The setting of the Star - that once did defend,

Marks the beginning of an end.

The moonlit sky,
Echoes your whispers as you let out a sigh.
The stars burn bright,
As you witness from a height,
The beauty of the beast
As it feasts
On your soul
Creating a hole.
The echoes of the dark sky soon transform into guitar strums,
As the world begins to sing along and hum;
It awakens from its deep slumber,
And evident thirst and hunger.

The rise of the Star - reborn to defend,
Marks the beginning of an end.

Comment for Creative Writing Leaflet

Hi again.....

I'm looking for a favour, if you are a member of Planet 125 and have been part of SMC's Creative Writing enhancement, could you email me a short comment about your experience of the course and how much you enjoyed it and how amazing your teacher was (ha ha) and things so we can put it on our leaflet for the new Creative Writing A Level...You could write it as a comment on this post and I would be really grateful! Thanks!

Miss S

Creative Writing AS Level

Hi Planet 125 folks,

Exciting news!! St Mary's College are now offering AS Level Creative Writing to start in September 2013! Get in touch with me by emailing m.sharples@stmarysblackburn.ac.uk if you would like any more information or to register your interest.

Miss S

~

The curser hovered over a name half way down the list of contacts on facebook then the little green light went out and the laptop lid slammed shut.  She dragged her self over to the light switch and turned the light on for when she returned to the room.  The orange light fought off the blue hue in the kitchen barely succeeding.  She just stood in the center of the room confused until a sudden shadow danced along the wall causing her all of a sudden to switch back on and reboil the kettle.

She began hyper functioning placing the tea bag ready in the cup before washing the days of unwashed dishes piled high around the place.  She seemed to realize after finishing drying the last of the cutlery she managed to go through about 4 cups of tea in an hour to do that lot.   Agitated, she ran upstairs and rummaged under her bed for a shoe box lodged near the very back between a half deflated basket ball and a large collection of cobwebs.  She hugged it as she ran back down stairs to the light and poured the contents all over the floor.

She sifted through the old photos, badges and a small figured to find a folded up letter with a blue bow tied round it.  She held it close to her chest as she slumped to the floor.  Her fingers caressed the ends of the frayed fibers.

Time moves far to quickly sometimes and with out meaning to people get left behind.  Sometimes its the very best of people not because you meant to leave them behind but you don't want to bother them and they the same.

She tugged at the end of the satin allowing the letter to unfold before her.

"Jade,
You are truely brilliant.   You're gorgeous and so sweet.  You're always there for me no matter what.
You're ughasfghysbuibaodsuhqosph.  I love you lots.
You don't force me to be happy or to... stop doing the things that I shouldn't.  You're a perfect friend :)
You Shouldn't be sad, ever.  You're brilliant.
                        I love you Fufffuff
    So smile! I'm always here. :) Can't rain all the time and I have an umbrella until it stops :3
Stacy xxx"

She retraced the word always as tears streamed down her face.  Sometimes when you want to go back I suppose start at the beginning to simpler times but it had been 5 years since Jade and Stacy had last spoken and even longer since they had last met.   She sifted through the photographs separating any with Stacy in once she had collected 20 she took them to her room along with the letter and began blue-tacking them in the space above her head stroking each little memory as it passed through her fingers.  

When she finished she began writing a letter she knew she had no intention of sending, no need to dreadge up old memories for both of them.

"Oh deary I miss you like you wouldn't believe.  I thought you might be like everyone else who I would just forget and move on from but after all this time I can't let you go.  Oh look at this soppy mess I am writing its awful isn't it.
I think you always knew how I felt about you I just suppose things happened at a bad time when we would inevitably move in different directions.
I hope you are OK and I hope who ever you are with now is treating you well.
It's a shame to see the pictures of you with brown hair on facebook when you had blue hair it made your eyes shine so bright, and well that was just creepy wasn't it but I mean you know me.  Well you don't I suppose not anymore... but I wish you did... I wish I still knew you.
Out of everyone I ever met you managed to shine the brightest.
I suppose... I should finish this little letter up not much to say when I know you will never read it in the end anyway.
I love you Stacy I hope you managed to keep your self safe and found other people to protect you who did a better job than me
     With love from your Fufffuff <3"

