S
ometimes it feels like a hand that holds you, or at other times it is an old habit that’s seemingly unbreakable. It’s the passion that consumes you, or the desperation for more. That’s what it was. MORE. the need for MORE. And that need for MORE rested in the soul of an old lady, shivering in a public transportation booth. Usually bad habits are curable with a great degree of mental focus and strength. Other times the irrationality of the human body trumps the rational part of the brain, thus making this temping power overwhelm you. It was a cold morning. Or night, as most would call it. It was at dawn, at the brink of light and dark. The wind was blowing in cold, freezing drafts, icy waves cutting into the cheeks of the weary. An old Lady was huddling in a blanket of rags, leaning with her back to a wall. Outwardly she seemed like another pitiful stranger, another victimised beggar of the world’s falling economy. Inside, she was smiling jovially, her cold, grey eyes reflecting the gleaming luster of a gold trinket she was coveting under the blanket. It was the latest of the long line of treasures she had stolen. Her long, spidery, mottled fingers crawled over the gleaming metal. She licked her lips with savage delight, one long, purple tongue wiping her cracked, crimson lipstick-stained mouth. For a moment, the hag seemed satisfied, aglow with the wealth and riches she grasped in her gnarled hand... but no!
Minjoon Kim, Y9 Her face once again grew angry, similar to a puffer fish blowing up in defense. No matter how much she took, it was NEVER ENOUGH. She convulsed, lines of anger appearing on her wrinkled, weatthehred features. Nose stooping, teeth bared, her claws still clenching the gold, she snarled quietly, “Never enough...” Gripped by some horrendous curse, she dropped the treasure in a bulging pack right next to her (also filled with valuables) and started tearing out her brittle, greyish-black strands of hair.
A nearby bystander, who had been watching this all happen in a mild, curious fashion, shouted in alarm. “Stop, Madame!” He yelled. The youth grabbed her arms and pinned them down beside her. He was wearing a charcoal-grey suit with a black tie, and white rose bloomed in his breast pocket. The old lady growled, “Let me go!” But the man kept holding her down until she was too tired to continue on her furious rampage. He didn’t want to stop. She thrashed and struggled and cursed the young man, at least until she saw what he was wearing around his neck.
Gustav, Y9 Girl with a Pearl Earring, Johannes Vermeer
It was a ring. A ring of magnificent properties, a ring that shines with the lustrous beauty of a midday sun. But what was more enticing about THIS particular ring was that she recognised that ring. In fact, it was HERS. Yes, she had seen that ring before. It had once encircled her fingers, back in the old days, when she was young and spry. It had been her greatest treasure, a family heirloom, her most beloved possession. But she had given it away to a dangerous stranger to spare her own LIFE. Yes, that was probably when her life of thievery began. Confused, the man let go of her, bamboozled why she had stopped struggling so suddenly. “Can I help you?” Warily, the old lady stood up with shaking knees. “I’m sorry for that little fit I had there, young man. Could you point me the way to the...” She racked her brains for a suitable facade. “The Hospital! Yes, the hospital. Could you tell me where the hospital is?” The man frowned. “Uh... It’s that way... but...” “Ah yes, thank you!” She cried out. “My husband is ill with a very severe bout of pain. The doctors called itt... uhh.... What did they call it?” She racked her brains again. “Lung Carcinoma! Yes, That’s what they called it.” She had been blabbering very rapidly. Eyebrows raised with pity, the young man folded her hands in his and expressed his compassion. “I’m very sorry, Mrs...?” “Angelina!” She quickly made up a name that would be feasible for the situation. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Angelina. I can understand what anguish you’re going through...” Meanwhile, the hag voraciously fixated her gaze on the young man’s necklace. “The chain is very thin. One yank, he won’t notice... I wonder...?”
