Where is the transparent house?

Strange houses | Quizalize

The following days are a jumble of gunfire, digging, gobbled food, soldiers running in and out of the forest in small groups, distant explosions, stray shells, bandaged heads and unexpected lulls. On the very first day, before dawn, I am ordered into one of the newly dug trenches. I huddle there, squeezing my magic buttons and singing songs to the dog. When the fighting stops, the dog disappears, but a new companion takes his place. A strange little soldier crawls along the trench toward me. ‘Private Sasha!’ he cries. ‘I’ve been looking for you all day long!’ He’s old, like a grandfather, a dedushka. He has a black patch over one eye, a tape measure around his neck and a row of pins threaded into his sleeve. Hanging from his belt is the most enormous pair of scissors I have ever seen and I wonder if he uses them as a weapon. He doesn’t tell me his name, so in my head he becomes Dedushka. Dedushka squats, cups his hand to his ear, peers over the top of the trench and smiles. ‘It’s safe to be upright . . . for now.’ He helps me to my feet, dusts me off and commands me to stand as tall and straight as I can. Then he measures me. Everything from head to toe – even my toes! He writes numbers in a little notebook, strings his tape measure back around his neck, salutes and hurries away. It’s all very strange, and I wonder if Dedushka has been bumped on the head during the battle and is now a little bit muddled. I should have given him a hug before he left. I chase after him but stop when I’m hit by a shovelful of flying dirt. Sleepy Bear is digging a cave! ‘Are you going to hibernate?’ I ask. Sleepy Bear chuckles. ‘No, although that would be wonderful! I could do with a lo-o-o-ong sleep.’ He sighs and closes his eyes. He doesn’t open them again and I realise that he has gone to sleep. Standing up! I shake his arm, and he opens his eyes and keeps talking. ‘No, I’m not hibernating. I’m digging a little nook where I can sleep and eat. I’ll hang up my raincape as a door that can open and close so it feels just like a real home . . . except for the lice . . . and the bad smells . . . and the bombs that make the walls shake and crumble.’ He points further along the trench to where other soldiers are digging. ‘We’re all making little houses in the ground.’ ‘Like rabbits and moles,’ I say. Sleepy Bear chuckles. ‘Yes! And soldiers who need to hide from German bullets and bombs.’ He stops digging to roll a cigarette. ‘Should I be making a house?’ I ask. ‘I want to hide from German bullets and bombs, too.’ Sleepy Bear flops to the ground, lights his cigarette, closes his eyes and takes a deep puff. I wait for him to answer, but, instead, he begins to snore! I poke him in the side. He snorts and he murmurs, ‘I think someone has already built you a house, Sasha. Keep going along this beautiful village street and you are sure to find it.’ He falls asleep once more. I kiss his dusty cheek and whisper, ‘Thank you, Sleepy Bear.’ A little way along, I see Cook in a cloud of smoke. He has lit a fire, right here in the middle of the trench, and is stirring a cauldron full of kasha. He squats as he stirs. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask. ‘Cooking supper, of course!’ he cries. ‘But why are you doing it here?’ Cook points his spoon at the ground above the trenches. ‘Because if I do it up there, my pot will be filled with holes from German bullets and all of the kasha will leak out onto the ground. It’s bad enough that our supplies can’t get through German lines and there’s nothing to cook but buckwheat for kasha. But if we lost the kasha, too . . .’ ‘Hungry soldiers,’ I say. Cook nods. ‘And grumpy!’ ‘Like Boris!’ I gasp. ‘Even worse,’ warns Cook. I picture the kasha pot full of bullet holes. And then I realise that if the kasha pot were full of holes, then Cook would be, too. I wrap my arms around Cook’s neck and say, ‘I think this is a very good place for cooking our supper.’ I kiss his smoky cheek and run along. At the end of the trench, I find the biggest hole of all. It’s wide and deep and as busy as a beehive in a blossom tree. Above, a group of soldiers is rolling logs into place for a roof, while below, typewriters rattle and pencils scratch and papers flutter and voices crackle out of five different radios. Their words tangle together to tell a strange wartime fairy tale about German guns and a loving father called Stalin and a Red Army regiment that is lost in the deep, dark forest and a wicked beast called Hitler and a delivery of vegetables that was hit by a bomb and blown into a million tiny pieces too small even to make soup. In the middle of it all, wrestling with a rumpled map, his rifle still slung over his shoulder, is Major Scruff. ‘Major Scruff!’ I run and jump into his arms. ‘Is this our new home?’ ‘Yes, Sasha. I suppose it is.’ ‘Is it safe from German bullets and bombs?’ I ask. He stares at me. ‘Were you scared in the trenches today, Sasha?’ ‘No,’ I reply. ‘I had magic buttons and a dog and some songs to sing. Were you scared in the forest, Major Scruff?’ ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Poor Major Scruff!’ I press my hand against his cheek. The dark, rough stubble is grubby with grit and his eyelids are taking a long time to open after every blink. ‘You need a shave and a nap!’ I scold. He chuckles. ‘I am too tired to shave and too busy to nap.’ I scrunch my nose while I consider his problem. ‘I know!’ I cry. ‘You nap and I will shave your whiskers. That will be two jobs tumbled into one!’ And so that’s what we do. Major Scruff slumps into a chair and snoozes while I lather his face with soapy water and shave his whiskers. The soap suds travel from his face, up into his hair and down the front of his uniform, and I have to shave his jaw and chin three times because I keep missing bits, but I finally get it all done. I am just wiping his cheeks dry when the dog appears. He licks my hand, then stretches up and licks soap suds from Major Scruff’s ear. Major Scruff wakes with a start. He feels his newly shaved face and cries, ‘Wonderful, Sasha! I feel smooth, clean, rested and ready for action.’ He ruffles my hair. ‘We must do this again tomorrow. Although next time, you might wake me with a gentle shake of the shoulder instead of licking my ear.’

