Tea With Milk

Ribbons of silk hug the walls and the gold dragons stand boldly against the red. Bright lanterns light the doorway, the aromatic smell of food leaking through the cracks. As the twelve of us crowd towards the door, it is opened by a waiter, smiling.

Year 8 Winner

‘Doesn’t he look just like a penguin!’ I say to my little cousin Amelia.

‘Ni hao’ the penguin says, leading us towards a large round table.

I fold my napkin into a duck.

‘Quack, quack’ I whisper to Amelia, as I make the duck playfully nip her arm.

She giggles at the sight. I turn to make a fox, but as I do, the waiter gently, but without my invitation, unfolds the duck and spreads it on my lap. Amelia frowns, my feelings reflected on her face. As soon as he is gone, I pick my napkin up again, folding it into a star. My Ma-ma, discreetly, but meaningfully, inclines her head, looking me in the eye. I return my napkin to my lap, and try to focus on the small, shallow, talk. But after listening to how it hasn’t rained for two days, and the amount of COVID cases, I start to fidget on my chair and play with my chopsticks, tapping them against the table.

‘Jasmine…’ I am warned.

Because it is Ma-ma’s birthday, we have a treat before dinner. Tea! The steady stream of warm, delicious goodness is poured into my cup, already grasped by my eager hands. Using my best manners, I ask Yeh-yeh for the milk jug, planning to make the perfect cuppa. Someone says something and everybody starts laughing, I laugh along, not wanting to be the only person left out. I don’t even know what they are laughing at. Or who. But they are looking at me. Now what have I done?! I think to myself, but I have to keep my thoughts inside, and brush them away. Then I realise. It is a jug of soya sauce. My cheeks turn crimson, and I duck my head, wishing I could escape into the floor.

I smell the food before I see it. Steaming hot plates of san choi bao, pork buns, Peking duck and five other fragrant dishes. Eight for good luck. My tummy rumbling, I grab my chopsticks and try to manoeuvre them into picking up a chicken wing. Eventually, a precariously balanced chicken wing gets carried across the chasm between the plates, threatening to fall, before it safely reaches the other side. I sigh with relief. With a bit more confidence, a tender piece of beef is pierced by a chopstick, preparing for flight. Halfway across, the beef flips and splatters onto the stark white tablecloth. I quickly move my glass to cover it and glance around to check that nobody saw. None of my family noticed, but the waiter did. He walks away and comes back with one fork in his hand. It is meant to be a helpful gesture, but instead I wish he’d go. My family looks up at him, standing between me and my young cousin. They expect the fork is for her, but I know who it’s really for.

‘Here’ he says, ‘you might need it’, and I try to be as small as possible, hiding behind my dark hair.

I quietly sit in my chair, with my shoulders hunched, trying not to be noticed. I jealously listen to the chatter, my parents effortlessly swapping between Cantonese and English. They always manage to fit in wherever they are. And I always trail behind them, unsure of where to go, and who to be. When I meet new people, they never know where I come from. Other Cantonese people speak Cantonese to me, and I have to shake my head to show I don’t understand. English speakers stretch out the syllables, speaking slowly and meaningfully, to supposedly make it easier for me to understand. They would never have guessed I was born here and only speak English. When people ask where I’m from, I don’t know what to say. Am I Chinese? Or maybe Australian? What does ‘Australian’ even mean? I don’t know who to be. I don’t know who I am.

As I become lost in my head, dessert is served. I try to rise out of my thoughts, to come back to the real world. The waiter arrives, carrying a large silver plate, the dessert concealed by a dome. With a flourish he lifts the lid.

‘Our very own fusion of Australian and Chinese cuisine… lychee pavlova!’

I place a heaped spoon in my mouth, the sweet, delicate flavour of the lychee paired with fluffy pavlova. The perfect combination.

I don’t believe that love can be captured in simple words. In music, possibly, but what do I know? Although, I think when I feel it, I will finally understand. I seem to like a lot of things. I like the sound of rain, each water droplet hitting a surface in a harmonious rhythm is familiar. I like music too; I feel transported into realms of peace and tranquillity. I also like him . However, I have never loved. Not a boy nor a girl, not my father and most certainly not myself. Maybe it’s me, or maybe it’s the universe, but I don’t think I am capable of loving.

