Wednesday, 21 October 2015

Haiku

Cherry Blossoms fly
As I look up to the sky
Thinking of you

The water is still
no ripples on the surface
Thinking about you

Darkness consumes me
rolling the pill in my palm
Thinking about you

looking straight ahead
wishing that my fate could change
Thinking about you

You led me to love
to uncontrollable hate
Thinking about you

Stabbed right in the back
with your dark lies and deceit
Thinking about you

I slept in your arms
Thinking my dreams could come true
Thinking about you

I swallow the pain
my heart stops cold, but I'm still
Thinking about you

by Alise, Sakura and Nadia 

From here

Tuesday, 20 October 2015

From here
Silence was typical in the dark of night, in most places. Magnolia was a place that never slept. A constant din flowed through the streets; rowdy bar goers and the loud caw of nocturnal birds contributing to the noise. As such, daytime was quiet, the nightly prowlers subdued and awaiting the coming sunset. It was a warm city all year, though the air that surrounded a certain bespectacled woman was nothing short of sinister; those nearby would feel the unnatural cold, coupled with an unpleasant shiver down their spine. Despite the displeasing aura encasing only her, the situation she was stuck in was most definitely not her fault. Her existence had become an anomaly in the town of peaceful and trusting folk, what with her constant paranoia of the unseen entities she so fervently preached the existence of, the very entities that she remained deathly afraid of.

Oddly, the woman herself was the only person who could see these entities. The townsfolk would go about their peaceful life as the woman was jostled about between crowds of them, fearful for her life. Perhaps it would be odd to outsiders, but to Lorelei it was not. After the explosion several months prior, the aftermath of which still plagued the city, she had nearly died. Leaving the hospital, very much aware that she was lucky to have survived after being caught in the blast and several pieces of shrapnel having lodged themselves in her skull, all of the injuries she once held now gone. However, as she stepped out of the hospital, the peaceful city she once knew was no more. Immediately, she began to panic. Shoulders tensed. Eyes flitted from side to side. They were closing in. She was going to die. It was an invasion, an attack, a takeover. Demons. As far as the eye could see, demons. Not a single human remained in Magnolia, making Lorelei the lone survivor of the deadly invasion.

She was next.

Naturally, she went into hiding, locking herself in her house and staying there for over 6 months. The reason for her survival so far evaded her. Every day, she wished for someone to come, to answer her unspoken cry for help. Surely it was obvious, painfully so, that the city had been taken over. As such, she stayed, and she wished. She wished for salvation, to be saved. For someone to come and help her, liberate her from the damned town.

Nobody ever did.

By Monado Boy


Thursday, 4 June 2015

Introducing…
Brother Archibald
May 1st 1103
Dear Diary, I have started writing this diary because
my life is so boring and depressing that I thought I needed to start recording my boring and depressing life.
I am a monk!
Today I kissed Brother Steven, it was like kissing a wall, come to think of it, it was a wall. The wall tasted like soap, I think it’s because me and Brother Paul were washing it earlier on that day. Brother Paul smelled like lolly-pops, so I ate him. He didn’t taste of lolly-pops but he tasted of beef. His deceased, supreme…crème-coloured bones were so…beautiful. So I cried. I had to find a place to burry Brother Paul’s bones, so I buried them were Sister Ada was buried 122 ½ years ago. Then I pondered… and pondered… and then I thought…and I came to a conclusion that monks are delicious, but I had to stop myself from eating them because they are my family.
I also did a hard day’s work of pulling up 2 radishes and then I felt exhausted so I called on Brother Joe and paid him in paint to do my work, he was thrilled. So I thought to myself ‘ I made someone happy.’ And then I felt brutally ill, and so I cried again.
After that we went back to the monastery and preyed with Sister Joanna.
Then we all had supper, we had bread, witch tasted like wood, and some water, witch tasted like …well…liquid wood.
Goodnight my beautiful diary.
                       
                                                     
P.S. I drew a picture of my Monastery.



