Sunday, 27 March 2011

Dorothy - Part 1

Hi! This was the second story I sent into the Pushkin Prize :D (you were to send in 3) I hope you like it!
P.S. I've created a new page about me :) Check it out!

Dorothy - Part 1
Dorothy was tired. Her brain was fraying at the edges; her memory disappearing and her motor skills vanishing. Nothing felt right any more. Just three years ago, she had been a happy woman with a husband and children, who had family of their own. She had been a normal, happy, content sixty-six year old.
 All that changed when she went to the doctors for a check-up. It was one of the few things she remembered well...
It was in the middle of winter and the sun was shining brightly on the snow, its glittering light bouncing into the surgery’s waiting room. Other patients twiddled their thumbs nervously but Dorothy sat there, silent and immobile.
She was wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a long woollen jumper, which made her comfortably warm. Her short, grey hair lay loose around her head and her sharp, brown eyes studied her surroundings. She checked her watch:  10:47. She sighed and slumped slightly into her chair. Her appointment had been made for 10:35. She was pondering getting up and leaving, when a doctor stepped out from one of the doors that littered the hall to her right. He looked at a clip chart. “Dorothy Andrews?” Dorothy stood up slowly and clutching her handbag, followed the doctor into the hall.
The doctor was a tall man with thinning, grey hair and a wrinkled, weatherworn face. His eyes were a vivid green and his hands were as big as spades. He strode down the corridor, peering into doors along the way, checking which ones were free. Finally, he settled on the last door at the end of the corridor. He quickly stepped inside. Dorothy followed slowly behind him and stepped cautiously into the room.
She had never liked doctors, with their charts and instruments. She had nothing against them; she just found them...odd. She avoided doctors and she had only taken her children to the surgery if they were genuinely sick, not that they ever were. Still, she was required to have an annual check-up. So she went every year, only to be told she had a clean bill of health and a good twenty years ahead of her.
The room was much like the waiting area: small and dark. An examining bed, a table and a two plastic chairs occupied the room. The doctor took a seat, motioned for her to do the same and said “I’m Doctor Somerville, just a few questions to start...”, as she gingerly perched on the edge of the chair. She told him her name, age, date of birth, address and medication, or at least, all she could remember. He wrote all this down on his clip board, the pen scratching against the paper. Eventually, he placed the clip board on the table and said, “Now, if you would just lie on the bed for me...” Dorothy looked at him and stood up, only to sit down on the chair again. She stared blankly into space, unable to tell the doctor what was going on. The doctor studied her silently for a moment, before laying his hand gently on Dorothy’s shoulder and saying quietly, “Dorothy, would you get up on the bed for me?” She seemed puzzled and looked at the bed for a moment. Then she suddenly stood up and whispered, “Where am I? Where did I leave my glasses?” She whipped her head round and her eyes blurred for a second. Then, just as suddenly, she silently climbed onto the bed, waiting for the doctor.
Doctor Somerville began to examine her. He tested her reflexes, which were slow. He had a short conversation with her, monitoring her movements and speech patterns. She often faltered in her speech and occasionally seemed to lose track of the conversation.  She got angry when he asked about her grandchildren’s names, screaming that she couldn’t recall them.
To Doctor Somerville, this was clearly not part of the normal aging process. No, this was something entirely different and unfortunately he knew that “different” was bad news.  Once he finished examining her and annotating his findings, he pulled out a chair for Dorothy, who hesitantly sat. He pulled the other chair across and looking Dorothy in the eye, said:  “I’m so sorry. You may have Alzheimer’s disease. We’ll have to do more tests to confirm it but your forgetfulness and confusion are strong signs. Alzheimer’s disease attacks the neurons in the brain and as you get older....
Dorothy blinked and she was suddenly in the world of the present. 

Wednesday, 23 March 2011

The Circus - Part 2

Here is the second part of The Circus! I hope you enjoy it :D (To see The Circus - Part 1 click HERE)
Suitable for 12+


