A Collection of Writings by Raroa Normal Intermediate School Writers
the journey A collection of writings by the Extension Writers at Raroa Normal Intermediate School; a record of the journey of each character, and the journey of each student as a writer.
Writing is a journey of discovery because until you start, you never know what will happen, and you can be surprised by what you do - expect the unexpected!
Mini Grey
Whispers In The Wind Stephanie Turk
Their thoughts pound against my brain like bees; a continuous buzz of voices inside me. I painfully swat them all away, longing for silence. Silence. It’s something that I’ve barely experienced in my 15 years of life. Hauling my backpack further onto my shoulders, my head lowers in grief. Passing crowds of laughing kids, busy parents and workers, I almost scream out in aggravation at their pestering thoughts. Such petty troubles, and so oblivious to what I am capable of doing. Weaving my way through the town park, I release an exasperated sigh. Placing my backpack on a park bench, I collapse next to it, putting my head in my hands. Sun rays beam down on my head, warmth spreading through my body. I close my eyes, blocking out as much of the real world as I can. But it doesn't last long. His thoughts burst through the invisible wall in my mind like a violent bulldozer, ripping away all my sense of security. I focus my mind on the thoughts this man was throwing about in my head. I know you can hear me. I know you that you aren’t like the rest of them. If you join me, I can help. Just remember this: You can’t run forever. I sit upright abruptly, and lick my lips to refrain myself from screaming. He knows what I can do. Frantically wiping my eyes, I pick up my bag in an instant. Sprinting across the grassy land, I ignore the thoughts of the citizens around me. They would never understand what my miserable life has been like.
I run as far as I can, as if it will get rid of my troubles. I know it won’t, but I don't stop until my lungs burn with an unbearable pain that pulls me to the ground. Dizziness washes over my mind, but I force myself to keep going. With the sun gradually sinking beyond the horizon, panic hits me like a punch in the stomach. If I don’t find somewhere to spend the night, I'll be sleeping within reach of the dangers in the forest. Wandering aimlessly, I tumble forwards into a panicked run. The world begins to spin. The trees curve. The ground wobbles. The world twists like a kaleidoscope with me in the center. An image of his taunting eyes are caught in my mind. They are rings of red, blazing like waves of fire. He reaches a hand out towards me; a wicked grin splayed on his face. Falling back into reality, sweat beads on my forehead. I wash the image away mentally, hoping for it to never come back. Back to haunt me. Back to remind me. I wander towards a towering tree, wishing that they were apple trees full of ripe, large fruit. I whimper at the longingness. Why me? I never wanted to be like this. I didn’t get to choose. Anger bubbles in my stomach, growing madly. I let out a shriek, smacking my hand against the tree. A sudden bolt of energy leaves my hand; where the trunk used to be a pale brown, it is now burnt black in the shape of my handprint. Fear dawns on me; I am a monster. I trace my fingertip around the charred section of the tree, shaking my head. A loud noise in the distance startles me out of my daze. I catch sight of a dark figure looming in the distance.
Gasping in terror, I try to catch any of his thoughts, but only feel a scratchy buzz in the back of my mind. Frustrated, I can only blink when he appears in front of me. “Found you,” he whispers, edging closer to me. “I told you, you can’t hide forever.” I gasp, suddenly struggling for air. “What do you want?” I whisper, avoiding his gaze. “I’m here to offer you a deal. Join me, or die. It’s that simple.” He smiles, his eyes glowing.
Lonely Winter Lola Wood
A bitter stillness lingers in the air A crisp morning blanket of frost It hangs onto trees And clings to grass Begging the sun to have mercy. The distant snowcapped mountains Looming and mystical Hold so many secrets That the world will never know Unless you knew what you were looking for. The pavement is empty It’s cobbled and worn path winding without purpose As if it was only there for a decoration. A warm glow peeked through the overcast clouds But it was barely there. It was Winter.
Sweet Dreams Izzi Anderson
He died the day before yesterday. He had just laid there, not waking from his nap, not responding when she stroked the top of his head gently, not opening his eyes to gently blink at her in the sleepy, loving way that he usually did. Kidney failure, they had told her. He was old, and it happens. But they couldn’t know how much he meant to her, how he would jump up from sleep and cuddle into her, purring like a engine; or how he loved her unconditionally, no matter what she had done; or how he bumped his head into her stomach gently when she had forgotten to stroke the top of his head. She had made dinner, but had not eaten it. It was painful to hang on to life, when he had not. Why must she stay on in this cruel world, while he went on; how could he leave her here, without him? She gathered his possessions and they had lain there, untouched and gathering dust, for the past two days. She sat in her chair and looked at them, vacantly staring at the playthings, arranged in the basket. She eventually went to sleep, drifting off into a tumultuous sea of sorrow, from where she could not find her way back. She tossed and turned, reliving the moment when she realised, he’s not breathing. When she awoke the next morning, she was hungry, but still did not eat. She had a dull, dead, haunted look in her eyes, and mumbled to herself as she sank into her chair once again, content to just sit there and rock all the sorrow away. And then, just as she was ready to sleep again, it moved.
It was the old stone cat, curled up in a corner, always asleep. She had purchased it sixteen years ago, along with her new kitten, giddy with the excitement of a new pet, the excitement of having something to love. It had slept the years away, just an ornament, never noticeable in any way, never unordinary, until now. It arched its back; lithe, and willowy, and she quickly looked away, convinced she was crazy, convinced she was closer to him, closer to death, convinced she was hallucinating. But she was afraid of death, afraid of what came after, afraid that the cat, seemingly made of stone, knew more than she did, that the cat was here to send her on. It was licking itself. She could hear the rasp of its tongue on its stone flank, hear the soft movements it made as it positioned itself at the foot of the table, nearer to the cold, uneaten chicken on the table. She slowly rose from her chair, standing on china legs, fragile and delicate. The stone cat seemed to sense the fragility of the woman, and wound its way round her legs delicately, its stone not rough, but smooth and soft, like butter. She picked up the chicken and moved to the bin, but decided against it, and cleared the chicken onto another plate, setting it on the floor. She chose some food for herself, still convinced she was humoring herself, convinced the stone cat was not real. She smiled as she ate a biscuit, watching the cat devour the cold meal. She was happy to have company. The cat, having finished its meal, wound its way round the table legs toward her. She pushed it away, closing her eyes, and tried to push the cat out of her head, trying to convince herself that it wasn’t real.
She opened her eyes again, one at a time, then looked around. The cat was sitting on her chair, washing. She sighed, and suddenly her whole body felt heavy. The stress of the past few days fell on her; losing him had been harder than anything else, and now she was dealing with hallucinations. More than anything, she just wanted to sleep. The cat, having finished its wash, seemed to sense her heaviness and walked into the small bedroom by the kitchen. The woman was already there, eyes closed, but not yet asleep. The cat leapt gracefully onto the bed and curled into the crook of her arm. It seemed to emanate warmth from the very core of the stone, but she did not notice as she had slipped into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. Two days later, the two men walked into the kitchen. “D’you think she’s out?” one asked. “Maybe, but we still have to check on her. Remember, her cat’s just died. You remember the cat, right?” said the other. “Yeah. I’ll miss that cat.” They entered the bedroom, still chatting, but suddenly cut short. “Nan?” one asked quietly. She was curled around the cat, not a cat anymore, just stone. Her expression was that of someone floating on a cloud; peaceful and serene, but also cold. Stone cold. As they gently prised the cat from her arms, they noticed words engraved on the bottom. Sweet Dreams.
High and Mighty Fiona Quinn
‘Be a Voice, Not an Echo’ I stare at myself in the mirror, eyes almost gaping at the view that’s reflected. What was I thinking, wearing the dress? I’m disgusted with myself. The lacy garment ripples around my knees, a respectful length for a sixteen-year old girl. Just as it should. But it feels wrong, like I should slip on another dress before we leave, zip it up hastily with shaking hands, smooth it out before I race out the door. But I can’t. I’m too late. A car honks loudly outside; I assume it’s our ride. It jerks me out of my whirling river of thoughts as I reach for my brother’s hand, yanking him out the door before he can gel back his unruly, raven hair. “Hey!” he whines, grunting as I practically throw him into the car that’s awaiting our arrival. But it feels wrong. I should be giving the money that was spent on this dress to others that need it more. Hunter and I sit side by side as I fix the wrinkles on my dress, almost glaring at the flowery fabric as if it had offended me in some way. I give up - what’s done is done. With a heavy heart, my eyes drift out the window, gazing at the hues and tinges of colour as they merge to create others, transforming into a single black
and white scene. Just like one of those televisions from ancient times. It feels like a millennia since then. The glistening pearls around my neck feel as heavy as rocks as the sleek car slows to a halt. And then it hits me. We’re here. At one of the most important nights of the year. A night of bragging, drinks, and a general good time. I wonder how adults do it. It’s called The Gathering, where all the high-end social-ranked families congregate in a single hall, with waiters delivering flutes of champagne and loud music pumping obnoxiously. I’m finally of-age. Sixteen. My brother is eighteen- he’s been to a few more of these than me. Although he doesn’t look it; he’s still as scrawny as he was when he was 14. Just a pinch more mature. “Mel- we’re here.” Hunter’s voice reaches in and grasps me as I pull myself from a trance. I follow him hesitantly out of the black car, bidding the driver goodnight. Taking a deep breath, I step out into the open, warm air gushing past my exposed back. Hunter and I link our arms as we stroll into the hall. It’s already crowded, Our parents are already here, chatting to unknown people and families, probably bragging about what skills we have, and not mentioning the fact that Mum spends most of her seemingly unlimited money on things that, in a few years, will have no obvious use. “Hey- Melanie!” A paparazzi taps me on the shoulder and I whirl around, my hyper-reflexes taking charge. “What?” I demand. “Is it true that you’re pregnant with-” I cut him off.
“No!” I huff, ears practically steaming. I stalk towards the refreshments table, eyes turned longingly towards the many flutes of champagne, but I’m too young. One thing I’m sure of, is that I’ll definitely need a miracle to keep my temper under control tonight. The gala seems like an eternity, plentiful hours passing by like wispy clouds. And then, as the final guests thank the hosts, my loving parents, and stroll into the calm night, the music halts, the waiters check their wristwatches and hurry into the overcrowded kitchen and out into the night. It’s over. At last. And, on the bright side, without too much yelling on my part. Amazing. “Melanie, can you help tidy up?” my mother asks, her voice resonating dully, echoing against the walls. I don’t particularly want to, but I comply because she’s the only female family member I have left. “Sure,” I mumble blatantly, stepping towards her, avoiding all the shattered glasses and dropped crumbs. It’s atrocious; would they treat their own house like this? I’d hope not. My shaking hands grip the brush and shovel, sweeping up what seems like an endless amount of mess. Things that went wrong during the ‘perfect’ night of the year. It sickens me. “Almost done?” My mother’s voice pierces the still silence and I realise Hunter’s cleaning as well, instead of watching my mother and I do all the work. “Yes,” I lie, hoping to get her on the good side. It’s never good to end a night badly, with fights and hateful words - it’s tradition in this new, distorted world where the socialites reign and the lower-class rot. Less than an hour later, we leave. All the taxis have retired for the night. My father leads the way, arm around Hunter’s shoulder - I can tell he’s uncomfortable.
My mother’s next; her stilettos clicking against the pavement. Then there’s me. Trailing behind like a lost sheep, wishing I’d brought a cardigan of some sort. “Hurry up, Mel!” I take a few more fast strides, catching up with my mother, so that our paces are at equal. Then, at length, with Hunter and my father. “Hey, H.,” I smile, my eyes landing on his sturdy frame. “Hey, Mel. Good night?” “Yes, a few too many noisy reporters though.” “For once, I agree.” Hunter smiles. I beam back. The street seems dim and dingy; dull stone bricks coat the pavements and colourful yet messy graffiti drips down alley walls. Suddenly, a leathery hand grabs me by the neck. I try to scream, but an equally disgusting hand clamps itself over my mouth, and my throat aches. “No- MELANIE! NO!” My family stop and stare. Hunter reaches for me with desperate hands, leaping forward in protest. Our parents tow him back, as if the man’s touch has tainted me. I want to grasp Hunter’s hands for reassurance, but I can’t. I scrabble against the bonds, eyes wanting freedom as I fight. Fight to prevent the inevitable. I’m dragged forcefully into the dark; the light slowly dies from Hunter’s eyes. He knows it as well as I do. I won’t ever see him ever again. And it hurts. My mind drifts to my mother. If she was able to speak out against my father, would she? It’s a fascinating thought.
