College Crow, Semester 1, 2023

COLLEGE CROW

© Copyright 2023, Presbyterian Ladies’ College, Sydney.

Editors: Amy Feng and Grace Du (Year 12 Publications C0-Captains).

Assistant Editors: Katarina Ahmed (Year 11), Jocelyn Arkapaw (Year 11), Anshita Baijal (Year 11), Lulu Catalano (Year 9), Alyssa Chang (Year 10), Yu Ting Chen (Year 9), Stephanie Chew (Year 10), Natasha Chuan (Year 11), Alison Fang (Year 11), Isabella Fu (Year 9), Chloe He (Year 9), Isabelle Ho Shon (Year 11), Jasmine Huang (Year 9), Natalie Iacullo (Year 12), Aileen Kim (Year 11), Chloe Kwok (Year 10), Quyen Nguyen (Year 8), Abigail Ong (Year 11), Anastasia Prokhorov (Year 11), Sasha Prokhorov (Year 11), Chiara Saad (Year 8), Chrysty Salla (Year 9), Katelyn Tsourdalakis (Year 8), Helena Tuo (Year 7), Claire Van (Year 11), Emma Yang (Year 12), Rachel Yang (Year 10), Ziqi Yang (Year 9), Emily Ye (Year 12), Jacqueline Yu (Year 11).

Design/Layout: Anshita Baijal (Year 11), Priya Bhadri (Year 9), Lulu Catalano (Year 9), Nancy Chen (Year 9), Yilan Chow (Year 10), Natasha Chuan (Year 11), Alison Fang (Year 11), Amy Feng (Year 12), Aileen Huang (Year 10), Amanda Huang (Year 9), Jasmine Huang (Year 9), Amy Jia (Year 8), Sahana Kumar (Year 8), Isabella Loo (Year 10), Euna Oh (Year 10), Abigail Ong (Year 11), Lola Pittams (Year 8), Anastasia Prokhorov (Year 11), Sasha Prokhorov (Year 11).

Staff Coordinator: Ms Kathryn Munro.

College Crow Committee: Katarina Ahmed (Year 11), Jocelyn Arkapaw (Year 11), Anshita Baijal (Year 11), Priyanka (Priya) Bhadri (Year 9), Molly Campbell (Year 9), Lumbini (Lulu) Catalano (Year 9), Olivia Chan (Year 11), Victoria Chan (Year 9), Alyssa Chang (Year 10), Nancy Chen (Year 9), Siyi (Selina) Chen (Year 7), Yu Ting Chen (Year 9), Stephanie Chew (Year 10), Yilan Chow (Year 10), Natasha Chuan (Year 11), Emily Doust (Year 9), Grace Du (Year 12), Alison Fang (Year 11), Yuqing (Amy) Feng (Year 12), Isabella Fu (Year 9), Jasmine Gifford (Year 10), Sophie Graham (Year 10), Johanna Grogan (Year 8), Chloe He (Year 9), Isabelle Ho Shon (Year 11), Zi Fei Iris (Iris) Hon (Year 8), Aileen Huang (Year 10), Jasmine Huang (Year 9), Qirun (Amanda) Huang (Year 9), Xinran (Ruby) Huang (Year 10), Natalie Iacullo (Year 12), Xiaofan (Amy) Jia (Year 8), Emelie (M) Johansson (Year 11), Sophia Kelleher (Year 9), Aileen Kim (Year 11), Kate Kim (Year 11), Zoe Kopczyk (Year 11), Sahana Kumar (Year 8), Chloe Kwok (Year 10), Kristine Liu (Year 10), Isabella Loo (Year 10), Anastasia Mouzos (Year 9), Do Quyen (Quyen) Nguyen (Year 8), Euna Oh (Year 10), Abigail Ong (Year 11), Lola Pittams (Year 8), Alexandra (Sasha) Prokhorov (Year 11), Anastasia Prokhorov (Year 11), Yolanda Qiao (Year 10), Chiara Saad (Year 8), Chrysolite (Chrysty) Salla (Year 9), Reina Shi (Year 10), Jae Won (Elizabeth) Song (Year 10), Maggie Su (Year 8), Katelyn Tsourdalakis (Year 8), Helena Tuo (Year 7), Claire Van (Year 11), Danielle Vo (Year 9), Anna Wang (Year 11), Carolyn Wang (Year 11), Cindy Wang (Year 10), Mimi Williams (Year 11), Iris Xu (Year 12), Jiayi (Emma) Yang (Year 12), Youtan (Rachel) Yang (Year 10), Ziqi Yang (Year 9), Emily Ye (Year 12), Tanika Young (Year 10), Jacqueline Yu (Year 11), Cathy Zeng (Year 10).

Front cover illustration: Cathy Zeng (Year 10).

Back cover illustration: Zoe Kopczyk (Year 11).

Page 2: Illustration by Cindy Wang (Year 10).

Page 3: Photo by Jennifer Choi and Jenny Liu (Year 12), Illustration by Jasmine Gifford (Year 10).

Stock images: Elements throughout magazine provided by Canva.

From the Editors

Some thoughts from our 2022–2023 Publications Co-Captains, Amy Feng and Grace Du.

We have lived through so many nights and days, and yet we never really slow down to cherish the presence of the sun and moon. Personally, I like to think of night and day as alternating threads of time, that, like steps, take us into the future: one day, one night, and you are already another step forward.

Over the past year, I have never ceased to be amazed by the incredible enthusiasm with which our team members dive into the new theme for each semester. It is one of my favourite parts of this role; seeing the creative energy that bursts out, raw, from every draft submission; the careful and meticulous editing and proofreading, and the individual pride that deserves to come from reading over the final copy. Last semester, I wrote about the daunting nature of creation. Nothing has changed about that - I don’t for a moment believe that anything can make it easy to put your heart and soul on the line. But College Crow as a publication is meaningful because it allows all of our contributors to dare.

It is my sincere hope that you will take in these pieces tackling the polarity and yet gentle quality of nature in our theme ‘Night and Day’ and appreciate the quality, effort and genuine heart placed into each one.

I thank Ms Munro deeply, as always, for her unfailing contribution to arranging, organising and coordinating. The complicated logistics of arranging a magazine from such a huge committee is no easy task, and she does it incredibly. I am also very grateful to my Co-Captain Amy, with whom the difficult prospect of leadership is made all that much more possible and fun. Working with her has motivated me incredibly in this role, and I will miss it very much.

Finally, to everyone in Crow: thank you so much for the exceptional contributions and hard work you have put in this semester. I will never stop being awed by what you produce. I hope you are immensely proud of yourselves. I am very sad to farewell leading all of you in this respect. But my deepest hope above all is that Amy and I have been able to continue Crow’s existence as a space of brilliant creation, and I look forward to seeing how it continues to flourish in the years ahead.

To the reader, whoever you may be: the road ahead can be daunting, so dark and unlit. I hope you will find a spark of courage within yourself to brave this darkness. Think of the moon, if you may, and how its presence can make the night less lonely. Think of the sun, too, overcoming the darkness by virtue of its own light. I hope this edition brings you comfort. I hope you will be able to discover newfound appreciation for the night sky, or perhaps solace in the moon; that you will come to see the night not as an absence of anything, but as something of its own right.

As always, to Ms Munro, I hope you know how much love we all have for you. If we are a murder of crows, then you are our nest, tree, and home on which we perch as we look out at the rest of the world. Thank you for working so hard behind-the-scenes to give every Crow girl the chance to shine. To Grace: we’ve done it! Sometimes it felt like there was a never-ending amount of emails to send, that making announcements was daunting, and that deadlines were always hot on our heels, but we’ve made it, haven’t we?

As much as it saddens me to know that this is the last time I’ll ever write, illustrate, or design something for Crow, I am so glad to be graduating having left my words in these magazines that have been read and seen by others, and which will forever sit on my bookshelf, waiting to be opened again. To the Crow team: it has been an honour leading you. Thank you for inspiring me with your endless creativity. Until we meet again!

