La Rochelle Yearbook 2024

BUDDING AUTHORS

She became warmer and warmer. Dressing in a new colour every day. Until one day, she had done it; she was beaming like a white orchid. She was dancing a dance with the moon. And the moon grinned back at her. She had done it. This was it. This was her chance to be noticed. Just so, she was. She shone brighter than any other spotlight had shawn. She was harvested by a delicate hand. She then saw the scorching sun’s rays and beauty, hugging everything in sight. Suddenly, the fingers let her go, she became ice cold and fell into a black abyss. Little does this light realize: shine too bright and you lose your spark. Her dreams, crushed as she realizes her fire is dying. She shatters into an infinite amount of teardrops made of glass. There is no use for her anymore. She had already reached her full potential to be a storage room light. Mizaan Scheepers – Grade 12 Dark Minds As I sat waiting in the queue at the doctor’s office, I noticed a sort of brown leaf on the floor. That’s weird. A leaf on the floor indoors. Where have I seen a leaf indoors before? Well, in the gymnasium at school when the janitor forgets to close the windows every night. I saw that very same leaf, but I was no longer in the doctor’s waiting room. It was just lying there, unable to move. The room was dark, and I felt trapped as the walls started moving inwards and looked as if the picture of einstein on the wall was crawling outside and onto my bedroom floor. Suddenly, a sinister laugh came from inside. I was no longer trapped but able to move freely. The window shattered into pieces. A glass shattered on my foot, cutting it. The room went silent, and a green leaf flew in as a gentle breeze came along with it. “Maybe this was a sign of peace and hope,” I thought. I have been having these sinister, episode-like dreams ever since we moved last week. Mom said I would make friends easily, as my new school has an excellent robotics programme and is closer to that famous ice cream shop I see all over the internet. It would not be that bad after all. The same peace offering, green leaf turned brown right before my eyes. How could this be? A silent whisper went “you’re next” in a raspy voice. It came from everywhere. I felt a hard bump on my arm as my mother was standing next to the nurse, waiting to escort me to the doctor’s office. “Miss Gilmore, you’re next.” I did it again. I lost touch with reality. As I sit on the chair across from my doctor, I glance at the sunbeams outside, and it begins to replay in my head. I am no longer in the doctor’s office; I am now standing in front of the house where it happened. The sound of sirens all around. The smell of the smoke and the frosty air upon winter’s arrival. The sun rising and exposing me to the sun beams I was suddenly sensitive to. I was no longer outside. The room is black. I cannot see. I cannot breathe. I am now trapped inside my own mind. Kaylee October – Grade 10 Three and a half floors above and below. She wandered about the flat, strutting parallel to the stairs cascading above her. I peered down as her little feet bounced off every step and how the energy surged through her body. Innocent, alone, joyous and unbothered, she challenges the building. The first floor, rustic, moulded and crowded. My floor polish cannot scrub away the mess this floor has made, but she looks past this. Her little eyes dart all around her as she studies the long hall. Her cheeks are caved in, and her skirt sways loosely from her torso. Her doe eyes a reflection of mine. The sweet smell of maize meal and sausages erupts from her one-bedroom window, and she runs lamely to her mother’s kitchen. Bonk, bonk, bonk. My broom is being knocked against the steps in a pre-pubescent rage. The chip marks blow with the wind, and she tries desperately to catch what she can. An attempt I’ve seen repeated

Burning Bridges My ballet bun is too tight and my pointe shoes are too big - my mom sized up, because “6year-olds grow too quick anyway.” I get into the car with a huff, arms crossed and turn to face the window. ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ starts creeping into my ears and my scruffy, somewhat serious dad is singing Elvis Presley with a passion you would not believe. He was the one who could cheer me up, but that was the first time I noticed he always did it with music. My dad was the music fanatic - he liked the cool stuff before it was cool and knew all the lyrics to obscure records. This meant that my music education started with Bach in the womb. Never ‘Old McDonald.’ Always rock and pop from way before my time. What started as Elvis soon became Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix. A growing Beatles obsession took up most of my early memories, until my world exploded at age 8. My dad let me burn a CD. At first I thought that meant lighting it on fire, but now I know it was a secret witchcraft only my father can perform (putting sound into plastic circles). I created any child’s perfect mix: 70s Rolling Stones, 80s Queen and my idol, Amy Winehouse. The bridge of ‘Back to Black’ was truly eight-year-old Klara’s ecstasy. The bridge in a song tends to be the part right before the final chorus. I used to call it the ‘special part’ because of how good the bridge of a song normally is. I once asked my dad why people do not just listen to the bridge… he answered, “You need to wait for it, the buildup is what makes it so great.” Getting a CD player at 14 was the most monumental moment of my life. Now I could feel the music reverb, how it caught my fingertips like fire that would spread to my whole body. I like to think that is why they called it “burning” CDs - the music sparks to life and lights you up. Since getting my license, my dad drives me around less, but on those mornings, where I wake up feeling small, often before I have recognized my own gloom, he offers to drive. My hair pulled back nicely with a yellow ribbon and worn in school shoes, ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ is the song my dad plays. He’s greyer, forgetful and limps more often than not these days. I can feel part of my very essence fade with him, but in this moment, I am young again. My dad can carry me on his shoulders, my home is warm and full - Elvis is the bridge before the final chorus of my childhood. Klara Durr-Behrens – Grade 12 FAME A light. It breaks Like a million different stars, it shatters with a broken heart. The light, it was a warm glowing light. It was a light of many colours. A small light, though with many colours, not much to see. But this light had something no other little light amongst her had. That was a spark. The light had big dreams. Dreams of one day shining so bright, that she will burn like a scorching sun for all to see. However, this light was too little. She had little purpose and looked quite dull amongst the other golden globes in the room. She was a storage room light. This light had the potential to become something more. A flashlight? No. A car light? No. A spotlight? No. She had the potential to become THE spotlight, and she knew it. But how, if all she knew was how to be a storage room light? Amongst all the other warn out, unused, unwanted and tired, half-burnt to crisps lights. How was this possible? This little light had a spark, a spark that gave her a good feeling that somehow, someday she would think of a plan, and it will work. Somehow, someday, she will be able to shine just as bright as a million scorching suns. The spark, now burning like a wildfire drives her to take action. Working hard day and night to prove she was more than just a storage room light, to prove to her fellow lights that they too can dream and work hard to make it become a reality.

BUDDING AUTHORS

36 | Hoër Meisieskool La Rochelle | Girls’ High School