Raven Eyes - Short Story Collection 2021 by The City Academy, Hackney

CONTENTS THE SHURYŌJŪ AND THE OLD MAN Saul Kenworthy

THE WHISPERS

ZAC’S STORY

THE STORY OF HOW MY LIFE TURNED UPSIDE DOWN

THE RAVEN EYES

THE PRIZE IS EVERYTHING

Suzi Shah

Frank Underwood Molloy

Santa Vanessa

Jeremy Ramirez Ysla Moyin Ilori

THE NIGHT STALKER

THE MARKET

THE LONG JOURNEY

THE IMMIGRANT

THE FAMILY IN THE RAIN

Yiyit Pamuk

Max Peacock

Mohamed Kadiri Kasmi Damla Ozur Ethan Asare

The City Academy, Hackney celebrates our students who entered the KS3 English Competition this year.

CONTENTS SOMEONE YOU WOULD NEVER EXPECT Holly Gibson

38 41

MY GREATEST SIN Joshua King

MARCH EVICTION BRINGS APRIL AFFLICTION Nneoma Charis Alukwu

LONG LIVE THE NEWLY CROWNED KING

HOME SWEET HOME

(Extract from) FEATOSOA

FALLEN

ENTRANCED

BACK TO THE SWEET DAYS

Hamnah Ali

Guylshen Asenova Ry Pillai

Maya Tidey Emmanuella Fernandez Nabiha Akhtar

THE SHURYŌJŪ AND THE OLD MAN 4

Written and illustrated by Saul Kenworthy

Chapter I One crisp March morning in 1524, the workers of the tiny village of Sakegami, Japan went about their daily routine. The fishermen cast their nets, the farmers watered the crops and their wives lined the riverbanks with piles of washing. Cherry blossom hung on the trees like candyfloss. Everything was quiet, beautiful and peaceful. That peace was disturbed by a startled frenzy of birds fleeing from their forest perch. The ground began to shake and the trees began to topple. Something was crashing a path through the forest towards Sakegami. An alarmed villager dropped his pail of milk and ran screaming into his home ‘Clang, clang, clang’ the alarm went. Everyone stopped what they were doing and scurried back to safety. The village was under attack! The village

warriors donned their helmets, grabbed their katanas and quickly formed a line of defence. They had practiced this many times before so they would always be prepared to take on any invading army. What emerged from the forest was far worse than any army and something they could never have prepared for. A fearsome beast as tall as a small house, with hardened, leathery skin, blazing eyes and four deadly tusks which could puncture any man made armour. Its coarse skin bore the scars of many previous battles.

“The Shuryōjū!” gasped one of the warriors, dropping his weapon and running for cover. “Coward!” called one of his comrades. The Shuryōjū let out a thunderous, bone-rattling snort, at which all of the warriors dropped their weapons and scattered like cockroaches. Shutters were closed, doors were barricaded and families huddled in the darkness, fearing for their lives. Outside, terrifying sounds of crashing destruction, twisting metal and screaming cattle echoed through the village. The villagers closed their eyes and begged their god to save them.

Chapter II In the morning, the villagers nervously opened their doors and peaked outside. What they saw horrified them. The cattle had been slain, their precious crops trampled, buildings were ablaze and the dainty cherry blossom trees were now bare. It looked like the aftermath of a battlefield.

The villagers turned to their bravest warrior. She was decked out in the finest armour and armed with the best weapons in the land. The village leader thanked the young warrior for her bravery and sent her on her mission to defeat the Shuryōjū once and for all. The hopes and livelihoods of the entire village rested upon her shoulders. Four days passed and she never returned. Many warriors were sent to defeat the demonic beast but they all sacrificed their lives in vain. Every time one was dispatched the villagers optimistically held their breath but every time they did not return. The terror could not be defeated, it was way too ferocious for their puny weapons.

In the dark of night, the surviving villagers held an emergency meeting in a concealed hut. Gathered around a glowing candle, they debated what they should do next, but they could not come to a solution. They were in despair and terrified for their lives. From the back of the room, in the cover of darkness, a frail old man spoke up, “I will defeat the beast.” The villagers turned to look at him. He was dressed in peasant rags and was so stick-thin you could see his bones.

He didn’t look like he could even defeat a mouse, let alone a demented manslayer. The villagers scoffed at his ludicrous suggestion assuming he was deluded and continued their discussion.

Very quietly, the man rose and slowly hobbled to the door with his cane. He was not deterred. He stood in the doorway and repeated once more, “I WILL defeat the beast!” This time the villagers laughed and bolted the door behind him.

Chapter III

The weathered, frail old man entered a field, his ragged clothes fluttering in the wind. Towering before him stood the undefeatable menace. It gave a deafening snort and started lumbering towards him. What was going to happen?

The Shuryōjū loomed over the old man, able to crush him with ease. In an unexpected move, he produced no weapon. Instead, he stood completely still, motionless. The beast, mistaking the man for a simple scarecrow, brushed right past him. It came so close the old man could feel the warmth of its breath. Only then did the man notice an ancient hunter’s sword sticking out of the animal’s hide. A painful souvenir of a previous assailant. Springing into action the old man clambered onto the monster’s back. Grabbing the hilt with both hands, he pulled with all his scrawny might. Slowly the sword began to ease its way out. As the weapon came free, the creature let out a deafening roar. The initial pain it felt quickly subsided and the fearsome beast was instead overcome with a feeling of immense relief. It was as if a black cloud had been lifted from its soul.

The Shuryōjū’s anger swiftly dissipated and the fearsome animal became calm. It moved over to the man and coiled up against his legs like a gigantic cat, grateful to his saviour. The old man petted the Shuryōjū’s forehead lovingly.

Back in the village, the villagers had assumed the old man had surely met his demise just as the many warriors before him had met theirs. Sure enough, their ears pricked up to the sound of approaching, heavy footsteps. The Shuryōjū had killed the old man and returned to wreak more destruction! They hugged each other, frozen and wide-eyed with fear. Imagine their surprise, when the beast strolled into the village, docile and peaceful. Even more incredibly, sat upon its shoulders was his new friend the old man, who was grinning triumphantly. The villagers’ jaws hit the floor. First amazement, then giddy laughter of relief. He’d done it! He’d tamed the beast! They flocked around him in celebration. There was nothing left to fear.

How stupid they felt to have not believed him and how grateful they felt towards him now. At the same time, the beast they once feared had been revealed to be a harmless animal who had merely been in pain. The villagers had made assumptions about both of them and the truth was actually very different. As recompense, the Shuryōjū lived alongside the villagers and helped rebuild all he had destroyed. It even found time to play with the village children, who called him ‘Ju Ju,’ giving them rides on his back. Meanwhile, the old man received gifts of new clothes and was made head of the village council. Never again did the villagers doubt him.

THE WHISPERS

Written by Suzi Shah

This is a story that I do not often tell. It has scarred me for life and although I have looked into psychological explanations for what I heard and natural explanations for what occurred, they remain unsatisfactory to this day. I was born and raised in a “haunted” neighbourhood, which never had a good reputation. When I was a child, I was scared of the dark. I swore to my mother I heard voices in it. They were not evil, but they were not familiar and so they scared me. It was common for me to wake up in the middle of the night and hear “whispers” (as I would call them). Mum figured they were just “bumps in the night” and typical kid’s nightmare material. I tried often to explain to her that it was more than that; they sounded different from one another, the way people’s voices do. On some nights, I would get so scared from the “whispers” that I would sleep in my mum’s bed with her. It was an added bonus that the bathroom was directly outside of her bedroom door for my late-night tinkles. I should add at this point that when walking out into the hall to go to the bathroom, you looked directly down the stairs that would lead you into my living room on the first floor. On one such night, around Christmas, I awoke and felt the need to relieve myself. A red light, almost like a spotlight, was cast upon the wall at the very bottom of the stairs. The light had no source and I was transfixed by it. Being a little kid, and it only being a few days from Christmas, I KNEW what this light was. IT WAS SANTA! I was so excited I began walking down the stairs to greet him, picking up my pace after the second step. The light began to creep off the wall and fade into the darkness in my living room. That’s when I heard him. A very strong voice. Different from the first. Not at all like my father’s, it was just different. It said, “Stop! Right now. Go back up those stairs.” I listened. After reaching the top of the stairs, I heard a very loud CRASH that sent me running back to my mum’s bed where I jumped straight under the covers and

stayed there the whole night. When we awoke the next morning, the Christmas fairy lights my mother had put on the railing down the stairs were pulled straight down to the bottom of the stairs, some broken from what seemed like a forceful tear, laying in a single pile. The dry sink in my living room had fallen from the wall. My mother could not explain it! My father was worried we had been the victims of a home invasion. My sister was crying. There was nothing missing, nobody had broken in, there did not seem to be any reason this had happened. Then I saw it, and I kept quiet about it because I was so afraid that I could not force words out of my mouth. There, on the edge of the wooden sink, were three indentations where the finish on the wood had been worn, almost as if in a forceful grip. Something had grabbed it and thrown it! That’s what it was. I was mortified. After that day, I never heard a single voice again. Ever.

