narrative-life in the jungle

The huddle of snakes loomed over the unconscious, writhing globule of flesh nested within the leaves. It seemed as if the jungle's world had stopped just for this baby-and all the jaguars, toucans and insects paused in their daily rush for survival to ogle at this grub-like being. Beneath the harsh, unforgiving burn of the tropical sun a few warbled cries emitted from the pile of leaves.

Although compelled by its pitiful, bulging figure, not a creature stirred for fear that the snakes might lash out at them. There was no doubt the human youngling would have to face its own morose fate. 

Za, the fearsome leader, stared unblinkingly at the bulky package. A globule of saliva glistened on his right fang. Snapping his neck back, he shot up. Leaves shot up from his path. He hovered in the air, dancing menacingly. The trembling youngling gave him a blank look. His scarlet eyes gleaming with gustatory glee, he was perfectly poised to sink those fangs into such plump, juicy meat. 

"Za, wait." a voice croaked from behind. 

As heads turned, the circle of snakes quickly dispersed as they gave way to the figure crouched behind their leader. 

Za whipped his head around. His eyes pierced the figure behind him, but as he identified the snake he relaxed his posture. 

"Boong."

"Give me the child."

Za tilted his head menacingly, tongue flicking in and out as he boasted those razor-sharp fangs. 

"I respect you as an elder, however king gets the first bite." Boong shook his weathered, wrinkly head dismissively. 

"I don't aim to satisfy my hunger, little Za," he slithered leisurely over to the child and stared into its glassy gaze. "I ask that you let me care for it."

Za's croons stiffened. Za's own blood froze, as he cocked his neck at his own advisor. Even the burrow animals had emerged to dolefully observe, fearing for the wise snake. The air felt thick. Had a pin dropped in that very forest, you would have heard it hit the ground. 

"Alright."

If any of the snakes had shoulders, you would have seen them immediately sink in relief. "And how do you plan to care for... it?"

Boong smiled, his weathered, chipped fangs coming into view. 

"The same way I took care of you all these years."

And with that the baby clambered onto Boong's back. No one questioned how it had been inclined to do so, but as Boong feebly slunk away it was certain that he would already raise another formidable, powerful creature.

persuasive-fairytales are misleading

 stereotypes between boys and girls

expectations of life

future in jeopardy

30MIN

Fairytales have most often been one of the most popular forms of entertainment, but they are just as misleading as they are enjoyed. Don't believe me? Think of young generations, baited at a young age to believe all sorts of stereotypes and have unrealistic expectations of themselves and others that they will have to one day tearfully realise aren't true. This does horrific things to young minds and futures. We cannot lead impressionable children into what feels like a real-life horror story. After all, why build up all these dreams just to crush them mercilessly?

The first thing one might think of pertaining to fairytales and fables would be the stereotypes automatically ingrained into brains as soon as those messages and themes are repeated. Think of Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, or Cinderella, white princesses who waited all day for white men to save them. How would young girls or boys of colour feel like they could be capable of doing great things if traditionally white characters where the heroes? How would a young girl be able to save herself from danger if she's taught to wait around until someone comes to help? If these ideologies aren't reversed, then there's no one to teach them otherwise and these insecurities and illusions of incapability are carried straight into adulthood. 

Not only do these made-up stories destruct open-mindedness, they also build a false 'storyline' and expectations that mere school-age children already expect themselves to follow. If every admirable, pretty, thin waisted princess always has to meet her prince, wear dresses or never do sports then young girls already expect that of themselves before their real lives have even started and they've even any time to figure out their sexuality or personality. If every young boy believes he must never show emotion and only be strong for others then there's no doubt they'll grow into young men who feel as if they cannot confide in anyone. These are not ideals they personally aimed for-they are the ideals that society forces them into. 

With fairytales plaguing young mindsets and expectations, it's no doubt that their futures are in jeopardy as well. Adult life is far from your average fable, but of course coddled and fondled offspring have never been prepared for such a brutal reality. Kidnapping, jobs, colleagues that are wolves in sheep's clothing and all sorts of other issues pose a risk to any and every child. But if the child was raised and prepared properly then they would deal with such problems effortlessly. They would know that life requires problem-solving skills, wit and skill from them and not a skinny body or big muscles. However those raised on fables would never know this-so who is going to have to painfully expose them to reality apart from life itself?

