Essay on Animal Liberation

Hi everyone, was looking through some pieces from last year and I thought I’d share an essay I was fortunate enough to win the MHS Rai Gaita Philosophy Prize with- it’s on the topic of animal liberation. Feel free to leave feedback and/or rebuttals!

Essay on Animal Liberation

inspired by the work of Peter Singer

The principle of animal liberation is defined as the freeing of animals from the exploitation of humans and seeks to address the perceived value of animals in relation to that of humans. Since the first humans in history, which dates to two hundred thousand years ago, animals have remained the most primary source of food for humankind. This fact remains true to date, and it is time that the moral degradation that exists between humans and animals is recognized and acted upon, and by instigating change on an individual level, the global community has much to benefit from. Animals are, of course, biologically incapable of speaking up for themselves, and humankind’s consumption of them is an unpunishable exploitation of their moral worth, which is not any lesser than that of humans’. Further, the environment on which humans reside is at risk of destruction as a result of our consumption of meat, and by not doing so, not only do we make the correct decision on an ethical level, but we also increase the sustainability of our planet, which we consciously destroy when engaging in the consumption of animal products. Ultimately, it is humankind’s greed and desire for short-term gratification and universal dismissal of the value of animals that prevents us from liberating them; nevertheless, we have a moral obligation to aspire to affect impactful change and therefore liberate animals of their gross mistreatment.

In the last two hundred thousand years of human existence, societies have been built, people have learnt how to meaningfully communicate with each other, their purpose has extended from simply needing to meet their biological needs and technology has improved their lifespan. Yet, despite this progression which separates humans from any other species, one fact remains consistent over these millennia; that humans have relied on animals as a source of food. At first, this was reasonable- this was the sole source of nutrition and we learnt to become hunter-gatherers. However, we have now reached a point in time where meat is not an essential part of one’s diet, and we succumb to the temptation of prioritizing the few seconds of bliss that consuming these products provides to our taste buds over the sanctity of non-human life simply because it is more convenient to do so. It is inherently wrong to consume animal products because although they are biologically incapable of expressing it, animals are not morally worth any less than humans, and hence, to engage in their consumption is to support a form of murder. Peter Singer, author of Animal Liberation, describes this as our obligation to ‘speak up for those who cannot speak up for themselves’. However, as humans, we would rather choose to believe that animal life is not meaningful because it satisfies us materially and there is no consequence to doing so. Further, it has become tradition between generations to not question the immorality of consuming animals as we would rather choose to ignore the problem rather than respond to it. We possess a moral imperative as well as a pragmatic means of not consuming meat and yet meeting our own biological needs. It is irrelevant whether an animal is brought up as being fed healthily, having the ability to roam around or living to the extent of its lifespan compared to if it doesn’t have any room to sleep and is crowded with thousands of its kind- ultimately, the result is the same; these animals die at our hands and we choose to ignorantly believe that if their lifestyle was healthy, we have no reason to feel guilty. In fact, convincing ourselves of this is a coping mechanism for the guilt we may feel. However, despite the various differences between humans and non-humans, regardless of the condition they are brought up in, when in suffering, animals show the same emotional stress as humans. Hence, to kill and consume them from a moral perspective is in no way justifiable. Humankind has achieved much since the beginning of its existence, and in the words of Singer, ‘the notion that human life is sacred just because it is human life is medieval’, and therefore, as time moves forward, so must we.

In the case where the above argument is invalid, it can be said that it is still in humankind’s best interests to undergo animal liberation because the lifespan of the planet that both humans and non-humans live on is dangerously reduced every time we consume a meat product. The average Briton consumes approximately eleven thousand animals in their lifetime, and each time they do so, they threaten our capacity to survive and thrive on Earth. For example, a 2015 report showed that 18% of the world’s  carbon emissions came from the rearing and preparation of the consumption of animals, and this amount was more than the carbon emissions from every form of transport put together. This dilemma represents a contradiction in humankind’s interests- is it better to preserve the sustainability of the planet or continue to consume animal products at its expense? It is unfortunate that the term ‘better’ in this context generally does not refer to which option is more ethical, but rather, which is more pragmatic and convenient. As can be imagined, it is easier for humans to dismiss the future of a planet they won’t be living on in eighty years than to act on the belief that it is imperative to secure a safe environment for future generations. Singer puts this decision as humankind’s ‘gambling with the future of our planet- for the sake of hamburgers’. It is imperative that we not only realize that the future of the planet is at stake as a result of our consumption of meat, but that we act upon it by pursuing animal liberation. Of course, this is not to say that there won’t be any threat to Earth if we all stopped eating meat, but we must strive to attain the attainable, and this can only be achieved in small steps, starting on an individual level.

Many consumers of animal products agree with the above points and are able to realize that our consumption of meat is inherently wrong from a moral perspective, and yet despite their own admission, continue to eat meat. This poses the practical problem of actually converting to a diet without animal products; on the one hand, there are animal-consumers who choose to reject these moral arguments for the sake of their own material satisfaction, and on the other, there are animal-consumers who agree with these points yet continue to eat meat. In this case, practical action through the spreading of awareness is vital if the pursuit of animal liberation is to be successful. We must learn to educate theoretically, but also practically, by practicing what we preach. The time is long overdue for us to, as a species, uphold the same value to the right to life for human as for animals- and most importantly, we must learn that we cannot always pursue our own interests simply because they benefit us; rather, we must act in pursuit of the best outcome for the most amount of people, and the pursuit of animal liberation is one element of this broader concept. Finally, in the words of Singer, “if possessing a higher degree of intelligence does not entitle one human to use another for his or her own ends, how can it entitle humans to exploit non-humans?”

Hi everyone, was looking through some documents from last year, where I undertook a Literature class and wanted to share a piece. This is a creative critique of Julian Barnes’ Parenthesis in A History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters followed by a written commentary. Feel free to leave any feedback and I hope you enjoy!


