Trinity College School - Record Yearbook (Port Hope, Ontario Canada)

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aiting The sea was angry. Not just an anger found during a wind storm or common gale, but a ferocious anger which churned and whipped the sea into frothy whitecaps. With a vindictive rage it waited for the food that would appease it's hunger. Peter Dunlop didn't like it. Only twice before had he seen the sea like this and both times those who had been unfortunate enough to be on it never lived to tell the tale. Thus it was with a slimy greasy feeling in the bottom of his gut that Peter turned his thirty foot toward the welcoming shore of Hyattville. The waves licked hungrily at the boat like fire goading paper to burn and the wind rushed and sucked at his wind breaker and made his sun bleached hair wild as an unkempt bush. Still he felt confident, for Ocean Child had survived worse than this, however, even as that thought left his mind the horror began. The wind increased to a driving howl, the whitecaps swamping Ocean Child's deck. Vibrations racked her superstructure and the mahogany creaked and groaned under the stress. Dunlop quaked. God, he thought, it's happening, and he began to pray. How many times had his Grandfather told him stories of the unforgiving sea and what it could do to the strongest of boats. Now he could hear Ocean Child wailing her protest as inevitably she began to break up. The sea, thought Dunlop, has become a mass of cement waves crushing the life out of my boat. With a report like that of a .22, the timbers split and the water rushed into claim its victim, lapping coldly at Dunlop's feet. The sky was a leaden grey and steadily growing darker. Crack. Another timber split and suddenly everything went haywire. The engine flooded and died with a moan, water was pouring in, Peter grabbed a life raft and jumped overboard desperately. Even as his feet hit the water he felt himself being sucked under and the raft f1ew out of his hands and was gone in a second. It bobbed forlornly far out of reach. Peter again felt himself being pulled under and taken down forever, and he fought but fought in vain. As the last swell closed over his head he thought, Killed by the being that gave me life. Irony, though, was lost on the mind- less sea. Just as quickly as it began, it ended. The raging swells calmed. The wind slackened, no more was the sky dark and the sun peeked through the clouds which were rapidly scudding away. The hunger and anger were appeased. The sea had gotten what it wanted. It was placid again . . . For now . . . E.w. Boyd Second Prize Story, Gavin lnce Langmuir Writing Competition

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octumal Thought l'he quest xshieli ratelss ins inner tore .-Xnd sets the pgiee ol lile l leud ls sought und lound by less indeed Uiiodl Whitt dost thou lim e in store To quench the loss my heart does need. lts purpose pray, wits not to bleed And live its life heliind ai door! lts use with pain would I adore lf love was found und left to stay. But God, He cries to me at night This quest in vain, l hear him say The prize will come within your sight lf left to last, behind your life. But day, it comes . . . to me my strife. David Thomas Honourable Mention, Ciaiin lnee lurigrmiir Writing Competition

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dolescent Nightmare Selfish destruction of one's own mind in the morningg afternoon: evening he finds fighting is pointlessg useless and vain and it only serves to increase the pain viewing the world with cynical smiles laughing and fooling himself he's got style for all the talents fortunate to possess he's two steps back and again regress obscurity, sadness and tears of rage represent the theme of one's own age screaming is pointless: useless and vain, it only deepens and causes pain. Where to turn? Surrounded by walls erected by fateg the mortar his gall. E.W. Boyd