CBC Fremantle - Trove 2021 by CBC Fremantle

trove

VOLUME 1 2021

trove contents VISUAL ART A series of visual art pieces Years 7 to 9 8 Australian animals by Year 7 students Reed Day, Marley Hwight and Nicholas Thomas 9 Mexican inspired skulls by Year 9 students Finn Robinson, Micah Renton, William Renton 10 Monocoloured prints by Year 8 students Oliver Pike and Beau Walker 11 Pencil portraits by Year 8 students Alexander Powderly and Caleb Tandy 12 Self portraits by Year 7 students Oscar Babic, Leo Renton and Taliesin Williams 13 Skateboard art by Year 9 students Micah Renton, William Renton and Noah Wood 14-19 Individual art work by students from Years 10 to 12 Agrand (Enlarged) by Maximus Kerr (Year 11) Ashtray by Hugo Pollard (Year 12) Camera Man by Clancy Dewar (Year 12) Emotions from Music by Archie Tither (Year 12) Heart by Kyan Matthews (Year 10) No Sugar by George Carson (Year 11) Our Eyes by Aston Culnane (Year 12) Payphone by Hugo Pollard (Year 12) Redbull by Art Walsh (Year 11) Shoe by Dylan Davis (Year 12) Split Mind by Jacob Mondi (Year 12)

Front cover: detail from painting by Oscar Babic (Year 7)

ENGLISH A collection of creative and analytical writing Years 9 to 12 22 24 26 28 30 32 34 38 40 44 46 48

Aching Backs and People Hard Done By A poem by Thomas Stevenson (Year 12) Blackfish An essay by Cai Williams (Year 10) Dulce Et Decorum A close reading by Harrison Ricci (Year 10) Emancipation and The Drover’s Wife A comparative essay by Oliver Wood (Year 11) Free Julian Assange A persuasive speech by Elliot Neesham & Matthew Hart (Year 9) Going South A short story by Adrian Campana (Year 10) MAUS A group essay by Oliver Bell, Ethan Marangoni & Oliver McKenzie (Year 11) The Cube A short story by Noah Rijs (Year 10) The Infected A post-apocalyptic short story by Owen Goodwin (Year 10) The Wave A short story by Austin Lamond (Year 11) The Young Mariners An autobiographical narrative by Benjamin Bates (Year 10) To My Alarm Clock An open letter by Joel Folley (Year 10)

MEDIA A series of film posters Year 9 52-55

A Lost Mind by Harry Sloan Butcher by Oscar Cannata Careless Crusaders by Finlay Brophy Lincoln Wyatt by Cian Bushe-Jones Midnight Valley (The Final Chapter) by Jackson Mithen Space Fight by Ryan Paatsch The Dark Side by Harry Cox The Detective by Hamish Symanski The Future by Hunta Reid The Shed by Tiernan Lyne Won the War by Will Maddeford

foreword In this, our first edition of what will hopefully be an annual affair, we celebrate the remarkable talents of our students in the learning areas of Visual Arts, English and Media. Our students have collectively explored the world around them in curious, intellectual and refreshing ways. In Visual Art our students have dived deep into various art mediums and used shape, form, texture and colour to offer captivating interpretations of their chosen subjects. In English studies our students have engaged in detailed and meaningful ways with language, structure and style to shape a range of exceptional creative and analytical texts. In Media classes our students have manipulated words and images to create their own impressive film concepts. It has been a privilege to select, edit and curate the work in this inaugural anthology. We hope you enjoy! Ms Mai Barnes and Ms Tavia Pursell English Teachers

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS For their support and assistance with the creation of Trove thanks to Visual Art teachers Ms Zoe Francis and Mrs Stephanie Hantzis, and to Media teacher Miss Lana De Palma for selecting and supplying the amazing array of Visual Art and Media work respectively. Thanks also to Miss Emily Bowran for her support with the project and to members of the English department for their assistance in selecting and supplying the wonderful written work from their students. Lastly, thanks also to Ms Cherie Butcher, Miss Mali Merttens. and Mr Tom Yeates in the Marketing department for their hard work, never-ending patience and brilliant creative skills. 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.

“There is no doubt that creativity is the most important human resource of all. Without creativity, there would be no progress, and we would be forever repeating the same patterns.” Edward de Bono

VISUAL ART

A series of visual art pieces by students from Year 7 to 12

Nicholas Thomas (Year 7)

8 Marley Hwight (Year 7)

Reed Day (Year 7)

Australian animals by Year 7 students

Finn Robinson (Year 9)

Micah Renton (Year 9)

William Renton (Year 9)

Mexican inspired skulls by Year 9 students

Beau Walker (Year 8)

Oliver Pike (Year 8)

Monocoloured prints by Year 8 students

Alexander Powderly (Year 8)

Caleb Tandy (Year 8)

Pencil portraits by Year 8 students

Taliesin Williams (Year 7)

Leo Renton (Year 7)

Oscar Babic (Year 7)

Self portraits by Year 7 students

William Renton (Year 9)

Micah Renton (Year 8)

Noah Wood (Year 9)

Skateboard art by Year 9 students

Ashtray Hugo Pollard (Year 12)

Agrand (Enlarged) Maximus Kerr (Year 11)

Individual pieces by Year 10 to Year 12 students

Emotion from Music Archie Tither (Year 11)

Camera Man Clancy Dewar (Year 12)

No Sugar George Carson (Year 11)

Heart Kyan Matthews (Year 10)

Pay phone Hugo Pollard (Year 12)

Our Eyes Ashton Culnane (Year 12)

Shoe Dylan Davis (Year 12)

Red Bull Art Walsh (Year 11)

Split Mind Jacob Mondi (Year 12)

ENGLISH

A collection of creative and analytical writing

Aching Backs and People Hard Done By THOMAS STEVENSON YEAR 12

STABBED! And fallen down, The Great Giant of the North, South, East and West and all other directions Middling Inbetween punctured by jagged and multi-stagger’d dagger whose blade’s well used, still Keen The Great Giant who holds up the sky Like some inevitable Atlas Tasked with a solemn civic duty serving no-one Pays little attention to the majestic preamble before an Ultimate Thrust! Followed by a Droning ovation...

The Giant is strung up and lain on the Glass sarcophagus, its epitaph reading: A grave for those who have become lax and loose To such a degree as to petrify in still complacency! Others in line weep and mourn As he is added to the mounding pile.

The pieces now slowly drift away from each other like flotsam and jetsam on an invisible sea picked apart and nibbled by some imperceptible bottom-feeder Soon to be dispersed and brushed away Only to eventually coagulate and clot together like a scab to a wound, lined in silver gray

No more does the Giant of the North, South, East and West And all other directions Middling Inbetween Hold up the sky And the sky buckles and contorts And slivers start to slowly show... A loud Crack is heard, Loud enough to lull the slumb’ring poppies from their standing guard Yet soft enough to only stir the great beasts that slumber under The sky opens up, bursting like a balloon to a pin And the Deluge rushes forth.

