College Crow, Semester 2, 2022

© Copyright 2022, Presbyterian Ladies’ College, Sydney.

Editors: Amy Feng and Grace Du (Year 11 Publications C0-Captains).

Assistant Editors: Jocelyn Arkapaw (Year 10), Anshita Baijal (Year 10), Noa Blum (Year 9), Lulu Catalano (Year 8), Alyssa Chang (Year 9), Nancy Chen (Year 8), Stephanie Chew (Year 9), Natasha Chuan (Year 10), Alison Fang (Year 10), Johanna Grogan (Year 7), Chloe He (Year 8), Isabelle Ho Shon (Year 10), Jasmine Huang (Year 8), Natalie Iacullo (Year 11), Amy Jia (Year 7), Sophia Kelleher (Year 8), Aileen Kim (Year 10), Chloe Kwok (Year 9), Quyen Nguyen (Year 7), Abigail Ong (Year 10), Sasha Prokhorov (Year 10), Chrysty Salla (Year 8), Elizabeth Song (Year 9), Katelyn Tsourdalakis (Year 7), Claire Van (Year 10), Anastasia Watson (Year 10), Rachel Yang (Year 9), Jacqueline Yu (Year 10).

Assistant Design/Layout: Anshita Baijal (Year 10), Priya Bhadri (Year 8), Lulu Catalano (Year 8), Nancy Chen (Year 8), Natasha Chuan (Year 10), Alison Fang (Year 10), Amy Feng (Year 11), Isabelle Ho Shon (Year 10), Jasmine Huang (Year 8), Natalie Iacullo (Year 11), Isabella Loo (Year 9), Abigail Ong (Year 10), Lola Pittams (Year 7), Sasha Prokhorov (Year 10), Elizabeth Song (Year 9).

Staff Coordinator: Ms Kathryn Munro.

College Crow Committee: Jocelyn Arkapaw (Year 10), Emma Badger (Year 7), Isabelle Badger (Year 10), Anshita Baijal (Year 10), Priyanka (Priya) Bhadri (Year 8), Noa Blum (Year 9), Molly Campbell (Year 8), Lumbini (Lulu) Catalano (Year 8), Olivia Chan (Year 10), Victoria Chan (Year 8), Alyssa Chang (Year 9), Nancy Chen (Year 8), Stephanie Chew (Year 9), Yilan Chow (Year 9), Natasha Chuan (Year 10), Emily Doust (Year 8), Grace Du (Year 11), Alison Fang (Year 10), Yuqing (Amy) Feng (Year 11), Jasmine Gifford (Year 9), Sophie Graham (Year 9), Johanna Grogan (Year 7), Chloe He (Year 8), Isabelle Ho Shon (Year 10), Aileen Huang (Year 9), Jasmine Huang (Year 8), Qirun (Amanda) Huang (Year 8), Xinran (Ruby) Huang (Year 9), Natalie Iacullo (Year 11), Xiaofan (Amy) Jia (Year 7), Emelie (M) Johansson (Year 10), Sophia Kelleher (Year 8), Aileen Kim (Year 10), Kate Kim (Year 10), Zoe Kopczyk (Year 10), Chloe Kwok (Year 9), Kristine Liu (Year 9), Isabella Loo (Year 9), Sophia Miller (Year 9), Anastasia Mouzos (Year 8), Do Quyen (Quyen) Nguyen (Year 7), Euna Oh (Year 9), Abigail Ong (Year 10), Freya Pidcock (Year 9), Lola Pittams (Year 7), Alexandra (Sasha) Prokhorov (Year 10), Anastasia Prokhorov (Year 10), Yolanda Qiao (Year 9), Alaina Ray (Year 8), Chiara Saad (Year 7), Chrysolite (Chrysty) Salla (Year 8), Reina Shi (Year 9), Jae Won (Elizabeth) Song (Year 9), Lily Summer (Year 7), Katelyn Tsourdalakis (Year 7), Claire Van (Year 10), Anna Wang (Year 10), Carolyn Wang (Year 10), Cindy Wang (Year 9), Anastasia Watson (Year 10), Ava Weir (Year 9), Paloma White (Year 10), Mimi Williams (Year 10), Iris Xu (Year 11), Jiayi (Emma) Yang (Year 11), Youtan (Rachel) Yang (Year 9), Emily Ye (Year 11), Tanika Young (Year 9), Jacqueline Yu (Year 10), Cathy Zeng (Year 9).

Front cover illustration: Yilan Chow (Year 9).

Back cover illustration: Jasmine Gifford (Year 9).

Stock images: Elements throughout magazine provided by Canva.

Illustration by Cindy Wang (Year 9).

From the Editors

It feels like only just recently that Grace and I became College Crow captains. That was a good few months ago, but I find that I’m still working on growing more accustomed to mass-sending allocation emails and the idea of leading Crow. Yet, at the same time, College Crow feels like an age-old home to me. It doesn’t quite feel right that almost five years ago I was experiencing for the first time the joy of having my words illustrated and designed; the exhilaration of seeing my name in a published magazine.

Time, you see, is a weird thing. It’s all-encompassing, yet we each experience it differently. It could be a cage that you’re trapped in; the strict, 24-hour limit of a day you can’t quite grasp in your hand. Or you could be the driver, swerving and changing directions at your will. Time is a daunting subject, but here at Crow, we aren’t afraid of daunting subjects. The Crow girls are fearless storytellers. In this edition, they have grappled with the concept of time: what it means to grow up, the consequences of immortality, the causality of past, present, and future. They have become time-travellers, dreamers; they have written about birth and death and everything else in between.

And finally, to Ms Munro, our anchor who grounds us in reality as we venture through the threads of time: thank you. Thank you for making this possible, year in, year out. Thank you for giving these girls a haven for their imagination. To Grace, enthusiastic and creative as you always are: thank you, too. I love leading Crow with you. And finally, to the Crow girls: never stop. Pick up your pen; string together words and shapes and hold them up for the world to see. You’ll do wonders with your mind; you always have.

Just never stop creating.

~ Amy ~

The act of creating is a beautiful and difficult thing. It can be arduous trying to place words to your emotions, but not getting the expression quite right - daunting to draw when you are not sure whether other people will understand what your artwork means to you.

Yet, we press on, don’t we? From haunting interpretations of death to sweet and quirky slices of life, this is what College Crow members have to say about the elusive concept of “time”.

Yet it just wouldn’t be the same without Ms Munro. I do not think that it is easy to see how much work she does without being on the inside of things, as we are now. Thank you to Ms Munro’s careful, seamless organisation and the effort and care she places into every edition. This magazine, and many before it, would not exist if not for her.

