Tuff Love by Emily Ware

Junior Short Story Entry

“Hay Jasmine wait for me” I shouted out above the noise of the great hall. ‘Wow for such a blonde haired drama queen she certainly walks real fast even in high heels. “Slow down girl my shoe lace is undone,” I said as I finally caught up with Jasmine near the boy’s bathroom.
“What is it now Emily, I thought I told you I’d meet you at third period,” said Jasmine with little patience for her next class (History)
“I thought you might want to know the new gossip on Joseph Greenbloom,” I replied with a very causal as I knew this particular subject was very important to my friend,
“Oh is that what you have to talk about” Jasmine asked as she headed to homeroom. “I already know about it”
“So you know that his band has volunteered for that hip new show The Dating Show?” I asked even more casually than before,
“WHAT” She screamed making every one in homeroom look at her but Jasmine just kept on staring at me with bewildered eyes.
“I said he is going to be the new bachelor on The Dating Show,” I answered looking at her with concern, “Are you ok, you look like you are about to faint”.
“I’m fine, wow is he really going to be on?” answered Jasmine and just as I was about to reply, the bell rang.
“See you at third period” I called as I headed to geography,
“You better” she yelled back.

After one and a half hours of dull working in pairs (my partner who was Paul Omar) it was third period.
“So” said Jasmine as we sat at our table, “Is he really going to be on”
“Come on don’t you trust me of coarse he is, why else would I tell you?” I stated
“Oh this is so exciting isn’t it, wait I just thought of something …”
“What you just thought of something, halleluiah, give thanks to the lord?” I said in a mocking voice.
“Ha ha very funny, would you like to hear what I thought of or not?” Jasmine retorted angrily, “Or would you rather just stand around joking until the bell goes?”
“Let me think about that for a sec… I choose listening to this bright idea of yours” I pestered
“Good I was thinking that… we could go on … The Dating Show as well and win as I know absolutely everything about the show,” She said all the time looking at Mrs. Bonham (the principle)
“So what do you think shall we go on……Emily where are you going I haven’t finished yet” she yelled as she ran after me. “ What’s the matter I thought you might like the idea”
“I do like it but ….. well I hate going in front of crowds.” I admitted shamefully
“You, Emily McManus, Miss Teas pet, Miss Teas Class president for five years in a row at primary school is scared of a little T.V show, come on Emily if I do it I need a partner” She asked smugly.
“If you must know yes I am, scared do you have a problem with that?” I shot back at her,
“ As for the partner thing take Gabrielle”
“Fine I will, even though she is so ‘I am the Queen, bow down to your Queen of fashion’ I would much rather take you since I already have the tickets” Jasmine stated with her voice quivery at the end of her statement.
“Jasmine what have you done,” I said horrified.

Two days later I was in the back seat of Jasmines car with Jasmines mum (Jemima) driving, Jasmine in the front passenger seat and Gabrielle on the left of me, driving toward the studio of The Dating Show.

“Welcome everybody to The Dating Show. Today we have a new bachelor Joseph Greenbloom, and two new totally in love girls who names are Jasmine and Guinevere as her opponent. The girls are here to try and win this boy heart. Now girls you know the rules you listen to what Joseph has to say and then I ask you questions about what he said. Now lets begin, over to you Joseph.” said the game show host.
“Thanks Joe o.k girls as you know my name is Joseph Greenbloom; I go to Holland Park High School; my favorite color is green; I am 16 years old; I like to walks on the beach; sunsets with ice creams; good times with my friends; adventures; cooking outdoors; I look for adventure, funniness, smarts and cool in a girl; I like being able to relax on weekends; and I like books, my favorite book is Dragon Keeper.” He said, and as he was finishing his speech I could have sworn I heard Jasmine sigh.

“O.k. lets get started girls, now there will be 6 questions and then he will ask each of you a question than choose his dream date.” The game show host said in about 5 seconds flat.

Round 1

Question 1: “What is Joseph favorite color?”
“Purple” shouted Guinevere
“Green” quoted Jasmine
“And Jasmine has it right for that question, 1 to nil” said the game show host.
Question 2: “What High School does Joseph go to?”
“Marshall Road” shouted Guinevere.
“Holland Park” shouted Jasmine
Correct again Jasmine, 2 to nil” the game show host shouted.
Question 3: “how old is Joseph?”
“16 and a half” pronounced Guinevere
“16” Jasmine remarked.
“Correct again Jasmine 3 to nil.”
Question 4: What does Joseph like to do on the beach?”
“Swim in the water” said Guinevere
“Walk along” said Jasmine
Correct Jasmine 4 to nil.”
Question 5: Name two things Joseph looks for in girls?”
“Good looks and hot body” stated Guinevere
“Smarts and adventure” Jasmine said with mocking shock.
“Correct again Jasmine 5 to nil.”
Question 6: What is Joseph’s favorite book?”
“Dagon Keeper” shouted Guinevere.
“Dragon Rider” said Jasmine.
“Correct Guinevere, 5 to 1.
And the winner of this round is Jasmine”

Round 2

“O.k. girls now its time for Joseph to ask you a question” stated the games show host
“This is my question,” said Joseph looking at the girls very seriously indeed, “ What would you do if I don’t choose you?”
“I would just move on the next time I saw a cute boy” stated Guinevere.
“I…I would dwell on you for a while until I met somebody who does love me” replied Jasmine to the question.
“O.k Joseph you’ve heard their replies now who will it BE?”
“I choose… Guinevere”
“Oh you wont regret it I swear”

“So how do you feel?” I asked Jasmine as we dropped off Gabrielle at her house.
“I feel heartbroken, how could he choose her over me?” Jasmine asked.
“I don’t know, I really don’t know…

My Weakness by Kimberly Harrison

Senior Poetry Entry

I failed again,
I didn’t succeed…
I continue to let you scar and bruise me.

I try to ignore the things you say,
I can pretend to smile,
Act like I don’t care.
But in the end,
Deep down I feel,
That nothing I do is ever good enough.

I don’t want to impress you,
I feel no need for your approval,
but still something inside cares.
I don’t know why I bother,
To argue and fight back,
When all I’m left with,
In the end,
Is hurt and anger.

One day I’ll just look past it all,
And it truly will not matter,
What you say can’t hurt me forever.
I never did anything to you,
I will continue to pretend I do not care,
Till the day when it won’t matter.

To you by Kimberly Harrison

Senior Poetry Entry

I really don’t know why I feel the way I do,
But all I know is that I might be in love with you,
It wouldn’t matter what you say,
Nothing can stop me from feeling this way.

I will hide my feelings for as long as I can,
You’re no longer somebody else’s man,
But those feelings for her don’t seem to die,
I guess I’ll have to wait and hope maybe one day you’ll give me a try.

You’re smarter than so many people I know,
I have to admit that I miss you so.
Please promise me that I won’t have to miss you anymore.

Every time I see you,
I realize more and more,
How special you really are.

The day you held me tight,
The way you held my hand,
And told me everything will be alright,
You looked after me and everything was fine,
Although I knew you couldn’t be mine.

You make me feel like someone new,
When I’m with you I feel special too,
The way you looked at me made me feel good,
The way I don’t think anything could.

I have to say that you become more important everyday,
It’s hard when you love someone else,
I sometimes want to give up,
But I don’t know what I’d do without you,
I really don’t want to push you away,
I’m here for you anywhere, any day.

The Membrane by Bianca Butler

Senior Short Story entry

I wish I had stayed there. Time and time again, I just lie still and wish, wistfully and in vain, that I could go back. Not go back; no, that’s not what I wish. I wish I had stayed there. I wish I had never come out in the first place. Even if I could go back, it wouldn’t be the same. I know too much now.

It was safe there. It was an odd place to live, warm and somewhat liquid. It was always quiet. I must have sat there for years, drifting in a sea of indescribable feelings. My eyes were closed, but still I could see. You don’t need to have eyes to see when you’re there. One thing I remember clearly: the membrane. It was a soft, tangible, translucent veil that separated me from a world beyond imagination. Through that membrane, I saw everything. There were colours; colours that don’t exist in the world I know now. There were celestial fountains; waterfalls laced with stars and twilight, that perpetually fell, surrounding me and embracing me. Through the membrane I saw people. Yet they were not the people I know now. They mustn’t have been people at all, come to think of it. They must have been angels. I can tell, because people are not like these beings were. These beings – these angels – were kind. They smiled. They welcomed. They loved. When they reached out to me, I felt safe. I felt wanted. Now I can only dream of them. I dream of the people I saw through the membrane. I pray that they were real. I pray that they are real. I pray that I can find them.

I should never have left. The day I let go of the membrane, my life ended. My world changed. It was cold, it was hard, and I was alone. I closed my eyes again and again, hoping that I would find myself there once more. I reached out and tried to touch the membrane, but it was gone. As time went by, some things became clear. I learned that a strange feeling comes over you; a deep, painful yearning from inside. I cannot explain how I knew this feeling was hunger. I simply knew. I learned that there is no cure for this feeling. Nothing can take it away. It just grows and grows until either it consumes you or you become numb to it. I came to recognise another feeling; another kind of desire. My body would tingle, and reach out spasmically, trying to feel something like itself. What a foolish desire. I learned that the only answer to this craving is pain. All that happens when I cry out for this attention is this: there is a moment of contact, then a sudden flood of agony sears through my body, then a warm, wet liquid oozes from the point where I was touched. Touch causes pain. I am stupid to desire it.

I lie here now, in the cold and the noise, wishing I could go back to where I came from. I am not welcome here. One thing I have come to understand: it is better to live, not knowing you are hated, than to exist, knowing you are tolerated. I wish I could go back. There was no hunger there; no pain. The membrane was my security.

I feel a strange material in my hands. It covers my body. It is big; it is warm. It holds a kind of familiarity. I pull at it. I pull it up until it covers me entirely. I cannot see out. It is warm now. I feel something inside me begin to fight, but soon it ceases. My eyes begin to close. The strange vibration in my chest starts to slow. I can see colour again; colour that I have not seen since I left the membrane behind. I see stars exploding and raining around me. I see an angel reach out to me. She whispers to me to sleep. As I feel the cold, hard world around me fade away, I stare out at the membrane. I am never coming back. I am going home.

