Young Authors Booklet - 2013 by @OECTA

Young

Authors

Awards Y O U N G A U T H O R S AWA R D S

THORS A W

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2013

www.oecta.on.ca

2013

P R I X J E U N E S É C R I VA I N S

U N E S ÉCRI

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS 2013

U N E S ÉCRI

THORS A W

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W THORS A

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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 2013 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 great 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 experience the competition. The Young Authors Awards/Prix jeunes écrivains program also would not be possible without the hard work of many OECTA members across the province. Teachers, OECTA school 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 Ă&#x2030; C R I VA I N S 2 0 1 3

Anne Denning Allison Elliott Delia Tavares Wanda Wilcox

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 3

Cynthia Gittens, Co-Chairperson Nancy Molnar, Co-Chairperson Amanda Forbes Laryssa Gorecki Mirela Leopold-Muresan Maria Massarella Carmen McLean Emmet Mellow Tim Mignault Tanya Morelli Papy Mukenge Christine Otshudi Catherine Ross Angela Rzazewski Jeanneda Saulnier Sou Yen Shu Dan Smart Kelli Somers Kathleen Swan Diana Thomas Jennifer Van Trigt

W H E N I H I K E D TO A WAT E R FA L L

Notre Dame TEACHER: Taryn O’Neill SCHOOL:

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Joe Persia UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald by

ISAIAH JASON ELIOVITZ

nce I hiked to a waterfall and I was too scared to jump off. My mom swung me into the air and then I splashed into the water. Now do you want to hear the whole story? Okay, I’ll tell you the story. It all started on a nice December morning at a beach house in Trinidad. My grandfather gave my family the idea to hike to the waterfall and I thought the waterfall would not be too high. It took a long time to get there. I had to climb mountains and I had to go in the jungle that had a very muddy path. I fell on the mountain once but I got up. I was crying. It was a terrible time. When I got up to the waterfall I was really tired, just like I was when I wrote this story. Everyone else jumped off it and I was the last one left. I was very, very, very scared. My mom didn’t want me to be left out so she swung me into the air and I did a big giant splash. I felt like I was going to drown but one of my mom’s friends helped me swim to the rocks so I was safe. I was crying because I was so happy. The waterfall was very pretty and the water felt cool. I was glad my mom swung me into the air. It was a long journey and story. The End.

LEPRECHAUN

SCHOOL:

Our Lady of Good Counsel TEACHER: Agathe Peters

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Agathe Peters UNIT: Eastern Ontario UNIT PRESIDENT: Barb Dobrowolski by

T H O M A S B R AY

Leprechaun, leprechaun, Where are you? Where are you? Are you in my little red shoe? Are you in the box? Or are you on the rocks? I see you hiding over there. Now I know where. Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re it!

W H Y M Y DA D I S A G R E AT G U Y

Notre Dame TEACHER: Taryn Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Neill SCHOOL:

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Joe Persia UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald by

ISAIAH JASON ELIOVITZ

y dad is a great guy because he loves me. My dad shows me he loves me by teaching me things and doing fun things with me. He teaches me about music. He teaches me about math. He helps me with my reading and spelling. I love when my dad helps me with my video games or makes sandcastles with me when we go to the beach. My dad respects people by being nice and not being rude. I want to be like my dad and do great things just like him.

J AC K A N D T H E T R E A S U R E B O X K I N G

St. Kevin TEACHER: Marie Giesen SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Jamie MacRury UNIT: Dufferin-Peel Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: David Dolan by

AV E R Y J A E S U N I C O O R D O N E Z

thousand years ago, a secret treasure box was hidden within the lands of a magical kingdom called Averj. There were only four people who knew about it and they were the King’s Knights, who disappeared one strange day. Nobody knew where the box could be, not even the King of Averj. In a small village just outside Averj’s castle, there lived a farmer’s son by the name of Jack. Jack was not the strongest or smartest boy and not very popular around the village. He was very nice, helpful, and very imaginative. He was nice because he said nice things to people to cheer them up. He was helpful by helping his dad feed all the animals on the farm, and he was imaginative because he loved to draw great pictures. One day, Jack was playing with one of the dogs on the farm. While they played the dog walked toward him sniffing the ground. He sniffed and sniffed, going around in circles very, very fast. Jack could not figure out what was going on. Suddenly the dog stopped and started digging into the ground. Jack was curious to know what was there, so he started digging as well. They struggled to dig because there were a lot of vines. Jack pulled them all off and it made the digging easier. They dug deeper, deeper, and finally felt something. Jack tried really hard to pull it up and then couldn’t believe his eyes! It was a treasure chest! Jack was so excited he took the key and opened it as fast as he could. As the lid came up, a big light popped out and that surprised Jack. He took big steps back. He was frightened! Then the light was gone, and there was the spirit of a king.

“Who are you?” asked Jack. “What do you want from me?” “Jack! I am your real father. You were taken away from me as a young boy by some deceiving knights so you could not rule this kingdom, but now is your chance to take it all back.” Jack was so shocked. He could not believe this. “This can’t be real,” he said to the Spirit King in front of his eyes. “Jack, this is real. Do you know the king who rules your village now? Well, he is not really a king. He is an evil wizard who used a spell on me, took my crown, and became the new king who is on my throne right now.” “So the king right now is a wizard,” thought Jack to himself. “You must go to his castle and defeat him so the spell can be reversed and I will become king again. You will need lots of people to help you defeat him because he has a powerful army of knights. One more thing: there are lots of people that are captured because they walked on his path,” said the Spirit King. Jack went back to his house where he hid the treasure box under his bed so no one could find it. He ran outside as fast as he could to ask his friends for help. None of his friends believed what Jack had to tell them, so he gave up, sad that no friends would help him. He wondered if the animals would help him, so he went back to his farm. He stood around them all wishing and hoping for help. “I wish you could all talk so I would know if you could help me,” Jack whispered. “We do! And we have secret powers!” all the animals yelled. “You can talk!” Jack replied, excited. His own dog said to him, “We all have powers. I control water, the lamb has fire, the horse turns into a giant, the cow has electricity, and everyone else turns into a tornado.” Boy, was Jack surprised! “Well, can you all help me to defeat the evil wizard that has taken my father’s crown and throne?” All the animals agreed to help. Jack decided to build armour for all of the animals that were helping him. He grabbed all the forks, spoons, and knives he could find to put together into armour. When he was finished, he placed them all on his new team. The animals all listened to Jack carefully and followed him to Averj’s castle. They walked through villages with happy villagers, and through dark and scary forests with muddy grounds and big fallen trees. Jack thought that they would never make it through. Jack kept going and all the animals followed. Suddenly they saw two knights, and the horse ran after them. Turning into a giant, he knocked them off

their horses. There were two knights as guards, so Jack’s dog put water in their suits and it reached their heads and they drowned. Then the horse knocked down the door! The evil wizard was right there! He took a look at Jack and told his knights, “Attack!” Jack yelled “Attack!” to the animals and they charged to attack the wizard. Then the horse jumped on the wizard and the wizard’s wand broke while he melted away. While he was melting, he tried to grab his wand to fix it, but Jack stepped on him and he was gone. A light was rising from the throne and there sat Jack’s real father! Jack had forgotten who he was but quickly remembered again. Jack was so happy. The king and Jack thanked the animals for all their hard work in defeating the evil wizard. As a reward, they would live on a farm beside the castle to be with Jack all the time. The king started ruling the kingdom again. He was with his son, Jack, and there was no more trouble ever again.

A N N OY I N G S I S T E R S

SCHOOL:

Our Lady of LaSalette TEACHER: Carolyn Gec

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Rosanna DeRochie/Colleen Haegens UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald by

CARTER DWORNIKIEWICZ

Annoying sisters are like a fly, They buzz until you are ready to cry. Sisters stomp, snarl, and shout, Until you want to rip your hair out. They can be sassy, mean, and rude, Full of themselves with attitude. But sometimes sisters can be fun, And the best friends to play and run. Without sisters the world would be small, Less sunny and no fun at all.

MY CLASS TRIP

St. Boniface TEACHER: Kelly Giza

SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Cynthia Rawana UNIT: Toronto Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Mario Bernardo by

B I S R AT H A I L E

n January 22nd our class went on a trip to Allan Gardens. We went to learn about plants and soil. When we arrived we went on a tour of the greenhouse. It was big and very beautiful. We walked through different sections of plants. The sections are organized based on where the plants grow in the world. I remember one section was called “The Mediterranean.” In this section we saw a lemon tree and an olive tree. My favourite plant of the day was the pitcher plant, which is a carnivorous plant like a Venus flytrap. These plants eat their food in a cool way. They can trap bugs and eat them! In the afternoon we made a soil recipe and planted our own plants. I planted a marigold and a spider plant. We had a great day at Allan Gardens!

THE MYSTERIOUS E-MAIL

Mother Teresa TEACHER: Lisa Montevirgen SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Nicole Lamothe UNIT: Simcoe Muskoka Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Joe Martone by

RACHEL BRUCE

It’s more epic than it sounds…

red was pretty much your average techno-geek. He had a part time job at a haunted house, but he always brought his laptop to work so he could slack off when he wanted to, and get any urgent e-mails. He still liked his job, though. He was the ticket man, so he cashed in money for tickets. He had also made lots of friends. But Fred was getting a little bit bored of his life. It was pretty much wake up, go to work, cash in, ticket out, go home, and go to sleep. He wanted some excitement, you know, “razzle dazzle,” but he was only a boring old ticket dude. From time to time, Fred would come to work early to help set up, so he pretty much knew the grounds like the back of his hand. One day he was checking his email when he found an e-mail that had the word URGENT stamped on the front in big, bold, red letters. He clicked on it curiously, and it said: Dear Fred, It is only with great honour that I recruit you for a special mission. So far it sounded cool, so Fred read on. In the haunted house, there is a reward hidden. “What a great way to spice up my life!” Fred thought. Excited, he continued. There are going to be many obstacles, but I believe you can do it. Fred started to get worried. What could the obstacles be? If you choose to go on, I commend you. If you don’t, well, OOGER BOOGER POOGER!!!

Fred thought for a while. If he went, he could die, or get an unknown but great prize. If he didn’t, well, as the e-mail said, “OOGER BOOGER POOGER!” After about 7.2 milliseconds, he made up his mind. He would go. He knew the grounds like the back of his hand, and he really wanted some razzle dazzle! He decided he would embark on his journey early the next morning. He wouldn’t tell anybody, so they wouldn’t worry as much. He arranged to take the day off, but didn’t tell his family. When he had written all this down in his planner, he finally went to bed. At 10:47 p.m. Fred woke up, really excited, and leapt out of bed like it was the day before the Mayan apocalypse. He ran out the door, quickly but quietly. The run seemed to take forever, but finally he got to the haunted house. He was really surprised to see a beautiful lady standing in front of it. Since it was 4:37 a.m., he asked her why she was there. She said her name was Elena, and she was waiting for some guy named Fred. Elena said, “So, I presume you’re Fred?” “Yes…” Fred answered. “So, what are you waiting for?” Elena asked. “Ummm…what am I waiting for?” Fred said confusedly. “To start your quest!” Elena said exasperatedly, “I am supposed to guide you on your quest!” She explained that the person who wrote the e-mail had sent her to help him. Even though Fred was curious about who sent the email, he wanted to get on with his quest. “Okay then, let’s go!” Fred replied. So they went into the haunted house and embarked on their adventure. Fred was curious to know what the dangers were, so he asked Elena. She said she didn’t really know. “I only know where you need to go,” she replied. They were walking past the zombie exhibit when, suddenly, the zombies sprang to life!!! It took them a few seconds to recover from the shock… “What are we going to do?” Fred screamed. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, I have magical powers!” Elena replied as she beamed up some swords. Hers was silver with a ruby hilt, and Fred’s was gold with an emerald hilt. “That would’ve been nice to know seventeen seconds ago!!” Fred yelled as Elena handed him his sword and said sorry in a really tiny voice. ”Green is my favourite colour…” Fred said, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “Let’s show these zombies who’s boss!” Fred and Elena shouted together. They started slashing the zombies. FWOOM! A head flew off. SLASH! An arm flew off. CRASH! Zombies banged against the walls. Finally, all the zombies were finished. Then, right after they put away their swords, a GIANT SPIDER flew at them!!! Suddenly, it stopped!!! It hovered in mid-air!!!

“Elena…” Fred stuttered, “What’s happening?” Suddenly, a rock floated towards the spider, and banged it repeatedly. The spider dropped unconscious. “Sorry I couldn’t reply right away,” Elena said, “I have to concentrate when performing telekinesis.” “You can do that??!!” Fred said, stunned. “I told you I had magical powers!” Elena replied, “Now let’s get out of here before Mr. Spider wakes up!” As they stepped over the spider’s many legs, Fred said, “Thanks. You know, for saving my life!!” “No prob!!” Elena replied. For a while, it was quiet and awkward. Then when they came to a place that had a BIG, FAT, UGLY TROLL laying there, Elena broke the silence and said, “I…I…I s-s-sense sommmething…” as if in pain. “What is it, Elena?” Fred asked worriedly. “I... I think the reward is here!” “Really? All I see is a hideous troll!” Fred said. “I guess it’s guarding the reward,” Elena replied. “We have to get through that–that THING for the reward?” Fred exclaimed. “I’m presuming so…” Elena replied. “Can’t you use some of your hocus pocus to get him out of here?” Fred asked. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’m not supposed to help you in the final battle,” Elena said. “You have only your sword.” “Well that’s just FLAPTASTIC!!!!” Fred exclaimed. “Well, aren’t you going to go?” Elena asked. “It’s now or never…” Fred said, unsure. “Good luck!” Elena shouted after him. “I’ll need it…” Fred muttered as he walked out of hiding and towards the beast. The troll finally spotted Fred and yelled, “WRROOOGARFFOOORT!!!” “Whatever that means, I don’t like it,” Fred muttered. The troll began to swing his club aimlessly. “It’s either you or me tonight–hopefully the first choice–but either way, one of us is going,” Fred yelled. “SO SURRENDER TO MY SWORD, OR I’LL MAKE YOU!!!” The troll swung his club far above Fred. Fred yelled, “HAHA, YOU MISSED!!!” He didn’t realize that the troll hit the rocks above, and the rocks crashed down on his leg. Some rocks also fell on the troll and his club, leaving the troll unconscious. “YEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW!” Fred screamed. “Oh…” Elena breathed, “I hope he’s okay…” Fred just lay there for a little while.

As he slowly got up, Elena breathed a sigh of relief. Fred had a broken leg, but the beast was unconscious. He staggered over to the troll, and stuck his sword in its eye. Suddenly, the troll vanished and a magical amulet took its place. As Fred picked up the amulet and observed it, Elena rushed towards him. “Oh you made it, but your leg, and–” suddenly Elena stopped. “You got the amulet…” she continued, “THAT is your reward!!!” “WOAH!” Fred said, “COOL!!!” “It holds three wishes,” Elena said. “Whatever wishes you want!!!” “Sweet!” Fred replied. “Oh, your leg!” Elena said as she noticed how damaged his leg was. “Here, let me help.” She laid her hands on his leg. “Sorry if it hurts…” Elena said as Fred winced in pain. Suddenly, Fred’s leg healed, and all the pain left him. “Thanks,” Fred muttered. “Well, I’ll make a portal so that you can get home safe and sound, but in the meantime, I really must be going…” Elena said. “You’re not staying?” Fred stammered. “Good-bye, Fred,” Elena said mournfully. “NO!! Wait! I just wanted to say”–and Elena vanished–“thanks for everything.” Fred felt a tear roll down his cheek as he touched the emerald hilt of his sword. Then he grabbed the amulet. “Any wish…” Fred said thoughtfully.

Ten Years Later… “Daddy, Daddy, tell me the story of how you met Mommy!!!” “Okay, Andrew…” Fred laughed as he sat down with his family. “It all started when I got a mysterious e-mail at work…”

I AM

St. John’s TEACHER: Nancy Santos SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Suzanne Johnson UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy by

A A L I YA H N O R R I S

I am the bystander. I wonder if my help will do any good. I hear him being picked on. I see a problem. I want to help. I am the bystander. I pretend I do not see the problem. I feel fear rushing down my veins. I touch the air that has mean words floating in it. I worry that someone’s going to get hurt. I cry because I want to help but I can’t. I am the bystander. I understand that bullying should stop. I say that I am not afraid of the bully. I dream that I help him. I try to be brave and help. I hope that one day bullying stops. I am the bystander.

LO N D O N C H I L D R E N ’ S H O S P I TA L

Our Lady of LaSalette TEACHER: Rosanna DeRochie

SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Rosanna DeRochie/Colleen Haegens UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald by

ABBY SPRINGHAM

hen you think about a hospital, you often think of needles, surgery, pain and other scary things. But there are many programs at the London Children’s Hospital that help to make life a little bit better for all the kids. You may ask, “How is the Children’s Hospital different from the hospitals you see every day?” Well… let’s just say that there is a crazy clown roaming around the halls of the hospital. The clown’s name is Ollie, and he does some pretty wacky things to make children laugh. Ollie is part of the Therapeutic Clown program. The saying for this program is, “laughter is the best medicine.” So that’s what Ollie’s job is–to make people laugh. Ollie tells jokes. He shoots elastics, and once almost hit me in the behind! Sometimes he squirts water at the kids. I remember the time he dumped water on my cousin. Once my mom went to the washroom, and he criss-crossed duct tape across the door frame, and she couldn’t get out. It was so funny, I laughed the whole ride home! Ollie steals rubber gloves from the nurses and uses them for balloons. Sometimes he fills them with water and tosses them around with the kids. I haven’t seen one burst yet–I’m still waiting. Ollie has taught me some very valuable skills, one in particular that uses a straw, your arm pit and some air. Let’s just say, I use this skill and then blame it on the dog.

Kids can also get involved in the Child Life program, which helps them get through tough times and makes them feel good. This program organizes fun activities for the children, like the time when a few players from the London Knights hockey team came to visit at the hospital. Another time they invited the group called Kids Kicking Cancer to come teach karate. There are also some really fun games to play, like Connect Four, and glow in the dark games. When kids are going through tough times, the Child Life workers will talk to them to distract and comfort them so they don’t think about what is happening. The Child Life workers will tell them what the surgeon will be doing to them and they will even tell them what they might go through, anything to help them feel better. They also sit with the kids while they are getting tests done so they aren’t so stressed out. Another cool program at the hospital is the Bravery Beads program. This program allows kids to collect beads that represent their different treatments. This is usually done by children visiting the hospital for a long time… like kids with cancer. They are given a necklace with their name on it and then every time they have a test, medicine, or a procedure, they get a certain bead to add to their necklace. This necklace helps them to tell the story of their time in the hospital. There is also a program for siblings. The art therapy program is one of my favourites. Art therapy is where kids make art to help them express their feelings. When you’re at art therapy, there are so many things to do. There is clay to play with, there are masks, boxes, and bobble heads to paint, bracelets to bead, pictures to make, and way more. When you go to art therapy, there are always so many nice kids creating art. Art therapy always makes kids happy. Hopefully you now know more about the London Children’s Hospital and the different activities and programs they have. If you have a sibling or friend in the hospital like I do, maybe you can think of taking some of these programs with them. Maybe you can even meet our crazy friend Ollie or a few of the players from the London Knights!

GUARDIAN OF THE WHALES

Holy Rosary TEACHER: Les Robelek SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Les Robelek UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy by

S A M A N T H A PA R S O N S

he cold Arctic air felt sharp as I inhaled deeply, and it sent chills up my spine. As I looked out over the water my heart swelled. There was a giant splash followed by a huge black figure looming out of the Arctic water. This was, in fact, the tail of a bowhead whale, but not just any bowhead whale. It was Atka! Atka is the oldest, most respected whale gracing the waters of Cape Dorset, a beautiful Inuit community on the southern tip of Baffin Island. The community had named this majestic creature “Atka,” meaning “guardian spirit,” in hopes that she would protect Cape Dorset and all of its people for as long as she lived. I could hear Atka’s whistling as her tail glided smoothly back into the water. She was as free and happy as any whale could be, but only months earlier this had seemed nearly impossible. Atka is not only the oldest whale in Cape Dorset, she is also the largest bowhead whale recorded on Baffin Island! Whale hunters all around Nunavut had heard of Atka and her legendary size. Each of them wanted to have Atka as their prize, for she would be quite valuable for her blubber, bones, meat and baleen. The mayor of Cape Dorset had passed laws prohibiting the hunting of bowhead whales in the region. Then sadly, about three months back, the mayor passed away and his successor, Mayor Akiak, lifted the ban on bowhead whale hunting. He felt he had to do this because he wanted to please all of the residents of Cape Dorset, which included the hunters who were pressuring him to make this decision.

Not long after this law had been lifted, the hunters’ ships were swarming in the waters off the coast of Cape Dorset, searching for the mighty whale! The residents of the community were enraged with the new laws and deeply worried for Atka and the other bowhead whales. Though I was worried too, I knew that I had to have faith in Atka’s wisdom. Surely she could escape the hunters! About two weeks after the law had been lifted, the rumour around town was that one of the hunters had caught Atka! It was said that the mighty whale would be towed close to shore so the hunters could show off their trophy before she was killed! My heart pounded thunderously; they couldn’t kill Atka, they just couldn’t! I raced down to the harbour where most of the community had already gathered. Children were crying, while the adults shook their heads in disbelief and disgust as the hunters towed their trophy around the harbour. As Atka was towed past me, I could see the fear and defeat in her eyes, and I knew in my heart she had given up. “STOP!” I shouted, stepping out into the middle of the crowd. Everyone turned to look at me, including the hunters on the boat. I was not going to give up on Atka. “You can’t kill Atka. She’s part of our community, our protector, and a part of who we are!” Through my tears I noticed that Mayor Akiak was hanging back from the crowd looking ashamed, but also sad. “Are you really just going to stand there and watch her die? You need to do something! You have a responsibility as mayor to do what is right and just!” I yelled at him. Everyone watched him expectantly because he had the power to save Atka. Suddenly, Mayor Akiak stepped out in the middle of the crowd and moved hesitantly toward the pier where the hunters could hear him. “I have made a terrible mistake, everyone, and I am very sorry! When I first became mayor, I gave in to the pressure from our hunters, wanting to please everyone in town, but I can fix that! I hereby put the ban on hunting bowhead whales back in place and demand Atka be released immediately!” said the Mayor. The crowd cheered as the reluctant hunters let Atka go! She didn’t swim away as everyone expected her to, but swam around the harbour blowing water in the air and splashing her tail. It was as if she knew that the community had come to her rescue and she let them know she was happy and thankful. That night the community celebrated and praised my courage for coming to Atka’s aid. In the weeks that followed, I became known as “Iluak,” meaning “person who does good.” The community said that I would be forever known in Cape Dorset as Iluak, Guardian of the Whales!

L I TA N Y F O R DA D

Notre Dame TEACHER: Nick Meloche SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Corinne Kalistchuk UNIT: Bruce-Grey Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Anna Morrison by

CELIA GIROUARD

You are the fishing line in the ice cold water and the deer in the forest You are the long ride from the snow to the grass and you will always be the stars in the dark night sky.

However, you are not the smoke from the cigar or the clenched fist You are not the animal in pain and you are certainly not the harsh voice.

You are the laugh until you cry and the reassuring hug You are the necklace but most of all you will always be the stars in the dark night sky.

