Young Authors 2016 Compilation Book by @OECTA

Young Authors Awards Prix jeunes ĂŠcrivains

Celebrating 30 plus years...

Young Authors Awards 2016

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES Ã&#x2030;CRIVAINS

PREFACE

Congratulations, Young Authors / Jeunes écrivains! This collection is a celebration of the literary talents and accomplishments of the provincial winners of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association’s 2016 Young Authors Awards / Prix jeunes écrivains. We applaud all of our winners as well as the thousands of students across the province who participated in the classroom, school and unit levels of the awards program. The insightful, skillful works crafted by these young authors remind us that the great Canadian writers of the future are presently in our classrooms. The enthusiasm and dedication of every student and supporter ensure that the Young Authors Awards / Prix jeunes écrivains program continues to grow and improve with each year. We deeply appreciate the commitment of our wonderful teachers, whose inspiration and encouragement provide students with the opportunity to empower themselves through this competition experience. The Young Authors Awards / Prix jeunes écrivains program 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 critical roles in directing the program in their respective classrooms, schools and units. Members contribute their talent, time and effort to preserve the spirit and continued success of the awards. Together, we honour the outstanding work of our teachers and students. We cannot overstate the value of the contributions of all the dedicated members of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association, who ensure that this program flourishes each year for the benefit of our students. Thank you, and keep on writing! Susan Perry Professional Development Department Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS 2016 Maryjane Addison, BILINGUAL EDITOR, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT Anne Denning, ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT Selwyn Job, ENGLISH EDITOR, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT Lorna Pegram, ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT, PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT Fernanda Monteiro, DESKTOP PUBLISHER, COMMUNICATIONS DEPARTMENT

PROVINCIAL SELECTION COMMITTEE 2016 Cynthia Gittins, CO-CHAIRPERSON Nancy Molnar, CO-CHAIRPERSON Maria Abate-Sampogna Lorain Beraldo-Turner Nayana D’Costa Eric Démoré Devon Dimney Jeffrey Ferland David Ferren Saverio Galati Francine Gaudette Laryssa Gorecki Theresa Hanrahan Alessandro La Gamba Aleksandra Lada Stephanie Mandziuk Kelsey Molnar Vincent O’Brien Erin O’Connell Patt Olivieri Craig Phillips Vanessa Racco Sou Yen Shu Lara Stokes

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THE FLYING UNDERPANTS

SCHOOL: St. Conrad TEACHER: Daniela Cerullo SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Daniela Cerullo UNIT: Toronto Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Patricia Minnan-Wong JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / SHORT STORY by Stefano Simone Fieromonte

One morning, while I got ready for work, my underpants came alive! The underpants started to fly! They flew into the kitchen. They flew into the living room. And then they flew outside. They looked like a plane in the sky. I had to get my underpants back! So I got a net and caught them! The end!

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES Ã&#x2030;CRIVAINS

VALENTINE’S RHYMES

SCHOOL: Lumen Christi TEACHER: Anne MacIsaac SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Michelle Bernal UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Nina March JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / POEM by Paige Violet Evon

I like Valentine’s hearts. They are better whole, not broken in parts. Valentine’s Day means love, and so does a flying white dove. My favourite Valentine colour is red. I’m thinking, “I’d like to eat cinnamon hearts,” in my head. It’s nice to have a hug, and some marshmallows and hot chocolate in a mug. Chocolate bars are sweet. My mom and dad let me have them as a treat. I give my family a Valentine’s kiss. It’s bliss, bliss, bliss.

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POLAR BEARS

SCHOOL: St. Conrad TEACHER: Nancy Paiva SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Daniela Cerullo UNIT: Toronto Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Patricia Minnan-Wong JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / NONFICTION by Ilaria Ferraro

Polar bears live in the Arctic. The Arctic is full of snow and ice. Polar bears have white fur. The fur keeps them warm. They have black skin. They can smell people and animals with their noses. Polar bears have very sharp teeth and claws. With their giant claws, they catch animals. Polar bears eat albatross eggs, fish, moss, plants, reindeer and seals. They wait at breathing holes and catch seals with their claws. They love to eat seals. Polar bears are good swimmers. They can swim in the cold ocean. Even cubs like cold water. Polar bear moms have one or two cubs. Cubs drink milk from the moms. Baby cubs live in the den. If somebody comes in the den, the cubs get scared. I love polar bears.

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES Ã&#x2030;CRIVAINS

THE BIG RACE OF MOTORCYCLES

SCHOOL: Our Lady of Peace TEACHER: Kristina Sanecki SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sarah Dickson UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Nina March GRADES 1-2 / SHORT STORY by Travis Lasrado

Once upon a time, there was a kid named Speed Boy, and he was fast when he ran. He was looking at motorcycles on TV and he thought they looked cool. Two years later, Speed Boy tried to make a motorcycle out of metal, wood and cardboard. He tried and tried, and he finally made it! He signed up for The Big Race of Motorcycles, but found out that Power Man was there! Speed Boy said, “Power Man has won five times. How could I win?” He was so scared that he was thinking of quitting, but he didn’t. He was confident he was going to win because his family was supporting him. He went to the big race and then he was hit by Power Man. Then, he hit Power Man back. Power Man was eliminated and Speed Boy won! The crowd was cheering and he was happy. The crowd was saying, “Speed Boy! Speed Boy!” The end.

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ON THE RADIO I HEAR…

SCHOOL: Sir Edgar Bauer TEACHER: Maria Lowerison SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Teresa Kennedy UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Christine Stockie GRADES 1-2 / POEM by Joel Skanes

“Little Evan died in his mum’s arms.” I feel sad. “Forty-three racing horses died in a fire.” I feel sad. “…car accidents and some people die.” I say a prayer.

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GABRIEL

SCHOOL: St. Cecilia TEACHER: Elsie Massecar SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Orval Clark UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald GRADES 1-2 / NONFICTION by Justus Daniel Zurby

Gabriel was born with Down Syndrome. Gabriel loves hugs. He even asks for them because he loves them so much. Gabriel likes action figures and his favourite one is Batman. He also likes basketball. He has five things he does every day: the calendar, reading, printing and his favourite, free choice. He usually goes on the computer. Gabriel is eight years old. He turns nine in May. Gabriel is in grade three and he is a very good artist. We are lucky to have Gabriel because if we didn’t have Gabriel, our class would be grumpy and he is a very, very nice friend. He is lucky because he has such nice friends and because he has such a nice family. He is so special! So let him know he is special. And please, if you have someone special in your life, tell them that they are special too!

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THE TALE OF CHINESE NEW YEAR

SCHOOL: Christ the King TEACHER: Mehri Yazdi SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Iva Valent UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 3-4 / SHORT STORY by Chloe Wang

This is the tale of how the tradition of Chinese New Year was created. Long ago, in the great Yangtze River of China, lurked a large and fearsome water dragon. It would come out every Chinese New Year’s Eve to devour the villagers who lived in the riverside village to satisfy its yearlong hunger. To prevent this disaster every year, the villagers would climb to the mountain a few miles away to be safe from the rampage of the dragon. This became the tradition of New Year’s Eve before the victory of the old woman. A few years later, an old woman, who was tired of running back and forth during New Year’s Eve and being afraid all the time, decided to stay. The villagers pleaded for her to go, but the old woman refused. They eventually gave up, but they told her it was not their fault if she died – they had warned her. A few hours before the arrival of the dragon, she prayed, made some buns and ate her dinner. Just then, she heard a knock on her door. There sat a poor middle-aged man, or a man in appearance, for this was actually the great god Buddha. “May I have some buns, please?” he asked. Surprised, she gave him a few buns and asked him the odd question that she really wanted to know the answer to. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be on the mountain with the others?” The man quietly laughed. “I’m here to help you defeat the dragon. Bring me a stack of red paper, a red robe, a lit torch and a pile of firewood. Get yourself a pestle and pound it against the boulder on your lawn.” Amazed, she got the stack of red paper, her only red robe, an old torch and a small pile of firewood she had. Then, she got her scarred stone pestle and laid it

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beside the big rock she had in her front lawn. She had many doubts, though. She asked the man, “Are you sure about this?” The man answered, “Listen, this dragon is from the water! It does not know the power of fire and noise!” As soon as he spoke those words, the dragon burst out of the waves to begin its eating. It quickly spotted the twosome and headed for them. The man looked over to her as the signal to start. As she started pounding the hard rock, the man pulled on the red robe, which seemed to glow with a golden light, lit the firewood with the torch, and sprinkled the red paper in the immense fire, made with a scarce amount of logs. Suddenly, the spirits of those whom the dragon had eaten appeared in the fire and fashioned a net out of the flames. They cast the net over the dragon, which was trying to cover its ears from the deafening noise the old woman was making. It couldn’t do that, since its arms were too short. Once caught in the net of flames, it struggled as hard as it could, but the spirits were stronger. They threw the dragon deep into the river, never to be seen again. Unfortunately, the mountain where the villagers were was much too far away for them to see this miracle. As the old woman turned to the man to express a multitude of thanks to him, he transformed into his true form – the god Buddha. “You have no need to thank me. All I’m doing is paying you back for your courage and belief,” he said. And as he turned to go back to his heavenly home, he clapped his hands and a stack of neatly folded red robes, a bundle of torches, piles of firewood, and stacks of red paper appeared in front of her. He made one final request to share the power he had given her with the other villagers, then disappeared. When the villagers returned, they were surprised to see the old woman sitting in her house, happily eating some dumplings. They all formed a crowd around her as she told the tale of the night, and she shared the power given to her. Then, every New Year, they would celebrate this miracle in the way that the old woman conquered the dragon. This tradition continued until now and will continue forever. The End

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

FAMILY

SCHOOL: St. Mary TEACHER: Ellen Sinnet SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Julie Whitney UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Bob Giasson GRADES 3-4 / POEM by Lillian Wade

The people that are with me each and every day, I love them and they love me in each and every way. Past my faults and all my flaws, They have my back through every cause. There is a special kind of closeness that only families know, It starts with childhood trust and deepens as you grow. A family is a world created by love, When this one ends, we reunite in the one up above. Like a beating heart, family stays strong till the end, This is each and every feeling my family sends.

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES Ã&#x2030;CRIVAINS

THE LION, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE: A BOOK AND MOVIE COMPARISON SCHOOL: St. Brendan TEACHER: Frances Riley SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Alison Misa UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 3-4 / NONFICTION by Michaela Sukovski

After reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis, and then watching the movie in class, I am going to compare the book to the movie. I will start by saying that, in my opinion, this book is the most amazing book I have ever read. To share this wonderful world with you, I am going to be writing about the characters, the story setting, and some of the major events. I hope you enjoy reading! To begin, I am going to be writing about some of the characters in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. The first character I am going to be writing about is the amazing Aslan. Aslan is one of my favourite characters. In the movie, they represented him perfectly, however, when Aslan roared, I thought that from reading the book it would have been louder and mightier. In the book, C.S. Lewis didn’t make it clear who killed the White Witch, but after watching the movie, we saw that it was Aslan. In the movie, when I saw Aslan for the first time, he seemed braver than I had imagined. I was heartbroken when he died, but was amazed when he rose from the dead. The book and the movie were very similar in their descriptions of this part of the story. The second set of characters I’ll be writing about are the four kids: Lucy, Edmund, Susan and Peter. They are listed from youngest to oldest. I didn’t know that all of them had brown hair, except for Peter. I also didn’t know that Susan and Edmund had freckles. I pictured Lucy differently than she appeared in the movie. In the book, Edmund was mean at first, Lucy was honest, Peter was strong, and Susan was positive. In the movie, Susan was quite negative before she and Lucy had a water fight. The last character I am going to write about is the White Witch. In the movie, she had blonde hair and darker skin, however, in the book, she had white skin and white hair. The White Witch’s castle looked exactly as I thought it would. That is my comparison of the characters in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Now, I’m going to be writing about the story setting in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. First, I’ll be writing about the war. In the book, they didn’t talk much about the war. In the movie, Edmund ran back to his home during an air raid to get a picture of his dad who was a soldier in the war. This didn’t happen in the book, so I wasn’t expecting it in the movie. There were a lot of bombs and air raids in the movie. In the book, they

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mentioned this, but didn’t talk much about it. In the movie, Edmund and his family went into an underground shelter with beds in it, and Edmund and Peter had a fight. They didn’t include this in the book. Now, I will be writing about the Professor’s house. It was humongous! They did a perfect job of representing the picture I had imagined in my head from the book. The house in the movie was enormous, and had many rooms and doors. In the book, I did think it seemed bigger than in the movie, but that didn’t affect the story at all. In the book, the children were chased into the room with the wardrobe, and then into the wardrobe by Ms. McCready. In the movie, they were running away from the window they broke, and every door was locked, except for the room with the wardrobe in it. That was some true Narnia magic! Finally, I will be writing about the way Narnia was portrayed. After reading the book, I thought the trees would be in rows, but in the movie, it was more like a forest. In the book, when they all go to Narnia, they sat for a while, but in the movie, they noticed Narnia right away. In my imagination, Narnia seemed smaller than it appeared in the movie. I imagined the White Witch’s castle to be a piece of ice, and in the movie, it looked exactly like that. I hope you enjoyed reading about the story setting! Now, I am going to be writing about the events that happened in the book and movie. To begin, I will write about entering Narnia. When Lucy entered Narnia in the movie, there was a cloth in the wardrobe, but in the book, there wasn’t one. As the children were entering Narnia together, they sat for a while in the wardrobe and then noticed it was cold. In the movie, they entered Narnia right away. Now I am going to be writing about the White Witch. In the book, we assumed that Mr. Tumnus had been turned to stone right away, but in the movie, he was in the castle dungeon with Edmund. The Witch told Tumnus that Edmund had been the one to get him into trouble. Edmund was then taken upstairs, and Tumnus was turned to stone. From reading the book, I thought the White Witch’s dwarf assistant would be shorter, would have a bright red, pointy hat, and would be less wrinkly. In the movie, the White Witch rode her sleigh with polar bears pulling it in to the battle scene. In the book, there were no polar bears. Finally, I am going to be writing about the battle in Narnia. In the book, they didn’t mention anything about Mr. Beaver fighting, but in the movie, he did fight. The movie showed birds and griffons dropping rocks onto their enemies, but the book didn’t describe that. In fact, the book didn’t say much about the battle at all. That was my comparison of the book and movie version of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. I hope you enjoyed reading about the similarities and differences between the characters, the story setting and some of the major events. As I mentioned in the beginning of my essay, this was the best book, ever. The movie did an amazing job of telling the story in a more condensed version, however, I loved the extra details in the book. I hope you enjoyed reading!

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

LIGHT VS. DARK WHO WILL PREVAIL? BOOK I: RACE TO THE RELICS SCHOOL: St. Rita TEACHER: Charlie MacAdam SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Shane Guilbeault UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Beth Dowe GRADES 5-6 / SHORT STORY by Anna-Maria Rozic

Since the beginning of time, the inhabitants of Earth have been separated into good and evil. There was always a good side and a bad side, the Light and the Dark side. Each side had five kingdoms, with one relic each. Combine every relic of all five kingdoms on each side, and you get a powerful beacon. The Light’s beacon is Aura, while the Dark’s is Tenebris. The Light and Dark despised each other more than imaginable, but with time, the sides grew apart, and there was rarely conflict. But if there were, it would be terrible. Chapter I: It All Began It was a beautiful day as I walked home from a long day of school. Tulips bloomed in vibrant colours, dotting the green lawns. Picturesque little brick houses made my neighbourhood look like a picture out of a fairy tale. And the best part was… today was my birthday! I had been waiting to turn ten for the longest time, and now it finally happened. I was about halfway to my house, when the wind picked up. “Huh,” I thought. Then, giant raindrops started falling from the sky, but they only fell in front of me. Falling in a radius of about fifty centimetres, they all hovered at different heights. Within five minutes, there were millions of raindrops hovering, forming the figure of a girl. There was a bright flash of lightning followed by an intense boom of thunder. I instinctively ducked, and when I looked up again, I saw a girl staring at me. She was a bit shorter than I was, and had bronze shoulder-length hair that was dyed at the tips with a blossoming red. She wore a blinding lime-green soccer jersey and matching leggings. Suddenly, without warning, she grabbed my hand and flew off! “Hold on!” she yelled, the wind carrying her voice. Yes, she had wings, coloured with a lovely hue of green. When we were in the air, she flew upwards, towards the fluffy clouds. I was bedazzled by the beauty of the world below. There were cars speeding on the highway, and all the neighbourhoods. After at least half an hour of zooming upwards, we zipped straight through a cloud and landed in an entirely different world. It was so perfect, I didn’t even know where to look! The trees had luscious fruit dripping down from the branches. There were ponds with lily pads and all sorts of critters bathing in the warm sunlight. The sky was blue, dotted with white fluffy clouds. Before I knew it, I was sitting on a white chair, dazed, with the same girl from before 20

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sitting in front of me. But this time, she was joined by another woman. The second woman was indescribable. She had a young face, but her eyes seemed to have lived forever. She wore a golden dress that flowed easily over her body, making her look majestic and strong all at once. She had golden wings folded behind her back, their surface reflecting the sunlight. She looked at me, and I wish I hadn’t looked back. Chapter II: Meeting My Fate “Indigo,” she began. “How do you know my name?” I asked, alarmed. “Indigo, I know many things,” she told me wearily. I was confused. Only then it struck me. “My parents!” I gasped, clutching the armrests of the little white chair. “Please take me back!” I pleaded to the lime-green girl. “They know where you are,” the golden girl told me calmly. “I am Golden, Queen of Angels, and this is Christine.” She pointed to the lime-green girl. “Welcome to the Kingdom of Angels. You have a home here. We shall start from the beginning,” said Golden, calming me down. She began her story of the Light and Dark. Then she came to the point when I was involved. “Your human parents aren’t your real parents. Your real parentage is still unknown, but we are looking. Your fate is to search the Light side and find the relic of each kingdom, so that when war comes against the Dark side, we will be ready.” I arched my brows, doubting the part about war. “It is destined. The war will come soon, and you have a fated role to play,” Golden told me, looking me straight in the eye. She continued, “You are to choose your blesser, Christine,” she told me, looking at her. “And you two are to travel to every kingdom and find each relic, no matter what. It is crucial that you succeed, or else there will be consequences.” “Oh, joy,” I muttered. “Now, Christine, take Indigo to her room, and make sure she gets some sleep. She’ll sure find some changes in the morning.” And with that, the two winged girls shared a knowing smile. Chapter III: Changes Fit for an Angel Christine took me to a beautiful room, but I wasn’t in the mood to admire its beauty. I plopped onto the bed and began sobbing. I was confused, scared, and angry. In time, I fell asleep and dreamed of emptiness, the kind I felt piercing my heart. Once I woke up, I walked over the smooth wooden floor of my room and gasped as I looked in the mirror. I had changed! I had wings coloured in a deep pink hue, like the colour of roses. They were paper thin, and could barely stay straight. Gone were my worn out blue jeans, and my deep purple hoodie. Now, I had a beautiful pale green dress made of soft silk. I wore sandals the same colour as my wings. I suddenly felt better. My indigo eyes had a magical sparkle, and then I gasped. Was I really an angel, like Golden had mentioned?

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Perhaps. I stepped out of my room and was surprised to see Christine waiting for me. She looked slightly worried. “Come on!” She took my hand and yanked me towards a garden, bathed in warm sunlight. There stood Golden once more. “You must leave immediately,” she said. She ushered us on, but kept Christine back. “Take good care of Indigo. You are her blesser and her guide. Do not forget, you have three weeks’ time. Do not fail.” Golden handed Christine a golden goblet and whispered, “Your first relic. It has powers. Use it wisely.” And with that, Christine took my hand once more, and we flew off into the sapphire blue sky. Chapter IV: An Old Friend After flying with Christine for some time, I managed to practice my own flying skills. In two days, we reached our first stop: the Kingdom of Animalias. We landed in front of their border, in front of a vast, dense forest. Christine told me that legend had it, at the heart of the forest, was the World Tree; its branches were portals to every kingdom, in the Light or Dark. The World Tree is also the Animalias Palace, although no one knows for sure, for not many had survived to tell the tale. The Animalias are ruled by Ivy, and every Animalia has the unique ability to shapeshift into its spirit animal. Christine and I took a deep breath and began our two-hour trek through the forest. After trekking for practically an eternity, I was parched, famished, and ready to collapse. We stopped in a giant clearing, and I immediately plopped down and sat. “We have reached the World Tree!” Christine waved her hand in front of her. Suddenly, seven warriors melted from the shadows and trees of the forest, creating a circle around us. In a flash, we were on opposite sides of the circle, with jagged swords at our throats. Out leapt the last warrior, from a particularly tall tree. She had a striking figure, glamoured in golden armour. A ridiculously sharp sword hung from a bronze leather belt that was strapped around her waist. Her wild brunette hair was tangled and swaying slightly in the wafting breeze. Blue eyes, as cold as ice, peeked through her golden helmet. “What brings you here?” she demanded coldly. “We are not open to visitors.” “We, um, ahem…” I couldn’t find the right words. “Bellator?” Christine interrupted. “Is that really you?!” “Christine?! How are ya doing? I haven’t seen ya in ages!” “I know!” Christine replied happily. “It’s been almost seven years!” The swords dropped from our throats. Before you could say “Oh, joy,” we were whisked into the looming World Tree. Chapter V: The World Tree

Beauty greeted us from the moment we stepped through the entrance. Branches

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twirled and swirled, creating a ceiling, from which candles hung, illuminating the chamber. All sorts of creatures flew, scuttled, shrieked, cooed and chirped around the grand chamber. The whole tree seemed alive. At the back of the room, there was a throne. It seemed to have grown from the tree. Leafy branches carved the shape of the chair, while a moss cushion made it more comfortable. On the great throne sat Ivy, Queen of Animalias. She had green eyes, which seemed to be layered with different shades, like the forest she ruled. Her armour was solid silver, engraved with swirls and patterns of all sorts. A purple bladed sword hung at her side, attached to her green leather belt. Draped on her back was an intricate green cloak, fastened around her neck with a purple jewel that reflected the candle’s light. She wore an expression of determination and strength. Bellator brought us to Ivy and spoke with her on the side. Then, we were taken to another smaller chamber, away from the noise and ruckus. “I see,” Ivy spoke, looking at us. “You were sent to gather my kingdom’s relic, I believe?” As she spoke, she looked at Bellator. “Yes, your Majesty,” I said, trying not to mumble. “Well, I do not simply give my kingdom’s most prized possession to whomever wants it! You must earn it.” And with that, she led us towards a small rounded door at the furthest corner of the room. “Answer the question, and you are worthy of the relic.” She left abruptly and resumed her position on the throne. Bellator was the first to move; she reached for the smooth spherical doorknob and twisted it. With a click, the door sprang open. Chapter VI: The Room of Questions The room was plain, with dull beige wallpaper peeling off the walls. An ancient sofa sat in a corner, covered in a thick layer of dust. Out of the blue came an army of paper birds! Yes, flying origami flooded the room, fluttering around peacefully. Suddenly, all was still; the paper birds froze mid-air, all except one. It fluttered towards us, and I reached out for it. I unfolded it and read: “We hurt without moving. We poison without touching. We bear the truth and the lies. We are not to be judged by our size. What are we?” I thought, “This must be the question.” Suddenly, the whole room seemed to be a living creature speaking to us. “You are worthless and useless. You shall fail.” Those words poisoned my thoughts, and hurt my heart. What if they were telling the truth? Was I worthless? Would we fail? “You can do it!” yelled Christine. “Back to the riddle,” I told myself, straining to concentrate. And then it hit me. Those words the room told me hurt, and they told lies, but Christine used encouraging ones, words that told the truth. They are small in size but big in power. I yelled the answer loudly and clearly: “Words!” The room stopped speaking, and all was calm. Ivy stepped into the room, and nodded proudly. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

“Well done,” she spoke, handing me our second relic. It was a beautiful silver scepter, embroidered with swirls of amethyst and beautiful emerald gems. “The relic has a power: the power of strength and perseverance. Now, I bid you farewell, and you are granted permission to use the World Tree to travel to your next destination.” She turned away and resumed her position on the throne. Chapter VII: The Pixie Kingdom After a night’s sleep, Christine and I went to the Pixie Kingdom. Jumping into the kingdom using the World Tree was an interesting experience. It left you feeling empty, as though you left all your insides behind. What we didn’t know was that, secretly, Bellator had followed us through the portal. We only met her just in front of the Palace of Queen Arabella. Bellator jumped out from the rose bushes, nearly making me fall into the pond nearby. We simply decided not to argue with Bellator, for she had already made up her mind - we let her tag along. Once we reached the Palace, it was a sight to remember. The Palace was a gentle red colour, with petal curtains alongside some small glass windows. There were two towers tickling the sun’s belly, and many butterflies and bees buzzing around the flower gardens that surrounded the Palace. Instead of a murky moat around the Palace, Queen Arabella had created a crystal clear stream. We walked across the stream on a little white bridge, and entered the throne room of the Palace, only to see a sad sight. There, on the grand throne, adorned in lace and pearls, sat Queen Arabella. She was a petite lady, with pale skin and brilliant blue eyes. She wore a dress made of dashing pink flower petals and small cream slippers, each one topped with a pink pom-pom. Her beautiful blonde hair was spilled over her shoulders, adorned with a wreath of roses and daisies. She sat on her throne, hunched over and sobbing violently. “Excuse me, your M-Majesty?” I stuttered. She looked up, with tears streaming down her face. “Whaaaaaat??” She wailed, putting her face in her hands roughly. “It’s no use!!!!!!” She cried, “I’ve lost it!!!!!!” “Lost what?” Christine asked. “My mirrorrrrr!” Queen Arabella shrieked hysterically. “Well, we can find it for you, if we can have-” I was interrupted by another violent sob. “Take anything you need! Just find my mirrorrrrr!!” “Alrighty! Let’s go!” said Bellator, trying to be enthusiastic. Once outside of the palace, her enthusiasm was gone. “Where do we look?” she asked. None of us knew, so we spread out and looked everywhere. Christine and I flew up and looked from above, while Bellator searched on land. While flying, I asked Christine, “Why does Queen Arabella need her mirror?” “It’s a strange story,” Christine told me, but she reluctantly recited the course of events. When Arabella was young, she had a sister named Magenta, who grew to be the Queen of the Dark Pixies. Until the age of ten, the two sisters were inseparable. Then, when their tenth birthday came, all changed. They began to hate each other, for Arabella wanted Magenta’s power, and Magenta wanted Arabella’s beauty. So, one day, Magenta 24

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decided that if she couldn’t be beautiful, neither could Arabella, or at least she couldn’t enjoy it. So Magenta cursed Arabella into a state of self-consciousness so that without the magical mirror, Arabella would fall apart. That ruby-studded mirror made whoever looked into it anyone or anything they wanted to be. So Arabella then believed that she was the most beautiful being in the world. Without help, Arabella wouldn’t use proper hygiene for months on end, or she wouldn’t change her clothes, because whenever she looked into the mirror, she always looked clean and proper. Some of the rulers from the other kingdoms grew tired of Arabella, and others, madly annoyed and jealous that Arabella was still beautiful, and because she had absolutely no worries at all. One particular ruler was especially jealous: the vain Cornelius, Ruler of the Unicorns. “There you have it. Her story,” Christine concluded, and she continued to search. Afterwards, I reflected, and remembered what Golden had told Christine: “Your first relic. It has powers. Use them wisely.” Once again, I flew over to Christine. “Christine, what powers does the Angel Relic have?” I asked “Healing powers, why?” she responded. “Well, what if we were to heal Arabella of the curse instead of playing along with it?” Christine’s face lit up, and then we accomplished our task. By the next morning, we managed to coax Arabella into drinking the crystal liquid that had poured out of the golden engraved goblet. Then, her heart and mind were healed. Arabella gave us a special gift to thank us for our help, along with the relic. The relic was a beautiful bracelet, beaded with the most priceless of gems from all the kingdoms. “Whoever heeds this relic shall take the power of immense confidence, as I lacked it,” she told us. Then, she handed me a small wooden box, and told me “This shall be useful, just once, at your next destination.” And with that, we bid her farewell and continued our journey. Chapter VIII: King Cornelius - He’s Really Something The nearest Kingdom was the glorious Kingdom of the Unicorns. They are noble creatures of the woods – or so we thought. Our visit was not what we expected. Not at all. Upon arrival, we noticed that the castle was quite something. It was glamoured with lace curtains, and adorned with fluttering flags, all of which contained a portrait of King Cornelius. As we walked towards the palace courtyard, we were greeted with more glamour; velvet carpets laid out on certain paths, plain cobblestone on others. There were plum trees being trimmed, and roses being watered. Bellator asked if we could see the King immediately, and the welcoming guards ushered us straight to the throne. We walked in, and were blown away. Every possible place on the walls was fitted with gold-rimmed pictures of Cornelius, again. It was either that or multiple copies of the same awards. On the beguiling throne sat – somehow – Cornelius, King of the Unicorns. He had pure white fur, glossy and proper, while his eyes, like kaleidoscopes, were multi-coloured, in the most fashionable manner. His horn and hooves were silver, reflecting the sunlight that poured in through the windows. He had a dazzling tail that swished in a rhythmic way. He held a mirror in his hand, and he kept stroking his head lovingly. He held his head up high as though he was the most important King in the entire world. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

Christine stepped in front of me and bowed. When she rose, she addressed the King. “Your Majesty, King Cornelius, we are here to ask Your Gratefulness if we may retrieve your Kingdom’s relic. The Light’s Peril-” She was interrupted by a snort from Cornelius. “Yes, I was told. But I simply have no time for such a matter! It fizzes my fur! But I do have time for a gracious new haircut. Also, yes, you may have my Kingdom’s relic, just because it doesn’t really go with this new décor I have. But... I only ask for one thing in return… Arabella’s ruby earrings.” He looked jealous. I gasped. “Yes! I have them!” I grabbed the wooden box Arabella gave me. I opened it with a click, and inside, sure enough, was a pair of ruby studs. Lined with precious gold, the rubies shone in the light. Cornelius thrusted the relic into my hands, and pulled the earrings away from me. His eyes grew large with greed and admiration. He waved us out of the throne room. After leaving the palace, we inspected the relic. It was a small piece of purple felt, with a single word on it: Invisibility. “That must be the power it grants.” Christine said. We were out of there by next morning. Chapter IX: It All Comes Together As soon as we stepped out of Cornelius’ Realm, we were whisked to a completely different place. When we stopped, we found ourselves in a beautiful white room. Golden was by our side once again. She was joined by a slender woman with graying hair, dressed in shimmering blue robes. “Congratulations,” she said solemnly. “You have retrieved all of the kingdoms’ relics – except one. I knew it would be the most difficult to retrieve, so I did so myself.” She displayed a blue gem that glistened in its own brilliance. She looked at the woman beside her. “This is Minerva, Queen of the Wizards. She is a difficult person to deal with, so I dealt with her myself. Here, in this room, all of the Light’s relics are present once more. It is my duty to bind them, to create Aura.” I took this as a cue to place the relics into the delicate hands of Golden. She placed all of them onto the ground in a small circle: first the golden goblet, then the majestic scepter, followed by the priceless bracelet, and then the small piece of fabric. She finally placed the last relic. Suddenly, they began to glow, first gold, then green, then a pale pink, followed by a dazzling purple, and, finally, a brilliant blue. The light dimmed, and there lay a sphere with a golden haze trapped inside. Aura.