“...My own mam died earlier this year too. I really hope your husband gets better, Mrs. Angelina, I really do.” “Oh, Yes! But the thing is...” She began sobbing great, voluminous tears, and wailed loudly with a heartrending cry. “He isn’t getting any better! And my old family savings are going dry just to produce medicine for him...” With a flourish, she pulled out the flimsiest little treasure she had on her; a silvery necklace absolutely DRIPPING with rubies and amber; out of her pocket. She clenched it tightly in her hand. “This is all I have left...” The man stood up uncertainly, filled with pity for the mourning old lady. “Is there anything I can do to help you, miss?” Other than offer my condolences? Perhaps I could drive you to the hospital...?” Still sighing, she shakily stumbled towards the young man. “Oh, you’ve already done more than I could ever ask you to do, dearie, offering me a shoulder to cry on...” She mimed stumbling on a loose cobble and fell screaming into the young man’s startled arms. “Aaaaaahhh!-” NOW! Yank! And then it was in her gnarled fingers. For a second, she felt nothing but adrenaline, but when it was clear that the boy had not noticed, an immense feeling of joy ballooned up inside her long stone-cold heart. A single solitary tear rolled down her cheeks. “At last...” With numb fingers, she made a tight fist around the ring- No. HER ring. It was hers by right and always had been. “Mrs. Angelina! Are you all right?” The young gentleman’s face portrayed nothing but worry and alarm. He knew for a fact how the elderly couldn’t just go stumbling over loose cobblestones and get away unscathed. He should know. He had seen his own mother go through that same ordeal- and not make it out alive. “I’m fine, young sir. In fact, I feel better than I ever have in my entire life.” She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you for your assistance,
young man. Your help and the condolences you offered me today are duly accepted with a grateful heart.” Grinning in self-pride, the youth tipped his hat towards her. “If there’s anything more I can do for you-” “Oh, no, no, o, young man! I can make my own way to the hospital now. Thank you so much for EVERYTHING you’ve done for me today.” She meant this quite literally. “Well, I’ll be off, then.” He flashed his white teeth to her in a broad smile, then strutted off, calling to her his last words, “And I hope that our paths will cross again, Miss Angelina! I really do!” After he was gone, she dropped her innocent guise. “Thank you, friend.” For the first time in forty years a real, true smile broke out on her face. “Thank you, very much indeed.” Why did she do it? Well, sometimes it feels like a hand that holds you, or at other times it is an old habit that’s seemingly unbreakable. It’s the passion that consumes you, or the desperation for more. That’s what it was. MORE. the need for MORE. And that need for MORE rested in the soul of an old lady, shivering in a public transportation booth.
Amelie, Y7 The Guitar Player by Johannes Vermeer
Why?
I
Why?
An hour later, I was sitting outside of the hospital with 12 stitches above my eyes and no recollection of what had happened. The round face had turned out to belong to my twin sister, Megs. She was staring at me worriedly; the phone she’d used to call a taxi limp in her hand. Her ginormous bright green eyes were red, as though she’d been crying. At this point, I wondered why. And, what about Mum or Dad? Where are they? I voiced this concern to Megs. Tossing her long, chocolaty brown hair out of her face, she replied, “well, Mum left just after you fell…. She knew she was next…” That bit concerned me. “And dad?” “Dad…. Ah!!! Here’s the taxi!” I noticed how quickly Megs had changed the subject. What was up with Dad?
I hated him
remember it being dark. Then, all of a sudden, I became aware of something trickling down my neck and onto my shirt. Then, the pain. Oh, it was agony! This burning, searing pain threatening to take over my entire body. I moaned and tried to open my eyes. It was so bright. I felt like a newborn baby, not yet ready to face the world. My eyes hurt, and all I could hear was a constant ringing in my ears. All of a sudden, I smelt warm, pepperminty breath. I opened my eyes, cautiously this time, and found a round face staring down at me. “You’re going to need stitches,” it commented.
The taxi STANK. It smelt like vomit and cigarettes, and there was a dubious stain on the right seat. Strangely, the smell didn’t seem to bother Megs. She sat idly flicking through her phone, without a care in the world. Or so it seemed… I wondered why she’d changed the subject so quickly…
Why...? I know now. I understand why Megs was so hesitant to talk about Dad. He’s peering at me now, examining the stitches as though he could’ve done better. “I mean…” he slurs drunkenly, “It’s not as bad as some of the others…” Like a spider scuttling he runs his hand over my face. “Your mother always hides in the dark…” he murmurs. “But not you. You always accept your punishment like a good boy.”
