I looked back, the air filled with smoke, knowing that my home was already destroyed. I tried to shake off the feeling of fear but I just can’t. Kids my age are crying, I just hope this will all come to an end.

I am living a life full of misery, my legs are throbbing from the tiny stones in my shoes and my shoulders are sore. Maybe I packed too much stuff that I might not need. My nostrils are blocked but I prefer it that way since there is lots of smoke. My vision was blurred out, but the cries from the families were annoying. I don’t know if I should feel bad for them. I wonder how I’m supposed to escape this tragedy.

I feel exhausted and my body is ice cold, strangers are no longer people, they are now family as we have to huddle together for warmth as if we are fighting for our lives during the night.

Kia Ora my name is Grace and I am a Yr 8 and I go to St Patrick’s School,

My Teacher is Ms George. I really enjoy reading and participating in sports.

My goal for this year is to take part in class activities as it is my last year at 

St Patrick’s, not only that but to strive for better education and a positive mindset.

God is the power socket, he is the source of everything.

Jesus is the cable, he connects to us and brings us closer to God.

The Holy Spirit is the image we see, the sound we hear and the love we feel when we are connected to the right channel. 

Dear Diary

My dad and I just got on the boat, my ears hurt from hearing people’s cries and pleading to be let onto the boat, leaving me with grief to bare. Waves splashed on my face but I didn’t care at all as my dad was by my side, the warmth of his body comforting me. A smell of different body odors invaded my nostrils. Looking at peoples expressions wasn’t good, some looked worried while others happy and some scared, not knowing if we would make it to land or not.

Hours passed by and I think we’re close to land, lights are shining from afar, we finally arrived, my dad and I stood up getting ready to step foot into a new life. At land we had no where to stay so we had to live on the streets and beg for money and food, while walking around, my dad and I came across a bakery filled with all sorts of delicious food, I stared at the food with a empty stomach hoping that I will be able to have something to eat by the end of the day. We continued walking until we stopped at a house. We walked up the steps, my dad looked at me with sadness and guilt in his face, kissed me goodbye and wrapped his yellow scarf around me. As he walked away he looked back at me one more time with a doubtful face before continuing again. I wanted to run after him but something inside stopped me. I knew that would be the last time I ever saw him. Anger and sadness arose as thoughts entered my mind but I hope someday he will be back for me.

Snowflakes fall on my head while I joyfully skip my way through an empty alleyway.

I listen to the snow crunch beneath my feet knowing I won’t be bothered by anything. A blackboard catches my attention. Feeling excited, I run towards it. I take a look at the blackboard and go closer. There are a lot of different names on it and there is a space at the bottom just where my name can go.

Picking up the chalk I write my name, I take a step back to see the board. The chalk drops out of my hand. I pull down my scarf only to hear a mechanical noise from behind me. Curiously I look back only to see a doll in a shop window. I approach the window, lifting up my head to see the doll properly. I reach out to wipe the window with my mitten to get a better view of the doll. I looked at myself, comparing how me and the doll look so much alike. Looking back up at the window the doll has disappeared. I search for where the doll is as I move towards the door. I peer inside and see the doll right in the middle of the shop.

I reach for the door handle. There is a metal clunk, the door is locked. I attempt a few times to open the door, eventually giving up. I furiously stamp my foot, reach down and create a snowball between my mittens. Irritated, I throw the snowball at the door and angrily walk off. Suddenly, I hear the door slowly creak open.

Excited, I run back, open the creaking door slowly and look around. I spot the doll, each step I take sounds like I am on sand. Amazement fills my eyes as I look straight at the doll I was looking for. I am distracted by another doll I stumble over. It’s riding a tricycle and is pedalling really fast. I bend down to put it upright. It furiously pedals in the direction of the door but it has slammed closed. I stand back up to look back at the doll only to realise it has moved again. Looking around I spot it high up on the shelves. I quickly run toward a couch, climb up and reach for the doll, I pull my mitten off my hand using my mouth and slowly reach out for the doll stretching my arms. I touch the doll.

A vision of an eye and of me screaming is in my head. Baby dolls fall on me. I open my eyes to see a view through a fish lens and the sound of clicking. I notice that all the dolls are staring at me. A mechanical noise emerges from the side as another doll appears ready to trap another child.

This pointillism represents my culture as a Samoan tapa.