Animal testing

Don't Test on Animals

how animals feel

I sit here starving my many brothers and sisters piled on top of me in this cramped little cage, the truck bumps along the dusty road while the sun beats down on us from above.

"A tiny cage is not a life", I hear the faint sound of a man arguing with the truck driver. I crane my neak to get a look but the sheer weight of my brothers and sisters disallows me to do so I give up and go back to sleep.

This is how animals would feel, like this poor family of dogs who have to suffer every day from the works of cruel people who care for nothing but themselves.

WHO ARE THEY? - Author Monique

Every Year on the 7th day of the 7th month a group of ladies wearing, bright pink suits and light pink high heels would parade across the town. No one knew who they were or what they were doing. In the little town of Marshwall, America, there was only a majority of people who lived there, 59 people to be exact. They were all boring people. They had boring jobs, boring houses, and boring hobbies. They did everything that they possibly could in a boring way. But there was one girl who lived in Marshwall that did the total opposite of ordinary Marshwallians. 

Her name was ‘Evelyn Smith’. She had long blond hair and large blue eyes. Her long eyelashes flushed with excitement. But there was only one thing that made her different, this thing was very clear to everyone. The reason she was so different was because she hated boring and she hated doing boring things. She wanted to explore and investigate, but there was nothing worth exploring in Marshwall. There was never anything to do here.

One bright and early morning Evelyn was helping her mother prune the bushes and weed the grass when she noticed the lovely ladies and decided that this was worth investigating. She wondered who they were and what they were doing here in Marshwall. Evelyn eyed them with suspicion and grabbed her mother’s sleeve. “Yes dear? What’s wrong?” replied Evelyn’s mother. “Mumma, who are those ladies?” She pointed towards the fourteen ladies crowding around the town square.

“Well dear, no one really knows who they are. They just come and go every year. They mind their own business and we mind “I just want to know if their business is worth exploring”

Her mother stared at her shocked to hear such a thing. “Evelyn that isn’t a very nice thing to do” She knew it was wrong but she was so curious she couldn’t bear leaving it alone. She figured that if she left bright and early in the morning she could go and explore the ladies and be back before her mother knew she was gone.

Evelyn then realised she needed an excuse if her mother did find out she was gone. Carefully picking up the phone and making sure no one was listening she dialled her grandma’s number. BRING! BRING! “Hello Granny! It’s Evelyn I just want ask you if you could tell mamma I was with you.” “Why Evelyn? What are you going to do? I hope it isn’t dangerous” “No grandmama, I’m just exploring” Evelyn slightly lied. “Hmm, I suppose so, but if only you come back in one piece. I don’t think it’s safe to do so but just this once” “Thanks Granny!” Evelyn quickly hung up and smiled happily to herself. Evelyn’s grandmother always understood. When she was young she used to go exploring as well. I guess Evelyn inherited those genes from her grandmother.

The next morning, Evelyn readied herself and quickly sprung at the door at an alarming time, 3am. She crept out quietly and headed towards the Town Square. She was sure they would be spotted here first because usually the Pink ladies are seen here early in the morning. She hid behind a large, silver statue and awaited the ladies. It was too early in the morning and there was no sight of them. Evelyn yawned and stood up ready to leave. RUSTLE! RUSTLE! Evelyn quickly ducked behind the statue and watched the ladies shuffle by. Evelyn stood up and slowly crept up behind them, following eagerly making sure to stay out of sight.

She crept as silent as a cheetah ready to pounce on lunch. They came to a clearing covered aggressively by large pine trees, the ladies stopped and gave a slight peek behind their backs. One lady with a yellow sash pulled out a kind-of stick. It was white and covered with specks of gold dust. The other ladies did the same revealing their own personalised stick, they all muttered something but they were too far away for Evelyn to hear. Then all of a sudden a misty fog magically appeared and a secret door revealed itself. Evelyn stood there awestruck, ‘How did they do that?’ she thought.

They all marched inside followed close by Evelyn. A nervous expression fell upon Evelyn’s face. “What if they were witches? Nah they couldn’t be, but then how did they do that? I have a feeling they are witches, but are they good or bad?” Evelyn bit her bottom lip nervously.

