Creative Journal

Recommendations

Info

But still we march, not as before, as it is under the banner of complete annihilation, as to march wrongly will cause the marching of weapons great enough to dwarf all of our actions combined over our entire history by splitting the littlest of particles. We who march, we are the common man, slaves of combat, the soldier. Called so as we are seen as being strong and courageous and the role models of society. But we are tired and depressed, all we want is to stop marching. But we have too much to lose, we fear for those we love and hold dear, that they will be met with a foreign threat and wiped out. We march even if it is not ideal to die in some far away soil never to see our loved ones again. We march on so those we march for do not have to themselves even if they do not want us to go. We march on...for them. 8
Neneh Gibbeh Barry (KS4), My Mom Was a War Witch I was born at a time of dejection, hatred and pain. A time of war. Nevertheless, she still calls me a lucky child. My mother. Sometimes I understand her, but sometimes I don’t. She hardly ever speaks about my father. All I know is that she met him when they were both child rebels, in Uganda. It’s not that she chose to be one; she was forced to after killing my grandparents. To be honest with you, for me, I’d rather be killed than to kill my parents. But I can’t judge, because I’ve never been in that kind of situation. It has been thirteen years now, and rebels still exist. I always asked my Mother how she escaped that rebel camp. To be honest, I don’t even know that my father is dead or alive, or if he still is a rebel. I am very shocked with the fact that she prepared the seats for me, to have a serious talk. It seemed that I have reached the age to be told the whole, tragic, story. She first sits down faintly, and looks at me rather pitifully, and sighs. It feels like she is going to say something even more horrible than I am expecting. “Your father wants to speak to you” she says, and stops, like she is waiting for me to say that I believe her. “Have you been well?” She says. “This is your father speaking” she adds. I had already been confused, from the beginning, and now cannot follow, for my mind is already blown. “My mother’s gone crazy” I think. “Amaka… Amaka…” My mother calls to me. “Are you listening? Your father is trying to sp-.“ Just as she is about to finish her sentence, I get up drastically with a very loud, screeching chair. I look at my mother in despair. “Mother, I think that the porridge I started cooking is burning,” I say, with tears nearly running down my cheeks. “I’ll go and check it now.” I try rushing out of the room, but my mother calls out to me again. I slowly turn around after wiping the tears from my face. “Yes, mother?” I answer, trying, very hard, to sound comfortable. “Come back and sit down.” She doesn’t seem to be cross, but her face tells me she does not feel good, either. 9
Page 1 and 2: Ark Kings Academy Journal of Rememb
Page 3 and 4: Contents 1st Prize written work…
Page 5 and 6: Chloe Suzuki (KS4), The Posh Lad Pr
Page 7: 2nd Prize Writing Jamie-Ray Chandle
Page 11 and 12: 3rd Prize Writing Heather Neath (KS
Page 13 and 14: Abbas Naqvi (KS4), Remember Those 1
Page 15 and 16: The rest of the squadron had been s
Page 17 and 18: Katriana (KS3), Gone but Never Forg
Page 19 and 20: Keeley Marie Sheward, Untitled “W
Page 21 and 22: Harriet Verona (KS4), Lest We Forge
Page 23 and 24: Keeley Marie Sheward (KS4), Untitle
Page 25 and 26: Lois Brooks (KS4), Never Forget 25
Page 27 and 28: Neneh Gibbeh Barry (KS4), A View of
Page 29 and 30: Dima’s Experience Age: 10 Locatio
Page 31 and 32: Anne’s Experience Age: 15 Locatio
Page 33 and 34: _______________________ Experience

Creative Journal

You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles

Delete template?

Save as template?