The Dark Side

The familiar suffocating buzz you listen to day and night.

Provoking fights,
stealing rights,
creating unneeded sights,
whispering in your ear that you are at unreachable heights.

All lies,
deliberately told to earn them the profit,
with no man, no soul,
attempting to even stop it.

Telling you relentless,
no matter if you are penniless,
to point your spears at those who are homeless,
Those who experienced the shadow of humanity,
Those who lost their former lives and left friendless.

You fail to notice,
The vicious thorns that entangle your heart each time their empty, lifeless words enter your ear.
Slowly corroding your mind and soul, until you are no more than a disposable puppet,
Whose only worth is to preach the words of the true culprit .

The exaggerated headlines,
Claiming the biggest threat is a small group capable of bringing insignificant terror,
But not mentioning the cruel dictator with his arsenals of war is their crucial error.

You convince yourself that you control your own hands and knee,
just as a bird trapped in a birdcage thinks it is free.

You’ve been taught in your youth that they speak only the truth,
that they have all the knowledge in the world in their grasp.
They fool you into believing they take no sides,
but hiding under the wall of text are their secret agendas.

they do whatever is necessary to earn them the sums,
Diverting attention from the cries of the slums,
Whilst exaggerating the war on violence and guns.

People are blinded by what is presented to them,
Trusting every word without a doubt,
Not even questioning the bull they spout.

They, who have no real power strike not with weapons, but with words,
As ‘It is not power that corrupts but fear.’

I wish to see a day and age where humanity stand side-by-side,
Not in conflict but United.
But in an era where THEY dominate,
Such dreams can only be dreams.

We are surrounded by darkness,
no light in sight and nothing bright to guide us through the eternal night.

But with us all standing together with conflict left far behind,
just maybe, we will live to once again witness the rise of a new ever-lasting dawn.


Firdavis Xireaili 9H


Staring aimlessly at the flickering light
The night’s illumination.
Isolated and cold in this prison,
Bracing myself for the dawn
Hoping it never comes because
I’ll have to face what I did, what I’ve lost and
The realisation that you’re gone,
Gone from my life
And I was the cause
And that I’m the reason I’ll never wake up beside you again
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

I still remember our first date.
The way the corners of your mouth rose
And you laughed at my jokes.
And laughed at me.
But it was okay, because I laughed at myself too.
I remember the way you cut your steak.
How you used your left hand to hold the knife-
The knife…

Four years we lasted, together, as one.
One body,
One spirit,
One mind. Four years until I found
You unclothed in my bed
With another
With your feeble excuses
Desperately scrambling for your clothes
And I stormed out.

Alcohol fuelled my rage
Head was spinning
Wasn’t thinking straight
Anger bursting like a wine casket
With anger
With anger
Brandishing a knife
Blade piercing your soft pale skin,
You hit me, desperate to escape my wrath
It was all over in an instant

I still hear your laughing
I still hear your screams
I still taste your lips
I still taste the booze
I still smell your perfume
I still smell your blood
I still remember you. I still remember us.

Tomorrow when the dawn comes I’ll face the music
Face the courtroom and face reporters
And journalists. They see me as a monster.
I am a monster.
I deserve this. I accept this.
I’ll plead guilty
For your sake
In memory of you.
In memory of us.

Bernard Tso 9L

Poem: “Hikari”

To you, I write “happy birthday”.
On this day, October 20, 2016,
You are eighteen, with stars
In your eyes and the same fire
In your chest that you had when I
First met you, and you walked into
A room not knowing quite what to expect,
But illuminating us nonetheless.
And now, after so short a time,
You will soon have left
To light up rooms so far from home
As we miss the warmth you gave,
Gleaming up there on stage
Or through headphones, like candles
Late at night, in grim places that
Needed a little glow when we couldn’t
Find the beam of your smile
Because it was shining somewhere else.
Eighteen now, you’re a flame in the dark,
A star in cold space, and I know
You will defy physics, and grow,
Not collapse, even as the universe
Changes around you.
You’ll be dazzling all the same.

Ode to an Oat Flake

The following poem is adapted from Robert Burn’s Ode to a Haggis.


God bless, your honeyed, sweetened flakes,

Great king of the breakfast race,

Broon is your form at your face,

Oats, Wheat, Rice and Sugar,

Forever have a place,

As food before dinner,


The whitend bowl that you fill,

Your flakes above milk like a great hill,

Heralding from the distant mill,

When I go to feed,

My stomach won’t sit still,

As my appetite feels the greed,


The spoon, silver and narrow,

Inserts itself inside the barrow,

Of golden goodness, sweet as marrow,

Lift you up and up,

From the bowl, like an arrow,

Crisp and crunchy, that’s good, yup!



I am sorry I made you read this.

Alex Joshi, 10D.







Bookmark, Edward Jin

A few sessions ago, we watched a scene from the matrix where the MC chooses the pill. We were then tasked to write a creative piece about that scene. I chose to go about it differently, and decided to make this bookmark. We write in order to create, but we also need to read, to find new ideas amongst the ones already realised. I hope this bookmark I designed will help you in your endeavours to find some inspiration for your writing.

