After reading through all the great submissions for our competition, the judges made the hard call. There are three winners and two highly commended works.
Winner Adult Category Forgetting to Remember by Trevor Steele .................................................. Page 3 …Now he was well into the bush. There was almost silence now, but he knew very well that late in the morning the locusts up in the trees made such a din you wanted to close your ears…
Highly Commended Adult Category Heaven Closed by Marion Howes .................................................................... Page 5 …My legs trembled as we entered Hades on the night of the exhibition. It was pandemonium: people fuelled with insolence and wine bellowed at one another and showed off their designer clothes…
Winner Youth Category Bewildered by the Literature by Zachary Sheridan ................................... Page 8 …Blood pumping, air rushing. The cool night air cuts through me like a knife through warm butter. How did I get here? No idea. Where are my clothes? Not a clue. Albeit I am being chased for something I didn’t do, or at least can’t remember. Damn! Why can’t I remember anything?...
Winner Children’s Category Naughty Molly and the Troublesome Lolly by Jenny Liu................... Page 10 …It smelled so magical that Molly was charmed, she felt her heart miss a beat. “Emmm!” Molly muttered, breathing deeply, filling her lungs with air, the smell was so enchanting, Molly hardly knew what she was doing. She stumbled to the door and threw it open…
Highly Commended Children’s Category First Flight by Tasman Dixon........................................................................... Page 13 …The view was spectacular. Trees, houses and even farms seemed like her baby brother’s toys all laid out on the floor of their little hut. Tiny toy horses and carts moved along on little toy roads, and little toy people went about doing their everyday things…
Many thanks to all who participated. It was a joy to see all the talent revealed by the competition and we hope you enjoy reading them as much as we did.
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Forgetting to Remember By Trevor Steele (Winner Adult Category)
Perhaps the disappearing little head had nodded, but she wanted to be sure: “Lance!” He turned his head far enough to indicate a degree of obedience: “Yes, Mum. Just going to the creek to muck about for a while.” ‘An’ bring back some twigs for the fire, woncha?” “Yes, Mum.” Very soon he was too far away for anyone to call him back. He plunged intot he blady grass patch. Often those hostile swords received him with a malicious rustling and then found many places to prick and slice, but this time he was untouched. Lance was not sure whether that mild passage was a good sign or not. Was there any use in painless initiation? Dad had told him how painful the initiation of young Aborigines had been. Actually, Dad had said ‘young niggers’, but the teacher Miss Scriven had told Lance she hoped that he at least would not use that ugly word. He normally spoke so nicely, and she hoped he would say Aborigines. So the initiation was very mild, but of course it was not the main thing. That happened at the creek. Forget to remember. He smiled to himself at that wordplay. Most people, if they heard it, would think it a bit silly. “I forgot to remember that.” They of course would not know what it really meant: to forget bad things in order to remember more important ones. Now he was well into the bush. There was almost silence now, but he knew very well that late in the morning the locusts up in the trees made such a din you wanted to close your ears. One of Miss Scriven’s oddities was that she said cicadas instead of locusts. Dad said high-flautin’ outsiders talked like that, but here in Pretty Valley locusts was locusts. Already Lance could hear the rapids. He paused at the top of the steep bank that lead down to the creek and glanced at the twenty yards or so of swift-flowing water. He had explored the creek in both directions for miles and miles, but no part of it was better than this very spot so close to home, this stretch of thundering white water. He let his legs run but steadied himself by clutching tree trunks alternately with his right and left arms, making a zigzag decent on the loose soil. Joyfully he breathed in the river smell and let the foaming thunder fill his ears. The shadows were already long, so he had to do it soon. He skirted the edge of the water till he found his favorite rock. Its moss was still bright from the slanting sunrays. With luxurious slowness he took up the position he knew was the best one: his feet were supported by neighboring rock, his back was straight, and his arms lay limp on this thighs. He let himself relax completely. If all went well he would soon feel as though he had no body. 3