 ‘I trusted you to enshrine the wonders of the world to these students for a reason, and you’ve betrayed that trust. You’ve betrayed me.’

These are the words from my boss that refuse to leave my throbbing head as I push a heavy door with a rusty padlock open. The padlock isn’t really locked, but Beatrice the bar owner would rather brood over her ex-boyfriend who dumped her six months ago than serve customers. I’m one of those few customers she doesn’t mind. The bar is dimly lit and has one other occupant sitting in its corner. It’s too dark for me to be able to make out his face but he emits the scent of concrete and dons baggy clothes that were probably from an older brother. Beatrice hands me a whiskey. As I sit down on a stool I conclude that he must be working on the construction site across the road- the one that’s supposed to be a school. I scold myself mentally for automatically making this conclusion- it’s what I preach, or rather, preached my students not to do. That was before I got fired.


It’s so easy to make judgements about a person when you look at them. The first impression we garner of others lets us form a slot in our brain so that we can place them- if everything is not categorized, we humans do not know what to make of it; compartmentalization and assumption gives us peace because we are able to reach into our little schemata and pull out the information we have whenever we need it. When the situation presents itself and we don’t know something, we compartmentalize it anyway and keep on repeating it to ourselves until our mind convinces our brain that is it fact, even when it isn’t- especially when it isn’t. But why are we humans like this? Why not accept truth for what it is?  It is because we fear the unknown. The unknown is why we are scared of talking to new people, it is why we stick to what we know and refuse to hear, say, a woodworm’s perspective on the story of Noah- we’d rather believe in the beauty that God created than the prejudice and discriminatory selection that could have just as easily taken place on the Ark. We pretend that we are happy doing whatever it is we are doing, when, in actual fact, we are merely safe. Being safe from and fearing the unknown is a very polite definition of ignorance. If safety wore a cloak so no-one could see its face and carried a dagger so no-one could feel its pain, it would be called ignorance. The repetition of lie after lie has created a false world- a censored setting where being realistic is treated as being pessimistic. This fake world is probably the reason I’m in this bar now, watching Beatrice softly sob behind the counter as she reads a text from a ‘Brett’, and perhaps it is why I am reminiscing upon the untold meaninglessness of life whilst watching the English cricket team argue with the umpire on the TV.


I am a mess. My shirt is torn from the fight I’d had with my boss today- prestigious universities don’t seem to appreciate reality; I’d been fired for speaking the truth to my students; for telling them that the world is not really a nice place and just because we put out heads down whenever shit goes on, it doesn’t mean the shit stops. I upset the pretty little image in their heads that life was always going to be okay in the end and burst their little bubble of an imagined utopia.


Beatrice gave me another whiskey and I played with it for five minutes before deciding that I would drink it. Truth be told, I was always going to drink it, I was just testing my temptation. The idea of truth is especially intriguing because there’s really no such thing as truth. If truth was true, it would be presented by an unbiased and omnipresent being- perhaps, you would think, a God. Any other person speaking the ‘truth’ isn’t really doing so, because, in speaking, they have their own subconscious biases that limits the accuracy of what they are saying, which thereby renders it untrue. It cannot be possible for a single person to be able to administer a truth- even if 99.99% of something is true, that still means 100% of it is untrue. Take, for example, a classic philosophical question; when a tree falls in the middle of an empty forest with no-one in earshot, does the tree make a sound? On the one hand, one group tends to believe that yes, the tree did make a sound when it fell; for, how could it possibly not? But that very fact that there was no-one there to hear that sound means that even if the tree did make a sound, we cannot possibly say that it did because we weren’t there. The fact that we don’t actually know and didn’t hear the sound ourselves means that it was just as possible that the tree didn’t make a sound as it did make a sound. Even if there is one person who is within earshot of the tree falling and tells us that it makes a sound, how can we possibly know that it did? One person has just reaffirmed our original belief that trees make sounds when they fall, and the assumption that this is true is irrational, but because it reinforces what we know, we choose to believe it anyway. And because, down here on Earth, there is no God or any other form of superbeing that can administer objective truth, nothing can ever really be true. When I’ve been using the word ‘truth’ so far, it only refers to the best truth that I know, not the whole truth. So what is the point in striving for truth? It is an unfeasible goal; a candle in the wind- there is no point striving for the unobtainable if it is, indeed, unobtainable. We will go mad trying to do so, and when we are millimetres away from obtaining it, perhaps we will realize that we don’t actually want it because it will challenge every single thing we know and that’s too difficult for our little human brains to cope with. Instead of engaging ourselves in the pursuit of the impossible, we should rather strive for small, miniature goals that we can accomplish, and in so doing, experience some pleasure. We should grow up, get married, find a job for forty years, retire, eat our favorite meal for our last one and die in peace. Yes, we will ignore the truth- but we’ve ignored truth since the start of time; ignorance is better than hopeless yearning for it.


Well, surely it is. Maybe I’m slowly giving up on it.


I drink my whiskey, content in my solitude. As I brood over my firing, my problems and my life, I feel a piercing headache add to the list of my misfortunes. Its pain is more than just annoying- it’s a small, miniscule crevice in the darkest part of my mind that just keeps on throbbing and it won’t let go.  It is the part that they will find in my autopsy and it will jump onto the doctor who’s doing it and it will slowly suck its way into their life just the way it did on mine. My brain refuses to stop spewing thoughts from the past and the future; the good old days with friends and family and fun is all I long for and I had carried myself through the years with the faint hope at the back of my mind that one day I would regain them- that I still can regain them.


But can I?


Or have I just convinced myself that I can?


Beatrice hands me another whiskey. The man in the corner of the bar clears his throat. A truck honks its horn in the distance. I look forward to being able to drink my sorrows away.