I arose to the comforting sound of rain; large grey thundering clouds were apparent outside my dust-covered windows. I stumbled out of my bed, leaving the warm sheets and fluffy pillows to cold and thin air. Like every morning, I ignored my freezing body and stripped it of any clothing, any dignity. Vulnerable and alone, I dashed into the single bathroom within my house and stood on the only thing I trusted in my life, the scales. I patiently waited for the numbers to calculate and then finally stop. Crap, I had gained weight. I stepped off and stared at my exposed and naked body in the mirror. I have considered shaving my head or removing my appendix, anything that will make the numbers decrease. I haven’t always been like this, it has been a year, a year since the 19th of July 2017. The day my father passed; the day I thought my life shattered into one million pieces. The day I was too full of my own sadness and deprivation I forgot to eat. Which later led to two days and three until I couldn’t walk down the stairs without needing to sit down momentarily. I had lost my comfort in food and my father all at once. I don’t dwell. It is depressing yet true; I have moved on past my dad and I don’t think I ever loved him. He was a bad man, he constantly cheated on my mother and simply disappeared off to London after a seriously messy divorce. And the eating thing, well, it is just a part of me now, I don’t know what I am without it. It gives me a goal in life and something that is constantly rewarding. My room is filled with magazines, thin models with perfect skin occupy each page, I have always wanted to look like them. I desire a flat stomach that is perfect even when I sit down and thighs that have a gap I can show off in any piece of clothing. It is a habit that I don’t think will go away and when society only wants you as a skinny fragile girl who is flawlessly beautiful, I must continue until I physically cannot.

It takes me exactly five minutes and 12 seconds to reach school, the right amount of time to listen to Claire de Lune one time through, my favourite song and my fathers too. The large metal gates of Brenaway College used to be daunting for 12-year-old me, starting Year 7 alone and afraid, but now at 15 years old, still somewhat alone, the gates mean I can finally drop my heavy bag and close my wet umbrella.

They knew, everyone knew. I felt pupils staring at me, it was a known fact that today was ‘that’ day. I turned the corner of the Year 10 area and heard,

‘I bet ten dollars she is going to have a breakdown; it’s going to be tragic.’

I felt tears accumulate in my eyes and a wave of embarrassment I couldn’t shake. I had no choice but to seek refuge in the only room that I felt safe in, the music room. The music room had stained carpets, peeling walls and a strange yet familiar smell that never seemed to disappear. I just wanted to burst into tears, however, as I approached the door I heard a familiar song, Claire de Lune . I peeked through the small, dew-covered window; it was him. Rowan was a sweet brunette who was nice to just about everyone. His dark eyes enchanted me, and his voice gave me butterflies. He joined Brenaway in Year 9 on a music scholarship. We have maths together and he plays soccer when I have choir. I stare at him through the window. I have barely ever spoken to him, yet I dream about him every night.

I couldn’t show my vulnerability and had no choice but to burst straight into the music room unannounced. Rowan was startled at first and stopped playing but when he caught a glimpse of my face, he expressed,

‘Juno? You look like you are about to cry, ar–are you okay?’

Naturally, when those words exited his mouth, I began uncontrollably crying.

‘You don’t have to talk to me about it… is there anything I can do?’

I gathered my emotions for a second to respond: ‘Just… keep playing.’ Rowan looked at me confused but the awkward silence in the room forced him to resume playing the piano.

My father bought me a keyboard for my tenth birthday, at the

I Love You More Than I Love Myself

I Love You More Than I Love Myself

time my parents were already divorced, and my dad was living in London. On my birthday he sent a large box covered in shiny pink wrapping paper. Inside was a note in his notoriously messy handwriting.

‘Happy Birthday Juno,

I hope you like the present; I worked extra shifts at the museum for it, so I sure hope you are grateful. I will be visiting as soon as I have enough money. Until then, I will give you a challenge: Learn my favourite song, Claire de Lune. You know the one, I would always hum it when I put you to bed. I might not see you for a long time, so I want you to know that I love you so much. I love you to the moon and back.’

It took my dad four years to save the money, with long hours and minimal pay. Every night since my tenth birthday I practised the keyboard endlessly until I was able to play anything just by looking at the sheet music. I couldn’t sleep the night before his plane took off, I lay in bed tossing and turning. At school, I was so excited, ready to flaunt my skills and simply just hug him. Then, in maths class, I got the phone call that nobody wants to receive. His taxi crashed on the way to the airport and the rest of the story is selfexplanatory. Sometimes I blame myself or I blame the universe, or I blame both. Hearing his favourite piece in the midst of my tears provided me with the inner peace to finally control my emotions as the final chord faded out.