Essay on

Blackfish CAI WILLIAMS YEAR 10

Documentaries can be effective in positioning audiences to accept the views of producers and directors. Gabriela Cowperthwaite, director of 2013’s documentary Blackfish uses the documentary conventions of interviews and the technical codes of montage and camera shot/angle to represent SeaWorld as an anthropocentric money-making enterprise. Cowperthwaite represents SeaWorld in this way to promote her critical attitude towards killer whales in captivity and how using them for entertainment is unjustified. Cowperthwaite interviews ex-trainers and orca researcher Howard Garret to represent SeaWorld as an anthropocentric money-making enterprise. Through the use of interviews, Cowperthwaite captures the perspective of those closely associated with SeaWorld. At the start of the documentary, the audience is exposed to a range of ex SeaWorld trainers. They are dressed in casual clothing and are seated in everyday environments during their interviews to normalise their representation. As the documentary continues the audience learns how these ex-trainers have been manipulated by SeaWorld to spread lies and work in an unsafe and unethical environment. This positions the audience to consider the motives of SeaWorld, because the ex-trainers have been shown as normal people whom SeaWorld has manipulated into believing the false claims about the whale’s lifespans and overall health. Had information been freely shared by SeaWorld that whales typically died younger in captivity many people would not have gone to SeaWorld because it would be exposed as an unethical practice. This represents SeaWorld as anthropocentric because they believe that the profit they make from the whale shows is more valuable than the whales themselves. Cowperthwaite has successfully persuaded the audience to believe SeaWorld commits immoral practices at the expense of the whale’s health and are doing so to make more money. When Cowperthwaite is interviewing Howard Garret on more of SeaWorld’s false claims, Garret tells the interviewee that SeaWorld has lied about the whales being in “one big happy family”. He tells the audience that all these whales are from different cultures and as such, they cannot communicate with each other. They are just put with the other whales SeaWorld

thinks will suit them best. Garret also reveals whales have died due to this language barrier. Once again SeaWorld has prioritised the success and money over the health of their whales. The audience is positioned to believe that money is all SeaWorld cares about if they are willing to let animals feel isolated and die young. Cowperthwaite therefore has also made the audience more likely to agree with her attitudes against animal captivity. Because Cowperthwaite privileges all of the footage that exposes SeaWorld as a money-hungry company the audience has been positioned to side with the director. To summarise, Cowperthwaite has used the interviews with the ex-trainers and Howard Garret to represent SeaWorld as an organisation that manipulates its employees to persuade the audience to agree with her that animal captivity is immoral.

The technical codes of montage and camera shots/angles have also been used by Cowperthwaite to represent SeaWorld as an anthropocentric profitable business. As the audience is exposed to multiple examples of whale attacks at SeaWorld by Tilikum, we are forced to consider why SeaWorld keeps him at the park if he is known to be aggressive. Not long after, a montage of Tilikum and SeaWorld’s breeding program answers the audiences’ questions. During the montage music plays in the background which is very similar to what is played at the circus. This music highlights, from the director’s perspective, that SeaWorld’s reason for keeping an aggressive animal in captivity is because Tilikum performs well for them. As Tilikum had been a part of the breeding program for many years by 2013 he had supplied SeaWorld with many new whales to be bought by other parks. As this is revealed the audience realises that the more whales SeaWorld has, the more shows and the more shows the more money. Tilikum is only being kept at SeaWorld to turn a profit. The positions the audience to believe that SeaWorld only makes choices dependent on the money made by the whales. In any other reputable breeding program, an animal with an aggressive nature wouldn’t be bred for the risk of passing on its aggressive genes. However, because SeaWorld has kept this aggressive animal, they are risking the lives of people working with its offspring. This encourages the audience to believe SeaWorld is only in it for the money. Throughout the entire documentary, the audience is exposed to multiple extreme long shots of Shamu stadium. In all of these shots, a killer whale is centred and surrounded by a full house of crowded people watching the show. Many of the shots show that the stadium is filled to breaking point. Every customer has had to buy ticket to the show, pay an entry fee, and likely spend their money on food, drinks and killer whale souvenirs. Thus, by the end of the documentary when the audience has been given a fuller picture of how killer whales have been mistreated in captivity, we realise that all this mistreatment was to make loads of money. SeaWorld isn’t contributing to research with these whales, their sole purpose is to make the whales perform shows and make money. Cowperthwaite’s selection of evidence, in her choices of montages and camera shots and angles helps align the audiences’ views on animal captivity with her own because she has positioned them to disapprove of SeaWorld money-making antics. She uses a call to action at the conclusion of the documentary to propose the only way to stop their exploitation is to release the killer whales and never have them in captivity again. To summarise Cowperthwaite uses a range of technical codes to represent SeaWorld as a money-making enterprise and position the audience to agree with her that using animals for entertainment is a corrupt business. Viewers should come away from the documentary feeling angry at SeaWorld but also hopeful that their business practices will be more heavily scrutinised in the future. Gabriela Cowperthwaite, director of 2013’s documentary Blackfish has successfully used the documentary conventions of interviews and the technical codes of montage and camera shot/angle to criticise SeaWorld and draw light on the issue of animal exploitation. The documentary is sure to make viewers change the way they view animals kept in captivity and for entertainment purposes.

Close reading on

Dulce Et Decorum Est HARRISON RICCI YEAR 10

Dulce et Decorum Est (published in 1920) written by Wilfred Owen is a World War I poem which portrays the idea that dying for one’s country is not honourable, with war holding many terrors that drastically impacted the lives of many soldiers. By considering the text’s language and structure, readers may view the text as a challenge to the previous nationalistic views held by many British poets and politicians at the time. Through the ironic use of the title, which in Latin translates to “it is sweet and fitting” (to die for one’s country), Wilfred Owen suggests the opposite; and that war places both soldiers and their loved ones in traumatic states. The utilisation of imagery and adjectives within Dulce et Decorum Est presents the horrific living conditions during wartime and contradicts the heroic idea of dying for one’s country. Within the second stanza, a story is told of a man being poisoned. The poetic persona states “Under a green sea, I saw him drowning”, which highlight Owen’s anti-war views. The “green sea” is a metaphor for the poisonous gas deployed in WWI and positions for the audience to understand the traumatic events experienced. The verb “drowning” is violent and evokes emotions of fear within readers, who would understand drowning is a very painful way to perish. This idea of drowning presents a glimpse into the horrible conditions of war and challenges the idea of gracious death. Another similar example evident within Dulce et Decorum Est is the use of visual and auditory imagery present in “If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs” where the image of “blood” and the sound of “gargling” are especially vivid. The violent connotations displayed in the sharp nouns and verbs of “froth-corrupted”, “gargling”, “jolt” and “blood”; continues to convince the audience that the idea of dying for one’s country is not honourable, but rather extremely painful for both soldiers and their loved ones. This creates emotions of grief within the reader, thus appealing to the audience’s pathos so they adopt Owen’s view. In conclusion, the language features used throughout “Dulce et Decorum Est”, heavily negate the idea that it is fitting to die for one’s country.

Focusing on the structure of Dulce et Decorum Est, a reader is able to understand Owen’s condemning tone regarding nationalistic ideas during World War I. The structure of the poem is chosen so that it highlights the traumatic events of war and its aggressive nature. Throughout each stanza the imagery and language increases in emotion to horrify the audience and denounce the idea of honour from death. Within the first stanza Owen shows the soldiers misery in saying “knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge”. The verbs and adjectives used such as “coughing”, “cursed” and “sludge”, are less graphic and more weary when compared to the green sea metaphor and the froth corrupted lungs imagery. The entire poem exhibits a loose iambic pentameter to further create a feeling of fatigue, yet uneasiness. Lines shift in the number of syllables; for example, when “Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs/and towards our distant rest began to trudge”, switches from 10 syllables to 11 between lines. The mismatching syllables in the poem creates an odd and eerie feeling, utilising cacophony in the ‘t’, ‘d’ and ‘b’. Owen conveys an uneasy mood through the uneven use of iambic pentameter, and this challenged the dominant attitudes at the time and was in opposition to poets like Rupert Brooke. To summarise, the structural features of the poem Dulce et Decorum Est work to create moods of exhaustion and uneasiness that persuade the audience to accept Owen’s anti-war views. Overall, it may be said that Wilfred Owen’s utilisation of construction in both features of language choices and structure, help convince the audience that the idea of it being sweet and fitting to die for one’s country is truly not the case. Given its publication during World War I, this offered an audience a glimpse into the real war and offered the truth over the glamorised setting of battlefields. Owen’s construction of Dulce et Decorum Est challenged a lot of views at the time, but allowed for his anti-war attitude to spread throughout society with the aim of creating a positive impact on humanity for both the present and the future.