I think about love. I think about the love I’ve felt, the love I’ve received and the love I wish I could feel. I was now fifty-three, and I’d had four non-meaningful relationships. Each of them was filled with something, perhaps it was love, perhaps it was merely pleasure. I don’t actually know what love is; my students tell me that they ‘fall in love’- as if there’s some quantifiable way of expressing love. But how could we possibly know when we are in love? What if I’m lying in bed with a partner who tells me she’s in love with me and I’m in love with her- I feel in love with her; but she may sleep with someone else next week. That’s not love, is it? That’s just sexual pleasure. But I thought it was love when it was happening. See what I mean? We don’t know anything about truth- one day it’s one thing, the next day it’s the opposite. ‘She will love you like a fly will never love you’- Massive Attack’s ‘Paradise Circus’ shows us the extent to which the love we feel is valid. Our love is like a fly’s love- or perhaps, like a mosquito’s love. They crave our constant attention whilst not actually loving us. This is like love in a relationship- it is only ever for pleasure, to appease the mind and the body for just a few moments- so it can occupy us while we let shit go on around us- mosquito’s love.


Another whiskey meanders its way down my throat. It relaxes me. It numbs my brain and makes me feel okay. Whilst I make a living out of critiquing humankind, I am human myself and fall into the same traps as everyone else- I’m just not as blind when I do.


We shouldn’t chase love because no matter where we run, we will encounter mosquito’s love along the way- and we love mosquito’s love; you could say, we mosquito love mosquito’s love- and it drives us away from the thin walls of sanity. It contorts truth and bends reality and will make us go insane. We should enjoy mosquito’s love- it feels good- but we should know that this isn’t really what we are searching for; this isn’t the way our lives should be lived.


But how should they be lived?


If there is no such thing as objective truth and love is pointless, then what is the point of being here?


Well, don’t ask me, I’m just a nihilist professor of philosophy who’s just been fired.


And I’m so fucking drunk.


What do I know?

Written Commentary

The Parenthesis piece that has been written is a creative critique of Barnes’ half-chapter with the same name, and primarily examines two concepts that recur throughout the novel; the nature of truth and love.


In this piece, the motifs of biblical stories, including an allusion to chapter one of the novel is included- and in order to illuminate Barnes’ continued use of historical examples to illustrate his points, this piece draws upon a song (Massive Attack’s Paradise Circus) in order to ensure credibility to the work.


The language of this piece attempts to replicate that of Barnes’, drawing upon his use of a character who’s mental state is altered- Barnes’ is in love, this piece’s is drunk. In addition, the use of declarative assertions is also made, with multiple sentences starting with ‘we must…’ in both pieces in order to emphasize a particular idea.  The use of questions is also prevalent, such as ‘The history of the world?’ (Barnes) and ‘But can I?’ (this piece), and these are included to challenge the content of the piece and to engage the reader in their own thoughts.


To deliver his views on truth and love, Barnes sets a concrete scene by having the reader picture himself sleeping next to a partner- an equivalent of this is included in this piece by the character, who has just been fired from their job as a professor of philosophy as a university for preaching a nihilistic rhetoric has been developed; and they find themselves in a barren bar.


Over the course of the night, the character broods over their firing, simultaneously offering their views on whether or not objective truth is attainable and the meaning of love. In direct response to Barnes’ view of fabulation of history, a point of agreement between the two pieces is that in the modern world, fabulation dominates storytelling; seen when Barnes says ‘we value one liar’s version as much as another’s’, and in my piece, where I say ‘it cannot be possible for a single person to be able to administer a truth’. The primary point of contradiction arises in the response to the subjectivity in which we behold the world- where Barnes argues that ‘we must believe that 43 percent objective truth is better than 41 percent objective truth’, and that we must strive to attain the best possible version of events, this piece says that ‘even if 99.99% of something is true, that still means 100% of it is untrue’, and that striving to obtain what cannot be reached is pointless. To demonstrate this point, a typical philosophical metaphor is applied through the ‘tree analogy’, which is a more abstract idea when compared to Barnes’ typical methodology of measuring some material quantitatively, such as the ox’s heart. This piece also argues that the root of fabulation is fear of the unknown, and if we strive to obtain objectivity, we will reject it because it fails to conform to the vision of life that we picture in our heads. Instead, we must pursue short-term goals that increase our level of instantaneous pleasure, and that hypothetical concepts such as truth and love are merely pretty images we like to paint inside our heads- our striving for them is futile because ultimately, they do not exist- we only imagine that they do because we want them to. The same reasoning applies to love, whilst Barnes acknowledges that ‘it [love] will go wrong…but we must strive for it’, this piece critiques that love cannot possibly be defined by those who think they experience it.


Ultimately, this piece is best able to illuminate the original text through the nature of its storytelling on two abstract concepts whilst simultaneously giving the reader a visual sense of the scene and what to picture. Whilst it is ultimately agreed upon that fabulation and love must be examined for their legitimacy, Barnes argued that they must still be strived for, whereas this piece rejects the notion of optimism but also fails to provide an adequate solution to life’s meaning, which is a nihilistic perspective.



Kaladin Stormblessed


*this my own little ‘chapter’ I’ve been working on and it is meant to fit in to a much larger series called the Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson. If you guys haven’t read his books I suggest you go check him out, he is by far my favorite fantasy writer.

Things you may need to know:

  • Kaladin was a soldier who won a Shardblade in a war; he was betrayed by his captain who took the sword for himself and sold Kaladin into slavery
  • Now he works as King Elhokar Kholin’s guard after he and his slave crew saved the king’s life
  • Sylphrena ‘Syl’ is a small fairy called ‘spren’ that he has bonded with, giving him the powers of changing the direction of gravity and therefore allowing him to fly
  • Syl, doesn’t know much about humans as she comes from a different world,
  • Syl, can also transform into objects at Kaladin’s will
  • Kaladin’s powers are also run on stormlight, an unexplainable light which is found in the currency the people use
  • He is able to change the direction of gravity for him, other objects and – with enough concentration – other people
  • Shardblades are near-unbreakable swords that are very rare and only royalty or high-ranking soldiers are thought to be worthy of one
  • The prejudice in this world is that of eye colour: lighteyes are more superior and darkeyes are inferior
  • Kaladin is a darkeyes but was well respected because he was trained to be a surgeon by his father before a war


Kaladin soared. The wind whipping against his face, body shooting towards shash, the blazing first sun of Roshar. His king’s guard uniform flapped about wanting to rip away from his body. He felt stormlight coursing through his body as if he was using it for the first time. The Shattered Plains looked dry and torrid, a storm must have passed a while ago. But Kaladin didn’t care, he was flying again. Finally.

