Spring2019

A wall. That’s how it started. A wall in my head. I could see it all around me. I could even physically touch the wall, but I could never get past. And yet, somehow, I knew the wall was just in my head. So why was it so… so real? That was the question I could not stop asking myself, for what seemed like an eternity. I had lost track of time. But then one day, out of the blue, everything changed forever.

I had traced my hand over every little crack, bump and fissure in the wall. I could feel the cold touch of stone, but somehow, I knew it wasn’t real. It circled me in all directions, up, down, left, right. Everywhere. Just this cracked, chiselled stone. I didn’t know why I was there, where my parents were, where any of my friends were. All I knew was the wall. And then one day, without warning, it started crumbling.

“Ell? Ell, can you hear me? Honey, it’s me. We’re worried. Please. Do something.”

I snapped awake from my dozing on the rough surface of the floor. The voice was coming from the wall. No, not from the wall. From beyond the wall. I didn’t know how, or why, but the voice felt familiar. I knew that voice. But how? I hadn’t heard anything apart from my own heartbeat in eternities.

“Hello?” I said.

My voice simply echoed back at me from the wall. Nothing. I sat back down, about to close my eyes, when I noticed something. A crack. A crack in the wall. It might not seem of significance to anyone else, but I had felt every fissure and bump in this wall. The crack was new. It was new. My heart raced. I had never seen anything new before. At least, not in this stone cage. I stood up, uncertain, and carefully traced my fingers delicately over the crack. It felt so… fresh, like an old scar which had reopened. Just touching it made my entire body tingle. Again, I didn’t know why, or how, but a feeling in my gut told me this was important. I sat down next to the crack, unwilling to leave this new, confusing streak on the wall.

“Ms. Shores? Ms Shores, can you hear me? If you can hear me, can you move your eyes?”

I woke up suddenly again, to a voice. However, this one was unfamiliar. Nonetheless, I moved my eyes around, hoping to hear a voice, any voice apart from my own.

“24^th of November. Three months. Still no reaction. Sorry Ellie, but your parents and I think it’s time to pull the plug. Wake up. For their sake.”

The voice receded, and I was left once again in my own thoughts. I had no idea what the person was talking about. Wake up? How? I was encased inside the wall. How could I escape? What was on the other side? I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find out. There were too many questions. There was another fresh mark on the left wall now, this time where the new voice had come from. The stone there looked thinner and lighter, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do. Then another voice came into play. A woman’s voice. It was so agonisingly familiar, like I knew who it was, but couldn’t quite place it.

“Ellie. Please wake up. Please. It’s Mum.”

Mum. That one word that I hadn’t heard in ages. Suddenly I was flooded with memories. Me at six years old, my parents swinging me at a playground. The time when I was nine, throwing a tantrum over a Christmas present. But how had I ended up here? Was this a punishment? I didn’t know. My family. They were on the other side of the wall. I knew it.

“Mr and Mrs Shores, you don’t have to do this. We can give it more time – .” The voice was cut off by someone else.

“I’m sorry, Doctor. We’ve decided. It’s time to let go.”

The new voice cracked with emotion. I was unsure what to do. All I knew in this lonely life was stone, bumps, and cracks. Cracks. I remembered the newly formed cracks. They had seemed significant before. I hurried over to one of them. The stone felt weak. For the first time since being here, I pulled at the stone. Nothing. I grasped and scrabbled and heaved, until, abruptly, the stone slipped out. It wasn’t a big gap, barely the size of a brick, but I could see the other side. People, family, friends. Mine.

And suddenly, I was free.

Any perverse elements of racism or cultural insensitivity don’t reflect my personal beliefs, rather my interpretation of the time’s beliefs and values.

“… it is the story of small groups of men, infinitesimally small against the mountains in which they fought, who killed one another in stealthy and isolated encounters beside the tracks which were life to all of them; of warfare in which men first conquered the country and then allied themselves with it and then killed or died in the midst of a great loneliness.”

Dudley McCarthy, Australian War Memorial.

At home, in the peaceful streets of Darwin in Australia’s Northern Territory, the rain often brought reprise from the humidity and heat of the tropics, but here in New Guinea, it seemed to be the only state of being. As I drifted between sleep and reality, then and now, my mind fell back to the nagging question. Why? Why am I here, deemed not old enough to vote but able to face death in such a hostile land.

Nearing the end of 1941, a snippet I had heard in passing a BBC paperboy regarding an ‘Australian Hospital Ship Centaur’ barely registered in my mind, but the paper’s front-page title stopped me in my place and made my blood run cold:

HOSPITAL SHIP ATTACKED IN ACT OF COWARDICE

JAPANESE WAR CRIME; 268 AUSSIES KILLED

I was pulled to visit the local recruitment centre and by design, many posters – propaganda, I can reason in hindsight – were positioned to be seen by those waiting in line. My blood boiled and my hands started shaking… I’d lost my father to the Great War and to be told that this country of murderous fanatics was hellbent on destroying the essence of Australia, and that I felt I was here, sitting idle while the scourge creeped closer to Australia… I simply couldn’t.

I was soon assigned to a battalion which would find itself fighting in the Kokoda campaign against an unyielding imperialistic Japan. On this day, I awoke sometime before 0500 hours, albeit to say this would be to adopt the assumption that I was truly asleep; an impossibility with the constant shelling and small arms gunfire. It was this harsh, unrelenting game, back and forth, across valleys and mountains that left us falling back, and pushing past the same areas across months, having not gained a single metre back towards Japan. We stood and looked, in varying degrees and combinations of awe and dread, up – and it was indeed up in every literal sense. As I squinted into the rising sun and the filtered sunlight breaking through the overgrowth’s canopy, the salty sweat which dripped into my eyes failed to hide the gravity of the topography. Breaking myself from my musings was the croaking grind of my platoon’s Corporal’s voice, who seemed motivated simply by his self-evident hatred for the Japanese.

