A Collection of Creative Writing by Students of Ladysmith High School in Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa

Friday 21 December 2018

The Final Hours ~ Vuyani Ntshingila

Everything happened so quickly. It was two months ago that I transferred from the CIA to the FBI New York office as deputy director of the FBI. My unpopular move had left many people unhappy at the CIA, but it was just something they had to accept I was tired of that life. I almost lost my life three times in one year alone; it was time for me to move on to greener pastures. This high-level office job in intelligence was the perfect thing for me.

I had been at my new job for only a month when I got a visit from OPR. They were investigating a breach of security from my office. I was aware that files were being leaked from my office so I had initiated a complete file lock down and had one of my senior officers investigate. The director sending in OPR meant that the leaked information was now endangering national security.

The OPR investigation took two weeks and no evidence was found. They ordered a lift of the file lock down that was initiated by me, claiming that I had no grounds to keep the office under lock down anymore and that I was halting progress of important and pending investigations.

A week after I lifted the lock down six new files on impending cases were leaked. These were high level cases that were going to expose the CIA for operating outside of their jurisdiction. That’s when I became suspicious of OPR. A low-level trainee could have figured out that there was a breach in this very office that I was in charge off.

I decided to do an investigation as to were these files were being sent. The IP address turned up at an old CIA drop site that only a few people knew about. (In hindsight I should have informed Kurt Weller, a friend from the CIA about this, but I was unsure about whom I could or could not trust.)

My decision to investigate the drop site alone is what eventually led to the unfortunate events that followed. At the drop site I found an old laptop. It was a decoy there was no way that this could have been what was receiving the files the software on this was ancient. My gut was right: it was a setup. I discovered that the CIA had been using the New York office for illegal operations for years and my move there threatened their operation.

I was here for one thing only. I’d seen this a thousand times before but now I wasn’t the one sent to eliminate the target. There was no confrontation, only shots from an automated sniper rifle. After all my service to my country I had been setup to die a villain but they’ll have to find me first. It will take more than a laptop scam to kill this assassin.


© Vuyani Ntshingila

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Grade 12
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There Was No Possibility Of Taking a Walk ~ Banele Kubheka

It was as if the chosen people had left and the earth had formed part of hell. The sun, perched high up in the sky, was beyond relentless. The roads flowed down the mountain side, shimmering and shining, and fell over the hill into an estuary called, Town.

The wind howled in the distance, calling its brethren from the four corners of the world to join it as it feasted on the emptiness of the valley. The trees rolled from side to side, bending with the remover but were not removed. Enjoying their own company, the tumbleweed cruised rapidly across the streets, stopping to knock on bolted doors.

The water itself had joined the environmental revolt and was in exile, nowhere to be seen; dark clouds stained the sky. The river slithered across the landscape. Its scaly skin yet to be shed with the arrival of the rains.

From my window, I pondered the likelihood of becoming food for the gnats and I marveled at their ability to brave this heat.

Darting across the scales of the river were the growing shadows of storm clouds. Each carrying its own army of water drops, ready to pelt old life to death and bring about new life. Carried by the wind, these dark, sinister wings glided effortlessly over everything. The lightning flashed and the thunder clapped: the marching band of the environmental army.

The wind grew stronger but the trees did not. The sun was hidden but its fury was not. The army was attacking. The soil sizzled and drowned. The gnats were plucked from the sky one by one. The trees bent, rolled over and were uprooted.

Through my window, in the safety of my house, amidst the watery massacre, I smelt new life and creation. I also smelt imprisonment: there was no possibility of taking a walk that day.



© Banele Kubheka

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Grade 12
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