IRC News
Creative Writing by Year 9s
During Book Week, the year nine cohort were involved in Creative Writing Competition, which was organised by the English Department. The topic given to them was ‘The seed was planted’. The quality of work submitted was of a very high standard, which demonstrated students' skills in Creative Writing.
These are the winners of Creative Writing Competition and their excellent short stories.
Thiseni Senanayake
Year 9
The Seed Was Planted
Faith and trust are strong forces to be reckoned with, often the foundations for mighty empires and capable armies. Yet there remains one thing that can cripple such power. When blissful ignorance becomes riddled with seeds of doubt, those impenetrable forces and roaring supporters become as volatile as human nature itself.
My allies and I are bringers of discord, breakers of loyalty. We plant seeds of unease that ripple through nations and crush leadership. The specks of mistrust we lay for others to find grow to become unbreakable webs of rumours and lies, springboards for liberators to inspire others and break forth from corruption.
Over the years we have learnt ears are always open and mouths at the ready, awaiting the day they gain a morsel of information to spread like wildfire. To whisper in the ear of a shopkeeper or passerby is no easy feat when one must remain nameless and unidentifiable, and to be the cause of an empire’s downfall is not an achievement we frequently announce.
Kings and leaders curse us, stowing their dark secrets deeply away, lest we should find them and bring them to light. Of course, however, their actions are futile.
It never fails to amaze me, how quickly minds can be changed, and drastic actions be influenced. Starting a blaze of true accusations is almost as simple as planting a seed. Dropping a message in the cool earth of waiting minds, watering the beast with added information, and watching as my creation lurches towards the unjust and sinful.
I sometimes believe if my life had gone differently, I would have ended up as a gardener, I mean, the principles are the same; plant, nurture, observe, reap.
My job is only that of a gossip spreader. I aid in staging rebellions, overthrowing rulers, and coup d’états to name a few. Being at the heart of the action is where I find thrill and my passion.
What I do is, perilous: most definitely, enjoyable: the spreading of powerful gossip is greater than any joy I have ever experienced, lonely: always, at the risk of being noticed and caught, I live a solitary life, only seeing reminders of my existence in the words that are passed from mouth to mouth, necessary: I believe so, though I may be biased, imagining we have a purpose is what keeps humanity content after all, rewarding: occasionally, the reward for saving millions of lives from complacency and unjust rule should be greater than simply nothing right? It’s truly a shame my name will never find itself in any history books for future generations to yawn at.
Recently, I received a message from another operative regarding my latest rumour. Seemingly the plans for a revolution were in place and my careful planting of the message resulted in a success, freeing the minds and bodies of the ignorant masses. My seed of truth springing forth into a tree of justice and determination. The doubt had started to take hold. In other words, the seed was planted.
Irene Yang
Year 9
The Seed Was Planted
“This kind of thing isn’t easy Corey. But you need to focus. There are eyes on you everywhere. “Dr Brim have me a slight nudge on my arm, I was shaking. So much pressure was on my shoulders. The higher-ups, the entire medical and science community, and the life of Mr Graystone – would I be able to do this? Should I back out? What happens if I fail like the last time – “Dr Alvern? Are you alright?”, Dr Brim was staring at me intently. I mentally reorganised myself, took a deep breath and as confidently as I could, I answered, “Yes, let’s get ready.”
An opportunity like this is really only able to come to you once in a lifetime. That means its all the more significant. No matter how many times I had done this before, no matter how many patients I saved, I always felt beaten ever before a surgery began. I walked into the washroom, dazed, where my assists where waiting for me with blue gowns. I vigorously washed my hands as if that would rub away the ever-growing fear lurking inside of me. I extended my arms out so that they could put my gloves on and my gown. One last deep breath and I pushed the ‘open’ button with my foot. The doors slowly opened, and it revealed Mr. Graystone’s lifeless body waiting for me.
