young authors booklet 2009

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YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS

2009

PREFACE

This collection is a celebration of the literary talents and accomplishmentsof the provincial winners of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers’Association’s 2009 Young Author Awards/Prix jeunes écrivains program.

Congratulations to all the provincial winners. The writing selectionsproduced by these young authors remind us that the famous Canadianauthors of the future are presently in our classrooms.

We also extend our congratulations to all the thousands of studentsacross the province who participated in the classroom, school, and unitlevels of the awards program. Everyone’s enthusiasm and hard workensures that the Young Authors Awards/Prix jeunes écrivains programcontinues to grow and improve each year. We also show appreciation to allthe teachers – without whose inspiration and encouragement, the studentswould not have had the opportunity to challenge themselves and enter thecompetition.

The Young Authors Awards/Prix jeunes écrivains program would alsonot be possible without the hard work of many OECTA members acrossthe province. Teachers, school OECTA Association Representatives, UnitPresidents and Unit Executive Members all play a critical role inadministering the program in their respective classrooms, schools andunits. The members contribute their talent, time and effort, to preservethe spirit and continued success of the program, and to celebrate theoutstanding work of our teachers and students.

Once again, thank you very much to all the dedicated members of theOntario English Catholic Teachers’ Association who ensure that theprogram flourishes year after year.

Susan Perry Professional Development DepartmentOntario English Catholic Teachers’ Association

One day a little boy lived on the beach and he played in the sand.First, he went swimming. He saw a SHARK! The little boy tried toescape, BUT the shark bit his leg. Second, he played horseshoes.

One of the horseshoes got caught on his toe. Third, he was playing with hisbeach ball, but the ball broke. He was having a REALLY bad day.

To make it a better day, he collected shells. He found a shell that you canhear the sea with. He tried it out and it worked. Then he put the seashell inhis bucket full of shells. Then he went inside the house. And he had a treat.He had Smarties. He had 9,945 boxes of Smarties. He got so fat that hecouldn’t fit through the door.

But he did, so he went back outside to make a sand castle. It was so big! Itwas even bigger than a building. And he went inside the castle. When hewent inside the castle, he saw a princess. They hugged each other, andkissed, too. And then they went to church, and they married each other.

The end.

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by C H A R L I E G I A N N I S

SCHOOL: Father SerraTEACHER: Monica Holzapfel

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

John MacRoryUNIT: Toronto Elementary

UNIT PRESIDENT: Anthony Bellissimo

ElementaryJunior and SeniorKindergartenShort Story

BEACH TIME

I love Mom

I love Dad

I love Grandma

I love Grandpa

Love is in my heart!

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by H A I L E Y B U R K

SCHOOL: St. TheresaTEACHER: Dinah Leslie


Dinah LeslieUNIT: London District

UNIT PRESIDENT: Sheila Brescia

ElementaryJunior and SeniorKindergartenPoem

LOVE

One day I lost my tooth in the bathroom.

My tooth started to bleed. Then I asked my

brother if I could borrow his tooth box and

I put my tooth in the tooth box. I felt so happy

because it was the first tooth I lost!

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by R AC H E L M C G A R R

SCHOOL: Cardinal NewmanTEACHER: Anna Maria Humeniuk


Marre CardilloUNIT: Niagara Elementary

UNIT PRESIDENT: Marie Balanowski

Elementary Junior and SeniorKindergartenNonfiction

MY LOST TOOTH

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by K AT H E R I N E G O L D F R I E D

SCHOOL: St. MatthewTEACHER: Gillian Duggan


Annamaria DiNataleUNIT: York

UNIT PRESIDENT: Noel LaPlante

ElementaryGrades 1 and 2Short Story

Along, long, long, long, long, long time ago at about 10:30 pm inthe land of Fake, there was a girl named Cinderella. She was thesilliest girl in town. Everybody liked her, everybody but her evil

stepmother, three stepsisters Beauty, Beautiful and Beautilicious, stepfishand stephamster. They all lived together. Her biggest feature was her gianthands. She needed to buy a glove for every finger! The size of Cinderella’shands caused her a lot of problems. When she was going to take a drink, shewould always break her cup. Also, when her hands were itchy, she wouldtake off her gloves and leave them around town. When the Prince andPrincess had a disco party, they would never, ever, ever invite Cinderella,because she would always smack people in the face when she did some dancemoves.

The night of the disco party, Beautiful, Beauty and Beautilicioushopped into their party dresses, one pink and sparkly, one green sequindress, and one blue and glittery dress.

“I’m so excited!” squealed Beautiful.“This night Prince Smelly Nacho Man will choose who he will marry!”

screamed Beauty.“I know it will be me!” screeched Beautilicious, as she put on her

lipstick and brushed her hair. Soon the three stepsisters skipped off to the ball.

BIGHAND CINDERELLA

Cinderella started to play on the computer. Suddenly, a fairyCodmother (who is a fish wearing a butterfly costume) popped on top of thekeyboard.

“Can you please move your flipper? I’m trying to play a game here!”said Cinderella hesitating. Cinderella paused the game.

The fairy Codmother said, “I’m your fairy Codmother. I would like tosend you to the disco party.”

“But I wasn’t invited,” sobbed Cinderella.“Well, I’m here to invite you to the disco party!”“Really?” Cinderella said as she stopped crying. The fairy Codmother twirled her wand. Swoosh! Suddenly, an

invitation slid through the movie tape slot.“Wow! You’re the best!” screeched Cinderella with tears of joy. “But

there are a few things missing.”“What?”“The sparkling dress with beautiful shoes.” Swish! A glamorous dress

and glass high heels popped onto Cinderella. “Beautiful!” screamedCinderella, as she grinned. “I need a carriage, too.”

“Take the subway,” said the fairy Codmother, as she rolled her eyes.She sneezed out a subway token. “There! You better go now!”

“Thank you!” Then she walked outside to the subway.“Wait! Before you take another step, be back before midnight.”“Bye!” screamed Cinderella.When Cinderella arrived at the disco party, Prince Smelly Nacho Man

couldn’t get his eyes off of Cinderella! He said, “Come dance with me, girl.”Once she started dancing, her hands smacked Prince Smelly Nacho man.“Ouch! Ouch!” Soon the clock struck twelve. Dong, dong, dong!

“I have to go!” shouted Cinderella.“What’s your name?” yelled Prince Smelly Nacho Man.“I’ve got to go!”I’ve never heard that name before, thought Smelly Nacho Man, who

wasn’t too smart.Cinderella was gone. She had left her one sparkling glove behind.

Size 89, triple A, and it blocked half of the castle.Everyone left through the back window with a creepy crawler landing.

Prince Smelly Nacho Man shouted in a brave voice, “I’m going to find thatgirl, whatever her name is!” He let every girl in town try on the glove. Firstone hand, then two hands, then both feet! After a whole day, Prince Smelly

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Nacho Man found Cinderella’s house. “What a beautiful house!” PrinceSmelly Nacho Man said.

Beautiful stuck her whole body in the glove. “It’s mine because it fits!”Then Beauty and Beautilicious stuck both their big heads in it. “It fits!”they screamed with delight.

A minute after they tried on the glove, Cinderella popped into the roomto try on the glove, and Prince Smelly Nacho Man put the glove on her andthey married each other.

The mom and the stepsisters cried, “He’ll only be our stepbrother in-law! Boo-hoo!” And they lived happily ever after.

The end.

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Warm winds, warm windsHave just blown in,To say that summer

Will soon begin!Let’s go to a beach.

Let’s go swim and dive.Let’s have some fun.

Hey, why not make a sand castle To reach the sky.

Let’s go collect shells.One, two, three

Purple, pink and green,All different colours

For us to see.Come on, let’s look for some more.

Now it’s time to go home.VROOM, VROOM in the car.

Good-bye, friend.Adios, good night.

Into bed I go.ZZZZZZZZ.

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by J A I D E N S C H U T Z

SCHOOL: Holy RosaryTEACHER: Mary Lou Micheli


Les RobelekUNIT: Waterloo

UNIT PRESIDENT: Warren Grafton

Elementary Grades 1 and 2Poem

SUMMER TIME

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by E L I J A H J O S E M A R I E C . B A R O N

SCHOOL: St. Kevin TEACHER: Morie Giesen


Barbara SymbolikUNIT: Dufferin-Peel Elementary

UNIT PRESIDENT: Berni Campbell

Elementary Grades 1 and 2Nonfiction

Ihave a brother, his name is Elje and he is five years old. He goesto the same school as I do and is in Senior Kindergarten. He goesto daycare after school. Our parents drive us to school everyday.

I like my brother. I like him because he is special. He is special becausehe can’t talk. He can’t talk because he has autism. I like my brotherbecause I play wrestling with him.

Here are some things I don’t like about my brother. At night my brothermostly sleeps late. He makes noises while I sleep. I don’t like it when he doesthat. I don’t like it when I have to take care of my brother because it’s hard.It’s hard because he does not follow the instructions. Every time my mombuys Lucky Charms, my brother eats all of the marshmallows. I get verysad when he does that.

Here are some things that my brother likes to eat. He loves to eat Ritz.He eats the cheese, not the crackers. My brother’s favourite fruit is apples.He doesn’t like it without peeling the skin. He really likes it when it’s peeledoff. He likes it when the apple is sliced. He doesn’t like it without slicing it.

Here are some things my brother likes to do. He likes to watch movieswith me. He likes to play with my blanket. He likes to ride a three-wheelerbike in our basement.

I love my brother and I wish he could talk soon. My mom and dad saidElje needs much love and care because he is heaven’s very special child.

MY BROTHER

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by E M M A L I S E C O N WAY

SCHOOL: St. AugustineTEACHER: Deborah Mawdsley


Jeremy FarwellUNIT: Waterloo


Elementary Grades 3 and 4Short Story

Once upon a time, there was a princess and also a prince. One day,the princess was told to go pick berries. The princess took ten stepsinto the forest. She spotted a patch of blueberries. She was about to

put her hand out to touch one single berry.But before she could, a witch appeared. “Never touch my berry patch

again!” Before the princess could take one step, the witch raised her wand.She chanted, “Feathers like fabric, never eating my berries!” Blue magicburst out of the witch’s silver wand. The blue magic swirled around her. Ina second she was gone. The princess was changed into a bird!

In another kingdom, a young prince was taking his horse out of the gate.The young prince was going to venture into the forest. His horse took acouple of steps into the forest. A blue glow appeared in front of him. It wasthe witch! “No one enters my forest,” she cackled. It was the same witchwho turned the princess into a bird. It was also the same forest.

The witch began to chant, “A reptile, yes! Scales so rough. Neverventure into my forest again!” A blue explosion came from the witch’ssilver wand. In a second the prince was turned into a lizard. His horse wasturned into a flat leaf. The witch flew away cackling.

Soon the prince went on venturing deeper and deeper into the forest. Heclimbed up a tree. He could see a great view from way, way up there!

He saw a blue bird perched on a branch. She was eating a ripe bananaand singing a beautiful song. It was called “Ripe Bananas.” That bird was

BIRDIE AND THE BEAST

the princess. The princess stopped singing. She looked at the prince andhopped a few spaces forward. She looked at him. The prince stood still. Theprince was still staring at her.

The princess was first to speak. “I’m Birdie,” said the princess. Afterall, her name really was Birdie. “Who are you?” she chirped.

“I’m a lizard,” replied the prince. “My name is Beast,” he said. Afterall, his real name was Beast. “I’m under a spell from the witch of theforest.”

“Me, too!” replied Birdie. A week passed. Birdie and Beast became best friends. They secretly

found over twenty types of fresh berries!Before long the animals of the forest found out why they were under a

spell. You see, a little black bird came to see each one that was turned intoan animal. The prince and the princess learned the animal language, butstill remembered the human language. The prince and princess were toldabout a fairy who could help them. She lived in a secret home where thewitch couldn’t find her. She was guarded by a flock of magic butterflies.

The prince and the princess were told in order to find the fairy’s secrethome, they would have to find her three special gifts: gifts of beauty, natureand friendship.

Legends were interesting to Birdie and Beast. Birdie would go to find aPearl of Beauty. Birds don’t swim, but Birdie could swim. Birdie cameback. She came back with a pure white Pearl. Now it was Beast’s turn.

He was going to find her the gift of nature. “An acorn!” he thoughtquickly. Beast finally found a wonderful green acorn.

Now it was time for both of them to find the gift of friendship. But whatwould it be?! As if they didn’t know where or how to find the gift offriendship!

Finally they decided what they needed to get for the fairy. A coconut, ofcourse. The coconut was a sign of great friendship. The sign of friendshipwas this: if there were two friends, they would share some coconut milk ona beach by the moonlight.

The night before they set off, a scroll appeared in Birdie’s beak. Shecalled a meeting for all her friends in the forest.

“Greetings to all my friends,” Birdie announced. “A scroll appearedinside my beak. I must read it! It could be very, very important!”

“She must!” shouted the animals. They read it. “Beware, a lot of dangeris here! Also, beware of the witch.” But the prince and princess would letnothing stand in their way!

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They managed to escape all danger that passed. Finally, they reachedthe secret entrance to the fairy’s home. A butterfly stood in the way inside.

“Who goes there?” asked the butterfly. “Some cursed animals,” Birdie said.“You may go,” said the butterfly.The fairy sat on a stool by the fire, reading a book. “I’ve heard about

you,” she said. “I can’t undo all the witch’s spells. It depends on what theproblem is. I cannot really undo this spell, not without my magic recipebook. According to the list, you will need three things. You will needsomething of beauty, nature and friendship.”

“We have those three things,” Beast answered, giving her the threethings. She sprinkled some fairy dust on the three objects.

The objects rose from the table. They turned into fairy dust. It seemedlike some wind was pushing them up from the fairy’s fingers. The fairy washearing the whispering of the spell. The whispering was this: “Magic maynot make this spell work! But in our friendship, be friends forever and thespell shall be broken.”

The fairy thought for a moment, and then announced her name wasCutie. She told them what she had heard. The princess and prince did justthat. It was now time to leave.

The witch appeared. She began to chant, “Destroy the two people ofroyalty!” But nothing came out of her sliver wand. A strange light wascoming from Birdie and Beast.

It was over. Birdie and Beast were winning the battle! It was finallycompletely over!

As for the witch, well, she was a frog. Actually not a frog, but a wartyold toad!

And everybody lived happily ever after!

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The wind howled.The rain poured.

And I was stuck inside my door.I asked my mom if I could go out,but all she did was start to shout.

No, no you can’t go out,so I sat down and started to pout.

I was so bored, it was no fun,I wished I could go out and play in the sun.

As I sat down and tried to sleep, I felt something –It felt like…HEAT!

I looked out the window and I saw the sun. It was so grand.

I asked my mom if I could go out,and this time she said…

“KNOCK YOURSELF OUT!”I played outside –

It was so fun!And that is why I love the sun!

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by TA N N I S Z E R A N

SCHOOL: Our Lady of Good Counsel TEACHER: Colleen Barrie-Adams


Joanne BakerUNIT: Eastern

UNIT PRESIDENT: Barb Dobrowolski

Elementary Grades 3 and 4Poem

RAINY DAY

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by A L I N A G DA N I E C

SCHOOL: Our Lady of Lourdes TEACHER: Mary Mercer


Mary MercerUNIT: Renfrew

UNIT PRESIDENT: Mike Silmser

ElementaryGrades 3 and 4Nonfiction

Iam going to take you on a journey deep through the jungles ofAustralia, through the dense forests and up, up, up to the canopyof this habitat. But who will we encounter way up there? Who or

what will we meet way up high in the jungle trees? Well, if we really weregoing on this trip, we would meet a lot of animals, but today I’m going to tellyou about the cool, climbing creature of the canopy: the tree kangaroo.

The tree kangaroo, like its cousin the kangaroo, is a marsupial, whichmeans it carries its young in a pouch located on its belly. I think that itwould be pretty tricky walking on branches up to 40 metres above theground with the extra weight of a baby tree kangaroo. You might even haveto jump 9 metres across from one branch to another.

Life isn’t easy for a tree kangaroo, not only have they got to deal withpythons, eagles, owls and dingoes, they’ve got humans to fear, too. Humansare constantly killing the tree kangaroos by running over them with carsand letting dogs prey on them on the ground. Also, tree kangaroos havebeen made a regular meal in the towns near their habitats in Australia,Indonesia and New Guinea.

Tree kangaroos are herbivores, which means that they eat only plants,fruits and leaves. However, since we are taking over their forest habitats,their numbers have been dropping rapidly, and now some species havebecome endangered. Destruction of habitat is a major factor endangering

TREE KANGAROOS: HELPINGENDANGERED SPECIES

many other species, as well. Global warming and the burning of fossil fuelsis contributing to this risk, and affecting the whole animal kingdom.

Luckily, there are agencies and other groups of people trying to helpsave the tree kangaroos and their habitat. Some scientists are asking thepeople native to the land to put away a large area of forest for creaturehabitat. Other people are helping tree kangaroos by studying them. Theycatch them and put radio-collars on them, then they let them back into thetrees. The scientists take lots of notes and observe for a while. The radio-collars help scientists figure out what the range of a tree kangaroo is.

You can also help tree kangaroos and other endangered species bygiving donations or having fund-raisers. Remember, everything is special inits own way, and deserves to survive for as long as possible. Global warmingshouldn’t be ignored. People have to act and this is how: conserve energy,give donations, or just learn and do research about endangered species. We must take care of our earth’s future and we’ve got to take action now!!

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by V I C TO R I A K AC E R

SCHOOL: St. Catherine of Siena TEACHER: Heather MurphySCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Joanne SchleenUNIT: London District

UNIT PRESIDENT: Sheila Brescia


Iawoke suddenly to the ear piercing sound of tearing metal.Instinctively, I leaped up from my silky jade cushion and began tofret. An ever growing silence replaced the constant roar of the

ship’s great engines, and the slow lapping of waves against the metal coatingcould now faintly be heard. It seemed as though nothing had happened butmy sixth sense kept urging me inside that something was wrong.

I crept slowly over to my best friend Emily’s canopy covered mahoganybed. Her golden curls were slipping down her childish face and hereyelashes fluttered as her hazel eyes saw unreadable visions beneath theirlids. She breathed in deeply and let out a sigh, assuring me that she had notheard, or not heeded, the noise. I trotted slowly over to the door and peeredout beyond the crème coloured entryway. Lamps flickered, illuminating thehall with a golden light, which reflected off the shimmering doorknobs. I nudged it open and crept out. I could be back before Emily woke up; all I needed was a little fresh air to help me fall back into a world of visions andfantasies.

Padding softly down the hall, I reached the Grand Staircase, its shiningstairs glimmered with the light from the fluttering lamp, which was held bya carving of an angel with its wings outspread. I walked up that grand way,in between railings full of intricate designs made from gold that sparkledlike stars on a crisp autumn evening, until I reached the boat deck. I leaned

STARBOARD

against the silver railing and peered over it. The dark waters rippled whilecreatures unseen moved just beneath its surface. The top layer of the waterwas littered with chunks of ice and glaciers as tall as the ship with crystalwhite sides. The moon reflected its radiant light onto the surface of thewater and irradiated the night with its golden glow. I breathed deeply andthe taste of the salt air filled me entirely. I closed my eyes and let the gentlesea breeze blow my long black hair.

My eyes flew open as the antique clock on the grand staircase strucktwelve. I began to head back to our bedroom, ready for a peaceful night’ssleep, when I heard a loud crunch as a black boot crushed my right forepawunderneath its hard, black sole. The pain was so great that my head spunand my stomach lurched. Just as I passed out of consciousness, I heard avoice say: “What should we do? The Titanic is sinking!”

After what seemed like a lifetime, my eyes fluttered open and my headswam as blurry images floated before me. Finally, I was able to focus and Ishakily tried to stand, but as soon as I placed my right forepaw down on theground, the unbearable pain returned. I lay back down on the cold boatdeck, cradling my paw underneath my body to keep it from the bitter windthat whirled around me. I began to think about what I had heard before Ihad plunged into unconsciousness. “The Titanic is sinking, what should wedo? Sinking, Titanic, what should we do?”

The words replayed through my mind, as I lay there shivering in thechilly midnight air. Suddenly, a wave of drowsiness hit me and I felt as tiredas if I had just run across the whole ocean and back to our apartment inNew York. We would have been safe and warm and away from this coldnight in New York, and Emily wouldn’t have been on a ship that wasslipping away into the bottomless ocean filled with creatures of the deep. Ibegan to think about home and my comfy bed with Emily snuggled next tome, and soon I was drifting off to sleep. When I awoke again, I found thatI was no longer on the boat deck. Where was I?

