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Dreams 2010
           Kids of




A selection of poetry, prose and artwork by the students of St Joseph’s College
2 Kids of Dreams 2010




Acknowledgements
Editors Mrs Judy O’Connell, Head of Library and Information Services and Ms Kirsten Reim, with the staff of the Brother
Liguori Resources Centre; Art Editor, Ms Michelle Tinta, Visual Arts Coordinator, with Ms Lisa Gasparatto and the Visual Arts
Department; Mr Matthew Bentley, English Coordinator and Mr Ric Bombardiere, with the English Department; Ms Johanna
Parsons, Communications Manager.
Kids of Dreams 2010 3




Foreword
There is no doubt that Kids of Dreams is a            the world through a variety of different lenses.
treasured publication in the Joeys community.         What may be difficult to put into words in an
Within its cover are the spirit and energy of our     everyday conversation, can be so brilliantly and
boys – so generously and courageously shared          emotively communicated through a boy’s artwork
with the world.                                       or creative writing. It takes audacity to share
                                                      one’s innermost thoughts and feelings, and it
I truly am honoured that the boys at St Joseph’s
                                                      takes courage to stand out from the crowd and be
offer us the opportunity to view, read and
                                                      different. I am so proud of every single boy whose
appreciate their artwork, poetry and prose. At
                                                      work is included in this publication for having the
times the works are deeply personal, expressing a
                                                      self-belief and confidence to create and to share.
boy’s innermost thoughts and emotions, and
other times the works are light hearted or            Our lives are enriched by creativity, and it is my
whimsical. Some pieces are pure imagination,          great wish that the boys of St Joseph’s will
delighting us with a boy’s inventive mind and         continue to explore their creativity and exercise
extensive vision. Some are observations of the        their imagination with great enthusiasm every
world around us, and provide commentary from a        single day. To ignore this great gift would be a
boy’s own perspective. There are however, two         profound loss, for both the boys themselves and
distinct elements that tie all the different pieces   for the world around them.
in this publication together – they are heartfelt
                                                      Thank you to all the boys who have brought this
and they are unique.
                                                      year’s Kids of Dreams into existence. Sincere
Imagination and creativity are two of the most        thanks must also go to Mrs Judy O’Connell and
powerful tools at our disposal – even in today’s      Ms Kirsten Reim for their work as editors and
digitally-rich, technology driven world. They cost    coordinators of poetry and prose, and Ms Michelle
nothing, yet have the power to bring great joy,       Tinta for coordinating the artworks. These three
social change, inspiration and motivation. A          staff have dedicated a great deal of time and
person with a vibrant imagination is limited by       energy to this publication and it has truly been a
nothing and no one – he can move mountains,           labour of love.
travel to undiscovered places, walk in another
                                                      American artist and communicator, George Lois
person’s shoes and explore both the future and
                                                      once said: “Creativity can solve almost any
the past.
                                                      problem. The creative act, the defeat of habit by
In short, he can dream. What a wonderful gift         originality, overcomes everything.”
that is.
                                                      Kids of Dreams showcases the unbridled
One of the remarkable things about many of the        creativity of youth. It is much more than a
boys at St Joseph’s – our ‘Kids of Dreams’ – is       compilation of exceptional poetry, prose and art.
that they openly and enthusiastically embrace the     It is the very essence of our boys, and, as such, it
opportunity to use their imagination to produce       is a precious gift for us all.
works that are creative and insightful. By sharing
                                                      Mr Ross Tarlinton
their creative pieces, the boys allow others to see
                                                      Headmaster
4 Kids of Dreams 2010




Editorial
“The principle goal of education is to create men        and brought with him a wealth of experience to
who are capable of doing new things, not simply          this judging role.
of repeating what other generations have done -
                                                         Brian has provided wonderful insight and personal
men who are creative, inventive and discoverers.”        reflections on the winning pieces of literature. We
Jean Piaget                                              are delighted to have included his judge’s
                                                         comments in the back of this year’s publication. It
Kids of Dreams is an inspirational example of the
                                                         is of note that the writing of the students has
creative men formed by St Joseph’s College – the
                                                         garnered high praise from Brian, with such
staff, the experience, the life. Indeed, reading and
                                                         statements as
absorbing the pages of this year’s publication one
cannot help but be moved by the expression and           “...it sings of deeper meaning, hidden in the
creativity of our students, our men.                     everyday; of the importance of silence and empty
                                                         space in the artistic process – and of the creative
In this, its twenty-first year of publication, Kids of
                                                         tension felt by every writer during that endless
Dreams has found a new resting place within the
                                                         moment between the conception and the
literary walls of the Brother Liguori Resources
                                                         execution.”
Centre. Having been carefully and generously
nurtured over the past twenty years by the English       “The success or otherwise of a piece of writing is,
Department at the College, this is a significant         as often as not, dependent on elements which
shift for the publication; however the staff of the      are visceral rather than intellectual. It occurs
English Department remain the core of the book,          when we are transported into the world of the
providing inspiration, support and opportunities         story, when we cease to be ‘the reader’ and
for students to express themselves in words.             become, instead, ‘the participant’.”

As with every edition of Kids of Dreams we have          “Poetry, when it works best, is like a painting with
had the pleasure of receiving expert advice from a       words. Images which evoke emotions, an entire
guest author. This year it was Mr Brian Caswell,
                                                         world wrought from small splashes of colour.
                                                         Image and emotion – a living canvas.”
who was also the ‘Writer in Residence’ at the
College in 2010. Brian has written extensively for       “This is a very mature piece of writing, with
young adults, with a refreshing and honest voice,        effective imagery and a strong use of thematic
Kids of Dreams 2010 5




motifs that merge in the final paragraph to show       creativity. We speak with pride of the ways in
an oppressive present and an idyllic past…”            which imagination transforms their capacity to
                                                       look within themselves to find that which is good,
Not afraid to talk about the darkest of all issues,
                                                       kind, and gentle. The importance of imagination in
this year’s writers cover themes ranging from
                                                       the lives of our students cannot be
injustice, war and belonging to love and loss.
                                                       underestimated. As Sir Ken Robinson has said
While some of these works may not be
                                                       “Imagination makes us human and is our main
comfortable to read, they are a unique expression
                                                       defence against inhumanity.” St Joseph’s College
of the voices of these young men. Other pieces
                                                       is an example of a place in which humanity is
have found inspiration in place and colour, and
                                                       being nourished.
quiet moments of thought.
                                                       Many thanks are given to all the contributors of
As always, artworks accompany the literature and
                                                       the works in the 2010 Kids of Dreams. It has
showcase yet another facet of the boys’ creativity.
                                                       been a privilege to read and learn about the boys
The quality of the art is testament to the insight
                                                       through their art, poetry and prose.
and creativity of the Art Department led by Ms
Michelle Tinta, and the ability of both herself and    The one constant in a publication of this nature is
her team to help the students realise their artistic   the appreciation we have for the “behind the
visions. Michelle Tinta’s generosity in time given     scenes” specialists, our unsung heroes. Ms
to the publication ensures the exposure and            Johanna Parsons has been tireless and patient,
appreciation of an interesting collection of art.      supplying information and guidance; Mr Ric
                                                       Bombardiere has been a font of knowledge and
In all its forms creativity is to be admired, and
                                                       always a steadying hand; co-editor Mrs Judy
Kids of Dreams not only celebrates creativity, it is
                                                       O’Connell, without whom none of this would have
a means of unlocking it as well. Kids of Dreams
                                                       been possible, thank you; and finally the
is imagination in action, through control of
                                                       Headmaster, Mr Ross Tarlinton for trusting us
materials and command of ideas. Within its
                                                       with this most important task. It has been our
pages we see ways in which our boys discover
                                                       pleasure to hold it close to our hearts.
their own strengths, their passions and their
sensibilities. We marvel at their curiosity and        Ms Kirsten Reim




                                                                                 Peter Distapan Year 11
6 Kids of Dreams 2010



                                     Senior Prose: Winner

Signs
“...and with a sense of relief of coming out of his    His polished shoes dragged against the carpet as
many ordeals and trials, he finally realised, with a   he walked out of the store, nodding farewell to the
sigh. He sought no man or woman, only the              owner. Finally, he reached the threshold where he
orchestra of aged gumtrees as they swayed and          could take off the ill-fitting costume of a famous
danced in the wind. He sought home.”                   novelist and fling it across into a box. No need to
                                                       fold it or put it away neatly, it went in crumpled
As usual, a round of applause immediately filled
                                                       and dishevelled, locked in a box until the next
the space that his deep voice had suddenly
                                                       time he needed it. He’d grown out of his costumes
vacated. As usual, the previously subdued crowd
                                                       in recent years. They used to fit so well when he
was suddenly whipped into a frenzy, and a calm
                                                       could write for the pure love of it, when he didn’t
sea became a raging tempest fraught with peril in
                                                       have to throw on this charade to convince his
an instant. Groaning inwardly, he singled out the
                                                       fellow ‘high end’ authors he was one of them. He
first inquisitive face amidst the raging sea. Then
                                                       crossed the unmarked boundary into George Street
suddenly the raging tempest became a calm
                                                       and joined with his fellow pedestrians easily, pulling
harbour as everyone went quiet and the dreaded
                                                       on yet another costume so as to seamlessly join
question was asked: “Where do you get your
                                                       the bland fabric that made up the footpath. The
ideas?” He couldn’t honestly say but if he wanted
                                                       billboard couldn’t have hit him harder if it had
to keep this crowd interested he had to say
                                                       fallen on him; the idyllic outback setting contrasted
something. Mentally he shuffled through his notes
                                                       with the harsh steel and glass universe that he
and picked out the right one...
                                                       was a part of. Suddenly he was there. He could
                                                       see the relentless wave of fog rolling down off the
                                                       hills, swirling in the valley below. He could see his
                                                       father shout and swear as the water system
                                                       malfunctioned yet again. The roar of the motorbikes
                                                       as he and his brother raced through the valley,
                                                       the bush around them a mere green blur.
                                                       He’d left that life behind though, he’d found a
                                                       new home, a place to belong to. He had traded
                                                       the lush ferns for a desk, the barely working
                                                       motorbikes for a Camry and the leeches for a
                                                       publicist who was constantly after his money. He
                                                       couldn’t believe he was the only one experiencing
                                                       this. The footpath was overcrowded but he could
                                                       not have felt more alone if it were empty. Then he
                                                       realised that he was no longer in control of his
                                                       feet, his subconscious desire to go home (if it
                                                       was still home) battled with the more rational
                                                       desire to go to Town Hall Station and head back
                                                       to his apartment in Clovelly. The Decision was
                                                       Central Station vs. Town Hall Station. Home vs.
                                                       Life. His rational side prevailed but his
                                                       subconscious constantly nagged him, told him
                                                       this wasn’t really where he was meant to be, that
                                                       he was a country boy of blood and soil and didn’t
                                                       belong in a place of steel and publishing
                               Angus Laing Year 7
Kids of Dreams 2010 7




                                                                                Declan Carroll Year 11




contracts. The others just thought of him as an          immediately leapt up at him, vivid green hills
upstart, good to be an acquaintance of in order to       covered in mist. He thought more closely about
raise their own status, but definitely not a mate        the books he had written. He then realised the
nor a friend nor a confidant or anything of that         truth, that the longing he had suppressed for so
manner. Another billboard rose up, blotting out          long had found an escape route. Through his
the setting sun and bringing with it the smell of        novels. They had all been written about his home,
freshly turned soil and the sound of the cows as         his longing. The desire to return burned intensely
their anxious calls echoed around the valley. He         within him, consuming him. To call it walking or
took in the mental vision, swirling it around,           even a brisk stride would be an understatement.
tasting it, testing to see its reaction. As quickly as   He sprinted, casting away the author’s costume
it had come it was gone, replaced by the sound of        forever; he ran past Darling Harbour, he bolted
car horns echoing off the skyscrapers and the            past the Dymocks store, past the publishing
smell of exhaust fumes.                                  house and finally past his agent’s office. It
                                                         appeared before him, a neon sun lighting his way
Slowly and deliberately he turned himself from the
                                                         and bringing about a new dawn, only this sun read
direction of Central; he took small but meaningful
                                                         ‘CountryLink’.
steps away from his daydream back into the life
he had written for himself in the city. The very life    With three confident steps he crossed the
which had given him all he had. But what had he          distance to the counter and asked for a ticket,
been given? The weight of his latest book in his         “Where will you be travelling?” Then with a sense
backpack was something but was there anything            of coming out of his many trials and ordeals, he
else? Taking a seat outside Town Hall he pulled it       replied “Home.”
out and stared intently at the cover, willing it to
                                                         Marcus Eberl
reveal its worth. The scene on the cover
                                                         Year 12
8 Kids of Dreams 2010




What to Write...?
I don’t know what to write about,
but I have to write this poem.
I have to find some inspiration
but I really should be going.
I’ve got much better things to do
I could be playing sport.
But no, I have to be stuck inside
being forced to find a thought.
So maybe next time I come along
I’ll think of something to write.
But until then mate, you’ll have to see,
I’ve got plans for tonight.
Edmund Dwyer
Year 10




                                           Declan Oorloff Year 12
Kids of Dreams 2010 9




                                                                            Charles Cullen Year 11




My House
Walk through the gate…                               the path. You start walking along them moving
                                                     ever so slowly, your fingertips gently brushing up
Smell the variations of flower bushes, which are
                                                     against the top of the hedges.
made up of many hues. Let the smell of the
freshly mown grass diffuse to your nose as you       Walk toward the pool…
stop to take in the moment. You move on, glad to
                                                     Enter the pool gate and slip off your shoes. Feel
be away from the rough cement of the silent road.
                                                     the release of all tension as you dip your toes
Walk up the front drive….                            into the cool, calm, lapping water. You stand up
                                                     and move toward the house. You can see Mum
See the row of pine trees spreading out on either
                                                     cooking through the row of windows.
side. The wind assaults your face and you feel the
rhythm of the trees as they dance in the sunlight.   Smell the aroma…
Keep walking and see the pile of firewood lined
                                                     As you walk through the glass double doors, the
up neatly at the entrance to the garden.
                                                     smell of warm soup makes your mouth water.
Walk down the garden path….                          Your mum sees you and smiles. In that moment
                                                     you laugh, knowing that there is nowhere else you
You step from stone to stone and as you do, you
                                                     would rather be. You are home.
see the tiny trails of ants winding across them.
You move off the path and across a small             Robert Webb
expanse of grass toward the hedges which line        Year 7
10 Kids of Dreams 2010



