Calliope is a weekly (mostly) session in Journalism where we gather to write and share pieces based on the selected topic! For our first-ever session this year, we got a nice range of poetry (spot the limerick and the haiku!) as well as a short story.

Oh glorious Revolution… We nearly had an entire newsletter on it, but eventually, we went with Nostalgia. (You should totally check out that newsletter!)

There are many different forms of revolution. It can refer to government overthrows, but also to economic revolutions such as the Agricultural Revolution, or even to changes in social and cultural norms. 


their voices silenced

a small cry, protest, escapes

a glimmer of hope


Heavy the head that wears the crown

Heavier still, the tax on towns

When men walk astride

Tearing down King’s pride

His vertebrae will come unwound.

Cheng Jie

He paces in his room

The walls, so maroon

The blood of those who lost

He won, but at what cost?

He steps on the throne

Eyes on him 

Sent chills down his bone

The kingdom lights that shined

Felt so dim


the sky is crimson

so is the ground

corpses and corpses

scattered around

the river shines

and flows with blood

the palace, an island

in a red flood

the new flag flies in the sky

lit up by the fire

the king’s body is still

as he hangs from the spire

the man stands on the stage

he promised peace and salvation

but like those before him

he’ll just dictate the nation


“More than two centuries ago, the land of the star-spangled banner emerged from the ashes of a brutal colonial war, bringing into life a promised land of freedom, prosperity, and safety.

Today, the land heaves its dying breath, ending in a sweeping wave of gunshots, fire, sickness, and mobs of angry men storming down the foundations of the places they grew up on.

A United States flag lies crumpled and burning in the streets; dozens of protestors swarm it like ants enveloping a breadcrumb, throwing all their rage on the symbol that failed to deliver its promise.

People are dying in the tens of thousands every day. The streets pile up with burnt waste, rubbish, and corpses. Millions are attempting to escape overseas, but no place will welcome them.

The military grows desperate in its attempts to restore power. Troops and tanks enter cities, only to find citizens firing back at them. Sporadic civil war ensues, a consequence of the 2nd amendment.

Eventually, the military and police break apart due to internal fighting. Unchecked weapons of mass destruction are unleashed. Cities, mountains, lakes, forests, all turn into wastelands.

Thousands overwhelm the National Guard and storm the White House. Mr. President has already fled to the North Pole, but the mob captures and publicly lynches anyone they find there.

Public safety and security have broken down. Some hoard, leaving others to starve. Others kill and consume in fits of cannibalism. Babies are left to cry until they die. The disabled are now easy prey.

Nowhere is safe for a country of over 300 million. Only the rich, living abroad in palaces of untellable splendour, are spared the destruction of ——-”

The soldier hits the pause button on the recording and the desperate electronic voice fades away. It is 5pm now, and the surroundings are beginning to darken. Through a broken window and his visor, he sees small sources of light switch on and illuminate the landscape like tiny islands in a vast ocean. Targets.

He slowly crawls out of the shack, of which once stood a lofty house with a happy family, and glances at the makeshift crutches on his broken leg. By now, the pain has faded, but the wound itself looks beyond repair. It takes some effort to crawl free of all the debris and human bones onto solid ground, where he can finally begin the slow, excruciating process of standing up.

One leg at a time. He finds a surface, and uses his still-working leg to prop into a good position, then eases the crutches on his broken one till they are perpendicular to the ground, before he can finally look up. And see himself surrounded by 5 heavily armed rebels, each carrying modified M4A4 carbines.

“I just want to know the truth of this place”

The interrogation room , constructed from salvaged wood, is small and tight as ever. The reply comes quick and harsh

“You are standing on former land of the failed states of America. There is nothing to see here, soldier. So why do you dare wander our wastelands?”

“Because I know you are hiding something”, the soldier replies, staring straight into his interrogator’s eyes.


Meeting The Future

This piece of modern art is the proof of our newfound freedom and autonomy. We students can now sleep peacefully knowing that we can take Teams meetings into our own hands. Never again shall we ask teachers to help us start meetings for us, never again shall we cry with frustration at the shackles Teams forces upon us. This is the future. This is the greatest revolution we will ever have the honour of witnessing. 

Spread the word: Students can schedule Teams meetings

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