‘I am so, so sorry Rowan. I didn’t mean to interrupt your practice.’

‘Honestly Juno, it’s fine, but is everything okay.’

I was happy that he cared or pretended to care.

‘Yeah…. yeah, of course, I am just being dramatic.’ His eyes locked with mine. I felt butterflies in my stomach.

‘Juno, if you are going through something, it isn’t dramatic. Why don’t I get a teacher to come and talk to you.’ I was disappointed that he didn’t offer to stay but then again, he thinks he is just another random guy.

‘Have you met our teachers?

‘Okay then, well I care about you. Do you want to talk?’ My heart stopped and I blushed. Nobody had ever shown this amount of compassion towards me.

‘I’m fine, really.’ I wasn’t fine at all. My dad was gone, rotting in a cheap cemetery and my body was deprived of any energy. The bell rang, I was gutted. I wanted to stay and talk for longer. I stood up and my vision went black momentarily, so I had to stabilise myself. I could sense him standing up behind me and he slowly approached me, as I turned around, he hugged me. I felt his hand touch my back carefully and his body was radiating warmth. At first, I was confused but he made me feel so safe and comfortable in his arms and I embraced him. As we both steadily pulled away and he grabbed his bag and said,

‘Don’t worry, I believe you, but if you are lying, a hug always makes me feel better. I’ll see you in maths Juno.’ Maybe I could love a person, maybe I love him.

Dear Roselle,

It’s been a while, and I wish you were here with me. I now realise there are so many things I should’ve said to you long ago.

Starting with something that hasn’t changed in these past 12 years: I love you . I have loved you ever since we first met when I approached you carrying a bucket of laundry. Do you remember that day? I do. I remember every day with you like it was yesterday. I remember how my eyes had shifted from sapphire to violet, allowing you to see my darkest secret. I had let my guard slip, but you did not cower away in fear, instead, you looked at me with wonder and curiosity. At that moment, everything felt so right, as if we were two pieces of a perfect puzzle. Tell me, what did you see back then? Did you see who I really was? Or was it something else? It doesn’t matter now... my secrets have changed.

I guess my darkest secret won’t be a secret anymore once this letter finds you. I know it was a mistake, but there is no going back now...

After your father kicked me out of the Valerian Kingdom, I was homeless and back at square one: back in my past life. A life where I only had one set of clothes, battered with holes. A life where I never knew if I would eat that day. A life where my parents passed in front of my eyes when I was six... six. They fell into my arms, Roselle. I was left in pieces, feeling like someone had ripped my heart out and left me hollow. When the police came, I ran. I was scared they would send me somewhere dark and cold. Leaving the only two people who had ever fully understood my poverty and raised me with unconditional love was the hardest thing that I had ever done.

When a man found me outside the gates of Valeria, I wanted to run, but something seemed to pin me still. He offered me a home and a life of infinite money, in return for loyalty… to demons. His eyes carved into my soul and somehow made me say yes. The next day, he took me to living monsters and introduced himself properly, deeming himself Azrael, King of Demons and ruler of their cave, the Windes Caves.

So, in these three years that I haven’t seen you, I’ve been living with demons. Azrael brainwashes me daily. I promise I did not want to do it, but I couldn’t control my brain or body when he made me do unspeakable things. Azrael plans to invade and attack Valeria and for me to be his lead commander. I’m sorry, I don’t want to, but I have to do this... I have to, or there won’t be the slightest chance of me seeing you again… not that there is any right now… Run, Roselle… run.

Love, Rhyder

I slowly placed my black fountain pen down, knowing that Roselle would never receive this message.

Rhyder

I knew that beautiful heart of hers would catch up to her one day, but I would not let that day be today. She was violently thrashing under my grip, but I could not let go and let her run into the burning fire, where demons, whom I had joined and trained, would surely execute insufferable feats. I had walked away once before. Lost everything. Lost her ... I was selfish, a traitor who had betrayed both sides of a coin. A deer lost in the woods. A boy who had done nothing but made terrible decisions. I didn’t care. The world was burning around us as demons I had called family , destroyed everything in sight.

Beneath my arms, Roselle forcefully writhed. Until she stopped. The screaming and shouting faded as I realised what was happening. As I desperately searched for a way to prevent what was about to occur, it happened… Clarissa fell. From within the shadows and ash, Azrael screamed a victory cry. My vision blurred as I felt Roselle’s heart drop along with my own.

‘No,’ she whispered, ‘no, no, NO!’

