After a long hard day
The workers enter into the building, tired from the long hard day. They all know how tiresome the work that they do, starting the day by getting up at an unholy hour in the morning to grab a quick breakfast before heading off to their own separate areas of work. They make sure they have everything ready for the day, going from the pack lunch to the raincoat which they forgot to bring. The workers exhaust themselves as they try to communicate to the scouts in all the various languages in the world. When they come back, after they put away their equipment, they go off and gather in the one place in which it welcomes all people of every nationality, the bar. They sit down, drink and talk as they celebrate the end of the day in all their own various ways. When they finish, they head back to their tents to rest, in the comfortable knowledge that it is another day gone before the end of the Jamboree.
Ariadne and the god of wine
Standing upon the soft grass, the woman, Ariadne, stares broken hearted over the barrier of water to the boat of love sailing away into the distance. Here she stands, tears of sorrow falling down her face. Abandoned and marooned on an unknown Island, exposed to the elements of loneliness and solitude.
She hears a noise, a riot of voices screaming aimlessly into the night. She turns to see a great imposing figure coming towards her, followed by a rabble of sinful people, all under the influence of alcohol. Scared, Ariadne cowers away from the strangers, praying to Zeus for them to leave. But the leader of the crowd does not leave, instead he poses to her, like an adolescent showing off to girls of stunning beauty. He tells her, his voice trickling like running water, his breath smelling of sweet wine, that he is the great god Bacchus. She listens to him confessing his heart's desire to her as she falls into the stupor of the alcoholic fumes that seemed to be his perfume.
Ariadne, in the sweet bliss of drunkenness, allows her immortal suitor to carry her off to the stars.
Beast of the deep
The fisherman grabbed onto the rigging as the little fishing boat pitched again. The Beast was back. The fisherman clung on for dear life as another one of his crew mates fell into the water and into the clutches of that foul Beast of the deep. The fisherman knew that he and his friends were to blame for this attack as they took the fish from the deep sea with their trawl nets. The pickings were good as they made their profits back upon the shore to help feed their families, not caring for the damage they cause to the underwater realm. The fishermen received their warning from the sage of the sea, who told them in a voice like the rolling of waves, that when the red star shines the Beast of the deep shall rise to claim their souls.
The fisherman now regretted not heeding the sage's words and prayed to the Almighty to have mercy on his soul as he too fell into the water and into the clutches of the Kraken, the Beast of the deep.
Out in the docks of Cowes 1942, ships and planes are produced to help defend our country. Night falls and with it comes the dreaded wail of the sirens, like the mythical Banshee screaming an omen of death. The bombers dive and release their deadly cargo upon the factories and houses of East and West Cowes. People rush to aid the wounded and help the firemen, all the time waiting for the promised RAF night fighters to come and fend off the hornets from the bees nest. The planes do not come, the bombers swarm in waves and hope collapses until the sound of cannon fire echoes down the Medina. It is the Blyskawica, pride of the Polish Navy, fending off the attackers.
Oh how brave you are Blyskawica, a refugee from a homeland overrun, a stranger in a foreign country. Like the fabled Thunderchild of War of the Worlds you fight on alone, like the valiant Victory you stand your ground, your commander Francki refusing to give into the onslaught brought upon the people. Your name shall be remembered by the people of Island you helped save. Even now, 65 years on, your name is held in the highest of honours.
Nestled down by the sea, along the golden beach under the emerald hills, lies the little town of Bough Water upon the two banks over the fresh water river. This little town is a refuge, a haven for the weary traveller and the tired sailor. Children would play in the trees that over looks the river or race each other to the boats in the harbour of Bough Water. An old red bricked water mill sits up river to the town, though abandoned many years ago, its wheel still goes round in the flow of the water that leads to Bough Water.
Within the town, Old Frank Man sits upon the docks that look out to the wide blue sea, smoking his pipe as he recalls the days of adventure fresh in it's youth. On the bridge of Bough Water, Toby Hickets the post master waits for Jenny Lee of the brewery to come. Mayor Thom visits the local school, helping the promotion of recycling as Joseph Miller teaches a class. Reverend Merdock greets Good Nanny Mildrew as he walks down the streets to Bough Water's local shop for milk and bread.
