STORY GALLERY - JUNE 2023
STORY GALLERY - JUNE 2023
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This month we looked at the arc of storytelling starting with an incident and conflict, moving through rising action and climax and then finishing with falling action and resolution.
Our first story is about sky-high adventures, then we have one about conquering fear and a third about visiting a Souk in Morocco. For our final story we challenged an A.I. app to write a story for us - a supernatural tale! How well did the app do compared to our writers? What do you think?
Enjoy!
TURBULENCE by Valda
TURBULENCE by Valda
There was an audible gasp as the aircraft flying at 20,000 feet, suddenly jolted downwards.
The path of the early morning flight from Dunedin to Wellington on a winter's day was over the stunning Southern Alps. Snow capped Mt Cook, the highest mountain in New Zealand at 3724 meters, was a breathtaking spectacle. Passengers would crane to get a view of the mountains and the lakes, aqua blue from the rock flour of the glaciers, framed by these majestic mountains.
On this day as the crew boarded the Fokker Friendship, the jovial First Officer commented ‘we might need a few of the white bags’ referring to the sick bags tucked into the front pockets. Just what she needed, after a late night with old friends in the southern city.
Passengers boarded with excited children in tow. It was a full aircraft and soon after takeoff the Captain announced ‘Captain Smith and First Officer Jerry Craig for your flight today which should take approximately two hours. We may experience some turbulence enroute but otherwise you should enjoy the flight’.
That was a sign to get the service out quickly. Hot tea and coffee and muffins on a tray balanced on the left hand with the right hand to pour. This wasn’t going to be a pleasant flight she thought, as she glanced out the window where rain ran down the windows as the aircraft climbed through grey clouds.
Fortunately refreshments were served and mostly consumed before the aircraft made a sudden lurch, with cups flying off the trays into the air. Passengers in their fine attire were suddenly covered with the dregs of their morning refreshments.
Children at this stage thought it was fun, until the overhead lockers opened with coats and hats coming down on laps. The Fokker Friendship F27 which had seemed large on the ground now felt like a rag doll being tossed around.
She stood balanced with one hand on the rail above trying to expel an air of confidence as the motors revved, knowing the pilots were trying to get some elevation to find some calm space. Clouds were swirling outside and she just hoped we were far from the mountain peaks.
Only a few months earlier, a National Airways DC3 on a flight from Auckland to Tauranga had crashed into the Kaimai ranges in stormy turbulent weather, killing all onboard. This was obviously not lost on the passengers today,
She was aware at this stage of people vomiting and trained in the disposal of the bags, bravely made her way down the aisle, still smiling, collecting them, holding them behind her back to the aircraft disposal bin. The smell of vomit combined with dregs of food permeated the air.
By this stage, children as well as some of the women were crying with a lot of their hand luggage rolling down the aisle, along with the cups and trays. One woman appeared to be praying and a male passenger was bent over in the brace position presumably ready for a crash.
Everyone quieted as the pa crackled, and the Captain announced 'In another 10 minutes we should be clear of the weather and our ETA into Wellington will now be 9.45am. Please remain in your seats and keep your seat belts fastened’ She sat in the crew seat at the front of the aircraft facing the passengers putting on a positive appearance and wondering why she thought this was to be a glamorous career change.
Finally landing on the windy tarmac at Wellington airport relief was palpable, as people quickly stood up ready to rush out onto terra firma as she cleared the aisle as best she could, straightened her uniform and stood at the door ready to farewell the passengers. No ‘thank you for flying with us today and we hope to see you again soon’. Even her smile, the learned tool of every hostess, was frozen.
On arrival the cleaning staff were called onboard, the first onboard with a loud comment ‘Jesus, what happened here’. Then the First Officer appeared from the cockpit and announced that he didn’t get served his coffee and muffin. She smiled and picked up a cup from the floor with coffee dregs and a piece of broken muffin and handed them to him.
EXTREMELY IRRATIONAL by Trevor S.
EXTREMELY IRRATIONAL by Trevor S.
“C’mon mate. You can do this”
“Yeah. Right. Birds might fly, but I am no bird.”
Jeff had just reached his first real challenge on an Outward Bound ropes course, Mulgrave River, Gordonvale, Far North Queensland. The course required participants to proceed through a number of different stages, each one at a higher, more challenging level than the previous one. So far, Jeff had found the course undaunting. But, this was the one he knew he would have issues with.