The hypnotic flow of the water and the bubbles and the ceaseless roar, mysterious yet friendly, did their work very efficiently. Soon he was hardly aware of time at all, and all heaviness seemed to drip away. Very soon he could start with the silent words. It was more effective if he formulated the words exactly: “Arthur Hampton did not beat me in the last exam … Sydney Hunter did not beat me in the race on Sports Day …” Already those things did not exist. He waited, wondering if other annoyances would come to mind, but nothing did, so he started on the big things: “I don’t have a Dad who drinks too much … I don’t have a Mum who’s always grumbling … it’s not 1950 … I’m not nine years old … I don’t live in Pretty Valley … my name’s not Lance Rosewood … “ And it really was true. He knew that being Lance Rosewood was not something he had always done and would forever keep on doing. Clark Gable could change roles from picture to picture, but always looked the same. The swirling bubbles surfaced from below, bumped into each other and disappeared. As soon as one layer of bubbles burst it was replaced by another, which would last only a second and itself be replaced in an awesome cycle of change and sameness. The weightless boy, freed of Lance Rosewood’s body, let himself remember what and who he may once have been or could become: he reverted to being water … and oak tree … a kangaroo … an Aborigine with spear and boomerang … a Roman soldier … a nomad on camel … one of the Pacific Islanders Miss Scriven had talked about … one of Cromwell’s soldiers … an explorer finding new countries … a being from another galaxy … A lot of time passed before he reluctantly decided to be Lance Rosewood again. The sun had gone. Soon it would be dark and he had promised Mum he would be home in daylight. He felt so light and relaxed that he ran just for the pleasure of it, half expecting to take off and fly. He knew that some other people used this track at times, but he was sure he was there more often than anybody else. He sprinted home and, instead of just walking up the steps, he leapt up, taking three at a time, He had not realized his Dad was close to the door and coming out, and there was a near collision. “Lance, ya silly little bugger, ya gimme a fright!” “Aw sorry, Dad, I didn’t see you.” “An’ where’s the twigs Mum asked ya to bring back with ya?” “Sorry, I … forgot.” “A real little dreamer if every there was one. I’ll bet you was moonin’ about on the creek again, eh?” “I … I went to the rapids.” “Kid, when are you gunna grow up an’ think about things a bit?” -o-o-o4
Heaven Closed by Marion Howes (Highly Commended Adult Category)
Inspired by Milton's Paradise Lost "Heaven Closed", the newspaper announced. The nightclub had 'gone into administration.' So I was hurled headlong from my job behind the bar - the best work I'd had since my spectacular fall from grace. I wouldn't be serving in Heaven any more. Now I'd have to rely totally on angel guidance. To get my spirits up, I grabbed my books and headed to the old Paradise pub. But there, too, I was faced with a dismal situation: it had gone all upmarket, renamed itself Hades, and looked like a dungeon horrible in sulphur yellow and stainless steel. Instead of the old comfy chairs, the room was lined with high metal stools shaped for bums much smaller than mine. Was this the seat that I must change for Heaven? I asked myself, and leave a singed bottom ... with stench and smoke? Of course you weren't allowed to smoke there any more but I hoisted myself up onto a stool by the door, took a gulp of cheap whisky and turned my attention to angel guidance. I was deep in Paradise Lost when a shadow fell across the page, and there, silhouetted against the light was an apparition all in white and gold, like a visitor from another world. Or like a celebrity, in tailored linen and too much jewellery, adamantine chains rattling. 'Lucy!' I knew that voice. It was Gabriella, the heavenly muse. Years ago we'd led a rebellion against convention and stifling conformity. She sang with the voice of an angel, became a star and was forgiven for transgressing the boundaries of what was considered proper. I wasn't. 'Well I'm damned. I haven't see you for years.' She had not yet lost all her original brightness. Expensively blonde and probably botoxed, she parked herself beside me and looked intently over the rim of her glass, taking in my cigarette-ravaged skin and faded shirt. 'Where the hell have you been, Lucy, and what are you doing here?' 'I'm writing angel guidance cards for New Age shops.' 'You're doing what?' I handed her a couple of the cards. Her eyes widened and she read out, 'Long is the way and hard, that out of hell leads up to light.' Isn't that a tad heavy for angel guidance?' 'I borrow lines form Paradise Lost. It's a good source. Here's another: 'The mind is its own place and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.' 'And which are you in, Lucy?' Of course it was hell, had been for years. And of my own making, people would say. 5