“Alright boys, get up and give it to them!” the Corporal boomed at my platoon, and we rushed up terrain so steep that each of my steps was more a leap of faith that I may find some unexpected scrap of traction, hoping to pull myself up and closer to the Japanese’s defensive position which they’d stolen from us just yesterday, pushing us back to the bottom of a harsh ravine.

Bullets burnt through the lush overgrowth and steaming red blood fell from men wearing both the uniforms of the Imperial Japanese Army and Australia’s Second Imperial Force. The boy next to me threw a well-placed grenade that lodged itself at the base of a machine-gun post. The Japanese soldier operating the gun, having already slain what I’d guess to be five of the boys around me, was thrown in a cruel arc, meeting the earth with a harsh, splintering crack and the smell of seared meat. I fell with the man in a mangle of limbs that ended with us, somewhat whole, at the base of a towering palm tree.

With our unceremonious struggle ending in a plush carpet of dead overgrowth, I could feel a man, seemingly a deadweight, crushing my lungs. God knows I hoped he was dead, but perhaps just because I feared what I’d have to do if he weren’t. I struggled up, and reaching for my knife I realised I’d lost it along with my gun; all I had was a food and med kit and my ammo belt, neither useful. In a crazed stupor, I hazily stumbled towards a now upended tree stump, and raised it above my head as if to bludgeon the swine with it… but I stopped, frightened. In his eyes I saw the very same look I saw on the face of my brother, who found himself unlucky enough to come home from the Great War; the doctor called it the thousand-yard stare. Seeing the pain, the agony, I dropped the stump I was previously somehow ready to hurl onto this man. Looking down to my shaking, bloodied hands, I fell to the ground in a heaped mess less than a metre from him. As I stared off into the distance at a setting sun, I felt lost… without my brother. Loss, for this man and his state. But somehow, mostly the loss of myself. All I could see was my brother staring back at me, and across language barriers and this sense of hatred, I felt I was meant to feel for this man – allegedly a monster. All I could do was feel his pain and share his pity.

Yet today, as the very same sun sets upon the Bomana War Cemetery in what is now an independent Papua New Guinea’s Port Moresby, my painful reality comes flooding back. I see the rows of unnamed and unreturned fathers, brothers and sons found in the ranks of the ANZACS, the loss of these valiant Aussies and Kiwis. At the periphery of my mind, I feel a deep, cruel likeness in many of the plaques cherishing the valour of so many young men to that of my father, who remained buried in Europe following the first World War. But, I found within the rows of the bodies of the unnamed and unreturned, marked simply ‘Known unto God,’ a much deeper yet palpable loss. Upon the rows of bodies belonging to young men who never experienced the life and family they deserved, I know not a single part of the machine which constructed the magnetic lies about the depravity of the Japanese would ever find themselves in such a position here, having sacrificed themselves and asking; for what? Yet, I can’t even feel apologetic for my role in the campaign, nor the pity I showed to that man in the jungle, at the base of an eternal nipa palm tree. No, I truly feel nothing but remorse. Remorse at the hatred I felt towards the Japanese, the destruction we etched into the landscape… For a fleeting moment, I even feel remorseful at my return.

Others can’t understand you
So, you feel like a giant, elevated
Viewing all the things happening below you
Disembodied.

Others can’t understand you
So, your branches are generous
Your leaves are fabulous
Your flowers perform gloriously
Your berries display deliciously
Throw all the jealousy down to the ground.

You grow up without compliment
Slowly but surely
Rain, thunder, lightning
Although your branches may break
Your roots remain sturdy.

Tough as you are
Birds nesting on you
Squirrels live inside you
Fruit drops and feeds the people below you
Thick bark but still vulnerable.

They laughed at you in Spring
“How small is that tree!”
They are impressed by you in Summer
“What a huge tree!”
They adore you by Autumn
“Why did we ever doubt you?”

When you grow up
Realise you are not alone.
Forest
Is your home.

edited by Hamish Watson and Chris Merritt and contributed to by Tom Allan, Conor Bartlett, Nathan Cuthbertson, Lewis Miller, Ben Parker, Harry Pasich, Harry Peden, Benji Steinberg, Max Vaughan and Jack Watkins

Care to rumble down this riven paving,
I’ve many a question, but I’m going to wait,
’til I drop, and flail like a blind, sooty fowl,
hungry for the crimson wattle stowed behind.

But you didn’t consider a glance, and see,
my wings stretched, bold, tame me,
Please.

Black smoke creeping through alleyways and pervading the streets,
My face smothered upon a breath
Glass windows and brick walls surrounded by the cloud of darkness,
That noxious stench hot before my face, like a sweltering flame
A foul poison that makes me gasp and choke
The buildings isolated by the permeating fog of darkness,
Spreading across the land like an inferno
Its foul breath inflaming the precious life,
The life that has been lost, the dilapidated architecture
Cannot be revived after such ruinous decay

In this world, the people enslave themselves, worshiping the neon lights and the green paper,
Never seeing the true aspect of life
Living in this world, where people choose to live in hardness
Paving over the soft ground
Residing in cramped turrets that offer no security
I need my space, but they live here, and are stuck in the loop of a broken record
The sudden beep of a horn snaps those half-dead awake
They turn around and look up, lost into the gaze of an idol on a screen
Selling your soul, to make a quick buck. It never ends well

Faith is dead
I have killed him.
I am the man who has to walk the earth
Only rebirth by the river, If God is almighty and pure, then he wouldn’t leave the world like this
Such a barren place.
They say it is better to be the slave of life than the king of death, but every time I choose death
They know the feeling so certain, to be swept back
Another failed conquest
Only fire can give me hope. Who would dare cross, a demon on the road to redemption?

