WRITING COMPETITION RESULTS FOR MARCH.

Each winner receives a $20 Teen gift voucher.

Below are some samples of writing from March. Thank you to those who entered. I look forward to receiving your submissions for the next competition ending on May 31st. 

Mr Dewar.

Kaitlyn Cragg, Year 7.

✨Poem:   Secret Admirer✨  

Everyday when hear your laugh,

And I see your face.

My heart beats so fast,♥️

Never at the same pace.

Your face reminds me of flowers, 

The beautiful kind, you see.

I think how lucky I am to have you in my life,

I do, me.

Your eyes sparkle like stars, 

In the light.

You always forgive me,

Even after every  fight.

You think that you're an ogre,

A troll, a rat.

I swear you are the most beautiful girl I know, 

So please stop saying you're fat.

I would ask you to be my valentine, 

But I am too scared that you’ll say no.

I stand here waiting for you,

And watching as you go.

Some people want diamonds, 

 Gold, boo hoo.

But all I ever really wanted,

Was you.

I’ll treat you right,

And take you shopping. 

If you think that’s the end of the poem,

Hun, I’m not stopping.

I’ll take you on picnics,

Just like your favourite chocolate bar. 

I’ll go on walks with you,

Ones that go on and on, too far.

Girl I would do anything for you,

I would lie for you.

I like you so very much, 

I could get up and fly for you. 

My life was empty,

Without you.

You are amazing,

Surely you knew.

I don’t know where I would be,

Without you in my life.

You make me happy when,

People’s words cut deeper than a knife. 

One day when you look upon the stars,⭐

And find who I am.

I’m hoping that you will like me back,

I’ll make some tarts with jam.

When you figure out who I am, 

It would probably be too late.

But lifes not up to us, 

Just destiny and fate.

I care about you, 

More than you will ever know.

I just wanted  to say,

I like  you so.

Tomorrow is a new day,

Yesterday was an old one.

But today is right now,

Well isn't that fun

I’ll be here for you forever,

Until our hair grows grey. 

I’ll wait for you forever,

Until I must lay.

You're not my Bethany,

Not my Brianna.

Your not my Harper,

You're my Rhianna. 

I tell my friends,

That I admire her.

Yours sincerely,

Your secret admirer. 

Rachael Griffiths, Year 7.

The Jar Wizard.

His crusty dead toes stomped into the ground. Clinking glass cladded together as his old face slumped with depression. past tumour filled throughout his wrinkles and hair line. Ancient armour had rusted so tight he could hardly breath. 

Bright and powerful colours started to burst of light as joy was brought to the wonders of the young and old.    

The wind shivered with fear as the grumpy dwarf soldier passed though his ghost town, waiting for those who seek happiness. “The jars are full of happiness from children, but be wise of how you treat them or they will make you face something that's the opposite of the golden star”cracked the cold solder with a heart broken voice. The scared hooded figure in the shadows reached for his last chance only to discover the last words the man had spoken.

The golden star was not only the most important treasure to survive but the opposite is to die a painful death. 

Hannah Myint, Year 7.

The Tattoo in My Heart —-

My arms still ache from

hugging you so tight in the darkest of nights ,

though I had to let you go years back.

I am the mole on your finger and 

you are the mole on my leg. 

Funny how we are always around each other

yet never with each other . 

We all fall in love a little with someone each day .

Their smile ,

their voice,

and the warm light they bring with them .

Them.

Them in the sense of you. 

90s vintage camera .

Blurry polaroid photos.

Bulky wired earphones that we shared and

music blasting in our ears .

Big eyes and pearly whites on display . 

A sweet moment of time carved in my muffled memories. 

Laughing in the rain .

Crying in the cinemas.

When you sang ,

 it was like sweet strands of sugar playing with my emotions like the strings of an angel's harp.

And though you are not in my presence ,

the stars at night —

they remind me of your eyes,

and the sun in the early morning —

it reminds me of your warmth , 

and the rocks in the little pond —

they remind me of the coldness you show me, 

like I am not even there. 

You hoped our future would unfold like a dream ,

though I knew that would just be a dream,

and it would not align

 the stars in the sky ,

or the waves of the ocean,

or our hearts.

You drew paintings in my head that I would never forget,

and stars and planets light years ahead .

But now you’re gone without a trace ,

and I hope you know you’re something I cannot  replace.