'So are you still painting?' I wasn't going to admit it. It was painful even now to remember the campaign from right-wing religious groups, the media outcry, the Vice Squad closing my first - and only - exhibition. 'Come on, Lucy, you can paint like a god and you're wasting your talent writing little guidance cards? What happened to the Garden of Eden paintings? Where's all your work?' 'Gathering dust in the shed,' I mumbled. Gabriella sipped her fizzy water thoughtfully. 'Times have changed, you know. No one will think your work obscene these days, let alone make a fuss because the artist's a woman. Don't give up the fight. 'All is not lost.' I drained my glass and held it out to Gabriella, wondering if I could escape while she went up to the bar for a refill. But she kept me under surveillance, daring me to move. What a contrast between us: she so elegant, sleek and successful, me such a scruffy failure. The thought of lost happiness and lasting pain tormented me and I saw Gabriella wipe away tears such as angels weep. She came back from the bar with a bottle of very good red and a determined look. The great consult began. 'I'm taking you under my wing, Lucy,. We're going to have an exhibition of your work. Here, in this bar, the perfect place. I'll pay for it and I'll get lots of rich art lovers to come. It'll be brilliant.' Her eyes blazed. She saw my hands trembling too much to pick up my glass. She shuffled through the Angel Guidance cards and handed me one: To be weak is miserable. She patted my shoulder. 'My face may be frozen, but my feelings aren't. I can't bear to see you so defeated. Take me to see the paintings.' Hers was A mind not to be changed by place or time. * My legs trembled as we entered Hades on the night of the exhibition. It was pandemonium: people fuelled with insolence and wine bellowed at one another and showed off their designer clothes. But they were looking at my pictures too, and no one was shouting words like 'pornography'. Gabrielle, clothed with transcendent brightness in a sequined dress, worked the room, leading people up to the paintings and enthusing over them. Among the horrid crew I recognized faces from the old days, gobbling the devils-on-horseback that were handed round by smart young waiters. No Gabriella called for silence and flashed her famous smile. 'I've been hearing how much you all love Lucy's work, and I'm glad to see lots of red stickers. There's been so much interest in one particular piece - The Forbidden Fruit, of course - that we're 6
going to auction it. Let's start the bidding at two thousand. Who'll have first bite? Thanks Eve. Any advance on two thousand?' It went for five thousand dollars. With sparkling eyes, Gabriella summoned me up front and whispered in my ear, 'These are thy glorious works.' Then she addressed the throng: 'Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the artist, Lucy Fuhr.' All hell broke loose as the crowd cheered and clapped and raised me up onto the bar. Oh yes, it was much Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven. -o-o-o-
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Bewildered by the literature By Zachary Sheridan (Winner Youth Category)
Blood pumping, air rushing. The cool night air cuts through me like a knife through warm butter. How did I get here? No idea. Where are my clothes? Not a clue. Albeit I am being chased for something I didn’t do, or at least can’t remember. Damn! Why can’t I remember anything?
Here I am, naked apart from a tattered and seemingly aged jacket, running the streets of an unfamiliar town with nobody else around ….Except them. Who are they? Again, not the slightest idea. They are angry though, about something. I turn down an alley. The alley is dark and unnerving, but safer than out there in the open. The orange light above me wavers and under its fluctuating glow reveals a large dumpster. Why not? Things couldn’t get much worse. I jump in, and there I happily see and salvage some pants. Now clothed, I recuperate, and under the light I see that the jacket I’ve been wearing has a tag stitched inside. It reads James Knight. Who is James Knight? Am I James Knight? Who am I? I scream with frustration. What the hell is going on? Outside the dumpster there are voices which I recognize immediately. It’s them. I close the lid carefully, trying not to draw attention to my self. They call for me, but they’re not saying James Knight, they’re saying, “Kid! Oi Kid! Where are ya?” That’s right. I am only a kid, a young man – a teenager at that. Why on earth are they picking on me? I feel a tickle in my throat and the need to cough yet I have to remain silent. Who knows what they’ll do if they catch me? I need help. Nothing is making sense. Their footsteps gain in pace and grow louder. I can tell they’re approaching the dumpster. As soon as I see the light I jump out as fast as I can. One attempts to grab me but I’m too fast. I