Like Polonius, I’m garrulous
Like Roderigo, I’m the fool
As noble as these men
and as ancient as their misdemeanours,
As bad as they truly are,
Are they really comparable to me?
I’m not that bad, I know of that,
So where are their arms gently laid on mine,
Where is their bona fide fidelity?

Five foot twelve
Too short, too poor
I pale in comparison to those ardent for glory
White feather in my mailbox
My bedroom a tombstone
A coffin my bed, and cold pillows on my head
Unable to please with knocked knees
My lustrous charm is not of the magnitude of Hercules
Decrepit beast, see me for me
I less than those of tales of hardship
Even! the harlot does not want my coin
Desolate on this rocky groyne
To be sent away by the strumpet of Babylon
Please see me for me

Begone temptress
I more than to please your desire
I more than to carry a rifle
I more than to eat a trifle
You see my trunk, my brow, my mug but not my me
Look beyond my meek facade
Look beyond my poor shoes
See me for who I am,
Solomon Shrew

Joints aching in chorus, twisting, turning, trapped.
Young Venetian fools parade and I’m fraying like tapestry
in the hellish rays
Solomon, Solomon, Solomon-
my name sours in their mouths
Crucified by a coquette’s gaze

With dark eyes and lustrous locks she draws near
Yet I am merely the fool, vaulting through hoops
Only to realise, that you no longer care
Solomon, stupid Shrew, imagination impunes you
Love… destroys you

Stumbling in the dark. Emptiness.
Struck with a blow to my heart
As Romeo was plunged into despair with the belief of Juliet dead
I too am overcome with this sickening feeling,
watching, even the baker’s daughter turn her head
I fall. I fail. I Solomon Shrew, am no more.

Another one gone
Another failed attempt
I compare myself to Judas
That paragoned villain; betrayer!
At least he got his share

I am such a nice guy; will someone give me a try?
Just a moment,
You will not look back
I will love you like a shining queen
Even like a goddess
Hovering around in my self-confessed mess

Your skin on mine
Floating like an angel around the midst of my heaven
And I’m your ever-so-powerful god
I, ever the fool, am not too fool to not know
It is not their fault
For every time I see myself from my nightly looking mirror
The bronze bowels of a glass
I know my truth
And their scorn is but a thimble of what I deserve.

The shimmering sun sets through the winter haze,
At the edge of the water, bright as day.
Its warm, rich colours meet my longing gaze,
The calm roar of the ocean drowned away.

Reds and yellows illuminate the sky,
Gifting us with light for a final time.
My gaze remains frozen as time flies by,
I rest in the sand, its texture divine.

Vast golden light as intricate as lace,
Leaving the beach with unrelenting haste,
The cool, salty air filling up my nose,
Awakening my senses as it blows.

I watch as the blue sea retreats yet again,
The sun’s rays dancing, not unlike heaven,
On its staircase, a gull ripples reflection,
I watch as it soars, savouring perfection.

I fall forward as my foot catches on a loose scrap of metal jutting out from the side of the heap. I roll midair to soften my landing, but the impact still sends jarring pain through my shoulder and back. I throw my hands out above me, trying to grab hold of anything to stop me sliding down the side of The Pile. I glance beneath me, down, down, down along the steep slope, down towards the village. Home. I spot my house, a small derelict bungalow towards the edge of town, its tin roof and metal walls glinting in the moonlight, the walls that, like every single other building in our little village, is made from scraps of metal and parts from the very behemoth that I am climbing at the moment – a massive heap of metal that from the ground stretches as far as the eye can see from left to right and stretches high into the air.

We call it The Pile. But from up here I am graced with a very different view. The lights of the houses below me twinkle in my periphery as I gaze across the horizon, across the Outlands and whatever horrors lie beyond. I see unending plains of dust and doom, the remnants of a mighty civilization that ruled this world from corner to corner. Stories are told of their demise, how they succumbed to greed and power, sapping the world of all of its resources. They destroyed and killed wherever they went, careless and oblivious of the consequences they would suffer. And then finally when they tried to make amends and fix their problems, it was too late. The damage was done. Slowly their people, billions strong, perished, hunger and a lack of water decimating whoever was unlucky enough to be left.

But those are only legends.

My gaze rises into the night sky past the rising moon and the few glints of the stars that you can see when the dust isn’t so bad.

An object begins to come into the top of my view. Black, dark, unending. I raise my eyes to the heavens and all I can see is the humungous shape that fills the sky, blocks out the sun and acts as a constant reminder of how worthless we Grounders are. That, I think to myself, is the Avion. The last remains of the Great People. When society fell, the richest and most elite came together and created a new civilization, a Utopia of Utopias, a sky city with no limits. They separated themselves from the rest of us, and rose up, never to return. The people up there survive off technology, machines and robots on a whole new level, unimaginably advanced to those of us who live among the scraps.

Their scraps.

If one stands on the very summit of The Pile on a clear day and gazes above themselves they may be able to make out a ring of light, far above. That ring is the exit port for the Rubbish Disposal. Twice a year the floodgates are opened and thousands upon thousands of tons of rubbish, scraps and “outdated” machines rain from above in a shower that can last for days.

These scraps are what we have to survive off.

I guess it is not so bad. Better than being left to rot in the wasteland that this world is. Still staring into the dusty, black sky, I look along the bottom of the Avion, at the hundreds and hundreds of engines that keep the Avion in the sky. They are thermonuclear reactors, fed with synthesized plutonium that they can make out of nothing. The engines cast an ethereal, greenish glow into the night. Those engines blast us Grounders with lethal radiation, killing many. Including my father. He worked on The Pile for his whole life. Settled down with my mother and had me. Then he came home one day early, a searing pain above his left eye gradually forming into a tumor in his brain. There was nothing anyone could do. It’s hard to cure diseases with nuts and bolts. He was just another body burnt, another life cut way too short, just thrown away.

