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Editorial

Welcome to the 2012 edition of “The Word”. “The Word” is the revamped version of what was previously known as “The Gnarled Stylus”. Last year there were two editions published but this year there is only one, this bumper issue. There are extras in this edition, including horoscopes and quizzes. There will also be quizzes in the daily bulletin on the contents of this magazine with prizes up for grabs. So keep your eyes open for a chance to win some cool stuff.

(Note: The complete list of those who contributed and who helped put the magazine together is on page 59.)

WE HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS YEAR’S “THE WORD”!

From le to right: Mrs Jan Lawrence, Pia Mu on, Vivienne Gollings, Annika Mu on, Kelcey Brian, Alexandra Russell

Quizzes 4

Horoscopes 6

The Village Simpleton 7

Poetry 8-16

Short Stories

Heinz 17

House of Cards 19

Lost in No Man’s Land 21

The Invasion 22

Renn 24

Beyond Blue 26

The Woods 28

Whisper in the Winds 29

The Weavers of Quarte 30

Fear 32

The Unravelling 33

Kalgoorlie Western Australia 38

Hunted 39

Paradise 40

The Man of the Moon 41

Tomik 42

The Man and his Dog 45

The Invasion 46

The Moon 47

What Do You Call Fate 48

Through Their Eyes 52

Bellatrix Fanfic on 54

Quiz Answers, List of Contributors and Commi ee Members 58&59

Contents

How well do you know...

The Hunger Games ?

Who plays ‘Katniss Everdeen’ in the recently released movie?

(a) Kaya Scodelario (c) Saoirse Ronan (b) Jennifer Lawrence (d) Hailee Steinfeld

Where do we get introduced to ‘Finnick Odair’ in Catching Fire?

(a) District 12 (b) The Arena during the Hunger Games (c) Before the opening ceremony at the Remake centre (d) During the Victory tour

How does Peeta Mellark hide in the 74th Hunger Games?

(a) Climbs up a tree (c) Hides in the bush (b) Camouflages himself (d) Goes near the edge of the arena

How does Katniss’ father die?

(a) In a car crash (c) During the rebellion (b) In a mining incident (d) Has an illness

Who is ‘Haymitch Abernathy’?

(a) A tribute in the 74th Hunger Games (b) Katniss’ and Peeta’s mentor (c) Peeta’s father (d) President of Panem

Describe ‘Gale Hawthorn’ in your own words.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

What weapon does Finnick Odair use?

(a) Trident (b) Sword (c) Bow and arrow (d) Knives

Who is ‘Annie Cresta’ ?

(a) Tribute in the Hunger Games (b) Finnick’s true love (c) Katniss’ sister (d) Member of Katniss’ prep team

Josh Hutcherson plays which role in the movie?

(a) Gale Hawthorne (b) Peeta Mellark (c) Haymitch Abernathy (d) Caesar Flickerman

Who is ‘Cato’?

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

How well do you know...

HARRY POTTER ?

When is Harry's Birthday?

____________________________________________________________________________________ What is Nearly Headless Nick's full real name?

____________________________________________________________________________________

When is Voldemort’s birthday?

____________________________________________________________________________________ A bezoar is what?

____________________________________________________________________________________ What did Hagrid win in a card game?

____________________________________________________________________________________ What do Hermione's parents do for a living?

____________________________________________________________________________________ What is Dumbledore’s full name?

____________________________________________________________________________________ Name two other schools Harry was supposed to attend.

____________________________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________________________ Whose tongue was made four feet long by Fred and George Weasley?

____________________________________________________________________________________ Where did Harry hide the Half-blood Prince's book?

____________________________________________________________________________________ Who died on Halloween, 1492?

____________________________________________________________________________________ What was Snape's mother's claim to fame?

____________________________________________________________________________________ Who or what can be seen through Invisibility Cloaks?

____________________________________________________________________________________

Horoscopes

CANCER

Like the red crab you walk sideways through life. You are afraid to face life

head on and should start tackling your problems more directly.

GEMINI

Just like the twins, you have that one other person who you can

always rely on. However, you should think before you act to keep that spe-

cial friendship intact.

TAURUS

Just like the thick-headed bull you can sometimes be quite dense. As a result of this you may be seen as in-

sensitive or make bad decisions. You should probably try to think more

about what you say to avoid embar-rassing situations.

ARIES

Just like the ram you rely too much on yourself and don’t want to accept help

from others. This can lead to people believing that you see yourself as bet-ter than them. Try to let other people help you, but if they are truly wrong, just enjoy knowing that you are right.

CAPRICORN

Like the sure-footed mountain goat, you are always climbing to new

heights, but maybe before your next big jump you should take time to cal-culate the distance so you don’t crash

and burn.

LIBRA

Like the scales, you are well balanced in life and are well organised when it

comes to time. You are easy to get along with, and other people are

drawn to your charm.

SCORPIO

Like the scorpion, you can be quite jealous and possessive. You have a quick tongue, causing you to sting others with your words. You are

quick to anger, but forgive and forget easily.

PISCES

Like the fish, you have two sides. With your friends you are open and lively, but around strangers you are

quite reserved.

VIRGO Virgos are usually practical and relia-ble people, but you can sometimes be over critical. You can be pure of heart and easily make friends with others. Don’t try to over analyse everything

SAGITTARIUS

Like the archer, you are optimistic and adventurous. You are very direct

which can sometimes make difficult problems hard for you to solve. You

need to think outside the square. You aim high in everything that you do.

LEO

Like the lion, you’re proud and travel in a group. You can be extremely de-fensive, but on the inside you are soft

and fluffy.

AQUARIUS

Like the waterbearer, you treat every-one equally and don t discriminate.

You have a creative side that brings life to things, even if you hide. it

Hello fellow puzzlers!

Professor Hershel Layton is here with another puzzle. This one is an oldie but a goody! The answer is at the bottom of the page, but only use it as a last resort (if you’re stuck), or to check

your answer.

——————————————————————————————————————

The Village Simpleton

A man from London is walking through a country town. He spies a peasant sitting on a stile nearby. Assuming that the peasant is of limited intelligence, the man asks him what day it is.

The man grins and replies slowly:

“When the day after tomorrow is yesterday, today will be as far from Sunday as

when the day before yesterday was tomorrow.”

Can you say what day it is?

Did you get it right?

Farewell, my friends, until next time…and remember:

Every puzzle has an answer!

cÜÉyxááÉÜ [xÜá{xÄ _tçàÉÇ

The village Simpleton Today is Sunday. If the day after tomorrow is yesterday, that’s three days into the future; if

the day before yesterday is tomorrow, that three days in the past – and the only way that

both days can be equally distant from Sunday, is if today is Sunday!

The Girl By The Sea

Pia Mutton

The girl sat quietly by the sea

And stared as birds flew by

Lifted her eyes to skies above

And watched the seagulls fly

The girl, she walked along the sand

And felt the cold wind blow

Looked out at the deep blue sea

And watched the waves around her grow

The girl swam in the reef

And searched the ocean floor

But no-one knows if she found

All that she was looking for

Darkness

Pia Mutton

Darkness wraps its arms around me

And through the night the world is clear

And Darkness though it surrounds me

Does not equate to fear

Just as dark is not always bad

Light is not always good

Choices make us who we are

Not fate, as some say it should

‘Cause Darkness is a friend at times

Quiet, and ever so still

But Darkness is a friend of mine

And I know it always will

So keep you mind open

To the possibility

That all you know and all you think

In not reality

And Darkness wraps its arms around me

Ever a comforting friend

Darkness will surround me

But it will not be the end

Poetry

The Ghetto

Anonymous

This is the place you shield your eyes from.

This is the place you take the long route to

avoid. This is the town where no one sleeps.

They warned you.

This town is stuck, surrounded. It is a small

plant standing under a tree that blocks and

steals the sunlight. The small plant is left

with nothing, it deteriorates slowly. It gets

worse and worse. Bugs crawl over it, nibble

at it, but find nothing of value. The plant

shrivels.

Its heart is broken dreams, its vicious mind is

a street of crime. If you turn around, it will

stab you in the back. It will look you in the

eye, laugh in your face and in an outburst of

jealousy and hatred, attack you until you stop

moving.

The town hates anyone better, anyone differ-

ent, and anyone who stands against it. The

path to survival is to run or hide. But if you

stay there long enough, it will find you.

The World

Gonzo

Glory has left us, in all its forms.

Long gone are the days of emperors,

reduced to buried bricks and bones

Long gone are the days of kings,

Naught remains of them

save their crowns and the stone fortresses in which

they lived.

Long gone are the days of tycoons

Cigars, railways, Machinery. The old factories

Now lie empty, shells of the golden egg of Industry

Whose yolk now lies in the Third World.

These are the days of bloating, of a hideous role play

Developing countries, India, China, Taiwan

All fill with people as a cell infected by a virus

Close to rupturing and bursting

Meanwhile, the west sits upon its E-z-throne and

consumes.

A weak, wobbling, gobbling, obese child

Endlessly drinking but endlessly thirsty

Endlessly playing but endlessly bored

Glory has left us, and wealth has taken its place.

My Fights

Tron

I prepare for a fight I may not win, A battle of two sides. And I can choose to show my position, Or I can choose to hide.

I take up in arms a clenched fist and also a steady hand To be under fire and scrutiny of no more than just a man Into to it I shall throw myself and of course I’ll throw my soul To be broken into one half or to be made a big-ger whole.

I see blood red each step I take, And I can hear that beating drum, I am faced with a feat so large That it is in fact too great for some.

So many have fallen beside me and many more are to follow And it’s to the depth which they will fall which is where they’ll stay and wallow. I have tried and tried to escape this fight but it’s just an endless plea But it is just that this war is so persuasive And it’s found inside of me

It is you worthy component of this war and in-deed a worthy man That has forced me to engage in battle and in turn to make this stand. Because I am fighting a secret war and to you I must confide, Because the only thing I really want is to just be on your side.

Poetry

Two Sides

Pia Mutton

Two sides of a coin Different but the same If you take a pick Though your choice wont stick It seems to make a change

Two sides of me One dull and one bright One honesty it accepts The other kindness it rejects In the shadows, in the light

The angel and the demon They fight a constant war Both try to find What’s in my mind And I wonder what they’re fighting for

The good and the bad One will lose, one will win Do they fight for the same Or are they like the sun and rain Like honesty and sin

I don’t know which is better Or which I like the least The darkness Or the brightness Each, their own ways to please

Either way the fight goes on The victor and defeated But all that I can say I hope the fight’s completed

I hope there is no second fight No waiting for round two No clash, no harm Just peace and calm I hope that this is true

Regret Alice McKenzie Ebbels

Regret is a blue grey colour Regret tastes like an iron blade and smells of dust and mould Regret looks like sadness and the loss of hope

Regret sounds like laughter gone in the wind

I do not wish you to feel the pain of regret

Order Up Samantha Currie

Lunch was big,

Breakfast was small,

Yet I still grow tall.

Dinner was insane,

And now I am in pain,

My stomach won’t ever be the same.

Dessert’s still to come,

Though I don’t think I’ll have some,

Or I might have to run.

For my stomach’s getting bigger,

After every dinner,

And I’m not getting any thinner.

If it was ice cream

I’d scream with joy,

Though because it’s fruit,

I’ll jump through a hoop.

Orders up

For Mum’s cleaning up.

That my cue to leave,

Or I’ll have to roll up my sleeves.

I don’t want to clean the dishes!

Now that’s one of my three wishes.

Happiness

Lucy Cameron

Happiness is a rainbow in the sky.

It’s like tasting rich chocolate in your mouth.

Happiness smells like blooming flowers.

It sounds like children laughing and playing.

Happiness is joyful, cheerful pleasure.

Poetry

The War Machine Nicholas Jenkins

The war machine, with a grip on this world

It slowly destroys us.

Risking lives and livelihood

Just for the greed of a few

And it settles nothing but dust over desolate landscapes.

The war machine is inevitable and instilled in all with power

It clanks into life whenever there is a dispute.

While landscapes churn

And countries burn

The machine continues on its hellish journey.

Those with power get indoctrinated by its promises

And the red and black that consumes all

Will not go out, not with a bang or shout

But rather with the sense of gravity caused

By the casualties being seen first-hand.

