The Great Canadian Student Monologue Writing Challenge sponsored by The Drama Notebook
​Students from across the country will submit their original monologues and the best will be recognized. They will have their work published on our website and with The Drama Notebook. Monologues should be between 150 to 300 words maximum and must be written by a single student - not a group of students.

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2021 Contest Winners

I’ll Miss You Too 
By: Alexandria Davidson, Age 16 
From: Ontario, Canada 
Description: This piece is based on my real life experience as I parted realms with my late  father, Jeffrey Alexander Davidson (https://ottawacitizen.remembering.ca/obituary/jeffrey davidson-1078535187). It is told from my creatively augmented inner perspective.
Genre: Dramatic 
​
“You’re stronger than I thought you were.”  
Oh, I don’t think I’m strong. You though, you’ve been through so much. Yet people question  why you continue to drink, and staggeringly, if you’re okay. 
“Stop asking if I’m okay.” 
It makes you sad when someone asks if you’re okay. Because they know, and you know, you’re  not. I accidentally did ask you one time. Your response still lingers in my mind, your smile.
“I’m okay.” 
You heard sniffles, under a poorly masked smile. I was trying to be strong for us. “Lexi, are you crying?” 
I was scared you weren’t going to be okay. 
On a separate occasion, you were laying down, I was tickling your hair. 
I began to tear up, and you just opened your eyes and smiled. 
All I could see was your beautiful blue eyes, and I was thankful I have the same ones. “He’s not going to make it to tomorrow” 
There's no way. We’re gonna go boating next summer. We talked about it. We’re gonna go  tubing, all of us. He’s gonna be so excited to play games for real again, I got him an Xbox for  Christmas, it's in two days. We’re gonna play a lot of games again, like we used to. I’m gonna  be moving into his apartment.  
We’re  
gonna 
be 
together. 
“You got that from me, you got that from me.” 
A chin-dimple I was insecure about when I was younger. I cried when you teased me for it, but  it feels good to look in the mirror and see you. To look at my eyes and see your eyes. To drive  the boat and to make new memories. To build a better future, with your name everywhere I  go. 
We were together. Those moments I’ll never forget, and they’ll always be ours. 

A Word to the Living 
By: Sophia Blakely, Age 17 
From: Ontario, Canada 
Description: A ghost of a soldier attempts to dissuade living soldiers from continuing to fight  in what he believes to be a losing war.  
Genre: Dramatic
[Austerely] Those men who still have their living wits about them, listen well to what I’m about  to say. The world is cruel. That fact is without debate. [Scornfully] I have witnessed first-hand  how vile men can act in times of war and tyranny - all in hopes of their survival, and possible  glory. But that is strikingly less noble. I was not unfamiliar with traversing trenches - walking  back and forth as the pools of mud tried to swallow me whole. I first maneuvered that path  when I was younger than most of you are now. Though I’m not young anymore. Really, I’m not  much of anything. [Dejectedly] It was an unfortunate thing to be my age in a war like that. If  you fought well, you were guaranteed a spot in the next one. We all learned that lesson too  late. [Dementedly] So, I’ll say this to you. If it’s glory you seek, go home. If it’s pride that’s  keeping you here, go home. And, if it’s a life you want at the end of this, go home. Had I  known better, I would have done the same. It bodes well to be a coward at a time like this.  [Absently] Ah, but death is calling me back. How sweetly she beckons. Adieu. Adieu. Adieu…  [Trails off] 

Death No More 
By: Lauren Mohr, Age 14 
From: Manitoba, Canada 
Description: A soldier finds out they have died in battle. 
Genre: Dramatic 
The last thing I remember is trying to duck from the horrific sounds coming from the other end  of the field. I felt pain and then…black nothingness. I woke up in a familiar place. I couldn’t  remember but then it came to me…I was home. Finally, no more feelings of fear and terror. No  more death. No more loss. No more depression. I made my way out to the kitchen and then I  saw her. The beautiful woman I was going to marry one day standing there just in her beauty  alone. We are only sixteen, so Mom thinks we’re too young, but one day it’ll happen. I just  know. The feeling of excitement came up inside of me and I ran to her, to comfort her from  feeling alone. But then I realized that tears were overflowing from her eyes. She fell to the  ground. Sadness filled the room when I saw it. The paper she was holding with my name and  the time of death. William Jones 15/05/1942. 