“Your happy,” Syl said. The spren taking the form of a pretty girl barely the size of his finger. Her silvery hair and simple dress flowed uncannily, and she kept up with Kaladin with ease. No. No he shouldn’t be happy. Kaladin focused on the task at hand. The thing that was tugging the corner of his lips had now disappeared. He must go to Jah Keved and open the gate to Alethkar.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“You were smiling. Isn’t that a sign of happiness?”

“It wasn’t a smile, just… an amusing thought.”

“Oh yes? And what might the boring, brooding Kaladin be thinking about?”

Kaladin sighed, “Syl, have I told you that you can be a little annoying sometimes?”

“I get that a lot.”

“How? The only person you’ve talked to is me.”

“I just heard it from somewhere.” She grinned at Kaladin, head held high, proud to have learnt another human phrase. Kaladin raised an eyebrow and looked at Syl, still rocketing through the air. Syl kept grinning and finally Kaladin cracked a smile.

“Very annoying indeed.”

They kept flying at an unnatural pace and it wasn’t before long that the huge, palace of Jah Keved came into view. Kaladin used up the last of his stormlight by lashing downwards to the ground just along the outskirts of the kingdom so no one would see him. The stormlight would be a problem though, he’d have to get it from somewhere.

He walked up to the main gate and the two guards keeping watch there noticed his Kholin’s army uniform. They also noticed the massive slave tattoo right in the middle of his forehead. Great.

“You think you can fool us, slave.” Said one of the guards. He was just a boy, couldn’t be older than sixteen. The other guard was a lot older but also quite portly and out of shape. Storms, one would think that Queen Fen would put proper guards on the lookout.

Kaladin sighed, “Look I know what this seems like but you’re wasting your ti- “the boy lashed out at Kaladin who barely managed to evade the blow. The boy was fast, but not well trained. Kaladin leaped backwards and glanced at Syl who instantly transformed into a shimmering, silver Shardblade.

“Uh, Syl…”

“Oh right.”

The Shardblade became a spear which Kaladin had more training with since he was a darkeye. Kaladin tried lashing at the big, hairy guard but remembered he was out of stormlight. The hard way it was.

He lunged out with a vicious jab at the older soldier who clumsily deflected the blow, stumbling in the process. Kaladin took the chance and landed the butt of his spear on the man’s forehead. He spun around and found the other guard. Was that fear in his eyes? It quickly vanished, and the guard came charging into Kaladin. Kaladin sidestepped and the two clashed weapons. “Listen, soldier, a war is brewing and doing what we’re doing now won’t help or change a thing. So stand down and let me be on my way, I’m under the command of Dalinar Kholin.”

“To Almighty above with that,” the boy growled, “There is no hope and there’s nothing you can do to stop the war, slave.” He went for another heavy attack and Kaladin could sense the boy’s center of balance shifting. He ducked down and swept his spear under the boy’s feet. The boy came crashing down on the ground and Kaladin jabbed at the boy’s stomach with the butt of his spear. The boy groaned.

“Stand down, soldier, final warning.” he said. The boy rolled over and began making his way back up. Kaladin sighed, hitting the boy in the back of the head; a non-fatal blow. The boy fell, unconscious.

Kaladin made his way through the gates of Jah Keved, heading for the palace. The boy did have spirit, he gave him that. Syl had turned back into the miniature shimmering lady she was before.

“Did you have to do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Kill those people.”

“I didn’t kill them, just knocked them unconscious.”

“Couldn’t you just talk to them perhaps?”

“I tried, Syl, but that boy wouldn’t stand down.”

“But still wasn’t there any other wa- “

“Syl, I didn’t want that to happen. I wasn’t the one who asked for it, okay?” he said, raising his voice. Kaladin sighed and they walked in silence for the rest of the way.



The palace was huge. There was just no other word for it. Kaladin looked away, remembering the task at hand. Talk to Fen, open the Oathgate. The guards all gave Kaladin an expressionless glance, and for some strange reason didn’t attack him. Odd.

Queen Fen stepped out of the palace, shiny black hair swishing side to side as with her every step. Her orange havah was beautifully embellished with designs of white and gold, her safehand neatly tucked away in her left sleeve. “Ah, soldier, Dalinar has told me to expect one of you. You’re quite young for a soldier, aren’t you? “

“Did you say that to the boy guarding your kingdom’s gates?” Kaladin replied keeping in a firm tone.

“Quite a tongue you’ve got there, soldier. Well, if that’s the case, I should just reject Brightlord Dalinar’s offer here and now.” The Queen began to turn around.

Kaladin was almost tempted to let her go, he already didn’t like the queen.  But, “Wait. I apologize for my rudeness, Brightness. Please, let us start this conversation again.”

“Very well.” The queen sighed.

“Brightness Fen, Dalinar Kholin is right. You must let us reach your kingdom.”

“And how can I trust that old man?”

“Brightness, you must believe him. He was chosen to be a Radiant, his spren is the Stormfather, a part of the Almighty himself, hi- “

“Yes, but how can I trust him? He has murdered countless people in war, hasn’t he? Is he not just as bad as the Voidbringers?”

Kaladin thought about the question that time. Storms, that woman was right. “Honestly, I don’t think you can, Your Brightness. But… but say you don’t trust him. Say you don’t let him in, Brightness. What then? Will you simply let the Voidbringers destroy Jah Keved? Are you really willing to watch your country perish, your people get slaughtered, nothing left but rubble and dust?”

