Trzecia edycja konkursy piśmienniczego Creative Writing, częstująca czytelnika talerzem pełnym kreatywności i twórczości naszych Uczniów, dobiega właśnie końca. Mając zaszczy przedstawić zwycięskie nazwisko oraz (wyjątkowo) jedno specjalne wyróżnienie, ogłaszam czwarty, finalny już temat, wieńczący kreatywny rok szkolny 2016/2017 w Sobieskim.
Temat IV
„Every story has an end, but in life every ending is just a new beginning”. Napisz opowiadanie w oparciu o podany cytat.
Praca powinna być napisana samodzielnie w przedziale do max. 4500 – 5000 znaków w edytorze tekstu np. Word (2 strony A4)
Termin wysyłania prac przez dziennik Librus (Joanna Seweryn) lub e-mail (asia.seweryn@wp.pl)
–> 31 maja (środa) 23:59
Good luck !
Zwycięzcą III edycji zostaje Błażej Białończyk z klasy 4tf , natomiast wyróżnienie ląduje na dłonie Klaudii Harazim z klasy 2D.
Gratulacje!
Laureatów proszę o stawienie się w czwartek, 27 kwietnia na dużej przerwie do biblioteki szkolnej. A poniżej – wszystkie prace konkursowe – enjoy!
I miejsce – Błażej Białończyk, klasa 4tf
I, the…
I see people being happy,
I see people crying,
I see children being born,
I see old men dying…
I see things you can’t imagine, and I see them from a perspective you wouldn’t even consider. Only I will ever be a witness of this dream. Having not spoken in a while I’m not sure if I’m able to do so anymore – but there’s nothing else to do here anyway…
I don’t really mind being the observer of all the tragedies and all the joys out there. It’s not like I have a choice. Down there, they all say I’m beautiful. Weirdly enough, they enjoy me the most when I’m full, and with this in mind they even set up some special devices which sole purpose is to look at me! That’s very nice of them. I appreciate that.
Remembering my first guests, they left me a gift. A really colorful one. Also, they made sure that I don’t lose it. Since then I had several more visitors, but none of them were as excited as Neil was.
I believe It’s good to reflect on the past, even on the bad things. And I’ve had my batch of those too.
It wasn’t long before my first visitors, when times of the greatest sadness have struck me. It was back when everyone down there started fighting. It was horrible: So many people who were forced to battle lost their lives – for nothing. I knew all the great commanders. None of them were fully-conscious of what they were doing. Nor would I be, to think of it. It’s a burden to wield and control such a powerful weapon: humans.
Each war, there is always that one leader who’s charismatic enough to convert millions to his cause. But why more often than not does it have to be someone crazy and apodictic? I guess down there they like “those” characters. Oh, poor, poor humans. They all start the same though, tabula rasa, right? Not all of them have wandered off the good road, none of them needed to.
There’s a story that I know,
And want to share with you,
About a boy who used to speak,
But only to himself…
What was he called again…? Oh I remember now. Silly me: Niam! Niam Jain – such an excellent and thoughtful artist. He is a painter, a very decent one.
He didn’t have it easy, being affected by autism. This sickness have proven to be a struggle, and not only for him, but for his family too. They must have accepted the boy would never be independent. His prospects were dire, until something extraordinary happened and turned this situation upside down.
Niam’s mother was long looking for something creative for him to do. Then she decided to buy some paint and canvas. Not a breathtaking idea on its own, yet what has followed it was extraordinary! As soon as the boy got a hold of a painting brush, it’s became obvious that he was a natural. He knew what he was doing right from the start.
The boy’s coordination issues didn’t let him paint realistic portraits, but it wasn’t enough to keep him away from doing what he loved to do. So, Niam have become an abstract painter. Every single one of his paintings tells a different story. I wish you all could be witnesses of his creative process too.
Niam was only twelve when he started painting. Now he sells his works like any other respectable artist would. Little water drop in the sea of people, yet a diamond in the rough. The boy doesn’t speak much with words although he speaks his heart out with paint.
