NE Online Magazine Issue 12 by Wayne Groves

FEATURING SCI-FAIRâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Keith Lawler Daniel Richardson Short Stories Photos by Jon Dea SPLIT Festival Your Photos

SCREEN-CON 2014 SPECIAL Competition Winners plus Photos from JON DEA

Hi Chris and welcome to NE Magazine, for the few readers who must be living in a cave somewhere and don’t know who you are how about giving th em a quick l ow- down o n yourself? - Hello! Can’t help but think I’m writing your interview introduction for you here, oh well… I’m a stand-up comedian from South Shields and I’m also a bit of an actor now and then… but mainly a comedian… that might not come across as well as it should in print form, but I am. So there. At the moment it’s hard not seeing you on the TV when we switch it on as you’re everywhere, but what has been the highlight for you so far? - Not everywhere though am I? If you turn on QVC and I’m selling a frying pan, just assume you’ll find me floating face down in a river very soon. The highlight for me so far was probably being in Hebburn. Since starting comedy I always wanted to try my hand at being in a sitcom too so I was over the moon to do one with my mate and so close to my heart, and I got to work with Vic Reeves. I know you had a bit of a crazy time with fans wanting pics and autographs when you were having a few drinks in a South Shields bar recently, how are you finding this, does it put you off going out? - Not at all. Any person in that position who has been on TV or whatever and people want photos (I’m trying my best not to say celebrity here!) who pretends they hate the attention is a liar. You don’t go for a career on TV because you don’t want anyone to notice you. As long as I’m not eating or having a shit when you want a photo then it’s no problem at all… I meant, like on the toilet, not just in the middle of the dancefloor.

Have you had any weird fan requests or incidents? - Not really. The odd person will show up to a gig with my face on a T-Shirt, or bake me a cake, or send me a dead animal in the post but other than that it’s just photos and autographs. A little kid in Hebburn when we were filming asked me to sign his micro scooter… that was a bit weird. As well as being a bit of a regular on Celebrity Juice, Never Mind the Buzzcocks and 8 out of 10 Cats you are now starring in the North East based sitcom Hebburn, how did that come about? - My mate and fellow comedian Jason Cook decided to write a sitcom about the town he was from, Hebburn, and he actually wrote me a little side part which he named after me. But when it came to being made the BBC asked me to read for the main character, and when I got it, Jason took the part that he’d written for me! It came about so gradually that I didn’t really realise the enormity of being lead role in a BBC2 sitcom until I saw the advert on TV. I nearly passed out. How has the response for Hebburn been so far? - Overwhelmingly positive. And we just won Best Drama at the RTS North awards too. And we’ve got a second series! You are now embarking on your biggest tour to date, how do you feel about this? - Yeah incredible! It’s an extension of my last tour, Feeling Lucky. I did 60+ dates in 2012 but the demand for tickets was so high and people enjoyed the show so much that I’m doing another 40 odd dates this year in much bigger venues. I can’t wait to get back out on the road.

Are there any venues on the tour that you are looking forward to playing or any you’re quite nervous about? - The Theatre Royal in Newcastle. I absolutely can’t wait. I used to watch panto there when I was a kid. I’m

We l c o m e N o t e . We l l h e r e w e g o w i t h a n o t h e r G e e k Fest of an issue as we introduce you to some incredibly talented authors with the entries from the SCREENCON 2014 Short story Competition, you can marvel at the photos from t h e e v e n t f r o m P h o t o g ra p h e r J o n D e a p l u s w e w i l l i n t r o d u c e y o u t o S C I - FA I R h e a d h o n c h o K e i t h L a w l e r. Yo u w i l l also notice more cartoons from Derek B r e t t l e a n d T h e L a s t L a u g h , m a ke sure you show him some love on his facebook page. As always, if you have something you want to see in a future issue then d o n â&#x20AC;&#x2122; t fo r g e t t o d r o p u s a n e m a i l t o contact@neonlinemagazine.com Till next time Ta ke c a r e Wa y n e

EDITOR & DESIGNER Wayne Groves wayne@neonlinemagazine.com CONTRIBUTORS Ian Berry Photographer www.ianberry.co.uk info@ianberry.co.uk

SPONSORS Cineworld Boldon www.cineworld.co.uk SCREEN-CON www.screen-con.com The Sage Gateshead www.thesagegateshead.org Ocean Beach Pleasure Park www.oceanbeach.co.uk Quasar Elite South Shields www.quasarsouthshields.co.uk For all queries or if you would like to feature or advertise in NE Magazine email contact@neonlinemagazine.com Unless stated otherwise all competition entries should be sent to win@ neonlinemagazine.com Plus you can catch up with us online for news, events, blogs, competitions and more at www.neonlinemagazine.com Follow us on Facebook - http://www. facebook.com/pages/N-E-OnlineMagazine/248245728604190 join us on twitter @NEOnlineMag

Greame Baty Photographer www.facebook.com/ GJBPerformancePhotography g.j.baty@gmail.com Karl Keogan www.skindeepphotography.com Derek Brettle www.facebook.com/ lastlaughcartoons lastlaughcartoons@gmail.com Jon Dea Photography www.facebook.com/ JonDeaPhotography

P6 The Original Geek Keith Lawler P15 A Word with a Winner, Daniel Richardson P19 SCREEN-CON Short Stories

P51 Oficial SCREEN-CON Photos by Jon Dea P65 SPLIT Festival Meets OCS P71 SCREEN-CON Photo Competition

SCREEN-CON has firmly established itself as the fan favourite of all the conventions that take place here in the North East. It is a well ran event ran by fans for fans, something that clearly shows. Despite the pressure and bully boy tactics of some of the bigger conventions, SCREEN-CON is back and it is even bigger! Saturday May the 3rd will see the Park Leisure Centre in North Shields invaded by all manner of creatures, monsters and very recognisable people from the world of Sci-Fi and Fantasy., Film and TV, Comics and Books, even the odd Computer Game Character thrown in for good measure. Expect to see all of your favourites from Star Wars, Star Trek, Doctor Who, Marvel and DC plus a whole hos of characters you may not be so familiar with. One thing that is guaranteed...every one is going to have an amazing time. Doors open at 10am for those with the early bird tickets, those paying on the door will be let in from 11am onwards, but judging from the previous 2 SCREENCONS I would suggest you

get there early to make sure you don’t have to wait ages. Though the one thing that is guaranteed, unlike other supposed “Big Conventions” who shall remain nameless, If you come to SCREEN-CON then YOU WILL ALL GET IN! Granted, you may have to Q for a little while, you won’t be stuck outside in the cold all day. This convention does actually look after it’s fans and will make sure you are not left waiting for hours.

The line up for SCREEN-CON 2014 is looking fantastic. They have some great guests in attendance, all wowing the crowds with photo’s, autographs and some good banter. You will have to pay extra for autographs but you won’t be charged silly money for them and you won’t have

to pay more for a photo and you will not be herded through like cattle only there to fill someones bank balance. As I said earlier, this is a convention ran by a fan for the fans. So this issue will introduce you to the guests appearing at this May’s SCREEN-CON as well as showcase last years SCREAM-CON which was held at the Park hotel last October. We will have the winner of the Horror Short Story Competition plus we will be showing off the photo’s that you all sent in from SCREAMCON with prizes going to our favourite photos. It is time to wet your appetite and get you all excited for Saturday May the 3rd and the return of SCREEN-CON 2014...I can’t wait!

the original geek SCI-FAIR head honcho and cosplayer Keith Lawler takes a few minutes out from dressing up to chat with us about Woodhorn, SCI-FAIR and Peanut Butter...obviously

Hi Keith and welcome to NE Online Magazine, convention regulars will know who you are but how about telling our other readers a bit about yourself? Hello. Convention regulars know me? Oh, no. I do hope I don’t have a reputation. For those that don’t know my antics, I’m Keith Lawler... Age? How dare you sir. Heh! I’m mid forties and originally I’m from Cheshire, many years ago. I’ve been welcomed into the North East with open arms plus I married a Sunderland lass. But don’t hold that against me. I’d describe myself as an original geek as I was a geek before it was cool to be one. Scifair.co.uk, for those not in the know, what is it? Scifair.co.uk is what I like to think of is the return of the classical toy fair, or for those that have been to conventions over the years, a dealers room. Ebay might have taken over some of the sales of Scifi merchandise, but there’s nothing like seeing and touching the stuff you want to buy without the hassle of postage costs and hassle with

breakages in the post. What made you get started with Sci-Fair? Over the years; damn that makes me feel old, I’ve traded at various comic, toy and car boot sales both with and without success. On one occasion I felt like the organisers were simply there to take the money from the dealers and not bother about whether the dealers themselves made any money. We wanted to create a collaborative event where we can work together and hold them at least once a month around the North East, reaching out to as many venues and locations as possible. We’re smaller than some fairs, but we try to I thought it would be fun and we’ll see how it goes, well, we’re now into our third year, so I guess we did something right. We also like to help promote local businesses who come to our events to trade, collect for various charities and also help the venues or location in which we hold our fairs. It’s nice to think if we hold an event at a museum or library

that people also have a look around the venue and find something new. What is the best and worst thing about doing them? Worst thing is easy, the weather. You can’t always guarantee people will come to an event if it’s chucking down. But we like to think that we can provide shelter in any storm, and believe me we have had one or two storms, but people have still come down to see us. Best thing? I think it’s the fun we have. We’ve got to know lots of great people including our dealers who just keep coming back plus our regular attendees who we are more than happy to see at each of our events. When your not arranging SciFair what else do you get up to? My day job is a media lecturer at a college in Sunderland so I get to be geeky with my students, but I do try and not concentrate on the scifi genre too much. What are your thoughts on

the up-coming Star Wars movies as everyone has an opinion? I can’t wait. I might be a bit controversial but I do love the prequel movies. They might not have the classical feel of ‘A New Hope’ or ‘Empire’, and people did complain at the time of Jedi about those Ewoks, so there will always be something to complain about. The prequels were an opportunity to get Star Wars back on the big screen and open up the galaxy to more characters and adventures. Who doesn’t love Darth Maul? I’ve always been an avid comic book reader and up to 1999 the only way of getting some visual action was through video games and comics, Dark Forces on PC or Rogue Squadron on the Gamecube for example. Though not many may remember playing Shadows of the Empire on the Nintendo 64. I did.