Silence. The two looked at each other for a some time, tension brewing between them. Then the Queen smiled. “You really have a way with words, soldier. You would make a fine asset. Very fine indeed.”

What was that supposed to mea- . Kaladin felt hands tighten around his arms, holding him firmly. He tried to fight the guards off, jamming his elbow into one’s face and kicking a second in the stomach, but there were too many for one man to fend off. No stormlight. He eventually gave in. A guard approached him and punched him in the stomach, sucking the air out of him. His vision blurred, and his head and stomach throbbed with pain. He looked up at Fen, “Why?”

“I too have plans of my own… Captain Kaladin.”



Thanks to all the free time I had during the exams, I threw together the beginnings of a story. Feedback is appreciated! Not finished yet, but feel free to leave a comment or two.


The Arkangel was a large ship, made of hundreds of cubic kilometres of vulcanite forged in secret, a collaboration of several factions coming together to make a colossal behemoth to stand against the most powerful armada that had ever existed. With sweeping golden arches tethering it together, silver sheets of metal forming its hull, it was an era defining work of engineering as much as it was empire defying.

But it was no longer a battleship. The rebellion had evolved beyond that, taking in hordes of refugees, becoming a small civilization in itself, able to self-sustain itself almost indefinitely. Not that it needed to- it was able to trade on the black market, and had somewhat of a trade centre in itself, whenever the opportunity presented itself.

There were two centres of command which reflected these two aspects of the Archangel. Firstly, the military command centre, located close to the main military hangar which housed the various fleets, and secondly, the civilian command centre housed in the centre of the ship, just above the power core, amidst of the civilian centres. Anatoly sat in the military centre, in a meeting with the commanders of the rebel army.

“Commander Sarov, do you honestly think that we should endanger the lives of everyone on this ship for this ludicrous assault?” Minister Milorad, the representative of the civilian side of the rebellion, asked.

“I remind you, Minister, that this is a rebellion.” Sarov, the leader of the Rebel fleet answered. “Each day is another day tens of thousands of people are killed by this fascist regime. We need to act.”

“Quit the inspirational speeches, Alexi, you aren’t a politician,” The minister replied.

“Why do we have politicians on what used to be a military vessel?” Sarov replied. “Where did it go wrong?”
“Alexi.” Anatoly’s Captain/Mentor/Friend, Leighft, warned. “This was inevitable.”

“If we can’t do what is needed to be done, why do we have this ship at all?” Sarov exclaimed.

No one bothered to answer the question.

“Sarov is right.” Leighft spoke up. “We are unable to wage an effective war against Antarctica while protecting our citizens.”

“Don’t you have the fleet?” Milorad asked.

“The fleet needs a cruiser large enough to warp on it’s own to anywhere.” Sarov explained. “We can’t launch a proper surprise attack without the Archangel.”

“So you need a big ship. How big?” Milorad asked.

Sarov looked to Leighft, who looked to the ceiling in thought. “Kambiz.” He turned to the man sitting next to Anatoly. Kambiz was Anatoly’s brother. They hadn’t grown up together, but they were almost genetically identical, and luck had brought them together.

“Y-yes?” Kambiz stammered.

“How large of a ship have to be in order to utilize a Class A warp engine?” Leighft asked.

“Oh. Usually needs to be more than 5 kilometres long, at least a tenth of that at it’s widest.” Kambiz answered.

“What’s the largest ship you have?” Milorad asked.

“My ship is a kilometre and a half.” A guy standing behind Leighft piped up. “It’s the largest ship in the fleet. Class B warp engine.”

“And Class B means?” Milorad asked.

“Warp to a destination given that there is a warp gate there. From anywhere, but requires a bit of calculations beforehand.” Kambiz explained.

“A warp gate means that the operator can see someone coming through. It’s dangerous.” Leighft said. “But that’s off topic.” He paused. “I have an idea.”

Sarov raised his hand to his face and grabbed his nose, eyes closed in prayer.

“Antarctica has built a supercruiser to rival the Arkangel.” Leighft said. “The Pegasus. I’m sure you’ve all heard of it. It’s huge. Not as big as the Archangel, but it’s entirely focused on military power.”

“Dear god.” Sarov murmured.

“If we captured it, we could use it solely for military purposes.” Leighft proposed. “Solving our conflict of interest.”

“You’re joking, right?” The kilometre and a half ship guy said.

“I’m not. We have Kambiz, who served on the Pegasus recently and knows the ins and outs of the ship.” Leighft said. “It’s doable. And would make a big sign in the war. Excellent propaganda.”

“I like the idea.” Milorad said excitedly. “I love the idea. Good for the masses. Could inspire more rebellion.”

“This is a stupid idea, by the way.” Alexi said. “But if Archimedes Leighft thinks it could work… we may as well try and plan it.”

“Alright.” Milorad said. “Dismissed.”

Alexi sat down and stared at Milorad, who just stood where he was blankly.

“I said, dismissed.” Milorad said again, somewhat annoyed as only a few people had started leaving.

“This is the military centre, Minister.” Alexi said. “Leave.”

Milorad scowled, and paced haughtily out.

“Every minute I spend with an idiot politician the more I like this plan.” Alexi said.

“Like I said, we are in charge of protecting a large population. People have been born, people have died on this ship. It’s a city. So obviously someone needs to run it.” Leighft said.

“I am aware, thank you, Leighft.” Alexi replied.

“Kambiz.” Leighft turned around to look at Kambiz. “Is it doable?”

“Anything is doable.” Kambiz said. “The question is how much you are willing to commit.”

Alexi rolled his eyes. “Can you give us an overview of the Pegasus’s defenses?”

“If you were to capture the ship, first you would need to land in one of the hangars.” Kambiz explained. “The port or starboard hangar are the two main fleet hangars- both are essentially equivalent, except the port hangar was recently destroyed. Well, by recently, I mean a few months ago. I would imagine most of the crew there would be fairly new, so that would be a weak spot. To get there, you would have to get past hangar control, which shouldn’t be too hard, with the right credentials.”



