On and on,
Eternal war,
Hate and death.
A trailer arrives,
A trailer with a mountain of gold.
One by one, a box was received.
One by one, a box was given.
A box of joy,
A box of hope,
A box of pure good.
Opening the box,
Bang!
Glory, encouragement, happiness
Spew, fizz and bubble out.
The trenches and battles are lit by this little box.
This little box,
This little box of light.
Lifeless
Lying there,
In the thick, sad rubble.
Breathless.
Flames flicker
As the cannons fire.
Sadness.
The distant sound of screaming.
Darkness.
Dirt and blood drowning his soul.
Forgiveness?
Never to meet his unborn child,
Anger.
The sun is struggling to creep out through the clouds.
Hope?
When rivals meet,
Death envelops us more each day.
Lifeless.
Darkness… until his proud, but poor, dad came in, “Here you go lad.” He put the wood down. The youngster watched the wood. There was something different about it… very different: it was as dark as the night sky but with a few purple particles floating above the abnormal, barkless wood. Once he had laid his hands on it, he could feel the immense power racing up his arms.
After slicing a small piece of it off the end, he spotted a hypnotic spiral inside the magical stump. He knew he had to make the most of this one. A few minutes later, he had made his decision: he would carve a mask.
Taking his time, he measured his face then began to carve. Secretively, he continued working for the rest of the day.
After dinner (a bread roll), he let it come out…
Unfortunately, his ‘caring’ but cruel father did not mishear him.
“So, what is this mask you are talking about?” asked his dad curiously. Guilty and worried, the boy knew that he had to tell the truth.
“I am making a mask to cover up this monstrosity,” he replied.
“Where is this mask?” said his dad.
“Next door.”
Swiftly, his father moved towards the room. Knowing what he was going to do, the youth rushed protectively towards his masterpiece. His dad got there first.
“Dad! Stop! Please; please!” With no mercy, his angered father tossed the mask into the glowing fireplace.
“Nooooo!” yelled the boy.
However, to the surprise of them both, it did not burn. Before the boy could reach it, his dad snatched it from the burning flames and lobbed it to the other side of the room.
Without warning, the flame grabbed onto his father’s jumper. As quick as a flash, he whipped it off and threw it on the floor. A huge flame jumped up from the wooden planks like a jack-in-the-box. The caravan was up in flames. Shaking and sweating, the boy snatched the mask and ran outside. They had nothing. There was only one place to go: Grandma’s.
Miserable and ominous, the rain battered the boy as if they were wrestling each other. There was only a small spark of hope: the mask was in his hand.
Before he could become even more drenched than he already was, he began the walk. But, the boy was forgetting something. He was outside. He was astounded by the amazing scenery: trees, brick-built houses and open space! He was free!
By 9:00 pm, he had arrived. He rang the doorbell. Ding Dong! The house was exquisite. A black metal fence surrounded a beautiful blue pool in the centre of what he had heard was called a garden. With a creak, the door opened.
“Oh hello there,” said the posh lady.
“Hi Gran,” he replied.
With a deep breath, his Gran exclaimed, “Oh my gosh! After all these years, I’ve found you! Come on in.”
“Thank you,” he replied politely.
Almost as soon as he entered the grand house, he was bombarded with new clothes and gifts.
“Wow!” He hardly dared to think how much his life had changed.
A brilliant year of freedom and happiness had passed and, to his surprise, he was actually not struggling to live any more. But there was something more important. The mask. It was time to take it off… 3…2…1..0…
Here’s the link to the Times Tables Shift challenge on NRICH that we played the other day. Click the link to play. Start at Level 1 to learn the game and see if you can get to Level 4.
Stop! Dad, please can you respect me and let me live a normal life? Why can’t you ever not get money from my body? It just isn’t fair. When people come to see me, it makes me feel so upset and humiliated due to my body. Nobody sees my soul; they can only see my swellings. Where is my mother? I bet she wouldn’t do this to me.
Please can you just let me live a normal life with wood and not you? No normal person would abuse children in this way because of their disabilities. It’s my life, not yours. Let me have a normal life; let me see the real world. Could you just give me freedom? I just wish to have a life as a sculptor and I could get us so much more than we have now. Could I just see any other colour apart from black? Let me see outside.
Please, I know that my body is misshapen but can’t I just have friends? Why won’t anyone understand the bulges on my face. Can nobody see how gentle I am? If you look hard, then you will understand me more.
Where did my mother go? Did you do the same to my mother? But then how did she go? Why would you do it to me? I am your only child. WHY?
LET ME GO! LET ME BE FREE!
Father, please listen. I feel trapped in a cave, in chains. I want to be free. I want some wishes – one is fine. Please give me a chance. Don’t hurt me! I can wish. I’m not a monster. I have a heart and I’m not what you think I am; I’m more. Our shack you call home is a prison: you never let me out at all. Although you feed me and you give me a place to live, I would rather lie on the streets than get whacked, punched and shouted at.
If I had a wish, I would wish to be another person. You treat me like rubbish. You shouldn’t be a father. Mum would have been better than you. Anyone would. I wish for a proper face so no-one would make fun of me or call me names because I would be normal. If I was normal, no-one would complain. I would make things different in my new body. I would not isolated; I would be free. I want to break free!
Dim lights lit up the small boy’s face revealing the grotesque growths planted beside his nose. His body was covered in scars and boils making him a ‘freak’. Swelling day by day, his large, bulbous nose, dominated over all his facial features. Despite his huge nose, his nostrils were smaller than a baby’s fingernail making it difficult for him to breathe.
Despite his facial features, his hands were slender and gentle, carving slowly into a piece of wood to create elephants and birds and all things beautiful. He was more of an artist than a ‘freak’. The tips of his fingers traced the bark like he had been doing this his whole life. He was no ‘freak’.
Sitting beside the ancient table, a small boy could just be made out with a knife and wood 
in his hands. Twisted and misshapen, his small body shivered in the cold night air. Lying on the table, beside the rather grotesque figure, were three intricate wooden carvings: a woman, a boy and a man. On his partially bald head was an old, peaked hat. Below his hat was a large, bulbous growth, which closed his left eye. His nose dominated his face but irregular nostrils made it hard for the ‘little freak’ to breathe.
Although his face and most of his body was hideous, the boy’s hands were perfect. Careful as ever, his gentle fingers let the knife slip along the beech wood carving a baby in a crib to complete his beautiful collection. Despite the pouring rain outside, he was calm – nothing like the dreadful posters on the trees outside.