Mooroolbark College have been working around the clock to ensure there is Literacy learning across the whole school and this is evident in the many areas and KLAs. This edition of the newsletter offers another instalment of ‘The Pseudonym Group.’ Please enjoy the read:
The Pseudonym Group (TPG)
Pseudonym (noun) – A fictitious name, especially one used by an author.
For the third entry of TPG, we gain some more insight of some new writers and artists, feature their work, and continue some of the previous stories that have already been provided. Pippi L’s episodic story will continue with the third chapter introducing a strained partnership surrounding a gruesome crime. Scarah sways into our minds with a beautiful story of a book lover, Reverie depicts a nostalgic scene between friends and Dexian offers a riveting opening to a sci-fi, intriguing readers for more!
To spark and inspire,
TPG
Episode 3 – Ace
Det. Parker was a tall figure with storm grey eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. He had tanned, withered skin the colour of olives and a slightly crooked nose, as though it had been badly broken before. His strides were quick and large, his long shadow flung lazily over the hot concrete of the parking lot.
He had almost reached the car before the junior detective caught up.
“Hang on” he panted, clutching his chest. “Wait for me”.
Annoyed, Parker clicked the unlock button and threw open the car door with unnecessary force.
“Yes, Detective Ace?” he asked, voice laden with loathing. Ace Moringpor. The newest detective aboard and a royal pain in Parkers ass.
“You almost left without me Sir.” He gasped, his Labrador smile showing perfectly straight white teeth. His eyes sparkled hazel and his limbs were long and lanky. His mop of frizzy brown hair brought his full height to around 6’4. He is constantly smiling that stupid, crooked smile and his positive outlook on life was just so damn genuine. It was infuriating and sickening at the same time.
Parker never wasted his breath educating this kid on how the world worked. He would find out soon enough that it wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine. Especially not in this job.
“Yes, I am driving myself to the crime scene. I wasn’t aware I had… company.” His top lip curled in disgust as he said it, his grey eyes flicking over the slightly dishevelled figure before him.
“Yeah, sorry about that, sir, see I don’t exactly have a car, so I have to hitch a ride. Captain Rogers wants me on the scene too!”.
Parker didn’t know, nor did he want to, if the lack of car was a choice but he certainly hoped so. The department would loan him one soon enough, if he had a licence that was.
“Fine,” He relented grumpily.
Ace bounded to the side of the car and threw himself onto Parkers leather passenger seat.
And by all the Saints, Det. Ace never shut up. He talked at a rapid speed the whole way to the crime scene.
“Yea, like I was saying, Captain says he NEEDS me at the scene today, pretty exciting right? It’s my first murder case. I brought this notebook so I can take notes on the awesome stuff you do and what you want me to do and things like that.”
He was indeed holding up a cheap black notebook and one of those 4 colour pens. He continued chatting away, seemingly un-aware of his partner’s annoyance. Parker’s fists clenched around the steering wheel and his nails dug crescent moon shapes into the covering.
After what felt like hours but was somehow only a collection of minutes, Parker’s silver Nissan pulled up the driveway and rolled to a stop. The house was swarming with police, roping off areas, moving on those who were stopping to have a look and, apparently, telling Det. Ace he wasn’t allowed through because there was a crime scene underway. Rolling his eyes, Parker walked over, calling in a loud, authoritative voice, “He’s with me”. The incompetence of some people, honestly.
“Oh, of course, Detective Parker, sorry.” She squeaked, hurrying out the way. Ace flashed Parker a quick, dazzling smile. Turning angrily on his heel, Parker strode off into the house, Ace bouncing cheerfully in his wake.
To be continued…
Pippi L
The leaves rustled as the trees shook, its thin branches creaked and clashed against the cooling wind. I let out a heavy breath and sighed, gazing down at the old, leathered book that sat in my lap.
“Hm, I think I’ll have a steak hamburger for dinner.” I muttered to myself as I brushed the fallen autumn leaves that began to drop onto my skirt. I was starving after eating nothing for two whole days and having tons of school and part time jobs. To be frank, I didn’t quite understand how I was still alive!
It was getting late, and I hated the cold breeze that came along with the evening. I quickly shook my hair to remove any fallen leaves and walked my way home, my shoe softly crunching the wet sticks underneath. I looked back at the bench I sat on and waved at it, a blurry image of a blonde boy waving back then disappearing again. Like it was never there. “Oh, how I wish you knew I existed.”
I whined quietly letting out a small sigh. Clutching the book tighter, I fastened my pace, returning home.
Scarah
In the nature trail a block away from Bessie Mills’ house there’s a hidden pathway leading to a hollowed-out tree containing a ladder to a treehouse. The treehouse is more just a plank of wood and nails with a metal sheet splayed over the higher branches, courtesy of Mr Mills. Pillows, blankets, and poufs splayed across the plank, along with a small table in the middle, reserved for games.
When Evette Cellier went to Bessie’s, they usually walked out along the nature trail and climbed their way up to the treehouse, where they talked about everything and nothing at once. Sometimes, Ian Haruyama and Nicky Whelan would join them, but not usually.
The last time they were up there, they were idly playing with cards before Bessie had looked over to Evette, “Why do you wanna be a producer?” She asked, “Why not a musician?”
Evette thought about it for a moment, “It’s more my style, besides, I could still make music. My job tag would just be a little different.” She paused for a moment, and Bessie nodded at the answer.
“What type of movies do you wanna act in?” Evette then questioned, before holding a hand up and shaking her head, “Wait, no, let me guess… Horror.”
Bessie grimaced, “Are you serious? No.” She stared at her card, a queen of hearts, before shrugging, “I guess I’d like a rom-com.” Evette gave a small smirk at that.
“You’re so sappy.”
“I am not!”
“Yeah, you are,” She laughed “You’d only want to act in something with a happy ending. The type of thing to give you the warm and fuzzies the whole way through.” Bessie eyed the other but didn’t deny her words because she couldn’t. Not when they were the exact truth.
“Real life doesn’t get happy endings,” She explained after a moment of Evette snickering, “I don’t see why we can’t pretend it does in movies.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Evette sits in the same place she did a year ago and wishes real life got happy endings, too.
Reverie
Entry Log 1: Identified – The Beginning
…Hello?
This is… a simple ‘Interview’… is that correct?
Okay. So, it had begun many, many years ago…
My name…My name is Evelyn. I’m what some call ‘The Creator’ and I have been for longer than I can remember. I’ve barely met any other of my compatriots, and there doesn’t seem like any hope that I’ll have a chance to ever again. There’s only around… maybe… five of us now?
We’re the remaining few out of hundreds, but even then…It’s not the same as before.
I’m unsure of specifics regarding the others, but I do know myself…at least I used to, I think. It is all so hard to piece together.
I’ll start at the beginning. My own origin of how I came to exist is a blur to me. The earliest memories I have is waking up from a deep sleep, surrounded by others in the same scenario as me. A bodiless voice was heard, informing me about a “power” to create worlds and life with the only limit being our imagination and creativity.
Dexian
Tyrone Ingham
LITERACY LEARNING SPECIALIST
