Tuesday, 28 June 2011

Willow Hall - Part 2

Hi! It's nearly summer!! I'm so excited to get away from school (and maths) :D I'm going away on Tuesday for a 5 day sailing course and then I'm going to my grans and then I'm going to France! I'm very busy :D
Anyway, I recently joined this amazing site called Write and Share. It's a place where writers (published or unpublished) can post their work and get it checked and criticised. It's a great concept and some of the stories and poems on it are superb. Please take a look at it - click here!
This is the 2nd part of Willow Hall. If you want to read the first part click here. Remember - I wrote this ages ago so it's not that good!

Willow Hall - Part 2

“Hello, dear! You must be Lauren. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to let you in but I was a bit busy with another child. Isn’t that right, Harvey?” The small child that was clinging to the woman’s leg nodded slightly. “Well then, we’d better get you to your room. Sorry about using the microphone but it’s the easiest way to be heard in this place. I’m Lilith, by the way.” Each word was articulated slowly and precisely as if speaking to a toddler. She was quite skinny with short, spiky, black hair and piercing green eyes. Lauren stared dumbfounded at her.  “Well, come on,” said Lilith, walking upstairs. Lauren followed her but she was suspicious. She kept glancing back over her shoulder, making sure that the clean hall had not morphed back into the ruin she had seen...
Upstairs, Lilith walked quickly along the corridor, doors crowding her on either side. Lauren followed her, not sure what to do. Suddenly, Lilith veered to the right and knocked loudly on a door. Lauren made out the letters MATT stencilled in pencil on the wood. The door opened and a long haired, gaunt-looking boy stood at its entrance, his eyes staring blankly up at Lilith. He smiled slightly when he saw Lauren though. Lilith barged past him, motioning to Lauren to follow her. Lauren obeyed and suddenly she was in a spacious bedroom, with blue walls and two beds. “Here is your bedroom Lauren. I’ll leave you to get ready.” Lilith smiled menacingly and closed the door. The click of a lock being turned followed. The boy called Matt looked at Lauren blankly before whispering “Welcome to hell...”
Lauren stared at Matt. “What do you mean?” She was trying to sound strong but her voice was shaking. She prayed that Matt was just having a joke but his voice was sinister and he looked deadly serious. Matt looked at her and sighed. His long brown hair was matted and his eyes had large shadows under them. He bent his head down and said huskily, “Look around. What do you see?”Lauren turned away from Matt and gasped in horror. The room was changing around her. The walls were closing in on them and the room was getting darker. The door became scratched and the paint on the walls was peeling off. The floor was turning to stone and dirt grew in the corners. She screamed and headed for the door. She grabbed the handle and pulled. “It’s no use,” said Matt calmly, grabbing Lauren by the shoulders and yanking her away from the door. She broke down crying and collapsed, sobbing on the floor.
Eventually, Lauren turned to look at Matt, who was sitting on the floor beside her. “What’s happening?” she gulped between sobs. Matt sighed and looked away.
“Lilith isn’t just a name, Lauren. It means “witch” in ancient Greek. She’s a witch.  She manipulated the house and is using it to kidnap us. She takes advantage of our lack of family. It sounds crazy, I know, but look around you and tell me there is another explanation...” He broke off . Lauren could see tears in his eyes.
 “But the hall downstairs....” Lauren began but Matt interrupted her;
“Just a ploy for when Social Services or a new kid comes along. An optical illusion. What you saw at first is the real Willow Hall. This is the real Willow Hall.” He motioned around the room.
“Why?”
“Don’t know. All I know is that you can’t escape. You just have to wait until she lets you go...”

Hope you have a nice summer!