And I am also very, very grateful to Amy, my co-captain. She is everything that I could have asked for as a partner, on top of being a wonderful leader. I couldn’t imagine doing this without her. Thank you to everyone in Crow for your hard work. Your ideas are incredible and stimulating, and the quality of contributions put forward by every student is exceptional. I hope, for every one of you, that you are proud of what you have accomplished and that College Crow this semester has continued to be a space that makes creation a little less daunting. I hope that you continue to be excited about expressing parts of your mind you haven’t touched yet. That is all that I can ask for.

~ Grace ~

i n passing

i.

timeisthemotherofmymother.whichistosay: thereisanumbilicalcordtheshapeofanoosethatwindsme tightaroundherlikeaspring.iholdthepastinmyhands, thefutureinmyfootstepsbutcanneverlive, inthewayyoudo;amnotmortal,inthewayyouare inthisworldofours, thereisnosummerbecausespringneverends becauseikeepwalking.

ii. ihavewalkedaworldtwometreswideandsixteenyearsdeep. ihavecheateddeath;sisyphuswouldhavelaughed greatmindsthinkalikeandfoolsliveforever. butwheniwishedforimmortality,ididnotmeanmisery. ididnotmeanboulderstheshapeofmillsgrindingthefutureintoacanvas youpaintyourdreamson.ididnotmeanmouldingaface youspendyourdayswishingwouldchange

iii. itellstoriesofhowsisyphusdied:peopleforgot, astheyalwaysdo themouthcarriesonethingatatime, andwhenthemindforgets,themouthtoo,empties. oneday,hisnamewascarriedawaybythewind totheplacewherelostnamesgo. noonesearchedforhimandmemorieseroded,astheyalwaysdo. it’sastoryitellmyself,mostly hopingicouldwakeuponeday inthatplaceofloss andcradlethepartofmyselfthattimestole icanonlyhopeforadaywhereyouwillseeacircleandnoface, andnotsearchforme,too.

iv. whenyouaskedformoretime,idrewahome. whichistosay:idrewmymotherwithouttakingmypen offthepage whichistosay:timeisnotafourletterword butidonotknowhowmanylettersthereare. myfootstepsechowiththesoundofeachletter, liketheheavythudofatypewritersingingthetuneofanelegy. exceptthiselegyisalsoaprologue, andtheprologueanepilogue

Childhood Memories…

No one asks why the onion cries, or why the tomato blushes Why the celery stalks fall and weep, mourning over their crushed garlic counterparts

Except her 15 minutes later “Dinner is ready!”

A steaming bowl of soup placed in front of each child

Eager faces and hollow tummies. A beat. “Mummy, why did you kill the vegetables?”

The youngest, prone to nightmares, stared blankly at her mother. How cruel it seemed to smash the cloves! How cruel it seemed to peel the onion, layer after layer after layer…

No. She would not drink her vegetable soup.

Same child, 15 years aged The cafe had the vibe of a trendy greenhouse, aromatic chai lattes wafting about the place

The stench of meaty grilled fats from across the street hit her like a repugnant burger to the face Oil and salt blistering against her ears She wrinkled her nose

How people could be anything but vegetarian was beyond her

A Moment in Time

Time is a thief in the night, It creeps up on you like a shadow. Time makes the world spin, Even when you're standing still.

Time is a heartless monster, leaving us empty and alone. The ticking of a clock The beating of a heart.

Time is the feeling of sand slipping through our hands. All this time spent chasing regrets all the heartache, all the pain

all the happy moments that fade all the love that turns to dust.

Sweeping through the dark, A burden or a gift.

Time is an enemy But sometimes, in the darkness of night Time is your companion, Your guide through the dark.

How Time Flies

This week has been dragging on forever It feels like Friday but it’s only Wednesday.

Or, alternatively, you don’t even remember what you had for breakfast this morning That is me every single day

My mind is blank. When I think about the past two years, everything seems like a blur and I can't remember anything. This experience is universally shared. Our brains and time have a unique relationship Neuroscientist David Eagleman believes that, while we often perceive time to be longer than it actually is, it isn’t due to the perception of what happened, but rather the memories of what occurred. Our minds use memories to determine how much time has passed. So, time slows down not only when we are sad or waiting for something to happen, but whenever we learn or experience something new This is because our brain records every little bit of information available during these circumstances and so much new data makes it feel like more time has passed than actually occurred.

Similarly, other research suggests that as we grow older, time seems to speed up because it is a smaller portion of our lives. As kids, our holidays seemed to last forever, yet now, we would give anything for them to last those few weeks longer. While you could argue that this occurs because we are busier, older and sleep-deprived, if the holidays take up a smaller portion of our overall lives, then they will pass faster because we have lived more. This is the first school of thought that exists on the matter of the passage of time.

And if we think all the way back to the beginning of the universe, time didn’t exist before (or did it????). Now, as the universe is expanding, people claim that time is speeding up and it is a scientific fact. This is the second school of thought. On 19th July 2020, the actual day on Earth was recorded to be 1.4602 milliseconds shorter than a full 24 hours Since then, this record has consistently been broken with us spinning faster and faster.

So, whichever perspective you believe, no, you’re not imagining that time is speeding up, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not scary

With time speeding up, it may feel like we have less time to do the things we want to or need to And as someone who never has time on my hands, that is a very worrying prospect. But, do not fear, there is a solution. Try new things. Studies have found that when we experience new things, our brains take in new information that slows time down, or, at least our perception of time This can make you feel like everything is going by very slowly because your brain thinks everything is new.

So now, after reading this, you have officially time travelled two minutes into the future Who ever said time travel wasn’t real?

Across Time and Space

It had started with the construction of a new deep space telescope The Robert Adams telescope was its name. Designed to peer deep into the outer reaches of space, it would show parts of the universe never seen before. It shone 12 billion light years into the vast expanse of space. And then, something completely unexpected happened Another civilisation shone back

The entire world was in uproar. More images were taken of the planet. More footage, more recordings, to get a sense of what this alien civilisation that had been discovered was like. Whether it was less or more advanced than ours. Whether it was our past or future.

Eventually, scientists from NASA managed to develop a radio that could detect signals from that distant civilisation. It picked up just one message from the planet, an undecipherable frequency that looped every two and a half minutes The radio signals travelled faster than the images caught in the telescope, and were much younger.

How remarkable, the world said, how extraordinary, how intelligent, they said, for a civilisation to have developed radio signals that could travel so much faster than the telescope images. This was the ideal world. This planet, their existence, was our future. It was everything that we could become, would become

As soon as the radio signals were discovered, linguists, translators, and code breakers from around the world clamoured to be the first ones to decipher the message Sure, discovering images of an alien civilisation was one thing, but to be the one who managed to decipher the sole message from what was not just a foreign country, but a foreign planet? Whatever expert managed to do that would find their names written in the history books until the end of time. However, the language the message was written in was from an entirely different planet. We had no texts to compare it with. It bore no relation to any of Earth's languages. Finding this sole message's meaning was no easy task.

