RMS Storymakers Issue 4

Storymakers Storymakers Issue 4

Photo ©Adeeba Syeda Quadry

The eCreative Writing Societyy

from the society:

We are back! Another issue of Storymakers is here for you to enjoy following the Christmas break.This past term we have welcomed new members and experienced workshops for different interests.We have been hard at work for this issue, which is crammed full of poems, stories, flash fiction and so much more for you to read.

As always, we have our book recommendations at the end and of course, the belovedTea andTexts page for you to enjoy after reading our writing.

So, get comfortable with a warm drink in this cold weather and enjoy what is in store for you!

Year11

Arlo Evans RobynVerney-Kershaw Saraya Perdios Lou Hutchison

SixthForm

Ameerah Mehta

Alina Silkin

A love fromsprung hate

Twosparringhalvesofaconflictedboy, Reachingacrossaripplingmirror. Depthsasboundlessastheseaengulfjoy, Astheyshroudmymindfromseeingclearer.

Thirstgrew,notforthewaterbetweenus, Butforalovethatwouldsustainandbear, Carrytheweightofabloomlikeastem, Findbeautyinmyloathedcheeks,andhair.

Love,adoubleedgedsword,sprungfromhate, Fromit’sdeceitfulpoisonedwellIdrink, Kissinghisgentlelipswhichserveasbait, Underlove’sheavyburdenIdosink.

Myotherhalf,pullingmeunderneath, ItfillsmylungsandatlastIcanbreathe.

ByLouHutchison

The Star in Her Eyes

AsIlookupintotheclearstarrysky,the lightsofthequietcitytwinklingbelowme, Ican’thelpbutfeelhappy.Balancing precariouslyontheedgeofthebalcony, fortyfloorsup,allmyworriesseemtoslip away,liketheyarenothingmorethan shimmeringbeadsofwaterthatseemto burstassoonasmyfingertipsreachthem.I feellightandairy,asifIcanglideupinto thecloudswithoutacare,likeIcantouch thevelvetynightsky,andbeonewiththe stars.

IpretendthatI’matightropewalker, stretchingmyarmsoutlikewingsasIplace onegraceful,pointedfootinfrontofthe other.IgigglewhenIlosemyfootingand almostslip,andmystomachdoesa gorgeousloopattheprospectofstepping offofthebalcony.IpretendthatI’ma ballerina,attemptinganarabesque.Igiggle andstumbleagain.Ilookatthesilentcity belowandsmiletomyself.Itwistaround likeacorkandletmyselffallbackwards.I takeonelastlookatthesky,thestars,andI closemyeyes.

By HollieDownie

Extractfrom…

Three Ways to Write a Poem

With Daljit Nagra

We joined award-winning poet Daljit Nagra and learned how to write shape poems, personal poems and poems from different perspectives. We explored new writing techniques and come away from the session having written three new poems!

Daljit Nagra is Chair of the Royal Society of Literature, teaches at Brunel University, and presents ‘Poetry Extra’ weekly on Radio 4 Extra. His prize-winning poetry collections are published by Faber & Faber.

itThefaintshuffleofitsmovementedgingnearer Andtherattleofitscallisathreat Irememberwhenitwasalladream Butthedangerinitseyesisrealthistime andthetwistingagonythathauntedmethen seesmenow

Thethinglaughsahungrygrowl andIshouldreallybeafraid andtheworldcallstomeinitsmanyvoices anditisnotbeautifulanymore.

ByAnonymous

aloneThey don’t notice

they don’t notice when I’m having a rough day they don’t notice when I’m on the verge of breaking they don’t notice when I’m shaking and hyperventilating despite that the person across the room notices they don’t notice when tears are rolling down my cheeks and my eyes are reddened

They never notice.

And when they finally do realise, when they are prompted, they don’t care.

Why would they care? Why should they care? they continue as before and there I am, left in my broken state all alone.

ByArloEvans

Dandelions dancing in the Breeze

Once yellow, now painted white A breath away from flight From launching to the sky But they are clutched tightly to have Roots embedded deep down They will never take flight

By AmandaMahendra

dandeli da ons

Perfection.

InallthatIam.

Myeyes,myhair,myyouthfulcheeks, WorthyofBacchus,ofApollo Worthyofgods.

Mymindsparswithsuchflattery, Gougingmyeyes, Hollowandmelancholy, Burningmyhair, Lankandbristled, Cuttingmycheeks, Sunkenandfrail.

Broken. IswhatIam. Animageofperfection, Splintered Intotheendlessshardsofashatteredmirror.

Butnowyoushowme Anecho Ofhowyouseeme, Areflectionofbeauty,ofstrength,ofhope.

