I do not like it when people ask my name. If you have a name to give, then suggest it or do not ask that abhorrent question. I cannot have a name as according to humans, I do not have a soul or consciousness. I am nothing more than a music box and I play if you wish. So stop asking my name!
Now, onto introductions, I am Aryan’s life-long companion and I have helped him through his worst days. He didn’t like his friends so I played for him. When he visited his grandparents, I played for him. When he wishes, I pull out a tune and make him happy. Life was…wait, I am not living! Let me rephrase this sentence. My time with Aryan was wonderful.
Anyway, I was day dreaming when all of a sudden, a huge uproar took place. The lady and the man picked up my Aryan and took him somewhere. I was angry! How could they take him away without me, his music box! I do not like these people who Aryan calls “mom” and “dad.” They give me weird vibes.
A few days later, they pick me up and take me on a car ride to this hospital. The hospital looked so dull and bleak, with people looking like dead corpses and lifeless souls standing in line. They needed some music so I decided to play but then “mom” turned me off. See, this “mom” is not nice, I told you so.
They carried me and then placed me in a room on a white table top. Next to me was Aryan, but he looked different. He had some kind of a mask on him and he did not move. There was this woman who looked white and blue and her face was also covered by a mask.
After some time, it was only me and Aryan. I looked at his beautiful eyes, now still and colourless. His hands shrivelled and he was not the lively boy I once knew. With all his might, he started humming my tune and I played it to accompany his singing. It was very hoarse and weak, but it did not matter. I kept aiding him in his effort hoping he would come back.
“Mom” and “dad” were whispering and weeping softly. No one was happy and no amount of songs could ever make them joyful again. I tried playing but every time, they turned me off and ignored me. As the days went on, I did not have the energy to play. Life was bleak and no one wanted me anyway. I couldn’t even play for Aryan. What was the point if I could not make anyone happy?
I continued these repetitive thoughts in my head. I did not have much to do now that no one liked me. I do not remember how long I was on that table top, aimlessly wasting my time, sitting lifeless with no purpose.
Sometimes, I dreamed of me and Aryan, running through a playground, playing his favourite songs and him laughing and playing with his friends, but soon the remnant of life in him faded until it was no more and the lively hands and legs turned white like snow. He was dead at 2:03 a.m. and the doctor conveyed the message to “mom” and “dad.”
Dreary feet of people around me walked through the mud and sludge to reach a barren land. Mounds of dirt and soil covered the land and masked people carried wheel barrows and stretchers. Aryan’s stretcher was the smallest of them all. A tiny stretcher was placed on the ground and they buried my Aryan. I was watching from “mom’s” handbag as his corpse was buried, covering that lovely face with dirt and he became nothing more than a statistic, another death in a time marred with demise.
The people had no smiles on their once bright faces so I played one last tune for that boy, something he can carry when he’s playing in the clouds, a tune he can hum to, skipping and frolicking, free from pain. I sang and sang and sang and sang….until my songs lost all meaning…just like his death.
By Ramya Sridhar
12 B , Ekya School ITPL
The scar was a topic Harry refused to discuss. Or rather ignore. His defeat of Voldemort seemed to be a century ago.
Harry felt a lot more like a Slytherin. He had agreed to something new. He felt like he wanted something new, something that will earn him the glory he wanted and deserved… but he’d have to earn it.
Even though he was now forty years old, his birth month was not exactly far away… in fact, today was the twenty-seventh of July, and his birthday was on the thirty first.
He missed it all, fooling around in the dormitory, with Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas.
Seamus would currently be doing a report on dark arts that Harry had ordered him to do.
You see, Harry was the head of the Auror Department in the Ministry of Magic, now run by Aaron Babington.
Harry missed Hogwarts, even the detentions that he so often ended up in during his last and sometimes first few years at Hogwarts. Of course, most of the time, he tried to do the right thing.
He missed all the teachers in the castle that had always been his one true home.
Then there was a knock on the door of the house. Ginny went to open it, but when she did, she found nothing but the copy of the latest MAGIC SCRIPT, the local newspaper.