Alright, Isti — here’s a longer and more detailed English version of the Isaac Newton text, still written at a level that’s accessible for Grade 4 students, but rich enough in information to meet PISA literacy expectations and EF A2-level vocabulary. I’ve kept sentences short, clear, and with explanations for new concepts so it’s easier for young learners to follow, while still including both famous facts and lesser-known stories. ⸻ Isaac Newton: The Man Who Changed the Way We See the World A Boy from a Small Village Isaac Newton was born on January 4, 1643, in Woolsthorpe, a small village in England. His life was not easy. His father died before he was born. When he was just a few months old, his mother remarried and left him to live with his grandmother. Isaac missed his parents, but he kept himself busy by making things and exploring the world around him. As a child, Isaac liked to build models and machines. He made a small windmill that could turn with the wind. He built a water clock that told the time by dripping water into a container. He even made a sundial — a clock that tells the time by using the shadow of the sun. 💡 Did you know? The sundial marks that Isaac carved as a boy can still be seen today on the wall of his old house. ⸻ School and Curiosity When Newton first went to school, he was not the top student. At first, he did not pay much attention in class. But one day, another boy teased him for not being smart. Newton decided to study hard to prove him wrong. Soon, he became the best in his class. Isaac loved asking questions. He wanted to know how and why things happened. He enjoyed watching the stars at night and thinking about how the world worked. ⸻ The Falling Apple and Gravity One of the most famous stories about Newton is the falling apple. One afternoon, Isaac sat in his mother’s garden and saw an apple drop from a tree. This made him think: “Why does the apple fall straight down? Why doesn’t it fly up into the sky?” From this question, Newton began to think about gravity — an invisible force that pulls objects toward each other. Gravity is what keeps our feet on the ground. It’s also what keeps the Moon moving around the Earth and the planets moving around the Sun. 💡 Fun fact: The apple did not hit Newton’s head. That’s just a story people made up later to make the tale more exciting. ⸻ Newton’s Three Laws of Motion Newton studied movement and wrote three important rules: 1. Objects stay still or keep moving unless something makes them change. • Example: A ball will not roll unless you push it. 2. The bigger the push, the bigger the movement. • Example: If you kick a ball harder, it will go faster and farther. 3. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. • Example: When you jump off a boat, the boat moves backward as you move forward. These three laws are still used today to understand how cars, rockets, and even roller coasters work. ⸻ Discoveries in Light and Color Newton also studied light. He found that white light is not just one color — it is made of many colors. He used a glass prism to split sunlight into a rainbow. This helped scientists understand how colors work. ⸻ Inventions and New Ideas Newton made a special telescope that used mirrors instead of lenses. This type of telescope made images of planets and stars much clearer. It is still called the Newtonian telescope today. He also worked in mathematics and helped create a new type of math called calculus, which is used to study changes and movement. ⸻ Strange Experiments Newton was so curious that he sometimes tested ideas on himself. Once, he put a thin needle, called a bodkin, beside his eye to see how it would change his vision. It was very dangerous, but luckily he did not go blind. 💡 Did you know? Newton also studied alchemy — an old kind of science where people tried to turn metal into gold. He never succeeded, but it showed how wide his interests were. ⸻ Later Life and Work At the age of 27, Newton became a professor at Cambridge University. He later worked for the Royal Mint, making sure coins were made safely and stopping people from making fake money. He was very strict, and some criminals were sent to prison because of his work. Newton never married. He spent most of his life reading, writing, and doing experiments. ⸻ The End of His Life Isaac Newton died in 1727 at the age of 84. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, a famous place in London where great people of Britain are honored. His work changed the world forever. Even today, scientists, engineers, and students still use Newton’s laws and ideas. 💬 Newton once said: “If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” This means we can make new discoveries by learning from the work of others who came before us. give 10 questions to each passage with PISA literacy standard for kid 10 years, 1. Nikola Tesla: The Man Who Dreamed of Lightning Born: July 10, 1856 Died: January 7, 1943 When Nikola Tesla was a boy in Croatia, he saw a flash of lightning and asked his mother, “Can we catch the light?” That question never left him. As he grew older, Tesla became a brilliant inventor, especially fascinated by electricity. He believed in a future where energy could be sent wirelessly through the air—like music through the radio! Tesla invented the alternating current (AC) system, which became the foundation of modern electricity. At the time, Thomas Edison promoted direct current (DC), and the two men had a fierce competition. Many laughed at Tesla's bold ideas, but he never gave up. He dreamed of wireless communication, flying machines, and even free energy for everyone. Though he died alone and poor, today the world honors his vision. Think About It: Why do you think people didn’t believe Tesla at first? What can we learn from Tesla’s courage to dream big? 2. Charles Darwin: The Man Who Studied the World’s Weirdest Creatures Born: February 12, 1809 Died: April 19, 1882 When young Charles Darwin got on a ship called HMS Beagle, he didn’t know he would change science forever. He sailed around the world for five years, collecting plants, animals, and fossils. On the Galápagos Islands, he noticed something curious: finches had different beaks depending on their island. Why? Darwin’s observations led him to write the theory of evolution by natural selection. It explained how animals adapt and survive. But his ideas shocked many people because they seemed to challenge religious beliefs. Despite the controversy, Darwin continued his work. His book On the Origin of Species changed how we see life on Earth. Think About It: Should scientists share their ideas even if they go against what others believe? How did traveling help Darwin make new discoveries? 3. Marie Curie: The Woman Who Glowed in the Dark Born: November 7, 1867 Died: July 4, 1934 Marie Curie was born in Poland at a time when girls were not allowed to study science. But that didn’t stop her. She moved to France, worked day and night, and discovered radioactivity, a powerful energy hidden inside atoms. She and her husband, Pierre Curie, found two new elements: polonium and radium. She became the first woman to win a Nobel Prize, and the only person to win in two different sciences: physics and chemistry. Even when Pierre died in an accident, Marie continued their work. Her discoveries helped doctors treat cancer—but working with radioactive materials also harmed her health. She died from radiation exposure, but her legacy lives on. Think About It: What challenges did Marie Curie face as a woman in science? Why is it important to balance discovery with safety? 