To get this bookmark, just download the scanned image in this post and print it out. Afterwards, fold the sheet of paper into sixths (each of the images is one side of the bookmark, use the edges to help guide your folding), then tape the edges to stop it from unfolding and you’re done.


Pink Lilies

Lilies crown the few square metres of dirt

A carpet of pink

The wooden box

The soil, fresh, wet, smelling like earth

2 or 3 metres below

Some feet tread carefully

Over the flowers

The little ones don’t care

Trampling on the carpet

‘I was what you are, you will be what I am.’

Some of us know it

That feeling

Of slipping away, fading into dust

Some of us don’t

Anaesthetized or sleeping

None of us can run away from it

We can delay it

It doesn’t always end in a wooden box

Or in an urn

Or in fragrant bandages





Jian Lam 9F

Tick Tock

Tick Tock
The normally crowded streets of London were now almost deserted, with the only remnants being those who appreciated the silence and simply enjoyed bathing in the moon’s beauty. Countless droplets of water poured down from the cloudy sky above, creating an ethereal rhythm as they collided with the cold concrete below. Such divine melody, fit to be played in the wake of God.
Tick Tock
But to me, these droplets represented the tears of God, neither from pity nor from seeing his faithful subject in such a state, but from ridicule; laughing at this helpless me who cannot save even himself.
Tick Tock
The ever slow ticking of the grand clock known as ‘Big Ben’ and its antique handles that signalled the time. Just how many times have I seen them in that same position, 10 ticks until the XII.
Who knows, I lost count long ago.
Tick Tock
My powerless legs began moving in a mechanical motion, as though it had been programmed to do so. As time passed, even my human soul slowly started corroding away. My actions slowly stopped resembling that of a human’s, and more of that of a robot’s, performing the same commands endlessly.
Tick Tock
Without paying attention to my drenched hair, I broke into a sprint. The few people that were still up this late into the night stared at me with bewildered eyes as I surpassed them. It’s frightening how they have the same expressions every time I pass by.
Tick Tock
It doesn’t bother me anymore, never has. I’ve been receiving those same stares ever since I was sent to the Grotch.
Those workers at the Grotch always said that the place was the best compared to the mediocre facilities, uncaring staff and ‘problem’ children that the other orphanages had, they claimed that we wouldn’t find such a wonderful place anywhere else.
To me, the place was anything but what they described.
Tick Tock
That old me, always smiling even in the darkest of times, it was exactly why I was so hated in the orphanage. While all the others were desperately trying to appeal to customers to achieve a bright future, I was smiling as if it was the best day of my life, neither from happiness nor from joy, just a cold, meaningless smile.
Tick Tock
The children of the orphanage despised me due to this, they hated my very existence. While they were desperately trying to overcome their past traumas, I was smiling as if I was the happiest man alive. It later became an unspoken rule that no child in the orphanage was to interact with me.
Tick tock
In those dark times, my smile was my best friend yet my worst enemy. It prevented me from ever acquiring the happiness that I wished for, but it always reminded me at the end of the day that there was always light at the end of the tunnel.
It doesn’t matter anymore, all that is in the past, and I’ve arrived at my destination – a small intersection by the Westminster Bridge, perfectly on time like always.
A young girl not even eight years of age was slowly walking backwards towards the centre of the road unconsciously. Her guardians across the road were posing for a photo, unaware of the dangerous situation their daughter was in.
Also at this moment, the girl looked towards the road to notice the incoming black advertisement minivan from ‘Quantum Cleaners’. Seeing this, she froze in fear as though petrified.
I payed no attention to the girl’s expression, I’ve seen it far too many times to count.
Tick Tock
The fear of death, the single common trait between all humans, one that should be feared no matter what, left me long ago.
I powerlessly leapt onto the road and pushed her aside as minivan closed in. Her chestnut hair danced across the sky, reassuring me of her safety-
Ding Dong-
-Just as the bell rang.