A burning rage bubbled up inside of me. But then I saw the look in his eyes. The burning rage subsided. He looms ominously over me. A cheetah before it kills, he whispers, “so, I got a call from school today… all worried about your black eye.... What did you say?” All of a sudden, I become acutely aware of my senses. His beer breath intoxicates me, and his cold green eyes lock into mine. I was out before he hit me. Dark. It’s so dark. Dark…
“W
ho are you?” she asks the girl in the mirror.
Even after what seems like an eternity, there is no reply, and when there is none, one can only stick to the judgement of their own eye to make the verdict. Is what she sees what she expects, or is it a chagrin that hasn’t met the high expectations of society? Will she only see her flaws, her mistakes or will she see something bigger than the insignificance? Will she be startled by the atrocity and turn away or to stand up to all the fuss and take the blame? Will she use the immaculate eye, or do her sentiments need some disinfection? It’s those sunken eyes, those concave lips and the hesitant look in her eyes that bring the guilt and fear out of the blurry figure standing right in front of her. After all, those things that ought to have not been there are the things which define her. It’s the moment of truth, but is judging the girl in the mirror alright if judging yourself is not good? A day scrambles away and in return comes another day, filled with insecurities and fear. It’s a day of asking the essential question, “Who are you and do I like you?” “No, I don’t think I do.”
Kathryn Fleming, Y9
Now, will she accept it? Will she finally hear what the girl in the mirror has to say? Will she, for once, neglect the flaws and focus on the beauty? Maybe this time, she won’t try to fix it, nor hide it, but to just accept it. Accepting is better than hating, but when will she realise, true beauty is not in the mirror? When will she stop the hate she gives, the anxiety and depression? When will she stop this self-consciousness which is, like a virus, taking control over her? Because when it does, it leaves a scar that will last, both on the outside and inside.
Another day approaches and with it comes something else: A devil in disguise. A bitter pill and an inevitable question that no one can answer, “Who are you and do I want to know?”
standards and to those out there who judge themselves, tell yourself that you can overcome your insecurities. You can become independent of the girl in the mirror, just like a million others did.
How long did it take her to realise that she’s not just her skin? That she is her words, her actions, her personality and not what is on the outside. Now come and see what she’s become. Ask “Who are you?” and in return comes, “Yes, it’s truly beautiful”. Confident and proud spreading positivity. Head up, looking straight in the eyes, and best of all, a wide smile plastered across her face. See, when she is who she’s meant to be, others get affected, too. Others get inspired, too. Others find who they are, too.
And like that, it’s your turn to ask the girl in the story… “Who are you?”
For her entire life, she hadn’t understood that the solution is not in clearing the mud off her skin but cleaning the hate off the mirror, the smoky clouds of humidity which only deform the reflection. Now, she’ll never be the ‘she’ she sees in the mirror, but rather the “she” she feels in herself. It’s time to ask again, and the answer will be one of delight, not misery “Who are you”. “I am me.” This time it’s a new sensation, a feeling of companionship. Because now, she looks in the mirror and sees the stories of millions of others, struggling to find who they are. The people who once felt they were in quicksand, just being pulled down, deeper into uncertainty, but who escaped it. As humans, we tend to judge others, and especially ourselves, based on things we cannot change, however, this shouldn’t be the criteria of whether you get a high or low income or whether your votes count or not. In some cases, your life depends on it. We are not our body, our race, our face, and no one else should judge us by those
Heyon Choi, Y8
S
wish!
The ball was in my hands. Quickly, I glanced up at the clock. 1 second to go. It was now or never. I had to shoot; I was terrified. Suddenly everything went blurry. As if I was on auto-mode, I exploded out of my jump shot and as if God had pushed the ball out of my hands the ball soared toward the net. A thousand thoughts raced through my head. What if I missed it? What if I scored? Will my teammates hate me for life if I don’t score? Time stood still. This was the championship. The ball soared through the air almost in slowmotion. Bzzzzz! The buzzer had gone. Suddenly all those thoughts disappeared, but everything was still a blur. The ball had flown through the net. It didn’t touch the rim; it barely even touched the net! I turned around toward the crowd as they greeted me with a roar of delight! I felt like the King of the World! Swish! The bus ride on the way home was awesome! Someone had put the video on youtube and in just 3 minutes it had already had a hundred and seventy views! Everyone wanted a photo with the new youtube star. Everyone was watching the shot. It was only a few seconds long, but it felt like a minute to me at the time. It felt amazing to be the hero of such a big game; I felt ten feet tall!
