Writer's corner
Stemming from their study of Trash, Year 7 Laurel students were given the task of describing a mysterious object, the location it was found and the character's reaction to its discovery. They were encouraged to make use of similes, metaphors, personification and interesting noun groups. Here are a few samples of their work.
By Rianah McInnes
A bitter breeze whispered through the silent snowscape, the entire landscape looking like all the colour had been taken out of it. It was blindingly bright as the sun reflected off the vanilla white snow. The sky was painted a vibrant bright blue and there was not a single cloud in the sky. The land reeked of rotten fish, as though it were the garbage dump of a fishing village. As Joseph trudged through the thick blanket of icy snow, all he could hear was the wind whistling through the frosty air, his feet sinking into the snow as if it were quicksand. He was shivering like a leaf from his head down to his feet. His breath looked like smoke as he hiked through the endless mountains of snow. Worn out snow gear and second-hand boots were barely keeping him warm in the below freezing conditions of Antarctica.
Dreaming of his return to his warm, cosy little hut, Joseph struggled through the unforgiving cold of the snowscape, in search of a new animal species. He had only managed to find one new animal during his prolonged stay in Antarctica, which had been sent off to his company’s lab in California. Every time he went out hunting for a unique species, he recalled that moment of joy he had experienced several years earlier.
As Joseph lumbered through the heavy snow, his fingers were frozen in place as if they would snap if he bent them too far. He was blinded by the sun beaming down on the never ending landscape of snow. Always having to be careful about the ‘soft patches’, he took steps slowly to make sure he wouldn’t fall into the spots where there was a buildup of extremely fluffy snow. He had slumped into 187 soft patches in his lifetime and they certainly were not easy to climb out of. Today, his vision was so distorted from the blinding light, and he was clumsy from all his stiffened limbs. Suddenly, without warning, Joseph tumbled down as he stepped onto a dangerously soft patch of snow. Falling heavily, his foot connected with a solid object that felt like a large rock. Digging his aching foot out of the snow, he spotted what seemed to be a dark, chocolate coloured object, definitely not a rock. Reaching his frozen hand into the snow, he mustered his energy to dig out a peculiar box.
The box was made out of a dark, chestnut coloured wood. It was so small it could fit into Joseph’s pocket, but like gold, it was very heavy for its size. The sides were a rough texture from beautiful patterns engraved on them, and the box was covered in small gems that looked to be emeralds and rubies. The gemstones sparkled like stars in the night sky. The top of the box was smooth and flat, with a single large, deep red ruby embedded into the centre of the wood. The top appeared to be a lid, but was sealed shut. It was rectangular in shape and freezing to touch, from being buried in the snow. The legs of the box were oddly shaped and looked like handles of handbags flipped on their side. It had the tell-tale smell of dark oak and seemed old, yet in excellent condition.
Joseph stared at it, wide-eyed, astonished, from the discovery of the stunning box squatting in a hole, wondering what to do next. After what seemed like an hour of confusion and curiosity, he finally lifted the weighty pocket-sized box and flipped it upside down. On the bottom there were the letters A.J etched into the box and the year 1968 printed in the left hand corner of it. Trembling from the glacial temperature and excitement Joseph started to become hysterical. He had just found the needle in the haystack.
A Hidden Treasure by Sofia Young
A sky, with an absence of stars, seemed more illuminated as fireworks and lanterns danced on the twilight stage of the setting sun. Singing light breezes would occasionally blow past as I walked on the ancient cobble path. Bustling, the town radiated bright colours, lights, laughter and the aromatic smells of the exquisite cuisine. Crowded, very crowded, but lively like a nest of ants. Expanding over a vast distance, more than the eye could see were numerous wooden stalls. It was the alluring sounds of the crunching food, the popping oil used for cooking and the delectable aromas that drew me into each stand. Ringing of bells, the sound of clogs on the cobble and the happy cries of babies were all music to my ears. It seemed as of everything bad in the world vanished when I was here. China was beautiful this time of year. Vibrant qipao worn beautifully by the women dressed to impress and the men wearing their Tang suits. Bombarded, my nose was filled with all the different scents of the perfume the ladies were wearing and the occasional waft of the fire cracker smoke.