ZAC’S STORY

Written by Frank Underwood Molloy

I’ve always hated my parents. Even though I hardly remember them. Because of them, I’ve been stuck in this stupid children’s home all my life. It’s hard to imagine how things could be much worse! Let me explain. My name is Zac; I am thirteen years old and life has let me down. If I had to say were my story started, I’d take you back to the night of the fire. I still remember it like it was yesterday. The amber flames engulfing my house, the heat, the choking black smoke and the screams of the sirens. I can still feel the heat now, just as I did that night. I was taken away from my parents. I had been left alone in the house which had caught fire. They were deemed unfit to have a child and at five years old, I was taken to start my new life in a children’s home. This could have been the day of a positive new chapter in my life. It wasn’t. In the children’s home, I was bullied. Day after day I was singled out, picked on, laughed at and made to feel useless. I knew it must have been true because deep down I felt that if my parents had loved me, they would never had left me alone or let me end up in this place. Over time, I became bitter. I caused trouble because I didn’t see any point in behaving any differently. “A delinquent” they called me. Like all children in the home, I lived every day hoping my turn would come. We knew there were families who came, sometimes wanting to adopt a

child. The routine was always the same. They came to the home; they would speak to Mr Watson (who was in charge in his office) and be introduced to the children. But never to me. My turn never came. I often wondered why that was. Younger children and girls seemed to be chosen more often. I guess no one wanted a thirteen-year-old boy seething with anger and resentment. I often wondered if those prospective parents saw the same thing as my own parents did when they left me that night. And so the years went on, the tsunami of resentment building with nowhere to go. Kind of like me - also going nowhere. Now and in the future. But that all changed on April 2nd 2010. Mr Watson came to see me .When he started speaking it wasn’t the loud, annoyed voice he normally spoke to me in, this time it was calm. “Zac, you need to put on your best clothes. We need to go to court”. My head started spinning. My thoughts were muddled; I couldn’t think straight. What was happening? Was it finally my turn? Was there really a family who wanted me? I got in my best clothes so fast I snapped off a button! Excitement was rising in my throat; I could hardly breathe. I made a beeline for the car. I couldn’t get out of that children’s home fast enough! Mr Watson started driving. I had so many questions I wanted to ask. He dismissed all of them saying, “You’ll learn soon enough”. I ended up sitting silently, trying not to cause trouble for the first time in years. I wondered if he could hear my heart beating as it was exploding out my chest. We finally arrived. Mr Watson stepped out the car. Meanwhile, I jumped out the car, almost falling over as I sprinted for the court doors. I was beyond excited; ready to meet what I assumed was going to be my new family. I walked through the huge court doors. They were heavy and imposing, most likely representing the door to a new future I desperately wanted. They opened slowly and I peered nervously inside. There was a sea of faces. Two faces stood out amongst the crowd. Two faces I think about every day. Two

faces I hadn’t seen in eight years...

The story of what happened on the night of the fire was complicated. My mum explained it to the judge. It was hard for me to take it all in. I learned that my family had been incredibly poor and got into some serious debt. They had borrowed money from a ruthless, violent loan shark who they couldn’t pay back. On the night of the fire, he had abducted my mum and left my dad hovering between this life and the Grim Reaper’s grasp. Before the loan shark left, he had set the house on fire, not knowing I was inside. It had taken years for my parents to persuade the authorities they hadn’t left me alone or done anything wrong. Even after eight years, they had never given up on trying to get me back.

And now? I now understand the truth of what happened that night and that my parents did not abandon me. Bad things can happen to good people. I love my parents.

THE STORY OF HOW MY LIFE TURNED UPSIDE DOWN Written by Santa Vanessa

How does it feel to be punished for something you did not do? I’m Ana and I’m 28. I’m in jail right now for something I didn’t do. How am I going to get out of this situation? I am an artist. It’s my full-time job. I started painting when I was 12. When I was 15, my own mother kicked me out because I was pregnant. I had to survive on my own. I stayed at my friend’s house because her mum was very understanding of the situation, more than my own mother was. She helped me. Since then I have not spoken to my mother or any other family members. Here I am 28 and in jail. I have a teenage daughter. She is 13 and she needs me but I’m here in jail. Two days ago, I was in my house with my daughter happily until I went to work. I have my own office, which is more of a studio, where I design my ideas, take my orders and do some painting. It was Saturday. I had the day off so I planned to spend some time with my daughter since both of us had been busy the whole week. It’s Monday. I can’t believe it. The weekend went by so quickly. While opening my office door, I felt something weird. When I looked down it was a red liquid that looked like blood (in my head RED PAINT) but I knew it wasn’t. That is when I saw a body across my studio. The first thing I did was check the person’s pulse and he was dead. I panicked, I froze, I was in shock, and I saw this beautiful brush of mine laying on the floor and the first thing in my mind was to pick it up. Yes, I realise now that it was the weapon used for the murder and my finger prints were on it. All I heard was the sirens of the police car getting closer and closer but how did they know? I didn’t call them! I was still in shock

and the next thing I know I’m being arrested for murder! Me! Someone who never hurt a fly. I hear the police officer say, “You have the right to remain silent as everything you say will be used as evidence against you” “Someone is trying to frame me,” I told them as I explained how I found the body. They asked me “Who it could possibly be?”. I told them that I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have to answer these questions because it’s my office. I go there whenever I want, I answer in a very agitated way. I shouldn’t be a suspect; I am a victim. After two months in jail, my daughter has been staying with my best friend. She was there for me during the hardest moments of my life and never turned on me. All of a sudden, my cell door opens and I hear ‘visitor’. It’s probably my lawyer. As I make my way to the visit room, I finally receive good news from my lawyer. She says I’m being released because my fingerprints on that brush aren’t enough to present to a judge and, apparently, they have footage of someone around my office around the time the murder was committed. The first thing I asked was to see it but they said it was impossible to tell who’s on the footage, I wanted to see it anyway. I couldn’t recognise the person but I was so happy that I could go home and see my daughter after two months. Two weeks later the murderer was arrested and it turned out he was a hitman which meant someone hired him to incriminate me but he still hadn’t confessed who and I had no clue who it could be. A month later, I received a phone call from my lawyer with good news: the hitman finally confessed who hired him to frame me for murder. I’m scared to find out who did this to me. “Take a seat,” said my lawyer. “I have good news and bad news. Well, the hitman confessed” I felt this weird feeling; it felt like a trap. The bad news: “The person who hired the hitman was your mum” I froze, motionless. Why now, after 15 years with no contact? The day had arrived. I was going to see my mum after 15 years today in court and maybe finally get some answers. “Calling Miss Ana to testify” the judge said. I made my way to sit down as

the judge asked me to describe my relationship with my mother. We weren’t always close but I guess you could call it a normal relationship. We were okay but then I got pregnant at 15 and that’s when everything changed. Instead of supporting me and guiding me she left me alone and I didn’t have anyone. I had to survive on my own, but thanks to my best friend’s mother, I’m here right now telling my story. I said this with my eyes full of tears. The judge called the hitman, who made his way to testify. I couldn’t believe my ears. My own mother was willing to pay £20000 to kill someone and blame it on me! The next thing I heard was the verdict Mother got 30 years and the hitman got life. She was motionless; she didn’t show any remorse for what she did; she did all of this because she didn’t want me to succeed in life. A month has passed since then and if you ask me how life has been since the traumatic event, I would say okay. I have to attend therapy but my therapist thinks I’m ready to move on and I think I’m ready to move on too. I’m moving to France with my daughter. I got a job opportunity; it is perfect. I get to stay away from everything that has happened these last 3 months, stay away from my mother, forget everything and start again. I get to spend more time with my daughter. There’s always hope. If you read my story all the way here, thank you I hope you liked it.

THE RAVEN EYES

Written by Jeremy Ramirez Ysla

They say that death comes for you; it hunts you. For others... Well they look for it. Whether it is an accident or a murder, for some very unfortunate individuals it’s something far darker and terrifying than what meets the naked human eye. Something that we should not dare try to answer. There is one thing for sure though, that I do know; there are these beings... these entities that... [Data expunged] can’t rest in peace after death; something disturbs them and keeps them awake. They manifest in our world and go feral; seeking after what tormented them when they were alive. There have been some rumours about Leyton Forest; some would even say it’s an urban legend. They talk about an abandoned testing facility deep in the forest that no man should wander in as all of the teenagers that were “ dared “ to enter and investigators that entered in the facility, they either don’t come back or they come out of there feral in need of psychiatric care. Somewhere deep in the Leyton Forest, a forest known to many people for its good childhood memories and its amazing wildlife, was a private lab. A company by the name of Roses & Daffodils bought this zone to test goods on animals to be approved and sold to their customers. Since they were a fairly new company, they were short on budget so they only hired five people to run the testing. One would get the animals delivered, another would place the animals in cages and feed them and there were two other people assigned to maintain the place. The last worker was the one who would run the testing and was lead scientist of the lab; his name was Mr Barry Jacob. Unfortunately, he was not the type of person who would be upset or sad for the animals, instead he was a very twisted and eccentric person. He wouldn’t only run the testing (that was already harmful to the animals) but he would ABUSE them too. As each animal began to expire, due to the obvious reasons, the testing room

started to have a weird energy. It was as if something was present there, workers slowly started to lose their minds after a month of working there. One by one, the workers decided to quit. But one, one remained. Barry did not quit, In fact, he didn’t even seem to be bothered by the environment. As the other workers left, he had the whole place to himself. He would run testing and leave the animals in the cages to starve while torturing other animals. That was, of course, until that fateful day, one fine evening, while he was disposing of the “EXPIRED” animals. Barry received a message requesting him to stay for longer as there was going to be a “new product” from the company ready to be tested. Although Barry was somewhat confused as to why there would be a new product to test at this hour, he didn’t really seem to mind. A few hours later the package arrived but when he went to let the delivery into the lab, he saw no truck. “Is this some kind of joke?” he thought. Although he was startled by this, he started to review the situation. He realized that he could torture more animals before leaving the lab. A diabolic smile grew on his face as he entered the lab, but his smile soon faded as he saw a baby rabbit at the end of the hallway. Barry looked at the rabbit in confusion; it appeared he had managed to, somehow, escape one of the cages. Without a doubt, he took a deep breath and went after the rabbit. The rabbit ran through the hallways looking for an exit, this was a case of life and death. He left a dirt trail behind him. Running hallway to hallway, Barry grew excited knowing that this was like a cat and mouse chase. But Barry was not a “cat” - he was a hawk. As Barry cornered the poor thing, he could almost hear the rabbit’s heart thumping rapidly. Barry grabbed the little rabbit by the neck, holding tightly; the rabbit’s lower body was shaking. Refusing. Crying. He was like a lamb to the slaughter. As Barry entered the animal testing site, Barry [[Data Expunged] placed the [Data Expunged] and pulled out a [Data Expunged] torturing the animal and [Data Expunged] ripping [Data Expunged] Barry grabbed the now “EXPIRED” animal and disposed of it into a bag next to the other 16 trash bags, Barry made the report of the animal testing results in a terminal and sent it to Dr [Data Expunged]. Barry proceeded to