The warrior of this fight is not the one who owns it

Yet they are slain and the leaders are safe from death and destruction,

Why what an unevenly distributed hierarchy.

Some powers help others in the hope of being safe.

But this can be short-sighted as they could be betrayed.

The greed of the world drives it

And breaks promises and people’s lives

But never ceases

You can hear it coming, with dispute or misdeed comes vengeance

That most pay for.

Life has no Meaning, but Enjoy It Nonetheless Anonymous

So here I sit in candlelight,

and love all but fills my mind.

In true emotion and lying sight,

I am quite surely blind. I've fought my love once before,

in dance quite modestly.

But I've lost to it many times more,

if not taken literally.

But this all counts for nothing,

if admit it I cannot.

I lie awake just wishing,

she liked me back somewhat.

About love I always write in verse,

because poetry is my art.

To her I wish I could just be terse,

and open up my heart.

Don't ask how she's alluring,

don't ask if she is "hot."

I'm love struck well and truly,

like Romeo and Juliet.

Flowers Chanel Agosta

The peaceful garden

Blossomed with flowers in spring

How stunning they were

Poetry

Australian Outback

Samantha Currie

The kookaburras laughing,

The cockatoos bathing,

The kangaroos jumping

and the wombats slumping.

The Australian outback.

Wow! Would ya look at that?

The frilled necked lizard runs along,

While the galas sing a happy song.

It’s got orange sand

And healthy land.

This is the place I call home,

Even if I sometimes groan.

I can’t forget the gnarly surf,

Now that’s my home turf.

I’ve got lots of cool mates,

Even if they don’t call me great.

I’m really happy I’m an Aussie,

Even if there are a few mozzies.

I live in Australia, mate

And hey, it’s great.

Friendship is Magic

T. Robertson

I believe in angels

The kind heaven sends

I believe in angels

But I call them friends

Sharks

Mitchell Stojanovski

In the salty sea

The deadly predator STRIKES

Hungry for human

Anger is vermillion red

Happiness

C. W.

Happiness

It tastes of pasta

It smells of freshly lawn grass

It sounds like cheering

Happiness is awesome

Anger

Mitchell Stojanovski

Anger tastes like spicy, hot chillies

and smells like fire followed by the

ashes of regret

Anger looks like a burning bushland

Sounds like a roaring tiger

Anger feels strong

Minds

Tron

Slither deep into the depths of one’s mind With blind eyes and no knowledge of what we will find.

So what is your mind made up of? When you think what do you hear? A thought so complex or a thought so mere?

Because tell me what is in there, what is inside? The place where we think, the place we must hide

Tell me how do people not become lost in their own diversity? How do we escape the walls of ourselves to realise happiness and to feel sympathy

Is it a slightly different take on the same chance of immersion? But does every word we hear, each sight we see create a slightly different version?

But how can we say that this or anything is true? When nothing we know, nothing we think can be proved.

If it is each to their own with the thoughts we confess Who tells us to keep those thoughts and watch them progress?

If they are just invisible words how can someone succumb to their own inner demons? Why can’t we deal with ourselves or why would we be forced to seek treatment?

Have they always had a problem or is it something that we choose to ignore? Do we all have the capability to lose our minds and are we stable, how can you be sure?

For when we are born are our minds empty, what voice do we hear in our heads? Are we pre planned with a way we shall live, love and regret?

Why must we have so many questions, is it our minds that make us care? Now, let all of that seep in to your mind, and tarnish and grow, and choose to let it rest there.

Fear Pia Mutton

It’s the voice The one that’s in your mind It’s the voice that whispers warnings For reasons you can’t find

It’s the creature The one that’s in your head That creature once upon a time Lived beneath your bed

It’s the part of life you can’t ignore But don’t have to be It likes to play a deadly game With danger you can’t see

The beast is patient, calm and cruel It always wants to play So brace yourself and make a stand Make it go away

Nature’s Force Subba Thila

The sky was blue and it had no clouds,

The ocean was like a gem,

Fish swam through the coral,

And waves crashed at the hem,

The sand was soft and flowing,

The sun bronzed the sea,

I walked up a steep mountain,

Right to a beautiful tree,

This tree was like an emerald,

Its leaves glistened brightly,

When the wind blew hard,

They touched the ground light-ly,

I sat at this tree every day,

For long and long hours,

Sometimes the goats would come to play,

Near the bed of flowers,

One fine day this tree was cut,

The others were cut too,

The birds flew away,

And the skies turned dark blue

All the goats disappeared,

The flowers were pulled out,

There was no forest anymore,

The place went into drought,

There were no birds and goats,

There were no flowers and trees,

All that was left was rock and soil,

And an icy breeze,

Houses were put up,

Across the forest land,

Roads were built around the beach,

And wild animals were banned,

Then one stormy day,

The houses were knocked down,

They were swept away,

And fell onto the ground,

The skies were blue again,

And there were no more droughts,

The birds and goats returned,

When the ground popped up with sprouts.

Poetry

“You don’t want to do this, think of all the people you will hurt!” said a bank attendant from the small

bank on the outskirts of Masterton, New Zealand. He was pleading with a man wearing a balaclava

with a hole in the middle so you could actually see his whole face.

“I’ll do it! I’m not afrai… hh… hh “, the man stopped in mid-sentence because he had asthma and started

to wheeze a lot. “I’m not afraid to throw!” The man was holding a large, soggy and over-ripe tomato and

was threatening to peg it at a hostage if the bank didn’t meet his demands.

By now, the police had turned up armed with their large assault carbines and bullet proof vests and

masks. The robber had seen them and made a dash for the back door but first he needed to rid himself

of the tomato; it was too heavy and more of a liability than of use to him now. He throws the off fruit at

the window which brings down the pane but continues to hurl itself towards the police line. The to-

mato lands next to a police car and seems to grow. The criminal is now having an asthma attack and is

rolling around on the floor saying:

“Someone… hhh… get my … in…hhhaler!”, but in the frantic rush to get outside no one hears him and he

becomes unconscious. The tomato is huge now and has grown arms and legs but its head seems to be

the original tomato and has grown an enormous eye. The tomato picks up a policeman that decided to

start shooting at the monster. The policeman is pushed back and forth into the tomato’s eye because it

seems it hasn’t realised that it doesn’t have a mouth. The creature that was once small and red is now

big and red and is throwing nearby cars into the air. But once the cars are in the air they stay there. Af-

ter the last car in the street has been tossed into the air they start to whirl around and combine to make

the shape of a massive ketchup sauce bottle.

When it had completely transformed, the tomato climbed inside and began its ascent into the stars

above. One particularly trigger happy policeman pulled out a rocket grenade and fired it at the bottle. It

resulted in a huge amount of red molten liquid streaming out of the bottom of the bottle burning alive

all those who hadn’t fled.

But one survived.

One rose up amongst the ashes of the dead. His hair had burnt off completely but left his scalp free of

burns. His name was Erik. He was the robber.

As he stood up he was pushed back down again by a strong gust of ash filled wind. He then tried to

stand up again. This time he fell over on purpose. He saw a crater that went down so deep past the

earth’s crust that all he could see was darkness. He realised that he was surrounded by this pit of dark-

ness and began to panic. Instinctively, he reached for his inhaler, but something was different. His

breathing was fine. He didn’t need his inhaler. He stood up, glanced at his inhaler and threw it as far as

he could into the crater. He felt free. His lungs would open and he was the happiest man on earth. Then

Heinz By Leeroy River

As the eight individuals surrounded the two of them they fired their guns into the air and chanted a

song in a language that was unknown to Erik.

“The people beneath those black hoodies are not happy. They blame white people for Big Red and tor-

ment any they see” said the policeman. The hoodies shot the policeman in his shins which forced him

to the ground. Erik saw three of the gang then turn to him and cock their machineguns. Erik thought of

a force field and almost instantaneously the attackers started to fire but then fall back to the ground

bleeding. There was a force field of blue fire surrounding Erik and the policeman. Erik then thought of a

movie he had seen once and walked through his force field towards a thuggee and swiftly raised his

hand at the man. A donut of blue flame burst forth from his palm and on impact with the thug repelled

him about twenty-five metres or so. Erik repeated this process on another member of the assailants and

missed his whole body but caught his left side which threw the man into a spin. The rest of the gang

looked at each other and ran away.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?!” cried Erik, falling to his knees. The gang was gone now and the

policeman had been somehow miraculously healed. It appeared the force field has special healing capa-

bilities.

“Crikey! It seems you have a bit of a personality in there! What were you doing over there at the Big

Red site?” said the policeman curiously.

“I was in the original… thing. With the giant tomato. What is Big Red? That was a HEINZ product in-

volving artificial tomato; like the rest of HEINZ products,” said Erik.

“’Big Red’ is the original encounter with the monsters.”

Erik thought about that word. Monsters. Plural. More-than-one.

Heinz (cont’d) By Leeroy River

House of Cards By Samuel Perkins

The fervour and frequency with which the crew celebrated the last nights of their lives still stunned him. Every other ship he’d served on celebrated the brief respite between engagements in a different way, but none like this. The entire crew deck was darkened, heaving constantly with the moving bod-ies of hundreds of people. Arms waved in the air, spines twisting and bending, gyrating, leaping, en-grossed in the flow and beat of the music that poured through the vessel. The rhythm was heavy; he could feel his skin buzz and his heart shake, the energy of overwhelming bass flowing through him freely. The sheer volume of it made him feel like it was clawing its way through his ears. He and the rest of the crew stank of sweat and the humid air, overpowering the climate control, was all pervasive.

August was the only one not dancing, moving hunched over and awkward through the throng, pressed against by everyone, almost sliding through. He took his time, careful to avoid the waving arms and spinning dancers. Many seemed to not notice him as he pushed his way through, eyes rolling in their heads and mouths hanging open as they moved. It was almost unnerving; surrounded by so many people revelling in their humanity and their own tiny, short lives, yet he felt not the slightest inclina-tion to join them. The dense feeling of dread that had squatted in his stomach since the last pass hadn’t gone away.

He found the Captain eventually, seated with his legs crossed and a small glass held up in his hand. He was facing a view screen, which showed the void outside in false colour. Spectacular blues and greens enmeshed and separated as he watched, the billowing clouds of interstellar dust lit up by the ship’s systems. The cold depths of space made warm and beautiful by a computer program. The Cap-tain breathed in deeply as August approached, eyes closed.

“Smell that?” the Captain thought, broadcasting the words through his head and into the room around him.

“I do,” August thought back, words echoed by the dancers around them in an eerie, disembodied cho-rus. The words floated around him, seemingly embedded in the music, “Sweat.”

“The smell of humanity. People doing what they do best.” The Captain sank deeper in AW2-his seat,

his eyes still closed, face towards the ceiling, “Three days until we battle the Horizon again, and we’re unlikely to survive.”

“That’s what I was here about.” August hesitated now, letting his thoughts slip and the Captain caught a whiff of them.

The Captain’s eyes shot open, “We all do, my friend.”

House of Cards (Cont’d) By Samuel Perkins

“Yes sir, of course. But...” he didn’t put the thought into words, but the deep feeling of dread and shame expressed itself well enough. The Captain understood perfectly.

“I don’t want to die either.” He closed his eyes again, taking a sip of his strong-smelling drink, “But at least we can have a little more time. I believe in life before death.”

“As do I...”

“Everyone on this ship does. I’m sure you noticed,”

The music changed, ascending in pitch, increasing dramatically in tempo. The tension in the music overwhelmed, piece by piece, the minds of the people on the entire deck. They moved faster, tighter, until all around him was just a whirlwind of motion. They were frenzied, stamping their feet and howl-ing with the music, which mercilessly drowned them out. August crouched closer to the Captain’s chair, huddled away from the storm of movement.

“Sir...”

The ground shook with the trampling of hundreds of feet, the air heaved with their scent, vibrated with sheer energy.

“Sir!” he projected his thoughts as loudly as he could, agonising for a few short moments as he was given nothing in reply.

The Captain was gone, dropping his drink to the table beside him, and leaping into the heaving mass of humanity.

“Sir!” he screamed in his mind, demanding attention, desperate for it. Anything to make him listen.

“We who are about to die, salute you.” On hearing this, the crowd roared.

