Growth - a beautiful and original story
by Kezia P - Y9 - April 2021
An
introduction to a character is how a story usually starts. Well. Hello. That is
me. I am that character. What I am about to tell you could be called many
things. Maybe an autobiography, maybe a collection of experiences, maybe simply
things I witnessed. I like tale. Sounds like something a nymph would be in,
perhaps living in a forest. That’s how my story started anyway. Without the
nymph of course. And yes, that is right, I lived in a forest. That is where you
find most trees after all.
Many things
happened in my sapling years. I do not remember them all as my memory fades on
with time, transforming those memories to mere flickers in my mind like wind
whistling through my branches, never staying long enough to reminisce, yet
leaving me with strange feelings, traces of emotions. I suppose that is the
real reason I decided to write this. So as not to forget. One final shed of
everything I know, before my trunk gives way to a new tree.
Well enough
of that chatter, I must begin before I forget them entirely! My first spring.
The months of my first growth. I sat through those in the forest, swaying in
unison with my kind – happy, content. Occasionally a young lord would trot by,
hair swept to the side and riding proudly on a fine horse, but mostly the only
life I saw was that of the nearby townsfolk, peasants I believe they were
referred to as, and also the wildlife of course. There was one family in
particular that often visited the deeper realms of the forest, close to my spot.
Two human saplings and a fully grown man. Each day he would rest his brow upon
theirs before whispering something in their ear and leaving the way he came.
The children would smile, waving their branches at him and then would play
about. This was the bit that I always enjoyed. It was nice hearing the echoes
of laughter float around the forest, carefree and happy. But one day the
laughter stopped. The echoes grew still, and the shrieks heard were simply that
of the birds. They just didn’t return. It was then, many a year into my life,
that the chopping began.
As the
summers passed, I had begun noticing many a man wandering through our
territory, sat slumped upon clopping horses pulling covered carts, painted like
my skin, holding cylinders, shaped and painted like me, the old-fashioned
version of a mannequin if you will. It was not until one cold autumn that I
realized it was not paint. And from that moment on, I feared my life. The
crowds around me thinned, day by day, year by year. Friend after friend was cut
down, leaving just the remnants of a stump to tell their tale. One day I woke
up, looked around me. I was alone. I believe this happened around the time that
Man referred to as the 1600s. Numbers always confused me though. I could be
wrong.
As you can
probably imagine, that sent me into a bit of a shock. Quite a large one
actually. So large that I fell into a deep empty sleep. A coping mechanism of
trees, particularly common to my brethren as we grow for an exceptionally long
time so have to do something with our lives, even if that something may be
considered rather boring to those who can move about. It was a strange sleep,
filled with monsters, fairies and creatures of the like. When I eventually
awoke, around two hundred odd years later, it was almost as if I had stayed in
the dream, for I was surrounded in such a different world. Noise shot from all
around me: crying, shouting, men with flakes of my kind shoving them to others’
faces: “Read all about it!” echoing to me from across the street. I felt like I
would throw up. If I could.
It was
around that time that I first witnessed violence from one human to another. It
had never struck me as something to expect from man and therefore left me quite
dazed. Why would two of the same species fight for no reason? It made no logical
sense to me. The victim was a young man, darker skinned than the folk I
regularly saw passing and dressed in slightly less fashionable attire. He sat
at my trunk, an apple in his hand and his shoulders sagged, all tension lost
from his body. I believe he was about to bite into the apple when suddenly
something was screamed from behind us and he dropped it, panic splayed across
his face. I remember him trying to stand, hands shaking and fumbling at my
roots for something to grip onto. They didn’t give him time. The three men beat
him again and again as he fought to catch his breath before eventually leaving,
grins splattered across their smug faces as his body lay limp at my roots,
blood trickling down his chin. The apple sat a few feet away. Untouched.
I later
learnt that violence is not uncommon in the human community and is triggered by
a number of reasons, not just the racial discrimination that I had witnessed.
Though that did not stop it from confusing me even today. Not long after that I
encountered violence once more, only this time to me. At some point during my
deep sleep my spot and the surrounding area of my growth was transformed into a
mini park of sorts, sitting beside a cobbled street and overlooking a little
village. Being visited by locals was a regular occurrence for me and one that I
cherished deeply, for it filled me with utter joy to see the humans, fully
grown and otherwise, enjoying mine and the rest of natures company. At least it
did before the night I was vandalized. After that I was unsure. You see, one night I
was contemplating life when I heard the sound of footsteps approaching and loud
voices, slurred and laughing. A group of about ten men approached, all holding
bottles that contained varying amounts of a darkish liquid, hard to see what
with the lack of light. Suddenly, one of the men hurled his bottle at me,
causing a wave of laughs amongst the others. They did not care about the liquid
running down my bark or the glass wedged into my trunk. Another bottle was
thrown. Then another. Then another. All followed suit, hysterical with giggles,
until not one bottle was left clutched in their hands. My roots were covered in
a carpet of glass shards and I was thoroughly stained with the strong-smelling
substance that had once been inside the bottles. I felt woozy and disoriented but
most of all disgusted. Disgusted at the awful behavior of these men, reeking of
drink. Disgusted at their lack of self-control. Disgusted at the way these
humans held themselves. Then they threw a match. The world went dark.