clean up the lab, leaving the lab ready for use for the next week. Just as he was about to lock the gates and head over to his car he noticed the time: 11 pm. He spent so much time with the “EXPIRED” animal that he did not pay attention to the time at all. He hurried towards his car and started to drive. He opened the window to feel the breeze of wind. You could say that this was one of the few things about him that wasn’t eccentric. He turned on the radio to a classical music station but just as he began to relax, his car lights spotted something. A tall entity manifested in front of him. His heart began to race and in a panic he turned left and went off the road into the forest; he crashed and hit several trees. Barry almost lost consciousness but soon realised that whatever was out there, could be looking for him; he needed to escape. He struggled in pain out of his car. He had numerous severe injuries that it almost seemed impossible for him to still be alive. He left a blood trail behind him. He crawled as fast as he could, knowing that something was still out there. He made his last efforts and stopped by a tree, he laid his back on the trunk. He thought it was all over. This was just the beginning of his torture. He heard steps... Definitely not human footsteps as what he was seeing was not human... As the entity came closer, Barry recognised the thing. It was the baby rabbit. It was deformed, full of cuts, had bits of his fur ripped and had very sharp claws. Its eyes were transparent white. It was there in the name of all the animals who were tortured and died at the hands of Barry. Barry was petrified to see such a demonic creature in front him but, just as he was about to plead for mercy, the entity pounced towards him and with its deformed claws it ripped Barry’s face apart. Barry was still alive. How could this be? The creature had the realisation of the extreme pain Barry was about to go through. The raven was now scavenging the hawk’s corpse because in that moment, the hawk had become

the prey. The next day there were many noise complaints about what sounded like a man bellowing at the top of his lungs in Leyton Forest. A group of investigators were dispatched to investigate the area in case of any potential crime scene. Several days later, a car was found neatly parked on the side of the road. The car was undamaged. They approached it cautiously and inside, was something… horrifying. A dead body with its jaw broken and its eyes sockets ripped open was visible. Despite this, its clothes were spotless... almost like... nothing even happened. However, the oddest thing about this “potential crime scene” was the fact that there was a small white rabbit sitting right beside him.

THE PRIZE IS EVERYTHING Written by Moyin Ilori

Jonathan, Marie, and their daughter Josie lived the best lives they could’ve ever imagined; they were a happy family with a joyful and healthy daughter. She was Jonathan’s life, his source of happiness. Of course, he also loved his wife but, in the hospital room on her day of birth, he knew he loved her and he knew he never wanted to put her down. Every day he got back from work, she welcomed him with her heart-warming smile and invited him for a hug. But today is where everything went wrong… “Okay honey, go get dressed for school, you don’t want to be late to school.” KNOCK, KNOCK! “Hello, who is there?” asked Jonathan. “Hello, my name is General Thomas Hawkings. I am part of the army of the United States of America; I am here because I was sent to round up as many people as I can for a war coming from France. We need you to stand with us and fight against the bad people that want to bring this country down.” “Well I’m sure you can understand that this will take some time to think about,” Marie was in the back trying her hardest to keep in her tears, as she knew he stood for nothing more than to protect his family and to protect America. “I love my family,” explained Jonathan, “and I would do anything to keep them safe. Same goes for my country, but this will take some time to think about. I’m sorry.” “It’s fine, I understand. But the country is in danger and it’s up to us to protect it.” Now the soldiers that were rounded up to fight against France were in some sort of boot camp to practise their strengths and weaknesses. They did monkey bars, rock climbing and many more realistic war related activities. Jonathan didn’t have any friends there, but he just kept his head down and worked hard. He got worried at times, but whenever he did, he just said to himself, “the prize is everything,” and that helped him get through the boot

camp and training with no one to stand by and support him. Just before the war, soldiers were informed they would be able to communicate with their families over the phone, and luckily, Jonathan was able to find a free telephone to speak to Marie. “Hello, Marie, are you okay?” Yes, I’m fine and so is Josie. But she keeps asking where you are and I don’t know what to tell her.” “Tell her anything; just don’t tell her I am at war. She is so young, she won’t understand.” “Okay, well do you want to say happy birthday to her? It’s her birthday tomorrow and you might not be able to speak to her. ” “Oh of course, I will never forget my daughter’s 6th birthday!” “Time’s up, we must move now! The French are approaching and fast!” called another general.” “I have to go,” explained Jonathan. “Love you.” All the soldiers were in a dark area with trees surrounding them, perfect place for French soldiers to be hiding. To make it worse, it was raining heavily; the waters were rising below the rafts they were using to get to the other side of the river, but they managed to get to the land safely. Now they were close to the French territory and there were several sightings of people in war clothing, that were supposedly French. Then suddenly, “NO, I CAN’T DO THIS! I HAVE A FAMILY! I NEED TO GET HOME!” A soldier burst out screaming about how he wanted to go back to his family but that alerted the French. There was mumbling and shouting from the French; the Americans managed to make out, “OVER THERE!” From what the French were saying and warned, “POSITION COMPROMISED, TAKE COVER!” Then bullets started flying in every direction but the Americans had a wall of protection, but not for long; the bullets were penetrating the wall going straight through the flesh of the American soldiers. Jonathan saw the tragedy, but had to ignore it and focus. He remembered the frightened soldier and confronted him kindly, “Hey, you okay? I know it’s scary and you want to be there for your family, but I am in the same situation. I have a beautiful daughter at home that doesn’t even know where I am, and a wife that is counting on me

to come home before she has her second child. So believe me I know how it feels, you just have to keep your head down, focus and say, the prize is everything.” “What does that mean, the prize is everything?” “Your prize. You want to get home to your wonderful family and that’s the prize. You have to focus on doing everything you can to get that prize. To get to your family.” “Okay, I’m trusting you.” Bullets flying everywhere, guns all over the floor along with their owners. Some of the soldiers couldn’t take the horror and tried to flee the scene, but that just made them a target. Three soldiers were on their way to the other side of the river but they were all shot in the back and mocked by some of the French as they begged for their lives, but they were left to bleed out. Numbers were decreasing and lives were being lost as it looked like the French army was winning. But not all hope was lost, Jonathan knew that the American army needed all the help they could get, so he came out of his hiding spot, picked out his target and fired… Now Jonathan was on the doorstep to his home, a few metres away from happiness. But he still had something deep down inside him that wasn’t confident about his new appearance. But he remembered something that he clung to during the war to keep strong, then hovered his finger just over the doorbell, closed his eyes and whispered to himself, “the prize is everything.” DING DONG! The door was opened and he saw his wife’s blue eyes filling up with tears looking down on him, “You’re alive! You’re alive! He’s alive! I’ve missed you so much; I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again.” “Me too. I love you Marie.” “I love you too.” But while their hug took place, Jonathan opened his eyes and saw Josie standing in the background just staring. Marie left the scene and let them have some alone time. Josie immediately asked, “Where did you go? You were gone for so long, I missed you.” “It’s a long story, but I’ll explain everything later, I promise. But for now why don’t you give me a hug.”

THE NIGHT STALKER Written by Yiyit Pamuk

Every day was the same for Duncan but this day wasn’t. Normally, he would have been milking the cows or collecting eggs from the chickens to sell to the rich people of Bakersville. But now he was running for his life, speeding through an isolated, breezy corn field slipping over layers of snow whiter than the moon. The Night Stalker was chasing him. At first, the rumours were believed to be fake but then there were sightings of Unidentified Flying Objects all over the country. Then, mysteriously, people were being kidnapped and released, yet they were unable to remember anything. They all said the same thing: ‘The night stalker took us to his UFO!’ Duncan, being the smart 13 year old farmer boy he is, never believed in this; he thought monsters such as vampires and zombies and werewolves were fake. And most of all… aliens. He despised them; ‘you guys are gullible believing in hoaxes such as the night stalker’ he would tell his friends. Until one long everlasting night, Duncan’s parents left him home alone; they had a meeting with a friend. He was so happy to finally be alone and have fun. It was now night around 10pm, Duncan’s parents were gone for an hour and half and so far, everything seemed pretty normal, until Duncan heard strange noises, deep echoing noises, something that was mysteriously supernatural.

At first, Duncan thought it was coming from the television but he was wrong because a mere five seconds later a bright light shined on him and he couldn’t hear or see anything. Suddenly everything started moving on its own. The television was switching channels, the drawers were opening and closing, the chairs started moving all on their own. Every movement in the house had stopped and the bright light stopped shining onto Duncan. It took him a couple seconds to readjust to everything but he soon wished he had not opened his eyes at all. The second he opened his eyes he saw a blurry green figure. Something out of the marvel comics, a slimy and moist figure. It was The Night Stalker. Its appearance matched to the ones in the news articles Duncan had read. Without hesitating, Duncan dashed through the back doors of his house heading for the old cornfield that hadn’t grown anything for the past three weeks. Duncan was sprinting for what seemed to feel like forever, there was no end to the cornfield. He thought The Night Stalker had lost track of him but the second he turned around the night stalker was right there, towering over Duncan, his slimy hands wrapping around him. The Night Stalker had captured Duncan. Around three hours later, Duncan had woken up in his bed. He didn’t remember anything that happened during the night, except the feeling of The Night Stalker above him. His parents would never believe him if he said to them a mysterious alien that came out of nowhere had captured him. Three weeks had passed by and The Night stalker was nowhere to be found so Duncan thought it might have been a nightmare that whole time and decided to get it off his mind. Little did he realise that The Night Stalker was out there in the night terrorizing somebody else.

