STORY-WRITING SHOWCASE
Welcome to the Online Showcase of Wakakirri Story-Writing!
What is Story-Writing?
A short story competition open to all students in Australia. Maximum of 500 words for primary school students and 1000 words for secondary students.
If you would like to know more about Wakakirri Story-Writing, you can read all the rules and details here.
2007 Story-Writing Finalists and Winners
Below you will find a list of all primary and secondary finalists. You can read the stories by clicking on the story title.
Primary Finalists & Winners
2007 Story-Writing winners (L-R) Jasmine Zamprogno, Dominique Gordon & Abigail Walker-Jacobs
St Francis Xavier’s Primary School, Cairns (QLD) – ‘Believe’ by Jasmine Zamprogno - First Place and Winner of the Most Creative Use of the Signature Item Award
Penola Primary School (SA) – ‘Open Both Eyes’ by Dominique Gordon - Second Place Winner
St Andrew’s Anglican College, Peregian Springs (QLD) – ‘The Jackal’s Ring’ by Abigail Walker-Jacobs - Third Place Winner
Saint Davids Parish School, Gulfview Heights (SA) – ‘Warmth Within’ by Kimberley Verrall - Winner of the Writing Award
Tucker-Road Bentleigh Primary School, Moorabbin (VIC) – ‘The War Of The Supermarket’ by Aaron Challis - Winner of the Originality Award
Eastwood Heights Primary School (NSW) – ‘Rwanda’ by Prakash Dubey
St Francis Xavier’s Primary School, Cairns (QLD) – ‘The Lost Paper’ by Caitlin Mulligan
School of the Air Port Augusta (SA) – ‘A Day in the Life of Jeans, Girl, Helmet and Other Friends’ by Michelle Henery
Toowoomba Christian College (QLD) – ‘Jungle Adventure’ by Angela Priebbenow
Warrnambool Primary School (VIC) – ‘The Witch Next Door’ by Kiara Powell
Secondary Finalists & Winners
2007 Story-Writing winners (L-R) Elaine Andres, Alexandra Ross & Adam Brownstein
Colac High School (VIC) – ‘Metal Bars’ by Elaine Andres - First Place Winner and Winner of the Writing Award
Brigidine College St Ives (NSW) – ‘Go Away!’ by Alexandra Ross - Second Place Winner and Winner of the Originality Award
Wangaratta High School (VIC) – ‘Trained For Terror’ by Adam Brownstein - Third Place Winner and Winner of the Most Creative Use of the Signature Item Award
Geraldton Grammar School (WA) – ‘Heavenly Peaches’ by Emily Webb-Smith
Ivanhoe Grammar School (VIC) – ‘Air’ by Avril Good
Ivanhoe Grammar School (VIC) – ‘Will I Won’t I’ by Alice Boér-Endacott
Mazenod College, Mulgrave (VIC) – ‘Ring Ring’ by Edward Williams
Orara High School, Coffs Harbour (NSW) – ‘Through The Looking Glass’ by Charlotte Grech-Madden
Quirindi High School (NSW) – ‘The Honeymoon Kids’ by Megan Oliver
Quirindi High School – (NSW) ‘Live Another Day’ by Casey Thompson
Eastwood Heights Primary School (NSW)
‘Rwanda’ By Prakash Dubey (year 6)
The daily African misery is the price of freedom in the country of Rwanda. The shaking and despair of the fear is always felt day and night. The poorly funded infrastructure crumbles in the hot dusty sandstorm. Mud shackled homes crack like a super earthquake. A child of a nation…is all but forgotten.
The answer could be on an island on lake Kivu. This is a place hard for someone to live. Two borders at war like brothers…two countries on a divided lake. The fragile bridge is weak, inhuman and very violet. That is until a little boy and his weight of a nation. Botmalide has starvation in his stomach, yet his sprit is as sweet as candy in a confectionery shop. The scar in his mind is as black as his skin. Bleached skin from dehydration. Low in iron yet Botmalide’s fist is as strong as hard wood.
There was not a doctor left. However, one day, as the grey sunrise rose bleakly into a civil war, the food Botmalide ate contained just flour and sugar mixed with water. The serving created chest pains rife with fear and anger. Despite that, he wasted no time to explore the country. He left his substandard home for a boat ride to the capital of the divided country… Kigali.