Every sob that fell out of her mouth punctured a cavernous hole in my heart.

‘I could have saved her! I could have SAVED her! I COULD HAVE SAVED HER! SHE WAS RIGHT THERE.’

Roselle pounded her fist against my aching chest, her shouts turning into muffled cries. She gripped my collar and forced me downward. The world spun as I fell to my knees.

‘WHY?’

I couldn’t look up and face those fierce emerald eyes.

‘Because I love you.’

The words I whispered weren’t words, but despicable sounds escaping my mouth. Roselle grasped my collar tighter and yanked me closer to those eyes.

‘YOU LOVE ME? How dare you even mention love? You left me. Nine years together and you just disappear?’

My throat bobbed as Roselle pulled us eye to eye, forcing me to cower.

‘And now you come back with an army of the demons you promised only existed in the stories you read with me. You love me?’

A laugh escaped her lips. One that was not joyous.

‘You lied.’

Her eyes splintered through me like I was nothing but a mere grain of sand. My knees weakened as Roselle released her clutch.

‘My mother is DEAD because of you, Rhyder. YOU.’

This time I didn’t stop myself as I tumbled to the ground. Roselle stared down at me. A true princess’s determination burned in her eyes.

‘I hope your name is stripped away by the wind to wherever you’ve been these nine years.’

There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in those words, nor a hint of the love that once connected our hearts. Her words broke me in two as I lay crumpled on the floor.

‘I love you, Roselle. I always have. I hope you remember that…’

My voice was croaky as I murmured the words I should have said long ago. I hated how weak and vulnerable she made me feel. Hated that the one person who had shown me what joy was now wanted me gone, the same way I wanted myself gone.

So, I finished it there. Purple wisps of ethereal light broke from my fingers and caressed her blood-soaked hair, my magic entwining into her mind.

‘STOP. STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? RHYDER! STOP!’

‘I love you, Roselle.’

As she dropped to the floor, unconscious, I quickly pulled her behind a large boulder and opened a small portal. I could only hold this portal for a few moments, but I needed one last look at Roselle before I let go of everything we once shared. Forever. I softly kissed her forehead before placing her into the portal.

‘Because I love you, Roselle…’

A flash of purple light broke from my fingers, and she was off to the human world. As I walked back onto the battlefield, a shadow, black as night, greeted me.

‘Where is she?’

‘Gone. I finished the job.’

A vicious flash of teeth, followed by a rallying cry for demons had my head relentlessly pounding.

‘Every last Valerian royal has perished.’ Azrael cackled over and over.

I grimly nodded. All I could do was hope Roselle would one day remember and forgive. One day.

Forgotten

Five Steps To Fit In As An Italian Immigrant

mia hoYle

Step 1: Change your name

I’m Stefano Putrino, always have been, always will… well not anymore. You can now call me Steve. I’m proud to say that I’m one of five Stefanos in the Putrino family. I moved from Sicily with my mama at the ripe old age of nine and we spent 29 days on the boat to go join my Papa all the way in Australia. As soon as I stepped out of that boat with my cheeky monkey grin ready to take on a whole new country, I discovered the lack of sophistication in the Australian language.

‘Stefano? What kind of name is that?’

My name wasn’t strange, it was very popular back home but as I started going to school, I realised anything that made you remotely different would bring you down. Fast. Back home there were Giuseppes, Giovannis and, like me, Stefanos. Here, there are Johns, Jacks, and Nicks. All these locals who couldn’t pronounce my name, amateurs. So, I changed my name to the Australian version: Steve. In Sicily we didn’t abbreviate names, so my parents couldn’t really get the hang of it. Who knew two syllables would completely change how I was perceived as an Italian immigrant in Australia?

Step 2: Learn the language slang

As soon as I stepped off that boat and got in the car with my uncle, I continued to repeat the numbers 1 to 100 in English, until I learnt it. I always had an ear for languages, but I also had a talent for being overly determined. When I would talk, walk, breathe all I would get was:

‘I can’t understand your accent.’

I watched what happened to mama. She stayed in the house all night and day scared; she really could never grasp the language. She was so intelligent, but no one would teach her because she was an adult Italian woman. They were like a pack of wolves, and if you wanted to be welcomed you needed to dress like them, walk like them and, most of all, talk like them. I needed to master the vocabulary and I don’t give up easily. I came home and worked hard every day, making my cousins test me and teach me everything, not only to be perfect at English but to know all my slang. Back then I had no clue why my work looked like a ‘dog’s breakfast’ or what ‘gooday’ meant! One important thing I got the hang of was abbreviating. Lots of abbreviating. Football was footy. Mama was mum. Everything was weird; not at all like Sicily.

