Vaixell de Paper - Anglès

Concurs literari Vaixell de Paper 2020 - Anglès 

Aquí teniu els premiats en la categoria d'anglès 

del concurs literari Vaixell de Paper. 

Enhorabona a tothom! 

1r CICLE — 1r premi 

Ariadna Ruiz (2n ESO)

My cheeks ache. My mouth gets very wet, and my eyes, too. A tear runs down my left cheek.
Sol del matí (1952), Edward Hooper
Another falls from my right eye. I like this feeling. This sensation. A little sob escapes from my mouth. My mouth is still wet. My eyes are tarnished. I can’t see well. I use my hands to dry them. Now it’s better. I blink a couple of times and I do my hair well. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. My eyes fill quickly with tears again. My mouth adopts a strange position and I cover it with my hands. I blink a couple of times more, trying to see well but it doesn't work. I sob again, but this time louder. I cover my eyes with my hands and I shrink myself. I still like this feeling. I look at myself in that mirror and I notice my eyes. They are red and soaked. My eyelashes are wet. I touch them softly. I blink again. I concentrate myself on not letting the tears fill my eyes again. Still not working. I dry my eyes again. I blink and I get out of the bathroom. My eyes fill again with tens of tears. A big pain appears in my mouth again. I take a slow and deep breath and I calm myself. I start crying again, for no reason at all. I cover my eyes with my hands to stop tears falling, but it doesn’t work. I’m still in that ugly corridor. I look around with my tarnished eyes and I see the same Japanese statue, looking at me fixedly. I can’t bear this anymore. I run to my bed, with my pillows and teddy bears but I can’t get there. I fall down just 2 steps from it. The last thing I see is the grimy and old floor and a tear that falls from my right cheek and splashes softly near me.

I open my eyes slowly. They’re still painful. I blink and try to know where I am. I’m lying on a bed, a soft bed. I pass my hand through it and I get to the conclusion that it has been recently washed. It is not my bed. I remember its touch. My bed is softer and springy. Where am I? I remember that I was crying. I remember the mirror. The Japanese statue. The corridor. And the grimy floor. I look around weakly. I’m inside a small room. A very small room. The walls are green and old. I look around again. There’s a little table with a bottle of water. I blink again, trying to understand everything. I hear something. The bleep of a machine. I look at it and I understand everything. It’s a cardiac monitor. A tear falls again from my right cheek.

1r CICLE — 2n premi 

Albert Ferrer (2n ESO)

Hi, my name is Mike. I live in a very little village located in the north of Canada named Bearland.
Guess why? Because it’s the village with more grizzly bears in Canada. 

In winter, we spend most of the time taking the snow out of our doors in order to be able to get out of our homes, and in spring, hell comes to us because all the bears which were sleeping during the winter, leave their nests and come to the village in order to find food. 

Yesterday, one bear approached the village. His name is Killer and everybody knows him because he is the biggest bear of all. Every year he attacks some inhabitants of the village but unfortunately, yesterday he killed my family. 

I used to live with my dad, my mum, and my older brother but, since yesterday, the only one who is alive it’s me. My mother, my father, and brother died yesterday when they went to the mountains to hunt birds and Killer attacked them.

OK, it’s 8 o’clock in the morning. I’ve just woken up and I’m having breakfast now. It’s cold at
Bosc (1908), Piet Mondrain
home. Normally dad woke up earlier and went to pick up some wood so that we could stay warmer at home. But he is not here anymore. Suddenly I hear a noise outside. It seems the shed has been destroyed so I take my brother’s shotgun. I’m sure that if he had had it the day he was killed, things would be different now.

I get out with the weapon and I notice something is moving in the woods. I shoot at it. The thing growls and runs into the forest. I know it’s a bad idea but I decide to follow it. There's a trace of blood on the ground, and the trees have been scratched by something big. I hear a noise. It comes from the other side of the river. The ice breaks.