On the boat ride, the effect of the civil war began to tell a new story. The armed guards on the water, the physical decay of buildings was very common… it was a pitiful sight. As he left the ferry, Botmalide was confronted by a threat. The black sight rose upon him, slowly showing the terror and fear. Then a group of policemen armed with batons chased him. Panic grew above Botmalide but he couldn’t do anything but hope for a miracle. Suddenly Botmalide was…. caught like a hot pancake. He was silenced…. for no reason at all. He woke up several days later. He still had the reminder about that terrible day, one Botmalide shall never forget.
The lonely fear was sharp as a scientist’s brain yet he was isolated. How come he managed to escape from the van? But that was the least of his worries. He was facing a place…. damaged by the conditions. Hot, aground desert filled with fine sand and a scary truth. He was verging on living on a refugee camp. A cramped tent city filled with the terror of the sickness, the hunger and starvation because of the changes of the hot climate. Starvation took its grip on Botmalide’s mental ability, making suffering light work for him. In the end, that was the last straw. Botmalide soon disappeared into the dark grey and bleak background. Botmalide was simply silenced in every form available. Today that truth still lives. The suffering of the poor and the weak is still felt in some refugee camp… a truth the world isn’t prepared to listen to.
Penola Primary School (SA)
OPEN BOTH EYES By Dominique Gordon (11 years)
I open one eye. A kookaburra is calling outside. I can hear Bruce scratching. It must be almost dawn, and I’m ready for anything the day has prepared for me. Walking out onto the veranda, I can see all the world. Uncleared bush stretches out to the horizon, unbroken by roads or paddocks. The sky is just beginning to show colour, and the early-morning wind whips my bare ankles and face. The world is a glorious place.
The slow wombat waddles out of the scrub. He has a drunken appearance, and nuzzles my toes for food. Laughing, I reach down and give him a handful. He waddles off again, without a backwards glance. Bruce always comes for breakfast. Every morning.
I dawdle back inside and eat my toast. No-one else in the house is awake yet, and won’t be for a while, so I move into my bedroom to read. As I look out the large curtainless window at the priceless scene, I begin to sense something abnormal; a post, maybe a tree stump, but something’s missing. My sister awakens, and I push the notion from my mind.
I stand at the bus stop, waiting for the warm vehicle full of laughing, talkative children to arrive. On one side of the shelter is my home, and literally at its back door, the serenity of the bush; on the other, the town, complete with bright lights, oblivious people and roaring trucks. Even in my thick seniors’ windcheater, beanie and scarf, the coldness eats away at me. My little sister complains and wails, but no ears are listening. I move towards the other travelers in the shed for their insignificant warmth, and the stump from this morning comes into view, as well as others identical. I gasp; they are not tree stumps, but fence posts, dividing this picturesque landscape into tiny blocks for townies to rip apart until there’s nothing left.
The bus finally turns up, and as we move off, a great, ugly plastic sign with ‘HALF ACRE OF PARADISE’ printed in bright red letters attached to the new front fence of a bush block horrifies me. For me, it is the end of the world.
The last star is fading from the sky. It appears almost red, and doesn’t twinkle like my sister thinks stars should. I look sadly out at the blank squares of land and wish there was something I could have done. In the distance the sound of a loud motor reaches me, and I feel even more distressed. I suddenly stop. Bruce is nowhere to be seen. I could call out his name, sprinkle pellets on the ground, anything to make him come, but I know he hasn’t just wandered off. He always came for breakfast.
I’ve finally opened both eyes, but it’s too late now.
Saint Davids Parish School, Gulfview Heights (SA)
‘Warmth Within’ By Kimberley Verrall (12 years)
“That’s all.” The words undulated through the crowd. “No more firewood, no more firewood!” As if mesmerized, the crowd gazed at the bright embers, which already, it seemed to their terrified eyes, was dwindling and vanishing before them.
As the heat of the fire faded, the people found comfort under the shelter of the large oak tree, and sought the warmth of each other’s bodies as they had done in the night before. Here in the grey half-light they felt the adjacent chill press in on them, and embezzle the warmth from their fingers and toes. They began to acknowledge now that it really was going to happen, that they were living through their last few hours. The cold didn’t hurt them, it made them lethargic. They knew that once they surrendered to the creeping drowsiness, they would not arouse again.
In the shadowy light they began to tell each other things they had never said before; things that had long weighed on their minds. They were like travelers who came to a broad river, and knew they must enter the rivulet and one by one they lay down their possessions, so that they could swim unburdened to the other side.
