JUST WRITE Zine

winners and runners up from the Just
Write short story compeetition

9-12 Category
Winners
Art: Moon, Daisy Odgers
1

Category Winner: Mila Martijn
Deadly Consequences
‘Oh come on!’ yelled Jess in frustration. She and her partner Adam had been
working on an archaeological dig for months. They had been working at the
site of an ancient Roman city and had been trying, and failing, to translate the
ancient writing on every surface of a temple of Minerva. Without much luck
and lots of arguing, they were starting to lose hope. This was unlike any
Roman language they had ever seen. It was a mix of pictures, symbols and
Latin cursive.
‘Jess, stop complaining!’ groaned Adam, turning from the symbols he
was trying to decipher. ‘You have been at it all week!’
Jess turned to him, ‘Excuse me?’ she whispered in a dangerously soft
voice, like a tiger ready to pounce. ‘I have been doing all the work and you
have been doing nothing, and you call me out for complaining?’ she yelled in
a slightly hysterical voice.
Adam scoffed ‘Don’t lie, you're just jealous of my success!’
Jess was disgusted with him.
Their fighting only got worse from that point forward. It was lucky that
there was nobody else on the site or they would’ve thought something awful
happened to them. The yelling matches turned to shouting, turned to
screaming, and it was slowly moving away from the subject of the excavation
site and more about the people themselves. Jess could be heard one morning
screaming, ‘You’re so ugly that when you look in the mirror, it breaks!’
followed by Adam bellowing ‘You’re blind! You wouldn’t see beauty if it
came down the street naked with a name tag!’
2

One day, all hell broke loose. Screaming, bellowing and throwing
anything that they could get their hands on.
‘Why are we still here?’ Jess screamed tears streaming down her face.
‘These writings are clearly untranslatable!’
Adam let out a roar of frustration. ‘We can’t do anything without you
giving up, we must keep trying!’ Then he picked his translating tool up and
threw it at Jess. Luckily it missed her head and instead hit the giant statue of
Minerva.
There was silence for a moment. Not a sound. Then a great rumbling
sound shook the Earth to the very core, like a ten-magnitude earthquake! But
it only lasted for five seconds before it stopped and the dust settled.
Then, like a great wind pushed it off the ground, the statue stood up,
stretched its legs and looked down at the shell-shocked pair of tiny people on
the ground covered in dust.
Then she spoke.
‘How dare you hit me!’ she boomed, picking up the tiny translating
tool. Adam and Jess just stood there like chess pieces with a combination of
fear and shock. ‘For this you shall NEVER see the light of day again!’ She
raised her giant stone hand and clicked her fingers. The dust swirled around
the humans. When the dust settled, it all was quiet. It was empty, except for
an old stone statue and a pair of mice.
3

Runner Up: Reeva Kothari
Mångata*
Ripples of moonlight melted into the shimmering lake. The cool night air
brushed against the dark auburn locks of a girl. Scutterings surrounded her, a
dangerous noise in a forest. Selena surveyed the forest when the lake before
her erupted, spraying the forest with iridescent droplets. Selena drew her bow
as a figure appeared in the gleaming pond.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, trying to shove the shock out of her voice.
The pixie-like girl crossed her watery arms. ‘I was told to lead you
through my lake to someplace—I always get these requests. I never thought
you would try to shoot me!’
Selena sighed at the overly dramatic nymph. ‘I thought I heard a sound.
I didn’t want to shoot you.’
The water spirit narrowed her sky-blue eyes. With a harrumph, she
gesticulated for Selena to join her in the lake.
‘You may call me Mana. I was given the order to escort you to…
someplace.’ Mana bit her lip.
‘And how will you do that?’ Selena asked, with blatant scepticism.
Mana pointed a dripping finger at Selena, and the ripples grew until the force
was enough to lift her above the water. She was walking on the sea of
moonlight, painted on the deep crystal wavelets.
Mana, in all her opalescent glory, led Selena through the lake. The more
she walked, the more the waters seemed to dip in the moonlight. Mana
twirled around in the waters, yelling at her to hurry. But Selena couldn’t help
but take her time. She was walking on water, after all.
4

They wove through multiple bodies of water, following the path the
moon had traced out for them. Selena laughed and twirled on the water,
feeling the cold seep through her toes. Mana turned towards her with sad
eyes. Unbeknownst to Selena, Mana wasn’t just leading her to some random
place…
‘We’re here.’ Mana turned sadly to Selena. Selena frowned at the soft
waves surrounding them. ‘Where are we?’
Mana sighed and squeezed her eyes tight. ‘Just follow the clouds. They
will make a path for you.’
Mana lifted the waves, taking Selena with them. She floated higher until
she was on the same level as the clouds. Just as Mana had predicted, the
clouds shifted into a staircase.
Selena climbed, more excited than ever to see what awaited her. She
didn’t notice that the more she climbed, the more the sun seemed to sweep
through her body. The more her feet sank into the clouds.
When she arrived on the moon, she frowned when she noticed that she
didn’t need oxygen. She glanced down at the tiled surface and gasped when
she saw herself.
Nothing but a wisp of smoke.
A wisp of moonlight.
A wisp of nothing.
*Mångata—A road-like path on a body of water created by the moon’s reflection.
5