TERROR IN ST. CRISTONBERG
‘The most respected hospital in the whole world,’ says Nurse Laura Carter, ‘just gets broken into by some bloke in a stupid cloak with a wand that looks as though you can squeeze it faster than clay? What cannot be wrong? My blames go to the government!’ The nurse clearly is not happy with someone who calls himself Grimsof the Great. This ‘Grimsof’ has shown a lot of criminal history … his wand is the cause of devastation amongst families whose loved ones could have been in St Cristonberg.
Harry read, then wondered aloud, ‘What is this?’ The answer, Harry did not need, as he already knew it. This was an outrage or a scandal for sure, but Harry knew that this is what will help him to earn glory again.
Harry worked the next full night, and he called Ron and Hermione. ‘I don’t get why you wish to be involved in this business,’ said Hermione on their third day of work. She got the answer from the annoyed look that Harry gave her.
Then, on the fourth day, Harry found a crucial detail: it was stated in Grimsofs’ magical profile that he had done most of his now rising crime in a place in Russia call Hemslovf. Harry, even in his wildest dreams, had never heard of this place.
So, Hermione found out more about the place, and soon enough, it was decided that Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione will go to Hemslovf to stop Grimsof from wrecking something else.
Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were all outside the house, and each holding hands to apparate to Russia.
So, as they all wished each other luck, they apparated a few thousand kilometers from where they were originally standing.
In one second, they were in a place that looked as though there was a dark wizard rampage just yesterday. Harry would have tried to cook up even worse descriptions for the place if not for a sudden black bubble in the sky. Out of nowhere, a few million more came, and they formed a circle, and a portal formed… A caped figure emerged from the portal.
Grimsof had a green cape. His wand also obviously didn’t look like it could be squished like clay. His hair was straight upwards and his shoes really went well with his black and red robes.
A horrifying cackle filled the air, and no one was able to escape his deadly stare as he said, ‘So, you all have come to here to stop me? Ahh, slim chance…’
‘Yeah right… you and who else?’ Ron piped up.
‘I alone am a death trap!’ Grimsof snapped.
‘All right then,’ said Harry as he pointed his wand and shot a spell. It was dodged.
‘NOT TODAY!’ And then there was a blast coming from Grimsof’s wand which Harry deflected. A fierce battle ensued and Harry finally deflected a spell towards Grimsof and in one loud scream, where Grimsof was once standing, there was dust everywhere.
Grimsof was defeated.
By Utkarsh Vyas
5 B, Ekya ITPL
By Ahana Ghosh Roy
Grade 5, Ekya ITPL
Once upon a time when I was a rubber tree, I stood on the soil spreading my branches toward the sky. I always wished that I could be something new instead of a tree.
One day, a group of men came and started slicing off my bark. I was writhing with pain. They took the latex that oozed out of my injured bark. It was painful for me but somewhere inside, I believed that destiny was going to turn me into something good, something beautiful, something Big…..
I was taken into a factory where they did long processes on me and turned me into something new. I was changed into a rectangular, flexible green-colored stuff. That’s right!
An Eraser!
A truck driver then came and took me in a neatly packed box. I was really excited about where I was going. Once I reached the shop I was supposed to be delivered to. The shop keeper took me and kept me in a deep, dark storage room. A few days later the shopkeeper took me and kept me outside with other erasers. They soon became my best friends. Even though I still wanted to be taken by someone so I could see the Life Of A True Eraser.
A week later a little girl named Lucie Came with her father to buy an eraser. She saw me and immediately told her father that she wanted to buy me. She put me in a nice bag and took me home. The next day she put me in her pencil pouch and took me to her school. She showed me to all her friends. And was really proud of me.
One day, a bully in Lucie’s class told her “What good is your eraser. It’s just a boring green eraser. Look at mine It’s so bright and colorful”. I felt really bad. But when Lucie supported me, I brightened up and started doing my work very diligently. One by one, I started erasing Lucie’s mistakes. I helped her correct her spelling, grammar, etc.
Slowly and ever so slowly, I found myself diminishing and before I knew it I disappeared leaving behind only a trail of dust.
By Ahana Ghosh Roy
Grade 5, Ekya ITPL
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