~ Amy ~

Achild,havingwokenfromadeepsleepandseeingthatthecolourofthedayhasdrainedfromitsskies,exclaims,“Wherehastheday gone?Haveyoutakenitfrommetoo?” Ignorantwithage,shedoesnotyetknowwhatacrimeitistolivethroughadaywithout cherishingit Shewhoforgottoembracethedaywithbothhandswascondemnedtoaneternityofemptyskiesandstolenlight Themoon,yousee,isachildbanishedfromdayandorphanedbyherexile Centurieshavepassed,andshehasturnedto motherhoodtoreconcilewithherownloneliness.Still,shespendseverynightnavigatingtheskiesblindly,drivensolelybythe memoryofhermother’svoicecallingtoheratthehorizon.And,justasallmothersbreathelifeintoexistence,shemust,dayby day,birthtomorrowbygivingalittleofherself Herbreathisshallowasshewanes,everyexhalethreateninglyfinal Deathrestsa gentlehandonhershoulderandfollowsherlikeashadow Andyet,thedarknessisherrebirth:everymonth,themoonreemerges fromtheshadowsbornanewintothesamelife,asifinhergrowingwombthereisachildwhobearsthesamefate

Tonight,shestrikesaconversationwithalate-nighttrave onthebackseatofanemptybus

“Youremindmesomuchofyourself,”shesays “Inwhatways?”

“You’reafraidofthedark,yetyousleepthroughtheday.”

Hethoughtaboutitforawhile “I’mnotafraidofthe dark”Itwasaloyalcompanion,achildhoodfriend

“Butyou’reafraidofthefuture”

“They’redifferentthings.”

“Whatisthefutureifnotdarkness?”

Heremainssilent Itwastrue:eveninacitybustlingwith people,hisdayswerefilledwithdarknessthatpervaded everymoment,asortofinevitabilityofhislife,even If thepresentwasacandleheheldwithbothhands,it wouldilluminateonlyhisfingers.Nomatterhowbravely thelittlecandleshone,hispathwouldremainunlit “Doyouevercloseyoureyesinthedark?”,heasked, becauseaskingwasbetterthananswering “Always.I’mterrifiedofopeningmyeyesandonlyseeing darkness.”

Wearinessisthefirstsymptomofdeath,mymotheroncetoldme.Tonight,themoonislethargicasshestumblesacrossthe sky.Likeadrunkensailorbearingabeaconlight,shecarriestheweightofthedarknessonherback.Oh,childofAtlas,I wantedtosaytoher Oh,miserablechild Thesunisbeautifulbutyouwillneverknow

Herlastnightwaslikeanyother.PerhapsoneofHouyi’sarrowshadflownastray,and,likeamothdrawntowardsthat unwaveringlight,ithadburieditselfinherback Ithadtakendownninesuns;itcouldtakehertoo Perhapsshehadventured tooclosetothesun,ignoringthedroopofherwaxenwingsasshesoaredtowardsmorning,wonderingifthiswaswhatitfelt tobesunkissed Perhapsshehadtraversedthedarkenedskyfortoolong,alonelytravellermadelonelierbythesilenceofthe universe.Whateverthereason,themoonwanderedacrosstheskythatnightforthelasttime,takingtomorrowwithher.All weareleftwithisastringoftodays:itistodayandtodayandtoday;Iamborntoday,Iwilldietoday.

Themoonroseforthefirsttimetoday;sheroseforthelasttimetoday

TheQuestionoftheGlow

ver since I discovered that some animals glow in the dark, I have always wanted to see it for

ver since I discovered that some animals glow in the dark, I have always wanted to see it for.

myself. However, convincing my parents of a worthwhile investment in a UV flashlight has proved to

myself However, convincing my parents of a worthwhile investment in a UV flashlight has proved to be harder than I anticipated. So, for now, I have to stick to reading reports and scouring the internet be harder than I anticipated. So, for now, I have to stick to reading reports and scouring the internet for images of glow-in-the-dark animals. After reading so many articles, the most interesting for images of glow-in-the-dark animals. After reading so many articles, the most interesting discovery I uncovered was that many glow-in-the-dark creatures are Australian. From scorpions discovery I uncovered was that many glow-in-the-dark creatures are Australian From scorpions and frogs to the platypus and wombat, all these organisms come alive in the dark But what really and frogs to the platypus and wombat, all these organisms come alive in the dark. But what really sparks my interest is that we have no idea why they do this! sparks my interest is that we have no idea why they do this!

Regardless, this quest for knowledge about this glowing phenomenon has received the spotlight of Regardless, this quest for knowledge about this glowing phenomenon has received the spotlight of the world of science, bringing it a little closer to everyone. How? Well, because people from all over the world of science, bringing it a little closer to everyone How? Well, because people from all over the world now know that the Tasmanian devil is actually a real animal and not a mythical devil that the world now know that the Tasmanian devil is actually a real animal and not a mythical devil that haunts the Australian outback! haunts the Australian outback!

Some scientists suggest that this is a method used to camouflage themselves from predators that

Some scientists suggest that this is a method used to camouflage themselves from predators that can see UV light because they absorb UV light and emit blue-green light, their predator won’t can see UV light because they absorb UV light and emit blue-green light, their predator won’t notice their presence Alternatively, it could be a way of communication, especially if the patterns notice their presence. Alternatively, it could be a way of communication, especially if the patterns or designs change over time. The reasons for this feature vary for different organisms. Platypuses, or designs change over time The reasons for this feature vary for different organisms. Platypuses, for example, swim with their eyes closed and are nocturnal, and therefore do not have a need for for example, swim with their eyes closed and are nocturnal, and therefore do not have a need for glowing patches to communicate glowing patches to communicate.

Like with all great theories and hypotheses, we have those who deny them, suggesting that glow-

Like with all great theories and hypotheses, we have those who deny them, suggesting that glowin-the-dark animals don’t necessarily glow with a purpose. These theorists claim that these in-the-dark animals don’t necessarily glow with a purpose These theorists claim that these animals may have this ability due to a ‘fluke’ of nature because it is unlikely that, under normal animals may have this ability due to a ‘fluke’ of nature because it is unlikely that, under normal lighting conditions, any other animals (predators or prey) would be able to detect their glowing lighting conditions, any other animals (predators or prey) would be able to detect their glowing tendencies. It could also be an ancestral trait that serves no real purpose, a vestigial organ*, like the tendencies It could also be an ancestral trait that serves no real purpose, a vestigial organ*, like the human tailbone. human tailbone.

What fascinates not only me, but other scientists, is the fact that most organisms, except humans,

What fascinates not only me, but other scientists, is the fact that most organisms, except humans, have the ability to see UV light This means that for them, this light is an everyday occurrence, like have the ability to see UV light. This means that for them, this light is an everyday occurrence, like being able to differentiate between colours or different shades for most of us. This would, thereby, being able to differentiate between colours or different shades for most of us. This would, thereby, allow these organisms to view the world in another dimension. This raises the question, what else allow these organisms to view the world in another dimension. This raises the question, what else are we not seeing, and how do we shed some light on it??? are we not seeing, and how do we shed some light on it???

* Vestigial organ: Organs, tissues or cells in a body that are no more functional the way they were in their

* Vestigial organ: Organs, tissues or cells in a body that are no more functional the way they were in their ancestral form of the trait. ancestral form of the trait

We, the Withered Trees

PerpetualDays

Thenight,itcloakstheworldinblack, Aveilofdarkness,hidingsecretswecan'ttakeback. Thestars,theytwinkleinthesky, Acruelreminderthattimewillfly.

Theday,itriseswithaburstoflight, Afalsepromisethateverything'sallright. Thesun,itshinessobrightandgold, Amaskthathidesthestoriesuntold.

Itshinesalightonourfacade, Areminderthatlifeisbutacharade. Theimperfectionsthatwetrytohide, Areexposedintheharshnessofdaylight.