Leisurely strolling, I walked past each brightly decorated stall, trying to take in the surreal mix of fantasy and reality. A sudden glint of the lanterns’ light shone on a strange object resting at the front of an old wooden jewellery stand owned by a shrunken, cheerful old lady who looked as old as the cobble path itself. Her whole head looked to be covered in what looked to be strands of silver and wrinkles that dug deeply into her skin. I found myself subconsciously being drawn closer, as if there were imaginary ropes pulling, inching me closer. Snapping back into reality, I realised that my hand was already reaching into the slightly rusted metal tub which smelt of brass only to find a brown, worn out leather box with golden designs on the top. Smothered in dust and smelling of rotting leather I could just tell that it was ancient. Running my fingers along the front, I halted at the latch which I gently prised open. The latch came undone stiffly as if it were about to fall off, to unveil the most beautiful hairpin I had every laid my eyes upon. Frozen, I blinked profusely trying to make sense of what I was seeing and was almost tempted to pinch myself. Buried under all the others, it was like it were a needle in a haystack, waiting to be found.
Picking it up was effortless and natural, as if it were my own. And untouched treasure is what I would call it. Light as a chopstick and about the same size, it was smooth and untarnished. Radiantly luminescent as I held it to the light for further inspection, my attention was caught by three small initials, K.H.L brilliantly carved into the gold. Aside from that, the hairpin was beautifully detailed. My slender fingers grazed across each of the delicate detailing, the elaborate beading of what seemed to be rubies, dark burgundy and pure as blood; jade, as green as the seasons changing grass, and sapphires; as blue as the deepest depths of the unendeavored oceans. The long pin section of the hairpin was connected to a golden body of a mystical phoenix. Its wings expanded, ready to take flight to explore its own utopian world. Golden strings were hanging from the majestic wings of the magical bird and attached were clear jewels that shone brighter than the stars and moon. Surprisingly, there was no brassy smell to it or rusting, which was peculiar, since I was thinking that it was not really gold or anywhere close to those precious jewels.
Aghast by its beauty, I led myself to believe that it was too good to be true, but still purchased it for a measly 14 yuan. I was inquisitive to discover its true worth, whether it was faux or this was a strike of luck. Slipping it into my hidden side pocket, my pace was slowly increasing as I became more anxious to get to a jeweller. The time seemed to take an eternity as the jeweller inspected closely, with a rounded, miniature magnifying glass. Everything about the festival become oblivious to me at that point. The moment he started to talk, my heart stopped beating. It was confirmed that this was an original work of the infamous Kim Heng Lee. The words splurged out of my mouth as I attempted to ask what this meant. There were only two of these made, they were incredibly valuable and was forged by Heng Lee herself. It was a piece of art that belonged in a museum.
Eyes widening and jaw dropping, I was ecstatic! My heart felt like it was going to explode! I had so many queries like, why I found it, even though it was believed they were both destroyed, and how no one had noticed this mastery before? A million thoughts running through my head at once. I was practically jumping up and down from the excitement I could not contain. I pinched the flesh on my arm several times until it became a tender peach, to ensure that I was not dreaming. Dumbfounded, I was astonished by my luck. The next question is, what to do with it?
The Thought Globe by Brian Nguyen
Trudging across the endless, barren desert, Steve was exhausted from his many days of travelling through the featureless, dull wasteland. It was like an empty jar; so empty, nothing apparent and lifeless. It was bone dry and as vast as the ocean. The blazing colossal sun beat down on the expansive, golden yellow desert. Ravenous, craving for water, eager to find anything that could replenish him, Steve could only see sand and the cactus - jagged, tender green, and so few. The sand appeared as wavy ridges, as if they were rows of slithering snakes.
Steve’s limbs were as skinny as pencils and his clothes were ragged, the colours fading. With a parched and hollow throat, Steve softly groaned with each desperate step he took. Routinely, he shook his empty bottle with arduous effort, desperate to get a drip of water, even though he knew it was futile. The wild screeching of vultures flying high in the air so proudly and confidently, echoed through the desert. The steady blow of wind and sand could be heard every now and then. Everytime the wind whistled and the sand crackled, it gave Steve a sense of vexation. Thoroughly depressed by the sound of these reverberations, more time was wasted and all hope was lost. Death was sneaking up on him like a cheetah hunting its prey.
