Boishaaier 2025

Creative Writing

Sensation

Jethro Deacon (12B) The smell of burning rubber scorched my nostrils. The originally rigid hairs lining my nostrils had become limp and singed in the presence of the horrific smell. I was enveloped in the stench of a blacksmith’s domain. Blue-hot metal. Leather that had been pounded and stretched. Filthy water steaming. I tasted my last meal. Two thick slices of eighty-hour fermented sourdough bread, topped with a generous smother of chunky peanut butter and thin slices of a green banana which were prodded and smashed into the peanut butter. After spitting out my re-experienced meal, I was introduced to a new taste. Gloopy. Iron-rich. Red blood. It came gushing from the bite on my tongue. I felt the feathered muscles on either side of my trachea and a voice box jerk violently into hyper-extension. Each protruding knob on my neck vertebrae began to stack together like falling dominoes. They compressed so much they began to grind together. The violent whiplash I experienced turned my soft leather headrest into stone. My body then splayed out in shock like I had been electrocuted. I heard the agonising screams of metal against metal. The whining out and shuddering of a high speed metallic collision sent a shockwave through my body which seemed to end in my eardrums. They wobbled with the immense pressure built-up like a large orchestral timpani being beaten. The erratic ringing followed suit. Before this I heard the titanic blurting of a truck’s horn. The first sensation I experienced was sight. The colossal eighteen wheeler freight carrier, brown-rusted with age, in my rear view mirror.

The Tree House

Roald Coetzee (11G)

The front door squeaks open after I unlock it. I drag my feet through the hallway of my home. I shower, get dressed, eat and do the dishes. With everything done that should be done, I head out the back door and walk towards the big oak tree in my backyard. I climb up and into my tree house. Roughly an hour later I head back inside and collapse on the couch. I turn the TV on and watch the news. It looks like they discovered another 10 million that disappeared from right under their noses. I go to bed, wondering if they’ll ever trace the stolen money. The next morning, I turn the TV on the moment I arrive at work. A police officer is speaking, she says they had found another clue, hinting towards the location of the stolen money. She looks smart… The day goes by, slowly. Just before heading home, I check on the TV once more. They have made a lot of progress; they narrowed down the location of the stashed money to a single neighbourhood. Would you look at that, the same neighbourhood where I stay! Just as he’s about to leave, I ask my good friend and colleague if I can sleep at his house. He is a good friend, always willing to help, no questions asked. We arrived at his home, tired, exhausted. I make myself comfortable and I fall asleep quicker than ever. Early the next morning I head home. I see the news. My house has been raided by the police, in search of the stolen money. I arrived to find the same officer that was speaking on the TV sitting in a car in front of my house. She says all evidence pointed towards me and my house. Luckily, they found nothing. Am I now proven innocent? She drives off, not another word spoken. My house is a mess. Every piece of furniture is out of place, some broken, some missing. Sulking, I decide to head to my backyard. I climb up the tree, to enter my well-hidden tree house. I pull away the rug and I pull on the hidden latch. I sigh with relief. The 47 million dollars I stole is still neatly packed in the secret compartment in my tree house.

94 BOISHAAI 157 YEARS