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Kamini Chak - 10C | Reduced Inequalities - 1st Place

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Kamini Chak - 10C | Reduced Inequalities - 1st Place

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Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn and glimpse two boys before a magazine is shoved in my face.

On the cover is a woman. Her hair is straight and highlights sharp cheekbones, grey eyes, lips full and teeth blindingly white. Her skin is pale.

“Is this you?” one of the boys ask.

I glance at my reflection, but I don’t see it. My hair is weaved into dreads. My lips are dry. The delicate skin under my eyes is dark. All of me is dark.

How did they know?

The contacts had burned my eyes more than the lights ever could; the foundation they made me wear was four shades too light. Be the first black model on our cover, they had said. I wanted to laugh. They just wanted to pay me less.

“You have the wrong person,” I say, and watch as they leave.

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She gave birth to the boy and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a 21st century manger. A kind, good-hearted, angelic doctor, dressed in white, announced the blessed baby’s birth to the world. A glimmer of hope rose, a flicker of media attention until a helicopter crash in Southern California became the new focus of the imperturbable news outlets. An update on the war in Ukraine. Climate Change causing heat waves. Racist hate crimes.

The grey, smoky sky leaked acidic tears onto the hospital where death and life coincided.

Then, the child of hope died. Doctors say there was a hole in his heart valve, yet ultimately, what killed the infant was the realisation that our world has lost hope. Self-absorbed individuals choose not to improve our damaged world. They all watched him die. And they, since they were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

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PET cycle

Swish, swosh, I’m useless garbage. Up and down the coastline in the blazing heat of a summer morning. Giants put my friends and I into a garbage bag.

What was I? A plastic bottle. A single-use plastic bottle.

My friends and I chatted away as we were transported to a factory of some sort and were dumped out onto a conveyor belt. It felt somewhat familiar. I heard from a fellow friend that they were once something else. My spine was crushed, my heart was pounding, death was taunting me as I whimpered in despair. Somehow the torturing stopped. I got “plastic surgery” and transformed into a cup? Hope arose as I noticed greenish, yet mesmerizing blossom strutted towards me. A tingling sensation florished as someone merged us into a potted plant and at that moment, I knew I was useful. As I’ve been told, it's garbage can, not garbage cannot.

*Not part of the story: PET is the material used to make the plastic cups and bottles*

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Once a vessel of coolness divine, The plastic bottle once held a refreshing shine. Filled to the brim with hydration so true, it quenched the thirst of a fortunate few.

But alas, the journey of the bottle continued and its fate was soon to be imbued. Discarded like a relic of yesterday's delight, the bottle's future was doomed to an eternal plight.

Drifting forever like a lost pirate vessel, the bottle found itself encased in plastic peril. A blight on the landscape and a scourge on the sea, this bottle was no longer the object of glee.

But hope remains, for even the darkest of days, can be lifted by the winds of change and better ways. Recycling and upcycling, the beacon of light, in saving the planet, this bottle can take flight.

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The girl strolled merrily along the shimmering beach. It was a day of sparkling sunshine and she giggled as the cool breeze lifted her hair into a swirling mass of cinnamon brown. Suddenly, the wind stopped. A moaning. Whipping around, something writhing near the shoreline caught the girl’s eye. Creeping closer, she realised it was a turtle and the sight she saw made her gasp. She watched as its thrashing legs decelerated. She watched as they lost the spirit they once had. The girl knelt next to him and, sobbing, recognised the hateful glare in the turtle’s eyes as they glazed over, lifeless at last. The girl was utterly powerless; she could do nothing. Reluctantly, she stood, contemplating her very existence and how horribly humans had mistreated the once beautiful world. Then, with her head hung low, she continued to wander across the endless, vast landscape, plastic bottles crunching underfoot.

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Goal 6: Clean Water & Sanitation

Beads of sweat escaped from my skin as I gulped for air, desperate for the sight of the horizon. Involuntarily reaching for my absent water bladder, I turned around to see how far I’d come. Trees—as far as the eye could see—and no rivers in sight. When will this end? I swallowed back my discomfort, willing my muscles to work against the acid surging through me. One step; Breathe. Two steps; Breathe. Three steps; Breathe. My lungs ached with an indescribable pain. “It’s fascinating,” I breathlessly sighed to myself, “How such a basic movement can suddenly become exhausting.”. The back of my hand brushed across my damp brow: my exposed scalp unshielded from the blazing sun. This is too much—I can’t take this anymore. And suddenly—just as I felt my legs collapse from under me—I saw it:

Water.