The Captain lifted his arms into the air, as did his crew. They defied their fate, raging against the thought of their coming deaths with pure joy and energy.

“We who are about to die!”

He gave up, falling back against the view screen and crumpling to the ground with his head in his hands. Tears flowed down his face in rivers.

“We salute you!”

The expanse of black bog stretched on forever. Shell craters sat lip to lip like sores. Strands of rusty barbed wire stretched along the whole front. This was no man’s land.

I felt the thick mud enclose around my ankles as I ran. I looked back to see the other man close behind, struggling through the muck. The other 3 were somewhere out in the mist ahead of us. Or behind us. In no man’s land, everything looked the same.

The mist blinded us. It had an eerie feel about it. A feeling that no one was alone. I looked back once more to see the man far behind, trying to catch up. I thought he had been right behind me. I thought I saw running forms in the fog ahead. But no one was there. No man’s land played tricks on your mind. It was a place of misery, despair and failure.

A low crackling sounded far off in the mist as a machine gun came alive. I slid down into the depths of a shell hole. I was in a cold sweat. My breath came out in front of me in long white plumes. Here I was, lying in a freezing bog, enclosed by fog and mud.

I peered out over the lip of the crater to see no one at all. Where was the man who had been following me? Maybe lost, perhaps even dead. I went to yell out, but no voice came. I trembled. I slid back into the comforting depths of the slimy hole.

The silence was deafening. The fog seemed like a shield, blocking anyone from getting away. It con-fronted you like a bad dream.

The mission was all a failure. We didn’t have to go and link up with the 4th battalion down the line. It was all our own doing.

A man’s voice yelled out from the left. The machine gun spluttered to life once more, with pencils of flame jabbing out into the mist.

I wondered about the rest of the men. Were they alive?

“Private! Are you out there?” The voice sounded again.

A burst of fire blasted out from the enemy frontline once more. I cursed that gun! Because of it, we had all been split up, and now, would we ever get back to our frontline?

‘Private Head!” I heard the voice again on my right! He was wondering about in no man’s land, trying to find the rest of his platoon.

I leapt from the hole and ran as hard as I could to follow that voice. My legs hurt and my lungs were burning. As I ran, the machine gun fired from ahead, not the left!

Confused and disorientated, I slumped down into another hole.

I was lost in the misery of No Man’s Land.

Lost in No Man’s Land By Ben Head

“Her hazel eyes twitch, redden, water. Body exhaustion levels have reached 90% and spastic reactions commence…She’s going blue.” His voice breaks as he commences com-mentating. “Her body endurance weakens and she’s 95%”, he now yells over the vic-tim’s tormented screams and he let outs a cry of anguish. “96, 97, 98, 99” he quickly looks away as he hisses “100%”. There is a dreadful silence enclosing on the space be-tween him and the menacing figure looming in the darkness. The words my little bum-ble bee escape from his quivering lips. John can’t believe what he has just done; it was-n’t supposed to happen this way, not to her. His breath quickens and he can feel the hot air scorching the inside of his nostrils and the veins along his temples rise like some sort of animal. He finally turns his burning eyes to meet the shaded, unearthly gaze of his nemesis. “Body capacity has reached at 100%, her heart has stopped and she is brain dead…Your majesty”. Shivers immediately roll down his spine like a toxic viper. “Excellent Number 33”, the figure whispers as his raspy voice echoes around what once was a beautiful forest. “You can now become my side, just allow me to enter this body”. With that said, a whoosh of hot, stinky air brushed passed him and it was gone, gone from his sight at least. A wicked smile crosses John’s face as he remembered what he had to do: the time has come.

Ten years before…

“John? Johnny!” The little girl stumbles after her brother with a look of complete and utter delight plastered on her face. Beaming madly, she dodges the willow trees and the warm rays of sunlight illuminate the tips of her eyelashes and her brown ringlets falling from her pony tail. “I know you’re hiding somewhere!” Her young, hazel eyes buzz about searching the forest floor. “There you are,” she sighed. “I am so thirsty, may we

please go home now?”

John looked down to his younger sister and laughed at the sight of her little, sweaty face. “Ok then, if you insist my little bumble bee,” he replied.

“Oh yes I do! Most certainly! Um, Johnny? What does insist mean?” Laughter filled the beautiful forest and everything seemed so happy…A little too happy.

The only reason aliens came to earth was for the wonderful objective of time. Humans’ lives were a new and easy opportunity to expand their species. Without a life there’s a fear of never living and with it, there is the lust for immortality. The difference between a human and an alien is that when a person is born, it is given time in which it lives. For a human, its lifespan is already planned; nothing can change it once it is bestowed whereas the aliens aren’t given any time. They aren’t human. They aren’t ghosts because ghosts have passed their time. They are

The invasion By Olivia Richardson

leeches, living only off the life of another. They steal life from living things by sucking out the soul from inside a creature. It is a torturous and agonising experience to get the life sucked out of you, but once you are put into an alien’s machine, nothing can save you. Once the life has been drawn from an alien’s prey, they inhabit their victim’s dead lifeless skins. The body comes back to life occupied by a demon.

It all started with the disappearances of families and citizens who suddenly vanished and re-turned as different people. Something was wrong, everybody knew it, but nobody said any-thing and anyone who questioned would mysteriously go missing and then later reappear. When the missing returned they transformed into slow motioned, dark humoured and spacey; being hardly passable for a sane human. When they returned were asked where they went, they simply replied “to get my life.” That’s when the alien’s revealed themselves. Forcing hu-mans to join them or be destroyed. For you see they also wanted to build their own empires on earth and keep useful humans as their servants. But, if a human was truly worthy they could become an alien’s side. This meant that the human was protected from harm of the other aliens and lived with their single alien as a servant. They wanted to be served and obeyed without any question or payment. This initially seemed to John like something he would rather die than do. Anyone cowardly enough to give in to the aliens and accept such a proposition should be ashamed of themselves.

But then, he devised a plan. A truly genius plan to end the reign of the aliens over humans. He had to kill the king of the aliens because without him all aliens would die. Firstly, their life sucking machines would fail to work and the victim’s lives would be restored in their bodies. This is possible because the King of the aliens never trusted anyone. He would not even trust a close one of his kind with the special key to deactivate the life-sucking machines. His being is the key that kept all the evil and torturous machines functioning,. This made him an ignorant, easy target for John. All the monstrous buildings of torture that the aliens constructed would soon disappear and the beautiful forests in which John cherished much as a child would be restored. He needed to get close to the king and he had to make sacrifices in order to get there. His sister just happened to be the price he paid.

Ten minutes ago…

His eyes were wild and wide as he squeezed the weapon tighter in this hand. He tried not to make it seem so obvious but the wait had just been so long. He took steps to-wards the hideous monster in the body of his beautiful sister. “Your refreshment my King,” he announced as he bowed his head and eagerly edged the cup towards the alien. Sweat beaded off his face as he dare not raise his head before his master took the drink. “Very well,” the alien responded in a voice that he had known all his life and loved for all eternity. John feels the weight lift off his clammy hand, he looks up and eyes his master anxiously. The alien goes into spasm and slowly descends to the floor below, “BETRAYAL!” it shrieks. Minutes pass in total silence and anticipation. This is until John’s ears are filled with the most wonderful call, “John? Johnny, is that you?”

Garett had known this day would come, but no amount of preparation, no matter how pains-taking, could have readied the Rennon man for what lay ahead. It was twenty years since he had ever raised a weapon against another man, but even if they knew, that would not stop the men from the North.

The Heimscheld, the great wall matrix that protected the Therisain people from the Imperial Notherners had apparently fallen, or the enemy had found another way around. The slender, blond haired men had captured one fiefdom in the first week, and another had fallen by the end of the month. By Garett’s estimations, Renn, the mercantile city that sat astride the river Halgon, was next. The colonial militia had basic combat training, but Garett knew that they would need more than that if the invaders were to be kept from the city. He would have to help them.

Clutching his military record in his callused hand, Garett pushed open the door of his home. He winced as the sunlight flared in his eyes. Blinking to clear his vision, he took in his sur-roundings. The cobblestone path stretched away to his right, to his left sat Faldor’s bakery, a squat, stone building with smoke pouring from the chimney. Across the road, a wooden sign

marked a tavern, the Broken Wheel. The tavern was two storeys high and made of wood and straw, but had a friendly feel about it. The Mercure district wasn’t a very rich one, but the resi-dents had enough to live in a measure of comfort. Renn was the envy of some other cities, a cultural and architectural marvel. Garett only hoped it would stay that way.

Garett’s longsword slapped into a potted plant on the ground as he turned to lock his door. Grimacing as he set the pot aright, the carpenter realised that he would have to get used to wearing it again. Stepping down, onto the road, Garett made his way toward the recruitment centre.

Ser Antiach Cassen, the man in charge of recruitment, looked up at Garett as he entered the building.

“Hullo there,” he said, closing a ledger. “Are you here to enlist?”

“Of course,” Garett said, shaking the proffered hand.

Renn By Ethan Perkins

“Very well then.” Garett resisted the urge to glance away as Cassen’s eyes swept over him, tak-ing in the muscular frame and the sword at his belt before inspecting his face. Garett had a square set jaw covered with a light black beard flecked with grey. His grey eyes were like a raptor’s, penetrating.

“Do you have any military experience?”

“Yes ser, I fought with the 2nd Infantry Platoon of Corrla and the 4th Cavalry of Pennance main-ly. Details are all in here.” He dropped his military record on the desk. Cassen whistled appre-ciatively as he flicked though it.

“A Star of Corrla, three Medals of Bravery, a Medal of Honourable Sacrifice and a commenda-tion from the Lord-General of Pennance. You have quite a history in the military.”

“Ser, I was just doing my part.”

“Looks like you did more than that; nobody has won a Star of Corrla since you did, twenty-one years ago. What weapon proficiencies do you have?”

“Ser, sword and shield, longbow and lance, ser.”

“Interesting. Well, friend, consider yourself a part of the Rennon Army Corps. Report to Grai-son the blacksmith. He’ll outfit you.”

“Yes ser,” Garett turned and left the building, full of trepidation.

Remembering the atrocities he had seen committed during his other deployments, Garett felt a deep sense of shame. He had to stay strong though, because he had to protect the land he had fallen in love with. Squaring his shoulders, Garret headed towards the blacksmith.

For the first time in twenty years, he was going to war.

The infinity of blue, tall mountains and caves, rigid and waving trees of many colours and be-

neath the ridge lies the dark abyss. There is no place we cannot go, except above; an unreacha-

ble place. Light comes and goes, some darkness stirs our home. Danger lurks around every

corner for everyone except the largest. We come in all shapes and sizes; some with armoured

bodies, some with many weapons and some set traps or carry lethal poison, but some are de-

fenceless.

One early light, strange, big creatures come from above; an unknown place to our kind. One by

one dropping down, six of them, each with four long arms hanging from their large bodies and

two huge eyes, their breath floats away from their faces out of their tubular mouths; they do

not breathe like we do. They wear no armour, but have a dark body; they carry no weapon, but

held in their arms are small objects. Fins are attached to the two arms that hang from behind.

They wander a while, looking at our mountains, caves and trees, flashing lights come from the

objects they carry. We watch them until they come closer, when we turn and hide. We watch

them leave; up above they go, into the unknown.

Light and dark passes several times before the creatures return again, this time with no flash-

ing objects, but instead curved webs on sticks. Some watch from inside our caves, but some of

us just stay outside. The creatures approach a group of caves and reach out with their tools,

those inside try to hide, but the creatures reach in and trap them. We watch as our neighbours

are carried away, up and out. A short time passes when the creatures come down once again

with their tools now empty. They approach again. With nowhere to run or hide, a group of us

are trapped as their tools scoop us up. A few try to break free, but all attempts are unsuccess-

ful. Three or four of us lie together in a heap; we look across through the webbing to see others

as we are all hauled upwards in the traps of the giant creatures.

Our breath is taken away from us as we rise above our home; a dry heat hits us instantly and a

glare so bright we are blinded. We are unable to move no matter how hard we try. The web

sways in small movements from side to side. In a few short moments, we feel a familiar sense

and once again we are able to breathe and the heat and glare fades quickly. But looking, noth-

ing is familiar, the other three survey the scene as well. White surrounds us. A short movement

Beyond Blue By Rhiannon Benton

forwards is abruptly halted by the white barrier, movement is limited between the four of us in

this small space.