Of course, progress was made towards deciphering the message, but very slowly, and in the form of eliminating some possible meanings, determining the tone of a word, small things like that. Very rarely the meaning of a word, and definitely not of an entire phrase As time went on, and the message still remained unsolved, people began to focus on their day, or their studies, instead of the radio signal. The progress on deciphering the message moved from a trickle to a few occasional drops But, progress was still being made Then, one fateful day, a sole linguist finished the translations of the signal, and it was nothing like what we expected.

The message was a distress signal, a warning. Our planet is no longer inhabitable, our governments and our people have burnt our civilisation from the inside out, it had said. This is not a message to save us who still remain, it had said, but a command to leave our planet and all we represented far behind you. The world was in shock. But they were so advanced, people cried. We have the images of their planet, we can see that this civilisation that had supposedly burnt itself out is thriving, they shouted But the images were just that, images of a time before the distress signal, before what had been described in the message. This planet, that had been heralded as the ideal world, as what we could and would become, was now nothing more than a burnt out husk. Was this what the Earth was to become, in time? If the Earth was already on its way to following this planet's path, then was its present also guaranteed to become our future?

she guides my hand

Continues over page.

AP zzleinTime

You are born – you cry, You are rejoiced you leap, You are nurtured you giggle, You know nothing – that is okay.

Your laugh rings like a bell, You gaze at the stars, Ceilings covered with a child’s dream, A dream now long gone.

Can you count to a hundred? Maybe more you are told you should, Life is still bliss and ignorance, Play with friends but time doesn’t play.

Your soulmate your timetable, Your bestfriend – Shakespeare? 24 hours is too short

But time doesn’t care it goes its way.

Are you doing your dream job? Let’s hope so – otherwise, cheer up. You married? You have kids? If not, just wait for time.

Your tears are no longer streaming – frozen, You are a tortoise not a hare, At times you are lost that’s natural, Time is swirling – a signal of an end.

Time won’t wait for you, Maybe you’re waiting for time.

Life is a puzzle. You have solved that puzzle.

TheGrandfatherClock TheGrandfatherClock

Writtenby

Jia(Year7).

Jia(Year7).Writtenby

TickTock,TickTock... TickTock,TickTock...

Timeisoftheessence.Orsoeveryonehassaid.Buttimecanalsodriveyouinsane. Timeisoftheessence.Orsoeveryonehassaid.Buttimecanalsodriveyouinsane. Slowly,slowly,minutebyminute,secondbysecond. Slowly,slowly,minutebyminute,secondbysecond.

“Don'tberidiculous.Youcan'tbeafraidofsomethingyoucan'tsee!" “Don'tberidiculous.Youcan'tbeafraidofsomethingyoucan'tsee!" Alone,withsomethingyoucouldn'tevensee,hauntingyourdreams,followingyourevery Alone,withsomethingyoucouldn'tevensee,hauntingyourdreams,followingyourevery sstep.Theedgesofherlipsliftedassheletoutadrylaugh.“Ha…Perfect.Justperfect." tep.Theedgesofherlipsliftedassheletoutadrylaugh.“Ha…Perfect.Justperfect." Emptymechanical-soundingclicksandticksrangthroughthehallway,downintothe Emptymechanical-soundingclicksandticksrangthroughthehallway,downintothe kitchen.Sheleanedwithherelbowsslowlyontothetableandclosedhereyes,rubbingher kitchen.Sheleanedwithherelbowsslowlyontothetableandclosedhereyes,rubbingher temples.Whydidthingshavetobethisway? temples.Whydidthingshavetobethisway?

Asifoncue,sheheardahauntingwhirringnoise.Itstartedslowly,slowly. Asifoncue,sheheardahauntingwhirringnoise.Itstartedslowly,slowly.

Allofasudden,thewhirringwasreplacedbysong.Itremindedherofchurchbellsandmusic Allofasudden,thewhirringwasreplacedbysong.Itremindedherofchurchbellsandmusic bboxes,sweetyethaunting.Anightmarecoatedinsugar.Butitwouldend. oxes,sweetyethaunting.Anightmarecoatedinsugar.Butitwouldend. IItalwaysdid. talwaysdid.

Ugh,thatclockagain.Shecouldn'thelpbutsighasthesoundoftheclock'schimesfilled Ugh,thatclockagain.Shecouldn'thelpbutsighasthesoundoftheclock'schimesfilled thehouse.“One…two…three…”Shehatedthatclock,shecouldn’tdenyit.“Four…five… thehouse.“One…two…three…”Shehatedthatclock,shecouldn’tdenyit.“Four…five… ssix…”Butahabitstayedahabit.Anditwasn’treallytheclockshewasafraidof.Right? ix…”Butahabitstayedahabit.Anditwasn’treallytheclockshewasafraidof.Right?

Whenevertheclockstruckthehour,shecounted.“Eight…nine…Ninealready?! Whenevertheclockstruckthehour,shecounted.“Eight…nine…Ninealready?! Timetogettobed.” Timetogettobed.”

IIfitwasn’ttheclock,whatwasshescaredof?Sheheavedherselfupfromthetableand fitwasn’ttheclock,whatwasshescaredof?Sheheavedherselfupfromthetableand draggedherselfupthestairsastheclockreturnedtoitsusualticking,nothingoutof draggedherselfupthestairsastheclockreturnedtoitsusualticking,nothingoutof pplace.Calm,slow,likeithaddonefordecades,andwillfordecadestocome. lace.Calm,slow,likeithaddonefordecades,andwillfordecadestocome. Thewallbesidethestairswascoveredinphotosofherfamilymembers;allofthemweredead Thewallbesidethestairswascoveredinphotosofherfamilymembers;allofthemweredead now.Shegavethemaslightglance.Notabitmoreofherattention.Halfwayupthestairs, now.Shegavethemaslightglance.Notabitmoreofherattention.Halfwayupthestairs, sshestoppedatoneparticularphoto,herfingershoveredoverthefragile,dustyframe. hestoppedatoneparticularphoto,herfingershoveredoverthefragile,dustyframe. Theimagewasofamiddle-agedwomanstandingproudlybesideatall,mahoganyclock. Theimagewasofamiddle-agedwomanstandingproudlybesideatall,mahoganyclock.

Shesighed.Hergrandmotherhadbeensoproudofthatclock,andhergrandfatherhad Shesighed.Hergrandmotherhadbeensoproudofthatclock,andhergrandfatherhad llovedit.Andwhenhe’ddied,hergrandmotherhadspentallhertimeonthatclock. ovedit.Andwhenhe’ddied,hergrandmotherhadspentallhertimeonthatclock. Cleaning,fixing,polishing,windingit.Sherevolvedaroundthatclock,andslowly,itseemed Cleaning,fixing,polishing,windingit.Sherevolvedaroundthatclock,andslowly,itseemed aasthoughshebegantodriftaway. sthoughshebegantodriftaway.