Cautiously, I stood up and placed my weight on my other three paws. Ibounded forward and crashed into a wall made of thousands and thousandsof chain links. I staggered backwards and tried again. I howled. “Where amI?” I thought to myself. “I need to find Emily! The ship is sinking!” I heardwhines of laughter coming from behind me. Whirling around I saw threedogs huddled in the corner of my metal prison. A large, toffee colouredAiredale terrier, a stumpy, little, black French bulldog, and a Pekingesewith hair so long that I could barely tell whether it had eyes or not. I barked

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loudly at them and their laughter grew even louder. Looking more closely atthem, I saw that they all had cards attached to their collars that read theirname and owner: Kitty, Pye and Sun Yat Sen. They were just like me – theyhad best friends, too. The other dogs lost interest in me and began a rowdychase around the small, enclosed imprisonment. I turned around,pretending to be too distinguished for their game, but I was actually keepingan eye out for Emily. Where was I? The room was filled with other steelboxes and most were filled with three or four different breeds of dogs. Somewere staring back at me, while others were playing gaily, or cuddling withthe other puppies.

The full room was painted a dull gold, and in one corner was a statelylooking oak desk. Seated in a wooden chair behind the desk was a boy withflaming red hair. His face was covered with freckles and his grey eyes shonelike diamonds. He was completely absorbed in watching the dogs. He soonstood up slowly, and strode to another corner of the room. When he cameback, his hands were filled with brown bags, which vaguely resembled sacksfull of wheat or feed on a farm. He shook the bag, and the room becamesilent – then he ripped off the top and it was as if it had exploded withbarks, yips and howls of excitement and joy. The bag was a feed sack, butit was filled with kibble. He walked over to each cage and bent down,pouring some food into four red dishes. Finally, he came over to our cageand clicked open the latch. I sprung out like the jack-in-the-box that Emilyhad received for her birthday, and landed gracefully.

Then I painfully crept up so that I was standing on all four paws, andnow I could stand on my right paw. Peering down, I saw that my forepawhad been wrapped in some sort of white plaster. Quickly, I hobbled out ofthe room without one glance backwards. The fresh air hit me as soon as Istepped outside of the horrible jail, and I greedily took deep breaths torevive myself from the disgusting smell of the kennel. I began to make myway across the crowded boat deck in search of Emily. I reached the GrandStaircase and padded down its shining steps, paying little attention to itsbeautiful designs. I reached our suite, and found the ivory coloured doorleft completely wide open! Emily and our companion, Miss Everett, weregone!

“What now?” I thought to myself. “The Titanic is sinking and I can’tfind Emily!” I decided to search the lower decks first. I made my way to thebottom deck and found that it was almost filled with salt water. It wasswiftly rising and soon would fill the whole hall, and carry away anything in

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its path. The water began to rush towards me, covering my paws withfreezing cold ocean liquid. My feet felt like they were frozen to the ground,unable to run or move. Why did we have to ride on a ship? Water was mygreatest fear. Finally, I managed to pull myself away from the dangerouswaves and back up the hall. When I reached the boat deck again, I lookeddown to see the ocean rising up the decks.

Up on the top deck, groups of passengers were waiting. It seemed morelike a party than a disaster. People were lounging on chairs, or talking insmall groups joking and laughing, but most seemed annoyed that they werewoken up in the middle of the night for something that “wasn’t evenhappening.” Everywhere that message was spreading and women in pinknightgowns were yelling and men in red robes were shouting, while shipofficers tried to calm everyone down. Then came the call that pierced all ofthe screams and laughter and caused a brief silence in the commotion:“WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST IN THE LIFEBOATS!!!” There wasquiet while everyone pondered this, and then the silence exploded in yellsand shrieks and cries.

I wove my way through the throngs of passengers in search of Emily,cautiously trying not to have my paw squished under a shoe again. At thefront of the crowd, I saw Kitty the Airedale terrier sitting faithfully next toa tall man in a royal blue robe with a brown mustache and a blue hat. Sheyipped a hello and I barked back.

Then, as if some power was at work, I felt the urge to turn around.When I did, I saw Emily and Miss Everett sitting in a lowering lifeboat. Irushed to the railing, my chest burning and my paw throbbing with a dullpain, but when I reached it, the chestnut coloured rescue boat was bobbingon the surface of the salty ocean, following the slight rushing of the foamywaves. Water, my greatest fear, separated me from my best friend.

“What should I do?” I thought to myself. I peered back at Kitty, whowas standing loyally next to her owner, and suddenly I knew exactly what Ihad to do. I walked slowly back beside Kitty, turned around and sat on myhaunches, resting, preparing for the biggest risk I had taken in my entirelife. I shakily raised myself onto three legs and awkwardly cantered towardsthe railing. I leaned back, crouching down like a cheetah ready to springonto its prey. I could feel my muscles rippling under my black coat of heavyfur, and then all in one motion, my hind legs flexed and I leaped forward,over the railing and plunged down into the black water filled with mysteryand hidden dangers.

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I could hear shouts of confusion coming from above me, but I focusedonly on the task ahead, which was to swim against the rushing current tofind my lifelong friend. I dog paddled towards the boat, my body almostcompletely submerged in icy water. Chunks of ice floated past, and unseencreatures and ice floated beneath me. My paws felt like icicles by the timethe boat came into my sight. I swam up quickly behind it, and rested myforepaws on one of the idle oars leaning on the starboard side of the minivessel. It was crowded with people, most were wearing pajamas ornightgowns underneath their white star lined life belts.

Suddenly, an ear splitting crack broke through the pressing silence. Thestern of the Titanic was slipping into the ocean, and she had cracked inhalf. People were clutching onto the railing, holding on for dear life, whilesome were diving into the depths of the ocean. That was the last time theship was seen, as she slipped into the murky, black water. I turned away,not wanting to see anymore. Instead, I looked at my injured paw. The whiteplaster had fallen off and it was drenched with blood. I licked at itsorrowfully, but began to lumber clumsily up into the boat. Womenscreamed and men shouted as the lightweight boat began to collapse, but Iquickly scrambled in and shook the frozen water off of my fur, whichearned me some complaints.

I thought for a moment as I glanced around. What if I had gone throughall that trouble trying to find Emily, but had gotten onto the wrong boat? Ispun around and came face to face with the answer to all of my problems,Emily.

“Star!” she cried. And she hugged me with all her might. “I’m home!” Ithought to myself and I fell asleep in her arms.

When we got home to New York, we stayed in bed all day cuddlingwith each other and reminding ourselves that we were safe. I was rewardedwith many hugs and kisses and praise for following Emily, even Miss Everettcomplimented me saying: “You were quite magnanimous, Star.”

Sun Yat Sen the Pekingese and her owner, Mr. Harper, came overthe day after looking for room and board, and Sen and I have been buddiesever since. I never did see Pye or Kitty again, but I hope that they were safeand had a loving family, just like me.

That all happened a long time ago, but I remember it like it wasyesterday. I haven’t forgotten, and I don’t want to forget my voyage on theTitanic.

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HISTORICAL NOTEThe Titanic was built from 1908-1909 in Belfast, Ireland by the White StarLine. The White Star Line had already made some other fantastic ships likethe Olympic. On April 10th, 1912, the Titanic began her maiden voyagefrom Southampton, England. She also made two other stops in Cherbourg,France and Queenstown, Ireland. On April 14th, 1912, no more than 400miles off of the coast of Newfoundland, lookout Fredrick Fleet called outthat there was an iceberg dead ahead. The ship made a turn but scraped itsstarboard (right) side on the iceberg. Her metal coating was torn and waterbegan to rise on the bottom decks. By midnight, the passengers began toboard the lifeboats, but because many people thought it was a joke or a test,they stayed on the ship. At 2:20am the Titanic split in half and slid into thewater, never to be seen again. At the end of the night, over 700 survived,while over 1,500 died.

One of the odd things about the sinking of the Titanic was that anAmerican author, Morgan Robertson, wrote a book called Futility in 1898.The book was about a British passenger liner called the Titan, which hit aniceberg in the North Atlantic on her maiden voyage, and sunk. The storywas set in April, there were not enough lifeboats, and the numbers of theTitan’s size, speed, equipment and lost passengers were eerily like theTitanic’s.

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I’m Docta’ Seuss,Don’ cha know me, ma’am?

I’ve written lots o’ books,Like the “Green Eggs ‘n’ Ham!”

“Cat in da’ Hat,”“Horton Hears a Who”

Are a few more booksThat I’ve written just for you!

“And to Think That I Saw ItOn Mulberry Street,”

“Gerald McBoing Boing,”These books are pretty neat!

Now, why am I rappin’?A question you might ask.

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by DA N E N E S P O L I

SCHOOL: St. PaulTEACHER: Alijha Girgis


Anne Marie EverittUNIT: Wellington

UNIT PRESIDENT: Jim Whitechurch

ElementaryGrades 5 and 6Poem

DR. SEUSS HEAVEN

In every book I’ve written,Rhyming is my task.

I’m rapping just for fun andYou’d better believe,

If I ever did this in my books, They’d ask me to leave!

I’ve written tons more,Dr. Seuss style rhyme,

But then one day,My life ran out of time!

It was the saddest day for me,The year 1991,

But now I’m up in Heaven,Where the fun has just begun!

IN HEAVEN

Most people believe when you die, that that’s it,But I don’t believe it, not one little bit.

You think when you die, you’re just part of the pile,But come on with me – and die Dr. Seuss style!

My Heaven is awesome and fun and so nice.A simple no-brainer, don’t even think twice.

Your mom and your dad – well, they’ll understandThat you wanted to be in the Dr. Seuss Band!

YES – singing and playing is part of the plan.Play guitar and piano? Everyone can!

We’ll rock till we’re tired, then silence will come,And sleep will take over – the old and the young.

There’s a feast to be had in my rock and roll place –It’s all you can eat, till there is no trace

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Of food or of drink of any old sort.It has been gobbled up by the tall and the short.

There are rides everywhere, like the big Ferris wheel.It’s ginormously huge, but try if you will

To hop on safely with the moms and the pops –You see, there’s one problem, it just never stops!

Then there’s the coaster – so long and so wide,It’s only the brave ones who look to the side –

And NEVER look down – that’s the rule, they say.I’ve heard if you do, there’s a big price to pay!

But here in Seuss Heaven? What could go wrong? Well, nothing, of course, if you follow along.We have rules, you see – not to be disobeyed.

They’re simple to learn – that’s the way they were made!

The first one of course is the rule we call ONE –Everyone’s favourite – to have lots of fun!

The SECOND one came on my third day in heaven – never, ever repeatthe rule we call SEVEN.

The THIRD rule to follow – be nice and say please,Always cover your mouth when you’re ready to sneeze.

Never keep someone waiting – there’s a knock at the door –Answer it quickly – rule number FOUR.

The FIFTH rule of Seuss,You’ve heard it before –

When braving the coaster,Don’t look at the floor!

The SIXTH rule we have,Some find hard to obey.

Always eat fruits and vegetables –A healthier way.

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The Whos down in Whoville will always be proud,If you think for yourself – don’t follow the crowd.

This wonderful law,A rule entered quite late,Is a good one to follow,

And it’s number EIGHT!

Just two rules to go,The commandments of Seuss,

Now straighten your back,You look like a moose!

The second last one – you know it’s NINE,It has a great name – “The rule so fine.”

“The rule so fine” is perfect for me,It’s easy as pie…like climbing a tree.

Get plenty of rest, relax, and do sleep.The way to accomplish? Always count sheep.

And now number TEN, the biggest of all,Comes from the heart of one who is small.

Cindy-Lou Who made this rule come to life,And the Grinch – he agreed, and so did his wife!

This rule is so big and so great and so grand,I really do hope that you all understand –

To keep it is good and to break it, just wrong, So please listen up, if you want to belong.

Be a great person – you must do so on Earth,Then judgment will come and see what you’re worth.

My brothers and sisters, family and friends,Always care for each other and there’ll be no end,

From the life you are living, to the life you will live –Set the example, be willing to give.

Just follow these rules, with me by your side,So when your time comes, you can hop on MY ride!

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29

by C I A R A Z O G H E I B

SCHOOL: Queen of HeavenTEACHER: Frank MangiardiSCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Ernesto ArduiniUNIT: Dufferin-Peel Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Bernie Campbell


Have you ever been really annoyed with somebody? Not justfrustrated or upset, but really angry? So upset that youwanted to send that person to the moon? On a one way trip? I

know I have. That’s why I’m writing this.So, let’s meet my choices for a one way trip to the moon. The first

person I’d send would be Jack Frost. Why? Because he’s always turning theweather cold! I’m one of those people who likes warm weather, so winterweather is a definite no! My brother actually likes cold weather, but luckilyhis craziness hasn’t spread to the whole family.

Another reason I’d want him on the moon is because every time hemakes the weather really cold, we have to stay in for recess. Trust me,having boys inside all day is not a wise choice. (Especially if they are withtheir friends.) All of these reasons are why Jack Frost is the first person I’dsend to the moon.

The second person I’d send is not really a person…he’s more of ananimal. I’m talking about my neighbour’s dog, Buddy. That dog has to bethe most annoying thing ever! Buddy is always waking us up in the middleof the night because of his barking. Once he starts to bark, my dog Trufflesstarts barking back at Buddy, and then about a million other dogs fromaround the neighbourhood start barking, too! All together, it equals asleepless night for my family and me. Don’t even get me started on what

PEOPLE I WOULD SEND TOTHE MOON

Buddy does when my dad turns the lawn mower on. So Buddy, I hope youenjoy the scenery on the moon.

The security people at the airport would be my last choice for a trip tothe moon. They never fail to make me go through the metal detectors overand over again. Honestly, I think they actually want me to be embarrassedin front of all the other travellers. They also always pull my dad over for anextra security check, and then they search him. Do you know howhumiliating that is? They even check my dad’s computer! Those guys arethe reason I wear sweat pants every time I’m going on a plane. Sometimesit looks like their only purpose in life is to make mine miserable. I have onething to say to them: “Have fun on the moon, guys!”

Now that you have read about the people I would like to send to themoon, think about who you would send. You might be surprised by whocomes to mind – I know I was!

This short story is mostly fictional. Any likeness to real people, animalsor imaginary characters that create snow is completely by accident. I wouldlike to thank my dad for telling me about airport security, and myneighbours’ dog for letting me insult him and his barking issues. A specialthank you…maybe…to Jack Frost for the horrible and freezing winterwe’ve been having.

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31

by L I N D S AY K A L L I O KO S K I

SCHOOL: St. Joseph’sTEACHER: Marcia Van Haverbeke


Marilyn KewUNIT: Brant Haldimand-Norfolk

UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald


The island was beautiful.It was perfect in every way: bright green palm trees, powder-white sand,

and aquamarine waters. The sun never stopped shining, and the sky wasalways cloudless and blue.

All in all, a magnificent place to hide treasure.I glanced down at the smooth, crisp, white map that I’d stolen from one

of the most esteemed governors in the Caribbean. A small grin stretchedacross my lips, and I felt a surge of pride ripple through me. Stealing thisfrom the Governor had been one of the greatest raids ever known in history.I stared at the lines and dots scattered across the parchment, tracing acalloused finger over the big, red X that stopped the flow of lines abruptly.If my calculations were correct, I’d be the richest woman alive in just a fewhours.

I heard people call out to me from behind, and I turned to locate therough voices…

Their long, sun-bleached hair fell in tangles all the way down to theirwaists. Their tanned skin was tattooed and branded in places. They allwore grimy, dirty attire that ranged from tattered dresses to ripped jacketsand pants. Their eyes were all dark and devious.

This was my crew.And we were pirates.

QUEEN OF THE PIRATING SEA

I watched them strut up the beach, excited expressions on their faces.They were ready to do a little hunting, and so was I. I had been waiting forthis day for a long time, and I wanted to get moving.

“Alright, miscreants!” I yelled out loudly. “Ready to do some huntin’?”I threw my hands in the air, towards the blazing sun. My crew respondedwith a mighty roar.

“Get movin’!” I ordered, and the ladies plunged into the jungle,bellowing and shouting. I stalked behind them, laughing in my excited high.I held the map tightly in my hands. The big earrings I wore clattered witheach step, like gold falling onto a treasure chest.

I pictured myself after I took this treasure. Everyone would know myname – Captain Charlotte Lush, Queen of the Pirating Sea. I daydreamedas my crew and I ventured deeper into the jungle. Every few moments, Ichecked the map to see if we were still headed the right way. We didn’t haveto stop once.

I was truly pleased with myself. I was a beautiful pirate, and had neverbeen caught. I had robbed more people than were countable, and hadfought and won numerous battles. My crew was a strong, loyal collection ofwomen that I treasured almost as much as gold. My ship, the Gem, hadbraved the stormy seas and was still in stellar condition.

I was unstoppable.The jungle was teeming with life, full of buzzing insects and screaming

monkeys. The palm trees that grew here in the deepest parts of the junglewere taller than any ship. Exotic flowers and plants grew everywhere, theirbright colours splashes of life against an otherwise green background. Thesun shone on, cutting through the greenery above.

My crew tramped on, swatting at bugs and slashing their way throughvines. I could tell they were still exhilarated, but serious about the missionahead. They quieted almost entirely, except for a few grunts every now andthen. I smiled, my silver tooth glinting in the sunlight that filtered throughthe trees. We were getting close. I gripped the ruby medallion that swungfrom my neck – something I always did when I was full of anticipation – andambled on after the girls.

It was the change in noise that first alerted me that something waswrong.

The animals and birds abruptly stopped their chirping and chattering.Even the bugs seemed to quiet. An eerie silence settled over the jungle likea choking fog. Some of my crew peered through the trees and branches

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uneasily and gripped their weapons. I frowned. There wasn’t anything we,the most feared pirates in the south, couldn’t handle in this little jungle. Itwas probably nothing, a large feline at the most.

Nothing a gun couldn’t kill in one shot.Still, I didn’t like the feeling emanating from the trees. I slipped the map

into my vest pocket and drew my sword. I felt like something was watchingme…. The rest of my crew followed my example, drawing their weapons. Icould read the fear in some dark eyes, but pure thrill in others. Whateverwas out there, this was bound to be interesting…

A quick movement darted through my peripheral vision. I stiffened andwhirled around, my sword straight out in front of me. A small growlescaped my lips, and I glared at the thick tangle of forest around me. Onething I was certain about: we definitely weren’t alone. Whether it was amere animal, or something else, we still weren’t alone.

My crew had stopped and was staring at me with apprehensive eyes.They began to merge around me, their guns and swords raised high. Oneyoung girl, Elizabeth, smiled as if this were a fun game. Her emerald-greeneyes glowed like a cat’s.

I had to agree with her in some ways. No one liked a good, robustfight like a pirate. Robust fights were what pirates lived for – that, andtreasure.

I still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching us.I looked at my crew, glowering intently into their dark faces. “Stay

close,” I snarled quietly. “Be ready for anythin’ that’s comin.’” They allnodded; delight flashing across their hard features. “We’re almost there,”I reminded them in a hiss.

We continued much more quickly and quietly the rest of the way. No onespoke, far too afraid to disturb the silence that sliced through the muggy airlike a knife. Whenever I checked the map, I was cognizant of every ruffleand crinkle the parchment made. The day wore on, and we trekked throughthe wilderness.

It was late afternoon when we reached our destination.We broke through a thicket of trees, and stepped into a sandy clearing

that was in the direct inferno of the sun. I ripped the map from my vestpocket and stared, disbelieving that the lines ended here with the big, redX. I let out a small whoop, and spun in a circle grinning. All of my formerfears about being watched evaporated like a drop of water on a black stone.My crew danced with me; obviously they were able to neglect their worries,

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as well. I strode right to the middle of the clearing, and stood with a largesmile on my face.

“I declare this treasure to be Cap’n Charlotte Lush’s, Queen of thePiratin’ Sea!” I cried out. My crew cheered and ran to my feet, shovingtheir hands into the sand. They flung the hot dirt into every direction,digging holes excitedly. I hopped out of the mayhem, watching for any hintsof large chests, or glinting pieces of jewels or gold.

It was the strange smell that told me to worry.It was the tangy stench of a burning fuse. My light eyebrows mashed

together. None of the crew had brought explosives, and no one would bestupid enough to light anything when we were all huddled in such closeproximity to each other…

I was about to ask my crew if they knew anything about the abnormalityjust as a huge cannon ball came soaring through the trees.

I threw myself to the ground, pressing myself into the sand. I heard thedeafening roar as the cannon ball smashed into a tree nearby, and thescreaming creak as the tall tree toppled over. My crew had stopped diggingand was staring wide-eyed at the source of the attack. Even a pirate didn’tappreciate an ambush. My breathing was coming in ragged gasps, my heartpounding from the close call.

Another earth shattering explosion pierced the air, and a cannon ballflew into the clearing. Some of my crew fell to the ground like me, coveringtheir ears. The others lurched themselves far out of the missile’s path.

When another cannon ball was fired, I rolled closer to the tree line, andfarther from the open space of the clearing. I thought about this ambush,anger and annoyance swallowing up my former fear. What was going on?Was it other pirates or the military? How did they know where to find us?Did they have a map of their own? And why hadn’t we noticed them before?My mind spun in answerless circles while my crew yelled and screamed inthe clearing.