An unknown amount of time passes before the surroundings change once again. Now the

scenery seems more familiar, but new faces surround us. Exploring around, we soon find more

barriers, but this time almost invisible. Beyond the barriers are more of the strange creatures,

now, not covered in black, but different colours. Seeing beyond the barriers is difficult, but

even as blurs these big creatures are recognisable. We all felt confused by this new scenery.

Surrounding us were tall mountains, caves, rigid and waving trees of many colours, but below,

the ground is even and sandy and above a bright blue light. Somehow this does not seem any-

thing like home.

I sat in my bed tossing and turning; her last words repeating in my head over and over like a broken record. My golden eyes flashed open and I looked out my window into the dark woods; I could feel it calling to me. I ran my hands through my hair as the emptiness in my chest grew. I could’ve screamed out from the pain but no one would hear me. I tossed my sheets aside and my bare feet touched the rough wooden floor. The only light was from the full moon shining through my open window. An icy wind rushed into me and a cold chill slid its way up my back. I pulled on my hood and sat on my bed staring at the white door. It was painted a dull white which had crackled and peeled over the years, and now was speckled with black where the paint had abandoned its surface. A glass tear slipped its way down my pale cheek as I sat there in the empty house. I swiped it away angrily and stomped out of the room slamming the creaking door with a thud.

I threw a vase of flowers across the room. The glass shattered and the water pattered onto the floor. What would she say if she saw me now? I slammed against the wall and I slid down to the floor. I bought my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around myself. This is how she had first seen me after such a long time of being away from one another. I could feel the pres-sure in my chest as a sob attempted to escape my lips. No I’m not the sad person I used to be. It wasn’t going to be like this! I got up and took in a deep jagged breath. I moved on down the hall walking wherever my feet took me. Before I knew it I was at the back door and on the porch the icy wind stabbing at my exposed skin. I looked out to the woods in front of me the fierce wind rippling through the leaves.

I stepped off the porch; the pine needles crackling beneath my bare feet. The trees seemed to whisper in an ancient language. I walked further towards the trees, their branches reaching out towards the house, welcoming me into their dark embrace. Then the pain ripped through my brief moment of peace. The cold stab of sadness snaked through me, coursing through my veins. I yelled out in anger. Why did it have to be her? Why couldn’t it have been me? I broke into a run, rushing head first into the shadow of the trees. I kept running faster and faster as if running could make the pain go away even if for only a moment. I tripped over countless times, but I kept dragging my feet across the ground. I was covered in tiny scratches and splinters, little droplets of blood appearing all over my skin. I tackled a nearby tree my nails digging into the bark. I looked up at the twisting branches and the moon shining through creating patterns on the forest floor. I grabbed onto the rough bark and began climbing scraping and slipping my way to the top. The branches began to thin but I kept going. If I fell what would it matter? Eventually people would find me but I would be nothing but a pile of bones by then.

I had reached the top and I could see the outstretch of trees of what seemed like forever. The wind rushed around me, circling its prey. I looked up to the full moon and howled, such a pain filled sad howl that even death shed a tear at its call.

The woods By Madeleine Occhino

It's cold...far too cold. The wind blows and gracefully whistle's past the living. Yes...the living. Why must the spirits continue, what is stopping them from resting? She would stand there in the middle of the crowded streets both day and night, hoping that someone would notice her. She would greet any-one that walked up to her, only to feel rejection as they go through her, leaving nothing but sadness behind.

As it got dark, she would cry on her own, hoping no one was watching, although it did not matter. The tears would drop down her pale cheek; she would feel the small drop of water tickle as it drips off, hit-ting the floor. The girl would watch the tears disappear...why...why won’t they stay?

Must she feel her sadness but not feel the living? Oh, it was her dream...to feel again would be perfect. She wants it so badly and yet...she knows it will never happen. The seat in the classroom would always be empty...but they are wrong. There would be an innocence sitting there, waiting, watching. Her name would be called on the register. "Luna...Luna? Does anyone know where Luna is?”

Where is Luna...Why is Luna gone...When will Luna be back. These were not questions, they were cries for help. She would quietly sit there, whispering her name in the winds, begging for someone to reply. "Absent". Oh...that one word hurt her the most. She doesn't have a heart and yet...she would hold her chest, feeling the pain of loneliness. Every day she would be separated from the one's she cares about the most, no goodbyes. Just more pain.

The night would be strange; she would sit at her desk in the dark, afraid. Ghosts can't be scared can they? No, Luna was not a ghost; she was a soul, forcefully taken away from her life. Why...What did she do to deserve this? The harsh realities of life had the answer...but when Luna asked, nothing replied. Because those harsh realities of life were the living. Walking amongst her, ignoring her, hurting her.

At times her hope would rise, someone would stare at her and smile. She would hesitate before smiling back. Oh why did she smile back...Just as she thought that she had a friend, something would inter-vene. A husband or wife...a dog or cat...even a tiny bug. Apart of her expected this and yet she still felt broken. She would run, as fast as she could and still end up back in the class.

The classroom would be empty, like her soul. The only one in the class would be the new boy, who forgot his work. "Hello?" she whispered. No reply. Her voice trembled with fear. "Please an-swer...please". She would fall to her knees as tears filled her eyes. The new boy walked past her and out the door. She felt his presence leave her, almost making her numb. She cried in that same spot, letting out loud weeps that could make anyone feel sorry for her. The area melted around her, making her feel worthless.

The white haired girl then heard a voice behind her, a glimpse of hope, a sign. "Is anyone here?" the new boy would ask. The girl turned, she wiped the tears of her eyes as the question made her feel something inside. The boy looked around, then left, leaving Luna on her own again. The feeling felt warm and fuzzy; and it made Luna feel good about herself. She had no idea what it was, but we know...it was hope. The room brightened up as Luna's mood changed.

It would be that same year, that same boy, that same class where Luna would soon learn that she was not alone. She would learn that the living do care, they do know and will help her. Until that time, that first glimpse of hope was good enough for Luna as she smiled.

"Thank you…" whispered Luna. It was quiet, but the comment echoed through the area and became a whisper in the winds.

Whisper in the winds By Connor Aspland

Prologue

The boy raced through the dimly lit streets, his feet thudding against the uneven concrete as

he swerved to avoid the sputtering street lamps that dotted the area before him. His heart

pounded in his ears and a cold sweat drenched his body, both from fear and the freezing air of

the night. The slow shuffling was still sounding behind him, signaling that his follower was

still there, that he hadn’t lost him in the empty streets. The thing that hunted him was moving

slowly but steadily, it was confident of its kill and didn’t need to hurry itself; this terrified the

boy even more and spurred him into a faster gait. The young boy clenched his fists and started

to wonder how this had all began.

He believed he had started being followed two days ago. Always seeing a man out of the corner

of his eye; but when he looked full on he was gone. He had first dismissed it as craziness, call-

ing himself delusional and paranoid. Now he was sure he had a right to be paranoid. That

night as he was walking home from his job at the local butcher he had seen the man again, and

not just from the corner of his eye this time. He had been standing out in the middle of the

street; it had appeared like he was waiting for something, waiting for him.

The boy was startled out of his thoughts by stumbling on a crack in the uneven pavement, fall-

ing ungracefully to the cold ground. His breath caught in his throat as he looked around the

dark street, searching for his follower. Had he caught up yet? He held his breath and listened,

other than the rustling of trees and the occasional banging of a wooden shutter against the

broken windows of the houses that lined the street, he heard nothing. He desperately hoped

that he was safe, that his mysterious stalker had given up, or maybe he had dreamed the whole

thing up in the first place. But then he saw a shadowy silhouette under a street lamp ahead of

him. Maybe he hadn’t dreamed it after all.

The dark figure strode up to the boy as he backed himself away, scrabbling over the concrete,

his hands were soon grazed and oozing blood and still the figure approached, his steps slow

and confident. As the figure stepped under the next street light, the one the boy himself was

backed against, the dirty light cast itself onto his face, showing the boy his follower at last. He

The weavers of Quarte By Kelcey Brian

looked ordinary enough, with shoulder length blond hair and a tall, strong figure. But his eyes

were black, there was no colour to be seen and the darkness there looked fathomless. He

sneered down at the boy and it was one of the worst things the child had ever seen in his life.

“You’re a disgrace boy,” he spat in a deep disgusted voice. “You are weak, just like the rest of

your kind.” The man’s closed fist started to spark and glow with an eerie red light as his anger

rose, in seconds his hand was open and filled with burning fire. The boy was shaking in fear,

and even with a metre’s distance between himself and the stranger he could already feel his

skin drying from the intense heat of the flame. How could this man wield so much heat in the

palm of his hand so easily?

“I don’t understand,” the boy’s voice was a faint whisper. The man smiled; but it was a cruel

smile, filled with hate and repulsion.

“That’s the problem with your kind, they never do.” His voice was quiet and calm, but power

flowed off of him in waves as his hand shot down and fire exploded into the air.

Fia is a small girl, smaller than most her age. She stands out with a snow-white complexion

and a tangled nest of black strands for hair that’s forever unable to reach its full length due to

the complexity of knots. That can’t be helped, though – the last time someone tried to take a

brush to Fia’s hair she bit them with teeth so sharp the wound left behind needed stitches.

My dad jokes she’s a Wild Child but that’s impossible. They’re vicious and mad savages that

feast upon human flesh and perform blood rituals designed to bring back the dead; at least,

that’s what I’ve heard. Fia isn’t like that at all but she’s not normal, either. For starters, she

doesn’t walk the way people are meant to, instead crawling along the ground like a stalking

cat, fulfilling the act by extending her limbs to leap and pounce at random. I asked her once

why she did this. She asked me why I walked the way I did and the question was so stupid

that I didn’t think it merited a response and ignored it– I didn’t want to admit that I didn’t

have an answer.

Once, she covered herself in the ashes left behind from a bonfire, the only explanation being

that she had grown tired of her skin and thought that a new colour was in order. I thought this

might have even made a little bit of sense but when, in the week after, she moved on to creat-

ing face paint out of cow manure I lost any understanding I’d managed to gain into her psyche.

She’s not normal, I’ve always known that, but now we sit within the small, damp confines of

the cellar under my house, nervously but excitedly trading secrets back and forth, and I come

to realize that I never knew just how different she was. Most of my secrets are mundane and

common, like I didn’t start using magic until I was five (an embarrassment if ever there was

one) or that, when I was younger, I used to dress up as a girl.

Hers are different. Hers include setting fire to her mother’s hair and being so convinced that

she could breathe under water that she nearly drowned once. Then she whispers her last one,

eyes wide and the flames of the hovering ball of fire between us casting half her face into shad-

ows and the other into bright scrutiny. My heart stops, just for a moment.

“I don’t have magic.” The worlds float effortlessly towards me, passing through the barrier of

flames and I wish that they had never made it across. In all my life, I have never met anyone

who does not possess some small fraction of magic and I know why. To not have magic carries

the penalty of death, to be burnt alive at the stake as the penalty once was for those who had

magic. To not have magic is to be the victim of everyone’s fears.

Fear By Olivia Johnston-Powell

In the beginning, there was nothing. This nothingness eventually turned into chaos. From the rolling black mass

that was chaos, came the Three. The Three then fashioned the universe, the earth and all that is in it from the cha-

os. This binding of chaos soon became known as order. Order bound chaos into a solid form. In today’s modern

day and age, chaos still exists as shadows. Pale comparisons of what they once were, forced to imitate what was

bound by order. But like all magnificent triumphs, order couldn’t keep chaos bound forever. Now, order is unrav-

elling. The bindings on the chaos are loosening and soon the shadows will pull everything apart like unravelling a

ball of string. The Three that bound chaos originally are gone. They will be needed if order is to be restored. With

only a riddle to find them and the order, time is running out for everyone.

‘Lexi, we need you to help watch the twins, darling, as I have to help out in the shop. So can

you please get up?’ the voice slowly rose in octaves until it hit shrieking volume.