T H E U N K N OW N S O L D I E R

Queen of Heaven TEACHER: Michelle Falcioni SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Ernie Arduini UNIT: Dufferin-Peel Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: David Dolan by

CALEIGH CHAMBERS

y biography subject was a doctor, father, teacher and college dropout. My biography subject is “The Unknown Soldier,” who represents all people who died fighting wars for Canada whose bodies have never been found. The body of Canada’s Unknown Soldier lies not just in Ottawa, but all over the world. The purpose of this biography is not just to educate you about the Unknown Soldier, but about the wars and the people who fought for us. Childhood He was a soldier in World War One. He died fighting for his country at Vimy Ridge, alongside over 10,000 others. He was a small boy, no more than ten when the fire broke out. Toronto’s Great Fire killed none but affected many. He remembered almost all of it, his father fighting the fire, suffering third degree burns, and him sneaking alongside. He can remember endless smoke billowing out from the site for what seemed like forever. When the smoke stopped, he knew that he wanted to help Canada, just like his father helped Toronto. Later that year, the Olympics brought hope. Canada’s ranking fourth highest in numbers of medals made him proud. He wanted to be strong, just like the athletes, just like his father. Adult Life He was a soldier in World War Two. He died on D-Day storming Juno Beach, battling the Germans for Canada. He was a young man, no more than nineteen and celebrating his first anniversary when he decided to enlist in the forces. He would leave one baby daughter, one factory job and lots of memories at home. His

daughter would grow up never knowing her father. Even before the war hit, their small family wasn’t the richest, but after he left, things really fell apart. His daughter almost starved because there wasn’t enough food to go around. Even when his wife enlisted for what had been a man’s job, they struggled. How could this family live without food, without money, and without knowing whether their father or husband was safe? Education He was a pilot in the Gulf War. He died when his plane was shot down, fighting for Canada against Iraq. He was never good in school. He was held back once, from Grade Nine to Grade Ten. After that, he thought he would never amount to anything. But he learned to work harder and to believe in himself. He ended up making it into college to study math. About halfway through his college years, when he was twenty-one, the Gulf War broke out. He wanted to help, so he volunteered to fight in the Air Force, and trained for a few months. After his training was done, he was asked to become an army pilot, and right then and there, he was forced to make the biggest decision of his whole life. Should he serve his country and leave college early? Or should he continue with his education and waste those months spent training? After some soul-searching, he finally decided to serve in the war. He chose dying for his country over living and continuing his journey in college. War Years He was a doctor in the war in Afghanistan. When his hospital was bombed, he died helping to heal people who were fighting for Canada. He always said, “Nothing can set me back.” For him that quote was very important, as he had lost use of his right leg at a young age. He wanted to work as someone who could help others, so he became a doctor. For years he was a great doctor who helped many sick and injured people. Then he heard about the war in Afghanistan. He heard that many soldiers died because they lacked proper health care. So he volunteered to become a war doctor. It was a great experience for him. He helped people with lifethreatening injuries and saved them from the brink of death. That’s what he was doing when the bomb hit: saving someone else’s life, when his was just about to end. Major Achievements He was a naval soldier in the Iraq War. He died rescuing others when his ship was shot at and caught on fire. He always loved ships. As a child he put together models, drew pictures, and dreamed that one day he might own a ship. As he grew

older, he learned about the navy and wanted to join. That became his life goal. As soon as he was old enough to join, he went and signed himself up. He was assigned to a battleship. He was patrolling near Faw, a city in Iraq near a large body of water, when an enemy ship spotted them and began shooting at the ship. The bullets hit and started a fire. He was just about to evacuate, when he stopped and thought, “There are other soldier who do not know about the fire.” He went back, past the flames, to where the other soldiers were. He shouted that there was a fire and told them to evacuate. His fellow soldiers listened and left. He quickly repeated this wherever he knew there were soldiers and, when he was sure everyone was safe, went to the lifeboats. But he couldn’t reach them. The flames were too big. There was too much smoke. He looked around frantically for another exit, but there wasn’t one. All he could do was stand. Stand and be enveloped in the flames. That’s how he earned the Distinguished Service Medal, for extreme courage and the will to help others. After reading this, I hope you understand that these people all gave the ultimate sacrifice, in exchange for nothing. They died for Canada out of the kindness of their hearts. I also hope you understand that all these people represent everybody who died in the war. It could have been anyone’s childhood, family, or war story you read about. Anyone could have witnessed Toronto’s Great Fire, grown up and had two kids, gone to college and dropped out, become a doctor, or earned the Distinguished Service Medal. It doesn’t matter who they were, what matters is that their heart was in the right place.

BUTTERFLIES

St. Ignatius of Loyola TEACHER: Tanya Murphy

SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Roberta Casagrande UNIT: Wellington UNIT PRESIDENT: Jim Whitechurch by

J U L I A M LO D Z I K

sit back and enjoy the rumble as the twelve-seater plane–packed to capacity–speeds up, faster and faster, nearing the end of the runway. I look out the window, earbuds blaring my favourite song into my head as I watch the tarmac fly by. I always love takeoff, especially when I’m listening to music. It just adds to the whole endorphin-pumping experience. I can’t wait to escape the cold ice-trap of northern Quebec in the dead of the winter, and wake up sweating in Cuba instead of shivering in Canada. We’ve been snowed in most of the winter so I couldn’t get to school much, which also means I couldn’t try out for the basketball team. Absolute bummer. My little brother Aaron reaches out to grab my hand, as always, terrified at the prospect of flying. I smack it away, who needs a vice grip grabbing you when you’re having an adrenalin rush? “Come on, Katherine,” he whines in his high-pitched ten-year-old voice. “I’m terrified here. I’ve got butterflies in my stomach.” “Seriously–butterflies?” I reply. “Man up.” I blare my music even louder and drown out his response, along with those of my parents. “Sorry, can’t hear you,” I inform my mom as she says something dumb. I close my eyes as the plane hits its maximum land speed, seconds from takeoff... and suddenly everything is chaos. My eyes snap wide open. The plane has sped past the end of the runway, bumping violently over a large expanse of permafrost and is starting to skid sideways.

I feel like I should react as one of the wheels catches and sends my head smashing into the window, but I can’t. I hear Aaron scream, and as the plane tilts sideways the wing breaks just outside my window. Aaron and my mom fall towards me as gravity pulls us down and suddenly I’m upside down, my neck being jerked every which way. The plane is rolling, both wings torn off. My seatbelt comes loose and suddenly I’m tumbling over the seats. My back hits something hard and my left hand gets caught somewhere, sending searing pain down it. I scream in pain, in fear, in so many things, and feel tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision. Where’s my family? In a panic, I swing my neck around, looking everywhere to find them. What just happened, I– Then, suddenly, I feel numb. I can’t move. I can’t move my head, or even my eyes in their sockets. I can hear yelling and my music is still on. Then my mind goes blank and I slip away. ~~~ I hear noises, faintly again, but close. A man murmuring, metal screeching as it’s broken, sirens in the background. I feel an uncomfortable drip down the back of my throat... blood? Before I can begin to wonder what happened, the shapes, too blurred to see, move ahead of me until I can tell they’re right in front of me. I feel a detached jostling and the background blurs as well. People are pulling at me. My body screams in agony but I can’t move. Stop! I want to yell at the people carrying me, because it just hurts so much. I feel like I’m on fire. Suddenly everything grows bright and I see blue and red flashing lights, practically pulsing in time to the pain in my body that just... keeps... growing. Just when I think that my threshold for pain cannot be pushed further, I feel my consciousness slipping. And I let it because I can’t take it anymore. ~~~ “I don’t know how much good an operation will do, even if we were to succeed, sir,” an apologetic voice says. What? I think, I can hear but my eyes are closed–and I can’t open them. Where am I? “I don’t care!” yells a familiar voice. My uncle Michael! He’s here! “You are obligated to do everything you can to save her! Even if that means using a chest drain!”

Wait...WHAT? I’ve heard about that, we’re covering it in Science. I can’t be sure, but I think that’s when they stick a tube into your lungs. I begin to panic, and try to take deep breaths. But I can’t, which makes me panic even more. A stabbing pain in my chest takes my breath away. I can’t breathe. No, I can breathe. I don’t need a tube, don’t want one. “Sir, we can’t be certain it will help her. It may just cause her more pain than necessary...” A sympathetic voice trails off. I don’t understand what he means. More pain than necessary? I feel a cold hand of fear creep up my back, though I still couldn’t move if my life depended on it. I’m going to die. This sentence hits me like a sack of bricks, though it’s always been there. I’ve just never thought about it. I mean, I’m fourteen! This wasn’t supposed to be something to think about until I’m a hundred and nine! I don’t hear the next bit, but suddenly my uncle’s voice is gone and I want to cry out for him to come back. I don’t think I’m capable of that, even with the pain gone from by body. Hey, I hadn’t even noticed. The conversation had completely distracted me. Is that good or bad? Does it mean the life is leaving my body? I don’t have time to think before I feel the ground beneath my body begin to move, accompanied by a squeaking noise. I realize I must be on a portable bed, like those they use in hospitals. Oh, duh. I’m probably in a hospital. I hear the man who was talking to my uncle bark a command, “Hey, Adams! This is Katherine Juliet, from that plane crash in Quebec, eight dead. She’s in bad shape, damaged back, amputated hand, and liquid-filled lungs. Her uncle, who is now her legal guardian, has demanded a surgery in hopes of restoring breathing abilities, which needs to be done now. I can send you the details later. Can you get a group together and start sometime today?” The only response to this speech is a brief “Yes sir,” but it leaves my head buzzing with questions. Eight are dead? My hand has been amputated? Like, cut off? Why is Uncle Michael my legal guardian now? Oh, God. My parents are dead. This hits me almost as hard as the revelation that I’m going to die. I can’t believe it. I can’t breathe, and I can’t believe it. What about Aaron? Is he alright? I feel my heart, already overworked, thud harder in my chest. The most terrifying part is that I can sense it, though I can’t actually feel it.

All I feel is... numb. This has to be a dream, I think, listening to the surgeons speak to each other, nattering about things: saline drips and hydration levels and blood pressure and other things I don’t understand. But hearing everything, even the sickening wet noises, makes my imagination twist in strange ways. Or maybe it’s not my imagination. Maybe it’s a deeper part of me that truly knows what’s going on in my body, and all the things that I cannot see. I’m alone now and I feel pain in my chest. Maybe the drugs are running out. Then I hear a door being opened and shut quietly, and I’m irrationally filled with fear, thinking it’s the surgeons, come back for more. But I’m wrong, because not long after, I hear a murmuring voice, deep and familiar. I realize that it’s my uncle again. I strain until I make out barely breathed words from somewhere to my right. “I know you have no reason to, but please save her, she can’t die, I won’t be able to take it.” There’s a long pause, is he... praying? “And... please take good care of my brother up there, Émile.” Is he praying? I wonder again, awed. The mention of my father’s name hurts badly, but the shock of a prayer blows it pretty far out of the water. My family never really concerned themselves with religion, or God at all. Now that I think about it, I had barely ever heard a thing at all about the Big Guy, so it’s pretty surprising that Uncle Michael was actually praying on my behalf. More than surprising: weird. Then he starts talking to me, and I don’t know how to hold up my emotions because I can’t move. “You’ve always been a good kid, Katty.” My pet name. “Ever since you were a baby. You barely cried as an infant.” He pauses. I feel like I’m going to explode with sadness. “You know, your mom was actually becoming worried about you, since you started becoming a teenager. She kept telling me she was afraid you would do something crazy. You kept yelling about how much you hated living with them and that you couldn’t wait to move out. She was also worried about how much music you listened to all the time, even while talking to her. You started wearing makeup and kissing boys and she was so scared something would happen to you, something you could never undo.” “I’m not saying all this because I agree, but I think you should hear it. I mean, I hope that you can hear this. I read up about it, they say it can happen sometime. The other survivors are here too, and let me tell you, you look ten times better than them.”

He pauses again. “You know that you were in a plane crash, right? Well...” A long pause. “Eight people died in the crash and one since we got here. And... two of those people were your parents.” Just as painful as the first time I heard it. “I’m so sorry honey, but I promise that if... when... you come back, I’ll take good care of you. And Aaron’s here.” But he doesn’t say how Aaron is. ”But you have to promise to come back.” Then, slowly, he leaves. ~~~ I want to cry so much. Why can’t I cry? I just want to get up. I just want to live. I want to hug my uncle and cry into his shoulder until there’s nothing left, but I can’t get up. I may never get up again. That thought hurts me so much, I can’t even describe it. I feel the air scraping through my lungs like steel wool. My throat is dry, and the pain has come back far worse than before. I can feel the tube they put in my chest. Why was it me? Why did I live–if you can call this living? Why? Is there even a reason? Just dumb luck? So many questions with no answers. Suddenly, a rapid beeping fills the room. It’s different from the steady pulse I’ve heard since I got here. I go cold with fear. The door opens and I hear muffled voices, panicked. One asks about the patient next to me and they quickly determine that her heart has gone haywire. I hear soft thuds... CPR? Maybe, but the heart keeps beating so inconsistently that I can tell it’s not working, whatever they’re doing. Suddenly, the rapid beeping becomes a high steady tone. I hear someone curse and a call for an AED, whatever that is. Then, a sudden zapping noise. Silence. But I can’t understand. What’s happened? Am I next? Another zap, and another, until I can’t keep track anymore. Then swearing and the sound of something being rolled out. The patient’s bed, I think. Still chilled, and scared out of my mind. Ten, I think. Ten dead. ~~~

days pass dreams and reality slur and i begin to slip i don’t know what’s going on uncle michael is here i think i don’t know anymore he is sad why is he sad the beeping is back who will it take now the beeping my heart beats faster andfasterandfaster ZAP Light. Pain. Awareness. My jumbled thoughts retreat just enough for coherent ones to form. But I still can’t breathe, my heart still races. This is it, I think numbly. I’m dying. I’ve said this to myself before, but it only registers now that it’s actually happening. I’m dying. If I’d had another chance, I would have done so much differently. I would’ve spent more time with my parents. I wouldn’t have given them so much attitude. I’d have tried harder, been a better student, gotten into a good college and figured out what I wanted to do with my life. I could have made a difference. I would have held my brother’s hand on the plane. But now I’ll never have a chance to do that kind of thing. I didn’t do anything right. ZAP I feel myself breathe. Again. And again. In, out, in, out. ~~~

I sit on a large rock in the small garden attached to the east wing of the hospital, throwing the red ball up and down, up and down, and catching it. The doctors say it will exercise the fine motor control in my fingers and improve my reflexes. Of course, I can only do this with my right hand, since my left is gone. It still seems like child’s play. Will someone just get me a basketball to practise with? I think. But no, a basketball is so big and hard that it might “hurt me.” Oh, well. Bouncy rubber ball it is. I have to stay in the hospital another three days so the doctors can watch me, and I’ll be counting the days on my fingers. Anything is better than this dull, predictable hospital. Well, almost anything. I really shouldn’t be complaining about the doctors. I mean, they saved my life. They practically brought me back from the dead, so of course I owe everything to them. Because of them, I can see this beautiful garden in front of me, with all of its flowers and blossoms and trees. I can’t help but hate them too, of course. I mean, they couldn’t save my mother or father because they died in the crash, so I can forgive that. But they had more time with Aaron, and they didn’t save him. I feel warm tears streak down my face, my vision blurring with them. I loved them, I think. I face upward. I love you. I’m so immersed in this thought that I don’t hear the quiet approach of someone until he sits beside me. I almost start, but then realize who it is. “Hi, Uncle Michael,” I say, wiping tears out of my eyes so he can’t see them, even though I know it’s too late. “Hey, Katty,” he says, putting his broad arm around my shoulders and pulling me into a half-hug. “Why are you crying? Well, stupid question, never mind. Rephrase. Do you want to talk?” I pause. Of course, he can’t bring back my parents, but he can answer a question. “I have to ask you something.” “Shoot.” “In the hospital, you were visiting me, right?” He doesn’t really answer, just mutely nods, looking somewhere between shocked and scared. “Were you praying?” Nods again. “I thought you weren’t religious.” He looks... peculiar, for a second. Then he says, “I didn’t either. But I figured it was worth a shot, even if it seemed farfetched at the time. I got to thinking, ‘Hey if there’s the slightest chance it will bring my Katty back, why not?’” “Hmm...” I say, thinking only that I love my uncle so much, and that I’m so glad he’s here.

“You heard me?” he asks, bewildered. Oh yeah, that... “I heard everything.” “Oh... I’m sorry.” I don’t have to ask why. He’s sorry that I had to know my death was coming, had to hear him in such a desperate state, had to hear the other patients while they screamed in pain and when they were finally wheeled out as hollow corpses. I’m still having difficulty comprehending that I am the sole survivor of a plane crash. It’s incredible. A miracle. Well, a miracle that I lived, that is. There may be a reason, or maybe there’s not, but either way, I feel incredibly blessed. Every time I open my eyes from sleep, I practically cry at the beauty of sight, and life. I look out at the butterflies hovering over the flowers and think, I’m just like them. They were once ugly, shivering creatures, considered no more beautiful than slugs. Then they were trapped in cocoons, unable to emerge until their time, but when they did, they were beautiful creatures. The world they left behind was bleak and hopeless, but somehow, they emerged into a world of blessings and reverence. In spite of the transformation I’ve gone through, I wish I could retrace my steps and redo the first fourteen years of my life with this kind of perspective. I can’t, and that’s partially my fault. But I’ve been given a second chance, and this time, I’ll be better. It’s too late to be nicer to my parents, but I can try to bring joy to Uncle Michael’s life. I can still pursue a dream, and good grades as well. Actually, this whole experience has left me wanting to become a doctor. I can’t hold Aaron’s hand, and this might be the hardest thing, but I can hold the hands of other children down the road. Maybe even the hand of my own child. I don’t have yesterday, but I still have tomorrow. I reach down and take Uncle Michael’s hand and whisper so quietly that he can’t hear. “I still have tomorrow.”

A P E N N Y F O R YO U R T H O U G H T S

Holy Trinity TEACHER: Trina Larose SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Cecilia DiFelice UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Elaine McMahon by

RIM MELAKE ZEGHAI

I sit here and think Seconds pass without a blink Next I hear, “A penny for your thoughts” I reply, “You’ll regret what you just bought” Yet I told you my story Without the ending known, I say sorry For whatever troubles my future brings For if I could, I’d go through life with some puppet strings I worry for the uncertainty of the future and what with it I will make For we all know that life is no piece of cake I want to make you proud, Mama Pay you back for all my stupid drama I know loving me is not so easy And all the no’s to your questions not so breezy I’m sorry for the times I brought tears to your eyes For all those time we couldn’t compromise Not showing any gratitude Just a bunch of unnecessary attitude I apologize for the times I wished you’d disappear That was when I was clueless and nothing yet clear

For you were there for everything When in my life I thought of you as just another thing Still you were there when I put you below everything I hurt you and forgot you were like me, a human being You gave me the opposite of nothing And that is you So I’d like to say thank you You introduced me to the feeling of love Glad I came into your loving hands from above As I tell you this you have tears in your eyes But I reassure you that with you by my side all the worry in me dies Mama, I just don’t want to disappoint you You’re always there for me, no matter what I do Together through our troubles we came through Together in our hearts we made love brew Together and forever as two By my side always there to turn to There’s this expectation of me I want to live up to And I won’t stop till I reach the top till I hear the words “I’m proud of you” It feels good to get it off my chest Now that I’ve confessed So there you have them, my thoughts A penny well spent I hope you don’t regret what you just bought

A P E R F E C T WO R L D

St. Joseph Catholic French Immersion Centre TEACHER: Amanda O’Reilly

SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Play

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Andrée Coutu UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence by

ZACHARY JOHN ZAHORODNY SMITH

SUMMARY There is a dream of a perfect world. At least, for all the children who call themselves the eldest in their family. It would be a world of fairness and peace. It would be a world where the younger children get in trouble. CAST OLIVER BROWN – Older brother (Played by a twelve or thirteen-year-old male) SCARLET BROWN – Younger sister (Played by an eight or nine-year-old female) JUDGE MCCRERY (Played by a mature looking teen) JURY (Played by the audience)

FIRST CLIP (A courthouse with the stands full of paparazzi and other onlookers. At the stands, OLIVER, the older sibling, is standing trial against SCARLET, his younger, innocent looking sister. The JUDGE is at his/her stand. All are talking amongst themselves.) JUDGE:

Order, order in this court.

(All cease talking.)

JUDGE:

I will now present the charges. Mr. Oliver Brown has been charged with breaking his mother’s vase. When accused, he pleaded not guilty and pointed the blame at his younger sister, Ms. Scarlet Brown. Today we are assembled to hear each side of the story and to have our honourable jury make a decision on who shall receive the sentence of two weeks grounding. To start, let us hear the account of Mr. Brown.

OLIVER:

Well, as most of you are aware, it all started one Saturday afternoon...

SECOND CLIP (Flashback. Use lighting to create a mystical feel. A dining room with a table in the middle, large vase on top, couch in the corner. OLIVER is on the couch, reading, with homework out in front of him. SCARLET is running around the table with her doll and toy horse. A voice recording of Oliver is used to narrate this scene.) OLIVER:

(Recorded) I was just reading my book, doing my homework, and being the good kid I am. My sister, on the other hand, was acting like a hooligan, running around the table.

OLIVER:

Scarlet, what are you doing? You know mother’s rules about running on this level. If you continue, you will knock something over.

SCARLET:

Mind your own business, Oliver. I will run if I want to. Ma will never know and I’m being careful. Nothing bad will happen.

OLIVER:

(Recorded) And so she continued. She went around and around. Until...

OLIVER:

Scarlet, stop! You’re going to break something!

SCARLET:

Stop being a worrywart. I do this all the time! (Bang!)

OLIVER:

(Recorded) And she hit the table, bumping the chairs against each other and the vase. Time seemed to slow, as it wobbled and fell right off the table, hitting the ground with an ear-splitting crack.

ALL:

Nooooooooo!

(Seconds pass as they take in what has happened, and are interrupted by...) MOTHER:

(Offstage) I’m home!

THIRD CLIP (Return to courtroom.) JUDGE:

(Standing) Thank you, Mr. Oliver, you may take your seat. Now we shall hear from Ms. Scarlet Jones.

SCARLET:

(Using big puppy eyes) Well, I didn’t do it, and this is what really happened.

FOURTH CLIP (Same setting as second clip. OLIVER is throwing a ball at the wall and catching it, right next to the vase. SCARLET is playing with her dolls on the couch. SCARLET is murmuring to her dolls, OLIVER is murmuring to himself.) SCARLET:

Oliver, you’re going to break something with that ball, and Mommy says that we can’t throw them up here anyways.

OLIVER:

Nu-uh.

SCARLET:

Oliver–(Interrupted by the ball smashing the vase.)

OLIVER:

No! This is your fault, you distracted me! I... (Interrupted by...)

MOTHER:

(Offstage) I’m home!

FIFTH CLIP (Return to courtroom.) JUDGE:

Thank you, Ms. Scarlet, please take your seat. Now that we have heard from both the defendants, our jury will make a decision on who will receive the sentence. Any last words?

OLIVER:

(Standing, looking at the crowd) Don’t let the puppy eyes fool you.

(JUDGE walks to the edge of the stage and polls the audience to decide the verdict, via loudest applause, show of hands, etc. Once there is a decision, tailor a premade prop accordingly. E.g., a bristol board that looks like a newspaper, with a headline of “Puppy Eyes Win Again” or “Justice Is Served.”)