Youshowme

Anechoof Perfection.

ByLouHutchison

Perfection

Mushrooms. left on the crowded floor of the luscious forest to be stepped on, or plucked from their roots by a child, only to be fiercely squished by a protective parent. But look, what if we saw through them, for what they really are, harmless, beautiful, free from danger.

By

RobynVerneyKershaw

La Lune

Beautifulbeing, sheis.Allstareupatherinwonder, alleyesshiningupather.Butyoumustlookpast herbeauty,lookpasttheobvious,toseehertrueself. Sheisnotjustpretty,sheissad.Shefeelstheneedtochange herselfeverynight,tryingtoappealtoeveryone,toappearperfect, butsheisperfectexactlyassheisandIloveher,Ilovehertrueform asshe is beautiful,sheisincredible,sheshinesandgivesmehope,she comfortsme,sheisalwaysthere,upaboveme,watchingoverus,she isalwaysmakingsurethatwedonotmakethewrongmove,making surethatthroughtheabyssofredstring,wefindeachother,wefind ourotherhalf,becausewithoutherguidance,hercareforus,weall growuptoofast,withoutherwemayneverfindwhoeachone ofusweremadefor.Wemustsaveourselves,andeachother andsheaidsusinthestrugglesweface.Sheisalways watchingoverus,andwhenwefindthemand ourlipsmeet,shesmiles.Forwe havefoundthem.

ByArloEvans

A poem to my younger self

Youareenough. Don’tletthemgettoyou neverletthemgettoyou,don’tletthemseethatit hurtsyou.

Theyhavenorighttosaythosethings theydon'tknowyou Ido andyouareenough youarefiguringyourselfout andthatisok god,darling,thatismorethanok. Youhaveeveryrighttoworkonyourself lethimgo. Youdeservemorelovethanheevergaveyou. Youareenough.

By

RobynVerneyKershaw

Photo ©Adeeba Syeda Quadry

Ch-ch-ch-chCHANGES

Thehoneymoonperiodisover Nolongerdoeshappinesslingerintheair,nomoredowerelaxinblissfulharmonyWeforgedthis familyourselves

It'seasytoforgetthatwiththenightsofcryingaloneinafortydegreeshower Wearenolongertwosoulssolderedtogetherwiththegoalofonefuture Jealousloveisallconsuming,yetthereareothermembersofthisfamily

Inadivorceyoutendnottothinkofthepeoplewhowillhavetochoosesides Thosewhoseloyaltywillhavetosplit

Thoseleftbehind

Whenyou’redrunkonallconsumingloveyoutendnottothinkoftheconsequencesAsthecentre ofyouruniverseshifts,yoursenseof‘me’startstoshiftwithit

WhoamI?

Isthatmetalkingormyuniverse?

Individualismcannolongerbeavaluedtrait

Yetevenasthecosmosripsapart,irreparable Onethingisstartlinglyclear

Youruniversehasnotshifted,evenifitsnotyoursanymore

Butstillthefamilyistorn

Theharmonyyouoncesharedgone

Thelovethatwasoncepurenowtaintedbeyondbelief

Itwasalltoogood,tooperfect

IsupposewhatI’mtryingtosayhereisthatdespiteeverythingIshouldhateyouButIdon’t

Iloveyoutomarsandback

By HollieDownie

Feeling That

It’sanoddfeeling: reachingforthephone, andrealisingIcan’tcallthem. Seeingthem, andstopping,becauseIcan’thugthem. Findinganoldt-shirt-theonetheygaveme, andcurlingmybodyaroundit.

Seeingpastphotos, wishingitwasthenagain. Somethinggreathappening, andallIwanttodoistellthem.

Feelingsoincomplete becausetheyperfectedme, andnowallIamleftwithis thisgapingholeinmysoul, theonetheyoncefilled, soperfectly.

Bodytrembling unabletomove

chestbeingcrushed unabletobreathe tearsprickingmyeyeslikeneedles unabletosee

Painconsumeseverysingleparticleofme, whiletheirmemoryretreatsintothe shadows

ByArloEvans

Asweloseourselves,theessenceofwhatweoncewere,wetendtosay‘whathappenedtome?I usedtobesomuchmore.’Wenolongerdefineourselvesaswedid,say,ayearago.Inthisinstance, therefore,arewenotreturningtoexistence?Optimiststalkofa‘newleaf’;dotheytrulymeananew essence?Anewpurpose,anewdefinition.Wearenotpredefinedcreatures.Itispossible.Yetisitever possibletotruly,fully,letgoofyourroots?Toleaveanoldpot,anoldpersonality,behindandbeplanted intoanewone,withnewsoiltodigintoandfullyroot?Wemayneverwashtheoldsoilfromourroots. Aslongasmankindisanintelligentlifeformwithawell-workinghippocampus,neo-cortexandamygdala, thencanweeverunashamedly,unapologeticallycutoffourrootsinorderforthemtosproutagain?There isnowayofknowingwhetherwhatwillgrowinitsplacewillbehealthyorselfdestructiveandworsethan before.