A comparative essay on

Emancipation and the Drover’s Wife OLIVER WOOD YEAR 11 Texts depicting colonial Australia differ greatly in the ways that they represent the people and places of Australia. Victor Deeble’s ‘Emancipation’ and Henry Lawson’s ‘The Drover’s Wife’ are two short stories that give different representations of the people and land of Australia. Deeble represents the Australian land as comforting through the use of visual imagery and alliteration, while Lawson represents the land as dangerous and unforgiving through visual imagery. Both texts represent the colonising Australians as clinging to European life, but Deeble is more critical in this representation, while Lawson is more sympathetic. While ‘Emancipation’ represents Aboriginal people as being brutally incarcerated through visual and tactile imagery, alliteration, connotative diction and a metaphor, ‘The Drover’s Wife’ represents them as untrustworthy and villainous through similar features. While Deeble represents the Australian land as calming and comforting, Lawson represents it as dangerous and unforgiving. In ‘Emancipation’, Deeble portrays that the land and nature of Australia should be feared, but not destroyed. This is achieved by highlighting the dangers of the open water in the story through visual imagery when Deeble states that men had told Yinda of; “fish as long as two men”, that could, “take a man’s body, shake it until it was dismembered, then devour it.” Here, the description of the fish’s size and danger shows how it is seen as a threat, and as something to avoid instead of kill. Later in the story, when the dolphin comes up to Yinda, its clicks are described as a “comforting chatter” that “drifted across the shimmering water”. The dolphin is also described as “diving this way and that,” showing its playful nature. The use of alliteration in the phrase “comforting chatter” emphasises the relationship between the Aboriginal people and the land, and helps to represent the dolphin as caring and lively. Visual imagery is also used to highlight the “shimmering water”, displaying the beauty of the water while showing the caring nature of the dolphin. Like Deeble, Lawson represents the land as dangerous, but, unlike Deeble, represents it in a way that suggests that it should be destroyed. In ‘The Drover’s Wife’, visual imagery is used to represent the snake as evil and sneaky when Lawson states; “an evil pair of small, bright bead-like eyes glisten at one of these holes.” The snake in the story is described as “evil”, as it deviously hides under the floorboards. This representation can be compared to that of the snake in the ‘Fall of Man’ story from the Bible, where the snake symbolises the devil, and tempts Eve to sin. The snake is seen as a threat, much like the big fish are in ‘Emancipation’, but where Lawson’s representation differs from Deeble’s is that Lawson presents the snake as evil, and something to fight against, while Deeble presents the fish as something that should be avoided instead of fought. Therefore, Deeble’s calming representation of the Australian land is much more passive than Lawson’s villainous representation of the nature and land.

While both ‘Emancipation’ and ‘The Drover’s Wife’ represent the colonising Australians as clinging to European ways of life, ‘The Drover’s Wife’ does this in an admiring way, highlighting their bravery and resilience. In contrast, ‘Emancipation’ is critical in this representation as it looks down on the colonising Australians for not understanding the ways of Aboriginal people. In the story, the Europeans are referred to as a; “new Australian breed, who were still deeply attached to the ways of England and the Empire.” The phrase of the “new Australian breed” is laced with irony, as they are blindly imposing the way of their Empire on Aboriginal Australians. This empire is also referred to as built on; “blood, guts, sweat and hard work.” The visual imagery of blood and guts reveals how dissimilar the ways of the colonising Australians are to that of the Indigenous Australians. This phrase emphasises how truly disconnected the colonists are from both the Australian land and Aboriginal people as it demonstrates how they struggle to impose their European ways on Australian soil. On the other hand, Lawson admires how the European settlers have conformed to their colonist way of life. He describes how on every Sunday afternoon, the drover’s wife; “dresses herself, tidies the children, smartens up baby, and goes for a lonely walk along the bush-track.” This description shows how the drover’s wife misses her old home and her old way of life, and that she smartens up and wears her Sunday best, even though she is alone and isolated from society. Much like Deeble, Lawson’s description of what the drover’s wife does on a Sunday shows how the Europeans have clung to their own way of life, but Lawson’s representation differs from Deeble’s because he shows the European way of life as comforting her, which gives a sympathetic element to this representation. While ‘Emancipation’ represents Indigenous Australians as being brutally and inhumanely incarcerated by the colonising Australians, ‘The Drover’s Wife’ represents the Indigenous Australians as untrustworthy and villainous. Deeble shows the fear felt by the Aboriginal prisoners by highlighting the brutality of the colonising Australians. A metaphor is used when Deeble states that; “the fire of fear burned brightly in his mind,” after Yinda escaped the prison, and that; “he would never be able to escape the memories”. The metaphor of the “fire of fear” highlights the terror felt by the prisoners and the brutality of the colonising Australians. The alliteration of “fire of fear” and “burned brightly” helps to further emphasise this feeling of fear felt by the Aboriginal people. Visual and tactile imagery are used to show the pain and suffering felt by Aboriginal people when Deeble describes how the seas frightened Yinda; “but not as much as the floggings’ for the first time he’d seen a man’s back stripped of its flesh.” The connotative diction in the phrase “stripped of its flesh” can also symbolise how Aboriginal people were mentally ‘stripped down to nothing’ by being imprisoned, tortured and forced to work. This helps to represent the Aboriginal people as being oppressed by the colonists. Lawson’s representation of Aboriginal people differs greatly to that of Deeble’s because Lawson represents them as sneaky and mischievous. Towards the end of ‘The Drover’s Wife’, an Aboriginal man helps the protagonist by bringing her wood. He is rewarded for his work, but the drover’s wife finds out that “he had built that wood heap hollow.” The Aboriginal man’s act of taking a reward even though he had built a hollow wood heap represents his character as sneaky and mischievous, and suggests that white Australians should not trust the Indigenous people. This small insight into how the colonising Australians viewed the Indigenous people reveal why Lawson has represented them in this way. Deeble has represented the Indigenous Australians as wrongfully and cruelly incarcerated, whereas Lawson has unfairly represented them as people who are deceiving and who should not be trusted. While both Deeble and Lawson depict colonising Australians as conforming and enforcing their colonist way of life, Deeble does this in a more critical way while Lawson does this in a more sympathetic way. Aboriginal people are represented as being inhumanely incarcerated by the colonising Australians in ‘Emancipation’, on the other hand, they are represented as sneaky and untrustworthy in ‘The Drover’s Wife’. Lawson represents the land as dangerous and something that should be destroyed and conquered, while Deeble represents it as calming and comforting, suggesting that the danger of the land should be avoided instead of destroyed. These contrasting representations offered by Deeble and Lawson show how differing contexts can create different perspectives, and therefore diverse representations of the people and places of Australia.

A persuasive speech

Free Julian Assange ELLIOT NEESHAM AND MATTHEW HART YEAR 9

A persuasive speech directed towards the US Government, Military and Media Personnel, and political delegates from Australian and the United Kingdom. This was composed to be presented at the Pentagon and was written by Elliot Neesham and Matthew Hart (Year 9). What decides whether someone is a hero or a villain? Context. A perfect example is Eric Killmonger, the primary antagonist from the film Black Panther. He is not a villain whatever you may think. Black Panther is a film about T’Challa who becomes the king of Wakanda after his father’s death. T’Challa’s throne is challenged by Killmonger who plans to abandon the country’s isolationist ideals and strives to encourage equality. Killmonger is connotative of a villain in the movie because of the way he mercilessly killed people in order to become the new king of Wakanda. However, his intentions are justified as he looks to share Wakanda’s resources with segregated and disempowered groups. Even though Black Panther represents Killmonger as a villain, in our eyes he was a misunderstood warrior, fighting for justice against those far more powerful than he. We see Eric Killmonger’s all throughout our society... which brings us to our focus today. Julian Assange is not a villain. Although he is often portrayed as a villain, in our eyes he is a hero. A misunderstood warrior, fighting for justice against those far more powerful than he. We, like many other human right advocates, strongly believe that Julian Assange should be freed from prison.

