1
2
3
TELEVISION SET SPIRITS TAMSIN RODGERS
You can see her sadness plainly on her face. The people on the bus could see it, and to the others in the therapist’s waiting room it seems like the most obvious thing in the world. It is written in the sickly pallor of her pasty skin, in the shadows under her eyes that she has hastily tried to cover up with makeup that is too dark for her skin tone. And most of all, it is written in her eyes. Her eyes are a dull, flat brown, but look as if once they had been velvety and full of life, and the shaky smile she gives the receptionist doesn’t reach them. They are the eyes of someone who has been pretending that everything is okay for far too long. She is hunched over a clip board in one of the cushy waiting room chairs, filling out the forms she was handed at the front desk. Dr Lawrence’s waiting room is all plush cream carpets and heavy mahogany doors; the grandeur of the building screams ‘professional’. She is chewing on the tip of her pen, taking her time filling out the admissions form. They are standard questions, and she fills out her full name, age, date of birth, etcetera. She’s trying to delay having to fill in the questionnaire. Have you lost interest in things you used to enjoy? a) Not at all. b) Just a little. c) Moderately. d) Quite a lot. e) Very much.
RANDOM TREATS
4
These questions are also standard, or at least they have become standard for her. She has filled out many of these questionnaires in the past year, online, in doctors’ offices, in therapists’ waiting rooms, and every time she hates them. On her last question there always comes a slight hesitation, a quake of the hand, a sharp inhalation. 15. Do you have suicidal thoughts? a) Not at all. b) Just a little. c) Moderately. d) Quite a lot. e) Very much. She hastily ticks the last box before folding the paper in half and retrieving her iPod from her jacket pocket. She inserts one ear bud in and scrolls to a cheery country tune, trying to distract herself with the upbeat twanging of the chorus when her name is called. She stands slowly; the waiting room that seconds ago seemed cold and unwelcoming now seeming like the cosiest place in the world. She does not want to be here, but she has to be, and it is for that reason that she takes a deep breath, counts to three, and walks through the doors. Dr Lawrence sits on a leather armchair that is opposite to the expensive chaise longue in the centre of the room, notepad in hand, scribbling away with a ball point pen. She is a slender, middle aged woman with perfectly highlighted blonde hair, wearing a cream cardigan and a full length skirt. “You must be Rebecca. Please, have a seat.” She sits, and Dr Lawrence proceeds to ask her about her medical record, about the questionnaire, about the little
5
RANDOM TREATS
green and white pills that Rebecca takes at 10:33 every morning that prevent her from jumping into the bath tub clutching a toaster. “Is that how you would do it?” Dr Lawrence asks. “No. The wire doesn’t reach the bathroom. Finding the extension lead would take too much time.” “Too much time?” “Yes. Too much time to change my mind.” Rebecca is talking in a monotone, and she wonders if Dr Lawrence is worried about the casual way that she discusses suicide. Dr Lawrence is a highly popular psychiatrist, and has probably seen people a lot more ‘mentally ill’ than Rebecca; the kind of people who are paranoid that there are spirits hiding in the television set. Why is she here? There are people with real problems, rather than a hereditary depression that saps the colour out of the world and tinges everything in grey hues. She brings her hand up to her cheek, and all of a sudden her silent tears have turned into wracking sobs and she is hugging her chest in an attempt to stop this feeling that is shattering her from the inside out, she feels the last shred of herself dissolving in the sea of sadness that she’s drowning in.
RANDOM TREATS
6
NO USE TO ONE SOUL GEORGIA MACFARLANE
No use to one soul, or so it appeared, There lay the fork as the sun on it seared. The banker marched past, no eyelid was batted, One glance at the fork on the grass, dense and matted. Devoid of appeal, mundanely it pleaded, As mankind strolled briskly, fork superseded.
7
RANDOM TREATS
8
A STORY WITH A TWIST SATSITA MEZHIEVA
No-one saw it. Everyone knows it. No-one knows anything, anymore. Somewhere, someplace, there was a little girl in front of a big door. There was a lock: there was a key. And out of the golden lock streamed the daring, dark temptation. The girl followed curiosity’s murmurs, yet her mind jumbled with premonitions. Decision, thoughts, desire. In front of the door was a girl with a key, behind the door was a mystery. There was a lock: Here was the key. Here was the door: There was the secret. There was a pause... ... a deep breath ... a sudden move ... a twist.