Runner Up: Timothy Binns
Mars Takeover
On the dusty surface of Mars life was peaceful for the inhabitants. The
planet’s atmosphere had a strange element called PO2FJD; this element had
allowed the Blobberings to live there. The Blobberings were a strange species
of animals that looked like a liquid with legs. Their green surface tension and
antenna made them stand out on Mars. To protect their planet, they hid in the
Mars cave system. They had lived there for many centuries but now had gone
to the surface to see the amazing sights! There in front of them was an
amazing space vessel named the SPACE DOG. All the Blobberings wanted to
see and go inside this fine ship. As they all crowded around, the doors opened
with a puff of smoke. Seconds later an orange space suit walked out.
An evil scientist spoke the most gibberish of words, ‘Greetings People
of Mars. In one hour your whole planet will be destroyed unless you give me
all your valuables.’ This evil spaceman was Doctor Devious, his space suit
suited with buttons. It had all the newest gadgets and was suited with the
finest material. Doctor Devious declared WAR and then the countdown
started.
1 HOUR TILL WORLD DESTRUCTION
Now the Blobberings didn’t know what Doctor Devious was saying as he
didn’t speak their language, Blubbering. They knew straight away that he
wanted something though and started gathering items. When they returned
they brought with them… a black and white cow, a piece of mars rock and a
toilet seat from the eighties. Doctor Devious was outraged. How did they
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even get a cow on Mars? As the Blobberings left to get more random objects
Doctor Devious started building. He constructed weapons and lasers and the
most horrible of torture machines. He would be ready for when the
Blobberings returned and he would terminate them!
30 MINUTES TILL WORLD DESTRUCTION
The Blobberings had now figured out what Doctor Devious wanted: a party!
The Blobberings worked and worked as they made the best birthday cake
there was. Then they made a big birthday banner out of the finest materials
and wood. When they got back, they threw the biggest birthday party on
Mars. Doctor Devious had had enough. He pressed a button and weapons
rose from the ground, all pointing at the scared, herded group of Blobberings.
Doctor Devious took a slice of the birthday cake in celebration.
His mouth watered as the creamy frosting was stuffed down his face.
The end was near. It was seconds before Doctor Devious destroyed them all.
He turned bright green; the cake was poisonous! As Doctor Devious
screamed in pain the Blobberings rushed for the SPACE DOG. Doctor
Devious sat on the still mars rock. He sighed a sad sigh as he saw his ship fly
off into the distance. He looked at Earth and then the Moon which was now
filled with little green dots. What would he do now?
7

Runner Up: Billie Finnegan
Desiderium
They thought it would get better. They were wrong.
The gunfire was still ringing in their ears. So was the terrible scream. A
scream bursting with agony, singing with remorse. Their mother, gone.
Turning from the terrible scene, the girls ran. Sobbing. Every tear longing for
their dead mother. A want for someone to love them. They were alone.
Arriving at the docks, with their measly supplies and money, they
begged and begged a man to take his small wooden row boat. He agreed,
indignantly. Jumping in, they rowed away. Away. Away from everything.
The racist bullies, the neverending, ever cruel gunfire, the dirty streets, the
poverty. They rowed away, in the hope of a better life.
Uzima and Penha were sisters. Uzima was ten and Penha seven. They
were fearful of what lay ahead, but knew that their past home was no longer a
safe place to stay. Floating, rocking, leaving their lives behind, the girls sat,
cried, hugged and slept. Hoping with all their hearts they would arrive at a
better, happier place. They had been floating for minutes, hours, days, weeks.
Time had drowned in the silent, menacing ocean, its screams silenced by the
inescapable, deadly darkness.
One night, a storm hit. Lurching back and forth, the weak, vulnerable
boat was tossed around, trying in vain to protect its young passengers. Uzima
had been awake when the storm had hit but Penha had been in a deep sleep.
Uzima grabbed the oars and started trying to stabilise the boat, but they made
a terrible crunch and snapped in half. Then she saw something much worse.
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A wave ten times bigger than her was looming over the helpless boat. It fell.
Uzima could swim, but barely. Her long dark hair was swept into a
messy plait that stuck out everywhere. Slim, brown legs kicked desperately
trying to keep her head above water. The boat was in pieces around her.
Darting around urgently her dark eyes searched for any sign of her younger
sister. Uzima paddled over to a large piece of wood and clung on.
‘PENHA! PENHA! WHERE ARE YOU!? PENHA! Please.’
Unfortunately, all this shouting was in vain. Penha's bright eyes and neatly
plaited hair could not be seen.
Uzima sobbed for days, weeks, just floating around. Her feelings were
impossible to understand and impossible to translate. She was alone. Entirely
alone. A storm was raging in her head. A battle was being fought. She
couldn't live, could never be happy again. Her dad left her, her mum had
died. And now her sister was gone. Who was left to love her? Uzima
screamed in agony. Not physical pain. No, something much worse. A mental
pain so searing her whole body seemed to burn with it.
All hope was lost. Alone. All alone. She floated on the waves towering
above her, or on the still, calm sea. All the while, her head was splitting with
desperation for something, anything. That’s when she saw it. A ship.
9

13-15 Category
Winners
Art: Royal Animals (top) and The Mushroom (bottom), Chloe Clark
10