My eyes twitched. My mask felt really tight all of a sudden. My hairnet started to itch. I felt hives on my skin. “Let’s try our best today, Dr. Alvern,” Dr brim was now inside the operating room, all geared up and blue. ‘Right’, I think, ‘I’ve got Dr Brim.’ And suddenly some of the weight on my shoulders felt as if it dissipated away. I walked up towards the operating table and took a look around. The cold, sterile, isolated room filled with numerous medical instruments and machines, all hummed and whispered at various speeds and times. Despite the troubles and uncertainty that I had put myself through up until then, I was now in a place that I felt most certain about myself.
“Alright, to give a brief recap of our plan today, we are here with Roger Graystone, a twenty-eight-year-old male who volunteered to operate with us today. We are going to be inserting a microchip into the outermost layer of the brain, the dura mater, called the SEED or the Sanchronite Environment Emitting Device. This is trial number two with this project. Let us hope for better results than last time which unfortunately ended with a casualty. If all goes well, this operation should end within around an estimated seventeen hours. Thank you for being here today and lets all try our best.” Everyone was now around the operating table, and we all exchanged nods.
Mr Graystone had already been anaesthetised. I grabbed the shaver and started shaving his hair off. Maybe it was the circumstances, maybe it was the fact that this was being recorded live and being shown to the world leaders of health and science, but I was certainly dreading the forthcoming moments after I shaved Mr Graystone’s hair. It was as if the knowledge from the 10 years I had studied to be a brain surgeon had disappeared. I thought back to when I was first approached for the nomination of this role. It took me three whole weeks to even consider it. Maybe I should’ve thought about it for 3 months. But in the end, I decided that I wanted to be a part of a renowned operation.
My Graystone’s hair was now all shaved. I lent out my hand for the scalpel. ‘One last deep breath,’ I thought, ‘No more than this.’ I made an incision around his crown, careful to not touch any important blood vessels or nerves. Next was the Dremel. With the help of several other surgeons, we removed a portion of the skill. By this point, we had hit hour five. It was taking exceptionally longer since this was not where a typical brain surgery would have been situated. “Grace, please bring the SEED in.” While Grace went to get the microchip, I took a second to gather myself. This was the hardest part.
Grace brought the SEED over. Honestly, it was a work of art. The intricate coding and science that bonded the human brain with the outside world was breathtaking and at such a small scale too. As the SEED took place inside of the host’s brain, it would slowly take over and send out different electrical impulses to change the way of interpreting messages from the environment. Now, after a few more hours of work, the ideal position of the brain was revealed. And as a brain surgeon, no matter how many times you saw a brain, it was still such a beautiful sight. The smoothness, the curves, the fact that it held out entire lives and memories and thoughts inside was incredible.
After locating a suitable nerve to emit the SEED, I made a few more incisions to make room for the chip. I grabbed the smallest pair of forceps there was and picked up the SEED, no bigger than an ant. I slowly lowered it in. the SEED was planted.
Ananya Ananda
Year 9
The Seed Was Planted
‘Perhaps it was not meant to be.’ She whispered tears streaking down her porcelain skin. Her thumb glided, lovingly, over the sunken cheek of her partner as she desperately searched for a prayer to quieten the incessant cries of her soul, or perhaps, a bandage to stem the bleeding from the broken shards of her heart. “Love is not meant to grow. It is not valued, nor does it persist like a plant in storm. It wilts and dies.” Her raw voice whispered, still pouring her soul’s burdens to her partner, clinging to the foolish hope that maybe he would wake up, that he would gaze into the depths of her chocolate brown eyes and laugh at her stupidity. But, alas, there too is the day a plant wilts and dies.
Her hands bled crimson blood as she grappled to preserve the sacred bond of their love, as light faded from his eyes as a cold empty darkness entered her heart. A dagger lay pierced into the middle of her chest as he heaved for air, which was so plentiful to those alive, yet so sacred and depleting for those who stood between the thinning veil of life and death. His blood soaked the earth, watering the plants which resided there. Yet, the girl remained ignorant to the bitter truth and the dull knife of death as she sat muttering spells and chanting prayers next to a body which had long left the premises of this earth. She urged for her magic to attach itself to his soul, to claim the part of him that did not and could not be claimed, but as tears streamed from her eyes, that too watered the vegetation around her. Thus, as with any fruitless endeavour, she too, fell unconscious, laying next to the body she had desperately attempted to save. However, as rain battered the dead and the unconscious, a small stem could be seen poking out from underneath the ground.