9
RANDOM TREATS
AGORAPHOBIA FLO SANDELSON
The boy from downstairs crosses the road in an ordinary way; looking left, then right, then reaching the other side. I watch him from my window, and if I close my eyes I can imagine myself crossing the road in such a way; the cacophony of swearing from the angry drivers caught by the demonic red light, late home again to their families. The frustration of the bus driver, unrelenting on his horn, knowing once again that his passengers will miss their connecting train, their evening dinner plans, their late night coffee dates, and that it was his responsibility, and he failed them. Most of all I watch the brevity of those who dash out before their time is signaled, and the relief on their faces as they make it safely to the other side. Their fear is gone, forgotten in a moment. The world continues to move, to spin, to laugh, to run and to connect in the most abstract of ways. I live in the silence. Life starts, and ends with the road just visible from my window. I press my hand against the cold glass, and stand back, staring at my handprint as the edges fade away. The mark ebbs with the condensation, and within thirty-eight seconds, it is gone, as though I was never there. The Hatter opened his eyes very wide, but all he said was this: ‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’ Are ravens more object or more human? And I? Have I finally reached inanimacy? I shut my eyes protectively against the tirade of questions. In-
RANDOM TREATS
10
ternally I berate myself at why my evening reading can never be just that; evening reading. My head twists the words – manipulates them - and before I know it I’m spiraling; desperate to understand the impossibility of the unknown ever becoming known. The kettle begins to scream, and I walk into the kitchen, and pour just one cup of tea. I wrap my hands around the cold mug, and feel the warmth permeate through the impermeable china. I watch the water swirl with the peppermint; turning from colorless to a murky shade. It fits into no category of color, and perhaps I too fit into no category. Or is it that I fit in too well? Is it that I blend so well into the background that I fit into every category, uncaptured by life, invisible to the world? My drafty living room is made increasingly uncomfortable by the black English evening, and I shiver against the oppressive darkness that tries, every night, to creep in. If I stand very still, in the transition between evening and night, then the silence is absolute. There is the briefest of moments where life exists as I do, engulfed by the darkness. No one shouts, and no one sings, and no one laughs and no one cries. No one walks and no one runs, and from my window I can see how Life is asleep, while I am awake, and it unleashes my craving to be a part of the day. If I allow myself to stand still, the silence can stretch for up to a luxurious minute, and I can stare intently at all beyond the glass. In that minute, I am crushed by the desire to connect. For that minute, I am fragile: an invisible figure in the night, staring desperately out at Life as he taunts me, as he dances in front of me, hypnotizing me with his siren’s call. Tonight, I must force my shaking hand to close the blind, lock-
11
RANDOM TREATS
ing out the song. I stand unmoving in the darkness, grieving the view. I clasp my hands together, and I stand very still. The mystery will forever be mine, and hopelessly I’ll wander; will there ever be more to me than a hopeless wanderer?
RANDOM TREATS
12
13
VALENTINE (CAROL ANN DUFFY COVER) GRACE PERRY
Not a snuggly kitten or a locker note. I give you a lemon. It is a heart smothered with love. t reveals new happiness, Like a sunrise at dawn. Here. It will drown you in mellowness, Like a day free from work. It can create a secret note, A note only revealed with intelligence. I am trying to be realistic. Not a chocolate box or a simple kiss. I give you a lemon. Its tanginess will bring us closer, Longing and loving, Like a normal couple. Take it. Its segments will build our hearts, Alike. Sharp, Its wickedness will sting your eyes, And sting your heart.
BITTER SWEET
14
LIFE AND DEATH NEVER GOT ALONG MADDY KIRKMAN
Life and Death never got along. They would fight day and night nonstop arguing about which human should survive their illness and who should die. Death said to Life that she was always over crowding the world with humans, and Life thought that Death had a bad mind, which was true. One summer evening Death floated towards Life and they immediately started to argue. Ten minutes later they were still arguing, and the Sun and Moon thought it was very disturbing and started to feel gloomy. “If you crowd too many people on earth then the world will sink because of the weight of all those humans,” Death joked. “Well we don’t want the humans to be lonely!” Life shouted back angrily. After that they both floated off in different directions in a huff. The next day instead of waking up to the cockerel, the Sun woke up to the most awful shouts and yells the Sun had ever heard. Sun almost felt ill because Life and Death hated each other so much. Sun realised that they were not the only ones that were shouting. All the people on earth were shouting with shock as they opened their doors. Sun heard one of the children say, “where’s the sun mummy?” Sun thought for a minute and looked at herself, “why aren’t I shining?”
