Young Authors Booklet - 2012 by @OECTA

Young

Authors

Awards Y O U N G A U T H O R S AWA R D S P R I X J E U N E S É C R I VA I N S THORS A W

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2012

www.oecta.on.ca

2012

G YO

77134-1 YA Cover 2012.pdf

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(May 30, 2012 / 12:49:35)

U N E S ÉCRI

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS 2012

U N E S ÉCRI

THORS A W

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U N E S ÉCRI

PREFACE This collection is a celebration of the literary talents and accomplishments of the provincial winners of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association’s 2012 Young Author Awards/Prix jeunes écrivains program. Congratulations to all the provincial winners. The writing selections produced by these young authors remind us that the famous Canadian authors of the future are presently in our classrooms. We also extend our congratulations to all the thousands of students across the province who participated in the classroom, school, and unit levels of the awards program. Everyone’s enthusiasm and hard work ensures that the Young Authors Awards/Prix jeunes écrivains program continues to grow and improve each year. We also show appreciation to all the teachers – without whose inspiration and encouragement, the students would not have had the opportunity to challenge themselves and enter the competition. The Young Authors Awards/Prix jeunes écrivains program would also not be possible without the hard work of many OECTA members across the province. Teachers, school OECTA Association Representatives, Unit Presidents and Unit Executive members all play a critical role in administering the program in their respective classrooms, schools and units. The members contribute their talent, time and effort to preserve the spirit and continued success of the program, and to celebrate the outstanding work of our teachers and students. Once again, thank you very much to all the dedicated members of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association who ensure that the program flourishes year after year.

Susan Perry Professional Development Department Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS YO U N G A U T H O R S AWA R D S / P R I X J E U N E S É C R I VA I N S 2 0 1 2

Dianna David Anne Denning Tara Innes Delia Tavares Wanda Wilcox

Administrative Assistant, Professional Development Department Bilingual Editor, Professional Development Department Administrative Assistant, Professional Development Department Desktop Publisher, Communications Department English Editor, Professional Development Department

P R OV I N C I A L S E L E C T I O N C O M M I T T E E 2 0 1 2

Cynthia Gittins, Co-Chairperson Nancy Molnar, Co-Chairperson Edie Anderson Hélène Bhersafi Laryssa Chmil Angela De Palma Francisca Gazley Adriana Grande Maxime Gravel Agnieszka Gulley Candace Lavoie Maria Massarella Vincent O’Brien Donna Lynn Paquette Mary Paquette Holmes Anna Przybylo Craig Phillips Sou Yen Shu Lara Stokes Kathleen Talbot

C I N DY A N D T H E M AG I C R O S E

Cardinal Newman TEACHER: Anna Maria Humeniuk SCHOOL:

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Marre Cardillo UNIT: Niagara Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Marie Balanowski

by B R I A R A N N E WO O D

nce upon a time there was a princess. The princessâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s name was Cindy. Cindy was locked in a tower. But a unicorn called Diamond came from the sky. Diamond came to save Cindy. But an evil queen came and used her evil spells of doom to kill the Princess! Lucky for her, Cindy was not really dead. Diamond went to get a prince who woke up Cindy with a kiss. Then that evil Queen did another spell. It was a deeper spell! A kiss would not wake her up. How horrible! Only a magical rose will help. But no one has seen it in years. The Prince went to find it. He found it! He put the rose on her chest. The magical rose woke Cindy up. The evil Queen went away forever. Cindy and the Prince and Diamond lived happily ever after!

MR. CUDDLES

: Corpus Christi TEACHER: Adele Agostino SCHOOL

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Kathleen Sottile UNIT: Thunder Bay Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Gary Tomcko by E M I LY PAC E

Mr. Cuddles My polar bear with a red and white scarf. He does back flips, he makes me smile, he sleeps in my house. I feel happy when he hugs me. Mr. Cuddles

ALL ABOUT BIRDS

: St. Patrick, Schomberg TEACHER: Joanne Ruccella SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sharon Bain-Hengeveld UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart

SCHOOL

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Nonfiction

by C A R M E LO A R M A N D O P E C C H I A

irds can fly. Birds cannot swim. Birds have wings. Birds have talons. Birds can chirp. Birds can catch worms. Birds can sing. Birds live in nests. Birds lay eggs. Some winter birds are

cardinals, blue jays, woodpeckers and chickadees. They eat nuts, berries and seeds. Daddy birds are colourful. Mommy birds are plain. Mommy birds stay in the nest with the baby birds. I love birds!

WHEN I AM 100 YEARS OLD

: Queen of Peace TEACHER: Marianne Lutsch SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Marianne Lutsch UNIT: Windsor-Essex Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Al Anderson SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Short Story

by L A U R E N T H O M P S O N

hen I am 100 years old, I will play Bingo with my friend and whenever kids are on my lawn I will hit them with my cane. I will have false teeth and I will have grey hair

like my Dad. I will have one puppy and two dogs. I will make apple pie and knit clothes for my grandchildren. I will give them hugs and kisses and I will go for a walk to the end of the street and back home. Being 100 years old will be fun.

BEST FRIENDS

: Father John Kelly TEACHER: Daniela Meleca SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Michael Guillemin UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Poem

by S O F I A R O S E D â&#x20AC;&#x2122; O N O F R I O

Best friends are glued to each other They love and share with one another Sometimes they get mad They argue, scream and act bad But always the next day They forgive, forget and play Best friends help and really care And always try to be fair Without them life would not be the same Because they make every day feel like a fun game So a best friend Will be there to the end

M Y S N OW Y DAY

: St. Andrew TEACHER: Ursula Greer SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Patricia Mihalides UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Richard Brock SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Nonfiction

by S O P H I A L E E

ne morning I woke up, my room was shining. I looked out my window. The world was covered in fluffy white snow. I rushed downstairs. I ate a big bowl of cereal. I grabbed my suit, my mitts and my hat and put on my old purple boots. I opened the door. I jumped in the snow first. I made a beautiful snow angel. After I made a giant snowman with my brothers. It was so big that we had to pretend that it was lying down. Later my brothers had a snowball fight. I made snowballs for one of my brothers. His name is Elias. My other brother Damian tried to hide behind our snowman. Then we went sledding. I went on a little purple sled. We had a really, really fun time. Finally we went inside. We had some hot chocolate with toast and the day was finished. It was a great day. I wish the snow was here to stay. I love the snow!

T H E G R E AT K N I G H T

: St. Albert of Jerusalem TEACHER: Franca DiFazio SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Maria Braun UNIT: Dufferin-Peel Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: David Dolan

SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Short Story

by M A R Y K R I S T I N S . G O Z U M

n a land far, far away there lived a strong and courageous knight named William. He not only fought enemies to protect himself, but also to protect the people throughout the land. People knew him as “The Great.” But he didn’t just become “The Great,” there was a story behind all of this. In the land of Dacoima a peasant man named William always dreamed of being one of the most courageous knights of all. As he was growing up, he made all sorts of things such as toy swords, shields, and much more. He always looked up to the most courageous knights of all, wishing that one day he would become one of them. Nobody thought that he was worthy enough though, and he was always discouraged from believing in his dream. As years passed and William grew, he was just never going to be as good as a knight. Then, one day he heard screaming as he was passing a woman’s house. William went over to check if everything was alright, but when he got there he didn’t see anyone until he looked down and saw the woman falling off a cliff! As her last finger was holding on to the edge, William bolted and grabbed her just before she was about to fall. The woman thanked William and luckily the King was watching! He walked up to William and told him that he was a strong and courageous man and that he would become a knight.

When the King finished speaking, William asked the King, “Am I that courageous, to become a knight so quickly?” “Well yes, because I have been watching you every day and you have been brave, strong, and wonderful to everyone throughout the land,” said the King. Once William became a knight, he started saving lives and caring for everyone every day. Thanks to William’s rescue of that woman, he is now known as “The Great.”

S N OW DAY

: Corpus Christi TEACHER: Stacey Purdon SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Kathleen Sottile UNIT: Thunder Bay Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Gary Tomcko SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Poem

by H U N T E R B I N K L E Y

I like to watch sparkly cold snowflakes dance in the light day sky They shine like money they dance as they fly they turn into a bright white vortex They swirl like a hurricane they blow in my face it feels like getting a shock. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a dream. 9

T H E B A S E B A L L P L AY E R

: Our Lady of Hope TEACHER: Rosa Mirabella SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Elisa DiGiovanni-Sharma UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Nonfiction

by H AY D E N H E I N R I C H

i, my name is Hayden and I love baseball. I think I’m a very good player too. I made the Richmond Hill Rep team. Last year, I thought I was lightning fast on the bases and a great fielder at all positions, but I wasn’t very good at hitting fastballs. My throw was also as fast as a rocket, but I didn’t know what position I was strongest at. The coaches didn’t know either. Still, my big problem was my batting. My first game was in three days and I really wanted to get started. I met one really good friend named Ethan who played on the Rep team the year before and he helped me a lot. In the first game the team fielded all over the place to look at the team’s strong positions. We lost badly and I only got one lucky hit, but I was still proud. After a couple of games the coaches saw my weakness and sat down with me to talk about it. I understood and knew Coach was right—his parents had told him that he needed to take batting lessons or something to help him. We finally got our first win. After the win there was a practice that was super important. They tried me at second base and I blew the coaches away. I was a star at second base the first couple games I played there. I had finally found my position, but the hitting still wasn’t there. Once the last game of the regular season went by we made it to the Ontario playoffs. In the last practices something very good happened. The coaches looked at my swing closely and told me what was wrong. I was swinging for the fences after that. I was ready.

Down in Windsor, I was the star of the tournament on both sides of the field as we made it to the championship. I played the game of my life and found myself scoring the go-ahead run in the top of the seventh. There were two outs in the bottom of the seventh with the bases loaded. We play seven innings so they were down to their final out, but things can change very quickly. There was a fly ball just past me. I ran as hard as I could and dove. I caught it! I raised the ball up in the air to show the umpire. It was a catch! I had won the game for the team. The fans went crazy and were jumping on top of me. Even the coaches were jumping up and down. In the champion ceremony I won MVP for the tournament and the game. The team had a big dinner and went to a Toronto Blue Jays game to celebrate. The ending reminded me of the game when Jose Bautista, my favourite player, hit a home run and the Jaysâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; second baseman made the last play of the game to give the Jays the win. It was a great season and I was very happy with it. It was the best season of my life!

T H E S TO R Y O F A N N - L E E

: St. Joseph, Fergus TEACHER: Abby O’Neill SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Grant Drohan UNIT: Wellington UNIT PRESIDENT: Jim Whitechurch SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Short Story

by B E N TO K A R Z

“Hi Kids. I am going to tell you a story,” I said to the class in Canada. “I am going to get right to the story so save your questions for after,” I said, and then I began the story. Once upon a time in a small village in Africa, there was a little girl about twelve years old. Her name was Ann-lee but she didn’t have a last name because her mother only used first names. She lived with her mother and her two sisters, Lucy and Mary. Her father died because of a land mine. Since she lived in a family, everyone had to help. Ann-lee had to get food while her sisters got water. Before her father died, he taught her some techniques for hunting. Ann-lee and her sisters had done this many times, but this time would be different. “How different?” asked a boy in the class. “You will see,” I answered. Ann-lee heard a scream. She turned around and saw only the big buckets that her sisters carried the water in. She sprinted after the screams of her sisters. She saw them being dragged into a huge ship. She heard something behind her, turned around and saw a big, muscular white man. He hit her on the head and she blacked out. “Did she die?” asked a girl in the class. “No. She fell unconscious,” I replied, and continued the story.

When Ann-lee woke up, she was chained and lying on her back. It was very dark and smelly. When she tried to get up, she got whipped on her back. She was about to get up again when she heard an old man’s voice saying, “Stop.” So she dropped down and looked at the old man. He told Ann-lee where they were going and why. After, she looked to the other side of her and saw her sisters. She talked to her sisters and got silenced by a white man. The old man told Ann-lee that the ship would take six weeks to get to America. “Six weeks? That’s too long!” said a boy in the class. “Well, that’s how long it takes,” I said, and continued with the story. Three weeks passed. Ann-lee was very hungry and went over to the old man. She asked him if they could get more food. He didn’t reply so she tapped him on the shoulder and still nothing. She rolled him over and he was dead. “Just dead like that? How did he die?” asked a boy in the class. “He probably died from starvation,” I replied. Ann-lee was very angry and got up but then a white man knocked her out. She woke up and one week had passed. She looked over to see the old man but he was gone. She looked to see where her sisters were and one of her sisters was crying. She asked, “What’s wrong?” Her sister, crying quietly, said, “Mary is dead.” Ann-lee said, “It’s okay,” and kissed her sister on the forehead. “One of her sisters died?” asked a boy in the class. “Sadly, yes,” I said, and continued with the story. When Ann-lee woke up from sleeping, her back and stomach ached. She felt the ship stop and she saw a door open. This time she was allowed to get up. Her legs felt like jello. Her eyes stung from the sunlight. Then she was put in a courtyard. A white man looked at her and smiled. She tried to tell the white man to take her sister too. “Did he?” asked a boy in the class. “You’ll see,” I said, and continued the story.

A miracle happened. He did choose her sister. They went to a desk, the white man paid money, and Ann-lee and her sister were chained and had bags put on their heads. They were thrown into a carriage and travelled for two hours not knowing where they were going. Finally they arrived at a plantation. “Did Ann-lee and Lucy stay at that plantation as slaves for the rest of their lives?” asked a girl in the class. “No, of course not, then the story would be over,” I said. A few months passed and every day Ann-lee grew angrier and angrier at slavery. She asked the other slaves why they hadn’t escaped and they said, “The owner would hurt our family and we are too old.” “Will you tell me the route to escape?” Ann-lee asked, but the other slaves wouldn’t answer. “So, is the story over?” asked a boy in the class. “No,” I replied. One night Ann-lee was looking out the window and she saw a boy running. Ann-lee woke Lucy up quickly and carried her on her back. They caught up to the boy and he said, “Get back,” but they didn’t listen. Ann-lee asked, “Can we come with you? We too want to be free.” The boy let them come and introduced himself. His name was Jefar. They followed him through the water toward the North Star. They came to a stop at the front of a white person’s house with a lantern on a pole. Ann-lee, Jefar and Lucy didn’t feel comfortable. “Did Ann-lee, Lucy and Jefar go into the white person’s house?” asked a girl in the class. “Yes,” I answered, and continued the story. Ann-lee, Jefar and Lucy walked into the house with caution. The white people fed them and told them the directions to Canada. The next day they woke up and continued to walk. Days passed and still they were walking. They could almost feel freedom. Ann-lee, Lucy and Jefar had walked through Pennsylvania.

“Are they almost there?” asked a boy in the class. “Yes,” I answered. Ann-lee, Lucy and Jefar were almost there. All they had to do was swim across a river. Ann-lee swam across first and then Jefar swam across. Ann-lee and Jefar were waiting for Lucy. Lucy was about halfway when she started to sink. Ann-lee cried, “Do something!” to Jefar. Jefar jumped into the water and grabbed Lucy and brought her to Ann-lee. Ann-lee hugged Lucy and they were in Canada. They were free. Later on, Ann-lee and Jefar married and had kids. Lucy married another escaped slave. Ann-lee, Lucy and Jefar all helped with the Underground Railroad and they all lived happily ever after. The End. “Great story. Um, what’s your name?” asked a girl in the class. “Ann-lee.” THE END.

MY HAIKU POEM

: Holy Family TEACHER: Roslyn White SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Marcella Cadeau UNIT: Simcoe Muskoka Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Joe Martone SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Poem

by S A R A H M c G OWA N

Hail the queen of trees as she bathes the grass in shade beneath cloudless skies

F I V E T H I N G S I N E V E R WA N T TO B E

: St. Paul TEACHER: Laurie Hayes SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lori Gamble UNIT: Wellington UNIT PRESIDENT: Jim Whitechurch SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Nonfiction

by J U S T I N FA I E N Z A

ave you ever thought about what it would be like to be a random object? A chair, a phone, a fork? Well, I have. Here are the top five “things” I never want to be.

First up on the list – a ball. Who wants to be a ball? Kids kick you, throw you and bounce you all day long. When you start to go flat, they stick a needle in you and pump you up for another round of “fun.” As long as I can remember, balls have been a kid’s favourite play toy. You kick soccer balls, throw basketballs, and shoot pool balls. After just one game, you would have tons of bruises and scratches. Think of all the balls in sports. There are hundreds. And the worst part, they do it for FUN! I don’t think all the rough play is fun for the balls. That’s one thing I don’t ever want to be. STOMP! STOMP! The next item on my list is a shoe. Shoes are the protectors of our feet. Can you imagine walking everywhere in bare feet? Ouch! In the rain, our shoes get covered with slimy mud, and in winter they get frozen trudging through the snow. In the hot summer months, shoes take the heat from the asphalt. But the worst situation for the shoe is when it steps on a chewed-up piece of bubble gum that a kid has spit out on the sidewalk. The gum is impossible to lose. It sticks like glue. You try to scrape it off, but it doesn’t budge. You are stuck with that minty or fruity smell forever! And let’s not forget about the sweaty, stinky feet that we have to put up with day after day. I wish those feet had a shower more often and the socks were changed every day. It would be a tough life as a shoe.

Next up – a toothbrush. Whether it’s first thing in the morning or after a meal, the mouth can be a very dirty, stinky place. Whose job is it to clean up the bits of food and plaque stuck to our teeth? Your toothbrush. Not a very pleasant job! As a toothbrush, it has to scrape against every tooth over and over again to pick up all the food bits with its bristles. The bristles are stuck with decaying food most of the time because they are never rinsed properly after the brushing session. They’re lucky if they get a quick splash of water and paste before the next brushing. Horrible! And after two months, they’re thrown away and replaced. Can you imagine if everything around you was gigantic? That’s probably what it feels like if you are an ant. A bread crumb or even a pencil shaving is enormous to an ant! Even though ants are tiny, they are super hard workers. Ants are able to carry fifty times their body weight back to the nest just for a little kid to stomp on it, and they have to start building all over again. Being so small, it’s easy to get flattened by a shoe, wheel or anything else going by. You would also have to avoid being an afternoon snack for other animals like birds, snakes, bears and frogs all the time. Being an ant would be horrendous. AACHOO! The last and most unpleasant thing on my list is a tissue. Life as a tissue would be so gross! Whenever people have a cold, they go straight to the tissue box. Always having globs of snot on you would be disgusting. And then what happens? You get tossed into a corner, a pocket, or pitched into a garbage can to be forgotten forever. It’s a short and dirty life! Well everyone, that wraps up the top five things I don’t want to be. Achoo! Does anyone have another tissue? I think I’m catching a cold.

F R O M T H E FA M I N E

: Monsignor Lee TEACHER: Barb Crowther SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Janet-Lynne Durnford UNIT: Simcoe Muskoka Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Joe Martone SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Short Story

by P E T E R Q U I G L E Y

look back at the old Irish sunrise climbing over our small stone farmhouse next to our now empty and mushy potato field knowing that this will be the last time I will ever see it. A deep sorrow wells up inside me. I must not get attached, I tell myself, I must leave now or else we will all die. But I know that it is already too late. The farm was my life. Every sorrow and every joy was here. I was born here. I was raised here. This is where I grew my first crop. This is where I first helped my father harvest and store our potatoes. This is where, not months before, a blight took all our potatoes, our very source of life, and turned them to mush. By selling our farm, my family and I had gained just enough money to board a timber ship headed to the British colonies. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Theo? Theo!â&#x20AC;? rumbles a deep voice behind me, calling my name and snapping me from my trance. When I turn around, my father sighs. He is a tall man, muscular from toiling in the fields year-round, who reverts to scolding in a physical manner. It is not that he is abusive in any way or is at all a bad father; it is just that he believes that pain is the best teacher. On his head is a crown of brown hair with tufts of white here and there. His piercing grey eyes show fear and pain which he tries to hide behind a wall of false courage. His physical features alone portray his incredible determination. Once he has set his mind to something, you would have more luck squeezing milk out of a rock with your bare hands than making him stop pursuing his goal.

Beside him my mother weeps uncontrollably. She is of average height but, like the rest of us, she looks frail from the lack of food. She has shoulder-length blond hair and sad blue eyes. She is the kindest person I have ever met and unlike my father in almost every way. She does what is necessary, like my father, but is easily pulled off course. “We were afraid that we had lost you, like... like...” she stutters as she falls into another lapse of sobbing. She doesn’t finish, she doesn’t have to. We all know what she means. Three days ago my wee sister Sue, who was only eight years old, was taken from us by starvation. My father plods over and wraps his arms around my mother in an attempt to comfort her. Clinging to my mother’s leg is my little brother Ty, who is three years old. He has inherited our father’s dirt-brown hair, which falls over his eyes. His eyes are a deep and sad blue like our mother’s. His face is a chubby ball of baby fat. Under normal circumstances, that fat would have burned away within the next few years once he had started working in the field. “We have to go now,” says my father bluntly. “It is a full day’s walk to the port and I want to be there before sundown.” “Agreed,” my mother sniffles, trying to hold back tears for Ty’s sake. “Let us go and start our new life.” And with that we pick up our few belongings and walk onto the main road towards the port. It is about a half hour after sundown when we reach the port. I have never been here, but my father used to come once a year to buy new tools and sell our extra produce. The port city is called Sligo. As we walk for the final time on Irish soil down the narrow streets filled with burly soldiers, I see our ship ahead. The ship has a massive deck and sail. The name Bark Larch is printed on the body of the ship just below where the lumber is stored. Though it isn’t the biggest boat in the harbour, I can imagine hundreds of people living on the boat. Sailors are scurrying about making preparations to depart at first light. As we walk on board, we can hear sounds from the lower decks telling us that we are not the only ones here. “We must be some of the last ones to board the ship,” states Father, as if reading my thoughts. “Excuse me!” says Father to a sailor walking past us, “Where are the passengers’ living quarters?”

“They’re right through that door,” the man says with a hint of superiority. We walk through the old, rotting door into our tortured existence for the weeks to come. It takes me a moment to take in the entire room. I knew the little money we got from selling our farm would get us an uncomfortable passage to the colonies, but this is unbelievable! Inside it is packed with people. The room shouldn’t have been filled with more than one hundred people and is instead filled with over triple that! Between the beds, of which my family has only one, there is no more than a finger’s length of space. Every which way there are starving people. “Welcome to our new home,” mutters our father glumly. “We will be staying here for the next few weeks.” Despite these gloomy tidings, I try to stay on the bright side of things. Being optimistic, it turns out, is not my strong suit. Father leads us over to our cot which is only about an arm’s length wide and in the corner of the room closest to the door. We lay our belongings underneath the bed so that they won’t be quite as easy to steal as if they were out in the open. We all sit on the matchbox of a bed trying to figure out sleeping arrangements. When that is done, we all sit silently on the bed for a long time. “It would be best if we all just got some sleep,” Mother says, so quietly that we hardly hear her over the sound of the other passengers. We all silently agree, slip into our odd sleeping formation, and fall to sleep for the first night of many. Four weeks into the voyage, the worst thing possible happens. A passenger falls ill. I had heard of these dangerous diseases on earlier days of the journey, but now that it has happened I think it to be worse than any storm. The disease is called typhus. It starts as just a headache, backache, and cough but then evolves into a high fever, red spots on the skin, extreme weakness and eventually, death. To keep typhus from spreading to the sailors, the captain throws the dead body of the first sick man overboard and forces every passenger below deck into their quarters. The captain is not fast enough though. Already, passengers and sailors alike are having headaches and beginning to cough. I am trying desperately to keep my family healthy. Whenever I have to cough, I go elsewhere in the one-room living

quarters so as not to spread germs to my family. I try to keep well away from strangers, even if they say they’re healthy. I can’t trust anyone. I can’t risk a simple foolish mistake that might kill my family and me. After a week I come to a conclusion. Whatever happens, I promise myself, I must try to stay alive and I must keep my family alive too. I am determined to keep my promise, too, whatever the cost. I feel a cough coming on and instantly spring from our cot and over to the far corner of the room. When I reach the corner I release the raspy cough from deep within my lungs. It lasts a matter of minutes. Once I finish I feel a great deal of strength rush out of me as my body tries to recover. This is the third time this hour that I have emitted this bone-rattling cough and once again I feel like a cornered animal enveloped by the fear that I may be sick and will also be the cause of my family’s demise. The notion passes though, as it always does, and I trudge through the pressing mob of bodies, careful to cover my face with my dirty shirt in a futile attempt to keep the germs from entering my body. When I reach my bunk, I see what has haunted me in my dreams since the sickness began spreading. On my family’s bed lies my dear brother Ty, doing something of a mix between coughing and moaning. This is not what scares me the most though. What scares me is the large red dot on Ty’s arm. That dot is the sign that signals Ty’s demise. Ty has typhus. I can’t believe it. Even after all my efforts I have not managed to keep him safe. What will happen to my parents and me? Will we too fall prey to this deadly disease that I am almost sure will claim my brother? No, I think to myself, you mustn’t lose hope. Ty can still pull through. And what are the odds that we will catch the disease too? I know, though, that I am lying. I don’t trust anyone. Not even myself. I know I have already lost hope, but still I refuse to give up. What other choice do I have? For now, I can only wait and pray that Ty will get better.

