 
Courage: 2015

Year Eight

## Heaton Extension Writers Anthology

Edited by Beaulah Pragg
Smashwords Edition (2018)

Copyright © respective authors (Aimee Norrie, Alexandra Banks, Benjamin Baillie-Gee, Briana Neale, Claudia Knight, Ella McFarlane, Ella Tucker, Frankie Tellick, Freja Bartoszewicz Poole, George French, Jaz Tufau, Leon Meier, Madi Cooper, Max Young, Mia Porteous, Nate Boeyen, Ollie O'Loughlin, Piper Pengelly) 2015

Cover image by Bob Wick, BLM California (www.flickr.com/photos/mypubliclands/9406796616/), used under Creative Commons License 2.0

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favourite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

www.beaulahpragg.com
Table of Contents

The Last Dawn - Aimee Norrie

Because of Jo - Alexandra Banks

Unforgiven - Benjamin Baillie-Gee

Death in the Forest - Briana Neale

The End of the Road - Claudia Knight

A Case of Isolation - Ella McFarlane

Questions of Identity - Ella Tucker

Waiting for Lucia - Frankie Tellick

Open Eyes - Freja Bartoszewicz Poole

Extremists - George French

When the Whistle Blows - Jaz Tufau

Strange Happenings - Leon Meier

Unstoppable - Madi Cooper

Play and Counter-play - Max Young

Cold Addiction - Mia Porteous

Nuclear Dust - Nate Boeyen

Dark Waters - Ollie O'Loughlin

The Casualties of Truth - Piper Pengelly

About the Editors

Other Titles

#  The Last Dawn

## by Aimee Norrie

The massive jumble of school kids surrounded me, and I couldn't think, couldn't breathe. It was so tightly squished that I had to push and shove my way through the crowd, trying my best to be invisible, because the pain of a hundred laughing students would be too much for me to handle. It's easier when I'm at home—my parents usually ignore me, so I just stomp off to my room to contemplate my life.

I have always attempted to fit in at school, but with no success. It was sad really. A group of girls scowled at me as I elbowed past them. Sad. I ducked my head and pulled a lock of my dark hair out from behind my ear to cover my red face. Sad is an overused word. I think it worked, they've looked away. Everyone uses the word sad, and it always bounces back to people around them.

Sadness. Depression. Bitter. Heartbroken.

All these words swirl around in my head like a tornado of thoughts, occasionally striking me down, sometimes hitting my heart.

As if meant to be there to remind me of reality, the bell rang, echoing throughout the corridor. There's time for thinking later, I scolded myself, tightly clenching the strap of my backpack. As I wandered into the classroom, someone pushed me and I stumbled, catching myself just in time.

"Watch where you're going, loser," a voice sneered. It was Ryan, captain of the football team. He's got a huge grudge against me for no particular reason—just like every other person that I know, well, besides a few people, who I like to call 'special cases'. Ryan's cousin, Ella, is my only friend, but that doesn't make a difference.

"Oh, sorry," I snapped back sarcastically, my anger instantly taking over. "I didn't see you coming in from behind me."

He looked momentarily shocked, but quickly regained his composure. "Well good for you, hun. I'll remember that next time you try to sass me."

I'll remember that next time you try to sass me. This is why I have never fitted in. Between sarcastic remarks and my short temper, there's no way anyone would want to be friends with me. Well, except for Ella.

I've known Ella since I've moved to this town. Of course, that was two years ago and now I've started to worry that my parents are thinking about moving again, like the five other times we've moved—yet another reason why I don't fit in.

Anyway, Ella is my best (and only) friend. To be honest, we're complete opposites. I think the only time I've ever seen her being rude was when she got mad at our old science teacher because he called her a 'dumb blonde'. We were doing a worksheet during science and Ella had finished early. When she'd taken it up to the teacher to get it marked, he had stared at her in shock for a moment, then said, "I didn't expect a dumb blonde to be finished first."

Ella's cheeks had turned red in embarrassment. Half of the class snickered, remembering the number of times they had thought that about her too, but then shut up as she gave the teacher her iciest, coldest glare. His smirk had deflated for a second, then he'd opened his mouth to say something but Ella had already beaten him to it.

"A 'dumb blonde', eh?" she had snarled, tears glistening in her eyes. "Speak for yourself. How many times a day do you go around stereotyping people? Just because my hair colour is blonde and the 'apparent' stereotype for people with blonde hair is that the person isn't intelligent doesn't mean, on any account, that the person is actually dumb."

The whole class had stared at her in shock and I had almost felt bad for the teacher, who still had his mouth open, gaping like star-struck fish. "I... I'm sorry—"

"Don't waste your breath." She snatched back the worksheet, her red cheeks stained with tears. Her fists were tightly clenched as she stormed out of the classroom. "Maybe someone else can mark this for me!" She shouted behind her. From where I watched as she stomped down the hallway, Ella's whole body was visibly shaking, whether from anger or embarrassment I wasn't sure, but there was one thing I was certain of: never mess with Ella.

Since then, everyone has avoided insulting her. The teacher learned a lesson as well. Ella went to the principal and he was sacked the next day. Apparently that wasn't the first time he'd harassed students. But besides Ella's skinny frame and petite features, she's reasonably cool. I mean, she's top of the class in every subject and could easily out-run at least half of the boys on the rugby team, so she's not quite what you would expect from someone who barely comes up to an average sized adult elbow.

As Ella walked into class today, I noticed that there was a spring in her step. She had a cheerful smile and was wearing her usual 'look of thoughtfulness'.

"Hey, Dawn." She grinned, flashing me a wide smile as we took our places at our desks which were conveniently opposite each other. "Did you complete that Inquiry project last night?"

Of course I had. With all the spare time in the world on my hands, I'd aced it in about four hours, even if it wasn't exactly perfect. "Yeah, I completed it. Just about as easy as pie. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason." Her smile seemed to be strained as she turned away and I realised my mistake. Ella was a person who took great pride in her achievements and wanted to help others who were 'not as highly academically talented' as she was.

"Hey, Ella?" I asked, wanting to try and resolve my mistake.

"Yeah?" She tried to sound bright and bubbly but failed miserably.

"I just remembered, I forgot to do the conclusion. Can you help me?" Her expression immediately changed.

"Sure! We still have five minutes until the roll call, so why not?" To tell you the truth, I spent almost half an hour making sure that my conclusion was properly written and proof-read, so I was just doing this for the sake of doing it.

Five minutes later, Ella and I had completed my conclusion and were scribbling down to-do lists for the day, as the teacher had instructed. Apparently this was supposed to help us keep track of the day and what we were supposed to be doing.

"Now class," our teacher, Miss Darcy called, standing at the whiteboard in front of the classroom. The room was very small, with only just enough room to fit in twenty-three desks (not including the teacher's), a floor space for 'The Mat' as everyone called it, and a bookshelf with atlases and maths equipment. "You should've all finished your Inquiry presentations, so I expect them to be handed in. We will present them tomorrow. In the meantime, we shall go over the day. But first, roll call."

I glanced at the large clock that sat on the wall above the door, yearning for it to be interval, even though we were only ten minutes into first block.

My name was quite far down the list, since my last name started with 'P', so I just relaxed, watching the world go by. What could possibly go wrong? Little did I know, A LOT can go wrong in one day.

It was lunchtime when the problems started occurring. I was sitting next to Ella underneath a tree, chewing on the piece of apple I'd just bitten off when one of the other students in my class beckoned to her.

"Sorry," she told me. "I need to go—I completely forgot about my trial for the Volleyball team!" She hurried off, leaving me to sit by myself.

Sighing, I glanced at the rainfall of Autumn leaves as they cascaded down from the tree above me. It was beautiful, watching the reds and the oranges mix together in one swirling pattern.

"Ooh, look!" Ryan shrieked from a nearby bench. He was joined by a cacophony of laughter from three other voices: his twin sister Anastasia and their friends Jack and Caroline. "Dawn is a loner!"

Ignoring him, I continued to bite into my apple, focusing more on the juicy flavour than their mean voices and rude comments. That is, until they said something that made me stop in my tracks. "I bet she cheats on all of the homework we get! I mean, with a brainiac for a friend, she probably gets after-school tutoring."

And that's when I snapped. "You think that just because Ella is top of the class and my friend that she helps me?" I cried, glaring at the group who were nudging each other and snickering. "I bet your parents have to bring a year thirteen student in to help you get through your homework! Oh wait, I bet he does it for you!"

The laughing stopped. All heads swivelled to look at us, and almost everyone was muttering to each other. Ryan stood up, Jack and Anastasia flanking him on either side, while Caroline pulled out her phone, ready to record the entire thing and post it on social media. I was about to become the laughing stock of everyone in the school. Where were the teachers? I thought glancing around. Must be drinking coffee in the staff room. I stood up, arms folded and sent them each a glare.

"You really think that a wimp like you could stand up to me?" Ryan said, his voice almost inaudible due to how quietly he was talking. "Me, the captain of the football team, my sister and my best friend? How pathetic." He spat out the word 'pathetic' like it was unpleasant on his tongue.

"You know who's the pathetic one here?" I laughed bitterly, taking a step closer towards the trio. "You. I doubt that your 'friends' were even willing to be your friends. I bet that you had to pay them. So much easier, isn't it? But money can't buy real friendship."

Ryan's eyes narrowed. He ran a hand through his spiky brown hair and smirked at me, icy blue eyes like frost. "Hun, you realise that everyone hates you. Ella is only your friend because she feels sorry for you. I bet that even your parents hate you. And all your teachers, relatives, practically anyone who knows you, think's that you're just a waste of space."

The back of my eyes stung. I knew that I was about to cry, because everything he said was true.

"You're a nobody, Dawn, and it's time you noticed that."

My eyes burned. Tears streamed down my face and my body shook. Everyone started laughing and the world blurred together. Ryan was right. My parents didn't love me, the students at school hated me, and I really was a nobody. There was nothing that could fix that.

Ella once told me that I needed to find a place—one happy place, where I could be free. That place had been hard to find, but eventually I'd decided on it. Every time someone annoyed or bullied me, I would run to that place and soak up the fresh sense of home. But my happy place was back at my house, in my bedroom. I couldn't reach it now, so where should I go?

All I remembered was pushing a door shut behind me and locking it. I sat curled up in a toilet cubicle, crying my eyes out while the world continued on around me. Long after the end of lunch bell rang, I stopped crying and went out into the main bathroom. There was a mirror above one of the sinks, and when I peered at my reflection, I wanted to scream. My face was like a zombie; tear stained and eyes swollen red. Hurriedly, I turned on the tap and splashed water on my face. Once I was decent, I used my fingers to comb through my rat's nest of hair, and then headed back out.

The corridor was deserted. I walked to the coat bay and grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder before heading out of the school. No one would care. When I came back tomorrow—if I could bear to turn up—I'd just say that I felt sick and I went home. Yeah, that's right.

I usually took the bus home, but today I decided to walk, since it wasn't even three o'clock yet. It took about an hour to get to my house—a pretty average place with neatly mowed lawns, a silver car parked up the driveway, a clean paint job—just what you would expect from an average family.

Taking a deep gulp of fresh air, I climbed the front stair and unlocked the door. Once inside, I made my way to my room, but paused halfway up the stairs when I heard a wailing, crying sound. My protective instinct kicked in and I ran back down the stairs and hurried into my younger brother Josh's room.

Josh was probably the only person in my family who liked me, but he didn't really count since he was only eight and practically the 'glue' of the family. My parents were extremely close to getting a divorce when I was around three, because my mom was sick of my dad always working. But then she discovered that she was pregnant with Josh and they decided that they would stay together—for Josh's sake. But ever since, my mother has hated me. She always looks down at me like I'm a disgusting monster, a spider perhaps, and turned away. I can't remember the last time she was nice to me because she actually wanted to be. She's always nice to Josh, so why can't she be nice to me just one time?

"Josh?" I asked, opening the door to his bedroom. "Are you okay...?"

"D—Dawn!" he wailed, curled up into a ball on his bed.

"Shh, hey Little J," I soothed, sitting next to him and stroking his hair. "Why are you crying?"

"Be... because Mom won't t... tell me w... where Nibbles i... is!"

Nibbles is our family cat, and probably the most understanding cat anyone could ask for. I remember sad nights where I would start crying into his fur and then just lie with him on my bed and sob about why my parents hated me. He would just sit and listen, his green eyes scrunched up in a comforting way, purring.

"Nibbles?" I asked, fear stabbing at my heart. Leaping to my feet, I dashed out of the room and into the kitchen, where a bundle of blankets was lying on the table. "Mom!" I shouted. "Where's Nibbles?"

"Oh Dawn," she cooed sympathetically, trying her best to seem solemn. I could still see the evil glint in her eye. "As I was coming home from picking up Josh, I saw him lying on the road. There was nothing I could do." Her expression said it all.

I couldn't breathe. My lungs screamed for air as I started to choke, my vision becoming blurred with tears that were freely falling down my face. "N... no," I sobbed, burying my face into my hands. "No! It, it can't b... be! He c... can't be g... gone!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she soothed. It was just an act. There was no other explanation for it.

"It was you!" I screamed, rounding on her. "I bet you killed him! You knew he was getting old and as you saw him lying on the road, you sped up and ran him down! You monster!"

"Dawn," my mother said. Her voice was like knives, aiming and hitting the bull's-eye—me. "I can assure you that I did not lay a finger on Nibbles. You've just had a hard day at school."

I put my hands on my hips and gave her a glare. Her eyes only narrowed. "So it was you then!" I cried, pointing a finger at her accusingly.

"Dawn, it's rude to point—"

"Just shut up!" I yelled, pressing my fingers to my temples.

My mother pursed her lips. "Go to your room." She said quietly, so quietly I almost didn't catch it.

"What?" I demanded, making sure that I had heard the right thing.

"I said go to your room!" She pulled her hand back at slapped me across the face so hard, tears stung in my eyes.

"You don't care!" I sobbed, clutching my throbbing cheek as I retreated out of the door. "You don't even love me enough to care!" I ran back down the hallway and thundered up the stairs, then to my room where I slammed the door shut.

My happy place should've been here, I thought, plonking myself down on my bed and burying my face into my pillow, but it was gone, and it wasn't coming back. In that one moment, I learned something about me that I had been waiting for years to find out—my major weakness.

I didn't even go into the kitchen for dinner. All I did was peel off my school uniform and hang it up before hopping into my pyjamas and clambering into bed. My room was probably the smallest bedroom that you could ever imagine. It was originally an office, but as soon as Josh was born I moved up here. The entire room could only just squeeze in a bookshelf, a windowsill, a bed and a chest of drawers. No desk, chair or even a table. That's why I preferred to sit on the small perch against the window, staring outside at the driveway. Even though it's tiny, this was still my one happy place, but not any more.

In the morning, after my alarm clock rang, I got up and finally left my room to have a shower. My parents usually had their showers half an hour before me, so there wouldn't be anyone in the bathroom. I closed and locked the door before grabbing my white towel off the rack, a comb and the bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Turning the water up, just how I liked it, I waited and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

A brown-eyed girl stared back at me. Her messy hair was tied up clumsily and there was a faded slap mark on one freckle-covered cheek. She looked tired, with bags under her eyes and a slouch in her posture, but other than that, she looked human.

I sighed. This was going to be a lot harder than I had originally thought. Peeling off my clothes I jumped into the shower, letting the warm water run over me. Once I was done, I got out and wrapped a towel around me, before unlocking the door and going back up to my room. My uniform was waiting for me where I had left it last night. It didn't take long to get dressed, brush my hair and head back down the stairs.

"Bye honey," my mom was telling my dad as he headed out to work. His tired, brown eyes locked with mine for a moment, as if he felt the same pain as me, but that couldn't possibly be right, could it?

I walked into the kitchen just as my mom opened the cupboard door above the back part of the counter top. Our kitchen wasn't big or luxurious; there were cupboards bursting with food, but it was also extremely plain and had piles of paper stacked on the counter tops. Everything was either silver or a dull greyish blue, which I wasn't very impressed with. The house we'd been living in before had a much more colour, even if it was slightly overpowering to someone who hadn't seen it before.

"Dawn, could you get two eggs out of the fridge for me?" my mother asked. It wasn't a question, it was an order.

"Are you cooking breakfast for Josh today?" I replied, opening the magnet-covered fridge door to grab the eggs.

"No, you are." My mother smiled the 'I'm so nice and caring' smile that I loathed. Even when she was actually trying to be nice, her smiles made me want to tear her apart. The slap mark on my cheek seemed to flare up again. It had faded a bit, but there was still a bruise. I had decided to not cover it up. Everyone would still laugh at me in school, and Ella would definitely notice even if I tried to cover it up, so what was the point?

Sighing, I grabbed a pot and the toaster out of the cupboard beside the oven. Eggs on toast was what I felt like, and I'm sure that Josh wouldn't mind. I had made eggs on toast so many times that my body was like a robot, pulling things out of the pantry, filling the pot with water, turning the stove up to a boil, then letting myself think. At first I just let my brain wander, but then I thought of Nibbles. Tears welled up in my eyes and I knew I was about to cry. Forgetting about the pot on the gas-fire stove, I sprinted out of the room and up the staircase.

I ripped off my school uniform and threw it onto my bed, replacing it with a simple shirt and jeans and a hoodie. Grabbing my backpack in the corner, I stuffed in two sets of clothes, a torch and my phone plus it's charger. My dad bought me that phone two years ago and it sucked. The battery ran out quickly and it didn't have a fancy touch-screen system like other phones. It was pretty basic.

I put on my shoes and headed out into the hallway. Mom was nowhere to be seen. I opened the front door and stepped outside, not looking back, and definitely not noticing the burning smell. This was the best option; the thing that was right for me, and there was no turning back.

The trees sprawled around me in luscious green. I breathed in the morning air, trying my best to push my old life out of my mind. I had only been walking for about twenty minutes when I decided what I was going to do. I was going to go around to Ella's house. I'd beg her mom to let me live there until I had a good enough job to support myself. It might have seemed childish—I was only twelve—but I could pull off lying that I was sixteen.

A minute later, my life changed forever.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my bag, flipping open the case to see who was calling me. It was my dad. I was about to decline the call, but I hesitated. What if it was really important? Shaking my head, I choose to ignore it, and continued on.

Two minutes later, my phone buzzed again, telling me that I had a new voicemail. Curiosity got the better of me.

"Hey Dawn, it's dad here." In my mind I could picture him looking stressed, running a hand over his hair. "I'm assuming that you left for school early and have turned your phone on silent while on the bus, but... I have to tell you... hoping you'll get this message." A sigh. "About five minutes ago the fire brigade called to tell me the house is on fire." I stopped breathing, fear clawing at my heart. What? "They did their best, but your mother's dead, and Josh is being rushed to the hospital as we speak. I-"

I stopped the message, not wanting to listen any more. This was my fault. I left the pot on the stove and forgot about it. I'm the reason mom's dead and my little brother... There was nothing I could do, except—

My feet hammered on the ground, pounding as hard and fast as my heart. The wind whipped my clothes and tousled my hair. I focused on where I was going, ignoring my ragged breathing and my sore legs. Pedestrians glared at me as I shoved my way past and sprinted down the path, making it onto the main street as cars inched along in rush hour traffic.

The houses blurred past as I ran. I couldn't risk slowing down, though I checked both ways before crossing roads. When I reached my street, all I could see was a spiralling tower of black smoke. I stopped in front of my house. There was a cordon to keep people away, just like a crime scene investigation. One part of the house was still in flames and the firefighters were doing their best to put it out. A sob appeared in my throat as I spotted the black body bag on a stretcher by an ambulance, zipped up. Even if I had never liked my mom, I still felt guilty for being responsible for the fire. If I hadn't—no, I couldn't think about it.

A car pulled up. It was my father's dark blue ford, the fluffy dice that my mom had called 'ridiculous' still swinging from the front mirror.

"Dawn," my dad called, stepping out of the car. He opened his arms and I rushed into them, hugging him as hard as I could and letting the tears flow.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, clinging onto his shirt as he shushed me and patted my back, running a hand down it soothingly. "It's all my fault."

"No it's not," he told me. "Now get in the car. I know somewhere where we can stay."

I nodded my head and released him before getting in the car. My dad got in the other side and started up the engine. "What about the house? And Josh at the hospital?" I asked.

"The police are going to clear it out and we'll get our stuff back—well, the things that weren't burnt, at least. Then they're going to pull the house down and rebuild it. I've talked to the insurance company. I'm going to go to see Josh, but I want to drop you off at Uncle Ben's house first. You remember him, don't you?"

A faint memory tugged at me. When I was four and my brother was born, there was a man at our house talking to my dad. They shared a lot of similarities, the dark brown hair and eyes, so much that I figured that they were brothers. But then he hadn't showed up again, and I had started to think that I'd just imagined him.

"When Josh was born," I began, watching as we pulled out of the driveway and down the street. "He was there, but then I never saw him again."

"Your mother... didn't get on with him very well," my dad said, eyes focused on the road. "He's my older brother, and we'd always wanted to keep in touch, but then when you were born, we sort of fell apart. I think it was because you were named after our little sister who died a week before you were born."

"I didn't know I was named after someone."

"That's because your mother decided that you didn't need to know. It's funny, because your mother got on well with our sister, but then the few months before my sister died, something changed. They started arguing all the time. No one knows how Dawn died, it was so sudden."

"Do you think that Mom killed her?"

"It's a possibility, but nothing was ever proven." The car fell into silence as we headed down the streets through a suburb I didn't recognise.

When we pulled up outside a house, all I could do was stare. It was probably one of the smallest houses I had ever seen. It was old too—the paint was peeling and there were parts of the house that looked as though they had been roughly built.

I got out of the car after my dad and we walked up the drive to the front door. My dad knocked three times, and then we waited. A moment later the door opened to reveal my uncle.

Instantly, I liked him. He looked like one of those awesome uncles who spoilt you and made you feel like they were a second father. His eyes sparkled and he had a wide smile that showed off two missing teeth. Greying hair was swept on his head and he was wearing a jersey with a checkered shirt that wasn't tucked in.

"Albert!" he cried, embracing my Dad in a warm hug. "And you must be Dawn." He gave me a hug too, and for the first time in two days, I felt a wash of warmth spread over me.

"Sorry Ben, but I have to go see Josh," Dad said.

"Can I come?" I asked, begging him with eyes as wide and hopefully as adorable as a lost puppy. My brother needed me. What if the doctors couldn't pull him out of the coma? What if he died, and I wasn't there to see him in his last moments of life?

"No, I don't want you to see him just yet. Ben can drop you off tomorrow." He smiled, patting my shoulder, before leaving me to stand awkwardly on the threshold of the house.

"Come in, come in." Uncle Ben stepped aside and I entered the house. Even though on the outside it was old and slightly run down, the inside of the house was in good condition. It was well looked after and respected, the opposite of what I had originally thought it would be like.

Uncle Ben lead me into the lounge and I sat down on the couch. "Would you like a drink?"

"Sure, some water would be nice." I replied. He disappeared from the room and returned with the glass in his hand, an envelope in the other.

"Here you go." He smiled, handing me both. I sipped on my water, not wanting to open the gift he had given me.

"What's in the envelope?" I asked.

"A present to make up for all of the birthdays I missed. I hope you don't mind."

I opened the gift. Inside it was a wad of money, about a hundred dollars. "I don't know what to say."

"Your dad told me how much you hated school, that's why I've decided, as your godparent, to look after you while your father is at work. I'm going to enrol you in a new school, and I'll be able to take care of you."

Maybe I didn't need to run away. Maybe all I needed was to discover where my happy place was, and I was beginning to feel like this might be it.

Just then my phone rang. The caller ID said it was Ella. "Sorry, I better take this," I apologised to my uncle. "Hello?"

"Dawn! There you are, everyone's been looking for you at school! You never showed up and the phone at your house wouldn't go through." Ella cried. I realised that the phone had probably been burned in the fire, which seemed to make me feel even sadder than I already was.

"Uh, yeah, about that. Um, Ella, the house burned down."

"What?!" she screamed. "Are you okay? What about your mom and brother?"

"My mom is dead," I said, a lump forming in my throat. I swallowed it down.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Josh is in a coma."

"Are you going to come back to school?"

"No, my uncle enrolled me in another one." I felt a twinge of guilt at that.

"Okay."

"We could hang out on weekends?" I suggested.

"Listen, Dawn." There was urgency in Ella's voice. "You're a great person, but I just want to tell you... well, after what Ryan said. I just, I don't know if I can be your friend any more. You kind of are a nobody."

"Okay then!" I made my voice sound happy to cover up my anger.

"Well, nice chatting to you, have a happy life!" I hung up.

"Was that your friend?" Uncle Ben asked.

"Ex-friend." I corrected, sighing.

"Oh." He paused. I smiled, hiding the pain that my only friend had ditched me. This was my new life now, a new beginning. I knew that there would be bumps in the road, but I was content to let the path take me to a happy place; a new happy place.

## About Aimee Norrie

Aimee Norrie is the cat lady of Room Fifteen. Of course, she's also a reader who loves to dive head-first into books and not resurface for a few hours, a hot chocolate drinker, and someone who needs a lot of DDV (Death Destruction and Violence) in every book she reads, thank you very much. Pat is her pet cat, and is one of the main reasons why she's a cat lover and spends most of her time reading books.

# Because of Jo

## by Alexandra Banks

"Urghhhh, you're so annoying! I hope your course fails," I scream at my sister as I storm off to the main stables.

"Just because you know everything," she yells back her voice full of sarcasm.

"I hate you."

Sometimes I just want to... to... I don't know. Jo's just sooo annoying. She refuses to believe that the water jump is too dangerous to be taking short cuts with. But what would I know? I'm just a thirteen-year-old girl.

Today was the first day of the eventing season and it couldn't have been worse. I'd already failed my dressage test and my sister was being so frustrating. I heard the faint beep signalling the start of her cross country round and scowled.

Minutes later the loudspeaker crackled to life. "Jo McGee is heading towards the last jump. She's had a perfect round and looks like she may be the winner."

I run to the finish line, ready to forgive her. She was right about taking the water jump. She's going to win. I feel a smile on my face and I can't wait to see her.

All eyes are on her. One....Two....Three. She lifts up over the jump, everything going perfectly. Then it happens. Her horse slips as she lands, twisting and falling. I feel the scream leave my mouth. Then all I remember is the sound of sirens and the tears running down my face... and the words echoing in my ears.

"She's gone, Natalie."

### Six Days Later

Everything is blurry, distorted, not that I want to see what is in front of me anyway. Figures dressed in black, walking away. Why is it always black? Jo wouldn't have wanted this. Why aren't we dressed in turquoise or violet, happy colours? Jo was always happy. I mean it's even raining, so cliche. Jo hated cliche. This is supposed to be sad, not depressing. Why is everything going wrong? Why did this happen? Was it my fault? I'm trying to stay strong but my life is screwed. My sister is dead, my dad left. What next? Is my mom going to run away?

Five years ago, if someone had told me my life would end up like this, I would have laughed and thought they were crazy, but now it is a reality, and not one I want to live in. Tears roll down my cheeks, blending in the with the rain drops. I can't help but collapse to the ground, letting the mud seep into my dress. Rubbing my eyes, I take another glance at the engraving before me. I know what it says, I've read it time and time again. I just can't help but wish that the words would suddenly change. Then out of nowhere a small warm hand clasps my shoulder interrupting my thoughts. "It's going to be okay Natalie. Something good will come out of this."

I look up to see my seven year old next door neighbour. Her eyes big, and there's a small nervous smile on her face. Out of all the people here, she is the only one who has bothered to make me feel better. Everyone else is staying as far away as possible, like I'm some wild beast. She gives a wave goodbye before skipping off to her mom, who, like the others, is standing looking at me in pity. I watch as they depart through the graveyard gates, leaving them creaking and groaning in time with the far off thunder. If only what she said was true. If only something good was to happen. If only things worked like that. I know they don't though, things only ever get worse. Ever since dad left, it's been like that, but for some reason, I can't let her words go. Maybe, just maybe, there is a chance.

### One week later

The past week has been dreadfully slow and completely uneventful. I have had nothing to keep me busy, so most hours are spent lying on my bed listening to the clock tick by, waiting for something to happen, but nothing does.

I hear a knock on the door, something I haven't heard in a while. As I turn the corner to the door, I catch the familiar face of Molly, my one and only friend. I was starting to doubt she would come, but here she is. I knew she wouldn't let me down. I open the door. A gust of cold air sweeps in, forcing me back. To be honest I haven't been outside since the funeral, so it comes as a surprise when I take a deep breath of fresh air. I invite Molly inside and we head down to my room. We flop on my bed and start chatting for what feels like hours. She talks about what's happening at school and how she is going to Europe for the summer break and about how her family is getting a puppy. I know she is doing her best to distract me from Jo's death, but telling me about her life and all the amazing things in it is almost making me feel worse. I glance at the clock and see that's almost twelve thirty.

"I'll go get us some food."

I go to the kitchen and make us a snack. When I walk back into my room, Molly is gone. I place the food on my table before heading off to find her. As I walk past Jo's room, I realise the door is open. Peering around the corner, I spot Molly walking around the room, touching Jo's stuff. Then she picks up a trophy, the one Jo won last season for best overall points. All I can do is stare. Soon I become aware that my face is burning and my hands are clasped so tight they are almost white.

"What are you doing?' I yell at her, ripping the trophy out of her grasp. "You can't be in here!"

"Why? She's not coming back. You can't leave the room untouched forever."

I desperately scramble around the room putting everything back into place. "I can leave it like this. You don't understand."

"She's DEAD, Natalie. Let her go already."

The words burn into me hard, sizzling and scorching my heart. How could she say that? My eyes turn to thunder. "Just leave."

No one had to say it. We both know this friendship is over. Molly walks away and I wait until I hear the door slam before breaking down in tears.

What was I ever thinking, letting a little girls words get into my head? Whenever I get hopeful, I end up hurting myself, the disappointment too much to handle. Every time, without fail, I get let down and no matter how many times it happens, the pain stays strong, pushing me to the ground. I swear one day it's going to kill me.

### Three Days Later

Sun shines against my face as the waves crash in the distance. I look up to see mom, a genuinely happy smile on her face. Up ahead, Dad and Jo are running around as Dixie, Jo's dog, chases sticks. Everything is perfect. The sand is crisp and soft between my toes, a warm breeze blowing on my bare arms. Jo calls me over and, together with Dad, we head down to the sea. Cold water soothes my body from the heat as it races back and forward. We laugh and splash around as the sun starts to set, casting a vivid sunset across the sky. The sea beckons me closer, dragging my feet along with the water. I fall over trying to escape. Dad scoops me up and carries me back to the car as I squirm about, the sand irritating my skin. He puts me down on the seat, just as my eyes start to flutter. The last thing I see is my family, together, forever...

I wake, urgently sitting up and smashing my head on the wall, not that I feel the pain. My body is drenched in sweat and my breathing is shallow. I can feel myself shaking under the blankets. That wasn't a dream, or a nightmare. It was real. Four years ago, this exact scene played out, but at the time I didn't know what was about to happen. After one of the best days of my life, came one of the worst.

Dad left.

No one saw it coming, not even mom. One day, we just woke up to divorce papers and letter to explain what was going on. I haven't seen him once after that. Where he is and what is he doing? I couldn't care less, but I can't deny the fact that I miss him. To be honest, I wish I could have gone with him—not that mom needs to know that. Dad and I were always so close, unlike mom and I who are constantly arguing. But now I see that he is a jerk for leaving us like that. The only contact we get from him is a large sum of money once a year to help Mom pay for Jo and me.

These flashbacks have been coming for about a week and a half now. They're not bad memories. They're of happy times, when everything was perfect and easy. It's like they're mocking me, reminding me of what I wish was still real.

### Twelve hours later

The death was a while ago now. Today's the day that I am going out to do something. I pull on pair of breeches and an old t-shirt before heading down to the kitchen to grab some breakfast. As I shove some bread into the toaster, Mom starts looking me up and down. I know what she's thinking and soon enough she's saying the exact words.

"Be careful out there."

Her lips move to say something else, but she decides better. Probably going to say 'don't go killing yourself'. Stuffing toast into my mouth, I yank on my paddock boots and slide open the door. Automatically, my legs take me over to the field where the horses are kept. I climb the fence and cast my gaze over the grassland. Then as I always do, I spot them. Happiness, joy, content and love flood over me. Well normally. Today isn't like that. I go to whistle, to call them over but my throat catches. What happens if I do die? I know Mom is just being cautious, but she has a point. Will it happen to me too? Do the horses have a taste for blood after killing Jo?

Okay. Maybe not. That's a bit unrealistic. Calm down Natalie... Deep breaths. I close my eyes forcing myself to relax. When I open them again, Silver, one of my horses, is right in front in me. I nearly fall off the fence. My breathing gets faster and sweat forms on my forehead. Silver leans forward to nuzzle me and know it's an action of love but something inside me sends off warning bells and I can't stop myself from moving away. Once safely on the opposite side of the fence from her, I can finally breath normally and I regain sanity. Maybe I should try again tomorrow.

### Six Days Later

Every day, I've tried to get near a horse. I am fine and calm until they're a few metres away, then I have a mental breakdown and everything becomes a big panic. I have tried everything I can to get enough confidence to go over to one of my horses, but a part of me is begging to stay away. I want so badly to be with horses again, but at the same time I know deep down I won't ever be able to do it. So today I tell Mom. Surprisingly, she takes it well, better than well... In fact, she wants me stay away from horses too.

The past few days have been spent auctioning and selling our horses. I feel sad every time another horse is loaded into a float and driven away to it's new home, but at the same time relief settles on me. That life is behind me now. It's time to find something else to occupy my time. Maybe another sport: netball or hockey. Or I could take up photography. Something fresh and new.

The last horse is being lead away by the new owner. This time, I feel no sadness. Bonnie, the horse who made this whole drama happen—the death—is finally going. I'm glad for once. I watch as the dust flicks up behind the float speeding down the road. Finally I can start my new life.

### Sixteen Days later

My new life is not what I expected. On Monday I went back to school. Boring as ever. I attempted to make new friends. Fail #1. I trialled for some sports teams. Only to find out today that I didn't make any of them. I joined after school clubs. Turns out I'm terrible at art, can't act, have no photography skills and don't even mention cooking. Not even kidding, I nearly set the place on fire. The only thing that wasn't a disaster was the maths group mom forced me into. But I mean, who wants to be part of that. Extra maths, I think not. So I'm back at square one. Alone, bored and depressed. People say that it's good to be alone. Gives you time to think. Except thinking for me means being reminded of the truth. So yea.... I'm screwed. Right now I feel like curling up in a ball and crying. Clearly I'm a failure at life. What good am I to society? Maybe I should save everyone the trouble and just make my life end. I wouldn't be surprised if no one noticed I was gone. Even mom seems to busy for me. The other night I was telling her all about my problems and when I asked her a question she just said oh sorry I wasn't listening. Like, wow, Mom, thanks for making me feel so good about myself. I could always run away to Dad. Not that I know where he lives but I'm sure I can find out. But would he want me? Probably not. Right now I couldn't feel more unloved and ignored. Nothing seems possible of going right ever again. Maybe my destiny is suicide. To go join my sister. At least she'll still care for me. I think. Wouldn't be surprised if she hates me too. Rain pelts down on the window, adding to the gloomy mood. I feel so small and cold in my room and as darkness falls, tears stream down my face.