Ella finished her conversation solemnly before deciding it was better to get it over and done with, rather than dwindle in the cold hard world waiting to fall into death’s depths. She kissed her fathers face several times before quickly, slipping out of his arms, into the descending snow.
She walked and walked, plunging her legs into the deep snow, moving rapidly, feeble and frozen as she was. When the veil of snow surrounded her on all sides and she could no longer see the encampment, she came to a stop.
The snow covered her legs up to her knees. She hugged her chest, and let herself fall, sinking downwards into the snow, until her numb knees struck the solid ground beneath. There she stayed, kneeling, the bitter cold piercing her to the core.
She got up wanting to get away. Staggering, seeing nothing, she lurched onwards, dragging her legs through the endless blizzard. Then her feet became buoyant, and it seemed to her she was entering a cloud. The snow stopped falling and the bitter cold receded. Have I died? She thought. Is this the place you go when you die? Perplexed and frightened, she walked on into ever-deepening cloud, and stopped once more. Here, as she had done before, she sank to her knees – and found the ground was bare of snow.
She felt giddy. She put her hands out to support herself, just in time, as she collapsed forward. A tingle ran up her arms. She shuddered and her dazed brain stirred, recognizing a strange sensation. She felt the rocky ground with her hands. What am I feeling? The cold made her senses sluggish. She shook herself.
Hardness? Smoothness?
Warmth!
There was hope.
St Andrew’s Anglican College, Peregian Springs (QLD)
The Jackal’s Ring By Abigail Walker-Jacobs (11 years)
The golden light dappled as the sun shone on her fur. The breeze swayed as it carried something foreign to the Jackal’s nose, this, would forever change her life. A melancholy sound filled her ears, the cry of a boar. She continued to blend with the shadows silently and crouched to a level where she could peer under the leaves of a tree. To the world she was invisible
Her head lifted and she raised her nose to catch the scent of the breeze. She paced around the tree, her shoulder blades constantly rising and falling, her fur dipping in and out of the sunlight, then into the shade. She raised her head higher to listen to the cry that she had heard before. She strained her ears and could make out the sound of footsteps on leaves. These footsteps did not relate to any jungle animal, these footsteps were of man. Her instincts were set on edge by the mysterious happenings, they cried out not to approach what was new to her. A shuffle was all she could make out, then a grunt, and again another cry. The Jackal lifted herself as the breeze flowed airily throughout the tree, blood. From what she could smell the boar was dead.
Soon enough she rested and was woken in the night by smoke rising through the air. The smoke didn’t worry her, she curiously inhaled the scent, it was of man mingled with seared flesh of boar. She moved forth toward the smoke. Her stomach rumbled eagerly, she had been without food for 6 days. The decision was hastily dealt with, now was time to feed.
The wind raced through the Jackal’s matted fur as she ran, anxious to reach her destination. She took in her surroundings; the viewings were set on edge by her nerves, something didn’t feel right but she put it aside.
Violent creatures surrounded her, tall, with little fur, faces abundant with black markings. The aliens battled her down to the floor and soon everything to the Jackal became distant. The throb in her head developed into a placid darkness.
The Jackal was flushed in deep cool water; startled, she rose and a young girl stumbled backwards, trembling, not sure if befriending a Jackal was a good idea. The Jackal was wary of the girl, but the girl seemed to mean well.
Days passed and the Jackal eventually trusted the girl, though memories of the forest taunted the Jackal’s melancholy soul. She couldn’t bear her torn heart and set off during the night toward home, at which point she was found by the lone girl. The girl wept at the Jackal’s dishonesty but in her heart she knew the Jackal was wild and made the decision to let her companion depart. The girl felt their partnership simply must last. A symbol was drawn on the Jackal’s fur with blue paint; a symbol simple in its message of courage and friendship – a ring.
St Francis Xavier’s Primary School, Cairns (QLD)
The Lost Paper By Caitlin Mulligan (12 years)
Once upon a time in a faraway world called Earth there lived Fred. He was a cool piece of gladwrap with a lot of attitude. He was having the time of his life until…………Freddy came along. He wasn’t an ordinary kid, he was very naughty. One day Freddy was walking to school with a bunch of friends. He got a bit hungry so he took Fred off his sandwich. Like every kid does, Freddy tried to shoot Fred into the bin but he missed. He was going to pick him up but he didn’t. And that’s when the problems started!