Yet another week passes and Ty does not get better. He only gets worse. Nine days after I first saw the spot, Ty falls and is unable to rise again. We lay him on the bed as his breathing and heart grow steadily slower. He is dying, just as Sue died, except in a much more painful and horrible manner. My parents and I crowd around him. “Theo?” Ty asks, his voice weak and full of pain. A flood of tears come to the forefront of my eyes. “Yes, Ty?” I respond. I know that this is his last hour on earth and I want to do whatever I can to make it a pleasant one. “It hurts, Theo. It hurts real badly.” This I know. He has been repeating it for a few days now. There is nothing I can do to help though. “I know, pal,” I whisper. Ty lets out a loud, painful cough that brings blood to his mouth. This is now a normal sight, for it has been much worse in the last few hours. This is when he does something strange. With his right hand, he reaches up and touches me on the arm. As he does this, a mix of fear, pity and comprehension surfaces in his eyes. I am so confused as to what he means by this gesture that I barely register his eyes closing and his arm falling limp. My parents wail beside me as my wee brother’s chest stops rising altogether. The impact is instant. My only remaining sibling is dead. I can no longer control myself. I burst into deep rasping sobs mixed with painful coughs and occasional gasps of air. The pain is so deep that it is now all I can feel. One of the sailors comes over to see what all the commotion is about. As I have seen with other dead bodies, the man just stares at the corpse blankly for a few seconds before lifting the empty shell onto his shoulder and exiting the room. He is going to throw my brother overboard like the others, to try to stop the disease from spreading. My family and I continue crying for what seems like hours. Eventually, the three of us recover from the event. An eerie silence descends on us.

The silence does not last forever. After two minutes of silence, my mother lets out a raspy scream, unable to generate a full one from all the previous crying and wailing. She points at the same arm that my late brother touched. I look down on it. All I can do is gasp. I may as well have received a death sentence. On my arm, red and bloated and disgusting, is the thing that signalled Tyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s death. On my arm is a big red dot. The next two weeks are agony. I hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t realized until now how bad the pain was for Ty. The spots have become so plentiful that they have started fusing together, leaving me looking like a big pink balloon. My fever has shot through the roof. I no longer have enough strength to even feed myself. There are only two things that keep me going. One is that my parents could not stand losing all three children in one year. Another is the knowledge that in a few days we will arrive in the colonies where there are doctors. Despite these realizations and my determination to survive, I am dying. Every time I go to sleep it takes longer and longer to wake up. Every time I awaken I feel a bit more drained, and the ever-present pain is more intense. The boredom does not help either. My parents force me to remain lying in my bed. At first I could have walked around just fine, but now I can hardly even sit up. I take up staring at the wooden ceiling. Nearing the end of our journey, the population of the room in which we live has grown ever thinner. Nearly a quarter of the passengers have died and now about a third of the remainder are sick and bedridden. These dreary quarters practically ban happiness. Anything worthy of joy is quickly diminished by queer looks and the reminder that at any time you may get sick and die. This is why when the call rings out that the crew has spotted land, they get no reply aside from a few meagre cheers and the loud hacking of the sick and dying. As for me, inside I am leaping for joy but have no energy to do any more than give a short smile followed by coughing up blood. I am happy because I know I have almost succeeded in surviving this perilous trip. Time is no longer my friend, though. The last time I woke up, I had been so drained it was a struggle to suck air into my lungs. I no longer have the leisure of

falling asleep and waking up again. If I fall asleep I know I will not wake up in this world again. “Hang in there,” my mother says encouragingly. “You’re almost there. You can do it.” Her eyes betray her. There, behind the canyon of sadness, is a soul that has given up. She doesn’t believe that I will survive. I am the walking dead, the condemned. Despite her lack of faith, I fight with renewed strength against the blast of pain that comes at me. I will survive, I tell myself. I can and I will. I just need to last one more day and I’ll have done it. This night is the longest night of my life. I have to be ever-vigilant resisting the occasional rush of drowsiness while fighting the pain and the tiny thought in the back of my mind telling me to succumb to this pain and surrender all hope. When morning comes, I am at the end of my energy. The tiny thought has grown overnight into an enormous urge. The past rushes of drowsiness have become a force as powerful as any hurricane. The pain is now so great that for every pump of my heart, every cell in my body aches. All of a sudden the rocking of the ship ceases. A cheer goes up on top of the deck. We have docked! We are now on land! The doors to the outside are rushed open and several men and women flood into the room, examining the remaining residents and rushing those desperately ill out on stretchers. Any remaining acquaintances trail out behind them. These must be the doctors and nurses, I realize. Just then, I am whisked onto a stretcher and out onto fresh, solid soil, only to be rushed inside a fairly large building. Once inside, I observe tons of ailing people lying on cots no bigger than the ones I had slept on in the boat. Again I feel a realization, this time far in the recesses of my ever-weakening mind. This must be the medical centre, an echo says somewhere in my mind, as they lower me onto the bed. It happens then. I lose my grip on reality. The world dims for just a moment, but it is enough. The drowsiness starts to win and I move closer and closer to sleep with every passing moment.

A man walks into my line of vision. He begins to wave his hand in front of my eyes and watches as I follow it. He puts his head to my chest. My eyes roll over to where my parents watch unblinkingly. This is good. I will be going with them in the forefront of my mind. The last thing I see is my father holding my mother near, both of them dependent on one another. The two of them have enough tears in their eyes to flood a beaver dam. I smile at this thought. With their picture fresh in my mind, my eyelids slide shut for the last time, as the last of my energy goes to fighting the urge.

THIS LITTLE PICTURE

: Monsignor O’Donoghue TEACHER: Erin Hancock SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Krista Wells-Skinner UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence

SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Poem

by T R I S H Y VO N N E M c AVOY

This is the memory That I hold of you, This little picture Framed in my room. All that it shows is That I hold you Up above everything, That I could do. You were my saviour, But now you are My guardian angel. Helping me through The rough times and good times That I’m going through. When I struggle, I just pray to you. You were the one

That I looked up to, Not just my friend But my father foremost. All that I want to do Is hold you close So that I can do anything That I want to do. I hear people say that I make you proud All that I need to know is that I do. The way that I hold you Is with that little picture Framed in my room. That is the memory That I hold of you.

S N OW W H I T E & T H E DWA R V E S

: St. Joseph, Aurora TEACHER: Sonja Blas SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Gaspare Gucciardo UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Play

by C AT H E R I N E R E I D

ROLES: NARRATOR – always positioned Downstage Right SNOW WHITE – a jealous-minded girl adopted by a royal family QUEEN – a beautiful, kind-hearted lady PRINCESS GLINDA – one of the Queen’s beautiful (but extremely vain) daughters PRINCESS ELPHABA – the Queen’s second daughter DWARVES – little men who help the Royal Family MAGIC MIRROR – Snow White’s accomplice PRINCE – a young prince who ran away from his country to escape the responsibility of the throne QUEEN’S SERVANT (NOTE: Exiting Stage Left refers to exiting stairs, unless otherwise stated.) SCENE 1 (Enter QUEEN from Stage Right.) NARRATOR:

Once upon a time in a land far, far away lived a beautiful Queen and her two daughters. One day, the Queen was walking around the castle grounds and was startled to find a little baby girl left crying at the edge of the Enchanted Forest.

(QUEEN sees basket, walks to Centre Stage.) QUEEN:

(Bending down) Oh, you poor thing. I can’t leave you here, so I’ll take you back to the castle and raise you as my own child. Your name will be... Snow White!

(QUEEN scoops up bundle and exits Stage Left to stairs. Lights dim, then return to full strength. As NARRATOR begins, GLINDA and ELPHABA enter from Stage Right. SNOW WHITE enters from Stage Left.) NARRATOR:

Over the years, it became quite obvious that Snow White, pretty as she was, was nowhere near as beautiful as the Queen and her daughters, Elphaba and Glinda. (ELPHABA and GLINDA whisper and point at SNOW WHITE, flip hair, walk by SNOW WHITE without a backward glance and exit Stage Left.) The Queen tried to reassure her, but Snow White became more and more jealous every day.

(Enter QUEEN from Stage Right reading extremely long scroll. SNOW WHITE turns her back on her sisters angrily and stomps towards the QUEEN.) SNOW WHITE:

(Annoyed) Ma, why can’t I be as beautiful as Glinda and Elphaba?! They don’t deserve to be pretty!!

QUEEN:

(Sighs, lowering scroll) Darling, how many times do I have to tell you? You’re beautiful in your own way. And you couldn’t look like Glinda or Elphaba – they’re not your real sisters, remember?

SNOW WHITE:

(Stomps foot, angry) Well if I’m not going to be your prettiest daughter, you should’ve just left me in the forest!! (Runs off Stage Right just as GLINDA and ELPHABA enter Stage Right, talking.)

QUEEN:

(Sighs) Teenagers...

ELPHABA:

Whoa, hissy fit. (Holds up hand, surrender-like)

GLINDA:

What’s wrong with her now, Mother? (Rolls eyes)

QUEEN:

Just leave her alone for awhile.

ELPHABA:

(Huffs, annoyed) We never do anything to her, and she just spazzes out. You’d think that it was our fault that she’s not pretty.

QUEEN:

Just remember, she is only sixteen.

GLINDA and ELPHABA: (Mockingly) Yes, Mother. (All exit Stage Left. Lights dim)

SCENE 2 (Enter SNOW WHITE from Stage Right, back turned to Stage Left. Enter MAGIC MIRROR from Stage Left. Lights on.) NARRATOR:

Meanwhile, Snow White ran and ran throughout the castle until she was out of breath. Suddenly, she realized she didn’t know where she was.

SNOW WHITE:

(Slightly panicky) Hello? Ma? Glinda? Elphaba?

(Silence) MAGIC MIRROR:

Well, are you going to ask me something, or not?

(SNOW WHITE jumps and turns around with a gasp, moves to Centre Stage.) SNOW WHITE:

W-w-what?

MAGIC MIRROR:

(Impatient) The question, the question! I am the Magic Mirror – ask me anything, and I will answer truthfully.

SNOW WHITE:

(Demanding) Any question?

MAGIC MIRROR:

That’s right.

SNOW WHITE:

Well, then... Mirror, mirror, on the wall, Who’s the hottest of them all? Not my sisters, I’m sure; they can’t compare Not even with their Snooki hair! So who’s the hottest of them all? Tell it to me, Mirror on the wall!

MAGIC MIRROR:

(Smirks) Nice rhyme, but her Royal Majesty and her daughters are the hottest.

(Enter SERVANT from Stage Right, who crouches down to listen.) SNOW WHITE:

(Stomps foot) Ugh! It can’t be! I have to do something about this!

MAGIC MIRROR:

Well, uh, I could help you.

SNOW WHITE:

You could?

MAGIC MIRROR:

(Cocky) If you ask nicely. I know an old beauty-reversal spell that would take care of all your problems.

(SNOW WHITE smirks, SERVANT puts a hand to mouth, horrified.) NARRATOR:

Snow White and the Magic Mirror made plans to take away the Royal Family’s beauty. Little did they know, they were being overheard by the Queen’s littlest servant.

(As NARRATOR speaks, SNOW WHITE and MAGIC MIRROR exit, gesturing, off Stage Left. SERVANT takes Centre Stage.)

SERVANT:

Oh no! Snow White wants to cast some horrible spell on the beautiful Queen and her daughters! I must warn them, before it is too late!

(Exit SERVANT, running, from Stage Left. Lights dim. The QUEEN, GLINDA and ELPHABA enter Stage Right. Lights on. Enter SERVANT, running, from Stage Left.) SERVANT:

Your Royal Majesties, something terrible has happened. Snow White — (Pants)

GLINDA:

(Impatient) Well, what about Snow White?

ELPHABA:

What’s the matter?

GLINDA and ELPHABA: Mother? QUEEN:

Alright, slow down, my servant. Now tell us what Snow White has done.

SERVANT:

Oh, Your Majesty, Snow White has become so jealous of your beauty that she’s planning to cast a horrible spell to take it away with the help of a magic mirror she found.

GLINDA:

You’re sure about this?

(SERVANT nods.) QUEEN:

Oh, my poor little girl!

ELPHABA:

Oh Mother, what are we going to do?

QUEEN:

We must leave. Right away. Glinda, Elphaba – change into something more suitable for walking. Servant – pack us a basket.

SERVANT:

Yes, your Majesty.

GLINDA:

Where will we go?

QUEEN:

Through the forest, to Outer Country. We’ll stay there until Snow White forgets about us!

(Lights dim. All exit Stage Right.) SCENE 3 NARRATOR:

The Queen and her daughters set out on foot for Outer Country in the middle of the night with nothing but a basket of breads, cheeses, and water. After a few hours of walking through the forest, the Royal Family realized that they were lost.

(GLINDA, ELPHABA and the QUEEN speak from backstage.) GLINDA:

(Whines) Mother, where are we?

ELPHABA:

My hair is frizzy!

GLINDA:

I can beat that—my hair’s flat!

QUEEN:

Girls, stop complaining until I figure this out.

ELPHABA:

But we’re cold—

GLINDA:

— and hungry —

ELPHABA:

— and lacking hairspray!

QUEEN:

Glinda! Elphaba!

(Silence for a few seconds.) ELPHABA:

Mother, look!

GLINDA:

A cottage!

QUEEN:

So it is!

ELPHABA:

Maybe whoever lives there will help us!

(All make running noises.) GLINDA:

Knock, Elphaba!

(ELPHABA knocks, waits.) ELPHABA:

(Disappointed) There’s no one home...

QUEEN:

But it’s open!

(Enter QUEEN, ELPHABA, and GLINDA from Stage Right. Lights on. Downstage Right sits a long table with seven chairs and most of a large pizza in the centre.) GLINDA:

Oh, this is quite nice, actually!

ELPHABA:

Hey, there’s pizza!

QUEEN:

Well, whoever lives here probably won’t mind if we take one little slice...

NARRATOR:

The Queen, Elphaba, and Glinda all sat down at the table and finished the pizza.

QUEEN:

I can see the bedroom, just there. (Points to Stage Left) We should probably rest before we go out again.

ELPHABA:

No one will mind! (All trudge over to Stage Left) Oh... why are there seven beds?

QUEEN:

Guest space? (Shrugs)

GLINDA:

Who cares? (Plops self on bed)

NARRATOR:

A few hours later, the dwarves, owners of the cottage, arrived at the door.

(Dwarves speak from back stage.) SHORTY:

Hey, did you leave the door open?

SNOOPY:

(Annoyed) No, Sporty probably did!

SPORTY:

Don’t be stupid, it was Silly!

SILLY:

It wasn’t me!

SWAGGY:

Or me!

SHORTY:

Then who did it?

SMARTY:

Well, by precise measurement of footprints, we can determine that it was in fact a human… (Tracing ground with fingers) High heels… A lady... Three in fact: a mother with two daughters. (Silence as all DWARVES look at SMARTY)

ALL DWARVES:

(Exasperated) Smarty!

SMARTY:

What?

SNOOPY:

Let’s go in. (All enter from Stage Right, SWAGGY walks straight to Stage Left)

SPORTY:

Hey, someone’s been sitting at our table!

SILLY:

And eating our pizza!

SWAGGY:

(Calls) And sleeping in our beds!

ALL:

What?!

SWAGGY:

Look!

(ALL rush to Stage Left, crowd around the QUEEN, ELPHABA and GLINDA.) SMARTY:

They’re waking up!

(QUEEN, ELPHABA and GLINDA stretch and open their eyes. ELPHABA screams, DWARVES scream, ELPHABA screams, DWARVES scream.) QUEEN:

HOLD IT!

ALL:

Who are you? I asked you first!

DWARVES:

We’re the Seven Dwarves! I’m Shorty! I’m Snoopy! I’m Sporty! I’m Silly! I’m Swaggy! And I’m Smarty!

GLINDA:

Where’s the seventh dwarf?

DWARVES:

He’s tanning in Jamaica, mon!

GLINDA:

Well, I’m Princess Glinda –

ELPHABA:

— and I’m Princess Elphaba –

QUEEN:

— and I’m their mother, the Queen.

SILLY:

No offense or anything, but what are you doing in our cottage?

QUEEN:

We were lost in the forest, and we needed a place to stay.

SMARTY:

You went into the Enchanted Forest alone?

GLINDA:

Well, it’s sort of a long story...

ELPHABA:

Not really. Our adopted sister Snow White is chasing us down to enchant us into ugly people, because we’re pretty and she’s not. So we’re running away! (Blows on nails and buffs them on her shirt)

SWAGGY:

Well, we can help you!

QUEEN:

You can?

SILLY:

Yes, you can stay here until Snow White realizes that she’ll never find you!

QUEEN:

Well, thank you!

(Knock at the door) GLINDA:

Who’s that?

SNOOPY:

Oh, it must be the Prince.

GLINDA:

Lucky I fixed my hair! (Takes out compact mirror)

ALL:

Come in! (PRINCE enters from Stage Right, GLINDA raises eyebrows and drops compact on bed.)

PRINCE:

Hello?

DWARVES:

We’re in here!

(PRINCE walks to Stage Left, hesitates.) PRINCE:

And who are these people?

GLINDA and ELPHABA: We’re princesses!

GLINDA:

Glinda —

ELPHABA:

— and Elphaba. This is our mother, the Queen.

GLINDA:

(Surveys tattered clothes) Are you really a prince?

PRINCE:

Well, ex-prince actually. I ran away. I don’t think it’s fair for me to have to be king now, there are so many things I haven’t done yet!

SNOOPY:

Well, Prince, they sort of need our help. Their adopted sister Snow White is after them to take away their beauty with a spell.

QUEEN:

And we were wondering if we could stay here a few days before we go out into the forest again. We’re going to stay in Outer Country until we’re safe.

PRINCE:

Of course! They can stay here, right guys?

DWARVES:

Yeah, sure!

SCENE 4 (Enter SNOW WHITE and MAGIC MIRROR from Stage Right with backs to Stage Left. DWARVES, ROYAL FAMILY and PRINCE are happily conversing.) NARRATOR:

But what the Royal Family didn’t know was that Snow White was watching all this through her Magic Mirror.

SNOW WHITE:

Ugh! How did they find out?

MAGIC MIRROR:

I don’t know, maybe you talk too loudly.

SNOW WHITE:

Just be quiet while I think! (Paces) Wait... I know... They’ll never suspect! (Laughs)

MAGIC MIRROR:

(Sighs) What?

SNOW WHITE:

Here’s what I’m going to do...

(Lights dim. All exit from Stage Right except QUEEN and PRINCESSES.)

SCENE 5 (QUEEN and PRINCESSES take Centre Stage, facing Stage Right. Lights on.) QUEEN:

Okay guys, have a good time! (Waves)

ELPHABA:

I wish we could go to a concert.

QUEEN:

Well, we will someday. Anyway, I’m hungry. Do you want to order... Enchanted Forest Pizza?!

GLINDA:

Yes! Woohoo! (Sits down at table to inspect nails)

(While ELPHABA speaks, QUEEN inspects dust on table with disgust.) ELPHABA:

I’ll do it. (Picks up phone) Hello. Yes, I’d like a large pizza with everything except mushrooms, peppers, onions, olives, tomatoes, meat, and anything else weird. Yeah, a cheese pizza sounds good. Okay, bye now! (Hangs up) It’s coming. (Plops self on chair)

(Knock at door, everyone looks up.) QUEEN:

That was fast. Come in!

(All stand and walk towards Stage Right. Enter SNOW WHITE from Stage Right, disguised.) SNOW WHITE:

One large cheese pizza!

ELPHABA:

Thanks! How much do we owe you?

SNOW WHITE:

(Smirks evilly) Oh, nothing at all. My compliments.

QUEEN:

Thank you! (Takes pizza)

(GLINDA pretends to close door, SNOW WHITE exits Stage Right.) ELPHABA:

That was nice.

GLINDA:

Yeah, a bit weird, though...Oh well.

(QUEEN sets pizza on table, all sit again.) ELPHABA:

(Grabs a slice and takes a big bite) Mmm... this is so good...

(GLINDA and QUEEN also dig in) QUEEN:

Yeah, Enchanted Forest pizza is the best... I wonder what’s in it...

(QUEEN, GLINDA, and ELPHABA continue eating. Lights dim. They walk to Stage Left and lie down in bed.)

SCENE 6 NARRATOR:

Afterwards, the Queen, Elphaba, and Glinda were so tired that they went to bed early. Hours later, the Prince and the Dwarves arrive home from the concert.

(Enter PRINCE and DWARVES from Stage Right and start making for Stage Left. Lights on.) SHORTY:

Man, I love Katy Perry! (ALL wander sleepily to Stage Left, see PRINCESSES and QUEEN.)

PRINCE:

What the...?

(DWARVES scream as they behold their Majesties’ hideous faces. QUEEN, ELPHABA, AND GLINDA awaken abruptly, confused.) SWAGGY:

Ogres!!! I’ll get a shovel!!

QUEEN:

(Yelling over noise) Guys, guys, it’s us!! Stop! What are you doing?

SMARTY:

Glinda? Elphaba? Your Majesty? What unfortunate fate has befallen you?

QUEEN:

What do you mean? I mean seriously, can someone translate?

ALL:

What happened?

ELPHABA:

What do you mean, what happened?

SWAGGY:

Well... look! (Holds up a mirror)

GLINDA:

Aghh! I’m hideous!

QUEEN:

We all are!

SPORTY:

What did you do? Did Snow White come?

QUEEN:

Noooo, just... (Gasps) The pizza boy! It must’ve been Snow White in disguise!

PRINCE:

We told you not to let anyone in.

ELPHABA:

Well, we were hungry!

(Everyone starts arguing.) GLINDA:

HOLD IT! This isn’t going to help. What we’ve got to do is figure out how to fix this!

(DWARVES stroke beards, GLINDA, ELPHABA and QUEEN drum fingers, PRINCE paces.) PRINCE:

(Snaps his fingers) I’ve got it! (Runs to Stage Right, is handed frying pan by someone backstage, runs back to Stage Left.) Here! (Hits QUEEN, who winces)

QUEEN:

It didn’t work!

PRINCE:

Naw, I didn’t expect it to. I just wanted to do that.

ELPHABA:

Guys, be serious. (Rolls eyes, then stops) WAIT! I GOT IT! What if ... what if we were able to convince Snow White that it’s okay not to be beautiful? Maybe then she would change us back, and we could live in the castle again.

(All look at each other in wonder.) SHORTY:

Well, it’s worth a shot!

(Lights dim. All exit Stage Right. SNOW WHITE enters from Stage Right and walks across stage to backstage curtain Stage Left. Lights on.)

SCENE SEVEN (As NARRATOR speaks, QUEEN, PRINCESSES, PRINCE and DWARVES all enter from Stage Right, walking towards Stage Left. MAGIC MIRROR enters also from Stage Right, takes Centre Stage facing Stage Right.) NARRATOR:

So the Dwarves, the Prince, the Queen and her daughters set off back through the forest towards the castle, knowing that this was the only chance they had to return the Royal Family to their true forms.

(All stop at Centre Stage where MAGIC MIRROR is.) SNOOPY:

Well, here goes! (Shrugs and knocks, seemingly on MAGIC MIRROR.)

MAGIC MIRROR:

Hello? (All jump back) Yes, it’s me, the mirror. Snow White put me on the door to guard the castle. Ah, Your Highnesses, I see you’re looking as ugly as ever. Now what do you want?

SPORTY:

We’re here to talk to Snow White.

MAGIC MIRROR:

Well, come in, but she’s not going to be very hap-py!

(MAGIC MIRROR exits to backstage curtain at Stage Left.) QUEEN:

Snow White? (SNOW WHITE sweeps in from backstage curtain at Stage Left.)

SNOW WHITE:

YOU! What are you doing here! Who are they?

GLINDA:

We came to talk to you! These are the Seven Dwarveswell, one’s in Jamaica- and this is the Prince.

ELPHABA:

Please listen to us.

SNOW WHITE:

Why should I?

ELPHABA:

Because we need to apologize – after all, you were pretty nice before you got all “self-conscious”!

SNOW WHITE:

Well, make it quick. I’m busy.

(QUEEN steps forward.) QUEEN:

My dear, life isn’t all about being beautiful!

SNOW WHITE:

(Hesitating) Of course it is!

GLINDA:

Of course it isn’t! You have other strengths and gifts!

QUEEN:

She’s right! You’re very smart, Snow White, and you always did have a lovely singing voice!

SNOW WHITE:

Well...

ELPHABA:

You know it’s true.

