The Phoenix 2013 1

The Phoenix 2013 1 The Phoenix 2013 From the Editor This is the thirteenth edition of The Phoenix. Last year’s edition was a well-kept secret as the
new venue frowned on the school selling anything in the foyer. The Phoenix was available at the
first KPF this year and there are still some, half price copies, available if anyone would like one.
I will include the names of students who have been published in the 2012 edition on the back
page for this purpose. I will also place a digital copy online for those interested in reading last
year’s work.
This year we are avoiding printing and binding hassles to venture exclusively online. In this way
we avoid complications, costs and foyer monitors. Happily this brings the cost of the magazine
down to a very affordable ‘zero’ and hopefully increases our readership from an average of 25
families to all of the Redfield Community. I am hoping that this will provide interesting holiday
reading and inspire others to contribute next year. One advantage is that instead of excerpts of
some longer texts such as the Extension II English Major Works we can enjoy it in total. I will
showcase these two works at the end of The Phoenix. This should be an incentive to read this
Magazine cover to cover.
In addition to the literary skills of our students, The Phoenix showcases the artistic talents of our
boys. Throughout this magazine there can be found examples of the excellent artwork produced
in Visual Art throughout the year. The front image of The Phoenix 2013
Special mention needs to be made to our writing award winners for 2013. There was much
competition for these awards as always. This magazine is testimony to the creative and analytical
flair that is being fostered in our students. This year’s awards go to: Jonathan Youssef (Short
Story); Andy Lang (Poetry/Junior); Joe Del Rosario (Poetry/Senior); Jamie Burfitt (Drama
Writing); and Nick Augimeri for (Non-Fiction Writing)
I look forward to the future writing efforts of our boys in 2014.
Greg Baird___
2 The Phoenix 2013 HOD English
PROSE COMPOSITION
Brood - John-Paul De Souza
A Tour to Shinnston – Michael Elias
Mugged - P. O’Shea
Wisdom - Andrew Kennaugh
Working Idea – James Moore
Alien Abduction – Michael Corry
Assault on Boston – Alex Baterna
New Tech can save Millions – William Yu
Bamboozled! - Joseph Jacob 7L
Pallbearers –Dominic Boddy
Worst Case Scenario - Jonathan Youssef
Flight of Bad Luck - Dom Packman
Colours of Life - Lorenzo Asalemo
vogue.com – John Paul Baladi
Snake Break – Tom Dineen
My Own Way – Ryan Machado
The Searching Romantic – Nick Augimeri
Kill the Buddha – Anton Harris
Blue Backpack – Jonathan Youssef
p.5
p.9
p.11
p.12
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p.15
p.19
p.20
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p.22
p.28
p.32
p.35
p.39
p.40
p.94
p.132
p.156
3 The Phoenix 2013 POETRY COMPOSITION
Reflective Outcomes - Joseph Del Rosario
Escaping from starting point – Joseph Del Rosario
Acknowledging Reflection – Joseph Del Rosario
Rush – Andrew Kennaugh
Space Invaders - Andy Lang
Summer - Michael Bouchahine
Army Michael Corry
The Real Game – Jared Quinto
Animal – Joseph Jacobs
[Game] Console - Stephen Dawson
Juice – Bryce Grech
Surfing – Daniel Limbers
Tornado – Luka Bratkovic
Cyclone – James Moore
Sport – Tom Ragell
Summer Sun – Jamison Bonifacio
Miserable – Daniel Limbers
Movies Josh White
Winter – Rizwan Kahn
Winter – Tom Ragell
A Call – Sayed Saad
Sushi – Seb Attard
War & Peace – Jamison Bonifacio
International Travel – Michael Corry
Agua – Michael Corry
My Cat Boris – Bryce Grech
Howzat – Rizwan Kahn
Ra Ra – Daniel Limbers
Footy Ragell
Summer – Sayed Saad
p.43
p.44
p.44
p.47
p.48
p.49
p.50
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p.51
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p.52
p.52
p.53
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p.55
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p.57
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p.58
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p.60
p.61
p.61
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DRAMA SCRIPT COMPOSITION
Fall Guy – Jamie Burfitt (Television Script)
p.63
Gypsies – Johnny Cullen
p.70
The Mysterious Island – Thomas Ragall
p.75
4 The Phoenix 2013 Non-Fiction/Expository Composition
The Searching Romantic (Reflection Statement) - Nick Augimeri
p.78
Kill the Buddha (Reflection Statement) - Anton Harris
p.84
Arkham Origins (Game Review) - Stephen Dawson
p.90
Fast & Furious 6 (Review) – Lawrence Merhi
p.92
Consumerism – Patrick O’Shea
p.92
Phoenix Art Images
Featured artist Aleksei Gracias-Flor
p.8, p.10, p.14, p.31, p.38, p.46
Artwork provided by Chris Wong
p.47, p.49, p.55
Artwork provided by Adam Luya
p.59.
Artwork provided by Nacho Patino-Tsolakis
p.74
Artwork provided by Michael Furcciniti
p.74
Year 10 Painting Works
p.77
5 The Phoenix 2013 PROSE COMPOSITION
Brood - John-Paul De Souza
High in the mountains above the city, where icy wind whistled through frost-covered trees, a
pack of wolves loped silently through the snow. The pack moved with uniform precision; the
weak, the young and the tired surrounded and protected at all times by the strong.
Fascinating animals – each ready to defend one another to the death, each moving as if they
were simply an extension of one body...
*
The same wind whistled eerily through the city nestled at the foot of the mountain. Along with it
came the leaves, the dirt and the stalks of grass – small fragments of the variegated landscape,
rushing down the roads that dissected the city. They swept into the assembly area of the
theatre, swirling around the feet of the twenty-nine battle-ready warriors that stood there in
silence. Torchlight glinted off their armour, their shields and the broaches they had been
presented with upon completing the first stage of their training...
All the men of the city - boys scarcely twelve years old, hot-tempered adolescents and even the
wizened old grey-beards sat silently on the benches overlooking this scene.
It was a night like any other; the earth was covered in the pale illumination of a crescent-moon
and the forests were ruled by the creatures of the dark. The amphitheatre, however, blazed with
the light of a thousand torches, a beacon amongst the shadows.
The ceremony began.
He watched intently – not, however, from the seats above. No, he was not welcome there.
Instead, he stood in the murk of a recessed doorway. With the erect posture befitting of his
Spartan pedigree, he skulked away from the eyes of his fellows and watched his destiny
marching on without him.
The sounds of the ceremony echoed throughout the city. They flowed over him as he
considered that the men he had eaten with, slept with, trained with and grown up with would
enter the next stage of their lives...without him. They would march into the pages of history,
heads held high...without him. They would fight, winning glory from the Gods themselves. And
they would do it without him.
Absent-mindedly, he began to rub his arm. Felt it twinge; felt the latent ache of the immobilising
injury that perpetuated his fate. Images flashed through his mind. He saw himself and his fellow
6 The Phoenix 2013 students – his friends, his brothers. Saw as they all grew together, saw as they trained day and
night so as to uphold the legacy bestowed upon them. Then, he thought of that day.
He remembered the sun beating mercilessly down on them as they went about their exhausting
exercises. Having bested five of his fellows, he circled as he faced another. With a flurry of
blows, they came together. The field rang with the sound of bronze swords clashing on shields.
Beneath the clamour was the constant, breathless urgency of the combatants as they
desperately sought an opening. He stumbled...
Like always, his mind shied away from what had happened next. In the immediate aftermath he
had thought nothing of it. Soon, however, he realised that such an injury achieved a number of
things. Yes, it gave him an impressive battle-scar stretching around his shoulder. But it also
ensured that his right arm would hang forever limp and useless. It ensured that he was no
longer fit for what had been his calling.
Standing in the shadows, watching what should have been the culmination of his childhood, he
let go of his emotions. Ten years. A veritable lifetime for a young man of his age. Ten years
spent with a group of people to whom he became so close that they were inseparable. Ten
years of the closest friendships; bonds forged in shared pain and hardship. That was what he
had lost.
Slowly, the warriors began to knock their spears against their shields. The rhythmic clash
swelled, filling the amphitheatre. The crowd joined in – soon the whole city was echoing with the
thump of feet tramping and the rhythmic clash of spears striking shields.
Torture.
The cacophony passed over him, consumed his senses and momentarily drove all thoughts
from his mind. Then, with a jarring abruptness, he once again focused on the acute pain that
seared his very psyche. His body, once maintained to exemplify perfection, had fallen into
disrepair. His mind, once conditioned to weather the storms of hardship, was in tatters. His life,
once dedicated to the service of his country, his culture, was now purposeless. He yearned for
that peacefulness, the sense of comfort and completion that simply being surrounded by his
elite fraternity ensured.
A slight tremor passed through his body; physical evidence of the dread which now filled him.
With uncharacteristic resignation, his thoughts delved inwards. But he found no solace.
Unwelcome images began to surface. He saw himself as a child, wrestling happily with all his
comrades. Felt himself fall during a training run, remembered that twenty-nine hands had
reached down to help him up. Heard the shouts of the trainers as they hammered them into the
unit they would need to be. He recalled the cheerful meals, the shared drinks, the warm
embraces. And he heard as his former friends began to chant;
7 The Phoenix 2013 ''We take the plunge together, knowing that we will rise again as one’’
With those words, the culmination of the ceremony, he realised he could bear no more. With a
jerking motion, he fumbled at his shoulder. Looking down at his hand, he beheld the large
broach, fashioned ornately like the head of a wolf with its pack silhouetted behind it...
After a moment’s hesitation, he dropped it in the mud, and walked away.
Aleksei Gracias-­‐Flor 8 The Phoenix 2013 A Tour to Shinnston – Michael Elias I can’t believe I’m here at last. All those years of planning and preparing. I said goodbye to everyone and I’ve packed my life into a brown luggage suitcase. My life is about to start in a completely different country. The only problem is that I don’t belong. I’m an outsider. I look different, I talk different and I even act different. I know it’s going to take a while to get used to, but I’m not sure if I can wait that long. I walk through the streets and try not to make eye contact with the people that are judging me; they whisper and point. I try to understand why, but I just can’t. They are rude and don’t accept others “I just want to be back at home,” I say to myself over and over again. It doesn’t seem to help. It seems like hours before I reach the motel. I see the enormous gold and red neon lighting that spells “MOTEL INN”. I start to feel sick just from looking at the hideous sign so I decide to go inside. The interior is old-­‐fashioned; it has a feeling of darkness and the furniture is extremely out-­‐dated. It makes me wonder why I picked to stay in such distasteful accommodation. I see the service desk and I walk over to check in. A lady with short, grey hair is standing behind the desk. She looks up at me and suddenly starts talking. Her words jumble together and it’s impossible to understand anything she is saying. I think to myself, “Why did I choose to come here, what did I get myself into?” The strange woman gives me the key to my room, but I don’t go there. I can’t imagine what my room will look like after being in the room that I was just in. I decide to go looking around, “Be a tourist,” I tell myself. “Maybe people won’t stare at you.” For a while it works, I walk around looking at the lovely monuments and architecture. I forget about my worries and troubles. I am fully immersed in the history and excitement of this town. Suddenly, I get that feeling I was waiting so long for; that feeling of being accepted and fitting in. I feel like I’m on top of the world, finally I am happy. Why was I so concerned with what people thought about me? I dismiss the question from my thoughts, trying not to think about it any longer. I feel like a new person and I don’t want to go back to my old self. I left him back at the motel. I spend the rest of my day enjoying my surroundings, taking in the landscape and nature around me. As I pass by a tourist information centre, a certain flyer catches my eye. It says in large, bold writing “The Sea.” Something about the title of the flyer holds me there for a moment. Below the writing is a magnificent picture. It’s the ocean and the sun is setting behind it. The molten gold colour of the sun and the sky blue colour of sea contrast each other, so well. I know that I have to see this amazing landscape in real life. I want to feel the coolness of the water gently tickling my feet. Just thinking about it is enough for me to shiver with anticipation. I need to see this place. I run in the information centre like a child running into a candy store for the first time. I take a book ‘A Tour to Shinnston’ for the next day. It fills me with excitement and anxiousness. I head back to the motel to get some sleep for tomorrow. 9 The Phoenix 2013 The next day, the feeling has come back. It’s like a ghost that follows me, it’s there but at the same time, it isn’t. I walk outside onto the balcony of my motel room and I feel isolated even though I am in open air. I see people stare at me and I feel rejected, again. It frustrates me. Why are they staring? I’m not different! I try to shake the feeling off and get ready for my trip to this wonderful place I spent all of last night thinking about;“The Sea”. It takes the whole day to get there, travelling in a hot, small car with no air conditioning, but finally I make it. I step from the hard granite onto the soft sand and it feels like silk running between my toes. I look up to the sky and I see shades of gold and deep blue mixed together. The sun is setting, just as I saw in the poster. I look out to the sea and just like the waves washing over the white sand, a feeling washes over me. I realise something. It was me. I had set up a wall around myself. I had refused to be accepting of the people here. No-­‐one had been whispering, pointing or staring at me. It was all because I was stuck in my own world where I made myself believe that I didn’t belong here. The truth is though, I do belong. People were accepting, I just didn’t see it. It was me. Aleksei Gracias-Flor
10 The Phoenix 2013 Mugged - P. O’Shea
The man stepped out onto the wet footpath and looked straight ahead. It has been
raining, he thought to himself, yes, it has, and gosh it’s cold! He walked back into
his house to grab his coat to put over his light blue business shirt.
He came outside again and sighed. Monday, he thought, another week of work.
Cold, Monday, and oh! Mrs. Latham is backing out of her driveway; poor woman,
she can’t even drive straight.
The man walked down to the train station one hundred metres away to wait five
minutes for his train into the city. He looked around him: ordinary people, security
guards and more ordinary people.
“The next train on platform 7 goes to-“
About time! Bloody hell, it’s as if they get later every day.
He took another look around him and he noticed a young man simply wearing a
shirt and a pair of shorts. What the hell? It’s cold and that’s all he’s wearing? Uh
oh! He’s looking at me! Uh... better get on the train I suppose.
He sat down on the comfy seat and began to appreciate the warm, familiar train
carriage as it was cold and wet outside.
“Town, paddock, town, tunnel, town, tunnel, paddock, tunnel, town,” he mumbled
to himself, as he examined the scenery outside while listening attentively to the
sound of steel wheels on the polished rails.
“The next stop is-“
Finally! That’s me! For a second there I thought I missed it.
He stood at the doors with the other ordinary, workaday people, waiting for them
to open.
As he was leaving the train station, he felt a sudden pain in his back and he fell to
the ground. The young man with the shirt and shorts had kneed him in the back and
swiftly grabbed his wallet.
Damn it! Just what I needed: it’s cold, wet, a Monday and I got mugged by some
teenager. Could it get any worse!
He awkwardly stood up with the help of some passing Samaritans and walked out
of the station. Then crossed the road and entered the nearest office building and
limped upstairs.
11 The Phoenix 2013 Wisdom - Andrew Kennaugh
He told me one last story. He used his aged, ruined voice like an old man’s
hands to pick the lock on his past… I held his fist, staring into his wrinkled eyes
as the unveiling of sorrow and hardship shone in the emotion that was present. I
knew he’d had a tough life, the scarrs on his arms were shown, however ‘the story
I tell you now’ He said to me ‘will change your life forever’.
I sat still. Silence fed the room as I began to listen to the wise words that poured
out before me…..
‘My boy’ He said. ‘In life you will embark on an adventure. Your willingness will
be under threat while your courage will be shown hell. Your spirit of perseverance
will you ride up the valley of darkness and again down the hillside of laughter and
happiness. The confrontation of the enemy will you encounter and you will choose
to draw your sword or face the shadow of doom. You may find that if you give in
to your wrong doings the suffering you’ll bare will not only lesson your character
while at the same time haunt you in your daily life.
Defend your castle at all costs. No one can change the castle that’s within you.
Don’t feel like you need to open the moat to let a stranger inside even when they
give you a bottle of wine. Many times along your journey your will discover forks
in the road. The choice is up to you. Never dishonour your companions. The hands
you lend to another expect to be handed back to you. Friends will pass by every
day. Some you will encounter now and then while others you will see when the
time is right. Treasure these memories my boy every single day. Make the most of
every opportunity that comes your way. Who knows if you will encounter it again?
I wish that these virtues of life will be shown in every daily heroic act you
encounter and may this develop your character and reveal to you what the true
message of life is all about. If you truly believe and apply these ideas to your life
the satisfaction and honour will you show me. This will create for you a world
where beauty is seen and a life is worth living for.
I will always be here waiting for you my dear boy, however, it’s up to you if you
want to come and find me when the time is right’.
12 The Phoenix 2013 Working Idea – James Moore
Everything begins with an idea. I need an idea to know what to write about. Will it be about an
Alien Attack an Apocalypse or maybe even about the future.
The story needs to be punchy. It needs to have a title where that just by looking at it I can let my
imagination run wild and imagine what the story will be about. It needs to be something that
anyone can read and it needs to be a thriller.
It needs to remind you of days back where you’ve done something great or maybe even
something bad. It needs to have its own secret code in sense where only the greats will know
about this story.
It needs to teach you something every word you read. It will be made up for all of occasions
whether you a feeling depressed and sad and when you are feeling happy make you even
happier.
Whether it makes you smile or whether it makes you sad you will always learn something out of
the story. You need the best to write this story. People like Shakespeare, Rick Riordon and Roald
Dahl. But the key to the book is captivation. Without the book being captivating it means
nothing. It sounds like a big job this story but this story is the one you’re reading now.
Alien Abduction – Michael Corry
One day I was walking in the gloomy forest with my anxious friends, Larry and Bill, when I
heard a soft, distant hovering sound. I was just about to notify my friends, when Larry
exclaimed, “Look, a massive flying saucer!” A hatch opened from the bottom of the vehicle and
two obese, what appeared to be aliens, stumbled out. The alien on the left was a lime green color
and was covered in pink blotches while the one on the right was half red and half blue. They both
carried deadly ray guns but my friends and I just stared at them in awe.
Suddenly the green alien announced, “We are here to abduct you three strange beings and to
transport you to our home planet, Crod.”
“Ahhhhh!” we screamed in unison and bolted for our lives while dodging deadly laser beams.
We quickly leapt behind a tree but it was too late. The aliens had sighted us. They moved with
surprising speed and heaved us into the spacecraft.
It was dark and dusty and there were a lot of complex of controls and different buttons. The
aliens boarded the ship and we set off at an amazing speed. We broke from the atmosphere in
five seconds and launched into outer space presumably to Crod. The moment I saw their planet, I
was astounded. The majority of the planet was covered in thick black ooze and there were
mountainous volcanoes that spurted out melted chocolate. There were also orange majestic lakes,
occupied by giant squid and other unknown terrors. The aliens dragged us out of the ship and
into a cramped laboratory. There were exactly fifty torture machines and the aliens explained
what was happening. They said that it was a test to see how much torture a human could take
13 The Phoenix 2013 before dying but if one was to survive thirty seconds in each machine, they were granted
freedom. This was to take place the following day so we were asked to join in a scrumptious
roast dinner with the aliens.
The next morning, we woke up bright and early to a filling breakfast but next, we were ushered
towards the torture room. The first torture machine was bright and colorful and had ropes that
stretched our bodies to the maximum limit. The next machine was a grey and gloomy bed of
nails and the third one was a blank, white airtight receptacle which we had to enter one by one
and breathe in our own carbon dioxide for thirty seconds. The rest of the machines were all
similar and hurt like crazy. On the fiftieth machine, Bill broke his arm from the deadly clubs,
swinging blindly at the victim.
It was a great relief that we all got out alive and were going to be taken home. The aliens
prepared a massive party in order to celebrate our victory. We were now known as kings of the
planet and the aliens asked us if we would like to stay on the planet with them so we agreed.
After ten years of sliding down chocolate volcanoes, swimming in lakes and slime fights, we
finally decided to go home.
14 The Phoenix 2013 Aleksei Gracias-Flor
15 The Phoenix 2013 Assault on Boston – Alex Baterna “This wasn’t meant to happen!” Yelled Sarah as she inspected the bomb. The old Bostonian
harbor warehouse was close to collapsing. She ducked next to the box shaped bomb as more
bullets sprayed their position. The six of them stayed behind steel crates, unable to move without
getting shot at by their still unknown enemy.
It all happened so fast. What started out as a bomb scare in Boston, became a massive skirmish
in Boston harbor. Already the city was in lockdown and millions confused. Not even the NSA or
FBI knew what was going on and more importantly, or even who was behind this attack.
”Sarah what’s our situation!?” Screamed Michael, her Lieutenant. He was born in Boston, they
all were.
“The bomb’s got a timer for 10 minutes!” James returned fire and emptied his Colt M4A1.
“Why don’t we just leave the bomb and run?” His bold head ducked as more bullets sprayed
him.
“I agree with James, let’s let the timer run and leave at the last minute,” Said Harry.
“We can’t! I’ve got to defuse it here or the entire city will get blown to pieces!” They all stared
at her as she started to straighten her brown hair which told them she was getting down to
business.
Two minutes later they miraculously managed to move inside a medium sized office room by
using the old leap-frogging tactic. Their body armor was already penetrated and had to be
dropped. Charlie and Aaron began to suppress their enemy. There were about twenty of them, all
heavily armed and well-trained while they were only six with no back up and cut off from other
SWAT teams. Sarah, Michael and Harry took cover behind a steel desk.
Charlie, James and Aaron took cover behind the walls next to the window they broke into, so
that they could return fire to the attackers. “So what, it’s a nuke?” Asked Harry, and then popped
up to bring one of the attackers to the ground.
“No it can’t be a nuke! NSA would stop it before it got out of whatever damn country it came
from!” Said Michael
“Well it is a nuke and-“She was cut off as a bullet struck her arm and caused blood to spill out.
“Covering fire!” Ordered Michael as he crawled to her. The ringing of the bullets from his men
screamed in his ear.
“I got one!” Called out Aaron.
16 The Phoenix 2013 “I got two! Beat that!” Boasted Charlie.
“Sarah you okay?” asked Michael. She cried out in the floor as another two bullets hit her in the
left thigh and her left shoulder. Michael signaled to Harry as he finished off his magazine.
“Take care of her while I try to defuse the bomb! Got it?”
He shook his head. “I only know the basics about medical!” He said as Michael just went to the
bag with the bomb. “I don’t know anything, so deal with it!” Sarah continued to groan and cry as
more of her blood spilt out.
“Hang in there girl!” Said Harry, as he injected some morphine in her. Michael looked closely at
the bomb as he lay on his chest with his feet exposed from cover. “What the hell did I sign up
for?” He said as he counted the wires and buttons inside the bomb.
“I’m dry of ammo!” Yelled James and ducked down. Harry tossed his rifle to him and got back
to Sarah.
Then, Michael saw the timer. “4 MORE MINUTES!?” He cried and immediately went to Sarah.
He patted her cheeks to wake her up from the morphine and drugs when suddenly, he saw a
spray of red go through the air, with it was James. James fell on his back and then held his throat
as more blood came out from there.
“James is down!” shouted Aaron as he finished off the last of his ammo.
“Christ! We can’t even contact anybody else!” Cried Charlie as he reloaded his rifle.
Michael took a quick peek and saw as his men quickly ran out of ammo and watched as the
remaining ten attackers advanced upon their position.
“LT! We’re switching to our side-arms!” Said Aaron.
Michael nodded and set his eyes back to Sarah who was struggling to keep awake. “Sarah,
honey,” He said soothingly. “I need you to explain to me what I need to do, to deactivate the
bomb ok?”
She coughed and breathed in. “How’s James?” Harry looked at James and found him he was
dead in a pool of his own blood. “He’s gone,” He said softly as more bullets started to bounce off
the steel desk. She nodded and let a tear drop off her cheek. “Hey! Get that bomb deactivated so
we can leave and… Watch out grenade!” Screamed Charlie as they both scrambled for cover. A
grenade blasted outside the office.
“You guys okay?” Asked Harry. “I’m up!” “Me too!” They said and returned firing their
remaining rounds.
“Sarah! Pay attention! What do I do first?” Said Michael.
17 The Phoenix 2013 Frustrated. She grabbed the bomb and turned it to Michael with pain. “My bag,” Michael took
off her field bag which held some medical supplies and engineer tools.
“Ok, what now?”
“Get my pliers and screw driver!” She said and spat out more blood.
“Nowtake off the casing and show me inside,” He did so carefully knowing one false move
would leave them all dead.
“Got it,” He put the metal side with the timer on the ground.
“Three more minutes LT!” Shouted Harry, popping up to give one of the attackers a bullet to the
head. “Boom head-shot!” He said.
“8 more and we’re down to our last mags!” Said Charlie.
“Keep it together people!” Ordered Michael. “Okay, now there should be a green and yellow
wire entwined together,” Michael quickly moved some of the wires around to try to find the
wires. “No joy,”
“What?” She said in a panicked voice. He turned it around to face her. She used her one good
arm to search through the wires.
“Three minutes Sarah, come on,”
“Stop pressuring me!” She screamed and lifted the wires up. “Got it! Now only cut the“Suddenly, a bullet went through the desk and exited through her head. “Sarah?” Said Michael
stunned. Her upper body lay on her legs and her head faced Michael.
He shook for a while, not believing what had just happened. “Sarah?” He said again when Harry
shook him.
“Lieutenant… only two more minutes!” He yelled.
“That’s it! We are out of ammo!” Said Aaron.
“Great, now what!?” Asked Charlie in anger. “We don’t have any ammo, we don’t have any
backup and worst of all were stuck with a bomb!”He complained.
“Can it Charlie! or I’ll kill you myself!”
Finally, Michael returned to his former self and grabbed the two wires that Sarah held before as
well as her pliers. “Which wire, which wire, which wire, which wire do I freaking cut?” He said.
“Hey LT! I think we finished off the bastards!” Said Charlie.
18 The Phoenix 2013 “What? They’re gone?” Shouted Harry.
“Shut up!” Yelled Michael and went back to the bomb. “If I don’t cut the right wire we all die, if
I do we live. Sounds simple,” He said and looked up at his men. “Get out of here and run as far
as you can! Run like its boot camp and the drill instructor is going to kill you if you slow down
one bit!”
“Lieutenant… Get out of here now!” Not wanting to cause further distress, they started to run out
the front gate, checking that they wouldn’t get shot. When it was clear, they sprinted. “God help
me,” Then he decided to cut the yellow wire. Silence. He laughed as the bomb deactivated. He
then stood up and looked at Sarah and James as they lay in their own pools of blood.