15
BITTER SWEET
16
TWISTED PEACE OLIVIA BAILLE-STRONG
My fingers cling to the gun and pull it towards my chest. The thought sticks in my head longer than it ever has before. I just killed a man. After that moment there is only darkness. I am dead. I think this is the end. This thought disappears into the light. I wake up in a room with a small lamp, a piece of bread, a note and a German soldier. We are on opposite sides of the room, carefully inspecting one another. I make the first move towards the piece of bread; he follows. We reach it at the same time; he gets the smaller piece. We both see the note. It says: “The last one alive gets out.� At that moment the peace we share is gone. He pulls out his knife, pins me down and everything goes black.
17
BITTER SWEET
SWEET’N’SOUR PRIYANKA BHATT
There was a sweet shop called ‘Gummy Goods’ and there was a small boy, aged five, who, after school, went every day to the shop to buy sweets. He always spent ten pence on something different every day of the week. But as he grew from six to seven and then eight, the shop was closing for good. The man explained about how old he was and how he couldn’t afford the rent. On the last day, when the last box came out, the boy walked past to say goodbye. “But wait!” cried the man, “I’ve been saving one special sweet. If you were to plant it and take good care of it, two leaves will appear. Give one to somebody and keep the other. That friendship will last forever!’ But the boy was torn between the selfishness of having the sweet all to himself and having a friend at last.
BITTER SWEET
18
TWISTED PEACE OLIVIA BAILLE-STRONG
I sat there in the evening. Just sitting on the bench. The wind tutted and whispered in my ear, ‘Go after him… Go after him.’ My eyes swerved in his direction. I considered running after my dream as it walked away. His feet on the stone pavement rang out so loudly it seemed it would make my ears bleed. I hoped and prayed that he would look back at me… A small drop of water fell onto my cheek. Being confused, I looked up at the sunny evening. But more water trickled from my eyes down to my chin, and my face creased up as I buried my face in my hands… and I cried. I remember it clearly. He whispered to me... ‘Why did you bring me here?’ I looked anywhere but at him. I stuttered with my words and said what I had come here to say. His face changed from a happy smile to a heartbroken frown. That frown… that frown which killed me inside. I felt as if a dagger had stabbed my heart and my mind was trapped in a cage and my mouth… my mouth had been strapped with duct tape. I couldn’t say how I felt. I couldn’t think of what I thought. I couldn’t heal what I had damaged. I said it again:‘I love you so much, but my parents said I need to concentrate on my career’. I remember his words: ‘You are a bitter person - yet you are the sweetest honey made on this earth.’ Bittersweet. That’s what he called me. I shook my head and I heard him getting up. But I just sat there, watching him leave. There was nothing else I could say. My world faded. Slowly. Hurting and damaged, I closed my eyes. And didn’t open them. My mind started to drift…
19
BITTER SWEET
I heard chatter and my mum was calling my name. I heard her saying “I’m sorry” over and over. I heard a heart monitor as it slowly beeped. I opened my eyes slightly, feeling weak and cold. I was in the hospital. Not on the bench. I heard the doctor muttering something about cancer. I knew I was ill... that was why I broke up with him. My heart was silent as I listened, my heart was truly broken. But then I heard him. When I listened to those words whispered in my ear - ‘I love you’ - it was then that I realised he understood. He knew how I felt. But just as I had realised that he truly loved me, I drifted further away. My heart monitor changed to a low hum. My eyes snapped open. The image of me dying was imagined. I saw him at the park gate. I stood up. It didn’t matter what my parents said. I loved him. So I started to run. I started to chase after my dreams, I started to chase after the boy who called me bittersweet.
BITTER SWEET
20
A POCKET OF TIME HOLLY RICHARDS
I have always thought the words ‘the calm before the storm’ were laughable. How could you possibly be calm knowing something devastating was about to happen? You couldn’t. It would be chaos. At least, I thought it would be. It turns out I was wrong. Whenever I think back to that moment, back to the feeling of pure dread that consumed me, I realise that there was no panic. There was only an impassive acceptance of the situation I had found myself in. In that small pocket of time, I watched families, friends and loved ones cluster together; some were hugging and kissing, others merely gazing into each other’s eyes, as if trying to drink in each other’s faces and etch them into their memories. All of them were trying to cram a lifetime of love into a few fleeting minutes. The inconsequential details of arguments they had had years ago now became one of the most important things they could think of to share; suddenly everything had a new sense of gravity. They were interrupted by the cruel shattering of the windows, the doors ripped off of their hinges, and the piercing screams of the frightened, injured and newly bereaved.