By Rosie GQ


A Dark Tale

A Dark Tale.
From here
Chapter 1.


 A dark atmosphere, a dark room, a dark mind. What will occur? Light or even more darkness. Should I wait, or run? Or is my life already over? The first night seemed to warn me. The second spoke to me. The third changed my theory. The fourth has just begun. If anything I had to fight for my life. But I couldn’t, I felt weak, like a speck of dust just waiting to be noticed. Surreal, surviving, alone, afraid. Well not any more. I want to live rather than survive, I was scarred for life; I wasn’t going to give up now. However, one scream is all it takes to stop a murder. And a murder can be inflicted by any force, from man to nature. With a scream at the right pitch, could liberate one soul from death. Where was that scream? That scream belonged to someone I love, someone I lost, someone I lived for. As distressing as a scream sounds; it could still grasp the attention of someone nearby.
It all started with a loud noise in the distance. I was pretty certain it was an explosion. My sister and I were in our house. She was beautiful; she had a pale white face, bright blue eyes, richer and brighter than any star in the night-sky. That’s why mum decided to name her Skye. Her hair was a dark, raven black colour that oddly seemed to shine regardless of its ironically dark colour. Skye had the softest touch, she’d put her hand on you and it was like magic running through your veins.
We were in the fourth field. Named according to the myth of the ‘Dead and Living’ civil war over 500 years ago. This war was said to be started by a ghost who claimed to be this so called ‘King Empharyum’ coming back from the dead and attempting to steel back his goods from the villagers who were seeking revenge for what he did to their people (which barely anybody knows about; let alone me, the village historian). However, all of his gold statues and engraved wares were melted down and made into gold bars, sold from sea to sea, continent to continent, until we barely had any money left to build houses, factories, shops, so slowly, slowly but surely people started to move away. Until there was only a few houses left. It seemed all of the happiness that was in the village, cast over Morthwait (my village) like a magic spell, left with the rest of the villagers.
Skye used to say the fields were filled with magic and power but I didn’t believe her, which I regret most thoroughly. I know now what happened in those fields, what those fields were scarred with, how those fields had been traumatized. So I decided to make it up to Skye. Because, although she was ten, she had the charisma, mind and brain of an older, wiser person. She taught me so much about how to believe in something, and how to understand what it would be like if something was real. Skye had to put all her trust in me, but I could tell she wanted to lead the way. Or understanding to face things I was scared of, or running away from. From what was I running away from anyway? A shadow? Or just a bad dream? Or was this even happening? I need to grow up and defend myself, and defend the memory of Skye. All I ever do is hide away and cry about what I think I can’t change. But I know what I can do, what I’ve learned while Skye has been gone. After all, Skye and I were all each other had.
                                        

A Dark Tale.
Chapter 2.
This ‘explosion’ happened about six months ago. The ‘explosion’ turned out to be a bomb. It wiped away half of Morthwait. I survived because I was under the magic blanket mum left us before she died. She said it protected you from anything in the whole wide world if it was out to get you or someone near you. Why wasn’t Skye under it? You might ask? She went to get Phoebe, her teddy bear; she loved her so much that she wouldn’t go anywhere without her. Well, she went so fast I couldn’t stop her and by the time I called her name, it was too late. She was paralysed, I cried, I cried for so long! But crying didn’t help; everyone will die someday even if they are only ten. I wish I could go back in time and it was me who went to get Phoebe. I fainted that day. But a wood chopper from the next village saw the explosion and came to see if everyone was okay and found me and Skye both lying there in a trance and phoned an ambulance.
I woke up in hospital and saw Skye lying next to me with scars on her face and blood gushing out of her arms and legs. When I woke up they gave me all sorts of tests and I was scared I wouldn’t pass them but they gave me a plaster for my head and showed me the door. Skye, however, wouldn’t wake up. And they were looking for an explanation as to why I was ok and she wasn’t. They didn’t believe the real explanation, so I made up a story that would convince them;
“The bomb was very near our house,” I said “and Skye was really frightened and had an anxiety attack, which seemed to burn so very much, she said it felt like a heart attack. Next, she just sat, paralysed, with a painful expression on her face. I tried to awaken her, but she was contaminated beyond human actions. She had stopped breathing. So I called for help and that’s when the wood-chopper came.” They believed that, but they also asked me how I survived so I told them that I hid beneath the stair cupboard and she had the heart attack.


