WORLDS IN WORDS A YOUNG WRITERS’ ANTHOLOGY Year 2017/Volume III
Table of Contents
Destination: Earth.................................................................................................... 4 The Endless Cycle ......................................................................................................7 The Light at the End of the Tunnel (I).....................................................................12 The Light at the End of the Tunnel (II).....................................................................14 Land of Giants.......................................................................................................... 15 Mystery .....................................................................................................................18
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The third edition of Worlds in Words presents the winning stories of the 2017 St. Nicholas’ School Creative Writing Competition, in which over a hundred students from M1 to S6 accepted the challenge of making their voices as writers heard. We would like to congratulate them all on sharing their passion and we invite the reader to listen to some of those voices through the stories that follow. We would also like to thank the illustrators who contributed with their artwork, drawing the worlds in words their classmates envisioned. Find out what happens when the apparent calm of a return voyage to Earth is interrupted by a call from Command Centre; watch soldiers descend like dandelions on the Sahara desert; experience being in a dark cave that echoes with faraway voices; meet a family that plays a dangerous game and fights to survive; follow a private investigator who ventures into a mysterious house! We hope that this anthology will be enjoyed by all members of the school community and that it will inspire others to share their talents in the editions to come.
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DESTINATION: EARTH
A
soft alarm beeped to my left and Major Declan Delaney rushed to answer the call from the Command Center. A few days had passed and a two-man road trip back from the moon became stale after the initial chit-chat was over. A short
buzz filled the sound system and interference started clearing: “Apollo 15, this is Command speaking. Please report your status,” a matter-of-fact voice announced through the intercom. The blinking red light stopped and for a brief moment I could make out Earth from a thousand miles away. Never had I seen something so beautiful. Pressing my lips gently to the microphone, I responded: “Morning, Commander. We are just over 200 meters from leaving the Moon’s atmosphere. Should be a smooth ride from here on out,” I added with a “whoop” that Delaney did not care to join in on. “Copy that. You should be getting a slight turbulence in about four minutes. Command out,” the same voice replied, and with that the cold static returned.
Jazmín Ch. (S4A) Right on cue, the ship started rocking softly, which would be nothing compared to the reentry back on Earth. Trying to take my mind off that, I snapped off my seat and
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drifted upwards. Well, upwards was obviously relative since we were in space. I grinned at my clever self- remark and grabbed the handle on the side of my seat. Looking out of the window was made more interesting because of the lack of colour inside the ship, which contrasted with the vivid light-show that the European night landscape provided. I figured longing for a better ship would do no good and so decided to talk to Major Delaney. As I floated towards him, he was reading To Kill a Mocking Bird and the pages fluttered due to the zero gravity. How had he convinced the team to let him bring a book? I decided not to dwell on that and instead sat in front of him and casually cleared my throat. He looked up from his book and stared blankly at me, as if expecting me to blurt out a witty comment on his reading preferences. I had been such a pain in the neck to him the previous couple of weeks that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d held a grudge. “What do you want, Alan?” he groaned in an annoyed tone which was probably well deserved. “I just want to clear the waters so we can start clean again,” I explained with the friendliest smile I could muster. “And I brought you this as a peace offering,” I added, producing two packets of dehydrated beef from my pocket. But before he could roll his eyes a roaring alarm filled the cabin. Rushing to our designated posts, we checked the monitor to see the problem. A gaping fear crawled up my spine as the computer attributed the alarm to an oxygen leak and a malfunction in the radar system. Apparently a small rock had damaged the tanks and cables on the outside of the ship. With a journey of several days ahead of us and no way of contacting the ground, we would die before we reached our destination. The following minutes went by in a blur to me, as my mind was still grasping the magnitude of the situation. “Mayday! Mayday! Command, do you read me?” Declan was desperately trying to get the line back on, but, as our eyes met, we realised we were on our own. Setting our differences apart, we brainstormed ways of fixing the tanks, seeing, as Delaney calculated, that we would run out of oxygen in less than three hours. My mind was
