 
## Home: 2017

## Group One

## Heaton Extension Writers Anthology

Edited by Beaulah Pragg and Fran Atkinson
Smashwords Edition (2018)

Copyright © respective authors (Charlotte Cotton, Heather Paget, James Downing, Juliana Chapman, Molly Rochford, Natasha Wensley, Olivia Towns, Samuel Kolawole, Sara Gillman, Scarlett Kentish-Barnes, Sienna McEwan, Sophia Watts, Thesara Dissanayake) 2017

Cover image by Tama66 (https://pixabay.com/en/users/Tama66-1032521/), used under Pixabay's amended Creative Commons License CC0 (https://pixabay.com/en/service/license/)

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www.beaulahpragg.com
Table of Contents

The Hijacking - Charlotte Cotton

The Canary-Coloured Wagon - Heather Paget

The Camp - James Downing

To Love Someone - Juliana Chapman

Cedaric's Mission - Molly Rochford

Lost & Found - Natasha Wensley

High Seas - Olivia Towns

One Boy One Mission - Samuel Kolawole

The Runaway Orphan - Sara Gillman

Jimmy Bills - Scarlett Kentish-Barnes

Seven Seashells - Sienna McEwan

Lottie - Sophia Watts

Jayei - Thesara Dissanayake

About the Editors

Other Titles

#  The Hijacking

## by Charlotte Cotton

Just a little bit further...

I stretch my arm up to grab hold of the small, slippery ledge above me, the sound of crashing water in my ears.

If was only a tiny a bit taller I could grab it. Curse my short arms!

I focus on the sound of rushing water pounding violently at the bottom on the waterfall, telling me to keep going.

Just one more stretch...

"Princess!"

With a sudden jolt, my shocked body lurches off the rock face and I tumble into the water far below.

***

"Oh come on, you can't be serious." I say, focusing on the hard, leather-bound books on the shelves in the king's study. My father's study. I look at them only for the single purpose of avoiding his stare, not because they look even remotely interesting (unless you are someone who loves dusty volumes that smell of age-old sweat).

"Of course I am serious," Father replies. "This is the fifth time you've broken the rules."

"Yeah... but those others were only... mild offences."

"Really? Let's see... Oh, yes! You ran away into the village—twice—to dance with low-life hooligans."

"Yeah..." I start before he cuts me off.

"And don't think I don't remember that time you went "shopping" and came back drunk on rum."

"Okay... but, that wasn't my fault—they said it was apple cider!"

By the look on his face, he obviously doesn't believe me, but he doesn't have to. Who is he to decide what's right and wrong?

"Oh, and what about that time you went foraging in the hills and ended up getting ensnared in a hunting trap?" Father continues.

"Hmm... I see your point. They really shouldn't leave those lying around."

Father sighs deeply. He paces back and forth across the study, his jewel adorned fingers wringing together into impossible knots, the worry lines etched deeply on his forehead.

"You could have been seriously hurt today—what were thinking, climbing a waterfall?"

I can think of several examples... probably none of which would be convincing.

"It was only a small one." I try, but deep down I know it will be no use.

"You have a reputation to uphold. Not only for yourself, but the whole palace too."

I open my mouth to throw out a comment about, "what reputation," (simply because I know this will annoy him—it always does), but before I get the chance to say anything he cuts me off.

With a deep breath he says: "From now on you are forbidden to leave the palace grounds."

His words knock me back a step. I can't believe it.

"What?! But that's not fair!"

"Oh, I think it is. Your mother and I couldn't have been clearer on the rules—no leaving the palace grounds unsupervised."

How dare he? I have so, so many things I want to say to that, most of which would make even a sailor blush. The colourful sentences never escape me though. I am utterly lost for words in outrage. He can't do this to me. I hate it at the palace. I hate this home!

"Father! You can't!"

"Yes I can." My father says. "And that's that."

***

I slump onto my crisp linen bed and twist my fingers violently through my golden-blonde hair. Contemplating my next moves. Through furious stormy-turquoise eyes, I stare up at the great scenes depicted in their colourful glory on my bedroom ceiling. All the pillows around me are too big, too small, too wrong. I throw them all at the ceiling until there are no more stock-still painted warriors to bash in the face with a pillow.

My family obviously doesn't know me at all if they think I'm going to follow their petty rules. I hate it here! Everyone expects me to be some kind of perfect princess, but I'm not! And they know it too. Maybe that's why I'm not allowed out. What a disaster it would be if the crown's golden girl was to condemn the palace to public scrutiny, with her wild ways! I choke up. I don't belong. I hate it so much here! Everyone keeps me locked up like china in a cabinet, even the ones who I thought were on my side. Turns out they were only acting. And I was dumb enough to believe them.

Berkeley and Garrick. My dear brothers! The only people I thought I could go to for support. Well, they can watch the knife they thrust in my back as I leave them all. This is what I need. Revenge. No, what I actually need is leverage. Leverage to get me back my freedom. I'll leave for a while. Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll leave, then come back perfectly safe and fine—they'll see that I can look after myself. I'll show my parents, I'll show everyone, that their rules are unnecessary.

***

I hastily tack up Naida as she looks on curiously, with those deep, brown eyes. I wonder if she understands what I'm doing. That I'm running away, taking a stand. Surely she'd be on my side, she's my horse after all. Plus I really need the support, can't she sense that? Maybe it's best she can't talk though, because based on like... everyone's opinion, it's starting to look like no one (even horses) are on my side.

I don't get why no one understands how unfair they are being. My family gets all the freedom they could want, and all they want to do is stop other people from getting it!

"They're right, you know" Garrick said.

"You should listen to them" Berkeley added.

Traitors. They're both traitors. Whatever happened to our sibling pact—where we stood up for each other? Don't they remember all those times when I saved their traitorous backsides?

Well, I won't listen to them. No. I. Shall. Not.

I mount Naida, stroking her soft, cream-coloured flank, feeling her chest rise and fall with every breath. That's when I realise my plan has a minor hitch in it. Where to go.

I could always ride out into the village... No, that would be the first place they would go to look for me, I wouldn't even get the chance to prove myself. What about the hills? I sigh. No. As much as it would be a great place to hide, it is far too easy to stumble across hidden hunting traps (I am proof of that). I scan the surroundings of the palace, my eyes stopping on the sprawling forest to the south of the kingdom. Nah, I shouldn't. But... it would be so easy to hide. And probably too easy to get lost though. I have always been forbidden from going in the woods—surely not for no reason. Yeah, that's a no.

I almost rule out the possibility, when it hits me. Maybe this is what I need. Yes, survival in the woods—this is brilliant, they have always told me the woods are dangerous, what better place to prove I can look after myself!

I'll come back unscathed, unharmed and within reach of freedom.

"Come on, Naida! Were going on an adventure!"

***

We race into the cool, dark depths of the forest, the birds' calls and the rushing wind in my ears. We reach a small, shady clearing in the trees and stop to grab some food out of my saddle bag. I feed Naida some sugar cubes I always have in there and I eat an apple, which I'm pretty sure I put in there for the horse, but I didn't even think about bringing food. So...

I look around and sigh happily. They (my family, that is) won't find me if I don't want to be found—at least I'm granted that freedom. It feels great. I swear this is the most freedom I've ever had in my life. I fling stones at the birds in the trees and watch them fly off. They have the freedom to fly away and never come back. I know I should probably return home by dinner time, unless I want to be under intense search. That should still be enough time to prove my point though. I raise my gaze, spotting another bird—Ah ha!

I lift my arm up to frighten the poor bird with a flying stone. Aim... and... the bird is gone!?

It just disappeared! It was there just a second ago. Now it's gone! (And no, I am NOT going crazy.)

Trying to locate where the bird went, I look around. That's when I realise there are none of the immense amount of birds that were here only a minute ago. That's when I realise the whole forest has gone silent.

I cautiously look sideways—maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, maybe I should go...

"Ahhhhhhh!"

(*cut where I say a few things princesses probably shouldn't*)

I scream shrilly as the rough, well used rope net falls on my shoulders, knocking me off Naida.

***

Free-falling is a neutral feeling I've decided. For a glorious second you are weightless, flying, but then it hits you, much in the same way you know you are about to hit the ground below you. If you're lucky, the ground will be a mountain of feathers (most likely not, but hey, we can be optimistic). Otherwise you should probably prepare yourself for pain. I look down for my mountain of feathers, but all I see is dirt staring me in the face. This isn't going to hurt at all...

***

I groan as I sit up, trying to make sense of the dark, swimming world in front of me. It's night. Oh no. It's night! That's way past dinner time! (Dang! I shouldn't have thought of that—now I am hungry) My head throbs to a constant beat and my wrists have been rubbed red and raw from the rope that binds them to a lonely, wooden post. (By the way, when did that happen?) I feebly attempt to wipe away some coarse dirt, accumulated on my face, with my bound hands. Instead I grimace, as all my hands touch is the tacky feeling of half-dried blood.

I eventually become aware enough of my surroundings to realise I'm in the forest and all around me is trees, trees... and more trees. Nothing else. (Yeah, I was thinking the same thing, no five-star views here.)

When I hear the sound of voices, several feet away, all the day's events come rushing back to me in a flurry. Anger, defiance, capture. Not to mention I'm in the middle of the woods, with a bunch of law-breaking strangers. (Kidnapping princesses is against the law, right? If not, it should be!)

I'm probably never going to see my home ever again.

I decide that there's no point feeling sorry for myself though, so my plan took a turn? I can still make this work; my family doesn't have to know about this slight issue. I look at the night sky. Yeah, there's no way my family isn't going to notice I'm missing, they're probably looking for me right now. So, new plan. Survival, escape, and the avoidance of death.

All I have to do is get out of these ropes. Surely that can't be too hard, can it? Awkwardly, I manoeuvrer into a position to try and untie my wrists.

I was wrong. After several ditched (and failed) attempts, I slump down and try my hardest to not to cry. I have been freaking kidnapped and all that stands between me and escape is a flimsy piece of rope that I can't even untie! I wish Garrick and Berkeley were here, they would know exactly what to do. They could undo these knots in one minute. We could escape. We could be home. They'd still be traitors to me. They'd just be, helpful traitors. Traitors I really need and want right now.

***

I hear the sound of footsteps approaching and quickly try to pretend I'm asleep, but oh-so-conveniently, my foot becomes really itchy. And not the type of itchy you can just ignore. So not-so-subtly, I try to itch it.

"A-ha! The lass is awake!"

(Dang.)

He breathes right into my face and I get a pungent whiff of rotting gums and rum. (Don't worry, I won't go into detail.) Long story short, I nearly pass out. He grabs hold my shoulder and wrenches me into the air, as he does so I get a full view of the camp. There is a small camp fire with some cut up logs surrounding it for seats. There is also a few very scary looking dogs tied to a tree. My horse is nowhere to be seen, hopefully that means she made her way back to the palace. I fear the man won't let me go, he seems content in having me in his grasp. I try and kick around with my feet, landing one successful hit on his thigh before he drops me to the ground with a loud thud. This gets the attention of everyone in the camp. All the men look well into their forties and fifties, except for one.

I notice him, a boy, looking at me intensely with deep, brown eyes. Much in the same way I look at the questions my tutors give me. Studyingly. I really hope he doesn't recognize me—if they find out who I am (my hijackers, that is), I am most certainly dead. (That is, if they don't already know. I'm guessing they don't, because last time I checked I was still alive.)

Is the boy really one of them though? Or is he like me? Stolen cargo. Hmm... maybe not, he's not tied up like me. But... he is definitely the odd one out amongst them—he's young (the seventeen to nineteen years kind of young) and the type of person who doesn't look like a wild-living, hunting, princess abducting, outlaw. In fact, apart from his peasant clothes, he looks just like some of the young noblemen father makes me small talk with in his court. Less snobby and full of himself, of course (I've found those one's have a certain air to them.) But why won't the guy stop staring at me? It's kind of unnerving... (do I smell bad??)

***

I try to block out the drunken sounds of the men. They've been drinking all night—and that can never end well! Drowsily, I attempt to shift into a better position to try to go to to sleep (tip: when your hands are bound, nothing's comfortable). I honestly don't think I've ever felt this tired (being kidnapped really takes it out of one). My heavy eyelids sag and gently close. If only the men would be a teensy bit quieter, maybe I could go to... sleep...

***

I wake up to "The Boy" looking me in the face. It's a little intimidating when you wake up with a face right up to yours, but at least he doesn't smell like rum and rotting gums.

Last night... yeah, you don't need to know about that. I don't want relive the horror, but long story short, someone really needs to cut off the men from their dear friend, rum.

The Boy. Right.

"You know, some people might become quite disturbed if they wake up to someone's face in theirs," I state.

"Oh, sorry about that" The boys says, looking down. "I needed to wake you without them noticing."

(hmmm... intriguing...)

"So what do you want—if it's that you think you recognise me, you don't," I quickly say.

The boy frowns, "um, no."

I look at him expectantly, like, what?

"I can get you out of here, "he says.

"What makes you think I need help?" I ask suddenly defensive. What is it that makes him think I am so desperate to need his help? (Truth is, I am. But he doesn't need to know that.)

He sighs, "look, I have a plan, but I need your help with it."

I try my best not to look too interested, like I might give a go but I don't really care. (I do care, really, really care, but like I said, I don't want to look desperate.)

"Okay, but first I need to know your name," I say.

"Hylas"

I vaguely recognize this as a Greek name—from one of my many lessons.

"And you?" He says.

"Fayette."

"Like the princess?"

"Yeah... just like the princess..."

He looks at me oddly. Maybe I wasn't subtle enough. I better change the topic.

"Why should I trust you?" I say.

He sighs. "You don't have to trust me, but your chances of escape won't be overly great."

I consider this.

"So, what is the plan?" I say.

***

I pace nervously in the darkness. So many things could go wrong. Like if one of the men wakes up and notices I'm not tied up any more. Or if the men notice the meat in their sleeping rolls. Or if the dogs turn on me instead... I try my best to dispel these thoughts.

My heart beats one hundred miles an hour as I see the smoke—Hylas' signal. I get ready, frantically trying to undo the knots on the rope tying the bloodthirsty dogs to their tree—they're getting more and more impatient. They knots won't undo! Dang it! Where's a knife when you need one! Last night, Hylas and I hid meat in the men's sleeping rolls and the dogs know it—they want it. What do you suppose would happen if we let them off the tree? Where do you think they'd go? Who do think they'd attack to get what they want?

We have to do what we have to do.

I am nearly done untying the rope when strong arms grab me from behind. I start to scream, but a large, calloused hand clamps over my mouth, cutting me off.

I hear my "grabber" whisper in my ear.

"Don't make a noise."

My heart nearly stops. I know that voice. Berkeley. He has found me.

"Berkeley! Stop! I have to help Hylas!"

I can tell by his expression that he wants to ask who Hylas is, but he only says: "There's no time. The men are waking. They know I'm here."

"But, Berkeley! I ca—"

His strong hands fail and I am thrown to the ground right next to him.

Coughing up dirt, I feel around for him, and my hand lands in a thick puddle of liquid pooling on the ground. I look up and immediately wish I hadn't.

Only the hilt of the knife in his back shows.

I know I can't even hope. He's gone.

I won't cry. I can't. Not because I don't want to. Because all I feel is emptiness.

I look around for who threw the knife, but I only see darkness.

It's over now. I can't go on. The men can catch me and cut me up to cook for dinner. But I won't care. It's over.

Then I hear footsteps, approaching. The snap of a single twig lets me know my brother's killer is close. Watching me. Waiting.

My heart thumps in my chest. I shouldn't be afraid. Berkeley never was.

But still, look where that got him...

It doesn't matter, though. I won't go on. I'll just let them kill me.

"Fayette!"

The distant cry, sparks up some life in me and brings me back to reality. If I go down, Hylas goes down too. Can I really condemn him to death? Can I leave him hanging, when his life rests on my shoulders?

I can't. And although it very nearly breaks me to do so, I carry on.

I only have to hold out long enough to save Hylas. Then it can all be over.

I need a knife to cut the rope restraining the dogs. My eyes fall on my brothers back and the blood splattered hilt set into. No... I can't...

The sound of running footsteps break free from the cover of the trees.

I look at the knife again.

It's the only way.

With a yell I cut the rope that holds the dogs with the knife that killed my brother.

For freedom. For me. For Hylas. For Berkeley.

***

He's the only one left. The man responsible for the life of my brother, or lack of, should I say.

His scarred and weathered face glows in the light of the burning fire embers and his eyes glint mercilessly. I know he won't give in. All the other men ran away, the dogs on their heels—and yet, he stayed. Why did he stay? I have a bitter feeling I know for what.

I... I'm not scared of him...

I'm the one with the knife not him. Somehow, though, I think his thick, meaty hands could do a lot more damage than any knife could.

Slowly I walk backwards.

One step. Two step...

He copies each move I make.

One step. Two step...

Closer and closer.

I keep retreating slowly until my back hits something rough and hard. A tree, I think. I don't dare look around to check. I wonder if the man can smell my fear.

So close to me I could count every bit of stubble on his broad chin, I feebly jab at the man with the knife, but I can't make myself do any harm.

He snatches it from my weak grasp and grins. The sort of grin that says: I'm going to enjoy this, but you probably won't!

He steps closer, I can feel his breath on my face now.

This is the end. This is it. I'm so sorry Berkeley. You died for nothing.

I look straight into his eyes, desperately searching for any sign that he doesn't intend to kill me, but I never find my answer, as his eyes roll back into his head.

I scream—a hoarse, surrendered scream—as his heavyset body crumples upon mine.

I look up to see a pair of deep brown eyes, Hylas staring at me in shock.

***

I catch him looking at me strangely, concerned I think. I don't like him looking at me like that. I decide I have to break the growing silence between us, as we walk through the cool forest.

"What happened for you?" I ask.

"Excuse me?" He replies.

"How were you kidnapped by the men?"

He hesitates for a long time. "I didn't. I joined."

I stop, shocked.

"You joined them." I say, dumbfounded.

"I...I didn't have anyone. I had no home. They took me in and were nice, at least I thought so. One day I overheard them talking about me, they wanted to sell me as a slave. And... I... I don't know why I still stayed, I was too scared to leave them, I guess, because I had nowhere else to go. But when they brought you back all bloody and unconscious, I knew I couldn't be a part of that any more."

I stand in stunned silence. I don't know what to say to that.

He told you the truth. You have to as well.

"Hylas, there's something you should know about me. I am the prin—"

I am cut off as Hylas breaks into a run, slaloming through the trees. "I see the edge of the forest!" He yells.

Hurriedly, I race after him until we break out into the open. Met with sunshine and light for the first time in days, everything is blindingly bright. Everything is perfect.

(Then my stomach growls, reminding me how hungry I am, which kind of ruins the moment, but it's still great.)

We made it.

And as I look to my left, all I see out of everything there, is the palace's gold and blue flag, blowing in the warm, summer wind. My home.

***

### Two weeks later:

I stand in the parlour, studying the portrait of Berkeley on the wall. Those eyes of his, his hair, everything that made him, him. I feel footsteps come towards me from behind. Father's arm wraps around my shoulders with a small squeeze.

He lets out a sigh. "It wasn't your fault," he says. I turn around to look into his eyes, trying to decipher the thoughts lying behind.

"But he wouldn't have died if it wasn't for me," I say. In that moment after I speak, I see grief flash across his eyes, betraying the emotions he tries so hard to keep hidden. He knows that Berkeley wouldn't have died if I hadn't broken the rules.

"Berkeley wouldn't have seen it that way,' he says quietly.

For minutes we just stand there, staring up at the picture in silence. Neither of us brave enough to speak, until a messenger comes flying into the room.

"Excuse me, your Majesty, your Highness," he says between breaths, getting our attention. "I have a message for the princess."

Surprised, I say, "Yes?" Whatever could it be. Have I forgotten something? I don't think so, and I haven't been stealing any sweets from kitchen recently. At least I haven't been caught.

The messenger looks at me, panting. "Master Hylas wishes to see you before he goes."

Hylas? Before he goes where?

***

I throw open the door to the stables with ferocity. How dare he even consider this?!

Hylas stands near the back, tacking up a dappled grey mare. He looks up at the sound of my entering and when he sees it's me, his eyes fill with regret.

"Fayette..."

