Week 7 Reading

Read the stories below then answer the questions that follow.

Golden Cheekbones and the Rising Sun 

I open my eyes. I am readying myself for the morning. A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touch it, once, her skin warm under my fingers, a reminder of how alive we are. How young we are. We are teenagers. Our hands are clumsy, too big for our skinny limbs, not sure where to go or what to think. These hands hold pens, books, and dreams. We discuss the future in vivid colours, full of blossoming hope of what it could hold. Neither of us say it, our lips tied by the thin string of fear, but our dreams involve each other. Neither of us knows what love means. Neither of us knows anything, but we know each other. We grow, as all things do, messily, with anger and love and tears. She holds the neck of a bottle of beer, her head tilted back, laughing into the night, her cheeks flushed. She is brighter than any star, and I wonder if I could replicate the jewels in her eyes, and make them into a jewel for her finger. I smile and take another sip. I know that she is the one.

Our wedding is small, but loud, screams of joy echoing from every lively corner. Her mother gives me a talk, my mother gives me a heart attack. All I can feel is the creases of her hand enveloped in mine, and the sweet press of her lips on my face. I do. “You do nothing!” She screams at me, waving at the dirty dishes lining every corner of our rotting kitchen. She is tired. I am tired. We both know it is not each other we are angry at, but the bank, the debt, the crushing weight of the tiny house. I bite my cheek. It is both my fault, and hers, and neither. She still crawls into our bed, and hugs me tight. I still make her coffee in the morning. It is a test, and we have passed.

The first one is a surprise, with delighted screams and happy tears at the start, and terrible screams and pain filled tears at the end. But she is alive, and our child is alive, and they both nestle deep into the lining of my heart and refuse to let go. Surely my heart will run out of space for any more love. I was wrong. We have two more, and it still makes room.

The children grow fast, faster than we ever did. They are sickly sweet when young, chubby cheeks and grotty hands, always reaching for something more. A little older, and they’re cheeky, and quiet, and confused. A little older, and they’re angst, quiet, and polite. A little older still and they’re angst, angsty, and quiet. Then comes the dreaded stage. Angsty, angsty and angsty. Teenagers.

A little older, and it’s going, angsty, and angsty. Then gone, going and angsty. Then gone, gone, and going. It’s not long before the last kisses us both on the forehead and thanks us for the privilege of receiving our love. I hold her hands. “Love is not a privilege,” I say, “it is a necessity.” She smiles, and thanks us anyway. She was always far too polite. We moved into a smaller house. Cosy, not cramped. It brings back memories of our first place. “Don’t talk about that!” she says, “that place was awful!” She smiles more now, and fills her days reading books and making bread. I kiss her neck as she makes cookies, and she playfully pushes me away. She thinks I only want chocolate, but her love is the sweetest thing in our kitchen.

She takes up knitting, and I joke that she’s getting old. She pretends to disagree, but we both know I’m right. My knees scream every time I bend to remove a weed from our growing garden. She gets sick. She survives. I got sick. I survived.

She has glasses now, small and oval shaped, perched on the top of her nose. The kids in the neighbourhood call us “Gran and Pops.” Apparently, according to our son, we have a “reputation.” I disagree, of course. The only reason she makes cookies for the school children is so they don’t drive their chunky bikes through my nice flowers. So what if I help them fix their punctured tyres? So what if she makes them fresh lemonade? So what if we told them “just ask him on a date, he told me he liked you the other day”? That doesn’t mean we like the buggers.

I woke up one morning to the sweet sound of birds. I woke up one morning to the smell of fresh grass. I wake up one morning, the sun peeking over the horizon, its gentle limbs stroking our faces from the window. I woke up one morning. She doesn’t.

A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touched it, once, her skin got cold under my fingers. A reminder of how long we had together, how lucky we were.

I close my eyes.

And let myself slip into the night.

Answer the following questions by choosing the letter of the best answer. 

What are the themes of the story? 

I. Parenthood

II. Life

III. Cycle of Life

IV. Marriage

Read the stories below then answer the questions that follow.

Golden Cheekbones and the Rising Sun 

I open my eyes. I am readying myself for the morning. A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touch it, once, her skin warm under my fingers, a reminder of how alive we are. How young we are. We are teenagers. Our hands are clumsy, too big for our skinny limbs, not sure where to go or what to think. These hands hold pens, books, and dreams. We discuss the future in vivid colours, full of blossoming hope of what it could hold. Neither of us say it, our lips tied by the thin string of fear, but our dreams involve each other. Neither of us knows what love means. Neither of us knows anything, but we know each other. We grow, as all things do, messily, with anger and love and tears. She holds the neck of a bottle of beer, her head tilted back, laughing into the night, her cheeks flushed. She is brighter than any star, and I wonder if I could replicate the jewels in her eyes, and make them into a jewel for her finger. I smile and take another sip. I know that she is the one.

Our wedding is small, but loud, screams of joy echoing from every lively corner. Her mother gives me a talk, my mother gives me a heart attack. All I can feel is the creases of her hand enveloped in mine, and the sweet press of her lips on my face. I do. “You do nothing!” She screams at me, waving at the dirty dishes lining every corner of our rotting kitchen. She is tired. I am tired. We both know it is not each other we are angry at, but the bank, the debt, the crushing weight of the tiny house. I bite my cheek. It is both my fault, and hers, and neither. She still crawls into our bed, and hugs me tight. I still make her coffee in the morning. It is a test, and we have passed.

The first one is a surprise, with delighted screams and happy tears at the start, and terrible screams and pain filled tears at the end. But she is alive, and our child is alive, and they both nestle deep into the lining of my heart and refuse to let go. Surely my heart will run out of space for any more love. I was wrong. We have two more, and it still makes room.

The children grow fast, faster than we ever did. They are sickly sweet when young, chubby cheeks and grotty hands, always reaching for something more. A little older, and they’re cheeky, and quiet, and confused. A little older, and they’re angst, quiet, and polite. A little older still and they’re angst, angsty, and quiet. Then comes the dreaded stage. Angsty, angsty and angsty. Teenagers.

A little older, and it’s going, angsty, and angsty. Then gone, going and angsty. Then gone, gone, and going. It’s not long before the last kisses us both on the forehead and thanks us for the privilege of receiving our love. I hold her hands. “Love is not a privilege,” I say, “it is a necessity.” She smiles, and thanks us anyway. She was always far too polite. We moved into a smaller house. Cosy, not cramped. It brings back memories of our first place. “Don’t talk about that!” she says, “that place was awful!” She smiles more now, and fills her days reading books and making bread. I kiss her neck as she makes cookies, and she playfully pushes me away. She thinks I only want chocolate, but her love is the sweetest thing in our kitchen.

She takes up knitting, and I joke that she’s getting old. She pretends to disagree, but we both know I’m right. My knees scream every time I bend to remove a weed from our growing garden. She gets sick. She survives. I got sick. I survived.

She has glasses now, small and oval shaped, perched on the top of her nose. The kids in the neighbourhood call us “Gran and Pops.” Apparently, according to our son, we have a “reputation.” I disagree, of course. The only reason she makes cookies for the school children is so they don’t drive their chunky bikes through my nice flowers. So what if I help them fix their punctured tyres? So what if she makes them fresh lemonade? So what if we told them “just ask him on a date, he told me he liked you the other day”? That doesn’t mean we like the buggers.

I woke up one morning to the sweet sound of birds. I woke up one morning to the smell of fresh grass. I wake up one morning, the sun peeking over the horizon, its gentle limbs stroking our faces from the window. I woke up one morning. She doesn’t.

A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touched it, once, her skin got cold under my fingers. A reminder of how long we had together, how lucky we were.

I close my eyes.

And let myself slip into the night.

How did the story progress?

Read the stories below then answer the questions that follow.

Golden Cheekbones and the Rising Sun 

I open my eyes. I am readying myself for the morning. A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touch it, once, her skin warm under my fingers, a reminder of how alive we are. How young we are. We are teenagers. Our hands are clumsy, too big for our skinny limbs, not sure where to go or what to think. These hands hold pens, books, and dreams. We discuss the future in vivid colours, full of blossoming hope of what it could hold. Neither of us say it, our lips tied by the thin string of fear, but our dreams involve each other. Neither of us knows what love means. Neither of us knows anything, but we know each other. We grow, as all things do, messily, with anger and love and tears. She holds the neck of a bottle of beer, her head tilted back, laughing into the night, her cheeks flushed. She is brighter than any star, and I wonder if I could replicate the jewels in her eyes, and make them into a jewel for her finger. I smile and take another sip. I know that she is the one.

Our wedding is small, but loud, screams of joy echoing from every lively corner. Her mother gives me a talk, my mother gives me a heart attack. All I can feel is the creases of her hand enveloped in mine, and the sweet press of her lips on my face. I do. “You do nothing!” She screams at me, waving at the dirty dishes lining every corner of our rotting kitchen. She is tired. I am tired. We both know it is not each other we are angry at, but the bank, the debt, the crushing weight of the tiny house. I bite my cheek. It is both my fault, and hers, and neither. She still crawls into our bed, and hugs me tight. I still make her coffee in the morning. It is a test, and we have passed.

The first one is a surprise, with delighted screams and happy tears at the start, and terrible screams and pain filled tears at the end. But she is alive, and our child is alive, and they both nestle deep into the lining of my heart and refuse to let go. Surely my heart will run out of space for any more love. I was wrong. We have two more, and it still makes room.

The children grow fast, faster than we ever did. They are sickly sweet when young, chubby cheeks and grotty hands, always reaching for something more. A little older, and they’re cheeky, and quiet, and confused. A little older, and they’re angst, quiet, and polite. A little older still and they’re angst, angsty, and quiet. Then comes the dreaded stage. Angsty, angsty and angsty. Teenagers.

A little older, and it’s going, angsty, and angsty. Then gone, going and angsty. Then gone, gone, and going. It’s not long before the last kisses us both on the forehead and thanks us for the privilege of receiving our love. I hold her hands. “Love is not a privilege,” I say, “it is a necessity.” She smiles, and thanks us anyway. She was always far too polite. We moved into a smaller house. Cosy, not cramped. It brings back memories of our first place. “Don’t talk about that!” she says, “that place was awful!” She smiles more now, and fills her days reading books and making bread. I kiss her neck as she makes cookies, and she playfully pushes me away. She thinks I only want chocolate, but her love is the sweetest thing in our kitchen.

She takes up knitting, and I joke that she’s getting old. She pretends to disagree, but we both know I’m right. My knees scream every time I bend to remove a weed from our growing garden. She gets sick. She survives. I got sick. I survived.

She has glasses now, small and oval shaped, perched on the top of her nose. The kids in the neighbourhood call us “Gran and Pops.” Apparently, according to our son, we have a “reputation.” I disagree, of course. The only reason she makes cookies for the school children is so they don’t drive their chunky bikes through my nice flowers. So what if I help them fix their punctured tyres? So what if she makes them fresh lemonade? So what if we told them “just ask him on a date, he told me he liked you the other day”? That doesn’t mean we like the buggers.

I woke up one morning to the sweet sound of birds. I woke up one morning to the smell of fresh grass. I wake up one morning, the sun peeking over the horizon, its gentle limbs stroking our faces from the window. I woke up one morning. She doesn’t.

A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touched it, once, her skin got cold under my fingers. A reminder of how long we had together, how lucky we were.

I close my eyes.

And let myself slip into the night.

Which of these lines will indicate that the speaker has reached old age? 

Read the stories below then answer the questions that follow.

Golden Cheekbones and the Rising Sun 

I open my eyes. I am readying myself for the morning. A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touch it, once, her skin warm under my fingers, a reminder of how alive we are. How young we are. We are teenagers. Our hands are clumsy, too big for our skinny limbs, not sure where to go or what to think. These hands hold pens, books, and dreams. We discuss the future in vivid colours, full of blossoming hope of what it could hold. Neither of us say it, our lips tied by the thin string of fear, but our dreams involve each other. Neither of us knows what love means. Neither of us knows anything, but we know each other. We grow, as all things do, messily, with anger and love and tears. She holds the neck of a bottle of beer, her head tilted back, laughing into the night, her cheeks flushed. She is brighter than any star, and I wonder if I could replicate the jewels in her eyes, and make them into a jewel for her finger. I smile and take another sip. I know that she is the one.

Our wedding is small, but loud, screams of joy echoing from every lively corner. Her mother gives me a talk, my mother gives me a heart attack. All I can feel is the creases of her hand enveloped in mine, and the sweet press of her lips on my face. I do. “You do nothing!” She screams at me, waving at the dirty dishes lining every corner of our rotting kitchen. She is tired. I am tired. We both know it is not each other we are angry at, but the bank, the debt, the crushing weight of the tiny house. I bite my cheek. It is both my fault, and hers, and neither. She still crawls into our bed, and hugs me tight. I still make her coffee in the morning. It is a test, and we have passed.

The first one is a surprise, with delighted screams and happy tears at the start, and terrible screams and pain filled tears at the end. But she is alive, and our child is alive, and they both nestle deep into the lining of my heart and refuse to let go. Surely my heart will run out of space for any more love. I was wrong. We have two more, and it still makes room.

The children grow fast, faster than we ever did. They are sickly sweet when young, chubby cheeks and grotty hands, always reaching for something more. A little older, and they’re cheeky, and quiet, and confused. A little older, and they’re angst, quiet, and polite. A little older still and they’re angst, angsty, and quiet. Then comes the dreaded stage. Angsty, angsty and angsty. Teenagers.

A little older, and it’s going, angsty, and angsty. Then gone, going and angsty. Then gone, gone, and going. It’s not long before the last kisses us both on the forehead and thanks us for the privilege of receiving our love. I hold her hands. “Love is not a privilege,” I say, “it is a necessity.” She smiles, and thanks us anyway. She was always far too polite. We moved into a smaller house. Cosy, not cramped. It brings back memories of our first place. “Don’t talk about that!” she says, “that place was awful!” She smiles more now, and fills her days reading books and making bread. I kiss her neck as she makes cookies, and she playfully pushes me away. She thinks I only want chocolate, but her love is the sweetest thing in our kitchen.

She takes up knitting, and I joke that she’s getting old. She pretends to disagree, but we both know I’m right. My knees scream every time I bend to remove a weed from our growing garden. She gets sick. She survives. I got sick. I survived.

She has glasses now, small and oval shaped, perched on the top of her nose. The kids in the neighbourhood call us “Gran and Pops.” Apparently, according to our son, we have a “reputation.” I disagree, of course. The only reason she makes cookies for the school children is so they don’t drive their chunky bikes through my nice flowers. So what if I help them fix their punctured tyres? So what if she makes them fresh lemonade? So what if we told them “just ask him on a date, he told me he liked you the other day”? That doesn’t mean we like the buggers.

I woke up one morning to the sweet sound of birds. I woke up one morning to the smell of fresh grass. I wake up one morning, the sun peeking over the horizon, its gentle limbs stroking our faces from the window. I woke up one morning. She doesn’t.

A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touched it, once, her skin got cold under my fingers. A reminder of how long we had together, how lucky we were.

I close my eyes.

And let myself slip into the night.

What situation is portrayed in the third paragraph?

Read the stories below then answer the questions that follow.

Golden Cheekbones and the Rising Sun 

I open my eyes. I am readying myself for the morning. A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touch it, once, her skin warm under my fingers, a reminder of how alive we are. How young we are. We are teenagers. Our hands are clumsy, too big for our skinny limbs, not sure where to go or what to think. These hands hold pens, books, and dreams. We discuss the future in vivid colours, full of blossoming hope of what it could hold. Neither of us say it, our lips tied by the thin string of fear, but our dreams involve each other. Neither of us knows what love means. Neither of us knows anything, but we know each other. We grow, as all things do, messily, with anger and love and tears. She holds the neck of a bottle of beer, her head tilted back, laughing into the night, her cheeks flushed. She is brighter than any star, and I wonder if I could replicate the jewels in her eyes, and make them into a jewel for her finger. I smile and take another sip. I know that she is the one.

Our wedding is small, but loud, screams of joy echoing from every lively corner. Her mother gives me a talk, my mother gives me a heart attack. All I can feel is the creases of her hand enveloped in mine, and the sweet press of her lips on my face. I do. “You do nothing!” She screams at me, waving at the dirty dishes lining every corner of our rotting kitchen. She is tired. I am tired. We both know it is not each other we are angry at, but the bank, the debt, the crushing weight of the tiny house. I bite my cheek. It is both my fault, and hers, and neither. She still crawls into our bed, and hugs me tight. I still make her coffee in the morning. It is a test, and we have passed.

The first one is a surprise, with delighted screams and happy tears at the start, and terrible screams and pain filled tears at the end. But she is alive, and our child is alive, and they both nestle deep into the lining of my heart and refuse to let go. Surely my heart will run out of space for any more love. I was wrong. We have two more, and it still makes room.

The children grow fast, faster than we ever did. They are sickly sweet when young, chubby cheeks and grotty hands, always reaching for something more. A little older, and they’re cheeky, and quiet, and confused. A little older, and they’re angst, quiet, and polite. A little older still and they’re angst, angsty, and quiet. Then comes the dreaded stage. Angsty, angsty and angsty. Teenagers.

A little older, and it’s going, angsty, and angsty. Then gone, going and angsty. Then gone, gone, and going. It’s not long before the last kisses us both on the forehead and thanks us for the privilege of receiving our love. I hold her hands. “Love is not a privilege,” I say, “it is a necessity.” She smiles, and thanks us anyway. She was always far too polite. We moved into a smaller house. Cosy, not cramped. It brings back memories of our first place. “Don’t talk about that!” she says, “that place was awful!” She smiles more now, and fills her days reading books and making bread. I kiss her neck as she makes cookies, and she playfully pushes me away. She thinks I only want chocolate, but her love is the sweetest thing in our kitchen.

She takes up knitting, and I joke that she’s getting old. She pretends to disagree, but we both know I’m right. My knees scream every time I bend to remove a weed from our growing garden. She gets sick. She survives. I got sick. I survived.

She has glasses now, small and oval shaped, perched on the top of her nose. The kids in the neighbourhood call us “Gran and Pops.” Apparently, according to our son, we have a “reputation.” I disagree, of course. The only reason she makes cookies for the school children is so they don’t drive their chunky bikes through my nice flowers. So what if I help them fix their punctured tyres? So what if she makes them fresh lemonade? So what if we told them “just ask him on a date, he told me he liked you the other day”? That doesn’t mean we like the buggers.

I woke up one morning to the sweet sound of birds. I woke up one morning to the smell of fresh grass. I wake up one morning, the sun peeking over the horizon, its gentle limbs stroking our faces from the window. I woke up one morning. She doesn’t.

A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touched it, once, her skin got cold under my fingers. A reminder of how long we had together, how lucky we were.

I close my eyes.

And let myself slip into the night.

How are the children described in the story? 

Read the stories below then answer the questions that follow.

Golden Cheekbones and the Rising Sun 

I open my eyes. I am readying myself for the morning. A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touch it, once, her skin warm under my fingers, a reminder of how alive we are. How young we are. We are teenagers. Our hands are clumsy, too big for our skinny limbs, not sure where to go or what to think. These hands hold pens, books, and dreams. We discuss the future in vivid colours, full of blossoming hope of what it could hold. Neither of us say it, our lips tied by the thin string of fear, but our dreams involve each other. Neither of us knows what love means. Neither of us knows anything, but we know each other. We grow, as all things do, messily, with anger and love and tears. She holds the neck of a bottle of beer, her head tilted back, laughing into the night, her cheeks flushed. She is brighter than any star, and I wonder if I could replicate the jewels in her eyes, and make them into a jewel for her finger. I smile and take another sip. I know that she is the one.

