So, Chrissy in Garrett’s nearly over. Yes folks, another great one, filled with goodwill and cheer. It wasn’t too bad I suppose. The food was good, and heaps of it. I ate all day. And we could watch TV as much as we wanted, although there wasn’t anything good on. Nothing else happened, just some stupid jokes and games. There was a good fight between two girls: Kylie Patrick and a girl called Turk. I don’t know her real name. The hacks broke it up before there was a result. Turk had torn up some photo of Kylie’s or something.
Sophie’s started singing some Christmas carols from her slot. It’s nice. She hasn’t sung too much since her sentence got extended.
Hey, you’ll like this one. This girl called Kyla was telling me how she went to Med Unit yesterday with flu and congestion and stuff. So the sister put some Vicks in a bowl, put a towel over Kyla’s head and had her inhale the fumes. But after a minute or two Kyla chundered, right in the bowl. Sister was burned off, but she changed the bowl, put more Vicks in, put the towel back on. A couple of minutes later Kyla chundered into it again. So this time, Sister made her keep the towel over her head and inhale the fumes from the Vicks and the vomit. Nice mixture, hey? Made her feel a whole lot better.
Anita just yelled out ‘Anyone know the postcode for Breton?’ ‘Yeah’ someone yelled back, ‘S.U.X.’
You gotta laugh.
Keep singing Soph.
See you, Manna. Hope your Christmas was good. But what you said about Steve, I’d be worried. He sounds like he’s blown his cork. Hope you get the post office job — at least you’ll be away from him more.
Lotsa love,
Trace
Dec 26, 3 a.m.
This letter’s not over yet Manna. I just woke up with the worst dream: knives and bullets and blood, and shapes in the dark. Then I found I got my period — a rare event in here. Everyone dries up. So maybe that’s why I had the dream. But I’m not going back to sleep — I don’t want to go through that again. It was bad, a blood bath, bloody bad.
Sorry about the writing but I’m doing this by the light of the security lights outside my slot, with a bit of help from the moon. So it’s not easy.
You know, Manna, I am going to try to change. Hell, I’ve changed a lot already, I think. But I’m going to get out of Maximum S. By the time I leave Macquarie you’ll be proud to know me. I’ll be the first woman Pope. Seriously though, I am going to have a go at it. A Block’s for losers. But you got to help me, OK?
Let me know when I’m being a bigger dickhead than usual. I’ve been on the street so long, I think it’s normal to spit in the gutter. I forget how you’re meant to act. But I’m gonna make it Manna, I really am.
’Night again,
T.
Dec 31
Dear Manna,
New Year’s Eve — another thriller in downtown Garrett. It’s party time again, with lights out at 9.30. I’m almost weak with excitement.
You said you had that party for Rebecca tonight. Hope it goes well. It’s funny how you can fight with someone and hate their guts at times, but they get like a habit, and you miss them when they go. People are always leaving here.
The last time I went to a New Year’s Eve party was at Buckley’s Beach, two years back. Jeez it was a mess. People drinking and fighting and spewing everywhere. On the beach you were up to your ankles in condoms. The pigs came round every few minutes but they didn’t try anything till about two o’clock, when everyone was too wasted to get them, so they had it all their own way. They sure spilt some blood — they had themselves a happy New Year. Raz and I got smart for once and melted into the night. Wise-ass Tracey, that’s me.
We’ve got these workshop things going at the moment. I think because they’re scared we’ll get bored and chew the place down. So you can do drama or dance or meditation, all that kind of stuff. I’m doing writing. There’s only three of us doing it, so you sort of have to go — you’d feel bad if you didn’t. The lady who takes it is quiet but she’s nice. She’s had three books published but I haven’t heard of her. Mary Lim, her name is. Do you know her? I told her about winning the prize for my story and she got quite excited about that.
We do these exercises like describing how a piece of chocolate smells, feels, looks and tastes. I liked that one — in fact I could do it over and over. And we did one where we had to exaggerate everything in a story. They’re quite good. And she seems to like what I write. But the last workshop’s on Thursday, bit of a bummer. I’m going to see if the library’s got any of her books.
Well, I gotta go. You must owe me a few letters by now — you’re getting slack. Guess the mail gets stuffed over Christmas and New Year. Tell Katrina to sort faster.
Oh yeah, I nearly forgot. Happy New Year!
Love,
Trace
Jan 8
Dear Manna,
Geez Manna where’s all the letters? I haven’t heard from you since Christmas Eve. Get your ass out of gear. Hope you’re not sick or anything.
Things are starting to drag here. The workshops finished last week, and there’s not much coming up that I know of. The hacks are so raggy. Roll call this morning was a good one — Mrs Neumann was doing it. When she got to Jenelle Hawthorne, Jenelle just answered ‘Yeah’, instead of ‘Present’. Mrs Neumann snapped. ‘Right, you’re charged: attempting to escape.’ ‘What?’ said Jenelle. ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Neumann, frothing at the mouth. ‘You didn’t answer your name correctly, therefore you’re not here. And if you’re not here, you must be in Med Unit or attempting to escape.’ Can you believe it? I don’t think she’ll charge her though — she’d never get away with it.