Evelyn could hear rumbling and rattling above her. She was walking under some sort of tunnel. The tunnel was perfectly carved out of sandstone and was lit brightly with gas lanterns. The rumbling and rattling continued above her. Evelyn was curious as to where they were. As they continued down the tunnel a large sign stuck out from the wall. It was quite dark even though the there were gas lanterns but she could barely read the sign. She edged closer and could make out the words Marshwall and station. Then it struck her, she was under the Marshwall train station. It was a long trip of walking but after a while the tunnel started to get brighter and warmer.

Evelyn continued to follow them. They twisted through this tunnel and so did Evelyn, they twisted through that tunnel and so did Evelyn. They came to a small stone room but it was empty, it was a dead end. She stopped at the entrance before they could see her. She hear some murmuring and whispering, SWOOSH! ‘What was that?’ she thought. She peeked inside to find an astonishing sight.

The witches had disappeared. This explained her theory. They had to be witches. Something was suspicious about those ladies and Evelyn was going to find out. She eyed the room one last time and noticed in the whole entire room there was only one rock, it may have seemed ordinary but to Evelyn that seemed worth investigating. She picked up the small rock and shifted it around her hands. It felt light and hollow, Evelyn could feel a tiny slot. Moving her finger across it, she slid opened a panel and could touch a small button. She pressed down hard and the wall slid the the side.

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Acclaimed Author Debra Oswald discussing her writing journey

IMAGINE WAKING UP AND NOT REMEMBERING ... THIS IS WHAT MATTERS TO ME - Author Emily

He sits there motionless……intrigued by the wall. I greet him with a warm smile, sit down and make myself comfortable. I have always been curious about what goes on inside that jumbled up mind of his. It's cruel isn't it? He was always a passionate man, a man who would never give up. He often overworked himself, untiring to provide for his family. He would take pride in his work and family. Now he's just a frail man who just sit's in his chair and absentmindedly watches life play out before him. No control no power. I feel helpless, there is absolutely nothing that I can do to change him back to the man he once was or to help ease the difficulty those closest to him endure.

He will start conversing with us, but they will be things he will say that I don't understand. He often speaks in his native tongue, it sounds like gibberish to me……I don’t understand him. We all sadden at the fact that this disease can actually be so unsympathetic to people, people that are innocent and underserving.

The bus pulls up, it takes him away. Respite. Relief. For everybody. But only just for the day.....

Time has been reversed – it’s like he is an infant. I feel more responsible and mature than him. I am only 11 and he is 66.

When he goes to this caring facility he isn't treated like an adult - he is treated like the infant he once was. Sadly and unfairly, his brain is 6 years old but he has the body of an elderly man. Does he still feel excitement by colouring in or playing a board game or does he feel foolish playing in this childish world.

I ponder the fact, does he enjoy going there or does he dislike it? Does he even remember it at all? It's almost as if he is a child again, he can't care for himself. He cannot even shower himself.

The problem is, there is not enough awareness going on to tell people about mental illnesses. Maybe even if you detect it early you'll be in with a bit of luck. I wonder if there is any sort of cure or breakthrough, because nothing prepares you for the anguish the loved ones and the patient must go through.

The millions of people that are diagnosed with the illness every year are not aware of how cruel it really is. Without a medical breakthrough for dementia, these people will be helpless and suffer.

I wonder who he is anymore and I fear the day he won't even remember who I am. Sadly this is the story of my grandfather, he is only 66 years old and suffers with dementia. This is what matters to me......

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Acclaimed Author: Debra Oswald discussing how punctuation the code for reading

One of the most important writing tips Debra Oswald gave the student writers was the importance of punctuation and if you want to be a good writer you need to be good at punctuation.

Imagine - Authors Bridget and Tamia

The girls created and sent in this mosaic for their story

Imagine a world without marginalism. The reason why the price of diamonds is higher than that of water, for example, owes to the greater additional satisfaction of the diamonds over the water.

I auscultate the impertinent words that have haunted my past, and will contribute to my future. Lying as frail as a lily, neglected and despondent, my wise words can only carry my burden of worthlessness.

