Thursday 15 December 2011
It was 4/12/2048. It was as if the 19 year old knew where I lived. Just outside the flat I could hear someone coming and I knew that the sound from the stairs told me the way this person was moving that she was coming for me. The sound of the footsteps stopped outside my door...
L.D.S.B Fulham
L.D.S.B Fulham
I couldn't avoid answering the door forever. I looked through the peephole once again and saw how guilty she seemed to look. She never really had been good at trying to keep things hidden. Her hair was not its usual orange silk, but had become tangled and messy. Her clothes seemed creased and were worn in such a way that suggested she had been wearing them for quite a few days. In her hands she held the little black box. Our secret. The thing we had been trying to create for almost ten years.
Her hands seemed to be straining with the weight of it, and the madness in her eyes kept me from letting her inside. The thing we had always dreamt about, an escape from our own reality, right there in that box. But there were consequences. People would die if that box was to open. And I had helped to create it.
I slid my back down the wall and landed on my knees, planting my face in my hands. If I admitted that I did not want to be involved then I would lose the only friend I had ever had. The only person in the world who could understand my thoughts better than I could. However, if I did go though with it, thousands of people's lives would be at risk. Because of us.
-R
Her hands seemed to be straining with the weight of it, and the madness in her eyes kept me from letting her inside. The thing we had always dreamt about, an escape from our own reality, right there in that box. But there were consequences. People would die if that box was to open. And I had helped to create it.
I slid my back down the wall and landed on my knees, planting my face in my hands. If I admitted that I did not want to be involved then I would lose the only friend I had ever had. The only person in the world who could understand my thoughts better than I could. However, if I did go though with it, thousands of people's lives would be at risk. Because of us.
-R
I couldn't avoid answering THE DOOR forever; the person ringing the bell was certainly persistent as they had been trying to tear me away from THE X FACTOR for 20 minutes now with little success. When they started holding down their finger on the bell and the sound was drowning out the singing, I decided it was TIME to do something about it. WORRIED that it would be Stella, my next door NEIGHBOUR with another story about something funny that her dog had done that day, I looked through the peephole in the door. It wasn't Stella. It was SOMEONE ELSE...
Someone I didn't recognise. She was smartly dressed in a lilac suit with a SILK SCARF around her neck. Something in the way she was standing told me she meant BUISINESS.
By L. W. Park
Someone I didn't recognise. She was smartly dressed in a lilac suit with a SILK SCARF around her neck. Something in the way she was standing told me she meant BUISINESS.
By L. W. Park
Daria lay silently in her bed, on the bridge between sleep and conciousness. Her bedroom door lay open, exposing the landing; a soft breeze blew in from the an open window above the staircase. Daria shivered.
It was Christmas Eve, and Daria had been trying to coax herself to sleep for almost two hours. Though there was a non-stop merry-go-round of thoughts circling aound her head. She knew that Father Christmas didn't leave presents for children who didn't sleep on Christmas Eve, and this terrified her, but getting to sleep was a lot more challenging than she had thought it would be. She couldn't stop imagining how wonderful the next day would be, opening all of her presents, seeing her family again; even though most of them had fallen out over something quite silly, and would probably refuse to talk to each other. But Daria didn't mind, as long as they were all together once again.
She turned to her side, still trying to force herself into sleep. While doing this she opened her eyes for just a second, and what she saw made her shut them again almost immediately. She had caught a glance of a large, red-cheeked face framed by a waterfall of white hair, which held a beard so magnificently white it had seemed as though it was glowing. Father Christmas had come upstairs to check on her on his visit, and she hoped more than anything that he hadn't seen her open her eyes.
She didn't dare to open her eyes again after that, but was amazed at the wonderful being she had just caught sight of. She had seen Father Christmas! He existed. She had proof! And from this night onwards, Daria would tell of this experience to any person who refused to believe in him. He was real, and she knew it.
It was Christmas Eve, and Daria had been trying to coax herself to sleep for almost two hours. Though there was a non-stop merry-go-round of thoughts circling aound her head. She knew that Father Christmas didn't leave presents for children who didn't sleep on Christmas Eve, and this terrified her, but getting to sleep was a lot more challenging than she had thought it would be. She couldn't stop imagining how wonderful the next day would be, opening all of her presents, seeing her family again; even though most of them had fallen out over something quite silly, and would probably refuse to talk to each other. But Daria didn't mind, as long as they were all together once again.
She turned to her side, still trying to force herself into sleep. While doing this she opened her eyes for just a second, and what she saw made her shut them again almost immediately. She had caught a glance of a large, red-cheeked face framed by a waterfall of white hair, which held a beard so magnificently white it had seemed as though it was glowing. Father Christmas had come upstairs to check on her on his visit, and she hoped more than anything that he hadn't seen her open her eyes.
She didn't dare to open her eyes again after that, but was amazed at the wonderful being she had just caught sight of. She had seen Father Christmas! He existed. She had proof! And from this night onwards, Daria would tell of this experience to any person who refused to believe in him. He was real, and she knew it.
Always believe.
-R
by Ross Butterly
I couldn't avoid answering the door forever. Swallowing as if to drive down my apprehension, I turned the handle and pulled the door open. The officer almost collapsed across the threshold, staggering unsteadily into my home.
"Thank God you're in," he panted, sounding as though even that short utterance had sent waves of pain through his body. He clutched weakly at a gaping wound in his side, trying to hold shut a collection of vicious cuts and tears in his flesh. I stifled a wretch at the sight as his hand slid away, and hurriedly led him across the room, lowering him onto my sofa with great care.
