ENGLISH - CREATIVE WRITING
begging to make sure it didn ’ t happen again ; to make sure Denmark didn ’ t fall into the tyrannical rule of yet another royal family . The boy ’ s mind started to ������� ���� ���������� ���������� ��� ������� ��� ��� ���� the chapel door mere metres ahead of him and felt himself gradually come to a stop . He stood , staring at the towering oak doors as if he might give in after all . Then , the boy smiled , turned , and walked back the way he had come . Finding a wall to sit on , he saw the glint of weaponry on the hills that surrounded the city . The faint sound of horses quickly followed . The boy gritted his teeth and fell back into a position of forced relaxation . He had made the right decision . He hoped .
Jesse Perrott Year 13
Concrete
�������������������������������������������������������� for 20 metres , before halting lazily in a half arsed reach towards the sky . Birds can glide over with little effort , plonking themselves at the top , and hooting tirelessly , as if saying ‘ is that all you ’ ve got .’ Indeed , after living here for 12 years , and not knowing much else , that is what I would say .
Therefore , it might surprise you that I used to ogle at such structures , unable to believe something made of concrete could compete against the huge redwoods that live beside them . Running up to their base , I would tilt my neck , with the intention of making them seem that much taller . Any building over two stories was something to be celebrated and even a slight wackiness of architecture could send me spinning into caveman-like awe .
My favourite attraction was the department store ‘ Farmers ’, winner of the shiniest walls and tackiest ������ ������� ��� ���� ����� ��� ���� ����� ���������� ���� 100km and I , like every local kid , had done the rotations up and down , dragging the parents into this new world . Some ingenious businessman had positioned the toy section just over the lip of this stairway to heaven , so ���������������������������������������������
I could ’ ve spent days wading through this sea of cheap plastic , bouncing up and down the escalator everytime I needed a break . I could not comprehend why my parents would merely step on and step off , without so much as a smile . Why would they smile ����������������������������������������������������� Paris . And New York , and London .
That is why I now dream of such places .
As my curiosity of the beyond pulls more , I think of Hawke ’ s Bay as a cage . And as time passes by , the more my parents think of Hawkes Bay as a haven . The roles have switched , and I wonder how they can be ��������� ��� ����� ���������� ������������������� ������ with one escalator , and way too many cows . At the horizon are places that cover far less land , but are congested with crooked houses , grand towers , and all kinds of personalities . City ’ s , layered with concrete , on concrete , on concrete .
Roaming the streets of Wellington , I had a little taste ����� ��� ����� ������ ��������� ����� ���������� ���� ���� ����� and culture on offer . It is taller than home , yet not too tall ; a toddler to Hawke ’ s Bay ’ s baby . Then Auckland is a small child .
Overseas , far out of reach , is where the big ones live . The adults , watching from afar as the children grow up in the playground of New Zealand .
The teens . In their peak , and still growing . New York . Filled with so much diversity that crossing a street feels like changing countries . A chess board ���������������������������������������������������� intent on being the highest and shiniest . Only the Sir Edmund Hillary of Birds can perch on the top .
The adults . Amsterdam .
The grandfathers . Edinburgh . Built on layers and layers of predecessors . Still a grandfather , when the ����� ���������� ��� ���������� ���� ������� ������������� Generations of lives and fame all powdered and munched into a single grand city .
While these impressive claims have left me desperate for my world to expand , my parents shake their heads . They are excited for me , yet have lost their wonder , and can only see cities for what they are . Concrete . Decorated and carefully positioned , but still merely concrete . New York is Auckland , but with more concrete . Auckland is Hawkes Bay , but with more concrete . While it looks nice in the end , making a city ��� �� ����� ���� ��������� �������� ����� ������ ������ ����� grey . My parents worry that Hawke ’ s Bay is heading that way as well .
We humans love our concrete , yet eventually that love crumbles away . While I currently dream of Paris . And New York , and London . One day , in 15 years perhaps , I will be dreaming of home . It is what we take for granted .
James de Groot Year 13
Elizabeth Fall Year 11
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