THE MARKET

Written by Max Peacock

On a breezy Wednesday morning, Camilla was making breakfast for her mum and dad. She accidentally spilt a glass of orange juice, so began to clean the spill off the floor so when her mum came downstairs she wouldn’t slip and hurt herself. Camilla had finished making breakfast and she carefully walked upstairs with the food on the tray. Her mum and dad thanked her and started to eat the bacon and eggs with some orange juice on the side. “Yummy!” said Fade, her mother. “Delicious!” said Johnny, her father. Camilla had just finished her breakfast, and she asked if she could go to the busy marketplace with them. Very soon, her family was dressed up and already into the car because the marketplace was twenty minutes away. Camilla got sick in the car as she was playing on her iPad and she had motion sickness. Nevertheless, they arrived seeing many beautiful Chinese decorations; it was Chinese New Year. Camilla showed mum and dad a very special stall that had a challenge: who could eat two bowls of noodles in one and a half minutes? Camilla said, “Could I please take part in the challenge, please?” Her mum said yes and Camilla walked up to the stall and volunteered for the challenge. Soon enough, Camilla won the competition and won a ginormous teddy bear. Mum spent a lot of time at a stall that sold bath bombs and miniature cats made out of porcelain. She bought three pots and four plates for the family; one pot was for her grandma. Camilla went to a restaurant, which had lovely food. Her mum came and sat down with her and they had a lovely Wednesday afternoon meal. The lovely lady who was serving them gave Camilla a free dessert. Mum gave her a tip.

THE LONG JOURNEY

Written by Mohamed Kadiri Kasmi

The morning of July 26th was a clear sunny day, while everyone was enjoying their summer holidays. Poor George and his friends were stuck with summer school, however July 26th was meant to be thrilling. They were going to the Museum of London. As George’s alarm screamed, his class was waiting for him at school. “I wonder if that sleepyhead even bothered getting out of bed.” Max mumbled. Five minutes later George woke up, blanched, realising he was late for school. He ran to his bathroom faster than lightning then got dressed just as rapidly. He left his house starved, as he did not have time to satisfy his stomach. “The bus is here. Make sure you sit down with your seatbelt on at all times,” gasped the teacher. “I’m here, I’m here!” called out George. “Don’t worry, you’re early,” the students laughed. Everyone hopped on the bus excited for the trip. “That’s the register done, we should be there in one hour” mumbled the teacher. The bus moved slower than a snail while the students inside suffered. “Could this be any worse? I could have been in bed relaxing,” said George. “It’s lunch time” the teacher yelled. “George, want to trade lunches?” asked Max. “I haven’t got any lunch, I was in a hurry to get to this very fun trip” replied George. Everyone laughed. After two hours, the students had finally arrived at the Museum of London, however half way through the tour they heard what sounded like gunshots. “Get on the ground! I won’t hurt anyone if I get what I want,” yelled a man with a mask. Everyone was terrified but George thought, if the security guards won’t do their jobs then he‘d do it for them. George ran upstairs and hid but the thief did not care, he was just there for the expensive artefacts.

George had escaped and was searching rapidly for something he can use as a weapon. After a few minutes of looking George found a heavy bone that he could barely pick up. The thief was right below him, this was his chance. George set up his shot and threw the bone with the accuracy of a frog’s tongue. The thief was defeated and everyone was delighted and full of joy. “Wake up, you’re going to be late” screamed George’s mum. It was all a dream.

THE IMMIGRANT

Written by Damla Ozur

Immigration is, sometimes, an easy step to take in your lifetime. Think about it, going from a locale with incendiary devices going off and aircrafts soaring above your cabin every two seconds, to a very posh country with big residences and a clear blue sky above your heads. This transition sounds like a dream come true. But not for me. I never wanted to take this step; immigration was the last choice, even if it was a life or death situation. Unfortunately, I had no other choice. I had nowhere to turn. It was as if I was at the end of the road with nowhere else to turn to save me from the war. Now, my Babushka and me live in a nanoscopic, prehistoric hotel in Jaywick. Ok, maybe I have exaggerated slightly but still, it is an ancient and extremely filthy hotel. It is home for the time being, or at least my Babushka says so. She always repeats the same words, “vnuchka, once Babushka gets a job, Babushka is going to get us a big home and we will leave here, ok vnuchka,” But I never seem to have a feeling that she is actually telling the truth. One day later and I abhor this whole country. The schools, the hotels, the respect, IT IS ALL SCANDALOUS. I went to school today and I was put in year 7 just because they thought I did not know English that well. I need to be in year 8. Having Russian ancestry and being born and raised in Russia is not respected in this place called a country. I hate it here in Jaywick. I wish I could travel in time and go back, or maybe I can...

THE FAMILY IN THE RAIN Written by Ethan Asare

The dark sky opened up as a great barrage of tears fell down on Hackney. It was as if God himself was weeping at the unfortunate fate that would consume Andre Smith. Andre stood there, in Mare Street, soaked to the skin with his grey lifeless eyes fixated on something. It was a McDonald’s, but the food was not what caught his deathly eyes - it was a woman and a little boythe boy was not much younger than his own son. Or than his son would have been. The boy was painting the blank canvas of his mother’s face with complaints and cries. Andre’s mind fogged up and was clouded with memories of the past. Childish wails filled his distant thoughts and Andre was reminded of a time before his heart was broken beyond repair. A time before Andre was changed forever. His young son Michael was making a scene in the Lego store at Westfield for a silly reason. In no time all eyes were glued to Andre and his son, “ ‘scuse me mate but you gotta take your little one outta ‘ere” said the store manager. Andre didn’t reply but instead began to tap his foot on the floor and fidget impatiently all while keeping an innocent apologetic look on his face. The manager’s voice was heard again over the never-ending sound of Michael’s cries, “Mate I ain’t gonna ask you again, either you make your son quiet down or -” “Or what?” a soft and soothing voice interrupted the now blood red manager just before a tall woman joined Andre and Michael. The woman picked up little Michael and he instantly stopped crying as if he was under a spell. Andre wiped the rainfall of sweat coming down from his forehead, “Y’sure took your time didn’t you Jen?” “Stop moaning honey, I can’t deal with TWO babies today.” Jennifer gave a short high-pitched giggle, which sounded like someone scratching a

chalkboard, “Anyway you don’t have any right to kick them out and are you not ashamed of yourself? You are here trying to exploit what little power you have over a little toddler. Embarrassing! There isn’t anything special about this particular shop anyway so we are leaving thank you very much.” As they left, the store manager was left speechless and stormed into his office. Later that day Jennifer entered a McDonald’s with Andre and Michael stuck to her sides like sleeves. A smile lit on little Michael’s face as he felt the warm embrace of the shop. While Jennifer and Michael settled in their seats, Andre went away to somewhere in the shop, “Michael, do you know what day it is?” whispered Jen. The little kid had a blank expression on his face, “October the 17th.” The corners of Jennifer’s lips were slowly pulled to her ears, “Yesss, so it is …” Before young Michael could think of the answer Andre, along with all the McDonald’s staff, came in with a large white cake topped with seven candles. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIIIRRRTTHHHDAYYYYY DEAR MICHAELLLL, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUU!”

THUD!

Andre was startled out of his reminiscent illusions by the force of a little boy bumping into him.

CLINK. CLINK.

Andre was once again frozen to the spot, but this time his eyes were directly pointed at the floor. Spread across the ground and the little boy’s feet were

two separate segments of ashes. For a second, life appeared in Andre’s eyes but only pure fury was there. The innocent boy scurried back as the man’s fire of emotions grew at an alarming rate, “I’m sss...ss...sorry. I’mma clean it up.” The boy hurried to scoop up the ashes, but as he did, he felt an icecold hand stop him in his tracks. The sky was lighter but the rain was now intensely shooting down, each raindrop feeling like a bullet. As the little boy looked up he saw the abysses of darkness that were Andre Smith’s eyes and a clenched fist slowly rising into the air, “You better fix this real quick or-” “Or what?” this voice was familiarly soft and soothing. Jen. It was Jennifer’s voice. Andre looked up and saw an apparition of his late lover. “This isn’t right dad” another familiar voice was heard but this sounded young and squeaky. It was Michael. Andre felt two warm loving hands touch him and two voices said in unison: “You’ve got to stop” Andre’s face softened and his fist gradually lowered. He looked down to see the little boy still trembling at his feet. Andre put out his hand and the little boy flinched at first but then accepted it then ran over to his emotional mother. The sky was clear and the rain had finally stopped. Without hesitation, Andre turned around and walked almost robotically away, but not out of embarrassment or fear but purpose and content. Andre kept on walking and walking. Walking and walking and walking off into the sunset with the souls of Jen and Michael stuck to his shoulders like sleeves.

SOMEONE YOU WOULD NEVER EXPECT Written by Holly Gibson

“GOOD afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, as we begin our flight, please make sure your seat backs, and tray tables are in full, upright position,” I shift slightly in my seat, too aware of the cramped space around my legs. “Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead locker. Thank you.” I push my small handbag further underneath the seat in front of me, and pull my seatbelt across my jumper. Later on in the flight I’ll have to take it off, but it’s okay for now. It’s my good luck jumper, I need it for this flight, I’ve needed it for every flight, since… since it happened. The ridiculously pretty flight attendant sits back down, and the chief flight attendant takes over. “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Nathaniel Nox, and I’m your chief flight attendant. On behalf of Captain Mark and the entire crew, welcome aboard British Airways flight 305, non-stop service from London, Gatwick Airport to Barcelona. Our flight time will be roughly 1 hour and 55 minutes.” I pull the seat belt further from my body, and take a deep breath. I’m going to be okay. I pull my phone out of my pocket, switch it to airplane mode, and plug my headphones in. I rest my head back on my headrest, and close my eyes. Thirty minutes into the flight, I open my eyes again. The tumbling of my stomach has settled, and I’m feeling more at home. The flight attendant lady stands again, and says “Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned off the Fasten Seat Belt sign, and you may now move around the deck.”

