The topic for this task
was The Road. See below for some of the
responses.
Road by
Wendy
Squire
Flying over the battered coastline, sealed in tightly, we
cannot breathe the contaminated air. Look down.
That stretch of incinerated wasteland is where the city of
Brisbane used to stand. Directly below us flattened
debris, rubble of mountains and rainforests. Now scan
the scorched land from here to the horizon: nothing green, no
movement, no sign of life at all. Only in the distance
the shining body of a black, winding snake.
The Road by Ed McMahon
A tourist driving along a remote country road in Ireland
decided to seek directions from an elderly man walking towards
him.
"Excuse me, is this the road to Ballygooley?"
"Ballygooley? Yes it is n'all. It is
indeed the road."
With a terse thanks, the driver sped off only to return
half an hour later and catch up with the Irishman still
walking down the road.
"Look - I've driven for ten miles only to come to a
dead end. I thought you told me this is the road to
Ballygooley."
"Indeed son it is. Ye have but a mile to
go."
The Road to Camp by
Richard
Meyer
It was summer and I was going to a camp. I was excited but
frightened. Mum was going with me, but Dad was busy. I cried and wanted him to come too but the man with the black
spider on his arm pulled him away. There was standing room
only amongst these strangers and I held tightly onto Mum's leg. The train had slowed and I was excited that
we were nearly there. I relaxed and looked out to see
that the tracks went right into the camp. I strained to see the name on the arch. It was...
Treblinka.
The Road to Terrorism
by Richard Meyer
He wanted his own way and when He didn't get it, He killed the
children of the local inhabitants. Once He had got his own way, the example for using violence was set. He
also blew up two cities with some sort of weapon of mass
destruction because He didn't like the culture. The Egyptians saw Him as a murdering terrorist. The Jews saw Him
as God. To the occupying Germans, the French resistance were
terrorists. To the people of Afghanistan or Iraq, the Americans were
Terrorists. Perhaps terrorism is like beauty. It is in the eye
of the beholder.
Steep Road by
Robyn
Ashford-Martin
Blood pounded in Rebecca's head as she tramped up the steep
road. Her sweaty uniform clung to her steaming back and
her legs screamed as every muscle burned with pain. The
relentless tropical sun scorched her fair skin. She
struggled to breathe the humid air.
"Half-way there," she told herself, as her mind
conjured the image of the alluring turquoise jewel at the end
of her arduous journey. "Keep going," she
urged her leaden legs to continue until at last, she was
stripping off her clothes and pulling on her togs.
She plunged into the shady pool. It was
lukewarm.
Fairy Tales and Other Roads by
Beverley Asmus
Supposing Little Red Riding Hood took the short cut to
Grannie's house, she may have arrived in time to keep the wolf
from the door.
Supposing the three little pigs had pooled their resources,
the big bad wolf would have simply wasted his breath.
Supposing Cinderella had not lost her shoe in her midnight
dash down the road, she might never have married the Prince.
Supposing these tales were written like this, family unity
would be valued, beautiful but impoverished females would not
be given false hopes, and blow hard wolves would never get a
foot in the door.
Road Going Nowhere by
Beverley Asmus
The road map hangs
Tattered, shredded,
Fluttering in the wind
Of egocentric discourse
As battles rage,
Fuelled by hate, greed
And an overpowering need for identity,
In an ever shrinking world
Tormented mothers nurse and feed
The next platoon of sacrificial warriors,
Seeking nihilistic freedom from oppression,
Dying in their plastic blaze of glory.
As Lamenting families weep and grieve,
Humiliation breeds annihilation,
And peace becomes a lost ideal
Surrendered to this war machine
Thundering on a murderous path.
It views the fading waste
Of tender hopes, and fragile dreams,
Then grinds them all to dust.
The Road by Paul Asmus
Abduction or victim of something more sinister? These
were the thoughts of residents of Carmen Waters as another
attractive young mother went missing.
Exhausted Heather Carter was walking home from work on a
cold July night. Her feet ached and she was still a long
way from home. "Damn," she thought. "What
a miserable night for a breakdown!"
A weird noise came from behind. An unworldly shadow
formed against the mist. Icy hands grasped her
throat. A silent scream escaped her lips.
As the fog parted, all that remained was the lonely
road.
A Jakarta Road by Sandy
Green
We stood hopefully at the side of the road. Jalan
Parman, a main road carried a constant stream of speeding
traffic. The four clearly marked lanes were ignored by
all drivers. They could fit five vehicles abreast and
still allow a few centimetres for thousands of motorbikes to
wind in and out. Deafened by the constant courtesy
beeping and struggling to breathe amidst the suffocating
fumes, we stood in awe and fear. Would any of us make it
across alive?
Then Desy took a step forward, held up her hand and like
the parting of the waters, the flow stopped.