Slowly he walked out of the office, when he heard a high-pitched buzzing sound. He didn’t turn
around but instead ran as quickly as he could but it was too late. He dove to the ground and felt
the heat of the bomb one second and warm air the next. He lay there, on his chest for a few
seconds and then stood up, patting his parts.
“I’m still alive?” He said shocked and found the office he was just in was nowhere to be seen.
Half of the factory was gone and so were the bodies of James and Sarah.
Next he heard the sound of police cars outside and walked out to see several policemen, SWAT
teams and his own men. “Job’s not over yet LT,” Said Harry as he gave him some new
equipment.
“Still got the rest of Boston to rescue,” Said an unfamiliar voice. They turned to see a high
ranking officer of SWAT standing next to them. They straightened their selves and looked at
him. “At ease,” He then pulled out a map of Boston and lay it out on the front of a police car.
“Military are already in town and are taking it back, I need your team to retake the rest of the
harbor so that the Navy can get in, think you can handle it?” Michael looked at his men, then the
high ranking officer. ”We’ll give them hell for invading Boston.” And with that they left to
retake the harbor.
19 The Phoenix 2013 New Tech can save Millions – William Yu
Sam Woo Kim from University of Gumdale discovered a new way of detecting natural disasters
that could save millions each year
Sam Woo Kim’s machine is called the MPR magnetic pulse reader and though still in the making
Sam Woo Kim says that ‘This Machine Could be the new era in Natural disaster Detecting
Sam Got the idea from Looking at a pebble fall in the water at high speed and watched the stone
creating a small pulse of waters the way his machine worked was that Small fibres of gold were
dug underground. When there was going to a disaster the ground would Give a unique small
magneticpulse sending a small copy of the pulse to be sent to the computer and be slotted into
which disasterit only works around a 5000 acre area
Though still in the working his machine can detect tidal waves Earthquakes cyclones and even
active, volcanos
In the near future Sam wants to make his machine for every continent and hopefully his machine
will stop Natural disasters from destroying millions worth of items and lives
Aleksei Gracias-Flor
20 The Phoenix 2013 Bamboozled! - Joseph Jacob 7L
The bell rings.
I had to win to keep my title, but it’s too late now. I go to shake my opponents’ hand.
As I walk to him I gasp.
He has a black eye and a bloody nose, an ugly sight but I am still compelled to watch. Suddenly I
feel like I’m about to gag, but then darkness envelopes me.
The next thing I know I’m in a strange place. I hear strange beeping and murmuring. I try to turn
my head to see what was going on, but am confronted with an irrepressible searing, excruciating
pain like none I have ever felt before.
I see something stirring beside me and I make it out as a person dressed all in white, with what
looks like a tube around its neck. It tries to talk to me. I don’t understand, or listen or hear a
word they are saying... then nothingness consumes me.
Some-time later I try to open my eyes. I am greeted by a friendly face, hear a sound, and leave
the dark abyss that I have been imprisoned by for some time now. I just can’t.
Suddenly my whole body shudders and I sit bolt upright. The last thing I remember doing is
saying a prayer as I entered the ring.
I look down and see that I am in a strange, blue, backless robe and sitting in a room full of high
tech machines and gadgets that all seemed to be linked to me in one way or another. I stare
sideways and see a battered looking face.
I cringe at the sight and by doing this realise that… it was me!
I blink a couple of times and realise I have been staring at my picture of Rocky, hanging on the
wall of my room. I now can see that being a boxer is not as fun as it had seemed initially.
Be ready, these things will always give you a bamboozling in your life too!
Pallbearers –Dominic Boddy
The six of us walked down. Four on each corner, two in the middle. Each of us dressed in black,
as well as the thousand or so who came to support, mourn, and remember under the pure white
ceiling. The seats were filled by family, friends, friends of family, friends of friends, and
patients. People were standing right around the edges.
We select cousins, the six eldest grandsons, each of us related through granpa’s three eldest
daughters. are united as we carry our grandfather down that, too familiar, aisle.
21 The Phoenix 2013 He was rich. Both in money, and in life. He worked hard. He was a doctor, and on the weekend
he was a farmer. He would travel up to his farm fortnightly to do work, then come back to the
medical centre to do more work.
Work gave him money. Money that would help him provide for his children, and provide for
others. Generosity was one of his key characteristics. Commonly people would accost him on the
street asking for money and he would give it to them with good cheer, showing faith and trust in
each stranger.
He would keep everything. Everything he found use for. Nails, hammers, couches on the side of
the road, serviettes which he would find at the local McDonald’s. One of the last trips he made
up to the farm in the Summer holidays, we stopped at the KFC in Windsor. He was taking my
younger brother and I to help him as he’d become less active in his old age. He gave us as much
food as possible to keep us well-fed. We got back in the truck as he asked my brother “Where
did you put the serviettes John?” He replied saying “I just threw them in the bin”.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because we didn’t need them anymore”
“Mate! You don’t throw out anything. Never. ‘Cause you’ll always need it later”
Early last week he collapsed in the wine cellar of his house. My grandmother called the
ambulance as she was too old and frail to transport him to the hospital. He stayed there for a few
days until he passed away. While he was there, my teacher pulled me out of school to go and
visit him.
We talked about rugby. We laughed, he enjoyed our company and appreciated the visit. I got to
the door after saying goodbye. “Dom,” he calls.
“Yes Nonno?”
“Look after your family.”
At the time I found it a passing comment. Now I feel as if it meant much more.
22 The Phoenix 2013 There we are again. Carrying his coffin towards the altar. I only look straight, eyes completely
blurred by the tears that memories of him have created.
I can’t see the many people gathered to mourn, but I feel their presence. We get to the altar. The
words of the hymn “*still need to find a hymn*” still ringing in my mind. I get to my seat, kiss
my mother and wrap my arms around her.
“In the name of The Father, and of The Son, and of The Holy Spirit.”
WORST-CASE SCENARIO - Jonathan Youssef
I wished I could be anywhere but here.
This was the fourth murder in as many weeks. I was looking at the latest victim, Adam
Stainslow. He matched the criteria of the previous cases: High School student, basement
in a building in the poor parts of Manhattan, parents of high societal stature, and a bullet
wound to the head. No blood. No markings left by the killer. Nothing to use.
In other words, this guy was good.
The house we found him in was shabby: there were cobwebs in the corners, the wallpaper
was peeling off, and the windows were all broken, showing all the signs of long neglect. I
walked into the main bedroom, flashlight out, searching for something, anything that
might help us. I scanned the bed, bathroom, and the tables, looking for anything out of
the ordinary. When that search ended fruitless, I screamed in exasperation. How could I,
detective Alex Murdock, one of the best in the field, lose another innocent person? The
murderer, the sadistic, sad and downright mentally screwed murderer, was on four points,
and we were no closer to finding him now then after we received the first tip-off a month
ago. As these thoughts rolled round my head, my eyes landed on a painting of
Shakespeare on the far wall, from which he looked down at me.
What do you know about all this? I asked in my head. Shakespeare didn’t reply.
I left forensics to do their analysis on the body, and walked through the living room into
the April afternoon on the street outside. As the weatherman promised, the sky was
quickly becoming overcast. The billowing thunder clouds were meeting the clear blue
sky, like two armies engaging in a bloody war. The clouds were winning. I wanted to get
away from the area before news vans and journalists arrived, swarming oppressively with
23 The Phoenix 2013 a mere sniff of something that might make the news headlines. After a short walk to the
end of the public car park, I bent into my Dodge Charger, a joint gift from my parents and
four siblings. It was blue with black racing stripes down the middle. A wonderful muscle
car. Pulling out of the public garage, I headed for the motorway entrance.
My partner, Saira Jones, was the leader of the Homicide Squad in New York. She had
travelled to Manhattan to provide us the extra help on the case that we needed so badly.
She was five foot nine with brunette shoulder length hair, and at thirty-two years of age
she was four years my junior. Her physique was more athletic, however, and she never
failed to display her fitness. We shared an unorthodox sense of humour.
She had been interviewing possible witnesses in another part of the district, and sounded
exhausted when I picked up the phone.
“Alex”, Saira said, “please tell me something good”.
“I wish I could”, I replied.
*
*
*
Malcolm Berger was a busy man.
On the wrong side of fifty, with an alarmingly receding hairline and withering
personality, he lacked any basic physicality and wore large round glasses with thick black
frames. He didn’t care about his woeful appearance, though. He was going to be famous
at the end of his run.
He had been a University Professor at Harvard, after achieving his PhD in Sociology and
Sciences, including Psychology. Berger had always been interested in world issues, and
had joined a few protest groups that focused on protesting against tribulations such as
human rights and malnutrition. His conversion to extremitism had begun when he had
contributed statistics to a study being conducted on teenagers and their involvement in
and perception of global issues. Turns out three quarters of them had no clue whatsoever,
or didn’t care. This infuriated Malcolm, and he decided there was only one way to attract
the people’s attention: to take a teenager and give them a fun little quiz on how much
they cared. Just four questions. If they cared more about their hair than contraception in
India, he would kill them. If not, he would let them go.
So far he had killed all four of them. Now he would begin his final stage. He was going
to strap himself to two teenage boys, and take a bomb into the Stock Exchange.
24 The Phoenix 2013 This would make them wake up to their oblivious stupidity.
After stepping out of his house on 72nd Street, Berger walked north. He had a job at a law
firm, named LATTOUF, NAKHOUL AND YOUSSEF. If he had really wanted to, he could
have added Berger to the name, but it would give him away if the police started
searching. As he walked through the glass front doors and stepped into the lavishly
decorated and expensively furnished foyer, he turned right and strode toward the front
desk. The Caucasian receptionist at the desk smiled when she saw him, than looked
confused.
“Mr Berger”, she said in surprise, “you don’t usually work on Friday. What brings you
in?”
“Forgive me, Alice. I was looking to collect some files for a case I was working on.
Would you mind scanning me into the system?”
“Of course. Have a wonderful day, Mr Berger.”
He was silent as he strode away.
*
*
*
I don’t think I ever mentioned the one bad thing about being a detective in Manhattan.
It’s the lack of sleep. I was so tired after working, brainstorming, researching, and
interviewing non-stop for more than forty-eight hours, my legs weren’t responding. Saira
wasn’t doing too well either. She wasn’t really responding to the outside world. Her
eyelids were at war with her brain, and her eyelids were winning. When she fell of her
chair and landed in a heap on the floor, unmoving, I decided it was time to go.
“Get up”, I told her, and when she failed to answer I stooped and picked her up, firmly
holding her against my chest. By the time I reached the car my arms were screaming,
giving me reminder after painful reminder that I shouldn’t be doing this. Gently laying
her in the back seat of the Charger, I drove home and placed her on my couch, draping a
blanket over her curled and calm body. The sleep was unbearable now. My legs had
turned to lead, and my consciousness was slowly rotting away as I turned the lights in the
apartment out. I dove into my bed when I was finished, too tired to even remove my
clothes.
Sleep came instantly.
*
*
25 *
The Phoenix 2013 Malcolm Berger stepped into a lift at the end of the foyer of the law firm, and took a short
trip to Level Eight. Once he arrived, he quickly walked through the adjoining corridors,
and stepped into his office.
His office, due to recent renovations, was spacious and boasted three leather chairs, a
polished oak desk, a tall bookshelf and a black couch. Malcolm took a cardboard box
from under the desk, and started packing his important files. He fetched the notes made
on the kids he’d killed, plans for his grand finale, and other personal items. He took the
box downstairs and walked through the back of the building, catching a cab back to his
place. After putting the box next to the bed in his room, he got into his Toyota, drove to
19th Street, and stepped out, heading for a nice Italian restaurant that made good pasta. He
had an abandoned warehouse ready to house his next victim, and the explosives were all
ready for his use. He was organised.
Whistling, he rounded the corner. He suddenly came to a halt as he left the street. All
thoughts of a nice dinner and leisure were dispelled from his mind. For walking down the
road from him, less than one hundred metres away, was his final victim.
*
*
*
We had a lead.
Forensics came back to us with a report two days after Saira had slept at my place. We
were at the office and using a whiteboard to draw possible connections on the case when
Saira received the call. Within ten minutes we were in the Blue Menace, hurtling
dangerously over the legal speed limit toward the Forensics Unit, near the eastern part of
the island, where the body had been moved.
The Chief Forensics Officer, Kenny “Doc” Chappron, was in his late sixties, with white
hair and very wrinkly skin. None of this detracted from his incredibly intelligent mind,
however, and he was highly respected by everyone. He was waiting for us when we
arrived.
“Greetings, Detective Murdock”, he said in his thick Irish accent, “and to you, Miss
Jones. Come through, come through, there is no time to waste.”
We followed him through the building to a bright room that stank of disinfectant. On a
table in the centre of the room lay the body. It was the same as before, showing no signs
of tampering. Doc pointed to a spot on the right side of the body’s forehead.
26 The Phoenix 2013 “Do you see that?” he said excitedly. When we didn’t answer, he turned off the lights and
pulled an instrument that looked like a hair dryer from a tray of tools. He turned it on and
it emitted a bright blue florescent light. He held the light over the spot where he had
pointed. Underneath the light, I spotted a faint marking- a circle.
“Do you see it now?” He asked.
“Is it a fingerprint?” Saira asked.
“Why, yes it is. It contains enough DNA for information, and the slight smudging
suggests that it was rash, like propping a head up.” Doc replied. “There were no markings
on any of the other victims. It seems that our murderer may have made a fatal mistake.”
“Have you put it through a fingerprint reader?” I asked. When the results came through,
we would be able to pinpoint who this moron was. We could launch a search, find him
and apprehend him. We could end this nightmare.
“Results should come back in a little under four hours. Until then, you are going to have
to find something productive to do.”
“Thanks, Doc.” I said, and we quickly left the Forensics Unit. There was some preparing
to do, and we needed teams and resources ready to be utilised as soon as the scan results
came through.
*
*
*
Daniel Wheeler opened one eye. Slowly. His other eye hurt too much to open. He was in
an old wooden chair. He tried moving his arms and legs, but they were all held fast with
tape that dug painfully into his skin. He looked around, his head hurting with the
movement. He was in what appeared to be an old abandoned warehouse; the only light
coming through some windows high on the far wall.
He tried to remember how he came to be where he was. He’d been at a party. That’s
right; he had been with his best friend at Michael Brit’s party. It had been amazing. There
were girls, good music, and booze. He’d needed to get outside to call his parents. His
parents never really paid much attention to him, not when his dad was the current
President of the Stock Exchange, and his mum was always busy fulfilling her duties as
his wife. He was pacing outside the mansion, willing his parents to pick up, when he had
noticed a man watching him from the end of the street.
27 The Phoenix 2013 He’d turned the other way and walked down the road, trying to look inconspicuous, but
the man had driven past him, and stopped just ahead. The man got out, and Daniel didn’t
have time to shout before he was hit with something hard and fell into darkness.
Daniel was scared now. He tried shouting, but at first all that came out was a whisper,
then a croak. He found his voice and screamed, “Help! Help! Is anybody there? Help
me!”
Behind him, a door opened. The fear crept over him like ice, forcing its fingers into his
brain, letting the dark thoughts and bad feelings commandeer his mind, like tendrils of
shadow. He tried wriggling free, but the tape was holding him in place. There was a
shape in front of him now, which evolved into a man as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
He was old and thin, holding something in his hand. As the sunlight entered through the
windows, the light reflected off metal.
And then Daniel saw the sinister gun in the man’s left hand.
“Hello, Daniel,” said the man. “You’re going to come with me for a little trip to daddy at
work, and he’s going to see you with a bomb around your waist. Isn’t that going to be
fun?”
He laughed, and it sounded more sick and disfigured then anything Daniel had ever heard
before. Daniel whimpered.
Suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of sirens, rebounding of the walls of the
warehouse in a sickeningly loud crescendo.
“This is the Police! You are now surrounded! Come out with your hands in the air, and
nobody is going to get hurt!”
The man swore, and then looked at something just behind Daniel’s vision. As if
remembering something, the man started smiling. He disappeared behind Daniel, and
appeared again holding what looked like a belt with red bricks on it. A cord ran through
the best to an object similar to a television remote in the man’s other hand. The gun was
still pointed at him.
“There’s scissors under your seat. Cut the tape and stand up. Any funny business and
you’re dead. You understand?”
Daniel nodded, and untied himself, grimacing at the welts on his skin made by the tape
and the bleeding wounds on his hands. The man came forward and tied the bomb around
Daniel’s waist, leading the cord through the holes.
28 The Phoenix 2013 The man lead Daniel to the door, and with a swift push, the door was open, and they were
walking into the sirens.
29 The Phoenix 2013 Flight of Bad Luck - Dom Packman
It was a cold, wet, miserable night when something extraordinary took place in the otherwise
uninteresting town of Chipping Dale, Britain. Sam Corey was on his 1983 Harley Davidson
coming from work, which for him was Robertson’s & Robertson’s law firm on 5th street.
On his way home, which was a secluded six bedroom villa, he decided to turn into Cedar
Avenue, a narrow little street no-one ever uses. He didn’t notice the slight gleam on the road at
the intersection, illuminated by the sickly yellow, flickering street light. This was to spell his
fate. As he took the corner, faster than he usually would, his back tyre slipped out from
underneath him, and began the death wobble. Things like this never happened to him, especially
on a heavy bike like this, he thought to himself. He attempted to regain control but was unable
to do so, still completely dumbfounded as to what is happening, he suddenly realised he had run
over the gutter, and was roaring down the pathway at 40-50 (70-80 kph) miles an hour.
By the time he pulled himself together it was too late and the impact was imminent, he saw in
front of him, a two foot high flower bed made of solid concrete, and when his front tyre hit this it
buckled and the bike was going no further. On the other hand, Sam flew through sky, which gave
him time to think, ‘maybe this is all some crazy nightmare, and maybe I’m starting to come out
of it?’ All this went through his mind before he hit the hanging shop sign with swirls, fancy curls
and, unfortunately, sharp (arrow head like) spikes. One of these went through his back and came
out the other side.
On impact, the force was so great and the pain was so unimaginable, Sam passed out for what
felt like a life time. The last thing he saw, just before he blacked out was four dark, shiftylooking people come out of a side alley, approximately 350 feet up the road.
When Sam came around, he could feel something cold and solid poking through his stomach,
and he was covered in crusty blood which had ruined his favourite leather rising jacket. When he
tried to move, shockwaves of pain shuddered through him, and when he opened his eyes he
realised for the first time that he was hanging from a sign 10 feet above the ground. This was
made worse by the fact that he had a overpowering fear of heights. Even in so much pain he
managed to say, in short gasping breaths: “These old signs, they can hold an elephant up and still
stay attached.”
The left side of his head was throbbing; this is because it had taken most of the impact. When he
tried to focus on something he couldn’t quite manage it and realised it was because his left eye
was swollen shut, but when he felt his eye with his hand, he screamed.
‘Why did this happen to me? God! Why!”
30 The Phoenix 2013 He could feel, or rather couldn’t feel, that his eye had sunken back into his skull, and blood and
puss was oozing out of the eye socket.
After 5 minutes of crying and complaining, only broken by screams of pain from himself, he
decided to find a solution to his dilemma. As he moved his stomach to get into position great
waves of pain and agony tore through his body. This was quite definitely the worst pain he had
felt in his 34 years of life. This time it was too much and he fell back, driving the spike deeper,
and blacked out again for another few minutes. When he came to he thought of something he
should have done in the first place: call 999 for the ambulance or cops or anyone. When he felt
for his pocket it wasn’t there. That was when he remembered that he left it in his backpack on the
back of the bike. This had made him cry out in rage and desperation as he had considered it his
final hope. He finally made a decision to ‘do or die’. He’d made up his mind, no matter how
much pain he suffered, he was going to keep on going, even if it killed him.
As Sam rose, inch by inch, he howled out in pain, but kept on going because he knew that if he
stopped he would pass out again. He felt something sharp, slipping through his body but paid no
attention to it, and still pushed on. He looked down at what passed through him and realised it
was like an arrow and would most likely catch on his intestines if he wasn’t careful enough. It
also meant it split the cut open even wider and the pain was, once again unbearable. At this point
he almost gave up. He knew how easy it was to give up and he was good at it, but now he had to
keep going, for his family. The image of his wife and two children flashed before his eyes. This
gave him the—no quite courage, but—incentive to keep going and give it one last attempt. This
time he succeeded.
As he pulled for a gruelling ten seconds (which felt more like ten minutes) he screamed but now
his voice was beginning to become hoarse and raspy. The metal rod came out of his back with a
slight bend in it. After it was completely out he had forgotten to hold on to something so he
didn’t fall over, but he realised too late and had no time to save himself. When he fell, his right
ankle caught on something and protested against going any further, so for a split second he was
hanging in mid-air, upside down. This gave him enough time to protect his head from any further
injuries, and suddenly he continued to fall like a ton of bricks on to the cold, hard pathway.
He hit the pavement with a sickening crunch sound, gasping for breath, as he had been holding
his breath throughout the entire encounter and his lungs were begging for fresh oxygen. He
looked down to his right ankle to see what had happened and saw that the ankle bone had been
torn out and was hanging on the sign, along with chunks of flesh and part of his heel bone, as if
some sort of glorified decoration for the shop sign, which, coincidently, was an ornament shop.
After the severity of his injury became clear to him, even with his crazy and frantic mind, he was
able to say:
“Ah shit! Now how am I gonna change gears?”
31 The Phoenix 2013 At the sight of his mangled, almost dismembered foot, Sam did not have the stomach for it and
threw up over the pavement and cried out in a mix of pain, agony and horror. At this point he
saw the four shady figures gain, but this time closer. They were hazy because he was on the
verge of unconsciousness and had lost a lot of blood. As they approached, he was completely
defenceless and heard himself, in a child-like voice, say:
“Help me, please! Help me!”
But the people approaching him paid no attention to his pleas and kept staring at him. As they
got closer they took off their hoodies and Sam instantly recognised their faces. It was Tom, Jack,
Adrian and Joe, the four ruthless ‘murdering mates’ who he’d put in jail himself many years ago.
They all said, as if in practised unison:
“Hey Sammy boy, remember us?”
Suddenly it hit me -­‐ Daniel Fraga Suddenly it hit me. Lights flashed before my eyes. Then everything went black and it felt like a dream. I woke up in a strange bed and wondered, “What dream was I in?” People were standing around me and looking at me with. I was as terrified as a new boy. I didn’t understand what was going on. I tried to ask what was wrong, but I couldn’t speak. I heard three voices and saw about six people. Overwhelmed... I tried to rest once more. Surprisingly, sleep consumed me swiftly. I woke up eight hours later. As I woke up I felt extremely strange and thought I was kidnapped. I attempted to get up, but as I tried, a person ran in and told me to get up. I ignored this and tried to get up. My legs began to hurt, especially my right leg. I found a method of seeing properly. I covered one eye, then looked up at my leg and the weight that held it down. I slipped once more into unconsciousness. 32 The Phoenix 2013 An hour later I saw my mother, father and sister in the hospital, there were others around me as well. I saw a man… he told me about how he got in to the place. This made me feel very nervous because I was sure what happened to me and his story was very disturbing. It took me some time to forget about this man. I had a massive headache, people kept telling me; ‘You’re doing well.’ I did not believe anything they told me because I felt terrible. They told me that I would be moving. I fell asleep or thought that I was asleep…. I looked up, the back of my neck limiting my movement as pain increased. I felt afraid as I saw an older, quite large woman. I couldn’t speak and simply faced in her direction. Both of my parents attempted to tell me what was wrong with me. In hindsight I couldn’t understand them and to this day my memories are quite hazy about this time. All I can remember was that I was pleased with the better food and television this room afforded. There were many people looking after me, “I realised many people were there for me especially my family. I’d never realised how much they loved me.” I felt, that I was going to be OK as there was no feeling of pain anymore. I was assigned a Speech Therapist. This was perfectly fine for me because I was born with a stutter, so I’ve had a Therapist throughout my life. I looked up while covering one eye… then it suddenly hit me, I was in the ward of brain injuries of Motor Accidents and Emergencies. 33 The Phoenix 2013 Aleksei Gracias Flor
34 The Phoenix 2013 Colours of Life - Lorenzo Asalemo
I am a sick man, with not much time left... One day – two days – two months they say, but it all
doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that I spend at least this day well.
The time until my end... So close, yet so far, known not to most, just like the stars in the solar
systems, the galaxies and the universe. We will never know, until we go and find out for
ourselves.
“What lies beyond this life? What is the point of this? Why do we carry on?” I ask this to myself
as they walk in, smiles on their faces, masks of the despair they hold within. They know it as
well as I do: my daughter, my son, and my wife.
Aloud they call my name, a name that would lose its meaning soon enough. A name that is not
important now.
“How are you?” the wife asked.
The man sat up eagerly. “I’m fine; perfectly fine.”
“Are you sure you’re well enough? We don’t have to go to—”
“Today. It has to be today... This fair is only held once a year, you know...” The man paused for
a second before looking up at his family. “I mean, you didn’t want to bring out the kids for
nothing, did you?”
The boy walked up to his father and patted him on the shoulder. “We’re not kids anymore,
pops.”
“We’re even heading out to uni in a few weeks,’ said the girl while hugging her father.
“Alright, alright, so you aren’t... Shall we go then?”
The wife looked anxiously at her husband.
The man got up from his bed. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine, let’s just have some fun, okay?”
He looked up at his family briefly before turning towards his window. The sun was high in the
sky and there were only a few clouds that could be seen. Peering into the distance, he could see
it: ‘The Fair’.
Suddenly the world flashed a brilliant white, it felt as if time had shifted, the world spun and the
colours twisted.
“Hey...” the girl said.
35 The Phoenix 2013 “Hey!” she said again, with more energy.
The boy shook his head as if he broke from a trance.
The girl looked at him, concerned. “What are you looking at?”
“I was just looking at the grey...”
“The grey...?”
“Oh well... The sky, I meant the sky...” The boy pointed up. “Look at the way the grey bleeds
into the colours of The Fair. Doesn’t it just seem...sad?”
The girl looked up at the sky. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Oh, that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to go. Let’s have fun, yeah?”
“Alright – hey, wait...” The girl peered over the boy’s shoulder, bemused at the dozens of people
leaving The Fair already. And soon enough it seemed quite empty, when the two hadn’t even
entered yet. The boy looked at the girl, soaked. Her long brown hair was drenched and so were
her clothes.
“Maybe we should go another time?”
The girl’s head shot up. “What?” she said, shocked.
The boy stepped forward and smoothed his hair back off his face. “I mean...”
The girl nudged him gently with her shoulder. “This fair...is only held once a year, you know...”
The sky lightened up a little, but the rain carried on.
“Err...” the boy hesitated for a moment. He looked down at his drenched clothes – “Uh...”
