Why Me?

On one side of a busy street stands a home. The exterior is warm and welcoming; in the large front yard grow beautiful flowering trees. The grass is uneven and green in some places. There is a small garden filled with flowers and vegetables. The late evening sun bathes the home in a magical golden orange hue.

Through the large windows the cheerful home is glowing. In the living room a family is eating their dinner, merry talk and laughter can be heard. The smiles are true. As they finish, the dishes are put away, and the merry laughter continues. The parents try to get the younger children to get ready for bed as the eldest child heads to their room for homework. A perfect family, a lovely home. Happy people.

A door opens and in a lit up room stands an oak desk, papers scattered on the floor and desk. Homework by the looks of it. A yellow backpack is lying on the bed. The walls are a cheery blue; a beautiful picture of the galaxy is hung on the wall.     Otherwise, the room is empty.

Or so it seems.

On one wall is a closed closet door. Within the closet there is a figure curled up into a ball. Not a sound they make. Tears trickle down from the eyes. The figure is shaking. Memories from earlier that day swirl through their brain. The snide smile of the bully. The comments that echoed throughout the room. The evil glares that were received. The line of tears becomes a river, cascading down the red cheeks. The sadness within the small closet is suffocating. A sound is finally made. A soft whisper, no louder then a whispering wind.

“Why me?”




     There’s a first day for a lot of things but today was special. It was the first day of high school and I was nervous. Adrenaline pumped through my body as I tried to squeeze past people to get to my block A class, which was in Room 222. I was worried that there wouldn’t be any familiar faces in that room. After looking downstairs I made my way up only to find the class right there across from a huge library.
     I walked in the class to see my best friend sitting uncomfortably at her desk. I quickly looked around the classroom; there were numbers and posters everywhere and it struck me: my classroom was the math room…dun…dun…dun… “Noooooooooooooooo!!” I screamed inside my head. It’s not like it’s every eighth grader’s dream to walk into the math class the first day of school, so don’t blame me for being disappointed. It turned out not to be as bad as I thought it would be. I mean hey!!! Math is kind of fun.
     School was going great, I was getting good marks and making new friends. It was a quiet Wednesday afternoon when our principal announced over the loud speaker that we were going to have a hold and secure. I just thought, “Hey it’s okay, whatever is going on is outside…” It didn’t stay that way for very long.
     Approximately five minutes later we transitioned into a lockdown. A LOCKDOWN!!!!!!!! It was my first ever real lockdown. We all walked to the corner and huddled up against each other. Hot bodies all pressed up against one another, staring toward the door as if we were waiting for a monster to come through. It was silent in the school; the only sound was the worried murmuring among ourselves. One hour and ten minutes later we went back to hold and secure. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to leave the classroom, not even to go to the bathroom.
     We waited a while until the police came to our class and escorted us out. It was a bit windy outside with a tiny bit of rain. I looked around; dozens and dozens of worried parents were standing outside, frantically looking for their child. The moment they saw their child you could see the relief flood through their faces. It was just like we were the most valuable thing in the universe and nothing else mattered. We were all safe! Our parents were leading us to the safety of our vehicles. It was a scary experience but, thankfully, no one was hurt and it was just the police making sure we were not in danger.
     High school is pretty nice, there’s not as much homework as I expected and I love having lockers to store all my supplies in. I like all my classes and most of them are with my besties. I hope all my years at Brookswood are like this (except for the lockdown part).
Signy Spencer
Catpack 8

Fall is Here

As the leaves fall down, they create an art piece of the cold hard ground. The wind whisks by, causing the trees to commence their seasonal dance- and as the clouds shade the light sky, you know autumn has arrived.
She knocks on your door quietly; however, you weren’t expecting her- it was sudden, and she was cautious.
It is the time of year that brings warm sweaters and sickness; it allows children to dress up on one day, which is forever memorable and special.
While many may not enjoy this season, it brings happiness to many others. It brings pumpkins and warm tea, cuddles and sleeping beasts, a joyous fear that rains upon all. It is the month of fright- yet remembrance for the young.
And the rain begins to fall.
Jordan Percy

The Last Day of Freedom

One day you’ll be handing in your last page of homework. One day you’ll have your last pop quiz and your last agonizing earthquake drill that wasted your time. One day you’re going to leave behind all the friends that you have had amazing days with and made thousands of stories to remember by.