The ghost of Young Lilly roams the streets of Bough Water under the pale moon and the twinkling stars, still waiting for her young man to come back from the war.
Every Friday night, the town's folk come to The Siren Inn to celebrate the end of a busy week with drink and song.
A shadow looms over me, obscuring the rays of joy. The foundation of my being cracks and crumbles. This is how I feel in my Dark days. Iblis imps laugh and mock me upon my left shoulder. I can see that the path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own satanic herd. Very little turns me on now, the spark of excitement has dwindled out of my life. Life, don't talk to me about life. I feel that this is the worst moment of my entire existence. My enthusiasm can be put into a match box with plenty of room left, and that's without taking the matches out first.
As darkness envelops me in despair, I am reminded of a lyric from an understanding man, John Lennon;
In my hour of darkness,
Mother Mary comes to me,
Speaking words of Wisdom
'Let it be'.
Death of society
We live in a day and age where society is on the edge of destruction. The danger of safety and the prejudice of political correctness reigns on high. We are protecting our children so much that soon we will need to protect them from themselves. We don't allow them to have the fun of learning like we had from doing things like climbing trees only to fall out of them to learn how to pick ourselves up again. We pad the playground with rubber matting and remove the climbing frames and the roundabouts. They will never learn. Political correctness has killed our sense of humour. All of the things that were known to us are now remodelled to shape how the idiots want it. Something as harmless as the nursery rhyme 'Ba ba black sheep' has now been removed for having the one word that describes the colour of the wool the animal had. Blackboard, brainstorm, Christmas and many others have been changed to ridiculous things like chalkboard, mind shower and Winterval. We are killing off society, loosing our identity as individuals. What a world we live in, a clockwork people with a clockwork environment, dying and falling into nothingness.
Demon of words
The girl was seated in the room, listening with distaste to the lies uttered by the one whom she called friend. She listened as the seducing demon purred words of falsehood to the surrounding spectators, her golden hair tossed around as her bright blue eyes attracted the lustful gazes of the people as they gave their ears to hear her mouth delicately twisting the world to her whim. The girl's distaste began to grow into anger as the words flourished like a deadly flower around the speaker. Soon, the lies became too much for the girl, she stood up, books that were upon her lap fell with a clatter to the floor as she marched towards the source of her rage. The speaker stops in her speech as she looks in surprise at this newcomer screams her defiance at her, ordering her to stop in the flow of her attention.
A hand flies out of nowhere and slaps the girl upon the cheek. The girl staggers from the blow, putting a hand to the stinging pain, tears swelling in her eyes. She is shocked to receive such a violent response from the speaker, and flees from the room as the crowd begins to dispel her from their midst. The tears flow freely as the girl cries, upset at how a friend betrayed her in a simple and heartless manner. Her once best friend had become a Demon of words.
There is a creature of nobility, power and myth. A creature whose story has spread through out the world, to be both feared and respected. Born of the earth and sky, he walked upon the mountainsides and soared high above the clouds. Fire is his weapon and his tool, and the water and the fields hold his food. Said to be wise, said to be evil, different tales for different legends. Tales of battles with knights and the protection of man and their lands by this noble beast. Merlin saw the fight between the red dragon and the white and fore told the coming of a great legend from it. With each tale, the decedents of Draco get stronger and more powerful. Even though Draco, Lord of all Dragons, never truly walked upon our world, his memory remains imprinted in the imaginary world of men.
Exploration into the Unknown
The Explorer looked into the dark cave. It wasn't just dark with the absent of light, it was the dark of the unknown. The Explorer held his torch out to try and shine it onto the cave wall, seeking the treasure that many have tried to find before. As he went further in, his torch dimmed. The Scientist looked up from the pieces of notes he was working on. All his equations didn't give the torch the light he needed. He had followed the other Explorers into the cave, starting from the first ones, Aristotle, Archimedes and Pythagoras. He had picked up the candle lit lantern of Galileo, Newton and Hooke and then taken up the lamp of Einstein. The Scientist looked down at his notes again and thought. May be that his equation needed to be re-arranged. Ideas filled his head and then answers began to fit together. He wrote it all down and checked it and found that that equation worked. He raised his hands in the air and shouted out 'Eureka, I have found it!'