I no longer have dreams. Only nightmares.

### Two Days Later

Jo's room is still untouched. Just the way it should be. All her items are actually. Toothbrush included. Every time someone comes inside, I watch to make sure that they don't move or touch any of her possessions. Her door is kept shut, my attempt to keep what happened stuck inside. And it works. Most the time. But her dog (the one thing that I allow to be touched) is always visiting me and all of the memories flood back, picking me apart. He is frequently sitting by the closed door, as if he truly does believe that she is in there. It kills me to see it. I wanted to get rid of him to, but mom refused. Unfortunate really.

### Nine Days Later

It's the summer holidays. Fun. Exciting, but not for me. This morning, Mom and I are driving to the beach along with half the city. It's supposed to be a blistering hot today and even though it is only nine o'clock, I already feel sticky and I can feel myself overheating. All the windows of the car are down, yet that's hardly doing anything. It's just as hot outside as in. The trip to the closest beach is hour and half and so far it's been fifteen minutes. Mom and I have already run out of things to say. Most awkward car ride ever.

I have nothing else to do but stare out the window at the rolling meadows and lush green grass—not the most interesting thing in the world. My mind wanders to the recurring thought of suicide. Lately, things have been worse than ever, with Jo always there in my mind. Everyone else has managed to let her go, but not me. Why? Because the last thing I said to her was 'I hate you', and she died knowing that. If only I had said 'I love you' or 'good luck'. Something. As long as she knew I loved her. I didn't really mean what I said. I wasn't thinking. I was just angry at the time, but there is no going back. No second chances. No rewind button.

Suddenly the grassland comes to a sudden halt, replaced by mud, and there, standing knee deep, is a horse—terrified, injured and alone. There is no food in sight, nor water. The poor thing has been left with no shelter to survive the heat of summer.

"STOP," I scream at Mom. She slams on the brakes, sending the car screeching, leaving big tire marks on the road.

"What, what happened. Are you alright?" her voice is panicked as she turns around in her seat. Her face is white.

I don't reply, only point. Mom follows my finger to where the horse is standing.

"What an ugly horse," she says. "A bag of bones."

But to me, he's beautiful. He may be scarred and skinny, but his eyes have a spark, a warm and friendly look. I can tell he is strong, mentally, that he doesn't give up easily. He is in bad situation, a lot like me really.

"I thought you didn't like horses," Mom says.

I thought I didn't either, but for the first time since we sold our horses, my heart aches, longing to be back beside them. This is was what I was good at and what made me happy.

"Come on, we need to get going before the traffic gets bad," nags Mom.

I am already out of the car, ignoring Mom's protests. How can I leave the poor thing to try survive on its own? I know what that feels like and I refuse to let anyone else go through it.

Heading over to the horse, I work my way through the mud as it squelches around me. After what feels like forever, I'm standing there in front of him. He is in worse condition than I expected. His ears prick forward and I lean over, my hand outstretched, ready to pat him. I wait for the rush of fear, but it doesn't come.

Strange.

My fingers connect to his neck, his overgrown coat moulding around them. He lets out a small whinny before nosing my arm, searching for some food. I laugh for the first time in so long. It feels good. And then my heart goes warm. I finally love something again, something that makes me happy. Our eyes connect and that's the moment I know what I am going to do.

### Months Later

I lean against the fence, admiring the scene before me. Horses. Once skinny, mistreated and wounded, not only physically, but mentally. Yet here, today, they are happy and most importantly loved, putting their trust in humans, even after what happened before. Because of me, they have changed. Most importantly though, they've changed me. We were both in the same situation, helpless, thinking our lives were over. Together though, we rose up, above all odds. Mom comes up behind me and follows my gaze. "Be proud Natalie"

"I am, Mom."

Tears well up in my eyes. Not because of Jo. I'm finally over that. But because I AM proud. So proud, that words can't even explain it. I look up to the sky and I know Jo's proud too. This is what she would have wanted. And I get that now. She's gone and I can't do anything about that. I can't try and keep things the same, pretending she's going to come back one day, because she's not. That's the truth. My eye catches two horses playing with each other. A smile plays on my lips. I have done something that I never thought possible. This is my shelter. I started it myself. I have overcome my fears, not only with horses, but with letting Jo go.

My life has changed so much over the past year. Things have gone wrong, but that's okay. I am not afraid any more, and it's all because of Jo.

## About Alexandra

Alexandra Banks is a thirteen-year-old girl who is a bit crazy. Actually make that really crazy. Lets just say her strength isn't sitting still. She knows everything about horses and should probably be riding right now, not writing. But oh well. Her favourite books to read are reality fiction and she tends to write in that style too. She loves to horse ride, swim, take photos, play hockey, go to the beach, read and do maths. Just kidding. She doesn't like maths.

# Unforgiven.

## by Benjamin Baillie-Gee

"What I've felt, what I've known has never shined through in what I've shown."—James Hetfield

### FREE

He wanders the streets of San Francisco, a flower in his hair. He's not a hippie, but people are nicer to him when they think he is. He shades his eyes from the sun. Policemen push past him, guns bared. His name might be Robert. A man deals a stranger LSD down the street. The man, who might have been called Robert, keeps walking. He doesn't need more problems in his life. He pops a pill. He could get off them if he wanted to. It is entirely him. He always keeps at least one in his pocket. Everything spins. Everything is connected. JFK was killed by the pentagon. It was all about sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Maybe it wasn't LSD that guy gave him. Triangles. His parents. Mama! The meaning of life. He blacks out, again.

### PEACE

When he wakes up, something is in his eye. He knew someone who had something like that once. Or maybe he was blind in one eye, or something. He has a blinding headache, and he might have soiled the mattress he had been sleeping on. Where is he?

In a haze, he stumbles throughout the house. A realisation dawns on him. This is his home, from some long forgotten time. His walls had been painted in that baby blue shade that his mother loved so dearly. He'd never been an easy child. His parents were of Polish descent, having moved here after the war. Who knew where they were now.

He wanders the house, through the kitchen where his mother cooked pancakes, up into his bedroom. A cot nearly half his size lies in the middle. What had happened? Where had the time gone? How did he end up wandering up and down the streets of San Francisco, alone and unloved? What happened? And why couldn't he goddamn remember?

### COMPLY

When he wakes up, something is in his eye. His dreams are long forgotten. The world's spinning too fast for him to be able to focus. He has little cuts and abrasions all down his right forearm. It takes him a while to realise they are from needles. He's a poor imitation of a man. You can see it in his face, hollow and sullen. His beard hasn't been shaved in months, but that is the look now, isn't it? He looks around. No one is watching him. He appears to be on fourteenth street. Goddamn hippies. Maybe he could sneak some cigarettes off some guy's pockets. Trusting idiots. They needed to learn. Goddamn fascist pigs. Goddamn.

### MEANING

He walks past the bar. A man with a long beard and tie. His hand reaches into the stranger's pocket at the same time the man's does. They whip their hands out. "The hell, man!" His face is red. But not with rage. He's... embarrassed? "Is this what Swami destined you for—stealing a cigarettes out of someone else's pockets?"

"Yep."

"Then I dub thee the unforgiven."

"Can you speak English? E-N-G-L-I-S-H?"

"Unforgiven. Clearly, you did something so drastically wrong in the other life, that you have been fated for this."

"Bah. I don't get into all that fate and destiny shit."

"Well maybe you should."

"Ach..."

"Think about it. My temple is just down the road. Don't you want to see your parents again?"

"Well, yeah, I suppo—wait, how the hell do you know about my parents?"

"Come and check it out."

### CONTROL

The next few days pass uneventfully. For the man who might have been called Robert, at least. In that space of time, outside of the knowledge of Richard, Nixon is elected, about one thousand illegitimate babies are born in Saigon, and the Beatles come to America. But all that Richard does is drop acid. And punch an obscure Maryland functionary named Spiro Agnew in a bathroom. That too.

### WAR

"Damn you."

He hits him again.

"Damn you."

He hits him again.

He's pretty sure he was doing this because he's been insulted. Or he'd known something or something. Probably. The room is swaying, but it looks like some decrepit bathroom. It's probably in a cafe.

"Damn you. I'll kill you and your goddamn family."

He hits him again. His knuckles are scraped down to the flesh.

He's probably drunk. Or high. Or something. Maybe. Usually.

"Okay, okay! Jesus H. Christ man! I'll tell you! You broke my goddamn nose man!"

The man he's punching is wearing some sort of suit. It was clean at some point, but by this point it is covered in mud and dirt. Or something. Blood maybe. Who knows. Somewhere, someone screams. The man is wearing a badge. It says "vote" in large, clean letters. The scream tears into the night. At some point, Richard realises he's been the one screaming. There's something in the man's eyes. Tears. Everything goes black. Then green. Then black again. He's blacked out. Again.

### LOVE

He wakes up. There's something in his eye. The loop continues. He gives up. Maybe the rabbi, or guru, or whatever they call them now really do have some point to make. But probably not.

### LIFE

The street looks cleaner. Maybe the goddamn hippies are finally leaving. Goddamn hippies. But maybe he'll miss them. But probably not. Goddamn hippies.

###  ENLIGHTENMENT

He's slowly spiralling down, but he doesn't know that. Not yet. Maybe he never will. But everything is uncertain.

### TWELVE

He shoves his way into the hippies' cramped 'temple' apartment. The walls are plastered with posters depicting enlightenment. People are sitting around, smoking and talking. They all have the same long hair and bloodshot eyes. Or maybe his vision's playing up again. The carpet is covered in shag and the roof is painted with stars. It smells awful. The place is clearly unclean. Clothes lie strewn all over the building. He walks further in.

### THE MAN

"Afternoon, Hippie."

"Ah, son. Are you the one I talked to on the street a week ago? The unforgiven?"

"Ha." It is a laugh with no humour in it. "Sounds 'bout right."

"Well, why are you here?"

"Enlightenment."

"Son, that's far beyond my ability. I do not give enlightenment, I show the path."

"Ach, goddamn. You're just another hack." He makes his way towards the door.

"But—"

"But what, Hippie?"

"Maybe..."

"Get on with it, Fool."

"Meet me at the bar down the street in a week."

"We'll see if I have time."

### DIE

The man, who might have been called Richard, walks out, not looking back. It's just another one of those things he'll never look back on. Passing through life without a backwards glance—without looking ahead—just wandering down the winding path, occasionally stumbling, mostly falling.

### NOTHING

He's going to die at some point. Maybe he should take control. Somehow. Ach, who cares? Enjoy it while you can.

### RING AROUND THE ROSIES

The walls he walks past are covered in the words of the street, the lifeblood of the city. This is the only place where he's truly happy. Or at least, content. He walks past a bar, the scent of cheap beer and rock 'n roll wafting out the door, tantalisingly close, yet also so far away. He passes by the government apartments, air freshener coating the smell of filth. Eventually, he comes to a sheltered spot to sleep and collapses.

### A POCKET FULL OF POSIES

Again, the week passes uneventfully, this time for everyone. The hippie movement is dying by the day, and LSD is far less trendy than it once was. The sixties are going out with a fizzle. Robert is going out with a bang.

### A TISSUE, A TISSUE

He walks down the street to the bar. Music pours out of a record player, one of those new ones, with the big speakers, with 'improved audio', that he sees in store windows sometimes. The weather howls, and the San Francisco fog is setting in. He shoves inside. It's packed. From wall to ceiling. With hippies. This is one of the last hippie joints left in town. He pushes through the swarm of people. After what seems like hours, he breaks into a clearing at the bar front. The guru is sitting on a stool, inspecting him.

### WE ALL FALL DOWN

"What'll you have?"

"What?"

"I'm buying you a drink."

"I brought my own."

"Pretty sure the bar doesn't allow that."

"So?"

"Point taken. So, what did you bring?"

"Loneliness. Sad but true."

"Ah. Let's get down to business then. I believe that your spiritual unhappiness originates from your abandonment of normal life. Now—" he moves to continue, but Robert is already halfway down the street. Maybe the hippy's right. Maybe it does stem from his family. Feh.

### HOLE IN THE GROUND

He makes his way back to his sleeping spot. The walls are covered in dirt. He is covered in dirt. He falls to the ground. The world passes around him.

### GOD

The day passes slowly. He lifts a wallet, 'cos who cares anyway, and gets some cheap stuff from the guy on East Avenue. The needle slips down his arm.

### LIE ON YOUR FACE

HEY! WAIT! Open your eyes, James! See the world around you! It is the sun, I am the moon. Find your way. Look around you—the walls fall down. See me, James. Come home. The pools won't wash off without you.

### HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK

He writhes and turns, twisting, a snake, the walls. Burning, burning. My arm, his arm, skies falling drop from the sky. No end of time, no end to time. Twisting, turning, endless, nameless. Leave. Kill and maim and rend, and the bombs fell while everyone was waiting for the other boot to fall. They died alone, a long time ago. SEE THE SKY AND KNOW. KNOW YOUR FATE, JAMES.

### ESCAPE

James wakes up. Or gets up, shivering. That was a bad trip. That was a really bad trip. Was he really Robert? James sounded far more natural. James, James. He tries it out on his tongue, and it sounds fine. Sounds good. Damn good. And as he does this, a realisation dawns on him. Has he dedicated his life to this? Bad trips and pain? No. No. This isn't it. There's something else. Something more. No more 'the unforgiven'. He will find a way.

### BLOOD ON THE SAND

He knows. But he cannot do it alone. Cannot do it himself. It's time to try. At least if he fails, he'll know he tried. Know he at least attempted to fight. That's worth it. Worth the chance of failure. After all, everyone dies. So why not? Why the hell not? Let's die. Let's die spectacularly. He wants to see his goddamn family. Who cares if they're dead? Who cares? Too much to ask?

### CARRY MY PAIN

Collect and conserve. Is that hard? A razor here, a pill there? Stacking them up? When he lost them he thought he might cry, but he keeps going. Set on a path, all the dominoes have been placed. Nothing left but to watch them tumble down.

### NON SEQUITUR

In 1968, he lies on his side. A rare moment of peace in his increasingly erratic life, tracing the graffiti on the wall with his little finger. His breath fogs up the mirror as he brushes aside his long hair in 1955. In 1970, he is but a memory in the minds of the drug dealers and thugs of the hippie districts. In 1920, a baby is born. He is slightly premature. The parents name him Richard. In 1969, he is already gone.

### LONDON BRIDGE IS FALLING DOWN

Of course it hurts. It's supposed to.

### UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES

Isn't it?

### BLAME ME

Living?

### SEEK

The day comes.

### FIND

And he dies.

### PRETEND

A suicide.

### LIVE

Do not remember him. Maybe he is happy. Maybe not. Do not wish forgiveness on him. Let his death pass by, unremembered. Better that way.

### FORGIVEN

## About Benjamin

Benjamin Baillie-Gee is currently unavailable, due to being off doing awesome things like shooting dinosaurs with laser guns and fishing for money with dynamite.

# Death in the forest.

## by Briana Neale

Yesterday I saved Chase Strauq's life.

No, let me rephrase that.

Yesterday I almost killed Chase Strauq.

### On Sunday afternoon

I followed my cousin, trying not to be seen. She stopped and I landed against the flat of her back. I heard a deep voice chuckle and peeped out. Bex was talking to a man who looked about a year older than her. Bex's hand waved me off a few steps. I sighed and turned to walk away. The one thing I learned about my ever-so-beautiful, perfect and popular cousin, is do not cross paths with her, unless you want to be bald the next day, or start blow drying your hair and BAM! Baby powder engulfs you completely. Yup, I learn from my mistakes.

I walked to the end of the pier, deep in thought, remembering the time I was friends with B— I collided with a warm wall. Okay, if there is something I know about walls, it's that they are not warm. I fell backwards. Looking up, I saw a boy stumble before tripping over the safety chain and heading downwards.

My heart went with him. I forced my feet to move. Hesitantly, I peered down into the crashing sea. I knew what I had to do. I looked back. A small crowd had formed in those ever so slow few seconds. I turned to face them and fell backwards. There were screams and shouts as I twisted into the diving position and I got the full blow of the panic as I realised what I was doing. My head was engulfed into the milky Black Sea. A trail of bubbles rush past me, disagreeing with my heroic decision and making their way back to the life they once had. I spun around quickly and rushed up for air.

My lungs drank the air greedily before I slipped under the salt water.

That's when I saw him through the murky water. He had hit his head badly on the way down. I saw spiralling red liquid spreading through the water to the surface and I panicked. He could die in so many ways, loss of oxygen, sharks who smelled the tasty morsel, bleeding to death. I had to get to him. I rose, took one more big breath, and swam towards him. I grabbed his floating hand. No response. I tugged him up, but decided against pulling him up with no air. I hesitated before giving him all my air in the kiss of life and let him float upwards. I watched him as his head broke through the water. I felt fine, now he was above the crushing water. Then something grabbed my lungs and squeezed.

I kicked my way up, slowly tiring, but I made it. I latched onto his leg, spluttering and coughing. I hauled him, and myself, into a current and we were pushed forward in the fast blast of a wave. When I looked up, sand in every corner and crevasse, I saw dark shadowy figures rush over before I was lost to an endless pit of black.

### Present time on Monday

I sighed as people came to my house again and I ignored the shoved recorders and cameras. I put my satchel on and biked past them. Damn!! I was late again. It was already enough that I had saved Chase Strauq's life from the part of the ocean no-one has survived! Seriously, though, Chase Strauq—the most popular boy in school—but now life was topsy-turvy. I hurried down the hall and whipped open the home room door.

"Jadie," my teacher read from the roll.

"Here," I called out and took the last remaining seat at the back. Phewph, just in time. All eyes were on me. I sighed and introduced my books to my desk. I immediately looked out the window and slipped away into my own thoughts.

I just knew I couldn't face the lunch room—all the sneers coming from the populars. As soon as the time came, I decided to go to the library. I headed to the back in my usual corner and sat eating while thoughts took over.

\- - -

"Jadie! Jadie!"

"Huh? What?" I looked up at the librarian. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and stretched, standing up.

"It's five to three. Jadie, goodness gracious, this is the longest you have slept here. You need to leave now"

"Okay, thanks." I yawned and grabbed my lunch and bag. I headed out the building just as the bell rang. Uh crap, I thought. I ran to my bike and chucked the helmet in the basket before slinging on my bag.

"Jadie!" a deep voice rang out. Just start pedalling and don't stop, I repeated over in my head. I pushed off and got home.

### Later

I dumped my bag on the couch and grabbed an apple. I munched on it before switching on our old TV set.

"Jadie, can you please help me with these boxes?"

I sighed and walked towards my mum's room. Did I mention that we moved into our new house this week? Yeah, my life sucks. As I made contact with the doorknob, I heard the doorbell sound.

"I'll get it!" My younger brother Easton yelled out. I could hear his feet thundering downstairs to the door. I slowly went to peep out at the person. I froze.

"Ahhhh crapolia. It just had to be him, didn't it?" I quickly bolted to my room, wrote a quick note to mum, stuck it on her door and climbed out the window, landing on a tree and quickly swinging down. As you can guess, it was Chase. I ran up the road, reaching my favourite hill and sat down to watch the sunset.

\- - -

Later, I crawled up the tree and entered my window. I was halfway downstairs towards the kitchen when I heard three voices. I froze for the second time that day. Then relief washed over me and I did a silent victory dance. It was only Joss, Mum's boyfriend.

My father went missing when I was nine. No one knows why, where or how. People say he died, but I don't believe it. He's not like that. He doesn't just give up like that, not on anyone, ever. I miss him so much. I went down and had dinner.

"So sweetie what did you do at school today? Judging by how refreshed you look, I'm guessing you didn't eat lunch in the cafeteria, but in the library. Again."

"Look, Mum," I sighed, "I just did, okay? I like the smell and it's peaceful. I just... Argh, I just wanted to be by myself after the incident." And by incident, I mean nearly killing a boy, I thought to myself.

"Well then, I have an idea. I saw an ad in the paper a month ago and entered your name into the ballot and guess what you'll be doing for two whole weeks? You're going on a camp!"

"What?"

"I said, you're going on a wilderness survival technique course for two weeks!"

Ah, just great. I knew I had to go for Mum's sake. I think she wants me to go so I can learn to protect myself, extra protection for surviving. Maybe that's what Dad didn't have.

I plastered on a smile. "That's great, Mum. I'm really looking forward to it." I lied straight through my teeth and Joss, Easton and I knew it. Mum didn't notice.

"When is it?"

"Oh, it's actually Friday at eight thirty. You leave on the bus. Unfortunately, it does mean you miss school for a long time." She hesitated. "Oh well, this will probably do you more good than school."

She smiled.

"Great, I'll go pack." I forced a spring in my step as I ran back to my room. I spent the whole night packing. I really don't want to go. I glanced at the clock. It was one thirty am. I sighed and fell on my bed. An hour later, I nodded off.

### On Friday

BEEEP!! BEEEP!! BEEEEEP!!!

"See ya, Sweetie. Have fun!" My mum waved and left. Ugh she's so embarrassing. I joined the milling group outside the bus station.

"G'day, young ones. Hello from down-undah. I'm your bus driver and the names Carlllll and I'm yaw new best friend. Now I'm just gawna call out the roll now befaw we leave. Owkay then. Stacey..."

I walked up to the bus and leaned against it. Fifteen names later, "Jaaaack?"

"Here," the so called Jack hollered.

"Collllin?"

"Present."

"Jaaaaadie?"

"Here," I called.

"Aaaaaand Xanthe?"

"Here," a voice called from behind me. I turned around and saw a girl my age. She had brown hair, the exact shade of mine, only she had blonde streaks, which I don't have. She also had these weird coloured eyes but I couldn't see them properly from here. She turned around and walked onto the bus. I followed her, trudging. I looked up the aisle and everyone already had a seat and were talking. I checked my watch. Yes, my watch. We weren't allowed any technical gadgets like cellphones on this camp. It was four pm. I walked to the empty back seats and sat down. "Hey," said a familiar voice. I looked up. It was the girl called Xanthe. Her eyes looked so familiar, though I can't remember why.

"Hi, I'm Jadie," I said hesitantly.

She smiled at me. I smiled back.

"Cool, I'm Xanthe. Soooo... apparently we have to choose who's in our cabins. There are four in one."

I eyed her warily.

"Soooo... do you want to be with me?" she asked.

"Okay, sure." I didn't really care. She smiled and then looked out the window. I turned my gaze to the flashing lakes and meadows before sleep took over.

\- - -

"No, get off me!" Someone was shaking me. A sneering face loomed in and out at me. "Leave me alone!"

"Jadiiieeee... Jadiiieeee." The voice from the face bounced through my head.

"Leave me alone!"

"Jadie! Jadie wake up, we're here. Sorry, I already ate. We all did on the bus. It's nine pm!"

"Huh? What?"

"I said we're here."

I looked up. We were in the middle of a very thick forest. I looked over at the campsite. There were five cabins and one big long hall. I sighed and chucked my bag on my shoulder, then fixed my dark brown bangs.

"Last one there is a rotten egg!" called Xanthe.

Aw Hell No! I was going to win this. I hoisted my bag up higher on my shoulder and took off, sprinting past a dashing Xanthe. Ha! The look on her face was priceless. I stuck my tongue out at her and that pulled her out of her trance. She raced off towards me. I ran through the door and chucked my bag on the bottom bunk to my left.

"No... f-fair! You're more fit than me," Xanthe puffed between speaking while I just laughed the whole time.

"I'm not that fit," I scoffed.

"Oh reaaaaallyyy?" humphed Xanthe, sarcastically.

"Yup, reaaaaallyyy," I said, popping the 'p'.

"Fine then, I give up. Can we go to bed now? I need my beauty sleep!" She fell on her bed exaggeratedly, proving a point.

"Okay. Goodnight."

I barely heard her mumble goodnight. I thought about the other two girls that were meant to be here. I let it be and slept on dreamless.

\- - -

I'm running through the woods and my shirt is wet and sticky. You're probably wondering why I'm running through the woods all sticky? Well let's just say, I'm not everyone's favourite.

### 30 minutes earlier

"Okay, so I'm going to have toast and an apple," said Xanthe.

"Sounds good. I'll have the same, but an orange instead of an apple," I replied.

We grabbed our breakfast and headed to a table for two in the hall. When we got there we were talking about how only one of our room mates showed up last night. Right then, and there a camp leader 'Max', walked up to our lonely table. "I'm sorry to inform you girls that one of your room mates decided to have a midnight walk last night and they have not come back. We're looking for her and I'm just going to say, keep a lookout."

"Err, okay, Sir. Thanks," Xanthe said.

"Okay? That is strange. Maybe sh..." I never finished my sentence as raining milk spilled out over my head and onto my shirt. I looked up and blinked the milk out of my eyes. A girl stood there, dressed in short shorts, smirking.

"Oops, sorry. Someone bumped my back." She said it in a sickly sweet voice, and that's how I ended up running through the forest with a wet shirt.

So I ran. I ran forward, not caring if they followed me. I ran as fast as I could, not caring if I got lost. I could hear them shouting behind me. I ran on and heard yelling. I started following the noise and saw two figures ahead. I slowed and ran behind the closest tree, about to peek out. I heard a scream. I froze. I heard a thump onto the forest floor. I stumbled and as soon as my eyes graced the scene, I saw a figure heading towards the trees. I ran forward. I cautiously stepped up and my heart dropped. There was crimson spilling out of her chest. My knees connected with the ground. She looked so young. I called out, but my voice was stuck in my throat. Silent tears fell into her bronze hair. That's it. I stood up and screamed my lungs out. I soon heard a vestige of boots colliding with the ground. I turned around before warm blackness washed over my face.

\- - -

Light is all I see... Pure light... I closed my eyes again.

\- - -

I slowly narrowed my eyes to slits and pried them open, letting a little bit of light come in at a time. I saw Xanthe eyeing me like a hawk.

"Hi," I managed to choke out. As soon as I said something, her eyes softened.

"Hey." She smiled shakily.

"So... What happened after I blacked out?" I had forgotten everything after breakfast, though unfortunately not the milk incident. Xanthe looked away from me.

"Xanthe... What happened?" When she looked back at me her eyes shone with unshed tears.

"W-Whe-When you were in the forest..." She gulped. "You-You stumbled onto a murder scene." She let the tears freely fall. "You know the girl who wasn't in our bunk room? She's d-dead..."

\- - -

That's when it all came back to me. The blood, the pasty face and the light draining from her eyes. I tried to cry but nothing stirred. Then I did something automatically, without realising it. I hugged Xanthe. Then I felt tears dribble down my face and splatter onto Xanthe's back.

\- - -

Everything went back to normal over the next two days, well, as normal as normal can get, knowing that a psycho murderer is running around the woods and has brutally killed your room mate. The routine is always the same, breakfast, shower, hanging out, then we have survival lessons. It was Thursday now, and Xanthe, Jules and I were having our lessons in the woods—with no other than Max as our instructor. Everyone had their bunk mates in each group with one instructor.

"Okay, guys. So you're going to be doing some jogging around in groups of tw— I mean all of you for five minutes before meeting back here for a swim."

"Ugh!" groaned Xanthe. "Really! Swimming in this weather! Are they trying to get us sick?" she hissed at me and Jules, our other bunk mate, while Max was packing up everything to take it to the lake.

"Well? What are you doing? Go! You have to jog two laps now!" He smirked at us.

"Whoa! What got his panties in a twist?" Jules whisper-shouted at us. We all giggled and started jogging.

About twenty minutes into our first lap we were completely and utterly lost.

"Ugh, this is so annoying," complained Jules.

"Well, at least you're not cold," said Xanthe. She was wearing shorts and a flimsy cardigan over top of a t-shirt.

"Guys, stop it. We just need to retrace our steps." I was seriously getting tired of this arguing.

"Fine!" Xanthe snapped.

So I turned around and started walking back the way we came.

"Jadie!"

I looked up and tripped on a boulder into the lake. I squinted through the icy water and pushed up from the sandy bottom. I blinked out the water and swam to the edge. Xanthe and Jules ran up to me, laughing their heads off. They pulled me out.

"H-have a nice... trip?" chuckled Jules

"See you next... fall," snickered Xanthe

"Wow, reaaaal mature guys." I gave them a look and they burst out laughing.

"Oi! Where have you lot been? Far out! I was so worried..." Max looked at me strangely before continuing. "Here's a towel." He handed me one.

"Wha-what would I do if you ended up like... You know what. It's good you found the way back. Let's just go back to camp." He glanced at me for a second before muttering under his breath, "Looks like some of us have already had that swim." He shook his head and walked away. I wrapped the towel tighter around me and stepped forwards. I heard Xanthe and Jules giggling quietly behind me and I decided to get them back. I told my bunk mates and Max that I was going for a jog to warm up.

"Okay, don't be too long. We're almost at camp," called out Max.

"Will do, Sir," I yelled over my shoulder.

I ran around in a loop and came up behind the girls. I picked up a stone and threw it to my left. CRUNCH! The girls stopped their talking and looked at each other with worried faces. I pushed down the laugh bubbling up in me. I ran to the left and picked up my stone I threw it again but right behind them. Before it landed, I sidled up to them and they squealed when the stone landed. They whipped around to see what it was and I jumped and yelled. They screamed, looking like they had seen a ghost. I laughed until I couldn't breathe.

"Hmph, that wasn't funny!" grumped a pouting Xanthe.

"Heck yeah it was!" I snorted back.

"We're here now." Max shouted over his shoulder. "Are you two okay?"

"Yeah, they only saw a ghost." I laughed at his face and by then I couldn't stop. I laughed all the way back to our cabin, no longer feeling the cold.

As I walked through the door the smile vanished. I could hear Xanthe and Jules sauntering up behind me and they faltered to a stop, mouths agape, at what they saw. The cabin was no longer a cabin.

\- - -

The bunk room had been turned inside out, like if it had been tossed upside down and shaken roughly. I stepped in cautiously and started picking up my clothes. Jules And Xanthe did the same.

"What the hell is going on here?" yelled Max.

I turned around and told him how this whole scenario happened.

He swore under his breath. "This week just gets weirder and weirder."

Even though he thought we couldn't hear him and even under the cabins circumstances, we all giggled. He turned. We tried to smother our giggles. "You three. Clean this up then come to the Capitol cabin."

"Yes, Sir," we chorused. We all saluted, something we all agreed on doing whenever he left. We cracked up as soon as he was gone. Then Jules stopped all of a sudden. "Guys? How did anyone get in? I mean, we had the key and took it with us after we locked up."

Xanthe paled.

"Don't worry about it. Just make sure you have everything," I said. I wasn't sure if I was trying to assure them or me more.

"You're right," Jules sighed. "I was being over dramatic."

I smiled at her gratefully after I noticed Xanthe relax a bit.

We finished cleaning up and went to the Capitol. Or as everyone liked to say, the Cap.

"Girls." A nice looking lady smiled and stood up as soon as we walked in. We were lead to a big office at the end of the hall. We walked in and the burly man in front of us introduced himself.

"Hello, lovely ladies. I am Mr. Bruce Strauq." He grinned at me.

Wait, what? Strauq? No, no, no, it can't be.

"And this, is my son, Chase Strauq." He gestured behind me.

Don't turn around. Don't turn around.

"Hello Jadie." I froze at that same deep voice, coming from a boy who had ignored me up until the incident.

"Hi," I replied shortly. He gave a low chuckle behind me. I continued to watch Mr Strauq, who looked amused. We sat down and I kept seeing Jules and Xanthe giving me curious glances.

\- - -

The talk went on for thirty minutes before we left. "Sooooo... Who. Was. That?" Xanthe all but yelled.

I sighed,"He's a boy from school..." And so begins the long, bitter story of my life.

We went to the hall at eight pm for dinner. We grabbed our meal and headed over to the table furthest from everyone. We started talking and discussing what we would do after dessert. "Well, all I know is that for dessert I'm going to have..." she cut off her sentence leaving us in 'suspense', "pancakes and chocolate sauce!"

We all whooped and danced. We'd had pancakes every night we were here.

"Well, looks like some are having fun."

We all looked up at the voice. A cocky face smirked down at us.

"Yes, we weeeere having fun. Until you ruined it all," seethed Xanthe at Chase.

I smirked. He obviously didn't expect that, considering his high ego.

"Well, I'm outta here," I remarked and stood up to leave.

Julia stood up too. "Wait up! I'm not staying here with this potato."

"Potato? Reeeeallly, is that the best you got?" I scoffed.

Xanthe gasped. "Don't you dare insult the potato, you brussel sprout!"

I smirked. "And we are back to the vegetable name calling. Awww yaw sho kute," I said pinching her cheeks. She slapped my hands away.

"Ummm, okay, so where we going?" All three pairs of eyes fell on the outcast.

"Oh, let's not spoil it." I smiled innocently at him. "K, guys. Let's skadoosh."

I laughed when we all spun, flipping our hair simultaneously.

Later that night I decided to call my mom. Yes, we're not allowed cell phones and no, I didn't smuggle one, Xanthe did. Of course she told me to be careful and I was.

\- - -

"What's a pretty girl like you doing out here and in the middle of the night? Hmmmm? Aren't you meant to be inside?" I turned to see Chase looking at me with an arched eyebrow.

I sighed. "I'm not interested, Chase. Just leave me be. I've been through enough lately... like that murder." I muttered under my breath. I knew he heard me because he visibly paled. I walked off in the direction of the bathrooms, hoping that it would throw him off my trail. It worked. I did a U-turn and headed for the Cap.

When I reached my destination the coverage was still at a loss. I moved closer to the woods and it went up very slightly. I knew what I had to do. I bit my lip and shimmied, step-by-step, into the woods. I didn't know where I was, so I decided to move towards where I thought the lake was.

I came into a clearing, deep in the forest. I was tired and cold. I arrived at a small pond and stopped to sit on a rock next to it. I fell asleep after five minutes and awoke to the sound of an owl. I got up and stretched. I checked the phone. Dead. I sighed and started walking. Walking somewhere random. A nasty stench wafted towards me. I followed it.

"Oh my god! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" I screamed. A boy lay in front of me, dead on a fallen tree trunk with the sticks shooting through his chest. Dried blood crusted over his body. His eyes were open with fear and his mouth was sewn shut. His neck was slit open, as if a razor had cut cleanly through it. I fell backwards and scrambled up and then fled back to the pond.

A sense of déjà vu washed over me when I collided with a warm wall standing in front of me. Stepping backwards to balance myself, I gasped. The eyes, the eyes. That's why Xanthe looked so familiar. They had the same eyes! Tears welled up in my own.