Category Winner: Stella Cournane
Culaccino
Giovanni~
I check my watch: 12:00pm. My attention is redirected as the waiter politely
coughs and asks if I am ready to order. Scanning the menu, I hurriedly order
two chicken paninis. He used to like those, but that was many years ago… I
scrutinise the pedestrians through the window for any young men of Italian
descent; my figlio, my son. Who am I fooling? He is not mine and ceased to
be six years ago. Anyway, I am half an hour early. Pouring myself a glass of
iced water I re-read our text messages for what feels like the hundredth time,
surely I am dredging too many connotations from his three word reply? ‘See
you at 12:30, son’ followed by his short reply, ‘See you there.’
Mattia~
Sitting at a red light five minutes away from Cafe Connessione I regret ever
responding to my father’s message. Already I find myself dreading his
apologies and cordial conversation, yet some strange part of me craves them.
After all he is the one in the wrong, he is the reason I circulated foster care
for two years and dropped out of school in Year 10. His weaknesses as a
father caused me to be the failure I am today. Yes, I will sit and issue aloof
replies to his begs for forgiveness, it is only right…
Giovanni~
Disturbed from my reverie by the harsh grating of chair legs I look up and
see Mattia slide in opposite me. We say nothing. Studying him I am shocked
11

y the angst and hardship apparent in his face. Had I passed him in the street
I would not have recognised him. I finally break the silence by offering him a
panini. He remains silent and pours himself a glass of iced water.
‘So Mattia, how is work going?’, I begin.
Mattia~
How is work going? Is he serious?
All of the things between us begging to be said and he chooses work. I say
nothing of my thoughts and acknowledge his pathetic attempt at conversation
with the facts.
‘I lost my job,’ I say.
He fails to hide his disappointment, ‘Oh, not for you? That’s fine.’
This time I can’t keep my emotions out of my expression, how dare he
be disappointed by me? He could never keep a job for more than a month
when I was a child. Like father, like son, I think bitterly…
Giovanni~
‘I’m making great progress at rehabilitation,’ I say. Mattia nods dismissively.
Almost out of desperation I drift into menial conversation about my garden
club.
Mattia stands abruptly, ‘I don’t care about your tomatoes.’ The door
swings shut behind him. I stare stupidly at the table, the two uneaten chicken
paninis. The other customers glance at me awkwardly. My eyes are drawn to
the cold, wet ring left by his untouched glass of water. A culaccino, the mark
left on a table by a cold glass. An untranslatable word that matches the cold
mark he left on my heart.
12

Runner Up: Shannon Hatton
Faceless Fear
The alarm that had woken up Jake was blaring in his ears. He hated waking
up to an alarm, but today he needed to go clothes shopping at the mall. It
wasn’t his clothes Jake and his mum were getting though, it was his mum’s.
Jake had only agreed to come because his mum had bribed him with an ice
cream.
Jake had finally built up the strength to turn off the alarm and get out of
bed. He walked into the kitchen, where his mum was making some breakfast.
Buttered toast and milk.
‘We’re going to go in ten minutes, so get ready!’ Jake’s mum
announced.
‘I know, I’ll get ready after I eat,’ Jake replied, sounding tired.
After he sipped the last of his milk, he casually got ready and walked to
the front door where his mother was standing.
‘Ok. Let’s go!’
Twelve minutes later they arrived at the mall.
With a little convincing, Jake walked into the clothes shop with his
mother. There were lots of clothes on display. There were also lots of
mannequins modelling clothes. The mannequins had long, thin wooden
limbs, and a head with no face. Jake thought they looked creepy.
Jake stopped to sit down on a chair.
‘I’ll sit here and wait, while you look for clothes. Okay?’ Jake told his
mother.
‘That’s fine, darling. Don’t go anywhere, though! Wouldn’t it be
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embarrassing if I had to walk around calling your name?’ Jake’s mum
replied.
Jake’s mum slowly walked away. Every aisle was lined with clothes,
with a creepy-looking mannequin here and there. Jake mused that it would be
terrifying if one of the mannequin’s heads turned to follow you as you went
about your shopping.
After about a minute, Jake decided to stand up from the chair. As soon
as he did, the music started to fade and a thin fog gathered around him.
When Jake looked down the aisles, all the clothes were gone. They had
been replaced with more mannequins. Faceless, wooden mannequins. Maybe
Jake was dreaming? He glanced around and all the mannequins were now
facing him. Jake felt a sudden fear banging on his chest.
What was this place? This untranslatable dimension filled with
terrifying mannequins? There was no possible way that any of this could
actually be real.
Confused and scared, Jake ran, and as he ran he could have sworn he
heard footsteps behind him. He glanced back. A whole shop full of lifeless
mannequins were somehow chasing him, yet at the same time, didn’t appear
to move.
He ran back to the chair he was sitting in only minutes earlier, and
froze. He turned around. A mannequin had touched him on the shoulder. Jake
screamed at the top of his lungs, then all fell silent.
As Jake’s mother arrived back to the chair, holding the clothes she had
picked out, she looked at the new mannequin standing next to the chair, then
she walked away to search for Jake.
14