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THE BATTLE

SCHOOL: St. John Bosco TEACHER: Diane Klobouk SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Ingrid Coulas UNIT: Renfrew UNIT PRESIDENT: Tracy Pecarski GRADES 5-6 / POEM by Rebecca Kerr

The ground shakes with every heavy blow; the clouds rumble with anger. It’s a war between the sea and sky, huge frothy waves lash out nearly scraping the sky. The sea stirs with frustration. Brilliant lightning forks its way down, striking the unsuspecting sea, repeatedly filling the sky with flashing brightness. With every hit, the sky becomes weaker and weaker, draining its power. Trees snap loudly and fall heavily to the ground. Huge branches crack and break as they fall to the hard, wet ground. The uneasy, inky-black sky calms for a brief moment. Then, with all its energy, lashes out one final white, hot blow, ending the battle. The sky and sea calm slowly, letting hopeful rays of sun pierce through the angry clouds, but the land is caught in confusion and is brutally maimed. Trees have been ripped from the ground and animals scattered across the forest trying to escape the mayhem. The land is saturated with water. The water is filled with dead, broken logs and leaves floating adrift in the once fierce sea. The battle is over.

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TECHNOLOGY AND THE MARATHON OF HOPE 2016 SCHOOL: St. James TEACHER: Vito Calabro SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Mario Greco UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 5-6 / NONFICTION by Selena Osunde

We all know about the Marathon of Hope that happened from 1980 – 1981, but what if the run was still going on today, in 2016, with Terry Fox, Doug, and the rest of his team? I recently read the book Run by Eric Walters, which is loosely based on Terry Fox’s story. Growing up surrounded by technology myself, I immediately thought: “How advantageous would it be if the Marathon of Hope had been held in today’s advanced world?” With all the new technology we have in this day and age, what would Terry and Doug have used to prepare, organize, and promote the Marathon of Hope? To prepare for the Marathon of Hope, Terry could have a brand new prosthetic leg, made of better materials and made to endure the run all across Canada. Terry’s right leg was prosthetic. Due to a cancer called osteosarcoma, his leg was amputated. In 1980, the prosthetics were not like the ones we have today. Terry had to hop twice on his good leg as the springs in his artificial leg needed more time to reset after each step. If Terry had access to the types of prosthetic legs we have available now, he would not have had to endure as much pain as he did. Along with a new leg for Terry, he could have worn athletic clothes that have a wicking material to wick the sweat away from his body. Today’s t-shirts, pants, socks and better quality running shoes would last much longer than what he used many years ago. Something Doug could use to prepare for the Marathon of Hope 2016 is a luxurious coach bus for driving around the provinces, cities, and small towns. This would be much better than driving a small van like the one he drove in 1980 – 1981, because it would be much larger and have room for Terry to sleep in the back, instead of having to book a room in a hotel or motel every night. And to do a little promotion, Doug could have a printer company place a large vinyl decal photo of Terry running on the bus. In my opinion, this would be a win-win situation. Next, to organize the run, Doug could have used a GPS to map out where to drive, or determine how many miles wide each province is. With that information, Doug could figure out how many miles Terry would have to run each day. Along with using a GPS to organize the run, Terry and Doug could have used personal technology, such as smartphones, tablets, laptops, and smartwatches. This would be an excellent choice of technology because, with these devices, you can do almost everything and anything. One example of a benefit of using a smartwatch is that they have apps that you can download for running, which tells you how many miles you have to run as well as measuring your heart rate. Next and last on the list of things to use in organizing 28

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the Marathon of Hope 2016 are the applications you can download on the devices I mentioned earlier. Three apps that would be beneficial to have are Nike+, Google Maps, and Map My Run. These apps all have one thing in common: they would all be used to make sure Terry was getting the best running experience ever. Nike+, for example, is an activity tracker made by Nike Inc. This app measures and stores the distance and pace of a walk or run. By attaching it to your shoe, or strapping your device to your arm, this app will work. Google Maps is of course used to map out where to run, the shortest or longest route, and where there is on-going traffic. This app is like a mini version of a GPS. Map My Run is used for the same thing as the other two apps, but is great if you wanted a variety of applications for the run To promote the Marathon of Hope 2016, Terry and Doug could have created a Marathon of Hope website, to tell when Terry would be arriving in each city, how long he would be staying there, and when he would be in each province. I think this would be a great way to promote the run because it could be seen worldwide, so even people who don’t live in Canada could keep up with Terry and Doug. This website could also have a feature where supporters could donate money if they were not able to do so as Terry ran through their city. Along with the MOH website, Doug could also start weekly newsletters for the Marathon of Hope. This newsletter would include a section to describe both Terry and what the run was all about for the people who haven’t seen or heard of Terry. It could also have a section where Terry and his supporters could do a Q&A! Just think, how cool would that be? Fans could ask Terry questions when he had free time, instead of them coming up to him while he was running and asking questions that could distract him. The last section of the newsletter could be how much money was raised in the past week. The last thing Terry and Doug could use to promote the run is social media. The types of social media that could be used are Snapchat, Facebook, Google+, Instagram, and Pinterest. These could all be used to post pictures and short daily updates on how Terry and Doug are doing, and how the run is going. The purpose of this project is to recognise what Terry and Doug could have used to prepare, organize and promote the Marathon of Hope 2016. There are so many possibilities of things they could have used for the run. Think about how much easier it would be to get more sponsors and supporters, and get the word across the globe about a special young man named Terrance Stanley Fox, who was determined to raise money and find a cure for cancer through research.

“Anything is possible if you try. Dreams are made if you try.” –Terry Fox

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FIRST IMPRESSIONS

SCHOOL: St. Joseph TEACHER: Teri Bonin SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lenore Sheridan UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Bob Giasson GRADES 7-8 / SHORT STORY by Zach Ellis

My back is starting to ache; my fingers are slowly starting to peel. “Thank you,” I mutter, as a man in a polished black suit drops a coin into my guitar case. That should be about 150 dollars. “I’m heading out,” I say to the other buskers as I start the long, cold walk home. December in Boston can be rough. I get to my street an eternity later. Did I mention that it’s cold out? I’m thinking about a nice, warm fire when I hear a voice deeper than Mariana’s Trench yelling. It can’t be directed at me… nobody ever talks to me. I feel something press against my hip. Perhaps it’s a gun, or maybe a knife; neither are a good sign. I get directed into an alleyway. I turn around to protest just to see a big, hairy hand heading in my direction. Lights out. I wake up. It is dark now and the cold nips at my ear like a teething baby. I head home. Twelve years living in Boston and I had never been mugged before. He, or a deep-voiced hairy she, had stolen my guitar, my phone that is older than Atari, and my wallet. Busking isn’t a high paying job. I needed money to pay the rent. I get to the fourth floor, Room 408: home sweet home in my one-bedroom apartment. I usually play Brick-Breaker and Pong to put myself to sleep, but I guess hitting the sack early tonight wouldn’t hurt. I’m up at eight the next morning. I pour myself a bowl of Lucky Charms even though I feel mostly unlucky right now. The guitar was the only instrument I knew how to play. But I need money, so I think back to when I was a kid and I would play the drums with a spoon and pan. I get my drum set (spoon and pan) and head out. I pass by the alleyway where I was mugged and I almost faint just glancing at it. The rest of the walk is normal, except for when my friends see my new instrument; they break out laughing like a pack of hyenas on a sugar high. I try to ignore the teasing as I get set up to play some noise/music. The streets start to get busier which means I need to start singing: “I like to play the spoon and the pan, so give me some money if you can. I like to scream, shout and holler, so be generous and throw me a dollar.” After 12 hours, a pack of halls, and a coffee, I made no money. I had better just leave, I think to myself. Just then, a 10-dollar bill flutters gracefully into the cup I’m using for collections. I look up to see a familiar hairy hand attached to a man about 5 foot 9 and stocky. He is probably too dumb to recognize me so I follow him. I’m thinking about ways to punch somebody on their evil, mugging, pot-smoking head (I’m assuming he does drugs), when he stops to buy a hotdog. “Who does this guy think he is? Buying a hot dog with my money! I’ll 30

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show him!” is what I think as I start marching towards him. My anger has reached its peak. I am a volcano, he is Pompeii. I am an iceberg, he is the Titanic. As I get ready to square off, he waves at a little boy who looks to be about nine. He hands the piece of street meat to the boy dressed in only a pathetic sweater and tattered jeans. The boy smiles and accepts it. Then, the man crosses the street and enters the local pawnshop. I decide to approach the boy.

“Is that your father?” I ask.

“Yep,” he answers, “he is the best dad ever.”

I look across the street to see the best dad ever arguing with the storeowner. He appears to be trying to trade in my guitar and phone in for a winter jacket. The man jets out of the store looking angry, and he is now guitarless, phoneless, and jacketless. He apologizes to the boy and plops down on the ground beside him. I realize how warm I am in my parka and decide to do my good deed of the day and hand the boy my jacket. His smile was bigger than the arc on Steph Curry’s shot. I also hand the man the 10-dollar bill that he accepts and gives me a grateful nod. As I walk off, I’m sure, in reality, this is the poorest and coldest I have ever been. But it is the warmest and richest I will ever feel.

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ROOTS

SCHOOL: St. Margaret of Scotland TEACHER: Michelle Manning SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lucy Cavar UNIT: Dufferin-Peel Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Rose Procopio GRADES 7-8 / POEM by Alysha Perez-Madrid de la Vega Evangelista

i am told to straighten my hair because my curls are too wild too big too thick they want me to change my hair like the blonde girls with the thin noses they say Filipinos offer some of the best hair treatments but it isn’t really a treatment if it’s not a disease my hair is my ancestors, my relatives, the negritos of the Philippines spiraling into my coils an explosion from my scalp my roots are the echoes of a battlefield of blood in my mouth of war in my ears of loss in my hands my roots are the ailing branches of a forgotten tree too archaic to be lost too lost to be found when she tells me to straighten my hair she means thin my hair she means whitewash my hair because the centuries of colonialism and imperialism in the Philippines are still telling me to tame my mane because our history 32

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is still defined by who invaded us because i am Chinese because i am Spanish because i am Aetan because my mother tells me to marry a white man because she wants blue-eyed grandchildren because brown isn’t good enough because when she tells me to straighten my hair she tells me to erase the darkness from my skin any trace that i am a descendant of the natives who came from Africa, the land of sun and melanin from where i get my melanin i was ten when i let her brush the wild from my hair ancestry lost with each comb-stroke a costume i paraded with a cocktail of pride from which i drank greedily slowly, my curls plant new seeds along the skin of my scalp new beginnings a bridge to fill a gap; an apology finding its place with uncertainty like the footsteps of a new born baby

and my mum tells me to get my hair fixed again it’s just a cycle of straighten straighten straighten of straight is better of white is better of straighten your hair of whiten your skin of fix your hair of fix your skin you cannot fix what is not broken because i was born under sun and sin now i am punished for my sun and skin my father’s hands are brown like the soil our people cultivated before the invaders pillaged, raped and stole because i do not know anything about what has been lost now i only know two thirds of myself i used to think the hairdresser was Midas but i did not know that i was always golden

i was once malleable i am not malleable i refuse to be malleable because I am not ashamed of my skin my skin that is caramel brown, the yellow of my skin that radiates like the sun my hair is wild and dark and coils like the snakes of Medusa my hair is thick and big like a lion’s mane because my hair is not broken my skin is not broken i am golden, like the stars that line our skies the stars that are holes in the sky that let the light of heaven through i am golden, the fire left in the trail of a blazing inferno i am golden, the ring of an afternoon sun my hair is black my eyes are brown my skin is tan i will always be golden

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THE TALE OF SANTA

SCHOOL: St. Frances de Sales TEACHER: David Condon SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Linda Vittorini UNIT: Durham Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Melissa Cowen GRADES 7-8 / PLAY by Adriana Helou

CHARACTERS: PETER: Main character, middle-aged, spends most of his time in a Santa suit. Plays a very loud, thoughtful and joyful character. DANIELLE: Mid-forties, mother of Adriana and Blayne. Helps Peter, plays a fun-loving character. CAROLE: Mid-forties, helps Peter. Plays a very welcoming, always smiling, kind character. ADRIANA: Teenager, niece of Peter, older Adriana. Plays an outgoing, helpful, kind, appreciative character. BLAYNE: Eleven years old, nephew of Peter, older Blayne. Plays a loud, funny, helpful character. MARCUS: Five years old, cousin of Adriana and Blayne. Plays a surprised, timid, happy and energetic character. NADIA: Three years old, cousin of Adriana and Blayne. Plays a surprised, happy character. CROWD/EVERYONE (Other family members): Play family members, older and younger people. Play people who are enjoying themselves, lots of laughter, lots of chatting, and lots of noise. YOUNG ADRIANA: Plays a young Adriana (five years old) when she was the one getting visited by “Santa.” Plays a surprised, excited, loving character. YOUNG BLAYNE: Plays a young Blayne (three years old) when he was the one getting visited by “Santa.” Plays an energetic, loud and surprised character. ACT I SCENE I (Christmas Eve, crowded warm basement. Christmas music playing, chatter, laughter, family, celebrating life and traditions.)

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(In the warm basement, everyone is gathered waiting for the arrival of Santa. Everyone hears the jingle of bells and turns their heads towards the stairs where they see him.) PETER: (In a loud voice) HO, HO, HO! Merry Christmas! (PETER stomps down the stairs. He has red cheeks, and sweat is dripping off of his forehead. He carries a big red bag over his shoulder filled with presents.) DANIELLE: (Excited, turns to YOUNG ADRIANA and BLAYNE) Look who’s here! It’s Santa! CAROLE: (Getting up quickly, she makes space for Santa to enter the room.) Come on in Santa! We saved you a seat. (YOUNG ADRIANA and BLAYNE jump up with excitement, run over to Santa and sit on his knee.) PETER: Merry Christmas, you must be Adriana and Blayne! Have you been naughty or nice? YOUNG ADRIANA AND BLAYNE: (Nod in sync) We have been very nice! PETER: In that case, I have a present for each of you! (Santa takes out two gifts from his red bag and passes them to YOUNG ADRIANA and BLAYNE.) YOUNG ADRIANA: (With a big smile) Thank you, Santa! I love my gift. (Blackout, scene ends.) ACT I SCENE II (Lights on scene begins, time jumps forward eight years.) (Christmas Eve, crowded family room. Christmas music playing, chatter, laughter, celebrating life and traditions.) (In a beautifully appointed family room, the family gathers on Christmas Eve. DANIELLE (Mother) gets up, walks over to PETER (Uncle), and signals to him with a nod of her head. They start walking to the front of the stage followed by BLAYNE, ADRIANA, and Auntie CAROLE.) PETER: (Whispers excitedly) Who’s got the costume? DANIELLE: (Whispers) I’ve got it upstairs in the ensuite. They are all occupied. Let’s go! (Everyone turns swiftly, quietly, and walks up the circular staircase.)

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ACT I SCENE III (Parents’ ensuite bathroom) CAROLE: (Unpacking the infamous Santa Claus costume) Okay! Let’s start with the pants. (Handing them to PETER. He begins pulling them over his legs. As the Santa pants go over his trousers, you can see PETER mentally getting into character to transform into Santa Claus.) PETER: Ho! Ho! Ho! BLAYNE: (Laughing) Ha! Ha! This is going to be so cool. ADRIANA: They’re going to be so happy! (Sitting on the counter taking a selfie) How do I look? DANIELLE: Adriana, aren’t you supposed to be taking pictures of Uncle Peter getting ready? ADRIANA: Oh! Yeah! (Proceeds to take pictures of AUNTIE CAROLE and DANIELLE dressing UNCLE PETER) CAROLE: Slip the boot covers on! DANIELLE: Stuff the pillow in there! PETER: (In character as SANTA) Ho! Ho! Relax, my little elves. All will be good. (Everyone finishes accessorizing SANTA’s make-up, beard, glasses, wig, hat, eyebrows, boots, and belt. SANTA picks up the red sack of gifts and his jingle bells. Everyone puts their hands into the centre of the circle.) EVERYONE: Go, Santa! (Blackout.) ACT I SCENE IV (Lights go on.) (Foyer of the house. You hear knocking on the door, jingle bells and HO! HO! HO! Merry Christmas! Santa Claus enters through the front door holding his red sack of gifts over his shoulder. ADRIANA and BLAYNE escort MARCUS and NADIA to the front door. MARCUS and NADIA’s eyes open wide, big smiles on their faces.) SANTA (PETER): HO! HO! HO! I am looking for Marcus and Nadia, are they here? ADRIANA: Who is that, Marcus? Who is that, Nadia?

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(MARCUS and NADIA jump up and down with excitement.) MARCUS: It’s Santa! Santa, come with us! (They run and give “SANTA” a hug, take his hand and lead him to the family room where everyone is gathered.) ACT I SCENE V (“SANTA,” MARCUS, ADRIANA, BLAYNE, DANIELLE and CAROLE enter the family room where the family is seated.) SANTA (PETER): Ho, Ho, Ho! Merry Christmas! Is everyone having a nice evening? Is there a seat here for Santa? ADRIANA: Right here, Santa… next to the Christmas tree. (SANTA puts MARCUS and NADIA on his knee.) SANTA (PETER): (Looks at MARCUS) Have you been a good little boy? MARCUS: NO!!! (Giggles) SANTA (PETER): Nadia, have you been a good girl? Nadia: (Nods her head yes.) SANTA (PETER): Here is a gift for each of you. My elves have been working very hard in the workshop. (SANTA hands MARCUS and NADIA a gift, which they open and love.) MARCUS/NADIA: Thank you, Santa! (SANTA leads everyone in a Christmas carol, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”) SANTA (PETER): My reindeer are waiting for me… I must go and deliver gifts to all the other boys and girls in the world. EVERYONE: Bye, Santa! ADRIANA: Have a safe sleigh ride! BLAYNE: Say hi to the reindeer!

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SANTA (PETER): (As he exits the room, yells) Rudolph, I am coming!!! (ADRIANA follows PETER out of the room.) ADRIANA: (Whispers) Uncle Peter, I have something for you. (ADRIANA hands UNCLE PETER a hand-written letter.) PETER: Thank you. (Turns, walks back to family room, lights dim, scene ends.) ACT II SCENE I (After the Christmas gathering, PETER is back home in his family room. The lights dim as he sits on the couch, reflecting on the evening.) PETER: (Wondering aloud) Is this Santa arrival worthwhile after all these years? (PETER takes the letter that ADRIANA gave him out of his pocket and begins to read it.) (VOICEOVER) Uncle Peter, Another successful Christmas has passed us by. It’s so funny, but I can’t wait until next year. Marcus and Nadia had a lot of fun with you this evening. Watching them brought back so many fond memories of my brother and I, sitting on your knee opening presents. I really think the adults were enjoying it as much as the kids. This tradition means so much to our family. We all look forward to seeing Santa come to life and bring joy to our household. There is nothing more meaningful than seeing the excitement of Santa through the kids’ eyes. Until next year, Adriana (PETER starts to choke up, then smiles. The Christmas excitement that has been created through Santa’s visits across many generations is worthwhile and must continue for years to come.) (Lights dim. Play ends.)

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POPE FRANCIS

SCHOOL: St. Patrick TEACHER: Sara Giancola SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Claire Slaven UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Nina March GRADES 7-8 / NONFICTION by Lindsay Klysen

After 14 Clements, 16 Benedicts and 21 Johns, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s refreshing to finally have a Francis. Pope Francis was elected at the age of 75, and despite his advanced years, he has had the energy and mindset to change the Catholic Church. Francis, which means patron of the poor, is fitting for our kind and humble Pope. He has stayed true to his name; sneaking out of the Vatican to give bread to the homeless, eating lunch with the custodial staff at the Vatican and connecting with people of all ages and backgrounds. Pope Francis is a 78-year-old man who is open to change. He has broken the mould of what it means to be Pope and is accepting and inclusive of all. A balance between Orthodox and Reform, he sheds a new light on the Catholic Church, while still maintaining tradition. On September 5, 2014, Pope Francis opened his first Google Hangout, a way for him to interact with youth on a global scale. The Google Hangout invites teenagers, regardless of religious background, to share their perspectives on what matters most to them. It is important to Pope Francis that he can relate to and understand the needs of this new generation. Pope Francis also exists on other social media platforms such as Twitter. He has found a new way to preach the word of the Lord, expressing his thoughts and prayers in a more casual setting. Having just over eight million followers, he helped spread awareness for Paris, quotes Bible verses and prayers, and talks about upcoming trips or meetings. He has adapted to the 21st century and has found a way to appeal to and educate the latest generations. The Catholic Church is perceived as more welcoming because of the communities he is creating through various social platforms. Because of this, Pope Francis was the first Catholic head featured on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine. He has also graced the cover of Time Magazine, having been chosen as the 2013 person of the year. His drive for change, humility, and compassion for all has been recognised and commended worldwide. Today, our world is faced with a problem, an issue that is intimidating, hard to deal with and completely our fault. Climate change is a concern that is moving at a worrying pace and threatening life on earth, from plants to animals, and even humans. The results of human neglect on climate change can be reversed if our world can pull together and make a change. Individuals can surely help, but it is the job of world leaders to inspire change. Pope Francis has stepped up as a leader and is helping to lead the charge. Writing a 192-page encyclical about the environment, his focus is on creating a partnership between religion and science to combat YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES Ă&#x2030;CRIVAINS

human-driven climate change. He released his encyclical in the summer of 2015, with the hope that it would help influence the Paris summit, wanting his plan to be put in action. He raised awareness for the environment in a new setting and continues to educate both the young and old about what we can do. He has made it clear that he believes education about the environment will make us more responsible and influence the way we think and act about the matter. The world is not ours to ruin and we need to leave it behind for future generations. We can’t be selfish and only think of ourselves. The things we do and the way we act will affect generations to come, which is why progress can’t wait. Pope Francis demonstrates leadership in this specific area, calling on all people to take care of this planet we all call home. Mastering the art of simplicity is not an easy task. Driving a modest car, owning minimal possessions, and living in a more understated home are all the things people struggle to do when they know they can afford better. The Pope has succeeded in choosing simplicity over luxury. Pope Francis has chosen a slightly different approach than the Popes before him, choosing to live in the guesthouse rather than the Vatican suite, and driving a 500L black Fiat instead of the usual popemobile. The bulletproof protection is not a feature provided in his Fiat, and leaves him vulnerable to attack. The popemobile was designed so that the Pope could be more visible when greeting larger crowds, while still having the safety of the glass. It was used to help make him closer to the public, but for Pope Francis, this wasn’t enough. “How can I connect with the people in that sardine can?” he said in an interview with La Vanguardia. He risks his safety for the trust and support of the people, proving his message yet again that we are all equal. The same reasoning backs up his decision to stay in the guesthouse: living in the community with others. As the first Pope in 110 years to live outside of the papal apartments, he demonstrates to the people that he considers himself to be one of us. Pope Francis practices what he preaches: he lives a simple life and is humble, despite his powerful position in the Church. Pope Francis’ compassion for all, ability to adapt to a new era and drive to bring about change on a global level has made him a hero to all. He has changed the ways of the Catholic Church and is inviting to and inclusive of all religions. At a time when the Catholic Church is having trouble being relevant to the new generation, Pope Francis’ ingenuity and acceptance might just be the answer to our prayers.

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OUR STORY

SCHOOL: Blessed Cardinal Newman TEACHER: Cathy Quinn-Thomas SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Brian Iwasiwka UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dave Szollosy GRADES 9-10 / SHORT STORY by Daniela Alyssa Caruso

The new girl walked into the classroom. From then on, I knew my life was transformed. I observed her as she entered: her bright, captivating, blue eyes that sparkled in the sunlight like diamonds, her long, curly hair that looked so perfect, her ruby-red lips that were soft like a red-velvet rose, and her pale, white skin that glowed in the sunlight. In the two years that I had been at this school, I had never seen her. Who was she? “This is Vanessa; she is new to our school and to our town. I hope that you will all make her feel welcome,” Mrs. Taylor, my math teacher, announced. “Why don’t you tell us about yourself?” “I moved to this small town because my dad was transferred to a new job location,” she stated ever so confidently. “Um…” she paused, questioning what to say. “There is a lot to me and who I am. Some of the smaller things about me are that I love school, art, and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream; it’s my favourite.” It was lunch. Vanessa was sitting all alone, isolated. I stood there questioning whether or not I should sit beside her. I decided not to, I got frightened. However, she came over and sat beside me. We talked all through the lunch period, and I realized that I began to start liking her. A week later, I wanted to ask her out. I was unsure, I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. … The next morning, I sat alone in the kitchen as soft footsteps approached me. “Noah, are you okay?” my mother questioned me in a meaningless manner as she entered the room.