Jade walked down stairs with the letter and closed it with the same blue ribbon and  piled everything else back into the box and placed the letter neatly in between a figure of death made of metal and the cardboard of the box before returning the box to its rightful place at the back underneath her bed.  She came back to her laptop calmer and more empty than she was before but anything was an improvement on how she had felt.  She opened the lid and typed in "blueandgreenqueens".  Even though times had changed it was always to much effort to change her password, though painful it was nice to hold on to it.  When she saw Stacy was back online she felt at ease... almost as though she might be thinking of times they had shared to.

Jade placed the laptop next to her to go make a final brew for the night.  Hidden under the sounds of the bubbling kettle was a small beep from in the living room.

Some text popped up at the bottom of the scream under a heading of " Stacy "boobless" Parkinson":

Hey, I know its been a long time and you probably barely even remember me but I am coming back to visit some family and well I will be near by if you fancy me popping round for some coffee or something I know it sounds a bit odd coming from no where but I have missed you a lot and well I just thought it would be nice.. So what do you think?

FOUND A POETRY COMPETITION

Has to be done by 30th of June... Which is sunday.. So... Hurry up
Open to anyone
so you can win £1000
you can submit up to 3 poems
can't be more than 25 lines including blank ones
and can't have more than 160 words
 It is on this link http://www.unitedpress.co.uk/free-poetry-competitions/
basically there are 250 winners but they just get it published in a book... I say just that is fantastic in its self but there is one overall winner
SO GO NOW...  I think its like a winner per town or something so.. it would be awesome if a few of us ended up in the book ^^
Anyway.... Doodles out yo!
(never saying that again....)

Twitter

Access for everyone in Planet125 to post quotes, 140 short stories/poems and to promote their own work shamelessly!

Email address: morethanaplanet125@gmail.com
Password: 125planet

Go mad!

R v Miller

So I thought it would be a cool idea if I started writing little stories based on cases I learn about in law. This is my first one, sorrry if its bad or if I got the ways of smoking wrong, it's kind of based on the case of R v Miller. 

The house was cold, too cold, so I curled up tighter under the frayed rug I had found in a cupboard under the stairs. The broken springs in the mattress pressed against my hip and shoulder and the chilling breeze coming through the broken windows sent shivers down my spine. Pulling my knees up to my chin, I closed my eyes and tried to get some sleep. My efforts were useless however and soon I was sat up again, savouring the sweet taste of nicotine from my last cigarette. I didn't know how things had become so bad, one minute I was graduating from university, the next I was homeless, jobless and alone. I sucked hard on the cigarette, hoping the fumes would make my thoughts disappear, but they didn't. The cloud of smoke left my lips but the worries stayed inside of me, feasting on my brain and soul, damaging me to the core. I took out a bottle of vodka from inside my trench coat and tried to drown my sorrows. I drank and drank, my vision becoming more blurred by the mouthful. Eventually, the hazy darkness took over me. I fell against the mattress, passed out, cigarette in hand, one end burning a bright orange.

Liam Left Alone

This covers a lot of topics which might be close to home to people and slightly graphic... (if its offensive its James' fault he told me to put it up here)

He found there where many ways to destroy himself in that foreign house. Everyone was out so what would it matter and sure his girlfriend later would cry again if he left a mark but she was working so scarless methods are available. With in a 6 hour shift, he could have bought more alcohol than any normal person could handle and down it and lie and let the world spin round him for a while. Take every pill labelled or not in that tempted plastic box in the cabinet in the bathroom.