SIXTH CLIP (Return to courtroom. Prop is offstage, ready to be rolled out once the conviction has been made.) JUDGE:

(Standing) Now that our honourable jury has made their decision, Ms. Scarlet/Mr. Oliver (whomever lost the vote) is hereby sentenced to two weeks grounding, as he/she has been found guilty of breaking his/her mother’s vase.

(Roll out prop. Celebration from side of the court that wins, tears and looks of disbelief from the side that loses.)

TO O L AT E

St. Luke TEACHER: Sue Korosec SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Nathalie Aquino-Morley UNIT: Nipissing Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Linda Gordon by

K AT I E M A C D O N E L L

he blinding sun stung my eyes as I walked down my aged street. The Lefebvres are coming for pizza tonight, I thought, with a surge of excitement. The Lefebvres are friends of my family. They are very close to us, we actually call them our cousins. I finally arrived in front of my home. I hiked across my worn-out driveway, my hair attacking my face. Brushing it out of the way, I climbed up the blue steps to my elderly, red bricked house. My bag was intensely heavy, and it felt as if I were carrying a sumo wrestler on my back. I unlocked and opened the front door with ease and was pleasantly surprised by a joyful greeting from my family’s cherished companion, our dog Molly. She leapt up and licked my face as I dumped my school bag on the floor with great relief. As soon as I put away my jacket and shoes, I let Molly out back into the chilly weather. She trotted off the deck, sniffing familiar smells, as her thick bronze coat reflected the sunlight. “Lots of homework to do,” I muttered under my breath. There was a pile of homework in my school bag waiting to be completed. So I slouched back inside and slammed the door shut, grabbed my obese school bag, and ran downstairs to go on the computer. After about an hour, my sisters came home. They greeted me as usual, so it seemed like just another normal Friday. Ring! Ring! Ring! The phone rang, and I answered it.

“Hi Katie.” It was my dad. He was speaking oddly, miserably. “Hey Dad, is everything okay?” I asked in concern. “Well, not exactly. You see, your grandmother is at the hospital right now.” As my dad continued to explain it felt as if someone had punched me in the face. “An ambulance came to pick her up just this morning. I’m here at the hospital with Grandpa.” I sat on my burgundy computer chair in shock, a lump slowly appearing in my throat. But somehow I held the tears back. “Wh... why is she at the hospital?” “She couldn’t breathe, so Grandpa called an ambulance to come pick her up. It turns out she has leukemia.” He sounded like he was choking up. “But I’m sure she’s in good hands. Can I speak to Emily or Shannon, please? I swallowed hard and said, “Yeah, one minute.” I yelled upstairs for one of my sisters to pick up the phone, and once she did I hung up and sat. I just sat, staring at my computer screen. Was it an April Fool’s joke? No. My dad would never do something as disrespectful as that. I hated myself for even thinking that. How could I have been so selfish? I thought in disgust. She was the only grandma I had left! When my mom or dad went to visit my grandparents, I almost never volunteered to go with them. When my grandparents came over to our house to visit and they asked me to play piano for them, I didn’t play for as long as I could have. Suddenly, I wanted to play for them for hours and hours, until my fingers bled. For a long while, I sat with my eyes fixed on the computer screen, an unbearable shameful feeling in my heart. I tried to keep doing my homework to get my mind off the subject, but I couldn’t. So I just sat staring at the computer, longing to rewrite my past. “Katie!” My mom called from the kitchen. “Supper’s ready!” “Okay, I’m coming!” I replied. I was thankful for those words, as was my stomach. I had been working on homework ever since I got home, so I needed a little food break. After I logged off of my computer, I rushed up the stairs, eager to begin my dinner. Everyone was already sitting around the supper table and beginning to eat their food. I scurried over to my seat and saw my gorgeous piece of pizza. The pepperoni glistened with grease, covering the thick melted cheese. It looked as if it was incredibly delicious. But as soon as I took my first bite, I realized that I wasn’t hungry for pizza. I wasn’t hungry at all. I couldn’t eat. It was as if someone had planted a boulder inside of my stomach when my dad told me the news. I could see

that almost everyone else was barely touching their food, even the Lefebvres. My mother broke the silence, startling me. “Maybe we should make a card for her,” she suggested. Emily cleared her throat. “Yeah, good idea,” she replied as she got up. After she hunched out of the room, my mom began to gather all of our styrofoam plates. The majority of them had leftover food on them. Molly saw that we were done our dinner, so she started to eat all of the dropped pieces of food that were abandoned on the floor, which is what we call vacuuming. I felt that I should help clean up, assuming that my mom wasn’t in the mood to have to ask me to. I awkwardly got out of my chair and began to put food away, and eventually everyone else joined in. Everyone in our family got to sign the card. Even the Lefebvres did. Emily, Shannon and I decorated it to the best of our ability, since we knew it might be the last card Grandma would ever get from us. I immediately pushed that thought out of my head. NO. She’s going to live... she has to... I thought, as a warm tear trickled down my cheek. “I’m going to go to the hospital, where Dad and your aunts and uncles are, to see how Grandma’s doing. I’ll give the card to her when I get there. I bet she’ll love it,” my mom said positively to my sisters and me as she got her coat and boots on. “We’ll stay here with the kids, okay Kathleen?” suggested Kim Lefebvre thoughtfully, glancing at her husband and children for assurance. “Yes, thanks, Kim. Okay, I guess I should go now, bye-bye!” We all waved goodbye to her, and she was gone. I watched as the car backed out of the driveway, and drove off our street, out of sight. Please get better Grandma... I prayed for her in my mind. My sister Shannon and Ray Lefebvre were playing the Mario Kart Wii game in our living room, and everyone else was watching and shouting encouraging words. For a second, I actually forgot that my grandmother was in the hospital, and I despised myself for that. I was having fun playing Wii with my sisters and friends, while my grandmother was at the hospital. Shame on you! I told myself. How could you be happy when someone you love could die? I couldn’t help but think that it was possible. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t, but I gave up. She’s 83 years old... I thought, dreading the truth.

Then the front door opened. I almost ran to the door, not even worrying about tripping over furniture. It was Mom, Dad, Uncle Dave, and Aunt Lynn. My heart stopped when I saw their faces. They were gloomy, pale faces with bloodshot eyes. I could tell that they had been crying. “Is Grandma okay?” I asked, trying my best to sound optimistic. After my mother took off her boots she walked over to me, the blank expression on her face puzzling me. I wasn’t at all confused after she whispered these next two words: “Grandma died.” She hugged me immediately after she told me this. No! She didn’t die! No! I attempted to persuade myself that this wasn’t true, but I just made it worse for myself. As much as I detested it, it was real. She did die. After a few moments I realized that I really needed the hug. I sobbed quietly, my tears soaking my mother’s shirt. My hair stuck to my face, which irritated me gravely, but I didn’t bother wiping it out of my face. I felt too guilty. I had never felt so ashamed of myself in my life. Ever since that day I have tried to visit my grandfather as often as I can. My sisters and I play the piano for him every time he visits us. I am sure he enjoys it very much. My mother always says that he lights up every time we play piano for him. This experience has made me realize that I shouldn’t take my family members for granted. I should be grateful for how fortunate I am, and should keep my family close, to make sure I won’t be too late ever again. Now I try to appreciate how lucky I am, for God to have given me such a wonderful family. I treasure every second I have with them.

TESSY SHAINE: SYNESTHESIA

St. Francis Xavier TEACHER: Elizabeth Rudolf-Temple SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Danny Amaral UNIT: Dufferin-Peel Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Peter MacDonald by

K AY L E E N A N N E L A R O S A C A D A L I N

hey called me crazy. Said I was seeing ghosts, spirits, whatever. From the very beginning they never accepted that I, Tessy Shaine, was different. They blamed me for being born with eyes that saw things differently. I was the one who was the monster, even though they had hit me and made fun of me every day since I could remember because I had a “perspective” unlike theirs. Their actions didn’t even resemble those of humans anymore, wild animals are more humane. I lived this life being labelled as an alien and now I am sixteen and I question who I am and what I am. But I try to ignore it, this nonsense they come up with, I mean. I know I can come out the bigger person and imagine this uniqueness of mine as a superpower. Though apparently, that’s just my opinion. Forget it. Why am I even thinking about such irrelevant things so early in the morning? I’m gonna be late if I continue to play philosopher. So I walked into my bathroom. It was early morning and I was getting ready for another gruesome day at school. School had a harsh atmosphere, but I knew I could handle it as long as I did my daily “routine.” I looked in the mirror, tucked a tuft of hair behind my ear, and hummed my favourite tune. “You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, it’s true...” Then I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. With that one deep breath, I inhaled all the good and exhaled the bad. I opened my eyes to see my reflection once again. My bronze hair glistened in the artificial light from above the bathroom

mirror. My eyelashes fluttered each time I blinked, just like slick feathers. My skin, a pale white–just like Snow White’s–showed no sign of imperfection. And my eyes, just like jewels, shone, holding that mysterious power of “perspective” that everyone else found so alien. In the mirror, I saw a beautiful and confident girl, but one who was scarred and almost breaking apart on the inside. Nonetheless, I took my comb and brushed through my hair one more time, took another deep breath, and calmed myself down to the core of my heart. I was ready. I quickly fixed my fringe, grabbed my backpack by the strap, and ran out the door. From then on, until I reached school, the only thought that filled my mind was whether or not I would be tardy for period one. Luckily, time was on my side and I made it just in time to go to my locker and perform a little book exchange: my math textbook for my Canadian history textbook. I was in such a rush that I almost missed the graffiti that decorated my locker. But I did notice it, and when I did, all the gears and wheels I had rolling at max speed came to a halt. I froze and stared at the red, red lipstick perfectly suited for a woman like Marilyn Monroe, smeared over the blue paint of my locker. It read, “Go to hell you freak of nature! Go make friends with the numbers you find so interesting! Alien! Ugly donkey!” As I read it I whimpered inside like a wounded hound. Jerks. What does my appearance even have to do with my “condition”? Forget going to class, I just want to cry now. Wait... No! I’m going to stay strong! Forget what they think. And so, I continued my business at my locker. “Hey loser,” a girl who wore too much makeup for a sixteen-year-old said, “still as retarded as ever?” She continued her way towards me while feeding off the enthusiasm of her entourage of mindless plastic followers. “Do you still see things? You should start a cult just so you can find other weird losers to comfort your poor little cursed soul. I’m just kidding! No one likes aliens anyways!” she continued to jeer. I didn’t even know this girl’s name, let alone her reasons for harassing me. I did not dare to fight back... Because she was strong... No, because I did not want to descend to her level. They threw garbage at me and pushed me down, leaving me on the floor as they laughed and ran away. I picked myself up, took a pack of travel Kleenex out of the front pocket of my backpack, and began wiping down the surface of my locker. Suddenly my locker looked more purple than blue. Stay strong. Just stay strong, I consoled myself. Stay strong... Someone had told me that before. But I wonder who... *****

I looked out the window and watched raindrops falling onto my mother’s garden of tulips. Red, yellow, red, yellow, yellow, red, yellow, red, red... From left to right I counted the flowers that stood firm against the showers that embraced them, as I waited for my mother to finish her business with the intelligent looking man. 1, 2, 3... Oh! That one is happy! I thought to myself. The third tulip–the red one–was happy because the number three is happy. And so I gazed intently at the third tulip. And the more I examined its soft petals that had become a satin bed for lost and fallen rain drops, the bigger the smile the third red tulip wore. Its mouth was open wide, happily exposing the flower’s heart. But that is only natural. Since the number three is happy, the third flower is happy, and when one is happy one smiles from the bottom of their heart. I couldn’t satisfy my six-year-old mind with just that one happy tulip, so I continued to count. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... Oh no! That flower is sad! It was frowning and crying. The poor tulip was upset and on its face I could see clearly eyes which saw nothing but a blue world that was made by the rainy atmosphere that cradled the garden. Actually, rather than the tulip being gloomy, it was the number five that was feeling down. Since that yellow tulip was the fifth, it was depressed, just as the number five was. And then from the corner of my eye, I saw an alphabet poster lying on the floor behind me. I rushed over to the plastic sealed sheet, instantly forgetting the troubled and saddened fifth tulip. I looked at all of the letters and giggled uncontrollably. “A” looked so anguished and angry at the rest of the alphabet, while “C” calmly and carelessly closed its eyes and crept its way to sleep. It was odd. I didn’t understand why the alphabet always entertained me. The other kids in my class said that letters and numbers were boring and that pictures were more “fun.” But “F” was frivolously funny and “P” was particularly playful and the number one was always excited to start the day. Whenever I told mother about the silliness of the alphabet and the numbers, and how each one had its own personality, she would frown. It wasn’t the sort of face one makes when they are sad. The frown my mother wore was one filled with worry and concern, and it was always paired up with raised but furrowed eyebrows. This frown grew worse when she found out that the other first graders were picking on me because of what I “saw.” So she called a very intelligent looking man to come meet me. This intelligent-looking man was named Dr. Sense. He had come over to our house in the morning–wearing quite the nifty suit, I might add–and was still here.

Earlier, he asked me questions about what I can “see” and gave me some very boring activities that were somewhat confusing, but I did not necessarily mind. When we were done, he went to speak with Mother and I sat on our beige leather couch and stared out the window looking at Mother’s tulip garden. Fast forward the clock a couple of minutes. I was still amusing myself with the alphabet when suddenly I heard Dr. Sense and Mother coming back to the living room. I quickly got up off the floor and ran to the couch to sit in the most proper manner a six-year-old can. Mother is extremely strict when it comes to manners and politeness, if politeness is the right word to describe it. “I don’t understand,” Mother said, wearing the frown I knew too well. “It’s not a hard concept to grasp, Mrs. Shaine. Your daughter has a mental disorder called synesthesia, where a person mixes up their senses. Some common forms cause people to taste colours, or smell words, etcetera. Your daughter has the form called ordinal-linguistic personification, or OLP. It explains why young Tessy here associates ordered sequences with various personalities. But from what I see, this only occurs with her letters and numbers.” “Will this last forever, Doctor?” Mother asked. Curious as to what the adults spoke about, I tugged Dr. Sense’s jacket to get his attention, which it did. “Most likely. Treatments for synesthesia are still in the process of being created, as the causes are widespread, from head trauma to birth defect. We just don’t have all the answers,” he replied. Then he looked down at me and smiled. “But it is all about outlook. As longs as she understands what she sees is a little bit different and you, as a parent, try to accommodate for her perspective, she can live a perfectly normal life.” “Mister,” I said. “Some of the kids at my school are being big, fat meanies just because I think that numbers and letters are fun!” And without noticing it myself, tears began to form at the corners of my eyes. I squeezed the edge of his jacket more tightly than before. Then the intelligent-looking doctor got down onto his knees. He looked me in the eyes with one of the most sincere and heart-warming expressions I have ever seen, and gave me a hug. He put his hands on my shoulders and said, “Stay strong. Just stay strong. Although you may be different, what you see, and how you react to what you see, is your super power.” My mother’s frown began to transform into a smile as she looked at us. At the time, I didn’t notice her change in countenance because one hundred percent of my focus was on Dr. Sense. His eyes seemed to penetrate deep down to my heart,

and mend the scratches I had got from the words of the bullies that had been said earlier that day, or week, or month (I could not even remember at that point, to be honest). That was how powerful his caring and empathetic eyes were. Even though I did not understand a lot of things that happened in the world–I did not understand what I could “see,” and I did not understand why people had to be born different–I could understand what his eyes were telling me. “My super power?” I asked in confusion and amazement. “Yes, as it is yours alone and you can use it to create something unimaginable to anyone else. You can even use it to make your world, or even the whole world, a better, happier place,” Dr. Sense replied in a very mature manner. “So I can be a super hero?” “Yes. As long as you stay strong,” he said. The things Dr. Sense told me in that astonishing two minutes that seemed like a twisting eternity had echoed in mind. As a six-year-old who only knew what it was like to be an outcast that always viewed things differently, it was a lot for me to take in. ***** No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember who had told me to “stay strong.” A math teacher of mine once told the class an off-topic idea, which was that the brain is like a secretary that is constantly going through files in a filing cabinet, eventually finding the information we need from our memory banks. This was one of those times when my secretary was slacking off. What am I doing? I wondered as I finished wiping away at the last of the lipstick. My locker had become more purple than blue, but I did not mind, because purple is my favourite colour. Who cares what those girls think about my synesthesia. They are blind to what I see! And if I keep worrying... I’m going to be really late for class! Snap! Then the bell rang and first period was beginning. I quickly threw out the used tissues and ran to class with my bag slung over one shoulder. At that moment, oh how I wished my eyes had a super power to teleport me to class.

S U R V I VA L

Catholic Central TEACHER: Andrea Rice

SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Ellie Csepregi UNIT: Windsor-Essex Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Brian Hogan by

JUSTIN AOUN

i’m rising, rising slowly: to the ends of the earth, the ends of the galaxy, the ends of the universe, and the ends of all eternity. i’m uplifted from the grounds beneath me, finding myself over canada. canada is a jigsaw puzzle. shocking turbulences are overwhelmed with this day’s noble folks. questions, but never answers. knowledge, but never precise. people, but no one comes through. i’m waiting, waiting for the truth. attempting to acknowledge, but ending up clueless. a mass of canadians roar: What is my identity?

i hover closely, returning to the ground to get a close grasp on things. i walk through a tree as if it’s transformed into the dust of burned coal. i see mighty beavers settling up north, lumberjacks tearing down maple trees as their leaves fall shamelessly to the ground, chesterfields abandoned in a lifeless pond, and fur traders huddling near a beat up shed. what more can i say– eh. You’ve got it all wrong. i’m running, floating, and dodging various influences. i soar high to the sky above. freedom, i feel freedom. luscious freedom. sweet freedom, and free freedom, not deceitful freedom, true freedom against the interior borders of canada. the presence of frozen air sweeps the founding nations under a civic nation. people of different kinds, beliefs, customs, colours, and languages– black, white, polish, and arab. they are free, they have justice. they are distinct, different, diverse, and unique. equality, this is equality. rights dancing as they collapse over people, people dancing as they collapse over rights: still retaining a solid image of existence. if this is canada, who am i? You, my friend, are survival.

TO R E A D O R N OT TO R E A D

Mother Teresa TEACHER: Martha Macuase SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Diane Drouillard UNIT: London District UNIT PRESIDENT: Sheila Brescia by

SHARNAE DALEY

very accomplished author named Ray Bradbury once said, “You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.” Unfortunately, that is almost exactly what is happening in today’s society. Over the last few years, humanity has faced a dramatic decline in literature. It is my belief that the shift from a word-oriented culture to an image-oriented one will first manifest itself in the generations who have grown up with television and not books. With negative suggestions from the media and so many new technological advancements, the physical book has lost its influence in modern culture. Reading is meant to be both a positive and enriching experience for everyone. However, the rates of people that take it upon themselves to read have rapidly dropped from where they used to be, and I know that this needs to change. A report by the National Endowment for the Arts, released in July of 2004, says that the number of adults who read decreased by more than seventeen million between 1992 and 2002. In 1992, 72.6 million adults in the United States did not read a book. By 2002, that figure had grown to 89.9 million. Declining reading rates were especially great among young people aged eighteen to twenty-four. Only 43 percent had read any literature in 2002, down from 53 percent in 1992. In 1983, a government study called “A Nation at Risk” warned of a “rising tide of mediocrity” in elementary and secondary schools. Since that study, many companies and persuasive figures have been putting forward their best efforts to make reading seem like something fun and enjoyable for young people, apparently

to no avail. Oprah Winfrey was one of these persuasive figures, using television to promote literacy. However, despite the creation of Oprah’s Book Club in 1996 and things like the Harry Potter craze that began in the late 1990s, the decline still occurred, and there are several reasons why that could have happened. Television, movies and the internet are three of the most prominent aspects of modern North American culture. It is not unknown that we rely on electronics and technology for entertainment most of the time. Many young people today are sitting around watching TV when they could be expanding their minds by reading. Andrew Solomon, a writer for The New York Times, once said, “Readers, in other words, are active in society, while non-readers–more than half of the population–have settled into apathy.” This basically means that those who read are going to be filled with cultural fulfillment, while those who don’t are going to be indifferent to a lot of things. What we’re seeing now is an enormous cultural shift from print media to electronic media, and the unintended consequences of that shift. Really, only bad things can come from people not reading. Despite the existence of amazing television, brilliant pieces of writing on the internet, and video games that test logic and strategy, electronic media, for the most part, invites inert activity for all those who religiously take part in it. Not only does technology create this lack of interest and enthusiasm, but it also creates a major loss of jobs for people who have occupations in the field of literature. Because of things like stories being made available to read online rather than in physical books, and because of things like movies (excluding book adaptations), companies and authors are being put out of work every day. What I don’t understand is why people would ever choose not to read. “A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.” This is a quote from Jojen, a character in the Game of Thrones series, written by George R.R. Martin, one of my biggest role models. To me, this quote is completely true in the sense that when you read, your mind is open to so much more and is nowhere near as limited as that of someone who chooses not to. Reading is a fun and enjoyable way to learn new things and get a firmer grasp on, and better appreciation of, other cultures. I read because it enhances my vocabulary and gives me a more extensive knowledge and awareness of my surroundings. Literature started playing its enormous role in my life when I was very young and it’s something I will surely always treasure and hold close to me. Creativity through reading and writing is a phenomenal way to express oneself, and I can’t think of anything I like more, personally.

In closing, I don’t believe that I have any right to tell society what to do. The reason I brought about this subject is because I consider it a crisis situation that requires international conversation, and I hope that one day I can change the way reading and literature are viewed by the majority of society. A wise man once said, “The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go!” I intend to continue reading for both leisure and academic purposes, and hopefully you will too.

P R A DA , C H A N E L , C R O C

St. Benedict TEACHER: Carmen Friedrich SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Delmar Borba UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy by

JOEL CUMBER

am a Croc. A pair of Crocs, to be exact. Created in a factory in Southern Ontario, I have, or used to have, certain struggles that other shoes did not experience. The mockery was disdainful and subjective and the people who scrutinized my red, rubbery soles were not willing to take me for what I am. Luckily, there was a group of gardeners, stay-at-home mothers and fashion-forward children that kept my soles alive. Now, if you walk into Vogue’s offices in Manhattan at this time of year, you will see me, alongside my brothers and sisters, plastered on bulletin boards, PowerPoints and presentation boards. “Why?” you may ask. “Why is a shoe that looks as if it is a reject from a Lego factory on the top of Vogue.com’s “Most Searched” list? Why has Tom Ford been seen wearing them to his bi-monthly cocktail parties on Fire Island? Why is Prada creating seasonal Croc pumps that will soon be seen on runways around the world?” Here is why. One day, I was waiting in Master’s closet. It was a Saturday, the day when I faced the most ridicule. Saturdays were when all of the stay-at-home mothers would pull out their favourite pairs of shoes and go down to the Farmers’ Market to search for art, food and vintage clothing. Because Master had bunion problems, she would always choose me over her pairs of old ballet flats or Birkenstocks. This meant that everyone at the market saw me in full daylight. It was a weekly event, so I decided to be optimistic about it, regardless of the insults that were usually thrown at me. I heard Master’s alarm go off. The world was going to see me, and I was going to make a good impression. I had just gotten new charms from the dollar store that definitely made me look more like a fashion-forward pair of slip-ons.