As Steve’s eyes began to fade from utter dehydration and exhaustion, he suddenly noticed out of the corner of his cerise red eyes, a glint of something reflecting from the sun’s light. Was it his imagination? He had spotted hazy large oasis’ of water and huge wealthy villages before, all a figment of his imagination. Nevertheless, Steve gambled all of his energy on this, hopeful he may find something useful. He was as desperate as an ice cube in hell. With every ounce of his strength he had left, Steve moved to the reflection, only to discover an object half buried beneath the golden yellow sand. Using his lifeless sun-blistered hands, Steve slowly started to dig in the hot sand, retrieving what strangely appeared to be a snow globe; perplexed about how there could be a snow globe buried in the desert, Steve was more concerned that it was not water and how his life was in grave danger.
Gingerly picking up the snow globe, he could see that it was lustrous in every way - from the base to the top. The globe was perfectly unscathed from the harsh, barren environment. It was staggering to see that not a pinch of sand lay upon it. The base of the snow globe was made from shiny, smooth, deep brown mahogany while the sphere was crystal-clear, gleaming glass. The glass captured the rays of the blaring sun, making it impossible to stare at. Steve’s ever so tired face reflected in the mirror like-dome, his bones staring back at him. Despite the searing climate, the glass was cool to touch. It felt like chilled ice-cream; something Steve knew he may never feel again. The snow globe was small enough to be able to grasp the whole of it into his hand. It was as small as a teapot, but as light as a feather. There appeared to be an object inside which strangely manifested into a feather. Steve decided he was just hallucinating.
Hoping to find fresh water, Steve was crestfallen, distressed and agonized from his depressing and disappointing discovery. All he could think about was of water, something that could replenish and succour him of his pain. Astonishingly, inside the globe - bewildering but unmistakable - the desert scene faded into a refreshing, clear, turquoise blue ocean. All of a sudden, a fountain of dazzlingly blue water spurted out of the snow globe, like a bubbler tap.
Filled with perplexity and excitement, Steve just hunched there, clueless as to what was going on. Attempting to fathom what was happening, Steve fell backwards onto his rear, so that he was sitting in the cool, wet, flooded desert puddle. Astounded, flabbergasted, elated, Steve could not describe his mixed emotions. Gulping in all the luscious water he could, he could not believe what was happening. Clearly, the globe held a touch of magic, an item that may very well save Steve as he ventured forward in search of civilisation. It appeared as though his imagination provoked what manifested into this distinctive and remarkable snow globe.
By Lucas Olguin
The echoing the sounds of wildlife continue throughout the peaceful evening. The deep snow beneath my frozen feet softly crunches as I make my way back to my makeshift home, the soft breeze flowing through my shaggy hair. On occasion a wild animal appears out of the bushes on my travels everyday through this maze of a forest. The tall, majestic trees perfectly line up to create a path that leads me back towards my only hope to surviving this horrible cold climate. Rocks ranging from a pile of pebbles to massive boulders are scattered along this pathway. Looking up I can smell the fresh pine scent from the lush trees. I am only be able to smell it for a couple of seconds before the snot in my frigid nose freezes, blocking my sense of smell. Nonetheless, I trudge on.
This particular day, I notice that I don’t usually take time to appreciate my incredible surroundings, due to the freezing cold, but the scenery is quite amazing when I take a step back to appreciate it. I’ve never noticed the beauty of the sight of the towering mountain that looms beyond the trees, the large natural structure, probably filled with more life than here in the forest. Lost in my thoughts, I fail to notice that it’s suddenly grown darker than it was before, creeping over like a shadow. What was a peaceful stroll back, is now a chase to beat the sun. Now dashing and only narrowly avoiding the large boulders and trees. I dodge the unpredictable patches of snow that fall from the branches above. As the sky slowly fades to pitch black, I continue to rush back despite being exhausted and my face frozen. I soon see my destination; my main drive of energy is thinking about the warm, crackling fire that I had burning. Finally, I’m there. Although, something feels different, almost as if there is a presence of more life nearby. In the corner of my eye, I see something brown and furry. My mind races with many thoughts, “What if it was an animal?” “What if it’s sick?” “Should I help it?” These thoughts crowd my mind and are heavily outweighing any exhaustion I feel. Filled with determination to help what possibly might be a poor ill creature, I quickly, but cautiously, step towards it. When I see what it was, I almost shed a tear.