“Screw it,” he thought to himself.
“Alright, let’s go!”
The two ran in wildly while trying to dodge the others leaving The Fair, jumping in the air from
time to time, letting loose as the rain splashed onto the ground. The boy only stopped running
once he realised the girl wasn’t by his side anymore.
“Hey! Where’d you go?”
The sky seemed dark and grey again, but something was off, almost as if the world was in
greyscale. He spun around, looking in all directions, but she was nowhere in sight.
“Where are you?”
36 The Phoenix 2013 Almost all the people had left The Fair now, the place was nearly empty. Vendors sat gloomily at
their stalls, the music had died down, and rides were being shut off.
“What happened to the—”
“Colour?”
The boy stood still, the voice seemed to come out of nowhere.
“I’m here!”
The boy spun around again, it was impossible to describe where the sound came from.
“Where’s here?” he shouted.
*PANG!*
The boy shifted again as the sound echoed throughout the landscape and at the same moment a
large ferris wheel lit up suddenly, with brilliant colours. The light it produced was dazzling, and
even when the boy could only see part of the ride over the stalls and games, he felt the colours
coming back. The rain continued as he ran and slowly the grey washed away.
Finally he made it to the ferris wheel, which stood no less than twenty metres in height, its
wonderful colours were full in sight and somehow, the world seemed alive again.
The girl sat in the first seat, smiling. “Hey, you found me!”
The boy stood still, awestruck at the beauty of the scene.
She began to wave: “Come on then, ride with me!”
The boy walked forward, noticing that the girl was the only one sitting on the entire ride. She
stretched out her hand and pulled him onto the seat next to her. The girl pointed outside as the
carriage rose into the air.
“It’s weird, don’t you think, that the world can seem so different when you add a little colour?”
The ferris wheel lit up The Fair, glowing brilliantly like a light horse or a beacon. Soon enough,
the other staff in charge of The Fair followed the example and began turning on their rides and
lights. The clouds in the sky were dyed another colour, the rain sparkled, a rainbow replaced the
grey; it was a sight no less than spectacular.
And it was a truly wonderful, memory.
The man could see the lights in the distance, the lights of the ferris wheel, the colours of The
Fair, the most memorable colours of his memories, as he collapsed.
37 The Phoenix 2013 And then everything that he had once known, everything that he had once been...was now gone,
forever.
vogue.com – John Paul Baladi
He was one of those petite baby-faced boys who, although victimized all his schooling years, had
made it quite far in life, although only nineteen years of age. He had no care for his former
schools bullies, no care for friends, no care for a relationship and no interest in one either. His
name, Leroy Berry. He was raised as an only child in the small American town of Lima, Ohio,
where he discovered his passion for fashion. He graduated from high school and was credited to
the New York Academy of Fashion and Design, where he now lived. He boarded in a bitty
apartment near the Academy. His apartment wasn’t much, but it was his all, and all he needed to
keep occupied was his sewing machine and his textiles, and masterpieces were actualized.
Leroy had been looking for a job and finally booked an interview for part-time intern at the
fashion website ‘vogue.com’s main office in the CBD of NYC. ‘Vogue.com’ was one of his
daily websites, he used it to buy clothes, check on the latest fashion and watch live fashion
shows.
“Ms. Wright will see you now.” announced the receptionist at
the ‘vogue.com’ headquarters. Standing up and clenching his black-leather manbag, Leroy
followed the direction of the receptionists arm. He was dressed for the occasion with a dark
yellow tuxedo above a white polo shirt, crocodile leather shoes, a bright purple bow-tie and on
his right chest section he pinned a bronze crocodile broche.
There was a long hall with titled doors, Leroy recognized some of the names on them as fashion
icons. Finally, a large pink door was before him, labelled ‘Elizabeth Wright, executive of Design
’.
“Its time to shine.” whispered Leroy to himself.
Knocking three times, he waited for a response, but no answer. Slowly opening the door Leroy
found himself before a young women sitting on the marble office floor holding two dresses.
“Black or white?” she asked.
“Pardon?” replied Leroy in confusion.”
Which dress do you prefer? I can’t really make up my mind. Black is more elegant, but white is
just so now!” she complained.
“Black” decided Leroy. “It hides a secret, plus its slimming”
“Nice” said the young woman whilst smiling. “How rude of me not to introduce myself, I am
Elizabeth Wright. You must be Leroy, correct.
38 The Phoenix 2013 Leroy’s face almost fell as he could not believe what he was hearing, this young pure-faced lady
was the executive of a multinational business?
“Yes, that’s me.” He replied, shocked.
“Good, you’re looking for an internship?” Elizabeth asked, grabbing piece of paper. “Well your
résumé is impressive.” She looked up at Leroy. “Do you know how many people want this job?”
“Trust me, choosing me will be the greatest decision you’ll ever make.” said Leroy with
determination.
“Ooh, you’re gutsy.” Said Elizabeth, “I like that, but if you want this job Ill need more than that,
Ill need to see something outstanding, Ill need to see perfection, style, a masterpiece. That is
what I expect.”
“So if I pull it off the job is mine?” he questioned.
“Anyone who can pull off a crocodile broche can work here.” she said looking at his right chest,
“But remember, I need something extraordinary.”
“Yes Ms. Wright, I assure you that I will not let you down,” responded Leroy with confidence.
“Dismissed.” She let out.
As he walked out the receptionist addressed him for a second time.
“I knew that I recognized you from somewhere!” she exclaimed. “You live in my apartment
block!”
“Oh that’s right, room 206 right?” replied Leroy recognizing the young woman.
“Yeah I thought I recognized you earlier but wasn’t sure until I saw your address on your
resume.” she answered.
The two spoke for a few minutes and she introduced herself as Rachel, soon the two parted ways.
This encounter made Leroy more determined to get this job.
Leroy spent that entire afternoon looking through magazines and catalogues for some sort of
inspiration. However, nothing. He had no idea what he was to do, he was mind blanked. None of
his expensive materials, silks or fabrics was any good to him. What he needed was a crazy
design, something out there, something never seen before, yet he could not get his mind around
what he was to do.
A week had passed and one noisy New York morning the two ran into each other once more.
They exchanged greetings and fell into deep conversation.
“I am so stuck on what to do for Ms.Wright, my mind is just blank.” Leroy said.
“Be exciting, be different.” replied Rachel.
“Trust me I’m trying my best, any recommendations on Ms. Wright likes?” he asked.
“You didn’t hear this from me, but she is a woman of class.,” answered Rachel kindly.
“Thanks a heap.” Replied Leroy, “Do you want to catch breakfast? I hear the café on Ninth is
amazing.”
“Sounds like a date!” Rachel agreed.
The two talked about a wide variety of thing that they have in common; this made Leroy more
and more determined to get this job.
“I’m just trying to find myself in life, who am I meant to be?” put Leroy.
39 The Phoenix 2013 “I know exactly what you mean!” exclaimed Rachel “Like, when will my ‘happily ever after
begin’, will I even get one?”
“Everyone will get a happy ending, especially a beautiful woman like you.” Leroy flirted.
Leroy went to the academy that day, there he thought of what he would make, a long beautiful
dress with the craziest mixture of colour.
Leroy woke the next morning just like any other, but as he arose, he noticed something strange.
The apartment door was slightly opened; however, Leroy remembered not only closing it but
also locking it. He shut it, confused. Suddenly, Leroy could not believe his eyes! His mannequin
was in a dress, but not a dress he had made. A classy blue and gold mermaid dress had pink
lining and practically perfect stitching throughout. It was made of HIS textiles and with HIS
sewing machine! It was on HIS mannequin! Leroy recovered from shock and thought about what
could have happened.
Finally, he realized who had done this, he concluded that it was quite obviously Rachel. He
remembered what she had said about Ms. Wrights like of class. This meant Rachel really wanted
him to get the job, Leroy however thought that this would be cheating and decided that he would
have to make the dress himself.
At about midday Elizabeth called Leroy to ask him about his progress. He laughed and told her
what had happened and he promised to have something ready for her soon.
Leroy did not see Rachel that entire day.
Again, Leroy woke up to an opened door and a dress on his mannequin, however, Leroy did not
appreciate this. In fact, he was mad. Leroy stormed to Rachel’s apartment and banged her door,
hard. She answered with sleepy eyes and a coffee in hand.
“Thanks for the gesture, but I can create MY OWN clothes,” he shouted angrily.
Suddenly Rachel’s face woke up.
“What are you raging about?” she questioned.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he replied angrily storming away into his
apartment.
That day Leroy ripped up the dress Rachel had made and began work on his own creation. He
was determined to get that internship.
The next morning Leroy awoke to the same situation as the two previous days with another
magnificent gown, and this time his beginning work on his mannequin was in the trash. Leroy
was furious.
His reaction to Rachel was the same.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” she begged him to believe her.
“Enough with the Elves and the Shoemaker!” Leroy raged, “If I want this job I’m going to get it
myself!”
Again, that day Leroy recreated his dress making modifications and changing various parts.
Rachel and Leroy who were once close friends were now ignoring each other. However, there
was no way Leroy would let Rachel do this another night, he planned to stay awake all night so
he could catch her in the crime.
40 The Phoenix 2013 For hours Leroy stayed awake tying to read for a while, then playing on his phone and finally by
watching a movie. It wasn’t until about one thirty AM that Leroy heard a noise at the door.
Walking towards the sound of struggling in the keyhole he pulled a knife just for precaution.
Finally the noise stopped and Leroy stood back. The door gradually creaked open.
On the other side stood a familiar face, but definitely not, whom he was expecting.
“Ms.Wright?” Leroy questioned. “Is that you?”
“Oh, Leroy? This is your place?” she acted.
“It was you the entire time?”
“I had to make sure you got the job!” she complained.
“But by breaking into my house?” asked Leroy in shock and confusion.
“I was determined to gain you as staff, but the board, the board,” she complained. “I know how
picky they are, especially with employees as young as you.”
The two had a long chat and Ms.Wright agreed she would only ‘help’ with the dress.
It turned out amazing and Leroy was emailed the job offer.
As for Rachel, apologies were made and, well… they got their ‘happily ever after’.
Aleksei Gracias-Flor
41 The Phoenix 2013 Snake Break – Tom Dineen
I was lying on the ground in pain because a big black snake bit me on the leg. There was no one to help me because everyone else was back at the camp site. * * * * The whole class was on the bus on the way to the Year 8 camp. We were going camping, the teachers were telling us all of the rules of the camp and as usual no one was listening. One of the rules which we knew already without having to be told was not to walk off by ourselves because there are a lot of dangerous animals around the bush area. We had lunch on the tables set up outside and then the leaders split us all into four groups, we picked up our bags and started to walk to our campsite. Once our group reached the camping area our leader told us to make the tents with our partner. My mate John and I were going to share the same tent. We finished setting up our tent early and we wanted to look around the camping area to see what it was like. We found a toilet (a hole in the ground) and we found some benches with camping stoves and sinks on them. It was about 10 pm and we decided to go to bed. At about 5:30 in the morning I was woken up by John hitting my face with a pillow, he told me to get up and have some breakfast. John and I, half asleep, walked over to the benches set up and poured some cereal in our bowls. We sat down with all of the other boys that were awake and ate our cereal. I finished my cereal, so I went over to my tent to pack it up. John came over and helped me. The leader of our group called every one over and told us that we needed to leave soon if we wanted to make it to the campsite before 1 pm. 15 minutes later everyone was ready to go, we walked for hours and hours with only a few stops and we finally made it to the new camping area. 42 The Phoenix 2013 After looking around this area John and I went for a walk through the bush. After 10 minutes of walking John wanted to go back and get his pack of cigarettes. I couldn’t be bothered to go with him so I told him to go without me. John ran off to the camping area and I found a rock to sit on. It was a big rock that looked good to sit on but I had to climb about 10 meters to get up to it. The climb was easy and I made it up in no-­‐time and sat down to look at the bush spread out before me. I was sitting there for about two minutes then I felt a little tickling feeling on my hand. I thought it was a leaf or something. I looked down and saw the biggest spider I have ever seen, sitting on my hand. I jumped to my feet and started walking backwards, keeping my eyes on the spider. I tripped on a rock and fell backwards onto a bush. I stayed there for a minute, keeping my eyes on the spider. Suddenly I felt something on the side of my leg followed by a sharp pain which felt like someone had stuck a knife into the side of my calf. I shouted out in pain and looked down. I saw a big black snake about a foot away from my leg. I jumped up before it could bite me again. When I landed, my foot went from underneath me. I slipped on a loose rock and fell backwards off the rock. I fell and have no idea how I didn’t go head first. I would have been dead. I hit the ground on the same leg that the snake had bitten and it crumpled underneath me. A sharp pain spiked up my body. I looked at my leg which was now covered in blood. The snapped bone made a small mound that stuck out the side of my leg. My God it just hurt so much. I started screaming out for John and whoever else could hear me. There was no response but I kept shouting anyway. I started to drag myself along with my arms but my leg hurt too much, so I stopped. I just lay there too hurt to move, shout or even think. I just lay there with my eyes closed in too much pain to even cry. My head started to spin and I opened my eyes to try and stop it. The outside rim of my vision started to get cloudy and the cloud started to move to the centre. I thought I heard John’s voice call my name. Then everything went black. My Own Way - Ryan Machado
‘I promise to speak with the Great Spirit. I promise to follow and live up to all the signs that she
gives me. I promise to...’ I drew my breath... ‘to treat the Earth and all that dwell thereon with
respect. I promise to remain close to the Great Spirit. I promise to show great respect for my
fellow beings. I promise to work together for the benefit of all Mankind. I promise to give
assistance and guidance wherever needed. I promise to do what you know to be right. I promise
43 The Phoenix 2013 to look after the wellbeing of man and body. I promise to dedicate a share of my efforts to the
common good. I promise to be truthful and honest at all times. I promise to take full
responsibility for my actions.’
I looked at elder Maha, the film over her eyes only now beginning to form a tear of pride that
made its way down her left cheek.
‘Good. Good.’ she replied. ‘Now it’s time to take the next step. It is now your chance to address
the Great Spirit.’
With her hand placed on my hip, she guided me as we walked through the aisle of fire. I looked
around at the red men, shouting powerfully. Their heads turned around to face me as I passed by,
like the screws and bolts of the White Man. Their powerful shouts bore down upon my head.
In an almost hopeful voice, having seen my anxiety, she told me, ‘Do not be afraid, Anach. This
is not something that you should fear. Always remember, the Great Spirit watches over everyone
and everything. Every minute of every day. She guides those who follow, and protects the good
from the evil.’
‘But Maha, I am still young.’
We stopped walking immediately. The shouts continued on. Maha pressed my head onto her
breast. For a brief moment I felt peace as her words passed gracefully behind my head.
‘There is no such thing as being too young. You are a man from the very moment you are born.
Every man has his own responsibilities. This opportunity has come early to you, and you should
be proud.’
‘But Maha, why didn’t they choose Rekah over me? He is much older and braver.’
‘My dear Anach!’ she exclaimed. ‘You have been chosen by elder Shalak because you are
ready.’
Those words overwhelmed me. I snapped. ‘But how does he know! How will anyone know
what I am and what I will be! No one can! Not you! Not Shalak! Not anyone!’
I had crossed the line. Elder Maha looked at me with a decaying face. She said nothing and
walked away. I swear she had wiped a tear as she turned away from me, starting to walk back to
the village. My brother Rekah followed her, giving me a disapproving glance on the way.
I scanned the faces of everyone else around. Like I mentioned before, I had crossed the line. I
don’t know what had come over me. I had always spoken to all my Elders with the utmost
respect. They knew best.
44 The Phoenix 2013 An apology was in order, and so I followed the footprints of the great mentor whom I had
betrayed, back to the village.
**************
The crimson eyed, black haired image of my father started to appear to my dreams.
‘The belief and trust in your elders, and the connection with the Great Spirit should be the only
two missions within your life. I know that you are growing up in the world of the White Man,
but you mustn’t, even for one minute, forget these two missions within your life.’
‘Our culture will always come first in my life, father.’
‘Good Anach. I know that one day, you will understand the truth, and once you do, there will be
nothing that will stop you from your responsibilities.’
Whilst conversing subconsciously with my long dead father, I noticed Elder Maha, happily
grooming the horses, smiling to Dad and me as we chatted.
‘Now concentrate Anach. I will teach you how to pray to the Great One, for the peace and
tranquillity of the White Man’s world. Repeat after me.’
‘Yes father.’
‘Oh Great Spirit. I ask you to bless the White Man.’
‘Oh Great Spirit. I ask you to bless the White Man.’
Smiling, he continued, ‘He needs your wisdom and your guidance.’
‘He needs your wisdom and your guidance.’
I looked at him again; he was deeply occupied.
‘For so long, he has tried to destroy my people and only feels comfortable when given powe-.’
The gunshot was loud and clear. My father’s body fell on mine. I looked into his now bleeding
face, so majestic and humble. For a moment, time had stopped. When I finally realised what
happened, I pushed my father’s corpse off mine and rolled onto my side, only managing to catch
sight of the face of a bearded white man, shouting, ‘To hell with you hooligan cockroaches!’
45 The Phoenix 2013 Poetry Composition
Winner of the Les Murray
Award for Senior Poetry
Composition
Reflective Outcomes - Joseph Del Rosario
1. Pressured Young Mind, Breaking apart
2. Escaping from starting point
3. Acknowledging Reflection
Pressured Young Mind, Breaking apart
I hear the very same words my parents tell me not to say out of their own mouth
I’m just sitting down in the corner of the same room and listening to the rude and hypocritical
acts
Where the environment’s volume gets louder and louder
And things getting thrown and crash on the floor. And the wall.
Suddenly everything’s black
The bloodshot noises. Trying to be muted for my own sake
I closed my eyes hoping it was a dream that never comes back.
I open my eyes and suddenly I’m in the middle of the room
Trying not to abide
But the people in the black suits say I must sign the paper and choose a side
I’m given a choice between two people I’ve loved my whole life
Mom, the woman who conceived me, the one who corrected me, protected me and loved me.
Dad, the one who made me the man I am now, the one who taught me how to stand and fight and
the one who put the food on the table.
46 The Phoenix 2013 But I don’t think I’m able, to choose
To have one parent and let the other one loose
But this moment has been foreshadowing my whole life
Could’ve told by my household always filled with strife
Even the neighbours could tell,
The noise that came out of our house was like a church bell
But when you come inside it’s like the firing pits of hell
Where all you’d be hearing is frustrated, angry, annoyed yells.
This is the quietest this battle field has ever been
All eyes on me, and time just passing slowly
They’re waiting for me to make a decision,
To conclude this ceremony and runaway
But this time in division.
Escaping from starting point
Flinging outside from doors and barriers that kept me captive
I panted for distance and sped through the dark suburban pathways
Glancing back a few time to check if I wasn’t being followed
Where the desperation and aspiration for freedom is to be swallowed.
The surroundings consumed with clouds overshadowing light and noises to the lowest volume
Here I know I must continue…
Though I was just running to an unknown destination
My legs kept moving through the fogged out road ahead
I had to get away from where was brought up
They say it’s called a home
But does it deserve that name where arguments and pain lurk to soon leave you insane?
The vociferous plains trailing afar is not to be missed
I was there yesterday, but now in the midst.
I suffered beating and shoutings from people sharing the same blood as me, but
Now I’m tired of it, so I pack my bags and leave my block.
I ran and ran further and further away
To start afresh and try to forget the past
The dates and memories that happened under that roof,
Now cease.
Littered and deserted like rubbish.
Acknowledging Reflection
“The great blessings of mankind are within us and within our reach; but we shut our eyes, and
47 The Phoenix 2013 like people in the dark, we fall foul upon the very thing we search for, without finding it.” Seneca
(7 B.C-65 A.D.)
I look at myself starring back at me in the mirror
Nothing can find the true answer to my problems like trial and error
Just one glance
Then the die rolls along to give me another chance
to succeed or fail
And every pessimistic detail spots out to me with disgust and regret
But really all I can see is a desperate silhouette
Desiring to fix all the wrongs he’s committed
To change all perceptions of himself to be acquitted.
The frost aching piercing bound around him
Causes thought for the individual to believe he’s lost all limbs
To generate confessions for venial and mortal sins
After times passing by with so too punishment,
The application of self-awareness has dampened one’s mind
To prove that, that silhouette is to change
Into somewhat a butterfly
To be ought so beautiful and free
And achieve a balance like on a black and white key pressing middle c.
His shoulders begin to converse into ones ear
Though seeming to be invisible the presence can be felt,
The left be damned
The right be blessed,
Who feed the clueless mind to wanting liberties naked breast
To be so pure as the coveted stature
And endeavour to neglect that satanic figure.
The sudden stare begins to walk away now,
While I’m standing here and watching my reflection’s back towards me
I soon become aware,
Now stare.
At something I truly wished to possess;
Purity, integrity, Honour, Bravery, Intelligence, Compassion and Reason.
So I scream at it,
Where it turns around and now I see the potential alikeness – between us
I raise my hand to the mirror. It follows.
Though we seem so close, we are yet so far from such a small gap,
Which creates the double to be so abstract
48 The Phoenix 2013 However still admiring to replicate this dream
To transform it to reality by obstacles upstream.
Standing still…
The option to start the new day has come into play.
Whether to fall in the pits of grey
Or staunch right back and drive away from the roots of decay.
49 The Phoenix 2013 Aleksei Gracias-Flor
50 The Phoenix 2013 RUSH – Andrew Kennaugh
Brushed Hair, Perfect Face
Door Bell Rings, Wrong Place
Forgetting things, Phone Rings
Key Turns, Rubber Burns
Traffic Slow, Nowhere to Go
Have To Wait, Slam The Breaks
Anger inside,‘Hurry up!’ I cry
Out At Last, Gosh, It’s Half Past!
A Drip Of Sweat, I’m Not There Yet……
Turn Off Arrives, I Feel Alive
Car Pulls In, I Jump From My Skin
I Enter Inside, Look Down And Sigh
Oh Damn! , It’s Number 10
Wrong Place, Start Again
Artwork by Chris Wong
51 The Phoenix 2013 Winner of the Bruce Dawe
Award Poetry Composition
‘Space Invaders’ - Andy Lang
You approach the machine
Coin in Hand
Slot it in
Ka-ching! The machine rumbles to life - snorting satisfaction
The Invaders attack immediately
The screen explodes with colour and light
Quick! Dodge those lasers!
Shoot back! Kill 'em all!
Like a terrorist on a rampage - lights are flares of disquiet
Beads of sweat appear
Come on! You can make it!
FINISHED LEVEL ... STARTING BOSS BATTLE
YES!!! Made it!
The Boss Battle begins
Cracking knuckles. Wiping the sweat again, a boil of despair
Hunched over the machine once again
Shuffle - beat and twisted
Meanwhile the battle fast and furious - apace with time
Lasers and explosions everywhere
The screen like a rainbow, filled with a luminous kaleidoscope of light
I, mashing the buttons. Twiddling the joystick
Oh no! Dodge that missile!
Too late
52 The Phoenix 2013 Summer - Michael Bouchahine
Summer loving out in the bush
Under all of those palm trees
Moments that you will never forget
Moments that you wish you could forget
Entering all of those cafes’
Remembering that you will have to go back to school soon.
Artwork by Chris Wong 53 The Phoenix 2013 Army - Michael Corry
A rtillery, weapons and machines they use to defeat the enemy
R evenge and retaliation are their policies if anyone strikes against them
M any soldiers join to train and to win the war
Y ellow is a bright colour, so they use camouflage to hide from the enemy
The Real Game – Jared Quinto
Four normal teenagers are given the chance to escape reality
Through a game that pulls them into “another world”
They take the chance and are taken to new places
But their families, their history, all become lost to them.
Four changed teenagers are given the chance to move on
To forget the past and continue in the twisted game
They take the opportunity and become the heroes
Yet their losses become even greater.
Four scarred teenagers are given the chance to start again
To restart from their failures that they made so foolishly
They take the option, yet fail to carry it through
Forever losing the chance to start their lives anew.
Four weary teenagers are trapped in a cruel reality
A reality where everything they had, or once had, is crumbled
They see their parents searching within their new game
And lose everything that meant something to them.
54 The Phoenix 2013 Animal – Joseph Jacob
Aggressive and territorial,
Nervous around humans,
Intelligent in their way,
Manes golden like the sun,
Antelopes hunted for food
Lions.
[Game] Console S t e p h e n D a w s o n Cool
Outstanding
at your settings
Never
boring
Super
Graphics
On
top of things
Lets
you control the action
55 The Phoenix 2013 Extra
a w e s o m e n e s s i n c l u d e d Juice - Bryce Grech Juice is nice
Usually I drink it quickly
I do this as it is yummy
Can't forget that apple is the best flavour
Even though it didn't come from one.
Surfing – Daniel Limbers and between your toes nder water hearing waves crash above ushing towards the shore ins guide you through the water 56 The Phoenix 2013 n the fierce stare of the sun ever bail from a wave liding through the waters roar Tornado – Luka Bratkovic
T Terrible damage. O Oceans become really rough. R Ruins houses and buildings. N Need to clean up after the tornado. A And people can get injured or killed. D Destroys everything in its way. O Outside is a total mess. Cyclone – James Moore
57 The Phoenix 2013 Courageous people preparing their homes for the worst
Young people praying that they wont get hurt
Clinging on to trees or poles
Lonely people are saved and the homeless helped
0nce over people go out to see the destruction
Nearly everyone who witness’ the cyclone sheds tears
Everyone is safe and the town is recovering
58 The Phoenix 2013 Sport – Tom Ragell
Sport is good for your health… you see: Ping Pong improves your agility Outdoor rowing improves your strength, endurance and your fitness Running a 5km marathon builds stamina Training for anything improves skills and coordination 59 The Phoenix 2013 Haiku Poems
Summer Sun – Jamison Bonifacio
Sun Gives Us Power,
But Grows Bigger and Bigger,
Time for Some Ice Cream!
Fruit Juice – Bryce Grech
Juice is the best drink
Far better than cordial
I drink it always
Miserable – Daniel Limbers
Drip Drop All Day Long
Sun Is Hiding Far Too Long
Seems Like Rain Won’t Stop
Movies - Josh White
Sitting in gold class
The colors are amazing
Never want to leave
60 The Phoenix 2013 Winter – Rizwan Kahn
Cold air blowing round
Purple skies darkening us
When will we get out?
Winter – Tom Ragell
Rainy, cold puddles
I like to sit by the fire
Toasting marshmallows.
A Call – Sayed Saad
Some white snow shimmers,
Unfolding water soars,
A Call across the wind.