Fred was always a spoilt piece of gladwrap. He always had all of the new toys and all of the new clothes. But when he realised that he was touching the gutter, he screamed so loud that all of the papers in the land could hear! Then it got worse he started singing that song “ I’m all alone, there’s no one here beside me.” Then Fred stopped and saw the bin. He could hear all of the other papers in the bin having a big party. Fred started to get angry and very frustrated! So he screamed one more time but this time it was even louder then before!
Fred decided that he had to get into the bin one way or another. So he started to try and climb the bin but of course that didn’t work because gladwrap people don’t have strong muscles. So he went and got a stick and tried to pole vault into the bin (I know, what a stupid idea) but of course that didn’t work! At last he thought that he had solved it, he thought that he could get into the bin with this idea. The idea was to beg the humans that were walking past to pick him up and put him in the bin very gently but of course that didn’t work because everyone knows that English is way different to gladwrap language! At last Fred gave up but out of the blue this nice little boy called Billy picked up the poor distressed little piece of gladwrap and put him into the bin. Fred was so shocked that someone on Earth was actually nice enough to pick him up when no one else would.
Fred was really happy to be in the lovely, cosy bin with all of his little paper buddies. After a long and tiring 3 weeks, the garbage man finally came and took all of the paper scraps and all of the gladwrap out of the bin. All of the other papers as well as Fred were so happy to be actually moving. Fred was once again having the best time of his life. But sadly what Fred didn’t realise was that he still had to go to the dump but that’s a whole different story!
St Francis Xavier’s Primary School, Cairns (QLD)
‘Believe’ By Jasmine Zamprogno (12 years)
I was sick of explorers. This was probably the sixth weekend in a row that we had played it and by now there was no more forest to explore. But try telling that to Courtney.
"Tread with caution," she whispered, "We are entering unknown territory."
"Unknown territory?" I scoffed, "How many times do I have to tell you I've been here before!"
"That's because your house backs onto this forest and-"
"-but you're here nearly every weekend. And anyway, aren't you getting a bit.... Courtney?" I looked back over my shoulder; Courtney was standing still, staring off into the distance.
"Courtney? Come in Courtney!"
"Look." Her voice sounded sad.
I followed Courtney's finger. It was pointing at a tree, I think. But there was nothing special about it.
"Yeah? What's so great about-"
"Look closely."
That's when I noticed what Courtney was going on about. Oh no. Oh please no. It can't be...
I raced up to the tree. The tall majestic tree, king of the forest. But there, on the trunk was a horrible ugly scar. A ring of red paint. Red like blood. Our beautiful tree standing like a wounded soldier dying of a terrible battle wound. It looked so....wrong – but it wasn’t the only one.
“They’re going to cut down the forest,” I said with tears in my eyes.
“We can’t let it happen!” Courtney cried, “We should tell your parents, they can...” she trailed off seeing the look on my face.
“No. Adults created this mess. We’re going to fix it.” I looked around slowly. Staring back at me was the sign saying when the forest was to be bulldozed. Amazingly, I smiled
“Just go in and give us the all clear, Steve,” Tom called from the seat of the bulldozer.
“Sure thing mate.” Steve turned and began picking his way through the forest, humming to himself.
“Save our forest, save our trees!” A chorus of voices sounded through the forest.
“What?” said Steve, turning around in surprise.
“Leave our trees alone! Keep them tall don’t make them fall!”
Steve yelped and ducked back behind a tree. Slowly, hesitantly, he walked in the direction of the voices. He stepped out into a clearing where the first trees were supposed to be cut. He gasped. Before him was a sea of children holding banners and signs. They were still chanting. “Don’t cut them down. DON’T CUT THEM DOWN!”
A short girl standing near the front was the first to notice him. She called for silence and stepped forward. “Please,” she said quietly but clearly, “Don’t cut this forest down. This is my home. Don’t take that away from me. From us.”
Steve stood, stunned. In the distance he heard Tom’s voice.
“Everything all right in there mate?”
“Ah...um... Tom?” Steve called back. “I think you’d better come and see this!”
School of the Air Port Augusta (SA)
‘A Day in the Life of Jeans, Girl, Helmet and Other Friends By Michelle Henery (13 years)
Darkness. I can feel my friends underneath me. Waiting. The hours go past and still no light. Why can’t jeans sleep? It would be easier than waiting through endless hours in the drawer. The shorts are on the left, trackies in the middle and us jeans on the right. T-shirts were in the drawer above. That Girl is very organised.