Ubaba by Bianca Butler

Senior Short Story Entry

Inspired by Alan Paton's Cry, the Beloved Country

The woman was not so young, but young for one who had already borne three children. She was young for one whose children could not only run and jump, but who could already strive and fight and reason. She was young for one who had married twice, and this was a thing the white man frowned upon.
The daughter was quiet. Her dark, gentle eyes smiled at what they saw, yet something in them seemed to seek deeper. Her body was small and seemly, and while her mother saw this, it was all she saw, for she never wondered at what her daughter might be thinking, or the questions she might be asking as she grew. The two small boys were bold and restless, as if Tixo had bestowed on them spirit surpassing that of so many others in their circumstance.
The ikaya was small and crowded, as were the streets, the towns, and, far in the distance, the great cities also. The floors were scarcely more than sand, or mud when the heavens opened their eyes and cried a triumphant deluge. The furniture was old but reliable, and yet the visiting white man would still turn up his nose in disdain if he looked upon it. There was no glass in the windows, but this was not so bad, because it permitted a cooling breeze on the days when the Alexandra sun set the ground on fire. The neighbours were noisy, and their babies cried throughout the night, but this too was not so bad, because it meant the Zulu people still survived.

The night was still and heavy when the mother brought the man home.
“This is your ubaba,” she told her children, with the familiar laugh of liquor in her voice. “Welcome him, my children.”
“Sawubona,” three hesitant voices chorused. In the white man’s tongue it meant ‘hello’, but the children did not know it. “Sawubona, Ubaba.”
The daughter bit her lip. She fought the temptation to cry the words that echoed in her mind: This man is not my ubaba. My ubaba is gone. I am not this man’s child. She yearned to scream and shout, insist that she would accept no father but her own. Yet she restrained herself, for such a thing is not lightly done.

* * * * *

The days were long and weary. Even the cool of night seemed too exhausted to meet those who awaited it daily: the young and the old; the strong and the ailing; the angry and the permissive.
The mother made a humble meal, which was wealth to a poor black child. She pushed the sweaty locks back from her bloodshot eyes. “Come!” her gravely voice called to the children, and to the man that was not their ubaba. The sons came first, grubby and distracted, their bony fingers grasping for the meal that would not satisfy a white man’s boy. The man came next, his dark eyes swimming and sparkling. He went to the mother, holding her ample frame wildly, in a way the sons had never before seen a woman held.
“Isithandwa sami,” he whispered thickly. In the white man’s tongue it meant ‘my love’, but the children did not know it. The mother laughed, yet it was a laugh laced with madness and not with joy. The kiss they shared was ablaze with the vile stench of liquor, and the sons looked dumbly on.
The daughter came then. She stood silently at the ramshackle door, her heart beating shallowly in her chest. She had never before seen a woman held the way the man held her mother, and she too looked dumbly on. She shivered, but it was not coldness she felt. The man drew back from the embrace and turned his eyes upon the daughter. He smiled at her without kindness, without the look of love with which her own ubaba had looked upon her. The daughter shrunk away, perplexed by the odd pounding of her heart and the sudden sweat that beaded her unwashed brow. She clutched the doorframe tightly, unable to tear her gaze from the man’s peculiar smile.
The mother followed the man’s gaze and turned to look on the daughter. “Come,” she repeated, motioning to the steaming pot of stew. The daughter did not know her own steps as she shuffled into the room, automatically taking the bowl of food given her. As she took her seat at the splintered table, she felt her face burning. The gaze of her mother’s husband bore into her thin, gaunt back, so much that she could feel it.
“Should we say a prayer?” the smaller boy asked when all five were gathered at the table. The mother and her husband laughed, with the laugh that meant they had taken drink. Then the man spoke words the children did not understand, and the mother laughed again. The daughter reached her shaking hand beneath the table and caught her brother’s hand in its grasp. She squeezed it tight and spoke a prayer that none could hear: May Tixo bless this that we are given, and protect that which we already have.

* * * * *

The daughter’s possessions were few and meagre, but this was not so bad, for it meant they could be carried more easily in one worn bag. The night was strangely cool and biting, but for this the girl was grateful, for it meant the man would not be easily woken.
Tears burned in the daughter’s eyes as she looked upon the two small boys, odd tears that she did not understand. The boys were fast asleep and dreaming, each warmer for the huddling presence of the other at their back. The daughter looked once more about the ikaya, at its simple furnishings and its cluttered space. She was cheered to hear the man snoring, glad that he should not know of her flight. One final look on the woman that had mothered her was the daughter’s last goodbye, and as she slipped out through the door she remained alone and undetected.
As her small, bare feet made their way through the streets of dirt and broken glass, she felt her heart beat strangely, quickened with fear and uncertainty. “But it will not be so bad,” she told herself, in a voice little so that none may hear, “for I know a man younger than my mother’s husband, who lives in Sophiatown. I will go to him. It will not be so bad.”

* * * * *

The streets in Sophiatown were scarcely less cluttered than those in her hometown, and these were still littered with shards of coloured glass. The new neighbours were noisy too, and their babies cried throughout the night. But the ikaya she lived in now was slightly bigger, and some of the windows had glass panes, and the man who called the daughter isithandwa sami, was kind and strong. In this ikaya she could hang her own simple curtains in the cooling breeze, and make humble meals that only two had to share, so both were better fed. And though the man who called her isithandwa sami held her wildly, she knew it was not bad because her mother was held in the same way.
No longer did she feel the scalding gaze of her mother’s husband on her, and no longer did she have to speak to Tixo in her mind alone. Yet sometimes tears came to her eyes when she remembered the two small boys, who slept back to back in an ikaya that seemed to her to be all the world away.
In the great cities the white man discussed the problems of the black townships, of the poor communities like those in Sophiatown. And there would be trouble in Sophiatown, they said, trouble indeed. Trouble for those with young, and for those with old, and for those whose husbands were strong enough for labour, for indeed the mines demanded more workers; workers who must leave behind a wife and home for the sake of the greater good.
Oh yes, there would be trouble in Sophiatown, crowed those who spoke in the white man’s tongue. But the daughter did not know it.

Belfast by Bianca Butler

Senior Poetry Entry

The sweet cocktail of steel and blood
Stills a morning cloaked in green
Laced back and forth, soft wire barbs
Adorn bitter tangerine

A causeway built by giant men
Drowns silent beneath
Religion shuns the spiritual
Whispers are heard of prayers of grief

A child dies, broken in two
A watching father aches
Two green eyes blink, innocence falls
To uphold a war for grace

Bloody fingers, once small and clean
Soon hold the trigger dear
Though eyes can’t see but muddled hat
Through the shot glass all is clear

The Song by Bianca Butler

Senior Poetry Entry

Once it was beautiful
Once it was a place of joy
Once its songs fell on ears of happiness
Once it lived

Then they came

They rode in on their horses of terror
Their eyes maddened by their quest for power
Their swords of destruction sliced the peacefulness
Into slivers of discouraged dreams

Hatred closed its doors
Bloodshed barred the gate
Fear hid it from sight
Grief wrote the final chapter of its destiny

And they left

Silence held the shock hostage
Life was its prisoner
Hope was its victim
Its spirit was lost

Time passed before it dared play its song again
It hid in its blanket of trauma
It waited until the silent screams had died away
It held its breath for fear of being heard by deaf ears

Then it dared

Out of its bombardment of denied memories
It whispered its song
It waited and hoped
That a candle of firm beliefs might shine through its window

But it didn’t

Time after time
It pounded its melody
Out to ears who could not hear past their fear
And its spirit doubted

But it would not let itself give up
It trusted; it believed
That somehow, someway, someone would listen
And let their memories guide them back

Day after day, year after year
In the security of the moonlight that danced on its stone floors
Through the window of boldness and the denial of fear
It played its song

Then she came

Shaken hope found her way back
Her ivory feet guided only by the assurance of her own heart
Danced a silent dance to its overgrown door
Her trust allowed her to enter

She knew the place from deep in her memory
She knew it was still there
And she basked in the moonlight shimmering through the glass of joyful tears
And together they sang its song

Somehow they both knew that she could never return
And as beautiful silent victory kissed its stone walls goodbye
They knew the magic of their song bound them together
For they had both believed

And every night its song rang out in triumph
In joy for the secret they shared
And as it sang it saw the angel dancing on the moonlit stone
And it smiled

They had both believed

9000 Days by Bianca Butler

Senior Poetry entry

Dedicated to the victims of the Irish Magdalen Asylums

A priest’s sweet song prepared two lovers for their wedding bed
While upstairs your uncle’s child turned your whiteness to blood red
Like stale breadcrumbs you were tossed away into some distant haze
Sucked down into the quicksand, there to spend your every day

And they said you were like Magdalene
That detergent scrubbed her slate to clean
Your innocence was sold and dressed in shame
They told you lies, they criticised
Till the greenness faded from your eyes
And I knew that you would never be the same

Your beauty, free of virtue, your downfall in masquerade
Everyday you found your family as the pony on parade
Dichotomy, you stood alone in the centre of a crowd
When lightning flashed you disappeared into the thundercloud

And they said you were like Magdalene
That detergent scrubbed her slate to clean
And a part of you, it died there in the pain
Alight with blame, inside you flamed
You bit your lip and played their game
And I knew that you would never be the same

A little child, bastardised, the victim of the crime
That in a moment could be gone and not harboured for all time
Your gentle heart, your cry for love, but deaf ears turned aside
And all the while your murderers waited for you to arrive

And they said you were like Magdalene
That detergent scrubbed her slate to clean
In the dead-end halls you lost your very name
You kept the peace, lived on your knees
Grace became a distant fantasy
And I knew that you would never be the same

9000 days, so very few
Before your body said goodbye to you
And the starving spirit slipped into the grave
When perfect vision’s eyes turned blind
The truth was sentenced to your mind
And without you things will never be the same…

Speculations on a Wonderful Stranger (From the Diary of Marcus Grey) by Bianca Butler

Senior Poetry entry

There’s a girl at my university.
I think I’m gonna marry her.

I didn’t know it straight away.
The first time I remember seeing her,
She was wearing two different coloured shoes.
I smiled.
I liked that.

The next time was in a swell of people exiting a lecture hall.
She had iPod earphones plugged into her ears.
But I could see the end of the wire
Poking out the bottom of her belt.
I knew it wasn’t connected to anything.
I had to chuckle.
She was still humming along.