"What do you think you are doing?" I yell.

"Fayette, I'm leaving. I have to."

"Why?" I demand.

He looks at the floor.

"So?"

"I have to find home," He mumbles.

I stare at him. Could he honestly be so thick? He's right where he belongs. We are right where we belong.

I start laughing, I can't help myself, it's a light sound, breaking the negative mood.

Hylas just stares at me like I've gone crazy (I can't say that I haven't in the past, but I not going crazy at the moment).

I just stand there and grin like an idiot, shaking my head slowly.

"You don't have to find anything. You've already found it all right here."

We found home.

## About Charlotte

Charlotte Cotton is a thirteen year old student from New Zealand. She has always loved reading and over the past few years has developed a passion for writing stories. Her favourite books include the Keeper of the Lost Cities series by Shannon Messenger, as well as various books and series by Rick Riordan. In her spare time, if she's not reading, she's playing the violin or listening to music for hours on end.

#  The Canary-Coloured Wagon

## by Heather Paget

I was curled up on the wagon roof (as usual), wrapped snugly in a blanket, and drinking a steaming hot chocolate with marshmallows, staring at the scenery below.

The sky was a mixture of plum and tangerine colours, and I could see the sun setting. It shimmered like a golden pot at the end of a rainbow.

"I don't see why you have to go up on the roof and be alone all the time. I can definitely tell you're an introvert. Why don't you relax in the cosy wagon with us?" Mum had said previously.

She was right. I am shy and reticent. I don't know why. It's not like there's anything to be scared about. I just performed in a big circus event in front of a crowded audience, after all!

Spring has sprung in Tottsgrove, which is a small country circus camp. Daffodils have risen around our wagon, and buds have bloomed on the now-beautiful blossom trees that were previously dull without. A blossom tree branched out to our wagon roof. I often climb up the tree, and onto the roof.

It is our gypsy golden-trimmed canary coloured-wagon, which I'm proud to say is my home. It still shines with newness even though we've had it since I was born.

It is canary-yellow with pinky purple rosettes and foliage round the stays - It's our beautiful old wagon! It has green and red wheels. It is very compact and comfortable. It contains little sleeping bunks, a table that folds up against the wall, a brick fire oven, lockers, bookshelves and pots, pans, jugs and kettles of every size and variety. The wagon is decorated with intricate patterns and designs, and an Axminster rug, that covers most of the cosy narrow wooden floor. We don't have any water supplies, so twice a week I have to walk down to the river with a round wooden bail.

"We did it, Goldentrot!" I remarked to myself, because Goldentrot was in the stables, (probably munching on apples).

Goldentrot is my beautiful cremello gypsy vanner, with a glossy white plaited mane, decorated with blossoms. She's very placid, which is why she's a great circus actress.

Goldentrot had assured me she could perform in the circus show, by flicking her mane defiantly, and she did do it—extremely well in fact.

The last show of the season, earlier today, had been a hit. Now, it was late in the evening. The amber flames of the campfire flickered blissfully, the site was bustling with gypsies who had seen our performance, and they were dancing around, filled with laughter, as people played the squeeze box and tin whistle. Glasses chinked full of whisky and beer. The mood was both of merriment and celebration. Spirits were high.

The circus animals were tired, and had all been bedded down for the night. I wanted to go and see Trotskee, our baby foal, who had just been born last week. Mum insisted I get some rest.

"You're only thirteen, and you did perfect!" Mum had congratulated earlier, after our circus performance.

Our family was an adjacent team, and we all knew it.

Mum and Dad had decided not to join in with the chaos, and instead were enjoying their own companionship in our wagon warming up by the fire oven, which was cooking up some delicious pizza for supper. They were probably in their usual positions: mum sat in the rocking chair stuck in a knitting project knitting some sort of concoction of unknown determination, and dad with his nose in the newspaper, occasionally hefting a steaming mug of coffee to his lips.

I snuggled down into my blanket, feeling awfully dozy.

***

I awoke to frantic screaming, and Mum calling my name. I opened my eyes. The scene was shocking. I must've fallen asleep. Gypsies were running wildly in different directions, and an immense fire was spreading rapidly.

"Wendy! For the last time!" Mum roared.

"Coming!" I replied bewildered.

"C'mon! We've got to go! What are you playing at?" Dad boomed. His words shot out like poisonous dragon breath, which was unlike him, but I understood for a situation like this.

I prepared to slide down the roof to them, but then I remembered; our gypsy vanner horses, and the other circus animals! They needed saving! Mum and Dad had completely forgotten.

I made an escape, and slid down the roof onto the blossom tree, and was now on the ground.

Despite my exhaustion, I ran as fast as I could, my now tangled brunette hair flowing behind me.

"I'm coming, don't worry!" I screamed, my eyes transfixed onto the stable, and the fire approaching it.

The stable was getting bigger, as I was getting closer. And the fire was approaching. I looked back. I watched as Mum and Dad ran a wee way behind, and the circus tent burnt to ashes. That was my life—our interior. I'm sure mum and dad would be sorrowful about it too. But all that didn't matter right now.

I wasn't looking where I was going, and tripped into a thick muddy puddle. I sprang to my feet quickly, my favourite silk burgundy gewandungen dress ripped, splattered, and was now stained with mud.

I didn't care right this moment, smeared the mud off my face, and kept going.

I reached the stable door, shoved it open, and entered to forlorn neighing. Mum burst in as well, her face as white as chalk.

"What on earth do you think you're doing!?" She roared furiously.

I burst into tears, that stung my cheeks like hot jabs.

"Thank goodness you're alright!" She cried, looking me up and down, and I knew she was anticipating giving my dress, hair and face a good scrub.

"I'm sorry," she said. "We can't save him".

I looked into Mum's deep solemn face, her olive skin, her crinkled forehead and beetle-black eyes, showing a panicky expression. I knew she was doing this to protect me, but it wasn't just all about me.

I saw the miniscule Trotskee curled up in a ball, in his stable, covered in cuts and wounds, that were obviously caused by him trying to escape.

"Trotskee!" I cried and ran over to him.

"It's okay. I'm here. I'm here," I repeated, wrapping the small creature in my arms.

But I didn't trust my own voice. We weren't OK.

"Where's Goldentrot?" I asked, but I knew the answer.

She was dead, and we were now trapped, and the fire was approaching on the wood of the stable. The other circus animals must've either died, or escaped.

I had failed, and a failure is what I felt like. I couldn't save anyone. I was a useless brainless... nothing.

My life was scarred forever, and I meant it.

"We have to get out of here," Mum repeated, embracing me into a warm hug.

I always knew that I was safe when I was wrapped in the warmth, and happiness of mum's arms. Whenever we hugged, I always felt this golden burst of happiness spring to my heart. I always felt charmed on these occasions.

"We'll get out of here, I promise—with Trotskee," I finalised.

Mum held Trotskee and me to her chest.

"I'm sorry," she said crestfallen, tears flooding her cheeks too.

I heard Trotskee's soft whimpering, and wheezing.

"If we don't try what are we?" I said, as we got to our feet, Mum still cradling Trotskee in her arms.

"We tried so hard to get in here and save Trotskee. So we should work just as hard to get out."

I started to think of ideas, but there wasn't any time to think. There was only one thing to do; "The trapdoor!" I yelled.

"That's my girl," Mum replied sniffling. "But we need something to help Trotskee up... The rope! The rope I used for the circus show!"

"Mum! You're a genius!" The fire broke through, and I heard the crackling of fire, and felt my cheeks boil because of the amount of dangerous warmth that broke in.

Mum reeled the thick rope out of her pocket, and tied it to Trotskee's reins. Trotskee yelped and squirmed, but there was nothing else for it.

"Come on, you can do it," said Mum gently.

We clambered up the oak ladder, and into the attic. Mum and I started to reel him up gently, and his hoofs wriggled. Despite our exhaustion, with all our strength, he eventually got up, but was now frantically more spooked than he'd previously been.

Mum tried to calm him down, even though he made a big effort to thrash and jab her with his tiny harmless hoofs, with all the strength he could muster.

I scrambled up another mini ladder, and felt for the wooden trapdoor. I suddenly spotted it.

"I found the trapdoor!" I cried, shoving it open, with all the strength I could, revealing a dark night sky, and a huge yellow moon.

"You're a bright girl, Wendy," mum marvelled, the hope and beauty of her eyes glowing.

I clambered through the trapdoor and onto the stable roof. Then I helped Mum. I shivered as the cold air nipped at my elbows.

"C'mon Trotskee!" Mum stammered, as we pulled as hard but as gently as we could.

He gingerly made his way up, after struggling through the final obstacle; the trapdoor. Mum pulled Trotskee and I to her chest, and we slid down the slope together.

"Wendy! Gloriana!" I heard Dad roar from below.

"Antonio!" mum screamed back.

"What on earth are you doing up there?" Dad asked.

"Long story, my little sweet cheeks. Just help us with Trotskee will you, Antonio?"

"Sure".

"Dad! Take him to the wagon, bandage him up, and get the cart out of here!" I said, and all he could do was nod.

Now he was the bewildered one.

"Catch!" said Mum. The stable doesn't go that high up. Dad caught Trotskee easily, and started heading back to the wagon.

I slid off the roof, Mum following. My arms and legs were throbbing and aching. The fire was still not gone for good, the trough was completely empty, and there was no other water supplements nearby enough to stop the fire. The stream was no use, because we didn't have anything to scoop the water up with, and even if we did, it would take too long.

Mum and I sprinted over to the wagon, where Dad had Trotskee bandaged up, and Trotskee was now munching on carrots.

"I am so proud of you all," said Dad, pulling us all into another hug.

They seemed to know about Goldentrot's death but didn't say anything. They understood.

"What shall we do now?" Mum asked.

"Get out of here of course!" I replied.

"But where?" Mum went on.

"I say, if we're fast enough we can ride the wagon over that bridge to safety."

Dad's suggestion seemed like the only option, and a good one too.

"But who's going to pull the wagon?" I asked. We all looked over to Trotskee, who immediately trotted over to the front of the wagon, ready to lead it.

"We'll all help push it," I finalised.

"You brave things," Mum grinned.

Once Trotskee was tied up, we headed towards the bridge. Mum, Dad and I helped push as hard as we could. We approached the bridge and started on it. I was aching all over. My legs and arms felt like jiggly jelly.

I could hear the chuckling stream below.

Then, I heard the bridge creek, and the wood crack, and then the wagon almost tipped into the fast flowing river. I heard Trotskee snorting with the exertion of it all.

"No!" I screamed, doing all the best I could, to help avoid it tipping into the river.

"Almost there!" said Dad, encouragingly.

We were inches away and then... We had made it! We had survived! Trotskee fell into a heap on the dewy grass. Mum had tears in her eyes, both of sorrow about Goldentrot, and happiness that we made it. And I knew it'd be a new beginning for all of us—including Trotskee.

"Wendy, you have a heart of gold," said Mum, giving me another huge bear hug.

Dad picked up Trotskee, and bought him into the wagon to be fixed up.

I tried to make the words, "so does Trotskee... and Dad... and you," but my mouth couldn't make them. I felt pain throbbing me.

"Wendy? Are you alright?" I could just make out Mum saying.

I collapsed, and everything went black.

I awoke to birds tweeting, in our canary-wagon, and in my bunk, underneath my rose patterned quilt, that smelt of lavenders.

My bruises and cuts had healed, and my hair had been brushed and felt soft, silky and smooth when I ran my hands through it. I was all scrubbed, and was wearing a clean sky-blue dress.

It was going to be a bright summer's day, and as I stepped outside onto the lush dewy grass, and sat on the bench, I saw that a platter of steaming buttered toast awaited, and I munched on it happily, staring at the birds who were nesting themselves in the majestic oak trees, showing off their colourful plumage to one another.

"Good morning darling. Feeling better?" Mum greeted. Dad sat next to her, both of them grinning.

"Much better," I replied cheerfully, through a mouthful of toast.

I was so happy that our home survived the fire; and even better Trotskee had too. We were still a family. There was no talk about Goldentrot, as there was no need to.

We ended up making our home over the other side of the river, as we decided it was a beautiful place to live, because it was a great location for our canary-wagon, with plenty of dewy grass for Trotskee to chew on, and luscious fruit trees such as apples, and a vegetable garden that grew tropical veggies. There's a well close by too, and, even better, a kind farmer who also lives nearby, who is happy to provide us with hay and a perfect, homely, cosy stable for Trotskee. The farmer's wife often bakes us apple pies, and delivers us loaves of bread, and plenty of eggs. In return, we give them our wage of gold we earned from our previous circus shows, and they're very grateful for it. We can also look back at that crooked bridge and over to our old home, and remember the brave things that Trotskee did.

We're not circus folk any more. We decided we were too poor to afford all the supplies, plus it'd bring back too many sad memories of Goldentrot.

Instead, with all our leftover savings, we purchased an old cart, with intricate carvings which Dad painstakingly painted—in canary yellow, with pinky purple rosettes and foliage round the stays—it is just like our beautiful old wagon!

Dad rides the cart to town—sometimes I come along—with Trotskee leading, and we sell the veggies and fruit from our vegetable garden and fruit trees at local markets or on the streets. We are provided with wicker baskets to store the veggies and fruits in, and then they go into the wagon, and Dad sometimes sells candy floss and lollipops for the children in town on special occasions.

I am still home schooled, and love to ride Trotskee over to the farmer's house to visit them, and his wife Mrs. Pepperpotts.

I didn't see what happened to our audience, and I hope they are OK now. And it is still indeterminable, and left at a mystery of who set the fire, but we're happier here anyway.

We'll always know ourselves as Antonio (dad), Gloriana (mum), Wendy (me) and Trotskee the horse we cherish and treasure as family—the foal that will soon grow up to be a brave, bold and noble stallion.

### Two months later

It was a glorious afternoon, and dusk was slowly approaching. I was wearing my riding gear: a blouse and breeches. I walked to Trotskee's cosy stable, and starting tacking.

I put on his saddle and bridle, and mounted. I urged him into a canter, and there we were, surrounded by the greenery of foliage, as we rode towards the sun that was sinking. Soon, it would be replaced by a fresh night, and the sky would glitter with a constellation of twinkling stars.

A flock of birds flew around us, curious about where we were heading to. I saw the path surrounded by pine trees amongst the mountains ahead. This is where Trotskee and my next adventure awaits.

The path to my heart is truly paved with hoof beats.

#  
#  The Too Horrible to Describe Camp, and the Too Hard to Open Locked Bag

## by James Downing

"But remember the bag in Grandma's home," Mother told me.

I am Cedric Goldberg. I am a skinny, brown haired child and, not to brag, pretty smart. I live in a small town in Georgia, United States. My mother and I were standing in our tiny lounge, discussing a bag that's at my Grandma's house. My Grandma died and left something special behind, and my school camp, what luck, is near my Grandma's house. My mother looks serious and my Dad is laughing at some Red Chair story on The Graham Norton Show.

I live with my father and Mother, my mother is a boss at an ice-cream parlour and my dad has no job. He keeps saying he is going to have a job, but while we have our TV, he's not going anywhere! We live in a very—and I mean very—tiny house. In short, we are poor.

I not a big fan of going on school camp with very naughty children, but there's that bag, and it could have anything in it. My mother won't tell me yet what's in it. She says, "It's a Surprise!"

I hopped into the bus outside my small school and heard an angry teacher yelling. I could recognize that yell anywhere. It belonged to Ms. Harkins—a very strict teacher I have to say.

I sat in an empty seat and waited for the bus to move. The ride went on and on, with a vomiting child behind me, a vomiting child at the front, and a vomiting child at the back, which all equalled up to a rather bad smelling bus.

The bus stopped with such a hard halt that my face smacked into the seat in front of me. The bus driver got everyone out of his bus as fast as he could, just in case another child made a mess everywhere again. We got our belongings out of the bus. We had to pass Grandma's house in the woods. The children all pointed and a rumour went round that house was haunted at night—I really hoped it was not or I would be in for a rough ride tonight. We walked for a good ten minutes to get to the campsite where all the teachers, who drove in their own car to dodge the vomiting children in the bus, had already arrived. The three tutors already there were nicely dressed.

"These are the tutors. Treat them well, or you will have a week's worth of trash duty when you get back to school," Mr. Tins said. He loved giving out rubbish duties. At school he even gave cleaning duty to someone who just had a great big red pimple on their face. Mr. Tins said it was probably going to carry a bad infection, but the child told Mr. Tins that the pimple was just going to carry puberty. Then Mr. Tins told the child to carry a trash bag.

I was in Group C and our first activity was drama work with a tall lady that had a sickly smile and black plaited hair. She lead us into the hall. I was in a group with a bunch of boys. The teacher wanted us to prepare a five minute play. The boys in my group wanted to do Hansel and Gretel as a horror story. I wanted to argue about our play because I did not like where this story was heading, but all the others kept this idea. There were no girls in our group so all the boys forced me to be Gretel. I was a pretty unusual looking Gretel, with brown short hair and a boyish look, not qualities Gretel normally owned, but somehow in this story she did. So instead of "Hansel and Gretel" it was "Hansel and the supposed to be girl Gretel, but is a boy because no girls were in our group so we all pressured the child we least liked to be Gretel, ha ha what a laugh this all really is". A very strange fairy tale title, don't you think?

We didn't get to show everyone our play because the teacher told us to stop when Hansel and Gretel (me) were eating the witch in very gruesome detail—partly because it was disgusting and two girls, Charlie Stewart and Mackenzie Highlander, had fainted, making for a very dramatic scene indeed. The teacher's face went green and she said, "Boys, stop. This has gone far enough."

The other groups did Cinderella—which did not make any sense at all, because Cinderella had already fainted and the others had to make do with an invisible one, almost as bad as a boyish Gretel.

Dinner that night was horrendous—rock hard beef, slimy beans and what looked like regurgitated potatoes. Then we had dessert. You may go, "Yahoo, I love dessert," but if you like stale cookies and spoiled milk then be my guest. You can have have my helping. Nobody ate theirs, apart from Jack and Ruby—who were twins—known for fighting over a half eaten donut in the school trash can.

My cabin had three other kids: Jonathan Blank, a boy with a round face, a plump tummy and a sneaky grin; Richard Qwerty, a boy who was really sassy; and Harry Rodriguez, a boy who was an expert on pretty much any video game, or hack to win a video game. They were really talkative kids. Well, Harry was really talkative, so the night was filled with talk about video games, hacks, even more hacks, and a sneaky topic about Instagram made by Richard, that got stopped immediately because Harry was wanting to talk about his 189th hack of the day, but we must not blame Richard from trying his luck against a video game addict. All night they talked and talked about hacks, that only Harry was interested in, as rain outside poured and lightning thundered. I was not really interested and would rather we talk about snoring and going to sleep because of my own problems.

Eventually, Harry's talk about hacks was done, and the others were already asleep because of something that happens when you listen, but then lose interest in what is happening—in short, boredom. I got up and ran outside. I shut the door as quietly as I could and ran to the woods. The tall trees hovered over me. It was pretty spooky.

I saw Grandma's house. During the day it was like a happy little cottage but at night it looked like a haunted house. I opened the gate, which screeched loudly. I was absolutely soaked!

My mother told me where Grandma kept the key—under the mat—so I looked and there it was. The gold key, glistening with drops of water. I picked it up, my hand shaking. I peered at the keyhole and put the key in it. As I opened the door, it creaked and dripped with water. I walked into the house slowly. It smelled old and musty. The door slammed violently behind me. I shuddered. My heart felt like it was doing a hundred beats every ten seconds. It was pitch black and I couldn't see a thing. I finally found the stairs. I could feel the dust under my fingertips.

I went up stairs and found Grandma's glistening gold chest. I remember, when I was young, I would always sneak upstairs to open the chest, but either Grandma or Mum would find me and tell me not to touch the chest again.

I went closer to the chest, but then out of nowhere, I slipped on a torch what threw me smack dab on the ground with a sore head, sore back and very sore legs. I stood up, picked up the small torch and turned it on.

Suddenly, I could see light everywhere and the house filled me with memories of what was before. The chest looked more inviting than before. I placed my hands on the lid to open it. I felt like Grandma or my mum would come and stop me, but they were not here. I opened up the lid and found a huge bag with bulging contents.