Aleppo destruction

Done in a meeting. Our task was to watch drone footage of Aleppo and describe it in 2 ways; 1 paragraph with a neutral tone and 1 paragraph using emotive language.



Paragraph 1 – Neutral tone

There are no other words to describe Aleppo apart from a seemingly unfinished mess. Houses were missing large parts of their walls, as if, in the middle of construction, the builders abandoned it.Debris from slowly collapsing buildings lay strewn all over streets where people still walked and children still played. A view from the sky showed the dusty, cream-coloured mess of the roofs. Giant, gaping holes could be easily seen in the houses with roofs still left; many structures had no roof and instead had what appeared to be half finished rooms, with the walls gradually crumbling down to the streets below. Potholes infested the roads, where cars could be seen shaking as if there was an earthquake driving through them. Bricks had been thrown off of buildings and onto anything else, from the streets below to other buildings.

Paragraph 2 – Emotive language

My home is gone. Well, it isn’t entirely gone, part of the building remains standing (albeit looking like a tornado ripped through it) while the other part of the building has crumbled and fallen to the streets below. All my possessions are destroyed, lost or both in the debris that is left all around the pavement I stand on. Everything that marked my existence in this world has been taken from me. If I didn’t live here, I would think this place was abandoned; a city decimated by war that no one had returned to. I know better though, I know that people go through the city like ants in an anthill, from dirty, dusty streets to newly-made tunnels through buildings, hard to see but hard to ignore. There was a faint buzz somewhere far off of people talking, but I couldn’t tell where.


For those into legends, have fun finding all the symbolism in this fiction based on legends.

Firdavis Xireaili 10D


The sky split as the heavens roared, lightning crashed down upon the earth as the gentle ran accompanied it. The rain gathered upon the summit flowed down through the crevices and into the river whilst the divine rods of lightning set lone trees ablaze. In the middle of all the chaos stood a small hut, by no means large nor elegant, just an ordinary, mud brick hut covered by a straw roof no larger than a few square meters.

A table and two bumps on either side occupied the interior of the room. Two men sat on either side, both focusing their attention on the small board placed upon the wooden table. A torch dimly lit the room, just enough to allow both men to visualize the board.

One man was larger than the other, blonde hair with a beard and all covered from head to shoulder with a decorated set of iron armor which lustrously shone even under the foul sky. A long-sword laid on his thighs with its scabbard missing. Not a dent nor chip was present on the blade, making it seem as it if was newly forged, but the two knew all too well that it had shed more blood than any other blade.

The other man was slightly shorter and younger, donning a blood red cape and tunic with his helmet resting at his side, no weapon present on his figure. In one hand he held a small piece of carved wood with a round white head, playing with it as he concentrated on the board.

“Quite the predicament you’re in Arthur, perhaps your days are coming to an end.” He chuckled to himself with a smirk as he placed the wooden piece down onto the board with a thud.

“Check.” He called with confidence.

The man called Arthur gave no response as he moved the largest black piece on the board forward, surprising the other man.

“Really? The king? There was plenty to sacrifice there, was there not? Why choose the weak?” He let out a mocking laugh.

“Perhaps weak, but also the strongest.” Arthur let out with no change to his expression.

“Old age really is getting to you,” He ridiculed as he moved another piece forward without hesitation, “it is time you give up.”

Arthur only smiled.

“Mordred, what is hope?” He asked.

“Hope, you say? Hope is only for those too weak to achieve their goals themselves. They delude themselves into thinking that possibilities still exist whilst there are none. Wishful thinking will only ever be wishful thinking.” He answered after some thought.

The smile on Arthur’s face didn’t budge whilst he looked Mordred in the eyes, “Wrong.” He said with a sigh.

“Hmm? Then what do you say, oh former king?”

“Hope itself is a power, a power that drives us humans to achieve what we thought we could not, it gives us power to be who we want to be. Hope is for those with a vision, as those without goals cannot Hope for anything. If one has the courage to hope for something, then they possess the power and potential to claim it. Hope also comes with responsibility, as greater the fire, the greater the destruction if not controlled. If the torch of courage was to be extinguished, then the lamp of Hope would no longer burn.”

Mordred squinted his eyes and glared at Arthur, “What are you getting at?”.

“Hope is no delusion Mordred, it gives us strength you cannot even imagine.” Arthur moved his knight further onto the board before continuing, “The pawn, the weakest piece on the board, has the potential to become a menace rivaling the queen, do you know why that is, Mordred? It is because of Hope. Men fight whilst knowing its kill or be killed in this broken world because they believe that they will achieve glory and honor, to survive- they hope for these things, and with it they find strength within themselves to turn the delusions into reality. It is hope that drives this world forward, Mordred.”

“And what does this mean for me, Arthur?” Mordred asked.

The smile plastered on Arthur’s face slowly turned into a grin.

“No matter the situation one is in, there is always a way to turn it around… through hope.” He moved his king forward again whilst speaking.

Mordred gritted his teeth in impatience as he couldn’t understand what Arthur was attempting to do. The state of the board was completely in his favour, with him retaining most of his pieces whilst Arthur only had a single knight, a bishop, a queen and his king left.  In fact, Arthur’s king was only getting closer to his own king.

The game known as chaturanga (note this is the original version/name of chess) was only introduced in the region a few years ago, and few knew how to truly play. Even Mordred himself didn’t know what Arthur had up his sleeves. He decided to end it as fast as he could and moved his bishop to pressure Arthur’s few remaining pieces.

Arthur broke the silence once again after moving his King piece another block further.

“Do you know why the pawn can only become a queen, yet not a king? It is because no matter what they do, they will not break the shackles of a servant as long as they follow the rules, the norm.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Doesn’t it sound like you?”


Mordred was left speechless by the claim. His mouth agape but no words came out. As much as he wished to deny it, he couldn’t. Seeing this, Arthur continued.