He lead in her bed paralyzes by the fears of what he could do if he moved from that spot. He thought of how well his and her body fit together as though they where perfect although he wanted it all to change. He tried to talk to her many times about becoming who he felt he was becoming Liam once and for all rather than just pretending from time to time while outside away from people they knew but he was met with the brutal response of “I AM ONLY ATTRACTED TO WOMEN STOP IT! I love you but I can't love you if your like that”.

Liam tossed over onto his side and curled up and tugged at his long brown hair grew far beyond his breasts.

He kept two razor blades in the back of his phone just in case, sometimes it was enough to just place the metal strips on his thighs and imagine what he could do but some times it wasn't enough. As his neck began to throb from being placed in an awkward position he dragged him self up reached for his phone. After glancing at the lack of messages he went to the mirror and lifted up his shirt and stumbled as his fingers fidgeted with the small pressure pad at the back of the phone. He noticed how silent it had been previous to the two blades jingling as they fell to the floor and instantly put on Boys Don't Cry by the cure setting it to repeat.

He looked into the mirror and saw everything that was wrong with his shape. The hips, the breasts, the lack of muscle growing around his stomach no matter how much weight he tried to put on at best when he tensed his he felt them under a layer of fat that would not leave. Reaching for the blades his hand steadied. “at least it heals quickly there” he whispered.

As quick as a flash the blade slid across the lower half of his breast. “NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” he screamed as he watched the shadow fill up with blood and over flow. He repeated the previous gesture again and again until he could see no uncut tissue remaining on that side that could not be covered by his bra. He noticed the blood trickle down his tummy and so he shimmied his jeans and boxers down to avoid any blood stains. The situation became slightly more real.

He quickly walked to the toilet grabbing a roll of toilet paper and returning to the mirror. He mopped up the blood whimpering “stupid girl”.

The bleeding subsided and he felt brave enough to pull the soaked paper away to see the damage noticing his hair had blood on it. Possibly not his smartest move he grabbed it and cut it off with the blade leaving an average of two inches in length of hair. He shook as he noticed the length to which he had gone but it was calming to see it gone and lying on the floor around him.

Some how it was 16:47 and there where only 4 hours until She should be back. He looked around for scissors to neaten of what he had started until he felt he looked more like himself rather than like her. He looked at the mess he had made and rushed around cleaning it up as quickly as he could then returning to the mirror and sighed as despite his efforts he still wasn't there yet. He routed through his bag for a darker bra and placed it over the cuts hiding them perfectly.

Liam continued to dress before running his fingers through his hair realizing Beth would want some fun later and how could he explain it. He could always just pull the period card it usually worked.

He went downstairs to wonder through the kitchen for a while and try and find food. In the end he warmed up a couple of pasties some onion rings and two chicken keives in the oven and swallowed them down quickly. He noticed how the calm aura he had built before had left. He had far to much fat already because that's what female bodies have fat around the hips and on the thighs and on the chest. He grabbed a glass of water gulping it down with out taking a breath in the hope that he would feel nausius and it worked. He ran to the bathroom but nothing so Liam began to force his fingers further and further down his thought until he would cough up mucus but still no food. Eventually he tried stretching his fingers out down the back of his throught and all of a sudden food irrupted from his mouth it tasted rather fresh as though it was just cooked and still warm from his insides. He kept going until nothing more would leave him. There was a thrill in it all. Light headed Liam pulled him self up and flushed the toilet cleaned his fingers and teeth.

He returned to his loves bed, his eyes leaked but he ignored it.

Liam rightly supposed he was safe now and it disappointed him. He lead on the bed for a few more minuets before working out a plan and plucking up the courage to execute it. He grabbed the spare keys after throwing his bag over his shoulder. Walked to the first store and bought the bottle that would be his salvation. Then continued walking into town and in every next shop buying a box of paracetamol though in two ibuprofen where the best that he could do then returned with an hour or so remaining. First packet was empty rather quickly with no aid but the further he got through the boxes the more vodka each pill took to wash down. Feeling sick and light headed he crawled to the bathroom banging his head and occasionally vomiting until he fell unconscious.   