My mother said I must not look inside the bag, but couldn't have, even if I wanted to, because it had a lock. I closed the lid of the chest, took the bag and the torch and got out of the house. I was not stealing—this was Grandma's.

I ran through the scary woods and got a glimpse of the cabins, but just my luck, Ms. Harkins had another torch walking around the campsite, checking that everyone was doing what they were supposed to. My torch flashed by mistake and Ms. Harkins saw. I don't think she knew who I was because it was still pretty dark. Ms. Harkins came stamping towards me. Uh-oh! I ran to my left as Ms. Harkins charged after me.

"Who ever you are," Ms. Harkins screeched, "I am coming. You can run, but you cannot hide, so come out you coward."

I just ran and ran. I finally saw my cabin. It was just in front of me.

"Oi, come here you little menace, or minx, whatever gender you are!" Ms. Harkins boomed as her legs ran as fast as they could.

As I got near my door, I fell over a big stick, and yes it just had to be there. I went dizzy and smacked down on the ground. A new record. I had fallen over twice in one night. My were knees bleeding.

Ms. Harkins eventually come over. She scowled down at me and peered at the bag, then ripped out of my hand.

"You can have this when the camp is over," Ms. Harkins said. "Anyway, what's the contents of this bag may I ask? Don't tell me it's candy, because the rules state no candy is allowed, Mister."

"It's not candy," I said still lying on the ground, bleeding and all. "It's, well, er... my clothes."

"What the heck are you doing with your clothes outside at night running around like a lunatic?" Ms. Harkins yelled.

I shrugged.

"You don't know," Ms. Harkins said raising an eyebrow. "Boys are weird these days. Get up."

"But I can't. I hurt all over," I said.

"Walk it off. But if I see you out here again, oh, you will be sorry," Ms. Harkins yelled and charged off.

I went into my bunk room. Jonathan was snoring, Richard was dribbling, and Harry was sleep talking about hacking and how to make it so you have never-ending hearts in Minecraft.

I jumped into my sleeping bag, closed my eyes and slept, because that's what you generally do at night. I woke up with Richard shaking me.

"Wake up," he yelled. "It's breakfast!" He seemed pretty desperate, probably because he was tortured with another talk on hacks provided by Harry.

I got my clothes on, brushed my hair, washed my face in the bathroom. The other boys got their clothes on, didn't brush their hair, and didn't wash their faces.

We went to get some breakfast, which was not any better than dinner. Mouldy bread with cheap bad tasting revolting jam, and some muesli, that hardly anyone liked apart from me. I tried to scan the breakfast area, on the lookout for Ms. Harkins. I was really worried. What would happen if she broke the lock and claimed the stuff in there was hers?

After breakfast, we had our second activity, which was—you gotta be joking—knitting. An old lady taught us. She had bright pink lipstick, pale skin like Johnny Depp's Willy Wonka on Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and grey curly hair that sat on her shoulders.

"Hello children," she grinned at us slightly. "We are doing knitting and I really do not take any nonsense." She looked like she enjoyed telling children off, like Miss Trunchbull from Matilda.

She lead us into a room that was really tiny.

"Sit down," she growled at us. "Now here are some knitting needles, and here is the wool."

She showed us what to do. Then it was our turn. She placed the needles on a table with the wool.

"Do not waste the wool, or else," the lady said.

We all rushed the wool on the table.

"One at the time!" The lady yelled.

We all shuddered and lined up. Everybody took their supplies, but nobody found knitting very interesting, so we all found it very hard.

"Oh my gosh, your group is even worse than the last group," the lady screeched. "I have helped practically all of you, and none of your ears are paying attention."

The lady suddenly looked at a boy who was talking to his friends. "Excuse me, please!" the lady boomed. "Listening is a skill you should have learned at four months old. Am I right... boy?"

The boy suddenly turned round to find her beady eyes staring straight at him.

"Out of here, right now, you disgrace! On second thought, all of you, out," she barked at us. Everyone ran out the door.

There was nothing much to do outside apart from playing 'how many bugs can you squish' with the boys, or 'truth or dare' with the girls. I was rather happy, because now I could maybe go and find the bag.

I went back into my cabin and opened my copy of the cabin layout. Ms. Harkins cabin was only five cabins away from mine. I exited my cabin to go to Ms. Harkins' so I could retrieve my property.

I went past cabins G, H, I and J and finally arrived to cabin K. The cabin looked way smaller than the other cabins. The paint was peeling of on the sides and the front of the cabin. I placed my hand on the knob and turned it. I peered inside and thought, "Wow, Ms. Harkins is very messy." Clothes were all over the ground and there was a sneaky little bag of gummy bears on the ground, covered up by her screwed up clothes. I searched up and down for the bag, but it was nowhere I could see.

I kept looking until I heard Ms. Harkin's grunt and footsteps heading toward the cabin. I freaked out. Where could I hide? There was no back door. I was trapped!

I saw Ms. Harkins bed. I would never normally have done this, but desperate times called for desperate measures. I jumped into the bed and pulled the covers over me, then I felt the bag. It was at the end under the covers.

Ms. Harkins slammed the door open.

"Children. What next?" Ms. Harkins yelled.

I tried hard to keep myself flat and hope Ms. Harkins would not find me.

"How awful. Mr. Tins spilled his grape juice all over my white shoes. That madman should be locked up in chains, never to see the light of day again," Ms. Harkins raged.

I heard her put on some other shoes with a monster-like grunt.

"Ugh, what a life," Ms. Harkins muttered. I heard her slam the door in fury.

I got the bag from under covers and left that messy cabin. I marched to my cabin and stuffed the bag in my suitcase, then I joined the rest of my group who now were having lunch.

When I got into the hall, I saw Ms. Harkins raging at Mr. Tins about her stained shoes. The lunch was alright apart from the weird tasting meat.

The buses were already waiting for us.

I knew Ms. Harkins knew that the bag would be gone. I began to worry about it. Then my phone began to ring—my ringtone was Nyan Cat, don't judge—and I picked it up. It was my mother.

"Hello, Cedric. No need to talk now. Tell a teacher that I will pick you up. I have hired a taxi to come and get you," she told me and hung up.

I stood in disbelief. I went over to Mr. Tins to tell him. There is no way I would tell Ms. Harkins. If grape juice could make her rage, what would this do?

Mr. Tins waited with me until Mother came. She threw her arms around me.

"Well, bye Cedric and Mrs. Goldberg. I've got to catch the Man United team against Liverpool on telly," said Mr. Tins, obviously wanting to go.

When Mr. Tins went, my mother got us into the taxi.

"So, how was camp," Mother asked.

There were a number of things I wanted to say about the camp, and most of them were that not nice. They included grape juice making a teacher go up the wall, a billion talks on hacks, a very artificial choice of food, and a Johnny Depp Willy Wonka teacher.

"Let's just say I glad I am gone from that mad house," I said.

"We will talk about the bag when we get home, because of this nosy taxi driver," Mother whispered.

The taxi driver had a thick black beard and he had a tendency of being nosy throughout the ride, asking all sorts of random questions, like, "What's your job?" and, "What's your favourite ice cream flavour?" and, "How much money do you earn?" and, "Do you like pistachio ice cream?"

When he dropped us home, Mother said, "Good riddance," as the taxi car drove into the distance and then around a street corner.

We walked through the door and heard the television blaring the noises of a Donald Trump speech.

"Yeah, right," said Dad at the speech.

"You're bad at lying, you know?" Dad growled at the TV.

"Kevin, we're home," Mother said.

"Oh, hi Kassy," Dad said startled, because he had a desire to watch the Trump speech just to make fun of it.

Mother and Dad hugged each other.

I dipped my hand into my suitcase to release the bag. I was dying to know what was in in. Then Mother saw the bag and she hugged me.

"This bag will change everything," said Mother. She left the room, then came back with a silver key. She picked up the bag and placed the key in the lock. It was a perfect fit. As she opened the bag, money came spilling out. We all counted it. We had about a hundred thousand dollars. We had practically all of Grandma's money! Some necklaces and rings and pricey jewellery also came out.

Me and Dad gazed at the contents of the bag with our eye's wide open, gobsmacked. The money, the jewellery, this bag was our golden ticket to a happy life. From now on we could eat well and keep warm. I had a feeling everything was going to change and it would be just like a fairy tale (not like the horror Hansel and Gretel story though).

## About James:

James Downing is a twelve-year-old who loves writing stories that make the reader laugh. His favourite book series is Jeremy James by David Henry Wilson (best author in the world), and his favourite books of the series are: Can a Spider Learn to Fly? and Do Gerbils go to Heaven? These books have inspired his humorous writing style.

His favourite movie is called: Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Long Haul (quite a recent film).

James likes watching EvanTubeHD and Dantdm on YouTube and likes chocolate (because who doesn't like chocolate?), Jelly Belly beans, and Minecraft. When he's older he wants to be a comedian, actor and an author.

#  To Love Someone is to Die for Someone

## by Juliana Chapman

The only thing I can remember is a knife passing through life and death. I felt alone. I was depressed and I had failed. But that doesn't mean anyone should give in to what they believe.

~Joanne Hancock

"Joanne, no!" was the last thing she heard as a searing pain shot through her body. Everything went black as her eyes rolled back into her head. Her breathing slowed then came to a halt. She was dead, or so I thought.

My body jolted up after what seemed like an eternity of slumber. I felt numb, hollow and shattered. This wasn't my life. I had the memories of someone else, and my appearance was the only thing that belonged to me. It was a scary thing to think about until I stopped thinking pretty much entirely.

I was a robot. A grade A war machine.

The people who tried to bring the girl back gave me a chance at life. They told me I was Joanne, saying her name repeatedly. The people got angry and wanted me to avenge the girl by killing a certain person. I refused, said I wasn't her and ran away. Sadly, I didn't think about my plan and got caught in the sewers.

They dragged me back, and gave me a beating. It left terrible dents in my metal bones. After all this, I thought it couldn't get worse, however I misjudged the position I was in. They chained my arms to the wall and grabbed a rifle. The impact of the bullets left more dents than earlier. I slouched, in an attempt to curl up and cry. The two people who were shooting me left after half an hour of torture.

Everyday someone would come and ask me who I was. Each and every time I replied with a truthful answer but they still got angry at me. Some of the people actually cried because of my responses. However one day my life changed, when I met him...

***

It had been two months since they chained me up. Dusk was falling and I shivered in my chains. I have no nerves, yet I could feel a nip in the air. Duncan was looking at me with a sad look. He was a new recruit who joined the gang recently. Every night he comes and sees me, he doesn't talk. Sometimes he just stares and I stare back. I feel safe when he is nearby. Although one night, he said something for the first time.

"Hey, are you awake?" He whispered.

I was surprised by the fact that he was speaking for once. I nodded slowly before standing up.

"Look I'm not actually part of the gang, I'm a spy. I'm gonna get you outta there and take you somewhere safe. Understood?"

I looked at him with unseen hope. "T-thank you," I gasped.

"Tomorrow I'll help you, just hang in there."

I tugged at the chains trying to grab his hand as he started to walk away. The whirring in my gears slowed as I became surrounded by darkness once again.

***

The next day I awoke to shouting and unmistakable gunshots. My head darted around the cage in alarm as Duncan rushed into the room. He was wearing strange metal gauntlets with heat plates in the palms.

"I told you I'd get you out, didn't I?" He chuckled before pulling the bars apart and freeing me from my chains.

"Follow me." I nodded and carefully skipped after him. The sewers were a massacre. People were shooting other people and throwing bombs carelessly around. I flinched when I saw lots of bodies strewn across the ground.

"I know, it's gruesome. But we've got to keep going. Just be glad we're near the exit," He said.

Duncan gave me a boost out of the sewer and I pulled him out onto the ruined street.

"We have really let the world down, haven't we? I wish the president of America never sent most of their nukes to London."

"W-why did you save me?" I stuttered whilst holding my head. He looked at my green visor and took a deep breath.

"I saved you because someone needs to talk to you, a redhead named Jonas. He heard about a robot with the memories of a person close to him. Do you have the memories of anyone?" He asked.

"Y-yeah, a girl. Named Joanne. She gave up at fixing him, I don't know how this happened but she's dead now..."

Duncan froze and tears fell from his eyes. I wiped his tears from his face, for the first time I felt bad for telling the truth. "Sorry, she was such a good friend to me and many other people. Surprisingly that girl saved many lives for someone her age, evil people and innocent people alike were helped by her. I guess she got to the point where she couldn't save herself..." Duncan stood up slowly before looking down the street.

"Come on, let's go find somewhere safe to rest." He sniffed and looked at me with a smile before grabbing my hand.

***

Duncan heard a loud static-like noise as he slowly lifted himself onto his feet. He slept pretty well for someone who could die at any second in the wasteland. His walkie talkie was buzzing. He grabbed it before hitting it against the mouldy table.

"Hi Jonas, sorry about ignoring you. My walkie talkie is playing up on me again," groaned Duncan.

"Hi Duncan, wanna chill at the abandoned Soupway today?" Jonas casually asked.

"Sure, I have the person you wanted to see too-"

"Really? I'll see you there I guess..." He interrupted. The call ended. I sat up and saw Duncan trying to smash a small device with his foot. I let out a slight, childish giggle as he looked my way.

"We're leaving now that you've powered on." He helped me to my feet and gave me a gun. I froze and chucked it in the trash can quickly.

"I don't like guns all after that experience yesterday, I'll be fine though." Duncan looked at me, like I was crazy. It was quite funny, his reaction. However he soon shrugged it off and left. I ran after him, trying not to get left behind.

***

We had been walking for a few hours, my legs felt like they we're going to snap like twigs.

"Are we there yet?" I asked quietly. Duncan facepalmed and sighed.

"We are two minutes away from Soupway, damn it!" He snapped. I groaned in annoyance and kept following him. Suddenly he stopped and pointed at a building. "That is Soupway." He muttered. I gasped before running down the street in a race to sit down. Soupway was pretty much empty, there was only one guy. However he looked so familiar even though he had covered most of his face with a red bandanna. He looked worried. In fact he clearly didn't feel like eating ramen at the moment. Duncan pulled me over to the table where the man was sitting and helped me into my seat.

"Hi Jonas, how are you?" Asked Duncan.

I started to shift uncomfortably. The foggy memories in my head were telling me to get away. They were telling me he did something to the girl that lost her grip on reality. Technology in the wasteland isn't that good but it still works. Extracting the memories from a dead body though, that means that they have to do it expertly well. The memories of this man may be gone yet I still have the feeling that he is not entirely a good person.

"Is this her?" Jonas asked.

"Yeah." Duncan nudged me in the elbow, causing me to jolt up in my chair.

I slowly stood up and started to walk away, I couldn't do this. The pressure was too much for me.

"Where do you think you're going?" Shouted Jonas who was still sitting in his seat.

I froze. Was this some kind of dark magic, or the thing people call emotions? I would probably never know, however the feeling was proper spooky; the gears in my chest felt like they were going into overdrive. Before I could say anything the world around me turned black and I hit the floor with a loud bang.

***

"Unit A.B.E. or Abbie, I hope everything makes sense to you soon. You need to understand why those people gave you my memories. That guy, Jonas, was my brother. I was his sister. Together we were yin and yang. He fought for me, he believed in me, and he died on the inside because of me. Somehow I fixed his insanity in a fight, a big bloody fight. It went down something like this..."

Suddenly the void of darkness revealed someone in front of me who resembled Jonas. He was holding a knife that was covered in crimson blood. I watched him as I moved closer. The thoughts in my mind were clouded and my actions were sharp. I shot Jonas twice in the chest without thinking. He started to approach me slowly with fire in his eyes. This was terrifying, I refused to hurt him any more. He was two metres away from me. Hot tears started to stream down my face as he levels the knife with my eyes. I drop my gun in fear as his grip falters. He was shaking, he knew he couldn't take my life. However, I never knew he would plunge it into my shoulder instead. We both fell onto the ground in pain. I couldn't fix him and I regret everything I did. A mystic looking mirror appeared behind Jonas's body. I pulled myself onto my knees and saw the reflection of a machine, made with wires and coated by metal. Somehow I knew this was my only option. My little black satchel had something that would make up for everything we had done wrong. I reached into it and grabbed a small device that looked like an ear plug and placed it in my ear. In a split second everything faded into nothing.

"Look, I was gone and you entered existence a year later. Abbie..." she whispered with tears forming in my eyes.

"I'm sorry that those people tortured you, and I'm sorry they tried to make you me. Now can you do me a favour?" The robot appeared again and slowly nodded.

"Clearly I am half of you now due to you keeping my memories in your head. Now go tell Jonas that Joanne Hancock is eternally sorry, and that he is forgiven. Please, it would mean a lot to me."

The darkness swallowed Abbie, who glowed brightly in happiness. Once again I was left behind but this time I felt free.

***

Everything was a blur when I picked myself of the floor. I looked at my hands and saw metal then flesh. It kept switching back and forth until it stopped on metal. I am Joan- A.B.E. or Abbie if I recall, why can't I remember properly? Duncan was shaking my shoulder intensely, worry was painted on his face. I slapped his hand away in annoyance before standing up. Jonas looked at me with an emotionless face.

"What happened?'" Duncan asked, whilst trying to wipe his tear stained cheeks.

I said nothing, I just looked at Jonas before whispering a few certain words. "Joanne is sorry."

He looked at me with rage before pulling out a knife and plunging it into where my gut would be. It cut some vital wires inside my shell but I didn't care, I would at least fulfil my purpose.

"You are not her, she is gone. Stop trying to make me feel better," he shouted.

"Joanne also said she forgives you. She's sorry for breaking the family heirloom to break you, she knew you loved it and didn't want you mourning over the past, she wanted you to move on. That is why she did it." I spluttered before pulling Jonas into a hug. By this point he was breaking down in tears, whispering, "I'm sorry" on repeat like a broken stereo.

"I'm sorry I went too far. I reacted in a way no one should ever react to losing something important. Now I realize she was my everything. My friend, family and home. I messed it all up. I'm infinitely sorry!" He shouted.

My lit up visor died as I confronted Joanne. She was smiling at me brightly. Her body shimmered golden like her hair before she faded away. I knew she had gone to cherish the last hug she would ever get given by someone she used to know. It must've been nice for her to know that he has forgiven her too. I was now gone for good...

## About Juliana

Juliana Chapman is twelve years old and enjoys writing about random things. Sometimes she writes short stories from her favourite fandoms. She enjoys video games and gets inspired by them. That is how she has become interested in some topics. She wants to travel overseas when she is a bit older and cosplay at conventions. However when she is older she wants to become a politician and throw most of this stuff away for a great job.

#  Cedaric's Mission

## by Molly Rochford

In Birmingham, England, two beaver parents, Mayflower and myself (Cedaric) live with their five children: Buckie, Maple, Willow, Pippin and Basil. Everything was normal until one day when, being a good father, Basil and I go play frisbee at the park.

"Nice catch!" I say, looking in Basil's direction and squinting into the sun. The frisbee comes dashing back at me and I fail to catch it. Although I can't completely see him through the blinding sun, I know he's there, grinning away as I lose to him. I throw the frisbee back to him. Suddenly the sun disappears. Our park is shadowed by the mass of clouds filling the sky. I see Basil's body get smaller and smaller as he goes to retrieve the frisbee I threw. After a moment of watching him, I see him leave the Safe Zone.

"No!" I hear Basil cry as I start running towards him. I almost reach him as I see him being lifted into a large thing on wheels.

"BASIL!" I yell, as I run as fast as I can. I barge into a big metal thing and trying to jump up to reach him.

"Da-"

Slam! A door flings closed. I reach for the lever attached to the door but it's no use. It starts moving. The words 'Birmingham Pest Control' are smudged on the side of it. My heart races... I scuttle onto the harsh road attempting to catch the thing. After a few minutes of me running after it, my breath turns sharp and painful and the thing that took Basil zooms off into the distance. Already, I can't remember what it said on the side of the door.

***

"Cedaric, where were you?" asks Mayflower, my wife. She is sitting on a stool, sewing up some holes in Buckie's pants.

"B... B... Basil... He's gone..." I say, starting to sob. She doesn't say anything. She just looks at me, thinking.

"What happened?" she asks, worried.

"Something took him! It was a big thing on wheels with some words on the side," I reply.

"Was it that truck?" She asks, spitting at the thought.