Waiting. I wonder if it will be cold enough when it gets light for a pair of warm, comfy jeans? Darkness. Light! Light was coming through the window at last! A few more hours and one of us will be lucky enough to escape the drawer for a whole day. A nice thought but like I said, you have to be lucky.
And lucky I am! The Girl and I have breakfast and are now on the way to see the horses. Smelly, pooping things they are but she seems to like them. We give them all a pat and some hay. Dropping one biscuit into each bin we walk down the aisle, feeding horses. We brush down one horse while it finishes eating and put on Saddle and Bridle before leading it out to a post. Then we go to get Helmet.
“Hi Helmet,” I call. “Hey Jeans,” he calls back. He is a brand new sparkling white Helmet and the Girl is proud of him. She puts him on her head and goes back out to the horse. I stretch as far as I can while she springs onto the horse and settles into the comfy-ness of the saddle. We do the usual routine, checking the fences and troughs and dams.
We ride back to the house. I love this sheep station. The big blue sky, the soft green grass. This is nothing like the ugly city where I was made, with concrete paths and smog filling the skies. Cities wreck the world, I reckon. Taking off Saddle and Bridle, we let the horse loose into the paddock.
Back to the house we settle at the desk for school. Maths, English and other things go past and then it is time for her lesson on the computer. Saying hello to her friends the Girl listens to her teacher. It is Maths again. No wonder really. Mr Teacher is really into it and makes it easier to understand most things. What?!?! Lesson over already? They seem to be getting shorter and shorter. Lunch goes past and we watch the clock ‘til 3:00. We pack up books and things and Supervisor lets us leave.
What now? Creek or Stable? Apparently creek as the Girl whistles for the dogs and we walk to the creek. The afternoon flies and we come back to the stables to feed the horses again and go into the house for tea. Sometime after tea we go to our room and the girl puts me into the washing basket where I await the lovely rolling sensation of being washed.
Toowoomba Christian College (QLD)
Jungle Adventure By Angela Priebbenow
The darkness lay all around me, like a thick blanket of fog. Common sense told me that I was alone, for my five senses all sent the same message to my brain - nothing. However, something inside me - premonition, perhaps - told me that all was not well; somehow my senses must be lying. I took a few steps forward, jumping at the crack of a stick beneath my feet. At the same moment, my hand brushed against something slimy and wet. It was all I could do to smother the scream which came hurtling up my throat. It was then that I realized that the slimy thing was an old rotten tree. As I grasped its trunk for comfort, visions of the past week rushed through my mind. The exultation of finishing a last exam in linguistics, the ticket to this lonely area of Brazil, the nervousness I had felt in speaking the strange language of the natives...
My thoughts were interrupted by the crack of a twig, not more than three metres away. Somehow I felt surrounded by something - but what? How foolish had I been to venture out into the jungle in the late evening! More foolish still had I been to get lost out here.
Suddenly, something grabbed my arm in an iron grip. In terror, I brought my stick down hard on whatever the thing was. There was an agonized yell and then it was silent. I turned to flee, only to find myself surrounded by small, fiery lights, seeming to come closer, closer, closer...
There was another crack of a stick behind me, and as I turned, something heavy fell upon my head, and everything disappeared in unconsciousness.
I awoke to find light streaming down upon me. My head felt as though it was being beaten like the drums of the natives, and I felt very sick indeed. I forced myself to stand to my feet. Beside me was a dead monkey, obviously killed by the blow I had given it the night before. My stomach churned to think that I had given such an innocent creature such a harsh death. He had probably been as much afraid as 1 had been. Beside him I noticed a large broken stick. As I realised what had happened, I would have laughed, had my head not been throbbing so painfully.
In my fear, I had shaken the tree - which was dead and rotting - rather hard. This vigorous shaking had inevitably caused the top of the tree to break free, careening down upon my head and knocking me out! So much for my terror of painted naked cannibals! My only enemies had been a rotten tree and a frightened monkey. I also found that I wasn't actually that far from the village, hence the smaller fiery lights which surrounded me.
With a hearty new adventure to tell my native friends, I set off back to the village, my head still throbbing and my heart laughing.
Tucker-Road Bentleigh Primary School, Moorabbin (VIC)
‘The War of the Supermarket’ By Aaron Challis (year 5)
“Not again,” said Tomato. “That’s another fresh batch of organic food wasted.” For a long time, all organic food had been poisoned, radiated and even had their prices changed! This was all an egg’s plan who was better referred to as Egg.