Artists are one of a kind creatures. So different from everyone else, but among themselves, they share one similar trait: they all want to express themselves and pursue to do so through art.
And the trees, the birds,
The mountains so high,
The little glimpse of paradise,
Is all I need to live… to die…
Humans are peculiar, but down there there’s more than them. They call it nature – all the trees, grass, plants, mountains and lakes… and animals, small and big, crawling and flying, swimming and still. The nature consists of too many things to mention them all. And I love every single one of them.
People, though, don’t seem to realize what they are really doing to the nature. Cutting the trees down… Killing animals for the sake of killing… Why would they pour cement all over poor ladybug’s home? They need to learn their lesson, hopefully before it’s too late. If only I could warn them…
I don’t know why they prefer to nest inside glass-walled, sky-high buildings rather than under the blue sky, where they had been raised.
Besides that, I like noticing little things too: two doves sitting on a branch together as if they were cuddling. It warms my heart, seeing how tadpoles become those jumpy little slimy frogs! I like the whispering wind, saying sweet nothings through branches and leaves, and all the rainbows showing up after rain. When you see everything thrive don’t you want to thrive too?
Locked up people in the ballroom,
Of cement, steel and glass,
Waiting for last of the moments,
Waiting for their lives to pass.
If only I could touch the grass, even once, if only I could feel what „wet” is, if only I could talk to someone, if only…
I, the Moon.
Wyróżnienie – Klaudia Harazim, klasa 2d
I, The wand
How could it have all gone like this? And the day started so lovely. Let me take you to the start. Everything started with a quiet, calm morning. Yeah sure, not in my life.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Oh for god’s sake! Turn it off! BEEP! BEEP! Unbelievable, the imbecile still sleeps! Oh my god! Are you deaf? BE- Finally! Couldnt do it sooner, could you? He got up scratched his head and yawned. God his breath stinks. Now he’s stumbling through the mess he calls his room.
God, I overslept!
Bravo! How did you figure? Now hes running from one side to another searching for his books while being in the process of pulling his pants on. Merlin what have I done to deserve this, what? I’m a magical wand, a powerful object and I got into the hands of an idiot.
Ugh, he’s reaching for me with his sweaty hands and then speeding through the door to the halls where the classrooms are. The School for Magicians. Its truly a gigantic place.
After a while…
–Good morning Mr. Unruh. I’m sorry to be late! Wow! You mustered up from the void of your arrogance a hint of apology in your voice. You are a really good actor.
–It is the fourth time this week! A whole hour this time! One more time and you’re getting a detention. Yeah I’m sure this will convince him
–That won’t be necessary Mrs. Unruh. I won’t be late again. Yeah, for sure.
–I sure do hope so. Now sit.
He sits in the last table under the window. The least noticeable spot in the classroom. Just so the teacher wouldn’t see him doodling in his notebook or occasionally taking a nap.
–As was I saying, before I got interrupted, the ancient Egyptians used simple hand gestures to…
–Mr. Unruh!
–What is it now!?
Ah, it was one of the fairies that flies around the school, delivering news.
–The headmaster requests you in his office.
–Alright, students open the book on page 258 and read to the end of the chapter. I will be back shortly.
I would like to see you try. Once you get into the headmasters office you don’t get out faster than in an hour. And the second he’s out of the door, everyone in the classroom does what the hell they want. Later, after the bell, everyone rushed out, eager for the one hour lunch break. The idiot of course felt asleep and remained in the room.
–Argh!
–What the hell was that?
–Oh my God!
Terrified shrieks are coming from outside. They were loud enough that he woke up in panic. Sprinting out he saw students running away from something.
–Argh!
Ah, a zombie. Well a whole horde of them. Students and the teachers were heading towards the headmasters office, which was like a fort. Finally the idiot moved and started escaping with the others. A large group of people made it to the office but not all of them. However, everybody cares about him or herself so they blocked the door. Then the teachers started discussing the situation.
–What the hell was that?!
–Isn’t it obvious? A resurrection spell gone wrong. Or right. Depends on the person.
