BOISHAAIER 2016

Creative Writing CREATIVE WRITING

MY LIFE Ruben Brits (Grade 9C) I just made a cup of tea, With a spoonful of sugar or three, For a tired Rugby Matric in Monte Bello… Although he could do with an espresso! We are all ready for action- For today’s main attraction. The U19 Interschools Rugby on TV… Boys’ High vs Gim. Right now I still feel like a rookie. Who would have believed in a fortune cookie! In Paarl I still feel very new… Will I ever get used to the bathroom queue? Although I have bit of fear Give me rugby… And I will be happy here! A FROZEN MOMENT IN TIME ESSAY Matthew Prozesky (Grade 9C) A meaningless crime. A bang! A thud! Then silence as the world slows to a stop in front of me. Lying in front of me, face up, are my parents, their faces painted with shock. I can feel the blood draining from my face as I fall to my knees in the snow. Already tears are running down my face, but I am struck dumb with shock. I watch as the blood slowly seeps through their clothes, staining the ground and turning the snow rose red. Already my father’s eyes are lifeless, his hands ice cold in my grasp. Helplessly I watch as the steam from his last breath dissipates into the air. I turn to my mother, watching the last star-like twinkle disappear from her eyes, as a trickle of blood runs out her mouth. Slowly I raise my head to look at this man. This man who has destroyed my world! I take in his scruffy appearance, moving my eyes towards the weapon as the smoke from the pitch-black muzzle writhes upwards slowly like a sickly snake. My eyes travel past this black monstrosity, to land on his eyes. At first, all I see is him staring back at me, but slowly as I stare deep into his ice blue eyes I can see into his soul. Inside it is filled with hatred and contempt. But deeper you can see sorrow and pain, with a small glint of madness, from a man who has lived his life on the streets. So there I kneel, in the cold dark alley, watching him turn around and walk away with only my father’s wallet. My parents’ lives had been snuffed out for a wallet … a simple wallet … Rage consumes me and finally I let out a dreadful scream.

way? Is it so that we can fit in? Fit into what? The world you set out for us? You allow us the deliberation of being different, but like the devil on our shoulder you quietly whisper ‘your hair's too long, your hair's too short, wear a tie…but who are you to demand this of us? We hear you every minute of the day, but do we ever listen? We see the cage you have built for us, the bias hidden by pretty things and kind words, but do we truly see? For once we should stop worrying about our hair and what you think of it. There is nothing wrong with you or me. There is nothing to be insecure about. It is you… the single face of millions. It is you that causes us to look at each other differently, to judge each other. It is you who tells us we cannot be who we want to be. I blame you, Society. I blame you. SILENCE Ziyaad Fredericks (Grade 12D) “Silence. It has a sound, a fullness. It’s heavy with the sigh of a tree and the space between breaths. It’s ripe with pause between bird song and the crash of surf. It’s golden they say. But no one tells us that it is addictive.” At first glance this seems to portray silence as being good, but with a closer look we can see that it is not the case; because when something is addictive it is usually bad. Silence can be good for the mind and the body. It helps people relax and forget the noise of the outside world. I can give us time to reflect upon our lives and think of ways to improve ourselves. If used wisely, it can be a valuable and precious thing. That is why “silence is golden”. Silence is addictive. If you are exposed to prolonged periods of silence you become accustomed to your isolation, and even adducted to it. As stated silence is good when it is needed and it may be good to live on the fringes of society for a while, but humans still need each other. Being addicted to silence and your own seclusion may lead to destructive thoughts. People become what they think, so these thoughts - inspired by silence - may lead to destruction. Perhaps silence does not deserve all this pessimism. That same silence which is addictive and soul-destroying to one may very well be soothing and be the saviour to another. It gives us time to re-evaluate and rebuild ourselves, if we have the right mind-set. Silence doesn’t always have to be in seclusion. It could be with a loved one, where silences do not have to be awkward, destructive or something to be feared; because sometimes all we need is silence spent with someone. Silence, just like many things in our lives, will be to us what we make of it. We may not be able to choose our fates, but we can choose our journey.

A BOTSWANA MORNING Kennett Sinclair (Grade 11D)

It is early morning and the curious sun is busy spying on the world as it peeks over the horizon. I stumbled out of my tiny tent and stood next to the freshly lit fire and took a moment to observe what is around me. About two weeks ago, I became very tired of the stressful city life and decided to get some adventure back into my life. So I packed my rusty Land Rover and set my journey to Botswana. I have driven over two thousand kilometers already but all the driving is worth it, because I’m rewarded with the freedom and beautiful sunsets and sunrises every day. In the distance, the sun was resting on the horizon as it made the reddish-orange sky blend and fade. The sun hides behind the trees and tall yellow grass created the perfect silhouette of the Botswana grasslands. The grass was waving in the cold breeze as if it was greeting the new day. There is a burst of life as if nature woke up from a deep sleep and it is preparing itself for the long dry day ahead. I could hear the cracking of the wood on the fire and the deep rumble of the water busy boiling on the gas stove. In the distance, there were loud cries of the animals celebrating as they trotted towards the watering hole that is in the middle of a dry and barren land. Every step I took I could hear the crunching noise of the sand and rocks pressing against each other as it released a mini dust cloud. I could hear the wind whispering through the tall grass and the soft elephants's steps. The smell of the morning air was as fresh and felt as if new air was prepared for the long day ahead. There was a smell of last night’s meat being heated on the fire and the smell of my deodorant fighting a losing battle. My clothes smelt if the smoke was weaved between the fabric and is never going to come out. I can feel the roughness of my hands from stoking the hungry fire and pitching the lazy tents. The altitude made my two lungs burn and it felt as if only one lung was working. I touched the thirsty ground. It felt as if my sweaty palms are the only moisture it gets through the day. And so I stepped back to remove the

kettle from the gas stove. My adventurous day began.

2016 PAARL BOYS’ HIGH SCOOL | 69