Students in the Year 9 Creative Writing class have produced some amazing work this semester. Below you can read pieces of writing from three of the students.
The Circus of Joy and Masks
Lily Lucas (Year 9 Blue)
Today is the day of the circus. Excitement buzzes in the air and people chatter in the streets about the event that will be the talk of town for the next few months. Everyone who is anyone rushed to buy a ticket. To see something new and different is a refreshing change from the small, bland country town where nothing of note happens. They watch from afar as the red and white striped tent is hauled into the sky, towering over them. They fantasise about the possibilities of what it may hold. Putting on their most fun outfits and pocketing saved up change to spend, it promised to be a wonderful evening.
Today is the day of the circus. Feet drag on the floor and acrobats smudge on makeup to hide the hollowed-out cheeks. Clowns practise smiling in the mirror and the tightrope walker stretches on the stone floor so she won't fall. The familiar sickening stench of over-buttered popcorn and sweat makes the elephants sigh and flop to the ground. The fortune reader shines his smokey glass ball with a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. The ringleader strides through them, people parting and jumping to stay out of the way. He claws cruel eyes over them searching for the slightest hint of unhappiness. Satisfied, he turns on his heel and disappears back to the office to count money. Predictable and in perfect order, everything is the same as last time.
The clowns are so tall you have to tilt your head all the way back to take in their wobbling stilts and grins painted in red across their faces. Juggling pins and laughing loud enough to draw attention and gasps from everyone around them. People clap at the tricks and spins in delight. They cheer them on. Their costumes are bright and mismatched with frills and big red noses. The crowd looks up in awe and children dart between the stilts, faces and hands sticky with sweets and trinkets. The clowns have big red smiles stretching up their happy faces.
The clowns are on stilts so tall you can see the careful way they move so they won't hit anyone or fall. Juggling pins with eyes darting around the room taking in all the overwhelming sensations. Don't mess up. Be happy. Forcing out laughs like scratching rusty forks on a plate. Sweat beads on the back of their necks when people clap and ask for more risky tricks. The clothes are itchy and cheap so they grate across the clown's skin. The makeup is thick and suffocating. Crimson lipstick paints on a smile so it is difficult to tell the difference between a mask and happiness.
In the stands stacked against the walls hundreds of people sit on the edge of their seats jumping up and sitting down again. Captivated, they chew on their nails and squeal as the tiny girl in a pink leotard is thrown through the air only to be caught by a man hanging by his knees on a bar. They swing around the tent in effortless ease. Flying and flipping without a care in the world. Free.
The falling girl's arms scream as the man rips her arms up at the last second. His grip like metal digs into the bruises all along her arms from the last few catches. The crowd below goes berserk when she is thrown back to her swinging bar. Only to see that it is too far from where it should be. Her breath catches as she flails through the air reaching out desperately and barely grazing the harsh wood. Dangling from her fingers she shakes and lets out a strangled scream. Thinking it is all part of the act people jump up and yell and clap. Smile trapeze girl. As she swings by her partner they meet wide eyes. It doesn't matter that she almost died. The people like it. They prepare for the next dangerous stunt.
As the darkness washes over the tent tall thin torches light up. Once all of the food and games are sold out and the children start to crash from their sugar highs, townsfolk drift out and back to their homes. Grinning and inspired, they say it was magical before yawning and wishing to go see the circus again someday.
As darkness creeps over the tent, torches are lit and orange flicks up the walls, drawing out faces like scream masks. The exhausted stall minders wave off the last few stragglers, barely able to hold up their arms. The animals are dragged by collars back to their cold metal cages. Actors sigh and crash to their thin beds, passing out immediately with cheeks aching from the fake smiles. The next circus will be in five days. It will be the exact same.
My 'perfect' day — A promise to myself
Grace Trinnick (Year 9 Bronze)
The moment will be when you can wake up and not overwhelm yourself with millions of thoughts. The stress is released. You’ll be able to breathe. There’ll be things to do and people to talk to but relax and enjoy those moments. It’ll only be morning. There’ll be time later. 7:30AM.
Your perfect day will be by yourself in the sunshine, soaking up the warmth. The bubbling lemonade and sandwiches cut into triangles in your hands. You’ll eagerly follow the stepping stones, perhaps mis-stepping once or twice on the overgrown grass, to the fairy garden you crafted and perfected so long ago for moments of serenity like this. 8:31AM.
The cherry tree that I planted today should be in full bloom throughout the spring season, maybe full grown, maybe still left with some growing to complete. The delicate array of pink, red and white petals will gently rustle against each other in the wind. There’ll also exist a swing tied to the strongest branch, calmly swaying with the wind. 9:26AM.