SNOW WHITE:

(Sighs) I guess you’re right. (Giggles) Maybe I was a little silly... (Everyone exchanges glances) I’m sorry.

GLINDA:

Does this mean we can be sisters again?

SNOW WHITE:

Sisters forever! (Giggles, GLINDA, SNOW WHITE and ELPHABA do complicated handshake, PRINCE and DWARVES roll their eyes.)

PRINCE:

Hey! Do you think you could change them back? That’s sort of what we came here for.

SNOW WHITE:

Oh right! Sorry. (Closes eyes and flicks fingers, when she opens eyes GLINDA and ELPHABA quickly dig compact mirrors from pockets.)

GLINDA:

I’m beautiful again!

ELPHABA:

Me too! (Takes out mascara, GLINDA elbows her and she puts it away, reluctantly.)

QUEEN:

Thank goodness!

GLINDA:

Wait... since when were you a witch? You had to be, to cast that spell right?

ELPHABA:

Oh my gosh, I just realized!

(SNOW WHITE smiles.) QUEEN:

Oh, didn’t we tell you? (Steps to SNOW WHITE’s side) Her powers came when she was about thirteen. We figure her real mother was probably a witch.

GLINDA and ELPHABA: Now she tells us! (As DWARVES and PRINCE say) Now she tells you! SNOW WHITE:

But from now on, I’ll use my powers for good.

SHORTY:

A-MEN, lady! (Everyone laughs)

(GLINDA, ELPHABA and the QUEEN step to SNOW WHITE’s side to face PRINCE and DWARVES.) QUEEN:

Thank you for all your help... I guess this is goodbye?

SNOOPY:

(Wails) We’re gonna miss you guys! (All go in for hugs, crying.)

SNOW WHITE:

WAIT! (Everyone stops) Why don’t they just live here with us? (Silence)

ALL:

Yeah! Woo hoo! That’s a great idea!

GLINDA:

Come on, we’ll show you to your rooms! (All exit running off Stage Left.)

NARRATOR:

So, Snow White was re-united with her family, and learned that true happiness in life comes not from what you see in the mirror but what you see in yourself. And, of course, they all lived

happily... ever... after.

THE END

D I S C OV E R I N G A U N I Q U E WO R L D

: St. John the Evangelist TEACHER: Ella Galati SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Daniela Cerullo UNIT: Toronto Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Mario Bernardo

SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Nonfiction

by E S I C H A R LOT T E A B OAG Y E

o be an individual is to be separate and distinct from others. Differences in appearance, personal characteristics and disposition mark individuality. Being an individual, and accepting and embracing differences is encouraged within modern society. As a contemporary individual, one can discover one’s true identity and what one values in life. People are not only different in terms of physical appearances, but also in their mental and emotional capabilities. The question of individuality is dominant in Lois Lowry’s The Giver. The protagonist, Jonas, is an intelligent, imaginative, and eloquent adolescent. Originally, he proceeds with life as an ignorant citizen within his dystopian world. He is polite, obedient, and does not ask questions. All citizens within the Community conform. However, as the new Receiver in Training, he is awakened to an unforgettable and influential past. Jonas’s world is a dystopian society. The Community’s inhabitants are supposed to be guaranteed a flawless, routine, organized and painless life. Their lives are heavily influenced and controlled with the intention of maintaining peace. However, they lack any depth of emotion or individuality. These contradictions lead Jonas to realize the value of individuality. This essay will focus on three critical ideas within The Giver: the concept of standardized rules and regulations within the Community, the ceremonies and marking of age, and the elimination of situations which could provoke feelings.

Rules and regulations are followed closely within the Community. Adhering to the rules ensures an efficient and organized lifestyle for the citizens. For instance, there are several rules created to eliminate rudeness. For example, “She expected him to describe his first day of training. But to ask would have fallen into the category of rudeness” (Lowry 90). Citizens are neither encouraged nor are they permitted to ask questions or make remarks which signify differences. Within the Community, everyone is expected to be the same. They cannot individualize themselves in any manner. Therefore, it is considered extremely rude to draw attention to differences. The quote, “It was not a rule, but was considered rude to call attention to things that were unsettling or different about individuals,” illustrates the Community’s discouragement of differences. They want to maintain their eternal image of uniformity (20). Jonas has this thought when Lily draws attention to his pale eyes and is not reprimanded for the rude remark. Jonas’s eyes are rare among the Community. However, this startling difference is not often mentioned. Without mirrors or colour, appearances do not matter. If people lack the tools needed to individualize themselves, they cannot be different from any other being or desire to be different from others. The citizens are accustomed to this method of living, and have grown comfortable with it. When a citizen realizes they are unlike others, they experience an awkward and uncomfortable sensation. The quote “Now, for the first time in his twelve years of life, Jonas felt separate, different,” signifies the separation he felt from his groupmates and the Community (65). Jonas’s thought also foreshadows the seclusion and apartness he will feel as the new Receiver of Memory. The Community strives to create individuals without individuality; however, as the novel progresses, Jonas realizes that individuality is a blessing. The quote, “The joy of being...special and unique and proud,” describes the advantages of being oneself. Jonas would rather be a person with an abundance of imperfections and flaws than a robotic, controlled person (121). As the story progresses, Jonas realizes there is a definite freedom in being oneself. As a person, one should be able to express oneself, have choices, and feel a depth of emotion. The quote, “If everything’s the same, then there aren’t any choices! I want to wake up in the morning and decide things!” represents Jonas’s inadvertent resentment towards conformity (98). He wants to be able to be different from others within his Community, and also to be accepted for his differences. Nonetheless, Jonas is not so privileged as to be valued for his ideas of free choice and freedom.

A ceremony is a marking of age, and groups all children together. They are not seen as single beings, but a body of people becoming older. Each ceremony takes place in December. It is not an accurate judge of time, but it is approximate. The ceremonies proceed to the Ceremony of Twelve, when young adolescents receive Assignments and enter adulthood. Ceremonies are a time of excitement and pride. Although citizens lack true emotion, they feel content about December. They do not have birthdays within the Community. The quote, “He had seen a birthday party, with one child singled out and celebrated on his day, so that now he understood the joy of being an individual, special and unique and proud,” represents Jonas’s understanding of being an individual. As an individual, one is much more content with life and can fully express one’s likes and dislikes (121). As an individual, one is able to fully experience the joys and pains of life. However, the Community strives for and succeeds in conformity. No citizen ever feels special, unique or proud. Citizens have no inkling nor do they understand what it means to be an individual. However, Jonas understands but cannot openly express himself because of the rules. The quote, “Better to steer clear of an occasion governed by a rule which would be so easy to break,” demonstrates that Jonas follows rules (27). He knows his role in the Community is to fit in and conform. If he is too distinct, he will be released. The Community has strict requirements, rules, and expectations. If they are not appropriately met, one will be labeled Inadequate and released to Elsewhere. The Community makes every effort to eradicate situations which could provoke feelings. They have eliminated colour. Colours are a significant and influential aspect of life. An array of colours can produce an array of emotions. The setting sun can produce feelings of conjoined joy, sadness, and tranquility. Colour also contributes to the attractiveness of an individual and personal appearance. Individuals must conform and no one must be better in any way in comparison to others. This is a common theme throughout The Giver. There is no need for individuality in order to establish a safe and efficient world. Colours also signify individuality; they give one options. “I want to wake up in the morning and decide things! A blue tunic, or a red one?” With each passing memory, Jonas comprehends the tremendous loss marked by the elimination of colour for the citizens (97). Jonas understands the luxury of options, and the freedom they represent. Jonas’s world has eliminated various factors of life in order to avoid this. The world is always the same, and life is always organized within The Giver. There is no weather, warmth, or cold. However, through the memories, Jonas experiences weather.

The quote â&#x20AC;&#x153;Not as exciting as the ride through the snowy air; but it [sunshine] was pleasurable and comforting,â&#x20AC;? signifies his realization of the happiness and pain weather can bring (85). He learns the feeling of warmth and comfort of sunlight and he also knows the harsh, brutal feeling of sunburn. Jonas has experienced the thrill and bliss of sledding, and the dangers of it. He knows something enjoyable and safe can become terrifying and dangerous almost instantaneously. As a result of danger, the Community created Climate Control. They maintain a flat, boring, agricultural landscape devoid of colour or weather. In order to discourage feelings, the Community created the simplest environment possible. The Community is startlingly distinct from modern society. The concept of rules and regulations within the Community, the ceremonies and marking of age, and the elimination of situations which could provoke feeling, have been thoroughly discussed within this essay. The Community disregards individuality and eliminates it from their world. The Community is apparently efficient, productive and successful, a community that strives for equality and sameness. However, throughout his journey Jonas realizes there is so much more to life than Sameness. He realizes that emotions and joyful experiences are treasures. Throughout the novel, Jonas becomes a more mature and knowledgeable person. Through the memories, he gains experience in several areas of life. He learns of love, sacrifice, and joy. He grows to love Gabriel as a brother and the Giver as a grandparent. He sacrifices his easy-going life in order to discover freedom in an unknown world. He saves Gabrielâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s life, knowing a happier environment will bring him joy. He learns what being an individual means. Jonas becomes a courageous, knowledgeable and loving individual.

OUR LAST NIGHT

: Marymount Academy TEACHER: Allison Cameron SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Kim Fahner UNIT: Sudbury Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dan Charbonneau SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Short Story

by A L E X W I L S O N

remember sitting there with you that evening. The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky brilliant reds and oranges. There was a warm breeze that picked up my hair, and the un-mown grass beneath us tickled to sit on. We were both still young. You were happy, I was happy, everything was fine. There was nothing that could have broken our happiness that night.

Your hair was short. The standard buzz cut. I liked it… It made you look mature. It suited you. Almost like that hair was meant to stand like it did that night. You had changed, too. Like you had more weight on your shoulders. Like your life finally had some deeper meaning. I hadn’t seen you in three months, and I had missed you more than anything. The way you smiled, the way you laughed, the way you got annoyed when politicians made promises that you knew they couldn’t keep. I loved everything about you. You were finally back, finally there for me again, finally happy with yourself. We talked as the sun set. We talked about the future, the past, and the present. How things were going. Small talk at first, but it took little time for our conversation to turn to deeper subjects. Our connection, the one that held our love, was back. I loved you, you loved me, and the words telling of how we felt came gushing out faster and faster as we connected once again.

Soon the sky was dark, the day’s bright yellow orb replaced by a million of the night’s twinkling lights. The moon was full, and even though it was late, it was bright enough to see everything. I could still make out every detail of your features, still tell exactly how you were feeling by glancing at your face. Midnight came and went, night turning to day. Still we lay out in the grass on our hill talking about our hopes and dreams and our love. It was amazing how we could just speak about anything, even the things that were difficult to say. Even though we were young back in those days, we knew. The ring on my left hand whispered it to me every day, but the way my heart sang when I saw you reminded me even more. The night passed faster than I could believe. Too soon over, too soon lost to memory. I wish that the night had never ended, but even more than that I wished that you didn’t have to leave again. You stood up and stretched. I followed suit, and you pulled me into a hug. I could feel the tension in your body. You didn’t want to leave. I couldn’t believe that you were actually going so soon after I had you back. You had to go, though. There was nothing that I could do to stop it, it was your duty. I loved you too much to stop you. It was quiet for the first time on the way to the airport. It was eerie, the way that the silence hadn’t been able to take over that night, but now it seemed to cover us both. It was the lack of speech in the car, the lump in my throat, the way that you tried to say a few words but coughed instead. The last good-byes at the airport were worse. I stared at you as you began to walk towards the plane. Tears dripped down my face, leaving salty tracks in their wake. A strangled squeaking sound escaped my throat, and you turned around. I tried to force a smile, but I just started to cry again. You jogged over to me, and you took me into your arms. You kissed me then. A good-bye kiss, one not made to say that things were over, but one made to say, “I’ll be back, wait for me.” Then you picked up your bags and you walked onto that plane, away from me and everything that you loved here. Watching your back felt too wrong. I should have been there beside you. But you would be back. Someday.

I just wish that “someday” had been a quiet evening in June or a brisk fall day. I wish that “someday” had involved kisses and love and joy and hugs. I wish that “someday” had been about me running towards you as you got off the plane and us walking into the sunset together like a fairy tale. “Someday” wasn’t like that, though. It wasn’t anything like it should have been. No smiles, no laughter, no walking into the sunset. It was painful, horrible, and it wrenched tears from my eyes. When you got off the plane, you weren’t dressed in jeans. You were dressed in your uniform. And you were in a fine wooden box covered by a flag. And I swear that my heart skipped a beat, and I swear to you, wherever you are, that I couldn’t breathe or speak or even move. And here we are now, you in your coffin and me standing over you speaking to the wind years after that day. I kneel down and the tears sting at my eyes. You lie deep beneath me, fresh flowers on your grave. Daisies. You told me that night that they were your favourites. What they tell me was that you were killed protecting your country. Protecting me. Protecting everything that you held dear. And I love you more than anything for it. But I can’t help but wonder why you had to go, why you had to be in that one place at that one time. Why you had to be shot to oblivion. Why it had to be you. Though I can’t imagine the true horror of your final moments, I see them in my dreams. I wake up screaming your name. I cry for you, and I kneel here with you at this moment wishing that I could be with you again. We’re here in this place where I last told you that I loved you. In this place where we spent our last night together. In this place where I last tried to say that you shouldn’t leave, that you had to stay. The place where you had to come back to. I’ve forgiven the one that shot the bullet. I’ve forgiven the people you fought. I’ve forgiven the people who couldn’t save you. I haven’t forgiven the war that took you from me, the great beast that threatens to swallow me up, and that did swallow you. I will decorate your grave with flowers and flags and hope that you can see them. And I hope more than anything that you are the last one to be taken, so that others will not have to suffer our pain, our fate. More than anything, I love you, and I always will.

A DEEPENED VIEW

: St. Pius X TEACHER: Brett Walker SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lida Chiarelli UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Elaine McMahon SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Poem

by M A R C O B OT T E G A

A crumpled form poised upon a rigid frame Once strong as an ox hauling great loads by its hame, Now a languid creature readily slain Breathing now rendered an arduous campaign, Hence worthy of no laurel but shame. My eyes then fall upon a weary face â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Tis a puzzle with not a piece in place, They then wander to the flabby skin The dreary wrinkles and numerous chins, Though as I stare a little more, I notice something I did not before. Those creases with which his face opines These are not wrinkles, but story lines They tell of tales lived long ago, Of torment, anguish, trial and woe This is not all his face defines. The folds that rest atop his brow, Bare wisdom, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s apparent now So deep it forms a heavy haze, It makes me think in many ways My judgment is no longer lewd, my head is bowed, my respect renewed.

T H E FA M E R E J E C T

: F.J. Brennan TEACHER: Elizabeth Peacock SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Pat Vettraino UNIT: Windsor-Essex Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Brian Hogan SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Play

by B R A N D O N R O L LO

DRAMATIS PERSONAE OLIVIA STONE – Actress/Singer ROSE STONE – Olivia’s Mother MARIE STONE – Olivia’s Sister ROBERT WESTON – Talent Agent DARREN GREENWOOD – Olivia’s Boyfriend SEAN MCQUEEN – Soldier in Play WALTER BERRY – Director JOEY TONES – Song Writer LINDA HALE – T.V. Show Host (Each set that features OLIVIA gets lit up.)

SCENE ONE (OLIVIA and LINDA are sitting in chairs Downstage Centre.) LINDA:

Good morning, New York! I’m Linda Hale and today we have a special guest, Olivia Stone! But most of you know her as the Fame Reject. I’ve heard that you’re poor because you’re a drunk, a good-for-nothing diva who didn’t even care to show up to see your mother in her last hours. Is this true?

OLIVIA:

Not at all! Can I please tell everyone the truth?

LINDA:

Well, that’s what you’re here for. We don’t have too much time so skip to the parts you think are important.

OLIVIA:

Okay, it all started at my first audition.

SCENE TWO (Set: Table and chairs with director and two other people sitting and staring at OLIVIA with mouths dropped. OLIVIA takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, and smiles a big smile.) OLIVIA:

How was that?

(Director and two other people continue to stare at her with their mouths opened, and then OLIVIA gasps.) OLIVIA:

Was I that bad?

(OLIVIA covers her mouth and runs off to set at Downstage Right.)

SCENE THREE (ROSE is sitting at table and OLIVIA comes storming in.) ROSE:

(Glancing up from newspaper) Sounds like the audition went well.

OLIVIA:

Mother, I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm right now.

ROSE:

Sweetheart, was it that bad?

OLIVIA:

It wasn’t bad! It was horrible! They didn’t say a word.

ROSE:

Now is that always a bad thing? Maybe your talent left them speechless, us Stones tend to leave people that way.

OLIVIA:

Each of us does that in our own special way, like Marie.

ROSE:

Olivia, I know where you’re going with this, and I don’t want to hear it. You are sisters, for heaven’s sake. Maybe if you tried to get along with her…

‘ OLIVIA:

(Cuts her off) How can I get along with a drunk? I can’t get a word out of my mouth without her screaming about how I don’t care about her and how much I must be out to get her. Just because you have faith in her doesn’t mean I have to. (Phone rings) Knowing my luck today that’s her. (Picks up phone) I can be there in twenty minutes. Okay, bye.

ROSE:

Who was that?

OLIVIA:

It was Robert, my agent. He wants me to go to the agency, probably to yell at me for how badly I did in that audition. (Mocking him) Honey, you gotta keep your options open.

(OLIVIA walks toward ROSE and hugs her.) OLIVIA:

I’m sorry for being like that, but you know how I get when I’m nervous.

ROSE:

I understand.

(OLIVIA walks to set at Upstage Right.)

SCENE FOUR ROBERT:

There’s my star!

OLIVIA:

(Scared and nervous) Here I am.

ROBERT:

Boy, have I got some big news for you.

OLIVIA:

What, did I get another gig on tour?

ROBERT:

I said big news.

OLIVIA:

(Shocked) I didn’t.

ROBERT:

Oh yes, you did! Olivia, you got the part!

OLIVIA:

They called the wrong girl.

ROBERT:

Why do you say that?

OLIVIA:

Because they didn’t say a word! Other girls outside the audition room said that they told them how good they were. The ones that got advice said they probably got advice because they wanted to see how they would do in their not-so-surprising call back.

ROBERT:

Those girls were wrong because it’s you they want, only you. (Laughing) They didn’t say anything because they were struck speechless by how good you were. They couldn’t make any notes because their eyes didn’t leave you long enough to write any notes.

OLIVIA:

Well it’s nice that they’re offering me this role.

ROBERT:

(Laughing) Nice? Nice doesn’t begin to describe it. Honey, this is a miracle. How many girls do you know who have no theatre experience and get the lead role in a Broadway show?

OLIVIA:

I can’t think of any.

ROBERT:

Exactly! Because there are none. This sort of thing doesn’t happen every day; it takes a star to do that, and, honey, you’re that star.

OLIVIA:

Robert, I...

ROBERT:

(Cuts her off) I told ya, you could call me Rob.

OLIVIA:

Rob, I’m not this star you think I am. I’m just a singer, and that’s all I want to be.

ROBERT:

You don’t know what you want yet. You’re only eighteen. We want to keep your options open, remember? Just in case your music career doesn’t work out.

OLIVIA:

My music career is fine! Two great years of touring and I’m sure there’s more to come. And Rob we don’t want to keep my options open; you do. I’m sure the money you get from me doing these things isn’t the reason you’re making me do this.

ROBERT:

You got this all wrong! I’m doing this to help you, and if I make a few bucks along the way, so be it. Olivia, I’m not making you do anything. I’m simply encouraging you to do the right thing. Now, close your eyes.

OLIVIA:

What?

ROBERT:

Come on, we’ve been working together for three years, just trust me!

(OLIVIA closes her eyes.)

ROBERT:

Now picture this: your face on every billboard in New York, and your name, “Olivia Stone,” on the front page of The New York Times… If you’re still not convinced, picture this: you just poured your heart out for about two hours, your heart is racing, and the glare of the lights finally vanishes. When they illuminate you again, you look and see everyone standing up, clapping and screaming—

OLIVIA:

(A small smile appears on OLIVIA’s face and she whispers) Olivia. (Opens her eyes) Fine, I’ll give it a try. (Begins to leave.)

ROBERT:

Wait! One more thing.

OLIVIA:

Yes?

ROBERT:

The agency wants to give you a whole album.

OLIVIA:

What, really? We’ll start after this musical is done right?

ROBERT:

If you want to wait a few years, we will.

OLIVIA:

A few years? I thought this would be a year at the most.

ROBERT:

You gotta think of all the practices and then tours. Now, your fans love how you write original songs, so you gotta sign this form saying you won’t quit your role in this musical and that these songs on the album were written by you.

OLIVIA:

Well they will be... right?

ROBERT:

Honey, you’re an artist, and artists deal with what’s thrown their way. We can’t let you write your own songs, so you can either have a whole album with songs we wrote for you, or we could offer this to someone else.

OLIVIA:

No! I’ll do it.

ROBERT:

(As she’s signing it) Your fans won’t know the difference.

(OLIVIA walks to set at Downstage Right.)

SCENE FIVE ROSE:

(To Darren) Here she comes!

(OLIVIA runs in and gives her mom a big hug.) OLIVIA:

Mom, I got the part!

DARREN:

What part?

OLIVIA:

(Turns to see Darren) Darren, what are you doing here?

DARREN:

I was supposed to pick you up for our date tonight, remember?

OLIVIA:

Oh yeah! Sorry, I must have forgotten. (OLIVIA and DARREN kiss) These nerves tend to get the better of me.

DARREN:

Why didn’t I hear about this part in...what is it for?

OLIVIA:

It wasn’t anything major so I didn’t think it was that important.

ROSE:

Not major! Darren, she got the part in the Broadway musical, Mrs. America!

DARREN:

A Broadway musical? (Thinking about it) I’m really not that surprised.

OLIVIA:

(Flirting) And why aren’t you surprised? Hmm?

DARREN:

(Joking) Because I know you’d do anything to become famous. Anything!

OLIVIA:

Darren! My mother is in the room.

ROSE:

(Rolls her eyes) Well, she’s leaving now.

OLIVIA:

No, it’s okay Mom, I’ll be home by eleven.

ROSE:

I guess you can stay out until midnight to celebrate.

OLIVIA:

Thanks! Bye, Mom. (Hugs ROSE. OLIVIA and DARREN step to the side.)

DARREN:

You’re not really that into this musical, are you? I mean, it’s music you really want to focus on, right?

OLIVIA:

Of course, but this will keep my options open. Plus, I’m getting a full album.

DARREN:

What, shouldn’t we be celebrating this album instead of some musical?

OLIVIA:

It’s not just some musical, it’s a Broadway musical. Darren, trust me, if I could tell my mom about the album I would.

DARREN:

Why can’t you?

OLIVIA:

She would want me to do only one of the two so I wouldn’t overwork myself.

DARREN:

That’s not such a bad idea.

OLIVIA:

Darren, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

DARREN:

I know. Promise me it won’t be like it was on tour.

OLIVIA:

What do you mean like it was on tour?

DARREN:

Not seeing you for months at a time and calling you non-stop just to get your agent saying you’re busy.

OLIVIA:

(Grabs his hand and looks into his eyes) I promise that won’t happen again. Now come on, you have a date with a star.

(DARREN laughs and goes offstage while OLIVIA goes to set Downstage Center.)

SCENE SIX OLIVIA:

(Grabs SEAN’s hand) You’re going to be okay.

SEAN:

How can you be sure?

OLIVIA:

Because I’ll be here with you the whole time, right here. (Points to his heart)

WALTER:

No, no, no! We’ve been over this hundreds of times! You represent all of America right now. This man is giving up his life for you, and, at this moment, the only thing he wants in return is to know you’re there with him and that everything will be okay. Do you know anyone that died in the Vietnam War?

OLIVIA:

My father did.

WALTER:

Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me, if that man was your father, would you talk to him like that?

OLIVIA:

No, I—

WALTER:

(Cuts her off) End of discussion, you wouldn’t. When we come back from the break, I want you to act like you’re talking to your father, (To everyone) and can everyone else please put some emotion into it. Come on, people! We perform in two weeks. Darn, at this rate I’ll have to push the performances back another month!

OLIVIA:

(Helps SEAN up) Don’t you feel my character is a little bit corny?

SEAN:

It doesn’t manner what I feel about her, you’re the one playing her. Don’t you think it’s a little late to be thinking this? I mean, we perform in two weeks.

OLIVIA:

I guess.

SEAN:

There’s no room for guessing in this business, you gotta know. You know there’s more than one pretty face out there, kid.

OLIVIA:

I know that.

SEAN:

There you go, you’re starting to know. Another thing you should know is don’t ever let Walter catch you second-guessing a character.

OLIVIA:

Why?

SEAN:

Why?! Because he’ll kick you out before you even get a chance to say one line on that stage. At the last practice for his third show, this diva was complaining about the two hours added to their practice, so he sent her home.