Step 3: Wear the right school uniform

Nowadays I see all these children changing their school uniform to be deliberately different, but in the 60s, I refused to go to school without the full school uniform. From my head straight down to my toes, I needed to be dressed like everyone else in grey shorts, a creaseless white shirt, striped-blue tie, grey jumper, prissy grey socks and black shoes. At school we all strutted around like roosters in our posh get ups. I know this seems a bit dramatic, but if I stepped into that lion-cage looking like an Italian, I’d get eaten alive. Other immigrants wore European clothes because that’s what we wore to school back home. No uniform. No dress code. You just had to look presentable or, in other words, casual. Not only was it a whole different outfit but I went from snow to this 42-degree heat. It’s like a desert out here. Did I like this new style? I’m not sure, but I was accepted in this style, so I guess it had to do.

Step 4: Don’t eat good food

My mama was the most amazing cook ever. In the first week of school I had steak, cutlets, beautiful expensive ham, salami, sandwiches with homemade delicious bread. I nervously pulled out my lunchbox each day slightly opening the lid to see kids staring. These kids had white bread almost like plastic. It was like lollies to me! They had these processed spreads called jam and peanut butter. Everyone started calling me ‘spag muncher’ . I know, right? That was their only good nickname because Italians are obsessed with spaghetti, apparently. Sometimes I threw them a grin and said ‘Wanna eat this fist?’ I was a sneaky boy back then. I slid through the cracks. I begged Mama for this weird sweet and disgusting bread, but the tables began to turn. Everyone started to want my food. They went from ‘Hey spag muncher, got some spaghetti?’ to ‘Steve, c’mon, can I have some?’ My class became a pack of seagulls lurking around my lunch box. People change their opinions real quick once you have something of interest.

Step 5: Remember where you came from I always find a way, I’m pretty smart and sneaky, always have been and always will be. Moving to Australia was one of the best things that happened to my whole family and of course it was hard, but we had the support of our Australian family. I visit my hometown

Five Steps To Fit In As An Italian Immigrant

whenever I can and remember the loud opening of the shutters as I entered the world and my town cheering for me, the little baby I was and the man I am now. As soon as I could, I started to work in the public service with the Immigration Department. I wanted others to have the same chance I got, and to make their lives just a tad easier. I stayed there for most of my working life and then went on to work in the Department of Education. I worked at an all-boys secondary college for 15 years so I could continue to help craft and inspire the new generation. I have no regrets in life, my roots are forever with me and the friendships I made over 60 years ago, I still have today. I will always be Italian, but Australia is my home.

‘She is special,’ they said, And they repeated it, over and over again. They said it so many times, That a part of her started to believe it was true. How naive she was, Those days when she thought that they were Talking about her And not the shell she was encased in.

Not the parts of her that weren’t The same

As all the other girls

Walking the same pathways, Singing the same songs, Thinking the same thoughts. The parts of her that were cracked, raw, broken, No matter how many times she tried to stitch them back up.

But, as they say, With age comes wisdom

And one day she saw what they did. That when they called her special, They really meant to say, ‘She is Different.’

An ugly duckling in a lake filled with swans.

She was tired, so tired, Of looking in the mirror and Finding someone else staring back. Someone she didn’t, couldn’t recognise, When all she wanted to see Was a normal girl, Because she knew that normal did exist, somewhere But no one had told her how to find it.

She tried to do the impossible, What so many people before her had tried, And so many people after her would try.

She pushed everything away Into a dark, dark room, somewhere, So dark that some days, even she couldn’t find it. She locked the doors, and turned off the lights, Not knowing that one day, it would have to surface.

For a long time, everything seemed better. Not perfect, but better. The wall she had built around herself Protected her From the cruelness of the outside world. She was a different person, Different, but better And it felt like it could last forever.

But it didn’t.

Her walls came crashing down, As all walls must eventually.

They crumbled, she crumbled, Crushing her, exposing her Yet it was she who had knocked them down.

She could not hide herself anymore. Could not hold up her walls alone. Could not pretend to be a person That was never meant to exist.

At first, it was exhausting, The desire to be regular To be flawless, beautiful, perfect, But the inability to, Was like a gaping hole in her chest.