“Nice jewellery,” one of the Birkenstocks guffawed sarcastically, gesturing towards the dirt-stained dolphin charm from Sea World that was on my back. “Well, ACTUALLY, Birkenstock, Master bought me some jewellery from the Dollarama down the street. A bumblebee AND a dragonfly.” “We’re SO jealous,” the pair of black Converse chimed in in a sarcastic tone. I decided to be the bigger sole and just not say anything back. The last time two pairs of shoes picked a fight in the closet overnight, the Great Barking Monster tore them to shreds. Even when we thought no one was watching, someone ALWAYS was. The doors to the closet opened up and a large pair of hands grabbed me. It was Master. I felt happiness and relief, relief that I was going to get out of that closet for the day. Master slipped me on and stepped out of her apartment, making her way towards the elevator that would bring her down to the outside world. We arrived at the sidewalk and as Master began walking down the street, I felt an air of positivity and optimism come over me. We strolled by a kind couple and they complimented me. I am on a roll, I thought. Suddenly, a group of rowdy pre-pubescents walked by. I am not one to judge shoes but I thought their dirt-stained, multi-coloured Converse were just ugly. “Ugly” was a word that I learned one day when I was left at the local community centre that my master went to every other Sunday in Mississauga. One day, before Master had her bunions and I was simply used as garden-wear, she put on her casual shoes after Gardening Club and forgot about me. The room that I was left in became a juvenile criminal therapy workshop for troubled teens after five o’clock. During my time there, I picked up words like “marijuana,” “swag,” and “gun violence.” I hardly ever had the chance to learn new words because Master barely took me out into the real world, so although this workshop was frightening, I took it as an opportunity for learning, just like the Saturday trips to the Farmers’ Market. We arrived at the market and made our way to one of the many fruit stands. I was surrounded by farming boots and brown leather, all coming in from the surrounding areas of Toronto to get their fresh groceries for the week. I used to try to fit in by speaking with an accent that I had heard a pair of army boots use once, but then I realized it was a stereotype, so I stopped. After purchasing a violent amount of oranges, we made our way to one of the stalls that featured an array of squash. As Master felt her way through piles of acorn and butternut, I noticed a very excited monster that was a mere ten metres away from us. It reminded me too much of the Great Barking Monster back home, so I instantly started to panic. However, I knew Master would never let anything happen to me, so the panic started to subside. I was in good feet.

Master spent about an hour perusing the stalls of fruits and vegetables until she decided it was time to go. With bags full of butternut squash, cucumber, ripe tomatoes and fresh oranges, she began walking with a spring in her step. Master was always getting excited over organic foods. It was a pleasant walk for about two minutes until I noticed something up ahead: a crack. Cracks are a shoe’s mortal enemy. Stilettos break, ballet flats rip and soles of all types face a certain emotional trauma when faced with a sidewalk crack. I was worried. Master kept walking forward, and usually, with a crack of this magnitude, one would change their path or begin walking around it. I soon realized that Master was too enamoured by her nutritious finds to realize what danger I was in. We were closing in on the crack and I had no idea what to do. I braced myself for the consequences and closed my eyes. Within seconds, I felt my nose in the crevice. Master’s foot began to wobble and soon my whole body started to bend. Master flew to the ground, fresh fruits and vegetables scattering everywhere in an organic frenzy. She was too busy worrying about her suddenly-squished tomatoes to realize that one half of me was stuck face first in the crack, and the other half lay limp right next to her. I could not call out to her, and I could only hope that she would soon realize we were gone. I then noticed something out of the corner of my eye: it was a Great Barking Monster making its way towards the scene. I could see the drool falling out of the corners of its mouth and its beady eyes fixated on my red rubber body. I was helpless. This could be the end. I would end up a pile of chewed up Croc, probably put in a hole somewhere behind an elementary school. As expected, the Great Barking Monster picked up both of my halves and began galloping away. I looked back at Master, who had just gotten up to retrieve me, and her face looked confused and concerned. She looked my way and realized what had happened and I understood her not chasing after me. No one can outrun a Great Barking Monster. It was a long and treacherous journey before we reached a very nice apartment complex in Downtown Toronto. Pigeons yelled profanities at me and a man who was covered in dirt tried to steal me. We arrived at the front of a building where a man with glasses and a slightly pudgy face stood, looking worried. As soon as he saw the furry vehicle that was carrying me he yelled out “POOCHY!” and started to cry. It was as if he had been reunited with a long lost brother. I thought the man looked rather overdressed for a hot summer‘s day, but I was in no place to judge. I was the pariah of all footwear. It was at this moment, though, where I single-footedly changed the face of the fashion world, or so Vera Wang told me at Paris Fashion Week in 2012. The pudgy-faced, overdressed man gave me an odd look. He pulled me out of the mouth of the Beast and looked at me. For about five minutes he examined me and felt me in places I had never been felt.

“Genius,” he whispered intently. I had never been called a genius before. Instantly, it was like a whirlwind was set off. The man ran to his vehicle, put me in the passenger seat and drove me to an office that was filled with odd-looking men and women. I saw colours that I had never seen before, hairstyles that looked like something out of the Vogue magazine that Master received every month, and best of all, the most smiles I had ever seen, and they were all because of me. The man, who I later learned was named Philip Sparks, held me up in front of his assistants, associates and designers. “This is the inspiration I have been searching for! No more army boots, navy deck shoes or woven flats. These are the essence of summer, the essence of walking down the streets of Toronto on the way to serve your purpose. STAND BACK PRADA, Sparks is the new top dog in town! Philip Sparks held me up in the air and everyone in the office hollered as if we were at a political rally. After that day, I became a sort of celebrity. I sat under a glass case in Philip’s office awaiting “The Important Day” as his associates called it. There was an exciting chatter floating around. I heard two pairs of camel decks, which were on Philip’s desk waiting to be approved, chatting about me. “Apparently he is going to bring Crocs into the high-fashion world,” one pair said, trying to hold back a laugh. “I cost two-hundred dollars to make, and Crocs look like something a kindergarten student made out of play-doh. He’ll be lucky if he gets them onto the sales rack at Macy’s,” the other pair said with spite. I wanted to speak up, but I trusted my new Master. I was used to the ridicule, and I was not going to sink down to their level. Crocs must always maintain their dignity. *** “The Important Day” was one day away and I was getting nervous. I did not even know what the day was. Then again, I had no idea what the words “High Fashion,” “Prada,” or “Vera Wang” meant either. I was lost in a scramble of big words and even bigger ambitions. I was sitting on a table in a large work room, surrounded by men and women sewing certain clothing materials together. I had heard that Master’s new collection of clothing was called “Summer Wear, Dreams to Share,” but these thick black clothes did not look like summer wear to me. Once again though, I was in no place to judge. I was waiting for Master to come and give me a final look before I was shipped off to New York City for “The Important Day.” I had never been anywhere outside of Toronto, so I was frightened, but excited.

I looked over at the table beside me and saw that Master was inspecting a brown shirt that was going to be shipped off to New York City with me the next day. He stared at it for a couple moments and then ripped it right down the middle and added an array of coloured threads. As he started to sew the new design together, I felt an empty feeling in the pit of my soles. “It’s alright!” a voice called out to me. It was somewhere near, so I started looking around. At the other end of the table was a brown leather belt that looked old and worn out. “Don’t worry!” she called out again. “Philip won’t do anything like THAT to you. Philip is very fond of you. I heard him talking to someone an hour ago and he said that you are what is going to put him on the European fashion map.” “Are you sure? I take pride in these charms on my back. They all have a history and if they got taken away, I don’t know what I would do,” I said quietly, feeling nervous. Before the belt could say anything else, Master was standing right in front of me. He picked me up and held me close to his face. He grinned and then handed me to his associate. “Take these down to the packing room. They are ready for New York Fashion Week.” As the associate walked out of the work room with me snug in her grasp, I heard the high-pitched voice of the belt call after me. “TOLD YOU!” she yelled with a laugh. After that, I was feeling confident and ready to take on New York. I still could not figure out what “The Important Day” was, but now I knew it had something to do with New York Fashion Week. Months ago, I would have been burying myself under a pile of towels if I ever had to go to a fashion week. All of those shoes with superiority complexes telling me everything that was wrong with my design, my colour, my feel and my material. It would have been a nightmare. But now, I have the Philip Sparks stamp of approval and no one, not even a new pair of Birkenstocks, could stop me. It was finally “The Important Day.” I was in a room filled with male and female models that were covered in hairspray and different outfits from Master’s collection. I had finally uncovered the mystery of “The Important Day.” It was a fashion show. And according to the talkative jacket that was beside me on the airplane, “It is not a fashion show, it is the fashion show. DeMarchelier is going to be there.” I did not know who DeMarchelier was, but apparently he/she was important. It was nearing the end of Master’s fashion show and I had yet to go onstage. I knew I was being saved for the grand finale and I could tell by Master’s tears and messy hair that it was just minutes away. Master grabbed a male model, grabbed me

and walked towards the runway entrance. He put me on the model’s well groomed feet and grabbed his face with drama and gusto. “My whole career depends on this,” Master whispered to the male model, who looked frightened. “This is your moment.” Although he was talking to the model, I knew he was also talking to me. This was my moment. My charms were freshly polished and I was ready to face the audience. We stepped onto the runway. The flashing lights shone in my face, and that is when my life changed. I was a hit. After the show my fame sky-rocketed. It came to the point where all of Brangelina’s kids were wearing Crocs. They were a “must have.” Crocs were used in every single Marc Jacobs, Vera Wang and Betsey Johnson design and it was all because of me. I had finally received the recognition I had always thought I deserved. One day, I was with Master at a club in Strasbourg. It was Paris Fashion Week and I was the guest of honour. I was wearing new Justin Bieber charms that were a hit among the young fold. As Master was chatting over mimosas with Meryl Streep, a woman wearing a pair of last season Chanel thigh-highs walked in and sat down next to me. “Hi,” Chanel said to me quietly. She looked nervous. She knew she was last season, and it was not usual for people to wear last season’s shoes during Paris Fashion Week. This was my chance. I could finally use my fame to show her how I felt when I was surrounded by Converse, stilettos, and Birkenstocks in that dark, damp closet two years previous. I had had to deal with it, so these shoes were just going to have to deal with it too. It made me stronger, so I was just doing her a favour. Right before I was going to insult her practically broken zipper, I caught myself. That was just it. I had had to deal with it, but that didn’t mean I had to put anyone else through that. “Hey,” I said back, smiling. “I love your colour!”

W H AT D O YO U D O ?

St. Maximilian Kolbe TEACHER: Jennifer Gerwlivch

SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Kyla King UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

K A R A WA I T E S

What do you do when you don’t know what to do? When you don’t know what to say When words aren’t enough But actions are too much. When you know something that should be locked up in a closet But that closet Is your mind. What do you do? When it’s killing you inside Like a house burning to the ground Like a lion clawing to get out Like a wave ready to take you under. But… you keep smiling And try not to make a sound You keep listening to the cries and pleas for better lives But your listening, it can’t save lives.

I’m not some Dr. Phil or Oprah Winfrey I don’t have an “all knowing power” I wish I could solve your problems and save the day. But I’m not some super hero, I have no powers, I have ears to listen and a heart to feel But I know that’s not enough for you to heal. It’s gonna be okay, That’s all I can say. But it’s something I don’t know for sure. It’s something I hope Something I pray That one day you’ll be the one to tell me you’re okay. But until that day comes, I’ll be here. Waiting for you like the last stop on the bus Like a kid waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve Like a tulip waiting for the sun to shine Like waiting for the last ten seconds until the microwave beeps. I’ll be there, I mean here. I mean wherever you need me. I’ll see whatever you want me to see. I’ll be whatever you need me to be. I’ll be your guide dog Your locked up diary Your voice when you’re lost for words. Because I don’t know what to do, I’m just hoping I can help you through.

W H E N WA R WA S J U S T A G A M E

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Play St. James TEACHER: Paul McNamara SCHOOL:

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

M E G A N K E N N E Y, S E R E N A L O W E R Y, and A D R I A N N A V . W O O D B U R N

Catherine Whyte UNIT: Wellington UNIT PRESIDENT: Jim Whitechurch

CHARACTERS ANNELISE:

Daughter of a Nazi officer, age 16

ADELE:

Catholic, hiding SARAH in her attic, age 16

SARAH:

Jewish, hiding in ADELE’s attic, age 16

YOUNG ANNELISE:

Younger version of ANNELISE, age 6-10

YOUNG ADELE:

Younger version of ADELE, age 6-10

YOUNG SARAH:

Younger version of SARAH, age 6-10

FREDRICK:

ANNELISE’s brother, age 16

SOPHIE:

ANNELISE’s younger sister, age 10

VIKTOR:

FREDRICK’s best friend and ANNELISE’s boyfriend, age 17

EVELYN:

ANNELISE’s mother, middle-aged

GRETEL:

ADELE’s mother, seamstress, middle-aged

CAPTAIN FITZENBURG:

ANNELISE’s father, middle-aged

LIEUTENANT NAZI #1, NAZ1 #2

SCENE ONE (Stage is dark, child’s play is heard. Lights fade up. Three doors with shadow screens are on platforms at the back of the stage. Three little girls stand on the stage in front of their older counterparts. The older girls stand behind the doors in shadow.) YOUNG ANNELISE YOUNG ADELE (Laughing, running, singing.)

YOUNG SARAH:

I’ll be the mommy Ring around the rosy I’ll race you I want to be the princess When I grow up…

I’m an airplane It’s so pretty Whrrrr Let’s fly a kite

Let’s play hide and seek Braid my hair Come find me! I’ll race you Best friends forever!

(Pause.) ANNELISE:

Heil Hitler!

YOUNG ANNELISE

YOUNG ADELE Let’s play

I can’t Allowed

YOUNG SARAH: Let’s play I’m not Allowed

Please? Why didn’t you answer my letter? I gave it to your mom

I didn’t get your letter She didn’t give it to me Sing Ashes, ashes, we all fall down

Why don’t we Sing Ashes, ashes, we all fall down NO Stay

Sing Ashes, ashes we all fall down NO

Let’s play outside

Let’s play inside

I’m not allowed to play anymore.

ALL:

I’m scared

ANNELISE

ADELE Why?

SARAH:

They’re coming for ME YOU YOU ME ME YOU YOU ME ME Me me ME ME I shouldn’t play anymore I don’t want to play anymore ADELE:

They say that there are six degrees of separation between every person. Six lines of separation. 1 2 3 4 5 6. 1 2 3 4 5 6. 1 2 3 4 5 6. (On the second count of six, ANNELISE and SARAH simultaneously draw the Swastika and Star of David, respectively, on the shadow screens. One line per number. After a moment, the lights change to reveal CAPTAIN FITZENBURG onstage.)

CAPTAIN FITZENBURG:

Heil Hitler! The year is 1943. The war in Europe has raged for the past four years. The occupying forces from Nazi Germany have taken up residence in the Netherlands. Before the war, I was a business man working contracts with Germany. Things have changed. Now I am responsible for collecting Jews from their homes in the Netherlands and arranging transport to Germany. They are registered, documented, and sent to transit camps before continuing on to various locations and camps in Germany. Once they cross the border, they are no longer my responsibility. Hitler wants a labour force of Jews, and that’s what I give to him. I always do my job. I will find all of the Jews. I will see to their transportation and registration. The world is at war. In times such as these, the normal ways of business must be… adjusted.

(Blackout.)

SCENE TWO (Screaming is heard. Lights up on SARAH having a nightmare. Enter ADELE.) ADELE:

Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. Shhh… They aren’t going to get you.

SARAH:

I’m sorry, I just fell asleep for a minute… What time is it?

ADELE:

Time to get up. You look exhausted. Still having trouble sleeping?

SARAH:

No, I can get to sleep just fine, it’s what I will see when I close my eyes. And I am trying so hard not to scream in the middle of the night.

ADELE:

What do you see? Maybe talking to someone can get rid of some of the nightmares.

SARAH:

Hitler got me.

ADELE:

I won’t let him.

SARAH:

I’ve been here for a month, what if they find me? How much longer can I hide?

ADELE:

Until the war is over?

SARAH:

I can’t stay in your attic that long! I am eternally grateful for what your parents are doing, but it puts us all at risk. Who knows how many more years this will last?

ADELE:

You have to have hope, Sarah.

SARAH:

The war has been going on for four years, hope is scarce.

ADELE:

I don’t know what you want me to do.

SARAH:

Your family is already doing so much, risking your lives to hide me. I’m sorry, I’m just getting frustrated. (Coughs.)

ADELE:

Are you getting sick?

SARAH:

Just a cold.

ADELE:

You should take some more blankets.

SARAH:

Can I come downstairs for a bit? Please? I’ve been up here all month. Please?

ADELE:

We shouldn’t…

SARAH:

Please?! Please, please, please, Adele?!

ADELE:

Alright, but remember–

SARAH:

I know, I know, if anyone comes, I’m your cousin.

ADELE:

From?

SARAH:

Your cousin from Zwolle.

ADELE:

Get dressed, I will make some tea.

(Exit SARAH.) ADELE:

Her happiness over this one little thing is overwhelming. I hope that I am doing right by her. Mama would probably tell me not to risk it but I am almost as fed up as she is with being alone all day. Mama is fine company, but she has to work. And Sarah’s mama and papa… Well all we can do is hope that they are still alive. And her brother. How random it was! One day I looked out the window and saw Sarah’s family being dragged out of their house by Nazis. A street sweep. A stupid street sweep. A week before we were supposed to hide them. Lucky Sarah was here at the time. She hasn’t gone home since that day. We have gone through it all together. The raids, the bombing, the anticipation of getting caught. Just Sarah and I, like it was when we were kids. The only thing missing is Annelise.

SCENE THREE (Lights up on ANNELISE’s room.) ANNELISE:

Heil Hitler!

I graduated to a higher level of the Dutch Nazi Party last week! Oh, Mother was so proud. The leader, Anton Mussert, even came and shook hands with some of the boys who are moving on too. Anton Mussert works for Arthur SeyssInquart, the governor of the Netherlands. Arthur Seyss-Inquart follows whatever Adolf Hitler says. So does father. Father is a Dutch Officer, he helps in the high ranks of the army with the transportation of Jews to Germany. Mother and Father and my siblings always do whatever Adolf Hitler says. Father always tells me, “Remember, Annelise, the Fuhrer knows what is best. He rebuilt Germany and he will rebuild the Netherlands also. If we follow him we will be safe.” So I listen to the Fuhrer too. My name is Annelise. Before the war–funny how all memories seem to begin with that phrase recently–before the war, I went to school with my best friends Adele and Sarah. Adele is Catholic, Sarah is Jewish. I don’t speak to them anymore. I was told not to, so I don’t. Mother says, “If you ever see anyone doing anything against the Fuhrer or against the laws, Annelise, you turn them in right away.” So I do. I turned in Anke, my old music teacher, last week. I used to like Anke, I thought she was really nice. But she wouldn’t hang the Swastika, so I turned her in. Father praised me and Mother was proud. They said that I did the right thing. So I suppose I did, but I am sort of sad that Anke is gone… I thought she was a good person. But I did the right thing. I think. It was my job. I always do my job. I will do my job like my siblings before me have done, and like them, I set an example for the sister after me. My siblings make Mother and Father so proud! Especially my twin brother, Fredrick. He sets the standard so high for me. I try to do right for my parents, my older siblings, my brother, and–

SOPHIE:

(Offstage) ANNELISE!!!!

ANNELISE:

… Sophie.

(Enter SOPHIE.) SOPHIE:

Happy Birthday!

ANNELISE:

Thank you.

SOPHIE:

Do you like my hair? Mama did it.

ANNELISE:

It’s the same as mine.

SOPHIE:

I know!

ANNELISE:

I had to beg mother to do my hair for my birthday. How did you get her to do it?

SOPHIE:

I just asked her.

ANNELISE:

Of course you did.

SOPHIE:

(SOPHIE picks up ANNELISE’s journal.) What’s this, Annie?

ANNELISE:

It’s my journal. Mother and Father got it for me for my birthday. And it’s MINE, Sophie.

SOPHIE:

Well, can I see it?

ANNELISE:

NO! It’s for my eyes only.

SOPHIE:

Fine. Can we do something together then?

ANNELISE:

I was planning to go out with Freddie and Viktor.

SOPHIE:

But you’re always with them! Why don’t we go to the bakery with the purple sign and the raisin cookies?

ANNELISE:

Sorry Sophie, but that bakery closed. They were Jewish.

SOPHIE:

But who will make the raisin cookies now?

ANNELISE:

Go ask Mother.

SOPHIE:

But she is busy setting up for the party. Please please please please please?!

(Enter FREDRICK.) FREDRICK:

Sophie, why don’t you go see what Mother needs?

SOPHIE:

Okay! (Exit SOPHIE.)

FREDRICK:

Happy birthday Annelise! (FREDRICK hands ANNELISE a book.)

ANNELISE:

Oh, Freddy! Thank you. I’ve got one for you too! (ANNELISE hands FREDRICK a tie.)

FREDRICK:

A perfect gift for a man.

ANNELISE:

And this is a wonderful gift for a lady.

FREDRICK:

(Teasing.) Well, my little sister is sixteen, after all.

ANNELISE:

Little by six minutes!

FREDRICK:

Little none the less.

ANNELISE:

What are your plans for today?

FREDRICK:

Viktor and I are going to see a film called “Immensere.”

ANNELISE:

Can I come?

FREDRICK:

It’s a boy’s day, Annie. (ANNELISE still looking eager.) Boy’s day.

(Knock at door.) ANNELISE:

Fine. (Knock at door.) You get it.

(Persistent knock, FREDRICK goes to answer it.) FREDRICK:

Come in, Viktor!

(Enter VIKTOR.) VIKTOR:

(To FREDRICK.) Happy birthday!

FREDRICK:

Thanks!

(VIKTOR pushes past Fredrick to ANNELISE.) VIKTOR:

Happy birthday!

ANNELISE:

Thank you, Viktor. (ANNELISE gestures for FREDRICK to leave.)

FREDRICK:

I’m going to get… my bag… (Exit FREDRICK.)

VIKTOR:

You look so beautiful.

ANNELISE:

Thank you. So you and Freddie are going to a film today.

VIKTOR:

Yes.

ANNELISE:

Freddie won’t let me go.

VIKTOR:

It’s his birthday.

ANNELISE:

(Whining) It’s my birthday, too.

VIKTOR:

Don’t be childish.

ANNELISE:

Sorry.

(VIKTOR plays with ANNELISE’s braid.)

VIKTOR:

What is this?

ANNELISE:

My mother did it this morning. Don’t you like it?

VIKTOR:

I like it down better.

ANNELISE:

Oh…

VIKTOR:

Don’t you want your birthday present? (VIKTOR hands ANNELISE a box, she takes out a red hair ribbon.)

ANNELISE:

It’s so pretty. Thank you, Viktor.

VIKTOR:

It will match your dress for the gala tomorrow.

ANNELISE:

Yes it will!

VIKTOR:

Good. Red is my father’s favourite colour.

ANNELISE:

(Nervous) Your father is coming tomorrow evening?

VIKTOR:

Yes, of course, it is the gala. Annelise, I want you to be on your best behaviour.

ANNELISE:

Of course I will be.

VIKTOR:

I need you to impress my father.

ANNELISE:

Don’t you think I will?

VIKTOR:

I do love you. (VIKTOR takes ANNELISE’s hands in his own.) I just want my father to approve of you.