Killmonger states how people just like him suffer due to the lack of resources; “All over the planet our people suffer because they do not have the tools to fight back.” This reinforces the heroic values that Killmonger demonstrates which include determination, equality and courage. Utilising Killmonger as a metaphor, Julian Assange needs to be freed from the maximum-security prison he is currently sitting in at Belmarsh United Kingdom. Julian Assange is in prison for the website he created called Wiki Leaks. Human Rights Activists stress the importance of Wiki Leaks because it is a platform where countless whistle-blowers exchange top-secret information that governments are keeping hidden in order to best protect their own interests. Sometimes these interests include horrific violations of human rights. And Assange is the villain? American Secretary, Anthony Blinken; Australian Senator, Marise Payne; Your Honourable, Priti Patel from the United Kingdom. You have the power. All of you. To free Julian Assange. Julian Assange being in prison is against the right of freedom of speech. Freedom of speech is an integral democratic value that all humans should have. It is an integral value shared by each of your own nations. So why is it that your countries have built up so much hatred toward him? So why is it that so many whistle blowers are segregated as villains in our society because of what they say and do? If you truly value freedom as your nations claim to then you must uphold that value. Free Julian Assange. Earlier this year like an eagle in the skies of Iraq, an American apache helicopter loomed over its ‘prey’ before shooting down multiple waves of gunfire at extremists. Perhaps a noble effort but tragically 18 innocent lives were also massacred in the process. It was reported that US soldiers involved in the airstrike laughed whilst killing these people. Why did the US government fail to release this sensitive information to the public? Is this what we consider heroic? Does this really reflect the values we hold most dear? Sadly, two journalists of the war, Saeed Cumagh and Namir Noor Elden were among the group. They worked for the company Reuters as photographers and journalists capturing the violence which enveloped their country. These two young men promoted peace throughout Iraq during the war. Today, their families are suffering due to the void that losing these men has left. So, let’s clarify, why is it that Julian Assange is locked in a maximum-security prison in Belmarsh? For committing War Crimes. No, we don’t believe that, and we know you don’t either! Assange is really there for creating a website called WikiLeaks to expose these crimes. Free Julian Assange. Julian Assange should not be in jail for leaking war crimes. What he did is not an act of “terrorism” but rather an act of courage, an act of self-sacrifice, and an act of truth. Is Julian Assange really a ‘villain’ if it means uncovering the truth, like the American war crimes that occurred in Iraq? Crimes that we are sure the US Government and Military Personnel want to see brought to justice. For those members of those groups in the room, do you really want to keep predators in your ranks? Or do you want to see moral justice done? Many powerful organisations and influential people believe that Assange committed no crimes. Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and the American civil Liberties Union, all call for his release from prison. Free Julian Assange. We urge you to do it now. One of the world’s leading intellectuals Noam Chomsky put it perfectly when he said “Jailing Assange would be catastrophic for press freedom.” We need to revise our definition of a villain, because from where we are standing, Assange doesn’t fit the bill.

Going South ADRIAN CAMPANA YEAR 10

The highway was flowing, like a roaring river of metal and light. The suns fleeting rays complimented the Earth below, a welcoming warmth. A mixture of orange and pink painted in the sky, dotted with speckles of white clouds, strewn like sand scattered on canvas. Motor vehicles chugged up and down the Mitchell Freeway, bustling with excitement, competing for turn offs and racing the lights. Pungent acrid fumes were whisked away by a cool, mellow breeze, a cleansing wave of fresh air. On the contrary, dark looming clouds were glaring from the South, ominously shadowing their future destination with malice. Demetri said goodbye to the sparkling Swan River and sea breeze as a flock of majestic swans graced the water’s surface. Long trips in the car were almost always a pain, but not today, and they were in for a long haul. “Whatcha lookin at Demetri?” teased Dexter at the wheel. “Not getting all emotional leaving home for one trip to Albany?” Demetri put on his mask and responded, “Never. Let’s do this.” From the back-seat Chad chuckled, “Mate, we all finished Uni— we deserve a break.” They all nodded in unison to this. The three of them had been best mates since day one. Dexter was impulsive to say the least, tapping his hands on the wheel of his brand new WRX. Always flashy, always the centre of attention, but this puffery was Dexter’s mechanism for control. Chad was built like a grizzly bear, arms thicker than Demetri’s skull. Regardless of his size, Chad was as bright as they come, his memory almost photographic. Demetri was the scrawniest of the three, so he tried to be the life of the party to compensate. The three boys always seemed to find trouble. Their constant banter resulted in long and drawn-out prank wars, sometimes for days. To be on the constant lookout for potential pranks was of paramount importance. But on this trip Demetri and his mates had forgotten about the pranks. Or so he thought. Demetri could feel the new Subaru purring in anticipation to unleash. Dexter indicated right, car revving with excitement, surpassing the allocated speed limit and overtaking any cars in their way. Demetri quickly glanced over to see the speedo nudge 120km/h. “Freedom.” He thought, as the trio raced down winding, snake-like roads as fast as a bullet released from its chamber. The journey continued and sun began to draw the end of its ark, the car ploughing on further, exceeding all main cities and into the country side. Demetri kept seeing smashed glass on the side of the road, with the occasional dead animal, mangled corpse rotting and distorted.

“Who wants a drink?” shouted Chad, with a giddy smile creeping across his face, holding a bottle of whiskey. “Yer right,” Demetri said. Chad poured two substantial shots into red paper cups that were discarded on the floor and handed one to Demetri. He winced as the burning liquid bristled against his tongue before sloping down his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste. Up above, the weather had changed drastically, a backing wind bringing a heavy granite sky with a cloak of mist practically on top of them. Dexter and Chad gave a sly glance to each other. “I think we’ve nearly arrived at our destination,” smirked Dexter. Too woozy to pick up on their malice, Demetri reclined his passenger seat and closed his eyes, falling into a lofty slumber. An aggressive right turn jerked Demetri awake. The car was now bumping up and down on a rough road. It felt like an avalanche had hit. Demetri looked around and began to panic. He wound down his window. Dark trees walled him in on either side. Dank and mossy smells reached his nostrils. SKKKKKRRRRRRRRTT. The car braked suddenly. Dexter and Chad acted quickly, whisking Demetri out of his seat and onto the damp ground. “Hey, guys! What’s...what’s happening?” he stuttered, confused. Chad’s burly powerful arms embraced him like an anaconda. Any attempt to ward off physical attacks would be futile now. THUDD. He was tossed into a box. Demetri looked up as two grinning faces leered down at him. “You let your guard down, Demetri,” boasted Dexter. “This is payback for all the times you pranked us.” Demetri heard a scraping sound, then all light was blotted out from his vision. For a brief second, he felt comfortable, then reality hit him. He couldn’t move. Walls surrounded him. He felt below a rough, wood like surface as smells of cloth and glue assaulted him. Panic escalated. “Hey, guys. You have had your fun, now let me out!” Demetri tried to yell, knowing his voice would be muffled. “Don’t think so.” “Hey, come on, this isn’t funny!” “Well, we are rather enjoying it.” “LET ME OUT! You know I get claustrophobic.” “Goodbye Demetri,” Dexter cackled. He slowly brought down the silver latch and locked it in place, giving the coffin one last pat goodbye. “You think we should go through with this?” asked Chad dubiously. “He had it coming for a long time. Let’s get out of here,” answered Dexter. As if on cue, rain began falling in sheets of ice. The two shrouded figures walked back and entered their car, leaving the lone coffin on the secluded outcrop. Wipers clumped steadily, smearing rain across the windscreen. A perfectly executed prank as always. Dexter couldn’t help feeling a little pride in himself. Outside the front window, the rain was coming down in torrents, blurring both of their visions. Soon they would drive back and collect Demetri. Even Chad couldn’t wait to see the look on his face after they saved him. Priceless. A pair of blinding lights suddenly blazed ahead like two shining eyes, piercing the impenetrable darkness. Headlights burned through the windscreen as a massive truck bore down on them, emerging from the teeming rain. A huge blow hit the car, and it seemed like an immense weight was thrown on the boys. The last thing they saw was a waterfall of glass cascading down on them before everything went black, into pure, utter, darkness. Demetri lay in his death bed, knowing that his mates would come back. Any second now. But his hope would soon be extinguished, like the end of a burning candle. He was never going to see them— or anyone else— ever again.