–Isn’t it obvious? Amar used a resurrection spell. A teen from the back said. Maybe they got something in their brains after all.
–How are you sure it was him, boy?
–He was devastated after his older sister died and a few weeks back I saw him with a weird looking book. He was very secretive about it.
Wait. Isn’t Amar the imbecile’s best friend?
– It can’t be Amar! He is a good person. And of course he will defend him.
–I saw him. I was searching for a place to hide and went into classroom 204. He was there, flooding in the air with a purple fog around him.
–A purple fog? That means he was using black magic. He will be in big trouble after all of this.
–Then let me talk to him. I know him the best. And don’t you always tell us to stay true to our friends and beliefs? To hope for the best in people and to fight for it.
Ha ha ha, yea right. Wait. You are not serious are you? God dammit. It looks like the headmaster is considering it. I can’t believe it!
–Alright boy, let me clear the path for you.
And that brings us at the beginning. In which the idiot tries to talk some sense into Amar. I will give you a hint, it isn’t going to go well.
–Amar come on stop this! You are hurting everyone around you!
–I dont care! I want my sister back!
Humans. Always thinking only about themselves.
–Even if you manage to bring her back she won’t be the same. She will be one of these creatures. Not even an ounce of humanity will be left in her. And besides you have me. Didn’t you say we are like brothers? Please do it for me.
Jesus, this boy really cares for him. How sweet, I’m going to barf. But it seems Amar sees it too, finally. He starts to lower himself to the floor. Heine hugs him.
–It will be okay. I will stay by you. Everything will be alright.
And he was right. They lived happily ever after with no one remembering what Amar did.
Pft! No! We are not in a fairytale, for god’s sake. Even if no one really died thanks to Heine, Amar got accused of using black magic and exposing the lives of his classmates to danger, earning a two year long community work. But true to his word, the idiot stayed with him and helped him, even years after the whole incident they are still like brothers.
Maybe I miscalculated him.
Milena Zdrojewska, klasa 2d
I, the little black thing, have only one question.
Do we all influence our life? Do we have an impact on who we will become when we get older? On what we will do every day to the last day of our existence?
It was a normal day. I slept in the same dark drawer of the old shabby wardrobe. I didn’t expect to be taken out. To be honest , I hate being taken out, because then I know that I will be again forced into doing that horrible action that I ‘m created for.
But that day he took me out. I guess it was 5 p.m., but I’m not sure about this fact (I’m just a thing). The first thing that I noticed about this guy was the fact that his skin is getting more and more faded every day and his cheekbones were so more easy to see than few days ago. His life isn’t easy. If I were a human and could physically sleep, I wouldn’t be able to do this anyway. His mother died when he was 5 years old and now he lives with the selfish beast called his father whose only passion is drinking bear and blaming his 16 years old son for every bad in his own life. And that’s why every night is full of screaming and the sound of fist hitting this poor guy.
Anyway. It was more or less 5 p.m. I felt his frustration. He was hungry. Again. Why? Because the beast spent all the money for alcohol. So now it’s time to get food in other way.
He first stole something from the shop at the age of ten when the beast had given all the food from the fridge to his mates which were equally intoxicated by alcohol as he. So he needed to go to shop, take the breadrolls and leave the shop without paying for them. At the age of fourteen he bought me just to be safer. But in reality, he was attacking people to get everything precious what was possible.
Having closed the door to his flat as if anyone would like to visit this hell, he headed for the grocery shop located in Calm Street. He tripped over a small stone and fell so it took him a minute to recover. I was in the pocket of his hoody’s hollow. He entered the shop and went to the aisle with junk food to get some chocolate bars or something more destructive for his health. He considered if Mars would be more tasty than Bounty and finally took both of them and hid the bars into the second pocket of the hoody. He knew what to do – he did it nearly every day. He calmly went past the shop assistant and left the shop. But suddenly he heard this voice:
-Why did you do this? I saw you.
