Boishaaier 2023

Creative Writing

The Sons of Rome Prevail Chris Steyn – Grade 12

Centurion Lucius turns around to face us. He speaks of the gruesome acts of the barbarians against the soldiers and villagers loyal to Rome. He invokes the image of each one of our homes and our noble wives awaiting us. He reminds us that the emperor loves his soldiers and knows that they protect their homes in the great empire. We cheer for his words and we praise Mars. We stand in the testudo formation as the stones and darts of the barbarians impact our shields to no effect. They charge at us and Centurion Lucius gives the order to brace for the onslaught. They smash against our shields and hew at them with axes. Centurion Lucius draws first blood as he thrusts his gladius into one’s belly. The second line of men thrust their spears over the shields of the first into the necks and faces of the enemy. Centurion Lucius fights valiantly, constantly in the front. Roused by our leader’s bravery, we viciously butcher the enemy until their momentum is broken. Beaten and dismayed, they flee back to the woods. The screams of their dying companions are swiftly silenced by our swords. Tired and bloody, we return to the fort. We have stood our ground in the face of overwhelming odds. fragile barrier. Eager to experience the view from the other window, I hastily rolled onto my side. Instead of appreciating a potentially enlightening landscape, the ghastly taste of stinky socks flung into my innocent, unsuspecting mouth. Bach’s second fugue struck a fitting tritone as I lay like a particularly disgusted dassie when the sun refuses to shine. I shoved the sinister sock away at once and I looked up to see – Oh no! In my peripheral vision lurked a pesky pestilence prowling towards me with its eccentric motion and ghastly legs, immersed in absolute Schadenfreude. I was petrified! My unfit heart was playing “O Fortuna” on timpanis while my brain was fabulously flabbergasted, so I acted upon the first thought that yelled amidst the cacophony of my arachnophobia. As “Real Analysis: A Long-Form Introduction to Advanced Mathematics” undoubtedly obliterated the Daddy Long Legs in one swift movement, Bach’s fitting Tierce de Picardie relieved me from the burden of that boastful bastard.

It is Spring in Germania. We stand in our fort, East of the Rhine river, deep in barbarian lands. A far-away chant in a strange tongue grows steadily louder. Centurion Lucius orders our cohort to prepare their armour. We scramble to our swords, shields and spears. Together, we help our brother put on armour. Panting under our burdens of iron and wood, we rush to formation at Centurion Lucius’s command. The chanting barbarians grow louder and louder. The great log doors of the fort are opened. We march out into the clearing in front of the fort where the trees have been felled for construction. A few hundred yards ahead of us is the treeline of the cursed forest from which the barbarians taunt us. Their dark figures start to appear among the trees. They stand, shaking their spears and great axes in the air as they chant. I guess they are easily thrice our number. Finally, they start to advance through the clearing. We await the inevitable. I think of the many skulls of fellow legionaries we saw nailed to the trees as we moved East of the river. I woke up from my eternal slumber with blithe dysania in my soft queen-sized cloud. My stomach was still wambling from yesterday’s steamy herb broth with too many mussels. I inhaled felicitous serenity. The melodious, ambient music of Bach’s second fugue appeased my ears as the contrasting melodies complemented each other in perfect harmony, whilst the gentle waves subtly undulated on the beach in the background. The vivid smell of petrichor placed me into the cozy kitchen when mom and I used to bake little, soft gingerbread men on the soothing rainy days, or at least she was the one baking and I was just eating the irresistible and mellow dough. I opened my eyes in delight, satisfied with the distant flashback. The clouds parted almost ceremoniously, bathing me in the subtle yet heartwarming apricity of the generous sun. The surface of the ocean split the world in two where the gentle wind wavered the The Sojourning Solitary Charl Steenkamp – Grade 9

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