It was a tiny, almost miniature fox cub. Its fur is wet and cold, its eyes closed tightly shut. I gently touch its forehead, but my hand began to burn as if I had touched a hot frying pan. I can’t leave this poor animal alone outside in the frigid cold. I check to see if it is still alive. It is. I slowly scoop it up in my weakened arms and swiftly carry it inside my shelter, placing it next to the fire. Sleep and the pain of the ‘burn’ isn’t more important than the life of a young animal. Dawn approaches and I see movement in the animal’s eyes. Its paws begin to twitch, like a dog who’s dreaming of running in the fields. It’s alive, thank God. I am so conflicted, wary and unsure as to whether I should keep it in my care. I wouldn’t know how to properly care for it, but I’m also excited to see if I could possibly tame it and have it as company, since being out here in the middle of nowhere is somewhat lonely. Sitting there, arguing with myself I notice that suddenly, the fox turns its miniscule head towards me, and it seems to be smiling!
Midday arrives. I get up to head out like I do every day. I look back to check on the animal I had rescued, still sleeping soundly next to the warm charcoals. Finally my daily routine of collecting firewood and other jobs, more aware of the time this day, I return to base. Following the path that I know so well, I remember the exact spot when I first found my new companion. I think that it’s quite a funny story how I just found it and saved its life. At last I’m once again at my little ‘home’ bursting in, eager to see my buddy again. Then I see something miraculous. The fire was burning again. I see the little cub with silky, almost crispy fur sitting proudly next to it, wagging its bright, bushy, brown-ish orange tail. Then I see a flash of sparks of sorts, almost like a fiery aura around around the canine. I rub my eyes, thinking that surely what I just saw wasn’t real. I hesitantly un-cover my eyes yet, the fire is still burning and crackling. The fox was still shrouded by an orange, sparkling flare, this time brighter than before. How could this be possible? It appeared to be just a simple fox. I think back to when I first found it and how I had burnt my hand on its head, because of how abnormally hot it was. If it's true that this little animal had set the fire up itself using whatever powers it appears to have, I think I’m going to really enjoy the next few years with a new mysterious, furry friend.
The Mirror by Tianna Arcaro
It was unlike anything I had seen in real life, only in decorative magazines or newspaper. The massive room gleamed white. Rectangular white tiles lined the room from floor to ceiling, my footsteps echoing as I walked. The scent of expensive fragrant perfume in front of me stood the large basin with double sinks, heaps of drawers and extravagant mirrors, lined with small light bulbs that turned on if you touched the mirror. The lights almost blinded me as I touched the squeaky clean mirror, and stared at my reflection.
I stared at my short, dirty blond hair, hazel eyes and freckles, that were scattered all over my nose, just like stars in a galaxy. Above the basin sat a large window, letting the bright sunlight enter the room. On the left of the basin, sat a tall white vase with a bouquet of bright, neon flowers. The only splash of colour in the whole room. I turned my head upwards, towards the high ceiling. The most luxurious chandelier I have ever seen drapedfrom the ceiling. Crystals that shone like diamonds hung from the long arms of the chandelier, and the lights that looked like electric candles stood on top of each arm. My attention moved towards the shower and the bathtub. The bathtub was more like a spa, it was so white, I could almost see my reflection. The brass taps connected to the wall stood out from the pearlescent bathtub. From a distance, they looked like they could be melted into the wall. The shower sat in the corner next to the bathtub, and the glass door was so clean and transparent. The shower head lingered above, white and glossy. A variety of soaps hung from a wire soap rack, all scented so strongly, it was like a soap shop. On the opposite wall, a glossy white table stands tall on its curvy legs, like a soldier. A stack of white towels rests on top of it. Reaching out, I touched the towels, soft and fluffy. Accidentally, I knocked the top towel off the table.