“I don’t think we’ll ever beat the inorganics.” said Carrot. “Our rebellion just isn’t as big as everything else”.
“Can you hear that Carrot? That sounds like a troop of Sugar Jars. We’d better be careful.” Tomato and Carrot silently climbed up a rack of rotting apples. Finally Carrot could hear what Tomato heard first. They could now see a whole army of Sugar Jars and more.
“There must be more than 100,” whispered Carrot. “Look who's leading them.” Carrot pointed at an egg. “Great Scott!” exclaimed Tomato. “It’s not just an egg. It is Egg.” There before Carrot and Tomato were 100 Sugar Jars, (the most terrible and sweet troops of all inorganics) 30 Chocolate Santa's (the most evil troops of all time) 10 Banana Peels (banana skins mutated into doing slavery) and they were all controlled by Egg!
Suddenly Carrot lost his footing and fell down accidentally bringing Tomato with him. They were now surrounded by Egg’s cruelest army.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here. My old enemy. Tomato, leader of the organic rebellion, and Carrot, you too?” Egg’s voice sounded from behind them. They slowly turned around and there was Egg. Suddenly a kettle on a high shelf boiled, making a high pitched whistle causing it to topple over. Boiling water came tumbling down . It splashed on everyone except Tomato and Carrot. The boiling water dissolved the sugar in the Sugar Jars killing them, melted away the Chocolate Santas which made a brown mush, rotted away the Banana Peels never to be seen again, and…….
“Look at Egg!” exclaimed Carrot pointing at the evil genius. “He’s being boiled. That’s his weakness, boiling water. Of course!”
Pain, agony, dying. These were just a few of the couple hundred thoughts running through Egg’s mind. Unfortunately writing all of these thoughts could take a while so I’ve left it at three.
“Do you know what this means Carrot. Egg’s boiled. The rebellion has won. History has been made in front of our very own eyes. All of Egg’s followers have nowhere to go.” These words were always what Tomato wanted to say without lying and now he had. After this happened, all humans were happy for prices had dramatically dropped and their food tasted much better. This was so until………. find out what happens next time.
Warrnambool Primary School (VIC)
The Witch Next Door By Kiara Powell (12 years)
On Tuesday the 28th of May a very strange lady moved into the house next door. Now there are a few reasons my sister Ella and I thought she was so strange.
1: The house she moved into is HAUNTED.
2: She always dresses in Black and she wears a black pointed hat.
3: She told my parents to keep Ella and I away from her house because she hates, yes HATES children.
4: Her last name is Potions.
On Wednesday Ella and I decided to play basketball and something terrible happened. I accidentally threw the basketball over the fence and guess whose fence it was? Old Miss Potions. I only had one choice, I had to get that ball. I decided that I would sneak over the fence while Ella distracted her.
On my way over to Miss Potion’s I tripped on the garbage bin and tipped it over. Miss Potions came running out with a stick in the shape of a wand, yes WAND! Miss Potions started shaking the wand at me and screamed, “How dare you come onto my property. I shall be speaking to your parents Charlotte-Mae Rose Johansson” I was really scared now because no one ever calls me by my full name and she looked really angry. Miss Potions grabbed me by the arm and dragged me over to my house.
When my parents opened the door and saw me standing there with Miss Potions, they did not look happy. “Good evening Elaine, How can we help you?” my mum said.
“I would like to talk to you about Charlotte-Mae Rose,” replied Miss Elaine Potions. My parents were talking to Elaine for ages. Once they were done they called me into the Kitchen and mum said, “Now Charlotte, Miss Potions and I have discussed what you have done today and have agreed on your punishment, you are going to clean up the mess you made and you will be doing chores for Elaine for the rest of the week”.
So for the rest of the week I had to clean up around Miss Potions House.
There is one thing that I have to tell all of you. On Saturday I had to clean inside, yes INSIDE Miss Potions House and I discovered something about Elaine. I discovered that she isn’t actually as strange as I first thought. Elaine is actually a very nice lady. Elaine said that the reason that she dresses in black is because she is in mourning (but I don’t know what that means) and the reason she doesn’t like kids is because a group of teenagers wrecked her garden. Miss Potions also said that the reason she bought her house is because it was really cheap and her last name is actually Pationes not Potions but everyone gets it mucked up. To this day I still visit Miss Pationes. Ella and I love being with her and even though she looks like a witch, I like her.
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