                          Senior Prose: Highly Commended

Smile
I saw what I needed to see                         supernatural figurehead in such a punctilious
All white and beautiful                            manner. No, it was spite that lead me down this
I am growing tired of heavy handed words           path. After the soporific ceremony I found myself
I am growing tired                                 arguing the very premise of the tradition that was
                                                   church, and my family being raging Catholics
Tim Teppai – A chronicle. No. 300
                                                   obviously met this with hostility (also ironic). I, in
To open; I deliberated what my chronicles would    spite of them, of all of them, of him, ran away
be about, monotony, perhaps dreams, and love.      during church to conduct my own special
No, let me talk to you about emptiness and         ceremony by myself. A farcical insult at first, I
incompleteness, my abstruse tale, my last          soon found myself mesmerised by silence, by the
chronicle.                                         reverence of it, the warmth of it, by how loud it
God; and my fleeting interest in him               rang in my converted ears. I could not help but be
                                                   dragged down the path of religion, fuelled by my
I became a man of the faith when I was too young   passion to change the perverse custom of it. I
to choose, where I found ironic meaning through    joined my parish, all a mask for my real goal, to
my hate of the languorous task of “church” where   take the faith out of the church, to inject it into
a person was supposed to be cleansed by            others’ lives little by little. To make it as though
packing into a tense room with a bunch of other    they could funnel this God fellow into their lives
people who had no interest in supporting a         not just when they needed to, one hour a week,
                                                   but to always live with him in their heart. My love
                                                   for the church and love for the people increased
                                                   as the time flew on. I became the being of a
                                                   priest without the title, which for me was anything
                                                   but regrettable. For I had achieved something that
                                                   the confines of total devotion to my religion
                                                   forebode; love for a mortal human, a woman.
                                                   My family; a welcomed burden
                                                   I was a cynic, and I did not believe in love at first
                                                   sight, although I did believe in the quote, “I’ll
                                                   believe it when I see it”. I saw it - hell I was it;
                                                   love, complete and everlasting from the moment I
                                                   saw someone’s eyes, their smell, and their
                                                   overwhelming presence on me. This woman was
                                                   not outspoken; she was quiet and withheld, a trait
                                                   uncommon to my life and to my blood, which was
                                                   a completely different story and quite the contrast
                                                   to her obvious tranquillity. Perhaps this is where
                                                   my attraction’s monstrous birth grew from, like
                                                   Iago’s scheme; my love was deceiving and
                                                   unstoppable. My family however did not warm to
                                                   her like I had, they were Tongan Catholics and I
                                                   had brought an Aussie atheist into their house. As
                                                   it was before, white man (this case woman) had
                                                   entered their land and mated with their family, as
                          Angus Reynolds Year 7
                                                   modern correctness allowed and political
Kids of Dreams 2010 11




                                                                  Angus Farram Year 9


correctness discouraged, they did not think this         One second
relationship was normal. And even though the
                                                         I looked away from the dark stretching road for
road was long and uncomfortable, soon she and
                                                         one second and that was all it took. A sudden jolt
my family began to share acceptance, the
                                                         in the blackness and I panicked, just how my
acceptance of my family to allow this woman into
                                                         approach to life had been, panicked, quick and
their lives, and the acceptance of her to tolerate
                                                         thoughtless, and I knew it was hopeless the
the clear uncertainness of the whole situation.
                                                         moment I felt the wheels of my car break free
They would even begin to manifest a pretentious
                                                         from any control. They became free just like I had
love that would shine through some of the more
                                                         attempted to preach freedom, like I had always
hostile situations. Still, years went on and the
                                                         wanted to live, free from control, spontaneous
uneasiness of everything dissolved to nothing,
                                                         and careless. My freedom killed my wife.
only the warm love my family always had and the
new kindness my fiancée could provide. I had finally     And so I asked myself
built up the temerity to ask the woman for her hand      None of this should happen if you are under the
in marriage, and she, now convinced I was not a          eye of God, how a perfectly seamless life could
total loser, accepted happily and it was to be. What     become so imperfect, and cracks could appear for
she withheld from me surreptitiously was that for        anyone to fall through without mercy, with no
one month already she had been impregnated               prayer to hope on, no dreams to exist on, you
and was expecting a baby. She did not tell me            walk a tightrope from the moment you join the
this when I proposed; and she never would.               world. To me everything is transient; religion,
A man told me                                            family, love. I could only find solace in the one
                                                         thing that I knew was constant, the one thing that
We had been driving; my eyes were heavy and she
                                                         I knew deep down that everyone could count on
was asleep. In fairness to myself and my God,
                                                         and that everyone could hope for as they entered
and to everything right in this world, I killed her as
                                                         this malevolent world. This one constant was
a result of my interminable love that I had for her.
                                                         simple.
It was irresistible not to watch her sleep against
my shoulder. We were alone on the road, it was           We are all going to die.
raining so heavily that night I could not see            Nicholas O’Connor
anything anyway. Perhaps what amazed me most             Year 11
was how quickly my life could unfold to be so
spectacularly horrifying.
12 Kids of Dreams 2010


                                                      Dafar racked his brain for a clever idea to enter
        Junior Prose: Winner                          the King’s chamber but he simply couldn’t think
                                                      of one. So he knocked on the door and stepped
A Close Call                                          to the side. Immediately a squad of troops burst
                                                      out, but he was ready. Before they were even
The enchanted castle of King Krandel stood            aware of his presence, he slipped through the
majestically atop the pinnacle of rock, overlooking   door and locked them out.
the once lush valley below. The castle itself was a
                                                      Now, Dafar was face-to-face with the King. He
sight to behold. However the condition of the
                                                      looked grand with expensive clothes and many
surrounding landscape had deteriorated
                                                      advisers. As Dafar was taking in the surroundings,
immensely and therefore most of the common
                                                      the King’s personal guards caught him from
people living in the castle had moved out and
                                                      behind and began to drag him out. The last thing
become villagers. Only the King, his guards, his
                                                      Dafar saw before he was knocked out was the
advisers and his daughter remained.
                                                      King’s evil grin…
Although the King was respected amongst his
                                                      It was dark as Dafar regained consciousness but
guards, this view was not shared by the villagers
                                                      he could faintly see that he was contained in a
and every once in a while somebody would stand
                                                      little room with bars to one side. The floor was
up against him.
                                                      cold and hard and it was beginning to get
On a cold and windy night, the assassin Dafar         uncomfortable, so he stood up. He trudged
successfully infiltrated the castle and confused      around the cell trying to work out where he was.
the head guard but his mission wasn’t complete –      The only light was coming from the end of the
he had to find the King.                              corridor. He slumped back down and leaned
He entered a long narrow corridor and was 20          against the wall, and waited.
metres from the end when he saw a group of            Eventually Dafar saw the light flicker as someone
guards come his way. He turned to run. However,       entered the corridor. They reached Dafar’s cell
to his dismay, another group of guards entered        after what seemed hours. As the person spoke,
the corridor. Seconds went by as Dafar tried to       Dafar immediately realised it was the Princess.
think of a way of escaping, but time was running      She was in a rush and quickly pulled out a key
out and the guards were gaining ground. Dafar         and opened the barred door. She planned to
was convinced he had no other option but to fight     escape with Dafar.
until he noticed a small patch of wood where the
                                                      They dashed for the door and entered a long and
bricks of the wall should have been. He crept over
                                                      winding corridor. The Princess knew the place like
and noticed that it was hinged; attempted to push
                                                      the back of her hand and easily navigated through
it open, but it was locked.
                                                      the castle. They had their sights on the slowly
Immediately, a risky plan began to form in his        closing drawbridge but they also had guards on
head but he was desperate and any second now          their tail. They were running fast but as they
a guard would spot him. He slammed into the           reached the drawbridge, the Princess tripped.
wooden “door” with all his strength and broke
                                                      Soon the drawbridge would completely close and
through. Dafar could hear the guards charging
                                                      there was no time to slow down. Dafar made a
down the corridor like a herd of elephants. He
                                                      split second decision and jumped from the
quickly covered the hole he’d made and turned to
                                                      drawbridge onto safe ground. But the Princess
survey his surroundings.
                                                      was still inside. As the drawbridge closed he
To his surprise, he faced two majestically painted    swore to come back to save her (if she lived that
doors that appeared to stretch up to the roof.        long)…
Outside he could hear the guards chattering away
                                                      Jack Fox
making false accusations about each other, but
                                                      Year 7
he decided to focus.
Kids of Dreams 2010 13




                                  Senior Poetry: Winner

                          The Image of a Page
                          As I continued to read,
                          My mind became lost in the image of the page.
                          The tiny specks of dust were pressed onto the leaf.
                          Their elongated shadows danced over the print.
                          In step with the flickering flame of my lamp,
                          Bringing the pages to life in a way far less
                          tangible
                          than anything I could have written about.
                          I watched, transfixed,
                          without realising that I wasn’t reading anymore
                          and then came a revelation;
  Andrew North Year 11    The page is an image,
                          Pointless without words,
                          yet I was looking at a profound beauty
                          achieved totally without them,
                          but what is a page without words?
                          A silence waiting to be filled with beautiful music
                          But then, how can so much be said without
                          words?
                          That same silence is what we are so afraid of;
                          the silence that begs not to be broken,
                          but it will be broken,
                          by the sheer force of the words
                          itching to be said,
                          or sung,
                          or typed.
                          Matthew Bartlett
                          Year 12




Benjamin Pedley Year 10
14 Kids of Dreams 2010




Love vs Pain
As I stand there in the rain
My heart knows only pain
the way we were
and how we are
tonight is a day that will always be a scar.
The way you kissed me
The way you danced
You filled my heart with such a love
You walked away
My hands empty and my mind confused.
You pulled me close, you gave me hell
Each word a killer under your spell
My mind was weak and let you in
The way you took me was soft and sweet
My love was given but none returned.
                                               Andrew Deegan Year 9
My   chest ripped open by your hand
My   head was tricked unto your love
My   blood now racing thick and fast
My   legs are stuck to the ground
My   knees now weak and my legs give in.
My heart is taken with a grin
The day I met you still my best
The time you gave me was the rest
My broken heart still sings your song
Even though my head says wrong.
The way I felt around you
And what I would have given for you
The time of day the time of night
Was only filled with your light.
When I was with you I could only fly
Then you broke my wings and left me to die.
Kain Macourt
Year 12




                                                   Conan Chu Year 7
Kids of Dreams 2010 15



        Junior Poetry: Winner

The Colour of My Farm                            Cream
                                                 The akubra of the tired farmer
Red                                              Working 15 hour days
The belly of a black snake,                      All this for his children to get a good education
With its lightning strikes                       White
Draws pain in an instance                        The pure cotton
Green                                            On the almost dead stem
The colour of paddocks with young wheat          Waiting to be plucked from its base
As it blows in the wind                          Black
Knowing that was our next pay                    The tyres on the tractors
Blue                                             That worked so hard
The colour of glassy water                       Red
Gliding on its surface                           The blister on the hands
On dad’s old ski                                 From stoping 1000 irrigation pipes
Yellow                                           On a 35 degree day
The evening sunsets                              Orange
Each individually glamorous                      The morning sunrise
Each spectacular                                 A new day
Brown                                            Full of challenges
The dead grass all summer long                   Gold
The tumble weed                                  The wheat crop ready to harvest
Slowly moving in the graceful wind               Millions of grains pouring into the chaser bin
Blue                                             The long hours the children played with BP the
Boots’ ears                                      golden retriever
The old blue heeler                              Many colours make up places.
Sitting on the verandah waiting for the farmer   These are mine.
                                                 Samuel Knight
                                                 Year 8




                                                                Aaron Curtis Year 10
16 Kids of Dreams 2010



                            Junior Prose: Highly Commended
I, the Hero...
I heard a pounding on the door, awakening me             through his sentence, his eyes almost falling out
from my sleep. I lifted my head from the counter,        of their sockets and his body stiffening. With that,
wiping the drool from my face. As I peered through       he limply fell out of the plane.
my half open eyes, I saw a swarm of media
                                                         “Oh NO!” a reporter screamed, “I think he just
standing in front of the glass door. As I walked to
                                                         had a heart attack.”
the front I recognised one of the men as being
Darcy Tcenocc, Russia’s best and rudest actor.           Then, all eyes fell on me, encouraging me to go
                                                         after him.
I opened the door saying curiously, “Ah, yeah?”
                                                         “Oh, come ON!” I exhaled. So I jumped out of the
“Obviously I’m here for some sky diving. Isn’t this
                                                         plane into the big blue cloudless sky. Although as
a sky diving company?” he said gruffly.
                                                         soon as I jumped I knew something was wrong. I
“Well,” I started to explain, “We are kinda closed.”     had forgotten to put on my parachute!

Darcy replied rudely with, “I don’t care, just let me    ‘Can’t do anything ‘bout that now can I?’ I thought
on the plane.”                                           to myself. Wiping that thought clear I focused on
                                                         Darcy, flailing through the air, as if the sky was a
I was now getting frustrated: “Grrrrr! One, we are
                                                         bully. I caught up to Darcy using my free-falling
closed. Two, you need to run through the safety
                                                         skills and I grabbed on, prepared to pull Darcy’s
course. Three, you can’t take all the media with
                                                         parachute. As soon as I did though, I knew I
you.”
                                                         shouldn’t have.
This time Darcy walked past me and burst through
                                                         Because of the parachute’s pull, it hauled me
the door leading onto the tarmac, with the trail of
                                                         right into the oncoming path of a Boeing 747! All I
paparazzi following.
                                                         could do was hold on for dear life and pray that
“Well, this is gonna be a long day,” I said to myself.   nothing would happen. I heard the roars of the
As I walked out onto the tarmac, I saw that Darcy        engines passing over me, but I never felt any
was suited up and already on the plane. I ran up         pain. I opened my eyes to see that Darcy and I
to the side door, and saw that the pilot had already     were both intact, but unfortunately the plane had
started up the plane. I barged into the cockpit and      ripped the parachute in half, sending Darcy and I
said to the pilot Steve, “What do you think you’re       into a spiralling motion for what seemed like
doing?!! You can’t let this weirdo on the plane.”        eternity until we crashed into the roof of a local
                                                         farmhouse.
The pilot replied, “But Max, he’s famous.”
                                                         I sat up in bed, my eyes adjusting to the very
With that Steve gunned the engines and the plane         white room. I looked across to see Darcy lying in
hurtled off the mark at great speed. As I was            a bed next to me, his legs covered in plaster. I
walking out of the cockpit I was thinking of all the     then looked up to see a nurse hovering over the
stupid things Darcy could do - but when I saw him        now-awake Darcy.
he was doing by far the stupidest.
                                                         “Ya know Mr Tcenocc, Max saved your life.”
Darcy was telling the media how experienced he
was in skydiving and that he was basically a pro.        “I really don’t care,” replied the grumpy Darcy.
And you know what the hardest thing was?                 “This is going to be a long day,” I said to myself
Watching him! As soon as Darcy finished his              as I slowly shut my eyes to lapse into another
sentence, the alarm went off, signalling that we         sleep.
were ready to jump. I walked over to the now-open
                                                         Massimo Reginato
cabin door to get ready to jump, but Darcy pushed
                                                         Year 7
past me and turned around to the media and
said, “OK, here I...” Darcy stopped midway
Angus McGinness Year 12