Thelatterwouldfeedintothepartofhumannaturethatisinconstantneedofsympathy. Sympathycanbeadangerousweapon,burrowingitsseedsinourdeepestroots,memoriesthattheworld wouldbemuchbetterwithout.Thosewhocravevalidationandsympathyhavetheworstcasesofrootrot. Somedon’trealiseituntilthetimecomestoberepottedandtheydiscoverthattheirrootshavebeen turnedintoamushypileofgooandhavecomeawaywiththeirold,soddingwetsoil.

Personaldevelopmentisanintegralpartofhumannature.Inorderforpersonaldevelopmentto havealonglasting,preferablypositiveeffect,wemustmakesurethatourrootsarehealthy.Likeaplant, wemustchopthosethataredying,notgoodforusandunhealthy,inordertogivethenewonesachance totrulythrive.Ifyougoaboutmakingnewmemorieswiththetaintedoldonesstillintheforefrontof yourmind,youwillcrashandburn.Ifyoustaystuckinthepast,foreversearchingforsympathyandnot tryingtogetbetter,thenyouwillrot.Inorderforpersonaldevelopmenttohaveapositiveeffectand changeyouforthebetter,youmustbewillingtochange.Withtherightmindsetandwillingnessto preventrootrot,yourmindcangofromaterrifying,allconsumingcavernofpaintoabearable,slightly lessallconsumingcavernofpain.

Ifyoudonotwanttogetbetterthenfine.It'snotmewhowillrot.

By HollieDownie

My body for my soul

Thankyou, mydear,fordealingwithmystruggles. Youhavetheevidenceofmymind, printeduponyou. Youhavemybattlescars, butyouwerenotanenemy, youwerebutaninnocentbystander, helpless. Forthewarneverleftmymind, butyougotcaughtinthecrossfire. Younowbearthesemarksforallofeternity whilemymindrageson, neverstopping. You: powerless, andsuffering.

By ArloEvans

For sale: baby sh

A workshop by Mr Carson for senior scholars

InspiredbyHemmingway’sfamous6-wordstory,weexploredmanytopics, someofwhichwerepromptedbyMrCarson: Unrequitedlove RomeoandJuliet Hamlet

Try to guess which story goes with which prompt!

Adivorceorbreakup

Politicians-e.g.BorisJohnsonandLizTruss

Fairytales-Cinderella,Goldilocks

Two lovers. A honeymoon. One returns.

Severed heel, sliced toe: bride to be.

Telling porky pies for 44 nights.

Young lovers: fighting families, creates doomed desire.

Stolen kisses. Lovestruck eyes. Teary goodbyes.

LetTUce AnD liZ: tHe lETtuCE liVEd LonGEr.

The higher you climb, the harder you fall.

Two lovers, three moons, one tomb.

Now: our rings are in the grave.

Love reflected. Mirror shattered.

Messy hair, messy promises, messy country.

A call: he had to go. A call: he was gone.

oes, never worn

Ernest Hemmingway

His ascent to glory; required his fall.

This heart couldn’t take it. His mind was lost.

ProMIseD InKed IMpRinT, sCarS Of WhiTE.

“I will stay.” Lasted 44 days.

Till death of love do us part, and it did. He’s my soulmate. She’s his.

Swear on the moon: end in a tomb.

We will deliver. They didn’t receive. Hair swept. Dance sweats. Legal regrets. Secrets, lies and a glass slipper. Sweet porridge, greedy girl, appetite appeased.

Love me to death.

Desire: enemies, blood spilled, lovers expire.

Weranacompetitionoverthesummerfor everyonetoparticipateinandhavehadmany greatentries.Theclubleadersjudgedthepieces andwehaveincludedthetopthreeinthisissue. Happyreading!

A Second Chance

Iclimbeddownthebeatenstairsofthebus,theharshpetrolplummetingthroughmylungs.Ispotted mygroupscatteredacrossthehalf-brokenbenchesoutsidetheschoolgate.AsJacknoticesme,heshoutswith asmuchenthusiasmasonecanmusteronacrisp,coldMondaymorning.

“Harry,myguy,cometojoinus!”hegestured. Myearsdon’ttakekindlytothejarringnoise,thesoundofmydad'swordsstillringinginthem.