Itoffersusachancetostartanew, Aliewetellourselvestomakeitthrough. Thelightshowstheworldinbright, Butalsorevealstheflawsinsight.

Thepiecesofourshattereddreams, Theyscatterlikedustonthestreams. Wetrytogathertheminourhands, Buttheyslipawaylikegrainsofsand.

Theday,itmarchesonsofast, Asifitwantsthenighttolast. Butasthesunbeginstoset, Myheartisheavywithregret.

Thedreamswedream,theyturntodust, Areminderthatlifeisunjust. Thestars,theytwinkleinthesky, Areminderthatlifeisjustapassingby.

Day and Night Myths

Here are a series of myths to do with day and night, each with my expert opinions and annotations

1. Mamaiuran myth

LOCATION: BRAZIL

As with many other creation stories, this one begins in complete, utter darkness A flock of birds covered the sky, shutting out the Sun’s golden threads of light and stopping them from penetrating the inky black. These would have been the world’s first street (or sky) gangs: the humans, way down below, shivering in the chill, while the birds basked in the Sun’s warm glow But, as humans are often wont to do, they had no initiative They complained. They procrastinated. Until two of their own species, Kuat and Iae, broke their mould and hatched a plan. All gangs must have a leader, and this one did too: the king of the birds, Urubutsin. I would like to preface the coming sentences with the thought that I would never sacrifice so much for my fellow humans What did they sacrifice? Their self-respect They hid inside a dead animal’s corpse, where they would have been fully enveloped by all the digestive juices and other particulars of the said animal. Urubutsin, like other creatures, had to eat, so he flew down. Kuat emerged from the corpse, and with one quick movement, he caught hold of Urubutsin’s leg. You might be thinking, now what? An old fashioned street fight? No It wasn’t as interesting as that Kuat demanded the sunlight, and Urubutsin agreed Obviously, the birds would depose him. And that is how we have night and day. Cheers, Urubutsin!

LOCATION: The Arctic

The Inuits traditionally live in the Arctic: northern USA, Canada and regions of Greenland A woman called Malina lived with a man named Anningan. Before you think they were in a relationship, they weren’t. They were siblings. Malina was the Sun goddess, and Anningan the Moon god Siblings quarrel all the time I would say I’ve had my fair share of them And it gets physical The one thing, though, I’ve never done in a quarrel, is spread oil over my sister’s face. I would like to say it’s because I wouldn’t do something that bad, but, unfortunately, I would never have thought of it. I digress. Back to the point: that’s what Malina did to Anningan (whoa, vengeful female personified…). She felt really guilty, and you would have thought she apologised But she ran away? I mean, Anningan wasn’t going to kill her But in this story of twists and turns, of course he was He didn’t Kill her, I mean Malina ran so much that she became the Sun. Anningan never stopped in his single minded quest. Until he had to, because he transformed into the moon. Anningan sometimes forgot to eat and starved, growing thinner (served him right), which makes the moon cycle. This is the Inuit story of day and night

3. Lakota myth

LOCATION: USA

The Lakota are a Native American tribe Their people live in the states of Dakota, Montana, Nebraska and Minnesota and some areas of Canada In Lakota myths, Hanwi was the Moon goddess She was consort to the Sun god, Wi Wi plays the classic role of unfaithful husband here and replaces Hanwi’s place next to him at a feast with a human woman, Iktomi. But Hanwi did have a champion (who wasn’t her husband): Skan, the Sky god. He vilified Wi’s actions, and decided he had some punishing to do Wi wasn’t getting away lightly Think Hades Think Persephone Hanwi was not abducted, and didn’t grow to love Skan, but all the same, taken by Skan and given rule over the night Wi was given rule over the day, so he never saw Hanwi again. Hanwi felt nothing but shame (why? why? Wi should be ashamed!) for Wi’s deeds. Maybe she thought she wasn’t good enough for Wi, or he wasn’t satisfied with her, but whatever the case, she hid a part of her face every few days, creating the moon cycle Hanwi, my advice would have been, ‘get over him’ The moon’s more beautiful when you can see all of it anyway (according to me).

Treading

The sleepy sun was about to take cover behind the horizon. Before it rested, it blasted its radiance across the pure white snow of the streets of the city, hiding the potholes of destruction left by the war. The river had been frozen for a while now, yet it was only a matter of time until water would be available. Debris and rubble stood firm on its ground despite the strong whirlpools of wind. The grey asphalt road was scarred more than ever before, a thick layer of snow concealing countless cracks that stretched beyond the city walls.

The sunlight pierced my sight, the passive pencil escaping from my grip as I pulled down the blinds –just enough to still farewell the sun My fingers stumbled to pick up the pencil The wooden chair squeaked as I twisted and turned – my head was empty but it needed to be filled. Pencil lead marks stained the paper before my eyes, randomly scattered just like my present mind. I had splintered the precious paper – I needed it for liberty At least the chair was splinterless, its edges fragrant of finely cut wood. My pupils momentarily bulged, the edges of my mouth rising. My hands reached out for the curtain, swishing it almost violently, the window staring blankly at me – the sun had left for sleep However, the dim light was still awake. The river, once flowing, but no longer. Streets for pedestrians could no longer give such service Every marked scar concealed by the soft snow, but that softness could not endure forever. The only motion in the wild, a stray dog, sniffing for its survival.

The world here was no longer the same as it used to be – this country needed to be rebuilt However, that freedom was not in reach – we were not all united… yet. My eyes tried to seek the souls of others, but the eyes of the huddling civilians appeared lifeless My jaws clenched as did my fingers wrapping around the pencil more vigorously, almost feeling the splinters of wood. The world around us had changed – we needed to follow An anthem The national anthem A new anthem for our country – the beginning of healing our scars.

The sun had set but my mind was still awake My pencil began to make its marks on the paper

The glory and freedom of our country shall always exist Luck will still smile on us on the hardest of days

I glanced up The moonlight had marked its presence My legs stretched out as my feet guided me back inside the barn. Sleeping mats were out. The wooden chair silently squeaked, splinterless, like the pencil. The day had been long, but the night was certainly going to be a hopeful one.

Our might shall defeat any enemy like the burning sun

The world that everyone knew of was our one village Every day, what we called the Centre Star would shine brightly, almost too brightly, if you were to ask me. The sky was as blue as ever, and the lake was still; crystalline The village was small, but cosy There wasn’t anybody we didn’t know, or any place we’d never seen. Small wooden huts, roofed by clumps of twigs, formed a circle around the village centre. And in the centre there stood a tall, ancient clock tower, which held stories no one had ever heard of

It was as if we lived in Utopia - everything seemed perfect The mood was always bright and light But there was always a sense of tiredness in the atmosphere, no matter where you went. Being up and about for an entire lifetime did have its consequences after all

Yet, there was a particular thought that made me question the existence of our ‘Utopia’. In the short time I called my lifetime, I came to learn that nothing can exist without balance Without darkness, there cannot be light.

So how come day never fell?

I lay on the rough, patchy ground of what we knew as our home, feet up against the wall, music from my Walkman blasting through my earphones. The flutter of wings and a small breeze flew through the hole in the wall, flapping around frantically before settling itself on the foot of my bed A robin had stumbled itself into my room, flustered by its journey.

“Hey little guy, ” I murmured, feeling quite foolish to be conversing with a bird, “What are you doing here?” I sighed before I flopped back down, onto the bed. “What am I doing? You can’t talk - you ’ re just a robin ”

“Mitsuka, get over here now!” The call from my mother made me jump in shock, my little friend flying off in a hurry I jumped up and dusted myself off. “Come here, look at the sky!” Following the urgent sound of my mother’s voice, I rushed myself to the door of our small hut and peered into the sky

“Look, Mitsu,” my mother murmured, her eyes transfixed at the sky. The usual sea of blue I had expected to see had a large crack pierced in the centre of it, slowly but surely splitting as time went by. “Why, it’s the mark of the Devil himself…”

“Hm, I reckon this was the balance we were missing all along ”

Book Recommendations Corner

Welcome to the recommendations corner We've not followed a theme and just chose books that we thought were potentially interesting. If you ' re an enthusiastic book reader, you might find something new to explore here, who knows?