“Yes, I’m just thinking about stuff,” I replied, dodging her awkward question.

“Well, you can talk to me if you want,” my mother went on. She never asked me these things before; she sounded artificial.

“It’s okay. I have to head to school,” I told her. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

… Period two: I had math with Mrs. Taylor, my favourite teacher. I could talk to her about anything. The class flew by. I did not notice the video that was playing, the equations, what the teacher was writing down on the board nor anything around me. My focus was on Vanessa. I focused on the ruby smile that formed on her face as she laughed while talking to the girl next to her, and how happy she was in that moment. Time froze. I felt as though all my problems had disappeared; it was just Vanessa and me. Class was over, and I approached the teacher. “Mrs. Taylor, can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked. “Sure, is everything all right, Noah?” she replied, seeming genuinely concerned. It was a reaction I had never gotten at home, nor a reaction I would ever see on either of my parents’ faces. “I was wondering, my friend is in a situation,” I told her awkwardly, although, I started becoming more comfortable, as well as relaxed. “He likes this girl; however, he is unsure about asking her out. He does not want to regret it later on.” “In my experience, your friend should go for it. They say when you die, you regret what you didn’t do more than the things you did. Do you really want to regret it, Noah? Go ask Vanessa out. I think she may like you, too.”

“I said it was my friend, and nothing about me liking Vanessa,” I said.

“I understand, but I know love when I see it,” she told me. As I left the classroom, Mrs. Taylor stopped me. “Noah, don’t let fear be the road block of your life. Fear is the one reason you should want something even more and try even harder.” I left the classroom immediately to figure out when to ask Vanessa out on a date. I decided to do it the next day. The talk with Mrs. Taylor kept repeating itself in my mind. I realized that I could not let Vanessa go; I needed her. … It was the beginning of the day, and I was about to ask Vanessa out. Terrified out of my mind, I approached her. “Hey, Vanessa,” I uttered in a nervous tone. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me on Saturday.” “Yes, totally, I would love to!” she replied as a sense of relief flowed through me like a river. I felt unstoppable. I felt like my life was just about to change; my confidence grew.

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… It was Saturday. I showed up at her doorstep with a red rose, as an image of her smile danced in my head. I knocked on the door, and this tall man opened it up. He said, “Are you Noah?” I nodded in fear. “Make sure you bring her home by ten at the latest.” “I’m ready. Are you going to tell me where we are going, Noah? Vanessa questioned me as her eyes glistened in the rays of the sun. “It’s a surprise; you will find out in about ten minutes. This is for you,” I said, as I handed her the delicate rose.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.” She replied.

“Not as beautiful as you,” I told her. Hearing those words made her smile, and I was at peace with my nerves and with my issues at home. We entered a small ice cream parlour. I’d remembered from the first time I heard her delicate voice that she’d announced that she loved cookie dough ice cream, so that is where I brought her. We ordered our ice cream and talked for hours. It was nine thirty, and I did not want her to be late. We got back to her place just in time. … It has been 4 months, and even though we had gotten into a few fights, this one was much bigger. Usually when we fought, everything returned to normal the next day. This was different; she seemed very upset. It was a stupid fight about me getting serious about my life. She didn’t want me to take a gap year to travel and then go to university. She wanted me to do something great with my life right when I graduated. Vanessa did not understand that I did not need a great job to have a great life; all I needed was her. From the moment I laid eyes on Vanessa, I knew that she would be the purpose of my life, the reason I fought my way out of bed every morning, the reason I took awhile to get dressed, to do my hair. She was not the purpose, but my purpose. One week after our fight, there was a knock on my front door… “Look, take the gap year if you want, but all I want is for you to do something great with your life. You have so much potential; you just need to find it,” she told me as she entered the family room. “You will never understand, will you? I do not need money or success for my life to be complete,” I replied, almost in tears from the fact that she did come back for me.

“Then, what do you need?” she questioned me.

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“You. That is all I have ever needed,” I said.

She jumped into my arms to hug me. In that moment, the world froze. I had never felt so safe in my life. I was at home, both literally and metaphorically. … It was our one-year anniversary; I planned the perfect day. We would go to the gallery Vanessa always wanted to go to, but never could afford. It was an art gallery. We shared that enjoyment, which was one of the numerous reasons why I loved her. Then we would go out for lunch at a wonderful restaurant. To finish the night, we would go to the ice cream parlour where we had our first date. It would be perfect. It was nine in the morning. I picked up Vanessa and we left. She was gorgeous: her eyes, like always, were sparkling like two diamonds, her delicate, pale skin and the makeup that she took hours to do looked perfect. However – she did not need it, as she was stunning all on her own. We were at the museum; she was mesmerized by the art. Vanessa was captivated. I watched her as she looked at the painting. She was impressed, stunned. Vanessa never thought that it would be this beautiful.

“I love you,” she said as we left. It was the first time she had ever said that.

I replied, “I love you, too.”

We went to the restaurant and took our seats.

“You look beautiful,” I told her.

“Thank you,” she replied ever so modestly. I knew that I had never, nor would I ever, meet someone like her. She was kind, compassionate, loving, modest, and beautiful. Everything you would ever want in a girlfriend, she had it.

In a split second, everything changed…

There was a loud noise, like a gunshot that fired. My life flashed before my eyes, although all I saw was Vanessa. Vanessa! I had to make sure that she was okay. I swiftly moved to see if she was hurt; she had been shot. My heart sank until it created a horrible feeling in my stomach. A hole was drilled into me.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” announced the woman on the phone.

“My girlfriend has been shot. We are at the restaurant on Queen Street,” the words struggled to escape my mouth. It felt like a dream. It was more of a nightmare.

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The ambulance came to take her to the emergency room. I accompanied her to the hospital as I called her parents so they could drive there. I sat in the ambulance quietly. That one moment went through my mind over and over again. I could only think that the day had been a disaster. Perhaps it had been a dream. I knew it was not, however. I needed that ounce of hope to revive me from the horrific experience. I felt wrenched with painful guilt; I felt like it was my fault. I could have taken the bullet, taken my own life. It all went by so rapidly – it was impossible. We arrived at the emergency room. I sat down while doctors surrounded her. Thinking, waiting, worrying was all I was doing. There was a voice. This subtle voice, that seemed to captivate my attention, likewise, the way Vanessa spoke about art. “Where is she? Is she okay?” Vanessa’s mom asked calmly but worriedly, a reaction I would not have received from either of my parents. “She is okay: they took her into surgery. They said that they believe she will make it,” I said, sitting in a silent waiting room in tears. What if I lost her? I knew I would never find anyone who cared about me nearly as much as she did. She helped me explore the world, just by sharing useless facts, facts I would never hear again. I glanced at a picture of a cat on the front desk, and it flooded me with memories. “So, I found this fact page on Instagram today,” Vanessa mentioned casually, excited to share some new information with me. “Apparently, for every two people in the United States, there are three pets.”

“What are you getting at?” I responded curiously.

“Well, when we get older, we should get a pet, maybe a German Shepherd, tabby cat or a black cat because you love Halloween, and that would freak people out!” she said, so excited to have this future with me and share these glorious things. “When we explore the world, and go to Paris, Rome, Tokyo, and Greece, we can leave our cat or dog, which will probably be a cat, with my parents.” She wanted to see so much of the world. Little did she know, those dreams might not come to pass.

“That sounds like a great id-,” she cut me off in all the excitement.

“We can get a cute bungalow, in a small community, and live a life where we are unstoppable, against the world. No mean characters to bring us down, no one who will hurt us. This perfect life, in this perfect community, in this perfect bungalow,” she told me, picturing the perfect future. “You know, I don’t need a perfect lifestyle to be happy; all I need is you. You are the perfect lifestyle,” I responded.

“You are the sweetest. I do not know where I would be without you,” she said.

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“You would probably have a boyfriend who you do not like and who is not as great as I am, who is a complete jerk. You would also be scared to break up with him because you are terrified of what he might do,” I told her, thinking about how my life would be different. “That would happen for sure. There is no one better than you,” she told me, as I got slightly embarrassed.

I started to doze off. It was so late, and I was so tired, but I refused to leave.

“Noah… Noah…” a soft voice said as I struggled to open eyes that were resisting. I saw coffee in a hand and a face that I recognized. It was Vanessa’s mom. “I hope you drink coffee,” she stated.

“Thank you, Ms. Jackson,” I replied.

“Call me Sophie. If you are going to refuse to go home, why don’t you call your mom to bring supplies for you?” she told me. “I could call, but she probably would not come,” I replied. “My mom didn’t come to my graduation, let alone to pick me up from school when she promised. Why would she come for me now?” This got me thinking about Vanessa and how I could not lose her. She was the constant in my life; she kept me from losing my sanity. Her mom left as she had to go find her husband. Again, again I was isolated. No one to talk to, no one to tell me interesting facts. Nothing, nothing was there. It was like the last fifteen years of my life before I met Vanessa… empty. She was out of surgery and I was allowed to visit. I entered her room. She was unconscious, her skin cold, paler than before. She looked like Snow White, beautiful and quiet. The scene replayed in my head numerous times: the sound of the gunshot going off, the vision of beauty that crossed my mind. I loved her, and she could not walk out of my life like this. I needed her. She made me breathe, see, hear, touch, understand. She gave me life and purpose. I used to question why I was on earth; she was the reason. Vanessa has been unconscious for about a week, and I was starting to get worried. They said that she was okay; her blood pressure was normal, she was breathing, but something seemed off. I got word from one of the nurses that she was awake. I went to visit her. I had never seen her look more beautiful.

“Hi,” she mumbled, struggling to get the words out of her mouth.

“Hey, it has been a while. How are you feeling?” I replied.

“Horrible, but thank you,” she said quietly.

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The nurse entered the room. “She has to rest, I am sorry,” she stated. “Maybe I can sneak you in later.” I left, but soon after I did, I regretted it. A week later, I received a call from Vanessa’s parents. They said to rush to the hospital. “Vanessa was doing great, but then she had a rough night. She needs a heart transplant. We have a donor. We will perform the surgery tonight and give you the details tomorrow morning,” the nurse informed us.

“Maybe you should go home, Noah. It is going to be a long night,” Vanessa’s mom told me.

I replied, “I’m okay. I will stay.”

It was a harsh night. I slept on the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Then, I was awoken by a rapid shake. It was the nurse. “The surgery went well. Vanessa is awake and feeling better. Would you like to see her? We are about to announce the donor,” said the nurse.

“Sure,” I replied gratefully.

I entered her room once more, the same blue walls I had seen for a couple of weeks. It was time to hear who the donor was. The nurse told us, “So… the lovely, giving person who was the donor, was a math teacher named Sophia Taylor…” …

I looked at my son, David, and daughter Bella’s face. They seemed stunned and fascinated.

“From that day forward, your mother and I both knew that we belonged together. We saw that our math teacher’s gift of life to us was a sign from her. She knew that we were meant for each other,” I told my kids. “Now you know how your mother and I met, as well as our story.”

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LONDON FOG

SCHOOL: St. Joan of Arc TEACHER: Diane Conte SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Pauline Whelan UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 9-10 / POEM by Bianca Hill

The smell of morning dew arose, A scent of bitter sweets. Dear London cries, “Oh, London Fog, Why haunt thy many streets?” “You make this a place of eerie rest, And hide us from the light. Oh, fog of London, beast of day, Depart, be one with night.” For how is one ever to know, That day has come at last When London’s streets are coated by The shadows fog doth cast. Day is but an enclosed night, Which drags as moments stilled. Take with it London’s empty streets, Come sun, once more be filled. For hollow shops by windows bare, With nothing to be shown, Shall cry out, “London, seek the day, Come forth, let it be known.” The town of fog shall see the day, When fallen morals stand. To bring out those both young and old, About the barren land.

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Til that day, the fogs detest, Upon poor England’s name, To taunt the city without rest, Whose shadows now remain. But nothing more can take away The tales of ancient times, Which rest atop discoloured bricks, Of shops, on streets aligned. Expanding past the ray of sun, To touch the cobbled way. Whence did land dare meet with sky, And bringeth night to day? Dear England weeps for one’s last breath, “His Only Son Begotten.” As London’s buried graves mark death, To those who have forgotten That tests of faith are to amend, Dishonour to His name. Bring forth both those of foe and fiend, Why, they are not to blame. For labels doth mark the man Whose vision has gone blind. Afraid to show his mercy’s hand, Now prisoner to time. Show now to London’s empty streets, Bring clearness through the smog. Let not our faith in God be lost, Obscured, by London Fog.

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PAINTED DESIRE

SCHOOL: Cardinal Carter Academy for the Arts TEACHER: Isabel Molino SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Michelle Blais UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dave Szollosy GRADES 9-10 / PLAY by Stevan Micheal Serio

Dramatis Personae KING HERON – ruler of some land in France with people called Patrireans LADY JUDE – priceless painting of a beautiful woman in gold ATTENDANT – King’s right hand man BALTHAZAR – very powerful wizard KNIGHT 1 KNIGHT 2 KNIGHT 3 OSRIC – lizard; close to BALTHAZAR NOBLEMEN KNIGHTS DRAGON – painted figure TROLLS – painted figures OTHER – painted figures Act 1 – Scene 1 (The KING is sitting on a throne in his castle located in France. He is staring at a painting of a beautiful woman while thinking deeply.) KING HERON: O, fair and dazzling face, why is it that you must be trapped in that frame? If only you were of this life, you’d be my Queen, and I, your King. How deeply I long for a beauty like Venus, and O, the wondrous heirs we would make! Tis not right that King Zoran should have a most divine wife and not me! If the Trendaleans’ forces were less, I’d order an attack on them right this instant and have Zoran killed. Then, his Queen and kingdom would be mine, and O, how much greater a King I’d be! (Sighs.) Is there no one in all the lands for King Heron to call his own? ATTENDANT: Sire, I’m sure there must be, you just have yet to find this beauteous lady. KING HERON: Can’t you see, Cedric? I’m getting old. How much longer am I to wait? 50

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ATTENDANT: With all due respect, sire, you’re only thirty-two and still have many years ahead of you. KING HERON: Yes, yes, but my patience won’t last all those years. I fear I will lose it one night and find myself hungry for the taste of my blade. ATTENDANT: Please, sire, there are other ways. You said you were most fond of that woman in the painting, did you not? KING HERON: Why, of course! But weren’t you listening? Do you expect me to marry a canvas?! ATTENDANT: Sire, if you’ll let me finish – there is a man who is spoken of in whispers, a man with… power. KING HERON: Then I’ll have him killed! No man in my kingdom is to have power but I! ATTENDANT: No, no, no, not that kind of power. KING HERON: Well, what other power is there? ATTENDANT: As my words were beginning to explain, a man who can make fire appear from nowhere and levitate even the heaviest of boulders with just a swift hand movement. KING HERON: Magic?! Don’t tell me you believe in these tall tales! And, in any case, how is some wizard to give me a wife? ATTENDANT: Perhaps he can make the painting real, sire. KING HERON: Bring her to life? (Ponders) Yes, that would be marvellous and, well, perfect! O, why, that is genius, Cedric! But can it be done? ATTENDANT: With your orders, I’ll send for the man now, then we can see what limits the universe binds on wizards. KING HERON: Yes, be gone! And come back with this man of whom you speak. (ATTENDANT exits.) O, how there never was a more glorious day! Act 1 – Scene 2 (Enter KNIGHTS in a dark, foggy forest.) KNIGHT 1: Is this the place of which Cedric spoke?

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KNIGHT 2: I believe so. He said at the edge of the Black Forest, beside the ravine, is where we’d find him. KNIGHT 3: What is this wizard’s name, anyways? BALTHAZAR: (Voice) Balthazar, and you should know better than to disturb him in a place where you don’t belong. KNIGHT 1: Who said that?! KNIGHT 2: We are armed, I warn you! BALTHAZAR: (Voice) Are you, now? Well, so am I! (Laughs.) KNIGHT 3: Show yourself, or we will attack. BALTHAZAR: (Voice) Hmmm… Tempting, but no. How about we play by my rules? I’ll give you three seconds to drop your weapons and run for your petty lives. KNIGHT 2: This isn’t funny, mister! BALTHAZAR: (Voice) Of course it isn’t. That’s why I wasn’t joking. One… two… KNIGHT 3: Hold it! We were sent by the King. BALTHAZAR: Three. (Vines fly from the trees above, latch onto the KNIGHTS and hang them upside down. Other vines take their weapons and threaten the KNIGHTS with them. Their horses run away into the woods. BALTHAZAR reveals himself to the KNIGHTS.) Now, I gave you a fair warning, didn’t I? What a shame. Anyways, human bones – perfect for the Living Death Concoction, don’t you think, Osric? OSRIC: (Appears from behind BALTHAZAR’s beard, looks at hostages and nods.) KNIGHT 1: No, no! Please, hear us out. We mean no harm. BALTHAZAR: Well, of course not. How could you? I have your own weapons threatening you. (Laughs.) KNIGHT 2: Just give us a chance to explain, Sir Balthazar. BALTHAZAR: You have until my fingers are down. (Raises his palm.) If you don’t interest me in that time, you are all dead men. Begin. (As they speak, he slowly drops his five fingers and the swords move closer to the KNIGHTS.)

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KNIGHT 1: We were sent by King Heron to bring you to his castle – he needs help with something that involves magic. BALTHAZAR: What? (Swords stop moving.) KNIGHT 2: Well, we don’t know exactly. That’s all we were told, honestly. KNIGHT 3: Please don’t hurt us. BALTHAZAR: O, quite! (Beat) As much as your King is unworthy of my presence, I’ll go, just to amuse myself. (Waves at vines and they drop the KNIGHTS and the swords. BALTHAZAR disappears into the trees, leaving the KNIGHTS behind.) Act 1 – Scene 3 KING HERON: Any word from my men, Cedric? ATTENDANT: No, sire. I’m beginning to worry. Maybe they took a wrong turn. (Doors open, fog falls into the room, and BALTHAZAR is revealed.) BALTHAZAR: Forget your men. Is it of any interest to you that the great Balthazar is here? KING HERON: O my, of course. So, you are a real man. Please, take a seat. (Gestures to throne beside him.) BALTHAZAR: No, I will stand. Now, would you like to explain to me the reason you sent a bunch of hooligans into my forest? KING HERON: Well, my attendant over here has heard of your powers, and you see, I am in deep need of a Queen. I was wondering if you could bring this lady to life. (Gestures towards painting.) BALTHAZAR: (Walks over to painting and observes it.) Ah, yes, the beautiful Jude of Noitpeced. (Beat) KING HERON: So, do you think it’s possible? BALTHAZAR: (Chuckles.) What you are asking is doable, but I must receive something in return. KING HERON: Anything you want – name it. Silverware? A hundred gold coins? A statue of yourself, perhaps?

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BALTHAZAR: O, no. What I want can’t be purchased. KING HERON: Speak, then. What is it? BALTHAZAR: Your first child. KING HERON: And what are you to do with that?! BALTHAZAR: It doesn’t concern you. Anyways, that is my only offer – take it or leave it. KING HERON: Please, ask me for anything else and I’ll give it to you. Take ten of my men, fifty if you wish! BALTHAZAR: (Begins to exit) Your first child, and that is it. KING HERON: Wait! (Beat) Ok, fine. BALTHAZAR: I need paints and a brush for this kind of spell. KING HERON: You heard the man, Cedric. Go and retrieve these items immediately! ATTENDANT: Yes, sire. (Exits.) BALTHAZAR: (Dims the lighting with a wave of his hands and begins to mutter a spell to the painting.) ATTENDANT: (Enters, then bows to BALTHAZAR. Hands over paints and a brush.) Here you are, great Balthazar. BALTHAZAR: (Takes items, brushes symbols in a circle on the floor with paint and walks around it – chanting – while waving the paintbrush.) Eb eerf morf eth d-nuob fo siht savnac, emoc ot siht efil et tel h-surb sekorts d-necsnart ot ruo d-l-row! (Woman comes out of painting and stands silently, looking around.) KING HERON: Majestic being, lovely lady, come forth and meet your husband. BALTHAZAR: Pass me your staff. KING HERON: For what purpose? BALTHAZAR: You will see.

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(KING HERON, still looking mesmerized at LADY JUDE, hands the staff to CEDRIC, who gives it to BALTHAZAR. BALTHAZAR melts the top of the staff with his hands, then inserts the brush. Next, he waves his hands over the staff, causing the melted gold to reform around the brush and make a little ball cage around the bristles.) With this, you will be able to control your lady. Just direct it towards her and make your command. KING HERON: How wonderful! (Moves towards BALTHAZAR and grasps staff. Points it at LADY JUDE.) Come forth, Lady Jude, and press those plump lips on mine own. (LADY JUDE moves slowly and does as he says. They kiss for quite a while.) BALTHAZAR: (Begins to exit) I’ll be back when my child is born, and remember this: Magic demands balance – if not, it will destroy you. Act 2 – Scene 1 KING HERON: Fair Jude, it brings me utmost joy to declare that our wedding will be held on this gentle evening. LADY JUDE: Well, this is all very sudden, Heron. We have only exchanged a few words, and you already speak of marriage? KING HERON: Yes, what is the use of words when the body can express more? Come here, my love. (Moves in to kiss her.) LADY JUDE: (Pushes him back) Wait, I’m being serious. KING HERON: As am I, and you will listen to your King if you know what is good for you! LADY JUDE: What kind of King speaks to his Queen in that manner? (Beat) Let us clear the air. Why don’t we go on a carriage ride through the village? KING HERON: Not now, my Lady Jude. Is it too much, wanting to express my love, for the time being? LADY JUDE: Ugh! You speak of love like it is made of physicality, but what you don’t understand is that it comes from within. How can you possibly love me? You barely know the first thing about me! Tell me, what do I adore doing in my spare time? What makes me smile most? What is my favourite colour? Can you answer any of these things?! KING HERON: O, what does it matter? And I’ve had just about enough of this misbehaviour from you! YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

LADY JUDE: Misbehaviour?! Do you hear yourself?! We’ve known each other for only a few hours and you’re already treating me like one of your knights, no, worse – a dog! I am no pet of yours and will not be attending our wedding this evening! KING HERON: Enough! You listen to me. You will do exactly what I say, when I say it, simply because you have no choice. Remember who is holding the staff in this kingdom. (Points staff at her.) Now, come forward and apologize. LADY JUDE: (tries to resist but falls under his spell) I am terribly sorry, my lord. I hope you can forgive your Lady Jude, who o, so dearly loves you with all her heart. KING HERON: Of course I will forgive you. How could I ever stay mad at my Queen? (Points staff at her.) Come, let our lips be bonded to seal our undying love. (LADY JUDE moves forward and kisses KING HERON.) LADY JUDE: You are a wondrous man, my King. KING HERON: As are you a wondrous woman, dear Jude. I feel this night will bring us many joys. Let Aphrodite bless our chambers, for there will be more than one concession this evening. (Laughs.) Now, I just had a most delightful idea. Cedric, go announce our wedding plans to the kingdom. Also, call on Balthazar – I have another request. While you’re at it, bring me every painting within the kingdom. I order all works of art – from this day forth – to be the property of the royal family. ATTENDANT: As you wish, sire. (Exits.) Act 2 – Scene 2 (BALTHAZAR enters the castle, where KING HERON is sitting on his throne.) BALTHAZAR: So, you desire more? Is not one already too much for you? KING HERON: My words have yet to touch the air. How then do you know what I long for? BALTHAZAR: Are you forgetting that I’m Balthazar? And the answer is no, I will not bring more artworks to life. I know how you have been treating Miss Jude. Let it go, and don’t ever let me find you abusing the laws of magic again! (Begins to exit.) KING HERON: (Beat) My second child! BALTHAZAR: (Stops walking.) What about it? KING HERON: If you give me what I ask, it is yours. Isn’t it what you want most? 56

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BALTHAZAR: (Turns around.) Not this time. Your soul will be the price. KING HERON: But then, how am I to live? BALTHAZAR: No one will be dying on this day. However, in ten years’ time, I will be back, and that soul of yours will belong to me. KING HERON: Ten years?! You’re giving me only ten years more to rule this kingdom?! BALTHAZAR: No, you’re giving yourself ten years more to rule this kingdom. That is, if you want more paintings to cross over from the canvas to life. KING HERON: You’re crazy! You think you can just appear and disappear from here with whatever you want? You’re mad! BALTHAZAR: (Laughs.) It seems as though someone has forgotten to look at their reflection in the water lately. O, how the lie is worse when we do it to ourselves. Anyways, as you don’t mean business, I’ll be off. (Starts exiting again.) KING HERON: (Beat) Damn you, old man! (Beat) Fine! Have it! Have my soul, just give me the power to bring as many paintings as I desire to life. BALTHAZAR: (Turns around) O, now you are speaking of multiple upbringings. KING HERON: Yes, that is my offer in exchange for my soul. BALTHAZAR: Well, I will need more from you, if I am to give you an unlimited supply. KING HERON: You have already expressed your disinterest in riches. I have given you my first child and my soul! What else could I possibly offer you?! BALTHAZAR: Five more of your children. KING HERON: (Beat) You really have no limits, do you?! BALTHAZAR: You heard me. Now, do we have an exchange or not? KING HERON: (Beat) Yes, (Beat) yes, just do it. Give me the power to bring my art to this life. BALTHAZAR: How splendid. Then let us begin.

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Act 2 – Scene 3 (ATTENDANT enters with KNIGHTS and NOBLEMEN carrying paintings.) ATTENDANT: These are all the paintings we have collected from the villagers, sire. KING HERON: Perfect! Place them down in the centre of those symbols, (Gestures towards painted symbols on ground from the spell that brought LADY JUDE to life.) then leave. ATTENDANT: As you wish, sire. (All the paintings are placed in the circle and the men exit.) KING HERON: (Observes paintings and speaks to himself and the art.) O, why look at that! A dragon! Now I shall be the most feared King in all of Europe! And O, how a painting of trolls will make my army unstoppable. In time, I will be supreme ruler of all the lands, once I bring you to life. Now, my memory tells me to walk around the circle, as Balthazar said, wave my staff and recite these words: (Pulls out parchment with incantation scribbled on one side. Begins to walk around circle, wave the staff and chant.) Eb eerf morf eth d-nuob fo siht savnac, emoc ot siht efil et tel h-surb sekorts d-necsnart ot ruo d-l-row! (Nothing happens as KING HERON waits, staring at the paintings.) Hello! Why aren’t you coming to life? I spoke the words exactly as Balthazar did. Now what am I to do? Are all of you too tired to move or something?! (Beat) Fine! Just wait for when you are on this side of the frame. (Breathes in deeply) Eb eerf morf eth d-nuob fo siht savnac, emoc ot siht efil et tel h-surb sekorts d-necsnart ot ruo d-l-row! (Nothing happens, beat) d-l-row! (Nothing happens, beat) d-l-row! That’s it! Cedric! (ATTENDANT runs in.) ATTENDANT: Yes, sire. What can I do for you? KING HERON: Get me that wretched Balthazar. I signed over my soul in blood, gave him six of my children, and now I’m chanting here like a blithering idiot! (Paintings begin to come to life behind KING HERON’s back.) ATTENDANT: Um, sire? KING HERON: Yes?! What are you standing there for?! Are my words not clear? Why is it that no one can understand me now? ATTENDANT: No, sire. If you will just turn around… (Candle lights dim. KING HERON turns around to see a dragon directly in front of him, and many other creatures and soldiers.)