A group essay

MAUS OLIVER BELL, ETHAN MARANGONI, & OLIVER MCKENZIE YEAR 11

Graphic novels, sometimes referred to as “comic books”, are often thought to be your stereotypical and childish superhero picture books. In recent years, graphic novels have ‘boomed’ in popularity, and are home to some of the most beautiful pieces of literature, which are often used to convey an important message or to tell a story. Maus is a cleverly crafted graphic novel created by Art Spiegelman and published in 1980, which portrays the life of his father, Vladek Spiegelman, during WW2, based on interviews. Using both written and visual elements and conventions, the book explores ideas of the past versus the present, survival, and luck. Art Spiegelman uses mid-shots, captions, body language, facial expressions, thought bubbles, actions, and dialogue to convey these ideas. Maus conveys the idea of survival by showing us the extremes the Jews would go to, in order to survive their impending doom. The book shows us that the Jews would use anything and everything that they had to try and survive, and how they felt as the reality of the situation came crashing down on them. On page 86, a mid-shot captures a cross-section of a storage shed where you can see Artie’s grandparents hiding behind a false wall, while Vladek talks about Auschwitz. This panel uses dialogue to convey how they were scared, even though they didn’t know something worse would come to them. The worried body and facial expression of the family suggest the same idea. We can also assume that because their faces are pointing towards the floor, they’re thinking about “what will happen next?”. The use of captions and labels are used to tell the reader exactly what is being shown in the picture, for example, “storage shed”, and “false wall”. Captions such as “cut-away view”, and “so, in the yard, we made them a hiding place, a bunker” are used to tell us about the setting. This can also be seen as foreshadowing for what is going to happen to Vladek and his family in the future, and what they will need to do to survive.

These two panels on page 121 show Vladek and Miloch climbing through a tunnel made of shoes, while the second shows them reaching the bunker at the end of the tunnel, therefore suggesting that this is a scene-to-scene transition. The panel uses captions, dialogue and shading to convey the theme of family. Through the bold lettering of the word “SHOES”, we can argue that Vladek was shocked about how the entrance was made. Dialogue is also used when Miloch states “Don’t tell anyone about this, except Anja and your nephew”. This shows us how Miloch was willing to take a big risk to tell him about his bunker. This bold text used in the dialogue also emphasises a point which is the fact that Miloch wants to keep the bunker a secret, which relates to the theme of family, because Miloch takes a risk to try and save both families. The size of the tunnel is also shown through the characters’ body language. By having the characters in a crawling position, audience are shown how small the tunnel is. Miloch’s facial expression infers that he is talking to Vladek, as his face is pointed backwards at an angle. The use of the black shading indicates that they’re in a dark and dingy tunnel, in stark contrast to the brighter panel on the right. These examples show the extreme measures that the Jewish people would go to so that they could survive just a little longer, and make it through to begin the next day. Art Spiegleman has used visual, written, and graphic novel multimodal elements to explore the idea that who people are in the present are shaped by their past. One major feature in Art Spiegelman’s novel is how he not only tells his father’s story from the past, but he also explains the events of what exactly happened while creating the novel. This allows us to see the effects of the war and Holocaust had on Vladek, and how they shaped him when he was older. In chapter 4 “The Noose Tightens”, Vladek talks about his experience at Sosnowiec, and how you had to be crafty and use what you had to survive. The end of the chapter gives us an idea of how these events in his past have shaped him to become a cautious hoarder of items. He feels that it is a trait that will help him survive if something like this happened again. Here, we see Artie speaking with Mala in a mid-shot, telling him how she feels about living with Vladek. She hates how he hoards all these items she deems as “useless”. We can tell she is very sick of it through the anger she expresses in her facial expressions. The tilted eyebrows, and bags under her eyes help symbolise this, and the effect Vladek’s character has on other people. Mala then goes on to state “he’s more attached to things than people!”, which tells us how Vladek’s past from WW2 and the Holocaust has made him perceive the need to keep pointless items as he feels it will be handy. He doesn’t label things as “junk”, and no longer takes things for granted, as these items helped save his life during the Holocaust.

Another example of this can be found in chapter 5 “Mouse Holes”, which explains Vladek’s time in a ghetto and when he was in hiding. In this chapter, through four different frames, shows Vladek finding some wire and being happy with the find, while others such as Artie find it useless. This is shown through Artie’s confused facial expression, whilst Vladek is angry. He sees this because of his experiences in the war, and how everyday items proved to save his life on multiple occasions. Due to his past, he feels the need to take it, whilst Artie does not as he hasn’t had the same past. This scene also shows that Vladek is more “moneywise”, as the wire is still a wire, whilst Artie just says, “Can’t you just buy wire?”. In a way, the wire symbolises how Vladek survived the war by being resourceful, and not letting anything go to waste. Through the use of visual, written and graphic novel multimodal elements, Art Spiegelman explores the idea of how an individual’s past, and what happens in that past, shape who they are in the present. The importance of luck in Art Spiegelman’s “Maus” is closely tied to the theme of survival. Because of Vladek’s’ many connections with other people, the ability to speak multiple languages, and being ‘sneaky’, his luck, and chances of survival were greater than those around him. On page 85 in the first book, Vladek is illegally carrying around and delivering sugar to sell to smaller shops in the area, until he runs into two Nazi officers, or Gestapo as the book labels them. Vladek tries to keep his composure, and we can see he acts in a way to look confident, through his relaxed facial expression and self-assured body language. Vladek knew that selling sugar was illegal, so he “made it so they would think it was legal” by stating “I’m taking it over to my grocery store”. The enlarged and bolded text when Vladek states “OPEN UP, POLDEK”, infers that Vladek was trying to get the attention of his friend, and made it seem like it was an urgent matter. If his friend Poldek wasn’t there, things could’ve gone very wrong. How else would Vladek have been able to provide little evidence that he owned the store, when he didn’t? Things could’ve yet again gone very wrong for him. Secondly, Vladek was again quite lucky when the Gestapo didn’t even bother to check his papers. If they were to have checked his papers, then the officers would’ve realised what exactly was going on, and both Vladek and his friend Poldek would’ve been killed. On page 48, Chapter 2, Vladek is out in the fields fighting in the war. Here, he encounters an enemy, disguised as a tree, firing in his direction. Vladek pops his head up, only to have a bullet pass through his helmet, surviving by a stroke of luck. Vladek’s life here could’ve been cut short, but he lived to tell the tale, and many more. The cartoon uses captions, thought bubbles, facial expressions, and body language to further develop this theme of luck. This scene transitions from action-to-action, as we see Vladek changing positions at just the right moment in time. Vladek doesn’t want to fight anyone, or get hurt himself, as he states, “Why should I kill anyone?”. The “PNNNG” text is used to make readers imagine the sound of a bullet, and to realise that the bullets have been shot towards him. His facial expression in the first panel suggest that he is looking out to see what is happening, but then ducks as he hears the sound of bullets going off. In panel 2, his

eyes look up and, and he points at the bullet-hole in his helmet. Even though we cannot see his face, we can deduce that he is probably in shock, thinking how lucky he is to have survived. Vladek, whilst speaking to Artie, tells us more about what he had to do, through captions. In panel 1, Vladek notices that “bullets came in my [his] direction”, and so he had to “dig deeper” in his trench to avoid these bullets. In this scene, on page 118, Vladek is halted by a Nazi officer and is commanded to “give me your I.D papers”, to determine whether or not he should be shot. Purely based on luck, this Nazi officer seems to know about one of Vladek’s family members - Haskel. Haskel placed many bets with these officers and lost many times (on purpose) to build a good relationship with them. For this reason, the officer decided to keep Vladek alive. If this were another officer, Vladek’s life could’ve easily came to an end that day. Vladek’s facial expression in panel 2, shows that he is relieved after hearing the good news. This is shown through the lines pointing down under his eyes, which is often seen when someone is relieved after a stressful situation. In the same panel, we see him also bring up a small cloth to wipe away his sweat, which indicates that Vladek was scared and unprepared to die, but also grateful that he could continue to live on. The transition between these two panels is action-to-action as well. The officer’s weapon is placed out of the frame, which brings more ‘emphasis’ to the cartoon, and may suggest the importance of the weapon in determining Vladek’s life or death situation. Spiegelman’s clever use of both written and visual multimodal elements helped to highlight his ideas about survival, past versus the present, and luck. The comic book, Maus, is about Art Spiegelman interviewing his father about his experiences as a Polish Jew during WW2, and the Holocaust. The Holocaust was the genocide of European Jews between 1941, and 1945. That the Jewish people are depicted as mice, and Germans as cats, tells us that the Germans hunted Jews, as cats do with mice. Maus is a great book as it explores the Holocaust and the importance of having family amidst such a tragedy. It shows how important certain characteristics such as resourcefulness, relationships, cleverness, and bravery all help to explore themes. Vladek’s survival was ultimately determined through how he dealt with certain situations, such as when he hid his grandparents behind a false wall and delivered food to them. His luck is often developed by his relationships with others, which is the reason why Vladek lived after having an encounter with ‘The Shooter’ who was the person who almost ‘blew out’ Vladek’s brains. The aftermath of the Holocaust heavily shaped the life of Vladek, as seen through how Vladek still hoards items, even more than 35 years after the Holocaust (when the book was first published).