Our wedding is small, but loud, screams of joy echoing from every lively corner. Her mother gives me a talk, my mother gives me a heart attack. All I can feel is the creases of her hand enveloped in mine, and the sweet press of her lips on my face. I do. “You do nothing!” She screams at me, waving at the dirty dishes lining every corner of our rotting kitchen. She is tired. I am tired. We both know it is not each other we are angry at, but the bank, the debt, the crushing weight of the tiny house. I bite my cheek. It is both my fault, and hers, and neither. She still crawls into our bed, and hugs me tight. I still make her coffee in the morning. It is a test, and we have passed.

The first one is a surprise, with delighted screams and happy tears at the start, and terrible screams and pain filled tears at the end. But she is alive, and our child is alive, and they both nestle deep into the lining of my heart and refuse to let go. Surely my heart will run out of space for any more love. I was wrong. We have two more, and it still makes room.

The children grow fast, faster than we ever did. They are sickly sweet when young, chubby cheeks and grotty hands, always reaching for something more. A little older, and they’re cheeky, and quiet, and confused. A little older, and they’re angst, quiet, and polite. A little older still and they’re angst, angsty, and quiet. Then comes the dreaded stage. Angsty, angsty and angsty. Teenagers.

A little older, and it’s going, angsty, and angsty. Then gone, going and angsty. Then gone, gone, and going. It’s not long before the last kisses us both on the forehead and thanks us for the privilege of receiving our love. I hold her hands. “Love is not a privilege,” I say, “it is a necessity.” She smiles, and thanks us anyway. She was always far too polite. We moved into a smaller house. Cosy, not cramped. It brings back memories of our first place. “Don’t talk about that!” she says, “that place was awful!” She smiles more now, and fills her days reading books and making bread. I kiss her neck as she makes cookies, and she playfully pushes me away. She thinks I only want chocolate, but her love is the sweetest thing in our kitchen.

She takes up knitting, and I joke that she’s getting old. She pretends to disagree, but we both know I’m right. My knees scream every time I bend to remove a weed from our growing garden. She gets sick. She survives. I got sick. I survived.

She has glasses now, small and oval shaped, perched on the top of her nose. The kids in the neighbourhood call us “Gran and Pops.” Apparently, according to our son, we have a “reputation.” I disagree, of course. The only reason she makes cookies for the school children is so they don’t drive their chunky bikes through my nice flowers. So what if I help them fix their punctured tyres? So what if she makes them fresh lemonade? So what if we told them “just ask him on a date, he told me he liked you the other day”? That doesn’t mean we like the buggers.

I woke up one morning to the sweet sound of birds. I woke up one morning to the smell of fresh grass. I wake up one morning, the sun peeking over the horizon, its gentle limbs stroking our faces from the window. I woke up one morning. She doesn’t.

A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touched it, once, her skin got cold under my fingers. A reminder of how long we had together, how lucky we were.

I close my eyes.

And let myself slip into the night.

How does the speaker describe her girlfriend? 

I. Brighter than any star

II. Cheeks as warm as the sun 

III. Clumsy hands

IV. Eyes like jewels

Read the stories below then answer the questions that follow.

Golden Cheekbones and the Rising Sun 

I open my eyes. I am readying myself for the morning. A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touch it, once, her skin warm under my fingers, a reminder of how alive we are. How young we are. We are teenagers. Our hands are clumsy, too big for our skinny limbs, not sure where to go or what to think. These hands hold pens, books, and dreams. We discuss the future in vivid colours, full of blossoming hope of what it could hold. Neither of us say it, our lips tied by the thin string of fear, but our dreams involve each other. Neither of us knows what love means. Neither of us knows anything, but we know each other. We grow, as all things do, messily, with anger and love and tears. She holds the neck of a bottle of beer, her head tilted back, laughing into the night, her cheeks flushed. She is brighter than any star, and I wonder if I could replicate the jewels in her eyes, and make them into a jewel for her finger. I smile and take another sip. I know that she is the one.

Our wedding is small, but loud, screams of joy echoing from every lively corner. Her mother gives me a talk, my mother gives me a heart attack. All I can feel is the creases of her hand enveloped in mine, and the sweet press of her lips on my face. I do. “You do nothing!” She screams at me, waving at the dirty dishes lining every corner of our rotting kitchen. She is tired. I am tired. We both know it is not each other we are angry at, but the bank, the debt, the crushing weight of the tiny house. I bite my cheek. It is both my fault, and hers, and neither. She still crawls into our bed, and hugs me tight. I still make her coffee in the morning. It is a test, and we have passed.

The first one is a surprise, with delighted screams and happy tears at the start, and terrible screams and pain filled tears at the end. But she is alive, and our child is alive, and they both nestle deep into the lining of my heart and refuse to let go. Surely my heart will run out of space for any more love. I was wrong. We have two more, and it still makes room.

The children grow fast, faster than we ever did. They are sickly sweet when young, chubby cheeks and grotty hands, always reaching for something more. A little older, and they’re cheeky, and quiet, and confused. A little older, and they’re angst, quiet, and polite. A little older still and they’re angst, angsty, and quiet. Then comes the dreaded stage. Angsty, angsty and angsty. Teenagers.

A little older, and it’s going, angsty, and angsty. Then gone, going and angsty. Then gone, gone, and going. It’s not long before the last kisses us both on the forehead and thanks us for the privilege of receiving our love. I hold her hands. “Love is not a privilege,” I say, “it is a necessity.” She smiles, and thanks us anyway. She was always far too polite. We moved into a smaller house. Cosy, not cramped. It brings back memories of our first place. “Don’t talk about that!” she says, “that place was awful!” She smiles more now, and fills her days reading books and making bread. I kiss her neck as she makes cookies, and she playfully pushes me away. She thinks I only want chocolate, but her love is the sweetest thing in our kitchen.

She takes up knitting, and I joke that she’s getting old. She pretends to disagree, but we both know I’m right. My knees scream every time I bend to remove a weed from our growing garden. She gets sick. She survives. I got sick. I survived.

She has glasses now, small and oval shaped, perched on the top of her nose. The kids in the neighbourhood call us “Gran and Pops.” Apparently, according to our son, we have a “reputation.” I disagree, of course. The only reason she makes cookies for the school children is so they don’t drive their chunky bikes through my nice flowers. So what if I help them fix their punctured tyres? So what if she makes them fresh lemonade? So what if we told them “just ask him on a date, he told me he liked you the other day”? That doesn’t mean we like the buggers.

I woke up one morning to the sweet sound of birds. I woke up one morning to the smell of fresh grass. I wake up one morning, the sun peeking over the horizon, its gentle limbs stroking our faces from the window. I woke up one morning. She doesn’t.

A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touched it, once, her skin got cold under my fingers. A reminder of how long we had together, how lucky we were.

I close my eyes.

And let myself slip into the night.

According to the speaker, what is the sweetest thing in the kitchen? 

Read the stories below then answer the questions that follow.

Golden Cheekbones and the Rising Sun 

I open my eyes. I am readying myself for the morning. A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touch it, once, her skin warm under my fingers, a reminder of how alive we are. How young we are. We are teenagers. Our hands are clumsy, too big for our skinny limbs, not sure where to go or what to think. These hands hold pens, books, and dreams. We discuss the future in vivid colours, full of blossoming hope of what it could hold. Neither of us say it, our lips tied by the thin string of fear, but our dreams involve each other. Neither of us knows what love means. Neither of us knows anything, but we know each other. We grow, as all things do, messily, with anger and love and tears. She holds the neck of a bottle of beer, her head tilted back, laughing into the night, her cheeks flushed. She is brighter than any star, and I wonder if I could replicate the jewels in her eyes, and make them into a jewel for her finger. I smile and take another sip. I know that she is the one.

Our wedding is small, but loud, screams of joy echoing from every lively corner. Her mother gives me a talk, my mother gives me a heart attack. All I can feel is the creases of her hand enveloped in mine, and the sweet press of her lips on my face. I do. “You do nothing!” She screams at me, waving at the dirty dishes lining every corner of our rotting kitchen. She is tired. I am tired. We both know it is not each other we are angry at, but the bank, the debt, the crushing weight of the tiny house. I bite my cheek. It is both my fault, and hers, and neither. She still crawls into our bed, and hugs me tight. I still make her coffee in the morning. It is a test, and we have passed.

The first one is a surprise, with delighted screams and happy tears at the start, and terrible screams and pain filled tears at the end. But she is alive, and our child is alive, and they both nestle deep into the lining of my heart and refuse to let go. Surely my heart will run out of space for any more love. I was wrong. We have two more, and it still makes room.

The children grow fast, faster than we ever did. They are sickly sweet when young, chubby cheeks and grotty hands, always reaching for something more. A little older, and they’re cheeky, and quiet, and confused. A little older, and they’re angst, quiet, and polite. A little older still and they’re angst, angsty, and quiet. Then comes the dreaded stage. Angsty, angsty and angsty. Teenagers.

A little older, and it’s going, angsty, and angsty. Then gone, going and angsty. Then gone, gone, and going. It’s not long before the last kisses us both on the forehead and thanks us for the privilege of receiving our love. I hold her hands. “Love is not a privilege,” I say, “it is a necessity.” She smiles, and thanks us anyway. She was always far too polite. We moved into a smaller house. Cosy, not cramped. It brings back memories of our first place. “Don’t talk about that!” she says, “that place was awful!” She smiles more now, and fills her days reading books and making bread. I kiss her neck as she makes cookies, and she playfully pushes me away. She thinks I only want chocolate, but her love is the sweetest thing in our kitchen.

She takes up knitting, and I joke that she’s getting old. She pretends to disagree, but we both know I’m right. My knees scream every time I bend to remove a weed from our growing garden. She gets sick. She survives. I got sick. I survived.

She has glasses now, small and oval shaped, perched on the top of her nose. The kids in the neighbourhood call us “Gran and Pops.” Apparently, according to our son, we have a “reputation.” I disagree, of course. The only reason she makes cookies for the school children is so they don’t drive their chunky bikes through my nice flowers. So what if I help them fix their punctured tyres? So what if she makes them fresh lemonade? So what if we told them “just ask him on a date, he told me he liked you the other day”? That doesn’t mean we like the buggers.

I woke up one morning to the sweet sound of birds. I woke up one morning to the smell of fresh grass. I wake up one morning, the sun peeking over the horizon, its gentle limbs stroking our faces from the window. I woke up one morning. She doesn’t.

A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touched it, once, her skin got cold under my fingers. A reminder of how long we had together, how lucky we were.

I close my eyes.

And let myself slip into the night.

How is irony portrayed in the story?

It Will All Come Out in the Wash 

Gary pulled up to the carwash. Of course, there was a queue, it was a fine day, after all. He turned to the child seat in the back. “Daddy needs to get a ticket before we can visit the foaming beast.” His words were greeted with a nervous giggle. “Would you like an ice cream, Alice?” “Yes please, da-da,” the reply was so polite for one so young. “I won’t be long,” and with that, he hurried to the shop knowing the queue could move at any moment.

Why had it been so difficult to choose the appropriate ice cream for Alice? And why had he stopped for a packet of crisps he didn’t really need? He was asking himself these things because he realised the woman who had left the shop before him was now headed to the car behind his, and the queue, as he had feared, had moved. However, he was still astonished as the car behind him pulled out and round to fill the gap that was by right his. “I have a ticket,” Gary called plaintively, trying not to sound too desperate. The driver’s window was down, being such a warm day, so there was no mistaking the crowing reply, “But I had my ticket first!”

Gary seethed. All manner of unpleasant words and names filled his brain as he felt his neck burn with anger. His eyes tingled as he understood for the first time the meaning of the ‘red mist’. But his windows were also down, and Alice was beaming at him, or rather the sight of ice cream. No matter. That face, the innocence and sweetness, all called to the father in him which overpowered his basest instincts.

Now in his seat, Gary stared viciously at the back of the woman’s head as he imagined every possible revenge for such rudeness but his words belied his feelings, “that woman pushed in ahead of us Alice, I am so sorry. We will have to wait a little longer.” “It’s not fair,” came the mature response from the back, “she’s not a nice lady.” And so, Gary found himself trying to explain karma to a three-year-old, all the while secretly hoping he was right and the woman in front would soon be ruining her impetuous impatience as she stood at the roadside wondering what to do with her flat tire. Or perhaps the comeuppance would take a few days to reveal itself as her favourite cat was discovered by a neighbour, lifeless on the road. Some heartless driver having refused to muster the courage to check the collar and ring the number provided. Well, it would serve her right!

As much as Gary imagined steadily worsening scenarios, nothing could assuage the feeling of anger that he had so expertly quelled, but so far failed to silence. Having finished his crisps, Gary left the car to dispose of the packet in a nearby bin, knowing the journey would take him past the open window of the offender. Try as he might, the stares that had been so sharply aimed at the back of her head were now simply deflected by one that was bowed in some sense of shame or embarrassment. Maybe, Gary hoped, the head was bowed in silent prayer that ‘he would not prove to be a mad-axe murderer’ or was ‘so socially deranged’ that he had got out of the car with a tyre-lever, to set about her bonnet and doors.

Instead, he walked to the bin unnoticed, throwing the packet with as much disgust as he could muster. This was hardly a thriller he thought, angry crisp-packet man, and still, he seethed quietly. Until that is, a voice from heaven called to him from the pumps. “Hey Gary, you ok?” “Oh, hi Richard! I’m alright…that is until someone jumps ahead of me in the queue, here!” he pointed at the car beside him. “Oh, don’t you just hate that?” Richard was playing his role like it was rehearsed, “It is so rude!” “I know, and you think they would have considered the fact that I have a young one in the car.” Together they were magnificently loud and critical, enough so Gary was finally able to quash that feeling of injustice. He had been able to say his piece after all.

By the time it was their turn, windows now up, emerged from the frothing, beating and blowing beast, the recent past had all but been forgotten. The fun of the foam-breathing dragon had purged the car not only of all the accumulated filth on the outside but also the last vestige of ill-will on the inside and karma, whether witnessed or not, no longer mattered.

As Gary awaited the mechanical retraction and green light, his focus had turned to a young man parked beside the exit of the carwash. His bonnet was up but his face was down. Gary, who knew nothing about engines, had time to decide he would offer his assistance, thinking he might be able to place a call on the young man’s behalf. He had been staring rather forlornly at his phone for some time, perhaps his battery was flat. Gary pulled alongside and lowered his window, “Can I help?” he offered more in hope than expectation. The young man’s face lit up as if Gary had just offered him a fortune. His battery was indeed flat, but not the one in his phone. “Would you be able to give me a jumpstart?” the young man pleaded, “my dad got me going this morning and he told me not to turn the engine off. I thought I had driven far enough. If I call him now, he is going to get mad at me!” “Do you have any leads?” Gary asked, knowing this is the one thing he could help with, provided they had the right equipment. “With a car like this, I never leave without them.”

Just a few short minutes of his precious time is all it took for Gary to give joy to a complete stranger and how healing it was for him. This was the final polish his private wash programme had needed. He turned to the child seat before pulling away. “Now that is karma, Alice,” he said, “I am so pleased that that woman jumped in ahead of us now. You realise had we been through before her we would not have been there for that young man, and I doubt she would have stopped for him.“”No da-da, she won’t.”

Alice will live up to her name.

Answer the following questions by choosing the letter of the best answer.  

What is a foaming beast?

It Will All Come Out in the Wash 

Gary pulled up to the carwash. Of course, there was a queue, it was a fine day, after all. He turned to the child seat in the back. “Daddy needs to get a ticket before we can visit the foaming beast.” His words were greeted with a nervous giggle. “Would you like an ice cream, Alice?” “Yes please, da-da,” the reply was so polite for one so young. “I won’t be long,” and with that, he hurried to the shop knowing the queue could move at any moment.

Why had it been so difficult to choose the appropriate ice cream for Alice? And why had he stopped for a packet of crisps he didn’t really need? He was asking himself these things because he realised the woman who had left the shop before him was now headed to the car behind his, and the queue, as he had feared, had moved. However, he was still astonished as the car behind him pulled out and round to fill the gap that was by right his. “I have a ticket,” Gary called plaintively, trying not to sound too desperate. The driver’s window was down, being such a warm day, so there was no mistaking the crowing reply, “But I had my ticket first!”

Gary seethed. All manner of unpleasant words and names filled his brain as he felt his neck burn with anger. His eyes tingled as he understood for the first time the meaning of the ‘red mist’. But his windows were also down, and Alice was beaming at him, or rather the sight of ice cream. No matter. That face, the innocence and sweetness, all called to the father in him which overpowered his basest instincts.

Now in his seat, Gary stared viciously at the back of the woman’s head as he imagined every possible revenge for such rudeness but his words belied his feelings, “that woman pushed in ahead of us Alice, I am so sorry. We will have to wait a little longer.” “It’s not fair,” came the mature response from the back, “she’s not a nice lady.” And so, Gary found himself trying to explain karma to a three-year-old, all the while secretly hoping he was right and the woman in front would soon be ruining her impetuous impatience as she stood at the roadside wondering what to do with her flat tire. Or perhaps the comeuppance would take a few days to reveal itself as her favourite cat was discovered by a neighbour, lifeless on the road. Some heartless driver having refused to muster the courage to check the collar and ring the number provided. Well, it would serve her right!

As much as Gary imagined steadily worsening scenarios, nothing could assuage the feeling of anger that he had so expertly quelled, but so far failed to silence. Having finished his crisps, Gary left the car to dispose of the packet in a nearby bin, knowing the journey would take him past the open window of the offender. Try as he might, the stares that had been so sharply aimed at the back of her head were now simply deflected by one that was bowed in some sense of shame or embarrassment. Maybe, Gary hoped, the head was bowed in silent prayer that ‘he would not prove to be a mad-axe murderer’ or was ‘so socially deranged’ that he had got out of the car with a tyre-lever, to set about her bonnet and doors.

Instead, he walked to the bin unnoticed, throwing the packet with as much disgust as he could muster. This was hardly a thriller he thought, angry crisp-packet man, and still, he seethed quietly. Until that is, a voice from heaven called to him from the pumps. “Hey Gary, you ok?” “Oh, hi Richard! I’m alright…that is until someone jumps ahead of me in the queue, here!” he pointed at the car beside him. “Oh, don’t you just hate that?” Richard was playing his role like it was rehearsed, “It is so rude!” “I know, and you think they would have considered the fact that I have a young one in the car.” Together they were magnificently loud and critical, enough so Gary was finally able to quash that feeling of injustice. He had been able to say his piece after all.

By the time it was their turn, windows now up, emerged from the frothing, beating and blowing beast, the recent past had all but been forgotten. The fun of the foam-breathing dragon had purged the car not only of all the accumulated filth on the outside but also the last vestige of ill-will on the inside and karma, whether witnessed or not, no longer mattered.

As Gary awaited the mechanical retraction and green light, his focus had turned to a young man parked beside the exit of the carwash. His bonnet was up but his face was down. Gary, who knew nothing about engines, had time to decide he would offer his assistance, thinking he might be able to place a call on the young man’s behalf. He had been staring rather forlornly at his phone for some time, perhaps his battery was flat. Gary pulled alongside and lowered his window, “Can I help?” he offered more in hope than expectation. The young man’s face lit up as if Gary had just offered him a fortune. His battery was indeed flat, but not the one in his phone. “Would you be able to give me a jumpstart?” the young man pleaded, “my dad got me going this morning and he told me not to turn the engine off. I thought I had driven far enough. If I call him now, he is going to get mad at me!” “Do you have any leads?” Gary asked, knowing this is the one thing he could help with, provided they had the right equipment. “With a car like this, I never leave without them.”

