Bio-Zine (Young Writers Group 2017)

Bio-zine

Contents
Erica, pages 4–5
Cassie, pages 6–9
Rachel, pages 10–13
Toby, pages 14–17
Helena, pages 18–21
Biographies, pages 22–23

Is this still your number?
by Erica
“Is this still your number? I’m looking for 1 if you have
any.”
“Who is this?”
“Jason”
“No clue who you are dude.”
“Is this Emma?”
“Aaron maybe?”
“No sorry, I think you have the wrong number, the only
Aaron I know is my friends dad, soz dude.”
“This is Oster”
“All good cheers anyway man”
Don’t you just hate wrong number texts. I have devised this strategy for
answering to them. If you are a girl, pretend to be a guy and if you are
a guy, you pretend to be a girl. This is soooooo much fun, especially if
you have a really weird name like Oster or Thirrin. (No offence intended
to any Osters or Thirrins out there.)
This is a conversation I had last Monday at lunch time with this boy I
didn’t know. The beauty of the thing is that he didn’t know that he was
talking to a 13 year old girl and her friends.
It is always cool to do things like this, it often sparks an inspiration for a
short story that is going in your writing group’s zine…
The Equinox Dream
By Erica
Vanity Lau was staring at the glowing spheres in the sky.
The moons were bright and orange, the harvest moons.
The time of the Equinox, her favourite time of year.
But her eyes misted as she thought of Ethelread.
So many Equinoxes had been spent with him. Both of
them laying on their backs in the long grass, staring at the
moons, all three in total:
Regulus
Aldebaran
Antares
All casting their orange glow over the world around her.
Ethelread was away, that is all. She told herself.
Her Equinox dream would come true soon. She would
someday be held in his arms on this night.
She loved him and he loved her. They both knew it.
On the Equinox love was normally found. Not this season
though.
She would wait until the leaves turned as golden-brown as
her own hair and the branched of the trees were as sliver
grey as her eyes.
‘My autumn girl,’ her mother had always called her.
‘The child of Antares,’ Ethelread had called her.
‘The son of Regulus,’ she had whispered back.
But this year there was only Vanity Lau’s Equinox dream.
4 5

by Cassie
6 7

8 9

by Rachel
10 11

NIGHT 1
By Toby
Five tea lights stand on the window sill. Five little flames
dance on top, swaying back and forth. They watch the world
outside: give a nod to the street lights, a torch, a smouldering
cigarette in the gutter.
Around the room, ranks of candles burn. Tall candles, short
candles, fat candles, thin candles. They are purple, white,
green, red, blue. But the flames are all the same. The door
swings open and a tide of voices swells inside. The candle
flames flicker. A tall figure strides in, talking over her shoulder.
The candles hear her speech in fragments.
“The window—breeze—air—fresh!”
The five tea lights shudder, shake. The five little flames sputter
and grab the wall. The tall figure doesn’t see, and a gust of air
tears flames from their candles.
Five little tea lights burn on.
It is an old Victorian house. Everything is made of wood, even
the door knobs. It stands in a row of wooden houses, packed
so tight a mouse couldn’t squeeze between them.
The sky is twilight blue; there are no clouds. The air is dry. The
trees are thirsty.
It would be the perfect night for a fire.
14 15

NIGHT 2
by Toby
It fell down on the world like a surprise
it tasted metallic
like ice
like touching a cold streetlight
the stars seemed almost intruders
even the moon was hiding
and all the clouds
had run away
somehow it smelled wet and dry
at the same time
Everything was ice that night
between bare toes, daggers of grass slipped and slid
the flowers were
shut
tight
They wouldn’t let the darkness in
16

The White Raven—A Novel Excerpt
by Helena
It was early evening, and already the air was freezing.
Frost crept along the edges of buildings and gutters, as all
through Juridian City, cloak-wrapped citizens scurried home
to their families and warm fireplaces.
The look-out wished he could do the same.
However, instead of rushing home to the Shapeshifters’
Guild and snuggling deep under his blankets, he was peering
through the incoming mist at the cloaked, bent figure hurrying
toward him. The old lady seemed to be heading right
for the Guild, her steps as purposeful as if she could see right
through the screen of spells that covered the area. The lookout,
a young man named Drake whose animal form was a
wolverine, watched her carefully. He had heard of spellseers,
people who could see past any sort of magical disguise, but he
had never expected to set eyes on one.
Surprisingly, the old woman paused right in front of
him when she reached the hidden alleyway. Taking off her
cowl to reveal cropped grey hair and piercing brown eyes, she
said in a clear, calm voice, “I believe you are with the Guild?”
Drake raised his eyebrows. Although he could see that
she was a shapeshifter by the grizzly bear form that glimmered
under her furrowed skin, he hadn’t seen her around
Juridian City before. Maybe she’s a Darkened, he thought
uneasily. Better to be on the safe side, just in case.
“Guild? I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking
about,” he answered with a blank expression.
19

