La Rochelle Yearbook 2023

Budding Authors

It was music to my ears.

With Winter came death. News of her lover’s passing wrapped around the girl like the spiralling, leafless branches of her tree. Her heart cracked

Last night was the Blue Grey Evening to celebrate all the culture students. Grey requested that Mike Wang, the famous piano student of Boys’ High, play a piece as one of the closing acts. He played a well-known piece that had been written

like the frozen soil and lungs burned with the mist in the air. She spent her days crying to the lake, hoping to catch a glimpse of her boy in its icy surface. At night she curled into the warmth of the fire, drifting away onto the comfort of sleep. Deep under the snow the girl could feel the seed of the tree growing, pushing at the dark womb of the earth. After sorrow there is hope. And after Winter there is Spring. The tree would forever bear the scars of the frost, but the leaves would always return to its branches. The girl looked up at the oak, cradling her promise in her arms. She whispered her goodbye to the tree and when the wind came, her love whispered back. Erin Meyer Grade 11 The escape Holding your breath underwater for thirty seconds is easy. Holding your breath for more than one minute is where it starts to become tricky: your throat starts to dry up and your lungs begin burning, while trying to hold onto the last sliver of oxygen stored in them. Your eyes become droopy and your mind foggy, as you desperately cling to consciousness. In the end you finally give up. Your mind finally switches off, and you let yourself be consumed by the surrounding darkness, welcoming the shockingly cold liquid into your lungs as if it were a long-lost friend. At first it is liberating; like a weight that had been dragging you down initially lifted off your shoulders. Your mind has a complete sense of serenity and for a moment, just one moment, you feel as though you can breathe again. For the time being all your problems float away into the sea of nothingness and it feels like an escape. That is until your brain registers what your body did not – that you are dying. In that moment of realisation, a thousand thoughts rush through your body like water gushing through a crack in a wall during a flood. Your legs start kicking again faster than before causing your body to be propelled forward as you struggle to the surface. Weighed down by the wet clothe that cling to your soaked body, a thousand emotions consume your mind. Anger, fear, sadness, despair … but somewhere deep down, hiding between all those emotions-relief. Relief that if you just stop trying; if you just stop trying; if you just stopped swimming, you would be free. You will have escape. So, you do. You stop swimming. You stop kicking your feet through the water and allow the cold to envelop you in a welcoming hug. You allow yourself to sink to the bottom of the ocean. You allow yourself to be happy and you finally allow yourself to escape. Have you? Mia Valentine Grade 12

long ago, but he made it come to life. It sounded so wrong that it sounded right. His fingers glided over the keys like water over smooth rocks. It sounded so right because the notes were meant to be. The hairs on my legs stood up out of pleasure. It felt like the pressure inside of me doubled with the pure ecstasy his music provided. The music rushed through me like a tidal wave. It took over my senses and allowed me to relax in a cocoon of warmth. The music engulfed me and the warmth spread through me in a slow and calm stream, a stream that seeped through the cracks of a stressful day. Then the stream turned into a river of butterflies. They fluttered along and their soft wings grazed against my insides. The butterflies moved faster as he played. The fluttering turned into thunder, as the music thundered through the hall. Momentarily, Mike stopped and the butterflies dropped dead. Suddenly, a soft sound came from the piano. It was so soft and yet so clear, like a stream early in the morning. As the sun rose, everything woke up. It was a clear stream of music, so rejuvenating, it urged the butterflies to rise again. They fluttered warmly inside of me. As the last note struck the chord, a thrill of pleasure shook me. It was music to my ears. It was worth listening to. Oh, what a privileged it was to hear Mike Wang play. Quinne Ludick Grade 12 Seasons come and seasons go The soil stuck to their hands as their fingers tore through the ground. Planting a tree was a promise, and this promise was one they made together. Over the years the tree grew, and the lovers spent many days in its shade. When the summer sun came, raining freckles across their fair skin, they sheltered in the cool embrace of its roots. They found peace in the gentle sway of its leaves and devoted themselves to each other under its branches. Summer brought storms and thunder, but they weathered it together. Their love hung from the tree like fruit, and when they ate from it, the juice trickled down their chin like honey. The fruits melted away to form seeds as the tree donned its autumn cloak. There was an uncertainty in the colours. The reds spoke of the fires and the oranges spoke of the war. The yellows warned of danger and the browns cried in fear. The boy murmured a soft goodbye to his girl, leaving with fog in his wake. Her lament was carried to him on the howling wind as her tears filled the valleys of mud where his boots had been.

37 LAR

La Rochelle Hoër Meisieskool | Girls’ High School Paarl