Just a few short minutes of his precious time is all it took for Gary to give joy to a complete stranger and how healing it was for him. This was the final polish his private wash programme had needed. He turned to the child seat before pulling away. “Now that is karma, Alice,” he said, “I am so pleased that that woman jumped in ahead of us now. You realise had we been through before her we would not have been there for that young man, and I doubt she would have stopped for him.“”No da-da, she won’t.”

Alice will live up to her name.

Why did Gary get out of the car?

It Will All Come Out in the Wash 

Gary pulled up to the carwash. Of course, there was a queue, it was a fine day, after all. He turned to the child seat in the back. “Daddy needs to get a ticket before we can visit the foaming beast.” His words were greeted with a nervous giggle. “Would you like an ice cream, Alice?” “Yes please, da-da,” the reply was so polite for one so young. “I won’t be long,” and with that, he hurried to the shop knowing the queue could move at any moment.

Why had it been so difficult to choose the appropriate ice cream for Alice? And why had he stopped for a packet of crisps he didn’t really need? He was asking himself these things because he realised the woman who had left the shop before him was now headed to the car behind his, and the queue, as he had feared, had moved. However, he was still astonished as the car behind him pulled out and round to fill the gap that was by right his. “I have a ticket,” Gary called plaintively, trying not to sound too desperate. The driver’s window was down, being such a warm day, so there was no mistaking the crowing reply, “But I had my ticket first!”

Gary seethed. All manner of unpleasant words and names filled his brain as he felt his neck burn with anger. His eyes tingled as he understood for the first time the meaning of the ‘red mist’. But his windows were also down, and Alice was beaming at him, or rather the sight of ice cream. No matter. That face, the innocence and sweetness, all called to the father in him which overpowered his basest instincts.

Now in his seat, Gary stared viciously at the back of the woman’s head as he imagined every possible revenge for such rudeness but his words belied his feelings, “that woman pushed in ahead of us Alice, I am so sorry. We will have to wait a little longer.” “It’s not fair,” came the mature response from the back, “she’s not a nice lady.” And so, Gary found himself trying to explain karma to a three-year-old, all the while secretly hoping he was right and the woman in front would soon be ruining her impetuous impatience as she stood at the roadside wondering what to do with her flat tire. Or perhaps the comeuppance would take a few days to reveal itself as her favourite cat was discovered by a neighbour, lifeless on the road. Some heartless driver having refused to muster the courage to check the collar and ring the number provided. Well, it would serve her right!

As much as Gary imagined steadily worsening scenarios, nothing could assuage the feeling of anger that he had so expertly quelled, but so far failed to silence. Having finished his crisps, Gary left the car to dispose of the packet in a nearby bin, knowing the journey would take him past the open window of the offender. Try as he might, the stares that had been so sharply aimed at the back of her head were now simply deflected by one that was bowed in some sense of shame or embarrassment. Maybe, Gary hoped, the head was bowed in silent prayer that ‘he would not prove to be a mad-axe murderer’ or was ‘so socially deranged’ that he had got out of the car with a tyre-lever, to set about her bonnet and doors.

Instead, he walked to the bin unnoticed, throwing the packet with as much disgust as he could muster. This was hardly a thriller he thought, angry crisp-packet man, and still, he seethed quietly. Until that is, a voice from heaven called to him from the pumps. “Hey Gary, you ok?” “Oh, hi Richard! I’m alright…that is until someone jumps ahead of me in the queue, here!” he pointed at the car beside him. “Oh, don’t you just hate that?” Richard was playing his role like it was rehearsed, “It is so rude!” “I know, and you think they would have considered the fact that I have a young one in the car.” Together they were magnificently loud and critical, enough so Gary was finally able to quash that feeling of injustice. He had been able to say his piece after all.

By the time it was their turn, windows now up, emerged from the frothing, beating and blowing beast, the recent past had all but been forgotten. The fun of the foam-breathing dragon had purged the car not only of all the accumulated filth on the outside but also the last vestige of ill-will on the inside and karma, whether witnessed or not, no longer mattered.

As Gary awaited the mechanical retraction and green light, his focus had turned to a young man parked beside the exit of the carwash. His bonnet was up but his face was down. Gary, who knew nothing about engines, had time to decide he would offer his assistance, thinking he might be able to place a call on the young man’s behalf. He had been staring rather forlornly at his phone for some time, perhaps his battery was flat. Gary pulled alongside and lowered his window, “Can I help?” he offered more in hope than expectation. The young man’s face lit up as if Gary had just offered him a fortune. His battery was indeed flat, but not the one in his phone. “Would you be able to give me a jumpstart?” the young man pleaded, “my dad got me going this morning and he told me not to turn the engine off. I thought I had driven far enough. If I call him now, he is going to get mad at me!” “Do you have any leads?” Gary asked, knowing this is the one thing he could help with, provided they had the right equipment. “With a car like this, I never leave without them.”

Just a few short minutes of his precious time is all it took for Gary to give joy to a complete stranger and how healing it was for him. This was the final polish his private wash programme had needed. He turned to the child seat before pulling away. “Now that is karma, Alice,” he said, “I am so pleased that that woman jumped in ahead of us now. You realise had we been through before her we would not have been there for that young man, and I doubt she would have stopped for him.“”No da-da, she won’t.”

Alice will live up to her name.

What is the conflict of the story? 

It Will All Come Out in the Wash 

Gary pulled up to the carwash. Of course, there was a queue, it was a fine day, after all. He turned to the child seat in the back. “Daddy needs to get a ticket before we can visit the foaming beast.” His words were greeted with a nervous giggle. “Would you like an ice cream, Alice?” “Yes please, da-da,” the reply was so polite for one so young. “I won’t be long,” and with that, he hurried to the shop knowing the queue could move at any moment.

Why had it been so difficult to choose the appropriate ice cream for Alice? And why had he stopped for a packet of crisps he didn’t really need? He was asking himself these things because he realised the woman who had left the shop before him was now headed to the car behind his, and the queue, as he had feared, had moved. However, he was still astonished as the car behind him pulled out and round to fill the gap that was by right his. “I have a ticket,” Gary called plaintively, trying not to sound too desperate. The driver’s window was down, being such a warm day, so there was no mistaking the crowing reply, “But I had my ticket first!”

Gary seethed. All manner of unpleasant words and names filled his brain as he felt his neck burn with anger. His eyes tingled as he understood for the first time the meaning of the ‘red mist’. But his windows were also down, and Alice was beaming at him, or rather the sight of ice cream. No matter. That face, the innocence and sweetness, all called to the father in him which overpowered his basest instincts.

Now in his seat, Gary stared viciously at the back of the woman’s head as he imagined every possible revenge for such rudeness but his words belied his feelings, “that woman pushed in ahead of us Alice, I am so sorry. We will have to wait a little longer.” “It’s not fair,” came the mature response from the back, “she’s not a nice lady.” And so, Gary found himself trying to explain karma to a three-year-old, all the while secretly hoping he was right and the woman in front would soon be ruining her impetuous impatience as she stood at the roadside wondering what to do with her flat tire. Or perhaps the comeuppance would take a few days to reveal itself as her favourite cat was discovered by a neighbour, lifeless on the road. Some heartless driver having refused to muster the courage to check the collar and ring the number provided. Well, it would serve her right!

As much as Gary imagined steadily worsening scenarios, nothing could assuage the feeling of anger that he had so expertly quelled, but so far failed to silence. Having finished his crisps, Gary left the car to dispose of the packet in a nearby bin, knowing the journey would take him past the open window of the offender. Try as he might, the stares that had been so sharply aimed at the back of her head were now simply deflected by one that was bowed in some sense of shame or embarrassment. Maybe, Gary hoped, the head was bowed in silent prayer that ‘he would not prove to be a mad-axe murderer’ or was ‘so socially deranged’ that he had got out of the car with a tyre-lever, to set about her bonnet and doors.

Instead, he walked to the bin unnoticed, throwing the packet with as much disgust as he could muster. This was hardly a thriller he thought, angry crisp-packet man, and still, he seethed quietly. Until that is, a voice from heaven called to him from the pumps. “Hey Gary, you ok?” “Oh, hi Richard! I’m alright…that is until someone jumps ahead of me in the queue, here!” he pointed at the car beside him. “Oh, don’t you just hate that?” Richard was playing his role like it was rehearsed, “It is so rude!” “I know, and you think they would have considered the fact that I have a young one in the car.” Together they were magnificently loud and critical, enough so Gary was finally able to quash that feeling of injustice. He had been able to say his piece after all.

By the time it was their turn, windows now up, emerged from the frothing, beating and blowing beast, the recent past had all but been forgotten. The fun of the foam-breathing dragon had purged the car not only of all the accumulated filth on the outside but also the last vestige of ill-will on the inside and karma, whether witnessed or not, no longer mattered.

As Gary awaited the mechanical retraction and green light, his focus had turned to a young man parked beside the exit of the carwash. His bonnet was up but his face was down. Gary, who knew nothing about engines, had time to decide he would offer his assistance, thinking he might be able to place a call on the young man’s behalf. He had been staring rather forlornly at his phone for some time, perhaps his battery was flat. Gary pulled alongside and lowered his window, “Can I help?” he offered more in hope than expectation. The young man’s face lit up as if Gary had just offered him a fortune. His battery was indeed flat, but not the one in his phone. “Would you be able to give me a jumpstart?” the young man pleaded, “my dad got me going this morning and he told me not to turn the engine off. I thought I had driven far enough. If I call him now, he is going to get mad at me!” “Do you have any leads?” Gary asked, knowing this is the one thing he could help with, provided they had the right equipment. “With a car like this, I never leave without them.”

Just a few short minutes of his precious time is all it took for Gary to give joy to a complete stranger and how healing it was for him. This was the final polish his private wash programme had needed. He turned to the child seat before pulling away. “Now that is karma, Alice,” he said, “I am so pleased that that woman jumped in ahead of us now. You realise had we been through before her we would not have been there for that young man, and I doubt she would have stopped for him.“”No da-da, she won’t.”

Alice will live up to her name.

What bad things did Gary think should happen to the lady? 

I. Her car will not start.

II. Her car will have a flat tire.

III. Her dog will get run over by a car.

IV. Her cat will get run over by a car.

It Will All Come Out in the Wash 

Gary pulled up to the carwash. Of course, there was a queue, it was a fine day, after all. He turned to the child seat in the back. “Daddy needs to get a ticket before we can visit the foaming beast.” His words were greeted with a nervous giggle. “Would you like an ice cream, Alice?” “Yes please, da-da,” the reply was so polite for one so young. “I won’t be long,” and with that, he hurried to the shop knowing the queue could move at any moment.

Why had it been so difficult to choose the appropriate ice cream for Alice? And why had he stopped for a packet of crisps he didn’t really need? He was asking himself these things because he realised the woman who had left the shop before him was now headed to the car behind his, and the queue, as he had feared, had moved. However, he was still astonished as the car behind him pulled out and round to fill the gap that was by right his. “I have a ticket,” Gary called plaintively, trying not to sound too desperate. The driver’s window was down, being such a warm day, so there was no mistaking the crowing reply, “But I had my ticket first!”

Gary seethed. All manner of unpleasant words and names filled his brain as he felt his neck burn with anger. His eyes tingled as he understood for the first time the meaning of the ‘red mist’. But his windows were also down, and Alice was beaming at him, or rather the sight of ice cream. No matter. That face, the innocence and sweetness, all called to the father in him which overpowered his basest instincts.

Now in his seat, Gary stared viciously at the back of the woman’s head as he imagined every possible revenge for such rudeness but his words belied his feelings, “that woman pushed in ahead of us Alice, I am so sorry. We will have to wait a little longer.” “It’s not fair,” came the mature response from the back, “she’s not a nice lady.” And so, Gary found himself trying to explain karma to a three-year-old, all the while secretly hoping he was right and the woman in front would soon be ruining her impetuous impatience as she stood at the roadside wondering what to do with her flat tire. Or perhaps the comeuppance would take a few days to reveal itself as her favourite cat was discovered by a neighbour, lifeless on the road. Some heartless driver having refused to muster the courage to check the collar and ring the number provided. Well, it would serve her right!

As much as Gary imagined steadily worsening scenarios, nothing could assuage the feeling of anger that he had so expertly quelled, but so far failed to silence. Having finished his crisps, Gary left the car to dispose of the packet in a nearby bin, knowing the journey would take him past the open window of the offender. Try as he might, the stares that had been so sharply aimed at the back of her head were now simply deflected by one that was bowed in some sense of shame or embarrassment. Maybe, Gary hoped, the head was bowed in silent prayer that ‘he would not prove to be a mad-axe murderer’ or was ‘so socially deranged’ that he had got out of the car with a tyre-lever, to set about her bonnet and doors.

Instead, he walked to the bin unnoticed, throwing the packet with as much disgust as he could muster. This was hardly a thriller he thought, angry crisp-packet man, and still, he seethed quietly. Until that is, a voice from heaven called to him from the pumps. “Hey Gary, you ok?” “Oh, hi Richard! I’m alright…that is until someone jumps ahead of me in the queue, here!” he pointed at the car beside him. “Oh, don’t you just hate that?” Richard was playing his role like it was rehearsed, “It is so rude!” “I know, and you think they would have considered the fact that I have a young one in the car.” Together they were magnificently loud and critical, enough so Gary was finally able to quash that feeling of injustice. He had been able to say his piece after all.

By the time it was their turn, windows now up, emerged from the frothing, beating and blowing beast, the recent past had all but been forgotten. The fun of the foam-breathing dragon had purged the car not only of all the accumulated filth on the outside but also the last vestige of ill-will on the inside and karma, whether witnessed or not, no longer mattered.

As Gary awaited the mechanical retraction and green light, his focus had turned to a young man parked beside the exit of the carwash. His bonnet was up but his face was down. Gary, who knew nothing about engines, had time to decide he would offer his assistance, thinking he might be able to place a call on the young man’s behalf. He had been staring rather forlornly at his phone for some time, perhaps his battery was flat. Gary pulled alongside and lowered his window, “Can I help?” he offered more in hope than expectation. The young man’s face lit up as if Gary had just offered him a fortune. His battery was indeed flat, but not the one in his phone. “Would you be able to give me a jumpstart?” the young man pleaded, “my dad got me going this morning and he told me not to turn the engine off. I thought I had driven far enough. If I call him now, he is going to get mad at me!” “Do you have any leads?” Gary asked, knowing this is the one thing he could help with, provided they had the right equipment. “With a car like this, I never leave without them.”

Just a few short minutes of his precious time is all it took for Gary to give joy to a complete stranger and how healing it was for him. This was the final polish his private wash programme had needed. He turned to the child seat before pulling away. “Now that is karma, Alice,” he said, “I am so pleased that that woman jumped in ahead of us now. You realise had we been through before her we would not have been there for that young man, and I doubt she would have stopped for him.“”No da-da, she won’t.”

Alice will live up to her name.

How was Gary able to relieve himself of his anger? 

It Will All Come Out in the Wash 

Gary pulled up to the carwash. Of course, there was a queue, it was a fine day, after all. He turned to the child seat in the back. “Daddy needs to get a ticket before we can visit the foaming beast.” His words were greeted with a nervous giggle. “Would you like an ice cream, Alice?” “Yes please, da-da,” the reply was so polite for one so young. “I won’t be long,” and with that, he hurried to the shop knowing the queue could move at any moment.

Why had it been so difficult to choose the appropriate ice cream for Alice? And why had he stopped for a packet of crisps he didn’t really need? He was asking himself these things because he realised the woman who had left the shop before him was now headed to the car behind his, and the queue, as he had feared, had moved. However, he was still astonished as the car behind him pulled out and round to fill the gap that was by right his. “I have a ticket,” Gary called plaintively, trying not to sound too desperate. The driver’s window was down, being such a warm day, so there was no mistaking the crowing reply, “But I had my ticket first!”

Gary seethed. All manner of unpleasant words and names filled his brain as he felt his neck burn with anger. His eyes tingled as he understood for the first time the meaning of the ‘red mist’. But his windows were also down, and Alice was beaming at him, or rather the sight of ice cream. No matter. That face, the innocence and sweetness, all called to the father in him which overpowered his basest instincts.

Now in his seat, Gary stared viciously at the back of the woman’s head as he imagined every possible revenge for such rudeness but his words belied his feelings, “that woman pushed in ahead of us Alice, I am so sorry. We will have to wait a little longer.” “It’s not fair,” came the mature response from the back, “she’s not a nice lady.” And so, Gary found himself trying to explain karma to a three-year-old, all the while secretly hoping he was right and the woman in front would soon be ruining her impetuous impatience as she stood at the roadside wondering what to do with her flat tire. Or perhaps the comeuppance would take a few days to reveal itself as her favourite cat was discovered by a neighbour, lifeless on the road. Some heartless driver having refused to muster the courage to check the collar and ring the number provided. Well, it would serve her right!

As much as Gary imagined steadily worsening scenarios, nothing could assuage the feeling of anger that he had so expertly quelled, but so far failed to silence. Having finished his crisps, Gary left the car to dispose of the packet in a nearby bin, knowing the journey would take him past the open window of the offender. Try as he might, the stares that had been so sharply aimed at the back of her head were now simply deflected by one that was bowed in some sense of shame or embarrassment. Maybe, Gary hoped, the head was bowed in silent prayer that ‘he would not prove to be a mad-axe murderer’ or was ‘so socially deranged’ that he had got out of the car with a tyre-lever, to set about her bonnet and doors.

Instead, he walked to the bin unnoticed, throwing the packet with as much disgust as he could muster. This was hardly a thriller he thought, angry crisp-packet man, and still, he seethed quietly. Until that is, a voice from heaven called to him from the pumps. “Hey Gary, you ok?” “Oh, hi Richard! I’m alright…that is until someone jumps ahead of me in the queue, here!” he pointed at the car beside him. “Oh, don’t you just hate that?” Richard was playing his role like it was rehearsed, “It is so rude!” “I know, and you think they would have considered the fact that I have a young one in the car.” Together they were magnificently loud and critical, enough so Gary was finally able to quash that feeling of injustice. He had been able to say his piece after all.

By the time it was their turn, windows now up, emerged from the frothing, beating and blowing beast, the recent past had all but been forgotten. The fun of the foam-breathing dragon had purged the car not only of all the accumulated filth on the outside but also the last vestige of ill-will on the inside and karma, whether witnessed or not, no longer mattered.

As Gary awaited the mechanical retraction and green light, his focus had turned to a young man parked beside the exit of the carwash. His bonnet was up but his face was down. Gary, who knew nothing about engines, had time to decide he would offer his assistance, thinking he might be able to place a call on the young man’s behalf. He had been staring rather forlornly at his phone for some time, perhaps his battery was flat. Gary pulled alongside and lowered his window, “Can I help?” he offered more in hope than expectation. The young man’s face lit up as if Gary had just offered him a fortune. His battery was indeed flat, but not the one in his phone. “Would you be able to give me a jumpstart?” the young man pleaded, “my dad got me going this morning and he told me not to turn the engine off. I thought I had driven far enough. If I call him now, he is going to get mad at me!” “Do you have any leads?” Gary asked, knowing this is the one thing he could help with, provided they had the right equipment. “With a car like this, I never leave without them.”