"Yeah, if that's what a truck is..." I say, feeling naïve, as I haven't had much experience with the outside world.

"It also had some words on the side... something like bring-ham pet cool," I mumble.

"Birmingham Pest Control?" She says.

"Yes! I forgot you could read!" I say.

"It's the place next to where Patty Grassin had his first birthday party," she said, grasping her GPS and punching the address in.

"My leg wouldn't be able to quite go that far. It's at least ten miles," she explains, still frowning. She injured her leg playing football with Buckie three weeks ago.

"I could go—" I start to say.

"Here!" She says, shoving the G.P.S. into my hands in a demanding manner. "Go to this address and find Basil!"

"OK, but how does this thing work?"

"Turn right in one meter," the G.P.S says.

"I'll see you soon!" I say as I scramble off.

***

On the journey there, I face busy road-crossings and frantic humans.

"You have arrived at your destination."

"Wow!" I say as I peer up from my G.P.S. and gaze at the intimidating building. I examine the doors around the sides, trying to find an entry way. I see a crack next to an emergency exit door. I scramble towards it. The crack is quite small, but big enough to fit a fully grown beaver. I climb slowly through and look around. The cracked mouldy floor is harsh under my cold feet.

"Basil?" I whisper through the darkness.

"Daddy is that you?"

"Bas—"

"John get the tranquillizer," a heavy sounding voice echoes through the dark cold room.

I cover my mouth and hide under a nearby bucket.

"Where's the—?"

"I could have sworn it was right there!"

"Sure it was, Pete. Just like how beavers use G.P.S! Honestly!" He laughs and walks off.

Thud, thud, thud. The other human leaves too. I fling the bucket off me and tip-toe over to the cages at the other end of the room. I peer into each cage, startled by a few savage rats along the way, and finally reach Basil.

"I will get you out of here, I promise!" I say.

"Look, John...I told you, there is something in here." One of the humans says. I quickly scuttle around the other side of Basil's' cage.

"There's nothing in here that's not in a cage, Pete!" One of the human says. It's no use. A blinding light shines in my direction. I stay as still as I can, daring not to move an inch.

"The lit'l bugger." The human spits.

"I told ye' John!"

"Alright... just get it in the cage," one of the humans points a large fishing-net type thing at me. Maybe they'll think I'm dead if I stay still.

***

"DADA! DADA!" I hear Basil cry. I suddenly wake from a long harsh sleep. I quickly get on my feet and try to look around for him. I soon realise there are metal bars all around me and start to remember what happened yesterday. They locked me up in a cage.

"BASIL!" I yell.

"DADA!" Basil replies.

"Are you OK, Bas-bas?" I ask.

"Yeah, but I want to go home." Basil's sore voice gives me courage to carry on.

"I promise I will get us home." I examine the lock on my cage door. My teeth are pretty sharp so I could easily bite it off. I lean in close and edge my teeth onto the lock and

after five minutes of attempts I finally get it to snap off and fling open.

"Basil!" Is the first word that comes out of my mouth after I am free.

"Dad," he yelps. I stride over to his cage trying not to make too much noise.

"I'll have to pick the lock with my teeth," I say. "Stand back, Basil!"

Moments later Basil is out of his cage and clinging onto me.

"Let's get out of here!" Basil groans. I see an exit-way in the ceiling.

"Up there," I move towards it. We get ready to jump, but suddenly—

"John! Get that Beaver!" Wails an unexpected voice.

Basil jumps. He throws himself through the hole in the roof. I hope he'll land on a soft surface. At that moment I sprint as hard as I can to the other side of the room, slipping on my bare feet as I go.

"GET THAT BEAVER!" A worker wails. Five workers are stumbling around the room like zombies from that game my daughter Maple plays with her cousins. The workers must've just awoken from their sleep and gone on night duty. The cold and dusty room has never felt smaller. The human's creepy smiles turn even scarier and I feel the hairs on my small spine prick up. I want to close my eyes and disappear, but those who live in the real world know this is not an option. Their feet edge closer to me, a cold sweat flushes my body and suddenly—

"Daddy!" I hear Basil cheer as he dives through the window. He's sitting on a broken skateboard grinning

"Basil," I say as I take in the fact he actually made it through the double-glazing. I hop onto the skateboard and together we ride out of there in a mad rush. We stop behind an oak tree further down the road.

"Basil, I'm so proud of you," I say as I catch my breath.

"So am I, Dad," Basil says, his tiny teeth poking out of his proud smile.

"Let's go, Basil," I say. We skateboard all the way home, Basil clinging onto my back

***

As we enter the cold, deserted park I hear Mayflower call.

"Have you got Basil?" Her warm voice greets his ears and wakes him up. I heave his small body off my back and he stumbles over into the arms of his mother.

"You made it. You made it home."

## About Molly

Molly Rochford is twelve years old and is a student at Heaton Normal Intermediate. She enjoys writing in her own time and is a big fan of the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling and Dork Diaries by Rachel Renee Russell. The Writing Enrichment Programme helped her a lot with her story structure planning. She also enjoys gymnastics and looking after her two guinea pigs, Olaf and Sven.

#  Lost & Found

## by Natasha Wensley

Heavy iron gates surround the red brick walls. I wind down the window to get a peek at my new school.

"You're kidding right?" I say out loud. This is so fancy.

"No way. This is the most prestigious school in all of Europe," says my mother.

I open the shade and glance back at her. She's using the limos mirror to perfect her lipstick. Colour 131, a bright red and her absolute favourite.

"Please, just listen to me. I can't go here."

"Gosh, Becca, calm down. It's going to be okay. The principal is lovely, but I've heard the people are even better. You'll make so many new friends."

I still don't want to go, but Mum does make me feel better. She always does.

We come to a stop and my door opens. I do my best to get out gracefully as I thank the doorman. "Je vous remercie. Thank you very much."

"A pleasure, mademoiselle," he exclaims as he ushers me towards the front doors. They're plated in gold and a little over the top in my opinion. I reach out to open them up, but the doorman gets there first. I'm so not used to this.

***

It's beautiful. I'd been to nice schools before, but this is on a whole other level. Tall ceilings covered in magnificent paintings of the middle ages; a velvet carpet and dark wood; clean white walls; and classrooms the size of a house. There, in the middle of everything, is the shining glory of the school—the seven ton chandelier. Priceless diamonds light up the entire walkway making it seem like it's actually sunny outside. This is about to become the new normal.

Mum comes in after me, making a dramatic entrance that turns heads. Plush cheeks, perfect hair and gorgeous eyes, without even trying.

"I have to go meet with the principal, but you should have a look around." She waves goodbye, leaving me on my own. I guess I should go find my dorm, maybe start to unpack. I pull out the sheet of paper with my room number on it. Dorm 46, my favourite number. I make my way down the hallway trying to keep a low profile. The walls are plastered with paintings of unrealistically perfect women. There's one on the right of Princess Diana, who's about the only face I know. I slowly make my way to the end of the hallway and follow the sign 'dorms' down a corridor. Mine is down the far back, parked behind a wooden door. I reach into my purse and pull out the key that the school had sent weeks before. I slot it into the hole and open the door.

The dorm is so not basic. I put my bags on the floor and plop onto the bed. Now this is luxury. The ceiling is decorated in a floral design with a few gold accents. There is a brass desk and beautiful chair for all of that studying I'm not going to do. But the coolest part of this room is the closet. Sliding doors and storage on every side. I could get used to this! I take a look at my watch. It's 12:36. Mum gets back at two, so I have time for nap. Too lazy to change, I throw the excess pillows on the floor and tuck myself into bed.

I open my eyes to find Mum standing over my bed with wide-open eyes. "Wow. This is what I call a fancy room!"

I sigh. Do I really have to get up?

"Don't you just love the closet? I called the school to ask if we could have one like this!" Of course she did.

"Yeah. It's awesome. Thanks Mum."

"I'm so jealous. You're gonna have so much fun!"

I roll my eyes. Debatable.

"By the way your first class is in an hour so you should get ready soon. I'm going to explore some more. I just wanted to check in on you." She picks up her handbag and leaves, making a pathetic effort to close the door quietly. Using all my mental strength I roll out of bed to get ready. I put on some foundation and re-plait my hair before heading out the door.

***

My first class is English—my least favourite of them all. I take out my phone. It's 4:30. Am I actually on time? I walk in and take a seat beside a girl who looks a little younger than me. I take out my folder and start doodling on a piece of scrap paper. The teacher calls the roll, but I zone out because I'm always at the end. "Becca White"

"Here," I say.

She's finished. She takes her clipboard and places it on her desk. She walks over to the board and starts to write. I squint my eyes and focus as hard as I can. It hurts to look at. I go back to doodling. Every few seconds, I'll listen in to what she's saying. She's teaching about adjectives: describing words. She's writing her examples up on the board. Dyslexia, all I see is my dyslexia. Class finishes at 5:15. I'm almost there. The bell goes and, like everyone, else I start to pack up my things.

"Class dismissed."

Finally.

***

Today is the day of our first big test. It's for maths, so I haven't bothered studying. After the test, Mum's taking me out for lunch, but has left it to me to decide where to go. The school's cafe is nice, but I'd love some Indian. I open my laptop and scroll through the options. I finally settle on one about a block away and call them up to confirm.

"A table for two, please."

"We can have you anytime from eleven on."

"We'll be there at eleven thirty."

"Thank you very much, mademoiselle." I hang up and text Mum the details.

At nine fifty, it's time to go. I walk over to the test room and take a seat right at the back. The teacher's covered all posters the may have answers on, leaving the room extremely dull. All the desks are in straight lines going vertically along the classroom walls with panels in between so no one can cheat. A lady walks over, telling me to put my hand up anytime I need help reading anything.

"I'll be fine," I assure her. She smiles.

"Here's your paper. You may begin. Good luck." I smile back.

"Test over, pencils down."

I think I did fine, I usually do. I glance down at my watch. I've got about half an hour before I go meet Mum. They better get a move on. I sit quietly in my seat as they come and collect my paper. Someone gives a boring speech about test results and I'm out. I make my way through the halls to my dorm. My phone is lying on my desk ringing like crazy. I pick it up. Someone's calling me, but I don't recognise the number. I swipe across to answer the call and put it on speaker while I get ready.

"Hello, this is Becca."

"Hi Becca, this is Principal Jones. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No Becca, you haven't."

"Then what is it?"

"I'd prefer to tell you in person. It's not exactly something one discusses on the phone."

"I really need to go, I'm late for lunch with my mother. Can I come see you tomorrow?"

"Becca," she pauses, "your mother is dead. She was killed while you were taking your test—in a car crash." The phone goes silent. "And seeing as you have no father, we'll need to find you a new guardian."

I don't know what to say.

"Like who? As far as I know I have no family."

"You have an Uncle who lives only a few hours away."

You're kidding.

***

It's amazing how fast my life is changing. All the things I took for granted are gone. I want to stay here, there's still so much to learn, but for now it's off to see my uncle. How bad could he be?

All my stuff is packed into the trunk of the car and it's time to go. It's nice of Ms. Jones to take me, but I hope she doesn't think we're going to have some deep conversation.

"I'm really sorry about you mother, Becca." Damn. Here we go. "It must be really hard."

Seeing as I'm no longer a student at her school, is it rude to ignore her? Nah. I slowly pull out my headphones.

Hours later, we pull up in front of his house. It's plain white with a red roof. It has a small square garden with a pathway running down.

"I'll grab your bags. You go ahead," says Ms. Jones.

I make my way down the path and knock on the door. Seconds later, the door opens. My Uncle looks nothing like me. I have blonde hair, he has brown. I have green eyes, he has blue. I'm short, he's tall. We are opposites.

"Hello, Becca." Here we go. "I'm your Uncle Dan. Welcome to you new home."

"Thanks."

"You've grown so much since I last saw you."

"I'm sorry, I didn't think I'd ever meet you."

"In a photo... I've seen you in a photo. You were blowing out the candles for your fifth birthday."

I laugh. "Yeah, I remember that photo."

"Well, we better get a move on." He closes the door and ushers me back down the path. Together we all move my bags into the new room. It's a basic room with a window looking over the backyard, very scenic. I unpack my things as the adults do some final paperwork.

***

"It's all done. Your annoying principal is gone and now you're left with me."

"Excuse me?"

"Now, these are the rules: no laughing, no playing, no smiling, no complaining, no arguing, no back-chatting and most importantly no talking to anyone. Oh and one more thing," he hands me a list, "these are your chores. You do them everyday, all day."

I look over the paper. What is going on? Cook dinner, clean the bathrooms, fetch the groceries and vacuum the driveway... it goes on.

"You'd better get started."

I've done everything this stupid list has said, but to be honest I think one of the most basic has got me stuck. I don't know how to cook. I can't read recipes. I always watched Mum make meals. She makes the best pasta. I wish I paid attention to what she put in and how much. I'd just sit and stare until she'd let me try some. I guess I could have a shot, toss a few things together and see how they taste.

No, that'll never work. I need to find a place that can do delivery. Mum and I would always order our food from a Thai place down the road, so even though they'll never come all this way to deliver our food, they may know someone who might. In this house there's still a landline attached to the wall, so I pick it up and, using my 'award winning' memory, dial the number.

"Hello, Thai Takeaways. How may I help you?"

"I was just wondering if you had any restaurants near Ares-en-Ré?"

"No, mademoiselle. I'm sorry. There is a Chinese takeaway place near you though."

"Yes?"

"It's number is 455-888."

"Thank you so much."

"You're welcome mademoiselle."

"Bye." I hang up and dial the number he gave me.

"Chinese takeaways, can I help you?"

"Yes. May I have two boxes of chicken dumplings and two cokes please?"

"Two dumpling and two coke? Sixteen euro total. Pick up or delivery?"

"Delivery please. 24 Place Carnot."

"Thank you, mademoiselle."

"See you then."

There's a knock at the door and I hurry to get it.

"Hello. Two dumplings and two cokes."

"That's us." I hand her a twenty euro I picked up from the bench. "Keep the change."

"Merci."

"Goodbye." I take the package and start to set up for dinner. I make it look as nice as possible before calling my 'uncle'.

"Dinner's ready." He slowly makes his way across the room and takes a seat at the head of the table. I walk over and sit on the seat furthest away.

"Hold up. You don't really think you're having dinner with me?"

"Um, well...."

"No. But out of the kindness in my heart you can take your dinner and eat it in your room."

"Thank you?"

"You're very welcome. Now go." I take my plate a go to my room. I close the door behind me as I start to eat. I should probably call someone, tell them what's happening. But if he finds out, I don't want to think about what would happen.

I wake up with my hand in the unfinished dinner. Gross! I hear a bang.

"Yes?" I say.

"Get up," he shouts, barging into my room. "Yesterday was just the beginning. I've got so many things for you to do today." He pulls out a list. "Here we go."

I take a look over the day's chores. I think he's run out of creative ideas. It looks like this: clean the kitchen, fix up the garden, do the dishes, sweep the floor, organize the closet... and more.

Five o'clock rolls around and I am faced with the same problem as last night—what to do about dinner? Indian, Pizza, Mexican? I can't decide. "What do you want for dinner? I'm ordering?" I ask

"Ordering? No. We can't order tonight. You need to make something."

"I would, but I really can't," I explain.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I can't read the recipes."

"You can't read, aye? What use are you to me if you can't read." He picks me up by my collar and drags me outside. I'd scream for help, but he's practically strangling me. I'm thrown into the back of his car as it speeds off.

***

I'm in the middle of some forest. It's damp and probably about to rain. My back's to a tree, hands tied behind and around it. There's no one around me. I'm hungry and confused. Was I supposed to starve out here? You'd have to be mentally ill to do something this horrible. I feel around trying to figure out what type of knot it is. When I was little, Mum would always make me go to girl scouts. I never really had any friends there, so just spent the hour flicking through the knot tying and survival booklets. It's a figure of eight. Obviously he doesn't know how to tie a good knot. I fiddle around with it until it loosens up. I slip my hands out and start to run. I don't know where I'm going, I'm just running.

I find the edge of the forest and yell out as loud as I can, "HELP, SOMEBODY, PLEASE." No one replies. I'm all alone. There is nothing I can do, I feel helpless. I force my legs to stand and keep walking through the pain. I see a well in the distance but as I struggle forward it starts to disappear. If I can find some other sort of person I will be safe. I have to keep going.

***

"Miss?" Someone's shaking me. I can't open my eyes. My lids are to heavy.

"Miss, are you alright?" It's a man's voice, deep. They shine a light on me but I'm not ready to get up.

"I'm fine," I reply.

"Miss, why are you out here alone?"

With the little might I have left, I open my eyes. A large man towers over me. Rich brown hair and kind green eyes.

"Don't worry, you're going to be alright. The police station is minutes away and from there you can contact your parents."

I don't bother protesting. I'll explain everything when we get there. He gently picks me up and places me in the passenger's seat of his car. I'm safe.

***

### ONE YEAR LATER

"Good morning Becca. Mum's making pancakes so come down when you're ready okay?"

"Thanks, Syd," I reply, rolling out of bed, "Need any help getting down the stairs?"

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks."

I throw on a comfy blue jumper, change up my pants and meet everyone downstairs.

"Good Morning."

"You breakfast's on the counter." Mum replies. I grab the pancakes and join everyone on the couch. Dad's taking up half of it himself and Mum's squished into her favourite corner, so that leaves me the armchair. Sydney wheels herself up beside me. The TV lights up, presenting us with the news for today.

"Dan White, a man from Paris, has been locked up for two years for the abuse of a thirteen-year-old girl."

Now that's what I call justice. It took me a while to recover. Sure, others have had it much worse, but two years was more to send a message and make sure it never happens again. We turn the TV off. We don't need to hear any more. Out here in the country, we hardly ever watch television. Instead of going shopping and worrying about exams, I spend my days here, with my new family. They love me and I love them, we accept each other for our flaws and support each other through hard times. Family isn't always by blood but by heart. This is my home.

#  High Seas

## by Olivia Towns

Ajax hoisted himself upwards. He had been leaning against the side of the boat, pressing against his belly, fingertips brushing the water while dawn light flashed its bloody lustre over the blue swathes of sea.

Everything seemed to be a blur. Hazy pictures floated inside his consciousness, many of which were confusing. Remembering the vivid storm and the lashing waves which threatened to capsize his only way to stay afloat; the bobbing of the boat; the shouts of his cousins' shrill calls before they faded into the void.

While Ajax contemplated his arrival, he noticed a slight waver in the water as the boat was pushed along, the smudge of land behind him becoming distant. Shortly, hunger stabbed its claws and he knew not if the ocean could subside his hunger. He sniffed the air, nostrils flaring for a meaty scent on the wind.

Due to the lack of food, Ajax found himself trembling and hugging himself as the sea-salt wind grew ever so harsher and he wondered if he really had the strength to survive.

***

The night was cold and long and the sky was starless.

Ajax groped in the dark for anything to warm him and when he found nothing but shadows, he slumped down balancing his elbows on his shivering legs.

In the night's light, with the faint halo of the silver moon, the water appeared black and endless, swirling at a delicate touch. Ajax took in a shuddering breath. He knew he was alone and, for once, he would have liked his cousins to be with him. They were the ones who would know how to protect him and catch fish with a knobbly branch, they were the smart ones.

Whether he was going towards the northern seas or the southern, Ajax knew not. He hadn't really thought about direction, and with the current still pulling it would be difficult to turn.

Clouds grew heavier and they obscured the violet sky from view. Ajax thought there was to be another storm by the rough and damp air.

Time dragged by slowly and Ajax closed his eyes until sleep had him.

***

When the sun blinked down, Ajax awoke. He quickly stretched out his limbs, yawning, and scrubbed at his cheeks to wake himself. The islands in the distance were truly out of sight.

Groaning, he grabbed at the side of the boat and peered into the dark water. His heart jumped a beat when he saw a huge body come into view and saw the sparkle of teeth from an open jaw. The only creature he knew to be in the ocean, and of a threat, was a shark and that seemed to be what he was looking at now.

Half-screaming, he saw the beast rise from the rippling depths and attempt to snap at him and the boat. Panic shouted at him as he flailed and the shark grabbed its iron grip onto the boat, tossing away the splintery bark with its oversized jaw. It wasn't long before the ocean's feared predator would bite into bone and tear apart more than the boat.