“Duck!” I screamed over the thunderous attack. My order was lost inthe noise. I looked around me helplessly, praying that the enemies wouldrun out of ammunition soon. I nearly shrieked when a cannon ball missedone of my crew members, Margaret, by a hair.

Suddenly, the air was still. There was nothing but the sound of the palmtrees swaying and the rough grunts and groans from my crew. I stayedunder the canopy of leaves, not trusting this sudden serenity. My crewbegan to rise, brushing off their clothes, and glaring into the trees. They

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drew their weapons and bared their teeth. Apparently, they were gettingangrier, too. I could see excitement start to stir in their faces.

“Don’t you move!” I whispered maliciously. They nodded, but kepttheir eyes on the unruly maze of jungle.

I rose slowly, not making a sound amongst the ferns and sand. I drewmy sword, careful not to scrape the blade too loudly against the sheath. Istrode to the middle of their grouping, barely breathing.

This ambush was about to get messy. If they wanted to fight dirty, socould we.

I slowly backed towards the dead center of the clearing, and sat downon the hot sand. I saw my crew regarding me confusedly out of the cornersof their eyes. I cupped a handful of sand in my palms and threw it over myshoulder. I gasped theatrically. My crew swiveled their heads in mydirection, perplexed.

“Well, what be here? I found the treasure, me mates!” I spoke loudly,feigning excitement. My crew’s expressions only looked more mystified.“Look at all this gold, mates! And the rubies!” I spoke even louder,practically signing the words.

Understanding flitted across my crew’s dark faces. Slowly, they allbegan to smile toothlessly, nodding their heads approvingly. All piratesapproved of traps.

And I was setting one.My crew began to join in with my exclamations, whooping and hollering.

I knew any time soon our attackers would run through the trees, expectingus to be distracted by our new found wealth. That wouldn’t be the case.

Even in our little façade of seeming to be occupied, we were ready. Gunswere loaded and swords were held out. Any fool who walked into theclearing at this moment would die quickly.

Through the mayhem, I heard a soft rustling in the trees. Someone wascoming.

And the trap snapped closed…We all stationed ourselves right in front of the jungle, not having to

pretend anymore. We waited, the thrill of a soon coming battle settling overus like a blanket. I stroked my fingers against the sharp blade of my sword.

Straining my ears, I heard more quiet swishes disturbing the leaves andvines in the jungle. I tensed, smiling. It was time.

The men that entered the clearing were in half-crouches, expectant. Westayed in our line, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gretchen andElizabeth beckon them forward.

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The pirates in front of us didn’t look frightened, just slightly amused.As if they would ever beat us. As if they would take my treasure. I grippedmy sword tighter.

“What do we have ‘ere?” a tall, bald man sneered. A silk sash hung fromhis hips, and he wore a big, feathery hat. I guessed him to be the captain.“My name be Sam. Couldn’t help but notice your ship from the other sideof the island. Did ya ladies lose your way?”

“We don’t like when men shoot cannons at us,” I hissed sarcastically,not bothering to answer his questions. “And we hate other raiders on ourlands.”

“This be no land for a lady. This is my treasure.” He held his pistolhigh. “Now, maybe ya better go buy a pretty dress.” His comment sentchuckles through his crew.

I smirked and rolled my eyes. “Ya wear one first, mate, then maybe I’llthink ‘bout it.”

A tremor rocked his body; his amused expression turned hostile. “Imade a promise to ne’er hit a lady,” he spat.

“Guess you’ll have to break it, mate,” I laughed.That did it.Sam lunged towards me with a howl tearing from his lips. His crew

followed him, running at my crew. I hopped agilely out of the way of hisrage, and whipped my sword in his direction. He stepped around it,shooting his pistol at me. I dove to the ground, swinging my sword allaround me. I struck something hard, and heard a curse. I’d hit his boot.He shot his gun again, the sand exploding in a cloud of dust around me. Irolled away, slashing my sword in the air.

All around me was chaos. By the looks of it, we were winning; half themen were on the ground, knocked unconscious. None of my crew appearedhurt – just truly exhilarated.

Sam fired another bullet at me, only missing my arm by a few inches. Iground my teeth together. He was making me angry. I jumped off the sandyground, slicing my sword through the muggy air. I caught him in theshoulder, and he fell back, moaning. He landed on the ground with a thud.I turned to the rest of my crew, helping the few ladies whose defense wasfaltering.

Within the hour, every single man in Sam’s crew was laying face first inthe sand. They groaned and moaned, but we didn’t kill them. After this wasall over, we’d turn them into the Governor, like the good little ladies wewere.

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The battle had left me electrified. I didn’t know how I’d come to be solucky – treasure and an epic battle, all in one day. And I had always thoughtpirates were cursed. I stepped over a groaning man, smiling.

“Alright, ladies,” I called out, mocking Sam’s words. “We’ve won!”They cheered for what seemed like the millionth time today.

“Let’s do some diggin’,” I added, and pointed to the middle of theclearing. They threw their fists in the air, and then shoved their fingers intothe dirt.

“Can’t you tell us what happened, Grandma Charlotte?” Jaclyn whined,her baby face pouting. Her brother’s face, Andy, was an exact mask ofhers.

I shook my old, withered face. “Not tonight,” I told them softly. I half-smiled. “You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

Jaclyn’s mouth fell open. “We have to wait until tomorrow?” She echoedme in shock.

“Yes,” I answered, kissing her softly on her forehead.“Tomorrow?” Andy repeated, stifling a yawn. “But I can’t wait that

long, Grandma Charlotte.”“It will come in no time,” I promised them both. “Now, good night, my

darlings.”“Night, Grandma,” they whispered back sleepily. I rose stiffly out of the

old, wooden rocking chair and shuffled out of my grandchildren’s room. Iflicked off the light, and closed the door gently.

I waddled down the hall and into my old bedroom. I shut the door, andkneeled beside my bed. I lifted the blanket, and pulled an ancient-lookingchest out from underneath.

Engraved in the front of the chest were the words Captain ChartlotteLush, Queen of the Pirating Sea.

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I sit on a hard chairAmongst old magazines.

I look onAs lives are changed.

One family cries out with joy,As their newest arrival appears.

A boy still in armsFrom far Taiwan.

Another family listens To a woman in camouflage

As their worst fears are confirmed:They’ve lost their son

To the Taliban.Friends offer comfort, but no one can stop

A mother’s tears.

A young couple,The husband with suitcase,

The wife big with child.

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by VA N E S S A K R A U S

SCHOOL: St. CatherineTEACHER: Anne Normand


Patrick MackeyUNIT: Peterborough, VNC

UNIT PRESIDENT: Bart Scollard


AT THE AIRPORT

Tears streak her face as he says,“It’s only for one year.

I need this job for all of us.”One last kiss and he’s gone,

Leaving her in silence.

A family returns with joy,Bearing stuffed animals and Mickey Mouse ears.

One girl, about ten, in front,Wearing a bandana.

Her T-Shirt reads: Bald is beautiful.“I hate to go back to chemo

After Florida,” she tells her mom.

One man passes calling, “Please let me through!My mother is dying, I need to catch a plane!”

His face is drawn and weary with the knowledgeThat when he makes this trip,She’ll be gone. A part of him

Will die with her.

Another man kneelsBeside his five-year-old son,

Who clutches dad’s hand like it’s the only thingHolding him to the earth.

“I don’t want to go with Mommy!” he whimpers.“You’ll have lots of fun!”

Neither one looks convinced.

I sit very still, Trying hard not to be nosy.

Trying hard not to stare.It’s intoxicating to watchAs people’s lives unfold

Amongst rush and suitcases.

People’s lives are changedAt the airport.

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40

by E M I LY M C C A RT H Y

SCHOOL: Good ShepherdTEACHER: Greg F. Nugent


David RahillyUNIT: Peterborough, VNC


ElementaryGrades 7 and 8Play

Ben calls Brittney

Brittney: (Sniffles) H-H-Hello?

Ben: Hey Brittney, do you have the geo note? I was a totalidiot and forgot it in my locker today.

Brittney: Yea. U-u-uh, want (sniffles) me to get my m-m-momto drive over with it? She can drop it off in a fewhours.

Ben: You don’t sound fine. You sound quite bad,actually… Do you want to talk about it? I can’tguarantee that I can help, but I can listen.

Brittney: Uh, okay. Well, I am not allowed out of theneighbourhood, because I am baby-sitting my littlebrother, and it isn’t something I would want to tellyou on the phone.

Ben: There is a park beside your house, isn’t there?

THE PLEASURE OF HELPINGSOMEONE AS GOOD AS BRITTNEY

Brittney: Yeah…

Ben: There we go. Your younger brother can play and we can talk.

Brittney: Don’t you live quite a ways away?

Ben: Don’t worry about where I live. I will be at the parkin 15 minutes.

Brittney brings her little brother to the park.They play and wait for Ben to arrive.Ben arrives and walks over to Brittney and her brother.

Brittney: Hey, Taylor, are you okay to play on the playgroundfor a bit by yourself?

Taylor: Yeah, I’m almost four.

Taylor runs back to the slide and Brittney and Ben go to the bench to sit and talk.

Brittney: I suppose you want to hear the whole story now?

Ben: You know you don’t have to tell me anything – but Iwant you to know that I’m not a jerk who would gotell everyone else what you said. I also know that itisn’t good for people who are as upset as you are tokeep things bottled up.

Brittney: I suppose you’re right. Well, my father lost his joblast night, and my mom has never worked a day inher life – only volunteering at the hospital, and mybrother’s pre-school.

Ben: Oh, I’m really sorry to hear that – but if your dad iseven half as nice of a person as you are, it’s his oldcompany’s loss, and his next one’s gain.

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Brittney: Sadly enough, that’s not all. You know how Bradand me were going out?

Ben: I take it that the key word in that sentence was were?

Brittney: Yes, it was. Well, last night when I was all upsetabout my father losing his job, I went to Brad’shouse to vent to him. I was ranting to him while wewere cuddling, then he stood up and was all like,“Oh, I can’t do this anymore! I like someone else –and it’s not fair for you to be with me anymore.”Then I told him it was over, and I stormed out.

Ben: Wow! You owned him! I see how you would be upset,but again, his loss!

Brittney: Oh, there’s still more. My best friend, Amanda, wasthe only person I had left to talk to. So, I called herand I told her that I needed to talk to her, and that itwas really important. We met at this very bench, andI told her everything. Then she said, “It isn’t fair ofBrad to do that, and it’s not fair that who he likes isme.” I was completely in shock; I didn’t know whatto say. It took about two and a half minutes ofsilence for me to comprehend what she said. When Iasked her how this happened, she explained it to me,but I don’t completely know what she meant.

Ben: Woah, I doubt that she is still your bestie?

Brittney: Oh, she isn’t. I had no one to talk to about it, so I’mglad you coaxed me into telling you.

They both laughed.

Ben: Well, I am glad you did – stuff like that isn’t good tokeep bottled up.

Taylor runs over to Brittney and Ben.

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Taylor: Brittney, I want to go home!

Brittney: Ten more minutes?

Taylor: I got sand in my mouth and up my nose!

Brittney: Okay. Sorry, Ben, I have to go.

Ben: It’s okay, I have to be home soon for supper anyway.

Brittney and Taylor start to walk away. Suddenly, Brittney looks back.

Britney: Thanks.

Ben smiles and gets on his bike. He rides away and is happy that hecould help a person as good as Brittney.

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44

by R E I L LY E V E R I T T- C U N N I N G H A M

SCHOOL: St. PaulTEACHER: Vladimir KoledinSCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Anne Marie EverittUNIT: Wellington



Sure, we all see them at Halloween or in the occasional movie. Wethink we hear them in our attics. We’ve all sensed their presencewhen we walk into a dark and spooky place. But do ghosts really

exist? Do they walk with us and around us? Is there anything normal aboutthe paranormal?

These are some of the questions I have faced at night while I lay wideawake in bed. Then suddenly, my floor creaks and a burst of wind comesthrough the window. Are my ancestors really watching over me, or is theresome evil being lurking in the shadows? We often hear stories about ghostsand wonder if they are true.

Whenever I’m out camping in the woods with my aunts and uncles, theytry to scare me with stories about ghosts. At sleepovers, my friends and Itry to creep each other out with ghost stories, too. Usually, I don’t believea word of it, but one particular story made me second-guess my strongbeliefs.

It happened when my mom and I were visiting my nana’s house, whichis over 100 years old and can sometimes look kind of spooky. It was a darkand rainy night, and my family and I were huddled around the fireplace.My uncles showed me a picture of the first owners of the house and told mea story that I would never forget. They said that both of the owners haddied in the house, upstairs in the front bedroom. That was the samebedroom that I always slept in – all by myself.

GHOSTS

That night I went up to go to bed. My mom spent a long time trying tocalm me down and reassure me that everything was fine, and that deadpeople didn’t linger in their old houses, but I wasn’t convinced. When sheturned off the light and left the room, my mind started racing. There werelong spidery shadows on the wall, and a groaning, creaking sound. I wasterrified. I was only six years old and knew that I needed some seriousghost-busting. I screamed as loud as I could for my mom! She came, and wetalked about how shadows from the huge trees outside the window were theculprit, and the stormy night was making them bend and groan, as if theywere alive. I accepted that. Mom calmed me down, and I tried to sleepagain.

As soon as the light went out, and I heard my mom’s footsteps slowlyfade down the hallway, my mind started its tricks once again. This time, Iwas sure I heard heavy breathing. I thought it might be mine because I wasvery scared and my heart was racing – but then, I heard a rumble under mybed. Once again, I screamed for my mom. She came running up the stairs,and as she rushed into the bedroom, I could see that she was more annoyedthan concerned. However, when I asked her to look under the bed, shedidn’t really want to do it. We decided that we’d do it together. So we tooka broom handle and poked it under the bed – only to find our poor,frightened Cocker Spaniel hiding under there.

Mom and I had a good laugh. I thought that maybe she was right andthat ghosts didn’t live in my nana’s house. I settled down to sleep onceagain, but this time I heard noises coming from the attic. I knew that no onewould believe me a third time, so I just took my blanket and snuckdownstairs to find a place to sleep. I don’t remember all the details, but Ido know that I wouldn’t sleep upstairs by myself for at least a year afterthat. I still don’t know what made the noises in the attic, and I can’t believemy nana sleeps in that house every night.

It’s stories like these that make some people believe in life after death.According to a recent poll, 32 percent of Americans believe in theparanormal. That’s a lot. They might be people like me who have hadunexplained traumas, or perhaps there are a lot of people who really havemet strange and unexplained creatures of the night.

Today I don’t believe in any ghosts, except for one. Casper the friendlyghost. I’m sure most people have seen the movie. Casper isn’t scary at all.So, why are the majority of us afraid of ghosts? Maybe we’re afraid of dyingand we like the idea that we will stay around after we pass on. Maybe wefeel that they have something over us. Whatever it is, it gives me chills down

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my spine.If I were a ghost, I wouldn’t want anyone to be afraid of me. I definitely

wouldn’t haunt anyone. I would probably stay in Guelph with my familyand friends. I’d try to have a normal afterlife, whatever that is. I’d want tocontinue my daily life as much as possible by adding a little spice to the livesof my family and friends, by leaving a treat for them once in a while, orhelping them find items that they may have lost. I would hover around themmore as an angel than a ghost.

Speaking of that, isn’t an angel like a ghost? After all, isn’t it all thesame concept: the spirit of a dead person? When people die, do they becomeangels or do they become ghosts? Some people have angel memorabilia, butare terrified of ghosts. Why is that?

Are ghosts forces of good or forces of evil? Do they linger around wherethey died, or travel to wherever they please? Are they even real? Do they allhaunt people – do they even have a choice? Is there a ghost beside every oneof us right now? These are all questions I think of every once in a while. I’dlove to find an answer to them, but the only way I’ll figure it out is if Ibecome a ghost myself. I’m not ready to die just yet. I guess some questionswill have to go unanswered for now.

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by J A N B . L E G A S P I

SCHOOL: St. PaulTEACHER: Brian Cameron


Mark WoermkeUNIT: Ottawa

UNIT PRESIDENT: Elaine McMahon

Secondary Grades 9 and 10Short Story

Iwas never afraid of dying. It wasn’t until my body lay still on thecold, damp soil of battlegrounds that I realized my end wasnearing. The warm feeling of blood flowed onto my hand as I

pressed lightly against my stomach. The sounds of bombs and guns werepounding in my ears. I opened and closed my eyes again and again, hopingall this horror would fade away, but the feeling of drilling sharp pains madeit almost unbearable. Then, ever so briefly, ever so quickly, I was gone.

I awoke with a punch. Although I was no longer in the darkness, orloudness, or agonizing pain, I found myself still lying on the ground. Onlythis time I was lying in the comfort of fresh green grass, and welcomed bythe illuminating glow of sunlight. A strong, deep voice spoke to me. “I toldyou kid, don’t mess with me. Gimme your money, or I give you my knuckle.Take your pick.” Startled, I reached into the pocket of my faded blue jeans.In it was a dollar bill. I quickly pulled it out and looked at the boy oncemore. Memories flooded my mind. I was not the grown man of 30, anymore:I was the scrawny little boy I used to be at age 12. The boy who toweredbefore me was no other than the old school bully, Jonathan.

I recalled all the times when he, along with his posse, would corner andrid me of my lunch money. No one had ever stood up for me, and never didI stand up for myself. This time, however, was different. Fed up withJonathan’s nonsense, I stashed the dollar right back into my pocket, pickedmyself up off the ground, and with a firm voice I told him, “No.”

TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE

“Oh! Little ol’ Peter wants to fight me, now does he?” Jonathan taunted.His friends crowed. Feeling a little misunderstood and agitated, Iresponded, “I don’t want to fight you. Would you, just this once, kindly letme eat my own food?” Jonathan’s grin turned into exasperation.

Without any further eye contact, I tried to brush past him, but with nosurprise, he stepped right in front of me. “Give me that dollar, or else,” hethreatened. I responded to him with only a simple headshake. Suddenly, hepushed me back and poised himself for a wing. I swung my hands over myface to defend myself, but to my surprise his fist never reached me.

The next thing I saw was Jonathan lying on the ground, his face filledwith utter disbelief and embarrassment.

“You go pick on somebody your own size, you jerk!” My sister, Casey,had just taken him down. She had come to my rescue, just in the nick oftime. Being so much taller than Jonathan and his friends, she had managedto scare them all away in a heartbeat. When the coast was clear, she restedher hand on my shoulder. “Peter! Are you okay? Peter? Peter!”

My eyes sprang open. “Peter? Peter!” I was looking into the eyes of afellow soldier, his hand rested on my shoulder. “Hang in there, Peter,” Ithink he said. He then went on to wrapping a long, white bandage aroundmy waist. No matter what he said, or how much bandage he wrappedaround me, the pain would not stop. For the bandage was too tight, almostsuffocating me. I was beginning to feel light headed and delirious. He kepttelling me to hang in there, but once again I was gone.

I jumped out of my seat. The drill of the school bell alarmed me. I foundmyself seated in the back of a classroom, watching as some students walkedout the door, heading out for their next class. I was back in high school. Irecognized my 12th grade teacher erasing whatever was left on thechalkboard. I was 17, a teenager once again – and running late for mathclass!

I stood up and paced to the door, and the next thing I knew…SMACK!I quickly picked myself up from the floor, and apologized to whomever I socarelessly collided with. I looked down at the person, now on her kneespicking up her books. I rushed to my knees, as well. I passed her the lastbook.

She looked up and smiled. “Thank you,” she said. She was definitely themost beautiful girl I had ever seen.

I managed a shy, “No, it’s okay, it was my fault,” stammer.Embarrassed, I shot her a little wave and we began to walk our separate

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ways. Suddenly, she turned around and called out, “Excuse me, I’m newhere and I’m not really sure where my next class is. Can you help me?”Although I was willing and excited to help, I was also extremely nervous.She took out a piece of paper with her time schedule printed on it.Coincidentally, she had math.

On our way to math class, I decided to end the awkward silence. Imanaged to start a conversation.

“I’m Jane,” she quickly responded. She had a strong southernAmerican accent, which I had perceived to be the accent people from Texaswere immune to. “So, where are you from?”

She chuckled. “You must have noticed my accent, right?”I turned red. “Uhh, no, I was just wondering.”“Oh, don’t worry about it. This is about the tenth time this has come up

today,” she joked. “Yes, I moved here from Dallas late in the summer. Myparents just got divorced, and my mom has a lot of people here, so wefigured we’d give California a shot.” I smiled and nodded. Her smile, herlaugh; everything about her intrigued me.

When we finally made it to our class, there were only two vacant seatsleft in the back. Math was usually the one and only class I paid attention to,but the whole time spent in class with Jane consisted only of conversationsabout the most irrelevant and random things. When the bell rang, I walkedher to her next class, and I headed off to Italian. I had never been sodistracted in my life. I knew very well the Italian language, but today I justcouldn’t comprehend a single word the teacher spoke. I just couldn’t getJane, the new girl off of my mind.