21
BITTER SWEET
22
23
He had everything, but he let everyone else die. NINA JONES
BITTER SWEET
24
SPIES RHEA HALDER
“It’s time you knew the truth about your parents death… ththey were sh-shot! They were trying to rescue me from spies - the spies chased us across the English border. They tried to protect me b-but they were shot and never made it to Carlile. Somehow I managed to escape.” Just then the doorbell rang and I never saw her again.
25
EXPERIMENTATION
WEATHERED SOLDIERS OF THE WOOD GEORGIA MACFARLANE
Weathered soldiers of the wood, Reluctantly rotate weary heads towards Chattering brooks and unrelenting gales. Cottage stands. Branches maliciously manipulated into erroneous and mangled limbs. Cottage, sewn to the ground. Wooden faces, canvases of grotesque hardship, grimaces painting paths atop the taut surface. Cottage, box of modernity. Rocks deflect water, grumbling in irritation as it winds lethargically along a predestined route. Cottage, spiders paint graffiti across window panes. Grass wilts in defeat, unkempt hair of the ground as limp bodies move with the howling wind. Nature at war with itself. Door creaks open, cloudy white cottage wakes the wood. All ceases. Footstep. Cacophonic quiet. Footstep. Squabbling world dissolves, uniting unequivocally into eerie serenity. To fool humanity again.
EXPERIMENTATION
26
EYES OF THE THIEF ROSIE NEWTON
Chloe had only just noticed but lots of her things had gone missing; was it her sister? (She was a mean old dragon when she wanted to be) but no, when she had asked, her sister told her that she didn’t want all her rubbish toys, so it became a mystery. The eyes of the doll swiveled. All was clear, she could come out now, but how? She was too high and to make matters worse she had never been out of the cupboard on her own to look for stuff to take back, she was usually left out by Chloe and she would get the stuff and climb to the bottom shelf of the cupboard, but today was different. She jumped and fell, but she was not hurt: she had no way of feeling. If she didn’t get enough stuff back to the cupboard her master would take her apart and leave her outside to be discovered by the humans in the rain. She would be taken back to the house and Chloe’s mum would throw her away and she would be lost forever in the dark. She took everything that she could and ran, she ran to the cupboard. It was a long way but her master would be waiting. Taking it to him, she pleaded, “Why don’t you share? It makes humans feel good. Why don’t you share with me? I need the food and some of the stuff to live.” He smiled a bad smile, a smile a snake gives just before it kills you. She screamed. Chloe went out into the garden, her mother had worked so hard on the flowers which were trampled and all that was left
27
EXPERIMENTATION
of her precious doll was its eyes. Chloe was horrified. There was a note beside them. Chloe picked it up with trembling hands, scrawled onto the piece of paper was: Here lie the eyes of the thief. Advice: The only thing you can do if you meet someone who is known to kill is wish you hadn’t!
EXPERIMENTATION
28
I WAS BORN IN A BATHTUB YASMIN TAJALLI
I was born in a bathtub in a small semi-detached house in England and the day I was born it was raining. My mother married my father not entirely by choice. Whilst my father was a good looking man, he didn’t have the personality to match. His looks attracted women from every inch of the small town he lived in. However, as the women threw themselves at him, his rudeness and immaturity overcame his attractiveness and the ladies left. My mother was one of those women. Her name was Jane, and when she saw Thomas for the first time I was told that she swooned so erratically that she fainted. They briefly dated and, on account of my father’s wealth, Jane’s parents both thought it a suitable relationship for a loving home and a beautiful family. My mother initially refused the marriage proposal and caused shock to her own family before she was forced to wed. My father did not have any parents of his own. They had passed away when he was only six, so he lived under the guardianship of his aunt. She was widowed when he was fourteen and was so overwhelmed with grief that she slit her wrists in the bath. Cascades of blood leaked into the lukewarm water; she died before anyone could help her. My father came home from school to find a cold, naked body draped limply over the rim. He has had a phobia of bathtubs since.