Sarah Anderson, Year 8.

Making good choices 

An informed conscience is an educated choice made by the teachings of the Church and our knowledge as Christians/Catholics. In simple words, it is a thought in your head that can direct you to a decision that is either right or wrong. When it comes to making an informed conscience, it can be particularly hard for adolescents to do the right thing because they are constantly influenced by peer pressure, opinions from the community, religion etc. In fact, approximately 90% of teens are reported to be influenced by peer pressure when making an informed conscience. 

People may struggle to make the right choice when it comes to making decisions. There will always be two different voices in your head - one which may tell you to do something bad (like the devil), and one which will tell you to do the right thing (like God). It’s important to block out all the bad thoughts because it will prevent us from making regretful mistakes and guide us to the right path. There are various problems that people may encounter when making the right decision. One of the most significant issues is a lack of information or understanding about the available options. People may end up making decisions based on misleading information in these kinds of circumstances, which could result in concern. Pressure from outside influences, such as classmates, family, or cultural norms, is another difficulty. This pressure typically leads people to make decisions that are opposite to their own principles or views. Additionally, the fear of making the wrong decision can be a significant obstacle, preventing individuals from taking chances or making judgements that could lead to positive outcomes. Overall, making the right decision can be difficult, but being aware of these challenges will help navigate individuals into a better future. 

Making poor decisions can have major impacts on a person's life in a variety of ways. For example, if someone decides to participate in dangerous behaviour, such as drug use or excessive drinking, they may develop an addiction, have health issues, or even face legal penalties. Another example is deciding to gossip about your friends without their knowledge; ultimately, this will come back to haunt you and you may lose friends. Overall,  the consequences of poor decisions can be serious and long-lasting, impacting not just the person but also their loved ones and the larger community. As a result, it is critical to consider all possible consequences before making any decision.

Making moral decisions is an important component of human life. There are numerous techniques we might use to ensure that our decisions are ethically correct. We must analyse the effects of our choices. Will it damage or benefit anyone? Secondly, we must listen to our conscience and inner voice. Our conscience assists us in differentiating between what is good and evil. Lastly, we should consider our society's ethical and moral standards. Every society has its own set of ethical and moral standards that influence its individuals' behaviour. Before making any decisions, we should consider these values. People can even ask others whom they must trust to make the decision-making process easier. 

In conclusion, making good choices is important for all ages, especially teens. By having people like God by our side to guide us, we are able to make positive, informed decisions. Generally, adolescents will be able to live a better life when following the right path.. So what are you waiting for?! Let us all work together and offer to talk to a loved one who is having difficulty making decisions!

Aishriya Lal, Year 8.

POEM: Divided

As my cursed beginning came near -

A scar with its mark left clear.

On an impulse I knew,

My fate - through and through.

Whilst others would embrace the liveliness of their lives at its utmost,

My lifeless eyes met drained colour - that of a fleshless ghost.

Whilst others would frolic with meaningless clutter - their faces lit with intolerable joy,

I would envision myself caressing the soothing coat of a shrieking bat - a true toy.

While the Heavens would boast its glint of blue -

All the while - too cheerful.

And when the blinding sun would cast its ugly rays of shine,

I would yearn for the day to not have been as fine.

I would yearn for the whipping torrent of the wind,

For the blithely bubbling streams to begin to brim,

And For the imprisoned strips of lightning to cackle -

To tremble with madness from being cuffed with a shackle.

Chained with isolation, I stood afar -

And stole a glance at this wild world - not wanting to scar

It with my devilish spirit

Although I fear my urge would do quite the opposite.

My heart endlessly seeped with persistent sorrows -

A cellar - hit with piercing, but familiar arrows.

Grief was an only friend - but one that seemed to only make me more lonely

And as for those little desires I loved - I only loved; Only.

As my cursed beginning had come near -

A scar with its mark left clear.

On an impulse I had known that my fate had forever collided -

With a hex too great, I’d forever be divided.

Cassandra-Alison Caraig, Year 9.

If love wasn't so easy, 

maybe loving you was, 

I mean I go from 0 to 100 just seeing you because. But love isn't permanent,

it's not easy or nice, 

it can be temporary Sometimes. 

You may still have the love and desire but not enough to prior the relationship you and I enquire. All I can do is shower in the sour thoughts of loving you. But love can be temporary sometimes.