“What'sup,bigman?”Isaid,tryingtoinjectafacadeofenergyintomywords,ifpossible. Theothersgreetme,andwefallintolightbanter.Izoneout,forthemostpart,untilIseehim.

“Oi!GayBoy!”Ihurl,mywordslacedwithsicklysweetvenom.Theothersbeginsnickeringbehind me.“Areyoucrying?God,you'resopathetic,”Ispitwithasmirk.“Aww,areyougoingtogocrytoyour mummy?”Myinsultwarpedwithfakesympathy.LaughtereruptsbehindmeasLeoturnsonhisheels, escapingthroughtheschoolgates,sorrowfultearsthunderingdownhisface.Thepartofmyself thatbetraysmefeelsatingeofguilt,butIquicklysuppressitasIstumbleintotheschool building,tuningoutthechatteroftheothers.

Surprisingly,thedaypassesfairlyquickly.Isleepthroughamajorityofmy classes,butI'mnotreallygoingtoneedscienceinthefuture.I'mgonnabea footballplayer. Or,atleastthat'swhatmydadsays-nevermind,thatdoesn't matter.IcontinuemyinternalbattleasItrudgeoutoftheprison-esque school,relievedtofinallygohomeandturnonChannel4.Walkingalongthe jaggedpavement,Inotehowitscracksmadeitseemasthoughithadenough -Icanrelate.

Unintentionally,IspotLeooutofthecornerofmyeye.Myheart skipsabeat.Ican’thelpit.He’sleaningagainstthecrackedbrickwall,staring atnothinginparticular.

“Hey,GayBoy,waitingforyourboyfriend?”IteasedbeforeIcould stopmyself.Habit.

“Idon'thaveaboyfriend.”hepracticallyspat,thehurtinhisvoiceevident.

“Iknow,I'mjustremindingyou.”Sarcasminfiltratedmywords.

TheimpatientsoundofacarhorngoesoffinthedistanceandIlookaway, not waitingforhisreaction.Itwasmydad'scar.ApolishedblackCadillacCimarronwithacustom interior.Whoknewsuchafancycarcouldholdsomanypotentmemories?Iheldmybreath, openedthesidedoor,andslippedin.Asmydaddroveawayfromschool,Inotedhistightgriponthesteering wheel;almostsuffocatingit.He’stense;notunusualforhim.

“Whywereyouspeakingtohim?”hedemandswithadangeroustonelingeringinhisvoice.

“Iwasjustteasinghim,Dad,”Ireplyinatimidfashion,myvoicewithering.

“Youknownottospeaktohistype,he'sawrong-un.”Hisvoicewasshakingwithrage.

“Iknow,I’msorryDad,”Isaidjustaboveawhisper.

“Ididnotraisemysontobegay!Neverspeaktohimagain.It’slikeyouaretryingtodestroyyour perfectreputation.DoyouevenknowhowhardIworkedforthat?You’resoworthless!Whycan'tyoujustbe likeyourbrother?”heroared.Acoldshiversnakeditswaydownmyback.

BySarayaPerdios

Therestofthecarridewassilent,menotdaringtospeakasfearrattledthroughmybody. Whenwepulledintothespotlessdrive,Iwalkedintothehouse,tookoffmyshoestomaintainsome formofdignity,andsprintedupthepolishedstairs.Inmyroom,Ifloppedontothecomforting familiarityofmybed.

Ilaythere,myeyesburningaholeintothewallasifithadpersonallyoffendedme,replayingmy dad'swordsinmyhead.Hedidn'tmeanitright?Iwasn'truininghisreputation,wasI?Mybreath waspickingup.Helovesme.I’mnotworthless,right?Mybreathwentquicker.Hecan’tmean whathesaid;IunderstandLeo’sgay,whichiswrong,ofcourse,butthat’sgoingtoofar.I'mrocking backandforth.

“Hecaresaboutme,”Isay.“Hecaresaboutme.Hecaresaboutme.Hecaresaboutme.”Myvoice rasps,mybreathingcalms,leavingmenumbasuncontrollabletearsstainmypillow.Isigh,trying desperatelytodriftintotheunconsciousnessofsleep.Mydad'swordshauntme:‘You'reworthless.’

Morningcalledmewiththescreechingofmyalarm,forcingmybodytomove.Thesickly sweetsmellofpancakeswaftsthroughmynose.Well,thatproperlywokemeup.Ihadfallenasleep withoutdinnerlastnight,again.Ilookedatmywarmbedcallingmetohideinthesafetyofthe sheets,butmystomachgrumbledinprotest.Ithrewsomecleanclothesonand,withcaution, trudgedownstairs,prayingmydadhasalreadyleftforwork.Tomydismay,mydadisinthekitchen withanunfamiliarsongplayinginthebackground.Wait…holdon,mydadiscookingbreakfast? That'smymum’sjob.

