It’s been another tough but rewarding term for us all, teachers and students alike. Along with the usual challenges of education we had to contend with another period of lockdown and remote learning. Despite this setback, so many of our English students on the Secondary Campus rose to the challenge and produced some terrific work. The Secondary Campus English Domain would like to present a couple of wonderful student stories for your enjoyment.

Unexpected Saviours

By Aaron B (Year 9)

Those damn drunks! They stormed me when nobody was near, taking everything they could. The forceful punches and kicks felt like the bite of a starving lion. I watched them fade into the distance, as swift as the wind in a hurricane, howling with laughter. I started to black out, fell over and hit the ground.

I woke up and attempted to pull myself up, using every last bit of my strength. Holding onto a nearby pole, I crashed into the hard concrete, hitting my head, creating a tsunami from the pouring rain and water all around me. I set myself into a somewhat comfortable position. Listening to everyone trot past, having the time of their lives, while I was having the worst. I tried to yelp to catch their attention, but nothing came out. I sobbed, knowing I was a lost cause. I felt myself deteriorating. Then I heard a faint voice.

“Come on son, take my hand.” His voice was crackly, and sounded like an old man. I squinted my eyes, and held my hand outwards. He grabbed my hands lightly, just as if his old age was making him as weak as me. He pulled me up and hung his hand around my shoulder. He stumbled with me out into the streets, though every step I took felt like I was being stabbed viciously in my legs.

“You got a way to get home?” he enquired. I stared over at him, about to weep like a waterfall, slowly nodding my head. I began to get dizzy and started shaking, my head throbbing with pain. I had hit it too many times. I remembered that I had nothing. I didn’t have a way to get home, the drunks took my Myki so I couldn’t take a train or a tram, I couldn’t call for a friend, couldn’t afford a taxi. I was stranded. I began to hyperventilate, but the old man calmed me down.

“I can take care of you, don’t worry.”

We finally reached a stop and I looked around for where he was taking me. He pointed at his stuff on the floor, and that’s when I realised, he was homeless, living on the streets. I tried to think why an old hobo was helping me and caring for me, like I was a newborn and he was my mother. I was baffled. We sat down and the agonising pain calmed itself. The man handed me a nut bar, which I tried to deny; but he insisted, like I was being spoon fed. Its smell was foul. I went to take a bite; but as my teeth made contact with the food, I got a taste. It was like a deceased animal that was yet to be cooked, still grasping onto all of its diseases. It was as dense as a rock, maybe a month, or even years old. While I gnawed on the bar, the man watched me and then he suddenly looked surprised.

“I forgot to introduce myself! My name’s Lee.”

I shook his hand, still nibbling on the bar. I tried to speak past all the food I was chewing, but still, nothing came out. I made no noise. I felt terrible, unable to respond, making poor Lee think I was uncivil. He probably felt bad for taking me to a footpath, but this very footpath I sat on, he called his home.

It was midnight, and I was exhausted. Lee had fallen asleep, a deep sleep. I could scarcely hear him snoring past all the deafening noises. Cars and trucks honking their horns, people talking over each other, basically yelling. Then, a young man plodded over and proceeded to stomp all over Lee’s belongings. His food, his bags, everything. I began to get light-headed. My heart beat so rapidly and powerfully, I could hear it. I heard every noise, but amplified. All the headlights and street lights blinded me, as if I were staring into the sun for hours on end. The stomps, reminding me of getting bashed in the alley. I fainted.

I was awoken by the angry shakes of Lee. It was early in the morning and I was still half-asleep. On first thought, I must have been dreaming or hallucinating. Lee was obviously full of anger.

“WHY DID YOU DO THIS?” He yelled at the top of his lungs. Then I realised. I looked around myself, and saw all of Lee’s belongings spread all over the floor. His food, crushed, his bags ripped and torn apart. I tried to explain, but my body just would not let me. Lee’s grasp had obvious anger inspiring it. His forehead was packed with wrinkles and his mouth clenched. His veins were erupting from his neck.