‘I’m coming,’ was the groggy response that came from my lips. A sigh soon followed as I shook

off the last of my sleepiness. Looking at myself in my bedroom mirror, I was the picture of

tiredness. I had bags under my blue eyes and my pitch black hair was rumpled with sleep. I

wasn’t sleeping well as I was plagued by reoccurring nightmares. They would continuously

form in my mind and even sometimes enter my waking thoughts. I would see darkness and

then within the darkness three giant human like figures. I could also hear soft whispering

voices, echoing the same thing over and over in my head.

‘Follow the ancient path, walk the ancient ways

Back to the stone heart, where order shall be remade

Sing the song that was once sung

Bind the chaos and make order done

The Three were needed, the Three you’ll need again

As time is running out and chaos will have to be tamed’

‘Lexi, get up now!’ There was the reminder. Finding motivation, I threw on a plain red t-shirt

and my old baggy blue jeans. Comfort before looks was how I dressed. Listening to the noises

escalating in the kitchen, I went down and discovered Lisa trying to entertain the twins, Beau

and Will, whist feeding 9 month old Julian. It was an impossible task, one that she needed res-

cuing from. I walked in and picked up the twins.

The unravelling By Alexandra Russell

‘Come on you two. Let’s take Pongo for a walk.’ Pongo was their pet Dalmatian who they had

named after the character from Disney’s 101 Dalmatians.

‘Yay, Pongo go for walkies,’ Beau said gleefully. Two minutes later with coats and one dog, we

were out the door and onto the street.

‘Why are you scared of shadows, Lexi?’ Will looked at me expectantly for an answer.

‘I’m not scared, Will, and don’t worry,” I replied. My answer though, was very far from the

truth. I was scared of shadows. I kept seeing them move into nasty scary shapes with no rela-

tion to what they were shadowing and when I did, I felt a bad, sinking feeling, like time was

running out.

‘Pongo!’ The twins’ distressful calls broke me out of my musing only to see their beloved puppy

take off. I lunged for the leash and missed. A hand shot out and snatched the leash, stopping

Pongo from escaping any further. The hand belonged to a teenager. Her brown eyes and hair

reflected the easy going smile. As he came towards us, the twins hid behind me; they weren’t

very people friendly.

‘Mitharido, we have to pick up your school uniform so stop playing around with stray dogs

again.’ An elegant business woman walked towards us, her attention on the planner in her

hands. Her hair was coiled at the nape of her neck with a few strands that framed her face. She

appeared to be in her early thirties, but with the grey two piece suit that she was wearing and

the imposing grey stiletto heels, she gave off the impression of being very strict and serious.

She looked up.

‘Ahh, so you weren’t playing with strays, but instead people. Care to introduce us?’

I stepped in before Mitharido could get himself into more trouble.

‘Hi, I’m Aleximadron Lester and these are my twin brothers Beau and Will. They lost control

of Pongo, our dog there, and Mitharido stopped him from escaping any further. It is our fault

for inconveniencing you.’

The unravelling (Cont’d) By Alexandra Russell

‘That’s okay, you’re Aleximadron. I am Rinamarra Athelthwaite and this is my adopted son,

Mitharido, although you have already met.’ Rinamarra fished out what looked like a business

card from the back of her planner. ‘Here, call us if you need someone to talk to about anything,

we’ll be there.’ The sentence seemed to have a double meaning to it, but what it was I couldn’t

begin to guess. ‘Let us go, Mitharido, goodbye everyone.’ With that Rinamarra turned and

walked down the road. Mitharido handed Pongo’s leash back to me with an apologetic smile

for Rinamarra’s behaviour and waved goodbye as he followed. The twins finally ventured out

from behind me and looked up into the sky.

‘Lexi, black clouds coming,’ Will said with uncertainty in his voice. Will was afraid on thun-

derstorms. He didn’t like the bright flashes of lightening or the loud house shaking claps of

thunder. I wasn’t much better really, still jumping at shadows.

‘We’re going home, yes?’ asked Beau.

I replied, ‘Yes Beau, let’s take Pongo home. Are you coming Will?’ Will drew his attention

away from the every approaching storm clouds and nodded. We began walking back home

when the first pearls of thunder rumbled in the distance. Will slipped his hand into mine and I

gave it a squeeze to reassure him. As we turned the corner into our street, fat droplets of water

began to fall from the sky. We made a desperate dash for the shelter of our house as the heav-

ens opened above. Lisa was waiting in the doorway with towels ready to dry us off. There was

even a towel for Pongo. It was barely passed noon when we had arrived back and both the

twins and I were exhausted. Lisa told us to dry off and go take an afternoon nap before we col-

lapsed. I was only too happy to oblige. My legs slowly carried me upstairs and through my

bedroom door. I changed into my pyjamas and fell asleep immediately. I dreamed.

It was a fathomless pitch black. There were three figures surrounding a cylindrical shaped stone. There were

strange marks circling around the central area of the stone. The figures placed their hands outstretched, just

touching the stone heart. The runes glowed an eerie white and words began to pour from the Three’s lips. ‘Order

be created, take the chaos and bind it into form. From it, create a universe, a place of mystery and wonder and

within it, create a place of sanctuary, a place where life can coexist and enjoy the marvels that shall be born. Let

this become order. Let us become mortal, to be reborn again and again, guarding over without knowing and yet

the knowing is still there. Let this be done.’ And with that, the blackness moved. It rearranged itself into bright,

multicoloured stars and galaxies. The planets formed, swirling together and there was earth, the chosen giver of

life created for life forms to enjoy the marvels of the universe.

Everything happening at once and when it all had finally settled, I realised where we were, our town’s park, with

its stone sculpture in the centre, but millions of years in the past. The Three were gathered around it as they be-

gan to change. They morphed into a human form and then changed again into another. The would-be park’s sur-

roundings also began to change, move forward to the future. The Three again were changing again but speeding

up as time continued to flicker past. I began to see the surroundings take shape to what I knew as the town’s cur-

rent local park. When I looked back up at the Three, I just looked on dumbfounded. The Three had finally finished

changing form to what they were currently now and there standing in front of me was Rinamarra, Mitharido

and myself. The images faded abruptly as I jolted back into the waking world.

I could vividly remember my dream, seeing the being that would eventually become me, create

the world. But I was also remembering more, I knew I was her and she was me. I could remem-

ber each and every one of my past lives and that Rinamarra and Mitharido were a part of it. I

looked around frantically for the business card that Rinamarra had given me this morning. Af-

ter locating it, I dashed downstairs to the phone and dialled the numbers written.

‘Hello.’

‘Rinamarra, it’s Aleximadron. I know what we are and I need to talk to you. Meet me at the

park where the stone heart is,’ I sneaked a look at the clock, ‘at four o’clock.’

‘We’ll be there’ and the phone went dead. I barely stopped to change out of my pyjamas and

then I was out the door.

The storm had well and truly hit the town. The wind was blowing a gale. Dark clouds rolled

overhead as the world was illuminated by the occasional flash of lightening followed by the

thunder. But with my new old-found knowledge, I knew that the storm was caused by chaos

spreading its wings and cruelly playing with the world before it is destroyed. I arrived at the

park only to see Rinamarra and Mitharido already there, standing around the stone heart like

they were in my dream. Everything suddenly became clear to e. I knew what I had to do. I

stepped in between Rinamarra and Mitharido as the words again flowed forth from our lips.

‘Order be created, take the chaos and bind it into form. From it, create a universe, a place of

mystery and wonder and within it, create a place of sanctuary, a place where life can coexist

and enjoy the marvels that shall be born. Let this become order. Let us become mortal, to be

reborn again and again, guarding over knowing. Let order be re-done again.’

The unravelling (Cont’d) By Alexandra Russell

I felt the power shudder through us as the last words hung in the air. The storm that was

howling around us began to abate as the chaotic nature of it was gone. With a final sigh, I

closed my eyes as I felt my heart stop. I stepped free of my mortal body and my spirit showed

just for a second as a shadow. I was tall, enormously so, a black flowing robe covered me from

head to toe. The robe rippled as it was blown about by an unseen wind. Rinamarra and Mith-

arido appeared exactly the same. We looked at each other briefly and walked onwards, vanish-

ing as we waited to be reborn again.

It was morning again as a soft breeze blew through, clearing the storm clouds for a second, showing the stone

heart surrounded by three cold lifeless bodies. Police would arrive later on in the day alerted to the bodies when

a neighbourly couple went for a morning jog in the park. The three bodies would be identified as Rinamarra and

Mitharido Athelthwaite and Aleximadron Lester and the families of the three would be shocked and grief strick-

en at their sudden deaths. Police would also be very confused at their cause of death as the only explanation was

that their hearts had just stopped.

Fin

Red dust stained the whitish colour on my new shoes. Hot and tiring, in the 30’s my whole

holiday in Kalgoorlie. At least I got to see my older brother, who works as a geologist in this

hot, mining town. No car to use for a while which means, walking.

When I walked I got to know the town fairly well. I saw it was actually civilized. All you need

in a town. Target, Coles, Kmart, Woolies and other big companies which made me feel at

home.

We hired a car and drove 4 hours away to Esperance. Amazing beaches some best in Australia.

White sand, and some like Lucky bay had squeaky sand and two kangaroos jumping around

enjoying the sunshine too. We saw a local seal named Sammy just underneath a jetty. I took a

million photos of him, and the kangaroos.

Easter. A time of happiness and joy and tired eyes from getting up so early and a sore belly

from eating to much chocolate! I spent my Easter in Esperance on a little playground at the

back of the house we rented for 5 days.

Back in Kalgoorlie again. Had a tour around ‘THE SUPER PIT!’. One of the major tourist at-

tractions in Kalgoorlie, and the biggest gold mining centre in Australia.

It all went so quickly. The days the nights. The iced water and lots of movies. Hot days and

some days that were boring but it all turned out for the best!

‘Bye Kalgoorlie see you again! Maybe!

Kalgoorlie Western Australia By Jasmine Dober

He ran through the forests that split Autumn from Winter, chased by fey that hooted and yelled as they recklessly ran after him.

He knew nothing of his attackers except that they were Winter. An arrow flew past his face leaving a trail of ice behind it, proving which court they came from.

The question, of course, was why? Why would Winter fey be chasing an Autumn through neutral territory?

Unless they knew, no, they couldn’t.

Another arrow streaked past, closer this time. They were closing in. He pushed himself faster. The only thing he could do was run. Get away and warn her that someone was after him.

A yell came from behind him, some mocking remark, meant to make him slow down. He ignored it, nothing was more important than getting away.

More arrows were released, three at the same time, all covered in Winter glamour, making them more deadly. He dodged them but felt the last one brush his cheek, leaving a thin line.

That was close, too close.

“Come on Prince, you’re not even making this a challenge,” one of the Winter’s called.

Where had he heard that voice before?

Keep running, all he needed to do was make it back into Autumn territory and run into a patrol. Sure there would be questions about why he was in the forest in the first place but the patrol would be able to deal with his attackers.

More arrows flew towards him and he tried to dodge. Only this time glamour was thrown from be-hind, keeping the arrows on the same path, toward him.

All but one missed, but one was enough. It flew into his back, knocking him to the ground and keep-ing him frozen there.

It was cold, so cold. Not like her embrace, that was comfort, this was ice. Blood was freezing and the world was shrinking.

A Winter fey leant over him and said softly, “Hey Prince, now you’ve got what you deserve.”

He looked familiar but … it was gone.

The Winter turned back and clapped his companions on their shoulders, “Well done.”

They cheered and turned away, laughing.

The Autumn Prince lay on the ground, his mind full of regrets, “I’m sorry Ave. I couldn’t keep my promise this time.”

The world faded into black and a figure appeared. She was beautiful, her eyes and hair shimmering, changing from Summer to Spring, Autumn to Winter and back again. In the end she settled on a face that he knew well. She had blonde hair that spiked in a million different directions and blue eyes that had softly falling snow.

“Ave?” he muttered.

“You’re forgiven.” Her voice was soft, “Sleep now, Prince of Autumn, she’ll survive without you.”

Hunted By Pia Mutton

What if there was such a place as paradise? A place where worries ceased and everything melted into

perfect harmony? I don’t believe in that anymore. Certain events in my life have extinguished all possi-

bility and hope of such a place. I still remember that day. That one day in my life I will never be able to

forget.