sprint out of the alley and to the right. I head closer to what appears to be the town centre. My heart is pumping. It drums in my ear and I’m chilled with fear. Where is everyone? Where is anyone? A car races down the street, screeching as it turns. It couldn’t be them, surely? But then again, who else could it be? The high beam blinds me. A light, a thud, and I fall. I’m beyond the point of hurt. At an instant my body is so shocked that I feel nothing. Then the pain returns. Completely winded, I struggle and gasp for air. I hear sirens and chatter – the sound of people. It seems as if days have passed. “James Knight? Are you James Knight?” The police station is cold, and the tea they’ve given me is colder. It’s been scrubbed up nice and clean yet the remnants of dry blood remains – and it smells. An officer approaches, and then there are questions – lots of them. I can’t answer any; I can’t even answer my own. They push me into a line up. Five men stand beside me. Each one of them is more terrible-looking than the next. Then they come in. It’s them. I can see them clearly in 8
the lights. The one with the most defined jaw, probably the leader, points his finger square at me. A black cloak is draped over my head and then they drag me outside into a van. I try to tell them, tell them I know nothing. That I’m only a kid who has no idea what is happening to him. I tell them I’m not James Knight – but there’s that doubt in my voice, because even I don’t know, and they sense it. My cries are met with a cruel silence. After hours of a rough ride we finally stop. The cloak is removed and I see I’m in a darkened room. It’s completely bare apart from a few chairs decked in the corner. The man with jaw approaches, “So you think you could get away with it James, did ya?” he bears a knife. I can’t help but begin to sweat like hell. I sweat so much that the ropes that bind me to the chair begin to loosen. I can break free but I have to wait. He approaches, “Let’s make this quick, shall we?” It’s now or never. Acting on impulse I release myself, turn, pick up the chair and hurl it towards him. That made him mad. Everything slows down for a second and I observe the four men running towards me, and the door that was behind me when I sat. I bolt and again my speed amazes me. I’m out, but this place is like a maze. I follow the ‘EXIT’ signs and once again I find myself with the blood pumping, air rushing, and the cool air cutting through me. Out in the open I see that I’m now somewhere in the countryside. The early sun peaks through the hills. Two paths diverge in a wood ahead, I go right. I can hear them and realize that they must’ve guessed correctly. They remain in toe and I begin to tire. Drawing on every last bit of strength, every last bit of wanting to survive, I pull away. Their voices begin to fade. I follow the track left and there stands my fate. A sign reading, ‘DEAD END” No way out. They catch up. This time the man makes no mistake with his knife. “Bugger! I can never finish these Choose-Your-Own Adventure books,” Jonny said. -o-o-o-
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Naughty Molly and the Troublesome Lolly By Jenny Liu (Winner Children’s Category)
“Mum! M-u-m!!! Where are you?” Molly dashed out of bed, her bare feet slapping the carpeted floor with her chocolate brown hair sticking out at strange angles. She raced downstairs into the kitchen, hoping to find her Mum and Dad eating breakfast, but she only found a scribbled note waiting for her: Dear Molly, We had to go to your Aunt and Uncle today, there’s some leftover bread in the kitchen cupboard, have a good day. Love from Mum and Dad PS Don’t talk to strangers! Be good!
“Yay! A whole day without Mum and Dad! I am free! I can do anything I like!” She turned on the television and radio and she danced around the room in her pajamas holding a large pack of chips in one hand and a large bag of jellybeans in the other, she raided the fridge and found a huge container of ice cream, she stuffed the ice cream in her mouth with her eyes glued to the television. “Knock, knock!” “Is that Mum? Grrr! You are spoiling my happy time!” “Knock, knock! Free lollies! Free lollies! Anyone wants a taste?” Molly hid behind the curtain and peered down into the front door. A welcoming sweet smell mixed with fresh, lush grass, a drop of golden sunshine, the tickling sound of spring water, the gurgles of laughter, and a delicate petal of a rose that had just bloomed, wafted through the open window. It smelled so magical that Molly was charmed; she felt her heart miss a beat. “Emmm!” Molly muttered, breathing deeply, filling her lungs with air, the smell was so enchanting, Molly hardly knew what she was doing. She stumbled to the door and threw it open. Outside a lady and a cute tiny puppy was standing in the sunshine. The lady had little strawberry earrings and her smooth silky blonde hair was drawn back in a loose bun by a hair band decorated with rainbow colored sweets, she had marshmallow bangles, and she wore a light green dress with delicate pearly white lilies on it, she was holding a basket that was woven neatly with holly berries. “Hello, my darling little girl!” she said in a sweet voice. 10