Dad.

"Dad?" By now the tears were in his eyes to. "Dad? Is that really you? "

He only nodded. I cried. I was feeling confused, a mix of everything. Sadness, happiness, heartbreak, betrayal and shock. Most importantly shock. I stepped towards him. My heart smashed into little pieces when he stepped back. "I'm sorry" he said, his voice gravelly. "I can-I can't be with you."

I stepped forwards. "Of course you can." I wrapped my arms around him. He hesitantly snaked his arms around me and that's when I smelt it. The metallic smell of... blood. I gasped and pulled away. I looked him once over. There was dried blood stained on his shirt and shoes.

"Oh my god!" I exclaimed "It was you... It was all you... You're the one who killed those teenagers." I pulled away quickly.

"Jadie, just let me explain... please?" he begged.

"No," I said in disbelief. "No, no, no, no... It can't be you! I just found you again! It can't be you."

By now, I could hear voices shouting. Damn! I shouldn't have screamed, I thought to myself.

"Listen!" Dad said urgently. "You need to save your sister!"

"What? Sister? I don't have a sister," I said, confused. I was still thinking about him taking away the lives of innocents.

"No, no, no, you have a half sister and she's in trouble. You need to get her somewhere safe. She's on this camp and she can't go home." He paused solemnly. "She hasn't got a home any more and I can't help her. They've already found me," he continued quietly.

"What are you talking about? I have a sister?" I have a sister? My dad is a murderer. I have a sister, my dad is a murderer, I have a sister... those were the only thoughts running through my head. That's when it hit me. Hard. I was losing my dad, again.

"Yes. Now before I go, she is in this camp—"

"No! You can't leave. I just found you!" My eyes got bleary again.

He kissed my head. "I have to," he whispered. "I have made bad decisions and now I will pay for them... I love you and your mom and brother. You know that right?"

"Yes." I nodded.

"Good. Now promise me you will help your sister! Jadie promise me!"

I looked at my feet. I didn't want my dad to leave again. My breathing hitched.

"Put your hands up where I can see them!" I looked at Max, then looked at Dad who had put his hands up but was staring at me intently.

"I promise," I choked out.

"I love you, Jadie. Don't forget it. And tell your mom and brother I love them too."

"Love you so much. If I need you I'll come get you," I began, but he stepped away before completing the pact we used to say every night when I was younger. A waterfall spilled out over my cheeks. I was losing him again. I walked with Max back to camp, my father wedged in between two police officers. The police car door slammed shut and I watched it until I could no longer see it. I started thinking of my mom and brother repeating their names and everything they liked in my head. Easton Blake Winterborne, Mina Xanthe Winterborne, Easton Blake Winterborne, Mina Xanthe— wait Xanthe. Like Xanthe my best friend. The one who has brown hair with blonde streaks. The one with the crazy coloured eyes... Just like my dad.

I fell to my knees. Xanthe, Xanthe Fleckire. My half sister. I ran to our room where Jules was packing. When she saw me she immediately came over looking concerned. "Where is Xanthe?" I asked.

"Oh, her mom took her home early." Her mom. Xanthe's mom. But she doesn't have one. Uh-oh!

"Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes!" Wow, I thought, vegetable naming catches on fast. No! Focus.

I grabbed the emergency phone and arranged with my mom that I would stay for longer. She sounded happy that I'd made a friend. I didn't tell her about Dad. I spun and packed my bag before running around camp, looking for Chase. Target acquired.

I ran up to Chase. "Chase!" He turned around and looked worried.

"Jadie, I'm so sorr..."

"Don't worry," I interrupted, "I need your car. Are you going to let me use it. Or come with me?"

He chose the latter. He grabbed his already packed bag and jumped in the car, me following closely at his heels. We drove off down the long driveway... in search of my sister.

# The End of the Road

## by Claudia Knight

Tap, tap, tap, went my black, patent leather shoes on my new tiles, in my new house, in my new neighbourhood, in my new country. I just moved here from Canada and everything is so different. I don't know what to do, who my friends are, and worst of all... I am starting a new school today. Hillcrest Academy (very posh, huh? And it's in the U.S.A), but the thing is, I am so scared and frightened.

"Lola, time to go sweetie," called my mom impatiently from the car. I managed to get one last look at my reflection in the hall mirror before I rushed to grab my school bag. In the car, no one was talking, not even my little brother Luke who usually can't stop chatting. I think my brother was just as scared as I was. Luckily, we dropped him at his primary school first and Mom went in with him while I waited in the car. When she came back she looked pleased and joyous, but I didn't dare ask.

My tummy was a bundle of bouncy butterflies and they were fluttering up into my throat, one by one. As we turned the last corner, I saw my new school in its full glory—the morning dew glistening on the front grass. The sunlight was bouncing off the towers into our eyes, like dazzling angels.

I opened the car door and a plump lady wearing a green, long, flappy coat bustled up to greet me. She introduced herself as Mrs Thornton, the receptionist. She said a brisk goodbye to my mom and then took my school bag, signalling for me to follow. We passed doors of all shapes and sizes, different colours and a variety of numbers and letters till we stopped suddenly. I was so caught up with nervousness, I didn't realise that we had travelled all the way to the other end of my big new school.

"The headmistress will see you now," said Mrs Thornton.

"Thanks," I said meekly as she marched off. I rapped on the big, sturdy, wooden door... one, two, three.

"Enter!" the voice boomed. Quietly, I tip-toed in.

"Sit!" she ordered, pointing to a large, plush, red and white striped chair (the colours of the school uniform).

"My name is Mrs Holt and I am the headmistress of Hillcrest Academy. We hope you will be very happy here. It might be a bit hard at first, but with a personality like yours, you will find yourself fitting in quickly. The class you have been assigned to is 9KL1, on the third floor, fourth window..."

Blah... blah... blah... I zoned out and found myself staring at a very interesting newspaper article hung on her office wall.

"Right that sums it up," she finished.

"Sorry what was that?" I inquired.

"I was just saying that your classroom teacher is called Miss Stuart. Off you go now. I have just told you where to go."

'Uh oh!' was the only thing running through my mind as I was quickly ushered out of the office. I wandered around the school aimlessly for about thirty minutes till FINALLY a senior stopped and talked to me.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.

"I'm trying to find my way to class but I am lost, because I am new here". I told her.

"Well, don't you know where to go?"

"No," was my simple reply.

"Right. I see. What is your class number?"

"9KL1, I think".

"Well, straight to the end of the corridor, turn left, go up three staircases, take the fourth door on the right and you're there."

"Thanks!" I said as I hurried off.

On my way up on the stairs there was something that was peculiar. Every single painting had the same scene but different colours. Funny right? When I reached the top of the school I went past four doors and came to one with a rather unusual symbol. A Ravenclaw.

Just as I pushed that thought out of my mind the big, red, door swung open, and twenty-seven blank, bored faces stared back at me, except for one who was smiling broadly with pink perfect cheeks.

She introduced herself as Brooke.

At lunch, she decided to take me on a tour around the school to see the sights. Down long, dark, damp corridors we dawdled. Brooke asked me if I wanted to see the headmistress' office.

"I have no desire to go back there. Thank you!"

### Three Months Later

The sun shone brightly, birds were chirping and all was peaceful and quiet. Just me, myself and I, walking in my favourite park till, 'Ring, ring'.

"Umm, hi Mom? What do you want?"

"Lola dear, please come home. Your brother is really upset with you," she whinged.

"Mom, there's a reason I wanted to get out. Firstly, and most importantly, Luke is such a brat, but secondly I am meeting Brooke at the cinema. See ya," I answered, agitated but still loving.

I broke out into a trot, when suddenly I heard, "My, my, Lola would you look at the time? You're six minutes and forty seven seconds late for our cinema date."

My so-called friend, Brooke, tutted at me. As much as I liked her, she could be a MASSIVE control freak. Yes, the Brooke who was meant to be kind, clever and supportive.

"Well, it's not my fault my brother is such an idiot and made me late," I replied, trying to keep my cool but failing, so instead I sounded like I was constipated.

"Do you need to go to the toilet or something, little late lame Lola?" Brooke smirked as the words rolled off her tongue. Her eyes opened wide, like owls staring at their next prey. Her mouth made an 'o' shape, as if she was thinking, 'What have I just said?'

But it was already to late. The damage had been done. My foot flicked her in the face and I turned to run, but my legs were stuck and I was shrinking up into a ball, melting faster and faster...

"Um, hello? Lola? Sleepy head?" I heard someone say. "Geez, it's bad enough that your six minutes and forty seven seconds late, but now you've fallen asleep on me."

My eyes snapped open. Brooke was laughing as she bounded into my bedroom, whipping the curtain open revealing the flaming sun. What the HELL just happened? Arh, a dream. Right, thanks.

"Okay doky, ready to go?" Brooke asked just as she began flaunt out of the room.

"Yeah, yeah, cinema right?" I asked, still mesmerised.

"Chop, chop. Get dressed. We're gonna be late," she sung out.

### Ten Minutes Later

We had reached the pond in the park near my house—incidentally my favourite park ever—when Brooke asked if I was feeling okay.

"Uh huh," came my answer. "I just had the strangest dream that..."

"You should have never walked out on me like that," screamed a female from somewhere nearby.

"Like I had a choice," came a deep reply.

"Yeah, you did have a choice, and you choose that," she screamed.

Brooke and I looked at each other.

"Arh, help me," cried the same women who we heard before. As we ran toward the noise, we were horrified to see that the man was taking her child from her.

Brooke rushed in. "Excuse me, sir, what are you doing? I don't think that's right."

"Get outta my way Missy." He whacked her to the side. Brooke crashed into tree before she rolled onto the footpath where a bicycle was approaching, fast.

"Brooke, watch out," I called frantically.

"I'm fine, really, just help m—" Those were her last words before the cyclist swerved and yelled, the back wheel clipping Brooke's leg. The cyclist flipped over the handlebars on top of Brooke and they landed in a heap.

"Look after your friend," the woman beside me commanded. "I'll see if the cyclist is alright."

Luckily the cyclist was unharmed. Brooke, on the other hand...

Oh my God, what was I meant to do now. I couldn't look, not properly. My eyes were blurring, my hands shaking as I got out my phone. I dialled nine, one, one. I could hear it ringing.

"Nine-one-one operator. What is your emergency?" a kind lady asked.

"I need the police, and possibly an ambulance..." I said urgently. "My friend's been hurt. She's bleeding. I'm scared."

"Where are you?" the operator asked.

"I am in Horselove Park, by the pond."

"What is your name?"

"L...Lola," I stuttered.

"Don't hang up. Help is on the way. Just stay calm," said the lady on the other line.

"Umm, yes, sure..." I whispered back, shaken up. I looked down at my deathly white friend. Then I heard the little boy cry.

"Baby, James, come back come to mummy," the woman cried.

"He's mine," the man growled. There were sirens in the distance. The man's eyes widened and he dropped the kid's arm, then ran away. The boy ran to his mother and she gave him a big hug. I swallowed. The lady on the phone was asking me more questions, but I hadn't heard a word.

"Are you alright, love? You look quite shaken up," the woman with the kid said, looking at me.

"Yeah. I mean no. Of course not. I don't know what to do..."

"How old are you?" the lady on the phone asked.

"Umm..." My mind was telling me to run, but my conscience was telling me to stay and wait till the police and ambulance came. Brooke was bleeding. What if she died before they got here. I just couldn't bear to watch that. I just couldn't bloody do it, not now, not ever. I hung up and then I ran. I ran and ran and ran as fast as I could until I collapsed limp and lifeless onto my bed, wishing I had stayed, but knowing it was too late. I just lay there, dead-still, feeling my chest puff up and down heavily. My mind was racing. Was Brooke alright? Had they arrived? Did they catch the man? Were the woman and her kid alright? All the thoughts raced through my mind at once and the world cascaded away from me.

When I woke, the moon was winking at the carpet. My cat, Fluffkins, walked past me, tail in the air, and then I remembered the awful thing that I had done to my BEST FRIEND. I was ashamed, sad and worried about what would happen next, but worst of all... SCHOOL. Oh my god, was all I was thinking as I drifted back to sleep.

I stumbled through the weekend, unaware of what had happened to Brooke, not that I could bear to ask, but a bit of reassurance would have been nice! Monday came around and Mom dropped me off at Hillcrest Academy. My tummy was in a state of nervousness.

Walking down the dark corridors, everyone withdrew from me as if I would melt them just by looking at them. Even when I got to class, Mr Hopkins was acting strange, like I had done something wrong. At the end of the horribly tiring lesson which I—just—survived, I asked Mr Hopkins why everyone was avoiding me. What he said next was completely unexpected...

"Umm, well, you see..." he started.

Before he could finish, I said, "No, I don't see anything!"

"Everyone thinks that you left Brooke to die," he finished abruptly. The air turned to fog. Everything swirled around me. Mr Hopkins called my name, but I was already running down the corridor as fast as my little chubby legs could go. I found myself in the girls' bathroom and waited and waited, until the bell rang to signal the end of the day. How could anyone think that? Everyone knew that we were best friends and would never hurt each other, right?

Four weeks later, Brooke came back to school. She had a broken leg, broken arm and a few broken ribs, but apart from that she was radiant. Happy to be back, you could say. We saw each other in class. She looked at me, I waved, she glared back. I sat all alone. The bell went for break.

She cornered me. "Did you leave me to die, Lola?"

"No, of course not! Why would I do that? You're my best friend! I called the ambulance, but I just couldn't see you like that. It was too upsetting, you know?" I cried back.

"Are you sure?" she replied.

"Yes. Ohh, ohh yes," I answered, stricken.

"Good. Come on then, dry those tears. I believe you!"

"You do?"

"Of course I do. Best friends believe in each other right?"

From then on we slowly rebuilt our friendship, till it was stronger than ever.

## About Claudia

Claudia Knight is twelve years old and is a student at Heaton Normal Intermediate School. Her favourite genre of books are history, adventure and teenage fiction. Claudia especially loves to read about Queen Elizabeth I and her dad Henry VIII. In her spare time she loves to play the flute and cuddle her cat (who is really chubby!) Claudia's hobbies include road cycling with her dad and athletics. This year Claudia has had the privilege of being 'Heaton Head Girl—2015'.

# A Case of Isolation

## by Ella McFarlane

Aina and I had been friends since we were four, best buddies since we met at kindergarten. As we grew older, we became like twins, inseparable even, and made a diary to document our friendship.

Twelve years later, we still keep that diary. Aina has become more of a partier and I have become her partner in crime. Neither of our parents know what we get up to in the weekends, and I'm pretty sure that they don't want to know. For one, we constantly dance to music at tip-top volume. That is enough to put any parents heads in a spin, and I haven't even got down to the gory details.

"Charlotte, Aina's here!" Mom calls, knocking on my door. "You don't want to keep her waiting!"

I groan, rolling down my hoodie sleeves and grabbing my bag. Inside is a bright sparkly dress with two gem-studded high heels, a kit full of make-up, a pair of underwear and pyjamas. As I exit my room, my Mom says, "You guys have sleepovers lots. Do you not think we're cool any more?"

"I do think your cool. You must be pretty cool for putting up with me for sixteen years."

"Then why don't you stay at home more? We barely see you these days. You must really like Aina to keep going to her house." She wiggles her eyebrows and I freeze in the middle of the stairwell.

"What are you saying?" I ask.

"That you can always come to us. If you ever want to talk about girly matters, you can come to us."

I sigh in relief. It's a good thing my parents can be naive or else I'd have been busted ages ago.

Downstairs, my Dad is reading the paper. "Isn't it late to be reading that?" I ask.

"Well, I'm reading an article about a party that was shut down last week and how parents are often oblivious to their children's after-dark lifestyles. Would you do anything like that, darling?"

"Dad, I'm too busy to do stupid stuff like that!" I lie, hurrying out the door. Our gate is locked, something that is typical of our family. My parents are scared to death of teenagers, usually the ones that frequent the parties we throw. Sometimes the partiers walk down our streets, drunk and absolutely off it, yelling obscenities and breaking into houses. Thank goodness I haven't reached that point yet. Thank goodness my parents still trust and love me beyond anything I could give back.

"Looking a wee bit casual, aren't we?" Aina asks as I get into the car.

"Well, this is the last thing I have." My hoody is stained with sweat and my shoes are sneakers dotted with holes, with a gap that my big toe sticks through. My leggings are perfectly fine, apart from a hole near my knee, and my t-shirt is five sizes too large (a hand-me-down) but in good condition. A perfectly auspicious get-up for anyone but me, the overly-neat teacher's pet.

"I didn't know you still had these leggings," Aina says. "They've lasted through the years."

"Well, buying three pairs of the same leggings in different sizes helps create that illusion."

"You actually do that?" Aina giggles. "That has to be so expensive though! What did you bring for tonight's shin-dig?" I pull out the dress and she giggles again. "Ooh, shiny! How did you get that through old sleuth, Mr Marsden?"

"Old sleuth Marsden has been out of the game awhile," I reply, my face like a stone as we stop at the traffic light.

We travel to Hannah's house, which is an ideal place to get down. Hannah's parents travel overseas a lot for their job, and since we started high school, they'd just leave her home alone while they travelled off. "So, where are Hannah's parents this time?" I ask.

"Amsterdam. They're returning home on Monday, so that leaves Hannah two days to clean-up." Hannah's known for being clean and incredibly good at solving problems (the only things we have in common), so she'll be able to clean and/or fix up anything. Plus her house is incredibly nice (and infinitely nicer than her personality), so it won't be an eyesore.

When we get there, we immediately head to the bathrooms to change. There are already a small crowd of girls in there and they hush when Aina and I come inside. Why wouldn't they? We are the popular girls in the circle, Aina with her beauty and no-sugarcoating personality, me with my easy-going nature and my natural smarts. Everyone wants to talk to us, but they also fear us. "Hey!" Brooke pipes up. She's my second-best friend, although we don't hang out as much as we did. "So, hows it going?"

I nod to acknowledge her and she beams. Its her first night here and her innocence shines through like a ray of sunshine.

We change as fast as we can and head out to the dance floor. There are quite a few people, some with boyfriends (obviously whispering promises into their ears), others downing drinks that no squeaky-clean teenager would dare touch. I grab one of the cups and chug it as fast as I can. "Let's go!" I call. "Who's doing music? Lets start dancing, lazy-bums!" A girl (who I presume is the DJ) nods and heads over to the computer, turning on the music.

We dance for the next hour, then Hannah stumbles onto the dance floor. Aina fist-bumps her and they laugh like hyenas. You can already tell that Hannah's been having fun. Her once-perfect lipstick is drawn poorly and her eyeliner makes her look like a panda. "Hey," She slurs, nodding at me like a deranged madman. Maybe she's decided to act nice to me for the first time in my life.

"Are you alright?" I ask as she nearly topples over. On an unrelated note, it's disgusting how Hannah will act sometimes. When she's drinking stuff like this, it just reveals her true personality, the one no one but me sees.

"Yeah honey. Just don't get your knickers in a twist, Miss Perfect," she grunts, immediately changing her tune to her normal personality. After punching my shoulder and making some sort of hissing noise, she hobbles off in the direction of someone's boyfriend, intent on flirting with them.

"If her parents saw her like this, they'd kill her," Aina sighs. "She doesn't usually act like this."

"Well, she's probably going to kill herself," I joke, though that wouldn't be that bad. Aina raises her eyebrow, with a face that says, Don't joke about it. "I know, it's wrong. I won't do it again. No matter how much I hate Hannah for teasing me." And as we grab another glass of the concoction we call 'the Fountain of Youth', I see Hannah out of the corner of my eye. She's flirting with the Head Boy of the local Boy's High School, making kissy faces in front of his girlfriend, who shoves her away (which I wish I could do to her). I grab out my phone and film it, my smile so wide that it could almost be a circle. I know for a fact that this will make great blackmail next time she teases me for getting below her in a test or calls me unathletic for losing to her in a game.

About three hours later, there's a cry of alarm from somewhere near the DJ stand. "Hannah's passed out!" Another girl screams. The dance floor clears enough to make a circle around Hannah and the other girl.

"Is she breathing?" Someone calls. The girl checks Hannah's chest and then wails in despair.

"She's barely breathing!" The girl replies, tears running down her cheeks like a waterfall. My heart skips a beat as I watch the girl dial the ambulance. That action is followed by Aina ordering everyone to change, so we don't appear suspicious.

I'm changed first. I rush downstairs to Hannah's side. It's obvious she's been hit hard by a combination of partying and that stupid drink. Her chocolate-brown hair is spread out in a fan around her and her hands are cupped in front of her mouth, like she's trying to hide her disgust. It may be morbid, but I fix her hair up and put her into a different position. It's a good thing that she barely moves in protest, except when I try to bend her elbows straight. Somehow, she looks prettier than her usual ugly self. I'm sure Hannah would call me ugly, but she is the truly ugly one, inside and out.

Brooke comes downstairs next and she tries to open the door, but I corner her. "You can't leave!" I hiss. "The girls hate it when anyone tries to leave before the rest of us because they think you're going to go home and rag on them! Someone got beat up for leaving before. I don't want that to happen to you!" Brooke goes pale and returns to Hannah's side, keeping a silent watch, her face free of any emotions.

The ambulance arrives a few minutes later, with the ambulance driver apologizing profusely for being late. The medics lift Hannah onto a stretcher and ask where her parents are. "They're out of town," I gabble, each of my words sounding thick and slurpy. The ambulance officers accept that, which is great since it's technically true, and take her off to the hospital. They're followed by Aina running down the stairs in shorts and a crop top, her jet-black hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She's in tears, which makes sense since she and Hannah were friends."Is she okay?" Aina asks, shaking me.

"She's still breathing, at least," I mumble. I'm in shock. I never liked Hannah, I may have even described our relationship as hatred, but this has hit me incredibly hard. Every part of me throbs and there's only one thought going through my mind: What if that was me?

Aina takes me to her house for the rest of the night and I go home the next day. I immediately lock myself into my room, sheltering from the prying eyes of my parents. Then I rummage through my closet and find the old friendship book Aina and I started when I was six. It has lots of photos of us just hanging out, like we used to do. I miss those days, to be honest, but I'd never say that to Aina because she'd call me childish.

Eventually, I head downstairs for dinner. Mom is in tears and I'm scared that the worst has happened. "What' is it?" I inquire, hoping that I don't sound nosy.

"You know Mr and Mrs Cane?" Mom says, wiping away the tears. "Their daughter, Hannah... She's..." Mom burst into tears again. This time she embraces me and cries on my shoulder. "She died this morning." That hits me like an earthquake, followed up by a tsunami of emotion. I wail like a banshee and then I run upstairs and lock myself back into my room.

I don't check my phone, even though I'd promised Aina that I'd text her. I just walk to school, looking downcast. I don't talk to anyone, which isn't weird because I live in the opposite direction to all my friends, in the rich and incredibly stuffy side of town. When I get to school, there are girls crying in front of the school gate. Some of them I don't even recognize and others are girls who hated Hannah but are now exalting her for all they can. Aina is there too, being fussed over by Year Thirteens and having the teachers hover around her, offering counselling. When they see me, they hush and clear off. To be honest, I've made it obvious that I prefer being alone with Aina to anything else.

The rest of my week passes like a nightmare. The teachers molly-coddle me, saying how I must miss Hannah. Really, I just miss having a normal life—without all this partying, death and disaster. I try to get on with my life, but it's obvious that Aina misses Hannah. For me the fact Hannah is dead seems kind of irrelevant and I forget about it until Friday.

That's when Mrs and Mr Cane come to school, swathed in black, followed by legions of parents. We gather in the school hall for a memorial service, all of our colourful posters covered by photos of Hannah and her friends, haunting me with her happy smile and cheerful expressions. Even my parents show up, comforting Mr and Mrs Cane in the way only a fellow parent can.

Brooke and Aina have stopped smiling. How funny was it that my two favourite people in the world both adored Hannah when I couldn't stand her? To me she only stands as a reminder of my mortality, but my sorrow and guilt about how I could've endangered my own life is mistaken for grief over Hannah's death. Why could no one see? Had I not made it obvious that I hated Hannah? Made it obvious that I preferred a peaceful life with no dangers?

I'm nauseous and it becomes worse when the headmaster calls me up for an impromptu speech. My throat goes dry but I manage to come up with a speech about all of Hannah's achievements and nothing about anything personal that we had done, but everyone tears up and then congratulates me, saying that I was very brave for talking about Hannah and her life.

When I get home on Friday, I just lock myself in my room and tear up. I stay like that until I get the urge to go to sleep and even then I'm haunted—scenes of my own death, my body lying broken, my parents crying at my funeral and everyone growing up and moving on. In the end, my parents have to drag me out of bed. "It's been two days!" My mom wails in frustration. "You have to do something! What's Aina doing today?"

"Her and her family are having a weekend getaway," I mumble, wrapping myself further into my cocoon of blankets. They always did exciting activities and they always seemed to enjoy each others' company. That was one of the disadvantages of having a large and close family like Aina's, with plenty of cousins and siblings to hang out with. There are more people to notice that you are gone.

"Well, we have to do something," Mom says firmly. "What about we head out to town for breakfast?" After that she just stands there in front of my door until I get up and head to take a shower and clean up my face which is now spoiled by pimples, probably from a combination the junk food my parents had tried to bribe me with so I'd get out of bed and an inevitable case of stress.

We have nothing to talk about. Talking about Hannah is too painful, and it gets even worse when they question me about her death. I just make it look like a suicide, which my parents accept. They're in tears at the end of it, saying sappy things to me in order to make me feel better. They then get concerned when I barely touch my French toast, despite downing my smoothie, but it's a small thing to get worried over, and they soon move on and try to make me happy.

Every attempt to cheer up fails miserably. For the next week, I'm drowning in emotion. I'm booked in for counselling as well, where the counsellor thinks that I'm upset because of Hannah's death. I can't admit the real reason, and so there's a lot of tension. Eventually, she refers me to another councillor who is equally ineffective.

At home, I become even more withdrawn. My heart is dragged down with the pressures of pretending to mourn for a sworn enemy and keeping my emotions locked away. I gather some clothes to wear and immediately, I feel incredibly upset and guilty. It doesn't change when Aina picks me up for the latest get-down. I just get in the car, trying to communicate with her. It's hard to communicate with Aina via anything but face-by-face because she will worm her way out of it. But even then, communicating face-to-face is hard because she will twist my words and override me. "Aina..."

"Yeah?" Aina says, changing the radio station to one that's playing some song about dying. I sigh, feeling like I've been punched in the gut.

"I don't want..." I stop, unable to complete my sentence. "You know what, I'm just going to try and have fun."

"Well, that's the point! It's no fun at a party if you're just being cautious! We need to get over Hannah's death and this is the only way. I know you haven't liked her since she called your writing absolutely atrocious in Year Two, but your mourning too and I know it!"

Aina's half off it by the time I get the courage to stand up to her. "Aina..." I mumble.

"What?" Aina asks, her eyebrow raised. "Why aren't you enjoying yourself?"

"Look!" I say, my words coming out like verbal diarrhoea, sudden and without stopping. "I don't want to do this any more! I can't accept it if anyone else died! I quit! I don't care any more!" Aina faces me and I stand on my tippy-toes to reach her height before saying, "You don't care about me! I wish you'd see that what we're doing is absolutely ridiculous and one day someone else is going to die and I want to get out before its me!"

I yell too loudly and everyone notices. I go upstairs to grab my bag, where I hear everyone tittering about my outburst. They hate deserters. I think they would want to kill me rather than let their secrets out. And they do try to kill me. As soon as I head downstairs and open the door they attack, every blow breaking open my soul.

The thoughts that go through my head during the attack are either bittersweet memories or incredibly morbid. Memories of when Aina and I signed up for netball in Year Three and I scored the winning goal in our first game with Aina's help. A thought of me being loaded into the ambulance, broken and bloody. When I was getting picked on and Aina stood up for me. The thought of me cleaned up and at my most beautiful, lying in a coffin. I don't try to stop the morbid thoughts, I even welcome the sweet relief of death.

The next thing I hear is the blare of sirens. My vision is foggy, but I'm able to see two women lifting me up onto a stretcher. There is also screaming and yelling, but the words are hazy and unfamiliar. Maybe this is the end. Maybe they're speaking in the language of angels and I can't understand because I'm not fully dead, I'm just unconscious. Maybe I will learn when I am truly gone, when everyone who hated me will sing songs of praises and talk about how I was the most truly beautiful girl in the world.

In the end, it was Brooke who saved me. She called the ambulance and police, getting the girls to stop attacking me. They arrested a couple of girls who'd got a bit carried away beating me up. The medics hoisted me into the ambulance, travelling to the hospital. My parents heard about half an hour later and arrived to keep a vigil by my bedside.

I don't remember any of it, because I fainted just after the emergency services arrived. At least, that's what the nurses tell me. The real story could be dramatically different, but I try not to dwell on that. I'm already messed up as it is.

I wake up about two hours after they arrive. Everything spins, but my parents voices are as clear as day. "Oh baby," My mom mumbles.

"I should've known," my dad sobs. They say how they're disappointed in what I'd been doing before, but that they love me anyway. Brooke and Aina are next, with Aina apologizing profusely and Brooke trying to cheer me up with jokes. They talk about how I was lucky that the girls didn't go further and I was going to make a full recovery. My head is still thick with thoughts of how I might suddenly die at any second, no matter of what anyone else says. I try to make them vanish, but they stay there.

The next week, I see a different counsellor, who starts off with this big speech about not letting anything get the most of me and fighting every single venomous thought. She is truly amazing and for the next ten months we fight through the whirlpool of emotions.

After two months, I go back to school. Everyone is grateful that I'm alive, even if the reputation of our school has been tarnished. I get offered all sorts of things—lunch money, help with homework, tutoring and even a free voucher to a restaurant for a year (courtesy of the daughter of the restaurant owner). The teachers are extra nice, with the teachers also letting me off some minor assignments as compensation for misunderstanding my emotions. In the end, I can just about forget every single issue that's happened to me over the past year.

Sometimes the dark thoughts come back. When they do, I just become withdrawn and focus my time on doing art. But most of the time, I'm happy. I become best friends with Brooke and while I still remain friends with Aina, we're not as close. But I'm okay, I just love the fact that I'm feeling better everyday.

## About Ella

Ella McFarlane is a thirteen year old student at Heaton Intermediate. Ella enjoys writing very long and complicated stories about subjects she's passionate about. She reads lots in her spare time, often consuming lots of books in short periods of time. She also has a particular aversion to maths, which is why her stories may not have any factual maths facts. She is also working on a whole plethora of ideas, which may or may not be future stories. She just wants you to wait and see!

# Questions of Identity

## by Ella Tucker

I rolled over to look at my alarm clock. It read five a.m. I looked back to the sturdy figure next to me. Scott stirred and mumbled in his sleep and I knew I had to wake him up before he hurt his ribs or rolled onto his arm in plaster. Groggily, I got out of bed and drew the curtains. Outside the birds were slowly waking up and the sky was burnt orange. I looked back at the bed to see him trying to sit up. I rushed over with an apologetic look on my face.

"Sorry," I said and supported his back to help him sit up.

He looked confused and rubbed his eyes to help himself wake up.

"You were stirring and I didn't want you to roll over onto your arm or ribs," I whispered.

"Mmmm," he replied.

"Do you want your pills or tablets or whatever?" I asked.

"Painkillers."

I moved towards the en suite and as I neared the door Scott said, "Baby."

I turned back towards him. "Yeah?"

"I appreciate all your doing for me. I know I have been a handful after my injury and all but I love you so much," he said.

I smiled "I know. I love you too," I said and walked into our en suite.

Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I thought to myself, Wow! I am twenty-one years old and about to start uni. I live in a two point three million dollar house with my soon-to-be fiancée. What an accomplishment! I have everything except what I want most in the world. To know who my birth mom is.

I searched through the cupboards and found the painkillers.

I took them to Scott and helped him into the lift so we could eat breakfast together downstairs (We got this installed after his injury so he doesn't have to walk down the stairs in agony).

\- - -

I searched among the isles of cereals and breakfast foods at the supermarket. I wanted to try something new, but not something I had never ever heard of. I chose a few boxes of All-Bran and placed them into the trolley which was full to the brim with gourmet everything. I made my way in and out of all the isles and finally got to the checkout. The checkout lady was middle-aged with auburn hair and a lovely figure. She looked like the mumsy-type; I wish I could be like that one day. "Three hundred and ninety eight dollars," she said.

I passed her my credit card and watched as my money transferred into someone else's bank account. Money meant nothing to me or Scott. I got heaps of money from my parents because my dad owned the open-spaced mall of Santa Monica.

Scott used to get paid heaps from his rugby career but since his injury he hasn't had any income, not that that matters any more. I just want him to get better.

"Have a nice day," the checkout lady said and called out "next," to the family behind me.

Tossing and turning, my brain refused to shut down that night. I had so much on my mind. Love, Scott, money, university, parents. Rapidly, I sat up.

Parents. That was one word that had been playing on my mind for weeks now.

I knew I had to ask mom and dad before I started university or I would never be able too, as there would be no time to visit my birth mother, if that ever happened.

I really wanted to meet her, but I couldn't leave Scott here like this, and what if my parents took it the wrong way, like they weren't good enough? I have to be courageous and just ask if I can meet her. I need to do something for myself. Just do it Laura.

\- - -

Getting out of the car the next day, I looked up at the massive body of stone and cement before me. My parents house. Four stories high and right by Santa Monica beach. I paused on the street before walking up the steps to the front door.

'Knock knock,' I banged on the steel door and bit my fingernails (my nervous habit).

The door slowly opened and a woman wearing a raggedy black dress with an apron appeared. "Hello, Miss Laura. How are you?"

"Good thank you, Lucy," I replied. "Are my parents home?"

"Yes, they are just in the downstairs kitchen. Working, I presume," Lucy said.

"Thanks. Dad said something about expanding the Santa Monica mall," I said.

"Yes, yes. Busy man. Ever since he bought his third mall, he has been run off his feet."

I carried on through to the kitchen. Instantly, Mom stood up without seeing me as, though she could sense my presence coming into the room. She beamed a big smile and said, "Hello darling."

"Hey," I said.

"What brings you here?" she asked.

All of a sudden, Dad came bustling into the room. "Hey darling. Would love to chat but have gotta keep moving."

I breathed a big sigh and said, "Dad, I actually need to talk to you so would you be able to take a minute to chat?" I asked.

His phone rang. He went to answer it, but Mom gave him a don't you dare glance and said "Harry," in a strict tone. Dad's finger hovered over the answer button but then dropped and he said "Sure darling. Anything for you."

"Coffee, tea, water, soda...?" Mom asked

"Apple juice," I said cutting her off.

Mom went to the small beverages bar and got out a carton of juice.

"Harry, coffee?" she asked looking up to Dad.

"Mmmmm. Yeah that'd be great love," he answered.

I could tell Dad wanted to get back to work so I said 'thank you' to Mom as she gave me my juice and started talking...