We may have our troubles, 

and struggles but even our puzzles, 

pieces our ways back to each other, 

you and I may BE so bright but we just don't fit together. 

(love can be temporary sometimes.)

Jack Eagleston, Year 10.

I've always been a vivid dreamer, but lately my dreams have been taking a darker turn. It's like my subconscious has become a twisted, malevolent force that won't let me rest. The nightmares are so real, I can feel the sweat on my skin and the dread in my chest.

In these dreams, I find myself wandering through desolate, otherworldly landscapes. The sky is always a murky shade of grey, and the air is thick with the stench of decay. I'm alone in these places, surrounded by nothing but the haunting emptiness that seems to stretch on forever.

I wander through abandoned buildings, their walls covered in mould and their floors creaking under my weight. I walk through empty corridors, the flickering lights casting shadows that dance and twist like malevolent spirits. I find myself in dark forests, the trees looming over me like twisted, gnarled fingers reaching out to snatch me up and drag me into the abyss.

It's like I'm in some sort of liminal space, a realm where the laws of physics and reason don't apply. Sometimes, the dream feels so real that I can smell the musty air and feel the rough, splintered wood beneath my feet. Other times, it's like I'm floating through a world made entirely of shadows and mist.

I know that I'm dreaming, but I can't seem to wake up. I try to scream and pinch myself, but it's like my body is paralyzed. I'm trapped in this nightmare, forced to wander through its twisted, surreal landscapes until it decides to release me.

These dreams have taken a toll on me. I can't sleep without feeling like I'm walking into a trap, and I'm constantly on edge, waiting for the next nightmare to strike. I've become isolated, unable to connect with the world around me because I feel like I'm living in a dream.

I've sought help, but nothing seems to work. The dreams continue to haunt me, to wrap their tendrils around me and drag me back into the abyss. Sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever be able to escape their grasp.

I've tried everything to break the cycle. I've meditated, gone on long walks, and even taken medication, but nothing seems to help. The dreams keep coming, each one more vivid and terrifying than the last.

The worst part is that the dreams are starting to seep into my waking life. I'll be going about my day, and suddenly, I'll feel like I'm back in one of those liminal spaces. I'll see flickering lights or feel the musty air, and it's like I'm right back in the dream. It's like the line between reality and fantasy is becoming more and more blurred.

Amber Kahlon, Year 11.

Extract from “Reality”.

“Obnoxiously loud noises, the perpetual honking of cars, filthy dust and dirt filling the air, and the recurring smell of pungent spices and flavourful popular street foods were what I called home. The stifling overcrowded streets of Mumbai were filled with vibrant pops of sanguine and deep khaki, cultural and diverse rich history, it was naturally picturesque, where I grew up, and all that I knew. That was up until our family abruptly decided to migrate to Australia, the country where those who are ambitious meet their dreams, the battle to the top becomes accessible, and the country in which I was expected to thrive in whilst living to my fullest potential was served on a silver platter built from the altruistic sacrifices made by my parents.

As I departed what seemed like a never-ending flight to the middle of nowhere, It felt as if the rush of nerves reached me all at once, all with no warning. They were rather unfamiliar nerves, not the type to drown your palms in sweat but the feeling you get when opening that first present on Christmas morning, a thrill, an excitement, your intuition reaching out and telling you it will all be okay. For a 10-year-old at the time who was unaware of the ways of the world, a chance to live in a ‘diverse’ country felt as though you had wings that would carry you to everlasting freedom. Foolishly I saw our world through rose-coloured glasses, not a flaw to be seen, nor a fault to depict. 

*********

As time went by my family decided it was appropriate for me to change schools in hopes of a better environment, I desperately hid the specifics to avoid guilt on their behalf, but they instantly knew my bullying situation. I realised that society as a whole was not against me, it was the specific group of people, even if I had done nothing wrong, was it jealousy? Did my skin colour have to become a fault and regret of mine? The new environment invited people who had finally accepted me and helped me see the good in people, in this country. As I made new friends, I finally felt like I belonged, like a perfect piece in a puzzle I sensed comfort. Friends were made, friends I am still in contact with today, friends I will miss dearly. 

Was I not too young to experience that as a growing child? I was a child, I wasn’t aware of the detestation I had gone through for years upon years, I was not aware that I should never be embarrassed by the food I ate, the gift of a deep and graceful accent from my ancestors. 