I, slightly shakily, stand, and make my way to the toilets. I. Am. Busting. I wait in the 3-person-long queue, and look at my WhatsApp, after connecting to the WiFi. There’s precursory “heyyyy, wheres the plane at?? hope its ok hun. xxx” from Bella, my best friend. My mum’s already worried, sending me a ‘Hi, Hon. Where are you? On the plane? Still waiting? Any turbulence? Have you got everything? Anything I’ll need to send along to the hotel? Call me once you’re on the plane?” I roll my eyes. My mum knows full well that you cannot call on a plane, and I am not 19 anymore, but ah, well, you can’t modernise everything. Finally! I think. The toilets are free! I step into the toilet, and take a quick look at the ‘loo roll’ holder. There’s none left. I pull open the cupboards, and take a quick look. I locate the loo roll, and shove some onto the holder. Once I’ve finished relieving myself, I stand, and go to shut the cupboard door. As I’m closing it, something catches my eye. There’s a small black box, with many switches sticking out of it, and it’s buzzing bizarrely. I take a closer look, and my heart stops. No. It couldn’t be. In front of me, right there, in the toilet, was a homemade bomb. A bomb. My first instinct is to scream at the top of my lungs, but I can’t. I know that. Instead, I take a deep breath and shout ‘ATTENDANT!’ I guess that counts as screaming at the top of my lungs, but it’s more effective. A flight attendant comes rushing in and takes one look at the contraption in front of me, and talks into a walkie-talkie. The Captain comes rushing in, and looks at it too. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the bomb, and take a seat.” I shake my head. “Ma’am, let us professionals deal with this.” Time to pull the trump card. I pull out a ‘police badge.’

“Sir,” I say, “I am a professional. Please, give me permission to speak to the passengers.” The captain looks at my police badge, back at me, and at the police badge again, and nods. “Okay.” “Ladies and gentlemen,” I say, once I’m out on the deck, “there is a contraption on board that is compromising the safety of all passengers, and staff. My name is Detective Inspector Reed, and I will be helping guide this plane to safety today. I will have to talk to persons on this plane, to try and identify the perpetrator of this crime, and then I will make them disable the contraption. Any objections?” “What is this contraption?” Someone asks. “A bomb.” The two words silence whispers, and shocked, terrified faces look back at me. “Any more questions?” Silence. “First… anyone who waited in the queue for the toilets, and has gone to the toilet since boarding, raise your hand.” A few shaky hands raise. “Could you all come into the cabin with me and the Captain, please.” I walk into the cabin, and a line of passengers, about 5 people long, follow. “Names, please.” I ask. “Janet Woolock.” “Mark Princely.” “Yasuko Inoue.” “Jackson Blake.” “Harvey Mark.” I note down the names, and put a star next to one. “When did you visit the lavatories?” I ask. “On boarding.” “Just before departure.” “5 minutes ago.” “15 minutes ago?” “I check there every 10 minutes, because I’m the Captain.” I nod and replace the star with a cross and add another star. “Janet, you can leave.” Janet nods, and leaves the cabin. “Thank you, inspector.” “How long were you in there for?” I ask. “5 minutes.” “3 minutes?” “10 minutes, roughly.” “Not that long, I just look around.” I cross off Yasuko Inoue’s name, and tell her she can leave. She practically runs out.

“Why were you in there?” I ask. “Um, I needed to do my business?” “I was feeling unwell.” “I was checking the smoke alarms. And giving it a once over.” I cross Mark Princley’s name off of my list, and excuse him. “So, Jackson Blake, what do you do for a living, and why are you on this plane?” “I am a full-time worker at a debt management company in America, and we have some clients that need information from their countries; London, and Spain. I was coming to collect it from my boss’ assistant in Spain.” I nod, and say “Mark, how long have you been working here, at the airlines?” “Around 3-4 years? I finished my training in 2016, and got a job here in 2017. I was lucky.” I nod. I cross someone’s name off of my list. “Jackson, you may leave.” He nods shakily, and stands. “Well,” Mark says, “that’s over and done with, what’s next?” I look him dead in the eye, and say, “ It’s time to arrest someone who’s been hijacking planes for years under a false identity. They lost someone close to them in 2015, and have been ruining people’s lives on planes since 2017. They committed petty theft 2 times in 2013 and 2014, bribed police officers to wipe their record and got a reputable job. They’ve struggled to give up their obsession for revenge in an attempt to get their lost one back. They’re sitting right in this cabin.” Mark rubs his hands together nervously, and shakes his head. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” I laugh. “Oh, you will,” and pull a large controller-type thing from my belt. I press the large, red button, forcefully. BOOM!

THE GREATEST SIN Written by Joshua King

Hatred, that gets you targeted. But love, that is what gets you killed. I was eight when my mum died. That was the day that had killed me on the inside, my core and awoke the beast inside of me. I was reluctant to let anyone else close to me. No person could penetrate the wall I had built inside of me; it was impenetrable. As the days went by, I continued to hide myself from society and my heart - the fragile heart that once was pulchritudinous became smaller yet grew with hatred and sorrow. As anti-social and negative as I had become, deep down I still dreamed of finding the love of my life the girl that would restore my happiness, my pride, my life. I hoped that this dream would become true. There I was laying on the floor unable to speak or see. I thought this was the end; the mist was covering my helpless body, with blood spattered over my future deathbed. The rain poured, darkness filled the sky and nothingness filled my body. “Yes” I cried. This is the end. I am on no man’s land alone without anything. I am a product of destruction and a killer. None of this would have happened if I had the one thing I wanted - a peaceful life. The day was Friday, Friday 13th when I met him, the demon’s head, the one who ought to be my killer. Living in Lian Yu alone was the equivalent to living in hell, but this man, the source of my hatred and anger, had made this place into my purgatory. It came to me that the more we had in common; the more I not only hated him but myself. How could I be similar to the devil’s advocate? Every day was getting harder and as more time passed, murdering myself became a very common thought for me. It was only a matter of time until my death came; it was inevitable. “Sarah, I’m sorry, your killer should be punished, tortured and made to suffer the same way you did. I wish you were here right now; you were my

happiness- the sun to my day. I will avenge you, no matter what the consequences are. I miss you.” You were deemed a bad person when you were the good of everything, you were always positive and you just wanted to find a way out. A way out to a fresh new peaceful life. The clock turned to 17:00 and a shadow had appeared. I was being watched, someone was bound to attack me or threaten me in some way for her death. Slowly, my head turned as fear began to strike my body knowing that something was about to happen. I turned around. The most dangerous man on the Island was there, standing next to me pointing a blade at my head. My heart stopped. “Damien, you are going to be charged for the death of Sarah Silver. The penalty is a scrap to the death”. Contemplating my options, I stood there, in shock, until I realised why I had to accept. On the day Sarah had been assassinated, I was creating a blade, which means I could not have killed her. There was only one person on the island with similar DNA to me, my sister Amy. I can’t let her die I thought to myself. Why didn’t I protect her? Why didn’t I go with Sarah? I couldn’t think of that now. I had to move on and try to kill this heartless monster. I was fighting for Sarah and Amy. “We shall brawl at 18:00,” the demon’s head bellowed, “Say your last goodbyes and accept death.” 18:00 came and I had been waiting for him to appear and strike me down, yet no one had appeared. I started to wonder why a man like him would be late. For a surprise attack! Swiftly I looked up to see him directly above me with his sword ready to strike me down. “Ah so you’ve found me, it’s time to die Damien. If you had properly scanned the area you would’ve realised you’re being ambushed,” stated the snake.

One, my leg shot. Two, my arm sliced. Three, my rib cracked. My eyes lit up with fear, this man had managed to end me in 3 seconds. Gasping for air, I said my last prayers “Don’t be disappointed, I’m sorry”. “Death comes from a blade, may you rest in peace” mumbled my killer as he placed the blade in the middle of my helpless heart. Death. Love. Friends. Forgiveness. Those are your four vulnerabilities in life and yet love is the biggest one. Love is my greatest sin.

MARCH EVICTION BRINGS APRIL AFFLICTION Written by Nneoma Charis Alukwu

I wasn’t sure how long it had been like this. Weeks… months, maybe. It wished it didn’t know how to feel emotion. Though it was crumbling into nothingness, it could feel every stab of heartbreak and rejection as though they were new. It was in agony. A vivid memory possessed its mind of roses and a heartfelt letter. It brought those roses to the person it yearned for. Hope possessed its heart at the time, but they soon crushed it when they rejected its love. Soon, it grew cold and its body and mind played a constant loop of the response it received. “No. I would never date you. Not even if I was paid to do so.” It was in pain. The unrequited love it possessed agonizingly tortured it. So, though surprising, it accepted the day it woke up to see thorns sprouting from its skin. One morning, as it was bathing, it saw a small green spike growing from its arm. At first, it was convinced it was a piece of debris, but when the spike wouldn’t come out, it realized thorns were growing from its skin. It had heard of this before. Somewhere, in a distant memory. Suddenly, it was struck by the intensity of the memory. Hanahaki disease. It filled the victim’s lungs until it vomited flowers. And yes, it had heard of Hanahaki disease before, but that was all fiction. No one said anything about thorns growing from skin. Confusion clouded its mind before panic seized it. What was this thorn doing on its skin? Where had it come from? Was it dreaming? Was any of this real? Unfortunately, it did not wake up. The thorns did not disappear, either. Eventually, it gave up, hopeless. Days passed, each one filled with despair and tears. And before it realized, thorns made way to stems. Stems sprouted from its arm, and slowly, agonizingly, it grew weaker. Now, not only could it remember the harsh sting of abandonment, but sickness also occupied its days. It would wake up in the morning to a cramping stomach and aching chest. It would spend nights in a cold sweat, temple pounding, and body writhing as the thick stems pushed their way