He froze in horror and after a while he slowly turned back and saw a small blonde girl wearing pink dress and holding a teddy bear which was probably bigger than her body.
-Stealing isn’t good. That’s what my mummy says.
Thoughts in his mind were running faster and faster. Nobody has ever seen him stealing. This little girl can tell everyone about what she saw and he will have problems with police for sure. And then everyone will get to know about his father and his miserable life. He fell in panic.
He didn’t think what he wanted to do. He just followed his nose.
I didn’t notice the touch of his hand on me. I couldn’t realize that I was taken out. The moment was to short.
I only saw this girl’s eyes. They weren’t scared. Probably she wasn’t even sensible of the danger. Her eyes were full of paediatric faith . She hadn’t got polluted by the evil of this world.
I didn’t notice the sound of shot. I just saw the moment when she shut her green eyes.
She will never go to school. She will never fall in love and she will never experience the first heartbreak. She will never get married and also won’t have a child to tell them stories in the evenings. She won’t get old and won’t see her child growing up.
But what if he hadn’t bought me? If his father hadn’t drunk so much? If he hadn’t fallen down in the street and hadn’t considered the difference between Bounty and Mars?
Maybe she wouldn’t have lain in the stain of blood. Or maybe someone else would have killed her.
Life is the plot of accidental occurences which influence our decisions and create our whole life. They create us.
I’m the gun. I’m created to kill.
And you? What are you created for?
Weronika Leśny, klasa 1C
“ I, the cello ”
Well you all think that being a thing is only the existing, but I have to say that as an instrument I have a soul too.
And I admit that it’s not so easy to show your feelings to other people with no words, only by notes and the sound. It requires from me and my player a close cooperation, based on nonverbal, intensive and emotional contact.
But maybe I will start from the beginning, I am the cello. Hmm, guess some of you do not know, it is an instrument, smaller than double bass, and bigger than violin. But please don’t confuse it with a viola. I’m bigger than viola too. My owner is a teenage girl, her name is Ronnie. My owner… I actually prefer the term: a player or a comrade.
I’m with Ronnie from the begging of her career, and we had made a great progress during all those years. I remember when we first met. She received me at music school, and she was really stressed out with all this new situation. Well I was stressed out too. You know, new place, new people, ohh I was so frightened. But all this anxiety went away when Ronnie took me home, grabbed calmly and started playing on me. Well, it wasn’t playing to be precise… For her excuse I have to say that it was her first time with the instrument.
We had been going to music school for our cello classes two times a week and at the beginning it was difficult for Ronnie to make on herself a habit of playing on me every day, what is an indispensable part of the future success.
Day after day we were practicing and the time for our first show finally came. I was so happy. But actually Ronnie was not. She was really stressed out due to all those widely opened eyes which were staring at us. I didn’t understand her attitude at all, because in my opinion much more important organ were the ears, right? Apart from this small stress section, the whole show was great! We gained a decent and deserved applause which gave both of us a lot of self-confidence.
During our further cooperation, we had better and worse days. Ronnie sometimes didn’t want to play on me, I was so angry with her and all her laziness! It was so immature! She was leaving me all alone for long days. I was left in the case when she was acting so busy with doing completely nothing! Once I wanted to show her that I don’t like her attitude so I decided to break my string. In result it cost me a lot of pain and her a lot of stress and money to buy a new one, so in hindsight I think it wasn’t a good idea but kind of a lesson for both of us.
Which composer I like the most? I love when Ronnie plays Bach. Do you know anything by Bach? For me the best is the Suite no. 1 in G.
Another great piece is Sicilienne, op. 78 by Gabriel Faure. Well I can list hundreds of great pieces for cello, but that’s not the point. The point is that each piece conveys a lot of feelings. And playing each of them is not just reading notes and changing it into the sound. Playing them is working with every little detail, thinking about the emotions, articulation, pacing and timbre. That is what makes every performance so unique. Because it is impossible to play one opus two times just the same way.
That’s all about me, the cello. I’m glad you read this, because it’s really important from time to time, to put ourselves in the shoes of someone… or something else.