4. Galileo Galilei: The Star Watcher Who Defied the Church Born: February 15, 1564 Died: January 8, 1642 Galileo loved looking at the stars. He built one of the first powerful telescopes and made stunning discoveries: mountains on the Moon, moons around Jupiter, and that the Earth orbits the Sun—not the other way around. This idea, called heliocentrism, went against the teachings of the Church. He was put on trial and forced to say he was wrong. But he wasn’t. He spent his last years under house arrest, quietly writing. Today, Galileo is called the father of modern science for daring to question what others blindly believed. Think About It: Why do you think Galileo was punished for telling the truth? Should science always follow evidence, even if it goes against powerful beliefs? 5. Isaac Newton: The Man Who Asked “Why?” When an Apple Fell Born: January 4, 1643 Died: March 31, 1727 One day, an apple fell from a tree, and Isaac Newton began to wonder: Why did it fall down, not sideways or up? This simple question led to his theory of gravity. Newton also invented calculus, described the laws of motion, and changed physics forever. But Newton wasn’t just a genius—he was curious, quiet, and often worked alone. He believed everything in nature followed rules, and it was our job to discover them. Thanks to him, we understand how planets move, how rockets launch, and why you fall when you trip. Think About It: How did Newton’s curiosity lead to great discoveries? Do you think working alone helped or hurt Newton? 6. Ada Lovelace: The First Computer Programmer Before Computers Existed Born: December 10, 1815 Died: November 27, 1852 Ada Lovelace was the daughter of the famous poet Lord Byron, but she didn’t love poetry—she loved numbers! At a time when girls were expected to sew, Ada studied mathematics. She met Charles Babbage, who designed an early computer called the Analytical Engine. Ada imagined the machine could do more than just math—it could create music, art, and even write! She wrote what is now considered the first computer program, long before real computers were built. Think About It: How did Ada imagine something that didn’t exist yet? Why do we call her a pioneer in technology? 7. Albert Einstein: The Man Who Brought Time and Space Together Born: March 14, 1879 Died: April 18, 1955 Albert Einstein wasn’t always a good student. In fact, his teachers thought he was slow. But Einstein thought deeply. He asked big questions like, “What if you could ride a beam of light?” His theories of relativity changed how we see space, time, and gravity. He also warned the world about the dangers of nuclear weapons, even though his ideas helped create them. Einstein believed science should help people, not harm them. With his messy hair, kind smile, and brilliant mind, he remains a symbol of genius. Think About It: Can someone be bad in school but still be brilliant? Should scientists be responsible for how their inventions are used? 8. Pythagoras: The Musician Who Loved Math Born: Around 570 BC Died: Around 495 BC Long ago in ancient Greece, Pythagoras believed the universe followed numbers. He discovered the Pythagorean Theorem, a rule about triangles that helps us build houses, design computers, and navigate space. He also believed that music had math inside it—that certain notes made perfect harmony because of mathematical ratios. Pythagoras started a secret school and taught his students to search for truth through numbers, shapes, and sound. Think About It: Why do you think Pythagoras saw math in everything? How does music relate to math? 9. Rosalind Franklin: The Woman Behind the DNA Discovery Born: July 25, 1920 Died: April 16, 1958 Rosalind Franklin loved looking closely at things. She used a special machine called X-ray crystallography to photograph molecules. One of her greatest photos, called Photo 51, showed the shape of DNA, the molecule that carries life’s instructions. But her work was taken without credit. Two men, Watson and Crick, used her photo to build their famous model of DNA and won the Nobel Prize. Rosalind died young and never knew how important her work became. Think About It: Why is it important to give credit in science? What can we learn from Rosalind’s quiet strength? 10. Carl Linnaeus: The Man Who Gave Names to Everything Born: May 23, 1707 Died: January 10, 1778 Have you ever wondered why a tiger is called Panthera tigris? That’s thanks to Carl Linnaeus, a Swedish scientist who created a way to name and organize every living thing. His system is still used today in biology. Linnaeus loved nature and spent his life collecting plants, animals, and even rocks. He believed that by organizing life, we could better understand it. Thanks to him, we now have a global “dictionary of nature.” Think About It: Why is it important to name and organize living things? How does order help us understand the world?

Flying Kites The Hoppers pressed their noses against the window. They watched the March wind blow outside. "Remember, do not leave the house while we are gone," said Mother Hopper. She and Papa Hopper were going shopping. Snubby Nose cried, "Can we sit on the doorstep?" "Do not set one paw outside," Mother Hopper said. She and Papa Hopper left for town. The Hoppers swept the floor, made their beds, and made lunch. All the while, Snubby Nose said, "I want to fly my kite. Let's fly our kites!" After lunch, the Hoppers took out their kites, just to look at them. They sat by the window. The March wind blew around the house. "Let's just fly our kites in the yard," said Snubby Nose. "Mother said we must not leave the house," said Fluffy Tail. The March wind blew some leaves against the window. Snubby Nose couldn't stand it anymore. Hе stepped outside with his kite, and the other Hoppers followed. Fluffy Tail was the last one out. They ran around the house with their kites. But soon they got tired of their yard. "We can go down the path," said Snubby Nose. The Hoppers flew their kites down the path into the woods. Floppy Ears cried, “Oh, no! I let go of my string!" Her kite sailed away. Then Speedy Legs cried, "A branch tore my kite!" "We should have listened to Mother," said Fluffy Tail. Just then, Snubby Nose howled, "My kite is caught in a tree!" Just then, Grandpa Grizzly walked by. "What's all this crying?" he asked. "We are in trouble," said Snubby Nose. "My kite is caught in a tree!" Grandpa Grizzly winked. He climbed the tall tree and pulled the string from the branches. He brought it down and gave it to Snubby Nose. "Be careful, now," he said. "That kite might do strange things. You should always be good when you play by yourselves." Snubby Nose took hold of his kite string, and the kite sailed up and up. Then Snubby Nose went up and up with it. Soon he flew out of sight. Speedy Legs, Fluffy Tail, and Floppy Ears nearly burst into tears. But Grandpa Grizzly led them home. "I have a feeling you'll see Snubby Nose soon," he said. When they got home, Floppy Ears looked into the sky. "I see a speck!" she cried. "Is it Snubby Nose?" cried Speedy Legs. It was Snubby Nose, still holding the kite string. He came down and landed right on the doorstep. "Have you learned to listen to your mother?" Grandpa Grizzly asked. "Yes, we have," said the Hoppers. Just then, Mother and Papa Hopper came around the corner. Before Grandpa Grizzly went home, he gave each little Hopper a brand new kite!