“Toomuchtimespentonthatclock,andnotenoughtimecaringforherself,” “Toomuchtimespentonthatclock,andnotenoughtimecaringforherself,” hermotherhadsaid. hermotherhadsaid.

IIndeed,hergrandmotherwasgonenow,andshecould’vegottenridofthatclock.Butshe ndeed,hergrandmotherwasgonenow,andshecould’vegottenridofthatclock.Butshe didn’t.Hergrandmotherlovedit,andshe’dlovedhergrandmother.“I’llbearitforyou, didn’t.Hergrandmotherlovedit,andshe’dlovedhergrandmother.“I’llbearitforyou, grandma.”Shebrushedherfingertipsoverthephotoframe,thencontinuedupthestairs. grandma.”Shebrushedherfingertipsoverthephotoframe,thencontinuedupthestairs.

“Howcouldyoubeafraidofsomethingyoucan’tsee?”Ifeltanunexplainabledizzinessand “Howcouldyoubeafraidofsomethingyoucan’tsee?”Ifeltanunexplainabledizzinessand aanextremeheavinessinmylimbs.Mymindfeltlikeitwascloudingover,andmyvisionkept nextremeheavinessinmylimbs.Mymindfeltlikeitwascloudingover,andmyvisionkept sspinning.Whattimeisit?WhyamIinsomuchpain? pinning.Whattimeisit?WhyamIinsomuchpain?

Eventhoughitwastemptingtolieinbedandscreamforhelp,IknewIhadtodo Eventhoughitwastemptingtolieinbedandscreamforhelp,IknewIhadtodo ssomething.Afterall,whowastheretohelpme?Ilivedalone,inahuge,quiethouse. omething.Afterall,whowastheretohelpme?Ilivedalone,inahuge,quiethouse. IIcouldfeelmybodygrowingnumbasIgaspedforair.IfIdidn’tgetoutoftheroom couldfeelmybodygrowingnumbasIgaspedforair.IfIdidn’tgetoutoftheroom iintime,Iwouldsuffocate,andnoonewouldknow. ntime,Iwouldsuffocate,andnoonewouldknow.

Leftwithnochoice,Igatheredallmyremainingstrengthandpushedmyselfoutofbed, Leftwithnochoice,Igatheredallmyremainingstrengthandpushedmyselfoutofbed, aanddownthecorridor.Myfingerstingledoutoffearandmykneesshookweakly.AsI nddownthecorridor.Myfingerstingledoutoffearandmykneesshookweakly.AsI sstumbledinthedark,afamiliarsoundfilledmyhead-theonlythingIcouldhearclearly, tumbledinthedark,afamiliarsoundfilledmyhead-theonlythingIcouldhearclearly, throughthethrobbingpainsinmyhead. throughthethrobbingpainsinmyhead.

Please,pleasedon’tletthatbewhatIthinkitis…Amechanicalwhirringfilledmymind, Please,pleasedon’tletthatbewhatIthinkitis…Amechanicalwhirringfilledmymind, ffollowedbyaloud,clearchime.“One…”Asharpringingfilledmyhead.Wasthissound ollowedbyaloud,clearchime.“One…”Asharpringingfilledmyhead.Wasthissound evenreal?“Two…three…"Orwasitjustinmyhead?“Five…six…seven…"Ituggedatmy evenreal?“Two…three…"Orwasitjustinmyhead?“Five…six…seven…"Ituggedatmy hair,outofdesperation.Ihadtogetout. hair,outofdesperation.Ihadtogetout.

IImadeforthestairs,myeyesonthetall,rectangularshapeattheend.Myvisionwas madeforthestairs,myeyesonthetall,rectangularshapeattheend.Myvisionwas sspinning.Itfeltasthoughmysoulwasleavingmybody.“Eight…nine…"Mythroatfelt pinning.Itfeltasthoughmysoulwasleavingmybody.“Eight…nine…"Mythroatfelt unusuallydry.“Ten…"Ibarelywhisperedit,asonlyonethoughtpulsedthroughmyhead. unusuallydry.“Ten…"Ibarelywhisperedit,asonlyonethoughtpulsedthroughmyhead. Getout… Getout… Youmustgetout! Youmustgetout! Maybethiswouldn’thavehappenedifI’dthrownawaytheclock.AsIthumpeddownpast Maybethiswouldn’thavehappenedifI’dthrownawaytheclock.AsIthumpeddownpast thephotos,strangeshapesfilledmyvision-onesthatshouldn'thavebeenthere. thephotos,strangeshapesfilledmyvision-onesthatshouldn'thavebeenthere. “Eleven…"Iwasfilledwithfear.Whatshould'vebeenjustanumberwasalmosttoomuch “Eleven…"Iwasfilledwithfear.Whatshould'vebeenjustanumberwasalmosttoomuch tosay.Inearedtheendofthestairs,flatgroundbarelyinview.Iwasterrified.Terrified. tosay.Inearedtheendofthestairs,flatgroundbarelyinview.Iwasterrified.Terrified. Becauseofwhatwastocome.AsIopenedmymouth,Icouldfeelmyfootslipping,mylegs Becauseofwhatwastocome.AsIopenedmymouth,Icouldfeelmyfootslipping,mylegs llikejellyinthesummersun.Onebell.Onesinglebell.Shortandsharp. ikejellyinthesummersun.Onebell.Onesinglebell.Shortandsharp.

a hAPPIER pLACE

The circle of life chimes, breaking the deafening silence. The roman numerals mock me for staring, but I’m frozen, heavy with emptiness. The pendulum seems bothered by my monotony, but it's in no position to judge, gravity’s mere personal slave swinging back and forth.

A new sound emerges from the chimes, ensnaring me.

With one blink, my world of white morphs into colour and the sound grows.

Smiling faces with rainbow tongues, little legs with wide eyes race down slides, and dart between trees. Tip!

An eruption of cheers.

Each laugh makes my smile wider, but the feeling slips through my fingers, fading as quickly as it came.

The familiar chimes bring me back to my world of white, but something’s different.

A golden ray creeps through the crack in the door, its warmth making the colours brighter, my chest lighter, the chimes more melodious. And this feeling, it lingers.

When Lies Die

Written by Alaina Ray (Year 8), illustration (page 25) by Amanda Huang (Year 8).

“Do you remember?” Orion sat on the end of the bed, looking down at his sister lying upside down. “Do you remember that day? At all?” Seeing Nova, who had taken care of their siblings since she was fourteen, lie numbly in bed day after day without any sign of recovery broke him. He gave her a light nudge.

“Bien sûr que oui!” Nova’s voice was sarcastic. “I remember thinking it was so hot I could literally melt and die on the spot.”

