Surf's Up

by Dean (Year 9)

The forces pull me in and I can't get away
from the barrel that is calling me
The morning sun is rising and I can't help but go
for the barrel that is calling me
I grab my board and paddle in the icy water searching
for the barrel that is calling me
I duck dive under one last wave and sit out at the back
waiting waiting waiting
for the barrel that is calling me
As the sets roll through I see
the barrel that is calling me
I turn around and paddle right onto
the barrel that is calling me
I stand up and as I come clean off the bottom
I see the lip peel off and totally enclose me in
the barrel that was calling me

Day of Colour

by Stacey (Year 12)

Dark green, the colour that spreads over the whole field: luscious green that doesn't stop until the white fence. The ground then rises into overwhelming slopes which are scattered with plastic on weekdays and covered with thousands of anxious bodies on weekends. The crowd is huge, leaving space for standing room only. Thousands of thunderous voices echo around the ground; leaving not a moment in silence. As the fans jump and cheer the colour makes a wave of red and blue. Everyone who is anyone is there, loyally supporting the Newcastle Knights. The sun goes behind a cloud and the crowd is covered with shade, or is that a supporters' sign flying high overhead casting its shadow?

Out on that green grass you see sexy, sweaty bodies running, legs pumping muscles pulsating; each team determined to cross the line with the white leather ball to put their team in front. It is the most tense time in the game; six seconds to go. The blue and red army called the Novocastrians are chanting and my little hero passes the ball to the flying Albert and they ...SCORE! The win. It's the best.

Thousands of people jump and scream, nothing else can be heard. The boys on the field embrace; they are happy, ecstatic, just like me. Streamers fly high and the sky is painted in red and blue. What a day!

It's all there, in place, as if waiting for me. But I can't be fooled. Not this time. I have to stay alert and assertive at all times. I've wasted eight precious lives attempting this mission and I'm not going to give up. It's not about food or hunger anymore. It's about glory, about victory and that stupid twirping bird.

Sly as a fox I slip, silently through the neighbour's rotted fence and hope to cat heaven that my tail doesn't scrape or catch hold of the loose hanging paling. This time I'm lucky, I narrowly scrape through. Objective 1 out of 5 met. I tiptoe across the backyard, tasting the scent of my predator - the one they call 'Boxer'. He's twice the size of me and a mean breed of dog. To wake this animal would mean certain death. Terror fills my feline body as I remember the lives I have lost here once before. But, not this time. I have made it past old Boxer. Objective 2 met.

Using my padded paws, the key to silence of step, I prowl, scanning the back porch looking for my victim. There he is. The one who has caused me so much pain and torment. That stupid, blue-eyed budgerigar. Swiftly I move to the cage where the little devil is kept. I hate his happy chirping and whistling. I jump up to his cage. Or do I?

I am grabbed at the tail. Who is it? It's Boxer. He has my tail. Another life lost to Boxer. My 9th life. Is it my last?