“Peter.” The deep voice of my Italian teacher broke my trance. He waswalking towards me from the front of the class. His footsteps started offlight, but gradually turned heavy.

There were more footsteps now, much louder, as well. I could hear therustling of their boots against the dead leaves. It was impossible for me todistinguish whether their voices were the sounds of my fellow men, or thevoices of the enemy. There was just too much fog. I could still feel thetightness of the gauze around my waist, but sensed no more of my fellowsoldier. He probably thought I had passed, so had no choice but to leaveme. As the voices grew louder, and the footsteps grew closer, it was apparentthat they weren’t speaking English. They were speaking clear Italian.Terrified, I laid as still and as lifeless as possible. I closed my eyes.

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“Wake up, Daddy! Wake up! I haven’t flown my kite, yet!” A little boystood before me. “I’m up, I’m up,” I declared. I was taking a little nap ona small grassy hill, after a long, fun game of tag with my five-year-old son,Kyle.

The instant I got up, my son latched onto my hand, and started downthe moderate hill with his kite gripped tightly in his other hand. As wedashed down those grassy hills, I urged Kyle for a few breathers here andthere, but he just laughed and refused. It wasn’t until we heard a familiarvoice calling out to us that we stopped our game. “Peter! Kyle! Lunchtime!”The voice belonged to Jane.

After a couple of minutes, we found Jane with a fully prepared meal ofpeanut butter and jelly sandwiches, lemonade, and all sorts of fruits on ablanket. After a satisfying meal, the three of us laid on the blanketdistinguishing the shapes the clouds formed in the sky. All at once, Kyle satup and asked, “Daddy, why are you leaving tomorrow?” Jane sat up,looked at me, and gave me a nod. I felt a strong sense of guilt andheartache. “I’m just going to be on a little world trip, Kyle.”

“Well, why can’t I come, then?”I opened my mouth, but Jane interrupted. “It’s getting dark; I think it’s

time to go home now. Daddy’s going to be really tired tomorrow, if hedoesn’t get enough sleep.” Kyle whined for a bit, but in the end he gave in.I thought I had dodged a bullet for a while, but on the walk home I couldno longer avoid it. “Daddy, how long will you be away for?” I thought aboutit for a moment. Of course I wasn’t about it break it down that I was headedoff to war, and would have to fight for my life every day during it. Iresponded, “However long I have to be there, Kyle.”

Satisfied with my response, he simply shrugged. “But don’t be too long,’cause you have to help me make a new kite, okay?” At this point, I couldonly assure him with a nod, for I was fighting back persistent tears.

Kyle slept with Jane and me that night. I wanted to spend every possiblewaking second with them. Even though I would be shipped off to Poland inthe morning, along with hundreds and hundreds of brave men, my mindwas only concerned about Jane and Kyle. I couldn’t stand the fear of losingthe two of them forever.

I woke up once more. The sounds of bombs and guns were no more.There were no soldiers in sight, and I felt no more pain. I was no longer inwar. I stood up, and found myself face to face with Casey, Jane and Kyle.They were so clear in sight, but unreachable. There were no tears or

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sorrow. They seemed happy. Suddenly, everything around me started toglow, except for them. I turned around, and a spread of white light stoodbehind me. I wanted so badly to go back to them, but I could not. Aninvisible force seemed to keep me grounded and stationary. I knew andaccepted at that moment that my time had come. I turned for the whitelight, but turned around once more. Their faces still appeared painless, asCasey blew me a kiss and Kyle waved his little hand. I then looked at Jane.Tears sprung down my cheeks as she blew me a kiss, and then gave me anod. I looked at all of them once more, turned around, and was embracedby the white light.

The End.

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I walk through the field.Flowers, Sunlight,Graves.I stop.

The bodies of five soldiers lay beneath me.

Honour.

The graves read,“To those who lost their lives.”

Glory.

My mind races.They did not deserve this.

Dignity.

Machine guns, Shells,Bombs.

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by A N G E L I K A J A N K AC

SCHOOL: Bishop RedingTEACHER: Maryanne ScimeSCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Maureen BujoldUNIT: Halton Secondary

UNIT PRESIDENT: Keith Boyd

Secondary Grades 9 and 10Poem

THE FIELD OF GRAVES

They roar through the skies like a child,Screaming for “Daddy.”

Sacrifice.

Bodies start to fill a pit.One by one,They fall.

One by one,They die.

Death.

And then I wake.Terror invades my body.

The soldiers enduredThe morbid, terrorizing realities of war,

For us.As I fall asleep,

I think of those who fell.Of those who sleep,

In the Field of Graves.

Honour,

Glory,

Sacrifice,

Dignity.

Where they will lie for eternity.

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CHARACTERSJarod: the sixteen-year-old son of Geoffrey, who is the cousin of RichardLionheart. He has dark brown hair, green-grey eyes, and is tall andslender.

Geoffrey: Jarod’s father. He is a well-known captain within Richard’sranks, but is ill with yellow fever.

Ara-Zhadi: the fifteen-year-old daughter of Nasan al-Karim, a militarystrategist and advisor for Saladin in Jerusalem. She has long, black hair,dark, golden-brown eyes and a slim build.

Nasa Al-Karim: Ara-Zhadi’s father. He is very intelligent and logical.However, he is a loving father, and always has his daughter’s bestinterests at heart.

Saladin: the leader of the Muslim army and ruler of Jerusalem. He isloved by his people and determined to keep control of the city.

Richard Lionheart: commander of the Christian force and head of theThird Crusade for the Holy Land. He is certain that his army will be ableto defeat the Muslims and take Jerusalem.

Secondary Grades 9 nd 10Play

SCHOOL: ResurrectionTEACHER: Janet Lienhardt


Anne Charters-KlaverUNIT: Waterloo


by S H A N N O N L O D O E N A N D R AC H E L M C D O N A L D

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WINNING THE WAR

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It is 1190 – the year of the Third Crusade for the Holy City of Jerusalemled by Richard Lionheart against the Muslim leader, Saladin. TheMuslims are currently in control of Jerusalem and have taken upresidence there. Richard Lionheart and his militia plan the city forChrist, and wish to rid the Holy Land of those opposed to Christianity.

SCENE 1 (As Jarod is speaking, the scene he describes is seen.)

Jarod: (narrating from above) We have been riding formany weeks. The scenery has been gradually fadingfrom the green forests and misty fens of my belovedEngland to the dry, dead wastelands of the MiddleEast. Now, stretching for miles around us, all we cansee is rocky, barren ground reaching up to meet thesweltering, cloudless sky. The sun burns us duringthe day; at night, its disappearance nearly causes usto freeze. Sir Richard’s men, including my fatherand his regiment, have begun to feel the toll of thelong journey. My father fell ill barely a day’s ride outof Jerusalem. Our meagre supplies having alreadybeen depleted. Now, as the sun is descending beyondthe stark horizon, we have arrived at our destinationand have begun to set up camp. Extra guards havebeen dispatched to the outskirts of camp to warn usof enemy scouts and raiders sent from the city. Now,it is time to rest my weary bones for the imminentbattle…

SCENE 2 (Ara-Zhadi is seen walking through the cobblestone streets of Jerusalem,making her way swiftly towards the citadel where Saladin’s counsel halland the infirmary are located)

Ara-Zhadi: (narrating from above) … There is no rest for Babanow that Saladin is in constant need of his counsel.The scouts returned from Eastern Wall bearing news

of the Christian host that is now assembled a littleways out from the gates. Baba is sure that they areintent upon capturing our city, especially after theirprevious failed attempt. This time, however, theycome under the command of Richard Lionheart, whois said to be a great and powerful man. I fear thisEnglish man may not be as easy to thwart as the lastfew have been. I wish there was more I could do toassist those in battle, but Baba has ordered me toremain safe within the city, tending to the injuredand wounded. And now, since the scouts have finallyreturned, I must go and prepare the infirmary forthe imminent battle…

(Ara-Zhadi passes Saladin’s chamber where he is discussing battle tacticswith his council. She pauses, hoping to catch any new information fromthe returning scouts)

Scout 1: Sir, we have underestimated the size and strength ofthe Lionheart’s army.

Scout 2: Naam, yes. They come on horseback, with enoughnumbers to match even our own forces. This shall bea battle of wits.

Saladin: (turning to Nasan) Exactly, friend – this is whereyou come into the plan. Collaborate with the scoutsand see if they can provide any useful information. I have a few ideas of my own, but I need a moredetailed battle sketch to make sure they are flawless.

Scout 1: One moment, Saladin. We did not yet mention thefact that one of the Lionheart’s best commanders hasfallen ill.

Saladin: (triumphantly) Perfect! That will greatly lessen theirforces; perhaps even turn the battle in our favour…

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Scout 2: (regretfully) No, I’m afraid there is more. Thecommander’s boy, Jarod, is already of age to replacehis father. He has been receiving training from theLionheart himself, who is his uncle, I have been told.Be wary, for this boy will indeed be a formidablecommander over a very large battalion.

Saladin: (irritated) We can’t have this… I refuse to let a mereboy defeat me! Something must be done to assure hewill not interfere.

Nasan: (pensive) Sir, if I may speak; perhaps, if we were tostop this Jarod from commanding the battalion…

Saladin: (intrigued) And just how do you propose we do sucha thing?

Nasan: Simple. We capture the boy.

(Ara-Zhadi gasps, unable to believe her own father would suggest such adevious plan. However, she hears footsteps coming in her direction, andcomposing herself, hurries along down the corridor)

SCENE 3(Back at the Christian camp, Jarod is receiving the battle plans fromRichard and his father. They are in Geoffrey’s tent, as the captain isbedridden from his illness. Richard is demonstrating the army’s actionswith figurines on a rough map of Jerusalem.)

Richard: (pointing to the Easter Wall) Now remember, Jarod,the main objective of this attack is to capture thelower levels of the city. This means that we will havea two-pronged attack – first from the front, head on,and then secondly closing in from the sides. It ismeant to take the Muslims by surprise, so they willhave no time to react.

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Jarod: What time will we attack, then?

Geoffrey: The best time will be in the morning, just as the sunclears the horizon.

Jarod: (nodding understandingly) Ah, so that the defenderswill be disadvantaged by the sun? If we attack fromthe Eastern Wall, the sun will be at our backs anddirectly in their eyes.

Richard: (approvingly) Yes, Geoffrey, you have indeed taughtthe boy well. Jarod will become a fine officer oneday.

Jarod: (humbly) Thank you, Sir.

Richard: (clapping him on the back) Well, I cannot stay; thereis still much to prepare for! Jarod, I would like youto go see Gavin the smith in the armoury tent lateron – I believe you are still in need of a new mail suit,yes? (Exits with a curt nod to Geoffrey)

Jarod: (solemnly going over to his father’s bedside andsitting on a stool) And what do you think about all ofthis, Father?

Geoffrey: Jarod, you know that fighting is a duty that needs tobe done, whether we like it or not.

Jarod: (startled) Do you not like fighting?

Geoffrey: (shrugging) Over my many years as commander ithas become second nature, akin to breathing, even. I cannot tell if I like it or not; it is a part of me. And so it will become a part of you.

Jarod: (distressed) But what if it doesn’t? What if I fail youand Richard and my men? You must know, Father,there is rather a lot to live up to, being your son.

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Geoffrey: (chuckling) Ah, is that what you fear? Jarod, listen.You will make some mistakes – only God is perfect,and He will guide you through the hardest parts ofbattle.

Jarod: I’m not afraid of killing. Or dying. I don’t want togive my army a death sentence, simply because I aminexperienced. How could I live with that?

Geoffrey: (comfortingly) But those men made the choice tofollow you, Jarod.

Jarod: I didn’t know that!

Geoffrey: Yes, when I became sick, Richard asked them if theywould be willing to fight under your command, andthey agreed. These men respect you and will not holdyou responsible. (Smiling) I would not worry aboutthem.

Jarod: Thank you, Father. I will remember your words.(Standing to go)

Geoffrey: Off to Gavin, now, Son. I will see you tomorrownight.

Jarod: (confused, uneasy) But, Father, won’t I see youbefore the battle?

Geoffrey: (sadly) No, Jarod. You will need to stay with yourmen tomorrow, and there will be little time toconverse.

Jarod: As you wish. Good-bye, Father. (At the door)

Geoffrey: (whispering) Good luck, Jarod.

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SCENE 4(Ara-Zhadi is summoned to Nasal Al-Karim’s chamber. She enters quietlyto find him at his desk, an array of compasses, maps and papers strewnabout the table. He is working furiously, but looks up when she enters)

Ara-Zhadi: Good evening, Baba.

Nasan: Ah, Ara-Zhadi. I hope I did not wake you?

Ara-Zhadi: No, Baba, I was merely preparing the infirmary fortomorrow.

Nasan: (distractedly) Good, good… I summoned youbecause I wished to speak with you privately about amatter that concerns tomorrow’s battle.

Ara-Zhadi: (moving closer, intrigued) Yes, what is it I can do?

Nasan: It is said that there is a boy by the name of Jarodwho has inherited his father’s army, and is now incommand of one of the most powerful regiments inthe English force. Tomorrow, we intend to capturethe boy and hold him captive in Jerusalem.

Ara-Zhadi: (pretending to be surprised) But why? What can oneboy possibly do?

Nasan: (edgy) It seems you do not understand. This boycould perhaps lead to the destruction of our city, andthe downfall of the greatest Muslim leader of all time,Saladin! This cannot and will not happen. That iswhy you will be tending to him whilst he is confinedhere.

Ara-Zhadi: (truly shocked) What? How can I possibly do such athing? It is barbaric.

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Nasan: But so is war. We must do what we can to win. AndSaladin has declared we do this. (Pause) So will youdo it?

Ara-Zhadi: (bitterly) Do I have a choice?

SCENE 5(The Christians are standing assembled outside the Eastern Wall, waitingfor the signal from Richard to commence the attack. Everyone is suited intheir finest armour, and anxious to use their newly-sharpened swords. Onthe other wall, concealed from view, are Jarod and his men. They willwait until a second signal before sneaking through the side gates.)

Jarod: (narrating from above) I squint as the first rays ofsunlight reflect off the sea of soldiers’ helmets infront of me. My body is tensed and ready for theattack, yet still I feel unprepared. In my mind, I rehearse and recall everything Richard and Fatherhave ever taught me, from my sword swing to howbest to infiltrate a guarded building. I look round tosee Richard give a wave of the British flag: the firstsignal. I am poised and alert, although I know themoment I await will not come for some time. In thedistance, I see the first wave of soldiers reach theWall. In retaliation, a line of Muslim soldiers appearupon the battlements, and the struggle begins. How long it lasts, I cannot say; it feels like a lifetimelater that Richard, who is still sitting astride hishorse observing the battle from the hillside, gives usthe signal to advance. With a nod to my men, I stepforwards, carefully skirting the high stone walls. The sounds of battle drift down from the rampartsabove our heads: the clash of metal on metal,whistling arrows, and, most chilling, the screams of the dying…

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(Jarod and his men advance towards a broken-down section of the walland slip into a side street. Jarod, who is leading the soldiers, sees severalenemy attackers and issues directions to his own regiment.)

Jarod: (raised voice) Thomas, take your half of the men andengage the opposition. Once you have defeated them,meet us in the side courtyard. Daniel, you and therest will come with me and we will continue ourrounds to secure the lower levels.

Thomas: (saluting) Yes, Captain. (Gathers men and hurriestowards the Muslim soldiers)

Jarod: (turning back to the others) Come now, Daniel, wemust make haste!

(Jarod and Daniel proceed along the streets)

Jarod: (to himself) Something seems… off. Why aren’t weseeing any Muslims? Surely Saladin would not sendall his men to the East gates. But then… where arethey?

(Muslim soldiers suddenly emerge from the shadows and surroundingbuildings, taking Jarod’s men completely by surprise. They greatlyoutnumber the Christians, and seem to have been spying on them forquite some time.)

Jarod: (yelling in a panic) Hold your positions! Do notretreat, I say! Do not retreat!

Daniel: (shouting) But Jarod, we cannot hold them off!There are too many!

Jarod: (angrily) Do as I say, Soldier. (Lowering his head, tohimself) Is this wrong? Am I asking too much?

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(Jarod is suddenly knocked off his feet and crashes to the cobblestoneroad. Before he can shout, he is gagged and a sack is thrown over hishead. He tries to struggle free, but whoever holds him captive is toostrong. Jarod blindly reaches for his sword, forcing the soldier to releasehis hold. Suddenly, he is struck on the side of the head by a heavy force,knocking him unconscious as the battle rages on around him…)

SCENE 6 (Jarod is sleeping in a small stone chamber, sunlight shining in from thesole window. He is in the citadel, held captive in a turret that overlooksthe main courtyard. There are guards stationed outside the door toprevent escape, and Ara-Zhadi has been tending to him since battle.)

Ara-Zhadi: (narrating from above) I watch him as he sleeps,growing more anxious with every passing hour hefails to wake. It has been three days since his captureduring the battle at the Eastern gate. I care for himnonetheless, reporting his status to my father eachnight. His dreams do not seem peaceful, for his sleepis often restless and fitful. Still, I await the momentwhen his eyes will open…

Jarod: (narrating from above) …My eyes open. I glimpsemy surroundings, at once noticing how foreign theyappear to be after the many months of tents anddesert. I struggle to remember how I ended up here,but there is a blank space where my memory of thebattle should be. The battle. I try to sit up, but myhead spins and I slump back once again. I turn myhead and catch sight of an astonishingly beautifulgirl, sleeping in a chair in the corner of the room.Instantly, I chastise myself for this first observation.She is a Muslim. And I am a Christian. Besides, itwas the cursed Muslims in the first place whobrought me here. I pity the girl; for when she wakes,I will bombard her with every question I can thinkof. Where am I? Who are you? Why did you do this?

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(Ara-Zhadi’s eyes open, and she smiles hen she sees Jarod is awake.However, he merely glares at her and turns away to face the oppositewall.)

Ara-Zhadi: (tentatively) You are awake.

Jarod: (bitingly) Obviously. And so, it seems, are you.

Ara-Zhadi: (anxiously) How do you feel?

Jarod: (sardonically) Oh, wondrous. How do you think Ifeel? I have just been captured by my enemies, andnow my men have no captain.

Ara-Zhadi: (apologetically) Well, really, Briska didn’t mean tostrike you so hard; only enough to disarm you for anhour or two –

Jarod: Wait. You planned to capture me? (Angry withhimself for not realizing this earlier) Why?(Mockingly) Was Saladin afraid of a mere boy like me?

Ara-Zhadi: (defensively) Saladin is fearless. He only wished toassure his victory over you Christians.

Jarod: (gasps) The battle! My Lord, how could I everforget? Who won?

Ara-Zhadi: No one, really; we still have control of the citadel,whilst you have only the lower levels of the city.(Adds boastfully) And Jerusalem is a big city.

Jarod: But we are a big army. The Christians will have it in no time.

Ara-Zhadi: Oh, we shall see, Jarod.

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Jarod: (suspiciously) How do you know my name? How longhave you Muslims been watching us?

Ara-Zhadi: I wouldn’t tell you, even if I could; but if it helps,I’m Ara-Zhadi.

Jarod: (with a small smile) Surprisingly, it does.

SCENE 7(It has been seven days since Jarod’s capture. During this time, Jarodand Ara-Zhadi have begun to develop a simple understanding of oneanother, and have formed a tentative friendship.)

Jarod: (narrating from above, pensive) I don’t know whyI’m even friends with this girl. We are worlds apart:she is Muslim, and I am Christian. Yet we still sharean odd sort of understanding, an unspoken truce. Inour conversations, we speak of many things: ourhomelands, so different, yet so similar; our families;even the war raging outside these walls. It is hard tofathom that people are fighting and dying within thisvery city, whilst we sit and speak of trivialities. I have found my opinions about war are changing.Truthfully, my opinions about everything arechanging. How does one girl have the power tochange something that has been taught to me all mylife?

Ara-Zhadi: (narrating from above) My ideas about everythingare changing faster than the many currents of thewind. It feels like one minute I know everything, andthe next, nothing. It is Jarod that is doing this to me!So many new worlds have been opened by the arrivalof an outsider, no less. He has shared his knowledgewith me, and for that I am grateful. I think. I am notsure I want the responsibility of choosing what I want to believe. All my life, it has been “do this” or

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“do that” – no options for a girl to choose from. Foronce, I find myself wondering about the God that theChristians speak of, wonder if he is as great as ourAllah.

(Jarod is sitting alone in his room on his bed pondering the next attack of the Christians as well as how his father’s illness is progressing, whistAra-Zhadi is at a council discussing the latest news from the scouts. She returns looking grave and serious. Immediately, Jarod sensessomething is wrong.)

Jarod: (concerned) What is it that troubles you so, Ara? (Teasingly, mockingly) Have the Christians won,already?

