The Meanad by Daniel Budsworth November 19, 2009

The forked lighting lit up the sky with bright flashes. My heart pounded against me longing to smash out. Leavers rustled and twigs cracked as my weary feet dragged my weary body through three after tree. He was close now. I could hear his heavy breathing as though he was next to me. I could smell his foul breath as its vulgar smell of rotting flesh wafted up my nose.

I sprawled out of the edge of the wood. As I bounded away down the hill I slipped and tumbled into a tree. I staggered up ready to push on but my ankle screamed out in pain. Tutting I realized I must have twisted it in the fall. BOOM shouted another load of thunder which was quickly followed by another crack of lighting as bright as the sun. Then I suddenly became aware of the brooding presence of the man – the male assassin.

In all my pain I had forgotten about my hunter. He was a Meanad a Meanad assassin known to his friends as Tibb. He was huge with large bulky muscles all over him. His green skin was covered with scars which he wore proudly and on show. Worn around his blood stained tunic was a belt displaying many body parts of the past victims of his. My heart skipped a beat as I wondered if a part of my body would soon be on show? Around his chest he wore a sheath of three sharp blades.

My whole body quivered as he began to slowly draw his first blade. It gleamed as silver as the moon. The wind whispered to me like my friend. The grass waved at me.

Suddenly I began to weep wet, salty tears as he strolled casually over to me. He paused for a second and in that time I could smell the foul stench of blood on his vulgar body. The feeling of sick slipped into my mouth as the blade began to plummet towards me. In the blink of an eye it was in me, he cackled as he yanked it back out again, I let out a high pitched scream as I saw a flood of red blood pour from my open wound.

I must have fallen asleep because when I awoke he had a fire going. Tibb saw that I had awoke and then strangely looked at me and licked his lips. He began to tread over to me a carving knife in his hand. I looked up terror in my eyes, he stuck a fork in me and began to feast whilst I screamed in pain and horror, he was eating me!

Deadly Sweet Revenge by Daisy Viller November 19, 2009

The branches on the old, withered tree brushed softly against the girls bare legs. It was a cold, frosty, dark night, they all shivered and their hearts skipping beats a the thought of being discovered carrying this body. They had killed the girl that had killed their parents. Two of the sisters began to cry, thinking how could they have done something like this but there was no turning back now. They had finished burying her under the wet, rotten soil and turned back. Blood was smothered all over their hands, they looked back. They’ll NEVER by caught. The eldest, Abigail, flung the knife, which they had killed her with, back into the fog of the trees and they all slowly sauntered away.

Five years on, people crammed into the courtroom to see the court decide if the six sisters should be charges with murder over Marie Langworthy. Abigail, Lucia, Hayley, Courtney, Lauren and Tamara sat by each other, waiting for this nightmare to end. The judge yelled ‘not guilty’. Those two, small words were like church bells ringing in their ears, joy sprung over their bodies. They hadn’t been caught, they never would be. They were too sly and cunningly smart for anyone. But how could they be so wrong?

Abigail had four children, Lucia was a world famous fashion designer, Hayley was an actress. Courtney had her own store. Lauren was seeing the world and Tamara was a professional dancer. All six sisters were leading good, healthy and relaxing lives, the money they owed was unreal, they had more money than a tree had leaves. They were all so happy. It was as if the whole death of Maria and them murdering her had been forgotten. Like it had never happened. As they thought this, their wonderful, wealthy lives came crashing to the ground.

She was back, Marie Langworthy, no one knew why and how she could, but she was. First, she went for Abigail, she was playing with her children when all of a sudden, a sharp knife dug into her chest. Blood poured like an angry waterfall, she screamed as a crimson red colour spurted from her chest. The it was Lucia, Lucia was designing when there was a sudden feeling of someone clutching her throat tight, she turned as blue as a clear days sky. She threw back her head and fell silent.

Next, it was Hayley’s turn, she was filming for her tv show when a bullet hurtled into her face, the bullet went as fast as the speed of light and fell to the floor. Courtney was next, she was eating her lunch by the fountain when she felt hands thrusting into the water, all she could see was clear water, she felt hands smothering over her mouth. Eventually, she gave up and closed her eyes. It was Lauren’s time to die, she was on her flight back from Japan, when the window beside her sprung open, she felt a shove as she flew out the window, as she screeched, she dropped beneath the clouds, her voice fading…..

Finally, it was Tamara’s turn, she was rehearsing on her own when a sharp feeling dug into her neck, she peered and found a needle injected into her. She screamed and plunged to the ground instantly. As she lay there dying, taking her last few breaths, she saw the face, the face of Marie, the one she killed all those years ago, laughing with a smug look of sweet revenge on her face.