Just a few short minutes of his precious time is all it took for Gary to give joy to a complete stranger and how healing it was for him. This was the final polish his private wash programme had needed. He turned to the child seat before pulling away. “Now that is karma, Alice,” he said, “I am so pleased that that woman jumped in ahead of us now. You realise had we been through before her we would not have been there for that young man, and I doubt she would have stopped for him.“”No da-da, she won’t.”

Alice will live up to her name.

What is karma? 

It Will All Come Out in the Wash 

Gary pulled up to the carwash. Of course, there was a queue, it was a fine day, after all. He turned to the child seat in the back. “Daddy needs to get a ticket before we can visit the foaming beast.” His words were greeted with a nervous giggle. “Would you like an ice cream, Alice?” “Yes please, da-da,” the reply was so polite for one so young. “I won’t be long,” and with that, he hurried to the shop knowing the queue could move at any moment.

Why had it been so difficult to choose the appropriate ice cream for Alice? And why had he stopped for a packet of crisps he didn’t really need? He was asking himself these things because he realised the woman who had left the shop before him was now headed to the car behind his, and the queue, as he had feared, had moved. However, he was still astonished as the car behind him pulled out and round to fill the gap that was by right his. “I have a ticket,” Gary called plaintively, trying not to sound too desperate. The driver’s window was down, being such a warm day, so there was no mistaking the crowing reply, “But I had my ticket first!”

Gary seethed. All manner of unpleasant words and names filled his brain as he felt his neck burn with anger. His eyes tingled as he understood for the first time the meaning of the ‘red mist’. But his windows were also down, and Alice was beaming at him, or rather the sight of ice cream. No matter. That face, the innocence and sweetness, all called to the father in him which overpowered his basest instincts.

Now in his seat, Gary stared viciously at the back of the woman’s head as he imagined every possible revenge for such rudeness but his words belied his feelings, “that woman pushed in ahead of us Alice, I am so sorry. We will have to wait a little longer.” “It’s not fair,” came the mature response from the back, “she’s not a nice lady.” And so, Gary found himself trying to explain karma to a three-year-old, all the while secretly hoping he was right and the woman in front would soon be ruining her impetuous impatience as she stood at the roadside wondering what to do with her flat tire. Or perhaps the comeuppance would take a few days to reveal itself as her favourite cat was discovered by a neighbour, lifeless on the road. Some heartless driver having refused to muster the courage to check the collar and ring the number provided. Well, it would serve her right!

As much as Gary imagined steadily worsening scenarios, nothing could assuage the feeling of anger that he had so expertly quelled, but so far failed to silence. Having finished his crisps, Gary left the car to dispose of the packet in a nearby bin, knowing the journey would take him past the open window of the offender. Try as he might, the stares that had been so sharply aimed at the back of her head were now simply deflected by one that was bowed in some sense of shame or embarrassment. Maybe, Gary hoped, the head was bowed in silent prayer that ‘he would not prove to be a mad-axe murderer’ or was ‘so socially deranged’ that he had got out of the car with a tyre-lever, to set about her bonnet and doors.

Instead, he walked to the bin unnoticed, throwing the packet with as much disgust as he could muster. This was hardly a thriller he thought, angry crisp-packet man, and still, he seethed quietly. Until that is, a voice from heaven called to him from the pumps. “Hey Gary, you ok?” “Oh, hi Richard! I’m alright…that is until someone jumps ahead of me in the queue, here!” he pointed at the car beside him. “Oh, don’t you just hate that?” Richard was playing his role like it was rehearsed, “It is so rude!” “I know, and you think they would have considered the fact that I have a young one in the car.” Together they were magnificently loud and critical, enough so Gary was finally able to quash that feeling of injustice. He had been able to say his piece after all.

By the time it was their turn, windows now up, emerged from the frothing, beating and blowing beast, the recent past had all but been forgotten. The fun of the foam-breathing dragon had purged the car not only of all the accumulated filth on the outside but also the last vestige of ill-will on the inside and karma, whether witnessed or not, no longer mattered.

As Gary awaited the mechanical retraction and green light, his focus had turned to a young man parked beside the exit of the carwash. His bonnet was up but his face was down. Gary, who knew nothing about engines, had time to decide he would offer his assistance, thinking he might be able to place a call on the young man’s behalf. He had been staring rather forlornly at his phone for some time, perhaps his battery was flat. Gary pulled alongside and lowered his window, “Can I help?” he offered more in hope than expectation. The young man’s face lit up as if Gary had just offered him a fortune. His battery was indeed flat, but not the one in his phone. “Would you be able to give me a jumpstart?” the young man pleaded, “my dad got me going this morning and he told me not to turn the engine off. I thought I had driven far enough. If I call him now, he is going to get mad at me!” “Do you have any leads?” Gary asked, knowing this is the one thing he could help with, provided they had the right equipment. “With a car like this, I never leave without them.”

Just a few short minutes of his precious time is all it took for Gary to give joy to a complete stranger and how healing it was for him. This was the final polish his private wash programme had needed. He turned to the child seat before pulling away. “Now that is karma, Alice,” he said, “I am so pleased that that woman jumped in ahead of us now. You realise had we been through before her we would not have been there for that young man, and I doubt she would have stopped for him.“”No da-da, she won’t.”

Alice will live up to her name.

What does the foaming beast symbolise in life? 

It Will All Come Out in the Wash 

Gary pulled up to the carwash. Of course, there was a queue, it was a fine day, after all. He turned to the child seat in the back. “Daddy needs to get a ticket before we can visit the foaming beast.” His words were greeted with a nervous giggle. “Would you like an ice cream, Alice?” “Yes please, da-da,” the reply was so polite for one so young. “I won’t be long,” and with that, he hurried to the shop knowing the queue could move at any moment.

Why had it been so difficult to choose the appropriate ice cream for Alice? And why had he stopped for a packet of crisps he didn’t really need? He was asking himself these things because he realised the woman who had left the shop before him was now headed to the car behind his, and the queue, as he had feared, had moved. However, he was still astonished as the car behind him pulled out and round to fill the gap that was by right his. “I have a ticket,” Gary called plaintively, trying not to sound too desperate. The driver’s window was down, being such a warm day, so there was no mistaking the crowing reply, “But I had my ticket first!”

Gary seethed. All manner of unpleasant words and names filled his brain as he felt his neck burn with anger. His eyes tingled as he understood for the first time the meaning of the ‘red mist’. But his windows were also down, and Alice was beaming at him, or rather the sight of ice cream. No matter. That face, the innocence and sweetness, all called to the father in him which overpowered his basest instincts.

Now in his seat, Gary stared viciously at the back of the woman’s head as he imagined every possible revenge for such rudeness but his words belied his feelings, “that woman pushed in ahead of us Alice, I am so sorry. We will have to wait a little longer.” “It’s not fair,” came the mature response from the back, “she’s not a nice lady.” And so, Gary found himself trying to explain karma to a three-year-old, all the while secretly hoping he was right and the woman in front would soon be ruining her impetuous impatience as she stood at the roadside wondering what to do with her flat tire. Or perhaps the comeuppance would take a few days to reveal itself as her favourite cat was discovered by a neighbour, lifeless on the road. Some heartless driver having refused to muster the courage to check the collar and ring the number provided. Well, it would serve her right!

As much as Gary imagined steadily worsening scenarios, nothing could assuage the feeling of anger that he had so expertly quelled, but so far failed to silence. Having finished his crisps, Gary left the car to dispose of the packet in a nearby bin, knowing the journey would take him past the open window of the offender. Try as he might, the stares that had been so sharply aimed at the back of her head were now simply deflected by one that was bowed in some sense of shame or embarrassment. Maybe, Gary hoped, the head was bowed in silent prayer that ‘he would not prove to be a mad-axe murderer’ or was ‘so socially deranged’ that he had got out of the car with a tyre-lever, to set about her bonnet and doors.

Instead, he walked to the bin unnoticed, throwing the packet with as much disgust as he could muster. This was hardly a thriller he thought, angry crisp-packet man, and still, he seethed quietly. Until that is, a voice from heaven called to him from the pumps. “Hey Gary, you ok?” “Oh, hi Richard! I’m alright…that is until someone jumps ahead of me in the queue, here!” he pointed at the car beside him. “Oh, don’t you just hate that?” Richard was playing his role like it was rehearsed, “It is so rude!” “I know, and you think they would have considered the fact that I have a young one in the car.” Together they were magnificently loud and critical, enough so Gary was finally able to quash that feeling of injustice. He had been able to say his piece after all.

By the time it was their turn, windows now up, emerged from the frothing, beating and blowing beast, the recent past had all but been forgotten. The fun of the foam-breathing dragon had purged the car not only of all the accumulated filth on the outside but also the last vestige of ill-will on the inside and karma, whether witnessed or not, no longer mattered.

As Gary awaited the mechanical retraction and green light, his focus had turned to a young man parked beside the exit of the carwash. His bonnet was up but his face was down. Gary, who knew nothing about engines, had time to decide he would offer his assistance, thinking he might be able to place a call on the young man’s behalf. He had been staring rather forlornly at his phone for some time, perhaps his battery was flat. Gary pulled alongside and lowered his window, “Can I help?” he offered more in hope than expectation. The young man’s face lit up as if Gary had just offered him a fortune. His battery was indeed flat, but not the one in his phone. “Would you be able to give me a jumpstart?” the young man pleaded, “my dad got me going this morning and he told me not to turn the engine off. I thought I had driven far enough. If I call him now, he is going to get mad at me!” “Do you have any leads?” Gary asked, knowing this is the one thing he could help with, provided they had the right equipment. “With a car like this, I never leave without them.”

Just a few short minutes of his precious time is all it took for Gary to give joy to a complete stranger and how healing it was for him. This was the final polish his private wash programme had needed. He turned to the child seat before pulling away. “Now that is karma, Alice,” he said, “I am so pleased that that woman jumped in ahead of us now. You realise had we been through before her we would not have been there for that young man, and I doubt she would have stopped for him.“”No da-da, she won’t.”

Alice will live up to her name.

What is Gary’s karma? 

The Yellow Belt

“Hey Billy, wanna play kickball with us?” a boy in his class asked him during recess. “Nah that’s ok. You play without me. I’ll just sit and watch,” Billy said as he looked down toward the ground. “Come on Billy we need another player to even the teams,” Billy agreed to not make any trouble for himself and took the field. The pitcher looked around the field to make sure his team was ready. He noticed Billy looking down at his pants. “Billy, pay attention,” he yelled

The ball rolled toward the batter as he took two steps and launched in the air in Billy’s direction. Billy looked up and saw the red rubber ball headed right for him. He froze as the ball flew right by him. The players on his team started yelling at him to get off the field and saying they didn’t need him. Billy walked off the field head down as he knew this was going to happen. As he headed back to the classroom, he saw her. Megan, the most popular girl in his class, met Billy’s gaze as he lowered his head back down and walked faster toward the building. He got back to the classroom and told his teacher he wasn’t feeling good as she told him to go see the nurse. The nurse saw the look in his eyes and let him lay on the couch in her office for the remainder of the school day. Later that night after dinner Billy’s mother noticed the sad look on her son’s face. “Billy honey what’s wrong?” “Nothing I don’t wanna talk about it,” Billy said “Are you sure maybe a little ice cream will change your mind?” his mother said and smiled Billy grinned from ear to ear. Mom grabbed the ice cream and two bowls. “What’s her name? “Whaddya mean?” as the question stuttered out of Billy’s mouth. “Mother’s intuition.” “Well, there’s a girl in my class I want to ask to dance next month, but I get nervous when she’s around. She even saw me embarrass myself in kickball today,” Billy said “What’s the girl’s name?” his mother asked “Grace,” Billy said “You mean Grace, the girl who used to come to our house and play with you a couple of years ago?” his mother asked “Yes” “Then why are you nervous? She’s always been a friendly girl and you two always got along so well,” the mother said “Yeah, but that was in our house when we played superheroes and I wore my yellow belt,“”Your yellow belt?” “Yes, Mom, the yellow belt I wear when I pretend I am Superman,” Billy said “Oh, that yellow belt. Does it give you special powers or something?” “Yes, when I wear it, I feel like I can do anything,” Billy said “Billy that’s ridiculous. You don’t need a special belt to feel like you can do anything,” Mom said

The next morning Billy was getting dressed in his room when his mother yelled from downstairs, “Billy, why don’t you wear those light blue shorts that Grandma got you with the yellow belt?” “No, Mom those shorts are ugly, and the other kids will make fun of me,” Billy said

Billy came downstairs and grabbed his lunch from the fridge before heading out to the bus stop. “Billy, could you do me a favour today?” his mother asked. Billy looked at her and smirked. “When you see Grace today at school march right up to her and ask her to the dance,” his mother said “Mom, I know she’ll say no, so why bother?” “Just ask her. You don’t know what she’ll say,” Mom said

Billy saw Grace in the hallway between classes and slowly approached. Sweat began to form on his brow as his lips felt drier than a desert. “Hey Billy,” Grace said “Hhhhheeeeyyy Grace there is something I wanna ask you,” Billy said as the words stuttered out of his mouth. “What is it?” She said Billy’s head was down as he looked for his belt and muttered, “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

The bell rings as kids rush to the lunchroom to eat. Billy goes to his locker to get his food from his book bag when he sees something strange in there. He reached his hand in to find his yellow belt with a note that said, ‘Put the belt on under your shorts and go ask Grace to the dance. You can do it. Love, Mom’ Billy ran to the bathroom to do just that. After lunch all the kids went to recess as Billy noticed Grace watching the kickball game that was going on. Billy asked to be on one of the teams but one of the kids told him they don’t want someone who stinks like him. Billy strutted over to the kid, looked him dead in the eye and said, “I won’t stink.”

The team Billy was on took the field first. The pitcher rolled the ball towards the batter and bam, a line drive hit right at Billy. He barely had time to react as he wrapped his arms around it as the pitcher clapped. A couple of innings go by as Billy is now up at the plate waiting to kick. The ball gets rolled to him and whack Billy crushes it over the outfielder’s head. He races around the bases and makes it all the way home. The recess bell rang as Billy scored the winning run as his teammates surrounded him to congratulate him. He looked at the kid who he asked to play and said, “Told ya I wasn’t going to stink.”

Billy headed back to class and ran into Grace who was gushing about how good Billy did in the kickball game. Billy blushed a little and thanked for being so kind. “Grace there is something I wanted to ask you. Do you have a date for the dance next month?” “No, I don’t, Billy,” she said, “Well, would you like to go with me?” he asked. She flashed the biggest smile and said, “Yes I would.” Billy gave her the biggest smile as he walked back to class. He heard a voice behind him, “Hey Billy, is this your yellow belt?” Billy felt his waist under his shorts and noticed his belt was gone. “No that’s not my belt” as he knew he didn’t need it after all.

Answer the following questions by choosing the letter of the best answer.  

Why is the yellow belt important for Billy?

The Yellow Belt

“Hey Billy, wanna play kickball with us?” a boy in his class asked him during recess. “Nah that’s ok. You play without me. I’ll just sit and watch,” Billy said as he looked down toward the ground. “Come on Billy we need another player to even the teams,” Billy agreed to not make any trouble for himself and took the field. The pitcher looked around the field to make sure his team was ready. He noticed Billy looking down at his pants. “Billy, pay attention,” he yelled

The ball rolled toward the batter as he took two steps and launched in the air in Billy’s direction. Billy looked up and saw the red rubber ball headed right for him. He froze as the ball flew right by him. The players on his team started yelling at him to get off the field and saying they didn’t need him. Billy walked off the field head down as he knew this was going to happen. As he headed back to the classroom, he saw her. Megan, the most popular girl in his class, met Billy’s gaze as he lowered his head back down and walked faster toward the building. He got back to the classroom and told his teacher he wasn’t feeling good as she told him to go see the nurse. The nurse saw the look in his eyes and let him lay on the couch in her office for the remainder of the school day. Later that night after dinner Billy’s mother noticed the sad look on her son’s face. “Billy honey what’s wrong?” “Nothing I don’t wanna talk about it,” Billy said “Are you sure maybe a little ice cream will change your mind?” his mother said and smiled Billy grinned from ear to ear. Mom grabbed the ice cream and two bowls. “What’s her name? “Whaddya mean?” as the question stuttered out of Billy’s mouth. “Mother’s intuition.” “Well, there’s a girl in my class I want to ask to dance next month, but I get nervous when she’s around. She even saw me embarrass myself in kickball today,” Billy said “What’s the girl’s name?” his mother asked “Grace,” Billy said “You mean Grace, the girl who used to come to our house and play with you a couple of years ago?” his mother asked “Yes” “Then why are you nervous? She’s always been a friendly girl and you two always got along so well,” the mother said “Yeah, but that was in our house when we played superheroes and I wore my yellow belt,“”Your yellow belt?” “Yes, Mom, the yellow belt I wear when I pretend I am Superman,” Billy said “Oh, that yellow belt. Does it give you special powers or something?” “Yes, when I wear it, I feel like I can do anything,” Billy said “Billy that’s ridiculous. You don’t need a special belt to feel like you can do anything,” Mom said

The next morning Billy was getting dressed in his room when his mother yelled from downstairs, “Billy, why don’t you wear those light blue shorts that Grandma got you with the yellow belt?” “No, Mom those shorts are ugly, and the other kids will make fun of me,” Billy said

Billy came downstairs and grabbed his lunch from the fridge before heading out to the bus stop. “Billy, could you do me a favour today?” his mother asked. Billy looked at her and smirked. “When you see Grace today at school march right up to her and ask her to the dance,” his mother said “Mom, I know she’ll say no, so why bother?” “Just ask her. You don’t know what she’ll say,” Mom said

Billy saw Grace in the hallway between classes and slowly approached. Sweat began to form on his brow as his lips felt drier than a desert. “Hey Billy,” Grace said “Hhhhheeeeyyy Grace there is something I wanna ask you,” Billy said as the words stuttered out of his mouth. “What is it?” She said Billy’s head was down as he looked for his belt and muttered, “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

The bell rings as kids rush to the lunchroom to eat. Billy goes to his locker to get his food from his book bag when he sees something strange in there. He reached his hand in to find his yellow belt with a note that said, ‘Put the belt on under your shorts and go ask Grace to the dance. You can do it. Love, Mom’ Billy ran to the bathroom to do just that. After lunch all the kids went to recess as Billy noticed Grace watching the kickball game that was going on. Billy asked to be on one of the teams but one of the kids told him they don’t want someone who stinks like him. Billy strutted over to the kid, looked him dead in the eye and said, “I won’t stink.”

The team Billy was on took the field first. The pitcher rolled the ball towards the batter and bam, a line drive hit right at Billy. He barely had time to react as he wrapped his arms around it as the pitcher clapped. A couple of innings go by as Billy is now up at the plate waiting to kick. The ball gets rolled to him and whack Billy crushes it over the outfielder’s head. He races around the bases and makes it all the way home. The recess bell rang as Billy scored the winning run as his teammates surrounded him to congratulate him. He looked at the kid who he asked to play and said, “Told ya I wasn’t going to stink.”