Letting out a sigh, Orion prompted his sister once more, “You’re exaggerating, Nova. Think again.”

Nova sat up. “It was a bright sunny day. The birds were chirping so loudly that they distracted me from the laundry. It was so beautiful that I couldn’t look away. The birds were still there the next day, and the next day… and the next…”

Again, Orion was disappointed in his sister’s answer. Why couldn’t she just let him help her? Was it really that difficult?

“Nova, be serious here. There was smoke, remember?” His voice was strained as he looked into Nova’s eyes without gaining a response. Finally, she looked back at him. He still looked exactly the same. He was right there in front of her eyes.

“Fine. Yes, there was smoke… because you burnt lunch like usual. I tried to warn you, but you ignored me like you always do. At least you didn’t cook the next day, phew.” Nova missed her brother’s cooking so much, though she would never admit it, knowing he would become too full of himself.

Nova’s brother shook his head as he muttered prayers under his breath. “Do you remember what happened the next day then?”

“You were there the next day, I remember,” Nova recalled. “You tried to bake a strawberry cheesecake for my birthday, but we ended up just getting some red velvet from the store.”

They both knew she was lying.

With a softer tone, he prompted his sister once more, “What happened on the 28th of April?” Orion understood what his sister was going through. He wished he was there in real life to help her out.

“The sun was shining very brightly. Our house was surrounded by huge trees and bushes and dried leaves.” Nova spoke slowly. She barely noticed the light from the window passing right through Orion.

“Where were Rhea and Nysa?”

“Playing in the shed and the backyard since early morning… and you were planning on having a family barbecue on the back porch. I was doing the laundry for the girls.”

Orion felt proud of his sister; she was getting… somewhere. “Correct. Then, what happened? We were cooling off in the kitchen, grabbing some drinks for the summer heat. I had a Pepsi, and you had-”

“Coca-Cola.” Nova interrupted him, the memory clear in her mind. “We always fought about which one was better,” she continued, “Clearly, Coca-Cola is superior.”

Orion grimaced at her words. “The twins, what were they playing?”

“Hide and seek,” Nova responded in a heartbeat. “They were legends, always taking me well over an hour to find at least one of them.”

“Perhaps later in the day, what did they find in the shed?”

“The things they stole from a shop when they were five.”

“Yes, firecrackers. Do you remember what they did with them?” Nova stayed silent.

“Nova, they lit the firecrackers and threw them on the ground. Rhea and Nysa threw the firecrackers into the mound of dried spring leaves. What happened after?”

“Orion, it wasn’t their fault. You know that!” Nova insisted, her voice raising slightly. She would do anything to defend her sisters, but even so…

“Wasn’t it? Nova, they lit our backyard on fire in the middle of the day under the burning sun! Nova, by the time we realised what they were doing, our house was surrounded by fire in a damn circle. Rhea and Nysa didn’t even try to warn us!”

Continues over page.

from page 23.

Nova glared at him. How could he describe their siblings like that? Orion didn’t falter. He didn’t soften his stare. It wasn’t the first time Nova felt pain like this, but it was the first time Orion had seen it. Gaining no response, Orion continued.

“I hate it when you make excuses for them. Every time they broke a vase, almost killed the fish, pulled your precious plants from the dirt, you always defended them!”

“They’re our sisters!”

“And look at what they did to me!”

“Nothing would have happened to you if you had just listened to me!”

Despite knowing how wrong her words were, Nova couldn’t stop the words from spilling out like bile; she couldn’t choke them down. Her words cut him deeper than a knife and burned his heart more than the fire.

“You had just gotten accepted into Princeton! You could have done something with your life. You had dreams! All I wanted was to see you grow up...”

“I just wanted to see you grow up too.”

Time seemed to slow down as he smiled; sorrowful yet proud. Hot tears cascaded down Nova’s reddened cheeks. She couldn’t bring herself to unleash the anger she felt towards her brother despite him still standing in front of her. Millions of questions rushed through her head: why did he save their sisters? Why did he run back in?

Why was he the one that died?

The ticks of the clock seemed to slow and falter, each second dragging on for what felt like days. Nova reached up to wrap her arms around her brother, never wanting to let him go. Ever so gradually, Orion lifted his own arms to hug her back - but he never got the chance to feel his sister again.

Nova lifted her head only to realise her brother had vanished. Only the ghost of his tears was left trailing down her arms.

“It should have been me.”

Danse Macabre

High upon twisted balconies are the few who waltz decorously, like golden statues, senses numbed by their dignity, withdrawn from life’s hardships: what happens to others beneath them as they sway in stubborn ignorance.

Below, in an earthy pulsing ballare, people are moving artlessly, bodies and spirits together, in a harmony of laughters. Then a nocturne for a common fate, no longer dancing in difference, a song in solidarity, rhythmless,

the Danse Macabre.

Ticktock, Ticktock, Theregoestheclock. Timeslippingthroughmyfingers, Entrappingmeinitshourglass. Grainsfallingontomyhead; Suppressing, Depressing, Suffocating, Drowning. Timeisrunningout.

Timegoesandgoesandneverstops, Timewaitsfornone. Itiseasytonotnoticeitgoby, Pickupyourphoneandtimedisappears, Itgoestoofast “Timeflieswhenyou’rehavingfun.” Beforeyouknowit, It’sgone.

Timeslowstoacrawl, Leavingmetomyintrusivethoughts. Wordsblurringbeforemyeyes, Theurgetomaketimefly; Tolookatmyphone, Andignoretheweightof Themillionsofthingsmytimeshouldbededicatedto.

Thewishtocontroltime Hasbeenaroundsincethebeginningoftime Tostopit, Speeditup, Slowitdown, Reverseit, Goforwardthroughit…

Buttimeislimited, Precious, Runningout. Weallhavemorethanwhatsomeoneelsemayhave, Morethanwhatwerealisewepossess. Andbythetimewedo, Itistoolate. Toolatetorecognisethat: Timeisthemostvaluablethingofall.

*Iwrotethiswhileprocrastinatingstudyingformyscienceexam.

College Crow's Librarians-in-Residence

Book Recommendations Corner

This is How You Lose the Time War | Authors: Amal

SF ELM | Reviewed by Olivia: 4.8/5

This is a really awesome novella, it’s actually super short (198 pages), and a really quick read. The book is very science fiction y, a bit speculative fiction, but is also told through letters between these two rivals of warring organisations called ‘the Agency’ and ‘Garden’ ‘The Agency’ has a very futuristic technology theme and ‘Garden’ gives whimsical fantasy vibes. I love that you aren’t reading chunks of text the entire time; the epistles are a refreshing break up of the story The letters begin with bragging but lead to curiosity and the two characters share unexpected similarities between their unlikely pairing. It’s the perfect balance between sci fi and the enemy to lovers trope. It perfectly captures emotion and the gradual development of love, and, please, no, it is not cringy (ok, maybe a bit, but it was only one line) The time travel aspect is a wonderfully unique take on the time travel genre that delves into history and myth as the two characters leave messages hidden amongst different historical events and different timelines/dimensions The writing is just so phenomenal and I was definitely confused during parts, trying to figure out where they were and whatever they were talking about. I read a quote from somewhere that described the writing as “poetry disguised as genre fiction ” That is exactly what I thought while reading it!! I thank the authors.

