STORY-WRITING SHOWCASE
Welcome to the Online Showcase of Secondary 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 the secondary finalists. You can read the stories by clicking on the story title.
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
Brigidine College St Ives (NSW)
‘Go Away!’ by Alexandra Ross (15 years)
Wizz-bang ZIP, flit-flat-fluttery-buttery BUTTERFLY!!!
Butterfly? Butter… FLY!
Now? No… NOW! Jump! (gasp, heart stops, pound pound pound, push go, go UP, yes, upupup!!!) leeeeaaaap…
Splash!
Swimswimswim, I swim, swim, swim, along and flit, flit, flit, just push and swerve and glide then gogogo, you’re nearly there!
Nearly where? Who cares! Just get there, first!
Silver to the left of me, silver to the right. Fish above and fish beneath and I just go!go!go! Look out below! Look out above!
And who cares where you are cause it’s where you’re going that counts!
Where? Who cares! Just go,go,go!
And can anyone remember why it’s this way? Or why we’re together? Or why we’re apart?
Why do we swim (oh swimswimswim!)
What are we doing?
Who am I? Who are you? And where are we going? Who cares!
Silver to the left of me, silver to the right, then upupup they go, too early!
Out of time, out of step, out of place. Too early!
Where are they? Where are we? Who are you?
Go!Go!Go! No time to think! They’re coming! Who? Who’s coming? They are! They’re here to get you! Get you? Get me! They’re here to get me!!
Go! Go! Go!
Silver here, silver there… silver silver silver, red, silver. Red? No! no, no more red! Not the red, go back, go back! Swim! Swim!
They’re here! They’re here to get me! Get you! Get us! Get out!!!
Gone…
Gone, gone, gone…
And now the silver is back on my left, back on my right, above and below, and swim up, up, up and jump (soar, fly, sing, gasp, waterwaterwater) back doooown…
Back home, the water is sweet. The water, my home, my water!
Home-hi-hot-hit-to-to-to. To where? To home!
But not when they’re here…
Who? Them! Who’s them? Who cares! Just swim, swim, swim!
You are free! Free, free, free! So swim!
I am a fish, one, two, three, jump! Fish, fish, water! I am the water! I surge, I splash, I jump (jump high, now, go, go, go!)
I follow the tides, I follow the food!
The food! The food! Look, the food! No, that’s the silver… The silver! (above, below, beside) Is the silver food?
Do I eat the silver? Who eats the silver? Do you eat the silver?
The silver is…
Jump again! Out of water, feel the breeze, feel the power, feel the glory of…
Splash!
Back to the water, and keep swimming, because you don’t want to be food.
Food? Where’s the food?
Not the silver, no, not the silver. Only they take the silver.
They take the silver? No! But I am the silver! They’re here to take me! They’re here! Go! Move! Swim! Fly! Go, go, go! They’re here to take the silver!
Why do they want the silver? No time! Who cares! THEY’RE HERE!
Red, red, red, red! No, no, no! Give me silver! Where’s the silver? No! The silver’s gone!
No, no, no!
I need silver! I am silver! Where am I? Where is me? I need me! I am the silver!
Who else will be silver without me?
Only silver….
The red bleaches, destroys, drowns.
No, not the only one! There has to be more!
Where’s the silver? Where are you? Where am I?
Mustn’t forget, mustn’t forget, just swim, swim, swim for the silver!
The silver? What silver? Where’s the silver? Why silver? Silver, silver, silver, so swimswimswim without it, cause who knows what silver is!
Who cares! Just go, go, go. You’re nearly there now! Swim, swipe, swat, switataty-to-toe-tum- time to jump! JUMP!
No, not jump, swim, swim, swim! SWIM!!!
And they’re behind you. Yes, they’re behind you. BEHIND YOU, but who are they? What are they doing?
Are they food? Oooh, food…
Can’t remember, can’t remember, need my silver. My silver is my family.
My family? What’s my family? The silver! I need my silver!
STOP TAKING MY SILVER!
Because now I’m the only one left…
Silver, silver, silver…
Droooowning, not in water. Where’s my water. Am I flying? Flying!
Swim, swim, swim and JUMP!!! No, not that way… Why can’t I jump? Where’s the soaring? Where’s the flying? Where’s the freedom to jump?!
I can’t fly!
I have no wings. Wings? Yes, wings.
I have no wings to fly.
And now the red is back.
No, no, no, not the red! I want the silver!
But the silver’s on my back. They can see the silver too. They want the silver. They want the silver? The silver is me! They want me!
All I want is food. Food, food, food. And silver.