Kritika Aryal, Year 12.

Extract from: The Black Swan.

She looks like the real thing. She looks like the real thing. Viana utters these words over and over again trying desperately to wrap her head around them. She stares at the seventeen-year-old beside her, dressed completely in white from head to toe, and wonders if she really is who she says she is. In the room beside them, a little girl tries to stay awake. With her, she holds the secret which has the power to unlock exactly what Viana is searching for. The missing piece. There is a noise that echoes in the long, empty brown

corridors. It’s a squealing noise, and the little girl hears it every night. The sound haunts her like a bad memory.

In the corridor, there are subtle footsteps followed by a loud shatter. Something big dropped. Vianna, the seventeen-year-old, and the little girl jump up out of their beds and rush out their doors. There is nothing outside, no sign of anything ever being dropped. Vianna looks at the girl. She must be about 9. She wears a black dress that covers her feet entirely. Her eyes bulge out of her face like they are too big for her. As Vianna stares at her the little girl doesn’t meet her eyes instead she seemed to be staring at some point off beyond the distance.

Caitlyn Dela Cruz, Year 12.

Extract from: Fairytale Realities

My story starts in the middle. Though life occurs chronologically, my thoughts progress, forward or backward, as I conjure up every possible ending for myself. It’s a self-destructive habit - drowning myself in my own whirlpool of unrealistic fantasies, wishing that one day I’ll achieve my fairytale reality. At 17, I suppose I’d consider myself a Macro Planner for life. I learnt this term a few weeks ago, but I’ve known this about myself since I was eight. Characters drop in and out every day, my unborn daughter’s favourite colour changes once a month, and it’s about time I reconsider the DJ for my wedding reception. 

My mind is as cluttered as a flood-stricken town, debris of detail scattered across the wrinkles of my brain. 

My world spins on a million different axes outside the realm of existence.

And in the end, 

I am left alone with my insanity. 

• I Do

Hydrangea flowers trickle down a plunging V neck, drifting up and down with the rhythm of my breaths, in sync with the waltz time of Can’t Help Falling In Love. Glistening champagne tulle bursts from my waist and streams to the ground like a flowing spring, my royal train dragging across the cathedral floor toward my eternity. I hand off my bundle of periwinkles and lavenders, and sheer white nylon blurs my vision of the same soft smile and cheek dimples I’ve known since I was 12. 

Our loved ones gather to witness the moment we’d all been anticipating for over a decade, tears dampening my face as he mouths:

 “I love you”.  

When I close my eyes I am instantly transported to a land of happily ever after. I melt with joy as my mind is decorated with lilies and periwinkles, reorganising the seating arrangement and choreographing the father-daughter dance to *NSYNC. Inspired by the Prince Frederik and Princess Mary royal wedding of Denmark, I have spent every moment since I was two years old establishing the intricacies of my picture-perfect Disney Princess wedding. I have nine different pinterest boards/collages filled with my wedding dress, cake, cathedral, reception, bridesmaid dresses, floral arrangements and flower girl baskets. Wedding planning is my nicotine; every bone in my body whirs with unrealistic excitement like the wind of a summer storm. 

Loudonald Go, Year 12.

Extract from: A Mother’s Love.

Layla’s wretched body laid slump against the rigid stone wall, the icy touch spread like fire on her bare skin, penetrating through her long thin drapes which hung loose over her shoulders and fell scattered by her side. Her feet buried into the deep trenches of the never ending sand. Darkness emanated from around her, somehow seeping through the holes in the cloth tightly bound on her eyes. She caressed her sandpaper fingers against her thin, hairy legs, listening intently to the rustling of her dead skin peeling off. Her stone calluses had formed on the edges of her fingers, adapting to her tendency to scratch futilely at the blindfold. She inhaled deeply, wincing sharply – a pungent smell lingering in the empty air dazing her senses. 

She reminisced about the sweet warm kisses of the sun, and the burning touch of the swingset that she had been pushed on by her father. That day there was an eruption of loud bangs in which her mother had brought her here in this very room, isolated from the rest of her friends and family, unaware she would be spending the rest of her days here. Years on years she would spend her days in silence, unable to escape to the real world. She would only ever see her mother once a day for a small period of time in which she would be given food and water – a small loaf of bread and a jug of murky water which was inhaled in an instant. Layla had begged her mother to let her free but was met with the same response: 

“Not yet.”