through its skin. On harder mornings, bloody sheets would greet its vision as it realized its body was splitting open. And so, it resigned to its life of torture. It submitted itself to the pain as harsh conditions rained down upon it. And with them, the memory of harsh words greeted its ears. “You are nothing to me. Once, I may have considered you a friend. But now you are nothing. You have wasted your time here. Go home. I don’t want you.” “I don’t want you.” The harsh truth struck it like a semi - truck and it was left shaking on its mattress. Writhing as a worm stuck in the dirt. Frantically scrambling like cockroaches turned on its back. It was pitiful. At this point, it was practically screaming. Sighing, it wiped its face with its sleeve. However, when it pulled its hand away, its heart skipped a beat. Red painted its white sleeve, the contrast in full detail. It was unsure why it was bleeding, but it soon realized that its vision was blurring. Pain ripped through its temple, unlike the headaches. It felt as though something was trying to claw its way out of its head. It screamed in agony as the pain increased. It raised a shaky, pale hand to its forehead and pulled away quickly. There was nothing there. Its forehead was empty. When its hands were back in its blurry sight, it saw that they were painted with red. Screaming in fright, it hurriedly touched its eyeball. However, this only made the pain come back in full force. It cursed as an extremely primal fear was released in its stomach. Drip. Drip. Drip. Taking a crazed look into the mirror, it realized in horror that roses bloomed from its eyeballs. It’s bulged out, almost being forced on them. Without a second thought, it desperately, frantically trying to rip out the roses that threatened to expel its optic organs. Rose petals littered the ground beside it and it tried not to think about a very similar scene that it once saw. Roses, strewn on the ground. Sad in appearance. Only this time, they were bloody. It did not stop, ripping and tearing at the roses that would not stop pushing on its eyes. It hurt. Pressure building in its skull until threatened to explode. And yet, it continued, ripping and ripping until finally… its vision cleared. Fortunately, nothing filled its eye sockets. It was mildly satisfied with itself, glad to finally receive the sleep it needed. However when it looked forward, memories came back to it of flower petals and blood.

Its body felt… heavier. Yet it looked the same. That is until it noticed large bumps covering its body. It howled in pain, as what felt like talons dug their way into its skin. It was the opposite. Talons were digging their way out of its skin, and folding it upwards like a blistering carcass. Its skin peeled, revealing deeper into its body and it gagged, trying hard not to expel its stomach contents. Bile burned its tongue, and it urged the contents to come out already. Gagging, contents spilled from its mouth. An ache greeted its throat and mouth, as the vomit finally cleared. Something was wrong. This was not vomit. It coughed, chest aching with a sharp pain as it felt something fill its torso. Almost like an ice machine creating new ice after becoming empty. Roses littered the ground of the shower, not petals anymore. Roses, with their stems missing, coated the shower floor. And unsettled, it realized that those roses had just come from its stomach. Hanahaki disease was fiction. It was impossible. And then it remembered the days of childhood, people in town looking at it strangely. It remembered how odd it was in adolescence, declaring that its town was wrong. It was wrong to kill innocent people for sport. It was wrong to hunt people who looked different. I hope you burn. I hope you burn. I hope you burn. The phrase repeated itself in its mind as it laughed maniacally. No it was not burning. It was dying, skin being ripped from its bones as a garden grew inside of it. Maybe it was not so bad to die after all. A few months of suffering just to end all chances of it continuing. So it would burn. It would burn brighter than the stars in the sky; it left this plane of existence, leaving all its suffering behind. “I hope you burn,” it whispered to itself, as it felt a moment of torturous pressure. And then it exploded. Eyes, lungs, stomach and skin detonated into a supernova, as it was greeted by darkness. Just before it closed its eyes, it saw the red that painted the walls. Red, just like roses. I lay on the bed my best friend signing as she had got to the end of the story. Thoughts clouded my mind. The story sounded familiar. Then the memory clicked and I thought to myself. If that story was true then why is my grandmother still alive?

LONG LIVE THE NEWLY CROWNED KING Written by Hamnah Ali

Thick, platinum blood ran down his chin and dripped onto the stone floor. It pooled and reflected his pale, fearful face. Chains of steel and clasps of iron clamped around his dainty wrists and ankles. Strong, flowing tears drifted down his face and mingled in with the silver mess in front of him. The sound of creaking echoed in the room, and the door squealed open. It was a drizzly, spring morning. The sky was a pearl hue, and cotton candy clouds hung low in the atmosphere. The sun was white and made the Moonstone Palace gleam a brilliant azure. He gazed out of the Marble senate and sighed at the view. Elphame was beautiful. The wooden door swung open with a bang, “Vanus!” exclaimed a familiar voice, “Yes Evolene?” he replied warmly, “You do realise that you are going to be late, right?” she asked timidly, “It’s today!?” he cried, “Thank you Evolene, I really must be out of my mind,” Vanus leapt off the windowsill and ran a hand through his silver hair. He scraped it all into the best braid he could manage. He gulped down some water and jumped out of the window. A strong wind blew stray hairs across his face as he dived down and beautiful iridescent wings unfurled and carried him across the landscape. He slowed to a flutter and gently dropped down in front of the Rose Gardens. A strong hand hit the back of his head and flicked his braid onto his face, “Mother!” he said whilst struggling to reposition his braid, “Don’t you ‘Mother’ me Dearie. I have told you thousands of times that it is impolite to be late, so hurry up they’re all waiting.” His Mother dragged him by his braided hair along a winding staircase where he saw his brother walking the opposite way, “Ev!” He yelled ecstatically, “You are coming to my coronation right. It would mean so much to me if my baby brother attended an-,”

“Firstly, my full name is Evander. Don’t call me Ev. Secondly, I am not a baby. Thirdly, yes, I am, unfortunately, attending your coronation. Mother would be at my throat if I missed it. That’s the only reaso-” “Thank you Ev!” Vanus engulfed the struggling individual in a big bear hug, and released him after he found that he was choking, “Ah. Sorry Evander, now I must leave. Bye Ev! ” he called running down the hall. Vanus came across two cerulean doors. Ah. Very ominous. I have never seen these doors before but I must avoid temptation. I’ll check it out after the coronation. Vanus quickly traipsed down the hallway and paused in front of the doors to the Alton Waterhouse room, where he would be crowned. He burst through the double doors and froze. Many species were there. Everyone had attended. Elves, Imps, Ogres, Humans, even the Puka Fairies were sat in the front row. His mother stared at him dead in the eye. He gulped, waved, and started to move down the chalky carpet. He knelt down in front of the sovereign. Who recited a few verses and placed a magnificent, ashen crown upon his silver head. A slow grin spreads across his face along with realisation. He was king. A glimmer caught his eye at the back of the crowd. It was Evander, and he was edging towards the exit at the back of the room. Vanus wanted to show him the jewellery that was tinkling atop his crown. It was heavy. He pranced to the back and followed Evander out of the room. Evander stopped in front of the cyan, blue double doors then poofed, leaving Vanus with the sweet scent of wildflowers, “Damn!” Vanus cursed. He hated it when he disappeared without warning. After a while, he regained composure, and pushed open the curious doors. Inside, the only thing that met Vanus was the dark. He caught a glimpse of something wooden as he felt something hit his head. He was out before the pain hit him. Vanus opened his eyes, and a jarring pain shot through his aching skull.

Thick, platinum blood ran down his chin, and dripped onto the stone floor. It pooled and reflected his pale, fearful face. Chains of steel and clasps of iron clamped around his dainty wrists and ankles. Strong, flowing tears drifted down his face and mingled in with the silver mess in front of him. The sound of creaking echoed in the room, and the door slammed shut. The sound of metal scraping along the stone pierced his ears. The sparks that were flying were the only source of light in the room. And as they glowed Vanus was able to see an outline of a figure. A familiar figure. One that he had known almost all his life, “E-Evander?” he cried in a whisper, “H-how could you Ev?” “Oh dear brother,” spat Evander, “How I wish the kingdom could see you now, a king unfit to rule his kingdom weak and in chains,” Vanus whimpered softly but met his brother’s gaze defiantly. But then, Vanus saw something grey shine menacingly in Evander’s pocket. Oh no. He thought. Oh no, no, no, no. “I can’t say it was a pleasure or that I will miss you, but I can make this quick for you. Long live the king” Evander reached for his side and pulled out a vial of liquid grey. A potion that was so potent to fairies and other creatures, the penalty for carrying it was death. Evander uncorked the deadly liquid and poured it onto Vanus. He screamed and thrashed when he saw his hands melting away. The poison worked its way up to his arms, then torso. Melting whatever parts of flesh it spread to. Until nothing remained Many years after Evander had left his brother in the strange room, it was his turn to be crowned. Nobody had asked what had become of his older brother, because nobody really cared. The room was sealed away and forgotten about and Evander had not a care in the world. The kingdom flourished with Evander as their king and as time passed, his reign ended. He lived a happy life with no regrets and was loved by his people and respected by other kingdoms. He had made his mark in the world and changed the kingdom for the better.