"What the hell happened to you?" I shot back. I hadn't heard such urgency in my own voice in a long time.
"I have no idea," he groaned. His blood had already begin to seep into the upholstery, but that was the least of my concerns at the moment. I doubled back across the room, shutting the front door. "I was chasing a youth brandishing a knife into the old mill across the way," he continued, "and some... thing attacked me."
I dreaded to imagine what kind of weapon - or what kind of person - could inflict such a wound.
The Cold War Heats Up
by Ross Butterly
by Ross Butterly
"Do you see anything?" came the muffled whisper of my squaddie, Josh, over my shoulder.
No, I didn't. If it had been difficult to discern any movement through the endless fields of white ten minutes ago, before this latest blinding snowfall, it was nigh-impossible now... which was why I didn't see the snowball coming until it got acquainted with Josh's face.
He fell backwards with a cry of surprise and a faceful of snow. Ducking behind our impromptu wall, the two of us hugged our cover and watched a wave of snowballs fly over our heads. Josh spluttered with indignation, wiping his face down, and peeked over the wall with a sneer. "Where the bloody hell did that come from?"
"Get back to me when you can see through this blizzard," came my equally irritable retort. I kept low, scooping up a ball of my own and packing it down in my gloved hands, then tossed it blind over our low snow wall. A dull thud and shout of angered surprise told me I'd landed a hit.
"Do we run for it?" Josh asked off-hand, hurling his second retaliatory snowball. The shots of our unseen foes landed around us, occasionally thudding against our rather feeble excuse for cover.
"Can't fight what we can't bloody see," I answered, hazarding a glance over the wall. Through the veils of falling snow I glimpsed them; half a dozen swift grey figures across the field, their low voices of command and acknowledgement upon the air. With those kind of numbers against just the two of us, we were soon to be flanked and overrun.
Just the stories of what these damned Raptors did to their prisoners told me not to let that happen.
"No way we can hold this," I muttered, my grudging reluctance clear in my tone. "Pack it up and let's get out of here."
"Amen to that," Josh responded. Quickly hurling his last snowball in defeat, he grabbed his bag and turned with me; and under the cover of the thickening snowfall, we crouched low and made a run for it across the field, leaving our attackers to claim our weak defence. The Raptors had won this skirmish quite easily with an admittedly well-coordinated surprise attack under the cover of a veritable blizzard. No way we could've been ready for it, and they knew it; but when we returned to retake what was ours, it would be with numbers and force beyond their reckoning.
Year after year, we had waged these winter wars over Christmas, and year after year we had held this field without fail. I would give myself up personally before I saw it kept by the Raptors at December's end.
Chapter 1 - The Story
It was 11th May 2012. Justin had just completed his second novel within two years. After all the mental stress, it had finally been published. But despite this achievement, Justin still had nightmares about the evil demons that were within the story, which still lived within the dark shadows of his mind...
And everyone knew that you can never excape from what is within you own mind, something that does not want to escape the mind, that is. As the days went on throughout Justin's life, the nightmares involved into hallucinations of his mind, but he did not seek medical help as he knew that he would be branded with the label "insane" for the rest of his life. He was under the impression that running away from something that was generated by the unconscious part of the mind would be impossible...
He could not run and he could not hide from his out-of-control imagination. One day Justin was walking down the street when out of nowhere he experienced a blinding pain from his appendix. It was happening again. He lost consciousness as he had a vision. There was a misty floor, he was lying on the floor surrounded by hooded figures...
To be continued.
By L. D. S. B. Fulham
It was 11th May 2012. Justin had just completed his second novel within two years. After all the mental stress, it had finally been published. But despite this achievement, Justin still had nightmares about the evil demons that were within the story, which still lived within the dark shadows of his mind...
And everyone knew that you can never excape from what is within you own mind, something that does not want to escape the mind, that is. As the days went on throughout Justin's life, the nightmares involved into hallucinations of his mind, but he did not seek medical help as he knew that he would be branded with the label "insane" for the rest of his life. He was under the impression that running away from something that was generated by the unconscious part of the mind would be impossible...
He could not run and he could not hide from his out-of-control imagination. One day Justin was walking down the street when out of nowhere he experienced a blinding pain from his appendix. It was happening again. He lost consciousness as he had a vision. There was a misty floor, he was lying on the floor surrounded by hooded figures...
To be continued.
By L. D. S. B. Fulham
A symphony of snowflakes fall,
Fall to the icy ground,
The naked arms of the trees,
Catch these flakes without a sound,
The muffling crunch, crunch, crunch,
From thick leather soles,
These boots slip and slide,
On to an icy patch of cold,
Hear the gentle snow whoosh,
It's a busy winter gale,
Hear the underscore of winter flakes,
And the hammering of hail,
The sky is our orchestra,
Of snow clouds, light and strong,
And the cool, cool, ground below,
Will perform the winter song.
Daisy Edwards
Fall to the icy ground,
The naked arms of the trees,
Catch these flakes without a sound,
The muffling crunch, crunch, crunch,
From thick leather soles,
These boots slip and slide,
On to an icy patch of cold,
Hear the gentle snow whoosh,
It's a busy winter gale,
Hear the underscore of winter flakes,
And the hammering of hail,
The sky is our orchestra,
Of snow clouds, light and strong,
And the cool, cool, ground below,
Will perform the winter song.
Daisy Edwards
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