Broken windows are covered. Floorboards are patched and doors screwed back on. The road that was ruined by German tanks is shovelled and raked smooth. Boot-shaped bruises turn yellow then fade and disappear. Flowers grow and spread across the ugly German footprints stomped into garden beds. The village looks pretty once more. School stops for the summer and everyone is put to work on the kolkhoz, the village farm. Women and big boys begin harvesting the barley crops in the outer fields. The biggest girls milk the cows, morning and night, and keep the barns clean. Old Nikolay mends ploughs, horse harnesses, pitchforks and scythes in his workshop. Anna Pushinka teaches Yelena and her friends how to get the honey from the beehives that are scattered through the orchards. I am in charge of collecting eggs. My friends Olga and Nina help. Olga and Nina are five, a year younger than me. They are twins and look exactly alike, except Nina’s nose is a little bit crooked from when she fell out of bed and squashed it sideways on the floor. The hens, ducks and geese wander free in the summer, so collecting eggs is like a treasure hunt and takes hours. Catching the hens for their daily hugs takes even longer, but I think it’s important because hugs make everyone happy and happy hens lay bigger eggs. Olga says I’m the best hen-hugger in all of Russia. Nina says I’ll be the best cow-hugger, too, when my arms grow longer. But good hugs have nothing to do with the size of your arms. It’s all to do with the size of your heart. When we are done with the hens, Olga, Nina and I can spend the rest of the day doing whatever we like. We climb the apricot trees, chase squirrels, lie in the meadow marvelling at how hot Ushanka’s black fur becomes in the sunshine, make daisy chains and race little boats of bark in the stream. I teach Olga and Nina the alphabet and we use charcoal to write our letters and our names all over the village – on doors and walls and the freshly cut ends of firewood. In between, I practise my knots. In case the German princemonsters return. I slip into Old Nikolay’s workshop and tie knots in the harnesses hanging on the walls. I wander into gardens where the washing is hung out to dry and tie knots in the laces on pants and smocks. I creep up behind Anna Pushinka and tie knots in her apron strings. I find baling twine in the hay shed and tie my own ankles together. I do such a good job of these last knots that I can’t get them undone. I have to jump all the way to Olga and Nina’s house and ask them to cut me free with their mama’s knife. At the end of each day, Ushanka and I run out into the distant barley fields to meet Mama. This is my favourite part of the day, because Mama always shouts, ‘Little Rabbit!’ and smothers my head with kisses. And as we walk home, we sing. Everyone – women, big boys and me. I love to sing. Almost as much as I love to be kissed by Mama. Sometimes one of the boys, Mikhail, has his balalaika with him. He takes the instrument out from beneath the sheaves of barley piled high on the wagon and plays music. We sing about forests and orchards and people who find their true love. As we walk home, arm in arm, my heart fills with happiness and my belly swells with pride that I am allowed to sing along with the big boys. And I can almost forget about the German prince-monsters and their lies about Russia and their big ugly boots. Almost. But today, when Mikhail reaches for his balalaika, I see other things hiding beneath the barley sheaves. Three of the mamas rush forward and cover them up, but it’s too late. I know they are there. I’ve already seen them. Rifles. Lots of rifles. Mikhail hugs his balalaika to his chest and blushes. ‘So play!’ cries Mama, her voice oddly loud and high. ‘Let’s play Sasha’s favourite song, “The Little Birch Tree”.’ So Mikhail plays and everyone sings about the lovely birch tree with its curly leaves and the branches that will be turned into silver flutes. They sing too quickly, too loudly, and as they sing and walk, they cast nervous sideways glances at me. ‘It’s alright,’ I say, when the song comes to an end. ‘I didn’t see the rifles.’ Mama nods and smiles, and I know it was the right thing to say. But I did see the rifles. And I think about Yelena wanting to get lots of guns and dynamite for the Partisans so they can shoot the Germans and blow them into thousands of tiny pieces, and Mama looking as though she agreed, and I know this is what the mamas and the big boys are doing. As well as harvesting, they are helping the Partisans. Three days later, I wake before dawn and I am all alone. Yelena is always here beside me when I wake. But not this morning. I climb down from our bed above the stove. Mama is filling a cloth sack with bread. She ties it closed with a piece of string and hands it to Yelena. ‘Stay out of sight,’ says Mama. ‘And don’t return until after dark.’ ‘Where’s she going?’ I ask. ‘Nowhere,’ snaps Mama. ‘Then why does she need all that bread?’ I ask. ‘There’s nothing left for us.’ Mama baked four loaves last night and she has stuffed them all into the sack. Yelena opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Mama shoves her out the door and sends her on the way to nowhere. Mama turns and stares at me, her blue, blue cornflower eyes wide with worry. ‘I know,’ I say, flopping down on the bench. ‘I didn’t see any bread.’ Mama sits beside me and takes my hand. ‘And . . .?’ she prods, obviously waiting for more. I puzzle for a while, then say, ‘And I don’t have a sister called Yelena.’ Mama laughs, softly and with a little bit of sadness around the edges. ‘Sweet Little Rabbit! You do have a sister called Yelena.’ ‘I do?’ I ask, now confused. ‘I haven’t seen the rifles or the bread, but I have seen Yelena?’ ‘Yes.’ Mama smiles and the magic makes me smile, too. And I am glad that Yelena is real because I love her very much. ‘Yelena is real,’ Mama explains, ‘but she does not carry sacks of bread into the forest for the Partisans.’ ‘Of course not!’ I shout, slapping my forehead. ‘Because there is no bread!’ Mama laughs loudly now, with not a hint of sadness. She hugs me, pressing me against her warm, loving heart, covering my head with kisses. ‘Clever Little Rabbit,’ she murmurs, and then, in barely a whisper, ‘Your papa would be so proud.’ When I wake the next morning, Yelena is sleeping beside me, her mouth open, her braided hair unravelling. Mama is serving kasha to a strange woman seated at our table. I crawl down from above the stove and slide along the bench beside her. I stare at her pants, her tunic, the rope she is using as a belt and her big boots. She’s dressed like a man! And there’s a rifle leaning against the wall near the door. ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I’m Sasha.’ The woman doesn’t reply. She just shovels down her kasha. I line my four wooden bears along the table in front of her bowl and say, ‘These are my bears: Big Bear, Medium Bear, Little Bear and Even Littler Bear.’ ‘Hello, Sasha. Hello, bears.’ She smiles but she doesn’t tell me her name. ‘Why are you dressed like a man?’ I ask, tugging at the sleeve of her tunic. ‘Because men’s clothes make it easier to run and climb and crawl and shoot,’ she says. ‘You’re a Partisan!’ I gasp. ‘But she’s not real,’ says Mama, placing a bowl of kasha before me. ‘Is the kasha real?’ I ask. Mama laughs. ‘Yes, Little Rabbit.’ I’m glad the food is real, because I’m hungry. But I’m disappointed that the woman is not real. I was going to ask if I could use her rope-belt to tie her ankles together. For practice. But if she’s not real, then the rope and her ankles aren’t either. The woman finishes her kasha, hangs her rifle over her shoulder, kisses Mama on the cheek then slips out the door. I run to the window to watch her leave, but by the time I get there, she’s gone. Vanished. ‘Because she’s not real,’ I whisper. A week later, Mama and I are working in the garden. We sing as we weed between the flowers and pluck caterpillars from the vegetables. Anna Pushinka is picking strawberries in her garden and wanders over. ‘Taste these,’ she says, holding out the basket. Mama reaches in and takes out a fat strawberry and a tiny piece of folded paper. The strawberry goes into her mouth, the paper into her pocket. ‘What’s on the paper?’ I ask. ‘Paper?’ Anna Pushinka replies with a wave of her hand. ‘Goodness, Sasha! Who has money for paper? These are lean times. We must choose between paper for writing and noodles for our soup. And I always choose noodles.’ She chuckles and I know the paper is yet another thing that is not real. That night, Mama slips the paper to Yelena, but she drops it on the floor. I pick it up for her, and I see that there are tiny words and numbers written all over it. I wish I could read better. I’m desperate to know what it says. Or rather, what it doesn’t say, because it’s not real. Later, when Mama has tucked us into our bed above the stove and Ushanka has wrapped herself around the top of my head, I ask Yelena, ‘What’s on the paper?’ ‘What paper?’ says Yelena. ‘The paper that isn’t real,’ I reply. Yelena stares at me, nibbling her lip, then whispers, ‘A message for the Partisans. Stuff about where the Germans have their headquarters and when their trains are travelling and where they store their ammunition.’ ‘Why?’ ‘So the Partisans can blow them up.’ Yelena grabs my arm. ‘But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.’ ‘What’s a secret?’ I ask. ‘The message.’ ‘What message?’ I say, my eyes wide. Yelena laughs. ‘Good boy, Sasha.’ My belly swells with pride. I know how to play this game. ‘How are your knots coming along?’ asks Yelena. ‘Good! Yesterday, I crept into the dairy and tied knots in the apron strings of all the girls who were milking and only one of them noticed. Today, I tied Olga’s ankles together with Mama’s embroidery thread and just now, while you were taking a bath, I tied the sleeves of your blouse together in an enormous knot.’ Yelena rolls her eyes, then says, ‘I’ll see if I can find you some rope for practising.’ ‘Practising what?’ I ask. ‘Your knots,’ she says. ‘What knots?’ Yelena, my big sister who is twelve and always serious t

A BAD CASE OF THE STRIPES By David Shannon Parts(18): Camilla Narrator 1 Narrator 2 Narrator 3 Narrator 4 Mr. Harms Mother Father Dr. Bumble Old Woman Environmental Therapist Dr. Grop Dr. Gourd Dr. Sponge Mr. Mellon Dr. Cricket Dr. Young <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> Narrator 1: A BAD CASE OF THE STRIPES By David Shannon Narrator 2: Camilla Cream loved lima beans. But she never ate them. Narrator 3: All of her friends hated lima beans, and she wanted to fit in. Camilla always worried about what other people thought of her. Narrator 4: Today she was fretting even more than usual. It was the very first day of school, and she couldn't decide what to wear. There were so many people to impress! Narrator 1: She tried on forty-two outfits, but none seemed quite right. She put on a pretty red dress and looked in the mirror. Then she screamed. Narrator 2: Her mother ran into the room, and she screamed, too. Mother: "Oh my heavens! You're completely covered with stripes!" Narrator 3: she cried. This was certainly true. Camilla was striped from head to toe. She looked like a rainbow. Narrator 4: Mrs. Cream felt Camilla's forehead. Mother: "Do you feel all right?" Narrator 1: she asked. Camilla: "I feel fine, but just look at me!" Narrator 2: Camilla answered. Mother: "You get back in bed this instant. You're not going to school today." Narrator 3: her mother ordered. Camilla was relieved. She didn't want to miss the first day of school, but she was afraid of what the other kids would say. And she had no idea what to wear with those crazy stripes. Narrator 4: That afternoon, Dr. Bumble came to examine Camilla. Dr. Bumble: "Most extraordinary! I've never seen anything like it! Are you having any coughing, sneezing, runny nose, aches, pains, chills, hot flashes, dizziness, drowsiness, shortness of breath, or uncontrollable twitching?" Narrator 1: he asked. Camilla: "No, I feel fine." Narrator 2: Camilla told him. Dr. Bumble: "Well then, I don't see any reason why she shouldn't go to school tomorrow. Here's some ointment that should help clear up those stripes in a few days. If it doesn't, you know where to reach me." Narrator 3: Dr. Bumble said, turning to Mrs. Cream. And off he went. Narrator 4: The next day was a disaster. Everyone at school laughed at Camilla. They called her "Camilla Crayon" and "Night of the Living Lollipop." Narrator 1: She tried her best to act as if everything were normal, but when the class said the Pledge of Allegiance, her stripes turned red, white, and blue, and she broke out in stars! Narrator 2: The other kids thought this was great. One yelled out, Narrator 3: "Let's see some purple polka dots!" Narrator 4: Sure enough, Camilla turned all purple polka-dotty. Someone else shouted, Narrator 1: "Checkerboard!" Narrator 4: and a pattern of squares covered her skin. Soon everyone was calling out different shapes and colors, and poor Camilla was changing faster than you can change channels on a T.V. Narrator 2: That night, Mr. Harms, the school principal, called. Mr. Harms: "I'm sorry, Mrs. Cream, I'm going to have to ask you to keep Camilla home from school. She's just too much of a distraction, and I've been getting phone calls from the other parents. They're afraid those stripes may be contagious." Narrator 3: he said. Camilla was so embarrassed. She couldn't believe that two days ago everyone liked her. Now, nobody wanted to be in the same room with her. Narrator 1: Her father tried to make her feel better. Father: "Is there anything I can get you, sweetheart?" Narrator 2: he asked. Camilla: "No, thank you," Narrator 3: sighed Camilla. What she really wanted was a nice plate of lima beans, but she had been laughed at enough for one day. Dr. Bumble: "Hmm, well, yes, I see. I think I'd better bring in the Specialists. We'll be right over.” Narrator 4: said Dr. Bumble to Mr. Cream on the phone. About an hour later, Dr. Bumble arrived with four people in long white coats. He introduced them to the Creams. Dr. Bumble: "This is Dr. Grop, Dr. Sponge, Dr. Cricket, and Dr. Young." Narrator 1: Then the Specialists went to work on Camilla. They squeezed and jabbed, tapped and tested. It was very uncomfortable. Dr. Grop: "Well, it's not the mumps." Dr. Sponge: "Or the measles." Dr. Cricket:"Definitely not chicken pox." Dr. Young: "Or sunburn." Narrator 2: replied the Specialists. Specialists:"Try these. Take one of each before bed." Narrator 4: said the specialists. They each handed her a bottle filled with different colored pills. Then they filed out the front door followed by Dr. Bumble. Narrator 1: That night, Camilla took her medicine. It was awful. Narrator 2: When she woke up the next morning, she did feel different, but when she got dressed, her clothes didn't fit right. She looked in the mirror, and there, staring back at her, was a giant, multi-colored pill with a face on it. Narrator 3: Dr. Bumble rushed over as soon as Mrs. Cream called. But this time, instead of the Specialists, he brought the Experts. Narrator 4: Dr. Gourd and Mr. Mellon were the finest scientific minds in the land. Once again, Camilla was poked and prodded, looked at and listened to. Narrator 1: The Experts wrote down lots of numbers. Then they huddled together and whispered. Dr. Gourd finally spoke. Dr. Gourd: "It might be a virus," Narrator 2: he announced with authority. Suddenly, fuzzy little virus balls appeared all over Camilla. Mr. Mellon: "Or possibly some form of bacteria," Narrator 3: said Mr. Mellon. Out popped squiggly little bacteria tails. Dr. Gourd: "Or it could be a fungus," Narrator 4: added Dr. Gourd. Instantly, Camilla was covered with different colored fungus blotches. The experts looked at Camilla, then each other. Experts: "We need to go over these numbers again back at the lab. We’ll call you when we know something," Narrator 1: said the Experts. But the Experts didn't have a clue, much less a cure. Narrator 2: By now, the T.V. news had found out about Camilla. Reporters from every channel were outside her house, telling the story of "The Bizarre Case of the Incredible Changing Kid." Narrator 3: Soon a huge crowd was camped out on the front lawn. Narrator 4: The