Saturday, 25 June 2011

Willow Hall - Part 1 :O

Hi! Big news in the world of me - I got my hair highlighted! My normal, frizzy, dark brown hair now has gold streaks through it! I love it! I would put a pic up but I still haven't done my hair and I look terrible in photos :(
Anyway, this is a story that I wrote for Pushkin but my teacher turned it down :( She said it didn't make any sense!! My reply was "Why does it need to make sense?" Needless to say, that didn't go down very well :P It's meant to be a scary story but, like all my other "scary" stories (Lucy, The Circus..) is isn't very scary :) I haven't looked at it since Pushkin so it's probs got some grammatical - I love that word - errors and not good writing etc. in it. It's not the best I've written.....
 Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Willow Hall

It was winter when Lauren arrived at Willow Hall. It was snowing and tiny flakes were settling on her parka, making her shiver. The wind was howling and the sky was grey and dark. The grand house itself was dark and cold-looking, its large, dirty windows shaking and rattling in the wind. The door was brown with large cuts and cracks in it. The paint was peeling away from the windowsills and parts of the red brick were black with mould and dirt. “Well, come on dear,” she heard her care-worker say behind her. She felt a hand grasp her shoulder. Lauren gulped at the thought of entering the old house. She wished she was back with her mum and dad. She didn’t want to go a Children’s Home, especially not one like Willow Hall. But she couldn’t go back home, and deep down she knew that. Her parents had died in a car crash several days before. She was at home when it happened and she remembered how scared she had been when Social Services came knocking at the door. She started crying at the thought of it, her tears cascading down from her eyes. “Come dear, crying isn’t going to make things better, is it? You’re 12, too old to cry anyway. Dry your tears and we’ll go inside together.” The care-worker began drying her eyes, but Lauren swiped her hand away and started walking towards the door.
The door slowly creaked open when Lauren pushed it. She stepped carefully inside and took off her parka. Her brown hair was covered in snow and her fingers were frozen. She blew hot air onto her hands and stepped further inside. “Hello?” she shouted. “Anybody home?” The house seemed to be deserted. She turned around, wanting to leave, but her care-worker was gone. She desperately wanted to run away, but something about the house was pulling her in. Shivering, she took a step forward, unwittingly sealing her doom...
Lauren gingerly moved an inch closer to the stairs that dominated the hall of the house. The wooden floor was thick with dust beneath her, and the walls were covered in deep cuts and scratches. She moved closer toward the stairs, paying attention to the doors that surrounded her. She was halfway down the hall, when a sudden creak made her jump. She swiftly jumped in behind one of the doors and hid in the shadows.
The room she was in looked like the ruins of a kid’s playroom. There were no windows and the toys were lying caked in dust on the floor. A doll lay forlornly at her feet. She carefully picked it up, her thin cardigan covering her hand. She dropped it almost immediately. Both the doll’s eyes were gone and in their place were two gaping holes. Lauren gulped and kicked the doll away with her foot. A voice suddenly filled the room, “Hello. Please come out. We won’t hurt you!”
Lauren replayed the message several times in her head. She pondered her choices. Should she go out or should she stay in this small, drab room? The choice was obvious. Cautiously, she stepped out into the hall. She gasped. The wooden floor was no longer caked in dust and the walls were un-scratched. There were no cuts on the doors and sunlight was pouring through the windows. She stared around her uneasily, when a voice came from the stairs, “Hello there!” Lauren whipped round and glanced at the stairs. On one of the steps there was a woman, holding a toy microphone and grinning from ear to ear.

I'll post the 2nd part on Tuesday!  I hope you enjoyed it and remember - the more creative criticism the better! I really want to improve my writing further and the only way I can do that is by hearing what you think :) So comment, comment, comment!
See ya on Tuesday! <(^.^<)

Thursday, 23 June 2011

Americans!

Hi! I've had this really weird obsession with Americans recently...I don't know why. I just really want to to know everything about them! Here's a list of my random questions;

What the hell is middle school?
Do like British boys; if so why?
Why are you so obsessed with burgers?
What is baseball?
Why is everyone in America Christian?
Is everywhere warm in America?
Do you know where Scotland is?
Do you think Scottish people eat haggis and wear kilts?
Why do you call a sousaphone a tuba??????????????????????? :O

Yeah..those are pretty random questions o_O

In other news, I'm going to enter a competition in a writing magazine! It's called writers forum and they hold a competition every month for readers :) got a few good ideas but I'm not too sure which one I like best..hmmmmmmm :/
My friend Rose is coming round on Sunday so I'll probs post one of my old stories up :) Just post up a little advertisement...Teehee ^.^

25th June....
Get ready for the orphanage from hell..
WILLOW HALL
Who's afraid of witches...?