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racing and I couldn’t think straight, so I looked out of the window to clear my head. Then it hit me as I rushed to Delaney’s side: “What if one of us were to go out and patch the problem right at the source?” As soon as the idea had left my mouth I realised how crazy it sounded. Delaney’s face went pale as I said this and he was quiet for a few seconds before answering matter-of-factly: “I was thinking the same thing. Although it’s extremely risky and given the rate of oxygen depletion, we would only have one shot,” he finished grimly. “And that’s why it has to be me,” adding this he took his space suit and started climbing into it. I tried to stop him, but it was too late. Without even saying goodbye, he closed the air-locked gate and launched himself into the dark abyss. “Declan!” I screamed, my throat raw while I searched for the internal intercom. Finally, I found it and, taking a breath, I called. ”Dude! Are you all right?” I was sweating and an icy chill climbed up my spine. “Hello? Adam, can you hear me?” Through the static I heard his hoarse voice reaching out: “I made it to the breach. I’m attempting to close it right now,” he sounded confident, too confident. Through the com I heard the clicking sound of the built-in welder. Wide-eyed, I looked at the screen to my right and could see the handle reaching 10% on the oxygen meter. As Declan shut the breach, the meter started going slowly upwards and for a brief moment I felt hope. But all of this changed when the oxygen pressure skyrocketed and the handle on the meter plummeted to 2%, which could only mean one thing: an oxygen release to prevent explosions. This would have worked out if it weren’t for the fact that Declan was handling a flame right beside the release. Before I could react to this, a deafening roar filled my ears, and through the window I could see my partner for the last time as fire engulfed him and the tanks that kept us alive. Knocked back by the blast, I landed on the back of my seat as I heard a crack and felt the searing pain coming from my leg. I couldn’t scream: the air was getting thinner by the minute and I realised I was about to draw my last breath. I knew this was the end and, with my remaining strength, I grabbed the intercom closing my eyes and fighting off tears, and uttered my very last words: “Command… Mission failed… Thank you for trying…” and my voice was lost in the cold, dark emptiness of space, never to be heard again. Federico G. K. (S6A)
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JazmĂn Ch. (S4A)
THE ENDLESS CYCLE
T
he deafening roar of the Spitfire’s engine was piercing his ears. And the constant rattle of the machine guns did not help. As his pilot attempted a backward loop to get rid of the German plane at their tail, he held his camera firmly with his right
hand, and he used the left hand to grab his seatbelt and prevent himself from falling into the void. In spite of the dizzy feeling in his stomach produced by the sudden manoeuvre, he was able to capture some of his best images yet: British aircraft emerging from the clouds, taking down the Nazi planes with spectacular explosions, all of it against the never-ending sea of sand below them. 7
He was about to zoom in to get footage of a Teutonic pilot descending slowly with his parachute, as one of the dandelions that constantly came down his garden back home in Newcastle, when the whole plane shook violently. It didn’t take long for his pilot and him to start going down, leaving a dark trail of fumes behind. Climbing back up short of one wing wouldn’t be easy.
Lucía S. (M3A)
That morning had started like any other morning in the six months that he had been living in Africa. He had woken up at 5 A.M., hit his head against the top of his tent, and prepared for another reconnaissance mission. He was a simple photographer who worked for a tabloid newspaper in his home town. But even photographers played a role in the war effort, and from one day to another he had stopped capturing pictures of politicians and began recording footage of Nazi bases in the middle of the Sahara desert. It hadn’t been easy to leave his wife behind two weeks after getting married. But the military posters in
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every corner and the King’s moving speeches had convinced him that it was his duty to serve the British Empire in any way he could. As he departed with his usual pilot, Steve, he was convinced that his job would be done swiftly and quickly, as it had been done for the past 180 days. But this time, the Germans were waiting for them. Their whole group had been ambushed and a bloody battle had exploded. At first, he was thrilled about it, since pictures of air battles made good money back in London. But then, heading down like an arrow towards the ground, he started to reconsider how he felt about the unexpected turn of events. The situation really did seem hopeless. Seldom had he felt the air rushing so strongly against his face. He knew that Steve was probably screaming in despair, but the noise didn’t allow him to hear that. He