Writing Competition

Congratulations to our talented winners Sasha Black 8D and Tulio Iotti Tapper 9S for demonstrating powerful persuasive language, and Malini Waiwitwuthiwong 10I and Teegan Bruton 8S for captivating us with fictional narratives.

Thank you to all of our wonderful entrants - we are so impressed with your creativity and entertaining ideas. Well done!

Enter each week for your chance to be published in our college newsletter and win a terrific writer's gift box. New prompts will be posted on Compass each Monday.

Enjoy reading the winning entries from Sasha, Tulio, Malini and Teegan.

Lisa Bayley and Linda Stocks

Quicksmart Literacy Tutors.

Father and Son

by Malini Waiwitwuthiwong

Obey, that was the one word he knew. 

He didn’t know who his parents were or why they abandoned him. He was all alone, at least that was before he met him. It was a cold night, he was starving and hiding in the darkness of the alleys when this man approached him with no hesitation, offering him food and a place to sleep. Alaric Armitage was how the public knew him, but he was known as “Father” to him. 

It wasn’t long he got himself wrapped up in the affairs of the criminal underworld. 

Jayce stood in front of the oak table; hands clasped behind his back. Black eyes were locked onto a black-haired individual; bodies shrouded in darkness. Little light was present, the moonlight being the only light source. Jayce’s shoulders tensed, noticing the subtle shift in his Father’s position. He knew what this meant, eyes following the papers being lowered. First came silence, soon broken with a heavy sigh. 

“That nosy investigator is starting to catch onto us,” Alaric commented, before looking at his surrogate son dead in the eyes. “Son, your mission tonight is to kill him and destroy all incriminating evidence against us. Do you understand?”

“… Yes Father.”

This was his purpose. It wasn’t a typical father-son relationship but a master-servant kind. He would carry out whatever order his beloved Father gave him, done with the utmost of care. He felt no remorse, no sympathy for those he killed. He sought after the love of his Father and will go to great lengths for it in this godforsaken world. 

His revolver thumped against his thigh as his strolled through the mansion halls, humming a soft tune to himself. It was a tune everyone should know. “In the Hall of the Mountain King” captured his criminalised mentally like a moth was drawn to a flame. The thrill of being stronger was… exhilarating! Jayce rounded the corner, stopping suddenly when his eyes caught onto something strange. Or rather… someone.

He smirked. “Well, well, well… if it isn’t the resident serial killer. Trying again?”

The serial killer shrugged in response, shifting his position slightly. The knife caught the dim light, shimmering darkly. A twisted smile adorned his handsome face, and though faint, his eyes picked up the dried blood stains on his clothes. 

“Busted again huh?” the killer muttered. “You always come at the worst times.”

“You should consider joining us, Melrose. We could provide protect-”

“Stop right there. I ain’t becoming some lapdog, mate.”

Jayce noticed something. His expression shifted and that serious deep tone, it would be wise for him to stay quiet. He bit his lip, hoping that the killer would crawl out the window and leave. Complete silence filled the atmosphere, unsure of what to do next. If he moved, it was guaranteed that he would lose in a gun and knife fight. According to the Consigliere, this man was like a wolf. Fast, swift, and deadly. 

Something unexpected happened, catching Jayce off-guard. Melrose… laughed? His amusement echoed, reverberating against the walls. Jayce was sure Father could hear it. There was still no change in his stoic expression as he rose a brow.

“What’s so funny?”

Melrose whipped away a few tears streaking in his eyes. “How dense are you, Armitage!? Don’t you realise how useless this is!? How useless this conflict you’re fighting is?”

“… Go on.”

He pressed on but nothing came. Melrose walked over to the opened window and proceeded to excuse himself out. But not before flashing him that oh-so-disgusting cocky smile he’d seen a billion times. 

“You’re just a tool, a mere weapon in the powerhouse your Father calls the Mafia. You’re too blind to see that everything is taken away from you. You. Have. No. Freedom… Ciao.”

Jayce walked over to the Investigator’s house bitterly. 

No freedom, what the hell is that supposed to mean!?

That was the only thing he could think about. But that shouldn’t meddle with his nightly affairs. It was a simple procedure, knock, smile, wait and shoot. A gunshot resounded in the cold room, blood pouring out of the single wound. He stared down coldly at the corpse; the shot instantly killed him. 

Jayce walked upstairs and into the study, instantly greeted with the scent of coffee and piles of paperwork. His “favourite” sight. Hours went by as he rummaged through the endless piles, even considering burning the house down. Jayce was sick of this never-ending search. He prayed that the police won’t find everything else as he walked back downstairs. Iron lingered heavily in the air, he should’ve cauterised that wound and cleaned up first. 

At the doorway, his eyes wandered over a framed photo. It was a simple photo. A young woman with shining green eyes and golden hair smiled back at him. Jayce’s heart sank, he knew this woman. 

This was the Investigator’s daughter… his girlfriend. 

Jayce returned back home to report his success. He shoved the documents through the shredder and tidied himself up. Knocking, he waited outside, humming that familiar tune. The door opened, revealing the Consigliere. He was instructed told him to go in.  