Sunday, 19 June 2011

The Idea... O_o

Hi! This was a story for English that was to be written for Monday, but I finished it early for all my lovely followers :P It was to be 800 words long (I'm about 400 over the mark :L) and be on the theme of Isolation. I'm not to sure if I got the isolation across but hopefully you'll be able to tell me! Special thanks to David Watt, a fellow Pushkin buddy, who let me use his poem The Idea for inspiration (click here to see it).It hasn't been marked or redrafted yet, so it's not perfect but hopefully you'll like it :) Enjoy!
P.S. Sorry it's so long!

The Idea

White. Blinding white. It contrasted sharply with the dark niches of the man’s dream world. Sitting up, he blinked rapidly and looked curiously around the room. It was white and padded. He knew this of course – he had spent the last few weeks staring at the white walls, the white ceiling, the white floor. His clothes were white and his hair was white. The only splash of colour was the blinking red light on the ceiling that followed his movements and the dull grey metal that gripped the man's ankles. The man shifted his position. He knew what this room was called. Soli...Solit...Solitary confinement! The man smiled at his achievement and relaxed. He was alone. Blissfully alone.Separated from the rest of the Institute, from the rest of the world! It suited him. he studied better in silence. The man closed his eyes and slowly, patiently, waited for The Idea to captivate him once more.

The Idea was a crackling electric blue ember that sparked in the dark recesses of his mind and spread like wildfire into the rest of his life. It changed and sparkled, a wonderful array of colours that distorted his vision and allowed him to see properly for the first time. He spent hours marvelling at its simplicity, its complexity, its cleverness. The more he thought about it, the more it warped and transformed, grew and evolved. It possessed him and nurtured him, food for his brain and drink for his mind. It was his idea – his masterpiece! It was revolutionary. It shaped him, it defined him. I was the best thing that had ever happened to him! He protected it like a mother bear defends her cubs – tooth and claw, anger and violence. It kept people away. It helped him concentrate. No one must ever know The Idea. Not his friends, not his family, not even Maria...

The man’s eyes glazed over as he thought of his wife. She was sweet, kind – everything a wife should be and more. They had met over 40 years ago, in 2014 in Thailand. He was researching the 3-eyed monkeys that had spawned after the 2011 Japan disaster and she was there on a cruise. She was so beautiful. Blue eyes, brown hair, tanned skin – she was his soul mate.  It was love at first sight. He remembered fondly their first dance, their wedding, their honeymoon...But that was a long time ago now. The man sighed. He missed her. He missed her so much....

He still remembered that dreadful day. He yearned to block it out, to forget it ever happened, but it haunted him in his dreams. He had been out of his study – one of the rare times he ever was. The study had become his bedroom, his workroom, his life. He never left it – he was too busy with The Idea. Friends that used to visit him frequently disappeared and family visits were postponed until he “got better”. The man whimpered, tears welling in his eyes. Remembering the past was painful. Too many memories...
She had only been curious, looking through his notebooks. She had just wanted to know what he had been studying all those years, what had possessed him, what had slowly pushed them apart. He had gone to the bathroom and she must have crept into the study in his absence. She had been looking at one of his notebooks, open – mouthed, when he noticed her from the doorway. She was wearing a pair of jeans and that flowing red top he had always liked. She was so beautiful...

He couldn’t see that at the time. He was blinded with intense fury and panic. The two emotions blurred together into an endless spiral of purple and red. It clouded his vision and made his blood boil and bubble. How dare she look at his work! No one must know The Idea! So he ran towards her, a bull charging at its target, horns lowered, hooves scattering the dust beneath its feet. She screamed and he hit her. He hit her until her body was blue and yellow with bruises, until she begged for mercy...until she lay dead on the floor. He didn’t know that at the time. She was just unconscious – just sleeping. He couldn’t care less. She hadn’t read about The Idea. That was all that mattered...

The man looked around his cell, damp lines staining his cheeks where the tears had made their mark. He wondered how long he had been here. A week, a day, a decade, a century? The man had no idea...the days just merged together without Maria. That was why he was here of course. He was “mentally unstable” – that’s what the judge said. Or was it the jury? He let out a quiet sigh and crossed his legs. The metal on his ankles clanked and creaked. Life was nothing without Maria...