Tiger Parker Year 10
18 Kids of Dreams 2010



                                 Senior Prose: Commended

Attention!
“The desire to conform can lead to unexpected          even got my mum to buy me the whole kit with
pitfalls.”                                             mean-looking sword and full body armour. Cost
                                                       around two grand too. But of course, after a few
Cutting these trackies off at the knee was a bad
                                                       lessons I got bored – too many rules and
idea.
                                                       regulations.
The colourful peony packet caught my eye. Very
                                                       My favourite part was the sword. When I got tired
pretty. But nothing that looked like that here. My
                                                       of listening to techniques, I snuck off into the
hands are dirty, knees too. Damn trackies. Damn
                                                       coach’s office.
weeds. Why did she have to go send that email?
Oh well. Move to a better place, that’s what my        Suddenly I was Aragon at the Battle of Pelennor
mate Jeff always says.                                 Fields, slaying orcs on either side. I jumped up on
                                                       the desk, brandishing my weapon. I slashed at
So here I am: the pitfall of peonies. Fun. How
                                                       ferocious curtains and lashed out at a blood-
does a 16-year-old boy named Karol, (yeah, I
                                                       thirsty vase with my foot.
know) end up knee-deep in a sea of soil and
weeds, yearning to spot a hint of colour? Well it’s    The shatter brought the coach running in.
all in the hope that I discover something I enjoy. A   Surprisingly, I wasn’t invited back. So I did the
direction for my life even.                            sensible thing and sold the suit on eBay. After all,
                                                       I was short on cash. I managed to get three
Wondering where this all started? No doubt you
                                                       hundred bucks for it, and spent it all on energy
are, even I’m a little curious. Well I guess… Yeah,
                                                       drinks and fart bombs. Of course my mum was a
you could probably say it all started with the
                                                       tad annoyed when she realised the suit and the
Youtube video. This is how it was… I watch
                                                       money were gone. Actually annoyed is a vast
Channel V, I love music. Stupid statement, I mean
                                                       understatement. There was a lot of yelling and
who doesn’t? And all those rappers made it look
                                                       lecturing. I kept the sword.
easy – I thought why not? So I did. Had a
legitimate video and everything – well kinda           After being furious with me for a while, my mum
legitimate… That video was the main problem            started being really nice. I know! Weird… It was
actually.                                              around this time that I met Jeff. I didn’t even
                                                       know what a psychiatrist was! He’s a real champ.
You see, I tend to get in trouble quite often.
                                                       He listens to me. And he’s patient and never gets
Something about not thinking things through
                                                       fed up or annoyed. And when we hang out there’s
before I act. And every time I do do something
                                                       no tension or anything. I felt I could tell him
wrong, I always get the same lecture: “Karol, what
                                                       everything, and I did. He suggested that getting a
are you going to do with your life? You have so
                                                       pet would be a great pastime for me, and would
much potential but…” umm… Well I never make
                                                       teach me a lot about responsibility and stuff. I
it that far before my mind strays to my next
                                                       thought about what he said and decided he was
escapade… Fencing was a good one. Not as in
                                                       right. So I introduced Fang to the family.
making fences. That’s not fun at all. But sword
fighting.                                              Fang was an eight-foot python from some country
                                                       that doesn’t have enough vowels in its name. Of
With my gangster status and controversial
                                                       course my mum freaked out – again – but she got
rhymes, I practically painted a target on my head
                                                       used to it, as long as I didn’t feed him in front of
for rival gangs. I didn’t want to “fall victim to da
                                                       her. We got on great and everything was going
streets” – the world just wasn’t ready for another
                                                       smoothly – until I forgot to put the lid on Fang’s
Tupac incident. I needed to defend myself in case
                                                       cage. I heard the scream from next door late at
I got into a gang war, hence the fencing.
                                                       night and was filled with foreboding. A quick
I went to a couple of classes, enjoyed it a lot, and   check on the snake cage confirmed my fears.
Kids of Dreams 2010 19




Muriel, my elderly neighbour, awoke
with the entire length of a sleek,
foreign serpent sliding through her
sheets. Then it was off to the zoo
for Fang.
The music video was probably what
topped it off. I mentioned it before:
the Youtube video? Yep, that’s the
one. I published my video on
Facebook. Great way to get
publicity, right? Yes… But not a
great idea if you have an aunty who
goes online religiously. Even worse
when she is a fanatical feminist.
She watched all 7 minutes and 38
seconds of obscene gestures and
sword-wielding. Then she sent that
email to my mum. Mum didn’t freak
out this time. She didn’t yell. She
just sighed.
Life’s looking up now. Jeff told me
that that wasn’t exactly what he
had in mind when I mentioned
considering a career in music. He
told me that he has something that
could help me if I wanted it. Ritalin
he called it. I’m starting tomorrow.
I’ve been really good lately too. I’m
out of seeds now so me and Mum
are gonna go up to the Pennant
Hills nursery to get some more.
She’s even letting me drive. Hang
on! That looks like a peony petal
right there. Maybe I’m not such a
bad gardener after all.
Joshua Peacocke                             Daniel Hughes Year 10
Year 12
20 Kids of Dreams 2010


                                            Innocence Lost...
                                            The scars of war are worn with scorn
                                            By those who proliferate the pain
                                            And leave the flesh so thrashed and torn
                                            As blood and gore is washed away by rain
                                            No way to count the millions dead
                                            All victims of innocence and shame
                                            They fell to disgraces born and bred
                                            They prosper in their absurdity
                                            The majority are victims of innocence
                                            They massacre sons and daughters without
                                            despair
                                            As the population rapidly falls
                                            Their lust for violence is never at a halt
                                            To compel a child to kill his own
                                            To think this is absurd and unknown
                                            These children so lost and alone
                                            Until they lose all sense of shame
                                            They start to ponder as to why they shouldn’t do
                                            the same
                                            And the world is still unaware
                                            Of this insane reality?
                                            Surely not...
                                            Or has this world lost its soul to an unknown
                                            place of brutality
                                            That’s blind to such torture and cruelty
                                            Like a lion ripping into its prey
                    Anthony Ursino Year 9
                                            It seems the world will be at war
                                            Until that final rupture of light is shone throughout
                                            the land
                                            When Our Lord decides to share the score
                                            Of the many people lost who lost it all
                                            Then somewhere else in this land
                                            Another world will begin
                                            Will this land again increase in their absurdity?
                                            Or will they recognise that all is sin?
                                            Benjamin Rodgers
                                            Year 10
Kids of Dreams 2010 21




Matthew Curtin Year 7




   Brandon Wescott Year 12
22 Kids of Dreams 2010




                         Dumped
                         The boy was surfing when he spotted a beautiful
                         girl in a cerise bikini. To impress her, he set off
                         on a huge wave. Barrel, cutback. Floater,
                         absolutely nailing it, but then she caught his
                         attention and...dumped. Face drilled through the
                         sand, and when he resurfaced, she was laughing.
                         Michael Lawler
                         Year 10




                                                 Harrison Goodrick Year 10
Kids of Dreams 2010 23


Master of Puppets
Alone,
He sits.
The Master.
The one pulling all the strings,
From below and above us.
He manipulates us.
He crosses our hearts,
And hopes we die.
Die a sinful death.
Alone,
He sits.
Promising everything,
Returning nothing.
The Master
Promised only lies,
Only fibs of what could have been.
Collect you he will.
The Master will make puppets of all of you.
Pull your strings,
And destroy you from within.
Obey your Master,
You will.
Twisting your mind,
Taking your reason
You scream for help,
But all you hear is laughter,
Laughing at your cries.
Through the maze of your mind he will take your
sanity.
Through the chambers of your heart he will take
your soul.
                                                          Harry Tate Year 7
Through your body he will take you.
The Master
Will pump fear through your veins,
End your passion for life,
Pulling your strings till they snap.
Till you snap,
The Master
Will never be satisfied.
Intent on destroying you,
The Master never fails,
Never lets a good catch go.
Obey your Master,
You will.
Elliot Nash
Year 9
24 Kids of Dreams 2010


Flaming Stars                                     I see a lamp at the damp camp
                                                  We’re concentrated into
It’s dark and peaceful, and then...               The concentration camp.
Tanks rumble, tumble and trundle down the hill,   We’re led to our beds
Flames flicker,                                   But we’re not yet fed.
Guns chatter.                                     Skin and bones smile at us in despair,
Screams fill the air.                             Stomachs so thin we can see their backbones.
Death and despair is what’s left behind.          Death, death, death!
Who could do this? Who? Not you?                  Is all that is left.
                                                  We’re locked up, we’re scared,
We’re rounded up in a heap
                                                  We look to the sky.
Around me people are either dead,
                                                  The stars wink back
Dying or looking more dead than alive.
                                                  Knowing our fate.
We follow like zombies surrounded
                                                  Who could do this? Who? Not you?
By moving metal and men.
We’re kicked and cajoled up the ramp              Dad’s taken away
Like animals.                                     Kicking and screaming
On the trains we get squashed,                    “Have mercy,” he screams.
And squeezed into submission.                     “My kids,” he pleads.
No one fights back.                               It makes no difference
Who could do this? Who? Not you?                  No difference to the stony
                                                  Faced men.
The train chugs rhythmically
                                                  Swastika bright on that
We sink into ourselves.
                                                  Shining red stripe.
We think.
                                                  A smile crosses one’s
What is our crime?
                                                  Face “ha ha” says he
We’re David’s star chosen by God,
                                                  “Gassing for you,
Chosen to live,
                                                  You stupid old Jew.”
Now chosen to die.
                                                  Who could do this?
There’s nothing to do,
                                                  Who? Not you?
But await our destiny.
Who could do this? Who? Not you?                  James Maffey
                                                  Year 9




                                                              Dominic Egan Year 11
Kids of Dreams 2010 25


                        The Onlooker
                        I   look without seeing
                        I   touch without feeling
                        I   listen without hearing
                        I   move without thinking
                        I am alone
                        Around me the scene moves
                        Around me they jostle
                        Around me the flow takes me forward
                        I am anonymous
                        A thousand stories pass by without telling
                        A thousand conversations exclude me
                        A thousand texts are not reaching me
                        I   am   the onlooker
                        I   am   one of the masses
                        I   am   part of the flow
                        I   am   the unknown
                        I am but one thread of the colourful tapestry of
                        the crowd.
                        Hamish Elliot
Lachlan Rovers Year 7   Year 10




                                                     Benjamin Quinn Year 8
26 Kids of Dreams 2010




                         Anthony Ursino Year 9




                         William Canning Year 8
Kids of Dreams 2010 27


The Island Within                                      I chose, and in my choice, I accepted the
                                                       consequences. In knowledge, I endure the pain.
Outside, the world rushed past.                        I bear the weight of humanity upon my shoulders.
                                                       Their ignorance borne within my being. I am the
Inside, the blinds drawn shut, my world remained
                                                       beacon, I am the salvation. In a sick sense,
silent, uncompromising. As it should be. The
                                                       anyway.
inhumane questions of life bothered me not; I had
no need to question why I was, and my purpose.         You see, I understand.
I knew. I knew everything I needed to.                 Sometimes I wonder if they will, you will, one day.
“Robert?” I heard my father call. He was not happy.    I hope for you, but my apathy only has such limits.
He called me again. I hid in my closet, surrounded     Many do not, and they will suffer at the day of
by darkness. I could hear him coming closer,           their demise. I know my God; the Bible is my word.
closer. He burst into my room and stormed to the       They will repent, to a false god, and succumb to
closet. Wrenching it open, he yelled at me.            an afterlife of misery and hopelessness; all they
                                                       have ever known will be a lie.
“I’ve told you before, a thousand times. Do not
touch it!” He grabbed me by my collar, and pulled      “Angela?” I am ten years old. My sister teases
me closer to him. I could smell his hot, angry         me. She hides in the dark, where I cannot see
breath. His eyes burned.                               her, where I am scared to look.
He raised his hand, and I closed my eyes.              “Angela?” I call again. I can hear her laughing.
Life was nothing more than inadequate excuses          She enjoys teasing me. I can hear my heart beat.
for humans to thieve, adulterate, fornicate and        Why does she do this to me? Does she hate me?
murder. It was pathetic, the way living revolved for   I walk to where I can hear muffled giggling. It is
some around the piteous requiem of a broken life.      cruel, the way she taunts me. I want to run away,
Many complain, take it for granted. If they don’t      but I know there is nowhere I can go.
want it, throw it away. It’s been done before.         I peer into the darkness. We are outside, yet in
I sigh as I sit in my bedroom, the stale air around    the corner of the backyard the trees create a
me comforting. I watch from a distance as a slight     canopy, covering below in complete darkness. All
ray of infuriating sunlight breaches the protection    matter of things, insects and feral animals, lurk in
of drawn curtains, and escapes into my world of        the shadows. I creep closer, my heart beating,
darkness. From me it steals my sanctuary. Is           louder and louder.
nowhere sacred?                                        I scream.
Many would pity me. Many do. They look upon me         Angela leaps out at me, a crouching animal,
as a dismal, wretched waste of life. I could have      lunging at its prey. I turn, and as quickly as I can,
been great, I could have been anything. But yet, I     I run away. I can hear her laughing. She doesn’t
chose. And my choice was final, satisfying.            care, she hates me. I crawl under my bed, and
Who can steal happiness from a content man?            cry. I can hear her calling for me, her sickly sweet
                                                       voice crooning. She scares me. I will not come out.
“She’s gone, Robert, and she isn’t coming back.
That’s all there is.” Seven years old, and my father   I can still hear her laughing at me. I am alone. My
explains my mother’s death. I am not allowed to        world is enshrouded in darkness. The only living
cry. If I sniff again, surely I will be dealt with.    thing is the sound of my heart. A steady pitter-
                                                       patter. It reminds me that I still have to breathe.
Mother. Gone.
                                                       In the chaos of this world I feel like I drown. In
His words sink in.                                     the sea of apnoea I struggle to keep alive.
I sit alone in my house. Each day I hear the           Sometimes I allow my head to dip under the
wretched shuffling of feet, the constant murmur of     water. I stop breathing. I stop, just to feel the
gagging conversation. Useless, suppressed              struggle, mind over will, as my mind screams for
emotion; the dribbling euphemism of life. It was,      air, yet my lips remain shut.
in its entirety, nonsense, yet none could see it. It   The world is quiet then. The world is as it will be.
sickens me. In fact, I wretch.
28 Kids of Dreams 2010


There is no one who understands me. There is no          through its cut veins. The earth dies a thousand
one who knows me. Anyone who speaks to me,               deaths over.
attempts to engage me verbally, finds themselves
                                                         Is life really worth living, as we are born free? No
rejected, or gives up.
                                                         walls? I think not. It’s nice though, I must admit. I
I don’t need intercession. I don’t need prayers.         would like to be delusional, and believe that the
                                                         world is a nice place. I would like to wake up, feel
I need them to listen. But they block their ears,
                                                         the sunlight on my face, see it stream through my
and drown out the truth, with their materialism
                                                         windows, and know that a new day has dawned. A
and false religions. They choose not to hear, for
                                                         new day, where everything starts again.
fear of repression, and fear of the unknown. Man
fears what he does not understand, it’s true. Out        Even that is a lie.
there, beyond that cold door, they are ignorant,         The sun doesn’t bring a new day. It brings new
and they choose not to listen. Their life is bliss,      pain, and more copious lies. All simply lies. But
because they refuse to pull the blindfold of life        humanity, cover your ears! Oh humanity, live your
from their eyes, and drown out the incessant             worthless lives, gain empty meaning, and feel
voice in their ear, whispering their ploys, whispering   content. The sun rises, and surely as it sets, for
the lies and deceit that consumes the world.             then it doesn’t set, but reminds us of the pitiless
I will show them the light. I am not scared. I do        existence you obtain. Enjoy your lies…
not shy away; hide in the corner as the rest of          I heard the voice in my ear. Clear, crisp. It was
humanity does. I know, and so I do not fear.             deep, scathing and mocking. Mordant. It
I hear a rapping at my door. I bark at them, and         understood. It knew my pain; it knew the burden
there is silence. I hear the sound of sliding paper      of saving humanity borne upon one’s shoulders. It
on carpet, and see half an envelope, peeping out         was sharp and distinct, and spoke to me, and I
from the crack in the door. I will leave it, and it      understood it. It did not speak English, it spoke in
will join my pile of outstanding notices.                tongues, but somehow I understood. I knew what
                                                         it was saying, I knew what it wanted.
But wait.
                                                         I must satisfy it. He is right, and I must listen. I
This one seems different. Why is it so?
                                                         must obey.
I crawl to it, and careful, so the light doesn’t         Today is the day. I know it. I smell it in the stale,
touch my skin, pick the envelope from the door. I        foul air. The putrid stench fills my nostrils; fuels
open it, and a letter falls to the ground.               my entirety. For too long I have swum in my own
Addressed to me. Signed: Angela. O Traitorous            filth. It is time to open the door, flood my life with
Sister, what dost thou want? I laugh to myself,          their false light. It is time for me to teach them.
deep and sardonic, sadistic. Almost.                     They must know.