Creams were swamped with all kinds of remedies from psychologists, allergists, herbalists, nutritionists, psychics, an old medicine man, a guru, and even a veterinarian. Narrator 1: Each so-called cure only added to poor Camilla's strange appearance until it was hard to even recognize her. She sprouted roots and berries and crystals and feathers and a long furry tail. But nothing worked. Narrator 2: One day, a woman who called herself an Environmental Therapist claimed she could cure Camilla. She said, Environmental Therapist: "Close your eyes, breathe deeply, and become one with your room." Camilla: "I wish you hadn't said that," Narrator 3: Camilla groaned. Slowly, she started to melt into the walls of her room. Her bed became her mouth, her nose was a dresser, and two paintings were her eyes. The therapist screamed and ran from the house. Mother: "What are we going to do? It just keeps getting worse and worse!" Narrator 4: cried Mrs. Cream. She began to sob. Narrator 1: At that moment, Mr. Cream heard a quiet little knock at the front door. He opened it, and there stood an old woman who was just as plump and sweet as a strawberry. Old Woman: "Excuse me, but I think I can help." Narrator 2: she said brightly. Narrator 3: She went into Camilla's room and looked around. Old Woman: "My goodness, what we have here is a bad case of the stripes. One of the worst I've ever seen!" Narrator 4: she said with a shake of her head. She pulled a container of small green beans from her bag. She said, Old Woman: "Here. These might do the trick." Mother: "Are those magic beans?" Narrator 1: asked Mrs. Cream. The old woman replied, Old Woman: "Oh my, no, there's no such thing. These are just plain old lima beans. I'll bet you'd like some, wouldn't you?" Narrator 2: she asked Camilla. Camilla wanted a big, heaping plateful of lima beans more than just about anything, but she was still afraid to admit it. She said, Camilla: "Yuck! No one likes lima beans, especially me!" Old Woman: "Oh, dear, I guess I was wrong about you." Narrator 3: said the old woman sadly. She put the beans back in her bag and started toward the door. Narrator 4: Camilla watched the old woman walk away. Those beans would taste so good. And being laughed at for eating them was nothing, compared to what she'd been going through. She finally couldn't stand it. Camilla: "Wait! The truth is...I really love lima beans." Narrator 1: she cried. The old woman smiled, popping a handful of beans into Camilla's mouth, and said, Old Woman: "I thought so." Camilla: "Mmmmmmm," Narrator 2: said Camilla. Suddenly the branches, feathers, and squiggly tails began to disappear.Then the whole room swirled around. When it stopped, there stood Camilla, and everything was back to normal. Camilla: "I'm cured!" Narrator 3: she shouted. The old woman said, Old Woman: "Yes, I knew the real you was in there somewhere." Narrator 4: She patted Camilla on the head and went outside and vanished into the crowd. Narrator 1: Afterward, Camilla wasn't quite the same. Narrator 2: Some of the kids at school said she was weird, but she didn't care a bit. Narrator 3: She ate all the lima beans she wanted, and she never had even a touch of stripes again.

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

Yaama I'm Jack Evans and you're watching BTN. Here's what's coming up. We uncover the story behind this famous photo, learn about First Nations seasons and find out the history of Book Week. What is Statehood? Reporter: Tatenda Chibika INTRO: But first, the Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has announced that Australia will join other countries in recognising Palestine as an independent state. So, what does that mean? Tatenda found out. Anthony Albanese, Prime Minister: Australia will recognise the state of Palestine. Australia will recognise the right of the Palestinian people to a state of their own. We will work with the international community to make this right a reality. Tatenda Chibika, Reporter: That's the moment our Prime Minister said Australia would recognise Palestine as an independent state at the upcoming United Nations General assembly next month. It's something other countries, including France and Canada, have said they'll be doing too. So, what does that mean exactly? To be considered an independent state under international law a place needs to have its own land or territories with defined borders, it needs to have people who permanently live there, have a working government and it has to be able to talk and make deals with other countries. Once a place meets all those rules, it can ask to be recognised by other independent states and countries. But a big step in becoming an independent state is being fully recognised by the United Nations. To do that you first need to get approval from at least nine members of the UN's Security Council. That's a group of countries responsible for maintaining international peace and security. But even then, that tick of approval can still be blocked by one of the Security Council's five permanent members Russia, China, the UK, the US and France. If the Security Council approves, the decision then goes to the UN's General Assembly where at least two thirds of the UN's 193 members have to agree to make it official. Yeah, it's a pretty complex process which is why we've only seen a handful of countries recognised by the UN in recent years like South Sudan and Montenegro. Others like Kosovo are only 'partially' recognised which means they have some recognition but not enough to become a full member state at the UN. Right now, Palestine is recognised by more than 140 countries — that's more than two thirds of the UN General Assembly. So, why hasn't it become a UN member state yet? Well, it came pretty close last year when 12 members of the Security Council voted in favour of it. VANESSA FRAZIER, AMBASSADOR OF MALTA, APRIL 2024 UNSC PRESIDENT: I shall now put the draft resolution to the vote. But the US, a close ally to Israel, used its special powers to block Palestine from becoming a member state. VANESSA FRAZIER: Those against? At the time, the U.S said Palestine and Israel needed to come to an agreement on their own first. Throughout the years, there have been attempts to figure out a way for both Palestine and Israel to exist peacefully alongside each other but that hasn't happened yet. And now Israel has said that recognising Palestine as an independent state would be rewarding Hamas the group in charge of Gaza which was responsible for the terror attacks on October 7th, 2023. But the Palestinian Authority which governs parts of the West Bank says Hamas won't have a role in any future state of Palestine which will exist peacefully alongside Israel. Australia, like the US, had previously said that it wanted Israel and Palestine to figure out things by themselves first but because of how the war has been going the Australian government is worried that if it continues to wait, there might not be a Palestinian state to recognise. ANTHONY ALBANESE, PRIME MINISTER: There has been too many lives lost, both Israeli's and Palestinians and the world is saying we need a solution to this conflict, we need to end the cycle of violence and the way to do that is to have a two-state solution. News Quiz Russia's President Vladimir Putin stepped foot on American Soil for the first time in a decade to meet with US President Donald Trump. What state did they meet in? Alabama, Alaska or Arizona?It's Alaska. The two leaders met to discuss a way to end the war in Ukraine but weren't able to make any final agreements. DONALD TRUMP, US PRESIDENT: There were many, many points that we agreed on. Most of them, I would say, a couple of big ones, that we haven't quite got there, but we've made some headway. There's no deal until there's a deal. A lot of people criticised the two world leaders for not including Ukraine's president Volodymyr Zelenskyy in the meeting. But that didn't seem to worry Mr Trump who said the meeting was a success and Mr Putin even invited the US President to meet up again in Russia. DONALD TRUMP: We'll see you again very soon. Thank you very much, Vladimir. VLADIMIR PUTIN, RUSSIAN