G.L.O.V.E.

Knackered, overworked and loaded with mounds of homework, I staggered into the lift too tired to take the stairs. As bad as the day had already been, on top of that the lift got stuck mid way. Hysterically I punched every possible number on the display and suddenly the cart plummeted. As the doors opened there was a strange capsule directly in front of me. I cautiously made my way inside step by step and suddenly the hatch closed abruptly, the capsule lurching forward. It came to a sudden halt and the hatch opened.

An ear-piercing alarm sounded “Intruder alert, code red, I repeat code red.” Then suddenly countless uniforms slammed me to the ground. I awoke in a sterile room, slumped on a hard stool, the only other pieces of furniture were a stool with a table opposite me.

The door swished open as a smartly dressed woman appeared in the doorway giving me a cold stare as she marched toward the other stool. A file slammed onto the table in front of me. “Now, Mr Francis Watson, born 2000 at 0700 hours July seventh. Parents work at the EU, one mother in cyber security and the other in media.”, she read from the file. How did she know all this? “What is this place?” I asked scared to my core. “You are at G.L.O.V.E also known as Group, lex, ordo, verum, ebire. We are a secret organisation working to protect the law and order of the EU and it’s executives.” “Look I shouldn’t be here.” I responded."Actually all of this was orchestrated to get you here, you see we believe that coincidences do not exist."

"You have two choices either you can forget this ever happened or you can work for us.” “Get me out of here.” “Well why don’t you listen to our proposal. We have our suspicions about someone in your school, the European School of Brussels II“ “Oh you mean EEB2.” “Yes. We need you to be our eyes and ears. We have credible information that someone will attempt to assassinate the President of the EU. We believe that the suspect is either an authority figure or a student in 6^th or 7^th  year.” I thought about it for a while and asked: “If I were to agree hypothetically, would I get gadgets? “ “Now you are not 007 but never the less you will be provided with a wrist communication device and your glasses will be fitted with a camera which will send information to our monitoring system.” “Do I have to tell my parents?” “No, of course not, if you decide to work for us you will have a higher clearance level than your father.” “Okay, may I think about it?” “No, we have to know your answer before you leave the premises." "Oh, okay"  "Before you make your decision I want you to meet my boss." 

As the door swished open I heard a familiar voice saying ”Hello Francis.” I knew immediately who had just walked through the door as I felt my face go red from embarrassment. Out of shock I shouted out “Mummy, what how even-“ “Francis Alistair Peter John Watson I had you pegged for this job your whole life.” “But-but you-are a se-secretary at cy-cyber-security.” “Well that is partially correct just that I’m the head of G.L.O.V.E. Now it's decision time.” I probably looked like a tomato but never the less I had an odd feeling that agreeing to work for them would be the right decision ”Yes I will work for you.” “Good there is a lot you need to learn so we better get started. Allis take him to the Dojo and then he has to take the TEST.” “Yes ma'am, right away.” What did I just agree to?

By Tristan Francis Watson Brown

IV.

Died has the smouldering fire of day,

Its embers still glow in the westerly sky,

Soon they’ll give way to the darkness of night.

A slow-moving shade creeps from the cold east,

Hiding the world with its black starry cloak,

Everywhere under the bright colours fade,

Thicker grow shadows in corners and cracks.

Just as a sickness creeps over a man,

Paling the face and stealing its redness,

Surrounding the eyes with ill boding black,

Seeping the life from a body once strong.

Quiet’s the world with slow idle sleep,

Its creatures depart for the dreamy realm,

The woods and the fields and the high mountain peaks,

Lonely they listen to Silence’s song.

A frost bringing wind just howls in the dark,

Its voice undisturbed by bustling day,

Calm’s all around in this shadowy waste,

Peaceful and quiet is starry-eyed Night.

The Dionysian

III.

II.

Little by little the darkness recedes,

Giving its way to the dawn’s early light,

Rising the song of the birds in the trees,

Making again the world coloured and bright.