the winning shot, it was nothing.” Mum would start squealing and jumping up and down, I might join her even! Mum would call Dad and he would start rushing back home from work, or maybe he’d have to keep on working. Dad is my family’s main source of money so he has to work a lot, but he does his best to spend time with me and sis. He’s the best! All of a sudden my planning was put to a halt as the bus stopped at my house. Everyone cheered me as I exited, as I walked to the door. Swish! Alfie bolted past me like a bullet. Strange, he doesn’t do that often. As I walked into the house, I saw all my mum’s wedding photos on the floor. Strange. “Jeeves what happened?” I called out. No response. Strange. I searched around the house, Marianne and Jeeves were nowhere to be seen. And then, views on youtube didn’t seem to matter quite as much. “Mum?” No answer. “Mum” Still no answer. She was definitely home; I saw her keys on the table. Frantically, I rushed up the stairs. “Mum, where are you? What’s happe-? I had never seen my mother crying before. Swish. That was how fast my father had walked out the door never to return.
On the rest of the ride home, after everything had calmed down, I planned what I would say when I got home. I would walk into the house and Jeeves the butler would come and get my bag, Marianne would ask me what I wanted for dinner and my mum would ask me how the game went. I would just be calm about it and say: “I just scored
Swish…
I
t was happening. Just like it happened to my parents. Just like it happened to their parents. Little did I know it was going to happen to my own wife… Until… it did.
The only thing I heard at this very moment was a steady beat of her deep and rough breath whispering in my ear. As I rubbed my finger across her fragile hand, I glanced at the monitor which was constantly showing decreasing numbers… Little did I know that in that minute, footsteps of doctors and nurses frantically carrying emergency equipment were coming closer every second. Nonetheless, I was still hoping there would be a miracle - just this time. Just this one time. Just to save my one and only wife.
At home, I could feel tears swelling up as I dug my head into her silken white blanket that she used to drape over her. The scent of the perfume I presented her with long ago was soaked into the soft and soothing blanket. In an instant, the sheets were damp with blobs of tears… Then there was complete silence. However, the silence did not last long. This was because it was broken by a gruff whisper saying, “She is still alive…” I hesitated for a split second. Then I lifted my head up. What I saw was my wife’s ocean blue eyes that stared back from the face of our two-year-old daughter. Little did I know I would be writing this story with the eyes of my dead wife staring back at me. Little did I know…
Two silent minutes passed by like an eagle flying over me. This was when I began to hear faint, panicking voices and footsteps approaching nearer and nearer. In the blink of an eye, her bed was surrounded by sweating doctors holding absurd looking equipment as their hands were trembling above her unconscious body. Meanwhile I was in a whole different state of mind. I was thinking, “Will there be someone by my side when I am dying? Will there be someone who stays beside me from day to night?” Beeeeeep.... I was petrified when I heard the loud and long sound of the old, offwhite colored monitor that was standing beside her body which was now a dead body. All I felt was terror rushing through my bones. I could not believe what I saw before my eyes. ********************************************************************************
Nick, Y9 The Desperate Man by Gustave Courbet
S
he’s here once again. I’d rather not say, but I know where this is going…
As quiet as a pin drop, she steps in. I put on a fake smile, secretly wanting her to know my desire to kick her off this bus. I’m hoping with all my might that perhaps she has forgotten the usual routine - nope, she’s approaching to the front. Does she not know that you random passengers are not allowed to lounge around near the bus drivers’ seat? Why is she even here? Will this woman just let me do my job and move out of the way? After all, I happen to be driving a bus! Regardless of what was going on (passengers coming in and out) the old gremlin seems to be alright crawling from behind the bus to stand next to me. She hands me the Vitamin C and I grab it with my sweat-filled hand. Out of the corner of my left eye, I see a red traffic light. Out of the other eye, she smiles at me with the tiny strength she has got. I don’t usually take random pills from passengers… But this woman happens to be my mom. “You know how your father died-” the old lady spoke as I cut her off. “Don’t bring back the past, mom!” I interrupt with a louder voice than usual. “I just want you to stay healthy… that’s all” cries mom.
