Boishaaier 2023

Creative Writing

A letter written by Helgard Nolte in Grade 10 on the topic of “phubbing” – a combination of the words “phone” and “snubbing” – which means to disregard and ignore someone in a social setting by looking at your cell phone. Dear Reginald I am so sick and tired of being ignored all the time! Everywhere I go people’s eyes are glued to their phones. I can’t even greet someone in the street. And when they aren’t busy with their little pocket demons, they have headphones blasting into their ears. I was on the subway and all I could hear was frantic tapping from down-turned heads. I just wish people would start caring more about actual things than what the next TikTok trend is. Go outside for a walk, breathe fresh air, stroke a cat, read a book, have a deep, meaningful conversation with a friend. Nature is so lush and rich. I was walking my dog and could hear the soft, trickling stream, the rustling red, orange and yellow leaves as autumn approaches, the cheerful, chirping birds, the breeze blowing through the ancient trees towering over me. That’s what’s important! If you’re wondering why I am writing a letter, it’s because the tips of my fingers are raw from typing passionate Twitter tweets about the matter. Apologies for my rant; I just feel like you always listen. I look forward to seeing you again! Your friend Helgard Leaden feet drag themselves across the threshold of my home, at last. The anti-climax of the dark, empty welcome bears no satisfaction, and the wear of the day is no lighter on my shoulders. I fall into my chair and an ocean swallows me. My desperately exhausted body welcomes a cool abyss, as the weight of the day melts from me, and I float. I lean back and look up at the slowly disappearing light from the surface. I feel myself sinking into the twilight zone, but I do not care. Euphoric in my newfound free dom, I turn over and swim down towards the heavens. The still waters are interrupted. A ripple of a thought slips by my body. Then another. My perfect stroke wobbles and the water comes alive. It feeds off my un certainty, multiplying it, and soon it erupts into a flurry. My idyllic calm shatters. My strokes become laborious, the water fighting against me, closing in from all sides. Regrets from my past contaminate the water; like a disease its feverish buzz burns my skin. Insecurity deafens me. A roar of static fills my skull and claws at the walls. I try to swim, but the water traps me in its grip. A whirlpool of my indecision rages around me. Blackout Francois Rademeyer – Grade 12

An email written by Matthew Erasmus in Grade 10. The topic was to mail an older brother asking for his advice on an important matter. Subject: Urgent! Mayday! Help me please! Dear Cam Long time no chat. I’m in a bit of trouble and need your help ASAP. You know that vase that has all the stripes of the entire rainbow on it? Well, Mom left this morning for work, and I was just playing with my super bouncy ball – you know, the one that supposedly can bounce to the moon and back? Well, I threw it against the wall and it knocked that vase over, the one that Mom loves more than us, and it shattered into a million pieces which went everywhere, including a piece of paper that said, “Gone, but not forgotten”. There was a whole lot of dust and sandy stuff that smelt like smoke. I sorted it out already and threw that stuff away; I figured I did mom a favour by cleaning it out anyway. But the vase is still in pieces – what should I do, Cam? Should I be honest and probably never be able to sit again? I could always run away. Maybe I blame it on the dog like we always do; poor thing is living outside paying for our sins. I’ve never been this scared before! Please help me, Cam. If you don’t hear from me again soon, she found out! Your brother Matt Failure’s dark body wraps around my neck, tightening, squeezing. The noise stops. I take a breath. The pain stops. With out warning the entire ocean seems to fall away, rushing down into the empty space underneath it. I am left floating again, this time encircled by beautiful clouds. Then I start to descend. The cool air chills my wet body as I gain speed, free falling back down to earth. I break through the cloud ceiling, falling faster still. Staring back up at me is the cold, unfeeling world. My heart pounds in my chest. My fears lie like a field of rock and boulder under me, waiting to break my back, all around, as far as I can see. My inadequacy encompasses the field. A dark forest of pine trees stretches out like wooden pikes, each vying to adorn my head. The blistering wind whips at me, the force of anxiety pulling me ever quicker to my demise. Arms flailing, I try to scream, but no words come. Inevitability rushes towards me; I cannot stop it. It is imminent: 3, 2, 1. Cold tears streak across my face. I lie on the hard, un bearable floor. No more. Please, no more.

BOISHAAI 155 YEARS 97