But, little by little, the hole was filled With a fire, a desire, burning fiercely intense, Fuelled by words and feelings, To change people’s perceptions

Show them that she was real That she was able.

She wanted, Needed to prove That she had been put on earth for a purpose The way she was, Not the way others wanted her to be. She wasn’t a mistake, but a gift, Sent here to change the world, to make it hers.

Maybe she wasn’t perfect Or even normal.

Maybe she needed a little extra help To find herself, But maybe that made her perfect, in her own, imperfect way. ‘I am special,’ she said. She repeated it, over and over again, And this time, she knew it was true.

‘We’ve always been in hiding, more so now. From the humans, from the shadows. Villages and villages are turning on each other. Survival is the main concern. There are only a couple of neutral villages left. To be clear, neutral to other Lacigam, not to the shadows. The shadows are shadow creatures, creatures that appear in the night. They hunt Lacigam, steal their magic and when Lacigam loses too much of their magic they die. But I will destroy the shadows, whatever it takes.’

‘Ame. Ame? Amelia?’

She suddenly turned around to see a Lagicam. He was a tall guy in denim shorts, a t-shirt and torn-up runners. His hair was messy, as if he had just woken up. Of course, it was Sebastian.

‘Ame, you ok?’ Seb asked, concerned.

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking,’ Ame replied, still somewhat in a daze.

‘About…?’ Seb paused, waiting for Ame to continue on.

‘Uhh… Guess!’ Ame said

‘Ooh okay, this challenge again! Well, we are up on a rocky ledge so probably something serious… Maybe you’re wondering what we are going to eat for lunch?’ Seb chuckled.

‘No.’

‘Then what Ame?’

‘Stuff!’

‘You know that’s not an answer,’ Seb said, annoyed.

‘It is!’ Ame stubbornly replied.

‘Fine. Then don’t tell me.’ Seb sat down and looked at the view.

‘Great! I won’t’ A cheerful Ame replied, before whispering a quiet ‘I. Win’. They both burst out laughing before looking at the sunrise, deep in their own thoughts. Seb kept on thinking about what Ame could be hiding: was it bad if she wasn’t going to tell him? But then again, Ame was a very secretive person. She kept on stressing about what would happen if the shadows attacked Westington. What would happen to them, to their families? In order to distract herself, she thought that maybe she should ask Seb a question.

‘Hey, how did you know where I was?’

‘First of all, I wanted to come here as well and then I recognised you. You always wear that ribbon and jacket. So, it’s not that hard to recognise the only person in the village who always wears a yellow ribbon and green floral jacket’.

‘Yeah, I guess…’ Ame said softly.

‘It’s nice to come here, you know, and just be left to your thoughts. Any time of day it’s just...’ Seb paused, ‘You know.’

‘True. But mornings are always best to see the sunrise silently, while everyone is still asleep. It’s so peaceful.’

‘Meh, I have always been more of a sunset kind of guy, but we can never come anymore, at least for now.’

‘Yeah, it’s so annoying the shadows always get close to the village every few months, they don’t bother the village but everyone freaks out like ahhhh curfew.’

‘True, but probably the only reason they don’t bother the village is that we have a curfew. No one out at night, no one to bother the Shadows.’

There was a pause while both thought it over.

‘Um, how are your parents?’ Seb started ‘Good. Yours?’

‘That’s good. Yeah, mine are fine.’

‘That’s good. Uh what time is it?’

Seb looked at the sun and concentrated for a second ‘Uh 8 O’clock I think.’

‘I will never understand how you do that.’ Ame laughed.

‘Do what?’

‘Look at the sun and know the time. Is it like a fairy thing or…?’ Ame stopped before she could finish the question.

‘I don’t know. I just can. Sort of like the way you can sense when someone is coming towards you, which by the way you weren’t focusing on because I was able to sneak up on you and you didn’t know’ Seb raised an eyebrow and smirked.

‘Sure... but I guess it is similar. Think we should go back now?’ said Ame with a roll of her eyes.

‘Yeah probably. Want to race?’

‘Sure 3.. 2..’

‘1!’ Seb yelled and started running.

‘Hey!’ Ame followed.

They raced through the forest. Underneath the snake-like vines hanging from the trees, past the rocky hillside and over burned, fallen trees, due to a lightning storm four days ago, to follow an old, long, dirt path which was the only road or path that would lead them back to the village. Eventually, the path faded and the speed that Seb was going made the path very hard to see. It was almost invisible even except for two dark lines marking the colour difference between the path gravel and the dirt. Seb jumped off a rock to start climbing a tall tree to see how far away the village was.