Sitting in the lounge, I waited. Mom and Dad seemed more puzzled than anything when I asked if I could meet my birth mom. When I asked if they had met her they said 'yes', but nothing else. Now I was waiting as they discussed it in the kitchen. I was so nervous, but also very proud of myself for asking them. Probably the most courageous thing I have ever done. I heard the 'click clack' of Mom's heels and then saw my parents appear in the doorway.

They looked at me and I looked at them with hope in my eyes. Mom took a seat on the leather couch next to me and Dad sat on the chair across the room. Lucy came in at one point with a duster, but left once she saw it wasn't the right time.

I couldn't bear it any longer. "So?" I asked.

"You're sure you want to do this darling?" Dad asked.

"Yes! Bloody hell, just tell me what you have decided already," I almost screamed.

"Don't talk like that thank you very much, young lady," Mom said with a tone.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Your mother and I have decided that you can meet your birth mother on one condition. Your mom can come with you," dad said.

I blinked at Dad then turned to look at Mom.

"A... you... thanks." I couldn't say anything. Then I got out, "Aren't you coming, Dad?" I asked.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I have work and bills and..."

Cutting him off, I said, "I understand."

Then, out of nowhere, I jumped up and gave mom a great big hug. Dad came over and joined in. "Hunny, what are you going to do with Scott? He needs support."

"That rugby accident has really injured his arm and ribs," Dad said with worry; struggling out of the hug.

"I haven't run it by him, yet but he'll be happy for me. I was thinking of asking his mom to come down for a couple of weeks or however long it takes to find her," I answered.

"Why now? Why do you want to do this now?" Mom asked.

"Well. I am starting university soon and with all of my study and all, I won't have time for another three or four years," I answered.

"What are you going to study?" Lucy asked as she came in, dusting the shelves.

"Being a future lawyer, she is," Dad said proudly.

"Well done, good for you, Miss Laura," Lucy beamed at me.

"Lucy. Help me pack my bag. Laura and I are going to fly to Florida tomorrow at noon. I shall organise the private jet this evening while Laura sorts out Scott's mother," Mom said hurrying Lucy out of the room.

"Tomorrow," I said with surprise.

"Of course. The sooner the better," Dad replied.

I gathered up my bag and put on my coat. "Laura," Dad said.

"Yeah," I answered.

"I'm proud of you. That must have taken a lot of courage."

"It did. I didn't want you to take it the wrong way because I love you so much. Both of you. Thank you," I said.

Dad smiled at me and turned back to his phone.

"Dad?" I asked.

"Yes..."

"How do you know where she lives. My birth mom I mean?"

"She has kept in touch. Emailing me and keeping us up to date with new addresses. She is a teacher in California."

"Cool," I said.

I walked into the entryway and called out "Bye" to Lucy and Mom.

\- - -

Rushing, rushing, rushing. I threw clothes, magazines, make up, all sorts into my new satin pink suitcase. Scott lay on the bed talking to his mom on the phone. She would fly down from Florida tonight to take care of him. He was being really supportive and I didn't want to leave him. I had a made a list of medication doses for Grace (his mom) and had written a thank you note. I zipped up the suitcase and looked at Scott. He hung up and looked back at me. "The taxi will be here in ten minutes to take Mom and I to the airport," I said. I leaned in and kissed him. Mom came bustling into the room with a suitcase. "When did you get here?" I asked.

"Just arrived. How are you feeling Scott?" she asked.

"Well, I've been better," Scott replied.

"I will go and grab a drink if that's okay love," Mom said.

"Of course," I said.

Once Mom had left, I turned to Scott. "Scott," I said.

"Yeah," he replied. Our eyes locked and we stared at each other smiling.

"You gonna be okay?" I asked.

"Don't worry about me," he said reassuringly.

I smiled at him and he smiled back. "I love you," I whispered and I leaned in for a kiss.

"I love you too," he whispered back.

"Laura, the taxi is here. Bring in your bags!" Mom yelled from the other room.

Scott turned to me and laughed. I couldn't help laughing back for no reason.

"Well, I guess this is it," I said.

"I love you, Baby. Have fun," Scott said.

I picked up my suitcase and hauled it out of the room. I glanced back at Scott but he was already on his computer. I would miss him so much.

\- - -

"Would you like a drink or something to eat, Miss Laura?"

I turned away from my TV screen to see a flight attendant with a food and beverages trolley. "Umm... coke please," I replied.

I was lying on my bed in the family's private jet. I was watching 'Pretty Little Liars' on the TV and now sipping a can of coke. Mom was in the private study next door sorting out maps, routes and money.

'Ding dong.'

"This is your captain speaking. We will be reaching Florida in five minutes. Please come and take a seat in the main area and get ready for landing," boomed the captain's loud voice. I searched for the remote and turned off the TV. I made my way to the main area and took a seat next to Mom.

She had a briefcase bulging with paper. She smiled nervously at me and asked, "Ready?"

I nodded. I just couldn't believe I was going to meet my birth mom for the first time... apart from being born. I wondered if I would look like her, act like her, be like her.

The plane dipped down and then we were on the runway.

"Welcome to Miami, Florida," came the captain's voice over the speakers. Slowly, the plane came to a halt and the doors opened. As soon as I got out the door, a wave of heat hit me. Florida was a lot hotter than California.

"Let's go and get organised and then check into our hotel." Mom was suddenly beside me.

"Okay," I replied.

Eating breakfast in the hotel's restaurant the next morning, Mom turned to me and said "Laura, I just want you to prepare for the worst, okay?"

"What do you mean? She's not dead. She keeps you up to date with where she is living. Plus you emailed her to say we were coming to visit," I said through a mouthful of fruit salad.

"I know darling, but she might have changed emails and it will still be a surprise to show up on her doorstep and say 'Hi, I am your long lost daughter'," Mom said sympathetically.

"I know, Mom," I mumbled picking up my cup of coffee.

Mom nodded. I knew she was just trying to protect me, but it felt as though she was being too protective and not letting me act my age.

After breakfast, we decided to go for a walk on the beach. It was a lovely day and the weather wasn't looking good for the rest of the week. The sand in Miami was a lot nicer than Santa Monica and had crystal clear water. Mom and I read our books in the sun and went for a milkshake at the beach cafe afterwards.

Once we were back at the hotel we googled my birth mother's name, 'Karen Williams'. Heaps of images came up and I studied them all very closely. None of them looked remotely like me. I bet most of them weren't even called Karen, let alone Karen Williams. My birth mom still hadn't replied to Mom's email so I was kind of giving up hope.

\- - -

Later that night, after dinner, Mom jumped out of bed and rushed into my room. I could tell she was excited by the way she was squirming about.

"What?" I said shaking my head and laughing. She looked like she had ants in her pants.

"I found her. On Google. She is a teacher and I have the name of the latest school she worked for. Maybe we could track her down after talking to the principle of that school?" she said with excitement in her voice. I nodded and smiled. For the last hour she must have been researching, trying to find her. Mom knew how important this was to me and wanted to make me happy. She was the best mom ever. I hoped my real mom was like this. I was very excited and had regained hope of finding her.

"Karen Williams, was that her name?" I asked.

"Yes, why?" Mom replied.

"Just getting my facts right," I said.

Now that it was actually happening, I was getting more nervous and felt like backing out.

"I'm just going to call your dad and tell him the great news. Then I'll arrange for us to visit Miami Senior High School tomorrow. Sound like a plan sweetie?" asked Mom.

I nodded. What if I found her? What if I didn't? I was so confused. Mom bustled out of the room so I thought it a good idea to call Scott and see how he was.

Scott answered after I nearly hung up.

"Sorry for the wait, Baby. How is Florida?" he asked.

"Good... yeah. I'm trying to find her, starting tomorrow. We have a new lead on where she is. How are you? How is your mom?" I replied with questions.

"Stop worrying, Baby. I'm fine, she's fine. Everything is under control."

"Okay, okay. I'll stop worrying, but call me if anything happens. Okay?" I said with a strict tone.

"Yes. Now go. I love you, get some sleep," he said laughing.

"Bye."

"Goodbye, Lauren," he said.

I hung up and switched off the light. "Goodnight," I called out to Mom, who was in the bedroom suite next door, before snuggling down to sleep.

\- - -

Miami Senior High School was huge. It was much bigger than my old high school and Mom and I couldn't even find the office. We had to ask one of the students where it was.

Waiting in the office, I was reading magazines when all of a sudden the principal appeared. She was middle-aged with a short bob as black as night. She was dressed in a summery jumpsuit and had a plump middle. She looked a little bit odd, but seemed very nice. She welcomed us and ushered us into her office.

It turned out my mother did work here. Unfortunately she moved to Brito Miami Private School, but the principal, whose name was Malorie Smith, had her address. According to her records, she had lived in West Miami for three years now. I hoped that was still her address, however I was scared and nervous now that I was so close to finding her. I didn't know what to think. It was as though I was being eaten up inside, like an apple, so all that remained was the core. We thanked Malorie for her help and set off for Karen Williams house.

\- - -

There was a shadow moving in the upstairs window. A little figure of a short woman. She was on crutches, it seemed, or maybe she was just using a walking stick; or two.

"Mom, would it be okay if I just waited over here for a minute while you knock on the door?" I asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. I know it must be really overwhelming for you and all. I completely understand," Mom replied sympathetically.

"Thanks," I said with a shy smile. I walked over to the brick wall and looked up at the house above. It was an average-sized concrete house with a nice courtyard but no grass. I watched Mom knock on the door and a lady wearing a white nurse's outfit answered. I looked away as soon as I saw her. I pretended not to see her because I don't think she saw me watching. My birth mother was a nurse. Wow! A hero that saves lives. I turned back to the house and saw Mom walking over to me. She said nothing but sat down next to me and put her arm around me. I burst into tears. Now that I had found my mom, I didn't want to find her. I had a family that cared heaps about me and I didn't want to ruin that.

"It's okay, Darling," Mom's soft voice soothed me. "Darling, I have some bad news. That lady that answered the door was your mother's nurse. Your mom has very severe cancer in her leg and is on crutches. She doesn't have very long. The nurse said it might be less than two weeks left. She is very frail and looks quite bad. It's up to you whether or not you want to see her. She knows you're here, but understands if you don't want to see her this way."

I just sat there taking it all in.

"I don't know Mom," I said eventually.

"It's up to you darling," Mom said giving me an encouraging smile. "We can just walk away, or you can go in and see." She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tightly. If I didn't see her now, I never would. I had to suck it up and just do it.

"I want to see her," I said all of a sudden. It surprised me that I had said that, but I knew deep inside that I had to meet her before she died.

"Okay, Sweetie, lets go," Mom said pulling me out of my chair.

Karen Williams was very nice and I loved her the instant I saw her. She looked very old due to her illness but was only about forty-five. Mom was downstairs chatting with the nurse. Turns out Karen had had cancer for two years and had had many operations and spent lots of time in hospital.

"I'm glad you came to see me Laura. I just wish it wasn't when I looked like this," she said.

"I'm glad I got to meet you." I smiled back.

"You have grown up to be someone truly magnificent, and you are very pretty."

"Thanks," I said.

We talked some more and then all of a sudden, she keeled over.

"Help, nurse! Help!" I screamed. I rushed over to see her lying on the floor. Her crutches scattered across the room. The nurse pushed past me and listened for breathing.

"Call an ambulance!" she yelled. Mom pulled out her cell phone and rang for an ambulance. I just slumped against the wall, unsure what to do. Fear was in my eyes like a cat in water.

\- - -

The life support machine beeped. Karen's hand was cold and frail. She lay as still as a log or a sleeping cat. Silence. Mom and the doctors were waiting outside the hospital room.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. The beeps speed up and I knew what was happening. The doctors told me to call them once this happened but I knew there was nothing they could do. "I love you. I'm sorry. I love you, Mom." I burst into tears. The doctors and nurses came in and pulled the oxygen chords off her. Mom gave me a hug and didn't let me go.

"Sorry," the nurses mumbled and bustled back out of the room again.

"I love you," I whispered again. But this time, I whispered it to my mom. The mom that had me in a big hug.

"It's okay, Sweetie, you were very courageous. I'm proud of you."

I smiled at her and she smiled back. I loved my mom so much and she knew it.

"You're my whole," I said. "I'm glad I got to meet my birth mother, but you, dad and Scott are my family." I don't need any more questions about my identity. I have all I need to know. My family and life is in Santa Monica.

# Waiting for Lucia

## by Frankie Tellick

### Skye After

Me and Lucia were always best friends. We were eternally loyal to each other, even though we were complete opposites! From my first day at school, when I saw her playing with trucks in the sandpit, I knew that I needed help her out. Lucia was the timid, laid back, giggle at my jokes kind of girl, with straight brunette hair and skin as pale as china plates. I was the outgoing, positive, hilarious girl with ferocious dark blonde hair, covered in freckles like paint splattered across my tan face. We were completely different, like chalk and cheese, but we still would giggle over chick flicks, gossip and chatter, run around and hang out. We were the very best of friends. Who knew chalk and cheese could get along?

We were always there for each other, or so I thought, until the day when everything went horribly wrong...

### Lucia

It was a dim, dark, dreary day.

Jack Frost had sprinkled icy dust on my lawn. The brisk air was biting the necks of people walking by. It was surprising that our sleepy little seaside town had suffered such a malevolent winter.

I heard the everyday morning noises from my loud family and the sounds of the water lapping against the shore. I knew I should get up, but I...well... let's just say that I wanted to stay in bed ALL DAY LONG!

A horrible thought flashed into my mind, a thought that I wished would go straight to the bottom of the earth. I had to perform today, in front of the whole entire school! Just me and my best friend, Skye, up on stage talking with two hundred beady eyes glaring at me.

I couldn't do it. Never, in a million years, would be able to overcome my fear of stage fright. Ever since I was little, I'd never had the guts to go up and speak, unlike my enthusiastic best friend, Skye. I had known about this speech for months and had desperately tried to get out of doing it, but I had no choice. Still, it would take a miracle to see me up on a stage, confidently talking... and the miracle hadn't turned up.

That's when I decided, I couldn't go to school today. My parents would easily believe that I was ill, but Skye? I couldn't tell her that I was sick I wouldn't be biking to school today. She knew about my fear and she still wanted me to be up there, performing our speech on the stage. She'd just have to do it without me, it was simple as that!

I immediately started coughing and my parents rushed into my room.

"What's wrong, Dearie?" my mother asked, already in a flap.

"Urrrrrgh," I groaned then, cough, cough and splutter, "I don't feel too good today."

Mom looked hard at me for a minute, before saying,"By the look of you, you're definitely not going to school today! Lie down, Sweetie."

My brother and sister, four-year-old twins Archie and Lotta, bounded into the room. They were so cute, with long hair as dark as night and emerald green eyes. "Is Lu-Lu sicky," said Archie in a sad sort of voice.

"Yeah, Lucy looks sick," Lotta joined in.

"Yes, now let her rest," my mother said in a soft soothing voice. Then she left the room with the twins.

Yes! My plan had worked! I didn't have to worry about a single thing. I could just relax in my bed all day.

### Skye

"Bye, Mom," I shouted as I ran out the door. I hopped onto my bright green bike. It was chilly this morning, frost everywhere, but I had to get to school quickly because I performing my speech today and I was so, so excited. I would be amazing up there, I just knew it!

I biked down my road to the end of Lucia's road. I was expecting to see Lucia on her bike, shyly waving to me, but this was not the case at all! Where was Lucia?

Well I did come a little early today, but I was usually the one to come late. I'd just wait five minutes until Lucia turned up.

Minutes passed by and they felt like hours. I stood at the corner with my bike, waiting and waiting for Lucia.

"Urrrrrrrrrgh, she's taking forever!" I grunted to myself.

I'm probably the most impatient person on the planet. I couldn't keep waiting for Lucia like this! I had a speech to give. I pedalled as fast as I could to Lucia's house. Faster, faster and faster. Until all I could see was a big red car hurtling towards me! All I could take in was...

Lights, horns, and pitch black darkness.

### Lucia: just after

As I was relaxing in my toasty warm bed, I was shocked by the sound of my mother crying. I swung my legs over the bed and ran to the kitchen.

"What's wrong," I said, my voice more alarmed than it should be. Mom ushered me over to her.

"Sweetie, your friend, Skye, got hit by a car this morning. She went into a coma, but she died in the hospital." Mom's voice was soothing to me through the faltering sobs. I ran back to my room, choking on tears. How could she be gone? My best friend!

But then I remembered. I forgot to tell her I wasn't biking today and she got hit by a car... waiting for me... Lucia Whitley-Jones. This is all my fault!

### Lucia: two days after

Ever since Skye died I've felt empty, guilty, and incomplete without her cheerful spirit. I was let off school for the week and I don't think I could bear going to school without her there. I knew that I should see Skye's family. They needed to know the pure honest truth. I couldn't keep it in me any more.

I biked down to Skye's house, my eyes started watering as I opened the gate. I saw the tree house we made together and giggled over our secrets in. Her bedroom curtains were open at the front of the house and I could see the polka dot bunting. I pushed open the gate, walked up the path and onto the doorstep, finding a place to stand among the ready made dinners, sorry and remembrance cards. I buzzed the doorbell.

I waited for a while, getting nervous, until her dad, Mark, showed up at the door. His face had stubble growing on it. His eyes looked bloodshot from crying.

"Come in, Lucia," Mark said in a raspy tone.

Skye was an only child and her family were pretty enthusiastic and positive, but with her gone, the house seemed ghostly quiet. I stepped inside.

Her mother Clarissa was in the kitchen staring blankly into space.

"Hi, Clarissa," I said in a dull tone.

"Hello, Lucia," she said, still stargazing.

"Ummm, I just want to say something," I said, heart beating loudly in my chest.

"I know, I know. Come here, Lucia." She pulled me into a big hug.

"No, no! Skye died because of me!" I admitted, a huge guilty lump forming inside my throat.

"Now don't say that Lucia. I know she died, but it isn't your fault at all!"

"But it is my fault! I didn't want to go to school that day because I was meant to be presenting our speech! I have terrible stage fright. I didn't tell her wasn't biking that day!"

"Yes, I know dear. Come here. I have a note for you. They found it in her pocket." She guided me into Skye's blue room. That's when the big fat tears started streaming down my face. She went over to Skye's bed at picked up a tattered letter addressed to me. My heart fluttered because it was from Skye!

It said:

Dear Lucia, the bestest friend in the whole entire world!

I just wanted you to know that you don't have to talk up in assembly. It was a bit mean of me to force you to do this, since you have horrible stage fright! I'll just do it by myself. I'll be fine, anyway I love performing! You need to know that you are a really supportive friend to me and thank you!

From your friend

Skye

By the time I had finished reading the note it was covered with wet splodges of tears.

"Thank you, thank you, Clarissa!" I said feeling a bit happier. Clarissa patted my back a gave me a sad smile.

"You should go now, Lucia. Your mothers probably worried about you."

"You've helped me a lot, Clarissa. Thank you, and goodbye!"

When I peddled back to my house I felt less guilty. It wasn't my fault that Skye died. Bad stuff happened. I finally forgave myself. Then I remembered with a sinking feeling that the funeral was this weekend!

### Lucia: the funeral

The church was packed, row by row, with people in black, dreary clothing. There was a ghostly silence lingering in the air. I was wearing a black lace dress with my limp hair fastened into a low pony tail. The funeral director gave a loving introduction and Skye's family members told funny, embarrassing, and intriguing stories. We sang depressing songs with tears stinging in our eyes. My very best friend, the girl with a bubbly, bright personality, and the person I leaned on was gone. Gone from my life forever, but I needed to put that away. I had lost focus. I quickly jolted upright as I heard the funeral director say, "Would anyone else like to share?"

I knew that I had to speak. What was I thinking? I slowly lifted my arm up high and said "I, I, I, I'll speak, please."

Everyone was staring as I walked up onto the stage. I swallowed, unable to drive down the lump in my throat. "Skye was my very best friend. We always were... I always leaned on her to fix my problems. Ever since I was little, I've had horrible stage fright, but I feel that over the years, Skye has given the confidence I needed... to... to... get myself up here and speak. Sometimes, after people die, the ones who loved them want to put it behind them and forget, but I'm going to remember my bubbly, enthusiastic best friend and keep her in my heart forever and ever!"

My cheeks were wet and the world was a blur as I stumbled back to my seat, but I did it. I couldn't believe I actually did it! Everyone was clapping for me, Lucia! If Skye we're here right now she would be proud, clapping and whooping louder than anyone.

And guess what? I will never forget Skye, because she was the girl who changed my life!

# Open Eyes

## by Freja Bartoszewicz Poole

I always loved the fairy tale 'Sleeping Beauty', yet I never fully understood what it would be like to sleep for a hundred years. I now find that fairy tale dreadful, a true curse.

### July 14th, Canada—9am

The much anticipated day had arrived. The Match. I was mulling over my choices, stay or leave. The Coach, Mr. Sumberbatch—pronounced Summer Batch (grammar is very important)—had just talked with me and his words were still fresh in my mind...

"Okay team! Tomorrow's 'der match," he had said, his Scottish accent strong as ever. In the room our faces were painted: determined and strong. "Well 'en (he was finishing up), rest well and 'emember, seven o'clock, SHARP!" He barked that last word. He really wanted us to win. My tennis team started to leave while I was held back.

"Leo, I want to see you," he said. I was spazzing out inside and tried to stay calm. Coach didn't speak until everyone had left, "Leo I (he went straight to the point), I want you to break 'de ace's hand."

My brain was slow on this.

"Her name's Alex," he explained slowly. "Break 'de hand or... somefing! If not... you're out."

"Wait, What!?" I shouted, finally getting the message.

"You'll be out of the team." He was still keeping his cool. "She trains around six thirty."

I felt a lump form in my throat.

"You want me to Ch-Cheat?" I was surprised, maybe our teams little winning streak wasn't all skill and luck. My head was bent and I felt unsure. His neon Nikes were all I could see.

"Just do it," he said through gritted teeth. I looked up. My nice, friendly coach was now showing new colours. "Your future career here depends on it!"

He made his way out, leaving a tense air behind and a speechless girl who needed to know what to do.

That was yesterday, the thirteenth, and right now it's six twenty-five. I still don't know what to do, so I'm hitting the tennis ball against a wall in the park Alex goes to. I had found a beautiful space in the park, tucked away from everyone's view. It was surrounded with thick blocks of concrete with a single bench attached to a wall.

After a bit I notice that I was being splashed with sweat (a lot). Time to stop for a break, I think. I'm really nervous now, as it's six twenty-nine. I redo my brunette hair into a high ponytail, becoming more anxious by the second. I start to play with my light blue tracksuit fabric, trying to figure out what to do.

I have to say I really love my tracksuit outfit. I saw it in the sports shop and knew it was just meant for me. I had to buy it, so I did. It's six thirty-one now and someone's coming. At this point I know I have to go for it. Who knows how I got to this last minute decision?

Alex is running at a steady pace, unsuspecting. She looks very sweet, with cute freckles, greyish blue eyes, chubby cheeks and soft, pretty blonde hair. She almost looks like an eleven-year-old, who likes sewing and girly things. I get up and scan the area for anything useful. I see plastic, rubbish, stones and... glass! There's a small glass bottle stashed away beneath a bush. It's already broken too. I grab it, along with a sharp stone.

Alex is still coming, but at a slow steady pace. I place the stone so it will be in her way and carefully, the glass goes down several centimetres away. It seems like she hasn't noticed me. Lucky! I can't hear my own conscience shouting, "What are you doing?"

In what feels like hours, but is really heart throbbing seconds, she rounds the bend. She notices the glass I think, probably expecting to jump over it, but doesn't see the stone. Just as planned, she trips up on the stone and...

It happened.

One thing I wished never to happen.

It had come to life.

If I wanted to take it back, well, it was too late.

I feel a surge of horror and alarm. Is she okay? Is she? Is she?

Help! Help! Help! my head is screaming.

"A-are you okay!?" I'm shouting in shock. I emerge from the concrete hideaway, rushing to a bloody Alex. I turn her over to find tiny glass shards sticking out of her forehead. I hadn't thought the impact would be so great, or that she would fall face down onto the glass. Yet, a part of me did know she would fall face down... I don't have my mobile on me and no one is around either.

"HELP!!" I scream, "HELP!"

I have to act quickly or Alex will...

Panicked and confused, I run to the street, looking for any one or um, I don't know, something! I glance back to see a man came down the track toward Alex. Not thinking, I hide behind a bush, watching as the man sees the bloody mess, swipes out his phone and dials nine-one-one.

I dare not come out. Not now...

After a long wait—my legs getting more and more itchy—an ambulance appears in a flurry of white and red. In silence, they take Alex away and, so very quickly, they are gone.

On the bus on the way home, my phone dings with a new message:

The match is cancelled. See you next session.

\- Coach

The Match is cancelled! Everything I did was worthless, not that what I did was good either. I lean my head on the window, pocketing my phone and feeling my head vibrate from the bumps the bus takes. I don't dare to speak to anyone about what happened when I get home—and then, like magic IT comes.

### Three Weeks Later

"Leo, darling, want to eat?" the worried voice of my mother calls.

"Leave it outside my door," I somehow croak back.

Mom has been worried sick about me all the time since the incident. She thought I had just witnessed the horrible scene, but it was so much worse. Alex... She didn't make it. She lost a lot of blood on her way to the hospital, and, even after they got the shards of glass out, she was very weak from shock and blood loss. Overnight, an unexpected fever or infection apparently took over. Weak as she was, she fought, but by time the nurses noticed, it was too late. I had been hungry for news about Alex, waiting in secret for anything I could eat up. The next day when I found out she had died, a lump of guilt filled my stomach. I didn't have the appetite to eat, the guilt had filled that place to the brim.

All I know is that all of it is MY fault. Why did I do it? To stay in the team? I'm selfish, selfish! My heart barks at me. And on that Tuesday I fall, in a deep deep sleep...

### Two Weeks Later

My eyes slowly open, the light blinding me. Everything looks so blurry. I blink, but the fog doesn't clear. Where am I? Definitely not in my room, cause everything as far as I can see is white and has a strong smell of chemicals. I'm lying in bed, my sight coming back slowly, but surely.

"Where am I? What's happening?!" I shriek. I blather some other random shouts until a lady in doctor or nurse clothing rushes in.

"You're awake!" she gasps. "DOCTOR! DOCTOR." She skedaddles away in a flurry, just as she came in.

Awake? I think, wait was I... and she said doctor right? Which means... How long was I ASLEEP? Was I even asleep? Wait why am I even here?

Owww, my head. I feel so tired... A man runs in, probably the doctor. He takes out a lot of humba jumba (which really is just strange doctoral tools) from a black case he's carrying and then starts examining me, shining lights in my eyes all that.

"What are you doing?!" I say, trying to dodge the light in my eye, but my tiredness gives in.

"Well, Miss Lullick, you seem to be in ship shape right now, but fits like these will likely continue to occur... You have a rare case of the Kleine-Levin Syndrome (KLS), also known as Sleeping Beauty disorder."

Kleine-Levin Syndrome? Sleeping Beauty Disorder? What's going on? And what fits?

"Uh, what exactly is that..." I mumble a little sleepily.

"When you came in the hospital you were burning up, but to think it's come to this..." he rambles on to himself.

"Sir, what is Kleine-Levin Syndrome?" I ask, a little louder.

"We should notify your... Oh, yes right. Kleine-Levin Syndrome, or just KLS is a type of sleeping disorder. It has no cure, unfortunately... yet. But we do have medical... eh... properties that may help."

"A sleeping disorder? What do you mean by that?" I ask even more sleepily.

He slicks back untidy black hair and licks his lips, pen to clipboard. "Well, it comes and goes. You could stay out for weeks, just asleep. You become all childish and have a less understanding about the world." He scribbles notes down on the clipboard. My lips feel dry and I inhale air slowly.

"What's the date?" I ask. "How long was I out? And what do you mean childish? I don't feel like that at all."

The doctor looks at me, his moppy hair in his brown eyes. He seems sympathetic as he says, "It's been at least two weeks since you came in, and I do believe it's Wednesday."

Two weeks. It echoes in my head like a gong. Why is this happening?

### Thursday

I am still very tired after waking up. Maybe it is also the fact that I didn't sleep at all last night. Everyone in my family is overjoyed I'm awake and give me kisses, hugs, and presents. Even I am happy, yet I felt that this curse is all because of what I did to Alex. Had Alex given me a taste of revenge? Even more guilt envelops me. I lie there in my hospital bed, the crisp white sheets getting crinkled as I clutched them tight. A single tear rolls down my cheek.

"I'm so sorry Alex," I whisper to a dead girl.

Later, I'm sitting up, cushioned with fluffy pillows as I stare down at steaming soup, watching the thousand oily orbs float around in the liquid. Minutes pass and the steam ceases. My nurse, the one who had run away at the sight of me, is called Beaulah, but I just called her Bee. Bee isn't like all the nurses in movies, shy and like the uber-fake, cute. She is outgoing and loves to crack up to her own jokes, even if they aren't funny. I really don't have to be cheerful, because Bee is cheerful for me. I don't really know her well enough to say we get along-along, we're just acquaintances.

Anyway, my nurse Bee enters and looks unimpressed at the soup, still in its bowl. "Hey, why don't I heat that up for ya?" she asks, already reaching for the bowl.

"I don't want IT!" I yell, throwing the bowl to the floor and making a reddish mess. Bee has her hands on her hips.

"Now that's a waste!" she says in a scolding tone.

"I don't care!" I whine.

Bee sighs, as if giving up, like she got enough to handle already. She cleans the mess and disappears through the door. Whatever her intention was, she obviously forgot.

### Four days later

I'm up on my feet and sent home. It felt good to stretch out from behind those hospital bars. During that time, I'd gotten close to Bee. She was my BFF and it was sad to leave, but I still have to go back to check on any developments in my KLS.

Mom is really cautious, like I'm made out of china. It makes me feel precious, like I belong. I'm still awfully tired, but perky enough to walk through the door of the house towards my room. It's plastered with posters of my heroes and certificates, and for once, it's clean. I plop myself on my squishy bed—the kind I like—and examined the room as if it's foreign territory. I stare out my two big windows that let in rain and shine with swishy curtains, then I sink back and fall, once again, into a deep sleep...

### Eight hours later

I'm awake, and the first thing I need to know is, what's the time, the date even!? I swoop towards my alarm clock and look at the numerals furiously. Phew it's still Monday. I just took a regular nap... sorta... for eight hours.

"Leo!" a voice rang. "Can we talk to you? A family talk, now?"

"Uh sure, yeah," I reply. I walk down the hall clumsily and enter the lounge. Both my parents sit on the couch in serious mode. I claim our second couch and fidget at the tension.

"Sweetie, things will be very different from now on," my parents say in unison. I nod. "We have a question for you..." The tension hangs more tensely than before. "The doctor said that you won't be able to study, to keep up with school... all of those things, and so we wanted to know if you wanted to stay in school?" The tension lifts and it sounds daft and weird!

"Stay?! That's what this is about?" I say, almost wanting to laugh.

"Yes..." they both say.

"I want to stay," I say finally, "I mean these sleepy things won't happen all the time, right? Right?" I say it as if not wanting to believe my fate.

"Right," they agree, and leave to discuss the matter deeper, probably.

Mom and Dad have arranged for me to go to school next week, no homework or anything like that. I decide to go to bed. I feel really tired...

I soon submerge into a dreamless sleep.

The days fly past like wind and I find myself at school. I enter, feeling awkward and weird to be here. My bag burdens my back and I hang it limply on the hook. I enter class and take a seat.

The day goes by, like any day, and suddenly I feel so sleepy... The sun's warm. I start to doze off in its light... So TIRED.

I fall into a black hole. My eyes are heavy. I don't want to open them yet. All I can think of was Alex.

Alex, sorry, I didn't mean to.

But what's done is done, said my heart. What's done is done.

My eyes fly open and I feel myself trying to register everything. Where am I? In my bed? In my room? Tired, thirsty, tired...

"Mom!" I croak "Mom!"

Footsteps thud and Mom enters. She looks so old, grey hair, deep raccoon circles and a tired smile. "Sweetie! you're awake!" She clasps onto me hugging me to death.

"What's the time?" I croak out.

"Oh sweetie, oh my Leo, my Leonora." She kisses my hair and doesn't answer.

"MOM!" I croak loudly! "What's going on?" I feel panicked and tired.

"You fainted at school," she says. Her face looks creepily sweet.

"But what's the time?" I ask.

"Oh maybe... never mind," she looks sad.

"I want to get up." I shift my body position.

"Okay, sweetie," Mom stands up, leaving me be.

When I feel like I have enough energy, I get up, go out into the hall and see in through the crack of the kitchen door. Mom is crying.

"Ricky, why did you have to leave...? She woke up. I was right all along..." Mom falls into giant sobs. "It was only eighteen months. She was just asleep..." Her hands shake as she holds a picture of their wedding day.

That's right. Mom was alone. I couldn't hear anyone else... Where was Dad? Did he leave Mom? That bastard. He left Mom. Yet isn't it my fault? YES, I hear myself think. Oh, Mom... Mom held onto me till the end. I can't accept my new life. I can't. I CAN'T, I CAN'T, I CAN'T!

I have to go outside. I fling open the door. I don't care if I'm still exhausted. I don't care at all, not even bothering to respond to my mother's call.

I dashed past buildings, dodging people, until I come to an isolated lake. How convenient, I think, as I wipe away the tears that sting my eyes. I turn my back on the water, looking back at the town I lived in. Maybe Alex was just my evil witch, cursing me in revenge. Maybe my Mother was a caring fairy that believed in me. Maybe I was... How childish, I think. I'm so childish. Yet in a way, it made perfect sense.

"I, Leonora Lullick, have had enough of your revenge Alex. No matter how many times I apologize, nothing's going to change. I did it. I killed you, broke up my Mother and Father. What do I deserve? How about the last piece of your revenge, completed. I Leo—no I am now your Sleeping Beauty. I shall sleep forever, like you insist on me doing,...goodbye." And with that I leaned backwards, falling into the piercing water, not trying to resist, but instead feel the waters prickling thorns as I drift in a sleepy state. In my thoughts, I whisper, Mom, I'm sorry, so sorry.

My eyes are open the whole time as I slowly sink to the lakes sandy bed. The light reflects the waves and air bubbles escape my mouth, silver spheres swirling upwards. Brunette hair creates a sort of halo around me. I sink to the bottom feeling like I am frozen in time, ever slowly sinking to an endless sleep.

Forever.

## About Freja

Freja Bartoszewicz Poole, or preferably B Poole, is a twelve-year-old student who is currently attending Heaton Normal Intermediate School.

Freja likes to be with her pets, Ronald and Bonnie who are both rabbits of different species. Ronald—a cute black fatso—is a Rex rabbit and Bonnie—a scrawny little thing—is a half -wild New Zealand rabbit. Freja's catchphrase is "Good for you", mostly because it frustrates people. Freja also enjoys singing, writing, reading and her passion—Ice Skating! Life couldn't be better.