I miss the basketball. Don’t know if I told you, but we got chucked out for rough play and swearing and all that stuff. I don’t know what they expected. I think they didn’t like us winning so many matches.
Right now I’m sitting in the exercise yard, writing this. It’s a nice day. There’s a game of netball on — there’s rings at both ends of the yard and a few lines on the ground. I’ll go and play in a sec. There’s not much else to do.
Hope there’s a letter from you tomorrow.
See you,
love,
Trace
Jan 14
Dear Manna, three weeks since I had a letter from you and I’m getting worried. I suppose I’m scared that when I told you about my father, it might have, sort of, put you off. But you knew I was no angel. And anyhow, I don’t think you’re the kind of person to be put off that easily.
I’m worried about other things too. I’m still having these terrible dreams, horrible ones, full of people attacking each other. I wake up sweating and panting, and I’m scared to go back to sleep. So I don’t sleep much.
I suppose what I’m saying is maybe these dreams make me worry about you, with your brother getting so ugly and all.
Anyhow, it’s probably nothing — you’ve probably got flu or gone on holidays. And there’ll probably be a letter tomorrow.
We had this theatre group came today, did a play called Diary of Anne Frank. It was good. I’m going to read the book.
Well, look forward to hearing from you, hopefully tomorrow.
Lots of love,
Tracey
Jan 18
Dear Manna,
Well, the end of the week and still nothing. I’ll have to wait till Monday now.
It’s funny, remember how I stopped writing to you when you got onto me for not being at Prescott High? And you were writing practically every day, trying to bully me into answering? And now the boot’s on the other foot. Maybe I’d better start writing every day. I’ll send you postcards that other people can read. Remember that? They put the mail on the board here and if you’re five minutes late from classes your postcards get read by everyone in the place.
They’re having a game of badminton at the moment. It’s not a bad game, but I’m not in the mood. I’m just sitting in the corner watching now.
Have a good weekend Manna,
Love,
> Tracey
Jan 21
Dear Manna,
The mail’s been put up, and right now I feel pretty terrible.
Manna, the second worst thing in the world would be if you decided to stop writing to me. But the worst thing would be if anything bad happened to you. I don’t know if I could stand it if you didn’t want to write any more, but I know I couldn’t stand it if you’d had an accident, or something. The most important thing right now is that you’re OK. That’s more important than if you hate me or despise me. What I’m saying is, if you’re well and healthy, but you don’t want to write, at least send me one sentence saying that. And then I guess I’ll have to stop hassling you.
The hardest thing is not knowing. And being in here, I’m totally cut off. There’s no way I can find out if you’re OK. That’s what’s driving me crazy.
Please God, if you’re there, let there be a letter tomorrow. And if there is, I’ll be the best damn Girl Guide in this whole dump. Please write, Manna.
Luv ya,
Trace
Jan 22
Nothing. What are you doing to me Manna? Why’d you write in the first place? Why didn’t you leave me alone, like I told you? You’ve really screwed me up now, just when I was starting to get somewhere. I’m so scared Manna. Where are you?
Jan 23
Dear Manna,
Well, now I know that something’s wrong. I got six letters back today, all marked ‘Return to Sender’. And it wasn’t in your writing. They go right back to before Christmas. So all this time I’ve been writing into nothing, writing to myself.
There’s nothing I can do Manna. I don’t think I’m going to hear from you again. I hope that you’re OK, but somehow I don’t think you are. God bless you Manna — I still love you.
Your friend
Trace
Feb 11
Dear Mandy,
I thought I’d write to you one last time. It’s a year today since you sat down and answered my ad, on a rainy Sunday when you were bored. I’ve still got every letter you wrote, even though you’re not meant to keep them, but I don’t read them any more.
My last four letters came back too, as this one will if I bother to send it.
Manna, I’m sorry, but I’m not doing so well. I hope you’re not disappointed in me. I’ve been in Med Unit for a while now, two or three weeks maybe. I don’t do much, or say much. I like just sitting under my bed, watching things. But they’re nice to me in here.
I still get the dreams though.
They say I won’t be going back to A Block. I get the shakes when I think about it. I don’t know where they’ll send me. I hope, wherever it is, they’ll be nice to me. I’d like to stay here but I don’t think I’m allowed.
All I want is people to be nice to me.
Bye, Manna. Remember, just keep on goin’ till it all stops flowin’, OK?
Luv ya,
Tracey
Other books by John Marsden for older readers
John Marsden
Take My Word For It
You know what Tracey said to me after English today? She said: ‘The reason you’ve got no friends is that you don’t tell anyone your problems’. . . I hate the way they tell everyone every single detail about themselves. . . If you ask me, it’s dangerous. Once you start, you don’t stop.