I close my eyes and raise my head to the sky. Mother, if you can hear me now, I just wanted to say, I’m so sorry that

I couldn’t save you. If only I had realised sooner what they were going to do to you. When I finally uncov-

ered their true intention, you were already gone. You all but vanished from this hateful world, leaving

me behind all by myself. Was Father waiting for you when you reached the other side? I like to think

that he was.

I feel a lone tear trickle down my cheek as I remember the restraining arms of the guards that day. They

held me down as I struggled and fought against them, desperately trying to reach you. Even when I

broke free from their grasp, there were always others holding me back.

Another glittering tear joins the first as I recall them forcing me to watch as the executioner separated

your head from your body with a quick slash. The gleaming knife he used to kill you matched his sadis-

tic smile.

Finally, the torrent of tears that have been held back for so long finally rush down my face as a last, fad-

ing memory of you comes into my head. It was your bravery, the way you always held yourself. It was

how you stood tall and proud until the very end. Even when they came for you and beat you until you

were covered in bruises. Even when they held the

knife at your throat, asking you to state your very

last words.

You never gave in. You stayed strong. And in that last

moment, you looked me in the eye and gave a small,

sad smile. It was a smile that said everything that

couldn’t be spoken. “Mother! No!” I remember

screaming. I reached for you in vain, wanting you to

comfort me and tell me it was just a dream. And

then, you were snatched right out of my grasp forever.

Now it is my turn. I know that I can’t run away anymore. This is the fate that destiny chose for me.

Mum, Dad, I’m so sorry I couldn’t fight against them for longer. I hope you will forgive me one day if we ever

meet again. That is my last thought before the gleaming knife comes swinging at my neck. Mum, Dad, I’m

coming to join you in paradise.

Paradise By Celine Shi

He heard the screams of the innocent rip through the night, as drunken men he had once respected

staggered about, binding prisoners. Those who had earlier protested being bound and gagged had

promptly been slashed with a knife and left bleeding on the ground, much to the amusement of the

men. Seeing their friends ruthlessly murdered had silenced all the captured villagers into a dull obedi-

ence. He had not taken part in the sport of provoking villagers. He had only sat in a stunned horror re-

membering the crimes against humanity he and his comrades had committed that night. Around him a

fire blazed, feeding on the homes of guiltless people, illuminating the terrifying scene. Men, women and

children alike shackled to each other, watching their village burn. Intoxicated soldiers lurching about,

jeering at their prisoners, completely oblivious to the stern and disapproving gaze of the moon who had

witnessed the whole battle. That’s if you could even call it a battle, the man thought bitterly at the memory of

his captain ordering the army to slink into the village while the occupants slept, ransack the houses of

all the valuables they found and to take everyone prisoner. No one would ever disobey the captain.

Now his fellow soldiers celebrated the "triumph".

His wandering eyes fell upon the moon and he met its harsh gaze, begging forgiveness he knew he did-

n’t deserve. He felt ashamed and embarrassed that such a significant and immortal being had witnessed

his treachery against his own kind. At the time he had felt proud to fight for his army, but now he

couldn’t even remember if an explanation had even been given as to why they would raid the unsus-

pecting community. Now, people stood weeping at the sight of their lives falling to ruins because of

what he had done. In the big picture, these men are insignificant small figures that just exist, but in the

complex lives of people his army meant a lot more.

Meeting Luna's hard stare once again, he began shedding the coat that marked him a man of the army

and some of his fellows, including the captain, gaped as he threw it into the fire. He stood taller at the

thought of being rid of the incriminating coat. It smouldered for a moment, then caught into wild

flames that danced in the ashes. The villagers stared at him too, but not with the expression of shock

and confusion the soldiers wore, but with a look of stunned disbelief, for a man who had assisted in

destroying their home now was gazing at them, silently begging forgiveness. He stood before the pris-

oners only in a plain shirt and breaches and began to cut away at the ropes binding their wrists. A

shout went up from the captain, and the man’s friends began shooting arrows and flinging knives at

him, but the first arrow that reached him bounced off the back of his neck, and as it hit the ground at

his feet the man began to glow dull silver. As every knife or arrow that should have killed him bounced

off his body, the silver light that was radiating from him grew brighter until he was as bright as the

moon herself. The man turned to face his enemies, his bow drawn.

The man of the Moon By Vestie

“What do you mean you won’t take it!?” Tomik demanded.

The stout, pleasant looking man standing before him shook his head. “I’m sorry Tomik, you know as well as I do that all artwork must conform to the High King’s guidelines. Nothing with colour or ex-pressive designs can be seen by the public, and even then only work from the Royal Artists is allowed. I could get thrown in jail for showing your work in my store.” the town collector Baen explained.

“But surely you could find room up the back, where no one would see? I need the money to pay off the fine from my wall mural.” Tomik pointed to the brightly decorated wall just outside Baen’s store. The wall had taken him only a few hours to complete. It was one of Tomik’s simpler designs, an image of swirling colours, coming together to form a magical gateway. Of course it was only a matter of time before the Royal Guards had discovered his creation and issued the standard $200 dollar fine. That was the worst part about living in Elyria. Ever since the High King took the throne, all forms of art had been banned, singing, dancing, painting, even simple music. The High King had never given any reason as to why he had banned them but many people suspected that it was simply because the High King had no real talent of his own and couldn’t stand the thought of others doing what he himself could not.

“Fine.” Baen gave in. He had always liked Tomik, he reminded him of himself as a boy. He was restless, eager for adventure and with the same inquisitive look in his dark green eyes. “I’ll give you one hundred and seventy and only because I still owe you for looking after my store the other day. But it’s going up in the attic where no one will see it. Deal?”

“One hundred and seventy, is that all?” Tomik asked.

Baen shrugged and held out the coins, “It’s all I’ve got.”

“I’ll take it.”

With payment in hand Tomik exited the store leaving Baen alone with his artwork. As he turned the corner, dogging a pothole in the cobble stone road, he caught sight of Baen admiring the painting and smiled knowingly to himself. No matter what the law said, Tomik would never stop creating. He had been a painter as long as he could remember, making simple sketches in the dirt to start with and soon moving on to complex and exquisite paintings the moment he got his first set of brushes. His clothes had been paint stained ever since he was five, there never being any point to buy new clothes as they were soiled too quickly. His hands were raw from scrubbing away paint and his jet black hair was al-ways styled and coloured differently due to the multitudes of ink mixed throughout. You could tell he was a painter the moment you laid your eyes on him. Of course he had only experienced a few years of artistic freedom before the new laws were set but he still revelled in the feeling of making someone happy with his creations, even if only for a second.

Tomik slipped the coins into his pocket as he neared his destination. He couldn’t be seen with money or Soren would take it as rent, Tomik had been living with him for over six months. Soren wasn’t ex-actly a pleasant man to live with. For starters his room was a feeble structure about the size of a large closet which had been shabbily built onto the side of Soren’s house. On a bad day wind would come sweeping through the cracks, chilling him to the bone. When it was hot the heat brought out the horri-ble stench deep underneath the dirt ground. But it kept him safe from the local criminals who roamed the streets at night and provided him shelter from most of the elements.

Tomik By Emily Erwin

Tomik earned his keep by tending to the stable, running errands for Soren and providing cheap manual labour which was how he earned what little money he had. If he didn’t finish his work he didn’t get to eat. It didn’t sound like much but it was enough to keep him working from early in the morning to very late at night. Whatever spare time he had Tomik spent painting. Due to his lack of money Tomik used only the one brush which he repaired using whatever materials he could find cheap around the market and made his own paint using natural materials such as rock, plants and occasionally insects.

As Tomik pushed open the wooden door leading to the stable he couldn’t help but stop to admire the intricate carvings in the woodwork. Soren may have been a horrible man but he was an amazing car-penter. It was still quite early in the day so Tomik took off his art smock and headed over to the horses. If he hurried he’d be able to finish his jobs before lunchtime and Soren would be none the wiser, he’d never even know Tomik had left. He rolled up his sleeves, his eyes squinted in the dark stable and set to work grooming Apollo’s glossy black coat. Tending the horses always brought back memories, mem-ories of home and family. Tomik closed his eyes as he travelled back through his past.

Sun shone through the canopy of trees above him. The sound of laughing children filled his ears and he instantly recognized his own voice amongst his older brothers and sisters. He had often come here with his family as a child and was always his favourite place to visit. His parents would sneak away from work and take the children out to the forest whenever they got the chance. Tomik saw himself out in the clearing, desperately trying to pull himself on to Apollo but to no avail. A smile lit up his face as he felt his father lift him up into the horse’s saddle. This was the place where he had taught Tomik to ride and was always his fondest memory of home. Tomik smiled to himself as he watched the very familiar scene unfold before him. Tomik’s mother took Apollo by the reins and began to lead him around the clearing, Tomik sitting proudly as she did so. After three circles of the field Tomik’s older brother Adri-an lifted him off the horse and set him down on a nearby boulder. “You’ll soon be able to ride on your own brother, you should be proud.” Adrian, Tomik’s brother challenged him. “But I bet you can’t beat me in a race!”

Tomik sped off after his brother into the distance, fading into the sunset.

Tomik occasionally thought about his family, and though he often missed them, he did not regret mov-ing away. Tomik had come to Elyria for many reasons, the main of which was that his old village simply had nothing to offer him. The people there lived only for their farm, for their animals and for their crops. Based on the outskirts of the kingdom, it provided the country with its daily produce and was known for nothing more. To many people from the main kingdom, this would be an amazing, laid back life. But to Tomik, it simply meant having nothing to do. So he packed up his belongings, saddled up his horse and found the cheapest lodgings he could. Since coming to Elyria Tomik had been amazed by new findings every day. Every corner held a new store or market selling all kinds of amazing things, all he missed was the artwork. Not just painting but singing, dancing, even simple music. Life seemed to lose its colour with them gone, leaving him in a boring world of black and white. And although he soon became accustomed to continuing his painting in secret, it would always be the down fall of Elyria, one he tried daily to ignore.

He opened his eyes and was greeted by Apollo’s knowing gaze. Sometimes Tomik could swear he was trying to tell him something. Like if he could only mouth the words he’d share a life time of knowledge, as Tomik had always done with him. But that was a stupid idea. As much as Tomik would like to be-lieve it, magic just didn’t exist. He had often tried, like all children do. He would write his magic spells, find the highest roof he could and jump off while muttering in prayer, hoping to catch that wisp of magic to lift him up high into the clouds. And as all other children do, he was only greeted with bruises and broken bones. But his mind began to wonder as he set down his brush and headed inside.

“Tomik, is that you boy?” Soren’s voice rang out. “Where are you?” In my workshop, quickly now. There’s someone here for you.”

Tomik followed the sound of Soren's shrill voice through the short narrow hallway and into Soren's workshop. The smell that hit him was overpowering. Wood, varnish and coals from the fire all mixed together stung at his eyes. Tomik had never been in here. Soren had made it very clear that the room was off limits, that there were too many valuable things inside for Tomik to contaminate. Soren was sitting behind an old polished wooden desk. Beside him was another man. He was dressed in a clean, newly pressed tunic and wore a snake embroidered proudly upon his chest.

“Hello boy,” the man hissed.

Tomik drew a quick breath as he realized the identity of the man standing before him. This was Tronan, the High King's most loyal adviser. And he was here for him.

Tomik (Cont’d) By Emily Erwin

There was once a man and his dog, with a loving family until Mother Nature took the family away.

John Cambridge was an average man and had an average life, but he treasured it so dearly. With three kids, a loving companion of a dog and a beautiful wife, life was good. One day John and his Stafford-shire cross Germen Shepherd dog named Edge went for a walk like any normal day. John, who was me-dium height and had brown eyes, dark curly hair and shaven face, tied his dog to a pole and went in to get a Tattslotto ticket. He said to the guy on the counter, “May I please buy a Tattslotto ticket?”

“Certainly, that will be 5 dollars please,” said the shopkeeper.

As John walked out of the door, he looked at the sky and saw that there was a storm coming. He walked to his dog, and his dog was waging his tale like it was Christmas time. They walked home and heard a siren going. BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! He ran home with his dog as fast as he could to get to his family. But the road was blocked off, by SES crew. John and Edge his dog ran past them and didn’t listen to the SES crew.