suddenly realized that he was screaming, too. The once obedient Spitfire was now spinning out of control, and seemed determined to smash them both against the sand like a pair of crushed moths. The photographer had long forgotten about his precious pictures. Finally, the plane dove into the sand almost vertically, producing an explosion of sand and debris. When he drifted back into consciousness, the first thing he did was to keep screaming. But now there was no one to hear. The pale blue sky, previously covered by battling metallic birds, was now completely clear. Confused, he looked around and found that the plane was now reduced to a pile of twisted and burnt metal and wires. All of these materials had taken the hit for him, and he felt deeply thankful for their final act of service. He looked over to see if Steve was still in his seat in one piece. But the sight of the corpse was deeply unsettling, and his eyeballs were compelled to glance off the pilot’s body automatically. He was now just by himself. Climbing out of his back seat, the photographer began looking in all directions. The yellow sand spanned for kilometres, fusing with the sky in the horizon. Finding a drop of water in that place would have been harder than spotting a German flag in all of England. Suddenly, desperation rushed into his mind like a whole lake breaking a dam. The plane had no supplies whatsoever (an effort to keep it light and fast), and his survival skills were rather poor. As his heartbeat intensified and his breathing accelerated, he began losing 9
control of his mind. But no: he wasn’t going to surrender so easily. He figured that his only chance was to walk in one direction, and hope to find some sign of humanity in that world dominated by nature’s ruthlessness. Before starting what may have been the most important walk of his life, he spotted the camera in the corner of his eye, resting intact on the sand. He decided he would take it with him, as a promise to himself: he would go back to London and sell those pictures. The photographer walked non-stop for hours. He climbed up and down the dunes, trying to prevent his feet from sinking into the sand. He used his hand to cover the blazing sun that weakened him a bit more every step he took. Little grains got into his irritated eyes, and the boiling hot sand seemed to be about to melt his feet. Suddenly, his wife came to his mind. She acted as a guiding star in the sky, pushing him to move on and not give up. But at the same time he discovered that after six months away from home, his memory wasn’t able to recall the sweet sound of her voice. This angered him. This whole situation angered him. Why should a simple photographer be condemned to fight against the desert on his own, because some old men in uniforms weren’t able to solve their differences without violence? Why should millions of young soldiers perish in battle, exterminated like rats, because a mad man with a crazy moustache had delusional dreams of dominating Europe? He wandered why so many Germans had fallen into this evil man’s net of deception and lies, and now were dying for him. But he figured that the British or the French, or the Americans were also cheering for their team in this war and voluntarily enlisting to become killing machines. An unsettling thought crossed his exhausted mind: what if it was not only the men in uniforms’ fault? The photographer stopped his internal philosophical discussion at that point, partly because he had no strength to continue and partly because he didn’t like the conclusions he had reached. The sun was starting to go down and he needed to concentrate on his march. If the freezing night in the desert was already unbearable when covered by blankets in his tent, sleeping with no protection wouldn’t be any nicer. The sun was now directly in front of him, staining the horizon with scarlet and orange lights. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the full moon rising in an already deep
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blue sky. The first cold breeze penetrated his shirt, sending a shiver down his spine. It seemed as if he would end up finding no shelter for the night. But when he was about to let go of the last drop of hope he had, he spotted a shining structure starting to appear over the horizon. The sight of something that resembled a human construction from the distance gave him renewed strength. His joints stopped aching, and his sunburnt skin no longer bothered him. The throat-burning thirst wasn’t an issue anymore, and he felt capable of running a whole marathon. Holding his camera, he darted towards that new hope enthusiastically. As he approached it, its shape became clearer: a group of small buildings and tents scattered over the place and a pole with the red, blue and white British flag waving at the top. He ran even faster, thinking about getting to see his wife’s face again, about being a national hero on the front page of every newspaper, about returning to his garden and the dandelions in Newcastle. Ecstatic, he finally arrived at the place. He raised his shaking hand and knocked on the door of the first of the small buildings. But a metallic noise instead of the wooden knocks that he was expecting woke him up from his dream. With his wide-open eyes, he realized that the buildings, the tents and the glorious flag had all sunk under the sand. The only thing left was a pile of twisted and burnt metals and wires. Nicolås H. (S5A)