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KING HERON: (Screams and jumps) I did it.(Beat) Isn’t it magnificent, Cedric?! Just look at them all. ATTENDANT: Yes, yes, but what are we to do with them? (The painted begin to look around and make a mess.) KING HERON: (Points staff in the paintings’ direction.) I command you to hold still and listen well to my orders. (LADY JUDE enters.) Ah, just in time, my love. Feast your eyes on the new addition to the Patrirean army! (LADY JUDE is frozen in shock. KING HERON then focuses his attention on the art.) Now, you will all go to the land of the Trendaleans, accompanied by my Knights, and break through their armed walls. Do what you must to gain control of their empire and kill King Zoran! Follow my attendant through these doors now! (The paintings begin to exit. LADY JUDE moves over to KING HERON and kisses him.) LADY JUDE: You are a truly brilliant man! (They kiss more, then she snatches his staff and breaks the tip, exposing a broken and sharp brush.) KING HERON: (Screams) What have you done?! Are you mad?! Give me my staff or I’ll have you killed by my army. LADY JUDE: Really? But it seems as though someone else is holding the staff in this kingdom now. (Beat) How dare you threaten me and treat the entirety of my kind like dirt? KING HERON: We can work this out, my Jude, just hand over the staff. LADY JUDE: You really want this staff, huh? Then have it! (Stabs him in the stomach with the staff. He falls on the floor and bleeds as black paint pours out of his mouth.) (Doors open, fog falls into the room. BALTHAZAR is revealed.) BALTHAZAR: Bloody hell! What have I done? (Waves his hands and all the characters go back into their paintings. The scene of the dead KING with LADY JUDE go on her canvas.) The End

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BE THE WOMAN A MAN NEEDS

SCHOOL: Resurrection TEACHER: Evelyn Dekker SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Andrea Craig UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Michael Devoy GRADES 9-10 / NONFICTION by Jessica Rice

“Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee… And craves no other tribute at thy hands but love, fair looks, and true obedience, too little payment for so great a debt” (TAM. 5.2.147-155). A husband is to his wife as a prince is to his subject, and if a woman proves shrewish, ‘froward, peevish, sullen, sour,’ she is like a traitor to a just ruler. A woman is to be prepared to do anything for her husband, fulfill his every wish. As Shakespeare does, Jane Austen continues to explore the difficult topic of male and female roles in society. In Pride and Prejudice, the five Bennet daughters struggle with their relentless mother, whose main goal is to ensure all of her daughters marry, and marry well. Elder sisters Jane and Elizabeth must comply with the obstinate ways of their mother, in that they must marry a man of means, rather than a man they love. Being strong-willed and taking control of her own life, Elizabeth Bennet overcomes the astounding discrimination against women, and makes her own identity in a male-dominated culture. Elizabeth is a determined woman and does as she pleases, and not to please others. After Jane becomes ill and must reside at Netherfield until she recovers, Elizabeth does not rest until she sees that her sister is well for herself. She is expected to take a horse for the trip, but she does not wish to avoid the walk for “the distance is nothing, when one has a motive” (Austen, 26). Once she arrives at the house, “her appearance created a great deal of surprise. – That she would have walked three miles so early in the day, in such dirty weather, and by herself” (27), which causes her to be held in contempt by Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley because this is not the typical behaviour of a respectable young lady. However, their opinion does not phase her, and she immediately tends to her sister, which was her intent. Elizabeth constantly pushes herself, her actions stunning to others. As her character develops, one sees that she does not follow the rules set for a woman of the time period. She goes against all expectations for how a woman should act in society, to fulfill her own desires. Pride and Prejudice takes place in the late nineteenth century, when women were not even entitled to vote. This clearly displays that women did not have a voice, and their thoughts and opinions were not valued; they were thought to be inferior to men. In that time, marriage was the most important matter, which is why Elizabeth’s refusal to marry Mr. Collins bewilders her family.

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He is a very distinguished and wealthy man, and any woman would be flattered to win his interest. During the proposal, he speaks of love, but also of revulsion at her inferior position and family. Despite this, he assumes she will accept him. Although he is a more than suitable prospect, Elizabeth refuses to marry based on social status; she would rather marry for love. It is one thing to have an opinion, but it takes a great amount of confidence and self-assurance for a woman to go against what was expected of her, and to follow her heart. Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth’s best friend who ends up marrying Mr. Collins, is the complete opposite: “marriage had always been her object; it was the only honorable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune” (106). Marriage was not meant to bring happiness and love, but to generate wealth and stability. Having the courage to reject Mr. Collins’ proposal is empowering, showing that Elizabeth makes her voice heard and will go against her own family’s wishes to do what is best for her. Throughout the story, Elizabeth is true to herself, which is one of her most admirable characteristics, because she does not let anyone control her actions. She has a mind of her own and she uses it. Elizabeth and her sister Jane have a very close relationship. One of the main conflicts that drives the plot is Jane’s relationship with Mr. Bingley. In the late nineteenth century, the man was expected to make the first move, but this concept becomes a headache between this pair, because neither is up front about their feelings. This stressful confusion, as well as Mr. Bingley’s unkind family, causes many problems, but it never phases Elizabeth. Their mother, is constantly pushing Jane towards Mr. Bingley for he is a great prospect and “it was, moreover, such a promising thing for her younger daughters, as Jane’s marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of other rich men” (86). Unlike her mother, Elizabeth values true happiness and love over wealth. This is what she advises Jane to prioritize as well when she says: “You must decide for yourself,’…’and if upon mature deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his two sisters is more than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife, I advise you by all means to refuse him’” (104). This statement is shocking for Elizabeth to say, allowing her sister to deny the greatest proposal from a wealthy and high status man; her mother’s dream come true. Her opinion contradicts her entire upbringing, being groomed to become the perfect wife, but she refuses to mold into the ‘ideal’ mate. Elizabeth Bennet is one of the most inspirational, genuine, and intelligent characters in literature. Her headstrong personality allows her to overcome gender inequality, all the while remaining true to herself. Standing up for what she believes in, Elizabeth is able to guide others and make her values apparent. Contradictory to the statement, “Thy husband is thy lord, thy life” (TAM. 5.2.147), a woman may accept help from others but she does not serve, nor does she depend on anyone but herself. Just like men, women are intelligent and self-sufficient. A man does not define a woman; she establishes her own identity, which Elizabeth Bennet undoubtedly displays.

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LEAKED

SCHOOL: Jean Vanier TEACHER: Deanne Hachey SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Dave Condon UNIT: Simcoe Muskoka Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Michele MacDonald GRADES 11-12 / SHORT STORY by Samantha Moneypenny

It’s the same boring routine every pathetic day. My creative thinking was going downhill, and I was pointing the theoretical finger at the small, lifeless town of Shadeacre, New York. So welcome, people, to the slightly depressing, feeling-sorry-for-myself inner monologue of an average 18-year-old stuck in a small town life.

“Leo Anthony Jenks! You’re going to be late for school!” my mom called to me.

“Coming!” I trudged through the painfully plain kitchen and grabbed my hefty textbooks and duffel bag full of football equipment, snatching up an apple on the way out. I waved bye to my family - which consisted of my mom and dad - hastily closed the door behind me, and sprinted to catch my bus. I got to my stop with no time to spare and jumped on, throwing an apologetic glance at my crabby old driver. She did not seem to be in a forgiving mood. Oh, well. I sat at the back, and twisted my headphones to fit my ears. Keeping up so far? Good. If not, I’ll summarize for you. My name is Leo Jenks, I’m an only child, pretty good-looking (not to brag), and I’m on the football team for the only high school within a fifty mile radius. I don’t know how much more cliché my life can get; all I’m missing now is being appointed captain of the football team, and the annoying girlfriend. Wait— “Leo! Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all morning! Look at these amazing pumps I got at the mall last night! They totally go with your skin tone!” I bet you can assume who would be waddling down the hall - in her new heels - towards me, her strawberry blonde bob bouncing weightlessly around her shoulders. Celia Groves, meet the readers. Readers, meet Celia Groves, my girlfriend. She just happened to be pretty high up there on the social ladder, and a member of the cheerleading team. Just between us, she drove me crazy, and not in the good way. So, I let her take up her usual position, practically hanging off of my arm, and put my happy face on as we strutted down the harshly illuminated hallways crammed with kids herding in different directions. It looked like something from Animal Planet. I could hear the dialogue in my head: “And here we have the alpha pair. . . notice how the herds of fledglings gravitate towards the sides of the hallway to let them pass. . . social hierarchy seems to be the main thing that keeps order within the school. . . they seem to be communicating frequently by some electronic devices—” “Leo? Are you even listening to me?” Celia was snapping her perfectly manicured nails in front of my face.

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“Earth to Leo!”

“Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing,” I shook my head, not having the energy to explain what my mind had wandered to when it was in a different space and time. Ring! Ah, saved by the bell. Whatever she was about to tell me was cut off by the shrill ring of the warning bell. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” I quickly hurried into my first period English class. Alas, it was no use, I was already pretty late. I entered the classroom stealthily, and slunk down alongside a very worn bulletin board on the inside wall of the room, hoping that Mr. Sommers—an old, unobservant pushover—wouldn’t see me sneaking in late. I almost made it, too. But the loud scrape of the metal chair legs on the tile floor threw me to the grumpy old shark, who liked to gnaw on kids with his haggard teeth. “Mister Jenks, how lovely of you to join us! Perhaps you could tell me why Puck is such an important character in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, because that is what we were discussing before you so rudely interrupted.” Mr. Sommers stood there with his hands on his hips, actually expecting an answer. In that moment, I decided to start my own little rebellion party of silence in protest against his question, as I am highly competitive. This of course, led to a full blown staring contest between Sommers and me. After what felt like years, but was only a tension-filled twenty-five seconds, Mr. Sommers turned back to the board in defeat. “As I was saying . . . Puck is a very important character.” Victory! He scribbled something on the board, and rattled on about Shakespeare this and Shakespeare that, to which of course the whole class would tune out. I stared down at my feeble little chair in hatred. How could it have betrayed me to Sommers like that, after all I’d done for it! Not once, had I pasted gum on the underside of it, nor had I scribbled inappropriate images into it with pen. All I’d done was graced it with an entire semester of holding up my butt. Finally, the glorious sound of the bell found its way to my ear canals. One period down, three to go. Oh, joy. Dragging my feet down the hallway to my next class, my earphones blasting in an attempt to block out the unnecessary chaos of the hallway, I saw some of my football teammates and waved to them half-heartedly. They called out “Hey,” to me, but all I saw was the movement of their lips and the eager smiles on their faces. I took my usual seat in my second period class, Philosophy, which thankfully flew by for me. After that came lunch, which lead to Celia jabbering on endlessly about Louis Vuitton bags, or something that had absolutely no value to me. I pretended to listen, but I was actually going over plays that I needed to know for practice. “. . . And the clasp is like, this rose gold. . .” Run ten yards, fake left. “. . . It’s the absolute cutest! All the girls will be so jealous!” Spin right, run a fly.

“Leo, are you listening to me?”

“Of course I am, Celes,” I lied smoothly. Look, I know you think that I don’t pay any attention to my girlfriend, and I’m a terrible boyfriend, blah, blah, blah. But you see, my dear readers, the day will come when you meet a material girl like Celia. That will be the day that you

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come to recognize true pain. “Gotta go, don’t want to be late for my favourite class,” I said, quickly jumping up and gathering my bag and books, maybe a little too quickly, judging by the hurt expression that flickered across Celia’s pale green eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll call you tonight,” I reassured her, and felt a flood of relief when some of the slight ruby colour returned to her perfect complexion and she smiled at me. I pecked her on the cheek, and then was hustling to the boys’ locker room. There’s no denying that third period is by far the highlight of my day—gym. I smiled like an idiot as I took my last deep breath of clean, fresh air before bravely entering the dark pit of despair labelled ‘Boys Locker Room.’ Thankfully, my prayers had paid off, and I emerged alive. The rest of the boys trickled into the gym at different times, and our school’s ironically overweight gym teacher, decked out in stretched, grey, stained sweats, and sporting a broken whistle around his neck, ordered us to stand on the baseline. We weren’t naive young’uns anymore and knew what this meant. We were to run. Barely audible groans escaped the lips of just about every boy in this humid box of horror. “If you’re going to complain about it, you’ll all run for the entire class!” Isn’t he a treat? I had a ghost of a smirk on my face as we crouched down on the faded, miserable paint line, waiting for the airy sound of the broken, plastic whistle to echo off the gym walls. Tweet! Over an hour later, I stepped out of the locker room, and I swear you could see steam coming out from the crack under the door. Boys are gross. I could see some wet, stringy strands of my jet black hair stretching down across my eyes, bouncing with every step I took. “Leo, wait up!” One of my teammates, Max, jogged up to me. “Hey man, you pumped for tonight?” he asked me, clapping me on the back. Our next class was together, outside in a portable. We pushed open the creaky double doors that groaned in protest against the cool autumn air. The wind cut through our flimsy sweaters, and tossed my hair around; Max’s buzz cut didn’t exactly get tossed. “It’s just a practice, Max,” I laughed. Max is the most stereotypical jock you will ever meet… Or read about, I should say. I don’t know, I’m new at this. “Yeah, exactly! Keep your head up, eh?” I knew he was just messing with me. We were actually best friends, have been since Kindergarten. Let’s just say you don’t exactly meet too many new people in a town with the population of an inner city grocery store. “Don’t worry, I. . .” I trailed off, the sun reflecting off something catching my eye. I whipped my head to my right in the direction of the parking lot, and spotted three black Cadillac SUVs rolling smoothly onto the cracked asphalt of our small school lot. Now, I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed and I don’t know much, but I know enough to realize that our tiny school in the middle of nowhere is not the appropriate backdrop for a Cadillac commercial.

“What do you think they’re doing here?” Max was staring as well.

“I have no idea, but let’s find out,” I whispered, and crouched low behind the pathetic half dead bushes that “decorated” the front of our school, with Max right behind me. We watched intently as six men, dressed in sharp black suits, sunglasses over their eyes, and professional scowls pasted on their faces, exited the SUVs and walked briskly into the school. One of them

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stayed behind to stand in front of the school and watch the vehicles. Max and I started to inch forward, so we could make out the static that was flowing into the man’s earpiece. Dead leaves from the bushes scratched me and grabbed at my clothing and hair with gnarled fingers, and dry soil stained the knees of my jeans, but I was oblivious. “. . . Secure suspect . . . find her . . . them . . . threat. . .” I caught the occasional incoming earpiece words here and there. “Max, I think they’re looking for someone… Or something,” I turned to explain it to Max, who simply shrugged and headed towards the portable classroom. I got up, brushed my knees off and followed him into what would be another all-too-exciting class. . . “Here now,” I glanced at the text from my mom (she’s texting, I’m so proud) telling me she was here to pick me up. I waved bye to Max, got in the car, and prepared myself for an insanely boring ten minutes of my life that I wouldn’t be able to get back. The slight bump that jostled the car as we pulled into our driveway shook me from my thoughts. “If you’re planning on going to that get-together tonight, get your homework done first.” My mom informed me.

“Yes ma.”

We entered an empty house, my call for my dad echoing off the walls.

“Your father is working late tonight.”

“Oh, ok.” I threw my school bag onto the kitchen table and began to take out my English homework, silently cursing Mr. Sommers. Now, what was the theme from A Midsummer Night’s Dream again? Yeah . . . English isn’t my strong suit. I flipped on the TV to drown out the annoying and incessant clack, clack of the knife hitting the cutting board as my mom prepared dinner. Okay, okay, back to English. . . “And in other news, there have been reports of mysterious sightings in smaller areas of the state of New York of new DNA splicing experiments. . .” My head whipped up, English already forgotten. I’d heard about these experiments, there had been rallies against them shown in the media. Oh, did I forget to tell all you wonderful readers who are still with me about how messed up our government is? So, let me make sense of what you just heard on my TV: basically, there were secret experiments held in these facilities that were apparently approved by the government that allowed scientists to try and split our human DNA with different animals. Birds, cats, lizards, you name it. But somehow, the information leaked—big surprise there—and a bunch of the experiments escaped—even bigger surprise there. Here’s how I imagined the pitch for this idea went down:

“Mr. President, sir?”

“Who are you?”

“We’re mad scientists, and we want to propose an idea that could turn out horribly and injure mass amounts of people, and most likely won’t succeed, but it would be really cool if it did.” “Proceed. . .”

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“We want to secretly take people from their homes, and splice their DNA with different animals.”

“Hmmm. . . Will people die?”

“Possibly.”

“Could it work out in the end?”

“Possibly.”

“If it works, could humans have like, fuzzy cat ears or something?”

“Possibly.”

“You have the go-ahead.”

That’s probably the most likely scenario, but hey, it’s still just my theory.

“That is just disgusting. Messing with God’s work like that. It is an abomination.” My mother had appeared in the dining room beside me, and was squinting at the grainy pictures of half humans, the hate radiating off of her and becoming apparent in the crow’s feet around her eyes. “. . . These creatures may be considered hostile, so if you see anything unusual, especially at night, lock your doors. . .” The TV informed us. It made me sick to think about the procedures that these ‘creatures’ had to go through, probably in labs. No wonder they’re hostile. Whatever. Back to my personal hell—homework.

“Where are you? This party is bumpin!” from Celia.

“On my way,” I replied hastily, and said bye to my mom, grabbing my keys and heading out the door. I pulled up to the only house on the street with lights still on, parked my car on the lawn and headed inside. Okay, don’t tell anyone, but I secretly hate parties. Why go to them, you ask? The answer is, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because they’re the only excitement in my entire week. “Leo!!!” Celia staggered out of the kitchen, coincidentally where the punch was, and hugged me. It wasn’t much of a hug, more like her hanging off of me because she could barely walk.

“Let’s go dance!” She started to tug weakly at my arm.

“Celia, you know I don’t dance. . .” I didn’t want to let her down, but I really, really hate dancing. “You never pay attention to me!” And with that, she stormed off. Great. I’ll have to deal with that crying mess tomorrow morning.

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“Leo!” Max waved me over to where he and some guys from the team were standing. Perfect, I could take refuge in there for the rest of the night. I couldn’t wait to go home, already. . . But wait, who is that girl slipping out the back door? She looked so familiar. I guess according to the rules of romantic comedies, I had to follow her. “Hey!” I called after her dark, slim figure. There was something off about the shape of her back . . . those looked like wings attached to her. Who knows, maybe she’s Goth or something and wants to get attention. To my surprise, she turned around and started walking quickly toward me, her arms reaching for me. Strange that she would approach a gross, smelly teenage boy so quickly. But heck I won’t complain! I was smiling like an idiot by the time her hands gripped my shoulders, and she leaned in. . . Wait, I think those are real wings! What is happening?! She’s still leaning in, and too fast! I heard a loud, wet-sounding crack, and everything went black. Beep . . . beep . . . beep. Wow, what is that incessant sound? Alarm clock? I might as well roll over and shut it off. My arm got yanked back by something. Grumbling, I opened my eyes to find myself in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. “What . . .?” I mumbled in my sleepy voice. There was a chair in the corner with a figure in it. Celia? No. It was definitely a girl, but she had a small lean frame, dark flowing hair, and copper skin. My shifting around must have woken her, because she slowly opened her eyes and lifted her head to look at me. Her eyes were a piercing, complex amber colour, and they bore into mine. The girl from last night! “Who are you?” I groaned and felt the giant bruise on my forehead that had started throbbing. “. . . Did you head butt me?”

“S-L46Y8N, and yes, I did,” she said, as if it were obvious.

“That’s your name?”

“Government property,” She flashed a secretive smile at me, “But I prefer Silvana.”

“Y-you’re one of those leaked government experiments?” I wasn’t sure if I believed her.

“In the flesh.” She made sure no one was looking, and then snapped out a set of 12 foot long raven-black wings for half a second before tucking them neatly under her overcoat, out of sight.

“Why were you-?”

“At a stupid human party? I was searching for others like me.”

“But why?” Not going to lie, I’m a little confused. How can the other ones be evil, when she doesn’t seem to be? “Some of the leaked experiments are bad and violent and all that noise, but there are some of us who are good, and I want to find them and show that to the public. The media is portraying us as total monsters.” She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but I could tell she was very passionate about this. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

“I’m still waiting for an apology, by the way,” I smirked at her, which she chose to ignore.

“I’m sorry. I just felt threatened when you cornered me. Keep an open mind. I think the future will bring big change, and that isn’t necessarily good. But keep an open mind . . . Leo,” she smirked at me. “How do you know my name?” I have to admit, I was very intrigued by this avian lady. She was about to open her mouth to answer, but my phone buzzed on the plastic tray beside my bed, and I glanced down to see who it was - Max. But when I lifted my gaze to the chair, she was gone, disappeared, bye-bye. I wish you readers could have seen my face. It must have been one giant question mark. “Silvana—wait!” “There you are! The nurse told me you fainted at the party while you were with Celia! How are you feeling? Let’s get you home, sweetie,” my mom cooed at me, and she and my dad rushed in and fluttered around my bed, looking for something to help me with. “Guys, I’m fine,” I said, hopping off the bed, and changing into my faded jeans. I tried not to look too disappointed about going home. As soon as I got in the door, I zipped into the living room and clicked the TV on, trying to catch any ‘unusual’ stuff in the media. Sure enough, more stuff on the savage human testing. “That is just disgusting. Those things do not deserve to live, being an abomination and all,” my mother remarked, her hands placed sassily on her hips. I tried to hide my look of disgust at her judgmental tone. If only she knew. . .

“Mom, they’re probably not disgusting.”

“Leo, just look at them! They aren’t human!”

“That doesn’t make them bad,” I said through clenched teeth. I usually don’t argue with my mom, but this time it was especially hard to bite my tongue. “Leonardo, don’t argue with your mother,” my dad ended things in his stern don’t-arguewith-me-or-you’re-so-grounded voice. Now, I have two choices: I can keep arguing for a situation where my efforts will make little to no difference but will end up in consequences galore, or I can shut my mouth and head to my room. Guess which one I chose?

“Whatever, I’m going to bed.”

“But it’s only noon, you can’t sleep all day!” Did my mother happen to forget I was just in the hospital? “I’m exhausted. Goodnight.” And with that, I stomped off to my room. Sometimes it sucks being an only child, because your parents don’t have another sibling to satisfy their urges for nagging. I flopped down on my bed, and stared up at my blank ceiling. Funny how it looked just

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like the story of my life. . . Wallowing in self-pity, I let my mind trace back to that brief conversation I had with a strange and intriguing girl in a hospital room. I was drawn to her because she was the opposite of everything in my life: exciting, thrilling, adventurous! I don’t think I’ll ever see her again, but I’ll probably spend the rest of my days hoping to. So many thoughts were banging around inside my head: Where is she now? Does she have a home? Is she a loner? How did she escape? I had so many questions, but none that would get answered. My heart sank deeper and deeper into misery, and I decided that sleep would be the best thing for me, so I yanked off my jeans and slid under my warm covers. Morning already? And a Monday, too. I am still not a happy camper. I did everything half-heartedly, and didn’t even bother brushing my hair. Wait, I’d better make sure I remembered pants—okay, we’re good. Whew. The next few moments seemed to happen in slow motion. I trudged into the kitchen, watching my mom open the folded cardboard flaps of the cereal box. As she started to pour the contents of the box into a ceramic bowl, a blood curdling scream erupted from her. Why is this, you ask? Maybe because instead of Wheaties coming out of the box, there was a steady flow of raven-black feathers pouring into the bowl. I stood there frozen in shock for a moment, and then one singular thought took up my entire brain capacity—Silvana! I rushed into my room, expecting to see her standing there, and the curtains billowing in the breeze behind her. But no, I’m not that lucky. Thanks Karma. I started to shuffle out of my room in defeat, when I heard a flapping noise. I whipped around to face the interior of my room, to reveal. . . nothing, except that my open window had shifted some of the papers on my desk. Better fix those. What’s this? I didn’t leave a sticky note here.

“Holy crap,” I gasped involuntarily. It was from Silvana!

Dear Leo . . . it read.

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PASTEL RAINDROPS AND A LIFE THAT’S STARTING AGAIN SCHOOL: Cardinal Carter TEACHER: Anne Marie Devine SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Orph Manassis UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 11-12 / POEM by Sarah Fantetti

when I’m gone, finally, utterly gone, i will not have disappeared in entirety. no, my shards and shapes will be dispersed, dispensed between the likes of the things my breathing conscience once loved. you’ll see my eyes through the shades of perpetual midnights and dawns, you’ll hear my whispers woven into the harmony of your old favourite song, you’ll feel the skin of my calloused fingertips between the pages of that old novel about magic and permanence. you’ll know that I’m there, still, somewhere among the gust against your coat and the music spilling into your ears, somewhere across the ocean, somewhere right beneath your favourite pair of boots. i’ll be somewhere, always somewhere, too close and too far all at once, overloading your senses and depriving your mind. maybe not here, maybe gone to the naked eye, but I promise you, i’ll be somewhere, always somewhere. 70

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WET INK/THE TWIST

SCHOOL: Holy Name of Mary TEACHER: Karen Conderan SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Sandra Roiati UNIT: Dufferin-Peel Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Peter MacDonald GRADES 11-12 / PLAY by Sydney Henry, Aliyyah Khan,

Nida Kiani, Daelyn MacDonald, Kieara Miranda, Demerlyn Sanchez

Characters: HECATE WITCH #1 WITCH #2 WITCH #3 (The three weird sisters from Macbeth) WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (W.S.) MACBETH (M) LADY MACBETH (LADY M) ROMEO (R) JULIET (J) PETRUCHIO (P) KATE (K) Setting: Onstage at the Globe Theatre before Shakespeare’s plays (Taming of the Shrew, Macbeth, and Romeo & Juliet) were first performed. Timewise, the Shakespearean characters in this play are set in the beginning of their own plays. Prologue (HECATE enters.) HECATE:

Three witches, all alike in misery. In Shakespeare’s theatre, where we lay our scene. From ancient grudge to new mutiny. When witches art playwrights, and playwriting in peril. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

A scheme unfolded with revenge on the mind. Upon their author whom is most unkind. Who taketh credit for what should have been mine.

(Exit HECATE.) Scene 1 (Low/dim lighting. Three WITCHES standing downstage. Going through SHAKESPEARE’s bag.) WITCH #1:

When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning or in rain?

WITCH #2: WITCH #3:

When the hurley burley’s done.

WITCH #1:

Where the place?

WITCH #3:

Upon his study.

WITCH #2:

Here to meet with Shakespeare. To wreak havoc on the unsuspecting.

WITCH #1:

Who will appear from the dried ink?

WITCH #2:

Who will appear at the hands of we three?

WITCH #3:

Who will leap from the pages, alive as we?!

WITCH #1:

Let us search. Quickly! While he remains unaware.

WITCH #3:

Here’s the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet!

WITCH #2:

The love tale of Kate and Petruchio!

WITCH #1:

Fools! Look for the play that has marred our dignity.

WITCH #3:

Ahh! Here! Sisters! Our Scottish play!

When the story’s lost have won.

(WITCHES start ripping the pages of the play.)

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WITCH #3:

Shakespeare doth come. (Cackles.)

(Enter WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.) Scene 2 (SHAKESPEARE’s office is revealed.) W.S.: W.S.:

(Grabbing loose papers.) Weird sisters, how has thou made thy selves living?! What hast thou done to my creations?! What wrongs have I done that you destroy my tales?

WITCH #1:

Thou hast dragged our name through the mud! (Witches begin circling SHAKESPEARE.)

WITCH #2:

Made us evil!

WITCH #1:

Wretched!

WITCH #3:

Ancient hags!

W.S.:

What dost thou want from me?!

WITCH #1:

Vengeance, master. Of the cruelest kind! (Reaches for his books/notes.)

W.S.:

No! (Grabbing the pages.) These plays must be submitted by the morrow!

WITCH #2:

All the better for us! (Cackles.)

(Spotlight on WITCHES.) WITCH #3:

Gather, sisters, let us do the deed! (Witches hold hands.)

WITCHES (ALL):

Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble… Wet the ink of these near-dried pages Bring forth the creatures of pen

WITCH #1:

Let them breathe!

WITCH #2:

Let them speak!

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WITCH #3:

Let them live!

WITCH #1:

Let us begin with Macbeth and his Lady. A cursed play for a cursed man! (Cackles.)