Sushi – Seb Attard
The taste made by gods
Made cold but gives a warm feeling
inside your heart beating
61 The Phoenix 2013 War & Peace – Jamison Bonifacio
War
Explosions, Gunshots
Dodges, Aims, Fires
The Sound Of Making Peace Now
Freedom.
International Travel – Michael Corry
Aeroplanes
Heavy, swift
Moving, gliding, travelling
Transports passengers afar
Flight
Agua - Michael Corry
Rain
Wet, cold and dripping
Supplies our drinking water
It is clean and pure
Torrent
62 The Phoenix 2013 Artwork by Adam Luya
My Cat Boris – Bryce Grech
Boris
Meows, purrs
Eating, sleeping, lazing
Best cat ever
Playful
63 The Phoenix 2013 Artwork by Jonathan Vala
Howzat – Rizwan Kahn
Cricket
Cheering, suspense
Hook, smash, misses
One run to win the game
Heart-braking
64 The Phoenix 2013 Ra Ra – Daniel Limbers
Rugby
Cheering, Screaming
Kicking, Running, Tackling
Fast Playing Game
Try
Footy – Tom Ragell
Rugby Thump, Crunchy Kicks, tackle, Passes The Game that is played in heaven Tries. Summer -­‐ Sayed Saad Summer,
Bright, Sunny,
Running, playing, laughing,
Fun times with friends and family,
Fun.
65 The Phoenix 2013 Artwork by Jonathan Val
66 The Phoenix 2013 DRAMA SCRIPT COMPOSITION
Winner of the Sophocles Award
for Excellence in Drama Script
Writing
‘Fall Guy’ – Jamie Burfitt (Television Script)
1. INT. POLICE CAR -NIGHT
In a police car with two officers in the front and a teenage boy
in the back seat shackled, the boy has a look of pure distaste
and regret
POLICE OFFICER 1
How you going in there, sport?
(Chuckles to himself) Not so clever now
are you
The boy screws up his face and inhales deeply
POLICE OFFICER 2
Shut up Tim, he can´t talk until he is
in safe custody, we´ve got enough
paperwork as it is and also…
His voice fades out and the beginning song and credits begin
2. INT. MIDDLE CLASS HOUSE –DAY
Someone in the house shouts
DAD
Yeah mate, well you know what happens
to kids like you… yeah of course you do
because you know everything, don´t you!
67 The Phoenix 2013 TOM
Dad, I never said…
DAD
No, shut up! This is getting serious…
Why do you do this, it´s obnoxious and
it´s just… like juvenile stunts that
can end up killing you! (He exhales
deeply and Tom turns his head away) Ok,
Tom… look I think you need something to
keep your mind in one place, help me
out what CONSTRUCTIVE things are you
interested in?
TOM
I don´t know, or care to be honest
DAD
No… of course you don´t (His face is
twitching with subtle frustration that
is clearly being hidden) Get out please
With that, Tom leaves the scene and walks out
3. INT. TOM´S BEDROOM –DAY
Tom lies on his bed and holds the receiver up to his ear as if
to call somebody. The phone buzzes for a couple of minutes and
then a rasping voice answers
Hello
JOEL
TOM
Hey man, how are things?
In a mocking and sarcastic tone he replies
JOEL
Oh yes, I´m just fine and are you
feeling rather sophisticated today, my
young fellow?
They both chuckle at this then he says
TOM
Hilarious, hey um… my dad is annoyed,
yet again
68 The Phoenix 2013 JOEL
Really? Why is that?
TOM
I don´t know… he is a bloody scrooge
JOEL
Hmm… yeah he is a bit like that. Well,
I guess, what can you do?
TOM
Hmm… yeah
JOEL
Hey, it´s funny you called I was going
to ring you… (His voice cracks at the
last word, then he clears his throat)
Umm… I need your help, I mean there is
a party and I don´t really know the
person inviting me so… can you come too
so… you know, it´s not so awkward?
TOM
When is it?
JOEL
9 pm
TOM
Ok, pick me up at around quarter to 9
4. INT. LIVING ROOM –NIGHT
Dad walks into the living room and sees that Tom is sitting at
the couch
DAD
Hey mate, I´m going to bed. Try and get
to bed around 11, ok?
Whatever…
TOM
Dad coughs loudly, clearly trying to hold back a retort, as soon
as he closes the door Tom runs up stairs and gets changed, he
pulls out his phone and texts Joel, that he is going out the
front now
69 The Phoenix 2013 5. INT. JOEL´S CAR –NIGHT
Inside Joel’s car. Joel looks pale, as if he is nervous
TOM
Um… are you ok? You look kind off worse
for wear
JOEL
What?
TOM
Nothing
They continue driving and Tom turns on the radio, but then he
turns his head and looks confused
TOM
Wait, wait! We just passed Spring
Street!
Joel looks down at his feet and didn´t say anything but pulled
into a back street and pulled over takes a deep breath and says
quietly
JOEL
Get out of the car
Tom´s bottom lip begins to quiver and he is stuttering as if
trying to say something. Then he takes a deep breath and says
TOM
Wha… what´s going on, man?
Joel begins to look paler than before, a look of deep fear in
his eyes; he opens his jacket, revealing a small handgun
JOEL
I´m not asking twice
Tears begin to show in Tom´s eyes, and he stays still, as if too
paralyzed with fear to move, then there is a tap at a car
window, and a tall black man motions them to get out of the car,
Joel sighs then, without warning crunches his fist into Tom´s
belly, he doubles over in pain and slowly opens the door, he
sprawls out onto the curb, knocking several teeth out as he
falls. Two more men come over and pick him up, they begin to
drag him across an alley way, and the camera is at high
perspective. Slowly after a few blinks he blacks out.
70 The Phoenix 2013 6. EXT. SCHOOL OFFICE –NIGHT
Tom wakes up outside a school office with two armed men facing
him, and then Joel walks to him
JOEL
If you scream or make any moves, we
will shoot you
TOM
What the hell is going on!
He screams this, and starts to squirm in his chair, one of the
armed men comes over and lays a fist into his gut and he shuts
up, they go to a small window
ROBBER Nº 1
What is in this room?
Walks up and peers in
LEADER OF THE GANG
Ahh, I think we´ve found what we are
looking for. Alright, this is the room
where they keep the student
“facilities”, ipads, computers… Now
grab what you can carry and do it fast,
there is a security alarm set on this
room, and instead of going to all the
trouble of getting someone to disarm
it, Joel has taken the liberty of
bringing us Tom, who will be locked
into the room as we escape. Now, any
questions?
No one does anything
Ok, then on the count of three: one,
two, three!
The biggest of the gangsters smashes a brick through a window
and immediately, several alarms start to sound
LEADER OF THE GANG
Chuck the kid in first
They handle Tom roughly and literally throw him through the
window. He lands with a THUD and rolls onto his back revealing
open cuts and bruise down his side and on his face. Then all the
71 The Phoenix 2013 men jump through the window and as the last hauls himself in,
the phone starts to ring
JOEL
When that phone stops, I would say we
have about 10 minutes before the cops
arrive
LEADER OF THE GANG
Ok, now everyone fills a bag full of
valuables, you know electronics, check
behind the admin desk for money. Right,
go as fast as you can
They all spread out and everyone begins to search. When they
finish Joel comes in the room, he looks into Tom´s eyes that
stares back at him and looks away
JOEL
Time to go; press the security lockdown
button at the entrance, as you close
the door
The man that was guarding Tom immediately begins to move, and as
he leaves, he presses a big button. He immediately shuts the
door behind him and runs off. At that same moment metal panels
shoot down over the windows and over all exits. After about five
minutes the sounds of sirens approaches and Tom is still there,
trying desperately to find a way out
7. INT. POLICE CAR –NIGHT
In a police car with two officers in the front and a teenage boy
in the back seat shackled, the boy has a look of pure distaste
and regret
POLICE OFFICER 1
How you going in there, sport?
(Chuckles to himself) Not so clever now
are you
The boy screws up his face and inhales deeply
POLICE OFFICER 2
Shut up Tim, he can´t talk until he is
in safe custody, we´ve got enough
paperwork as it is and also not for
certain that is the only kid involved
72 The Phoenix 2013 They pull up outside the police station and the two cops in the
front get out and open the back door. They yank him out of the
car and begin to walk down the path. As he is walking he looks
to his right and sees his dad sitting in his car. The dad looks
back at him and then shakes his head and drives off until he is
a speck in the distance.
73 The Phoenix 2013 Gypsies? – Johnny Cullen
Scene 1, Party Palace
Jam: So boss, you want me and my partners to create a play for fifteen year olds?
Joe: Yes, that is exactly what I want!
Jam: Fifteen year olds have no emotions... they laugh at nothing!
Joe: Too bad, do it or beat it!
Jam: How long have we got?
Joe: One month, that is long enough.
Jam: Okay, we will do it in the forest near the mall. Is that fine by you?
Joe: I do not care where you do it, just do it!
(Exits)
74 The Phoenix 2013 Jam: We have to create a play for fifteen year olds.
Luke: Why?
Jam: It’s our job
Luke: But we haven’t been called up for MONTHS!
Matt: I want to make a complaint!!
Bob: Our job is to do this, why are we so puzzled? We should do a play about gangsters.
Frank: NO!
Bob: Why?
Frank: There is too much killing and gore.
Cup: Fairies?
Bob: We are not babies and neither are the fifteen year olds.
Cup: What about St George and the dragon?
Bob: Where are we rehearsing?
Jam: In the forest.
Cup: With the psychotic gypsies who cast spells and can kill you?
Jam: There are no such things in the forest there are only birds and harmless animals’ gypsies
only exist in tales.
Bob: Why don’t we sleep on it?
Jam: Agreed, if there are any ideas tell me in the morning I’m tired and need sleep.
Matt: Okay I’m off see you guys tomorrow
(Matt exits)
Bob: He is in a hurry to leave.
Cup: See you guys tomorrow. (Cup leaves)
Bob: Bye!
(Bob Luke and frank exit)
75 The Phoenix 2013 Jam: Good morning, you ready to share your ideas?
Bob: I was sort of thinking, maybe something from the bible?
Jam: What do you mean?
Bob: What is your favourite tale?
Jam: I personally like Daniel in the lion’s den.
Bob: Good!
Jam: Not everyone is Catholic
Bob: Well not everyone is Buddhist either.
Luke: Hello, and my idea is we should do something on gypsies.
(Matt, cup and frank)
Cup: I heard that, and no way because if we talk about them they will come to kill us!!
Frank: Well I like that idea.
Matt: Same!
Jam: Then we will do it, bob think of the script I have the characters Luke, you and Cup will go
into the forest and find a place to rehearse!
Bob: Good idea, let’s go! (All leave)
Bob: So what is the script?
Jam: I have got the characters!
Cup: We found the perfect place to rehearse!
Luke: Follow us.
(Entering the forest)
Frank: This is so dark.
Jam: Did anyone bring a flashlight… and where is Matt?
Bob: He said he was going to Joes...
Jam: Oh, okay someone call him and tell him we will come round to pick him up in ten minutes!
76 The Phoenix 2013 Frank: Done it!
Jam: Sweet, now Bob, you will be the evil gypsy leader, your name is Markus.
Bob: Leader of whom?
Jam: The evil gypsies..
Cup: There all evil!
Jam: Listen!!
Cup: Sorry....
Jam: Luke you will be leading the rebels and your name is Major Dee.
Luke: Okay.
Frank: Who will I be?
Jam: I was getting to that, you will be the great king of the forest, all gypsies good or bad
worship you.
(Matt enters)
Matt: And who will I be?
Jam: So Joe, he approved?
Matt: Well yes, you could say that
Jam: Good now, you will be the girl lover called Jade and you will run off with Cup the boy
lover called Lucas!
Matt: Why do I have to act as a woman I am no good at it !
Jam: Well try your hardest.
Bob: Here are the scripts
Frank: Wait so you knew who everyone was??
Bob: Of course I wrote the scripts.
Luke: Who will join on my side?
Jam: Bob kindly made some puppets; they will be given weapons of your choice.
Frank: And what’s the plot?
77 The Phoenix 2013 Jam: Bob also known as Markus tries to attack a peaceful town called North Shire, however
Major Dee (Luke) will do everything you can with your puppet army to stop him. At the same
time two lovers run off and bump into the king (bob)
Bob: I take them prisoner and one escapes, (Lucas) and he never returns. Years later after the
huge slaughtering and heroic comeback from Major Dee and his puppet team, Jade gets released
and after spending all those long years in prison she went. As mad as a hatter and her sadness
blackened her heart, making her take her own life.
Jam: Any questions?
Cup: Can I go to the bathroom?
Luke: Me too?
Matt: Me three?
Frank: I’ve been meaning to go for hour!
Jam: May as well.
Bob: I’ll come!
(As they headed for the nearby cubicle three evil looking gypsies tackled them to the ground the
men fought valiantly but couldn’t hold off these blood thirsty monsters...)
No one found out what happened to these men but the three fifteen year old didn’t seem to have
a problem that they wouldn’t get the play they asked for.......
78 The Phoenix 2013 Artwork by Nacho Patino-­‐Tsolakis Artwork by Michael Furcciniti 79 The Phoenix 2013 The Mysterious Island – Thomas Ragall
Bill: where are we?
John: on some strange island
Bill: Dammit, no reception, what about you John?
John: no, no reception either
Bill: how did we get here?
John: don’t you remember anything, that big, strong cyclone raised us up in the air and
brought us here
24 hours earlier:
Mum: John, Bill, get your bags packed, we’re going on a cruise ship to the Gold Coast
John: A cruise? To the Gold Coast, really mum?
Bill: Yes John, that’s exactly what mum said
John: Oh yes this is going to be the best holiday ever! Ive always wanted to go there!
Mum: if you want it to be the best thing ever, I suggest you pack your bags and get into
the car, it’s a two hour drive to the port.
Bill and John: Yes mum
Narrator: the boys fought the whole car trip and mum warned them not to misbehave
while on the boat because something could happen if they don’t be careful. At night
there was a terrible storm. The boys wanted to check it out.
Bill: do you want to check it out John?
John: ok then but don’t tell mum
Bill: wow look at that storm its massive!
John: it looks like a cyclone!
Bill: get inside now!
John: hold on tight Bill it’s going to be a bumpy ride!
Bill: Ahhhhh it’s so bumpy!
1 hour later:
Bill: where are we?
John: on some strange island
Bill: Dammit, no reception, what about you John?
John: no, no reception either
Bill: how did we get here?
John: don’t you remember anything, that big, strong cyclone raised us up in the air and
brought us here
Bill: what? Where’s mum and the ship?
John: I don’t know Bill
Bill: what? But how are we supposed to survive without her?
John: I don’t know, we have to find shelter for tonight
80 The Phoenix 2013 Bill: Okay, we need to find some firewood to build a fire and some cover in case it rains.
John: do you know how to build a fire?
Bill: I’ve seen it on TV.
John: well that’s a great help.
Bill: well at least I’m trying to help, do you have a better idea? No didn’t think so, so lets
find some wood.
Bill: okay so on the show they rub the sticks together like this. (rubs the sticks together)
John: It’s not working Bill.
Bill: just give it some time, it might work.
Narrator: after a while of the boys bickering and rubbing the sticks together, Bill and
John managed to start a fire. They found a large tree to sleep under for the night, but
little did they know, they weren’t going to get much sleep.
John: did you hear that Bill?
Bill: hear what?
John: that screechy noise?
Bill: nope. I’m trying to sleep leave me alone.
(Noise happens again, this time Bill hears it)
John: please tell me you heard the sound that time?
Bill: yeah I heard it! What do you think it is?
John: I have no idea! It sounds like something scary.
Narrator: out of nowhere a large animal, similar to a lion jumped out and started to
chase Bill and John. They ran away screaming, trying to find somewhere to hide.
Everywhere they turned, they started to see weird creatures and animals. There were
scary sounds and the island was dark, so they couldn’t see where they were going. The
boys were really scared about being on the island and they wanted to get back to the
boat with their mum.
John: This is all your fault Bill!
Bill: what? How is this my fault? We both went out after mum said not to!
John: well you need to get us out of this mess! This island is so creepy and mysterious
Bill: we need to work together to get out of here
John: how are we going to do this?
Bill: Well it’s too dark now, we’ll have to wait till the morning, theres a big tree over
there, lets see if we can climb it so we can get some sleep.
Narrator: but the boys didn’t get much sleep that night. There were wild storms and
noisy creatures keeping them up. The next day the boys started searching for food and
collecting wood so that they could try and survive on the island.
Bill: I wonder if people are looking for us?
81 The Phoenix 2013 John: mum will definitely be looking
Bill: I just don’t know how long it will take.
Narrator: the boys worked together for the next week helping each other survive the
mysterious creatures and places on the island. One day they saw a rescue boat and
flagged them down. Everyone had been looking for them.
John: I knew they wouldn’t give up on us!
Bill: I’m so happy we’re going home!
82 The Phoenix 2013 Year 10 Painting
Non-Fiction/Expository Composition
Winner of the G.K. Chesterton
Award for Non-Fiction Writing
The Searching Romantic Reflection Statement – Nick Augimeri
The overarching aim of my Major Work is to convey some of my personal and
philosophical convictions about the nature of beauty - specifically as related to music - and its
effect on human behaviour and virtue. This overarching aim diverges into three ‘sub-intentions’.
The first of these is to portray the wonder and transcendence of music - especially music from
the Romantic and Twentieth Century Eras - particularly as interpreted through the lens of
classical and medieval philosophy.
The second ‘sub-intention’ of my composition is certainly not to oppose the pursuit of
beauty through music, but nevertheless to advocate a balanced approach to life, whereby one
focuses on cultivating a range of human qualities - for example, friendship, kindness and selfdiscipline - rather than pursuing the life of an unbridled aesthete to the exclusion of these virtues.
In the story, this becomes apparent specifically through reference to Charmides, the beautiful
young man of Socrates’ acquaintance who is beautiful precisely because he is virtuous. This
becomes pointedly-obvious when the responder learns that “it was Plato who had kindled this
83 The Phoenix 2013 dissatisfaction [i.e. in Cecil] - every day for three weeks, Cecil had been comparing himself to
Charmides”: Charmides is his benchmark.
The third aim of this work is much more lighthearted: to entertain - to elicit smiles and
laughter from readers at the humour in the piece, especially at the musings and carryings-on of
the main character, Cecil, whose love of beauty and profound philosophy is often not
commensurate with his dysfunctional and quite ugly habits, which include excessive indulgence
in red wine, unwillingness to regain employment, and scornful criticism - inside his own mind,
mostly - of some unwitting and undeserving people. In the story, this can be seen when, in the
pretentiously-named bookstore, Cecil “considered berating him [i.e. the young employee] for his
abysmal fashion sense.”
The initial concept of my Major Work was to write a parallel narrative focusing on two
main characters, connected semantically by their playing of the same music at different periods
in history. In this way, I hoped to be able to develop, with literary license and a touch of
sensationalism, the emotions that a certain famous composer would have felt during a number of
important periods in his life.
I soon realised, however, that, in electing this concept, I had consigned myself to a
restrictive scope in which to write, and that the result would likely be a contrived tale with an
awkward narrative voice and overbearing didacticism. In addition, what had been written of the
Major Work was, at that point, more of a pseudo-historical creative reconstruction, with little
literary merit in itself and an excessive focus on music. As a result, I decided to underpin my
story with a philosophical undercurrent which utilised music as a vehicle by which to explore
philosophical questions: of beauty in music, and of goodness in man.
84 The Phoenix 2013 When I first envisioned Cecil, I thought of Ignatius J. Reilly from A Confederacy of
Dunces by John Kennedy Toole: intelligent, reclusive, obnoxious and contemptuous of
modernity. In the story, this contempt is apparent when the narrative voice gives his opinion
about modern music, referring to it as “...hip-hop and R&B trash: pounding basslines and
repetitive lyrics...”
I then imagined him combined with an archetypal ‘suffering Romantic’ like Frederic
Chopin: a virtuosic pianist and musical genius, deeply emotionally-sensitive, and with a
profound sense of the beautiful. I sought to create a fresh and original character with apparently
incongruous character traits, to maintain the interest of the responder.
As it turned out, I tended more towards giving my protagonist a serious, philosophical
personality with scathing humour and a modicum of cynical humour. My research of the lives of
the four composers mentioned above - Chopin, in particular - was helpful in this regard, and was
achieved through online resources such as Wikipedia, the Notable Names Database and the
National Public Radio database have been useful. Eoin Colfer’s Artemis Fowl has also shape my
portrayal of an an eclectic, intelligent character who balances refinement with arrogance.
As the story’s main foundation is a philosophical inquiry, conducted from the standpoint
of classical and medieval philosophy and theology, extensive research was required into the
nature of beauty as understood in the light of these traditions. Particularly helpful have been John
Young’s Scope of Philosophy, The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy’s article Medieval
Theories of Aesthetics, and Steven Barbone’s article in the Lyceum online magazine, entitled
Plato on the Beautiful.
85 The Phoenix 2013 However, while the philosophical inquiry is indeed the intellectual centre of the piece,
the musical aspect is no less important: in fact, in the story, the two concepts are intrinsicallylinked, continuously drawing on each other. To bolster the authenticity and engaging quality of
my work from a musical-analytical standpoint, I have had correspondence with Marie Yeo, a
graduate of the Sydney Conservatorium of Music, who very kindly agreed to analyse a number
of solo piano pieces in a scholarly capacity. The musical analysis throughout the story has been
influenced by her. I believe that her professional input has been invaluable in heightening the
sophistication and substance of my Major Work.
My composition is episodic, comprised of six temporally-sequential sections which are
themselves divided up into non-linear sub-sections. Each of these sections comprises a blend of
action happening in the present, musical analysis and flashbacks. As the story progresses from
section I to section VI, Cecil learns more about the nature of beauty, especially as present in
music, and particularly about its effect on his own behavior and virtue. Intimately-connected
with Cecil’s discoveries about beauty and virtue are the flashbacks throughout the story, which I
used, in accordance with the direction of The Art and Craft of Storytelling, to add critical
backstory information that lends texture and depth to my narrative.
Non-linear technique is used extensively throughout, to mirror the rapidly-moving and changing mind of the protagonist: a literary-structural externalisation of the fact that lives largely
by his whims, ‘flitting about’ from mood to mood and from place to place, as it were. In
addition, I intended that the non-linear and episodic structure of my Major Work should also
reflect the ‘broken-ness’ of my character’s lifestyle.
86 The Phoenix 2013 Titles above each of the sections resemble the kind of didactic labelling that would be
found in a systematic philosophical treatise, the kind of which is mentioned throughout the story.
This use of didactic labelling is intended to increase the philosophical tone of the story, inviting
the responder to consider more intently its conceptual basis and dilemmas.
The intended audience of my Major Work is a group of people who are conversant with
basic music theory and history, who can ideally also read music. In addition, this story’s intended
readers would have a basic grasp of the history of Western music over the two hundred years. It
would be ideal - though by no means necessary - if, along with satisfying these requirements,
responders had personal experience with a musical instrument.
Apart from musical education and sensibility, the intended audience would have an
interest in and a basic aptitude for philosophy, with a rudimentary knowledge of ancient Greek
philosophers like Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, as well as medieval minds - Aquinas, in
particular.
The study of ‘Romanticism’ in HSC English Advanced course, as part of the ‘Texts in
Time’ module, was instrumental in the concept and content of my Major Work. Shelley’s
Gothic-Romantic novel Frankenstein, with its extensive references to the beauty and awesome
presence of nature, was instrumental in my own focus on settings such as the subject of Liszt’s
piece, ‘Les Jeux...’ where the fountains in the cardinal’s garden in Tivoli are the subject. In
addition, learning about the literary movement Romanticism, championed by figures such as
Keats, Wordsworth, Bysshe-Shelley and Byron, in turn led me to research into Romanticism in
music: a movement with music and personas who have defined the subject of my work. Blade
Runner’s portrayal of Deckard as the lonely and talented detective, defined by his self-imposed
87 The Phoenix 2013 solitude and penchant for drinking and smoking, has certainly influenced the vague idea of my
secluded and talented protagonist.
Overall, the process of integrating philosophical and emotional trains of reflection,
combined with a storyline that must flow and stand on its own as a fine piece of writing, has
enabled me to write a Major Work which is theoretically sophisticated and characterised by fresh
ideas, while displaying structural originality and an honestly-portrayed character who mirrors the
search of every person for the truth and beauty embedded in reality.
Bibliography
Charmides, Plato
Symposium, Plato
A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole
Wikipedia, online article, Frederic Chopin
Notable Names Database, Frederic Chopin
National Public Radio, Frederic Chopin
Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
Scope of Philosophy, John Young
Medieval Theories of Aesthetics, Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy
Plato on the Beautiful, Steven Barbone
The Art and Craft of Storytelling, Nancy Lamb
88 The Phoenix 2013 Kill the Buddha (Reflection Statement) – Anton Harris
Student Number: 24243559
Word Count: 1499
‘If you meet the Buddha, kill him!’
- Linji Yixuan1
Kōans are stories or questions posed to students of Zen Buddhism. The intention of a kōan is to
provoke meditative inquiry and to test a student’s progress in Zen practice. They have no answer;
the student is required to grasp the state of mind expressed by the kōan, the kōan itself becoming
both the conscious object and activity of the subject. The student, in his seeking, is the kōan.2
They are often episodic and superficially nonsensical or non-sequitur-esque. The title ‘Kill the
Buddha’ denotes not only the nature of H. as a delusional externalisation, but also the
protagonist’s increasing ire for the Zen wisdom he unwillingly receives.
‘In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.’
- Albert Camus3
Absurdism was born of the existentialist movement of the 19th/20th centuries. Camus was its
most prominent philosopher, dealing with existential issues including the meaning of life,
freedom and the irrationality of the universe. For Camus, the answer to such meaninglessness is
1
Founder of the Linji School of Chan Buddhism (a tradition within Mahayana Buddhism)
2
Hori, Victor Sogen (2000), Koan and Kensho in the Rinzai Zen Curriculum. In: Steven Heine and Dale S. Wright
(eds)(2000):
"The Koan. Texts and Contexts in Zen Buddhism, Oxford: Oxford University Press
2
Hori, Victor Sogen (2000), Koan and Kensho in the Rinzai Zen Curriculum. In: Steven Heine and Dale S. Wright
(eds)(2000): "The Koan. Texts and Contexts in Zen Buddhism, Oxford: Oxford University Press
3
Camus, Albert; Return To Tipasa (1952)
89 The Phoenix 2013 rebellion through passion and authenticity; being true to one’s own character despite external
pressures. This requires a confrontation with the Absurd: an often unpleasant experience of
freedom and lucidity.4 The genre often utilises antiheroes, irrationality and afflicted language in
order to do portray such confrontation.