You’ll sit in your last class, listening to your teachers knowing that you will never see their faces again. One day you will take your possessions out of your locker and punch in your combo for the last time and take those slow steps out the doors of your school.


One day we’ll all be standing side by side accepting pieces of paper with people you have known and grown up with for years.


If you think about it, one day you’ll forget about all the people you once cared for and you’ll barely remember the memories you had even when you see their face when browsing through your yearbook.


One day you’ll be old enough to live by yourself. You’ll pack your bags and move your things into your new house. One day you’ll hug your parents goodbye and say farewell. One day you won’t be in high school, you’ll be doing a job you either hate or love for the rest of your life.


We’re all so ready to just get up and leave everything we used to dedicate our lives to.


Sydney Noble

Finding Strength

Maya Orazietti

Slap, Slap. My feet hit the pavement and I’m gone. Away from the house engulfed in an aura of anxiety. The stress rolling off the roof in waves. The tension rising up into the air like steam.

I needed the sweet relief of the cool air on my face. The wind running its gentle fingers through my hair, I fall into a calming, steady rhythm. Feel the energy travel through my muscles, contracting and releasing. I feel it run through the bones down to the tips of my toes, where it is released in a steady pulse every time my foot pushes off the pavement. Adrenaline rushes through my veins. As sweat trickles down my neck, my pent-up anxiety is flushed from my body like a toxin.

I take in the green foliage lining the path and the crystalline waters of my beloved lake. I feel at ease looking out over the still, glassy surface, completely uninterrupted, except for the occasional ripples caused by the falling cotton. The mesmerizing landscape and the effort of simply running, one step at a time, holds my focus. There’s no room for unwanted thoughts.

And then, after some time, I’m ready to head home. Back down the streets, past the dogs who bark in unison, and around the corner. I almost feel disappointed that it’s time to re-enter reality, but it’s OK. Because I know that when I get back, the world will seem a little brighter, and my problems, a little smaller, because running gives me the strength to take on another day.

Reality Check

Reality Check

This Saturday morning, l woke up at 6:00; l still can’t believe that l actually wake up that easily on a Saturday morning. Of course there is a reason for everything; today I’m going to continue my apartment hunt; as a international student who lives in a homestay, I must move by the end of this month.

“Well, l better start looking for places if l don’t want end up living on the street.”

I told myself that 2 months ago.

After going through 40 emails a day all of last week and countless replying and forwarding, l was “lucky” to find 3 apartments that l would look at this week. You heard it, 3 out of 120 emails actually landed safely; this is just absolutely Christmas.

  So this morning I’m heading to Vancouver, to see my second target for this week. The first one didn’t go the way l expected; long story short, it’s a basement that’s right next to a fast food garbage dump; the basement doesn’t have any windows, but that won’t make any difference, because all l would be staring at is fly-infested garbage.

By the time l pause my thoughts, I’m already on the sky train to Vancouver. I lean my head on the train window, staring at the morning view of Surrey, New Westminster and then  Burnaby.

I un-pause my mind and starting picturing my life after high school. l find this feeling funny and strange, because it’s exactly how l felt when l was on the way to Canada one year ago. A feeling mixed with confusion, excitement and little bit of terror. I never noticed how l went through those strange feelings a year ago, but l know l am in the same position as l was. I’m reaching a point where life will never be the same, a point of no return, the moment that l realize once l have done this, my life will heading in a completely different direction. It’s quite terrifying because for most of the time, l have no clue what’s waiting for me in the future; l could try to imagine , but l feel like I’m still in a heavy fog; I might see a few shapes and general lines, but l can never see them clearly. My life in front of me remains undecided, because l have become undecided again.