“An unimportant pawn, slowly making his way up the hierarchy through effort… and the power of hope. By taking all opportunities presented to you, you have taken the throne and the seat of the king, but what now?”

Mordred didn’t utter a word.

“You have gained the most powerful, yet weak position. You have become the sole ruler who your servants look up to, yet you are now the most vulnerable. If you fall, so will everything you’ve achieved, do you understand?”.

“It doesn’t matter, the throne is mine and you only have a few feeble men at your disposal, you have lost Arthur.” Mordred moved his queen for the first time up the board and ‘ate’ the bishop. Almost immediately, Arthur moved his King forward again, leaving only a single space between the two kings.

“No matter how bleak the situation may look, I will continue. The position of King not only holds all the power, but also all the hope from his servants and those who believe in him. It is our duty to bear it, and never let the flames die. Those who ignore this will never be the king he wishes to be.”

Mordred moved to take down the final knight Arthur possessed, leaving only the unmoved queen piece and king with Arthur.

In fact, there was no feasible way for Arthur to turn the match around, but the light in his eyes did not die, but instead burned brighter as if conveying a message.

“Do you remember when I said that hope can make anything possible? For that, I will not abandon the hope of those who believe in, and I will carry both the strength and burden of their hope with me until my very last breath!”

With this, Arthur moved his king forward once more.

Now, the two kings stared at each other, both in position to ‘eat’ each other, and both vulnerable, but Mordred did not make the move – no, he couldn’t, he was in too much of a shock to make a move.

“No… are you suicidal? You have just signed your own death sentence, what was the point? I can simply take your king and it would be my win, did you forget what you just said!?” Mordred exclaimed.

Arthur let out a dry laugh, “My fate doesn’t lie beneath the board, and only I will determine it.” His gaze sharpened as if it were meant to pierce through Mordred. “I am the master of my fate.”

Arthur held the sword on his lap with his right hand and silently stood up, heading for the exit, surprising Mordred.

“Let us continue this match another time.” He said with his gaze still on Mordred.

“Where?” Mordred asked even whilst knowing the answer.

“Camlann… Yes, let us conclude this then.”

Mordred silently closed his eyes and looked out the window to the chaos. Only when Arthur reached for the door did he talk again.

“Arthur, why did you move your king in the end and not your queen, and also, what is hope without courage?”

Arthur pondered for a second before answering with a smile.

“How can a King expect his subordinates to follow if he does not lead? And to answer your second question…” He opened the wooden door only to be greeted by a lightning strike which landed a few dozen meters away.

“Without courage, there is no hope.”

He closed the door behind him as he left.

“Goodbye, nephew.”

‘There Will Be Blood’ Creative Response

Hi everyone, one of the film texts lots of classes have studied is There Will be Blood (2007). This is a creative response in the form of diary entries as part of an English assignment to the movie. It will make more sense to people who have watched it, but if you haven’t, I’d definitely recommend it! Enjoy and feel free to give feedback.

Saturday 24th November, 1937

To H.W, the man who was always there,

I don’t know what to feel. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do.

I am ashamed. I am humiliated.

Begrudgingly, but honestly, I will concede that this was all my doing, my harm. If I was not so insecure or disengaged and obsolete, then perhaps none of this would have occurred. Perhaps. But it doesn’t matter now. I am where I am and there’s nothing I can do to go back and change what happened.

I’m sorry I write to you in this way but it feels as if control has abandoned my body. You are well, I presume and I pray Mary is well. I wish it were the same here, but the truth is, our livelihoods deteriorate by the moment. What was once a tranquil, peaceful grassland where we merrily lived our simple lives has become a rotting hell for each and every one of us. We could hunt quail, drink goat’s milk and sing songs without fear once upon a time, without a care.

But as I lay here on this bench, I feel the warmth dissipating and it’s not because of the weather. I’ve snuggled myself up against this grey seat but nothing will take the pain away. My knees are tucked against my chest and I moan in pain. I call his name but nothing will bring him back. Nothing.

He’s done it, son. He’s insane and he’s gone and killed Eli. Eli. What hope there was for me before you left has been crushed in the hands of the man who went insane- Daniel Plainview. Boy, I would do anything to have him back, anything. They were speaking with each other in his house, Daniel’s house. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were arguing- there’s never been much the two of them have agreed upon. I watched them exchange insults from the corner of the room. I was a coward. I whimpered in anticipation just as I whimper here now, except now there is nothing I can do to bring him back.

Daniel, being the abusive drunkard that he is, hurled a bowling pin at the man who I have watched grow before my very eyes. I can’t comprehend him; his actions, his motives, the man is a foreign alien who came here and conquered and eradiated what didn’t please him and there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing.

Sunday 25th November, 1937

The night has done me some favours. Or perhaps it was forcing my thoughts onto a piece of paper. Either way, I am now more rested than yesterday. I wish time healed me as much as they say it does. I wish the hard things in life were easier, but again I ask for too much. If it weren’t for Daniel Plainview, that emotionless pile of scum, then I wouldn’t have to suffer today.

Daniel Plainview. Daniel Plainview’s arrival to me was a blessing at first sight. Here was a man and his innocent son- you, out for quail like everyone else. But he had a feeling about him- almost like an aura. He carried an attribution of authority and a mentality of nothing but intention.

That is what has brought us here. Intention. When the wrong intention is put in the wrong person’s head, then there lies no method behind his madness- only madness. Plainview’s intentions, however, seemed as just as his presence. His motivator seemed to be quail and the Sunday Ranch seemed to be the best place to look for it.

What was it that brought the most innocent of intentions, the merest of motivations to the downfall that I live and breathe every single day? From the corner of the room, I watched him make a mockery of the village I loved. I put his evil down to only one thing; greed.

Greed is what has gripped Daniel by the hand and never let go. His selfishness and desire for all the material wealth he could get his dirty hands on is what has led to the failure of this ranch. No success was ever enough to quench his thirst. With every dollar he gained, he lost one of his morals. Now he is the richest person on the land.