Fairytales always end in happy endings, but reading them can end in a nightmare for the fragile and impressionable minds of the young generation. Children need to believe in diversity, to rejoice in all the joys our society offers and believe in themselves and their capability. Recycled fairy stories with the same plots and the same characters only twists young minds and ruins futures before they've even started. Don't make real life feel like a unfair, brutal awakening. Let children live out their own stories. 

narrative-the wide open plains

 someone journeying through endless plains, hallucinations of salvation but they're not true

30MIN

It provided Grace little solace to see the pages and pages of tallies in her journal counting the days it had been in her search for freedom.

After all, a story of journeying through the wide open plains every day was far too banal to keep a diary. She hadn't known how long it had been since she was in that horrific city, but even envisioning the torture she'd be put through if she'd stayed fueled her every step, every heave of her bulky knapsack.

But the longer she traveled, the more she saw that there was no disparity in the insanity she felt either in the prison or in her escape. The sun seeped into her frock and her hair clung to her face. Grace looked up, a feeling of utter helplessness sinking her shoulders. She had never felt so isolated-not even accompanied by a cloud for miles around. 

Grace didn't know how long it had been since the sun had risen. She assumed it was midday, as it had already halfway made its journey through the sky. She jigged her sagging knapsack so that it hitched up her back a bit more, and trudged on through the uniform grass. Grace looked about her plain surroundings. However, instead of being greeted with the same old view of endless green land, for once there was a small figure in the distance. 

Grace didn't think twice before darting towards the blob. Her possessions clunked in her knapsack. Her clammy palms slipped on the straps. Her knees buckled every now and then. But the prospect of finding someone else in this segregating environment made her heart beat just that little bit faster, made her push forward just that little bit further. 

For the first time in ages, Grace was deliriously smiling at the possibility that she had found her safe haven. The blob began to take form and shapes and lines came into view. Grace's feet skidded, the girl staggering as her lips parted at the sight before her. She wiped at a sheen of cold sweat that had formed on her forehead. 

A imposing, grand hotel loomed over her. It was a wonder she hadn't seen it ages before-this building stretched up to the bare skies. Even the hundreds of window panes scattered across its surface appeared to be coated in gilt. 

The mahogany door swung open, beckoning Grace to enter. She took a few tentative steps. Heart pounding, she push the door further open as she ogled at the inside. 

Her knapsack tumbled to the ground. It was as if  the inside was even bigger than its shell suggested, if that was possible. Beneath a resplendent chandelier, the hotel was full of bustling butlers and servants with neatly trimmed mustaches. Satin and silk draped the walls, and a spiraling staircase led up to rows and rows of shimmering hotel room doors. Grace swore she could see her reflection in the spotless marble floor, as she whipped her head round. 

An elegant receptionist was ensconced upon a plush seat, seeming to beckon Grace over with her coy gaze.

Grace meandered over to her. Attempting to smooth back her greasy locks, she tried to make conversation with the first human she had come into contact with for ages. 

"Hello, do you think I could stay here?"

The receptionist continued to smile at her with glossy lips, her eyes glassy.

"Hello? Is this a hotel?" 

The receptionist continued to beam, almost menacingly. Grace waved a grubby hand in front of her unwavering eyes. "Hello?"

There was a faint rumbling sound in the distance as the receptionist continued to stare blankly. Grace looked about her; the servants had miraculously disappeared. The gilt-coated window panes dissipated into the air. The chandelier faded into nothingness. The hotel was crumbling into the air. Grace averted her gaze back to the receptionist-whose form was diaphanous as she vanished into thin air. 

And as Grace looked about the wide open plains, accompanied by only her knapsack and the sinking sun, she dropped to her knees. 

There had been no hotel, had there?

persuasive-limited places in schools

 30MIN

 learning, focus, 

friends, environment, delinquents

teachers, resources, buildings

With the rapidly growing population meaning more children are crammed in schools, it's time we take a step back and start limiting the number learning institutions can accept. Although it's a given that every child deserves education we must still uphold standards where schools should be able to fund enough resources to support their students. Where both teachers and students can be in a safe, close and connected community. Where classrooms aren't a traffic jam of children and teachers. If we want our children to make the most of their learning time then we must limit places in schools.

Most students already have trouble focusing in class, but add that to a large classroom of peers and they'll struggle more than ever before. If no teacher can keep such a large amount of students in line then there's no doubt things get out of hand. Troublemakers will find this is their time to shine, and this disrupts everyone's education. Sharing ideas in a small group helps students focus on only a few ideas at a time-who wants to pipe up over a mumbo-jumbo of cluttered voices and ideas? How would children develop confidence, focus and teamwork skills if large classrooms hinder them?