(Exit all but SHAKESPEARE.) Scene 3 (ENTER MACBETH and LADY MACBETH. W.S. observing. MACBETH is standing tall and proud, and LADY MACBETH holds onto his arm.) LADY MACBETH:

Beloved, perhaps ‘tis time we expand our lineage. Thou art Thane of Cawdor now – surely we have the means.

MACBETH:

A BABY?! (Clears throat.)

LADY MACBETH:

Yes, love. Would not the pitter patter of little feet be music to thine ears?

MACBETH:

Perhaps, and yet do I fear thy nature. It is too full o’ th’ milk of human kindness. From babe to boy, there must be child-rearing, and discipline.

LADY MACBETH: But t’would be just a babe. (LADY MACBETH takes out a pair of knitted baby shoes.) I know ‘tis premature, but my impatient hands took up arms of their own. I also have six onesies! What? Lookest thou not so pale, ‘tis only a past time. (Snickers.) MACBETH:

Such things shall ne’er touch the skin of my babe! One so weak, and incapable, and… ugh, fragile.

(LADY MACBETH and MACBETH see a baby in the audience and both think it’s cute, but MACBETH tries to compose himself.) MACBETH:

(Aside) Aaah! I must maintain my composure! I cannot allow myself to be softened by the gurgles and coos of an infant. I am the man!

LADY MACBETH: Awww, look upon him! His eyes demand love. My heart summons me to cradle him.

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(LADY MACBETH tries going to the baby, but MACBETH grabs her and drags her offstage.) W.S.: What dream is this? My characters come to life before my very eyes, exactly as written! Scene 4 (Enter KATE and PETRUCHIO holding hands.) PETRUCHIO:

Sweet Kate, tell me, where shall we have our wedding?

KATE:

Anywhere you please, Petruchio, my love!

PETRUCHIO:

This venue is quaint. Small, intimate, and perfect for us, no?

KATE:

Petruchio, this “venue” is Shakespeare’s theatre!

PETRUCHIO:

Oh! As always, so very observant, darling. Come and kiss me, Kate!

KATE:

Petruchio! (Giggles.) In front of such a crowd? (Gestures to audience.)

PETRUCHIO:

Come Kate, be not bashful.

KATE:

Husband-to-be, I cannot.

PETRUCHIO:

Do you deny my love? Is this a shrew-like manner I see?

KATE:

Do not say such things! Come, I shall give thee a kiss. (Kisses him and runs off laughing.)

PETRUCHIO:

Oh, the sweetness of her shall ruin me. (Chases after her.)

W.S.:

Astonishing! As real as my hand before my face!

Scene 5 (Enter JULIET and ROMEO bickering.) JULIET:

(Bitterly.) O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

refuse thy name; or if thou will not, be but sworn my hatred.

(Enter SHAKESPEARE.) ROMEO:

T’would be but a fantasy made real to be hated by thee.

JULIET:

Run away, make Romeo no more in the streets of Verona and let this marriage be ended once and for all.

ROMEO:

Leave family and kinsmen whom I love so dearly? And my dearest Rosaline?! Most despicable woman!

JULIET:

Insolent fool! Thou DARE insult me?! I’d be better wed to a toad… (Looks ROMEO up and down.) To which thou showest a true resemblance.

ROMEO:

Oh, she speaks, yet she says nothing!

JULIET:

I do desire we may be better strangers.

ROMEO:

And strangers we could be if not for our parents, who love each other so dearly that they betrothed their eldest offspring to one another.

JULIET:

(To audience) Quite the tragedy, isn’t it? (JULIET sulks offstage and ROMEO follows.)

W.S.:

What witchcraft is this? All of my characters in the flesh? I must observe them at a closer range!

(Exit SHAKESPEARE.) Scene 6 (Lights focus downstage center. Enter WITCHES talking and laughing, followed shortly after by HECATE.) HECATE:

You three are such fools, To exclude me in the use of our witchcraft tools! Thou hast caused Shakespeare little trouble. With my arrival, it shall be double!

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WITCH #1:

Hecate, we meant no offense! (All WITCHES bowing and groveling.)

HECATE:

Watch me now perform my art! Take characters and plots apart. For that which Shakespeare truly wrote, I shall erase all trace of sooth!

WITCHES (ALL):

(Cackle.)

WITCH #1:

Finally! Vengeance is ours!

WITCH #2:

He shall beg for mercy!

WITCH #3:

Beauty and esteem shall be ours!

HECATE:

(Dropping/picking up pages into cauldron) Adieu to the stories Shakespeare wrote. Katherine the vicious shrew will be tamed. Young star-crossed lovers take their lives. All hail Macbeth. He shalt be King hereafter.

(ALL WITCHES mix a potion in the cauldron. WITCH #3 takes a bottle and scoops it into the cauldron. Then, holding it up, they drink.) Scene 7 (SHAKESPEARE is waiting at his desk. Enter LADY MACBETH dragging MACBETH.) W.S.:

Greetings, Thane of Cawdor and thy lovely lady.

LADY MACBETH:

There is a matter I must discuss with thee. I thought I had wed a man, but my eyes hath revealed to me something less.

W.S.:

Hold thy tongue, woman! Sit quietly and let thy husband speak!

WITCH #1: LADY MACBETH:

(To LADY MACBETH) He dare command you in a manner only your husband should? (To MACBETH) Wilt thou let another man speak to me thus?

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MACBETH:

Well, thou showest me no respect…

WITCH #3:

(To MACBETH) Foolish man! Shower thy mistress with honour, respect and esteem. Uphold her ambitions, for they are yours as well.

LADY MACBETH:

Well…? (Glaring at MACBETH)

MACBETH:

Deepest apologies, dearest.

W.S.:

(To MACBETH) Thane of Cawdor taking orders from his woman?

LADY MACBETH:

(To W.S.) He takes no orders from me! (To MACBETH) I say, kill Duncan. Take the breath from his lungs then crown from his head. (To W.S.) If he refuses again, I shall do the deed myself! Oh, spirits of evil, unsex me here! Fill me of direst cruelty and make thick my blood that I may obtain the courage of man that hath passed over this weakling.

W.S.:

Control thy wife! (Scribbles notes.) Her maternal instinct and woman-like softness hath left her completely!

WITCH #1:

(To LADY MACBETH) Thane of Cawdor can be greater still. Unleash the king within the man. Macbeth shalt be King hereafter!

LADY MACBETH:

I shall be controlled when he is man enough to take the crown so clearly within his grasp!

W.S.

(To MACBETH) Sir, no, you must be strong and noble! (To LADY MACBETH) And you, a soft and gentle lady! Nothing is as it should be! (Shaking head in frustration.)

WITCH #1:

(To LADY MACBETH) Be gone and hear no more of his nonsense.

LADY MACBETH:

I shall not be treated thus! (Stomps out.)

MACBETH:

I must follow my devoted. (Stands to leave.) Farewell, sir.

W.S.:

Stay if thou art a man!

(MACBETH raises finger as if to say something, then exits.)

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Scene 8 (Enter KATE and PETRUCHIO.) W.S.: Kate, Petruchio. Sit, please. (PETRUCHIO goes to sit down, but is pushed over by KATE who assumes his seat.) Thou art not light and in love as you once were. KATE:

Well, I am not at fault.

PETRUCHIO:

Well, I am no shrew every minute of the day.

W.S.:

Kate, anger does not suit thee.

WITCH #2:

He is thy husband, yet he treats thee as if thou art a wild animal in need of training. He starves thee, and denies thee sleep! Thou art above such treatment. Thou art intelligent and worthy of appreciation.

KATE:

(To PETRUCHIO) I am your equal! Do not attempt to tame me!

PETRUCHIO:

Come, come, you wasp, i’faith you are too angry.

KATE:

If I be waspish, best beware my sting. (Shoves PETRUCHIO.)

W.S.:

Whoa… that’s a good line. (Makes note.)

KATE:

(Together with PETRUCHIO) What? (To W.S.)

W.S.:

(To KATE and PETRUCHIO) What?

KATE:

You said-

W.S.:

Mind me not, thou art the matter at hand. Petruchio, Kate, thou needs be more loving! Petruchio, how dare you starve your wife?

PETRUCHIO:

Well, when you phrase it thus-

WITCH #2:

No! It is because you love her, wise Petruchio. It is your responsibility as her husband to tame her and teach her.

PETRUCHIO:

I am born to tame you, Kate. And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

conformable as other household Kates.

W.S.:

(Smacks head.) Methinks that thou needst greater intervention. For now, away with thee.

(Exit KATE and PETRUCHIO.) Scene 9 (Enter ROMEO and JULIET.) ROMEO:

Sirrah, we must speak to thee at once. Our parents have forged our fate.

JULIET:

They have us predestined without a thought to our likings.

W.S.:

(Relieved) Foolish children, do not ruin the long lasting kinship betwixt your houses.

ROMEO:

Long lasting kinship? How I wish that were true, for it is quite the contrary.

W.S.: JULIET:

Art Montague and Capulet not dearest of friends, whose children neglect their betrothal? Fate hath brought us together, (Holding ROMEO’s hands) and played a cruel trick on us.

ROMEO:

Because I am Montague and she is Capulet, such a love is forbidden! Two households both alike in dignity – yet such a foul hatred shown between the two!

W.S.:

Foul hatred? Between Montague and Capulet?

WITCH #3:

(To ROMEO) Listen not to him, but gaze upon thy Juliet with loving eyes.

ROMEO:

Hatred? (Holds JULIET’s hands) How could I hate such a fair and lovely lady? (Kisses her hand.)

JULIET:

(Giggles) Your fair and lovely wife!

W.S.:

Wife?! (Gets up in shock) Since when?

ROMEO:

Exactly twelve hours…

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JULIET:

Five minutes…

ROMEO & JULIET: …And two, three, four seconds! (JULIET giggles and ROMEO puts his arm around JULIET, laughing.) W.S.:

Juliet! How can you marry a man who drew his sword against your cousin and so ended him?

WITCH #3:

Juliet, do not turn to this man for support. Speak to Romeo and have his dearest Friar Lawrence provide you with a potion for remedy. Fake your death and escape judgment.

JULIET:

(Ignoring SHAKESPEARE) ROMEO, dost thou still speak to Friar? Perhaps we can seek comfort with him!

ROMEO:

Splendid notion, my little nightingale.

W.S.: No, no! Do not entrust thy selves to the Friar. Romeo, you two must leave Verona immediately. ROMEO: Leave Verona? Start anew? (Turns to JULIET.) You shall not abandon me, my darling? JULIET:

Oh, Romeo! I shall follow thee to the ends of the earth!

W.S.:

Follow him out of my sight! I cannot bear this naive lovesick song. I shall meet with thee anon.

W.S.: (Confused) Something hath changed with these characters. They are no longer as I wrote them. (Realization) The witches have meddled with my characters! A lady of such esteem, now a woman of vile nature. A couple once loving and fruitful, now doomed in marriage because of the lady’s shrewish behaviour. Bitter rivals turned star-crossed lovers! (Sighs) How shall I repair this in time for the publishers tomorrow? (Looks up.) Daybreak approaches! (Runs out frantically.) Scene 10 (COUPLES SITTING IN THE WAITING ROOM. Enters SHAKESPEARE.)

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W.S.:

Thanks to forces of darkness, your unions hath all been altered. These quarrels are unnatural. I am here to rectify this. Kate, Petruchio… (Motions to join him.)

(All exit except SHAKESPEARE, KATE and PETRUCHIO. In SHAKESPEARE’S office.) W.S.:

It is clear now that the romance has left you.

W.S.:

You must trust one another! Katerina, stand in front of Petruchio and fall! Petruchio, you shall catch your Kate.

PETRUCHIO:

Alright, Kate, entrust yourself to me and fall.

KATE:

The day I entrust my well-being to you will be the day when swine fly free.

WITCH #2:

Such an ill-tempered wife. Stand firm, Petruchio!

PETRUCHIO:

(To KATE) Such a tongue! O slow-wing’d turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?

W.S.:

Petruchio, be not shrew onto shrew, wasp unto wasp, beast of equal measure. One doth catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

PETRUCHIO:

My sweet, sweet Kate. Won’t you fall, for my sake? Why, Katerina, fall into my loving arms!

W.S.:

Very good, Petruchio. Katerina, ‘tis not becoming of a lady to deny her husband.

WITCH #2:

Look how he doth belittle you. You take orders from no one.

KATE:

Well, when thou doth phrase it in such a sweet, sweet tone… NO!

WITCH #2:

Behind her vicious snarl is a plea for help. Tame her, Petruchio.

PETRUCHIO:

I’ve had my fill of this madness. (Grabs KATE’s arm.) I said that I would turn thee from a wild Kate to a tamed Kate, and I shall succeed. To bed without a morsel to eat! (Drags her offstage.)

W.S.:

Now, that is a man who taketh charge. Hmmm…

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Scene 11 W.S.:

(Calls) Romeo and Juliet! (Enter ROMEO and JULIET.) Romeo, you will catch Juliet when I give the word.

WITCH #3: Romeo, know you not the danger of this? Thou lovest Juliet too much to risk injury! ROMEO:

I will do no such thing! Juliet is the light of my life. I would ne’er myself for give if any harm were to come unto her at my hands.

JULIET: Romeo, (Grabs his hand.) thou art as fierce in protecting me as thou art tender in loving me. ROMEO: (Cups JULIET’s face.) Thou art so truly magnificent. (Leaning in, as if for a kiss.) W.S.:

(Comes between them) Stop that this instant! (Drags ROMEO’s hands up and directs JULIET in front of ROMEO.)

ROMEO:

I shall not -

W.S.:

(Pushes JULIET towards ROMEO.)

ROMEO: (Caught off guard so JULIET falls, both of them on the floor, JULIET in ROMEO’s hands.) AH, NO! Dearest darling, please open thine eyes! JULIET:

Agh! I seem to have sprained my ankle!

ROMEO:

Oh, vile destiny! Let my ankle be sprained as well! (Tries to sprain own ankle.)

W.S.:

Juliet, how can such a love let thee fall? Romeo does not love with action so much as with words. Dost thou not trust Romeo? (Shakespeare crosses arms and smirks.)

ROMEO:

Thou art reaching, Sir! (Through gritted teeth.)

Witch #3:

(To JULIET) With such manly passions does dear Romeo defend thee.

JULIET:

Romeo, your love is beyond boundary.

W.S.:

(Exasperated) Stand! The pair of you. (Aside) With every minute, they fall YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

deeper in love! And with every minute, my deadline draws nearer! (To ROMEO and JULIET) For now, we are finished. (Gestures to them to leave.)

(Exit ROMEO and JULIET.) Scene 12 (Enter MACBETH and LADY MACBETH.) W.S.:

Thane of Cawdor and his mistress. My Lady, stand before your husband and at my mark, fall into his arms.

WITCH #1:

Lady, your husband is a coward. He shall not catch thee.

LADY MACBETH:

I shall ne’er do such a thing. His arms art as weak as his drive. I cannot trust my fate to an unambitious mind.

W.S.:

My Lady, the exercise is meant to build trust.

LADY MACBETH:

He would slay the good King Duncan in cold blood. Not in battle, but as he slept like an innocent babe. How can I trust him?

WITCH #1:

(To MACBETH) She is losing faith in thee, Macbeth. Thou lacks the masculinity she requires. Thou hast broken her trust and wounded her fragile heart.

W.S.:

(In a loud whisper) Honourable Thane, be a man!

MACBETH:

How can I? When there is no fault in her words? (Starts sobbing.)

W.S.:

(Grabs MACBETH and looks in his eyes.) Thy wife was the conjurer of that treasonous plan! A prophecy you felt obligated to fulfill! Thou art a noble gentleman, who would ne’er slay thy king… (Aside) Although that is quite the magnificent plot for a play… (Back to MACBETH) Anyhow, be a man and catch thy lovely wife and convince her to forfeit such evil thoughts as a man!

LADY MACBETH:

I propose that I catch him.

(MACBETH looks angry) W.S.: 84

(Hopeful that MACBETH will say something manly) Sir, surely this has

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awoken some form of manly beast within thee!

WITCH #1:

Quarrel not with thy wife, Sir. Keep in line and follow in her step. (Warning tone) Anger not, frown not!

MACBETH:

(Visibly struggling, happily) I shall fall. I have faith in her judgment. I will fall without hesitation and will not stand again until she giveth the word. (Lifts LADY MACBETH’s hands and falls into her gracefully.)

W.S.:

(Sighs and sits down.) No more of this can I bear! Away with thee.

(Exit MACBETH and LADY MACBETH. MACBETH pulled by LADY MACBETH.) W.S.:

(Pondering) Hmm… such odd pairings. Methought I was cursed, but a new blessing seems to be on the horizon. (Starts writing frantically and excitedly. WITCHES and HECATE appear as he writes)

HECATE:

‘Tis nearly daybreak, master William.

WITCH #1:

Tick.

WITCH #2:

Tock.

WITCH #3:

Tick.

HECATE:

Tock.

WITCH #1:

In the spirit of dispensation, we shall offer you escape!

WITCH #3:

Draw us again. But beautiful.

WITCH #2:

Intelligent.

WITCH #1:

Important.

HECATE:

If thou wish for thy scripts to meet a pair of eyes besides thine own, take our offer.

W.S.: I shall not. In truth, I believe thanks are in order. I have rewritten, dear sisters (Shows new books.) Thou hath altered my creation, but for the better! Day is upon us! (Looks outside.) Day is upon us! I must send for the messenger boy to come fetch my finished works! YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

(Exit SHAKESPEARE.) WITCH #1:

He jests!

WITCH #2:

He’s mad!

HECATE:

Nay! He doth speak the truth!

WITCH #3:

How were we so blind to this?

HECATE:

He chose chaos!

WITCH #2:

Can it be undone?

WITCH #3: (Over the books.) What once leapt from the page, let be put back as old. May stories of the new mirror stories of the old. (Opening books.) It is unchanged! WITCH #1:

The irony! We have been cursed by our own curse!

WITCH #3:

But how? He hath no magic of his own – save his pen!

WITCH #1:

Alas! Our spell works only if the characters doth not fit the writings on the page. Shakespeare hath rewritten them as we made them. Now those words are changed to match, it is set in stone!

WITCH #3:

It cannot be undone!

WITCH #1:

And with the rise of the sun…

WITCH #3:

(In disbelief) Shakespeare hath won!

WITCH #1:

And now far and wide, our tales will be told, and we remain ugly!

WITCH #2:

Wretched!

WITCH #3:

And old!

WITCH #1:

Hecate, what say you?

HECATE:

Experience in magic is perfected over time. Methought my powers exceeded

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his wit. But the wretched defeat is surely mine!

WITCH #2:

Hecate, look not so sad.

WITCH #1:

We are to blame.

WITCH #3:

Tis our fault.

HECATE:

Yes, ‘tis not MY fault! A curse is not a curse if it doth not bring distress. Instead of disaster, you brought him success! Away with thee! I cannot bear to see thy wretched faces! You try to escape, but you cannot- Away, away, into the Scottish play! (WITCHES disappear.)

(Lights up. SHAKESPEARE is sitting onstage.) W.S.: Interesting… HECATE: (Aside) Hearest thou that? The strangest of silences… W.S.: Poor thing, thou hath forgotten. Thou art all the creatures of MY imagination. The rest hath returned to their residence within the pages of my plays, written a new: Petruchio tames his shrew of a wife Kate. Romeo and Juliet,star- crossed lovers torn between love and loyalty, lose their lives. The Thane of Cawdor becomes King, but ambition, chaos, and guilt are his demise… How didst I not think of it myself?! Credit to you, weird sister! I shall go on to be a literary great! But your finest hour hath reached its end. For your defiance and mischief, thou shalt remain unchanged… (Holds up books.) Back to the Scottish play where thou shalt remain forever! HECATE:

Mercy, master! You cannot leave me with those three wenches! Confine me not to such a prison! Not Macbeth! Not the cursed, Scottish King!

W.S.: Adieu, adieu... (HECATE disappears.) (W.S. closes the book, puts it into a bag/box with the rest of them, and leaves the stage with the lights fading behind him.) THE END

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PAINTING PORTRAITS AS POETRY

SCHOOL: Regiopolis-Notre Dame TEACHER: Billy Ows SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Geoff Mackler UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Bob Giasson GRADES 11-12 / NONFICTION by Julie Finnegan

Portraiture and poetry go hand in hand. The visual evokes thought; the thought evokes a visual. Fuelled by passion, biased by external influence and personal experience, portraiture and poetry share a common ground of strategy, emotion, perspective, and opinion. Though the psychology and emotions within a person cannot be seen with the naked eye, portraiture and poetry help to express what would have otherwise gone unnoticed and unseen. For a painter, colours are the words by which they convey the things that are seen in the mind’s eye and felt deeply within the depths of the soul. Painting faces is unique because they are raw and entirely human in their expressions. Some emotions are obvious, while others are cleverly hidden: a stolen glance, an artificial smile. In this sense, portraiture is quite lyrical because you have to look at it critically, thoughtfully, and thoroughly. Colours and brushstrokes are strategically used to set the scene and the mood of a painting. Like an author, nothing added is ever coincidental. In his painting style, Vincent Van Gogh was typically very aggressive with his brushstrokes and bold with his colour choice. He used a multitude of complementary colours which are abrupt to the eye at first glance. Ironically, despite his bright colour choices, his subjects are entirely somber. This is most famously seen in his self-portraits. If you look closely at his work Self Portrait, Spring 1887, you’ll see that there are sporadic strokes of green throughout his scarlet red beard. His ivory yellow face is shadowed by a pale blue. When you try to imagine it, the colours are not compatible. These are not things that are visually present, so why paint something that you can’t see? That is where Van Gogh’s genius comes into play. On the colour wheel, green and red are polar opposites of one another. Therefore, when you add a hint of green to red, it makes the colours appear brighter. The addition of the pale blue shadows to his ivory yellow complexion emphasizes the gauntness of his face, and loudly expresses his sadness. Vincent Van Gogh was manic depressive, and by nature, a hopeless romantic. He was someone who wore his heart on his sleeve and made his emotions known, no matter the cost. The way he portrayed himself and others – through the aggressive brushstrokes and bold colour choices—was entirely intentional. His volatile temperament influenced his colour choice as well as his subject matter. This is why Van Gogh is so incredibly moving because you can see that this is the way he saw the world. For a poet, the pen is a paintbrush; the words paint the scene. Diction is equivalent to carefully positioned brushstrokes, subtly placed, in quiet genius, to express a bright and vivid 88

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passion. Poetry is a unique form of writing because it is motivated by extremes. Poets write in red and green, in ivory yellow and pale blue. Someone who is compelled to write poetry has felt something deeply, whether that is injustice, heartache, or even complete and utter happiness. One can be inspired by others’ situations while still drawing upon personal experience, tragedy and empathy. Poetry is a captive yearning for the light of day. In her writing style, Amy Winehouse was a brutally honest lyricist – clever with her turn of phrase and bold with her content. Like Van Gogh, and many artists, Winehouse possessed her own demons. If you studied her lyrics closely, one might read and recoil, shocked by the jaded narrative and colourful vocabulary. Her life, as short as it was, was always being documented – the rise of the girl and the inevitable unraveling of the woman. Like Van Gogh, she was also a hopeless romantic who wore her heart on her sleeve. Her world was one where Love Is A Losing Game, where Tears Dry On Their Own. Her own manic depressive behaviours caused her to often go Back To Black (tragically titled and ultimately, her last album after she could no longer come back from the black). Nevertheless, it is in the passion of moments such as these where the beauty of her lyrics lie. Upon looking further and more meticulously, you will find the ironic purity in her. She was consciously aware of her personal flaws and self-destructive habits. Proof of this is in her self-deprecating lyrics from her song Love Is A Losing Game: “Though I battle blind, Love is a fate resigned, Memories mar my mind, Love is a fate resigned, Over futile odds, And laughed at by the gods, And now the final frame, Love is a losing game.” She knew that an ongoing antagonist and paradoxical aspect in her life was her own heart, which gave her everything – her inspiration and her insightful lyrics – but also ultimately caused her to lose everything. Winehouse knew herself well and was comfortable with being “frank” (which, ironically, was the title of her debut album). Her insight and boldness showed her authenticity, which is so incredibly rare. Through her lyrics, Amy painted intimate portraits of herself, ones that others could identify with and perhaps even catch a glimpse of themselves in. Portraiture and poetry go hand in hand. The visual evokes a thought, the thought evokes a visual. Though thoughts may be fleeting and emotions may be temporary, the power and truth in portraiture and poetry combined is eternal.

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UN ROBOT

SCHOOL: Jean Vanier TEACHER: Maria Sampson SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / SHORT STORY by Garcia George Pucci

Voilà le robot. Le robot devient un garçon. Il doit retourner à la maison avant le soir. Il arrive à la maison avec sa famille robot.

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FAMILLES D’HIVER

SCHOOL: Jean Vanier TEACHER: Linda Cinelli SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald JUNIOR AND SENIOR KINDERGARTEN / POEM by Keyanna James

Nous faisons des anges dans la neige. Nous allons faire du patinage. Nous faisons un igloo de neige.

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LA FAMILLE D’EVA

Maman aime le soleil. Elaina aime faire les bonhommes de neige. Papa aime sa fête. Ethan aime aller au parc.

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SPARKLE ET PETER

SCHOOL: St. Elizabeth Seton TEACHER: Diana Miscolci SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Diana Miscolci UNIT: Dufferin-Peel Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Rose Procopio GRADES 1-2 / SHORT STORY by Noemi Vaduva

Il y a du soleil dans le jardin. Peter veut aller dans le jardin. « Sparkle, réveille-toi ! » dit Peter. « Pourquoi ? » demande Sparkle. « Allons-y dans le jardin, » dit Peter.

Sparkle et Peter sont allés dans le jardin. Ils jouent à la tag. Ils courent. Sparkle tombe. Sparkle rit. Peter rit. Sparkle va bien ! Il pleut. Les enfants courent dans la maison. Peter ferme la porte. Leurs vêtements sont mouillés. Ils sèchent les vêtements. La pluie s’arrête. Il y a du soleil encore. Ils vont dehors pour cueillir des fleurs pour leur maman. Les fleurs sont violettes. Maman dit : « Merci ! » Elle est contente.

La fin

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MON PIANO

SCHOOL: St. Elizabeth Seton TEACHER: Diana Miscolci SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Diana Miscolci UNIT: Dufferin-Peel Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Rose Procopio GRADES 1-2 / POEM by Rachel Faith Canimo

Des touches blanches, des touches noires. Sons bruyants, sons silencieux. En bas, en haut, bonnes et lisses. Mes doigts sautent. Mes doigts glissent. Je me sens heureuse, prête et enchantée.

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LES BÉBÉS

SCHOOL: Jean Vanier TEACHER: Krystina Pucci SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joyce McLean-Seely UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald GRADES 1-2 / NONFICTION by Skyleah Autumn Schriner

Les bébés sont amusants et bruyants aussi ! Les bébés ont besoin de dormir et boire du lait, parce que les bébés ont besoin de vitamines. Quand ils sont fatigués, ils sucent souvent leurs pouces et dorment. Ils mangent les bananes et les carottes écrasées, aussi des céréales, comme les Cheerios. Quand leurs couches sont mouillées, les bébés pleurent, et tu dois changer leurs couches. C’est difficile quand ils bougent beaucoup ! McKenna, ma sœur, aime sa licorne et rit quand moi et mon frère la chatouillons. Je sais beaucoup à propos des bébés parce que je suis une grande sœur. Tu devrais jouer avec les bébés parce que les bébés sont drôles !