The dandelion absconds my wishes and dreams and transforms my most crepuscular nightmares into my reality.

The harrowing thought of not fitting in pursues me like an agonizing dark soul shadowing the potential of being accepted. Righteous and just is not shown throughout our world. The act of marginalism empowers the few acts of humbleness. How much are you willing to sacrifice for equality?

Marginalism gives an effect to important aspects of change. The majority of society can be charged as guilty for talking the talk but not walking the walk. When I pinch myself, I only can see the devastating blood shed reality. Our reality does not exist, it is something we create.

~We are each burdened with marginalism; against the poor or the rich, the smart or the slow, the gaunt or the obese. It is natural to develop marginalism. It is noble to rise above it. ~Author Unknown.~

Marginalism contributes to mental, physical, spiritual and social health. It castes apartheids and suicides. Help those who cannot help themselves; be the change you wish to see in this world.

A minor amount of courageous and heroic citizens, dared to take a stand in the apartheid. Are you willing to take a stand for your neighbours that may be a victim of this number one killer in disguise? This is what matters, marginalism. Can you imagine a world without marginalism?

"Marginalism is a burden that confuses the past, threatens the future and renders the present inaccessible "~Maya Angeloue 

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VC Part 1 with acclaimed author Debra Oswald

Yesterday we had the pleasure of Debra Oswald's time and keen young writers from Good Samaritan, Bethlehem, St Patricks and St Ursula's discussing what makes a good writing piece and what to do when you are faced with a writing challenge.

I will post a part of the video conference each day. Hope you enjoy this wonderful opportunity!

THE ART OF LOSING YOUR IMAGINATION - Author Danielle

Young me once had a relishing imagination, with many aspirations, 

See, I wanted to be a firefighter but it’s too late for fixation. 

Now I'm only able to extinguish the good within my mind and heart 

Because all this world has done for me is tear, trash and thwart. 

In fact, this mundaneness is a cycle, that’s only getting stronger; 

My sister just told me she can’t imagine no longer. 

Still, what can I do? But I guess I can't sit here and ponder, 

And we're silently struggling simultaneously with it everyday 

With nobody, not even the euphoric finding an exit way. 

I’m trying not to fade away, but I don’t know if I can last

My mind is turning into an untimely time glass. 

As the last grains drip and then there is no more sand; 

Tales like Cinderella begin to desolate and become slightly bland. 

And when I count one sheep, two sheep; I feel immature 

What can I do? I’m not sure my mind can endure. 

Who knew an imagination was that important to hold on to 

Too late I guess, I departed from that plane long ago

So I tell you small seedlings do not grow rapid like a vine; 

To quick, too soon, a departure from all those happy times. 

Instead imagine, think ; make your world something that you create, 

But most importantly do not let your imagination dissipate. 

Believe in monsters, fairies, ghosts and any mythological creature, 

Unless you want to follow the boring, never ending life procedure. 

And finally what can I do? Well I'll start believing, that is for sure, 

I'll run wild, let no one stop me, it’s my life; that I'll ensure 

That’s how you overcome the art of losing your imagination.

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VC with acclaimed writer Debra Oswald

Very exciting! Looking forward to meeting the seven Secondary finalists on the video conference tomorrow and having Debra Oswald give feedforward advice and talk about her writing journey.

THE BOX - Authors Amy & Amy Illustrated by Sienna

We walked towards it. We really wanted to reveal its mystery. We couldn't bare its beauty. So we put it inside.At the sound of the rumbling engines we tried to open it. It started to rumble. We gazed at it in horror. We tried to run away from it but the power was unstoppable. It used its force to drag us in. It was a horrifying sight.

As the power dragged us in, we started opening it in terror. When we finished opening it they were extremely surprised. We went inside it. We had discovered a new world. Who would have imagined?

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I HAVE A DREAM - Author Antonio

Chapter 1

I have a dream that everyone including my friends and especially my family would love and care for me. I had that dream when I was six years old. And just a little over 3 years ago, that dream came crashing down like the Berlin wall.

You have to see this from my point of view. I got sick and tired that my mother Hayley, kept dating men constantly ever since mum and dad got divorced over 8 years ago. Now she has finally committed to a relationship for over 3 years now with a nice man called Roy. After meeting Roy for the first time, I had a conversation with mum.