Give me back my silver!
I want silver, they are my family. They help me find food! Are they finding you food, too? Come find food with me!
No, no, no… I am the food! They want my silver! They want me!
Can’t swim, can’t fly, can’t sing, soar, slice the water.
The water? What water? Where’s my water?
Gone, now…
The water…
And all I want is the silver, and my water.
But they want the silver too.
There’s not enough silver for you! There’s too much red!
Go, go, go…
Go away! No more time to jump, now…
No, no, no time…
The water is freedom.
The water…
Freedom.
I want my freedom…
But it’s gone now…
You took my freedom!
You took my water!
You took all the silver!
Just go, go, go
Colac High School (VIC)
‘Metal Bars’ by Elaine Andres (year 9)
I entered my doom tightly gripping my mothers arm, begging her not to go through with it, pleading that she would show me mercy, but she merely ignored me and checked me in.
She was my mother and she didn’t care. She just gave me a ‘be brave,’ smile and checked me in. Well, she can forget a mother’s day present this year, I might not even get her a birthday present either. Then she’ll be sorry.
Mum sat down in the comfortable chair as I paced back and fourth like a wild animal in a cage. How could she do this to me? It wasn’t my fault, the crime I’d committed, it was partly her fault and now I was the one who was going to suffer.
They’d already taken the photos of me, they’d even asked me to smile. To smile! To them it was all just a joke. Well, I wasn’t laughing.
I heard the telephone ring and I looked up with hope in my eyes. Maybe that was my bail call. The call that would tell me that I didn’t have to be here. That I could leave and get on with my life. But it was probably too much to hope for. I’d never had much luck, but maybe this would be the day. The ringing of the phone ceased as the lady picked it up.
I could feel the sweat, beading across my back as my breathing quickened. Was this it? Could this be my ticket out of this hell that I was trapped in? I watched as the lady put the phone down after having a quiet chat, before she returned to her paperwork.
It was, as I feared, too much to hope for. I now needed a back-up plan, it was my last chance of escaping. Should I ask to go to the toilet? No, mum would see right past the plan and force me to stay. If I’d drawn that plan on a piece of paper, it would be in the bin right now. What other plans could I consider in such a short period of time? I wasn’t a genius, well not yet anyway.
Perhaps if I made a run for the door… but it was too late, the lady called my name, making me shrink back in terror. This was it and with that my mum grabbed my arm and led me into the room I liked to call the torture chamber. She didn’t even care, she just dragged me into the room. I would have gone down kicking and screaming like any sane kid my age but I was too petrified to even think of doing that.
“Please,” I begged getting down onto my knees. “I beg of you, please, I’m too young, I still have my whole life. Please, it doesn’t have to be this way, I can change, I like the way I am.” But my mother merely shook her head and pointed to the chair.
The chair, I’d heard the legend from so many people, but there it was in the room waiting for me to sit in it. The leather seemed so inviting and comfortable, but it was a trick. That was the way kids willingly sat in it, ready to meet their doom before they realised it was all a trap and they had taken the bait.
Cautiously I sat down in it, waiting for it to swallow me up as if I were a mere snack. It was comfy I admit, but that was just a distraction, just a mere distraction.
Then I saw him, standing at six feet with white hair that stuck out in bits, with perfect white gleaming teeth, with glasses that reflected the cold flickering florescent lights and with gloves that stretched over his bony hands.
I swallowed and closed my eyes praying that it would be quick. Mum patted me on the hand. Quietly she said, “It’ll be alright dear, just you wait and see. It’s for the best.” That’s what she said, but she wasn’t sitting in the chair with a creepy old man bending over her.
Why didn’t I get that last sweet, chocolaty meal that I had a right to? Why was I given runny eggs with cold tea and stale bread that had probably been sitting in the kitchen for days?
The man snapped the plastic gloves against his wrinkly hands before saying with a smile, “let us begin.” Who the hell was he supposed to be, Dr. Frankenstein? Next thing you know he’ll be shouting, ‘it’s alive, it’s alive.’
I don’t know if I’ll survive or if I’ll ever smile again. Damn it, I should have written a will or something. My parents both agree it’s for the best, but I think they’re wrong. Why were they forcing me to get braces!?
Geraldton Grammar School (WA)
‘Heavenly Peaches’ by Emily Webb-Smith
The wooden crate of plump peaches stood proudly on the kitchen bench, a gift from Mary’s celebrated orchard.
“These precious babies are for Grandma and Grandpa, not youse kids,” Mary warned as she drove down the lane in her rickety old farm ute. Grandma sighed as she gathered up the coffee cups and began rinsing them.