If it's not bad already for an easily distracted student, you'll dread to find out how relationships with students worsen the more of them there is. How do you find an accepting friend group among the sea of kids? We simply cannot let schoolkids feel segregated from their peers simply because they're lost in the large crowd. And the more lenient the school is with student numbers, the more chance there is for delinquents to plague the system. If parents of such troublemakers desperately need to find a school then it's no wonder they choose the easiest option. Don't make your child fear school. Don't make them feel like a fish out of water.

Those who work at schools even suffer from an increase of students themselves. With more resources being distributed to children the school will eventually have to downgrade because they can't afford to support such a large community. How will kids be able to learn properly if they're not using proper learning material? And with all the students bustling in the hallways and dirtying up precious schools teachers suffer keeping them all under control and cleaners toil after the messes they leave behind. Money might even have to be wasted on new buildings to hold all these kids-so along with paying all these workers and for school supplies, parents have even more to worry about financially.

So next time you see a school start limiting places of new students, give them your praise. They're doing this to preserve the safety and wellbeing of their students. They're maintaining a comfortable and close community. They're making sure students learn properly and teachers teach properly, and what's more they're saving the money of their consumers. Flinging the gates open and letting swarms of students enter the school will only end terribly.

narrative-the skatepark

 30MIN

Angela was in awe.

Utterly abject awe.

Of course, however, it wasn't visible on the girl's stone-like expression. An infinitesimal flicker of wonder encompassed her features, but as the car passed it she turned back to her parents' conversation.

"...all those hooligans on skateboards! Smoking, vaping..." her mother rambled on about the skatepark the car had just passed. Angela's father fixed his gaze on the road, exhuastion settling into his eyes.

"Yes, yes, Mary dear, I'll demolish it soon. It wouldn't be favourable to have Angela be influenced by them." and at this they both turned at their precious daughter, Mary Stone fluttering her eyelashes in a menacing yet fawning manner. "After all, she's got to practice for that National Maths Competition."

Angela gulped ever so discreetly and shrank into her seat, just as the car slid into the mansion's garage.

It was no wonder that she was immediately sent to her room with a piling tower of maths. But not more than a minute had passed and the poor girl's head was already underwater, the jumble of numbers and equations floating around her in a somnolent trance. Her gaze drifted over to her full-length window. The afternoon sun emanated warmth throughout the beach, as 'normal' teenage girls basked in the warmth. 

Angela's eyes latched onto a gaggle of girls, tittering as their ice cream cones threatened to slip from their grips. They didn't have to sit inside and do maths on such a nice day. They got to live out the rest of their childhoods. Envy, followed by rage made her stiffen and unknowingly glower at the girls. How I wonder no one felt her seething glare pierce into their backs-perhaps they were too enraptured by their own activities.

However, Angela's temperament settled as quickly as it had bubbled up as she saw where they were heading.

How come she had never seen the skatepark from her window before?

The curiosity had gotten better of the cat. Angela tensed as she darted down the stairs, feet barely brushing against the mahogany. Her heart was pounding in her ears, however it was quickly stifled by the beastly snores of her father. The door clicked ever so softly. And Angela ran into the night, the utter feeling of freedom making a wry grin appear. 

Was it midnight? Angela barely knew, but it was dark enough that no sound reverberated around the beach whatsoever, save for the gentle undulant waves creeping up the shore. She took a tentative, sluggish step onto the skatepark. The chilly concrete made her breath hitch. Another step. 

Angela felt more at home looking down at this twisting, turning mass of concrete more than she ever did doing maths sums. She could already feel the exhilaration as she swooped down a ramp, or spun in the air. She saw what the other kids did-filling the air with spins and tricks, whooping and cheering with joy. Angela wanted to be like that. She wanted to be like them more than she had ever wanted to be the mayor's daughter. 

A forgotten skateboard in the corner caught her eye. It almost beckoned her over, the girl lumbering towards it as if hypnotised. Angela picked it up, reveling in the rough surface and gentle clatter it made as it fell. She looked back towards the skatepark, a whirl of thoughts and fears dissipating from her head as she realised what fate wanted her to do. 

And it all started with that one foot on the skateboard.

persuasive-free tram travel

 work, school, important life, traffic

financial needs, pollution

gives job opportunities

30MIN

Free tram travel, to many, is a luxury. The fact that we even have to pay just to get from one place to another in this society is ridiculous. Not only is commuting for work/school more efficient, but everyone's financial needs are supported. The workers themselves benefit from more jobs. Even wildlife can thank free tram travel for not coughing up masses of gas into our ecosystem. What can we say-free tram travel is not only life-saving, but it can also make our lives easier!