They were only a block away from their house, when they saw the tornado roaring at them. As the tor-nado ripped their house out of the ground. It flew away, and then everything went quiet. John and his dog saw a drawing that his little baby girl drew when she was three. The cold tears of sadness ran down his cheek. His dog Edge let out a big howl of sadness. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

As John walked with Edge, they saw all the houses damaged by the tornado. Walking to the shelter he saw all the other people that survived……

After that he lost it………

The torment drove him mad. He ended up almost killing himself, but he knew that he had his dog to look after. He ended up not hurting himself but he let his dog go. After the tornado John lost everything his house, his family and his dog. He had to get some help from people, eventually he went to the doctor.

Edge his dog lived in sadness nearly every day since he left his original owner, he wasn’t happy with his new owner. He would hurt him and punish him for regular things that a dog would do.

Three years later…

After John was able to cope with his depression, Edge felt in every bone in a dog’s body, that his owner was back. Edge ran away from his mean owner and found John. John could not believe it, his dog, his companion was back. After that they were together again, John bought a flat with a fireplace, where Edge would fall asleep. Do you know who that dog was ? That dog was me.

The Man and his Dog By Jes MAse

One night, not so long ago, the masked people came.

“Get up, get up!” shouted my Dad as he ran around the large open house in his old ratty pyjamas. “There are people outside, we need to hide”

“What’s happening Dad?” asked my big sister as I clung to her arm, shaking “What’s going on?”

That’s all I remember clearly, the rest of the night was just one big blur. People shouting and panicking, kids scared and crying. There were flashes of harsh light and then we would go hide to the run down sheds behind our house until we were told to come out. My sister sat with me for hours, comforting me and making sure I felt safe. Many of our neighbours fled their own houses and came and joined us in the sheds; we were all hiding from the invaders.

Life was simple, every day we would go to school, play with our friends and then come home and play with the animals while the sun beat down on our skin. The landscape was happy and bright, exotic flowers blossomed and elegant birds sat in the tall trees singing cheerfully to themselves. Our family was respected and were well off but none of that mattered any more, we were all faced with the same problems. I was young and naïve and thought nothing bad could ever happen to me or my family, and then I was just an innocent young boy, who had to quickly grow up, caught up in an invasion, the inva-sion of the masked people.

The masked army flew in by night. They flew in massive planes and then landed at the airport that was only half built, but only a kilometre out of town. Hundreds and hundreds of darkly dressed, masked soldiers moved in on the small town and surrounded the residents. They were all caught by surprise, waking up in the middle of the night to piercing sirens similar to the ones used in air raids. We were lucky though, because we lived out of the town, we had time, very precious time, to prepare ourselves for what was to come. Their plan was to round us all up and hold us hostage. It worked.

They didn’t come to kill; they came to use us and our precious resources. The masked people invaded us, so we could be their servants and so they could live in the once wonderful country of ours. They wanted our resources, our oil, our coal, our country was going to become a giant mine with factories everywhere else. They thought they could just push us around, and that we wouldn’t fight back. They thought they could steal our home from us.

The adults fought back. They chose to fight back before any real damage was done. They all went out one moonlit night a few days after the invasion. They all took big, heavy guns, but my sister reassured me that they wouldn’t need them. I remember seeing my dad and telling him that he was the best dad-dy in the world. That was the last time I saw him. He was killed by the masked soldiers while trying to expose their evil plans to take over the country, one small area at a time.

It isn’t a happy place anymore; every day we are reminded of what happened that horrific night and what they did to our country. The landscape is bland and grey. They invaders have built massive facto-ries and dull grey buildings everywhere. Our country is one big factory now. The birds left when their trees were knocked down to make way for other buildings. We no longer went to school or enjoyed times with friends or played with our pets. Many kids were orphans. Adults were now servants and we all lived in mass community housing so that the invaders could move into our houses. Even as a young child I will never forget what the masked people did to us. They transformed our country.

The Invasion By Lauren O’Laughlin

I grabbed it so tightly but it was too loose. The never ending bond between us had gone. It had

been too late and it faded as soon as it got the chance to. My beating heart had been turned

and twisted once again into the dark. As I looked in the distance it was carved with nature’s

endless glory though all I could see was the sadness and the torture I was going through. It

hurt me inside and out. Questions with no answers caused my head to throb endlessly. The

full moon slowly went back into its den and left me as my supposedly normal self again. My

black, thick and heavy hair was planted upon my shoulder curled up in a difficult knot. My

ripped and damaged clothes were caught in large amounts of debris, though I didn’t even

bother moving it. Thin red crimson blood ran down my body. I wasn’t safe.

My mind was playing games with me. Each corner I looked at was bloody and depressing, sup-

posably my future. I now knew that hopes for falling in deep story tale love was not an option

for me anymore. No one would accept me for my inner beauty and enchantment. They’d just

accept me as the hideous disgusting creature that I am.

Tears rushed down my face, racing the dripping cold rain. I was confused: which were my

tears and which was the rain. I decide to get up and leave the dusty gravelled floor and walk

further into the icy and murky forest. My bones trembled and cracked with every move I made.

I had been dreading this one night, and I was right I was living in a terrible nightmare.

I remember the shock on everyone’s horrified faces; their bright eyes turning to a pale grey. My

rough fur and claws crawling out of my skin and the rotten howl I let out. The mellifluous mu-

sic of the prom came to a sudden stop and the man and figure of my dreams ran away scream-

ing, trying to find something to defend himself with. People heaved glasses, knives and forks or

anything they could find to try and put me down and kill me. After all I couldn’t expect any-

thing less from these humans. I should have listened to what my

dead father once told me about the connections between us and

them;

“They are humans and what we are cannot be exposed to them, we are the

ascendants from hell and as long as the moon is full we are lost in the devil’s

spell. No matter how much we love someone they will all turn into our ene-

mies. We are and will always be, werewolves.”

The moon By Chanel Agosta

The Disaster

I was awoken by a loud voice.

“EVERYONE GET UP! LIFE JACKETS ON AND MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE DECK!” a man was yelling.

Several people from our room groaned but I was quickly on my feet

Anaya and his parents were awake as well and were putting on their life jackets.

“I’ll go see what’s going on,” I told them.

. . .

“Women and children first! Women and children, make your way.”

People were bustling everywhere on the deck. Two lifeboats that were full with people were being lowered into the ocean. The crewmen were shouting directions at the top of their lungs. Men were pushing their wives and children into the lifeboats. People were crying everywhere.

But, what had happened?

A huge iceberg in front of me caught my eye. It was scattered into small pieces.

Suddenly, everything became crystal clear to me. The big ship had hit an iceberg. What can

that mean? It was going to sink soon. We had to get out of here.

“Women and children first,” the man yelled again, “Now, please everyone, pay attention.”

Suddenly, it was all silent. It was as if the man’s words had a charm on them.

“Titanic is going to sink,” he simply said.

People started gasping and yelling words I do not want to repeat.

“I DEMAND THAT YOU KEEP CALM,” he shouted loudly. “We are going to safe if I have your support. We are taking women and children only at this time. The first class people are gone.”

After a while, things were calmer. Woman and children were being lowered into the ocean in a lifeboat. Women were crying out for their husbands.

“Your turn now,” a crew member said.

We all went forward. I looked at the whole ship once last time. Wasn’t it supposed to be the unsinkable ship that not even God could not sink? What a tragedy.

Anaya, mother and I got on the lifeboat. Father was about to step in when the man stopped him.

“Please,” Anaya begged. It worked.

“Oh, fine. You’re an exception because of your boy.”

What do you call fate By Tanishtha Kapoor

The lifeboat was so stuffy and crowded. I was dangling off the edge. Anaya pulled me in. It did-n’t make much of a difference but I still smiled in acknowledgement.

We were getting lowered in by a thick rope. A lot of things happened at the same time. The small boat jerked forward. I slipped off the edge.

Anaya cried out and grabbed hold of my hand so I wouldn’t fall. I knew he was going to fall off too because half of his body was hanging from the edge.

With all my power, I pushed his hand off so that he would get strapped down in his seat. It worked.

Anaya started yelling loudly and mother was crying. Father just stared down at me, his expres-sion so blank and unreadable.

I felt myself falling. My whole body went frozen when I hit the ocean. I couldn’t stop myself; I was going deeper.

Everything went black.

My mother walks into the room. She brings me a glass of water, and asks me how I am. I tell her I’m fine. I grasp the glass with my sweaty palms and take a sip. Looking to my right I see the broken desk lamp on the ground. I begin to apologise, but she brushes it off, simply telling me it can be fixed.

Mum gives me a hug only a mother can give. She gets up and leaves the room, leaving me alone on the worn, old couch. I sink down into it, and switch on the television. Drinking the water, I flick through the different channels. The analogue channels eventually end, showing the ever-changing static dancing on the screen. The white noise rings out from the speakers. It gets louder. And louder. I hurriedly put down the volume, but it doesn’t help. The noise gets louder. The noise drowns out my screams for help. It fills my head. The sound won’t go away, it won’t leave me alone! It won’t leave me be! Distorted people appear in the room – their bod-ies twisted and deformed. They come closer, closer… I thrash out, fearing for my life. I push them, hit them, attack them, but they get up and keep coming back. I curl up in a ball, sobbing. They lay their hands on me, touch me, feel me… I am powerless.

After an infinite length of time, the noise begins to dissipate and the figures leave. I eventu-ally open my eyes – the world is spinning, but I stand. As I look down, I see a body… A motion-less body… There is red… Oh so much red… It flows like a river, it pours like a waterfall, it rages like the sea… Tears appear in my eyes as I realise that mum isn’t answering – nor is she breath-ing. The world begins to spin faster, and I fall. It begins tumbling and turning, turning and tumbling. I stumble out through the front door, calling for help. For somebody to come, but nobody comes! I cry out, I yell. The sun is blindingly bright, I can’t see properly. The spinning causes me to trip, and I hit the ground hard. The wind knocked out of my lungs, the skin scraped off my knees, I stand, almost falling again as the earth changes. Shadowy figures emerge from the houses, coming towards me. I look at the figures – they appear to be yelling something. I can’t hear you! Please speak louder! But their voices stay the same – muffled by silence. They wave their hands – they run towards me – what are they trying to tell me? My mum needs help! Go to her! Then I see the object. Sleek silver. It hits me. I feel immense pain, my legs feel like they have been obliterated. I fly through the air. Soon I hit the ground, then nothing.

I hear people speaking. My eyes flicker open, taking in the surroundings. A mask is on my face – I’m being wheeled away from my house into an ambulance. I hear police talking about my mum being dead – saying that I needed to go straight to a special hospital. Tears enter my eyes as the doors of the ambulance close, and the vehicle drives away. A man with glasses and brown hair looks over me and smiles kindly. He tells me not to worry, that it will all be all right. My eyes droop as I am forced into a deep sleep.

Through their eyes By Daniel Saflin

My name. Someone is calling my name. I sit up, looking around. I’m in a soft, crisp bed in a small blue room. But as I scan the area, I don’t see anybody. My name. Someone is calling me again. I ask them what they want. They tell me it is my fault. All my fault. They say it’s my fault dad left, that mum is gone. I yell that it isn’t, but they accuse me. They tell me it’s my fault that I see things, that I hear things, that I’m different. The voices get louder. They tell me I should kill myself. That I don’t deserve to be here. I get out of bed. My limbs feel like they have weights attached to them. Crying, I walk to the wall and start hammering my head against it. Once. Twice. Three times. I continue, my vision becoming cloudy. On the sixth hit, I hear a crack and feel pain in my skull. I clutch my head, sobbing, and hobble around aimlessly. Three figures enter the room. The figures reach out – their arms long, spindly – gaunt like a skeleton. I stand my ground this time, even when they begin to chant and grab me. I strike them. I hit them in the face, the stomach, anywhere. Two stumble back, only to be replaced by other fig-ures. But I push them out of the way. I stumble out into a long corridor. As I look down the passage it extends further… further… further than the eye can discern. The place is a jail of some sorts. It must be. I hit another figure that approaches me so hard I see red begin to spill from it’s mouth as it hits the ground. Why am I trapped? Why have I been enclosed? I am pushed down by unknown beings, and forcibly fall into another deep sleep.