It feels like an eternity of nothingness and anxiety before the man hastily tugs a blindfold over my eyes, herding me into the darkness like a single, lone sheep. And with a sleek blow to the head, I’m out like a light. A hopeless, careless, little light. * * * My eyes snap open. A cold, stone ceiling greets me with a hostile glare. Where am I? Why can’t I move? It all shoots back to me within a second. The Gathering, the man, Hunter’s face. I wish he was here. I wish Hunter was here with me, holding my hand, reassuring me with the low, soothing words that he knows will help. “You - little sweetheart - are going to make me money, ya hear me?” a low, rough voice snarls beside my ear. I shiver, because I can imagine the horrific face to go along with those hands. I see the man’s face, and when I do, I wish I hadn’t. His skin is tanned, but not in a good way. It looks leathery and worn like he was abandoned whilst under a harsh light. A scraggly, wispy beard protrudes from his chin. The man’s eyes are black beetles, glinting with a tinge of madness from under his merino beanie. In my opinion, he smells as bad as he looks. I nod my head, silent words wanting to spill out eagerly. But with a fair amount of resistance, I don’t, but the urge to do so haunts me. The man steps away, and so does the odour. A chance to breath at last. “Why?” I croak, seemingly defeated and falling on deaf ears. My voice against the air seemed dull, blatant, like I had nothing to fear. But, of course I did. What if the man took Hunter? What if he took my parents? Subjected them to merciless agony, as he may do to me. It’s all too much. I need Hunter. Why me? * * *
A wave of deja vu sweeps over me as I strain my neck, trying to discover where I am. I reason that the man wants me for money, and that in a few hours, or minutes, he will return, tease my parents, and bait them into giving him money. I want to laugh. It won’t work and I know that for a fact. They don’t care. Anymore, at least. Maybe they cared once upon a time, but not now. Not ever. Only spend money to appear to the public’s eyes as caring, selfless parents, when they’re the opposite. But then a sudden idea appears. What if I escape? The thought fizzles out into nothing. But it’s still there. Escape. It courses through my veins, urging every part of me to do something. Plastic, heavy-duty zip-ties lie tightly wrapped against my bare wrists and meld my ankles together like glue. But I could fulfil it. I know how to break out. Shatter my kidnapper’s dreams of being rich like a king. If I could onlyBANG! A door of some description is burst open, probably damaging some hinges. “Lousy copper-” I can hear a faint, almost inaudible mutter, probably in exasperation. “-Trying to plant a tracer on me. Shoulda’ known betta than to try that-” Then he spots me. “Yah- honey. You gonna’ make me money.” It hits me at once. The odour is despicable, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath. He slurs his words until they are almost incoherent and garbled beyond comprehension.
He lunges forward, an unpredictable and dangerous blur against the cold stone walls. In his hand he clutches a smartphone. The screen is dark, except for the few buttons, and it looks as if it’s amidst a call. “Speak!-” he mutters irritably, his yellowish teeth crunching grimly. My mouth doesn’t open. “-NOW!” I speak hurriedly, eyes flashing towards the angry man. “Hi, Mum.” My voice doesn’t tremble like it probably should. Instead, it rings in the air, blatant and bored. It sounds as if I get kidnapped every other Saturday. “Hi, honey.” Her voice is just how I remember it. Cold, weary, and full of edge. Just like her personality. I can practically hear the dullness in her tone, seeping out of her words and into my mind. It makes me want to throw the phone a hundred miles, and watch it shatter before my eyes. “WHY AREN’T YOU SCARED?” I glance at the man, who’s positively shaking with anger. Maybe he’s used to people bowing before him like some sort of god, but not me. Not everyone will bow to this poor excuse of a man. Especially not me. * * * My kidnapper storms away, slamming the door. Whilst I watch him go, my eyes notice the fact that his hands don't touch the key, still in the lock, and they certainly do not twist the it. At last, he’s gone, and the room feels as cold and dingy as it was before. It gives me the urge to be free. And in my resistance, I decide in seconds. Escape.
I work at the zipties, tightening them until they burn and rub my wrists red. It hurts, yes, but it will be worth all the pain. At last, when the agony is nearly unbearable, I bring my hands as far as possible from each other, wincing at the wholesome suffering. It will be worth it, I tell myself, and it becomes a meaningless mantra in my mind, over and over, the words echoing in my mind. And then, the restraints burst. It feels good, the cool air I once labeled as hostile and unforgiving, seeping into my crimson and sore wrists. I shakily get to my feet, my limbs trembling under my weight. I have to get out - before he gets back, sober and clear minded. My hands grasp the door, falter and twist. It clicks. Freedom as far as the eyes can see. I scamper into the darkness, hoping it'll shroud my features from unwelcome eyes. I have to get home. Need to. For Hunter. A scream of infuriation tears me from my thoughts. The man - he’s back! His wispy beard seems even more frazzled - if that’s possible- and his eyes grasp a newfound flame in his eyes. Obviously, he knows that I’ve gone, but not as far as he thinks. He lets loose a feral scream, one that almost feels inhumane, monstrous. Like the inner demon inside him is finally taking control. I scramble away, almost forgetting that the shadows hide me. The leaves rustle - big mistake. “WHO’S THERE?” He goes quiet for a while, and I can’t see him through the leaves of the bush. “Stupid birds.” It feels like an hour has passed until I deem it safe to come out. The sky is dark like a gossamer blanket that’s carefully placed over towns and cities, and the
air is as cold as ice as it slides under the bottom of my dress and pierces my bare legs. I hug my arms around myself, hoping to shield my open skin from the hostile wind as I walk slowly down the path I spotted. It’s not a properly marked path; it’s nothing but gravel and dirt against my feet. Within a few minutes, I reach the end, and a small town that I recognise not too far from my house. No one’s in the area. No one sane would be out at this time of night. My feet begin moving in the direction of my home, and my mind instinctively goes to Hunter. Is he okay? Is he worrying? I hope he isn’t. I dart into a sprint, my feet scuffing painfully against the tar pavement. Hunter, here I come. * * * I bang my hands against the front door, my palms in fists. I’m home! I want to shout. “YES?” my father shouts, probably annoyed. It is 3 am. Or I think it is at least. I’d be annoyed too. “Hi Dad!” I say, mock gladness seeping into my voice like liquid. “Melanie! What a-”, he pauses, “-pleasant surprise.” I can tell he doesn’t mean it. Still, it fills me with joy that he didn’t slam the door in my face. Later, I’ll have to suffer through seeing my mother’s face again. And then, I’ll get to hug Hunter... Maybe, the world isn’t as dark as I made it out to be. Maybe the world can be redeemed - just like me.
Ember In The Ice Emily Grethe
Prologue The earth started to crumble, scarred with memories of war, stained with the blood of innocent people. Humankind had turned into a violent mad species, in danger of extinction. It was at this time that a sorcerer decided to rise from the ashes and revive man. He trekked around whatever islands were left; he used the last of his powers to pull together all land into a small cluster and gifted each of the remaining humans with an endowment. Once all his powers were drained, he died, leaving the people he had enchanted behind. All of the people towards the north were blessed with the power of Earth, to heal and to grow. The Terra tribe.Turning their land into picturesque mountains and beautiful forests and streams. The people of the east were blessed with the power of water, to rescue and to cool.The Uji tribe. Turning their islands into magnificent icy hills, blanketed in snow and covered with woods. The people of the south were blessed with the power of air, to give life and to restore. The Hava tribe. Turning their lands into gorgeous misty jungles covered in smoggy, colourful canopies. And finally, he blessed the people of the east with the power of fire, to warm and to provide. The Vatra tribe. Their lands turned into ash-covered ground;
towering rocky castles, geysers and mini volcanos were scattered everywhere. A hot, fiery metropolis. All these powers were passed down through generations and everyone lived in peace. Until, the discovery of the Generators. They were very rare and, in some communities, even feared. Their possession of two powers created misunderstandings and confusion. It was dangerous. It was peaceful. This was the land they called Erimoor.
100 years later…
Peace hummed through my soul. Even though I was surrounded by the cold, my body felt warm inside. Silence was everywhere and my mind was completely blank. My hair flowed down my back like the waterfall that rushed beside me. I loved it out here. The ice that clung to the tree’s branches, the branches that reached out to me, embraced me. The snow that blanketed the ground, the snow the same shade as my hair.The ground that I sat upon, the ground that supported my very being. It was here that I felt most like myself, in this permanent winter, alone in my thoughts.Why had I been gifted with such a power? Why had I been given this extraordinary life? Then Mum. “Time to get ready for school, Jasmine.” Was it weird to be excited for school? I don’t know but I just had the feeling that something amazing would happen today. Sitting in front of my mirror, this morning was the same as any morning. Braiding my pearly white hair into cornrows, a natural colour for the Uji people. I took a step back, looking at the dreamy blue chiffon dress that I wore and the silky ballet flats. My olive skin. For a second, I felt hesitation; then I dived straight back into day the icy, rocky seas that were my life.
My morning went by without a hitch, nothing out of the ordinary. At lunch, I ran over and sat down next to Abby and Michelle. We sat over in the far corner, away from everyone else. Everybody went to my school. It was located right in the center of Erimoor. However everyone lived divided, separated from anyone who wasn’t like their own. I looked over at the group of Terra students. I longed to be so constantly happy like them. Nothing could get them down. Or so daring like the Vartra. Or as energetic as the Hava. “ Uhh… Jasmine! Earth speaking!” I snapped out of my daze and stared at Michelle. “ Are you coming with us to Jen’s party tonight?” “ Oh my gosh! I totally forgot! I’m so excited!” Abby gave me a puzzled look. “ Have you asked your parents yet?” “Ugh! They never let me do anything! They’ll say no for sure! It’s so unfair!” We sighed in unison. Jen’s party was always the highlight of the year. Or at least that's what everyone said. My parents never let me go. Or to any other parties for that matter. It’s a wonder they ever let me out of the house! Later that night, I sat in the living room, waiting, just waiting for my parents to get home. After hours of anticipation, I finally heard the familiar steps of my father’s heavy snow boots shuffling through the doorway. “DAD! Dad! Can I PLEASE go to Jen’s party tonight?” I stared into his deadly blue eyes, his face made of steel; his stern expression said no without him even opening his mouth. I was desperate. “But why?” Holding my breath I waited for a reply. “You know why! We know what happens at those parties!” His words stabbed me like a thousand knives. “ I don’t want you getting into trouble!” Frustration pulsed through my veins. “ We are only trying to keep you safe!” I’d heard those words too many times. They may as well lock me in this house forever. The leash was being pulled too tight.
“ When you're older...”
I could feel my head burning up, like the words that my brain was processing were gasoline and my mind was a box of matches, burning all common sense that I had. My once dainty, light fingers were scrunched into heavy fists. “ You’ll understand our choice.” Everything was ruby red. This big ball of anger and hurt that burned bright in the middle of my chest pulled my mouth into a sour pucker. My clothes clung to my body and felt like they would burn up any second. Whipping around, my snowy white corn rows exploded down the sides of my face like fierce flames. They glistened; they glowed a glorious scarlet. As I looked at my hair in awe, all I could think was that it was so beautiful; it made me strong and powerful. Then I looked at them with fright. NO! These were locks of the devil: evil, despicable. I jumped back and stared down at my clothes. They looked as if I had gone scuba diving in a volcano. They were ashy and burnt. And red. What a colour. Red. The colour of blood, murder. Like a hunter’s knife piercing an innocent animal’s flesh. Like the smell of a crime scene, dirty and cruel. But also a colour of beauty, life. Like our whole body, it pulses through our veins, comes from the heart. Like a gorgeous silk gown or a plump strawberry, freshly picked. How could a colour be so gory yet so peaceful? Then I looked at my father’s face. He looked like he’d just seen a dead body. “Go...” was all he said. I ran. For the first time in all my life I had seen my father scared. It made me scared. But worst of all he was scared of me! I fled into the welcoming arms of the night. Sprinting into the silence with nothing but the clothes on my back. I had no idea where I was going. Or what would happen.
But one thing was for sure. I could never, EVER go back. Generators never go back.
Unwinding Red Sophie Crozier Red lace embodies her,
Soft fabric curving delicately. She sat,
In front of the clear glass of the mirror, Showing her outward appearance, An appearance of beauty.
For a beautiful girl she held a somber smile, Her expression closed off and cold.
Though her eyes beckoned for noticement, Pleading for an opening to her soul, Unwinding the colour, Red.
Pain, The first layer of red,
A clear imagery from her contorted life. An imagery she yearned to forget. The memory a part of her, Lurking in her dreams. It was him,
Always him.
Yet it wasn’t,
In ways it was her own decision, Her own life.
Love, The second layer of red. He was bound to her,
She was willing to give her soul to him. Love that was magical, mysterious, Poisonous.
Anger, The third and final layer of red. It was like a war,
Only damaging herself.
In the end her heart would be scattered in pieces. Anger that lead to pain,
Pain that was formed through love.
Now I watch a stranger, Dead still,
Sitting before the mirror. A body so foreign, Once known,
Now forgotten.
All I can do is watch.
Watch the body that belonged to me, So long ago,
Too long ago.
Watch the scars that have been slashed into my body, It’s horrific.
It’s beautiful.
Watch my stiff body, so still in front of the mirror, And feel the life I had created,
Tearing away in layers until nothing is left but, Red.
Forgotten Story
Brooke Wharehinga Aria wakes up, dazed. “W… w...where am I?” she stammers slowly. “Oh darling, you’re awake, are you feeling OK? Here, can I get you anything?” asks the Nurse, hurriedly. “Um, no thanks. Err… what happened?” she questions. “Oh darling; lie down, lie down. You were found in a lifeboat from um… Delphina,” she says as if it were a question.“You were very lucky to be spotted by… ohh! Here she is now! I’ll just be in with another patient.” She slowly backs away from the two girls. “Um thanks for saving me I..I.. guess,” Aria murmurs. “No problem. Hey, by the way, I’m Caitlin. Nice to finally meet you!” she announces so that the whole hospital can hear her. “Hey quiet down, quiet down!” Aria said, chuckling. Later, they said their goodbyes. “I’ll see you then,” Caitlin says, skipping out the door. Aria folds back the sheets of the dull hospital bed and places her feet cautiously on the cold lino. Her body aches as she slowly drags herself to the bathroom and looks up at the old, wooden clock “Still got an hour,”she mutters to herself. Her frozen hands open up the door, just a crack. It creaks painfully as if it hasn’t been used in a while. She pulls the door back and looks down a long row of unoccupied beds. Everyone there is just getting on with their daily tasks. She slips through the door and stares into the bright mirror. Her shiny azure eyes look back at her. She’s dressed in a long white hospital gown that drags along the floor and her long honey coloured hair is tied back into a messy high bun. Her fringe has been brushed off to the side showing off her pale forehead.