PRESIDENT: Next time in Moscow. DONALD TRUMP: Oh, that's an interesting one. No, no, no. I'll get a little heat on that one. Last week thousands of people marked the 80th anniversary of VJ Day. What does VJ Day commemorate? The victory of Allied forces in Europe, the surrender of Japan and the end of World War II or the dropping of the first atomic bomb? VJ Day or Victory over Japan day commemorates the surrender of Japan and the end of World War II on the 15th of August 1945. Around the world, and here in Australia, people marked the anniversary with ceremonies remembering those who fought in the war. REPORTER: Who will you be remembering today? VETERAN: Oh, a lot of fellows that I knew that never made it home. Scientists in the UK have created toothpaste that includes which of these ingredients? Hair, eye lashes or fingernails? Yeah, they're all a bit random and gross but the answer is hair. According to scientists from King's College in London, hair could be the key to good oral health because it contains a protein called Keratin which they say when mixed with saliva forms a crystal-like protective coating similar to enamel. And Swifties rejoice because Taylor Swift has announced her 12th Studio album. It's called life of a show what? Is it show pony, show girl or show bag? It's Life of a Showgirl and it'll be released October 3rd. Vincent Lingiari Reporter: Joseph Baronio INTRO: Now to this very famous photograph. It was taken 50 years ago and depicts a really significant moment in Australian history. Joe found out about the story behind it. On the 16th of August 1975, this famous photo was taken. It shows the former Prime Minister Gough Whitlam pouring sand into the hand of Aboriginal leader Vincent Lingiari. A simple gesture that symbolised handing the land at Wave Hill in the Northern Territory back to the Gurindji people. But the journey to get there was far from simple. It started back in the 1960s. At the time, Wave Hill was the biggest cattle station in the world, controlled by British landowner Lord Vestey. The Gurindji people, who had lived on the land for generations, worked for Vestey, but they weren't paid fairly, and conditions were tough. NEWS REPORTER: The station's 100 aboriginal stockmen, with their 100 dependents, are camped in the dry bed of the Victoria River with little shade from 90-degree heat, dust and flies. Eventually, Gurindji leader Vincent Lingiari said it was time to act. VINCENT LINGIARI: I said, "What was it before Lord Vestey born and I was born?" It was blackfella country. So, on August 23rd, 1966, Mr Lingiari and his fellow Aboriginal workers went on strike. It became known as the Wave Hill Walk Off. They moved their camp away from the Wave Hill station to a sacred site called Daguragu on Wattie Creek. They wanted to set up their own cattle station, and said they wouldn't move until their land was returned to them. For years, petitions and negotiations went on between the Gurindji people, the NT Administration, and the Australian Government in Canberra. CLAPPERS: 31. 32. 33. DAVID QUINN, ABSCOL: Well, it's basic justice that their land is recognised. PROTESTORS: Equal rights! As the news spread across the country, thousands of Aussies joined the campaign, including the leader of the Labor Party, Gough Whitlam, who made this promise during his 1972 election campaign. GOUGH WHITLAM: We will legislate to give Aborigines land rights. Not just because their case is beyond argument, but because all of us as Australians are diminished, while the Aborigines are denied their rightful place in this nation. Later that year, Gough Whitlam became Prime Minister. (Song From Little Things Big Things Grow, Song by Kev Carmody and Paul Kelly, 1993) From little things big things grow,from little things big things grow… But it wasn't until 1975, 9 years after the Wave Hill Walk Off started, that he followed through with his promise. Eight years went by, eight long years of waiting'Til one day a tall stranger appeared in the landAnd he came with lawyers and he came with great ceremony GOUGH WHITLAM: I solemnly hand to you these deeds as proof in Australian law that these lands belong to the Gurindji people. And through Vincent's fingers poured a handful of sandFrom little things big things grow 50 years on, and The Wave Hill Walk Off is seen as a pivotal moment in Australia's history. It led to significant legal and social changes for First Nations people, which is something many agree is worth celebrating. First Nations Seasons Reporter: Saskia Mortarotti INTRO: Recently, Melbourne's Lord Mayor suggested ditching the four-season calendar that most of us are familiar with and adopting a six-season Wurundjeri calendar instead saying it gives a better description of what the weather's actually like there. Sas found out more about the different seasonal calendars used by First Nations people. SASKIA MORTAROTTI, REPORTER: Right now, in most of the country, it's pretty cold. COLD GIRL: Think of somewhere warm. What? It's 32 degrees in Darwin in the middle of winter? But ah, yeah. There are some places where it's, well, quite warm. Which makes you wonder whether the weather actually matches the seasons. You see, Australia is pretty big, and we have lots of different weather patterns. Which is something First Nations people have tracked for thousands of years with their own seasonal calendars. KARL WINDA TELFER, CULTURAL CREATIVE KANYANYAPILLA: Why have we got four seasons when you know that don't make any sense here. It doesn't relate to the country here. This is Karl Telfer. He's an artist and storyteller who produced the Kuri Kurru exhibition at the Museum of Discovery in Adelaide that explores the 6 different seasons of the Kaurna Meyunna. SASKIA MORTAROTTI: So, how do you know when you're in one of those six seasons? KARL WINDA TELFER: Well, there are stars that rise. So, you know, there are certain stars, like in Parnatti, for example. There's a star called Parna, and we know what that star is. So, that talks to us about, okay, the time now is going to be cold on the ground. First Nations calendars like the Kaurna one don't just tell us what's happening with the weather; they're also used to track when certain plants and animals are around. KARL WINDA TELFER: It teaches you about what plants you can, you know, what you can eat what you can't and all that what is ready certain times a year and fruit everything, bird shows you the right time to eat the fruit, perfect time, if you try and go get them the next week they're gone. Karl says we can also use these calendars to see how the environment has changed over time. KARL WINDA TELFER: Kudlilla is the season we're in now and Kudlilla that talks about like the rain but we're not having enough rain these days, well, these times. And this is due to climate and the climate changing. There are many different First Nations seasonal calendars around the country. Like Ngan'gi calendar from the Northern Territory which has 13 seasons that follow the life cycle of the native spear grass. Or the Wurundjeri Calendar in Victoria which has 6 seasons. And recently, Melbourne's Lord Mayor, Nicholas Reece, said Melbourne, or Naarm, would be better off adopting the Wurundjeri calendar because it's more in tune to what's happening with the weather. Something many, including Karl, think we should be doing right across the country. KARL WINDA TELFER: I'm talking about the English four seasons. So, this is totally different systems that we're talking about and weather patterns and currents and all sorts of different things, because it's the sea country too. So, my question is, well, why do we have that? If that doesn't work, you know? Quiz How many seasons are there in the Tiwi Island Calendar? 