The third time was across the campus café.
I was eating the same stir-fry vegetables
That used to give me the trots.
She was sitting all alone
Except for her book.
She had a milkshake, but the straw kept sliding away from her.
She didn’t want to take her eyes off the page
So she chased the straw around using only her tongue.
She looked ridiculous.
And that’s when I decided I’d marry her.

I used to see her a lot
Heading into the Student Services building.
I wondered if she had a bunch of problems with her enrolment.
Or if she was here illegally.
I didn’t find out until some months later
That the Student Services building had the cleanest toilets on campus.
That’s the only reason she went.

She was a germophobe.
(She still is.)
She told me that once, in the library.
It was between Asian Theatre
And the history of Rock and Roll.
She made a tower
Out of books that hadn’t been catalogued properly.
And she walked around, putting them in the right spots.
She said that she had a social problem,
And that made her different.
I said it didn’t matter.
I said I had a problem, too.
Co-ordination.
And balance.
She didn’t believe me.
I accidentally fell into a library stack,
And all its books toppled on her.
She believed me then.

Her father was a geologist.
He wrote books.
(The kind that don’t have any pictures.)
My father was a drunk.
He read books.
(Only the kind that have pictures.)
I often wondered how they’d get on.

She walks with a slight limp.
Nothing very obvious.
Just a little personal quirk.
I like it.
If I walk beside her, on her left,
She kind of leans into me.
It’s nice.

It was her birthday two weeks ago.
I bought her a fish.
She named him Grover.
(Somehow she knew it was a boy.
I had no idea.)
Grover has a treasure chest
And plankton
And a little machine
That makes bubbles.
She likes to sit up in bed at night
And tell him stories.
His favourite is about a pirate with a wooden leg.
(And scurvy.)
At least, she says that it is.
I believe her.

I came for tea two nights ago.
Her mother boiled potatoes.
She served them up with asparagus quiche.
(They’re both vegans.)
The potatoes weren’t cooked right through to the middle,
But I didn’t say anything.
The mother had heavy bags under her eyes
And the potato seemed fine to her.
So I pretended it seemed fine to me, too.
After dinner, the girl scuttled off
To put jazz on, or something.
The mother lit up her cigarette.
She asked me which way my mother voted.
Liberal, I said.
She asked me which way my father voted.
Donkey, I said.
Me too, she said.
I told her I’d like to marry her daughter.
The kettle whistled
And she filled up my coffee mug.
The jazz was nice.

I’ll ask her today.
I’ve made a picnic,
With bread rolls and a big choc chip cookie
(We can split it).
My roll has cheese and tomato on it –
It’s one of the two kinds I know how to make.
She doesn’t like that cheese comes from cows
Or sometimes goats,
So hers just has tomato on it.
That’s the only other kind I know how to make.

The picnic blanket has a stain on it
From another picnic,
Ten years past,
When I spilled the Pepsi.
But she doesn’t mind.
She lies on her back and looks up at the sky.
She can see a puppy
And a bicycle
And a pirate with a wooden leg
(And probably scurvy).
She asks me what I can see.
I lie on my back beside her and look up at the sky.
Her in a wedding dress, I say.
And me standing beside her.
She says she can see that, too.

Her fingers creep between mine.
I warn her that I might fall into something again.
I tend to over-balance to my right.
She says not to worry.
She’ll walk on my right
And I’ll walk on her left.
I’ll fall into her
And she’ll lean into me.

And it’ll be nice.

Was It For Real? By Grace Zylstra

Junior Short Story Entry

Long ago, there lived a monster that haunted the Bilbo River. Every year it seemed in the month of November, when the moon was at its fullest, the monster was seen. “Well I have never seen it myself in person I think, but there have been rumors about ‘the thing’!

Like one moonlit night, little Johnny McGee from down the road hit his tennis ball into the Bilbo River. “Dam that’s the third one I’ve lost this week, ”he had said. Not even thinking about ‘the thing’, he went into the icky, gooey, slimy river in search of his tennis ball, and we haven’t seen little Johnny McGee since.

If I say so myself I think it’s a myth, but I still wonder what happened to that Johnny boy. So I thought if it’s that scary then why am I getting the feeling that I’ve met this monster before. “Nah couldn’t have”. I ran back home as fast as my legs could carry me, for exercise of course, straight up the squeaky old stairs and into my room.

Just when I was about to open the closet door to put my jacket away, the handle disappeared, and the door opened by itself. Before I got to think about what had just happened, a hand sprung out and grabbed me and pulled me into the darkness. “I’m dead! I’m gone!” I repeated over and over again in my head. I finally had the courage to open my eyes. “I’m alive!” I shouted. Then I heard a sound, ‘car-coo car-coo’. I followed it and followed it, for what seemed like forever, until my legs couldn’t carry me any further, when all of a sudden the noise stopped.

I looked around. I was standing on a mushy orange ground and the sky was a bright purple. I had to stop. I had to have a rest, but where? There was a small area of red, dry, rocky ground. I lay down but I couldn’t sleep. All of a sudden there was a loud noise coming toward me. ‘THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! BANG! BANG! BANG! I had to cover my ears to clock out the noise as it got louder and louder with every second.

I saw something in the distance, as it came closer it looked like a giant boy with red curly hair and freckles as big as dinner plates. It looked just like Johnny McGee from down the road. I stood stuck to the spot amazed. He saw me and started to go the opposite way.

“Wait! Don’t go I need your help,” I yelled. He kept moving away from me, I ran after him yelling at the same time. “Johnny is that you? Wait!” I yelled out again and again. This time he stopped and turned around to look at me. As frightened as I was, I was gad to see that it was Johnny, even though he was as tall as my house. “Where have you been for all of these years?” I asked with relief. Johnny was coy and did not appear too keen to let me know. “That’s a story for another day,” he whispered. “I’m lost, please help me Johnny!” I cried out. HE bent down and picked me up and put me on his shoulder. We walked and walked for what seemed like hours, ‘THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! BANG! BANG! BANG!’ stomped his boots. I couldn’t stay awake any longer and finally fell asleep.

I woke up disorientated looking around, forgetting for a moment where I was. I could see my bedroom door over to the right. “STOP!” I screamed to Johnny. Johnny hurriedly put me down and I raced towards the door. “Come on,” I yelled to him, we are home. But Johnny just stood there and smiled, waved at me and walked away. “Johnny! Johnny! Don’t go,” I screamed, tears running down my face.


“Gracie wake up, you are going to be late for school, come on sleepy head. Johnny is already here waiting for you” my Mum said.
I sat up and looked around to see all my familiar things in my room. I breathed a huge sigh of relief; it was only a dream, a silly old dream, wasn’t it?

The White Key to The Golden Cheesecake by Naomi Feeney

Junior Short Story Entry

Once upon a time, on a far away planet named Cheese, there lived a young girl named Ella. She lived with her family of younger twin sisters (Moe and Joe) and Mum, in a very poor town called Cheesedale. The only way to cure this poverty that everyone in Cheesedale suffered was to find the legendary Golden Cheesecake. And the only way to get this Cheesecake was to find a white key, which was equally as legendary (meaning these two things probably didn’t exist). So, back to the story, Ella and her family were picking cheesepops one day when all of a sudden the ground began to rumble like a Blue Vein cow trying to pass wind. It was the Cheesedale earthquake. Moe and Joe were clinging to each other as if they were on an ice cube floating to Antarctica. Ella was shaking like she was trying to do a … well, we won’t go there. Everyone was afraid when all of sudden, out of nowhere came … the Cheese girls! Protectors of the cheese, guardians of the yogurt, bla bla bla, you get the picture. Their names were Chiki, Chilli and Chinti, and have a tendency to wreak havoc in every town on Planet Cheese, and the earthquake heralds their coming. Upon arriving, they devour their secret, spiced cheeses, say well done and POOFF! They leave. And don’t clean up. So today they did exactly that. Just before they left, Ella noticed a white object in Chiki’s hand.

As Ella returned to help clean up, she thought of what the white object could be. Ella believed that the Golden Cheesecake actually did exist, and that the white object could in fact have been the White Key to the Golden Cheesecake.
That night, whilst all was quiet, Ella snuck out of the house and ran to the Cheese girls’ lair. As she crept inside she discovered a red velvet box, containing the white key sitting upon the mantel above the fireplace. As she went to get it, one of the Cheese girls walked into the kitchen. Ella hid and saw where the cheese girls hid their secret spiced cheeses. As Ella left with the White Key, she took some spiced cheeses, just in case of an emergency. Ella ran home, just as dawn was beginning to break. When she got home, she told her family of her adventures. After finishing her story, she said “I need to go and find this golden Cheesecake to save the whole of Cheesedale from poverty. Mum, I’ll need you to make me a humungous lunch, plus a peanut butter and honey sandwich, please. I think I’ll take my friend from school, William to help me.”
So off Ella went to find the Golden Cheesecake, with William her friend to help her. They crossed mountains thousands of times bigger than Mt Everest (so they thought) and rolled down the other side. Crossed oceans thousands of times bigger than the Pacific (or so they thought), when they came to a beautiful castle made of the finest cheeses that Ella and William had ever seen. As they walked into the grand hall of this magnificent palace, out of nowhere appeared the cheese girls, with there spiced cheeses and catastrophic earth quakes. “So, you thought you could find the Golden Cheesecake, did you?” asked Chiki. “Thought you could get away with stealing our White key, did you?” said Chilli. “Well we’re gonna make you pay real good. Hand us over the key or you, your boyfriend here and the whole of Cheesedale will be blown to kingdom come,” said Chinti threateningly. “What am I going to do?” thought Ella. As she was thinking, her hand found the spiced cheeses that she had taken from the Cheese girls. Realizing this, she popped them all in her mouth, swallowed them and all of a sudden, a rumbling came from Ella’s stomach. It grew louder and louder until POOFF! The stench of a thousand blue vein cheese cows just having passed wind blew the Cheese girls all the way (amazingly) to Cheesedale Police station. Luckily, William was smart and hid behind a grand piano. After Ella recovered from such a massive explosion, she took the White Key from her pocket, opened the safe in the palace’s reception room and took the Golden Cheesecake out. It wasn’t big, it wasn’t edible, but it was certainly worth enough to keep the whole of Cheesedale out of poverty for another thousand years to come. So Ella and William returned home to find a great welcoming party. The mayor of Cheesedale took the Golden cheesecake and stored it in a safe place. When asked however, how Ella had defeated the Cheese girls, she replied, quite hastily, “Time for a spot of macaroni cheese, say what?”