The Cube NOAH RIJS YEAR 10

The wind whistled through the gaps between the walls, the air as cold as ice. The shiny metal roof creaked and groaned under pressure from the towering skyscraper that seemed to touch the sky above. The warehouse was buried deep below a sea of buildings fighting for space, each taller and grimier than the next. The height of the city created a dark and mysterious place on the surface of the planet, with winding alleyways and abandoned buildings long forgotten as the quest for power and money took people upwards. What was left below was the poorest, lowest class of people with nothing to their name. Cypher rested his hand on the solid wooden door marking the entrance to the warehouse, before softly pushing it open and creeping inside. His eyes took a second to adjust as the darkness enveloped his body. Cypher slid his hand along the wall, feeling for a light switch. He felt the smooth plastic and waited for a second, listening for any sounds that might indicate another presence. All that could be heard was the wind howling outside and the whining and screeching of the hover trains up above in the new city. He slowly flipped the switch before the old rusting lights projected a dim shadow around him. He had to be cautious, they could be anywhere. The musty smell entered his nose, making him gag, before he moved further into the building. Cypher could be described as a lightning bolt. A flash of white hair and he was gone. His tattered grey T-shirt and ripped jeans blended in with the crowd, another helpless starving person cast onto the streets. The only thing that seemed to set him apart was his precision, the intention behind every step. While red eyes were not uncommon, his sparkled with intelligence that burned into any soul dared look him in the eyes. The day had started like any other, on the streets. Cypher was making his way to the market, however, unbeknownst to him, the morning was about to take a dangerous turn. He dashed between the buildings, making sure to keep to the shadows. The less people know about you, the less trouble you’re in. Cypher recalled the phrase, crouched down behind the endless mountains of rubbish that filled any unused hallway. His parents had not only taught him how to survive on the streets, they had taught him how to thrive. The rusting jagged metal walls acted as footholds allowing him to climb above the sea of rotting buildings and get a view on his favourite target. He noticed that the markets, if they could be called that, were emptier than most days. The ramshackle huts built using scrap served as a place to sell whatever you could find. Food if edible, decent clothing and in some cases a supply of drinkable water, as well as the gifts. Cypher had not been lucky enough to receive a gift, pieces of broken machinery that fell from the new city above were rare and could sometimes be extremely valuable. One might even get you a ticket upwards, Cypher dreamed.

Cypher took a second to visualize his prize before refocusing on the task at hand. He scanned the vastly different items before his eyes came to rest on something unusual. While most things for sale were either mostly destroyed and unusable, or so disgusting that they were unbearable to consume, this was different. Cypher had once “purchased” a loaf of daerb that was so mouldy the thought of eating it made his eyes water and his mouth prickle. The object sitting in the stall directly below him stood out from all of the dullness around it. It drew the eyes of everyone in its vicinity, casting an enchanting glow. The person behind the stall was hunched over covered in a long brown cloak. The only thing visible was a long grey beard, coiled on the floor by his feet. Before anything else could happen, Cypher left his perch up above and flung himself off the top of the building like an eagle bearing down on its prey. He gracefully landed on the stained, dust-covered corroding metal floor, barely making a sound. Cypher crept around the side of the stall, out of sight from the starving people that inhabited the depths that he called his home. He peered around the side of the stall, careful to not disturb the deathly silence that rang throughout the market. The dark figure was unmoving. Cypher reached past the other various trinkets that lay on the wooden bench and claimed his prize. It was only then that he realized why the markets were so quiet. Why no one had even dared to approach the stall to inspect this glowing cube. The Nabilat. Cypher knew who the blank-faced soldiers surrounding the market were without ever meeting them. The black suits covered them in a void of darkness, the visual receivers that stared back were not human. Their reputation of being the most notorious hunters, trackers, killers... was well known throughout the depths. Cypher froze, unable to move. No escape strategy. Nothing. He was certain that whatever the Nabilat had traveled to this dying part of the depths to get, was the very same thing in his hands. Cypher’s instincts kicked in. He shoved the glowing cube into his pocket and darted towards the nearest wall, scurrying up it as if his life depended on it. The Nabilat’s reaction was instant, inhuman. Without any form of communication, they turned in unison and flew toward the glowing bump in Cyphers right pocket. Just as Cypher began to fear that this was the end of his chapter, a dazzling bright blue light burned his eyes. His skin rippled with goosebumps and his insides mixed together. What felt like years of pain and anguish passed before Cypher was spat out into the pitch black. What had been day, turned to night in what seemed like mere seconds. This wasn’t his part of the city. Before Cypher had been in a warehouse, mixed in with the towering city above. Cypher now found himself in an unfamiliar building, puzzling over this strange device that he had found, and that the mercenaries had so desperately wanted. Sell it and get out of the depths? Or discover the true potential of the machine that had just seemingly teleported him through space and time?

The Infected OWEN GOODWIN YEAR 10

“And, blink twice for me,” Kirsty gushed, shining a light into Stephan’s eyes. “You’re doing great hun.” Stephan did as she asked, bringing a smile to her plump face. “We should have your results in no time,” she said happily. “Just wait for us here, okay?” She bustled away, holding her flashlight close to her chest. Stephan rolled his shoulders, his eyes still readjusting. He raised his head warily, looking around the room. It was filled to the brim with state-of-the-art tech. Gleaming needles shone menacingly from meticulously cleaned benchtops. No natural light made its way into the lab – large lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a harsh white light. Stephan was sitting in one of two seats, the other situated on the other side of the room. He narrowed his eyes. There was a dark stain on the other chair. Was it...? “Hey!” smiled Kirsty. Stephan startled, and whipped his head around to face her. She laughed. “Did I scare yah hun?” “Yeah,” replied Stephan cautiously. “Sorry luv. But look on the bright side – you’re immune!” Stephan’s eyes widened. “I know,” chuckled Kirsty, watching his reaction. “Great, isn’t it?” Stephan nodded, a massive grin plastered on his face. Kirsty smiled faintly, then looked down. “But...” The grin evaporated. “...you can’t stay here.” Stephan nodded. He had been expecting this. Kirsty sighed sympathetically. “I’ll have someone see you out.” Right on cue, a man in dark clothes walked into the room. He was thin and wiry, bones showing through his skin. His hooded eyes watched Stephan intensely, seemingly never blinking. In his grimy hand he held a black gun.Kirsty gave Stephan a firm handshake. “You stay strong out there okay? With your blood result we may have a look at creating a cure.” Stephan nodded and gave her a faint smile. “Good luck.”