I awaken. I’m lying on a bed, in a very small room. The figures are standing around me. They turn to face me, and I see the true horror of who they are. They cannot possibly be from this earth. I scream and struggle, but I can’t move. I try to move my arms and legs, but they are be-ing held down. Snakes appear. Winding and curling, getting tighter and firmer, firmer and tighter, they bind my arms and my legs. Tighter. I scream in fear and in anger. Tighter. One fig-ure lets go of my right leg, and I kick it in the face, the snake falling away listlessly. Red splash-es over the room, so bright in such a dark, dark place. The others are distracted for a split mo-ment. I hit, I kick, I spit, I knee, I bite. Jumping through the doorway, I run. I need to get out of this place. Out of hell. I dodge other figures that try to stop me. I keep running, running, run-ning… It will never end! It is dark, oh so dark! I cannot see where to go! All of a sudden it ends. The blackness shatters, as if I have passed through a barrier. I begin to fall. Falling through bright, bright blue. It feels amazing. Am I flying? Oh? Something black is coming towards me… It is large, looming, ominous. Or am I going towards it? Blackness…

CHAPTER 1

I could barely feel my feet pounding against the pavement, I knew it was scratching and tear-ing into the exposed skin where my heels had been just minutes ago, and they were now most probably discarded on the road. My breath came quickly and my eyes stung and watered from the force of the wind, my voice was distant and I couldn’t control the noises that were made as I ran through the alleyways, I was whimpering and an occasional sob would erupt from my parted lips. I felt something sharp dig into my heel and I yelped, stopping for a moment before continuing to run, with a limp.

All of a sudden my left wrist burned and I fell, screaming, to the ground clutching at my skull as a slippery voice blossomed in my mind.

"Why must you always disappoint me?" it said.

"You were faithful to me once. It seems that now your allegiance has changed…or not. Make your choice quickly before I take back my offer," I whimpered as I heard the cold biting tone of the last few words. I moaned and pulled on my black hair, making it messier than it was al-ready.

"NO!" I screeched. My voice hoarse from lack of use. I shook my head violently and the burning stopped, my fingers stopped pulling at my hair and I looking down at my left forearm, sure enough the snake that slipped through the jaw of the blackened skull which had been moving wildly only a few moments ago had ceased its movement. I sighed with hysterical relief and wiped my tear stained cheeks with shaking hands.

"You know that’s not the end of it Bellatrix" the cold slippery voice spoke again, this time from behind me. I whirled around and gasped.

"My-My Lord…" I whispered weakly. His cold red gaze held mine as he came closer to me and finally grasped my tattooed forearm, I drew in a quick breath at the pain that it caused me, but then passed it off as a cough. He looked down at me for a few moments and then let go of my forearm, once released I cradled it against my chest.

"You stupid little girl" he spat before grabbing hold of my hair and slamming me against the brick alley wall. I screamed and a small choked sob escaped from my lips. He leaned forward so his lips were at my ear.

"How dare you disobey me? You poor foolish girl. You were one of my favorites, my favorites don’t last long" his whispers in my ear were quiet and sharp, like a knife cutting into my skin. I shuddered and whimpered, he responded by slamming me against the wall, again. He threw me down to the ground and towered above me; I put my back against the wall and curled up into a ball, trying to minimize the pain. He laughed cruelly and kicked me before pulling his wand from beneath his robes.

"Crucio," he snarled. I screamed before passing out and fading into the calm, peaceful darkness. Knowing it was the end, expecting the end, and receiving something entirely different.

Bellatrix Fanfiction By Anonymous

CHAPTER 2

I didn’t expect to have lived. When I opened my eyes the room was blurry and my vision was partially obscured by my hair. The room was dark and I looked around blearily attempting to work out where I was. I moved my hands slightly so I could move my hair from my face, as I did so I felt the cold and heavy weight of shackles around my wrists. I looked down at my hands, sure enough there were red marks from the chaffing of metal on skin, my hands were filthy, the nails encrusted in dirt and stained with black from soot. I shut my eyes tightly as I remembered the cause for the soot…

My eyes were watering, the heat in the room was suffocating me. I clawed at my throat and tried to gasp for air, only suc-

ceeding in breathing in the smoke from the magic induced flames. I let out a sob before collapsing.

I shook my head quickly before breathing deeply and opening my eyes. I am a Black, I am strong, I will carry on. I thought to myself before moving the hair away from my face. It was filthy and matted in places, I scrunched up my nose and turned my attention to the room around me. It was bare. Empty. Not even a chair in a corner. I quickly realized that it was a cell, a dungeon cell. There were only few places that the Dark Lord had under his control which held a dungeon, Malfoy Manor. I swore under my breath before standing with some difficulty and moving towards the door. Just as I stood I heard footsteps on the other side of the door, I froze before sitting again. I leant back against the wall at-tempting to look as if I was still unconscious.

"She's awake, I'm sure of it My Lord" a voice said. I scowled as I recognised it. Severus Snape. Disgust-ing Half-Blood, attempting to elevate himself above one such as me! The madness must have been tak-ing hold of my mind, I shuddered as I thought of the possibilities before listening intently.

"Yes Severus. Open the door, I enjoy seeing my failed followers before they are killed." a cold voice said.

I shuddered again as I heard his voice. My heart pounded and I struggled to keep my breathing even, I squeezed my eyes shut tighter as I heard the door creak open.

"Ah yes, Bellatrix dear. Do not attempt to hide from me. You are awake, there is no use in pretending." he sneered. I let out a gasp as he grasped a clump of my hair and pulled hard, the tears stung my eyes be-fore I knew what was happening. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. His response was to laugh coldly, it was an inhuman laugh, I shuddered again as I heard it. He ran a finger along the side of my face before slapping my cheek, it burned and was sure to be red with the imprint that his hand un-doubtedly left upon my skin.

"It is not yet too late dear Bellatrix. I will still forgive you. But if you do not comply there will be dire consequences for you, and unfortunately for the rest of your family." he said mockingly. I spat in his face. He barely blinked at this. He released his grip on my hair roughly before standing again and mov-ing towards the door.

"It will happen tomorrow. Be prepared my dear Bellatrix. You have defied me now, you will regret that decision for the remainder of your life. What will happen to you will be far worse than death. I promise you this. Sleep well Bellatrix, you must be well rested for the little display we shall have tomorrow." he said the last few words viciously. I could feel the bite from the venom in his words, the truth that was like an ice cold dagger being dragged along my spine. I closed my eyes and swallowed. My throat ached from being dehydrated and I felt more tears leak from my eyes and saturate my filthy hair.

I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion nothing else. Sleep brought back too many memories. Too many dark times that I would rather push to the back of my mind, but with sleep came short lived peace which is soon replaced with the despair that the recollection of these memories brings me.

He kissed my hand gingerly, looking up into my eyes all the while. I blushed slightly and smiled. My hair was flowing freely down my back, untangled and beautifully gleaming in the sunshine of the afternoon. It was one of the most wonderful days of my life, my heart was soaring, and I bore a permanent smile upon my lips.

'Trixie, you know how I feel. Please. Come with me,' he said to me later as we were sitting beneath the shade of a large tree. I looked into his brown eyes which gleamed in the fading light from the sun. I smiled sadly.

'I'm sorry, I can't. What would they all think? It's impossible, it simply cannot be done' my voice wavered towards the end. I closed my eyes and tried to memorize the feeling of his skin touching mine, my hand was wrapped in the warmth that his larger hand lent me. I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Sighing as I pulled away from him. The hurt in his eyes was enough to make me lose control of my emotions.

"I'm sorry," I whispered once more, before kissing him. I felt my tears mingling with his. The kiss was bittersweet. I pulled away and shook my head before standing and walking away.

That was the last time that I saw him alive.

I awoke with a gasp, and then a sob. I covered my mouth with my hand trying to stifle any more sobs that would undoubtedly be emitted. I was shaking as I opened my eyes to the darkness surrounding me. I shivered and wrapped my arms around my torso. The darkness permeated through my clothing, reaching into my soul and pulling whatever warm remnants of the sun away from me. The tears had stopped flowing but my eyes still stung from them.

"Your time is up dear Bellatrix" I heard him say from outside the door. I jumped startled, and then I real-ized that this was it. I closed my eyes and centered myself. This was it, my final chance at escape and my final judgment. I stood and held my arms out as two masked death eaters came into the cell,; they unchained the shackles from the wall. My hands, however, were still bound together. They were shak-ing, my body was betraying my emotions, it was betraying me. I walked out of the cell with one of the Death Eaters in front of me, and the other behind me. He was standing outside of the cell, leaning against the wall waiting for me. I lifted my chin slightly and made an effort to stand up straighter. This was my last chance at redemption before I became someone else. I wouldn’t let him have the satisfac-tion in seeing me weak again. He smirked in my direction before signaling for the Death Eaters to fol-low him.

Bellatrix Fanfiction (Cont’d) By Anonymous

Hunger Games Quiz Answers

Who plays ‘Katniss Everdeen’ in the recently released movie?

(a) Kaya Scodelario (c) Saoirse Ronan

(b) Jennifer Lawrence (d) Hailee Steinfeld

Where do we get introduced to ‘Finnick Odair’ in Catching Fire?

(a) District 12

(b) The Arena during the Hunger Games

(c) Before the opening ceremony at the Remake centre

(d) During the Victory tour

How does Peeta Mellark hide in the 74th Hunger Games?

(a) Climbs up a tree (c) Hides in the bush

(b) Camouflages himself (d) Goes near the edge of the arena

How does Katniss’ father die?

(a) In a car crash (c) During the rebellion

(b) In a mining incident (d) Has an illness

Who is ‘Haymitch Abernathy’?

(a) A tribute in the 74th Hunger Games (c) Peeta’s father

(b) Katniss’ and Peeta’s mentor (d) President of Panem

Describe ‘Gale Hawthorn’ in your own words.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

What weapon does Finnick Odair use?

(a) Trident (c) Bow and arrow

(b) Sword (d) Knives

Who is ‘Annie Cresta’ ?

(a) Tribute in the Hunger Games (c) Katniss’ sister

(b) Finnick’s true love (d) Member of Katniss’ prep team

Josh Hutcherson plays which role in the movie?

(a) Gale Hawthorne (c) Haymitch Abernathy

(b) Peeta Mellark (d) Caesar Flickerman

Who is ‘Cato’?

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Harry Potter Quiz Answers

When is Harry's Birthday? 31st July 1980 What is Nearly Headless Nick's full real name? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington What is Voldemort’s birthday? 31st December 1926 A bezoar is what? A stone taken from the stomach of a goat

What did Hagrid win in a card game? A dragons egg

What do Hermione's parents do for a living?

They're dentists

What is Dumbledore’s full name Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Name two other schools Harry was supposed to go to? Stonewall High and St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys

Whose tongue was made four feet long by Fred and George Weasley? Dudley Dursley

Where did Harry hide the Half-blood Prince's book? In the cupboard in the Room of Requirement

Who died on Halloween, 1492? Nearly Headless Nick - Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington

What was Snape's mother's claim to fame? She was captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones team

Who or what can see through Invisibility Cloaks?

Mad-eye Moody's magical eye

Front Cover Designer: Eliza Considine Publicity and Collation Committee: Alexandra Russell Kelcey Brian Annika Mutton Pia Mutton Vivienne Gollings

(with the assistance of Ruby Pascoe) Formatting Designer: Mohamed Hassan Alexander O’Byrne Annika Mutton

(Editorial and Contents pages: Kelcey Brian & Annika Mutton)

Online contributors: Leeroy River Subbaranjana Thilagalavanian Tron Rhiannon Benton Olivia Richardson Madeleine Occhino Ethan Perkins Connor Aspland Vestie Jes Mase Anonymous (1) Anonymous (2) Lauren O’Laughlin Tanishta Kapoor Ben Head Celine Shi Gonzo Daniel Saflin Chanel Agosta Emily Erwin Samuel Perkins Jasmine Dober Professor Hershel Layton Amelia Elsworth Pia Mutton Alexandra Russell Kelcey Brian Alice McKenzie Ebbels Lucy Cameron C.W. Ruby Pascoe Samantha Currie T.Robertson Nicholas Jenkins Mitchell Stojanovski Olivia Johnston-Powell