Back in the cave of the unknown, the Explorers light grew brighter and showed him a piece of the treasure of knowledge.
Farewell my friends
Another year gone, another year older, all of us move on. We shall not see each other again, but if we do then God will have blessed our meeting, but you shall remain in heart and mind. With the highway of life ahead, we must take different roads, but though the potholes of hardship try to tear us down, you support me always as you all remain forever in my heart. We will face different challenges at different times, I see that you have gone, never to return to be by my side, but I shall carry on with the memories of you and your time with me. I now will say 'farewell my friends' and leave you physically, but I am always with you spiritually.
In a small village, unheard of by many, with a river running through it and a dark forest close behind it, lives a cat. This cat was found as a kitten by an old man in the dark forest, and because of that, this cat was given the name Forest. At first it seemed fine, a new kitten to increase the population, but when the kitten grew up into the large tabby that he is today, things had changed. One of the things that changed was that the kitten was sweet and innocent, but Forest was the terror of all the mice and dogs. Another thing to change was his purr, as a kitten it lulled you to sleep, but now it resonates with your soul. But the most notable thing to have changed was his eyes, the once sweet little gems are now an evil yellow and gives you the looks that make it feel that he is looking at your darkest secrets. He walks the village, caring not for all around him, the other cats cower in the dark shadows when he approaches. He comes and he goes like a ghost, foretelling your doom. When you next walk down to this village, down the friendly streets to the pub, when you feel something watching you with a cold evil, be sure to know that it is Forest who is watching you.
Camping in a group, the scout thought it would be great. Camping in a forest, the scout thought it would be brilliant. Away from home, away from civilisation, without electronics, without a bed, this would be truly adventurous.
As they were hiking through the trees, the lights of civilisation dwindled from view as night followed the expedition deeper into the forest. They reached their destination, a small clearing where they could see the stars glistening like diamonds in the calm night sky. They set up the tents, built and lit the camp fire and sat around the warm blaze, roasting their marshmallows and sausages.
The scout sat and ate the morsel at the end of the stick while the others told stories to each other. The scout became interested in the story about the disappearance of the last scout group to pass through the forest which they were now camping in.
'It was a few years ago,' whispered one of the scouts, 'And they set out together into the forest, it was there they came across a clearing in the forest, where the stars glistened like diamonds in the night sky. When they sat around the campfire, telling stories, soon they began to notice the silence and the cold pressing in on them. Then from out of the silence came an unearthly scream that turned their blood to ice. Looking around, to see who or what was out there, they saw nothing but the dark trees behind them. Scared, they looked back at the fire and saw...the ghosts of those who had been before them!' The speaking scout roared the last sentence with added effect, causing all of the gathered to laugh. They knew it was just a story, a random thing made up for campfires to give people a scare.
As they laughed, the scout became aware that it had turned cold. The laughter died as all of the scouts were suddenly aware of the silence pressing in on them, brining with it a cold which dampened the heat of the fire.
Suddenly, from out of the silence of the dark, an unearthly scream sounded, turning the blood of the scouts to ice. Slowly, filled with fear, they turned their heads towards where the sound had emanated from. But just like the speaking scout had said in the story, they saw nothing but the dark trees behind them.
Fear filled the scout as they all peered into the darkness of the forest, not daring to look back at the fire, should any of them see the ghosts of those who came before them. But something seemed to be calling them, gently tempting them to turn their heads to gaze back into the warmth of the fiery flames.
The scout, with the rest them, was overpowered by the soft whispering temptation. They turned their heads and saw a sight which would haunt them for the rest of their lives. They saw the ghosts of the scouts who had been before them.
Camping in a group, the scout thought it would be great. Camping in a forest, the scout thought it would be brilliant. Away from home, away from civilisation, without electronics, without a bed, this would be truly adventurous.