“ Now you both know Grandpa is still very ill and needs some quiet so I want you to take Tip to the beach for a nice long play.” The hot water system kicked in as she turned on the tap. “ Remember she loves to chase the seagulls but be careful she doesn’t go onto the road. Still doesn’t understand cars...”continued Grandma absentmindedly.
Since Grandpa had become sick no one had the time to take Tip on her daily walks through the snowy white sand hills to the windy ocean. With the arrival of the extended family, Tip sensed her good luck and wagged her tail expectantly and pawed at the front door.
Finally the grandchildren emerged from their bedrooms wrapped in scarves and beanies. “ Take care of your brother Samantha,” ordered Grandma, “afternoon tea will be ready when you come home.” Although Grandma was preoccupied these days, she thankfully hadn’t forgotten how hungry children could become after a visit to the ocean.
By the time they began on the return trip from the beach, the storm that had been gathering all morning, began to blow. Tip marched along stiffly, the sudden chill in the air combining painfully with her aching paws. The children stopped to play on the monkey bars in the park but Tip, sensing something was wrong in her household, trotted obediently home.
The red blinking light outside the house whispered Tip’s fears. She cowered by the side gate as Grandma silently followed Grandpa’s still shape into the ambulance. While old Mr Fanberry the neighbour, nervously searched for the children, Tip bounded back to the park and barked furiously for their return.
Grandpa’s hospital room in the city was made cheery by the bright bunches of roses but his voice was still only a whisper and his eyes stared strangely into the distance. The children sat stiffly in the cold vinyl chairs and tried hard not to breathe in the hospital’s strange smells. Grandma fussed over the neatness of bedclothes and rattled on to cover the quietness.
“ You’ll have to hurry up and get better dear so we can get back home and celebrate by eating those juicy peaches Mary left us.”
Grandpa grinned and shifted wearily in his bed, “ Yeah. Good old Mary. She always grew better peaches than any of us,” he agreed. Grandpa loved any type of fruit and throughout the years had become very clever at choosing the best of the crop. He used to run a farm with sheep and a mini orchard. “Bet they taste like heaven those little beauties,” he drooled. “ We’ll get back home love …hmm … soon enough.”
Grandpa was thrilled to see many of his friends who made special trips to visit him in the city hospital. Even friends he had lost contact with over the years suddenly reappeared. Gradually Grandpa grew tired with his treatment and began happily sleeping for long periods of time.
“It’s about time we celebrated those peaches of Mary’s,” he whispered early one morning to the crisp night nurse who came in to check his drip. The night nurse passed on his strange comment to Grandma when she arrived at the start of visiting hours. Grandma looked anxious then smiled. She pulled her chair close to Grandpa’s bed, whispered in his ear, took his withered hand in her plump one and sat back to wait. After half an hour, she stroked Grandpa’s peaceful face for the last time and silently made a vow.
With Tip happily back to her old tricks of chasing seagulls, Grandma thankfully sat down to rest on the bench overlooking the ocean. The walk proved to her how out of shape she had become over the last few months. When she awoke this morning she knew the time was right. A sudden burst of energy sent her bottling Mary’s crate of legendary peaches and the house was now full of their sweet smell. The pantry would keep her in supply of the peaches all year round, a strangely comforting sign to her now that she was alone. Carefully she drew the last precious peach from her coat pocket and bit into its juicy flesh.
“Ah just like you said Grandpa. Heavenly peaches,” she murmured as she looked towards the fading sunset.
Ivanhoe Grammar School (VIC)
‘Air’ by Avril Good (14 years)
Jackie bit her lip as she carefully parked the car. There were no other cars in the parking lot. No other people. It was too late at night.
Jackie switched off the ignition. In the back seat, Rachel stirred.
'Mum, where are we?'
'Shhh, Rachel. Go back to sleep.'
Rachel sighed, adjusted the seatbelt, and closed her eyes.
Jackie opened the car door quietly, careful not to wake Thomas and Stella, who were lying almost on top of one another. She locked the car, putting the keys on the inside pocket of her jacket.
It was cold in the parking lot. The wind whistled through, as if in a hurry. An empty beer bottle rolled around, clinking loudly.
Jackie hadn't planned to look back at the car, but she did anyway, and blew three silent kisses. She wondered if they would miss her. She hoped not. She didn't want them to be unhappy.
She turned away from the car and walked towards the edge of the parking lot. She was on the top level and the only thing between her and the ground was a low concrete shelf. She looked over and immediately stepped back.
It was a long way down.