(Enter FREDRICK.) FREDRICK:

Viktor, we can’t go— (VIKTOR and ANNELISE pull away from each other.) We can’t go see a film. Mother wants me to help with the preparations for the gala tomorrow.

VIKTOR:

Of course. I’ll be going then.

FREDRICK:

No, my mother telephoned your mother and she wants you to help out too.

VIKTOR:

All right.

FREDRICK:

I know, not much fun. (Enter EVELYN.) But you know what my mother is like when she’s angry. We don’t want to deal with that monster.

EVELYN:

Is that so, Fredrick? Am I a monster?

FREDRICK:

Uh, no, ma’am… Uh, come on, Viktor. (Exit FREDRICK and VIKTOR.)

EVELYN:

Happy birthday, darling!

ANNELISE:

Thank you, Mother.

EVELYN:

What are you planning for your special day?

ANNELISE:

I was hoping to see a film with Freddie and Viktor, but they wouldn’t allow it. Besides, they are helping with party preparations now anyway.

EVELYN:

I wouldn’t want to keep you all cooped up in here on your birthday. I’ll tell you what. Here is a gulden. You can buy yourself something sweet while picking up the tailoring.

ANNELISE:

Thank you! What do you need me to pick up?

EVELYN:

Your father and brother’s uniforms are being mended for tomorrow evening. (EVELYN hands ANNELISE money and paper.) Here’s the tailor’s address and a list of what needs to be picked up.

ANNELISE:

Thank you! (ANNELISE hugs EVELYN.) I will be back soon!

(Exit EVELYN. ANNELISE goes to exit but pauses as she hears voices. Enter CAPTAIN FITZENBURG and LIEUTENANT.) CAPTAIN FITZENBURG:

… Lieutenant, write this down: “The trains will cross north, over the border, to Bergen-Belsen.”

LIEUTENANT:

But Captain Fitzenburg, how would we get them to cooperate?

CAPTAIN FITZENBURG:

Sometimes they have to be pushed a little.

LIEUTENANT:

Sometimes they have to be pushed a little… (ANNELISE is in LIEUTENANT’s way.) Pardon me, girl.

ANNELISE:

Sorry, sir. (Blackout.)

SCENE FOUR (Lights up on the tailoring shop. ADELE is mending clothing when GRETEL enters.) ADELE:

Mama! You are home already?

GRETEL:

I just came to pick up some sample threads. I have to hurry out again.

ADELE:

You are leaving me with her all day again?

GRETEL:

You two should be alright as long as she stays in the attic. I promise, we’ll be out of here as soon as I get new identification papers for all of us. Thank you so much for doing this, darling. It makes all the difference. (Exit GRETEL.)

ADELE:

This is too much responsibility for just me. (ADELE turns on radio. Enter SARAH.)

SARAH:

Here are the clothes you asked me for. Feels nice to be down here. So much better than the attic, even if I am on edge the whole time. (SARAH hugs teddy bear closer to herself.)

ADELE:

You are really carrying that ratty thing around down here?

SARAH:

He makes me feel safe.

ADELE:

Who gave him to you?

SARAH:

I don’t remember… (Gestures to radio.) What are you listening to?

ADELE:

It’s the singer Ilse Werner. You’ve never heard her? Come on, let’s dance! (ADELE turns up radio, SARAH and ADELE dance.)

RADIO:

We interrupt this broadcast for a special message from Adolph Hitler…

(ADELE hastily turns off radio.) SARAH:

He ruins everything, doesn’t he?

ADELE:

Sarah– (Knock is heard.) Get upstairs now!

(Exit SARAH Stage Left. Enter ANNELISE Stage Right.) ANNELISE:

My mother sent me to get the–(ANNELISE and ADELE collide.)

ADELE:

Tailoring?

ANNELISE:

(Recognizing ADELE.) Adele? Um, yes, two…

ADELE:

Give me that. (Grabs list from ANNELISE and exits. ANNELISE looks around, picks up picture. ADELE enters with clothes.)

ANNELISE:

Is this us three as kids? The time we put on a play for your mother. You, me, and Sarah…

ADELE:

(Taking picture.) Here are your uniforms. My mother will bill your mother.

ANNELISE:

Thanks. (Goes to leave.) Whatever happened to Sarah? Didn’t she live around here?

ADELE:

No.

ANNELISE:

Oh, right. She was a Jew, I guess it’s for the best. (Exit ANNELISE, blackout.)

SCENE FIVE (Lights up. Enter ANNELISE and FREDRICK. SOPHIE is sitting on stage, upset.) FREDRICK:

… And then Viktor dropped a box on his foot, and that unleashed Mother’s monster. I have never seen–Sophie? Are you okay?

SOPHIE:

Nooooooo!

FREDRICK:

Well, do you want to talk about it?

SOPHIE:

Well, okay. You know my best friend Eva. She moved to the country because of the war. And now we can’t play with each other anymore.

FREDRICK:

Well, did you think you were going to be best friends forever?

SOPHIE:

Yes! We were best, best friends forever and ever, Freddie! That means a lot!

ANNELISE:

Not always.

(Flashback: little girls run downstage.)

YOUNG ANNELISE:

We’re best best friends forever!

YOUNG ADELE:

Promise?

YOUNG SARAH:

We’re sisters!

YOUNG ANNELISE:

My brother taught me a new game, it’s called war. Come on, I’ll teach you!

(End flashback.) FREDRICK:

Annie? Aaannniiiieee!

ANNELISE:

What? Hi Freddy.

FREDRICK:

Did you hear a word I said?

ANNELISE:

Of course.

FREDRICK:

Tell me then where Sophie’s friend moved to.

ANNELISE:

I don’t know… I wasn’t listening.

FREDRICK:

What’s gotten into you lately, Annie?

ANNELISE:

I’ve been worried about the party.

FREDRICK:

Alright then, did you get the uniforms?

ANNELISE:

Yes, they’re right behind you. (FREDRICK picks up the clothes.)

FREDRICK:

… My uniform shirt is missing! I need it for tomorrow evening.

ANNELISE:

I’m sorry, I’ll get it first thing tomorrow.

FREDRICK:

Be quick about it. There’s still a lot to do for the party.

(Little girls quietly sing, “We all fall down.” Blackout.)

SCENE SIX (Lights up. Enter ADELE. SARAH is already onstage.) ADELE:

Sarah! You aren’t supposed to be down here! I know I said you could yesterday, but two days in a row? You could get caught! What are you doing?

SARAH:

Your mother isn’t home and it is freezing up in the attic.

ADELE:

Fine, but be careful. What are you looking at?

SARAH:

This photograph, it’s of us when we were kids. Annelise is in it.

ADELE:

Sorry! I will get Mother to put it away.

SARAH:

I wonder what she is doing.

ADELE:

Annelise? I saw her yesterday.

SARAH:

Really? Did she want to–

ADELE:

She was here to pick up her tailoring. Her uniforms.

SARAH:

Oh. Did she seem okay?

ADELE:

Why do you care? It’s not like she is particularly concerned about your wellbeing.

SARAH:

I don’t know, I guess I just kind of hoped that she was the same as before.

ADELE:

Well, stop hoping because she is not!

SARAH:

How do you know she is different?

ADELE:

How do you know she isn’t different?

SARAH:

What do you have against her?

ADELE:

She broke her promises. She turned against us.

SARAH:

She isn’t a Nazi.

ADELE:

She’s close enough! She parades around in their uniform! Always wearing a Swastika on her arm.

SARAH:

Adele–

ADELE:

No! She killed your parents and brother! (Both realize what was said.) No, Sarah, I didn’t mean that. (She reaches for SARAH.)

SARAH:

No.

ADELE:

Sarah, please, I didn’t mean to say that.

SARAH:

I get it, Adele.

(Blackout.)

SCENE SEVEN (Lights up. ANNELISE is onstage, she begins humming/singing a song.) ANNELISE:

That song is from BBC. I heard it while tuning to the German station and it caught my attention so I had to listen. (Hums/sings a bit more of the song.) Father says that BBC is bad. He caught me listening to it yesterday and gave me a long lecture on the importance of not giving in to bad thoughts. He doesn’t like the BBC because they don’t like what Hitler is doing; they think he is bad, so Father thinks that they are bad… I don’t really understand. I don’t understand what the BBC says either. They tell stories of horrible things that have to be made up. Stories that make the Nazis sound like bad men! Isn’t that atrocious? For some reason, the things said on the BBC are terribly interesting. I am so used to being told

what’s going on and who to believe and what to do by Mother or Father or my siblings. The BBC lets me do something all by myself. I know it’s probably very wrong, but it is just so tempting. (ANNELISE turns radio on. Voice is heard telling a story. Fade to black on ANNELISE, lights up on ADELE and SARAH hearing the same story of searches for people. SARAH sighs and turns it off.) SARAH:

No one is looking for me.

ADELE:

I’m sure that they are, they just… they just can’t find you yet. Things will work out, I promise. And about what I said yesterday: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I was just angry about Annelise showing up here again after all this time. (SARAH looks away.) I have to finish the laundry now. Will you be alright?

SARAH:

Yes, I’ll just sit here.

ADELE:

Sarah, don’t worry about the report. It will just make you feel worse. (ADELE sees GRETEL entering.) Sarah! Mama is coming, you aren’t supposed to be down here. Quick, make some tea in the kitchen, I will keep her in here. (Exit SARAH.)

GRETEL:

I am just home to get some more thread, dear. Make sure to finish hemming Miss Louisa’s skirt while I am out!

ADELE:

You’re leaving again?

GRETEL:

I have to. (ADELE turns away.) Please don’t give me that, dear. You know I have had to take on more work since your father left to fight.

ADELE:

I know. Sorry.

GRETEL:

How is Sarah?

ADELE:

She’s sick.

GRETEL:

Be sure to give her extra blankets and tea. I’ll check on her when I get back.

ADELE:

Mother?

GRETEL:

Yes, dear?

ADELE:

Do you think the war will ever stop?

GRETEL:

I know it seems like it won’t, but it will in time.

ADELE:

I hope, for Sarah’s sake, it ends soon.

GRETEL:

I hope for all of our sakes that it ends soon. I know it’s hard on you. I remember when I was your age; I didn’t have a care in the world. I’m sorry that you have to go through this. Now I’ll be back in a bit. Remember to hem Miss Louisa’s skirt.

ADELE:

Stay safe, Mama. (Exit GRETEL Stage Right. Enter ANNELISE Stage Right.)

ANNELISE:

Adele! My brother’s uniform shirt is missing!

ADELE:

How did you get in here?

ANNELISE:

Your mother let me in… My brother’s shirt is missing and he needs it for the party tonight.

ADELE:

Yes, here it is.

(Enter SARAH Stage Left.) SARAH:

Adele, we don’t have any tea left.

ANNELISE:

Sarah?

(Older girls freeze, flashback begins: YOUNG ADELE and YOUNG SARAH enter from one side and YOUNG ANNELISE from the other. Run toward each other and meet in the middle.) YOUNG ANNELISE:

I missed you so much!

YOUNG ADELE:

Never go away again!

YOUNG SARAH:

A week is too long.

YOUNG ANNELISE:

Don’t worry, I will never leave again! Come on, let’s play war.

(Young children leave together, flashback ends. SARAH exits in a hurry.) ANNELISE:

That’s Sarah.

ADELE:

That’s my cousin.

ANNELISE:

Sarah! That’s Sarah!

ADELE:

You have your shirt and we have work to do.

ANNELISE:

But–

ADELE:

Go! (Exit ANNELISE and ADELE in opposite directions, blackout.)

SCENE EIGHT (Lights up. ANNELISE is writing in her journal.) ANNELISE:

I keep remembering things. Memories from my childhood. Adele and Sarah... Those were some of the happiest days of my life, when we were together. Today it felt like that could happen again. I found myself wishing it could happen again. Mother and Father would be so disappointed if they knew what I am considering. Not to mention Viktor…

(Enter VIKTOR.) VIKTOR:

Annelise! Annie! Annie, what are you doing on the floor?

ANNELISE:

Thinking. Viktor, what are you doing here so late?

VIKTOR:

Your brother invited me over for the night. I thought maybe you and I could spend some time together.

ANNELISE:

Oh, that’s nice.

VIKTOR:

You don’t seem that happy about it.

ANNELISE:

I am…

VIKTOR:

Is something troubling you, Annie?

ANNELISE:

I was wondering… why does all of this need to happen?

VIKTOR:

What do you mean?

ANNELISE:

This! The war, the suffering! What’s the point of it?

VIKTOR:

To make the world a better place, of course.

ANNELISE:

How is killing people doing that?

VIKTOR:

We are getting rid of the filth on the earth.

ANNELISE:

Who decided that… certain groups were filth?

VIKTOR:

You’re talking about the Jews, aren’t you?

ANNELISE:

Yes I am. Who said they were so bad?

VIKTOR:

The Fuhrer did and we listen to him because he is making this world a better place. The Jews are an inferior race and Hitler was the only one who noticed and took charge to rid us of them. He is a great man. I’ll be lucky to be half the man that he is.

ANNELISE:

How do we know what he is doing is right?

VIKTOR:

We just do! And obviously you are too naïve to begin to understand what he has done for this world.

ANNELISE:

I understand all that you are telling me, it has been explained to me since I was a child.

VIKTOR:

Then you shouldn’t be questioning him.

ANNELISE:

I was just thinking.

VIKTOR:

Thoughts like those are trash, Annie. I don’t want to hear you talk like that again.

ANNELISE:

Please go Viktor, I just need to think.

VIKTOR:

No, Annelise, you will listen to me. (Grabs ANNELISE’s arm. Enter FREDRICK.)

FREDRICK:

What is going on here?

ANNELISE:

Viktor was just leaving.

FREDRICK:

Viktor, take a walk.

(Exit VIKTOR.) FREDRICK:

What happened, Annie?

ANNELISE:

Nothing, he just got angry.

FREDRICK:

Did he hurt you?

ANNELISE:

No!

FREDRICK:

Annie, don’t lie to me!

ANNELISE:

Fredrick.

FREDRICK:

Okay, sorry. Why was he mad?

ANNELISE:

Well… I was wondering about the good of the war. He didn’t like what I was thinking and he got mad at me.

FREDRICK:

He was just trying to protect you… those kinds of thoughts can be dangerous.

ANNELISE:

I know… it was just a thought.

FREDRICK:

Well, maybe keep those thoughts in your head from now on. Or write them down in that diary.

ANNELISE:

You’re not supposed to know about my journal!

FREDRICK:

Sophie told me about it. Don’t worry, I haven’t read your diary.

ANNELISE:

Journal.

FREDRICK:

Whatever it is. I promise I won’t tell Mother and Father. I’m going to check on Viktor. Sophie! (Enter SOPHIE.) Why don’t you take care of your big sister?

SOPHIE:

Okay! (Exit FREDRICK.) Are you okay, Annie?

ANNELISE:

Yes.

SOPHIE:

See, this is why you should hang out with me more. All I ever want to do is play. They don’t want to do that. There are all sorts of things wrong with them.

(Flashback.) YOUNG ADELE:

Annelise, let’s go get raisin cookies!

YOUNG SARAH:

From the bakery with the purple sign!

YOUNG ADELE:

Annelise, what are you doing?

YOUNG SARAH:

Annie, listen to us!

BOTH GIRLS:

Annelise, come play with us! Annie! Annie!

YOUNG SARAH, YOUNG ADELE, and SOPHIE:

Annie!

ANNELISE:

STOP! (Young girls scatter, end of flashback. Annelise continues talking to YOUNG SARAH and YOUNG ADELE.) I don’t want to hear it anymore!

SOPHIE:

What?

ANNELISE:

(ANNELISE realizes that SOPHIE is still there.) Just be quiet, Sophie. You don’t understand anything! When will you understand that I can’t play with you?

(ANNELISE rushes offstage, SOPHIE stays and cries. Enter VIKTOR.) VIKTOR:

Annie, I didn’t mean to—Oh. Sophie. Do you know where Annelise is?

SOPHIE:

No. What were you fighting about?

VIKTOR:

Oh, just some things she was thinking.

SOPHIE:

Oh, she writes everything she thinks in her new diary. I’m not allowed to touch it… but maybe you can! It’s right over there! Bye, Viktor.

(SOPHIE skips offstage. VIKTOR opens journal and begins reading, blackout.)

SCENE NINE (Lights up on ADELE’s house. Knocking at the door. ANNELISE enters in a hurry.) ADELE:

Why are you here, Annelise?

ANNELISE:

I need to know if we can be friends, or if this is all just a huge waste of time.

ADELE:

There are things more serious than your petty worries happening right now. I’m sorry but you should probably leave.

ANNELISE:

I’m just trying to figure out what’s right.

ADELE:

I thought you followed whatever your parents told you. Your Fuhrer’s rules.

ANNELISE:

I did, I mean I do, I don’t know. Everything just seems so… wrong.

ADELE:

You don’t have to tell me that.

ANNELISE:

Maybe I should just go to the party tonight and stop all of this foolishness.

ADELE:

Maybe you should! If you are not sure, I’d rather you weren’t here right now.

ANNELISE:

Everything feels wrong. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to make it better.

ADELE:

You were always the one who would want a happy ending when we played. You would make the good guys win when we played war.

ANNELISE:

I just want to go back to when war was just a game.

ADELE:

It’s not that simple. We will always be fighting, just not on the battlefields.

(Enter SARAH.) SARAH:

Adele, my head hurts.

ADELE:

(Feeling SARAH’s forehead.) You have a fever again.

(ANNELISE reaches toward SARAH’s teddy bear, ADELE pushes her back.) ANNELISE:

Where’d you get that teddy bear?

SARAH:

I don’t know, somebody… gave it to me when I was a kid.

ANNELISE:

I think I did.

SARAH:

No you couldn’t, I don’t know you.

ANNELISE:

I have exactly the same one in my room. I know it’s you, Sarah.

ADELE:

No, this is—

ANNELISE:

Stop! I’m tired of this game.

ADELE:

(Realizing there’s no point trying to hide it anymore.) I remember, it was your sixth birthday.

SARAH:

How come I don’t remember?

ADELE:

Because you didn’t want to.

ANNELISE:

What changed? We used to be best friends.

ADELE:

You changed.

SARAH:

You didn’t want to play with me anymore.

ANNELISE:

I wasn’t allowed.

ADELE:

That’s a lie!

SARAH:

Adele…

ADELE:

No! You played with us every day, shared secrets. One day your parents say you can’t see us anymore and you abandon your best friends. I’m hiding her in my attic. We didn’t change. We’re still friends and you just walk in here and ask what changed? You did! We were like sisters. We had sleepovers, we did everything together. Now you treat me like scum! Look at Sarah! She’s not the strong little girl she used to be. And you ask me what I did? What did you do, Annelise? You left. How can we forgive you? You’ve changed.

ANNELISE:

How was I supposed to know what was right and what was wrong? Was I supposed to disobey my family because I wanted to play with my friends? You try not changing when your entire family is changing. I was ten! You expect me to know what was going to happen; I still don’t know! I couldn’t have made that decision.

ADELE:

Where’s your loyalty? To Hitler? Don’t you know what he’s done? Don’t you see?

ANNELISE:

No! (Begins to cry.) I see.

ADELE:

Don’t they teach you to be tough at that little club of yours? I thought pretty girls didn’t cry.

SARAH:

I remember… (SARAH steps in between ADELE and ANNELISE as a barrier, they both turn away.) It was my sixth birthday. All I wanted was a teddy bear. And you gave me one. The exact same one that you had. I blocked it out because I didn’t want to remember. Because it hurt when you left us. The world is at war, but we don’t have to be at war with each other. You said it yourself, things can change again. For the better.

ADELE:

Sarah, don’t say that! You are putting us all in danger.

GRETEL:

(Offstage) Adele! I am home!

ANNELISE:

I have to go. (Exit ANNELISE.)

SCENE TEN (ANNELISE enters to see her journal out of place, VIKTOR enters behind her.) VIKTOR:

There you are Annelise!

ANNELISE:

Viktor… Were you reading my journal?

VIKTOR:

(Taking book from ANNELISE.) What are you doing writing these things?

ANNELISE:

(Lunging for book.) You have no right! (Lunges and misses again.) Give it back!

VIKTOR:

Are you keeping secrets?

ANNELISE:

(Grabs journal.) Of course not. Go away!

VIKTOR:

Who put these thoughts in your head?

ANNELISE:

I said go away!

VIKTOR:

Don’t act like this!

ANNELISE:

You always tell me what I should do or how I should act. I’m sick of it!

VIKTOR:

I am helping you to follow the rules.

ANNELISE:

I can follow the rules myself, thank you very much.

VIKTOR:

Yes, your diary sure proves that. This is not how a lady should act.

ANNELISE:

This is not how a gentleman should treat a lady.

VIKTOR:

Oh, really now?

(VIKTOR pulls ANNELISE to him in a suggestive way.)

ANNELISE:

No! (Frees herself.) I am going for a walk.

VIKTOR:

No you are not! (Grabs her arm.)

ANNELISE:

Let go of me! (VIKTOR slaps her, ANNELISE falls.)

VIKTOR:

You will put an end to this nonsense, or I will make you.

ANNELISE:

Viktor, please! Stop, Viktor!

VIKTOR:

Ladies do not beg. (Exit VIKTOR. Enter FREDRICK. )

FREDRICK:

Annie! Are you okay? What happened? Viktor is in a rage. He is going to tell Father something.

ANNELISE:

(Stands.) Father?

FREDRICK:

What happened to your face?

ANNELISE:

It’s nothing. I just–

FREDRICK:

Did he hurt you?

ANNELISE:

No, I–

(Enter LIEUTENANT.) LIEUTENANT:

(Salutes.) Fredrick.

FREDRICK:

(Salutes.) Sir.

LIEUTENANT:

Your father needs you in his office. A routine street sweep will begin in fifteen minutes.

FREDRICK:

I will be right there, sir. (Exit LIEUTENANT.) I might get to go on a street sweep! Stay here, Annelise, we will talk when I get back. (Exit FREDRICK.)

ANNELISE:

Street sweep? (Exit ANNELISE hurriedly, blackout.)

SCENE ELEVEN (Lights up on SARAH sleeping.) ADELE:

Sarah?

(Enter ADELE.) ADELE:

Sarah? Sarah!

SARAH:

Oh, it’s you, Adele. (Sits up.)

ADELE:

I came to read you some of the story. I thought that might make you feel better.

SARAH:

Thank you.

(ADELE pulls out a book. She starts reading. SARAH listens intently. Noises heard offstage. ADELE speaks louder as she notices SARAH getting worried.) SARAH:

Adele, what is that? Adele!

(Enter ANNELISE.) ANNELISE:

Adele! Sarah! You have to get out of here!

ADELE:

Annelise, how did you find us up here?

ANNELISE:

There is no time for questions, the Nazis are coming. Your mother is downstairs getting ready. You need to leave.

ADELE:

I don’t believe you.

ANNELISE:

There is a street sweep underway, Adele. They are checking all the houses in your neighbourhood.

ADELE:

You told them!

ANNELISE:

No I didn’t.

ADELE:

Then how do they know?

ANNELISE:

Adele! It is just a random street sweep. No reason except for the cleansing of–(Noticing SARAH.) No reason.

ADELE:

You betrayed us! How could you do this again?!

ANNELISE:

What do you need me to say? That I’m sorry? You know I didn’t choose this. I was just a kid when all this started, this is how I have been raised. We’re all still kids.