Ajax dived to the corner of the boat, frantically, in search of anything. His cold fingers grabbed at an emergency rope he hadn't seen earlier, and hope seemed to grin at him.

The shark gnawed its teeth into the wooden oar and its black eyes watched Ajax unblinkingly. He flinched as it tipped its head at him before ripping at the boat once more. Had he agitated the shark somehow or was it lured by something from the boat, a smell it was specifically after and had caused it to travel all the way to where he was. Even thinking about it made Ajax break into a cold sweat.

Twisting the rope, he stood, swallowing, and threw the noose of the rope into the water. The shark instantly took interest and whirled around to face him. Ajax tugged the rope back and the shark lunged forward with a gigantic splash. A foamy spray lifted from the water and it bubbled on the surface.

Pleased, Ajax tried again and again he was successful. For some odd reason the shark was interested in the rope but he was still hesitant to throw the rope into the ocean for the shark to tussel with. He thought about the use the rope could be in the future and wondered if he really could catch fish with one if he had a snare-like object on the end, some bait and a weapon to stab it with.

Thinking about fish made his lips dry and it set his stomach to complaining. The shark was still at the boat and while in thought, the beast had been shredding his rope.

"No!" Cried out Ajax waving his arms above his head. "Don't eat that I need it!"

Obviously the shark didn't understand him and it angered Ajax more to see its merciless figure chewing into what was probably his only means for survival.

Tugging, with his hands knotted around the rope, he found that the shark had slowly become more aggressive. Ajax shook the rope to and fro, feeling jaws unlock and release.

Panting, sweat dribbled down his body. The shark bared its sparkly teeth before vanishing into the depths with a ragged knot of rope jammed in between its pointy teeth.

After the shark withdrew from his vision, Ajax collapsed with exhaustion. He breathed in the salty air, shuddered, and made an effort to paddle through the ocean which was featureless and unwelcoming. The boat was smaller, but a couple of the boards were sturdy enough to keep him out of the water. However, the damage had changed the boat's appearance.

A couple hours lurched by before Ajax gave up stirring the water on the side of the boat. He had been unsuccessful in finding a branch or hard-wood stick to suffice as a paddle since the shark had destroyed it.

Blood rushed to his head and the world swirled before him. Ajax turned in his place and left the boat to its own course. The only reason why he wasn't turning back was because he had found nothing to satisfy his hunger, and it worried him.

Off Ajax paddled into the unknown depths.

***

Labouring efforts gained distance, and Ajax felt like he had accomplished something. Standing over the water was a shattered dock, lean, old, and webbed in green vegetation.

He wondered how long it had been standing. It awed him to see something like it.

The water slapped its weight against the boat forcing it to urge on in a rocking travel. Not too long did it take for Ajax to be on land. He inhaled the sandy beach and wriggled his feet in the grains. A longing pulled at him and the spindly trees ahead brought memories.

Dust tickled the air and whipped past him at such a speed it was gone when he blinked. Trails of tail marks were left freshly engraved in the soft sand and led to rocks and weak brush. The sun melted shadows and ocean birds swooped low to grab at the fish in the blue.

Sighing, Ajax loosened his tenseness from fatigue and ventured off into the scrubby brush whacking away branches which barred his path with his forearms.

As he got deeper, exotic berries clung to vines and strikingly bright birds flitted between the leaves. Ajax hefted a stone he had found earlier at one of the fledglings, who, in the swift blow, dropped from the branch high above.

He rushed forward and caught the bird before it could take a deadly plummet. Already, a sweet odour wafted from the bird sending his stomach to rumble.

Without hesitation, Ajax cracked the fledgling's skull against a sharp rock before continuing on.

***

Night fell.

Ajax hit together rocks and flint he had found by the creek, in an attempt to strike fire. It was irritating when he had a spark and then it vanished from sight, and it took another hour to even rise a slither of smoke.

The bird rested on the driftwood cluster, its dead eyes staring unseeing into the dark. Because of the strong leaves and dirt which he had cast into a bowl, Ajax had a sufficient supply of water which he covered with berry leaves and rich flowers with a yet to be made fire.

A thought struck him: what if there were other people living on the island? How could he keep quiet on such a small lot of land? The questions listed on and none of them could be answered.

Earlier, there had been a small wild cat scratching at the trees, and coming close enough that Ajax feared his own safety. He had had to fend off the feline with a knobbly bit of firewood. In protest the wild cat had arched its back, hissing, before fading into the rough brush, never seen again.

Sparks and fire resisted. Ajax threw the creek stone and flint onto the driftwood pile and breathed. Through the trees above there could have been a light patter of rain, but he was too angry with himself to listen more intently.

How useless was he if he couldn't even light a fire and keep himself warm? What would his cousins think? They would simply laugh at him. He had only barely fended off the wild cat. He thought it was the end.

Was this what it all led to? To die under the unseen stars?

***

Stomach pains jabbed his sides.

His mouth was dry and lips cracked.

The water in the makeshift bowl had been consumed. The berry leaves tattered in the dust and the rich flowers shredded in his earlier haste.

Ajax watched the dead fledgling which had already sent up a foul odour and he wondered when it would spoil. With that in his mind, he took the bird in his hands and chewed into its sour core. The meat was chewy and when swallowed satisfied his hunger. He felt like he could stand and walk on further, but the idea left him when he saw the far off stars.

***

A couple of days passed and Ajax had equipped himself with a hunting spear, which was sharp and had killed wild cats on the island, a jagged axe and a flare-like object he waved in the sky in hope to signal any planes.

His waving arm slackened. He peered up and glimpsed what seemed to be a plane. The plane took a tight turn around the island as if looking for prey like a falcon did with a mouse. Red stripes painted its sides and silver wings churned with propeller engines, louder and roaring.

From above, Ajax saw a film of glass slide backwards and saw a man peering down. In his excitement, he waved his arms frantically, heightening the quality of the blazing fire on his flare. The plane twisted once more and dove lower nose diving before pulling up idling in the air.

"Down here! Hey! Hey!" Ajax found himself shouting his heart quickening to finally see another human.

In the twilight the pilot yelled hair flying in the wind. "I'm coming down but you're going to have to jump. The runway along the beach line isn't enough to take off from!" And then, "are there any more of you?"

"No sir!"

"Coming down then, you'll find me by the beach." The plane roared and soared downwards metres away as the pilot's voice faded.

Ajax ran on bare feet into the tropical jungle, startling birds who squawked and took to the skies. He didn't care. He only wanted to go home, to be warm again, and civilised. The ocean and the wild wasn't for him, mother nature had told him long ago.

"You've got to hurry up boy! This engine will die and you'll be coming down with it!"

"I'm trying!"

Ajax burst out from the brambles and sprinted the last ten metres to the plane who hovered over the beach sending up sand clouds which blurred his vision when he neared. He found it odd to see the propeller sticking out from the top of the plane as well as the nose of it and he decided that's how it was steady in the air.

"Jump!"

Launching himself Ajax thought he were in a movie. Everything around him seemed to slow before he slammed torso first into the railing of the plane and clambered aboard.

"I thought you wouldn't make it boy! You proved me wrong. You are different from who I thought you were!"

The pilot grasped a lever and pulled it to his breast. Still holding it where he was the plane soared up over the island leaving the beach line before it was obscured with clouds.

"If you didn't have that flare, I would have never seen you," he laughed roughly and slapped his thigh shaking his burly head as he did so.

"It was just something out of survival, Sir!"

"Ha! Ha! I know it is. Everyone is going to be so proud of you!" Ajax wasn't sure if he was sarcastic or if he really meant it, but all he definitely knew, was he was going home.

## About Olivia

Olivia Towns is thirteen years old and is a year eight student of Heaton Normal Intermediate. She enjoys writing narratives and explanations about scientific phenomenons. Her favourite books are Warriors, Seekers and Survivors, which are all authored by Erin Hunter. Olivia plays in the school orchestra in the brass section as a baritone and is also a part of the choir. You will find Olivia either reading a book, practising on her instrument or working on her writing.

#  One Boy, One Mission

## by Samuel Kolawole

He had just been thrust into it, not knowing anything at all.

***

Now, locked in a pitch black room, the last thing Kane remembered was exiting his school and thinking about what he was going to do with the rest of his day. Maybe he would even get in touch with his always-busy dad. He got half way down Adams Street before a chrome black van abruptly pulled up before his eyes.

"Hey! What's going on? What do you want?"

A man in a formal tie and suit came out and pulled Kane into the van.

"Hey, let me go. Help! Help!" Kane screamed, but nobody came to his aid. The more Kane resisted, the rougher the men acted towards him. Three dreadful hours later, they arrived at a camp on the other side of Sydney. Nothing Kane had seen before or, for a matter of fact, liked. They forcefully escorted him into a room with no sign of light.

***

He had just been thrust into it, not knowing anything at all.

"What do you want from me?"

One man replied, "Look, kid, we'll get the boss and he will have a chat with you, kapeesh?"

Kane gave no reply. Half an hour later, a light shone upon Kane and a strange, tall figure stood before him.

"We're recruiting you," the man said.

"For what?" Was Kane's reply.

"Look, kid, we don't have much time to explain, but we can give you a run-down if that's what you want. We need you to infiltrate this secret underground club in Phoenix, Arizona. We can't have you going straight there or they'll know we're up to something."

"Why me and not some other random year nine kid?" Kane asked.

"We've been studying you for a while now. You have a lot of talent and you're very capable of handling yourself under pressure. You're exactly the type of person we need on this mission."

"I'm flattered," was Kane's reply.

"We don't have time for any basic training or anything fancy like that. I've booked a flight for you at 8:30 am tomorrow morning. We've packed everything you need, so don't worry about a thing."

"Great, just great," Kane muttered. "Where do I sleep if I can't go home?"

"I've taken care of that issue as well. My men will now escort you to your sleeping quarters."

"Thanks, I guess," Kane shrugged in a questionable manner.

***

The gentle, calming breeze and whistling winds put Kane at ease. Thinking about his family made him sad, but he knew as soon as it was over he could go back to the ones he loved, but most importantly he could go home. Sunrise came as a space shuttle branded minivan arrived to pick Kane up and take him to the airport. Kane checked his bags in and then waited half an hour for his flight to arrive. As Kane exited the terminal and boarded the plane, a sense of adrenaline and fear struck him. Memory of family and friends he left behind flashed through his mind and tears streamed down his cheek one by one as he couldn't hold back the river any longer.

***

After a gruelling twelve hour trip from Sydney to the U.S., Kane landed in Santa Fe. He was then greeted by an average-sized male who would be his caretaker during his stay, and also would be briefing him on the missions details.

"Let me formally introduce myself," the man said. "My name is Ray Devins. What's yours?"

Kane gave no reply.

"Look, buddy, I don't want to get off on the wrong foot with you. How about we try that again?"

Still no reply.

"You don't talk much, do you? I guess we should get going then." Ray led Kane to his old black and rusty Nissan. Not what Kane wanted, but still, it was all they had. Plus, going around in a fancy sports car would attract too much attention and give away that something was going down. Ray showed Kane how to get around and then finally led him to a worn down motel.

"This is where we'll be staying for a couple of nights," Ray said.

"Very worn down," Kane stated.

"I knew you could talk!" Ray said.

"Never mind that," Kane said harshly.

As the two entered through the front gate, they got a close up of how bad the hotel actually was. Cockroaches, torn plaster boards, split wood and, worst of all, an omnipresent stench.

The further they walked down the corridor, the worse their opinion became, but they knew it was all they could possibly afford. As they got to the end of probably the longest corridor they'd been through in their entire life, they were met with a middle aged lady sitting behind a desk. Ray dug into his pocket and brought out a ticket with a two digit number on it. She grabbed the ticket and opened a draw under her desk full of keys. She sat there for about a minute digging through probably a thousand keys until she closed the draw and handed one of them to Ray . "Let's get some rest," Ray said, "because you have a big day tomorrow and you need to get sorted."

"Do we get dinner?" Kane asked curiously.

"Yes," was the reply he was looking for, but his question was returned with a simple, "No."

***

"Get up we don't have much time to waste," said Ray.

"Wait, what?" Kane asked in a hollow voice while trying to come to his senses.

"Look we need to run you through the plan. It's not foolproof, but it should work."

"Who are 'we'?" Kane questioned.

"Do you think I wouldn't bring any backup with me? My men will be on the sidelines and you will be able to report to them if you need anything. This is the plan: Kane you will infiltrate your dad's organisation..."

"Hold up! You know about my dad's shenanigans?"

"This is a top level organisation. We know a lot. The hard part is just keeping tabs. Nevertheless, we need to get on with this mission. Your dad's company cannot stay standing. Since you are his beloved son, you should be easily granted access to the building. When you get inside, you need to gather any evidence you deem crucial such as audio tapes and notes. Try to stay away from bodyguards and security or you'll get pummelled by them."

"I'm started to regret signing up for this," Kane squeaked.

"Anyway, try your best to not die and get information that will bring this scheme to a dead end." "How long do I have?" Kane questioned.

"Let me just say not that long at all. The clock is ticking and the old saying goes, 'Time waits for no man,' and if it did, it probably wouldn't wait for the likes of you."

"Hey!" Kane bellowed, slamming the door behind him.

A man in a black suit walked up to Ray with a puzzled look in his eyes, asking, "Was it necessary to insult the boy in such a way?"

"You'll see," was Ray's laid back reply.

Kane walked briskly down the rugged hallway, ignoring the dreaded stench, which wasn't really a topic he wanted to go further into detail on. Kane flicked through his memories of the past couple of moments while intentionally pulling on a frown.

"I've got to get this done. I just want to go back to my friends, to Mom, to my home," Kane sobbed. Going down the steps to get to the first floor, Kane lost his centre of gravity and nearly fell over, which made him stop to take a breath and be more cautious about his surroundings. He was going to have to be more careful if he wanted to get the job done, and done properly. He exited the totalled motel, not knowing where to go. He knew he had to find a way to get into the centre of Arizona, but there was no way he could possible get there without a ride. At that moment, Ray appeared out of a shack right next to the motel.

"How in the world did you get here before me?" Kane asked.

"You do know there's a lift, right?" Ray pointed out.

Kane gave a sigh and not one of relief.

"What are you waiting for? Get in the car already," Ray demanded.

"Hold your horses, mister," was Kane's powerful reply. "Do you even know where you're going?" "Phoenix, Arizona right?"

"You know everything don't you, Ray?" Kane remarked while hopping into a car he was sure he would remember, but not necessarily in a good manner. Kane knew it wasn't going to be as simple as walking in and out in a matter of minutes. No, it was going to be life-threatening, but Kane knew whether he liked it or not, he had no say in the matter. The job must be done and he was the perfect one to do it.

While being restless in his seat, Kane tried not to think of the possibilities that something would go wrong and he would fail.

"Something bugging you?" Ray asked.

"Yeah."

"Well spill it out, I don't have all day."

"Alright, Ray, so I'm feeling a little worried about things going wrong and I that I won't know what to do with myself."

"Look, just let things play out and things will most likely go right, and if anything does go wrong, don't panic or exaggerate, just let your instincts do the hard work. Your role is just to play it out."

"Thanks," Kane replied.

"We'll arrive in about another hour or so. Really it'll depend on traffic as soon as we hit the city."

***

About an hour later, when Kane thought he couldn't take any more sitting still, they arrived in Phoenix, Arizona.

"Finally," Kane muttered in an impatient voice.

"Phoenix is a really beauty," Ray said. It was really something when compared with Texarkana.

They had not a moment to spare, they needed to put their mission into action before leaving any clues that they weren't just people there to sightsee. The two soon pulled up to a very tall and respectable building where no one would dare to look for crimes and scandals, making it the perfect place to make counterfeit profits. The whole business was structured around fake money. If they could somehow shut it down, they'd be able to expose the scandal and put it to a close, which was way easier said than done.

"I'll drive off to make it look like I'm dropping you off. Once you're inside, just stick to the plan and remember, let your instincts to the talking."

"I'll try," Kane said giving an indefinite shrug. Kane was overwhelmed when he walked in, but he knew he had to act natural and not get in over his head because he knew there was more to the place than met the eye.

***

Kane knew he needed to take caution. As soon as he walked in, people knew who he was. They expected big things from him in the near future, but if they found out he was going to betray them, they wouldn't hesitate to give him a beating. Kane spotted the very father he hadn't seen in the past five years. Two years ago, he'd discovered his dad was some sort of a crime lord from his mom.

"Is that you Kane?" His dad asked.

Kane forced a smile to his face while trying to act sane. He felt a mix of emotions, not knowing whether he was going to burst into tears or scream in rage. Watching his father doing something illegal worried him. He had to stop him, but what if his dad went to jail? If his dad hated him, they would never get to bond. All these thoughts rushed through Kane's head, making him dizzy. He didn't notice his dad come up to him.

"It's been so long," his dad said.

"This is what you've been doing with yourself, Dad," Kane asked. "Creating fake money underground?"

"Well y-yes..." his dad stuttered, uncharacteristically.

"You can't do this to yourself," Kane continued.

"B-but," his dad continued stammering.

"You disgust me," Kane finished, and with that there was utter silence.

After Kane left the room his dad called for high alert. He knew that they were up to something. Second by second, doors locked and closed around him until there was no possible chance of escaping. Kane was like a sitting duck, hopeless—not knowing what to do, where to go or even if he would get out alive. Kane browsed through his memory trying to remember what Ray told him, but at that point everything seemed useless: there wasn't any point in trying. Kane fell to his knees with a cry and curled into a ball. Locked up in a dark room just like at the start of his adventure, he gave up, with nowhere, and no one, to turn to. With his eyes full of tears, Kane tried to take in his surroundings. He knew the guards would somehow find a way to locate him and by then it would all be over.

"I can't do this alone," Kane quietly sobbed to himself. Suddenly he started to hear faint voices from the north east side.

"They're opening up the doors," he thought. "If I time this right, I could make a dash for it. It's not like I've got any other option."

He wiped the tears from his eyes. Slowly, the faint voices got louder and louder.

"This one!" A masculine voice shouted.

Kane knew they were on him. The iron gate opened up and a tall and muscular man entered the dark room. Kane positioned himself in the man's blind spot. Even if he was hidden for one second, it would still be enough to make a sprint across the hallway. Kane had no time for second-guessing, he had to run, and he did. Kane sprinted faster than any time he had sprinted before. Once out of sight, he hid in a corner that was almost unnoticeable. He placed himself flat against the wall and felt a sharp pain edging into the back of his right leg. He turned around and found a video tape. Kane hid it in his pocket and made a dash for the exit. Suddenly, light shone down on him. He froze, only to find Ray eagerly awaiting his arrival.

"Took you long enough, kid," he said.

"There was a slight complication," Kane said while handing over his findings. "I snatched this one on my way out," Kane continued while Ray examined it.

"I'll take this to the boss. I'm pretty sure he'll be happy with this. Now, let's get you home. Your flight leaves tomorrow and you need to pack up. Look, I'm really proud of you."

***

Kane landed back in Sydney on Saturday night. The agency sent men to escort him to his home. Once at the door, Kane's mom flung the door open and hit him with a million questions. "Where were you? Are you okay? Tell me what happened? Does your father have anything to do with this? You know I had to call the cops right?"

"I'll tell you over dinner. I'm starving," Kane said dodging the initial questions.

"I'll get you something right away," his mom replied, frantically rushing to the kitchen to get some food. Kane walked in and flicked to the global news channel with his dad's scandal on the breaking news page.

"Dad," Kane thought, remembering the cold but yet somehow warm look in his dad's eyes.

## About Samuel

Samuel Kolawole is a passionate twelve year old writer and footballer. He is not sure what he wants he wants to be when he grows older. Sam finds writing a great pastime and something he can enjoy and put time into.

#  The Runaway Orphan

## by Sara Gillman

Lauren watched miserably as children left the orphanage. She had seen this happen many times throughout the years, and each time a child left for a home she would feel even more neglected than she had before.

She had been there for most of her short life. At the age of three she was abandoned at the steps of the old chapel. She didn't remember her parents that much, only the sweet voice of her mother singing the song that used to soothe her to sleep. She waited day after day for someone to come for her, but they never did.