But he had The Idea. It flowed through his veins like heroin, enlightening him and making him smile whenever he thought about it. He didn’t need company when he had The Idea. He liked being alone, isolated, detached from the outside world. He didn’t need Maria...

He was nothing without Maria. He was salt without pepper, fish without chips, butter without bread. He had The Idea but what good was an idea when you couldn’t share it? The man started to cry again, tears streaming down his cheeks. He needed to be with Maria! He cried harder. He was like a child, lost and alone, confused in a world that made no sense to him anymore. “Maria” he sobbed. Her name spun wildly through his head, delving into his secrets and his memories.  The Idea was there too, forcing Maria out of his memories. The two words buzzed around his head like incessant stinging bees – Maria, The Idea, Maria, The Idea, Maria, The, Maria, Idea The, Maria, The Idea, Maria, Maria, The Idea, Maria, The Idea, The Idea, Maria!

The man collapsed onto the white floor, retching and crying. He longed to be held and comforted. He needed to escape this room, this world of conflicting stories and lies interlocking in the puzzle that was his mind. He needed to join Maria...to be with her once more.

The dull metal of his shackles caught his eye. They were long and cold, clamping his filthy ankles together. The man stared. They presented an opportunity. An opportunity to get away from The Idea, a chance to see Maria again!. The man crept along his legs and grasped the chain. It was rusty and coarse beneath his fingertips. Yes... The man smiled. If he could just...

It was done. The chain was wrapped around his neck. The man looked up and bowed his head. It was now or never. The man slowly pulled his feet apart, pulling the chain tighter around his neck. “I’m coming, Maria!” he croaked. Tighter, tighter...he paused. What about The Idea? No, no, he couldn’t let go of The Idea...Yes, he could and he would. The man saw now that The Idea had caused him nothing but grief.

Tears welled up in his eyes. It was time to make amends.

I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading :P

Thursday, 16 June 2011

The Toymaker....Book Review! :D

Hi! Haven't done a book review in a while so I decided to that today instead of a story. I'm writing a "creative essay" in English just now, so I'll post that next time :P Enjoy!!



What good is a toy that will wind down? 
What if you could put a heart in one?
A real heart.
One that beat and beat and didn’t stop.
What couldn't you do if you could make a toy like that?


 From the moment Mathias becomes the owner of a mysterious piece of paper, he is in terrible danger. Entangled in devious plots and pursued by the sinister Doctor Leiter and his devilish toys, Mathias finds himself on a quest to uncover a deadly secret.


Genre: Fantasy Thriller
Author: Jeremy De Quidt
Rating: 3/5


My friend Rose gave me this book while over at a sleepover, and I have to admit I was very excited about reading it. A book about moving dolls and evil Doctors? It sounded like the book for me. It was, unfortunately, wasn't what I had hoped for.

For a start, I think the tagline "Neither truth nor lies can save you now.." was a bit misleading. The doll on the front cover appeared very little in the book, and the book only mentions "truth and lies" twice! The actual Toymaker appears twice as well - in the prologue and near the end of the book. For most of the novel, he has very little to do with the plot and he is never seen or heard of other than small scene at the end. I think the title is terrible for describing the book - promising the reader something that is not delivered. I love the cover illustration though :P

The writing style used it a bit weird, the author writing as though he is a storyteller. The action and dialogue is very quick and unanticipated, something that is a bit of a problem for someone who (occasionally!!) scans some of the page instead of reading it. I often had to go back and read some of the previous pages to understand what was happening! This shouldn't affect a more observant reader though :D.

The other thing I noticed about this book was that it was surprisingly dark. Torture (fingers breaking like "dry twigs") and fatal injuries seem to happen quite a lot in this book. The hero Mathias always seems to have a life-threatening would or illness - it is also revealed that his uncle physically abused him. The children are tied up numerous times and....well, its just generally depressing!

I quite liked this book, but I found that the plot was quite confusing. There is barely any mention of any dolls or moving creatures of any sort...there was only one twist that I was surprised at (wink wink, nod nod ;P) I know I've mentioned quite a lot of negative things about this book, but it really was quite good. I would recommend it - but with the precaution that all may not be what it seems.....