Ara-Zhadi: (grimly) The scouts have just arrived bearing newsfrom your camps.

Jarod: (wonderingly) How do you get into our camps,anyway? Are we really that easy to infiltrate?

Ara-Zhadi: (ignoring his question) The yellow fever is spreading. Many of your soldiers have fallen ill, and –

Jarod: (cutting in) And why should that bother you?Doesn’t Saladin want us to die?

Ara-Zhadi: Not only the Christians have been affected, youknow. Many of our citizens are plagued, as well. Oursupplies are short as it is; I do not think we can lastthrough an epidemic.

Jarod: (quietly) My father has yellow fever. Geoffrey. Hewas captain before me.

Ara-Zhadi: I’m terribly sorry to hear this. But I regret evenmore the news I bring.

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Jarod: (with trepidation) What is it?

Ara-Zhadi: (hesitantly) Well, it’s not that bad for us, but yourcommander, Richard Lionheart, has fallen gravely illwith the disease, as well.

Jarod: (gasps and leaps from his bed) No! Surely not! (Ara-Zhadi nods in regretful confirmation andJarod sinks back, putting his head in his hands) He is like a second father to me. Who will I haveonce they are both gone?

Ara-Zhadi: Some of the Muslim captains are rallying; theybelieve with Richard ill, we will have the greaterchance of victory.

Jarod: (bitterly) So war is all that matters now.

Ara-Zhadi: But is it not the same for you? Surely, your objectivewas first to wrest Jerusalem from our hold, withouttrying to negotiate or make a treaty. To youCrusaders, war was the only answer.

Jarod: For some, yes. For others, not so much…

Ara-Zhadi: (curiously) What do you mean?

Jarod: (sighing) You have never been responsible for thelives of others, I gather. You could not possiblyunderstand.

Ara-Zhadi: At least you have had the privilege of makingdecisions for yourself in your life. My religion andculture leaves no room for choice.

Jarod: (smiling) It appears we are both trapped in situationswe would rather avoid. You are imprisoned bysociety. I am imprisoned by duty.

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Ara-Zhadi: (confused) But I thought you liked being a captain.

Jarod: So did I. But things change. People change.

Ara-Zhadi: They always do.

(Share a smile)

SCENE 8(Saladin and Nasan are sitting in Saladin’s council chamber. They aresurrounded by the army captains, and all are anxiously awaiting thearrival of Richard’s messengers, who have come with an urgent request.There is a knock on the door and two men enter bearing a scroll.)

Saladin: (authoritatively) Greetings from Salah al-Din Yusuf.You have come to us for aid, and we will give youaudience, as I commanded by our faith. Speakquickly, for you have only a short time.

Messenger 1: Many thanks. We come in a time of great need.

Messemger 2: As you may know, the yellow fever has devastatedour troupes already, which has lessened our appetitefor battle. Richard Lionheart has succumbed, aswell, and is now bedridden. We are still prepared tofight for him, if need be. However, we are also opento negotiate.

Muslim Captain: (angrily) Negotiate? Why are you troubling us withthis news? What concern is it of ours, after what youhave done to this holy city?

Saladin: (raising a hand to silence him) Hush now, Habib.(Captain retreats, abashed) Forgive his words,brothers. He sometimes forgets what our religiondictates we must do.

Messenger 1: (apprehensively) And what, pray tell, may that be?

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Saladin: (looking pointedly at the captain) That every manmust help his neighbour when they are in times ofneed. And I believe this is one of those times.

Muslim Captain: (unable to remain silent any longer, bursting out)But Sir, they are not even Muslim! They do not knowour ways, they worship foreign gods; they are notworthy of your kindness.

Saladin: (angrily) Silence! You forget your place. (Turning tomessengers) All I can say is I would hope to receivethe same treatment if I were in your position. We will help you, on one condition.

Messenger 2: Name your price.

Saladin: You must cease your attack at once upon our holycity. However, we recognize that Jerusalem is asacred place for many; therefore, we permit you toremain here, as long as we may live peacefullytogether.

Messenger 1: That is indeed heartening news; however, we intend toreturn home with no further combat, once Richard is wellagain.

Saladin: (nodding) Very well. It will be done.

Messenger 2: (hesitantly, not wishing to cause offense) We are very grateful, Saladin, but we have one more request. Theboy.

Saladin: (knowingly) Ah. The boy.

Messenger 2: Since we do not plan to attack further, withholding the boywill not be of any benefit to you. Besides, his father wishesto speak with him, perhaps for the last time. You see, theyellow fever has him, as well.

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Saladin: We are sympathetic to your needs. The boy will bereleased when we send the medical supplies.

Messenger 1: (bowing as he exits) That is greatly appreciated; wewill hold you to your word.

Saladin: (smiling) And I to yours.

SCENE 9(Nasan-Al-Karim is aiding Ara-Zhadi a she prepares the medicine to betaken to Richard. Jarod is eagerly awaiting his departure, as he has notleft the citadel for many days now. He is anxious to see his father and toreturn to his men.)

Nasan: Daughter, I am very proud of you for taking care ofthe boy for so long. You did well.

Ara-Zhadi: Thank you, Baba. It was not difficult; (smiling) I thought it rather enlightening, in fact.

Nasan: (puzzled) That is well, Ara-Zhadi. It seems you have everything under control; let me go summonthe boy.

(Nasan leaves. Jarod enters a minute later, apparently unaware thatNasan is searching for him. There is a short pause.)

Ara-Zhadi: I guess this is it, then.

Jarod: (despondently) I suppose it is. Now I will go back tothe camp, and you….

Ara-Zhadi: I will stay here.

(Sad pause as they realize this is truly good-bye. Jarod had not realizedhow good of friends they had become until this moment.)

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Jarod: I will not forget you, you know. My routines anddays will return to normal, but my perspective andthoughts will never really be the same. Thank you.

Ara-Zhadi: The same is true for me; you are a very interestingcaptive. (Smiling) For a Crusader.

Jarod: And you are a very interesting captor. (Returningher smile) For a girl.

(Last pause. Finally, Ara-Zhadi rushes forward and embraces Jarod.Jarod is at first taken aback, but then returns the gesture withgratitude.)

Jarod: I never thought I would say this – Ara, you are atrue friend.

Ara-Zhadi: (tears rolling down her cheek) And you, as well,Jarod.

(Nasan enters, just as the two break apart.)

Nasan: (oblivious) Are you ready to depart, Jarod?

Jarod: (turning to Nasan) I believe I am.

(Nasan hands Jarod the supply pack and ushers him to the guardswaiting to escort him back to the Christian camp, which has retreatedoutside the city limits. Jarod turns back and waves to Ara-Zhadi, as heturns the corner and disappears from sight.)

Ara-Zhadi: (narrating from above) I watch as he disappearsfrom my sight and cannot help but shed a tear forthe boy who has become my friend. I did not take onthis task willingly; however, I now realize itssignificance. My many hours of conversation haveopened my eyes to the world around me, and to allthe different people within it. He has shown me we

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are all much alike, although we do not appear so onthe surface. The fighting has ceased, and for now,we can all live in peace. Muslims have the city – butit is still a holy place for all.

Jarod: (narrating from above) I wonder if she is watching as we ride out, is she thinking about me as I am ofher. She changed my views on everything, and forthe better. War is not always about fighting anddeath, but about the fact that we are willing to standup for a cause in which we believe. She has herfaith, and I have mine. I cannot change it, but I canrespect it. And that is enough. The lights ofJerusalem fade into the background, as theChristian army retreats once more into the desert.Although the city belongs to Muslims, I feel in myheart that we are victorious, as well.

(The night fades to blackness as the stars of the desert shine overhead in the inky sky. All is quiet.)

Together: The war is won.

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73

by D I N O D ’ A N D R E A

SCHOOL: Catholic Central TEACHER: Eleonora Csepregi


Joe SiscoUNIT: Windsor-Essex Secondary

UNIT PRESIDENT: Brian Hogan

Secondary Grades 9 and 10Nonfiction

TYPES OF PARAGRAPHS:

DESCRIPTIVE PARAGRAHThe soft glow of a supple, black Italian leather sectional immediatelycaptured my attention as I entered the room. It was a stark contrast againstthe cold, beige porcelain tiles upon which it sat. It leaned against theneutral coloured wall, which soaked up the rays of incandescent light thatshone down from a ceiling embedded with pot lights. I could feel the radiantwarmth of a natural gas fireplace against my back. Tucked in the cornerwas a mammoth LCD television mounted to the wall. An antique brass-finish lamp arched from the opposite corner, stretching its neck over amatching love-seat, almost beckoning me to sink my weary body into thesoft leather with a remote control in my hand.

NARRATIVE PARAGRAPHIt was a sweltering summer day of typical Windsor weather – hot, hazy,humid. In an attempt to escape the pounding sun, my little brother soughtshelter in the comfort of the air-conditioned living room. Of course, havingjust filled a balloon full of water, he could not resist the temptation ofbringing the water balloon into the house with him. He was so proud of hisaccomplishment, having stretched the latex balloon to its outer limits. As he

WRITING PARAGRAPHS

entered the room cradling his water balloon like a baby, his wet andslippery hands lost grip of the slick latex. With a splash, the balloon burst,spilling its contents all over my mother’s new black Italian leather sofa.Fearing his mother’s scorn, my little brother scampered back outside toface the sweltering summer heat, as if running would cause his mess todisappear.

COMPARING/CONTRASTING PARAGRAPHMy living room is a peaceful place for rest and relaxation. However, mykitchen is a busy and active place full of commotion and activity. Of course,our kitchen attracts family and friends drawn by the aroma of homemadeItalian cuisine. Instead, in the living room I am drawn to the peacefulnessof my surroundings where I can drown myself in solitude if I wish. Likewise,I can escape reality here with a good movie or gentle background musicfrom my stereo. Besides, it is so peaceful here that its solitude often puts meto sleep. Both rooms can be satisfying. The kitchen can fill an emptystomach. Likewise, the living room can recharge your spirit after a hecticday’s work. Both are a place of interaction; however, the kitchen is a placeto discuss and debate events of the day, whereas the living room is more aplace of quiet reflection. Often, the living room is a place of one-wayinteraction with the television.

OPINION/PERSUASIVE PARAGRAPHIn my opinion, the décor and organization of one’s living room speaksvolumes about a person. For example, it is a reflection of a person’s styleand taste. In fact, crisp, bright colours and modern décor point to a personwith a flare for fashion. More importantly, a well-organized living room isa reflection of a well-organized mind. On the other hand, if the room ischaotic and disorderly, this is the mark of insanity. For instance, whendisorder is evident in the room, this is an obvious sign of loss of control inone’s life. In fact, those friends of mine whom I visit that live in such adisorderly state are generally disorganized themselves. Truly there is somecorrelation because their lives are out of control, too. Living rooms that aresimple and uncluttered reflect that state of mind. Furniture arranged injust the right position, with the right balance of fabrics and colours areinviting. For this reason, I am drawn to such living rooms, and as a resultI feel comfortable and uncluttered in thought.

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CAUSE/EFFECT PARAGRAPHEvery time I take a seat upon my monstrous living room sofa, I find myselfgravitating towards the far left corner of the one-piece sectional, as if therewere some sort of black hole. This is the result of years of abuse fromcountless numbers of people who all chose to sit in one particular favouritepart of the sofa – the far left corner. Consequently, the cushion slowly beganto give way and flatten. This collapsed region of sofa has created adownward slope, which acts as a slide when you are trying to sitcomfortably and watch television. The fact that the sofa is made of smoothleather only adds to the annoyance. Although, in trying to understand thisproblem, one might ask why the far left corner is such a popular spot. Thereason is in the way that the furniture is arranged. By sitting in the far leftcorner of the sofa, you have a direct view of the television fixed in thecorner of the room. Also, the far left corner is the most comfortable placeto sit because it gives your back the perfect support (even though thecushion may be flat). I have given up on the struggle of leveling out the sofa.Therefore, every time I go to sit, I just relax and enjoy the ride.

EXPLANATORY/INSTRUCTIVE PARAGRAPHThe proper procedure for cleaning the living room is poorly understood bymany. First, it is necessary to assess the condition of the room. Begin byputting everything back in its place. Everything – magazines, toys, coffeecups, pillows and blankets – must have a place of its own. Using coasters forthe heavier items, roll them aside so that the larger dust-balls can bemanually removed with a damp mop. Next, locate the central vacuum,connect the hose to the power-head and run it along the floor andbaseboards. Reposition the larger pieces of furniture now that the floor hasbeen cleaned. Next, a damp cloth can be used to remove dust from thetelevision and coffee table. Glass cleaner and furniture polish will completethis task. Next, leather cleaner can be applied to the leather sofas. Inaddition, it may be necessary to beat the rug along with the pillows outsideto remove excess dust and debris. Finally, scan the living room area for anyother misplaced items or areas requiring special attention, such aselectronic devices. Once the area meets your criteria of cleanliness, sit backand relax.

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76

by E LYS I A M A L U D Z I N S K I

SCHOOL: Sacred HeartTEACHER: Susan Tourigny


Brian BoggsUNIT: Ottawa



They had insisted I come. If it had been any other way, the scene Inow observed would have continued without me. It was notdifficult to imagine, no one would have noticed if the skinny girl

standing at the edge of the parking lot were missing. I gulped back thegrowing lump in my throat and clung tighter to the towel, which was tuckedneatly under my arm. It was itchy and unfamiliar on my bare skin.

“Cummon!” Kim had grabbed my arm, dragging me towards the sand.I dug my heels into the pavement, ignoring the pain that flew up into mycalves. “The water is beautiful!” she said, letting go of my arm and stoppingto examine my hesitant expression. “Come on, Sara!”

“I need to warm up,” I mumbled. “I can’t swim unless I’m warm.” Ieven threw in a shiver to add to the effect.

Kim rolled her eyes. “Grab the bench, then, will you?” She looked fromme to the girls who had unloaded from our SUV and were now testing thewater with their toes. “Just…” She seemed to consider continuing, and Ibraced myself subconsciously. “Don’t be a downer, alright?” She cast aworried glance at her friends, then turned back to me, whispering now.“I’m going out on a limb inviting you.”

“I know.”She smiled, her brilliant white teeth blinding in the sunlight. “Look at

those waves!” She chirped. “I wonder if the surfers will be out…”I could still hear her quiet musings as she left me standing at the edge of

BEACHES

the sand to go and meet her friends, who had now proceeded to drag oneanother into the water. Their shrill laughs filled the air, adding to thechorus of families also enjoying the waves.

I studied the thin line between the pavement and the sand. I could seewhere the grains had trickled over into the cracks in the asphalt. See, itisn’t that bad, I thought to myself. I could do this. I took one unsure steponto the sand, gasping as it scorched the pads of my feet. Soon I wasrunning with an awkward twitch, bee-lining my way toward the bench Kimhad pointed out earlier.

Brushing my hair from my eyes, I dropped the horrible towel onto thewooden surface and took a seat, lifting one foot to examine the underside ofit. Relieved to see that my skin was still intact, I relaxed a bit. I had neverimagined sand could be so hot and sat cross-legged on the bench, so that myfeet wouldn’t have to undergo the continuous torture. It was the kind ofheat your skin never got used to, no matter how determined you were toendure.

It was difficult to be the new kid, but it was a role I had often played. Itwas one I had mastered, every line perfectly memorized. Yes, my name isSara. I could see myself vividly saying, like a bad rerun. Yes, my accent isfunny. It had been weird, moving to a trailer park in Florida. I’d alwaysimagined that the big houses were closest to the coast. Clearly I had beenwrong.

After that day, however, my family had never been settled. Neverwhole…

Of course, Kim had decided almost immediately to take me under herwing. Sometimes I wished she hadn’t, but I was grateful for a friend. It hadbeen such a long time since…

I let the thought trail off, remembering how Kim had insisted I come tothe beach with them this weekend. I remembered my throat clogging at theidea, sweat dripping down my back at the thought. “I can’t.” The answerhad been too quick.

Kim had looked hurt. “Why not?”“I don’t swim.” My stomach was churning, I was going to be sick. I

could feel the clammy perspiration on my forehead.“You live in Florida,” Kim said, matter-of-factly. “Time to learn.”“I’d rather not…” I cast my eyes downward. The air was growing thick.

I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning in it.“Don’t be silly.” Kim was frowning at me now. She was trying to

decipher me, like I was some sort of mystery. “Come.”

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My parents had been just as hesitant as me, but at last my father hadspoken up. His eyes were tired and weary, deep shadows cast under them,making him appear hollow. “It’s time the girl moved on,” he said, his tonebleak. “We all have to move on.” His hollow eyes met mine. “We can’t keepliving in the past.”

Guilt had flowed through me in a cold wave. My heart threatened to ripfrom my chest. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.

Moved on. The words left a sour taste in my mouth. So now, here I was,stuck on the beach for the entire day. I watched as the girls continued tosplash each other. Kim cast an expectant look my way every few minutes,and I attempted to avoid eye contact.

The waves pounded with the rhythm of my heart as the tide draggeditself inwards. As the shores turned white from the foam of the crashingwaters, my memory began to venture, bringing me back to a day I longed toforget.

It had been too cold to swim. Far too cold. Still, Freddy had insistedthat I take him down to the shore to play in the waves. I had agreed, thoughmy brother’s happiness was not high on my list of priorities. I allowed himto hold my hand as we walked toward the beach, slightly nauseated by thestickiness of his tiny palm. The sky was overcast, and I could not imaginewhy he would choose such a day to insist on swimming.

I stopped at the edge of the sand, my eyes fixed on the lifeguard chair. Ismiled to myself, patting Freddy on the top of the head as he tugged on mysweater. “Sara!” he whined. “Sara! I want to go play.”

A set of eyes met mine from the lifeguard’s chair, and I quickly droppedmy eyes to examining the thin line where the pavement met sand. Freddytook the opportunity to grab my chin. Normally, the kid only came up to mywaist, but as he pulled me into a crouch, he seemed like more of a youngman. He was only 6, but still, his eyes seemed to be coloured with a wisdomI seldom saw in my own teachers. “I’m going to swim,” he informed me.“Watch me.”

“Alright,” I promised. “I’ll be right here.”It was not long before my eyes were once more pulled from my brother,

who was splashing in no more than knee deep waves. The muscled, definedarms and strong back perched on the white chair drew my gaze like amagnetic pull. His hair was messy and straw coloured. Kyle. I had talked tohim once…in passing. Your brother is cute, he’d said. I see him here often.

I had been unsure of how to respond, and unsure if I was even capableof forming words. They came out as more of a gurgle. “He’s a fish.”

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“Sara!” I could hear Freddy calling me. “Sara! You aren’t watching!” I waved him off. He would survive. He was a smart kid.“Why are you not in the water?” Kim’s voice pulled me from my reverie.

I did not have time to protest before she and the other girls had begundragging me towards the waves. The sand scorched my feet, the dreadburning in my chest.

“No!” I wailed. Oh God, no! Please!The waves were drawing nearer…Kyle had stood abruptly, his powerful shoulders squared. His angular

jaw was tight, his expression urgent. He grabbed his life raft in such a swiftmovement, I had barely seen him reach out. Before I knew it, I waswatching him sprint towards the waves, his legs pumping rhythmicallybeneath him. He dove into the water and out of sight.

With the distraction absent, my eyes seemed to be released from hismagnetic hold. I returned my gaze to my brother, who was nowhere in sight.“Freddy?” I searched the shore, as he had a tendency to wander. “Freddy!”

He was nowhere to be seen.My voice cracked as I screamed out his name, my heart leaping.

“Freddy!” Oh God, no! My silent prayer was overpowered by the deafeningroar of the surf. My eyes searched the water, landing on the lifeguard – nownameless in my dread – and his red life raft. He was paddling towardsshore, a tiny form propped above water in his arms. The wind whipped myhair against my cheek, blurring the scene before me. The salt coated myskin with a sticky film. I could taste the metallic fear on my tongue, itclotted my lungs, choking me.

“It’ll be fun!” Kim screeched. “Throw her in!” She smiled at me. “Don’tworry, Sara, we’ll teach you how to swim.”

“Didn’t he know how to swim?” Kyle was hollering at me in betweencompressions. Tears streamed down my face, my cell phone dropped intothe sand at my feet after making the vital call. My shaking hands could nothold it. I dropped to my knees beside my brother’s lifeless form, pulling hishand into mine. It was an icy blue, and cold to the touch. He should havebeen shivering. He should have been begging me for my sweater. His fingerswere limp in mine. I pressed my forehead onto the back of his hand, mywarm tears spilling onto it.

Wake up, Freddy, wake up…“Sara?” Kim’s voice felt far away. “Sara? Don’t be afraid, it’s only

water.”

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He slouched at his desk, The pen shook in his hand,

In front of him, the pure white vastpiece of paper grew larger by the minute.

A single candle’s flame flickered,Bouncing fire off his hair,

dancing with his lonely shadows.

His foot jittered, fending off the hours of idleness,

begging the chair to do something other than “creak.”It didn’t.