Chances are most tram passengers will be students or people going to work. Yes, these services benefit those the most. But consider the needs of each and every one of them. Imagine not having a parent to drive you around. Imagine struggling so financially you can't afford a car to get you to work. Maybe you're even disabled. It is despicable to make people pay for services that should be free simply because they were burdened by problems they didn't cause themselves. Would it cost you that must to spare a bit of pity on such helpless fellow humans?

Less vehicles and bicycles on the roads also means less streets jam-packed with cars. If we can afford trams, it is imperative that we utilise them. This is because there is significantly less traffic-meaning people can get where they need to be faster, whether it be on the tram or in another vehicle. No one should have to wake up ridiculously early to avoid heavy traffic when there could be free tram services saving everyone's time. Believe it or not nature benefits, too. The amount of exhaust that comes from a car seems minuscule-however the accumulated amount coming from hundreds of cars every day has detrimental effects on our ozone layer and global warming. We cannot further burden ourselves or our environment by packing cars onto our streets. If free tram services can prevent all this, then it's no question that we need them.

Even tram drivers and companies benefit from free services, believe it or not. Transporting people for free means demands for trams will be higher, and voila-more job opportunities for those in need. From production in factories to delivering parts, the entire economy is rewarded. People can feed their families. Pay hospital bills. Provide driving experience for the young generation. It can even become a form of persecution, a free way for criminals to be punished and still contribute to the community. So not only are free trams giving back to the public, but those who offer those services receive something back. 

Now that you've seen how beneficial and essential free tram travel is, you can clearly see that it's more of a right than a preference. Everyone benefits-students, adults, the public, the economy and the environment. Making people pay for something that could easily be free does not say good things about the benevolent, advanced society we are meant to be living in. Do you want innocent people to bear the burden? Do you want to ruin our future before it's even started?

narrative-the field

 family recieves nothing from their field, child digs it up, woop woop there's jewels

30MIN

The Rhyder children exchanged appalled glances over the bowl of cold vegetable soup placed in the middle of the table. They coughed awkwardly, mumbled their graces, but dug in with the sort of reluctant manner that made Mrs. Rhyder grimace at the guilt of not being able to feed her children properly. As the gentle clinking of soup spoons reverberated around the kitchen, Mr Rhyder watched his wife slip in with concern wrinkling her face. His face was equally grim.

"What's wrong?"

"Why are the children having to eat cabbage soup again? I thought you could get some chicken? At least another vegetable?"

Mr Rhyder solemnly looked out the scratched window that encapsulated the fields outside, rubbing his patchy stubble as he contemplated. 

"The chickens have died. Something's wrong with the field, then that affects the chicken feed." Mrs. Rhyder looked out in the same direction, heart twisting painfully at the growling thunder and the dreary mass of accumulated rain clouds. It made no sense-they had gotten a decent downpour lately, and the sun wasn't too bad. The wind whistled through the door crack. Mrs. Rhyder sharply stood up, staring down the length of her knobbly nose at this morose, sulking husband of hers. 

"Well do something about it," she snapped as she skulked back towards the dining room. "They not going to live much longer if they eat cabbage soup every day."

Mr Rhyder said nothing, watching her torn frock drag out the door.

Annie Rhyder smiled out at the field, reveling in the whoops and cheers her siblings emitted as they soaked up the sunrays. It felt like it had been ages since her bare feet had touched such ticklish, blanket-like grass. Her gaze travelled back up to the veranda, where her mother's worried face stared back over at her. The family had to live off cabbage soup for the following days(although resources were so scarce that they might even be running out of cabbages) and Mrs Rhyder couldn't even enjoy the sun, or the congenial weather that the skies offered. Annie knew all she could see were her shrinking children, the cheekbones and skin stretching over their ribs. A guilty feeling stirred in her stomach-but what could she do about it except for make the most of the sun?

She stooped down to play with a spot of dead earth, scratching at the ground. Yes, Annie would make the best dirt-castle her three brothers had ever laid eyes on. She scooped the handful of dirt to one side. Drove another hand in. The cheers and tomfoolery of her siblings were faint by now, muffled by the mounds of the dead harvest surrounding them. She repeated the process, until she had a satisfactory dirt pile adjacent to her. 

Annie bent forwards to make one final scoop. However, instead of feeling the dry earth slip between her fingers, a sharp pain shot up her arm. Retracting her hand rapidly, she clutched it to the chest where a spot of crimson trickled down her day clothes. Timidly, she reached out and brushed away the layer of dust coating the sharp object.

These weren't seeds. They weren't roots, either. Neither of those glimmered in the sanguine sunlight as this object did. With an odd swell of temerity encompassing her chest, she reached inside and tugged the object out. 

A distinct knob of gold glimmered from between her grubby fingers.