Gerassimos Moshonas, Y9
I already have so much stress and I am tired of these ladies talking to me. I wiggle my neck around to reach out for the vitamin.
The wrinkles on my forehead, the expressions on my eyebrows all crunch up, however I mustn't be rude. I choose to force myself towards the Vitamin. She hands me her water bottle with her fragile boned hands that are so thin that with one knock, her fingers would vanish. The traffic light is still on red. Maybe I can just take the Vitamin like any other day and she will walk off. Meanwhile, the cars behind me go wild, “BEEP ''-ing everywhere!
throat must have been locked. I scream like a trumpet whining through a catacomb. The surroundings grow wild and wilder until I know... I know where this is going...
I swallow the water along with the Vitamin. I wait. Still waiting… I feel as though I have never been this quiet in my life. I don’t even dare to breathe, and so I know exactly when my heart beat begins to change . Hang on...This is strange. Nothing happens as if nothing was supposed to happen in the first place. My throat feels normal and in fact there is a refreshing mint herb scent going through my neck. Everything seems to be normal and that is the strange part. Strange enough to touch my face and wonder if any of my facial parts had gone off. Strange indeed… All of a sudden, my throat tightens up- my whole body goes numb and I get shivers and goosebumps along my shoulders. My chest vibrates in a rhythm which grows faster and faster each second. Gradually, the women, followed by the people sitting in the bus, seem to realize something is wrong...very wrong. I reach out with the last of my strength I have and whisper... “Mother, why have you done this to me...?” At that very split second, I see my hands losing energy and dangling onto the wheel. When the passengers notice how serious it is starting to get, instead of helping me and calling an ambulance, they run off. My
Mina Laursen, Y9
P
ick me… Why pick the ruler? He is just a line. Why pick the pen? I mean, she’s the same as me! She’s even worse; she can’t get erased, but I can!
Every day I have to listen to the popular ruler and pen argue about how many times they got picked. “I got picked 3 times.” the ruler bragged. “Whatever! I got picked 5 times!” the pen said. “Uh…can you be a bit quiet, please?” “Shut up, you’re just a stupid pencil!” The pen was mad. “Oh… okay.” Pick me, is it that hard? Every time I look at the pencil case open, my heart starts to beat so fast it sounds like it’s humming, and in my mind, I say “Pick me. Pick me, please…” But once I say that, the hand goes to the pen - so annoying. But today my life changes. The pencil case opens and I see the hand, but the hand is coming to me! I am so happy. Then I think, why is he grabbing me with two hands? SNAP! I feel a searing pain in my waist. I am dying and I have two words to say… Why me?
Floortje Kamphuis, Y8
Scholastic Winner
T
he wood creaked beneath my feet as I stood to look out the window. In other homes you would see nice, intact windows with wonderful views. Mine is different. My home is tense as well as shattered. Just like my own emotions.
Sigh…
Living in a haunted mansion is difficult: the rooftop is see-through, curtains are reduced to charred strips of leather and the hollow sound of wind echoes thoroughly inside my mind: my worst fears along with my best hopes. This place will drive you crazy. Sigh… Every night, a figure (ghostly pale) phases into my very room, dressed in complete white. It looks as though it had been a human being, however, it has claws for hands and a beak for its nose. Therefore, it looks like a mixture of an eagle with paws of a lion. It will apprehend me with a powerful warning, one that foreshadows my doom. In retrospect, I am lucky to be alive this long. Sigh… Supposedly, a being that looks close to the well-known Grim Reaper will glide down the alley, into this broken-down mansion at the peak of twilight, with eyes of blazing blue, narrowed down to slits like a deadly python, radiating death and resentment. I will likely call him 'the Executioner’. Crazy? Yes, this place will drive you crazy.
A clueless farmer came along, whistling in his pure delight. While he was whistling though, his eyes caught the fragile mansion, then instinctively prioritized exploring it as his main goal. He crept towards the towering mansion in a painfully slow style, until he succeeded only to get caught by a pair of bony hands, that gripped his ankles with immense strength then pulled him down into the packed terrain. There was a cry of alarm. Then a wail of agony. At my next glance, there was nothing remaining, except for a mere straw hat where the farmer once was.