Runner Up: John Adams
There
Journal log: Sunday, July 2031.
Another psychiatrist today. Why does the government keep sending them?
They were the ones who zapped me into the other reality, but when I come
back describing things that are hard to believe, they call me crazy! I mean,
what were they expecting me to describe? A bunch of green tentacled aliens?
If only they would send someone else! Then I wouldn’t be alone in my
arguments. But sadly, they banned the technology on the grounds that it can
cause serious brain damage. This is not just a great loss because I’m alone in
my knowledge, but because there is such a beautiful place.
What I saw there was… well, it was kind of untranslatable, but I’ll do
my best to explain it. You couldn’t see the creatures, but you could feel their
presence. And just by being with them, you could tell that they didn’t eat,
sleep, drink, feel, or have any form at all. But at the same time, they were so
much like people. And I could feel that they were as amazed at me as I was at
them. The place itself was strange too, though I noticed it much less. There
was no gravity, yet I was not floating around. There was no light, but I could
see everything. The landscape was covered with… things. They were not
plant, rock, animal, or any product of life. They were just things. And the
land itself was moving, though it felt solid and still under my feet. There was
no horizon. I could see my own back. The sky was the brightest thing I have
ever seen, although it did not hurt my eyes, and as I said, there was no light.
The air was the sweetest I have ever breathed, yet there was no air. I did not
want to leave, though leave I did, when the machine shorted out. That was
15

the most wonderful and horrible day of my life.
There have been times when people have believed me, but not for long.
It always happens the same way; I’m meeting up with another government
official, or a psychologist, and describing there. At some point in the
meeting, I may lock eyes with them. Then, somehow, the whites of their eyes
turn purple (as mine did, when I came back from there), and then they see
everything I saw. They stare at me in a kind of trance, telling me all the
details of my own description (including some I may have forgotten or left
out). Then they snap out of it and say I must have dreamed it all before I even
have time to say anything.
I really wouldn’t mind being crazy, but I don’t think I am. And these
scenarios convince me even more than I already do that what I saw was real.
And who knows, maybe one day everyone will believe me… one day.
16

16-18 Category
Winners
Art: Ghanda, Jade Annan
17

Category Winner: Jayda Brain
The Viking Revenge Flume
I’d never been brave enough to trust fall. I couldn’t jump when someone
else was turning the rope, nor go into the deep end of swimming pools. So
when I was faced with the chlorinated hell that was Sea World’s newest
attraction, I started sweating through my shirt.
The Viking Revenge Flume looked like a mine shaft had conceived a
child with the Loch Ness Monster, its sharp-angled blue plastic cascading
into a deadly plunge that forced even the lifeguards to avert their eyes. My
mother and I had come to this water park for a relaxing summer holiday,
but, sitting behind her in the waterslide’s vessel, the January sun beating
down on our backs, my breaths had never been shallower.
‘Aren’t you excited?’ Mum asked over her shoulder.
In that moment, I envied her. We were in the same boat, my mother and
I, but as she hummed a tune from a commercial, I clenched my fists with
dread. Fear had divided us, and I couldn’t bring myself to answer her
question.
The boat lurched forward, its wooden frame creaking against sloshing
water. I clutched the sides with both hands, palms blistering in response to
their absorbed heat, desperately trying to yank the vessel backward. But it
ploughed onward.
‘Mum,’ I croaked, throat constricting around each word. ‘Mum, I want to
make it stop.’
Water began to creep in from the edge of the boat, lapping over my
shoes and darkening the pink of my socks like a slither of leeches. I sank my
18

teeth into my bottom lip. How long ago had this boat been serviced? Would
we even make it to the drop?
‘Just breathe,’ Mum replied, not having turned around.
But I was past the help of breathing exercises. I was petrified. I was
petrified because I had an obsessional need to be in control, because I
detested lucky dips at parties and the belayers that held my rope when I
went rock climbing. I always ran from the things outside my comfort zone
to seek an oasis in oblivion. But in this fluid boneyard, there was nowhere
to run.
The boat latched onto a conveyor belt, and the ascent began. I squeezed
everything, pushing my eyelids together and forcing my thumbs white with
strength I didn’t know I had. When we finally reached the tipping point, the
park below us seemed to freeze in time. Chlorine and salt filled my nose. And
then we hurtled down.
We were weightless, flying over the falling water with stomachs
untethered from our bodies. There were no distractive turns or twists along
the track; it was purely the plunge and us, an orchestra of gushing water
and untranslatable screams. I was drenched and terrified, so why did I also
feel liberated? Just as the ground rushed into view, I let my hands fall from
the sides of the boat.
‘See? That wasn’t so bad,’ Mum grinned as we disembarked the ride.
I grinned back.
‘Can we do it again?’
19

Runner Up: Jessalyn Smith
My connection has never failed me so why now? It was a typical day, the
sky was a smoky grey and I could taste the mist of a gentle rain as it settled
on my lips. The streets were bustling with people, all of them talking,
creating a muffled noise that drifted down the road and turned the corners
until the whole city was overtaken with indistinct noise. I felt the tinge in
my chest, the subtle but distracting palpitations of my heart and the gentle
shiver in my hands. I had but only one thought: escape. So I went to the
coffee shop, the one I went to every day, the only place in the world where I
could hear my thoughts.
The warm velvet crested seats near the windowsill mixed with the
toasty smell of a fresh hot chocolate with mini marshmallows were my
central serotonin in this cruel world. You see I used to love this city, how
the gentle chaos was weirdly comfortable, that was until I got my
‘connection’. I discovered it when I was sitting in this very coffee shop
sketching a girl whom I found very admirable. However, the more I
sketched the more I could ‘see’ into her life. This odd occurrence turned
frequent and I figured it was a gift I somehow obtained, but every gift has
its consequence. The more I looked into people’s lives the more I began to
fear this city. So much pain, heartache, and trauma are all hidden deep
inside people. Although it pained me, I wanted to see more into people's
lives. Except something strange happened today. Someone’s memories
were untranslatable.
I couldn’t describe it, I felt my ‘connection’ being used but something
was blocking my path. Like I was running headfirst into a brick wall.
20