Sunday, 12 June 2011

Rose!! XD XD

Hi! No story or book review today...really sorry, but I've had a really busy weekend!
Some of you may follow my friend Rose's blog - A Rose's World - and if you don't you need to! She does the same thing as me, except she is a way better writer than me! :P I met her at Pushkin and we were best friends the minute we laid eyes on each other! We constantly texted each other and talked on Facebook but yesterday, after over a month of not seeing her, we had a sleepover!! It was awesome - lots of books, brownies and chats about bags :L It was superb, splendiferous, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!! We had such a great time together - that's why I didn't have time to create a fabulous story for my lovely followers to read!
Just one more thing before I go - this is quite probably the saddest song I've ever heard! Rose told me about it and I fell in love with it after I heard it :)


Thank you for putting up with me and my blog! Bye bye!!
P.S. if you want to see Rose's Pushkin work click here. She is directly under my name :)

Thursday, 9 June 2011

3rd year...-.-

Hi! I am officially in 3rd year...it's rubbish. The timetables are a mess (60 pupils getting the same teacher for Modern Studies!) and most of my classes are hard and I don't get to see any of my friends :( And the worst part is that I have another 2 years before I can change classes again! It's so annoying and frustrating! >:( Luckily, I'm getting the chance to change Physics to Graphic Communication - Yey! So I guess it's not all bad....
Anyway, I have decided to continue with my book "Bulldogs Bite", about a girl who runs away from home and joins a street gang (No copying!) I started writing it in S1 and I stopped writing it in very early S2, so I'm only on Chp 6. I read through it again for the first time in months and I have to admit, I was a terrible writer in S1! My writing style now consists of adverbs and commas - back then it was 'buts' and 'because'. It sounds so childish, so I'm re-writing the whole 6 chapters again, from start to finish, and, hopefully, I might be able to finish it this time! I've decided to give you an excerpt from the original copy though, just so you can see how bad it was :P


Lucy has run away from home and is sleeping on the streets on London. This is her meeting the other main character.

I woke up with a start. The sun was lighting up the sky and a bird tweeted somewhere outside my sleeping place. But something didn't seem quite right. I crawled hastily up out of my sleeping bag. I wandered outside and looked at the world. There wasn't much to see. The bridge I had chosen was in a park, so there were a lot of trees, all of which were swaying in the gentle breeze. I yawned as I looked around. I turned to go get my stuff and was surprised to see a girl about my age standing behind me. Before I could take in what she looked like she whispered “Scruffs, go fetch.”
A dog came charging up to me. But this dog was far from cute. It was showing its sharp little teeth and one of its ears was missing. I lunged at me and forced me to the ground. The fierce-some dog barked in my face and began ripping my clothes apart. “Help!” I said to the girl, who was grinning ear to ear. “Call him off please,” I begged.
“Scruffs, come here,” she said. The little dog obeyed her immediately. I scrambled to my feet and was getting ready to run away when the girl spoke to me again. “What you doing here?” she asked threateningly. “Well?”
I was speechless. My mouth began to moved but no words came out. I looked at the girl who was still staring at me, waiting for an answer. She was scruffy, her clothes torn and her brown hair messy and wild. She was wearing a pair of dirty jeans and a red, torn jumper.  Her piercing green eyes shot through me like daggers when I looked at them so I decided not to make eye contact. She had a scar across her cheek, disfiguring her face. There was a pair of dirty Nikes on her feet and I noticed that she wasn’t wearing socks. She was obviously a street kid. The dog was still at her side, growling and snarling. It was brown and white and seemed to be a cross between an English bull dog and a beagle. It looked up at its master, who continued to stare at me with her venomous eyes.
“What are you doing here?” the girl repeated.
“I-I r-ran away f-from h-h-home,” I stuttered quietly. The girl looked at me quizzically, her head tilted to the side. But she still had her venomous eyes focused on me. “I-I-I ended u-up-p here...” I continued, terrified, but the girl raised her hand to stop me. She glanced down at her dog and then she did something I had never expected. She laughed!
“Look what we’ve got here Scruffs!” the girl laughed. I giggled nervously, unsure of what she meant. I was more than surprised at the girl’s quick change in mood. “I’m Jai,” the girl said shaking my hand and lifting me to my feet. “And you’ve already met Scruffs.” The little dog turned its head sideways and stuck its tongue out. I laughed at Scruffs expression before turning to face the girl again. “I’m Lucy,” I said.
“Come with me,” Jai said grabbing my arm.
“I need to get my stuff,” I told her, glancing back at the bridge where my stuff was.
“No bother,” Jai replied. “Scruffs, guard the bags,” She said to her dog, pointing to the bridge. He ran off under the bridge. Jai looked at me again, but her eyes were full of happiness and friendship instead of poison. I smiled at her and she ran off, out of the park and into the streets of London.
I sprinted through after Jai, my feet pounding off the pavement. She sped through the streets, her brown hair bouncing off her shoulders. I raced through the city but I was finding it difficult to keep up with her. She would take a sharp right turn but by the time I turned the corner she would be halfway down the street. That didn’t stop me from laughing though. I hadn’t been this happy in years. As I ran, I felt my grin spread all over my face and after a while my face hurt from smiling too much. But I couldn’t stop. I was too happy, I was joyous, I was floating on air, filled with adrenaline and joy and excitement. My heart pounded and I was sweating but I didn’t care. I was following a complete stranger but I didn’t care. I should be terrified, I thought. But instead of running as fast as I could in the other direction, I closed my eyes and let my joy radiate from me. I let loose and allowed myself to be carefree for the first time in my life.


