Strathcona Tweedsmuir School - Paidia Yearbook (Okotoks, Alberta Canada)

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LOCKE CREATIVE WRITING CONTEST POETRY THE OLD LADY They say she is one hundred years old . Five feet tall, Bent over, Walks with a limp. The greasy grey hair sticks Out from under the little Black hat Like wire. The eyes are black And lifeless. The lips are dry And always have a half smile Upon them. All but one Of the front teeth Are missing. They play practical jokes On the old lady. But Not today. There is a Deadly Silence. . . They say she was one hundred years old . Doug Johnson, Grade 10 Winner, Poetry Section SHORT STORY FROG'S REVENGE Hidden in the corner of the field was the pond, a green stagnant hollow with thorn bushes on its banks. From time to time an old man moved carefully under the prickly branches. He whispered and whistled coaxingly, Come, come, come now, little dear. Here's a piece of meat for you. And he tossed the scrap into the pond. The old man sighed and shifted position. Then he froze. The green slime on the far side of the pond had parted and a large frog pulled itself from the water. Oh, little dear, breathed the old man so as not to let the frog hear. He then made a low grating sound in his throat. He saw the frog listening. The noise was somewhat like that on another frog. The old man repeated the noise. This time the frog answered and sprang into the pool sending the green slimy weeds slopping and swam hard. The frog crawled out a few feet away from the old man and looked up the bank as if eager to find the frog that it had heard. 1 Mrs. G.L. Locke lleftl chats with contest winners Kelly Kerr lcentrel and Doug Johnson lrightl following Presentation Assembly The old man waited patiently. The frog hopped twice up the bank. Then the old man's hand moved slowly toward the handle of a light net that was at his side. He seized the net and struck, capturing the frog. The frog leaped frantically but was unable to escape. Ah, big beauty! the man said. Pretty handsome fellow, you! He took a long needle from his pooked and killed the frog. Then he put the body in his pocket. It was the last frog in the pond. The old man went across the field to a road on the other side of which stood his cottage. The cottage was small and ugly and very old. Its windows gave little light. The old man lit a lamp, for the sun had set. He put the frog on a plate on the table and he sat down beside the lamp. He took a sharp knife from the drawer of the table and began to carefully skin the frog. When he was finished, he dropped the limp body into a pot of boiling water. Then he crossed the small room and came to a high table with a rather large box set upon it. There was a faint smell of decay.

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AN ooE .T0 BIQLOGY 1 O' ' 9 L, SC. . V' 6 ou H93 ' u 67 JG, box , . ' 5 3' 41,7 A , K? 7 15' Q 0 C' CD P ' A' 5, SQ 9 AN ESSAY ON ' TEENAG ERS T , g TEENAGERS - PEoPi.E? 'I-' ' The modern day teenager .. . criminally insane, socially maladjusted, psychologically disturbed, morally unbalanced yes, that's us. But we, the teenagers are used to this. Ever since the beginning of time there has always been a modern day teen- ager. The teenager was mentioned in the Bible way back with Adam and Eve. To the adult we are the problem generation. We are aggressive, dirty, sex perverts, and we corrupt younger people not yet classified as teenagers. Making out, drinking, toking up, and being generally rude and objectionable are all part of our image. Can we help it if we were born in the appropriate year to become eligible for adolescence ? We, the modern day teenagers certainly have not started the sexual revolution. After all, the famous orgies of the Roman era included anybody from twelve to seventy, if they lived that long. lf adults lanybody over nineteeni did not participate in sex we wouldn't be here today. A menace to society? Or is society a menace to us? We are labelled as psychological misfits be- cause our taste in music is slightly different from the grown-ups 5 outcasts because our clothes are not dainty and tailored. We are criminals because our hair is long and our beliefs are modern and new compared to the old fashioned ways of thinking. Criminals they call us! Jack the Ripper, the Boston Strangler and Adolf Hitler all had short hair! Teenagers dangerous? No, we teenagers have an identity of our own - just like you adults. You can't run away from us. No matter how hard you try, we'll always be here. So... Lock up your doors, Turn on the lights, Look out, because. . . A teenager is in sight. Alison Martin, Grade 10A Qt Qi X103 W hi S- QW QJ N G 3 BN A iv fi' me D- f0 Sxrb N' mio S C7 If YK . A 'Z I: -4 I5 e , if .1- 2 O P ci .5 ,9 Q 03,9 assi -LS OLD