So, to the point, I’m hoping that JJ does great things and opens up the galaxy even more. People will always complain, but I bet if you are a classic Star Wars fan, you’ve already seen the prequels and you’ll still go see the new films. I think JJ did great things with ‘Star Trek’, creating an alternate timeline respects and maintains the original, so bring it on JJ. Just don’t have any time travel in this one. Some conventions have special guests, if you could have any 3 guests alive or dead who would they be and why? Oooh. One of my all time favourite guests at a convention was Mike Jittlov, I’d love to see him again. Who the heck is he? Well, he made a little movie called “The Wizard of Speed and Time”. It’s about an independent filmmaker, who films sequences, stars in them and produces all the special effects, fighting the Hollywood system. It features amazing stop motion animation

and lots of fun. Thankfully I knew he was at the convention at the time, but others didn’t know who he was. Once they saw the film, they became fans. See if you can find it, trust me, you’ll love it. Yep, there’s him. George Lucas; I mean who wouldn’t want him at an event for one reason or another. Georges Méliès - In the early 1900’s he created some amazing visual effect filled short films. If you don’t know who he is, you’ve probably seen his work. I seemed to have a running theme there with people behind the scenes, but that is where a lot of the hard work goes into film making. If any of our readers have never been to one of your events before why should they attend yours? They are fun and we have a large and varied selection of

geekiness on show, both from our dealers and our regular costumers. They are friendly and fun and hopefully leave you with a smile and maybe an emptier wallet or purse. Heh! A certain convention held at the Metro Radio Arena has really left a sour taste in people’s mouth’s, what are your thoughts on the subject? I think the bad press does keeps away the families who may not have been to a convention or event before, which I’m sure hurts the locally run north east events.

What costume would you love to do and why? Ah man, it has to be Boba Fett. I just love that character. About 15 years ago I made a Boba Fett costume out of plasticard, a Don Post helmet, lunchboxes, Pringles tubes, McDonalds sundae glasses, rubber balls and plastic cups and various other items to create a scratch built version. It was way before costuming became the huge thing it is today, but I still did a stint at our local Boldon Cineworld for the Attack of the Clones premiere. It wouldn’t match today’s quality and standards

Do it. Pick a character that you like and go for it. Maybe you’ll find some old stormtrooper armour someone is selling off or gather some clothes and come up with something. My advice is always pick a character and study the look of the outfit you’ve gone for, get lots of reference photos. Try and match up as well as you can. Marvel or DC? Oooh, you can’t do that to me. If it were the 70’s or 80’s I would say DC. But now? Argh... my brain hurts.

What would you say to people who may have been put off because of it? We don’t have the budget to hire huge venues or national advertising but our local events have a more friendlier atmosphere. As well as running events yourself, yo are also a bit of a regular costumer at other events, what characters do you currently do? Oh, well it changes on a yearly basis. My interest is in the creation of the costumes, whether it is acquiring a certain combination of clothing, like my Joker costume, building from scratch, like my Dalek, or modifying and upgrading like my Star Wars Clone Trooper. I’ve only got so much room so if another project comes along I may pass on one of my outfits to fund the next one. I’ve also got a Stargate outfit and some random ones like Doctor Horrible, a Jedi Knight, and Firefly’s Wash when I like wandering round with plastic dinosaurs whilst wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Though I’m most comfortable in a helmet or behind a dome. That way I can be a cheeky or as annoying as I can and no one will know who it is.

of costume so it was passed onto my son in a cut down form. So now, I want an authentic Boba Fett with all the detailing. If anyone out there has one I’d happily sell my kids for it. But don’t tell the wife. What advice would you give to anyone wanting to get involved in costuming?

What have you got lined up for the rest of 2014? More Scifairs, running through to the end of the year and we’ve even got some booked for next year. I also organise events including the Woodhorn Invasion at Woodhorn Museum and Archive near Ashington in Northumberland on the 20th

July. It’s our fifth year and it’s bigger and better than it’s ever been. I organise a day full of activities, treasure hunts, talks, prizes, Stormtrooper shooting gallery, added by our resident Aliens from the UK Colonial Marines, Predators, Stormtroopers, Star Trek characters, Resident Evil, Doctor Who and loads more. I currently trying to gather the most Daleks we’ve ever had in the north east in one place. Wish me luck. Plug, plug, it starts at 10am and runs until 4pm and better yet it’s another free day out, apart from the parking cost. This year we’re raising money for improvements to the Narrow Gauge Railway’s accessible carriage. Which over the last few years through events we’ve helped to fund. “This year we’ve got as many Daleks as you’ve probably seen in Northumberland, a giant walking Gundam robot, Iron Man, War Machine, Abi (The Alien) and Pedro (The Predator) from Alien Loves Predator, Stormtroopers, Rebel Troopers, towering Warhammer characters, Klingons, Judge Dredd style Judges, plus Chewbacca and Darth Vader have said he’ll pop round for a haircut and a cuppa and there is even more all authentic costumes

and raising money for a great cause.” Where can people follow your different ventures? (facebook, websites, twitter, ebay etc) Well I have a few. On twitter I’m ‘Splik’ plus “NCDaleks”, plus Youtube I have two channels, ‘Splik’ and ‘brucethedalek’. There are various facebook pages including the Northern Charity Daleks, Universal

Alliance, ARC... You might be better walking up to me and saying “Hello”. Is there anything you would like to add? Peanut Butter. Everything tastes better with added peanut butter. Thanks for having me.

A Word with a WINNER

NE catches up with Screen-Con short story winner Daniel Richardson Hi Daniel and welcome to NE Online Magazine. How about you tell us a little bit about yourself? Hmmm. I don’t really know what to say to this one. I’m 21. I’m ginger. I’m a bit of a nerd. I have a lot of siblings and I finished University nearly one year ago. That’s me right now I guess. So how does it feel to be the Screen-Con Short story Competition Winner? It was a little bit crazy. I didn’t think I would win at all. In fact I had so little faith in winning that I wandered off for a bit to look around the convention when the announcement ran a little later than planned. I kind of forgot about it for that moment. Apparently Royd Tolkein was on stage

calling for me for quite some time. I was blissfully unaware because I was looking at a particularly tempting Buffy the Vampire Slayer figure. My friend had to call me to break me out of my consumerist trance and tell me to get on stage. Not only did you win but you also read out your story to a very eager crowd, so well done, how did you find that? It was really unusual for me. I never show anything I write to anyone. Not ever. At one point I did have a blog where I was posting a story as I wrote it but I got too self-conscious with regards to its quality and stopped updating the blog. There is about 30,000 words of it that have never been shown to anyone except for

two very close friends who asked to see more of it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about reading it out. How did you find out about the competition in the first place? Two friends mentioned it. They both had originally wanted to enter but didn’t get a chance to. To be honest if one of them had got a story in you probably wouldn’t be having this interview with me right now. They are way more talented than I am. What did you spend the prize money on? There was a guy selling old games at one of the stalls. I’d bought Alundra 2 from him earlier that day but didn’t have enough money to get

the the first Alundra game. I went back straight away when I’d won the money but he didn’t have it anymore so I think I got a combination of smaller, more ridiculous purchases instead. I know one of them was a massive cushion shaped like Yoshi’s face. In retrospect I should have gotten that Buffy figure. What was the inspiration behind your story? I had really bad writers block so a friend helped me spit ball some plot ideas. We came up with this excellent premise where a man invented a time machine, travelled forward 5 minutes to test it out only to emerge to a destroyed world with no signs of life. He then had to work out what had went so disastrously wrong in the last 5 minutes but couldn’t risk travelling back in case he got caught up in whatever had happened. After that my friend left, I got scared that the idea was too ambitious and complex for my ability and then wrote Powercut instead. So fear and a lack of self-confidence was the inspiration really.

I didn’t really get back into it till my 2nd year of University. Is there any particular genre you like to write about? I like to try and write in as many genre’s as I can so I don’t have a favourite. I’d really like to write more horror because I’m a massive fan of H.P. Lovecraft but I’m not very good at it yet.

Easy. Neil Gaiman because the words he writes make me write. Douglas Coupland because Hey Nostradamus! made me understand emotions and people in a way I never thought I would and Markus Zusak because The Book Thief is sublime. When you are not writing what do you like to do?

Why should our readers read your story? Well, Royd Tolkein liked it and he was lovely so you should probably listen to him. Also my mam has since put it on the fridge so obviously it’s reached the height of critical acclaim and recognition that any piece of literature can aspire to have. To Kill A Mockingbird was never on my mam’s fridge. I’m just saying. Have you been writing long? Kind of, I did a media course in college and carried on to do a media degree so I always wrote my own films but outside of academic work I’ve only been writing seriously for about a year or two. I used to love writing as a child but when I got to secondary school I thought I was too cool for all that (I wasn’t) and

Is this a hobby or is it something you would like to do for a living? It’s mainly been a hobby but I would love to do it for a living. At the moment I’m lucky enough to have a really good graduate job so I’m happy to just write for pleasure. Who are your favourite 3 authors and why?

My two main passions in life outside of writing are films and video games. I absolutely adore both mediums and have actually been fortunate enough to make a couple of award winning films. I practically live at the cinema these days. On a good week I’ll catch three films. Games suck up all the other bits of my free time. There’s a home video of me as a child beating the first level of Alex Kidd in

the Miracle World before I could walk and talk. Since then I’ve been collecting games and have amassed a massive collection of good games, bad games, rarities and obscurities that now numbers in the thousands. In the twenty years I’ve been buying I’ve never once traded one back in. If you were stranded on a desert island with only 1 book what would it be and why? Mogworld by Yahtzee Croshaw. It’s a fantastically under-rated book and while not my alltime favourite I think I’d need something as sardonic as this to cope with the reality of my inevitable death when I can’t find any more coconuts. What advice would you give to ant other aspiring writers? I’d advise them to not follow my advice because I don’t know anything. I’d also advise them to not follow anyone else’s advice

however because writing should be personal and for yourself. Whether anyone else likes or not is simply a bonus that may or may not happen, but then again what do I know? Bit of a paradoxical tip there. What is your next step in regards to your writing? I’d like to finish a novel. I’ve came close but fell short at the end when I got distracted by a different idea that I thought was considerably better. The one I nearly finished was about an Irish Grim Reaper going on a road trip with a suicidal man. It was weird, clunky and tried too hard to be funny but I’d like to see it through to its closing chapter someday. Tell us 3 secrets or random facts about yourself?

bomb through two tables in his Summerslam 2000 TLC match at the impressionable age of 7. 2. I have a Legend of Zelda Tattoo that takes up a large section of my back. 3. I took up stand-up comedy to overcome my social awkwardness. I’m still awkward, I just now talk about it on stage sometimes. Do you have a blog or a website where people can keep up to date with you and your writing? Is there anything you would like to add? I’m planning on posting on my old one again which was http:// danwhofilms.tumblr.com/. I’m also sporadically posting to twitter these days under the handle @danielwhofilms

1. I’ve wanted to be a professional wrestler ever since I saw Jeff Hardy swanton

SCREEN-CON 2014 Over the next 26 pages you will be able to read all of the short stories that were sent into the SCREEN-CON Short Story Competition, including the 2 winning stories. The standard of writing was just fantastic and all three judges found it hard to pick only 2 winners, one for the Under 14 ‘s and one for the adults. Ian Todd from Crack Magazine and myself were joined by Royd Tolkien, who’s great-grandfather is non other than the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings author, J.R.R. Tolkien. Royd really was impressed by all of the stories and even commented on how he couldn’t believe one of the winners was only 10 years old and was wrighting at that level. A big thank you to everyone that did enter, you really have impressed us with your imagination and your story telling, we hope that you all keep going, please do not stop writing as I know you will bring a lot of pleasure to a lot of people with your fantastic stories. So now its over to you, our readers, please take the time to read all of the stories, feel free to share your thoughts with us by email or on our facebook page as we would love to hear your thoughts plus I’m sure all of the authors would like to hear them as well.