After one hour following the blood trail, I’ve found it. I think it’s asleep, without energy. It’s the same bear which killed my family, the same which spreads fear in my village, the same I am going to kill right now.

2n CICLE — 1r premi

Rut Grané (4t ESO)

She was walking in complete silence, dressed in a long black dress that covered her ankles. All her
tanned skin was under that heavy cloth. Her long dark hair was also covered, even her face was
Cel estelat sobre el Roine (1888), V. van Gogh
behind a dark hijab. The only way to recognize her was by looking at her astonishing and rare blue eyes. It was five a.m. and there was no one on that part of the desert. The breeze was warm and the silence reigned the place. Her gaze was fixed on the ground; she was walking slowly, dragging her feet through the sandy dunes. The sky was completely black, filled with thousands of shiny stars. They were so bright that she could even distinguish the constellations. Every time the stars came up at night, she would go outside and contemplate them. She was fascinated by Astrology, like her dad, that’s why he decided to call her Najma which means star in Arabic.

She knew what would happen when she grew up. She had known it since the day of her thirteenth birthday, but she didn’t want to accept it. Unfortunately, the worst day of her life arrived some months later. 

When Najma was seven, her parents passed away after a bomb bursted her old house. Luckily she survived and a man took her out of the ruins. She had an older brother, Fadi, which means savior in Arabic. He was four years older than her but they were best friends. He always took care of her. They both had the same blue eyes and looked really alike. He was also inside the house when everything occurred and, after the tragedy, she never saw him again. 

Najma had to go to live with her uncle, her father’s brother, who she had never met before because they didn’t live close to each other. He was old and grumpy but he was a good man. He took care of her; he always had a plate with food to give to her, he taught her how to read or count and explained to her some curiosities about the universe. One day Najma was remembering all the things they did together when she looked up and saw that her uncle stopped walking. She saw a shadow of a man behind her uncle. She couldn’t see his face because it was really dark. Suddenly she realized that was the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life. He was her future husband, the future father of her kids. Because this is how things work; when girls turn twelve, thirteen or seventeen years old for the lucky ones, they are forced to marry an old man.

Her uncle looked at her with a smile on his face and the eyes filled with tears. She thought he was sad because he would never see her again, but when Najma approached the man, she couldn’t believe it. There he was, with his ocean blue eyes, like hers, and a big smile on his face. He was crying, not because he was sad, but because he was really glad to see her. He had his arms open and was waiting for her to come. Najma ran as fast as she could and they held each other tight. Najma started crying and realized the meaning of his name; he was a savior.

2n CICLE — 2n premi

Clàudia Calzado (4t ESO)

A hundred years ago, the word ‘climate change’ appeared in the news for the first time. Scientists
talked about pollution and how we were harming our beloved planet. But many people said it wasn’t possible, that they were saying so to scare us and make us forget about other problems like politics, terrorism or the effects of social media on teens. But I knew it wasn’t a stupid idea.

Since the early 19th century, when it all began, a lot has changed. As the years went by, more people
El pont d'Europa, estació Saint-Lazere (1877), C. Monet
joined the ‘climate change movement’ but there were some people who were against it; most of them, rich people who would benefit from the situation.

Around 2088, our planet was filled with so much garbage that the air became toxic and there was no free space to live in. So all scientists and engineers gathered and came up with a plan. They built five huge pipes, which were placed in the middle of each continent. Those pipes were connected to outer space and, through them, humans started sending all the junk away.

That solved the problem for a while. The fields were clean, the air was free of deadly gases, and everybody was happy. However, once again, humanity didn’t learn from its mistakes. All the trash that we had been tossing away began to cover the earth’s atmosphere, surrounding our planet and without letting the sun rays pass through it.

The absence of sunlight made the earth a cold place and plants stopped growing on their own. There was no sun and no moon, there was no day or night, there was no life.

I am eighty-one years old and I’ve never seen the moon or felt the warmth of the sun. This is the story of our planet, the one in which I live, the one that you destroyed.