You’ll place the sandwiches on the small garden table within the circular, unkempt hedges surrounding the tree. The cat might even join you in the garden, promptly lying and rolling around to get cosy in the sunlight. Perhaps it might eye a collection of insects frantically scattering or buzzing around, and maybe that would further pique its interest. 10:11AM.
The magpies that still live in the garden will fly around and they’ll disappear into the tree, only making themselves known by chirping cheerfully. You may jerk around when you hear the petals fall and float slowly down to the ground. And still your phone will be vibrating from the endless messages from friends that you’ll desperately try to ignore. 11:30AM.
You’ll distract yourself by eating a sandwich while swaying slightly, mostly following the wind’s wishes for the direction on the swing. The water fountain that’ll sit next to the tree, will be the type to overflow at its edges and shoot back to the top, sometimes causing little droplets to fall over the edges, it’ll provide the peaceful, relaxing ambiance that’ll allow for the mind to go blank. Every breath should cause a smile because every scent from all the variety of flowers and vines surrounding the area will give off varying earthy and sweet scents all combining together but your mind won’t let it go. A glimpse of colour will enter your peripherals and you’ll turn to see a small butterfly land itself atop one of the many varying pinks of the flowers, distracting you for a mere moment. 12:06PM.
A breath of exasperation will escape you and you’ll struggle with the temptations of looking at the phone that’ll so often cause you distress and exhaustion. Unfortunately you’ll inevitably check the messages from friends ranging from ‘how’s your day’ to ‘answer me Grace!!’ and a sudden urge to then reply will still overcome you, it's your habit, it always has been and always will be. Putting yourself in uncomfortable or stressful situations the second people come to you for help. But you’ll find it in yourself to ignore the messages, even the hurtful ones. After all those conversations about your anxiety, they’ll understand you not wanting to talk. 12:46PM.
You might decide to play some music on your speaker to relax and take your mind off things, specifically the playlist in which you’ll have memorised all the songs. 1:10PM.
A few hours will pass in a matter of minutes, 2:15PM, 3:08PM, 4:43PM, 5:26PM, and you’ll have been doing the same three actions; looking at the scenery with squinted eyes from the sun, eating a sandwich and checking your phone anxiously for new messages. Subconsciously your hand will rise to your mouth as it always does. Before you know it, you’ll have taken the first bite and instantly your hand will fly out of your mouth to stare at what you accidentally did, the nail will be uneven and it’ll need to be filed down to be fixed but of course you won’t have it with you. A few minutes after that and all of your nails will be reduced to almost nonexistent, becoming more painful the longer you keep biting or picking at them. 6:52PM
As the sun will start to set, the scenery will slowly get duller by the minute, you’ll feel uncomfortable with the idea that the day was spent just eating and sitting on a swing, as if you’ll have wasted a perfectly sunny day. The darker it gets, the more bugs will start to swarm you, so you’ll decide to walk back inside to avoid them, however with your fists tensely clenched, or you’ll find yourself fiddling with the bottom of your shirt. The day will end as they usually do, eating dinner, consisting of something frozen or something easy, showering; which you’ll usually spend sitting on the floor and wrestling with your curls to wash them, and finally you’ll go sit in bed, where you’ll usually wait for it to be dark before feeling safe enough to sleep. 8:29PM.
That day will go by too fast. It almost seems like it’ll be a waste.
The Perfect Title for the Perfect Day
Alexis Bush (Year 9 Silver)
Early mornings are aching muscles and sleep-filled eyes. Bleary blinks and stretching yawns. A cool glass of water is a good wake-up. Deciding what to wear is usually hard, but the new bathers that were bought yesterday are perfect for this occasion. Throw a big T-shirt over the top and next comes breakfast.
Milo cereal with milk. Superior to all other cereals and reserved only for holidays such as this one. The rest of the family comes to eat, too. Eggs and bacon for the tenth day in a row, how bland. Everyone eats quickly, eager to get the day started. Google has given a long list of fresh-water swimming pools and Josephine falls were the pick of the day.
Cramming everything into the small rental car proves to be a task but, a manageable one after a week and a half of doing it. The ride is long. Really long. Music blasts through headphones to combat the younger sibling’s Bluetooth. Car-sickness follows closely alongside the twists and turns of the mountains. Attempts to ward off the horrid feeling include curling into a ball and keeping eyes glued to the road.
Pulling up to the dusty car park is more than relief. Stretching limbs that were once asleep, now buzzing with excitement. The car sickness is long forgotten, racing off towards the falls. It’s a vain attempt to get away, being called back to help carry bags, towels and food. Thankfully, the trek is short.
