Pixies and Agnes.

The sky was dark and the moon shone as the only radiance. I walked down the cobbled street with my little bag of sweets clutched tightly in my hand, as I pulled my cape tighter around me to guard my body from the cold. My parents would worry if I didn't get home soon so I picked up my pace as I made my way down the last part of the street and turned the corner. The little corner shop that was supposed to be there, wasn't. I must have taken the wrong street. I back tracked my path and found another cobbled street but this wasn't the right one either. I started to worry and I could feel tears starting to form in my eyes. I was lost and didn't know what to do. My dad had shown me a shortcut which ran through the forest behind our house. It was pretty dark and I had never been that way before on my own, but desperate times called for desperate measures. I soon found the forest and entered through a clump of trees. They were very tall trees so the only light the moon had provided was blacked out. The slight rustle of leaves from the wind and the occasional hoot of an owl was all I could hear. Pushing my way past the branches and bushes which clawed at me from all sides, I made my way further into the woods and tried to find a path to follow. Suddenly, I saw a flash of green ahead of me. It startled me and I fell backwards tripping over a root sticking up from the hard earth. I felt something else on the floor next to me, I quickly got up and rushed ahead in the direction of the flash of green.  I could hear noises behind me so I hurried on, deeper and deeper into the woods. 

That's when I saw the mysterious show. Lots of little childlike creatures were dancing around in circles, wearing miniature green outfits and pointy hats to match with their spiked ears sticking up underneath them.  Mesmerised, I advanced slightly, keeping myself hidden behind a big oak tree. The pixies were clutching tiny lamps which gave off a slight green glow and they were singing such a strange song:

She is indeed a wondrous witch with claws,

But this aspect of her, she rarely shows.

She lives down south in the cave in the Dave Hills,

And is the exact noise you hear when you scratch paper with your quills.

It is not your imagination playing on your innocent little mind,

It is in fact Black Agnes, just search carefully and clues you will find.

She possesses a taste for human flesh,

Especially you tiny ones, and turns you into mesh.

She’s made herself a comfortable home, which to you is known as Black Annis’ Bower;

But just remember, she was once a resident of the infamous London Tower.

We pixies are known to be her most loyal friends,

Anything we need, her share of fame or a little snack, she gladly lends.

So beware feisty children, remember to behave,

If not, she’ll have you as her slave.

 

I caught sight of a movement behind them where the tallest and widest tree in the forest stood. If I squinted, I could see it was stood in front of a sort of cave. It must have been my imagination but I was sure I saw part of the tree open and close like a door, as quick as a flash. As I stood watching the act in awe, I could sense something wasn't quite right. The tiny creatures seemed to be moving closer and closer towards me with every verse of their song.  Their queer voices became louder and louder and I noticed a dark shadow behind them which was also advancing. I wanted to run away but my cape had got stuck on a branch and the more I tugged the more it stayed knotted there. I was trapped. The Pixies were now right in front of me and they had made a gap in their formation  so that the black shadow could get a closer look at me. The shadow was a woman dressed all in black with a mad gleam in her eye and straggly black hair surrounding her head like a mane. Tied at her waist were several pieces of skin, which I believed had once belonged to other children my age. Instead of hands she had claws, similar to those of an eagle.  She lifted a crooked arm and in a quick movement the tree had vanished from in front of me. There was a sudden gust of wind which moved the trees so that the moon shone on her right claw as it was raised again and made its way in the direction of my neck.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *

(Co-written by me and Mich. She wrote the story and I wrote the song/poem)

NaNo WriMo

National Novel Writing Month

NaNo is an annual internet-based creative writing project which challenges participants to write 50,000 words of a new novel between November 1 and 30.

Writers wishing to participate first register on the project's website, where they can post profiles and information about their novels, including synopsis and excerpts. Word counts are validated on the site, with writers submitting a copy of their novel for automatic counting. Municipal leaders and regional forums help connect local writers with one another for holding writing events and to provide encouragement.

I just heard about this from some American friends - they go crazy over NaNo over there - and I thought I'd just pass over the information to you guys incase any of you wanted to join up and write. It's great because of the sheer number of people - you'll hopefully be able to get some really critique on your work if you submit any. ^^

If any of you post novels in NaNo - be sure to link us to them so we can read them as well! I'm hoping to submit a piece, but I may not have time. Also, I'm sure on the rules about collaborated pieces, although I don't think that they are allowed.

