Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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FIRST IMPRESSIONS It was drizzling when we arrived and the airport building looked a dirty grey from our window. We were exhausted and the sight of an armed guard did not lift our spirits. He gripped his machine gun and pointed it at us as he escorted us to the terminal. Inside it was chaos. We were confronted by a wall of people ' s backs and found there were no organized lines to Passport Control - everyone simply moved when there was a space. Many travellers yelled across to let their families know where they were and the noise was deafening. The building was badly ven- tilated and it was very hot and stuffy. It took us about two hours to get through and another two to find out who had travelled with the luggage. We were glad to get out and away from the odour and the hostile looks of the people who lived here. As we were driving towards the city, our driver suddenly pulled over to the side of the road. Looking ahead I saw that all the other cars were doing the same, regardless of which side of the road they were travelling on. I asked the friend who had met us what was going on. He had only said Zill when a huge black car roared past us right down the middle of the street. Our friend explained as we moved out again. That was an important government official ' s car. Everyone has to move over so that he can get to work on time. He spoke in a sarcastic tone but I was too little to understand. We drew into the city soon after that and I began to look out the window with some interest. I was shocked at the uniformity of the buildings along the road. They were all the same style, the same colour, the same height. They stretched for rows and rows and rows. And then I noticed the people. They all stared at our average American car and they were also very similar, like the buildings they lived in, and the clothes they wore. They all wore dark colours except for a few flourescent oranges and greens. When they saw me looking at them, they turned away. I didn ' t see one person laugh or smile the whole ride home. Policemen stood in the middle of the street with walkie talkies which I discovered were used to warn them of the approach of a government official so that they could clear the street of cars. We passed many long lines outside shops, not specialty shops, but everyday shops with bread and butter and eggs in the windows. It was a real shock - such a contrast to Canadian supermarkets. At last we reached our new home - a small apart- ment just big enough for the three of us. It had been built from three average families ' apartments and we were lucky to get it. We were so tired, we simply fell into bed. So ended our first day living in Moscow, the great capital of the equal. Sky Lamothe The sun is sinking in the west The land has a golden hue A white light is in the sky Another day is through. The wind is flowing across the land Dying waves are in my ears Shadows stretch their longing arms I brush away the tears. Darkness comes to claim the hours All lives now slower are Soon bright lights will reign the heavens It never reaches so far. Debbie Chambers 12R4 if 27

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STORY EMPTY FRIENDSHIP The rain continued to drizzle, as if trying to ex- tinguish the burning lights of the neon signs. While sheltering under the canopy of a leather garment retailer, Richard tapped his foot impatiently against a grimy garbage bin. Oranges, pinks, reds and blues bounced emptily off the darkness of the crowded Avenue. Tom was twenty minutes late for their appointment and Richard was considering whether to enter the saloon alone or return to the subway un- satisfied. He glanced again at his scratched Timex and dented the bin with a last desperate swing. Tom dodged under the canopy, hands in his pockets, grinning. Richard glared at him. Did you bring your brother ' s identification? was his solitary greeting. Tom ' s grin slid into a frown and, as he dropped his head to examine his stained Kodiacs, he mumbled a negative response. They ' ll never believe that you ' re eighteen without I.D.! I can pass because I look mature, but they ' ll think I ' m baby-sitting you, cried Richard as he fingered his new mustache with pride. Tom turned from him to contemplate the display window full of leather accessories but his attention was held by the electric reflection of the nude girls springing back and forth across the parlour windows on the opposite side of the street. Facial hair doesn ' t prove your maturity level, especially your meagre collection, but Tom ' s voice was drowned by the obnoxiously loud stereo music of a black cruising car that rolled past the pair. Richard knocked Tom away from the window with his shoulder. If you don ' t want to come, don ' t. I ' m going to go in now, alone or with you, it makes no difference to me, but Richard only continued to pace the distance under the canopy. Tom turned back to the window and pressed his hand against the cool glass desperately. He removed it, finger by finger, and watched the window consume the damp rings of his prints. He turned and faced Richard. Coming? Richard was almost begging. Tom nodded unconvincingly and his friend ' s eyes lit up. Richard victoriously moved out into the crowd moving on the sidewalk, Tom followed. There he stalled, turned again and was lost in the mass. Grinning, Richard marched on towards the saloon. Fiona Sampson The harsh rays of the cynical sun smiled cruelly down on the dregs of emptiness. The light caught the tiny water drip-droplets as they performed acrobatic stunts from branch to branch, from bare limb to bare limb until they finally fell, exhausted and defeat-stricken only to form cohesive domes on the hell-hard, im- permeable ground. What a