That’s enough from me. It is Eli’s funeral now and I must mourn the loss of another life since the appearance of Daniel Plainview.

Monday 26th November, 1937

This is not the first time Plainview and I have crossed paths. You’ll remember I said that there’s things I needed to tell you.

Many years ago, when the likes of you were learning to walk, I, like Plainview, mined to support my family. I’d spend hours toiling rigorously in the scorching conditions for a pebble who’s worth kept me living. I worked alongside Plainview for quite some time- we’d both bring our young children to the sites in the hope that they would watch and learn.

One day though, and I recall it vividly, on a Tuesday afternoon, I had a terrible accident. I was working with a team on a hole, including Plainview. To put it frankly, one of our team members, I don’t recall his name, made a simple miscalculation which resulted in me tumbling down the hole. I’ve never felt such pain until recently. This was a different kind of pain though, it was physical, not emotional. Anyway, I fell and my team could not locate me. I was assumed dead when they returned. Slowly but surely, after days of being trapped, my younger body found its energy and I crawled my way out and back to our head site.

Barely breathing, I took some water and looked around. There was no-one there. They had lost all hope in me and that is what still shatters my confidence today. I limped slowly around the barren room, an oasis in the scorching desert. In the corner of the room, crouched underneath the shadiest bench was a baby girl. I picked her up and she cried and cried. I didn’t know what to do so I cried with her.

I searched and searched for my own little boy but he was nowhere to be seen. Disheartened, he became my only goal for the rest of my life. For years, not a day went by when he didn’t cross my mind, but what gave me some hope was the girl who was still there for me.

She is all grown up now HW. And I consider myself a fool because I realise Plainview’s very same greed is what left her there.

She is his daughter. I named her Mary.

And the scariest part, HW, is that I named my son Hugh-Watford Sunday.

Now I have found him.


You are my son and I am proud of you.

To the man who really was always there,

I love you,

Abel Sunday

Written Explanation

In this sequence of diary entries, Abel Sunday reveals to HW that he is actually his father, and Daniel is Mary’s father. Amidst these revelations, Abel expresses a state of emotional confusion proceeding the death of his other son, Eli Sunday. This is evidenced on Saturday via the use of shorter sentences and an intentional lack of coherence in his thoughts. Abel is ‘ashamed’ and ‘humiliated’ and feels that ‘nothing will take the pain away’. The use of shorter sentences, such as ‘…nothing I can do about it. Nothing’, illustrates that his mental state is compromised by the grief induced by Daniel’s act of homicide. This is done in an attempt to convey Abel’s emotional state to the reader. On Sunday, Abel explores the personality of Daniel Plainview, and examines the relationship between his motives and actions. A thematic explanation of greed as a motivator occurs, and it is concluded that the greed in Daniel has ‘gripped [him] by the hand and never let go’. On Monday, the revelation and backstory behind Daniel and Abel’s previous relationship is given, and once again, a variation in sentence structure illustrates a state of mind compromised by emotion. The entry commences in ‘to HW, the man who was always there’, indicating Abel’s failed search for his son, and also ends in a similar line; ‘to HW, the man who really was always there’. Ultimately, the aim of this piece was to explore the theme of greed through a tell-all perspective from a minor character, Abel Sunday.

My Slam Poem

Hi all, after hearing Safwan’s great slam poem about life and death a couple of weeks ago, I thought I’d share my slam poem from when I was in year nine. Hope you enjoy!

we are always asking questions in our life, about our life, how to fix our strife, what we perceive as rife

some questions we see as significant like, does God exist?

others we see as insignificant, like whose cruel idea was it to put an ‘s’ in lisp?

well we ask these questions and sometimes we get answers, other times we get the same responses as how do we cure cancer?

well let me tell you something- while you’re brooding upon these puzzles in contemplation,

half of our Earth’s population is wondering something else

they are wondering, ‘am I going to get dinner tonight?’, ‘or will I starve for a fourth day in a row?’

in this world we live in, everyone is equal

and that is not my opinionated opinion that is a factual fact and that is that

whether you’re a man, woman, white, black, Asian, African, Muslim or Christian, when we are born, we are born the same.

no one of us is superior over a kid living in poverty on the other side of the world, without an education, without food, without shelter.

we are as equal to them as 10 millimetres and 1 centimetre are equal to each other.

so when we get to eat meals every single day and go home to a roof over our head

and be at ease and without a second thought eat our sandwich filled with ham and cheese

do we ever? and I ask you this- do we ever take a moment to stop and say thank you?

do we ever think about people who aren’t as privileged as us and be grateful that we live a happy life?

or do we just convince ourselves that it’s out of our control?

if all people are equal, then why do they suffer like a snipe stuffed in a snuffbox?

they don’t deserve what they are going through

and to be honest, we don’t deserve what we are going through

we deserve worse

and they deserve better

what’s the first thing we like to do when we get into class?

we get on our iPads and check our FaceBook status or how many like we got on that photo on Instagram

no-one thinks about what they have

we like to think about what we don’t have though

those new pair of shoes, that level we’re trying to get through on our game, that piece of food we hate that has the audacity to sit there on our plate

and so when we don’t have something, we become envious. we judge people when they show off those new pair of shoes, or that level they’ve finally gotten through, or a meal with them eating that food we so diligently detest

we accumulate jealousy from all the people we want to be and trap that jealousy inside a jar and hope that those things can somehow come to us.

we never want to appreciate what we have in life

the moment you finish a PE class and run for the water tap and quench what you thing is an unmanageable thirst

some people don’t get a PE class, others don’t get water

it’s difficult to think about that when we spray that water on our friends just for fun

so please

the next time you decide to stare stupidly at your smartphone whilst trying to avoid a conversation- and I do it too

think about where it came from and

please do the person you’re talking to a favour

please do the world a favour

and please do yourself a favour

and say thank you.


The Official blog for Melbourne High Writing Interest Group (WIG)

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