SHORT STORY COMPETITION 17

SCREEN-CON SHORT STORY WINNER

POWERCUT By Daniel Richardson The dark black of night blankets an even darker town. I strain my tired eyes, watching the roads unfold in front of me and fade into dullness. It’s only 9pm, amazing what a difference the streetlights had made. I bury my chin into the neck of my clothes; a thick bushy beard ruffles against the material. At least my chin will be warm now, though I imagine the rest of my face must look redder than a harlot’s lipstick in this chill. Max tugs lightly on his lead and drags me forward over path we can barely see. In the distance I can make out some crowds hovering around the old clubs. Even after all this you couldn’t stop people from going out drinking it seemed. Everyone needed some sense of normality I suppose. I actually liked the new club scene. All the music had to be played live now and acoustic too, which was nice. Mind you I’d have traded in any one of those busking guitarists that got up in those candle lit ven-

ues for a little internet. You know that feeling you get when you can’t remember the name of an actor in a film you like? I’ve had that for a god damn year now in a world without IMDB. I pass a homeless man, I can’t make out what his cardboard says in the dark so I ask him. “368 days since the incident.” he tells me. “Yeah.” I say and I give him some change. We don’t know what the incident was but the rumours are it started from the city not far South of here. What’s it called again? Not Leicester, the other one. Dammit. I’d kill for Google right now. Anyway people seem to think some scientist there was messing around with something, then next thing we know…boom! No more electricity. No phones. No TV. No cars. Nothing. I come out the back of the city and we head over the field on the way home. There’s a plane crash

in the middle amongst all the trees. They moved the bodies but they didn’t have any machinery to lift the bulk so it stayed there. A grim monument to the day it all went wrong. I decide I don’t want to look at it today so me and Max go the long way round. That’s when I see the light. In the distance there’s this beam on the floor. As I get closer I realise its coming from under a shed. Why build a shed here? The door pushes open easily and my eyes wince at a strong unfamiliar glare. My silhouette lights up in the doorframe. As I focus I realise what I’m staring at. There’s a lightbulb in here. It’s switched on. I don’t know how what I’m looking at is possible but it’s here. I’m seeing it. It just sits there, modest little thing it is, pretending its angelic luminosity is no big deal. I don’t even see any wire that would powered it, this thing can’t possibly be real. Reaching out to touch

the glass my fingertips burn and I smile. It really is here and it’s me, Alex Kinston, who has found it. I am the only owner in the world right now of all of the entire planets energy. The shed is otherwise bare except for a workbench, a couple of rusty tools and some duct tape. The wood that makes up the walls is dirty and weak but I’ll be damned if this shed isn’t the prettiest interior I haven’t seen in over a year. You could say it just lights up. I’m broken from my trance by a barking Max off in the distance. He’s run off to the other side of the field. I chase after him but not before closing the shed door and taping the frame at the bottom so the beam doesn’t leak out into the night. By the time I catch up to Max I’m closer to home than the shed and with work in the morning bed is my best bet. Tomorrow I’ll show my new toy to someone. Tonight

I’ll decide which friend it will be. Bobby and I come back the next day. Bobby was mouthing off at lunch how he and his wife have just got a new grass-cutter. The kind you don’t need electricity for. He thinks he’s got something cool? I’ll show him. I open the door and he’s taken aback, but before I even have the chance to dwell in his stunned silence he says the unthinkable. “We need to get this to someone.” “What?” I ask. “This is huge!” he shouts “If we get this to some scientist they could maybe fix everything.” What is this idiot talking about? Who does he think will get all the credit for this discovery if we do that? Me? No, I’d be forgotten about. I tell him this and he laughs in my face. Says I should share my toys. He patronises me. He tries to go, to tell someone, to give my light away. I grab

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his wrist to stop him and he pushes me back. My hip hits the workbench table and the shock shoots up my spine. He comes to me, feigning some kind of interest in my pain and I show him how it feels by swinging at his face. The punch connects but he quickly returns with his own, busting my lip. I try to grab him but he pins me down on the workbench. In a panic I pick up a wrench and crack his skull. His grip loosens and he lies on the floor. I’ve hurt him. I might have killed him. What have I done? I look at him lying there, blood pooling across the wooden floor. For a brief moment he disappears to darkness and re-appears before my eyes. Above me I hear a buzz. I look up to the light. It flickers out. Powercut By Daniel Richardson

As well as being a bit of a regular on Celebrity Juice, Never Mind the Buzzcocks and 8 out of 10 Cats you are now starring in the North East based sitcom Hebburn, how did that come about? - My mate and fellow comedian Jason Cook decided to write a sitcom about the town he was from, Hebburn, and he actually wrote me a little side part which he named after me. But when it came to being made the BBC asked me to read for the main character, and when I got it, Jason took the part that he’d written for me! It came about so gradually that I didn’t really realise the enormity of being lead role in a BBC2 sitcom until I saw the advert on TV. I nearly passed out. How has the response for Hebburn been so far? - Overwhelmingly positive. And we just won Best Drama at the RTS North awards too. And we’ve got a second series! You are now embarking on your biggest tour to date, how do you feel about this? - Yeah incredible! It’s an extension of my last tour, Feeling Lucky. I did 60+ dates in 2012 but the demand for tickets was so high and people enjoyed the show so much that I’m doing another 40 odd dates this year in much bigger venues. I can’t wait to get back out on the road.

“We had just landed in the jungle. I overheard some of my men saying how easy this was going to be but they didn’t realise how wrong they were. It was nearly midnight, what a stupid time for something like this, as if doing a special OPs wasn’t scary enough but to do one at night you’d have to be crazy.” He laughed but then groaned in pain. “One of my men screamed then I saw shadows, dark shadows not like any other, these were alive. I turned around in time to see the last five of my men get slaughtered. The shadows passed through them as if there was nothing there. After that my men were just cold, dead bodies covered head-to-toe in their own blood. “And that is the last thing I remember before I awoke here.” “Thank you for that, General Grinder,” said Sgt Clove, “it will be of much help to us.” **** “Attention!” Sgt Clove yelled as the small squad prepared for what we thought was a suicide mission into the ‘death jungle,’ as the men called it. We stood to attention as the Sergeant inspected us. “Let’s move out.” He pointed to the Chinook. It was big enough to carry a garrison let alone a platoon. Quietly he said to me, “We need to know what killed those men.” We neared the landing-site, and through the windows saw large areas of rainforest, with the occasional clearing. About fifteen minutes later we had landed in one of the largest clearings we had seen so far and we prepped our guns. As we left the Chinook we heard the twin engines fire up again. We advanced deeper into the jungle, Sgt Clove in the lead. It was just after dawn and we had a long trek ahead of us. We

walked for many hours with few breaks, which weren’t very restful anyway because we were so tense. Eventually we found a form of path which led through the jungle and we decided to take it because we all preferred the idea of walking on a path to tripping over vines. Halfway through the day Clove ordered us to take a break. Two men asked if they could leave the group for ‘the call of nature’. Not long after they left one of them came back yelling, “Quickly! Get over here!” Me, Clove and three others followed the soldier who had called us over. When we arrived at the scene I

saw vines hanging from the trees, twisted into the shape of hanging bodies. As I got closer, I realised that they were in fact corpses, overgrown with moss and vines. “Are they…?” Clove asked. “Yes, sir.” The soldier looked grim. “We checked the dogtags and these bodies are of General Grinder’s squad.” “Bury them,” a nervous Sgt Clove quietly ordered. One of the men went further into the jungle to cut one of the bodies free of the vines but as soon as he touched the body there was a dark flash and he dropped to the ground. Everyone rushed over to him and soon

discovered that he was dead. He was covered head-to-toe in his own blood. Me and Sgt Clove looked at each other. This is exactly what General Grinder described happening to his men. Clove made the hard decision to leave the bodies unburied for the safety of the rest of his troop. After what seemed to be a long night, trying to sleep in the shadows, we trekked on through the jungle. We arrived at the foot of a small mountain and in the clear sunlight saw what seemed to be a man-made structure at the summit. Clove thought it best for us to investigate it so we headed up the mountain.

Halfway up the mountain, my friend Hamish, who I was walking behind, nudged me and told me to count our shadows. I thought this was a weird request, but I did it nonetheless. One hundred and one. That couldn’t be right! We came here with a hundred men. We had lost one. That made ninety-nine. There should’ve been ninetynine shadows. The shadows. “Sir, there’s 99 soldiers and 101 shadows!” I yelled. Clove instantly knew what I meant and started to sprint up the mountain. The troop followed. No-one but me and Clove knew what we were running from, probably for the best. We reached the

top. Before us stood the structure. Rows of steps rose up into a pyramid-shaped temple, with an entrance at the base. Suddenly, two of our men dropped dead, bloody. Clove ordered everyone to freeze. We did so. Me and Clove anxiously glared at the shadows of the men. Clove yelled and pointed at a shadow moving on the ground. It wasn’t one of ours. It took down nine other men, as horrifically as Grinder had described, with all the blood and the screaming. The survivors of the sudden attack sprinted inside the temple. There were more shadows in there. Clove ordered the defensive formation, basically a ring of men facing outwards. A giant white figure materialised from the centre of the floor and the shadows halted, as if obeying their leader. It nodded. That must’ve been the signal to attack because the black shapes swarmed around us, getting closer. I saw one of the men activate the torch on his gun, accidentally. The shadow in its beam instantly disintegrated. “I’ve got an idea,” I yelled at the troop. “Everyone! Fire your flares at the roof!” An array of flares hit the roof at roughly the same time, exploding, causing light to fill the temple. All the shadows including the large white one disintegrated. The roof started to collapse and we raced for the entrance. Outside, I counted the men. 12. I counted the shadows. 12. Phew. One of the twelve survivors asked Clove, “What just happened?!” He shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. I’m Infantry, not Intelligence,” he chuckled. By Billy Bob Robinson Aged 10