I guess we will be the only ones to know how the Golden Cheesecake was ever recovered.


~FIN~

I Hate Mondays!!! by Angel Rushton

Junior Short Story Entry

Chapter One

Week four, year three

Hello! In case you haven't noticed, it's the start of week four in my grade three class at Olivia State Primary School. That's right, you guessed it, it's Monday! And as you may have also guessed, I, Catherin Jane Johnson, hate Mondays. Last Monday, I was late for school, missed the bus to school, got one out of fifty on my maths test, someone put flies on my sandwich and I ate it, went to sleep in science and got a detention for not listening, spilled my dinner on the floor, hit my head on the shower door - and my night-light wouldn't turn on! So as you can guess, Mondays aren't exactly what you'd call my best day. Oh well, I'd better get going now or I'll miss the bus (as usual)!
As Catherin stopped writing in her journal for the first time, she thought and wondered what would happen to her this Monday.
She jumped out of bed and put on her school uniform (white shirt and green skirt) - then she raced downstairs and poured a nice drink of water from the jug in the fridge.
"Bye Mum!" she called.
"B… wait! Catherin, you haven't brushed your hair!" called Mrs. Johnson as Catherin made for the door then hurried back inside, brushed her hair into a ponytail, grabbed her school hat, whacked it on her head and, for the second time that morning, walked out the front door where the sun beat happily onto her face.
"Maybe," she wondered, "today will be my very first Monday without, well except for forgetting to brush my hair, doing anything wrong!"
She spoke too soon. As she was strolling down the sidewalk, her school bus zoomed straight past Catherin, not daring to stop. Catherin's stroll quickly turned into a fast run, but she was already too late. The bus stopped a few yards ahead, some people stepped on, and then without waiting, it took off again, over the hill.
Knowing she'd been beaten, Catherin stopped running and sat down, panting like a dog. She was used to missing the bus, but still didn't enjoy getting in trouble for being late. And school started in three minutes!
At 9:30 a.m., sad Catherin strode into school. She knew what she was in for. Putting her bag on the port racks, she tried to walk silently into class. Catherin knew it was no use. After all, her teacher did have eyes!
"Catherin Jane Johnson!" exclaimed Mrs. Wedderburn.
"Oh boy!" thought Catherin. "I'm done for!"
"And what," carried on the teacher, "may I ask is your excuse this time?"
"Missed the bus," Catherin answered quietly.
"Speak up girl! I'm fifty-five. My hearing’s not that of a ten year old!"
"I MISSED THE BUS!"
"Don't you dare yell at me young lady! You'll be seeing me at eleven o'clock!" replied Mrs.
Wedderburn.

The whole class broke out in unstoppable laughter and Catherin hung her head, hands over her eyes, and cried.
I hate Mondays! she thought. I hate, hate, hate them!Catherin sat through Maths, English and Journals before it was finally lunch time.
"My goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Wedderburn. "It's lunch time already! Stand quietly and push your chairs in. Out you go."
Everyone stood up and made for the door, including Catherin, who crouched low so that her teacher wouldn't recognise her and forget to punish her.
"Except you Catherin!"
Catherin walked slowly back to her desk and grabbed her chair. Then she placed it down on the other side of the teacher’s desk and plonked herself down onto it.
"Why were you late?" asked Mrs. Wedderburn simply but firmly.
"I missed the …" Catherin began.
"School bus," finished her teacher. "Oh but of course you did. How silly of me. Catherin, I've had enough of every Monday you telling me that you missed the bus. Now darling, I know you're not telling me the truth, for no human being could possibly miss the bus that many times. So tell me, what really happened?"
Catherin was angry! She was fed up with her teacher not believing her. She knew she'd missed the bus but how could she explain this to her stupid teacher?
"Well, what do you want me to say? My dog ate my homework and I had to stay back and fish it out of his throat? Newsflash! I don't have a dog! Or maybe you'd like to hear that aliens took me to Mars and I had to fly all the way back? I'm not that kind of person! I don't lie! I'm tired of being told I'm lying, I'm not! I missed the bus ok?"
Catherin said all this in one breath, so she sat there, breathing heavy.
Mrs. Wedderburn seemed dumbstruck at how fiery this eight year old girl could be, so she just said, "Report to the office!" and Catherin threw her chair at her desk and slammed the door behind her. Then she made her way down the hall and up the stairs until she reached the top and knocked on the big brass door.
"Come in," said a soft voice.
Catherin didn't exactly 'like' Mr Shelp, but put it this way, she'd rather have him for a principal than Mrs. Wedderburn! At least if you got into trouble he wouldn't raise his voice.
Catherin swung the huge door open and it smashed right into a bookshelf. The bookshelf banged to the floor and books tumbled everywhere. Catherin winced. But surprisingly, Mr Shelp laughed.
" Whoops!" he chuckled. "My fault! I stacked those books in the wrong place, didn't I?"
Catherin smiled. This guy was just a big kid!
"Come over and take a seat," smiled Mr Shelp, and Catherin walked over and sat down. "What's happened?"
"Well, apparently I'm lying because I said I missed the bus, but I'm not. I really did miss it," replied Catherin.
"And I'm sure you did. But as I remember, you've told us the same thing for the past four weeks, and on the same day - Monday. And so I ask, why?"
"Because I do! I'm just so unlucky on Mondays and don't ask why cause I don't know. If I did, I'd do something about it. Now just give me a detention," said, or sort of screamed, Catherin.
"If you wish," replied the principal and he handed her a pink detention slip.
"I hate Mondays!" said Catherin.

Chapter Two

The Detention

As Catherin walked down the flight of stairs she'd come up, she looked at her pink detention slip. It read:
Catherin Jane Johnson
50 lines
"I will not be late for school"
First Break
That means, she thought - that I have to go straight to the office.
And so she did. She worked her way along corridors and halls before finally arriving outside the office where two ladies and a man were typing on computers.
"Excuse me?" Catherin asked quietly.
One of the ladies swung her chair closer. "How can I help you?", she asked.
"I have this detention slip," Catherin explained and the woman took it from her, scanned it then said, " Oh dear Miss Johnson, not late for school again are we?" She dived under the bench and came up with 'The Lines Book' which was a large book children wrote their lines in so that the office could keep records of how many times people are called to the office.
"You probably already know this, but I'm supposed to tell you, so what you do is turn to a clean page, write your name and class, then begin writing your lines and when they're done you give this back to me. You ready to go?" asked the office lady.
"Yes, thank you," Catherin said taking the huge book in her hands.
She sat outside the office writing 'I will not be late for school' over and over again. As she did this, Catherin thought about her family at home and wondered what they were doing. She stopped writing her thirteenth line in the middle of 'late' and walked over to the window and looked down upon all the happy children playing on the oval - and she wondered. She wondered about how it would feel to have a normal life, what it would be like not to have to worry every Monday about the trouble she knew she'd be in for and what it'd be like to actually have a friend.
She pondered over this for ages and it wasn't until someone walked past that she realised that she had work to do. And so she sat back down, writing neatly but quickly.
"I...will...not...be...late...for...school...I...will…," she said this very quietly, nearly whispering to herself so as to keep up a fast writing pace but soon again she'd forgotten about her writing and she just sat there pencil in hand and put her head on the wall behind her. Then she closed her eyes and fell asleep. Catherin started seeing fuzzy shapes appearing in her mind. She was dreaming. She saw herself sitting under the big oak tree in the backyard doing her homework. She was just about to work out the answer to fifteen plus six when her mother called her for a late lunch. She closed her book, left it there in the shade and went inside for a snack.
She ate plenty of eggs and tomato. Then she had a glass of water to wash it down.
Catherin's mother asked if she had anything important to do and Catherin remembered her homework she'd left outside under the tree, so she raced outside to get it.
When she arrived outside, Catherin bent down to pick up her homework, and felt a little tap on her leg. Catherin swung around, but couldn't see anyone.
"Down here," said a voice.
Catherin looked down until she saw a tiny man about the height of a large bucket standing next to her feet.
"What are you?" Catherin asked him.
"More importantly, who am I? I am a little servant who helps poor people, such as yourself, with their problems."
"But I don't have any problems!"
"Mondays. You have always hated Monday and so Monday hates you, so therefore I am here to see to it that you and Monday make a special bond called friendship - so if us three can work together to help each other, then Mondays will no longer be a problem for you!"
"I don't get it?"
The little man slapped a hand to his forehead.
"Ok," he said. "You don't like Monday. Monday doesn't like you. I like everyone. Me and this little package," he explained. " will help you and Monday like each other. Now take it, take it..."
The bell sounded and woke Catherin from her dream.
Oh no! she thought. I haven't finished my lines!
She walked inside the office and told this to the office lady, who said she could do it in her spare time, which really meant 'keep it till you're done'.
Catherin was walking back to the office when she slipped on a peanut butter sandwich and went colliding with the wall.
"I hate Mondays!"
"Catherin, I can't believe you! You mean to tell me that all lunchtime you sat outside the office doing nothing at all? Well tell me, what were you doing? Dreaming?"
Catherin hung her head in shame as Mrs. Wedderburn yelled at her. And she couldn't blame her. After all, she had done nothing. She had only gotten time to do twenty-two sentences.
That means, she did the sum in her head. I still have twenty-eight to go.
"You'll just have to do them at afternoon tea," concluded Mrs. Wedderburn.
"I hate Mondays!" said Catherin.