She hates me, why should I bother? It matters            They will shun me, society mock me, humanity
not, to me anyway.                                       ridicule me. But that is the price I must be willing
                                                         to pay. I must not give up. They must hear. They
Her letter burns in the fire, still sealed. The
                                                         will hear me.
flames consume its threat. Fiery tongues lick the
paper, devouring its lies. The poison of her words       I will be king. I will be praised, and worshipped. I
burns, untouched and unread. She will hurt no            will be God.
one with her vile, depraved thoughts. No one             The door creaks open and I hold my breath. My
cares for her opinions.                                  dead heart beats, louder and louder, unlike
Hope and pain. In the dark, they look the same.          anything I’ve heard in years.

Some believe we are born free. Are we really?            Outside, the world is busy. Humanity searches for
Outside the sky cracks. A blinding light splits the      meaning.
dark ceiling. The cacophonous roar echoes its            The light shines in.
reply. The sky bleeds; pouring rain falls, and
                                                         Joshua Klarica
slices the earth. The blood of the earth seeps
                                                         Year 11
Kids of Dreams 2010 29



Senior Artwork: Winner




                                 Jacob Carrick Year 12




                         Timothy Rice Year 8
30 Kids of Dreams 2010



                                    Junior Prose: Commended

That Was Lucky
Blake was just a normal Year 7 kid with a normal        With the sound of rushing air and a horn, Blake
life and normal hobbies. He loved to play footy,        hopped off the bench and stood near the yellow
hang around with friends and a few of the girls.        line. The train screeched to a halt and the doors
Every day after school Blake would catch the early      swished open. Blake hopped on, found a seat,
train home, make a snack, do his homework and           got his iPod out, stuck the earphones in his ears
go off with his mates. Friday was the best day of       and listened to his favourite music. Blake wasn’t
the week because on Saturday he would play              in a big rush because his stop was one of the last
footy and have the weekend hanging around with          and besides, it was Friday, he had plenty of time.
mates. But first he had to get through the day…
                                                        The last of the travellers had just got off at the
“Blake! Start paying attention,” bellowed Mr Marks.     previous stop and he was the only one left on his
                                                        carriage. He got his stuff together and stood up
“Yes sir, sorry sir,” Blake said.
                                                        ready to hop off at the next stop. The brakes
Blake isn’t the smartest in the class, but you          screeched and the doors opened automatically
can’t blame him, it’s the last lesson of the day        and he walked off. Blake thought he could hear
and Mr Marks just keeps going on and on and on,         shouting from the stairs so he walked a bit
practically making Blake doze off.                      quicker to see what was going on. He turned the
“Right, I want you, for homework, to write a two-       corner and smack! He ran straight into a guy with
page narra…”                                            tattoos everywhere and hat pulled down, covering
                                                        most of his face. They both fell to the ground and
DING, DING!
                                                        Blake shook off this angry guy and got up.
It was the bell for the end of class, ‘Yes! Finally,
                                                        “Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he said
the weekend,’ Blake thought.
                                                        apologetically. Then he turned around and saw a
“…narrative and it’s due on Monday,” Mr Marks           briefcase open with a stash of cash, about a million
said, trying to be heard over the noise of the class.   dollars in it. Blake turned back to see the guy
                                                        hurrying to get up and make a run for it, but Blake
“Class dismissed, oh and Blake, can I see you for
                                                        was facing the man and he had nowhere to go.
a moment?”
                                                        “Hey, move to the side, or else…” the man
“OOOHHH!” the class said in unison.
                                                        shouted reaching into his jacket.
“Now Blake you’re going to have to make more of
                                                        Blake looked around quickly, but there was no
an effort in my class, you seem to be falling
                                                        one to be seen. The station appeared to be
behind; I might have to call your parents, if I don’t
                                                        deserted, though he could hear noise not far
see an improvement.”
                                                        away. Blake moved to the side, but, at the same
“Oh. Please sir, I’ll try my hardest, just don’t ring   time, tripped the guy.
my parents. They’ll be really annoyed with me.”
                                                        “STOP HIM,” a policeman suddenly shouted,
“Okay. Last chance. No improvement by next              racing around the corner towards them, as the
week and I’m going to have to call your parents.        guy fell over.
Okay?”
                                                        Blake stood there in awe, as the policeman dived
“Yes sir.”                                              on the guy and handcuffed him in an instant. The
Blake left the room, got out his phone and texted       guy appeared quite dazed and had lost his grip on
his mum to say he had to catch the later train          the briefcase and it fell to the ground again,
because Mr Marks had kept him back.                     falling open. The policeman took one look at the
                                                        open briefcase and let out several loud breaths
               *     *    *     *    *
                                                        and whistled under his breath.
Kids of Dreams 2010 31




He turned to Blake and said “Do you have any        medal from the Prime Minister. Mr Marks didn’t
(breath), any idea who you just (breath),           need to call Blake’s parents, because he ended
stopped?” with a lopsided grin on his face.         up writing the best ever two-page narrative, about
“Aahhh, no sir…”                                    Australia’s number 1 most wanted being caught
                                                    by a 13-year-old boy, giving Blake an A.
“You just stopped Australia’s number 1 most
wanted criminal, Jimmy ‘Trix’ Henderson. We’ve      “That was lucky.”
been after this bloke for quite a while.”           Jack Kenny
Blake was recognised for his great heroism with a   Year 7




                                                               Andrew Deegan Year 9
32 Kids of Dreams 2010




Bull Ride
As he waits for his ride and brushes his resin
He studies his bull, a rank one called ‘Mezzin’
Both JB and Kody have won previously
He believes it’s his turn, a 91 they’ll see.
He hops on his bull and pulls up near side
Then he whispers to his bull “You’re gonna lose
all your pride.”
He wraps and bangs his hand as tight as can be
Holds up his free hand and yells “Let him buck
free!”
He explodes out to the left, then reverses right
His mates then start yelling “Cowboy up alright!”
He needs an 89 to pick up the cheque
But he loses his balance and hits the deck.
He moans and groans on what could have been
But he picks himself up ‘cause Calgary’s the
next scene.                                                     Kieran Hayward Year 7

Alex Newsome
Year 10




                                                    Christopher Kocx Year 9
Kids of Dreams 2010 33




Joseph Sammut Year 12




    Charlie Hanigan Year 8
34 Kids of Dreams 2010




                                       Christian Pang Year 8




                         Liam Callaghan Year 12 (detail)
Kids of Dreams 2010 35




Connor Mahon Year 9




              Harrison Gould Year 10
36 Kids of Dreams 2010


I Heard a Cry…
It was one of those days where you felt as if you      didn’t have my phone on me and there was
could do anything, well at least that’s what I         nobody out and about around here at 7 o’clock in
thought it would be. Anyway, it started out with a     the morning. I tried to find a nice thick branch
jog down to the local fish market. I saw Big Al and    that would be able to pull Ellie up. I found a thick
Jimmy Gees then ran to the park. I got to the park     and long branch that must have been played
and stopped at the bubbler to get some water. I        around with by kids using them as swords. I
could hear screams in the distance. I wasn’t sure      immediately ran back to Ellie as soon as I got the
if they were screams of laughter or screams of         branch. She was still there holding on for dear life
pain so I went down to check. As I reached the         with all that was left in the tank. I gestured the
place where I thought I could hear something, I        branch in front of her but she wasn’t able to take
could see nobody – nothing but the green grass         her hands off the branch she was already holding
and the trees that made up the terrain. Then I         on to. I wasn’t sure what to do now so I started
heard a cry for help. I jumped onto my toes and        to brainstorm. Then I thought of a plan to save
sprinted to the noise. There was a girl about my       Ellie’s life.
age hanging off the side of a steep and
                                                       I firmly gripped the branch she was holding on to
dangerous cliff. I tried to calm her down and
                                                       and started to pull it back. I was determined to
asked her what her name was. She replied saying
                                                       save her life and I wasn’t going to give up that
“Ellie,” and I told her “My name is Nick.” I
                                                       easily. I didn’t know what happened next but
noticed that tears started to roll down her face
                                                       somehow I lifted up the branch and pulled her to
and knew instantly that she needed some help,
                                                       safety. If I can remember, the first thing I heard
fast. I tried grabbing her hand but it was no use. I
                                                       wasn’t “thank you” but the sound of my alarm
wasn’t regarded as being amongst the big jocks
                                                       clock buzzing at the same time it did every day at
at school but neither the nerd in the corner. I was
                                                       7:30 am. This meant it was time for school. I
still waiting on my growth spurt and hoping that
                                                       rushed downstairs, picked up a piece of toast,
some muscle power came with it.
                                                       clumped my bag over my shoulder and left out the
Her arms were getting tired and she couldn’t hold      back door.
onto the soon-to-be-broken branch. I needed to do
                                                       James Goodman
something quick. The first thing that came to my
                                                       Year 7
mind was to call for help but it was no use as I




                                                                                    Henry Walsh Year 11
Kids of Dreams 2010 37




Christopher Kocx Year 9




             Geoffrey Miller Year 8
38 Kids of Dreams 2010




                                                     Henry Birtwistle Year 10



The Terminal                        Stand up and just walk away.
                                    I’ve passed through this swinging gate
Stamp,                              Countless times before
Welcome home.                       Always with the same ignorant eyes
Stamp,                              Burning into my back
Please step this way sir.           Like fire pokers left in too long.
Stamp,                              They are completely oblivious
You haven’t filled this in miss.    thinking always
Stamp,                              the next victim is them,
Hey you! What’s in the bag?         it could only ever be a Yank.
I’ve been standing in this line     Stamp, Stamp, BOOM!
for far too long.                   But it’s never really that soon
That continuous noise of            Stamp,
Stamp, Stamp, Stamp,                Ink on the page.
on that paperback book              Stamp,
that tells them                     I’m on my way
either to watch out!                Stamp,
Or let them through.                Excuse me sir.
It’s judged by colour,              Stamp,
by dress                            Please step this way.
and by voice,                       Where in this world
but never by fact.                  can I walk without a hassle?
Stamp,                              Titled something I’m not,
False accusations flung.            questioned about something I haven’t done.
Stamp,                              These people will never learn.
I think that Arab man has a bomb!   Stamp, Stamp, Stamp.
Stamp,                              Elliot Nash
Miss, I’m Indian thank you          Year 9
Stamp,
Kids of Dreams 2010 39




                            Harry Spurr Year 8




Connor Berkery Year 7
40 Kids of Dreams 2010




Sprung                                              Biology
A simple prank: a bucket, paint and a door. I       Cerise and blue were very different organisms.
admired my creation. Little did I know, someone     These two have been rivals since humanity
was behind me. He grinned, pushing the door         evolved. Each doing their own job, one carrying
away. I was instantly covered in embarrassment.     elements and the other supporting. Always going
Everyone was pointing and jeering. I only had one   against each other from birth to death. But the
thing to say, “It’s not pink, it’s cerise!”         moral is, the combination can make a difference.
                                                    Cerise blood, blue veins.
Robert Kwan
Year 10                                             Terence Wong
                                                    Year 10




                                                                            Charles Smith Year 7
Kids of Dreams 2010 41




                                  Harry Bateman Year 8




Gildardo O’Connell Year 11




                               Stephen Sia Year 7
42 Kids of Dreams 2010


Human A                                                  Dr Robertson taught me at a young age the
                                                         importance of vitamins, especially Vitamin D. In
I am A. I am the first cloned human being ever           my second year of training I was taught about
created, the greatest creation in the history of         photosynthesis, but I could never grasp the
mankind. I am 10 years old, and as a result of           concept of the ‘sun’. I’ve never seen the sun, so
genetic engineering, I have an IQ of 165. I am           Dr Robertson tells me Vitamin D is especially
four years into my training, and in three years I        important.
will enter higher level training, where I will finally   My training is the single most important aspect of
become Human A.                                          my life. My training is from 9:00 in the morning
My daily life revolves around routine. My carers,        until 5:00 in the afternoon. Dr Smith takes me for
Dr Robertson and Dr Smith, awake me at 6:30              cognitive training. I like Dr Smith. She is an
a.m. For half an hour, Dr Robertson, a middle-           elderly woman, nearly 60 years old, and an
aged man with two young boys, conducts physical          experienced and highly intelligent scientist. My
tests on me as I run on a treadmill. I don’t like Dr     fourth year of training entails a number of topics:
Robertson. He brings his offspring sometimes,            Complex Analysis; the Theory of Relativity;
and he treats them to things called ‘lollies’ and        advanced Astrophysics; Spanish linguistics; and
wraps his arms tightly around them. At first I           Modern American Culture. I can already speak
thought this hurts them, but they seem to enjoy          French, English and Chinese fluently. By the time
it. I don’t get lollies. My ‘meals’, as Dr Robertson     my training is complete, Dr Robertson tells me, I
calls them, are delivered to my room. They’re            will be the first perfect human being.
certainly different to the meals Dr Robertson and                             *****
Dr Smith get. Mine aren’t colourful, nor are they
                                                         I’m now at age 15, and my higher-level training is
in different shapes or sizes. They’re in small
                                                         well underway. It is much more of a challenge
capsules, labelled Vitamin A, B1, B2 and so forth.
                                                         than my earlier training. My physical exercises
                                                         have now become truly strenuous. I am now
                                                         expected to run long distances, numerous
                                                         kilometres, without stopping or faltering. Dr
                                                         Robertson supervises this, and I am punished
                                                         with electric shocks if I fail to do this. I am also
                                                         being trained to lift extremely heavy weights. Dr
                                                         Robertson tells me that I must be at an optimum
                                                         physical state before I am 18. When I questioned
                                                         why humans must be like that, I received a strong
                                                         electric shock.
                                                         “You are not human,” he said. “Yet.”
                                                         My training with Dr Smith is also becoming much
                                                         more complex. Having learnt every unit of Physics,
                                                         Chemistry and Mathematics, my education in
                                                         Philosophy and Culture began this year. It is a
                                                         difficult concept to grasp, especially the idea of
                                                         creativity and expression, which I consider utterly
                                                         meaningless. Dr Smith is patient with my
                                                         deficiencies; however I have heard her express
                                                         concern to Dr Robertson about my inability to
                                                         understand these ideas. She tells me it is of the
                                                         highest importance that I understand these units.
                                                         It is relevant to my final year when I will be taught
                                                         a highly complex unit on something called
                                                         ‘emotion’.
                                 Daniel Needs Year 9
Kids of Dreams 2010 43




                                                                            Marcus Britt Year 7




                     *****                              Love was the most difficult of all emotions. When
                                                        Dr Robertson taught me that human offspring
At the beginning of my final year, Dr Smith
                                                        were created as a result of the emotion ‘love’, I
expired. Due to the sudden nature of her passing,
                                                        asked if I was a result of ‘love’. I was confused,
it was decided not to replace her, but instead Dr
                                                        an emotion I had just recently grasped, when Dr
Robertson would conduct both my physical and
                                                        Robertson began to lacrimate, a sign of sadness,
cognitive training. Dr Robertson assured me that
                                                        I was taught. The session ended suddenly that
my final year of training would continue without
                                                        day, but I became ever closer to perfection.
interruption, and that I was well on my way to
becoming the first perfect human. The final step,                            *****
he said, was to understand the idea of emotion.
                                                        My final year is now over. I am now completely
With this, I struggled. I was uncertain if it was the   educated in the fields of International Linguistics,
teaching methods of Dr Robertson or the                 Culture, Philosophy, Mathematics, and Sciences. I
concepts themselves, but I was incapable of             am no longer known as A; but Human A. I am the
processing the emotions of ‘happiness’ or               first omniscient creation, the very first perfect
‘sadness’. Every human being, Dr Robertson said,        human being.
expressed these things, even those of the most
                                                        But, I am a creation of knowledge, not love.
inferior intelligence. I could not understand these
emotions, let alone express them, I said. I             I am all knowing, but I cannot feel.
encountered the same difficulty as when Dr Smith        My name is Human A, but I am not human.
taught me culture and creativity. These
                                                        I am artificial, a cheap imitation.
‘emotions’, I argued, had no purpose. Dr
Robertson taught me ‘fury’ when I debated the           I am empty.
biological purpose of emotion. I still did not
                                                        I am nothing.
understand.
                                                        Maximilian Ford
This became even more difficult with more
                                                        Year 11
intricate emotions, ‘envy’, ‘disgust’ and ‘love’.
44 Kids of Dreams 2010




