English The Cull I can feel the sting of the sun burning the back of my neck. The heat is pushing me down and the sweat tickles my back. You would think we would have acclimatized by now; the planet has been warming for centuries and this is the only solution they have managed to come up with. Happy Birthday to me. I shuffle my feet trying to get comfortable but there are too many bodies pressed up against me. We have been out here for hours you would think they could get on with it, it is not like they do it every year. I cannot get the image of my mum’s tears out of my head when she hugged me goodbye. But let’s face it, she doesn’t have a choice, none of us do. Someone falls into my back, and I stumble forward. “Hey, waster, watch yourself!” Its clear from his clean sleek pearly jacket and multiple earrings and rings he is a noble-born. That’s the thing about The Cull, it does not discriminate. There’s just too many of us. “Can’t believe we have to do this with wasters, they should at least give us our own entrance.” His smug face makes me want to puke all over his pretty white jacket. His friend turns to sneer at me and replies. “What are you worried about? It’s not like our families are going to let us fail the test.” The truth of his words drops like a stone in my stomach. We all may have to sit the cull but some of us will be able to walk back outside and some of us will never see the light again. I look down at my own clothes to see my worn-out black jacket with my raggedy pants and its pretty obvious which one I’ll be. I’m just going to have to rely on my wits and my strengths ... By Sam Nowalinski
English Outdoors
78 I
Where young men achieve
Year 12 - Henry IV Sydney