Her best friend Betty had recently been given a home. They had grown up together and Betty was the only person who really got her. She had watched Betty slowly walk away from the orphanage, her hand within some strangers'. Now all Lauren felt was alone.

Mother Gretel, a lady with a tight top knot and pointed nose, tended to abuse them and make them do chores. Lauren had a scar on her wrist where Mother Gretel had dug her fingernails in—all because she had stood up for Betty. Lauren really hated Mother Gretel, who made the orphanage a scary place.

Lauren had imaginary parents that she would talk to. Her fantasies were always better than her realities. Sometimes, she even thought they were real, but they never were.

Lauren sat on her old bed covered by a filthy bed sheet. The orphanage was very dirty, and at night time you could hear the squeaks of rats lurking in the walls. She had grown used to this and barely took any notice. She peered at the empty bed next to her, tears coming to her eyes. A bed that was once Betty's and now belonged to a stranger. She slowly got up and slipped into her torn blue dress. She looked at her cracked reflection in the mirror on the wall. She looked the same as always, with a messy braid of slightly greasy brown hair, blue eyes and a bunch of freckles. The door creaked open and a sharp voice yelled at her.

"Lauren, downstairs, now!" It was Mother Gretel standing in her night gown, who must have just woken up, as her top knot wasn't as tight as usual.

Lauren hurried down the steps and into the kitchen. She sat down with a few of her fellow orphans who looked just as shocked and they must have had the same wake up. They were given a piece of stale bread with butter and told to eat up.

After eating, they got to work, scrubbing the filth off the dishes and sweeping the floor. Piper, a new orphan, no older than six, was going to put a plate away when it slipped out her grip and smashed on the floor. All the orphans ran away knowing that Mother Gretel would be coming. No more the a few seconds later she appeared at the door.

"What was that noise?"

No one said anything and Mother Gretel slowly looked at the ground, seeing the smashed plate. She looked Piper hard in the eyes and said firmly, "Come with me." Lauren quickly took action. "She didn't do it Mother Gretel, it was me."

Mother Gretel grabbed Lauren tightly by the wrist and dragged her into the next room.

"How dare you smash one of my plates? I paid good money for them!" She snapped.

"I didn't mean to? It just slipped. I'm sorry." Lauren stammered in fear.

"'I'm sorry' won't fix what you've done, but a good punishment will!"

Mother Gretel walked out the room and came back with a whip. Lauren almost fainted at the sight. Mother Gretel whipped Lauren hard on her shoulder and she could feel blood. Tears gushed down her cheeks in pain.

"Now go to your room and next time, think twice before smashing my plates!"

Lauren ran up the steps and into her room, clutching her shoulder. She stripped back her dress to find it in a very bad condition. It was red and raw and tiny blood droplets were running down her back. She wrapped it in an old cloth and held it tightly. She had finally had enough of Mother Gretel and wanted more then anything to leave the orphanage. She had been thinking about running away for a while, but now she was going to do it. Maybe if she escaped she could try finding her parents, then she wouldn't have to go back to the orphanage ever again. She gathered her belongings together, a stuffed bear (the only thing left from her parents), an old dress and a game of knuckle bones she made from some scraps in the bin. They all fitted very easily inside her bag.

She waited until night fell and everyone in the orphanage was asleep, then she made a run for it. She went silently out her room, trying not to wake any orphans and into the hallway. She knew that there was a loose window downstairs that she would be able to climb out of. All that stood in her way was Mother Gretel. She crept past her room, floorboards squeaking beneath her feet and past the open doorway before making it downstairs. Then she found the window, gave it a pull and hoisted herself out.

She was now outside the chapel and on the deserted street. The street lamps faintly glowed yellow, illuminating the road. She took off down the path and into the busy city of Paris. She saw the Eiffel Tower in the distance and it was like a sign of hope. She ran off into the night, clueless of where of to go, but felt like there was something telling her that she was on the right track. They city was like nothing she had seen before, there were colours everywhere and the most unbelievable buildings.

She was walking on the side walk when she passed a small cafe. The lights were still on and there was a small mat that said 'welcome.' She saw a few tables and chairs outside and there was a bright red rose painted on the wall. She felt like she had been here before, it was all so familiar but she couldn't put her finger on it. Had she been here in past? There was only one one way to find out, so she decided to go inside.

A bell gave a 'tink' as she opened the door. There was table and chairs everywhere and it smelled very strongly of coffee. The walls were painted in black and white stripes, and there was majestic artwork everywhere. It was very different to the mouldy old orphanage. She suddenly heard movement coming from the back room.

"Hello, anybody there?" came a sweet, high pitched, female voice.

A lady with ginger hair pulled into a messy bun, topaz blue eyes and rosy cheeks, strutted in from the back room. She wore a pale blue frock with a white apron.

"You do realize we are closed?" The lady said, annoyed.

"Um, I'm very sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, it's just very cold outside and—"

"Do I know you?" the woman asked curiously.

"I don't think so. I have lived in an orphanage for most of my life."

"You look slightly familiar. What is your name child?"

"Lauren, Madam... Lauren Harpers."

The lady looked very startled and whispered something to herself. She then walked behind and counter and came back with an old picture frame. She studied it quickly before showing Lauren.

"I can still remember this day..." she began. " We were at Parc Monceau in the city and we were all having a picnic. Me, my husband Richard, and the Harpers. They were our close friends. They had daughter named Lauren. She was three at the time. They were such a happy family until, until..."

"Until what?" Lauren quivered, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Until she went missing later on that day. From what I can remember we were sitting down on a picnic rug. I was talking to Charlotte and you were playing in the leaves. Next thing we know you have taken off and disappeared. We never saw you again and we thought that you may be dead or kidnapped. Even the police couldn't track you down. I never heard from your parents again after that...."

Lauren now broke into hysterical crying. She couldn't help it, she had finally found out what actually happened that day. The lady then showed her the photograph. It was a picture of her three-year-old self and her parents. She couldn't remember what her parents had looked like, but the picture brought back so many memories. Her mum had brown hair like Lauren, identically done in a braid. She also had a lot of freckles. Her dad, on the other hand, had blonde hair, but had her blue eyes. They all had looked like such a happy family and it pained her that they didn't have that connection any more.

"I wish it could be like that again," she said.

"Your parents were good people."

"Why do I recognize this place so much?"

"When you were little your parents always used to bring you in here."

Suddenly the door opened and a man walked in.

"Julie, I'm home."

"Richard... it's Lauren!"

"Lauren?"

"Remember the girl who went missing?'

"Lauren Harpers?"

"Yes Richard, can you believe it?"

"After all this time?"

Richard was an old but strong man around about fifty. He had balding grey hair and green eyes. He looked very astonished that Lauren was standing in their cafe.

"Hello, Richard," said Lauren in a soft voice.

"Well make yourself at home!" He declared.

Lauren gently sat on one of metal chairs, feeling comfortable as the seat was quite puffy.

"Do you still know where my parents are?" She asked.

"No, I'm afraid not. We haven't heard from them in years. For all we know they could be anywhere," proclaimed Julie.

"You see, I escaped the orphanage earlier because I wanted more than anything to find them."

"We wish we could help you, but there isn't much we can do," Richard said.

"Wait... I just remembered something," Julie chirped.

She went out to the back room and came back with a small envelope in her palm. She opened it up and pulled out a slightly decaying letter.

"This was the last letter your mother sent me," Julie said. "It has her address on it and maybe she could still be living there? It could be worth a try."

She handed Lauren the letter.

"Thank you, this is sure to help."

"Oh, and before you leave darling, just remember, if you need anything be sure to stop by!" Julie insisted.

Lauren left at sunrise and set off on her journey again. She looked at the letter and opened it up. It read:

To my dear friend, Julie

I haven't written to you in a while and I thought it was about time. Lauren has finally learned how to walk! I was sitting in my living room earlier this week and she walked to me sitting on the sofa! I was so excited for her. Anyways I have been thinking and we should definitely catch up soon. What about a picnic in the park? Hope you get back to me soon.

Love Charlotte xoxo

Lauren looked at the back next where she found the address she was looking for. It said in scribbled writing 'number 12, Rue Crémieux, Paris' How was she going to find that address? Just then she walked past a man who was busy in conversation with another man. She heard the words, "we're going to be late!" and "quick to the train station!" Lauren had heard of trains before from the children in the orphanage but never before had she seen one. She decided to follow the strange men to the train station. She had to hurry as they were in a rush and were walking very fast.

Eventually she arrived there. There were many different people and it was very noisy. The train station was made of polished stone and it was huge, but where were the trains? Suddenly she heard a loud chugging sound coming nearer and nearer. A navy blue train came to a stop. It was very strange to her. She really wanted to touch the large thing, but she knew she mustn't. She had heard stories from some of the children back at the orphanage about people being run over by trains and knew they must be dangerous. She suddenly had an idea, what if she went on a train to her address? Would that work? She went up to the Ticket Master and asked if he knew where the address was. He told her to catch the next train and it will take her to that area.

After a while the train finally arrived. She boarded on with a crowd of people and cluelessly took a seat in one of the booths. The sight was very bland as all you could see out the window was the stone wall of the tunnel.

The trip seemed to go on forever but finally she arrived. She was so glad to see the sunshine as she came out the underground train system. Wind was gently brushing the side of her face and nearby trees were swaying in the breeze. She walked around for a bit and eventually found the street she was looking for. It was very beautiful, there were pretty pastel buildings with colourful shutters and lots of tiny pot plants. She walked down the street until she came to number twelve. It was a pale blue pastel house with lots of plants and trees and it had very dainty and quaint furnishings. She approached the spruce door slowly heart thumping fast. She gave it a few hard bangs and stood back a bit. Moments later someone opened the door. It was tall lady whose blonde hair draped in curls down her back and she had the most beautiful blue eyes. She had tight cheekbones and baby soft skin.

"Who may you be and what do you want?" She snapped.

"I'm Lauren Harpers. I've come to look for my parents."

"Ah, the Harpers, they moved out a long time ago, be on your way now child!"

"But please, do you know where they went?"

"Well now, come to think of it, I can remember them saying something about moving to a nearby city if that helps?"

"I guess so," Lauren said saddened.

"Well, I hope you find your parents," the lady said, before slamming the door in Lauren's face.

She was a bit lost at what to do at that point. She felt like she was never going to find her parents. She sat on the curb and cried in despair.

"Oh, what shall I do?" She moaned to herself.

She eventually decided that it would best to try and find a place to sleep for the night. She caught a train back into the centre of Paris, using a small loan of money Julie gave her and returned to where it all started. She was minding her own business, trying to find a place to sleep when a short lady in a brown cloak came up to her. The cloak covered her whole body and all you could she was the tip of her warty nose.

"Hello my dear are you lost?" The strange lady croaked.

Something about this voice sounded oddly familiar to Lauren.

"No, Madam, I am perfectly fine," Lauren said.

"Are you sure? I could offer you a place to sleep?"

"That is awfully kind of you, but I couldn't," she replied.

"I insist," the lady snarled. "Why don't you come in my car and I'll take you to a safe place."

Lauren didn't know what to do, she had never been asked to go into someone's car before, let alone been in one. She really wanted to know what it was like and curiosity eventually got the best of her. The lady made her way into the car and she followed after. Suddenly all the locks in the car went 'click' and the lady pulled off the cloak. Mother Gretel's greasy face gleamed at her. Lauren, who was in shock, tried to scream, but nothing came out. She tried to pull on the door but it wouldn't budge.

"You should have never run away. Now you will be severely punished when we get back to the orphanage," the old woman spat.

Lauren shrieked and squirmed in her seat hoping that it would get someone's attention, but it wasn't much use. Mother Gretel started driving while yelling at her all the nasty things she had planned for Lauren. Lauren screamed and cried hysterically. Large drops rolled down her cheeks creating puddles on the back seat. She had wanted more than anything to get home, but now it seemed like that would never be possible.

Soon enough they had arrived back at the horrible orphanage she dreaded so much. Mother Gretel opened Lauren's door and she made a run for it. Mother Gretel saw it coming and grabbed her shirt collar. Lauren tried to pull away, but it choked her.

"Come on. You belong to me!"

"Stop! I'll never belong to you!" Lauren screamed back.

Mother Gretel pulled her inside and pushed her up the mouldy stairs. She then shoved Lauren into a small cupboard and locked the door, ignoring all the other shocked orphans.

Lauren sobbed to herself for a while. The cupboard was a very confined space. The only light came from the keyhole in the door knob. Along with that, she would occasionally feel a spider crawling on her body. Days passed and she went without food and water. Her lips started the crack as all the moisture drained out her body and her figure became more and more skinny. She eventually felt lifeless and could not stand it any longer.

She was fast asleep when she heard something outside her doorway, that jolted her awake. She peered through the keyhole to see what was going on and another eye meet hers. Her heart skipped a beat and she let out a small noise as she didn't have the energy to scream.

"Hello?" She quivered.

"Lauren, is that you?" It was a voice of a small girl.

"Piper?" Lauren asked.

"Yes, I want to help you. I owe you."

"You couldn't. It would be to risky!"

"Please? I promise I will be OK."

"No, you can't do that!"

"OK, OK, I won't," Piper said, but she pulled a bobby pin out her hair. She always knew that reading those Nancy Drew books would come in handy someday. She straightened the bobby pin and carefully picked the lock. The door gave a small a creek and opened.

Lauren was so surprised that Piper managed this.

"Piper, thank you so much!"

"Anything for my friend."

"I can't stand Mother Gretel any longer, the way she treats us isn't right. Can you help me put a stop to it?" Lauren asked.

"I agree, something needs to be done. I'm happy to help!"

Lauren and Piper discussed their plan and decided the best way to put a stop to it would be telling the police. So at midnight they snuck out, being careful not to wake anyone up and ran back into the city of Paris.

"Follow me," Piper said. "I've been to the police station before. It isn't far!"

They made their way down the deserted streets before finding the old police station. The lights were still on and people seemed to be inside. The bell gave a 'tink' as they entered and a police officer came to there attention straight away.

"May I help you?" He asked.

"Yes, sir, you see Mother Gretel the lady who runs our orphanage, has been abusing us and doing the cruellest things and we thought that maybe you could help us?" Lauren begged.

"Of course, that's our job after all. Can you lead us to this Mother Gretel."

"Yes, sir!" Piper chirped.

They were escorted into one of the police cars and they drove to the orphanage. As soon as they got there the policemen got out the car and made their way to the door. Lauren and Piper got out to follow them and they were asked to stay back. One of them pulled out a gun and the other knocked loudly on the door. Soon it opened and Mother Gretel's face appeared. Her hair was very messy and she didn't seem very happy to be woken from her sleep.

"What is it—"

She had realised a gun was being held at her face.

"You are under arrest, for abusing and mistreating these orphans," one of the police snapped.

Mother Gretel suddenly saw Lauren cowering behind a police officer.

"You!" Mother Gretel shrieked, staring at Lauren. "You did this! You filthy little orphan! I should never have taken you from the park that day!"

"You mean you kidnapped me?"

"I did, you disgusting child."

Lauren was very shocked as she did not see this coming. The police grabbed Mother Gretel and put her in handcuffs. They then dragged her into the police car.

"You will never get away with this!" Were her final words before the door was shut on her face.

"We will move your fellow orphans into a new home. Apart from that is there anything else we could help you with?"

"I don't mean to ask for to much, but I really want to find my parents. Is there anyway you could help?" Lauren asked, still a little overwhelmed.

"Well that can be difficult but we can check our database."

"Thanks," Lauren squeaked.

Finally, Lauren had a lot of stress lifted off her shoulders. Now there was no more Mother Gretel, and she was a step closer to finding her parents.

She hopped into a seat in another police car and was taken back to the station.

The officer searched for her name in the database and came back with some good news.

"Well, I think we have tracked down your parents young lady."

"Really?" said Lauren amazed.

"Yes, I think they are living at this address," he said, showing Lauren the notes.

"So when do you think I'll be able to see them?"

"We can drop you off first thing tomorrow. In the meantime you can get some rest in my office."

"Thank you so much!" Lauren said, practically dying of excitement.

Lauren made her way into his office and sprawled herself out on the sofa. It was very squeaky and springy but a lot more comfortable than what she was used to. She couldn't wait till tomorrow, she would finally be safe and where she belonged. She was so tired from the whole day that her eyes started to flutter shut and she drifted into a long sleep.

She woke up to one of the police men shaking her and telling her to stand up. She quickly got up and was offered a some food by one of the men. She kindly took it and ate it fast, as she hadn't eaten anything for days. Soon they made their way into the police cars and took off into the city once again.

Not much later they arrived and she rushed out the car. The house was small and quaint and looked like it came out of a fairy tale. It was made of nice red brick and spruce wood. She shakingly made her way up to the door and knocked hard. She couldn't believe this was finally happening. She had waited her whole life for this moment and now it was here. The door slowly opened and a middle age women with a brown braid looked down at her.

"Mum?" Lauren whispered.

"Lauren?" She replied.

Lauren threw her arms around her as she cried. Lauren's mum seemed so happy and started crying too. Soon her father came out to see what was going on and joined in on the family reunion.

"After all this time and you find us?" Her father asked.

"A evil lady named Mother Gretel kidnapped me that day at the park! She took me and made me think I was an orphan like the rest of the children!"

"Oh Lauren, that's terrible!" Her mother said.

"I'm so happy to see you again."

"So are we," they said.

All was well for Lauren after that. Mother Gretel had been sentenced to a lifetime in prison and the orphans had a new home. Lauren had one too and she finally felt safe. She received the love she deserved from her parents. She even started going to school and learnt many different things. She finally had a family and never again would she have to watch children leave the orphanage.

## About Sara

Sara Gillman is a thirteen year old student at Heaton Intermediate. She loves writing narrative stories set in fantastical worlds. Her first book, The Tales of Alfia, inspired her to keep writing and pursue her passion. When she isn't writing she enjoys marching. She is a champion marcher and her team, Eclipse, recently won the title of New Zealand champs.

#  Jimmy Bills

## by Scarlett Kentish-Barnes

It was a normal Monday morning. Jimmy Bills woke up in his small apartment. He got dressed, ate a bowl of soggy cornflakes and sat by the fire on his comfy old armchair and read the local paper. Jimmy looked at his silver watch realising it was 8:20, he had about twenty minutes to get to work, so he stood up grabbed his brief case and slumped toward the door. He sighed a long but happy sigh, looked around his home and whispered to himself, "I have such a lovely home." With this he locked the door and slowing wandered down the stairs of the apartment building and out into the new day.

***

It was only 8:36 when he arrived to work which, fortunately, meant he was in a good mood. He strode up the large concrete steps to the science department, he pushed through the glass doors, slipped on his dirty lab coat and, since he was early, took a small stroll round all the experiments. First he wandered over to a glass box. In this glass box were two purple snakes. There was no one around yet apart from two men down the other side of the room. He whistled a little tune, bent over the box and observed the two slithery creatures. Not focusing on his surroundings, his keys were slipped out the top pocket of his lab coat and fell in the box! This caused Jimmy and the snakes, to jump. He stupidly stuck his wrinkled hand into the box to get the keys. Unsurprisingly, a snake leapt up and sunk its dirty teeth into Jimmy's hand.

***

It was only a day later when pain had risen into Jimmy's back and neck. Purple veins started appearing in his arms and legs. It also occurred to Jimmy that he had a much better build than he used to; whenever he looked in the mirror a muscular figure appeared, a six pack replaced the comfy flab on his belly and he became more confident and took risks more often. Each night something different had changed about him whether it was his personality or the food he chose to eat. This carried on for at least a week, when one wintry afternoon, when he was almost at work (he had caught the bus), a loud explosion came from two or three blocks away. Jimmy quickly bounced off the bus and dashed closer to the location of the bomb. There was a strange sensation of feelings going through Jimmy's mind at this point, his brain was telling him to go out there and assist the police who were struggling but part of his head was telling him to go home and let the professionals do their job. Jimmy shook the latter thought out of his mind and rushed out and hid behind a telephone booth. From here he could study the villain closely.