The bright light lights up her dotted face where a couple of freckles lie on her cheeks. She had been told earlier that she is an average height, but she still considers herself quite short!
She turns sideways and sees that she is very slender, tiptoes out and back to her room. * * * Aria strolls down towards the deserted beach. She fiddles inside her pockets till she finds what she’s looking for. She lifts the book gently from her patched leather pockets. And eyes it carefully, The book has a brown leather cover with a deep brown ribbon tightened into a bow wrapped around the middle to hold it shut. The book has something about it that’s tugging at the back of her mind. She tugs the neat bow gently and opens up the rough cover of the journal. She reads the front page. It says: ‘Aria Lombardi’s journal please ask before reading’ She slowly turns the page as her mind suddenly fills with begging questions. Slowly lowering herself to the dusty piece of driftwood, she begins to read the remains of the journal, It says: 24.6.1941 Dear diary, Hi. i’m Aria. I’m 18 and I was born on May the 23. I live in Rome with my two sisters, Bianca-6 and Aurora-11. I have a dog named Bella,but I call her Mimmo! My mother is working on a dairy farm fulltime because my father is at war and is at the moment still camping out in Egitto. My two sorelle are at school. I work as a chef at the restaurant La villetta dal on Tuesday-Saturday. Sorry my sorelle need picking up! Until then arrivederci! (Bye for now!) “What’s that you’re reading?” Caitlin questions bounding over. “Oh, um nothing, ”she says as reality rushes back. Aria quickly tucks the journal into her blue patterned shoulder bag. Caitlin apologises for being late and she sits down next to Melanie on the driftwood. “So can you remember anything at all about your life before you were found here?” “No,” she replies with a smirk.
The two look out over the shimmering waves as they dance with the sand and playfully slosh it around.
They both look at each other knowing what they are thinking and sprint towards the rushing waves. Caitlin balls up a pile of wet sand and aims at Aria’s back. She tosses it and hits her target perfectly. “Oh, it’s on!” says in such a manner that it makes her sound like a secret agent. Splat! “Hey, that wasn’t fair!” Caitlin whines. Melanie laughs. Caitlin looks like she has a sand beard, mustache and hat! Aria is literally wetting her pants with laughter and Caitlin is trying not to start giggling but can’t help herself. By the time they’re all dried up it is nearly nine-thirty. Aria wants to stay longer and continue reading “her” journal. So she says goodbye to Caitlin, and sits down, continues reading.
27.6.1941 Dear diary, Sorry that I didn’t write in you yesterday! I was busy working. My little Mimo is snuggled up at my feet at the moment because I’m still in bed. I forgot to tell you that my parents names are Antonio (my father) and Maria (my mother). My mother is just outside doing up the wonderful garden. Oh that garden is magnifico, we have a little vegie garden where we grow carrots, fava beans, and lettuce.I sometimes take these into La villetta da. We also have a couple of crimson red, thorny rose plants that we planted for mamma because they are her favourite plants; she thinks they are very beautiful. In the center of our garden, we have a little pond which I clean out everyday so it sparkles as bright as the sun. We have little goldfish that swim around in it too. We also have deep green lily- pads and dainty little magenta and yellow water lilies. Anyway i’m at Università (university) and I might be going to USA so I can study there instead but they’re still not sure whether to send me or me my amico, Rosa. That’s why i’ve been writing in english so in case in go I know how to speak and write in Inglese, but I still don’t know some of the words! She also really wants to go but I still hope they pick me. Sorry I must go now my sorelle need picking up now,
addio amico! “Wow! I never thought that I could learn that much in reading only two entries.” Aria mutters to herself. She swings her legs and icy water flies to her face. Her eyes settle on the very high tide that threatens to suck the whole beach up under the log; so she stands up and strolls back to the motel she had booked. She goes to the reception and the lady hands her a little silver key with a white laminated tag that says: Key for Room 24 If you have found this key and it doesn’t belong to you Please call:059 876 3348 Thank you She heads to room and unlocks the door. Inside there is a small, but big enough kitchen, a lounge with two sofas up against the white walls there is also a little round oak table with four wooden chairs. She carried on through to the bedroom and there was a double bed with two teal coloured pillows and a teal and white dotted duvet. She tucked down into the comfy bed and pulled out the journal, flipped to the page that she was on and started to read. 29.6.1941 Dear diary, Caio! I can’t believe that it’s been decided! I’m ..going ..overseas to the USA! I know It’s fantastico. I’m super excited, they said that I’ll be heading over in November. Which is not too far away. They said that rosa can come too which means we both get to go together. We have been notified that we are going on a ferry called Delphina. My mother is really worried because without my papà and me to help she won’t be able to do as much to earn money for my famiglia, so starting from tomorrow I will have to teach Aurora and Bianca how to do some of the jobs like feed the goldfish and bella, how to cook and look after the garden. I even promised them each a present from USA if they help mamma out. Adios!
Aria wanted to read on but her eyelids won’t open so she puts the book down and drifts off to sleep. They sun’s rays are blinding as they seep through the open blinds. Aria wakes up still tired from staying up so late the night before, but she has never been in such a comfy bed. She looks to her bedside table where the open journal lies. The wind flicks the pages till the leather book is closed. She wonders where her family is now and if they are wondering where she is. But those are questions that she can’t answer at this point of time. Then she wonders if she should tell Caitlin about the journal but decides not to; not yet, anyway. “Speaking of Caitlin, didn’t she want me to go over to hers this morning?” Aria says aloud. She packs up all of her things and heads over. She gets to Caitlin’s house and rings the doorbell. The chime of the bell rings through the house and Caitlin’s mother answers. “Hello, Aria,” she says in a gentle voice. “Are you here to see Caitlin?” Aria could see,in the corner of her eye, Caitlin mimicking her mother. Aria tries not to giggle as Caitlin makes hilarious faces. “Are you alright dear?” Mrs smith says, confused. “Umm, yes, I am doing alright thank you,” Aria answers in the most serious way she could at this point. “Ohh, hello Arrrrrrrria.” she says in the most posh voice she can conjure up, rolling the R. “Ohh and hello to you, Caitlin,” I reply. Caitlin suggests going for a peaceful walk around the park which isn’t too far away and she says that she has even packed a picnic for lunch. “Be careful you two!” her mother shouts as they left the house. “We will mum, don’t worry about us!” Caitlin yells back. Arriving at the park, Aria sets up the picnic as Caitlin leaves for the bathroom. Propping herself up on a tree, she pulls her journal out of her new patterned backpack and continues reading. 1.7.1941 Dear diary, We got a letter from papà today and it says: Dear famiglia, Oh I miss you so much! I wish that I hid and never came it is awful.
All the deaths and injuries. I’m hiding out in a trincea at the moment hiding from all of the horror. Luckily I haven’t had any bad injuries yet which is really helpful for fighting, but it means that they send me out on the field more often. The only thing that we get to eat is dried beef, canned fruit, eggs and milk. That’s all we’re allowed at the moment. Sorry I must leave now I have to go out on the field. I love you guys see you soon xxoo. His letter isn’t too long but at least he sent one and I hope he’s ok! Anyway I gotta go see ya. Aria and Catlin dig into the delicious picnic. There’s sandwiches with ham, cheese and lettuce with white bread and they’re about the size of half your hand and they’re cut into cute little triangles and there’s freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and they’re still warm. They also have cut up fruit including: pineapple, watermelon, apples and strawberries. “Mmm vis picnic is delicious, fanks!” Aria says, her mouth full of three mini sandwiches. “Well I better get going my mother will be expecting me!” Caitlin says brushing off all the cookie crumbs. “Thanks so much for the picnic, I’ll see you later.” Aria pulls out the book and once again continues reading. 3.7.1941 Dear diary, Today I’ve been asked to go to my sorelle’s school and teach them how to make pasta and sauce to go with it. Apparently Bianca told them that I work at a restaurant and that she can teach them. So I went in and Bianca’s whole class was in there. There was about twenty of them all together. First I had to show them and tell them about all of the utensili that the recipe required. Then we got out all of the ingredients that they needed we made it and it turned out pretty good and I was quite sorpreso! I had quite a lot of fun playing with all of the children at their break time. Adios! Aria puts the book away as it starts to rain. She then starts to head back to the motel. She hangs her bright raincoat upon the black,rounded door handle she slips off her soggy shoes and places them by the warm heater to dry. Hopping into her cozy pyjamas, she dumps her journal onto the desk and snuggles into the heated bed.
The next morning is still dull from the storm when Aria wakes up feeling much fresher! She looks around the room trying to remember where she put her journal and feels a chilly breeze. “Huh that’s funny. I don’t think I left the window open?” Then she realizes something's out of place. “Hey where’s my journal!” She screeches. (to be continued)
Beyond T he Mirror Hana K ells
Focus. That was all he had to do. Focus on getting home. Then he could take off his meticulously woven mask, allowing himself to finally break down. Stand tall and smile, act natural. Act normal. But the smile was quickly replaced by a tight line, as her face flashed through his mind. Just one more street, then he could crumble. When he moved here, he built a wall around himself, never revealing how he truly felt to other people. Hiding behind lies, deceptions; his very own magic trick. He could almost feel her pride at the echoes of her manipulations, and that alone was reason to stop. But he was addicted, every untrue word giving him a thrill. Now, looking into his mirror, he could almost see the wall falling. See the cries of sadness creeping back into his eyes, feel the scream threatening to come out of his mouth, strangled on the tip of his lips. Pushing her out of his mind was hard, but it had been worth it. He could now almost pretend she had never existed, never meant anything to him. It was easier that way. But, the girl in the crowd, it had to be her. Through every difference, it was the same girl. Her skin was pale now, all hints of olive gone; the blush that had crept up her cheekbones, disappeared. The change in hair colour didn’t help either; her sun kissed locks of blonde had been replaced by fine, ebony hair. She wasn’t beautiful anymore, at least not in the way she had been. But she was striking,
that could never be taken away from her. It was her eyes. The cold blue seemed brighter, especially in contrast to her new look, but they were the same: conflicted, closed off and flickering. Flickering as they used to, as she deciphered the clockwork underneath. Seeing everything. That hadn’t changed. Her outward beauty isn’t all of her intrigue; she is intelligent, a scientist experimenting on the chemistry of emotions. She knows how to play the game of others’ lives, and how to always win. Toying with the people closest with her until they are unrecognisable, nothing. But her intelligence came down to her words, the way she spoke; slowly and clearly in an almost hypnotising way, her blue eyes focused directly on yours, hypnotising you. Lying. The way she made the lies sound so true, no, the way she made you want them to be true. She had mastered the art, in a sadisticly beautiful way. Lying is her oxygen, and everybody needs to breathe. But beyond all this, I’m terrified. Because even if I will never be strong enough to admit it to myself, I know that she and I are the same. Perfect for each other, because as she thrives on manipulation, I thrive on her. Toxic. And even through her darkness, her monsters are far worse than my own; they are a part of me, and every time I catch a glimpse of my reflection; they are what I see.
Captive Hughan Scott The cold seeped through the ground, chilling me to my core. It felt as if the walls were closing in, further encapsulating me in the tiny cell. A lone security camera lurked in the top corner. It watched me, taunting me. “Dismantle and smash me!” it seemed to say. “No more watching eyes, you’ll be truly alone in here. Isn’t that what you want?” I did my best to resist the urge to do just that. Lying there, the seconds seemed to drag out into forever. Eventually a part of the wall slid open to reveal two gruff looking guards standing outside. It was time to begin my first day in prison. Bright lights blinded me as I stepped out into the plain steel hallway. My footsteps felt heavier; the gravity here must be stronger than that of my homeworld. My thief's instincts told me to look around for possible escape routes or hiding spots but there wasn’t much to examine. It was just a long grey hallway with electronic panels on the wall every few metres, each one informing who lived inside along with a live feed of the interior. I looked back at mine. It read: Stoct, Alovii Sero Prisoner number 2245678190 Gender: Female Age: 18 “Come on, get moving!” The guard's voice derailed my train of thought and I started walking towards the end of the hall, the guards following behind forcing me to keep moving. I saw more guards go to each panel and type in a code; the wall would open up next to the panel and an inmate would come out and start heading down to the end of the corridor. I soon realised I was the only
one with multiple guards, so I guess they got a lot of people trying to break out on their first day. After what felt like forever, I reached the end of the hall and turned into a cavernous room. The Cafeteria. I grabbed some of the day’s special breakfast meal, some kind of mushy paste thing and a glass of water. I sat down at the first empty table and ate in silence. For the first time, I thought properly about the situation I was in. I didn’t deserve to be here! Sure, I’d done some bad things in my life, but not enough to be put in here! Nopsir Prime is only supposed to be for serious crimes; the perfect prison, to keep the worst of the worst away from the rest of society. The prison planet. An entire planet stripped of all valuable resources; once a bountiful jungle paradise, but now a desolate wasteland. Even if you escaped, there was nowhere to go. You’d most likely die of thirst before the guards caught you. It was in those moments, I made my decision. I would escape. I was not going to spend the rest of my life rotting away in here! Time to formulate a plan. A bell rang just as I finished my ‘meal’. Everyone else got up and started heading towards two heavy looking doors with a screen above, reading Gym 298. My mind started thinking at a supersonic speed; it was time to start setting the first part of my plan into motion. First: to find inmates most useful in an escape scenario and ‘befriend’. During the exercise session I hung back, watching all the inmates. Well, not all of them. Nopsir Prime held thousands of criminals from all over the colonies. There were only about sixty people here. I just had to make do with what I’d got. As the hour wore on, I shifted around the back of the room; lifting some weights here, running on a treadmill there and always keeping an eye out for those of the inmates who could lift the most, run the fastest or those who were cunning enough to make it look like they were putting in just as much work as those much bigger than them. Everyone stayed clear of me too, sizing up the new kid on the block. A short time later, the doors opened up and a couple of guards came in to help shepherd the inmates to the day’s next activities. For me, that was to be heading back to my cell as I hadn’t been placed into courses or work duties yet. That was to start next week. I was fine with that though as it gave me more time to form some sort of plan. Tomorrow at breakfast I would approach the members of the list I had formed. As I was shepherded back towards my cell by a gruff old guard, I questioned him about possibly getting a way to write.