Barbies and Butterflies – anonymous October 3, 2009

A Red Admiral. Clinging to a fluttering leaf, its wings, so delicate, so fragile, folded casually over each other. Like paper origami, it looks so weak I just want to cup my hands around it and whisper “Every thing’s going to be O.K.” But I can’t, I know that. It would damage his wings. His curled proboscis (Mr. Grout, the caretaker, taught me that word) twitches and I know he feels just a little bit warmer, like he’s feeding off my thoughts. His wings are almost paper-thin yet such a blazing colour that my eyes burn if I stare too hard.

Red. An intense, burning flame. Red comes in a package; without red, we wouldn’t have the world as we know it. Without red, we wouldn’t have: tomatoes, strawberries, Valentines Day, rainbows, ladybirds and all the other nice red things. But then, red comes with a tankful of nasty things too: fire, danger, blood. Oh, most of all blood. Blood comes when you get a teeny paper cut, a graze on your knee or if your whole hand gets devoured by a man-eating crocodile. Mummy hates blood. I hate crocodiles.

A couple of centimetres to my right, slurping at the sweet, sticky nectar of the Hibiscus, is a Cabbage White. I much prefer Cabbage Whites. They’re a type of butterfly too. Except they’re all pure, perhaps tinted a slight blue. Cabbage Whites are the colour of snow, crystals, angels, cream, and peace. Oh, most of all peace. I remember when Mrs. Brown, my teacher, tried to explain peace. She said it was like if Lauren Philips and Chrissie O’Neil have an argument in the playground again (which they do all the time) and then they say sorry and it’s all right again. I didn’t believe her. I think that peace is something much more important than Chrissie O’Neil and the loss of her stupid Barbie princess dress-it looks so much cooler on my Barbie anyway-because otherwise, people wouldn’t be falling out about it all over the world. People like the Queen and that wouldn’t be having meetings everyday to discuss peace (although I don’t believe for a second that the Queen actually goes-I think she buys lollipops at the shop, instead.). Daddy wouldn’t be so angry all the time. My big brother would come back from playing with guns in the desert. They would have a massive section on the news that just played happy articles about Barbies and Butterflies.

The red admiral’s still there, watching me with his beady eyes. Personally, I think he would like a staring contest. Everyone at school knows how good I am at staring contests-I even beat Mark Croft! I’m crouching on the mucky grass but I don’t care if my knees get all dirty-I’m having a bath before Barney The Purple Dinosaur is on TV. I’m squinting and squinting and my face has twisted into a funny, screwed-up shape. It’s scarily hard to out stare a butterfly but I think I’m winning, I think I’m winning! However, my own eyes are starting to water, like when you go to the seaside and sand gets just there, right in the corner. Do butterflies even have eyelids? I don’t think I can stand this much longer. In a flurry of autumn leaves, a minuscule pebble of grit lodges just there, right in the corner; my fists pummel away at my face. I am no longer a 7-year-old girl, I am MOLE WOMAN, scrabbling for light. I don’t know exactly how but somehow the grit has disappeared as if a magician has plucked it out of my eye in a flash of lightning. I can almost hear the applause. When I tentatively unscrew my face, the splash of white has also been magicked away. My beautiful Cabbage White has flown off back into heaven where it belongs and I’m left here, in the red hell. The peace has once more hidden itself from the world. We’re left with the Red Admiral.

Wonderland by Bethany Alice Brown September 30, 2009

The atmosphere of the room was musty. I looked into the mirror to try to see my face but all I could see was dust. I choked back a tear…I was scared.

The floor was booby trapped, the windows barred and the door on the other hand, well let’s just say there wasn’t one.

I don’t know why they called it ‘Wonderland’ but there was sure not a lot of time to think about it. I could hear the clock ticking feintly outside of my room, the room I was trapped in. It sounded like the last voice on Earth, slowly drifting into silence.

As I peered through the bars on the windows I could see people with happy faces; children laughing and joking, green grass, blue sky, clouds floating by. I almost reached out to touch it but then realised. I was in here and they were out there.

Without being able to turn back aroung, a ray of light just managed to catch my eye. It was like a glaring torch being shone into your face constantly. I decided to follow it after all; it could be a way out of this ‘Wonderland’. I looked around the corner. There were people clambering out of the hole in the wall. I decided to follow them. Was it what I thought it was? Could I taste success?

Yes I had made it!

‘C’mon sweety’ my mum called.
‘We have more rides to go on! I thought you were never going to come out of that Haunted House!’