Typically the more I sketch the stronger the connection is. However, as the
picture began to take shape, nothing changed. Why were her thoughts
untranslatable? Was it because she recently lost all her memories? No, too
far-fetched. Maybe she could sense my connection and block it out, but if that
was the case then what on Earth would she be trying so desperately to hide?
As these thoughts rambled on throughout my mind, my hands kept sketching
her as she weirdly sketched as well. As I drew the final details, her eyes, the
gateway to the soul, I felt a strange feeling deep in my chest. It was an
overwhelming emptiness. A soul-crushing blackness that encapsulated my
heart. Is this what she was feeling? Is this what she was trying to hide? Her
feeling of emptiness clouded my mind, making it hard to remember my past
memories. This was why my connection wasn't working. She couldn’t recall
her past because she was too busy trying to survive the moment. I saw tears
running down her face, and suddenly I could feel a teardrop running down
mine, this girl was me, my reflection. This emptiness was mine.
21

Runner Up: Aidan Halley
Nostalgic Loneliness
Down in the countryside where the bugs buzz uninterrupted by the noises of
city life, I wander through the thick eucalyptus grove with my group of
friends. As we roam the endless forest with twigs and leaves beneath our feet
that break with a delightful crunch, we are stuck in a constant awe of the
world around us. It's no fun adventuring in broad daylight when all that
comes out is the mundane animals that would turn no heads, so we go out in
the dead of night where the new and unknown come out to greet us. The
crickets sing their unique songs and the owls howl to each other but in the
midst of all the noise there is a sense of tranquillity.
We venture further out and I somehow lose everyone but find my way
out of the trees into a quaint grass field. I look up into the vast night sky and
am greeted by thousands of stars dimly lighting up the sky. It feels as if time
has stood still, I am alone with only my thoughts as company. Nostalgic
memories flood my head of places similar to being here alone. All noise
around me has evaporated with only the thumping of my heart and pounding
in my brain remaining. A queasy feeling fills my stomach as everyone around
me has disappeared leaving only me. Alone. Questions about futures,
memories about the past and feelings about the present jumble around my
head. The world continues to spin like nothing has happened, my thoughts an
insignificant blip on the Earth's radar.
Minutes drag on for what feels like an eternity, the world around me
seems to fade, the large beautiful trees that surround the field begin to fade
into a blurred-out mush followed by the ground doing the same until it is just
22

me and the sky, locked into a staring contest that could last forever and no
one would be the wiser.
What feels like forever only truly lasts ten minutes and not long after
my friends find me. Instead of talking about where I've been they just join me
in staring into the sky. We all stare at the sky in the same way I've been doing
for the past ten minutes but now it's different. Better. All the fears of the
future and the regrets of the past wash away, scrubbed clean from my mind.
What it's replaced by are feelings of hope and the gratefulness for those
around me. We stay a little longer until we’re ready.
As we finally exit the forest not much has changed, the bugs continue to
murmur and the owls continue to cry to one another, but I feel different. The
fears and loneliness that the night brings are gone now. They've been
replaced with the memories of those around me and now getting back in the
car to go back home I know that everything will be alright.
23

Honourable
Mentions
Art: Wallaby and Friends, Jazz Annan (top), and Cyclops, Cameron Bailey (bottom)
24

9-12 Category: Zak Trethewey
The Untranslatable One
The crackling static of the two-way radio brings me suddenly out of my daze.
I’ve been trying to get help from the search and rescue team after I lost my
way during an expedition to Antarctica. I have been out here alone for about
eight days now with no help from anyone. My supplies are running low and I
feel fatigued and dehydrated. I check on my radio again. Still no signal, all I
can hear are scrambled words and in the background it sounds like someone
is screaming. An icy terror runs through me. What are they saying? Why are
they screaming? I try to make out the words, but they are untranslatable.
I resign myself to the fact that I won’t be rescued tonight and make a
shelter from twigs and the tarp in my backpack. The wind howls and shakes
my makeshift tent. I shiver and it takes me a long time to fall asleep, not just
because of the cold, but from the memory of the screams on the radio. They
were blood-curdling. When I finally drift off to sleep, nightmarish images
invade my mind and I wake in a cold sweat.
I am ravenous, I haven’t eaten in days. I continue my trek and after a
few hours find a camp up ahead, but it’s been abandoned. Inside, all I see are
half eaten food bars, a lantern, boots and a backpack. It appears that whoever
was here last left in a hurry. I devour one of the bars, but save the others. I
know I must ration what is left. I find a water bottle in the backpack but it’s
frozen solid.
Ahead, one of the largest glaciers on Earth looms like an endless wall of
ice. I cross the ravines with wondrous awe. The ground beneath me is
slippery and I miss my footing, sliding and skidding, almost falling into a
25

cavernous abyss below.
Fortunately, I am able to thrust my pickaxe into the ice to stop my
momentum. I feel so tired. So thirsty. I don’t think I can go on for much
longer. I hear a rumble and feel the ground tremor, like an earthquake. I
recognise the signs—it’s an avalanche. With strength and speed I didn’t know
I had, I run in the opposite direction of the tumbling snow and ice that
threatens to flatten all in its path. I find a pocket of ice, a hole in the ground
that protects me from the onslaught of the avalanche.
After the tremors have stopped, I make my way out. I stop in my tracks
when I see the most terrifying sight. A hideous beast with razor sharp teeth
and claws stands before me. Its growl is deafening. Reaching for my radio, I
attempt desperately to call for help. It’s no use. There’s no reception. My
cries are untranslatable.
26