He just laughed and said, “Everyone always asks for something like that during their first free time. Always trying to plot an escape.” I would just have to “borrow” something from an unsuspecting and underpaid employee. As we walked, I did my best to note down every detail of the area, the labels on every door, the weakest section of each wall panel and how many guards were positioned at key access points to the rest of the world. Before I knew it, I was back at my cell; the guard shoved me inside and the door snapped to a close. Left with nothing to keep me company except the ever watching centurion in the top right corner. I lay on the rickety bed and started to brainstorm how I could get out of here. I would need extensive information about the guards’ shifts and the layout of the planet. I wouldn’t be able to find that out in a short amount of time. I guessed then another factor to consider when choosing accomplices was how much knowledge on the prison they have. However, the biggest challenge was going to be getting off the planet. The main docking bay for ships from other worlds was sure to be one of the most heavily guarded sections of the facility; I was going to need some unorthodox methods to get there. Going through vents? But they would be too small… It wouldn’t work. What would? My mind ran in circles like a dog chasing its tail for ages. Maybe this? No, that wouldn’t work. Maybe that? No, the events required leaned on insane chance too much. My sense of hope and perseverance was fading. Maybe there truly was no way to escape. Maybe I would be here for the rest of my life. But the girl who grew up alone in the city streets said otherwise. I had gotten out of tighter spots than this! All I needed was my wits, my charm and some well aimed crotch shots. I redoubled my efforts and a plan started to form. Bit by bit, edging closer to a reasonably well formed plan, I just needed some assistance from a couple of inmates I had taken notice of and a bit more time to map out the general area of ‘my sector’. Unfortunately, I had no idea where the closest docking bay was as I had been drugged asleep on the trip here. Then the doors slid open and a guard entered. “You are to be tested for your prison job placement. Follow me,” I slid off my bed begrudgingly, to be escorted to the testing facilities. I remembered a story I had been told by one of the teachers at the orphanage shortly before I ran away. Apparently, back when humans lived on Earth, they had had tests similar to this one, and the man who invented it got sent to a prison. Having invented the test and knowing all the possible outcomes, he
cheated the test so his captors thought he was an easygoing person who wouldn’t cause any trouble. He was then placed in an minimum security prison and given a gardening job. A few months later, he escaped. The story continues that the penitentiary system, having learned from the mistakes of the past, had made the test uncheatable. What did that mean? I had no idea. When we arrived at the testing facilities, I was shocked by what I saw. It was just a table and a chair with a pen and paper on it. How was this their foolproof mechanism against cheating? Then it struck me. Since nobody bothered to actually write anymore, everybody’s handwriting was completely illegible, giving the job selectors the freedom to put you into whichever job they wanted. All this was, was the illusion that you had any sort of influence on the outcome of your test. It had been years since I had written at all, no matter whether on digital medium or paper. I sat down in the cold hard metal chair and gulped. There was going to be a lot of spelling errors in here. The seconds, minutes and eventually hours faded away as I dealt with the greatest enemy I had ever faced. Grammar. I had to get everything perfect. The testers would invalidate my test at the slightest mistake, or quite likely invalidate my life. I took a short break to rest my wrist, gritted my teeth and continued to fake answers. Doing my best to remember to dot every last “i”. Then the ordeal was finally over. I returned to my cell silently and flopped onto the mattress. I was asleep before I landed. I woke. Eyes still half closed, I reached over to the bedside table and fumbled around in order to turn off the alarm clock. Wait a second, I don’t have an alarm clock. Still unsure whether I was in a dream or not, I opened my eyes a crack and surveyed my surroundings. Ah, my home sweet home. The cell. After that, the days started to blend together, into a monotony of getting up, eating breakfast and familiarising myself with some other inmates, listening to their stories and slowly nudging them towards a point of view most useful for an escape situation. Then heading into gym, and then heading to my daily work, painting. I can’t wait to get out of here. A few weeks after I had arrived, the plan was ready to be set in motion. From what I had managed to figure out, the closest docking bay was down past my hall on the 25th right, then on the third left turn past the entrance to the lower security sections of the prison, then after that head up the staircase five floors and take the first five left hand turns before heading back downstairs and taking the fifty fifth left. Easy peasy.
It was nearing the end of gym time when the first stage of the plan was ready to begin. When the guards arrived, a couple of my accomplices snuck up behind them and hit them over the head with a couple of the heavier dumbbells. In the ensuing confusion, around a dozen others and I broke away from the rest of the crowd and started to run towards the docking bay. So far, so good. Then the alarms went off. We slowed to a brisk pace, on edge for any guards on patrol. The whirr of the alarms filled my head, making it hard to think. Just as we were about to make it out of the cafeteria area, a guard skidded into the room. After seeing us, he turned around and yelled at someone out of sight, pointing in our direction. We were already out of the room, running as fast as we could. The chase was on. As I looked back, I noticed that a couple members of the group weren’t there. Not able to keep up with the pace. We swerved around a corner, my heart racing as sweat trickled down my face. “Not much farther!” I jubilantly grinned at Naguhh, one of the other prisoners with me. “Nearly th-.” I had just enough time to yelp in surprise as I ran into a guard. My brain snapped into autopilot as I quickly reeled and sent some good old fisticuffs to his face. He hadn’t reacted as fast. One more quick kick and he was down. I took a quick peek over my shoulder and saw that the guards behind us were only about 50 metres back down the hall. I swore quietly and kept running to catch up with everyone else. It was in sight. The hangar was dead ahead. We were actually going to make it! The ship we were planning to hijack was dead ahead, right where my informants said it would be. All the planning was about to come to fruition! The others had already arrived and Jebny was making good progress on figuring out how to unlock it. All the rest of us needed to do was hold off the incoming guards for a few minutes. Then we would be home free. If everything else had gone to plan there shouldn’t be too many of them. Most of the guards should be busy with the rest of the inmates. A few seconds later, the guards arrived. About eight in total; we could deal with them. Without bothering with niceties, they pulled out their stun batons and advanced. The next few minutes were a whirlwind of confusion. I ducked and dived around stun batons, sending the occasional punch or kick towards one of the guards whenever I had the chance. I could feel adrenaline surging throughout my body as one, or maybe two of the guards fell to the ground. A couple of my guys got hit by a taser and I forced myself to drive all other thoughts from my mind, to just focus on the fighting.
A loud mechanical whirr sounded as the ramp to the ship opened; Jebny had done it! As more guards had started to arrive, a few of the group chose to stay behind and guard the ship, an impromptu decision by some of the older members of the group. Alemly and Onillcs, a couple of ex-pilots, hopped into the driver’s seats and began to jumpstart the ship. I ran onto the main bridge as a low engine growl began and the cargo ship picked itself off the hangar floor. Standing behind the two pilots, I could see the large hangar doors begin to close in front of us. “Faster!” I yelled at Alemly. She just grunted back at me, pulled more levers and pushed more buttons that meant nothing to me. As we pulled closer to the ever-closing hangar doors, I could see that we weren’t going to make it. Not after all this! Then Onillcs pulled something and I fell onto the deck. I realised what had happened. We had done a ninety degree barrel roll! The doors scraped ever closer to us as we flew through them. Wait a second, we were through the doors. Then another sudden movement and we were the right way up again. We had made it! Alemly pushed the engine into overdrive in order to escape the atmosphere and I stumbled into a chair and buckled myself in before falling unconscious. I’d never been one for space travel.
Harmony Sierra O’Donnell
The water pulled at me. The waves enchanted me. The swells sustained me. The ocean grasped at my very being. I wanted it, needed it, but I couldn't let it take me... It was evil and I would be too if I stayed any longer... I lay in my bed, wondering silently at the world, staring at the ceiling like it had a secret. My life was a ferris wheel of mystery, each turn leading to a new miscellaneous question. I melted into a restless sleep, tossing and turning until I heard a faint splash coming from the shore . I crept out my bedroom window into the whispering darkness. The cold closed in around me and a shiver crept up my spine. “Maybe I shouldn't be out here.” I thought to myself, but I pushed it away. I had to find out what the sound was, maybe it was him.
I snuck around the front of the house. A large tree loomed over the ocean. I slunk around it and crouched down where the roots fanned out in a lacy design around the base. Then I saw him. He came every night. The boy. Part 2 Innocent as ever. He stood by the water. Skipping stones across the surface. He would search the shore around him for a worthy rock, then clasp it tightly in his hand, flick his wrist and watch it spin out across the water leaving a trail of discarded moonlight on the water. I moved closer, mesmerised. He must have heard me because he turned. I scrambled up the tree, trying to make sure he didn't see me. He continued looking until he seemed satisfied that what he had heard was just his imagination. I perched on the highest branch dangling over the sea and I just watched him. He was just so interesting. He was just him, nothing else. All my life I have longed for that, yet I had shied away from others, from myself. I had never really lived. This so-called life was worse than not living at all. Maybe the water called me for a reason, maybe it wanted me. Maybe the ocean screamed at me because I was special. All signs of fear eluded me and I dove in the water...
Deathtrap
Zoe Allen
Pain pulses from my neck where the needle has pierced me. I’ve never experienced such exhaustion; my eyes are almost plastered shut. Dylan coughs, raspy and croak-like. It consumes all my control to keep myself from screaming. The tires screech, erupting in dust as we turn into a rustic, defeated town. Deserted. Lifeless. Through the slits of my eyelids, I catch sight of a towering concrete building. We pull up, and the lock of the car doors blink in agreement. My abductor steps out, triggering a flashing alert in my brain. I turn my head to soak in my situation. Fear, a churning constant drag in the pit of my stomach. The weight of my body pins me down like plates of titanium. I’m unable to move. I can’t twitch, voice a whisper. A few minutes trickle pass, I’m frozen alone in fear. I hear the door lock unclick. The desert ground is a prickling burn as it fries my Australian summer skin. Drums pound, thump, smash in my brain. Dylan’s voice gives a laugh; soft, quiet, but a vile aftertaste still lingers. Desperate, in immediate danger, I attempt to stand, but fear keeps me paralyzed, frozen to the ground sizzling my flesh red. He knows I’m awake, conscious. He knows I’m unable to move; he knows why. “I drugged your father. Don’t question why, don’t question what with. It’s not my fault he drunk it.”
Stunned. I can’t believe it. That Coke was drugged. “Once he wakes up on that road, he will have forgotten that you are his daughter, lost for clues on how he got there, he will not know his name and his place in the world. Works a treat to put him into that sleep. But you, don’t worry about him, it won’t matter for you too much longer.” What did he mean? Horror crashes down on me, knocking out my breath as a vicious, icy chill floods my body. Without soaking it in completely, I realise, through the fear and questioning I lie in, I never accepted my fate. I never recognised, didn’t consider or take in, that just maybe, no one would come to save me. A shard of silver blade edges closer to my throat. This is it, my time. Not to fight it, nor wake up from a crippling nightmare. It’s my time to leave this world. Fear. Anger. Shock rocks the inside of my body. Utter awe. Life; it’s slowly draining out of my body. I feel the cold, dark, black blanket of death engulf me. Cold arms plunge me into painless rest. Empty. Alone. My body. It’s silent. Still. Cold, an icy blue. But free.
As If
Stirling Hart Bags packed, all goodbyes said and done. Those first few steps outside would be the first few steps towards a great adventure. My pals and I with our crisp new uniforms. Ready for anything. Birds chirped their content as the bushes swayed in the warm breeze. In my mouth, still the aftertaste of the clichéd home-cooked blueberry pie. ”We’ll be sure to come back victorious, okay? Just you wait.” That was my parting line, alongside a cheery wave. Off across the world was where we were headed, off to fight gloriously for our country. As if.
Bags packed, all goodbyes leaving a yearning to say goodbye again. Those first few steps I took outside may as well have been off a cliff. Me, all alone in my ragged and torn uniform. Ready to give up. The birds were long gone, like any sane man in this insane world. Any few scraggles of dead bush left, indifferent of the cold, cold breeze. In my mouth still the aftertaste of blood, and the distinct heart-wrenching lack of blueberry pie. “We’ll be sure to come back victorious, okay? Just you wait.”
That was my parting line, alongside a cheery wave. Off across the world was where we were headed, off to fight gloriously for our country. As if.
Consequences Kate Laidler Brown glossy curls hung across her shoulders, waving in the wind. Maia’s hollow sunken cheeks paled until they were as white as a sheet of paper. A winsome smile grew on her face as she saw a girl being chased by a boy around the playground. Wrapping her thin arms across her chest and checking her cheap wristwatch, Maia’s startled blue eyes widened in fear. Her grin settled back into an uncomfortable frown. He should be here by now...Maia’s hands were vellicating uncontrollably. She looked up; her eyes met someone else’s. Alarmed, Maia leapt up from her seat on the park bench. “Thomas?” she inquired. The man nodded. Her shoulders tensed. The man pulled out a hand and opened his palm. He jerked his head towards it. “I-I don’t have it.” An angry expression grew on his old weary face. “What do you mean?” His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t been talking in ages. She shook her head. “I knew you weren't trustworthy. I told him. I did. I should get straight to punishment, I should.” Her eyes become a well of water, her blue eyes shining. A horrid smirk played at Thomas’s face. “Oh yes Maia. There's punishment for those who don’t do what they're asked.”