Letters 
By: Maddie Hazeu, Age 14 
From: Manitoba, Canada 
Description: A letter to a fallen soldier from a wife. 
Genre: Dramatic 
My Love Charlie,  
I miss you. I know you said to stay strong and to take care of the family for you, but it is hard.  Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. I hear the sound of marching boots in my dreams, 
wondering if you’ll ever come home. Every time the doorbell rings, I’m scared to answer for fear  of bad news. Don’t think I’m not proud of you love, our country needs you. You trained hard  and worked harder, being more than just a soldier to most. Charlie, please do your best to  make it home and meet your son. He has red hair, and brown eyes just like his father. I hope  this letter (with pictures included) reaches you in good time, and that you may find joy and  comfort within. We miss and love you so much. 
From your Love,  
-Catherine and baby Jake. 

2021 Honorable Mentions

(in no particular order)

A Poppy Addresses the Sky 
By: Joy Shen, Age 17 
From: Ottawa, Canada 
Description: A poppy addresses the sky and reflects on its feelings towards war. Genre: Dramatic 
Dear Sky, 
I have stared at you for what feels like years. Wonderingーwondering whether there will be an end to this bloodshed. Each day, I see countless young men and women scurry around the  battlefield, carrying supplies and tending to the fallen; certainly afraid, but not showing any  signs of such emotion. People in different uniforms unload all sorts of munitions and discharge  them toward their enemy. But in this chaos, I ask, are the lives of thousands worth losing over  this conflict? I am but a simple flower on this battlefield, but I yearn to see when those of  varying backgrounds can come together. I want to hear the cheerful laughter on summer  evenings and feel the Sun’s welcoming rays. The Sun no longer shines with warmth and the  rain no longer drops down to heal the Earth. The ground is scorched by ammunition; the air is  filled with deafening screams. Balls of fire engulf the once peaceful silence of nighttime. Every so often, I see fresh faces of those eager to assist their nationーbut like me, many only know  part of the narrative. Soon enough, the youthful hints of joy in their faces morph into haunted  eyes and empty expressions. My stomata tire from breathing in fumes of havoc. O, Blue Sky!  When will this tragedy end? Every battle is promised to be the last, yet again and again, blood  spills over these fields. Only the creativity of the soldiers’ letters makes this place tolerable. If I  could, I would extend my stems across borders and persuade both sides to reach an  agreement. I would weep tears for the fallen and cure the ill. I may not be an architect of  peace, but I am poppy. I can and will remember those that served. 
Where Did My Best Friend Go? 
By: Kyra Scollan, Age 13 
From: Manitoba, Canada 
Description: A dog wonders where his owner went after he left for war.
Genre: Dramatic 
My best friend left 3 years ago. I've been waiting for his return since I was two. “I won’t be too  long, pal, just hang tight. Be a good boy for Beth!” That’s what he said before giving me a treat  and walking out the door. Now I sleep by the door each night hoping he walks through and  gives me a big hug. I miss his joy and his scent and playing catch with him. I whine every night  for his return, I’m so confused. He was my only best friend. No one has ever shown me the  same love James did. I don’t understand why he left. Does he hate me? I whimper at the  thought. If only I knew what I could’ve done better for him to stay, at least a little longer.  Where has my best friend gone and why? 
Missing Dad 
By: Danica VAN Leeuwen, Age 14 
From: Manitoba, Canada 
Description: A dead soldier’s dog reflects on how much she misses him.  Genre: Dramatic 
I miss Dad. Why did he have to leave me and mom? He told me that he would be back soon.  That was 3 years ago. I’m starting to think that he will never come back. I still sleep by the  door every night, waiting, hoping and dreaming that he will walk through that door. Mom tries  to make me feel better, but she will never replace dad. I love mom and she’s trying her best  but it’s not the same. She always looks sad as well. She tries to put on a brave face, but I know  she misses dad too. She tries to distract herself with work but even that doesn’t make her  happy. I try to help her, but let’s face it. Dad’s not coming back. He’s always had a heart to  help people and he’s not going to stop until he has to. He’s always been that way. That’s what I  love about him but also what I hate about him. I just miss him and hopes he comes back soon. 