OLIVIA:

What happened to her?

SEAN:

Let’s just say she never set foot on that set again, but that understudy of hers sure did a great job. I’m surprised you made it this far, but it’s because you know how to keep your mouth shut. I like that about ya, kid. Now, we should probably practise our scene again before the break’s done.

OLIVIA:

I would, but I really need to call my mom.

SEAN:

Well, make sure you’re back before the break is over. You wouldn’t want to upset Walter.

OLIVIA:

I’ll make sure. (OLIVIA uses dial phone on wall and calls ROSE.) Hi Mom. I’m good, how are you? Oh, they sent you home from the hospital today? That’s great! And everything’s okay? Good. Are you sure you don’t need me to come home? Well I know we’re on in two weeks, but –Okay, I’ll stay. Oh, Darren’s there? Well tell him I can’t make our date, the practice is running late.

WALTER:

Where’s my Mrs. America?

OLIVIA:

Sorry, Mom, I have to go. Love you, bye.

(OLIVIA hangs up phone and walks to set at Upstage Left, set at Downstage Right gets lit up.) ROSE:

Love you too, goodbye. (Hangs up phone and coughs) I’m sorry, Darren, but she has a late practice.

DARREN:

Of course she does. She promised it wouldn’t be like this. Olivia lied right to my face. I was going to propose to her tonight. I’m sorry, Rose, but I can’t do this anymore, please give her this, it’s my goodbye. (Hands her the ring)

SCENE SEVEN (The record label set -Upstage Right set is lit. The phone rings and ROBERT picks it up.) ROBERT:

Hello, this is Robert. And who am I speaking to? Oh, Marie Stone? Olivia’s sister? May I ask why you’re trying to reach her? Oh, your mother is in the hospital. How much longer does she have? Just today? Well this is opening night and Olivia has to be here.

I understand. I’ll tell her right away. (Calls SEAN) Hi Sean, it’s Robert. I need to ask you to do something. Olivia’s mom is on her deathbed. Wait! You need to tell her that her mother already passed away last night so she may as well wait until the show is over to go see her. I know she has a right to know. Sean, I’m your agent too, and I know what’s best for your career. Do you really want the lead of the show to run off? It’ll send the wrong message, and people won’t want to see the show. Isn’t it bad enough with these darn hippies starting to complain about rights? This whole play is based on the beauty and glory of this country, and people are trying to question it. This would just make it worse. I’m glad you understand. (Upstage Left set is lit up.) OLIVIA:

(Grabs SEAN’s hand) You’re going to be okay.

SEAN:

How can you be sure?

OLIVIA:

Because I’ll be here with you the whole time, right... right... right—I can’t do this right now! (Runs off set crying)

SCENE EIGHT (OLIVIA is walking toward the bar -Downstage Left set- and JOEY is following her.) JOEY:

(Out of breath) Excuse me. Excuse me!

OLIVIA:

(Frustrated) What could be so important that you followed me all the way from my house?

JOEY:

I... I (Pauses to breathe)

OLIVIA:

This is a waste of my time. I have a drunken sister to deal with.

JOEY:

This is more important than your drunken sister.

OLIVIA:

Well, you obviously don’t know what it’s like to have an alcoholic sister.

JOEY:

And you don’t know what it’s like for someone to steal your songs.

OLIVIA:

(Starts to walk to bar again) No, I can’t say I do, now if you’d let me go get my sis—

JOEY:

(Cuts her off) But you do know what it’s like to steal someone’s songs.

OLIVIA:

(Stops and slowly turns to face him) What are you talking about?

JOEY:

Don’t act stupid. My songs that I worked my butt off for were stolen by some diva. (OLIVIA’s confusion shows on her face.) You know, “Vintage,” “Swinging Sixties,” and “Lovely Lullaby.” Three of your biggest hits, right?

OLIVIA:

Yeah, those are three of my hit songs.

JOEY:

No, honey, they are my songs! I wrote them when I was still with Starlight Talent Agency.

OLIVIA:

No, that can’t be true. If it was, you would have said something when they came out.

JOEY:

I quit the Starlight Talent Agency because they wanted to give my songs to sellouts like you. After spending four years with them, I wanted a new start, so I moved to the U.K. Let’s just say those songs didn’t really make the radio there, until you had your little diva moment on stage. You made international news and you were the talk for quite some time, so they played those songs. Once I heard them, I got on the first flight back to the States, and now here we are.

OLIVIA:

They made me sign this paper saying they were my songs. I’m sorry, I don’t—

JOEY:

Save your sob story for the judge.

OLIVIA:

No! You can’t take me to court. It would ruin me!

JOEY:

You’re already ruined.

(JOEY exits and MARIE comes stumbling out of the bar with three empty beer bottles in hand.) OLIVIA:

Marie, there you are!

(MARIE stumbles and falls, OLIVIA grabs the bottles out of her hand and tries to help her up.) MARIE:

I don’t need help from you.

OLIVIA:

What did I do this time? Ruin your life again?

MARIE:

It’s about what you didn’t do. I thought you loved her more than some musical. Mom was calling for you, and you weren’t there. You had all day to come, I even called you, and, trust me, I didn’t want to.

OLIVIA:

What are you talking about?

MARIE:

I’m not stupid, Olivia! I talked to your agent, and I’m sure he told you. It’s always about you, and it always will be. You couldn’t let one day be about her.

(MARIE exits stage and the paparazzi enter, swarm OLIVIA, and take her picture.) OLIVIA:

It’s not what it looks like! I swear! These are my sister’s. (Runs offstage)

SCENE NINE (OLIVIA and LINDA are sitting in chairs.) LINDA:

That was such a touching story. (To audience) Let’s show Olivia our support. (Sound of audience cheering) So, what’s next for you?

OLIVIA:

Actually, I’m writing songs for my new album.

LINDA:

Are you worried that your scandal with Joey Tones might harm your record sales?

OLIVIA:

You know what? I don’t care. As my first new single says, “You can’t call me a Fame Reject, because I reject the fame.”

THE BUBBLE

: Regiopolis-Notre Dame TEACHER: Marie Garrah SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Geoff Mackler UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Bob Giasson

SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Nonfiction

by E L I S A B E T H T R I C K E Y

am six years old and I know that one day I will be President of the United States. My parents laugh when I tell them this. My teacher smiles down at me when I inform her, and my friend nods, and responds that she will be a princess. A year from then, I hear that no woman has ever held the title of President. Sure, this makes me nervous, maybe a little sceptical, but someday I will make even greater history by becoming the first woman President. When I am eight, my mom does not laugh anymore and tells me that only American citizens can rule that country. This is the moment I realise that this dream I was so sure about will not come true. This is the instant I acknowledge my innocence, my naiveté, and see my dream in the view of others. This is the moment my bubble bursts. Let me first explain what my view of a bubble is. The bubble, to me, is a sphere of innocence surrounding our perspective on life. A bubble can be popped slowly; when we first realise our teeth are not as valuable to a magical fairy as we thought, or that on Christmas Eve a kind man does not bring presents just for us. As we grow older, the bubble bursts even more: from being the star in house league football to warming the bench on the competitive team, from getting the highest average in grade twelve to barely passing in university. These are all reminders that, to quote the poem Desiderata by Max Ehrmann, “there will always be greater and lesser persons than ourselves.” These reminders are small, sometimes large, reductions in our bubble or circle of innocence. Eventually, when the bubble disappears, we are left with reality.

Reality is harsh and also humbling because we see our shortcomings and have to accept ourselves regardless. The bubble leaves and we are left raw. We understand that our dreams of success will most likely not come true. We see the complexity of achieving certain goals, and recognize that we sometimes do not have the means, ability, or motivation to complete them. These reality checks have affected everyone, myself included. I had always really wanted to become an actress. This dream began when I was ten. I auditioned for a play, and got in as Francis Jones, a supporting character in Treasure Island. The next year I auditioned again, and got an even bigger role. Eventually, I got the lead as Hamlet in Hamlet and very much enjoyed quoting some of the most famous lines ever written. I spent hours on the internet looking at the Julliard admissions process, dreaming of starring on opening night at the Stratford Shakespeare Festival. Grade seven and eight were amazing years. We performed A Midsummer’s Night Dream and The Winter’s Tale, and I was a lead in both. Then came high school. Excited for a new experience, I auditioned for the musical. At last, the cast list was posted. I checked for my name and found it underneath “The Townspeople.” I was in the chorus. My bubble had burst. How was it that “I,” who had recited “To be or not to be,” and fallen in love with Demetrius, was now in the background with no name? Of course I understood that I was in grade nine and it was not my turn or even my place to get the lead. I also knew that even though my voice was decent, I was not Celine Dion. I had to face reality, and it told me that I was not the best and most likely would never be. And really, why should my arrogance and innocence have been protected? Why should my bubble have stayed intact? The world did not owe me or anyone anything. Although I didn’t see it that way back then, now I see it as a gift. The truth is, out of thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of people who apply to Julliard every year, only 8% get in. This means that approximately 92% of the applicants will have their bubble burst. At least now, I will not be one of them. There is another aspect of the bubble which I have questioned, this being when is the best time for it to burst. If your circle of innocence leaves when you are very young, there are consequences. You lose the magic of childhood. Without magic, your imagination suffers because you only have realistic views of the world. You do not have time to savour the moments where everything is an opportunity, and you are free of regret. Eventually, this lack of innocence in a child can result in a dull and pessimistic view of life. On the other hand, if the bubble leaves too late, there

is a chance you could become arrogant. If you have no experience of anyone telling you “no,” you have no reason to stop believing that anything you may possibly want to happen will happen. This leads to feeling invincible, and when your bubble does eventually burst, the fall back to the real world is a long way down. There is no perfect time to have your bubble leave you, but having a balance of being disappointed and being successful results in a healthy outlook on the world. I know that I will never be the President of the United States or a famous thespian lighting up the Stratford stage. This does not mean that I am sad and now see the world negatively. With the breaking of those dreams, new dreams emerge that are within my means, ability, and motivation. Aldous Huxley once said, “Dream in a pragmatic way.” This is true, we should dream rationally. There is a time for wild and crazy dreams; there is also a place for being sensible. This balance is important. The bubble being burst may hurt at first, but it is essential for living realistically. When we can accept reality, we can go through life fully ready for any disappointments or successes that it brings to us. Thank You.

F LOAT I N G

: St. Anne TEACHER: Lori Rozic SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Dean Hughes UNIT: Windsor–Essex Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Brian Hogan SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Short Story

by C A R L I E N E U E R T

new mother. That’s what they keep calling you, but you don’t agree. You’ve been a mother for the past nine months, and holding your child in your arms makes you feel the same way holding her in your womb felt. Only now, you can count her fingers, hope her eyes stay blue, and listen to each breath as it leaves her body. Your own mother would have loved to see her, to hold her, but you know deep in your heart of hearts that she never will. You haven’t seen your mother in over a decade, and some days you can’t even recall what her face looks like. You sigh and gaze out the window where, to your left, an old, shallow stream runs alongside the house. The stream used to be beautiful. It used to have little silver guppies that tickled your fingers if you stayed still long enough, and the fresh water was a welcomed refuge from the sticky heat of summer. But what was once clear blue water has turned muddy brown. No longer do any fish swim within its meager current, nor would anyone consider sticking their hands into the murky water. You feel a slow sadness lurk along the outskirts of your heart, but it dulls when you hear your daughter startle awake, making your eyes drop from the sadly polluted stream outside to the tiny child in the homemade wooden cradle at your waist. Her arms are flailing but she doesn’t cry, instead her mouth finds purchase on a bottle of your milk, which you’ve placed into her ready mouth.

The front door slams, and the thin walls encasing you shudder with the impact. Your heart stutters within your chest but you make sure that your face is contained, showing no emotion as his heavy work boots stomp closer and closer. If he knew how much you truly feared him, each morning would be harder to face. He would hold it against you with a grin of triumph, and make you feel even less human than you already do. Your hand unconsciously tightens around the bottle and your child lets out a tiny grunt of disapproval as the milk stops flowing. Quickly taking her into your arms, you hope he’ll stay away once he sees her cradled against you. The lumbering footsteps come to a halt, and you know he’s standing in the doorway. You keep your eyes glued to her half-closed ones and avoid his gaze as it sinks into your skin. Your breath comes out uneven when, from the corner of your eye, you see the clenched fist that is his hand. You already know what awaits you, having felt the painful strength within those hands so many times before, but you shake your head in defiance anyways. No. You know better than to challenge him. Your eyes flicker quickly to his face, and a shiver crawls down your spine. You take in his grimace, the arched line of his nose, the thick beard that you loathe but are forced to live with—especially when he kisses you. Sometimes, if he’s especially rough, you awaken to a rash of thin scratches covering your face. No one would notice them now though, not with all the bruises that litter your skin. Both eyes are agonizingly swollen, and anytime you open your mouth, whether to yawn or to talk or to eat, you wince from the pain as it lashes at your jaw. His look of disgust isn’t directed towards the markings all over your face, though. You deserve this; you deserve to be beaten for your mistakes. You, as a person, are repugnant, and this is why his face is twisted so grotesquely. No matter what you do, how well you do it, or how hard you try, nothing is worthy enough of his approval. All you seem to be capable of is making mistakes. He takes a step forward and you take one back, clutching your daughter’s delicate body tightly against your chest. Another mistake.

He lets out a feral growl and clomps forward to pull her out of your arms, forcefully tossing your child down into the crib. You long to cry out in alarm but instead press your fingers to your puffy mouth, the intense sting a reminder of why you need to stay silent. There is no forgiveness as he grabs your wrist and drags you from the room. He thrusts the front door open and it strikes the house with a bang. You hear the shrieks of your baby as he yanks you further from the house, further from her. Your fingers yearn to touch her soft face again, but instead they lay trapped within the unforgiving grip of your punisher. You can’t help the sobs that tear their way through your throat as he throws you to the ground next to that bleak, desolate stream. The dank water mocks you, throwing back an image of your battered face. You know what’s about to happen as you kneel there, and in sheer panic of the pain you anticipate, you drift outside of yourself, knowing there is nothing you can do but endure, as you have so many times in the past. The first fist hits the side of your face, opening a new wound in the deepest layers of your heart. Falling forward, your fingers dig into the ground from the force of each new strike, your ears ring from the yells that fly from his mouth. Regret sinks down into your bones, past the scars, through the gaping wounds. You scream as a foot digs into your side, snapping more than just your will to stay hunched over. You collapse pathetically to the ground, relief coating your skin when you realize that he’s finished teaching you a lesson; it is evident that motherhood doesn’t make you free. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You are alone; no one is here to listen to your broken apologies. You’ve been taken, bought, sold, and stolen again. Who you are is a mere memory, an image that haunts you when you close your eyes. It’s as though there is nothing to live for— In one deft movement you’re standing, as you remember the answer to all your mistakes. Limping back into the house, all is silent. You know you have a few more hours before he returns. You cherish that thought, as well as the baby that lies in her cradle, sucking softly on her tiny thumb; she is the first one to survive.

You let a trembling finger trace the soft shape of her face, revelling in the sheer perfection that she is. What was once a monotonous life of pain and loneliness suddenly has purpose, and as her wide eyes fall on you, the reflection you see is not of an abused woman, but of a warm, loving mother. A tremor runs through your body as the pain radiates in every limb, throbbing down your spine. You pick her up, despite your objecting body, and sit down slowly in the rocking chair in the corner of the room. You ignore the pins and needles that slice through you with each step of your foot against the floor and rock the new life in your arms back and forth. Back and forth. You sigh deeply and close your eyes, letting your mind run free. You would show her to your mother, let her explore the same fields you loved to roam as a child. You would teach her how to treat others justly, how to be strong, and you would show her the happiness that life should be. You imagine the two of you floating effortlessly away from this prison. Floating away to where all of the pain stays hidden.

IN DEEP THOUGHTS: A COLLECTION OF POEMS

: St. Paul TEACHER: Denise Shannon SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sean Callaghan UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENt: Elaine McMahon SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Poem

by S T U A R T H A R R I S

THE AMATEUR POET In need of exploration In need of structure and rhyme In need of inspiration In need of nickel and dime

INITIATION Beware the cloak, beware the hood; Wherefore he roams is nowhere good. Beneath the gnarled oak he once stood In Poe’s once bleak December. Those who fear him are not lost, Those who join him know the cost. When first we met in biting frost This soul can’t help remember. In black was sown his wretch’d disguise; An eye of truth, a heart of lies. And by his hands, he takes his prize: His newest faithful member.

Welcoming with fearful gaze Into the foul depths ablaze; Down below my lost self stays, My soul: a dying ember.

TOMORROW What is lost today, look forward to tomorrow. We may search anew.

INSTABILITY When reality appears to be getting in the way of your own.

A BLESSING Not until within the dead of Winter Do we truly relish the warmth we share.

TWO CHOICES Through inaction, we live to die. Through action, we die to live.

THE DEATH OF ONE “ST. THOMAS” Beneath the plume of clouds white and skies grey lies a keeper of memories for me and my friends. Steadfast and true, this safe house of brick remains, its vibrancy blunted, its happiness drained. Behind naked trees of many limbs, on lands desecrated by broken glass, in fields tainted by what geese dare leave behind, it stands as would the dead: its body but a shell, its spirit gone. On its body is written one word: “Noleash.”

Only ravens mourn the loss. Only nature takes pity in trying once more to brighten a carefree landscape. Succeeded in dying, and now dying to succeed. Gone is a good Samaritan, who provided for all: knowledge and individuality to children, remuneration and generosity to adults, putting the unity in “community.” From its date of termination, it remains, four teachers and eighty-nine students empty.

IMPROMPTU (DECONSTRUCTION) Unconscious realm both foul and fair (A dreamy place, implying bliss) Is where I saw her standing there. (Perhaps have spied a lovely miss) But to my horror and despair: (Does she wish to share a kiss?) ‘Twas my great aunt in her underwear! (Wake up now! You don’t need this!)

TRANQUILITY Let us find a quiet centre far above the lush, verdant hills to a peak that dares scrape the heavens. A place belonging only to ourselves that we may share together. That we may feel comfort from the touch of the Maritime breeze, and the voices of the landscape mingle with our own. That we may stare out beyond the horizon, beyond the depths of the ocean, and into the depths of our souls. A place under warm skies,

that we may turn toward the Sunâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eternal flame and proclaim: Truly, this is paradise!

PURPOSE When work is play and play is work, You have found your calling.

SLEEP At ease and exhausted. Earnest eyes grown weary. Surrounded in dreamy darkness. Cradled in softness. Cozy and comforted. Any speech is smarmy. The mind becoming sparse. Consciousness slips into unconsciousness. Thoughts turn to dreams. Heavy eyes closing. Drifting awayâ&#x20AC;Ś

Line count has reached ninety-six, With many words left unsaid. But adding together these four lines Makes a solid one hundred!

T H E W I TC H

: Resurrection TEACHER: Anne Charters-Klaver SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Anne Charters-Klaver UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Play

by R A L U C A A N D R E E A TO P L I C E A N U

ACT I, SCENE I Salem, Massachusetts, in the year 1692. It is nighttime. On the outskirts of a small cluster of houses, surrounded by gnarled trees, there is a large wooden cage. A young woman with a simple dress, bare feet and untied hair is locked inside. She watches the last of the lights go out, and listens to the town going to sleep. (Leaves rustle and twigs snap.) WOMAN:

Have you come to see the witch?

(A young man appears hesitantly from behind a tree trunk. He is a fair distance away from the woman’s cage.) MAN:

Did you use your magic to sense me coming?

WOMAN:

I used my ears. Sorry if that disappoints you.

MAN:

“My ears”… “sorry.” That sounds so very human. You must have been studying us for awhile… learning exactly what to say, what to look like, what to act like.

WOMAN:

(Sighs) You must be right. I had to learn what was right to say, what was safe. Otherwise they would have thought I was a witch—

MAN:

You make it sound as if it were a mistake. Our crops failed, some of the livestock died, a woman miscarried. You were behind everything.

WOMAN:

(Smiles weakly) What’s the point of pleading my case? Of trying to convince you that I was wronged?

(MAN remains silent.) WOMAN:

Why are you here?

MAN:

I was sent to watch you.

WOMAN:

Then you might want to come closer. It must be hard to see me from all the way over there.

MAN:

(Shakes his head) I was told to keep away.

WOMAN:

I want to see your face. I want to know if it will look on me with the same disgust and hatred as every other face in this town. Please, come closer.

MAN:

So you can charm me? No, Witch, I will remain here.

WOMAN:

What is your name?

MAN:

Names have control over people, but of course you knew that, didn’t you?

WOMAN:

I can honestly tell you that I didn’t. You can give me any name you want, even if it isn’t yours.

MAN:

And damn some poor fool? No. (Sits down with his back to a tree trunk, five meters away from the woman’s cage.)

WOMAN:

(Remains quiet for a long time, looking at the man’s shadowy features) Maria.

MAN:

Did you say something?

WOMAN:

My name is Maria. My mother gave it to me… she said it made her think of flowers and spring—

MAN:

What is this? Some form of spell?

WOMAN:

No. I just wanted to hear your voice. It’s been so long since anyone talked to me.

MAN:

Because everyone in this town knows how dangerous you are. Even now, you’re probably trying to dig some information out of me with your words.

WOMAN:

You think I’m a witch?

MAN:

I know you are.

WOMAN:

How?

MAN:

(Ignores her question) Your trials begin tomorrow at dawn.

ACT I, SCENE II It is the second day, close to evening. The trials were stopped and are set to start again in the morning. Maria sits in her wooden cage, her arms wrapped around herself. Bruises cover her body. A little girl walks over and peers at her innocently. GIRL:

You have pretty hair.

MARIA:

(Runs her hands through her tangled black hair) Thank you. Yours is very pretty too.

GIRL:

Why are you in a cage?

MARIA:

There are some people who think I’m a bad person, and I wait here until they come up with ways to tell if I’m good or bad.

GIRL:

My momma says you’re a witch.

MARIA:

I’m sure your momma is just scared with all the stories going around.

GIRL:

My momma says you hurt people, you make potions in your cauldron and fly on a broom.

MARIA:

I don’t do any of those things.

GIRL:

But my momma—

MARIA:

Why does your momma think I’m a witch?

GIRL:

She heard the other women talking, and the men said you’re one.

MARIA:

Do you have any friends?

GIRL:

Yes! Amy’s my best friend. We pick flowers together and ride the horses, and—

MARIA:

If some of the other girls said that Amy was a bad person, would you believe them?

GIRL:

No, never! Amy’s a nice person, she’s my best friend.

MARIA:

How do you know she could never be a bad person?

GIRL:

I…I know her.

MARIA:

That’s good. You see, if people got to know me, too, they wouldn’t think I was a bad person…a witch.

GIRL:

I guess.

(A woman comes running from the houses and grabs the girl’s hand, pulling her away from Maria’s cage.)

WOMAN:

(To Maria) You should be ashamed, Witch, using your spells to lure children away from their parents.

GIRL:

But, momma—

WOMAN:

(Slaps the little girl) What did I tell you? Why didn’t you listen? I turned my back for one second and I find you talking to the witch! I could have lost you! (Turns and talks angrily to Maria) You’ll get what’s coming to you, Witch, and I’ll be watching happily when it happens.

(Woman and her daughter leave Maria and head towards the houses.)

ACT I, SCENE III Later, hours after the woman and her daughter have left. The town is quiet, and few lights are seen through the windows. The young man watches Maria from his seat at the base of a distant tree. MARIA:

Were you at the trials?

MAN:

I was there today, and I will be there tomorrow and the next day, until finally there’s no doubt of what you are.

MARIA:

(Reaches up to wipe dried blood from her lips) Then, sir, I will be strong and bear the pain until then. Until it is proven that I am no witch.

MAN:

Lies won’t help you.

MARIA:

I know… did you see at the trial, when the two knives were placed in front of me? There was one that was filthy and rusted and there was one that was clean and sparkling.

MAN:

I saw it.

MARIA:

And how they blind-folded me, and mixed up the knives, and I was supposed to put my hand out and feel for one of them? Do you remember that? If I touched the filthy knife, I would be a witch. If I touched the clean knife, I would be a woman. Were you there to see me reach for a knife?

MAN:

Yes.

MARIA:

(Tilts her head to the right, letting tangled strands of long ebony hair fall over her shoulder, and looks at him intently) Sir, which knife did I place my hand on?

MAN:

The clean one. But that’s just one trial… there will be more tomorrow.

MARIA:

(Smiles, but it does not reach her eyes) I know. Tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow, and the tomorrows after that one. They’ll give me tests, until there is one that I can’t pass—one that no man or woman can ever pass. And even if by some miracle I do pass it, then they will kill me anyway, saying that I am a witch because I have passed all their tests.