- Jocelyn, Olivia and Ella -

The Night Circus| Author: Erin Morgenstern

Library code: [FAN] F MOR | Reviewed by Olivia: 3.9/5

I wasn’t planning on reviewing this book since a lot of people told me they didn’t like it, but I’m the type of reader who adores intense imagery and world-building, and boy, this is the definition of imagery. The description of the circus, the performers and the various tents, it’s crazy! Although, with all these descriptions, the book is quite slow paced, with some that extend for pages. It would be okay, except the story is already broken up by the changing timelines and POVs of each

character, dragging the story on more. So yeah, I would skip those parts, as it makes little difference. The circus is a display of magic between two magicians, who are in a long-standing competition that has been going on between their mentors for many years. The point of the competition itself, which steers the plot, seems too vague to me I think it could have been more developed

The Night Circus isn’t a story that will get you very captivated but honestly, I was very happy to read about the surreal and dreamlike goings-on of the circus. I also found each character intriguing in their unique way. So yes, I really enjoyed it.

There are things that are unexplained and left ambiguous in this book but I’m willing to overlook them because I was still able to get a good, light read out of it The library has like six copies of the book, haha, which are taking up a lot of room, so I recommend you take one off the shelf and put it to good use.

The Road | Author: Cormac McCarthy

Library code: SF MCC |

Reviewed by Jocelyn: 4/5

This was a unique book The writing style was unlike anything I’d read before, with minimal punctuation and dialogue. The novel centres around a nameless man and his son living in a post-apocalyptic America. I think the way it is written, as well as the detailed, descriptive language, beautifully reflects the sense of hopelessness and fear felt by the characters. This is portrayed through the devastating state of earth; everything is grey, ashen and cold. At first, I found it a little boring, as it’s not very action-packed. However, as The Road progresses, some extremely gut-wrenching, haunting and eerie events take place. I came to deeply care about their journey, and was curious to find out what happens next Whilst I still wouldn’t call this book, as a whole, a page-turner, I did end up enjoying it. It was all the more horrifying to think that this dystopian world could be similar to the true future of our planet.

Everyone in my Family has Killed Someone | Author: Benjamin Stevenson

Library code: SF STE |

Reviewed by Ella: 4/5

If you ’ re a mystery fan who loves a witty narrator, this is the story for you Ernest Cunningham, and everyone in his family, has either killed someone or will have by the end of the book. His family all go to the mountains for a holiday but, shock horror, someone dies It’s almost as if this is a murder mystery book Here begins a complex and twisted murder mystery that will unearth family secrets and answer the question of what really happened decades ago. This story plays around with page numbers, telling you from the beginning when each murder will occur. It kept me guessing all the way from page one until the final revelation. So, if you ’ re someone who loves a novel that makes fun of itself, I would highly recommend this book.

The Daily Bull

Year 7

There is a special passage in the roof of Thompson Hall for the Year 7s who have no spatial awareness in the hallways.

You’re not so new that you can keep using the old “I don’t know where my class is” excuse. It’s been half a year. It’s not that hard to remember.

Congratulations on getting through your first semester of highschool – you only have 5 more years to go!

The white ribbons are not for you!! Seniors only.

Year 8

Remember the good old days when you were in Year 7 and could use the “I’m new” excuse?

You’re the only year with the old lockers. I guess that makes you special...…in a bad way.

Don’t bully the Year 7s. You haven’t improved at all since then, if anything, you’ve gotten worse.

Just like the Year 7s, the WHITE RIBBONS ARE NOT FOR YOU!!!!!

Year 9

Stop mixing up the Year 7s and Year 8s. You were a Year 8 student last year – you haven’t changed that much.

To those with bottom lockers: Stop complaining. It may be your first year with the new lockers, but if your legs are already sore, touch grass and get exercise.

Year 9 Duke of Ed students who are too scared to camp in the wild may be given an exemption to camp on Drummond Field instead if you hand in a convincing three-page explanation.

You’re the lowest of the teachers’ marking priorities. Don’t take it to heart, you’re just not cute anymore like the Year 7s and you’re not important like the Year 12s. Tldr, you’re slightly irrelevant.

Do everyone a favour and sing during House Choir rehearsals. Talking is not singing. Screeching is also not singing. Not singing is not singing. Pretending to sing by opening your mouths but not producing any beautiful sounds is NOT singing. Failing to sing will result in repercussions and you may find yourself waking up in a deserted forest two weeks later, thinking your name is Agatha (there are no PLC Sydney students called Agatha).

Year 10

The lovely Science Faculty requires that all students achieving less than 90% on their SRP repeat the entire process again, proposal and all. Students will email all complaints, questions, and risk assessments to their high-scoring counterparts in order to alleviate the burden from the Science teachers. Students scoring above 90% may employ a range of pre-programmed responses, such as “weak”, “where are your significant figures?” and no reply at all.

You’ve just started wearing your blouse. How does it already have so many food stains?

Year 10s that are caught rolling their skirts must wear an upsized version of the Evandale uniform for an entire week.

The new uniform rules are: Blouse sleeves must extend 12cm down the shoulders. All buttons must be cleaned weekly, and all kilts and blouses must be ironed every morning before school. Blazers absolutely cannot look asymmetrical, so you must put the same number of items in the pockets and the same number of badges on either side. You will be given a detention and a rubbish duty for every one of these rules that you break.

Year 11

Those with free periods will be monitored by an all new Student Surveillance System to ensure free periods are being spent *productively*. Staff are not responsible for any side effects of the SSS, including, but not limited to: private conversations about your long lost twin committing life insurance fraud and pinning it on you, being leaked to the whole school.

All Year 11s must clear out the library study rooms for Year 12s who want to use them. Exemptions may be given to Year 11 Maths Accelerants who are also taking the HSC, but this must be negotiated with the Year 12 cohort beforehand.

Because you’re the lucky grade that gets to go on exchange, all Year 11 students on exchange are required to engage in a daily 30-minute FaceTime with a Year 12 student who was unable to go because of COVID.

Just a reminder that, yes, you will be teaching House Choir next year. To prepare, you should station yourself in the shadows of your House Choir room, and swoop on any Year 9 who opens their mouth to talk. The student who takes out the most Year 9s will be exempt from leading House Choir in 2024. Extra points will be awarded for swooping and shushing at the same time.

Year 12

On the day jerseys are received, everyone must partake in a jersey-guessing competition to match the jersey with the student. The person with the highest score will receive a full refund for their jersey as well as bragging rights.

Any student who integrates the phrase “Women of integrity and purpose” into their English HSC paper will receive 10 extra ATAR points.

The student with the most LinkedIn connections by the end of the year will be awarded the prestigious “Networker of the Year” prize, to be presented at Speech Day.

Students who are doing less than three STEM subjects must meet with Mrs McGrouther and their Year 7 Science and Maths teachers, to discuss the factors that resulted in them making such poor subject choices. Spoiler: “not liking” or “being bad at” STEM is NOT an option. Extra points will be awarded for integrating a sad story about being terrorised by STEM as a small child.

Year 12s not doing Extension 2 English will be loaned to the English department to mark Year 9 essays, allowing them to relive the immense pain that was “Rebecca”. Students who enjoyed studying “Rebecca” will be required to mark “Washington Square” essays (no one enjoyed that).

Staff

All teachers will be required to attend a compulsory 7 Week Camp to educate them on how to use Vivi. (I have witnessed a teacher crying “No!!” in agony as the screen died on her.)

It is now compulsory for all staff to submit a weekly 10-page report on how they are implementing their chosen Teaching Virtues in their lessons. At the end of each term, students in their classes will anonymously grade how well the teachers met these goals.