sight, whispered Mrs. Carter under her breath. The click-clickety-click of the small, sharp-nosed pebbles banging the underside of the car greatly con- trasted with the quiet hypnotising burr-num of the engine. Roz sat rigid, straight-backed, straining for- ward, then sideway s from her tightly drawn seat-belt as she attempted to devour the passing landmarks. How many more minutes till we ' re there? she repeated again, inquisitively. About ten square miles, I ' d say. The fire marshall directed his men in squads of four persons. C ' mon. Get a move on, men. The ground un- derfoot was dead-dry. They rushed around in chaotic order. Dead shrubs crunched and cracked. The distant hiss of the flame became sharper and clearer as they drew nearer the scene. The thick snake-black hose hissed too in a futile attempt to drown out the hiss of the dancing, devil-red flames. The water shot into the air. Is there a river there mom, huh, a water fall? No, dear. How much longer? Look, over there, look at them all. Roz pointed to the goldenrod growing at the side of the road. The road became flat and straight - monotonous. Goldenrod grew alongside the road: goldenrod and goldenrod. Roz impatiently sank back into the blue plush interior. Her sparkling, star-bright eyes wandered back and around and she rolled her head from side to side. How come the dots on the roof make me feel like the roof ' s two inches from my head? I don ' t know, dear. Look, we ' re almost there. See the hill just up ahead? The woods are just to the other side. The car door slammed shut and Mrs. Carter stood motionless, eyes fixed on the bleak scene ahead of her. Roz sat in the back seat and fidgeted with the covering on the head-rests, while the harsh rays of the cynical sun smiled cruelly down on the dregs of emptiness. Sue Farrow 26

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SIX She stood out like a sore thumb on the conveyor- walk near Border Gate. Unlike the rest of the girls her age, she didn ' t have the checkerboard patterns of make-up on her face, and her clothes were simple. She was with a friend, coming from school with their report tapes in hand. She looked mournfully at the women about her and then at the forcefield wall which blocked from sight, sound and remembrance the male part of the population from the female. She sighed, wishing she was one of the lucky girls that got to cross the Border gate only to mate and come back again to keep the population going. If one of those women should happen to have a baby boy, he would be taken across the Boarder before he reached two days old and the men would look after him. The Central government just couldn ' t risk another population crisis like the one in ' 32. Her friend was walking beside her, an earphone chord protruding from her long, dark hair and disappearing into her pocket as she listened to her report tape on her mini recorder. She was analyzing any possible reaction her mother could have and all possible denials and skin-saving rebuttals. Finally, she pulled at the chord and watched the self-rewind drew it into her pocket, then she sighed in discontent. Six, what did you get in 428? Oh, she shrugged sheepishly, I failed it again. How are you going to learn without Mathematics? Well, I did at least get a 90 on 426! You ' re always going on about that. Six. I swear your were born in the wrong time! A thousand years ago would do you well, wouldn ' t it? Don ' t you think it would be great to live back then. Nine? Could you imagine perhaps a thousand years ago, in this very spot, a man and a woman stood together, and they were in love - real love! Their names weren ' t even categorized numbers! Could you imagine that Nine?! Nine thought for a minute. No, not really. The whole thing sounds rather disorganized. Six looked over at the border with resentment. I hate it here! she said, quietly, but furiously. She looked at Nine. I wish I could just ... Oh, no you don ' t! The last time you tried to cross the Boarder you were nearly killed! Not aaain! Six sighed. They say that the men have gone back to the old Earth customs. ' You know the women are doing better! Our minds are more scientific and we ' re more in- dustrialized and advanced. We ' re the ones that keep the population stable! Six looked up through the protective transparent dome at the murky brown sky and dismal orange sun. They say that the men have a clear blue sky and a bright yellow sun - just like hundreds of years ago. Who ever heard of a blue sky? You haven ' t been listening in the426 class! A long silence followed as they rode the conveyor to the interchange right beside the border. Hopping off. Six looked again longingly at the wall, ten metres away from her, as they waited for a place to stand on the East - going conveyor belt. I think there ' s a space coming up ... Nine said as she turned to Six, but Six wasn ' t there. With a last thrust of determination. Six had dropped her tape and had run for the wall. Six, no! Nine screamed, running after her and looking for help. But no one seemed to notice; the police wouldn ' t even look. It was too late anyway. Nine had only taken two steps when she saw Six run right into the wall and disintegrate into millions of particles with one zap. Hanging her head, not wishing to see the purplish smoke her friend had created. Nine tried to make herself believe what had just happened. She knew she couldn ' t mourn for then she would hate the place as much as Six. That wouldn ' t do. Taking Six ' s tape, she pulled out her pocket recorder, placed in the tape, thought for a moment, then set it to record. I ' m sorry, Mrs. 394, but I think she ' s happier this way. Nine. She gave the tape to a albour ' droid, programmed to the 394 ' s house, and ordered him to deliver it. Then she mounted a lonely conveyor for home. Christie Bailie