“Speak your name and your business,” the tiny woman's voice spoke. “Thomas Harder. Taking Maia Haldon for punishment.” There was a tense silence. Where Maia held her breath. Please, please don’t let them open the doors… “Go through; Master will meet you there.” Maia felt her life crumbling at the edges. It was over. They would find out soon enough. Regret settled on her shoulders. I should have done what he asked… The metal doors swung open; she felt an unwelcoming hand on her back, pushing her forward. Towards her fate. They walked in. Silence. Turning every so often, always greeted by the same white washed walls. When they finally got to their destination, Maia had nearly passed out with terror. On the other hand, Thomas seemed to be filled with apprehensive excitement. This disgusted her. He knocked. “Enter.” As Maia stumbled in, she had half a heart to bolt out of there. But she knew it would be pointless. They had extremely high security at Headquarters. Fear engulfed her as she saw a large silhouette of the man she expected to be the so-called ‘Master’. She hadn’t even seen the man but already, by his shadow, he looked intimidating. Great. Fat chance I’m getting out of here. Cursing, Maia gingerly walked towards the seat in front of the desk. The man swirled on his seat, finally giving her a chance to look at him. Maia took a double take. Nearly falling off her chair in laughter, she passed off a snort with a cough. “You seem to be finding something funny, Miss Haldon? Care to share it with us?” She sat in silence.
“Perhaps not.” He shifted in his seat to get a better view of her. “Well. So I guess we shall get straight into this... mishap.” She could almost feel Thomas’s smirk reappear behind her and she fought herself not to slap him. “So, you were given the chance, a chance that no other agent would kill for. And you, who would have been able to get the file in less than 24 hours, with barely a flick of your wrist may I add, failed to complete this task. Am I right?” Maia nodded. Her mouth dried. “What circumstances got in your way, Miss Haldon?” She opened her mouth to speak but not before Thomas butted in. “None, Master. She did it at her own accord.” A twinkle appeared in his eyes, as if he was relishing in her fear. “Is this correct, Miss Haldon?” She nodded. “And why may I ask?” His harsh stare threw knives at her. “It was wrong.” Maia said. Her voice was constricted; she was worried that if she was asked one more question she would have a mental breakdown. Maia gritted her teeth, trying to distract herself from her whirling thoughts. It was wrong. It was wrong. I did the right thing. She soothed herself. “Wrong? What is wrong about trying to protect the world from the chaos that file would make?” the Master said, in a skin-prickling, calm voice. The retort slipped off her lips before she could even comprehend what she was going to say. “What? Protecting people from the truth? The chaos wouldn’t even get close to what will start if the civilians of the world find out that you, you who is meant to be protecting them, hid something as big as this. Something that will change the world as we know it. Destroyed or not. They chose you as president, counting on you, who would tell them if they would be in any immediate danger! ” Maia seethed.
The short man went as red as you possibly could without passing out. Maia gulped. Already regretting her choice of words. Oh no. I’m dead now…
She recoiled as the man stood up and tried to make himself taller and as intimidating as he possibly could. Even then, he was still half the size of her. She chuckled silently to herself but stopped abruptly when the Master’s moustache started to twitch with such anger. “I will NOT be spoken to in such a manner!” He grinded his teeth relentlessly. The cool, icy eyes that had pierced Maia’s soul now set ablaze with fury, as if someone had tried to set a lake on fire. “Take her to the tank,” his voice quivered. “Yes. Thank you, Master.” Thomas smiled in satisfaction. Maia’s body went rigid. Her face went blank. She fell off her chair. Fear swallowing her whole. She was falling head first into an endless black pit of fear. Her knees hit the cold floor. Protests fell from her mouth. Pointless. The Master's face spoke no pity. She felt the tears and sobs escape her. The emotion was unbearable. Worse than in the movies. Much worse. Sadness poured out of her. Thomas’s hand was tugging her by the elbow. The Master walked out the door and headed down the corridor. Maia felt herself being dragged out of the small office. The well of despair deepened as she was tugged towards the room that held the tank. Everything moved in slow motion, as if the world was trying to make her stay on Earth longer. Grief surrounded her. As the people around her discussed the protocol, she focused on the best times of her childhood. Everything had been perfect. Until she was sixteen. When Headquarters came for her. But that was a whole other story. Maia wished that she could turn back time. Change that one sentence she had said.
She shifted her gaze to the Master, who was still glowering at her. Sighing, she moved towards a chair. Sat down, and tried to bury herself in her thoughts.
A quiet voice brought Maia out of her thoughts. “Maia, come on it’s time.” She swallowed and heaved herself off the seat. Reluctantly, she followed the girl up the staircase, that sat beside the tank. Maia didn’t even notice when they reached the top of the tank. Too preoccupied by her own grim thoughts. “Melissa, push her into the tank.” The Master’s voice held no mercy. Maia held her gaze on the girl she supposed was Melissa. Melissa shuffled towards her. Her face showed guilt. She gingerly put her hand on her back. Melissa whispered so only she could hear. “I’m-I’m sorry.I wish it was different for you.” Maia nodded appreciatively. It felt good to have someone on her side. “Three.” Maia gulped. “Two.” Maia carefully shuffled towards the opening of the tank. “One.” She felt the hand push her roughly into the opening and she fell. Down. Down. Down. Her brown saturated curls drifted across the water, bobbing in the current. Her hollow sunken cheeks filled with liquid. Her swollen puffy eyes fluttered and closed for the final time. Water closed in around her, death's welcoming arms enveloping her.
Maia Haldon was gone.
Joanne Pia Sutherland Nikolas’ first post, 17 November, 2009 The familiar aroma of lilies infiltrates my nostrils. I gnaw at the end of the pen I found in my coat pocket, unfazed. Joanne’s dead. I should be bawling my eyes out alongside her mob of relatives. But I’m not. I can’t feel anything. Nobody knew why she even associated herself with me, myself included. I smoked, for starters. Caffeine was my life source, a beverage that had replaced happiness years prior to our dating. I quit my job for her. Because she was worried, not that it mattered. She couldn’t help it, and I couldn’t help loving her. I’m unemployed. Have been for months. I’d trained for almost all my life for one exact career, only to throw it away in a heartbeat. It wasn’t too bad in the first months. Joanne convinced her employer to hire me. They were skeptical, yeah. The man with the motocross scars and eagle tattoos... a calm, accepting receptionist? Ha. I was fired within the first week. It didn’t matter. I still had Joanne. I still had money. Tick. Her body lies underneath a clock, resting. Her face is still, the expression unlike anything I’d seen on it before. She doesn’t look happy. Or sad. Or even worried. Joanne was practically an angel, yet her life was discarded by a car in seconds. She lies silent in her custom-built coffin, awaiting burial.
Everything she’d accomplished in life had been erased. The work she’d done leading up to her Masters was worth about the same as a puff of air. The exams she had studied hours for didn’t matter anymore. Her relatives would return to their lives within a week. The doors swing shut behind me; nobody bats an eyelid. Drafted 28 June, 2010 It’s been months since the funeral. No job applications. No gym visits. No emotions. The money’s almost gone. I took it worse than I’d expected. It wasn’t supposed to be hard. Joanne would be gone and I would accept it. The mourning period wasn’t meant to be longer than a month. Posted 5 July, 2011 Helen’s coffee sloshes into two of the antique teacups she’d bought years ago. She’s somewhat a mother to me, and everyone says she looked the part. Her hair was an artificial chestnut and streaked with grey. She had eyes so brown that her pupils were camouflaged; and the same nose, same skin tone. Everybody that saw us together naturally assumed that she was either my mother or aunt, sometimes even sibling. We were close enough. She’d offered to give me a place to stay after I couldn’t pay my old apartment’s rent. She only knew me through Joanne, and I’d only seen her at the funeral, but she still volunteered to care for someone she knew virtually nothing about. The housing was originally temporary. Helen knew I had nowhere to go, no-one to go to. She often spoke of her son. I’d seen the photographs of him. He was Joanne’s cousin. They were close, according to her - until he passed away just weeks prior to her death, leaving her aunt, Helen, broken. The creases that lined her aged face were like a naturally occurring mask. You could never see Helen’s true feelings. It was like she was participating in a game of Cheat constantly, never breaking her default lopsided grin. She finishes pouring, lifting her cup to mine. They clink together, and a drop of the scalding liquid makes contact with my skin. I wince and sip, ignoring the wave of heat rushing down my throat, burning the flesh that only recently
recovered from the curry Helen had ordered earlier. Takeaways were practically all Helen ever ate since I’d arrived. Honestly, I’m not even sure she’d cooked anything more difficult than instant ramen or store-bought pancake mix in her life. She stares down at her drink and reaches for the bowl of sugar cubes. Helen submerges three in the prehistoric teacup, leaving them to dissolve into the bitter liquid. It wasn’t surprising, really, that Joanne barely mentioned her aunt. Who does? There isn’t much to tell to your significant other about your family other than who exists and who to avoid during a family-related gathering, both times of which she’d mentioned her aunt, who refused to attend them anyway. Joanne didn’t give a reason. She was like that. You could beg for answers, scream in her ear. She didn’t care. When she grew tired of answering questions, she would stop. And, after a while, I would, too. She always knew who was going to do what and who wasn’t, who was going to smash her phone screen and who wouldn’t dare touch anything she owned. Even when she was wrong and a friendship was broken, she accepted it. Because, of course, what would life be without forgiveness? Posted 12 October, 2011 They found my brother dead in an alley on the third of October. His name was Isaac. He was twenty two. An artist. I hadn’t talked to him since I left our mother’s house when he was thirteen. He was the gifted child, the favourite. We both knew our mother loved him more. His death didn’t seem right. Nothing has seemed right. Ever. A few years ago, before I met Joanne, I was a motorcyclist risking my life every day. Isaac was about to graduate from college. He shouldn’t have died. Death is a strange, unwelcome thing; those that need it most never receive it, and those that have so much to live for, die so quickly. My taxi comes to an abrupt stop ten metres from Helen’s house. Money transfers from hand to hand without words. None are needed. I don’t care that I gave the wrong amount. I don’t care that the trip cost me almost everything inside my wallet. Inside, the smell of meat is everywhere. Fumes waft from the kitchen, followed by a cloud of smoke. Helen’s cooking. Cooking.
Tears fill my eyes. It’s hard to see anything past the wall of grey that descends towards me. I’m on my hands and knees, crawling towards the telephone. My hand wraps around the brick-like electronic and my wrist lowers itself towards the ground. How did I miss the fire? How did Helen manage to do this by cooking? The phone’s dial tone is inaudible through the roar of the flames. Helen screams from the kitchen, muffling the telephone’s mumbling. Everything’s hot. Scalding. The telephone’s plastic houses an incredible heat, a temperature hotter than anything I’d touched, anywhere I’d been. I pull my shirt up to my mouth and collapse. The buzz that the phone emits is almost therapeutic. Maybe it’s the routine. Maybe I’ve been craving normality. Smoke is everywhere, accompanied by the distant wail of sirens. A figure appears at the door, frowning. The doorknob twists shut, followed by the click of the lock. Helen’s screams fade, replaced with a low moan. Heat is all I know. Nothing enters my mind but fire. The last thing I see before I let the smoke take me is the empty space where a photograph of Joanne’s cousin used to be. Nikolas’ last post, 17 October, 2011 The hospital smells like disinfectant and paint. I’m in a room that almost completely lacks colour, except for the anatomy poster taped next to me, which is slowly peeling from the wall. The bedsheets that envelope me are a stark, unblemished white so close to glowing that it makes me uncomfortable. It’s not an environment that I’m accustomed to, or that I’ll ever become accustomed to - it’s a void of white. Static. My only memories from last night are in flashbacks. Flames. Sirens. The lock turning. Helen’s screams from the kitchen. It feels like the fire was a dream, but there are tubes sticking out of my arm to remind me otherwise. I’ve wished, almost millions of times in the past few minutes, that it was; that perhaps everything was something that I’d hallucinated in some alcohol-fueled emotional trauma. But it wasn’t. Nothing was. Everything was so impossible that I’d had no time to overcome it.
Life doesn’t work like this. People don’t die as quickly as Joanne and Isaac. Unfortunate events like the fire, or any deaths, rarely happen in such a small amount of time. The events were so similar. Helen’s son died in a car accident. Joanne, too. With Isaac, however, I was unsure; I hadn’t been informed about the cause. It could be anything. The alley was wide enough for a car. It wasn’t far from where Helen and I lived; I passed it everyday on my way to work.
I’m so unsure about everything. The fire, for starters. Helen would’ve been in the kitchen monitoring the dish. Even at eight years old, when I first tried cooking unsupervised, I was fine. No flames. No smoke. I don’t even have proof that the screams I’d automatically linked to Helen weren’t mine. There’s a question I’d always thought about Helen. Was our meeting coincidental?
Blood Olivia Inglis
The sun-god retracted his tendrils as he travelled to the next land to tell his stories. Many dusk breezes swept across the sandy hills, constantly shifting and reworking themselves, like a golden ocean. Not alive with fish, but magical creatures that spawn from the dust of their forefathers. The cloak of night was flung across the sky. Lion roared to the horizon, Falcon and Owl scabbled as the stars shone, and the moon glowed like cave-roof worms. Leopard’s cubs shook off the rain that had landed on their pelts. With love like a warrior, she picked up the younger cub by the scruff, and hurried the two eldest cubs into the cave by the tree roots. She plopped the youngest down and curled around them all. Leopard woke to the sound of buffalos and gazelles. The oasis had brought prey. The cubs were awake and nipping at the tip of Leopard’s tail. Leopard stalked out of the burrow. She fixated her senses on a healthy, plump gazelle. She nodded at her cubs and they all sat, hoping that she would return home again soon. There were two threats to her cubs. One was a desert drakon: long, sand coloured with teeth like carving knives. Minus legs and arms, and a head on each end of his slim body. Luckily, it was on the other side of the oasis. It was being avoided by the prey. The drakon sipped water and lay to rest. The other threat was a leopard of the opposite gender, and much larger than she. She took a final glance at the burrow and at her beloved cubs and left the hollow.