At Speech Day 2023, staff awards will also be presented. These include the honourable: “Best Attendance”, “Most Exams Set in a Year”, “Made the Most Students Cry”, and “Fastest Reply Time” prizes.

General

The Burgis Bridge is officially underway! We hope. PLC Sydney will be providing emotional support plants to all students. Students are encouraged to name the plants. The more obnoxious the name, the better.

Whoever manages to get the canteen’s recipe for those new cookies and distributes it accordingly (no gatekeeping!) will be awarded an Australian Representative blazer, because that is a true service to the community.

MaybetheRealTrueLovewastheFriendsweMadeAlongtheWay

"By night one way / By day another. This shall be the norm / Until you find true love's first kiss / And then take love's true form."

The 21st of June marks a significant date in history. Not the break of Napoleon’s power in Spain, or even the births of Lana del Rey and Prince William (which coincidentally all do actually fall on this date). This truly spectacular date, or should I say, Shrektacular date, marks the start of one of the most hard-hitting, culturally impactful film franchises in history. Consisting of four movies, a short 4-D film, two TV specials, two spin-off movies AND a Broadway musical adaptation, plus the source of many a terrible meme and a literal festival, this article discusses the marvellous world of Shrek. But I don’t write this article to express my (great) appreciation of this franchise. I write this article in great sadness, having discovered a terrible, terrible truth. The fact of the matter is that the minor characters of the Shrek franchise are simply unappreciated. According to my super professional poll of 16 characters, the public has ranked the most iconic Shrek characters as Lord Farquaad, and Donkey respectively, with Shrek and Puss tied for third place.

But what of the characters who are just as instrumental to Shrek’s success, like Gingy, and those three little pigs? What about Doris, our favourite ugly stepsister? Some of us aren’t gifted with amazing humour and passion for waffles combined with the ability to snap a man’s neck with our hind legs, as Donkey is, or the absolutely adorable face of a ginger cat paired with cutthroat swordsmanship.

I’m not a Short King (or in Farquaad’s case, Short Lord) and certainly don’t possess the strength or stench of the loveable green Shrek.

We need more appreciation for the little guys of the Shrekverse, and I am here to provide this. Shrek’s journey would have been abruptly cut short had Gingy not endured Farquuad’s torture as valiantly as he did, or if Dragon didn’t cut Farquuad off with a well-timed CHOMP. (I am still very disappointed that she didn’t get a vote for most iconic).

Moreover, some of these characters have just downright amazing character development, and everyone loves character development. From Doris, my favourite ugly stepsister who goes from villain bartender at The Poison Apple Club to confronting Bad Guy Numero Duo in Shrek the Third, to King Harold, who’s kind of a terrible father but had a pretty epic final moment.

An ode to Gingy (and co.) (or: I googled “Shrek Meme Anthology” for this)

Coming in with 8% of votes for Most Iconic, Doris the Ugly Stepsister doesn’t get enough love. She battles her estranged family situation, an epic crush on Prince Charming, and snide comments from the other princesses, all while being an amazing friend to Shrek. She also managed to knock out two fully-armed guards with her leg (Shrek 2), so that’s pretty darn cool. And most of all, without Doris, we’d never be introduced to Puss! We’d be deprived of his adorable little kitty face. So, thank you

But racking up only 4% of votes, there is simply not enough Gingy appreciation in this world. (I will say that in the poll for SECOND most iconic, Gingy did get 16% of votes, which is a pretty dramatic increase for our little cookie guy!) Gingy is an unsung hero. Traumatised by his girlfriend getting eaten in front of him by Santa, Gingy continues to fight… just about everyone (or at least, everyone important). He gets waterboarded (glass-of-milkboarded?), loses his

legs and his gumdrop buttons, but still resists Lord F. 10/10 behaviour. Let’s not forget that Gingy also has an epic track record of breaking into jails, breaking into castles, resisting interrogation, and wig-snatching. (I’m now realising that these characters do an awful lot of breaking into places). Tragically, with not a single vote to their names, the three little pigs and Pinnochio need some love. Part of the butt-kicking, jail-breaking gang, Shrek 2 simply would not have been

possible without these four characters, and they provide some much needed comic relief during the *stressful* times of trespassing and property damage. Besides, who can resist the little pig’s adorable accents?

Now you may wonder, what about the other Shrek characters, like Fiona’s mum, and the Big Bad Wolf, or the Fairy Godmother? To this I say, great question. While I do question the parenting style of one Dama Fortuna, and her liberal use of magic, I have to acknowledge the magical talent and effort it must take for all that conniving and capitalistic potion success. Lilian, I applaud for her acceptance of Fiona and ability to rally the masses (and also to break out of jail using her literal head).

As for the Big Bad Wolf and the rest of his friends, I leave that up to you. You can pioneer the next generation of Minor Shrek Character Appreciation, with Mr Wolf as your figurehead (but really, he doesn’t say too much.) I implore you to give some more love to the unsung heroes of Shrek, and maybe even the unsung heroes of your own lives, and to extend a terrible meme their way. Shrek himself doesn’t need all that glory.

To conclude this terrible fever dream of an article, I would like to quote Fiona’s curse once more:

"By night one way / By day another. This shall be the norm / Until you find true love's first kiss / And then take love's true form."

Maybe the real true love was the friends we made along the way.

Letter to t

WhyIcouldn’tdoapieceforCollegeCrowthisseme

DearAmy,Grace,MsMunroandeveryonereadingthis, Iamunfortunatelywritingthislettertoyoutoletyouknowt owthis semester

Youhavetounderstand,Iwassoexcitedtostartwritingthi English andMathstasks TherewasjustahugeunexpectedproblemthatIhadtodealwiththatIcouldn’tpossiblyhavetime betweenusingallmybraincellshavingtostayawakeinclass,combinedwithmydaily6hournapontopofthe10 hoursleeprecommendedtousyoungadolescents.Alongwithalltheextrastressandmybusyschedule,Icouldn’t possiblyhaveanytimetowritemypiece.

Now,Iamnotinanywaytryingtomakeanexcuse,BUTIwillsaythatthistermhasbeenveryhardforme.Imean, IwentfromsleepingthroughJanuarytorewiringmyheadtomakeitlooklikeIwaspayingattentioninclass.This, alongwithaterribleincident(thatIwillgothroughlater)happeningtomejustbeforeschoolstarts;canyoueven imaginethepressureIwasunder?

NowIunderstandthatalongwithorganisingCollegeCrow,you’rebothYear12studentsstudyingforyourHSC; however,Iaskthatyouthinkback,backtowhenyouwereyoung.Don’ttellmeyoucan’trememberwhatthat waslike?

Nowobviouslyyou’llwanttoknowwhyIcouldn’twriteapiecethissemesterandI’msureonceyoudoyou'll understandcompletelywhyIwasunabletocontribute.

Yousee,itallstartedwhenanevilmontakefuftoldmeitwantedtokillhumanity Now,Iknowhowthissoundsand I’msureyouallhavethatonequestionbuggingyouinthebackofyourmind

WhywouldamontakefuftellME??

Well,itallstartedonthe31stofJanuary2023.Iwasjustwakingupfrommymonth-longnapandwaspreparing forbedat2pmforthestartoftheschoolyear.Iwouldjustliketoaddthatyes,thisdayhappenedtobemybirthday andno,unfortunatelynoneofmyfamilyremembered.Nowyoumaybethinking,whywouldIcare?Well,because I’mtellingthisstoryandyou’restillreadingit.

