https://www.traditionrolex.com/12 Stafford International School In Colombo | Yearbook 2021 | Form 3

Form 3

HOPES AND DREAMS

Looking at an aircraft that flew up in the sky,
I dreamt about myself going up  so high,
Then I thought now is the time to draw a plot,
and I ought to be a qualified pilot. 

Having an aircraft which was private,
I gazed at it, Oh it looked like a giant,
Flying an aircraft is full of Math and Science,
Airport and aircraft are the special alliance.

I saw myself ready to take off,
Along with the co-pilot next to me, I nearly had a cough!
I pressed a bunch of buttons then the plane started to move,
Now, it seemed like we were moving with a groove!

We could see a lots of buildings like Lego,
We could see the bright brilliant sun which was yellow,
The sea spread wide like a blue velvet cover ,
Then the destination did we discover.

We were all ready to land in our country safely,
We landed with a bang and a boom, very shaky!
BEEP! BEEP! I woke up when I realized I was dreaming,
It was the alarm that went on ringing.

Nothing could beat a serene dream,
That gushed with hopes, like a stream,
Hopes and dreams are like the sun and the moon,
Without hopes our dream remain in a cocoon!

Ammar Fairoze
Form 3B
Thisath Dassanayake
Form 3C

Was It All Just A Dream?

I was falling and my being was suddenly jerked—I had an odd dream again. I turned to face my window. This little problem of mine had established itself since childhood. This time, my head cooked up a narrative about a notorious serial killer pushing me off a cliff; minor details, the killer was a monkey, and the cliff, made of jelly beans. Deciding not to get unnecessarily drained brooding over it, I swept away my sweaty hair and let my eyes wander out of the window—my favourite pastime.

They traced the blankets of sandy, crimson soil, sprinkled with shrubs of red and yellow, making up the ground; blazes of fire erupted if you squint your eye hard enough. The sky, black with swirling white clouds—the leftover painter’s swirls of dipping a brush into inky water. Everything just as it should be. I furrowed my brow, why was the weight of panic so prominent in the air? 

My door clicked and flung open. My mother stood there, her face contorted with urgency — a bird about to take flight; clad in her pink robe and facial masque which clashed with her green skin, she was also drenched with fear. Her eyeball perfectly centered on her face (a rarity), teared up, irritated by a single, wiry red hair. She waved her tentacles exasperatedly, “Our planet is tethering on the verge of explosion! Serana, how have you not noticed the vibrations?”, she continued, “Right then, pull on your globe and report downstairs. We might be able to take a rocket to E-ar-th—wherever that is.” She seemed to be reassuring herself rather than informing me. With that, she stormed off, to wake the others, no doubt.

The gravity of her words hit me only then. Scared, is all I felt, with addition to being sad. There was also an inappropriate and unappreciated tingling of excitement. I pulled on my glass globe, (crucial for my breathing outside) and looked at my reflection in that mercury glass. Many said I looked exactly like my mother. I didn’t see it. I looked at my room one last time and a pang of nostalgia and melancholy washed over me. Mars, my dear home, how could I leave you? The planet gave a violent gurgle. I snapped back into cold reality, there was no time for sentiments.

I seemed to have flown downstairs in hopes of a quick bowl of worms, only to see all 27 of my siblings eating theirs’ already. Once my father spotted me, he hastened us all into the hovercraft—albeit, very modest model, but it got the job done. My mother confirmed that all 30 of us were in, and the engine roared, zooming us off, at full speed, to the launching zone. Both parents were advising the young ones about the dangers laid ahead, strewn and inconspicuous
like cracked glass.

I looked out the window—I’m glad at least that characteristic of mine wasn’t abandoned—large cracks decorated the ground; fathers running for last-minute errands, mothers gathering their young like a herding shepherd. Martians breed like rabbits, our family was comparatively miniscule, I smiled silently. Then I got confused. How do I know what ‘rabbits’ are? I shook it off, and continued watching the scene unfold. My heart ached, and my conscience guilty, for the homeless, bundled together and awaiting their horrible fate. The open land bled into slithering orange paths. We had reached our destination.

We had arrived early, so there wasn’t too much of a hustle to board. I sat next to Anaya, my youngest sister. We counted the incoming yellow hovercrafts outside to keep busy; something normal, mundane even, in the midst of chaos. 

Martians filed in by the hundreds; five minutes before take off and the entire spaceship was ripping at its seams, full. A small tentacle tugged at me, I turned in response only to see Anaya burst into tears. ‘I forgot—I forgot Lubby in the car, please help me…with a cherry on top.’ Her mouth didn’t move, her words echoed directly in my head alone. That was strange. Lubby was her soft-toy, her everything, how could I say no? I told her to wait for me, and swam my way against the tide of the crowds. I ran as fast as my tentacles could, I grabbed Lubby and stopped to ponder why words sounded distant and indecipherable. This was my hamartia. The countdown commenced. “10…9…8…,” I ran with ringing ears, “6…5…4…”. I can do this, I repeated. “3…2…1”. My eyes widened, I didn’t make it? Everything went black.

I woke up petrified and sweaty. It was unbelievably real. I lifted my arm, saw fingers and wiggled them. Was it all just a dream?

Christina Amerasinghe
Form 3C