Moments later, she had a gazelle. When she dragged it back, she found a mother's nightmare. Leopard’s youngest had only one ear. There was a flash of a tail and the male leopard fled the hollow, with a wicked grin spread across his blood-stained muzzle. She dropped the lifeless food and ran to the cub. She licked and licked the wound which had stopped bleeding onto the soft dirt of the cave floor. Eventually, Leopard got up, and dragged in the carcass. She ripped off the head and gently placed it in the oasis. It sunk to the bottom. She sensed its spirit flying away to find a new life in a new body. After the sensation of digging her fangs into the new food and healing her cubs hunger, she licked the young one’s ear and dressed it with the blood from her paw. Then she prayed to the cloak throwers. Please. Please help the youngest of the three. Bestow the ear-ripper, that male with pain. Kill him, and I will sacrifice the next kill. She sacrificed her next catch to the gods, a young giraffe, by throwing its head it to the lake bottom. It dissolved. The spirit bowed as Leopard bowed in return and silently thanked the young tall-neck for giving its life for her cub. The gods were listening. The cub’s pain was dimmed by the yowling of his littermates and mother. He silently vowed that he would never take anything for granted. This was what it was like to feel in so much pain; this is what it must be like to be on death's door. So close to death, but not letting go. So he tucked his head into his paws and waited. Seconds passed by as hours, and those hours passed like years. But the male did not die. Nor did the cub’s ear heal. The gods were too greedy. Leopard roared so loud that Lion hushed, and Falcon and Owl stopped fighting. At the oasis, the spirit took control. The male leopard put his head in his paws and begged the spirit to go away. It had been tormenting him for years now and he wanted to be free. He was in exile. It was killing his mind. Writhing in pain, the male leopard begged the spirits to go. Noooooo! This is our body!!! He struggled to his feet. What are you doing, pawn… You cannot run far, little toy!!!
Oh yes I can, he thought. If you died when a spirit was in your body, all the spirits in the world were forced to leave their hosts, and the spirits died. Vanished. Evaporated. Standing up, the male leopard took steps, fighting himself and the spirits. The cliff. The cliff! he thought. Every step was a struggle, and every breath killed him inside. It was a long journey. But only mere metres away.
He could finally see the sheer drop. He struggled to the cliff and hurled himself off. The spirits wailed, but he would be at peace. He hit the water with a sickening THUNK! The spirits were quenched, and his soul floated away. The cub was slowly making his way to the cave exit. The wailing continued. He was going to run away. But Mother spotted him, and that was it for him. The wind started up, and carried the smell of death into the burrow, while carrying the humidity out. But the wind was cold. Cold wind? thought the youngest. Then, there was a sudden chill. None of the leopards noticed but the youngest. He looked up, and the yowling faded to the background. A whisper. A god. Blood will be spilt. This is no game, Kits. This is the desert war. There will be blood on the ground. Your blood.
Framed Shannon He strode down the lengthy hallway, his bloodstained coat dripping red onto the beige carpet. He opened the door to his motel room and walked in, darkening the mood of the room. He glanced at the bed which looked so inviting with its crisp white sheets and feathery cloud-like duvet and pillows. But he knew he couldn’t sleep; they could have followed him here and they’d be waiting for him to fall asleep so they could make their move. He looked at the remote lying in front of the TV and cautiously reached out his hand and picked it up, switching on the TV on as he did. It blared in front of him and he fought to stay awake. Next thing he knew, a familiar face appeared on the screen. He stared at it, longingly. Peering back at him was his twin, his identical twin. “This” says the reporter “is alleged murderer David Carmichael. He is very dangerous and is currently on a killing rampage. Police are still trying to locate him and any relevant information is welcome. Coming up is his twin brother’s plea.” Confused, he continued watching, thoughts swarming inside his head, making him more confused than ever. “How could they possibly say I committed such a crime? That was John’s picture, not mine. What is he doing?” David thought, curiosity building up inside of him.
Eventually John appeared on the screen again. “Please, David,” he begged “just turn yourself in. Don’t wait for them to arrest you, just turn yourself in and lessen the trouble that fleeing will cause you.” “What?” thought David, as the plea continued. “Is he seriously framing me? How is he blaming me for his own crime? Does anyone actually believe this?”
David watched groggily, contemplating what he’d do next. Once the plea had finished John’s photo reappeared on the screen and the reporter reread the previous lines. Abruptly, the motel door opened and in came the cleaning lady, holding fresh towels. She walked in, before coming to a halt between David and the TV. She glanced at the screen, which still showed ‘David’s’ photo. Then she moved her eyes towards David, before continuing to look back and forward between the two. She slowly backed out of the room, her eyes as wide as saucers. “I can’t believe she actually thinks I did it,” David thought, tears springing to his eyes. There was a knock at the door. In came the police, guns raised and handcuffs ready.
----
It was the day. It was now or never. The guards showed him no mercy as they marched him into the room in which he’d meet his fate. David was lead to a icy, metal seat. He sat down as the guards put restraints around him, tightening them more than necessary. David looked through the massive glass wall that stood a couple of yards away and searched the small party of friends and family until his eyes finally settled on his brother’s malevolent ones.
The executioner finally made his way across the room and towards the chair that David was sitting in. In his hand, he held a large syringe with a long, sharp needle at the end.
The executioner raised the needle up to David’s arm. David squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it would be over before he felt any pain. The phone rang. A prison officer rushed down the hall and into the room David was in. “STOP! New DNA results…” But it was too late. The needle had just been injected. The officer’s eyes fell on John and, at that moment, John knew it was all over.
IN THE DARK
Stanley Moore Wandering through the graveyard, it feels like something is watching me. My father’s clean marble gravestone glistens in the moonlight, casting a flickering reflection on the moist ground as the heavy clouds pass low overhead. A new bundle of flowers sits at the foot of his grave. Expensive-looking black and white roses sit beautifully arranged in a box, nestled carefully in a swath of grey tissue paper. A small brown tag catches my eye, and I take a peek. Don’t look behind you… I feel an icy hand on my shoulder and whip around to see a masked man with a heavy trench coat and matching brown fedora. What is he doing here? Is he here for me? Under his dark veil, I can not see any signs of a nose or eyes. What is wrong with him? I am an experiment gone wrong. Where did that come from? His mask didn’t show the slightest ripple of movement, and the hollow, disembodied sound was not heard through my ears. It just … jumped into my mind. It was as though he had not spoken at all. A chill rips through my body. This is getting deep. “How did you do that?!” I exclaim.
This is what happens when a human soul is merged with that of a second-plane being. The voice again. My mind is racing. A second-plane being? What is this gibberish? You can’t be expected to know. By ancient law, second-plane beings cannot be in contact with humans; it has to be like this. But your father was … different. He was born with a gift, a gift that allowed him to see beings on the second-plane. Very few people have this power, and if they do not know what it means, it often drives them to suicide. Holy crap, this is some heavy stuff! My father? This must be what he kept rambling about when he had been out late! This must be quite a shock to you. It usually is. But there’s more. When a bearer of this sacred power dies, the essence of their soul begins to decay. The power must leave the body before it begins to rot, as it has no life force of its own. Apart from very rare occasions, the power will go to their nearest relative, as it does not require as much adaption to their soul, and the power can manifest itself faster. It … it … it wants me now? My father has died, and all of a sudden this strange being wants to take my body, my mind? Yes, now, I will now get what I came for. The coat and hat drop to the ground like whatever unnatural force holding it up had just dematerialised. I feel a popping in my ears, as though there had been a sudden change in air pressure. The voice speaks again, but closer, from someplace deep within me.
I am one with you now. Look around. I do look around. I can see a bat through the bush, a weak pink glow coming out from it. Looking down, I see that it is not just the bat; I am now surrounded by an eerie pink light. But perhaps even stranger still, I can see perfectly, as though it is the middle of the day, not the thick of night. I feel none of the fatigue from lack of sleep I have been bringing upon myself. My legs feel stronger than ever, like I could run a marathon. But that can’t be possible… Yes it can be possible. Now just watch this. My body begins to move of its own accord, my legs leaping headlong into a massive stride. As I fly over the ground ever faster, I change from running to leaping over the graves. No. This isn’t happening. It can’t be. It’s just completely wrong, not physically possible. Exactly. But physics no longer matter. Think about what you can see now. I would’ve thought even someone so common as yourself would be able to figure that out. I have to be dreaming. I just can’t accept this. It can’t be. I cave in to the new reality, my resolve collapsing.
Untitled JJ Elwood I want to feel something. Feeling something is better than feeling nothing. That's what I think. But feeling something can be difficult when you're in hospital. A mental hospital to be specific. Being constantly watched. Your every move seen, recorded and discussed. I want to be out, to be free. As far as I know there's only one way. It's what keeps me going. I've tried many times before. All my efforts achieved was a spot in the suicide ward. They give me 15 minutes of alone time each day, the only time when I can be myself, 15 minutes of freedom. I like to think they think I’m improving. That’s the illusion I try to cast. I try to improve, on the outside at least. But nothing seems to be changing. I want to leave. Get me out of here... 08/01/2014 Monthly Report, Patient 862, Ward 45 Born on 06/21/1998, Male We have put 862 on Fluoxetine, Paroxetine, Citalopram and Escitalopram. More medication may be required in the future. His reluctance to improve and his suicide attempts have placed him back in a suicide ward and is questioning the legitimacy of his apparent improvement. However, his mental stability has improved. We have hired him a psychiatrist and are hoping to give him more freedoms as, or if, his condition improves. Dr. Nymgo Hare The worst part about it are the meds; every twenty minutes they come in and
give me another dose. Four different medicines, 5 doses a day. That’s 20 in total. Daily. I’ve heard that they’re bringing in another doctor, as if six wasn’t enough. Now it’ll be seven to one, that’s definitely needed. My ward is rather bare, In here it’s just me and a doctor or two. For a week or two, there was a kid with Alzheimer's; he passed away a while ago. Unsurprisingly, he was crazy and loud. He was mad long before he came to the ward. All they send in here are the nutjobs, lost causes. They don’t expect us to live, yet they pretend to. They don’t let me kill myself. They don’t let me out. They just load me with drugs and say I’ll be alright. They’ve hired a psychiatrist. He seems friendly when he talks, but he’s still with them. It’s a mask of words and smiles. Beneath that, he’s still hospital staff. He’s just as bad as the rest of them. I won’t give in to the gentle caress of his soft voice. Never. It’s my fault I’m here in the first place; if I want to get out, it’s me who makes that decision. Not that psychiatrist, or the nurse or anyone in this frickin’ hellhole of a hospital. 09/01/2014 Monthly Report, Patient 862, Ward 45 Born 06/21/1998, Male The psychiatrist has seemed to calm down and stabilized 862’s emotions, however he appears to reject ideas and strategies to make him any better. We will keep the psychiatrist in close contact for a few more weeks and then he will most likely leave if no more positive change comes out of his appointments. We are adding Duloxetine to 862’s list of antidepressants and giving him an extra dose of everything each day. It’s a lot of drugs but with the change we’ve been seeing, we’re trying to push him harder to a happier life each and every day. Dr. Nymgo Hare The psychiatrist’s gone. Finally. I’ve had enough of him. They’ve given me more free time, 20 minutes a day. It’s nice to know it’s working. Now I’ve got more time to plan, and more time to get it done.
Creature Nathaniel Anscombe Chapter 1 New Blood My paws scrunched on the snow beneath me. I could taste the soft snowflake air. Scents flowed through my nostrils; a rival pack’s scent mingled in my nose. Another full grown wolf appeared suddenly from the swirling mists. As fast as I could I delved under a snow drift as the tips of its ears flashed three metres ahead of my hiding place. My blood shivered like my frost-ridden fur. I felt its breath behind me. Staying as silent as a mouse, the wolf padded closer. I could see it clearly now; he was a beautiful red wolf with long strong legs. I stayed as silent as death and waited for him to retreat back to the fog-infested forest. But he didn’t. He waited stone-still, watching, waiting. As if he could see me. A soft humming noise could be heard over the wolf’s raspy breaths. I dug my paws and body deeper into the drift, further and further into the dying forest. BANG! The wolf’s paws thumped my shoulders with enough force to almost break my bones. I twisted and snapped at the fur of his mangled face. His paw flashes forward and smacked my face. I growled and retorted by closing my jaws around his neck. His tail ceased to move and soft, whining cub-like sounds escaped his mouth. Pity filled my brain, and I released him from my
clutches. He limped away, blood seeping from the festering wound on his neck-fur. I let out a sigh of relief and retreated back to my den, catching a small forest vole on the way back.
Chapter 2 Wolf Camp As I limped through the brush outside my den, I noticed the scratch marks on the trees around me. My throat tightened angrily as more strange scratch marks appeared on the trunks of the sacred nine-trees. Nobody but another wolf’s pack could do this to the most important place in our entire territory. My hackles rose as my scent glands picked out yet another wolf’s scent. A reddish she-wolf slunk into view. She familiarised herself in my brain and I gave her two welcoming licks on her cheek. Her eye gave a short flash of electric blue as she reported what had happened next to the clan’s border. “The nearest clan, Eddie Clan has been over our border and stealing all our food.” Her voice quivered and once again her eyes flashed with wariness at my presence. I comforted her with another lick over her empty eyelid. “Eddy Clan?” I said in shock, “Aren’t they the ones that always have all the food in winter?” Her paw lifts warily and then crashed back down angrily. “ Apparently not!” she barked grumpily again. Shock flooded through my system at her sudden flash of anger. “Well, I’m not sure what we should do? Perhaps we could create a trade with Eddy Clan?” I said. “ What on earth are we supposed to do if that doesn’t work! Huh, think about that; they could declare war on my clan maybe even both of our clans if they’re angry enough!” I tried to interrupt at that point but she wasn’t listening. “This could mean the fate of all the wolf packs in the valley!”