‘Still pretty far away,’ he yelled back to Ame before he turned around to try and spot her.

Seb could see the magic specks coming from the bush about 200 metres away from his location. She was coming in close, after all, she is an incredibly fast sprinter.

‘Better keep on running, so I can win this thing!’ Seb chuckled and then jumped down and ran straight to the village.

It had been ten minutes of continuous running and Seb had run out of eye distance from Ame. She was starting to slow down. Her running pace went from a run to a jog until it went to a walk. Ame started getting back deep into her thoughts, mainly about the Shadows. How did they come about? What is it they want? Magic? Power? What in the world is it? Suddenly Ame heard this soft growling. She turned around.

‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

No reply.

Probably a canine of some sort, it could be a wolf or a dog, she thought.

Ame kept on going but speed walking this time. The growling got louder. Every time the growling got louder Ame’s pace sped up. The thing making the noise must have been chasing her. Once she got to a full running pace she stopped.

‘I’m not going to be running scared from a canine.’

She stopped and went to pull out her sword but as this was early in the morning, she didn’t pack it. Who would be up this early in the morning to attack? Good thing was she had her knife. Ame always brought it with her when she went out of town.

Every now and again she would find items that could be helpful for the village. Berries are good for cooking, giving to the market, and of course a great snack on a hike. Herbs would be very helpful for the healers as many of the remedies are herbs. Meat would be great to give around to families around the village as this was a hard time for the village and any sort of food people could make would be a miracle.

Thinking about all the good that Ame could do for her village with her scavenging really put her mind at ease and, after a while, she thought that maybe the threat had passed. So, she lowered her knife and put it back in the bag. She looked around just to make sure nothing was around just waiting for her to be defenceless so then they could attack. But it was mostly dark so she couldn’t see much and she couldn’t sense anything. As she was looking around, she noticed a racken red berry bush. They were really rare, known for their medicinal properties and their delicious flavours.

Score!

Ame thought and picked at least a kilogram of berries plus some leaves so she could try to use a little magic back home to grow her own bush. As she was about to leave, she noticed a black outline on the bush. At first, she thought it was herself. But slowly the outline grew on her she turned around and...

‘AHHH!!!’

luCY dekker & jaimie merrett

Isobelle Carmody Award For Creative Writing

Based on the film Hunt for the Wilderpeople by Taika Waititi

EXT. [STREET] — DAY –ESTABLISHING LONG-SHOT

Run-down courthouse, located on a desolate street. Decrepit car drives past, REVS as scraggly birds SQUAWK from roof of building. Courthouse is in disarray. Facade of the building is dirty and unmaintained. CAMERA SPEEDS THROUGH THE DOORWAY TO A LONG-SHOT of a full courtroom, warmly lit. Seats are SQUEAKING and the microphone SCREECHES. PAULA dresses professionally, as does JURY. RICKY wears formal clothes. HEC wears casual clothes and an ankle monitor. TK and KAHU sit patiently, awaiting the trial.

LONG-SHOT OF JUDGE.

judge: Good morning ladies, gentlemen and delinquents. Please be seated.

LONG-SHOT OF COURTROOM – [ALL CHARACTERS are seated ] CUT TO JUDGE.

judge: I would like to call upon the lawyer representing Ricky Baker, JACINTA UWU, followed by the lawyer representing Paula Hall, TIM.

COWBOY-SHOT jaCinta : (Passionately) This is a case of love, of loyalty, of beginnings…

LONG-SHOT tim: (Angrily) Betrayal, darkness, and refusal…

CUT TO JACINTA jaCinta : …Ricky deserves a second chance at a fulfilling life…

CUT TO TIM tim: …It’s time for him to take initiative over his irresponsibility! r iCk Y: Huh? judge: (Bored) Moving on. I now invite Tim to stand. paula : (Aggressively stands, points at TK) WHERE WERE YOU ON THE NIGHT OF THE 16TH? tim: (Whispering) This isn’t appropriate! paula : (Whispering angrily) I’m serving the community! Doing what needs to be done! judge: Order. Sit down! (Paula sits, defeated) judge: That’s enough for now. (Exasperated, Paula throws hands in the air) judge: Ok (sighs) , I invite child welfare services officer Paula Hall to stand. judge: Begin. paula : (Passionately) I have known Ricky Baker longer than I have known myself. paula : Anyway… Ricky’s future is so unclear, and I will not allow him to be left behind. Help this poor, vulnerable child –(Paula points to Ricky O.S). paula : (Assertively) – well, he needs some serious reformation! (Paula nods proudly, returning to seat.)