ADELE:

Still kids, playing war.

ANNELISE:

Now come on, you really need to get moving! Your mother is packing.

(Exit ADELE. SARAH looks at her teddy and hands it to ANNELISE.) SARAH:

Here, take it.

ANNELISE:

I couldn’t.

SARAH:

I won’t be able to take it! It gives me hope. Remember me, I’ll never forget you.

ANNELISE:

You will be able to take it, I am getting you out of here.

(Scream is heard.) ANNELISE AND SARAH:

Adele!! (SARAH runs towards sounds, ANNELISE tries to stop her and fails, then follows. ADELE and GRETEL enter with Nazis holding them. SARAH freezes.)

LIEUTENANT:

(To GRETEL.) Who are these people? Are they Jews? ANSWER ME! (Pushes GRETEL to the floor.)

GRETEL:

These are my children.

NAZI #2:

The blonde too? I’m sure. Do you have identification papers? (GRETEL looks defeated, LIEUTENANT pulls out gun.)

ANNELISE:

Let them go! They have done nothing wrong. (Pulls out her identification papers.)

NAZI #1:

And who are you to give orders like that, little girl?

ANNELISE:

My father is Captain Fitzenburg.

NAZI #2:

(Tosses papers.) Likely story. The Captain’s daughter would not get caught up with this load. You are just a child stuck with a bunch of Jews. A pretty child, but a child nonetheless.

NAZI #1:

She is a pretty one, isn’t she?

NAZI #2:

With those blue eyes and blonde hair… It’s a shame she’s a Jew sympathizer. (ANNELISE motions for SARAH to leave.)

LIEUTENANT:

Hey you! You there, where do you think you’re going? (SARAH keeps going.) Stop! (Pulls out his gun as NAZI #1 holds back ADELE.) I said stop, you pig!

ANNELISE:

No! (Runs toward SARAH and pulls her offstage.)

(Blackout. Three shots heard. Little girls sing. Lights up on doors.) ADELE:

They say there are six degrees of separation between every person. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

(Numbers 1 and 2, lights fade to black on SARAH’s door, on numbers 3 and 4, lights fade to black on ANNELISE’s door, on numbers 5 and 6, lights fade to 10% on ADELE’s door.) (Blackout.)

TRIGGER FINGER

St. Benedict TEACHER: Angela Hodgins SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

James MacNeil UNIT: Sudbury Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dan Charbonneau by

ALEXANDRE SÉNÉCHAL

he crisp cool breeze of the autumn air filled my lungs. The branchy, lanky trees swayed to and fro, their dead, multicoloured leaves dancing in the wind like honeybees as they descended to the muddy forest floor. Away from the smoggy pollution of the city, the blue sky was filled with the sounds of wildlife and Mother Nature herself, seamlessly melding together to create an orchestra of sounds on a grand scale that I could only admire. Amidst this marvel of nature in the Northern Boreal Forest of Ontario lay my former self, bearing an instrument which could bring any tune nature has to offer to a grinding halt. I leaped into the forest canopy alongside my father, trusting and loving as always. I was carrying my heavy twelve gauge shotgun, weary from use yet eager to be exploited once more. It rested in my clumsy, gritty hands, waiting for its next prey. It stood several feet from me on the ground, its glassy eyes looking onward as if oblivious to my presence. While the loaded barrel of my gun was pointed directly at its brown feathered head, my father watched in the background with his gun poised should I fail to shoot our prey successfully. With a simple pull of the trigger, the partridge’s feathers became caked with crimson blood, and were sent flying, raining down on the foliage like confetti. The sound of the shot echoed in my ears and sent a jostling push through my shoulder. As the smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils and the ejection of smoke vacated the gun, I observed the carnage that the once-beautiful grouse had become, and I was filled with a sickening knowledge of what must follow.

In my family, tradition holds that you must clean whatever prey you kill. A sickening feeling filled my stomach as, with a pitiful glance down at the mangled and bloody corpse, I pinned the creatureâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s legs down on the ground with my feet and began to pull on its legs, severing its feathers from its flesh and exposing its innards. Though I was not the one receiving this cruelty, it was as if in some way I was, for as I pulled at the grouseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s innards and removed its entrails, it was as though my very being was subjected to the torture. At this moment, my childlike qualities were forcibly ripped from my own body, leaving behind only a hollow shell of roughness, pity and pain. When the work was done, I rose to my feet, no longer the same person. I stared down at the blood on my hands and was disheartened by the loss of life before me. Meanwhile, my father praised me for my marksmanship and newfound manhood. Satisfied that its task had been fulfilled, I picked up my gun, my spoil of fresh bird meat, and continued on, a changed person. In planning for this trip, my father had taken the day off from work so that he could go hunting alone with his eldest son for the first time. Though I had attempted to get some sleep during our ride to the hunting grounds, I found myself incapable of doing so. This was due to my absurd excitement over the prospect of killing something in an attempt to prove to my father how grown up, independent and tough I had become. I was unaware, then, of how this experience would change me. Arriving at the hunting grounds, we unpacked and loaded our guns, put on our orange clothing, and headed out into the forest trails, stalking our prey. Initially, I roamed freely and nonchalantly, savouring the senses of the forest, before becoming more vigilant and on guard for any bird that could have crossed our path. After a few hours of searching, the bounty of the forest was finally revealed to us in the form of a ruffled grouse with a slick and slender face, an ambling body and short black tail feathers. My father spotted it and told me to take up my arm and prepare to shoot. I pointed the long barrel of my gun at the bird and waited for the precise moment to fire. At this point, my thoughts began to swim and my emotions ran rampant, originally wanting to kill the bird, but then taking pity on it. Uncertainty building within me, I tried to decipher the consequences of my pulling the trigger. However, I did not comprehend the magnitude of how such a simple task could have such a profound impact on me as quickly as it did. I suppose that like much in life, at the moment something happens, we do not understand the gravity of the things we do and how deep their results can dig into our lives. It is only with hindsight that we realize that the delicacy of events and how they play

out are due to our actions and choices, and that we must accept them. After we pull the trigger on the guns of the most memorable moments of our lives, we must be willing to take the bullets that are produced by them, and keep moving forward. After setting the sights of my gun on the bird and initiating my own emotional conundrum, I looked back at my father. He was grinning at me with a gleam in his eye that could only be read as a sign of how excited, proud, and desperate he was for me to carry on. So right then and there, I attempted to fight my fear of killing the bird and steeled myself so that I might fulfill my task. I looked straight at the bird, and with a look of hate mixed with a tinge of regret, firmly planted my feet into the loose soil, and pulled the trigger.

PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS 2013

U N E S ÉCRI

THORS A W

DS •

W THORS A

•

U N E S ÉCRI

J’AIME

SCHOOL:

Our Lady of Mount Carmel TEACHER: Allyson Adams

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Allyson Adams UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Bob Giasson by

S O P H I E L AT H A M

J’aime Papa. J’aime Maman. J’aime la pizza. J’aime le papillon. J’aime le Pepsi. J’aime Larlas. J’aime le biscuit. J’aime le soleil.

UN INUKSHUK

Jean Vanier TEACHER: Linda Cinelli SCHOOL:

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald by

EMMA SMITH

Un Inukshuk

Une personne

Debout

un visage

se sent triste

aider

Un Inukshuk reste debout pour aider avec les directions.

Mes parents

GRENOUILLES

St. Joseph Catholic French Immersion Centre TEACHER: Michelle Green

SCHOOL:

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Andrée Coutu UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence by

STEPHANIE ROSE ZAHORODNY SMITH

J’ai deux grenouilles. Elles sont vertes. Elles nagent. Elles sautent. Elles sont petites.

J AC K F R O S T E E T L E L É M U R I E N

Our Lady of Peace TEACHER: Solina Panza-Di Girolamo SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Sandra Gersondé UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

E L I Z A B E T H VA S S Y LY E V

Il était une fois un chien et un garçon qui ont trouvé un animal. Il veut l’animal. « Ô je peux raconter une histoire. » Partout, partout, il y a des différents oiseaux bleus et jaunes. Ils chantent, « Ti, ti, ti. » « Oh bonjour, je m’appelle Jack Froste a a a…Biscuit ô, c’est mon chien Biscuit. Toutes les personnes disent ‘Pourquoi j’ai ce bâton?’ C’est très facile. Si je touche quelque chose cette chose se transforme en stalactite. Oh non, ne fais pas ça encore! Oh non, aaa… Tu es un drôle de chien. Tu es gelé. Où vas-tu, Biscuit? Qu’est-ce que c’est? » « Rafe, rafe. » Biscuit va regarder qui est là. « Rafe, rafe. » « Okay, je vais trouver ces animaux. » Un animal se cache dans la forêt. C’est la nuit et mes amis viennent. Voilà je vois les lucioles mais ils ne bougent pas. Je vais regarder. Biscuit vient et il trouve un lémurien dans notre jungle. Mais qu’est-ce qu’il fait ici? Maintenant c’est l’hiver. Je veux voir où il va. Je veux qu’il vienne avec moi. « Je veux donner à tout le monde des biscuits » dit Jack, mais il a peur. Le lémurien fait un son, « Di, di, di » quand il voit les petits biscuits. Il s’arrête de jouer avec les lucioles et les petites lucioles fait un chemin qui brille. Le lémurien va avec Jack. Après il arrive à la maison et il ne veut pas donner les biscuits au lémurien. Il mange les biscuits et le lémurien pense que Jack est un biscuit. Il commence à jouer avec Jack. Le garçon crie, « Au secours! » Le chien court après le garçon.

Biscuit et Jack courent dans la maison et ils prennent un biscuit et le donne au lémurien. Le lémurien mange et il dort dans l’arbre. Jack et le chien ne bougent pas. Le garçon se lève mais il ne voit pas le lémurien. Il a très peur. Il pense qu’il a perdu son ami pour toujours. Il veut trouver le lémurien. Il court et court et il voit un bateau avec une personne qui rit et dit, « Tu veux être dans le zoo? » Mais le lémurien est triste. Il ne sait pas quoi faire. Jack Froste court sur l’eau et il saute sur le bateau. Jack dit « Arrête le bateau. » Mais il n’arrête pas. Il dit: « Bon week-end. » Il touche le bâton et le garçon tombe dans le trou. Le garçon trouve le lémurien et ses amies les lucioles qui sont tous tristes. Après quand ils voient les autres animaux, ils disent: « Je veux trouver comment nous allons à notre maison. » Le lémurien voit la lune et il dit: « Aide-nous, Madame Lune. » La lune dit: « Oui, mon ami, Monsieur Soleil, sait faire de la chaleur et de la lumière. » La personne dans le bateau qui ne s’arrête pas, il a chaud. Il va sur la plage et Jack Froste ouvre la porte des animaux et la porte du bateau et les animaux courent et courent. Jack Froste et son chien voient le lémurien qui court vers eux. Jack dit: « Je veux être ton ami pour toujours. » Après deux semaines, le lémurien commence à parler, jouer, danser, et faire le déjeuner. Ils vivent tous heureux. La fin.

LE LUTIN

Immaculate Conception TEACHER: Giovanna Giuliano

SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Frank Malony UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

N I C H O L A S F R A N C E S C O K A R A N TA K I S

Il y a un lutin qui habite dans un moulin. Il va dans un avion et mange des bonbons. Il achĂ¨te une chauve-souris qui mange des fruits. Il voit un magicien qui se transforme en chien. Le chien voyage dans un bateau et fait un beau dodo. Bonne Nuit.

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L E F E S T I VA L D E S TO M AT E S

Our Lady of Peace TEACHER: Maria-Teresa Ortiz SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Sandra Gersondé UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

EMMA ACCARDI

La célébration Ma famille célèbre le festival des tomates à la fin d’aout ou au début de septembre. Pendant cette célébration nous faisons de la sauce tomate pour toute l’année. La Recette Nous faisons la sauce tomate avec deux ingrédients: 1. Des morceaux de tomates mûres 2. Un morceau de basilic frais Les tomates sont cultivées à la ferme. Mon grand-père cultive le basilic dans son jardin. Les outils Nous n’avons pas de décorations pour cette célébration. Au lieu, nous avons besoin des outils pour faire la sauce. Nous utilisons: Des bocaux Des couvercles Des grands paniers

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Des seaux Une cuillère Un couteau De l’eau Une grande marmite Les activités spéciales La première chose pour le festival des tomates c’est d’acheter les tomates à la ferme. Quand les tomates sont mûres nous lavons les tomates dans les seaux. Même les enfants peuvent aider. Puis les adultes découpent les tomates. C’est mon travail de mettre les morceaux dans les bocaux. Nous mettons les couvercles et en suite nous mettons les bocaux dans la grande marmite pour cuisiner. La musique Nous écoutons la musique italienne que mon grand-père aime. Les vêtements Pendant le festival des tomates on porte les vieux vêtements d’été avec un tablier. Je suis content. J’aime manger les pates avec la sauce! La fin.

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MON BÉBÉ MONSTRE

St. Joseph, Aurora TEACHER: Kathleen Baldwin SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

James Donaldson UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

MORGAN GIAMOV

l était une fois un bébé monstre qui s’appelait Jasper. Jasper aimait jouer, mais ne pas aller au lit. Un jour, Jasper regardait par la fenêtre et a vu la neige qui tombait. « LA NEIGE! » il a crié après sa mère. Malheureusement, elle ne le croyait pas. Jasper est parti de la maison dès que possible. Il a fait ses valises mais tout ce qu’il avait dedans était… DES BONBONS!! Il y avait un grand arbre près de la fenêtre de la chambre de Jasper qui était plein d’écureuils. Les écureuils sont rentrés par la fenêtre et ont mangé tous ses bonbons! Donc, Jasper a décidé d’aller au restaurant pour manger un grand repas de spaghetti. Cependant, il n’avait pas assez d’argent pour payer le facture de son repas alors le patron du restaurant l’a mit à la porte. Pendant ce temps, Jasper a vue une voiture avec un panneau qui disait Lavage de Voiture Gratuit! Mais une partie de l’affiche était couvert alors il pensait que ça disait Voiture Gratuit! Alors, il a pris la voiture et l’a conduit aussi vite qu’il pouvait. Cependant, les policiers lui ont arrêté en faisant un excès de 50 km/h et quand les policiers lui ont demandé son permis de conduire il n’en avait pas pour les montrer.

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Il a commencé à se promener à la maison quand il a vu une affiche pour des leçons de guitare. Alors tout de suite, il s’est inscris pour les leçons. À la première leçon quand il jouait à la guitare, devinez ce qui est arrivé? Il a gratté les cordes de la guitare si forte qu’il les a brisées! Il était triste car il ne pouvait plus jouer à la guitare. Donc, il est retourné chez lui. Il a continué de marcher jusqu’à ce qu’il est finalement arrivé chez lui. En voyant le visage de sa mère, Jasper était heureux. La Fin!

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L’ É C O L E

St. Margaret of Scotland TEACHER: Carmelina Salituro

SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Lucy Cavar UNIT: Dufferin-Peel Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: David Dolan by

MARIELLE GOROSPE MERCADO

L’école est difficile, elle est difficile à cause de la science. La science est difficile, elle est difficile à cause des testes de science. Voilà pourquoi l’école est difficile. L’école est où tu apprends les choses, tu apprends l’art. Tu peux dessiner et être créatif. Voilà pourquoi j’aime l’école. L’école est difficile, c’est difficile à cause de la danse. Tu dois apprendre les étapes et les souvenir. Voilà pourquoi l’école est difficile. L’école est amusante. C’est amusant parce que tu peux jouer, apprendre les choses, et voir tes amis. Vous pouvez aussi aller visiter le terrain. Voilà pourquoi l’école est amusante et difficile en même temps.

105

UN RENARD, UN PUMA

Jean Vanier TEACHER: Dominique Martin SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald by

K AT E S U N - H E E K I M

D’abord, le renard est orange alors que le puma est brun. Puis, le renard est la même taille que le puma. Après, le renard est dans la famille des chiens et le puma est dans la famille des chats. Aussi, le renard mange des petites grenouilles et il mange des petits animaux, alors que le puma mange des chevreuils, des oiseaux et d’autres animaux. Finalement, le renard ressemble à un chien alors que le puma ressemble à un chat.

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L A V I E D ’ U N C A S I E R DA N S U N E É C O L E S E C O N DA I R E

SCHOOL:

Canadian Martyrs TEACHER: Hilde Acx

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Michael U’Ren UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy by

MIEKE WILKINSON

e m’appelle Georges. Je suis un casier dans l’école Mille Crayons. C’est le mois de septembre. Cette année je vais avoir un nouvel élève parce que mon élève Pierre est parti à l’Université.

J’espère que mon nouvel élève ne sera pas pire que Pierre. Tu ne connais pas Pierre? Il était tellement organisé. Il mettait toujours beaucoup de livres sur mes étagères. Il me donnait un mal de tête parce qu’il nettoyait tout le temps. J’ai des allergies! C’est le premier jour de l’école. Voilà Robert, c’est mon nouvel élève. Il est grand et fort, et il a les cheveux bruns et raides. Il à les yeux brun foncé et il a un sourire de toutes ses dents. Il port un chandail de football américain parce qu’il est un défendeur de son équipe de football. Ah, Robert retourne de sa classe d’éducation physique. Dès qu’il ouvre ma porte, je sens la mauvaise odeur des chaussettes et des vêtements plein de sueur. Oh, qu’est-ce qu’il fait? Il lance ses choses sales sur mes étagères. Je vais vomir. Ça pue! Attends, ce n’est pas tout, ça devient pire! Robert ouvre son sac à lunch et qu’est-ce que je sens? C’est l’odeur d’un sandwich qui est resté dans son sac pour une semaine déjà. Au secours! Je pense que Robert ne sais pas que moi, je ne peux pas prendre une douche.

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Deux mois après, je suis plein à hauteur de taille avec ce qui a l’air d’un tas de choses qui a besoin d’un bon désodorisant, comme Febreeze. (Soupire) Combien de mois jusqu’à la fin de l’école? J’aime le concierge parce qu’il me nettoie avec du citron et de l’eau. Je rêve d’une belle fille qui ne va pas me donner des allergies et qui me laisserait respirer. J’espère que vous allez prendre soin de vos casiers! Merci bien de votre attention!

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LES DINOSAURES

Good Shepherd TEACHER: Ghislaine LaflècheTrépanier SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Kim Hopkins UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Elaine McMahon by

K E V I N WA N

Je vois un dinosaure immense. C’est un herbivore, je pense. Je le suis à son abri. C’est une grosse forêt avec ses amis. Après, je vois des œufs, Ils sont gros comme un petit bœuf. Maintenant, j’entends un gros bruit. Les carnivores s’attaquent à lui. Ils bougent, ils mordent, ils sautent, Ce n’est pas leurs fautes. Ils le mangent pour leur survie. C’est comme une mélancolie. Les herbivores vont courir, C’est un temps pour rire. Les carnivores vont venir. J’ai maintenant beaucoup de pitié Car les herbivores seront tués. Un jour, tout le monde sera mort, Même les gens qui sont forts. Je viens avec les carnivores, Et tout le monde a peur, mais ils ont tort. Ils viennent très proche de mon corps. Je vois que c’est ma mère Et l’autre est son père. Je vois une chose dans le ciel. Cela ressemble à un nuage de sitelles.

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LA MUSIQUE

Good Shepherd TEACHER: Ghislaine LaflècheTrépanier SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Kim Hopkins UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Elaine McMahon by

MAGGIE WOODS

a musique inspire des millions de personnes tous les jours. Il y a beaucoup de différents genres de musique : le rock, le country, le pop, et le hip hop. Beaucoup d’enfants et adolescents d’aujourd’hui aiment beaucoup la musique très forte avec un rythme très rapide comme le rap. J’aime beaucoup la musique country, le rock, le pop, les nouvelles et les vieilles chansons. Mes chanteurs et mes groupes favoris sont les Beatles, Ed Sherran, One Direction, Regina Spector et F.U.N. La musique t’aide quand tu as un mauvais jour et quand tu es triste. Elle te rend contente et te donne de l’énergie. Dans les chansons, tu peux reconnaitre différentes émotions comme l’excitation, la surprise et aussi la tristesse. Le rythme me fait danser et j’aime écouter les mots, les messages transmis dans ces certaines chansons. La musique change beaucoup avec le temps qui passe. Au début dans les années cinquante, le rock and roll était très simple et doux mais maintenant le rock est très fort et dur. Maintenant nous avons le rap, qui est un type de musique qui ressemble un peu au hip hop. On y retrouve le même rythme. La musique c’est une chose que tu ne peux pas expliquer car c’est incroyable et cela c’est exactement pourquoi elle me passionne. La musique est une grosse partie de ma vie. Depuis que je suis petite tout ce que mes oreilles entendent c’est la musique. Tous les jours j’écoute de la musique et je chante juste pour le plaisir parce que c’est divertissant. Je pense que je ne veux jamais vivre sans la musique car mon monde serait trop différent.

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L E C O L L I E R M AG I Q U E

St. Joseph, Guelph TEACHER: Ed McAnany

SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Traci Coulas-Gaca UNIT: Wellington UNIT PRESIDENT: Jim Whitechurch by

ANDREA I. MONTEALEGRE

ne nuit, il y a très longtemps, dans un petit village, une fille s’assoit dans sa petite chambre à coucher après un long jour de travail, au château du Roi Edwin d’Arithia. Elle regarde ses longs cheveux bruns, laids sur sa tête, et son gros corps. Elle porte un vieux t-shirt. Les gens n’aiment pas cette fille parce qu’elle est laide. Elle est très triste mais elle a un grand cœur. Elle ne sait pas qu’elle est belle à l’intérieur. Elle pense: « Pourquoi est-ce que je ne suis pas belle? Pourquoi est-ce que ma vie est comme ça? » Mais, deux jours plus tard, tout a changé! Voici l’histoire d’une petite fille, grosse et laide, qui s’appelle Étoile. Étoile habite dans une petite maison dans le village d’Arithia, avec son père, George, et son frère, Pierre. Sa mère, qui s’appelait Luna, avait été mystérieusement assassinée quand Étoile était petite enfant. Mais, ça c’est pour une autre histoire. Le village d’Arithia est situé près d’une grande forêt, au pied d’une montagne dans un pays lointain. Une déesse nommée Arithina habite dans le ciel près de la montagne. Elle est une légende dans le village. Elle a le pouvoir de transformer une personne ordinaire, sinon laide, en une personne de grâce et d’intelligence. Mais, ce n’est pas Arithina à qui Étoile pense ce soir, elle pense plutôt à sa famille. Depuis la mort de sa mère, son père est malade et ne peut pas travailler, et tout va très mal pour la famille. C’est un après-midi triste et sombre d’automne, quand le père d’Étoile informe Étoile et son frère qu’ils n’ont pas de nourriture. Étoile a besoin de travailler pour aider son père et son petit frère. Ils ont faim. Mais qu’estce qu’elle peut faire? La nuit arrivée, elle part de la maison. Elle décide d’aller au village. Elle cherche de la nourriture dans le village. Elle cherche et cherche pour quelqu’un gentil qui peut lui donner de la nourriture pour sa famille. Mais personne ne veut l’aider. « Pourquoi est-ce que je voudrais donner du pain à une personne laide, comme toi?