She took a deep breath, and looked again. A road snaked along below, unblemished by traffic at this time. Buildings climbed into the distance, and then dropped away to suburbs. She looked at all the lights and wondered who was still awake. 'Fairy lights' Stella called them when they looked out the window from their flat. Jackie smiled at the memory.
She bent down and undid her shoes. Then she pulled off her socks, her toes going numb in the cold. She had spent days at home organising her outfit. She wore a long, white dress that touched the concrete floor. She had been considering wearing her wedding dress, but she thought that was a bit much. The dress she had on was almost a shift, but a large red ribbon at her waist gave it some shape. She shrugged off her jacket which she'd worn to keep warm. She folded it carefully and placed it on top of her shoes and socks.
Then she stepped onto the concrete shelf. She shivered, and smiled.
It felt good to feel alive like this.
A car roared along the road below, music blaring from the open windows.
That was something she wouldn't miss. The crudeness of life. The loud noises, the intrusive smells, the images that glared in your eyes. Jackie longed for peace. For tranquillity. For calm. For escape.
She took a long breath.
The coldness of the air bit at the back of her throat, and made her nose drip. She could smell the car fumes that came along with any city, leftover food scents from the restaurants below, and a small amount of leafiness from a lonely tree down the road. She wondered how often people stopped to really notice the world around them. Everybody hurried so much. But then, life was a hurry. You had to focus on the world ahead or you would never go anywhere, you'd be stuck in the same place. Forever. What a horrible thought.
Jackie rubbed her arms. Soon, she would have to do it soon.
She wondered what her children would be told. She hoped they would know the truth. She wanted them to know that she had done it for them. She had been going to write a letter, but it was so hard to know what to say. So she hadn't said anything at all. Rachel would understand. But Thomas and Stella...
Perhaps it was better if they didn't know. It was difficult for a child to grow up, with that behind them. She should know.
Her father.
His face grave.
His actions awkward as he wondered whether to hug her.
His words blunt.
'Your mother's died.'
He didn't bother to protect her.
'She jumped off a bridge.'
She had always wondered how many people had watched. It had been broad daylight after all. Why had nobody stopped her?
'I'm leaving.'
He would have anyway. What was there to keep him?
Not love.
'You're to go to school. In the city. Your mother left some money.'
It had been a posh school. But the money hadn't lasted very long. The foster homes contained people who were trying too hard to be good. She hated that. She'd left as soon as she could.
She'd never cried about her mother. Not in public. Maybe once, in bed. But there wasn't anything to miss.
Jackie trembled slightly at the memory. At least her children would never know their grandparents. Or what happened to them. She'd changed her name so many times she hardly remembered what it had been originally. She wondered what it would say in the death notice. She shook her head. She couldn't think about the future.
She was living now.
Jackie bit her lip.
She had waited so long.
She had wanted it to be perfect, but that didn't matter any more.
She wouldn't be there to see the result.
She didn't turn for a last glance at the car. Instead, a small tear slipped out of her left eye.
She didn't brush it away. There was no point.
She wished the buildings weren't so high. If they'd been shorter, maybe she would have been able to see the mountains.
She wondered what it would feel like. Falling through the air.
Her palms tingled slightly.
She felt feathers shifting in her stomach.
It was time.
Slowly, she spread her arms. Like an angel.
Then she stepped.
A big step, almost a leap.
Air surrounded her, completely, as never before.
She smiled. She was free.
Ivanhoe Grammar School (VIC)
‘Will I Won’t I’ by Alice Boér-Endacott (14 years)
The girl is like any other, with dreams and fears. She is destined to grow up, fall in love, and have children. That is what everybody imagines she will do.
She’s just fifteen, young and innocent. She still believes in the potential for human good. She is everything we want to believe humanity is; beautiful, intelligent, caring, loving, passionate. In her, we see what we want to believe most, that humanity is good and incorruptible.
But then he comes along. He with his charm and darkness buried deep away. And he lets her see that side of him, the part that we shy away from. He fascinates her, and she follows him, and draws out that secret part of her. The part that all humans have, the one that we pretend doesn’t exist. He draws it out, and she follows him into a descending spiral of darkness.
The world that we deny, close our eyes to is where she lives now. Her innocence and youth is gone. She consorts with those who have sold their soul to be able to escape reality, who can’t deal with reality. She dances a dangerous game, balancing her dual lives. The illusion of normality must be maintained, for if anybody were to find out that she is halfway into the darkness, she would be whisked away from him. For she loves him, despite his darkness, maybe because of it. She believes that her love is deeper than any ocean, stronger than anything else. She believes that he will love her too.