Billy headed back to class and ran into Grace who was gushing about how good Billy did in the kickball game. Billy blushed a little and thanked for being so kind. “Grace there is something I wanted to ask you. Do you have a date for the dance next month?” “No, I don’t, Billy,” she said, “Well, would you like to go with me?” he asked. She flashed the biggest smile and said, “Yes I would.” Billy gave her the biggest smile as he walked back to class. He heard a voice behind him, “Hey Billy, is this your yellow belt?” Billy felt his waist under his shorts and noticed his belt was gone. “No that’s not my belt” as he knew he didn’t need it after all.

What was the mother’s intuition? 

The Yellow Belt

“Hey Billy, wanna play kickball with us?” a boy in his class asked him during recess. “Nah that’s ok. You play without me. I’ll just sit and watch,” Billy said as he looked down toward the ground. “Come on Billy we need another player to even the teams,” Billy agreed to not make any trouble for himself and took the field. The pitcher looked around the field to make sure his team was ready. He noticed Billy looking down at his pants. “Billy, pay attention,” he yelled

The ball rolled toward the batter as he took two steps and launched in the air in Billy’s direction. Billy looked up and saw the red rubber ball headed right for him. He froze as the ball flew right by him. The players on his team started yelling at him to get off the field and saying they didn’t need him. Billy walked off the field head down as he knew this was going to happen. As he headed back to the classroom, he saw her. Megan, the most popular girl in his class, met Billy’s gaze as he lowered his head back down and walked faster toward the building. He got back to the classroom and told his teacher he wasn’t feeling good as she told him to go see the nurse. The nurse saw the look in his eyes and let him lay on the couch in her office for the remainder of the school day. Later that night after dinner Billy’s mother noticed the sad look on her son’s face. “Billy honey what’s wrong?” “Nothing I don’t wanna talk about it,” Billy said “Are you sure maybe a little ice cream will change your mind?” his mother said and smiled Billy grinned from ear to ear. Mom grabbed the ice cream and two bowls. “What’s her name? “Whaddya mean?” as the question stuttered out of Billy’s mouth. “Mother’s intuition.” “Well, there’s a girl in my class I want to ask to dance next month, but I get nervous when she’s around. She even saw me embarrass myself in kickball today,” Billy said “What’s the girl’s name?” his mother asked “Grace,” Billy said “You mean Grace, the girl who used to come to our house and play with you a couple of years ago?” his mother asked “Yes” “Then why are you nervous? She’s always been a friendly girl and you two always got along so well,” the mother said “Yeah, but that was in our house when we played superheroes and I wore my yellow belt,“”Your yellow belt?” “Yes, Mom, the yellow belt I wear when I pretend I am Superman,” Billy said “Oh, that yellow belt. Does it give you special powers or something?” “Yes, when I wear it, I feel like I can do anything,” Billy said “Billy that’s ridiculous. You don’t need a special belt to feel like you can do anything,” Mom said

The next morning Billy was getting dressed in his room when his mother yelled from downstairs, “Billy, why don’t you wear those light blue shorts that Grandma got you with the yellow belt?” “No, Mom those shorts are ugly, and the other kids will make fun of me,” Billy said

Billy came downstairs and grabbed his lunch from the fridge before heading out to the bus stop. “Billy, could you do me a favour today?” his mother asked. Billy looked at her and smirked. “When you see Grace today at school march right up to her and ask her to the dance,” his mother said “Mom, I know she’ll say no, so why bother?” “Just ask her. You don’t know what she’ll say,” Mom said

Billy saw Grace in the hallway between classes and slowly approached. Sweat began to form on his brow as his lips felt drier than a desert. “Hey Billy,” Grace said “Hhhhheeeeyyy Grace there is something I wanna ask you,” Billy said as the words stuttered out of his mouth. “What is it?” She said Billy’s head was down as he looked for his belt and muttered, “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

The bell rings as kids rush to the lunchroom to eat. Billy goes to his locker to get his food from his book bag when he sees something strange in there. He reached his hand in to find his yellow belt with a note that said, ‘Put the belt on under your shorts and go ask Grace to the dance. You can do it. Love, Mom’ Billy ran to the bathroom to do just that. After lunch all the kids went to recess as Billy noticed Grace watching the kickball game that was going on. Billy asked to be on one of the teams but one of the kids told him they don’t want someone who stinks like him. Billy strutted over to the kid, looked him dead in the eye and said, “I won’t stink.”

The team Billy was on took the field first. The pitcher rolled the ball towards the batter and bam, a line drive hit right at Billy. He barely had time to react as he wrapped his arms around it as the pitcher clapped. A couple of innings go by as Billy is now up at the plate waiting to kick. The ball gets rolled to him and whack Billy crushes it over the outfielder’s head. He races around the bases and makes it all the way home. The recess bell rang as Billy scored the winning run as his teammates surrounded him to congratulate him. He looked at the kid who he asked to play and said, “Told ya I wasn’t going to stink.”

Billy headed back to class and ran into Grace who was gushing about how good Billy did in the kickball game. Billy blushed a little and thanked for being so kind. “Grace there is something I wanted to ask you. Do you have a date for the dance next month?” “No, I don’t, Billy,” she said, “Well, would you like to go with me?” he asked. She flashed the biggest smile and said, “Yes I would.” Billy gave her the biggest smile as he walked back to class. He heard a voice behind him, “Hey Billy, is this your yellow belt?” Billy felt his waist under his shorts and noticed his belt was gone. “No that’s not my belt” as he knew he didn’t need it after all.

Who is a round character? 

The Yellow Belt

“Hey Billy, wanna play kickball with us?” a boy in his class asked him during recess. “Nah that’s ok. You play without me. I’ll just sit and watch,” Billy said as he looked down toward the ground. “Come on Billy we need another player to even the teams,” Billy agreed to not make any trouble for himself and took the field. The pitcher looked around the field to make sure his team was ready. He noticed Billy looking down at his pants. “Billy, pay attention,” he yelled

The ball rolled toward the batter as he took two steps and launched in the air in Billy’s direction. Billy looked up and saw the red rubber ball headed right for him. He froze as the ball flew right by him. The players on his team started yelling at him to get off the field and saying they didn’t need him. Billy walked off the field head down as he knew this was going to happen. As he headed back to the classroom, he saw her. Megan, the most popular girl in his class, met Billy’s gaze as he lowered his head back down and walked faster toward the building. He got back to the classroom and told his teacher he wasn’t feeling good as she told him to go see the nurse. The nurse saw the look in his eyes and let him lay on the couch in her office for the remainder of the school day. Later that night after dinner Billy’s mother noticed the sad look on her son’s face. “Billy honey what’s wrong?” “Nothing I don’t wanna talk about it,” Billy said “Are you sure maybe a little ice cream will change your mind?” his mother said and smiled Billy grinned from ear to ear. Mom grabbed the ice cream and two bowls. “What’s her name? “Whaddya mean?” as the question stuttered out of Billy’s mouth. “Mother’s intuition.” “Well, there’s a girl in my class I want to ask to dance next month, but I get nervous when she’s around. She even saw me embarrass myself in kickball today,” Billy said “What’s the girl’s name?” his mother asked “Grace,” Billy said “You mean Grace, the girl who used to come to our house and play with you a couple of years ago?” his mother asked “Yes” “Then why are you nervous? She’s always been a friendly girl and you two always got along so well,” the mother said “Yeah, but that was in our house when we played superheroes and I wore my yellow belt,“”Your yellow belt?” “Yes, Mom, the yellow belt I wear when I pretend I am Superman,” Billy said “Oh, that yellow belt. Does it give you special powers or something?” “Yes, when I wear it, I feel like I can do anything,” Billy said “Billy that’s ridiculous. You don’t need a special belt to feel like you can do anything,” Mom said

The next morning Billy was getting dressed in his room when his mother yelled from downstairs, “Billy, why don’t you wear those light blue shorts that Grandma got you with the yellow belt?” “No, Mom those shorts are ugly, and the other kids will make fun of me,” Billy said

Billy came downstairs and grabbed his lunch from the fridge before heading out to the bus stop. “Billy, could you do me a favour today?” his mother asked. Billy looked at her and smirked. “When you see Grace today at school march right up to her and ask her to the dance,” his mother said “Mom, I know she’ll say no, so why bother?” “Just ask her. You don’t know what she’ll say,” Mom said

Billy saw Grace in the hallway between classes and slowly approached. Sweat began to form on his brow as his lips felt drier than a desert. “Hey Billy,” Grace said “Hhhhheeeeyyy Grace there is something I wanna ask you,” Billy said as the words stuttered out of his mouth. “What is it?” She said Billy’s head was down as he looked for his belt and muttered, “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

The bell rings as kids rush to the lunchroom to eat. Billy goes to his locker to get his food from his book bag when he sees something strange in there. He reached his hand in to find his yellow belt with a note that said, ‘Put the belt on under your shorts and go ask Grace to the dance. You can do it. Love, Mom’ Billy ran to the bathroom to do just that. After lunch all the kids went to recess as Billy noticed Grace watching the kickball game that was going on. Billy asked to be on one of the teams but one of the kids told him they don’t want someone who stinks like him. Billy strutted over to the kid, looked him dead in the eye and said, “I won’t stink.”

The team Billy was on took the field first. The pitcher rolled the ball towards the batter and bam, a line drive hit right at Billy. He barely had time to react as he wrapped his arms around it as the pitcher clapped. A couple of innings go by as Billy is now up at the plate waiting to kick. The ball gets rolled to him and whack Billy crushes it over the outfielder’s head. He races around the bases and makes it all the way home. The recess bell rang as Billy scored the winning run as his teammates surrounded him to congratulate him. He looked at the kid who he asked to play and said, “Told ya I wasn’t going to stink.”

Billy headed back to class and ran into Grace who was gushing about how good Billy did in the kickball game. Billy blushed a little and thanked for being so kind. “Grace there is something I wanted to ask you. Do you have a date for the dance next month?” “No, I don’t, Billy,” she said, “Well, would you like to go with me?” he asked. She flashed the biggest smile and said, “Yes I would.” Billy gave her the biggest smile as he walked back to class. He heard a voice behind him, “Hey Billy, is this your yellow belt?” Billy felt his waist under his shorts and noticed his belt was gone. “No that’s not my belt” as he knew he didn’t need it after all.

What is the story’s resolution? 

Can the World’s First Space Sweeper Make a Dent in Orbiting Debris?

This year, a huge hole was discovered in a 58-foot-long arm of the International Space Station (ISS), which is believed to have been caused by an untraceable item. The incident occurred only eight months after the ISS avoided a larger piece of debris. There are about 27,000 classified objects in Earth’s debris field, ranging from paint flecks to expended rocket stages, all of which pose a risk to multimillion-dollar spaceflight assets. Hugh Lewis, an astronautical engineer from the University of Southampton asserts, “It is likely one of the most critical environmental issues of our time.” As with climate change, he asserts that the issue of space debris is caused by humans degrading and misusing a shared resource, in this instance the space environment. “It’s a technology dilemma we’ve manufactured, resulting from our own decisions.”

Astroscale Inc., a private corporation headquartered in Japan, has designed many commercial spacecrafts charged with cleaning space in response to this problem. The company is on target to produce the world’s first garbage truck for removing obsolete satellites in 2024, and reported today that its prototype has successfully completed its first space demonstration. Although scientists believe that a single active debris remover is insufficient to fix the problem, it represents a significant step toward protecting vital technology in orbit. The work of Astroscale represents one of the initial, minuscule steps towards junk removal. ELSA, which is an abbreviation for “end-of-life services by Astroscale,” is its primary mission. ELSA will draw decommissioned satellites from high Earth orbits to the planet’s natural incinerator: the oxygen-rich atmosphere in lower Earth orbits. Both the space cleaner and satellite will burn up here prior to impacting the Earth’s surface.

While Astroscale is optimistic that a series of successful demonstrations will attract new clients, the company’s cleanup programme is contingent on space entities choosing to pay for its services. Space has become a graveyard for failed experiments because no international organisation or legislation requires space users to pick up after themselves when their satellites litter. Earth’s inky backyard is a typical illustration of the tragedy of the commons, in which joint ownership of a resource by numerous nations incentivizes everyone to use it but no one takes care of it. The Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee has drafted a set of international rules for controlling space debris and avoiding pollution in future missions, but there is no enforcement mechanism in place to guarantee its members comply.

Moreover, ELSA is only designed to clean up magnetised things weighing less than one metric tonne, or around 2,200 pounds. However, the most destructive objects in space are the massive rocket boosters launched between the late 1900s and early 2000s. These items are wildcards; their speeds, trajectories, and placements are difficult to analyse, making it difficult to devise a feasible plan for their disposal. Additionally, they are enormous, weighing nearly ten tonnes each. Not only are they too large to be gathered at this time, but they may not completely burn up in the atmosphere if they strike Earth.

Despite this, Astroscale’s space sweeper services are essential for chipping away at a massive problem by focusing on the smaller, more recent satellites that will be launched as mega constellations. SpaceX and Amazon aim to deploy thousands of satellites over the next several years, and ELSA might retrieve them when they eventually malfunction. Astroscale believes that commercial corporations may install magnetic plates on their spacecraft and contract its services to dispose of their defunct satellites if ELSA’s trials are effective. According to Lindsay, Astroscale’s chief technology officer, the market for active space debris clearance will be robust. People will be more willing to pay for this service and remove objects they perceive as hazards since they need to safeguard their investments and space assets.

Marlon Sorge, a chief engineer and aerodynamicist at Aerospace Corporation in El Segundo, California, thinks that the cheapest and simplest answer to the debris problem is to prevent the creation of debris. Spacecraft-launching organisations must lower the probability that their missions will fail, as these useless items contribute to the escalating problem of space debris. Active debris removal services, such as those provided by Astroscale, should serve as a backup to the mitigation measures that all space companies must prioritise.

Depending on the kind, the normal failure rate of satellites might reach as high as 40 percent. Even with a failure rate as low as 2.5%, as claimed by SpaceX’s Starlink satellite constellation, there will be thousands of dead objects circling the sky in the coming decades. Sorge says that this degree of compliance still needs improvement. 

While businesses devise solutions, the public can still assist. Sorge asserts that people are more aware of the severity of space debris than they were when he entered the area three decades ago. Lewis, Jah, and Sorge concur that public support can influence the course of governmental policy. A more demanding public can convince the government to encourage good behaviour among space users by requiring all space entities to clean up after every mission. Consumers could include space sustainability into their everyday purchase decisions by inquiring whether space-related service providers take meaningful steps toward debris prevention and removal. These minute actions could indirectly encourage space industry leaders to prevent space pollution.

Answer the following questions by choosing the letter of the best answer.  

What type of imagery is deployed in the sentence, “This year, a huge hole was discovered in a 58-foot-long arm of the International Space Station (ISS), which is believed to have been caused by an untraceable item.”?

Can the World’s First Space Sweeper Make a Dent in Orbiting Debris?

This year, a huge hole was discovered in a 58-foot-long arm of the International Space Station (ISS), which is believed to have been caused by an untraceable item. The incident occurred only eight months after the ISS avoided a larger piece of debris. There are about 27,000 classified objects in Earth’s debris field, ranging from paint flecks to expended rocket stages, all of which pose a risk to multimillion-dollar spaceflight assets. Hugh Lewis, an astronautical engineer from the University of Southampton asserts, “It is likely one of the most critical environmental issues of our time.” As with climate change, he asserts that the issue of space debris is caused by humans degrading and misusing a shared resource, in this instance the space environment. “It’s a technology dilemma we’ve manufactured, resulting from our own decisions.”

Astroscale Inc., a private corporation headquartered in Japan, has designed many commercial spacecrafts charged with cleaning space in response to this problem. The company is on target to produce the world’s first garbage truck for removing obsolete satellites in 2024, and reported today that its prototype has successfully completed its first space demonstration. Although scientists believe that a single active debris remover is insufficient to fix the problem, it represents a significant step toward protecting vital technology in orbit. The work of Astroscale represents one of the initial, minuscule steps towards junk removal. ELSA, which is an abbreviation for “end-of-life services by Astroscale,” is its primary mission. ELSA will draw decommissioned satellites from high Earth orbits to the planet’s natural incinerator: the oxygen-rich atmosphere in lower Earth orbits. Both the space cleaner and satellite will burn up here prior to impacting the Earth’s surface.

While Astroscale is optimistic that a series of successful demonstrations will attract new clients, the company’s cleanup programme is contingent on space entities choosing to pay for its services. Space has become a graveyard for failed experiments because no international organisation or legislation requires space users to pick up after themselves when their satellites litter. Earth’s inky backyard is a typical illustration of the tragedy of the commons, in which joint ownership of a resource by numerous nations incentivizes everyone to use it but no one takes care of it. The Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee has drafted a set of international rules for controlling space debris and avoiding pollution in future missions, but there is no enforcement mechanism in place to guarantee its members comply.

Moreover, ELSA is only designed to clean up magnetised things weighing less than one metric tonne, or around 2,200 pounds. However, the most destructive objects in space are the massive rocket boosters launched between the late 1900s and early 2000s. These items are wildcards; their speeds, trajectories, and placements are difficult to analyse, making it difficult to devise a feasible plan for their disposal. Additionally, they are enormous, weighing nearly ten tonnes each. Not only are they too large to be gathered at this time, but they may not completely burn up in the atmosphere if they strike Earth.

Despite this, Astroscale’s space sweeper services are essential for chipping away at a massive problem by focusing on the smaller, more recent satellites that will be launched as mega constellations. SpaceX and Amazon aim to deploy thousands of satellites over the next several years, and ELSA might retrieve them when they eventually malfunction. Astroscale believes that commercial corporations may install magnetic plates on their spacecraft and contract its services to dispose of their defunct satellites if ELSA’s trials are effective. According to Lindsay, Astroscale’s chief technology officer, the market for active space debris clearance will be robust. People will be more willing to pay for this service and remove objects they perceive as hazards since they need to safeguard their investments and space assets.

Marlon Sorge, a chief engineer and aerodynamicist at Aerospace Corporation in El Segundo, California, thinks that the cheapest and simplest answer to the debris problem is to prevent the creation of debris. Spacecraft-launching organisations must lower the probability that their missions will fail, as these useless items contribute to the escalating problem of space debris. Active debris removal services, such as those provided by Astroscale, should serve as a backup to the mitigation measures that all space companies must prioritise.

Depending on the kind, the normal failure rate of satellites might reach as high as 40 percent. Even with a failure rate as low as 2.5%, as claimed by SpaceX’s Starlink satellite constellation, there will be thousands of dead objects circling the sky in the coming decades. Sorge says that this degree of compliance still needs improvement. 

While businesses devise solutions, the public can still assist. Sorge asserts that people are more aware of the severity of space debris than they were when he entered the area three decades ago. Lewis, Jah, and Sorge concur that public support can influence the course of governmental policy. A more demanding public can convince the government to encourage good behaviour among space users by requiring all space entities to clean up after every mission. Consumers could include space sustainability into their everyday purchase decisions by inquiring whether space-related service providers take meaningful steps toward debris prevention and removal. These minute actions could indirectly encourage space industry leaders to prevent space pollution.

What caused the discovered hole in the International Space Station’s arm?

Can the World’s First Space Sweeper Make a Dent in Orbiting Debris?

This year, a huge hole was discovered in a 58-foot-long arm of the International Space Station (ISS), which is believed to have been caused by an untraceable item. The incident occurred only eight months after the ISS avoided a larger piece of debris. There are about 27,000 classified objects in Earth’s debris field, ranging from paint flecks to expended rocket stages, all of which pose a risk to multimillion-dollar spaceflight assets. Hugh Lewis, an astronautical engineer from the University of Southampton asserts, “It is likely one of the most critical environmental issues of our time.” As with climate change, he asserts that the issue of space debris is caused by humans degrading and misusing a shared resource, in this instance the space environment. “It’s a technology dilemma we’ve manufactured, resulting from our own decisions.”