111

» les gens disent. Elle continue d’être très triste. Étoile crie: « Ma famille n’a pas de nourriture parce que je suis laide?! » Étoile décide de retourner à la maison. Mais elle ne sait pas qu’elle marche dans la mauvaise direction. Elle ne sait pas où elle va. Elle se trouve dans une rue mystérieuse. Elle est perdue. Elle panique et commence à courir, elle court très vite. Elle ne sait pas où elle va. Elle ne regarde pas où elle va. Tout à coup, elle frappe contre quelqu’un! C’est une fille. Elle a des cheveux brillants et c’est la nuit…est-ce possible? La personne porte une robe magnifique, toute blanche, avec des fleurs et des rubans. Étoile pense: « Est-ce que c’est vraiment elle? C’est de la folie… c’est impossible… » Mais, c’est vrai: elle est dans la présence de la Déesse Arithina. Arithina regarde Étoile dans les yeux. Tout à coup, elle monte au ciel! Mais elle oublie son collier. Étoile prend le collier et crie: « Arithina, tu as oublié ton collier! Retourne ici! » Mais Arithina ne répond pas. Le collier est lumineux. « Peut-être c’est magique? » pense-t-elle. Il est magnifique. Quelque chose dans le collier force Étoile à le porter. Elle place le collier sur son cou. Le collier aide Étoile à retourner à sa petite maison. Instantanément, le collier donne à Étoile de l’intelligence et elle trouve la rue de sa maison. Quand elle arrive, elle trouve la maison plus grande! « Qu’est-ce qui se passe? Est-ce que c’est à cause du collier? » Étoile est très fatiguée donc elle va a sa petite chambre à coucher, mais elle trouve sa chambre plus grande aussi! Elle s’endort très vite. Le lendemain matin, elle se réveille. Elle touche le collier avec sa main. Elle se lève et regarde sa réflexion dans le miroir. Son gros corps est devenu délicat comme une princesse. Le collier a transformé Étoile, car elle est belle maintenant! Maintenant elle est belle à l’extérieur, et à l’intérieur. Étoile va au château du Roi d’Arithia pour travailler. Les princes, qui s’appellent Harry, Louis, Liam, Nial et Zayn, voient Étoile et demandent: « Qui est tu? » « Je suis Étoile, » elle dit, confuse. Ils sont surpris de voir comme elle est belle. « Tu n’es pas Étoile, parce qu’elle est trop laide! » rient Louis, Liam, Nial et Zayn. « Mais si, c’est moi! » Elle enlève le collier. Les princes sont étonnés que sa beauté ait disparu. Sauf pour Harry! Il continue de la trouver belle, non parce qu’elle est belle à l’extérieur mais parce qu’elle est toujours belle à l’intérieur. …. Deux mois plus tard, Étoile épouse le Prince Harry et elle est devenue la plus belle princesse d’Arithia. Étoile ne porte plus le collier parce qu’elle se rend conte qu’elle n’en a pas besoin. Depuis ce temps, la famille d’Étoile n’a plus faim. …. La morale de cette histoire est : « L’habit ne fait pas le moine! » ou « Ce n’est pas important comment vous êtes à l’extérieur, mais ce que vous êtes à l’intérieur, ça, c’est ce qui est important. » Cette histoire est à suivre…

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U N E F I L L E Q U I E S T… M O I !

St. Joseph Catholic French Immersion Centre TEACHER: Nathalie McDermott SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Andrée Coutu UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence by

A LY S O N A L L E N

Moi, une fille abracadabrante comme une étoile filante. Laquelle a une famille nucléaire qui ne doit pas se faire dire de se taire. Un chien qui est un chat, il grimpe partout et a un penchant pour les bas. Père et mère, formidablement fiers et extraordinaires. Puis mon frère en dernier, semblant à un chien qui a bu trop d’eau Perrier.

Moi, une fille avec excessivement de passe-temps, c’est même rendu hallucinant. Écouter de la musique mélodique tous les jours et nuits, sans faire aucun autre bruit. Ou lire des romans de tous les genres, ceux-là les plus brindezingues et multicolores. Même voyager est inclus jusqu’aux endroits les plus audacieux. En définitive, faire de la bicyclette, du camping et du ski sont aussi les meilleurs passe-temps d’aujourd’hui.

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Moi, une fille avec des apparences physiques qui sont seulement uniques. Des lunettes mauves fabuleuses, donc pourquoi être chialeuse? Les dents droites après avoir eu des broches pour des années, qui ressemblent également à un simple morceau de papier. Les cheveux châtains et efféminés, en train de s’allonger, lequel prend une éternité. À une grandeur de seulement cinq pieds et un, on n’a donc presque rien en commun.

Moi, une fille avec plusieurs qualités, c’est même dur de connaître juste la moitié. En premier, étant bilingue, on peut me considérer intelligent, pour se rendre là, il a fallu être naturellement patient. Puis, la créativité que mon cerveau peut réellement produire est si unique que c’est dur de le faire fuir. D’autres qualités peuvent être reconnues, si vous me connaissez, c’est juste comme ça qu’elles sont obtenues.

Moi, une fille vraiment pas ordinaire, c’est probablement les effets de tous les téléphones cellulaires. Je suis une fille, une fille qui est moi. Une fille fascinante, et c’est sûr, je ne suis pas comme toi!

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L A TÂC H E F I N A L E

St. Mary TEACHER: Jill Mercer SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Play

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Heather Elsie UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Richard Brock

JOHNNY DELISIMUNOVIC, ZACKERY MARTINS, A N G E L I C A S I N G H , and E V A N J A M E S S Q U I R E

LE GUIDE:

Bonjour tout le monde! Je suis votre guide pour le tour de la grotte de Saint-Elzéar, et mon nom est Angelica. J’espère que vous apprécierez la beauté naturelle de ces cavernes!

ZACK, JOHNNY, et EVAN:

Bonjour, Angelica.

ANGELICA:

Pour la sécurité, vous devez assurer votre équipement. Assurez-vous que vous avez un casque protecteur avec une lampe, des gants, des vêtements chauds, de bonnes bottes, et une combinaison imperméable. Allumez votre écouteur–vous devez m’entendre.

EVAN:

Pourquoi est-ce qu’on a des écouteurs?

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ANGELICA:

Si vous êtes perdu, je peux vous guider vers l’entrée ou vers le groupe.

JOHNNY:

Alors, si je pousse Zack dans cette rivière…

ANGELICA:

Ne faites pas ça! Il peut mourir.

JOHNNY:

Whoops.

ANGELICA:

Est-ce que vous avez vérifié tout l’équipement? Mettez les casques protecteurs, allumez les lampes, et on y va!

Après vingt minutes… EVAN:

Qu’est-ce que c’est, ce puits ici?

ANGELICA:

N’allez pas vers ça! C’est trop dangereux!

EVAN:

Aaaaaah!

ZACK:

On non! Evan, ça va?

EVAN:

Ça va, mais je pense que je suis tombé sur ma lampe!

ANGELICA:

Où êtes-vous? Qu’est-ce que vous voyez dans cette galerie?

EVAN:

Je ne peux pas voir beaucoup, il y a beaucoup de glace.

JOHNNY:

Entendez-vous des chauves-souris?

EVAN:

Non! Mais c’est très froid dans cette salle–je peux voir mon haleine!

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ANGELICA:

Je pense que tu es dans la salle de glace! Maintenant voyez-vous la raison pour les écouteurs?

ZACK:

Ça c’est vrai!

EVAN:

Oui, oui, je comprends! Alors, est-ce que tu peux révéler la sortie?

ANGELICA:

À la droite de la salle, il y a un bloc de glace géant. Ne touchez pas! Si vous touchez, il y a des personnes congelées qui peuvent se réveiller! Alors, marchez loin de ma voix–si vous pouvez entendre la glace qui casse sous vos pieds, vous allez dans la bonne direction!

EVAN:

Je peux sentir quelque chose qui brule!

ANGELICA:

Oui! Continuez.

EVAN:

Qu’est-ce que c’est?

ZACK:

Est-ce qu’il y a un problème?

ANGELICA:

Est-ce que vous voyez un petit puits de lave?

EVAN:

Oui! Comment est-ce qu’il y a de la glace à coté de la lave?

ZACK et JOHNNY:

Quoi?!

ANGELICA:

Je ne sais pas, mais est-ce que vous pouvez sentir beaucoup de choses qui brulent maintenant? N’allez pas vers les puits, ou vous brulerez!

EVAN:

Je peux entendre les bulles qui éclatent! Qu’est-ce que c’est?

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ANGELICA:

La lave qui coule! Ne touchez pas!

EVAN:

Qu’est-ce que c’est cette roche noir à coté des puits de lave?

JOHNNY:

Oh! Je sais! C’est le charbon!

ZACK:

Le charbon? Dans une caverne?

ANGELICA:

Oui! C’est comme des roches très brulées.

EVAN:

Comment est-ce que je sors de cette salle?

ANGELICA:

Il y a un tunnel loin des puits de lave. Allez dans le tunnel jusqu'à ce que vous voyiez une salle avec un casque protecteur par terre.

EVAN:

Pourquoi est-ce que c’est là?

ANGELICA:

Est-ce que vous êtes dans cette salle? Ne touchez pas l’équipement par terre–c’est la salle du garçon perdu.

ZACK, JOHNNY, et EVAN:

Garçon perdu?!

ANGELICA:

Oui. Dans cette salle, il y avait un garçon qui faisait de la spéléologie toute seule. Personne ne sait ce qui lui est arrivé.

EVAN:

J’ai touché la corde par terre. Elle est très rugueuse–et je pense que la lampe sur son casque protecteur est allumée!

ANGELICA:

Oui. Est-ce que vous pouvez entendre une voix?

EVAN:

Non! J’ai peur maintenant! Comment est-ce que je sors? Vite!

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ANGELICA:

Allez à gauche et entrez dans la salle avec des bruits bizarres.

EVAN:

Il y a un petit étang–et je pense que je vois des poissons!

ZACK:

Attrape un poisson pour mon diner!

ANGELICA:

Vous pouvez toucher l’eau dans l’étang. C’est très froid!

EVAN:

Je sens des poissons!

JOHNNY:

Duh–il y a beaucoup de poissons dans l’étang!

ANGELICA:

Est-ce que vous entendez l’eau qui coule? J’aime beaucoup ce bruit. C’est très calme.

EVAN:

Je pense que ça c’est la sortie! C’est le tunnel à coté de l’étang!

ANGELICA:

Oui! Allez dans le tunnel!

EVAN:

Bonjour tout le monde! J’ai échappé la grotte!

ZACK et JOHNNY:

Bienvenue!

ANGELICA:

Ne te sépare jamais de ton groupe et toujours fais l’exploration avec un partenaire, s’il vous plait!

EVAN:

Je serai sensible! Je suis désolé!

ANGELICA:

Bien! Alors, ça c’est assez d’exploration. On va au puits maintenant!

ZACK, JOHNNY, et EVAN:

Oui!

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L E S FA N TÔ M E S

Guardian Angels TEACHER: Valerie Mackay

SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Valerie Mackay UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Richard Brock by

M A R I A PA Z B E C E R R A

’est une nuit orageuse et sombre et tu es dans ta chambre tout seul. Tout à coup, tu entends un bruit étrange. Tu peux entendre des pas dans le corridor, mais il n’y a personne. Soudainement, une chose transparente et lumineuse apparaît devant toi. Tu te sens très effrayé et tu as des frissons. C’est un FANTÔME! Ou, tu penses que c’est un fantôme…. La question auquel je vais répondre aujourd’hui est « Est-ce que les fantômes existent? » Alors venez avec moi au monde des fantômes pour découvrir la réponse! Beaucoup de personnes pensent que les fantômes n’existent pas. L’idée de l’existence des êtres surnaturels peut sembler effrayante, déconcertante ou ridicule pour des gens. Il y a beaucoup d’arguments contre l’existence des fantômes. Quelques personnes débattent la notion que les fantômes sont seulement une illusion visuelle et mentale. As-tu déjà eu la sensation que quelqu’un te regarde? Un sentiment de terreur inexplicable? Il y a des gens qui croient que cela est à cause de la réaction du cerveau aux changements de la lumière, du son, et de la température dans l’environnement. D’autres personnes disent que cela est à cause de l’infrason. L’infrason est un son si bas qu’on ne peut pas l’entendre mais tes oreilles peuvent encore le détecter. Cela confuse ton cerveau parce qu’il ne peut pas distinguer d’où vient ce sentiment étrange, et ça cause une sensation de panique ou de peur. Étrange, n’est-ce pas? Mais on ne peut pas être sûr que les fantômes n’existent pas parce que la science ne peut pas réfuter l’existence des fantômes.

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Néanmoins, beaucoup de personnes croient que les fantômes existent. Savezvous que dans un recensement mené par CBS nouvelles, la majorité de personnes croient que les fantômes existent? Et savez-vous qu’un sur cinq personnes autour du monde prétendent qu’ils ont eu une expérience avec des êtres surnaturels? Et la plupart de ces personnes n’ont aucune maladie mentale! Les sceptiques prétendent que comme la science ne peut pas prouver que les fantômes existent, cela veut dire qu’ils n’existent pas–mais cela est une grande déclaration si on prend en considération la quantité de personnes qui prétendent avoir eu une expérience surnaturelle. Il y a aussi beaucoup de preuves auditives et photographiques des fantômes. Malgré qu’il y ait beaucoup de preuves fausses, il y a aussi beaucoup de preuves très étranges qui ne peuvent pas être expliqués et qui n’auraient pas pu être modifiées ou éditées d’aucune façon. Quelle est l’explication de tout ça? Comment est-ce que tant de personnes ont vu, entendu, ou d’une manière eu une expérience avec un fantôme s’ils n’existent pas? Alors, est-ce que les fantômes existent? On ne sera jamais certain. Il y a beaucoup de preuves qu’ils existent, mais il y a aussi beaucoup d’arguments contre l’existence des fantômes. Comme la science ne peut ni réfuter ni prouver l’existence des fantômes, elle va rester un mystère pour longtemps. Personnellement, je crois que les fantômes existent. Mais maintenant, j’ai une question pour vous. Est-ce que vous pensez que les fantômes existent?

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A U F I L D E L’ E A U

Bishop Allen Academy TEACHER: Martin Clough SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Andrew MacDonald UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Short Story

VINCENT GIRARD

’été de la troisième année a été celui de ma première expédition de canoëcamping avec le camp Hurontario. C’était ma première expérience face à face avec la nature, avec l’abandon. Nous étions partis deux jours plus tôt, en pagayant l’eau étincelante de la baie du camp sous un beau soleil d’après-midi, dans nos bateaux équipés de tout le nécessaire pour accomplir notre modeste excursion de cinq jours dans la Baie Georgienne. À cet instant-là, tous mes sentiments de liberté et de hâte étaient remplacés par de l’angoisse et du découragement. Ce matin-là, il avait été décidé de sauter le petit déjeuner, dû aux probabilités d’averses et la durée du trajet de la journée. Puis tout a tourné pour le pire. À peine une heure avant notre départ, le déluge a commencé et les préparatifs de départ piétinaient. Après avoir complété, avec peine, les multiples portages boueux et infestés de moustiques, nous sommes arrivés au site. La pluie avait redoublé de puissance, nous étions tous gelés et crevions de faim. Mais puisqu’il ne semblait avoir aucun signe promettant un meilleur temps, avant qu’elles ne puissent faire détremper d’avantage, les tentes ont été érigées à la hâte, accumulant dans le processus des flaques. Cependant, le froid et la pluie n’étaient pas en tête de nos inquiétudes, mais bien la faim. Il devait bien être trois heures de l’après-midi, quand vint le temps de ramasser du bois pour faire un feu et chauffer la nourriture, qui semblait bien être la seule chose toujours sèche dans les barils de provisions. Dans l’état de mort

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vivant, nous nous sommes avancées dans cette forêt qui semblait être dépourvue de bois mort, et encore moins de bois sec. Finalement, par défaut de ne pas avoir pu quitter nos feux, nous avions rejoint nos tentes, avec un morceau de sandwich au beurre d’arachides détrempé, en se demandant pourquoi nous avions eu l’idée d’embarquer dans cette aventure. Dans la tente mouillée, nous avons installé nos sacs de couchage, essayant d’éviter les flaques. Tout ce que l’on pouvait entendre était le battement de la pluie sur notre tente. Même les plus plaintifs s’étaient tus, réalisant que ça ne changerait guère la situation de raconter leurs mésaventures à ceux qui les vivaient avec eux. Nous pensions tous à la même chose, ce sentiment d’abandon, que nous avions été délaissés dans la nature, et comment nous avions le gout de retourner dans le confort de nos maisons climatisées et pleines de nourriture. C’est avec ce sentiment que moi, mes amis et nos moniteurs, nous en doutons, nous sommes endormis. Le lendemain matin, tel dans tous films à la fin heureuse, le soleil rayonnait, et nous avons mangé à notre faim. Nous avions tous un sens non seulement de fierté, mais aussi de reconnaissance, de joie, et de remerciement. Mais le plus important était sans doute notre réévaluation de la valeur des choses qui auparavant nous avaient semblé être des nécessités-trois repas et une place sécuritaire et confortable pour dormir. Cette expérience m’a rendu plus conscient de la vraie chance que j’avais d’avoir une vie aisée, et le vrai courage et la détermination que démontrent les gens qui n’ont pas la même chance que moi, et pour lesquels ceci est leur condition de vie de tous les jours.

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L A L É G E N D E D E S L A FA S

Mary Ward TEACHER: Eric Démoré SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Pamela Spearns UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal by

T I F FA N Y C H E U N G

Savez-vous de la légende des Lafas? Ils sont petits, jolis, et amusants. Cependant, ils sont timides, et s’ils sont vus, « POP! » comme la magie, ils sont disparus Et alors, nombreux sont les non-croyants. Dans le royaume d’Anneau, le petit royaume d’Anneau, Qui a la même largeur qu’un crayon, Vivent les Lafas, et leur reine, la belle reine Mab Qui sont tous des petites personnes. La nuit, en hiver, quand la lune sourit Et le monde des animaux et des plantes dort, Les Lafas, la petite race de peuple, apparaissent Quand le soleil dort et le jour finit. Conduits par leur reine, les Lafas voyagent Autour du monde, par le vent Pour chasser les cauchemars et aussi pour donner Les bons rêves à chaque bon enfant.

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Ils tombent du ciel, invisibles à l’œil: Une grande grêle, inconnue à tous. Ils entrent dans chaque maison, par leur magie Comme s’ils étaient les passepartouts. Cependant, quand les Lafas font leur travail, Ils arrivent, laids comme des crapauds: Les Falas, avec leurs dents jaunes et pointues Et leurs expressions malveillantes et finaudes. Les Falas se battent contre le but des Lafas En propageant de mauvais rêves Mais les Lafas ripostent, jusqu’aujourd’hui, ils se rivalisent Chaque heure de chaque nuit, sans trêve. Alors, souvenez-vous, durant la nuit, Pendant l’hiver, quand la lune sourit, Les Lafas paraissent, en chassant nos cauchemars, Mais seulement quand le jour finit.

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P R É S E N TAT I O N

Loretto Abbey TEACHER: Erminia Tonelli SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Play

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Cosmo Femia UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal by

JULIA JACQUELINE SWIST

Le scénario et le problème: Nous avions oubliés qu’il y a la fête pour Jacob aujourd’hui et nous devons faire le ménage partout dans la maison! Les personnages:

JULIE – La mère MARIE – La sœur JACOB – Le frère

Résolution:

La fête c’est la semaine prochaine.

Le dialogue: (La porte s’ouvre.) MARIE:

Salut, Maman, je suis ici!

JULIE:

Ah, bonjour ma petite Marie! Comment vas-tu? J’espère que tout est bien allé avec ton examen.

MARIE:

Oui, l’examen était facile! Mais maintenant je me sens fatiguée.

JULIE:

Je me sens fatiguée aussi.

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MARIE:

Oui Maman, mais iras-tu commencer le ménage?

JULIE:

Le ménage? Pourquoi dois-je faire le ménage?

MARIE:

Maman, Jacob va célébrer sa fête avec tous ses amis aujourd’hui.

JULIE:

Quoi?!?!

MARIE:

Tu as oubliée…

JULIE:

Vite! Marie, il faut nettoyer la maison! Qui fera la vaisselle?

MARIE:

Je la ferai!

JULIE:

Qui rangera les jouets? Qui fera les lits? Qui lavera le plancher? Qui polira les meubles? Qui lavera les vitres? Qui videra la poubelle? Qui sortira les ordures? Qui balayera le plancher? Qui…

MARIE:

Maman, tu vas continuer à te plaindre jusqu’au moment que Jacob et ses amis arriveront. Eh bien, commençons tout de suite! Divisons les tâches!

JULIE:

Ah Marie, tu sais toujours quoi dire. Bon, je laverai les vitres et le plancher et peut-être aussi je polirai les meubles, s’il y a du temps…

MARIE:

Je pourrai ranger les jouets et les livres. De plus, je viderai et sortirai les ordures.

JULIE:

Allons-y! Commençons le travail alors!

(Ils font le ménage avec beaucoup d’effort afin d’accueillir JACOB et ses amis après l’école.) JULIE:

Marie, combien de temps nous reste-t-il?

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MARIE:

Dix minutes!

(JULIE se tourne et regarde dans le miroir.) JULIE:

Oh, j’ai l’air tellement horrible. Il faut que je me peigne les cheveux. Marie, peigne tes cheveux aussi!

MARIE:

Mais, je suis en train de me brosser les dents!

(On entend la sonnette: Ding, dong! Ding, dong!) JULIE:

C’est Jacob et ses amis! Marie, ouvre la porte!

(MARIE ouvre la porte et aperçoit que JACOB est tout seul.) JACOB:

Salut, Marie! Salut Maman! Pourquoi y-a-t’il des décorations?

JULIE:

Pour ta fête! Où sont tes amis? Quand vont-ils arriver?

JACOB:

Maman, on a décidé de célébrer ma fête la semaine prochaine!

JULIE et MARIE:

Quoi?!

JACOB:

Oui, on avait décidé cela la semaine passée! Mais maintenant je vais au parc avec Raoul.

(JULIE et MARIE regardent le calendrier.) MARIE:

Tout ce travail…

JULIE:

Pour rien.

La Fin!

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L A S A N T É PA R L E R I R E

St. Stephen’s TEACHER: Eric Bérubé

SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Kevin Walchuk UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence by

AURÉLIE BELLEFEUILLE

a fait du bien, rire! Bonjour, aujourd’hui je vais vous parler de la santé par le rire. Saviez-vous que le rire n’est pas juste bon pour la santé mentale, mais aussi bonne pour la santé physique et émotive? Le rire est aussi une bonne façon de gérer le stress; c’est facile, économique, et efficace. Écoutez attentivement et vous allez apprendre des informations extraordinaires. Tout d’abord, d’après une recherche effectuée à l’Université de Maryland, les personnes qui ont déjà eu des problèmes cardiaques rient 40% moins que les gens en bonne santé. Ces personnes avec des problèmes cardiaques ont de la difficulté à reconnaitre des situations humoristiques et elles démontrent plus d’agressivité que celles qui ont un cœur en santé. Un quart d’heure de rire par jour est excellent pour le système cardiovasculaire. Le rire permet d’encourager la contraction et la dilatation des vaisseaux sanguins, de maintenir la bonne santé des artères et de baisser le taux de cholestérol. De plus, le rire est bénéfique pour la digestion. Quand on rit, la contraction du diaphragme le fait monter et descendre. Ceci crée un massage des organes situés en dessous. Le rire permet aussi un profond nettoyage du système respiratoire. Les échanges respiratoires sont trois fois plus intenses dans les grands rires, ce qui élimine les toxines. Le rire fait également diminuer les crises d’asthmes et de bronchite.