Final Demand by Mr Daniel Williams & Mr Frederick D McColl

The wooden stairway was about the only cool place left in the house on this already sweltering hot day he realised as he made his way down the stairs cursing and cussing at his barking dog “Dexter, will you shut up” he shouted for the fifth time at the ignoring canine. His vest clung tightly to his hairy overweight body with the sweat that had amassed in the crevices of his unhealthy bulk and pausing on the stairs for a moment he pulled on the elastics of his stained underwear before chastising the dog once more. As he entered the kitchen he spent a few moments surveying the remaining kitchen work tops trying to find a semi clean cup before being disturbed by the sudden growling and scratching of his now excited dog on the door preceding the familiar clunk of the mornings post arrive. “Dexter will you shut up, I mean it, or I will kick your ass up those stairs” the dog stopped for a moment awaiting to see if the threat would be carried through as the man headed toward the door to collect the mail. Back in the kitchen the man in the powerful sun light of the kitchen window began to sort the morning mail into his unique order of importance, first the outstanding child support reminder was carefully filed in the bin followed closely by a couple of solicitor letters in fact there was only one envelope

that interested him at all and he studied the black envelope all over. Ripped open the envelope fell to the floor as he unfolded the crisp A4 paper inside, Dear Mr Warren this is your final demand for payment in full of your outstanding sum of £43.000 by 6pm that day to Human Secure for the protection we have provided you with over the last four years. His face now slightly raged he read on to the choices of payment and then the last section where if he needed help with payment or if there was any query that he felt needed attention to telephone his client adviser Mr Clinton Cotton on 0800-SEC-URE immediately. “Whoever sent this letter is going to need fucking protection from me if I ever meet them” he muttered to himself as he promptly screwed the letter into a ball and threw it into the overflowing bin as his outdated phone began to vibrate on the kitchen worktop. He plodded over to his phone and studied the screen it displayed withheld number which only irritated him “yep” he said in the rudest manner he could muster “Ah Mr Warren, Clinton Cotton here Sir from Human Secure, just a quick call to confirm you received our final demand, payment in full I believe Sir and to check what method of payment you will be using today?”. Clinton Cotton! got be a wind up, some elaborate

prank masterminded by his drinking mates many a scenario quickly ran through his mind as the silence on the phone once again broke “Mr Warren are you still their?” he tried to think of something clever to say that would end this prank quicker “Yes I’m here” was all he could come up with hoping to buy himself more time. “Sir I need to take payment today Sir, We’ve been protecting you from them for some time now Sir and had to intervene on several occasions, to date Sir we have not received any payment for our services” patience out the window he burst back into the conversation “Protection from fucking what?”. A brief pause from the representative followed “Sir may I advise you do not use that sort of language or I will be forced to hang up and cancel your protection immediately, not a good idea when you have one on your property as we speak Sir”. Blood boiling not used to being dictated to or chastised he jumps back into the conversation “Now you listen to me Mr Clinton Fucking Cotton or whatever you’re name is” he stopped speaking as he could hear the line had gone dead on the other end. Slamming the phone on the worktop in temper he rushed for the bin in a bid to retrieve the screwed up letter when from the hallway came the most horrendous screaming noise from his dog and a crash of smashing glass. “What the”

he shouted as his attention had been diverted to the hallway turning in mid step he made his way to the kitchen door throwing it open he stopped in horror at what he was faced with. His dog lay bloodied and motionless draped through the smashed window on the door its hind legs hanging down the inside of the door frame. He froze for a second then grabbed for a piece of wood that lay by the banister before heading toward the door staring down at the lifeless animal before jumping feet as something hit his back, turning wildly

he swung the wood again and again until he stopped swinging as his eyes focused on what had hit him, his dogs head lay on the floor before him eyes rolled back in its head as if it was still looking up at him. He urged and a slow trickle of bile and vomit hang from his mouth until it had swung and stuck to his vest. Silence for a brief moment followed until a strange wheezing breathing noise from upstairs took away the stillness, wiping his mouth he ran up the stairs screaming at whatever awaited him â&#x20AC;&#x153;your

dead youâ&#x20AC;? a flash of jolt hit him he never finished his sentence he remained still 2 stairs from the top his airways filled with the smell of urine and faeces before a gurgling sound took over, his eyes just focusing on an impish looking creature with knotted hair mixed facial features and razor sharp bony claws where arms should be before his head rolled back and gently tore from his neck. by Mr Daniel Williams & Mr Frederick D McColl

DEVOTION by Mary Oram

Alice had never been out this long before. Arnold checked the clock… it had been all of five minutes. Ok, then maybe it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. Panic had been coursing through his veins since the moment Alice had left and time appeared to be coursing past at an alarming rate. Five minutes was fine though, he could handle five minutes. A breeze brushed a branch against the window causing Arnold’s ears to prick up. Was it her? Could she be back already? He scanned the world outside with eyes like a hawk. No movement in front of the house. Dammit. He settled back down on the back of Alice’s’ chair like a meercat on sentry duty, curled his scaly tail around his petit claws, wings drawn back, and ears raised skywards. Yes, Arnold was a dragon. A very small one, but you’d never say that to his face; he had a temper and could understand most languages with the exception of Zarulian, they had a speech all of their own and, Arnold thought, they could keep it that way. A twelve-fingered hand tentatively posted an envelope through Alice’s’ front door, trying with all it’s might to be as silent as possible (it had once upon a time been a fifteen-fingered hand, but between Arnold and the miniature-were-schnauzer next door, the digits were

slowly decreasing. The stubs were starting to grow back though). The letter landed with a soft rattle.

against her right head.

Arnold launched himself from the seat back, one claw causing a small tear in the cushion that he knew he’d be scolded for later, and flew for the door. The tantalising extremities of the postman’s hand were already gone, the letter lay guarded by a metal box he’d already tried and failed to get into, and his master was nowhere in sight. Arnold dropped his ears and flew slowly to his bed in the fireplace. The coals were still warm and they soothed his worries. He looked at the clock once more before drifting off to sleep. It had been six minutes.

“We haven’t been that long!” said the right.

The beep of the key sliding through the door lock ripped Arnold from his dreams of aerial assaults on postal workers, and caused him to fall from his fiery nest. She was home at last! Arnold quickly glanced at the clock. Ten minutes had passed since Alice had departed for the local shop, but for Arnold it had seemed like a lifetime. “I’m home!” Alice called as the door vanished and she passed through the vacant portal. Arnold ran screeching like a kitten crying for its mother, leapt into his masters’ arms and rubbed his spiny skull

“Calm down!” said the left head.

Arnold purred contentedly and licked both faces with his sandpaper-tongue. “Stop it Arnold! I’ve only just grown the skin back from the last licking you gave me.” Giggled the left. Arnold stopped, drew his head back and looked them both in the eyes. His tongue still protruded slightly from between his lizard-like lips making the left head giggle all the more. “We’ve got something for you!” Announced the head on the right. Arnold squeaked and leapt to the floor, his head kept low, his rear end raised and shaking violently from the furiousness of his wagging tail. He knew what was coming; it had been the reason for them going out after all. From a brightly coloured bag Alice produced a small rodent-like creature. Its fur was the deepest shade of damson wine and shone in the light like a multitude of iridescent fireworks. Its long snout probed the air, sniffing and snorting as it caught

Arnolds’ scent. Its eye was placed so high on its head that the only thing within its field of vision was a direct shot up both of Alice’s noses. Arnold yelped and leapt with excitement. “Here you go baby.” Coo’ed the right. “Only the best for you, my little sweetheart.” Fussed the left. Arnold grabbed the ratty animal gently between his claws and scampered back into the front room. On the back wall stood a large golden cage covered

with crystal pipes, tunnels, smaller caged rooms and a water bottle. He stopped in front of the little metal barred door, opened it, and plopped his prize inside before standing back and admiring his work. He was now only one away from a complete collection of Postletanian one-eyed cave rats, the last being the most extravagant, highly endangered, diamond furred king rat of Exzhalsia 9. Arnold locked the cage and flew back to his fiery pit, content and blissful now that his master had returned as promised, and his collection

was one step closer to completion. Alice looked at Arnold with both heads, “He is so sweet.” Whispered the left head. “Spoilt rotten!” Exclaimed the right head. “Worth it though.” Smiled the left. “Totally.” Sighed the right. By Mary Oram

Alex, Bob and the Tentacles in Black by Mary Oram The sun hung low in the sky, casting its’ long shadows over Alex’s’ dumbfounded expression and the small metallic ship that had crash landed into the sandpit in which he was sat. A door opened with a quiet shushing sound that would have been barely noticeable if it weren’t for the school yards’ lack of screaming bullies and simpering beauty queens. Alex stood and studied the miniature being, who in turn studied him right back.

“Alex.”

“Quacklar?” The traveller quizzed.

Bob gave Alex a look of surprise and disbelief, “I don’t want money! I have no need of it. No, what I need is a friend, someone who could keep me safe for a little while.”

“What?” alarmed Alex. The alien adjusted something hidden within what seemed to be it’s ear, “Ah, so you’re Earthling! There’s no real word in your language for my name so I suppose you can call me Bob: I’ve always liked that name… Bob.” Bob smiled. Alex, still shaking from the shock of seeing Bob’s ship fall from the heavens and land at his feet, looked at his diminutive companion and gasped liked a goldfish. “Oh, krillenhorst, I didn’t hit you on the way in, did I? Damn it, everywhere I go I end up landing on someone’s head…” Bob muttered angrily to himself. “No,” Alex croaked at last, “you didn’t hurt me.” Bob gazed into the ten year olds’ quivering blue eyes, “You could really scare a Zeflon with that silent thing you just did. Now, who are you?”

“Ok… bit of a weird name, wouldn’t have chosen it myself, but whatever levitates your hydro-sphere, I suppose. Alex, I am in need of your help.” The young boy thought it over as he twiddled his tie around his slightly podgy fingers, “I don’t have any money if that’s what you need, Michael took that at lunch.”

A friend, Alex thought. He’d never really had one before; no one had ever spoken to him other than to demand his lunch money, or to call him fat. He smiled, but then his mind flinched over something his new ‘friend’ had casually slipped into the sentence, “What do you mean, keep you safe?” Bob sat, sighed and crossed his long legs behind his back. He searched the ground in front of him for the right words, and after what seemed like an age, spoke, “I’m in trouble young Alec.” “Alex.” “Sorry. Alex.” Bob corrected. “Where I come from, I am High Prince. I own half the planet!” he boasted. “But some nasty Zenophods have decided they want the world for their own. I beg of you, please help me to hide

until I am able to escape.” A whirring of engines above them stalled the conversation, “They’re here! Please Alec, you have to help me.” “Alex.” “OK! OK! ALEX! PLEASE! THEY’LL KILL ME!” Bob shrieked with panic. Alex saw the landing lights of a rocket fifty times the size of Bob’s own. He kept his glance skywards while his hands quickly shoved Bob, and ship, into his backpack. A muffled, “Thank y…!” half flowed out of the bag as he hurriedly zipped Bob in. The craft landed and an official looking creature, complete with Men in Black style suit jacket flowed out on what looked like a thousand tentacles. The thing loomed over Alex and held up a picture of Bob: he was running over a field with a smile on his face, naked except for some jewellery covering all but the crack of his shiny purple backside. “HAVE. YOU. SEEN. THIS. XENOMIC?” The monster boomed into Alex’s’ face with slow, powerful syllables. “No.” Alex responded. “What’s a zen-o-mike?” he asked, interested in what kind of lies would be spouted in the pursuit of his new friend. The alien moved uncomfortably within the confines of the jacket, as if the only reason for him wearing it was an attempt to blend in, “It is a dangerous

criminal; a thief, a liar, and a murderer.” He may have raised an eyebrow at this point as something moved above his third eye, “He is wanted for killing our exalted leader, the Highest Prince Yomador. This picture was taken while he was escaping with the Princes’ morning snacks.” Alex looked at the picture again, “The Prince eats necklaces?” “What you Earthlings do with food and what we do are two completely different things. Now stop wasting my time you tubby little Xanoflax. I am on an important mission, and if he’s not here, then neither should I be.” He glanced menacingly down into Alex’s’ partly unnerved and pale face, turned upon

his thousand suckered limbs, and left aboard a ship that had touched down without anyone but Alex’s’ knowledge. As the vessel left the Earth’s atmosphere, Bob quietly thanked his saviour from within the confines of the school bag. The sound of the school doors creaking open and slamming against the crumbling red brick wall woke Alex from his upward stare. His Mum barged through and down the stairs. “I’m so sorry that took longer than I thought, that blooming teacher of yours is a right head-case! What have you been up to?” Alex smiled broadly and took a deep breath, “Well, first a ship landed in the sandpit and I met Bob, then I saved him from an alien with a

million tentacles, and now we’re friends and I’ve got him in my bag! Do you want to see him Mum?” He began to unzip the rucksack. “Maybe later, baby. We really need to get home. Don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Sounds like you’ve had fun though.” His Mother swiftly dismissed the story and hurried him to the car. Bob had been sat in the bag listening to everything: he had held his breath as Alex had begun the unzipping, but was now sat happily back on his crossed legs, grinning and munching on his second gold earring of the evening. By Mary Oram