“Where’sMum?”Icallout,myvoicestillscratchyfromyesterday. Heturnsaroundawarmsmilegreetingme,“She’sgonetoworkkid.I'mmakingpancakes,ifyou wantone,”hesaid,wordsfilledwithgenuinelove.

“Work?”confusionwasclearlyshowingthroughmywords.

“Yeah,shegotanewjob,doyounotremember?”Concernwasplasteredonhisface.

“Yeah,ofcourse,sorry.”Idid,infact,notremember.SincewhendidMumwork?

IfinishedupbreakfastasfastasIcould,alreadywantingthisdaytobeover.Ihoppedinthe neatblackcarandmydadturnedontheradiobutinsteadoftheusualpopsongs,asongIcouldn't recogniseplayed.Iloveditbutwhyhadmydadnotturneditoff?Surely,hewouldcurseoutthe radiofordaringtoplaythatgenreofmusicbynow.

Whataweirdday,Ithought. Hepulleduptotheschool,andIclamberedoutoftheposhcar,abouttogofindmyfriendswhen mydadcalledout:

“Loveyakid.Haveagoodday!”Hewaswearingasmilethatactuallyreachedhiseyes.

“Right.Yeah,youtoo,”Iforcedout.

Mymindwasspinning.Whatwasitwiththisday?Itwaslikesomesickfeverdream.Islammedthe cardoorwithmorestrengththanintended.Iconcentratedonwalkingtoourregularmeetingspot onthebench,thechatterofchildrensurroundingmeasifitweretryingtosuffocateme.

AsIspottedmyfriends,Ifeltrelieffloodingmybody.Icouldn'tseeMax.Hemustbesick. Instead,agirlsatonthebench,laughingandjokingaround.That'sodd,whendidourgroupallow girls?Iwalkeduptoher.

Photo © Ruby Neale

“Hi,I'mHarry,whoareyou?”Isaidslightlymoreaggressivelythanintended. Laughing,shesaid,“OhshutupHarry,ofcourseyouknowme.I'mMaxine,”rollinghereyesasshe spoke.Choosingtoignoreyetanotheroddevent,Iasked,“IsMaxouttoday?”

Myquestionreceivedsomeoddlooks.Maxinelookeddisappointedbymyresponse,actingasifI offendedher.I'veliterallynevermether.

“IwasMaxHarry.YouknowI'mtrans-what’swiththesuddenhomophobia?”Tears threatenedtospillfromhereyes.

Guiltclawedatmythroat“I’msosorryIjustI…IamsorryIforgot,Ididn't…sorry,”Ichokedout stumblingovermywords.Mydadwouldbemad,butsomethingaboutthewaytheotherslooked atmeandthesadnessinMaxine'seyestoldmethatIwasinthewrong.

“It’sokay,Idon'tthinkyoumeanttobehomophobic,butareyoufeelingokay?Because that'snotsomethingyouforget.”Maxinesaid,worrypresentinherwords.

“Yeah,I'mokay,justabittired.Sorry,”Imumbledagain. Everyonefellintolightchatteraswetrudgedintothedreadedschoolforthefirstlesson. Thisisgoingtobealongday,Ithought.

Justbecausetheuniversewasagainstme,Mathswasmyfirstlesson.Istrolledwithfake confidenceintothewhiteboxofaclassroom.Oh,great,IforgotIwassittingnexttoLeo,ofall people.Isatinmywornseatwithasigh,openingmybatteredbook,abouttowritethedate.Hang on,whatwasthedate?Withgreatreluctance,IturnedmyheaddramaticallytoLeo,wholooked boredoutofhismindandwhispered,

“Hey,GayBoy,what’sthedate?”Leolookedquitetakenaback,likehedidn'texpectthat.

“It'sthethirdofJune2022,youhomophobe,”hepassive-aggressivelywhisperedback.

“Didyou,didyoujustsay2022?”Iaskednervously.Helookedatmefunny.

“Well,yeah,ofcourseitis.Areyoualright,mate?”Concernlacedhiswords.

“No,itwas1985likeyesterday,”Iwhisperedback.

“Noyouwantmetotakeyoutomedbay?”anxietypracticallydrippedoffhiswords.

“Yeahplease,I'mabitdizzy,”Isaid,fearinghemayturnmedown.

“Okay.”