13-15 Category: Beauden Harriman
Boiling Water
Harry’s face is sunken and his eyes are swollen and bloodshot. His arms are
heavy as he switches on the gas stove and places a kettle over it. Harry
frowns at it. Normal kids his age finish their school day with a red bull and a
vape, but not Harry.
Harry is different.
Harry is autistic… but not stupid.
Harry loves sitting at a pine picnic table nestled beneath an oak tree at
recess because he can see the students in the mainstream quad. He hopes one
day he can join them. His hope fizzles out when he hears some students
pointing and laughing, ‘What a Sped, I bet he can’t even read.’
He feels as though every eye is watching him like an eagle watches its
prey.
Harry scrunches up his face. Harry is autistic… not stupid.
Little bubbles begin to fizz from the base of the kettle and travel in neat
little lines to the water’s surface.
The bell interrupts their laughter. Harry forces himself from the picnic
table and reluctantly follows the special education students back to class.
Harry patiently waits as his teacher moves about the room handing out
worksheets. His heart falls through his chest as he read the top of the page:
‘Comprehension: Year 3’. His vision blurs as his eyes fill with tears.
I’m in Year 9.
Harry doesn’t want to cause a fuss so he picks up his pencil and
unwillingly completes the worksheet. He is the first in the class to finish, he
27

knew he would be. With hope, he raises his hand to ask for more work and
unexpectedly has an iPad shoved in his face. A wave of confusion paralyses
him as his mind swirls with thoughts.
Free time? This is not fair. Harry scrunches up his face. Harry is
autistic… not stupid
The kettle begins to bubble as water turns to steam and pushes its way
from the base of the kettle to the air.
As second break starts, Harry takes a breath of confidence to make his
way out into the main quad. He has only just reached the oak tree when a
hand grips the collar of his shirt and chokes him with it. Harry coughs and
splutters as his first button pops completely off. A boy he has never seen
before stands over him with four others and a clenched fist. They laugh down
at him. Harry’s heart races. Sweat beads on his skin.
‘Go back to the Sped Unit where you belong,’ the boy then spits on
Harry and walks off.
Why is no one around? Where are the teachers? Staff room. Harry
sprints to the nearest one.
Help me.
‘It’s fine, they were just playing, don’t be so dramatic,’ the Deputy
Principal laughs.
Help me.
Am I invisible? Do I not matter? Am I not worth their time? Do they
think I don’t know what’s going on?
Harry scrunches up his face.
The kettle releases a bellowing scream—I am autistic, NOT STUPID!
28

13-15 Category: Leif Donnelly
The Sandwich
I wake up in my cold, soggy sleeping bag. All I can see around me are the
giant pillars supporting the raised freeway, and all I can smell is the wet,
moldy and damp mattress. I slip off my sleeping bag and immediately feel
the full brunt of this frosty morning. Wandering over to my camp, my eyes
stray a bit and I spot a happy man with coffee in hand gleefully strolling on
the footpath. We glance at each other for a moment. Two worlds colliding.
Whatever our exchange is he still pulls the same face I have been given my
whole life.
This is ‘the look’. A look so strange and cruel it is untranslatable to
anyone except me. It makes me feel unwelcome… betrayed even. As time
went on it happened so much that I learned to deal with it. After all it’s my
fault I’m in this situation in the first place. As I pour a can of beans into my
rusty old pot, Xavier flies down for nibble of the food. If I wasn’t here what
would Xavier have to eat? He would probably fly over to scavenge some
food from the Starbucks on Ben Street anyways.
I can taste the metal from the old pot seeping into my beans. It is dry,
chalky and probably not very good for my already declining health. I walk
over to my makeshift kitchen, grab a warm bottle of beer and start the cycle
all over again. I keep telling myself that I will try to do better tomorrow, get
the help I need… heck even try to quit drinking, but everyday things just
seem to get worse.
A man walks past, almost a carbon copy of the last. He kneels down to
tie up his shoes, brown this time, not black, walks over to a metal bin, and
29

places a package on its crusted-over rim. I wander over, after waiting a
respectable few moments. Memories of my mother’s fresh-cooked bread hit
close to home. I can almost see the sweat on her forehead as she leans over
her simple stove in that same cramped kitchen. I have not thought about that
kitchen for over forty years. As I hold the neatly wrapped parcel in my hand,
I can’t help but wonder why someone would buy lunch only to throw it away.
30

16-18 Category: Gazal Al-Shaar
The Bomb
The deafening noise of the airplane above the school splashed in the room.
Bang. The ground rumbled and windows and doors rattled. That was the
sound of the bomb being dropped close to the school. The floor trembled as
everyone rushed in a hurry to get out. I heard kids screaming as they ran as
fast as they could to get to the basement. I could feel the teachers panicking
and parents worrying all around me.
I snapped back into the moment as my friend gripped tightly onto my
hand and pulled me towards the door. We fled down the stairs marching in
groups towards the dark and empty basement, as kids were falling and crying
for their parents in horror. People panicking and shoving others to get in
there hoping to find safety. Kids kept streaming in from the four floors, all
waiting for the next bomb as the airplane continued circling above us. It felt
like I was trapped in the moment. All I was feeling was being shoved into the
army of students. The air was tightening and the light grew dimmer and
dimmer. The sound of parents banging on the gates worried about their
children’s safety was ringing in my ears. Teachers were everywhere asking
kids to push in even further while others were directing students down.
Suddenly I heard the gates open and parents began rushing in looking
and shouting for their children. In the moment I began scanning the room and
stairs looking for my father as kids screamed and cried even harder in hope
that someone would come to get them. The negative energy of children's
horror and parents’ worry filled the air. I stood there in silence not able to
breathe. I felt an adrenaline rush spike my body. It felt like I left this world
31

and came back but nothing changed. Same people, same place, and the same
action all over.
I turned around in a panic as I heard someone call my name. Hoping to
see my father I scanned around the stairs looking for him. Suddenly, he
descended the stairs waving his arms in the air. I pushed through everyone,
navigating my way out towards him.
Now, ten years later, this is something that is untranslatable to many.
The horror, the fear, the war. It is something that a lot of people don’t go
through in their life.
32