Camus’ quote (referenced in the Major Work’s final lines) complements Linji’s kōan on the
determination to do away with external pressures, and resume the Buddha-nature/indomitable
summer within oneself.
My Major Work intends to portray existential nausea; explore freedom and lucidity; and invite
the responder to contemplation and authentic analysis. These are achieved through a merging of
the two philosophies.
The Zen episodes invite the reader to meditative inquiry of the ideas that are subtly presented by
outwardly-ordinary people. The overall existentialist style aims to deal with the existential crisis
that afflicts Edward. The colloquial absurdity of classical Zen kōans and the philosophical
absurdity of existentialism are brought together in order to effectively fulfil these intentions.
Through his climactic nausea and lucidity, Edward comes to a realisation of the necessity of
‘killing the Buddha’ (his delusional understanding of happiness) and the finding of an
indomitable summer within himself, from which he hopes to fill the red lotus of passion.
Drawing from the existentialist foundation that thinking begins with the human subject, the
Major Work also intends to challenge literary analysis based on systematic rationalism, and
instead advocate analysis through the emotional response of the responder. The Major Work
4
The imagery of vertigo used in the Major Work and the metaphor of standing on the edge of a cliff come from
Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre.
90 The Phoenix 2013 invites the responder to do away with rationality through its pervasive irrational elements:
Happiness in a can of soup, the random incidences of intrusive Zen wisdom and the peculiarity
of the world Edward inhabits (like the ‘dubious’ guarantees of the butterfly net and bait). The
responder is instead encouraged to view the story through the lens of their lived experience.
An extensive amount of independent investigation has been conducted into the two philosophies.
I have researched thoroughly into Zen Buddhism itself; a general understanding better equipping
me to research kōans themselves. This largely constituted online research, coupled with a
reading of The Island: An Anthology of the Buddha’s Teachings on Nibbana by Ajahn Pasanno
and Ajahn Amaro. Given this context, I then researched a large number of kōans (and analyses of
them) in order to further understand their intention and replicate their writing style in my own
Zen episodes.5
Investigation into existentialism was completed in a similar way: I first established a contextual
understanding of the philosophy by researching them thoroughly online, the Stanford
Encyclopaedia of Philosophy being particularly helpful in this regard. I then looked at specific
existential essays such as Camus’ The Myth of Sisyphus. These granted me a deep understanding
of the concepts pertinent to existentialism, especially Camus’ essay on the Absurd. Finally, I
examined existentialist literature like Franz Kafka’s The Trial, Metamorphosis and In The Penal
Colony, Camus’ The Stranger and The Plague and Sartre’s Nausea. The way in which this genre
explores and portrays the existential destitution of its characters both inspired me and developed
my ability to utilise similar techniques to portray Edward.
5
While the ‘You are on the other side’ and ‘Empty your cup’ Zen episodes are modern retellings of ancient kōans,
the others were largely created by me.
91 The Phoenix 2013 The main audience for this Major Work is people in their late teens and early twenties with
interest in existentialism. Although background knowledge in the literary styles used is not a
requisite for the enjoyment of the story, it aids in extracting a cohesive interpretation from it.
But, for example, an evaluation of Edward as an inauthentic being, an understanding of the
vertiginous nausea he experiences, the realisation of the indifference of the world and his
reaction to this; all of these existential concepts are made sufficiently clear so as to be understood
by those not well-versed in such philosophy. As such, the writing style allows the widening of
the audience to those simply interested in such ideas. Given that existentialism addresses
fundamental human questions, there is an extensive audience for accessible and engaging
philosophical fiction.
The Major Work is written in a linear and fairly straight-forward form, alternating in style
between existential dryness, existential vibrancy and Zen.
The existentially dry sections are those that detail the bland motions of Edward’s life; his interest
in soup, his pursuit of H. in his apartment, his dealings with his sister. These scenes are painted
with plain, explanatory language. ‘Ed appreciated his sister’s help with the dusting’, ‘He reached
into the cupboard and brought out a can of minestrone soup’; these scenes appear bland. By
contrast, the existentially vibrant scenes that occur in Edward’s bouts of nausea and his
interactions with Genevieve are characterised by the use of figurative language, the motif of the
eyes and the extended metaphor of theatrical performance. Such language is noticeable in
phrases like ‘Edward felt a subliminal understanding and knowledge in the contact of her lips’
and ‘[James-Joe’s] jutting eyebrow-line cast shadows over his oily cheeks in the light falling
from the supermarket.’ These two styles are themselves contrasted with the episodic Zen
interactions Edward has with strangers he meets, which are colourful and heavy with dialogue.
92 The Phoenix 2013 The use of these three distinct styles heightens the absurd and random nature of Edward’s
confrontation with the world. It also highlights Genevieve as a cure for the nausea; his
considering whether there is a masked element to her is punctuated by the light he sees in her
eyes. Highlighted also is the overpowering and strange nature of the attacks of illness, achieved
through his mindfulness of mundane objects (such as a scrap of paper6) and his complete
awareness of his sensory experience.
The tense intentionally changes multiple times toward the end of the Major Work, when Edward
almost collapses and at the sight of James-Joe. This is done to reflect the living, feeling
experience of Edward as an individual and to create the disjointed sensation of stepping inside
his mental processes.
The concepts in the final product were originally based on my interest in both existentialism and
Buddhism, as well as my fascination with how people construct meaning in the lives. The idea of
finding happiness in a can of soup was inspired from a particularly abhorrent advertisement that
promised very similar occurrences to its consumers. Philosophy drove the story from there.
Studying Brave New World by Aldous Huxley as well as various related texts in the Extension I
English course affirmed my interest in the existential themes they had to offer; particularly Brave
New World’s Bernard Marx, who reveals his desire for authenticity in his rejection of soma,
saying that he would prefer to be ‘[himself] and nasty; not somebody else, no matter how jolly’.
Marx definitely served as an inspiration for Edward: they are both fairly miserable, both dislike
crowded places, preferring to interact with their respective love-interests alone, and both have
tendencies toward their inner authenticity. However, whereas Bernard can be seen as initially
6
Edward’s confrontation with the scrap of paper is a direct reference to Sartre’s Nausea. While Sartre’s protagonist
finds he is utterly incapable of doing so, Edward finds himself surprisingly able, portraying the climax of his
understanding of absolute freedom.
93 The Phoenix 2013 authentic with a decline into inauthenticity, Edward is just the opposite. The kind of alienation
from society that Brave New World examines forms a key part of the climax of my Major Work.
In the early stages, the concept for the Major Work was vaguely planned to be about happiness.
The vagueness of H. has remained, allowing the responder to draw multiple interpretations from
the Work.
My investigation of both philosophies helped me to establish a firmer conceptual basis for the
Major Work. My research into Zen kōans made my own use of them more cohesive, using them
as increasingly-frequent tests for the protagonist and responder. With additional reading into
Absurdism, I became more apt in utilising the afflicted language it is characterised by, as well as
the way in which it evokes existential angst.
The most important development in concept was that of H.. Initially planned to represent the call
to true authenticity, H. changed to become the shadowy, false projection of the authenticity
within Edward. This was mainly the result of a shift in my understanding of the ‘Kill the
Buddha’ kōan and of the concept of authenticity: externalisation of true authenticity would be
unviable and inaccurate.
94 The Phoenix 2013 SPOILERS IN REVIEW
Batman Arkham Origins is the prequel to the videogame batman series, following the hit game
Arkham city. This game is about Batman only being in the business for two years hence nobody
really fears him. The game is on the night of Christmas Eve and the Black mask supposably sent
eight assassins to kill the bat for $50,000,000. During the game you find out the actual person
sending the assassins is the Joker and once again the game revolves around The Joker. So you
spend the night defeating the assassins and finding out WHO this Joker is because you have only
just heard of him
PRESENTATION
The way this game is amazing, the graphics are very well done considering all of the explosions
you go through and all the fights. The enemies for this game have a different look than what they
have had for the last two games because they have only just been found by Batman, they have a
different look that is spectacular but you still feel that you know the character. The city looks
pretty good too and they are in Christmas so Gotham and Arkham look awesome with snow and
a number of Christmas decorations everywhere.
GAMEPLAY
The game play of this game is pretty good with a range of moves and weapons you use to fight
the assassins, such as batarangs and the explosive gel and much more. You also get weapons
from Deathstroke and other bad guys as you fight them. But the weapons you get are just
basically different looking but do the same thing as other weapons in the previous games, the
makers should have thought of more creativity when making this. The controls are the same
which I liked because I would hate if it was different t and I had to switch from Arkham city to
origins.
MULTIPLAYER
95 The Phoenix 2013 The multiplayer in this game is new and is not in the other two, you play in either the Bane gang
or Joker gang and you can customize your player to suit your style which i find awesome
because of so many options. You can also be either Batman or Robin in the fight and try to
defeat both the gangs. Though the number of maps is limited with only four and also so far here
is only ONE game mode. The gameplay though is pretty fun as you are playing as a shooter
which is different in the batman game; it gives a point of view for the people who batman or
robin beat down in story.
THE VERDICT
This game is a wonderful game to play if you have finished the last two because there would be
spoilers and you would get confused, the graphics are great and the game play is staggering, so
you love this game if you were a true batman fan or just wanted to kick some ass.Though the
multiplayer is limited and is also fun so it is annoying sometimes when you play the same map
over and over again.
+awesome story line
+very well presented graphics
-limited multiplayer and same weapons
+Fun to explore and travel to GOTHAM too
8.6/10: amazing
96 The Phoenix 2013 Fast & Furious 6 (Review) – Lawrence Merhi
In this film, all the members of the crew come together to bring down a mercenary organization,
led by British Special Forces soldier Owen Shaw. The SIXTH film in the ‘Fast & Furious ‘series.
I found out that Dominic Toretto’s (Vin Diesel) former girlfriend Letty Ortiz (Michelle
Rodriguez), presumably dead, turns out to be alive. In this film, we learn that she has lost all her
memory and is now a part of Owen Shaw’s (Luke Ewan’s) gang.
Owen Shaw, a British Special Forces soldier, now leads a deadly gang which is causing much
trouble for DSS. Agent Luke Hobbs (Dwayne Johnson convinces Toretto to join this mission of
nabbing Shaw and his gang, by letting him know that Letty’s still alive. Toretto convinces his
now-retired friends to take part in this mission and so, they begin their quest to get Letty back.
The screenplay is really gripping. There are a couple 7-8 minute car-chases which is really cool
because you see their feet hitting the pedals. The action is ridiculously over-the-top but nothing
more than this niche genre have come to expect. Some moments were hilarious and thrilling. The
signature soundtrack does not disappoint.
The movie was good overall it had the right balance of shootings, cars and high speed races.
I really liked there were enough surprises to keep the audience interested in the plot. I think you
should definitely watch the movie. I give it four stars.
To what extent does Life Cycle conform to Bruce Dawe’s thematic concern as you understand them? Consumerism -­‐ P. O’Shea Life Cycle conforms to Bruce Dawe’s usual thematic in that it compares the persona to a materialistic item, the persona loses his innocence and that religion and consumerism are being juxtaposed. However, unlike Dawe’s other poems; Life Cycle isn’t satirising consumerism per say, but rather sport and the effect that has on society. Life Cycle complements Dawe’s standard thematic with regards to consumerism. In this poem, Dawe compares the persona to the team he supports. He wrapped ‘in the club-­‐
colours’; meaning that he is part of the team, and will never be allowed out. This is similar to Enter Without So Much as Knocking (EWSMAK), in which the family is compared to the ‘economy size’, ‘Anthony Squires’ and ‘the Junior Department Rack’. In EWSMAK, Dawe 97 The Phoenix 2013 compares the family to consumer items, and in Life Cycle, he links the persona to the AFL team. In this way, Life Cycle conforms to Dawe’s thematic as with his other poems. An aspect that links Life Cycle to Dawe’s other poetry is the theme of the loss of innocence. In Life Cycle, the persona was initially ‘wrapped in the club-­‐colours’, but only after his first game is he ‘forever lost.’ This is comparable to EWSMAK, where the persona was initially exposed to ‘Bobby Dazzler’, but ‘pretty soon he was old enough to be realistic like every other... miserable so-­‐and-­‐so.’ By revealing the loss of innocence in the persona in EWSMAK, Dawe compares it to Life Cycle, meaning that Life Cycle conforms to Bruce Dawe’s thematic. In his poem Life Cycle, Dawe juxtaposes religion and sport. He does this by using similes such as ‘a voice like the voice of God’ and by making the comparison to his other poem Breakthrough. In this poem, ‘these girlish feet mount higher’; so the girl, by ‘going up the ladder to Heaven’, ‘brings heaven at last within the mortal round.’ By juxtaposing religion and sport, Dawe is able to conform Life Cycle to the same thematic as his other poems. Ultimately, therefore, Dawe links Life Cycle to the thematic of his other consumerism poetry by comparing the persona to materialistic objects or groups, also by emphasising the loss of innocence through sport and consumerism, and by juxtaposing sport and religion. With a combination of all these, Dawe was able to conform Life Cycle to the nature of the other poems, despite it being about sport and not consumerism. belonging that fails to grow from their relationship. “That stupid kettle was his whole, damn
world” is further evidence of this. The cultural and national divide between Michael and the
Chinese girl are the source of a discordant and unfulfilling relationship, which results in the
protagonist feeling a strong sense of not belonging.
External forces and an individual’s relationships with others and their own identity are central to
the theme of not belonging “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong
to each other” reveals the importance of others in an individual’s ability to belong or not belong.
Both Peter Skrzynecki’s poems “Feliks Skrzynecki” and ‘Ancestors” as well as “The Angry
Kettle” highlight the importance of others and external factors to an individual’s understanding
of themselves, the world, and their unique place within it.
98 The Phoenix 2013 HSC English Extension II Major
Works: Nick Augimeri & Anton
Harris
The Searching Romantic – Nick Augimeri
I. Beauty
- from Liszt’s ‘Les Jeux d’eaux a la Villa d’Este’
Upon waking, the first thing Cecil did was to inspect the book in his hand: Boethius - De
Institutione Musica, Book 1. Opening it to the second page - which he’d dog-eared last night
after calling it quits for one night’s reading - he re-read the words which had so intrigued him:
‘For nothing is more consistent with human nature than to be soothed by sweet modes and
disturbed by their opposites... people as well are so naturally attuned to the musical modes by a
certain spontaneous affection that there is no age at all that is not delighted by sweet song. Thus
we can begin to understand that apt doctrine of Plato which holds that the soul of the universe is
united by a musical concord...’
99 The Phoenix 2013 It was twelve noon, and the sun was shining over the city of Dublin. The rest of the city had gone
off to work. As Cecil forced his eyes open, he realised that he was spreadeagled on his
dishevelled bed, clutching - as he usually did after his nights of drinking and research - a book in
his left hand: a musical treatise of Boethius. Cecil’s mind was still fairly-addled by the Merlot.
....................
He was sitting in an elegant plein-air restaurant that overlooked the sparkling river:
Giovanni’s Gourmet Italiano. It was seven o’clock. The surrounding night was illuminated
by the multitude of lights in that area of the city. The restaurant was buzzing: waiters
rushing around, the order-bell being hit repeatedly, orders being called. The smells of wine
and pasta mingled.
Cecil waited at a table for two, and was, despite the loveliness of the setting, uneasy. His
developing paunch didn’t ease the discomfort of his too-tight suit. Sophia would arrive
soon, not ecstatic about how she would react to his news: he had lost his job playing piano
at the Victory Hotel. He had figured he should break it to her at a restaurant rather than
over the phone...
....................
...He began playing Les jeux d’eaux a la Villa d’Este, having been consumed by a burning
desire to play Liszt soon after waking. His fingers flowing over the keys, Cecil played clearly100 The Phoenix 2013 enunciated C# major sevenths, which built up over the first few bars, then progressing to F#
major. As he played, he envisioned the glorious fountains of the Gardens of Villa d’Este,
about which the enraptured Hungarian composer had composed this piece.
....................
Setting the book down, Cecil remembered that he had awoken from a wonderful dream. He had
been in a grand concert hall, playing to an audience of four: Frederic Chopin, Franz Liszt,
Claude Debussy and Sergei Rachmaninoff. He had performed Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano
Concerto on a gorgeous Steinway much like his own - a masterpiece of craftsmanship which
was, in reality, by far his most expensive possession, and certainly among his most-beloved.
Then had come his waking.
A half-smile came to his lips as he reflected on the half-grasped but indubitably-intoxicating
feeling of beauty that had steeped his soul while he had performed for these monolithic
composers.
Beauty... he thought to himself. But that’s just it... I still haven’t found the answer to that
question.
He thought back to the previous night.
....................
101 The Phoenix 2013 ...It was one o’clock in the morning. The moon was obscured by the thick clouds. Cecil was
sitting hunched over a bench out in the garden in front of his apartment. The only relief cast on
his surroundings was from the intermittent flaring of the embers within his pipe. Relishing his
isolation, he drank deep from a bottle of Merlot, gazing at Plato’s Republic in his other hand. He
turned the page to one he’d pondered over recently: ‘Musical training is a more potent
instrument than any other, because rhythm and harmony find their way into the inward places of
the soul; on which they mightily fasten, imparting grace...’
Cecil thought about his own refined musical tastes, considering them against the vile rubbish
churned out, in modernity, by imbeciles who equated mind-numbing repetition and heavy bass
with music. Glorying in his own sophistication, he set down the Republic, bent down, picking up
from the pile at his feet another of Plato’s masterpieces: Symposium - another of the many books
in his vintage collection. He had now amassed an impressive array of philosophical literature
originating from the classic and medieval eras. They had been paid for by his naive, doting
mother and his welfare cheques. It wasn’t so bad to be unemployed.
He flipped over to another page, reading: ‘Beholding beauty with the eye of the mind, he will be
enabled to bring forth, not images of beauty, but realities: for he has hold not of an image but of
a reality...’
Intrigued more than ever, thinking of his own fingers reproducing Chopin’s and Debussy’s
works on his own grand piano, he understood the reality of such an entity - beauty - but
102 The Phoenix 2013 nevertheless remained dissatisfied with Plato’s idiosyncratic avoidance of answering the question
directly...
What is beauty, then?
....................
He gazed at Sophia as she strode in. Sophia. Sophia Lockwood. She looked majestic, as
always, with her lustrous, flowing black hair - the shiny colour of the ebony flat-keys on a
piano. Her hair hazelnut eyes, and perfectly-straight teeth, like the ivory of an antique
piano, complemented her hair, Cecil though. She also possessed smile that lit up whatever
room she was in - although he hadn’t been graced with it for a while. Finally, she was
highly-intelligent and driven - a Medicine student at Trinity College. In that respect, she
was the polar opposite of Cecil...
....................
Still relishing the fact that everyone else had gone off to their jobs - unwitting prisoners, all, he
thought contemptuously about their oppressively-unromantic existences - he sat down in front of
his Steinway grand piano, gazing at the glossy Bavarian spruce keys. He tenderly ran his index
finger up the length of the keyboard, feeling the notes and harmonies locked within, ready to
spring forth at his command.
Caressing the piano as if a loved one, he looked over the music rack, seeking out the eyes of the
two painted portraits which stood in this room - Claude Debussy and Franz Liszt, two of the
greatest musical geniuses who had ever lived.
103 The Phoenix 2013 Debussy looked irritated and aloof, as usual - Cecil had a lot of sympathy for Debussy and his
moods - whereas Liszt was more majestic: blue eyes shining, strong jaw framed by sheets of
chestnut hair. Cecil always felt invigorated by their presence as he played: like them, he was a
Romantic - tossed to and fro by moods, in love with beauty.
Allowing vigor to wash through his limbs as he composed his thoughts for a moment, he thought
of Liszt’s Les Jeux d’eaux a la Villa d’Este, envisioning himself in Tivoli with the Hungarian
composer as the latter gazed at the monumental fountains which propelled crystalline droplets
heavenward. Fingers light and supple, Cecil plunged into the first notes, envisioning, as he was
able to do with every piece he had ever learned, the exact image of the score - they were always
branded into his mind...
Cecil’s left hand delicately sang the tune, while the gentle and enunciated chords of his right
hand had been crafted by Liszt to replicate clusters of water droplets. In his mind’s eye, Cecil
perceived these clusters ascending and descending gracefully, undulating as gravity caught up
with them and the sun shone through them, creating glinting refractions that had dazzled the
104 The Phoenix 2013 eyes of the composer. Such was the ability of Liszt that Cecil viewed the fountains as they had
been one hundred and fifty years ago...
Cecil exulted in the almost divine subtlety and freedom which he felt in his soul, almost not
realising his second mental digression to the previous night...
....................
...Still embroiled in the Republic, Cecil inhaled deeply, drawing the smoke into his lungs, after
which he drained another glass of Merlot. God that’s good, he thought as he felt the wine warm
his insides and set his skin tingling pleasantly.
As he turned to the next page, a light came on in the window overlooking the dingy garden. His
neighbour Jim peered out, looked disapprovingly as he saw this unemployed and slothful semialcoholic crouching, as usual - and always at unholy hours of the morning - fawning over his
beloved tomes about ancient Greeks or God knows what, smoking that pretentious pipe and
drinking himself into a hole, feigning sophistication by purchasing Merlots that were much too
expensive for his welfare cheques to cover....
Cecil couldn’t care less - three years ago, he had not cared when erasing from his phone the
number of a woman he had once loved - so why should he care now? With an infuriating smile,
he raised his pipe to his lips, inhaled slowly, raising the middle finger of his right hand as he did
so. He let the smoke waft from the holes in the corners of his smile. And to you too, Jim...
105 The Phoenix 2013 Cecil watched with satisfaction as the older man’s eyes bulged, as he thought about retaliating in
kind but thinking the better of it, perhaps fearing slightly for his safety. He promptly pulled the
curtains shut. The light followed soon after, the darkness of the night no longer broken.
He thinks I’m the archetypal volatile young male, thought Cecil, amused. Really, however, that
was only partly true. Although Cecil despised men his age - boys, idiots, most of them were
better called - he had no interest in fight-
-His phone buzzed in his pocket. What the devil is it now? He looked at the screen:
Philosophy Forums.com - 1 New Message {Re: Reply to thread: ‘Nature of beauty in the
thought of...’}
Cecil recalled the thread he’d opened earlier that day on the website:
‘@Forum: Any input regarding beauty as understood philosophically in the ancient and
medieval traditions?’
It was a question that he hadn’t been able to answer, even by extensive reading of Plato’s
Dialogues and dabbling in Aristotle’s more logically-dense works: for, even while brilliant, Plato
and Socrates were also headcases. Getting a straight answer from any of the Dialogues was
sometimes as nail-pulling as listening to interpretations of Debussy played too quickly.
106 The Phoenix 2013 He opened the glowing link on his phone screen and read the reply. ‘Thomas_1274’ was the
contributor:
‘Hi, Cecil_1810. I suggest you read Aquinas’ Summa Theologiae. Book 1. Question 39.
According to him, ‘pulchra enim dicuntur quae visa placent’: That is, ‘...for things are called
beautiful which, when seen, please.’ But keep in mind: for Aquinas, the word ‘seen’ means
more so the activity of contemplation, rather than a superficial visual glance at something for, clearly, there is much more to beauty than what one can see with his eyes.
Intrigued, and yet suddenly feeling the exhaustion of day and night spent playing, drinking,
smoking and cogitating, Cecil gazed listlessly at the bright sheen of his phone screen for a
moment, recalling absentmindedly that he did in fact possess all five books of that work - the
Summa Theologiae - on his voluminous bookshelf up in the apartment. In fact, he quite liked
Aquinas - no nonsense, tight logic, eclectic method of philosophising. Quite like myself, really,
he thought proudly.
Excited by the promise of an imminent and intellectually-satisfying discovery, Cecil decided to
call it quits for one morning: it was approaching two o’clock, and his intellect was hampered
enough by the delightful fog of the Merlot.
He stumbled over to the front door, fumbled to fit his key in the lock (hoping that the sound
annoyed Jim, who was surely still awake), and moved unsteadily up the stairs into his apartment.
Pulling off his tweed jacket and beret, draping them over a kitchen stool, he walked into his
room and collapsed unceremoniously in a heap on his bed, clutching the paperback in his hand.
107 The Phoenix 2013 ....................
Now, as he inspected Sophia’s face closely from across the table, his suspicions were
confirmed: She was quietly-furious, barely containing it: for the last year, he’d been too
distant, too focused on his music and on his philosophy, acting aloof from her... while she
had been trying to make it work. She’d noticed his drop-off straight away. To make it
worse, his drinking problem had exacerbated his gradual withdrawal from reality.
First, she had been worried... Now she was getting aggravated. This, he reflected, had
probably been aggravated by her superficial appreciation of his music - she was a scientist
through and through, focused on the quantifiable and testable. Cecil, on the other hand,
was a Romantic: most comfortable soaring in the musical heights...
....................
Having finished the piece and relieved himself of the burning desire to play Liszt, Cecil decided
it was time for breakfast. He walked into the kitchen and went to the cupboard, rubbing sleep
from his eyes, and took out another wine glass. He addressed the portrait that hung above the
kitchen sink - Frederic Chopin, as as painted in dark and strange tones by the composer’s good
friend Eugene Delacroix -
‘Breakfast time. Frederic, you hungry?’
Silence from the man on the wall. Chopin looked slightly irritated, as usual.
108 The Phoenix 2013 Okay, then. Breakfast for one. Glass firmly in hand, he walked leisurely over to the counter once
more, poured the first drink of the day. New drink, new day. He raised the glass to his lips, drank
deep, felt the supple cherry tones soothe his throat and enliven his mind, even while mellowing
his spirit.
A polished marble bust of Plato stood on the kitchen bench. Picking up his pipe from the granite
counter, Cecil lit up and inhaled deeply, relishing the first smoke of the day. Yes, it had been
some night last night.
....................
...The piece had returned to D# minor, and now Cecil saw again through the Hungarian
composer’s eyes, as if gazing at the the fountains projecting their jets higher and higher.
Cecil’s fingers ran up and down the keyboard, his right hand executing the second
development of the second part of the theme with flowing precision.
109 The Phoenix 2013 A fountain, like those at Tivoli, welled up inside Cecil’s soul, clearing it of everything else and
transfiguring his face in the rapture of beauty as he played, bent over the keys...
....................
As he sat there sipping wine and smoking his pipe - Vintage Murrays: direct to you from North
Ireland - Cecil basked in the almost-seraphic calm and invincible elevation of spirit which
always followed from playing a piece of Liszt’s. Then, suddenly recalling last night’s visit to
Philosophy Forums and the concise reply of one of its posters, he walked over to his bookshelf
and took out one of the chunkier tomes on that shelf: The Summa Theologiae of Saint Thomas
Aquinas: Book I. Finding Question 39, he scanned the immediately-following pages and found
what he was looking for in Article 8: ‘For things are called beautiful which, when seen, please.’