My Final Stand
My heart was racing.
My uniform was stained cerise.
I was the last of the A Squad.
I crept up on a young boy.
I steadied my rifle and fired.
There was a bang and then silence.
Finally he screamed,
“NO headshots in paintball!”
Sean Fagan
Year 9




                                     Joshua Meads-Barlow Year 7




                                     Morgan Thomas Year 10
Kids of Dreams 2010 45




      Paul Grasso Year 12




     Jack Karikios Year 11
46 Kids of Dreams 2010




Darkness
James dived in. The sound of water splashing
around. He got to the other end and dropped
his goggles at the bottom. When he tried to
swim down and get them his eyes were
stinging. Suddenly a cerise bag engrossed his
head, shooting fear through his body.
Everything went black…
Jack Foster
Year 8




                                                       Finlay Bryant Year 9




                                                Jack Lyons Year 7
Kids of Dreams 2010 47



Senior Artwork: Highly Commended




                              Maximilian Heffernan Year 12
48 Kids of Dreams 2010




                                   Isaac Ronthal Year 8




                         Jarryd Yun Year 7
Kids of Dreams 2010 49




       Matthew Musgrave Year 12




James Quinn Year 10
50 Kids of Dreams 2010


The Last War                                          It started twenty years ago, when the war began. I
                                                      knew nothing of the context, nothing of the
In the new era there was life, and there was          provocation or what the outcome would be. The
death. It became a systematic process of torture      only thing I could comprehend was my orders:
and pain. I once knew the soft touch of green         clear, direct, without justification of the outcome;
pastures and cool streams; now, all I can think of    the inevitability of certain death, instant
is steel and iron, fire and pollution. My wife was    destruction summarised in one word – launch. We
killed, along with my only daughter, slowly,          struck first, but for every action, regardless of
painfully, without humanity. In fact, in the new      ferocity or bitterness, there is a reaction. The
era, there was hardly any humanity. There was no      retaliation ripped through the sky, through the
innocence, no independence, only slavery and          earth’s core. Thousands died, instantly killed by a
bitter sleep, the only refuge for a plagued mind. I   wave of intense heat and fire. This process
had no dreams, just darkness. I have no hope,         continued until there was nothing left but an earth
only vengeance, which I guess is similar to the       glazed with charcoal and dust.
latter. I once had a dream, I was once a normal       I walked the desolate streets, my lungs burning,
man in a regular society, but I guess, then too, I    heart pumping, and anticipation flowing through
was controlled. I walked the desolate streets with    my veins. Hatred circulated through me, my
a grim sense of anticipation for the future, a        clothes were torn, my feet calloused and bloody. I
revolution, a new step in modern society. That        held the rifle loosely in my clenched hands. I had
sense of quiet optimism has plagued me for the        created this beast and it was my duty, my
last twenty years, since the beginning of the new     responsibility, my patriotic duty to destroy it. I
era. It started with independence and ended in        passed the remnants of homes and cars, streets
dictatorship. Science said it was impossible, that    and suburbs of innocence and life. There was no
we had nothing to fear, but what the hell do we       life, only the muffled sound of anti-aircraft fire
know about science, anything is possible; nobody      rupturing the blood red skies. I was a survivor, a
who had any rational thoughts would even have         hermit chained to a small bunker deep within the
anticipated it, but it happened, and now we will      earth, but today I would die. I would truly be free.
suffer the consequence of human curiosity.            Smoke cascaded into the air from what was once




                                                                       Jojo Yeboah Year 7
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Kids of Dreams 2010