AsIwaspreparingforbed,agiantkeopiogappearedoutsidemywindow Thisinitselfisnotsuchastrange occurrenceinmyneighbourhood,howeverthesheersizeofitmademepausefluffingmypillow (onlyforasecondthough,asIquicklyforgotaboutitinpreparationformybirthdaynap)

Asweallknow,whenakeopiogappearsbeforeyouitmeans somethingunfortunateisboundtohappen I,naturally,wasn'tthat scarednorreallycaredthatmuchasIwasfocusedonaveryvery importanttask:decidingwhichpositionIshouldsleepin I’ve recentlybeenfondofthevampire(thisiswhereyousleeponyour headfortheunculturedfolksoutthere),howevertheshuffleisa classic.Dancingwhilesleeping:GENIUS.Yougetyourexercise andyoudon’tevenrealiseit.It’sjust,ohokaysorrysorry,backto thestory.You’llwanttoreadverycarefullywhathappensnextas youwillNOTbelieveit Imean,asincredibleasIam,ifsomeone toldmethis,evenIwouldraisemybrow

Yousee,Iwasjustabouttosleepwhencvvcutvjhbjbl;onigvuvuwvdu j

uyc7t2yfy2gbdu2igvuv8vy8guniewdaswellasjhvuhcviyfvikugbihnoubuih,nothekickerwasgcivyifgihbbiikjb utdrtusdconincidenceiuguoyguyguoygIthinknotuyguoybguygiuygou Thenxtydcyvytctiyvvcij,ohyourgonnahate yfvluygukbygfvyfykjgkluy,canyouEVENjhfvufygkbufrtsersccedrdftghjkl.Seriouslyjgciytcyitrs5ersdyjrdcvjhguiygo andgcjgckhgctuyrdfickhvhgvm.Imeanhefcdfcsdcssd,sosdcdfcewfcrgvrw.

Geez,howhardismylife,havingtodoallthistosaveEarthorwhatever.*Sigh*

NowthatI’vetoldyoumystoryinsuchdetaileddetail,I’msureyouunderstandhowdifficultit’sbeenforme.

Infact,I’malmostpositiveyouareaskingyourselfhowonearthI’mabletoevenbewritingthislettertoyou;a normal wouldbuckleunderthepressure AllI’lltellyouis,I’mjustawesomeandI’msureeveryonereadingthis agreeswithme

InconclusionIhopeyou’llunderstand(thoughI’msureyouwillunlessyou'reaheartlesscreaturewithnoemotion, nosoulandhaveareallysillyname).

Thankyouverymuchforeverythingyou’vedone(actually…whathaveyoudone,I’mtheonethat...wh t ) Ican’twaittoseethenewissuecomingoutand….

heBumfuzzle,arealgem).

GLOSSARY:

Montakefuf:agvyuvbkjb,itshgyfcjgg

ghvugvudangerousuftuvbuyvcfhbewarned

Keopiog:acuvjvyiviiknownforjhgcutfvikhbvjgvyjbk, likelyjgcygcvjhvbkvireportifseen

Thevampire:apositionofsleepwhereyou

cjhvhjiybbvikonyourhead

Theshuffle:avcutvkofsleepcutcyvkbvjctuygb dancingchvucyvbjkh

Dreamlike

The evening sun cast long shadows along the walls of the clocktower and signalled the beginning of night The noise and excitement died with the last glimmers of light Children returned home after a long day, welcomed by their parent’s embrace - an embrace that built a wall against the outside world. All except Zorya Delizaskys’. A woman in her early twenties, living in a home with walls so fragile that a gentle breeze was all it would take for it to collapse. But it wasn’t her house that made Zorya feel completely vulnerable. It was the fact that nothing could protect her. Not against the night.

For as long as Zorya could remember, her life ‘began’ four years ago No one knew what happened to her the day she gained consciousness. When she woke, she remembered not a single thing. She had no idea how or why she was even alive, or existed. There were no memories, nothing. And for days, Zorya did nothing but wait. No one knew why, nor did Zorya. But she felt the need to wait. Perhaps she was waiting for the day someone would come running back to her, to hold her in a tight embrace and tell her that everything would be alright.

Each night, like a dying flame, a memory flickered in the back of her mind And she knew everything was in fact, not alright. She didn’t want to remember. It had cost her nothing to forget, or so she thought. After all, everything came with a price.

The moonlight drew the curtains in Zorya’s room, strangling the desperate rays of light beyond. Zorya, let’s go You promised me It was the voice, and it had returned, again It wasn’t as though the voice bothered Zorya. It was melodic; warm and whispery. But it frightened her somehow - a strange voice who knew her name and would speak to her every night With a stifled breath, Zorya turned towards her bed in a vain attempt to hide. Perhaps if she just pulled the blanket over her and closed her eyes, her past wouldn’t come back.

But as she did, the shapeless shadows which drew out her bedroom seemed to morph into the silhouette of a forest Beyond the silence, Zorya could hear her heart pounding The clearing seemed to lean in on her, a reminder of her ignorance. She’d been there before - that much she knew. Not only every night but before

A small, delicate figure stepped out from within the trees, a young girl who had strayed too far from home. On her face was an innocent smile, one which Zorya knew too well. But her eyes were badly blurred out so Zorya had never completely seen her. It was an incomplete memory. “You,” Zorya barely let out a whisper, her voice sounding as though it was taking its time to drift towards the girl But the girl didn’t say a word. She merely stared and smiled. A whole second of silence passed before the girl acknowledged her presence “You’re back, Zorya ” Her voice was hushed “Let’s go home. You promised.”

Usually, the little girl would hold out her hand, waiting for Zorya to take it. But every time Zorya took a step, a strong wind seemed to pull her backwards and the next moment Zorya would be awake, her chest rising and falling rapidly, sunlight pouring in through the windows, the morning breeze already blowing gently into her room.

PLC Sydney College Crow

When Does Tomorrow Become Today?

MANY SAY TODAY BEGINS WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES MIDNIGHT, OTHERS PROCLAIM IT’S WHEN THE DARKNESS MAKES WAY FOR LIGHT, OR MAYBE WHEN THE SUN COMES UP READY TO GLEAM, PERHAPS IT ARRIVES WHEN EARLY RISERS STIR FROM A NEST OF DREAMS.

DOES THE DAY START WHEN PEOPLE FIRST WORK ON THEIR TASKS, OR WHEN STUDENTS GET TO SCHOOL AND GO AND ASK, MAYBE IT’S WHEN A PERSON HAS THE FIRST COFFEE MUG, WHEN THE EARLY BIRDS CATCH THE AWAKENING BUGS

SO, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE NIGHT OWLS STAY UP TILL MIDNIGHT, AND IN THE SMALL HOURS OF THE DAY, WILL IT STILL BE TOMORROW OR IS IT ALREADY TODAY?

BECAUSE SOMETIMES THE MINUTE STRIKES AND NOBODY KNOWS AND SO THE DAY FEELS AS IF IT’S NEVER STARTED OR AROSE.

spectacle

spectacle

spectacle

ifithrewmyselfintothestars, let my body begin to assimilateintothedarknightsky youwouldcallforme,wouldn’tyou? youwouldstopsayingmyname,andthen yourlightwouldshinesomewhereelse.

theirburningilluminatesme,labelsme asanoutsider,atrespasser,ablemish. butiwillbearthroughtheirdisdain, forififellbackdown,ifear

rinse & repe(c)at

Bedtime with

Mum and dad

Onion child

she lured the onions in with a beautiful song and gobbled them up in one bite. THE END!

Once upon a time, there was a witch who ate small onions at night.

Love you honey, sweet dreams.

later that night...

perennial blues

Regretfully, Yichen doesn’t know much about art

“It’s a calling,” her mother explains, rather omniscient and all-knowing. “That type of profession is risky, so people get into it knowing they’re in it for passion It’s never about the money with those kinds of jobs ”

(It was high summer.