The silence teased his lack of words, the emptiness laughed at his lack of cause.

But he could only respond with that “creak.”

He wanted to capture picturesque worlds,not with pictures, but words.

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by R E B E K A H B RU C E

SCHOOL: Holy TrinityTEACHER: Vincent O’Brien


Joe MainolfiUNIT: Simcoe Muskoka Secondary

UNIT PRESIDENT: Michele MacDonald


WRITER’S BLOCK

He wanted records of his dreams,not on records, but on pages.

He wanted to write his own story. Make his own mistakes,

erase them, and start anew.

He wanted to underline the good, or blot the bad with tears.

Draw hearts around the names, and dot the i’s with stars…

Because only he’d know it was there.

He wanted to turn that naked silence(punctuated by “creaks”)

Into a story, starting with one page, and ending with a thousand.

Into a poem, illustrating each word withsignificance and life.

He wanted to accompany that slow, lonely, rhythmic creak,with furious scratching of his pen…

He knew that one word would start it all, but he just couldn’t find it.

In frustration, he crushed the pages between his palms,

then sent them flying across the room,just to envy their freedom in flight.

Inspiration hit.An idea grew.

He took a single sheet of paper. And laid it on the table,

freezing for a second, afraid to scar that flawless, white surface with the permanent blue ink.

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But it drew him in, waiting for his mark. Slowly, he paired the tip of the pen with his story’s beginning…

And he wrote.

He wrote from his past. He wrote about his present.

He wrote for his future.He wrote from his heart.

One last time he crumpled the paper into a ball,cradled it in his hand,

then sent it sailing through the air.

He watched his dreams take flight.

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83

by T H O M A S S L A B O N

SCHOOL: St. Mary’s TEACHER: Jon Zagaja


Mark DevlinUNIT: Waterloo


Secondary Grades 11 and 12Play

SCENE ONEA group of youth rests together under a weeping willow tree set at thecenter of the stage. The group is joined by an old man (Tiresias).

Tiresias: Oh hearts of youth, I envy youAs Adam longed for Eden’s song,For I, like you, thought love was true.But now the years have passed alongAnd my youthful naivetéHas faded, while my heart beats strong.Although it’s said humilityAnd humble recollections areThe wet-nurse of senility,Indulge me, you whose ends are farThough I am old, my candle dim,My life a twinkling, faded star,My mind still sings a vernal hymn.

A young woman (Deianira) rises from the group to address Tiresias.

THE WILLOW TREE

Deianiraa: And we, who still enjoy life’s spring,With wealth of hope and untried limb,Will listen as newborn birds sing –As yet unable to take flight,As yet untouched by winter’s sting.

Tiresias: You poor hatchlings, behold the mightOf torment in the guise of hope,The echo of Pandora’s plight.Forman, that mystic misanthrope,Consumed by Atlas’ own hateWill lurch through life as blind men grope;We cannot see our only fateIs loneliness without relent.Like animals we lie in waitFor love – our self-induced lament –The nymph we chase through shaded wood –The Siren’s song.

Deianira: Please don’t resentThis interruption – if we could,We’d listen ‘til the summer’s endBut time grows short and we soon shouldReturn to hearth and home.

Tiresias: And spendYour life in blissful ignorance?It is your choice, but in Eden,If Eve had shared your same hindrance,Where would we – without truth – now be?So disobey the ordinanceYou’ve set yourselves, and stay with meUntil Apollo’s chariotRejoins the sky by God’s decree.

Deianira; You speak the truth – we shall forgetThe call of home beneath the shadeOf willow trees, to thus abetYour urge to sing life’s serenadeSo long before the curtain call.

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Tiresias: The night is young, the fire’s made.Behold the trees embracing fall,And see in them the presagingOf shadows that will soon enthrallWith tales of two hearts once raging.

SCENE TWOScene begins in the middle of the night, with the moon casting a faintglow over the stage. Tiresias sits, surrounded by youth, in a circle around a fire to the right of the willow tree.

Tiresias: My friends, do you see in these flamesThe same torture and agonyThat once befell God’s servant James?Reborn through his own tragedyI wandered long upon his wayIn penance for the melodyI sang in life. You, too, will payA price one day in recompenseWhen you, like Adam, disobeyThe laws of God that Moses hence-Forth carved in stone and hearts of men.But I digress, and shall commenceThe stories that, time and again,Rain tears and pain in tempest downUpon my heart – that barren glenLeft dead by a black wedding gown,The tale of which I now must tell.

Two figures – a male and female – clad entirely in grey emerge from theaudience, slowly walking onto center stage to stand under the willow.

Deianira: Why wear you not a worried frownAt these specters who now compelSuch fearful loathing from my friends?I see in them the face of hellFor in their gaze the thought impendsThat life is hopeless loneliness

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And love the spawn that Satan sends.Do you not feel the same darknessConscripting spirit, mind and soul,Decrying hope as wastefulness,Now daring us to face the wholeOf life as they envision it –A rotting and condemned Maypole?

Tiresias: Why do you sound so desperate?These wraiths you fear are but shadowsOf words and tomes that Fate has writUpon my soul. Beware not those Who mean no harm to anyoneBut me for paths that I have chose.

Deianira: Oh were have you, most holy sun,Fled to tonight, leaving me here –No shield but Luna’s candle dunTo guard me from their eyes that spearMy heart as if they wish to pareAway my mortal skin and peerWithin my very soul.

Tiresias: NightmareIndeed these ashen creatures beBut fall ye not unto despair,As they have eyes for none but me.You see, the fairer specter longAgo naively did agreeTo be my wife. Our blood ran strongAnd thence was born, from sacred love,My son – whose first verse of life’s songBecame his coda, called aboveBy choirs sweeter than this earthShall ever hear – but death’s sweet doveContents him not. Does Hell feel mirthAt taunting me with this depraved –Hellish – pantomimic rebirthOf my dear son?

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Deianira: You mean engravedUpon these daemons’ souls is your Adoration?

Tiresias: They could be saved!The shades you piously abhor Could angels be!

Tiresias leaves the circle around the fire, running to join the phantasmsbeneath the willow. A rainstorm begins, extinguishing the fire.

Tiresias: I love you – missYou with…

Deianira: Come back! Heaven’s sole doorIs oft confused with Hell’s abyss.

As Deianira attempts to pursue Tiresias, the willow tree is struck bylightning. Scene closes as the stage is engulfed with smoke and Tiresias is embraced by the two phantasms.

SCENE THREEDeianira and youth awake at the foot of an ashen stump – all thatremains of the willow tree.

Deianira: There are his clothes – but where is heWho danced with ghosts inside his heart?Perhaps his fate was like this tree,And yet his clothes did not departBut lie here still, seemingly leftIn peace, long after rain did startTo calm the flames. I am bereftOf any way to here explainWhat has transpired – thus this theftMust lie outside of mortal domain.My friends, tonight we’ve witnessed hellAnd heaven dance beneath the rain.Let us go forth – the world tell –

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Deianira and youth leave the stage to walk amidst the audience.

Youth: How mortal man did once transcendThe shackles of our last farewellAnd cry with joy – Amen! The End!

Exuent

88

89

by K AT H RY N C H A N

SCHOOL: Loretto AbbeyTEACHER: Andrew Cluff


Marcel CignaUNIT: Toronto Secondary

UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal


There lies a fundamental difference between truth and opinion. Insociety, we continuously absorb biased perceptions, therebyincorrectly accepting opinion as truth. The most common, yet least

detected, example of this mix-up concerns the environment. In contrast tothe information presented daily in the media, the mannerisms that societycurrently employs to “save” the environment perpetuate its very demise,which is why humans need to stop protecting the environment.

History has illustrated that the environment has been abused throughhuman practices. The vast majority of evidence from the scientificcommunity also foretells of an environmental disaster if current trends areallowed to continue. The collected scientific evidence, available in masses,has the capability to scare. The modern portrayal of the environment is onepresented with an underlying sense of fear, an emotion that in itself isdangerous. Fear is a sensation that humans instinctively avoid. It has thecapacity to influence our reasoning and interrupt our logical thoughtprocess. The decisions that our mind makes when scared tend to be rashand impudent. As a result, in the given situation, we have a fragile, delicateenvironment where reckless humans are responsible for its fate. Thatcombination is the basis for serious concern.

The capability to make sound decisions while fearful is severelycompromised due to our firm resolve to find a solution. The hunt for asolution becomes so pressing that it blinds all other matters. Normally that

THE TRUTH MAY NOT SET US FREE

1 “Threats To Hope: Desperation Affects Reasoning About Product Information.” Science News.July 15, 2007. February 6, 2009. <http://sciencedaily.com/release/2007/07/070713131444.htm> 2 Welsh, Moira, “Blue-box leftovers go to China and back.” The Toronto Star 9 February 2009:A1:A73 Vidal, John. “‘Sustainable’ bio-plastic can damage the environment.” The Guardian April 262008: P1

passion and drive can be harnessed to be a benefit. However, the solutionsthat are adopted are often the first to come to mind, which are the cheapest,quickest and least effective. Researchers from the University of SouthernCalifornia have even found that desperation is followed by a phase of“motivated reasoning,” where even the least credible of products areadopted out of sheer desire for aid1.

Even the most sensible of environmental endeavours can harbourhidden undertones with long-term consequences. The practice of recyclingpreviously used products sparked a development in creating sustainablesystems. As another example, bio-plastics were materials developed in aneffort to protect the environment. Composed of natural substances such assugarcane and wheat, they were designed to provide a green alternative totheir plastic counterparts. Both projects appeared as suitable initiatives toassist in preserving the environment, the recycling and bio-plastic ideaswere celebrated more so for the comfort that they provided rather than theintention of the solution. The mere attempt to protect the environment wasenough, and people were so satisfied with the act itself that no one botheredto investigate the consequences.

Too often, the immediate success of small efforts is taken withoutquestion; the successful fulfillment of one design distracts us from thebigger picture. It is not until later that we discover the implications of ourhasty decisions. In the province of Ontario, the scraps from the blue-boxrecycling program are shipped to China, sorted and reprocessed, only thento be transferred back to Ontario2. What began as a mechanism forenvironmental conservation has left an unnecessary carbon footprint andwasted precious fossil fuels in its execution. New scientific evidence alsoshows that the biodegradable bio-plastics release methane, a harmfulgreenhouse gas, when decomposing in the presence of oxygen3.Additionally, the use of raw materials in the production of bio-plastics hascompeted with the already-stressed global food supply. Environmentalhazards have been allowed to masquerade in society as approved practices;a fact that speaks volumes in regards to the attention paid to importantdetails.

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4 Edwards, Gordon. “Canada’s Nuclear Dilemma.” Canadian Journal of Business Administration.13,1 and 2.

It is important to objectively consider not just these examples, buthuman behaviour as a whole. We are afraid, and mislead by mass media tobelieve that catastrophe is both imminent and pressing, without beingprovided contrasting information to make our own judgments. We makeswift and thoughtless decisions, fuelled by the desire to take action in anyform. We accept those decisions without question, too grateful for thepresence of a solution to actually test its merits. This pattern of procedureis dangerous and concerning, because soon, procedure develops into habit.The predisposition to apply new processes without first critically evaluatingtheir repercussions can very easily translate into all areas of human life. Ifenvironmental practices are exempt from assessment, then why shouldhealth or economic decisions differ? If not human appraisal, what ispreventing new drugs to be circulated without adequate testing, or majoreconomic investments from being made with no long-term goals?

The relevance of this human behaviour pattern may appear as some far-fetched slippery slope, but closer inspection reveals that it is frequentlypresent and alarmingly ignored in our modern lifestyle. The magnitude ofresearch, emphasis and support dedicated to nuclear power generation isastronomical. With no direct fossil fuel emissions, it is being hailed as theenergy of the future: an environmental dream. In contrast, compare theratio of the funds devoted to the disposal of nuclear waste. Nuclear waste,a completely preventable byproduct of a man-made process, becomes asecondary thought. In 1979, the Atomic Energy of Canada Limitedallocated only $16 million out of a $250 million budget towards nuclearwaste research4. We somehow place more emphasis on the immediate powergeneration than its future implications – ones of which have the potential tochange society, create disaster and take the lives of innocent civilians. Theaftermath of our actions is disregarded, and inherent human behaviour isresponsible for the destruction of our environment. We often hear of adoomsday environmental catastrophe just waiting to occur. However, thatdisaster is of our own doing: we are sealing our own fate and fastening thelast nail into the coffin.

As competition for the earth’s finite resources grows, the preservationof the environment will become necessary for human survival. However,our current manner of “protecting” our planet is flawed in its ownprogression. The solution is simple; we must stop trying to protect. We must

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5 2004: Environmental Labour Market (ELM) Report. Calgary, Alberta: The Canadian Councilfor Human Resources in the Environmental Industry.

stop committing valuable time and effort to concoct idealistic andunrealistic solutions. We don’t need these odd, inventive and rash band-aids; we need to re-adopt fundamental and simplistic basics. Thepreservation environmental industry in Canada is worth $6.9 billiondollars5 and has only succeeded in creating gimmicky products that oftenprove to do more harm than good. There comes a point where we mustrealize that there is no quick fix, no magic eraser capable of undoing yearsof past environmental damage. The only thing that we can change is ourmannerisms and our approach to problems: a true solution.

As often is the case, the approach society needs to adopt is one that isradical, but easy. The best thing we can do to protect the environment is tostop the damage we create by our feeble attempts at protection. Theenvironment will improve once we start thinking a little more about theenvironment and a little less of our own quest for a quick fix. It may meanthat we need to abandon entrenched mannerisms and turn conventionalthinking on its head, but that is just an inconvenient truth.

WORK CITED2004: Environmental Labour Market (ELM) Report. Calgary, Alberta:The Canadian Council for Human Resources in the EnvironmentalIndustry.

Edwards, Gordon. “Canada’s Nuclear Dilemma.” Canadian Journal of Business Administration. 13,1 and 2.

“Threats To Hope: Desperation Affects Reasoning About ProductInformation.” Science News. July 15, 2007. February 6, 2009.<http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2007/07/070713131444.htm>

Vidal, John. “‘Sustainable’ bio-plastic can damage the environment.” The Guardian. April 26 2008: P1

Welsh, Moira. Blue-box leftovers go to China and back.” The Toronto Star 9 February 2009: AL:A7

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PRIXJEUNES

ÉCRIVAINS

2009•

YO

UNG

AUTHORS AWARD

S•

PR

IXJEUNES ÉCRIV

AINS

Nook sur la banquise

95

by M A I - L I N H V I E T N G U Y E N

SCHOOL: St. PatrickTEACHER: Ann Powers


Joanne McGrathUNIT: Ottawa


ElementaryKindergartenShort Story

NOOK SUR LA BANQUISE

Merci pour ma famille.

96

by Z O E Y H A N N A H Z A H O R O D N Y S M I T H

SCHOOL: St. Joseph TEACHER: Nicole Viren


Nathalie McDermottUNIT: Peterborough, VNC


ElementaryKindergartenNonfiction

MERCI

97

by N I C H O L A S B U R K E

SCHOOL: St. Josep’s TEACHER: Josée Nadeau





Il était une fois un petit garçon qui s’appelait Jack. Jack n’était pasun garçon normal parce qu’il vivait dans l’espace avec ses parents.Jack et sa famille étaient dans l’espace parce que le gouvernement

les avait choisis pour découvrir l’existence des extraterrestres. Alors, lafamille de Jack avait accepté l’offre. Un jour, ils ne pouvaient plusretourner à leur maison sur la planète Terre parce que le vaisseau spatialétait en panne…

Deux jours plus tard, quand Jack dormait, il y a eu un gros boom. Cebruit a réveillé Jack. Jack s’est levé pour voir ce qui avait fait ce bruit. Il aregardé dans le hublot. Tout à coup, il a vu un extraterrestre. Jack a crié,puis, l’extraterrestre a vue Jack. L’extraterrestre a dit à Jack: ‘‘N’aie paspeur! Je veux seulement être ton ami. Tu parles l’anglais?’’ dit Jack. ‘‘Ouije parle l’anglais,’’ dit l’extraterrestre. ‘‘Mon nom est Xener et je peuxréparer le problème de votre vaisseau spatial’’ dit Xener. ‘‘Comment sais-tu que nous avons un problème,’’ demande Jack. ‘‘Parce que je viens icitoutes les nuits. Je peux vous emmener, toi et tes parents, sur la planèteTerre,’’ dit Xener. Alors, Jack a réveillé ses parents. Ses parents ont faitconfiance à l’extraterrestre. Quelques heures plus tard, le vaisseau spatialest arrivé sur la planète Terre. Tout le monde était content de revoir Jacket sa famille arrivés sains et saufs.

DANS L’ESPACE

Je suis un chat

Qui s’appelle Judas.

Je suis bleu.

Ça va mieux.

Cet ourson est le mien!

Si tu le prends, je n’ai plus rien!

Mon amie est un loup

Et elle court partout.

Elle s’appelle Claire

Et elle aime nager dans la mer.

98

by A L E X A N D R A VA N M I L

SCHOOL: St. Joseph TEACHER: Josée Nadeau





LE CHAT

Mon histore est à propos des hamsters. J’aime

les hamsters. Ils ont peur des plus grands

animaux domestiques comme les chats. Les

nids des hamsters sont faits de brins de scie. Les hamsters

boivent de l’eau et mangent des graines de toursenol.

Des hamsters sont des mammifères et des animaux

domestiques. Les hamsters aiment jouer beaucoup. Les

hamsters sont comme des cochons d’Inde mais plus petits.

Les hamsters meurent très vite. Tous les hamsters que je

connaissais sont morts. Je suis triste, mais j’adore les

hamsters encore.

99

by TAY L O R B OT TO M S - C A U

SCHOOL: St. TheresaTEACHER: Monique Lebel


Caroline ParkerUNIT: Nipissing Elementary

UNIT PRESIDENT: Gail Geddes-Bell


LE HAMSTER

100

by D O N N I E M AC I N T Y R E

SCHOOL: St. Joseph TEACHER: Nathalie McDermott





Je suis une pièce de vingt-cinq cents et je peux te raconter plusieurshistoires au sujet de mes aventures. Un jour, je suis allée dans lacaisse avec toutes les autres pièces de vingt-cinq cents. La caissière

mettait toujours ses doigts sur moi. Plus tard, un jeune homme a acheté unecouverture qui coutait dix-neuf dollars et soixante-quinze cents. Lacaissière me donne en change.

Je me retrouve dans la poche d’une paire de jeans d’un jeuneadolescent, avec des bonbons, de la gomme et quelques autres pièces demonnaie. Ce n’est pas le meilleur endroit. Il fait chaud là dedans! Unhomme barbu achète un café chez Tim Hortons. Il paie avec moi.

Je me retrouve encore dans une caisse. Cependant, j’aime cet endroitparce que ça sent bon. L’odeur du café et des beignes, c’est super!

Une femme aux longs cheveux bruns va chez Tim Hortons pour dîner.Elle achète une soupe et un petit pain. La caissière me donne en change. Jeme retrouve dans son porte-monnaie à l’intérieur de sa sacoche noire. Il faittrès noir là dedans!

Malheureusement, un jour, la dame me laisse tomber par accident. Ellesortait de son auto bleu et elle a échappé sa sacoche. Je me suis retrouvédans une flaque d’eau. Depuis ce jour là, les gens marchent sur moi.L’hiver, j’ai très foid et l’été, j’ai très chaud. Je me sens si seule… J’espèrequ’un jour, quelqu’un me ramassera!!!

LE VOYAGE D’UNE PIÈCE DE 25 CENTS

101

by L È S H A U N B E R N E T T

SCHOOL: St. Joseph TEACHER: Nathalie McDermott





Petit oiseauqui aime manger du gâteau

habite sur un bateau. Petit oiseau

qui aime faire foucomme son ami le loup.

Petit oiseauqui aime chanter des chansons

en jouant au ballon. Je sais tout sur mon oiseau

car c’est mon animal préféré. Il est toujours sur mon rideau

tout près de mon épée.

L’OISEAU

102

by A B B Y H A H N

SCHOOL: Immaculate Conception TEACHER: Cheryl Miller


Lynn Tomlinson UNIT: Bruce-Grey Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Anna Morrison


Il faut faire le compostage et le recyclage parce que tu peux utiliserles matériaux beacoup d’autres fois. Tu peux aussi aider la terre.Dieu nous a donné juste une Terre et tu dois composter et recycler

pour vivre sur une bonne Terre. C’est bon de participer au recyclage et au compostage parce que c’est

mieux pour la terre et tu aides ta communauté a être en plus bonne forme.Une autre chose c’est que quand on composte et recycle on a moins dedéchets.

Tu dois composter et recycler parce que ça c’est comment on aide notreenvironnement. Une autre chose c’est que si tu lances un papier dans lapoubelle, tu as gaspillé parce que tu peux placer le papier dans le recyclageou tu peux l’utiliser une autre fois. Beaucoup de personnes oublientd’utiliser l’autre côté d’une feuille.