MID-SHOT OF PAULA, fiddling with her cue cards. Hec has a blank and dirty stare. Ricky is falling asleep. Judge gavel BANGS O.S against wood. Ricky wakes up suddenly, looking around the courtroom in alarm.

CAMERA PANS LEFT, PAST JUDGE, SETTLING ON JURY. The Jury, dressed in professional attire, profusely writing notes in notebooks, fronting judgemental looks. CAMERA PANS RIGHT, BACK TO JUDGE.

LONG-SHOT OF JURY, nodding at one another in approval. Paula, stands from her chair, squeaking against wooden floor CUT TO JUDGE.

CUT TO PAULA, NOW AT THE WITNESS STAND.

COURT REPORTER types speedily. CUT TO JURY, entranced by Paula’s words. CUT TO PAULA.

– I have put all of my heart and soul into trying to train – I mean, help him – don’t write that!

Court-reporter keeps typing every word she says.

The Courtroom CLOSE-UP OF RICKY picking his nose . CUT TO PAULA, repulsed.

MID-SHOT OF JURY, CLAPPING for Paula. MID-SHOT OF RICKY, who is at the witness stand r iCk Y: (Reading out of notebook stiltedly) I have gotten better since I got to Bella and Hec’s. judge: (Confused) Ricky, you’re supposed to wait to be called to the stand. r iCk Y: Oh. (Continues, unconcerned) Bella made me feel safe. Like I had a home. Someone to take me to Subway and to re…re… (Struggling) ci…pra…cat my love. (Pauses) THIS IS BULL r iCk Y: (Aggressively) HEC IS SO SKUX! We went on adventures, and he had a HUGE GUN– r iCk Y: and he taught me how to survive in the wilderness! So, Paula, you big, fat, ugly – judge: I think that’s enough, Ricky. r iCk Y: I’ve changed! I DON’T kick stuff or spit on people or buy a fake ID from a registered s- judge: (BANGS gavel) ORDER! r iCk Y: Sorry. I want to stay with Hec forever. I can’t go to juvie. I’d probs get bashed. So, yeah. (Ricky leaves the stand abruptly). judge: Thank you. Hector, please approach the stand. heC: Look, I’m just gonna cut to the chase. Ricky is not a bad egg, just a kid who’s been unlucky. heC: I’m the adult, and I take full responsibility. I’m the one who chased him through the bush. I’m not a molesterer, but I’m guilty. Don’t punish that little fat kid. heC: (Opening up) : When Bella – (Gulps) – passed, I felt as if all the joy in my life was gone. A light had been turned off inside me and I,um, couldn’t turn it back on.

CUT TO HEC, who sighs and slams his head on the table with a BANG. CUT BACK TO RICKY, who throws his notebook on the ground.

CAMERA VERY QUICKLY PANS TO JURY, who GASP loudly, CAMERA VERY QUICKLY PANS BACK TO RICKY.

CUT TO JURY, looking horrified . CUT TO JUDGE, who seems concerned.

CUT TO HEC, who rises from his seat. LONG-SHOT OF HEC walking to the stand, ankle monitor CLANGING against the floor. Microphone SCREECHES as he takes his seat . CUT TO JURY, watching Hec with apprehension. MID-SHOT OF HEC.

CUT TO JURY, appearing unimpressed. CUT TO HEC.

LONG-SHOT OF JURY, who appear bored. MID-SHOT OF HEC, who stands from his seat. HEC stops, looking upwards for a second before looking back down.

HEC turns head to look at OS Ricky (SIDE-PROFILE-SHOT) heC: But then there was Ricky Baker. heC: Ricky has grown up surrounded by people who haven’t always had his best interests at heart. He’s been moved around the foster system since his parents left – people don’t want a kid who’s a handful. heC: But, Ricky has remained good at heart. Surely that has to count for something. Bella… she knew there was something about him, something no one else had understood yet.

CUT TO RICKY, looking disturbed. MID-SHOT OF HEC, turning his head to Jury.

CAMERA QUICKLY PANS TO RICKY, who appears slightly offended. CAMERA PANS BACK TO HEC.

SIDE-SHOT OF HEC turning his head to look O.S at R icky heC: (Silently counting syllables on his fingers): She would be so proud. All the things he’s done for me. Ricky is the light.