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Arachnophobia

She despised the very existence of those foul creatures.

They were everywhere and she knew they were. They hid in every corner, behind every picture frame, in every cabinet, under every sofa and just watched. And she knew they were watching.

What creature or being would sit and hid just for the sake of it? No, they were watching her. Always watching.  Never doing anything. Just bidding their time till her guard was down.

She could feel their small beady eyes follow every limb as it moved, watched every muscle of her body as she twitched. She knew they were smiling their evil smiles that only the devil himself could have created, as she slept at night. Yet they did nothing, and not giving away a single part of their master plan that they had in store for her. That was the part she hated more than looking at them.

Then one day, they sprang into action. At first, she didn't notice. Not caring as she went around her daily routine. Cleaning her room, doing the odd jobs around the house that her parents asked her to do, played a game or two on her computer. Bit and bobs of fun around her business of the day.

The moment she wanted to go to sleep was the moment she noticed their change. Hanging around her room, sitting in their beds they expertly crafted while she wasn't around. Their tiny little squeals that sounded too much like laughter as she sunk into a clear corner. Away from the beasts that infested her room.

A big one began to move closer, causing her in voluntarily scream. She tried to make herself smaller as she pushed herself further into the corner. She cried for her brother, her Dad and as it laugh grew deeper as the creature grew bigger in front of her, she screamed for anything. The room grew smaller and the door felt like it was miles away as it continued to grow. Continued to laugh. Continued to fuel itself with her fear.  

After observing her for months and months tirelessly. This was their chance for revenge. Revenge for all their brothers, sisters, mothers, father, husbands, wives, sons and daughters she had killed. They knew they only had one shot to kill her with the thing she feared most. And this was their only chance.

She screamed as the giant creature dived at her, fangs dripping with venom that would kill her in seconds. Her life flashed before her eyes as she screamed her good bye to the world.

O.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

“Can you just please kill it!” She screamed as her Dad laughed at her. She still held a broom in her hands and refused to let her guard down while it was still residing in her room.

“But you’re screaming because of this little thing?” Her Dad laughed pointing at a small creature that sat as still as a rock.

“Yes! Now please just get rid of it!” She begged. Her Dad just laughed and captured it in a transparent tub and held a piece of cardboard underneath.

“Aww, put it’s so cute!” He said stepping closer to her.

“DAD!!” She screamed dropping the broom and running into the corner of her room.

"Okay, okay! Getting rid  of it." He said and let it scuttle out of the tub onto the window sill. "It's gone, Sweetheart." She let out the breath she didn't know she was holding.

"I hate spiders...." She growled.

Writing poems...

When we want to write a poem

it can be difficult to find

the right words.

We start with a blank page,

an empty canvas;

waiting for us to paint our story

upon it.

Some look for inspiration 

from the skies, the trees, 

the world outside.

Others write from the soul;

pouring out their feelings on paper.

Not all words have to be deep.

Our poems don't have to rhyme.

They could make no sense at all

as long as we let it out.

Because what use is a poem 

              

  if it is lost.

A poem should not mean.        But be.        -Archibald MacLeish

Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of of cheese.
		-G.K. Chesterton

The Donkey and Unicorn.

The baby unicorn who sat on the mushroom was probably the most magical unicorn there ever was. She was a bright white with a shiny blue mane and the most glittery horn anyone had ever seen.  She had a gift. The most amazing gift that any unicorn could have, the ability to sing. In every language possible too, English, French, Troll, Goblin....every single one. As she grew, her voice grew too. Soon enough, she was the youngest unicorn, at only 103 years old, to have such a magical talent, that could put to sleep even the most evil of creatures.  But for a silver lining, there has to be a cloud. Dora had a friend, but he wasn't really a friend, he envied Dora a lot, and his jealousy made him very mean. This, "friend" was called Robotron. Robotron wasn't a unicorn but just a little silly donkey.  One day Robotron and Dora were walking through a field when the donkey, being smaller than the unicorn, noticed a hole in the floor, just off the side of the path on which they were on.

 The donkey was fed up of Dora's singing so he said, pointing over to the other side of the path, "Hey look over there!" 

Of course, Dora did look and so did not see the hole in the floor. The unicorn fell through, and the donkey laughed. Robotron was about to trot away when he noticed that Dora's horn had caught on the side of the hole. It looked very painful. The unicorn shouted for help and started to cry. Robotron felt very guilty and so picked up a twig in his mouth and used it to pull his friend to safety. 