Perched three metres above the ground, on a perfectly safe branch of a perfectly safe river gum, his whole being was endeavouring to digest: grab hold of the hanging rope, step off the branch, swing across a fifteen metre open space to reach another rope strung three metres above the ground between two poles, which you will transfer to, then, using a commando style technique, work your way along this rope to a ladder which will bring you back to terra firma.
Easy peasy. It only takes a couple of minutes of your life, to complete.
“You CAN do this.”
Jeff was baulking, with the memory of an acrophobic uncle’s words, running through his head. “Once you have experienced that moment of fear, you are buggered.” He was truly relating to this.
A tide of the memories of being afraid of heights, ebbed and flowed through his mind. As a young tacker, jumping out of a peach tree and breaking his wrist. At the farm, helping to relocate a windmill which hadn’t yet been tied down. A whirly wind hit it while he was up on the top deck, spinning him around with the tail and blades. Gripping a lounge chair white knuckle tight, while watching family members peering down from a twentieth floor balcony. Unable to ride the Queenstown chairlift. Looking up the side of high rise buildings; watching kites high in flight; walking on swinging bridges; his first aeroplane trip, all made him queasy. He didn’t even make the first step to climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
It mattered little if his panic attack was considered extreme or irrational, by members of his support team. They weren’t the ones perched on this branch with dry mouths, sweaty palms and foreheads, and in dire need of an urgent trip to the ablution block. Why jump off a perfectly safe branch? People die in less than a couple of minutes. What if? What if? What if?
“C’mon Jeff. You watched us safely arriving at the other side. Take a deep breath and conquer your fears mate. There’s no “I” in “team”. The team needs you.”
Jeff closed his eyes, trying to visualize his imminent journey. Deep breathing seemed to be working. He started to feel a subsidence in the will nots, should nots and cannots that tormented his mind. Fear of being a team liability was starting to nullify his fear of the challenge at hand.
The Little Red Engine appeared behind his closed eyes.
“I think I can. I think I can” … Ï thought I could. I thought I could.”
Bite size chunks, he thought. Bite size chunks.
Grip the rope. Step off the branch. Focus on the horizontal rope. Transfer. Commando crawl. Descend the ladder. A slight grin decorated his face, as he thought of a final chunk, “Kiss the ground.”
All Jeff could remember of his “couple of minutes” trip through space, was clinging to the horizontal rope.
“If it was a living thing, you would have choked it to death!” quipped one of his team members.
“Everyone deserves to reach their level of excellence. You have just achieved yours, Jeff. It may not have been your Everest, but it wasn’t a bridge too far, either. This moment in time will stay with you, and influence you, forever. Congratulations.” Even the supervisor was supportive.
“There is more in us than we know. If we can be made to see it, perhaps for the rest of our lives, we will be unwilling to settle for anything less.” Kurt Hahn, Outward Bound founder.
Acrophobia may be extreme or irrational, but it is also genuine. Given the appropriate, supportive environment, it can be managed.
MOROCCO SOUK VISIT by Sallie
MOROCCO SOUK VISIT by Sallie
Jade and Katie looked at each other in dismay. They were completely lost. How had it come to this. How could they have been so stupid?
They had started off the day full of hope that their dreams would at last become a reality. They had leaned over the rails of the cruise ship excitedly watching the shores of Morocco come ever closer. The girls, best friends since the first day of school, were on a well deserved holiday. They were looking forward to experiencing one of the souks about which they had heard so much. Reading about them had titillated their senses. They wanted to experience the sights and smells about which they had heard so much.
They had to be back on board by 16:00 so stopping only at the cabin to grab backpacks, passports and the dirham, which is the Moroccan currency, that they had purchased before leaving home, they went swiftly to the gangplank wanting to be first off the ship.
Catching a bus which they had had the forethought to look up before leaving home, they paid the driver and climbed aboard. The souk was about a three quarters of an hour drive away and they spent the time chatting excitedly about what they hoped to see there. It seemed no time at all before the bus pulled up and they jumped off.
“Wow”, they exclaimed together. It was everything they had hoped and more. Aromatic spices assailed their senses. Brightly coloured pottery, jewellery and fabrics in rich colours, rugs and lanterns seemed to envelop them as they had wandered through the maze of narrow alleys. There was so much to see and they oohed and ahhed over beautiful tiles, stopped to admire the leatherwork and exotic clothes.