Once again,
my natural instincts kicked in. By that I mean I fell into another deep sleep,
just over two hundred years and filled with dreams alike that of my first. I
awoke wiser, taller and though I was scarred by the burns of that night, I felt
stronger, rejuvenated. However, I was once more tossed into a new world,
surrounded by alien objects. Even the humans themselves looked different. Gone
were the suits and top hats, the dirty aprons. Now they wore t-shirts, skirts,
shorts and caps. Cars seemed to be no novelty, honking and beeping as they
whizzed past me, music flowing through open windows and oh the colours! I saw
reds, blues, greens and even a few yellows, quite unlike the blacks and greys I
had grown accustomed to. As I witnessed all of this, I felt the most peculiar
feeling wash over me. I was truly happy, excited for the future, my branches
aching to watch the world go by as I grow old, as I gained more experiences,
saw more things. I was no longer the sapling in the woods, giddy with joy at
every sound I heard. I had grown.
The blood-red autumn leaves rustled softly as something
crept past them. It looked around, its keen eyes noticing every detail. Then,
it saw what it was looking for. A newly
placed marble slab stood in the shadow of a towering yew tree. In front of it
was a bunch of snowy white flowers that had a beautiful scent. A trio of
candles had been balanced precariously on the edge of the grave.
“Target acquired.”
Silently, he slinked out of his hiding place, wary of every
worm in the ground, of every squirrel in the trees. His eyes were fixed on the
gravestone. Any other day, he might have wondered about the body that was
buried a few feet beneath the ground where he stood, but today was different,
today he was on a mission.
His eyes were narrowed as he pounced onto the engraved block
of stone. His body tensed as he listened for the sound of nearing footsteps,
but when he heard nothing he turned back to his prize, his well-earned trophy
that would make him a hero, his… dinner!
In the cool shade of the yew tree, Agent Nibbles the spy
hamster devoured the flowers, one after the other, before turning to the
candles, before leaping onto one and poking his petal-stuffed cheeks into the
jar. Without warning, the jar fell of the edge of the slab. When his stomach
was finally satisfied, the drowsy hamster moved to retrieve his head from the
container, but he had a nasty surprise, he was stuck!
Angrily, Agent Nibbles clawed at the glass, but it was no
use. Desperately, he charged into the gravestone, kicking the jaw with his muscular
hind legs. He fought bravely, with courage and valour. Finally, the jar loosened
and he was able to escape the suffocating glass prison, which had trapped him.
“Mission accomplished.”
Written by Amelia Mc – Year 7
Creative Writing Club September 2020
Family in South Australia find live koala in their Christmas tree | Environment | The Guardian -
click on the link to read the article and view the video.
Secret Agent Daphne
A Christmas story by Cerys H - Y8
I approached the house; the gold shiny star twinkled like a diamond on top of the fake pine tree. It was sealed behind an impenetrable fortress known as a window. Whatever it was, I knew it was no match for my amazing secret agent skills. That is why I was given this important job, to steal borrow the golden star and give it to the Koala Secret Intelligence, where they would investigate all about the holiday called Chrasmas.
Thanks to my secret agent training, I noticed that one of the windows of the house was open. I expertly slithered in and ran to the base of the tree. I looked up: my goal was in sight! I hurriedly started climbing but spheres of litter rained down on me from above. This was obviously a booby trap set by the humans trying to ruin my fool-proof plan, my secret agent training taught me as much. It didn’t matter anyway; I stretched a paw out to grab the star, but it eluded my grasp. I tried to inch closer to it, but some sort of glitter rope prevented me from going any further! I cursed the human trickery and was about to try again, when I heard footsteps coming from the other room. I hastily tried to escape from my sparkly imprisonment, but the glitter held tight. I desperately thought back to my training, but I couldn’t think of a scenario that applied to my current situation. I looked back at the door and saw a dumfounded human staring at me as though I was from the moon. I froze. Maybe she wasn’t looking at me - she might just be shocked that she had left the window open.
“Hello? Adelaide and Hills Koala Rescue?” said the girl.
Okay so not the window, maybe there was a Koala outside?
“Yes, there’s a Koala on my Christmas tree!”
I started to panic; she was definitely talking about me. I tried to think of a plan but all I could think of was: “Maybe if I am very quiet and polite, she won’t mind me being on her Chrasmas tree.” Before I could think of anything else, I felt strong hands grab my waist and smother me in a blanket. Immediately I knew who it was: my arch-nemesis, the Adelaide and Hills Koala Rescue Service. I fought ferociously, but they were too strong and before I knew it, I was back outside the house where I started.
A very different story about koalas - in memory of all the animals killed in the Australian bushfires.
Orange – a story by Kezia P – Y9
Alone, wandering, feet scratching on the bark of my tree. It wasn’t always like this. My life I mean. Even only a year ago I clutched around the soft fur of my mother’s back. But that was before it came: The Orange. At the time no one knew what it was. An unstoppable force gradually taking over the forest. Our land. All it left was black. Ashes of the past. And among those ashes the body of her. Mother.
It’s a natural instinct to try and push bad memories away. Back to the depths of your mind. As much as you want to stop it you can’t. You are helpless. I wish I could remember her face, her voice. Anything.
After the orange came and went, I was lost. No landmarks or trees. No bushes nor fields. Where was I? Since that day I fled. Running from the destruction like a criminal. Running from the death place of my mother. I’m still running now, every night my claws on a new tree. Edging further and further away.
Sighing, I climb. Higher and higher. What’s the point? I’ll never be free. Free of the guilt I mean. Why couldn’t I help her? Why didn’t I save her? The fur beneath my eyes goes damp, my foot trembles.
I drop.
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