Fireworks

Fireworks are big

Fireworks are loud

Fireworks spin round and around

The crowd went silent

The crowd went wild

When the fireworks went up they all smiled

They all loved the day

They all loved to play

On the firework day

©Charli Gwilt

What matters to me.

Ok I know I always say that my little sister is really annoying,

But she is really special.

She dances to all my favourite songs,

And asks me if I want to join along.

She tries to help bake cakes,

But all she does is like the plate!

And when she falls over,

She starts to laugh.

 So now that I think of it,

She isn’t so bad after all!

© Leah Dulai

Doomsday!!

Doomsday was a deserter

Monsters roam the town

No one will survive the undead monsters

If you have a gun you might have a chance but be careful

But don’t take your luck

Come to the ship

No Food, water, warmth

Come to the ship find me

This is aircraft carrier 115

Over and out.

 

©

Joshua Joyce 

FOOTBALL

Football is the best

 Better than the rest!

It’s a sport that takes place all over the world.

Some people love it!

 Some people hate it!

                    I LOVE IT!!!!

Football means Passion

Success

Glory

And Team Work.

© Charlie Whitehurst

What matters to me?

I have never be able to let it out,

What really matters to me?

Its starts like this,

Family is the most, the true gut feeling,

 When I see them I just want to dance and sing

Next is my mum wow she’s so great,

 When she hands me dinner nicely served on a plate.

My dad comes next when he sings in the shower,

 It makes me a laugh and cheer he’s so funny way he sings lady gaga!!

Brothers and sisters yapping on,

 O, what a day when there telling us what’s going on.

And this is where it ends,

 When I tell you what matters to me the most,

knowing my family and friends are with me close!!!!

©Brodie Bates      

The mystery of love

By Nicole Whitehouse

Love...            

What is love?

Is it an emotion,

Is it a chemical explosion,

Is it something you can keep in a flask,

Or something you can wear like a mask?

I stand here pondering,

What i mean is wondering,

Wondering whether the is any love left in the world,

Not roses and doves,

Not soppy stuff you see in the streets,

Which sometimes makes me want to scream,

Not the whole 'i love you, you love me,

Let’s get married and have three',

I'm talking about when boy meets girl,

And girl meets boy,

When the is an instant flow,

And there smiles start to glow,

I can't name it,

I can't explain it,

But, somehow, they just know,

They are soul mates for life,

We might as well forget about that,

Because love is a thing of dreams,

Because all couples like to do it fight and scream,

A thing that can mislead,

And disserve,

Love, love,

What is love?

© Nicole Whitehouse                                                                                                                        

THE RAIN

Creative Writing Competition Year 9 winner

CHAPTER 1

The rain pattered on the reinforced roof, dripping down the toughened glass skylights. Joe was depressed. He was always depressed after ‘The Incident’. The humid air, thick in his lungs made him long for fresh air, wind on his face, but not any more. Not after what happened.

The most powerful science company, WeatherTech® tried to experiment to see if they could control the water cycle. Using thousands of dollars’ worth of technology and chemicals upon chemicals, they thought they had finally cracked it, but things went wrong… After they had placed the chemicals in earths water sources, scientists observed the PH of the water decrease. At first it wasn’t so bad but then it got worse, the PH went below 1. Water is not highly acidic. It was all over the news, the papers, the radio. It wasn’t long before people knew they had to do something.

It cost Trillions but they finally managed it. All of earth’s population now live below the surface. Things were bad but it’s amazing what the human race will do to survive. Things had changed, birds were a thing of the past. A few species had been saved and let free to traverse the vast caves that humans now lived in. Joe missed the surface, the sun, the snow.

He peered out of the grimy HydroTough® window. Outside, 50m2 spotlights dominated the roof of the cavern, trying to recreate the daylight of the surface. Shops bustled with people, clamouring for goods.

Joe wasn’t very well off. He was a 15 year old orphan, short on cash and home comforts. If he saved enough he might be able to move deeper. The poor always got the highest homes. 3cm of roof was exposed to the constant rain above. The rain which might have been responsible for the death of his parents, but he could never be sure. He sat back on his standard issue bed. In the slums, you were given a bed, a bathroom and a roof to live under. If you moved into the cities you were on your own. No landlord and no standard issue beds (they were nicknamed ‘back-scratchers for a reason) but for now he was just a kid In a world that had changed. He needed to find out more about what happened to his parents but first he needed a map of the new civilisation, it was only fifteen days since he moved underground so he hadn’t had much time to settle in, he needed to see an old friend…

Joe strolled to the hydrogel® door and shoved. It moved about five inches, he rammed harder and the door burst open onto a walkway. Joe sprinted along and down a flight of stairs. He kept running, he took a sharp left at a restaurant and rounded on a five story car park. He found what he calls ‘the bucket of bolts’ clicked it open and climbed in. He swerved around a large bin lorry whose rather fat occupants recoiled in shock. Joe didn’t slow down though and plummeted through the alleys until he came out on the main street.