Chapter Three

The Funny Man

What a peculiar dream I had today, and at such a strange time! I wonder what it means? Mum says everything has a meaning to it and a reason why it happened! I shall tell her about it and see what she thinks, said Catherin to herself on her way home from school that day.
She was walking home all by herself, as she had no friends to go with her and she enjoyed having no one there to interrupt her thoughts.
Today she thought about that funny little man in her dream outside the office.
I wonder who he is, she thought.
"Hi sweetie! How was your day at school?" asked Catherin’s mother as Catherin walked in the front door. She was cooking delicious smelling eggs from their chickens in the backyard.
"Yeah, it was alright. Apart from the fact I got a detention, but even my detention was fun today ‘cause I had this awesome dream! It started when I was under the big oak tree outside..." Catherin told her mother the whole dream, word for word. She told her mother about the funny man she'd seen and about the small package she was meant to take to make her and Monday good friends. When she'd finished she asked her mother what it might mean.
"Maybe it means that if you follow the rules of life, all bad things will go away!" answered her mother.
"Maybe..."
"Maybe you should do your homework young lady! I'll call you when the food is ready," concluded Mrs. Johnson.
"Ok! I'll do it under the big oak tree, just like the dream!" said Catherin excitedly.
She walked outside, with her homework book, and sat next to the root she had sat next to in her dream. Then she just sat there puzzling out the sums.
"Nine plus three equals...twelve. Nine plus eight equals...seventeen. Nine plus five equals...fourteen. Six plus twelve equals...eighteen. Six plus fifteen equals..."
"Catherin! Eggs are ready!" The call of her mother put a stop to Catherin's thoughts and she stood up and left her homework lying where she had been just seconds ago.
"Oh yum, Mum!" exclaimed Catherin when she saw the steaming pile of scrambled eggs and the grilled tomatoes sitting on the table. Catherin quickly set the table, stacking plates, knives and forks around the food. Then she sat down in her chair and started digging at the huge mound of eggs steaming in front of her.
After eating plenty of eggs and tomatoes, Catherin remembered her homework she'd left outside and raced to get it. As she bent down to pick it up, Catherin felt a light tap on her leg.
She looked all around but Catherin could not see a living soul anywhere.
"Down here," said a voice.
Catherin looked down and down until her eyes fell upon a funny little man. He was about the height of a large bucket and quite plump with a round tummy. He wore brown long pants and a green shirt. His blue eyes suited his rosy cheeks and on his head he wore a beautiful red hat with blue stars.
"What are you?" asked Catherin.
"More importantly, who am I? I am a little servant who helps people such as yourself with their problems!" answered the gnome looking creature.
"But I don't have any problems!" protested Catherin.
"Mondays. You have always hated Monday and so Monday hates you, so therefore I am here to see to it that you and Monday make a special bond called friendship. So if us three can work together to help each other, Mondays will no longer be a problem for you."
"I don't get it?"
The funny little man slapped one of his podgy little hands to his forehead.
"Ok," he explained. "You don't like Monday. Monday doesn't like you. I like…" He was cut off mid sentence. Catherin remembered the dream and said. "Everyone. You and the little package in your pocket will help me and Monday to like each other. But who is Monday?"
"Monday you will meet if you follow my instructions. Take this package and every Monday do exactly as it says. If not, Monday will take away anything that means anything to you. Now take it, take it," the small man commanded.
"Thank you. But what does it do?"
But Catherin realised the question would not be answered, for the funny little man had disappeared!

Chapter Four

The Magic Package

Catherin was speechless. First he gave her this lumpy package, then he just disappeared.
"Well that's manners for you!" said Catherin angrily. She went inside and told her mother about it.
"Catherin, you were probably just dreaming again," said Mrs. Johnson.
"But I wasn't and I will prove it!" protested Catherin.
"OK, show me."
"This little package!"
"Darling, that little package is a clump of leaves from the backyard."
"Is not!" yelled Catherin and ran up to her room before her mother could yell back at her.
Catherin sat up on her bed looking intently at the small package she held in her hands. It did look like a lumpy squashed up pile of leaves. But it wasn't - for Catherin would soon find out the powers it contained.
After enduring four good days at school and the weekend, Catherin woke up early on Monday morning and reached for her book on the bedside table. She couldn't find it. So Catherin sat up and looked for it. An amazing sight met her eyes. Sitting on her bedside table was a little creature reading her book. He, she, it - just sat there reading away. "Excuse me, but that's my book, and if you don't mind, I would like to read it!" said Catherin angrily. The little thing closed the book, stood up and put its hand on its hips. "SIT STRAIGHT. RAISE YOUR CHIN A LITTLE. GET DRESSED. BRUSH YOUR TEETH. DO YOUR HAIR. USE MANNERS. PACK YOUR BAG AND TAKE ME IN YOUR HANDS!" commanded the little thing and without waiting for the little girl's answer, rolled up into the little package it had been before.
Catherin was shocked. He (for she could tell from his voice that he was male) had such a commanding voice and so strong for someone about the size of a hairbrush. And remembering the little man's words, how could she do exactly as he says – I mean, how could she possibly remember all those instructions when he had talked so fast and nearly burst her eardrums with his loudness.
"Excuse me," she asked him gently. "But would you please unroll and tell me each instruction separately and say them a little softer?"
The little ball sprung open, startling Catherin, and said the first instruction very clearly, "Sit straight!" Catherin sat as straight as her back would let her and pulled her shoulders back.
"Raise your chin a little," he said.
Catherin stuck her chin in the air.
"Get dressed."
Keeping a good posture, Catherin walked over to her wardrobe and pulled out her uniform. Then she threw off her pyjamas and put her uniform on.
"Brush your teeth."
Catherin walked over to her bathroom, brushed her teeth, then she walked out of her bathroom and stood next to the little man.
"Do your hair."
"I can't."
"Turn around and kneel in front of me. Before you do that, grab a few hair ties."
Catherin did as he said. She could feel him grabbing her hair, brushing it, which was quite amazing for he was no bigger than the brush itself! Then he plaited it and put a hair tie in the end. To finish off, he twirled the plait into a bun and tucked in all the small hairs. When she sensed he was finished, Catherin stood up and turned around ready for the next instruction.
"Use manners."
"Thank you for doing my hair."
"Pack your bag and take me downstairs with you."
Catherin had packed her bag the night before, but still needed her lunch so she picked up the little man and her bag and walked downstairs. This little man felt so clean and not at all as squishy as he looked. He had a nice soft surface that felt like a baby’s skin.
When she got downstairs, Catherin set the little man down on the bench and headed for the fridge. In her mind, something told her to get seeded bread, ham, lettuce, a knife, tiny teddies, two carrots and four cherry tomatoes. So she did and she placed the ingredients on the bench where her lunch box waited to be filled.
As soon as Catherin set the food down, the little man started chopping, making, slicing and packaging. When he was finished, Catherin was left with a fresh and healthy lunch. She put it in her bag, just as her Mum walked down the stairs. The little man rolled into a ball and jumped into Catherin's pocket.
"You're early today!" said her Mum looking at her watch, which read 8.30 a.m. "If you leave now, you'll catch the 8.45 bus and make it to school on time."
"I know! Bye Mum!" said Catherin and she walked out the door.
At 8.42, Catherin was sitting on the bus stop seat waiting for the school bus to come and at exactly 8.45, it did. Catherin stepped onto the bus.
"I love Mondays!" she said.

Chapter Five

A Good Monday!

The bus felt good and air-conditioned compared to the summers hot winds outside. She sat down in a seat near the window but in the shade and looked out.
The bus started and zoomed along the street, but this time Catherin didn't mind 'cause she was on it.
"Keep your back straight. Shoulders pulled back. If you need help, ask me with your manners and I'll help you. Unless you're talking to me, don't speak in class - unless you’re allowed to. Chew with your mouth closed and try to say something nice to your teachers and classmates," instructed the little man.
"Of course, but am I allowed to ask you a question?" queried Catherin.
"Go ahead."
"What is your name?"
"Well, my original name is Freckles, but you can call me Lumpy. That's my nickname and what everyone else calls me," answered Lumpy. "And yours?"
"Catherin Jane Johnson, but for short, Catherin, or Cathy," said Catherin.
"Wow! Catherin Jane Johnson, hey? You humans are so weird. You have all these different nicknames and then a first, last and middle name as well. We Lumpets have only three names in all of our kind. Three for ladies and three for men. And only one nickname in all of our kind. The ladies’ names are either Mariet, Lumpia, or Aleevia. And the men’s are Freckles, Chakarat, or Limp. The only nickname is Lumpy," babbled Lumpy. Catherin had been listening.
"We only have so many different names, so if we look like someone else, we can be told apart. How do you know who is who?" she asked.
"By the number and type of lumps we have on our back. We're not called Lumpets for nothing you know!"
Just as Catherin was about to open her mouth to ask how many lumps Lumpy had, the bus pulled up outside the school and she decided she would ask him later, for he, once again, rolled up into a Lumpy ball and jumped into her pocket.
Today Catherin's seat wasn't empty and at 9.05 the teacher marked the roll.
"Angela."
"Here."
"Brittany."
"Here."
"Caitlin."
"Here."
"Catherin."
"Here, Mrs. Wedderburn."
The whole class went silent and turned to face Catherin. Catherine felt her whole face boil up and go a deep red.
"Catherin! It's wonderful to see you here so early and looking so stunningly beautiful!" exclaimed Mrs. Wedderburn with a happy grin.
Beautiful? Catherin thought. Is she talking to me? And her face went even redder.
A whistle came from the back of the classroom. It had come from the class clown, Jeffery.
If Catherin's face could have gone any redder it would have, but her face already looked like the cherry tomatoes in her lunch box.
The teacher finished doing the role, then she handed out pieces of paper for an English comprehension test.
Oh no, thought Catherin. I only got one on my Maths test, but then she remembered Lumpy in her pocket and felt reassured.
After forty-five minutes of hard work and a little help from Lumpy, Catherin handed in her test. There were sixty questions and Catherin was hoping to get at least forty right. The class brain, Angela, would probably get them all right.
All the children bustled over one another in their haste to get to their bags first, so they could go to lunch.
"Catherin! Can you come here please?" asked Mrs. Wedderburn over the noise of the children.
"Sure," said Catherin, going over to her.
"We have a new girl in the class today. Here name is Jacqueline, so I was wondering if you would look after her and show her around a bit."
"Yes. I'd love to, and by the way, I love your earrings, Mrs. Wedderburn!" exclaimed Catherin pointing at the feathered earrings hanging on Mrs. Wedderburn's ears.
"Oh, thank you dear. Now this is Jacqueline. Jacqueline, this is Catherin. She's going to show you around school today." A shy girl with big brown eyes and long blonde hair stepped out from behind Mrs. Wedderburn. She was wearing the school uniform and white knee-high socks with black velcro shoes. She looked as though her skin had just been polished and that her fingernails had just had a manicure. At first Catherin was a little jealous of Jacqueline's beauty, but then she thought that this girl might be her very first friend.
Jacqueline followed Catherin out to her bag. Catherin squatted down to get out her lunch box and hat. When she turned around Jacqueline was not there, but at her own bag getting out her hat.
"Where's your lunch?" Catherin asked her. Jacqueline stared at the ground as though it might tell her.
"Don't you have any?" asked Catherin. Jacqueline, still looking at the ground, shook her head.
"Do you have any money for tuckshop?" Jacqueline shook her head again.
"Are you hungry?" Jacqueline nodded.
"That's OK! You can share my lunch," Catherin said. As they were walking toward the eating area, Catherin noticed that she was just a touch taller than Jacqueline.
As they sat down on the bench to eat Catherin's lunch, a couple of girls standing in front of them started whispering and pointing at Jacqueline. Jacqueline must have noticed this because she looked away, straight into Catherin's eyes. As all this happened, Catherin had been setting her lunch up on the seat. "How about we halve everything?" Catherin asked. Jacqueline nodded, so Catherin put two cherry tomatoes, one carrot, half her sandwich and the whole packet of tiny teddies into the serviettes she had packed. She handed it to Jacqueline, who peered inside the bundle, then she said the first thing Catherin had heard her say in a sweet, soft voice. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," answered Catherin cheerfully. They sat munching away at Catherin's sandwich for some time, before a teacher told them they could go and play.
"Where do you want to play?" asked Catherin.
"What can we play?" asked Jacqueline. Wow! thought Catherin, she's talking to me.
"Well we could play tiggy on the oval, or …"
"Tag, YOUR IT!" screamed Jacqueline and ran off towards the oval. Catherin threw her lunch box near where her class lined up and ran after her.
Just before the bell had rung, Catherin and Jacqueline had washed their hands and faces in the girls’ toilets, then they had lined up as partners and sat straight, ready to get their English results.
"Come class," demanded Mrs. Wedderburn. The whole class stood up and walked into the classroom where their results lay on their desks. Catherin hurried over to her desk to look at hers. It read, 60 - 60. Catherin was speechless. She had gotten top marks.
"Now when I call your name, please tell me your results. Angela!"
"Fifty-two," answered Angela happily.
"Brittany."
"Forty-three."
"Caitlin."
"Forty-eight."
"Catherin."
"Sixty." Once again, as Catherin spoke out loud in class for the second time that day, the whole class went silent, and then to Catherin's surprise, a loud applause broke out in the classroom. They were all cheering for her 'cause she was the first person to have beaten Angela in the whole year. Yes! thought Catherin, maybe I'll get some more friends. Catherin's ears pricked up at the sound of Jacqueline's name being called out by Mrs. Wedderburn.
"Twenty-one," she answered quietly. The whole class laughed at Jacqueline and insults were being thrown at her from all sides of the classroom - just because she had got a bad mark. When the teacher did nothing, Catherin got angry. She wasn't going to let them humiliate her friend.
"Shut up!" Catherin called out. It was then that the teacher jumped into action.
"Yes, be quiet please," she said. The whole class went extremely silent and Mrs. Wedderburn carried on collecting results.
That day when Catherin opened the door to her house, she was all smiles. Her face lit up like a kerosene lamp as she stepped into the lounge where her mother sat reading last week’s newspaper.
"Hey sweetie. How was school today?" asked Mrs. Johnson.
"Amazing!" exclaimed Catherin. "I had the best Monday ever. I got top marks and beat Angela on my English test with sixty out of sixty. I made friends with this new girl called Jacqueline and the teacher told me I was 'stunningly beautiful'. So, yes, I had a very, very good day."
"Well that's lovely darling. I'd better start on dinner, or else we'll all be hungry." Catherin's Mum finished off their conversation, put down the newspaper, and headed for the kitchen. Catherin walked up the stairs to do her homework, but I guess it was really so she could talk to Lumpy