1, 2 or 3? It's 3, although they also have 13 minor seasons. Book Week Reporter: Wren Gillett INTRO: This week, kids across Australia have been dressing up as their favourite characters to celebrate Book Week. Wren finds out why Book Week began 80 years ago and why it's still important today for getting young Aussies into reading. STUDENT: I read an hour every night, maybe even two hours some nights. STUDENT: My favourite book series are the Harry Potter series and the Keeper of the Lost City series. STUDENT: Probably Bad Guys and Weirdo. STUDENT: I like the Amulet, I've been reading that. STUDENT: I love reading Dork Diaries and Exploding Endings. Whether it's Fantasy, mystery, history — whatever you're into. Book week is a time to celebrate, well, books. STUDENT: Me and my friends are dressing up as Inside Out. STUDENT: I was thinking SpongeBob. STUDENT: I'm dressing up as Winnie the Pooh and it's just a fun way to express what kind of books you like. And guess what, book week has actually been a thing for many, many years. WREN GILLETT, REPORTER: Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, literacy lovers noticed a problem. The year was 1945. The second World War had just ended, and kids were mainly reading books from overseas, in particular the UK. Because, at the time, there weren't many Aussie authors writing books for children. WREN GILLETT: So, a group of passionate teachers, librarians, booksellers, publishers, and book-loving volunteers, decided to create what we now know as The Children's Book Council of Australia. Familiar logo, right? Together, they launched book week, all in an effort to get Aussie kids' reading more. And it seemed to work. The 1960s saw a boom in Australian children's books being published. REPORTER: How many books do you read a week? STUDENT: Well, it really depends on the week. If there's exams, I might read only one or two. But if there's no exams and if I've got plenty of time, I might read up to five or six. WREN GILLETT: But today, it's a slightly different story. Studies show that less than one in five eight to 18-year-olds are reading in their free time, and that only one in three actually enjoy reading for fun. WREN GILLETT: Why do you reckon we're seeing this trend? STUDENT: People are getting sucked into screens and they're like spending hours just scrolling through TikTok and stuff, and they're getting so attached to it that they don't feel the need to pick up books and read them. Yeah, there's a lot of different things competing for our attention these days, but many think books are still worth our time. PETER HELLIER, AUSSIE COMEDIAN AND AUTHOR: Books are the exact opposite of boring. And if you think they're boring, I'm sorry, but you're wrong. This is Peter Hellier, he's a pretty famous Aussie comedian, actor, and the author behind these books. And he's just released another one called Detective Galileo, about a trail horse who dreams of solving crimes. PETER HELLIER: He joins the police force and quickly finds out that the horses don't actually solve the crimes, it's the police officers who solve the crime. So he promptly gets thrown out of the force and begins his own detective agency, which I'm reliably told is the only detective agency in the world run by a horse. Peter actually started writing books when he was a kid. PETER HELLIER: I started writing when I was six, seven, eight years old. In fact, I started my own publishing company called Better Books. And I would write these books, and then I would get a parent or one of my parents or teachers to type them up. And I would read them in front of the class. And, you see, each has the logo, the Better Books logo, there it is — the famous Better Books logo. WREN GILLETT: You weren't mucking around. PETER HELLIER: There all on all of them. There we go. There we go. Many, Including Peter, say there's plenty to get from a good book. They help us learn new words and phrases, get a better understanding of the world around us, and strengthen our imaginations. PETER HELLIER: Books can take you absolutely anywhere. They can take you to countries that you never dreamed about going. Countries that exist, countries that don't exist. Reading just makes the world a much bigger place. It's why for the past 80 years, schools around the country have been taking part in book week. STUDENT: Reading is a place where you can have your own world just to yourself. STUDENT: It's like watching a movie inside your head, but you can choose how it goes. STUDENT: Picking up a book is a good idea, maybe you should start with something that you're interested with and then you can start exploring from there. Quiz What is the title of the book that took out this year's Book of the year Award for younger readers? It's Laughter is the Best Endingby Maryam Master. Some other winners included I'm not really here by Gary Loneborough which took out book of the year for older readers and best picture book went to The Truck Cat, by Deborah Frenkel. Sport Australia's men's national basketball team — the Boomers — have won their third Asia Cup in a row, with an epically narrow victory over China. COMMENTATOR: It is Australia who are celebrating! China started strong, leading 25-17 at quarter time. But Aussie Xavier Cooks led a fierce comeback, shooting 30 points and collecting nine rebounds, earning him the title of MVP. And there seriously couldn't have been a tighter finish. Just as the final buzzer went off, China missed a shot that would have won them the game, leaving Australia with a 90-89 victory. COMMENTATOR: An unbelievable finish. The 2025 AFLW season kicked off last week, and so did a new trick. Yeah, 19-year-old Ash Centra from Collingwood, pulled out this move in the warm-up before their season-opener to Carlton, and since then, a lot of people have been trying to do it, with some success, kind of? FOOTY PLAYER: No, I'm not doing it on camera. But despite the epic warmup, Carlton did end up beating Collingwood by 24 points. Now, the moves from these athletes in China weren't quite so graceful but give 'em a break, okay, they're robots. For the first time ever, humanoid robots from all over the world, competed in their very own games, which featured, soccer, boxing, running, and ahh, lots of falling over. Lots. Luckily though, they did bring their own cheer squad. Young Rapper Reporter: Rylie INTRO: Finally, we're going to meet another winner of this year's Heywire competition — which asks young people in regional areas to share their stories. Rylie's going to tell us how music helped to transform his life. Check it out. Mum and I were homeless. We lived at a caravan park, in motels and tents around Warrnambool. It wasn't pretty. I'm First Nations, and I remember feeling like, my own country is failing me right now. So, we camped right along here. I remember pitching a tent right here and this was actually around the same time I started to get into music which was a good way for me to have something to look forward to. I was raised by the SoundCloud era, listening to a lot of trap music. When I was in school, I'd rap along to songs by Juice World, then I started to make my own. My first track was recorded on my phone. It was bad but a lot of fun to make. Some kids in my school heard it and shamed me. That put me off music for the next couple of years, until a friend of mine bought a microphone and encouraged me to give it another go. There was something about that mic and the energy of the crew around me that gave me confidence. It lit a fire in me. Over time, I was able to focus my flow. My songs are about escapism, living the life, being a success. I rap about stuff that takes me to a better place in my head. I'm manifesting my future. My stage name is Hundo Milli, it's short for hundreds of millions. Money's not really the end goal; it's more about having the freedom to dream big. Mum taught me to never stop believing. Even when times were tough, she kept pushing for us to get housing and eventually we did. We're some of the lucky ones. Today, I'm in a Melbourne studio recording my next single. I remember living in my tent dreaming about this very moment and now I'm here, doing what I love. Ain't nothing going to stop me. Closer Well, that's all we've got for you today, but we'll be back before you know it. In the meantime, you can head to our website, there's plenty to see and do. You can also catch Newsbreak every weeknight and there's BTN High for all you highschoolers out there. Have an awesome week and I'll see you next time. Bye.

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