  "I'm sorry!" shouted the donkey as he hugged the unicorn, "I'm just a silly little donkey but you're a magical unicorn!". 

Dora looked sympathetically to her friend, hugged back and said, "It's ok. You're not just a silly little donkey. You're very special, don't forget that." 

The donkey and unicorn stayed friends for a very long time. 

Christopher Harding.

The name’s Christopher Harding

(Or Chris for short).

To begin with, he may seem a bit startling,

But some regard him as the friendly sort.

 

Yes, he’s ginger, and yes, he’s blind,

But he is young and tall

(though far from kind),

And loves to play football.

 

A master of taekwondo he is,

And also the King of guitar.

He once had a crush on Liz,

And even Melon – her car.

 

He always feels obliged to listen to his audio books

Every now and then.

Mainly to keep well away from old crooks,

And brood alone in his den.

 

Others think he is a funky dude,

Keeping hundred and fifty-six cats is only one reason;

And also because oranges are his favourite food,

And he’s forever going on about treason.

 

This forgetful young man,

Who is deeply in love with his pet donkey,

Comes from a long dead clan,

And sees this as extremely funny.

12/09/12
(Written in our first Creative Writing class. Character created by the planet125 crew (: )

In Hiding

The wind blew angry as the lone figure walked around the grave yard, armed with a rusty shovel and a dim, over sized, torch. He staggered past a large grave that had been withered by the weather over the years, making any fear touching it as it might disintegrate into dust. Behind it hid the person the figure was searching for, breathing in the crisp cold weather; she listened to the quiet thumping that came from the figures stagger. Soon it was silent.  She was scared, she wasn't ready for the fate this thing had in store for her. She needed to get away and she needed help, she needed to get away. She took a deep breath and decided that was her chance to run. And she took it without a second thought. All she knew was that she had to get away from that psychopath's before he was the last thing she saw on this planet.

Behind walls.

How can buildings stand so tall and proud

when they are home to a species of such evil?

Their architectural walls deceive those who 

pass by, totally unaware of the inhabitants inside.

An empty house could stand for many years

unnoticed and ignored.

Yet it could be holding an eternal secret

which may never be discovered,

as the walls eventually crumble

and become the dust of the earth.

Some may stand noble and attractive,

yet their owners may be swines.

Those that go unnoticed,

fitting in

with each other; 

a clone to the house next door.

The residents attempting 

to be perceived as 'normal'.

Lines of streets, clusters of villages.

Everyone locked away, hiding their secrets,

whilst they prepare to betray the outside world.

Dishonest people. 

They become two different portraits of the same

mind, on the opposite sides of a door.

A leaky roof, broken windows,

vintage wallpaper pealing off the damp walls

revealing memories and stories

which remain forgotten.

Humble people, scientists and writers

disappear with time 

as the walls which once held their secrets

collapse and dissolve before their

true stories can be discovered.

Marble, I perceive, covers a multitude of sins. 

― Aldous Huxley

Harry Potter, I hate you.

Harry Potter I hate you.
Your glasses are really unfashionable
and you always think you can save the world.
You can't.
Voldemort will win in the eighth book.

An Ode to an Oversized Paperclip

You rest on my desk
like  a very small space ship
on a mission to bring order
to the chaos of my life.
The smoothness of your cold curves
is only partially marred by
the regularly spaced indentations
of your outer edges.
My attention is caught by
your metallic complexion
which shimmers in the
stark fluorescent lights.
Your size makes you tower above
others of your kind
proud and confident
secure in the knowledge
that you alone can hold the most paper.
Oversized paperclip,
if only you could have the realisation
that you hold together my life
not just my documentation. 

The Girl Who Lived

It was now or never, it was up to us to save the world.
"Ar' yeh ready?" asked Hagrid.
"Yes." I replied.
We hopped onto our carousel horses, his was black, mine a beautiful magical unicorn. The horse and unicorn set off down the track, quickly picking up speed. I felt as if I was flying. We turned corners, went up hills and sped down them, until:
"NOT SO FAST!" shouted the talking shark.
I floated in the air in front of him, with my wand. We fought until I, of course, won and he floated lifeless in the air. Back on our pretty plastic horses, we carried on along the winding track. It was quite pleasant. Then we saw him. The dark wizard who we had to kill so that everyone could live happily again. Me and Hagrid had to kill He Who Must Not Be Named, or the world would die.
We got out our magical wands and sent spell after spell at each other. Hagrid vanished so it was now up to me to save the world. I dodged his spells and he dodged mine. We were both hovering in the air when I sent the ultimate spell in his direction. Lord Voldemort was dead. I HAD SAVED THE WORLD!
Unfortunately, it was all just a dream.