“What the hell are you doing, going out and meeting new man?” I asked “Who died and made you king of my love life?” Hayley questioned “All I'm saying is that, the way you go through men, why bother saying to them “I will always love you” when 5 minutes later, you’re kicking them out the door and saying “Sayonara”! “You shouldn't raise your voice at me mister. It’s my life, not yours! Sometimes girls like me, just want to have fun.”“Well I don't care!”

I stormed out of there. Before I left home with my blue sway shoes and my bags packed, I screamed out “To me, I think that you are useless as a butter knife in a sword fight!”

Chapter 2

After leaving home, I walked to my friend’s house Steve, who lived just 2 blocks down the road, to see if I can stay for a while at his place. He provided me with a room. We bonded on a level that we thought never existed. We would talk all the time and do everything together.  But I digress.

Two weeks after storming off, Steve decided talked to me about what happened. “I was just sick and tired of all the men she was dating. One after another. She kept acting like she was a material girl.” I said to Steve while crying on his shoulder “Well maybe she was trying to hide the pain of the break up your dad and she had.” Steve hypothesised“Maybe you're right. But I feel that mum keeps acting like Blanche Devereaux.”

We both swore to never touch that topic ever again. But a week later Steve decided to bring up the conversation again. But this time, on his own circumstances.“OK. I know last Friday night we swore never to talk about you-know-what again. But it’s your mother’s birthday next week. So go over there, make amends, and say sorry before it’s too late to apologise. Ok?”

I reluctantly said yes and found a present that mum would adore and love.

Chapter 3

It was the night of mum’s birthday party which she had held at her house. There was lots of music playing that I had to knock three times to get her attention. Once Hayley answered, I asked her if we can go into the bedroom to talk.

“So…what are you doing here?”I handed her the present. She opened up the present which contained a photo album of all of our pictures when I was little, a gift certificate for a hot air balloon ride with Roy, and the Tiffany 2.5ct diamond ring that she always wanted.

“Oh James… It’s the most sweetest thing that you have ever done for me.” She started crying

“Well knowing you, I knew that you would love it. You almost never get to see the tears I cry, behind my hazel eyes, but for the past month I have been missing you. And I have been thinking of what to say, but all I have to offer is… I’m sorry.” “Come here”

As we were hugging she told me that all was forgiven, that I could come back home and that Roy was living with us now. The weekend after, we all went on a night on the town and we all had a blast. Mum and Roy stated this on the night after that they “Built this city on rock and roll”, but I highly doubt that.

So after that mess, they said that all was said and done, and it’s all forgotten. They are still together through thick and thin and mum is thinking of marrying Roy. And I’m still happily enjoying all of my time with my mum.

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WONDER TO EXPLORE - Author Billy

I gazed at it, it was truly amazing, I had dreamt of this moment (along with 6 other moments that had
not yet happened) my whole life. I reached into my pocket & grasped my camera, I pulled it out & I took a photo. The view was amazing! I had never felt so good in my life. Finally, I was at the Temple of Artemis.

 * * *

 I am an explorer, I have been studying how to get here (along with the other 6 wonders of the world)  without catching a plane or boat for a decade now & in my final answer, I now have to hike, and drive my own submarine. In fact I was about to pick up my bags put them on my back & hike back to my submarine. So off I went, it took ages to get back, but when I did I set my course for Egypt and off I went. It was a long journey & after a couple of days without fresh air, I was finally at Egypt. But now I had to do one of the hardest hikes I had ever done in my lifetime. But I must do it if I ever want to see the Great Pyramid of Giza.

So off I went, to the Great Pyramid of Giza, & when I said it was hard I was wrong, It was extremely, excruciatingly hard. So I had to hire a motor bike, though it was still really hard, after a couple of days I was finally at the great pyramid of Giza. But I have to say it was totally worth it. It was amazing how the giant bricks were put there, I could not believe they could of made something like this all those years ago. Once again I took a photo & went to buy a hotel room o stay in overnight. When I woke up I picked up my bags & hiked back to my submarine. When I got back I set my course for Lebanon so I could hike to the hanging gardens of Babylon and off I went.