It was an impressive sight. Large towering buildings dominated the length of the road, restaurants, clubs, houses and offices sprawled as far as the eye can see. This was immense because it had only been built four months ago (the government had suspected something may go wrong and started to prepare before the incident happened). People strolled along the pavements, oblivious to the acidic carnage being battled 50m above them.

Joe flew down the fast lane and over a crossing, scaring an man so much he fell back onto a flowerpot in fright! Joe kept on driving and didn’t slow down.

CHAPTER 2

Since the incident, many new things had challenged the human race in the fortnight they had spent underground. We had drilled deeper than we had when we lived on the surface. New creatures had been discovered, some of them dangerous. Also, rumour has it that a new disease had appeared, details of which were classified by the NCR (New Core Reinforcements, the military). We were coping though, we had to. Joe pulled up at the building, it was fairly new looking (although everything was underground) he got out and slammed the door.

Joe knocked three times and waited. A huge round man of about 30 opened the door, tried to say something but burst into a coughing fit. Joe backed away a few feet and said “err, you okay George”? The coughing finished and George spoke in a deep, husky tone. “Yeah, what you doing around here Joe”? Slurred George. “I’ve got some business regarding my parents, could I use your network please.” Said Joe in a tone you couldn’t refuse. “Erm…yeah, I suppose you could.” George said uneasily, his piggy eyes darting back and forth. Joe stepped inside, the putrid stench hit him like a punch to the face. Joe staggered a bit but carried on down a corridor. George shambled after him. They finally reached a small room, Joe walked in, followed by George, who crammed himself through the door. In front of them was a 70’’ Neutron screen with a top of the range holographic display. Joe sat in a nearby armchair, grabbed the keyboard and got the name search engine. George was a friend of Joe’s dad and had a lot of illegal stuff, also he was a praised hacker and the website Joe was on was meant to be ‘secure’ government files, but for George, it was nothing. Joe punched in his parents’ names and started the long wait for it to load.

“So…err, what have you been doing lately”? Mumbled George.

 “Not much, you”? Replied Joe.

“Playing a bit of tennis, football and doing a bit of jogging”! Said George happily.

“That’s great George, or is that just your way of saying: Video games, eating pizza and watching TV”? Said Joe in an icy tone.

“Well… I did watch tennis once…” muttered George under his breath.

“You haven’t changed a bit you useless pile of fat!” laughed Joe, smiling for the first time in days, satisfied at the aggravated expression forming on Georges pudgy face.

The website beeped and loaded. Two silhouetted images came up with the faces blurred out. They had the letters: NLDS next to them. “What the…” said Joe in a voice that could cut through metal. “I’m sorry”. Said George. “Why”? Asked Joe “I’m going to-” Joes sentence was cut short and everything went black. George winced as a baton, wielded by a NCR member, expertly hit Joe in the back of the neck. “I regret it now”. Sighed George. “Too late” growled the NCR member before heaving Joes limp body onto his shoulder and walking out the door…

©Alex Bowell

What is writing?

Writing is a way of saying words

It could be about anything like birds

Writing is not for nerds it is for any one like you

If you think what you want to do

You can put it into a story

If it is about a person think of a name

Like dory

It is not a game

You can write about anything

This is writing what you will write about?

©By Joshua Joyce

Everywhere

2011 Creative Writing Competition Winner – Year 10

"Perhaps they are not starts, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy."

I remember it, the day of the funeral. Though it seems impossible for my mind to accept it. I do try to forget, but how can I? I remember so clearly, my sister’s lifeless body laying there in an open casket before my tearful eyes. Her lungs were breathless, mouth motionless, skin pale and heart still. Why won’t Mel wake up? I ask myself this constantly, I ask God, I ask the sky, expecting a reasonable answer, it hasn’t come yet. I wanted to shake her with all my might, to wake her and myself from this awful nightmare, to move this hovering grey cloud from above my head, to rid me of the crippling feeling in my chest which I have become familiar with. I wanted the sad faces to disappear and the sun to emerge again. I wanted Mel. I wish Mel was still here.