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De plus, le système immunitaire est plus fort chez une personne joyeuse. Le rire contribue à augmenter l’intensité de la production d’anticorps capables de protéger l’organisme contre les virus et les bactéries. En effet, le rire stimule la production des cellules NK, des lymphocytes T, et d’immunoglobuline A, qui sont trois composantes fondamentales du système immunitaire. De nos jours, notre système sympathique est surexcité par le stress, le bruit, et le manque de sommeil. C’est pourquoi le rire est fantastique, car il apaise le système sympathique et stimule le système parasympathique. Ceci favorise ainsi une diminution du stress, une bonne digestion et un meilleur sommeil. Aussi, en riant, des endorphines sont sécrétées en plus grande quantité. Les endorphines sont la morphine naturelle du corps pour lutter contre la douleur. C’est pour ça que le rire procure une sensation de bien-être. Sachant que toute information passe par le cerveau, on pourrait penser que les deux hémisphères du cerveau travaillent à égalité. Mais c’est faux. Prenons le cas d’une personne dont la profession requiert beaucoup de calculs, d’analyse et de logique comme un médecin, un ingénieur ou un pompier. Ces personnes utilisent beaucoup l’hémisphère gauche du cerveau. À l’opposé, le rire stimule l’hémisphère droit et permet de calmer l’hémisphère gauche. En résumé, vous savez maintenant que le rire favorise la digestion en massant les organes, renforce le système immunitaire en augmentant les anticorps, nettoie en profondeur les poumons, repose le système sympathique et relaxe l’hémisphère gauche, soit la coté logique du cerveau. Avec tout ceci, j’espère que les farces plates de vos collègues vous feront maintenant rire un peu plus.

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JE SUIS EN UNIFORME

Resurrection TEACHER: Nadine Iley

SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Shelly Cheeseman UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy by

LIGIA SALAJAN

omment est-ce que j’ai fini par porter l’uniforme obligatoire tous les jours de la semaine? Comment ai-je fini par ignorer les vêtements qui sont accrochés dans mon placard–mes jeans moulants que j’aime porter avec mon chandail rose tendre, mon pull-over brun douillet et ma robe turquoise qui met en valeur le bleu de mes yeux? J’ai commencé ma neuvième année d’école secondaire avec la même excitation que j’ai commencé le jardin d’enfants et l’école élémentaire. La seule différence entre le commencement de l’école élémentaire et le commencement de l’école secondaire est qu’au lieu de me coucher tard à cause d’être occupée à trouver la meilleure tenue pour le premier jour de l’école, je suis allée me coucher tôt avec un uniforme blanc et grise étendu sur la chaise dans ma chambre. Cependant, je n’ai pas dû essayer multiples vêtements devant mon miroir la nuit avant la première journée d’école, et j’étais libre de soupirs d’angoisse et de frustration quand plusieurs tenues n’ont pas été assorties. Je suis vite devenue confortable avec l’uniforme en voyant tous les autres élèves avec leurs polos blancs et les mêmes pantalons gris que je portais. Nous étions comme un vol de mouettes qui marchaient dans les couloirs, mangeaient dans la cafeteria, parlaient dans le forum et flânaient sur les champs verts autour de notre école à la fin de la journée. Vers la fin de ma première année d’école secondaire, j’ai eu la possibilité d’obtenir mon premier vrai emploi. Avec l’aide de mon frère et après beaucoup de préparation avec ma mère, je suis allée au supermarché pour un entretien.

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En pensant à ce que ma mère m’avait dit en ce qui concernait les questions que la personne qui ferait passer les entretiens me poserait, je me suis assise avec un grand sourire et je me préparais d’être charmante et loquace. On peut dire que mes préparations ainsi que la pratique devant le miroir avec ma mère, mon entraineur personnel, m’ont donné de bonnes habiletés pour avoir un bon entretien. Après avoir parlé une bonne heure de mon expérience de travail seule et en groupe, de mes intérêts et de mes réussites, la personne qui fait passer les entretiens a pris ma main et l’a serrée avec un sourire rassurant. Peu après, j’ai reçu un coup de téléphone du supermarché pour m’accueillir et pour me féliciter d’être devenue une employée de leur magasin! « Porte des pantalons noirs, s’il te plait, » ma formatrice m’a dit au téléphone. Quoi, j’ai pensé, je dois porter un autre uniforme? Mon uniforme de travail était une veste rouge avec une petite étiquette de nom et une chemise blanche. Mes deux uniformes occupaient l’endroit principal dans mon placard et dans ma vie. Travailler dans un supermarché est une expérience qui requiert beaucoup de formation. Les autres travailleurs et moi sommes arrivés au supermarché très tôt pour notre première session de formation, vêtus de nos nouveaux uniformes et en souliers noirs, nous nous sommes préparés pour apprendre tout ce que nous avons dû savoir pour travailler avec l’argent, avec les provisions, avec les marchandises, avec les clients et avec les autres travailleurs. La formatrice nous a donné les fiches avec tous les codes pour les fruits, les légumes, les croissants et les casse-croutes qu’on pourrait acheter au supermarché. Pour la première fois, j’ai du lire les petits chiffres qui sont écrits sur les autocollants des bananes, des pommes et des oranges. Comme si j’étudiais pour un test, j’ai écrit, j’ai surligné et j’ai encerclé la surface entière de ma fiche de codes. 4011 pour les bananes, 4012 pour les oranges, 4016 pour les pommes rouges délicieuses et 4017 pour les pommes vertes Granny Smith. Notre session de formation a consisté à apprendre les propres façons de parler aux clients, la nécessité d’être calme et poli avec les clients en toutes occasions, et la compréhension de la notion que le client a toujours raison. Nous avons appris aussi comment utiliser les ordinateurs pour numériser des achats, des retours d’achats, des remboursements et des échanges. Finalement, nous avons été encouragés d’être heureux et polis tout le temps, en permettant à nos caractéristiques personnelles de briller. La période de formation et le cours d’orientation ressemblaient à la période des examens à l’école, et notre examen a eu lieu quand nous étions programmés pour nos premiers postes comme caissiers indépendants.

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« C’est ma première fois. Je suis nouvelle. » Je m’excusais aux clients qui attendaient dans la ligne devant ma caisse enregistreuse pendant que j’essayais de trouver les codes spécifiques pour la laitue et pour les citrouilles, ou pendant que je cherchais le code à barres sur leurs boîtes de céréales. Il n’était pas longtemps avant que je ne devienne confortable dans mon nouveau rôle de caissière, et je travaillais les weekends et quelques jours des semaines comme si j’avais toujours travaillé comme caissière. Mon lieu de travail est bientôt devenu comme une autre maison et même comme une autre école. J’ai développé des amitiés avec mes collègues et j’ai appris l’importance de respecter mes supérieurs en écoutant leurs conseils et leurs exigences. Comme à l’école, je recevais les tâches à compléter avant de partir à la fin de ma période de travail. J’ai été responsable de nettoyer mon lieu de travail, de changer la poubelle et d’organiser les magazines, les paquets de gomme, les tablettes de chocolat et les sacs en plastique pour assurer que tout était propre et bien organisé. J’ai vite appris que l’apparence de notre magasin, ce qui comprenait les étagères, les produits et nos apparences comme travailleurs, était très importante pour envoyer un bon message aux clients qui fréquentaient le magasin. J’avais des surveillants qui m’ont dit où je travaillais pour mes périodes de travail. Ils me donnaient une mise à jour sur ce qui passait dans le magasin et sur ce qui affectait les produits et nos clients. Nos superviseurs de travail introduisaient des promotions, des coupons et des changements ou des improvisations que les patrons avaient créés pour enrichir la fonctionnalité de notre magasin. J’avais des collègues de tous les âges et nationalités. J’étais heureuse d’être devenue amie avec les mères qui travaillaient, les élèves de l’université et les élèves des autres écoles secondaires dans ma ville. Les mêmes règles de respect et d’amitié existaient au supermarché comme à l’école. Mes surveillants étaient mes professeurs et mes patrons étaient mes directeurs. En plus d’être comme une deuxième maison, mon travail était un endroit social et énergétique où j’aimais travailler à cause de tous les nouveaux gens que je rencontrais et toutes les nouvelles expériences auxquelles j’étais exposée. Avoir un lieu de travail à l’âge de quinze ans était un grand accomplissement, mais le meilleur résultat, le résultat le plus grand et productif des heures que je passais en travaillant était la belle somme d’argent que j’ai été payée pour mes travaux. L’ironie d’avoir de l’argent pour acheter les beaux vêtements et de ne pas pouvoir porter les vêtements à cause des uniformes obligatoires que j’ai du porter ne m’échappé pas, mais ça ne m’a pas dérangé. Les fruits de mes travaux m’ont donné la même satisfaction que recevoir de bonnes notes pour les projets et les

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examens à l’école. L’argent que j’ai gagné à mon travail a eu la même signification que les notes que j’ai reçues pour mes travaux académiques. L’école et le travail ont des récompenses pour m’encourager à continué de travailler fort pour atteindre le succès. Travailler tard pendant les nuits pour terminer les projets d’histoire, pour finir les peintures pour la classe d’art et pour écrire les grands rédactions pour mes cours de littératures était très similaire à travailler pendant les jours fériés pour être payée une fois et demie ou comme prendre les postes supplémentaires quand mes collègues ne pouvaient pas travailler leurs propres postes. Les récompenses que j’ai reçues de mes professeurs et de mes surveillants de travail en forme de compliments et de commentaires encourageants m’ont fait aimer mes travaux. La première chose que j’ai remarquée en commençant l’école secondaire et mon travail était la nécessité de porter un uniforme à chaque jour. Je ne me suis pas rendue compte que l’uniforme obligatoire est seulement une des multiples similarités entre mon travail et mon éducation. Les deux nécessitent la formation, l’étude, la socialisation avec des amis et des supérieurs et l’accomplissement des différents tâches. Le travail et l’éducation se corrèlent beaucoup parce que les deux exigent le dévouement et ils m’ont tous les deux donné de bonnes récompenses en forme de paiement, en forme de notes, ou en forme d’épanouissement personnel. Donc, chaque fois que je mets mon uniforme blanc de l’école ou mon uniforme rouge de travail, je me souviens que l’école n’est pas si différente du monde de travail. Mes uniformes représentent l’ordre, l’aspect soigné et l’égalité. Les leçons apprises en travaillant fort fournissent de l’aide pour le voyage tout au long de la croissance et de l’apprentissage.

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LE QUAND DE MES SOUCIS

Regiopolis-Notre Dame TEACHER: Julia Morgenstern

SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Geoff Mackler UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Bob Giasson by

J U L I E A L E X A N D R A B AT E S

Quand je grelotte de froid, J’imagine devant moi Une plage ensoleillée Où le sable brûle mes pieds Et je me vois toute bronzée, Dans l’eau barboter.

Quand, suite à un pépin, Coulent des larmes de chagrin, J’imagine alors une princesse Qui, avec allégresse, Chasse et remplace ma tristesse Par un brin de tendresse.

Quand je me sens anéantie, Je force mon esprit À voir au bout du tunnel Une lumière providentielle, Qui m’enverra, tel un missel, Un espoir quasi-immortel.

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Quand la panique me guette, Apparait alors dans ma tête Ma douce Maman Qui, dans ses bras aimants, Me berce doucement, Tout en calmant mes tourments.

Quand une grosse peur Envahit mon cœur, Je me mets à l’écriture Pour tracer la caricature D’un chevalier en armure, Capturant mes frayeurs futures.

Quand la solitude se glisse Dans mon âme avec malice, Je lis ce petit poème Et la solution à mes dilemmes Se dévoile sans problème, Car il ne faut pas un requiem Ni même un baptême Mais simplement, tel un harem, Être entourée par ceux qu’on aime.

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LES IMMIGRÉS

St. Theresa of Lisieux TEACHER: Gino Marcuzzi

SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Play

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Gregory Bolton UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

RHEA SZARICS

Les lumières sont allumés. Le cadre est une rue dans un quartier pauvre, avec beaucoup de maisons décrépîtes. MURPH entre. Il porte un costume et un chapeau, et il a une grande mallette. Il s’arrête devant une petite maison. MURPH:

Cette cabane doit être habitée par des immigrés récents. Ils sont les seules personnes qui peuvent habiter dans une porcherie comme ça. Cependant, ils sont mes meilleurs acheteurs.

Il frappe sur la porte. Une JEUNE FEMME ouvre la porte. Elle porte une robe délavée et elle a un fichu floral sur la tête. MURPH:

(Souriant) Bonjour, Madame. Comment ça va?

JEUNE FEMME:

(Elle parle très lentement avec un accent fort.) Bonjour… Puis-je…vous aider?

MURPH:

Est-ce que vous voulez acheter la plus ingénieuse invention du siècle, l’appareil qui va révolutionner la vie domestique, la machine qui va simplifier les routines quotidiennes? Est-ce que vous voulez acheter l’aspirateur Lalonde? Ce n’est pas une question véritable. Tout le

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monde veut l’acheter parce que cette machine est conçue avec la meilleure technologie d’aujourd’hui. Elle a une pompe à aspirer puissante qui peut aspirer toute la poussière dans votre maison. On peut utiliser cet aspirateur versatile sur les tapis et le plancher, même le carrelage. En plus, l’aspirateur Lalonde est unique parce que c’est le seul aspirateur qui fonctionne avec des batteries. Je garantie que vous aurez une maison propre pour beaucoup d’années. Si vous voulez, je peux démontrer comment cet appareil fonctionne. La JEUNE FEMME semble perdue. Elle ne répond pas. Elle signe seulement « oui » de sa tête. MURPH:

Bon, merci. Vous verrez, Madame, vous ne regretterez rien.

MURPH entre dans la petite maison, qui est très sale, avec une fenêtre cassée, et il y a seulement un lit, un lavabo, une chaise, un petit tapis et une cuisinière ancienne dans la chambre. Il ouvre sa mallette et il enlève l’aspirateur. Voilà, madame. On doit seulement pousser ce bouton ici, et l’aspirateur Lalonde élimine tout le saleur dans votre maison. (MURPH commence à nettoyer le petit tapis.) C’est fantastique, n’est-ce pas? JEUNE FEMME:

(Avec des grands yeux) Oui, c’est fantastique.

MURPH:

Et vous pourrez être la prochaine propriétaire de cet appareil incroyable pour seulement cent quarante-neuf dollars et quatre-vingt dix-neuf cents. Réfléchissez, Madame, c’est un investissement dont on doit profiter.

La JEUNE FEMME regarde l’aspirateur avec révérence. Soudainement, un morceau de plâtre tombe du plafond au tapis. MURPH l’enlève avec l’aspirateur. JEUNE FEMME:

Attendez, s’il vous plait.

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Elle sort et, après quelques secondes, revient avec une boite. Elle tire une poignée de billets et elle les donne à MURPH. JEUNE FEMME:

Voici l’argent. (Avec fierté) J’ai gagné tout…l’argent… moi-même.

MURPH:

Merci, madame. Je suis certain que vous ne regretterez pas cet achat. Merci encore et au revoir.

MURPH prend sa mallette et il sort de la maison. Il commence à se promener sur la rue et parler avec lui-même. Les immigrés… ils sont tellement simples. On peut essayer de leur vendre l’air, et si on utilise les bon mots, ils l’achètent, bien sur. MURPH rit. Il arrive devant un magasin sur une rue propre. Il y a une grande pancarte au-dessus de la porte qui dit « Compagnie Lalonde. » MURPH entre dans le magasin et il frappe sur une porte sur laquelle c’est écrit « J. Lalonde. » M. LALONDE:

Entrez.

MURPH entre. M. LALONDE est en train de parler avec LE COMPTABLE dans une chambre avec des meubles chers et un tapis épais. MURPH:

Bonjour, Monsieur Lalonde. J’ai une faveur à vous demander. J’ai déjà vendu sept aspirateurs, et je serais reconnaissant si vous pouvez permettre que je parte tôt, seulement aujourd’hui.

M. LALONDE:

Où est l’argent?

MURPH ouvre sa mallette et donne les billets à M. LALONDE. MURPH:

(Avec fierté) Voilà, monsieur, mille-quarante-trois dollars et quatre-vingt-trois cents. Exactement.

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M. LALONDE:

(Il prend l’argent et commence à le compter. Il donne un billet de cinquante dollars à MURPH.) Merci, mon gars. Tu es libre pour l’après-midi.

MURPH:

(Joyeusement) Vraiment? Merci, monsieur! Au revoir!

(MURPH sort avec un grand sourire.) LE COMPTABLE:

Qui est-ce garçon? Je pense que je l’ai vu dans le passé.

M. LALONDE:

Il est un vendeur parmi mes vendeurs. Vous savez, seulement un autre immigré.

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L E R Ô L E D E L’ A R T I S T E DA N S LA SOCIÉTÉ MODERNE

Father Bressani TEACHER: Debbie Aloi

SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Wendy Hofstatter UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

S Y LV I A U R B A N I K

n n’a pas besoin d’allumer la télévision ni la radio, aujourd’hui, pour voir comment l’art a évolué au cours des années. La musique et l’art on toujours été influencés par la culture de leur temps. Les tendances associées à une décennie sont la réflexion de la mentalité de cette société. La musique reflète ce qui est populaire, ce qui est souhaitable et ce qui est moderne. En écoutant de la musique, il est facile de voir la culture durant cette période. Cependant, dans la société contemporaine, la musique populaire est fortement critiquée. Les critiques disent que l’art est en train de mourir, et que les vrais artistes sont plus difficiles à trouver. Beaucoup de musiciens aujourd’hui ne sont pas « originale ». Si on écoute de la musique populaire, on verra que la plupart de celle-ci c’est la même chose. Les chansons sont similaires, avec des sons répétitifs et des thèmes communs. Elles ne comprennent pas de nouveau matériel, mais elles sont simplement une imitation de ce qui existe déjà. Elles sont traitées de se débarrasser de toutes les imperfections et donner aux auditeurs exactement ce qu’ils veulent entendre. Tout cela est fait dans le but de faire le plus d’argent, pour être le plus populaire, et le plus connu. Mais si rien de nouveau n’est créé, et tout est fait pour faire de l’argent, est-ce de l’art? Ou sont ces soi-disant « artistes » rien de plus qu’un spectacle? Pour y répondre, il est nécessaire d’abord de poser quelques autres questions. Qu’est-ce que c’est l’art? Quel est le rôle d’un artiste? Et qui sont les « vrais artistes » dans la société d’aujourd’hui?

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Le rôle de l’artiste a toujours été noble et honnête. L’artiste imite ce qu’il voit dans le monde réel. L’art est la création de quelque chose qui n’existait pas auparavant. Tout le monde peut copier ce qui a déjà été fait, mais les vrais artistes sont ceux qui ont le courage de créer des choses qui n’ont pas été faites. L’imagination n’a pas de limites. L’artiste a la capacité de créer des idées et des pensées originales. Ils ont la possibilité de voir les choses dans une nouvelle perspective–celle que la plupart des gens ne pensent pas. Ils osent de faire des choses différents et de représenter le monde d’une manière qui n’a jamais été imaginé. L’art est la manifestation des émotions humaines, il prend ce que vous ressentez et il le partage avec d’autres personnes afin qu’ils puissent le sentir aussi. C’est ainsi que les artistes défient les gens. Ils peuvent prendre une idée ordinaire et la rendre extraordinaire. Ils se rebellent contre la conformité et ils défient le statu quo. Ils forcent les gens à y penser. L’art montre aux gens le monde tel qu’il est, et mène les gens à mettre en question leurs croyances et leurs points de vue sur la vie. Les artistes sont considérés controversés quand ils contestent les choses comme les gouvernements, la société, et la nature humaine. Ils soulignent les imperfections et les défauts de ces choses. Ils critiquent les gens pour les faire mettre en question le statu quo, et de leur donner envie de changer ce qu’ils n’aiment pas. Ceci, cependant, peut rendre les gens mal à l’aise. Certaines personnes n’aiment pas être contredites. Ils sont convaincus que leur opinion est la seule opinion, et ils refusent de considérer de nouvelles notions. Ils ne veulent pas voir les choses d’une manière différente ou accepter qu’ils puissent être erronés. Puis, ils condamnent l’artiste, et détestent ce qu’ils font. Ils essaient de cacher leurs imperfections et de blâmer l’artiste pour tous les maux du monde. Mais l’artiste ne crée pas de problèmes, l’artiste montre simplement ce qui existe déjà. Beaucoup de gens ne veulent pas y penser. Les gens sont parfaitement à l’aise avec leurs vies ennuyeuses. Ils ne mettent pas en question le monde qui les entoure. Ils ne mettent pas en cause les règles de l’autorité ni se demandent pourquoi le monde est tel qu’il est. L’artiste défit ce point de vue. Le but de tout art–soit la poésie, la littérature, le cinéma, la photographie, la peinture, la musique, ou quelque chose d’autre–est de faire sentir les gens. Le rôle de l’artiste est de montrer aux gens un monde différent. Parfois, cela se fait en montrant des choses que vous ne voulez pas voir. Ils peuvent vous montrer la beauté dans le monde, ainsi que sa laideur.

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L’art véritable n’a jamais été la chose la plus populaire. L’art n’est pas destiné à plaire tout le monde. L’art est destiné à défier les gens et à les faire réfléchir. L’art est censé de rendre les gens mal à l’aise! L’artiste prend une idée commune et montre une nouvelle façon de voir les choses, qui met en nouvelle perspective la vie des gens. C’est pourquoi l’art est souvent controversé. Les gens ne veulent pas être mal à l’aise, et l’art est souvent critiqué pour être trop « choquant ». Mais est-ce la faute de l’artiste? Ou est-ce juste un reflet de l’humanité elle-même? Oscar Wilde a dit : « Les livres que le monde appelle immoraux sont les livres qui montrent le monde sa propre honte. » Cela est vrai pour toutes les formes d’art. L’art controversé nous fait penser à des choses auxquelles nous ne voulons pas penser. Il révèle tous les défauts et les imperfections de la société. C’est une vérité de la condition humaine que les humains ne veulent pas être considérés comme « imparfaits ». Ils ont peur de leurs défauts. Mais si la société ne reconnait pas ces lacunes, elle ne sera jamais en mesure de les modifier. C’est pourquoi l’artiste est si important. L’artiste est celui qui a le courage de voir le monde clairement, et le montrer aux autres. L’artiste nous montre que les démons que la société tente de combattre sont créés par la société elle-même. Le devoir de l’artiste est de partager son vision avec le monde. Il montre aux gens des choses qu’ils n’auraient pas normalement notées. L’art peut inspirer les gens. Si les gens sont en colère, ils voudront faire quelque chose. Ils voudront se battre pour le changement, défendre leurs croyances, ou s’inspirer a créer une nouvelle réalité. L’art peut inspirer beaucoup de sentiments dans les personnes- la colère, la tristesse, la joie, le courage, l’espoir, la créativité, et la passion. L’art peut contester les gens à oser de faire quelque chose de différent, et devenir des artistes euxmêmes. Alors maintenant, la question reste : Qui sont les vrais artistes dans notre société? C’est quelque chose que seulement vous pouvez décider.

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