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Darkness. That's all I know. It’s as if I hadn’t opened my eyes. I crave the light of morning. Darkness. It’s all that exists. A rumble. Cries from the others in their cages. My mouth is shut. I won’t let the darkness enter. The rumble gets louder and a sliver of daylight shows itself. The jaws open. Light. It is cold. I can see the other cages. Girls. Pale children with no hair. People with dark skin. People with hijabs. Some are missing limbs. Hundreds of boys enter. Their happy cries taunt me. I see red. They run. I can do that too. They laugh as they play. Blonde hair, blue eyes, strong bodies. Their minds are fresh. What about me? I could be just as smart. They are given everything on silver platters. We’re locked in silver cages. The boys leave. The jaws close.

Darkness.

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I soared through the sky, my paperwork wings slicing through the light blue wind. My terrapack glowed green matching the lush, towering mountains I threaded through. A leaf stuck to my face as I zoomed through a knarled acacia. I caught it just before it whisked away, noticing a blackened cog etched into the middle. ‘Machinas’ I thought, my mind whirring with ideas - this was serious. I leaned upwards, my wings flipping me in the opposite direction, back home. I saw the purple glow of our terragiant’s eyes as it saw me, heaving itself upwards, and revealing the green village - our perfect haven. I sounded the alarm - a large waterstream connected to the whole village. I took a deep breath, realising I was about to break the news; the very words that would plunge the land of Greywood into eternal war.

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My steps pounded against the unyielding concrete, in rhythm with the yearning of my stomach. I drew in a sharp breath, waiting for the bitter winds to stop lashing at me. The mist covered the moon's sly smirk in a cloak of mystery as I breathed out with despair. The stretched arms of clouds embraced the vast blue sky. The draft of wind was bitter and freezing enveloping, my hands in red, which were straining to get a hold of my shoulders, my eyes, stared off into the eyes of the motionless lights; they were ghastly and morose, squeezing the last little spark of hope they had. My face was austere while my mind strode across the little memories I had left. What was I doing here? That was the question my mind kept on skipping. I felt heavy, and the curves of the benches kept on turning and turning, becoming motionless blurs. My ears whimpered and crumpled at something behind me. A sickly blotch, which spewed blood from the rapidly paling flesh, Its whimpering grew quieter and quieter. My mind was numb.

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The boat swayed back and forth, mimicking the rhythmic sea as the midnight waves splintered the frail teak wood. The ocean was crammed with flickers of silver metal, dodging cautiously around the old vessel. It had been twenty years since the ship had last seen clear waters.
A flash of lightning darted across the empty granite sky, followed by the earsplitting boom of thunder. Bolts of rage blasted the inky void and, as every strike of lightning inched the boat closer and closer to its eventual demise, only to be forgotten, erased from existence.
Beyond the horizon, the land lay still, lifeless. Years of exhausting all its supplies had burnt it to its core. We had done it.

We broke the unbreakable.

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I walk along the pavement, each step I take layering more soot onto my shoes. I feel the grimy air surrounding me that covers the stars which were once so visible. I can feel it seeping into my lungs. I cough, crimson liquid splattering. My body aches but I carry myself further. In the distance, a fox now completely covered in black whimpers and reluctantly lays down, wrapping its fluffy tail around itself before falling into its final slumber. A fire in my chest convinces me to quicken my pace. I can feel my heart beating in my ears. I glance up at the bold red letters above me reading ‘Emergency’ but I don't have time to shout. I fall to my knees, and clutch my chest.

The most painful goodbyes are preventable. If you raise your voice to the rain now, we can end this.