  • 1. Dreams 2010 Kids of A selection of poetry, prose and artwork by the students of St Joseph’s College
  • 2. 2 Kids of Dreams 2010 Acknowledgements Editors Mrs Judy O’Connell, Head of Library and Information Services and Ms Kirsten Reim, with the staff of the Brother Liguori Resources Centre; Art Editor, Ms Michelle Tinta, Visual Arts Coordinator, with Ms Lisa Gasparatto and the Visual Arts Department; Mr Matthew Bentley, English Coordinator and Mr Ric Bombardiere, with the English Department; Ms Johanna Parsons, Communications Manager.
  • 3. Kids of Dreams 2010 3 Foreword There is no doubt that Kids of Dreams is a the world through a variety of different lenses. treasured publication in the Joeys community. What may be difficult to put into words in an Within its cover are the spirit and energy of our everyday conversation, can be so brilliantly and boys – so generously and courageously shared emotively communicated through a boy’s artwork with the world. or creative writing. It takes audacity to share one’s innermost thoughts and feelings, and it I truly am honoured that the boys at St Joseph’s takes courage to stand out from the crowd and be offer us the opportunity to view, read and different. I am so proud of every single boy whose appreciate their artwork, poetry and prose. At work is included in this publication for having the times the works are deeply personal, expressing a self-belief and confidence to create and to share. boy’s innermost thoughts and emotions, and other times the works are light hearted or Our lives are enriched by creativity, and it is my whimsical. Some pieces are pure imagination, great wish that the boys of St Joseph’s will delighting us with a boy’s inventive mind and continue to explore their creativity and exercise extensive vision. Some are observations of the their imagination with great enthusiasm every world around us, and provide commentary from a single day. To ignore this great gift would be a boy’s own perspective. There are however, two profound loss, for both the boys themselves and distinct elements that tie all the different pieces for the world around them. in this publication together – they are heartfelt Thank you to all the boys who have brought this and they are unique. year’s Kids of Dreams into existence. Sincere Imagination and creativity are two of the most thanks must also go to Mrs Judy O’Connell and powerful tools at our disposal – even in today’s Ms Kirsten Reim for their work as editors and digitally-rich, technology driven world. They cost coordinators of poetry and prose, and Ms Michelle nothing, yet have the power to bring great joy, Tinta for coordinating the artworks. These three social change, inspiration and motivation. A staff have dedicated a great deal of time and person with a vibrant imagination is limited by energy to this publication and it has truly been a nothing and no one – he can move mountains, labour of love. travel to undiscovered places, walk in another American artist and communicator, George Lois person’s shoes and explore both the future and once said: “Creativity can solve almost any the past. problem. The creative act, the defeat of habit by In short, he can dream. What a wonderful gift originality, overcomes everything.” that is. Kids of Dreams showcases the unbridled One of the remarkable things about many of the creativity of youth. It is much more than a boys at St Joseph’s – our ‘Kids of Dreams’ – is compilation of exceptional poetry, prose and art. that they openly and enthusiastically embrace the It is the very essence of our boys, and, as such, it opportunity to use their imagination to produce is a precious gift for us all. works that are creative and insightful. By sharing Mr Ross Tarlinton their creative pieces, the boys allow others to see Headmaster
  • 4. 4 Kids of Dreams 2010 Editorial “The principle goal of education is to create men and brought with him a wealth of experience to who are capable of doing new things, not simply this judging role. of repeating what other generations have done - Brian has provided wonderful insight and personal men who are creative, inventive and discoverers.” reflections on the winning pieces of literature. We Jean Piaget are delighted to have included his judge’s comments in the back of this year’s publication. It Kids of Dreams is an inspirational example of the is of note that the writing of the students has creative men formed by St Joseph’s College – the garnered high praise from Brian, with such staff, the experience, the life. Indeed, reading and statements as absorbing the pages of this year’s publication one cannot help but be moved by the expression and “...it sings of deeper meaning, hidden in the creativity of our students, our men. everyday; of the importance of silence and empty space in the artistic process – and of the creative In this, its twenty-first year of publication, Kids of tension felt by every writer during that endless Dreams has found a new resting place within the moment between the conception and the literary walls of the Brother Liguori Resources execution.” Centre. Having been carefully and generously nurtured over the past twenty years by the English “The success or otherwise of a piece of writing is, Department at the College, this is a significant as often as not, dependent on elements which shift for the publication; however the staff of the are visceral rather than intellectual. It occurs English Department remain the core of the book, when we are transported into the world of the providing inspiration, support and opportunities story, when we cease to be ‘the reader’ and for students to express themselves in words. become, instead, ‘the participant’.” As with every edition of Kids of Dreams we have “Poetry, when it works best, is like a painting with had the pleasure of receiving expert advice from a words. Images which evoke emotions, an entire guest author. This year it was Mr Brian Caswell, world wrought from small splashes of colour. Image and emotion – a living canvas.” who was also the ‘Writer in Residence’ at the College in 2010. Brian has written extensively for “This is a very mature piece of writing, with young adults, with a refreshing and honest voice, effective imagery and a strong use of thematic
  • 5. Kids of Dreams 2010 5 motifs that merge in the final paragraph to show creativity. We speak with pride of the ways in an oppressive present and an idyllic past…” which imagination transforms their capacity to look within themselves to find that which is good, Not afraid to talk about the darkest of all issues, kind, and gentle. The importance of imagination in this year’s writers cover themes ranging from the lives of our students cannot be injustice, war and belonging to love and loss. underestimated. As Sir Ken Robinson has said While some of these works may not be “Imagination makes us human and is our main comfortable to read, they are a unique expression defence against inhumanity.” St Joseph’s College of the voices of these young men. Other pieces is an example of a place in which humanity is have found inspiration in place and colour, and being nourished. quiet moments of thought. Many thanks are given to all the contributors of As always, artworks accompany the literature and the works in the 2010 Kids of Dreams. It has showcase yet another facet of the boys’ creativity. been a privilege to read and learn about the boys The quality of the art is testament to the insight through their art, poetry and prose. and creativity of the Art Department led by Ms Michelle Tinta, and the ability of both herself and The one constant in a publication of this nature is her team to help the students realise their artistic the appreciation we have for the “behind the visions. Michelle Tinta’s generosity in time given scenes” specialists, our unsung heroes. Ms to the publication ensures the exposure and Johanna Parsons has been tireless and patient, appreciation of an interesting collection of art. supplying information and guidance; Mr Ric Bombardiere has been a font of knowledge and In all its forms creativity is to be admired, and always a steadying hand; co-editor Mrs Judy Kids of Dreams not only celebrates creativity, it is O’Connell, without whom none of this would have a means of unlocking it as well. Kids of Dreams been possible, thank you; and finally the is imagination in action, through control of Headmaster, Mr Ross Tarlinton for trusting us materials and command of ideas. Within its with this most important task. It has been our pages we see ways in which our boys discover pleasure to hold it close to our hearts. their own strengths, their passions and their sensibilities. We marvel at their curiosity and Ms Kirsten Reim Peter Distapan Year 11
  • 6. 6 Kids of Dreams 2010 Senior Prose: Winner Signs “...and with a sense of relief of coming out of his His polished shoes dragged against the carpet as many ordeals and trials, he finally realised, with a he walked out of the store, nodding farewell to the sigh. He sought no man or woman, only the owner. Finally, he reached the threshold where he orchestra of aged gumtrees as they swayed and could take off the ill-fitting costume of a famous danced in the wind. He sought home.” novelist and fling it across into a box. No need to fold it or put it away neatly, it went in crumpled As usual, a round of applause immediately filled and dishevelled, locked in a box until the next the space that his deep voice had suddenly time he needed it. He’d grown out of his costumes vacated. As usual, the previously subdued crowd in recent years. They used to fit so well when he was suddenly whipped into a frenzy, and a calm could write for the pure love of it, when he didn’t sea became a raging tempest fraught with peril in have to throw on this charade to convince his an instant. Groaning inwardly, he singled out the fellow ‘high end’ authors he was one of them. He first inquisitive face amidst the raging sea. Then crossed the unmarked boundary into George Street suddenly the raging tempest became a calm and joined with his fellow pedestrians easily, pulling harbour as everyone went quiet and the dreaded on yet another costume so as to seamlessly join question was asked: “Where do you get your the bland fabric that made up the footpath. The ideas?” He couldn’t honestly say but if he wanted billboard couldn’t have hit him harder if it had to keep this crowd interested he had to say fallen on him; the idyllic outback setting contrasted something. Mentally he shuffled through his notes with the harsh steel and glass universe that he and picked out the right one... was a part of. Suddenly he was there. He could see the relentless wave of fog rolling down off the hills, swirling in the valley below. He could see his father shout and swear as the water system malfunctioned yet again. The roar of the motorbikes as he and his brother raced through the valley, the bush around them a mere green blur. He’d left that life behind though, he’d found a new home, a place to belong to. He had traded the lush ferns for a desk, the barely working motorbikes for a Camry and the leeches for a publicist who was constantly after his money. He couldn’t believe he was the only one experiencing this. The footpath was overcrowded but he could not have felt more alone if it were empty. Then he realised that he was no longer in control of his feet, his subconscious desire to go home (if it was still home) battled with the more rational desire to go to Town Hall Station and head back to his apartment in Clovelly. The Decision was Central Station vs. Town Hall Station. Home vs. Life. His rational side prevailed but his subconscious constantly nagged him, told him this wasn’t really where he was meant to be, that he was a country boy of blood and soil and didn’t belong in a place of steel and publishing Angus Laing Year 7
  • 7. Kids of Dreams 2010 7 Declan Carroll Year 11 contracts. The others just thought of him as an immediately leapt up at him, vivid green hills upstart, good to be an acquaintance of in order to covered in mist. He thought more closely about raise their own status, but definitely not a mate the books he had written. He then realised the nor a friend nor a confidant or anything of that truth, that the longing he had suppressed for so manner. Another billboard rose up, blotting out long had found an escape route. Through his the setting sun and bringing with it the smell of novels. They had all been written about his home, freshly turned soil and the sound of the cows as his longing. The desire to return burned intensely their anxious calls echoed around the valley. He within him, consuming him. To call it walking or took in the mental vision, swirling it around, even a brisk stride would be an understatement. tasting it, testing to see its reaction. As quickly as He sprinted, casting away the author’s costume it had come it was gone, replaced by the sound of forever; he ran past Darling Harbour, he bolted car horns echoing off the skyscrapers and the past the Dymocks store, past the publishing smell of exhaust fumes. house and finally past his agent’s office. It appeared before him, a neon sun lighting his way Slowly and deliberately he turned himself from the and bringing about a new dawn, only this sun read direction of Central; he took small but meaningful ‘CountryLink’. steps away from his daydream back into the life he had written for himself in the city. The very life With three confident steps he crossed the which had given him all he had. But what had he distance to the counter and asked for a ticket, been given? The weight of his latest book in his “Where will you be travelling?” Then with a sense backpack was something but was there anything of coming out of his many trials and ordeals, he else? Taking a seat outside Town Hall he pulled it replied “Home.” out and stared intently at the cover, willing it to Marcus Eberl reveal its worth. The scene on the cover Year 12
  • 8. 8 Kids of Dreams 2010 What to Write...? I don’t know what to write about, but I have to write this poem. I have to find some inspiration but I really should be going. I’ve got much better things to do I could be playing sport. But no, I have to be stuck inside being forced to find a thought. So maybe next time I come along I’ll think of something to write. But until then mate, you’ll have to see, I’ve got plans for tonight. Edmund Dwyer Year 10 Declan Oorloff Year 12
  • 9. Kids of Dreams 2010 9 Charles Cullen Year 11 My House Walk through the gate… the path. You start walking along them moving ever so slowly, your fingertips gently brushing up Smell the variations of flower bushes, which are against the top of the hedges. made up of many hues. Let the smell of the freshly mown grass diffuse to your nose as you Walk toward the pool… stop to take in the moment. You move on, glad to Enter the pool gate and slip off your shoes. Feel be away from the rough cement of the silent road. the release of all tension as you dip your toes Walk up the front drive…. into the cool, calm, lapping water. You stand up and move toward the house. You can see Mum See the row of pine trees spreading out on either cooking through the row of windows. side. The wind assaults your face and you feel the rhythm of the trees as they dance in the sunlight. Smell the aroma… Keep walking and see the pile of firewood lined As you walk through the glass double doors, the up neatly at the entrance to the garden. smell of warm soup makes your mouth water. Walk down the garden path…. Your mum sees you and smiles. In that moment you laugh, knowing that there is nowhere else you You step from stone to stone and as you do, you would rather be. You are home. see the tiny trails of ants winding across them. You move off the path and across a small Robert Webb expanse of grass toward the hedges which line Year 7
  • 10. 10 Kids of Dreams 2010 Senior Prose: Highly Commended Smile I saw what I needed to see supernatural figurehead in such a punctilious All white and beautiful manner. No, it was spite that lead me down this I am growing tired of heavy handed words path. After the soporific ceremony I found myself I am growing tired arguing the very premise of the tradition that was church, and my family being raging Catholics Tim Teppai – A chronicle. No. 300 obviously met this with hostility (also ironic). I, in To open; I deliberated what my chronicles would spite of them, of all of them, of him, ran away be about, monotony, perhaps dreams, and love. during church to conduct my own special No, let me talk to you about emptiness and ceremony by myself. A farcical insult at first, I incompleteness, my abstruse tale, my last soon found myself mesmerised by silence, by the chronicle. reverence of it, the warmth of it, by how loud it God; and my fleeting interest in him rang in my converted ears. I could not help but be dragged down the path of religion, fuelled by my I became a man of the faith when I was too young passion to change the perverse custom of it. I to choose, where I found ironic meaning through joined my parish, all a mask for my real goal, to my hate of the languorous task of “church” where take the faith out of the church, to inject it into a person was supposed to be cleansed by others’ lives little by little. To make it as though packing into a tense room with a bunch of other they could funnel this God fellow into their lives people who had no interest in supporting a not just when they needed to, one hour a week, but to always live with him in their heart. My love for the church and love for the people increased as the time flew on. I became the being of a priest without the title, which for me was anything but regrettable. For I had achieved something that the confines of total devotion to my religion forebode; love for a mortal human, a woman. My family; a welcomed burden I was a cynic, and I did not believe in love at first sight, although I did believe in the quote, “I’ll believe it when I see it”. I saw it - hell I was it; love, complete and everlasting from the moment I saw someone’s eyes, their smell, and their overwhelming presence on me. This woman was not outspoken; she was quiet and withheld, a trait uncommon to my life and to my blood, which was a completely different story and quite the contrast to her obvious tranquillity. Perhaps this is where my attraction’s monstrous birth grew from, like Iago’s scheme; my love was deceiving and unstoppable. My family however did not warm to her like I had, they were Tongan Catholics and I had brought an Aussie atheist into their house. As it was before, white man (this case woman) had entered their land and mated with their family, as Angus Reynolds Year 7 modern correctness allowed and political
  • 11. Kids of Dreams 2010 11 Angus Farram Year 9 correctness discouraged, they did not think this One second relationship was normal. And even though the I looked away from the dark stretching road for road was long and uncomfortable, soon she and one second and that was all it took. A sudden jolt my family began to share acceptance, the in the blackness and I panicked, just how my acceptance of my family to allow this woman into approach to life had been, panicked, quick and their lives, and the acceptance of her to tolerate thoughtless, and I knew it was hopeless the the clear uncertainness of the whole situation. moment I felt the wheels of my car break free They would even begin to manifest a pretentious from any control. They became free just like I had love that would shine through some of the more attempted to preach freedom, like I had always hostile situations. Still, years went on and the wanted to live, free from control, spontaneous uneasiness of everything dissolved to nothing, and careless. My freedom killed my wife. only the warm love my family always had and the new kindness my fiancée could provide. I had finally And so I asked myself built up the temerity to ask the woman for her hand None of this should happen if you are under the in marriage, and she, now convinced I was not a eye of God, how a perfectly seamless life could total loser, accepted happily and it was to be. What become so imperfect, and cracks could appear for she withheld from me surreptitiously was that for anyone to fall through without mercy, with no one month already she had been impregnated prayer to hope on, no dreams to exist on, you and was expecting a baby. She did not tell me walk a tightrope from the moment you join the this when I proposed; and she never would. world. To me everything is transient; religion, A man told me family, love. I could only find solace in the one thing that I knew was constant, the one thing that We had been driving; my eyes were heavy and she I knew deep down that everyone could count on was asleep. In fairness to myself and my God, and that everyone could hope for as they entered and to everything right in this world, I killed her as this malevolent world. This one constant was a result of my interminable love that I had for her. simple. It was irresistible not to watch her sleep against my shoulder. We were alone on the road, it was We are all going to die. raining so heavily that night I could not see Nicholas O’Connor anything anyway. Perhaps what amazed me most Year 11 was how quickly my life could unfold to be so spectacularly horrifying.