***

The villain was a female, roughly twenty nine years old, with long black silky hair, tanned skin and a shield of dark armour covering her body. He studied her slim face: she looked frightened and panicked. She must not have wanted this; someone must have forced her because they were too scared to do it themselves. A wave of panic rushed over Jimmy as the thought of being injured scared him. Before he could run away and hide, he shook the thought away and considered himself selfish. Still with hesitation in his mind he hurried round and hid behind a mailbox scanning the lady who was now trying to get away. He had to stop her, but not hurt her. Jimmy didn't exactly know what to do, he sprinted and not realising what he was doing he aimed his hand and BANG out shot a slimy purple venom! It fell a few feet in front of the villain causing her to collapse and crash down onto the now cracked concrete. The police stood there gobsmacked at the sight of the women lying there unharmed. Jimmy tried to sneak away without being noticed, but got a loud round of applause. He smiled awkwardly and was about to zoom off when what looked like the head of police came to up to him and grinned under his fluffy grey moustache.

***

About an hour or so later Jimmy had arrived in the large police station. A draft swept past him making him shiver. There was paper scattered all over desks and anxious men and women either huddled over their computers or frantically ran around.

"What's with all the frantic people?" Jimmy asked as he was being led by a large man with a shaven head.

"Well that's for you to ask the chief," he responded and urged Jimmy through the door into a small dark office.

"H-hello?" Jimmy stuttered, looking round the dark room.

"Sit down chap," a friendly but firm voice spoke into the darkness. Jimmy slumped onto a comfy leather chair.

"Why are the lights off?" Jimmy asked. "Should I turn the lights on?"

"Well..." he spoke with an admiring tone, "sure anything you want."

Jimmy felt round the wall for the light switch. Soon enough he found it and flicked it on.

"Arrrrgh my eyes! It burns I tell you!" The chief whined in agony in front of Jimmy, who was feeling a little bewildered.

"Look what you did today was amazing." He leaned closer. "We have a top secret mission for you."

"What? Really? I have nev—"

He cut Jimmy off. "—you can't tell ANYONE, you hear me?" He scrunched up his face, but noticed the scared look in Jimmy's eye. "I... I don't want to seem aggressive. We need you on the team. What do you say?" He held out his chubby hand.

"I want to say 'yes', but what do I have to do?" Jimmy asked as Chief turned around to grab a file from the floor behind him.

"This, here, is what we have found out." He sighed. "This is a very dangerous man. He has escaped from many prisons, and we still haven't found one that can hold him down." He handed the file to Jimmy who flicked through the pages. Jimmy's eyes widened at the sight of the villain.

"What does he plan to do?" Jimmy's asked, now worried. "What do I have to do with this?"

"Ey, slow down, one question at a time." Chief took a breath. "After what you have done today, we want you to fight him."

Jimmy's mouth hung open in shock.

"Me... what? No, I...." he stammered, and flung the file on the desk. "I object. I will not. I will—"

Once again, Chief cut Jimmy off. "If you do, we will give you two million dollars." He grinned and raised an eyebrow. He held out his hand again, but Jimmy hesitated before shaking it.

"Oh, OK, but you'd better do all the hard work because I'm not a professional or anything."

"Okay, you stick to the fighting and I'll stick to the paperwork." Chief thumped a large dusty book on the table. "I will find his weakness."

***

Days later, Jimmy had been training hard. He had a professional, five-time Olympic gold medallist as his trainer. He was tough. He pushed Jimmy until he couldn't walk any longer.

"Please stop," Jimmy begged, sweat running down his back. "I can't take it any more, you're too good."

"Hey!" Coach yelled, staring down with evil eyes over Jimmy. "You don't get better if you don't practice. The more you practice the more you will enjoy it."

"Yeah, yeah, I enjoy it." Jimmy stood up taking a swig from his drink bottle. "It's just you push me way to hard, running just ain't my thing." He grabbed his towel and swung it round his neck.

"Okay then, if you don't like running," he grinned, "let's do push-ups and pull-ups."

"WHAT? BUT..." Coach pushed Jimmy onto the ground.

"I want 250 done by noon." With that Coach left Jimmy on the ground doing push-ups.

"That is so unfair."

***

Two days till the fight.

"JIMMY!" Chief yelled from outside the door to the fancy hotel room. "COME HERE, NOW!"

Jimmy groaned and peered over to his alarm clock. "But it's only 5:30."

"Well too bad. You can get your beauty sleep later, we've got work to do." With that he pushed open the door to find Jimmy buried under a pile of blankets. "Come on sunshine."

Jimmy groans, but Chief doesn't take no sass and pulls the sheets off the bed.

"Get up!" Then Chief grabs the glass of cold water from Jimmy's bedside and tips it over his head.

"ARRRGHHH!" Jimmy springs out of bed. "You know that is unfair!"

"How?" Chief replied, sniggering, "I take an ice bath every morning; I don't hesitate."

"OK then, I'll be down stairs in ten, so toodles." Jimmy pushed Chief out the room and into the flash hallway, slamming the door behind him.

"That boy," he muttered and wandered off down the hall.

***

At about 8:30, Jimmy strode down the stairs of the hotel, yawning.

"When's breakfast?" He peered down at all the annoyed faces glaring up at him, one of them being Chief's.

"Jimmy, you said you would be ten minutes not three hours!" He stared at Jimmy angrily, "the fight will start in two days and now you are just mucking around and I will NOT tolerate this."

"Pffff calm down you lot. I'll be fine." He smiled, showing off his white teeth, and winked at a tall blond girl holding a camera. She glared back at him.

"Oh OK then, so what do you want me to do?" He strode through the crowd of people toward his very mad and angry trainer.

"So, man, what we doing today?" Jimmy asked awkwardly.

"DO NOT CALL ME MAN!" Coach screamed in Jimmy's round face. "I AM YOUR COACH AND THAT'S ALL I WILL EVER BE!"

"Geez, calm down. Look, I'm sorry for being so late," he looked down at his shoes.

"MMMM OK, fine I will still train you," Coach whined, "BUT you must always be five minutes early to every training session from now on."

"But..."

Coach raises an eyebrow.

"FINE, five minutes is the earliest and that's it," agreed Jimmy.

The rest of the day was hard work, but Jimmy felt like something was missing. Something he loved.

***

That evening, Jimmy got suited in layers of strong silver armour that could protect him from bullets and strong punches. Everyone was kind to him, but firm. Chief offered him his some home-baked muffins, but Jimmy turned down the kind offer and strolled over to the fruit and veggie table. He had to be strong. This man he was fighting could come with other people, or even an army. He could have bombs or a giant robot who would destroy.... But that won't happen... would it? Jimmy couldn't stop thinking about what could go wrong, instead of what he could do well. Jimmy walked slowly into the hotel room, suddenly feeling homesick. A shiver ran up his spine. He missed his home, he missed his warm cosy bed, he missed the fire, he missed his tattered old armchair, he missed it all. He missed everything from each spoon to the carpet on the floor. Why do I miss my home so much? Why does it feel wrong to fight? He had thoughts bubbling away in his busy mind. What if I never see my home again? This question rolled over and over in his mind. He felt a tear drive down his cheek when he heard a loud knock on his door, it was Chief.

"Um, Jimmy... I need to tell you something." He opened the door and took a step inside.

"What?" Jimmy felt frustrated, but he didn't know why.

"Well, police have found the criminal and—"

Jimmy cut Chief off. "—YAY! I won't have to fight. I'm so happy," Jimmy bounced up and down, but noticed the frown on Chief's face.

"It's not like that.... You will be fighting him, tonight." He looked at the floor. "There are about one hundred other men there also."

"What? But I... I can't. I thought there was only...." Jimmy stopped. "Why do I have to do this?" he asked.

"What do you mean 'why'? There are people we must save out there, OK?" Chief didn't know how to answer Jimmy's question. "Sorry, but we should head downstairs."

***

Around 6:30, Jimmy and a large team of police officers hid behind the buildings. Soon, the group of criminals came, and when they did it really made the police officers jump.

"MWHAHAHAHA!" Laughed a deep, evil voice.

Suddenly there was an explosion. This bomb was loud. Screams came from innocent people around the area.

Now is the time! Jimmy signalled the officer across from him.

Jimmy moved toward the closest man. He could see the tattoos on the back of his head, he was so close. Jimmy could almost touch him. He nearly jumped out from behind the garbage bin, but two or three other robot men came and surrounded the man as if they knew Jimmy was there. He signalled again to a short scruffy man down the end of the street; the signal carried down the men like a Mexican wave. Around three minutes later what sounded like a bottle being broken crashed a block or so away. So far, Jimmy's plan had worked: due to the sound the men around the villain left to check it out. Jimmy reached for a button on his suit, he pressed it. With this, a form of purple liquid shot out and landed on the back of the man. He turned around.

"WHO DID THAT?" He screamed with rage. "WHO DID THAT? COME HERE NOW!"

All was silent, until Jimmy threw a bottle from the bin over to a brick building, letting it smash.

"WHAT? WHO IS THERE?" The man was getting mad. "WHO EVER IT IS, YOU'LL BE SORRY!" He then just melted. Melted into liquid and rolled away.

What just happened? Jimmy mouthed to the officer down the street, who just shrugged back.

***

It was a long time till he heard the metal feet come back, but this time Jimmy could only hear one pair of heavy feet stomping along the concrete.

"JIMMY," sang the man who glared round the area.

Jimmy's heart was racing.

"All right then." The footsteps slowly came closer and closer until he could hear the breathing of the man. "I know you're there and I'll play nice if you come out now. There won't be... as much trouble."

Jimmy stayed as still as he could. He prayed he wouldn't be seen and wished he could melt like the man did before and just seep into the concrete.

"OK then," the man lifted the garbage bin and threw it, hitting a wooden fence. "Well, well, well, who do we have here?" He grabbed Jimmy by the arm and swung him into a wall.

"Ow!" Jimmy's throat was dry. "Umm... what was I supposed to say? Ahh, oh, of course... NOW!"

Adrenaline rushed through him; everything was a fast, painful blur for the next half an hour: fighting, blood, guns. It was scary being there. He saw the police running and attacking, he felt himself swinging punches and shooting bullets and venom.

Eventually he noticed a heap of bodies lying silently on the ground, not moving. Panic washed over Jimmy. He turned and saw more and more men just lying there. Jimmy felt everything turn slow, he felt a pain in his back, in his chest, he couldn't think straight. These men didn't deserve this, he thought to himself.

Jimmy stumbled into what seemed to be a cake shop and just curled into a ball, he felt ashamed of running, but scared and panicked. He wasn't this type of man. Jimmy felt a tear roll slowly down his cheek and drop to the wooden floor. He closed his eyes and dreamed of his favourite place. His comfy bed, the fire, the heat, the whole house. He remembered the kitchen and the lounge. He missed his home.

***

"COME OUT, COME OUT, WHEREVER YOU ARE!" The horrible voice shook Jimmy awake. "WHAT ARE YOU SCARED OF?" The man laughed.

Jimmy heard the glass of a nearby house smashing into tiny pieces. But Jimmy didn't move, he stayed were he was, completely silent.

"I HEARD YOU LOVE YOUR HOME," he chuckled and broke another window. "WELL, WHAT WERE TO HAPPEN IF I COMPLETELY... DESTROYED IT?"

He swung a sharp weapon round and round in the air. Jimmy didn't know what to do, but he couldn't stop himself. He shot up and darted outside of the shop.

"Don't you even think about thinking ABOUT THINKING about destroying MY HOME!" Jimmy shot venom at the man but he dodged it and laughed.

"Don't be stupid," he cried. "I'm Gangie Garry, so you better wish you didn't just do that." Garry shot a bullet from his arm at Jimmy.

"Oh no you don't," Jimmy dodged it, as if it were nothing! His brain was a blur. He felt tired and weak, but no one ever said anything mean about his home. "Oh it's on!" Jimmy howled.

"Are you sure? Because it's about to go down!" Garry darted closer to Jimmy and hurled a strong punch, but Jimmy caught his fist in his hand.

"No, you don't!"

"What? How did you...?" Garry glared at the two hands. "SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR SWEET HOME JIMMY!" He went to pull his hand back, but Jimmy didn't give up that easily. He tightened his grip and swung Garry around.

"HELP ME!" Gary screamed, as Jimmy let go and he smashed into a brick wall. Garry left a huge dent! Luckily, before Gary could get up Jimmy shot purple venom, and he didn't miss this time! Jimmy didn't stop shooting until an hour or so later when the Chief arrived.

"Wow!" Chief stared at the villain covered in purple goo.

"A job well done... DESERVES A PARTY!" Chief whistled over a van and some men hoisted Gary in and away. "The party is at 6:00 sharp. Don't be late," Chief was grinning ear to ear when Jimmy interrupted.

"Sorry Chief, but I won't be there I have to be... somewhere."

Before Chief could start arguing, Jimmy dashed down the road and into the now-peaceful night!

***

Jimmy strode into his home. It was dark so he flicked the light on. Everything was the same, just the way he liked it. He wandered over to his cosy arm chair and slumped into it.

"Wow," Jimmy splurted out, "this is the best feeling!"

After a minute or two Jimmy jumped up and headed towards his bed, a huge smile grew on his face. "My favourite!" He bounced onto the bed and pulled the fuzzy yellow sheets over him.

"There's no place like home!"

## About Scarlett

Scarlett Kentish-Barnes is twelve years old and is a student at Heaton Intermediate. Her favourite series at the moment is Geek Girl by Holly Smale! She plays netball and does rock climbing. In her spare time she loves cooking and baking. Scarlett enjoys writing and the opportunity with the writing enrichment class really boosted her confidence with trying new styles of writing!

#  Seven Seashells

## by Sienna McEwan

Carden walked carefully along a line on the side walk. She focused on her target, her mother's Audi, while her feet automatically stepped one in front of the other, perfectly coordinated, a result of years of practise. Slowly she arrived outside the almost brand-new car, opened the door and unenthusiastically climbed inside. As usual, her mother, totally uninterested in her daughter's daily life, had her attention locked on her brand new iPhone 7S + Rose Gold she had imported from the USA. With no intention to talk to Carden, she turned on the engine and, still on her phone, reversed onto the road. Carden's mother was a very self-absorbed person, and that characteristic was portrayed very clearly when she drove on the roads. She had the extremely unsafe habit of going through orange lights that were about to turn red, and she thoroughly enjoyed honking the horn in needless situations.

***

As they pulled up the steep, windy driveway that lead to their massive estate, Carden felt her OCD rising in her mind. Falling off the edge, crashing against the cliff, plunging into the deep, deep, water.... Carden squeezed her dark blue eyes shut, gripping the door handle as hard as she could, trying to take deep breaths. They came out shaky and unsturdy, just like she felt. With all her willpower, Carden tried to block out all of her ferocious thoughts, but, as most of her attempts to do this went, the ideas still found their way to fill her brain. Finally, the car reached the top of the drive, and Carden leapt out as fast as she could, thankful she was still alive.

Now, you may have wondered why Carden's parents ignored her so much. Well, it all started when her father got his new job. He started to spend more time at work, and be on his computer a lot. After a bit, her normal, middle class family suddenly became rich. Really rich. Her mother bought all this new stuff, and Carden got sent to an expensive private school. Then, little by little, her mother and father forgot about her.

Carden pushed open the front door and dumped her school bag at the foot of the stairs as she raced up to her room on the first floor. As she entered her room, she slammed the door behind her, and threw herself onto her plain white, grey and peach bed. She lay there, still and unmoving, until she was sure that all of her intruding thoughts had disappeared. Then, she stood up and changed into some beach clothes. She put on a pair of jandals and slung a smaller bag on her shoulder. Two deep breaths and she was out the door.

"I'm going to the beach!" she called out. Her mother didn't answer, mainly because this happened everyday, at the exact same time, the exact same way. Besides, Carden never waited for a reply, so, what was the point?

Carden left her Sumner home, trying not to look over the edge of the cliff it was perched upon. She hated going up and down the road to the beach, but she loved the beach, and she would go to extreme lengths to reach it. Sumner beach was her security, her assurance that she was safe.

Carden arrived at the beach, safely as per usual. She began her calming procedure of collecting seashells. This was her most overriding OCD habit. She had a knack of finding the best looking seashells, and then she would stow them away in jars of seven, hidden on top of her plain white bookshelf. She busied herself, intent on unearthing the most sophisticated of shells. She rummaged through the many rock pools scattered around the rocks. Each time she found a seashell that met her rigorous standards, she would place it carefully into the small peach-coloured bag. After a long afternoon spent on the beach, Carden was finally content with her day's findings. She stood up, stretched, and began the steep incline up the cliff and towards her home.

As Carden reached her home, she let herself in through the backdoor and clambered up the stair to her room. Shutting the door behind her, she rummaged around in the back of her wardrobe for a new jar. She finally found one and pulled it out. She emptied her bag and began applying her criteria to today's shells. As she judged each shell, a flow of warmth and relief flooded her veins. The queer comfort she found healed her OCD, for a little while at least. At last, she placed the final shell, the seventh one, into the jar. Carefully closing it, she stood up and walked to her bookshelf. Rising up to her tiptoes, she placed it delicately on the top, aligning it precariously with her other jars. Done.

"Dinner's ready!" The Burke's family butler was a chubby man, with a thin shaking of light grey hair, which he combed across his forehead, making it look (from a distance) that he was not almost completely bald. Apart from his far-from-handsome looks, Mr. Blake was a cherry man, and Carden enjoyed his company very much.

"Thank you, Mr Blake." Carden smiled as he placed an exquisitely plated dish, the third meal in her family's usual seven-course degustation. Carden's parents ignored their butler. Carden watched observantly. The dish was a Michelin Star-worthy meal, although it was approximately five mouthfuls. Carden was used to these small meals, and rarely made the common mistake of eating them quickly.

It began as a small shake, barely enough to knock a glass over. But it grew stronger, stronger by the second, until it was a raging storm, powerful enough to overturn the strongest of towers. The monster took its time, demolishing Carden's home slowly, wall by wall, room by room. It did not take too long for the Burke family to realise that if they stayed inside much longer, they would not make it through. Carden's mother and father ran about, trying to save their expensive devices from ultimate destruction, while Carden, so scared she could hardly breathe, slowly made herself aware of her advancing death.

"RUN!" Mr Blake yelled, carting all of the maids and chefs employed by Carden's father out the door. No one was aware that Carden wasn't breathing. She wasn't moving either. Until, something clicked in her mind telling her to GET OUT. So, she got out.

***

"7.1 earthquake hits Christchurch residents by surprise as—" Carden's mother switched the 100" flat screen television off, the third one in their new luxury apartment. The reluctant Burke family had to temporarily move into an inner city apartment, as the earthquake had partially destroyed their seaside mansion. Two weeks after the earthquake that tore their city to pieces, there was still no sign of love, not even a flicker, in Carden's parents.

***

"It's eight o'clock. I'll drive the child to school." Carden's father rose from the exquisite armchair he was relaxing in, and, miraculously, put his phone away in his back pocket.

"Bye, Mum." Carden looked at the ground as she walked past her mother. There was no reply.

The ride to school was silent. Her father had always been a man of few words, and Carden had never really made a connection with him. Sometimes she mourned that, but she was so used to being ignored she almost forgot what it felt like to be loved. The only place she felt wanted was at school, especially after the earthquakes. She didn't have any friends there, but she adored her English teacher, Miss Merith, and Miss Merith adored Carden. Carden was her most prized student: she was always focused and always had her work done on time, unlike most of the other students. Miss Merith knew that one day Carden would be accepted into Harvard. Well, how couldn't she be, being ten years of age and smarter than most eighteen year olds? It was Carden's dream to become neuroscientist one day.

Her father's car pulled up right outside the gate of St Margaret's College, and Carden quickly exited the vehicle.

"Bye, Dad." Carden slung her backpack over her shoulder and entered SMC. Her father did not reply, as usual. The only thing that wasn't usual about him today was that he did not touch his phone, and also, instead of turning onto the left road like he normally did, he turned onto the right road, the way back home. Carden pretended not to notice.

Walking into the school grounds was a relief for Carden. She felt like she had just escaped from an eternal prison, and that she was finally free to be who she truly was: the brainbox everyone else knew she was. The school bell rang at eight thirty on the dot, just as Carden entered her Tutor Group's room. Ms. Cullen, her cruel home-room teacher, yelled out the roll sharply.

"Jessie! Mia! Carden!" Ms. Cullen took a brief pause and her eyes fluttered over to her most hated student, and gave her a bitter, heartless smile, that Carden categorised as more of a snarl. Finally, physics came along.

