Literature to Life Creative Writing Anthology Volume IV Semester 2, 2013
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Literature to Life Creative Writing Anthology Volume IV Semester 2, 2013 Forgotten prisoners. Caged beasts. Lost souls tormented by their own minds. The search for secret desires, and vain attempts to control the powers at work within us. Many of the characters on these pages feel trapped: trapped by their captors, trapped by their circumstance, trapped by thoughts within their heads, or trapped by the monsters they chase. Trapped by themselves, or trapped by others. Some find release, and some meet a darker fate. Yet even within four walls, an infinite amount of inspiration can be found… * * * This book is the combined work of those Year 8 students who were part of Mr. McDonald’s Literature to Life class in Semester 2, 2013. Everything that appears upon these pages is entirely student work, and the result of a term’s worth of perseverance, collaboration and unbridled imagination. May it inspire those who read it to explore their own love of literature and open their eyes to the beauty that lives within everyone’s writing. TABLE OF CONTENTS Beowulf: Part II Page 1 Semester 2 Class Who’s Next? Page 21 Tiffany Blatchford Sky Ships Page 37 Chris Bowman The Killer Page 47 Max Dalton The Search Page 59 Eden Griffiths The Hands Page 67 Marlo Kennedy Hope Page 77 Peter Kouroulis TABLE OF CONTENTS Beast Page 91 Jacqui Lokum An Easy Choice Page 105 Niamh Nolan A Small Country Town Page 121 Lena Scally-Leprevost Zodiac Page 139 Mathieu Ackaouy Flame Page 153 Simon Ackaouy I Spy Jodie Pie Page 169 Samara Keifer Literature to Life Creative Writing Anthology Volume IV Semester 2, 2013 1 Beowulf Part 2: Grendel’s Mother Written by: Mathieu Ackaouy, Simon Ackaouy, Tiffany Blatchford, Chris Bowman, Max Dalton, Eden Griffiths, Samara Keifer, Marlo Kennedy, Peter Kouroulis, Jacqui Lokum, Niamh Nolan and Lena Scally-Leprevost. Edited by: Niamh Nolan, Marlo Kennedy, Tiffany Blatchford, Mathieu Ackaouy and Eden Griffiths. Editor-in-Chief: Tiffany Blatchford. 2 3 The happiness at the death of Grendel filled the midnight air. The finest foods were present and the richest grapes quenched the men’s thirsts as they celebrated Grendel’s death. With them, they kept a constant reminder of Grendel, his arm hung up, a well-earned accomplishment of the occupants in the hall. Not even with the destruction caused by the godly fight between the almighty Beowulf and the treacherous Grendel, had lessened the magnificence of the once beautiful hall. The outside of the building was shadowed of the work inside it. With elegant detail in the wood of this masterpiece, it was fair to say it was out of this world. As people entered this masterpiece, mouths dropped at the room bursting full of gold. Massive wooden posts shot up to support the ceiling. Benches filled up the room and rubble from the destruction was pushed to the side. The clean-up process shall begin tomorrow. Men that had been born with the sword, out of the routine had slept with their armour and their shields at their hand, for they were 4 ready for anything, at a moment’s notice, for they were warriors. With helmets that limited vision and a spear that could pierce skins as thick as brick walls, they guarded the people and King Hrothgar. As the ludicrous night finally came to an end, people decided to take the best of the hall and sleep for the rest of the night. Although the hall was hell-ridden and wrecked, with chairs and tables flipped and walls with holes in them. The atmosphere had instantly changed from a magnified joyous feeling, to a safe and relaxed area. Finally everyone can rest without having to keep one eye open. A weight had been lifted from the villages shoulders, but, people start to doubt and think thoughts of an even worse creature, one that is so heartbreakingly ugly that people’s eyes water as they look at it, the monster was none the less than, Grendel's mother. Her skin was a shade of red, and her eyes were so small they sank into her face, her nose was flicked upwards, making her look like a bat. She was as tall as an ancient oak tree, and her skin was a leathery looking apple green, her hands and claws were as big as Beowulf himself. As people begin to realise that there was a second avenger, havoc breaks loose. The word 'avenge' was whispered around the room like a never ending echo. The plump, pudgy, and pale looking king sat in his chair, and watched the people of