The darkness sings to the dark inside her, calls her fibre. She is pulled by the light and the dark, trying to find a balance. She feels she is being ripped apart, and then discovers the world of grey.
The greyness loves her, holds her tenderly and whispers black words of comfort in her ear. The grey world understands, it does not ask her to choose, it asks for nothing except her love. She loves the grey world. When she is there, she is able to forget worrying about other people. The grey world tells her that here, she doesn’t need to worry about anything, or anybody.
In the grey world, she finds inspiration. She can create art that is beautiful to her.
But what she doesn’t realise, is that the grey world is not her ally. It draws her gently towards the darkness, binding her as it sings to her. The darkness is growing in her heart, and she is forgetting about anything else.
The grey world demands everything from her, wants her to give the ultimate, but it is cunning, and plants its desires subtly in her mind. It is patient, and prepared to wait.
Finally, she is ready to give the ultimate to the grey world, whenever she leaves it, she is once again pulled by both paths.
Just a blade, not anything special, but it does the job. The grey world has won, claimed her forever, and it grows stronger.
We mourn. But we refuse to believe the truth. We don’t want to see the darkness growing in our souls, or the grey world creeping up.
I am like any other, with dreams and fears, destined to grow up, fall in love, and have children. That is what everybody imagines I will do. But there is the darkness pulling at my soul, singing to me, and the grey world is lurking.
But I fight it, because I know that the grey world isn’t my friend. But it calls to me is sweet tones. Will I, wont I? Not today.
Mazenod College, Mulgrave (VIC)
‘Ring Ring’ by Edward Williams (14 years)
It was seven minutes past midnight. The street was completely deserted. The night’s silence was deafening. The sky was as black as I had ever seen it. The moon was as bright as I had ever seen it. That was why I noticed the phone box. The moon’s beams shone directly onto it. I wondered if this was an omen. If the phone box was special. If the night was special… Then the phone rang.
I thought about what I should do. Should I answer the phone? Was the phone box actually special? Who would ring a phone box at this time of night? Who would ring a phone box at all? I felt scared, yet at the same time excited. I took a few steps towards the phone box and peered inside. It looked completely normal. I walked inside the phone box. I looked around. The blue paint that once covered the walls was mostly covered by graffiti. ‘Davo woz here’ and other pointless messages were written everywhere. Then I looked at the ceiling. There was only one piece of graffiti on the ceiling. With a black pen, someone had drawn a house and written the words, ‘I know.’
A sudden gust of wind went through the phone box. I shivered. The phone was still ringing. I looked at my watch. It was twenty past midnight. The phone must have been ringing for about ten minutes. How long was the phone going to ring? Would the person at the other end ever hang up? Then my excitement overcame my fear. I decided to live dangerously and I picked up the phone.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello,” whispered a voice from the other end of the phone.
“Who is this?”
“Who is this?” replied the person at the other end. It was a man’s voice, and it sounded strangely familiar.
“Do I know you, you sound familiar?”
“If you tell me your name, then I’ll know if I know you.”
For a few seconds, I just stood there, silent. Thoughts filled my head. Should I tell the man my name? Where did I recognise his voice from? What was I doing standing in a phone box on a deserted street after midnight? Then, for the second time that night, my excitement overcame my fear. I spoke softly into the phone. “My name is Andrew.”
Once more, I stood silently in the phone box. I was waiting for a reply, but it did not come. “Hello! Hello!” I yelled into the phone. “Are you still there? I know you’re still there! Who are you? Tell me who you are!” Now I was getting angry. Why didn’t the man respond? Who was he? What was his problem? Then, as if on cue, the man spoke. “I’m still here, Andrew.”
The man spoke louder this time and I immediately realised who it was. He spoke again, “It’s your dad. Since when did being home by ten mean still being out after midnight?”
Orara High School, Coffs Harbour (NSW)
‘Through The Looking Glass’ by Charlotte Grech-Madden
One thing was for certain, that the blazing fire in Alison's living room had NOTHING to do with global warming.... for the glowing wood fire had only been fired up for the last quarter of an hour. So you see, it couldn't have had any hand in the matter.
Staring at the leaping, dancing flames in front of her, Alison was feeling very warm. Wiping sweat from her forehead, Alison peered into the looking glass beside her. Suddenly the reflection of a china teapot on the mantelpiece started to issue dense clouds of black smoke.
"Oh no!" cried Alison, "You cant do that!"