Summer often left her feeling buoyant. It was an incomplete word, because there was nothing pleasant about the way the sun seemed to beat down on the pavement; the concrete seemingly sizzling in the heat

The cicadas would buzz incessantly above the blades of grass dancing at the merest zephyr, the humidity weaving in and out of the gymnasium like hanging vines that looked more akin to barbed wire They came to watch the way the waves crashed against the porcelain; the way the pool jets would shoot out streams of bubbles like notes in a song

“Y’know, this is the perfect time for a confession ”

Yichen whipped her head around, startled “Don’t joke about that! Jesus.” she sputtered, much to her chagrin and also much to the delight of Haruka, who opted to crouch on the side of the pool, boots smushed against the drain

“So,” she sighed, “why’d you call me over? You barely talk to me outside of class.”

Haruka frowned, hazel eyes blinking owlishly in confusion “Can’t I talk to my friends?" She pouted as she glided her fingers across the placid surface, watching as the motion created a litany of ripples. Yichen waited a few beats before responding “Fine What do you want?”

“I want to draw you ” …What?

“When drawing with a blue-toned colour scheme, I noticed that any warm colours I used would become desaturated I wanted to play with that more, and ” she paused in hesitation, “You’re a good swimmer I saw you practising,” she explained, as if that’s all Yichen needed, before licking the end of her paintbrush to reshape the hairs into a finer tip

She doesn’t like to think about the implications of agreeing. To do so would give her too much time to imagine the reasons she’d have, the justification to why she’d even agree in the first place

As she considered this, she realised she had spent too much time underwater and struggled briefly, bringing her head up from the depths of the pool. Her vision temporarily tunnelled but she could still see Haruka clearly, even if she was distorted from the haze, scritching at her notebook with an unusual intensity.

Just for a moment, Yichen had wanted to reach out and feel Haruka’s pulse quiver underneath her fingers

She wondered if it’d help stop the ache

How did you get into art?

“I like it, isn’t that enough?” she had smiled then, free, untethered.)

It is universally agreed upon that there is something inherently wrong about us It is the one thing that separates us from omnipotence; we are not good nor holy, that if not for the flaws that reside in all of us we might as well be gods. Gods do not grieve, or regret; they know, they acknowledge, they remember, but they do not understand That is what humanity is, not always the emotions but the pain that comes with it

The ability to be a hypocrite; to exist in multitudes is a right only those privy to death could own with all their heart and all their soul.

We are allowed, no matter how illogical, to feel

(For the first time in a long time, Yichen realised Haruka wasn't omniscient Haruka was not a god She couldn’t possibly be; the basis of all art was human error. Beauty only came when there was something to compare it to. And yetAnd yet

Sunlight would stream through her eyes like sweet rain, lavender to iridescent alabaster, and Yichen would be reminded, time and time again: Haruka has always been irrevocably holy )

Yichen cannot love her in a way that matters.

Haruka's always loved with her hands for it is what all artists have; if their hands are taken away, they would use their feet, and if even that is taken away they would use their blood It is that desperation that meant Haruka understood sickness, the act of living even after death. This is what survival is: a thirst for the stage and the lack of restraint that comes with it

Yichen wonders if this is what egoism is Someone like her, who would only expect the best of beautiful concepts: metaphors, lessons, perspectives –emergence, Haruka muses, like a poet tends to, reaching for inspiration that is not quite there but has the potential to be; someone like her deserves more than what Yichen can give Haruka is someone that’s been tethered to the ground, plucked fresh out of the stars, thrown away like anything too beautiful would be. The Chinese have a lovely way of explaining things Four character sayings were enough to cover a whole story and so entire myths and morals would be taught this way. One of these sayings came from Ming Langying’s compiled on dialectics; the saying “shuǐ dǐ mō yuè” illustrates the vain effort that comes from literally reaching for the moon underwater

Maybe that's the type of person Yichen is – a fool who jumps in the water at the first sight of the moon's reflection, swimming to the depths of the sea to follow a slight flicker of light even if it might consume her wholly, entirely.

Creatures of the Night

W h e n n i g h t h a s s u p e r s e d e d d a y , w e e m e r g e f r o m b e h i n d t h e s t y g i a n d r a p e s . T h e h i d e o u s c r e a t u r e s o f t h e s h a d o w s a n d c r e a t i o n s o f t h e n i g h t T h e f l a m e t h r o w e r s

W h e n n i g h t h a s s u p e r s e d e d d a y , w e r e w o l v e s s h i f t o n t h e i r h i n d l e g s , t h e i r g a u n t f r a m e s c a r p e t e d w i t h a l a y e r o f m a t t e d f u r , d o n n i n g b l o o d s h o t v e r m i l l i o n e y e s . T h e y t u r n s l o w l y t o w a r d s t h e i r s e l e c t e d p r e y , h o w l i n g a n e e r i e t u n e t o w a r d s t h e i r g o d , t h e m o o n , a s t h e y p o u n c e , t e a r i n g f l e s h f r o m b o n e , e x c r u c i a t i n g l y s l o w , a l m o s t l e i s u r e l y A s i f t o p l a y a n d t o y w i t h t h e i r f o o d l i k e a m a r i o n e t t e o n s t r i n g s , b e f o r e d e v o u r i n g t h e i r h a p l e s s v i c t i m T h e y l e a v e o n l y a s c a r l e t t r a i l i n t h e i r w a k e W h e n n i g h t h a s s u p e r s e d e d d a y , h u m a n o b l a t e s s c u t t l e a n d r e t r e a t i n t o t h e i r t i g h t a b o d e s , s l u m b e r i n g i n t h e i r l i t t l e h u t s B e l i e v i n g t h a t t h e y a r e s a f e f r o m t h e n i g h t a n d t h e s u p e r n a t u r a l . H u m a n s h a v e a l l s o r t s o f s u p e r s t i t i o n s a n d h a b i t s , b e l i e v i n g s o n a i v e l y t h a t w e d o n ’ t e x i s t T h a t t h e m o n s t e r s t h a t w e a r e n e v e r l i v e d , o n l y t h r i v i n g t h r o u g h n o n s e n s i c a l t a l e s . T h e y a r e w r o n g . T h e s o - c a l l e d d i s a p p e a r a n c e s t h a t a p p e a r o n y o u r n e w s f e e d h a v e a l l b e e n c o m m i t t e d b y u s T h e c h i l d r e n o f t h e n i g h t

“ I f e a r t h e s h r i l l c a l l s , t h e d e a f e n i n g c a w s a n d t h e b a y i n g o f t h e w i n d , M o t h e r ” I r e c a l l w h i s p e r i n g t o m y m o t h e r f r o m a l i t t l e e n c l o s e d s p a c e , h i d d e n b e h i n d a

b o o k s h e l f . H i d d e n f r o m t h e w o r l d a n d t h e h e a v e n l y a l a b a s t e r o r b o f t h e m o o n

W h e n n i g h t h a s s u p e r s e d e d d a y , g h o u l s e m e r g e f r o m

t h e s h a d o w s R e s t l e s s s o u l s c r e e p a c r o s s t h e b r i d g e s o f w i n d , o n l y a b l e t o g r o a n i n s h r i l l v o i c e s t h e m i s e r a b l e t a l e s o f t h e i r p a s t l i v e s , r e g r e t s t h a t t r a v e l l e d w i t h t h e m e v e n t h r o u g h t h e v e i l o f t h e u n a l i v e T h e i r v o i c e s a n d t h e c l i n k i n g s o u n d o f s h a c k l e s a n d c h a i n s t h a t b o u n d t h e m d o w n t o t h e

w o r l d w i t h a s e e m i n g l y e t h e r e a l b o n d f o r m a m e l o d y , h e a r d o n l y b y i t s o w n k i n T h e i r e y e s a r e a g a u z y

b l a c k , t h e i r m o u t h s a n e m p t y v o i d t h a t c a n o n l y w a i l a n d u t t e r r e m o r s e a n d s o r r o w .