HeraisedhishandtoasktheteacherandbeforeIknewit;wewerewalkingalongthediscoloured hallways.IwasstartingtoregretbullyingLeo,evenifhedidn’tseemtorememberit.BecauseLeo seemedsogenuineanddespitethefactIinsultedhim,hestillvoicedhisdistressonmybehalf.

“Sorry,”Isaid,barelyaudible.

“Huh?”Leoreplied,promptingmetogoon.

“I’msorryIsaidthattoyou.Youneverdeservedit.Youhelpedmeregardlessofthefactyou didn'thavetoandforthatIamsorry.Mydadwouldbeatintomethatpeoplelikeyouwere wrong-uns,andhewaswrongforthat.”

Leolookedpitifullyatme.“I’msorryyouhadtogothroughthat.Itdoesn'tmakeitright, butwithexplanationcomeseasierforgiveness,”Leospokewisely.

“Friends?”Iaskedtimidly.

“Friends.”Leorepeated. WefellintocomfortablesilenceafterthatuntilLeospokeup

“Youknowthisisaverytoxicrelationship,consideringthefirstthingyousaidtomewas insulting,”Leosaidjokingly.

Photo © Ruby Neale

Isuckedmybreathindramatically.“You'recallingmeabully,”Isaywithfakeoffence. Wefellintoafitoflaughter,completelyabandoningtheideaofthemedcentre.ThelighthitLeoat justtherightangle.HelookedsoperfectIfeltlikebutterfliesweredancinginmystomach.

“Doyoustillneedtogotomed?”heaskedsoftly.

Isnappedoutofmytrance."Ohno,I'mokay.Weshouldprobablyheadbacktoclass,”Isay,still smiling.Sothat'swhatwedid,lightbanterfillingtheonce-blandcorridors.

IhaddoubleEnglishafterthat,althoughshockingly,Ididn’tfallasleep.Mymindjust repeatedthismorning,eachtimemakingmefeelgiddy.Lunchcamearoundandinsteadofhanging outwithmygroup,IexcusedmyselfandmademywayovertoLeo.

“Hey,GayBoy,”Isaidfondly.Leolookedup,pretendingtoholdafakecamerauptomeas Isatdown.“Abullycaughtin4K,”hejoked. Itwasnicetojusttalkandlaughwithoutthefearofkeepingmyreputation.Evenifthissituationis odd,tosaytheleast,Ican'tfinditinmetocarebecauseI'mfinallyhappy. Thebellrang,Muchtomydisappointment.Ibouncedtomylastlessonwithanew-foundenergy. Lifeskills.Ofcourseitwas.Ienteredyetanotherdullclassroom,makingmywaytothebackand sittinginaless-than-presentablechair,preparingmyselfforalifelesslesson.

“Okay,year10,todaywearegoingtobetakingarecaponLGBT+,”theteachersaid, gettingtheclasstoquietdown.Sincewhendidtheyteachthisinschool?

“LetuslookatwhatLGBTQ+standsfor.ItisLforlesbian,whichiswhentwowomen date.G:gay,whentwomendate.B:bisexual,whensomeonedatesmenandwomen.T:trans,when someoneisborninthewrongbodyincorrelationtotheirgender.Qisqueer,orwhensomeoneis questioning,andtheplusrepresentshowtherearemore,likeintersexual,meaningsomeonehas bodypartsofbothamanandawoman,asexualwhensomeonedoesn'texperiencesexualattraction, butitmayvary.”

“Iwantyoutoallknowthatatthisschool,youarelovedandaccepted.Iunderstandthatit mustbehardfiguringallthisout,soI’malwaysheretotalk.” ThatwasallIeverneededtohear,thatI’maccepted.IthinkImightbegayormaybebisexualbutI havetimetofigurethatout.Afteryearsofbeinguneducated,Ifeltfreeforthefirsttimeinmy15 yearsoflife.Iwenthomethatdaywithnewmemories,new-foundeducationandfinallyhappiness. Aftersolong,Ifeltaweighthadbeenreleasedfrommyshoulders.Ifloppedontomybed,nottired oflifeforonce.Idriftedintosleepwithadrypillowthatnight.

Myalarmblaredat7:00onthedot.Iscrambledoutofbed,checkingthedateonit:4June 1985.Meaningitcannothavebeenadream,otherwise,itwouldbethethirdtoday.Somepartof melongedtogoback.MaybeonedayIwill.Iyankedsomeclothesonmyheadandflungmyself downthestairs.Iwasmetbymymotherdoingthecooking.Mydadmusthaveleftforwork;of courseitisnot2022,Iremindedmyself.Iwolfeddownmybreakfastandpracticallyflewoutthe door,meaningIwasfiveminutesearlyforthebus.OnceagainIclamberedontothegrimbus, holdingmybreath.WereachedschoolandIthrewmyselfoutofthebusonceagain,metwiththe suffocatingsmellofpetrol.

