SCRIBBLE
Budding A Level Literature students in Year 11 were given the opportunity to submit some creative writing examples to this edition of Scribble. First up is this entry from Dani Hales titled ‘The Journey’. It focuses on a bus journey home and the narrator’s contemplation about what she sees and experiences as she travels along.
The Journey l ‘Why does it feel like time slows down when you’re moving?’ I wonder, locking eyes with a portly man, hobbling to his usual nocturnal settlement – the pub’
so quickly when you stop?’ I contradict as I acknowledge the woman’s sharp yet affectionate ‘goodbye’ to one of her apparently naughty children on the phone (Tim, I believe accidentally opened the kitchen door onto his brother’s face, no blood, just bruises, it’s clear the mother’s hoping ice cream will fix all of it). An arrogant groan and reluctance to accelerate initiates the bus’ on-going journey. I begin to wonder back into my thoughts of the past, realising my time for contemplation is expiring as I near my bus stop.
When night succumbs the earth, everything just goes… black. An overwhelming, claustrophobic black cloud of nothing, as if it’s protecting the sky. Darkness intertwines itself through every alley, it reflects off every window, it’s absorbed into every cinema screen or monochrome billboard that uses the ominous colour as an advantage. I continue to inquisitively stare out of the dusty, decade-old windows, appreciating all pathways of life as I am carelessly driven past. Streetlights create a warm yet harsh resistance to the darkness, providing guidance for all human nightlife below. Rubbish bags dapple the pavements, leaving only secluded spots for the homeless; every one we drive past ingesting some concoction of drug, its manipulative chemicals creating the false impression of a pleasurable life, although in reality they are painfully crumbling away.
For one last time, I glanced out of the translucent window, observing strangers oblivious to my eye’s presence, going about their lives believing they had a sense of purpose. An overwhelming sense of comfort approached me as I recognised my mother’s childhood home on the outskirts of my neighbourhood, minty green in colour with a vast front door, which suited the regular gatherings we used to have when my life didn’t contain responsibilities. As three seconds felt like three hours, I cast my eyes upon a new object they became fascinated by, the stop button.
A sudden jolt of the contraption I am being carried in snaps me back to reality. A woman to my left is glaring, in the same place I was glaring at, twiddling her thumbs with a look of concern painted across her aged face.
My stop approaches rapidly so I rigorously snap my mind out of its past trance and willingly press the greasy button, initiating a piercing yet tranquil ring to acknowledge my desire to exit from the boredom trap.
A woman in front of me, hair tied back into a neat yet casual plait is sternly shouting (but subtly) down the phone to (I’m guessing) one of her six children. She’s wearing a thrown-on emerald ‘mom’ dress – a baggy one that no female would ever contemplate buying in a store. The roots of her hair have strands of shimmering grey, toned down by her seemingly recent caramel highlight ‘touch up’.
The bus gently decelerates to a harsh stop. I stand up enthusiastically, pat down my grey pleated school skirt, aggressively hurl my rucksack onto my now germ induced back (thank you, public transport), and scurry along the narrow walkway to hop off. As it groans once again and pulls to drive away, I watch intently its boasting turquoise back, outlined with its red intricacies and stifle a sigh as my longing for contemplation of life while glaring out of a window, vanishes.
‘Definitely more than five’ I think, encouraging myself with a gentle, cheerful chuckle; you know, to not protrude in any other passengers’ absentminded thoughts. We’ve been tentatively waiting at this traffic light for a while now. Time is of the essence in present day… ‘Why do things happen
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