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IMAGINING A BETTER WORLD - Authors Ruby & Georgie

Misery consumes me from deep within. I remember a time when I still had 

hope. Hope for a better life. Hope for a brighter future. I imagined a world 

where anything was possible and every one was free to determine their 

own destiny. I imagined a world with no sadness, no regret, no war and a 

harmony between mankind and mother earth. 

I don't know what my future holds but I feel as though all hope has faded 

and the world I imagined is out of my reach. I don't belong here, my journey 

from Afghanistan was like a living hell. I knew from the beginning the risk of 

leaving my own country was vast but nothing could have prepared me for 

the detention centre I now call home. 

One day rolls into the next and now even my imagination fails me. It takes 

every last ounce of energy just to force myself out of bed each day. I 

wonder if today will be the day. Despondently I walk along the barbed wire 

boundary fence that separates me from my freedom. I place my hands on 

the rusted wire and give it a hard yank. It holds fast! I am trapped! I have 

nothing but time and my own imagination. 

I cast my mind back to a happier time. A time when my country was not 

at war. I remember the dreams I once had and I use my imagination to 

transport me back, back to this happier time. I was a young man with a 

dream to become a musician.

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CONNECT THE DOTS - Author Jade

Bright blue and red lights illuminated the area as they turned around the tops of the police cars that surrounded the scene. A barrier had been set up in the middle of the small street, blocking off all traffic, not that there was any, it was late anyway. Already people were starting to gather and the sounds of hushes and whispers were beginning to grow. One is an accident, two is a coincidence and three is a pattern. How long would it take for the crowd to piece together the puzzle?

“When’s the SIS coming?” murmured John, the rookie police officer while scoping the crowd. “SIS?” spat Deputy Matt. “What makes you think the Secret Intelligence Service would make an appearance?”“Maybe because this is the 3rd murder in a week?” John pointed out matter-of-factly. “Come on, you don’t think that’s worth investigating?”“Of course I do.” replied Matt, “But an investigation by us, not the freaking SIS!”“Well I think someone called them in. Its only a matter of time before they get here, just you wait.”predicted John.

After a few minutes, a black Mercedes Benz sped onto the scene and stopped abruptly right outside the scene barriers. No one expected anything less from Alexis Madi, Senior SIS

investigator, she was known for making a grand entrance. Immediately, the car door opened and a white-heeled boot stepped onto the rough concrete street. Soon both heels were on the ground and a woman with curled black hair stepped out, demanding the crowd’s attention.

She paced toward Matt and John right beside the covered body, who were already gazing, along with the crowd, their eyes locked on her. It was late at night but Alexis still wore her navy blue pantsuit, accentuating her hourglass figure and elongating body. The soft breeze made her walk seem so effortless, even though the heels were killing her feet. She was strikingly beautiful; and she needed to be in her line of work, cowardice shows weakness and weakness does not do well in the SIS. 

No one questioned her as she walked towards the scene. She was the boss, and everyone knew it.

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THE IN BETWEEN - Author Rebecca

“YOU’RE ALWAYS AT WORK!” Sandra yelled, “ALL I DO IS COOK AND

CLEAN, AND WHO IS HERE TO HELP ME?! EVEN WHEN YOU COME HOME, YOU SIT 

DOWN,  EXPECTING ME TO SERVE YOU LIKE A KING! WELL I’M DONE MATT!” 

I blocked her out. I was sick of the criticism. Sure, I’m not perfect, but nobody is. In the corner of my eye, I saw my daughter Amelia, sneaking through the hallway to the wooden front door. Her short, tight skirt was enough to make me question.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked in my tipsy state. ‘Out’ Amelia replied and opened the door. 

“DON’T YOU DARE WALK OUT OF THAT DOOR!” 

I yelled, feeling the toxic alcohol overtake me. 

“HOW DID I RAISE A DAUGHTER LIKE YOU?!” I yelled.

I immediately saw the complete change of expression on her face. It was a mix of anger and utter sadness.

“MAYBE BECAUSE YOU’RE A HORRIBLE FATHER!” she screamed and stormed out. 