Day We Remember 
By: Rya Doornbos, Age 14 
From: Manitoba, Canada 
Description: A drafted soldier’s love remembers him and hopes for his return. Genre: Dramatic 
Everyone knows how to be happy, but when he left my happiness went with him. It was about  two weeks before we were going to get married. There was this loud bang, and these military  people grabbed him and left just like that. Everyday I think he’s going to come back, but then  every day passes. It’s just me, alone, sitting in the darkness. I have no one. Maybe I just need  to face the facts that he isn’t going to come back. But every day I write letters and cry, just  waiting for his response. On every letter I ask him when he’s coming home, but the answer is  always, “I don’t know.” I try to take deep breaths, but my breath turns into crying. I just want 
to be happy again. I think the puppy is helping. I found it outside, abandoned and alone. It  made me realize that I was feeling the same thing, so I took it. Every day I feel a little happier  because of that dog. I started telling it all the memories I have with my fiancé, and at that  makes me start to feel some happiness. All I can say is that I remember the laughs, I  remember the cries in his arms, I remember everything. Until he returns, all I can say is, I  remember. 
A Chance to Say Goodbye 
By: Colin Haaksma, Age 14 
From: Manitoba, Canada 
Description: A soldier questions his decision to join the war and submits to injury. Genre: Dramatic 
Was any of this worth it? Was it worth the pain and sadness of losing everything? Would it have  been better to stay home, living in fear, or to die a hero’s death, knowing I did the right thing?  I had so much left to do, so much left to say. I will never get to meet my son, never see my  wife again, never get to grow old. I don’t know if it was worth it. I would have felt bad if I  hadn’t joined. I may have never gotten past that. It doesn’t matter anymore, nothing I can do  now will change anything. There is no point in thinking about this, about any of it. All I can do  now is hope I did the right thing, and deal with the consequences if I didn’t. The only problem  is, I may never know if I did the right thing. I just wish I had a chance to say goodbye. 
Passion Missing in Action 
By: Ben Purvis, Age 14 
From: Manitoba, Canada 
Description: A brother’s love of tanks took him from a loving family. 
Genre: Dramatic 
My Brother had a passion for armored vehicles. (Chuckling while speaking) When we were watching footage of the Mark 1, he ran to our mother, tugging on her skirt, and said, “I want to  be in one of those things one day!” (Pause) I was scared for him. I’d seen those tanks get stuck  in trenches and blown up by artillery. I couldn’t imagine what might happen to him. (Deep  breath) Then the second world war began, and I was furious that it was started by the same  country that started WW1. “What do those Germans want?” I yelled. But my brother was  excited. He knew it was his chance to fight in one of our tanks. (Fixes glasses) He joined the  8th Royal Tank Regiment in 1940 and was put on a Valentine Mark 5 and was deployed in  North Africa. I was terrified because I knew Panzer 4 had been tearing up our tanks for the past  few months and The Tiger 1 was just released. I told him it was way too dangerous and that  the Germans have more powerful weapons. But he said, “We beat the Germans in the battle of  Britain, and they had more fighters than us. Just sit down and have some tea, I'll be fine.” The  next day he was gone. I spent the whole day watching news reports from North Africa. Every 
scorched tank I saw made me worry. (Shrugs) Heck, one time I was shaking my cup of tea so  violently that it splashed all over the place. Then one day he was reported missing in action, and we don't know what happened to him. 
Tear-Stained Letter 
By: Hephzibah Goddy, Age 13 
From: Manitoba, Canada 
Description: Finding out that your love didn’t make it through the war. 