ACT I, SCENE IV The third night after another day of “witch trials.” Maria lies huddled on the bottom of her cage, her knees brought up to her chest. Her hands are bound tightly with bloodied bandages. The young man is eating pieces of a slightly burnt loaf of bread. He sits closer to the cage than on previous nights. MAN:

You’re quiet today. I’m used to hearing your voice well into the night.

MARIA:

Do you want me to talk?

MAN:

No. I just noticed that you hardly said a word tonight.

MARIA:

Are you still afraid that my words are some sort of spell?

MAN:

Yes.

MARIA:

Then I won’t speak anymore. But can I say one last thing?

MAN:

If it’s a trick—

MARIA:

Thank you.

MAN:

What?

MARIA:

Sorry, my voice isn’t very loud. I said, “Thank you.”

MAN:

I heard what you said, I just don’t understand.

MARIA:

I saw you today, when they gave me my test. I looked at you when they forced me to hold that hot bar of iron in my hands. I’ve never felt so much pain in my life. You winced when you saw my hands. Thank you…for that small bit of kindness. Thank you for not looking at me as if I were a monster. (Pause) Good night.

(Silence) MAN:

I have to give you credit, your magic is strong. I’m tempted to come closer to you. I almost feel sorry for you.

MARIA:

(Sighs weakly) I have no magical powers, sir. No spells or enchantments. And even if I did, I would call on them to ease my pain, not to make you pity me.

MAN:

I thought witches didn’t feel pain.

MARIA:

Then I must not be a witch, because I can feel a lot of pain.

MAN:

You’re very convincing.

MARIA:

They hardened your soul. They made you blind and deaf. Call me a witch if it’s what you think I am, but not because it’s what this town thinks I am.

MAN:

I’m not that easily influenced by the people of this town.

MARIA:

(Defeated) Then call me a witch. (Raises her eyes to stare at the half-eaten bread loaf in his hands and bites her chapped lips) Can… can you please give me a bit of your bread? I don’t mind if it’s burnt, and you can just throw it over if you don’t want to come closer.

MAN:

(Becomes guarded) How do I know this isn’t a trick?

MARIA:

(Speaks in a weak, sad voice) You don’t. I can’t think of a way to prove it to you.

MAN:

(Pause) If I give you some bread, and if you’re as human as you say you are, do I have your word that you won’t try anything to escape?

MARIA:

Yes.

MAN:

Say it.

MARIA:

You have my word that I will not try to escape.

(Man walks hesitantly over to the cage and starts to put chunks of bread through the cage, then recoils.) MAN:

If I put my hands through the bars, do I have your word that you won’t harm me?

MARIA:

I give you my word that I won’t harm you.

MAN:

(Feeds her pieces of bread, somewhat amazed) You kept your word.

MARIA:

I never hurt anyone, please believe me.

MAN:

I can’t.

MARIA:

(Nods) Thank you for the bread.

MAN:

Your voice is weak.

MARIA:

I can try to talk louder—

MAN:

No. I can hear you.

MARIA:

(Smiles weakly) The way you spoke just now… for a second, it was as if you thought that I might not be a witch.

MAN:

You passed the tests—

MARIA:

(Shivers) I don’t think I could take any more tests.

MAN:

But—

MARIA:

You don’t understand. Today…that hot iron bar, my hands burning… I… I can’t take any more. (Her voice quivers) I’ll tell them what they want to hear—just please make it stop. Make the pain stop.

MAN:

Maria? (Puts his hand through the wooden bars and strokes her hair.)

MARIA:

(Weakly) Careful, sir, I might cast a spell on you.

MAN:

Don’t mock me… not when you sound like that.

MARIA:

Did I imagine it?

MAN:

Imagine what?

MARIA:

Did you call me “Maria”? I thought I heard you, but I think I imagined it.

MAN:

You did.

MARIA:

I could have sworn I heard you say it.

MAN:

You heard wrong.

MARIA:

I guess I did.

MAN:

(Pauses) If you promise not to use your magic and charms on me, I will tend to your hands.

MARIA:

It hurts to move them...

MAN:

I’ll be gentle. I just need you to promise.

MARIA:

I promise I won’t use magic or charms on you.

MAN:

Alright, give me your hands through the bars (Maria gives him her hands, and he begins to remove the bandages when he pauses.) These bandages… they aren’t clean. Your wounds will get infected.

MARIA:

(Laughs weakly) That’s the point, isn’t it? If the wound is clean when the bandages are taken off, then I would be a woman, I would pass the test. If the wound is infected…

MAN:

I’ll bring some water.

(Man heads toward the houses and returns with a bowl of water and strips of fabric.) MARIA:

Why help me? Aren’t I just some witch come to curse your town? A soulless creature?

MAN:

Even if you were a witch, this isn’t any way to prove it. (Takes off her bandages and washes the blood off her burned hands) And from what I heard you say, you have more soul than any person in this town.

MARIA:

So you don’t think I’m a…

MAN:

I don’t know. (Ties strips of fabric tightly around her hands) Try to sleep; you’ll need your strength for tomorrow.

MARIA:

(Murmurs) For tomorrow’s trials…

ACT I, SCENE V The center of the town, where men and women are gathered in a circle to watch an old man, the Magistrate, roughly remove the bandages from Maria’s hands. Everyone is silent. Maria sways slightly, but manages to stay on her feet. MAGISTRATE:

(Announcing in a loud voice) Her wounds are… clean?

WOMAN #1:

It’s a trick!

MAN #1:

Impossible!

MAN #2:

Kill the witch!

WOMAN #1:

She was using her magic on my child! I saw it, I swear. She took my daughter right from my side and was trying to cast a spell on her!

WOMAN #2:

You’re right! I saw her in the woods, bent over a black pot, stirring it and speaking nonsense—

WOMAN #1:

And flying on her broom—

WOMAN#2:

And talking to wolves—

WOMAN #1:

And luring men and children to her—

CROWD:

Kill the witch! Kill the witch!

MAGISTRATE:

(Raises his hands and the spectators’ cries die down) This witch is indeed cleverer than any we have dealt with so far. Tell us, Witch, how did you pull this off?

MARIA:

I’m no witch. I passed your trials.

MAGISTRATE:

No, my dear, you have passed some of the trials. You might have passed them through sheer luck or magic, but the next will expose you for what you really are. (Turns to the crowd) Rest assured, people of Salem, this town will soon be rid of this witch. Tomorrow’s trial will make sure of it. (Cheers loudly and chants) Kill the witch, kill the witch!

CROWD: MAGISTRATE:

(Turns to the young man who has been guarding Maria’s cage during the night) Robert, take the witch to her cage. Make sure she doesn’t escape.

ROBERT:

Yes, sir. (Walks over to Maria and roughly leads her through the crowd of angry men and women, out of the town, and towards the wooden cage. As soon as he is sure no one is following them, Robert loosens his hold slightly on Maria’s arm. Maria tries to match his pace, but her legs keep buckling under her.) You can barely stand—

MARIA:

My legs—

ROBERT:

(Jokingly) A witch would be more stable on her feet.

MARIA:

I suppose she would be. But have you ever seen a witch walk?

ROBERT:

I thought I did. Seven witches. But they weren’t witches because…

MARIA:

Because?

ROBERT:

They… passed the last trial.

MARIA:

Passed? All seven of them passed the trial?

ROBERT:

Yes. All seven of them.

MARIA:

That’s wonderful!

ROBERT:

No, Maria. Pray to God, conjure up spells, talk to animals—do anything to fail this trial. Please, I’m begging you. Try your hardest to fail.

MARIA:

What are you talking about? Of course I’m going to try to pass. I can prove that I’m not a witch. Those other women—

ROBERT:

They’re dead. All of them. The only way you can pass the next trial is by dying.

ACT I, SCENE VI Men and women have gathered along the edge of a lake. The Magistrate stands next to a ducking stool, and raises his hands to bring order to the crowd. Robert waits with Maria at the back of the crowd. MAGISTRATE:

(Loudly) People of Salem, we are here to witness the last trial of this woman—

WOMAN #1:

Witch!

MAGISTRATE:

Silence, please. You are quite familiar with this structure behind me. (Motions to the ducking stool) The accused will have her hands tied to the chair by ropes, and be lowered into the water. There she will remain for as long as we think necessary. We then lift her from the water. If she lives, she is a witch, and will be executed immediately. If she dies, she is human, and will be given a proper burial...

MARIA:

(Whispers) I can’t swim.

ROBERT:

Try not to panic. Before you go into the water, take in a deep breath, and try to hold it for as long as possible. Ignore the pain, just hold that breath and don’t let it go.

MARIA:

(Tears in her eyes) I’ve never been able to hold my breath for more than a moment.

ROBERT:

(Reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of bread) Eat this… it can help with the nerves.

MARIA:

It can’t help—

ROBERT:

Trust me. (Puts the bread in her mouth) Remember, deep breath and hold it as long as possible.

MAGISTRATE:

Bring her!

(Robert leads Maria to the Magistrate, who ties her hands to the chair. The crowd watches in silence as the chair is dunked. Bubbles rise to the surface after a few minutes.) (Thirty minutes later, the chair is brought up empty. The crowd gasps.) MAGISTRATE:

The ropes were cut by magic!

MAN #1:

She lives!

WOMAN#1:

A real witch!

(Robert smiles as he looks over the lake, the setting sun being reflected in the water.)

On the other side of the lake, a young woman pulls herself onto land from the water with burned hands, and takes a small blade out of her mouth… a blade small enough to fit inside a piece of bread.

DEAR OLD SHIRLEY

: St. Mary’s TEACHER: Jane Cowan SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Patti Shea UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Nonfiction

by E I L I S H TO O H E Y

randfather is heading back from the post office. It’s easy to spot his rigid figure trekking up the lengthy road, kicking up a cloud of red P.E.I. dust that fails to hide the scowl forever fixed on his face. I ought to get off the bench and greet him: offer him my arm, ask about his day and lead him into the house to his old armchair. But who am I kidding? Grandmother can deal with him. I’m busy—after all, writer’s block is a very serious matter. My gaze drops back to the pad of paper nestled in the lap of my skirt and I mentally plea for words to appear. None do. Annoyed, I glance across the familiar landscape and grunt at what I see. Neither the sight of our quaint little cottage and its lush grass, the cricket’s cheery tune, nor the sweet perfume of lilacs send even a waft of inspiration my way. It’s ridiculous, really. Here I am, sitting on the “Bench of a Thousand Words,” and nothing. CLICK! I’m jolted back to reality. No longer am I Maud, staring at the home of my conservative grandparents, but gawky old me, sitting on a bench, looking at a crumbling foundation while determined splinters poke through my khaki shorts. I turn to give my daydream-wrecker—who surprisingly isn’t my sister this time, but my mother—a scathing glare, only to be met with another taunting “click.” “Knock it off,” I grumble.

Mom peaks out from behind the camera with a teasing grin, “What an attractive face.” Before I can give a snarky reply, my sister Aislin’s whine reaches our ears: “C’mon! You can sit on a bench any day! Let’s go!”—it’s our cue to get moving. We continue our way down the rust coloured path, now leading us to what most urbanites would call a forest. My brisk pace makes me the leader of the pack, although from the sudden eruption of laughter behind me, I know no one is following. Glancing over my shoulder, I spy my sister scrambling up a dead tree to pose while Mom takes yet another photo (weirdoes). I carry on down the trail, glad for the temporary respite offered by the trees’ umbrella of filtered green. I wonder why on earth I chose to wear a hoodie on such a sticky, humid day. Its weight adds to my already uncomfortable state—set off by a pinching sensation in the back of my head, which continually reminds me of the braids my mother plaited this morning in an attempt to make me look like a carbon copy of P.E.I.’s famous redhead. Sadly, my hair is too short to imitate those artificial locks worn by the girl playing Anne from Avonlea Village. But, I take comfort knowing that unlike that simple actress, I am Anne Shirley. Forging ahead, a swarm of mosquitoes just misses my face and then I’m actually glad to be covered up for a reason other than to protect my porcelain complexion. Not a moment later, I spot the end of the path as a multicoloured blur, generated by Aislin’s t-shirt, whizzes past me. “Hey!” she cries, pointing across the road, “We’re here.” And there it is. Announced in big brass letters. The resting grounds of Lucy Maud Montgomery. Excitement bubbles inside me like a shaken bottle of soda pop. Taking our mother’s hands, the two of us sprint with her across the road and through a red sandstorm raised by a passing truck. We enter what we consider the Holy Lands. The challenge—to find the most sacred grave in all of Prince Edward Island— is on. We dart through the labyrinth of tombstones, momentarily forgetting that we are trampling over the dead of Cavendish. At first, it feels like a game, but not even one minute into it, my mother has already forfeited. She’s been distracted by a random grave and has stopped to take a picture, urging my sister and I to join her. I can hear her saying in the background, “Isn’t this a cool name?” but I refuse to

stop. I am a woman on a mission—a fellow female author on her way to pay her dues to a deity. I refuse to let anything distract me other than the sacred letters: L.M.M. Aislin and Mom stand in front of two other plain stones, only these ones are lucky enough to have donned a small number of Calendulas. “Well, we found her mother and the grandparents.” Another click from the camera. “So I guess she can’t be too far—” “Found it.” I triumphantly present a simple headstone, wedged between a pair of petite pine trees. Decorating its front is a miniscule garden, fenced in by a shiny iron perimeter and filled with a plethora of scarlet blooms surrounded by white petals—a bloody crucifix on a crest of new fallen snow. Peeking out from behind the pines is a subtle sign stating that this is, without a doubt, the grave of P.E.I.’s famed children’s author. Aislin bounds over to my side and promptly keels over, laughing. “I knew I wouldn’t have found it,” she sputters. Shaking my head in incredulity at the over-the-top landscaping, I finally take a look at the gravestone itself. It’s simple in design. Were it not for the masses of plantings surrounding it, I probably wouldn’t have recognized her resting place, since the name engraved at the top is actually “MacDonald.” It takes me a few moments to find the name I’m looking for, but finally, below the name of the late vicar I spot her: Lucy Maud Montgomery MacDonald, wife of Ewan MacDonald. A stone drops to the pit of my stomach. No, that can’t be right. Wife of Reverend Ewan MacDonald. Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne Shirley’s birthmother? L.M. Montgomery, creator of my childhood? Maud Montgomery, inspiration to women around the world—wife of Reverend Ewan MacDonald? The fence and the sign are new, although the grave marker was made in 1943, when the cleric died. Lucy wrote a legend under lilacs, about a girl as uncontrollable as the northern wind. But Lucy was a woman in her own right—not just someone’s wife! My throat feels dry with rage; I have to turn away. As we head back towards the gate, we move much slower than when we had entered. This is the resting place of souls, after all; we must show some respect. Yet something continues to nag at my thoughts and I finally turn to my mother. “What was that strange name you found on the grave?” I ask.

She drags me over to the worn gravestone she’s found, delicately decorated with a carving of a willow tree. The wording has faded somewhat, but I can still make out most of it. “Euphie...?” “Euphemia,” Mom corrects me, with the conviction that she probably knows how to pronounce it better than I do. “Isn’t that neat?” I continue to read the rest of the engraved details. This “Euphemia Simpson” is also listed as someone’s wife, but unlike Miss Maud, I know nothing about this woman. Nothing, except that here must be a story, a mystery lost in time. One that could never just be explained on a small slab of stone. I stare. Who were you, Miss? Were you another one of us Shirley girls? “Euphemia,” I repeat, as I sense the rusty cogs sluggishly wakening. “That might just be a great name for a book.”

PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS 2012

U N E S ÉCRI

THORS A W

DS •

W THORS A

•

U N E S ÉCRI

MON AMIE LA FLEUR

: St. Joseph Catholic French Immersion Centre TEACHER: Julie Tremeer SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lynne Milette-Carroll UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence SCHOOL

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Short Story

by S T E P H A N I E R O S E Z A H O R O D N Y S M I T H

Jâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ai une fleur. Elle est mon amie.

101

L E S M I TA I N E S

: St. Catherine TEACHER: Suzanne Lavoie SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Marilyn Perrin UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence SCHOOL

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Nonfiction

by TAY LO R M c M I L L A N

C’est une mitaine jaune. C’est une mitaine bleue. C’est une mitaine orange.

102

LE PETIT CHAPERON ORANGE

: Our Lady of Peace TEACHER: Solina Panza-DiGirolamo SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sandra Gersondé UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Short Story

by N ATA L I A M O R O Z OVA

e Petit Chaperon Orange vit dans une maison avec maman, papa, la sœur et le bébé. La sœur s’appelle Marina. Un petit bébé qui est né juste maintenant. Elle a aussi une vraie poupée qui est une fille parce qu’elle parle et elle s’appelle Marabelle. Une fois Petit Chaperon Orange a dit à maman: « Est-ce que je peux aller à la maison de mon amie Tynen pour lui donner de la nourriture parce qu’elle est malade? » Et maman a dit: « Oui mais tu dois te mettre le chaperon orange. » Elle va à la maison avec la nourriture et donne la nourriture à elle. Une fée habite avec Tynen. Elle s’appelle Sasha. Elle a dit: « Tu as donné de la nourriture à Tynen ton amie. Tu as sauvé sa vie! Merci pour la nourriture et tu peux avoir ces ailes. Maintenant tu es la fée, Petit Chaperon Orange. » C’est très beau, n’est-ce pas?

103

M. JERRY

: Our Lady of Peace TEACHER: Solina Panza-DiGirolamo SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sandra GersondĂŠ UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Poem

by J O N AT H A N E S P I N

M. Jerry rond, froid Il est joyeux blanc, content il est un soldat de neige.

104

M A C É L É B R AT I O N P R É F É R É E SUN NIN

: Our Lady of Peace TEACHER: Solina Panza-DiGirolamo SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sandra Gersondé UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Nonfiction

by T Y N E N T R I N I T Y WA N G

Quand on la célèbre: Janvier ou Février Qui la célèbre: Les Chinois autour du monde La sorte de célébration: Pour un pays La Nourriture: Une grande partie de la célébration est le banquet de la veille de Sun nin. Ma famille se réunit pour un grand dîner avec au moins dix plats. Les plats ont aussi des noms qui signifient la bonne fortune, le bonheur, et la richesse. Voici quelques exemples: • • • • •

Les nouilles représentent longue vie Le poulet et le poisson entier Les jiaozi (quenelles) sont en forme de l’argent utilisé dans la Chine ancienne Le nian gao (gâteau de Sun nin) vous apporte une riche année Les oranges vous apportent la bonne chance

Ma grand-mère prépare ce dîner spécial chaque année. Ma partie préférée consiste de faire des quenelles avec mes grands-parents. À suivre…

105

Les activités spéciales: Beaucoup d’activités sont faites pour préparer pour Sun nin. La maison est nettoyée de haut en bas pour balayer l’année dehors et décorée de bannières rouges, prêtes à accueillir la famille et les amis. Tout le monde reçoit une coupe de cheveux. Pendant le Sun nin, les enfants reçoivent des enveloppes rouges contenant de l’argent. Pétards effrayent la malchance. Surtout, Sun nin c’est des réunions de famille et rencontres avec des amis. Une tradition spéciale pour ma famille est de rendre les quenelles avec mes grands-parents. Tout en préparant la pâte, mon grand-père me fait un collier de pâte pour porter! Je porte mon collier de pâte! Les nouveaux vêtements sont portés pour célébrer Sun nin, habituellement en rouge ou autres couleurs vives. Mon frère et moi portons des vêtements traditionnels chinois appelés « qi pao » pour la fête de Sun nin. 2012 est l’Année du Dragon dans le calendrier du zodiaque chinois. Les décorations de dragons seront partout. Les décorations: Le rouge est une couleur de la chance et beaucoup utilisée pour les décorations. Les lanternes rouges sont suspendues. Les bannières rouges disent « bienvenu » au printemps et bonnes fortunes en Chinois. La musique et la danse: Sun nin a la danse du lion et la danse du dragon. Les tambours et les cymbales sont utilisés pour effrayer la malchance. J’ai vu ma première danse du lion et danse du dragon en Australie quand j’avais trois ans. Les saisons en Australie sont le contraire du Canada, il fait beau et chaud en janvier!

106

DA N S L A F O R Ê T… I L Y A D E S B A I E S !

: Jean Vanier TEACHER: Krystina Pucci SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Short Story

by E M I LY S TA M P

n jour le soleil brille à l’école et moi et ma sœur Molly allons à ma maison sur nos bicyclettes. Je suis arrivée à ma maison mais Molly n’était pas derrière moi. « Où est Molly? » dit mon papa. « Je ne sais pas » j’ai dit à mon père. ELLE EST PERDUE!!!!!!! AH AH!!!!!! Mon papa a très peur et je vais dans ma chambre. J’ai peur qu’elle soit perdue pour toujours. Je me sens aussi nerveuse qu’une personne qui est présenté d’un voleur dans leur maison. Le prochain jour j’ai pris mon sac à dos et j’ai mis des fruits dedans. J’ai pris ma bicyclette et je suis allée à la forêt. Quand je suis arrivée au sentier, j’ai dit « C’est la bicyclette de Molly!! » Il y a des empreintes et je les suis. Il y a beaucoup d’arbres et des champignons. Tout à coup je vois Molly!! Mais il y a un très grand ours qui s’approche de nous. Nous sommes aussi immobiles que les arbres. Soudainement l’ours sent des baies et il marche aux baies. Nous sommes tellement heureuses que nous sautons de joie. Quand nous retournons à ma maison, tout le monde est très content. Moi et ma sœur sommes très fatiguées, alors nous nous sommes habillés en pyjama et nous sommes allées au lit. Ce soir j’ai rêvé que j’étais sur la plage au Mexique.

107

MON COCHON!

: St. Joseph Catholic French Immersion Centre TEACHER: Donna Lynn Paquette SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lynne Milette-Carroll UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Poem

by A L E X A N D R A B E Y N O N

J’ai un cochon qui aime les bonbons. Il a un ami mouton, qui aime les papillons. Et ce papillon, il a fait un cocon. Que c’etait mignon!

108

U N VOYAG E

: St. Cyril TEACHER: Dean Lepage SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Peter Bernotas UNIT: Toronto Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Mario Bernardo SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Nonfiction

by K I A R A B I A N C A P E R E Z

on rêve est de voyager à la ville des lumières et de l’amour. Connaissezvous cette ville? Il faut prendre un avion et traverser l’Océan Atlantique pour arriver à cette ville. Connaissez-vous maintenant cette ville? Je vais vous raconter une histoire et après vous allez savoir. Il y a beaucoup de choses à voir. On y va!!! Dans cette ville il y a beaucoup de choses à faire pour les jeunes et les adultes. Pour les jeunes la Cité des Enfants est un des meilleurs musées. Le Jardin d’Acclimatation est un parc d’amusement traditionnel et historique qui a aussi un parc zoologique. Durant l’été, cette ville prépare une plage sur la Seine pour que les enfants puissent nager. Durant l’hiver, cette ville prépare des patinoires pour que les gens puissent patiner pendant la journée. Le dernier endroit est le parc Disneyland où tu peux voir les personnages de Disney et jouer sur les jeux du parc. Pour les adultes il y a plusieurs choses à voir. La première chose que tout le monde veut voir est la Tour Eiffel. C’est le symbole de cette ville. Si tu aimes l’art, le musée du Louvre est tellement intéressant. La Mona Lisa et le Vénus de Milo sont très célèbres dans ce musée. La Cathédrale Notre Dame est peut être la plus célèbre de toutes les cathédrales dans le monde. La Cathédrale est connue comme un endroit historique et religieux. L’Arc-de-Triomphe est à la Place Charles de Gaulle et il y a douze rues qui se rejoignent ici. Les noms de plusieurs généraux célèbres sont sur l’Arc de Triomphe. Il y a aussi la Basilique du Sacré-Cœur qui est très belle et beaucoup de gens aiment la visiter. Savez-vous maintenant quelle est cette ville? C’EST PARIS!!! Voilà mon voyage à Paris. J’espère que vous avez aimé mon voyage. Merci.

109

L E S E X T R AT E R R E S T R E S P E U V E N T CHANGER LE MONDE!

: St. Joseph Catholic French Immersion Centre TEACHER: Nicole George SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lynne Milette-Carroll UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Short Story

by A L E X A N D R A VA N M I L

Un jour, Holly a demandé à ses parents: « Comment est-ce qu’on peut aider l’environnement? » La mère de Holly a répondue: « On peut planter des arbres, ne pas polluer, faire du recyclage, prendre soin de l’environnement et ne pas gaspiller le papier. » « Merci, Maman! » Holly a répondue. Sept minutes plus tard, Holly a vu quelque chose de très rare dans le ciel. Elle lisait un livre qui parlait de comment les enfants peuvent planter un jardin. Tout d’un coup, elle a entendu des bruits bizarres. Elle a encore regardé dans la direction des bruits et elle a vu une soucoupe volante. Elle avait tellement peur qu’elle a essayé de courir jusqu’à la maison mais ses jambes ne bougeaient pas. Une porte de la soucoupe volante s’est ouverte et deux extraterrestres sont sortis. Ils ont pris Holly et la soucoupe volante a commencé à voler encore. Mais cette fois, Holly était à l’intérieur! Holly s’est réveillée quand la soucoupe a stationné. Les extraterrestres ont porté Holly jusqu’à une serre étrange. Holly a demandé: « Est-ce que vous parlez le français? » « Oui, très couramment, » les extraterrestres ont dit. « Pourquoi est-ce que je suis ici? » Holly a demandé.