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AVEC PÈRE NOËL

SCHOOL: École Catholique Cathédrale TEACHER: Laura Vermette SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Laura Vermette UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Bob Giasson GRADES 3-4 / SHORT STORY by Laís Aimi Osaki Soares

C’était la nuit avant Noël, et j’étais avec maman et papa à la maison. Il neigeait dehors, et il faisait très froid. Quand je suis allée dormir, j’ai entendu les bruits des pas. J’avais un peu peur. Je suis allée à la salle de séjour, et j’ai regardé pour voir si je pouvais voir quelqu’un. Soudainement, la porte s’est ouverte, et quelqu’un est entré dans ma maison ! C’était Père Noël, et il mangeait un biscuit ! « Bonjour, Laís. » il a dit. « Bonjour, Père Noël, » j’ai dit. « Est-ce que tu ne peux pas dormir ? » il m’a demandé, et il est entré dans ma salle de séjour. « Non, je ne peux pas dormir, » j’ai dit. « Euh, est-ce que tu veux rencontrer Rudolphe et les autres ? » il m’a demandé. « Oui ! » j’ai dit, très excitée. Père Noël est sorti de ma maison. Je suis sortie après Père Noël, mais quand j’étais dehors, je n’ai pas trouvé Père Noël. Soudainement, j’ai vu Père Noël dans une luge avec Rudolphe et les autres rennes ! « Viens, Laís, » il a dit. J’ai sauté dans la luge, et la luge a commencé à voler ! Père Noël et moi parlions en volant dans le ciel. Il m’a raconté des histoires de Noël. La luge a commencé d’aller plus vite. « Aahh ! » j’ai crié. « Est-ce que tu peux voir ta maison ? » Père Noël m’a demandé. J’ai cherché ma maison. « Oh, oui ! » j’ai dit. « Est-ce que tu veux rentrer chez toi ? » il m’a demandé. « Oui, je suis un peu fatiguée, » j’ai dit.

La luge a commencé de s’arrêter. « Laís, ça c’est pour toi. » Père Noël m’a donné un cadeau. « Et joyeux Noël à toi, » il a dit. Je suis allée dans ma maison pour dormir. C’était un bon Noël ! La fin !

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COQUELICOT

SCHOOL: Loretto TEACHER: Maria De Benedetti SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Tracy Hall UNIT: Niagara Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald GRADES 3-4 / POEM by Brianna De Marchi

Coquelicot est une fleur pour novembre. On porte un coquelicot rouge et noir. Quand il fait froid, je pense aux soldats. Un soldat retourne à sa maison. En novembre, je porte un coquelicot rouge et noir. La croix est au champ d’honneur. Il y a beaucoup de coquelicots. C’est novembre. Il fait froid. Onze est un numéro important en novembre. Tu portes un coquelicot pour les soldats.

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LE DÉMÉNAGEMENT

SCHOOL: Good Shepherd TEACHER: Ghislaine Trépanier SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Margot Canough UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Beth Dowe GRADES 3-4 / NONFICTION by Edouard Duval

Un déménagement c’est quand tu déménages dans une nouvelle maison, une nouvelle ville ou un nouveau pays. Si tu déménages comme moi, cela va être un peu difficile, mais vous allez vous faire des amis comme moi et être heureux. Dans quelle ville allez-vous déménager? Au début, lorsque mes parents m’ont annoncé la nouvelle, j’étais un peu triste de quitter ma famille, mes amis, mes voisins et mon école. J’ai changé de ville parce que ma mère poursuit des études pour être un professeur. Ma mère et mon père nous ont fait visiter la nouvelle maison de l’extérieur, et nous ont montré un parc dans le quartier. Mes frères et moi, nous avons répondu « oui » en même temps lorsque ma mère nous a demandé : « Êtes-vous prêts à déménager ? » Pour commencer l’école, ma mère m’a dit : « Tu vas te faire beaucoup d’amis ! » et elle m’a donné un câlin. Je me suis senti prêt à affronter ce nouveau défi : commencer ma quatrième année dans un milieu différent. Dans ma nouvelle ville, j’ai trouvé des personnes qui parlent la même langue que moi comme mon professeur. Le plus gros changement ce fut d’apprendre une nouvelle langue. C’est vraiment amusant de pouvoir parler l’anglais. C’est une belle expérience parce qu’au début de septembre, j’étais seul avec mes deux frères. Je ne pouvais pas très bien communiquer avec les autres. Des fois, je trouve cela difficile quand je pense à mes anciens amis, mais je suis chanceux d’avoir trouvé de nouveaux amis à ma nouvelle école. Après quelques mois, je peux dire que je suis content d’avoir déménagé. C’est amusant d’aller voir un match de hockey avec mon père. Mes parents retournent à l’occasion dans la ville où j’habitais. Je sais que déménager peut être une expérience stressante, mais pour moi c’était le contraire. Je suis vraiment heureux !

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101

UNE AVENTURE DANS L’ESPACE

SCHOOL: St. Cyril TEACHER: Hélène Lavertu SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Denise Wales UNIT: Toronto Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Patricia Minnan-Wong GRADES 5-6 / SHORT STORY by Jimmy Gennaro

Je marche sur la plate-forme. Le vent me pousse d’un côté à l’autre. Je peux voir une fusée massive juste quelques dizaines de pieds devant moi. Je marche plus vite maintenant. Le vent hurle dans mes oreilles. Je commence à courir et, après quelques secondes, j’arrête devant une porte blanche avec une poignée dorée. J’ouvre la porte et je vois des ordinateurs et des panneaux de contrôle partout. Les lumières électroniques brillent et clignent comme des yeux. Je vais lentement au fond de la petite salle et je m’assois, dos au plancher, sur une chaise qui fait face au plafond. À côté de la chaise, il y a un bouton de démarrage. Je lève la main et je pousse le bouton. Immédiatement, je me sens comme si quelqu’un m’a poussé si fort que je ne peux pas respirer. Après quelques minutes, je me calme juste assez pour regarder au hublot et pour voir le noir qui couvre l’image avec de petites étoiles et une petite sphère appelée la Terre. J’ai réussi. Je suis dans l’espace ! La première planète que j’aperçois, c’est Mars, alors j’essaie de diriger la fusée vers un des cratères plus grands. Soudainement, j’entends un son qui ressemble à une sirène d’ambulance. Nous avons une fuite d’oxygène ! Rapidement, je cours vers mon costume spatial et je m’habille. J’attache aussi une citerne d’oxygène pour respirer dans l’espace. Je n’ai pas beaucoup de temps, alors je travaille plus vite. J’ouvre la capsule et je me jette dans l’espace juste avant que le vaisseau spatial fasse une collision avec la surface de Mars. Mais, en essayant de faire ça, je fais une collision moi-même. Je touche le sol dur et rigide autour de moi. Je marche, et marche, et marche. J’ai très soif, alors je pense que j’imagine des choses quand je vois une lumière quelque part au loin. Soudainement, je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais je me mets à courir très vite, criant aux lumières, et je commence à me baisser la vitesse quand je suis près des lumières brillantes. À ce moment, je vois un martien. Il me ressemble beaucoup, sauf qu’il est bleu foncé et qu’il a deux antennes. Il me regarde, et je suis nerveux. Mais, je n’ai pas peur. Au lieu de ça, je marche jusqu’à lui et je lui tends la main en attendant pour qu’il sert la mienne. Mais je n’offre pas juste la main, non. Je lui offre la paix, entre humain et non humain, d’un monde à l’autre. 102

Un signe de paix. l

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LES DINOSAURES!

SCHOOL: Good Shepherd TEACHER: Ghislaine Trépanier SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Margot Canough UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Beth Dowe GRADES 5-6 / POEM by Alexander Sinkinson

Les dinosaures étaient magnifiques. Sur le bout de leur queue, on trouvait des piques. Les carnivores étaient des cannibales. Aïe ! Ça fait mal ! Les dinosaures étaient toujours dehors sur les roches sédimentaires y vivaient les herbivores. Les dinosaures étaient aussi des oiseaux ils marchaient souvent près de l’eau ! Ils pouvaient marcher sur deux jambes ou quatre jambes, mais ils restaient toujours ensemble. Certains dinosaures utilisaient leurs ailes pour le vol, mais la plupart des dinosaures marchaient sur le sol ! Plusieurs herbivores ont un petit cerveau, non, ils n’étaient pas très beaux. Un autre mot pour dinosaures c’est lézards, beaucoup de dinosaures semblent bizarres !

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Ils ont vécu 200 millions d’années passées, les dinosaures ne pouvaient pas être contrôlés. Les dinosaures se sont bataillés, mais les carnivores ont toujours gagné ! Ces bêtes sont apparues pendant l’ère Jurassique. Ils n’ont pas été vus par les hommes préhistoriques. On dit que la fin des dinosaures est arrivée brusquement à cause de l’impact d’un astéroïde ou l’explosion d’un volcan. Tu trouveras les os des dinosaures en Australie, c’est Dieu qui les a envoyés ici. Ils étaient les premières créatures dans le monde. À ce temps-là, il n’y avait pas de neige qui allait fondre !

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LA VIE D’UN GARDIEN DE BUT AU HOCKEY

SCHOOL: St. Gertrude TEACHER: Rhiannon McIntosh SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Karen Tessa UNIT: Dufferin-Peel Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Rose Procopio GRADES 5-6 / NONFICTION by Alex Dowling

C’est une boulette ? Un oiseau ? Une roche ? NON ! C’est une rondelle de hockey, qui traverse l’air avec la vitesse de presque 100 km par heure. Ça m’approche…Suis-je nerveux ? Effrayé ? Absolument pas ! Je vais arrêter cette rondelle avec ma vie ! C’est ma responsabilité. « As-tu peur ? » les spectateurs me demandent. « Non, » je réponds. Je porte beaucoup d’équipement sportif qui me protège, alors je suis sauf. Quand même, mes parents et moi, nous devons payer le prix. Les vêtements protectifs coûtent à peu près 2 000 $. Le plus je grandis, le plus ils coûtent ! Cet équipement protectif est très cher et il est très lourd aussi. Il pèse au moins 20 kilogrammes ! Ça ralentit ma vitesse, et je ne suis jamais protégé à 100 %. Mon corps a beaucoup de contusions et de blessures. Veux-tu voir ? Le hockey me donne beaucoup d’exercice. Chaque semaine, je joue deux matches de hockey, et j’ai deux ou trois entraînements avec mon équipe, aussi qu’un avec l’entraîneur privé. Combien ça coûte ? 130 $ par leçon. Quand je joue au hockey, toutes les parties du corps, particulièrement mes jambes, brûlent, et mes muscles font mal. Quelques fois, je dois aller pour la physiothérapie ou les massages… J’ai aussi presque perdu mon dent une fois ! On dit que le hockey, depuis 1875, rend les dentistes canadiens très riches ! Le plus grand problème avec jouer au hockey compétitif est que ça prend beaucoup de temps. Combien de temps ? À peu près trois heures par jour, presque chaque jour ! Régulièrement, je dois faire mes devoirs dans la voiture ou dans l’arène de hockey. Et mon enseignant d’anglais me critique en disant que j’ai une mauvaise écriture et que j’ai oublié quelques points… Ce n’est pas juste ! En conclusion, la vie d’un gardien de but au hockey est très stressante, mais satisfaisante, parce qu’on peut former des souvenirs et avoir du succès. Si je ne laisse pas aucun but, mon équipe jamais perdra un match ! C’est beaucoup de responsabilité, mais quand je gagne, je suis un vrai héros ! N’oublie pas : mon but est d’arrêter le but de mon rival ! YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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UN MONDE QUI N’EST PAS LA MAISON

SCHOOL: St. Nicholas TEACHER: Mary McFadden SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Lori McKenna UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Christine Stockie GRADES 7-8 / SHORT STORY by Jacy I. Morneau

Bonjour ! Je m’appelle Eve, et j’ai une histoire dans laquelle je vais à une autre dimension. J’arrive à l’autre dimension quand je passe dans un arbre. Un arbre, oui, c’est très bizarre. Mon histoire commence dans l’école quand ma professeure distribue les bulletins scolaires. Ma professeure distribue les bulletins scolaires, et je ne suis pas excitée parce que je ne fais pas toujours de mon mieux à l’école. La cloche sonne, et je vais chez moi. Je prends le long chemin pour que je puisse réfléchir à une excuse. Je remarque quelque chose qui tremble dans la forêt. C’est un buisson. Je regarde derrière le buisson, mais il n’y a rien. Alors, je marche à la maison pour trouver ma maman et mon papa. Ils sont à la porte, et ils m’attendent. « Avez-vous quelque chose pour nous? » mes parents me demandent. Je suis tranquille. Je lance mon bulletin scolaire. Ils soupirent et je suis prête pour le discours que je reçois chaque année. Cependant, ma mère pleure et me lance mon bulletin scolaire. Je regarde mon bulletin scolaire : Maths 61 % Langue 68 % Écriture 97 % Français 70 % Arts visuels 96 % Musique 59 % Drame 62 % Sciences 57 % Histoire 63 % Géographie 65 % Religion 52 % Éducation physique 56 % Santé 65 % Lecture 67 %

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Mon père commence à élever la voix. l

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« Eve, nous te donnons chaque année encore le même discours que tu ne fais aucun effort pour améliorer ton travail, et que tu es en premier terme de la 8e année. Nous ne tolérons pas ces absurdités. »

Maintenant, je commence à pleurer.

« Vous ne pouvez pas me transformer en une personne parfaite. Je ne suis pas parfaite ! » je crie. « Ne me parle plus, jeune fille, » mon père dit sévèrement. Je ne peux plus le supporter, alors je cours. Quand je claque la porte, je peux entendre ma mère qui dit :

« Eve, ne va pas ! »

Les sanglots sont alors plus forts. Je n’ai nul part où aller, donc je pense que je vais juste traîner dans la forêt, laisser les choses se calmer, puis rentrer à la maison. Je marche dans la forêt et je vois à nouveau le buisson fragile. Je décide de le regarder de plus près cette fois. Je regarde dans le buisson cette fois. Toujours rien, mais le tremblement saute dans la forêt jusqu’à ce qu’il atteigne un arbre, puis il disparaît. Je regarde l’arbre pendant un moment, et je me rends compte qu’il y a une porte là. Comment les gens d’haute intelligence n’ont pas pu remarquer cela avant ? Ma curiosité répond et avant que je sache ce que je fais, j’ouvre la porte. Puis, tout devient noir. Quand je reprends connaissance, je vois deux visages au-dessus de moi. C’est un garçon et une fille. Je me rends compte vite qu’ils parlent…à propos de moi ! Je peux vaguement entendre ce qu’ils disent.

« Hein, Thalia, savez-vous qui est-ce ? » déclare le garçon.

« Je ne sais pas, mais elle n’a pas l’air familier, » répond celle qui je suppose est Thalia.

« Je pense qu’elle est en train de se réveiller complètement, » la voix masculine dit doucement. Tout commence à devenir clair, et je commence à regarder autour de moi. Les gens ont l’air d’avoir à peu près le même âge que moi, et moi j’ai treize ans. Ces personnes commencent à sembler familières, même si je ne les connais pas. « Salut, je suis Thalia, et c’est Luca là-bas. Il y a un autre garçon qui s’appelle Evan, mais il est dans sa maison, » déclare Thalia.

« Attendez, nous avons nos propres maisons ? » je demande.

« Ouais, c’est assez génial ici. Nous devons retourner à la maison d’Evan afin qu’il puisse vous voir. Mais d’abord, nous devons voir si votre maison est là, » déclare Luca.

« Très bien, » je dis. « Allons-y. »

Nous marchons sur un chemin herbeux, et le paysage est tout simplement magnifique. Il est tellement meilleur que la Terre. L’herbe est très verte et douce comme une plume. Il y a quatre maisons dans une belle ligne. Elles sont très chics. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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« Là, » Luca indique à droite. « Celle-là est la vôtre. » C’est assez génial que j’ai ma propre maison. Luca explique comment je reçois la nourriture, et pourquoi ma maison est tellement propre. Il dit qu’il y a un homme qui fait tout. Je ne sais pas qui est cet homme, mais je ne veux pas savoir, parce que je ne veux plus sur mon assiette. Nous continuons à marcher, puis nous arrivons chez Evan. Il est devant sa maison. « Hein, » dit-il. « Je suis Evan. Je vois que vous avez rencontré Luca et Thalia, mais maintenant c’est mon tour de parler. Je vais vous expliquer ce monde. »

« Oh, ça sera amusant, » je pense.

« Donc, vous êtes dans un endroit appelé « The Cosmic, » un monde parfait. Tout ce que nous pensons est parfait, est ici, » dit Evan. « Eve, vous devez obtenir un peu de sommeil. Nous avons une longue journée devant nous demain, » dit Luca. Je fais ce qu’on me dit : je rentre à la maison et je me couche. Quand je me réveille, je m’habille, parce qu’il y a des vêtements dans la commode, et je prépare le petit déjeuner. Puis, Luca entre. « Salut, Eve. Je vais vous apporter à l’homme qui j’ai mentionné plus tôt. Il vous expliquera tout. »

Nous quittons la maison, et prenons une longue promenade dans les champs herbeux.

« Hein, Eve, je pense que vous connaissez peut-être ce gars. »

Nous ne parlons pas jusqu’à ce que nous sommes arrivés à sa maison. Luca frappe, et il ouvre avec un grincement. Un homme plus âgé sort. « Salut, Luca, » dit-il. Il me regarde, et il dit, « Eve, est-ce que c’est vous ? » « Oui, » je réponds. Luca a raison. Je le connais. Il est mon grand-père. Je l’embrasse et commence à pleurer un peu. Après avoir réalisé qu’il est mon grand-père, d’autres choses commencent à revenir, comme si un barrage dans mon cerveau a été levé, et mes pensées coulent librement.

« Eve, » dit-il, « asseyez-vous. Il y a beaucoup que vous devez savoir. »

Luca et moi, nous regardons la carte pour un peu de temps, et nous voyons le chemin que nous devons prendre pour y arriver. Parce que c’est un monde parfait, il n’y a pas d’obstacles tout le long de la promenade. Nous prenons la carte vers les autres pour leur montrer ce que nous devons faire. Ils sont tous aussi étonnés que moi.

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« Eh, bien, » Evan dit. « Comment est-ce que je n’ai pas su cela avant ? C’est tellement

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évident. » Nous commençons à rire. « Eh, bien, » Thalia dit. « Nous allons faire des valises. Ce soir, nous allons dormir, et partir le matin. » Nous nous réveillons le lendemain matin, et nous nous rencontrons devant la maison de mon grand-père. Nous lui disons que nous partons. « Soyez prudents, enfants. Il n’y a pas de dangers là-bas, mais une fois que vous arrivez à la forteresse souterraine, soyez très prudents. »

« D’accord, » je lui dis.

« Vous vous inquiétez seulement de vous-mêmes. » Il me sourit et il nous envoie sur notre chemin. Nous marchons sur un long chemin avant que quelqu’un dit : « Hé, les gars. » Quand j’ai rencontré mon grand-père, j’ai commencé à me rappeler des autres souvenirs et je sais qu’avant, nous allions tous à Star Disjoncteur Elementary School, et nous sommes de meilleurs amis.

« Vous en souvenez-vous ? » quelqu’un d’autre dit. Ils tout simplement me regardent et hochent la tête.

« Les gars, nous allons tout simplement agir comment nous étions avant que tout ça est arrivé, » Thalia dit. Nous sommes tous d’accord. Maintenant, la promenade n’est plus maladroite. La promenade n’est pas aussi longue que nous l’avions pensé. Evan sort la carte et il confirme que nous sommes au bon endroit. « Les gars, nous allons manger parce que nous ne pouvons pas sauver nos vies avec les estomacs vides. » Nous rions et mangeons ensuite. Nous sommes dans la plus grande aventure ! Nous entrons et il y a des murs pavés et couverts de vignes. Il semble qu’il allait tomber en morceaux. Donc, nous rencontrons rapidement le premier obstacle. C’est un ordinateur de haute technologie et les lasers. « Je ne vais pas en premier, » je dis. Nous rions tous. Nous avons peur, sauf Evan, qui regarde l’ordinateur.

« Evan, qu’est-ce que tu regardes ? » je demande.

« Je pense que je peux fermer les lasers. Je dois pirater le système, » il répond.

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Voilà ce qu’il fait. Il va à l’ordinateur, et en quelques minutes, le système ne marche plus. Nous marchons à travers. Nous continuons à marcher, et nous arrivons à des roches qui bougent rapidement avec un bouton à la fin pour les arrêter. Thalia utilise sa vitesse et son agilité pour dépasser et arrêter le système afin que nous puissions marcher à travers. Ensuite, Luca jette un rocher à travers des lames à un petit levier pour déplacer les lames. Après, nous arrivons à l’obstacle final. C’est un message sur le mur qui n’est pas terminé. Le message est : « Ceux qui ont un esprit l’utilisent pour la force, ceux avec la vitesse l’utilisent pour s’échapper, ceux qui ont la force l’utilisent pour la popularité, ceux qui ont la créativité l’utilisent pour… » Le message arrête là. Les autres sont perplexes, mais je sais parce que ça me décrit. Tout le monde utilise leurs talents, et maintenant, il est le temps de les utiliser. Je répète la dernière ligne, et j’ajoute « pour le bon. » La chambre tremble, et les murs se déplacent en dehors. Devant nous est la Pierre du Souvenir. « Comment l’as-tu fait ? » Evan demande. « Pas de temps pour parler au cas où ces murs se renferment autour de nous. Je vais vous expliquer une fois que nous sommes sortis, » je réponds. Thalia saisit la pierre, et nous courons. C’est beaucoup plus facile de sortir, parce que nous avons tout fermé. Quand nous sortons, je leur explique que je savais quoi faire, comment ils savaient quand ils ont terminé leur obstacle. C’était mon instinct. Il fait sombre dehors, donc nous décidons de dormir. Nous allons retourner chez mon grand-père le matin. Nous nous réveillons, et nous marchons silencieusement chez mon grand-père. Quand nous arrivons, il est devant la porte, et il nous attend. « Tout le monde va bien ? » il demande. Nous avons tous réussi à sortir sans une éraflure ou une ecchymose, ce qui nous semble bizarre. « D’accord. Nous devons détruire ce monde, qui modifie la Terre et détruit notre écosystème, » mon grand-père déclare. Nous le regardons fixement comme il est le grand-père, le plus génial qui a jamais été. Il ouvre la voie, et nous suit, lorsque Luca me pousse. « Eve, est-ce que vous vous rappelez de quand vous avez vu le buisson qui a tremblé ? » il demande.

« Ouais. Comment êtes-vous familier avec ce sujet ? » Je réponds.

« Parce que c’était moi. Votre grand-père dit qu’on a besoin de la pierre. Nous pouvons partir mais sans la pierre, nous ne pouvons même pas être vus, » il répond. Je le pousse aussi et

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souris. Il sourit en retour, et pour la première fois depuis que je suis ici, je peux voir que quelqu’un me comprend. Nous rentrons à l’arbre qui nous a conduits à la Terre. Un par un, nous quittons Cosmic. Quand j’arrive à la Terre, il est tellement bizarre après avoir été en Cosmic. Mon grand-père nous appelle, et il tient la pierre. Il regarde et nous dit : « Ensemble, nous devons répéter que je veux qu’on se souvient, et nous devons tous toucher la pierre. » Nous mettons les mains sur la pierre et faisons ce qu’il dit. C’est bizarre parce que c’est comme si le sol tremble et les gens peuvent encore nous voir. Nous sommes quatre enfants et un vieil homme derrière un buisson. La prochaine chose que nous devons faire c’est de détruire Cosmic. « Les enfants, venez autour de l’arbre, fermez les yeux, et dites : Le monde de Cosmique, soyez fini. Nous voulons ce que nous avons eu auparavant. Disparaissez. Ne soyez plus. La Terre est notre maison, et pas vous. » Nous faisons tout ça, et l’arbre disparaît comme s’il n’a jamais été là. Mon grand-père nous dit de rentrer à la maison et de voir à nouveau nos familles, parce qu’ils vont avoir toujours le souvenir de nous quand nous sommes partis. Je regarde mon grand-père. Il fait signe de venir avec moi, et il me suit. Mon grand-père et moi, nous arrivons à ma maison, et mes parents ouvrent la porte. Quand mes parents me regardent, ils pleurent. Ma maman pleure beaucoup quand elle voit son papa. Elle sourit. Mes parents sont désolés. Après, nous nous assoyons, et nous parlons pendant un certain temps. Mon grand-père retourne à sa maison, et mes amis arrivent à ma maison. Je pense que je vais aimer l’école cette année !

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LE RÊVE

SCHOOL: Monsignor O’Donoghue TEACHER: Krista Skinner SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Krista Skinner UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence GRADES 7-8 / POEM by Morgan Daniels

Ils se sont tous endormis et il n’y avait pas de cachette Le rêve continuait à danser et à jouer Filles, garçons, femmes et les hommes Le rêve venait consommer Il se composait de choses qui ne sont jamais connues à l’homme Et les choses que vous ne pourriez jamais imaginer Le rêve ne serait jamais abandonné jusqu’à ce qu’il a montré sa glissade Jusqu’à ce que le lendemain matin est arrivé Les enfants jouaient et les chênes se balançaient Il ne jamais contenait des merveilles Jusqu’au jour quand un nuage au-dessus ombre les enfants Qui maintenant priaient pour leurs vies innocentes Les arbres chutaient morts et donnaient leurs feuilles Il n’y avait plus rien à voir Ce qui restait ne valait pas un dollar, un sou Ce qui restait était les âmes misérables Une lumière brillante est apparue clairement irritée par le mal Et brillait jusqu’à ce que l’obscurité égarée Chaque seconde la lumière brillait plus lumineuse Et chaque seconde les âmes augmentaient plus lumineuses aussi Avant qu’un mot ait été dit, les gens se sont réveillés du chaos Et ont réalisé qu’il était tous les fantasmes Que le soleil a augmenté plus lumineux et flashé dans leurs yeux Le rêve tout simplement a dit : « Au revoir. »

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L’OISEAU ET LA CLÉ DORÉE

SCHOOL: Monsignor O’Donoghue TEACHER: Krista Skinner SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Krista Skinner UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Dean Spence GRADES 7-8 / PLAY by Shannan Glover

Les personnages : LE PETIT OISEAU CHRISTOPHE BENOIT ANGÉLIQUE L’OISEAU LA VOIX MYSTÉRIEUSE MARIE (LES OISEAUX sont assis dans un arbre.) LE PETIT OISEAU : Est-ce que tu peux me raconter l’histoire de la clé dorée ? L’OISEAU : Bien sûr, mon amour. Comment peux-je commencer ? Ah, oui ! Je sais ! (Retour au passé.) L’OISEAU : Il était une nuit froide et noire. Tout à travers de la ville, personne ne pouvait être entendu. Tout à coup, j’ai vu une lumière brillante de loin. Je me demande, qu’est-ce que c’est la lumière brillante ? LA VOIX MYSTÉRIEUSE : Je sais. L’OISEAU : Quoi ? Qui est là ? Est-ce que quelqu’un est là ? LA VOIX MYSTÉRIEUSE : C’est moi. Je suis venue pour vous aider. D’accord ? (L’OISEAU recule.) L’OISEAU : Je ne comprends pas. Qui êtes-vous ? LA VOIX MYSTÉRIEUSE : Arrêtez de poser des questions ! Permettez-moi d’arriver à la partie importante. La lumière qui brille est une clé dorée dont vous avez besoin pour ouvrir le futur avant vous. Suivez la lumière. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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(L’OISEAU suit la lumière avec confusion pendant la nuit. Il arrive à un arbre.) L’OISEAU : Je suis très fatigué, et je me demande si je dois arrêter pour une minute. (Avant que L’OISEAU le sache, il s’est endormi sous un arbre.) ANGÉLIQUE : Bonjour ? Bonjour ? Où êtes-vous ? (L’OISEAU se réveille le matin. Avec les yeux fermés, il écoute la voix.) L’OISEAU : Qui est là ? (Personne ne répond. L’OISEAU ouvre ses yeux et voit une fille qui cherche quelque chose.) ANGÉLIQUE : Ah ! Tu es là ! (ANGÉLIQUE pointe son doigt dans la direction de L’OISEAU. Elle prend L’OISEAU et l’attrape.) ANGÉLIQUE : Mon bébé ! Marie ! L’OISEAU : Je ne suis pas ton bébé, et je ne suis pas une fille ! ANGÉLIQUE : Je suis désolée, monsieur. Je pensais que vous étiez Marie. L’OISEAU : D’accord, mais qui est Marie ? ANGÉLIQUE : (Elle parle fort.) Elle est mon bébé, un oiseau très beau, et je la cherche. L’OISEAU : Ah, d’accord. Je cherche une clé dorée qui brille seulement pendant la nuit. Je ne la vois pas pendant le jour. ANGÉLIQUE : Peut-être nous pouvons chercher ensemble pour retrouver votre clé dorée et ma Marie. L’OISEAU : Oui ! C’est une très bonne idée. Où devrait-on commencer ? ANGÉLIQUE : Où voyez-vous la lumière brillante ? L’OISEAU : Je pense que c’est dans cette direction. (L’OISEAU pointe à une ville lointaine. ANGÉLIQUE et L’OISEAU marchent ensemble vers cette ville très lointaine.) ANGÉLIQUE : Je suis très fatiguée et épuisée. Est-ce que nous pouvons arrêter pendant un petit peu de temps ?