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LucĂa S. (M3A)
THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL
I
t was all dark. The place was sticky, full of water. The space was small; I could barely fit in there. I couldn’t move my head or my arms. The only thing that I could move was my legs. I had my knees stuck to my chest. I tried to move them,
but the walls did not let me. The air was so dense I was uncomfortable. I pushed harder: now I moved, but in the same position. After a long time, a kind of water fell from above. It was black, with a sweet taste and it had bubbles in it. Seconds later, something yellow, with holes in it, fell from the same 12
place. I tried to eat it, but it was too hard for my type of digestion. My stomach suddenly started to hurt. That dark water was not good. In pain, I started to kick the walls: I could feel the place moving. I moved from one place to another, up and down, but I couldn’t stop it. Then I realized that I was causing the place to shake, so I stopped kicking. Seconds later it all calmed down. I could hear some voices outside. I did not understand them, but I think they were communicating with each other. I tried to imitate their sounds, but it was useless, my mouth did not open. Then I could see something opening on the floor, similar to a tunnel. Yes, a black tunnel! I could not believe what I was seeing! At the end of the tunnel it was not dark, there was a light! Anxiously, I pushed through this hole and tried to slide through the tunnel. Suddenly, two hands appeared from the light, trying to grab me. In panic, I quickly moved backwards. But this action only made things worse. My head was caught by a knotty, sticky rope. I couldn’t move. I heard someone screaming from outside, a female voice. I couldn’t escape. I was nervous, and minutes later I could briefly… breathe. A hole appeared in the wall as magic hands softly helped me, rescuing me from the rope and my own death. They took me from that place, and put me upside-down. I felt free. I could feel all my body, my arms, my head, my mouth, my legs. I screamed as loud as I could; tears fell from my eyes: I was crying. I could feel someone grabbing me, I looked at her. She was so beautiful! She was… my mother. Lucía D. (S4A)
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THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL
M
olly walks through a tunnel. An annoying, constant beep is heard. The noise is slow, but it keeps echoing through the place. Molly is barefoot and wearing a baggy white dress that doesn’t reach her knees. She doesn’t know
where she is going, but she keeps walking as if she knows the way. Everything she sees is white: the walls, the floor, her dress everything except for herself. She keeps walking and walking. The beep can still be heard loud and clear. As she walks color images can be seen on the walls, images of her life, images of her friends; in the park, at school, laughing, crying, hugging, living, playing, cooking, reading and living her life. Memories flash in her head as she remembers one time when she had fallen to the floor at school and she had to go home. Her mother had been really kind that day. She had prepared lasagna, her favorite meal, and had hugged and kissed her all afternoon. She also remembered the time her father had almost killed a boyfriend she had had during primary and when she’d cried because her best friend Vanessa had had to leave town when she was six. There was also that once when she was eight. She was celebrating her birthday party and the clown her parents had hired didn’t show up at her house, so her big brother, her grandfather and her cousin had put on costumes and made fifteen children laugh. They had had a great time. Molly keeps walking seeing nice images and hearing the annoying noise. Suddenly she stumbles and falls. The beep accelerates: she feels a little pain in her chest, but she stands up and continues walking faster. Images turn grey. The images aren’t happy anymore. She sees herself crying, suffering; angry, upset, sad. Her chest starts hurting more and she almost falls again. The beep is faster and faster and faster. She covers her ears while she runs desperately looking for a place to hide from the noise. Everything is gray now: the images, the floor, the walls … everything. She tries to focus on the good things, but they are instantly replaced by bad, cruel memories. All of a
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sudden a very bright white light appears at the end of the tunnel. It’s almost blindingly bright, but it represents peace for her in this sea of chaos. She runs faster and as the beep stops she enters the white light. No sound is heard in the hospital while the doctors cover the motionless body of a girl with a black cloth while her family cries by her side.
Josefina G. (M3B)
LAND OF GIANTS
"M
ove fast," Mom yelled. I was doing the best I could. It was my third time already doing what I liked to call the "grab and go" game. My family and I used to do it
every week.