She swirled around only to see a perfectly NORMAL china teapot. Frustrated, she turned again to face the looking glass. This time, several of the china teacups had joined the teapot in issuing thick clouds of black smoke. All this was becoming too much for Alison who, in her frustration, placed her sweaty hot hands onto the mirror. But alas! The looking glass gave way before her sending her flying forwards into the land of reflection.
Looking around, it took Alison a while to realise where she was.
"Why, I must be in the sugar bowl!" exclaimed Alison.
However, there was no sweetness about this batch. The sugar was black and smelled of sulphur. After much thought, Alison eventually identified the sugar bowl to be no more than a dusty pile of coal....
The air was filled with black coal dust, emulating a stormy ominous sky. Gasping for breath, Alison ran amongst the teacups, yet as she watched they transformed into huge towers disappearing in a thick veil of smog. Nearby, the china teapot expanded high into the sky : its base a large coal power plant, its spout a pipe through which sulphur, nitrogen and mercury escaped - polluting the fragile environment.
"Oh dear!... What has this world come to?" screamed Alison whilst attempting to find shelter from the burning, corrosive acid rain falling about her.
All of a sudden through the madness of this energy-hungry world, Alison saw the Mad Hatter emerge and scurry towards her.
"You see what has happened here?" he exclaimed, pointing a black sooty finger in her direction. "Everyone of you are guilty!"
"Oh please Mr Hatter, I do so wish to escape this havoc and find my way back to where I came from," weeped Alison.
"There is no turning back now - the damage done is IRREVERSIBLE," said the Mad Hatter, still pointing the finger.
"Please... there must be something I can do... I promise I'll be more caring towards the environment.."
As Alison stood staring, the Mad Hatter's finger slowly transformed into a poker. Alison stood transfixed in front of the warm blazing fire as two furry paws made their way across her lap and settled down contentedly.
"Aaah!" she sighed. "It's good to be back in my safe and clean haven."
Looking down at the innocent unknowing pet below her, Alison vowed to MAKE SOME NOISE now. Before it was too late!
Quirindi High School (NSW)
‘The Honeymoon Kids’ by Megan Oliver
Natasha sat on a deck chair by the resort pool. The weather was beautiful, the water gorgeous, and, to top it all off, it was the trip of her lifetime. A lean, muscly, tanned man, whom Natasha had had her eye on for quite some time, suddenly pulled himself out of the pool, grabbed a towel, and, yes! Oh, she couldn’t believe it. He was headed straight for her!
He dried his hair with his towel, and, seizing the opportunity (seeing that the man’s eyes were covered by the towel), Natasha stole a lingering gaze over his wet, dripping torso. Oh… how she loved that body. She had been longing over it for the past week, ever since she first spotted him in the gym.
‘Hi. How you going? My name’s Marcus. I noticed you seem to be all alone. Are you here with someone?’
‘Depends how you look at it.’ Natasha was already in love with his voice.
‘Well, then, what brings you to this resort. Why are you here?’
‘Honeymoon.’
‘Yours?’
‘Yep.’
‘Oh.’ Marcus sounded very disappointed. Natasha wondered if he was keen on her. She found it all very thrilling. That body…
‘Where’s the lucky man, then?’ Yep, there was a definite resentment in his voice. They haven’t even met… how can Marcus already hate Phillip?
‘I suppose he’s at a bar, somewhere.’ Yes… that’s most probably it. ‘And “the lucky man,” as you so put it, is Phillip.’
‘Ah… Phillip. I lost my girlfriend to a Phillip once. Not yours, I’m sure.’
I wouldn’t be too sure if I was you. Natasha was so tempted to say this, but instead she contented herself with a neutral murmur. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Boston.’
Hmmm… I really wouldn’t be too sure if I were you. ‘Me, too.’
‘Oh, wow… I wonder why we’ve never met before. Or maybe we have, I’m not altogether very good at remembering faces, although…’ Marcus added slyly. ‘Yours is a face hard to forget.’
‘Oh… why thank you very much.’
‘You’re welcome.’
They stayed there for a while, he standing, her sitting, both vaguely aware of the awkward silence they were in. It continued for about another minute, before Natasha decided it was time for the icebreaker to set sail.
‘So… are you married?’
‘Me? Oh, no… I couldn’t be married even if I tried. No one ever manages to stay with me for long enough… someone else comes along,’ he added as an afterthought… with just a hint of bitterness in his voice. ‘But how about you? How was your wedding? What was it like?’
‘Oh… I don’t know… like any other wedding I guess. Pinky-purply-white flowers, white dress, veil, church, guests, wedding party… you know, that kind of thing.’