  • 12. 12 Kids of Dreams 2010 Dafar racked his brain for a clever idea to enter Junior Prose: Winner the King’s chamber but he simply couldn’t think of one. So he knocked on the door and stepped A Close Call to the side. Immediately a squad of troops burst out, but he was ready. Before they were even The enchanted castle of King Krandel stood aware of his presence, he slipped through the majestically atop the pinnacle of rock, overlooking door and locked them out. the once lush valley below. The castle itself was a Now, Dafar was face-to-face with the King. He sight to behold. However the condition of the looked grand with expensive clothes and many surrounding landscape had deteriorated advisers. As Dafar was taking in the surroundings, immensely and therefore most of the common the King’s personal guards caught him from people living in the castle had moved out and behind and began to drag him out. The last thing become villagers. Only the King, his guards, his Dafar saw before he was knocked out was the advisers and his daughter remained. King’s evil grin… Although the King was respected amongst his It was dark as Dafar regained consciousness but guards, this view was not shared by the villagers he could faintly see that he was contained in a and every once in a while somebody would stand little room with bars to one side. The floor was up against him. cold and hard and it was beginning to get On a cold and windy night, the assassin Dafar uncomfortable, so he stood up. He trudged successfully infiltrated the castle and confused around the cell trying to work out where he was. the head guard but his mission wasn’t complete – The only light was coming from the end of the he had to find the King. corridor. He slumped back down and leaned He entered a long narrow corridor and was 20 against the wall, and waited. metres from the end when he saw a group of Eventually Dafar saw the light flicker as someone guards come his way. He turned to run. However, entered the corridor. They reached Dafar’s cell to his dismay, another group of guards entered after what seemed hours. As the person spoke, the corridor. Seconds went by as Dafar tried to Dafar immediately realised it was the Princess. think of a way of escaping, but time was running She was in a rush and quickly pulled out a key out and the guards were gaining ground. Dafar and opened the barred door. She planned to was convinced he had no other option but to fight escape with Dafar. until he noticed a small patch of wood where the They dashed for the door and entered a long and bricks of the wall should have been. He crept over winding corridor. The Princess knew the place like and noticed that it was hinged; attempted to push the back of her hand and easily navigated through it open, but it was locked. the castle. They had their sights on the slowly Immediately, a risky plan began to form in his closing drawbridge but they also had guards on head but he was desperate and any second now their tail. They were running fast but as they a guard would spot him. He slammed into the reached the drawbridge, the Princess tripped. wooden “door” with all his strength and broke Soon the drawbridge would completely close and through. Dafar could hear the guards charging there was no time to slow down. Dafar made a down the corridor like a herd of elephants. He split second decision and jumped from the quickly covered the hole he’d made and turned to drawbridge onto safe ground. But the Princess survey his surroundings. was still inside. As the drawbridge closed he To his surprise, he faced two majestically painted swore to come back to save her (if she lived that doors that appeared to stretch up to the roof. long)… Outside he could hear the guards chattering away Jack Fox making false accusations about each other, but Year 7 he decided to focus.
  • 13. Kids of Dreams 2010 13 Senior Poetry: Winner The Image of a Page As I continued to read, My mind became lost in the image of the page. The tiny specks of dust were pressed onto the leaf. Their elongated shadows danced over the print. In step with the flickering flame of my lamp, Bringing the pages to life in a way far less tangible than anything I could have written about. I watched, transfixed, without realising that I wasn’t reading anymore and then came a revelation; Andrew North Year 11 The page is an image, Pointless without words, yet I was looking at a profound beauty achieved totally without them, but what is a page without words? A silence waiting to be filled with beautiful music But then, how can so much be said without words? That same silence is what we are so afraid of; the silence that begs not to be broken, but it will be broken, by the sheer force of the words itching to be said, or sung, or typed. Matthew Bartlett Year 12 Benjamin Pedley Year 10
  • 14. 14 Kids of Dreams 2010 Love vs Pain As I stand there in the rain My heart knows only pain the way we were and how we are tonight is a day that will always be a scar. The way you kissed me The way you danced You filled my heart with such a love You walked away My hands empty and my mind confused. You pulled me close, you gave me hell Each word a killer under your spell My mind was weak and let you in The way you took me was soft and sweet My love was given but none returned. Andrew Deegan Year 9 My chest ripped open by your hand My head was tricked unto your love My blood now racing thick and fast My legs are stuck to the ground My knees now weak and my legs give in. My heart is taken with a grin The day I met you still my best The time you gave me was the rest My broken heart still sings your song Even though my head says wrong. The way I felt around you And what I would have given for you The time of day the time of night Was only filled with your light. When I was with you I could only fly Then you broke my wings and left me to die. Kain Macourt Year 12 Conan Chu Year 7
  • 15. Kids of Dreams 2010 15 Junior Poetry: Winner The Colour of My Farm Cream The akubra of the tired farmer Red Working 15 hour days The belly of a black snake, All this for his children to get a good education With its lightning strikes White Draws pain in an instance The pure cotton Green On the almost dead stem The colour of paddocks with young wheat Waiting to be plucked from its base As it blows in the wind Black Knowing that was our next pay The tyres on the tractors Blue That worked so hard The colour of glassy water Red Gliding on its surface The blister on the hands On dad’s old ski From stoping 1000 irrigation pipes Yellow On a 35 degree day The evening sunsets Orange Each individually glamorous The morning sunrise Each spectacular A new day Brown Full of challenges The dead grass all summer long Gold The tumble weed The wheat crop ready to harvest Slowly moving in the graceful wind Millions of grains pouring into the chaser bin Blue The long hours the children played with BP the Boots’ ears golden retriever The old blue heeler Many colours make up places. Sitting on the verandah waiting for the farmer These are mine. Samuel Knight Year 8 Aaron Curtis Year 10
  • 16. 16 Kids of Dreams 2010 Junior Prose: Highly Commended I, the Hero... I heard a pounding on the door, awakening me through his sentence, his eyes almost falling out from my sleep. I lifted my head from the counter, of their sockets and his body stiffening. With that, wiping the drool from my face. As I peered through he limply fell out of the plane. my half open eyes, I saw a swarm of media “Oh NO!” a reporter screamed, “I think he just standing in front of the glass door. As I walked to had a heart attack.” the front I recognised one of the men as being Darcy Tcenocc, Russia’s best and rudest actor. Then, all eyes fell on me, encouraging me to go after him. I opened the door saying curiously, “Ah, yeah?” “Oh, come ON!” I exhaled. So I jumped out of the “Obviously I’m here for some sky diving. Isn’t this plane into the big blue cloudless sky. Although as a sky diving company?” he said gruffly. soon as I jumped I knew something was wrong. I “Well,” I started to explain, “We are kinda closed.” had forgotten to put on my parachute! Darcy replied rudely with, “I don’t care, just let me ‘Can’t do anything ‘bout that now can I?’ I thought on the plane.” to myself. Wiping that thought clear I focused on Darcy, flailing through the air, as if the sky was a I was now getting frustrated: “Grrrrr! One, we are bully. I caught up to Darcy using my free-falling closed. Two, you need to run through the safety skills and I grabbed on, prepared to pull Darcy’s course. Three, you can’t take all the media with parachute. As soon as I did though, I knew I you.” shouldn’t have. This time Darcy walked past me and burst through Because of the parachute’s pull, it hauled me the door leading onto the tarmac, with the trail of right into the oncoming path of a Boeing 747! All I paparazzi following. could do was hold on for dear life and pray that “Well, this is gonna be a long day,” I said to myself. nothing would happen. I heard the roars of the As I walked out onto the tarmac, I saw that Darcy engines passing over me, but I never felt any was suited up and already on the plane. I ran up pain. I opened my eyes to see that Darcy and I to the side door, and saw that the pilot had already were both intact, but unfortunately the plane had started up the plane. I barged into the cockpit and ripped the parachute in half, sending Darcy and I said to the pilot Steve, “What do you think you’re into a spiralling motion for what seemed like doing?!! You can’t let this weirdo on the plane.” eternity until we crashed into the roof of a local farmhouse. The pilot replied, “But Max, he’s famous.” I sat up in bed, my eyes adjusting to the very With that Steve gunned the engines and the plane white room. I looked across to see Darcy lying in hurtled off the mark at great speed. As I was a bed next to me, his legs covered in plaster. I walking out of the cockpit I was thinking of all the then looked up to see a nurse hovering over the stupid things Darcy could do - but when I saw him now-awake Darcy. he was doing by far the stupidest. “Ya know Mr Tcenocc, Max saved your life.” Darcy was telling the media how experienced he was in skydiving and that he was basically a pro. “I really don’t care,” replied the grumpy Darcy. And you know what the hardest thing was? “This is going to be a long day,” I said to myself Watching him! As soon as Darcy finished his as I slowly shut my eyes to lapse into another sentence, the alarm went off, signalling that we sleep. were ready to jump. I walked over to the now-open Massimo Reginato cabin door to get ready to jump, but Darcy pushed Year 7 past me and turned around to the media and said, “OK, here I...” Darcy stopped midway
  • 17. Angus McGinness Year 12 Tiger Parker Year 10
  • 18. 18 Kids of Dreams 2010 Senior Prose: Commended Attention! “The desire to conform can lead to unexpected even got my mum to buy me the whole kit with pitfalls.” mean-looking sword and full body armour. Cost around two grand too. But of course, after a few Cutting these trackies off at the knee was a bad lessons I got bored – too many rules and idea. regulations. The colourful peony packet caught my eye. Very My favourite part was the sword. When I got tired pretty. But nothing that looked like that here. My of listening to techniques, I snuck off into the hands are dirty, knees too. Damn trackies. Damn coach’s office. weeds. Why did she have to go send that email? Oh well. Move to a better place, that’s what my Suddenly I was Aragon at the Battle of Pelennor mate Jeff always says. Fields, slaying orcs on either side. I jumped up on the desk, brandishing my weapon. I slashed at So here I am: the pitfall of peonies. Fun. How ferocious curtains and lashed out at a blood- does a 16-year-old boy named Karol, (yeah, I thirsty vase with my foot. know) end up knee-deep in a sea of soil and weeds, yearning to spot a hint of colour? Well it’s The shatter brought the coach running in. all in the hope that I discover something I enjoy. A Surprisingly, I wasn’t invited back. So I did the direction for my life even. sensible thing and sold the suit on eBay. After all, I was short on cash. I managed to get three Wondering where this all started? No doubt you hundred bucks for it, and spent it all on energy are, even I’m a little curious. Well I guess… Yeah, drinks and fart bombs. Of course my mum was a you could probably say it all started with the tad annoyed when she realised the suit and the Youtube video. This is how it was… I watch money were gone. Actually annoyed is a vast Channel V, I love music. Stupid statement, I mean understatement. There was a lot of yelling and who doesn’t? And all those rappers made it look lecturing. I kept the sword. easy – I thought why not? So I did. Had a legitimate video and everything – well kinda After being furious with me for a while, my mum legitimate… That video was the main problem started being really nice. I know! Weird… It was actually. around this time that I met Jeff. I didn’t even know what a psychiatrist was! He’s a real champ. You see, I tend to get in trouble quite often. He listens to me. And he’s patient and never gets Something about not thinking things through fed up or annoyed. And when we hang out there’s before I act. And every time I do do something no tension or anything. I felt I could tell him wrong, I always get the same lecture: “Karol, what everything, and I did. He suggested that getting a are you going to do with your life? You have so pet would be a great pastime for me, and would much potential but…” umm… Well I never make teach me a lot about responsibility and stuff. I it that far before my mind strays to my next thought about what he said and decided he was escapade… Fencing was a good one. Not as in right. So I introduced Fang to the family. making fences. That’s not fun at all. But sword fighting. Fang was an eight-foot python from some country that doesn’t have enough vowels in its name. Of With my gangster status and controversial course my mum freaked out – again – but she got rhymes, I practically painted a target on my head used to it, as long as I didn’t feed him in front of for rival gangs. I didn’t want to “fall victim to da her. We got on great and everything was going streets” – the world just wasn’t ready for another smoothly – until I forgot to put the lid on Fang’s Tupac incident. I needed to defend myself in case cage. I heard the scream from next door late at I got into a gang war, hence the fencing. night and was filled with foreboding. A quick I went to a couple of classes, enjoyed it a lot, and check on the snake cage confirmed my fears.
  • 19. Kids of Dreams 2010 19 Muriel, my elderly neighbour, awoke with the entire length of a sleek, foreign serpent sliding through her sheets. Then it was off to the zoo for Fang. The music video was probably what topped it off. I mentioned it before: the Youtube video? Yep, that’s the one. I published my video on Facebook. Great way to get publicity, right? Yes… But not a great idea if you have an aunty who goes online religiously. Even worse when she is a fanatical feminist. She watched all 7 minutes and 38 seconds of obscene gestures and sword-wielding. Then she sent that email to my mum. Mum didn’t freak out this time. She didn’t yell. She just sighed. Life’s looking up now. Jeff told me that that wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when I mentioned considering a career in music. He told me that he has something that could help me if I wanted it. Ritalin he called it. I’m starting tomorrow. I’ve been really good lately too. I’m out of seeds now so me and Mum are gonna go up to the Pennant Hills nursery to get some more. She’s even letting me drive. Hang on! That looks like a peony petal right there. Maybe I’m not such a bad gardener after all. Joshua Peacocke Daniel Hughes Year 10 Year 12
  • 20. 20 Kids of Dreams 2010 Innocence Lost... The scars of war are worn with scorn By those who proliferate the pain And leave the flesh so thrashed and torn As blood and gore is washed away by rain No way to count the millions dead All victims of innocence and shame They fell to disgraces born and bred They prosper in their absurdity The majority are victims of innocence They massacre sons and daughters without despair As the population rapidly falls Their lust for violence is never at a halt To compel a child to kill his own To think this is absurd and unknown These children so lost and alone Until they lose all sense of shame They start to ponder as to why they shouldn’t do the same And the world is still unaware Of this insane reality? Surely not... Or has this world lost its soul to an unknown place of brutality That’s blind to such torture and cruelty Like a lion ripping into its prey Anthony Ursino Year 9 It seems the world will be at war Until that final rupture of light is shone throughout the land When Our Lord decides to share the score Of the many people lost who lost it all Then somewhere else in this land Another world will begin Will this land again increase in their absurdity? Or will they recognise that all is sin? Benjamin Rodgers Year 10
  • 21. Kids of Dreams 2010 21 Matthew Curtin Year 7 Brandon Wescott Year 12
  • 22. 22 Kids of Dreams 2010 Dumped The boy was surfing when he spotted a beautiful girl in a cerise bikini. To impress her, he set off on a huge wave. Barrel, cutback. Floater, absolutely nailing it, but then she caught his attention and...dumped. Face drilled through the sand, and when he resurfaced, she was laughing. Michael Lawler Year 10 Harrison Goodrick Year 10
  • 23. Kids of Dreams 2010 23 Master of Puppets Alone, He sits. The Master. The one pulling all the strings, From below and above us. He manipulates us. He crosses our hearts, And hopes we die. Die a sinful death. Alone, He sits. Promising everything, Returning nothing. The Master Promised only lies, Only fibs of what could have been. Collect you he will. The Master will make puppets of all of you. Pull your strings, And destroy you from within. Obey your Master, You will. Twisting your mind, Taking your reason You scream for help, But all you hear is laughter, Laughing at your cries. Through the maze of your mind he will take your sanity. Through the chambers of your heart he will take your soul. Harry Tate Year 7 Through your body he will take you. The Master Will pump fear through your veins, End your passion for life, Pulling your strings till they snap. Till you snap, The Master Will never be satisfied. Intent on destroying you, The Master never fails, Never lets a good catch go. Obey your Master, You will. Elliot Nash Year 9
  • 24. 24 Kids of Dreams 2010 Flaming Stars I see a lamp at the damp camp We’re concentrated into It’s dark and peaceful, and then... The concentration camp. Tanks rumble, tumble and trundle down the hill, We’re led to our beds Flames flicker, But we’re not yet fed. Guns chatter. Skin and bones smile at us in despair, Screams fill the air. Stomachs so thin we can see their backbones. Death and despair is what’s left behind. Death, death, death! Who could do this? Who? Not you? Is all that is left. We’re locked up, we’re scared, We’re rounded up in a heap We look to the sky. Around me people are either dead, The stars wink back Dying or looking more dead than alive. Knowing our fate. We follow like zombies surrounded Who could do this? Who? Not you? By moving metal and men. We’re kicked and cajoled up the ramp Dad’s taken away Like animals. Kicking and screaming On the trains we get squashed, “Have mercy,” he screams. And squeezed into submission. “My kids,” he pleads. No one fights back. It makes no difference Who could do this? Who? Not you? No difference to the stony Faced men. The train chugs rhythmically Swastika bright on that We sink into ourselves. Shining red stripe. We think. A smile crosses one’s What is our crime? Face “ha ha” says he We’re David’s star chosen by God, “Gassing for you, Chosen to live, You stupid old Jew.” Now chosen to die. Who could do this? There’s nothing to do, Who? Not you? But await our destiny. Who could do this? Who? Not you? James Maffey Year 9 Dominic Egan Year 11
  • 25. Kids of Dreams 2010 25 The Onlooker I look without seeing I touch without feeling I listen without hearing I move without thinking I am alone Around me the scene moves Around me they jostle Around me the flow takes me forward I am anonymous A thousand stories pass by without telling A thousand conversations exclude me A thousand texts are not reaching me I am the onlooker I am one of the masses I am part of the flow I am the unknown I am but one thread of the colourful tapestry of the crowd. Hamish Elliot Lachlan Rovers Year 7 Year 10 Benjamin Quinn Year 8
  • 26. 26 Kids of Dreams 2010 Anthony Ursino Year 9 William Canning Year 8
  • 27. Kids of Dreams 2010 27 The Island Within I chose, and in my choice, I accepted the consequences. In knowledge, I endure the pain. Outside, the world rushed past. I bear the weight of humanity upon my shoulders. Their ignorance borne within my being. I am the Inside, the blinds drawn shut, my world remained beacon, I am the salvation. In a sick sense, silent, uncompromising. As it should be. The anyway. inhumane questions of life bothered me not; I had no need to question why I was, and my purpose. You see, I understand. I knew. I knew everything I needed to. Sometimes I wonder if they will, you will, one day. “Robert?” I heard my father call. He was not happy. I hope for you, but my apathy only has such limits. He called me again. I hid in my closet, surrounded Many do not, and they will suffer at the day of by darkness. I could hear him coming closer, their demise. I know my God; the Bible is my word. closer. He burst into my room and stormed to the They will repent, to a false god, and succumb to closet. Wrenching it open, he yelled at me. an afterlife of misery and hopelessness; all they have ever known will be a lie. “I’ve told you before, a thousand times. Do not touch it!” He grabbed me by my collar, and pulled “Angela?” I am ten years old. My sister teases me closer to him. I could smell his hot, angry me. She hides in the dark, where I cannot see breath. His eyes burned. her, where I am scared to look. He raised his hand, and I closed my eyes. “Angela?” I call again. I can hear her laughing. Life was nothing more than inadequate excuses She enjoys teasing me. I can hear my heart beat. for humans to thieve, adulterate, fornicate and Why does she do this to me? Does she hate me? murder. It was pathetic, the way living revolved for I walk to where I can hear muffled giggling. It is some around the piteous requiem of a broken life. cruel, the way she taunts me. I want to run away, Many complain, take it for granted. If they don’t but I know there is nowhere I can go. want it, throw it away. It’s been done before. I peer into the darkness. We are outside, yet in I sigh as I sit in my bedroom, the stale air around the corner of the backyard the trees create a me comforting. I watch from a distance as a slight canopy, covering below in complete darkness. All ray of infuriating sunlight breaches the protection matter of things, insects and feral animals, lurk in of drawn curtains, and escapes into my world of the shadows. I creep closer, my heart beating, darkness. From me it steals my sanctuary. Is louder and louder. nowhere sacred? I scream. Many would pity me. Many do. They look upon me Angela leaps out at me, a crouching animal, as a dismal, wretched waste of life. I could have lunging at its prey. I turn, and as quickly as I can, been great, I could have been anything. But yet, I I run away. I can hear her laughing. She doesn’t chose. And my choice was final, satisfying. care, she hates me. I crawl under my bed, and Who can steal happiness from a content man? cry. I can hear her calling for me, her sickly sweet voice crooning. She scares me. I will not come out. “She’s gone, Robert, and she isn’t coming back. That’s all there is.” Seven years old, and my father I can still hear her laughing at me. I am alone. My explains my mother’s death. I am not allowed to world is enshrouded in darkness. The only living cry. If I sniff again, surely I will be dealt with. thing is the sound of my heart. A steady pitter- patter. It reminds me that I still have to breathe. Mother. Gone. In the chaos of this world I feel like I drown. In His words sink in. the sea of apnoea I struggle to keep alive. I sit alone in my house. Each day I hear the Sometimes I allow my head to dip under the wretched shuffling of feet, the constant murmur of water. I stop breathing. I stop, just to feel the gagging conversation. Useless, suppressed struggle, mind over will, as my mind screams for emotion; the dribbling euphemism of life. It was, air, yet my lips remain shut. in its entirety, nonsense, yet none could see it. It The world is quiet then. The world is as it will be. sickens me. In fact, I wretch.