A Dark Tale
Chapter 3.

They said if I was under thirteen I would have to go in an orphanage, so I exclaimed that I wasn’t. I was sixteen then. And I also had a word with the wood chopper to ask if he would say that he was a relative of mine and that my father was out of town and would be back soon, funnily enough he agreed but it took a lot of persuading until he said he would do it as long as I gave him 30 rupies –the currency in morthwait- and a homemade loaf of bread. To that I agreed, either that or go to an orphanage, a dirty, smelly, unhygienic and most of all, it was a new place. Something I couldn’t cope with.
There was a journalist there, she wasn’t the most pleasant person I’ve met but a good journalist I suppose. She said I was one of the most grown up children she had ever met. I didn’t know whether to know whether it was a compliment or an insult. But I soon found out it was an insult when she said ‘’ It is despicable.’’ As she looked down on me like I was nothing. As usual I kept my feelings hidden away. I gave her a daring look and her lips vibrated like she was about to say something but before she could, a tall and somewhat handsome man in his thirties called me over.  ‘’Alexia Poppy O’Branelle?’’ he said so easily, as some people usually say something like ‘Alexa Poppy O’Brian’ which trust me is annoying! I prompted myself to make my way over and then he interviewed me on the ‘incident’. I looked back in a suspicious reflex and the journalist was snarling at me, I turned strait back to where I was going and it seemed I had gone off track a little; but I made it look like I was doing it intentionally. If I had been looking at the journalist any longer I would have stood on what looked like a piece of really expensive camera equipment. So I just made out like I was interested in this sort of thing, (although I have no idea how to turn a camera on).

A Dark Tale.
 Chapter 4.

Sometimes I lay, looking at the ceiling before I go to sleep and wish that I could be on the other side of death. And what I mean by that is be dying not living, sort of like the saying ‘the cup is half empty’ whereas I feel like ‘the cup is half full’ and it’s a horrible feeling. Death is a magical thing, but I guess once it’s happened there’s no going back. I fear the death I behold will be unnatural. But even if it is then I guess it won’t matter after I’m gone. But still, before I die I want to do something that everybody will remember me by. Who is there that will miss me; I have no one who even knows I’m here let alone know I’m alive. Oh just to have one person. Like Skye, just to know that I’m here, to ask how I am once in a while, to care, to love, oh the luxury some people have, it’s totally underrated, but honestly just to have someone who knows that they’re there, living, feeling, knowing, it is incredible how much that could impact someone like me…
Even though none of that will matter when I die anyway.  Everybody has a family it seems, and if they don’t then they must know how lonely it is waking up without anybody, going through the torture of the day, bored, with nothing to do but think about how much this couldn’t get worse; without a family, and going to bed and falling asleep, crying until your eyes are so worn out that there is nothing left for them to do apart from drift shut as the darkness of the night traps the whole village in its deathly claws; without a family.
At this point I am considering that I am depressed, but then a little voice in the back of my mind tells me that things will turn around soon. “But which direction?” I ask the voice… nothing, just unexplainable noises coming from nowhere; maybe I was just imagining them to drown out the voices, even though they were actually diminutive.
I’m completely dead inside, and I want to just sleep, so I did, and before I knew it, there I was, bundled up tight with only three small stubs of what once were tall, satisfied, bright candles. I watched them glisten on the small, wooden, tattered bedside table which was unusually located below the window sill. I remembered how Skye would make up stories about the ‘moon monster’ and how she was scared of it, the moon monster is just a yeti-like creature that was a psychotic cannibal that would eat you alive if he could find you. I remembered how I told her everything would be okay and that she has nothing to worry about, but then I thought about what could harm her that wasn’t fictional. I remembered looking at her eyes drift close as she told me she wasn’t tired. I remember stroking her soft, raven black hair. I remember watching her breath so gracefully. Oh no… there it is, I could feel the salty drips running down my face. I need to stop doing this.       