Tropical forest trees tower over the path and ferns reach out, trying to link across the stream of bitumen. The roar of rushing water grows loud all at once as the path forks in two. The route on the right leads to rusted stairs, excited squeals and loud voices echoing from that direction.
The bottom of the stairs leads to a big expanse of boulders. Water weaves its way between them as it flows downstream. Other people’s belongings are occupying the larger rocks, some towels draped dangerously close to the lapping water.
The boulders become sparse further upstream until there is a large expanse of clear, undisturbed water. A natural rock slide, turned smooth by the constant stream washing over it dips into the pool. Beyond are more waterfalls that pour into one another in a thunderous melody.
Abandoning the bags on the closest free rock and stripping down to bathers, the careful navigation to the pool begins. Excitement is cautiously kept at bay, the fear of slipping and splitting a skull open sharp in the mind’s eye. Other people squeal as they dip into the water. Two other kids climb over the rocks back towards their family.
Family shouts encouragement when the boulder at the edge of the pool is reached. Standing over the water trying to judge whether it is safe to jump. The younger brother urges onward, too scared to jump first as usual.
One foot slides into the water, trying to judge whether or not hypothermia is about to ensue. The cold is immediate and it is clear that there is no getting in slowly. The only way is to dive in and be surrounded by the cold water all at once. A laugh surfaces at the same time as air returns to the lungs. It’s a bubbled, difficult thing, laughing and breathing at the same time. Wet hair is now plastered to red cheeks and water drips into eyes that quickly blink it away.
The icy wake-up resets all functioning parts of the brain and on autopilot the doggy paddle begins, keeping the head above water. After several minutes of convincing the brother is jumping in too, resurfacing just as quickly with panted, half-laughs.
A tour group are the next to brave the water. Their squeals are tuned out though, as something on the bottom of the rock pool moves. Looking down and squinting at the moving blob in an attempt to make out what it is without the help of glasses.
A fish!
There’s fish!
Catching one is now the top priority.
This new discovery and task are announced to everyone, though fall mostly on deaf ears. Diving down to one of the moving blobs, ever grateful that the water holds no salt and is easy on the eyes. Floating above the fish, just following as it moves across the rock and sand. It has two small moustache-whisker…. things and sifts through the sand for food.
The deep breath that had once filled the lungs has vanished and the need for more oxygen becomes overwhelming. When resurfacing the fish keeps swimming and envy rears its head. The rest of the duck dives are less peaceful, heart now set on catching one of the fish.
They’re agile and graceful, a stark contrast to the attempts to catch them. Surfacing once again with a pout, hands empty, it is suggested that the natural slide be experienced.
The journey to the dry part of the rocks is harder than it should be. The water is still deep, something to be very grateful for when feet can’t quite keep their grip. The graceless flailing is above the surface now, no longer kept private by the water. More breathless laughs erupt into the air, arms spreading to stay balanced.
Inch by slow inch, the dry, walkable stone grows closer. Finally, standing up normally is achievable. Journeying up and around the top of the rock face, across to the natural slide.
Once again the worry of slipping has returned, waiting in line to slide behind everyone else. Soon the front of the line is left empty. Sitting down at the edge of the stream, shaking heads at parents behind cameras.
The bumps and ridges in the rock, though smooth, still look as though they have the potential to be painful. The water is constantly egging onwards, sliding around legs and gleefully bubbling down the slope. It doesn’t take too much more encouragement to join the fun. There is fear and joy in sliding over the rock. They dance together as the pool comes closer. Faster and faster before everything erupts in a splash.
The cold is less of a shock this time. Under the water, no longer bound by gravity, happiness settles into bone. It is soft and warm. It is the quiet blooming of the soul, one at peace with its natural connection. The connection in this body, in this moment is all that is needed.
The bubbles that are sent up by the younger brother send hotter, sharper happiness shooting into limbs. The peacefulness of underwater is left behind, instead traded for the loud chaos of above. More people are beginning to go down the slide, having seen it is not dangerous. Moving to avoid a collision seems to be an increasingly good idea.
Venturing back to the rocks at the promise of food, towels are wrapped around shoulders and sticky, wet hair is tied into a bun. A family size packet of salt and vinegar chips is open, though it won’t last long with this family of four. The pool has become more crowded so exploration of the other fork in the path sounds like fun.
It is thoroughly underwhelming. It only leads to a small lookout further up the falls. There’s another pool here, bigger and much deeper than the other. The water is dark and anxiety creeps up the spine despite not being in the blackness.
The walk back to the car is slow, no one feels the need to rush ahead. The pink packet is moved around the group, though, some still get more than others. Everyone piles back into the car to begin the winding track home.
