BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

had seen him, not like last time. He got up quickly and inspected his palms. The blood had congealed and stuck like treacle to his hands. He spread them open quickly, savouring the feeling of the skin re-breaking. His mind wallowed in the sea of pain. He embraced it.

He gathered up his key and began to run home. On his way, his mind drifted back to Iraq. He pulled his thoughts in the opposite direction but it was like playing tug of war with a lorry. He didn’t think that he could go back there. He didn’t think that he could take the strain – both mental and physical. He hated it, constantly having to be in tune with everything around him. Constantly having to spot threats hidden in the undergrowth. Constantly on edge, constantly scared.

Except what he truly feared wasn’t death. It was the feeling of being hunted, and being unable to escape. The fear was ingrained in him as he knew he was being stared at down a scope and no matter how fast he moved, how much cover he found, the bullet would find its way.

He opened his front door and wiped the keyhole with his top to remove the blood. He didn’t want the postman noticing again. He walked inside and headed to his bathroom cupboard, where he kept the antiseptic and bandages. Then he began to open the lid of the antiseptic, deliberately grinding the cut against the grooves that were meant to help him grip the lid. He took a sharp intake of breath as he poured a little of the antiseptic onto his cuts. He got a frying pan out the cupboard, struggling slightly with his newly-bandaged hands, and started cooking his lunch. As usual, he cooked an omelette. It had been his signature lunch ever since he’d moved into this house two years before. He’d cooked it seven days a week, except when he hadn’t been at home. Two tours to Iraq, and nothing dramatic had ever happened. Until the last day of his second tour, when Scott had died.

Thoughts clawed at his mind like hungry wolves. But when he let them in, they ran wild like they were no longer predators but prey. The thought of Scott filled his mind once again. Then thoughts about his next tour, in three months. The feeling of being chased, of not escaping, of not coming home again. The building of dread deep in his stomach slowly overwhelming him. The ambush of anticipation, the sharp feel of bullets burrowing their way home into his legs. Suddenly he calmed down. He carefully got up and turned to the door. He walked up to his bedroom and reached into a drawer. There it was, carefully hidden under a pile of neon striped socks (a birthday present from his friends to ‘put some damn colour in his life’). He held it reverently, like a priest picks up a bible, and took a long look at his salvation. He took a deep sigh of relief and stood up, before walking over to the window. The house opposite was a perfect point to fix his gaze on. So he stared and rested his chin on the barrel – a comforting feeling. He breathed a deep sigh of relief and squeezed his hand closed.

In Iraq, he had seen the hunter. He’d seen the muzzle of the gun. He was the deer and he was about to be shot. He didn’t want to be the one to give up, to just sit down. He could escape. He could find a way out of the woodland and a place to hide where the hunter would never find him. He would never have to feel the fear of someone else placing a gun to his head and pulling the trigger.

He could do that himself.

Theo Cameron

The Black Glyph

I sprint through the deserted alleys and backstreets, grateful of the power this crystal has given me. I can hear the gang’s thudding feet and cruel voices. I screech round the corner and stop dead. They’re there. I spin around. Another gang. How could I be so stupid! Oh well, what’s done is done. I run up the wall.

I suppose I should tell you how I got into that predicament. And how I could run up the wall. Well, it’s hard to explain. My name is Grace Evangeline Ambrose. The year is 2463. We use steam for power. It started in the Black Swan Tavern. The Black Swan is in the borough of Arcport, Kinostorm. Kinostorm is the only city in Astroguard which has a cargo airport. It’s used to transport cogs and metal all over the world. It works, but there’s only room for one person per plane.

Anyway, the Black Swan Tavern. It’s run by Hugh Redmond Eli-Bronze. He’s a nice old guy with a monocle. He’s getting a bit old to run it now, so I help out when I get some free time. Outside of my job, that is. My job is sorting parts at the factory. Not the most exciting job, sure, but it pays well. Well enough to be a regular here. In fact, I come here enough to hear rumours. And one rumour is the reason I got into that quite dangerous situation. Specifically, it’s a rumour about a crystal which can give the holder dramatically increased speed, stamina, strength and reflexes. So, obviously, I went looking for it. Actually it was for a bet. Fifty Blue Yxrunas. In old money, that’s about seventy-five pounds. So, I didn’t want to lose that much. Understandably. So, off I went.