As I said, it's not very good! I hope you enjoyed it anyway though :) I'll see you on Sunday!

Sunday, 5 June 2011

Lucy...

Hi!  Thanks for everyone's comments on Thursdays post :D I decided to do a horror slightly scary story today (or at least attempt to do one!) It probably won't be very scary but hopefully you'll enjoy it :) Sorry it's really long...

Lucy               

She was coming. I ran through the garden, the grass whipping my legs and the stones piercing my feet. The picth black of the night clouded my vision of the path. I could hear her crying behind me. I looked round. She was less than a metre away from me now. Her curly brown hair bounced on her shoulders. Her little blue dress clung to her pristine skin. Her soft blue eyes were brimming with tears but they flashed violently in the moonlight. Her feet were stuck firmly to the ground but she was constantly getting closer, edging towards me with every step I took. I turned back around and sprinted for the gate. It loomed ominously in the distance, tempting me with a chance of escape. I ran towards it. I was nearly there...Just one more step....

I felt her tiny hand grab me. I froze, paralysed by her icy grip. She let go of my shoulder and stepped in front of me. With a flick of her hand, the gate was gone. I was trapped, and I couldn't move. I watched in horror as she looked at me with her large eyes and smiled. "I'm Lucy," she said, her voice perky and unnaturally high. She grabbed my throat. "Can you play with me in my playhouse?" I struggled for air. "Please?" Her grip got tighter and as I looked into her eyes, I could see the playhouse, broken and forgotten at the end of the garden, it's doors dark and musty and the spiders and the words and the dark and the damp and the blood and the broken dolls and the boxes and the moss and the words and the choke and the dirt and her and the dirt and her and her and her and her and her and it and the blood and the sheet and the her and NO!

I sat up in my bed. I was drenched with sweat and my cheeks were wet with salty tears. I fumbled blindly for my lamp. I hurriedly turned it on and searched for my glasses. My eyes were useless and fuzzy, seeing only the outline of shapes in my room. Finally I found them and put them on. I looked up at the ceiling and screamed. She was there, plastered above me, looking at me. I screamed again. Her eyes filled with tears and suddenly, with a hurt whimper, she disappeared. I tired to calm down. I concentrated on my breathing. In and out, in and out. My heart rate soon returned to normal and I collapsed exhausted onto the bed. I closed my eyes for a second before glancing at my alarm clock. 7:56. I sighed nervously and pulled myself out of bed. My alarm clock was due to go in 4 minutes anyway. I paused for a second and looked out the window. It looked over the garden. And the playhouse. It had been there since we moved in 6 months ago. It was a faded blue with vines creeping up the sides, dirty and dark inside. I shuddered before heading over to the door. I shrugged my dressing gown over my pjs and stepped out my room.