# Extremists

## by George French

The flickering light emanates an ominous glow, leaking weakly from the rim of a rusted drum. The walls turn cherry crimson as the brickwork is kissed by the flame's dance. A homeless man huddles in a shivering ball, trying to trap in his body's shallow warmth. Far away, where the wealthy hide—bathing in their ignorance—church bells splinter the silence. A drizzly rain filters through the dark alley, swept into the quivering man by a raw gale. A plastic bag tumbles over concrete pavers, pursued by parched leaves, crackling with glee. The bend in the alley spews forth many shadows and in the dim light of the fire, the haggard man sees a group of ghostly silhouettes moving towards him from out of the hazy gloom. The man tries to get up and run, but the pavement is slippery and he cries in agony as he topples to his knees. A robust arm grabs his grimy shirt collar and hoists him up.

He is now face to face with a giant man rippling with muscle. The man wears a maroon-coloured porcelain dog mask with two holes below the nostrils. Plumes of steam plaster the homeless man's face with rotten breath. The mask condenses the shadows, creating an aura of sinister malice. His skin is so dark it appears to be bruise purple in the eerie light. A baseball bat is strapped across his enormous rigged shoulders. The man blunders forwards, having obviously saturated his body with alcohol beforehand. His friends are much the same. The giant figure flings the homeless man's body, squealing, as he is sent crashing back-first into the wall, dispersing old bricks and mortar across the alley. A dog howls in the distance. This man is obviously the small gang's leader, and the homeless man sees fear, not respect, kindled in his followers eyes.

The homeless man's vision clouds with spurts of red, and he watches, paralysed. The big man cumbersomely clambers towards him. Then, in a flash of shadowy movement, a massive owl streaks down from the rooftops above, and with the fury of an animal cornered, punches, kicks, and jumps his way through the men with startling ease. The colossus who threw the homeless man into the wall detaches a blooded baseball bat from the sweaty teal shirt on his broad shoulders and raises it to swing with a stubborn grunt. The owl flips and somersaults, avoiding the man's heavy strikes, and latches on to his back. With a satisfying CRACK!, the mountain of muscle's skull tilts to the side, his massive head no longer supported by a neck. His head falls to the pavement, splattering the tiles with blood—his hair matted and damp from the rain. His mask lies cracked before his head.

The owl flips athletically onto the sprawling pavement. He is draped in a cape of onyx fabric, lined with silver. It cascades over the owl's shoulders like it is made of liquid. His helmet resembles that of a great horned owl, with a broad crest of toughened fabric protruding from above each hollow eye. His mask's eye sockets hold orbs of merciless reflective glass, punctuating the air with a demonic glow. From the bird's mask bulges an eye-catching beak that shimmers like fire under a coat of stars. The owl is wearing armour of obsidian-like kevlar, fashioned into a feathery material that glints in the gloomy, unsettling light. The owl wears a breastplate formed from wiry slabs of metal, strapped together to form a flexible panel of protection from heavy blows. This formidable enemy is outfitted with an armoury of weapons, from slick swords—Japanese in origin—to antique throwing knives. He is lacking in guns.

By this stage, the homeless man realizes that this entity is a man in an owl-obsessed costume. The shadowy figure turns to the homeless man. "Privacy, please," he says in a cringe worthy, rasping voice the equivalent of parched reeds whispering in a gusty breeze. The man detaches a smoke grenade from his belt and drops it into a puddle beside him. This distorts the homeless man's view of the owl's escape.

"That's the eyewitness account, High Lord," says the advisor, sheltered in the entrance to a grand room. No matter how much the man in the spacious entrance way speaks to the High Lord, it doesn't make his aura any more friendly. The man nervously waits for the High Lord's reply, subconsciously tapping at his watch face.

In the well appointed, luxurious room—full of expensive velvet and shimmering woodwork—sits a hunched figure. His gaze seems to force servitude, despite being little more than a crusty old man. In his youth, the High Lord would have boasted an impressive figure—someone you would cross the street to avoid.

The window's elongated, slanted light reveals the wrinkled abomination to be a lord, judging by his flamboyant attire. He is the High Lord of the extremists, a group of radicalised people who are intent on improving humanity through total control. They are lead by this crooked man, known as the High Lord, who has been alive for centuries through experiments involving injecting himself with the genes of various animals. He lives in a vertical forum and is surrounded by state-of-the-art technology.

The High Lord's gaze drifts up into the shadows of his vaulted ceiling. His pupils dilate in a moment of deep realisation. "We have lingered on the tracking and inquiring of information for far too long now. I believe it's past the time I order the execution of this man," he says in a croaky, arid voice. "Can I trust in you to convey this decree to the other lords of the society, Elor?" The High Lords eyes bulge like shiny black pebbles, rimmed with rummy, fleshy white, rigid with pulsating veins.

"Yes, I can," exclaims the man in the doorway, before he hurriedly disappears into the shadows, the scuffling of slippers on hard wood echoing. The rain patters down the tiled roof. The High Lord shifts his starved, bony body in his extravagant leather chair, wincing. He begins to type away on his silvery chrome desktop and the mansion falls silent once more.

\- - -

Why work? Similar thoughts ripple as noise explodes in my brain. I reach over and whack the alarm clock, shattering the green panelling across the back. The alarm clock's splintered remnants stare woefully at me and I glare back at them, reminding them that the clock woke me up! Even I despise getting up on cold winters mornings, and it's seven thirty already! It feels like I've only slept for four minutes. Dammit!

I clamber up out of the warmth of my cotton covers, promptly stubbing one aching toe on the end of the bed. I gasp. I can vaguely recall the night before.

Yesterday, I was eliminating a component in a body smuggling operation who sourced their "stock" in Zambia. They used medieval tactics to extort young girls and turn them into heartless assassins. The charming officials controlling this travesty would sell the girls to criminals, who the girls would then slaughter. These 'righteous' men used torture and pain to turn normal people into savages. Now, without supply, I believe that this dreadful organisation will wither and die—at least for while.

I have to fight off hoards of organised crime's deadliest killers, as well as a host of other hired missionaries. To say the least, a day in bed is a pleasant thought, and sleep would make me feel better. Sadly, no luck now, and none for the rest of today either.

As I arrive at work, I feel my practically weightless costume grow heavy under my uniform. The boss has signed another deal with some obscure overseas underwear exporter. That means... I'm gonna be working hard for the next... foreseeable future.

Welcome to the life of Riley—I'm an underpaid worker who specialises at telling two hundred people to work harder, all day long. I also really enjoy the delightful work setting, with its dank, lethargic, freezing concrete walls. You can imagine how I feel once I go back to my apartment. Not great on so many different levels. I know I am a lot smarter than people judge me to be to be—modest to—but that doesn't excuse the fact that while most people my age were studying at university, I was training to be an assassin overseas (and just down the road). Of course I couldn't manage a university degree at the same time, or at least, not an official one. I did train in forensic sciences while in London a few years back, but because my tutor wasn't a registered lecturer, I can't get a job anywhere near the forensics department. I suppose it doesn't help he was a mercenary, either.

Anyway, once I get home from work, I have a hobby of beating people to a pulp. I'm a secret vigilante. I even have pretty stylish name: Twilight Owl. But my life really isn't the hype the media crank it up to be, especially when my hobby follows me around, like today.

I am halfway through my shift at work, and looking forward to staring longingly into a mug of steaming coffee. That is, until my thoughts are rudely interrupted by a wall—I falsely believed to be indestructible—exploding twenty meters from where I'm standing. Hot, chalky air peppers my cheek. I dive down, saving a panicked worker with a frightened look on her face, protecting her from becoming a mosaic of bloody shrapnel. I leap to my feet. I sprint with the speed of a demon being pursued by a rabble of fallen angels. I vault over tables and dodge the endless crowd of people bubbling and boiling, like the contents of a seething cauldron.

Look at this alarmed storm of cowering and distress! A sharp pang reminds me why I'm not a fly fisher in my spare time. I finally make it to my locker and adorn my full costume, aside from the components under my uniform, in record time. I bounce ecstatically from behind the locker door, and am startled a small army of assorted assassins in velvety purple, the rippling fabric simmering with layers of innocents' blood. Their hooded faces are covered beneath owl masks with bold slashes and dents rigoring the slate-like surface, a worrying parody of my own armour. The masks also reminded me of plague of elite organised crime officials called the Spire of Owls, whose roots have riddled the streets of London since Roman times.

Once, I was their brainwashed Talon—and responsible the unfortunate deaths of many paramount figures rising through London's ranks. It shocks me how some choose pure evil over helping our world improve itself. Their technology was more advanced than anything I've seen since. Are these assassins affiliated with that crime group?

I scold myself. Not here in plain sight, that's not the Owls style. They prefer stealth and silence, operating under the cover of darkness. I expertly leap with a multitude of somersaults over the spray of blood below, bounding gracefully from wall to wall. I dive down towards the frenzy of murderous assassins below and kick one in the face, fracturing his skull as it connects with the wall on the opposite side of the room.

The next few minutes are a fury of kicks, punches, blocks—and the rare tactical error on my part—a few defensive manoeuvrers and a lot of shed blood from the 'assassins'. I mean not to insult their skills, but I am much better, and have faced far more adverse opponents. I finish the last few pretend ninjas and I start to feel uneasy, the sensation I feel when I am being followed. A cold sweat drenches my livered hair, and my neck hairs pummel my brain with bad vibes. I know this isn't as simple as just kicking a few muscled thugs in imperial purple hockey gear, and, low and behold, I am right.

As I kick the last man standing, a massive lumbering figure of untameable wrath pokes his head round the corner. I exhaust all my energy fighting that massive, hulking man that appears to be made of play dough. I am ashamed to say, that nasty body builder drains me of a solid amount of throwing knives, swords and some other weapons, leaving me with just my fists and a pool of skill. He drains that too. I am pleased to say that I beat the undead fur balls out of that thug. I am not ashamed to admit, too, I make his ugly, pillowed face look even more stunning, if you get my dig. But still, he makes me feel old, lifting a factory support pillar and using it as an oversized club. He is surely the most challenging thing I've had to face in a while, and I would have surely died if I wasn't as experienced through all the fights I've fought in the past. The important thing is that I stop his culling. Unfortunately, too many families lost loved ones today, and that's something I can't forgive.

Amazing, as it is also enraging, how the security guards our factory hires—and pay than they do me—run away as soon as they hear the explosion. Once they see the thick sooty wall of rippling dust, they run, overwhelmed. I could have used their help, and one thing I know for sure, is that out there, many more relieved families would be hugging their loved ones, than those grieving for them. I leap with twirling somersaults and the odd backflip, my heart pained, until I find the closest of my bunkers. I swear, I will be the revenge that those families wish for.

As a child, my mother had a tendency to erupt in fits of madness, and I was more often than not on the receiving end. This resulted in a pile of physical and emotional damage that slowed my progress through life.

I am feeling a little washed out when I escape through a karate club in a hall down the road.

The Japanese teacher here noticed the potential in me to be a great man. He had grown up in Japan as the son of a fugitive, on the run from the Japanese authorities of the time, and had lived far away from human civilization. His beloved father taught him fifty different martial arts so he could fend for himself if he was suddenly alone. Every morning I would wake up energised and fly down the road to that same gym for six years, in which time I mastered fourteen essential martial arts. The bullies that used to give me so much grief at school, now wished they had been my friend. My mother was gradually succumbing to the madness, but I was so focused and intent on succeeding in my studies that I simply ignored her. By the age of sixteen years, my mother was permanently admitted to the asylum. This had a big impact on my world. I fell out of high school and fully dedicated every waking moment I had to mastering martial arts. That was the one outlet stopping me from turning into my mother. My tutor was like a father to me, something I hadn't had the joy to feel since my dad disappeared when I was two years old.

I remember the day my mother was murdered.

They walked into the hall where I was practising some kicks on a manikin, blissfully alone. This hall was hefty, with a lofty ceilings towering above. The limited light sparkled off the dust particles suspended in the cold air. The floor and walls were wood, chestnut brown, and admitted a glowing warmth. The hall had a small house next door, and this was where I was living at the time. The house was small and styled in a traditional Japanese manner. I often found sanctuary and relief from my thoughts, meditating in my tutor's Japanese water garden outside. It was beautifully manicured and groomed, possessing a vibe of peace. After my mother was permanently admitted to the mental institute, my tutor, worried for me, let me stay there. He taught me how to love the world again.

When they came, one agent spoke in a monotone about how my dear mother had been smothered after a guard left my mother's cell door open by accident, allowing the puppet master—a well renowned character who murdered people in intriguing ways that appealed to his horrible desires—to hide under my mother's bed while she lay sleeping, listening to my mother's breathing. The following events sent tremors through the asylum, turning the inmates into savage shrieking animals.

I now had very little happiness in my life for the following years, and when I was finally healing, my life took a greater turn for the worst. A thug randomly shot my mentor on my birthday, as he was coming home to cook me a celebratory dinner for my twenty first. I don't blame that thug now. He needed food to eat. I blame a corrupt society of self-worshipping caterpillars who designed this world in a way that damages people's lives. By then, I had mastered thirty martial arts, and was progressing into a terrific matured man—that being my own opinion.

The martial arts I mastered have since helped me save my city of Harlemon many times over. Whenever I perform a martial art, I remember my mentor, and the pointlessness of him dying. Back then, I had iron-like walls of muscle rippling across my body and was in peak physical condition, but my mind wasn't as strong. I ran away that night, since I hadn't imagined my life without my mentor and adopted father. I sat on the bridge, three miles from a route into the city. The route wasn't used much because it added another hour onto your journey.

That night, I gazed out across that shimmering mirror of water, meandering out to sea. I cried into the lake, the moon leaking luminescence into its murky depths. A bird spoke to me that night. An owl asked me, "Who are you?"

I studied my reflection, and didn't like what I saw. I was hiding in ignorance from the world out there because I didn't want to experience pain again. My mother and my mentor were dead, and I wasn't doing anything to avenge them, even though I could.

"I will fix it, fix it all," I spoke in a quivering whisper to no one but my dead loved ones. I knew then I would become the owl, seeing all. I had to help a city that was disease-ridden and close to death. I would dedicate my life to cleaning this city, and then the world. I couldn't allow myself to dishonour my dead mother and my mentor. I know now that hurt finds us all, and we can do nothing to prevent it's coming. You can face it, or you can let it overwhelm you.

That night, I swore my vengeance on the people who hurt my family. I swore to kill only when in life and death situations, because then I would become my prey, cowering scared from the predator that is themselves. This would be my life. As I return to this place tonight, on the anniversary of my mother's death, I hear the descendant of that same owl repeat to me the question once again.

Who are you?

I see those glowing eyes stare into my soul, and when only satisfied will they look away. I stare into the river and am startled by the owl, swooping away into the distance, spooked. I try not to indulge in sensationalism and superstition, but I can see that this is a sign. I run hurriedly back to my bunker where I keep my costume. I arrive and quickly slide into my armour. I turn to run out the vaulted door, my heart thundering, when I hear a ticking. I use my telescopic night vision to investigate. I am perplexed as the lights cut out with a wizz. My backup generator will kick in soon. Then it occurs to me. I was followed after my victory against the purple clad assassins. The assassins weren't sent to kill me, but only to entice me to come to my base of operations at the right time, so when I start my nightly patrol—looking for clues on what the attack was provoked by—my bunker will be left unprotected and vulnerable. I was so disturbed that I had forgotten to set the alarms this the afternoon, I recall.

As I leap off of that train of thought, the bunker explodes in a whirling fury of chemical induced flames and splinters like concrete chips. My senses flare as I sprint over the floor, where crevasses are now threatening to swallow me and send me down into the ghostly cave systems below. I sprint up the long chamber of stairs that leads down to my bunker. I reach the top and kick manhole open. I dive roll out through the smoking embers and find myself in the cool night air, the compound beneath me flaming and spluttering. I close the manhole behind me. The gravel road I'm standing on is pearly in the moonlight.

I head down town in a series of flying leaps, determined to find the answers I desire. Who is this person who wants to destroy my life when all I do is try to help this city?

On the entrance of six thousand lane, perched on a ledge overlooking the central bank of Harlemon, is Moonhawk, a vigilante friend dear to me. I trained this man as my partner, Osprey, when he became an orphan, after his parents were killed overdosing on a new, highly addictive drug called DeD. He was like the son I never had and I cherished his presence on my nightly patrols. The life I chose is one I wouldn't give up, but it's easy to feel lonesome. He saved me, as much as I saved him. That is, until he decided to set out and find his own path to follow, escaping my shadow. He became the vigilante known as Moonhawk.

I stand beside where he is perched. "Do you know anything about a group of purple clad assassins?" I ask.

"They call themselves the surgeons," he replies, "and I have been trying to track down their members, but they are elusive and well hidden. I know they realise I am pursuing them, because since investigating them and returning to my apartment one morning, I found a bloodied hatchet impaled in my bench top. I tested the blood for DNA, but the owner's identity had been erased from all the known records."

I hated how he spoke to me, like frosty winters' drizzle. Moonhawk didn't even tell me he was on their trail. We had obviously become distant.

"I could have helped you," I pine.

I get a nasty reply, "You haven't called in over a year. I know your ego may not fit any love for me, but how hard is it to pick up the phone? I didn't even know you were still in town. I wouldn't have called on you because you would control me and stop me from helping! I don't need your help! No one does."

I'm about to angrily shout a retort at him, but then I realise he is no longer my child. It's not the time or place for such an argument. Still, I can't help feeling dejected by his cold words. "That's not true," I say, with a lump stuck in my throat. I watch as he flips away without replying. I think about pursuing him, but I decide to continue my investigation.

I ask the scum of the city what they know of this organised crime operation. I intimidate a few muggers into spilling some information. They say the society has existed in Harlemon for centuries, controlling the flow of resources and the politics of the city. They accomplish this by assassinating people that don't align with their views on how the world should look.

"The reason we know this is because we were made to tell you," squeaked the second man, a disturbing smile plastered on his face. The muggers burst into fits of hysterical laughter, cruel and cold. I come to the conclusion that the surgeons know almost everything, even me.

The mugger I was holding suddenly has a multitude of throwing knives in his eye sockets, splattering me with gore. I leap to my senses and flip up the walls to the top of one of the buildings enclosing the shadowed alley. The walls are made of slippery patchwork-quilt-like brick, with faded mortar. The bricks are blue under the moons glow. The person who threw the knives must have been hiding up here.

What I find is quite startling. The knife thrower is wearing an owl costume, not different to mine. He is wearing a thick breastplate—coloured cloud teal and engraved with an owl figurehead. His mask is tight fitting and doesn't look breathable or light. His gauntlets hide an array of weapons, ready to leap out and splatter puddles of blood over the alleyway below. No expense has been speared in the design of this armour. Nothing else is obvious about him, under his black/blue helmet, glimmering in the cobalt moon.

We fight. Ruthless and bloodthirsty is the other man. We fight for what feels like hours. I am so engrossed in not becoming sashimi that I let my senses drop. For this, I get a knife plunged into my spine.

"Aaaah!" I erupt in pain. I turn round to see a second owl-themed assassin, who looks right back with cold, emotionless, reflective eyes and shoves tranquillizer darts into the hole made by his knife. I pass out, spasming in pools of unending pain.

I wake up in some sort of mental institute. The walls are covered in all shades of putrid green and are splattered with blood. I am strapped to a chair next to the entrance way. I have a severe phobia of asylums, considering the pain my mother endured. I panic, desperate to escape. My heart hammers like a captive lion, tortured by the false promise of freedom. I hate that fear, but I can't overcome it, nor can I stand to endure another second trapped inside these poisoned walls.

Strength and adrenaline course through my veins. I shatter my bonds and sprint up the slanted corridor to the surface. The door swings and creaks. I ran through a corps of pine. My surroundings smudge together, making it more difficult to focus on where I am going. My concentration quivers as I fight the nausea. My head spins, as though I have been suspended upside down, but I keep moving, until I reach familiar area.

The stab wound in my back makes me wince. It is difficult to breath. I didn't realize at the time, but my intense sensation of fear was induced by a toxin. Also, I was being watched from down the hall by another owl assassin of many, her intense glowing eyes penetrating the darkest parts of my soul.

I run, making a mental map of my rout, until I arrive at another of my many compounds, having left the asylum long behind. My legs shake and my breath becomes rapid, like liquid lead is exposing my skeleton, before fragmenting it. The wound in my back screams. I burble out bloody vomit. Suddenly, the compound falls into an eddying pool of vicious shadows and blurred shapes. The lights go out.

I awake on the hardened concrete floor of my compound, gazing into the artificial ceiling lights. The concrete is smooth and cold, the lights stinging. My brain feels like a cactus fond had sprouted inside its midst, sending perverse shock waves of pain crashing down around me. I feel terrible, like a bay polluted by sewage. I sluggishly stand up, and walk to the medical area. I get bandaged up after my wound continues to splatter blood. I then got some water and food in me, before contemplating my next move.

\- - -

The assassins gather together, bowing in the presence of the High Lord council. The High Lords wear custom cream capes draped over their shoulders and sharp thundercloud grey suits—a symbol of wealth. Their worshipping followers are attracted to their owl masks, creepy in the dappled light. Evil ripples off them. A High Lord speaks in a booming, commanding voice. It draws silence from around it, as it rings in the listener's ears. With that sort of voice, it is obvious that he is the leader.

"Tonight, you will fight for the greater good of our city and our world. The human race is dying. That's why I have resurrected you. Your court requires you kill the intruder we captured before. We now know what he fears, so use that fear to manipulate him. He is strong, but shall be crushed." The speaker raises his gloved hands and makes a fist. He then smashes it down upon the table in front of him, and the table screams in agony, splinters flying across the amphitheatre. The room sucks up the light, illuminating the leaders masks cruel features.

"I believe he holds the key to making our experiments come into action," he continues slowly. "I believe we can make a better world without any of the struggles and needless bickering of today. As members of our society, you have already been bonded with another animal of your choice, such as my dearest, who bonded with an owl, after my example. She has become stronger... faster. I believe that everyone should be able to experience the joy, and bloodlust we indulge in. Or race is dying. Cross-breeding and socialization are making us week."

From behind the towering High Master comes a hoot of approval from a lady in a red dress of stained owl feathers, her bare arms revealing the beginning of feathers emerging. She is deathly pale and her face is hidden behind an owl mask.

"This has made us stronger, and we are coming to the end of our tests. I believe this final breakthrough test will realise our dream. For the benefit of man, we strike down our enemy tonight." Cheers of approval erupted from throughout the circular room, thousands hanging on every word of this man.

I now realise what I must do. I must re-enter the asylum and conquer my fear. My chin drops. I can still hear the screams of the captives, as I walk along that long hall with the flickering lights. I can see the people in their cells, consumed by madness. As I walk past I will see there eyes glint and twinkle with a demonic light. I will tremble. I will come to my mother's cell, and barely recognise the woman in front of me. She will look at me like I am some kind of ghost, and sometimes even cower in the corner. People will speak a ramble of long, meaningless words, and the guards will look inside the cell with distaste in their eyes.

I hate the looks they give my mother.

All these thoughts crowd inside my mind as I wander the halls of this dreadful place. I can feel the misery admitted from these bars. So many lost and waiting for a freedom, never to come. Inside my giant armoured suit, I tremble and jerk, wanting to get out desperately. I find myself dreadfully lost, succumbing to the madness in the back of all our minds.

By the sixth day, I find myself succumbing to illusions and feeling weak from dehydration. My suit's water supplies ran dry the day before. I can't take much more of this. I can see my couture teasing me at every wrong turn. How I hate it in here. Still no sign of the assassins. I take a turn and come to a giant room heavily lit. In the centre stands a solitary hospital bed. I walk into the room, my senses on overdrive. I know it is a trap, but in a way I would rather die than spend any more time in this labyrinth.

Suddenly, one wall shatters, all the glass lighting panels crashing to the floor with a loud crash. Behind is another room, laced with coffins. I walk over and stoop to look at what the coffins hide inside. On the outside of the coffins are pictures of children, and they have names carved under the image. I open one up and find an owl feather.

Suddenly, the lights flicker and fizzle out. Fifty seconds later, I am surrounded by owl men. Beside the solitary hospital table is a man with a distorted clown mask hanging over his bloated lab coat. He holds a briefcase filled with cruel devices of torture. I reel in raw distaste at this person. I fight harder than ever before, smashing and kicking my way through at least five hundred armed owl men. Unfortunately they won't succumb to my blows, apparently having vast regenerative abilities.

They will, however, disperse once being knocked to the ground. I hold the last one in my metal suit's palm, and take off his hood. My kick had caved in his jaw, which is now completely healed. I am faced with a man with pale skin beneath which blue veins throb, carrying polluted blood around his body. He is old in appearance, but not in right.

I release my grip, my suit completely out of power. He leaps away, screaming how he hates the light on his weepy eyes. I get out of my suit and take a comfortable stance, preparing for another fight. My legs are shaky and my knees buckled. I watched as the clown surgeon approaches, my body no longer capable of moving. I have drained myself more than I was aware of in the previous fight. I muster up one last bit of strength and throw an antic throwing knife into the man's masked skull. He falls to the ground and laughs hysterically as the knife kills him.

I crawl slowly towards my suit of armour and use every ounce of energy to fire the laser cannon at the roof. A crumbling hole appears and daylight breaks through the glare of artificial light. I stare up, my hand covering my eyes. I jump back to reality and before I can pass out, I grapple over the edge of the hole. I then drifted into a world of dark reality. I am free...

\- - -

The owl lady watches the footage from the fight. She stands deathly still, memorising every attribute and strategy of the man's fighting style. She then turns away from the owl men next to the screen. She stands erect, her cold gaze staring at the floor through the holes in her owl mask. She mutters under her breath, barely a whisper, "I will save you."

She then turns around and marches out the door, her head held high.

#  When the Whistle Blows

## by Jaz Tufau

### The Prologue

I was okay. I wasn't popular, that's for sure. I wasn't a complete loner either. I didn't have friends, I just knew a lot of people. When most of my spare time was spent trying to keep my 4.1 GPA, I didn't really have time for a social life. Sure, I wished I could have had the best of both worlds, but I had to stick to what I was good at. The thing was—it wasn't maths or English or reading. The thing I was good at was actually frowned upon by everyone at Saint Louis College. Well, at least, it was frowned upon that I was doing it... Football. Not the American one and don't even think about calling it Soccer (Ugh).

But apparently, girls can't play football.

### The Trials

All of the boys fell quiet as I slung my bag onto the grass and sat next to it. Their playful chatter was replaced by heinous whispers. Taking out one boot at a time, I dusted them off, seeing as I hadn't used them in such a long time. Calmly, I laced up my boots, ignoring the silence that engulfed the whole field. A football rolled in front of me, at a slow, deadly pace and a shadow fell over me as Cameron came to stand in front of me.

"You showed up," he spat, "at the Boys' Football Trials."

"As you can see, I am at the Football Trial, yes," I answered, standing up and grabbing the ball. "Let's just see if I can get through it, then." I shrugged and handed him the football, smiling and turning back to my bag to grab my bottle of water.

The coach's whistle blew and the trial game started in a blur, the boys sprinting off in different directions, dribbling and passing with impressive precision. I had to be perfect. Running from the spot I had been mentally glued to, I tackled one of the opposition players, stealing the ball and dodging four other guys. I zoomed through the defence line and straight into the goal box, where Cameron stood, ready and waiting. Pushing the football a little bit further ahead, I lined up the shot, and my foot connected with the ball with a satisfying smack. Cameron dove, but not far enough, the football flying into the top left corner. Goal. Cameron was met by the expected "Beaten by a girl?" by many of the other guys.

I repeated my actions four more times, winning the game 5-0.

The next week, a notice was handed to me.

Cecelia Parks,

Saint Louis College is happy to say that you have been given a spot in the undefeated Boys Football team.

I re-read the line, undefeated? That's a way to tell me not to screw up, I thought.

Uniform pick up is on Friday 9:30 at the office.

Congratulations,

Coach Redcliffe

### The Picking Apart

I felt their eyes on me, quietly pulling me apart one piece at a time.

And the whispers were so loud there was no chance that they were trying to keep what they were saying a secret. Everyone had stopped moving, frozen in place as they continued their distasteful assessment of me. My kilt swung around my ankles, nearly brushing the floor as I walked faster and faster. Just as I thought I was free, standing outside the school, I heard a deep voice yell out. "Don't bother showing up tonight," Cameron hollered "It wouldn't be good for your health!"

I turned to him and smiled.

"Don't bother showing up tonight, it wouldn't be good for your health," I mimicked under my breath as I rushed out of the gates.

### The Teammates

I flinched at the bright lights that illuminated the turf. The blades of fake grass were slick with droplets of rain, and the newly painted outlines took on a subtle glow under the harsh lighting. It had become dark all around. Not even the stands were easy to see at that moment. It was just me and the field, the onlookers' talking starting to sound more like a gentle hum. There were the other players too, giving me strange looks, confused that a girl was wearing the opposition's strip. I think that they had heard the news. Gossip travels fast in a small, 'privileged' town. The pressure was building as Cameron lead our team onto the pitch, smiling and waving at the supporters off to the side. The two captains made their way to the centre, the referee giving his brief. The other guy was lanky, acne-stricken, with a shoulder length mop of white-blonde hair. "What's with the girl?" he snarled, his eyes squinting as he commented a little too loudly.

"Our school would be labelled 'sexist' if we didn't let her in, and honestly it would've been fine by me." Cameron rolled his eyes and cast me a death glare. Ugh. I assumed my position in centre back. Even the ref was giving me weird looks.

The crowd cheered as the opposition kicked off, dribbling the ball and professionally swiping past our attackers. The captain was racing towards me, tapping the ball at the perfect distance away from him, gaining speed quickly. I shot out my right foot as he tried to go past me, collecting the ball from between his feet and I looked up to find someone to pass to. All of my 'teammates' were looking away, chasing the player that they were marking.

"Cameron!" I shouted, taking the ball forward a bit. He smirked and turned his back to me. They were... they were... "Damn it!" I yelled, booting the ball forward a few metres and chasing after it before sprinting down the right wing, most of the opposition hunting me down. Our football team stood in a lump, watching in amusement.

No! I turned quickly, now racing towards my players. Cameron crossed his arms, at the front of the group, of course. The other team had slowed down, walking with their eyebrows pulled together.

"You..." I huffed, kicking the ball closer to my team, "have..." I knocked it forward again, "to back me..." I stopped about a metre away from the glistening sphere, "up!" I shouted, smashing the ball as hard as I could. Time seemed to slow down as it flew through the air, landing with a satisfying smack on the bridge of Cameron's nose. All I knew was that there was blood as I stormed off of the field.

### The 'Social Media Sucks'

I collapsed onto the leather sofa, reaching down to the half-gone packet of sweets and shoving a handful into my mouth. My phone chimed over and over. I groaned, pushing hard on the power button. "What can I help you with?" Siri asked. Even my stupid phone wasn't cooperating. I looked at my screen, new notifications flashing every couple of seconds.

"You broke his nose!"

"Jesus, anger issues."

"Whoa, calm down."

"It's a team sport @cecelia.parks, you don't hurt your own players, come on."

"You need help!!!"

I didn't need to cry. I got all of that out when I booted the football in Cameron's face. I snorted at that one, throwing my phone onto the couch opposite the one I was spread out across.

### The Unspoken Respect

I pulled my sweatshirt down before grabbing my sports bag. One and a half weeks of "sick days" and I finally decided to go back to, well, society. Friday. One day of school and then another weekend—oh, and how could I forget? Another game of Football. That was if I hadn't got kicked out of the team already.

"See ya, Dad!" I hollered, walking down the marble staircase.

"Okay," he said, probably head deep in whatever he was in the middle of doing. I didn't know what Dad did, he always had conferences on the computer with other important looking people. All I knew was that it definitely brought home the bacon.

"Bye, CeCe!" my little sister, Amelia shouted, giggling as she ran past me, a bothered maid a few paces behind with "I give up" written all over her wrinkled face.

I sighed heavily as I jumped into my car, some expensive, overseas model. The car screeched as I turned into the parking lot, slamming my foot down onto the brake in one of the disabled parks. I really didn't care any more. My head tilted up as the coach stormed towards me, sweat beading down his forehead and his face was twisted into an angry grimace.

Here we go.

Coach was stopped by a strong hand on his chest when he was about three metres away, Cameron was talking to him, I could tell even though his back was turned to me.

"Cecelia." Cameron raised his eyebrows as he crossed his arms. I looked at his nose, the swelling had probably worn down by now. It was splattered with hints of blues and deep purples, but not broken.

"Hey." I beamed smugly.

He rolled his eyes. "Never mind, see you tomorrow." He looked a bit confused himself. I readjusted my bag strap, cocking my head to the side.

"What was that?" I heard one of his followers question.

"Shut up." Cameron said quickly as they walked towards the towering doors of Saint Louis College.

### The Foul Play

As soon as the other team kicked off, I collected the ball from their feet, swerving to the left field, expecting no help from my teammates. Come on, come on. Defenders were on me now, I knew I wouldn't get through alone. I kept trying to tap the ball just past them, but they were big, towering nearly-men. "Cecelia, Pass back!"

I turned in surprise, knocking the ball forward with me.

"Cameron?" He was sprinting around, a defender hot on his tail.

"Come on, hurry up!"

I did a quick pass, jogging around to the other side of the field. I yelled for the ball, Cameron had passed it to one of the midfielders, who had dodged two opposing players. I yelled again. He looked up quickly, kicking the ball so that it flew through the air towards me. The ball landed perfectly at my feet; now all I had was that massive sweeper that was charging my way. I started towards the goal box, ready to take on the player and then the nervous looking goalkeeper.

You know what they say, I thought as I got about one metre away from him. The bigger they are, I swept close to him, intending to swerve left at the last second. The big guy scowled, sprinting towards me at a fast pace. The harder they fall. I tapped the ball left, but as I started running again, he stuck his foot out and I felt pain spread through my leg as I crashed to the ground.

I sat up, looking down at my leg, the cut was deep and blood was starting to pour down the side of my thigh. I couldn't feel anything any more. It wasn't that bad, but seeing that player stand up smugly, dusting off his metal, pointed studs and shaking his head laughing the words, "Girls these days." I was like a bull seeing red.

I was totally out of there. "You're driving me home." I ordered Cameron as I limped quickly off of the pitch. I looked behind me where the two teams, medical staff and the onlookers looked up in bewilderment. "It's the twenty first century in Britain, if you hadn't realised. Girls should be allowed to play football against the other gender if they have to!" I huffed, before walking towards the parking lot, Cameron trailing four metres behind me.

### The Spoken Respect

"Look, Cecelia. I—"

"Nope. I need silence." I cut in, turning to the window that had droplets of rain running down it.

"Fine." Cameron uttered sharply. "You girls are just so..."