The man walked to the door and grunted. Stephan took the message and followed him. He was led through a maze of passageways and doors. Stephan followed him for what seemed like an eternity – until, finally, they came to a large wooden door. The man cocked his gun. Stephan balled his fists in front of him. Creak. The door slowly swung open, revealing more and more of the outside world. Creak. Nothing. The pair cautiously walked out the door, John swinging his gun from side to side, Stephan ready to dash any time. They were in an abandoned parking lot, the door behind them barely visible against the mundane, grey walls. In front of them was New York City in all of its glory. Giant skyscrapers reached towards the sky, grasping at the endless expanses of grey. Dilapidated cars stood along the road, long forgotten and long rusted. The city was deathly silent, as if a blanket had been thrown over it. The man gestured with his gun out towards the empty road. “Go.” He started walking, “Good luck eh?” he called over his shoulder. No response. It was nearly dark by the time Stephan got to the place he had come to call home. The shabby apartment block was slowly crumbling down towards the ground, exhausted and admitting defeat. It hadn’t always been like this. But then again, neither had Stephan. The first hit of the virus took out half the city. The news of a deadly sickness, transmitted through blood and saliva, that turned people into mindless savages turned from a far-fetched tale from across the sea into a monstrous threat, knocking on America’s front door. Sick people, tagged as the ‘Infected’ roved the streets in cackling droves, destroying anything and anyone that got in their way. Governments and democracies collapsed everywhere, creating worldwide panic. Nobody was safe, save for a few select people with a natural immunity to the virus. Stephan smiled. He was one of those people. He walked up to his apartment door. The handle was rusted with age. He swung the door open, and stepped into the bare room, long bleached of colour. Several small pieces of silverware could be found from Stephan’s scavenging, along with a few rusty pipes and broken beer bottles. On the far wall was a dingy refrigerator, powered by the solar panel that had taken a month to set up. To Stephan’s left was a door; which led to a small bathroom. Rolling his shoulders, Stephan opened his refrigerator, then stepped back in shock. Food spilled all over the shelves, in a disgusting mess. Fresh bones littered the bottom, and fresh blood was splattered all over the back wall, a splash of red against the grimy white. Stephan cautiously closed the door to the fridge and turned around. The apartment seemed empty of any other presence on first inspection. Nothing was out of place. Stephan strained his ears, listening for anything, anything at all. And he found something. The sound of someone faintly breathing floated through the air, coming straight from the bathroom door. Stephan’s heart began beating dangerously fast, and he started taking small steps towards the noise. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. His heart was going at a million miles per hour. How did someone get in here? What if they heard him?

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. He took more steps towards the door, the breathing getting louder and louder. He could now hear a person sniffling and giggling incredibly softly, as if they were trying to hide from someone but couldn’t contain their laughter. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Stephan stopped suddenly. Why on earth was he trying to confront them? Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Just as he was about to turn away, just as he was about to flee, the breathing stopped. The door creaked open. Standing in the middle of the bathroom, shoulders shaking from barely controlled laughter was a middle-aged woman. Her once light hair was matted with dried blood and hung limply around her shoulders. Her dark eyes were focused on the ground, and she was foaming at the mouth. Stephan shrunk back from her, his veins turning to ice. He felt trapped in place, like he was tied down. He was helpless, unable to move as the Infected slowly lifted her head and trained her dark eyes on him. She tilted her head. “Peekaboo.” The bonds that were holding Stephan suddenly snapped as the woman lunged at him. He narrowly dodged her outstretched nails. She swiped at him again and again, each time just barely missing his head. She was cackling as she swung, her eyes blurry with excitement. Bang! One of her fists connected squarely on Stephan’s jaw, instantly dropping him. He weakly tried to get to his feet, but the woman lashed a sharp kick into his side. “I’m going to eat youuuuu,” she said in a singsong voice, “I’m going to eat youuuuu.” Stephan weakly raised a hand to protect himself as she leaned over him. With his other hand he searched for something, anything, that could help him. The woman leaned into his face, and he could smell her rancid breath, reeking of dead meat. His hand closed around the shaft of a pipe. “Bye bye.” She chuckled, putting her hands around Stephan’s neck. Stephan, in a last burst of energy, lunged forward with the pipe, sinking it deep into her chest. She looked down, then back up and Stephan, her hands slowly loosening. “Ow.” She remarked. She began shaking, in what Stephan originally thought was pain but soon changed to cackling laughter. She slid off Stephan and onto the floor. It was there she stayed, laughing and laughing until she had no more breath to laugh with. Stephan shakily got to his feet and looked down at the woman, who was spreading a dark red liquid across the floor. In the distance, he could hear howls of amusement, carried by the dry wind, coming straight his way. He started running.

The Wave AUSTIN LAMOND YEAR 11

He awoke suddenly one morning from uneasy dreams, sweat on his brow and visions in his head of reckless, raging seas. Gary was supposed to go out at Old Smokey with Hicko this arvo, but he was having second thoughts. It was going to be his first-time surfing mavericks – 25ft or bigger. He knew he had to, though: he had trained too hard not to go through with it. This was his only opportunity for another 2 or 3 months. He dozed back off, the thought of the 25ft mavericks still in his mind. *** Gary ran down the street, his thick blonde locks flying about in the wind. His olive skin gleamed for a moment in the early morning light. Then the sun hid itself behind the clouds, casting a shadow over him. A large drop of water from the sky landed on his skin, managing to sneak in right where the big hole in his wetsuit. The wetty was old - 4, 5 years maybe? It was dirty, and full of holes and rips and tears. But Gary had no money to buy a new one. He’d spent all his money on his board: a beautiful board. It was so white that it was almost blinding to look at. He used it in all his competitions. He was a well-known grom down at Byron beach, as he had made a name from himself, a regular winner of junior comps. He wanted to take his surfing to the next level – that’s why he’d called Hicko. Hicko was an older Byron local. He’d been around for a while – he’d gone pro on the Championship Tour, surfing against the best of the best at the most famous breaks in the world. He used to be a stereotypical surfer: tanned skin, six pack, long hair. Unfortunately, age hadn’t treated him well: he was now short, fat, and wrinkled. He still had long hair, but it had since gone a grimy grey. This had never stopped him from charging it out in the waves though. He was one of the most experienced surfers in Byron. Gary had seen him surfing Old Smokey on his own: 40ft waves rolling in, Hicko just catching wave after wave. From that moment onwards, all Gary wanted was to surf big waves. He’d gone down to Hicko’s shack beside the beach, in hope of some training. Hicko agreed, and they had formed quite a strong friendship over the last few months. Last week, Hicko had finally made the call: Gary was ready. *** Gary woke up later that morning, his mind still on the day ahead. He decided to go for a surf at the local to take his mind off it. He got his wetty on, grabbed his board, and headed to the beach.

He’d been out for a while, and he caught a small one in. A fun wave, he got a few turns in. As he surfed in he looked over the bay: the green trees, the larrikins on the beach, the line of people at Robbo’s coffee van. He noticed the wind had dropped – a calm before the storm. ‘Better get home,’ Gary thought to himself. ‘Hicko’ll be round soon.’ He got home, got changed, and burst into the kitchen. He grabbed a banana and a protein bar. He ran back into his room to get a warmer wetty and his float vest. Just as he walked out the front door, Hicko pulled up in his unmissable yellow Kombi. “Gaz mate, how are ya?” Hicko asked enthusiastically. “Travelling alright, mate,” Gary replied as he locked the front door. “Yeah not too bad thanks mate,” Hicko responded. “I’ve got a board on the roof for ya. Chuck yer stuff in the back and jump in.” “No worries!” Gary shouted over the engine. He threw his float vest and wetty in the back, and walked around to the front of the car. He jumped in next to Hicko and peeled his banana as the two began the trip down the coast. *** “Mate, it’s pumping out there. I went for a squiz this morning— it’s gonna be perfect for ya,” Hicko bellowed enthusiastically. “Yeah, righto,” Gary replied. He was feeling the nerves once again. He felt dizzy, and his palms were sweaty. “Yeah, I reckon we’ve scored with the connos mate,” Hicko declared. Gary’s stomach jolted. “Pull over for a minute,” he mumbled. “What’s wro-” “Just bloody pull over!” Gary shouted. Hicko pulled up on the side of the road, and Gary got out and spewed up all over a little bush. His nerves were beginning to overtake him. Hicko came around and squatted down next to him. “Mate, try to take your mind off it. Think of a party with some mates, or being out at a club. Focus on the good to come. Always seemed to help me when the waves were bloody scary,” Hicko told him, his voice comforting. “Yeah, thanks mate. I feel a bit better after that spew.” Gary slowly stood up. The two got back in the car and continued up the coast. 30 minutes later, they’d arrived at the car park. They suited up, waxed their boards, and headed down to the beach. The sky was now full of black clouds rolling in menacingly. In the horizon, Gary could see rain pouring down. “Right, let’s get out there!” Hicko yelled, excited. As Gary paddled out, his heart was pounding. He was bouncing up and down on his board, and nearly fell off a couple times. “Get it together,” he said sternly to himself as he took a few deep breaths. He reached the passed the impact zone, and got out the back safely. He was now out there all alone. Hicko had just caught one and was waiting in the channel, ready to watch Gary. A few minutes later, Gary could see a big set coming in. He paddled towards it. His hands were clamming together. He paddled over the first wave, and turned around ready for the second. He paddled hard. He heard Hicko in the background: “Not an ounce of fear mate!” Chin down, he closed his eyes and felt the wave take him. He felt too deep, but as he stood up and opened his eyes, he realised he was in the perfect position. In that moment, all the fear and nerves drained from his body. He felt bliss, wonder, awe. Each emotion surged through him as he barrelled along. Finally, he kicked off the back of the wave and floated to a stop. “Hell yeah!” he screamed at the top of his lungs as he fell into the water. He’d done it.