"E equals MC squared because...."

This was the first lesson Carden had ever attended in which she was not at all attentive. Of course, she already knew why E equals MC squared, but she would usually still listen intently, especially because it was her second favourite subject. But she couldn't help not listening today, because she was sad, alone, confused after the past few weeks of trauma and neglect. But most of all, her OCD was terrorising her. Everything she thought of was twisted and frightening. She was confined in her own fear.

"Energy is...." "Speed of light squared...." "Mass multiplied by...."

The world was spinning, fear was consuming her, fright was eating her alive. Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep—. Her mind was telling her to block it out, stop it from getting in, but she succumbed miserably to the torture of her brain. She wasn't moving, wasn't breathing. Someone please help me....

***

Beep, beep, beep. The constant noise of a hospital monitor roused Carden from her deep slumber. Shapes and colours swam around in front of her, disorientating her. She tried to speak but her throat was as parched as a desert.

"Water?" She croaked weakly.

"She's awake!" A voice Carden hadn't heard in a long time spoke up, finally. Her father.

Someone carefully tipped some water into Carden's mouth, and she thankfully gulped it down.

"Mum? Dad?" She questioned tentatively.

"We're here, sweetheart." Her mother answered softly as Carden looked up towards the familiar figures of her parents. She was overcome by relief and happiness. Her parents hadn't forgotten about her, they were right in front of her, kneeling beside her bed, staring at her, eyes filled with tears of happiness and joy, if not a bit of repent and sorrow.

"Are you alright?" her father asked gently.

"Yes, now that you're here." Carden's reply finally tipped over her mother's tears, and they spilled over, dribbling down her cheeks and landing in droplets on the white hospital sheet.

"We're so, so sorry," Carden's mother blubbered, crying uncontrollably, shrivelling under a wave of shame and disappointment.

"It's OK, Mum."

"Not it's not. I left you all alone, I ignored you, I didn't even care about you. All I cared about was my new phone. I didn't even notice your OCD. I didn't care at all."

"It wasn't just you, honey." Carden's father put his arm around her mother. "I did the same. Thank goodness that blasted business left it under the rubble."

"What do you mean?" Carden asked, confused.

"Your father's company went out of business after the earthquake," her mother began. "We don't have enough money to move back into a big mansion any more, not that we think you'd want to after this, or to buy any devices, new phones and all that, but—"

Carden interrupted her mother. "It doesn't matter, all I want is you. I want my family back."

***

"Catch me if you can!" Carden smiled, running along the beach, dodging past her father.

Her mother laughed, biting into a fresh apple. After Carden's panic attack, the Burkes moved into an older house across the road from the beach, where Carden could be close to her comfort zone.

She still attended St Margaret's College, where she was given extra support for her learning, and was excelling rapidly.

Her father got a normal job, and her mother became a full-time mum. Since then, Carden's OCD disappeared, and she could now roam freely, away from her fears.

Carden had achieved her biggest goal of all: to get her family back.

## About Sienna

Sienna McEwan is a currently a year eight student attending Heaton Normal Intermediate. She enjoys writing realistic fiction and fantasy novels. Her favourite books include the Finding Serendipity series and the Spark trilogy. If she isn't writing or reading, you will find her swimming.

# Lottie

## by Sophia Watts

Lottie Richards was just your average eighteen year old party girl with a character of her own. She grew up surrounded by friends, family and lots of money. Ever since she was little, she had never really been into fairies or princes, but rather surfing. She had begged her parents to buy her a surfboard and now it hung up on her wall. Lottie loved hitting the waves whenever she had free time. Her father was the owner of McDonald's worldwide, and her mother was the CEO of Emirates, which meant they travelled a lot. Lottie lived in Sydney, Australia and attended Royal Prince Alfred Private School. Going to a private school, Lottie had loads of friends and fun, but she had been warned many times that if her grades didn't improve, her parents would send her far, far away.

***

Lottie's day was going great until she realized her parents would be receiving her mid-year school report. As Lottie passed through the winter leaves decayed into the ground, all the thoughts of what the waves are going to be like and how cold it's going to be today ran through her mind like bee's frantically searching for pollen on a cold winter's day. This wonderful and easy going thought was put on hold when the dooming thought of what was about to hit her when she got home; the middle school report would be lurking around the house any moment now so she might as well enjoy one more cleansing session with Mother Ocean. By chance, mother nature was good that afternoon. The swell was a crisp four foot with a light offshore wind blowing, making the waves like cradling arms, but she knew the joy was not going to last.

***

It hit like a train coming at full speed. Lottie was being sent away to America. She couldn't believe it. How was she was supposed to survive without her friends? What would it be like over there? What would the people be like?

"Mummy and Daddy better book me a business class seat on Emirates!" she thought.

***

The next morning Lottie woke up with a dread of strangeness and fear as she came to the realisation that she was in a completely different bed in a completely different house. Frantically searching around and yelling for her parents Lottie soon realises her parents weren't joking, and now she was somewhere far from Australia, and not to exaggerate maybe even out of this planet or UNIVERSE!

As Lottie took her first steps down the long, mysterious, dim corridor, she felt a strike of nerves running down her body like a ferocious waterfall crashing to the ground. Tall paintings hung off the wall and a long strip of carpet raced along the magnificent heated concrete floor. It was really just one big blur. One moment, she had been lying in her bed at home, texting her best friend Chelsea, and the next, she was in some mysterious land. As she made her way down the fascinating staircase, she could can hear small voices talking about what a magnificent feast they were cooking up. She didn't blame them. It smelled amazing. The voices got louder as she got closer. A string of nerves tightened around her rib cage as she prepared to take her first step into the kitchen and meet the people behind the voices.

"Agh, you must be Lottie Richards," said a tall, abrupt woman with hair like a lion.

"Ah, yes, yes I am. Where on earth am I? And why has nobody told me how I got here or who they are?"

"Good questions, my dear. I am your new guardian, Zila, and I will be your teacher for the next few classes—until you pass every normal school subject. Now move along. I've made some breakfast for you and I've put your uniform in your wardrobe."

Putting on a completely different uniform felt strange. It reminded her of just how different this world was compared to Sydney. As she took a quick glance in the long mirror, her eyes fixed straight onto the embroidered school logo that stuck out of the dark blue navy ball gown.

She headed out the big intimidating French doors. Looking around, she was still confused as to where she was. A palace, or castle, or a mini kingdom?

Walking through the large gates of Lottie's new school, the big bold name caught her attention: Oskaria Educational School.

She felt the string of nerves pull tighter around her body, as if a python was curling itself tighter around her by the minute. Everyone seemed to have their own groups of friends. One area of the ginormous school was the cool students, then, under a reasonably big tree, came the elegant stay-out-of-trouble ones, and then the top-of-the-class nerds. Pulling her back to reality, a tall elegant boy with blonde hair and the most beautiful blue eyes jumped out at her and introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Henry Paddington. I don't think I've seen you before. Are you new?"

Back in Australia, Lottie wasn't really that into boys, but Henry was just heart melting.

"Y-y-yeah, I'm Lottie Richards. I just got transferred here from Sydney, Australia—If you know where that is." Lottie could feel herself blushing and at the same time thinking, 'I sounded like total loser. Who says 'If you know where that is'? Aghhh, I've ruined everything!'

"Haha, no. I know where that is," he replied awkwardly.

8:45am

As the first bell rung, every student rushed towards their classes with excited looks on their faces. Lottie's first class was home-room, where she expected to meet some new people and hear any notices that she needed to know, which would be read out by her new teacher, Mistress Hermione Lodge. As Lottie took her first steps into the classroom, she mentally divided the area into sections. Front—to many questions asked; Middle—to many social nerds; Back—Henry Paddington...

'Wait, what? He's in my home room?' Nervous thoughts ran through Lottie's mind, but were interrupted when Henry approached and told her to come sit next to him. Home-room lasted for fifteen minutes before Lottie was handed a schedule of her day. At five past nine, she had an English test, which was followed by a mathematics test.

After she answered her last maths question, Headmistress Lodge told her she was going to be assigned to a tutor that she would meet and spend most of her day with. Waiting outside the small glass room was Henry Paddington. Lottie couldn't believe her eyes. Why did it have to be him?

As her first few weeks came to an end, she and Henry were discussing the square root of twelve and laughing as she was way off with every answer. As the new flowers bloomed, Lottie made plenty new friends and got closer to Henry. She was thinking fondly of him when suddenly the lunch bell rang and everyone scrambled around, trying to find their tutor. Lottie's afternoon subject was simply to hand in an inquiry project on how the human brain worked. That was it for the day.

***

A few weeks later, Henry and Lottie were getting close. She thought maybe he liked her, but she didn't feel like she was learning a lot. When she asked Henry why, he admitted that he had not been trying to help her pass because he didn't want her to leave. She decided to end it with him and went to the Headmistress, who thought it would be better if Lottie did her tasks by herself and only asked Henry for help if she really needed it. Lottie returned to her room, hot headed, feeling a rush of anger over Henry's sabotage.

***

The next day, Lottie had to sit her end of year test, which would decide if she got to go home to her family and friends. Nerves slowly trickle down her body as she headed towards her Headmistress' office to find out if she had successfully passed her test and if she could return home.

The air was filled with joy as Lottie received the news she'd been waiting for all along. Her mother was coming to visit her and maybe even take her home!

The next day, she woke to the sound of footsteps coming towards her door. As her eyes slowly adjusted to the daylight, she saw her mother's warm smile as she stood over the edge of her bed.

"Mum!" Lottie said as she jolted up to hug her.

"Lottie!" They embraced and Lottie felt a rush of excitement, being with her mother again.

A few moments later, her mother said, "So there are a few things that I would like to discuss with you."

"Okay, well what is it?" Lottie asked.

"Well, I am actually from Oskaria and I was sent to Earth because I needed to be disciplined. I decided to stay and... you know how I travel a lot for work?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I actually travel back here to Oskaria to see my family. Hermione Lodge, your headmistress, is my sister!"

"Oh my God, when I first met her she reminded me so much of you!"

"Now to the serious business. Because you have successfully passed the test, you have the choice to either stay here and come home whenever you want to, or travel back with me. The option is yours."

All the memories of her loving friends flashed through Lottie's thoughts, but within seconds she also thought about all the good times she'd had with her new friends, and what about Henry? If she left, she would miss him dearly.

"I think I just need a little bit more time to think about the decision."

Her mother nodded in agreement.

***

A few hours later, after she caught up on all the juicy gossip and spent some quality time with her mother, she came to a final decision.

"Mum, I think I would like to stay and live here and come back whenever I like, because Oskaria is so beautiful. It reminds me of the movie Frozen! But today, would I be able to come home and spend maybe a week or two?"

"Yes, of course, honey. It will be great to see our Richard family legacy carry on in Oskaria. Oh, and I think your Aunt Hermione has a surprise for you. She would like to see you in her office in an hour, so get up. I'll make some breakfast while you get ready and shower!"

***

As the clock in Headmistress Hermione Lodge's office passed ten past twelve, Lottie finally learned that Oskaria wanted to crown her Princess of Oskaria! As the headmistress got up to shake Lottie's hand, she hesitated and drew her in for a hug, saying, "Please call me Hermione. After all, you are my niece."

Everything after that fell nicely into place. Lottie got to spend a whole month back home, and after the travelling spell was put on her, she and Henry got back together. She told him that she had decided to stay because of him, and then she was crowned Princess of Oskaria (because her mother was the queen of Oskaria, so it was only fair that she became princess)! And now, because she had finished school, she got to tutor those younger than her who were struggling at school. So yeah, she guessed it wasn't so bad after all.

## About Sophia

Sophia Watts is thirteen years old and attends Heaton Normal Intermediate. She loves to read action and fantasy novels. Her favourite book is Faceless by Alyssa Sheinmel. When not reading and writing, Sophia loves to learn about space and play hockey and basketball, but in summer go to the beach and listen to music.

#  Jayei

## by Thesara Dissanayake

It would be frigid and dark, but the alluring black night would wrap around us like a blanket warming us, making us forget about all the things we didn't have. Instead we would think about what we did have—freedom and love. But that was only before. Before my mother was grabbed by the black hand of death and wasn't given back. Now I'm here, alone on the streets, and the night isn't a blanket any more. Now that Mama's gone, I've lost everything I had and the night is just night.

I clutch on to the last thing she left me—a small green elephant made with glass bottle pieces. The eyes are made of gold. My hand completely covers it, but the moon makes bits of shining light escape out of my hand. I feel as if I'm holding a shooting star. I slowly close my eyes and wish. Maybe one day, when I am older, I will become a writer and teach poor children to write and read. I start humming a tune in my head from one of the songs Mama used to sing to me. Though the words have faded, the tune stays imprinted in my mind.

I am Jayei, although Master calls me Filthy, Horrid, and other things I don't like to be called because these words aren't really my name. If I had a dime for every time he called me by my name, I'd have no money at all which is probably why I am not snobby, selfish and blinded by riches like my master. Sometimes, I want to have a turn saying what is in my heart instead of my brain, but the fear pulls my heart back and lets my mind do all the speaking—which means saying nothing at all. The fear that makes me question whether I'll still be alive at this time tomorrow. There is only one person I know that doesn't call me these types of things. She doesn't use her voice so I don't know what her name is. I call her Akerele, which means she's small, but strong. My name means as strong as an elephant, so we are similar. But even if she did speak, I feel that she would still call me by my name and not labels like Master.

Echoes of squeals and laughter chasing each other start to percolate in my ears. Footsteps filling up the emptiness in my head. Silhouettes of dolls prepped up in bows and ribbons appear in the darkness. Their pigtails are braided back and their wrists are wrapped in daisy chains. Their waists have been crushed into tiny corsets. I try to scramble away and hide, but it's too late. The figures stare down at me, peering at my worn-down rags. Judging my nothing. Their fair skin is almost whiter than the moon glistening upon them.

"What's the filthy servant girl doing out this late at night?" one of the master's daughters sneers. I look away, too frightened to even dare look into their eyes. The oldest snatches the diary I am writing in.

"What's this? 'It would be frigid and dark, but the alluring black night would wrap around us like a blanket warming us.' What are you? Some sort of poet?"

I try to keep in my anger, but it gushes out of me at once. I yell at her, slapping my diary out of her hands, then instantly regret it. She fights back and pulls my hair, teasing me about how curly it is before moving on to my dark skin, smothered in flaws. She snarls as she pushes me into the mud. "Oh, where's the servant girl? Is she camouflaged in the mud?"

Every smug smile and snicker of theirs leaves transparent scars on my skin. Finally they decide to leave and let me breathe.

I take a moment to gasp for breath before picking myself up off the ground and running down the hills, ignoring the fact that the sharp rocks on the ground are cutting into my feet. Half of those rocks are probably pieces of Master's beer bottles. It didn't hurt as much as the words sliced into me every time those girls spat out their insults. There is no light any more—the girls even scared the moon away—so I have to touch the rough walls of the barn to get in. Slowly, I lay down on a pile of hay next to Akerele, trying my best not to wake her.

Black girls are not meant to write and read, nor go to school. The only thing I've ever been taught by Master is that we don't deserve to go to school, but I feel that everyone deserves a chance to dream. So I stand here in the cold, writing in my diary, even though it's forbidden. It's what I like to do. Writing for me is a bit like Romeo and Juliet, a forbidden love. The only reason I know how to read is because my mother taught me the sounds of the English alphabet. One day I found a book about the play Romeo and Juliet, which had fallen from one of Master's daughter's school bags. By revising what Mama taught me, after a few years I learned to read along with writing. Although I am sad, I feel as if I've run out of tears. My eyes finally close, pulled down by tiredness.

A small ray of sun manages to crawl between the slits in the walls, hitting my face with a warm glow. I wake up to find two big brown eyes fixated on me, a glint of fear in the corner of each one. It's Akerele. I open my mouth to ask what's wrong, but I get interrupted by the sound of lightning crackling in a storm. A coiled up whip pounces at me, making the ground vibrate and goes back to it's usual resting spot: Masters hand. Master stands there glaring me down with his bloodshot eyes—red from drinking too much. My diary is in his left hand and the whip—or as I call it his pet snake—in his other hand. The temperature in my body escalates with every second, but my fear seems to keep me controlled, for now...

Then one thing leads to another and suddenly I don't know what I'm doing. One minute, I'm lying helplessly on the ground, the next, Master's placed his hand over his mouth, blood dribbling out of his nose down onto his tucked in shirt. I'm too scared to even run, knowing there will only be more consequences. I just remain in my tracks, caught red-handed with Master's red blood dripping off my hands. Suddenly, Master stands up. His fist comes for me. I finally snap out of it, but I lose against not only Master, but myself. Master's fist, the barn, the dusty floor, all goes blurry before merging into nothing but darkness.

I wake up. My surroundings have completely changed. The sudden difference makes my eyes hurt. I have to blink a few times to come back to reality. I look around to see a million eyes following me. I'm not afraid of them, but I am afraid of the 500,000 faces judging every choice I make. One of the pairs of eyes stays glaring up at me by my side. They're big and brown. Akerele squeezes my hand. I can sense she's frightened from the way her pulse keeps pumping from her heart to the tips of her fingers, gaining speed each second.

The judge starts to ramble on about something. Whatever it is, all I want to do is object, but I can't. For the first time ever, I have no words with which to defend myself. They've all been kidnapped by fear because my fear would rather have me be safe and die, instead of risking everything to stand up for myself in this situation.

Everything suddenly goes in slow motion as the judge hits his desk with his hammer, making his final decision. Death by hanging due to the attack on my master. I look down at my cracked bare feet. I've finally given up.

"No!" A small voice squeaks from right beside me.

"Excuse me? You don't have the right to speak unless you want to end up like your friend right here," the judge replies spitefully, a confused look smeared all over his face.

"I said, I will not obey!" Akerele bellows, her voice getting louder to the point where she's almost roaring. For the first time Akerele has spoken. She starts to speak about the fact that though we are different, we are still people. I don't know what exactly she's saying because I'm still shocked, but every single sentence, every word, every sound that comes out of her small mouth is more valuable than gold and more powerful than anything in the world. I feel her pulse slow down to a tranquil speed as she becomes more confident.

It's the next day. Not only is it the next day, but also my last day. I am going to be killed. There is no way of changing that, but I can make a change in what happens after I am killed. If I am to die, I want the last words in my diary to count. I don't know what to say, what to think, what to write. I hope that one day someone will read this—maybe a girl just like me—and she will learn from my life to stand up for what she believes in.

My hands are shaking as I'm writing, the ink dribbling down these pages just like the tears dribbling down my cheeks. Seeing Akerele talk for the first time made me cry—not because I was sad, but because I was happy. I don't know what it was, but I had a feeling at that moment. A feeling that made me want to hold on to Akerele's hand forever. She sacrificed her life to stand up for me. We cry on each other's shoulders, hugging each other (although there is nothing much to hug but skin and bones wrapped in a few rags). We wipe each other's tears, but it's no use since they keep coming back.

"Jayei..." Akerele manages to get out through all those tears.

"Yes," I reply, trying to keep it all in, though it doesn't work.

"I'm glad the first time I talked was with you, and that the last time I talk will be with you too," she whispers in my ear softly. I burst into even more tears but hold her even tighter in my arms.

Unfortunately, Jayei and Akerele were killed later that day. Although they are gone, their words have stayed. Not just just diaries, but also in Jayei's famous autobiography and in newspapers. This supported the growing feeling that slavery was wrong. Jayei and Akerele's bravery helped put a stop to slavery in the United States. The last thing Jayei wrote in her diary was:

Our bodies will wither like the roses draining of colour surrounding our graves, but our souls will stay standing proudly. We won't be able to speak, but our words will stay engraved on paper. You can try anything you want, but even when we are dead, our force of love will never let you cut through.

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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 & Fran Atkinson- Editors

# 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

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### Fran Atkinson

Fran is an author and counsellor-in-training. She is a founding member of the Christchurch Writers' Guild and enjoys working to support young authors in the community. You can read one of her stories, "Evacuation", in the anthology _Regeneration_ , edited by Anna Caro and Juliet Buchanan.

# Other titles by the editors:

Chronicles of Tyria: The Silver Hawk

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Home: 2017 – Group Two – Heaton Extension Writers Anthology

Courage: 2015 – Year Eight – 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