‘What about the reception? How was the cake? The DJ?’ Marcus seemed desperate for any information he could get. It can’t be my voice… it’s much too low, thought Natasha.
‘Umm… the cake was just an ice cream cake- I have a few food allergies, in case you’re wondering why it wasn’t the traditional kind. And as for the DJ… um…I don’t know… he was good. Didn’t hear too much of it.’
‘Why not?’
‘I never pay too much attention to music.’ Liar.
‘Oh. Well… I disagree with you entirely there on that point. Music is my passion.’ Same here. ‘So how long ago was the wedding?’
‘Oh… just over a week.’
‘Alright. It sounded really good. I would always have loved to have had one of those weddings. And kids. I love kids. My brother and sister both have kids. I love them all to pieces.’
‘I know. Kids are an absolute must-have in my life. And excuse me for making you hear this, but my biological clock is ticking, so the sooner the better.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind. But now that you and Phillip are married, what’s holding you back from fulfilling your dreams? What could possibly make your life any better?’
‘Oh, I think I know.’ Yes, Natasha did know. She knew exactly what would have made it better.
‘What’s that?’
‘If Phillip had turned up to the church. I’m not married. Just a free agent’
‘What?’ Marcus’ voice had an indignant tone, but he also had the biggest grin spreading across his face. And, judging by the feel of my own, I’m grinning, too.
‘I’m not married. Just a free agent.’
‘Interesting… want a drink?’
‘Most definitely. And kids.’
Quirindi High School – (NSW)
‘Live Another Day’ by Casey Thompson
It was the day of evil. The sky was dark and gloomy. Lightning flashed across the mountains, the ground shook. Everything seemed to have come to this moment.
The mailman on his little red, red as red can be, motorbike scooted across the road towards our house. He slowed, and I just knew he was going to stop at my mailbox. He stopped right at the front of that green little box. He flipped through his bag of letters. My heart began to beat faster and faster, my hands began to shake. He sat there as if it to say doom was coming my way. He placed the A4 envelope with a flick of his wrist into my mailbox.
My feet took flight as I raced towards that enormously large letter that could spell the end of my life as I know it. I opened the mailbox with caution; there it sat, that fat envelope with the little Optus symbol perched in the corner. My heart skipped a beat. It had arrived, that nasty, nasty BILL. I wrapped my hands around it and pulled it out of the mailbox with trembling fear. There upon the front of the envelope emblazoned in big bold black letters was my father’s name. I turned on my heel and walked towards the front door of my house.
I placed the letter on the kitchen table. I stood and stared at it. It seemed to breathe as I paced before it. How many trees lost their fight for life to bring this bill before me?
The waiting now began. Nothing could get my mind off that big wad of paper. I walked to my room but I could think of nothing else. I went back to the kitchen, it was still there lying on the table. It wasn’t a dream, that really was my bill. My father’s name stood out as if it was surrounded in neon lights. I couldn’t even sneak a peek as they had sealed it tight. No amount of shaking or wiggling could move that huge amount of paper inside.
My father is usually a quiet, gentle man, but when that Optus bill arrives he changes. He becomes a snarling, twisted animal ready to attack. It only seems to happen with that Optus bill. How could this soft man become such a monster at the sight of that envelope? Why was it that word “Optus” that got his eyes twitching and hot boiling steam coming from his ears?
I stopped dead in my tracks. What was that sound? Was it the Ute? The Ute that brought my father home every night from his day of work? It was!! I felt sick, what was going to happen to me, what was going to happen on this dreaded afternoon?
My father came through the back door. He smiled at my mother, but I knew that it was soon to change. That happy mood would soon go out the door as his eyes lit upon that envelope lying on the kitchen table. I could tell this by the way his eye began to twitch. He looked straight at me and in a deep rumbling voice said, “I see your phone bill is here, Alfie.” I shook. I could not control the way I felt as if I needed to vomit.
Dad stepped towards the table with a slow and purposeful stride. He grasped the envelope in strong hands. I could feel those hands around my throat even as I stood watching him. He ripped the envelope open with the screaming of dead trees. The sound sent shivers down my spine. My knees felt weak as he pulled that wad of paper out into the light.
He stood studying the typed words on the bill. He frowned. He shook his head. He sighed. I thought I was going to faint. I could feel the blood drain from my body. He raised his head and stared straight into my eyes. I waited for the storm to rage. The wind to howl and my life to end.
He placed it down gently on the table and walked away. I took a deep, shuddering breath.
I got to live another day.