The Young Mariners BENJAMIN BATES YEAR 10

I thought he was going to kill me. He always said that he would. I could hear his voice, fuming. “You break the boat, and I’ll kill yah!” In the end, he didn’t end up killing me or my mates— but boy oh boy did we come close. From the first moments we clambered into the boat, we felt euphoric. “Let’s go, boys!” I said cheerfully. I felt like the kid who’d just had his father’s car keys handed to him. We found the perfect spot with a bit of reef and a bit of sand. The smell of the languid ocean air breezed through my nose. Mum had only just bought me a brand-new lure. Instantly I made a connection with it. I strongly believed that this lure and I were going to catch the biggest fish and have the best times. And this was the first day we’d spend together - the lure and I. Unfortunately, my dreams of becoming a power duo with this lure were snatched away in just a matter of seconds. I flung the lure out and while pulling it back in, it got caught onto a jagged piece of the reef. After several minutes of battling the reef by loosening the line and jiggling it back in, I concluded that I was going to have to jump into the drink. Dad’s final words— “Don’t get into the water!”— were still crystal clear in my ears. However, I was not ready to let go of ‘my precious’ that early. I dragged my body through the water, tropical fish scuttling past me. They knew I wanted the lure, but they also knew something I didn’t. Resting on the seabed under a large body of reef was a shark. “Shark!” I yelled. I knew instantly that I had to put all my hours of watching Olympic swimming into action so I could swim away from the beast. I wasn’t even sure whether it was chasing me or not. I just wanted to get out of there. I climbed wearily back into the safety of the boat only to discover that my mate, in my absence, had made the same mistake. His lure was stuck on that same reef. I knew that going back into the water was not an option, so the only way to get his lure back was manoeuvring the boat around the reef. Suddenly, another issue arose. Dad had instilled in me, when I was younger, the wisdom that the fishing line wrapped around the propeller was a concern. I knew straight away I was in trouble. All my problem-solving skills had to come together.

Although jumping back into the water was the last thing I wanted to do, it had to be done to set us free. My mates offered to untangle the line themselves but I knew deep inside that it was my responsibility. After spending multiple minutes untangling small amounts of line, the thought of being eaten alive gnawed at the back of my mind. I ended up grabbing a knife and chopping all the line off the propeller. I wasn’t prepared to spend any more time in the shark playpen. After I leaped back into the boat I told the boys, “We ain’t fishing anymore today,” and they all agreed. We decided instead we were going to finish off the trip with a supposedly relaxing search for some squid. We were wrong though. There was not one thing calm and relaxing about going squidging. The second we dropped our lines in, they all instantly hooked up. After more untangling, the squidging began in earnest. One by one we reeled in squid and, as they came up, they squirted ink everywhere. It started to look like a battleground, where three soldiers were dodging multiple bullets firing in nearly all directions. We had to dodge these bullets each time a squid was reeled in. While dodging ink and having a laugh about it was all fun and games, but everything became serious when we realized how much ink was on all of the carpet and the side of the boat. After making a mess and having such bad luck with the fishing, we decided to head back to shore. The smooth water met the blue sky at the horizon. Dad’s ominous voice growling at me, “I’m gonna kill you,” was playing constantly on my mind, like a song on repeat. When we reached the shore, I decided to throw myself at Dad’s mercy. I raced over to tell him the truth. I was ready to be in serious trouble. Surprisingly, Dad wasn’t too upset with the whole fishing experience. When I told him about what happened with all the squid ink he replied with, “Don’t stress, boats are made to be used,” which sparked a lot of relief. Resurrection feels damn good— even when you have to spend hours getting squid ink out of the boat.

An open letter

To My Alarm Clock JOEL FOLLEY YEAR 10

20/05/2021 Joel’s Blog Entry #4 To my alarm clock, It’s an interesting love-hate relationship we have, don’t you think? Yeah, I’ll admit you’re pretty good at getting me out of bed on time, which is no easy feat. But that screech you make at 6:30 AM precisely. Don’t even get me started on that damn sound. Let me describe what I go through every morning. Imagine pure bliss, relaxation and comfort. No pressure, no responsibility, nothing at all on my mind as I recharge. Peace. Quiet. Tranquillity. All of a sudden, the devil possesses you, the little tiny clock next to my bed, that screams to mark the start of another hellish day at school. Pressure and stress come rushing back in my head like a flood, as I remember endless tests and assignments looming in the future. If you haven’t noticed by now, I obviously value my sleep quite a bit. If I don’t get enough of it, I end up acting and looking like a teenage version of Oscar the Grouch. In fact, half of Australian teenagers don’t get enough sleep. Like a phone without charge, us teenagers can barely perform basic tasks, let alone analyse parabolas and write essays. And who would have guessed, we all get woken up every morning by the auditory slap in the face known as an alarm clock. Is this a coincidence? Surely I’m not the only one connecting these dots? Okay fine, I guess I’ve complained enough. If I really have to be honest here, I probably wouldn’t be able to function without you. There, I said it. Are you happy? What we have here is a classic example of a love-hate relationship. In a way, you’re kind of like a psycho girlfriend. Always screaming and yelling at me at the wrong times, but always motivating me and getting me where I need to be.

While we’re in this little therapy session together, I think our relationship needs to change. It’s just not working, is it? Maybe I should even apologise. Although the sounds you make are anything but pleasant, I’ll admit there’s been times where I’ve hurled just as much verbal abuse back at you. Probably some physical abuse too. I’m not myself at 6:30 in the damn morning. Yes, alarm clock, I am truly sorry. I guess you’re only trying to do your job. All the way back in 1787, you were invented with one purpose: to wake people up. The same reason I, and millions of other people, bought you. I apologise. Now that I think about it, it must be a monumental task, waking up a sloth like me every morning without fail. This is a love-hate relationship, but from now on, let’s put more focus on that second word: love. Let’s face it, I wouldn’t be much without you, except unmotivated, lazy and extremely late. Sleep is heaven, but there’s a whole life to live outside of the covers, and you made me realise that. With LOVE, Joel

MEDIA

A series of film posters by Year 9 students

Finlay Brophy (Year 9)

Oscar Cannata (Year 9) Harry Sloan (Year 9)

Rylan Paatsch (Year 9)

Jackson Mithen (Year 9)

Cian Bushe-Jones (Year 9)

Hunta Reid (Year 9)

Hamish Symanski (Year 9) Harry Cox (Year 9)

Will Maddeford (Year 9)

Tiernan Lyne (Year 9)

A collection of work from CBC Fremantle English, Art and Media students from Year 7 to Year 12.