Sigh… “Ding dong, 2’o clock” chimed the malfunctioning clock. The shine of twilight flashed across the graveyard, like beams of light dancing across a stage. A pale silhouette appeared, wearing a hood of pitch black, carrying the ambition of murder. He was wielding a crimson stained, jetblack scythe. The bone hands bowed down to him and the gravestones leaned towards him, as if they were attracted to him. I could sense a sinister, savage beast inside him. The stairs creaked once, then twice, then one of them snapped. The door was kicked open, which made a sound of a poisoned rodent. Gliding across the room, the figure came, eyes filled with hatred. Where there once was a smile now held a scowl; where there once were eyes resembling happiness now held the glares of daggers. As the blade came down so did my spirits, manifested with charges of regret and depression. I shed a tear. And with this tear my life had fallen. Sigh…
Sigh… Twilight had fallen.
C
RASH! Fireworks... New year’s eve…
A sound from downstairs. I was startled! I thought nobody but my brother, me and of course that pointless babysitter was in the house. My brother ran downstairs to see what had happened. It's possible the babysitter dropped a vase or something.
Everybody is thinking about the future; I think about the past… Everyone is celebrating with their families; I sit on the bus stop, alone, waiting for a bus to take me to the place of my childhood. I don’t remember where it is, or how to get there. All I know is what happened there and why I ran away...
About 30 minutes had passed, I sat on the edge of my bed, waiting… At that moment, I heard a familiar voice, “Don’t come down! Lock your door!” It was my brother! I knew he was in trouble, I had to disobey his words! Though I was unaware that what I was about to do would be my lifelong regret…
It all started 23 years ago, I was 7: too young to go to a party, too young to stay alone. That was the reason my brother stayed home while my parents went to the new year’s party. He could’ve gone, he was 18, but no he insisted on staying with me. Me and my brother were very close; he taught me everything he knew; I was the smartest kid in my class. I had lots of friends. I had the best teacher. My life was perfect! I didn’t know it would become a living nightmare in just a few hours.
Then, unexpectedly, there was a piercing scream! I hurried down to where it came from. The lights were off… I switched it on and… I saw something that would haunt for the rest of my life… Blood… As read as fresh rose petals… Lying on the floor, the babysitter and… My brother! My knees landed on the floor and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.
It was 1am, “One more bowl please!” “No! We’re going to get in trouble!” “Really? That useless babysitter is sleeping! She’s not going to catch us having a scoop of ice-cream!” I restlessly moaned
It felt like an hour before I saw a shadow coming over me. I knew that this person behind me was holding something… Something short… Something sharp… I don’t know what I did next… I don’t remember… Except for the fact that I kept running. I ran without looking back. I ran without stopping. And so… I remember the crash and my brother’s desperate voice, that I disobeyed…
“I guess you're right… Ok! Let's go!” My brother kindly agreed Crash! Then as I stood up… I think you can imagine the rest… CRASH!
B
ANG!
The sirens filled the air sending panic through me. I darted forward, starting to run looking for cover however I saw a lady, desperately searching for somewhere to hide. There was no cover. I grabbed and pushed her down to the ground. I could feel the ground below me shaking and I tightened my grip around her. I felt her… every time the ground would tremble her nails dug deeper into my back. Once it was silent again we lay for a couple more minutes before I got off her and helped her up. Her hand in mine we finally shared eye contact. As soon as she was on her feet she edged herself close to me. I felt her pulling at my heart. Her hand ran over my uniform. I knew she was using me, but I couldn’t help it. Who wouldn't use an American soldier, with their chocolate, silk and cigarettes? And what type of a woman would be out on the streets so late? Her lips were as smooth as silk, delicately brushing against mine. I should have walked away and got her to safety but she had me under her trance, her ivory green eyes staring into my soul, hypnotizing me. In the distance Big Ben struck midnight and fireworks were freed into the sky. She pulled away out of my arms. I stood there, like an idiot gazing at her. In that second the world felt like poison and she was my antidote. I snapped back into reality, they weren't fireworks and the bombs were not dropping either! She gave me a cryptic smile as she whipped her head around. The smell of lavender had disappeared from the atmosphere. She was gone!