Finding My Wings by Kirsty Card

Have you ever felt like the world you’re in isn’t the world you belong in? I have. I always had done and it turns out I was right in thinking so. It all started, back on earth. That day seemed like a normal day as I walked into Media with Carly and Andrew. They were my best friends, I don’t know how we met but it had always been the three of us. Carly had red hair and twinkling, chocolate brown eyes. Andrew, he was tall, he had ginger hair that was trimmed neatly. His eyes were a piercing green and he had a charming grin that was to die for. I had fallen for him. “Double Media then Assembly,” Carly groaned as she slammed her forehead down on the keyboard and it began to insert letters into her coursework that had no business being there. The mention of Assembly made my stomach turn. It was only Assembly, what was wrong with that? She lifted her head up sat deleting the letters she had just inserted. I set off to work, before I knew it I had to log off and that was when my heart started to flutter and my hands started to shake. It was only an Assembly, right? As we walked down the steps into the hall the nervous feeling was fading. I walked over to my seat, next to Carly.

They started giving out the awards, Andrew’s name was called, I was proud of him. Suddenly I heard the loud clatter of footsteps. The nervous feeling began to take over me, only worse, I was sweating buckets, I was shaking more violently than an earthquake. My heart was fluttering like I was having a painless heart attack.

top of people’s chairs to the front of the hall.

Everyone had turned to see who had just came in but I didn’t dare turn around. I was trying to calm down.

“You don’t even know me,” I shouted, knowing that it was a lie.

“You stay away from my daughter, mortal,” a deep voice bellowed, I couldn’t remember where I had heard his voice but I have heard it, it chilled me to the bone. I turned in a stiff motion, he was a beefy man with a twisted grin, as he stared angrily towards Andrew. His skin was pale and he had violet eyes like me. “Who... me?” Andrew gulped nervously, clinging onto the award as if it could save him. The man slipped his hand into his pocket and whipped out a gun. It was just like a laser gun from the movies only I was convinced this was real. I gulped so hard it hurt. I slowly stood up to get a better view. At this point I didn’t really care about myself, I knew I had a connection to that man so if Andrew got hurt, it would be my fault. I hopped over the

“Stay the hell away from him!” I cried out, standing right in the line of fire. “He’s not good enough for you,” he said in the softest tone he could master.

“You’re my child, of course I know you,” he replied, with a gentle look in his eyes. He couldn’t be my father, I had parents but when I think about it I’m nothing like them. I looked like him though, he could be my dad but I can’t remember him, but the more I looked at him, the more familiar he got. “What does he mean by ‘mortal’?” Andrew asked, in a terrified voice. “Quiet you!” growled my ‘father’ as he raised his gun and shot at the curtain pole above Andrew’s head . It hit the chain that was holding the pole. Everything seemed like it was moving in slow motion and my heart felt like it was beating fast and slow at the same time. I could hear my own pulse over everyone’s screaming as I jumped on the stage and pushed Andrew away. When time went back to normal, I wasn’t out of the

way and the railing slammed on my leg. The pain traveled all over my body. My body ran cold but my head was burning. I screamed in agony. My head started throbbing to the beat of my heart. I kicked the heavy pole off me, when I looked through teary eyes, a violet glow was starting to appear from my toes. The more I screamed the brighter the glow got and the further it got up my body until I was blinded by it. When I could see, I looked at myself, I had changed. I had long blond curls, a tiny waist and feathered wings sprouting from between my shoulder blades. I had scraps of white cloth round my breasts - which were distinctively larger - and around my lower parts. I had what looked like a tattooed silver flower pattern on the right-side of me. I had

memories of a completely different world I once called home and a family I forgot I had. “My princess,” my father gasped as he stepped forward. I raised my hand and blasted a pulse towards him. The force was strong, he went backwards, scraping up and skidding through the floorboards. “Leave Andrew alone!” “I won’t, you can’t love him if he’s dead.” “No! What will it take for you to leave him alone?!” “Your return to our home planet!” he replied. I gasped. Andrew had tears in his eyes as he looked at me

helplessly. I glided over to him quickly and gently held his right hand. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, it brought tears to my eyes. A golden tear dripped from my bottom lashes, I looked into his dreamy eyes, not caring about the judging eyes that were watching us. “ This is our only hope. I’ve found my wings now. I know where I belong but I promise one day I’ll come back for you,” I whispered, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

By Kirsty Card

www.megacity5.com

It came from Outer Space by Joseph Eva Or rather it came from just outside of the Solar System orbiting the star Sol. It came from a small dwarf planet, known to the natives of Earth as, the rather unimpressive, 1745327 Varka. It was unimpressive in at least three accounts. The first being it’s Earth-given name, it is boring and mathematical. The planet’s name in it’s native language was Resuto, which seems easy enough to say but in Resutian you must pronounce every vowel as a different whistle, the pitch depending on the temperature and wind direction at the time of speech. Resutoids (the native species of Resuto), for those who do not know their appearance, resemble the Gorticles of Prond Beta only without the terribly sharp teeth with which they enjoying eating snralts. For those of you who do not know the appearance of the Gorticles, they resemble the small, hairy, vile creatures that Earthlings have never fully managed to train without the animal drawing blood for their masters. This creatures are locally known to the Earthlings as Cats. Restuoids have neither the fearsome personality of these creatures, nor the hair. This is the second reason that no one should be impressed. As for the third reason Resuto was unimpressive was that Resuto translates as ‘Planet that surrenders easily’. The amount of other planets, moons and small asteroids that had previously

conquered Resuto was 342. Resutoids had a saying whenever they were being invaded that would have sounded to Earth ears as a series of ever-changing whistles jumbled with letters like a highly intelligent but nervous Robin giving a press release about Robins becoming highly intelligent. The saying goes like this: “We are small, hairless, cold and cowardly. We can’t fight back so enjoy your stay os our planet”. Coincidentally, 343 is the number of planets that we know to support life in our Universe. There was only one planet with known life that had never even shown signs of wanting to invade Resuto. This planet was too wrapped up in which one of it’s natives had recently procreated or which one had the most little bits of metal and paper. It was because of this the Resutoids finally decided that it was time to leave their own home and head to this planet, Earth. Earth did not know that there was life on 1745327 Varka, nor did they know that there was life on any planet besides Earth. They did however know the best ways to lose baby weight and the words to the latest song on the radio, but that was only because the lyrics were repetitive and simple, kind of like the human race itself. Resutoid spaceships were strange. Strange in the fact that they were constructed by small and simple creatures about the size of a Ret-Fuggler™ made by Draalbrat, a device very popular on the planet

Satdrek that one can place on their tail to stimulate mucus growth. Yet also strange in the design of ship, the appearance of a Resutoid spaceship was unlike any other. It was in the shape of a giant coil, and made entire of glass, even the engines. For hairless space cats, these aliens knew some pretty advanced technological wonders. The ships flew over Washington DC, New York, London as well as other famous and predictable cities that aliens always seem to land in as well as, for a very brief amount of time, a small town called Falmouth in the South-West of England before shooting off to Rome to get more screen time on the nightly news. The world knew they were here. It didn’t know what they wanted. The Resutoid mothership, landed on the Whitehouse grounds. The President herself went out to meet the first extra-terrestrials to land on Earth. She stood on the grass. The ruler of Resuto stood on the grass. The ruler Of Resuto was actually known as Emperor Dwayne which, by a staggering coincidence, at this specific temperature and wind direction was pronounced the same as the Earth name Dwayne. He was small, but not as small as the others, and he was hairless and a delightful shade of beige that was most pleasing to the eye. The President was really called Diana Hall. She

was average height with average length brown hair, to put it plainly she was average as they come exceot for her intellectual mind and professional political outlook. She was in her late fourties, unmarried with an overbearing personality. While running for office her main political point was “I have no social life so I can devote my all to this country” which was extremely sad. The two life forms met one another and President Hall knelt to the ground. “Hello” she said, “I am President Diana Hall of the United States of America. Welcome to Earth. What do you want?”. Emperor Dwayne paused.