Astroscale Inc., a private corporation headquartered in Japan, has designed many commercial spacecrafts charged with cleaning space in response to this problem. The company is on target to produce the world’s first garbage truck for removing obsolete satellites in 2024, and reported today that its prototype has successfully completed its first space demonstration. Although scientists believe that a single active debris remover is insufficient to fix the problem, it represents a significant step toward protecting vital technology in orbit. The work of Astroscale represents one of the initial, minuscule steps towards junk removal. ELSA, which is an abbreviation for “end-of-life services by Astroscale,” is its primary mission. ELSA will draw decommissioned satellites from high Earth orbits to the planet’s natural incinerator: the oxygen-rich atmosphere in lower Earth orbits. Both the space cleaner and satellite will burn up here prior to impacting the Earth’s surface.

While Astroscale is optimistic that a series of successful demonstrations will attract new clients, the company’s cleanup programme is contingent on space entities choosing to pay for its services. Space has become a graveyard for failed experiments because no international organisation or legislation requires space users to pick up after themselves when their satellites litter. Earth’s inky backyard is a typical illustration of the tragedy of the commons, in which joint ownership of a resource by numerous nations incentivizes everyone to use it but no one takes care of it. The Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee has drafted a set of international rules for controlling space debris and avoiding pollution in future missions, but there is no enforcement mechanism in place to guarantee its members comply.

Moreover, ELSA is only designed to clean up magnetised things weighing less than one metric tonne, or around 2,200 pounds. However, the most destructive objects in space are the massive rocket boosters launched between the late 1900s and early 2000s. These items are wildcards; their speeds, trajectories, and placements are difficult to analyse, making it difficult to devise a feasible plan for their disposal. Additionally, they are enormous, weighing nearly ten tonnes each. Not only are they too large to be gathered at this time, but they may not completely burn up in the atmosphere if they strike Earth.

Despite this, Astroscale’s space sweeper services are essential for chipping away at a massive problem by focusing on the smaller, more recent satellites that will be launched as mega constellations. SpaceX and Amazon aim to deploy thousands of satellites over the next several years, and ELSA might retrieve them when they eventually malfunction. Astroscale believes that commercial corporations may install magnetic plates on their spacecraft and contract its services to dispose of their defunct satellites if ELSA’s trials are effective. According to Lindsay, Astroscale’s chief technology officer, the market for active space debris clearance will be robust. People will be more willing to pay for this service and remove objects they perceive as hazards since they need to safeguard their investments and space assets.

Marlon Sorge, a chief engineer and aerodynamicist at Aerospace Corporation in El Segundo, California, thinks that the cheapest and simplest answer to the debris problem is to prevent the creation of debris. Spacecraft-launching organisations must lower the probability that their missions will fail, as these useless items contribute to the escalating problem of space debris. Active debris removal services, such as those provided by Astroscale, should serve as a backup to the mitigation measures that all space companies must prioritise.

Depending on the kind, the normal failure rate of satellites might reach as high as 40 percent. Even with a failure rate as low as 2.5%, as claimed by SpaceX’s Starlink satellite constellation, there will be thousands of dead objects circling the sky in the coming decades. Sorge says that this degree of compliance still needs improvement. 

While businesses devise solutions, the public can still assist. Sorge asserts that people are more aware of the severity of space debris than they were when he entered the area three decades ago. Lewis, Jah, and Sorge concur that public support can influence the course of governmental policy. A more demanding public can convince the government to encourage good behaviour among space users by requiring all space entities to clean up after every mission. Consumers could include space sustainability into their everyday purchase decisions by inquiring whether space-related service providers take meaningful steps toward debris prevention and removal. These minute actions could indirectly encourage space industry leaders to prevent space pollution.

According to the article, space has become a graveyard for failed experiments. Why is this so?

Can the World’s First Space Sweeper Make a Dent in Orbiting Debris?

This year, a huge hole was discovered in a 58-foot-long arm of the International Space Station (ISS), which is believed to have been caused by an untraceable item. The incident occurred only eight months after the ISS avoided a larger piece of debris. There are about 27,000 classified objects in Earth’s debris field, ranging from paint flecks to expended rocket stages, all of which pose a risk to multimillion-dollar spaceflight assets. Hugh Lewis, an astronautical engineer from the University of Southampton asserts, “It is likely one of the most critical environmental issues of our time.” As with climate change, he asserts that the issue of space debris is caused by humans degrading and misusing a shared resource, in this instance the space environment. “It’s a technology dilemma we’ve manufactured, resulting from our own decisions.”

Astroscale Inc., a private corporation headquartered in Japan, has designed many commercial spacecrafts charged with cleaning space in response to this problem. The company is on target to produce the world’s first garbage truck for removing obsolete satellites in 2024, and reported today that its prototype has successfully completed its first space demonstration. Although scientists believe that a single active debris remover is insufficient to fix the problem, it represents a significant step toward protecting vital technology in orbit. The work of Astroscale represents one of the initial, minuscule steps towards junk removal. ELSA, which is an abbreviation for “end-of-life services by Astroscale,” is its primary mission. ELSA will draw decommissioned satellites from high Earth orbits to the planet’s natural incinerator: the oxygen-rich atmosphere in lower Earth orbits. Both the space cleaner and satellite will burn up here prior to impacting the Earth’s surface.

While Astroscale is optimistic that a series of successful demonstrations will attract new clients, the company’s cleanup programme is contingent on space entities choosing to pay for its services. Space has become a graveyard for failed experiments because no international organisation or legislation requires space users to pick up after themselves when their satellites litter. Earth’s inky backyard is a typical illustration of the tragedy of the commons, in which joint ownership of a resource by numerous nations incentivizes everyone to use it but no one takes care of it. The Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee has drafted a set of international rules for controlling space debris and avoiding pollution in future missions, but there is no enforcement mechanism in place to guarantee its members comply.

Moreover, ELSA is only designed to clean up magnetised things weighing less than one metric tonne, or around 2,200 pounds. However, the most destructive objects in space are the massive rocket boosters launched between the late 1900s and early 2000s. These items are wildcards; their speeds, trajectories, and placements are difficult to analyse, making it difficult to devise a feasible plan for their disposal. Additionally, they are enormous, weighing nearly ten tonnes each. Not only are they too large to be gathered at this time, but they may not completely burn up in the atmosphere if they strike Earth.

Despite this, Astroscale’s space sweeper services are essential for chipping away at a massive problem by focusing on the smaller, more recent satellites that will be launched as mega constellations. SpaceX and Amazon aim to deploy thousands of satellites over the next several years, and ELSA might retrieve them when they eventually malfunction. Astroscale believes that commercial corporations may install magnetic plates on their spacecraft and contract its services to dispose of their defunct satellites if ELSA’s trials are effective. According to Lindsay, Astroscale’s chief technology officer, the market for active space debris clearance will be robust. People will be more willing to pay for this service and remove objects they perceive as hazards since they need to safeguard their investments and space assets.

Marlon Sorge, a chief engineer and aerodynamicist at Aerospace Corporation in El Segundo, California, thinks that the cheapest and simplest answer to the debris problem is to prevent the creation of debris. Spacecraft-launching organisations must lower the probability that their missions will fail, as these useless items contribute to the escalating problem of space debris. Active debris removal services, such as those provided by Astroscale, should serve as a backup to the mitigation measures that all space companies must prioritise.

Depending on the kind, the normal failure rate of satellites might reach as high as 40 percent. Even with a failure rate as low as 2.5%, as claimed by SpaceX’s Starlink satellite constellation, there will be thousands of dead objects circling the sky in the coming decades. Sorge says that this degree of compliance still needs improvement. 

While businesses devise solutions, the public can still assist. Sorge asserts that people are more aware of the severity of space debris than they were when he entered the area three decades ago. Lewis, Jah, and Sorge concur that public support can influence the course of governmental policy. A more demanding public can convince the government to encourage good behaviour among space users by requiring all space entities to clean up after every mission. Consumers could include space sustainability into their everyday purchase decisions by inquiring whether space-related service providers take meaningful steps toward debris prevention and removal. These minute actions could indirectly encourage space industry leaders to prevent space pollution.

Based on the article, how can the people get involved in efforts to address the issue of space debris?

Can the World’s First Space Sweeper Make a Dent in Orbiting Debris?

This year, a huge hole was discovered in a 58-foot-long arm of the International Space Station (ISS), which is believed to have been caused by an untraceable item. The incident occurred only eight months after the ISS avoided a larger piece of debris. There are about 27,000 classified objects in Earth’s debris field, ranging from paint flecks to expended rocket stages, all of which pose a risk to multimillion-dollar spaceflight assets. Hugh Lewis, an astronautical engineer from the University of Southampton asserts, “It is likely one of the most critical environmental issues of our time.” As with climate change, he asserts that the issue of space debris is caused by humans degrading and misusing a shared resource, in this instance the space environment. “It’s a technology dilemma we’ve manufactured, resulting from our own decisions.”

Astroscale Inc., a private corporation headquartered in Japan, has designed many commercial spacecrafts charged with cleaning space in response to this problem. The company is on target to produce the world’s first garbage truck for removing obsolete satellites in 2024, and reported today that its prototype has successfully completed its first space demonstration. Although scientists believe that a single active debris remover is insufficient to fix the problem, it represents a significant step toward protecting vital technology in orbit. The work of Astroscale represents one of the initial, minuscule steps towards junk removal. ELSA, which is an abbreviation for “end-of-life services by Astroscale,” is its primary mission. ELSA will draw decommissioned satellites from high Earth orbits to the planet’s natural incinerator: the oxygen-rich atmosphere in lower Earth orbits. Both the space cleaner and satellite will burn up here prior to impacting the Earth’s surface.

While Astroscale is optimistic that a series of successful demonstrations will attract new clients, the company’s cleanup programme is contingent on space entities choosing to pay for its services. Space has become a graveyard for failed experiments because no international organisation or legislation requires space users to pick up after themselves when their satellites litter. Earth’s inky backyard is a typical illustration of the tragedy of the commons, in which joint ownership of a resource by numerous nations incentivizes everyone to use it but no one takes care of it. The Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee has drafted a set of international rules for controlling space debris and avoiding pollution in future missions, but there is no enforcement mechanism in place to guarantee its members comply.

Moreover, ELSA is only designed to clean up magnetised things weighing less than one metric tonne, or around 2,200 pounds. However, the most destructive objects in space are the massive rocket boosters launched between the late 1900s and early 2000s. These items are wildcards; their speeds, trajectories, and placements are difficult to analyse, making it difficult to devise a feasible plan for their disposal. Additionally, they are enormous, weighing nearly ten tonnes each. Not only are they too large to be gathered at this time, but they may not completely burn up in the atmosphere if they strike Earth.

Despite this, Astroscale’s space sweeper services are essential for chipping away at a massive problem by focusing on the smaller, more recent satellites that will be launched as mega constellations. SpaceX and Amazon aim to deploy thousands of satellites over the next several years, and ELSA might retrieve them when they eventually malfunction. Astroscale believes that commercial corporations may install magnetic plates on their spacecraft and contract its services to dispose of their defunct satellites if ELSA’s trials are effective. According to Lindsay, Astroscale’s chief technology officer, the market for active space debris clearance will be robust. People will be more willing to pay for this service and remove objects they perceive as hazards since they need to safeguard their investments and space assets.

Marlon Sorge, a chief engineer and aerodynamicist at Aerospace Corporation in El Segundo, California, thinks that the cheapest and simplest answer to the debris problem is to prevent the creation of debris. Spacecraft-launching organisations must lower the probability that their missions will fail, as these useless items contribute to the escalating problem of space debris. Active debris removal services, such as those provided by Astroscale, should serve as a backup to the mitigation measures that all space companies must prioritise.

Depending on the kind, the normal failure rate of satellites might reach as high as 40 percent. Even with a failure rate as low as 2.5%, as claimed by SpaceX’s Starlink satellite constellation, there will be thousands of dead objects circling the sky in the coming decades. Sorge says that this degree of compliance still needs improvement. 

While businesses devise solutions, the public can still assist. Sorge asserts that people are more aware of the severity of space debris than they were when he entered the area three decades ago. Lewis, Jah, and Sorge concur that public support can influence the course of governmental policy. A more demanding public can convince the government to encourage good behaviour among space users by requiring all space entities to clean up after every mission. Consumers could include space sustainability into their everyday purchase decisions by inquiring whether space-related service providers take meaningful steps toward debris prevention and removal. These minute actions could indirectly encourage space industry leaders to prevent space pollution.

The following statements are NOT true as to why the space debris issue can be considered as one the most critical environmental issues of our time along with climate change, EXCEPT

I. The accumulation of space junk poses a particularly catastrophic threat to humankind’s future in space exploration.

II. Just like climate change, it induces light pollution that would hinder future scientific discovery.

III. Like climate change, it is caused by the degradation and mismanagement of a shared resource by humans.

IV. It is a technological challenge created by humans as a result of their own decisions.

V. Forced junking of space debris can cause similar impacts climate change can do to the planet such as an increase of droughts and biodiversity loss, forest fires, and heat waves.

Can the World’s First Space Sweeper Make a Dent in Orbiting Debris?

This year, a huge hole was discovered in a 58-foot-long arm of the International Space Station (ISS), which is believed to have been caused by an untraceable item. The incident occurred only eight months after the ISS avoided a larger piece of debris. There are about 27,000 classified objects in Earth’s debris field, ranging from paint flecks to expended rocket stages, all of which pose a risk to multimillion-dollar spaceflight assets. Hugh Lewis, an astronautical engineer from the University of Southampton asserts, “It is likely one of the most critical environmental issues of our time.” As with climate change, he asserts that the issue of space debris is caused by humans degrading and misusing a shared resource, in this instance the space environment. “It’s a technology dilemma we’ve manufactured, resulting from our own decisions.”

Astroscale Inc., a private corporation headquartered in Japan, has designed many commercial spacecrafts charged with cleaning space in response to this problem. The company is on target to produce the world’s first garbage truck for removing obsolete satellites in 2024, and reported today that its prototype has successfully completed its first space demonstration. Although scientists believe that a single active debris remover is insufficient to fix the problem, it represents a significant step toward protecting vital technology in orbit. The work of Astroscale represents one of the initial, minuscule steps towards junk removal. ELSA, which is an abbreviation for “end-of-life services by Astroscale,” is its primary mission. ELSA will draw decommissioned satellites from high Earth orbits to the planet’s natural incinerator: the oxygen-rich atmosphere in lower Earth orbits. Both the space cleaner and satellite will burn up here prior to impacting the Earth’s surface.

While Astroscale is optimistic that a series of successful demonstrations will attract new clients, the company’s cleanup programme is contingent on space entities choosing to pay for its services. Space has become a graveyard for failed experiments because no international organisation or legislation requires space users to pick up after themselves when their satellites litter. Earth’s inky backyard is a typical illustration of the tragedy of the commons, in which joint ownership of a resource by numerous nations incentivizes everyone to use it but no one takes care of it. The Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee has drafted a set of international rules for controlling space debris and avoiding pollution in future missions, but there is no enforcement mechanism in place to guarantee its members comply.

Moreover, ELSA is only designed to clean up magnetised things weighing less than one metric tonne, or around 2,200 pounds. However, the most destructive objects in space are the massive rocket boosters launched between the late 1900s and early 2000s. These items are wildcards; their speeds, trajectories, and placements are difficult to analyse, making it difficult to devise a feasible plan for their disposal. Additionally, they are enormous, weighing nearly ten tonnes each. Not only are they too large to be gathered at this time, but they may not completely burn up in the atmosphere if they strike Earth.

Despite this, Astroscale’s space sweeper services are essential for chipping away at a massive problem by focusing on the smaller, more recent satellites that will be launched as mega constellations. SpaceX and Amazon aim to deploy thousands of satellites over the next several years, and ELSA might retrieve them when they eventually malfunction. Astroscale believes that commercial corporations may install magnetic plates on their spacecraft and contract its services to dispose of their defunct satellites if ELSA’s trials are effective. According to Lindsay, Astroscale’s chief technology officer, the market for active space debris clearance will be robust. People will be more willing to pay for this service and remove objects they perceive as hazards since they need to safeguard their investments and space assets.

Marlon Sorge, a chief engineer and aerodynamicist at Aerospace Corporation in El Segundo, California, thinks that the cheapest and simplest answer to the debris problem is to prevent the creation of debris. Spacecraft-launching organisations must lower the probability that their missions will fail, as these useless items contribute to the escalating problem of space debris. Active debris removal services, such as those provided by Astroscale, should serve as a backup to the mitigation measures that all space companies must prioritise.

Depending on the kind, the normal failure rate of satellites might reach as high as 40 percent. Even with a failure rate as low as 2.5%, as claimed by SpaceX’s Starlink satellite constellation, there will be thousands of dead objects circling the sky in the coming decades. Sorge says that this degree of compliance still needs improvement. 

While businesses devise solutions, the public can still assist. Sorge asserts that people are more aware of the severity of space debris than they were when he entered the area three decades ago. Lewis, Jah, and Sorge concur that public support can influence the course of governmental policy. A more demanding public can convince the government to encourage good behaviour among space users by requiring all space entities to clean up after every mission. Consumers could include space sustainability into their everyday purchase decisions by inquiring whether space-related service providers take meaningful steps toward debris prevention and removal. These minute actions could indirectly encourage space industry leaders to prevent space pollution.

Which part of speech does the word “magnetised ” in paragraph four belong to?

Drones Spot Sharks That Wander Too Close to Busy Beaches

Saturday morning in Alexandra Headland, Sunshine Coast, while swimmers glide through the glistening water and surfers in the distance straddle their boards in anticipation of the next large wave no one was concerned about a shark bite. Jake Hazelwood, a surfer from the northern city of Cairns is also unaware of the drone taking off from the beach just 65 feet away, which is the state government’s newest weapon to keep popular coastal locations safe for both humans and sharks.

For decades, Queensland has utilised nets and drumlines with baited hooks to protect beachgoers from sharks. However, this safety comes at the expense of aquatic life. Alone in the previous year, this equipment captured 958 creatures, including 798 sharks, of which 70% perished. In addition to ten dolphins and two dugongs, both endangered species in Queensland, turtles and humpback whales, perished as inadvertent casualties.

The government is considering replacing its lethal methods with the use of drones equipped with an  infrared camera to search for sharks, and Alexandra Headland is one of the areas for a successful pilot study. According to Rob Adsett, the chief remote pilot for the Australian Lifeguard Service, it is surprisingly simple to see sharks from the air. The technology is improving.

The camera-equipped drone deployed by Adsett and his coworkers off of Alexandra Headland can fly for 20 minutes in winds more than 21 miles per hour. The pilots fly the drone along a parallel 1,300-foot path behind the surf break. On busy beach days, the drone travels at speeds of up to 12,4 miles per hour while maintaining a height of 195 feet. When pilots spot a shark, they drop the drone to just below 100 feet in order to determine the animal’s size and species, a process made more difficult by precipitation or cloudy water. If the pilots determine that the shark poses a threat, they can evacuate the beach while lifeguards trail and monitor the animal in inflatable boats or personal watercraft.