Si tu compostes et recycles, tu vas aider le monde. Si tu penses que c’estbeaucoup de travail de recycler et composter tu as tort. Il faut des sceauxdifférents au lieu de juste une poubelle. Il faut mettre les fruits et leslégumes dans un sceau, les papiers dans un autre, et les bouteilles, canettesetc. dans un autre. C’est facile.

Je veux que tu compostes et recycles, pas juste pour moi, mais pour laterre et des communautés aussi! N’oublie pas comment ça aide Dieu. Dieunous a donné la terre et c’est notre responsabilité de prendre soin de laterre.

LE RECYCLAGE ETCOMPOSTAGE

103

by C . M C L E A N

SCHOOL: St. JosephTEACHER: Jeanneda Saulnier


Angela RzazewskiUNIT: Halton Elementary

UNIT PRESIDENT: Richard Brock


« Je vais dessiner un chien, » dit Cecilia. « Une ligne là, une autre ici. Unpeu de brun et c’est finit! »

« Roof, roof! » « Wow, le chien est vrai. Est-ce que c’est mon imagination? Ici le petit

chien… Awe… C’est vrai? Maintenant le chien est le mien! Elle s’appelleAlice! Mais ce chien est le chien que j’ai dessiné? Est-ce que le crayon ou lepapier est magique? Je vais dessiner sur un autre papier mais avec le mêmecrayon. »

Cecilia dessine une chatte et… Vous savez, c’est magique! « Oh, la, la!C’est mon crayon! Mais je vais effacer la chatte. »

Maintenant Cecilia et Alice vont dans la forêt. « RAAA! » « Ahhh! Uhoh… qu’est-ce que c’est? » dit Cecilia. « Je vais chercher mon crayon etdessiner un parapluie magique! » Le parapluie peut voler à Toronto! Ceciliatient Alice et tient le parapluie.

Sous Alice et Cecilia est un ours. Cecilia efface l’ours! Elles sont sur lelac Ontario. Elles ont faim. Cecilia décide de chercher une collation. «Mmm… Du poulet… » Oui! Elles mangent du poulet!

Maintenant elles vont chez-elles. Cecilia dessine d’autres choses commeune fille, un vélo, un D.S. et un chien. Elle aime son crayon mais chaquefois qu’elle l’utilise, il est plus petit!

CECILIA AVEC LE CRAYON

L’école, l’école,Que je déteste le mot!J’étudie pour le test,

Mais j’ai toujours des fautes.

Mathématiques et lecturePendant le matin

Oh! Que j’aimerais mieuxÊtre dans un sous-marin.

Pour aller à l’école, Je dois me réveiller à 7h!

Et dans l’autobus, j’ai dit:« Mon dîner! J’ai oublié de le prendre! »

Je rentre dans ma classe. Oh! Non! Je suis en retard!Je dois rester à la récréation

Avec ma professeure.

104

by E M I LY M I L L A N

SCHOOL: Good ShepherdTEACHER: Ghislaine Trépanier


Christine RochonUNIT: Ottawa



L’ÉCOLE, L’ÉCOLE

Pourquoi je dois allerA l’école? Cette mauvaise place!

Nous ne pouvons pas Glisser sur la glace!

Tu ne peux pasMâcher la gomme! Et dans ma classe

Il y a plus de filles que d’hommes.

Je ne peux plusVoler comme un aigle…

Mais je doisObéir aux règles!

Mais toutes les règlesSont importantes pour moi,

Elles peuvent aussi être Importantes pour toi!

Et tu peux apprendreLes choses nouvelles…

Maintenant que j’y penseL’école est belle!

105

106

by VA N E S S A S I L A N O

SCHOOL: St. JosephTEACHER: Jeanneda Saulnier


Angela RzazewskiUNIT: Halton Elementary



Il y a beaucoup de différents types de danse, mais je préfère ladanse irlandaise. La danse irlandaise est originalement d’Irlande.Elle a été inventée à peu près 400 ans après Dieu. Les paysans ont

toujours adoré la danse et la musique, même après la conversion auChristianisme.

Qui fait la danse irlandaise aujourd’hui? Aujourd’hui, beaucoup de personnes font la danse irlandaise partout dansle monde. Je fais la danse irlandaise aussi. C’est devenu un phénomèneinternational. Il y a des compétitions aussi. Les danseuses portent uncostume avec les couleurs et les symboles celtiques. Les jeunes enfantsportent le costume de l’école. C’est très simple.

Quel chaussures est-ce que les danseuses portent? Sur les pieds, les danseuses portent des chaussures spécifiques. Ilss’appellent les chaussures ‘fortes’ et les chaussures ‘lègères’. Leschaussures sont fabriquées en cuir mais les chaussures fortes ont des piècesde métal au talon et à l’orteil sur les deux pieds. C’est ce qui fabrique lebruit.

DANSE IRLANDAISE

Le maître de danseLe maître de danse était un homme qui voyageait à chaque village pourenseigner la danse irlandaise. Les maîtres de danse portaient les vêtementsaux couleurs vives. Ils enseignaient les paysans et ils faisaient les danses engroupes. Chaque maître de danse avait un territoire. Si un maître de danseallait à un territoire d’un autre maître de danse, les résidents et les voisinskidnappaient le maître. Les maîtres avaient les compétitions aussi. Auxfoires, ils dansaient jusqu’à ce qu’un un maître s’évanouissait de fatigue.

Quel sont les instruments utilisés pour sonner la musique irlandaise? Les instruments utilisés pour sonner la musique irlandaise sont le violon, laflûte et les cornemuses. Le violon est l’instrument le plus populaire dans lamusique irlandaise. La flûte a approximativement mille ans dans les paysceltiques. Il y a différents types de cornemuse. Ils ont différents lancement,taille et différentes façons de les tenir. J’espère que vous avez apprisbeaucoup d’informations sur la danse irlandaise.

107

108

by H A N N A H L O R E N A L L E R A

SCHOOL: St. JosephTEACHER: Edwin McAnanySCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Traci Coulas-Gaca UNIT: Wellington



Voici un conte d’un géant et son ami et de vrai amitié. L’habit ne fais pas le moine…

Il était une fois, un géant nommé Humperdink. Il habitait àGlorfindal, le village des géants haut dans le ciel. Différent desautres, Humperdink était très petit. Humperdink était toujours

humilié à cause de sa taille et parce qu’il ne pouvait rien faire. Et dans un autre village, appellé Agglethorp, il y avait un garçon qui

s’appelait Gaston. Gaston était un humain et il était un garçon assezagréable et aimable. Son village était sur la Terre.

Alors un jour, Gaston a trouvé un grand arbre. L’arbre était si grandqu’il semblait toucher le ciel. Gaston est monté dans l’arbre et il a trouvé lemonde des géants. Les géants étaient énormes, bien sûr. Par curiosité,Gaston est allé vers le village des géants. Alors, il est arrivé à la cour derécréation d’une école. Gaston a vu un géant solitaire. Il s’est approché dugéant. Ce géant était Humperdink!

Gaston parlait avec Humperdink. Ils s’amusaient, jouaient et parlaientensemble. Mais, d’autres géants sont arrivés. Gaston et Humperdink furentbousculés et intimidés par les autres géants. Gaston, comme un ami deHumperdink, l’a défendu! Les géants ont demandé pardon, et sont partis.

LE PETIT GÉANT

Cet incident a fait que leur amitié devienne plus forte. Humperdink etGaston sont devenus de très bon amis, et sont restés de bon amis dans lesbons et les mauvais temps.

Humperdink avait un bon cœur, même s’il était différent des autresgéants. Ceci est pourquoi « L’habit ne fait pas le moine… »

La Fin

109

L’amour est ce qui nous uni

C’est un lien réservé aux privilégiés

C’est une sensation merveilleuse qui réchauffe notre

intérieur

Même dans nos moment les plus sombres.

C’est une lèvre d’espoir au fond de notre âme

Ceux qui reçoivent notre amour

Sont ceux qui sont importants dans nos vies.

Tout le monde peut facilement accéder à cette force magique

qui unie tous ceux qui la possèdent ensemble.

Il y a par contre ceux qui sont moins chanceux.

Là où il devrait y avoir de l’amour

On y trouve des flammes de haine comme un monstre

vénimeux qui ravage notre âme.

C’est la pire des émotions que nous puissions vivre

Elle donne naissance à des actes imprédictables et

impardonnables.

110

by C A R LY F I S E T

SCHOOL: St. AndrewTEACHER: Jill Mercer


Jill MercerUNIT: Halton Elementary



L’AMOUR ET LA HAINE

Quand on est possédé par la haine

Les portes du ciel commencent discrètement à se fermer.

Seulement quand on vie pleinement dans l’amour

Que les portes s’ouvrent comme une paire de bras grands ouverts.

L’amour est vraiment la seule chose dont on a vraiment besoin

L’amour est inconditionnel.

Quand on a l’amour, on comprend le sens de la vie

Une vie vécue dans l’amour est une belle vie

Quand on a pas l’amour, on n’a RIEN

Quand on a l’amour, on a tout!

Aucune somme monétaire ne s’y compare

Peut-être que l’argent peut acheter l’illusion d’un bonheur dans les

choses matérielles de ce monde.

Mais l’argent n’achètera jamais l’amour

Une personne qui possède l’amour est vraiment millionaire du bonheur!

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112

by VA N E S S A K R A U S

SCHOOL: St. Catherine TEACHER: Anne Normand


Patrick MackeyUNIT: Peterborough, VNC



Combien d’entre vous avez un petit frère, une petite sœur, un cousinou même un enfant qui a moins de six ans? Imaginez-vous alors cetenfant tenant une grande machète, coupant des tiges de canne à

sucre. Ou bien, imagine le enchaîné à un métier à tisser, attachant desmilliers de nœuds minuscules dans la lumière faible. Ou encore, imaginez leportant des charges de briques pesant autant que lui-même. C’est dur àcroire, mais c’est la vie pour 250 mille enfants dans le monde.

Dans plusieurs pays du tiers-monde comme l’Afrique, le Sri Lanka,l’Océanie, des parties du Pacifique du Sud et même dans l’Asie du Sud, desfamilles ont souvent des dettes. Ils n’ont pas beaucoup d’argent pour payerces dettes, alors la seule chose qu’ils peuvent faire, c’est de vendre leursenfants à l’esclavage. Certains enfants sont même forcés par leurs parentsà gagner de l’argent pour la famille. Des enfants esclaves doivent travaillerdans des métiers qui sont dangereux pour des adultes. Ils doivent travailleravec de l’équipement volatile et opérer des machines dangeureuses. 22 000enfants meurent au travail chaque an. S’ils survivent, ces enfants n’ont pasd’avenir, car ils ne vont pas à l’école.

Mais, il y a une lueur d’espoir. Il y a de nombreuses organisations pourcombattre l’esclavage des enfants. Ces organisations donnent des options detravail aux familles, alors ils n’ont pas besoin de vendre leurs enfants. Ilsdonnent aussi aux enfants une chance di aller à l’école.

L’ESCLAVAGE DES ENFANTS

La mieux connue de ces organisations est ‘‘Enfants Entraide.’’‘‘Enfants Entraide’’ était fondée par Craig Kielburger. À l’age de douzeans, Craig a lu un article sur l’esclavage des enfants. Choqué, il l’a apportéà l’école. À la fin de la journée, onze amis et lui ont commencé ‘‘EnfantsEntraide.’’ Jusqu’à présent, ‘‘Enfants Entraide’’ a construit plus de 500écoles dans 45 pays et a donné à plus de 22 500 femmes un métier, ainsi,elles peuvent garder leurs enfants.

Combien pèse un flocon de neige? Pas beaucoup. Mais, quand un floconse pose sur une branche où il y a déjà des milliards de flocons, la branchese casse. Qui sait? Peut-être qu’il ne manque qu’une voix pour terminerl’esclavage des enfants.

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by M A R I E - È V E P O M E R L E A U

SCHOOL: St. Mary’sTEACHER: Marjolaine Trottier


Paul CrowleyUNIT: Peteborough, VNC



Il était une fois très très longtemps, dans une galaxie très trèséloignée… Actuellement, ça s’est passée dans la nôtre. Continuonsavec l’histoire.

Le Soleil était en train de baigner la Terre dans la lumière jaune chaude.Il pouvait entendre les villageois crier « Oh comme j’adore cette belletempérature, le Soleil brillant, et cet air pur. » Le Soleil sourit à soi-même.Il était adoré. Il rayonnait de toutes ses forces pour ce village, car il aimaittrop entendre les vénérations du peuple gentil. Le Soleil était vaniteux, et ille savait. Il pensa, « Ça peut rien faire de mal, avoir un excès d’amour poursoi-même, quand tout le monde m’aime aussi! »

Et le Soleil continua à vivre en paix, ensoleillant le village, jusqu'à unjour quand quelque chose d’immense et noir le couvrit. Et la chosecommença à laisser tomber de grandes quantités d’eau sur les villageois. «Quelle gloire! Cette pluie, réchauffée par le beau Soleil, ça va créer un joliarc-en-ciel pour en prendre plaisir » se disaient les villageois.

Mais ça n’a pas été le cas. Le Soleil était fâché car il ne voulait paspartager son village avec cet intrus. En fait, Nuage (la chose « immense etnoire ») a entendu parler du village adorant et de leur grand Soleil, il y apas longtemps, et il a commencé à être jaloux, et a voulu voler de lasplendeur du Soleil.

UN SOLEIL VANITEUX

Pour trois jours et trois nuits, le Nuage et le Soleil se sont battus dans leCiel. Les villageois suffirent une immense tempête, complet de seaux etseaux de pluie, et même du tonnerre éclatant et grand éclair éblouissant. Ilsont ennuyé le Vent avec tout le fracas, et il a commencé à hurler dans levillage. Quand tout le monde était trop épuisé pour se bagarrer plus, latempête a commencé à se calmer un peu.

Les villageois étaient soulagés. Ils pensaient que peut-être finalement lesdeux pourraient voir toute la destruction qu’ils ont causée, et essayer de laréparer. Parce que la destruction, il y en avait trop, là. Les maisons, lesarbres, et les bâtiments se sont fait jetés de l’eau dessus, puis mis en feu parle tonnerre, et puis attaqués par le Vent fâché. Le village était détruit.Même si le Nuage et le Soleil s’arrêtaient, ça ne veut pas dire qu’ilsvoulaient réparer les choses. Ils continuaient à se crier des insultes. « Tun’es rien qu’une grosse balle jaune comme du pipi!! » « Toi, t’es mouillé etnoir comme de l’huile!! » « Arrêtez! » crient les étoiles. « Vous ne devez pasvous bagarrer. Regardez tous les problèmes que vous avez causés. Essayezde réparer tout ça! » « C’est TOI qui as tout commencé! » crie le Soleil auNuage. « Non! Tout, c’est de TA FAUTE! » crie le Nuage au Soleil. Le Soleiln’aimait pas se faire insulter. Il était très fâché et il décida de partir. « Jen’en peux plus de toi, là! » Le Nuage était finalement tout seul avec lesvillageois gentils du Soleil. Il sourit.

Pour une semaine au complet, il a plu sur le village. Les rivièresdébordaient. Il faisait très, très froid dans le village, parce que le Soleilétait parti, et le Nuage commença à neiger de grands flocons blanc mélangésde grésil. Mais le Nuage n’a pas eu récompense qu’il croyait mériter. Lesvillageois avaient froid, et étaient malades. Les petits et petites tremblaientcomme des feuilles sous leur gros chandails mouillés, et les vieux et vielleséternuaient sans cesse, malgré toutes leurs couvertures. « Je partirai alors!Ce village n’est pas aussi bien que j’ai cru! » disait le Nuage en partant,laissant en arrière de lui une traînée de brume.

Le Soleil, qui nétait vraiment jamais parti, était caché dans lebrouillard. Il ne voulait pas laisser ce Nuage seul avec son village, et enplus, il avait trop peur de ne pas trouver quelqu’un d’autre qui l’aimeraitautant que ce village, ce qu’il ne pourra pas supporter. Et maintenant leNuage était parti, pour qu’il puisse ensoleiller son village en paix. «N’inquiétez-vous pas, je suis de retour! » cria-t-il joyeusement. Lesvillageois étaient contents aussi. La chaleur, ça sera bien pour eux.

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Mais quand tout était séché, et les villageois n’avaient plus besoin degros manteaux, le Soleil n’a pas arrêté. Il était si excité d’avoir son villageà lui encore qu’il continua à briller de toutes ses forces. Après un coupled’heures, les nouveaux bébés souffraient de fièvres, et les papas et mamansruisselaient de sueur. « Qu’allons-nous faire pour ce pauvre village?! » sedemandaient les étoiles.

Ils devaient trouver une façon de les mettre ensemble, sans conflit entreles deux. Ils décident alors d’impliquer la Lune dans la situation. Ilsexpliquaient alors le conflit, et disaient: « Que devrions-nous faire? » « Jesais quoi faire, » réponda-t’il gravement. Il savait que les deux necomprendraient pas sans qu’il ne fasse quelque chose de très important. Ilpouvait apparaître très épeurant quand il le voulait. Il est allé vite dans levillage, explosant de colère, et le Soleil parti immédiatement, parce qu’ilpouvait voir que la Lune était fâché. Il fesait nuit maintenant dans le petitvillage. « Et il fera nuit jusqu’à ce que vous puissiez résoudre votreproblème! » cria-t-il.

Le Soleil et le Nuage errent sur différents côtes de la Terre, pour penserà quoi faire. Soudainement, ils se rencontrent. Ils restent silencieux pourune seconde en essayant de ne pas se regarder. Finalement le Soleil ouvritsa bouche. Il savait que c’était à lui de dire quelque chose. Il prit unegrande gorgée d’air. « Heu… » Le Nuage lui regarda. « Oui, » dit-ilsimplement. « Je comprends. » « Je suis tellement désolé. Je sais que tantde ça c’est de ma faute. » « C’est de ma faute aussi, et je suis désolé. » «Alors on peut essayer de réparer ça maintenant? » « Oui, ça sera une bonneidée. » Il sourit. Le Soleil sourit aussi. Il tourna et le village eût finalementson arc-en-ciel.

LA FIN.

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J’accepte mon destin sans hésitationJe rejette sans peur les exceptions

Les exceptions forméesLorsqu’on essaie

D’être acceptéDans les groupes

Et dans les cliquesLorsqu’on essaie

De joindre les élites

Je refuse ces mentalitésQui supprime l’individualité

Car ceux sont mes droitsEt ceux sont mes choix

Alors, c’est pour ça que je doisMaintenir mes morales

Et toujours choisirEn accordance de ma foi

Peu n’importe ce que les autres ont à dire

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by R O S A L I E B Y R N E S

SCHOOL: St. Mary’sTEACHER: Marjolaine Trottier


Paul CrowleyUNIT: Peteborough, VNC



MA PHILOSOPHIE

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by E L I S A K WO N

SCHOOL: St. Theresa of Lisieux TEACHER: Gino Marcuzzi


Matthew KavanaghUNIT: York


Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Nonfiction

Le père Luigi Giussani a posé une question: « Est-il raisonnabled’abandonner la seule chose dans ma vie qui a ému mon cœurparce que je ne la comprends pas? »

Il nous dit aussi, « L’obéissance est née d’une attitude raisonnable, »une attitude raisonnable qui nous permet de voir la grâce de Dieu dansnotre vie, et de suivre cette grâce parce qu’elle nous émeut. Avec cettemême attitude, j’ai suivi un chemin que j’ai vu dans ma vie qui m’a ému detelle manière qu’aujourd’hui je ne suis pas le même personne que j’étaisl’année dernière.

En avril passé, ma sœur est devenue membre d’un groupe catholiquequi s’appelle « Gioventù Studentesca » (GS): un mouvement internationalqui est inspiré de la vie de Luigi Giussani. Durant le temps que ma sœurétait membre de ce groupe, elle a tellement changé que c’est absolumentmagnifique! Avec ce changement est venu un bonheur incroyable que je nepensais pas possible.

Cela seul m’a inspirée et m’a causée à désirer le même bonheur, la mêmebelle perception de la vie. Bien que je n’aie pas compris ce que celasignifiait, je sentais que toutes les choses qu’elle faisait, je voulais faireaussi. En novembre passé, je suis devenue membre du groupe aussi, et j’aiéprouvé le plus grand moment décisif dans ma vie la chance de voir la grâcedans ma vie, et le désir de voir cette grâce chaque jour dans ma réalité.

Dans notre groupe de vingt personnes, nous parlons des livres de

DIEU M’A TROUVÉ

Giussani, et nous parlons de la correspondance du livre à nos vies. Notregroupe a un leader qui s’appelle Paolo, un homme extraordinaire, qui nousaide à suivre le chemin dans la vie de chaque personne du groupe. Après lesréunions, nous mangeons le dîner et parlons de chose comme l’école, lesamis, etc., et nous nous amusons bien!