A Dark Tale.
 Chapter 5.

The next morning, I woke up like an active volcano, exploding within the layers of my bed. As soon as my breath had decreased a little bit from being as fast as a gunshot in a dark alleyway, I cleared my mind and told the cogs in my brain that it was only a dream. Although the dream was beyond traumatizing; tied to a wall watching my mum getting brutally murdered by a mob of blood-thirsty vampires, while another gang of them were digging a hole to throw Skye into, in the meantime, I was stuck helplessly on a wall, crying violently -even though I am a somewhat quiet person- while a high-class-looking lady in a long blood-red dress prepared herself to throw a razor-sharp knife to my thumping heart. I saw it glide through the air

By Rosie GQ



Wednesday, 22 April 2015

Haiku

Footprints in the snow
The trees have entered a slumber
At last winter comes

A field of purple
Sunlight bouncing on the leaves
At last there is peace

A walk in the spring
A sea of pink flowers
And the birds chirp away

By Ellis Long

From here

Thursday, 19 March 2015

Blurbs

From here
All his life Isaac James has been and orphan.
With no knowledge of his parents death, he believes that there is nothing for him in life.
Suddenly a life changing break through leads Isaac to an old abandoned hospital where he believes that he will find his parents. Or will he?
Obstacles along the way stop him, will he continue to go on to find his parents?
Isaac learns a lot of information about his parents and himself, however will it be enough to lead him to his true destiny and discover what happened to his parents.

By Gemma Newby

Space.

It’s often identified as the inky void that composes most of the known universe, the big black sheet of fabric on which all of eternity is painted. However, it’s not exactly known for its homely qualities thanks to its lack of… well, anything, and the official international count of extra-terrestrials found in open space remains zero.

Kendra is a cosmologist-come cosmonaut who is the first woman to take a journey into the unknown depths of open space alone, and she makes an alarming discovery. One that is sure to throw the Earth into chaos and change science for the rest of time.

The count is now one.

By Beth Roberts




Wednesday, 28 January 2015

Prologue

A girl in the middle ages of childhood walked softly into the Graveyard as if not to disturb anyone from their sleep. She walked like she was unsure of what she was doing there, but her heart was weak yet from  the un repairable damage she had been through and even though she was young she understood the words of fate which were carved in black on the inside of her left arm. Her hair was dark ink and her pale skin shimmered slightly in the moon that illuminated the world around her. She had been through a lot already; strange happenings, her father who had abandoned her and she was left with her mother who she had loved so fiercely never undermining that bond between them that had felt like honey warmth and protection. She could never, however shake that feeling of mystery towards her mother, like there was something else she needed to know, but now she would never know. Because, her mother was dead.

The little girl ambled on and focused on her red buckled shoes which seemed to rattle every time she took a step, her face lifted up and her piercing green eyes with flecks of grey or was it silver that glowed in the night. Suddenly she stopped. This was the place. She knelt down into the dirt and kissed the top of the grave gently. “Mother...” she whispered then choked on the last letter and erupted into a stream of tears that reflected soul and imperfect love. However there was something wrong with her as well as grief, her tears were stained dark against her bloodless face. And as soon as her tears hit the ground, a black rose’s appeared that reflected lethal beauty.

 “What’s happening to me mother!?” she cried in sorrow. Images flashed into her mind that kept coming no matter how hard she tried to stop them from coming; how the blade cut through her mother’s skin. “Stop!” she screamed awakening the dead, and her voice echoed in the dust. Shaking violently she stood up, wiping the tears away, but failing to remove the soot like colour that was trailed from her eyes to her jaw.


Then she ran into the night, running from the monster. The only problem was; the monster was herself.

By Nadia Newman

From here