The Circus - Part 2

Hesitantly, I strolled into the tent, careful not to show my fear. I gasped. The tent was huge and gloomy, its tethered sides billowing in the wind. The wind howled beneath the tent, as if sounding an alarm. I pulled my jumper even closer to my body. I was freezing and I was shaking with fear.  A terrible stench met my nostrils and I turned around, only to find myself staring at the seats.
They were wooden and rotten, the ground beneath them littered with chewing gum and stale urine. A horrible red smear of one of the seats caught my eye. I slowly clambered over the rows of decomposing wood, meticulously avoiding touching it with my bare hands. Reaching the seat, I inspected it closely. It was wooden and rotten but it had a large, red, trickling stain on it. I reached out my finger and, collecting some of the liquid, put it into my mouth. It was sour and sticky and had a strong taste of iron. It was blood. I doubled over and vomited all over the seat.
Sometime later, I stood up and took a deep breath. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I broke into a run. I was heading for the cloth doors of the Big Top. I ran down the steps and onto the soft sawdust that covered the floor. I suddenly lost my footing and fell to the ground. A terrible cackling suddenly filled my ears. It pierced my ears and I rolled over in pain. The cackling stopped, but the noise rang in my ears like the rhythmic sound of a bell. I hauled myself up off the ground and looked towards the entrance. It wasn’t there. Panicking, I spun around and looked desperately for a way out. Nothing. I clenched my fists. They were wet and sticky, covered with blood. I gagged, unable to bring anything up out of my empty stomach. I wiped them on my jumper and slumped, weeping on the floor.
I sat hopelessly for a few minutes until the cackling began again. It was agonizingly painful and I howled in pain. It stopped abruptly and a cheerful voice announced, “Let the show begin!” before cackling one last time then falling silent. I inhaled sharply and screamed.
My clothes were ripping and large bloody gashes were appearing on my body. Every cut was gushing blood and my clothes were soon ripped to shreds. It was agony and it was impossible to swat at the imaginary beasts that were tormenting me. I screamed in pain; as soon as the sound left my throat my windpipe closed. I choked, clutching at my throat but it was as though a rope was being held taut round my neck. I could feel my eyes bulging and I struggled to my feet. I scraped at my neck but my attempts were worthless. I was dying.
A figure stepped out from the other side of the tent. He walked casually over to me, a menacing smirk on his face. He clicked his fingers and suddenly the imaginary rope disappeared. I gasped for air, and collapsed onto the sawdust.
The person was standing over me, watching me when I came round. He was wearing three-quarter length baggy trousers that were covered in patches and stitches. His top was also baggy and he had bright red fluffy hair. It was his face though that really terrified me. His mouth was pulled up by pins into a grotesque smile, and his eyes twinkled with evil.  He was wearing traditional clown make-up and I heard him cackle under his breath, before yanking my hair. I yelped and looked him in the eye. He grinned and said, “Let the fun begin!"
                                                                                                                            

Sunday, 20 March 2011

The Circus - Part 1

This is one of the stories that I sent into the Pushkin prize. It was actually an English essay but I sent it in anyway :) I decided it was too long as just one story, so I've split it up into two parts :)
I hope you enjoy it :D Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! (To see The Circus - Part 2 click HERE)
Suitable for 12+


The Circus - Part 1

My friends and I were standing outside the circus. It was nightfall and the wind was blowing through my hair and whistling menacingly in my ear, making me shiver. I pulled my jumper closer to my chest. It was cold and my hands and feet were numb with lack of warmth. I blew hot air onto them and walked on the spot. I desperately needed a fag. I thrust my hand in my jeans pocket and felt around, but my efforts were fruitless. I shoved my hand in the other pocket but my efforts were again in vain – there was only a crumpled, empty packet of ready salted crisps. Panicking, I spun around to face my “friends”, half of which I did not even know. “Anyone got a fag?” I asked hopefully. I watched optimistically as Rachel rifled in her pocket only to pull out an empty packet of matches. She shrugged and turned away. I sighed and then remembered the pack I had hidden in my bra. I carefully took it out and opened it. I grasped the end of a cigarette and pulled it out feeling the smooth paper under my fingers. I hurriedly lit it with my lighter and breathed in the smoke. It swirled around in my mouth and I instantly felt relieved and happy.  I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. I swivelled round and exhaled the smoke in a steamy cloud.
“What?” I said, angry that someone disturbed my moment of bliss. It was Rachel.
“We,” she said, a smirk on her face, “want you to go into the circus.”
I spluttered and coughed, throwing my fag on the ground. I stamped on it angrily, the stub still glowing slightly, and retorted;
“Why don’t you go in?”
Rachel looked surprised. I never turned down a dare. I was the rebel, the tomboy, the daredevil. I thrived on adrenaline and I was always looking for a new way to get a thrill. I turned my nose up at Rachel’s surprise, only to hear a faint whisper of “chicken” behind me. I whipped around and caught one of the gang sniggering. I sighed. I did not want to be a laughing stock.
“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’ll go in.” One of my true friends gave a little cheer, before stopping abruptly at Rachel’s gaze.  I began walking towards the tall iron fence that surrounded the circus. I wrapped my hands around the freezing metal and slowly began to climb.
Eventually, I managed to jump down from the fence. My friends were standing there watching me, silently egging me on. I turned around uneasily, not sure whether to go through with it, but Rachel’s hard, smirking eyes pushed me forward.
I began to walk to the Big Top, my hands shaking under the sleeves of my jumper. I had never liked circuses. The clowns scared me with their exaggerated make-up; hiding their true emotions...you could never tell what a clown was thinking. I pushed my intense fear aside and quickened my pace. The air suddenly got colder. The wind blew more fiercely around me, whipping up the dirt path and swirling around my face. I spluttered and coughed, my throat hurting from the poisonous smoke I had been inhaling a few minutes ago. I kept walking. Soon I could see the Big Top looming in front of me, casting a shadow on the dark ground and luring me inside.

Intro... :D

Hi! As you can probably tell, this blog is about my stories :) I started this blog because I was recently told that I had won the Pushkin Prize!! This is a great achievement for me, and shortly after congratulating me, my English teacher said I should start a blog for all my stories, so (obviously) that's what I'm doing! :D I hope you enjoy my stories :)

Jenni :D