith, present.

Resident 1: Patient 32617AO, presenting with absent breath sounds on both side of the chest, with troponin T levels of 3. Recommended method of treatment ...

Man: [interjecting] Her name is Amanda.

Resident 2: Sir?

Man: [more forcefully] Her name is Amanda.

Heart rate monitor beeping unapologetically accelerates and crescendos.

Resident 1: She’s in defibrillation. Starting epinephrine, 10 milligrams.

Doctor 2: Get him out of here, now!

Resident 2 escorts the Man out of Room 3A. A parade of nurses and doctors, all dressed in identically lifeless blue scrubs, storm into the room with ensuing noises of chaos. We overhear a faint shriek of “Clear!” and a shock of a defibrillator. The hospital noises also begin to reach a crescendo, creating a hurricane of cacophony.

Resident 2: Please, sir calm down. We will do everything we can. Why don’t you go to the cafeteria and get yourself a coffee? You matter too you know.

Noises build up to form an overwhelming wave of fear and emotion

Man: [in hysterics] Me? Nothing matters more than her life right now [Points to Amanda]. She --,

Lights promptly cut to black and the hospital noises cut, only the haunting sound effect of a flatline plays over the dark stage.

The Golden Dream ADRIAN CAMPANA

Wading through a thick swamp of nerves, I uncover a deep pool of excitement. Slicing through, the crystal waters; A flame has been lit.

Before the bell, Smelling salts smack the nose sharpen the mind

As the ring is bathed in lights, the cheering landscape is suffocated by a blanket of silence: No voices No tomorrow

Sounds the bell

Rising to the call, My heart thumps and fists follow, A jab, flurry, hook, swaddled in golden leather.

YEAR 12 Poem

Electrified!

I am a conductor: singing adrenaline, symphonies of energy, at the bidding of my golden wands.

I dance like the wavering sea, Eb... and flow, Bob... and weave...

Lightning fast!

Boots kiss the canvas

The hand can’t touch what they eye can’t see

A punch grows from the toes, nurtured by knees, strengthened by quads

A cross conquers the foe. The demon sinks to his knees.

Spending enough time with the canvas, to make Picasso jealous.

My flushed face shines crimson, The belt fastens: pride, success, glory.

The landscape glints a golden hue

Waves of cheering and yelling, Come a soulful duet to my ears, The song takes form: Chorus swelling, a tidal wave surging, a soaring climax – Crescendo

A sweet victory, a glorious scene. This is the life of, A boxer’s dream.

Interpretive

Mobile Phones: The Virus that Plagues Our Children

SAMUEL CRUZADO

YEAR 12

A father reflects on the impact of phone addiction in young people, reminding parents to be more alert when it comes to their children utilising the devices.

Published in Buzzfeed, June 26th, 2023.

www.buzzfeed/mobilephonesthevirsuthatplagues.com

Ah, the 21st century; a time where almost every person on the face of the planet has the power of technological advancements at the tips of the fingers. As many of you parents out there know, the line of whether technology and people share a positive relationship grows ever blurrier, specifically in terms of mobile phones. It’s at the point where it’s nearly impossible for people to leave the house without their phone. Just like all of you my teenage daughter stands as a constant reminder of the ironclad grip that mobile phones have on our children today. She’s on the phone the moment she wakes up, while eating breakfast, on the way to school – she’s probably reaching for the thing in her sleep! Justifiably concerned, I decided to do some research of my own and here are the three reasons why I probably won’t see much of my daughter’s face this week.

1: Time Wasting – Falling down the TikTok Rabbit Hole

How many times have you asked your child to finish a chore for you, and you’re met with the age-old response; “Yeah, in a second.” And then you don’t hear back from them for another hour? Well, research shows that on average teenagers are spending about 7 hours on their phones a day. That’s nearly a quarter of the day spent scrolling through Instagram and TikTok. This is time that could be spent admiring nature, playing a sport or maybe even spending time with their lovely, neglected parents. This obsession with mobile phones is getting out of hand! Back in my day we never had to book an online appointment to hang out with friends, you’d just hop on your bike and take a ride around the neighbourhood until you spotted a bunch of bikes discarded on someone’s front lawn. I think it’s about time these kids develop a hobby that doesn’t involve staring at a screen all day, and maybe then my daughter might come out of that hole of darkness she’s cocooned herself in and tidy the room I asked her to clean two weeks ago.

MEDIA

A series of film posters by Year 8 students

FINNEGAN SMITH

Shaping

In Cinemas 0ctober 1

Finnegan Smith

Leon Valli