That is the reason that I am here, clinging to the metal face of The Pile, scrambling my way up. As a child my dad had dreams of building an aircraft, in secret, and then flying away, across the land until we found a new home, taking me and my mother to start a new life. To him they were just dreams, pleasant thoughts he would have and share with me whilst tucking me into my bed, to at least let me sleep well and to put a smile on my face.

I have not forgotten his dreams. They have become my dreams. That is why I come, sneak out of the house and come here to look for parts that I can use when I should be sleeping. I continue up the hillside, picking up the pace of my scavenging for I must be home before dawn, as to remain in secrecy. My mother would have a heart attack if she knew what I was doing. “It’s too dangerous!” she would say. ” It’s men’s work.”

At the far outskirt of the village there is a little gully, protected and hidden from the rest of the world. And in my hidden little corner I am building a plane. The plane from my father’s stories is my only hope of getting away from this hellhole, of finding somewhere new. I spend all my waking hours there, when Mother thinks I am playing with friends, but I have no time for any such feeble, useless thing. I come here at night when the men have gone home, leaving The Pile all to me. I spend hour upon hour poring over the hillside, digging here and there, searching for parts, for anything that I can use to fulfil my dream.

I have built the majority of this aircraft already, but the thing that escapes my grasp, slipping away every time I get near, over and over, is an engine. I can build one easily. I know them like the back of my hand. But no tank of diesel will get me through the Outlands, past the expanse of destruction, to whatever lies beyond.

I continue up the hillside, snaking left to right, my eyes at the ground, scanning, scanning. The muted yellow glow of my flashlight casting long shadows along the face of The Pile. I look into the sky, at the moon, wondering what it would be like to be there, looking down on us. I judge from the way it is edging towards the horizon that I have little time before the sun rises, turning the sky red and waking the town. I continue on.

I am hanging on to the very last strands of my sanity. I have tried everything to make an engine, trying everything under the sun, but it keeps coming down to fuel. Nothing is going to get me away from here. I hang my head in despair.

Then I see it. Out of the corner of my eye I see a faint greenish glow, emanating from the dark, cold pile of metal. A glow that immediately reminds me of the Avion. But why? I drop my flashlight, its weak light glinting against the metallic ground as it rolls down the hill as I bolt to the source of the light. I drop to my knees tearing away at the ground, flinging sheets of metal, bars and bits of discarded machinery to the side, getting closer to the source of this mysterious light. I tear away the last piece of mangled steel and my face is lit up in the same eerie, green glow. My jaw drops. Sitting there, buried among the rusted old parts is a little black rock, the source of the light. I instantly recognised what it is. Plutonium. An ember from the Avion’s engines. I know what they are because my dad used to bring them home after work, but those ones were dead, sapped of all their radiation and power. This one, on the other hand, is not.

But, but how? Why?

I gingerly reach down into the hole I’ve dug, enclosing my hand around the ember, quickly shoving it into the bottom of my satchel. I look up and upon seeing the blue tinge along the horizon, I knew it was time for me to leave. I scrambled down the hill, my mind racing faster than my heartbeat. Could this be what I have been praying for all this time? This very rock was what kept the Avion in the sky, kept them above us, away from us. Was it possible to make an engine out of this, to take my mother and get out of here?

There is hope, finally hope.

Walking on the weathered-down grass used as a path, memories came flooding back. Fear, adrenaline and loss. I tuned my ear to the beautiful sound of the common Robin tweeting. The towering trees looked over my petite body and made me feel insignificant. Steadying my breath, I continued slowly. The pine trees’ overlapping branches looked like the blood-matted fur of a wolf after the kill. The wolf. Did it have a significance in my life? I continued. When would I reach the fallen city?

After walking for a long time, I set down my tired legs. My eyes lapsed over and I knew it was time to sleep. After getting comfortable with the little resources I had, I slowly drifted into a long-needed slumber.

The initial picture I experienced was the forest. The lush, beautiful, amazing forest I had always known. Suddenly everything turned black. Black as the darkest onyx ever known to mankind. The ground and sky were the most scarlet red I had ever seen. Redder than the blood of a freshly killed cow, redder than the colour of a bonfire.

From the ground came great shadows, the shape of a snake and a wolf combined. They were the worst of creatures, the snake and the wolf, but to see them fused, it would poison the heart of even the most stalwart man. They slithered their way through the charred remains of the forest, annihilating everything in their path. They then came to the already destroyed town, obliterating the town even more. Still they came closer… “Gasp!” I slowly came to realise that, thankfully, it was all a dream.

Fear, dread, terror. The only feeling in my life – or was it? There was no time to contemplate. The buildings shook. The black above me. The gaping maw. The blood red eye. The wraith-like form. I had to go. But it was too late. They had come – the things from my dreams. They were everywhere.

I ran. I ran deep into the forest, deep into the place I best knew. Past towering trees, past the gargantuan roots. Still they came; chasing me. Through the forest – or what I had known. From every nook and cranny, they came. The great black snake wolves. I suddenly remembered, in front of me was a cliff! I would have to jump. Shoving my heels into the mossy ground I tried to slow. Could I make it? No. My only chance was to take the jump. For the few seconds I was in the air, everything seemed to slow. Then I was struck with a rude awakening – the slippery, smooth and hard boulders below. Slipping down, throwing caution to the wind I finally found the soft undergrowth, but they were upon me.