Resutoids have evolved with the uncanny ability to pick up a species entire language just from hearing a few words of it, extremely clever and necessary if you are living on a planet where different races invade you all the time. “We surrender” he said. “Excuse me?” the President said. “We surrender. You are the only planet to have never even come close to invading us. So we decided we would come to you and surrender now. Saves plenty of time if you ask me”. “Oh” said the President. She paused, partly due to shock, partly due to indigestion. “Do you have any conditions?”

she said, not knowing quite what to say. “Yes” said Emperor Dwayne “You allow us to join your planet. It has oxygen, water and, what you call, mice. Can we stay in the homes of you humans?”. The President picked up Emperor Dwayne. “Welcome to your new home eveyone” she said and stroked behind what she thought was his ear, but was actually his testicles. Emperor Dwayne yelled back to his comrades “We’ll like it here friends!”. By Joseph Eva

Judgement of Inequity BY Tom Illingworth A shadow in a dark corner sat motionless, looking down the corridor at two men standing guard in front of his targeted warehouse. He tilted his head to the left and into his jacket he whispered. “Two men. One armed with a knife and the other is weaponless.” A voice giving an order crackled back into his ear piece. “Take a reading Milgram.” “Roger” The adjudicator Milgram pointed his mk.2 Justifier at the man without a weapon. A small glow lit his hands as the gun whirred into a slow and lazy blue haze. The guards hadn’t noticed it seemed. Another voice spoke clear, pronounced English into his ear and a small eye overlay brought up his pertinent information. “Target: Rachid Arma. Last Reading: 10 July 2032. Current Criminal Latency Level: 2. You have permission to stun and bring into custody. Aim carefully and pull the trigger.” Andrew Milgram then switched target to the man with the knife. “Target: John Stokes. Last Reading: 15 March 2029. Current Criminal Latency Level: 3. You have permission to execute on sight. Aim carefully and pull the trigger.” Andrew kept the weapon levelled with the safety still on only giving power to the targeting computers and relayed the info back to his supervising officer. “Marcus. We have two names here. Check my Justifier’s history. Anything

significant to report before I take them out?” A few taps on a keyboard was heard before Marcus reported back. “Neither of them are getting any hits on the Criminality Analysis Nexus. Though for low end thugs guarding doors that is nearly always the case. In other words feel free to take them down. I will send a police car to take our friend Rachid to the Bristol Blackvale Rehabilitation Centre.” Andrew tightened up his posture in preparation for his agile body to make a sprint. “Roger that. Taking them down.” One more order crackled through on his ear piece. “Remember Milgram. The operation here is to secure the building. We know that there are only two people guarding and those two are it. Take them out and scout it out” “Roger that sir. Quick and quiet.” Andrew turned off his ear piece his philosophy being that while it’s useful to have extra info mid fight or mission. A stray noise or distraction could cost him his life. Andrew pointed the Justifier again at the two men. They were still talking to each other and one of them was smoking. “Target: John Stokes. Last Reading: 15 March 2029. Current Criminal Latency Level: 3. You have permission to execute on sight. Aim carefully and pull the trigger.” He took the safety off the

Justifier and the gun kicked into life. A blue haze shone in his shadowed corner and the guns internal nanobot producers kicked into overdrive. John Stokes took notice but didn’t know what to make of it. He opened his mouth to say something but as he did he felt a small shard of metal puncture his chest. A second later blood poured out of his eyes as the nanobots had already worked their way into his blood system and into his brain causing a haemorrhage of a catastrophic scale while also deconstructing key cardiovascular veins and arteries. Rachid turned around to find where the shot had come from but it was too late as a shard of nanobots had punctured him as well and shut down his neurosensory and neuromotor systems but had mercifully left his heart and other vital systems still functioning. Andrew stood up and ran forwards his short black hair blown by the wind with every stride. He checked both of them for a key or any information on the building. John had a small rusty key on him that fit the lock on the abandoned warehouse door. He opened the heavy metal door and slowly stepped in. The front room was dark but with the opened door had enough light to make out an old desk as well as a small passageway with a door that had a small beam of light coming from under it. Andrew checked it and found the drug supply. Andrew flicked on the radio communication again and

spoke into the transmitter in his jacket collar. “Marcus? You there?” A disgruntled voice came from the other side. “Yeah I am here. You need to stop turning your comms off. We took you into the adjudicators thinking that you would be capable of following orders and doing things by the book.” Andrew replied in a matter of fact way “Sometimes the old practice methods in the police force were best.” “Yeah but you aren’t a policeman anymore. Maybe the reason why you were put in Blackvale was because of that stubbornness of yours to adapt. You were seen as undesirable by the Criminal Analysis Network.” “Yet you still felt like you

could field me as part of the Adjudicators.” An exasperated sigh came from the other end of the comms before Marcus finished “Because you are still a cop regardless of your mental state. Now is there something you actually wanted?” “I found the drugs. Marijuana, cocaine etc. Now I want a general sweep of this building to detect for life signs elsewhere in here.” “You sure? If we do that you won’t be able to use your Justifier for a while.” Milgram holstered his justifier and pulled out his stun baton clenching it with a strong grip and holding it above his head while approaching the door. “Yeah I am sure.”

A crackle of electricity resonated through the air and lots of small dust-like particles fell to the floor. Marcus reported on the comms. “No one else is in there bar you Milgram. We are sending in the cars now. Your new orders are to stand guard over Rachid and John’s corpse and make sure no one else comes to claim them.” Andrew relaxed his stance and put his baton away and walked outside the building. “Roger that sir.” By Tom Illingworth

On the Jetty By Christy Olsen

Crack. The sound of shattered bone left ringing in my ears, accompanies the weird numbness pulsating through me. This sound I’d come to dread now brings relief to my neglected body. Coupled with adrenalin, this makes for the perfect pain relief. For this I am thankful. I find myself staring into the face of my father, registering amidst the other emotions fighting to be held back, the most dominant of all. Uncontrollable panic. I see pain, exhaustion, but this is the worst. It’s the one I’d rarely witnessed before it hit but now find in every living face around me...now in his eyes. We’re about halfway now but the screams are louder. I crane my neck searching for the source but see it’s no longer my mother. Fear has dealt her his hardest blow yet, knocking all sound from her vocal chords. Like a songbird freshly slaughtered, she is silenced. Now emerging from the trees by the water’s edge I see Curly, Trev and Sam. I recognise their blood stained faces instantaneously from our camp, the one just brought down 20 minutes earlier and hot on their tail...Zs, about 7 of them, maybe more. Funny right? You’d think with movies that threatened such events they’d have been some great plan in the case of some outbreak. But you’d be wrong. And there wasn’t. I guess shit does just hit the

fan. We’re out of time. They’re closer now. Coming at us rapidly. Faster than I have ever saw them run. Maybe because I know I cannot myself run like I need to, like I’ve just done 20 minutes earlier but even that wasn’t fast enough. That Z still had time to lock its decaying jaws around my calf sinking its flesh-matted teeth deeply into my skin. Clenched down hard it had tore away viciously taking with it a chunk of my flesh in its bite as it pulled back preparing for its second. That was when my father has brought down the heel of his boot against its skull concaving it exposing a violent mass of black sludge. The stuff you’d expect to find when scooping up the bed of an algae riddled pond. Sick. But the putrid smell of decomposed membrane gets us sharply to our feet and we’re off again I, now limping down the steady mountain floor. I see Curly and the others have long since given up the idea of fighting them off, taking them down, eliminating them from this game for good. Instead they’ve adopted a different technique. Cardio. Outrun the Zs - save your bullets. They’ll soon find easier prey. Only this time...that’s me. He’s been hacking at it for several minutes. Adopting first a clean-cut technique but with the imminent threat

of another heard stumbling upon us his racing heart soon affected his pace. But who‘d have figured it would take this long anyway? He’d been right to panic; soon they followed again shortening the time we had left together. We should have waited until we’d reached the boats but it was risking it. The infection could have spread past my leg by then, its rage riddled saliva fraternizing with my DNA taking with it life as it coursed through my bloody stream into my system. Cut it off. And offer me that second chance I thought I desperately craved. But as I lie here now, half mutilated and exhausted, condemning my family to a similar fate with every second that passes, it dawns on me. This is no life. We lost it months ago when virus- ravaged our country. And I had no right dictating now who survives and who doesn’t. Only a fool could see life after a Z bite, and I was no fool. “GO”. It was all I could muster but I scream it as loud as I can.”GO NOW, JUST LEAVE IT, GO” Over and over until my throat stings and the threat of crying becomes unbearable. I was asking them to leave me like this, their daughter, so completely vulnerable so tears I must hold back. To cry would be too cruel for them. These tears I would now keep for the pain which promised to come. No goodbye, no nothing. Just

what I’d asked for, how we’d planned it to be if such event was to arise. Just a simple nod of the head spoke far more words than we had time for. It meant for now this was it, but we’d see each other soon enough, in a world not warped by fear and disease but in peace. It resembled love as now we must spare showing any emotion towards each other. Experience had taught us these only made things worse...it already promised to be hard enough. It meant have strength, for to crumble in such circumstances would only endanger more. And with that they were gone. My mother struggled against the force of my father

to return. Their daughter blood soaked and choking on her own tears. What a sight I must look to them now. I close my eyes tightly, praying hard to be somewhere else. Fear demands I not look but my senses alert me of footsteps only meters away now. I’m trembling. My fate only seconds away. I look long enough to see Curly and the rest fly past me now not far behind my family. I know it’s coming so brace myself for impact. For sharp tears and rips to my soft flesh. They’re here now; on this jetty I call my deathbed. Energised with renewed fear I try pulling myself to the edge, decided that drowning

is far more peaceful than the death I’m about to endure. But I’m too late. They’re on me. Screams explode from my lungs, breaking the last promise I’d made myself, only they’re muffled by the gnawing snarls of the dead. And it’s over. I’m stripped of whatever meat I’d attained, my bones left bare. They’d been hungry. By Christy Olsen

PROGENY By Mark Robinson “Father; Son.” Resplendent in white and noticeably smaller than even the child, The Sage beckoned the man and boy forward. As they approached him the transparent Dome reacted to their movement, surrounding all three within a single membrane. “How good?” asked Father. “Exceptional” proclaimed The Sage. The Dome released a tiny orb of light which rested, strategically, in front of them. The orb expanded, bursting into visual displays of various scenes depicting the boy in intricate combat maneuvers against a multilimbed android; solving multiple theoretical problems simultaneously; and reacting, successfully, to various forms of extreme environmental change. The Sage began, “You’re well aware that the tests you’re seeing were passed with distinction” - Father could feel his heart rate increase with anticipation; Son looked on impassively “we monitored every aspect of performance during these tests, as we did with you, including subconscious brain reaction”. The orb projected multiple images of the boys brain layered over the task it represented, each image reflecting the neuron reactions exclusive to that

test. Father’s interest spiked at the reactions of the brain, scrutinising each burst of electricity within the holograms. “He is able to access specific parts of the brain at the precise time they are required” The Sage continued, “except the Amygdala.” “...he is not controlled by emotion.” finished Father, in awe of what he was being shown. “It is defunct.” The Sage stated. Tears welled up in Father’s eyes, his pride for Son revealing itself. “He is the one. He will be leaving immediately” stated The Sage. “You have the mate?” asked Father, puzzled. “The chosen mate arrived almost two khronos after you, and has been waiting for a mate since your failure” said The Sage apathetically. “Which dimension are they being sent to?” asked Father, demonstrating genuine concern for his son. “That is not your concern, Father!” The Sage stated bluntly. The orb pulled back the images and retracted back into the Dome’s membrane. “Please, Sage. I have asked nothing of you or the Almanach. I know that I am owed nothing, but