29
EXPERIMENTATION
When he was 22 and Jane was just 19 they had a traditional wedding and a three day honeymoon in Scotland. After 12 excruciating hours, I was born on August 19th of the same year, in a bathtub. My father waited outside. The sight of the bathtub in which his wife and child lay was still traumatising enough to cause hysterics. While some fathers first words to their son might have been something like “He definitely got his looks from you” or “Isn’t he just beautiful” I received something slightly different: “This’ll be the cause of our marriage failure” were the first words my innocent little ears ever heard. August 26th of the year I was born was the day that my mother vanished from my life. After continuous rows between herself and my father (why wouldn’t Jane treat Thomas “like a man”? Avoidance, reluctant answers, refusals) she figured enough was enough. Jane was a very attractive woman and hoped that as she left her the house of her nightmares, she would find her way with a successful businessman and live a happier and more comfortable life. So she packed her bags and left within the hour of their last argument. It was discovered a short time later that she had found her way with a gypsy troupe. My first week of life was not exactly pleasant and my father would continue to blame me for this controversy between himself and his wife. I was forever scolded throughout my childhood for my existence. He would tell me in a harsh tone that before my birth there was no quarrel and that it was my doing. I brought sadness and anger to the world. And I believed him. After all, every baby is said to bring a gift to the world. Perhaps mine was just considered more of a curse.
EXPERIMENTATION
30
ESCAPE
FRANCESCA NAVRADY-WILSON
“It’s time I should tell you the truth about what happened to you parents. We were crossing the French border into Germany. Your parents were driving the car and I was hiding in the boot. We were being chased. The car stopped. People were talking, arguing and fighting outside the car. I open the boot. I snuck out. I saw a village in the distance, I ran. I ran like the wind. I looked behind me, the car wasn’t there anymore. I was alone.”
THE LIGHT OF SHARING FRANCESCA NAVRADY-WILSON
When the sun comes up, the world shares. When the sun sets, it fades. One day it never came up, until I changed the world… and the world shared.
31
EXPERIMENTATION
THE FLASH OF LIGHT MATHILDA HOWARD
It was a pitch black hallway but really the whole house was. My torch light had run out so I had no chance of seeing or not bashing into walls. I wandered down a hallway thinking what might approach me. It was so dark in the house that I thought I might fall, trip or even collapse. I strolled into a room and suddenly a light turned on. I turned around but no one was there. All I saw was a small bear eating gingerbread off a decorated gingerbread house. The light suddenly turned off faster than a lightning flash.
EXPERIMENTATION
32
She finally learned, but how? “I was told in a dream,” she said. NINA JONES
33
EXPERIMENTATION
34
TO SHARE
TATE E.H JEFFREY
A beggar roamed the streets, she was ravenous. She had gone round house asking for food but one. The only house left was occupied by a merchant who was known as selfish, but she still had to try. She went up to the large oak door and knocked. It was opened by a short stout man with a horrible frown spreading from his wobbly double chin to his wrinkled forehead. “Can I please…” the beggar started to say until was rudely interrupted by the merchant slamming the door in her face. She wandered over to a nearby tree and slid down the trunk. It looked like she was back to eating berries again. A few days later, the owner of the house rented out to the merchant went to collect his money. The merchant couldn’t pay the fee and was kicked out onto the street. She saw him go to the tree that she had sat at a couple of days ago and she saw him crumple and put his head in his hands. An hour or so later the merchant got up and the beggar followed. She followed him along the dirt path that led to the centre of town, across the stone bridge that went across a river that snaked its way through the countryside and through the cobblestone streets that were lined with townhouses. He stopped at one of the houses, that was decorated with roses, tulips and daffodils, and knocked on the door. When the door swung open the beggar could see that a woman with a needle in one hand and a dress in the other was stood in the doorway. She instantly recognised the selfish merchant and slammed the door in this fat, crimson face. The merchant
35
TO SHARE
went to the edge of the dusty road and sat down looking helpless once more. The beggar went over and sat next to him and said “If you want other people to share with you then you should share with other people�.
36
LIGHTNESS
NELL DICKINSON
Shadows flashed in the darkness. I was petrified, rooted to the spot. Lights shimmered, terrifying me. I wanted to be anyone else at this point in time. My oil lamp had gone out, it too, sensing the danger. My dead mother was at the back of my mind. If this was who I thought it was, I would soon be with her. I heard a fizzing noise, almost like a bottle of champagne, then silence. I squeezed a wooly blanket, desperately holding onto the hope of staying alive. The creatures outside were like tigers ready to pounce. The candle went out - then darkness. I peered out, saw who it was, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was my father, standing in a pool of light. He spoke. “We are both in darkness about your mother’s death. It is time we stepped into the light and shared our feelings.”