Awoken are beasts from their night’s slumber,

Arisen are men to work through the day.

And anew bustles all the world under,

Touched and adorned by the sun’s golden rays.

See now the monk upon the high hills,

Singing the song which for ages was sung.

And on his aged words the world round him stills,

Heard is his prayer to life-giver sun.

by the Dionysian

I.

There is no sin in killing,

So the poet Virgil sang,

The only crime in slaying,

Is to kill a guiltless man.

When battle shouts are ringing,

And death the warrior sows,

The victim’s life is fleeing,

But the sower’s glory grows.

The vengeful spirit’s storming,

When offenders meet the blade,

And then the storms are stilling,

For justice has been made.

There is no sin in killing,

So this poet Virgil sang,

The only crime in slaying,

Is to kill a guiltless man.

by the Dionysian

Windy Day

by Mélusine Gardey

Pluie d'étoiles

photo (c) Mikko Lagerstedt

A simple winter's tale

I heard a story long ago

About a distant land

Where lived a boy, hair white as snow

His name was Merriland.

The town he lived in was a bore

The train passed only twice;

The people there were very old

And didn't seem so nice.

Their eyes were green as emerald

They shined so bright at night;

Though many of them were just bald

No one had hair so bright.

Poor little boy named Merriland

He saw them stare and stare,

He bought a hat from a small band

The price of a train's fare.

He blended in without a sweat

He had turned into glass

And on the streets, brunette, brunette

"I think, produced in mass!"

Why should we read?

In the light of the newspaper launch, we might sit back and ask ourselves as to why we should even waste part of our precious time reading. The outside world provides so much excitement and action, so why stay inside and pick up a book?

The answer is actually quite simple: contrary to popular belief, literature doesn’t close the door to the outside world; instead it opens many more than we’d normally not? have access to. Through books we can experience different cultures, societies and events that would, under normal circumstances, pass us by. Books make us understand the world better. For instance, the Renaissance itself is proof enough that printing is the key to spreading thoughts, opinions and information. Reading encourages critical thinking.

Short story: "Travelling in time"

The time machine has been invented. I look at my brother; I must have misheard. Quickly, I gulp down my cereal and slam the door shut.

The time machine has been invented. I turn my head. No, it can’t be, I must have misheard. Quickly, I push my books into my locker and hurry up the stairs.

The time machine has been invented. I close my eyes and shake my head. I must have misheard.

The time machine has been invented. I must be dreaming. Please, pinch me. My friend obliges. I don’t wake up. It hurts.

They’re looking for test subjects, volunteers. This is new.

My friend looks at me. Yes, we’re signing up.

The wary man in the lab coat stares at my chart, then at me, then at the chart again. I cross my legs. I nibble at my nails. I look down. You’re free to go.

The time machine isn’t what I expected. It’s small, insignificant. I didn’t even notice it at first. I stare at the tiny machine.

My blood is pulsing, my feet are tingling and I’m soaked in green light.

I was told not to touch anything. Just moving one little rock could change the passing of events. I could destroy human existence, with it the invention of the machine, my own conception would be undermined and I would have never lived. But could I then not stand here, not altering the time and therefore still being been born? But then I would exist to alter the time and then I would have changed it…No, I should stop these thoughts. This paradox proves to be too much for my simple-minded brain. 

The stench makes my nose curl. I open my eyes. I have exactly 2 minutes before I dissipate into thin air.

"Thunderstorm"

At 4:33 am, when the street was quiet
I was awake, pale skin glowing, fingers drumming
Eyes glazed, slouched over a computer screen
And I felt happy and miserable all at once
At 4:35 I turned off the lights but left the curtains open
Darkness seeping in, a thunderstorm roaring
A flash of light and a bellowing crack
And I was tucked into bed, safe
A thunderstorm sang me to sleep
Gave me peace from wakefulness
And when I woke up, I didn’t remember my dream
Or the way the bright light must have filled the room that night
When the thunderstorm sang me to sleep.

by Anonymous