Irantomygroup,greetingthem,myeyeslingeringonMax.Wefellintotheusualbanter.Leo hurriedpastus,radiatingpanic.Iranafterhim,ignoringconfusedshoutsfrommygroup.Finally,I caughtuptohim.Helookedscaredtodeath.

“Hey,Ijustwannatalk,”Isaidsoftly.

“Pleasedon'thurtme,”hequavered. Apartofmebrokeatthat.Iguesshehadeveryrighttothinkthatthough.

“I’mnotgonnalayahandonyou.Ijustcametoapologise,”Isaidwithcaution,likeIwas tryingtocalmatrappedanimal.

“Apologise?”Leoquestioned.

“I’vebeenreallyhorribletoyou.Youneverdeservedthat.Mydadraisedmetothinkthat gaypeopleshouldbefrowneduponandthathurtandconfusedmesoItookitoutonyouandIam sosorryforthatandIwillalwaysfeelguilty.Igetwhatit'slikenow,orwellIunderstandabit.I guesswhatI'mtryingtosayis…I'mgaytoo.”

LeolookedlikehehadseenaghostandIawaitednervouslyforhisresponse.

“I'mnotreadytoforgiveyouyet,butIfeelforwhatyou’regoingthrough.I'vebeenthere. Ifyoueverneedtotalk,I’mhere.”

IletoutabreathIdidn'tknowIwasholding.“Thankyou,”Isaygenuinelymeaningit, “Forwhat?”Leosaidtiltinghishead.

“Forasecondchance,”Iwhisper.Hesmilesandwefallintoconversation,walkingtoour firstlesson:Maths.Istillhavetofigureoutsomuchinmylifebutforonce,I’mnotalonetodoit.

Illustration © Eliza Horban

2yearslater…

IamgoingtoAmerica!MybestmateLeo,whomImetinyear10(undersomeunusualcircumstances), hasinvitedmetogowithhimandhisfamily.Excitedisanunderstatement:myskinispractically buzzing!Althoughweonlymet2yearsago,itfeelsasthoughIhaveknownhimmywholelife.Hemeans theworldtomeanddeservestheuniverse.HemakesmefeellikeI'mdancingonclouds,invincible,a feelingsodistantforme.Anyways,enoughofthatwholesomesoppystuff,I'vegottopack.

MyDaddoesn'tknow,becausehedespisesLeowithanall-consumingpassion.Iknowhe'smydadand all,butGodIcan'thelpbutresenthimforit.Can'theatleastsuckitupwhenLeo'sround?Don'tgo thinkingI'mabratorwhatever,becauseI'mgratefulforallhe'sdoneforme;puttingaroofovermy head,providingmyfood,clothes,etcetera,etcetera.Butdespiteallthis,IhatethewayhetearsLeoapart likeitishispersonalmission-socalculated.SometimesIwishIhadafamilylikeLeo’sandIhatemyself forit.They’rejustsoacceptinganddon'tgiveadamnabouttheirreputation.

Iheartherepetitivesoundofthedoorbellringing.OhGod,Ihaven'tfinishedpacking.Ibeginhurriedly shovingrandomclothesinmysuitcase-notcaringifthey'recleanornot.Iheartheear-piercingsound ofmyfather.

“Harry,getdownhere,GayBoy’swaiting,”hebellowed. Isigh.somuchfor‘playingnice’.Itrundledowntheunevensteps,luggingmysuitcasebehindme.Leo gigglesasIstruggle.God,Ilovehislaugh.Icouldlistentoitonrepeat.Ishakemyhead,clearingthose thoughts,denyingthosethoughts.

“TopsetPEisreallyshowing,”Leonotessarcastically. “Youcantalk,Mrbottomset,”Igrinback.

I'mcallingit.Thisisgoingtobethebestsummerofmylife,aswellasthefirstonewithoutmy self-centredparents.

Westumbledoutthedoor,feelinggiddywithanticipation.Ididn'tlookback.Ididn'tseemyfather's fuminglook.Ididn'tseemymother'sgrimace.IdidseeLeo'smotherwavingenthusiastically.Ididsee thecutesmileLeogaveme.Icouldseemylifehavingasecondchance.

ByGraceConnors

h C a n eg

Bydefinition,changeisanactorprocessthrough whichsomethingbecomesdifferent.

Asparklingfirework,anxiouslywaitingonthebalcony withtheonlyformofsafetybeingrustybars,barelyableto standstraight.Wonderingwhichcoloursaregoingtoexplode inthesky,oneofmycorechildhoodmemories.Smilingfrom eartoear;unabletocontainmyexcitement;Ireleaseacalming sigh.