With my stamina diminishing, I made a mad dash to the fort – the one safe place, I hoped. But one last obstacle blocked my saviour, a rotting tree leaning precariously over a deep ravine. At the bottom I was invited by a multitude of stalagmites who seemed to look menacingly at me. But still I continued. I was on my last legs. Again, I would have to jump, but this time there was no hesitation. They were right behind me – mere centimetres away from my demise. At this prospect, I laughed. And in that moment everything, for a second time, went still. I took a step, one step closer to the edge. Another – and another – and another. And then the leap. Would I make it? Slowly a feeling of self-doubt crept through my mind… Would I make it?! Would I make it?! My hopes were confirmed by the hard rocks below. But there was no time to rest. They were upon me. Still I ran. I felt the last of my stamina trickle out of my body. I was running on true adrenaline. Fear drove me. I climbed up the hill of rocks ahead, the smooth marble hindering my desperate climb. Still they came. Suddenly, I slipped. I tried to find purchase on the smooth marble, but alas, none came. And then they were upon me, snapping at my heels with their ever-gapping jaws. I laid down. There was no point in fighting. This was the end.

But after several seconds, no white-hot pain fired through my legs. I went for a fleeting look behind me. They were gone. Maybe I had hallucinated. Maybe they were just a figment of my imagination. Still, I was lucky to be alive. As I wandered up the steps of the grandiose fort, I wondered if was safe… My question was answered too soon. Hope filled my mind. Maybe I would be safe. Would I? No. The bricks turned scarlet. The black outlined the gaping maw of a wolf. What could I do?!

Here lieth the bed of freedom, sanctified
Imbibe with me this taste so heavenly
Within these walls ’pon London’s earthly shore
We fly from poppy seed to eastern war
Where seated Emperor ’pon jaded throne
Does greet us under sun that empire crowned.

Of Eastern desert kingdom Shahs do reign,
This Persian land within our reach, but feigns
Its mysteries laid out upon our laps
The peak’d domes that dot this landscape burnt,
What hidden treasure these lands do conceal
To civil man here lies the great appeal.

We are the travellers to an antique land,
Where these stones did fall to craven hand,
What Aegypt stood is now a Moslem home,
Crawl on Sphinx fac’d city; dying light
An ecstasy of sunset hits the sand,
And a farewell to wrecks that once stood, grand.

Raise your pupils high to skies above,
Here gold flows from pores of Mali-land
Berber hands that join from palm to palm
Across Tunisie; lines up with my eyes
Markets of rugs and incense, essence, furs
Wealth and beauty lives here evermore.

But there is not our London town, here –
Where the necks go up, and bodies go down
I can hear the cries within Whitechapel
With people ’pon the ground weeping, O Lord –
I pray tonight as I have prayed before,
Let this chi’ld of mine be peace forevermore.

Cancer the uninvited guest
The gate crasher who crashes the gates
The beast who takes the best of the best
Cancer the uninvited guest.

It loves to battle and too often it wins
As it takes the best
And leaves the rest
To suffer and whimper and mourn in its trail.

It shows no mercy as it sends flesh to their graves
No matter their age
Their name, their gender nor race
It will take.

It creeps in slowly as it takes their life
Spreading like wildfire
Burning a hole in their hearts
Destroying their life desires.

Once the spark is lit
There is no stopping it
It hits you hard
The radiation wave
Freedom of this your body must crave.

It holds you back like a chain and ball
Stopping you from doing anything at all
Taking your freedom, stealing your creation
Shoving you into a coma of isolation.

It changes your body, your mind and your thoughts
The way you act, react and retract
The way you sleep, speak and walk
It changes you whether it leaves you dead or alive

But there is hope
A glimpse of light
A calling angel
To beat the beast.

To send him home
To put him in his cage
To say no more
To
Cancer the uninvited guest.
It’s time to put this demon to rest.

It starts at six. Even though I’m tired, I still have to do it. So, I get up and pack my things. Water container on the camel, rope, and then I go. Out through the beautiful early morning, across the horizon, my battered sandals cutting soft tracks in the sand. It’s hot already, and the scar from the previous day is starting to bleed again. But never mind. All that matters is the water. Because right now, the water is all I exist for.

It’s almost mid-morning. My stomach is starting to growl. Food once a day takes its toll. But if I’m lucky, there might be some swamp reeds, or other food. But that’s at least an hour away from the field of death. Or the forgotten landmines that lay in wait. One wrong step and vultures will be pecking bits of me from the sand. But I have memorized a path, and it nearly always works. Once, I dropped a wooden medallion and woke up several metres away with a very sore neck and a broken ankle.

My thoughts drift to my brother, who is in school. I want an education as well. More than anything. I don’t understand why he can, and I can’t. It doesn’t seem fair. I once asked him, but he just shrugged. My Dad is fighting in the war, and I fear for him. I wonder if he will come home. Maybe then I can ask him.

On the fields far away, I hear guns. That is not good. That means that the war is close, but there is no time to be scared. I continue my trek and finally reach the swamp. I grab the containers and slowly fill them with the disgusting but precious brown water. While I’m at it, I wash my hood, cooling my neck and face. Then I turn and head back home. Six hours after I left.

Back home, my brother teaches me what he learnt today on the red dirt floor. I don’t understand most of it, but I still try to listen. Meanwhile, I drink the water I collected hours earlier.

My meal is meagre, and my stomach still growls. I am weak, and I am tired. But this is my past and my future. It seems, in a world so hard and cruel, my fate has sentenced me.

I drink from the earthen cup.

The water that will eventually kill me.

This poem is not the product of my passion
Nor something I’m making for someone’s compassion
I was told to.
By a list of things that must be learned
Where your behaviour is seen but thoughts are not heard
It quickly becomes hard to work hard and work quick,
When people would rather go home and be sick.