During their testing in 2020 and 2021, which consisted of 3,669 drone flights at seven beaches, drone pilots spotted 174 sharks, 48 of which were longer than 2 metres. The presence of large sharks, particularly white, tiger, and bull sharks, is the greatest concern for beachgoers and lifeguards, and these sightings led to four beach evacuations. Since 2017, New South Wales, the neighbouring state to the south, has been engaged in a similar initiative.

The transition away from nets and drumlines cannot come soon enough for conservationists. According to Leo Guida, a shark scientist with the Australian Marine Conservation Society, any further delay in removing fatal deterrents is “puzzling.” They have the solution in front of them. According to Guida, drones can also save lives by delivering life-saving supplies to a person suffering in the water. He states, “You are more likely to save someone from drowning than from a hazardous animal.” Having drones at the beach has “obvious benefits across the board.”

The impact of nets and drumlines on sharks must also be weighed against the actual threat sharks pose to beachgoers. According to Adsett, you are more likely to be struck by a car on the way to the beach than to be bitten by a shark. Still, shark bites do happen. Although uncommon, the incidence of bites is growing.

The Australia Shark Incident Database has reported 1,196 shark bites in the country between 1776 and 2022. These bites were responsible for 250 deaths and 723 injuries. In the remaining 223 cases, which include accidents such as surfboard bites, no one was injured. The average number of shark bites increased from nine per year between 1990 and 2000 to twenty-two per year between 2010 and 2020, due in part to the rising coastal population.

Guida says that even nets and drumlines are no guarantee against shark bites since sharks can swim past them. In 2020, a man surfer in Queensland died after being bitten on Greenmount Beach, a netted and drumlined section of coastline. Concerning whether nets can be replaced with drones, the Queensland government has seen sufficient evidence to continue testing. They have committed to expanding the project, which will run until June 2025 at an annual cost of approximately $1.3 million.

Answer the following questions by choosing the letter of the best answer.  

The following are measures that the state of Queensland took to protect beachgoers from sharks in the past EXCEPT

I. Harpoons

II. Nets 

III. Drumlines 

IV. Sonar

V. Dynamite

Drones Spot Sharks That Wander Too Close to Busy Beaches

Saturday morning in Alexandra Headland, Sunshine Coast, while swimmers glide through the glistening water and surfers in the distance straddle their boards in anticipation of the next large wave no one was concerned about a shark bite. Jake Hazelwood, a surfer from the northern city of Cairns is also unaware of the drone taking off from the beach just 65 feet away, which is the state government’s newest weapon to keep popular coastal locations safe for both humans and sharks.

For decades, Queensland has utilised nets and drumlines with baited hooks to protect beachgoers from sharks. However, this safety comes at the expense of aquatic life. Alone in the previous year, this equipment captured 958 creatures, including 798 sharks, of which 70% perished. In addition to ten dolphins and two dugongs, both endangered species in Queensland, turtles and humpback whales, perished as inadvertent casualties.

The government is considering replacing its lethal methods with the use of drones equipped with an  infrared camera to search for sharks, and Alexandra Headland is one of the areas for a successful pilot study. According to Rob Adsett, the chief remote pilot for the Australian Lifeguard Service, it is surprisingly simple to see sharks from the air. The technology is improving.

The camera-equipped drone deployed by Adsett and his coworkers off of Alexandra Headland can fly for 20 minutes in winds more than 21 miles per hour. The pilots fly the drone along a parallel 1,300-foot path behind the surf break. On busy beach days, the drone travels at speeds of up to 12,4 miles per hour while maintaining a height of 195 feet. When pilots spot a shark, they drop the drone to just below 100 feet in order to determine the animal’s size and species, a process made more difficult by precipitation or cloudy water. If the pilots determine that the shark poses a threat, they can evacuate the beach while lifeguards trail and monitor the animal in inflatable boats or personal watercraft.

During their testing in 2020 and 2021, which consisted of 3,669 drone flights at seven beaches, drone pilots spotted 174 sharks, 48 of which were longer than 2 metres. The presence of large sharks, particularly white, tiger, and bull sharks, is the greatest concern for beachgoers and lifeguards, and these sightings led to four beach evacuations. Since 2017, New South Wales, the neighbouring state to the south, has been engaged in a similar initiative.

The transition away from nets and drumlines cannot come soon enough for conservationists. According to Leo Guida, a shark scientist with the Australian Marine Conservation Society, any further delay in removing fatal deterrents is “puzzling.” They have the solution in front of them. According to Guida, drones can also save lives by delivering life-saving supplies to a person suffering in the water. He states, “You are more likely to save someone from drowning than from a hazardous animal.” Having drones at the beach has “obvious benefits across the board.”

The impact of nets and drumlines on sharks must also be weighed against the actual threat sharks pose to beachgoers. According to Adsett, you are more likely to be struck by a car on the way to the beach than to be bitten by a shark. Still, shark bites do happen. Although uncommon, the incidence of bites is growing.

The Australia Shark Incident Database has reported 1,196 shark bites in the country between 1776 and 2022. These bites were responsible for 250 deaths and 723 injuries. In the remaining 223 cases, which include accidents such as surfboard bites, no one was injured. The average number of shark bites increased from nine per year between 1990 and 2000 to twenty-two per year between 2010 and 2020, due in part to the rising coastal population.

Guida says that even nets and drumlines are no guarantee against shark bites since sharks can swim past them. In 2020, a man surfer in Queensland died after being bitten on Greenmount Beach, a netted and drumlined section of coastline. Concerning whether nets can be replaced with drones, the Queensland government has seen sufficient evidence to continue testing. They have committed to expanding the project, which will run until June 2025 at an annual cost of approximately $1.3 million.

After reading the article, what can help in supplying life-sustaining supplies to an individual suffering in the water?

Drones Spot Sharks That Wander Too Close to Busy Beaches

Saturday morning in Alexandra Headland, Sunshine Coast, while swimmers glide through the glistening water and surfers in the distance straddle their boards in anticipation of the next large wave no one was concerned about a shark bite. Jake Hazelwood, a surfer from the northern city of Cairns is also unaware of the drone taking off from the beach just 65 feet away, which is the state government’s newest weapon to keep popular coastal locations safe for both humans and sharks.

For decades, Queensland has utilised nets and drumlines with baited hooks to protect beachgoers from sharks. However, this safety comes at the expense of aquatic life. Alone in the previous year, this equipment captured 958 creatures, including 798 sharks, of which 70% perished. In addition to ten dolphins and two dugongs, both endangered species in Queensland, turtles and humpback whales, perished as inadvertent casualties.

The government is considering replacing its lethal methods with the use of drones equipped with an  infrared camera to search for sharks, and Alexandra Headland is one of the areas for a successful pilot study. According to Rob Adsett, the chief remote pilot for the Australian Lifeguard Service, it is surprisingly simple to see sharks from the air. The technology is improving.

The camera-equipped drone deployed by Adsett and his coworkers off of Alexandra Headland can fly for 20 minutes in winds more than 21 miles per hour. The pilots fly the drone along a parallel 1,300-foot path behind the surf break. On busy beach days, the drone travels at speeds of up to 12,4 miles per hour while maintaining a height of 195 feet. When pilots spot a shark, they drop the drone to just below 100 feet in order to determine the animal’s size and species, a process made more difficult by precipitation or cloudy water. If the pilots determine that the shark poses a threat, they can evacuate the beach while lifeguards trail and monitor the animal in inflatable boats or personal watercraft.

During their testing in 2020 and 2021, which consisted of 3,669 drone flights at seven beaches, drone pilots spotted 174 sharks, 48 of which were longer than 2 metres. The presence of large sharks, particularly white, tiger, and bull sharks, is the greatest concern for beachgoers and lifeguards, and these sightings led to four beach evacuations. Since 2017, New South Wales, the neighbouring state to the south, has been engaged in a similar initiative.

The transition away from nets and drumlines cannot come soon enough for conservationists. According to Leo Guida, a shark scientist with the Australian Marine Conservation Society, any further delay in removing fatal deterrents is “puzzling.” They have the solution in front of them. According to Guida, drones can also save lives by delivering life-saving supplies to a person suffering in the water. He states, “You are more likely to save someone from drowning than from a hazardous animal.” Having drones at the beach has “obvious benefits across the board.”

The impact of nets and drumlines on sharks must also be weighed against the actual threat sharks pose to beachgoers. According to Adsett, you are more likely to be struck by a car on the way to the beach than to be bitten by a shark. Still, shark bites do happen. Although uncommon, the incidence of bites is growing.

The Australia Shark Incident Database has reported 1,196 shark bites in the country between 1776 and 2022. These bites were responsible for 250 deaths and 723 injuries. In the remaining 223 cases, which include accidents such as surfboard bites, no one was injured. The average number of shark bites increased from nine per year between 1990 and 2000 to twenty-two per year between 2010 and 2020, due in part to the rising coastal population.

Guida says that even nets and drumlines are no guarantee against shark bites since sharks can swim past them. In 2020, a man surfer in Queensland died after being bitten on Greenmount Beach, a netted and drumlined section of coastline. Concerning whether nets can be replaced with drones, the Queensland government has seen sufficient evidence to continue testing. They have committed to expanding the project, which will run until June 2025 at an annual cost of approximately $1.3 million.

The following are statements about the article Which of the following is TRUE?

I. The state government is considering replacing its lethal shark-hunting methods with harpoons.

II. Queensland employs nets to protect beachgoers from sharks.

Drones Spot Sharks That Wander Too Close to Busy Beaches

Saturday morning in Alexandra Headland, Sunshine Coast, while swimmers glide through the glistening water and surfers in the distance straddle their boards in anticipation of the next large wave no one was concerned about a shark bite. Jake Hazelwood, a surfer from the northern city of Cairns is also unaware of the drone taking off from the beach just 65 feet away, which is the state government’s newest weapon to keep popular coastal locations safe for both humans and sharks.

For decades, Queensland has utilised nets and drumlines with baited hooks to protect beachgoers from sharks. However, this safety comes at the expense of aquatic life. Alone in the previous year, this equipment captured 958 creatures, including 798 sharks, of which 70% perished. In addition to ten dolphins and two dugongs, both endangered species in Queensland, turtles and humpback whales, perished as inadvertent casualties.

The government is considering replacing its lethal methods with the use of drones equipped with an  infrared camera to search for sharks, and Alexandra Headland is one of the areas for a successful pilot study. According to Rob Adsett, the chief remote pilot for the Australian Lifeguard Service, it is surprisingly simple to see sharks from the air. The technology is improving.

The camera-equipped drone deployed by Adsett and his coworkers off of Alexandra Headland can fly for 20 minutes in winds more than 21 miles per hour. The pilots fly the drone along a parallel 1,300-foot path behind the surf break. On busy beach days, the drone travels at speeds of up to 12,4 miles per hour while maintaining a height of 195 feet. When pilots spot a shark, they drop the drone to just below 100 feet in order to determine the animal’s size and species, a process made more difficult by precipitation or cloudy water. If the pilots determine that the shark poses a threat, they can evacuate the beach while lifeguards trail and monitor the animal in inflatable boats or personal watercraft.

During their testing in 2020 and 2021, which consisted of 3,669 drone flights at seven beaches, drone pilots spotted 174 sharks, 48 of which were longer than 2 metres. The presence of large sharks, particularly white, tiger, and bull sharks, is the greatest concern for beachgoers and lifeguards, and these sightings led to four beach evacuations. Since 2017, New South Wales, the neighbouring state to the south, has been engaged in a similar initiative.

The transition away from nets and drumlines cannot come soon enough for conservationists. According to Leo Guida, a shark scientist with the Australian Marine Conservation Society, any further delay in removing fatal deterrents is “puzzling.” They have the solution in front of them. According to Guida, drones can also save lives by delivering life-saving supplies to a person suffering in the water. He states, “You are more likely to save someone from drowning than from a hazardous animal.” Having drones at the beach has “obvious benefits across the board.”

The impact of nets and drumlines on sharks must also be weighed against the actual threat sharks pose to beachgoers. According to Adsett, you are more likely to be struck by a car on the way to the beach than to be bitten by a shark. Still, shark bites do happen. Although uncommon, the incidence of bites is growing.

The Australia Shark Incident Database has reported 1,196 shark bites in the country between 1776 and 2022. These bites were responsible for 250 deaths and 723 injuries. In the remaining 223 cases, which include accidents such as surfboard bites, no one was injured. The average number of shark bites increased from nine per year between 1990 and 2000 to twenty-two per year between 2010 and 2020, due in part to the rising coastal population.

Guida says that even nets and drumlines are no guarantee against shark bites since sharks can swim past them. In 2020, a man surfer in Queensland died after being bitten on Greenmount Beach, a netted and drumlined section of coastline. Concerning whether nets can be replaced with drones, the Queensland government has seen sufficient evidence to continue testing. They have committed to expanding the project, which will run until June 2025 at an annual cost of approximately $1.3 million.

What type of claim is evident in the sentence, “According to Leo Guida, a shark scientist with the Australian Marine Conservation Society, any further delay in removing fatal deterrents is puzzling.”?

Drones Spot Sharks That Wander Too Close to Busy Beaches

Saturday morning in Alexandra Headland, Sunshine Coast, while swimmers glide through the glistening water and surfers in the distance straddle their boards in anticipation of the next large wave no one was concerned about a shark bite. Jake Hazelwood, a surfer from the northern city of Cairns is also unaware of the drone taking off from the beach just 65 feet away, which is the state government’s newest weapon to keep popular coastal locations safe for both humans and sharks.

For decades, Queensland has utilised nets and drumlines with baited hooks to protect beachgoers from sharks. However, this safety comes at the expense of aquatic life. Alone in the previous year, this equipment captured 958 creatures, including 798 sharks, of which 70% perished. In addition to ten dolphins and two dugongs, both endangered species in Queensland, turtles and humpback whales, perished as inadvertent casualties.

The government is considering replacing its lethal methods with the use of drones equipped with an  infrared camera to search for sharks, and Alexandra Headland is one of the areas for a successful pilot study. According to Rob Adsett, the chief remote pilot for the Australian Lifeguard Service, it is surprisingly simple to see sharks from the air. The technology is improving.

The camera-equipped drone deployed by Adsett and his coworkers off of Alexandra Headland can fly for 20 minutes in winds more than 21 miles per hour. The pilots fly the drone along a parallel 1,300-foot path behind the surf break. On busy beach days, the drone travels at speeds of up to 12,4 miles per hour while maintaining a height of 195 feet. When pilots spot a shark, they drop the drone to just below 100 feet in order to determine the animal’s size and species, a process made more difficult by precipitation or cloudy water. If the pilots determine that the shark poses a threat, they can evacuate the beach while lifeguards trail and monitor the animal in inflatable boats or personal watercraft.

During their testing in 2020 and 2021, which consisted of 3,669 drone flights at seven beaches, drone pilots spotted 174 sharks, 48 of which were longer than 2 metres. The presence of large sharks, particularly white, tiger, and bull sharks, is the greatest concern for beachgoers and lifeguards, and these sightings led to four beach evacuations. Since 2017, New South Wales, the neighbouring state to the south, has been engaged in a similar initiative.

The transition away from nets and drumlines cannot come soon enough for conservationists. According to Leo Guida, a shark scientist with the Australian Marine Conservation Society, any further delay in removing fatal deterrents is “puzzling.” They have the solution in front of them. According to Guida, drones can also save lives by delivering life-saving supplies to a person suffering in the water. He states, “You are more likely to save someone from drowning than from a hazardous animal.” Having drones at the beach has “obvious benefits across the board.”

The impact of nets and drumlines on sharks must also be weighed against the actual threat sharks pose to beachgoers. According to Adsett, you are more likely to be struck by a car on the way to the beach than to be bitten by a shark. Still, shark bites do happen. Although uncommon, the incidence of bites is growing.

The Australia Shark Incident Database has reported 1,196 shark bites in the country between 1776 and 2022. These bites were responsible for 250 deaths and 723 injuries. In the remaining 223 cases, which include accidents such as surfboard bites, no one was injured. The average number of shark bites increased from nine per year between 1990 and 2000 to twenty-two per year between 2010 and 2020, due in part to the rising coastal population.

Guida says that even nets and drumlines are no guarantee against shark bites since sharks can swim past them. In 2020, a man surfer in Queensland died after being bitten on Greenmount Beach, a netted and drumlined section of coastline. Concerning whether nets can be replaced with drones, the Queensland government has seen sufficient evidence to continue testing. They have committed to expanding the project, which will run until June 2025 at an annual cost of approximately $1.3 million.

Based on the article, what type of drone can fly for a certain number of minutes in winds more than twenty-one miles per hour?

Drones Spot Sharks That Wander Too Close to Busy Beaches

Saturday morning in Alexandra Headland, Sunshine Coast, while swimmers glide through the glistening water and surfers in the distance straddle their boards in anticipation of the next large wave no one was concerned about a shark bite. Jake Hazelwood, a surfer from the northern city of Cairns is also unaware of the drone taking off from the beach just 65 feet away, which is the state government’s newest weapon to keep popular coastal locations safe for both humans and sharks.

For decades, Queensland has utilised nets and drumlines with baited hooks to protect beachgoers from sharks. However, this safety comes at the expense of aquatic life. Alone in the previous year, this equipment captured 958 creatures, including 798 sharks, of which 70% perished. In addition to ten dolphins and two dugongs, both endangered species in Queensland, turtles and humpback whales, perished as inadvertent casualties.

The government is considering replacing its lethal methods with the use of drones equipped with an  infrared camera to search for sharks, and Alexandra Headland is one of the areas for a successful pilot study. According to Rob Adsett, the chief remote pilot for the Australian Lifeguard Service, it is surprisingly simple to see sharks from the air. The technology is improving.

The camera-equipped drone deployed by Adsett and his coworkers off of Alexandra Headland can fly for 20 minutes in winds more than 21 miles per hour. The pilots fly the drone along a parallel 1,300-foot path behind the surf break. On busy beach days, the drone travels at speeds of up to 12,4 miles per hour while maintaining a height of 195 feet. When pilots spot a shark, they drop the drone to just below 100 feet in order to determine the animal’s size and species, a process made more difficult by precipitation or cloudy water. If the pilots determine that the shark poses a threat, they can evacuate the beach while lifeguards trail and monitor the animal in inflatable boats or personal watercraft.

During their testing in 2020 and 2021, which consisted of 3,669 drone flights at seven beaches, drone pilots spotted 174 sharks, 48 of which were longer than 2 metres. The presence of large sharks, particularly white, tiger, and bull sharks, is the greatest concern for beachgoers and lifeguards, and these sightings led to four beach evacuations. Since 2017, New South Wales, the neighbouring state to the south, has been engaged in a similar initiative.

The transition away from nets and drumlines cannot come soon enough for conservationists. According to Leo Guida, a shark scientist with the Australian Marine Conservation Society, any further delay in removing fatal deterrents is “puzzling.” They have the solution in front of them. According to Guida, drones can also save lives by delivering life-saving supplies to a person suffering in the water. He states, “You are more likely to save someone from drowning than from a hazardous animal.” Having drones at the beach has “obvious benefits across the board.”

The impact of nets and drumlines on sharks must also be weighed against the actual threat sharks pose to beachgoers. According to Adsett, you are more likely to be struck by a car on the way to the beach than to be bitten by a shark. Still, shark bites do happen. Although uncommon, the incidence of bites is growing.

The Australia Shark Incident Database has reported 1,196 shark bites in the country between 1776 and 2022. These bites were responsible for 250 deaths and 723 injuries. In the remaining 223 cases, which include accidents such as surfboard bites, no one was injured. The average number of shark bites increased from nine per year between 1990 and 2000 to twenty-two per year between 2010 and 2020, due in part to the rising coastal population.