Genre: Dramatic 
They say when you love someone your world stops. Well, that's not true. Henry made my world  turn. But here I am relishing in old memories wondering where my Henry is. War changes  people. It leaves a hole in your heart. “What If?” repeatedly wandering through your mind, and  questions left unanswered. Days are passing, and minutes are flying, but my heart is still  waiting, holding onto that hope that maybe, just maybe he will come back. That this is just a  terrible dream that I will wake up from. Reality hits me like a strong wind. I will never see him  again. In my hands lay the fate of our love, I open it…… My heart stops. Tears stain the letter  like paint to a canvas. I love with him with all my heart. I wonder if he is thinking of me in  paradise. I hope wherever he is, that he knows that he was greatly loved by me. That every  morning he was my first and only thought, no matter how imperfect he seemed to himself, he  was always perfect to me. 
My Little Boy 
By: Grace Irakoze, Age 14 
From: Ontario, Canada 
Description: A mother tells a friend about the day her son left for war. 
Genre: Dramatic 
And that was the last day I saw him, he went to fight in WW1 for our freedom. He left with  such a big smile knowing he was gonna save millions of lives. Tears ran down my cheeks  knowing my boy grew up, my little boy was gonna fight for the good of this world. I was truly a  proud mother for he had always dreamed to one day fight for our country and that day had  finally come. He was the bravest and smiled as bright as the sun. Yet little did I know my little  boy wasn’t gonna make it back. Years came and went but there was still no sign of them. Finally on November 11, 1918, the war came to an end. But not all our heroes had come back;  half of them lost their lives in the line of duty and we will forever remember their sacrifice.
The First Poppy 
By: Avery Waxman, Age 13 
From: Ontario, Canada 
Description: A young child expresses what it feels like to suffer the loss of a parent in warfare. Genre: Dramatic 
You know, I remember the day my father died: August 14th, 1942. I was five at the time. I  remember the way the tears streamed down my mother’s pale cheeks, the way she sobbed  when she heard the knock on the door at three in the morning. She knew it could only mean  one thing. I was too young to understand much, but this I knew: Dad wasn’t coming home. The  service was three days later. I remember people telling me, ‘Your father died an honourable  death.' He died during the Dieppe Raid; did you know? He kept fighting ‘till the end. ‘A real  hero,' everyone called him. During the eulogy, my teary-eyed mother told the story I’d heard as  a child each night: my parent’s love story, and the story of my name. My father was a soldier in  the first world war: my mother was a nurse. My father had been wounded, and as my mother  tended to him, he produced a single poppy from beneath his uniform. He told her it was as  beautiful as she was, and he brought her one from that poppy field every night until the war  ended. They wed six months later. My name came from that poppy. You may think my name is  childish. But my father called me his little poppy because I was strong enough to make it  through the toughest storm. Just like that first poppy. Nothing can change the fact that my  father fought for this nation and died protecting it. It won’t change when the clocks chime on  the eleventh day, I’ll think of his sacrifice. Sure, it’s hard, but like that poppy, I stay strong even  when it gets tough to hold on. After all, that’s what Dad would’ve wanted. His Poppy. 
A Fate Worse Than Death 
By: Megan Hibbs, Age 17 
From: Newfoundland, Canada 
Description: Ghost of a fallen soldier speaks to his son. 
Genre: Dramatic 
It’s hard watching your life continue on without you. I died three years ago but I'm still here.  You can't see me, but I'm here son. I watched you make the basketball team last spring, but I  couldn't congratulate you. I watched you cry while looking at a photo of the two of us, but I  couldn't comfort you. I wish we could go back to that moment in the photo; down by the lake  six months before I got called away, back when everything was perfect. I've watched your  mother fall in love with a man who isn't me. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to watch but I  can tell that she's starting to heal and that she's happy. That's all I want for you son.  Happiness. Being like this is torture, watching my life unfold in front of me, what should’ve been  my life. I'm sorry son, I wish I could tell you that. I never meant to cause you so much pain.  Unknowingly, you're standing right in front of me, and I would give anything to be able to hug 
you, my son. Watching all the big moments in your life but not getting to be a part of them is a  fate worse than death. 
Blood-Soaked Poppies 
By: Sierra Mann, Age 13 
From: Ottawa, Canada 
Description: An immortal war veteran takes it upon himself to host a public speech in honor of  those who died, revealing what the government hid for so long in the process.  
