Isobelle Carmody Award
For Creative Writing
Everyone has a secret behind their perfect, society made mask.
However when really everyone is the same, liking the same clothes,
sharing the same food and nobody dares to be different. We were all
taught that different is bad and when the mask is exposed, you are
nothing, except for that one secret.
The death, the devastation and families torn apart that war
brought, but society had to rebuild itself.
No one had hope.
Willow’s feet were pounding against the gravel and her breathing
was ragged, she hit the realisation that she was being followed but
she thought that the pursuer had ceased following her.
She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, nobody was like
her, she was different, not orientated by society.
Willow was more like an outcast, being glared at by her parents
all because she was different. She wanted to stand out rather then
fit it. She will never fall down, she will always stand up for what she
believed in. Willow was shy and secretive to a degree, she has never
taken her mask off and she has never revealed her secret. Although,
that’s about to change.
I awoke with a fright before relaxing back into bed, today I felt
different, creative almost. I decided on wearing my most treasured,
bright turquoise scarf today. I arrived at school and pushed through
the school gates and spotted my principal briskly strutting over to
me, ‘oh no’ I mumble. “Miss Nixen, that… scarf is deemed too bright
for our school rules, follow me.” He said, choosing his words
carefully. He always acts like he knows more.
I follow him up the long, winding staircase to his, dark and musty
“Wait here, I have some other matters to attend to.” he walks out
and shuts the door firmly behind him. I look around and spot a
drawer with some important looking papers hanging out. I sneak
over to take a closer look and I find a dusty looking book entitled,
The Companionship of Music
. I glance up, frowning in frustration. What
is music? I take a quick look and decide I’ll look at it later, I stuff it
into my bag. Mr Welsh re-enters the room and promptly announces
“I will let you off with a warning Miss Nixen, take the scarf off.” He
then signals for me to go and I leave hurrying down the staircase,
ripping the scarf off my neck as I leave.
During classes, I cannot stop thinking about what music might
mean, at the end of the day I rush home and plop down on my bed