37
TO SHARE
THE TALE OF SMELLY PIG LENA REVIDON
Once upon a time, there was a very smelly pig. She loved flowers. She looked after her flower bed by giving it manure every single day. Her name was Rose. But nobody called her Rose, instead they called her “Stinky”. Rose felt very sad. Her best friend Honey came to her one day and said “Rose, you are not stinky. I will help you so let’s clean up! You are quite muddy!” Honey prepared a bubble bath with a lovely smell of sweeties. “I will share my best bubble bath with you. You are my best friend.” said Honey. “Thank you very much!” said Rose. “You are my best friend, too.” Both pigs took a bath together. They had a whale of time cleaning each other. Rose became a spotless pink pig. But she still smelled. Other nasty pigs said to Rose “You are stinky! You still smell even after a bath!” Rose felt very very upset and nearly cried. Honey felt tormented. Then a gorgeous pig appeared. “I am Princess Flora.”
TO SHARE
38
She had a floral crown on her head. “Thank you for keeping your flowers so beautifully” she said. “I’d like to share my special floral perfume to say thank you for caring for the flowers so well.” “Thank you for sharing the special perfume!” said Rose. “I am no longer called stinky. I will smell beautiful!” The end.
39
TO SHARE
SHARING GRACE PARRY
It was a bleary night when the parcel was delivered. A small man, rather large, with messy hair, came wandering over to our trench. “I mean no harm, I have a parcel.” His hands were raised above his head. We lowered our guns, suspiciously, as the man stepped closer. “I...I...I have,” he panted but stopped to catch his breath; “I have a parcel for Private Sanders.” Recognizing the name I looked around and saw Sanders stand. “What is it?” he asked, carefully walking to the parcel man. “I don’t know, do I?” the man chuckled. “Thank you, sir, for coming out on this cold night.” Sanders shook the man’s hand and patted his shoulder. The parcel man nodded and walked away. “Wait!” Sanders called, “Open it with me and have a drink.” He beckoned with his hand. I looked around at the other privates; like me, they were all smiling as the man joined at the rounded table.
TO SHARE
40
“What is your name, please?” Sanders questioned. “Michael Brownsworth, war deliverer, at your service.” He rose and took an elegant bow. We all laughed, our smiles rising up to our eyes. Beaming himself, Michael sat next to Sanders and gestured for him to open the parcel. “Of course.” Sanders said. His hand rested on the package. He slowly ran his penknife through the side and brought out the content. A gleaming foil was tightly wrapped around something that could have been, none other than… Chocolate! A smile spread across Sanders face as he unwrapped the rest of the parcel. A picture of a young lady was also in the package. “My wife,” he said, “it’s from her.” His smile widened as everyone around him cheered and patted him on the back. “I’ve got to go, now, so I am safely back to my family.” Michael said. “Wait, let me give you something.” They walked away, chatting. A little while later Sanders returned with Michael. “Sanders!” Someone called, “Can we have some of your
41
TO SHARE
chocolate?” shouted Private Winters. “I’m sorry,” replied Sanders, “But it’s all gone!” Winters’ face twisted into confusion as he said, “Why? Did you eat it all?” Him and others laughed. “No, I have given it to my friend here.” Sanders patted Michael as he stepped forward, smiling. I smiled back as he caught my eye. “Michael had come all this way, on his own! He could have died, but he didn’t. And now he is expected to return, back through the dark, blizzardy night. Let’s at least give him some hope for the journey home!” Many people cheered and almost everyone came and gave Michael a hug. I stood and watched, my arms crossed over my chest, smiling once again. I could swear my face was about to split with all of the smiling! I knew, however, that I would never forget this moment. Happiness. Everywhere. All because of someone sharing something special.
TO SHARE
42
43
SHARING WITH FRIENDS LENA REVIDON
If I share my sweets with friends, they taste twice nice. If I share my tears with friends, they taste half bitter. If I share my toys with friends, play time becomes double the joy. If I share my new blanket with friends on a snowy day, I feel cosy. Sharing with friends makes me happier. And I am so lucky to have lots of good friends to share with.
TO SHARE
44
A JANUARY MORNING SOPHIA BREHM
The cloud-filled sky looked like an oyster shell-coloured duvet. Trees revealed their silvery, grey, bare branches, which were normally covered in vibrant leaves of fruitful green. Creatures lay dormant in their hibernation and the wide, wide fields were lifeless. Everything was peacefully still, like a crowd the moment before a firework takes off and then bursts into glorious colour. All you could hear was silence. Silence. A deafening, never ending, silence. Silence. Everything looked so lonely, yet so incredible. Too incredible for one person to look at. I felt this sudden urge to share that moment, but there was no one to share it with. All of a sudden I realised the most important moral a person can have: you can have the entire world, but without anyone to share it with, it is nothing.