 Ever since the funeral I’ve avoided all contact from the sea of sad and awkward faces, the apologies and the never ending flow of tears. Surely tear ducts don’t last forever - I don’t want to cry, but I do. All the time, in fact. I should drown the world, end this terrible suffering, my body left to be found floating head down. My body crushed under the weight of salt which had evaporated from my tears. I was searching for a cure; there was a hole in my heart which grew larger each day. I wanted to cover it with a plaster, hoping it would heal. I wanted to stitch it with wool so that it wouldn’t become un-done again. I knew what I was searching for; the cure was my sisters company. She isn’t coming back from wherever she is, I’m aware, but I can hope. I can search for a place of contentment.

 I walked and walked until my legs were numb and feet were blistered, I enjoyed the feeling of being numb, not being able to feel discomfort or pain.  I wish I could pour the feeling into a bottle and keep it for future use. I wish my shadow would get up and walk beside me. Whilst I walked I  pondered through the box in my mind which secured all the memories I shared with Mel; I’d replay them over and over again to the extent where I could convince myself she was with me, laughing, talking, dancing, singing, walking…breathing. Some memories, or as I’d like to think; present moments, were bitter, others sweet. I spent the majority of my time with her, her face was still so clear in my mind; her out of control blonde hair, the most brilliant shade of blue pools in her eyes, thick red lips. Every girl who attended our school envied her; she was the true definition of beautiful. Though it wasn’t just her appearance many were jealous of, her personality was so vibrant, so full of colour. Mel had the personality of a puppy I often thought; determined, constantly bursting with life, gleeful, so very optimistic. If everyone in the world had a personality even similar to hers, it would be wonderful place to live. Unlike it is now of course, her spirit no longer in this world, consequently leaving behind a gloomy atmosphere. Flowers no longer grew, faces never smiled, leaves refused to dance in the wind. The world has stopped and so has she.

 Weeks had past, not that I noticed at first, I’ve become immune to everything the world possess, skin senseless, my brain produced no other thoughts than ones of my sister, thoughts which would not help me overcome this terrible feeling. It wasn’t so much a feeling, it was pain. Pain heals over time, that’s all it took; time. People say that time plays evil games, and that her face will begin to fade, I will struggle to re call the happy tones of her voice. She will leave the sanctity of my mind as well as the Earth. After what seemed like an eternity of walking and endless thinking my mind began to clear. The silliest things would cruelly remind me of Mel as I walked through the forgettable fields and past the lifeless lakes. This interrupted me imagining my sister was still here, still alive. Instead when I saw an object, a view or a place that reminded me of her I realised that she had gone, she wasn’t still here. Bells would ring from miles round, clanging, booming and chiming all sounding off in the moment; my heart would drop from my eroded chest into my stomach and then to the floor, where it was trampled on, orbited the world in an instant whilst my feet remained on the ground, though only just. The poor remainders of my heart were repetitively mistreated by death. I realised death would never leave me. It would certainly never leave Mel. I wanted death dead. It would be easier to handle if I wasn’t inseparable from Mel, if we were the type of sisters who would argue constantly, who would fight and curse at each other, the type of sisters who didn’t share the same love as I and Mel did. It then occurred to me that death and love were conjoined.  The risk of love is loss and the price of loss is grief. I began to hate love, what an odd feeling to have towards someone. How odd it is that people would die for the ones they love, how degrading it can be to love someone who is dead. Honestly, I was clueless that the most needed organ could cause such strife and trouble. It could be broken yet apparently it could mend, wounded and still heal. It could be given and returned, lost and found. Through all this a human could still live, though according to some, only just. I think my heart’s given up, grief has overwhelmed it.

A year pasted, a lot had changed. I realised my heart hadn’t given up, it was healing, recovering from the grief. Though it hasn’t completely healed, I know that it never will. Grief is forever, you adapt to live with it, step for step, breath for breath. I will always grieve because I will always love her. She’ll always be here, in photographs, in memories of many precious moments, especially in my heart. Her thoughts, her opinions, her secrets, her knowledge; they’re all gone now, body decomposed. They’ve dissolved into the atmosphere and surround everyone she knew, I can feel it. The sun feels it; it now shines, the leaves dance and my lips smile knowing that she’s not dead, she’s just a very sleepy Mel. On occasions I cry, I’ve learnt that tears aren’t a sign of fear, but of power. They speak more sense than a thousand tongues; they are messengers of grief and unspeakable love. I’ve found a place of contentment at her grave, her remains are there physically, evidence of her existence, a source from outside my mind. Gravity pulls me there. She’s still here, everywhere…

©Katie Pawlowski