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« Cette planète a des problèmes à cultiver la terre. Donc, on a besoin de l’aide de quelqu’un qui vit sur une ferme car les fermiers savent comment cultiver la terre correctement, » un des extraterrestres a dit. « On a été dirigés de te prendre, » le deuxième a dit. Holly était flattée et avait peur en même temps. Un jour plus tard, Holly avait le droit de travailler sur le plus gros jardin de cette planète mystérieuse. Elle cultivait des légumes, des fruits, et des plantes. Elle a pensé à ses dernières minutes à la maison. Elle a demandé à sa mère comment elle pourrait aider l’environnement. Holly s’est demandé, « Comment est-ce que je pourrais aider cette terre aussi bien avec la qualité de sol que je connais? » Tout à coup, elle a vu le chef des extraterrestres. Il n’était pas content. Il s’est approché de Holly. Soudain, il a crié: « Qui pensez-vous que vous êtes? Vous êtes en train d’embellir notre environnement! » « Je voulais juste aider! » Holly a chuchoté. « Je vais envoyer quelqu’un qui peut te montrer comment jardiner correctement! » Ensuite, deux extraterrestres se sont rapprochés de Holly. C’étaient les deux qui ont pris Holly. Elle était furieuse. « Ramenez-moi chez moi! » Holly a crié. « Maintenant, tu dois juste prendre soin de ce jardin. Les plantes vont bien pousser sur cette planète si tu prends soin d’eux, » les extraterrestres ont dit. Bien sur! Comment est-ce que Holly pourrait oublier ça?! Elle a noté tout ce que sa mère lui avait dit au sujet de comment aider l’environnement. Les extraterrestres ont changé deux mondes! C’était magnifique! Le lendemain, Holly a travaillé sans arrêt. Elle n’a pas oublié de prendre soin. Elle se sentait mieux. Le chef est venu la voir après une heure et demie. « Je suis impressionné! Bon travail! Tu peux partir maintenant. » Holly était ravie maintenant. Elle pourrait aller à la maison! Le jour suivant, Holly est arrivé à la maison. Elle était triste car elle n’allait plus revoir ses amis bizarres et elle n’avait même pas appris leurs noms. Elle a commencé un jardin énorme après le déjeuner. Sa mère était très contente de voir sa fille travailler si fort. Quand elle avait fini de cultiver, elle a vu un morceau de papier qui flottait dans l’air. C’était une note de ses amis de l’espace! Elle a lu la note. La note disait:

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Chère Holly, Ne sois pas triste. On sera toujours avec toi. Merci, Bobbalouie et Bobo Jimmy (Tes amis bizarres) Ils ont donné à Holly un beau collier. Il y avait des diamants et tout! Holly était contente maintenant. Holly a fait des choses magnifiques avec Bobbalouie et Bobo Jimmy. J’espère que tu peux aussi faire de belles choses pour l’environnement!

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OÙ EST LA NEIGE?

: St. Anthony’s TEACHER: Amanda Saxton SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Hilary McGillivray UNIT: Bruce-Grey Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Anna Morrison SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Poem

by L A N D O N H U N T E R

La neige, pourquoi tu n’es pas ici? C’est le 13 février et tu n’es pas ici, As-tu changé en pluie? Tu seras ici si tu étais gentil. Neige, neige viens ici, Ou je vais pleurer toute la nuit! Neige, neige viens ici, Et je te promets que je serai ton ami! La neige est ici, la neige est ici! Finalement, je souris! Adieu les devoirs, au revoir! Maintenant, je vais faire du ski! La neige est ici, la neige est ici! Maintenant on peut jouer au hockey! Nettoyez la glace et apportez vos amis Pour le grand jeu de hockey!!

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FAT H E R L I N O

: St. Bernard TEACHER: Grace Pocion SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Amy Romito UNIT: Thunder Bay Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Gary Tomcko SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Nonfiction

by J U L I A N D i G I U S E P P E

’ai beaucoup de respect pour Father Lino. Il était mon prêtre à l’église St. Anthony. Je veux être actif comme lui quand je suis plus âgé. Il jouait au golf, aux quilles, et il adorait la pèche. Father Lino avait du respect pour moi aussi. Chaque semaine à la Communion, il disait mon nom, puis il disait, « Bonjour, » et puis, « le corps de Dieu. » Je me sentais content et spécial quand il faisait cela. Il a aimé joindre les différentes dénominations Chrétiennes. Il avait beaucoup de petits déjeuners quand il était notre prêtre parce qu’il a toujours aimé les assemblées. Il avait toujours un visage souriant. Vraiment! Une fois à un évènement chez l’église, j’ai vu quelqu’un et par accident son verre est tombé et l’eau a renversé. Le verre a brisé aussi. Father Lino a seulement dit, « C’est d’accord, nous avons beaucoup de verres. » Je veux être comme lui: si calme, sportif, sage et respectueux. En plus, il était religieux, content et compréhensif. Pour moi il était beaucoup plus qu’un prêtre. Il était mon ami. J’admire Father Lino encore, meme s’il est mort.

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C H E S T N U T : L’ H É R O S D E N O Ë L

: Bishop Macdonell TEACHER: Andrea Hamel SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Dawn Lalonde UNIT: Eastern UNIT PRESIDENT: Barb Dobrowolski SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Short Story

by B R A N D O N S . B E R G E R O N

ne fois, il y a longtemps, le Père Noël retournait de son voyage quand tout à coup, il a remarqué un très jeune cheval qui traversait le désert tout seul. Curieux, le Père Noël ordonnait à ses rennes de descendre le traîneau en bas, pour observer le petit cheval. Le cheval ressemblait beaucoup à ses rennes; il était brun avec des taches blanches, une queue courte et un nez pointu. Le Père Noël était tellement gentil alors il prenait le cheval avec soin et le plaçait dans le traîneau. Le Père Noël apportait le petit animal au Pôle Nord avec lui, où il était nommé « Chestnut, » et pouvait grandir en plaisance avec des amis. Pendant que les années passaient, Chestnut grandissait gros et musculaire, comme un cheval normal. Il pouvait courir plus vite que les rennes, mais souvent il se demandait pourquoi il n’avait pas de ramures. Le seul problème était qu’à cause que le cheval grandissait avec des rennes, il pensait qu’il était un aussi! Pendant que les rennes volaient en traineau du Père Noël, il se demandait pourquoi il n’a jamais eu la chance de voler aussi. Peu importe que Chestnut essayait fort de voler, il n’était pas capable de se soulever même quatre pieds du sol. Ça forçait les rennes de rire et taquiner Chestnut. Pour au moins une fois, Chestnut voulait montrer à tous les autres rennes et à lui-même qu’il était un renne normal. Le pauvre animal ne savait pas qu’il serait toujours qu’un cheval.

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En tout cas, c’est le temps où je partage l’histoire du cheval qui voulait vraiment voler. Ça commençait un jour quand Chestnut se promenait durant le déjeuner. Il avait remarqué un poster intéressant. Ça disait: LEÇONS POUR VOLER! ATTENTION LES RENNES! Voulais-tu jamais voler HAUT DANS LE CIEL, LES RENNES? Maintenant, c’est ta chance d’apprendre TOUT, VITE, FACILEMENT! Tout ce que tu dois faire est de venir demain matin au garage de traineau, et donner ton nom à M. Steam-Hooves. C’est simple comme 1-2-3! REJOIGNONS-NOUS! CROIS EN TOI-MÊME! Chestnut regardait le poster avec étonnement. Il pensait à lui-même: « Ces leçons seront finalement ma chance de prouver que je ne suis pas un animal inutile et sans ramures, je suis Chestnut–un renne normal. » Il était tellement fixé sur le poster qu’il ne remarquait presque pas les rennesbrutes qui tournaient le coin. Immédiatement, ils commençaient à rire et essayaient de décourager le pauvre cheval. Lorsqu’ils savaient que Chestnut avait l’intention de courir, ils le bloquaient et disaient: « Bonjour CHESSY, qu’est ce que tu regardes? » Chestnut répondait: « Ce poster. » Un renne, nommé Cupide, remarquait: « Ce poster stupide? Pourquoi? Est-ce que c’est parce que tu veux apprendre comment voler? Pour toi, c’est inutile même d’essayer! » Chestnut était extrêmement insulté et furieux que les rennes le taquinaient. Le cheval pensait que c’était une idée brillante. « Fasse-toi une faveur, CHESSY. N’y vas pas demain! Tu vas gaspiller ton temps! » disait un autre renne.

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Chestnut ignorait les brutes, et quand ils sont partis pour le déjeuner, il regardait le poster–en particulier la partie qui disait: « CROIS EN TOI-MÊME! » Lorsque les rennes avaient fini de manger, la Mère Noël les appelait au bureau pour leurs piqures d’hiver. S’ils ne les prenaient pas, ils pouvaient devenir vraiment malades. Chestnut était vraiment surpris, car il était le seul qui est venu pour les piqures. Même pas Rudolph ni les rennes brutes ne sont venus! Chestnut implorait le docteur de savoir s’il était en retard ou tôt, et le docteur répliquait: « Non, tu es venu au temps parfait. Les autres ne voulaient pas prendre la peine d’améliorer leur santé. » Surpris, Chestnut prenait la piqure, et dans une façon ou une autre, le cheval savait que ça n’aiderait pas seulement lui, mais que ça aidera probablement quelque chose d’autre aussi–quelque chose d’important. Le matin prochain, le soleil brillait, l’air était un peu froid, et il y avait un peu de neige sur la terre. Chestnut courait au garage de traineau où il a trouvé M. Steam-Hooves, Rudolph, les brutes et des autres rennes aussi. Bien sur, ils commençaient à taper sur ses nerves en disant: « Vraiment? Es-tu venu? Quelle décision stupide! Retourne à l’étable, PERDANT! » Chestnut ignorait les brutes encore. « D’accord, je veux que tu cours cinq fois autour du garage! Vas-y, fasse-le MAINTENANT! » Tous les rennes, et un cheval, courraient cinq fois autour comme l’instructeur avait ordonné. Chestnut était un des premiers à finir. Là, l’instructeur voulait que les rennes se soulèvent de la terre, alors il leur montrait aussi comment retourner. Pauvre Chestnut! Il pensait encore qu’il était un renne. Tous les rennes, incluant son ami Rudolph, se soulevaient presque plus haut que les sapins, mais Chestnut restait bien sur la terre-pas capable de s’élever du tout. Il sautait et sautait de toute sa force, mais c’était impossible pour lui. Chestnut savait que rien ne fonctionnait. Plus tard le matin, après que les autres sont retournés sur le sol, M. SteamHooves ordonnait à tous les participants de faire une course-volante autour de la forêt. Tous les rennes–bruns, noirs, et blancs–étaient excités pour la course, sauf Chestnut.

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Je ne peux pas voler, alors je ne participe pas, il pensait à lui-même. À ce moment là, Rudolph, qui était trop fatiguer pour participer, était assis à coté de Chestnut et lui demandait: « Mon ami, pourquoi est-ce que tu n’es pas dans la course? » « Je ne peux pas du tout voler, » répliquait le cheval. « Tu peux courir autour de la forêt, tu cours vite! » suggérait Rudolph. « Mais, je ne gagne pas comme ça! » disait Chestnut. « C’est correcte. Mais c’est mieux de participer que d’être assis ici en ne faisant rien, » répondait Rudolph. Le cheval prenait les mots de son ami avec soin, et décidait de joindre les rennes dans la course-volant. Au moment exact où les rennes entendaient le sifflet, ils partaient dans l’air dans toutes les directions, un ici, un là! Quelques-uns tombaient, et d’autres se soulevaient encore même plus haut. Pendant que la plupart des participants volaient, un cheval courrait sur le sol. Chestnut a fait une erreur sérieuse. Au lieu d’aller autour de la forêt, il est entré dedans j’usqu'au point qu’il était totalement perdu. « Oh non, où suis-je? » se demandait-il. « Au secours! » Chestnut regardait tout autour de lui. Il n’a jamais été dans cette forêt, alors il n’avait aucune idée où aller. Soudainement, Chestnut a entendu des cris de triomphes, venant de très loin. Froid et tout seul, le cheval suivait les cries jusqu’à ce qu’il était hors de la forêt, et au garage du traineau. Là, il y avait des rennes qui hurlaient avec joie et acclamation: « HA! HA! Nous sommes les gagnants! Hourrah! » Chesnut ne voulait pas rester là pour être intimidé par les brutes encore, donc il est allé à la maison de M. et Mme. Claus pour demander un conseil. Il frappa à la porte, et le Père Noël le laissa entrer. Ils saluaient: « Bonjour Chestnut, qu’est-ce que tu veux? » « Comme tu sais, demain c’est la veille de Noël, » Chestnut répondait. « Je veux voler avec toi, mais j’ai toujours du trouble. » « D’accord… alors, tu veux un conseil? » demanda la Mère Noël. « Pas de problème! » Le Père Noël ferma les rideaux et la porte pour que les espions ne puissent pas entendre leur conversation. « Chuchotez, on ne veut pas que les espions nous entendent, » ordonnait M. Claus. « Les espions? » implorait Chestnut. « Oui, alors veux-tu savoir comment voler? » demandait le Père Noël.

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Le cheval inclinait la tête rapidement, prête à écouter. « Je t’ai observé tout le temps. Mon ami, tu essaies fort! » le Père Noël remarquait. « Je ne peux pas trop dire, mais je te conseille: La chose la plus importante est de se souvenir de soi-même et de ne jamais arrêter d’essayer. » Chestnut a compris ce qu’il voulait dire. « Merci tous les deux! » Chestnut remarquait. Il sorta de la maison, et se dirigea à l’étable pour dormir. Il ferma ses yeux, et rêva de comment il pouvait prouver son point. Tôt le matin prochain, Chestnut décida d’essayer de voler encore, mais cette fois-ci il utilisa des méthodes drôles et un peu… excessives. C’était maintenant la dernière journée avant Noël, et Chestnut était plus déterminé de voler que jamais. Premièrement, il est allé voir un lutin appelé Boris, qui avait toujours des vetements drôles. Il frappa à sa porte-BAM! BAM! BAM! « Boris, es-tu là? » Chestnut demandait. Le lutin ouvrait la porte, curieux de voir qui était à sa porte très tôt le matin. « Bonjour Chestnut, qu’est-ce que je peux faire pour toi aujourd’hui? » Chestnut lui demandait s’il pourra pomper des ballons, et les attachés à son corps. « D’accord, combien? » il demanda. « Cent, » répliquait Chestnut. Sans savoir la raison, Boris apporta son pompe dehors, et commença à pomper cent ballons. Lorsqu’il avait fini de pomper une quantité incroyable, il attachait les ballons au corps de Chestnut. « Voila! » disait Boris. Le plan du cheval fonctionnait parfaitement. Il commençait à flotter au ciel, de plus en plus haut. Eventuellement, il était plus élevé que les arbres! Il pouvait voir pour des kilomètres de loin. L’air était plus froid ici, le vent devenait plus fort et ses oreilles étaient bloquées. « Finalement, je vole! » il criait, pour que tout le monde l’entende. Tout à coup, il réalisa quelque chose de sérieux. Comment est-ce qu’il descendrait? « Au secours! Je ne peux pas descendre! » il hurlait à Boris. Le vent poussait le cheval dans toutes sortes de directions, à gauche et à droite. Boris voyait que son ami était en trouble. Alors, il cherchait un trampoline et un arc en flèches. Il lança la flèche vers les ballons pour les faire éclater.

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Le lutin entendait « POP! ». Il assurait rapidement que le trampoline était à la bonne place. Chestnut est tombé sur le trampoline, rebondi et roulé sur le sol. « Es-tu correcte? » demandait Boris. « Oui, » répondait Chestnut. « Peut être tu devras arrêter de voler, mon ami, » suggérait Boris. Chestnut ignorait ce commentaire, remerciait le lutin de lui avoir sauvé la vie, et décidait d’essayer une autre idée. Il courrait vite à la maison de Santa, et grimpait l’échelle à coté de la maison. Quand il est arrivé au toit, il hurle: « Je vais voler, peu importe combien de temps ça me prend! » Il respira lentement et galopa vers le bord du toit! Le brave Chestnut sauta du bord, mais tomba dans une brousse courte. Il commença à penser que peut-être Boris avait raison; qu’il devrait arrêter d’accomplir de nouvelles hauteurs. « Oh, c’est inutile. Je ne vais jamais voler! » il sanglotait, découragé. À ce moment là, avant que le cheval ait la chance de sortir de la brousse, il entendait une voix: « Chestnut, Chestnut mon ami! » Il regardait dans toutes les directions pour voir qui appelait son nom. « Chestnut, viens ici! » la personne chuchotait encore. C’était le Père Noël qui courrait vers lui. Sur son visage, tu pourrais voir que quelque chose sérieux est arrivé. Il était pale et extrêmement inquiété. Chestnut sorta de la brousse, et demandait le problème. « Chestnut! » il chuchotait. « Toutes les rennes sont malades avec la pneumonie! » « Malade? » hurlait le cheval, « C’est terrible! C’est la veille de Noël! » « Chestnut, ne crie pas, je ne veux pas que les lutins t’entendent. Ils seront déçus. J’ai une faveur à te demander-une GRANDE faveur, » disait-il. « C’est quoi? » le cheval implora. Le Père Noël demandait à Chestnut de voler en traineau. Le cheval était absolument choqué. « Quoi? Je ne peux pas voler, Monsieur! » Chestnut remarquait. « Chestnut, calme-toi. Est-ce que tu sais pourquoi tu ne peux pas voler? » demandait le Père Noël. Chestnut n’avait aucune idée. « C’est par ce que tu es UN CHEVAL, mon ami! »

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Le cheval était maintenant plus choqué qu’avant. « Un cheval? » il demandait. M. Claus faisait incliner la tête, et chuchotait: « Oui, un cheval, ça c’est pourquoi tu ne voles pas! » M. Claus respirait sur sa main, touchait l’épaule de Chestnut, et disait: « Chestnut, aye de la confiance! » Chestnut comprenait tout, et décidait d’aider le Père Noël. Lorsque la nuit arrivait, le Père Noël se préparait. Chestnut tirait le traineau. Le Pére Noël lui donner des carottes, en le rappelant de relaxer. Après un moment, ils étaient prêts à partir. Le Père Noël a monté sur le traineau et braillait: « D’accord! 1-2-3, sur Chestnut, le cheval de Noël! » Mais le traineau était trop lourd, et Chestnut ne pouvait pas courir. « C’est trop lourd! » il remarquait. Tout à coup, Chestnut avait une idée intelligente. Il suggéra à l’homme dans les vêtements rouges d’attacher le traineau, et de monter sur lui. « Es-tu sur? » il implorait. Le cheval prenait une longue pause, et répliquait, « Oui, je suis sur. » Donc, le Père Noël montait sur le cheval, et hurlait: « 1-2-3! Sur Chestnut! Le cheval de Noël! » Le cheval avançait en galopant. Il sautait dans l’air, et tout à coup, il VOLAIT! Il s’élevait de plus en plus haut dans le ciel, jusqu'à ce qu’il rencontrait les nuages. « Je suis très fier de toi! Alors, où allons-nous en premier, mon ami? » Chestnut volait encore plus et plus loin. Il disparaissait dans la nuit–brave, confiant, et fier.

LA FIN.

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ZONE DE GUERRE

: St. Joseph Catholic French Immersion Centre TEACHER: Nathalie McDermott SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lynne Milette-Carroll UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Poem

by C H A N E L - DA N I F R A N K

Le monde s’écroule autour de moi, tout glisse entre mes doigts. L’air est épais avec la mort et la trahison. C’est une zone de guerre ici et je suis au milieu. Mon corps est blessé à cause de tout le dommage qu’il a déjà subit, mais si je veux survivre cette guerre je dois lutter pour ce que je veux. Je ne mourrai pas aujourd’hui, mais d’autres iront. Toutes les personnes qui nous avons blessées n’auront jamais à voir un autre jour. Parce que ça c’est la guerre. La haine, la souffrance, la solitude, la peur et la mort. Il y a des balles qui volent dans l’air appelées trahison, des espoirs et rêves sont en pleine explosion, des cœurs se font briser et des personnes innocentes meurent autour de moi. Il n’y a pas de place pour se cacher, il n’y a aucun endroit qui est sur. Il n’y a nulle part où on peut être libre, pas de place pour vivre en harmonie. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! THUD. C’est la fin de la folie. La fin de la peur. Plus de souffrance, plus aucune douleur. Ma vie est passée, le jour a disparu. J’ai accompli mes devoirs en tant que soldat. Je ne suis pas un héros mais une victime de la guerre. Maintenant que c’est fini et je suis mort, je peux finalement être libre, finalement être moi.

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LE PIANO

: St. Joseph, Oakville TEACHER: Angela Rzazewski SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Angela Rzazewski UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Richard Brock SCHOOL

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Nonfiction

by A L E X A N D E R PA I K

ésus a transformé l’eau en vin. Nous, les humains, transformons les émotions en musique. Nous pouvons transformer les émotions en musique, mais nous avons besoin d’un instrument qui nous permet de communiquer cette création. Quel instrument est grand, comporte beaucoup de touches, et donne beaucoup de plaisir quand on le touche? Le piano, un des instruments le plus populaire. Comme j’ai dit, le piano est un des instruments les plus populaires. C’est très vieux aussi; le piano a plus de cent ans. Peut-être tu te demandes, comment est-ce que les pianos font de la musique? Alors, si tu ouvres un piano, tu vas trouver des cordes et des marteaux. Quand tu joues du piano, tu pousses sur les touches qui forment un clavier. Chaque touche est attaché à un marteau et quand tu pousses sur la touche, ça cause le marteau de frapper une corde et la corde vibre pour faire le son. Chaque touche fait un son différent. Il y a quatre-vingt-huit touches sur un clavier d’un piano moderne. Ça c’est beaucoup de sons! Le premier piano a été inventé par Bartolomeo Cristofori. C’était appelé le pianoforte. Le nom pianoforte est Italien et ça veut dire « doux » et « fort » en français. Cet instrument avait du cuir sur les marteaux, il y avait des pédales, et c’était moins lourd que les pianos modernes. Aussi, les sons étaient plus doux. Mais, le pianoforte n’était pas le premier instrument avec un clavier. Avant ça, il y avait d’autres instruments avec des claviers, comme le clavicorde, le clavecin, et le hammered dulcimer.

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Les pianos modernes ont la même idée des pianos vieux, mais il y a quelques différences. Il y a trois types de pianos modernes: le piano droit, le piano à queue, et le piano électronique. Les pianos à queues sont très grands; ils sont environ de la même taille que le tableau noir. Alors, on a inventé le piano droit, qui est beaucoup plus petit et le clavier à la même taille. Ça c’est le type que j’ai chez moi et j’utilise ça pour pratiquer. Alors, les pianos sont très populaires et vieux aussi. Ils sont une partie très importante du monde de la musique, et d’après Beethoven; « La musique est une élévation supérieure à la sagesse et à la philosophie. La musique est le sol dans lequel l’esprit vit, pense, et invente. »

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U N S O U V E N I R D ’ E N FA N C E : M A P R E M I È R E J O U R N É E À L’ É C O L E

: Monsignor Percy Johnson TEACHER: Rose Foti SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Franco Santarossa UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Short Story

by A D E L I N E M A N G A - E B E N G U É

n septembre 2001, j’ai déménagé de Montreal et emménagé à Toronto pour commencer l’école. J’ai commencé l’école à Sainte–Jeanne–d’Arc à Brampton. Ma mère m’a dit de mettre une robe pour ma première journée. Quand je suis arrivée à l’école, j’étais très nerveuse et excitée. Je me suis fait beaucoup d’amis. Alors, on a décidé de jouer dans le parc qui est situé dans le court. Après avoir joué dans le parc, j’ai vu d’autres élèves en train de jouer sur les « Barres au Singe » sans moi. Je ne savais pas comment monter sur les « Barres au singe. » J’ai demandé à quelques-uns de mes amis de me montrer comment faire. Ainsi, j’ai commencé à monter et j’ai réussi. J’étais vraiment contente, sauf que je ne savais pas maintenant comment descendre. La cloche pour retourner en cours avait déjà sonné, et plusieurs élèves se sont éparpillés autour de moi. Un professeur est venu pour m’aider. J’étais complètement gênée parce que tout le monde pouvait voir sous ma robe. Alors quand je suis retournée en classe, tous les élèves se sont mis à parler de ce qui s’est passé. Quand je suis retournée à la maison, j’ai immédiatement raconté ma première journée d’école à ma mère. Elle a commencé à rire de mon histoire. J’étais un petit peu fâchée, mais je me suis rendue compte tout de suite que ma première journée d’école était différente et très drôle. Maintenant quand on me demande à propos de ma première journée d’école, un gros sourire apparait sur mon visage et je raconte mon histoire avec plaisir.