The Dry | Author: Jane Harper Library code: F HAR | Reviewed by Jocelyn: 4.8/5

I had wanted to read this book for a while, and I am happy to say that I loved it! The Dry is quite famous, and has won a few awards, but I thought it would be fun to review anyway. The book is a murder mystery set in a country town in Australia experiencing a drought. A farmer named Luke is thought to have killed his family, and himself, but nobody can think of why The main character is a guy named Aaron Falk, who grew up in the town, but left suddenly (and you find out more of the story behind this as the book progresses, which I found engaging). The Dry had me hooked the whole way through, the parallel past and current mysteries add variety I also found it was beautifully written, the details are unique and vivid, but not to the point that the excessive detail becomes boring or frustrating when you just want to find out more If you like murder mysteries, I strongly recommend this book!

Greetings.

Welcome to the Book Recommendations Corner, brought to you by a newly formed trio of Year 10s. Feel free to check out any of the books listed below. This semester’ s magazine has the theme of Time, so we have a book about time travel and three books with a race-against-time theme. These books are all available in the school library - enjoy!

- Jocelyn, Olivia and Ella

The Call | Author: Peadar

Library code: F OGU | Reviewed by Jocelyn: 4/5

I really enjoyed this book, but it was slightly terrifying. This book is about a dystopian world where, similar to the Hunger Games, teens get put into a scary alternate dimension and have to survive However, it’s not just a few of them that have to All of them have to survive something known as ‘The Call’ at one point in their adolescence. During The Call, the character wakes up in the alternate dimension and has to survive a day running from the twisted and dangerous creatures in it Even if they do make it back alive, most are so traumatised they can’t return to normal life.

I loved this book because of the sense of anticipation throughout. The main character has a disability that makes it difficult for her to run (i e survive the creatures of the other world), and so as a reader you are rooting for her. Yet, you are also aware that her time could come at any moment. I also loved the vivid descriptions of the creatures and other world, and the snippets into other characters’ lives and their ‘Calls’.

All Your Twisted Secrets | Author: Diana Urban Library code: F URB | Reviewed by Ella: 2.9/5

Six teenagers get invited to a scholarship dinner but when they get there, they find a bomb and a syringe full of poison. They are faced with a deadly choice: kill someone with the syringe or wait for the bomb to go off in exactly one hour and kill them all There’s no way out, the doors are locked and the mastermind behind it all is watching them through a camera, waiting for them to make their choice. I really liked this idea and I found the structure of the book to be quite interesting as each chapter switches between what’s happening at the scholarship dinner and what has happened at their school over the last year that could have made somebody want to target them HOWEVER, that being said, I didn’t really like any of the characters There were very few, if any, characters that surprised me in any way, most of them were just really stereotypical archetypes. And none of the characters really seemed in anyway relatable, for instance the main character, Amber Prescott, is a music nerd, so obviously she exclusively listens to movie scores and is able to compose a score for the entire play of Romeo and Juliet (which, I just checked, is two hours long) in just over a year by herself AND then in a couple months change it into a beautiful and moving musical Beyond the characters, the ending also felt like a bit of a let down for me So, overall I thought it was a really good idea but perhaps not the best execution. I feel like I’ve just been really mean to this book so if you feel like you disagree with any of this, let me know, I’d be interested in hearing your thoughts

The Daily Bull

Year 7

Year 7s, if you’re completely done with high school, don’t worry! You only have five more years of mental torment to suffer through.

Because of your large lockers, for Year 7 school Camp you will be sleeping in them. Get comfy!

In the event that you are blocking the hallways, the rest of the students will have no choice but to grab their surfboards and ride the waves over the mass of Year 7s to get to their classes.

Please stop carrying around school bags that are double your size. Your backs are crying for help. You don’t need all those books.

To the Year 7s who are secretly carrying around your phones during school hours: We see you. You’re not as subtle as you think.

Year 8

You’re nearly old enough to be... Oh wait, no, wrong year group. You’re still way too young. Stop putting food in the Year 9 lockers and making TikToks in the hallways. We will hunt you down.

Since you never got to use FamilyZone, we are now using your year group to trial PLSee: the app that can see all your phone’s private data, messages and photos. Get excited!

How does it feel saying goodbye to the lockers that are literally as tall as you are?

Remember that History of PLC Sydney Research Task you had to do? Yeah, well now you have to present it to the prospective parents via a three hour Zoom conference.

Year 9

You’re nearly old enough to be a kilt! But we won’t treat you like one.

Any Year 9 caught complaining about, well anything, will be left in the middle of nowhere at Duke of Ed.

You're already 14-15, grow up!

Any Year 9s not doing Duke of Ed have too much time on their hands and will be required to learn three new languages, Competitive Knitting, and participate in the PLC Sydney Kite Building Competition. The best design will be proclaimed the PLC Sydney Kite, which will be distributed school-wide to every student and staff. It will be compulsory to carry it around to class.

Year 10

Your kilt shouldn’t be getting shorter. The school will be conducting a kilt length check and if more than 50% of Year 10 fails the school will add a new feature: tassels!

There will be a year group-wide competition for the most irrelevant and random object used to keep the locker doors closed. The winner will be granted a brand new lock because clearly you are all in need of one.

The girl who had the most expensive formal dress is required to donate it to the school. It will be framed and its memory immortalised.

Year 11

You. Don’t. Have. To. Do. The. HSC. Yet. BREATHE.

Ready to enter the final and most torturous year of school? No? Well, we’re sorry to say, you have no choice in this matter.

Students who have run out of space on their blazers for all their pockets are NOT able to begin listing pockets on the other side. They will instead be sewn into the kilts.

Students will have to submit a log and evidence at the end of every free period to make sure they have been productive.

Year 11 students will receive a special heavily weighted pen that they will be required to use when studying, to get into training for their Year 12 exams.

Year 12

Year 12s caught making fun of Year 7s will be booted back to the start of Year 7 and will end up graduating six years later than their friends. Be kind ladies.

Clogging the coffee machine incurs a penalty of five ATAR points.

Any Year 12 caught making fun of Year 7s will be made to repeat Year 7 until they make TikTok worthy of a pocket.

The HSC is scrapped. ATARs shall be determined using an intensely-competitive Games Night based on knowledge of PLC Sydney trivia. What’s the school motto again? (Despite popular assumption, it’s not ‘Young ladies of integrity and purpose’.)