It was lunchtime when Mum asked me to clear out the playhouse. I argued profusely but she wasn't having any of my "I have homework" or "I'll get my new jeans dirty". I was close to telling her the truth but I quickly pushed that out of my head. Mum was a psychiatrist and I had no intention of being diagnosed with hallucinations. So, out I went, armed with a bin-bag and a brush. I gulped when I saw the playhouse. It stood proudly among the vines and trees at the far end of the garden. It was almost beautiful in the sunlight, but I could just see the sheer darkness that lived inside. I cautiously took one step forward. The playhouse stayed the same. No homicidal little girls. I took another step.The wind blew menacingly through the trees. I took another step. And another. And another. I stepped through the long, overgrown grass that had whipped my legs in my dreams, felt the small stones press into the heel of my shoes. Then I stopped. I had reached the playhouse.

Up close, the extent of the neglect was easier to see. The once lovely paint work flaked out in clumps, the wood creaked a groaned with every gust of wind, with every gentle breath. I peered through the window. Inside it was dark and dusty, just like in the dream. I gulped and went onto my knees. Fearless, that's what I was. I was the brave explorer Rebecca Wallace. I wasn't afraid of anything. Despite my comforts, my hands shook as I gently pushed the door open. it creaked angrily in protest but a gust of wind pushed it open. Slowly, carefully, I crawled inside.

She was there. I could sense it as soon and I took that first breath. The cold, chilling air, musty and damp, filled my nostrils. It smelled unmistakably like death. All I saw was darkness. I warily took my phone out and turned it on. It's bright light illuminated the piles of boxes and sheets that filled the playhouse. I swivelled round. Suddenly, I heard the door shut. She was there. I turned around to face her. She was standing by the door, her hair falling in a cascade down her shoulders and her skin pale and freckly. She didn't move, only eyed me warily. I blinked, then gasped in shock.

She had changed. Before she had been almost pretty, with her blue dress and brown ringlets. Now she was hideous. Her hair stuck up in clumps around her head, short and rotting. Her skin was brown and blue speckled with black dirt and maggots. Her beautiful blue eyes had sunk back into her head and her nose had vanished, now an empty skeletal hole in the middle of her face. Her dress was ragged and torn, her feet bony and scarred. She looked like the grave. I made to scream but she clamped her hand over my mouth. It was bony and disgusting. She stared at me, before pointing at a corner of the room. Whatever she wanted, it was over there. I hastily crawled towards a large sheet in the general direction that she pointed. I looked at her. She nodded approvingly, her head falling down to her chest. I breathed deeply. This was it. I touched the corner of the sheet and pulled it back. It was her.

A week later, I was in the paper and all over the news. Mum had called the police as soon as I told her about Lucy's body. Apparently I had solved the case of Lucy Smith. She was 6 when her father strangled her and dumped her body in the neighbours playhouse. The image of her, broken and rotting in the playhouse, has haunted me all my life. I was 11 when I found her, now I'm 14. 3 years of living with the body of a little girl wrapped inside your head, with the immense sadness when you thought about her just wanting to play with her only friend - me. I couldn't take it. Which is why I'm here now, standing on this bridge. I will finally be able to make ammends - to play with Lucy in her playhouse. Goodbye.


Thursday, 2 June 2011

The Colour of Fear...o_O

Hi! I'm so excited! I'm going into 3rd year on Monday! I can't believe that S1 and S2 went so fast...
Anyway, my brain wasn't really working today so I decided to just post one of the poems that I wrote at Moniack Mhor. Those of you who know me, will be aware of the fact that I can't write poems! They always sound so childish and rubbish :( But something magical happened when I was at Moniack...I wrote 2 good poems! So here's one that I wrote after a workshop with one of the tutors - Gerry Cambridge. I hope you enjoy it but keep in mind that I can't write poetry!

The Colour of Fear

Is it green?
The colour of dragon's scales
And revenge that we have seen?

Is it blue?
For the sea, for drowning
For light fading from view

Is it red?
The colour of blood, gore
Of monsters under the bed

Maybe its white?
Blinding, sore on the eyes
Of a frightening new life

The obvious choice
Is black, darkness, the end
Fear of a silent voice

But, fear could be
Empty, blank and blind
For that is what scares me...

I hope you liked it! I know its really short but....By the way, I didn't win my brass competition...oh well :)
I'll see you on Sunday :D