It landed crookedly on the pristine, tiled floor. Something caught my eye. A handle, shiny, opalescent and glossy, glued onto one of the rectangular tiles on the wall. Without hesitation, I pulled the handle, curious of what it was hiding from me. The tile pulled out of the wall smoothly, revealing a white drawer. Inside, lay a round, small object. It was a reflective silver colour. I picked it up, shocked at how heavy it was for it’s small size. It was about the size of my palm, it was as heavy as a large rock. To get a better glimpse of it, I held it up to the window directly above the vanity. There appeared to be little tiny gems, sparking in the sunlight. Gently turning the object over in my hands, I discover the initials ‘A.J’ engraved in fancy writing on the back. I opened the latch at the front, and realised it was a compact mirror, as I welcomed back my reflection. Deep down I had a feeling, a feeling telling me to put the mirror away. Away, back in the secret drawer hidden by a stack of towels. Why was it hidden like this? What could this mirror hold, if it was to be put away in such a secretive place? I felt a tension rise up in me as the footsteps grew closer.
The Mysterious Object by Felicia Spyriadis
The decrepit wooden floorboards creaked as I made my way further in. The pungent smell of rotting remains of dead rats filtered up my nostrils, making me shudder in disgust. The house was aged, like an old, tired man. Rodents sprinted into the eerie darkness ahead. I was slightly intimidated while roaming along the passageway, with the overall mysterious feel of the house making goosebumps travel up my arms. Every angle I turned, I could see mountains of mould climbing up to the rusty tin roof, trying to escape. The house appeared as a giant piece of rubbish that lay right in the middle of the spooky woods.
The kitchen looked desolate, perhaps once occupied by a cheerful family, but now abandoned and left to the elements. The deteriorating T.V was still on. The dented pink radio played a harmonious tune, a tune similar to 70s music. The music was subtle and glitched every so often. The radio was clinging onto dear life, desperately trying to function. After a while, the song became disturbing, causing me to exit the pessimistic kitchen and walk to another room; the bedroom.
I was drawn to this particular room, like a piece of metal attracted to a magnet. The environment round me was peaceful. A soft, fluffy pillow lay on the grimy, torn apart brown carpet, next to it, a jagged, broken, green pen. Something about this room was unsettling yet nostalgic. In a way it filled the hole that had been drilled into my heart, but I don’t know how. I rummaged through the polished oak wood drawer that resided in the room. checking to see if there was anything that had a connection to the former owners of the home.
“Thud!” I dropped to the filthy ground, tripping over a piece of rotting floorboard that was noticeably different to the rest. It stuck out like a dislocated toe. The side of my lower leg started oozing out thick blood, where a deep gash appeared. While tripping, I accidentally opened what appeared to be a secret door. The chipped, mould coated door covered a large, shallow hole that was under the floorboards. I skeptically began pulling out objects one by one. Inside the small, deep underground hole was a cherry flavoured lip balm, a torn up poster of a band, some dusty hair ties and a hairbrush that had strands of thin, bleach blonde hair wrapped around it. All basic teenage girl necessities. Something about this room was so comforting, as if I were in my own bedroom.
Under all these items was a rectangular shaped book. A diary. The coral pink leather covering gave it a feminine appearance. It was medium sized, not too big and not too small. The pages were translucent and thin, like tracing paper. They were creased and slightly damp. It was extremely thick, as if it was filled to the brim with secrets. Its contents seemed to weigh like a tonne of bricks. Metal binding along the spine had rusted, falling apart by the touch of a hand. It was hard to breathe with the lingering scent of perfume and sorrow. It smelt like my grandma’s room. I shut the diary, focusing on the front. It read “Avery’s Diary”, written in a mixture of ink and dried tears, smudged across the page. Could this really be?
My heart came to an abrupt halt. This was all far too overwhelming, whether it was what I thought it was or not. I suddenly felt nauseous and at a complete loss for words, as if someone had taken them from me, as if the words had been ripped right out of my mouth. My stomach was a giant knot that I couldn’t untangle. I was breathing heavily now, trying to put together what I had just seen.
‘Clack, clack.’..quiet footsteps coming from below me. The sound of stilettos haunted the second level of the house. I ignored the sounds coming from below me, knowing they could be in my head. The footsteps faded, maybe they were in my head. I carefully read the first page. The second half started with “They can’t find me, why can’t they find me? I’m here! I’ve always been right here! Can they see me?” Footsteps sounded again; they were getting closer and closer...