I replied coolly, “ Let’s not escalate this, anyway the likelihood of that happening is pretty slim and they’re not that aggressive are they?” I added, in a not so calm tone. “Oh, you have no idea!” she yelled in an exasperated voice. I was getting to her. “Oh yes I do!” I said quietly under my breath. Her crimson body collapses to the ground and says, “Ugh, you’re right; I hate it when you’re right.” A voice shocked the silence and made both of our pelts crawl. “So, what do we have here huh? Trespassers maybe?” The wolf’s tattered face curved into a horrifying half-ripped monstrous smirk and I knew exactly who it was. “Don’t try to run little puplets.” His annoying tone sent my nerves in a frenzy of annoyance and violence. I yowled and ripped another tuft of fur from his bald, scabbed scalp. He yowled and retreated back into the hostile shadowy forest ahead. Chapter 3 Lost I yawned and stretched as I watched the golden glints of the last sunlight for seven months. The ground beneath my feet began to be infested with the frosty fingers of winter. Days passed and the ice choked the land slowly and painfully after every passing night. Hunting had been increasingly challenging for the entire clans of the forest because, for once, Eddie Clan's river had frozen and their supply of food was gone. I sniggered in the average direction of their camp and loped towards my den with an empty jaw. But when I arrived, everything was different. There were no dens anywhere and the high rock was gone as if it had been swept away from the earth by the whispers of growing wind. Then I realised this was not camp.
I was lost. Unfamiliar scents swirled and danced in the foreboding wind. Pawprints followed me like an invisible wolf steeping in the same snow as me. Faint howls and sounds echoed across the valley and into my ears that awaited the long-searched-for sound. My fur began to chill over; icy fingers grasped my beating heart and threatened it to let go of life.
I powered forward with new courage flooding my senses. My pack was howling for me. My paws sped with hurricane force through the snow towards the familiar land. Trees sat lifeless in the ground like bones that had been ripped open and left hanging in the frozen air. The air was choked with freezing snow. The hurricane weakened and slowed me until I was loping through the trees at a snail’s pace. Prints tracked the ground with generations of wolves legacies copied into the environment. Where were the wolves? Where had they gone? The howling air around me only increased my anger and lostness. Chapter 4 Last life Padding through the blank, bland landscape, I never expected a glade of heavenly wolves to appear through the lost world around me. The ancient trees were heavy with thick ripe fruit and perfect flowers that spread like green-cough. The air sweetened with the scent of spring and fullness. The sun that had long since disappeared but here it was shining like gold. Millions of thoughts clouded my worried head. The forest was choking outside. In here, it was pristine and wonderfully warm. The air was clean and no snowflakes rode the heat-laced wind over and over above my head. My ears pricked as an unfamiliar picture came from behind the grove of trees. Panting came, louder and louder, from every corner of the grove. My heart beat faster and faster, pulling my veins with it. Dark shadows swirled in and out of view with the retreating and forward movements of the resident clan. My ears pricked unexpectedly and my legs jerked, pulling my body forward,
lurching around. Pulling the golden light down and tearing it, the wolves around me scattered and my vision shifted and morphed in front of my eyes. Their barks faded and I began to die, slowly but surely. No wounds had appeared in my pelt but the sting was there. Even my savage attack hadn’t fazed them at all. Even after my most terrifying posture had been fully equipped and my hackles lifted menacingly. I could tell in their eyes, they were not going to flinch; even with my most terrifying snarl they did not retreat. Not an owl screeched, not a branch wavered in that moment. Black clouds hovered above the breakneck situation down below. Just then a high shrill vice yelled out, “What on earth is happening here, Silverpelt what are you doing here?!” It was her. The red wolf from before. Her face was flushed and she barked loud and clear. “Let him go; he has no wrongdoing here!” Wolves gave growls of defiance but loosened the tight circle of wolves around me. A dark wolf yowled,“Hey, he was the one who attacked us!” “It’s a life instinct,” I replied, sharply, “Not against another clan, it’s not!” His voice rose angrily. “Oh yeah it is.” “Guys, guys... it’s OK. Silverpelt, get back to your clan,” the she-wolf yowled. “Get out of this, Dawnfeather. It’s my fight,” the dark wolf barked. Millions of thoughts rushed through my brain like a freight train. She’d never told me her name! “Now you!” The dark wolf barked again, “You have something to explain to all of us, don’t you!” The fangs came too fast. My neck snapped. Again, the light faded and shifted like it did before. Was I going to die? Shifty figures appeared in my head in a silvery ghostlike form: my leader, my friend, and my ruthless killer. They all spoke the same thing ‘Welcome to Starclan Silverpelt.’ Chapter 5
The lights above me flashed and flickered like dying stars waiting to explode. The ground below me felt and looked like an aurora. Colours flew like paper planes across the jet black void that enveloped me. Wisps of silver flashed through the aurora lighting up my paws like a flash of underground lightning. “What…?” Thoughts to my brain were cut and burned. The world spinned. Colours danced and revealed the twisted body of a strange wolf from an outlaw clan, bleeding scarlet oil from the torn flesh, dripping onto the forest floor. “I’ll show you the hidden clan,” the wolf rasped, his throat wobbled with tension. “It’s hidden by the gold leafed tree where you were last night.” “What! I’ve been here for twenty-four hours?” I stammered, my brain racked again with the unwanted information. The earth below the wolf’s paws pooled with the thick red blood, seeping from the wound. My mind rebelled and I dashed to the glade and stopped as a young red wolf appeared from behind the trunk. My heart stopped as Dawnfeather materialised and barked worriedly. Her fur bore scars and her hair was clogged with dried blood. “What are you doing here Silverpelt? You’ve already crossed the border once; why again? You don’t want to get caught do you?” “Dawnfeather, I need to tell you something; it concerns you and the hidden clan.” “What? Silverpelt, where did you…” I shoved her forward and barked at her to speed her on the way. Surprisingly, she didn’t protest but just followed obediently until she collapsed at the border between our territories. “I overheard that the hidden clan has declared war on the clans of the forest and you’re the only one that can solve the riddle of the war. Dawnfeather, I need you.” I gasped. A twig snapped behind me. I spun around to see a black wolf baring its teeth. “So I’ve found you again, and with the same friends I’d vouch.” His maniacal smile lit up his face. We both snarled and pawed the ground. “I know about your little trip to the goldtree.”
His eyebrows dipped and a sneer spread across his mangled face. “But I don’t feel like killing you. I can show you the clan of secrets tonight, if you give me Dawnfeather.” I stammered and said in a shaky voice, “I can not. I’m not in the same clan.” “Well, you’ll need to figure that out for yourself, won’t you.” He sneered again and he let the words sink into my skull. “Okay, I’ll find a way.” I dashed away towards my clan. He barked behind me, “Bring her to me before first moon or the path to the hidden clan will remain hidden.” Chapter 6 The bedding below me felt strangely uncomfortable as I tossed and turned awaiting the most terrible day ahead. The leaves above me shook like the seed in a nut when a squirrell is searching it. How will I convince her to give herself in? Will I need to trick her? I strolled out into the forest alone, searching for the border between our clans. A sleek, red shape dived through the brush across the river and I sighed as Dawnfeather appeared from the clan. She trotted up to me and affectionately licked my ear. I regretted having to tell her the news from the mysterious black wolf from the day before. “Um, Dawnfeather,” I said, tentatively “Yes, what is it?” She sidled up to me and twirled her tail around mine. “I had a talk with the weird black wolf we saw two moon rises ago.” My voice trembled like a scared vole.“It’s about you, Dawnfeather.” “Hmm?” “He wants you,” I said quickly. Her eyes flashed and she stepped back with a wild expression on her face. “Wait, but you need me when you discover the new clan!” she grunted. “I’m sorry, we can’t solve this puzzle without this, Dawnfeather”
“Take me to him,” she said, determinedly. I flicked my tail and we disappeared into the forest. In the tranquil silence, I remembered about the deadline of the arrival and I began to get afraid. A howl echoed from the hills and my pace sped up. The birds went quiet at the bone-chilling sound of it. A clearing appeared in the horizon. She said, “This is where we saw the black wolf, Is there something you’re not telling me?” Her voice rang through my skull and the hackles on my neck rose as a black silhouette appeared from a cave. “Ah right, you’ve brought the gift as decided; now you need the information. Well, give her to me!” Dawnfeather turned angrily to me and she barked with a wild fury. “You, you rotten carcass, you never specified this!” Dawnfeather unexpectedly leapt at Blackshade, with jaws agape. But missed. Blackshade just answered with, “You do want to know where this clan is, don’t you?” He brought out a crafty smile. I turned to Dawnfeather and spoke empathetically. “Dawnfeather, I’m sorry, it was the only way to get the information.” “Well then, Mister you are one messed up wolf.” A shiver ran down my spine. Dawnfeather’s eyes glazed over and her neck dipped, her paws scraped on the ground, and she relented to lie behind BlackShade’s hindquarters. She flicked her tail and looked down. “Right, you wanted Dawnfeather, Blackshade,” I called into the gloomy forest. Blackshade grinned with his excruciatingly unwelcome face. He stepped back into the trees, beckoning us to follow him. “I’ll show you the hidden clan, now.” Those seven words solved the one problem I’d been working on ever since I met Dawnfeather. Blackshade flicked his tail to beckon us forward until he
stopped still. We both gasped and the whole world flipped upside-down. The clan was within the range of their clan all along!
Never-ending Nightmare Evie Wright
As I arose from my restless slumber, a sudden squeal of terror flushed through my senses. Inflamed, red rain invaded the palms of my hands, leaving deep cuts oozing with vivid liquid. The moon no longer sat in the opaque sky; darkness overtook. My bed was ripped and torn vigorously, the windows ajar. A gust of brisk, bitter air flooded the room. Whirls of grey smoke clutched me with immense force. Thousands of eyes peered through the cracks in the forlorn roof as I gasped for breath. A flurry of screams flew through my head, pushing me back. The world around me grew dark; vines of nefarious and venomous strength grew through my soul. The eyes of the world shut sharply. * * * The irritating beep of my alarm clock echoed in my ears. Moaning, I reached out for the dreaded beeping machine to completely shut it down. Trudging down the stairs, the soothing aroma of pancakes and whipped cream tantalised my nostrils; the gloominess turned to deep satisfaction. When I reached the last step, I realised no one stood behind the kitchen counter. No one stood stirring the pancake mixture, vigorously. No one seemed to be awake. The room now carried a silent vibe. * * *
A sudden scratching sound alerted my ears. When I knew it was safe, I peered over the bench and saw a fork walking across the wooden floor! Was I losing my mind? I knew this wasn’t right. I crept across the creaky floorboards, to see... a whole colony of walking utensils, marching further along the wooden floor until they came to the cupboard, then abruptly turned around and marched back the opposite way. The idea that I was going crazy began to merging into reality. Like, when in your life do you ever see walking forks or running knives?! Uh huh. Never.
With a groan, I trudged past the flurry of utensils, grabbed a bowl and a packet Choco-Dips. The milk splattered over the tiny brown spheres of unhealthiness. My mouth opened wide, as the bobbing brown balls floated down my throat. A smile appeared on my face. A contented smile. Hearing faint footsteps, I turned around, looking up. A muscular figure strolled down the stairs. I stared right at it until I realised it was my Dad. He seemed different than before. Much different. His clothes were scuffed and torn. His hair looked as if it had been struck by lightning. “Dad!” I yelled, running through the kitchen into his arms. He grunted and pushed me away. I frowned with concern. Dad never does that. “What’s the matter, Dad?” I asked, walking beside him. “Nothing!” he boomed in a deep, dark voice. Somewhat deeper than usual. My deep dimples vanished as my smile slowly faded away. Something was definitely wrong. Dad turned around and asked harshly; “what are you doing? Go do your chores!” I froze with fright. Dad’s eyes weren’t eyes. I know what you’re thinking... what? Yep, that’s right. His eyes were buttons: round, black buttons. Sewn beneath the fleshy skin up above his rosy cheeks. Without another look, I swiftly swivelled around and sprinted to the door. One swipe was all I needed to open it and run to freedom. As I gasped for breathe, the world shut down. Literally. The trees flopped down like a pop up book. The houses vanished into thin air. The light from the sun gradually faded away, lured into the clouds’ trap. The road around me dropped suddenly. I fell with it. The gravel shot past me like miniscule bullets. Luscious vegetation fell to their death. As I looked up, the world closed upon me. The ground shut and the light died. All that surrounded me was pure darkness and an irritating beep. Wait.. what?!