  • 28. 28 Kids of Dreams 2010 There is no one who understands me. There is no through its cut veins. The earth dies a thousand one who knows me. Anyone who speaks to me, deaths over. attempts to engage me verbally, finds themselves Is life really worth living, as we are born free? No rejected, or gives up. walls? I think not. It’s nice though, I must admit. I I don’t need intercession. I don’t need prayers. would like to be delusional, and believe that the world is a nice place. I would like to wake up, feel I need them to listen. But they block their ears, the sunlight on my face, see it stream through my and drown out the truth, with their materialism windows, and know that a new day has dawned. A and false religions. They choose not to hear, for new day, where everything starts again. fear of repression, and fear of the unknown. Man fears what he does not understand, it’s true. Out Even that is a lie. there, beyond that cold door, they are ignorant, The sun doesn’t bring a new day. It brings new and they choose not to listen. Their life is bliss, pain, and more copious lies. All simply lies. But because they refuse to pull the blindfold of life humanity, cover your ears! Oh humanity, live your from their eyes, and drown out the incessant worthless lives, gain empty meaning, and feel voice in their ear, whispering their ploys, whispering content. The sun rises, and surely as it sets, for the lies and deceit that consumes the world. then it doesn’t set, but reminds us of the pitiless I will show them the light. I am not scared. I do existence you obtain. Enjoy your lies… not shy away; hide in the corner as the rest of I heard the voice in my ear. Clear, crisp. It was humanity does. I know, and so I do not fear. deep, scathing and mocking. Mordant. It I hear a rapping at my door. I bark at them, and understood. It knew my pain; it knew the burden there is silence. I hear the sound of sliding paper of saving humanity borne upon one’s shoulders. It on carpet, and see half an envelope, peeping out was sharp and distinct, and spoke to me, and I from the crack in the door. I will leave it, and it understood it. It did not speak English, it spoke in will join my pile of outstanding notices. tongues, but somehow I understood. I knew what it was saying, I knew what it wanted. But wait. I must satisfy it. He is right, and I must listen. I This one seems different. Why is it so? must obey. I crawl to it, and careful, so the light doesn’t Today is the day. I know it. I smell it in the stale, touch my skin, pick the envelope from the door. I foul air. The putrid stench fills my nostrils; fuels open it, and a letter falls to the ground. my entirety. For too long I have swum in my own Addressed to me. Signed: Angela. O Traitorous filth. It is time to open the door, flood my life with Sister, what dost thou want? I laugh to myself, their false light. It is time for me to teach them. deep and sardonic, sadistic. Almost. They must know. She hates me, why should I bother? It matters They will shun me, society mock me, humanity not, to me anyway. ridicule me. But that is the price I must be willing to pay. I must not give up. They must hear. They Her letter burns in the fire, still sealed. The will hear me. flames consume its threat. Fiery tongues lick the paper, devouring its lies. The poison of her words I will be king. I will be praised, and worshipped. I burns, untouched and unread. She will hurt no will be God. one with her vile, depraved thoughts. No one The door creaks open and I hold my breath. My cares for her opinions. dead heart beats, louder and louder, unlike Hope and pain. In the dark, they look the same. anything I’ve heard in years. Some believe we are born free. Are we really? Outside, the world is busy. Humanity searches for Outside the sky cracks. A blinding light splits the meaning. dark ceiling. The cacophonous roar echoes its The light shines in. reply. The sky bleeds; pouring rain falls, and Joshua Klarica slices the earth. The blood of the earth seeps Year 11
  • 29. Kids of Dreams 2010 29 Senior Artwork: Winner Jacob Carrick Year 12 Timothy Rice Year 8
  • 30. 30 Kids of Dreams 2010 Junior Prose: Commended That Was Lucky Blake was just a normal Year 7 kid with a normal With the sound of rushing air and a horn, Blake life and normal hobbies. He loved to play footy, hopped off the bench and stood near the yellow hang around with friends and a few of the girls. line. The train screeched to a halt and the doors Every day after school Blake would catch the early swished open. Blake hopped on, found a seat, train home, make a snack, do his homework and got his iPod out, stuck the earphones in his ears go off with his mates. Friday was the best day of and listened to his favourite music. Blake wasn’t the week because on Saturday he would play in a big rush because his stop was one of the last footy and have the weekend hanging around with and besides, it was Friday, he had plenty of time. mates. But first he had to get through the day… The last of the travellers had just got off at the “Blake! Start paying attention,” bellowed Mr Marks. previous stop and he was the only one left on his carriage. He got his stuff together and stood up “Yes sir, sorry sir,” Blake said. ready to hop off at the next stop. The brakes Blake isn’t the smartest in the class, but you screeched and the doors opened automatically can’t blame him, it’s the last lesson of the day and he walked off. Blake thought he could hear and Mr Marks just keeps going on and on and on, shouting from the stairs so he walked a bit practically making Blake doze off. quicker to see what was going on. He turned the “Right, I want you, for homework, to write a two- corner and smack! He ran straight into a guy with page narra…” tattoos everywhere and hat pulled down, covering most of his face. They both fell to the ground and DING, DING! Blake shook off this angry guy and got up. It was the bell for the end of class, ‘Yes! Finally, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he said the weekend,’ Blake thought. apologetically. Then he turned around and saw a “…narrative and it’s due on Monday,” Mr Marks briefcase open with a stash of cash, about a million said, trying to be heard over the noise of the class. dollars in it. Blake turned back to see the guy hurrying to get up and make a run for it, but Blake “Class dismissed, oh and Blake, can I see you for was facing the man and he had nowhere to go. a moment?” “Hey, move to the side, or else…” the man “OOOHHH!” the class said in unison. shouted reaching into his jacket. “Now Blake you’re going to have to make more of Blake looked around quickly, but there was no an effort in my class, you seem to be falling one to be seen. The station appeared to be behind; I might have to call your parents, if I don’t deserted, though he could hear noise not far see an improvement.” away. Blake moved to the side, but, at the same “Oh. Please sir, I’ll try my hardest, just don’t ring time, tripped the guy. my parents. They’ll be really annoyed with me.” “STOP HIM,” a policeman suddenly shouted, “Okay. Last chance. No improvement by next racing around the corner towards them, as the week and I’m going to have to call your parents. guy fell over. Okay?” Blake stood there in awe, as the policeman dived “Yes sir.” on the guy and handcuffed him in an instant. The Blake left the room, got out his phone and texted guy appeared quite dazed and had lost his grip on his mum to say he had to catch the later train the briefcase and it fell to the ground again, because Mr Marks had kept him back. falling open. The policeman took one look at the open briefcase and let out several loud breaths * * * * * and whistled under his breath.
  • 31. Kids of Dreams 2010 31 He turned to Blake and said “Do you have any medal from the Prime Minister. Mr Marks didn’t (breath), any idea who you just (breath), need to call Blake’s parents, because he ended stopped?” with a lopsided grin on his face. up writing the best ever two-page narrative, about “Aahhh, no sir…” Australia’s number 1 most wanted being caught by a 13-year-old boy, giving Blake an A. “You just stopped Australia’s number 1 most wanted criminal, Jimmy ‘Trix’ Henderson. We’ve “That was lucky.” been after this bloke for quite a while.” Jack Kenny Blake was recognised for his great heroism with a Year 7 Andrew Deegan Year 9
  • 32. 32 Kids of Dreams 2010 Bull Ride As he waits for his ride and brushes his resin He studies his bull, a rank one called ‘Mezzin’ Both JB and Kody have won previously He believes it’s his turn, a 91 they’ll see. He hops on his bull and pulls up near side Then he whispers to his bull “You’re gonna lose all your pride.” He wraps and bangs his hand as tight as can be Holds up his free hand and yells “Let him buck free!” He explodes out to the left, then reverses right His mates then start yelling “Cowboy up alright!” He needs an 89 to pick up the cheque But he loses his balance and hits the deck. He moans and groans on what could have been But he picks himself up ‘cause Calgary’s the next scene. Kieran Hayward Year 7 Alex Newsome Year 10 Christopher Kocx Year 9
  • 33. Kids of Dreams 2010 33 Joseph Sammut Year 12 Charlie Hanigan Year 8
  • 34. 34 Kids of Dreams 2010 Christian Pang Year 8 Liam Callaghan Year 12 (detail)
  • 35. Kids of Dreams 2010 35 Connor Mahon Year 9 Harrison Gould Year 10
  • 36. 36 Kids of Dreams 2010 I Heard a Cry… It was one of those days where you felt as if you didn’t have my phone on me and there was could do anything, well at least that’s what I nobody out and about around here at 7 o’clock in thought it would be. Anyway, it started out with a the morning. I tried to find a nice thick branch jog down to the local fish market. I saw Big Al and that would be able to pull Ellie up. I found a thick Jimmy Gees then ran to the park. I got to the park and long branch that must have been played and stopped at the bubbler to get some water. I around with by kids using them as swords. I could hear screams in the distance. I wasn’t sure immediately ran back to Ellie as soon as I got the if they were screams of laughter or screams of branch. She was still there holding on for dear life pain so I went down to check. As I reached the with all that was left in the tank. I gestured the place where I thought I could hear something, I branch in front of her but she wasn’t able to take could see nobody – nothing but the green grass her hands off the branch she was already holding and the trees that made up the terrain. Then I on to. I wasn’t sure what to do now so I started heard a cry for help. I jumped onto my toes and to brainstorm. Then I thought of a plan to save sprinted to the noise. There was a girl about my Ellie’s life. age hanging off the side of a steep and I firmly gripped the branch she was holding on to dangerous cliff. I tried to calm her down and and started to pull it back. I was determined to asked her what her name was. She replied saying save her life and I wasn’t going to give up that “Ellie,” and I told her “My name is Nick.” I easily. I didn’t know what happened next but noticed that tears started to roll down her face somehow I lifted up the branch and pulled her to and knew instantly that she needed some help, safety. If I can remember, the first thing I heard fast. I tried grabbing her hand but it was no use. I wasn’t “thank you” but the sound of my alarm wasn’t regarded as being amongst the big jocks clock buzzing at the same time it did every day at at school but neither the nerd in the corner. I was 7:30 am. This meant it was time for school. I still waiting on my growth spurt and hoping that rushed downstairs, picked up a piece of toast, some muscle power came with it. clumped my bag over my shoulder and left out the Her arms were getting tired and she couldn’t hold back door. onto the soon-to-be-broken branch. I needed to do James Goodman something quick. The first thing that came to my Year 7 mind was to call for help but it was no use as I Henry Walsh Year 11
  • 37. Kids of Dreams 2010 37 Christopher Kocx Year 9 Geoffrey Miller Year 8
  • 38. 38 Kids of Dreams 2010 Henry Birtwistle Year 10 The Terminal Stand up and just walk away. I’ve passed through this swinging gate Stamp, Countless times before Welcome home. Always with the same ignorant eyes Stamp, Burning into my back Please step this way sir. Like fire pokers left in too long. Stamp, They are completely oblivious You haven’t filled this in miss. thinking always Stamp, the next victim is them, Hey you! What’s in the bag? it could only ever be a Yank. I’ve been standing in this line Stamp, Stamp, BOOM! for far too long. But it’s never really that soon That continuous noise of Stamp, Stamp, Stamp, Stamp, Ink on the page. on that paperback book Stamp, that tells them I’m on my way either to watch out! Stamp, Or let them through. Excuse me sir. It’s judged by colour, Stamp, by dress Please step this way. and by voice, Where in this world but never by fact. can I walk without a hassle? Stamp, Titled something I’m not, False accusations flung. questioned about something I haven’t done. Stamp, These people will never learn. I think that Arab man has a bomb! Stamp, Stamp, Stamp. Stamp, Elliot Nash Miss, I’m Indian thank you Year 9 Stamp,
  • 39. Kids of Dreams 2010 39 Harry Spurr Year 8 Connor Berkery Year 7
  • 40. 40 Kids of Dreams 2010 Sprung Biology A simple prank: a bucket, paint and a door. I Cerise and blue were very different organisms. admired my creation. Little did I know, someone These two have been rivals since humanity was behind me. He grinned, pushing the door evolved. Each doing their own job, one carrying away. I was instantly covered in embarrassment. elements and the other supporting. Always going Everyone was pointing and jeering. I only had one against each other from birth to death. But the thing to say, “It’s not pink, it’s cerise!” moral is, the combination can make a difference. Cerise blood, blue veins. Robert Kwan Year 10 Terence Wong Year 10 Charles Smith Year 7
  • 41. Kids of Dreams 2010 41 Harry Bateman Year 8 Gildardo O’Connell Year 11 Stephen Sia Year 7
  • 42. 42 Kids of Dreams 2010 Human A Dr Robertson taught me at a young age the importance of vitamins, especially Vitamin D. In I am A. I am the first cloned human being ever my second year of training I was taught about created, the greatest creation in the history of photosynthesis, but I could never grasp the mankind. I am 10 years old, and as a result of concept of the ‘sun’. I’ve never seen the sun, so genetic engineering, I have an IQ of 165. I am Dr Robertson tells me Vitamin D is especially four years into my training, and in three years I important. will enter higher level training, where I will finally My training is the single most important aspect of become Human A. my life. My training is from 9:00 in the morning My daily life revolves around routine. My carers, until 5:00 in the afternoon. Dr Smith takes me for Dr Robertson and Dr Smith, awake me at 6:30 cognitive training. I like Dr Smith. She is an a.m. For half an hour, Dr Robertson, a middle- elderly woman, nearly 60 years old, and an aged man with two young boys, conducts physical experienced and highly intelligent scientist. My tests on me as I run on a treadmill. I don’t like Dr fourth year of training entails a number of topics: Robertson. He brings his offspring sometimes, Complex Analysis; the Theory of Relativity; and he treats them to things called ‘lollies’ and advanced Astrophysics; Spanish linguistics; and wraps his arms tightly around them. At first I Modern American Culture. I can already speak thought this hurts them, but they seem to enjoy French, English and Chinese fluently. By the time it. I don’t get lollies. My ‘meals’, as Dr Robertson my training is complete, Dr Robertson tells me, I calls them, are delivered to my room. They’re will be the first perfect human being. certainly different to the meals Dr Robertson and ***** Dr Smith get. Mine aren’t colourful, nor are they I’m now at age 15, and my higher-level training is in different shapes or sizes. They’re in small well underway. It is much more of a challenge capsules, labelled Vitamin A, B1, B2 and so forth. than my earlier training. My physical exercises have now become truly strenuous. I am now expected to run long distances, numerous kilometres, without stopping or faltering. Dr Robertson supervises this, and I am punished with electric shocks if I fail to do this. I am also being trained to lift extremely heavy weights. Dr Robertson tells me that I must be at an optimum physical state before I am 18. When I questioned why humans must be like that, I received a strong electric shock. “You are not human,” he said. “Yet.” My training with Dr Smith is also becoming much more complex. Having learnt every unit of Physics, Chemistry and Mathematics, my education in Philosophy and Culture began this year. It is a difficult concept to grasp, especially the idea of creativity and expression, which I consider utterly meaningless. Dr Smith is patient with my deficiencies; however I have heard her express concern to Dr Robertson about my inability to understand these ideas. She tells me it is of the highest importance that I understand these units. It is relevant to my final year when I will be taught a highly complex unit on something called ‘emotion’. Daniel Needs Year 9
  • 43. Kids of Dreams 2010 43 Marcus Britt Year 7 ***** Love was the most difficult of all emotions. When Dr Robertson taught me that human offspring At the beginning of my final year, Dr Smith were created as a result of the emotion ‘love’, I expired. Due to the sudden nature of her passing, asked if I was a result of ‘love’. I was confused, it was decided not to replace her, but instead Dr an emotion I had just recently grasped, when Dr Robertson would conduct both my physical and Robertson began to lacrimate, a sign of sadness, cognitive training. Dr Robertson assured me that I was taught. The session ended suddenly that my final year of training would continue without day, but I became ever closer to perfection. interruption, and that I was well on my way to becoming the first perfect human. The final step, ***** he said, was to understand the idea of emotion. My final year is now over. I am now completely With this, I struggled. I was uncertain if it was the educated in the fields of International Linguistics, teaching methods of Dr Robertson or the Culture, Philosophy, Mathematics, and Sciences. I concepts themselves, but I was incapable of am no longer known as A; but Human A. I am the processing the emotions of ‘happiness’ or first omniscient creation, the very first perfect ‘sadness’. Every human being, Dr Robertson said, human being. expressed these things, even those of the most But, I am a creation of knowledge, not love. inferior intelligence. I could not understand these emotions, let alone express them, I said. I I am all knowing, but I cannot feel. encountered the same difficulty as when Dr Smith My name is Human A, but I am not human. taught me culture and creativity. These I am artificial, a cheap imitation. ‘emotions’, I argued, had no purpose. Dr Robertson taught me ‘fury’ when I debated the I am empty. biological purpose of emotion. I still did not I am nothing. understand. Maximilian Ford This became even more difficult with more Year 11 intricate emotions, ‘envy’, ‘disgust’ and ‘love’.
  • 44. 44 Kids of Dreams 2010 My Final Stand My heart was racing. My uniform was stained cerise. I was the last of the A Squad. I crept up on a young boy. I steadied my rifle and fired. There was a bang and then silence. Finally he screamed, “NO headshots in paintball!” Sean Fagan Year 9 Joshua Meads-Barlow Year 7 Morgan Thomas Year 10
  • 45. Kids of Dreams 2010 45 Paul Grasso Year 12 Jack Karikios Year 11
  • 46. 46 Kids of Dreams 2010 Darkness James dived in. The sound of water splashing around. He got to the other end and dropped his goggles at the bottom. When he tried to swim down and get them his eyes were stinging. Suddenly a cerise bag engrossed his head, shooting fear through his body. Everything went black… Jack Foster Year 8 Finlay Bryant Year 9 Jack Lyons Year 7
  • 47. Kids of Dreams 2010 47 Senior Artwork: Highly Commended Maximilian Heffernan Year 12
  • 48. 48 Kids of Dreams 2010 Isaac Ronthal Year 8 Jarryd Yun Year 7
  • 49. Kids of Dreams 2010 49 Matthew Musgrave Year 12 James Quinn Year 10
  • 50. 50 Kids of Dreams 2010 The Last War It started twenty years ago, when the war began. I knew nothing of the context, nothing of the In the new era there was life, and there was provocation or what the outcome would be. The death. It became a systematic process of torture only thing I could comprehend was my orders: and pain. I once knew the soft touch of green clear, direct, without justification of the outcome; pastures and cool streams; now, all I can think of the inevitability of certain death, instant is steel and iron, fire and pollution. My wife was destruction summarised in one word – launch. We killed, along with my only daughter, slowly, struck first, but for every action, regardless of painfully, without humanity. In fact, in the new ferocity or bitterness, there is a reaction. The era, there was hardly any humanity. There was no retaliation ripped through the sky, through the innocence, no independence, only slavery and earth’s core. Thousands died, instantly killed by a bitter sleep, the only refuge for a plagued mind. I wave of intense heat and fire. This process had no dreams, just darkness. I have no hope, continued until there was nothing left but an earth only vengeance, which I guess is similar to the glazed with charcoal and dust. latter. I once had a dream, I was once a normal I walked the desolate streets, my lungs burning, man in a regular society, but I guess, then too, I heart pumping, and anticipation flowing through was controlled. I walked the desolate streets with my veins. Hatred circulated through me, my a grim sense of anticipation for the future, a clothes were torn, my feet calloused and bloody. I revolution, a new step in modern society. That held the rifle loosely in my clenched hands. I had sense of quiet optimism has plagued me for the created this beast and it was my duty, my last twenty years, since the beginning of the new responsibility, my patriotic duty to destroy it. I era. It started with independence and ended in passed the remnants of homes and cars, streets dictatorship. Science said it was impossible, that and suburbs of innocence and life. There was no we had nothing to fear, but what the hell do we life, only the muffled sound of anti-aircraft fire know about science, anything is possible; nobody rupturing the blood red skies. I was a survivor, a who had any rational thoughts would even have hermit chained to a small bunker deep within the anticipated it, but it happened, and now we will earth, but today I would die. I would truly be free. suffer the consequence of human curiosity. Smoke cascaded into the air from what was once Jojo Yeboah Year 7