Alaric smiled. “So, how did it go my son?”

He nodded. “It went well, Father.”

“There’s also another problem. His daughter knows about us. She’ll die tonight.”

… What? 

Struck with grief and blinded by rage, Jayce did the unthinkable. Going against Father’s will was absolutely unacceptable, but a part of him wouldn’t accept his beloved dying. 

… BANG!

A gunshot resounded throughout the room, stilling the atmosphere. Jayce’s bloody body laid on the floor, eyes staring up at his Father. The once loving eyes spoke a different message. Anger was all he could see in those cold-blooded irises.

Jayce was confused. “Fa… ther…” 

“I won’t hesitate to remove all that stand in my way, son. Stand against me, and you’ll die!”

It was at this moment, he realised that he was just a mere tool, a weapon for a greater power.

I Don't Bite

Sasha Black 8D

I don’t bite” The sign hung on the fence was clear, the victim, having stepped into the yard, wanting to speak to the owner of the dog, the dog with its muzzle bloody and mauled. Our victim closed the gate, watching in horror, as the owner opened the door and said something to the dog. “He said something which I couldn’t understand and the dog looked at me, its eyes were sad but what was left of its mouth was snarling. I had been watching this dog for a few weeks now, slowly and carefully I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small bone. You see, the owner barely fed the poor thing.” These words are part of the story our victim, Margaret Davis was telling us of the situation. 

Davis entered the offender, Callum Hoffman’s front garden at 8pm on Thursday, she had seen Hoffman mistreating his dog, beating it with a stuck until it bled, underfeeding it and using it as a weapon against anyone who entered by telling the dog, who’s name happened to be Killer, that whoever had just entered his front yard was food. We are yet to be informed of what language he said it in as Davis confirmed that it was not English, Russian, nor Swedish.  Davis is the only victim of this man’s deeds that has every sense and is properly awoken from their coma. Davis suffered injuries to her arms, legs and torso, leading to her being in a blood-loss induced coma. One of Hoffman’s neighbours found her the next day, dumped in the back of Hoffman’s car and informed the police.

Reportedly, after Davis gave the dog, Killer, the bone, the dog happily ran off to chew on it, leaving Davis able to speak to the owner without the threat. Of course, Hoffman was not happy with this and grabbed Davis, dragging her into his house. Hoffman’s neighbour, reported this much but had not seen reason to report beforehand. Upon inspecting Hoffman’s house, we located a room, which we assume is the guest bedroom, which had a chair, with ropes covered in blood as well as a bloodied knife. Upon Interrogation, Hoffman admitted to keeping Davis there until night, then locking her in his car, ready to drive her away and dump her elsewhere so he would not be suspected. Davis endured all this, simply in an attempt to better a dog’s life. Many stories just like this one are reported daily.

An attempted hero, an attempted rescue of a helpless animal, gone terribly wrong, leading to the misfortune and on the odd occasion, death, of said Hero. Every story is either an abusive owner or abandoned animal. These stories, these people, they should not be in existence, except for those that are imagined. We, as a nation, need to band together and stop this violence. Violence towards one another. Violence towards our harmless pets who are too loving and forgiving to see through the abuse, see the pure hatred. Killer, the dog, was found the same day as Davis, his muzzle exactly how Davis had described, Bloody and in shreds, mauled. The poor creature was hiding in bushes, we caught Hoffman right before we found Killer, and he was walking around the backyard with a spiky club, preparing to use it on Killer, calling the dog’s name.

“No one can get close to Killer, he won’t sleep. We had to give him an injection to induce sleep just so could look at his injuries and operate. We had to try to help this dog.” Words from the local vet, recorded just hours ago. How many more of these stories must we hear before enough will be enough? It is simply not good enough. This should not happen.

The Race I Didn’t Intend on Winning

By Teegan Bruton 8s

As I lay in bed, I tried to take rein over the nerves that were taking over my insides. I was pale and sickeningly thin. I looked up, using the little energy I had preserved, glancing around my room, lingering briefly at my swimming medals; something I had prided very much. A wave of nostalgia swept over me as I listened to the beeping coming from beside me. My bed felt stiff, and I couldn’t get comfortable, so I rested on my back, my arms resting loosely on my chest. I closed my eyes.

My mother walked in with my nurse, who was pushing a breakfast tray. With a combination of no energy and nerves, I couldn’t speak, so I nodded my thanks slightly. Mum began spooning mashed banana in my mouth, and I swallowed slowly. It took about an hour to finish half of my breakfast, but I couldn’t eat anymore. I threw up and my doctor was requested. Having emptying my stomach, the doctor decided that now would be the best time. The best time to undergo my last round of chemotherapy before I let go. Feeling faint, I shut my eyes again. I remember being wheeled to room 47, where the chemo would be performed. I sat, slumped in the chair, waiting for my doctor to begin. 

I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if this didn’t work. If I couldn’t get better. If I did die. 