Genre: Dramatic 
I have brought everyone here to discuss the truth of history before many of you were even  born, so all of us might have a better future. A Remembrance Day, one may call it. As you may  know, I am a veteran of the very first world war. “But, how?”, you may ask. And I don’t blame  you for it, you were never allowed to know until recent times. Not every veteran died from old  age, some of us were cursed to live forever, you may know us from stories, immortals. But we  are not fiction. We are real people, sent to fight with mortals like you. Unlike you, however, we  were forced to live in shame, for who we were. We were drafted off to strange seas, forced to  kill our friends. We had to watch the ones we cared about die into our arms. There were so  many men, young and with hopes and dreams of becoming heroes, only to lose that hope  shortly by the horrors of bloodshed. There were so many women, who kept the world going  with their intelligence and hospitality when the men couldn’t. There were so many people, who were shot and killed despite not wanting an inch of involvement in the war. There were so  many children, who suddenly became orphans too young. This is why on this day; we must  remember, remember the lives of those who were hidden, who were killed. When this day  ends, there will never be any more blood-soaked poppies taken in vain. 
Bird’s Eye View 
By: Trinity Smith, Age 17 
From: Nova Scotia, Canada 
Description: A discussion between two meadow larks in storytelling form. Genre: Dramatic 
“Have you ever seen such a mess?” asked one lark to another. “This is so bizarre. What are  they doing? What are they accomplishing?” As they flew back over the bruised fields, littered  with bodies, weapons, and blood, the little lark couldn't believe its eyes. “Years ago,” replied  the older one, “this field was filled with grass and flowers. A wonderful meadow it was. This  
pasture heard only the sounds of the birds, and the wind which would rustle the trees and  shrubs rhythmically. The grass was so green and full of life. There were bees and field mice  occupying the place. The sky overhead was most often a serene blue with the softest white  clouds decorating it.” They sat perched upon a branch of a hollow tree. “Now look. Look how 
much they have changed this place. Green grass and flowers no more, dirt and lonesome limbs  take their place. While the fighting has stopped, the harrowing sounds still seem to echo, yet  the silence is so loud it's ringing through my head.” 
“ Why do they do this, not only to this land, but to themselves?” 
“ I do not know.” 
“ Why do they cause themselves such suffering and pain with this conflict? I can't grasp what  they're trying to accomplish from this. Their lifeless bodies dotting the grounds, which were  once so peaceful and clean, leave their families to mourn. They band together, so polarized,  armed and with a plan. They shoot at each other- each just as human as the other, yet they do  it anyway. How can they do this? When the grass regrows, and the trees reclaim the barren  landscape, and the stench of death dissipates will they remember?” 
“Perhaps. Like the land, they will have to heal first…” 
Remembrance Day 
By: Esther Obieme, Age 17 
From: Nova Scotia, Canada 
Description: A man in his 80’s answers his grandchild’s question, “What is the meaning of  Remembrance Day?” 
Genre: Dramatic 
When I was 9, my brother went to war. I remember waking up at dawn, the morning before he  left, and crying to my mom. I ran downstairs, pulled open the front door, and there was my  brother, walking towards a group of other boys from our street. For a second, I wanted to  scream at the top of my voice. I wanted to cry and hold him and say, “don’t go!” but I already  knew what his reply would be. “I have to go Max, it's for the peace we don’t have now, and a  better future.” I held the door, looking at my brother who had his back to me. Just when I  thought he would walk off without saying something - anything. He turned, and looked me  straight in the eyes, then he nodded and walked away. I had seen him make that gesture a lot.  I never understood it, but at that exact moment, I understood everything - the unsaid words,  the apology written on his face, the “please don’t cry,'' that he always used to say when he  babysat me. It was better than anything he could ever say to me. So child, you asked what the  meaning of Remembrance Day is. It's the eleventh hour, of the eleventh day, of the eleventh  month. The celebration of past soldiers - heroes. Men and women who laid down their lives for  a better future, a better country, and a peaceful land. Men and women who marched out to war  knowing that they might not see home again or see their loved ones ever. Men who lived in  trenches for months. We remember the struggle, the risk, the pain, they endured. We  remember the honor, glory, and legacy they fought for. That is the meaning, and why we  celebrate Remembrance Day. So, whenever it’s Remembrance Day, and you find yourself in the  store, work, school or on the road, please wear a poppy, to show your respect for the brave  men and women who laid down their lives for the peaceful future you have today.