Chapter Six

Three Good Friends

"Lumpy," said Catherin that night as he lay on her dressing table.
"Yes?" he answered.
"You can come and lie with me if you want."
"OK." Lumpy sleepily walked into Catherin's bed and it was then that Catherin could go to sleep, for she knew that someone was there watching over her.
It was Saturday morning and at 7.30 a.m. Catherin was already up writing nice things about her class members and teacher, of which she would put into their desks on Monday. When she'd finished, she took out another piece of paper and wrote a thank you letter to the little man with the funny hat. It said:

To A Dear Friend,

Do you remember me? I'm the little girl Catherin who you gave that parcel to a while ago! Remember how I didn't get it? Well, now I do. Lumpy has helped me a lot and it's all thanks to you. So thanks for giving him to me. Its really changed my life.

Love Catherine

Then she drew a little stick man with a pointy hat on the page opposite. "That should do it," said Catherin when she'd finished. She took an envelope from her desk drawer, folded her letter and slotted it inside. Then she sat and waited for Lumpy to wake up, so as he could tell her the address of this weird guy. Catherin would then post it - but when Catherin turned around, the envelope she'd put the letter in had the word ‘OPEN’ printed in capital letters on the front. Did I do that? Catherin asked herself. She remembered that she hadn't, so she tore open the envelope. Inside was another hand made card, but this writing was certainly not Catherin's. She read:

Dear Catherin,

Thank you for your lovely letter. I don't get many thankyou’s for what I do. Please don't be surprised at what happens to your letters when you write to me. It is our way of communication. If you have any questions, just write them down and they will come straight to me. Do you really want to be my friend? I would love to be yours. You seem like a very nice, intelligent girl.

Bye!

Love Frend

P.S. My name is Frend, in case you were wondering.

Cool, thought Catherin. I wish humans could talk like this. She was just putting away the letter when Lumpy woke up.
"Wow, it's already 8.00," he said sleepily. Then Lumpy opened his mouth and let out a huge yawn.
"Guess what?" Catherin tested him.
"Tell me."
"I made a friend yesterday and she's coming over today."
"That's great. What's her name?" questioned Lumpy.
"Jacqueline"
"Excellent. How about you and your Mum make those chocolate chip biscuits, for when she arrives" suggested Lumpy.
"Good Idea! I'll go get Mum," Catherin said enthusiastically. She ran across the hall and jumped onto her Mother's bed yelling, "Wake up, Wake up." Catherin's Mum looked up at her with blurry eyes.
"Why? Jacqueline isn't due here for another forty-five minutes," she said sleepily.
"Because we have to make your chocolate chip biscuits for her," answered Catherin.
"Who's idea was it?"
"Lumpy's."
"Who in the world is Lumpy?"
"I'll ask if he wants to see you. If not, you will never know," said Catherin excitedly. She ran back to her room where Lumpy waited. Can I show you to Mum?" Catherin asked.
"No! Even if you did, she wouldn't see me because she doesn't have enough imagination left to be able to see me in my life form. To her, I would be a mere brown parcel. And anyway, I am not to be seen by anyone but you. Now, how about the biscuits?"
"She said ‘yeah’," answered Catherin a little disappointed. She looked at her clock on the wall. Thirty-five minutes left!!!" and with that she ran back to her Mother's room.
Jacqueline arrived seven minutes late, by which time the biscuits were cooked and ready to be eaten.
"Sorry I'm late Mrs. Johnson," Jacqueline said as she walked in the door. Within seconds of getting the ingredients out of the fridge and the pantry, it had started to rain, but now the rain had turned into a big storm, so Jacqueline was wet and cold, even though she wore a raincoat. Catherin went upstairs and fetched a clean bath towel for her and wrapped her friend up in it. They both sat by the fireplace toasting marshmallows and munching on biscuits, and Jacqueline was soon nice and warm.
"What do you want to do?" asked Catherin.
"We could play a game in your room, if we're allowed," suggested Jacqueline.
"OK, but hang on, I have to move something first." Catherin quickly went upstairs, not wanting to keep her friend waiting too long. When she arrived at her bedroom door, she went inside. "Lumpy, I have to move you. Jacqueline’s coming up here," she told him hurriedly. He didn't answer but just jumped into her desk drawer. That's when Catherin noticed the piece of paper lying on her desk. She picked it up. It said:

Monday is waiting for you at the big evergreen tree in the middle of the forest. Bring Lumpy.

Frend

Chapter Seven

Meeting Monday

Next Monday, Catherin got up really early, at 5.30 a.m. sharp. She wanted her Mum to think that she had gone to school, when really she'd be meeting Monday. She packed food and water in her lunch box and took it upstairs. Then she put clothing on the bottom of a large bag and the lunch box on the top. When Lumpy swore he knew how to make a tent out of trees and bark, she zipped up the bag, put it on her back and walked out the door, Lumpy riding on her shoulder.
"We have to go to this special spot. If we go there, a shuttle will take us to the evergreen tree," said Lumpy. "I know where it is, so it won't take long - follow my directions."
"Left, two, three, four. Here we are. STOP!" Catherin stopped moving at once. Nothing happened. Then all of a sudden, the ground started trembling, and the grass under Catherin's feet gave way. Her and Lumpy were suspended in mid air for a few seconds before they went down the hole. "Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" Catherin screamed.
"Wheeeeeeeeee!" Lumpy said excitedly. They fell for two long minutes before - THUD! They landed in something. It was all dark. Then a light turned on, then another and another and so on. Catherin could finally look at her surroundings. Yuck! She was in a dirt tunnel surrounded by millions upon millions of - insects! This was like a bug city. There were stores selling dung for flies and others selling rock jewellery for ladies. Catherin couldn't believe what she was seeing, but she was even more astonished when an elephant beetle came up and asked if she would like to buy a bracelet made out of the finest, most shiny rocks ever to be found. These bugs were not only ten times their regular size, but they could speak - English!
It was then that Catherin got a good look at what she was in. It was a big wooden shuttle, the shape of a rectangular prism with the lid taken off. The shuttle started up and shot off along the tunnel faster than any car could go.
They had to make a few stops to get petrol (which was actually mud) and Catherin used that time to eat and drink. "I guess you didn't need to know how to make a tent Lumpy. We'll be there in no time the way we're going!"
Catherin was right. In the space of about three hours they had zoomed underground to the middle of the forest where the evergreen tree was located. The shuttle shuddered. Then it sent Catherin and Lumpy zooming up, up, up towards what Catherin thought was a solid roof of dirt and grass, but just as she thought that she would be flattened on the roof, it opened up and Catherin and Lumpy went straight through it and landed with a thud on the ground beside the hole. When Catherin looked up, she expected to see a beautiful tree with gorgeous green leaves, dazzling in the sunshine. Instead she saw a big, ancient tree with dull green leaves and absolutely no sunshine whatsoever. It seemed Lumpy expected nothing more or less than what was in front of them and simply said, "Let's go inside."
Catherin walked inside a door located on the back of the tree and into the huge trunk. When she got inside, Catherin realized she was in a room. A circular room. She was standing on a rug in the very centre of this room. To her left was a wooden table with a vase of roses in the middle. Behind her was the door she came in and in front of her was a staircase. Catherin made for this staircase.