He thought about what the onliner poster had advised: ‘But keep in mind... here, the word ‘seen’
means more so the activity of contemplation...’
Yes, his own experience of music certainly supported that idea... It was in the contemplation,
while playing or listening, to such artful noise as music, that produced a sense of the
transcendent and even divine in Cecil’s spirit, which no human contact could ever hope to match.
He thought about Plato’s famous words: ‘Music is a moral law. It gives a soul to the universe,
wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, a charm to sadness, and life to everything. It is the
essence of order, and leads to all that is good, just and beautiful, of which it is the invisible, but
nevertheless dazzling, passionate, and eternal form.’
110 The Phoenix 2013 **********
II. Defining Beauty
- From Debussy’s Reflections in the Water
Cecil sat on a park bench at the front of the lake, puffing away at his pipe, pondering and
listening to music in his headphones. The moonlit sight in front of him filled his consciousness,
while at the same time his vision of it was elevated onto a surreal plane as Debussy’s Reflets
dans l’eau played in his ears - such a pertinent title for this evening.
..As the piece began in andantino molto - slow tempo - a profound and gradual soaring of
Cecil’s spirit began, as he imagined himself playing the notes: the slow, undulating right hand
chords creating a watery and discordant effect on the theme, which was made up D flat and A
flat, played mostly on the left hand. Now, in Cecil’s mind’s eye, a gentle golden luminosity
bathed the lake in front of him, as if the night had turned to an autumn afternoon.
111 The Phoenix 2013 As he listened, Cecil marvelled at the harmony achieved by the French composer, which evoked
an image of sparkling sun rays on gently-rippling water. It sounded as though a stone had been
lobbed into the water, and the ripples were emanating with gradually-increasing magnitude.
Furthermore, this seemed to be an example of one of Aquinas’ three philosophical criteria for
identifying beauty: proportion. He went over in his mind what Wolfgang, the now-unemployed
former Professor of History and Philosophy at Trinity College, had quoted him: a definition of
quantitative proportion - again, from Aquinas: ‘In one sense it means a certain relation of one
quantity to another, according as double, treble and equal are species of proportion.’
....................
The shine in her eyes was absent this evening. The lines of her mouth were grim. When she
spoke, her words were curt:
‘-I told you that you should cut your beard, or even just trim it, Cecil. You look like an
overgrown tree, for goodness’ sake.’ - Her irritation was compounded by suspicion: Cecil
didn’t normally ask her out to a restaurant like this unless something had gone wrong and
he was asking for pardon in advance. Last time it had been that he’d been dropped from
his Arts degree at Trinity College. Their co-attendance at university had been a significant
point of cohesion: with that bond broken, and Cecil’s lack of willingness to address the
break, their relationship had become yet more fraught. Overall, she was growing
lukewarm in her affection for a directionless man, and he - though part of him still felt for
Sophia - was tiring a woman constantly seeking to mould him into an organised and ‘goingsomewhere’ man.
112 The Phoenix 2013 .............................
Professor Wolfgang was wafting over a particularly obnoxious smell to Cecil: stale body odour,
musty cigarette smoke - Amber Leaf rolling tobacco, it smelled like - and cheap beer. Out of the
corner of his eye, Cecil distinguished a grizzled beard. Apart from himself, this smelly and
highly-educated man was the only one inside Schubert’s & Schumann’s - Selling Top Quality
German Wines Since 1856.
Cecil, who had often seen the formerly-employed intellectual around the campus at Trinity
College - while he himself had been completing his Bachelor of Arts - decided against abusing
him for his blatant lack of personal hygiene, only because of the respect he had borne him while
he had still been teaching. He recalled, with mingled amusement and discomfort, that Professor
Wolfgang had been dismissed for indulging his alcoholism on campus one too many times. Like
many Germans, Cecil recalled, Wolfgang was brilliant and efficient in a number of areas, as well
as slightly crazy in others.
Outside the store, dusk was falling over Dublin, the bright orange afternoon sun alternately
hiding behind and shining through gaps in the clouds. As the radiant form of the Earth’s star
concealed itself, and as the pungent combination of odours next to him continued to assail his
nostrils, something remarkable occurred. In this aisle, the stacked rows of hundreds of
Sauvignons, Shirazes and Merlots, all varying shades of either emerald green or sapphire blue,
were illuminated in a single moment of brilliant light: the sun had poked its head through the
clouds of dusk, resplendent in the sky for a span of moments, casting sparkling relief on what
113 The Phoenix 2013 was otherwise a dingy and beat-up establishment. It was as though a green and blue rainbow
glowed with a soft sheen in the middle of the store.
...As the light faded with the sun’s passage behind a cloud, Cecil was held spellbound by the way
the surfaces of the bottles had glowed... ‘...like reflections in the water,’ he whispered to himself,
thinking of that masterpiece of musical Impressionism, one of his favourite and among the most
visually-evocative piece in his piano repertoire.
He froze when he heard the softly-spoken words: ‘Reflections in the Water, eh? How wonderful,
another fan of Debussy. Yes, the light playing on these bottles certainly was reminiscent of that
piece.’
Unsettled - highly unusual for him - Cecil turned slowly on the spot to face the odorous
intellectual. Clearly, the professor had been listening to him whisper.
Wolfgang spoke: ‘I see you come in here all the time. I saw you playing at the Victory Hotel,
too. You’re the pianist, aren’t you?’
Cecil just nodded, curious.
The grimy professor continued: ‘Wonderful. So, then - judging by what you used to play at the
hotel, your filthy tweed jacket, that faux pas of a beret and your clear lack of a woman in your
life, I’m assuming you’re not a fan of Bach. No, too geometrical: you’d be wearing a suit...
What, then... A Romantic? Twentieth Century?’
114 The Phoenix 2013 Cecil raised his eyebrows in open bemusement. ‘What is this, a Zen parable?’ He sized up the
professor, who had just proved that he was, in fact, more intelligent than he smelled. He replied:
‘Romantic and Twentieth Century: Chopin, Liszt, Debussy and Rachmaninoff are my preferred
composers. Right about Bach. But bachelor status is self-imposed: married to my work.’
Nodding slowly and taking this information in with a pensive expression, Wolfgang finally
stopped and smiled, looking at Cecil in the eyes. ‘I thought as much. I was always more of a
Bach man myself.’
.................................
...The descending melody of E flat, D flat, B flat and A flat, played continuously until the
small arpeggio flourish arrived, built on an F diminished 7th. For Debussy, the water was
speeding up, the glinting reflections moving more quickly now. Reflets dans l’eau was lacking
nothing necessary for its completeness as a piece of music: if anything, its unconventional
features magnified its splendour...
115 The Phoenix 2013 ‘...and this,’ Wolfgang had proudly recited, paraphrasing Aquinas’ words, is the “first
perfection”, the “substantial perfection” of Debussy’s Reflections - and indeed, any piece of
beautiful music, of fine art, or whatever! And this perfection is the form of the whole; which
form results from the whole having its parts complete! Isn’t that fascinating?’
Despite himself and the ridiculousness of the situation - being lectured by an unemployed
professor about Medieval aesthetics inside an alcohol store - Cecil had to agree. Finally - the
inklings of a complete answer.
.................................
A bright and sparkling tone, combined with a rapidly and smoothly played succession of notes,
created a shimmering, soaring feel: sunlight racing across the water’s surface in a glittering
line. This section of Reflets exemplified the third criterion of beauty: that of radiance, which
“...belongs to being considered precisely as beautiful: it is, in being, that which catches the
eye, or the ear, or the mind, and makes us want to perceive it again.”
.................................
116 The Phoenix 2013 Impressed with Wolfgang’s intelligence and knowledge, and elated to be delving deeper into the
philosophical nature of beauty - the intellectual aspect of fulfilling his Romantic urges - he was
nevertheless curious: ‘Evidently, you’re no imbecile, Wolfgang. How on earth, then, did you end
up where you are now?’
Wolfgang shrugged. ‘Well, a drinking habit and antisocial tendencies will get you fired from
your job. Getting you fired could lose you your long-suffering wife. Losing your wife will lose
you the structure in your life, so that there’s no will to seek employment or any form of
constructive use of your time. Surely you know the experience. The rest follows on from there.
Leading to an unemployed conclusion, like a logically-airtight syllogism.’
....................
Sophia’s eyes were now averted from Cecil’s, staring indecipherably down at the garish red
tablecloth. She sensed an awkwardness in her partner’s demeanour, adding nervousness to
her irritation. Eager, therefore, to break the silence, Cecil asked, ‘How was university?
- As was becoming characteristic lately, her reply was terse, spoken through lips almost
pursed with some indefinable emotion: ‘Fine. How was... your day... at home?’
- She spoke the last two words with a barely-concealed scorn. Now he lowered his eyes,
searching for something that wasn’t worthy of her contempt... ‘At home’... She knew very
well he had lain around, drinking, smoking those damned appalling cigarettes, playing
piano and very possibly reading those equally-damned works of philosophy that he
cherished... almost more than anything...
....................
117 The Phoenix 2013 Hmmm. Cecil wasn’t sure if he agreed with the logical ‘necessity’ of the professor’s conclusion.
I’m excelling without either employment or burdensome partner, he thought.
Wolfgang again: ‘But don’t worry: being unemployed is wonderful. You can enjoy as much
wine as you want and read as much as you want. It’s glorious. Wouldn’t trade it for the world’
(Cecil winced inwardly at this, knowing more about unemployment and alcohol than the
professor suspected).
The older man continued: ‘Well, it’s been lovely talking, Cedric. You know the drill: you’ll see
me around here again, I’m sure. All the intellectual powers of the universe couldn’t make wine
materialise from thin air... A crying shame, really...’
With that, he walked casually out of the store, carrying with him three bottles of dirt-cheap wine
- one in each hand and one tucked under his armpit.
Bewildered, Cecil decided that he would spend tonight out at the lake: he needed somewhere to
ponder.
**********
118 The Phoenix 2013 III. Beauty and Man
The doorbell tinkled as Cecil strolled into the store. It was his favourite bookshop, a few streets
away from his apartment. The sign out front read: ‘The Refined Classicist - haunt for cultured
bibliophiles, est. 1901.’ The establishment was true to its claim, mostly: recently, it had receive
of some modern hip-hop and R&B trash: pounding basslines and repetitive lyrics with the
doubtful label ‘music’ slapped onto it.
Cecil was here for Plato’s Charmides - a less well-known dialogue of his, particularly revealing
about the philosopher’s theory of beauty. It had been recommended to him by another user on
Philosophy Forums.com: ‘PlatoNic’ - a Platonic realist who was purportedly also an Economics
lecturer. He recalled the poster’s comment:
‘@OP: Hi, Cecil_1810: Even though this particular dialogue deals more with beauty in
humans, and not ‘inanimate’ things as such, it is nevertheless essential if one wants to
obtain a complete picture of Plato’s account of beauty. The focus of Charmides is the
connection of beauty of to the ‘appropriate’: an elusive idea encapsulated in the even moreelusive greek work ‘sophrosyne’, commonly translated as ‘temperance’. however, it means
much more than that. It is the view of some that this ‘sophrosyne’ is “a sort of excellence
for human nature which gives the person inner proportion and harmony”. Have a look into
it. It’s a beautiful concept (pardon the pun).
.................................
119 The Phoenix 2013 Cecil glowered at the depressed-looking youth at the counter who had been staring suspiciously
at him since he had entered - probably because of the smell he brought in with him: stale wine
and tobacco. Cecil hadn’t seen before - a new recruit. The weedy young man’s eyes were sulking
behind his curtain of shiny black hair, his single diamond earring glittering conspicuously. His
name tag was indecipherable from here. Cecil considered berating him for his abysmal fashion
sense.
Settling for withering thoughts about the nameless attendant, Cecil went to remove his pipe from
his pocket: another of the Classicist’s crowning features was that they allowed you to smoke
inside. It was more like a miniature parlour than a bookstore, really.
Bringing the carved ivory stem to his lips, he was about to light up when he noticed a sign
behind the counter - bright yellow, clearly new: ‘No Smoking’.
When the devil that get here? he thought furiously. Oh, damn! The nationwide health reforms.
Honestly...
He was about to turn on his wrath when a snatch of Debussy’s Reflets dans l’eau wafted through
his mind. Borne on its dreaminess into a calmer state, Cecil nodded slowly, accepting the
situation. Then, slowly stowing his pipe, he turned on his heels, moving, with a dignified stride,
over to the Philosophy section among the rows of bookshelves.
As he walked down the aisle, looking for Charmides, he took out his music player, flicked
through to Chopin’s Etudes - he needed emotional subduing, and who better the master of
120 The Phoenix 2013 sadness in music? As he was flicking through his songs list, he caught sight of a tasteless album
by a tasteless ‘artist’, uttering a bark of short, mirthless laughter. He was, however, a little miffed
that there were no CD compilations of any music from beyond the Baroque period. That’s
definitely something they should improve here. People needed the music of the great Romantics
in their lives.
Once again feeling scornful of modernity’s stupidity - it had become a very common pastime in
the last three years - he decided on Chopin’s Etude Op. 10, No. 3 - a famous and beautiful tune
of the great Polish master. Indeed, after composing this piece in 1832, Chopin himself had
remarked to his student that ‘never in his life had he written another such beautiful melody.’
He hit ‘play’. The first note carried him away: the effect never lessened.
.........................
The slow, gentle lilt of Chopin’s Etude waltzed gently through Cecil’s mind. This was the first
and major theme of the whole piece, played with rubato. He felt a stirring of his spirit, which
whispered ever so softly at him - he wondered if the feeling was real at all - to sigh for
something lost. The harmony invited him to examine the movements of his own heart.
121 The Phoenix 2013 The music then built into an impassioned flurry of notes and tonal discordance, bearing Cecil
as if on a river of increasingly-wild currents and waves. His soul floated helplessly along,
borne by the stream’s inexorable flow towards painful realisation.
.........................
Feeling uncomfortable at the unusual beginnings of emotion roil in his breast, Cecil turned down
the music on his player. This piece had been composed in 1832, but it felt to Cecil that the death
of the composer’s younger sister, five years previously, lingered in this piece: at first, dignified
melancholy; then, an emotional crescendo into unrestrained lament. The analysis heightened his
own sense of undefined loss...
...Was it for her?
....................
Minutes passed like this. Cecil, unwilling to weather her brusque replies any longer,
dropped all pretense: ‘I lost my job at the restaurant. George fired me yesterday evening.’
At this, her vexation gave way to tears - this was the fourth job in twelve months he’d been
dismissed from.
He averted his eyes, not unsympathetic to her plight but resigned to what would happen.
She cried more and becomes even more angry and exasperated at his apparent stoicism.
122 The Phoenix 2013 In her shock, she clutched the wine glass in her hand so hard that it cracked, cutting her
delicate white palm. He went to help her, but she refused. She stormed out of the
restaurant in tears. He looks after her, decided against following her. Then, shoulders
squared and with unusual poise - determined to enjoy the meal he paid for, whether with
or without company - he started eating his dinner. Perhaps I am a little too antisocial, he
thought as he ate.
.........................
...He awoke from his trance, slightly unsteady on his feet. He was clutching something tightly.
He looked down. It was Symposium, open to section 211. About to set it down again - he already
owned a copy - his eyes fell onto something he didn’t recall having ever read before, despite
having finished the book four times over the last year: ‘And the true order of going, or being led
by another, to the things of love, is to begin from the beauties of earth and mount upwards for the
sake of that other beauty, using these steps only, and from one going on to two, and from two to
all fair forms to fair practices, and from fair practices to fair notions, until from fair notions he
arrives at the notion of absolute beauty, and at last knows what the essence of beauty is.’
One phrase in particular stood out: ‘...From fair practices to fair notions...’
He considered the sadness he felt. An unconscious pining within him had overflowed into his
consciousness, evoking an unbidden languishing for something lost - her glossy hair, flowing
gracefully as she strode towards his table - but even more so, a languishing in the face of
something missing within.
123 The Phoenix 2013 Uncomfortable with where his reflections were leading, Cecil forced himself out of his reverie.
He shelved Symposium, resuming his search for Charmides.
.........................
...He awoke once more. Spying Charmides on the shelf in front of him, he reached for it and
being rifling through its pages, recalling PlatoNic’s recommendation: sections 159 through 164.
He found the place to begin, ran his eyes over them hastily. Socrates was dialoguing with the
handsome and respected youth Charmides, renowned for his incredible beauty:
‘- Well now, I asked, did you not admit a moment ago that temperance is honorable? ...And
temperate men are also good? - Then not he who does evil, but he who does good, is temperate? - For I would almost say that this very thing, self-knowledge, is temperance...’
Dismay racked Cecil:. Honour? Doing the good? Self-knowledge? That is required for beauty?
To assuage the cutting effective of this conviction, solidifying even as he stood there, he turned
the music back up to full volume. Perhaps it would drown the voice in his head out.
.........................
124 The Phoenix 2013 It was the growing and dramatic peak of the piece. The music began to tumble, imitating
Cecil’s emotional disarray. Elements of the theme were developed here in progressing chords
of C#minor 7ths, chromatically moving down...
... Now Chopin was speaking to him in a way he’d never felt before. All of the melodies and
discordant harmonies of the Etude now lamented a world devoid of empathy: a world within.
He was rocked by a flurry of emotions, struck by an endless barrage of mountainous waves in
the middle of a dark, blue and stormy ocean...
...surrounded by colourful bookshelves and the crisp smell of freshly-printed pages. Awakening
from his trance, Cecil realised, for the third time that afternoon, that he had zoned out from his
surroundings. His eyes felt strange. He felt them. They were moist.
As he realised this with surprise, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned slowly, half expecting
Sophia to be there. It was the attendant: ‘Listen, sir - are you going to buy anything? Because my
manager said-’
125 The Phoenix 2013 - Cecil snapped. It was too much. Spewing vile invective at this insolent youth, the faint vestiges
of Chopin’s Etude vanished from his mind as he berated the boy.
The young man - who now looked more like a boy - was silent, stripped of his vibrato into his
apparently-customary sulking. Marching past him to the counter, Cecil removed a five-euro note
from his wallet and slammed it furiously down. Without another word, he strode out of the door.
He set out into the street, walking quickly over the grey-paved sidewalks. He stopped for a
moment, reflecting, vaguely concerned, on what he’d just done: that wasn’t very noble of me.
Then, forcing a shrugging and continuing on, he took out his phone, checking to seeing which
Derridean or Foucauldian imbecile he could abuse on Philosophy Forums. Then, later on tonight,
perhaps a glass or two would set his mind to rest?
Sophia’s stern expression filled his mind... her stern, beautiful face. He pushed the thought from
his mind. Again forcing it, he tried on a delighted smile: Abusing fools on internet forums!
Wonderful!
He wasn’t as convinced as he seemed to the pavement under his feet.
**********
126 The Phoenix 2013 IV. Beauty Alone?
‘Yes, mum - I’ll be there in the next half hour. Yes, yes, of course - a bottle of red? Well, I can
certainly manage that - Yes, I know, two weeks is a long to go between visits, but... right now
it’s about all I have time for, Rose... Okay, goodbye. See you soon.’
Cecil hung up the phone, sank back into the bus seat. He was making his fortnightly Sunday visit
to his mother, Rose, who resided in the Southside. He was sitting in the back corner of one of the
bright red city buses, which wove swiftly through the foggy streets. Fog was everywhere,
shrouding the roads, cars and buildings for miles around. It seemed to veil the sun itself,
covering the sky with a thick carpet, impeding warmth and allowing only a pervasive cold light
to reach the city. The music playing through his headphones was the only thing maintaining his
spirit at a stable level: another of Debussy’s chef d'oeuvres...
.........................
He envisioned the music as it danced through his mind, painting a mental portrait Impressionist, pastel, dominated by shades of emerald and aqua: a Monet imitation, perhaps.
It was as though he were standing on the bank of a river in Southern France, watching the
water ripple gently as the first rays of moonlight bathed the surface. The theme moved from D
minor, to A minor, to F Major and then to G minor. Debussy’s aptly-named Reverie was just
that: Cecil felt as though he were being pulled into a dreamland...
127 The Phoenix 2013 .........................
Savouring the blissful other-worldliness of Reverie, he admired the convenience of the tablet in
his hands: with it, he was listening to Debussy in one tab; in the second, he was reading one of
George Sand’s letters in which she spoke of Chopin; and in the third, perusing the Nicomachean
Ethics of Aristotle, which he’d purchased earlier that day for a pittance:
‘There are three prominent types of life: pleasure, political and contemplative. The mass of
mankind is slavish in their tastes, preferring a life suitable to beasts...’
.........................
The piece proceeded with a development of the theme. As he listened, he envisaged his own
right hand playing the double octaves as the left hand played the reverie motion that
reflected the character of the piece. B flat diminished went onto F diminished.
Now doubt crept into his mind, heralded by a glorious, haunting disharmony.
Do you truly want to drift into surreality?
128 The Phoenix 2013 He was both being lured to and repelled from this dream.
.........................
...He then thought of Sophia, her face stormy, eyes full of tears: she knew he’d been drinking,
lazing around the entire day, occupying himself with nothing more than ‘research’ and piano. For
the second time in the last eight days, he was plagued by hints of painful self-awareness, present
ever since he had purchased Charmides.
At this moment, the niggling began with his immediate situation. At this moment, he was going
to visit his mother - and had been for a long time now - not because he cared about her, but to
give her an excuse to keep on supporting him financially: if he never saw her, she would see no
reason to help this able-bodied young man out while he got ‘back on his feet’ following his loss
of employment - three years ago, now.
Damn you, Plato, thought. In fact, you know what? Damn you too, Chopin... It wasn’t just
Charmides responsible for this newly-awakening sector of his being: Tristesse must share the
129 The Phoenix 2013 onus. Even the remembrance of that charming and passionate Etude brought to mind that the
indulgence of his naive but well-meaning mother had cost her $25 000: his Steinway. Of course
she was delighted to ‘help out’: all he needed to do was to to keep her happy by playing some of
his more lighthearted and less dirgeful pieces for her occasionally...
...To settle himself, Cecil ceased reading the Ethics. Too profound for this time of the afternoon.
He switched to the next tab: Sand’s letters about Chopin. As his mistress and best friend, she had
seen the best and worst of Chopin: like Cecil, racked by melancholy. As Reverie played on, Cecil
discovered a new shade of empathy for the Polish composer as he read:
‘He would lock himself up in his room for whole days, weeping, pacing back and forth, breaking
his pens, repeating or changing one bar a hundred times, writing and erasing it as many times,
and beginning again the next day with an infinite and desperate perseverance.’
.........................
At that point, Reverie flooded back into his consciousness. A version of the theme was now
played in the left hand in C minor as the right hand played four sets of C minor chordal
patterns... Sweet and alluring, the music was insidiously threatening that he, too, would allow
his own life to dance off into an ethereal realm - a land of fantasy - if he were to continue the
way he was...
130 The Phoenix 2013 ...Concurrently, a famous phrase from the Ethics broke through the walls of his mind and
plonked themselves in the middle of his consciousness, obstinately refusing to budge at his
interior pleading:
‘...Human good turns out to be activity of the soul in accordance with virtue.’
Suddenly feeling extraordinarily hemmed-in on all sides, Cecil yanked out the headphones from
his ears and switched off the screen of his phone tablet. It was too much. He was breathing
heavily. He looked desperately out the bus window for an escape from himself. The sky was
clearing, the fog lifting. His frantic gaze caught on a Molloy’s Liquor Store, on the side of the
read, close up ahead. The thought of a smoke was profoundly calming right now. Slamming his
finger on the stop button on the wall next to him, he hastily stowed his tablet in his satchel. The
hulking vehicle came to a halt twenty metres before the store.
Practically jumping out onto the pavement, he hurried into the store, thinking to buy the wine his
mum had asked for: a menial activity by which to clear his mind. Gazing at the array of
Sauvignons and Merlots available, he resisted the temptation to purchase an additional one or
two - the recollection of the former Professor Wolfgang’s toothy grin elicited a shudder.
131 The Phoenix 2013 Purchasing one bottle of Santa Alicia Sauvignon Blanc, he moved equally quickly out of the
store, cursing under his breath as he noted a street pole bearing yet another bright yellow sign ‘No Smoking’. The health reforms...
Irritated - he had been about to have the first smoke of the day - he nevertheless removed his
hand from the pipe in his pocket. Directing his gaze towards to the road, he hailed an oncoming
taxi, feeling guilty: I can’t keep Rose waiting any longer. He sent a text to Rose: ‘On my way,
mum.’
**********
V. Beauty and Virtue
A furious storm raged outside the window of Cecil’s apartment. Such was its tempestuousness
that the small plants in his garden out front were being uprooted. Rain bucketed down from a
black and majestic sky, seeming to engulf the city of Dublin in an awful vale. Lightning flashed
through the heavens. The rain, blown by the wind, beat a staccato-like rhythm onto the window
of Cecil’s piano room. The room was dimly-lit by a single light globe above the Steinway. Cecil
sat beneath the light source, hunched over his beloved, seeming like a feverish Victor
Frankenstein working over his creation...
He had sat at the keys for four hours, playing solely from his repertoire of Rachmaninoff. He
would have been unable to tear his fingers away, even had he desired it fervently: he was in the
132 The Phoenix 2013 processing of emotional purging. The room was permeated with a chill: he had purposely left the
heater off... He wanted to feel the cold. He would have shivered had he not been so heated by the
vigour required to deliver the unadulterated Russian patriotism that Rachmaninoff’s Prelude Op.
23 No. 5 embodied...
....................
...His spirit was swelled by the patriotic music. The triumphant marching style combined with
boisterous features electrified him Cecil shameless idealism. He imagined himself awaking to
the pleasant buzzing of an alarm clock. He sprang out of bed, greeting the sunrise over
Dublin. His bedroom floor was free of empty wine bottles. Hopping in his car, he drove to
Trinity College. There, Sophia waited for him, beaming with pride and joy. A kiss on his
clean-shaven cheeks...
...Three weeks had passed since the unsettling incident on the bus. He had experienced trouble
in trying to indulge in more than a few glasses of Merlot, while also coming up against an
unforeseen aversion to the idea of smoking his pipe.
133 The Phoenix 2013 These symptoms had taken their origin concurrently with the emotional and intellectual dilemma
that had followed his visit to Rose. He had been unable to set his thoughts to rest with
philosophy: not even Plato or Aristotle... in fact, it was Plato who had kindled this dissatisfaction
- every day for three weeks, Cecil had been comparing himself to Charmides - and Aristotle who
had exacerbated it..