Listen to me monkey man..

If you choose to control me, mess with my mind

I won’t complain.

Just let me hear the music, let me feel again.

No one else can hear you, I’l lock the pain inside.

I’ll hide your secret safe away,

whilst you control my mind.

I’ll slip into the darkness

beneath the icy depths.

Behind your cloak of craziness,

I’ll breathe my final breath…

"We Stopped Checking For Monsters under the bed, 

because we realized they were inside us" - Stephen King.

Run, Wolf, Run.

See the ocean down and stars above you,
Through the rays of light that shine before my eyes;
You're gonna pick you up to fly away with you.
- Airplane

-    -    -

Run, run, run, Mr Wolf -
It's not dinner time yet.
Hide, hide, hide, Mr Wolf -
Just don't get upset.

Your growls and barks,
Will set off sparks -
So carefully does it, Wolf.

Rush, rush, rush, Mr Wolf - 
Those cows were not for eating.
Dash, dash, dash, Mr Wolf -
Yet those hocks you're still attacking.

The heat and sweat,
It makes you fret - 
So don't stop now, Wolf.

Duck, duck, duck, Mr Wolf -
Over the meadows you flew.
Fly, fly, fly, Mr Wolf -
Your ending is clear to construe.

Heart beat stops.
Grey fur drops.
Poor, wretched, Wolf.

catharsis

lapsing water

late at dark 

from the fire

whispers hark

i crawl across

a shallow marsh

deep through wild

under an arch 

i bury clothes

i shed my skin

i lose myself

and then give in

Creative Writing Blog

If you are a member of Planet 125 and you want to be part of our online writing community and demonstrate your weird and wonderful creative talents on our blog, just send your gmail email address to m.sharples@stmarysblackburn.ac.uk with your name and I'll send you an invitation to be an author of the blog. Mary

Revenant.

Eyes that stare at me,

Increase the pressure of the words that beat my dignity down. 

-  Thunder Clap.

_______

To all those with quandary,

And all those with none,

There's certain steps of regimen,

However unconventional.

If you have a virus,

That you want to release;

Tell it to the bigger cats,

For they help it cease.

If a friend did nearly stab you,

And anger clouds your mind;

Don't throw out your reason,

Remember you're not dead, this time.

If you are a cat amid cats,

And you try to be a lion;

Do not meow in front of them,

But do not roar either.

Also, while trying to be a lion,

If you take out a bird or two,

Don't tell your kitty friends;

"He who killed the birds - was you."

But, always think it through,

What can this mask produce?

For if a lion plants a seed,

The cat inside must bear that weed.

So for the conclusion;

Just eradicate this obsession,

It's only your illusion,

Which established this aggression.

Alternate cats aren't so vainglorious,

To just assume such obsess.

Perhaps you should re-adress,

Rather than trying to impress.

Being anonymous is a lifeline 

Being anonymous is shutting the world away.

Away from all the judging,

Away from all the labelling.

To pour your soul on a single document, 

To pour your heart on a single page.

Oh! Anonymous, we secretly understand. 

Even if it's something we cannot stand. 

To avoid, or to confront,

Is the constant battle within;

Reaching up to a point where it feels like a heavy burden,

A sin.

Get away!

My feet pound the pavement, one step at a time. My heart beating in rhythm. In fear. I have to get away. I can't let him hurt me anymore. I wipe the blood from my face, my mouth still filled with a familiar metallic taste. I can still feel his bare hands around my neck as I run through darkened alleyways. I am no longer scared of him, I just need to escape. I stumble in the blackness, my legs collapsing underneath my worn out body, cutting my hands on broken glass bottles left by yesterdays drunks. I have no idea where I am, but I don't care. As  long as I am as far away as possible from him. I touch my arms, feeling the bruises and scars. Each one telling its own story, each memory its own. As I gasp for breath I remember how he used to be. I was his princess, his one and only. My memories flash before me like an old movie, flickering against the night sky. How I wish he would pick me up, kiss my forehead and tell me everything was going to be okay. Then carry me home as if I were still a baby. 