There is only one week of school left. Finally, the days of school can be counted on my fingers. A million hours, minutes and seconds will soon reach the end.  I feel the weight of school ending is pressuring my brain every day; sometimes when l thinking about the end of high school, l found it is hard to breathe. It’s one of the most ironic things in the world. Because my attitude was nothing like this sobbing kid who is scared of graduating from high school. I had it all planned out; l was so looking forward to my life after high school, going to university in North Vancouver, starting to live by myself, exploring a new place, and, most importantly, finding a new me who l never knew before. I was so ready for this ! I was so ready that l couldn’t even wait for high school to be over, l wanted move on right now, to a new life. But that was before l started looking for my apartment, before I realized that my idea could actually happen.

When l realized my vision is slowly become reality, l got scared because l fear my reality will become an abomination of my visions. 

Now that I have arrived at my future apartment, I’m happy because it looks pretty neat, my room is on the third floor, one window, with a view of downtown Vancouver; 30 minutes by bus to my university and 20 minutes to downtown. I’m also scared because this means soon I’ll be saying goodbye to my life in Brookswood. At that moment, l become myself a year ago again. A boy who was leaving his home for a new adventure and the unknown. I feel the same terror again, the feeling’s like looking back at my old elementary graduating picture: infinite terror.


Sheen Smith

Caffeine Poverty

Teenagers have a severe symptom called exhaustion. It’s known to be caused by coming to school half asleep from waking up around six or seven in the morning. The question I’m trying to answer is, how do we prevent teenage exhaustion?

One word. Coffee. Caffeine is an essential need for teenagers, and most of us drink at least one cup of java a day! The school morning bell starts so early for us and we always end up coming to school dragging ourselves through the hallways exhausted and tired. Statistics say that teens don’t go to sleep till around 11 pm and that we don’t function till 10 am SO to prevent teenage stupidity early in the morning, the only option is to drink loads and loads of coffee.

I believe that caffeine should be provided at school so we won’t end up being late for our first block because we had to go grab our morning coffee at our local Tim Hortons or Starbucks. At the beginning of the school year the teachers at Brookswood are provided a coffee cart service and they seem to love it! I believe that since teacher get coffee twice a week, students should also be given the opportunity to buy our own coffee. Think about all the pros of having a coffee stand in our school cafeteria:


  1. Teens would start to function a lot earlier in the morning.
  2. We won’t be late for our morning classes as much anymore.
  3. The school would make a huge profit selling cups of coffee!


These reasons make 100% sense and that’s why I think students should have their very own coffee stand in our cafeteria.

Sydney Noble


“It’s your turn!”

“Harder! Hit him harder!”

It was lunchtime and my friends and I had rushed out to the playground so we  would have a chance to play before the bell rang and we would have to go back to class.

Curious, we ran to the source of the noise. A group of boys had formed a circle around someone. I will never forget the scene before me; it was the moment I lost my faith in humanity.

Sam was different than the rest of the grade seven students. He had a mental disability therefore he didn’t have many friends. Though he was socially awkward, he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was incapable of hurting anyone, in any way. But none of that mattered to the boys surrounding him, taking turns beating him up.

I fear I will never be able to erase the sound of his screams as the bullies decided to bash his head into the cement. Repeatedly they grabbed him by his hair and crushed his skull into the pavement. The sound of the snickering from the boys was swallowed by the ambulance sirens as they escorted Sam away.

Three years after this incident, when he was in grade 10, Sam brought a knife to school causing him to be removed from the building. Apparently he is no longer mentally stable enough to go to public school. Now his only escape is getting high, but according to others it’s his own fault that he can’t cope.

Still, nobody takes the time to ask why he should have to cope. Why did he feel it necessary to bring a knife to school?

Maybe they don’t want to know the answer, I wish I didn’t. The boys in that circle will never be able to fix what they did and they’ll probably never realize that they are the answers to why he had the problems he did.


By: Crystal Marno



Welcome to BSS Musings

creative-writing-diploma-course-p56-165_zoomThis is BSS Musings, a place where the student voice lives!  Check back often for stories, news and more, all written by Brookswood students.

Primarily from the BSS writing courses, all the written work found here is original.  If you would like to learn more about Writing 11/12 at Brookswood, please contact Ms. Hryciuk (nhryciuk@sd35.bc.ca).