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Intermediate. Years 7/8/9


By Tom Brehaut, year 7, Blanchelande School

I remember it like it was yesterday. The tragic event. The tragic event that took my father. Now, I have no-one. My mother died when I was a baby. Now everything is grey. The city is grey. The world is grey. My life is grey. I am in conflict.

"Stay back," he yelled. "Don't worry, I've got this!"

My father was a brave man. If only I had stopped him before it happened. Before the bomb dropped. It's my fault he's dead. My fault, he's dead. I wish I had forgotten everything. I am in conflict. Deep, deep conflict.

Alone. A horrible thought. Too horrid to think about. Trapped in a dark room, with no light, and no means of escape. " I will always love you son." Those were the last words he ever said to me before he went to war. The scream. I, I am in conflict.

This nagging voice in my head. Yelling at me to commit suicide. I ignore it like there is another option. There isn't. What should I do. Oh no. It's growing in power. I must ignore it. I can't. But I must. I MUST! Conflict. The voice. Shut up! Shut up!

"Life is nothing. Think of your father" That's all I hear. A train whistle? What? Seats? Poles?! Whu?......... Where?......... The train taking me to the country? Thank goodness! All a bad dream. Nobody wants to look at me. They must think I'm mad. Maybe, maybe so. I am in conflict.

Country. Smell that fresh air. No more black smoke from factories. I never want to go back there. Ever again. Cottages made of white and sleek marble. I'm surprised I made it this far. I'm..... actually kind of glad. I am no longer in conflict. Now, I am in paradise.

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