Wangaratta High School (VIC)
‘Trained For Terror’ by Adam Brownstein (year 9)
Flames punched the window, sending a wall of glass dancing through the air; flames that rolled through every space; curling, twisting, and folding out of the train. It jerked into the air as clouds of fire engulfed the platform. Faces of twisted terror washed with heat fell to the concrete. The ground heaved as I was rammed into the dirt, glass snapping across my spine. I lay motionless, focused on my warm breath filling the darkness.
My eyes burst open to the jolting and screeching of metal and a muffled voice droning through the list of stations, each one reminding me of the bitter cold I would endure when the beast finally hissed to its last stop. Commuters brushed past and spilled onto the platform. Like ducklings clinging to the safety of their mother, a groggy, worn woman towed a child by each arm through the crowd. Straps slapped the man sliding his bulky bag off the rail and my blanket lay crumpled beside a dirty, suede case that contained all my belongings. I rose stiffly and sat ready for the wave of new passengers, each searching for the furthest seat away from my haggard figure and assessing the chances of an equally unnerving man homing in on their position.
A slender man wearing a suit entered. A sleek briefcase swung lazily by his side. He spun into the last row of seats and from then on gazed out the window. Bags bulged from under his eyes and shallow lines were etched in his forehead but he didn't slump into the chair as any other man would have. He sat faintly smiling and upright, a corporate man still conscious of image.
The man to follow was quite the opposite. A large beard curled from his jaw and wispy dry hair that ruptured from under his turban continued down his brown neck, finally being hidden by a surprisingly spotless white buttoned shirt. I watched closely as he staggered past me. A twisting mesh of veins lay strung over shaking arms. I heard short gasps of air as his nervous eyes darted around the room. He shifted the briefcase to his squirming hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his hooked nose.
Brochures, advertisements and fridge magnets swirled in my head. Screaming thoughts pierced my brain as I snuck a quick look at the man who once again slid though the carriage doors leaving the case nestled under the seat. Be alert, not alarmed; TERRORIST, report anything suspicious, TERRORIST, any bags unattended, TERRORIST TERRORIST my mind screeched through the silence.
I watched the bearded man disappear behind the bar. He was gone. My shadow danced across the isles as I slunk towards the abandoned case. My hand brushed soft leather as the doors opened. I sprung to my feet and although I casually strolled towards the toilet, my heart pounded.
The sweaty must of the cubicle filled my lungs as I pressed my ear to the door, reaching for the escape hatch. Footsteps struck the floor and in moments I was met with a knock that rang though my ears. "Anyone in there?" a heavy accent politely quizzed. Lost for words, I shakily replied "Almost done." By the time I heard the crash of the door, I was gone.
A blast of icy wind slammed my face against waxy metal. I clawed my way along the curved surface as spears of rain smattered my face. I groped for the rusty handle. My foot scraped the steel and my body slapped the roof of the train. The handle ran through my clammy hands. My feet franticly clawed the metal, each movement plunging my body further into the billowing fog.
A coarse hand clenched my knuckles and heaved me onto the hatch. Another fist twisted through the air and thumped my bristled jaw. It sent ripples through my flaccid cheeks and blood oozed from my lip, writhing its way between peeling creases. The sharp click of a gun pierced the night as a bitter barrel pressed against my neck. The snarling man wiped blood onto his soggy white sleeve and roared in my ear "What where you doing to my case?"
"I wasn't doing anything." I quivered. He grabbed my collar and dipped me down the slope of the train. My legs swung over the thundering tracks where flecks of water popped against churning wheels.
Tears rolled from my weathered eyes as I wailed, "I was checking it."
I was dragged back up. He drew a long breath, savoring the cold seeping through his chest, and growled sarcastically, "Now what would you be checking my case for?"
I pursed my lips. He spat. It slowly ran down my eyelid and rested in the crook of my nose. The squeal of brakes and smear of lights meant only one thing, a station!
The gun digging through my coat, jabbing my spine, forced me to snake through the crowd. We banked at a small alley. He pressed me against heavy glass and waved a badge under my nose. RING. Rail Inspection Network Group, Department of Terrorist Investigation. "Now would you kindly open the case." he said arrogantly. He thrust my case into awkward arms and I unclipped the latches. A bundle of dirty rags spilled onto the sandy earth.
"20 minutes ago we received a little tip off." the man announced. "A bomb was going to be carried in a case, on that very train". He pointed to the train sucking the last few travelers into its belly. "Now where is the bomb?" he screeched. I looked back to the train, its doors now sealed and pulling out of the station. A business man's face sat idle in the drifting window and I remembered the sleek case swinging lazily by his side.
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