Viscount Bennett Junior High School - Terminal Yearbook (Calgary, Alberta Canada)

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! THE TERMINAL , rr U Page. 96 6,0 SHORT FIRST PRIZE STORIES DECISION , ' - ' 7 • ' .. Footsteps echoed in the streets of .S ' 7 Toulous, France. As Marcel Lalonde hurried hone, he shudderingly thought of ' y i ' the scene at the inn a few hours ago. yy f ’ - Laughter and music filled the room until, Vr. ' •’ vO suddenly, a man staggered in. The Germans are comingl he gasped. 1 V‘ The Americans are losing the battlel 1 . v ' Thunderstruck, the people cared for I f f v i the sick man and hurried to their families : ■ i I Nothing can save us now, thought Marcel i y -— J , as he left. V ' v. x Finally, he reached home. His little ' v - ' s hoy, Guillaume and his daughter,. Antoin¬ ette, raced to meet himj his wife stood smiling at the door. Surely he could not leave them to the mercy of the Germans. Death would be better. In that moment, Marcel made a fateful decision -- he must aake sure no enemy laid hands on his family. Mariel he cried. The Germans are coming. We must prepare for them. Oh, Marcell How horrible. What shall we do? she sobbed. After putting the children to bed, he told her of his plan. First, he would burn the grain and then, he would — kill them. After a few moments of despair, Marie agreed that this method was the best idea. Together, they walked to the fields and stood looking at their crops for a last time. Realizing he had little time, Marcel started the fire. They watched it greedily, lighting the countryside with its flames. Soon, the work was done and the couple turned their backs on the smoldering ashes to face their last task. Marcel was silent on the way home. A terrible task was before him — one which would require all of his courage. The house loomed up ahead and the steps were reached. Marcell Marie grasped his arm. Good-bye, and please make it quickl Oh, my darling, he brought her close to him. I love you. Suddenly, he started. The sound of firing cannon could be heard in the distance. Grimly he ascended the stairs. —-— Daddy, daddyl What s that noise? — ——— The children ran to him. He picked yr ' - x 7 them up and hugged them tightly. y Daddy and Mummy are going to take 1 y - s-—J , y you on a long journey to a beautiful land, iy darlings. He quickly kissed them and if { j ) set them down. [ y l J I The children stared as he brought out 4 7 an old revolver. Perhaps they understood, M “ J y v for, although they were terrified, nothing s. -7 was said as the gun exploded — once — ‘ .7 twice -- three times. 7 .6 67

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THE TERMI NAL HONORABLE MENTION Paqe 95 ODE TO TEENAGERS In-spite of our jeans and bobby socks Our duck tails and our crazy talk, Peculiar styles and craze for jive - I’m certain the modern teenagers thrive In a normal way, with lots of cheer, We’re not as crazy as our parents fear’. The high school yearbook of long ago Mas filled with creeps and oh, oh, oh Compared to the guys and frizzy lizzies Me’re not the ones they claim are dizzy. And as for the sheiks who went to a formal - We modern kids are really normall Remember the times of racoon coats and skirts up to the knee? But still they laugh when we wear Dad’s shirt and cry Oh, goodness me’. Oh Mom, what’s wrong with Tommy Sandes and Elvis Presley, too Can you recall what Pudy V. and Frankie did to you? , You screamed, and cried, and begged for more, and raised a great big noise And yet you complain and say we’re nuts - That we’re maladjusted girls and boys’. Oh, well, someday when we get old and our teenagers raise a fuss Me’ll probably laugh in the very same way as our parents did at usl HONORABLE’MENTION Judy Stone, 9-1 BROTHERS Little brothers are the worstest., They tease, They argue, They tell their friends things-other ears were ne’er meant to hear. They make me vriId to tear their hair. Yet sometimes they are nice: Almost indispensible. Like when they force a stubborn window, Or buy me a strawberry ice-cream soda. Then, I think - Little brothers are the ijiostest. HONORABLE MENTION Gretchen Meade, 10-U3 TIME What ' -is- time? You are forever xjaiting on it It never stops and it never tarries Time Xiraits for no man. You cannot reach out and touch it Yet it is always there. Where is time? Time is everywhere-yet nowhere Where can it be? Where has it gone? Where has it.been? No one knows. No one knows. Karen LeFever, 9-U

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I Page.97.... ... ' ....T H E T ER MINAL . Marcel ran to each of them and kissed each still figure. Out under the apple ; tree he buried his beloved, then beside the white cross he again squeezed the trigger. A loud crack -- then silence. A few hours later the victorious army arrived. Hey, Joel yelled a soldier. Got any cigarettes? Yep, was the reply. A pack of American cigarettes was dropped beside the wheel of the United States Army truck. I Darlene Dafoe, 11-30 SECOND PRIZE TIPPY You look at the dirty carcass, dragged to the roadside. The once x arn, velvety- brown eyes stare coldly ahead an d you know he is dead. There is a lump in your throat as you try to hold back the flood of emotion, and your blurry eyes blink repeatedly. You look at what was once yours as a helpless pup, then as a full-grown dog, and you try to imagine he is sleeping as you have seen him sleep hundreds of times before. But his features are imperfect; his head is too long, his body seems pitifully small, and he .is lifeless. There is no rhythmic breathing pulsating the little cocker spaniel. He xtfas not like this when he romped with you, when he barked excitedly about you, jumping up playfully. When he shared your little adventures, your emotions, a part of your life. When he heaped affec¬ tion unselfishly upon you, when he alone trusted you. Now you remember the little things about him that made you love him, that made him different from any other dog. -Little things that seemed unimport¬ ant then; times when he would search your pockets.with that moist, friendly nose, hoping to discover a treat, or times when you shared your warmth with him on cold nights (or in the daytime), and how he would always curl himself at your feet and yours alone. You dreamily tap the little body xirith your foot to see if it s really there, and your foot tells you that it is. Your eyes travel over him now and your mind travels back to long ago, to yesterday and the days before. The satin-smooth coat of gold that you often fondly petted is dull now, covered by the dust and oil of the road. You glimpse the little stub of his tail and you try to imagine how it once wriggled in greeting when you cane home at the end of a day. As you stare down at him you see that his tongue spreads out of the open mouth and lies in the dirt. You can remember when you felt its warn caress on your cheek. His mouth is ugliest of all now, because it-is grotesquely open and a trickle | of blood has flowed out of one of its corners. His expression is the one he died with, and you can read the fear and pain in it. And you know, too, that though the most of his barking during the four years he lived was joyous, this last bit was not. You I choose not to recall his last clarion call to the world. You look helplessly at him and you seek some justification for it. You search I blindly for a reason, but it doesn ' t exist. So, you push back the thought of what a i |