"I wouldn't go up there if I were you," advised a voice.
Catherin spun around. She had forgotten to look to her right. If she had, she would have seen a girl a few years older than herself, lounging in a grey chair. This girl had huge brown eyes, which made her look very cute, and red lips. Her hair was blonde with a tinge of red through it and it reached her waist. She wore a short purple dress with an 'M' on the chest. She had long slender legs that ended with feet wrapped in sparkly gold shoes.
"Are you Monday?" asked Catherin.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. You are Catherin Jane Johnson," she told Catherin.
"I know," Catherin said stupidly, but she was entranced by Monday's beauty.
"You have come seeking freedom from bad Mondays, have you not?" asked Monday.
"Yes, you see I have this …" started Catherin, but Lumpy had already hopped off her shoulder and was making his way across the room to Monday.
"Lumpy, my old friend! How have you been? Have you been helping this young girl out?" asked Monday when she saw the tiny lump approaching her.
"I've been watching you closely Catherin," she carried on. I've noticed all the nice things you've been doing on my day of the week. Now how would you like to be friends?"
"I'd love to!"
"You can, so long as you swear and promise that you will never say you hate Mondays ever again. Now do you promise?" asked Monday.
"Cross my heart and hope to die," answered Catherin.
"Very well," said Monday and she walked over to Catherin and put both of her hands onto the young girls shoulders, then she said as though she were reading it out of a book:

"May you be happy on Monday,
May you be happy always!
May Mondays be a better day,
May all bad Mondays go away!"

Catherin could feel the power surging through her body. She felt a tingling sensation and closed her eyes, then Monday let go - and when she opened her eyes, Catherin was in her bedroom at home, at 5.30 a.m.!

Chapter Eight

Lumpy Leaves

Catherin thought that she might have dreamt the whole charade, but when she really thought about it, she knew in her heart that as it had all happened in the space of such a short time, it was not recorded on a watch or clock. It was as though time had frozen.
Catherin got up off her bed and went downstairs to see what Lumpy was up to. When she got downstairs, Catherin saw Lumpy making her lunch for school and she remembered the nice notes she had written for her classmates and teacher. So she trudged back upstairs and threw on her uniform, then, having learned from Lumpy, she did her hair in a neat ponytail. She picked up the notes, wrapped them in a rubber band and put them in the side pocket of her bag. Picking up her bag, she walked downstairs, by which time Lumpy had already finished making her lunch. She took it off him, put it in her bag, zipped up her bag, grabbed an apple and sat down at the table to eat it. By the time she had finished the apple, it was 6.00 a.m. That meant she had two hours and forty-five minutes left before she had to leave.
What should I do? she asked herself, chucking her apple core in the bin.
"I have something to tell you," said Lumpy. "You know, I don't stay with the people I help out forever. It's come time for me to leave and go back to Monday. But I've really liked working with you. Can we be friends?"
"Of course!" said Catherin, her eyes brimming with tears. She had liked having Lumpy around. At least she hadn't been so lonely. "Can we still see each other sometimes?"
"Yes! And you can bring your friend Jacqueline to meet me if you want. She's allowed to see me now that I've finished my job. So how about on the last Monday of the holidays, I'll take you and your friend Jacqueline to Monday's house for a get together. Oh, and Frend will come too! Now I will walk you to the bus stop and then....you know," explained Lumpy.
Catherin looked at the clock on the wall. It said 8.30 a.m.
"What? Lumpy, did you just speed time up?" Lumpy gave her a guilty grin. "Oh well, at least I don't have to wait around here," said Catherin looking on the bright side. She picked up her schoolbag and Lumpy, then she walked out the door.
"Make sure you write!" Catherin told Lumpy as the school bus pulled up.
"I will," answered Lumpy. Catherin picked up the tiny blob and embraced him in a hug.
"Bye Lumpy."
"Bye Catherin."
Catherin stepped onto the bus and walked to the back where she saw a little brown ball rolling away towards the forest.
Catherin had asked her teacher if she could hand out the notes before class started and she had only just enough time before the children came streaming in the door.
They all sat down and picked up the pieces of paper lying on their desks. Suddenly, Justin, looking up from his note, put his hand up. "Miss, do I really have a cool hairstyle?" he asked.
From then till 11 o'clock, children were coming up to Catherin asking if she meant what she had written on the notes.
From then on, Catherin had all the friends one person could have, but she always looked forward to meeting her three best friends, Monday, Lumpy and Frend.
And as she sat on her bed and crossed another Monday off her calendar, she sighed. She had to wait a whole week before another Monday would occur.
"It's a shame," she said. "I just can't get enough of them. I LOVE MONDAYS!"

Declan’s Hand by Caitlin Donovan

Senior Short Story Entry

Safely swinging back and forth, kindly wishing for more and less. Rusty kinks of the metal scratched its way through my mind as I swung. Warmth from many memories swept off the seat and onto my thighs. Like sharp daggers of fear, the splinters of the seat wedged through my fare skin. As the wind dried my tears before they dripped down my face, I realised I shouldn’t wish.

That day I felt one with myself. Well as though I gathered my memories together like a small storybook bound by a small and fragile piece of string, representing me. Each different story had entirely different titles, as my memories differed a lot. Some where happy, some where sad, some were sappy, some were bad. Yet in the end, they were the very memories that made me who I am. Unfortunately I couldn’t see it that day. My more tragic memories shone the most, blinding me from what I had. Without thinking, I began wishing. Oddly enough, I wish for what I didn’t have, which is a trait all teenagers carry. However, my wish was a bit more complex, so I realised when it came true.

Intentionally, I fell of the swing in hope it the fall would bring me back to reality. Instead of bringing me back to reality, it shattered my sense of thought. Forgetting all the wonderful memories I have, I wished I was nothing with nothing to remember. As any other cloned teenager, I thought I might be different and my wish might come true. But nothing happened. I was still me with my silently grateful memories. Disappointedly, I walked back home without any sense of care left in my bones. All that I could feel were the bruises from falling off the swing.

After coming home to my aggressive household, I decided to skip dinner and just refuge to my bedroom. Quietly, without being noticed, I locked the door. My soft footsteps tapped on the floor as I tiptoed to my small and broken bed. Lying there, looking up at my ceiling, I grasped the loose ends of my doona. With many thoughts running through my mind, I began contemplating all of what had happened that day; the memories I recalled, the wish I had made, the feeling of my childhood swing and the withdraws I maintained. The surrounding air fogged my vision causing me to blink rapidly. With every blink came every opportunity to let out a cry. Though, as usual, something was holding me back. Trying to figure out why, I exhausted my mind to an extent I miraculously fell asleep without a good feed.

Morning had arrived, the sun awoke. Well really, I couldn’t see the sun from my room because I was given the room facing a brick wall. Some days I just wanted to knock it down so I could actually witness a sunrise from my bedroom. Waking up to yet more disasters, I found my mother crying on the furniture. Her emotional distractions were always good enough for me to sneak out because she was always so absorbed in her and didn’t care about me. I was just beginning to regret returning to the swing when I noticed it was gone. Sub consciously I always referred to that swing as my memories so I found it rather astonishing that it had disappeared. In hope I was just imaging things, I ferociously began pacing back and forth. How could something that had been there my whole life just disappear? Most importantly, why would it disappear?

Swiftly, I moved my head, searching for whoever it was that stole my utter most treasured gift. Scanning the green mysterious park, my eyes met the eerie vine fleeing from its chosen tree. Every vine flees from its chosen tree, but this vine looked as though it fled from its tree in a great hurry and panic. It was a very dark and dull green with leaves clinging onto its body. The very tip of it hung down like the finger of the pumpkin king. Just as it came to recognition, the tip of the vine pointed to the missing swing. Without realising I was shouting to a vine I yelled, “I know. Did you see who stole it?” Unexpectedly, it turned the tip of the vine to itself. It made no sense that the vine seemed to be giving me messages and there was definitely no sanity in me seeing a vine blame itself for the theft of a swing. I thought I was crazy, like my father, and I started walking away. As my right foot landed on the leaf of the lower part of the vine I heard the most horrible and loudest screech I had ever heard before in my life.

Automatically my head turned, my feet stopped and my heart froze. Right behind me was that very vine with water dripping off its body. I asked what was wrong but it didn’t reply. Yet again, I thought I was crazy so I tried walking home again. Like the sound of a car trying to stop a huge catastrophe, I heard an un-humane voice, “yo-yo-you hurt me!” Being un-certain about what I heard, I tried to keep walking when the nice soft feel of the vine wrapped itself around me. The touch of its presence of nature gave me a warm and comforting feel. I no longer wanted to run away from it, instead I wanted to be it.

“P-pl-please don’t hate me. I ju-just granted your wish,” it stuttered while the leaves moved like hand gestures. “What? You mean the wish about me being nothing and having no memories?” I shamefully asked while recalling my silly wish. Slowly the tip of the vine nodded. My heart began to race hard as I instantly knew; if this was true, I’m not alive. Racing each other, my feet ran home. The door open but my mother didn’t see me. Usually I’d just assume she was too caught up in her own problems to notice me, but she came right to the door and stared blankly at me then muttered, “stupid hooligans” and walked back inside. It wasn’t normal. Usually she’d just tell me to bugger off because ‘mummy needs her alone time, sweetie’.

“Okay Mr vine thing, whoever you are, will you grant me another wish?” I kindly asked after returning to the scene of the crime. Not to my expectations he objected claiming I had to find my reason to regret the wish in the first place. How was a teenager like me supposed to understand her reason of being, not to mention the deadline was by midnight, or else my family will have moved on. Strumming my sturdy fingers through my long, thick brown hair I tried to think of why that swing is so important. Meanwhile, I had introduced myself as Faunyia to the vine as it introduced itself as Declan to me. Declan still hadn’t made his completed warm spot in my heart as I was angry that he wouldn’t grant me my final wish.