Strong, cold, private . . .this is Lisa, as seen by Marina in her journal, So Much to Tell You.
But Lisa too keeps a journal. It’s a record of her friends and family, her frustrations and successes, her thoughts and feelings. As page follows page, the real Lisa begins to emerge. Not always strong, not always private and certainly not cold.
As in the best-selling So Much to Tell You, award-winning novelist John Marsden takes us into the world of young people trying to make sense of their lives.
‘John Marsden is a major writer who deserves worldwide acclaim’
ROBERT CORMIER
John Marsden
The Journey
By the author of So Much To Tell You, The Journey is a story of young people in a world so different and yet so like our own. It is a world in which young people must undertake a journey of discovery on their way to becoming adults.
Argus sets out on his journey away from his valley and his parents, never knowing what adventure will befall him next. He learns how to survive in the wild until he meets with a travelling fair, which he joins, becoming a friend of Mayon the storyteller, of Lavolta and Parara—twins who share the same body—and many others.
But it is with the sweet and wise Temora that he learns some of the deepest secrets.
All journeys must find an end. Argus leaves the fair and travels on alone, until his last and greatest adventure beckons him home. There he tells, for the approval of his elders, the seven stories which are now his story. But all is not done.
Thre is one more chapter to be lived out in the story of Argus.
‘. . . an extraordinary story. . . I would commend it to everybody. Although ostensibly it’s a children’s book it’s something that any adult can read with great pleasure. It’s one of those books that don’t actually belong to any particular age group . . . like The Snow Goose’
TERRY LANE, ABC RADIO
John Marsden
Out of Time
James reads by his open bedroom window at night. Other lives and other worlds beckon. One of these worlds is conjured by old Mr Woodford, a physicist who looks more like an accountant and who constructs a strange black box.
One day when James slips into the laboratory, he makes a dreadful discovery and learns to master a great power.
Who is the little boy in Mexico who scratches pictures of aeroplanes in the dust? How will the girl caught in a wartime bomb blast be reunited with her parents? And why does James sit alone in his island of silence?
With Out of Time John Marsden has produced a novel that will further enhance his reputation as one of the most successful writers of fiction for teenagers. This is a challenging novel which poses a new question on every page as it draws us into an ever-widening series of mysteries, into magical, dangerous worlds—in and out of time.
John Marsden
The Great Gatenby
Maybe deep down every kid knows his parents want him to be the Pride of the School, the Captain of the Cricket and Tennis and Rowing and Darts and Knitting and anything else that’s going down.
They don’t want to know that you’ve had more detentions than any other new student in the history of the school, that you’re going out with a girl who doesn’t wear a bra to PE, and that the Head Swimming Coach is some kind of Nazi whose last job was training the shark in Jaws.
Erle Gatenby has been sent to boarding school to straighten out, but there’s about as much chance of that happening as there is of his giving up smoking . . . or drinking . . . or falling through the Art Room roof.
Erle’s a full tank of petrol. . . and wild, sexy Melanie Tozer is about to light the match.
John Marsden
Checkers
She has parents, a brother, friends and a dog.
Sometimes the dog seems like the only one she can trust.
Her life is about to fall apart.
The dog is Checkers.
The book is unforgettable.
Praise for Checkers:
‘. . . a terribly moving book. . . a subject that hasn’t been written about much in Children’s literature. . . for anyone from ages fourteen to eighty-five.’
BOOKSHOW
‘. . . shattering . . .’
WEST AUSTRALIAN
‘. . . intense. . .’
SUNDAY AGE
‘. . . a wonderful story teller. . .’
GOLD COAST BULLETIN
‘. . . heart-wrenching . . .’
HERALD SUN
Learn great new writing skills, with John Marsden
You are invited to spend a few days with John Marsden at one of Australia’s most beautiful properties.
The Ty
e Estate is just 25 minutes from Melbourne’s Tullamarine Airport, and is perfectly set up for writing camps and other activities.
Every school holidays, John takes writing and drama camps, where you can improve your skills, make new friends, expand your thinking, and have a huge heap of fun.
Accommodation is modern and comfortable; meals are far removed from the shepherd’s pie they gave you at your last school camp, and supervision is by friendly and experienced staff.
Between the workshops with John, you can explore 850 acres of spectacular bush, looking out for rare and highly endangered species like Tiger Quolls and Powerful Owls, as well as koalas, platypuses, wedgetail eagles, kangaroos and wallabies.
Mountain bikes, bushwalking, orienteering, and a picnic at nearby Hanging Rock, are among the highlights of your memorable stay at the Tye Estate.
School groups in term time are also welcome.
For details, write to:
The Tye Estate
RMB 1250
ROMSEY
VICTORIA 3434
Or fax: (61) 03 54 270395
Phone: (61) 03 54 270384
John Marsden, Letters From the Inside
(Series: # )
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