The Letter 
By: Samantha Twells, Age 16 
From: British Columbia, Canada 
Description: Dorothy receives a letter from the Army stating that her brother, John, died in  service during the First World War. 
Genre: Dramatic 
This war is never-ending. It seems like it’s dragged on for eternity- like there was never a time  before and there will never be a time after. It’s easy enough to pretend that it isn’t happening  when you stay at home, when you don’t have anybody close fighting in it. But I can’t do that.  
My brother John joined the army. I did my best to convince him not to go, but nothing would persuade him. He told me he couldn’t stand around and do nothing while others died for this  country, for what’s right. He’s always been courageous like that. Even when we were little, he  was willing to stand up for others. He was willing to put himself in danger to help people. I  guess some things never change. I received a letter today. From the army. I’m terrified to open  it. All I can think about is how he might be… How he might become just another statistic in this  horrific war. How I may never be able to see his smile again. [Dorothy opens letter] I pray to God that nothing bad has happened to him, that this is just some standard army  procedure. (Reading for a moment) No, no this can’t be true. He promised me he’d come home!  There must have been a mistake, they must have delivered this to the wrong person— he can’t  be— It’s all my fault! He’s dead because I couldn’t convince him to stay. I— I couldn’t stop him.  All of this, it’s all my fault… 
Al’s Letter 
By: Hunter Wilson, Age 17 
From: Nova Scotia, Canada 
Description: The letter of a recruit to his mother describing his experience of the battlefield in  Belgium during the First World War. 
Genre: Dramatic 
Hi Mama, 
It's been a while since I last corresponded. I’ve been in the field hospital ever since my first  month in Belgium. The triage team said I was lucky to live as my condition was too far gone  and they didn’t think there was much they could do. The amount of chlorine gas that went in  me was very minuscule but was enough to kill me. If I’m being honest, the pain in my throat  was too extreme that I almost used my .45 on myself. I had it up to my head, finger on the  trigger, ready to go, but I remembered your words; the non-religious preachings you taught  me. Suicide is selfish, my loved ones will miss me, that’s what was running in my head. My  throat looks like one of the potatoes you burnt on Thanksgiving years back. I don’t want you  thinking that I’m mad at you or that I think this is your fault; I’m thankful for you keeping me 
alive, mama. But do you remember my farmer friend Gord, that I told you about? He didn’t  have the same luck as I did. You remember me telling you that Gord and I enlisted the same  day, right? Well, the same day I was poisoned by the chlorine, he was shot in the heart by a  Kraut recruit. Damned his luck was, I would’ve taken the bullet for him if it weren’t for the gas  ripping me apart from the inside. I know you don’t want me believing in all that voodoo  nonsense Aunt Cherie was putting on to us, but the day he enlisted was the last day he was  alive himself. We were doing so good here, it wasn’t until I showed up that we started being  pushed back. I’m a walking curse, mama. I want to go home. 
Your Beloved, 
Al 
Remembrance Day Monologue 
By: Noah Vodarek-Berman, Age 15 
From: Ontario, Canada 
Description: A soldier named William Denyes writes home to his mother as he is coming home  from World War One in France. 
Genre: Dramatic 
November 25th, 1918.  
Dearest Mother, I am on the boat home to Halifax! I made it back from the front, and in one  piece at that. We showed the krauts what for and drove them back to Brandenburg! We fought  long and hard in treacherous conditions, but I won’t ever look back. I know now that joining up  was a good decision, I needed to fight for my country. That’s the good news, the bad news is  that almost everyone on the boat is sick. They’re calling it some “Spanish Flu”, but the war was  fought in France! Oh well. I just wish my friend Edward was here to see the end of the war,  God bless his soul. You remember him, he must’ve visited a hundred times. He always said you  liked him more than me. Last month, right before the war ended, Edward seemed to change for  the worse. He couldn’t sleep, eat, or drink without me or someone from our platoon helping  him. He had that one-thousand-yard stare that tells you he’s all but gone, though we did our  best to help him. In the final days it was clear he had lost it. Early in November his condition  had deteriorated. I could do nothing to help him, anything I attempted was useless. In the dead  of night, he went over the top of the trench and I never saw him again. I was heartbroken, my  best friend since childhood was gone in what seemed like an instant. I know this is a lot to take  in, and I will make sure to go and visit Edward’s folks. Mom, I love you so much and I will write  to you again as soon as I land in Halifax.  