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L E S S E N T I M E N T S D E L’ A U TO M N E

: Loretto Abbey TEACHER: Miriam Thorpe SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Cosmo Femia UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Poem

by E L L E N K H O U D I A KOVA

Un jour pas tout à fait comme les autres Devant ma fenêtre une feuille tombe puis l’une après l’autre; L’automne arrive, l’été s’en va Et mon cœur, lui, n’est plus qu’éclats De mon balcon je vois les arbres pleurer De leurs feuilles on vient les arracher Et moi avec ma petitesse, Je ne peux pas calmer leur tristesse J’ai pourtant demandé aux oiseaux de les aider Mais ils n’ont pas pu les empêcher de sombrer Ce qu’ils ne savaient pas, c’est qu’ils étaient beaux, Même après avoir ôté leurs si beaux manteaux

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Mais je ne m’en feins pas, demain ils auront compris Mieux que personne le renouvellement de la vie Que pour mieux revenir, Il faut les laisser partir Alors les feuilles s’en iront au rythme du vent, Bercées par une mélodie au son le plus violent; Elles s’en iront joyeuses comme des milliers de coureurs Pour mieux revenir à la saison des fleurs Elles finiront bercées par le mouvement de l’eau, Comme un nouveau-né peut aimer le bercement d’un bateau; Alors tu vois au final c’est un cendre vicieux Qui fait que l’automne nous rend heureux.

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L’ U N E D E N O S F I L L E S

: St. Robert TEACHER: Nancy Torresan SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Denis Zmak UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Play

by N I T I K A AG A R WA L A N D A N G E L I N A N TO N Y

SCÈNE UN: LES INSULTES (ROSELLE entre dans la cour de recréation.) ROSELLE:

C’est difficile...je ne veux pas voir ces filles aujourd’hui. Je veux un jour normal. Un jour normal, mon Dieu, un jour normal.

(Les filles se moquent d’elle.) VALÉRIE:

Ah! Roselle, viens ici!

NICOLE:

Tes cheveux sont fantastiques!

ROSELLE:

(Avec un sourire) Vous les aimez?

VALÉRIE:

Cela me rappelle un nid d’oiseau!

(Les filles rient.) NICOLE:

Tu es trop grosse!

SOPHIE:

Et très laide!

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AMÉLIE:

Et extrêmement stupide!

CAMILLE:

Tu es inutile! Qui t’aimeras?

AURORE:

Oui, très indésirable!

VALÉRIE:

Trop sale!

PÉNÉLOPE:

Tu devrais mourir!

(ROSELLE est insultée. Elle s’enfuit.) Ce Soir-Là (Dans sa chambre) ROSELLE:

Bonne nuit, Maman.

MAMAN:

Bonne nuit, mon ange.

(ROSELLE s’assied sur son lit et elle pleure.) ROSELLE:

Pourquoi, mon Dieu? Pourquoi suis-je la seule qui doit souffrir?

(Elle s’endort.)

SCÈNE DEUX: CORPULENCE ROSELLE: Qu’est-ce que c’est? Pourquoi sont-ils ici? (Les biscuits apparaissent.) ROSELLE:

Biscuits? Ils sont très grands. Je—

(Les biscuits grandissent et ils sourient à ROSELLE, un sourire froid.) BISCUITS:

On te mange!

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ROSELLE:

Qu’est-ce que c’est?! Je peux vous battre!

(Elle jette une chaussure aux biscuits.) BISCUITS:

Nous sommes la nourriture! Tu ne peux pas nous blesser!

ROSELLE:

Nourriture! Je dois manger, mais…oh non! Je vais être grosse! Je cours!

(Les biscuits se moquent d’elle et plus de biscuits apparaissent.) BISCUITS:

Nous sommes la nourriture! Tu ne peux pas échapper de nous!

ROSELLE:

Je ne peux pas manger! Je vais être grosse!

(Un biscuit rit et une pépite de chocolat tombe pour révéler le visage de NICOLE.) ROSELLE:

Nicole! Aide-moi!

NICOLE:

Pourquoi, Roselle? Tu es pathétique! Et trop grosse! Je suis un biscuit; prosterne-toi devant moi!

(ROSELLE se prosterne devant NICOLE.) ROSELLE:

Moi… moi, je suis grosse.

SCÈNE TROIS: LAIDEUR ROSELLE: (Surprise) Très bizarre… (Autour de ROSELLE il y a beaucoup de miroirs. Elle marche lentement et elle se regarde dans un miroir.) ROSELLE:

Il ne montre pas mon image! Je ne comprends pas! Qu’est ce qui se passe?

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(SOPHIE entre dans la salle de miroirs.) ROSELLE:

Sophie? Qu’est ce que tu fais ici?

SOPHIE:

Je viens pour te montrer la vérité. Tu es laide, Roselle. Regarde dans les miroirs.

(ROSELLE se tourne.) ROSELLE:

Ahh! Il y a un monstre dans le miroir! Il a quatre bras, cinq jambes, et deux visages! Il est bleu, Sophie! Je ne suis pas bleue. Je ne suis pas un monstre!

SOPHIE:

Tu penses que c’est vrai? Tu es folle, Roselle. Il y a beaucoup de miroirs. Regarde ton visage.

(ROSELLE court au deuxième miroir et elle s’y regarde.) ROSELLE:

(Très triste) Il me montre un monstre.

(ROSELLE court au troisième miroir.) ROSELLE:

Un monstre. Non.

(Une larme tombe sur sa joue. Elle se regarde dans tous les miroirs sur la paroi.) ROSELLE:

Monstre, monstre, monstre! Je ne suis pas un monstre! Je ne veux pas être un monstre!

(ROSELLE pleure dans ses mains.) SOPHIE:

(Elle rit) J’ai raison, bien sur.

ROSELLE:

(Doucement) Oui, Sophie.

(ROSELLE s’allonge sur le sol, une main sur son visage.) ROSELLE:

Moi, je suis laide.

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SCÈNE QUATRE: STUPIDITÉ (Dans la salle de classe) ROSELLE:

Quoi? Comment suis-je arrivée ici? Où est la salle avec les miroirs?

(AMÉLIE entre dans la salle de classe. Elle porte une blouse rouge et une jupe noire.) AMÉLIE:

Bonjour. Comment allez-vous?

LES ÉLÈVES SANS ROSELLE:(Très ennuyés) Nous allons bien. AMÉLIE:

Bien. Aujourd’hui, nous résoudrons l’équation de la vie.

ROSELLE:

Quelle équation est-ce? Je n’ai pas entendu parler d’elle. Et pourquoi est-ce qu’Amélie est le professeur?

(ÉLÈVE #1 lève sa main.) ÉLÈVE #1:

Puis-je résoudre cette équation? Je connais la réponse! Choisissez-moi, madame!

AMÉLIE:

Merci, mais je choisis Roselle. (Mordant) Elle est très intelligente.

ROSELLE:

Pourquoi est-ce que tu as dit « intelligente » comme ça? Vous ne pensez pas que je sois intelligente?

(Les élèves halètent.) AMÉLIE:

Peut-être, Roselle. Et les autres? Pensez-vous que Roselle soit intelligente? Peut-elle résoudre cette question?

(Les élèves rient.)

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ÉLÈVE #2:

Roselle? Elle ne sait rien.

ROSELLE:

C’est vrai? Madame, je veux essayer l’équation.

AMÉLIE:

(Avec une sourire) Oui, viens ici.

(ROSELLE marche au tableau et AMÉLIE écrit l’équation. AMÉLIE s’assied à son bureau.) AMÉLIE:

Tu as deux minutes pour trouver la réponse. Tu peux commencer.

ROSELLE:

Bien, je vais commencer avec le nombre trois dans le dénominateur, mais les nombres entres parenthèses sont très difficiles…

TOUS LES ÉLÈVES:

(Chuchotent) Tu échoueras, Roselle, tu échoueras…

ROSELLE:

(Elle crie) Non, je vais la résoudre! Vous avez tort!

(L’équation change rapidement.) ROSELLE:

Qu’est-ce qui se passe? Les nombres sont mélangés!

AMÉLIE:

Trente secondes à la fin, Roselle.

ROSELLE:

Ce n’est pas assez de temps, madame! Les nombres… La question…

ÉLÈVE #3:

Admets-le! Tu ne connais pas la réponse.

ROSELLE:

Non, je suis intelligente!

(L’équation change encore.) ROSELLE:

(Perplexe) Quoi?

AMÉLIE:

Le temps est fini.

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(ROSELLE s’arrête et elle laisse tomber la craie.) ROSELLE:

Je n’ai pas pu résoudre l’équation de la vie. Moi, je suis stupide.

TOUS LES ÉLÈVES:

(Chuchotent) Tu échoueras toujours, Roselle, tu échoueras toujours…

SCÈNE CINQ: SANS VALEUR ROSELLE: Nicole? Où es-tu? Est-ce une ville? (ROSELLE est dans une ville très animée.) ROSELLE:

Qu’est-ce que je porte? Un costume d’un super–héros? Je peux sauver la ville? C’est superbe!

(Elle se promène autour de la ville.) ROSELLE:

Voilà! Une vieille femme! Elle ne peut pas traverser la rue. Excusez-moi, madame. Est-ce que je peux vous aider?

VIEILLE FEMME:

Ah, Roselle? Non, je ne voudrai pas ton aide! Je préfère mourir.

(Elle traverse la rue avec difficulté.) ROSELLE:

(Doucement) Il n’y a pas de problème. Bonne journée! (Elle se promène) Ah, un chat dans un arbre. Je peux l’aider!

(Elle s’approche du chat.) ROSELLE:

Bonjour, Chat, comment t’appelles tu?

(Le chat siffle.)

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ROSELLE:

Je peux t’aider. Viens ici! (Elle tend la main.)

(Le chat siffle et saute de l’arbre.) ROSELLE:

C’est bien…

(Elle se promène tristement.) UN ENFANT:

Maman, regarde cette fille. Elle est un super–héros mais elle n’a pas de valeur!

MAMAN:

Ne la regarde pas, ma chère.

ROSELLE:

Je suis bonne à rien?

(CAMILLE s’approche de ROSELLE.) CAMILLE:

Roselle!

ROSELLE:

(Elle se tourne) Camille. Aide-moi, s’il te plait!

CAMILLE:

Pourquoi? Tu es comme les ordures. Complètement bonne à rien.

ROSELLE:

Pourquoi, Camille? Pourquoi?

CAMILLE:

Parce que tu n’as pas de valeur.

ROSELLE:

Pas de valeur? Moi?

CAMILLE:

Oui.

ROSELLE:

Je suis bonne à rien.

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SCÈNE SIX: RÉPUGNANCE (Les yeux de ROSELLE sont fermés.) ROSELLE:

C’est silencieux. Quel soulagement!

(Elle ouvre ses yeux.) ROSELLE:

Je ne comprends pas… Aidez-moi! Aidez-moi! Je suis prise au piège!

(ROSELLE est debout dans un dôme en verre, et des milliers de gens la regardent.) ROSELLE:

(Elle crie) Pouvez-vous m’entendre?

(Elle frappe le verre avec ses poings.) HOMME #1:

Regardez, les gens. Roselle est peu souhaitable.

(ROSELLE cesse de frapper et elle colle son oreille sur le verre.) HOMME #2:

Elle est décente, mais elle est très étrange. Je ne veux pas qu’elle soit ma petite amie.

HOMME #3:

Elle n’est pas très jolie.

HOMME #4:

Oui, elle est trop maigre.

HOMME #5:

Elle est tellement ennuyeuse.

ROSELLE:

Arrêtez! Pourquoi me torturez-vous? Je comprends, d’accord? Je comprends que personne ne m’aimera. (Elle tombe à genoux.)

(AURORE marche à l’avant et se tient devant ROSELLE.) AURORE:

Qui est-tu?

ROSELLE:

(Avec un regard peiné) Moi, je suis indésirable.

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SCÈNE SEPT: SALETÉ (ROSELLE entre. Elle porte une robe blanche.) ROSELLE:

Mes vêtements ont changé… je n’aime pas cela. Qu’est-ce que c’est?

VALÉRIE:

Bonjour mon amie… Je ne te blesserai pas…

ROSELLE:

Ah non! Je n’ai pas de confiance en toi!

(ROSELLE et VALÉRIE courent dans le couloir, mais ROSELLE est en avance.) VALÉRIE:

(D’une voix chantante) Sale, sale, sale… pourquoi es-tu sale? Je suis propre, tu ne le vois pas?

(VALÉRIE saisit l’ourlet de sa robe et ROSELLE tombe.) ROSELLE:

Je ne m’inquiète pas de ce que tu penses! J’ai beaucoup de défauts, mais je ne suis pas sale!

VALÉRIE:

Sale, sale, sale. Tu es trop sale. Regarde ta robe. C’est un gâchis.

ROSELLE:

Mais—

VALÉRIE:

Regarde tes mains. Elles sont boueuses. Tes ongles sont mâchés, ton visage est tacheté. Tu es sale, sale, sale. Très sale, trop sale. Répugnant, dégueulasse.

ROSELLE:

Non! (Elle court.)

VALÉRIE:

Ne cours pas, Roselle! Ta saleté te suivra!

(ROSELLE court rapidement. Mais il y a un bruit; des rats qui grincent. Elle a peur.) ROSELLE:

Des rats? Non! Ils sont dégueulasses!

(Sur le haut-parleur, c’est la voix de VALÉRIE.)

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VALÉRIE:

Ne cours pas, Roselle. Ils sont tes amis.

ROSELLE:

Non!

(Elle trébuche. Les rats se ressemblent autour d’elle.) ROSELLE:

Non! NOOOOOOOONNNN!!

(Elle se lève, couverte de saleté, et recommence. Ses pieds sont sales et boueux. Elle s’approche de la maison la plus proche.) ROSELLE:

Aidez-moi, s’il vous plait!

(La porte s’ouvre et un enfant apparait.) ENFANT:

Oui?

ROSELLE:

Un petit garçon! (Elle touche sa main.)

ENFANT:

Quoi?! (Il se transforme en boue.)

ROSELLE:

Non!

(Elle court. Les rats sont plus proches. Quand elle touche la paroi, elle se fond en boue. Elle ne peut rien toucher.) VALÉRIE:

(Sur le haut-parleur) Prends une douche, Roselle!

(Tout à coup, l’eau tombe du ciel sur ROSELLE.) ROSELLE:

Je… Je ne peux pas nager! (Elle commence à se noyer.) Je suis sale.

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SCÈNE HUIT: MEURS DONC ROSELLE:

(Elle se lève tout à coup.) Où suis-je? Maman! Papa! Pourquoi êtes-vous tristes?

(Ils n’entendent pas.) ROSELLE:

Maman! Papa! Aidez-moi! S’il vous plait! Aidez-moi! Je suis effrayée et seule; très seule! Ma vie, c’est un cauchemar! Je n’aime pas mon école. Je ne peux pas étudier! Les filles-les filles sont méchantes! Elles sont-

(ROSELLE voit Pénélope. Ses parents ne l’entendent pas. Ils ont l’air triste.) PÉNÉLOPE:

Que penses-tu? Nous sommes…

ROSELLE:

Pénélope, je veux être ton amie. Je peux-

PÉNÉLOPE:

Ce n’est pas possible! Tu es laide. Grosse, laide, stupide, inutile, indésirable et sale. Nous, nous sommes parfaites. Tu n’es pas parfaite, Roselle. Tu es une catastrophe.

ROSELLE:

Non! Comment, Pénélope? Comment puis-je être parfaite comme toi?

PÉNÉLOPE:

Au revoir, Roselle. Le monde sera mieux sans toi.

ROSELLE:

Non! Maman! Papa!

(Elle pleure beaucoup. PÉNÉLOPE la pousse dans un cercueil.) ROSELLE:

Pénélope!

(Le couvercle se ferme. ROSELLE hurle et elle pleure.) ROSELLE:

Pénélope! Maman!

(Le cercueil se baisse. C’est tranquille et solitaire.) ROSELLE:

Moi… je dois mourir.

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SCÈNE NEUF: ÉTAT PSYCHOLOGIQUE DOCTEUR: Bonjour. ROSELLE:

Nous pouvons parler après leur départ.

DOCTEUR:

(Confuse) Qui?

ROSELLE:

(Elle regarde autour de la salle, nerveuse) Les filles. Pouvez-vous les entendre?

DOCTEUR:

Tu sais pourquoi tu es ici?

ROSELLE:

(Elle rit) Je ne sais rien, Docteur. Je suis stupide.

DOCTEUR:

Roselle, tu as un traumatisme psychologique et-

ROSELLE:

Non, Docteur! Non… (Elle se gratte le visage) Pourquoi ce visage est-il la? Je suis laide, je n’ai pas besoin d’un visage.

(Le docteur lui saisit la main et elle résiste.) ROSELLE:

Vous m’avez touché! Je suis sale… pauvre Docteur, maintenant vos mains sont sales, sales, sales.

DOCTEUR:

(Il utilise l’interphone) Infirmière!

ROSELLE:

(Elle marmonne) Les biscuits… non, je ne peux pas les manger!

DOCTEUR:

Tu dois te calmer, Roselle, les biscuits ne sont pas réels.

ROSELLE:

(Elle pleure) Ma douleur est réelle, Docteur!

L’INFIRMIÈRE:

J’ai ses médicaments.

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ROSELLE:

(En se secouant) Moi…sans valeur…je ne vaux pas un centime…

DOCTEUR:

Je reviendrai bientôt.

ROSELLE:

Les médicaments ne peuvent pas me guérir, Docteur! (Elle rit) J’entendrai toujours les voix.

(Le docteur sort de la salle et il voit les parents de ROSELLE.) MÈRE DE ROSELLE:

(Elle pleure) Est elle… folle, Docteur?

DOCTEUR:

Non, Madame. Elle est une victime.

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CRITIQUE DE FILM-LA RAFLE

: Bishop Allen Academy TEACHER: Mirela Leopold-Muresan SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Andrew MacDonald UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Nonfiction

by K AT H L E E N O ’ B R I E N

L a Rafle, un film écrit et réalisé par Roselyne Bosch, est basé sur la rafle du Vel d’Hiv, qui a eu lieu le 16 Juillet, 1942. Le film suit la famille Weismann et leurs amis, qui vivent dans une communauté juive à Paris, mais il se concentre surtout sur Joseph Weismann. Tous les Juifs portent des étoiles jaunes pour les distinguer des Français non-Juifs. Après plusieurs négociations entre le gouvernement Vichy et l’Allemagne, beaucoup de Juifs, y compris les membres de la famille Weismann, sont forcés dans des wagons qui les emmènent au Vélodrome d’Hiver. Dans le Vélodrome, il n’y a pas assez de nourriture ni d’eau pour les 13,000 Juifs qui sont là. Par conséquent, beaucoup de gens tombent malades. C’est au Vélodrome que Jo et ses amis rencontrent Annette Manod, une infirmière qui vient juste d’obtenir son diplôme. Après un bout de temps, les Juifs sont emportés du Vélodrome au camp de Beaune-la-Rolande. Les conditions de vie au camp sont aussi mauvaises, ou peutêtre même pires, que celles du Vélodrome. Puis, soudainement, des soldats réveillent les Juifs pendant la nuit et leur disent de vite ramasser toutes leurs affaires et les forcent à quitter les huttes. Tout le monde crie et l’atmosphère est désordonnée. Qu’est-ce qui arrivera à Joseph et sa famille? Est-ce qu’ils survivront la déportation? Regardez La Rafle pour en savoir plus!

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Joseph Weismann est un des personnages principaux du film. Jo, joué par Hugo Leverdez, est un garçon d’environ dix ans. Il est de taille moyenne, avec des cheveux blonds et des yeux bleus. Les caractéristiques les plus forts de Jo sont son courage et sa force mentale. Ces caractéristiques sont démontrées de nombreuses fois au cours du film, par exemple, quand il est au camp de Beaune-la-Rolande et il crache sa nourriture par terre. Il n’hésite pas de se défendre quand le soldat l’accuse de cracher sur ses pieds. Un exemple de sa force mentale est quand il s’enfuit du camp. Au lieu de rester au camp dans un état de désespoir, il fait ce que sa mère lui a dit de faire-de s’enfuir. J'ai beaucoup aimé le personnage de Jo, parce qu’il a montré que même si des actes injustes étaient en train d’être commis envers les Juifs, Jo et ses amis pouvaient encore essayer de changer leurs destins. Un thème dominant dans ce film est de lutter pour ce qui est juste et de défendre les droits de la personne. Annette Manod démontre ce thème à plusieurs reprises dans le film, mais un des exemples les plus signifiants est quand les soldats séparent les enfants de leurs parents. Elle affronte un soldat et lui crie que ce n’est pas moral de laisser les enfants sans parents. Le soldat commence à lui crier, puis elle est saisie et forcée de partir. J’ai beaucoup aimé Annette Manod et sa détermination pour la justice et pour aider ceux qui en ont besoin. C’était très réconfortant de voir que même dans une période de temps où des gens commettaient des injustices horribles envers d’autres êtres humains, il y avait encore des personnes, comme Annette, qui n’ont pas perdus leur sens d’humanité. Au niveau des procédés stylistiques, j’ai beaucoup aimé l’emploi de la musique dans ce film. Il y avait plusieurs chansons dramatiques aux moments de désespoir qui ont beaucoup contribué à l’atmosphère triste du film. Selon moi, les scènes où les gens ont été battus étaient extrêmement réalistes. C’est grâce au réalisme de ces scènes que j’ai eu des serrements de cœur en les observant. La cinématographie était excellente, et je crois que les prises de vue étaient très bien choisies. Voir la souffrance des Juifs m’a fait penser au fait que je suis si chanceuse de vivre dans un pays où de telles injustices n’existent pas. Mais, en réfléchissant au sens métaphorique du film, je me suis rendue compte que la scène où Annette affronte le soldat est démontrée dans des écoles presque tous les jours. Dans une école, le soldat représenterait l’intimidateur, et Annette représenterait quelqu’un qui défend ceux qui sont intimidés.

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En conclusion, La Rafle est un film très réaliste qui dépeint les souffrances que les Juifs en Europe ont subies pendant la Deuxième Guerre Mondiale. Ce film nous donne une vue détaillée des horreurs commises envers ce peuple et le courage des gens qui luttaient contre l’affliction.