As the wind whipped around the corner, the long, luscious eyelashes of the girl began to flutter. Whilst many celebrate and are grateful for the lives they lead, to those who do not want to exist, the parameters of the physical world, burden their spirit, severing the ties of logic and emotional reaction. As the girl cracked open her eyes to the world that had moved on without her, a scream built in her throat, for her world had ended the moment he had left. Yet, the world around her bursted with nature, exuding a happiness which no longer felt possible from her. Her pupils dilated as she glared at the rope marks on her arms, the skin blistered and oozing from the fire of his soul. Slowly, her penetrating gaze, lingered on the small rose bush growing between their decaying body and mind. A rose bush. She wanted to laugh at the mockery of the world. ‘Oh, the irony!’ she whispered as insanity bubbled in her chest, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as her futile hope and faith diminished from her mind. Baring her teeth, she cackled, all sanity lost. For love is what can both bind and erode a soul. Her magic tumbled out of her being, long dark snakes of corruption, which wrapped around her soul, and in that moment, the girl who had been loved and loved died. Yet, the rose bush which had been planted by the young witch and lost boy remained, unwavering.
Rubini Sundaram
Year 9
The Seed Was Planted
The thorns that make up a rose
The seed was planted, into soil unknown, with no sunlight or water, how was it to grow? The young girl, at the tender age of 18, was forced into society by her poverty-stricken parents. They saw no other solution; she had to marry a rich man, who would come in and save their family from poverty, more so, to save their family name. And she, innocent and obedient as could be, blindly followed her parents, just in the hopes to keep them happy. Truth be told, she was an ambitious woman, who wanted nothing more than to pursue her studies to become an archaeologist. However, she had never dared to tell her parents this in fear of disappointment. ‘Maybe in another life,’ she always thought to herself. With nothing more than the lacy dress she was wearing and a dance card in hand, she threw herself into the midst of society. Walking into the ball, she felt everyone’s stares and could even go as far as to read their minds: ‘Why is she here? Her parents have done more than enough damage, have they not? Ignoring all of the lingering stares, she saunters right up to the richest-looking man in the room and sweetly says, “May I have this dance, sir?”
The seed had sprouted, with the help of a few tear droplets. That night was unreal. The girl woke up the next morning, forcing herself to believe her luck. But she simply couldn’t. Smiling from ear to ear, she reminisced on the evening’s events; at first, she was laughed at, for being a woman and asking a man to dance. He, on the other hand, was impressed by her sheer confidence and gladly accepted. The rest of the night went by in a flash. They danced the night away and she felt as if she was the only girl in the world. In hindsight, she was being stupid and foolish for believing that they were made for each other because she soon learnt that love was cruel. Love was deceiving and unreliable. Love wasn’t real and she hated herself for allowing him to make her believe it was, just to find out what his true intentions were.
The sprout was slowly dying, or so they thought. After that night of dancing, he whisked her away into his home. There, they continued dancing until her legs were sore. Throughout the night they had spoken quite a bit and although it was not possible, she found herself falling in love with the man. He made her trust him and she innocently allowed him to. Eventually, she went to bed, her heart finally at peace. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. She woke up during the early hours of the morning to find herself in what seemed to be a truck. She couldn’t be sure though. About to scream for help, she stops in her tracks when she hears his voice. “This one was too easy lads. She was practically on her knees, begging me to save her. Well, here I am, making her wish come true,” he spoke sarcastically. Tears overflowed her eyes. How could he? How did he speak so easily about women like that? How could he betray her? Feeling hopeless, she crouched herself into a corner of the truck and prayed that this was all one big nightmare and that she would soon wake up. Little did she know how bad it was about to become…