They finally decided to buy some beautifully intricate jewellery but remembering what they had read, they haggled over the price, turning away when they thought the price was too high only to be called back by the vendor. Smiling, they mutually agreed on a price.
Stopping at a stall they bought some falafel and kept wandering as they ate. As they roamed around, they lost track of the time until suddenly Jade, looking at her watch, exclaimed that it was 14:00 and they should be getting back to the bus stop. That was when they started to panic.
Having not taken any notice of where they were going, they were totally lost and they had left their ‘phone, which might have given them some sort of directions, back in the cabin not wanting to take more than what they felt was strictly necessary with them.
Now the colour and intoxicating air of the souk seemed to crowd in on them and they looked around not knowing which alley to take to get them back to the ship. A small boy who had been watching their obvious panic sauntered up to them and in broken English he held his hand out and muttered that he would lead them to the entrance.
Trustingly they put some dirham in his outstretched hand and he motioned them to follow him and trustingly they did. Then there was a commotion as another boy ran between them and somehow their guide managed to get too far ahead of them and disappeared into the throng of people.
Katie burst into tears and Jade was not far behind. She put her arm around her friend and said that they should go in the direction the boy had been taking them as maybe it would lead them out.
“Do you think he meant to lose us?” said Katie through her tears, “ and was just wanting some money”.
“Quite possibly,” was Jade's sad reply.
They stopped and looked around obviously distressed. Somebody was watching them. He had seen what happened and now stepped up to them. He would have been about sixteen, of swarthy appearance and spoke good English.
“You look very upset how can I be of service to you?” he asked.
Haltingly the girls explained that they were totally lost and needed to be back at the bus stop so they could reach the ship before it left the port and time was running out.
“I will guide you back to the entrance,” he said, “come follow me”.
The girls looked at each other. They had little choice really.
“Do you want to be paid?” asked Katie.
“Not until we get to the gates of the souk,” he replied, “then you can
give me some money if you like”.
It didn’t take them long to get back, the maze of alleys were quite well laid out and their new guide knew where to go. Gratefully they gave him all that they had left of their dirham, which was quite a considerable sum. After all they wouldn’t need it any more. He saluted them and they thankfully clambered on board the waiting bus.
What they didn’t see was their first guide, the small boy who caused the commotion and the youth doing a high five.
SUPERNATURAL by AI
SUPERNATURAL by AI
The old, creaking house stood at the end of the deserted street, shrouded in an eerie stillness. Locals whispered stories of the supernatural happenings within its decaying walls. No one dared venture near, except for young Timmy, a curious boy with an insatiable thirst for adventure.
One moonlit night, Timmy's bravado pushed him to explore the haunted house. Armed with only a flashlight, he tiptoed through the front gate and crept inside. As he stepped into the dilapidated foyer, a chill ran down his spine, but his determination kept him moving forward.
Suddenly, a gust of wind extinguished Timmy's flashlight. Darkness enveloped him, accompanied by a bone-chilling whisper. Panic seized his heart as he realized he was not alone. Shadows danced, and eerie laughter echoed through the hallways. A malevolent force taunted him, escalating the fear within.
Timmy's courage surged, and he groped his way forward, guided by a faint light emanating from an upstairs room. As he reached the top of the stairs, the supernatural presence intensified, hurling objects in his path. Timmy dodged flying books and shattered vases, narrowly avoiding injury.
Timmy entered the illuminated room, his heart pounding in his chest. Before him stood a spectral figure, a tormented soul trapped within the house's confines. The ghostly apparition stared at Timmy, pleading for release from its eternal torment.
Filled with compassion, Timmy vowed to help. He delved into the house's history, uncovering a tragic tale of lost love and betrayal. Armed with this knowledge, Timmy devised a plan to free the spirit from its chains. Through a series of rituals and sacrifices, he opened a portal to the afterlife, allowing the ghost to finally find peace.
In the days that followed the house ceased its supernatural activities, as if thanking Timmy for his selfless act. The once eerie abode transformed into a place of serenity and tranquility.
With the resolution of the ghost's plight, Timmy became a local hero, forever remembered for his bravery and compassion. The haunted house became a symbol of redemption and the power of human empathy. And in the years that followed, Timmy's extraordinary story continued to inspire those who heard it, reminding them that even in the realm of the supernatural, kindness could triumph over darkness.
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