Guida says that even nets and drumlines are no guarantee against shark bites since sharks can swim past them. In 2020, a man surfer in Queensland died after being bitten on Greenmount Beach, a netted and drumlined section of coastline. Concerning whether nets can be replaced with drones, the Queensland government has seen sufficient evidence to continue testing. They have committed to expanding the project, which will run until June 2025 at an annual cost of approximately $1.3 million.

Which of the themes below is NOT taken from the article?

30,000-Year-Old Aboriginal Rock Art was Vandalised: a “Massive, Tragic Loss”

An ancient Aboriginal artwork was vandalised in a holy cave in South Australia, reigniting outrage about the lack of security at the heritage-listed site. Authorities have condemned the demolition as a “huge, devastating loss” of “unique in Australia” artwork.

Authorities reported that vandals broke into Koonalda Cave on Nullarbor Plain by excavating under a steel gate and scribbling “Don’t look now, because this is a death cave” on the stone carvings. A part of the structure was completely demolished.

“The vandals did a tremendous amount of destruction. The painting cannot be recovered, archaeologist of ancient Aboriginal culture Keryn Walshe told the Guardian on Wednesday. “The surface of the cave is quite fragile. It is impossible to remove graffiti without harming the underlying artwork. It is a great tragedy that it has been defiled to this extent.”

South Australia’s Attorney-General and Minister for Aboriginal Affairs, Kyam Maher, told Australia’s ABC Radio that the incident is “terrible” and demanded “serious punishment” for those responsible. Damage to an Aboriginal heritage site is punishable by up to six months in prison or a fine of $10,000 Australian dollars.

The Mirning people, who had a distinct sculptural tradition dating back 30,000 years, inhabited the cave. Since that time, they have frequently visited the sacred cave. The Department for Environment and Water and the Far West Coast Aboriginal Corporation, which includes the Mirning people, oversee the place, which was designated a national heritage site in 2014. However, the Mirning cannot protect the place on their own because their traditional custodianship is not yet recognised by Australian law. To even enter the property, a key from SA’s environmental department is required.

A government representative of South Africa told the Guardian that the graffiti was “shocking and painful.”

“Over the past few months, the South Australian government has been consulting with Traditional Owners and other stakeholders to develop a comprehensive plan to better protect this significant site,” said a government spokesperson, adding, “The existing fencing and general difficulty in accessing the caves discourage the vast majority of visitors from trespassing.” Consideration is being given to live monitoring of the location with closed-circuit cameras in order to better secure the cave.”

However, experts and indigenous campaigners have demanded prompt action, warning the South African authorities that the 1980s-era metal fence was inadequate protection and that vandals have already defiled the site to a lesser level.

Clare Buswell, chair of the Australian Speleological Federation’s Conservation Commission, wrote in a submission to the Aboriginal lands parliamentary standing committee in July, “The failure to build an effective gate or to utilise modern security services, such as wildlife monitoring cameras that operate 24 hours a day, seven days a week, has in many ways allowed this vandalism to occur.”

Koonalda Cave is merely the most recent instance of wanton devastation of Aboriginal culture. Rio Tinto exploded the 46,000-year-old Juukan Gorge rock shelters in 2020 in order to expand its iron ore mine. Rio Tinto confirmed in a response to a Senate investigation into the destruction that “several chances were lost to reevaluate the mine plan in light of this important new information” regarding the significance of the shelters.

Uncle Bunna Lawrie, a senior Mirning elder, told the BBC that the graffiti was another instance of “the continual disrespect” his people endure.

“It is an affront to our country and to our heritage,” he remarked. What is gone is gone, and we will never get it back.

Answer the following questions by choosing the letter of the best answer.  

Where was an ancient aboriginal artwork vandalised?

30,000-Year-Old Aboriginal Rock Art was Vandalised: a “Massive, Tragic Loss”

An ancient Aboriginal artwork was vandalised in a holy cave in South Australia, reigniting outrage about the lack of security at the heritage-listed site. Authorities have condemned the demolition as a “huge, devastating loss” of “unique in Australia” artwork.

Authorities reported that vandals broke into Koonalda Cave on Nullarbor Plain by excavating under a steel gate and scribbling “Don’t look now, because this is a death cave” on the stone carvings. A part of the structure was completely demolished.

“The vandals did a tremendous amount of destruction. The painting cannot be recovered, archaeologist of ancient Aboriginal culture Keryn Walshe told the Guardian on Wednesday. “The surface of the cave is quite fragile. It is impossible to remove graffiti without harming the underlying artwork. It is a great tragedy that it has been defiled to this extent.”

South Australia’s Attorney-General and Minister for Aboriginal Affairs, Kyam Maher, told Australia’s ABC Radio that the incident is “terrible” and demanded “serious punishment” for those responsible. Damage to an Aboriginal heritage site is punishable by up to six months in prison or a fine of $10,000 Australian dollars.

The Mirning people, who had a distinct sculptural tradition dating back 30,000 years, inhabited the cave. Since that time, they have frequently visited the sacred cave. The Department for Environment and Water and the Far West Coast Aboriginal Corporation, which includes the Mirning people, oversee the place, which was designated a national heritage site in 2014. However, the Mirning cannot protect the place on their own because their traditional custodianship is not yet recognised by Australian law. To even enter the property, a key from SA’s environmental department is required.

A government representative of South Africa told the Guardian that the graffiti was “shocking and painful.”

“Over the past few months, the South Australian government has been consulting with Traditional Owners and other stakeholders to develop a comprehensive plan to better protect this significant site,” said a government spokesperson, adding, “The existing fencing and general difficulty in accessing the caves discourage the vast majority of visitors from trespassing.” Consideration is being given to live monitoring of the location with closed-circuit cameras in order to better secure the cave.”

However, experts and indigenous campaigners have demanded prompt action, warning the South African authorities that the 1980s-era metal fence was inadequate protection and that vandals have already defiled the site to a lesser level.

Clare Buswell, chair of the Australian Speleological Federation’s Conservation Commission, wrote in a submission to the Aboriginal lands parliamentary standing committee in July, “The failure to build an effective gate or to utilise modern security services, such as wildlife monitoring cameras that operate 24 hours a day, seven days a week, has in many ways allowed this vandalism to occur.”

Koonalda Cave is merely the most recent instance of wanton devastation of Aboriginal culture. Rio Tinto exploded the 46,000-year-old Juukan Gorge rock shelters in 2020 in order to expand its iron ore mine. Rio Tinto confirmed in a response to a Senate investigation into the destruction that “several chances were lost to reevaluate the mine plan in light of this important new information” regarding the significance of the shelters.

Uncle Bunna Lawrie, a senior Mirning elder, told the BBC that the graffiti was another instance of “the continual disrespect” his people endure.

“It is an affront to our country and to our heritage,” he remarked. What is gone is gone, and we will never get it back.

What is impossible to remove without harming the underlying artwork?

30,000-Year-Old Aboriginal Rock Art was Vandalised: a “Massive, Tragic Loss”

An ancient Aboriginal artwork was vandalised in a holy cave in South Australia, reigniting outrage about the lack of security at the heritage-listed site. Authorities have condemned the demolition as a “huge, devastating loss” of “unique in Australia” artwork.

Authorities reported that vandals broke into Koonalda Cave on Nullarbor Plain by excavating under a steel gate and scribbling “Don’t look now, because this is a death cave” on the stone carvings. A part of the structure was completely demolished.

“The vandals did a tremendous amount of destruction. The painting cannot be recovered, archaeologist of ancient Aboriginal culture Keryn Walshe told the Guardian on Wednesday. “The surface of the cave is quite fragile. It is impossible to remove graffiti without harming the underlying artwork. It is a great tragedy that it has been defiled to this extent.”

South Australia’s Attorney-General and Minister for Aboriginal Affairs, Kyam Maher, told Australia’s ABC Radio that the incident is “terrible” and demanded “serious punishment” for those responsible. Damage to an Aboriginal heritage site is punishable by up to six months in prison or a fine of $10,000 Australian dollars.

The Mirning people, who had a distinct sculptural tradition dating back 30,000 years, inhabited the cave. Since that time, they have frequently visited the sacred cave. The Department for Environment and Water and the Far West Coast Aboriginal Corporation, which includes the Mirning people, oversee the place, which was designated a national heritage site in 2014. However, the Mirning cannot protect the place on their own because their traditional custodianship is not yet recognised by Australian law. To even enter the property, a key from SA’s environmental department is required.

A government representative of South Africa told the Guardian that the graffiti was “shocking and painful.”

“Over the past few months, the South Australian government has been consulting with Traditional Owners and other stakeholders to develop a comprehensive plan to better protect this significant site,” said a government spokesperson, adding, “The existing fencing and general difficulty in accessing the caves discourage the vast majority of visitors from trespassing.” Consideration is being given to live monitoring of the location with closed-circuit cameras in order to better secure the cave.”

However, experts and indigenous campaigners have demanded prompt action, warning the South African authorities that the 1980s-era metal fence was inadequate protection and that vandals have already defiled the site to a lesser level.

Clare Buswell, chair of the Australian Speleological Federation’s Conservation Commission, wrote in a submission to the Aboriginal lands parliamentary standing committee in July, “The failure to build an effective gate or to utilise modern security services, such as wildlife monitoring cameras that operate 24 hours a day, seven days a week, has in many ways allowed this vandalism to occur.”

Koonalda Cave is merely the most recent instance of wanton devastation of Aboriginal culture. Rio Tinto exploded the 46,000-year-old Juukan Gorge rock shelters in 2020 in order to expand its iron ore mine. Rio Tinto confirmed in a response to a Senate investigation into the destruction that “several chances were lost to reevaluate the mine plan in light of this important new information” regarding the significance of the shelters.

Uncle Bunna Lawrie, a senior Mirning elder, told the BBC that the graffiti was another instance of “the continual disrespect” his people endure.

“It is an affront to our country and to our heritage,” he remarked. What is gone is gone, and we will never get it back.

Who inhabited the sacred cave where a painting was vandalised?

30,000-Year-Old Aboriginal Rock Art was Vandalised: a “Massive, Tragic Loss”

An ancient Aboriginal artwork was vandalised in a holy cave in South Australia, reigniting outrage about the lack of security at the heritage-listed site. Authorities have condemned the demolition as a “huge, devastating loss” of “unique in Australia” artwork.

Authorities reported that vandals broke into Koonalda Cave on Nullarbor Plain by excavating under a steel gate and scribbling “Don’t look now, because this is a death cave” on the stone carvings. A part of the structure was completely demolished.

“The vandals did a tremendous amount of destruction. The painting cannot be recovered, archaeologist of ancient Aboriginal culture Keryn Walshe told the Guardian on Wednesday. “The surface of the cave is quite fragile. It is impossible to remove graffiti without harming the underlying artwork. It is a great tragedy that it has been defiled to this extent.”

South Australia’s Attorney-General and Minister for Aboriginal Affairs, Kyam Maher, told Australia’s ABC Radio that the incident is “terrible” and demanded “serious punishment” for those responsible. Damage to an Aboriginal heritage site is punishable by up to six months in prison or a fine of $10,000 Australian dollars.

The Mirning people, who had a distinct sculptural tradition dating back 30,000 years, inhabited the cave. Since that time, they have frequently visited the sacred cave. The Department for Environment and Water and the Far West Coast Aboriginal Corporation, which includes the Mirning people, oversee the place, which was designated a national heritage site in 2014. However, the Mirning cannot protect the place on their own because their traditional custodianship is not yet recognised by Australian law. To even enter the property, a key from SA’s environmental department is required.

A government representative of South Africa told the Guardian that the graffiti was “shocking and painful.”

“Over the past few months, the South Australian government has been consulting with Traditional Owners and other stakeholders to develop a comprehensive plan to better protect this significant site,” said a government spokesperson, adding, “The existing fencing and general difficulty in accessing the caves discourage the vast majority of visitors from trespassing.” Consideration is being given to live monitoring of the location with closed-circuit cameras in order to better secure the cave.”

However, experts and indigenous campaigners have demanded prompt action, warning the South African authorities that the 1980s-era metal fence was inadequate protection and that vandals have already defiled the site to a lesser level.

Clare Buswell, chair of the Australian Speleological Federation’s Conservation Commission, wrote in a submission to the Aboriginal lands parliamentary standing committee in July, “The failure to build an effective gate or to utilise modern security services, such as wildlife monitoring cameras that operate 24 hours a day, seven days a week, has in many ways allowed this vandalism to occur.”

Koonalda Cave is merely the most recent instance of wanton devastation of Aboriginal culture. Rio Tinto exploded the 46,000-year-old Juukan Gorge rock shelters in 2020 in order to expand its iron ore mine. Rio Tinto confirmed in a response to a Senate investigation into the destruction that “several chances were lost to reevaluate the mine plan in light of this important new information” regarding the significance of the shelters.

Uncle Bunna Lawrie, a senior Mirning elder, told the BBC that the graffiti was another instance of “the continual disrespect” his people endure.

“It is an affront to our country and to our heritage,” he remarked. What is gone is gone, and we will never get it back.

What was the reason why the Juukan Gorge Rock Shelters was intentionally destroyed?

30,000-Year-Old Aboriginal Rock Art was Vandalised: a “Massive, Tragic Loss”

An ancient Aboriginal artwork was vandalised in a holy cave in South Australia, reigniting outrage about the lack of security at the heritage-listed site. Authorities have condemned the demolition as a “huge, devastating loss” of “unique in Australia” artwork.

Authorities reported that vandals broke into Koonalda Cave on Nullarbor Plain by excavating under a steel gate and scribbling “Don’t look now, because this is a death cave” on the stone carvings. A part of the structure was completely demolished.

“The vandals did a tremendous amount of destruction. The painting cannot be recovered, archaeologist of ancient Aboriginal culture Keryn Walshe told the Guardian on Wednesday. “The surface of the cave is quite fragile. It is impossible to remove graffiti without harming the underlying artwork. It is a great tragedy that it has been defiled to this extent.”

South Australia’s Attorney-General and Minister for Aboriginal Affairs, Kyam Maher, told Australia’s ABC Radio that the incident is “terrible” and demanded “serious punishment” for those responsible. Damage to an Aboriginal heritage site is punishable by up to six months in prison or a fine of $10,000 Australian dollars.

The Mirning people, who had a distinct sculptural tradition dating back 30,000 years, inhabited the cave. Since that time, they have frequently visited the sacred cave. The Department for Environment and Water and the Far West Coast Aboriginal Corporation, which includes the Mirning people, oversee the place, which was designated a national heritage site in 2014. However, the Mirning cannot protect the place on their own because their traditional custodianship is not yet recognised by Australian law. To even enter the property, a key from SA’s environmental department is required.

A government representative of South Africa told the Guardian that the graffiti was “shocking and painful.”

“Over the past few months, the South Australian government has been consulting with Traditional Owners and other stakeholders to develop a comprehensive plan to better protect this significant site,” said a government spokesperson, adding, “The existing fencing and general difficulty in accessing the caves discourage the vast majority of visitors from trespassing.” Consideration is being given to live monitoring of the location with closed-circuit cameras in order to better secure the cave.”

However, experts and indigenous campaigners have demanded prompt action, warning the South African authorities that the 1980s-era metal fence was inadequate protection and that vandals have already defiled the site to a lesser level.

Clare Buswell, chair of the Australian Speleological Federation’s Conservation Commission, wrote in a submission to the Aboriginal lands parliamentary standing committee in July, “The failure to build an effective gate or to utilise modern security services, such as wildlife monitoring cameras that operate 24 hours a day, seven days a week, has in many ways allowed this vandalism to occur.”

Koonalda Cave is merely the most recent instance of wanton devastation of Aboriginal culture. Rio Tinto exploded the 46,000-year-old Juukan Gorge rock shelters in 2020 in order to expand its iron ore mine. Rio Tinto confirmed in a response to a Senate investigation into the destruction that “several chances were lost to reevaluate the mine plan in light of this important new information” regarding the significance of the shelters.

Uncle Bunna Lawrie, a senior Mirning elder, told the BBC that the graffiti was another instance of “the continual disrespect” his people endure.

“It is an affront to our country and to our heritage,” he remarked. What is gone is gone, and we will never get it back.

Based on the article, is it possible to repair or restore the damaged artwork in the cave?

30,000-Year-Old Aboriginal Rock Art was Vandalised: a “Massive, Tragic Loss”

An ancient Aboriginal artwork was vandalised in a holy cave in South Australia, reigniting outrage about the lack of security at the heritage-listed site. Authorities have condemned the demolition as a “huge, devastating loss” of “unique in Australia” artwork.

Authorities reported that vandals broke into Koonalda Cave on Nullarbor Plain by excavating under a steel gate and scribbling “Don’t look now, because this is a death cave” on the stone carvings. A part of the structure was completely demolished.

“The vandals did a tremendous amount of destruction. The painting cannot be recovered, archaeologist of ancient Aboriginal culture Keryn Walshe told the Guardian on Wednesday. “The surface of the cave is quite fragile. It is impossible to remove graffiti without harming the underlying artwork. It is a great tragedy that it has been defiled to this extent.”

South Australia’s Attorney-General and Minister for Aboriginal Affairs, Kyam Maher, told Australia’s ABC Radio that the incident is “terrible” and demanded “serious punishment” for those responsible. Damage to an Aboriginal heritage site is punishable by up to six months in prison or a fine of $10,000 Australian dollars.

The Mirning people, who had a distinct sculptural tradition dating back 30,000 years, inhabited the cave. Since that time, they have frequently visited the sacred cave. The Department for Environment and Water and the Far West Coast Aboriginal Corporation, which includes the Mirning people, oversee the place, which was designated a national heritage site in 2014. However, the Mirning cannot protect the place on their own because their traditional custodianship is not yet recognised by Australian law. To even enter the property, a key from SA’s environmental department is required.

A government representative of South Africa told the Guardian that the graffiti was “shocking and painful.”

“Over the past few months, the South Australian government has been consulting with Traditional Owners and other stakeholders to develop a comprehensive plan to better protect this significant site,” said a government spokesperson, adding, “The existing fencing and general difficulty in accessing the caves discourage the vast majority of visitors from trespassing.” Consideration is being given to live monitoring of the location with closed-circuit cameras in order to better secure the cave.”

However, experts and indigenous campaigners have demanded prompt action, warning the South African authorities that the 1980s-era metal fence was inadequate protection and that vandals have already defiled the site to a lesser level.

Clare Buswell, chair of the Australian Speleological Federation’s Conservation Commission, wrote in a submission to the Aboriginal lands parliamentary standing committee in July, “The failure to build an effective gate or to utilise modern security services, such as wildlife monitoring cameras that operate 24 hours a day, seven days a week, has in many ways allowed this vandalism to occur.”

Koonalda Cave is merely the most recent instance of wanton devastation of Aboriginal culture. Rio Tinto exploded the 46,000-year-old Juukan Gorge rock shelters in 2020 in order to expand its iron ore mine. Rio Tinto confirmed in a response to a Senate investigation into the destruction that “several chances were lost to reevaluate the mine plan in light of this important new information” regarding the significance of the shelters.

Uncle Bunna Lawrie, a senior Mirning elder, told the BBC that the graffiti was another instance of “the continual disrespect” his people endure.

“It is an affront to our country and to our heritage,” he remarked. What is gone is gone, and we will never get it back.

The following are measures that the South Australian government has specified to better protect the Koonalda Cave EXCEPT