“ I s a w a s i l h o u e t t e , M o t h e r ”

“ H u s h , c h i l d Y o u m u s t n e v e r o p e n y o u r e y e s t o t h e w o r l d ”

W h e n n i g h t h a s s u p e r s e d e d d a y , v a m p i r e s l u r k i n w o o d s , t h e i r h u n c h e d f r a m e s o f a n g l e s a n d b o n e s f o r m i n g f r i g h t e n i n g s h a d o w s a n d s h a p e s T h e s c e n t o f d r i e d b l o o d s t i l l l i n g e r s a r o u n d t h e m , f o r m i n g a b l o o d t h i r s t y a u r a T h e y h i d e i n t h e s m o k e s c r e e n o f d a r k n e s s , e m e r g i n g o n l y f r o m t h e i r d w e l l i n g i n t h e r e l i e f o f n i g h t . T h e y h u n t m e r c i l e s s l y , n o p i t y s h o w n .

A f t e r d r a i n i n g t h e i r l i f e s o u r c e , t h e v i c t i m s s u f f e r a n a g o n i s i n g d e a t h , d e p l e t e d o f b l o o d . T h e y a r e s o m e t i m e s s p a r e d f r o m s u c h a f a t e , o n l y t o t u r n i n t o a c r e a t u r e o f t h e n i g h t .

A s n i g h t s u p e r s e d e s d a y , w e , t h e c r e a t u r e s o f t h e n i g h t m a t e r i a l i s e a m o n g t h e s h a d o w s , u n v e i l i n g o u r t r u e s e l v e s W h e n n i g h t s u p e r s e d e s d a y , t r o u b l e a n d w r a t h e m e r g e . W h e n n i g h t s u p e r s e d e s d a y , a l l i s s h o w n

u r e s , a w e r e w o l f d e d b y a n o t h e r v a i n t o h i d e m e

I am a creature of the night.

Between

Oncetherewasagirlwho lovedthenight. Shesleptunderneaththe starsanddancedinthe moonlight.

Shewrappedherselfinshadowsandmaskedhereyesinshade. Whenthesunapproachedandwarmthpenetratedherquietcorner oftheworld,shedelvedintothedarkawayfromthelight. Thegirllovedthenight.Andthenightlovedher.

Oncetherewasaboywholovedtheday. Hereveredthesunriseandflourished beneathaluminousbluesky. Helookedattheworldwithbrighteyes anddrapedhimselfinwarmsunlight.

Whentwilightsweptovertheskyand themoon'spaleeyesearchedtheworld, hefollowedthelightawayfromthedark. Theboylovedtheday. Andthedaylovedhim.

Therecameatimewhenthegirlwholovedthenightandtheboywho lovedthedaymet,duringanhourbetweenthesun’srisingandthe moon ’sfall.

Theythoughtlittleofeachotheratfirst,butthe momentthesunsankandthemoonswelled,there theotherwas,alwayswaitingjustwithintheir sightandjustoutoftheirreach. Thoughtheycouldseeafadedmirrorof themselvesinthefaceoftheother,therewasa clearlinebetweenshadowsandlight,nightand day.Soalike,andyetsodifferent.Twopiecesof thesamepuzzle,butunabletofittogether. Sotheypartedwayseverydawnandeverydusk, onlytofindeachotheragainandagain.Always betweenhernightandhisday.

sunrise before sunset

Squawking, chirping and singing; a new day is heralded, by birds no less. Every day, the same cycle; comforting in its regularity, yet embracing change.

Eight a decade or more, I have witnessed the same sequence, each time new joy is anticipated and petty quarrels are regretted. The same start, but never the same ending I regret thinking that the sameness of day equals the sameness of life; I regret taking passions for granted; I regret hope not being found.

I have missed her for three a decade or more now I regret the pain not being seen. But for that pain, the day would not have robbed me of her. I never doubted us. The sunrise we saw gave us certainty of life. Little did we know...

I reflect on the sounds that assail me now. I feel the cool become warm. Life emerges from its dark cocoon; like a hatchling cracking through the shell. I smile. Alone. Once upon a time, I would now gaze upon her. What would that be now?

I unlatch the gate. I do not miss its creak. I stand aside as I have done for many a year. Empty now; I close the gate.

My adventure now begins. Shuffling down, young streams of daylight precede my path. My hand is empty, where it was once not. No matter. Lives live on through us.

I get the same breakfast, to share as always. Two slices of toast; one half-boiled egg of which she loves, one scrambled eggs of which I love, the button mushrooms to which we both love, and the hand-churned butter I miss that the half-boiled egg is not eaten first. I butter the toast, but only half is taken. A crying waste.

The park is next. Young children and their parents occupy a prominent position on the play equipment. Remember when we used to do the same?

A smile brushed my lips. It must be a dust speck in my eye.

It must have been an hour or two. The same bench I have sat, we have sat.

The sun shines in its full brilliance, but casts only one shadow. If only stories could continue forever, there would be two

The slice of grilled salmon rears its head. Calling our name, the same slice bought the day before Lightly grilled, lemon butter, a side of mash and a cup of broccoli. Truffle salt, lightly sprinkled. One serve, not two. Therein lies this story.

A proportion of life becomes less with each passing day Before I know it, night comes upon us. Night, with its cold embrace.

As life winds down, it takes its distractions away. Chances to reflect.

Here, her chair lies empty. Remember when we used to watch the sunset? Twisting colours of purple and pink; the dying rays casting long shadows. We thought then it was a simile for our lives; now, I think it is but an anchor for the joys that have passed. Sometimes, I wish I could relive these memories; not to change them, but to experience them twice.

The constellations high above; billions of years old; a portal to the past If I travelled lightning fast, I might catch up with the rays of light that have come from Earth three decades ago. I would then be able to see your eyes again, when they twinkled brighter than all the stars combined When we fell in love with the stars, oblivious to the memories they would hold. When we planned a life together; the joys, the fun times and the hardships.

A shooting star streaks through the sky; a pearly white splash against the dark canvas. I think of our time together; it was like a shooting star… short, but breathtaking while it lasted. I wish… that I could find you where dreams become reality.

I regret that we cannot do so. They say a star shines best when it is dying, and she did indeed shine brightest then. I regret not being able to say goodbye.

The sun rises, signifying another mundane day. The stars fade and I look at the rising sun; a sliver of hope. There is no greater pain than knowing that an unfinished story is inside you

Sometimes, memories should remain as memories.

Dance of Eternity

We are spellbound forever to this circle of light and night, of sun and moon.

The bright blue sky, the canvas of the creator's masterpiece, it encompasses us into its glowing warmth.

The painted sky arches overhead, shades of pink and purple and orange in an eternal dance, a dance that fades to dark.

The stars twinkle in the sky, a reflection of times long lost, the endless black between them beckoning us to its icy embrace.

The blushing clouds coloured as the sun appears, the world awakened beneath their light.

We are spellbound forever to this circle of light and night, of sun and moon.

inthe night it rains

the lights were out. the lights were out the curtains of each house drawn the house drawn. the moon rose. the moon rose she glistened above the city, she glistened city, providing light for those who still straggled below her providing light for those who still straggled below her finding their way back home. finding way back home. but from the corner of her eyes, but from the corner of her eyes, tears fell. tears fell.

rain began to cascade down onto the empty streets rain began to cascade down onto the empty streets and clouds suddenly surrounded the sky, and clouds suddenly surrounded the sky, covering the stars from those who peaked out of their windows covering the stars from those who peaked out their windows and gazed above. and gazed above the moon did not hold her tears the moon did not hold her tears. she let them freefall. she let them freefall she howled with the wind, she howled with the wind, her breaths ragged. her breaths ragged. she knew that behind some of those curtains she knew that behind of those others cried with her. others cried with her. she was not alone. she was not alone.

…

…

the moon met the sea, the moon met the sea, bidding it farewell bidding it farewell.

…

the curtains opened the curtains opened. there was movement in the streets. there was movement in the streets the sun rose, the sun rose, a bright smile on her face. a bright smile on her face. she gazed downwards she gazed downwards and saw tiny faces gazing back. and saw tiny faces gazing back. her smile matching theirs. her smile matching theirs.