Previously, Cecil had berated Plato for this, but now wasn’t so sure if he maintained his
criticism: always, the philosophy of the great ancients and medievals had fed his ego and
distracted him from himself by providing vast metaphysical superstructures on which to cogitate.
Now, however, this didn’t suffice to fill the inner void he felt had been developing for three
years since Sophia’s departure...
....................
134 The Phoenix 2013 ...The music took a turn into more of a haunting reverie, played in a more flowing, slower and
smoother style than the first section of the piece. Cecil’s left hand played the two octaves of
arpeggio runs that contributed to the flowing feeling. Now, the Prelude enchanted Cecil with
the alluring invitation of a life which he has read tomes about: a life of honour; a life of
order...
...Sophia’s bright, laughing eyes stood out in his mind... Then, she was transported to the
restaurant of three years past. She held out her hand, showing him the beady line of blood
traced there...
This image, in turn, carried him back to the rear courtyard of Victory Hotel. George, the owner,
forty-something rich bachelor, was going off his head at Cecil. George could be a nice guy, but
his hotel pianist had screwed him over for the last time - ‘Look, Cecil, you’re finished. Get the
hell out. You may be good, but I can get ‘good’ without the rest of the package.’ As Cecil began
to protest, George cut him off: ‘-But nothing. If you had actually wanted this job, you would have
shown up on time more often... And sober, too. I want your suit and tails in my office, and then I
want you out...’
....................
135 The Phoenix 2013 ...The disgust in Cecil’s soul reached its apex. Enough of this. The cascading octaves crashed
down the keyboard, pounding black and white keys alike. Rachmaninoff had synthesised strict
order with beauty and expression. Cecil’s eyes, closed in rapture, opened wide at this
thought... a realisation. Beauty and his soul met face-to-face, gazing at each other as friends,
as if for the first time. Simultaneously, his recollections of Sophia’s beauty and charm were
purified - again, as if he truly knew her for the first time.
Oblivious to the rainfall outside - alive as he not been for a long time - he played on until
morning...
**********
VI. Harmony
When he awoke the next morning, the storm had faded. Sunlight was streaming in through the
window of the piano room, warming Cecil’s back: he had fallen asleep at the keys at some point
last night. Smiling warmly at Liszt and Debussy on the wall, who had obviously witnessed the
laughable event, he got up and ambled over to the phone in the kitchen.
‘Morning, Plato’ he said cheerily to the marble bust on the counter. Seeing the unopened bottle
of Merlot set down next to the bust’s head, he laughed and said ‘Oh, no thanks - not for me,
today.’ He returned it to its cupboard.
136 The Phoenix 2013 Opening a shopping catalogue which had lain on his kitchen bench for about four months, he
flicked through its pages, stopping on the toiletries section: Men’s Razors. It was probably time
he did something about this, he decided as he rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
At the same time, he opened up the Residential Phonebook of Dublin, searching for surnames
beginning with ‘L.’. The number he sought had not been in his phone contacts for three years,
and Cecil was eager to see how its owner was getting on. Recently, he’d been thinking about her
laughing eyes.
Kill The Buddha – Anton Harris
Student Number: 24243559
Word Count: 7 997
One Saturday, Ed decided to stop for a coffee on his way back to his apartment. He walked into a
little, quiet place called ‘Sid & Arthur’s’.
Approaching the counter, Ed ordered a half-strength cappuccino to take away. He placed his
change in the small tip jar on the counter. At the end of the counter was a small bowl of water,
atop of which sat a flower of vibrant scarlet.
The barista placed the cup on the bench before Ed, and began to pour the milk. He poured the
customer’s cup full, and then kept on pouring.
The customer watched the overflow until he could no longer restrain himself. As politely as
possible, he tried to interrupt the barista’s pouring.
137 The Phoenix 2013 ‘Like this cup’, the barista said thoughtfully as he placed the milk jug down and reached for a lid,
‘you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can you be shown the way unless you
first empty your cup?’
Ed went silent in shocked but now uncertain outrage. This must have been some sort of practical
joke, or perhaps a dream.
‘Half-strength cappuccino to take away?’ the barista called out to the empty ears of the coffee
shop. Ed took the coffee from his outstretched hand, and looked around at the frothy milk that
was now flowing from the bench to the floor as he turned to leave.
‘Enjoy the rest of your day, mate,’ the barista smiled after him. Ed was too aghast to reply. The
coffee was okay, anyway.
…............
It must have been that Saturday that Ed found Happiness in a can of soup.
H. stared up at him in fright through the lens of the half-opened ring-pull tab. Before Ed could
collect himself, it had sprung from the can and darted across his kitchen counter, dripping with
gelatinous minestrone. H. was a peculiar, fuzzy critter, and it left dark streaks on his linoleum
floor as it scurried across it, finally coming to rest in the darkness beneath his couch.
On such occasions as this, Ed would usually consider calling his sister Mildred; she had a nononsense way of dealing with such things. But at the time, she was on a church tour around the
country, and wouldn’t be arriving back for another day.
Crouching down, he wiped the semi-frozen carrots and gravy that H.’s frantic motions had
dripped onto the floor. Ed sighed. The black marks didn’t seem as though they would come off
138 The Phoenix 2013 as easily, and he had only just had the linoleum laid down. Reaching for a pen, he scrawled some
notes onto his shopping list: scourer, soap, pumpkin soup. Thinking for a moment, he drew a line
through pumpkin and replaced it with minestrone. He set his pen down and flourished a
handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbing at his eyebrows and turning his gaze toward the shadowy
underside of the couch.
Ed knelt down in front of the couch, pressing his round belly on the floor and craning his neck to
get a glimpse of the thing. It eyed him with caution. He reached out a tentative hand, but was
unable to grasp it. This was due in part to H.’s position, as well as the restrictiveness of his
monochrome business suit, which he wore on only two occasions: when he was at the office, and
when he was not. The fitting of the suit had never before been a problem for him, but it now
seemed to limit his reach.
He took a pen engraved with his employer’s logo from his breast pocket, stretching in an attempt
to prod H. out into the open. But as the tip of his pen approached it, H. shrank safely back into
the confines of the dusty space beneath the couch. Ed huffed with exertion, and rose back up to
his feet, straightening the creases in his pants. He added another scrawl to the shopping list: large
net.
…............
As Ed walked past the refrigerated section of the supermarket, he pulled his suit jacket about him
with one hand and clasped the basket containing a scourer and soap in the other. Leaning down
at the next aisle, he inspected the tins of soup on offer; black stencilling on a white background.
Their arrangement was bomb-shelter-esque, and Ed welcomed the sight of his survival rations.
Potato and leek. Pea and ham. And there it was: minestrone. He turned the can over in his hand.
139 The Phoenix 2013 ‘INGREDIENTS: MINESTRONE SOUP’; nothing too complicated or subtle about it. He placed
two more cans in the basket. As dingy as the soup shelf seemed, this particular brand was very
popular. It was actually a colleague of his - James, or Joe or something like that - from work that
had suggested it to him. Edward hadn’t been much interested in it himself, but then:
‘I’m telling you, Ed: this stuff is just great. I have it pretty much every day,’ James-Joe had
assured him. ‘Actually, it’s virtually all I eat. It takes quite a bit of it to feel full, but the taste
makes up for all that. It’s really the amazing taste that I buy it for. You’d love it, Ed. It’s really
convenient and easy as well; no hassle, no anxiety, none of the nausea and discomfort that you
get with other things. You’ve gotta buy some, Ed; everyone’s been eating it.’ James-Joe had sold
him, but Edward wasn’t as enthusiastic about it. It did seem to take quite a few cans of it to make
a proper meal. But James-Joe had been right: its convenience made up for it.
Ed cast a glance about him and spotted Genevieve, another of his co-workers from the office.
She was examining some item on the other end of the aisle. She was one of the people he
associated more with at work; when she walked past his cell, or in the lunchroom. They would
talk in great depth; about work, and how much they had to do, and how busy they were, and yet
how satisfying they found it, and about the frustrations of having a cell near a window, and also
how nice it was to have a cell near a window, and how different the weather was today, and their
questioning of whether they should bring an umbrella to work even though it was quite sunny,
but you never know. She was a woman of endless pleasantry. But it seemed to Edward as though
she was dying to do away with the pleasantries. Her eyes crinkled up just a little too much when
she laughed at some remark, and her smile lasted just a little too long as she asked once more
how your day was going. Ed sometimes silently wondered if she wanted to say something more.
He enjoyed her company anyway; she had a pretty face, and he liked the way her dark hair fell
140 The Phoenix 2013 on her shoulders. Even in the artificial fluorescence of the supermarket, Edward saw the endless
light in her eyes. Amidst all of this, he realised that he had been staring at her for some time.
‘Edward! Fancy seeing you here! How’s your day going?’
There was that smile again. He told her how his day was going: fine, good.
‘So, what are you doing for your birthday tomorrow?’ Edward’s gaze flicked over her dark
brown eyes.
Ed had all but forgotten about his birthday completely. He replied that he would probably just
have dinner with his sister. Or something. This time, Genevieve gave what Edward thought was
a genuine smile. She said that they would have to have dinner for his birthday. Edward savoured
the lingering touch of her hand on his forearm as she walked away.
Ed soon found something resembling what he was looking for. It was a butterfly net; the
packaging promised an extendable handle and that it could catch ‘absolutely anything’. He
thought that that was a rather strange guarantee to make, since the net itself couldn’t have been
more than twenty centimetres across. On the back, there was a lengthy list of things that it was
particularly apt at catching. Dubious, but tempting. Edward’s eyebrows creased his forehead and
he turned the packaging over in his hands a few times. He decided to buy it anyway.
…............
Ed opened his front door hesitantly. Entering the kitchen, he set down his supplies on the bench,
glancing toward the darkness beneath the couch. He first took out the scourer and bottle of soap,
and knelt down before the black streaks on his new linoleum. Spraying a small amount of soap
on the mark, he scrubbed it with the scourer, gently at first but eventually pressing his weight
141 The Phoenix 2013 into it. More soap, harder scrubbing. The black marks wouldn’t come off. He wiped the floor
with a towel, and then stood up and scrawled on his shopping list: floor cleaner. He was washing
out the scourer when a loud buzzing sound filled the air. It was the bell for the door that led into
the building from the street. He could hear a familiar shrill voice call out from the street. ‘Ed!
Ed, are you there?’
Ed quickly set down what he was doing and made his way to the button at the front door to his
apartment in order to allow Mildred entry to the building. The buzzer continued to sound as his
sister repeatedly pressed it. He heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and his sister walked
immediately past him and into his apartment, discarding her handbag on a chair. ‘Goodness, I
was just about to leave if you had me standing there any longer! My word, look at this place!’
She moved to her handbag and brought out a small fluffy duster. It was inconceivable to think
she could fit anything else in there apart from her reading glasses and prayer beads. ‘Goodness
only knows what you would do without me!’ She began dusting the tops of the sparse furniture
in Ed’s small apartment.
Hoping to change the subject, Ed asked Mildred about how her church tour went.
‘Swimmingly, thank you,’ her shrill voice called from one of the lower shelves of his filing
cabinet. His sister ignored the manila folders that were overflowing from its drawers and the
sheets of paper that were flapping wildly in the draft of her frenetic dusting. ‘It was cut short
because Beryl had another vertigo incident, and we agreed the best thing was to get her back to
our parish priest.’ Mildred huffed with some exertion as she moved onto another shelf; it didn’t
appear to be particularly dusty to Edward, but his sister probably had a better view. ‘You know,
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have one of those vertigo attacks that Beryl’s
been having lately. She once said that it felt as though she was just picked up and dropped right
142 The Phoenix 2013 on the very edge of a cliff. Imagine that! She gets all dizzy and can’t see straight for hours! She
said that it makes everything look funny and strange. I’ll tell you what, Ed: I’m very glad I’ve
never had to face something like that before. But anyway, that’s why I’m back early.’ Mildred
paused to duck her head out of the cabinet. ‘Looks like I came back just in time, too.’ She gave
the bottom shelf a final dust before hoisting herself back to her feet with the help of her brother.
‘Another minute and you’d have drowned in all this dust. I’m telling you, Ed: you ought to
attend one of these church functions. You might realise that there’s more important things in
your life. Or at least meet a nice lady-friend! It would be - Golly me, Ed! How long has it been
since you cleaned up here? - It would be good for you. You need something to get you out of this
apartment. You know the church is always open to new faces. It’d be good for you!’
Mildred continued to reiterate just how good it would be for him. Ed appreciated his sister’s help
with the dusting and concern with his soul, but he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was devilishly
hungry. He reached into the cupboard and brought out a can of minestrone soup.
‘What on earth is this for?’ his sister asked, holding up the butterfly net. Ed was unsure of what
to say. ‘You’re a grown man, Ed! Oh my goodness!’ Mildred had just spotted the dark streaks on
his new linoleum as she slammed the butterfly net down on the counter. She stared at it wideeyed for another moment, before moving back over to her handbag and disappearing the duster
back into it. ‘I have to go home and feed Angie. But I’ll be back soon, Ed. My word, will I be
back!’
With that, she was gone. Ed was glad that he could get back to his soup, but he had hoped that
his sister would have done something about the black marks on his new linoleum. Setting his
meal aside for the moment, he took the butterfly net and crouched down in front of the couch,
pressing his belly against the floor once again. And once again he felt his business suit tighten
143 The Phoenix 2013 around him, his arms and legs becoming almost completely locked into immobility. But this time
he had a butterfly net, and he planned to make full use of its extendable handle. Ed could just
make out H. up against the wall. It seemed to be sleeping. He took the butterfly net and extended
the handle, reaching the net towards H.. It didn’t quite reach, so Ed withdrew it and extended the
handle to its full length. He smiled; he was glad he had bought the butterfly net. It meant that he
barely had to move from within the confines of his business suit in order to be able to ensnare H..
Once more, he reached out toward it, handle fully extended. The rim of the net nudged the
sleeping thing, and it jumped awake. Ed tried to catch it before it could move, swooping in with
the net. But it dodged out of the way. He made another quick swoop, trying to trap it against the
wall. Again it evaded him.
Ed huffed, and stood up. He felt some disappointment at the net’s ineffectiveness; the guarantee
had apparently meant very little. Perhaps if H. believed he had left, it would emerge. Ed retrieved
a bucket from beneath the kitchen sink and then stepped up onto the couch. After waiting for
what seemed like hours, he heard snuffling noises from under him. H. poked its head out from
the darkness, surveying the scene before emerging completely. Ed quickly dropped the bucket
over it, sealing H. inside with three soup cans. H. had left more black marks on his new
linoleum.
Ed was glad, and returned once more to the can of minestrone soup, lying open in wait. The
thing in the bucket had stopped making snuffling noises. For a moment, Ed wondered whether it
would continue to mark his new linoleum, and whether being concentrated in one spot would
render the marks completely indelible. But that thought was too horrifying to consider, so instead
he just returned to his minestrone soup. He poured the contents of the can into a bowl, and placed
it into the microwave. He caught sight of the butterfly net, and decided that it would be better if
144 The Phoenix 2013 he moved it from the view of the all-seeing eyes of his sister. Not that he had a problem with his
sister - quite the opposite actually; she was very dear to him. But Ed desperately wanted to avoid
another confrontation, if at all possible.
He hadn’t actually planned to have dinner with his sister yet. He wasn’t overly excited about
such an outing, but told Genevieve anyway because he felt that was likely what would happen.
And some distant part of him was hoping that she might mention the possibility of celebrating
his birthday with her instead. Edward hoped she meant it.
He placed the butterfly net on his bed. The beeping microwave signalled the arrival of his longanticipated lunch. As he made his way toward it, however, he noticed that the bucket that had
contained H. was overturned. Worse still, the soup cans he had placed on top were gone. He
prodded the bucket with his foot. Empty. It rolled slightly, revealing a perfectly circular black
mark on his new linoleum. Ed threw up his arms, glanced toward the microwave, and made his
way to his front door. H. seemed elusive by its very nature, and Ed wondered whether he could
actually catch it.
Ed burst into the street, the glass door of his building clicking shut behind him. His portly figure
began marching rapidly down the street. No sign of H.. He considered asking a passer-by
whether they had caught sight of it. He looked around at the crowd. But their eyes were upon the
ground, flicking momentarily up to his face, and then quickly back down to the pavement, their
pace quickening past him. Ed continued down the street, wondering where such a creature would
go.
‘Ed? Ed, where on earth are you going?’
145 The Phoenix 2013 His sister’s shrill voice was music to his ears. She would surely know what to do; maybe she had
even seen the thing herself. Ed turned about to face her, bumbling something about how he had
been just about to go and find her.
‘What? Is something wrong? You know, I was just coming over to your house right now to finish
what I was doing before. I even brought floor cleaner.’ She pulled a strange, t-shaped bottle from
her handbag, flourishing it in case Edward didn’t believe her. His mind returned to the newest
black mark that had been made on his new linoleum. Although he was somewhat embarrassed
for his sister to see it, she did have floor cleaner, and it would be a relief to see the marks
removed. He asked whether she had seen H..
‘Well, not lately...but we have that kind of thing at the church! Don’t you see? This is a sign that
you should come along! If that is what you’re searching for, you’ll find it in the congregation,
with the rest of us. Join the congregation, Ed.’
The idea of a congregation seemed at once comforting and sickening to Edward. He moved on
after giving a weak excuse to Mildred.
Some way down the road, Ed reached an obstacle that stopped him from going on. It was a busy
junction in the road, with cars whooshing past him in all directions. He looked about for a
pedestrian crossing, but there didn’t seem to be any. The gentle feeling of rain made him look
up; an elderly man was leaning out his second-storey window to spray mist over a single scarlet
flower that was floating in a pot of water on the sill. Ed was just about to turn around entirely
when he spotted a figure on the other side of the road. It was a young man; Ed thought he looked
rather queer in his grey cardigan, slim-fitting jeans and horn-rimmed glasses, leaning against a
lamppost and puffing on a cigarette.
146 The Phoenix 2013 He called out to the man. He didn’t appear to have heard him. He called again, louder this time
over the noise of the heavy traffic travelling along the road. The rising fumes began to collect in
Edward’s lungs. They tightened and wheezed inside his chest, and a strange kind of illness
rushed with his blood to his head. He asked the stranger how to get to the other side of the road.
The young man raised his head to look at Ed. Pondering for a moment, he drew a long breath
through his cigarette and looked up and down the street before turning back to meet Ed’s gaze.
‘You are on the other side.’
Ed frowned. He felt a surge of visceral anger arise; it seemed to have started with the barista that
morning, and now this.
Before he could call back, the figure had disappeared behind a cloud of cigarette smoke. Edward
had already begun to feel increasingly nauseous from the car fumes and now felt disorientated by
both the queer figure across the road and his complete uncertainty of where he might find H.. He
turned back to look at the direction he had come, but he couldn’t recognise it. The pavement
stretched out before him, and every crevice and ridge of it seemed to be deeply confronting. For
a moment, it stole his focus entirely. Something about it made Edward feel nauseous. He
managed to forcibly pull his gaze from the pavement to the alien lumps of metal that moved
steadily along the road...
He spun about on the pavement, and suddenly found himself looking directly into Genevieve’s
eyes. The sickness left him immediately.
‘Edward, it’s good to see you! We just can’t stop bumping into each other, can we?’ Genevieve’s
warm smile and soft hand gently rubbing his shoulder steadied him, and he felt as though he
147 The Phoenix 2013 could breathe clearly. He glanced again at the lumps; just cars, the same ones he saw every day.
‘Did you think any more about dinner?’
He had. And he liked the idea of it. He felt like he had spent his entire Saturday trying to deal
with H.. His stomach grumbled in agreement. His mind flicked momentarily to his microwave
back in his apartment. Genevieve’s eyes flickered over his; those eyes were so soft, and deep,
and indescribably comforting. He told Genevieve he would like to share dinner with her.
‘I was thinking we could go out tonight to that new restaurant; the one just next to that funny
coffee shop, ‘Sid & Arthur’s’? How’s this evening?’
Ed told her that he would see her then. She had to go. Smiled. Edward felt as though she was just
about to say something else: something that came from deeper within her, beyond the small-talk;
something passionate, and forbidden. Or perhaps it was Edward who was dying to say something
more. He wondered whether Genevieve’s hesitation betrayed a silent rebellion against the
learned instinct of pleasantry. Was she waiting for her mind to overcome it, or for Edward to?
Neither did.
But just before she turned to leave, Genevieve leaned toward him and gave his cheek a light kiss;
Edward felt a subliminal understanding and knowledge in the contact of her lips. Edward stared
after her for a moment. He felt the thick car fumes settle about him once more, filling the void
that Genevieve had inhabited just a moment ago. He turned and propelled himself slowly along
the pavement, the heaving weight of the car fumes on his shoulders and the three cans of stolen
minestrone on his mind.
…............
148 The Phoenix 2013 ‘You can’t wear that, Ed! This woman wants an upright, respectable man - not some dishevelled,
bleary-eyed lowlife. Put this tie on!’
Mildred was back, feverishly dusting the chairs, and the shelves, and the table, and the counter.
Strange: her duster never seemed to get any dirtier. She had attempted to get rid of the black
marks on his linoleum floor, but to no avail. Even her special cleaner had done nothing to
reprieve Ed of the dark streaks. She was now giving him her greatest fashion advice, which she
guaranteed would ‘charm the eyes off-of Bathsheba.’ This didn’t mean that she supported his
choice of dinner-partner.
‘I just don’t know what you see in her, Ed. I mean, I haven’t met her but from what you’ve said
about her...she seems rather...strange; not like us regular folk. Wouldn’t you rather one of the
ladies from the church? They’re very nice, you know. I’ve told them a lot about you; I’d be
happy to arrange for one of them to meet with you.’ Edward declined her offer politely, grateful
that his sister was so willing to look after him. But it was those moments of strangeness that
Edward saw in her eyes that he wanted to look at again, if only once more. He wanted to hurry
along to the restaurant anyway; his stomach audibly reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since
breakfast. He briefly considered reheating the minestrone soup that was still sitting in the
microwave.
‘There you are...’ Mildred said as she finished the knot of his tie. It was the same tie he wore to
the office each day. ‘My word; see how smart you look!’ Ed caught his reflection in the fulllength mirror that was hung on the wall. He certainly did look smart. But the clothes were illfitted to his body. He tried to swing his arms freely, but barely managed to raise them from his
sides before he stopped, feeling the fabric strain at his shoulders. The tie had been pulled a little
149 The Phoenix 2013 too much. Edward rubbed the inverse noose that granted him only a weak gasp each time he
opened his mouth to speak.
The buzzer for the door to the building screamed throughout his apartment. Edward felt a slight
twang of pain in his right ear, something that his doorbell had never before evoked in him. He
almost felt the particles of air shake as the sound pierced throughout the canals of his ear. His
jaw clenched tightly, he shivered. Something strange was happening to him. The car fumes on
the street earlier had begun it. Leaning heavily out the window, he saw a bulky delivery man
waiting on the street below. Leaving his sister in the kitchen, he made his way downstairs
towards the entrance to the building. Ed walked through the entrance hallway.
As he opened the door to the building, he felt something cold touch his hand. Edward whipped
his hand away immediately, looking down to find what had touched him. It was the doorknob.
He felt an uncertainty weigh in his mind, an uncertainty of whether he had touched the doorknob
or it had touched him. A deep breath.
Ed swung the door open. The delivery man was very large; roughly Edward’s height, but with
broad shoulders and a sagging beer gut. He had a head that was shaved bald and a thick neck. He
wore a rough leather jacket, his breast adorned with the delivery company’s logo: a vivid, red
flower. He addressed Ed with a deep growling voice that emanated from beneath a well-groomed
Fu Manchu moustache that reached far past his jawline.
‘I’ve got a delivery here for one...Ed?’ the man announced, glancing down at the package
momentarily.
Ed acknowledged him, and took the ballpoint pen from the man’s outstretched hand. It felt
clunky, heavy in his hand. Edward felt some certainty that the pen had been designed for the
150 The Phoenix 2013 precise opposite purpose of being used to write with. He placed his fingers in the way he felt he
should, but it was uncomfortable, somehow absurd. He fidgeted for a moment, tried wrapping his
entire hand around the pen, as though he were brandishing it at the delivery man. Ludicrous,
ludicrous. Edward felt his face flush, and his palms become sweaty, making it even harder to
grip the pen. Just as quickly as it had come, the sickly feeling subsided.
Ed signed his name in a hurry, trying his hardest to avoid the puzzled gaze of the Fu Manchu
moustache with the bald head attached to it. He signed both his first name and last initial.
‘Wait, if you’re Edward H., then this isn’t yours,’ the delivery man said, indicating the package.
Edward replied that he usually went by Ed; it was more convenient, easier.
The delivery man looked thoughtfully into the distance for a moment, and his voice became
mysterious, contemplative: ‘Each of us wears a mask...’ He took a deep breath, his voice
returning to deep, throaty normality: ’You feel more comfortable masquerading as Ed?’
Ed was bemused by the way the delivery man had asked the question. He retorted aggressively
that he wasn’t masquerading as Ed, he was Ed; that’s all of who he was and he was fine with it
being that way.
‘Then where did this anger come fr-‘
Edward had grabbed the package, hugged it close to his chest and propelled himself back into the
sanctuary of the building, slamming the door on the (strangely melancholic, rather than puzzled)
Fu Manchu moustache. He had realised all at once that this situation was about to take a very
upsetting turn. Like at the coffee shop, and on the street earlier. The delivery man was surely
about to say something nonsensical, or just plain irritating. Ed sighed in relief.
He made his way back upstairs, managing to conceal the contents of the package from Mildred
despite her incessant questioning about it. She had finished dusting for now and, after a promise
151 The Phoenix 2013 of her returning in the near future and a final attempt of dissuading Edward from going to dinner,
his sister left his apartment. Edward thoughts travelled to Mildred’s disdain for Genevieve; the
‘strangeness’. She had only heard what Edward had described of her; was that the impression he
had given?
As soon as he saw Mildred disappear on the other end of the street, Ed hurriedly pulled open the
package. It had been delivered with surprising but welcome haste; the company certainly lived
up to its guarantee of rapid gratification of his needs. Ed lifted the flaps, glancing for a moment
at the black stencilling emblazoned on them: BAIT. INGREDIENTS: BAIT. Simple and explicit;
Ed preferred this approach.