45
TO SHARE
A LESSON LEARNED KATY PANCOTT
“Max, can I borrow your bike please?” cried Peter in his happy –go- lucky voice. “No, go away and leave me alone, you little brat!” yelled Max, crossly. Max never shared with his little brother Peter. Peter was very ill with a long-term illness called Cystic Fibrosis: this meant that Peter would die at a very young age. One day, Peter was playing outside with Max. They both had a chocolate lollipop. Peter took a bite and it dropped on the floor. Max just laughed as Peter began to cry. As their mother came outside, she asked Max to give half of his lollipop to Peter. “Nooooo!” screamed Max, and he ran off into his bedroom. Mother smiled at Peter and said, “Come inside with me, I will get you another lollipop; Max will have no cake after dinner.” Mother thought to herself maybe she ought to tell Max that Peter would not live into adulthood. In the morning, Mother went up to Max’s bedroom and gently explained to him that Peter would not live into adulthood. Distraught, tears began to run down Max’s face as Mother shared with him the tragic news. Max suddenly realised how selfish he had been to his brother; he cried until his tears ran out. Max felt absolutely dreadful; he told his mother he would apologise to Peter and make up for his horrifying behaviour.
TO SHARE
46
Lunch was eaten in silence - at times you could have heard a pin drop. After lunch, they went on an outing to the town centre. In the toy store, Peter saw the Amazing Spiderman figure that even squirted water. Peter had had his heart set on this for months, and he counted out his pocket money. He still didn’t have enough. He felt tears pricking his eyes, stinging like a jellyfish’s bite. Max couldn’t help noticing how devastated Peter looked, so he asked to go to the toilet, and when Peter and Mother were out of sight he ran quickly to the Spiderman shelf and grabbed the desired figure, taking it to the crowded checkout. He pushed his way through the line, cheekily, but the ladies didn’t mind as he grinned very sweetly at them. They smiled and said, “Go through, dearie.”
47
He used every penny of his money to purchase the toy. When he rejoined his family, Peter was still looking glum. Max thrust the bag at him. Peter opened it slowly, thinking it was just a trick as usual, but as he spied the Spiderman toy he let out an overjoyed squeal. It was the kindest thing Max had done in his life and he now felt proud of that. From that day on he played happily and was never horrid to Peter. Some years later, the sad day came when Peter departed this world peacefully in his sleep. Although he felt devastated, Max was satisfied he had been a good brother after all.
48
SMALL PIECE OF COOKIE DOUGH SHIRLEY CHIU
Butter, sugar, floured dough Fold, mix, pound and roll Sliced, diced, fitted into molds Uh oh, a piece is left in the sticky bowl. Too small to be shaped Into a perfect flower, Waiting to be abandoned Washed away by the pounding shower. Chef Chew to the rescue Finger scooped up the dough Into the hungry hole it went Warmed up my stomach and soul. Dear little piece of dough, You have now earned your place I’m glad you were not in defeat So Ben and Jerry can have you on their face.
49
INDULGENCE
50
HOME
BARCHO TSOY
There was once a girl namend Juliet Thomson and she lived with her brother Mark Thomson. Their dad passed away but they still have a mum. School finished so the Thomson family went on a cruise trip but one night there was a terrible storm it went, “Clash! Clang! Boom! Bang!” So Juliet and her family fell into the sea. Three days later they washed up on a nice calm island. Mark found a portal but mum said “N.O spell’s NO! It’s to dangerous.” “But danger is my middle name,” Mark said. “Actally it’s Lewis,” Juliet said. On that night a bunch of people came. “Aaaa boonababa,” Mark said, “it’s a lost tribe.” “Don’t be so silly” Juliet said. “Juliet I’m sorry but Mark is right.” “Mum why is the tribe holding fire and why are they saying “KILL”?” “Mark, Juliet, I hate to say this but we need to go through the portal.” “Yes I told you,” Mark shouted, “well let’s go then!” “Aaaaaa!” they all shouted.
51
INDULGENCE
“Gosh, is this heaven! Tree’s made from candyfloss, chocolate rivers, marshmallow bushes.” “SUGAR!” “Mum, can we stay here?” “No, but I guess you can take one piece of giant candy.” “Yes!” “Juliet! Mark! Wake up!” They all wake up because granny woke them up. “It was all a dream.”