I share a personal dream but it’s so hard it seems,
I can’t seem to start so I keep looking at memes.
I know two others seeking fame yet fame seeking to others is a worthless game
Impossible, ridiculous,
Even the system is against us.
But what else do we want to do?
Sit in a cubicle wearing grey suits?
Work in the old family business selling black boots?
Or being the juicer at Boost JuiceÔ?

I am lazy,
I’ll do as little work as possible when possible,
And I feel as if I’m holding on for dear life
but I told myself I would deal with life holding on
even when there’s so many better things I could be doing
when I get home I always do some YouTube viewing

Learning is fun, discovering is exciting
and being educated is engaging and delighting.

School. Is. Not.
Learning is now judged, discovering is now supervised
And being educated turns into every single day’s boring slog.
And soon you stop cruising on the train
and start dragging yourself on the floor.

So please understand!
The only reason why I’m up here
Speaking these words,
Is because this will give me one number to decide my future
And I Hate It.

So please, understand
The only reason I’m up here
Speaking these words,
Is because I want to be the one to decide my future
And We Need That.
If nothing else.

Crash! Bang!
Bullets are whistling in the wind of war,
I’m 18,
Fighting in a war that I don’t even know what for,
What ever happened to the days of peace in the world?

I’m hoping, just hoping this war will end,
My spine is shivering I’m that scared,
Hoping that I’ll get spared,
I look around at the vast battleground,
I see family and friends falling for no reason,
They’re given the death penalty like high treason.

Crash!
A plane’s fallen to the floor like a meteor being dropped,
I’m shaken to my core,
The core of this war doesn’t make sense anymore,
I had no idea what I signed up for,
When I see my mates on the floor,
In this woeful world war,
I’m hoping, just hoping this war will end,
Why can’t peace be the new trend?

My mouth is mysteriously dry as I cry,
I’m hoping, just hoping this war will end,
Then I can finally be with my family at home safe,
And no one else will need to mend,
Families are torn apart,
All this fighting isn’t smart,
Breaking our mother’s hearts.

All this time in my mind I think,
We need to have more peace,
Then wars will drastically decrease,
So, friends and family no longer decease,

I’m hoping, just hoping this war will end,
And it does,
But what have we lost?
Friends and family,
Eighty million people died in World War 2,
We need to stop and act,
So, I ask this of you,
To listen to the clues,
In the end both sides lose,
There’s no point in war.

It was exactly 9:36pm. I was walking down the long and dark dirt road, surrounded by leafless trees which lead to my house in the countryside, when I noticed an unusual hooded man walking behind me. Strange, I thought.

The hooded man was roughly twenty metres behind and had been on the same path as me for around ten minutes now. He started to pick up pace. My palms became clammy with sweat and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. Thud, Thud, Thud.

It was as if my life was in the hooded man’s hands, and I was just waiting for him to play his cards. I took a glance back and tried to be realistic with myself. Nobody just starts following you. Right?

Too focused on the mysterious figure, I tripped and fell onto the rough gravel trail. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. This will be when he strikes! I scrambled to my feet and ran. I didn’t care about the large bleeding graze on my elbow, or the dirt that covered my knees. I needed to get away from the hooded man. Fast.

I took a left turn that continued to my house and hid behind a tree.  Huffing and puffing from exhaustion and fear, I glanced over my shoulder to see if he had noticed me. He was only metres away now. I clamped my eyes shut and held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t see me. This is it. This is how I go!

“You right there?”

I peered up.

It was the hooded man.

“Y-yeah” I said with a jittery voice.

He nodded then walked off along a different path, whistling a soulful melody.

I sighed with relief, then winced with embarrassment. How could I be so paranoid?

I gingerly lifted myself off the track, brushed the dirt off my knees and continued walking.

After a while I noticed another man walking ahead of me. He kept glancing behind himself. At me.
Could he seriously think I’m following him?
He must think I’m a mad man.
I pulled the hood back over my head and continued on my way.

 Thud, Thud, Thud.

The golden hearth poises high to warm my mellow face,
As the frail hand of English breeze caresses my hair.
Tepid light blankets the tiny meadow and stones,
Sown by rushing wind and gradual tender wear.

A small patch of meadow, taken from sacred field,
Rests among the weathered stones
Its tender grass drifting between my quiet steps,
As I walk to rest upon a wooden throne.

Delicate blue bells ring in tones to songs of the golden wren
As the bumblebee’s wings deepen nature’s symphony
Purple mallows climb upon the crowded trellis wall
To preach for the hearth’s divinity.

The woven tomato plant expels its acrid scent,
To blend with nature’s pungent breeze.
It weaves and twists around the mossy, tuck-point bricks
And forms a labyrinth of green for humming bees.

The pale-tussock caterpillar nests upon the gourd plant
As the crab spider guards the flaming poppy
The soiled raven perches upon the towering hedge wall
And shrieks a call he seeks one to copy.

The choir of songs and tender breeze
Sing the song that’ll never cease
As the blooming plants of English love
Fulfil my pocket of peace.

Camouflage clothing doesn’t seem to work when you’re in a bright yellow canoe in the middle of a lake.  But it should work. Soon enough.

My camera had seen One early this morning, although it was on the opposite side of the lake. I try to paddle quietly on the tranquil water, an impossible task when surrounded by silence. I had been hunting One for years and I couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

Eventually, I tie my boat to a large fallen pine tree half submerged in the freezing water. I pick up my hunting rifle and check if it is loaded. I wade through the chilly water and think about how much this prized skin would sell for …

I feel like a ghost, weaving in and out of shadows – my presence never obvious. My rifle flickers from side to side as bushes rustle. But it was never aimed at anything for long. A branch snaps. My hand moves instantly to my hunting knife.