his town with a sign of boredom in his eyes. He had as much expression in him as a piece of wood. All the village people looked to the blank, and dull King for a split second, and then flicked their heads to the earl with concern and fear reflecting off of them, and like a foul stench, it followed him as he went around the room. The earl, strutted around the room, with a 5 look of certainty on his small face. Grendel's mother, an ugly, pus filled creature, was even worse than the monster himself, both descendants of Cain. When Cain killed his own brother with his icy sword, they had been isolated into the cold depths of fear, banished from the world. Cain had been banished, and cast as an outlaw, he backed away into the woods, hidden away from civilisation. The woods were a place that no one wanted to explore, monstrous beings that were beyond compare lived there, the dark, and emotionless woods were a place where only Cain would belong. Evil spirits started to appear, among them was Grendel, the uncivilised and unwanted, waiting to savage the town of Heorot. The ugly, bulgy, disgusting and leathery brute known as Grendel fought and wrestled, but Beowulf knew his strength. The awe-mighty gifts that God had rained on him, he leaned on The Lord, and His supervision. He overcame the hell ridden hound. Destroyed, hopeless and bloody, the dull and bland enemy of mankind, made his way back to his stench-ridden den. But now the hell-bride was out for revenge, she lusted for the taste of Beowulf's blood on her lips, and was desperately driven to havoc. As the celebrations came to an end, the men were giving another place to endure their stay in which they were welcome to sleep for the next night. As the warriors from Geatland trekked down the path towards the hall, their spines tingles, creating deep fear of a creature lurking, and peering upon them. The warriors waiting for the mysterious being to appear. Hour after hour they stood, awaiting, until a brave soldier offered to give his life in order to see what the rest could not. He ran into the blackness of the night, only to notice 6 the Geats’ most treasured trophy, gone. Grendel’s fresh bloodied arm, suspected to have been taken after the attack of Grendel’s mother, along with the lives of man warriors and the lives of many wise and loyal men towards the King. This warrior spread the word to any man he could find, until soon, the words he spoke had reached the King himself, Hrothgar. The King shed a thousand tears at the news, he beckoned for Beowulf and his rightful warriors. Beowulf ran with his men to Hrothgar’s chambers, where the King awaited them, wondering if the almighty God would ever turn the tides of his misfortunes. “Have you rested well sir?” “Rest? What is this rest you speak of Beowulf? Sorrow has returned. Aeschere is now deceased. He was Yrmenlaf’s elder brother and a soul mate to me, a true mentor and my right-hand man Aeschere was everything the world admires in a wise man and a friend. Then his roaming killer came in a fury and slaughtered him in my own town, and the reason for this, you Beowulf, killed Grendel and took his arm as a token. Where she is hiding, glutting on the corpse and glorying her escape, I cannot tell. Aeschere died in battle, paid with his life; and now this powerful other arrives, this force for even has been driven to avenge her son’s murder. Or so it seems” Beowulf could see the burning flames in his eyes which portrayed the great anger and sadness that the King felt. When King spoke, his voice trembled rage and courage that now burned deeply inside of him and which would only be quenched at the death of Grendel’s mother; the foul hell demon which had taken from him his greatest friend and comrade. 7 “We have had rumours of a foul creature that dwells deep within the Devils lands’. It is said that she roams the forests and bogs that the demons of hell inhabit. In these forests and marshes there lies evils of which would make any warrior on edge. The marshes and forests themselves are just as dark and cold as the creatures who inhabit them. Those who have ventured in and managed to escape say that it is place where sunlight shall never touch and that all the land is coated in a grey colour that would tarnish any joy a man has. It has been seen that the water in these marshes burn and no man has ever set foot into them. They say that there is no warmth of any kind and that the ground itself is dap, soggy and that your feet squelch into it with every step.