“My name’s Mrs. Honey, and I am from Fizzland Lolly Factory, this is a new kind of lolly. Would you like to taste it? They are free.” “W---wow! T----thank you! I love lollies!” The lady carefully took out a huge multicolored swirly cloud-like candy floss from her basket. Molly snatched it from her and plunged her whole face into the candy floss. “Mmm! de-mm-licious!” She ate like a very hungry pig, grunting and gulping. The heart of the candy floss seemed to be glowing magically and when she bit it, it exploded, spraying the floor with millions of multicolored jellybean while slimy sticky golden syrup splashed out. “Wow! Brilliant sweets! So magical!” Molly squealed happily through a mouthful of floss. Suddenly a huge shadow fell in front of them, blocking the sun’s brightness and warmth. The atmosphere around became freezing. With a cold high pitched cruel laugh the lady disappeared, where the lady had been, was a witch! Molly’s face fell and she gasped. “What?! A WITCH?” The witch was tall, thin, and she was wearing black from head to toe. Her face was as white as a chalk, and she had small beady red eyes. She grinned, showing ugly yellow teeth, which were rotten, some were missing and there were dribbles dripping down from her mouth. She took out a candy cane wand and muttered: ‘IN---NARRBWABRAA’ The golden sticky syrup streamed down all over Molly and wetting her from head to toe. Horrified, Molly tried to brush the syrup off, but the more it streamed down from the broken heart. Molly was stuck together like a golden statue. A blood thirsty dry horse voice broke out from around her: Tie, tie, tie Until she die! Greedy, Greedy as you can, Until your tummy burst again! Squeeze, squeeze tight, Serves this greedy worm right! Shrink, Shrink as you may, Until you meet the doom of the day! As the witch finished her song, black smoke spat out from her mouth and swirled around Molly. Molly was too scared to even make a sound, she mouthed wordlessly, shaking with fear and her eyes were wide. The syrup slimed its way across like a snake, bounding her tightly. She squirmed and struggled, then Molly felt as though 11
she was been pushed into a tiny bird cage, and the cage and the cage was growing smaller and smaller, it was as though you were squeezing a lemon with its juices running out from the sides. She tried to yell” Help!” but her mouth was too full of syrup, instead she yelled “Muurf! Muurf!” Molly shrunk until she was no bigger that a jellybean. The witch snapped” Rover, here!” Next moment Molly was facing a gigantic, tremendous, very scary hairy dog’s face. Its eyes rolled unpleasantly as he watched Molly hungrily. Then the dog opened its jaws, slimy, green dribble that smelt like rotted fish and smelly old socks, dripped onto Molly’s head. Molly wished she’d just disappeared into thin air as she eyed its long, sharp, pointy fangs. Molly felt a sharp stab of pain as its jaws closed with a snap on her arm, she closed eyes and screamed at the top of her lungs. The world swirled around and Molly felt herself falling downwards. And when Molly opened her eyes again, she was back on her bed, and mum was tugging at her sleeve: “Molly! Wake up! You’ll be late for school.” “Huh!! Oh, MUM I LOVE you!” She was so happy that she felt as though a happy balloon was dancing inside her. “I’ll never ever speak to strangers again! I don’t want to eat lollies any more! When she was talking she felt something in her throat, she coughed and the heart of candy floss fell on her palm. -o-o-o-
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First Flight By Tasman Dixon (Highly Commended Children’s Category)
This was it! This was the day! Sylvia Darkrunner was going on her first ever DragonRide! Sure, she’d taken Cumulonimbus for a few little flights, but this was different! This was a proper DragonRide!! Suddenly, she was struck by a horrible uncertainty. Cumulonimbus had been unwell for weeks now with Dragon pos (a dragon disease that is a bit like human measles), and had only just returned to health. What if he isn’t strong enough yet, thought Sylvia. We could crash!! She asked cumulonimbus, “Are you strong enough yet? Do you feel ready?” “Grorr Guurr Skreeee.” said Cumulonimbus. “Yeah, everyone’s nervous. I am too.” Sylvia grunted. “Graaaah” “Why didn’t you tell me that your wings are numb?!”. “Grik” “Of course it’s cold; it’s eight degrees out here for goodness sake! Anyway, look we’re here.” The DragonRide Takeoff Cliff was just ahead of them. There was Xertor Kraton with his Dragon, Killer Will Tereah with Striker, and Sylvia’s best friend Izzarah Tarnan with her Dragon, Bronzor. Sylvia went to stand next to Izzarah. Unfortunately, that also meant next to Xertor and Killer. Xertor was notorious for being a bully, and Killer echoed his master’s actions, making them a rather nasty pair. Sylvia started to have those nagging doubts again. She heard the instructor start to inform them about the rules of DragonRides. “No going over the borders.” “No pushing or bumping.” He looked meaningfully at Xertor, who gave vent to a long, disappointed sigh. “This is NOT a race, it is just for fun.” ‘No dangerous stunts or showing off.” He looked at Xertor again. Xertor nodded glumly. “And last but definitely NOT least; absolutely NO fireballing, Xertor!!” “What, me?” asked Xertor, innocently. “That is, no fireballing unless you want to be EXPELLED, Xertor.” 13