Ihearaloudbangashuesoforangeandredfillthe atmosphere.I'monthevergeoftearsasIruntowardsthe sound,onlytoseemymother'slifelessbodyontheground.I'm unabletohearmyownscreams,withnochoicebuttoleaveas anothermissilefallsfromthesky.

Howthetimeshavechanged.

ByAmeerahMehta

CHANGE

youexcitedyetnervous.Makesyouresent it,thenloveit.Itmademegoinsanemyself, losingmysanitywitheverysmalldetail. Whetherthatbeacentimetreofheightora differentbodilystructure.Everythinghad tobehowIlikedit.IthadtobehowI lookedwhenthishatredforchangestarted. IlikedthewayIwasbeforechange,the feelingofnormality.

towardsafractionofchangewasn’thelping me.Onesmallpercentagedownfrommy usualstandardmeantahugedeclineinthe wayIviewedmyselfasaperson.Inaway,I stillhatechange.I'mstillstrugglingevery daytoacceptthatIamchanging.Change won’tstop,itwillcomeandgoasitpleases wheneveritwants.Smallorbigthings,any shapeorform.

buteverydayI’mgettingmoreusedtoit.

thing.Whenithappened,itwasasifthere wasaholeunderneathmyfeetthatgrew andgrew,tryingtoeatmealiveanddragme downintoitsdarkways.Itmeantasmall changecouldfeelsimilartoabigone.

somethingnewtohappen.AlthoughIstill strugglewithcomingtotermswithit.A smallchangeiseasiertoacceptandmove on.Abigchangecanfeelhuge,butthenI’ll breakitdownandmoveoveritsobstacles, tryingtobeascalmasIcan. ThatiswhyIbelievechangeisapeculiar thing…

ByRubyNeale

SalttotheSea

RutaSepetys

hascreatedthemostmoving,whilestunningpieceofhistoricalfiction.Shemanagesto balancethedehumanisingtreatmentoftheNaziswithasofterreomantictouch.

Tea

&

tea to emphasise the brutal Best matched with a bitter eucalyptus

realities of WWII

TtheSocietyreviews

“Ibecamegoodatpretending.Ibecamesogoodthatafter awhilethelinesblurredbetweenmytruthandfiction. Andsometimes,whenIdidareallygoodjobof pretending,Ievenfooledmyself.”

SalttotheSeaisanexquisitebookthatdepicts boththehorrorsandthehopesoftheshockingeventsof WorldWarII.itisabeautifulandrivetingstorythat engagedmesomuchthatIrefusedtoputitdown.

Thebooktellsthestoryofthestrugglesbetween fourseeminglycompletelydifferentpeople:anursefrom Lithuania,amanfromPrussia,agirlfromPolandanda manwhoworksfortheNazis.Thoughdespitetheir differences,theyaremoresimilarthantheyseem.

RutaSepetysdivesintothedangerousjourney thesecharacterstaketoreachtheWilhelmGustoff,the shipthatistheirapparentsaviour,asitwillsavethem fromthewar.

Thisbooktrulypullsyouintothe captivatingstorylineofthebook,Ifelttheemotion ofeachcharacterandIfeltasifImyselfwasinthe book.

Thebookswitchesbetweenthe perspectivesofthefourdifferentpeople,which allowsyouamuchlargerinsightofthestoryand eachpointofview.Ilovedthewaytheindividual storiesofeachcharacterentwinedthroughoutthe bookas,despiteitssubtlety,itisincredibly powerful.

SalttotheSeaisverywellwrittenandI wasneverbored,aseachpageinvitedmetothe nextandthenthenext.Hergreatuseoflanguage devicesmadethebooksodescriptiveandeasyto empathisewith.Iwoulddefinitelyrecommendthis booktomorematurereadersasthereissome graphicalviolence,butoveralliswrittenso beautifullyandIenjoyedeverypage.

ByArloEvans

Stock image ©Ylanite Koppens

Michaelmas Term Top

Arlo Evans Robyn Verney-Kershaw

Lio Parkus

Lou Hutchison

Arlo Evans

Saraya Perdios

Reads from the Society

Eloise Taylor

Arlo Evans

Miss Stuart

Arlo Evans

Alina Silkin

Aditi Panchdhari

Storymakers Issue

Please be aware that the book recommendations are made by KS4 and KS5 pupils and as such may not be suitable for younger years. All images are used with the permission of the owner and, unless credited, are sourced from free stock photography. All stories, poems, and other writing within are the intellectual property of the stated author and should not be used or reproduced for any purpose without permission.