INDULGENCE
52
WHATEVER THE WEATHER LUCY RIDDELL
Glossy wrappers draw you nearer, With big bold slogans to make it clearer. The contents ooze out nice and thickly, But sometimes too much sweet can be sickly. The taste is amazing; you just can’t beat it, The sweet, sweet scent demands you eat it. You wonder if it would be socially okay, To have just one more, just once, today. You think about the future, how this could make you obese, But it must be fine to have one, at least. And so you indulge in a guilty pleasure, Because you can eat chocolate whatever the weather!
53
INDULGENCE
CHOCOLATE ORANGE SOPHIE TYLER
I’m Judith, I like my chocolate. Personally I feel sorry for the those who have diabetes, those who are allergic to, and the others who aren’t allergic or diabetic, but just don’t like chocolate. They are missing out so much. Well, my sister saves her goodies. Once she saved her chocolate from Easter and when she looked at it at Christmas, it was covered with mould and had turned white. Anyway, this morning I was very hungry and all our food from the fridge had gone. My dad went to shop for more, but I was so hungry that I almost started eating chairs. Then I had an idea. Isabelle had chocolate in her room which she tries to hide it. Yet everyone knows where her sweet stash is. So I went upstairs and opened the door to see if anyone was there. No, no one was there. I reached my arm into her clothes and picked up a chocolate orange, then I went downstairs to eat it. As I sat down Isabelle appeared out of nowhere, looking very angry. She started to walk towards me. I panicked and made a run for it. I Opened the front door and ran. BANG! SLIDE! My father had run me over. Apparently I was out for about two weeks.When I was asleep it was all pitch black and I could hear my mum talking to a doctor. My whole body felt numb and I thought I was in heaven. But eventually I woke up, in the corner of my eye I saw my mum sobbing and my little sister Isabelle hugging her. Daddy was holding my hand as I glanced up and noticed that
INDULGENCE
54
my favourite show ‘Modern Family’ was showing’. My sister peered across at me and saw that I was awake. She leaped up on me and gave me thousand kisses and a huge hug. The doctors all came rushing in, saying that it was a miracle. Then my sister added “You can have all my sweets and chocolate just as long as you look left and right twice before you cross the road.” And that put the biggest smile on my face! Moral: The moral is that sharing is very important. If you don’t share, it could lead to someone getting badly hurt. However, stealing is just as bad so don’t steal.
55
INDULGENCE
DIP INTO DARKNESS SHAKIRA MORAR
As I dip my toe into the water, My shadow is thrown by the sun Into a distortion of colours. The pool is cold to match the colours Of my mood as I sink into the water And make my escape from the sun I long to feel free from the sun, Enter a world without colours And make my own cocoon in the water Where the water radiates darkness, a void of colours, a place without sun.
INDULGENCE
56
TURN THIS AROUND DOUNIA EL BARDARDHI
I cry for my father, my sister, my brother, I cry for my cousins, my aunt and my mother. I cry for the people whose lives are now lost, I cry for humanity; this is the cost. A gunshot was fired, And violence inspired, Big bangs resounding, Pounding, pounding, Completely surrounding, A war it is sounding. I cry for the fighting, the peace, the conflict, I cry for the world, for we have been tricked. I cry because we’ve let them in, Allowed the demons beneath our skin. They creep up inside, And there they will hide, Until we destroy, And leave just a void, Become paranoid, Of love, devoid. I cry for the country, the people, the nation, I cry for oppression, equality, dictation. I cry for my rights, my actions, my say, I cry for compassion, succumbed to decay. I cry for opinions, for we have been blinded, I cry for our views, all so one-sided. I cry because we never look past, Our own particular status caste. I cry for all our fake facades, I cry for filling graveyards.
57
INDULGENCE
I cry for broken dreams at the boulevard, I cry because society is house of cards. I cry for our fragile hearts. Turn this around, Kind regards.
INDULGENCE
58
59
EDIT | Hannah Anson, Caitlin Burns, Andrea Capdevielle, Lotta Ilukwe, Tamsin Rodgers DESIGN | Joy Chow PHOTOS | Cover, contents, pages 3, 16, 22, 43 by Christy Au & Joy Chow; page 23 by Mark Pernice/NY Times article; page 50 by popsugar.com; all other images from free photo sites A special thanks to Mrs Hawkes for organising this year’s Folio, as well as everyone who contributed to the magazine!
55
60