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My story really begins on the day my own dad was sacked by his own mother, who – yes, you’ve worked it out – is my own gran.

I’m Sarah Parks, but everyone calls me Sparky. I’ll explain why later, but first of all let me tell you how my grandmother booted my dad out of his job.

This might sound a bit weird, but there are four main people in my family and until the day in question – just before Christmas would you believe – all four of us were, for one strange term, all in the same school. I had started there in the September, my mum was a cleaner there, my dad was the art technician and my gran was the headteacher.

Therein lies the problem.

And I was actually in Art when it happened. It was the last day of term, final lesson of the day. . .

Views: 10

Comment by Jan at Delany on October 14, 2010 at 23:29
On this particular day, there was well… trouble. You see, Dad’s job means that he orders in our supplies for art. He also throws out all the old supplies and makes sure everything is all-good for art classes and the students.

Anyway, Dad was going through the Art supply closet, throwing out old supplies. He was listening to music on the I-pod and without noticing; he grabbed the box of day old paint brushes and threw them out. And obviously, Gran found out and got really angry. Those brushes cost us a heap of money.

“I’m so sorry mum, I wasn’t paying attention,” Dad apologized.

“First of all, how many times have I told you not to call me ‘mum’ during work? And second of all, YOU MUST PAY MORE ATTENTION! I just bought those brushes yesterday!” screamed Gran. “This is strike one.”

So Dad was extra scared. What if he made a mistake again? That would be strike two, and then strike three? He couldn’t lose his job, he needed this money.

So Dad decided to started focusing a little more, but it didn’t help. You see, Dad has a history of bad luck. And yes, I know that it sounds like a bunch of mumbo-jumbo but it’s true. On my eighth birthday, he tripped and fell head-first into my one hundred dollar cake.
On my eleventh birthday, he turned up the amount of air compression in the jumping castle. And then… BOOM! It exploded…

By: Truc Mai and Jamie
Delany College Granville NSW
Comment by R Buckland on October 15, 2010 at 10:12
Today was a dark and damp day; it had rained twice this week, once for three days and twice for four days. Today was no different; it had been gloomy ever since dad lost his job. The family was never the same after this incident. Dad had locked himself in his room ever since the day in question. How could Dad have messed up this bad? How did he know that the Mr. Muscle kitchen cleaner was in fact tomato ketchup? But this day was different; Dad came down stairs to find a mysterious man at the door, draped in black clothing, almost as if it had been made for such an occasion.
”who are you?” Demanded Dad
“I am one of the prime élite” He said with a sharp tone in his voice.
“The prime what? Cried Dad
“The prime élite.”
The man continued “I am one of the prime élite, a secret organisation formed to capture people who have special powers.
“And what do you want with me.” Dad said
“Its not you we’re interested in, its your daughter, we’ve got proof that she’s telekinetic” He said.
“How can you have proof that she’s telekinetic?” Dad demanded “ all she can do is draw, she’s useless!”
I lay there curled up in a ball listening to them arguing at the door. Suddenly the arguing stopped. Thump thump thump. I could here the man entering the room, fear griped me by the throat. I ran. Ran, as fast as I could out onto the street and out of sight, dissolving into the shadows of London.
Comment by Lynne Coppendale on October 15, 2010 at 11:08
….so dads luck isn’t great.

I was running but I didn’t know where I was going.

Meanwhile this strange rivalry had been set by prime élite (what a stupid name) dad was very anxious about the rival company, he knew he wasn’t that gullible to believe his daughter has super powers, he knew the other company was just trying to distract him, and with this above everything else it would be even more difficult not to get the other two strikes which were definitely coming his way. Dad was called to an English classroom.
“We need more books” said the English teacher
“Ok im on it” said dad trying to distract himself from the so called prime élite.

As dad was looking for books in the office, he came across Grans diary, he knew he should give it back straight away but he had an urge to read the first page, at least. As he was midway through the first page Gran came into the cupboard looking for supplies for next year since it was the last day of the year.
“what are you doing” Gran yelled “this is strike 2, don’t you dare tell anyone about this, you will die the same way as your father if you tell anyone” she stormed out of the room.

Dad thought to himself what is she talking about, how will she give me cholera, and what does she mean?

The diary holds all the answers, will dad ever find out the true meaning of his fathers death?





By Hannahmay Middlebrook and Megan Cooper
Danum School Technology College
Comment by Ann Brine on October 15, 2010 at 11:58
Dad had never been more anxious in his entire life about his father’s death, what could she of possibly meant? Even though he never bonded with his father much he is still curious how he really died and all those answers are in grans diary.
As he wondered up the corridor towards grans office the door was open at a tilt with a bright light shinning mysteriously, as he started to walk off he felt a strange urge to go and find the diary. Before he could enter he was close enough to overhear to what he can make out was the sound of his father’s voice. He could feel his eyes ready to cry, he stopped his self when he heard something gobsmacking. Gran said “unless you marry the English teacher miss martyrs you are not coming out and you will never see your son and that pathetic wife you have.
He had the courage and confidence to barge in but before he could a cold pale hand gripped his shoulder...
Teneasa Kaminska & Rebecca Lee
English Martyrs
Comment by kgarnett on October 15, 2010 at 12:48
Dad turned around, Mr Morris the history teacher had his hand clasped around dad’s shoulder.
“I heard the news I feel for you” He said.
“What news?” He replied
“About your father.”
“My father?”
“it wasn’t cholera that killed him , it was your mother ,your dad he told me she wanted the job and the money but he wanted to give it to you and then she murdered him before he could change the details on his will.”
Dad barged in and there was his mum, standing with a knife .It had blood on it. She must have killed his dad with this recently cackling, an evil cackle, and dads blood froze. Dad had pen knife in his pocket he took it out and stabbed her in the eye blood was spewing everywhere on the floor and on the main desk. He looked in the draws he found the diary and read it through and started to cry his mum had murdered his dad.


Callum Hodgson and Joseph Gillson
Elizabeth College
Comment by Nikki Heath on October 15, 2010 at 13:51
"NO no this can't be true!" dad shrieked. she had murdred his father, the man who took him to football matches. The man who played cricket in the park with him as a child. Dad ran through all the link coridoors and fell on his knees shaking beside the science block. His mum had killed his dad but what had he done? Somthing far worse stabbed - his mother in the eye and left her for dead. He was full of aggression. What shall he read? His mum's diary or call the emergency services? Well, what would you have done? He ran back upstairs to the main office and saw his mum pleading and yelling for her only son to help, showing a sly grin and a vicious cackle at the same time so dad didn't think and flew down the staircase which was rotting away by the second. He got in his car whilst wiping away his manly tears, revved up the rust bucket's engine and sped off with out thinking. Unknowingly, he headed straight for a bottomless abyss through the mountains of the countryside and with out thinking flew off the edge. His putrid car fell on top off him in millions of nearly invisible scraps and that was the end of dad Fitzpatrick!

By Callum CH,
Werneth School, Stockport, UK.

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