"If you fear for your life, you will not finish that sentence." I said through gritted teeth.

The car stopped outside my house, which, of course, was empty. Dad had taken Amelia out to dinner, again. Although, I did not see the point in him taking her to one of those fancy restaurants—Amelia was only three—and I'd heard stories of how she enjoyed throwing her food.

"Why am I still on the team?" I turned to him.

"Because you are a good player." He nodded, averting his eyes.

"Yeah right, I saw coach storming over to me, but you stopped him." This was getting uncomfortable, I kept my eyes focused on the steering wheel, which Cameron had a white-knuckled grip on.

"I told him I didn't care about what you did."

"But you do care. You're like one of the most vain guys I have ever seen."

"I just—I respected what you did, okay? I expected you to just run off and cry but, you fought back. Not many of the boys in the team would've done anything at all."

I felt my face heat up. Cameron Hudson—most hated and loved person in school, the captain of the football team, the seeds of which girl's dreams came from—respected me.

"Yeah, well. I'm sorry, I'm just finished with trying to even play with you guys."

"But—" His head shot up, amber eyes ablaze, raven hair swiped over his forehead.

"Thank you for the ride," I said, opening the car door and cursing the weather.

"What about your leg?" Cameron shouted.

"What about it?" I quipped over my shoulder as I rushed through my front door.

### The Decision

I survived another five days of school, quickly answering all the "What happened on Saturday?" and "Are you some sort of feminist?" questions by not answering at all. When Saturday came I stayed in bed in my pyjamas, despising the football uniform that lay across the armchair on the other side of the room. I slammed my head back onto my pillow in frustration, my insides still craving to play, but my common sense still in command.

"What are you looking at?" I yelled at my cat, who was staring at me from the doorway. It meowed as loud, thundering footsteps shook the whole house. I sat up in alarm, the sound much too noisy to be from just one or two people.

"Okay, Parks. Game starts in half an hour and you're still in bed. And we're playing against Saint Reese's College. Probably going to be the toughest game yet. If we win, we get complete bragging rights." Cameron smiled as he sauntered into my room, followed by the rest of my football team, and an alarmed maid.

"I am so sorry Miss, they just stormed in, I—I could not stop them."

"It's okay, Mary." I turned to the boys "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't think we'd let you go that easy, did you." Cameron gave a pleading smile.

"I'm sorry, I don't play in your league any more." I sighed.

"Yes, you do," someone said.

"You're our teammate, Cecelia. We can't play without you."

I snorted at that one.

"It just. took us a while. You know us guys—slow, dim witted." Our Goalie beamed.

Cameron threw my football onto the bed. "Come on, Cecelia."

I rolled my eyes. "Get out."

The boys' shoulders sagged.

"You didn't actually think that I'd let you watch me get changed into my strip, did you? Wait in the lounge, guys."

The boys cheered and laughed, excitedly walking back down the hallway. Cameron stayed behind a second.

"Thanks." He smiled sheepishly.

"Thank you." I smiled.

### The Happily Ever After

We had two minutes left on the clock, the score 0-0. No pressure.

When the whistle blows, everything will change.

Cameron looked up, "Let's do this."

The referee's whistle sounded. I knocked the ball forward, Cameron booting it halfway up the field, in between two dazed defenders. I chuckled, sprinting towards the ball in an unspoken race with him. I won, of course, then lining up a shot, hitting the sphere with such might that it soared up and over the keeper, hitting the top left corner with powerful precision.

I raised my arms into the air.

"Goal!"

The goalie stood up from where he had dived. He had a strange half smile on his face.

"Not bad for a girl." He nodded.

I raised my eyebrows.

"Not bad for a guy either." He flinched. "Don't kick a ball at me."

I choked on my laughter, squealing as I was engulfed in a hug.

"Not bad." Cameron grinned.

"I know, right?"

## About Jaz

I wrote a story for my friends and fans, so they can communicate with me through my writing, this also why I got an Instagram page, that's you, Mom. Also, I am an amazingly nice, talented person, but sadly I have limited myself to one lie a day and I am really, really, REALLY stretching that rule right now.

# Strange Happenings

## By Leon Meier

Disclaimer: This story is translated from its original language in order to be viewed by puny humans mwahahahaha!

Backstory (a brief explanation so the rest can make sense to YOU, it all makes sense to me, this is too long for a title but who cares? NOT ME)

So the planet Unkanta, which is Ulama's home planet (the natives there are called Unkantos) used to be ruled by the Moytheyes, though our hero's race, the Nackerots, now call them by a crude name: the Moth Eyes. The Nackeroks took over half of the planet and now the two halves are constantly at war, looking for the upper hand to see if there is a chance they could take over the rest.

\- - -

At 11:45am, on the planet Unkanta, in the royal palace, Ulama, the son of the royal family, was having a fight with his jealous uncle, Shahshahshasha(or Shi-sha for short).

"You do not deserve to be a Nackerot! You are so bad that you deserve to be a Moth Eye, you freak!" Shi-sha screamed.

"How dare you, I am Ulama Nackerot! Son of Otapai and Actino, rightful heir to the Nackerot throne!" I screamed angrily, then stomped away toward my room.

"Wait, I was about to go back to my to my room but have to teach you not to mess with me." I said matter-of-factly. Then I turned round, transformed a bumblebee that happened to be flying around into a table, picked it up and threw it as hard as I could at Shi-sha. "Take that!" I said, then stomped away to my room. Shi-sha, meanwhile, was furious and in agonising pain.

Later that day.

"Your son threw a table at me earlier today! Tell him to apologise!" Shi-Sha yelled at King Otapai.

"Serves you right, Brother, now go! I have things that need attending," Otapai replied.

### A new day

How dare that jealous, stupid person that calls himself a Nackerot insult me, the heir to the Nackerot throne? He lacks everything good and has an abundance of everything bad, I thought while munching the gourmet Moytheye skin my private chef had prepared for me. Today was the day I was going to ask my parents to let me go to the new planet I overheard Otapai and Actinco talking about. It is called Coinima (Earth by the puny natives) and I can't wait to meet the Unkantos living there and become their king. That would be so cool.

As I finished up my food, I set off to find my parents. It didn't take very long as they were both still in bed.

"Hey Otapai, Actinco," I said, "I heard you talking about this new planet that might have some Unkantos on it and I would like to go."

"I'm not so sure... I heard you were scared of unfamiliar things and Coinima would be very different," Otapai explained.

"I'll be fine. There will be Unkantos and I will teach them the way of the Nackerots so they'll help us against the stupid Moytheyes."

"Don't you dare call Moth Eyes by their proper name! They are evil and if my forefathers didn't take half of this planet back, we would still be under their cruel rule!" Otapai replied. "Now pack your bags because we're going to Coinima."

I can't believe that I actually convinced my parents to let me go to Coinima. I'd planned it all in advance. I knew my father would get angry and emotional about anything involving Moytheyes. I've always wanted to be famous and I think that discovering another Unkanto colony means I'd be regarded as one of the greats of Unkanto kind and my family name, Nackerot, would go down in the history books.

### The next day, after packing

I finished all my necessary packing and was ready for my trip. I had my water, my food, my slaves, my entertainment and my breathing equipment. Was there anything I'd missed? Ah! Of course, a journal. I'd need one of those if I wanted to note down my experiences with the new family of Unkantos on Coinima.

"I'm all ready to go on the craft to Coinima. I've packed and everything!" I said excitedly to Otapai. "I even got the slaves to make me a journal!"

"Good boy. I'm very proud of your bravery and determination to help the Nackerots and eradicate the ruthless, slayer Moth Eyes and all their kin – though our profits might rise if we steal the slaves instead of killing them," Otapai replied. "Now you need to ask the slaves to fuel the rocket and we'll set off."

"Sure, Dad, one sec." I was so excited. I couldn't wait to finally set off on my adventure to a new planet and meet the native Unkantos who will help us DESTROY the evil Moytheyes, and eradicate them from Unkanta.

### At the launch

I was so nervously excited! The ship was about to take off and I was in the room made for me by the slaves, with the luxury spa, the soothing flashing lights, the soft, comfortable and relaxing bed, the million dollar pieces of art on the wall and all the other things that a little Unkanto would dream of. All of them, right here, but somehow I wasn't satisfied. I had all the material possessions in the world, but there is still something missing... but I'm getting sidetracked... that's a story for another day.

### In space

"Yeah, Otapai! I'm ready to land, though I am worried that the Moytheyes have already found and taken over Coinima. That would mean that as soon as we land, we would be captured. Actually, no, it's too dangerous. I think I should jump and scout out the terrain first and report back. I know the slaves would normally do something like this but I want to for once," I said.

"No. I have to get the slaves to view the planet first," Otapai said, "though I doubt we will see much apart from the native Unkantos. You go prepare for landing! Now!"

I couldn't believe he dismissed me like that. I decided I was gonna just jump anyway—I'd tell him via earpiece, but I'd go no matter what he said. Yeah, that sound like a good idea. I hooked up the earpiece conveniently stowed in my pocket and said, "Hey, Otapai, I'm going to jump. I don't care what you say or what you do because, guess what? I'm jumping right now. There is no stopping me!" I said as I jumped out of the craft.

"WAIT!" Otapai yelled back. "I just observed Coinima and found out that there aren't Unkantos living there! It is a new species named Coinimans and they seem to be advanced enough to know that we might be a threat. They have the equipment to neutralise a smallish craft like this, and everyone on it! I need you to abort because it will all be so different and nothing will be familiar! This is your worst fear!"

I froze with fear, I had never been this terrified in my life. It was a blind panic. I was struggling, flailing around, but I was so terrified I wasn't even able to talk. Then everything went dark.

I opened my eyes. What happened? I blinked a few times, then I remembered the Coinimans and realised I must have blacked out. With a cold shiver, I found that it had only been a few seconds and I was still in the air and still in this predicament. Lucky I was so far up or else I would have hit the ground without activating my parachute. I quickly pulled my cord and started gently floating down to Coinima. Phew, I thought, that was close.

It was a boring float down, but it gave me time to think about all the possibilities. I decided that I was going to try and communicate with the Coinimans and tell them "I come in peace". Of course, this is all so that we can make an alliance with them and take out the Moytheyes. As I hit the ground, I looked around, searching for any Coinimans. I do find it strange that now when I'm actually in the situation I find it easy and not as scary as I originally thought it would be.

I was pulled out of my trance when a Coiniman, which looked very strange by the way, yelled gibberish at me. I suddenly was feeling so angry that I instinctively tried to turn it into a table, but then a sudden realisation came over me, my power didn't work on Coinima!

I tried to analyse the gibberish that the Coiniman was trying to say, which I realised I had heard somewhere before. I couldn't quite put my finger on it though. "I would like to speak to your king," I said. I try to stray from the stereotypical 'take me to your leader' kind of thing, but that was the best I could do. The Coiniman yelled gibberish again and it didn't seem to understand my dialogue, so I tried miming. I think that it understood. Then something strange happened. It mimed back! Seriously! It said that it would bring me to the leader as quickly as possible. I try to tell him I mean no harm and I would like an alliance.

Back in the ship, after Ulama has done his stuff on what they now know is called earth and the species that lives there is humans

"I give permission to blow up the planet. They are too dangerous and I feel they cannot be trusted. We do have the firepower to do it, right?" I said to Otapai.

"Yes. Time to launch?" he asked.

"Five, four, three, two, one, launched!" a mechanical voice said.

"That is Earth gone, though it is a shame that they weren't trustworthy enough to help us. Good job son, you did well," Otapai congratulated me.

## About Leon

Hey, my name is Leon. I'm twelve years old, though probably thirteen by the time you read this. I love: writing, programming, maths, rugby and a wide variety of other bits and bobs that might be found strange by others, but are completely enjoyable for me. I really enjoy writing creative narratives and making up the weirdest stuff that only if you have an interesting mind can you also enjoy, but you know what? I don't care.

# Unstoppable

## by Madi Cooper

It's Monday. A rainy Monday. I wake up to Bella jumping on me. Bella is seven, and today, she has her hair in two very messy pigtails (which she tells me proudly that she's done herself). She lost her parents only two years ago in a car crash. I feel for her. At least I never really knew my parents.

Bella begins to chant and execute a very interesting looking war dance. "Wakey, Wakey, Macy, Macy."

I shove my head under my pillow and wait till it's over. It stops eventually and when I hear my door slam shut, I fall out of bed at the exact angle needed to hit my head on the bedside table. Ouch! I sit up against the wall and check the time. 8:03 am. I'm going to be late again. I step outside into the corridor. Yells and screams, laughs and tears greet me immediately. Yay, the wonders of the Home..

I yawn as I head down the stairs, narrowly missing a flying ball. A slight burning smell greets me as I step into the kitchen. Phil, a worker at the Home, is standing by the toaster, frantically trying to remove a piece of toast from it with a fork. "What's cooking, Phil?" I say.

"Ah, um... burnt toast?" he replies, finally giving up and flipping the toaster upside down. The piece of toast falls to the ground. Phil quickly grabs it and puts in amongst the other toast on a plate. "The kids will never know," he says and I laugh. He grabs a tray with spreads as well as the toast and heads out of the kitchen. Phil is in his early thirties and has a hoop earring and an untamed beard. Phil is cool. He is one of only workers who doesn't nag and gives us some freedom.

I follow a few minutes later after stealing a few chocolate biscuits from the pantry. I really don't have time for breakfast so I head straight back upstairs. Besides, the burnt black toast doesn't sound very appetising.

While most kids at this Home share a room, I have my own because my counsellor said I need 'space'. My room is a cupboard. Literally. They said it used to be where they put all the toys and stuff before I occupied it. They could just squeeze in a single bed and a chest of drawers. Even though it may be small it is my home. I have a plain white duvet with a couple of bright cushions, some home-made bunting, some fairy lights I stole from the Christmas cupboard hanging from the ceiling, a bunch of photos of famous ballerinas and a few shelves stuffed full of things I can't fit anywhere else. Plus I made a sign that says, 'KEEP OUT' with 'or else' in smaller lettering underneath. This is on my door. I don't know how long I'll have this room for 'cause I tend to move children's homes a lot.

Choosing what to wear always takes a while. Getting three pounds a week doesn't buy me any designer clothing and we normally get hand-me-downs here at the Home. So I mainly buy my clothes from second-hand stores which surprisingly have some cool things. Today I decided on a striped top, jeans and a long second-hand coat.

As I arrive at school, I see Lara and her gang standing by the gates. Lara is rich and has everything. Massive house with a pool, designer clothing, iPhone Six. The only reason she doesn't go to a private school is that, when she moved here, the private school she wanted to go to had a waiting list a mile long. So she's stuck here at a school that wasn't exactly what she wanted, even though for me this is one of the best. Of course, Lara is popular. With silky blonde hair, innocent blue eyes, and the teachers wrapped round her little finger, she has everything going for her. Plus, she is an incredible dancer. She has a whole gang of followers which I wouldn't call friends. As well as all this, her Dad basically owns the school, and to make matters worse, she has it in for me. I try to walk fast past her, but she spots my old, worn backpack.

"Well if it isn't Miss Twinkle Toes, or should I say Miss Tumble Toes?" She laughs and all her followers join in. It's not really that funny, but what she says, goes. I hold my head up and keep walking to the main building. "You really think you're a ballerina? With no technique and second hand shoes?" She continues talking while I keep walking. "There's no way you'll ever make it. You just simply can't dance."

I can't contain my anger any longer. I lunge at her and she squeals as I grab a fistful of her blonde hair. "You spoiled little br—" I'm cut off mid sentence by a voice.

"Miss Parkes, what is going on here?" I release the fistful of hair and lock eyes with the deputy principal, Mrs Meyer. Lara stands there, her face a picture of pure innocence, nothing like the smile it was ten seconds earlier.

"Girls would you like to explain to me what just happened?" Mrs Meyer asks Lara's gang.

"It was totally unprovoked, Miss!" Ellie, a more important follower, states.

"Yes, Macy just grabbed Lara's hair. Lara didn't do anything," another girl pipes up. Soon the whole group of them are agreeing.

"Lara is this what happened?" Mrs Meyer turns to Lara.

"Yes, Miss." Lara looks up at Mrs Meyer, her eyes brimming with tears. "I would never be so mean."

I have to admit, if her dance career doesn't work out, she could definitely be an actress.

"Miss Parkes, this is the second time this week this sort of behaviour has come from you." Mrs Meyer turns to me, a look of absolute fury in her eyes. Lara is silently laughing behind Mrs Meyer's back. "Not to mention the many other times this has happened to date. You can't go on like this. Just look at poor Lara." She looks at Lara who quickly turns her laugh into a cough.

"But... I... I..." I try and speak but I can't find the words.

"No buts, Miss Parkes. You're coming with me," Mrs Meyer says and leads me away. I look over my shoulder as I'm marched away. Lara smirks at me before whipping around in a perfect triple pirouette.. "No way you could do that," she mouths at me before marching off towards the main building, followers in tow.

\- - -

"Jennifer, you are one of Macy's caregivers at the Home, yes?" Mrs Meyer says to Jennifer, one of the helpers at the Home. I notice when Mrs Meyer says Home, she says it with pure disgust. We are sitting in her office, around half an hour after my 'arrest'. Mrs Meyer had rung the Home, asking someone to get her as soon as possible. Jennifer wasn't needed at the Home as the littles had been taken to the park by Millie and Phil. Mrs Meyer begins to pace the room. "Macy's behaviour lately has been unacceptable. She has disrupted classes, her homework is constantly late and over the past month she has been attacking and abusing poor Lara James." She finishes this last sentence by plopping down in her chair. "Something needs to change."

Jennifer speaks. "Well, um, just a slight question. Have you asked Macy about everything that has happened? I mean I know it is completely unacceptable about the homework and class disrupting and I will make sure that doesn't continue but maybe there is something more with Lara. I know this isn't my place, but I think you should ask Macy about her side of the story,"

Mrs Meyer goes very pink at this suggestion. "Well... ummm... I was getting there. It was more the fact that Lara just isn't the type of girl that would bully or engage in any activity close to that. She is a very respectable girl, helpful, always polite to teachers, gets brilliant grades and a born leader. Not to mention a talented dancer that will surely go far. So I really thought there would be no need to question Macy about all that has happened. But if we must. Go on Macy."

I take a deep breath and open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Nothing at all.

"Well?" Mrs Meyer says, a questioning look on her face. I turn red.

"I... she... ummmmm," is all I can manage. I have nothing. Everything that has been bottled up inside my head for months just won't come out.

"Come on Macy, you must have something to say," Jennifer says, almost pleading.

"Look Jennifer, I know you're trying to help, giving Macy a chance to speak and all, but she doesn't have anything to say. If Macy can't speak, I have no choice but to blame her for everything that has happened with Lara. And all her school work, not to mention disruptions from her and arriving to school late." Mrs Meyer begins pacing again. "If this behaviour continues, we may have to look at suspension or even expulsion from school."

Then the words come. And like a tsunami, they flow out. "I'm sick of it. Just absolutely sick of it," I yell. "I'm sick of no one believing me. I'm sick of everyone treating me like scum just because I live in a Home. I'm sick of being manipulated by Lara. And most of all I'm sick of no one believing in me. Because maybe, just maybe, I can dance too. But guess who believes me? No one! Yes, no one. So in case you didn't figure it out, I'm sick of it. I'm done!" And with that, I stand up, grab my bag and shove the coffee table over, sending an expensive looking vase tumbling to the ground. I storm out, making sure the door slams loudly behind me. I sprint through the corridors, a chant of "Macy! Get back here!" trailing after me. I know they will be after me and I know I will in a heck of a lot of trouble when I get caught. But that doesn't bother me.

I keep running. I don't know how long I run for but it must be a while because when I finally stop I find myself in a park. Not just any park, but The Park. As in the park I used to go to with my mum and dad. I only have faint memories as I would've been three when I last came here with them ten years ago, but I do recognise the old faded sign, with the words St Claire Park written on it. This is when I feel my cheeks are damp. I hadn't realised I had been crying till now. And for the first time in forever, I cry. Like really cry. So much that I get strange looks from people nearby and decide to move my pity party to a bush. I crawl into it.

I'm still lying in there when it gets dark. I've stopped crying by now and decide to pull out my cellphone. My grandma sent it to me a few months ago. I was supposed to go live with her after my parents died, but she is well, to put it nicely, not entirely capable of looking after a child. She never stays in one place for more than a couple of weeks. I've only met her once, when I was three. All I really know about her is that she has a lot of money. I guess the weekly parcels I get from her are to make up for her absence. She sends me a lot of gifts ranging from my laptop to a giant stuffed teddy bear (which Bella now owns). I am grateful though, as no other kids at the home get as much as I do. But my most favourite gift was my dance lessons.

After many emails back and forth, she realised how much I wanted to dance. So on my eighth birthday she signed me up for three dance lessons a week. It's the only thing that keeps me going. The only good thing about life. But just my luck, I'm in the same classes as Lara. So after the daily torture, I am lucky enough to endure two hours of Lara three times a week, five in recital season.

The screen on my cellphone lights up my face. Thirteen messages, four missed calls the screen reads. I check them. All they say is "Come home" or "You are in trouble, Macy". I don't care about these though. It's the message from Bella that gets me. She must have stolen Jennifer's phone.

"Macy, don't run away. I need you to do my hair and teach me how to be a ballerina. Please come home." This message brings tears to my eyes. I can't stay away. There are still a few people that care for me.

\- - -

When I arrive back at the Home, it is past eleven—I had spent ages trying to find my way through the suburbs of London. I stand on the doorstep, contemplating whether to knock or just run away again, but I eventually find the courage to knock. Jennifer opens the door. "You are in big trouble, Missy," she says but she wraps me in a hug anyway. The simple act of kindness brings tears to my eyes. "Macy are you alright?" Jennifer asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply but I'm really not. "What happened after I left?" I ask

"Well, you're not suspended yet. Mrs Meyer thinks you have anger issues and wants to send you to full on counselling starting next term, but first you and Lara have a meeting with her first thing tomorrow morning. Don't expect it to go well. You'll most likely be suspended for a few days." Jennifer says, a grim expression on her face. "Whatever, Lara doesn't bother me. I won't have to see her ugly face for a few days. Plus, I" ll get extra time to practise," I reply, pretending not to care.

"No you won't be dancing, Macy. In the likely chance you do get suspended, you will be on cleaning duty, and you can look after the little kids," Jennifer says, guiding me up the stairs. "Off to bed for you. It's late."

I turn away from her and jog up the stairs. I head into my room but I don't hop into bed. Instead, I sit on the window sill and stare out at the night sky. Why does Lara pick on me? Okay, so I don't have any money, and I'm not exactly pretty, but why me? What did I ever do to hurt her? My life is a misery. No one at school likes me and I am heading towards suspension, but at least I can dance and that's what I find myself doing. Dancing, the moonlight streaming through the open window.

\- - -

I must have fallen asleep, because I find myself lying on the ground, my back aching. I check the clock. It's only 7:13 am. For once, I am not going to be late! The window is still open and the sun is shining brightly. I stand up. I will make today a good day. I must. Jennifer tells me I have to meet outside Mrs Meyers office at 8:30. I have to admit, I am a bit nervous. While this morning I awoke in confidence it seems to have all disappeared. Now I feel small in a second-hand lace dress and black combat boots.

When I arrive at school, Lara is there to greet me, a massive smile on her face. "Heard you did a runner. Couldn't handle it? Went and cried like the pathetic person you are? You have no confidence, Macy. You will never make it." Lara finishes by flipping her glossy blonde hair over her shoulder.

Finally I find the courage. "Guess what Lara? I don't care what you think. You live off others downfalls to build yourself up. If you believe I can't dance, you can think that. Because your opinion no longer matters to me. I am not going to take it." I end this speech by storming off but before I can get very far, a hand grabs my shoulder. I turn slowly to face Lara's smirking face.

"I presume you will be at the audition this Saturday then?" She says, an innocent smile across her face.

"I didn't hear about one," I say, choosing my words carefully.

"Well it's an open audition, so even scum like you can audition. Here is everything you need to know." She hands me a slightly crumpled piece of paper. "Let's make it a date." She struts off, her heeled boots clacking on the concrete.

I open the paper. It's about an audition for the Royal Academy of Dance. There are four open places for girls between the ages of thirteen and fifteen. I can audition. I'm thirteen. Lara better watch out. Because I'm going to that audition. She can't stop me. I know she thinks I won't go; why else would she give me the paper? I have confidence. I have courage. And I can dance. I may get suspended, or I may not, but whatever else happens, I won't give up.

### Six Months Later

I whip around in a perfect triple pirouette. Better than Lara's. "Yes Macy!" Miss Dalphine says, clapping her hands. I strike my ending pose. "Zat is getting better," Miss Dalphine says in her thick French accent. "You may finish."

I leave the room breathless and grab a drink. Life is great. Dance everyday with lessons thrown in. Finally my grades are picking up. I have real proper friends who encourage me, and I'm on a scholarship for four years here at the Royal Academy of Dance. Yes, I made it, but best of all, Lara didn't. She broke her ankle at dance on the Friday and couldn't audition. She may get in next year but she won't bother me. Because I'm unstoppable.

## About Madi

Madi is a thirteen-year-old girl who enjoys dancing, writing, playing hockey and photography. She really enjoys reading real life fiction and this is what her writing generally consists of. She took a while trying to write her story and often forgot what she was meant to be writing about but she got there eventually. Her favourite books include Dandelion Clocks, Harry Potter and the Geek Girl series.

# Play and Counter-play

## by Max Young

Reality was the sun on a winter's morning, drifting through, so often oppressed by the clouds of the past few hours...

...Matthew dribbled down the left wing, placing his feet precisely in every touch of the football, gazing down upon the black and white geometry blanketing the sphere. This match had been talked up, built up. Too much for him to fail. Perspiration formed on his brow. Through the glare, he caught sight of something in the stands ahead. Someone. A child, waving his club's banner, "Club Atlético Tigre". He dodged through to the goal line, leaving a trail of bewildered defenders on the field. His boot connected as a satisfying thump reverberated through his shin and morning sunlight winked at him from one of the darker pentagonal panels like this was all some sort of practical joke. The ball hurtled through the air. The rising applause, however, was only to be smothered as his perfect play reached the head of a defender, cleared of the goal. Dammit...

...He sat now, cradling his head in his arms as he had for an eternity...

...His training kicked him up off the ground, where he had been resting for a moment or two. An unforgivable sin, given his situation...

...The field faded into black. Then white. His vision cleared and a desk came into view. It was kilometres away and someone sat there, yelling at him. No, that's wrong. The doctor sat two meters from him, describing the diagnosis. Not that this mattered. He used big words to give a name to it—what was happening to Matthew—but it didn't need a name. It needed only meaning, implications, consequences. And Matthew, while he wished he didn't, knew the consequences...

...He viewed himself in third person sometimes, a stranger to his own eyes. It was rather sad, really, what had happened to this Matthew person. He once took pride in his talent. Without it, what was he? Who was he? And he was without it now.

### One week earlier

The first change was the eyes. They lit up, set ablaze in a steely inferno. The next... well, that's the thing. There was no other noticeable change. No imperceptible frown, no slight shift of weight. His posture was as though he were stone, unmoving and immovable, features locked in place. He just stood, stock still, fury inscribed in those deep blue eyes.

Then the flame died and he turned to face the one who had sent the jeer.

"I mean, really, how is a peasant whose club has to babysit his family ever going to amount to more than... well, this" The man contemptuously gestured, as though Matthew's team were children playing at an adult's game. He was an unimpressive man, short and with a perpetually flushed face. Matthew hadn't a clue of his name, but had noticed him on the field. One could tell from the way the footballer carried himself, somehow able to look down on everyone despite his height, that he was arrogant and, some would say, purely harsh, but this was out of line. Looking around, Matthew saw condemnation written plainly in the countenance of all excluding a select few now forming a loose group around the unnamed man.

Not that this helped.

Matthew was no stranger to humiliation. Many times growing up had he confided in friends, or those who he thought were friends, of his aspiration to ascend to professional football, only to find himself the subject of every subtle joke and every quietly malicious chuckle that escaped that person's lips for the next month. Matthew was no stranger to humiliation. Past experience, however, didn't help him deal with it.

He turned and stalked away, eyes downcast. Breaking down in public would hardly help with his already-lacking peer respect.

\- - -

His house was Spartan, the barest essentials inside and a simple, albeit aged, exterior. The concrete that made up the walls was defaced and only flecked with paint now, and cracks spiderwebbed outward from a hole made long ago by a rock or stone or something. Matthew had seen worse and lived in worse still.

"I'm home," he trudged in, wiping his muddy boots on the doormat so as not to track the dirt through his home. Immediately they flocked to him, moths to a bright light. Tyler and Stephanie were brother and sister, and their squabbling only ceased when dad returned from "work". "Papa!" exclamations of excitement raised his mood ever so slightly. It was still foul, of course, but at least now he could smile and act.

"We saw your game on T.V. Great work there." His wife, Moana, came to the entrance and hugged him. When she released him, he knew she could see right through the mask of light-heartedness he had constructed. "Kids! That's enough hassling your father just as he walks through the door," she said, concern evident, and pulled Matthew into her bedroom. When they were alone, she asked, "What happened?".

"What do you mean?"

She glared. "You know full well"

"Yes I do actually. Something dreadful has happened—one of the studs on my right boot fell off."

"Uh..." The glare was replaced by a look of confusion.

"You don't look particularly mournful for my boot."

Confusion was now total bewilderment.

"A bit of banter after the game, is all," Matthew grinned, but he knew she could see the hurt in his eyes.

\- - -

A week later Matthew was back up and ready, a new Saturday game. The quarter finals. This match had been talked up, built up. Too much for him to fail. He had to perform exceptionally or... or the voice of that man from the last match would get louder. Matthew knew he wasn't the only one to share that opinion. It might have started with a lone voice, but that voice echoed. Resounded. The opinion that Matthew, raised in a struggling unemployed family, shouldn't even be playing this level of football. Like he was high up professionally.

He tied his boot-laces—stud replaced, thank god—and glanced up. His team was already out on the field, taking shots as his keeper dived one way or the other in his efforts to block the flying balls with anything—limb, head, body. He raced to join them.

Soon the referee's whistle declared the game begun and Matthew's mind switched off. He tore up and down the pitch, where he was needed, when he was needed and they played and the opposition counter-played and the game was going well. Better than that. Exceptionally. He felt as alive, free of the bonds of his class, more confident than he could ever be elsewhere, as he did whenever he played football.

This was before he received the pass.

Tom, the central midfielder, launched the ball his way as Matthew brought his foot up to meet it, his soft touch allowing it to roll right in front of him, and began dribbling down the left wing, placing his feet, precise in every touch of the football. Perspiration formed on his brow. Through the glare he caught sight of something in the stands ahead. Someone. A child, waving his club's banner. He dodged through to the goal line, leaving a trail of bewildered defenders on the field. His boot connected as a satisfying thump reverberated through his shin and sunlight winked at him from one of the darker pentagonal panels. The ball hurtled through the air as Matthew, unable to stop the momentum he had built up, twisted to avoid crashing front on, then spun as his shoulder caught on an opposition player. The rising applause, however, was only to be smothered as his perfect play reached the head of a defender, cleared of the goal. Dammit. The footballer got up, his training kicking him up off the ground where he had been resting for a moment or two. An unforgivable sin, given his situation. The opposition was on the counter attack and Matthew sprinted back, running towards a man who had just been given the ball. He was two meters away and gaining when he felt it.

Matthew's stride faltered for about a millisecond, but at the pace he was going that was enough to make him stumble away and face-plant in the dirt.

He struggled up onto his hands and knees, suddenly numb, thundering pulse in his head almost overshadowing to the roar of the crowd as the ball billowed in the back of the his net, keeper sprawled over the ground. It wasn't his fault. The man the left wing was supposed to be covering had broken through the line of defence and had what was essentially a free shot on goal. That left wing had let the team down. Matthew had let the team down.

\- - -

The result was 1-0 and Matthew returned to his home, not noticing the features, or lack thereof, on it. He didn't bother with his boots and when his kids swarmed him he walked past them.

That afternoon the footballer visited his doctor. He always noticed how brilliantly white everything was when he came. Not today. Something was wrong with him and he knew it. Not that others listened to him, or even cared.

Dr Franks was nice enough, he supposed, but she didn't break it to him easily. "The doctor will see you now," and Matthew limped through the entranceway. He'd had the limp since the game and still couldn't understand why.

After a few minutes they had taken the necessary samples done the necessary tests and it was confirmed. "I am really very sorry," The doctor sighed, "But it appears you have—"

And this was when he went into shock.

Matthew caught only vague snippets of the diagnosis from then, words like "paralysis," and "muscles weakening." Not that this mattered. She used big words to give a name to it—what was happening to Matthew—but it didn't need a name. It needed only meaning, implications, consequences. And Matthew had realised the consequences.

He went home that night and lucidity deserted him as he reflected on the day's events and a life without football.

\- - -

Matthew woke to the phone's shrill tones. Stifling a yawn, too drowsy to remember what had happened recently, he answered, "Hello?"

"Uh, hello," he recognised the doctor's voice and the reality of everything socked him in the gut. Perhaps this time was the first he actually registered the implications of his ailment, considering the condition he was in the day before. He summoned a mental fist and beat those thoughts down.

"Dr Franks, what can I do for you?"

"Well, you see, I was talking to a colleague of mine about treatment for your... affliction and, uh, he brought up the possibility that this is genetic."

"This means what, please?"

"Do you have children, Mr Smith?"

"Yes."

"We will have to bring them in for testing, please."

\- - -

His family didn't know. Moana was the only one—and his kids, of course, not that they understood. They'd just been told "Dad can't play football any more." This applied to Tyler, more than he knew, who Matthew noticed had had a slight limp lately. Poor Tyler.

His family's blind ignorance to the tatters of his life made it rather difficult to socialise with them at lunch that day.

He knew he didn't have it in him to tell them. Matthew had never been confident, and recently he'd been tired. So tired. So he mingled as he always did, pretending and acting as though everything was fine, and eventually a wave of weariness washed over him and he walked to his room.

He'd brought the gun up from the basement yesterday and kept it in his bedside cabinet drawer since. That was when he'd begun thinking about it.

Matthew drew the gun out of his drawer and put it to his temple.

In this moment, Matthew thought about one thing: Tyler. How would he live, fatherless and gradually being reduced to an invalid? How would his son manage, if Matthew couldn't?

Then he heard footsteps.

A quick patter along the carpet. Too quick to be an adult. Ah, hell. Matthew threw the pistol under his bed as Tyler burst through the door.

"Uncle wants you." He looked unhappy at being sent to fetch Dad, energetic and eager to play outside again.

"Ummm... sure. I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay!" A smile appeared and Tyler rushed off again, and Matthew stared, his mind racing through the possibilities. What if his finger had twitched?

That quick patter on the carpet. Too quick to be an adult. Ah, hell. Matthew thr—

Nothing.