“TALK!” he screamed as he proceeded to burst into tears. He released me and sat next to me. I glanced over at him, forcing my body to speak. My body trembled, and finally, something came out.

“I- It w- wa- wasn’t m- me” I explained, slowly, word by word. I felt like I was beginning to faint, again.

“I know” he drawled, under his breath. I stared at him, bewildered.

“When I woke up and saw all my stuff, I thought it was you. Obviously. Though after you actually woke up, I had a sudden realisation that, why would you still be here? This happens at least once a month. Someone comes during the night, alcoholics, and mess my life up more than it already is. When I saw you in the alley, I just felt bad. Someone as young as you at the start of ending up like me.” He sorrowfully explained. I smiled. Then police sirens rang loudly into my sensitive ears. They parked in front of me and Lee. The two police officers stepped out, synchronised as if they were dancers coordinating their movements. They strolled over, both staring at me.

“Are you Jack Davis?” one of the officers questioned. I nodded, wondering why they were looking for me.

“Your wife has been looking for you, she’s worried.” I looked over at Lee, signalling a goodbye. He noticed and smiled back. The officers lead me to their car. I jumped inside and looked back at Lee. He was looking at his stuff, still everywhere. Then I opened the door and waved my hand to signal for him to come into the car. I slid over and he came over so quickly and ecstatically, it was like he was a child at a theme park and I was his mother. I’m going to try and help give him a better life.

The truth; my story

By Syna S (Year 8)

My body sunk into the cosy soft hospital bed as I stared at the colourless wall wondering if this was reality. My mind was blank but I could hear a faint voice “Hi Brian I’m a journalist and I’m here to listen to your story.” I turned around plastering a fake smile on my face and saw a young lady wearing a long brown coat on top of the white shirt with tight jeans and heeled boots. She looked professional as she dragged a chair and put her laptop down.

I was nervous to the point I was speechless not knowing what to believe or what parts to tell, a part of me didn’t want to talk about anything. The memories were my weakness and the pitch-black darkness I saw when I closed my eyes was all could remember, all I could feel. I took a deep breath struggling to let out words, the right words, as she gave me an assuring nod telling me to take my time. So, I told her but the result hurt. She stared at me with disbelief, raising her eyebrows and giving me confused looks throughout was all it took to make me feel like I was utterly alone. She asked me questions while I gave her the truth but she didn’t believe. She just didn’t believe me.

Every second that went by, the clock ticked in the background and the sound of her typing on her keyboard was deafening me. I was about to lose my mind. I was that boy that survived on his own, who was full of despair, who struggled knowing that his life and heart was completely broken. She looked at me trying to hide her opinion but I could see through her like clear glass and it completely shattered me. All I wanted was someone to listen to me, to understand my experience and the killing pain I felt, but no word or person could truly describe how I was feeling, not even me.

“You’ve been through a lot Brian.”

No one would ever understand the agonising pain that made me feel lifeless, in everyone else’s eye I was just a lost boy who went through a lot. But even when I told them, would anyone honestly even believe me? The truth; my story. I gazed down at the deep wounds and dull bruises as memories came rushing back like visions that could never be erased from my mind, my eyes started to well up: tears full of rage, grief and agony.

Does she really think I’m deceivingher, that I’m making everything up for attention? Honestly, attention is something that I never wanted to draw towards myself. No matter how many times I tell my story to others, it will be like a fictional, unrealistic book, with me as the main character. They’ll never understand anything, at least not the way I do, no matter how hard they try.

But a part of me had the urge to fight, fight my fear, move on from my past and create new memories. Realising that I’ve become so much more. I gained more than loss; I survived. Time is what I need to recover from my painful past and have a whole future ahead of me. I have a whole new life to create, a whole new chapter to write and to add to my journey. It doesn’t matter if no one believes me. I know what happened and I know my story. A will to never give up on hope for a better future, a better me.

Cross Country

This term selected students from years 3, 4, 5 and 6 participated in the Bridge Inn South District Cross Country. Depending on their age group, students ran either 2km or 3km around a track at Bundoora Park.