I have shown complete subservience and loyalty to my Babylonian masters my entire...” “Again, you demonstrate your one flaw, Father: emotion” interrupted The Sage abruptly, “However, as a true Babylonian, I am not beyond recognising your penitence and contribution to our endeavors. They will be deployed to Dominion: Eden, to be precise.” Father’s body language gave away his numbing astonishment (more than his sagging jaw could ever relay). He focused his gaze upon Son – still standing impassively: erect, arms hanging at his side – “The Al-manach believe he is capable?” asked Father. “Any doubts have been quashed by his ability” The Sage responded, “He is peerless, the zenith of his human ancestry. Your genetics were the penultimate generation of the fourth Advanced Design Anthropological Male”. “Eden has been dangerous for previous settlers.” Father stated, “The first humans killed themselves after one khronos, the second Humans turned on each other after they killed the Babylonian messenger who was sent to remind them of their purpose, and the third humans had to be destroyed when they tried to find

their way back to Babylon. Why are the Al-manach so sure about my son and this particular Evolutionary Vessel Entity?” asked Father. “Eradication of emotion” stated The Sage “Their only desires will be to survive and develop the paradigm for the perfect eco system to enable the Babylonian race to continue when Babylon implodes” Father looked at Son. For the first time since these revelations by The Sage, Son turned his head upwards and made eye contact with Father. Father smiled; Son copied his facial expression, the likeness uncanny. Tears of pride broke free and ran down Father’s cheeks: he did not need to say anything. Father went to one knee directly in front of the youngster, gazing upon his face: the face of the being deemed worthy by the Babylonians to lead their quest for a new home. “The journey is imminent; departure is upon us” stated The Sage “You have played your part, Father. Son will honour you, as you honored your Father.” Father acknowledged The

Sage’s words and looked upon Son one last time. “All of your ancestors, their reason for being, the chaste lives they have led, have all been to achieve this moment...to achieve you.” Father said, offering these final words before his ultimate request, “Honour the divine Babylonians; Honour me...My Son!” Father embraced Son, displaying true solace as his offspring wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and, with a measured twist of his torso, snapped it. Father’s corpse lay in a pseudo fetal position, lifeless, but at peace, at Son’s feet. Orbs released from the Dome traced the outline of Father’s body, covering it in a transparent skin sarcophagus. “You understand the importance of your undertaking?” asked The Sage as Son turned his emotionless stare away from his deceased father to his new mentor. “It is my sole purpose, Sage.” replied Son, “It is my birth right to fulfill my potential and cultivate a safe, new Babylon for the divine Babylonians.”

“Our hopes go with you. May you set the foundations for your descendents during the short time you will have on Eden. The journey and task will not even allow you to live another full khronos – your lifespan will be only 900 Eden years –, but what you and your E.V.E ignite will be the way forward for your descendents. Be mindful of the past mistakes made by your race; banish their failings from lore.” instructed The Sage. As the Dome released further orbs which surrounded the youngster, encasing him in a membrane mirroring the one digesting his Father’s remains, he and The Sage locked eyes. The membrane started to elevate slowly, already bombarding the young pioneer with knowledge which would not end until his journey to Eden was complete. The Sage acknowledged the young man, “You are the last of your kind; you are now Father.” By Mark Robinson

The Door By Aideen Martin Move! Every muscle in my body tight, ready; but frozen. Only five steps away. Move! My heart is pounding, deafening me and my breath catches in my throat. I swallow hard and dig my nails into my palms. Focus. You can do this. But I can’t. Useless. Pathetic and useless. I storm back into the living room. Grabbing the back of a chair, I fling it over. Adrenaline still surging through my body; I shove a pile of books off the table. I’m shaking. Bloody useless! My lungs heave as I take in giant gulps of air. I grip the edges of the table. I might be sick. I realise I’m leaning forward when my head touches the table. The pressure of the wood against my forehead feels good. Then the tears start. Snivelling, disgusting excuse for a person. What made me think I could do it?

way past. I look old. I hardly recognise the face in the mirror. Bags under my eyes. And skinny, too skinny. I should eat. I don’t feel hungry but I know I am. Beans. Overwhelming excitement. I light the ring quickly and shake out the match. Don’t want to waste any gas. It’s just a door. Reach out and open it. I’m trapped inside my own body. My muscles twitch and hop as I try to push them. My palms are slick with sweat and I’m too hot. My chest is being crushed. I sink to the ground. I’m suffocating. I grab at my throat but there’s nothing there. My vision is blurry. Tears reach my mouth. I must get away. I scrabble on all fours, half crawling, half falling into the living room. I lie there sucking air back into my lungs.

I wake up in pain; my neck, my head. I’m tangled in a blanket. My lips are dry, cracked and salty. I lever myself upright, slowly. I blink until my eyes become accustomed to the gloomy half-light and I survey the damage my tantrum caused. I should eat. I’m not hungry. I curl back up on the couch again.

A little bit of light creeping in at the top of the curtains tells me it’s daytime. My body doesn’t know anymore. Night merges with day. Time passes me by.

I shuffle to the bathroom, only allowing the briefest glance at the door on the

My back against the wall, knees up to my chest, I tighten my grip on my legs.

I won’t try today. And I won’t feel guilty. The blank TV screen is a black hole on the other side of the room. I grab a book.

The door stares back at me. The letterbox a mouth; stretched into a mocking sneer. What happened to me? Another lifetime - I was confident and capable, respected by my colleagues. And now; an incompetent ball of nerves. Would anyone else do any better? The response to a perceived threat, real or not, is the same. Frozen; my arm outstretched, holding the pan. The sound came from the bedroom. I wait, taking slow deliberate breaths. It’s hard to hear anything over my pounding heart. Stupid. Just the house creaking. I light the next candle before this one gutters out. Dinner by candlelight. I scoop the pasta into my mouth and smile as I chew. What woke me? Sweat drips down my chest. I don’t move. They might not know I’m here. I can’t see anything. I can’t hear anything. My muscles start to ache. How long have I been holding this position? Nothing. No sound, no movement. A dream. Go back to sleep. Five o’clock, the kitchen clock says, but morning or evening? Will it get lighter or darker? The gap over the living room curtains is my only indication. I should fix that. Getting darker. The

clock says five. Battery’s dead. I stare at the door. I pat my bag. Do I have everything I need? My stomach clenches and bile rises up my throat. I swallow it down but I can feel myself losing control. I can’t breathe - I’m dizzy. I gag and wretch as I stumble back to safety. I count the tins and work out how many days I have left. My brain is mush, my thoughts sluggish. Less than a week. I’m running out of time. Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow. The second knock on the door is louder now I’m in the hallway. The door vibrates under the fist on the other side. It’s not the frenzied hammering of desperate hands that I’ve heard before.

It’s measured; controlled. When did I move? My hand is on the latch. The door hits my shoulder and I’m forced backwards. Gloved hands grab me, stopping me from falling. It’s so bright. I squint and make out two large figures, shadowy shapes against the sun. There’s a hand on my face, pulling my eye open roughly. “Aversion to light …no photosensitive reaction.” “Are you alone?” The voice again; harsh and grating. “Are you alone?” I start to shake my head. “Yes”, my voice cracks. One figure pushes past me. A hand continues to grip my shoulder. I’m glad because I’m swaying. I hear the tape ripping as they push the bedroom door open and the smell hits me a second later. “No, you can’t…” I whimper. “One to transport”.

Hands are shoving me up the steps into the back of a lorry. I look over my shoulder at the door I’ve stared at for so long from the other side. Someone is spraying a black cross over the red one that was already there. My foot catches and I turn back. A logo above the biohazard symbol catches my eye. No, no, this isn’t right. I need to leave. I feel the familiar rush of adrenaline as my body tenses. I push back against the hands but I am weak and they are stronger. I sprawl forward and the door slams behind me.

By Aideen Martin

Tale of two Dragons By Debbie Croft

Long ago; in the land of S’la, there ruled a dragon who loved man. This dragon love man for all his flaws, he loved man’s innocence, he loved man’s pride, and most of all, he loved man’s potential. Happy and content under his rule the people of S’la lived comfortably.  The land of S’la was a very rich land. Not only gold, but also in the very soil was rich with life. Crops grew quickly healthy and strong, the livestock rarely ever took ill, and the water ran clean and clear down from beautiful mountains the ringed the land. Therefore, the people blessed the dragon, thanking him for their good fortune.  However; despite all the good in the land of S’la, there was great evil out there and one was a dragon named Iron Hide. Iron Hide was nothing like the Friendly Dragon of S’la, he was cruel and full of selfish desire. The dragons blood red eyes, signalled death to all who saw them.  Iron Hide was on a path of destruction and domination, and he had his eyes on the land of the S’la. This dragon craved the riches of that land, he planned to make the people serve his every whim. As the people catered to his desires he would usher in an era of darkness, he would scorch the land and revel in the suffering of the people. In order to accomplish his goals he knew he had to destroy the Friendly Dragon!   The Friendly Dragon sensed that soon Iron Hide would arrive and bring with him a wave

of death and destruction. He could not allow such a thing to happen to this land and his beloved people. Looking over them his bright yellow eyes scanning the crowd of worried faces, he spoke now knowing it was important he impart his message.  “Iron Hide approaches our lands. Though he does I swear to you, S’la will not fall, I will not permit his claws to spread his darkness.” Once he had made his solemn vow the Friendly Dragon moved to the gates of the Kingdoms great city. His blue body moved fluidly as he passed beyond the gates, wings unfurling and stretching broadly. In the dull silver shimmer of the moon light his scales showed the faintest hint of golden shimmer.  Too soon, The Friendly Dragon knew Iron Hide was making his approach. Lifting from the ground the blue dragon flew swiftly ready for the battle. The darkness that radiated from Iron Hide seemed to make the night dull, the moon overcast by hazy clouds as candles flickered in homes. The people had rushed to the walls to witness the fight fearful of what would come to pass, should the evil dragon prove victorious.  The battle between the dragons was fierce. Roars echoed across the landscape as claws slashed with deadly intent. The Friendly Dragon ached with the knowledge that to win this battle, he very well may have to kill Iron Hide. Striking fast the Friendly

dragon attempted to sink his razor sharp teeth into his opponents neck. The thickly layered iron scales protected his foe, even breaking off one of the Friendly Dragons fangs.  Suddenly the dark dragon moved, taken aback the Friendly dragon was unprepared for the spiked tail that lashed up striking him. His bellow of pain echoed out as he fell landing with a heavy thud. A dragons belly was vulnerable to strike and with a barbed tail, Iron Hide had a true advantage over him. Even as he looked up he could hear the distant cries of the people.  ‘Get up, you can do it, we believe in you!’ they seemed to chant in his head and in his heart.   Strengthened by their faith the Friendly Dragon pushed himself up wings flaring, even as Iron Hide chuckled, darkly superior with the belief that he had already won. Determined not to lose the good dragon studied his foe, and there before him he saw the obvious weakness of Iron Hide.  Now knowing what to do, and the risk he was taking the friendly dragon launched again into the air determined. As he flew up streaking through the air Iron Hide chuckled and dove to meet him, at the very last moment the Friendly Dragon ducked skimming under Iron Hide and slammed his head up his horns sinking deeply into Iron Hides belly and tearing it open as he flew forward. Along with victory came fresh pain as, in retaliation,