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How are you, little dear? asked the old man. He lifted the box and there, underneath, were dozens of stuffed frogs. All of them had been posed like humans and were dressed in coats and pants of an earlier period. There were gentlemen and ladies and servants. one, with lace at his yellow throat, held tiny wooden wine glass. A second frog had a tiny pipe in its mouth with a small strand of wool for smoke. The same wool was used for the ladies' wigs. The ladies wore long skirts and carried fans. The old man looked proudly over the stiff little figures. His eyes searched the banqueting but motionless party. In the middle of the table he found three frogs posed in dancing position. Soon we shall have a partner for the lady there, he said proudly. He hurried back to the stove and lifted the pot. He poured the boiling water down the sink. Then he picked the bones from the meat of the corpse. With wire and thread and tiny bones, he fashioned a skeleton and at the top went the skull. He pulled some wool from the table drawer and as he stuffed the frog skin with it, he began to talk. This is a poor substitute to fill that skin of yours. Then he threaded a needle and with great concentration began to stitch up the frog's skin. Suddenly he lowered his needle and listened. Puzzled, he put down the half-stuffed skin and went to the door and opened it. lt was dark now. He heard the sound more clearly. lt was something from the pond. It was a loud croaking noise as of a great many frogs. He went to the cupboard and got his lantern and net. He went cautiously toward the pond in the dark. He stopped twenty yards from the pond. The noise was astonishing. Hundreds of frogs must have travelled to this spot to fill this pond. He began to advance again and within a few steps of the pond the noise abruptly stopped. He froze. There was absolute silence, not even the splash of a frog diving for safety. It was very strange indeed. He stepped forward and brought his net across his chest, ready to strike. Looking but seeing nothing, he made the same frog sound he had made in the afternoon. The hush continued. As he stood he became more and more aware of a peculiar smell. lt was most unpleasant. lt was like decaying weed from the pond. A soft bubbling seemed to accompany it. Gases must be rising from the bottom, he thought. He should leave so he wouldn't risk his health. But, pulling his net to a ready position, he tried his frog call one last time. Instantly he threw himself backwards with a cry. A vast, belching bubble of putrid air rose from he pond. More and more bubbles broke on the surface. The whole pond seemed to boil. The old man turned blindly to escape and stepped into the thorns. He was in agony. A dread- ful slobbering deafened him. He was overcome with the stench and he felt his net grabbed away from him. The slimy weeds that were spewed out by the pond slapped him on the face. Then he was in the midst of an immence pulsat- ing softness that held him. He knew he was shrieking and he also knew that there was no one to hear him. An hour after the sun had risen, the milkman was driving down the road that fronted the pond. He happened to glance in the direction of the pond and was startled by what he saw. By the side of the pond crouched a naked figure. The milkman stopped his truck and walked over to the figure. He saw it was an old man on his haunches, his arms straight and his hands between his feet. The old man didn't move as the milkman approached. The milkman hailed, Hello there! Don't you know you might get caught for having no clothes on? He saw green slime in the old man's beard and then the staring eyes. His spine shivered. As if to wake the old man, the milkman grabbed his upper arm and found that it was cold. He shivered again and moved the arm gently. Then he gasped with horror and ran from the pond. He ran because the arm has separated from the shoulder and weeds and green water plants and slime oozed from the gap. As the old man fell backwards tiny green sticks glistened across his belly. Kelly Kerr, Grade 12 Winning Entry, Locke Creatvie Writing Contest Short Story Section I ' l l K4 V If ,,,,.. A.