Signed,  
William Denyes, Lance Corporal of the Canadian Expeditionary Force. 
The Ghost of the Soldier 
By: Samarveer Gill, Age 10 
From: Alberta, Canada
Description: A story of Jack, who meets the ghost of Frank the soldier on 11th November,  Remembrance Day. 
Genre: Dramatic 
“Do you hear me, Jack?” a voice whispered in the cemetery. Jack was too afraid to  acknowledge it. He took his morning walks at the Charlton Crematorium Garden and enjoyed  the peace. It was the 11th of November “Remembrance Day”. The garden was all quiet except  for the strange sound. The voice called him gently, “Don’t be afraid, my boy, I won’t hurt  you.” Jack stopped in his tracks and with all his bravery turned to where the echo was coming  from. “I am the ghost of private Frank who was killed in the First World War. Do you know how  hard we fought for the freedom of this country?” Jack wanted to say something, but no words  came out of his mouth. “For six months we were in trenches, till we ended up fighting the  enemy in hand-to-hand combat. Every single soldier fought with extraordinary bravery and  courage for their country. We were all given medals and some of us did not return home alive. I  am so proud of what my fellow soldiers did for Canada. I come here every 11th of November to  see my land.” Then suddenly the phantom turned towards him. “I want you to promise me  something, Jack,” said the shadow. “When your country calls you to defend it from aggression,  go do your job with pride.” And with that it was gone. Jack was a little shaken, but he knew  what he had to do if his country needed him. 
Military Memories 
By: Sagal Hussein, Age 13 
From: New Brunswick, Canada 
Description: A young veteran, mid 30’s is in a therapist’s office asking for a prescription for  antidepressants due to the war but shows signs of drug abuse.  
Genre: Dramatic 
I remember the first time I saw a poppy. I-it was so beautiful. But I had to keep focus and duck  down or I could’ve gotten shot. I still do it. I don’t know how to admire things anymore. It’s like  my empathy flew away with the aircraft. And I still get these…um nightmares. I wake up in a  cold sweat with a ringing. I look over to my wife and instead see a dead body. It’s…uh been  happening for a while now. I think almost four months. I can’t really deal with crying from my  daughter. I…uh can't control my emotions. I keep yelling at her for making a mess and yes, I  know she’s only 6 years old but… I don’t know how to say sorry. I didn’t feel things for so long  I forgot how. It’s like I can’t relax anymore. My psychiatrist prescribed me some Prozac to help  with the… uh PTS... whatever. I don’t think it’s really working. The war ended long ago but it’s  still happening in my head. BANG! BANG! Every. Single. Day. I-I just want it to stop.  I think I need something stronger like Zoloft or something. Doc. Listen to me. You have to help  me. I-I wanna be able t-to walk my kid to school without being scared. I wanna trust my wife  en-n-enough to sleep in the same bed as her. I don’t wanna jump every time my goddamn dog  barks. 
For the Future
By: Saif Babar, Age 16 
From: Ontario, Canada 
Description: A soldier's ghost is given a chance to look upon the success of his, and his  comrades' efforts. He glosses his final day and his aspirations for the future. Sharing his story  with the one person whose attention he has. 