Poetry
Art: Forest, Daisy Odgers
33

9-12 Category: Scarlett Pawson
Ikigai
A Japanese word.
The reason for living.
Life’s purpose.
The sunset on the ocean
Beautiful but unspoken
The waves on the sand
Anything but bland
My ikigai
The breathing leaves
Happiness they will always weave
Animals on the trees
This moment I must seize
My ikigai
Snow on the peak
A calming creek
Up in the mountains
Flowing like fountains
My ikigai
A bird in the air
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Always here to share
A branch in its beak
Its power anything but weak
My ikigai
Taffy-coloured branches
The little leaves making dances
Caramel trunks breathing in and out
Just waiting for a new sprout
My ikigai
Sheep grazing on the hill
Always moving, never still
Never having a constant shape
Always on top of the world, a protecting drape
My ikigai
This truly is unforgettable
This feeling is untranslatable.
35

9-12 Category: Tess Bennett
Uitwaaien
Dutch origin
To go outside, especially in windy
weather, to refresh and clear one’s mind.
The smell of cinnamon buns filled the air
Birch leaves and branches danced off giant trees
The cool autumn winds floated through her hair
Little sparrows flew by, as well as bees
The sound of water took over the mood
Small rocks and grey pebbles clanged together
She sat down and rested, eating some food
She wasn't bothered by the cold, dull weather
Dark days like this one were her favourite
When the waves crashed hard against the port’s boats
Grey skies like this are precious, savour it
The little calves sleep, along with the goats
When there's howling wind and the skies are grey,
She goes to the port, and sits by the bay
36

9-12 Category: Chloe Noh
Waldeinsamkeit
Drifting into the forest
Alone in the darkness
The forest now guarded
Are you really alone?
The light shining
The animals reigning
With nothing to fear
They started to thrive
No longer fighting to survive
Cubs run along
Predators furlong
Butterflies live long
Feasting on nectars
The beauty within breathless
You sit down
Absorbing the beauty
Do you really deserve this?
Sure, of course you do
Waldeinsamkeit is what you feel
Bees pollinating the land
Ecosystems connecting, grand
The atmosphere twinkling
Fireflies setting in
37

You sit there, taking it all in
Suddenly, you realise
Where were you?
Why were you here?
The moonlight begging you to stay
However you must go
Follow this broken lane
It’ll lead you to your home
Lead you out of this forest
This god-forsaken forest
However you feel drawn in
But you leave your cravings
And seek the truth
Following the path,
You see a light
The light of a lamplight
The light of your house
You run towards it
Hope running through yourself
At last you reach it
You reach your destination
Looking back you want to return
However you must leave
Taking a piece
Of the beautiful nature
With you forever
38

16-18 Category: Ray Lee
Talking to your Mirror as your Mirror
Word word word breathe. Look blink smile nod.
Pay attention. I don’t think I can.
Her lips are cracking and are covered
thickly in gloss. It shines. Like a bell. It demands attention.
Lips make shapes.
Spittle flies out.
It lands on my chin.
Do I wipe it?
My skin wraps around my bones so tightly. Are they suffocating? Are they
made from solid stone?
Her eyes. They demand an answer.
‘Uh huh! Definitely agree with you.’
Right answer. She smiles. Wrong answer. She smiles pitily.
I am a head.
It has weight my neck must balance. My eyes are heavy. They won’t fall out.
39

But I could gouge them. But they wouldn’t fall out.
Look down. Hit your head. They might fall out. Then you could see what
your face looks like.
You would no longer need a mirror.
She laughs.
I crinkle my face, I smile, I laugh, I can feel oxygen.
It fills my insides. It sees me. It twinges. It’s gained awareness. It sees me it
sees me
She excuses herself. Politely. Lovely women. I was rude, wasn’t I?
But I was bored. I didn’t want to talk. Be happy.
But I made her sad.
Says who.
I am alone I am alone I am alone.
A man meets my eye. He wanders over. Pay. Attention.
40

The Sky had put on a Great Coat
This poem was written collaboratively by the participants of Nicole Smede’s Poetry on Place workshop.
The sky had put on a great coat.
The thunder roared and screamed, and split up the sky
Mimicking the morning birds that call across the gully
As I watch over them, protecting them
like a body guard
My limbs stretch across the great expanse, suspended.
You should not be here.
In the distance some tall trees fall down
A bird bashes on my window
begging for dinner.
The vibrant clash of greens, pinks and reds.
That’s what makes me.
Wow, you are very popular.
No, I’m just a machine working for people.
But my job is done, I can rest for the day.
Children go out of the house, play on the grassland,
all plants welcome them and see them as their own.
In quiet moonlight, I will recall them.
41