Doodles

Fragments of a tormented soul

00.58 am. Can't sleep. Again. I just lay here awake thinking of the things i might say to you. Nothing comes to mind. Do you want to know why? Because to me you are nothing. Yet still, here i am, writing about you. I have no reason to. You destroy my mental health, while also teaching me to destroy it myself. You put me through the most pain i've ever been through. You're selfish, ignorant, completely obvlivious of the pain you're causing people. So explain this to me; if i hate you, why am i writing this?

I'm bleeding. Inside, not outside. Don't worry. This is more than i can take. I told you what it was like, the nail varnish remover next to my bed, tempting me with the words "solvent abuse can kill instantly". I won't do it. It'd hurt you too much, but you still had the balls to do that to me? You're sick. You have people to think about, so think. Your arms and thighs are covered in white scars from war wounds. I understand that. The worst war to fight is the one against yourself. I know. But you have the best army. Friends and a family and a boyfriend.

You lost the war. You held up a little white flag but you showed no mercy. You dragged us all down with you. Yet here i am. Still caring. Still crying.

Just tell me what to do.

In The Arms Of The Sun

In the arms of the sun
Where warmth abides
Where necessity resides
Where set afire
Are the heartfelt lies
And either broken or joined
Those once-upon-a-time tries.

Like fiery lava it burns
Smothers and churns
Combusting all a child learns
And moulding it's life's twists and turns.

In the arms of the sun
Where one does belong
Where one feels strong.
In the arms of the sun
Where one is able to sing that beautiful song
For a period of time that is long
Long
Long
But never, never, prolonged.

The Land Of The Up-Theres

"The secret history of the world is a rude gesture in the face of the know-it-alls who make up our intellectual elite, the control freaks who would decide what is acceptable for us all to think and believe "  
      -Preface of The Secret History of The World by Jonathan Black

I ponder about the land of the up

While playing with my coffee cup,

All those doctors and nurses

So far up their own asses,

Even the check out staff think I’m inferior

because of my shy and quiet exterior.

They might ask me what I do

I say “Physics and maths too”

And all of a sudden they turn I am one of them now

“Oh well you must be smart, Wow!”

How do those subjects make me intelligent?

What makes them think I care for their acknowledgement

They look down because we are not they

But I would rather be seen as someone with nothing to say

Or at least nothing worth while hearing

Than be someone who’s vision is disappearing

Blind to what is before them

So worthy or not they condemn

Or worse ignore what they don’t want to believe.

I can’t work out if they’re ignorant or naive,

Maybe it’s my fault for looking in the undergrowth,

Seeing the darker places causes a deep loath.  

For those who would consider equality immoral

and that capitalism causes less quarrel,

Well I very much agree

The down-theres can’t afford the key

While the up-theres swagger around

and the think-they’re-up-theres continue to astound

They think they are so amazing

Getting payed for patronizing

I suppose I don’t see what makes them tick

How can they act like that and not make them self sick?

I wonder if I am alone in thinking this...

I guess I should shut up and go back to staring into the abyss.

First 50 words

At first there were a fair few writers. Every wednesday, room 125 was full of amazing creative talent but then as the weeks went by, they started to be picked off, one by one. By the end of the year, only four loyal members were left. James. Lucy. Mich. Becky.

It feels like the clouds are returning day by day

and it seems poems are the only way I can portray

the aching and throbbing inside my head,

so why should I care what has been said?

Sure, I am selfish I am glad you realized,

about time someone else critizised

the way I have been behaving as of late

staring into space as I sit and wait.  

"Wait for what?" you might question

Well a way to deal with things apart from suppression.

I am pretty miserable when I am sat alone

and it doen’t get much better when I randomly roam

but at least people think it made it better

though in reality it just made me more bitter.

Where ever I look sadness lies

but people still emphasis:

“STOP BEING SO MISSERABLE”

They forget I am not adaptable

So I grit my teeth and punch a wall

Hoping it might make the bad thoughts stall

Then hide away from everyone numb

Popping away with my chewing gum.