HOME SWEET HOME

Written by Guylshen Asenova

As I opened the door of the fresh house the sudden aroma of old cedar and dust hit my nose. The quiet patter of footsteps travelled across the echoing & hollow room as I slowly stepped into the opening. The peak sunlight poured through the large and lustrous windows, whitewashed walls glared down upon me. This was it; this was finally my chance to be happy. To get away from all the harrowing and distressing memories, from all the shame and emotional torment. I gazed upstairs, swallowing my first breath of freedom in my new home. My spirits brightened as I held the baby hand of my daughter finally hope bloomed inside of me. After what seemed like an eternity of packing, I finally rested my legs on the soft velvet sofa, staring at the lifeless bookshelf in front of me lost in reality. “Mummy” she whispered tugging softly at my shirtsleeve. “Dear God Lizzie! You scared me...” I looked down at her round baby face, her blue ocean eyes swimming with warm sun-lit currents, her contagious, innocent smile spreading across her face, making me giggle softly at her. “Mummy, let’s play a game,” she asked politely. “What kind of game sweetheart?” I responded. “Let’s play Hide and Clap.” she chuckled. She grabbed my hand and lifted me off the sofa, running swiftly up the stairs still hand in hand. Lizzie sat me down softly and wrapped a blindfold around my hazel eyes, “ok 3...2...1... Start!” I got up blindly, feeling my other senses heightening, my heart rate increasing slowly as I pictured the darkness around me. Stretching out my arms widely to touch and feel my way across objects, two flat claps vibrated around the house coming from the guest bedroom, I jerked my head violently and carefully made my way to the guest bedroom. “Lizzie...I’m coming to get you!” A creaking noise filled the hallway, followed by footsteps...Suddenly a violent slam, loud enough to send vibrations along the whole house, the bloodcurdling screeches of

my 6-year-old daughter trapped in the attic. Panic. Terror. Anxiety. I ripped off my blindfold running towards the sound of my daughter. My heart rate increased, my hands trembling rapidly, my brain completely unreactive, tugging and dragging the doorknob with all my strength yet the door was not moving a single centimetre. “Elizabeth open the door!” I bellowed, still tugging at the door. “ELIZABETH!” I scream. Panicked. My every nerve is on fire. Her screams are deafening. Tears spilt over and flowed down my face like a river escaping a dam. But suddenly…silence.

An ominous silence filled the air, a type of silence where you can hear your blood flowing in your body. Pin drop silence. I blinked for a second and abruptly the once glued shut door was now ajar. I stared at the gaped door in confusion; my smudged mascara had made my eyes as black as voids. I walked towards it, eager to find my baby. Intrusive thoughts flooded my head. The pitch-black room waited for me like a hungry animal waiting to strike at its prey. I entered. The door automatically closed behind me, the same slamming sound that trapped Lizzie. A terrified yelp escaped my mouth. As I walked cowardly down the stairs, the darkness consumed me, surrounding me and seeping into my body. The darkness felt heavy, oppressive and almost supernatural. “Lizzie!” I yelled, praying, hoping, and anticipating a response. My stomach twisting, my hands were trembling and my heart going 300 miles per hour; “Elizabeth!” I yelled again. I felt something brush against my back, goose bumps running down my spine like cold tingles. Something was watching me; “Elizabeth please baby! Where are you?” I cried out, scared out of my wits. A child’s laughter travelled along the room. “Elizabeth! Baby! Where are you, baby? Speak to me, honey!” I murmured, attempting to feel my way through the eerie darkness. A light flickered rapidly like lightning blinding my eyes with its bright flash. Lizzie’s ear-splitting scream made its way across the room, this one the worst of all. It was the type of scream that bypasses the ears and speaks right to the heart.

I sprinted towards her voice, arms in front of me as if I was blind. “Lizzie!” I screamed desperately. “Mummy, I’m here!” She screamed back “Sweetie follow my voice okay, I’m right here” The light flickered again, gave me just enough time to see someone. A woman in a white dress behind me in the mirror. A terrified howl escaped my lips, questioning whether my mind was playing tricks on me, whether hallucinations from fear were kicking in, or whether it was real. Suddenly I felt something grab my leg and, before I knew it, I was being dragged; the rigid cement floor scraped my skin painfully. Screaming and yelling at the top of my lungs, I felt like death was right around the corner. And then we turned the corner.

(Extract from) FEATOSOA Written by Ry Pillai

This is a story about a great world, known as Featosoa. Highest of mountains, lowest of caves, driest of deserts and oceans so very vast. Let us begin with this story, shall we? Chapter I The moon was bright, and shining. It was as if there was a bulb of blue light emitting its power across the night sky. It shone down on a large field of grass and white flowers. Some animals were resting in it, too. This field is where our story begins. A blur passed through the field, so fast that sound was not even heard until after the blur was seen. It was a man - of some sort - riding on a grand black horse, faster than fast. For he alone carried the most important secret Featosoa would ever know; Featosoa was ill, incredibly ill. No creature in all of Featosoa could do anything to save it, absolutely nothing, or so it seemed. That very night, while most inhabitants of Featosoa were either resting, or worrying about their individual problems, the sovereign, ruler of the land spoke. “Otoro, you must find Otoro to cure my land. He can do it. Tell him never to doubt himself upon his quest”. But what did this mean? Nobody knew. The only thing they did know was that Otoro was the only one who could save her, and perhaps Featosoa with it. Now, here is a good place to stop and explain what exactly was going on all around Featosoa, in no appearing pattern… Black fogs, that were so dark they were almost blinding, started to cover places and fill you with the mysterious urge to give in to the darkness and let it overcome you and perish as the fog brushed you off the face of existence.

Chapter II The mysterious man, on his shadow like horse, rode fast under the moon, not straying from his incredibly hasty pace. He rode until sometime in the early morning when the sun wasn’t even up yet. He reached a little village along a lake in the brown forest. This was the place he was looking for. It was a lovely village, cosy and snug. The docks had anglers with large hats and big long fishing rods preparing to go out and fish out some delicious sea creatures. This was where Otoro was from. He was a Toroyo like all others in the village. A Toroyo is a species that is similar to an elf, but not as fancy or as greedy as an elf. They are moral, and disciplined. In fact, when they hunt for the great green goats and bison, they pray before they take the body for food and resource, and they give the spirit a trinket of some sort for when it departs into the afterlife as a thank you for use of its body. When they come to the age of 14, boys will start to learn to hunt on their own. The morning the man on the horse arrived was the morning that Otoro’s first ever hunt without a guide was supposed to take place. After that, others would truly accept him, even though he was slightly different. Otoro’s hair was raven, rather than dark brown like all the others. His skin was a light blue rather than a pale turquoise. Unusually, the older members of the village had raised him. His parents were chosen by the Amorollo warriors to fight, since they were the most looked up to in the village. But they never came back. Quickly, the man jumped off his horse and ran into the village; he greeted the many people out on their morning duties and afterwards spoke “Is there a warrior known as Otoro here? I must speak to him”. It was not until the man had finally done most of his task he realised how tired he was, and he slowly collapsed down into the ground as all the people that were out at that hour mumbled to each other about this strange visitor. When the man awoke, he was lying in a woollen blanket, or rather a few woollen blankets on the ground in a wooden cottage. A blazing fire crackled and roared a few feet in front of him. Out of the corner of the man’s eye, he saw a figure in the doorway of the strange house he was in.

“Ah, finally, you’re awake.” spoke a small boy with an angered expression. He walked in through the little doorway and revealed his face and entire appearance. He looked to be 13 or 14 and had light blue skin and raven hair. He wore red linen pants and a green stitched cloak. He was rather muddy and quite skinny. “I must speak with Otoro,” muttered the man. “I am Otoro, and quite frankly I don’t know why I let myself stay here to see what you have to say. Do you realise I have to wait a whole four years before I can have my next hunt alone? But alas, curiosity has gotten the best of me. What is it you want? And why do you call me a warrior?” Otoro spoke, in a rather fast speed, as he seemed to be agitated. “My name is Rorlock; I am a messenger for the sovereign. She has told us and many have reported that Featosoa seems to be – well... dying. She believes you are the one to save it, for some reason.” Rorlock explained “So Featosoa is dying and me, a 14 year old boy who hasn’t even become a hunter yet is supposed to save it?” asked Otoro, sarcastically. “Yes, it’s rather odd she requested you… But The Ruby Empress does not make mistakes. Forests are turning grey in no real pattern and black fogs, that are almost blinding, cover from behind where the greyness occurs. It’s almost a warning to all residents to vacate.” Rorlock told Otoro. “Featosoa is dying... And I am to save it?” Otoro asked, this time serious. “Yes.” Stated Rorlock “but I must say, if you don’t want to I will return to the sovereign and tell her hope is no longer here.” “No, I’ll do it. I’ll come with you.” Otoro protested “Are you sure?” Asked Rorlock “there’s no going back.” “I’m sure, where do I begin?” Otoro questioned

FALLEN

Written by Maya Tidey

This place doesn’t feel as homely as it used to. Net curtains worn and thin, though they never really kept the light out. The furniture has stayed the same all the time I’ve been gone, creased leather sofas and floral walls. Everything seems empty. Clean, but past its time. Nobody was home when I arrived and I hope that nobody is here when I leave. I don’t remember why I was so hesitant to leave. This seems like somewhere you’d want to escape from. But I had everything I thought I needed - an honest, caring mother, an older brother and a home, no matter how small or outdated it was. I didn’t need anything new. But times changed, and so did Lewis. He grew out of our trivial home. He wanted to do something, to be somewhere other than here - to be something other than a big brother; a son. Mum knew he wasn’t academic, but she wanted more for him than the life she provided. I never saw anything bad about it at the time, but she was right. A single mother with two children, only hoping for some kind of miracle. She looked older than she really was, skin wrinkled before its time. Her hands appeared even older, but they were warm. They were kind. She encouraged Lewis to do what was best for him, and that was what he did. But the army wasn’t what she wanted for him, and she made it clear. Mum would shout at him for throwing his life away, for disappointing her. She would tell him that she struggled for nothing, and all the time and money she spent on her children so that they could be someone better than her, someone more, would go to waste. I hated it. The screaming and crying. The thin walls that refused to shut out the sound.