Genre: Dramatic 
Am I alive? Where am I? Did we win? What is this…this silence? Where… where are the  gunshots? No cries of the dead? Oh... It’s over. Hey! Wait... You… You can see me? I’m Samuel. Samuel Peter. 5th Battalion of the Canadian Mounted Rifles, honest, brave, and  patriotic soldier. Well, I was…. Before that day. I once walked this street, you know. Uniform  untouched, unarmed, and without the weight of the dead on my shoulders. My company had  once entrusted me with their lives. I was known for my aims. For my perseverance. Yet I still  managed to catch a bullet. It claimed my life. I claimed the right of everlasting silence. I am  however quite delighted. To have been alive at a time when I fought for the freedom of my  people. What was it like you may ask? My final hours? It was an exceptionally bleak day. We  lost many but giving up was not part of the job. Just me and a couple of my mates left, and in  a matter of minutes, one by one, we lost the thrill of life. Seeing these flowers bloom without  the cover of smoke, it’s reassuring. As though I were still alive. I am grateful for this chance to  glance at what life can be without war. To see the success of those who gave themselves to the  cause. Of peace. Of love. Of freedom. My wish is that we learn from the true terror that we can  bring to each other. At least I can rest assured that I have someone who knows. To inspire  peace and move ahead. Without ever having to look back to our horrific times, to be able to  come together as one for the sake of our world I wish for a place where all, may rest in peace.  It seems as though it’s my time to hit the rails. To the other side of course. Thanks for lending  an ear to this old man. By chance, we may meet again. Goodbye……. 
Ghost of a Memory 
By: Cydney Stanislow, Age 11 
From: Ontario, Canada 
Description: A ghost of a soldier goes through his old haunting memories. Genre: Dramatic 
I was never truly there. People couldn’t see me, but I could see them. I am the soul of Tommy  Hadwin. I am nowhere near to death nor am I alive. Every day I go through my worst  memories, starting with goodbye. I always hear the haunting train whistle. I kiss my wife  goodbye and hug her, hating that eventually I’ll have to let go. I look down at my son. I pick  him up and tassel his hair. ‘Son, I will come back’ I tell him. His eyes are teary, ‘Promise?’  ‘Promise’ I tell him, and I set him back down. The train whistle blows again, and I get on it. That’s the last I see of my son or my wife. Next thing I know I’m carried off by the wind like a  leaf in fall, into the next memory. I am in battle, fighting. I have my dog in front of me. He is sniffing out bombs. I named him Soldier. When we were attacked by the other side, they shot  him I felt sad in the eyes. He had always been with me. The next thing I know the soldiers 
imprison me and try to get any information they can. I keep quiet dealing with the pain. Finally,  I escape, and I walk for days. Until I’m found. I try to fight, but I’m so weak. That’s how I  died. The wind comes again, and I see my wife and my son at the funeral. It brings tears to my  eyes. My son is crying into my wife as she strokes his hair trying to be brave, but she’s crying too. That’s all I see of that memory, and then again, I am blown back to the train station where  these memories repeated on a haunting cycle. 
Forgotten Days 
By: Kylie Siew, Age 14 
From: Toronto, Canada 
Description: A soldier thanks a special friend of the day he once shared alone. 
Genre: Dramatic 
In Flanders Fields the poppies grew 
Until the day my eyes lay upon you 
Your plastic shrines and wreaths of honour 
Decorate our graves in sun and shower 
Every year on November 11th 
I see the crosses of fallen brethren  
As family and friend gathered ‘round 
They ignored my place within the ground  
For I had no wife or child 
My grave lay empty, cold, and wild 
Only the poppies came back every year 
Until you came along, my dear 
Now every year in Flanders Field 
I do not share this day alone 
Remembrance Day 
By: Jennifer Dolson, Age 15 
From: Ontario, Canada 
Description: A war veteran shares his memories of war and encourages the next generation to  Remember and learn from that experience. 
Genre: Dramatic 
Remembrance Day you ask? Well, I was a boy about your age now, not quite old enough to be  off on my own, and definitely not mature enough to see the unspeakable horrors of war. But I  did, like every boy my age. We fought for our family and country alike. I was one of the lucky 
ones, many of my fellow comrades were not. The conditions were ghastly, we rarely saw a dry  day or night, always covered in mud, and ached right through to our bones. What I would have  given for a warm pair of dry socks. The nights turned into days, and the days turned into  nights. Sleep was a distant memory. So, you see young lad, Remembrance Day is something  we should all recognize. It is a day to be thankful for the freedom we enjoy now, a day to  remember the fallen soldiers, that fought so bravely for our freedom. A day my boy, to guide us  down the right path, to avoid repeating history.

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