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L’OISEAU : D’accord. Mais seulement pendant un peu de temps, parce que j’ai dormi sous l’arbre avant. (ANGÉLIQUE et L’OISEAU s’assoient sur un buisson.) L’OISEAU : Comment vous appelez-vous ? ANGÉLIQUE : Je m’appelle Angélique. Et vous ? L’OISEAU : Je n’ai pas un nom. Je suis un oiseau. ANGÉLIQUE : D’accord ! Bonjour, oiseau. (ANGÉLIQUE et L’OISEAU parlent, et tout à coup, ils entendent les buissons qui approchent.) ANGÉLIQUE : Qu’est-ce que c’est ? L’OISEAU : Je ne sais pas ! (Puis, une personne apparaît et voit ANGÉLIQUE et L’OISEAU.) LA PERSONNE : (avec colère) Qui êtes-vous ? Et pourquoi êtes-vous venus ici ? ANGÉLIQUE : Aaaah ! Nous sommes des visiteurs passant. Il n’y a rien de mal ! LA PERSONNE : Vous n’êtes pas des visiteurs ! Vous êtes des prisonniers ! ANGÉLIQUE et L’OISEAU : Quoi ?!

...

(ANGÉLIQUE et L’OISEAU sont assis dans un cachot.) ANGÉLIQUE : Aidez-nous ! Aidez-nous ! S’il vous plaît ! Quelqu’un ! L’OISEAU : C’est bon. Il n’y a pas de problème. (Tout à coup, LA PERSONNE entre dans le cachot où ANGÉLIQUE et L’OISEAU sont assis.) ANGÉLIQUE : Qui êtes-vous ? Et pourquoi est-ce que vous êtes dans notre cachot ?! LA PERSONNE : Qui suis-je ? Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! Je suis Benoit, bien sûr ! Et je suis un vilain. (BENOIT marche vers eux.) BENOIT : Et je vous mets ici parce que je vais dominer ce monde. J’ai besoin de capturer beaucoup de personnes qui vont dans les parages.

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ANGÉLIQUE : C’est très mal et méchant ! Tu es une très mauvaise personne ! L’OISEAU : Et je ne suis pas une personne ! Vous ne voyez pas ? (Tout le monde entend un bruit, et quelqu’un marche vite dans le cachot avec une arme pointée à BENOIT. LA PERSONNE parle avec une voix basse.) LA PERSONNE : Allez, Benoit ! Maintenant ! Ou je vais utiliser ça ! BENOIT : Non ! Jamais ! Vous n’allez pas m’arrêter cette fois, Christophe ! CHRISTOPHE : Allez, maintenant ! Sinon, ta vie va être en risque ! (BENOIT commence à courir vite, et il disparaît.) CHRISTOPHE : Désolé, mes amis ! Est-ce que ça va ? ANGÉLIQUE : Merci ! Merci ! Nous sommes très bien maintenant ! Merci ! L’OISEAU : Comment est-ce que tu as su que nous étions ici ? CHRISTOPHE : J’ai suivi la voix d’une fille. Je suis venu ici avant et j’ai sauvé des personnes. Qui êtes-vous ? ANGÉLIQUE : Je m’appelle Angélique et il s’appelle l’oiseau. Vous êtes Christophe ? CHRISTOPHE : Oui ! Où allez-vous ? ANGÉLIQUE : Nous allons retrouver ma Marie et la clé dorée de l’oiseau ensemble. Est-ce que vous voulez venir avec nous ? CHRISTOPHE : Oui ! Si vous voulez. ANGÉLIQUE et L’OISEAU : Bien sûr ! S’il vous plaît ! (ANGÉLIQUE, L’OISEAU et CHRISTOPHE commencent à marcher vers la ville lointaine.) CHRISTOPHE : Il fait très noir, et je ne vois rien ! ANGÉLIQUE : Oui ! Et je veux quelque chose à manger. L’OISEAU : Regardez ! La lumière brille ! C’est très proche. ANGÉLIQUE : C’est vrai ! La lumière brille et c’est très proche. Nous sommes près de la ville. (Tout le monde court vite vers la lumière brillante et arrive à la ville.)

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L’OISEAU : Je ne vois pas la lumière brillante ! CHRISTOPHE : Je peux ! C’est là-bas ! (Tout le monde marche vite vers la lumière brillante et arrive à une porte.) ANGÉLIQUE : C’est derrière la porte ! L’OISEAU : Ouvrez la porte ! (CHRISTOPHE ouvre la porte et tout le monde regarde avec stupéfaction.) L’OISEAU : La clé dorée ! ANGÉLIQUE : MARIE ! (Ils voient la clé dorée dans la bouche de MARIE, qui parle très doucement.) MARIE : Bonjour, tout le monde. Félicitations ! Vous avez trouvé la clé dorée. (L’OISEAU rougit. Il pense que MARIE est très belle.) CHRISTOPHE : Qu’est-ce que la clé dorée ouvre ? TOUT LE MONDE : L’amour. (Revient au présent.) L’OISEAU : Et voilà comment j’ai rencontré ta grand-mère. LE PETIT OISEAU: J’aimerais écouter l’histoire encore une fois ! La fin !

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MES VACANCES

SCHOOL: Notre Dame TEACHER: Ewa Molenda SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Gabriella Porco UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald GRADES 7-8 / NONFICTION by Claudia De Santis

Pendant les vacances, je suis allée à Cuba. Ma famille et moi, nous nous sommes rendus à Terre-Neuve, mais notre vol a été annulé. Nous avons décidé de conduire la voiture de l’aéroport à la maison. L’embouteillage était incroyable près de Toronto. C’était le temps des Jeux Panaméricains. Le tournoi de soccer est un évènement très important. Ma mère nous a trouvé un autre vol. Comme ça, on était capable de partir pour Cuba le lendemain matin. Nous sommes allés au lit à sept heures du soir. Mon réveille-matin a sonné à six heures du matin pour me réveiller. À six heures et demie, notre voiture était chargée et tout était prêt. Nous sommes partis pour l’aéroport de Toronto. C’est assez loin de la maison. Le voyage à Toronto n’était pas long parce qu’il n’y avait pas beaucoup de voitures sur l’autoroute à ce temps-là. Nous sommes arrivés à l’aéroport sans problèmes. Nos bagages ont été transportés dans l’avion si vite. Nous sommes partis pour Cuba cinquante minutes plus tard. Il faisait plutôt froid dans l’avion et la nourriture n’était pas ma préférée. J’étais un peu déçue. Trois heures plus tard, nous sommes sortis de l’avion à l’aéroport de la Havane et nous sommes allées à l’arrêt d’autobus. L’autobus s’arrêtait devant chaque hôtel important, mais finalement, nous sommes arrivés à notre destination. Sur le chemin vers notre hôtel, nous avons vu des flamants roses, des chevaux et de beaux oiseaux. L’autobus est arrivé à notre arrêt. Nous avons rassemblé nos bagages, et nous sommes allés à la réception de notre hôtel. Mon père est allé à la réception pour remplir les documents et montrer notre réservation. Entretemps, ma mère et moi avons rencontré une famille très agréable de Toronto. Une chose que j’ai trouvé surprenante c’est la connexion à l’internet établie dans cet hôtel. Mais cela n’avait pas d’importance. J’ai voulu passer une semaine au soleil de Cuba. Quand nous avons reçu la clé, nous avons suivi un chemin de pierre pour trouver notre chambre. J’ai remarqué qu’il y avait une piscine, un théâtre et beaucoup de petites boutiques. Nous avons découvert que notre chambre n’était pas encore prête. Alors, nous avons décidé d’explorer un peu le voisinage. J’ai voulu voir les terrains de basketball et de volley-ball, papa a voulu voir le bar et la piscine, et maman a voulu voir les boutiques. Enfin, nous avons

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décidé d’aller à la plage, car cet endroit était si beau. C’était le paradis ! Ma famille a commencé à se promener au bord de l’eau, et on a vite arrêté de penser au désastre que nous avons vécu à Terre-Neuve. Nous avons décidé de retourner à notre chambre. Quand nous sommes retournés, la chambre était prête. Nous sommes entrés à l’intérieur, et nous avons vu un seul lit pour mes parents. J’étais curieuse où était mon lit. Ils m’ont expliqué qu’il y avait un lit pliant qui se trouvait dans le coin de la chambre – le canapé. Nous avons passé une semaine à Cuba avec beaucoup de temps sur la plage et dans la piscine. La nourriture était très bonne, et les restaurants étaient fabuleux ! Mercredi et jeudi, nous avons joué au volley-ball sur la plage. Les deux derniers jours de notre séjour, ma famille est allée faire de l’équitation sur un sentier tropical et à travers une forêt. Il y avait beaucoup de chats errants qui chassaient les souris loin des endroits touristiques. Ces chats étaient très adorables, et j’ai voulu en ramener un à la maison. J’ai pris beaucoup de photos, et j’ai passé tant de temps avec mes parents. Le jour du départ est venu. Nous avons emballé nos affaires, et nous sommes partis pour l’aéroport. Quand j’étais dans l’avion, je pensais à toutes les choses étonnantes que nous avons faites en famille. J’ai réalisé que mes vacances étaient supers, mais ce sont mes vacances à Cuba qui ont fait tout parfait.

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LE VOYAGE DE TRAIN

SCHOOL: St. Robert TEACHER: Nancy Torresan SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Don Devine UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 9-10 / SHORT STORY by Rachel Lee

C’était un mois depuis que mon père avait quitté la maison. Un jour, il m’avait dit qu’il partirait pour quelque temps, mais il avait promis qu’il reviendrait. Ma mère avait dit qu’il était parti pour nous protéger; elle avait dit que mon père était un héros. J’avais parlé à tous mes amis de mon père et ils étaient jaloux, mais j’étais jaloux d’eux. Chaque jour, leurs pères rentraient à la maison, mais chaque jour, je regardais ma porte et personne n’entrait. Je demandais à ma mère : « Quand est-ce que mon papa revient ? » Et chaque jour, ma mère répondait : « Il reviendra bientôt. » Aujourd’hui, c’est mon dixième anniversaire ! Je me réveille à l’odeur d’un gâteau que ma mère fait. Je descends les escaliers pour embrasser ma mère. « Joyeux anniversaire, mon grand fils ! » « Merci, maman ! Est-ce que papa va revenir pour mon anniversaire ? » Son sourire disparaît. « Non, désolé, mon enfant. Je ne pense pas qu’il va revenir aujourd’hui, mais il va revenir bientôt. » Je regarde mes chaussures, et mon excitation disparaît. « Lucas, ne sois pas triste. Nous nous amuserons aujourd’hui. Alors, tu peux jouer avec tes amis pendant que je prépare toutes les choses, d’accord ? » « D’accord ! » Je souris encore et je cours hors de la maison. Avant d’aller voir mes amis, je marche à l’endroit où mon père et moi allions toujours, et le dernier endroit où il m’avait amené avant son départ. Je marche pour une éternité, et quand je commence à penser que je suis perdu, je suis finalement arrivé. En face de moi, il y a un grand arbre. Je lève les yeux, et je commence à monter. Quand j’arrive en haut, je m’arrête et m’assois sur l’une des branches. Je me souviens de mon père et moi sur la même branche – il avait pointé au loin, et il avait dit que si je me sentais seul, de venir ici et de savoir qu’il était là-bas. Je regarde au loin, quand quelque chose attire mon attention; il ressemble à une boîte verte énorme. Je descends rapidement vers le bas de l’arbre, et je commence à courir vers la boîte verte. Quand j’arrive à la boîte, je peux voir qu’elle ressemble plus à une partie d’un train, un wagon de marchandise. Elle ressemble à une version grande d’un train jouet que j’ai chez moi,

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mais elle est couverte de peinture verte. Le wagon de marchandise semble très ancien, a beaucoup de bosses et d’éraflures, et aussi une grande porte à l’avant. Je marche lentement vers la porte, je saisis la poignée et je tire, mais elle ne se déplace pas. Je tire la porte encore et cette fois, elle s’ouvre. Je monte à l’intérieur et regarde autour de moi, mais elle est vide – quelle déception. Je marche au milieu du wagon et je m’allonge. Je ferme les yeux, et je pense à mon père. Qu’est-ce qu’il fait en ce moment ? Avant que je le sache, je commence à m’endormir. Je me réveille au train en mouvement, et je me redresse dans la panique. Qu’est-ce qui se passe ? Je regarde dehors, mais tout ce que je peux voir c’est un flou d’arbres. Le train se déplace trop vite pour sauter. Tout ce que je peux faire c’est de simplement m’asseoir et attendre. Après un long moment, le train commence à ralentir. Je regarde dehors, et le paysage commence à changer. Les arbres et l’herbe verts luxuriants commencent à mourir, et l’air frais commence à sentir comme de la fumée. Les arbres ont tous disparu, et le sol est nu; tout ce que je peux voir c’est de la terre. Le train continue à bouger et je vois une petite ville, mais la ville est vide. Il n’y a pas d’enfants jouant à l’extérieur, et quelques maisons sont détruites. Toutes les portes et les fenêtres sont fermées aussi. Je ne sais pas ce qui se passe, mais le train continue à bouger avant que je puisse y penser. Ensuite, la terre brune commence à changer au rouge, et je peux entendre des cris au loin. J’ai peur, et je veux rentrer à la maison. Je ferme les yeux, et je mets les mains sur mes oreilles. Je garde les yeux fermés, et le train ralentit à un arrêt. Est-ce que je reviens chez moi ? J’ouvre les yeux, et je mets les mains vers le bas, mais je suis encore dans le train. J’entends des bruits forts qui sonnent comme un tonnerre, et je vois beaucoup de gens habillés en vert qui dorment sur le sol. Comment est-ce qu’ils dorment avec tout ce bruit ? Une personne est debout au milieu de toutes les autres, c’est mon papa ! Il est vêtu tout de vert comme tout le monde ; je cesse d’y penser, et je commence à courir à mon père. « Papa ! Papa ! » Je crie. « C’est moi, Lucas ! » Il se tourne vers moi, et il est très surpris. Il tend la main pour me dire d’arrêter, mais je continue à courir. J’entends plus de tonnerre, et mon père commence à courir vers moi. Je vois de petites roches métalliques venant vers moi, mais il se met devant moi comme un écran. Tout à coup, il tombe sur la terre, et je peux voir des éclaboussures de peinture rouge sur sa chemise. Je m’agenouille, et il dit tout en pointant à mon cœur : « Même si je ne suis pas avec toi, rappelle-toi que je serai toujours ici. » J’entends plus de tonnerre et quelque chose me frappe, créant des taches de peinture sur mes vêtements aussi. Je sens la douleur, et je ferme les yeux. Je tombe sur la terre à côté de mon père. Je me réveille, encore à l’intérieur du wagon. Je me lève et je regarde dehors – tout est pareil. Je suis de retour dans la forêt. Qu’est-ce qui se passe ? Je ne sais pas, mais il fait déjà nuit – ma mère doit être inquiète. Je commence à courir chez moi. J’imagine que ma mère aura le meilleur cadeau d’anniversaire pour moi. Quand j’arrive, j’ouvre la porte, et je vois ma mère tenant le téléphone. Il y a des larmes sur ses joues.

« Lucas, ton père ne reviendra jamais chez nous. » YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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FRANCE, MA CHÉRIE FRANCE

SCHOOL: Bishop Reding TEACHER: Natalie Tayler SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Stephan Ferraro UNIT: Halton Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Keith Boyd GRADES 9-10 / POEM by Alexander K.

France, un pays dans son unicité Le commencement d’un voyage Unifié sur ces fondements Liberté, égalité et fraternité L’augmentation vers la grandeur Sous un drapeau c’est la victoire contre les épreuves Un pays de la paix et berceau du monde moderne Un bijou passé dans l’histoire Nous, les enfants de la patrie Citoyens libres d’une nation très applaudie Au cours de notre marche contre la tyrannie Nous montrons nous-mêmes forts contre l’austérité Nous menons notre nation vers la prédominance Nous nous battons en sachant que même après le dernier soupçon du sang est répandu, le soleil se lèvera au-dessus de notre peuple Aux temps que notre patrie est en détresse, les cœurs du monde frappent vers leur affection pour notre pays Quand notre nation est dans la souffrance, la terre crie en deuil comme elle sanglote pour ce pays Aucune d’autre ne comprend la puissance de ce peuple

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Notre pays s’élève plus haut que les autres Elle prouve qu’elle reste toujours invaincue Sans les circonstances, nous savons qu’elle restera en haut état Rien d’autre que cette nation éminente est capable de s’établir vers le monde comme un des meilleurs en existence Nous disons fièrement : « Vive la France ! » Je prends la fierté en disant moi-même : « Vive la France ! » Car ce n’est pas un pays C’est la France, ma chérie France

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LE VRAI GAGNANT

SCHOOL: Bishop Allen Academy TEACHER: Massimo Di Paola SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Andrew Macdonald UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dave Szollosy GRADES 9-10 / PLAY by Jacob Swist

Le scénario et le problème : Pierre va pêcher avec son père, son oncle et son cousin ce weekend, et il ne voudrait rien de plus que d’impressionner son père. Mais Pierre est maladroit, et tout ce qu’il semble capable de faire c’est de gâcher la partie de pêche. Les personnages : PIERRE – Le fils de JEAN JEAN – Le père de PIERRE THOMAS – L’oncle de PIERRE LOUIS – Le fils de THOMAS Résolution : Pierre attrape le plus grand poisson et obtient le respect de tout le monde. Le dialogue : JEAN : Pierre, lève-toi ! Il est déjà 5h30 ! Si tu ne te réveilles pas maintenant, nous serons en retard ! PIERRE : J’arrive, attends ! (PIERRE cherche ses vêtements.) PIERRE : Où sont mes chaussettes ?! Je ne peux pas être en retard aujourd’hui… (PIERRE finit de s’habiller et court en bas pour rejoindre son père.) JEAN : Prends les cannes à pêche… PIERRE : Je les ai. JEAN : Puis l’appât, nos déjeuners, les chapeaux et l’insectifuge… PIERRE : Attends une minute ! JEAN : Dépêche-toi ! 124

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(Une heure plus tard, ils se trouvent au Lac Belfront.) JEAN : Finalement, nous sommes ici. Peux-tu sentir l’air frais, les fleurs, et… les cigarettes ? PIERRE : Les cigarettes ? JEAN : Ce qui veut dire que ton oncle est arrivé. Comme je déteste cette odeur. THOMAS : Coucou ! Ah, bonjour, Pierre… tu as grandi… un peu… pas vraiment… Jean, c’est un plaisir de te voir de nouveau. Ne t’inquiète pas, j’ai amené mon fort, intelligent et champion de football, Louis, mon fils. Il pourrait peut-être aider Pierre… ou, au moins, l’aider un peu. LOUIS : Pierre, tu ne changes jamais… même pas un petit peu. JEAN : Pierre est aussi fort que Louis. Pierre, dépêche-toi, et ramène nos affaires ! PIERRE : Oui, papa. (PIERRE ramène les choses, mais il perd son équilibre et tombe.) PIERRE : Désolé. JEAN : Vas-y, ressaisis-toi ! LOUIS : Haha ! S’il ne peut même pas ramener l’équipement, comment va-t-il pêcher ?! THOMAS : Hé, regarde, il est tombé dans la boue ! LOUIS : Ce n’est pas de la boue, mais c’est le caca d’un chien ! THOMAS : Pierre, c’en est trop ! (PIERRE s’excuse et va se nettoyer, pendant que THOMAS et LOUIS ramassent l’équipement.) PIERRE : Quoi d’autre peut-il m’arriver aujourd’hui ? Rien de pire que ça. JEAN : Dépêche-toi, on y va ! PIERRE : Ne me laissez pas ! THOMAS : Finalement, tu es arrivé ! PIERRE : Papa, puis-je t’aider à apporter tes choses ? LOUIS : Ne te déranges pas, tu les laisserais tomber de toute façon. THOMAS : Tiens, tu peux apporter nos chapeaux. LOUIS : Au moins il ne les cassera pas. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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JEAN : Arrête tes bêtises, ça aurait pu arriver à n’importe qui. (Vingt minutes plus tard, ils se trouvent sur un bateau et commencent à pêcher.) LOUIS : Tu fais tout de travers ! As-tu jamais pêché ?! PIERRE : Occupe-toi de tes affaires ! THOMAS : Mon fils est un expert ! Chaque fois qu’on va pêcher, il attrape toujours les plus gros poissons. Qu’est-ce que je peux dire ? Il a hérité son talent de son père ; je lui ai enseigné tout ce qu’il sait. En fait, les fils sont seulement les reflets de leur père… dommage pour Pierre. JEAN : Pierre est aussi bon que Louis ! THOMAS : Ne sois pas jaloux, ce n’est pas la faute de Louis qu’il est tellement doué. JEAN : Jaloux de quoi ?! LOUIS : Papa, Pierre a laissé tomber tout l’appât sur le pont ! PIERRE : Je m’excuse… désolé. (PIERRE ramasse l’appât.) JEAN : On verra qui sera le plus doué ! THOMAS : Haha ! Ne retenez pas votre souffle ! LOUIS : PIERRE !!! THOMAS : Qu’a-t-il fait cette fois ? PIERRE : AHHHH !!! JEAN : Pierre, tout va bien ? PIERRE ?! (JEAN court vers PIERRE et n’en croit pas ses yeux. THOMAS le rejoint.) THOMAS : C’est impossible ! LOUIS : Mais… Comment ? Non ! Non ! NON ! THOMAS : Comment est-ce même possible qu’il ait attrapé un poisson aussi grand ?! JEAN : Tu as raison, les fils sont vraiment le portrait tout craché de leur père, et mon fils est exactement comme moi : un gagnant. La fin ! 126

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METTEZ-VOUS DANS MA PEAU : LA PARALYSIE CÉRÉBRALE SCHOOL: Cardinal Carter Academy For the Arts TEACHER: Karine Chalhoub SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Michelle Blais UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dave Szollosy GRADES 9-10 / NONFICTION by Emma Heaton

Imaginez cette scène : Il est huit heures et quart d’un lundi matin. Il neige, et la congestion routière terrible vous empêche d’être déposé à l’école à l’heure. Vous courez en panique à travers les portes de votre école, et vous découvrez les obstacles contre vous : beaucoup de gens courent sur les escaliers, des escaliers qui sont étroits. Votre sac à dos a l’air de peser mille poids, et la neige fondue a rendu les escaliers un cauchemar pour la marche. Maintenant, vous pouvez entendre la voix d’un narrateur d’un film cliché ou d’un jeu vidéo dans votre tête : « Vous avez cinq minutes pour vous rendre en classe. Bonne chance ! » Si vous êtes un adolescent normal, c’est un défi, mais si vous êtes un adolescent qui a un handicap physique léger, c’est presque impossible. Moi, j’ai quatorze ans. Je suis une adolescente typique. J’aime la musique, lire, et être avec mes amis. Mais, il y a une chose qui est différente chez moi : j’ai la paralysie cérébrale. La paralysie cérébrale affecte différentes personnes de différentes façons. Pour moi, c’est un handicap qui affecte principalement les jambes, mais il a un certain effet sur la façon dont je me déplace en général. Je vais vous raconter ce qui est une journée dans ma vie, et mes expériences. Lisez ce que j’ai écrit avec un esprit ouvert, et essayez de vous imaginer à ma place. C’est lundi, huit heures moins quinze : Je me réveille et je remarque que mon réveille-matin n’a pas sonné, et j’ai dormi une heure de plus ! La terreur s’installe quand je réalise que j’ai moins d’une heure pour - par magie - sortir du lit, mettre mon uniforme, sortir par la porte, et me rendre dans ma première classe à exactement huit heures et demie. Je commence à mettre ma chemise. Puis, j’hésite… tant de boutons ! C’est la première de beaucoup de choses que je rencontre au cours d’une journée normale qui me rappelle mes limitations. C’est une activité de motricité fine, quelque chose qui nécessite des mouvements précis et fins de vos mains pour terminer l’une des nombreuses choses qu’avec la paralysie cérébrale, est difficile pour moi de faire. Maintenant, il est huit heures vingt-cinq : Ouf ! Je suis arrivée à l’école à l’heure. Les escaliers me posent un grand risque de glisser et de tomber. Je demande à quelqu’un de m’aider, et il faut que j’explique que j’ai besoin de tenir leur main pour me garder équilibrée pendant que je monte les escaliers. S’il y a une chose que la paralysie cérébrale m’a appris, c’est comment plaider pour moi-même rapidement, clairement et poliment. Il est dix heures : C’est la deuxième période. C’est l’éducation physique, mais je suis excusée de cette classe. Les exigences d’équilibre et de mouvement dans la classe de l’éducation physique sont trop difficiles pour moi, ainsi que les défis visuels-spatiaux : regarder une balle et savoir quand éviter sa trajectoire avant qu’elle ne me frappe est presque impossible. Au lieu de cela, je travaille avec une professeure. YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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Il est une heure et demie de l’après-midi : J’ai le cours du chœur ! En chœur, nous pratiquons les exercices vocaux avec les actions. Considérez cela : pour une personne avec la paralysie cérébrale, il faut deux fois plus longtemps pour apprendre les actions qu’une personne normale. J’ai l’air probablement un peu bizarre quand je fais des mouvements, mais moi et mes camarades de classe, nous rions simplement. Parfois, quelqu’un m’aide à apprendre un rythme plus lentement. Voilà une journée typique à l’école pour moi. Bien sûr, il y a beaucoup d’autres défis que je rencontre chaque journée comme une personne ayant un handicap physique. Parfois, la paralysie cérébrale rend la vie infiniment plus difficile pour moi. Parfois, j’aimerais savoir ce que c’est d’être normale, de ne pas penser quotidiennement à toutes les modifications que je dois faire, et de ne pas toujours dépendre des autres. Pour conclure, je tiens à remercier ceux qui essaient de m’aider, mais en même temps, je regarde au-delà de mon handicap qui fait partie de mon identité. J’espère que ce que j’ai écrit vous a permis de vivre un instant dans ma peau, et de comprendre ce que c’est de vivre avec un handicap. Donc, soyez gentil et compréhensif la prochaine fois que vous interagissez avec une personne handicapée qui vous demande de l’aide dans un monde qui est construit pour la normalité.