We all lived inside a house, between walls, and we usually sneaked out to look for our food in the trash bin. I was just four months old and I already knew I was wiser than any of my eight brothers. They all said it was fun, but I did not think so. "Of course what we are doing is dangerous," they said. I certainly knew that, but I was also aware that there had been something unusual going on. The last times we had gone grab-and-going, I had noticed some weird things. But it was the last time we went out, when I saw him. He was watching from the window‌He was huge and scary and intimidating. He was talking on some sort of box he called "phone". And this was when things got creepy.
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"Rats!" he screamed. “Rats!" As from then, I decided to keep an eye on the giant bald monster. The first days, he just watched us. Then, he sprayed something all over the place. I didn’t know what it was, but it smelled pretty bad. Soon, my brothers discovered some small machine made of wood and metal! They thought the monster was trying to give us something to play with, but I wasn’t sure. Anyway, Mom and Dad would not believe me. They thought I was just being paranoid. But I wasn’t. Some days had passed when my Dad ate a bitten apple and started feeling sick. His fur got lighter and lighter, his hair thinner and thinner until it gradually fell off. Sharp pains in his stomach immobilised him.It was when he died that I really panicked. The giant obviously did not like us: he wanted to destroy us. Now aware of the giant´s intention, I watched him even more closely. Everybody believed me at this point, but without Dad, we did not know what to do. He was the leader, the smart one, and now he was dead. Few days had gone by before the creature had another talk on the phone. “Rats, rats!” he screamed once more. I did not wait this time. We had to do something. The next day, we started evacuating the place. But the giant proved to be smarter than us. That same day, three more giants marched into the house. I hoped everything was just a nightmare, but it wasn’t. Frantically, we scuttled to the door. It was locked. Without second thoughts, we darted towards the windows. They were boarded up. The giants were wearing masks, and advanced steadily carrying heavy equipment; they sprayed a poisonous liquid all over the place. Some of my brothers were already suffocating! I had to run fast. My Mom followed me, but there were traps all over the place and she got caught in one. I ran to her rescue, but it was too late. One of the giants had stepped on her, right in front of me. I stood petrified, shocked. I couldn’t believe my eyes. 16
I was hopeless then. I did not want to run for my life anymore. I just took a deep breath; the deadly substance invaded my body. And I waited for my silent death. After all, the world belonged to the enemy; it was the land of giants. Milena A. (M2B)
Oriana L. (S4A)
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MYSTERY
N
orman Reedus was a private investigator who was assigned to go to the crime scene where a pregnant woman had been murdered. The tragic event took place in a big house in the middle of the forest. It was September 17th when he went
to that scary house. He went there by car. There were the tallest trees he had ever seen. Slowly, he opened the door of his vehicle and got out; in front of him, the abandoned house. The place was very quiet; the only noise you could hear was the cracking noise of the leaves under his footsteps. He kept going. There was blood on the doorstep; carefully, the man opened the heavy door. Without looking much, he rushed to the first room upstairs as in that room the cops had found the victim. A few minutes later, he had already found two clues: a bracelet and a gun. The pistol was on the floor very near where they said the victim was. Norman went down the stairs and tried to go out. Surprisingly, the door was locked. He was terrified. When Norman calmed down he thought that maybe the backdoor was open, so he knew he had to walk through the kitchen, the living room and the bathroom. He started walking; Norman didn't want to stay there any longer than he had to. When he got into the kitchen he was pleased to see it was a small room. On his first step, a drawer opened violently. Our protagonist was terrified. He ran, but the fridge fell right in front of him. The pantry opened, the glasses fell on the floor, the lights of the house broke. Norman was desperate. Quickly, he jumped over the fridge and opened the door and got to an even scarier place, the living room. It was full of dolls made of white pottery. Slowly, he kept going. The dolls were everywhere: all over the sofa, on the table, on the book shelves. Every step he made, he would look backwards. That’s how he realized they were looking at him, with their
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white, smiling faces. Every time he closed his eyes, the scary toys were closer. Norman was walking, because he thought that if he ran, the dolls would too, so he tried not to look backwards until he reached the toilet door; this one was locked too. Shaking, he turned around. The dolls were almost touching him. Today, four years after this event, Norman is still missing, but we do know a fact: no one has ever had the guts to enter that house again. Santiago N. (M1B)
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2017
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