The words came so easily out of her mouth, but they didn’t sting. Maybe because they’ve been said too many times that there’s just no feeling to them anymore.

I needed to get out of the house, so I grabbed the keys and opened the black car door. I backed out of the driveway and sped up the street. Where I was going, I had no clue. I didn’t see it in my drunken and angry state. It all happened so quickly. The red light was so sudden and I was going too fast to stop. There was nothing I could do.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Now here I am. The white walls seem never-ending, and the glass floors crystal clear. I walk for what seems like forever, until I see a man sitting at a desk beside a large, grey, double door. He looked about 70, wearing a grey jumpsuit, with a badge under his name tag which read ‘Gate 729 Guard– Tony’. He smiles nicely as I walk towards him, second guessing my choice.

“Wow!” he exclaims, “You’re the most confused one we’ve seen all day!” I try to form questions in my mouth, to get some sort of story straight, but nothing came out. Tony looks down at a bundle of papers. “Matthew Johnson; 44 years old; Husband of Sandra and father of Amelia and Billy; died in a car crash” he reads out.

“Died?” I whisper. “I-I’m dead?”Tony looks at me with a frown, “Yes, unfortunately, but it happens to everyone at one point” he says sympathetically.“But I can’t be dead!” I say, feeling my voice raise. “I HAVE A BUSINESS TO RUN! I HAVE A LIFE DOWN THERE!” I yell, pointing at the glass below me.

“Now, now, there’s no need to get angry at the world. It wasn’t its fault that you drove out into the night intoxicated. Just be happy you didn’t get anyone else killed!” he says, no longer soothingly. I don’t care about anyone else; I care about me and my life!

Tony took my arm and wrapped a watch around it. “You have 24 hours before judgement. Make it right, or go to hell” he says, and the doors open for me.

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HE IMAGINED - Author Phillip

It was yet another ordinary day in Pottsmond Hill High School and Blake Summers was bored. He was bored of listening to his history teacher, Mr Evans, who was talking about the events that took place in the Cold War. Blake never really understood why he needed to know all this – he wanted to become an actor, the main character in a superhero movie, the person who had the amazing powers and stopped bad guys. That’s who Blake wanted to act as if he became a movie star in the future, not a lousy historian.

“When is this damned lesson going to finish,” he thought to himself, eyeing the clock at the front of the classroom. 10:25. Blake tutted, frustrated at having to sit through another twenty-five minutes listening about the Korean and Vietnam War.The boy who sat next to Blake was his friend, Tommy Raven, who also seemed to be suffering from boredom. He rolled his eyes at Blake and made his hand into a figure of a pistol, pretending to shoot himself.Blake laughed... a little too loud.

“Mr Summers! Would you care to give me a definition of communism?” Mr Evans asked, obviously annoyed at the interruption.“Uh...” Blake thought. He hated being asked to answer a question that he had zero knowledge about. “No clue.” “Well having ‘no clue’ is not going to help when you’re doing the pre-test for the rest of this lesson!” Mr Evans laughed at his own joke as the rest of the class groaned.

“HA HA!” Blake faked a laugh and then stopped abruptly as he saw the unimpressed look on his teacher’s face.Mr Evans scavenged around his desk. “Now... where did I put these tests?” He muttered to himself.The year ten students exchanged looks of hope as their history teacher continued to have difficulty finding the tests. Mr Evans sighed and looked at the class. “No one is to move out of their seat or even speak when I go to my office,” he said sternly as he exited the classroom.

Almost immediately, everyone started talking amongst themselves.“I hope he never finds the tests,” Tommy yawned as he stretched out his arms, “I honestly don’t know a thing about the Cold War or communism.” “I guess we got something in common then,” Blake agreed as he looked at the clock. “Twenty more minutes! Why can’t time go faster!?”

Blake strained his eyes on the clock. He imagined the minute’s hand moving so it pointed to the ten.Suddenly, he gasped. It was starting to move! The minute hand was steadily moving past the seven... the eight... until it stopped; pointing in between the nine and the ten.What was going on? He looked around the classroom, everyone was still chatting – not paying the slightest attention towards the clock – only Blake noticed the clock hand had significantly moved.

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