I blacked out with those thoughts on my mind, only waking up when I was back in my room, hearing the soft sobs of my mother, my sister curled in a tight ball, her head shielded by her knees, my dad, talking to the doctor, his voice cracking. My dog Murphy stood, his tail between his legs, his ears drooping and his eyes big. He looked at me eagerly and I smiled weakly. He barked once and my family looked in my direction. 

Judging by the look of sorrow on their faces, I could tell that I wasn’t going to live. I wasn’t going to grow old with my sister. I wasn’t going to be married. I wasn’t going to have kids. I silently cried on the inside, unable to produce tears on the outside. Mum broke down and cried hysterically, and dad strode over, keeping a brave face. He kneeled down beside me and looked at me in the eye.

“The doctors have given you 4 weeks. 1 more round as well, but they think that it’s hopeless, but I know you’ll pull through. You’re a survivor. Promise me you’ll fight?”

“Yes,” my words were barely audible, but it was enough for him.

Upon hearing this, my dad let his emotions show, and soon we were all crying. My sister walked up to me, her eyes red and puffy and said in a whisper:

“I love you. Please don’t ever forget that. I know you’ll make it. I’ve known you since you were born and you haven’t been one to put up with crap. Why start now?” she smiled and I smiled with her.

“I love you too,” was all I said.

Mum wasn’t ready to face the truth yet, so she sat in silence, her body and face telling me all I needed to know; she loved me and was in grief that I couldn’t live.

*****

Two days before my last round, I knew all hope was lost. I asked for my family and as they walked in, they knew too. Murphy sat up on my bed and I let him lick my face. 

“I love you all, so much, but I think it’s time for me to go now,” I said.

Mum kept it together and held my hand. “I love you too.” She wasn’t able to say anymore and I understood.

Dad rested his hand on mum’s shoulder and he said, “We love you so much, words can’t describe. Please don’t ever forget that. We’ll miss you to bits, but everything happens for a reason.” He was crying. 

My sister pushed the door open, rushing straight from work to be by my side. My parent parted and she ran forwards. She looked at me and burst into tears. 

“No. Please no. Oh God no.” She cried as she buried her head into my chest. She hugged me and I hugged her back. She pulled back and said “I love you. I love you so much.” She went in for another hug, and that’s when I knew. 

I went motionless and the echoes of my family’s sobs and Murphy’s whimpering bounced around the walls of my soul.

I had run the race of life. I had crossed the finish line first, before everyone I ever knew. I ever met. My race was over, but someone else’s had just begun. 

Dogs, are they dangerous or not? New evidence and laws are appearing for this debate.

Tulio Iotti Tapper 9S

A new scientific study conducted over the past four months found that out of the 10,000 Australian children between ages 5 to 15 only 3% of them believed that dogs were dangerous. 

The University of Melbourne conducted a new survey, with parental permission, on the Australian youth with several questions to figure out the demographic that thinks that dogs are dangerous. With such questions as ethnicity, age, gender, and state it made for a large amount of information that took over one week to process and be formatted appropriately. The results showed that the demographic who dislike dogs the most were: European descendent female 6-8-year olds, from NSW. 

This study is of great importance due to the resurgence of the use of restraining collars on dogs. It is considered intolerable by many animal rights groups. One such activist said, “Dogs are very influenceable, they only bite if their owner has taught them so.” 

There have been many dog attack cases in Australia over the years and we searched for a veterinarian named Michael White to explain these attacks from the perspective of the dogs. He said, “When a dog gets angry or attacks it should not be blamed on its race or breed, there have been cases of sausage dogs attacking humans. It should instead be the responsibility of he/she who cares for the dogs, when a Pitbull is brought up in a nice loving family, it can be such an amazing dog. However, if a large fluffy golden retriever is brought up in a violent and abusive household, it can go on to become as aggressive as a stereotypical Pitbull.”

Due to the survey’s results, the university also added a comment about new legislation to be passed by the Australian government placing all fault of any dog attack onto the owners and removing the legality of putting down dogs. It is setting about replacing euthanasia with mandatory therapy for the dogs in a government-funded facility. They stated, “We believe that the organized killing of dogs who were given unfortunate circumstances is completely immoral and this media sensationalism that is often made from the suffering of families only further generalizes specific dog breeds into one single idea.” 

On the other hand, there is a large group of people who are completely against the idea that dogs can have no fault in the matter. They are most likely the ones who grew up in the 3% of children. An advocate for their cause, Samuel Higgs, has produced a statement about their position and views. It goes, “We believe that there are certain types of dogs that are more violent than others, perhaps due to a closer blood relation to their ancestors, wolves. These types such as Pitbulls, Dobermans, German Shepherds, Rottweilers were specifically bred to be dangerous, and should, therefore, be treated as so. The use of muzzles in public spaces should be considered and enforced for these breeds.”

Overall, this is still a developing debate for the legislation has not yet been passed and can still be nullified if there is enough resistance against it. The survey conducted showed that the people who dislike dogs or are afraid of them are most certainly in the minority. The number of dog attacks that occur is few and far between, this world has many more pressing issues. However many people there are that may have differing opinions, the bond between humans and dogs is something that must never be underestimated.