Ce qui est plus incroyable est que je peux aller à ces réunions avec mameilleure amie de cinq années. Ironiquement, j’ai appris plus de choses demon amie en ces derniers quatre mois que j’en ai dans quatre années! DansGS, notre amitié a grandi plus fort et la manière dont je vois mon amie estplus belle. Comme un autre ami a dit, « les personne que j’aimais déjà,j’aime plus aujourd’hui, et les choses que je n’avais pas vues l’annéepassée, j’aime aujourd’hui. »

Ma sœur est mon inspiration, elle a été inspirée par son amie, son amiea été inspirée par le père Giussani, et il a été inspiré par sa réalité – Dieu.

Qui suis-je, que j’ai reçu cette grâce dans ma vie? Mais qui suis-je, si jene passe pas cette grâce aux autres? La meilleure chose de mon momentdécisif dans ma vie est qu’il ne commence pas avec moi, et il n’arrête pasavec moi. C’est un cercle qui ne s’arrête pas parce que Dieu ne s’arrête pas,et Il est partout où nous allons, tout le temps.

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by A L E S S I A D O L C E T T I





Elementary or Secondary Grades 11 and 12Short Story

Quand Mme Dubois ouvra sa petite boulangerie Chez Clarisse aucentre-ville, tout le monde était curieux. Des douzaines de clientssont arrivés à la porte pour chercher des gâteries délicieuses pour

leurs familles. Ils n’étaient pas déçus. En ouvrant la porte, ils pouvaientsentir les bons fumets qui venaient de la cuisine. Les étagères sur les mursétaient pleines de baguettes fumantes, de gâteaux délicieux, de toutes sortesde tartes, et de beaucoup d’autres bonnes chose à manger. Et chaque jour,Mme Dubois s’est assise derrière le comptoir, prête à servir le prochainclient.

Les enfants adoraient Clarisse parce que sa boulangerie était située àcôté d’une petite école élémentaire. Chaque après-midi, quand les jeunesétudiants avaient finis leurs études, ils allaient chez elle. Les pâtes et lesbiscuits disparaissaient des étagères en quelques minutes, mais les muffinsaux bleuets étaient la vraie spécialité de Mme Dubois. Elle restait deboutdevant la porte avec une corbeille pleine de desserts tout chauds. MmeDubois les donnait aux enfants mais n’acceptait jamais de paiement.Souvent, les parents, en voyant les visages sales et les doigts bleus de leursenfants, venaient chez elle pour lui donner de l’argent. Mais toujours, ellesecouait la tête en disant, « Merci, mais c’est mon plaisir. Mais si vousvoulez essayer une de mes tartes aux pommes, c’est un autre casentièrement… »

CHEZ CLARISSE

Un jour, les enfants faisaient leur visite quotidienne à la boulangerie.Comme d’habitude, Mme Dubois était à la porte avec un muffin à donner àchaque fille et à chaque garçon. Mais à la fin de la queue, un petit garçonavec des vêtements sales et une expression inquiète poussa des pièces demonnaie dans la main de la cuisinière. Clarisse l’arrêta et lui rendit sonargent avec un tendre sourire. « Vous ne devez pas me payer, petitmonsieur. C’est un cadeau – j’espère que vous l’aimez. » Elle ouvra sonpetit poing et remplaça les pièces entres les doigts sales. Mais le garçonsecoua la tête, les yeux fixés sur le plancher. Maintenant, toutes les fille etgarçons avaient quittés la boulangerie avec de grands sourires et desbouches pleines. Le garçon protesta et essaya encore une fois de donnerl’argent à Mme Dubois. Elle fronça les sourcils. « Quel est le problème? Tun’aime pas mes muffins? »

Le garçon rougit. « Ma mère m’a dit que je dois vous donner de l’argent,Madame. Elle serait fâchée si elle découvrait que j’ai… j’ai accepté de lacharité. » Il dit les derniers mots très rapidement. « S’il vous plait,Madame, prenez l’argent. Je ne le veux pas. »

Mme Dubois poussa un grand soupir. « Tu peux m’appeler Clarisse.Comment t’appelles tu? »

« Frédéric. »« Viens avec moi, Frédéric. Je veux te montrer quelque chose. » Frédéric jeta un coup d’œil à la porte. « Je dois me dépêcher, Mad… –

Clarisse. » Il baissa la tête. « Mes parents m’attendent. »« Ne t’inquiète pas. Peux-tu rester…environ…vingt minutes? Je vais

faire une autre fournée de muffins et je serais très heureuse d’avoir tonaide. »

Frédéric ouvra et ferma la bouche, avant de finalement dire, « Oui, jesuppose .»

« Fantastique! » dit Clarisse. « Alors, à la cuisine! » Elle pris la main dugarçon et le conduit vers une porte fermée derrière le comptoir. Ilsentrèrent dans une salle avec un petit four et des comptoirs complètementcouverts d’ingrédients. Frédéric sourit et respira profondément.

« Tu aimes cuisiner, Frédéric? » Le garçon sauta soudainement et donnaun regard d’excuses à la dame.

« Je ne sais pas… je n’ai jamais essayé. »« En bien, alors ça serait ta première fois. Donne-moi le livre qui se

trouve sur l’étagère là, celui avec le dos rouge. » Frédéric le pris et le plaçasur le comptoir. Avec des doigts expérimentés, Clarisse ouvra le gros livre.

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Sur chaque page, il y avait beaucoup de changements que la dame avaitfaits au stylo. Mais quand Clarisse arriva finalement à la recette qu’ellecherchait, la page n’avait aucune correction. En haut de la page, le titredisait Les Muffins Superbes de Maman. « Frédéric, peux-tu mesurer troistasses de farine dans ce bol? » Le garçon hocha la tête et commença à suivreles instructions que Clarisse lui avait données. En même temps, Clarisseprit la poudre à pâte, le sel, et le sucre d’un placard et, un par un, lesajouta au bol.

« Clarisse, » demanda Frédéric quand il avait fini sa tâche et la dameavait commencé à mélanger les ingrédients du bol. « Pourquoi est-ce qu’iln’y avait pas de changements sur cette recette? Vous faites ces muffins sisouvent… sûrement, vous avez trouvé une ou deux nouvelles variations. »

Pendant un moment, la dame apparaissait perdue dans ses pensées.Quand elle commença à parler, sa voix était douce et un peu triste. « Jeveux te raconter une petite histoire, Frédéric. Quand j’avais dix ans,j’adorais cuisiner. J’expérimentais dans la cuisine avec de nouvelle recetteschaque jour. Une semaine, je faisais seulement des gâteaux. La prochainesemaine, des tartes. Quand j’étais triste, je pouvais échapper dans lacuisine et imaginer que j’étais un chef fameux, un inventeur… »

« Alors, » interrompit Frédéric, « Vous deviez adorer aider votre mèredans la cuisine. »

Clarisse frappa un œuf contre le bol et rit. « Ma mère détestait être dansla cuisine. Mon père était mort quand j’avais seulement quatre ans et mamère était toujours au travail. De temps en temps, je me sentais touteseule… chaque soir, quand ma mère retournait chez nous, j’étaismalheureuse. » Elle donna une cuillère à Frédéric qui l’entendait, les yeuxénormes. « Commence à dépenser le mélange dans ce moule à gâteaux.Alors, qu’est-ce que je disais? Ah, je me souviens. Ma mère insistait que jereçoive une bonne éducation. Mais je passais plus de temps dans la cuisinequ’à mes études. Un soir, ma mère m’a réprimandé et je suis devenue trèsfâchée… Je lui ai dit qu’elle était négligente, une pauvre mère…commej’avais tort. Cette nuit-là, j’étais si inquiète que je ne pouvais pas dormir.Mais je n’avais jamais oublié ce qui s’est passé le prochain jour. Lelendemain, je suis descendue à la cuisine pour prendre mon petit déjeuner.Quand j’ai ouvert la porte, j’ai trouvé ma mère devant le four, ses yeuxfatigués mais un grand sourire au visage. Sur la table, il y avait un plat demuffins au bleuets qu’elle avait fait pour nous deux. Elle a passé la plupartde la nuit dans la cuisine. » Clarisse laissa un petit rire. « Elle a dû refaire

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les muffins parce qu’elle a brûlé les muffins la première fois. » La cuisinièreplaça les muffins dans le four.

Frédéric sourit. « Comme vous êtes chanceuse d’avoir une mère quivous aimait comme ça. Hier, quand j’ai apporté le muffin que vous m’avezdonné chez moi, ma mère est devenue si fâchée! Elle déteste la charité. »

Clarisse lui donna un sourire compréhensif. « Ma mère aussi étaitcomme ça. Mais tu peux lui dire que je ne veux pas te donner de la charité.Quand ma mère a fait ces muffins pour moi, j’ai copié la recette dans monlivre. Aujourd’hui, je les donne aux enfants qui viennent à ma porte. Je nedois pas faire de changement – ils sont déjà parfaits. Aujourd’hui, je nepeux pas montrer ma reconnaissance à ma mère…elle est morte depuislongtemps. Mais je peux montrer ce grand amour aux autres personnesdans ma vie. Si on ne peut pas faire de petites chose pour nos amis, oumême pour les étrangers, le monde n’est pas un bel endroit. « Mais, » ellelança un regard à la cloche. « Les muffins sont cuits! Et tu dois retournerchez toi. »

Avec regret, Frédéric hocha la tête. « Clarisse, puis-je retourner ici,demain après l’école? J’aimerais vous aider encore une fois. »

Clarisse sourit. « Absolument. Tu es toujours bienvenu dans maboulangerie. Au revoir! »

« A demain .» Le garçon prit son sac à dos et commença à partir. « Attends! » Clarisse l’arrêta. « Dit à ta mère qu’elle a un fils bien élevé.

Et sois patient avec elle. Sa vie n’est pas facile. » Frédéric ferma la porte ensouriant, très fier de leur nouvelle amitié.

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Les papillons renaissent dans mon estomac,comme ils l’ont toujours fait.Comme le printemps dernier.

Les boutons de roses échappent aux cages d’hiver.Et une brise légère calme mes nerfs vivants.Comme il était pendant ce beau samedi-là,

quand mon monde s’est effondré.

Il s’approche du banc de fer forgé, où je suis assise;ses yeux chuchotent des excuses bien des fois.Les rose blanches dans la main, je comprends.

Il prend ma main, et la pièce finale de notre énigme tienten place.

Notre fin commence…

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by O L I V I A C I N E L L I






LA NOSTALGIE

Les portails nous accueillent,Les rues comme l’encre noir,

qui crachent la boue sur les coulisses des jupes.

Un tendre coup d’œil transmette une aventure.

La musique est une couche de bonbonavec un centre qui a un goût amer,

ce que le temps veut couper en lamelles.

Le rideau final tombe,comme une guillotine.

Le soleil se couche rouge sang, orange enflammé,jaune sans vie.

Un cliché qui existe uniquement pour nous moquer,et sale nos blessures ouvertes.

Les fleurs, poid morts dans ma main,tombent sur le ciment.

Notre séparation est une brûlure sur la peau,qui touche une pièce de charbon fougueux et blanc.

Les plantes de mes pieds adhèrent au sol,pendant mon ascension à ma supernova.

La nourrice dit adieu,et la porte frappe,

comme le marteau du juge qui punit.

Les rêves de mon petit ange,ressemblent aux licornes dans un terrain miné.

Sa poitrine qui monte et tombe,est un support pour la vie.

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Tout à coup, une vision au seuil,Mon mari, le père de mon ange.

Son visage est un champ de bataille.

Le temps est stagnant, un poing de fer serre mon cœur,

pendant que l’obscurité l’encercle.

La séquestration fracasse,et je suis enveloppé,

dans un voile de solidarité.

Mon cœur crie au paradis,et mendie.

Les papillons renaissent dans mon estomac,comme ils l’ont toujours fait.

Les boutons des roses enveloppés encore une fois dans leurs cages d’hiver,La brise, un mort-vivant.

La sensation des roses blanches et morbides,dans mes mains une fois de plus.

I’ll mattend,Mais je suis en retard.

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by G A B R I E L L A S I L A N O





Secondary Grades 11 and 12Play

La pièce commence sur une scène noire. Il y a seulement la voix d’unhomme qui a 25 ans.

Homme: ‘‘Mort, ne sois pas fière.’’ (pause) ‘‘Mort, ne sois pasfière.’’ (pause) J’ai toujours voulu êtrephilosophe.

Les lampes s’allument, l’homme est au centre de la scène. Il est assis avecses jambes à la Turque. Il joue avec une pomme.

Homme: Je veux l’habileté de dire les mots de Donne ouEliot…

Il se lève et commence à marcher, tout le temps, il joue avec la pomme.

Homme: Quand ils ont dit que j’étais entrain de mourir, laseule chose que j’ai voulu dire, avec certitude,étaient les mots d’Eliot… de la ‘‘Rue qui était éclairépar la Lumière.’’ Mais, on ne peut pas seulementdire leurs mots. On doit avoir une vie pour lessoutenir. On doit avoir être humain.

L’HOMME ET LA POMME

Il va au droit de la scène, un petit garçon court sur la scène, il joue avecune pomme aussi.

Homme: Je pensais pendant des heures. Tout seul. Desquestions que mon papa m’a demandé. Beaucoup defois, il me les a donné pour me faire taire. Mais, laraison ce n’est pas importante pour moi. Je mesouviens des heures, des jours, où je considérais laquestion de la poule ou de l’œuf. Je me souviens,aussi, le jour quand je savais la réponse à cettequestion.

Les vêtements de l’homme traversent la scène sur une corde. Ils sonténormes. Le garçon court vers les vêtements et il prend un moment pourjuger la grandeur de l’homme.

Garçon: Papa! (Il regarde ses pieds) J’ai la réponse! La pouleest venu premièrement! Parce que… parce que…Dieu n’aurait pas mis un œuf dans le monde. Undinosaure le tuerait quand il marchait! Un pouletpeut courir, mais un œuf ne peut pas.

Quand il lève sa tête, son père n’est plus là.

Garçon: Papa? Papa?!

Il laisse sa pomme, et court de la scène.

Homme: Ce n’était pas toujours comme ça. Il m’aimait.(Pause, il commence à marcher) J’ai toujours vouluêtre philosophe.

Il marche au centre de la scène, encore une fois, en silence. Il joue avecsa pomme. Il prend la pomme du garçon, et il jongle avec les deux pourun moment.

Homme: Oui… j’ai toujours voulu être philosophe. Voussavez… vous savez qu’Aristote a dit qu’il y a deuxtypes de personnes dans le monde: les bouffons qui

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pensent qu’ils sont sages, et les hommes sages quisavent qu’ils sont les bouffons. Pour beaucoup de mavie, je pensais que j’étais dans le deuxième groupe.Seulement quand mon père est mort, j'ai connu quej'étais tellement ignorant.

Il marche à la gauche de la scène.

Un jeune homme qui a 18 ou 19 ans marche au centre de la scène avec unlit d’hôpital. Il s’assied sur le bord de la scène, en silence. Après quelquessecondes, l’homme roule sa deuxième pomme au jeune homme. Il lagrimpe. Il commence à chanter ‘‘Cerf Volant’’ (une chanson du film ‘‘LesChoristes’’). Dans un moment, il comprend qu’il chante. Il s’arrête.Soudainement, il tourne, il jette sa pomme contre le mur de fond. Lapomme se casse.

Jeune Homme: ‘‘Mort, ne sois pas fière?!’’ Comment?!

Il pousse le lit avec beaucoup de force.

Jeune Homme: Comment?! Il est mon père. MON père. La mort estun fier bâtard. Pourquoi?! Pour l’amour de Dieu…pourquoi?!

Il s’assied sur le lit avec la tête dans ses mains.

Homme: Je pense que dans ce moment, j’ai compris la réalitéde la vie. C’était tellement arrogant de supposer queje savais tout… Mais j’ai compris, dans ce moment,que la mort était, et est, une réalité. J’ai compris quela vie était pour moi, pour moi chaque jour. Je penseque mon père est mort pour que je puisse vivre.

Il va aider le jeune homme sortir de la scène. Il lui donne sa pomme. Il pousse le lit de la scène. En même temps qu’il parle, il va au derrièrede la scène où il prend les morceaux de la pomme.

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Homme: Aujourd’hui, je sais que je ne suis pas philosophe.Aussi, je sais que je suis mourant. Mais, la premièrechose que je sais c’est que la vie est pour moi. Donc,la mort ne soit pas fière. Je l’ai tuée. Peut-être, je nepeux pas réciter les mots de Donne, mais je peux lessavoir dans mon cœur. Je ne suis pas éffrayé.

En même temps qu’il sort de l’étage, il laisse les graines de pomme. Leslumières réduisent à noir, quand il parle.

Homme: ‘‘Mort, ne sois pas fière… la Mort ne sera plus,Mort, tu mourras.’’

OEUVRES CITÉESDonne, John. ‘‘Death Be Not Proud.’’ John Donne: The CompleteEnglish Poems. Ed. A.J. Smith. Baltimore: Penguin Education, 1973.

Eliot, T.S. ‘’Choruses from the Rock.’’ Inside Work. 2006. 18 Mar 2009 http://insidework.net/static/downloads/products/choruses_from_the_rock.pdf.

Les Choristes. Dir. Christopher Barratier. Perf. Gerard Jugnot. DVD.Vega Film, 2004.

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by L I S E N G O

SCHOOL: Blessed Mother TeresaTEACHER: Ana Baptista


David SzollosyUNIT: Toronto Secondary

UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal


Un jour à l’école, mon professeur d’histoire nous a demandé defaire un projet sur une personne politique qui aurait eu unimpact dans notre vie. Je ne savais quoi faire, qui choisir. Aucun

politicien n’a jamais rien fait pour moi personnellement! Je savais, pourautant, que cela n’était pas le problème. La politique est une chose que j’aitoujours vue négativement. Le génocide, les enfants soldats, des guerres quine finissent jamais, des présidents qui s’imposent à une population. Pourmoi, toute cette envie de pouvoir n’avait pas d’intérêt.

La politique, pour moi, est juste une question d’argent et de popularité.Je vois toujours à la télévision des pays sous-développés qui sontcontinuellement en guerre parce que les dirigeants se préoccupent plus deleur propre bien que celui d’une population et des enfants innocents. Celaest peut-être à cause du fait que nous, les jeunes, ne prêtons pas attentionau monde politique qui est parfois cruel et difficile à comprendre. Undirigeant, président ou quelque soit le nom qu’on lui donne, devraittravailler d’arrache-pied pour pouvoir maintenir la paix dans un pays.Mais ce dernier fait d’énormes promesses à la population qu’il ne pourrasans doute pas tenir. La politique est vue comme un domaine de mensongequi renferme malgré tout une lueur d’espoir et de changement, maislorsqu’une personne fait des promesses qu’elle ne pourra point tenir, pluspersonne ne l’écoute.

POLITIQUE…

Les jeunes sont plutôt exclus dans toutes les décisions que legouvernement du pays prend. Le gouvernement semble prendre desdécisions qui affecteront les jeunes sans les consulter. Nos gouverneursconsultent les parents sans demander l’avis des personnes directementconcernées. En fin de compte, ce sont les enfants qui vont à l’école et nonles parents. Nous avons tous le droit à la parole, mais il semblerait que nosgouvernants aient oublié le plus important: écouter.

Parce que le « futur appartient aux jeunes, » le gouvernement Canadiendoit informer et attirer les jeunes. Le Canada est un pays d’immigrants, cequi en fait sa beauté et sa richesse. Les jeunes ont besoin d’être éclairés,d’être motivés de différentes façons. Dans mon cas, j’aime participer à desévénements où je peux donner mon point de vue et m’exprimer. C’est trèsmotivant quand on semble vraiment prendre en considération ce que l’ondit. Cela nous donne une grande satisfaction intérieure et cela rend les gensheureux. Le fait de voir le sourire sur le visage des autres et d’aider estgratifiant. Une personne venant du Québec ne verrait pas les choses de lamême façon qu’une de l’Ontario. Les terminologies n’aident pas non plus…C’est peut-être facile pour les parents de comprendre mais c’est difficilepour nous les jeunes.

Il faudrait que les jeunes soient plus sensibilisés à l’importance de lapolitique parce-que cela a un effect sur la qualité de leur futur. Notresystème est corrompu et c’est pour cela que nous assistons à une crisemondiale. C’est à nous maintenant de prendre la relève et de corriger leserreurs de « nos parents » mais pour cela il faudra comprendre où les fauteson été commises.

Le présent nous prouve tous les jours que le passé n’est pas garantd’assimilation: ce n’est pas parce des guerres ont fini que d’autres n’ont pascommencés. Il y a urgence à apprendre avec nos erreurs sinon nous couronsvers un cercle vicieux qui implosera. Être humble et reconnaître noserreurs passées est l’unique façon de voir les situations plus clairement etde recommencer la politique d’un bon pied.

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young authors booklet 2009

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