The knife is our family’s heirloom – I had only received it last year after my father died. It had become a habit of mine to clutch it if I ever sensed danger.

A beautiful sleek deer rushes past me before disappearing behind the lush vegetation. Usually, I would have shot it instantaneously, but scaring my ideal prey was at risk.

After sneaking in and out of the towering pines for hours, I turn the corner of a bush and see it.

The One.

At last.

I reach down to the cold, metal trigger. The icy steel of my rifle sucks the warmth from my body. My aim is trained on the prey I had been hunting for so long.

From the corner of my eye, I spot a tiny squirrel loudly scrambling up the massive trunk of an old pine tree, as if it wanted to catch my attention. From all around me, squadrons of squirrels scale the trees. Suddenly eagles, owls and other native birds fly in from all directions and land where there is room between the squirrels. Deep, bellowing growls and screeching howls echo from every direction.  I see flashes of white, grey and brown fur speed between the trees. Bears, wolves and foxes dash out from behind trunks bearing their razor-sharp teeth. Deer and moose rush to stand between their predators, not even noticing…

Because they all stop.

And stare.

At me.

The girl walked swiftly through the forest, listening to the gentle crunch the fallen leaves made when she stepped on them. Her eyes were peeled. She was looking for something. The dead city.  Ever since hearing about it, it had piqued her curiosity. She was desperate to lay eyes on it. Presently, she reached an old wood bridge over a fast-flowing royal blue river. Its rusted supporters gurgled and groaned under every step the girl made. She was relieved to cross it as the bridge looked like it had reached its last days and she was worried that it would snap right beneath her.

She kept on walking, noticing the wonderful, tall trees that surrounded her, until she reached a long paddock. The grass was lush green at the start but as she began to move through the paddock it tended to be a duller yellow. As she approached the end, she saw the thing she had been looking for all day. Whilst it looked like an old, ordinary oak tree, it was actually an incredibly, special and magical tree. It was the opening to the city. She stepped through it with pride, trying to take in everything she was seeing.

The second she saw the buildings, she realised why it was called the Dead City. Only a few of the buildings were still standing, others lay crumbled on the ground in hundreds of pieces with moss covering them. But the girl still felt joyful inside. She had reached her destination after a day’s hard work and that was enough for her. She looked around the buildings, examining every single remnant of a fallen tower before becoming extremely tired and drained. She set up her camp, lighting a crackling, burning red fire, before drifting off to sleep.

All of a sudden, the world turned red. The land turned into terrifying creatures with huge fiery eyes and teeth as sharp as rock. They lurched towards the girl, crashing over the beautiful buildings. Everywhere she looked they were there, following her with huge killer eyes. They swarmed over the area, following the girl wherever she went. There was no place to hide! The creatures could see her anywhere…

She woke up with a start! Sweat poured down her face. Her arms were shaking – her legs felt like jelly. She looked around, expecting to see a mutant monster but nothing was there. Except for the buildings. Everything was the same as it was before. “Maybe it was just a nightmare…,” she thought.

She stood up. Still shaking. She took in her surroundings, beginning to feel warmth spread throughout her body, as though she had just drunk a warm hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day. However, just as she began to move among the buildings… They came again! It hadn’t been a nightmare. They were real!

Their appearance looked even more fierce – they were the most heart-throbbing, horrifying thing she had ever set eyes on. They began to charge at the girl. She ran as fast as she could – not stopping for a breath. She went straight through the forest and weaved in and out of trees but then she reached a dead end! Below her was an extremely steep and sharp rock face. Was this the end? In the distance, she could see a huge castle made of stone. Looking behind her, she saw the creatures moving with ease straight towards her. Only the impossible could outrun them – was it this? She didn’t have time to think, she just jumped. She rolled down the rock, pointy objects cutting her legs and arms. But she made it through, reaching the bottom with one last bump on the hip. She turned around, hoping with all her might she would see the creatures admitting defeat at the top of the hill. But that thought was far from reality!

The creatures glided towards her, their menacing teeth showing. She began to run again – barely noticing where she was going. However, once again an obstacle fell in her way – this time a huge jump off a log over a vast bottomless valley. This time there was hesitation. Should she go for it or not? Both paths looked like death runs. But she wouldn’t turn back knowing she had even the tiniest chance of survival. She took the leap of faith… Her legs lifted into the air, like she was flying but then they hit solid ground. She couldn’t believe her luck… But the creatures didn’t stop their pursuit.

Now completely drained of energy, the girl set off once more, hoping for dear life she could make it to the palace. Her legs moved faster than she could have imagined. The creatures moved fast too. It was a race to the finish. A race for life.

Pebbles crumbled beneath the girl’s feet. She was moving too fast to notice. To notice the rocks. To notice her feet. They collapsed under her body! Her face smashed into a rock! The girl raised her head. Was she still alive? Where were the creatures? They certainly weren’t where she was. Gleaming light beamed upon her head. She thought it was the sun, but it wasn’t. Just in front of her lay the castle. Would she be safe there? There was nothing around – she could hide from the creatures there.

She climbed up the twisty, winding steps as slowly as she could. The girl needed to regain her fuel. When she reached the top, she stopped to inhale air – she hadn’t stopped moving for hours. The girl then heaved open the grand doors and stepped inside the castle. She saw light. Then shadows began to appear. She slowly turned around to close the door. There was no door there. There was just a big gaping blood-red jaw in the darkness. The last thing she saw were/was the teeth and jaw snap together. Everything turned dark…

I stand, I stop, I freeze.
My hair blows wildly, my eyes begin to water, the wind gushes past.
I stare down the fairway, all I see is space, space, space, vast open space
Clenching the club, my hands begin to die, calluses riddle every square inch,
At the tee, standing there.