For my favourite planet, I bring a box of stars.
A thank you, a blessing, for being what you are.
I suppose this means I am no longer a resident
And so I must leave you with this mere present.

And as I fly further from your reach,
Hopefully Sharples will still teach.
And if not, I swear
I'll drag her right back there
Because what is a class or planet
So contrary
Without their Queen and mother,
Mary?

An accidental 50 words story(ish).

Wrote this in a message to Josie on Facebook and we decided it was really good. So I cut it down to 50 words (literally had to change the 'I am' to 'I'm' and a couple of other things and that was it) and posted it here!

I like to imagine I am a legendary samurai warrior, striking down the questions one by one with my fabled sword. Then I remember that the sword I'm holding is in fact a pen and I'm not a samurai, simply just a chubby kid stuck in a cold exam hall.

My favourite lesson this year :)

The word 'gay' in the poem means happy! :)

I remember the first time I walked into room 125.

I was scared and nervous, I can't lie,

sitting in between two people I already knew,

looking at the others, wondering who

they could be

and if they liked Glee.

The first task, I enjoyed

eye contact with the others, I tried to avoid.

Even though I loved it,

the reasons for my nerves hit,

me. I couldn't write,

my poems, stories and odes never felt right.

Yet I still adored every part,

from the very bottom of my heart.

Each lesson I looked forward to,

and still do.

I've made quite a few friends,

some in the evening, messages to them, I send.

Conversations about fandom,

or stuff that is totally random,

Captain America, Harry Potter, evil cats

and sometimes, though forbidden, even maths.

You're all so confident,

in a way that's not arrogant.

Writing through the day and into the night,

you're all so good, it gives me a fright.

Knowing what you're thinking when my writing appears on the blog,

"OMG, you can't even rhyme anything with the word blog?!"

So, I won't read out my stuff, it's too scary,

like them monsters you see all fat and hairy.

But just so you know, I'm so glad I was brave enough,

to enter into this family, as loyal as a Hufflepuff.

It's sad that it's coming to an end.

I hope, afterwards, you will all still be my friend.

It's the end of an era some might say,

where we've all been so nice, so wonderful, so gay.

It's a place where I've felt really alive,

a place that is called planet 125.

I guess this is farewell to planet125
Where my mind again thrived
Got back thrills I haven't felt in a while
even though I first went as a trial
I didn't know I could actually write
So when I got praise for my work it brought delight
My favorite part was making something people enjoyed
While with Stanzas and rhyme schemes I toyed

It was weird, it brought great highs and lows
All the while the poems showed my woes
Thank you guys for being the highlight of my week
Though I don't think I really speak
But in the end there where a few meows and the occasional dance
And that apple pie I brought by chance
Thank you for letting me read your work to
But I guess this really is adeiu

<3

Writer's block

Here i am, yet again. Staring at an A4, wide rule, 1" margin piece of lined paper. The words used to flow, but now? Nothing. They put a leash on my mind, "this is too explicit", "have you thought about seeing a counsellor?". Seeing a counsellor? Wow. Never have i heard such a stupid suggestion. Sitting in a room alone with a stranger until i have some kind of epiphany? Useless. I write disgusting things. My characters do them, not me. If it was me doing those things then fair enough, put me in a straight jacket in a padded cell. They tried something similar to this once, i spent 6 months in a hospital. Apparently i had the "symptoms" of a psychopath. How does murdering people have symptoms? Nope, i can't think of anything either. I had an interest in biology so i dissected a couple of hamsters, but apparently that means i'm crazy. I was twelve, i didn't know any better. I write about their dreams sometimes. What they would have enjoyed doing; the first one, Harry, liked playing in his wheel in my stories and Felicity liked chewing pieces of paper up. It doesn't make me crazy though, does it?