You’re almost done! Yayyyy!

Staff

The school-wide struggle with Vivi is real. A competition will be held. The teacher with the most proficient use of Vivi will get special privileges for their commendable achievement.

Staff will conduct their lessons with chalk and blackboards.

Any teacher who keeps their students in for more than a minute past the bell time must go see Mrs Chiba. No excuses.

Due to demands for justice from our tormented students, we’re initiating an official daily uniform check. Staff will not be able to wear makeup or jewellery of any sort, or they will receive a lunchtime detention session where they will be required to write out page 9 of the Handbook.

All classrooms, regardless of the teacher, must now be equipped with a minimum of 20 tissue boxes. Any staff failing to do so will be required to come to school wearing empty tissue boxes on their feet.

General

Due to train cancellations, all students taking public transport must ride on the top of the PLC Sydney buses to get home.

Sky Path will now be referred to as the Burgis Bridge. Construction is estimated to be completed by 3045. Hang in there ladies!

All classes in the Croydon or AKT will have a three minute early mark so they have time to walk around the construction site.

Due to frequent sightings of students with their phones out when they shouldn’t be, from now on anybody who is caught using their phone during school hours will be forced to sing ‘Let It Go’, in full Elsa ensemble, and in front of their whole class. We suggest to those TikTokers out there to buy your blonde dye and begin taking singing classes.

WARNING!EXTREME SADNESS!

MONSIEURCLOCK

There once was a clock, Who had a loud tick tock, DING DONGITTY DONG DING. People crying from Monsieur Clock Time was ticking like a bomb.

Soon his friends left him, All feeling very grim, People running from Monsieur Clock Time was ticking like a bomb.

And as his ticks grew louder, The whole world seemed to get sound People going deaf from Monsieur Cloc Time was ticking like a bomb.

“We need to stop this!” The world screamed. “So we can live in Bliss!” o they schemed and schemed and schemed...

Boil him and burn him alive!” “Sink him and drown him!” “Stick him in a beehive!" ime was ticking like a bomb.

And time really was ticking like a bomb, The ticking from Monsieur was actually a bomb! All the girls cried because they couldn't go to prom, So they chucked Monsieur into a swamp, In hope of survival...

But the swamp didn't do anything, So poor Monsieur exploded, They held a short burying, But no one was devoted.

His hands went to Mars, His face to Saturn, His batteries in the stars, They made a wonderful pattern.

But back down on Earth, There was a rebirth, La bebe clock was there, Only a matter of time…

*Your butter should not actually become green when melted If it does, please get a refund

**We recommend the Cadbury™ sort

***This should be measured before the actual baking has commenced.

Ingredients

2 chairspoons butter, melted until appears green* 36/12 counterspoons bronze ish brown sugar

3 loungespoons milk chocolate

6/12 hotchocolatespoon** vanilla

6 cupboardspoons flour 8/64 coffeespoon salt 3/24 hotchocolatespoon baking powder

1 sinkspoon white chocolate chips

The amount you can eat during an hour*** worth amount of BLUE m&m's must be blue Ice cream and chocolate sauce for topping ((Not)optional)

RECIPE

1 2 3. 4

Position a mug* on the counter (not the counterspoon, just a normal counter) and lightly place the butter inside the mug Melt the butter in the microwave (unless you don’t own one, if so, this recipe is not for you)

Chuck in the brown sugar (preferably with a dog ball thrower). Very slowly (like at 0 24 speed) pour the milk into the mug with the vanilla. Mix until the sugar is dissolved

5 Pour in a third of the flour (slightly faster than the milk but still slowly), the salt and the baking powder and then stir until well mixed

6 Add the blue m&m’s (because we want to be that blue eyed blondie that Taylor Swift is jealous of)

7. Microwave for 1 minute and 23.6 seconds or until golden brown.

8 Top with ice cream and chocolate sauce and enjoy or else

*A PLC Sydney mug (consequences may apply to those who disobey this step)

Patches of Memory

Broken, mended, yet still the same, Sewn and stitched with love

With thread that cannot bind a grieving heart.

You return to that place where things were lighter. Colour stolen by many years of sun

She stares vacantly back at you, As you look at the memory in the eye once more And leave her there to rest.

The Things You Still Love

In a whirlwind everything rushes past And no matter how hard you grasp it, It starts to crumble away. You snatch at the fragments, Try to fumble them back together But you don’t remember how they fit.

Left holding a broken mess Of the things you still love.

Left wondering why you’re still holding it, Why you need to keep holding it, When everyone else moved on.

the girl sat on her chair in front of the mirror. her porcelain face a perfect mask on her skin. but as time passed the mask cracked. over the years the girl picked at the mask, hoping a new one would show underneath. she searched for an answer, a solution to her problem, she grabbed ointments, lotions, paints of every colour. and covered the mask. during the day she laughed joyfully, but at night she wept. her mask was still cracked. her face was impure. she cried as her face shrivelled further, decaying like a fruit. decades later she stared at herself in the mirror, her shrivelled reflection staring back. it smiled. a big and beautiful smile. she smiled back. time had changed her face, the porcelain mask no longer there. but her mind remained the same, a bright light within her.

THE STRANDS OF TIME

I am continuous. I was there from the beginning, and I will be there at the end I will still be there after the end. I wait for no one. I am on the move all the time. I am time.

Ironic, isn’t it? That time has a beginning, yet there is no end. I am unlimited and endless. One could say that I am without bound; the very definition of infinity itself.

But there is a secret that I would like to share with you A secret that I have carried from the beginning of time. The very question of time is whether I am something more than linear. The p word is whispered in hushed tones; is time parallel?

The answer is not so simple. I am one, but I am many; like a stave in Western music notation

A stave represents one or more instruments; one or more clefs It is limited only by the composer’s imagination. One stave for one time. Multiple staves for multiple times. Yes, you heard that right. Times in the plural; not the singular Each interacting with the other, but not crossing each other. But there are exceptions; there are some who have crossed the boundaries of time. Travelled through the parallel timelines. This is a story of one who did so.

It’s 1685 in Eisenach, Germany. The height of the baroque period Baroque, a word derived from the Portuguese word “barroco”, a pearl that is irregularly shaped. I gazed benevolently at a little baby boy just born His name was Beck This was no mere baby boy, I can tell you, his greatness was yet to come, and I was determined to make this happen

Fast forward 20 years The baby boy was now a young man; a superlatively skilled musician on the harpsichord and organ. However, there was something lacking in his education To nurture his prodigious talent, his parents only allowed him to listen to German folk compositions, and forbade him from listening to other music

Beck trudged along through his life, brilliantly playing German folk compositions but never truly reaching his full potential. Shuffling to dinner one wintry night, he noticed a shimmer in the air; a bit like a fold in space. He had chanced upon a corridor in time that I had opened, like a note in the bass clef, which was Beck’s timeline, that transcended middle C, thus reaching into the treble clef, another timeline

Dashing through the bend without a second thought, Beck stepped through time, or should I say, stepped into a different timeline, only to emerge at the same location and in the same time. “Beck! Beck! Over here.”