How could something as simple as a rusty old swing be so sentimental to someone who doesn’t care about anything? As speeding cars, thoughts began racing through my head even faster than usual. Declan kept distracting me every couple of hours with stupid remarks like, “Are swings made of memories?” or “Maybe humans are just memories compressed as one.” Perhaps I would have thought of my reason much sooner if I had of realised what he was saying were actually hints, but at the time I just found him a nuscance.

The stars were my bullet points of ideas as I based my sense of mind in the sky. It was dark, passed dark, it was so dark that it was nearly morning, which meant I had very little time to have a solution. Softly blowing down my body with the wind was the chill. Autumn nights are not the type of nights you want to be stranded outside with. Declan, being the helpful vine he is, was ever so gracious enough to keep me warm by shedding his leaves on me. He and I just layed there in beautiful silence as I mapped out my ideas using the sly.

Eventually, after what had seemed to be a lifetime of distress, I realised my reason of regret. The swing I secretly cherished wasn’t just a swing to me, it was me. Memories that came together to make one book that was written all over the swing and it was all held together by fragile, rusty and kinked metal which represented me. I seem to think I’m tough like metal, but really I’m too rusty to be as tough as I think I can. It all made sense, I regretted making that wish because my memories make me who I am and that swing means ever so much to me because it carries my memories. Swiftly I turned around and asked Declan if I was right. Declan’s inspiring response was simply, “My dear Faunyia, you have now begun your journey of finding yourself. But don’t search too hard because it will take you a lifetime to find yourself, and once you’ve found yourself, you’ll wish you hadn’t because you will have to say goodbye. Enjoy and remember there are no regrets, you just made a mistake.” Within one minute of his honest words the sun peered in through the entire green fauna stronger than anyone could imagine and Declan magically disintegrated into the ground. Sadly I bent down and kissed the patch of mud Declan had turned into and thanked him for helping me realise my reason of regret.

Many moons and many sun sunrises had passed until I could finally have a home of my own. Now I can lay in bed and watch the sun set before the moon rises at night. After long happy dreams I then watch the sun peep over my bed and kiss me good morning. Not even an hour after being greeted good morning by the sun, my children come storming into my room and greet me their own way; with loud thumps and soft jumps all over my bed. Every time I hear one of the 2 very special children of mine say mummy, I feel the same loving way I did every time Declan spoke to me. Declan’s hand pushed my onto the path of finding myself, even if it was simply my imagination, I am grateful someone gave me the power to imagine something so powerful and life changing. Living in a home with 2 young and restless little boys isn’t always easy, especially knowing I can’t hold their hands forever. Though, I know if I’m not holding their little hands, Declan will be.

Still to this day I sit on that swing of mine and gather my memories together. Silent breezes of air brush my face the same way it did 12 years ago when I was 13. Good and bad memories still come flooding into my mind, but I try to focus on the good ones. Peaceful sounds and scenes still and always will keep me safe and wanting more, until my cheeky little sons come screaming down the hills. Somehow, even that is peaceful to me. Maybe love truly is what makes peace.

That's No Moon, That's a Bowling Ball by Jessica Korte and Madelyn Loadsman

Senior Fan Fiction Entry

That’s No Moon. That’s a Bowling Ball!

A Star Wars FanFiction by Jessica Korte (aka DragonRidingSorceress) and Madelyn Loadsman (aka maddymouse).

Summary: Take your bowling ball. Strike the pins down with it. Now, give it a name! (Yes, the title is a Ben Kenobi quote… kind of.)

Disclaimer: We own nothing except the original, crazy idea. Everything else belongs to others – mainly Geoge Lucas & Tripod, but there's others in here as well. Yes, we do know it’s sad to make send-ups of send-ups, but we can’t help it. It’s fun!

===

Chapter One: The Letters

Padme, with a woman’s instincts and excellent hearing, called from the shower, “Ani, dear, can you get the mail?”

Anakin got up from the couch, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. Why isn’t she a Jedi? She’s got the hearing. The postman only just came!” He wandered over to the door, and picked up the huge stack of letters. “Bill, bill, senate stuff, senate, blackmail, fanmail, blackmail, stalker, bill, invitation, bill – invitation?”

Anakin dumped the other letters, and carefully opened the invitation.

Rip!

“Hey, Padme! You’re invited to a bowling party! Hey, it says take a friend! I’m your friend! At least, I get friendly with you. Can I come?”

“No. I don’t want to have to deal with a cranky, evil Jedi when I kick your butt.”

“Is that a challenge? Hey, look! It says 2 games for $12! Shoe hire & food included! Can we go? Please? Please-please-please?”

“Why did I marry you? You’re such a child!”

“I’m five years younger than you. What do you expect? So, can I come?”
“Oh, alright. I give up!”

===

Obi-Wan rolled out of bed when the knocking didn’t go away. “Coming, coming! Hold your banthas!”

He had fallen asleep fully dressed, so he just shoved his feet into his ug-boots.

He opened the door to see a Clone Trooper. “What now?”

The Clone held out an envelope. “Your mail, sir.”

“Oh, ok. Come on in.”

Obi-Wan turned and went inside. The Clone, still holding the letter, followed, hitting his head on the door frame as he entered.

“Mind the door!” called Obi-Wan over his shoulder.

The Clone stared at Obi-Wan. Was he… surely not… but yes, he was wearing pink, high-heeled ug-boots. Obi-Wan, opening the letter, which had mysteriously appeared in his hand, (we’re not quite sure how) saw the stare.

“Yoda tried to talk me out of buying these. I’m not sure why. I think they make me look taller. What do you think?”

“Um…”

But Obi-Wan wasn’t paying attention to the Clone. He was reading his invitation. “Bowling? I’ve never been bowling before. It says bring a friend. Damn, I don’t have any friends. Hey, Clone, do you wanna come bowling?”

The Clone looked him up and down, grateful for the helmet covering his horrified expression. “Is that an order… sir?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to make it, but yes. You have to come bowling with me.”

“Yes, sir!” he saluted, thinking ‘Curse this obedience thing!’

===

Meanwhile…
Hey, it’s the “Meanwhile Guy” I like you. You’re handy.
Yeah, thanks. Anyway, meanwhile…

In the council chambers, an argument was raging.

“Make fun of my height, do not!” Yoda admonished sternly.

“You don’t have any height to make fun of.” Ki-Adi told him sourly.

“Yes, Yoda,” said Yarael Poof. The Quermian Jedi Master was the tallest member of the Council. “It’s because of you we all have to sit on these tiny chairs. We’re not all midgits, you know! I get a neck-ache after every meeting. I need a lot of support, you know.”

“Your cake hole shut, Master Poofta.”

“Poof, not Poofta!”

“Who’s a poofta?” asked Mace, entering the room.

“The one with the pink lightsabre,” muttered Saesee Tiin.

“What did you say?”

“Saesee’s right, you know. It is kinda suss that you’ve got a pink lightsabre. I mean, it would be alright if you were a chick, but I mean, seriously – a bald black guy with a pink lightsabre?” pointed out Depa Billaba.

“IT’S PURPLE!” shouted Mace.

“Know where this argument goes, we do,” said Yoda. “Your fault it is we have short chairs. Not mine. So, there, Poofta! Afford replacements we cannot. A budget we have, you know!” Then he saw the letter in Mace’s hand. “Ooh! Letter! Gimme gimme gimme!” he reached out with his clawed green hands.

Mace held the letter out of Yoda’s reach – about three feet off the ground. “Come on! Jump, boy, jump! You can get it!”

Yoda gave Mace a hostile glare. “Regret, at times like this, that a Darksider I am not. At least pink undies I do not wear.”

Everyone was staring at Yoda – and trying desperately not to look at Mace. There were very loud whispers of “…like his lightsabre…?”

“How did you know – Oh, crap. Here!” He thrust the letter at Yoda. Yoda, grinning ecstatically, opened the letter carefully.

Rip!

“To go bowling I have been invited. Take a friend I must. Hm. How about it, baldy?”

“As long as no one puts my head in the waxer again. That was annoying.”

===

Anakin ‘snuck’ back into his appartment. He opened the door, walked in – and slipped on a letter.

“Aargh!” he shouted. “It’s a Sith assasination attempt! Oh, wait, it’s just a letter. Hey! A letter!”

He opened it carefully.

Rip!

“Another invitation! For me! Yay! I’m important!”

He got out his comm link. “Padme, Padme… now, which number was she… I know it’s one of these things…” He began reciting the speed dial buttons. “1 was Mom… 2 was Dex’s Diner… 3 was the dry cleaners… 4 was Obi-Wan… 5 was Padme... or was itPalpatine? Hang on, I think Padme's 6. Let's try it...” He pressed number 6.

“Hello, this is Chancellor Palpatine.”

‘Damn, wrong number,’ though Anakin. “Um, hi, Palpatine.”

“Anakin Skywalker! My favourite Jedi! What can I do you for?”

“Sorry, I was actually trying to get Pad- someone else, about bowling.”

“Bowling? I love bowling! Drinks all around! Can I come?”

“Um, yeah, sure. It says I can take a friend.”

“Oh, Anakin! I never knew you cared!”

“Um, sure. See you.”

He hit the button that ended the conversation. “That was… awkward. Hm, I guess that means Padme’s number 5.” He hit the button.

“Hey, Padme!”

“Anakin! What the hell do you think your doing!”

"Sorry, Padme! I just wanted to tell you: I’m important! I’ve got an invitation of my own! I don’t need to come with you! You’ll have to find someone else to go with you!”

“Oh? And who are you taking?”

“Er… Palpatine.”

“Palpatine? You invited the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic to go bowling!”

“Actually, he invited himself.”

“You mean you called him first? Before me?”

“Er, I hit the 6 instead of the 5.”

“Oh, ok. Wait! I’m number 5 on your speed-dial? Who’s before me?”

“Er…”

Just then, a voice was heard in the background. “Senator? Senator? Yousa here?”

“I’m on the comm, Jar Jar!”

“Whosa yousa talking to?" The Gungan peered at the comm link "Ani! Mesa so happy to see you!”

“Um, I’ve gotta go. See yas!” Anakin hung up.

With a sigh, Padme turned to Jar Jar. “I’m probably going to regret this later, but – can you bowl?”

===

Here’s a link to chapter 2: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2796345/2/