A "crack!" rang out, deafening all as Tyler burst through the door and a splatter of red stained his shirt and a body crumpled to the ground and it barely had a face and there was red everywhere and—

Matthew struggled with a concept he hadn't even thought about until he could take no more. He crawled under his bed, retrieved the gun and returned it to his drawer.

Then he left to find his brother.

### Sometime later

A letter came that morning. Matthew was expecting one. He rolled out of bed, grabbed his crutches and scrambled, well, as much as he could scramble, out front to collect it. The envelope was torn open, almost ripped. One could probably expect that from a man whose hopes and dreams relied on the chance they accepted him, despite his status. As soon as he snatched the letter out he saw the big, red stamp and almost teared up.

Maybe people weren't so bad, after all.

Matthew raced back inside to change. Beginning university courses would probably need something a bit more formal.

## About Max

Max Young is a twelve-year-old school student from Christchurch, New Zealand. He is keen on fiction novels, particularly fantasy and science fiction, from authors such as Derek Landy and Timothy Zahn. Being OCD and generally pedantic, he is organised in work, has impeccable written grammar and spent about ten minutes, making no changes whatsoever, staring at this bio to see if it could be improved.

# Cold addiction

## by Mia Porteous

### Saskia

He was my lover, my ruler. I couldn't stand him though. When he said, "I love you," my heart melted to know I was good enough for him, but he made me feel pain and fear. When we were together, he was out of control. Maybe that was why I liked him. Yet some days it was horrid. He would lash out at people for no reason, embarrassment was always a feeling. I hoped that this trip would make him change, make us change...

I guess change was meant to be.

### The Trip

Captivating thoughts fill a heart swelled with love and hate. A gradual relationship building on truth, and lies. Saskia holds Wyatt's hand wondering why such a journey means so much to him, hoping he doesn't lash out at her again. Wyatt looks at many guidebooks, seeing the best restaurants and places to take her. Saskia thinks of the way her partner can be such a kind friend to her, yet everything can't be happy forever. Wyatt is an addiction to her, and a bad one.

"Sas, are you okay?" Wyatt questions Saskia's dazed face.

She only replies with a perplexed, "fine hun," yet Saskia can't help thinking 'Why such a trip now?'

This is what could be called an exciting landing, filled with such things as vomit and screaming from all the kids around them. Wyatt isn't too happy to see such a welcome to Paris. Saskia tries to calm Wyatt, worried what he will do. Paris is made for love-struck couples, not like Wyatt and Saskia.

\- - -

They arrive at the hotel. Saskia can't help but be amazed by the lobby.

She is also amazed by her room. It is surprising to see Wyatt put so much effort into something and, actually, she is happy for once. She thinks maybe Wyatt will change for the better. Everyone can change, right? He comes in after paying some sort of fee. Saskia knows this would come cheap. She feels good that he actually cares enough to give her something nice.

"Even if this is only a two day trip, I do care about you Sas, more than others."

"I know you do, Wyatt."

He tells Saskia to have a good night sleep and then kisses her goodnight.

Saskia wakes up to the lights being turned on, nearly blinding her. "What is wrong with you?" she says, burning with anger.

"We have a big day and you decide to sleep in! It is not okay. I thought you were part of this holiday and you're not, you're just a miserable cow!" He squawks.

That is it for her. Saskia gets out of bed, turns the light off and hops back into bed. She wakes again half an hour-ish later and looks at her phone to see a text saying, 'I'm sorry. What I did was awful. I should have let you sleep. You are, after all, my Sas. Come meet me for lunch at Cafe le da Paix. Order a taxi with the number I put on the table. Love Wyatt. X.'

She puts on some clothes and orders a taxi. Wyatt is sitting there, dressed up in a fancy shirt. Saskia feels bad now. He did nothing wrong. It was her who made it worse. That is the problem. You can imagine like crawling back to drugs after having nearly died—that is their relationship, because he will just hurt her again, and again. She sits down and apologises. Wyatt accepts and tells her that tonight is where the real sightseeing is.

\- - -

That afternoon, they decide to get a taxi to the Eiffel tower.

"It's beautiful" Saskia gasps.

"What? That old thing? Wait till we get on the top of it!" Wyatt says.

Saskia can't wait. Ascending on their way up to the top, Wyatt explodes at a person in the elevator.

"You bumped into me, you imbecile!" Wyatt shouts.

"Wyatt, please stay calm. They did it accidentally. Don't have another tantrum," Saskia pleads. She shouldn't have said that because Wyatt explodes again. She doesn't know what she's done wrong, except trying to keep everything controlled, but she says sorry and Wyatt explains that this was a lot of money. That lecture makes her realise this wasn't exactly just a trip for her.

Gazing at the top, Saskia feels a sense of curiosity. Is this how she wants to live her life? Being controlled by another, making her choices not even matter? She suddenly feels insecure, not certain why she always desired Wyatt. He doesn't make Saskia feel happy or safe, just broken, but for some reason, that is how Saskia likes it. Wyatt wraps his hands around her, making her warm inside. It feels like hours to Saskia, just looking at Paris, one of the most lovely cities in the world.

"Saskia it's getting dark don't you want to go?"

"I guess so," says Saskia. They leave the Eiffel tower and get take-away pizzas on their way back to the hotel. Saskia can't think of a better way to end the night than sitting there, eating pizza in the hotel bed, watching Netflix with Wyatt.

\- - -

Sun shines through the curtains and Saskia opens her eyes to a beautiful morning. Seeing Wyatt next to her and pizza boxes lying around, she remembers what a fun night they had. It is a debacle getting up though. Wyatt has all these places he wants to go to, but Saskia doesn't really mind where he is going, so he's having his usual temper. This makes Saskia not even care. Suddenly, what would probably be a huge fight for normal couples is just normal for them. "We can't go on like this Wyatt, you need to calm down."

Wyatt just looks at Saskia confused. "This is how we are. Don't you like it?"

"No, no I don't, Wyatt. You make it so hard." Saskia has just said something which, for once, makes Wyatt go silent.

"I can't change Saskia. You are perfect anyway."

Everything is so bittersweet for Saskia. She loves when he says that, but she has to remember that, just before, there was a fight. She starts to contemplate if Wyatt is right for her, and if they are good together. Saskia never expected them to be like an old bickering couple. "Let's go, Wyatt, I don't want to ruin the day."

They head to the Louvre to have a look at the beautiful artwork there. Saskia only wants there to see one piece. Sunflowers. She has all the memories of going to fields as a child with sunflowers towering over. Those were the days. She stares into the picture, looking at the still flowers with the colours showing memories. Why did it all used to be so easy?

"Come on, let's get going. I don't want to be late to lunch," Wyatt says.

They head off and make their way down to an old patisserie and decide to stop there.

"I loved the artwork there," Saskia reflects. "It was so extravagant."

"Wait for this evening. I'll let you get all ready for tonight."

This makes Saskia happy. He did something nice for her. He still cares...

\- - -

Saskia needs to get dressed up. Wyatt has put and order in to Le Jules Verne, the most luxurious restaurant in Paris. Her crystal blue eyes, that normally strike a powerful glance, now have a mask of winged eyeliner and a hot smokey eyeshadow. Lips get glazed in an entrancing dark red. Saskia's long blonde hair is swept up and curled, then brushed out smashing waves. She looks gorgeous. She shows her appreciation for Wyatt taking her out with a brand new, stunning, Versace dress. Hugging her body in every right way, it was worth spending the four thousand pounds on it. The slit down the side shows Saskia's model like figure. She walks down to the lobby and see Wyatt. She laughs to see his jaw drop at her. Wyatt accompanies her at the bottom of the stairs and takes his arm out to show her to a cab.

Menus on the table and Saskia has no words but "Wow!" Every option of wine and food possible. They go for a five course experience, with nearly every meal making a dance for their taste buds. "This is wonderful, Wyatt. I couldn't thank you more."

"After all we have been through, you deserve it, because you can put up with me," Wyatt chuckles at his response. Has Saskia really had to put up with Wyatt?

After they finish, their stomachs are nearly bursting. Saskia feels wearing a tight dress may have not been the right idea.

"Let's go. I have somewhere to show you."

They walk through the streets, admiring what a nice night it is and how the stars shine brighter in Paris than they ever could in the United Kingdom. They head up to one of the bridges with many locks left by people who threw the key in the water to show their unbreakable love. Wyatt stands there and wraps his arms around her, hugging her tight. She turns around and their lips lock. For once, Saskia feels relaxed with Wyatt. Saskia has to come up for breath, so pulls away. Wyatt does the same.

"Saskia, I love you."

Oh my gosh! Even though the words have been said over and over before, this feels real. Saskia can't help but blush and crack a huge grin, then continue to kiss him, again and again. After a while, they both stop. It is getting quite steamy, but Saskia restrains herself because they should be classy tonight.

"Don't you love how Paris is so... so loved up?" Saskia says, thinking about how good and bad this trip is.

"I guess so, but the sightseeing was the real winner for me," Wyatt replies. They both chuckle. Wyatt is the strangest person Saskia has ever met. How can he be so vile sometimes, but other times make her want to kiss him so much? Wyatt isn't like the perfect boyfriend. He is never there for her, but if he does something good, Saskia will just stay.

They stand on the bridge for a while, Saskia just lost in her thoughts about why she stays with Wyatt and why she should go. They cuddle each other while whispering their infatuated ideas.

"This trip was crazy, Wyatt. I loved it."

"That's good. A crazy couple for a crazy trip." Wyatt grabs a lock out of his jacket, "Saskia will you lock this on the bridge and throw away the key so we can stay forever?" Wow, Saskia can't say anything. She just keeps hearing what he said over and over. She thinks about all the amazing times, the things he made her feel, but how awful he has been to her on some of the roughest days.

"Well, what do you say?"

"I... I don't know," says Saskia.

Wyatt looks angry, but more embarrassed. "That's it! I put my heart on the line and you can't even decide. Ungrateful coward."

"Wyatt! That is the reason I said I don't know, because sometimes you treat me like trash."

"Maybe it's because you have no idea and I need to tell you everything. You're just lazy!"

Saskia gasps. How could he?

"You know, I would have proposed tonight if you had taken the lock. There would have been a ring on your finger!"

"All I said was I don't know. I could have said yes after."

\- - -

Wyatt looks up at her to see Saskia's make-up dripping down and her tears being wiped away by her hands. He feels bad about telling her he was going to propose. "I'm sorry Sas, I should have heard what you were going to say. I do love you and I do want to marry you."

Saskia can't believe what he has just said. After all that, a sorry! Sadness turns into anger. "You think I'm going to marry you after that! All the time of our relationship you shout at me constantly, but I always come back. Now I'm leaving, and I don't ever want to see you come back to me after what you've done to me!"

And then she runs, she just runs away from someone who has been holding her back for years. Now she just breaks. Her heart is proud of her. She only glimpsed a tear rolling down his cheek as she said it, and she is glad to see him cry. She has her wallet, her phone and her passport in her clutch. Luckily that is all she needs. She calls a cab and heads to the airport.

"Rough day, huh?" the cab driver asks.

"Actually, quite a good one." Saskia leaves a tip and heads into the airport. The perks of being wealthy, she tells herself and buys a one way ticket back home. She leaves all her luggage back at the hotel because she doesn't want it. All of that would have been seen or bought with Wyatt. She needs to wipe him away. She boards the plane, accompanied by movies, pillows and champagne, which is all she really needs.

"Are you okay, Miss?" asks a handsome air host.

"I guess I'm as okay as I'll ever be."

## About Mia

Mia is a twelve year old girl who goes to Heaton Intermediate. She can get quite stressed, so deciding to do her story again last minute probably wasn't the best idea, but she did it anyway. She enjoys travelling and the outdoors, which means she loves sport. She likes to be creative and usually does miserable stories so she wanted to make this one happy and courageous. Thus explains the theme for her story. Hope you enjoy it.

# Nuclear Dust

## By Nate Boeyen

Listen, I don't know who you are or what your story is, but this is mine. I know some of what I'm about to say might seem extremely far fetched to you, but I assure you all this is one hundred percent true. As I say this, I am putting my hand on a holy bible and telling you that this is all true. Keep in mind that nuclear bombs have dropped and sent my home spiralling into a post apocalyptic wasteland, so pretty much anything could happen.

### One:

I stared up at the wall, bored out of my mind. All my electronics had been taken away because my parents wanted me to study for my test tomorrow. Yeah, like that was gonna happen. Study was not a concept that existed to me. It's not like school or tests actually mattered back in those days. Technology did everything for us. We'd end up sitting on our arses all day while our robot slaves made us waffles or whatever.

After a while I went downstairs. The TV was on while we ate our dinner. We watched the news.

"...and in recent news, terrorists have discovered plans indicating that the Capital intends to bomb the Middle East within the next couple of years. The terrorists have sent threatening messages to the government saying that, if this is not called off, they will bomb the U.S. first".

"Yeah right," my dad exclaimed. "As if they'd have the guts to."

"I don't know, Dad," my brother George chimed in, "it's a pretty scary thought, and it could well happen. We don't what they're capable of, or what they could have stored in the Middle East." "Don't be stupid, George," my dad argued back. "They know that, if they tried anything, they'd be hunted down immediately. They wouldn't take the risk."

They kept on arguing for a while. Typical. They were both complete last-word freaks.

"So, Thomas honey, how's the studying going?" my mum said. She was always trying to lighten things up.

"Good," I replied bluntly. I didn't feel like talking. I was tired.

"Oh, okay..." she said.

George and Dad were both still arguing. "And even if they do, we've got nothing to worry about. We have a fallout shelter with food and water in the backyard that will last us for years!"

After dinner, I dragged myself back to my room and fell into bed. I lay there, just thinking about stuff coming up. It was my eighteenth birthday in a couple of weeks, so there was that. I closed my eyes, wondering what tomorrow would bring.

"Get up! Get up now!" I woke up with a fright. "Thomas, get up and go to the shelter. They've given us a warning—it's gonna come down in five minutes!"

My dad had rushed into my room, holding a torch and screaming his head off. I looked at the time. Four twenty a.m. I was tired as hell, but as soon as Dad spoke I ran for my life. I rushed downstairs and through the house. I was as fast as Usain Bolt on steroids. My brother and my mother were already outside the shelter, door open, waiting for me. I stood with them, waiting for Dad to come out. I could hear the television blaring, "Two minutes remaining. Go to your fallout shelter immediately."

Then Dad rushed out, carrying a mountain of stuff in his arms. "Get inside!" he screamed and we tumbled in. He threw the stuff in and closed the door behind him with a 'Bam!' He put in the combination and screwed the giant valve on it tight, then he looked at us and started talking, his voice shaking. "We're okay and inside, that's what matters. Is everybody alright? Not too shaken up?"

We all just nodded. Dad looked at us with an unsettled smile. "We're gonna be okay, and we have each other. That's what matters."

I looked out the small, protected window and saw as a mind-blowingly huge mushroom cloud covered the little town of Kayenta—my home, and my life so far. I almost broke into tears and fell to the ground. I thought about all the other poor souls that didn't have a shelter like me. I just knew life would never be the same again...

\- - -

From that point on, life as we knew it didn't exist. Years flew by with our lives wasting away. Arguments and conflict between us just got worse. We got sick being in a confined space for god knew how long. It was good that we had first aid kits to treat us, but by way of entertainment, we didn't have much. There was one television, but we lived in the middle of a desert while post-apocalyptia was going on, so there wasn't much reception either. We did play family games to keep from going completely insane, but I felt like my personality changed as well. I no longer cared about the little things such as entertainment. In fact, I almost hated myself for ever thinking those things were 'important'. Then, one day, something happened that changed my life forever.

\- - -

It was just another day in the shelter. Mum was washing our clothes with the little water we had, and me and my brother were playing Go Fish while eating a can of baked beans, but Dad, he was looking somewhat... distraught. He was over by the food shelf, talking to himself, counting numbers in his head. By this time, seven years had passed. Dad looked at me taking a spoonful of baked beans and stopped me.

"Thomas! Put that down, right now!" he exclaimed.

"What, why?" I asked him, puzzled.

"That may just be one of the last cans of food we have."

"What?!" we all said simultaneously.

"Yes, that's right. According to my calculations, the cans of food up here on this shelf will only last us a couple more weeks, which means," he said with a sigh, "we have to go out looking for some more."

"What?!" we all said again.

"Yes," Dad replied. We talked about it for a while and we decided we would all go out as a family to look. Dad checked the Geiger counter. "The radiation levels around here are low, luckily. I think it's safe to step out."

As we left our shelter, there was a giant flash of light that almost blinded us. When my vision returned, I saw something that I could never unsee. It was my backyard—where I had grown up and played as a child—but completely different. The grass was brown, the shed was destroyed, and the house... oh my God... my poor old house had been completely obliterated. The roof had crashed in and part of my room was in the shed. I felt like crying. This was my home. I had grown up here and had always just treated it as the place I stayed at, but now I felt horrible.

"Alright," Dad ordered. "Let's scavenge our house first, see if there's anything left."

I ran straight up to my room, or what was left of it. My Xbox 7000 had been burnt to a crisp, along with everything else. We didn't find anything edible left in our house, so we went looking around our street. All the other houses looked exactly the same as ours.

"Let's try the Robinson's house next. With any luck, they'll have some food," Dad said light-heartedly. "And then after that we'll—" he was cut off.

"Well, well, well, lookie what we got here, Boys. Some fresh new survivors with supplies."

I looked up. Four dirty, scruffy looking men wearing leather jackets with spiky shoulder plates stood on the road ahead, looking at us. They were bandits. I prayed to God they would be easy on us.

"Listen, Friend, we don't want any trouble," my dad tried to negotiate.

"And we don't want none either," said the bandit, "but if you don't hand over ya valuables, there might be!"

We started handing over our things. My watch, my phone, everything. "Now," the bandit said, "take 'em."

"No!" I screamed. The next part of my life happened in slow motion. First they took my mother and put a gun to her head. I turned around and ran like hell back to the fallout shelter. I could hear my mother scream and my father try to bat them away, but as soon as I got to the shelter, I shut and locked the door. My mind was a blur. I broke into tears and started hitting myself. "What the hell did you just do? You just abandoned your family to die! You're an absolute piece of cowardly shit!"

I cried for hours. What had I just done?

### Two:

A few days later, I summoned enough courage to leave the shelter. I'd run out of food, so I kind of had no choice. After walking outside I checked my house again to see if there was anything left, and surprisingly there was. I guess Dad was too shaken up and too focused on getting food to check his gun locker. He worked at a firing range, and was obsessed with guns. The lock had already been shot off and the door was half open, so it was unlikely that anything would be left. I opened the door. There was a colt pistol and a box full of ammo left. Better than nothing, I guess. I had fired a gun multiple times before, when Dad took me down to the shooting range, but wasn't a sharpshooter. I picked it up and filled it with ammo. I decided I would fire it to see if it wasn't jammed or anything.

BANG!

The gun almost fell out of my hands as the hot lead sped down the barrel of the gun. Jesus! That was loud! I hope no one heard that.

I searched the house for anything more useful. Nothing. I walked out of the house, this time checking first to see if there were any more bandits who wanted to finish me off. I looked around my neighbourhood and luckily I found some cereal in one of the houses. Probably expired, but better than nothing.

I stepped out and looked at the desert ahead, a mirage in the distance. I started heading out of the suburban parts and into the main town where all the stores were. Really no point though, guaranteed they would be all raided out, but then, all of a sudden, I saw two figures in the distance. They came towards me. They were wearing what looked like black suits, but they were stained and ripped. They wore sunglasses and held guns. I reached for mine. They suddenly shouted, "There he is!" and tackled me down. I blacked out.

\- - -

When I woke up, my vision was blurry. I could tell I was in an enclosed, cool, grey interrogation room, with two black figures standing in front of me.

"Wake up, Garrett".

"Ah! What the—wha- I- I- I- I-" I stuttered. Water had just been thrown in my face. I looked up. The two figures were the men that tackled me. I looked around again. I was sitting in a chair behind a desk, and the men stood with their hands on the desk, facing me. There was a one-way mirror on the wall and a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

"What the hell is going on?" I exclaimed.

"Listen up, Garrett, and listen close. Even though it may be a destructive, dangerous wasteland, with murders happening everywhere, in the state of Arizona, we still have some half decent people, which means we still have laws".

"What the hell are you talking about?" I said angrily.

"Take a look at this," he said. Then he pulled out a small pen-looking thing out of his pocket. Ah, I knew what it was. A holographic mind-computer. We had them in school. You would hold it near your head and then your mind sort of turned into a computer. For example, you could select memories and play them as a video, or type things in a word document. I had one too, but it had fallen out as they bagged me and took me away. He played a video of them investigating my family's dead bodies. I looked away in horror.

"Jonathan Garrett, Emily Garrett, and George Garrett didn't just disappear off the face of the planet, as you can see. Their bodies were found right next to your house, but surprisingly yours wasn't. Do you have any idea why, Mr Garrett?"

I was confused, but then everything ran through my head and I understood.

"Are you accusing me of murdering my own family?" I asked.

"We're not accusing, we know."

"I'm bloody innocent, I swear!" I raged.

"Listen, we don't take three murders lightly, so we're gonna make you a deal".

"Oh, and what great deal is this?" I asked sarcastically.

"If you manage to pay us five thousand before the end of the month, we will let you off free, but if you don't, it's the death sentence for you."

I almost screamed out loud. "What the hell! How am i supposed to come up with that shit in a month? You guys are completely corrupt!"

"Corrupt is not the word I would personally use for it, Mr Garrett. I would use the word, 'strict'." The man smiled. "As for how you manage to get it? That is up to you, Mr Garrett. Good luck. We will escort you out."

They took me out of the building. I was in the police station in the main town. I looked around. In the old stores that had been raided, there were stalls selling supplies. Some selling food, some selling weapons. Speaking of which, I needed one. The pricks at the police station took my gun. Heh, great! They expect me to come up with five thousand dollars in a month and they take my only form of self-defence. I walked over to the stall. A grubby looking man armed with a twelve-gauge shotgun stood there.

"Hey," I said in a friendly tone.

"Howdy friend," he replied.

"How much are your colts?" I asked.

"Ah," he said. "Colt's a fine pistol, Good for taking out them mutants and bandits, I'm selling them at thirty a pop, forty dollars if you want two boxes full of ammo to come with."

I pulled out my wallet. Damn! They confiscated that too.

"Listen, Friend, I saw you come out of that police station. The folks around here hate how damn corrupt they are, so here." He gave me a colt and some ammo. "Try to stay alive."

"Thanks!"

"Pleasure doin' business wit ya," he replied.

"Oh, also, do you know any way to get out of Arizona?" I asked, in case I could get out of this nightmare.

"Out of Arizona? Hmmm, you'd have to head up to Utah nearby, but that's way too dangerous. There are mutants and bandits that would kill before asking. Same as if you'd try to get to any other state, so I'd say that we're pretty much stuck here."

"Okay, thanks again," I said and left.

Great, stuck here, as if it wasn't worse before. I wandered back around to the suburbs see if my mind-computer was still there. Luckily, it was. I picked it up, and started on my way through the wasteland. Now reader, I don't want to keep you here forever, so let me speed things up. I tried to get jobs everywhere. Shops, mercenaries, but nothing was working out for me, so I did something that I wasn't proud of. I joined a group of bandits.

\- - -

One day, when I was wandering the Arizonan wasteland to another town, I met a guy with a wound on the side of the road. He was bleeding out, and fast. I rushed over to him.

"Sir, are you okay?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "I was...shot. I feel like I'm about to die."

"What?" I said. "Who shot you? Who did this?".

"That's not important right now. What's important is that someone needs to give me medical attention, now!"

I ripped open his bag to see if there was anything of use in there. He had a first aid kit. It wasn't much, but I could probably fix him up, or at least try. I slipped some gloves on and gave him a towel to bite down on. I got some scalpels and tweezers. I also put a cloth around the wound to stop too much bleeding.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"John," he replied.

"Thomas," I said.

"The pleasure is mine," he said.

"This is gonna hurt," I said. My mother, being a vet, used to show me and my brother how to take splinters and sharp things out of animals. I thought this could be similar, and it was the best training I had. I dug into the wound with the scalpel and saw a bullet lodged in. I used the tweezers to slowly pull the bullet out.

"Ahhhh! bloody hell that hurts!" he said.

"Now hold this against the wound to stop the bleeding from getting worse," I told him. "Let's get to a nearby town—"

"No!" he cut me off.

"I know somewhere better, just...follow me."

As I helped him hobble along, he led me to a place with skulls on pikes and blood on the side of the road.

"This doesn't look—"

"Just trust me," he said again. We walked inside a cave near one of the canyons and as soon as I set foot in the entrance, a hundred guns pointed at my head.

"Who is this stranger you have brought into our midst John?" one of them said.

"He is a friend. Saved my life actually, so don't harm him," John told them.

"Oh my God, John, what happened to you?" another said.

"I tried robbing a mercenary. Didn't go too well," he mumbled painfully.

All of this was going through my head and then I realised that they were bandits, and he was one of them. That's why he didn't want me to go to the town, and why he didn't tell me who shot him, otherwise

I would've realised he was a bandit. While they took him away up to another part of the cave, the leader looked at me.

"You should've figured out by now that we're a clan of bandits," he told me. "I'm not having you run off to the authorities and telling them the exact location of where we're hiding, so you're going to have to join us."

"And if I refuse?" I asked.

"Then you better like the taste of lead," he said pointing a pistol at my head.

"Well then, it looks like I'm part of a bandit group now," I told him.

After that my life changed for the worse. I hated what I was doing. I couldn't kill, of course. After my parents were killed, I realised I had severe case of cowardice. They caught onto that pretty quick and just let me do the petty theft and stealing, even though it didn't please our bloodthirsty leader, but one raid in particular sent me over the limit, and made me realise how unforgiving this wasteland really was.

### Three:

It was another day and some of our group, plus the leader, were wandering around the wasteland, trying to find a place to raid.

"Everybody get your ass on track and keep moving!" barked the leader.

I opened my mouth—

"Just keep moving and shut the hell up," John whispered angrily to me.

"What, why?" I whispered back.

He replied sarcastically, "Oh, I don't know, Thomas. Maybe because he's he's got two bodyguards who are armed to the teeth and would kill us if we even thought about complaining!"

"But he's not carrying anything and he's telling us to hurry up!"

"Like I said, he'd kill us. Use your bloody head!"

"Sorry," I murmured.

"God, out of all the things you could've been bitching about, that's the one you chose? Not the heat, the filth..." he went on.

"Stop! Get down!" the leader barked again.

"Civilization up ahead. Looks small, just families and children. Only a couple of guards with puny rifles. This will be a piece of cake." He laughed maniacally.

"Me, the two bodyguards and John will take out the two guards. Thomas and the other two can check if there's anyone else," he ordered. "Ready, set, charge!"

We all ran out like fish swimming to bait. Me and the two other guys sprinted to check behind the vans, in case there was anyone else. There were two guys. They looked like they were ready, but when the first one was shot dead, the other one curled up in a ball on the ground and begged for mercy. He said that he knew the combination to a safe in one of the caravans.

"I'll give it to you!" he said, sobbing. "Just... please don't hurt me!"

I brought him round to the leader.

"Well, well, well, what have we got here? A soldier that's too much of a pussy to even put up a fight?" Our leader spat at him. "Pathetic."

I looked at the man's shaking body. Poor sod. There were still families around, probably losing all respect for him at this moment. I didn't even want this, but you have to make money somehow.

"I- I- I- I have the combination to a safe..." he stuttered.

"Well, what the hell is it man?! Speak up and we may spare you," the leader told him.

The man scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards an old, rusty caravan. We all followed. He opened up the safe.

"Here," he gave its contents to our leader.

"What in the bloody hell is this?" the leader exclaimed.

"Uh, it's some extra ammo... A couple of bullets..." he faded off.

"You think these supplies are worth your life?"

"I'm sorry, it's all we have..."

"Two words," our leader said, the barrel of his revolver pressed against the man's forehead. "Not. Enough."

I turned away.

BANG!

I gasped slightly at the noise and walked out of the caravan quickly, a mental image of the blood curdling shot painted in my head.

"Oh come on, Thomas, really?" the leader said painfully to me. "I haven't asked you to kill anyone and you still can't handle it?"

I kept my head down, and said nothing. There was an awkward silence.

"That's it. I'm gonna get you over this whole 'coward' thing right now." He lead me outside and grabbed a child from its mother.

"Please!" sobbed the mother, crying her eyes out. "No!"

I felt horrible. What was he going to make me do?

"Kill him," the leader ordered.

There was an absolute stunned silence. My whole body stiffened and I couldn't move. The child's face went as white and pale as a blizzard and the mother just started crying even more. Even the other bandits were silent and shocked. All the other mothers and families started moving towards the caravans and shutting the doors.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Kill the brat!"

John stepped in. "Commander, I think it is much too extreme for any of us to kill a—"

"Shut the hell up, John. No one gives a damn!"

"Hurry up, Thomas. Kill him, or I'll kill you!"

"No," I said.

"What?"

"No, Commander. I won't kill a child," I said again.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Now hurry up! It's either him or you!" the leader commanded again.

"No," I said firmly.

"Alright then, I guess it's you," the leader said. He pointed his gun at my head.

"Bye, bye, Thomas."

A hand quickly slapped the gun out of his hand. It was John's.

"Run, Thomas!" he shouted.

I sprinted out of the camp and ran off into the wasteland, my legs barely holding me up. I heard gunshots behind me. I didn't know whose they were, and at that point I didn't care, I just kept on running. My feet started hurting, but the adrenaline was pumping through me and kept me going further into the death trap that was the nuclear wasteland.

### Four:

After leaving the bandit group I had approximately sixteen hundred dollars. Sadly, this was no help. I was stuck in the middle of a nuclear wasteland with only a pistol and a few bullets. Then the heat got to me. I couldn't tell if the radiation was bad, but the heat, oh the goddamn heat! I was sweating litres every single day. I thought I must have been going insane, because I started talking to myself. "God, I should've just killed the brat and been done with it."

"No! Mom, Dad, and George wouldn't have wanted that!"

"Who gives a damn about them? They're dead!"

"No they're not, Thomas. They're here, just inside you."

I fell to the ground. "Arrggghhhh! Why me? Why does it always have to be me?"

Just at that moment, luck became my friend. I started seeing things, and one of those things was a big hole in the distance. It looked like the ground had collapsed and I went over to check things out. It looked like a giant entrance to an underground subway system.

"No, this—this can't be real," I thought. I walked down and through. It was thriving with survivors and stores selling everything. I started exploring. I was going to buy a weapon, but then I thought of how much I needed this money. I started looking for work around the place, and plenty of places were hiring. I tried looking for ones that paid a decent amount and didn't require much labour. I turned a corner and I was stopped by a mysterious man that called me over.

"Hey, you!" he said. "Come over here!"

"Do I know you?" I asked him.

"No, but I gotta question. You need some quick cash?"

"Uhhhh, yeah, I guess."

"Alright then, follow me," he told me.

I was a bit cautious at first, after all, who knows where he could be taking me? Eventually we reached a steel door that looked like it lead to a janitor's office, but when I walked in there was a desk with a leather chair and a well-cut, clean-shaven man with two other strong built men standing next to him. He sat me down in a chair opposite the desk.

"So, you need money?" he said.

"Uhh, yeah," I answered.

"We can loan you three thousand with interest for one year," he told me.

"How much is the interest?" I asked suspiciously.

"Only a few bucks each couple of days."

"That sounds great!" I exclaimed happily.

"Alright then, sign here and here and then it's done," he said.

I signed, but that was one of the biggest mistakes I ever made. After that, I got a job at a shop that sold food rations. I spent all my hours, every day, trying to sell people packets of cheese soup. Trust me, not an exciting job. But one day, I became the happiest man alive.

\- - -

"Thomas!" my boss yelled.

"Yeah?" I yelled back. He was inside the shop and I was out on the street.

"Get in here! It's payday!"

I ran inside. He was behind the desk paying all the other co-workers.

"Thomas, I thought you did an extra good job this week, so I'm paying you extra," he told me.

I added the numbers up. Holy crap. No way. "Yes! Yes! I have it! Five thousand goddamn dollars!" I exclaimed. "Listen boss, I love you so much. Co-workers, you guys are awesome, but I've gotta quit. Have a nice life!" I screamed as I sprinted away. I was happier than I'd ever been in my entire life. I ran out of the subway to head back to Kayenta, but on the way, I met a man that I never wanted to meet ever again.

### Five:

I was wandering along the wasteland, about an hour out of Kayenta, when a man came up to me.

"Listen Garrett, the boss wants his money, now." It was the guys that loaned me money.

"What? But you said that it wasn't due to be paid until next year!" I shouted.

"Change of plans. Now hand over the money unless you want this to get real messy."

I was about to leave the money and run away, but something ran through my mind and I just stopped and didn't move.

"No, I'm not giving you the money," I said firmly.

"Listen, I'm not going to ask twice. The money, now." He was starting to get mad. He reached for his gun.

"No," I said one last time, not taking any more shit from this guy, or anyone else ever. He then whipped out his gun faster than anything I've ever seen before. I ran to hide behind a rock. He was firing constantly. My mind was a blur. I then did something I never thought I would do before. I pulled out my gun, and ran.

It happened in slow-motion, like when my parents were being killed. He saw me and started firing rapidly. I pointed the gun at him. He wasn't scared. He knew by my face I wouldn't have the guts to pull the trigger. He pointed his gun at me once again, but I fired first.

The gun fell out of my hands again but it didn't matter. I looked up, and his forehead was a bloody mess. He fell to the ground and didn't move. I had just killed a man, but I felt the fire in my stomach and looked down. I had suffered as well.

### Epilogue

Now, dear reader, I am writing this with my holographic mind-computer while sitting with my back against a rock, trying to stop my stomach bleeding out. I'm looking up at the sky. I may die today, but does it matter? No. At least I have overcome something that would've haunted me my entire life. If I do die, at least I will be with my family. After all, that is everyone's fate eventually. Life is just a series of moments played over until death, because death is inescapable. But just maybe...

Just maybe that's okay.

# Dark Waters

## by Ollie O'Loughlin

The trees were muted. The night was hush without a cloud in the moonlit sky. Park lamps shone over the moist grass. The river was harmonious and still, but the deadly water still got me worried. One sound stood out, my footsteps.

"Woof, woof." Charlie, my spoodle, started attacking the leash. Him being frightened made me fearful. I heard a high pitch scream. Was someone getting attacked? Another scream came from the poor woman's mouth. This situation was coming to haunt me, again. My memory was starting to take over. As I fought my mind, I realised I couldn't leave earth with a feeling of guilt and regret. Instinctively, I would've called the police, but she could be a dead carcass in a matter of moments. I dropped Charlie's leash and wished for the best. My jog turned into a run, which switched to a sprint.