* * * I sat up in terror. A loud ear-piercing beep attacked my ear drums. Beads of thick, sticky sweat sprinted down my neck. I looked around, precariously. My chaotic bedroom looked normal: towering drawers stood next to my old, rustic desk, and that old battered doll sat awkwardly wedged between mounds of laundry. And the centerpiece of my room, my majestic phoenix bird hung from the high ceilings.The irritating sound emanated throughout the house. “Hello, Mary speaking?” *pause* “Oh..yes I’ll get her right awa-” *long pause* “Oh, really? OK .When should I tell her?” *pause* “Ohhhhh... yep, yep” *pause* “Thanks, thanks. Bye!” Heart racing, head thumping, I darted downstairs to see Mum. I finally reached the kitchen and dining room. Everything seemed normal. The pristine polished table sat elegantly next to the six old-fashioned chairs. The kitchen bench invaded by all sorts of ingredients. Then I saw Mum. Standing behind the bench, making pancakes. Eyes focused. Face downward. Forehead wrinkled. She looked up. She saw me standing there, staring. “Hi darling!” she said, in her considerate voice. “Hi Mum!” I answered, totally gobsmacked. Yeah, I know. Why? you say. Mum seemed...seemed...different. Somewhat distant, and unknown. Everything she did was completely typical and regular. But she just seemed different. “What do you want for breakfast, honey?” she asked, folding the smooth pancake mixture together. “Ummm...errrr...ummmm..”. I couldn’t produce even the tiniest sound of the English language. Mum looked at me with that ‘so-what-do-you-want-just-tell-me’ look. Her eyes twinkled fluorescently, a flash of inflamed light flushed the insides of her eyes. I froze. The world around me got stranger by the minute.
I walked over to Mum who was vibrating furiously. I held her delicate hand and asked her a simple question. “Mum?” I asked, trembling with fear. I’d never seen her like this before. “What are you thinking about right now?” A long-winded silence darkened the room. No answer. Mum began murmuring. “Thrro..ww..hheerw...ouu..t...theer….windowwww.” I stood there, staring into her inflamed eyes. Pictures of an innocent little girl being pushed out of a three story house swarmed through her eyes like wasps. What. Was. Happening? Suddenly it all came to me. My brain fizzed, sweat gushed from my neck and face. With a twitch, Mum stomped past the kitchen bench and grabbed hold of my shoulders with an unimaginable force. Mum’s rapid breathing lingered in the room. She lunged me upwards and silently turned me upside down. With extreme fear, I watched as Mum stomped over to the colossal window. Suddenly, she yanked me upwards far above her head. Without notice, she froze. I hung there like a shirt on a clothesline. Dangling from my mother's hands, I started to squirm. The pressure on my chest was making it impossible to breath. All I needed was one breath. All I could hear were faint whispers. How long was I going to be here? What was Mum doing? I guess I’d never know. I was trapped. Abruptly, Mum came back to life. She started pulling me back like a slingshot. She stopped when I was barely touching the floor. With all her strength, she flung me forward and back until… CRASH! I felt my body blast through the thin sheet of sharp see-through material. Insignificant shards of glass flew through the air at unimaginable speed. The splinters of fragments shot me in every direction. Dazed, I looked down. The ground seemed a long way away. The people on the street looked like miniscule dots. Simultaneously, I realised I was falling. Yes, falling. I scrunched my eyes and watched as the broken glass came tumbling onto me. I didn’t even care now. I was going to be gone. Completely gone. The wind rushed past me like ravens rushing to get a single soggy slither of bread. Swiftly, I turned my head and looked down one last time. The concrete sprinted closer and closer. Then I felt it.
The concrete smashed against my back. The light around me dimmed and I heard nothing. A floating sensation ramped up. My life flicked between the slanted edges of my eyes. I knew what had happened. I had succumbed to the soft, welcoming arms of death. My life slipped from my grasp. Maybe I’d be welcomed into heaven.
Better Safe than Sorry Angus Mudie
I wince as the gun is aimed at my chest, expecting a bullet at any moment I try to retaliate, but my voice seems non-existent. A fist enters the light, hitting me square in the face. Blood starts to run. He strikes me again. My eye swells. The next blow hits me so hard I topple over, the chair I’m tethered to landing on top of me. A pair of hands reaches out, pulling me back up. I spit out a drop of blood. “What have you done?” My eyes fixate on the rope binding my hands together. “I don't know anything, please.” I feel the serrated edge of a knife. Josh comes into the light. His fingers cradle the handle of the blade, contemplating my fate. He doesn't say anything. Tthis was going to be as emotionally painful as it was physically. He tries his best not to make eye contact. Josh signals for the armed guard to leave. He pulls out his revolver; gun in one hand, knife in the other. He uses his arms and hands like a weight and says two words. “Your choice.”
A sense of uncertainty rises up through my chest, leaving me unsure of my trust for Josh. This could mean my freedom or end. Tears well up in my eyes, something I am not known for. I fixate my eyes on the revolver. If I am going to die, I would want him to watch, as his choice decides my fate. He dawdles around my chair until he's behind me. Suddenly my hands are free, the rope no longer binding my wrists. He ushers me towards the door, patience not a virtue anymore. I run, Josh close on my heels. We reach the edge of a forest, submerging ourselves in shrubs and bushes, the last protected forest since the uprising. So he hadn’t given up on me. I had figured that he thought his life had more value than my own, which didn't surprise me, seeing as I didn't value my life much. He seems different now, his old playful nature hidden behind a mask of insecurity and authority. “The government won't have any trouble finding us.” Which is unfortunately true. Josh and I are the last pure humans. The rest are all genetically engineered one way or another. The only non-organic thing in our bodies is a small microchip at the back of our necks. We are the government's weapon, but also their greatest threat. By the time the search parties leave, we find a small shed on the outskirts of the bushes. “The sun is setting.” Josh says in a quiet voice. I know it was a stupid comment, but at least he’s trying his best to get rid of the elephant in the room. It's going to be a long night. I squint as my eyes adjust to the burnt orange sky in front of us. Somehow, I manage to fall asleep. I'm woken suddenly by Josh, shaking my shoulder. “We need to go. Now.” I do as he says, knowing that our lives could be on the line. We head deeper into the woods, not knowing where I am going. I’m not sure Josh knows either. I hear gunshots behind us. Someone is following us. We sprint ahead, ignoring our surroundings. We don’t speak to each other to save our energy.
We finally reach a small clearing with a lake, or a sad excuse for a lake anyway. I point over at a small boat by a seemingly abandoned shed next to the lake. We run over to it and jump in. I cross my fingers, hoping we don’t sink the boat. Since there are no paddles, we use our hands instead, flinging them through the water as fast as we can, pushing ourselves out into the middle of the lake. A tall man with a grey beard bolts out of the bushes, staring at us like we just killed his family. He aims his revolver. Bang! It hits the water just left of my thigh. Another shot. It splashes into the water in front of the boat. Bang! Another miss. Josh and I are both thinking the same thing. We both know we are doomed.
He points his gun directly at us. Almost in slow motion, he squeezes the trigger. Click! I wince, expecting the boat to fill with water or my blood any second. He has no bullets left. He can’t kill us, we can’t escape. Stalemate. “What now?” “We wait.” I don’t disagree. Eventually the sky turns black, the stars come out and we are plunged into another night of darkness. The man leaves at sunset, so we paddle out to the other side of the lake, leaving our belongings at shore.We find a trail, but we stay a few metres away, incase anyone comes looking for us. We keep walking until a new day dawns. We eat some of the food we scavenged from a boat shed. It will only last us maybe another two days. For the next day and a half, we walk. Until we reach a large barn, abandoned during the plague. We set up camp. I decide to take a nap, while Josh sorts our supplies. We are the only people here for miles. Yet somehow there is a knock at the door. I snap my eyes open, my body overcome with fear-induced adrenaline. As quietly as I can, I stand up, ready for a fight. Josh is brandishing a pitchfork. Silently, I grab a spade and head for the door. I push it open and dive behind a stack of hay bales. As stealthly as possible, I peek at the man through a gap.
Oh God. It’s him. It's the man responsible for all of this. It’s the President of Earth. In his hand, he holds a shiny revolver by the barrel. He raises an eyebrow. Silence floods the barn. I notice I am no longer holding the spade. The President throws the gun at Josh. It lands at his feet. He picks it up, very gingerly. Points it at the President, hand trembling with fear and adrenaline. I look away; I can't bear to see anyone else die, especially when it's Josh killing them. Boom! A gunshot. I slowly turn around, expecting the President to be lying on the ground with a hole in his chest, blood spurting from the wound. Instead, I see someone else's blood. Oh no. Josh is lying facedown in the hay. Blood everywhere. He killed himself. “It was his choice.” I clench my teeth, rage and anger filling every inch of my body. I feel like I'm about to explode. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. I begin to scream, an earsplitting sound. A warcry. I sink to my knees. I've made up my mind. The gun, still lying in Josh’s hand, taunts me. I pry the gun from his lifeless hands. I feel the warm leather, coated in thick blood. I aim it at the President's head. But instead of pulling the trigger, I point the barrel at my head. The President needs me. I am his prized possession. I'm better off dead than as his weapon. I pull the trigger, and everything turns black.
Sophia’s Journey Jess Chaytor
There is only one thing on her mind, survival. With one of her cubs clinging on to the soft, comfortable fur on her back and the other two not far behind, she set off across the snow. She is their protector, their teacher, their guide and their provider of food. The weight of the task ahead lies heavily on her powerful shoulders. This is not the first time she has made this journey. She can remember walking this very same path with her mother, many years ago. Now, the circle of life has turned, and it is her time to be the responsible one. Her cubs are only a few weeks old, and seem so vulnerable out here, so tiny beside her massive frame. They are also beautiful; their fur almost as white as the snow that surround them; their curious wet-nosed faces look around in awe at the world they were born into. They mean everything to her and she will do anything to keep them safe.
She gives the cubs a gentle grunt, urging the them to keep up. They have to stick together or else there is danger ahead for all of them. Time passes as they travel through the icy terrain. Sophia turns around, looking at her worn out cubs: hungry, exhausted and as skinny as ever. Their ribs show through the small blanket covering their skin and bone. The whiteness has now become as gray as their future. The mist that lays ahead covers the tips of the destiny that they are about to face. The wind hurls around them as they travel through the rough grounds. Then, before Sophia realises, the ice crumbles beneath her. She fails to reach the other side before the ice decomposes. Sweat drops off her face and at that moment she knows everything will go wrong. A frantic howl escapes one of her unnamed cubs as he slips into the hole; the big hole that Sophia made. That she now regretted making. She scoops up her two remaining cubs and hurls them on her padded shoulders. Sprinting to where her youngest cub is, she dips her nose into the icy chill that we call water. The scent of death wrinkles through her nostrils as she desperately looks around in the underground world. Something shifts and catches her eye. Fur snags her claws. She clasps the scruff of her cub. Lifting her paw out of the water, her cub lies there as if no life is left. Vigilantly, she places the scrap of fur on the ice, lifting her paw away. Blood soaks her paw as tears fill her eyes. Rolling over the soaking pelt, she realises the blood isn't her cub’s. Her eyes gleam as a teenage seal lies under her cub. Later, they are all having a meal that is well deserved. Although her youngest cub is still frail, he is still able survive the journey. Soon after the feast, they huddle round each other because tonight is special. Sophia remembers from when she was a child; the Night of Naming. They sit around their mother in a spread-out circle. “First is the oldest cub,” she announces, unable to control her excitement. He steps forward slowly as his sisters look on in envy.
“From this day forward, you will be named Grunt, until you get your pack name.” Sophia booms. She gives Grunt a lick and moves to her two other cubs. “You will be named Lick until you get your pack name.” Lick proudly moves off tail in the air. Sophia's heart is broken as she looks at her dying cub. “Your pack name will be Brokenheart,” she whispers as pain turns and twists in her chest. Pink phoenix wings spread across the dawn sky. Sophia’s eyes dance as she scans her cubs solemnly sleeping. Sprawled out on the floor, they lie. “Come on cubs, time to get up.” A yawn splits the eerie silence. Lick’s head pops up between the mass of fur. Next is Grunt who’s sleeping next to Brokenheart. Then, he yelps in horror. Sophia races over but stops in her tracks as she looks at the lifeless lump of fur. Her eyes meet Grunt’s and Lick’s. She knows that this is the end. For Brokenheart. But not for her fire to reach the end of her journey, Sophia’s journey. They travelled in silence for the next half-day until Grunt broke the silence. In a rushed voice, he murmurs, ‘So, where are we actually going.” Sophia sits down with a puff, no words come but emotion. “I am sorry. I...I...I am truly sorry.” Lick sits beside her mother, a shoulder for comfort. Sophia’s emotions come, rushing out. While they still feel unheard. The light dies around as her eyes give way to the darkness. Then Sophia falls into a deep sleep. Awake day upon day, and asleep night upon night. Soon they become weak. Every step is guided by unwilling spirits of polar bears. A familiar corner fills their view, the same corner that Sophia had wanted to reach a long time ago is now in sight. With relentless energy they start to run. They swoosh into a crowd of polar bears and joy carries them through the last of their trip. The last trip of their ever-lasting journey. Sophia’s journey.
A Dark Place Max Connolly
The huge lunar flare roared through the blackness of space painting a red and orange picture of destruction careering through the darkness A plane, trailing fire Spiralling towards the earth No propulsion, no control Plummeting ever faster to its doom A boat with a leak Sinking into the deep Swallowed up by the dark Watching as others pass by Trapped in an invisible cage The iron bars of the prison of life
Utter helplessness The beating heart crying for freedom Struggle for life Trying to grasp at the edge of the cliff Energy seeping away Fingers slipping on the shiny rock I am alone in the blackness Silence, fear Like walking in a cloud of fog gently, stiflingly suffocating you. Fading, slowly away
Thinking like a rusty set of gears Cogs struggling against each other No confidence, faith But nothing fits together The void, opening up further every day Watching, helpless Wanting to be happy But everything seems worthless Until the lunar flare loops round, coming back to the warmth Beautiful orange warmth Bailing out of the plane Feeling the parachute balloon out Stoppering up the leak Climbing up the cliff Seeing light in the blackness Cogs being oiled
The swallowing void closing up Winning the seemingly endless war Breaking through the fabricated illusion And everything seems okay