The bait he had ordered earlier that day had the consistency of the foam tubes that one finds in
shipping packages. Like such shipping foam, the bait had very little actual substance; it was
largely air, but had the appearance of being wholesome. If you cared to squeeze one, however,
you would find that it can be easily compressed into near-nothingness, before springing back to
full size upon its release. Bringing out a handful of them, he scattered several across his kitchen
floor. Ed had heard a lot about it from people at the office, and the television advertisements
spoke for themselves; this brand of bait promised to be effective on all kinds of things.
He wasn’t particularly sure what he would do once he had caught H.. He awaited the return of
the cans of minestrone, but H. had also piqued Edward’s curiosity. It was infuriating, and it
seemed intent on running from him. Edward had believed that H. was simply elusive and
difficult by its very nature. But perhaps this wasn’t the case. He wasn’t sure what H. truly was,
but he had begun to doubt that it was as distant and mysterious as he had believed that morning.
It now seemed ridiculous to continue chasing after it in the manner he had been. Edward would
try to bring H. back into his apartment. And then, he supposed, try to make it stay.
152 The Phoenix 2013 As he went to scatter another handful of the tubes, his right leg suddenly gave way. An
unpleasant dizziness took a hold of him, and he vaguely felt his body collapse very slowly
toward the floor. As though by controlled demolition, each muscle in his body systematically
shut down. His left arm lunged for the kitchen counter, managed to keep a hold of it even though
it spun so very fast. His right hand gripped the handful of bait; Edward could now feel every
misshapen lump, each imperfection of the previously smooth surface. The tendons of his arm are
next; the tubes fall to the floor; they roll across the new linoleum; Edward closes his eyes as the
spinning recedes. He is standing; the world is as before; he is sweating profusely; he dusts off his
(restrictive) suit. Something was very wrong with him; he only hoped that Genevieve would
understand if he had a similar attack at the restaurant.
Edward checked his watch: he had left just enough time to go to the supermarket and collect a
few more cans of minestrone. He ventured from his apartment.
…............
Ed was hungry, but he had very little interest in eating a hotdog. Nevertheless, he found himself
somehow engaged in a lengthy conversation with a hotdog vendor out the front of the
supermarket. Yes, ‘found himself’ seemed accurate. He didn’t really have any idea how he had
arrived. He vaguely remembered the sensation of his feet striking the pavement and movement
of his legs. But the familiar scene in front of the supermarket now appeared as though it had been
replaced by a cheap replica. It was a scene from a primary-school theatre production which had
been somehow relocated in its exact form to where the real supermarket and footpath and office
buildings used to be. Edward looked about slightly wide-eyed, but decided to play along anyway.
153 The Phoenix 2013 The hotdog vendor’s drawling accent had made his heritage clear to Ed even before he had
related a large part of his Irish ancestry to him. He had moved on to talking about his peculiar
choice of employment. ‘You know, I’ve been doing this gig near-all my life. ‘Tain’t as easy as
you’d think, neither, vending hotdogs. Ain’t much money in it, to be sure, but I wouldn’t swap it
for all the gold in Dublin. I’ve been all around with this cart. My family ain’t much supporting of
it. My mum and dad, they wanted me to become someone important. “Why’d you want to vend
hotdogs for?” they says to me.
‘I tell you what, I never planned on vending hotdogs. My mum and dad, my teachers at school;
everybody’s telling me I have to do something with my life. It was around then that my dizzy
bouts began; they only got worse when I stayed in one place. One day, in the middle of a
particularly bad spell, I noticed all the things I could do. “Well, alright,” I says to them. “I’ll do
something.”
‘I wasn’t a fortnight over sixteen when I boarded a ship away from that place. Ended up here
eventually; been vending hotdogs since.’
Ed looked on with a combination of disbelief, contempt, and perhaps some admiration. A man in
a tuxedo walked past them. He was holding a large tray of scarlet flowers above his head like a
waiter carrying plates, and yelling to the crowds in an attempt to persuade them to take one. The
hotdog vendor continued.
‘First place I walked into for a job, you know. Guy behind the desk is this weary, downtrodden
sod who’s got his head in his hands, wearing a funny suit like you. The guy says to me, with this
downtrodden-sod voice he says “Aren’t you a little young?”’ The vendor broke into roaring
laughter at his impersonation of the man, his hands holding the ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish’ apron that
encased his round belly. ‘And you know what I said to him?’
154 The Phoenix 2013 Edward had been listening to the story with increasing curiosity. He couldn’t shake the nagging
feeling of strangeness, though. The hotdog vendor seemed too ridiculous to exist in the real
world. He was out of place in the performance, so natural that one wondered whether he had a
script; even the school children who had practiced in front of their mirror and had a natural flair
for the emphatic still tended to be awkward on stage. Everything else had the appearance of
cardboard and budget costumes, but the hotdog vendor was strangely real; Edward had to
consciously resist the urge to reach out and revel in the absolute realness of the man’s rotund
belly. He was genuinely interested in the vendor’s story, and asked him what he said next.
‘When he asks me “Aren’t you a little young?”, I says to him straight back-‘, the vendor
interrupted himself with a bout of chuckling. ‘I says to him “Aren’t you a little old?”’
Ed hadn’t been expecting that response. He didn’t really understand why the vendor would reply
in such a way, but he smiled politely anyway. The vendor broke into another round of laughter,
and Edward now felt the sickness begin to extend its tendrils about his midsection.
Edward found that his legs had carried him further toward the supermarket, away from the
hotdog cart. He looked back; the vendor was nowhere to be seen. He turned once more, striding
toward the supermarket. His legs froze, rooted to the pavement, mouth running dry.
The warm light of the sun reflected pallidly from the automatic glass doors, bathing Edward’s
stiff leather shoes in grey. He felt his jaw clench tightly. Released. Clenched. The
supermarket...the supermarket was an expansive sheet of timber, painted with the swirling whites
and reds that had once held a more geometric consistency. The supermarket-backdrop had been
hoisted up to create a stage, a playground for all the performers to bask in the ashen light that it
offered.
155 The Phoenix 2013 Edward felt a deep anxiety take a hold of him. He looked about at the other actors, desperately
seeking some gesture or cue that would bring his script flooding back into his memory. Nothing.
Their eyes were on the pavement. That grotesque, indifferent pavement. It had lay there even
before he was a twinkle in his father’s eye, and it would continue on without him once he had
departed from such an oppressive state of affairs. It cared little for social status, or the
pleasantries that people throw at each other, or any of his anxieties. It mocked him; how could it
mock him if it was being trodden on by thousands of people? Yet how could those people bear to
stare so openly at the deep shadows it cast along the valleys and ridges of its length?
Enough, enough. Aren’t you a little old. The hotdog vendor: his words were somehow gripping.
Edward allowed his now-wide eyes to drift from the footpath. Now the cars were creating even
greater clouds of smoke than one would find in a jazz bar of 1920s downtown Chicago. The sun
was still trying to permeate some illumination through the fog, its vain attempts resulting in a
sickly, amber haze which shrouded Edward’s eyes and pushed against his shoulders. He tried to
move, tried to struggle his way from it, but his business suit grew ever tighter and he could
scarcely twist his neck to search for the most appropriate escape route.
Edward’s thoughts returned to the barista earlier that day, and then the hipster across the
road...‘You are on the other side’? It had seemed like such a ridiculous observation before...
A gentle wind threatened to knock Edward off balance. He tried to remember what had steadied
him last time...Genevieve. He had caught sight of her eyes. He had to get to Sid & Arthur’s
somehow.
The anatomy of the ant nest had finally revealed itself with no further facade. The strangeness of
such a familiar setting dug its way resiliently into his mind, finding a permanent lodging place
within. And then the vertigo began. It crept from his temples, moving further round toward the
156 The Phoenix 2013 back of his head before splintering down through his central nervous system. Edward realised
now that it was when he experienced the strangeness of the supermarket, the way the crowd went
about, the absolute coarseness of the pavement that the illness struck.
The sliding doors before Edward split, revealing James-Joe like a spectral apparition carrying a
basket full to the brim with cans of soup.
‘Ed, hey! How’s that soup going for you? It’s pretty good, right? I just got one or two myself,
actually. It’s great stuff, Ed! Say, have you seen the...’ James-Joe kept talking. Edward could
hear the noises he was making, but they were completely incomprehensible. Language was
meaningless. James-Joe’s mouth moved as if of its own accord, forming different shapes in rapid
succession. The sounds came from that area; some of them were harsh, like ck and t. His face
was pale, and spotted, and shaped so strangely. His jutting eyebrow-line cast shadows over his
oily cheeks in the light falling from the supermarket. Edward examined that face as though he
had been blind his entire life, while the pink lips moved indiscriminately.
Aren’t you a little old. The hotdog vendor’s reply to his future employer rang through Edward’s
head. It was almost a nonsense string of words; why wouldn’t it leave him be?
Edward found himself in the audience of this absurd play. He looked about, but found it too
difficult to tell whether there were any other audience members. He thought he saw Genevieve in
the darkness of the upper rows, but he couldn’t be certain. Edward’s boss, the entire managerial
world, every person who advertised the bait that now layered his floor, the hotdog vendor’s
family; they were all parts of a well-oiled engine. The engine itself continued to run as expected;
Edward had simply been thrown from its mechanics, from the world entirely, looking down at
Earth from thousands of light years away. He could see the systems and establishments and
administration that humanity had forged over thousands of years. They lay in a bizarre
157 The Phoenix 2013 patchwork over the Earth. None of them actually existed; not in reality, not anywhere but in the
minds of those ants. The Earth itself was completely indifferent to their plight, utterly nonchalant
about every conflict and achievement. Beyond those establishments, the ones of Edward’s own
mind that he could just make out if he squinted, the Earth simply existed; for hundreds of
hundreds of thousands of years, and would go on once humanity ceased.
The hotdog vendor had said that he noticed...he realised what? All the things he could do? Was
that it? He mentioned vertigo...Edward wished that he could talk once more to the vendor, if only
to find out the cure for his illness.
James-Joe’s pale lips were still moving. Mildred had arrived at some point as well, but her
howling, nagging voice was similarly dampened by the nausea in Edward’s mind. Edward hated
that voice, hated her intrusiveness.
The wind floated down a small scrap of paper and deposited it at Edward’s feet. It was lined
paper, slightly damp and crumpled. The dampness had caused the faded blue ink of the lines to
run slightly. Half of a cut-out circle designed for a binder folder was visible. Edward felt a great
inclination to bend down and pick it up, perhaps to put it in his mouth and feel the certainty of
running ink and damp paper against his lips. He stared down at it; the paper stared back. Edward
felt as though picking up the piece of paper would be tremendously difficult. He bent, but
stopped halfway. He felt the eyes of the actors turn on him in puzzlement and anger. But only for
a moment, before they continued on with their incessant walking. They knew that Edward was
going terribly off-script, but their only reaction was to follow their own lines as best they could.
The piece of paper defied him to act impromptu, or perhaps not at all.
No, that wasn’t all the vendor had meant. His action, the dizzying heights of his absolute
freedom...The flickering lights of a streetcar flashed momentarily over his eyes. Edward felt his
158 The Phoenix 2013 consciousness experience that of the scrunched paper; he wondered whether he was even free to
pick it up. The sickness pulsated in his temples, the pavement unsteady beneath him.
His hand grasped the paper. It broke apart between his fingers. He righted himself. The illness
ceased immediately. Edward ran.
He found Genevieve waiting outside Sid & Arthur’s. Twilight was settling somewhere behind
him, spreading itself over a cloudless sky, over the pavement, over the two figures huddled
closely in front of the coffee shop. Edward begins to apologise profusely, but is unable to express
in words the reason for his tardiness. He stares wide-eyed at Genevieve’s face, her hair, her lips.
He glances into the restaurant, his throat catching. In the restaurant that now seems thousands of
miles from its neighbouring coffee shop sits James-Joe, across the table from a seat upon which
sits Genevieve’s handbag. James-Joe is grinning idiotically. Edward only now realises that the
man felt nothing else. He is always happy, always grinning. There is no person beneath that
veneer in order to make him feel any other way.
Genevieve’s eyes are still on Edward. He thought he saw the light die inside of those eyes; but in
truth, it was never there. Genevieve meant every pleasantry she spoke, every bout of small-talk.
Edward had been lying to himself, for fear of the truth: that he would for now remain destitute,
absolutely different in an indifferent world. His cameo was over.
She says something, something about how she couldn’t wait for him. She’s sorry, but that’s just
another pleasantry, just another phrase to keep the engine running smoothly without
uncomfortable disruption. James-Joe keeps grinning, not at anything in particular. Genevieve is
still saying something, and inside two bowls of food are arriving at the table; soup. Great bowls
of steaming, watery minestrone. Of course. The restaurant. Genevieve didn’t want to go to quiet
Sid & Arthur’s. She wanted to go to the new, crowded restaurant. Of course.
159 The Phoenix 2013 Edward ran.
H. was dead on his kitchen floor.
The bait Ed had scattered was completely untouched.
H. had left more black marks. Connecting with the prior streaks and perfect circle. In the outline
of a flower. An outline of the deepest black. The flower was familiar. It had been taken from the
coffee shop, the delivery man’s jacket and the old man’s window sill and the tray held high
above the waiter’s head. Taken, and its outline stamped onto his floor.
H. was dead. The flower couldn’t emerge while it had lived.
Edward looked about the kitchen. The creature was never meant to have existed; it only afflicted
him because he was willing to chase after it. H. was an elusive shadow that Ed had cast from the
fear of his own heart. Edward despised the foolishness of that man, Ed. The burly delivery man
had known.
The flower’s outline; it surely awaited some fulfilment. The relentless winter of the world would
not grant it: from whence could it come but the indomitable summer within him?
H. is dead, and the scrap of paper has killed him.
…............
A father took his son one evening to a park in the middle of the city. They were walking along
the path discussing the great masters of yesteryear. They walked past a pond and the father
pointed to the centre, where a bright scarlet flower sat. ‘The red lotus. Kamala. The lotus of the
160 The Phoenix 2013 passionate heart.’ The pair walked onwards around the pond. ‘You know, son: Linji, one of the
great masters, once said: “If you meet the Buddha, kill him!”’
The son was astonished that such a wise man could have uttered those words. ‘But father, the
Buddha was the awakened one, the one who taught others the Way!’
‘The true Buddha is the awakened one, the one who teaches others the Way.’
‘And if you see him?’
‘The true Buddha cannot be seen.’
‘But Linji taught that he should be killed?’
‘The true Buddha cannot be killed.’
The son quickly grew tired of this talk. He still could not understand why Linji would teach his
students such disrespectful things. The boy noticed a man digging a hole in the middle of the
park. Great lumps of soil and grass flew from his spade. Next to the hole lay a dark, shadowy
creature, as well as three tin cans and a pile of shipping foam. Seeing an opportunity to change
the subject, the boy inquired of his father: ‘What is that man doing, father?’
The father looked over and smiled. ‘He is killing the Buddha.’
And the son was enlightened.
Winner of the Henry Lawson
Award for Short story Writing
Blue Backpack – Jonathan Youssef Gone. One second he was right beside me, tugging at my shirt to show me a palm tree or something; and the next-­‐ gone. 161 The Phoenix 2013 I look up and down the beach. The resort is a good three kilometres long, and when he’s focused Andrew could cover that in under half an hour. My Dad appears beside me. “You go one way”, he says urgently, turning me to the southern end, even as he gives his orders. “I’ll take the other. We meet back here in an hour. Your mother has already called security.” I start sprinting down the beach, scanning as I run. Anxiety sets the pace and worry fuels the adrenaline. The scent of seawater and the breeze that gently touched my skin now suffocate me and buffer my progress. Where would he have wandered? What did he see? What on heaven and earth was he thinking? I dismiss the thoughts running through my head and focus on finding my brother. A man waves me down to my right, dressed in a black shirt with trousers and an ear coil of the same colour. The sunglasses fail to give any form of emotion but his body language tells me enough. I slow to a halt. “You looking for that retarded kid?” His rough accent turns his words into grunts. “Yeah”, I reply, ignoring the insult. All I wanted was to get him back. I give him my brother’s details: 160 centimetres, fit, dark hair and olive skin wearing a red shirt with a blue backpack-­‐ my blue backpack. I laugh even as I tell him; Andrew always had the knack of making my things his. Wait, what am I doing? I think to myself. I should be saying has, not had! Gosh, the kid isn’t dead yet. I start running along the beach again, scanning and searching for my brother. I had to find him before something happened to him. He couldn’t be out here on his own…. I quicken my pace. * * * * Maybe it was the waves spilling violently out onto the beach that woke me. Or maybe it was the truck blaring its damn horn at nothing in particular. It doesn’t matter now, I think. Judging by the moonlight it was probably around 5:00 AM. I grab the blanket from the bench and stuff it into my blue backpack, shifting the weight to both my shoulders as my brother had taught me. “You don’t want to hurt your back”, he would say to me. “James backpack!” Was all I could reply. “James backpack!” He would laugh at that, but the light-­‐
hearted chuckle could never hide the pain I saw in his eyes, the sorrow he felt empathetically for my disability. What he doesn’t know is that I see and understand more than he ever thought possible. 162 The Phoenix 2013 The breeze cools my skin as I start walking along the beach, headed for a wooden boardwalk around a football field away. Fiji was a nice place, I thought as I paced the beach. I could stay here for a while. I reach the boardwalk and dive into the backpack. I re-­‐emerge with a pen and my brother’s notepad. “Poetry time”, I think to myself. My brother was that of an academic; always reading to me his newest piece of wisdom. Then he would set down the piece of paper and look at me, smile the same smile: that look on somebody’s face when they are simply trying to be polite, thinking that you can’t understand what their saying, that you probably don’t even recognise their existence; but smiling nonetheless. Tragic, but true. I’ve come to embrace this subconscious safeguard, though. I begin to write. * * * * “Hey, guy, got a light?” I stop running and turn. A teenage girl, her eyes heavily made up, wearing a short red miniskirt and black halter, holds out her cigarette. I’ve seen her walking up and down the streets the last few nights, some of those entering a car after hitching her skirt up at the driver. “I don’t smoke,” I reply. “You don’t have a lighter?” she asks. I hold my arms out. “No lighter, no matches.” “Matches? How old are you?” “About your age, but I know you’re not on your way to church dressed like that.” “What do you care?” “I don’t.” I start to walk further along the beach, eyes pealed once again. The teenager runs, catches up to me. She stuffs the cigarette behind her left ear. “This is turning out to be a lousy day.” “It hasn’t even begun yet,” I reply. “I haven’t even had breakfast.” “Where exactly do you get breakfast?” “You’re about to find out.” I figure I might drop past the corner café, ask about my brother there. 163 The Phoenix 2013 “Nobody’s gonna let you in. They can tell you don’t have any money.” She has a point. My wallet’s in my bag, and the bag is with Andrew. Where is he? I remember my current conversation. “You don’t always have to have money to get what you need.” She laughs. “Right. If you’re so smart, how come you’ve been on the beach all morning? I see you when I’m walking by, working.” “Working? Is that what you call it?” I laugh sarcastically. She shrugs. “What’s your name?” “Lori.” We walk along in silence. When we get to the hotel, I turn round to face her. “Hungry?” I ask Lori. “What they got?” “Coffee, donuts... I don’t know... what do you want?” She follows me inside. The “legend” of a shop owner lets me fill two Styrofoam cups with coffee and grab two chocolate glazed doughnuts along with a few napkins, all on credit… he knows I’m good for it. I nod at Lori. “Get your own. These are for me.” I hold a straight face for as long as I can, before releasing a wry grin and handing her a share of the loot. I ask the guy about my brother. He says he hasn’t seen anyone. I decide to take a break before I begin searching, hoping that either Dad found him or that he can hold getting into all soughts of trouble until I can think clearly. Outside, I sit on the curb and drink one coffee rapidly, inhale a doughnut, then start on the second cup as Lori comes out, balancing a coffee with a bagel on top. “Wasn’t free for me,” she says, sitting next to me grumpily. “Maybe you should’ve been nicer to them.” “Oh shut up.” We eat silently. The hotel is a block away from the ocean. I want to get back so I can restart my search. I stand up and begin making my way to the southern tip of the resort. 164 The Phoenix 2013 “Hey!” Lori shouts, tripping in her high heels as she follows. “What kind of manners is that?” She catches up with me. “We were having breakfast together.” “Who do you think you are, Emily Post?” I ask her. “Emily who?” “Never mind.” I think to myself this girl may not lead a sheltered life, but it’s not connected either. “I don’t understand you. First you asked me to have breakfast with you but then you’re rude to me as if I don’t matter. Men pay me lots of money for my time, you know.” “So? I’m not one of your tricks.” “Clients. We call them clients.” “Well your clients shouldn’t be having sex with you. You’re my age, and we’re barely old enough to drive.” “That’s none of your business.” “Maybe not, but it doesn’t look like there’s anyone else who cares enough to tell you.” “I don’t need anyone to tell me anything. I manage fine on my own. And age has nothing to do with maturity.” “Really?” “Really. I know lots of people our age who are smarter about life than you. Check this out.” Lori opens her purse, dropping her coffee cup. “Are you going to pick that up?” “No. I’m showing you something.” “You’re littering.” I pick up the coffee cup and toss it in a garbage can. Swish. “So what did you want to show me?” “My phone. Look.” Lori holds up a pink cell phone. “Look at all my contacts. See? These are people who care. And I can find where they are with the GPS-­‐“ “GPS. That must come in handy on your way to see – clients.” 165 The Phoenix 2013 “Very funny. So, why are you out here like a lost puppy dog and not all secured off in some five star resort? We Fijians are not meant to mix with you tourists.” I look over at her, my pent-­‐up emotions threatening to wash me away in a tsunami of grief and worry. “My brother’s missing. He left this morning and I can’t find him, and he could be anywhere. He has Down Syndrome.” “I’m sorry.” Silence. The waves are louder, thank God. “So is he really retarded?” Lori asks. “Yes, he’s disabled.” “Gary says-­‐” “Who’s Gary?” No answer. “Your pimp.” “So what if he is? He bought me this phone, these clothes. Before you go judging me, remember I’m probably not half as lucky as you. I don’t have what you have.” “Awesome. If you like this guy so much, why are you having breakfast with me?” “I don’t know. I have things to do, like meeting him. Look.” Lori holds up her phone. “See? My to-­‐do list. I have a busy day today.” “I believe you. Don’t need to see it.” “No, really, look buddy-­‐“ “My name is James,” I retort haughtily. “James. I got lots to do and I need to go. Okay? “ “Okay. Try not to have too much fun”, I reply. We are back where we first met. I fall onto the bench in exhaustion and a stray dog wanders over and sits at my feet. A few joggers are on the beach, a few cyclists on the boardwalk. 166 The Phoenix 2013 “See you,” Lori says. I hear her walking away. The waves are pounding the sand, as always, one after another. A storm is probably coming; the tide looks higher than usual. Despair tightens her frosty grip on my heart. The weather reflects my conscience. A small boy with his mother bends down on the beach to pick up a shell. I swallow and try to look at the waves hitting the jetty. The film over my eyes slowly transforms into tears that gradually seep down my cheeks. The pen strokes the paper in regular lines as my innermost feelings and emotions enter the world: Why do I stay when I want to go? Is it because I have hope? Or maybe it is because I don’t want to be alone in this world. I stay and all I do is complain. Complain that my difference drives me insane. Insane of the thought that I will be misunderstood. But who is to blame? Is it me or is it him? Neither of us will go. But we both know the burden of my existence is too great. I know I must go but I don’t know. If I go I will be alone. But why do I stay? Only to hear him say ‘You’re to blame for my sorrow and pain’. I know I am to blame for these emotions that he feels. So I will leave hoping he will grow. Grow in happiness knowing that he will never know. I finish writing, and lean on the boardwalk. The wind ruffles my hair. It is in this moment that I come to a decision: the only way to relieve my family of the burden that is my existence; is to end it. I climb onto the railing, right where the rocks are sharpest. “James. You crying?” Lori asks, leaning in front of me. “Of course not”, I answer immediately. “It’s the salt.” Lori scans the horizon, sees the boy, then sits next to me. Her cigarette is lit. “Turns out I have a half hour before my next appointment. If you don’t mind.” “I don’t mind. But I refuse to pay you.” “Okay.” “And put out the cigarette. You don’t want to start killing yourself now.” 167 The Phoenix 2013 As I speak I turn to look down the boardwalk, and something catches my eye; a boy with olive skin and red shirt with a blue backpack, sanding on the railing like he’s ready to take a false leap of faith. I start running even as the connections are made. As I sprint, the only word to erupt from my mouth is, “Andrew!” 168 The Phoenix 2013 Contributions to The Phoenix 2012
PROSE COMPOSITION
Ascent of Man, by Jared Choong – An Extract
p.1
Aegri Somnia, by Anton Harris – An Extract
p.7
Swedish Affliction, by Jared Choong
p.10
Antique, by Joseph Elzerman
p.12
Startamer, by Jared Choong
p.13
Funny How Things Work Out, by Ryan Machado
p.17
Xanthosis, by Anton Harris – An Extract
p.20
Pearl, by Nicholas Fitzgerald
p.22
The Friendship to Poverty, by Adam Luya
p.22
Reality, by Nicholas Augimeri
p.28
Worst Case Scenario, by Jonathon Youssef
p.29
The Building of the Time Machine, by Nicholas Augimeri
p.33
The Relaxation Centre, by Andrew Auwyang
p.34
Madame Trouille, by Jonathan Vala
p.37
A Taste of Tuscany, by Thomas Nader
p.39
Meta-cognition, by Anton Harris – An Extract
p.42
1984, by Thomas Nader
p.44
169 The Phoenix 2013 POETRY COMPOSITION
‘Acknowledging Reflection,’ by Joseph Del Rosario
p.47
‘Trojan Farm,’ by Andrew Lang
p.48
‘McDonalds,’ by Joshua Bartley
p.49
‘Big Bro’,’ by Michael Furcciniti
p.50
‘Pies and Sauce,’ by Adam Luya
p.51
‘Whales,’ by Anton Celis
p.51
‘Passion,’ by Nicholas Harb
P.53
‘Motorbikes,’ by Thomas Dineen
P.54
DRAMA SCRIPT COMPOSITION
‘The Death of King Aegeus,’ by James Burfitt
P.55
A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Adaptation), by Alex Hitos
P.56
Bad Boy Prometheus, by Dominic Meney
p.60
Nagorny, by Jacob Foxe (Extension II Major Work)
p.63
Non-Fiction/Expository Composition
‘Utilitarian Ethics,’ by Daniel Palmer
p.68
‘Hamlet,’ by Dylan Vieria
p.70
‘Belonging,’ by James Burn
p.73
‘Communism during the Civil War’ – Luke Depares
p.78
‘Te Ipsum Nosce: Lost in Translation’ – Robert Assaf
p.85
170