Book Reviews
Art: Dog Bees, Charlie Odgers
42

Prison Healer by Lynette Noni
Violet FitzSimons
Lynette Noni's Prison Healer is a swift
departure from her previous work, and yet for
fans of YA Fantasy, Angst and Found
Family—it truly feels like coming home. The
book’s premise is simple: Kiva is a healer in
the death prison of Zandalov, and has been
since her early childhood, now skimming the
edge of seventeen. When one of her patients is
forced to participate in The Trails of Earth,
Wind and Water to earn their freedom, Kiva
steps in and comes to face-to-face with her
greatest fears.
Whilst the book covers serious topics—touching on themes such as
sexual assault, harassment and childhood trauma—Noni never makes the
reader feel as though it was her intent to educate, or lecture. She's simply
drawn you into Kiva's life, and in doing so, you have to embrace each and
every aspect of her character: one which Noni crafts to be beautifully flawed.
To allow for Kiva's thick skin to be peeled back (in the least gross way
possible), a cast of characters that begin to form Kiva's found family are
introduced with a grace rarely seen in the YA genre.
Each character allows a new side of Kiva to shine through, and a new
element of the story to come to light. Whether it be Tipp's refusal to accept
any bedtime story aside from the origin of Kiva's family, Jaren's commitment
43

to making Kiva smile no matter the cost, or Naari's ongoing suspicion of her
intent towards her patients.
This book is the perfect introduction into the YA space for new readers,
and a breath of fresh air for the veterans who are growing tired of the genre's
well-worn tropes. Noni successfully breathes life into her more mature work,
allowing for optimism, hope and love to carry the book through its darkest
times and most difficult challenges. Whilst I would advise readers to be
mindful of the trigger warnings mentioned above, this novel is truly worth
the read. Building an incredible world of magic and fun, a prison of despair
and entrapment, and a timeframe that forces you to turn the page—Noni's
The Prison Healer is worth a read. And a re-read.
Author Bio: As a fifteen-year-old high school
student, I have travelled extensively from the
couch to the fridge. I live in Bowral NSW with my
parents and loving/hating sister, as well as our dog
Henry who is by far the favourite child. Due to my
lack of a social life, I have won numerous writing awards. In 2022 I received
the Silver Award in the Queen’s Commonwealth Writing Contest, won the
Cambridge International Relations Essay Writing Scholarship, was
shortlisted for The Whitlam Institute What Matters Writing Prize and got an
A on my To Kill a Mockingbird essay in English.
44

A Glasshouse of Stars by Shirley Marr
Giorgia Bandinelli
‘Are you scared of the darkness? Kevin asks you.
‘No,’ you say.
With your answer, the black sky is at once filled with a million galaxies.
It is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.
‘No,’ you repeat. ‘Because you can only see the stars when it is
dark.’
― Shirley Marr, A Glasshouse of Stars
Meixing Lim and her family have just moved to the house that she has
nicknamed ‘Big Scary’ in the New Land. Big Scary is alive. The tiles are her
scales, the carpet her fur. Meixing is scared of everything from the pink light
emitted from her cupboard to her new school. And she feels that she can’t ask
her Ma Ma for consoling, as Ma Ma is pregnant. Her only hope is the boy
next door, who is from somewhere different to her, but not from the New
Land. His mum and dad make Meixing’s family meals that are similar to the
ones Ma Ma made, back in the old country.
When tragedy strikes, Meixing is faced with new obstacles to
overcome, each harder than the one before. As the story unravels, Meixing
gets manipulated, treated with racism, and ignored by her mother. When
things seem to be just getting impossible to manage, she finds the Glasshouse
in the backyard.
Inside, the ghost of her First Uncle roams, tending to his orange trees.
He lets her plant a seed, which grows into beautiful flowers that blossom
45

efore her eyes. She sees her journey to get to the New Land all laid out for
her. As she begins coming to her safe haven more and more, she sees her
future of writing novels instead of just drawing the pictures. She brings the
odd friend that she had made in a special class at school, and sees their
journey. The awe in their eyes matches hers, and she finally starts to find her
place in the New Land. The story ends when her baby sister, Xinxing, is
born. This is when all of the puzzle pieces that are this book slot into place,
and Meixing is finally happy in the New Land
I would definitely recommend this book
to anyone who enjoys reading. This book
shows the challenges and hardships faced by
our Australian Refugees in the ‘New Land’. It
portrays a comparison between the worst and
the best of people. It shows the author as a
young girl, and her road to writing this book. I
would recommend this book to young readers
and adults alike, as it is one of my all-time
favourite books.
Author Bio: My name is Giorgia, and I adore reading and
writing. I’m eleven years old (almost twelve!) and I am
starting high school this year. I live on the Illawarra coast
with my parents, sister and dog, Millie. When I’m not
reading or writing, you’ll find me playing soccer, chatting
to my friends, and at circus school learning aerial silks.
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competition judging: Helena Fox and Rhys Lorenc
cover design: Angie Cass
layout / editing: Rhys Lorenc
This collection highlights the winners,
runners up, honorable mentions and
poetry from the 2023 Just Write Competition,
along with art and book reviews
from the Just Write Workshop Series.
This zine was produced by the South Coast Writers Centre Young Writers Program. It
was supported by partnerships with Shoalhaven Regional Art Gallery and Shoalhaven
Libraries and funded by the Holiday Break program via the Office for Regional Youth in
partnership with Create NSW.