They’re still as papery as before, the dull hum of the radiator sifting through the living room. My hands stick to the sofa cushions, and I peel them away, placing them into my lap. They too are slowly beginning to crease and fold. Despite mum pestering him to change his mind, begging him to think again, he couldn’t. There wasn’t any place else for him, anywhere else he felt like he belonged. This place wasn’t his home anymore. But I got used to not having my big brother around anymore. The hole in our family didn’t feel as empty anymore. And even though I missed him, I knew he wasn’t going to be gone forever. Mum seemed happier. We could afford more without having Lewis around, so things became more comfortable. She tried to redo parts of the house we didn’t need written permission for, but what attempts she made looked out of place. I didn’t like the added change, and I don’t think she did either. Yet the gap began to close. Until the phone call. I think I was at school when it happened. The day had been normal, good even. But mum was standing in the doorway when I came home. She took me inside and sat me down, her crumpled hands gripping tightly onto my own. Something was wrong. Her eyes were red, fingertips unusually cold and I finally saw her age when she looked at me straight on. “I got a call earlier about you brother. Something happened to him.” I didn’t want to hear anything else. She choked on her words and began to sob. But I didn’t want to cry. I couldn’t. I just left her alone and shut myself away, cursing the thin walls again for not giving me the isolation I craved. Out of everyone, why did it have to be him? My brother. My big

brother. He was brave (they told me). He was young. They made speeches about him at his funeral. The fallen soldier. I was never told how he died. Just that he did. There wasn’t ever time to ask questions. Mum locked his bedroom door. She didn’t take anything out, or ask me if I wanted to keep something. It stood there for years, mocking me. The room at the end of the hall. Some days, I would sit outside it and talk. When mum was asleep, I would just tell it everything, like I was talking to my big brother. My fallen soldier. Everything ached with a burning grief - I was sick of it. I dropped my dreams for Lewis. I would be just as brave as he was, just as strong. I would become a soldier too. Everything around me became dull, and I saw why he wanted to escape all this time. I had never felt this detached until now, until the walls became grey and the air turned sour. Mum couldn’t take another heartbreak, but she was too weak to tell me no. I’m sure it hit her worse than it did me, though I can’t ever imagine that level of pain. And even though I wanted to leave, I didn’t want to leave her behind. She was buckling under it all; she just wanted her son back. I couldn’t help but feel like I might have made the wrong decision. Maybe this isn’t what he would have wanted. He would have wanted me to be safe - secure. But it was too late. There was no time for guessing games. Mum seemed miserable, which was understandable. Her final child was leaving her. ‘Flying the nest’ as some would say. Except, the other chick had gone first and dropped right out of the sky. No. Now isn’t the time. I’d already said goodbye to Mum, and she wasn’t as sad as I expected her to be. She cried a river when Lewis left, and it was almost like I had to rip her off of him. But she just hugged me lightly and said goodbye, giving me something of a pathetic smile.

Something begged me to stay but I ignored it. It was too late either way. “He killed himself ” What? “He killed himself ” My mother was standing at the end of the hallway, staring at me. She looked small and childlike as she finally began to break down- she had the nerve to cry. Had she...lied? All this time, she was lying? Lewis wasn’t brave. He couldn’t take it. I missed out on every opportunity, every bit of my plans; my dreams. All for a lie? My mother wasn’t honest. I don’t care if what she told me was to protect me or not, I deserved to know how my big brother died. And I haven’t talked to her since. Maybe it’s a good thing that the house was empty when I arrived - I don’t think I’m ready to talk to her just yet. Even though I understand why Lewis took the easy way out now, I still wish he hadn’t. I miss my fallen soldier everyday.

ENTRANCED

Written by Emmanuella Fernandez

Glaring down at the rippling water respiring in the inflatable pool; sheltered from the sweltering sun of a midsummer solstice by a wooden canopy. He continues glaring down until his eyes begin to seep and he reminds himself to blink; a slight presence of humidity emanates from the rippling vat - the clandestine sun seeping through gaps in the planks, evaporating the water he looks down upon. Still entranced, he embeds his feet into the glossy green grass below. He’s fearful - he knows what he has to do. A near 2 months prior, at 13 years of age, he was aboard a ferry, bound for the Grecian Isle of Crete. His mother and father, along with a young girl 5 years his junior, with whom he watched his mother suffer for 9 months prior to bearing her, accompanied him. He stood to the edge of the ferry, loosely gripping the steel railings that halted passengers from hurtling thousands of kilometres below (leaning over it) not fearful yet of the salted plane of water the vessel balanced precariously upon, despite its very presence threatening to engulf their ship. Or rather, one of them. The screeching of gluttonous seagulls miles away entangled with the splashing and crashing of the turquoise below; it was the sound of the sea, he thought. Elaine - this young girl - was as he was, leaning over the steel railings, without caution, in a balletesque tiptoe position. Holding an obnoxiously bright red kite in her left hand, she propped herself up with her right elbow to better gaze upon the life occurring below and to witness the mass of subaquatic creatures whose habitat she was intruding upon. In her awe, she lost grip of her beloved kite. Not quite ready to part with it, she lunged ferociously over the rickety rail in an attempt to grasp it once more… and then fell overboard. Their mother and father were not around at the time, perhaps elsewhere indulging in adult activities. In fact, him and Elaine were the only two there, so there was no one to beseech for help, no one to immediately swim to the rescue nor jump in after her. He was but a child and the two of them hadn’t

a swimming lesson between them. His only option was to watch. So he did. He watched as her 8-year-old limbs scrambled in the gelid plane of blue like a dystopian dance, as she forcefully ingested spheres of salted water, too petrified to attempt to hold that sacred air she retained in her lungs. He finally frenzied, as her movements slowed in the frigid water, running across the slippery deck, searching for something. Anything. A life jacket, a pool float, anything that could stop her from the seemingly inevitable. He found nothing. Zipped back. Back to the railing he saw his sister tumble from. Where he watched her slow quietus, unsure of what to do. But instead, upon his arrival, saw a mass of blonde hair, seemingly clawing to break for the surface, surrounded by oxygen bubbles (created in a moment of desperation) all rapidly popping. Her obnoxious bright red kite, was now a single scarlet blemish in the distance, like a flag of death, to mark what had happened to her. It took civilian divers a duration of 8 days to retrieve her mangled body. It was mottled and decomposed, not resembling her likeness a single bit. Deceased, dead and gone she was… He’s fearful - he knows what he has to do. He clambers into the vat, feeling the base of it along his spine, as he lies, gazing in anticipation at the sweltering sun. He purposefully inhales the water, not attempting to retain possession of the air he has. Slowly but surely, he loses consciousness, never arising to live out a new day. Sink, his limp and bobbing body seemed to utter. This boy passed away, on June 21st, the same day where - 9 years prior - his mother was relieved of the 9 months she suffered through and a baby girl, with a mass of blonde hair upon her head, was welcomed into the world.

BACK TO THE SWEET DAYS Written by Nabiha Akthar

The bus came to a standstill. As I walked out, my eyes paid attention to the woman carrying my luggage. She had grey hair and wrinkles on her forehead but still managed to look better than all the girls in America. She took me down a path, trees everywhere, surrounding us, obscuring us from the public. I looked back at the women: her long dress flowed in the wind uncovering her anklets and native tattoos. She looked back at me. Her brown eyes were sweet and luminous, the type of eyes that make you feel safe. She asked me about my journey and if I felt tired. I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t. My throat tightened and I choked. Her eyes looked down - I felt guilty, she looked sad, as if she wanted me to speak. Feeling embarrassed, I looked around. The fields and farms covered in the yellows of maize and corn stretched across the land. My eyes were caught by a glimpse of blue; it was a blue flower: it reminded me of the past. We were in a field, flowers of different sizes, colours and shapes spread across the meadow. I was very excited, I found a new flower, a special flower, a flower like no other. “Mama, Mama! Look I found a pretty flower” I said while I searched for her. I turned my attention back to the flower, analysing it. It had deep blue petals and reminded me of a sapphire. Mama came round and I showed my blue discovery. “This is indeed very pretty, my child.” “Mama, do you know its name?” Mama smiled and told me it was a blue iris and that it symbolised faith and hope and then sat down to drink her tea. I ran around the field picking as many flowers as I could. I fell a couple of times, causing Mama to scream at me. After I picked enough flowers, I sat next to Mama and struggled as I tried to tie up the flowers. I finished tying up the flowers, stood as high as I could on the bench and placed the messy flower crown

on Mama’s head. “Mama is the queen of faith and hope.” She told me to get down and said to be quiet. However, I knew she liked it because she had the biggest smile on her face. We reached the end of the path. A small cottage sat in front of us. It looked rundown but still felt homely. As we entered, I was overcome with the smell of flowers and tea. She dropped my bags in the small room and offered me a drink. I nodded and she left to go and fetch a glass for me. I looked around the room; there were pictures of a little girl. Her long dark hair in a braid with flowers stuck into the thick braid. She was wearing a beautiful blue dress with floral patterns. As I finished my drink, the women showed me outside. Outside, there was a field of flowers and in the middle there was an old wooden bench. I sat down on the bench and looked at the tree at the edge of the bench. It was an old oak tree. I ran out to get to the field. Mama was planting something next to the new bench. “Mama, what are you doing?” “I’m planting a tree.” I looked at the sapling, and thought it wouldn’t grow into a big tree. “Ok, can I help you?” “Sure”. So I sat down and helped her dig a hole for the new tree. There was something nailed into the tree. It was a broken and messy flower crown made of blue irises. Tears streamed down my face; after all these years, she still kept it. The woman was behind me. “Why are you crying dear?” “Mama, you still kept the crown.” She froze. “Of course I did, it reminded me of you” I ran to hug Mama; it has been 13 years and she still kept it. “Mama I missed you so much,” “I missed you too”. Mama and I sat down on the broken bench surrounded by blue irises

watching the sunset and talking about our memories. I still remember that day; her smile was brighter than the sun. Her skin glowed in the glistening light. Grandma made me my own flower crown while the sound of bees, flying around to get the most out of the flowers in the field, filled my ears. It reminded me of her, how she strived to get the most out of life. The message left me in tears. I looked down at the graves next to the old oak tree and the broken bench. Each grave with its own flower crown, one old broken one and one that looks a bit better. But both were made in the most beautiful blue irises I’ve ever seen “I miss you mum, I hope you and her have a good time up there.”

The City Academy, Hackney, Homerton Row, London, E9 6EA 020 8525 5440 admin@thecityacademy.org www.thecityacademy.org Principal | Mark Malcolm

The City Academy, Hackney is sponsored by City of London Corporation. The City Academy, Hackney is a registered charitable company. Registered office: The City Academy, Hackney, Homerton Row, London, E9 6EA.