I was let out of the hospital because i wrote about things instead of doing them. I would never do those things i write about. "I" would, as in the narrator of the story, they're nearly always the main character. There are slight overlaps between our lives, nothing huge though. Sometimes i like to act them out, i often write monologues so i can do this. I do them when i'm outside and there's people around. Interacting with them is great, they react perfectly - they don't know i'm acting so why would they?

There was a girl i met while i was doing this and the character was a tad crazier than normal. I made sure i was gentle but she fainted, she was easy enough to get into the van.

There they are, the blue lights are outside the window now. I rang them, "i" was crazy so i had to to stop "me". I hope "i" didn't hurt her.



At least now i have something to write about.

Some more brain goo in words

Here he is. He's back. Again. Why can't he leave for good?


I should probably tell you who i'm talking about. He doesn't have a name. He isn't real. He's inside my head. He tells me to do things. Horrible things. To myself, don't worry, you're not in danger. Not from me, at least.

Some days he leaves me alone, some days he makes my life hell.

Today is one of those days. He's been in my head, he won't leave.

I should probably name him. Nothing seems to quite fit, except maybe Lucifer. But i'm probably sounding a bit over-dramatic at the minute.

I can make him go away, i just do what he tells me to do and he leaves me alone for a while, a week, maybe two. He's the definition of evil, the Devil, Hell. I hate him, but at the same time i wouldn't be myself without him. I've had him for so long i couldn't imagine life without him. The thought of him leaving is like the thought of cutting off a gangreenous leg. I don't mind him taking holidays, but a permanent holiday scares me. He's there for me, he understands. I give him all my problems so i can function daily.


This story isn't going anywhere, i just want you all to know there are voices in all our heads. You can block them out, but they're still there. Those voices saying hurt someone, it might be fun. The second you listen to them is the second you loose your life. They're in control. You can't say no. If you do he'll come back stronger and stronger until you give in. Say no to him, beat him down into a cage, lock the door and throw away the key. He can't get out of your cage. If he does you'll become what i have become. A monster. He destroys you. He's a tumour.


Please, i beg you, throw his key away. It's too late for me, he's consumed me. There is no more me. The best thing i can do is kill him. Drowning will do. Feet in concrete.


Ready?

A Retrospect

I held the picture next to thin air
Frozen reality and real life just doesn't compare
Crumbling and broken, the structure about to give
I gaze upon the home in which my grandfather used to live.

I remember visiting as a small child
The train journey from London to Yorkshire with which I was not beguiled
Picking turnips and cabbages from his vegetable patch
Collecting eggs from the chickens and boiling them before they hatched

I meander sombrely to the old back yard
The once vibrant flower beds rather sparse
Although wartime had started and times were hard
He always used to find time to lie with me in our garden and stare at the stars.

Alas I grew older and the visits became more infrequent
Adolescence hit and I no longer craved his company nor his quiet contentment
Then the bombs dropped from the sky and that all but sealed our fate
To Kent I was sent and we could only communicate through letters that arrived late.

In the summer of forty-five I decided to see him again
As he greeted me at his front door I realised all mutual affection had been retained
All my worrying and fretting about lost connections had been in vain
Though I now had a husband, job and kids our relationship would be almost the same.

My mother had perished in the war
And my father was never around, not even before
So my grandfather took the role of dad and he filled it with pride
And it filled me with happiness that I had this warm, loving soul in which I could confide.

All was well until tragedy struck in sixty-two
Cancer had come to call but we hoped he would pull through
As he underwent various treatments and therapies we anxiously played the waiting game
But the war with cancer was lost and he smiled without regret as Thanatos extinguished his flame.

At the funeral I wept without retention
I had lost a father figure and a best friend; he'd left a lasting impression
He'd become like a dad to my partner and kids too
Like vines up a wall, jointly, our sorrow grew.

And here I stand, dead still in this roughed up flowerbed
So with the rain starting to fall and a tear in my eye it's back to the car I tread
And the house is still broken and damaged and although I wish it to be fixed
It's damaged beyond repair, it's gone, I just have to let it go and move on.