I walk up to the tee; I hear the banter “Don’t drown yourself there in that lake,”
I taste the nerves, the excitement, anticipation and expectation
I feel the divots in the tee box beneath my feet from where others have passed before me
I grip the club anxiously as I stand over the bright orange ball
I line up and I hear, I hear nothing, no in fact I hear the birds, a rare sound
A sound that comes only when lining up, because the world just stops like when the two
Powers, Germany and England, come together on Christmas for a football match.

I swing, I feel the threads from my shirt ripping and I swing, stretching.
My shirt now missing buttons, pop after pop, my neck exposed to fearsome rays of sun, gazing, eyes fixed like my mother when I am yet to clean my room.
Then I heave and connect with the ball sending it down the fairway.
It looks left, it looks right, it keeps travelling but there is nothing.
Nothing I can do.

I climbed the stairs quickly, hearing the footsteps of… Him behind me. I knew he was coming, though I had tried to tell myself he didn’t exist after I did… it. But deep down I knew that he would come. I dashed through the hallway upstairs, flung myself into my room and slammed the door. Picking up the closest thing I had to a weapon, a rolled-up magazine, I used in a sword fight with my brother. They were still asleep, when I tried to wake them up when I first heard him bashing through the door, but they didn’t respond, as if in a trance. I huddled up in the corner of my room holding my magazine and rocking back and forth, then I heard his voice, low and cruel. “Hello, child, you should have thought before summoning me.” My last thoughts as he entered the room and came toward me were, “Why did I have to do the ritual? Why?”

I finished writing my story and went to bed. I was sure that the magazine would accept my story, and as a lucky charm of sorts, I went into the bathroom and did the ritual in my story, holding one of my candles, lit, and went to the mirror. I started chanting:

“Father, hear my shriek
Father, come and seek
Take me from my comfy bed
As soon as I lay my sleepy head.”

I went to bed and tried to complete the challenge of the ritual by staying awake, for if you do you get eternal luck, if you don’t, he takes you. I hadn’t figured what happens next. Overwhelmed with tiredness, I went to sleep. When I woke up it was too early, around 3am I was sure. I was sure it wasn’t from my story – that couldn’t be the reason why I woke up this early, but I climbed and hid under my bed, just in case. A shadow crept across the room; I couldn’t move, I was paralysed with fear. Then it seemed to leave, and I let out a sigh of relief. “You know, many of my taken tried to hide under the bed.”

I finished my story for school and went to bed. I was going to get an A+ for sure, so much suspense, so much horror. This better do well. I then spied a candle and got an idea.

Bang, Bang, Bang,
Three dead, five tomorrow,
It’s a game of Russian Roulette,
But you’re in the barrel,
Waiting to be shot in the heart of your families who
tear at the heart of your death,
But hey it’s okay you can just sign a paper,
Renew a lung a liver a kidney stone,
Don’t worry you’re in good hands,
The parliament won’t hide behind their paper their position and
Private manor.

You run, you scamper,
As you hear the cries you remember the goodbyes
That your mum sent you this morning,
You run down the stairs,
You turn the corner,
As you turn you see the point of the
Gun facing at you and your loved one,
As you hear the click you see the chick
That you once held in your arms,
Drowning in a pool of innocence.

But hey it’s okay you can just respawn,
Start off fresh,
Unlock the next tier,
You’ve got enough points,
You restart in the same level,
You start to run you start to scamper,
The bullets rain down like the tears from your peers,
You take a right,
Whoops wrong turn,
The barrel of the gun eats into your lung,
GAME OVER,
TRY AGAIN.

But hey it’s okay the Republicans are strong,
They’ll stop anyone from doing any wrong
So, you trust them because they’re all-mighty,
So, you try again,
You run into a room for a
grenade to await you,
GAME OVER,

TRY AGAIN,
But hey it’s ok the parliament know it’s real,
It’s not a game to them,
You’re not a puppet,
Hanging by string.

You look at your status,
Your all out of points you can’t restart,
This isn’t a game that we wanted to start,
So please act,
Start a revolution,
To save a family from having to hear,
That their successful daughter died,
By a bullet going through her ear.

Driving through fields enclosed in monstrous mountains.
Atop mountains sleeps snow.
Deciduous rainforests claiming the land from giants.
Valleys housing glaciers span for miles.
Nature and culture, united.

But when people thrive with their technology and industry.
Creation and life almost forgotten.

The once undisturbed piece of Earth.
Now confined by man’s picture-perfect image of life.

Inside rainforests lies concrete jungle.
Cities they call home.

Roads frame landscapes now.
Roads pierce mountains now.
Roads slay forests now.
Slicing through all.
Until life is lost.

For all the brothers, the sisters and the masses,
One penny counts thou the sweet innocence of grit,
As a many have said by the corner selling lasses,
Be cautious though as the fuming master looming to outwit.

Past the lane, streets piled with souls young and old,
Dejection ramped of the hopes of children sinking behind skies,
Forming the ravages, passing the plague of common cold,
All while the makers of misery hand plates to then give rise.

But behind the outermost crevasses of this hollow stone city,
Comes the people, fighting forces of despair ready for their debut,
Monotonous gloom sparking like the beastly plague of London,
Burning the embers of children’s visions, frantic for flowers of new.

In return, bow down for yet our King of George burdens power,
Mighty and jutting, the joys of our country’s great depression,
With backs defiant, our young, blackened juice sodden atop the tower,
But with our dreams we awaken, minds vivid with thoughts of transgression.

And while the migrating rats scurry loose into their ever nests of dim,
Reverence of well wishers swells their brick prisons, as if the end is near,
Pushing for dear life to breathe, the blackened child started to float above,
And as the world grew further away, all of his concern and dismay disappeared.
For he and many others were to ascend into the purity of life itself, after.