What changed? My mother used to speak so highly of him, always reminding me how lucky we were to have him. Of course I didn't know then that she was hiding her own scars. I was angry at her, asking why she would stay with a man who hurt her. I know now. How difficult it is to leave someone you love, yet hate at the same time. Its like being trapped, knowing that if you escape you will be hunted down. 

My heart stops for a moment. A cold shiver crawls up my spine. I hear his voice call out to me in the silence. His voice sweet but I can see past this disguise he has used so many times before. I cover my bloody mouth with my equally damaged hands in an attempt to mask my terrified breathing. His footsteps thunder louder, closer to where I hide so pathetically. I desperately pray, hoping he will pass by. He stops. I can feel the heat of his thick legs near my face, wondering if he can see me. Without thinking I let out the silent breath I had been holding in just as he turned to walk away. We both freeze on the spot simultaneously. I wait.

Has he seen me?

I wrote this straight from my head. Not brilliant but I hope you like it. xx

Planet125: WEEK 3

 Welcome... 

(bet you all didn't see this coming, too much in awe of the Planet125 blog!)

Spot the post-it note!

I think the fact that I still haven't received my Hogwarts letter is finally sinking in... 

Farewell until we meet again! :-)

MASK

She closes her eyes,

Swallows the tears, and mutes the cries.

The walls watch, silent and fierce,

Witnessing her drowning in her fears.

She washes away the dirt of the day,

Wishing, she could have had more to say.

Her tear-stained face, the same that tried so hard to impress,

Was now in a crumpled heap of a mess.

She looks at her reflection in the mirror and sees the ugly truth mocking her,

Her soul screaming at her.

All her windows begin to break one by one,

Until she is left emotionless, her feelings gone.

She blinks away another memory of failure,

Holding tightly to the little pieces of success that remained, since it was the only cure.

The selfless creature indulges in her blues,

Replaying the same old tunes.

Of all the masks she had put on, she’d forgotten her real self in the race,

She’d abandoned her identity long, long ago, in the disputable craze.

At night, she paints out her heart again,

As it’s the only way that keeps her from going insane.

Hidden..

Its easy to hide

underneath a smile

,

when the world outside

is blind.

But its hard to hide

when the world is searching,

for the girl

with a broken mind.

-By Alanis.

This is kind of my signature poem. I use it a lot. :)

My Number One Enemy.

I sat in the corner, trembling, with my desk as a shelter. They wouldn't get me again, they couldn't. It hurt so much the last time, I still had the sticky eye lids and spiky eyelashes from my tears. I prayed and prayed that it wouldn't happen again. Who gave creatures like this permission to live on this earth? They spread too much dread in this world, there was no point to their creation. I had never met a nice one from that family, it must have been in their DNA.
I suddenly heard shuffling from outside the room. They were coming. They were so close. All they had to do was get through the door, and then they'd be able to get at me again. I should have been brave, but with enemies like that, it was impossible.
Shadows crept along the bottom of my bedroom door. Oh dear.I could feel my heart beating faster and faster, louder and louder. I was starting to find it hard to breathe, I wished that it would be over soon.
Too late. There he stood, inches in front of me, his beady eyes staring right through me. So many eyes-and legs. Maybe he hadn't noticed me, but I realised as he crawled closer still, this spider was in for the kill.

WANTED

Wanted. Wanted and drunk.
An odor or two seems to follow me too
along with the stares of the 'nouveau riche',
But I must find it, make sure it's untouched.

The name makes every head turn
some with wonder, some with envy, 
"By God! It can't be real!", they all exclaim
"Nay, it's real", I say.

For some it's a blessing, for others
... it's a curse.
It is of course, The Black Pearl.
You may call me Jack, but I prefer Captain Sparrow,
Prepare to be blown out of the water.