Tick Tock
Back to block outside Grinch’s shoe store, a hundred metres from the intersection.
The nauseating headache that hits after a cycle, I’ve experienced it far too many times to even complain.
Tick Tock
My now fully recovered legs dragged my exhausted body down the street without purpose again. The smile I’ve always kept disappeared long ago along with my ability to think rationally.
Tick Tock
I’ve been here long enough to know just about everything that happens in the street during these ten seconds. Be it the expression of the bystanders or the type of burger a nearby person is currently ordering in the store to my right, I know it all.
Tick Tock
Every second of my accursed life, I ask myself, “When will this meaningless cycle of life and death end? When will I be free?”
Tick Tock
No… The way to escape was right in front of me this entire time, quite a simple one too.
Don’t Die.
Tick Tock
In other words, let the girl die.
Tick Tock
But can I really do that? Will my suffering really stop if I let a small, innocent young girl die?
I’ve tried everything you can possibly think of to escape, be it calling for help or aiming for the van itself, but nothing worked as if God had tampered with it himself. Every method I tried was countered in the most bizarre, supernatural ways that no man could ever think of. It’s always the same – I die, she lives.
Then, as if an hourglass had been turned, it all restarts.
Tick Tock
Just at that moment, I arrived at the intersection. The small girl clumsily walked back towards the road, unaware of the impending danger. Her two guardians turned around just in time to witness the events that were about to occur.
Tick Tock
I came to a halt at the lights; the conflicting thoughts in my mind prevented me from performing the usual cycle.
Can I really escape if I let her die, here and now? I’ve been blindly following a schedule for thousands of iterations, never once have I been this conflicted.
Tick Tock
While I hesitated for an instant, something unexpected occurred.
She tilted her head towards me, locking eyes with me for the first time since the day I’ve been here. Her quivering lips moved, but nothing came out. Her small, ruby eyes stared straight into my soul as her gaze sent shivers down my spine. Those eyes of hers were calling for help, fearing the phenomenon known as death.
…The answer was in front of me all this time.
I’ve lived my life in hiding, helping no one and receiving no help, what was my purpose in life? I don’t know, all humans live and die, yet I have lived for far too long. Even if I am to leave this prison, nothing will change. I will return to the streets and spend my days living a cowardly life.
But what if I can use what little time I have to make someone else smile? Then, maybe, my life will have a purpose. The young girl before me has yet to taste life’s thrills, but I can change that with what little power I have.
If I am to spend the rest of eternity saving her, then so be it, as long as she can smile in the future in my stead, then my life is fulfilled.
This resolve of mine, I will take it the grave, if I will ever have one.
For the first time in thousands of iterations, a smile flashed across my face as I leapt onto the street more energetically than ever before. I silently whispered a sentence into her ears as I pushed her aside. Fortunately, I still hadn’t lost the ability to communicate even after all this time.
“Live on.”
Ding Dong…

Firdavis Xireaili 9H

Blog Post: 07/10/16: Darsh Chauhan

We have been instructed to write a post on this block today. I am unsure of what topic to cover in this post. Andre, one of the leaders, has offered to give a prompt to those members who are stuck as to what to write about. I need a prompt but then I want to give myself the credit for the idea that I come up with for this post. So thanks for your kind offer Andre, but I will pass today.

Looks like Reagan has just come in. I believe he owes myself and Alex a bag of Flanno’s cookies. They are famous around the school for their taste and value. But unfortunately, Reagan has forgotten to give me the cookies. I am encouraging him to return to Mr Flannagan’s office but it looks like he cannot be bothered. He says he’ll give us cookies for this post. Well once this post is up, I’ll be looking forward to those cookies.

Ashane, the group leader, has said that the person with the most views of a post by the end of the year will be given five dollars. Five dollars! I could do a lot of things with that much money.

I’m still trying to find something interesting to write to pass the time. I have table tennis tonight. I am looking forward to table tennis. My current writing ‘style’ reminds me of one WIG meeting where Edward introduced us to a form of writing where everything was written from a dull, logical perspective. Perhaps I am sounding dull now. Perhaps I am not.

There are now fifteen minutes left in this session. I believe I’ve done a reasonably good job so far. If you are reading this, please come and visit this piece over and over again so I get more views so I get the five dollars at the end of the year. I’m returning to that dull perspective again. Oh no. Oh god.

This is disastrous. I feel a burning sensation slowly overcoming my body, paralysing me, limb by limb. Perhaps I will die a slow and sudden death. Perhaps it will be over soon.

See, that’s more exciting, isn’t it? But it does take more effort. Ten minutes left now. Next I have geography with a substitute teacher. We have to continue working on our assignment but most people will probably play games. I need to work in that assignment though. Well, we’ll see what happens.

Looks like it’s time to go now. Please give me views. I hope you’ve enjoyed this post. Goodbye for now.

This is a title —————— Ben

This is my first phargraph. It looks very intriguing does it not? Well… Since I have plenty of time, i thing it is a good idea to make another pharagraph.

Woah… Its another pharagraph…

He was annoyed…
It was quite stressful, to be honest, sitting on a mat. The funny flesh bags which called themselves humans kept stepping over him. He didn’t like being watched while cleaning himself.
Suddenly he saw a rat. He gave pursuit. After a while he caught the rat and ate it. Then he fell asleep

Writing prompt, Edward Jin

author note: this is a writing prompt I did some time ago, but kept forgetting to post onto the blog, haha. Anyway,I hope you enjoy. The prompt is a man walks into a bar and sees…


A man walks into a bar and sees the floor covered in corpses. No, corpses wasn’t the correct term, you could hear some people moaning and trying to get up. I see, there was a brawl just now and immediately following that thought was no! I arrived too late. I want a part in this. An ordinary, sane man would not usually have these kinds of thoughts but because he had been outright rejected at a job interview today, he wanted to direct his anger that was still simmering inside of him, even now. He had come here to this pub which he used to frequent in his university days where he could forget today and drown himself in some alcohol. Unfortunately, the scene before him meant that he could not come here today.

Sighing, the man turned around and left.