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Sustainable development goal 13: Climate action

Once upon a time while I looked for a place to settle, I stumbled across a small humble hill. It was dotted with multicoloured flowers and sturdy oak trees. Soft, lush grass covered the ground beneath me. Fluffy cotton clouds blended into a clear sky. Nothing inhabited the land but timid animals. So I decided to stay. Each day was an adventure. In the raw daylight I danced with the vivid green grass and I sang with the wind. In the night, the moon tinted the flowers white, which gave them a haunting beauty. I watched the stars twinkle like diamonds in an obsidian sky. I spent every day on the same hill, enjoying the warmth of the sun and cherishing the glow of the moon. Growing old with the oak trees and watching the birds learn to fly. But... that was just an old tale my grandpa used to tell me.

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It’s been forever since the world succumbed to nature. I hyperventilated as a roar erupted behind me. My legs shook, numb, no longer able to support my starved body. “It’s coming.” My classmate muttered, eyes no longer full of playfulness, only replaced with despair. Her body swayed in the wind, like a bird, graceful yet frightening.

Another wave of saltiness disrupted my senses. It was getting closer. “We need to go!” I dragged her hand, trying to get her to safety. Our shoes were gone, vanishing with the tsunami that had swept away the rest of the world. The rocks below me pierced my feet, every slice keeping my mind awake.

Suddenly, the last warmth to my body dissolved. And when I turned around, my last friend was gone, leaving her mangled body.

I opened my eyes, to views of abandoned civilizations, knowing that the piece of glass had shattered.

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Global goal : climate action

I clasped the copper door handle, with confidence. It burned. I whipped my hand away with great force, and stared at it for a whole minute. Why was it so hot? I grabbed a checkered tea towel from the kitchen counter and blanketed it over the door knob. I turned it, anxiously waiting for that second burn, but the towel protected my shaking hand. I opened the door an inch, the sunlight burst through the gap between the door and the door frame. I opened the door wider and wider until the golden glow shone down on me, I felt like I could rule over everyone. I stepped outside and looked around, that second of pride I experienced drained out of me with a flash. Every bush and tree was burnt, the leaves were charcoal black, the scent burnt toast floated through the air. It was a forest fire.

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Parasite

There's a new parasite going around. Its name remains unknown.

It's barely noticeable at first; a slight itch that lingers for seconds.Then- as fast as it appears, it's gone.

Time persists as the itch delves deeper, curling into the crooks of your mind. Yet, it can still be easily ignored.

Eventually, it sprouts- growing tendrils that squirm and wriggle, now making its presence distinct. Extending its vines it spreads, throbbing pain slithering in its path. It takes root, hallowing an insatiable abyss within the confines of mortal flesh. Ivory daggers and crimson cacophonies wail and shriek, watching the spine contort as white spears pierce your fragile skin.

"Tell me!" You'll beg, branded with agony, "Who has evoked within me Erysichthon's curse?"

Amongst mumbled prayers and blurring vision the foul parasite will emerge, only to laugh and rear its ugly head at the sight of your plight. And when the light drains from your glossy eyes, it'll finally whisper its dreaded name:

Hunger.

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Imagine a world where no voices ring, where the chatter of children is unheard of, where no moonlight streaks through the windows of an old family home, where the sensation of happiness is a foreign emotion. where there is nothing at all and nothing to be heard. Instead in its place, lethal gasses seep through the dense atmosphere, the same lethal gasses that massacred the entire human race, the same lethal gasses that we could have done to stop. I trample through the thick mangled undergrowth, its thorns thrashing at my tear stricken face, resembling a wild beast clawing its way through into survival. My airmask drops. A sharp pain impales my chest, dragging across my aortic valve and slashing across my ribcage at a tedious speed, filling my lungs up with venomous gas, causing my feeble body to give in as the ground hits my skin, all goes black.

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Goal 12: Responsible Consumption & Production

Vast spectrums of colour filled the fields, twisting into a mosaic of textures. I brushed my hands against the sparse blades of grass patches beneath me, the plastic bags blooming in the subtle breeze, the trees of water bottles shading the unrecognisable garment turf. Air thick with toxic fumes, the garbage trucks inhaled the stench, and only seemed to groan louder with each breath. These fields were once a luscious green—a natural green—but now they reflected a sea of sepia values sparingly dotted with neon chartreuse and fuschia. Resting on the bushes of plastic benches and barrels, I felt acid rain of sorrow strike against my skin; the blazing dunes of litter were bitterly struck down with the wrath of nature. This was a call from Earth: a cry of desperation, a cry for help. And a cry of revenge.