* This is by far nothing (in terms of quality) compared to what the other poems on here are like, but there aren't many (I think hardly any) poems on films and I was looking at my Pirates of the Carribean box-set when I had a moment of insanity. Et voilá. (I am in no way a mad crazy PoC fan)

** Folks who've seen PoC will recognize some phrases! 

monster

i am sorry, i was born backwards
my head is the shape of mistakes
my mouth a horrible monster.

i am sorry - but worry not - i'll hang for it.
i really tried, the night before last
and last night, and tonight too.

tomorrow as well probably, don't ask why
i am monster, that is my identity
i am something, but no, not for much longer.

shoal treading

you are not alone, the skin
dilates, and lets the blade run in
but this is not a sin.

as we get older we become
more surface and less person
and we all sing the lying hymns

it is not an end, but a beginning
time goes on, the waves roll in
most of us are drowning

but very quietly

That boy.

I saw you again today.
In periods eight and nine.
You have such beautiful eyes.
I wish that you were mine.  

Watch me smile :)

All around me people are smiling,

laughing, sharing a joke.

Happy.

I know everyone has secrets,

and pain

in their lives.

But they are alive.

I can see it in their eyes.

Full of life.

Beautiful life.

I used to be happy,

really truly happy.

But something inside me changed.

Like part of my soul had been ripped out

and replaced with hate, and anger, 

and fear.

I hated myself. I hated the world.

I didn't want to be in it anymore.

I no longer cared about life, even my friends,

or family.

To this day, I still haven't found the girl I used to be.

I throw a smile on my face 

and pretend that I'm okay.

I'm not.

This time last year I tried to end the pain.

I took the pills

and closed my eyes,

hoping I would disappear....

..

..

Its easy for me to cut my skin

but difficult to let you in.

I want to forget but I never will.

The memory is enough

to force the tears 

from my eyes.

I'm the girl who's always laughing,

The boy with all the friends.

I wear a cloak of happiness

but my anguish never ends.

You will see me.

I will smile.

You will be content.

That all is fine.

Dear anonymous

You cannot say we laughed

You cannot say that we do not understand

Maybe the others don't

But I do

I have no mother

I was the one who asked the question

I understand

The People are blind..

They see me,
they notice
how my hair falls
softly, 
past my shoulders.

They notice how my eyes
glisten between blue and green,
against my pallid skin.

They  listen
as I speak words
of wisdom, 
of foolishness.

I paint a smile upon my face 
and watch the world go by.
I lock my silent tears away
my eyes,
they reveal my empty heart.
They never hear me cry at night,
benieth the stars,
before the fight.
I whisper out
to someone near,
my lips are closed, 
they cannot hear.

I paint my face
and dry my tears,
I hide my scars,
my pain,
 my fears.

They see me smile, 
they hear my voice.
They notice me yet
they are blind, 
they cannot hear
my screams 
of fear.
I try to fight and break the chains
that hold me down and feed me pain.
I scream for help
but they cannot hear,
for my lips are closed,
my eyes are dry,
I whisper out
my last goodbye.

They heard me laugh,
they saw me smile
but they didn't see me,
they won't
for a while..

Shaved Monkey

We are lights that shine

Into the sky

When the sun goes down

- The Sun

The colds will kill you

They, together, will burn you    

Never trust a man

in a red sweater       

Or enter a ship where

       the co-ordinates do not point

to Planet 125    



The Accident

I waded through the dense, swamp-like ditch as my limbs began to fail and I could no longer move. I could feel the gravity sucking me deeper into the sludge. The swamp was slowly swallowing me as I thrashed against the goo.

Firm, warm hands clasped around my shoulders and heaved my limp body out of the hungry ditch. Little did I know that my love would be the death of me.

*

“Hide!” I hissed worriedly, pushing Gemma vigorously under the hard, shielding table.

I could feel her small, fragile body trembling ferociously against mine. Her tiny, shaky hands locked desperately around my neck as her thin, malnourished nails dug deep into my skin. The screams were only getting louder. Closer. That meant They were coming.

I jumped with shock at the sudden surge of thunderous bangs booming from the doors and windows. Flinching away from the ear-splitting reality, I took a protective stance over Gemma’s quivering body.

“We’re going to be okay,” Brennan whispered as he clumsily joined us under the table, “we knew this would happen, and we’re ready.”

He was right. We’d had warnings of this ambush many long months before: news reports, newspaper articles, radio reportings. We’d had so much time to prepare, but now that it was all really happening, our preparations did not feel adequate, the warnings did not feel thorough.

We were NOT ready.

Brennan pulled Gemma gently into his arms and rocked her comfortingly. I began to sing her private lullaby soothingly as my only child panicked wildly. Horror rolled down her spine and flushed through her system. She shuddered and shook, completely traumatised, as her worried eyes flickered from one side of the dark room to the other.