It wasn’t long before I found the warehouse I’d heard about. It wasn’t a particularly well-known one, but it wasn’t shrouded in mystery. I’d made a delivery there once, actually. It looked locked up, but I pushed to see. By luck, it creaked open with a small puff of steam. On the other side, there were lots and lots of crates. I snuck in. After a while of being stealthy and peeping around corners, I started doubting my chances. I started getting suspicious and worried. I couldn’t lift any of the crates, and they would usually be light. I opened one of them. Cogs. Part 1223C. Those were only used in – Oh heck! Type F bombs. I had to get out. If these cogs were in there then type F bombs probably were too. I ran. Even in my panic I tested something.

Left, left, left, left. I should have been back to where I was. But no open crates! I’d left the lid off. That meant

A) that this was a moving maze, and

B) someone now knew that I was here.

Desperate, I sprinted around. I couldn’t find my way back. And now I was even more lost. I sank down next to a crate. Suddenly, a glow from around the corner. Cautiously, I peered around the crate. A pedestal, bright as day in the dimness of the warehouse and on top. I stifled a gasp – a black crystal.

“Hey!”

I whipped around, almost cracking my head on a crate marked ‘This Way Up’.

“What are you doing?”

I zipped around the corner like lightning, grabbed the crystal and, well, time seemed to stop. The voice was no longer shouting and, for the first time, I heard that the ambient noise had stopped. I felt like I instantaneously knew the way out. Then, just as suddenly, I was brought back to reality.

“Boys! Demetrius! Joseph! Martin! Alonzo! Someone’s here! And stealing the Black Glyph!”

And that is how I got into that predicament I described at the start. Next time, I’ll tell you how I got out.

Lauren Dickie

The Journey Home

I saw my chance. A parked cart piled high with juicy oranges. It would be easy to jump in the back and hide between them. I didn’t have time to stand there lingering. I had made my decision and now I had to do it. Carefully creeping over a pile of stray squished apples, I fingered my tunic and pretended to look innocent. When I thought no-one was looking, I scrambled into the cart and positioned myself between the oranges. I thought no-one had seen me, but a soldier of six foot was glaring right at me. I sucked in my breath and froze. Thoughts were circling round in my head. “Please, please, don’t notice me. What happens if he does?’ I could be killed, I realised that, but the driver had climbed back into his seat and was flicking the reins to make the horses start up. I breathed again. I was safe, for now. You must be wondering what I was doing, hiding in the back of an orange cart. My mistress would be wondering where I was. I was supposed to be buying cheese and wine, but now, I was on my way home. My mistress, Clara, is a spoilt, stubborn child with piles of sandy hair and great big blue eyes. I am a slave, sold from Thebes to Athens, poked and prodded regularly as if I was a small beetle crawling around on the floor. No-one would care if I died. I’m a nobody. But now I was going home to Thebes, where I could wake up and sniff the olive-scented air and sigh with happiness. Yes, I was going home, but I still had this long journey to make. By now, we were out of the city, rumbling along the filthy track, olive groves either side of us. I longed to go and pick one but I had to focus. The driver’s name was Ajax I had discovered, due to the carving on the side of the cart. Ajax was humming to himself, occasionally giving a short flick of the reins to increase the horse’s speed. The sun was blazing down angrily on us and the back of my tunic was sticking to my sweating back. I was going to boil soon, but I pushed oranges over my head and I was cool again. Cramp climbed my legs and I had the sudden urge to stand up. Ajax would see me though, and I’d soon be a humble loser, sitting by the side of the road. Wishing I had let Clara shave my head, my fingers touched my tousled black hair and I sighed as it was so hot. I hoped we were nearly there. We’d been travelling for what felt like hours. Ajax slowed the cart to a halt and it groaned. I peeped out and realised we were at the entrance to Thebes. ‘Why not jump out now?’ I thought.

I sprang from my hiding spot and landed neatly on the gravel. I was home and my heart lifted. Strolling casually along, I gazed at this spectacular sight. A group of my old friends ran past and I sprinted to catch up with them. They were squealing and giggling about something and I joined in, like nothing had happened. But of course it had.