"Hey! Leave her alone!" I shrieked. The assaulter looked at me, confused. Although it was dark, the faint light still shone into his eyes. The women had cuddled herself in a little ball. It was dark, but even with what I could see, I didn't recognize her face.

"Look, I would recommend you stay out of this because I'm not trying to hurt anyone here," the attacker said.

It's like I couldn't control what I was thinking. Fear rushed through the insides of my body. Trying to keep the hurt and the fear out of my voice, I replied, "Give me the lady or I'll call the cops."

Threatening him was my only hope. We argued for a few minutes until he finally decided to capitulate. He seemed threatening, saying my love was at risk. My brain thought hard, but nothing bothered me as he ditched us, giving the woman to me to take care of.

After she stepped into the brightness, I gazed at her face and I couldn't believe my eyes.

"Lilly? Is that you?" I expressed with wonder. Without hesitation, she leaped into my arms and gave me a kiss.

"Oh, Justin! I'm glad you're my boyfriend. Thank you so much."

"Who was that guy?"

"Me and him had a little bit of an affair in high school and he obviously wanted revenge... violently," she said with struggle in her voice.

"I think you should tell the police."

"No. I think I'll be fine for now. I'm just gonna go home."

"Alright. I'll be back soon," I said with pride in me. We took strides in opposite directions. I hoped she'd get home safely, but I had to go back and retrieve Charlie... but where was he?

Dim lights weren't an advantage in the darkness that surrounded the park. My ears were open for the sound of a dog. Waiting wasn't an option, I need to begin my exploration. At the top of my lungs, I shouted, "Charlie!"

Normally, I'd expect a blonde spoodle to be charging at my feet, but tonight was different and that didn't happen. A shiver of fear ran up the back of my spine. I gazed to the horizon, but my eyesight wasn't clear enough to know what was there. Then the shadow of a human figure stopped me. He had a dog on a leash. I was only about two hundred and fifty meters away, but there were two problems. My mind said that I'd faced this guy before, about ten minutes ago; and I couldn't get across to him because there river is between me and the guy.

My walks quickly switched to a jog, then into a full sprint. When my eyes met the water's edge, my feeling didn't change. In my life water, is has always been greatest fear.

"Charlie, here boy," I said, tapping my legs rapidly. The animal turned and barked. The attacker noticed. The twilight didn't give a clear remembrance of what his actions were. All my eyes could detect was a grin on his face. He started walking in the opposite direction.

"Grr," the dog growled and the barked, but in my opinion, I couldn't save him. I couldn't swim and the depth was above my head. I heard Charlie screech. I saw a boot from the assaulter's foot go into his face, but my dog just stayed stationary and let the pain go to him. Every kick that hit him made my intent on saving him become stronger. Several tens of seconds passed until I finally grasped and realised. He was waiting for me—to cross the river and save him.

My vision changed. Suddenly I was seven years younger. Everything blazed and the grass turned to sand. The still water became rough waves. I accessed the water, but this time I wasn't afraid. I was actually enjoying myself. Ducking and diving into the white water gave my life a sense of happiness and it cleared my mind. Wiping my eyes and spitting out the salty feeling in my mouth still didn't bother me. Suddenly, my feet get lifted off the ground and I had no control what-so-ever. As I turned my head slightly, I saw the golden sand getting further and further away. Fighting against the current, I gave as much energy as I could and tried to swim back to land. It didn't quite happen. My mindset was horrible. I didn't know what to do. Screaming out wasn't an option because my throat was dry and it seemed my voice box wasn't working. The only thing that was keeping me afloat was the power of the rip.

It started to ease down and eventually stopped. Shore was a long way out and my forcefulness and energy was all lost. A tear fell down the side of my cheek and I began to attempt a type of swim back to shore. Every wave that crashed over top of me made me struggle even more. Every breath I took felt like my last. All of my control was lost and my head got dipped into the chilled beryl water. While I wiped my eyes incessantly, I spied the people on the golden sand and I wondered why their eyes couldn't see me. The saltiness on my guiltless tongue wasn't bothering me. Could this actually be how I died? Gently my eyes compacted, leaving my moistened eyelashes to lay over top. Taking a deep breath, I dabbed my hair backwards into the water and let my body relax.

I didn't even determine to open my eyes, but after a period of time I felt that's what I needed to do. Preparing for the worst, I saw a river and across the river, a man holding my dog by it's neck. Then it hit me. My experience, just then was a flashback.

"Let the dog go! And why did you attack my girlfriend, you cold blooded freak!" I squalled.

"Oh, is this your dog?" The man responded, pretending he never knew.

"I don't even think I know you! So why have you captured my dog?"

"Umm, I'm not sure if you have seen my face yet, but you know how Lilly asked if you wanted to be her love? Yeah, before that I was her boyfriend and she picked you, not me, so I want revenge for that!" He shouted to me over the river, keeping a tight grip on Charlie's collar. Finally I gained recognition of who he was. Although the lights shone blurry, I saw him in my mind and I could remember all the nasty things Lilly said to me about her ex. Gradually, I thought of a come-back to make him feel bad.

Like 'who can't resist these good facials'.

"I think you've caught a fever of jealousy." After those words slipped out of my mouth, I regretted screaming them as all my attention went to Charlie.

"Why don't you come and get him?" The man questioned me with a big grin attached to his face.

He couldn't know my fear of water. He couldn't know anything! How did I respond to this question?

Mindlessly, I replied, "Because you—"

He interrupted. "I'm not harmful, am I? The only reason I attacked Lilly was because I wanted her and she refused."

"Water is my enemy." I admitted. "OK, now can I have my dog?" With a feeling of anguish, I begged to have the dog back. It was like a seagull seeing of food and the owner just wanting them to get lost.

The guy opened his lips and his voice box generated this unwilling comment. "This dog will pay the price and that consequence is death."

My heart stopped. Did he really just say that? No, I'm pretty sure I was absent minded, but as I began to understand what he just said wasn't reality, he grabbed Charlie by the neck. He bent down to his bag and the sound of the zip chilled me more than water. His once empty hand now had a silver, lustrous blade shaped like a knife, gripped within his fingertips. Gazing at the water, I felt I need to help my beloved pet.

"First this man attacked my girlfriend because he was jealous and he wants to kill my dog because I saved her when I didn't know who I was saving," I whispered faintly to myself in confusion. I couldn't help but keep an eye on the fearsome river as I looked at Charlie. The man seemed to not have done anything so far, but I was preparing for the worst. What should I do? This couldn't be solved. I ain't no hero, I'm a stupid twenty-one year old who is afraid of water and is going to get a dog killed for that.

NO!

"Look, why do you want my dog?" I asked, hoping he had no comeback.

"I don't care about your dumb dog. I just don't like you and if you never met your girlfriend, me and her would still be together! And look who saved her. All I want is revenge, and I just happened to see you tonight. So, Justin Stuart, what are you gonna do about it?" he demanded of me with hatred. Furiously, I shut my eyes and as soon as I could see brightness, I lifted my foot off the ground and took a leap into the swift, fast flowing river.

As the blurriness faded, I felt I had accomplished my destiny. In fact, it was heading the opposite way. I was actually getting swept away by the force of the stream. I struggled to find a place for my feet to settle as the depths were unforgiving for 'water wimps' like me. When I stretched my legs, my feet didn't feel a solid soil. A shiver of mixed emotions passed through me. The glacial feeling reminded me of the being sick. Rapidly, my eyes blinked and I lost my sight. Moments later, I regained my perception and glared at the bank Charlie was on. I paid attention to the speed and how fast the water was flowing. The current didn't seem bad, no, it was horrible. Keeping afloat was my struggle. I have never even wanted to get wet, ever since the accident, but now surviving was all that mattered. Every ripple that ran over my skin made me shiver and gave me a sense of dread. My face was bobbing up and down and I had to spit out water quite frequently. My eyes led me to my destination. Paddling violently, I used each and every last bit of my energy to make my way toward the sandy ledge.

Gripping my hands into the damp sand, I pulled my body mass up into thin air and I raced towards my enemy. The distance closed as each and every stride became bigger, faster and stronger. My sweat broke quickly as a rush of adrenaline ran through me. As I had drifted so far down stream, he probably expected me to surrender and hoped that I have no courage in me to save my pet. If I was him and knew how badly I hated water, I wouldn't think I'd be coming any time soon.

On the horizon, the figure of a human focused my eyes. Quickly, the sound of a dog attracted me. Following the sound, I led myself to him. The man holding Charlie had walked a fair distance with him and hadn't bothered to even turn his head. With his back facing parallel with me, there was about a hundred metres between us. I started to pick up the pace. Drips of sweat were drizzling to the ground by the time the gap starts to close. Soon my heavy breathing would make him turn. His neck moved slightly and by now I was probably ten metres away. Hoping his weapon was put away and he wasn't armed with any other weapons, I jumped up and smashed my knuckles into the back of his head.

"Arhhhh," he howled, turned to face me. All my anger and annoyance got a piece of that. His arms flung up to where the impact had hit and he placed them gently on his skull. His grip on Charlie came loose and Charlie freed himself.

"Taking my dog and threatening to kill him wasn't a good idea, and trying to get my girlfriend. They're like my most loved living things on this planet and you want both of them. Now go away and don't even think about coming near me or my dog again!" I shouted as I restrained his position and got myself into a good place to fight back. Pinning him to the ground, I made his situation unbearable. I decide dialling nine-one-one was the best idea now.

Finally, the cops arrived and I explained to them what happened. They handcuffed him and arrested him for animal abuse. His eyes glared at me in disgust, but the sight of a blonde spoodle running around in the dawn of the park caught my eye and cheered my emotion up a heap.

"Here, Charlie," I said with relief, tapping my legs. I could memorise this moment easily and it'll stay with me for a lifetime. Tongue out. Collar ringing. Perfect sight. A tear of a joy fell from my eye as Charlie leaped into my arms and used his clean tongue to wash the tears off my cheek.

"I will never let anything horrible happen to you again," I said with a sigh of happiness. I've still got to cross that river again, I speak in my mind. That didn't bother me though. I was pretty certain that I'd overcame my fear and I had realised what my real fear was. Losing Charlie.

"I love you."

"Woof, woof."

## About Ollie

Ollie O'Loughlin is a thirteen-year-old boy who lives in New Zealand. He currently goes to Heaton Intermediate and appreciates all the opportunities he gets. He loves almost every sport and enjoys writing. Reading wouldn't be his favourite subject but his first pick of genres would be survival stories, and he's really into the hunger games series. In the future he looks to be a professional cricket/rugby player and his inspiration would be Dan Carter. When he writes, grammar would be something he isn't very good at, similar to when he speaks.

#  The Casualties of Truth

## by Piper Pengelly

Country gravel crunches and rolls beneath my freshly polished McKinley shoes. Though I'm walking towards the biggest decision of my life, I might as well be swimming in the clouds, since all I'm thinking is how rock never really dies, it just fades until it becomes so small it's near nothing. What I wouldn't give to be a rock right now... to be a rock that never feels, just is, with nothing to decide, nothing to worry about, and no one watching my every move. It's stupid really, how I long for the luxury of nothingness when all I have to worry about is everything.

The gravel stops and turns to asphalt, along with my heart. Why East Monterey Hill Intermediate never ceases to have that effect on me, I can only puzzle at. I have been on this assignment eight months to the day, yet the mornings have always felt the same. Wake at an ungodly hour, arrive groggy at nine and be ready to demolish the day ahead.

Every day.

Every day, but today that is. Today I want to run from the hills and hide on Pluto at least, but I know I could never do that. Ever. The agency would not allow it. I'd be out cold on the ground before I got three meters.

Seriously, I tried that little trick yesterday when the my boss—the agency resident psychic—had correctly predicted that, during recess, Josh would ask me out... out of nowhere. I had known he would, but still, a person can only hope to change fate, right?

It's not that I dislike Josh—the perfect Gemini—quite the opposite, actually. That's my problem. I like him. I've NEVER liked someone before, boy or girl. And here's a bigger problem. I think I like, like him. Doesn't matter though. I'll only know him for another four hours. Then he'll hate me for screwing up his life and his chance at a future.

God, he won't be the only one either. Everyone will hate me and my murderous truth. The only people who have ever come close to being my friends will hate me. Forget their lives, what about mine? After this assignment, the agency are sending me off to San Diego, USA, to pose as an over protective multi-millionaire's daughter. Add another thirty or so kids who hate my guts to the list—on top of the millions of others. I'm not sure if there will be anyone left on earth whose life I can ruin after that. The gods must've really been happy when they planned my life!

I push my over-the-shoulder bag strap higher, lift my head, put on my million dollar smile, and hide the fear consuming my insides as I start towards the door. I can't hide behind this skin forever, because somewhere far beneath the acting, I exist. The real me. Too bad though, because I've never met that person, nor do I think I ever will.

### Sometime during Maths

The truth. Is a thing no one can bear to face, or no one that I've ever had the pleasure of meeting anyway. The truth will destroy a person with few blows. I've seen my fair share. How many times I've been the one to deliver it, I don't know. All I know is that I can't deliver it again. Never. Even if it has the greatest cost imaginable, I am ready to pay the price. All I want is never to have to ruin a person's life ever again.

I can't tell the truth any more. I used to do only what I was told. I never thought about right or wrongs. Then I met someone who taught me otherwise. I know I won't enjoy the aftermath of my actions, but it's better than the truth. ANYTHING but the truth. People say a dying relative is disturbing to see, but they've never seen the casualties of the truth. They are the worst kind of dying souls.

My job consists of studying any human being I come to meet. I have this talent you see. I can read minds. The agency is full us freaks. My boss can tell the future and recall the smallest details—such as what sort of pen was on the desk. As an agent, I use my talent to indirectly change society so we don't all act like wimps.

For example: Josh Pyke is a boy who is ruled by self doubt. He will not be able to overcome that, because he has always has the habit of questioning his every move, every thought, every decision. He knows what he wants, but not how to get it. Josh Pyke is a person bound to fail. Change doesn't exist. It's simply a myth created by humans to gain some hope. That's another thing that Josh fails at.

Hope. He has too much of it.

Humans were never created to succeed, you see. It has always been the agency's dream and goal to improve society. To improve our ways, so that we have a chance at a future.

For as long as I can remember, I have been one of them in every way, but recently I feel as if I'm straying from the pack.

I've decided what I'm going to do.

### 11.50 am

I feel as if I'm watching the world in front of me from one of the many cameras placed invisibly around the class. Nothing. I think of nothing. My body is on auto pilot. I first walked into this room not knowing the people in it, but, I when I leave, it will be them who won't know me.

They have never known me. Almost everything they thought they knew about me is false, fake and untrue. They only knew my name, which they have known for what feels like an eternity. I am still moving—about to do what I have done so many times before—only this time I will do it unwillingly... and I view it as the unthinkable. I will destroy them and their lives, as I have done so many times before to so, so many kids. I will scar them with the sharpest blade of them all.

That is my life. I walk into a room, sew myself into a camaraderie, only to rip apart all the stitches that held it together. Then I turn my back and leave—blood on my hands—never to return. That is all I have ever known and done in life: create and destroy.

I watch myself stand and walk towards the front of the class, my blonde ponytail swinging behind me. My uniform footsteps fall one in front of the other. Like a trapeze artist, my feet walk in a perfectly straight line—so confident of where they will end up, even when I have no idea. My posture is confidently vertical. With my head held high, I walk with a grace that is easy and calm. My hands are relaxed at my sides. I had no idea how certain and important my aura is when I am nervous. God, I'm scaring myself. Appearance-wise I couldn't look more polar opposite to how I feel, even if I tried.

Suddenly, I am back to first person. Mentally, I pause as I register the confused and shocked expressions on all the familiar faces I have come to admire in the last couple of months. All eyes are pinned on me. I scan the faces of the 'soon to be slaughtered'. Directly in front of me, I see my good friend Paige Green—a motivated young woman who aims to be remembered one day. Her biggest fear is being forgotten. I gauge her tells and she analyses my every twitch in return. She's confused, intrigued and wrestling with herself over what to do.

To my left I see my 'partner in crime', Minta Gossman—a classic Gemini—looking at me as if she's seen a zombie. Finally I look to my right and my heart skips a beat. Lloyd Pastor—an Aries and the only person I have ever meet who disagrees with humanity as much as I do—glares at me like he does when he finds a maths problem he can't solve (a very rare but memorable moment). I love and admire these people. I can't believe what I'm about to do to them.

I have been through the cycle of create and destroy so many times in my thirteen years, but I have never come across a group like this one. A group of unique and honest individuals. No human has a good side, in my arrogant opinion, but as far as I've seen, this is as good as it gets...

I have worked with the agency as long as I can remember. I have never and will never know my parents or my genetic past. I do what they say, or live my life on the streets. Everything I know comes from the biased propaganda of people I work with. They remind me that this work is for the good of a better society—a society without a bad side. They feed me the truth, milligrams at a time, and as far as they know, I have no other opinion but theirs.

Recently, I found out that humans have very different opinions and perspectives on matters. Minta showed me the good side of society and what the world looked like through her eyes. I now have an idea of the world from many perspectives, though I do I still see room for improvement. Each person has their own opinion and, like snowflakes, no two opinions are the same. I am the only person who can control my opinions to match and contrast my actions.

Now, as I stand in front of the people I admire, knife raised, I realise my mistake, and so I turn the blade back on myself. I am aware of the consequences, but it doesn't deter me. As I am about to utter the final words I will ever say to these people, I look each one in the eye... stalling. Like a sponge, I soak up the diversity each person has to offer. Finally my search concludes and I look into Lloyd's eyes. He stares back, the contact unwavering. I collect all the courage I have and, before I can take it back, I blurt, "I'm sorry! I came in here to make the world a better place, to improve society and fulfil my duties as an agent. I walked in here aware of the consequences my presence would bring, the scars it would leave on you, yet I didn't stop myself... and I could not have been more selfish. Every single one of you have changed my life."

I pause, breathing in peace and delivering all my nightmares on a plate, "I came here to reveal the truth about every single one of you. I came here thinking 'the truth' was my only option... my only chance. Believe me when I say, there is nothing more true than this: humans can't handle the truth. Every one of us is as naive and oblivious to the truth as the next... me most of all. You see the truth is..." I stop, trailing off.

This is the point where I thrust the knife and scar them in a way which will remain for the rest of their lives, but today I can't, no matter what my fear of the consequences, I must do what is right. So I continue.

"...I am a naive soul who works for an agency that investigates social habits and reactions. My speciality is revealing the truth, and ruining lives, to help create a perfect society. Unfortunately, perfect doesn't exist. No matter how hard we aim for perfect, there are flaws in everything and everyone. It's called life. I destroy lives on a regular basis, and I move from place to place, working different social experiments to the max. Today, for the first time, I am an insurgent against my life's cause. I'm sorry—"

That was when all hell broke loose as the class was caught in a hailstorm of silver. That was when everything went black and, as impossible as it may seem, I became even more oblivious as all my senses went numb.

### Some time later

"Urggggg," I groan.

There's someone else in the room. My survival instincts kick in and I jump up. "Who's there?"

I look around to find I'm in a cell. Alone. I'm going crazy. Something flashes in my memory, something bad. Unforgivable. I recall the last time I was conscious and then flop back onto the surprisingly comfortable faded blue mattress on the floor of my concrete cell.

"Ugh" I repeat. How could I be so stupid? So selfish? Now all those people are gone... because of my actions. Idiot, idiot, idiot, I chant in my head and maybe out loud as well. How can I ever move forward from here?

The agency will never let this get out though, they couldn't. They would have replaced my fellow classmates with replica robots. Replica robots who will live the lives of the people I care about.

All because of me and my stupid actions.

That moment is when it all clicks into place, the moment when I finally feel the undercurrent, because I realise this: the agency never really needed me to test these kids reactions in order to turn the world into a more predictable society. It was never a test on the kids.

The test was on me.

All those times I'd told people what they were doing wrong socially, mentally, or physically, I was never telling them anything they didn't already know... only what they refused to let themselves believe. I was telling them their worst features for the sake of improving mine. I am the reflection of society.

The agency was only ever trying to change me—to improve my understanding of human society so I could become some sort of greater machine. Unlike the other robots the agency had under their control, I was human, and you can't programme humans to perfection. You can only train them into being perfect.

The agency's plan all along was to change me.

I knew I was never told the whole truth. The best agent only knows what they need to... but I never thought I had been lied to.

And they knew that.

The door to my left swings open with what should've been a slam, but when the door reaches a forty five degree angle it freezes in mid action...and in walks my Jim Parker.

Shoot, I think, silently cursing my foolishness. I forgot about the implant in my brain that lets them track my thoughts.

The person behind this train wreck of an agency is a stark, greying man. His aura screams of importance and wealth. Someone who should never be messed with or told what to do. His flaws.

Parker circles me while I glower at him. Sarcastically, he claps. One, two, three. My glare tightens.

"Twelve years I have watched your thinking, Natalie. You're connecting the dots. Extraordinary, really. There was always something special about you," he pauses his pacing and stares directly into my eyes, pinning me to the spot and freezing my every muscle, "but not figuring out the biggest puzzle placed in your path in twelve years is a new record."

I don't trust this man. I can't. My flaw.

"So, Natalie, tell me, what have you come to figure out?" He's daring me to tell him. To confirm his worst nightmares have come true. He believes that I may be the only person to figure this out and that is a threat to his importance... that someone could doubt his position even for a second. He wants me to tell him, expects it. Well he's just going to have to wait.

"Tell me, Nat. Come on girl."

My mouth doesn't twitch in the least. I hold my ground. Another minute passes, his gaze still expectant.

"Don't disobey me, Natalie. You know the consequences."

Well finally he got something right, at least. Too bad, Mr. I'm-More-Important-Than-You. Sometimes you're not going to get everything you want.

His gaze tightens. Then, to my surprise, his smile morphs into a wicked grin.

"Okay then, I see how this is going to work." His gaze doesn't falter. "Fraaank!' he bellows in a sing song voice.

A frantic, black-haired, pale-skinned, yet beautiful human boy bursts through the door wearing nerd glasses, a goofy grin, and a bleached lab coat. His gaze meets my glare and his grin widens, revealing his perfect row of pearly whites. My eyes narrow. Trust no one, Nat, my trainer's words remind me.

"Frank, I think it's time we showed Nat here the truth, aye?" says Mr. Parker, interrupting my off-topic thoughts. At this, the boy, who is apparently called Frank, widens his eyes in an expression that says, "you sure?" with a hint of surprise and curiosity.

"Okaaay dokie," drawls Frank, lengthening his 'okay' just to give Mr. Parker enough time to change his mind. When Frank is satisfied that Mr. Parker is not going to change his mind, he sighs and slumps slightly, then sends me a sympathetic glance and turns to get back to whatever he was instructed to do. All the while, Mr. Jim Parker just watches my every nervous twitch. I return his gaze with an unfaltering death glare.

"Done, sir," announces Frank when he has finished preparing whatever is to happen next, yet Jim and I stare on, unblinking.

"Well don't muck around, boy. You know what to do, so do it," snaps Jim, not breaking his gaze from mine. Frank rounds Jim, dodging him jumpily, obviously out of fear of Jim's power, all the while grinning at me with his lopsided smile. I don't let him get any closer, because that is when I lunge.

I pounce on Mr. Jim Parker, sending him flying to the ground. All that training he had forced upon me has really paid off. I don't even have to think about where to move next, which arm to hit with... it's as if I am moving on automatic. He tries to return the various punches and kicks and tackles I give him, but rarely succeeds. In my peripheral vision, I spot Frank grinning hard and moving around the room fast with some sort of oblong like tube in his hand.

I push on with my blows, coming in harder, faster. Soon Jim stops struggling and then stops reacting altogether. I get to my feet, realisation hitting fast.

They have security cameras here. People are coming, and I just killed the chief. I look around the room frantically, only to find Frank standing over Jim with a nasty looking needle held at arm's length.

"Drugs," he explains. "Knocked him out for a while."

I reply with a glance at the unconscious man and a grin, then I start to run.

I run out the door and down the hall, passing through corridors I have know for my whole life. I'm escaping my home, I think ironically. The place that strived to achieve a perfect society—one that could admit their faults in order to fix them—and the biggest fault of all is this stupid organisation, destroying themselves and taking humanity down with it. Humans really are naive creatures.

"Natalie, stop!" pants Frank, catching up to me and collapsing in half, obviously exhausted.

"Natalie, you have the right to know, you always have. You're not like us."

What the heck is he on about?

He leans forward with a sticky 'brain attachment' I have used on previous missions when they needed to brief me in a short period of time.

"You've used these before, haven't you? D'you mind?" He leans in and attaches the sticky portion of the device to my temple, just below my blonde hairline, without waiting for my answer.

My breathing hitches as the truth about my mysterious past is relived in literally two seconds.

"Oh my gods," I say under my breath. I'm not human. My name is Darcy. I came to earth with Jim Parker, my biological father, and my mother—whose whereabouts remain unknown. My gaze meets Frank's. He looks down at me cautiously as I sit in a heap on the lino floor.

"How long has everyone known this?" I ask. When he doesn't answer I ask again more menacingly.

"Since you first arrived. Fourteen years to the day," he says bluntly.

"That's impossible. I'm only thirteen next week."

"No, it's not. Keep watching." He replaces the pad and I'm sent back into the black hole of my past again. When I come to, sweat is dripping from my brow and Frank is shaking me awake by the arm.

"You alright?" Frank looks genuinely concerned.

"I think so," I mumble, still suffering from shock. What I've just watched will change my life, I'm sure of it. In the last few minutes, I've learned more truth than I have delivered in my career. I don't know if I can handle much more. If there's one thing I have learned in my life, it's that oblivion is less painful than knowing, and at the moment I'm not sure if there's anything left that I don't know.

In my past is blackness. Dark, dark secrets and lots of betrayal. My family were wimps, always running from the truth... from the hardship. I come from a line of failures. My past reveals my future. I will turn out like my parents, no matter what I do. This is the truth I have always told people. You can not change the future because nothing can change. My job is not really to tell the truth, but to tell the past and the future. I just use the truth to figure out the inevitable. I study people who come close to me and figure out the rest of their lives. I predict the worst and the best. The agency has always hoped to be able to change the future, to save the world from itself. The agency have been lying to themselves. They can't change the future. They can predict it as much as they want, but they can't bend it to their will. The agency can't create a new society because society will never change. Ever.

Frank grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. "No time to waste," he says with a half-hearted smile. We set off sprinting down the hall.

After about five minutes of running, Frank grabs my arm, stopping me in my tracks with enough force to push me to the floor—if it weren't for the endless hours of training I'd endured over the years.

"What's an army without soldiers?" Frank asks rhetorically with a smirk. Before I can reply with a smart remark, he starts bounding down a corridor to his left, dragging me with him.

Where the corridor comes to an end there is a door that I have never, in my thirteen years at the agency, ever come across. Frank reaches for the handle and before I can stop him, he opens it.

Inside is dark and I can't see what lies more than a metre away. Putting on my best I'm-not-freaking-out-right-now face, I step cautiously into the dark. I hear the door click closed and immediately think Frank has locked me in a closet. Then I feel a warm breeze on my neck. Not a breeze, I realise, but someone's breath. I spin, arms raised, ready to defend myself, but before I can get my blow in, two hands encase my wrists, blocking the movement. I twist my arms out of the lock.

"Woah, calm down! It's only me," says a familiar chalky voice. Frank, I realise with a start.

"Ha, sorry." I apologize awkwardly and turn away, trying to ignore the fact he still has his hand on my arm. But by trying to not think about, it I end up thinking about it more and my arm must go stiff or twitch or something because Frank leans in and explains to me, "It's so we don't get separated in the dark."

It is it just me, or is it cold in here? I think. We keep walking forward blindly for what seems like forever. Surely we must've come to a wall or something, but it feels as if we're walking in a void with nothing in our path. Finally we come to a halt as Frank pulls me back.

"I've found it," he says. All of a sudden the space is illuminated with a stunning white light and I realise Frank had his other hand on the wall the whole time, searching for a light switch. Reluctantly, Frank releases his grip on my arm.

I survey the room for any problem areas without thinking. In the corner, I identify a surveillance camera and before I can think, I slide the knife I keep in my boot out and toss it at the camera, hitting the glass perfectly and shattering any chance of us being spotted. Straightening up, I realise Frank is standing next to me, rooted to the spot with his mouth hanging open. Instantly, I think I must've missed something and I spin to make sure someone isn't standing in the corner of the room. The room is empty. Just us and what remains of the robotic spy.

"What is it?" I ask, not understanding his expression.

"You just... You just..." he stutters

"I just what?" I push, starting to loose my cool.

"Killed my bug." Frank answers confusing me further. "With on point accuracy, right where the cords were." He's stunned, I realise.

"What the heck is a bug?" I ask, utterly confused.

"That camera. I make them and supply them to the agency." Frank says still not meeting my gaze—probably lost in thought. "I've seen you at target practice before, but I never knew someone could hit with such precision." Right about now, I'm starting to question his sanity. Classic science brain. He is talking to himself about his observations. I can't take much more of this I think.

"Hurry up. There's no time to waste. They'll be on our tails soon." I say, finally breaking his line of thoughts. Before I can say anything else, Frank sprints over to the door on the opposite side of the room and yanks it open.

"Ladies first," Frank says. Just to prove a point, I walk straight through without even looking back. At least this room is lit, I think.

"What's an army without soldiers.?" Frank whispers, igniting my reflexes.

"Gods!" I say, irritated that he nearly made me rip his head off. I move away from him and finally survey the room. Surprised, Frank's words finally register and I stand before my classmates with a gaping jaw.

"How? What? When?" I stutter, unable to string my thoughts together. And then I finally look around the vast space before me. It's not only my class here. Before me are the familiar faces from my past. Every last one of them. Thousands of them—millions maybe—in some sort of coma. Every last one lying unresponsive in a massive pit behind the metal rails before me.

I couldn't speak if my life depended on it right now. Frank comes up and drapes his arm around me in a comforting gesture, but I don't register it. I can't. Everyone that has crossed my path over the span of my career is here.

I just don't get it.

Before I can think any further, I do the unforgivable and sprint towards Josh at the front of the lot. A metre from the body, I freeze. I can't do it, I think for the first time in my life. Frank catches up to me a few seconds later. Slow, I think. Then again he hasn't had my training.

"How did you know about this?" I ask.

"I—"

"What happened to them?" I shoot.

"They—"

"Are they even alive?" I cut in.

"I don't—"

"Why wasn't I notified of this?" I say getting frustrated.

"You, you're—"

"Why is this even..." I trail off, unable to gather my thoughts.

"Look, Nat, come over here. There are some things you need to know."

I tear my gaze away from my crush's corpse and back to the nerd before me. Finally I get a grasp on my haywire emotions—so unfamiliar—and take hold of myself as some sense kicks in.

"No, worry about them later. We have a battle to fight and places to be," I say.

"Natalie, listen to me, an army is just a bunch of insurgents without soldiers. We need warriors and this is our only hope."

"But look at them! They're dead."

"No, come here. I have something to show you." Before I can argue, he sprints towards a panel of switches on the wall, and without waiting, he just grins at me and flicks them all downwards in one smooth movement.

"Come here," he says.

When I stay rooted to the spot, he comes over to me and turns my arm so my wrist is vulnerable. He slides a thin metal oblong along my skin.

"Protection," he explains, confusing me further.

Without so much as a glance, he jogs over to the computer and his fingers start flying. The room fills with an indescribable energy that courses through me and hums silently. It's impossible, but it feels like life itself is flowing through the air. It's so powerful I have to close my eyes to focus on breathing. My senses leave me. It's just me and my mind surrounded by the energy.

The magic stops abruptly. I open my eyes feeling ripped off. Frank hovers above me and pulls me to my feet.

"What just happened?" I ask, gaining my bearings again.

All I get in reply is, "Look."

I spin around and find that the corpses have been resurrected and every last one of them is staring directly at me, gaze unwavering. It's unnatural, their focus.

Noticing my discomfort, Frank explains, "I just programmed them to obey you." As if it explains the universe.

"Are they even human?" I ask, losing my bearings for the millionth time today.

"Haha, I forgot you're new to this. They're still very much themselves, but they have a chip inside them that overrides their instincts and actions. I can control them from this computer, or in your case you have the parent chip, so you have control of them with your mind—just so long as that switch," he motions to the red switch on the wall, as if I'm retarded, "is turned on."

"What did you do with that piece of metal though?" I ask. "I'm not one of..." I trail off, unable to finish my line of thought.

"Yes. You were the first trial, but we have not been able to replicate your model due to the genetic coding of humans." And then everything clicks into place.

Unable to face the fact that everything I thought about myself is a lie. Once again, I turn on my heel to face the crowd.

"Just go show the agency that they're wrong and follow my lead," I say. Then, without looking back, I run as fast as my bare feet will take me—away from the only place I have ever called home—and I don't stop till I reach the gates of my safe haven. I run the few hundred yards to the gates of East Montrey Hill Intermediate with my warriors on my heels. Only when I am under the spell of this place do I stop.

As I gather my voice, I mentally recount my pathetic life and I realise this battle won't go down without a sacrifice. I realise with a start that I won't be returning home after this fight. I don't have a home. Not really.

To no one and everyone, I bellow with all of me—every cell, every memory, every pain of my past. I gather myself and at the top of my lungs, I cry, "I won't stand for the truth because all I ever knew was lies. I fight for the truth and the better of humanity and you hold me against myself. I will never know who I am. No more. I can't tell these lies of truth for I have seen too many fall under it's spell. Never again." And with that, I mentally thrust the army forwards into the world, to fight against themselves and I surge with all my might against all I ever knew. For the first time in my life, tears stream my face, but I don't wipe them away. I stand strong and watch as my army fights invisible demons. I have become a casualty of truth. I raise my trusty dagger to the gods as an offering. To my father. Head above the clouds.

And to myself I whisper, "No more."

The final blow comes and I collapse into myself. I finish where my life truly started.

## About Piper

Piper Pengelly is a twelve year old student at Heaton Normal Intermediate. She enjoys writing, reading, art, music, playing the ukulele, the outdoors and loads more. Her favourite series are of course Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling and Chasing The Valley by Skye Melki-Wegner.

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Thank you for reading this anthology. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave a review at your favourite retailer.

Thanks!

Beaulah Pragg - Editor

# About the Editors:

### Beaulah Pragg

Beaulah works for the library learning centre, as well as teaching creative writing and independent publishing. She is a founding member of the Christchurch Writers' Guild, a free and accessible space for new writers to find encouragement and support.

You can find out more or contact her through her website: www.beaulahpragg.com

# Other titles by the editor:

Chronicles of Tyria: The Silver Hawk

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Home: 2017 - Group Two - Heaton Extension Writers Anthology

Home: 2017 - Group One - Heaton Extension Writers Anthology

Courage: 2015 – Year Seven – Heaton Extension Writers Anthology

Change: 2014 – Heaton Extension Writers Anthology

Chatham Islands War

2013 – Home School Writers Anthology

2012 – Home School Writers Anthology