“On the count of three, you can lift off.” “One” “Two” “Three!!” As they rose into the air, Sylvia felt the wind run through her long hair. “We did it!!” she cried Sylvia just couldn’t believe it. Her previous flights on her Dragon had taken them scarcely more than a few meters into the air. Now the ground seemed to be several hundred meters down. It took her a moment to realize this was because they were several hundred metres up in the air! The thought made her feel a bit sick. A crash from that height would mean… Sylvia shook the thought out of her mind. I’m supposed to be enjoying this, she told herself, not scaring myself with ridiculous ideas. Just enjoy the view. The view was spectacular. Trees, houses and even farms seemed like her baby brother’s toys all laid out on the floor of their little hut. Tiny toy horses and carts moved along on little toy roads, and little toy people went about doing their everyday things. If Sylvia looked hard enough she could see the coast all around the island that they lived on, with only tiny white ripples to indicate the presence of waves so strong that they could knock her over like a vase no matter how hard she tried to stand up. She knew because she’d tried before. “They just look so..so.. CUTE” ‘Ki-ki-ki-ki-ki-ki” said Cumulonimbus “And just who are you laughing at?!” retorted Sylvia, “and it’d better not be me or you’re gonna have to survive tonight without your trout.” “WROOOOOOUUURRRHHH!” “Yep, you’ve got the idea now!” ”AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRKK!!!’” “Oh come on, it’s not that bad. I wasn’t going to do it anyway.” “Ki-ki-ki-ki-ki-ki-“ “But I will if you keep laughing like that!” “Ge-ge-ge-ge-ge-ge!” “Or like that!” 14
“Ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra” “RRGGHHHHHH!!JUST STOP LAUGHING!” Sylvia hollered “SYLVIA” Wwwwwwwwwhhhhhhhoooooooooo……BOOOMM!
Will Tereah, rider of Striker, saw Xertor whisper something to Killer. He saw Killer’s lower jaw glow in preparation for a fireball. He saw Killer aiming at Cumulonimbus and Sylvia, and sending a fireball streaking towards them. He heard someone shout Sylvia’s name, then realized that it was himself. He saw the fireball explode on Cumulonimbus’ flank. He saw Sylvia slip like a rag doll from the saddle. He saw Cumulonimbus’ left wing collapse, sending him into a barrel roll. He saw that they didn’t have a chance of surviving by themselves. He knew instantly that he needed to help. Striker shot downwards like a falcon, talons outstretched, speeding down at almost five hundred kilometers an hour towards the tumbling figure of Sylvia.
Sylvia had never been so terrified in her seventeen years of life. It seemed that those seventeen years would never turn to eighteen. Whereas previously they had been about six hundred meters high, now she was about four hundred… Three hundred… Two hundred… One hundred… Fifty… Twenty…. Ten…. WHOOMMPFF!!!! Sylvia felt a massive impact on her shoulders and a huge spike of pain in her right arm. Then everything went black. 15
When she awoke, she found herself in her bed. At first, she thought it had all been a dream. The evidence certainly seemed to confirm that theory. She was in her bed and it was morning. Then she scrapped that idea when she saw the bandage around her right arm. “Finally! I thought you’d never wake up!’ “Will? What are you doing here?! What happened?” “Striker dived down to get you and caught you by the shoulders. He got the right shoulder a bit awkwardly and it broke your arm.” “Where’s Cumulonimbus?!” “He’s a bit battered but he’ll be okay. He’s outside the hut” “WHERE’S XERTOR?!’ “He got expelled. The instructor stuck to his words, especially after you were almost killed. In fact, they were talking about banishing him completely.” “Is Will Tereah in here?” asked a voice, “The people of the village are preparing a celebration for him. He must be there in five minutes.” “I’m coming!” Will called out. Then to Sylvia he said, “Are you ever going to fly again? I know I wouldn’t.” “What would be the point of having Cumulonimbus then? I’ll rest for a few months, but then it’s back up into the clouds for me!” -o-o-o-
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