Iron Hide had swung his tail forward stabbing the barbs of his tail into the Friendly Dragons own underbelly. The two dragons fell to the ground sending up great clouds of dust as they hit the earth.   Knowing the fight was over and faithful that the Friendly Dragon had won the people flooded from the gates rushing to the dragon’s side. Iron Hide laid dead, scales dull in the moonlight that grew stronger brighter by the second. Laboured breathing came from the Friendly Dragon

as he lay before the people without even the strength to lift his head he listened as they gathered and tried in vain to cover his wound pressing aprons, jackets, and shirts.  “Do not, cry. It is the natural course of things; it is your time now. This land is for you, with this last breath my blood and Iron Hides will create protection from other dragons. I promise you, no dragons will come to this land again.” As he wove his spell focusing the last of his power weaving protection for these people he loved

so deeply his eye opened slowly  “I ask only one thing, please remember me.” He said eye slowly losing focus the world growing dim, he knew as his last breath left him that they would always remember.  Bards wrote songs and elders told stories, passing down the history of the Friendly Dragon. As time passed his story lived on remembered fondly in the hearts and memories of all. By Debbie Croft

SCREEN-CON By Mary Oram Morning sunshine lit the banner above their heads. Five-foot tall letters spelt out: ‘Screen-Con 2014!’ They had arrived and already Ronald was nervous. “Mummy, I don’t want to go in.” He whined while tugging on his Mothers’ arm. His Mother sighed, “Ronnie, you have been harping on about this thing for ages, plus I’ve already bought the tickets. We’re here now and we are going in.” It was true, he had been begging her for two months to buy him tickets and she had finally given in and surprised him a week ago after coming home from school. He was so excited; he loved everything about scifi, conventions, and aliens, but he had not expected the costumes to be so realistic. The dead eyes, pale flesh and vacant expressions were a bit too creepy for his seven-year-old mind to comprehend fully. His Mother grabbed up his hand and led him underneath the sign and into the hall. There was no turning back now. Lining the halls outer walls were a plethora of brightly coloured stalls holding their highly prized bounties of collectors’ editions, comics

and film merchandise. They teased and tempted passing guests into their table-top worlds of excitement, and Ronald was among them. He had already gotten his Mum to buy him the tickets, now his challenge was to convince her to let him get a memento from their day out together. He was busy eyeing up two action figures when he noticed a couple in full costume heading towards him. He quickly put both toys back and shuffled off to the safety of his Mothers’ side. She looked down at him. “They can’t hurt you, you know?” She said in a soothing voice, “It’s only pretend: like Halloween!” Ronald shifted uncomfortably behind her. “I know, but they look so real.” “What is it you don’t like?” She asked and knelt down beside him so they could have their conversation faceto-face. “It’s the faces.” He wimpered, his eyes beginning to well, “The eyes are horrible.” “You know, they might think the same about you.” His Mother mused. He looked up, a confused expression across his face. She continued, “Well not everyone has five eyes like us, and I’m sure we would probably scare the bejeebers

out of them if we were on their planet. They only have two arms and two legs and that is probably as perfectly normal to them as the two eyes on their head, but everyone is different, and normal to us is our tentacles and suckers.” She raised her octopus-like arms and waved them theatrically. Ronald smiled and returned his gaze to the dressed up pair, “They do look a bit funny with those sausage things on the end of their arms. How are they supposed to hold onto anything with them?” “Well maybe they don’t climb up everything like you do you little monkaynian!” She scooped Ronald up, wrapped her arms around him and rubbed a relaxing gel from her third sucker on her right tentacle onto his back. It was something all Altakaria mothers could do and it worked a treat. Ronald, feeling calmer and less stressed, turned to look at the couple in their fancy dress, and studied their masks a bit closer. They were some horrible looking faces; long beak-like things with two holes in them dominated the centre space and two eyes stood either side. The mouth was the only feature that bared any sort of comparison to Ronald’s own. Yes they looked scary, he thought, but as his Mum had stated, they would be just as

scared of him, and that made him feel a sense of power. He roared through his scaly lips and made the couple jump. They all laughed together for a second before going their separate ways. “See,” his Mother said, “There’s nothing to be scared of is there?”

“Nothing at all!” Ronald declared while wiping away the snots dripping from the crevice that was his nose on his chest. He blinked away the tears from three of his five purple eyes and smiled at his Mother, a new confidence filling his heart. He ran back to the display table, brushed past the toys

that had previously captured his imagination, and scooped up the ‘Human’ action figure, complete with authentic office outfit and briefcase accessory, “I know which one I want now!” By Mary Oram

ISSUE #2 AVAILABLE NOW FROM

47 http://houndcomics.com/store/index.php?cPath=1_56 47

Photos by JON DEA Saturday the 3rd of May saw the return of SCREEN-CON to the Parks Leisure Centre with a day of celebrities, costumes, family fun and more Geeks than you can shake a stick at. Over the next few pages we take a look at the photos from Official SCREEN-CON Photographer Jon Dea, If you see yourself in any of the photos and want a copy or if you want to show him some love check out his page www.facebook.com/JonDeaPhotography and website www.jondeaphotography.com

Photos by JON DEA

Photos by

jon dea

Photos by JON DEA

SPLIT MEETS OCEAN COLOR SCENE'S

SIMON FOWLER & OSCAR HARRISON Ocean Colour Scene are bastions of British Rock and Roll. Enjoying success through the early 90s and onwards, they have been around for perhaps longer than many of us need reminding of our age! This year, Split Festival has been fortunate enough to grab Simon Fowler and Oscar Harrison to perform their critically lauded acoustic set and bizarrely but beautifully, the line-up has paired the folk rock feel of Ocean Colour Scene’s discography with Dizzee Rascal’s grime sound, ensuring that there really is something for everyone in Mowbray Park this August! In preparation for this glorious spectacle, Split Festival’s we caught up with Simon to pick his brains and his back catalogue: Morning Simon, pleasure to speak to you, are you excited about playing Split? SF: Yeah, definitely, we’ve heard some great things about Split. We haven’t done

festivals for quite a while but it’s always good to play festivals and playing outdoors as well. I’m interested to know how this ‘acoustic set’ idea came up? SF: We started doing it probably about 12 years ago, I think it was because when Steve (Craddock) was working with Paul Weller at the time and we suddenly found that we had time on our hands and we thought ‘well we could do these songs in this format which is how they were originally written really’, so making the transition from the whole band to doing it acoustically is pretty easy. You have said yourself Ocean Colour Scene are a ‘heritage band’, would you argue this is your way of keeping things fresh? SF: I guess so... Yeah it’s a way for us to go and play at places Ocean Colour Scene [OCS] probably wouldn’t usually play at. So we play

at more out the way places, smaller festivals that OCS [as a full band] wouldn’t play. As a band this year we are only doing, I think, one gig of OCS stuff because we did so much last year that we’re going to have a bit of a break and then we will tour early next year. So yeah, like you said, it’s a way of keeping it fresh. And again you’ve often been noted saying you prefer the folk side rather than the rock part, would you say this acoustic set helps to bring out the real you? I think yeah probably, I’m pretty ham fisted with an electric guitar (laughs). I’m a strummer, so it’s the way I would naturally play and perform. Whether you want to call that folk music or not, I don’t know. My early influences were Bob Dylan and Neil Young as I was learning the guitar as a child, so I sort of did what they did really. You mentioned Neil Young

and Bob Dylan – The Stone Roses helped to combine all those sounds. What was it about them that specifically inspired you? It was contemporary, it was what was happening when we formed, the songs were great and it definitely brought a lot of the elements musically together in one place. But I guess really it was the songs. Do you miss the Britpop era at all? There was a great few lines from Noel Gallagher who said about OCS being the second best band in Britain and then Steve Craddock [guitarist in OCS] responding by saying “It’s nice to be put behind The Beatles”. Well it was encouraged I think because the press really got into the Blur/Oasis thing didn’t they, and really what everyone else was doing was playing the past, you know. They were playing The Beatles and The Stones and ultimately it sells records and

magazines and it was having that rivalry. I mean who is going to have that rivalry now? Jake Bugg and Ed Sheeran? (Laughs) ‘I’m better looking than you’. (Laughs) Spot on, I mean would you ever be open to doing a collaboration with Jake Bugg? SF: Yeah I would love too! I actually like Jake Bugg a lot and Steve’s got to know a little bit about him. When you wrote ‘Moseley Shoals’ and then the rest of your catalogue of albums, did you aim to write something better than the last or was it a case of trying something different every time? I don’t really plan it like that, you just sit down and I would start writing songs and that’s how they are planned really... At Split Festival this year, you take to the stage immediately before Dizzee Rascal, what are your feelings on such a diverse line-up? I guess the idea behind that is that you have to cater for a large age group of people and

that’s exactly why they do it. It’s always the same, look at the Glastonbury line ups for example, you’ve got a whole, I mean you’ve got everything you could want! As a festival, that’s what you should aim to be doing, and Split are doing that.

Sunderland’s Split Festival have announced a special discount scheme for school children. Tickets for the event are normally priced at £30 per day and £50 per weekend, but school children (including sixth formers) will now get £10 off all tickets, so will only pay £20 per day and £40 for weekend entry. On top of that, under 11s go free, as long as they are accompanied by a paying ticket holder. Split Festival organiser, Martyn McFadden explained the initiative: “School’s almost out for summer and the kids need something to look forward to that’s happening locally, so we feel it’s the right time to launch this concession scheme. Before Split youngsters had

to convince their parents to let them travel to Leeds Festival to get their first taste of a fessie, but now they can see internationally renowned bands in their own back yard and this year we have our strongest line up yet. Split 2014 will be the biggest contemporary music festival ever to be held in Sunderland and we don’t want the under 18s to be priced out of it.” Former Sunderland striker Marco Gabbiadini added: “I’ve attended Split Festival with my daughter and nephew who are both 16 and big music fans; we found it a great family occasion and a safe way to introduce them to the festival scene. Sunderland needs events like Split to help put the city on the cultural

map and I think it’s crucial that the people who put their hard work and resources into creating Split are supported.” Schools discount tickets are only available on line via http://www.split-music. co.uk/festivals/school.php and also in person from Pop Recs on Fawcett Street, Sunderland. Split takes place on August 9 and 10 and the strong line up boasts over forty bands, including Dizzee Rascal, Maximo Park, Ocean Colour Scene, The Cribs, Gruff Rhys (Super Furry Animals), Tom Vek, Smoove &Turrell, Frankie & The Heartstrings, Hyde & Beast and The Lake Poets.

PHOTO COMPETITION It wouldn’t be SCREEN-CON without my fellow geeks in attendance. It’s good to see the convention from your eyes, so what better way to do that than with your photos, even better, the person who sends in the best photo wins a prize! A massive thanks to the following local businesses who donated a prize for our Photo Competition, please visit their pages and show them some love...

MEGA CITY 5 www.facebook.com/Megacity5 THE PURELY MINT CO www.facebook.com/PurelyMint BLUECYBORG.COM www.facebook.com/BlueCyborgDotCom

Antonia Miller

Scott Straker

Becky Courtney

Josh Wood

George Hutchinson

Lee Forster

www.megacity5.com

PHOTO COMPETITION R E NN

AND THE WINNER IS... SCOTT BAINBRIDGE After all, SCREEN-CON is all about fun and this photo shows that. Well done