Juwhan Wang, Y8 My body went numb. It was only a couple of seconds since she had left, but to me it felt like a century. I thought about her snow white cheeks that had blushed a rosy pink. Her raven black hair that swayed around her shoulders. I watched her run away, rooted to the ground, unable to move. Who was she? Where could I find her? But it didn’t even matter, I was leaving tomorrow. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I had been typing up the orders for the soldiers to go to Normandy; they would be leaving tomorrow. We all prayed this could be the beginning of the end. With the Germans distracted we could surely win. We had them outnumbered in places but God help those in the gliders and those who were parachuting behind the lines. Who knew the numbers they faced? I pray for the men fighting for us and their home. The general had said: “of course there will be casualties however what is a war without them?” “We may face a blood bath, however we will win this war and those sacrifices shall be worth it!” Is that what we are calling men now, casualties? We will win the war but we will come back stained with blood, the blood of our victims staining my hands. I may not pull the trigger but I typed the order.
Once it was silent again we lay for a couple more minutes before he got off me and pulled me up. I looked him in the eye, what a hero. The casualty was just a boy no older than… me.
What an awful price to pay.
I don’t know what came over me. Kissing him? We didn’t even know each other. What was I thinking…that’s exactly the problem. I wasn't thinking; I acted. That was so unlike me!
It was getting late. It was time to go home. The stars sparkled in the sky like a million diamonds stuck in the eternal darkness up there.
What an awful price to pay… I pulled myself closer to him… I ran my hand over his uniform. I knew I might not ever see him again, but I couldn’t help it. This was my fault. What an awful price to pay… I pulled away from him. His crystal blue eyes transfixed on mine. As I held his hand I didn’t have a care in the world, like it was just me and him and no war. Like the world was at peace. I had to go, I had to leave. I gave him a smile sending him my deepest condolences.
And all I could do was just walk away.
BANG Sirens filled the air sending panic through me. I desperately searched for somewhere to hide. There was no cover. I felt someone grabbing me and the next thing I knew I had been pushed to the ground and covered by a body. I could feel the ground below me shaking, I tightened my grip around him every time. I felt him… I felt his breath on my cheek, I felt him shake… He was afraid. I dug my nails deeper into him, feeling his uniform...Oh God, his uniform! What an awful price to pay...
But it doesn’t matter. He leaves for Normandy tomorrow. __________________________________________ What an awful price we paid.
N
anumi, a Korean word for “someone who shares,” is a charity organization that aims to lend a hand to the homeless population in Seoul. As a Nanumi, I often spend my Thursdays serving them food or washing the dirty dishes. I also love to play my flute for them because music brings everyone joy. Being a Nanumi was bundled with empathy because meeting the homeless led me to uncover the dark, hidden sides of Seoul. When I think of the word “empathy,” I imagine putting on another person’s shoes and awkwardly trying to walk in them. Even if I end up waddling because their shoes don’t fit my tiny feet, there is beauty in consciously making an effort to relate to another human being. Empathy is the window to seeing life from other places.
Dayeon Lee, Y9
Hjalmar, Y7 Girl and Cat by Pierre-Auguste Renoir
E
very time I go outside to get some fresh air and watch the beautiful cherry blossoms that are in full bloom right now, I think about Thanos. Yes, Thanos, from the 'Avengers'. After the COVID-19 virus separated humanity 'to its last atom', it really does feel like half of human civilization, was... Gone. Disappeared from usual chaotic and diverse places that were full of life. In the movies, it took the Avengers 5 whole years to restore humanity back to its fullness again. The Corona virus could maybe go on longer than any of us expect - but even during these independent times, we have to be the 'Avengers' who are the role models of society. Don't give up hope. Reach out to others around you and help them up. Take actions and be responsible for all the things you do. Be the ones that do not fear pandemics and viruses. Be the ones to lead the future.
H
ard times. Definitely hard times. Not being able to go to school, not being able to see your friends and having to suffer through technical difficulties in online learning. It's not easy to take in changes at once, especially if they're abrupt and drastic like this. However, there's a reason why humans are called the 'animals of adaptation'. No matter how difficult it may be, let's try our best to find ways to fight through this, together. Think of everything in the bright side! After all, with the Corona outbreak handing us loads of free time, this is your chance to do things to like: read a book, play an instrument or any hobby of your preference. All in all, in the future, this is will become another interesting memory in your life. Don't let Corona ever take you down (or become an excuse to be demotivated).