Bibliographie http://larafle.gaumont.fr/ http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Rafle_(film,_2010)#R.C3.A9sum.C3.A9 www.imdb.com/title/tt1382725/fullcredits#cast

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P I É G É DA N S L E J E U

: Loretto Abbey TEACHER: Anthony Tommasone SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Cosmo Femia UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Short Story

by E L S I E C H A N

l était une fois un garçon nommé Frédéric. Il était un enfant plutôt ordinaire qui obéissait à ses parents, faisait ses travaux ménagers et ses devoirs, remettait ses projets à temps, etc.… Il était une personne très silencieuse et indépendante qui préférait travailler seule. Ce n’était pas qu’il n’avait pas d’amis, il avait en effet quelques-uns avec qui il déjeunait à l’école, mais il préférait tout simplement la solitude. Le problème de Frédéric était qu’il avait une petite addiction, une faiblesse plutôt, pour les jeux vidéo. Frédéric avait un amour très profond pour les jeux vidéo et cet amour commença à l’âge de cinq ans. Son père, qui avait l’habitude de voyager pour son travail, lui rapportait toujours un petit souvenir. Cette fois-ci, en retournant du Japon, le pays le plus reconnu pour son industrie technologique, son père lui donna son premier jeu vidéo nommé « Bataille des sorciers » et il s’y accrocha à partir de ce moment. Maintenant à l’âge de treize ans, il avait en tout neuf consoles différentes et il battit plus de soixante-quinze jeux vidéo dans sa vie, c'est-à-dire que Frédéric jouait aux jeux vidéo presque tout le temps et il continuait de battre de plus en plus de jeux. Par contre, il y avait un jeu qu’il n’arrivait pas à surmonter qui s’appelait « L’attaque des zombies III. » Frédéric passait des heures et des heures à essayer de battre ce jeu, mais en vain. Malgré la difficulté, il adorait le jeu. Alors, il se convainquit qu’il serait son but personnel de terminer ce jeu à la fin de la semaine suivante et il était déterminé à l’accomplir. Ce jeu prit possession de sa vie complètement, il pensait à propos du jeu à toutes heures et tous les jours. Le jeu

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était si magnifique que parfois il imaginait que des situations dans la vie réelle faisaient partie d’un niveau du jeu. Par exemple, dans la classe de l’éducation physique, il faisait semblant que lorsqu’il jouait au football, le ballon était la « pierre des merveilles » et qu’il devait la protéger des ogres (les joueurs de l’équipe opposée). Il inventait aussi des situations similaires au niveau où il surmonter des obstacles pour se rendre à sa destination. Par exemple, il se sauver des tyrans et des étrangers qui étaient sur son chemin en route pour sa maison après une longue journée d’école. Ce n’était pas son intention de développer cette obsession mais après avoir joué à « L’attaque des zombies III, » il était complètement ébloui et déterminé de trouver une solution pour terminer ce jeu rapidement. Frédéric choisit d’organiser ses priorités. Il essaya de créer un horaire et décida que les choses comme les devoirs, les projets et les activités parascolaires n’étaient plus importants pour lui en ce moment. Il résolut qu’il aurait plein de temps pour ces affaires, comme pendant la semaine de relâche au mois de mars. Oui, à ce moment-la, terminer ce jeu était sa première priorité et s’il devait sacrifier des nécessités pour quelques jours, il le ferait. Ceci était exactement ce qu’il a fait, il est même arrivé au point où il choisit d’arrêter de manger quelques repas et même dormir. C’était maintenant mercredi et il ne lui restait que deux jours pour battre ce jeu, alors il croyait que ces sacrifices étaient complètement nécessaires, même s’il n’était plus capable de garder ses yeux ouverts. Il croyait fortement que le temps qu’il gagnait valait la peine parce qu’il compléta trois niveaux et demi pendant le déjeuner. Le seul problème était que Frédéric détestait laisser un jeu en plein milieu d’un niveau, alors il prit la décision de terminer l’autre moitié du niveau à la bibliothèque après l’école. Pour gagner plus de temps, au lieu de prêter l’attention en classe, il décida d’utiliser le temps pour développer des stratégies. Il luttait fortement pour garder ses yeux ouverts parce que c’était extrêmement important qu’il forme un plan. Alors, il créa des plans et il décida de les mettre en mouvement le moment que la cloche finale de la journée sonna. Il se réveilla brusquement au son de la cloche. Frédéric se dépêcha pour se rendre à la bibliothèque et quand il se rendit il s’est plongé dans le jeu, mais il ne pouvait pas garder ses yeux ouverts. La seconde qu’il avait finalement pris conscience pour essayer de terminer le jeu, quelque chose d’étrange se passa… Frédéric n’était plus dans la bibliothèque, il était actuellement dans le jeu!

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Frédéric se rendit compte qu’il était au milieu du désert et comprit qu’il faisait actuellement partie du jeu. Il était content, ceci était un des meilleurs moments de sa vie! Tout était là, le score, la barre représentant sa vie, la carte géographique, son sac à dos, etc.… Il ne lui restait qu’une vie où la barre était très basse et apparemment il lui restait un seul niveau. Il supposait qu’il compléta plus de niveaux qu’il crut. Frédéric entendit plusieurs rumeurs à propos de ce niveau: c’était le niveau où supposément toutes les personnes que s’ils surmonta pendant le jeu deviennent des zombies et il fallait remettre le « rubis bleu » au docteur Richard sans que les zombies le rattrapent parce que s’ils prenaient possession de ce trésor, ils auraient le pouvoir de gouverner le monde. Jusqu’à date, toutes les rumeurs qu’il entendit au sujet du jeu étaient vraies, ce qui l’inquiétait. Le problème était qu’il n’avait aucune idée quoi faire. Il se calma et décida qu’il devrait remonter la barre de vie alors il chercha une source d’eau et il finalement découvert un petit lac. Il s’approcha du lac, mais il ne pouvait pas ignorer une petite tâche floue près du soleil qui brillait si fort qu’il était presque impossible de voir clairement. La tâche commença à devenir de plus en plus claire et Frédéric put finalement établir une image solide: des zombies qui se dirigeaient rapidement dans sa direction! Il devait faire quelque chose vite, sinon ce serait la fin du jeu et de sa vie. Il chercha son sac pour voir s’il possédait quelque chose qu’il pourrait utiliser pour se défendre, heureusement il trouva le « rubis bleu » et un type de balle magique qu’il garda fermement dans sa main. Maintenant, il comprit que la rumeur était complètement vraie et qu’il ne lui restait qu’à remettre le « rubis bleu » au docteur et tout sera terminé. Par contre, il y avait un autre problème, les zombies s’approchèrent de plus en plus vite vers sa direction et il devait trouver une manière de s’en échapper. Alors, il chercha son sac et il sortit sa carte géographique. Il l’observa et il découvrit qu’il y avait un petit marché où travaillait un fournisseur d’outils. Ainsi il commença à courir vers le sud, dans la direction du fournisseur en espérant qu’il saura comment localiser le docteur. Il accourut et accourut quand soudainement, il sentit quelque chose brusquement saisir sa cheville. C’était un des zombies. Frédéric piétina sur sa main et se libéra, mais tous les zombies commencèrent à former un cercle autour de lui. Il devait trouver une manière de s’en échapper rapidement mais comment? Il ne savait pas l’utilité du ballon mais c’était une urgence, alors il la lança et un grand nuage de fumée s’établit. Ceci était une merveilleuse façon de les distraire parce que la fumée commença à les aveugler: c’était son opportunité de s’en échapper alors il se mit à quatre pattes et il rampa jusqu’à ce qu’il se rendit à sa destination.

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Il ne voyait aucun zombie le suivre alors il était soulagé. Enfin il arriva au marché, il était maintenant plus proche à terminer sa quête. Il regarda et chercha le stade de son fournisseur mais il se rendit compte qu’il n’y avait personne qui l’entourait. Avant de perdre espoir il entendit un chuchotement. C’était son fournisseur Adil lui disant de le suivre en cachette. Frédéric, confus, choisit de lui obéir et lui demanda une explication. Quand ils se sont rendus derrière son stade, Adil lui expliqua que tous les zombies autour du monde se réunissaient et qu’ils se dirigeaient vers ce chemin. Frédéric lui expliqua que la raison pour laquelle les zombies venaient était parce qu’ils voulaient reprendre le « rubis bleu » de lui pour qu’ils puissent gouverner le monde. Adil comprit, prit la carte de Frédéric et dessina le chemin pour se rendre chez le docteur. Frédéric le remercia et reprit son chemin. Il regarda la carte et il se rendit compte qu’il se situait très proche du docteur: sa maison était juste à quelques mètres vers l’est alors il marcha jusqu’à ce qu’il trouva la maison. Il frappa à la porte n’ayant aucun bruit en réponse, mais un grand soufflement d’air fit ouvrir la porte qui était apparemment déjà déverrouillée. Il entra dans la maison, pensant que le docteur pourrait aussi être en cachette. Alors, il se rendit au sous-sol et il espérait trouver son ami qui était par hasard présent. Frédéric eut une sensation que quelque chose était très étrange. Son ami se tourna vers lui: il parut très pale et sa tète semblait être autre part. Cela lui prit quelque secondes pour se rendre compte que le docteur est devenu un zombie. Avant que Frédéric ne puisse commencer à courir, le docteur-zombie arracha son sac de son dos et prit le « rubis bleu. » Le docteur le toucha et le personnage de Frédéric se désintégra. Frédéric a perdu sa dernière vie. Il ne pouvait pas croire qu’il perdit sa dernière vie, sa dernière opportunité sans avoir l’occasion de se battre. Il était furieux parce qu’il ne comprenait pas comment ceci est arrivé. Frédéric ouvrit les yeux et il se retrouva à la bibliothèque. Cette aventure n’était qu’un rêve! Tout ce temps, l’incident n’était que des histoires qu’il fabriqua grâce à son imagination! Frédéric apprit qu’il passait trop de temps à jouer à ses jeux video. Il a sacrifié ses devoirs, ses résultats, le sommeil, sa santé, et sa vie pour ce jeu et il décida qu’il n’allait plus jamais laisser un jeu prendre possession de sa vie. Frédéric était déçu de lui-même et ainsi il jeta le jeu dans la poubelle en sortant de la bibliothèque. Il se rendit chez lui où il fit une longue sieste et il essaya de se rattraper en ce qui concerne toutes les taches qu’il ne put pas achever pendant sa petite crise. En réalité, Frédéric ne compléta pas de jouer aux jeux video, mais il apprit une leçon très important: qu’il doit limiter son temps de jeu parce qu’il y a d’autres choses dans la vie qui sont plus importantes.

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P O U R TO U J O U R S , À S E I Z E A N S

: Regiopolis-Notre Dame TEACHER: Martine Tremblay SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Geoff Mackler UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Bob Giasson

SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Poem

by J U L I E B AT E S

C’était dans l’temps de mes seize ans, Un temps incertain, Où l’on se demandait, Quelle guerre éclaterait, Financière ou avec les mains Conflits dans le monde entier, Révolutions, grands changements, Attentas en Afghanistan, Tout cela à la télé. Et moi dans tout ça, J’écoutais, je regardais, Et je me demandais, Si la paix trouverait son droit. C’était dans l’temps de mes seize ans, Un monde très saturé, De nouvelles technologies, IPod, iPhone, blackberry, Tous, vite démodés. Car inventions sur inventions, La vie changeait de code,

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Et soudain, une nouvelle mode, Remplaçait la vieille création. Et moi dans tout ça, Pas trop captivée par les jeux video, Je préférais encore les mots, Où l’écriture est reine et le papier, roi. C’était dans l’temps de mes seize ans, Crise économique, Déficit grandissant, Encore des problèmes d’argent, N’ayant rien de bien comique. Tristesse dans les cœurs, Pour ceux qui perdaient, Tout ce qu’ils possédaient, Un monde sans bonheur. Et moi dans tout ça, Je comptais mes sous, J’économisais sur tout, Dans la peur de tomber très bas. C’était dans l’temps de mes seize ans, Génération Y, nous nous nommions, Accros à l’internet, Nous aimions faire la fête, Une bande de fous, nous étions. Chacun de nous, Coincé dans un groupe à jamais, Au risque d’être un rejet, Et d’être humilié dans tout. Et moi dans tout ça, Je formais avec mes amies, Un petit groupe, mais très uni, Et cela faisait ma joie.

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C’était dans l’temps de mes seize ans, Et moi, je rêvais à demain, De parcourir le monde, En quelques secondes, Un calepin à la main. Mon nom dans le journal, Mon image aux nouvelles, Journaliste éternelle, Allant aux grands récitals. Et moi dans tout ça, Je rêvais qu’on connaisse, Sur toutes les lèvres, Même au Quai des Orfèvres, Mon prénom bien à moi. C’était dans l’temps de mes seize ans, Où comme la plupart, J’attendais patiemment, Le coup de foudre violent, Ce grand moment de gloire. Enfin rencontrer, Celui qui m’aimerait, Le bel homme parfait, À moi, pour l’éternité. Et moi dans tout ça, J’espérais chaque jour, Rencontrer mon amour, Qui me ferait la cour, Ensemble, pour toujours.

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LE PEINTRE DES JASMINS

: St. Robert TEACHER: Nancy Torresan SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Denis Zmak UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Play

by L U C Y S O N G

LES PERSONNAGES: ADRIENNE JEAN MARIE HOMME #1 HOMME #2 FRANÇOIS NICOLAS

SCÈNE I Le 23 Avril ADRIENNE:

Voilà les germes de jasmin. C’est un cadeau pour ton seizième anniversaire.

JEAN:

Merci, Adrienne!

(Après qu’ils ont planté les germes de jasmin, ils restent sur un banc dans le parc.) JEAN:

Est-ce que tu penses que les jasmins fleuriront?

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ADRIENNE:

Je ne sais pas, mais j’espère que tout ira pour le mieux.

JEAN:

Moi, je souhaite que la guerre finisse quand les jasmins fleuriront. Cette guerre continue depuis trois ans. Je ne comprends pas encore la raison pour cette guerre.

ADRIENNE:

Cette guerre a commencé parce que le gouvernement veut emprisonner les citoyens qui ne sont pas nés dans ce pays. C’est ridicule, si tu me le demandes.

JEAN:

Ne t’inquiète pas. Je te protégerai. Personne ne te blessera.

ADRIENNE:

Tu es tellement naïf, Jean, bien que tu viens d’avoir seize ans. Seize. C’est un bel âge.

JEAN:

J’attends avec impatience de devenir adulte. Je deviendrai artiste une fois que j’aurai assisté à l’Ecole des Beaux-arts à Paris!

ADRIENNE:

Et je deviendrai professeur d’histoire!

JEAN:

Ne m’oublie pas. Nous serons toujours les meilleurs amis.

ADRIENNE:

Bien sûr. Regarde! Le coucher du soleil est très joli, n’est-ce pas? En dépit de la guerre, la nature est encore brillante.

SCÈNE II: Le 3 Juin MARIE (La mère de JEAN): Porte ton chapeau, Jean. Tu auras un coup de soleil. (JEAN cours dehors au parc.)

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ADRIENNE:

Regarde, Jean!

JEAN:

Aha! Les jasmins ont finalement éclos!

ADRIENNE:

Je te l’avais dit! Si tu espères pour le mieux, tu réussiras.

(Tout à coup, deux hommes avec des lunettes de soleil entrent dans le parc. Ils repèrent JEAN et ADRIENNE.) HOMME #1:

Es-tu Adrienne?

(ADRIENNE hésite.) ADRIENNE:

Oui, je m’appelle Adrienne. Qu’est-ce que vous voulez?

(HOMME #1 sourit avec suffisance.) HOMME #2:

Allons-y, Adrienne. Toi et ta famille irez en prison. Nous avons découvert ton secret. Toi et ta famille n’êtes pas nées dans notre pays.

(ADRIENNE jette un coup d’œil à JEAN. Elle est terrifiée.) JEAN:

Arrêtez! Relâchez-la maintenant!

HOMME #2:

Tu es Jean? Dis merci à ton père pour moi. Ton père m’a admis le secret d’Adrienne et sa famille.

JEAN:

Non! Ce n’est pas vrai! Mon papa ne fait jamais de la peine aux autres.

HOMME #2:

Tu es trop naïf, Jean.

(Les hommes trainent ADRIENNE par terre et la montent dans le camion. JEAN court après le camion, mais c’est trop tard. JEAN commence à pleurer.)

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SCÈNE III: (JEAN arrive chez lui.) JEAN:

Papa! Pourquoi est-ce que tu as trahi mon meilleur ami?

FRANÇOIS (Le père de JEAN): Jean, où est-ce que tu as entendu ça? JEAN:

Ne me mens pas, Papa. Qu’est-ce qu’elle a fait? Elle n’a rien fait. Elle ne mérite pas cette punition!

MARIE:

Sois raisonnable, Jean! Adrienne aura été capturée tôt ou tard. Ton père a reçu une promotion hier parce qu’il a aidé les soldats.

JEAN:

Ça ne fait rien! Tu es un traître, papa!

FRANÇOIS:

Va dans ta chambre, Jean. Arrête de faire une colère. Tu es trop idéaliste.

SCÈNE IV: Le 2 Décembre Depuis l’arrestation d’ADRIENNE et de sa famille, JEAN entretenait les jasmins chaque jour. Malheureusement, les jasmins ont fané après un mois. NICOLAS (Le voisin de JEAN): Est-ce que tu as entendu? La guerre est officiellement finie aujourd’hui. Adrienne et sa famille devraient retourner cet après-midi. JEAN:

Vraiment? Merci de me l’avoir dit, Nicolas.

(JEAN attend ADRIENNE. Il aperçoit une fille avec les cheveux blonds, les yeux verts. C’est ADRIENNE. Elle est mince, elle a l’air triste.) JEAN:

Adrienne! C’est moi, Jean!

(ADRIENNE l’aperçoit, mais elle ne sourit pas. Elle s’éloigne.)

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SCÈNE V: (Après vingt ans, JEAN est devenu un peintre fameux. JEAN raconte cette histoire-ci pendant l’exposition de ses tableaux.) JEAN:

Je n’oublierai jamais mon enfance. Pour cette raison, je peins des jasmins. La vie n’est pas toujours un conte de fée. Parfois, il n’y a pas de dénouement heureux. Vivez chaque jour pleinement. Prenez soin des rapports avec vos amis.

(Après, il voit une femme d’environ 30 ans, qui a les cheveux blonds et les yeux verts. Elle s’approche de lui en souriant.) ADRIENNE:

Est-ce que tu te souviens de moi, Jean? Ça fait longtemps.

(JEAN est sidéré.) JEAN:

Adrienne! C’est toi! Je suis désolé, Adrienne. Pourraistu nous pardonner, moi et ma famille?

ADRIENNE:

Oui, Jean. Je suis désolée, ça n’a pas été ta faute, Jean. Je n’aurai pas du être fâchée contre toi. En plus, si tout le monde s’aimait, il n’y aurait plus de guerres, de conflits.

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U N E É T U D E C O M PA R AT I V E D E L A FA M I L L E DA N S U N S I M P L E S O L D A T DE MARCEL DUBÉ ET PIERRE ET JEAN D E G U Y D E M A U PA S S A N T : Bishop Allen Academy TEACHER: Martin Clough SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Andrew MacDonald UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal SCHOOL

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Nonfiction

by C O N N O R S H E E R E

a vie familiale est un aspect de la vie qui définit ce qu’une personne deviendra pour le reste de sa vie. La famille est la première source à laquelle nous tournons pour trouver des solutions à nos problèmes, et la source de notre apprentissage sur une immense diversité de questions. En effet, le sang est plus lourd que l’eau, et la famille est toujours là pour nous soutenir. Ou au moins, c’est ce qu’on est mené à croire. Apparemment, Guy de Maupassant et Marcel Dubé n’ont pas les mêmes pensées concernant la famille. Dans les œuvres littéraires Pierre et Jean et Un simple soldat, ces auteurs présentent une vision différente de la famille. Les relations entre les parents sont fausses et forcées, menant à des mauvaises relations avec leurs enfants, et créant de la tension et de la jalousie entre eux. La famille est représentée d’une manière négative et joue un rôle contraire au rôle qu’elle devrait jouer. De plus, elle n’offre pas la chaleur ni l’amour que cherchent les enfants de leurs craintes. Dans une famille normale, il y a des rôles et des responsabilités divisés parmi les membres. Comme Peterson le souligne, cette division des rôles est une partie importante du fonctionnement de la famille (2009). Cette structure vitale n’est pas présenté chez les Rolands, ni les Latours. Les rôles des pères dans les deux œuvres sont vraiment confus. Dans les deux cas, les pères, qui sont supposés d’être une source de force et d’autorité, sont présentés comme étant plutôt faibles. Dans Pierre et Jean, M. Roland réfère à sa femme en demandant, « Mais qu’est-ce qu’elle a? » (Maupassant 184). Ceci indique sa distance de la famille et son manque

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de soutien pour sa femme. Dans Un Simple Soldat, M. Latour démontre aussi un manque de force, en évitant toujours de régler les problèmes avec son fils. Ces deux hommes ne reconnaissent pas leurs responsabilités comme pères des familles. Ils trouvent que c’est plus amusant de sortir, de s’échapper de la maison, et de passer du temps avec leurs amis que de prendre leurs responsabilités chez eux. M. Roland part en bateau avec son ami, M. Beausire, tandis que M. Latour sort pour fêter et boire. Dans les deux cas, l’absence du père est désastreuse, et ce sont les enfants qui ont dû réparer la situation. Armand a pris la position de « mari » auprès de sa mère après le mort de son demi-père, et Jean se trouve en train de réconforter sa mère, en disant, « Adieu, maman, bon courage » (Maupassant 229). L’absence du père dans les deux œuvres ne produit pas un bon exemple pour les enfants et c’est évident que Joseph et Pierre commencent à se sentir confus. Somme toute, M. Roland et M. Latour ont échoué en tant que pères, en ne produisant pas assez de soutien émotionnel et physique pour leurs enfants (Peterson par. 17). Normalement, la mère est également supposée de jouer un rôle fondamental dans le développement de la famille. En tant que symbole de l’amour et de la tendresse, les mères ont une influence primordiale sur la vie de leurs enfants. Par exemple, la mère de Joseph est morte, ce qui l’a changé négativement dés sa jeunesse. Sans aucun doute, il se sentait trahi et abandonné par sa mère. Par conséquent, il ne pouvait jamais aimer sa demi-mère de la même manière, et à plusieurs reprises, il l’insulte et démontre envers elle un manque de respect flagrant. Sa mère biologique est morte, et il ne pourra jamais la remplacer. De la même manière, Pierre se sent trahi par sa mère. Non seulement a-t’il découvert la vérité de l’adultère de sa mère et de l’identité de son frère, mais sa mère lui a privé de la vérité. Il se rend compte qu’une partie de sa vie n’a pas été réelle. La perte physique ou émotionnelle d’une mère a un énorme impact sur la vie d’un enfant, et les conséquences de cette perte peuvent être vues chez les personnages principaux des deux œuvres littéraires. En considérant les mariages des parents dans les deux œuvres, on peut voir qu’ils sont en péril. M. et Mme. Latour se sont mariés, non pas à cause de l’amour, mais plutôt hors de la nécessité et un besoin de ne pas être seuls. Une relation comme celle-ci est difficile de maintenir, et produit un mauvais environnement pour élever les enfants. La relation des parents Roland a aussi été brisée, par la liaison de Mme. Roland et Léon Marechal, l’homme avec qui elle était vraiment en amour. Même si M. Roland n’était pas au courant de cette information, le manque

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de fidélité de Mme. Roland a produit encore un mauvais exemple aux garçons et c’est la cause de la plupart des tensions vues dans ce roman. L’adultère est la source de la jalousie du fils ainé, ainsi que la dépression émotionnelle de Mme. Roland. Ces tensions ne produisent pas une bonne atmosphère, et un environnement rempli de conflit impose du stress dans la vie de tout le monde (Pendley par. 3). Dans les deux familles, il y a beaucoup de tension. Dans Un Simple Soldat, c’est Bertha qui comprend et décrit cette tension de la meilleure manière, en disant qu’il fait « aussi chaud dehors qu’en dedans. Le vent est mort, on étouffe » (Dubé 117). Un autre exemple du conflit qui se développe entre les enfants des deux familles est la rivalité de frères. Dans Un Simple Soldat, Joseph et Armand sont des hommes vraiment différents. Joseph semble d’être jaloux des qualités d’Armand, comme son sens de responsabilité et son caractère obéissant. Même si Joseph sait que ce sont des qualités qu’il devrait apprécier, il ne veut pas le faire. Dans Pierre et Jean, Pierre se trouve aussi dans une situation similaire. D’une part, il déteste le mensonge associé à la fortune de son frère. D’autre part, il est vraiment jaloux de Jean. Pierre est fâché contre son frère qui a tout reçu, même s’il était le plus jeune. Cette rivalité entre les enfants est normale, mais les deux n’avaient personne auquel ils pouvaient se confier. Les tensions augmentaient entre les frères, et les conflits causés par cette rivalité ont contribué de plus en plus à la dissonance dans la famille. Pierre et Joseph n’avaient que de mauvais exemples pour réponses à leurs conflits, et n’étant plus capables de tolérer leurs familles, ils ont décidé de s’en aller comme l’ont fait leurs pères. En fin de compte, après avoir échappé à la maison, Joseph meurt dans la guerre, et Pierre est banni de sa famille et envoyer à son mort sur la mer (Klyne 145). En conclusion, les familles Latour et Roland présentées dans Pierre et Jean et Un simple soldat sont des antonymes de ce que la famille devrait être. Le manque de structure familiale, l’absence de la communication, et l’inexistence du soutien mutuel parmi les membres des familles produisent une atmosphère négative dans laquelle tous les personnages doivent résider, résultant dans la misère et la tragédie qui dominent ces deux œuvres littéraires.

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Bibliographie De Maupassant, Guy. Pierre et Jean. Paris : Hachette, 2002. Print. Dube, Marcel. Un Simple Soldat. Montreal : Typo, 1993. Print. Klyne, T. Jefferson. « The Racinian Roots of Pierre et Jean : Maupassant’s Tragic Doubles. » Symposium (Sept. 2005): 144-162. EBSCO. Web. 6 Jan. 2012. <http://web.ebscohost.com/ehost/pdfviewer/pdfviewer?sid=19423b13f452-4d17-9ee2-a7c49e6c3b29%40sessionmgr110&vid=5&hid=112>. Pendley, Jennifer Shroff, PhD. « Sibling Rivalry. » KidsHealth (Dec. 2009): 1-4. Web. 6 Jan. 2012. <http://kidshealth.org/parent/positive/family/sibling_rivalry.html#>. Peterson, Rick. “Families First-Keys to Successful Family Functioning: Family Roles.” Virginia Cooperative Extension. Virginia State University, 1 May 2009. Web. 6 Jan. 2012. <http://pubs.ext.vt.edu/350/350-093/350-093.html>.

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