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LA LÉGENDE DES ÉTOILES

SCHOOL: Holy Cross TEACHER: Nicole Alves SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Nicole Alves UNIT: London District UNIT PRESIDENT: Fern Hogan GRADES 11-12 / SHORT STORY by Anastazia K. Csegeny

Quand on regarde en haut vers le ciel de la nuit, nous pouvons voir des millions et des millions d’étoiles. Nous sommes surpris par la beauté des étoiles, mais, nous ne demandons pas d’où elles viennent vraiment. Chaque étoile a une histoire. Des contes de triomphe, de désespoir et de bonheur remplissent notre ciel chaque nuit. Peu importe l’étoile – la plus grande, la plus brillante, la plus petite, ni la plus sombre dans le ciel – chaque étoile est importante. Il y a très longtemps, dans un endroit lointain, très lointain, il y avait une forêt de vie. Des animaux de toutes espèces vivaient dans la forêt, en harmonie, sans aucun conflit du tout. Parmi ces nombreux animaux, il y avait un aigle qui s’appelait Aquila. Elle pourrait voler au-dessus des nuages dans le ciel avec ses immenses ailes. Les animaux de la forêt lui faisaient confiance, parce qu’elle les gardait sans danger. Un jour, pendant qu’Aquila volait au-dessus de la forêt, elle a vu un ours qui était sur le point de tomber d’une falaise. En voyant cela, Aquila s’est élancée soudainement vers le bas de la falaise. L’ours était très surpris qu’il avait été attrapé par Aquila. « Merci beaucoup ! » a dit l’ours. « Je ne savais même pas que j’étais sur le point de tomber de la falaise. » « Pas de problème, petit ours. C’est mon travail d’assurer la sécurité de tous les animaux de la forêt. Maintenant, pouvez-vous me dire votre nom ? » Aquila a dit.

« Oui, je m’appelle Ursa Major, mais vous pouvez m’appeler Major, » il a dit.

Pendant qu’Aquila continuait à voler dans le ciel, Major racontait l’histoire de pourquoi il était sur la falaise. Il a dit qu’il y avait une grotte située sur la falaise qui était pleine de trésors brillants. Il voulait voir si les histoires qu’il avait entendues de la grotte des autres animaux étaient vraies. Aquila est devenue très curieuse au sujet de la grotte. Y avait-il vraiment du trésor caché ? Quand ils sont arrivés au sol de la forêt, ils pouvaient voir que le soleil commençait à se définir dans le lointain. Major est descendu du dos d’Aquila. Avant son départ, il se tourna vers Aquila et il a dit : « Je dois vous rembourser pour m’avoir sauvé. J’ai envie de partager le trésor que j’ai trouvé dans la grotte avec vous. Cela nous fera deux personnes très riches au-delà de nos YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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imaginations. »

Aquila était très surprise d’entendre cela. Elle a répondu :

« Oh, non ! Je ne pourrais pas prendre n’importe quel paiement de votre part. C’est mon travail d’assurer la sécurité de tous les animaux. »

Puis, Major a dit :

« Mais, je veux vous donner quelque chose. Pensez-y comme une dette de vie. Je veux que vous me rencontriez ici demain matin, donc, nous pouvons revenir à la grotte ensemble. » Et sans un autre mot, Major a disparu dans l’obscurité de la nuit, ne laissant d’autre choix à Aquila que revenir le lendemain matin comme il l’avait dit. Comme le soleil s’élevait vers le ciel le lendemain matin, Aquila volait dans le ciel vers la clairière dans la forêt où elle l’avait emmené la nuit dernière. Elle a attendu Major toute la matinée, mais il n’est jamais venu. Le matin bientôt s’est transformé en après-midi, et Major n’était pas encore arrivé. Aquila commençait à perdre espoir, comme l’obscurité de la nuit s’installait dans le ciel. Puis, elle a vu quelqu’un qui courait à travers les arbres. C’était Major !

« Allons à la grotte ! » Major a dit.

« Mais c’est trop sombre ! Nous pourrions nous blesser ! » Aquila a répondu.

« Si vous voulez le trésor, nous devons y aller maintenant. » Major est monté sur le dos d’Aquila, et elle a volé vers le ciel. Quand ils sont y arrivés, Aquila était étonnée par des millions de diamants qui remplissaient la grotte.

« Rapidement, nous devons cueillir autant que possible ! » Major a crié.

Les deux animaux ont recueilli autant de diamants qu’ils pouvaient, et les ont mis sur le dos d’Aquila. Major a essayé de monter sur son dos, mais elle a dit :

« Les diamants sont trop lourds. Je ne peux pas porter tout ça. » « Dépêchons-nous, je suis sûr que vous serez très bien, » Major a répondu.

Ils ont volé hors de la grotte, le dos d’Aquila plein de diamants. Le ciel était très sombre, et elle ne voyait pas bien. Aquila a essayé de naviguer dans le ciel, tout comme elle l’a fait pendant la journée, mais c’était trop difficile. Tout ce qu’elle avait entendu avant qu’elle a frappé l’arbre était Major qui avait crié :

« ATTENTION ! »

Major, Aquila et les diamants sont tombés dans le ciel. Les animaux nocturnes de la forêt ont regardé vers le haut pour voir ce qui se passait, mais tout ce qui restait d’Ursa Major, Aquila et les diamants, étaient des millions d’étoiles dans le ciel, y compris les constellations. 130

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MON NOM SIGNIFIE « LE BONHEUR »

SCHOOL: Mary Ward TEACHER: Jennifer Wisniowski SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Pamela Spearns UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dave Szollosy GRADES 11-12 / POEM by Tiffany Cheung

*Les mots en gras représentent la pensée de Felix, un jeune garçon canadien. Ceux en italique représentent la pensée d’Asaad, un garçon syrien. Ceux qui sont à la fois en gras et en italique sont les pensées partagées par les deux garçons.* Mon nom, c’est Felix : Et le mien, c’est Asaad Cela signifie « le bonheur. » Je viens du beau Canada, où il est plein de collines ondulées et montagnes majestueuses, Avec des tâches bleues glaciales, des rivières et des lacs qui s’entendent partout dans le vaste pays Avec des champs agricoles qui ont plus qu’assez pour nourrir leurs citoyens Ma Syrie est aussi belle, avec ses plaines de sable et dunes poussiéreuses Et ses parcelles de gazon doux et vert qui l’ornent, spectacle de survie, Et ses bâtiments et monuments, grands et fiers ; aucun pays ne peut se comparer, Ou du moins, ils n’ont pas pu, jadis… mais quand même J’appelle cet endroit mon chez moi. C’est l’hiver, le temps le plus froid de l’année – Je ne veux pas aller dehors,

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Moi aussi, je donnerais tout pour être abrité. Les balles de grêle et de pluie me menacent pendant que je me précipite pour rentrer chez moi Une pluie de balles me menace, mais il ne fait pas froid ici. Je n’ai pas d’endroit où me cacher. Je souhaiterais avoir quelque chose pour me protéger. C’est le temps des Fêtes ! La saison d’être gai et éclatant Je ne vois rien que le désespoir et les ténèbres devant moi, s’étendant sur une centaine de milles Autour de moi, une marée de gens s’affaire dans la rue, courant d’un magasin à l’autre, Les pas tonitruants m’assourdissent lorsque les lourdes bottes des soldats claquent sur le sol Autour de moi, j’entends des gens hurler, désespérés de finir leurs achats de Noël Des cris de désespoir, des hurlements de douleur, des braillements d’alarme – ils résonnent dans ma tête Autour de moi, je ne vois que les mélanges de rouge et vert partout aux magasins et à la télé Je regarde, fasciné, pendant que du rouge suinte lentement de la poitrine du soldat afin de se mélanger avec l’herbe verte au-dessous. Des lumières et l’étoile scintillent allègrement dans le ciel et sur le sapin Il y a un éclair lumineux et un BANG, puis deux hommes tombent maladroitement par terre C’est le temps de l’année. J’ai une sœur. Elle s’appelle Joyce. Et moi aussi. Aalaa n’est qu’un tout-petit. Elle me suit toujours et ne me laisse jamais tranquille – une telle nuisance Avant qu’il soit parti pour la guerre, j’avais promis à mon père que je ne la laisserais jamais seule. Elle brise ma figurine préférée. Je lui crie de s’en aller. Je crie après elle de revenir à l’espace de sécurité lorsqu’elle s’éloigne pour chercher sa poupée préférée

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Apres que Maman me gronde, je baisse ma tête et fais la recherche de ma sœur Je me précipite vers elle et je la saisis, puis nous nous cachons derrière un mur pendant qu’une bombe explose au loin Joyce renifle quand je m’approche d’elle et me regarde avec des yeux effarouchés Je regarde pendant que les yeux d’Aalaa s’emplissent de larmes quand je récupère sa poupée cassée « Désolé, » je lui dis, ma voix pleine de regret. Je marche péniblement a côté de mon père, en route vers la piscine communautaire Mes jambes tremblent d’anticipation pendant que j’examine avec méfiance les sombres eaux froides Je ne voulais jamais apprendre à nager, je pensais désespérément. « T’en auras besoin bientôt, » on m’a répondu. Avec réticence, je me déshabille, ne gardant que mon slip de bain et me sentant exposé Je commence à enlever mon T-shirt, mais le monsieur m’empêche, disant que j’en ai besoin pour me garder au chaud Le dernier jour, ma monitrice de natation me dit que je suis prêt à passer le test Dès que j’apprends les bases de la natation, le monsieur signe ma note, disant que je suis prêt à quitter mon pays Je respire profondément, puis me jette du mur, mon corps glissant doucement dans l’eau pendant que je traverse la longueur de la piscine Mon bateau démarre et surfe les vagues périlleuses alors que ma patrie disparait à l’horizon. Quand j’approche le mur, mes jambes tendent et je me prépare à faire un demi-tour Une marée sauvage projette le bateau et je me crispe en me préparant de nager à tout moment Quelques secondes plus tard, je vois le mur au loin en complétant mon dernier tour Plusieurs semaines, mêmes des mois passent et enfin, je vois de la terre sûre au loin Avec le dernier sursaut d’énergie, je me propulse dans l’eau et touche le mur d’arrivée Les refugies de mon bateau dansent et chantent lorsqu’ils se rendent compte que la journée est YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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terminée – nous sommes tous sains et saufs. « Finalement, » je pense. « Je suis libre. » Mon nom, c’est Felix : Et le mien, c’est Asaad Et cela signifie « le bonheur. »

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LE SECRET DU BONHEUR

SCHOOL: St. Theresa of Lisieux TEACHER: Gino Marcuzzi SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joey Villeneuve UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 11-12 / PLAY by Daria Gamaley

ACTE 1: La journée de travail commence au cœur du centre des recherches biochimiques. Pleine d’outils progressifs, la salle sonne avec la fatigue. ANNABELLE, ZOÉ et MARC flânent autour de la salle. ANNABELLE est travailleuse avec un esprit vif. ZOÉ est plus timide, mais elle est capable de faire des remarques ultra-intelligentes. MARC est le bébé du groupe, et il garde toujours son avis positif. Les trois scientifiques prennent du café en attendant un autre collègue de travail, DARCY, et leur employeur sévère, M. TRAVIS. ANNABELLE : Oh là là, ce travail est tellement épuisant. (Elle pousse un soupir profond.) MARC : Que veux-tu dire ? ANNABELLE : Sans doute, j’adore mon travail. Depuis mon enfance, c’était mon rêve d’être scientifique. (Elle secoue la tête.) Eh bien, nous travaillons sur le même projet depuis cinq ans, et il me semble que nous n’avons pas eu de succès. Dites-moi, quelles idées révolutionnaires avons-nous trouvé dans ce laboratoire ? ZOÉ : Nous avons découvert que M. Travis a une dépendance avide sur le café. (La porte s’ouvre et se ferme, et DARCY entre dans le laboratoire. Il est un jeune homme calme, qui a un amour inégalable pour les arts.) MARC : De plus, nous savons maintenant que Darcy lit les livres de Jane Austen le vendredi soir. DARCY : Eh ! (Il crie avec incrédulité.) Tu te trompes, Marc. MARC : Ne t’inquiètes pas, Darcy. Je blague. DARCY : Après ces années angoissantes, je me demande pourquoi je continue à parler avec vous. ZOÉ : Tout d’abord, parce que nous sommes obligés de venir ici presque chaque jour pendant la semaine. Pourquoi travaillons-nous tant d’heures aujourd’hui ? Beaucoup de mes amis peuvent partir à 12 h, parce que c’est la fin de la semaine. MARC : Nous travaillons aujourd’hui parce que M. Travis est tellement fou. (La porte s’ouvre YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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encore une fois, et M. TRAVIS entre.) M. TRAVIS : Bonjour, bonjour. J’espère que tout le monde a commencé à travailler. (Il parle sans regarder de ses papiers.) Je viens de retourner du laboratoire central, et j’ai beaucoup de nouvelles fantastiques. On m’avait donné des analyses culturelles et génomiques des peuples équatoriales… MARC : (Il chuchote.) Annabelle, ce soir après le travail, je gagnerai tous nos jeux. ANNABELLE : Tu te trompes, Marc, mon cher. M. TRAVIS : Marc ! Annabelle ! (Il aboie en enlevant ses lunettes.) Vous m’entendez ? Je parle maintenant de nos découvertes. J’espère que vous parlez des résultats d’analyse des chromosomes 12 et 13. Il faut que vous travailliez fort, parce qu’il n’y a pas beaucoup de temps à perdre. ZOÉ : Mais monsieur, nous voudrions poser une question : Sommes-nous proches à trouver « le secret du bonheur » ? Est-ce qu’il y avait quelqu’un qui a atteint leur but dans cette région scientifique ? M. TRAVIS : Non… quand même, nous serions les premiers… (Un silence sonne dans la salle. Ce morceau d’information a créé une tension formidable. Les scientifiques regardent l’un l’autre nerveusement.) M. TRAVIS : Alors, il faut que nous retournions au travail. Marc, il est nécessaire que tu commences à travailler sur une analyse plus profonde des hormones dans le système endocrine, et résiste à la tentation de braiser quelque chose. Zoé, il est urgent que tu analyses la population d’Asie et la relation entre hormone numéro 20 et le lieu de naissance. Darcy, écris un rapport d’urgence à l’Université de Paris, en décrivant nos résultats. Et Annabelle, il est important que tu continues tes analyses de chromosome 12, s’il te plaît. D’ailleurs, tout le monde, notifiez-moi de votre lieu après le travail. Je vous trouverai pour distribuer un dossier d’analyses de ces cinq mois. Allons-y ! ACTE 2 : Après le travail, en cherchant ses employés, M. TRAVIS arrive à un petit appartement au deuxième étage d’un bâtiment mignon. Il frappe à la porte, en espérant qu’il a trouvé le lieu correct. Un homme âgé ouvre la porte. HOMME : Bonsoir. Qui cherchez-vous ? M. TRAVIS : Bonsoir, monsieur. Je cherche Zoé. Habite-elle ici ? HOMME : Ah, oui. Vous êtes chanceux. Elle est presque partie avec nous pour la messe du soir. Un instant, s’il vous plaît. Zoé, ma belle, il y a un jeune homme qui veut te voir ! ZOÉ : Oui, papa ? A-t-il des yeux verts comme la forêt et les cheveux noirs comme la nuit ? 136

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Autrement, je ne veux pas… (Elle s’approche à la porte.) Oh, Monsieur Travis ! Que faites-vous ici ? M. TRAVIS : Bonsoir, Zoé. Euh, c’est le dossier que j’ai compilé aujourd’hui. Lisez-le le plus tôt possible. ZOÉ : (Mal à l’aise) Monsieur, ce n’est pas possible, parce que je passe le vendredi soir avec ma famille. Nous allons à l’église, et après nous passerons du temps à la maison. Nous sommes 15, et nous – (Soudainement, un enfant s’échappe de l’appartement.) ENFANT : Nous jouons au Scrabble chaque soir, et nous nous amusons beaucoup, parce qu’il y a beaucoup de jeux, et beaucoup de nourriture, et beaucoup de personnes, et – ZOÉ : Assez, Fifi, c’est mon employeur. (Elle sourit timidement.) Monsieur Travis, c’est Fifi, ma sœur cadette. Elle aime parler beaucoup. HOMME : Alors, tout le monde, allons-y ! Nous serons en retard ! M. TRAVIS : Ah. Amusez-vous bien. ZOÉ : Merci, Monsieur Travis. Pareillement. ACTE 3 : M. TRAVIS continue sa petite promenade parmi les terrains de tennis. Il fait très sombre dehors, et les rues sont pleines de gens. M. TRAVIS : Marc et Annabelle… sur le terrain de tennis. Je ne pensais jamais qu’ils jouaient aux sports… (Il frappe sur la fenêtre, et un concierge l’approche.) CONCIERGE : Oui, monsieur ? (Elle sourit.) Avez-vous réservé un terrain ? M. TRAVIS : Non, je cherche quelqu’un. Euh, Annabelle et Marc, les connaissez-vous ? CONCIERGE : Bien sûr. Ils sont dans la salle numéro 5. (Il trouve la salle numéro 5, pleine de cris et de rire. Ces deux employés sont habillés en vêtements athlétiques.) ANNABELLE : Marc ! Tu mens ! La balle était à l’intérieur du terrain. Nous jouons un contre un, pas avec les partenaires. Maintenant, nous avons la preuve que tu es un tricheur sale ! Tu dois arrêter cette coutume ! M. TRAVIS : Annabelle ! Marc ! Venez ici ! (Ils courent vers lui, avec d’énormes sourires.) MARC : Quand on parle du loup ! Salut, Monsieur Travis ! Qu’est-ce que c’est ?

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ANNABELLE : Oh, c’est le dossier d’aujourd’hui, oui ? M. TRAVIS : Oui, vous avez raison. ANNABELLE : Je le lirai ce soir, mais en ce moment, je dois garder mon statut champion. MARC : À propos, jouez-vous au tennis, monsieur ? Peut-être nous pourrions jouer avec les partenaires ? Ce serait le match du siècle ! M. TRAVIS : Eh… (Il fait une pause.) Malheureusement, je ne joue plus. ANNABELLE : Ah, c’est dommage. Nous forcerions Darcy de jouer avec nous. MARC : Mais non, il a une âme délicate. M. TRAVIS : Que fait-il ce soir ? Je dois le trouver. ANNABELLE : Sans doute, il se promène le long des Champs Elysées. Il aime prendre des photos artistiques. C’est un passe-temps très intéressant. Vous êtes sûr que vous ne voulez pas jouer ? M. TRAVIS : Non, merci. Je ne joue pas depuis longtemps… Amusez-vous bien. MARC ET ANNABELLE : Pareillement, monsieur ! ACTE 4 : En cherchant son dernier employé, M. TRAVIS a commencé à sentir quelque chose. Ce n’était pas la fatigue, il était sûr. C’était… la solitude et le vide incompréhensible. Tout à coup, un jeune homme l’approche. C’était DARCY. DARCY : Bonsoir, monsieur. Ces feuilles sont pour moi ? M. TRAVIS : Oui, Darcy. DARCY : Parfait ! Je les lirai quand j’aurai fini ma séance photo. J’aime ça : prendre des photos des petits magasins et boutiques au cœur de Paris. M. TRAVIS : Oui, j’ai entendu que c’est ton passe-temps. DARCY : Sans doute. (Après un silence.) C’est un peu comique, parce que je suis scientifique. Mais nous sommes vivants et je m’intéresse à tant d’autres choses. J’adore prendre des photos et j’aime peindre aussi. Ca me rend heureux, parce qu’on peut arrêter des sentiments, des odeurs, des sons aussi… C’est fantasmagorique, la beauté de la nuit. M. TRAVIS : C’est très… intéressant…

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DARCY : (Gêné, il murmure.) Je suis désolé. J’aime parler à propos des arts. Ça va, monsieur ? (M. TRAVIS ne répond pas.) Vous êtes un peu pâle. J’ai dit quelque chose ? M. TRAVIS : Non, Darcy. Ne t’inquiète pas. Je suis… un peu fatigué. Bonne soirée. ACTE 5 : M. TRAVIS arrive à son appartement vide et froid. En préparant son café, il ouvre son portable. Quelques minutes passent. Avec indignation, il ferme son portable. M. TRAVIS : Non. Je me trompais… (En étirant ses muscles, il se promène autour de son appartement. Tristement, il regarde ses raquettes de tennis, au coin de sa chambre. C’était son sport préféré. À l’école secondaire, il était le champion provincial. Puis, il tâte son vieux piano avec ses doigts. Il regarde la poussière épaisse. Les doux sons lui manquent. Enfin, il regarde les photos de sa famille, et il secoue la tête. Sans hésitation, il sort son téléphone et appelle quelqu’un.) TRAVIS : Allô, c’est l’Université de Paris ? Je voudrais parler avec le chef du département de biologie évolutive. Merci. (Il soupire profondément. Il ne pensait jamais qu’il verrait ce moment.) Bonsoir, monsieur. Je voudrais terminer la recherche scientifique numéro 10-187 intitulé « le secret du bonheur. » Pourquoi ? J’ai décidé que c’est un cul-de-sac. (Après une pause.) Le bonheur n’est pas une hormone générée par un peuple équatorial. On n’en peut pas trouver ni dans une analyse biologique, ni dans une réaction chimique. C’est quelque chose que nous pouvons trouver seulement quand nous ne le cherchons pas. Oui, je suis sûr. Au revoir. (Immédiatement, après qu’il a décroché le téléphone, il appelle un numéro tellement familier. Il s’est trompé. Pourront-ils lui pardonner ?) Allô, maman. C’est moi, Guillaume. Écoute-moi, j’avais tort, et je suis désolé. Puis-je vous rendre visite ce soir ? J’ai bien hâte de vous voir.

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L’IMPORTANCE DE LA FAMILLE DANS LA SOCIÉTÉ OCCUPÉE SCHOOL: St. Theresa of Lisieux TEACHER: Gino Marcuzzi SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE: Joey Villeneuve UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Heather Manassis GRADES 11-12 / NONFICTION by Brittany Chang Kit

La famille est comme un organe humain. En fonctionnant dans le système humain, il est essentiel dans la façon dont le système agit comme une seule entité. Dès le début des Saintes Écritures, à travers l’histoire et dans l’observation objective, la structure de la famille est bien connue d’avoir une influence sur l’orientation de l’apathie ou la passion pour la quête de la vérité. Au niveau cellulaire, les cellules saines ont le potentiel de reproduire et de participer à maintenir un corps sain, ce qui est le but ultime. De même, si une seule cellule refuse de fonctionner, elle devient cancéreuse, et présente une grande menace pour le reste de l’organe, et donc le corps. En devenant métastatique, ce cancer a la capacité de se propager et de perturber l’ordre de la société. Par conséquent, il est essentiel de préserver l’intérieur et de promouvoir l’extérieur de la structure familiale, comme par la dissolution de l’institution familiale, le macrocosme social est destiné à s’effondre. Composée de quelques-unes des valeurs humaines les plus sacrées, la famille est soutenue par l’Église elle-même, comme mentionné dans l’Exhortation apostolique Familiaris Consortio du Pape Jean-Paul II. En aidant à se tailler une vocation mondiale vers la charité et de la servitude de Jésus Christ, qu’on appelle aussi la Vérité, la famille est considérée comme le critère pour la société dans la manière qu’elle devrait fonctionner. En particulier, on remarque que le transcendantal de l’unité (du philosophe grec Aristote) est évident parmi l’institution familiale. Selon les doctrines de saint Thomas d’Aquin, les trois inclinations les plus désirables parlent d’être dans l’unité avec Dieu, soi-même et avec les autres. Dans plusieurs émissions de télévision, la famille est souvent présentée comme un groupe d’individus liés génétiquement qui de temps en temps vont faire des pique-niques ensemble et qui ont le barbecue annuel. Par cette interprétation superficielle de l’unité familiale, ce n’est pas étonnant que beaucoup de gens se sentent confus par rapport au sujet de son importance. Grâce à cette fausse idée, l’unité est réduite à un sentiment d’unité plutôt que la notion de la communauté par la vertu de l’altruisme. Typiquement, le contresens vient de la méprise des raisons téléologiques de la famille. Le sacrement du mariage est le premier et sans doute l’un des plus mal compris des éléments familiaux. L’alliance du mariage est élevée en dignité par la promesse entre le marié, la mariée et Christ comme conduits de la Grâce Sanctifiante et donc, toutes les parties sont liées jusqu’à la 140

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mort. Avec le temps, cette alliance a été séculairement réduite à, simplement, une proclamation de l’amour confirmée par la loi d’État. De cette définition vague, la compréhension du mariage devient obscure. Par conséquent, cela a abouti à la désintégration du sens fondamental d’être dans une alliance tellement sacrée. Revenant à la Familiaris Consortio, il est renforcé que la perspective du mâle et de la femme est une partie intégrante de la vie d’un enfant : « Les époux et les parents Chrétiens peuvent et doivent offrir leur contribution unique et irremplaçable à l’élaboration d’un discernement authentique et évangélique dans les situations et cultures diverses dans lesquelles les hommes et les femmes vivent leur mariage et leur vie de famille. » De deux extrémités, il y a une approche véritable du côté matriarcale et patriarcale qui sert à guider l’enfant vers sa vocation qui est essentiel pour sa croissance mentale, physique et spirituelle. Dans la société post-moderne, la cellule familiale est devenue plus sujette à la désunion entre l’enfant et les parents. Des parents aimants devraient être des figures d’autorité pour l’enfant, mais malheureusement, de plus en plus de jeunes se tournent vers des autoritaires comme leurs premiers éducateurs, alors qu’en réalité, tout ce qui est enseigné à l’enfant sont des distractions qui le guident loin de la Vérité. Souvent, la majorité des médias affronte les idéaux qui agissent comme le fondement de la famille. Lorsque la famille essaie de saisir l’unité et la bonté, l’enfant, dont le sens moral n’est plus correctement étalonné, embrasse l’isolationnisme. Plusieurs d’enfants, après avoir été faussement guidés par l’autoritaire, souvent deviennent leur propre autorité. En voyant que le subjectivisme intellectuel provient de ce qui est communément surnommé « la rébellion adolescente, » il est essentiel que les parents aident leurs enfants constamment dans le processus d’étalonner leur sens de la réalité et de la vérité objective. Le quatrième commandement du Décalogue déclare : « Honore ton père et ta mère. » Une fois qu’on commence de comprendre la bonté, il devient plus facile de transcender le reste des lois, car on cultive le respect profond pour la Vérité. Selon le Catéchisme de l’Église Catholique, il « constitue l’un des fondements de la doctrine sociale de l’Église. » Dans la famille, les règles doivent toujours être dirigées vers les perfections de l’Unité, la Bonté, la Justice, la Vérité, et la Beauté, communément connus comme Christ. Une famille qui ne se conforme pas à la réalité trouverait ces règles restrictives, tandis qu’une famille qui les comprend est donc libre, et est capable de les transcender. Avec les rappels constants de l’importance de la famille pour la société, on ne peut pas se permettre d’être aveuglé par l’expression : « le sang est plus épais que l’eau. » Puisque Dieu a créé tous les humains égaux en dignité et en essence, le lien de la famille n’est pas une excuse pour dire que certaines personnes valent plus que d’autres. Une erreur commune est de voir la parenté avant toutes autres choses, même avant le droit d’État ou avant la volonté de Dieu. À travers l’histoire, les liens familiaux malheureusement se révèlent souvent d’être plus intenses que l’appel du Saint-Esprit. Le principe biblique qui remarque que la famille est généralement unifiée dans leurs croyances est illustré dans l’histoire de l’Ancien Testament d’Amos et Amatsia. Lorsqu’Amatsia avait renoncé au prophète de Dieu Amos, Dieu a puni non seulement Amatsia, mais aussi sa famille (Amos 7 : 10-17). Si le patriarche de la famille abandonne sa foi, il est YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS / PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

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presque certain que le reste de la famille suivrait. Les individus doivent comprendre que l’institution de la famille est importante, mais ils doivent aussi devenir plus actifs dans la recherche de la Vérité et la découverte d’une famille qui peut les guider comme autorité. Le microcosme de la famille est le cadre du macrocosme social ; elle est le moteur du monde. Dans l’institution, on observe les éléments qui jouent un rôle essentiel dans l’entretien de l’unité. La famille saine est celle qui baigne dans la liberté et la stabilité à la suite de respect pour la Vérité. Elle est guidée par l’autorité et entourée de la charité. Pendant que les autoritaires menacent de diviser la famille en promouvant un faux sentiment de bonté, chaque unité familiale doit chercher activement la vérité objective. En comprenant les théologies de la famille, on est destiné à découvrir notre vocation véritable à travers la volonté, l’intelligence et les passions. Par conséquence, on aura la capacité de fonctionner comme distributeur de l’amour de la famille autour de la société.

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