Batxillerat — 1r premi

Glòria Argemí (1r Batxillerat) 

Everything is in silence. Only birds that fly over the landscape and the repeated movement of the
small waves of the sea are heard. The same ones that cover their feet every now and then. Yellow
Velas en el mar, Joaquín Sorolla 
lights and a bright glow are visible among the trees. The eternal odyssey remains calm, even if in some areas, the water hits hard against the rocks of the cliff by the effects of the wind. On the horizon, some galleys can be seen sailing. Above them, the sun goes cautiously down, blurring its colour among the white clouds. Its distorted reflection can be observed in the crystalline water.

They are resting on the sand. They feel relaxed. Their arms are uniquely intertwined. Harmony and well-being can be breathed in the environment. Their beautiful faces show a big smile and their eyes meet showing an intense connection. The sweet skin of the child is contrasted with the degraded and tanned skin of the woman who is next to him. Their hair is wet because they have previously been submerged in the sea. The soft sand caresses their almost naked bodies and sticks to their contours.

The image provokes a feeling of tenderness on him as soon as he looks at it. Unique moments which were stored in his memory that now he sees with melancholy and that make him move to tears. He has spent so many hours staring at the picture. Contemplating it, without moving, just blinking when needed. Breathing deeply and sighing in the air. Escaping from reality. It is not only a picture for him; it is part of his life reflected and covered by a wooden frame with a design of the past which adorns the room.

The person who became his main example, from whom he learned the philosophy of life. From all those many moments shared, he learned the important values. Thanks to her, he is the person the world knows. A grandmother’s sigh will always be remembered.

Batxillerat — 2n premi

Àlex Martínez Mendoza (2n Batxillerat)

This is not a fiction story. It's a scream, a scream of help.

‘Not again please,’ we heard. The voices were loud. Again, that goddamned noise. Everyone was
El crit (1893), Edvard Munch
running, but where? Who knows... They were approaching. We didn’t know where they were coming from, we didn’t know why, but they were ready to act.

I do not have an easy life. I live in Deil at Zor, or at least in what is left of it. We are only a few inhabitants and we are mistreated by them, the Insurgents. Being alive another day means a tough challenge, almost impossible to accomplish. I’ve been temporarily residing in a house formed by ruins with my son Amîr and my daughter Taahira. How to explain to them what they are living? It’s impossible. Last week was very difficult for them. They saw a man laying on the ground and moaning among bloodbaths. It was the first time they had seen a corpse.

Shall we escape? After all, we will be treated as different citizens all over the world. Why? Because we are Syrians? Because we are refugees? Who knows...

Escaping is almost impossible. There are no laws; there are no schools, there is nothing. Only armed men, without feelings, without principles, and without a soul. But that morning an unusual calm invaded the atmosphere. Nothing, not even a whisper or a scream as usual. My children were sleeping and I decided to leave the house to see what was going on. Everything was very rare. The corpses had been removed and even some weapons had been scattered on the ground. ‘It’s all over,’ we thought, and we all sang and breathed again. Full of enthusiasm I went back home to see Amîr and Taahira. Suddenly, a siren began to sound. The whole city heard it. ‘The war is over,’ we thought. I cannot describe with words that emotion. We were about to leave the house when we heard people screaming ‘Not again, please’. Full of doubts, we all went out to see what was happening. The voices were loud. ‘Again, that goddamned noise,’ I heard.

Suddenly, the calm disappeared and the people began to scream again and they all began to run. Everyone was running. Where? Who knows... An old man raised his arm to the sky. Words were not needed. They were approaching, we didn’t know where they were coming from, we didn’t know why, but they were ready to act. We ran as fast as we could, but it was late. So we all remained quiet. Fireballs were falling from the sky and I hugged Amir and Taahira tightly. ‘I love you,’ I told them. They just hugged me but it was enough. Seconds later, an explosion was heard all over the mountains.

This is not a fiction story. It's a scream, a scream of help.


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