In that instant, the door soared across the room and landed with a deafening crunch, smashing into our cluttered fireplace, crumpling our pictures, our postcards, our livelihood.

“Parasites!” Brennan spat angrily as the diseased, mutated human-forms raided our once perfect, family living room.

Their pale, yellow-skinned hands infected our belongings, damaging everything they touched. Their contorted, scaly, repulsive faces held distant filmy eyes that, lifelessly, scrutinized every inch of the room for a human presence. For us.

Our home was dead.

The lively, colourful, welcoming sanctuary it had once been was unrecognisable at that moment in time. They had drained the life and soul from the room, as they did to millions of innocent people. The wallpaper had dulled to a depressing, empty grey and bubbled with damp. The overpowering stench of vomit and rot was as strong as the foul secretion of a skunk.

I gasped in absolute terror as I was sucked back into the reality of our situation. One of Them had spun our table over, leaving us vulnerable and exposed.

The sharp, noisy clatter distracted them all long enough for us to put our plan into action.

“Look after her,” Brennan whispered cautiously as he hurriedly tucked Gemma into my arms. He pressed his lips to mine swiftly as he hauled me up and pushed me forward. My heart was thrumming unhealthily fast as I bolted down to the basement, avoiding contact with anything and everything in case of infection.

“Gemma, baby, we’re going to be okay,” I murmured in a hushing tone to calm her nerves as I sat her on a battered old stool, “just stay there, don’t move.”

I turned rapidly to the small box-like window just above the ground outside and pushed it open.

“Macy! Hurry!” Brennan yelped desperately, the tone in his voice sent shivers down my spine, “Pass me Gem!”

I swivelled back around towards Gemma, my hands, instinctively, reaching for her. I froze in horror, my eyes staring widely at her pale-yellow, lifeless face. I screeched painfully as I stared into the eyes that had belonged to my daughter.

“What’s happening?” Brennan demanded, the panic seeping out of his voice, “What’s going on?”

I was fixed in place, completely traumatised. I couldn’t answer him.

“Come on!” Brennan urged nervously as I wasted even more time lingering over our precious daughter’s body. I shifted sluggishly to the window, reluctant to leave her. I turned back to take one last traumatic, heart-wrenching look at my loss. My fatal mistake. The accident…

*

I could feel the dew drops slide peacefully and gently from my long hair onto the damp flattened grass. The sun rose from the peaks of the burnt orange towering mountains as the sky changed discretely from a fruity orange to a magnificent pearl-blue. Light danced over the native trees, though never reached my eyes through the barricade of thick, vibrant, green leaves.

The thought of another day of endless trekking did not look so appealing, though I had to endure it if I would ever find Brennan.

I trudged towards the mountains.

The bottom of the mountains, that’s where we’re headed.

I sighed with contentment. I had memorised Brennan’s voice to perfection. He had to be there. He was all I had to live for.

A sudden screech escaped my lungs as I lurched forward and felt my legs sinking in a thick liquid beneath me. I moved viciously, trying to escape the ditch, but nothing would work. I was trapped.

I waded through the dense, swamp-like ditch as my limbs began to fail and I could no longer move. I could feel the gravity sucking me deeper into the sludge. The swamp was slowly swallowing me as I thrashed against the goo. Firm, warm hands clasped around my shoulders and heaved my limp body out of the hungry ditch.

“Ugh!” the man made a disgusted noise, “You! You traitor!”

My heart stuttered and faltered. Brennan.  My eyes uncontrollably flashed open with a craving to see his face. To know he was alive.

“Brennan, I’m not one of them!” I protested, wiping the tears off my cheeks.

“You may as well be one of them for all the good you’ve done,” he spat cynically.

I hunched over, cradling myself. The pain in my chest was searing right through me. The emptiness was invading my heart.

A satisfied grunt escaped Brennan’s lips, “Feeling guilty, huh?” he pressed, “And it was what?” he snarled, “An accident?”

My heart was pounding, my head spinning, my stomach churning.

“I can’t let you make anymore mistakes… Cause any more accidents...” he spoke through clenched teeth as he aimed a small, rusty, old gun to my head. I could see the anguish in the planes of his face, the loss, the misery…

Bang.

Little did I know that my love would be the death of me.

(Written by a friend of Fakra :D )