He turned his head. A man was waving him over.

Walking cautiously, he asked, “I’m so sorry, what is your name?”

“Herr Beck! Are you mental? It's Buxte!”

Beck smiled nervously “Hurry up! It’s nearly time.”

Walking rapidly, the two men arrived at a magnificent concert hall Buxte smiled and waved Beck through the stage entrance.

On entry, a chorus of voices greeted Beck, “Good evening, Maestro!”

Beck grabbed Buxte’s arm anxiously “What’s happening?” he asked. Buxte smiled, “It’s the premiere of your Prelude and Fugue in G Minor. Have you forgotten? You’re acting really strange today.”

Someone thrust the beautifully handwritten score into his hands. Beck glanced at the score, bewildered and full of wonderment. The amazing sounds of the piece reverberated in his mind Who was the genius that composed this? And there it was, right on the first page. The name of the composer, “J Beck, 1705”

“I wrote this?” Beck wondered aloud. Frantically he scanned through the piece, with each page, his mind expanded exponentially with musical ideas, concepts and beautiful sounds. He looked up. It was as if a light bulb had come on in his mind. This was no simple German folk music. This was genius.

As the bell tolled to signal the start of the performance, Beck turned around and caught the faint shimmer in the air that I had created. He creased his brow and stared this time, I made the shimmer move to him.

“No! I need to conduct the premiere of my work!” Beck thought. He turned to run away, but the shimmer enveloped him.

Beck closed his eyes. When he re opened them, he was in an empty concert hall. It was dark and a stern looking guard was staring at him, “What are you doing here, Herr Beck?”

Beck shook his head and walked out, his genius now awakened. Rushing home, he sat at his desk, quill at the ready and four candles lighting up his desk. Beck closed his eyes and heard the beautiful music in his head

I watched him lower his quill and begin composing furiously; page after page of beautiful music

In his own time, Beck completed the Prelude in G major, the Prelude in A Minor and a Fantasia in C major, and three Sonatas in A minor, C major and A minor.

The rest, as they say, is history. Beck became one of the world’s most celebrated composers from the Baroque period in his time

Your Regular Neighbourhood

Immortal

Being

Written by Kristine Liu (Year 9), illustration by Cathy Zeng (Year 9).

1509 47

AnneBoleynandCatherineHoward'sbeheading,very amusing,althoughHenryhimselfabitmuch.Nottoobad. 4stars 1537 53 Notmuchhappened,althoughEddywasayoungupstart. Whowould’vethoughtbeinganine year oldkinghaving poweroveranythingandeverythinghumanlypossiblewould givehimjustaslightego?

2stars 1516 1558

BloodyMary'sreign,Igotto umm let’ssayputtosleep somanypeople,veryyyfun

5stars Afterthisnothingveryentertaininghappened,solet'sfast forwardto 1700’s Angelica,ElizaandPeggy,metthem,feelfreetobejealous. Oh,andyaknow Americagainedindependence,nobodyreallycares 5stars

Icreatedeverything:living,non living,past,present,future.Iamnothingandeverything. Icarrythehopes,dreams,despairandgriefofeverything Andso,Idecidedtotakeabreak Creatingtheworldwastiring,runningtheworld,don’tevengetmestarted SoItookashortnap,entrustingmycreationtomyfollowers,andboydidIhavefunwhenIwokeup. FirstthingIdidwhenIwokeupwasgobacktosleep FastforwardanothercenturyortwoandIwokeupagain…andwenttosleepagain Irepeatedthisafewmoretimes WhenIfinallywokeup(likeactuallywoke,wokeup),thingshaddrasticallychanged Now,sinceIwastheall powerfulbeing, ittookashortfewnanosecondstoreceivealltheinformationneededforaproductivestayherein England?Interesting SinceIcan’trevealthethingsIdid,asyouwouldquicklyfiguremeout,I’llgiveafewhighlightsofmytimehere. 1845 Igotkidnapped.Now,thismayhavebeenmyfault,butstill theirfault Andboy,theyweresorude,ImeanIeven chippedanail!Me,theALLPOWERFULIMMORTAL BEING,waskidnapped!Anyways,it’sfairtosaythey didn’tmakeithometotheir belovedsthatnight 1star 1900s 2000s Now,Imaynotcaremuchabouthumancivilisation,but this,THISwasarevolution Theageofmusic,so breathtakinglyincredible Iwasstartingtobelieveall ofyouweretrash.Thankgoodnesstherewassomething lefttobesalvaged 5stars 2020 The*!#*#!pandemic…ruinedallmyfun Everyonewasjust insideoronline,soooboring.Don’tgetmestartedonhow harddoinganexamonZoomwas,jeez HowonearthwasI supposedtobealadyofintegrityandpurposeifIwas online,unabletoshowmyglory? 1sta ohwait I’vesaidtoomuch Oops,guessI’llhavetostayquietforabit YourImmortalbeing, signingoff

Seasons

Summer

Gleaming summer buds open and shine, Their slender stems stretch

Away from bright green bundles of leaves, And meet over the stream’s sandy edge.

Bronze bodies line the beach shore, Toddlers’ faces speckled with sand, Turquoise waters that relieve sunburn. Why would you ever return to land?

Autumn

The leaves crunch underfoot, The breeze bringing them down, Into a sea of red and orange. Nature’s flame is now ablaze, Woodland browns, rich reds And lavish golds Undermine the greens.

Young children jumping Into piles of golden leaves, Steaming cups of hot cocoa Nestled in warm, gloved hands, The sweet aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin, Waft into the air.

Autumn blazing in its full glory.

Winter

The withering sun fails to warm, Thin threads of rays fall on permafrost, Wise sages of conifer trees; Children dream of sugar coated leaves; Mother Earth lays in her icy sleep.

People huddle together, Wrapped in mufflers and beanies and winter coats. Church bells peal to the songs of Christmas, Beckoning the people to church. Sweet sugar cookies and shepherd’s pie to gloat; Families gather in their homes, An abode from the insufferable cold.

Spring

Tulips, bluebells, cherry blossoms, And daffodils Bloom in the pleasant spring sun, Bluebirds, robins, cardinals, And chickadees Chirp in unison, A welcome zephyr of air, Laced with the sweet smell of nectar, Beckons the people out.

A chital deer fawn prancing in the meadows Of green grass and spring blooms; Lying down on a bed of soft grass, Staring up at the sky as the white cotton clouds float by, Eating lavender honey pie outside. The warm rays of sunlight gently caress.

The beauty of spring blooms out.