“Don’t try to give me the slip, lad,” the woman barked,
but despite the harshness of her voice, there was warmth in
her piercing hazel eyes. “You’re a shapeshifter, I know it. I’m
looking for directions to the Guild and I thought perhaps you
could supply some.”
Drake hesitated; he knew he was beaten. Then he stiffened
and replied steadily, “I’m sorry, but that information is
confidential. Give me a name and a purpose, and I might tell
you the way.”
The woman sighed, suddenly looking weary. Drake
spotted dew and grass stains on her simple grey cloak as
though she had been journeying through dense forest. Who
was this person? And what was she doing near the Guild?
“You young ones are so careful these days,” she sighed.
“Very well, my name is Anya, and I’m carrying a message for
Henrietta Portman.”
“You know the name of our Headmis—?” he broke off
warily, then went on, “you know this ‘Henrietta’? How come?”
“I have my ways, boy.”
“Where are you from?” he demanded more forcefully.
She paused to smooth a crease in her cloak. A thoughtful
look swirled in her dark eyes until she finally replied, “you
Guildlings have many names for us, I believe. The Shadowed
Ones, the Nameless, the Terrors of the Light. But the simplest,
according to me, is the Darkened.”
Drake nearly choked with shock. “You’re from the
Darkened?”
Immediately, the two guards who had been hiding in
the shadows behind him stepped forward, crossing their pikes
into a barrier. Anya showed no sign of surprise at their sudden
appearance.
She must have know they were there all along, Drake
realised.
“Well, you’re not taking a message to Mrs. Portman,”
said Drake, decisively. As always when he was nervous, he felt
a strange urge to change into his animal form, but managed
to control himself. “Tell us what you want to say, and we’ll tell
her. Meanwhile you will be taken to the cells to be interrogated.”
The soldiers had only taken three steps forward before
Anya raised her hand and they froze. Not as in they stopped
walking, but in the literal sense. Red light, as cold and hard as
ice, encased them from head to toe and they rocked back and
forth for a moment, then stood still with looks of surprise on
their faces.
Drake’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “Wh-what in
the name of—?”
“Listen to me, before I do the same to you as I did to
those unlucky guards,” she warned him, sounding weary.
“Take me to Henrietta. I promise to not harm you in any
sense, for I come in peace, with urgent messages that my
fellow Darkened cannot overhear. I can’t tell you now because
someone may be listening and watching who we would not
like to associate with. Please, before I’m forced to freeze you
and go by myself.”
The youth fell silent, debating with himself. At last he
gave a reluctant nod.
“All right, you can come. Just don’t try anything funny,”
20 21

Biographies
Hi this is Erica.
I am a lover of books, words, paper and ink (especially
paper with ink on it that create letters that
spell words and creates a book). I have one tip for
doing writing and homework: listen to Mozart or
Beethoven. Hope you enjoy our zine.
Cassie Tsokos began writing poetry in Year
8 to amuse her friends. Her hobbies include
eating and sleeping and she is very dedicated
to her Tumblr blog. Cassie also occasionally
writes prose, but mainly sticks to poetry because
it’s less effort.
Amelia Dunan is an artist and writer who
would happily write stories all week instead
of eat or sleep. She loves her family,
which consists of: her cats Shmoo and
Tuss; the possible fish in the backyard
pond; the lorikeets in the gum tree, and
the other animals she calls her relatives.
Howdy! The name’s Chell, and I’m secretly
a dragon, but don’t tell anyone 0v~.
I’m supposed to write stuff about myself,
so here it is, in my remaining thirty
words.
I don’t like poetry, drawing is my natural
high, I’ve got these people called ‘friends’,
I’m not very funny, and eggplant tastes
disgusting. ‘Till next time ^O^
Tobias Dunan likes drawing, juggling,
writing, reading, photography, jazz, modern
history, modern science, modern art,
old art, thai curry, and moleskine notebooks.
His favourite number is one.
22 23

This zine was produced by the Young Writers
Group at the South Coast Writers Centre.
This project is supported by ArtsNSW, Wollongong
University and Wollongong City Council.