Full moon and Fog
It was nearing midnight and the fog was rolling around the cabbie as he waited outside the woods. He huddled himself in his brown coat, trying to keep warm on this cold Halloween's night. As the fog thickened, the cabbie knew that tonight it was an ill omen when full moon and fog meet as the undead would wander the world.
The carriage jolted as somebody climbed up behind him. The cabbie then heard a woman's voice speaking, 'Dear sir, would you be so kind as to drive me to the other side of the woods?'
If the cabbie had had a choice, he would have driven his horse drawn carriage around the wood to get to the destination, but since the roads around the woods were closed, he had no choice but to pass through the wood itself, even though it was against his better judgement. His horse snorted as he flicked the reins, causing it to take the first tentative steps through the fog filled wood.
The tall leafless trees stood black against the deep blue sky, fog flowing like rivers in between them under the bright full moon. The cab passed through the flowing mist like a boat sailing through water. No stars shone, and the wind whipped around howling, but the cabbie could hear a different sort of howl, one which turned his blood cold. The howling of hell hounds was on the wind. They were far off, but soon they would close in. The cabbie was about to turn his cab around, but the woman's insistent voice told him to keep to the path and go to the other side of the woods.
The poor cabbie tried to calm himself, but memories of the past plagued him. For it was in these very woods several years ago that the cabbie and a few friends had practiced black magic and summoned up from the pit a demon. Ever since the demon had been released, each one of the cabbies friends had disappeared when full moon and fog met, and then the howling of hounds would be heard upon the wind.
The howling got closer as the cab moved onwards and the horse screamed and reared up as it scented of death upon the wind. The fog rolled like waves in the wind as the cabbie struggled to keep the horse in control. There was danger in the air and the cabbie knew that he would be next to fall to the one they had summoned. He turned round to apologise to the woman that he was unable to get through the woods, but when he beheld his passenger, his heart stopped beating. For there in the passenger seat behind him was the demon which had been summoned many years ago laughing at her helpless prey.
Howling could be heard from the woods that night as the full moon shone over the fog upon that Halloween night.
Girl in a foreign country
The girl looked around at her surrounding in a land that is far from home. She had come to study in this foreign country, in a place where the scenery differs greatly from her native soil. Friends and family stay behind with the forest and the mountains while this girl travelled to an island of grassy hills and blue sea. Stars that shine over head in the deep black pool of the night sky seem different to her when she looks up from her bed and gazes deep into the heavens. Others, being far from the country where they were born and raised, would find the idea of being an alien hard to cope, but this girl in this foreign country has found her Island home.
The people of today go down to the shops to buy the latest in clothing, throwing away and wasting the clothing they had previously. Very few people love the clothes that are handed down to them to make use of wearing them. I am one of those people. The reason too why I love hand-me-downs is that I feel a sense of honour, to receive something that has history of the previous owner, to know what they felt from this item and to continue its story. A jacket that belonged to an uncle, who passed away, tells a tale of life in the country, the places he had been and how he came by it. A hat from a Grandfather who fought in a great war, tells a tale of survival and how terrible the fighting was. So if you are given an item of clothing from a relative, whether they be of your generation or before your time, do not toss it aside, treasure it and keep the memory of the one who had it before you always in your heart.
Home made Cider
The preparation is necessary for the oncoming party three months away.
The crop has grown and needs to be picked before the birds and the wasps get to them. Thump, thump, thump goes the apples as they are dropped in the barrels.
Right, all of them are picked; time to bring out the crusher. In goes the apples, turn the handle and out comes the crushed remains. Collect the apple bits and bring out the press. The press is out and dusted, ready to do its one job a year again.
Stuff it to the brim and bring the lid. Now it is time to turn the handle. Creak, groan, squeak goes the handle as it is turned around the screw, pressing its content to squeeze the juice out of the pulp.
Out comes the golden liquid, seeping through the holes in the press. It drips out in a lovely stream into the fermenting barrels, where it will stay with yeast for the next three months.
The time is up, the party is ready, the bonfire is lit and the guests are arriving. The drinks are made, soft and strong, but none of them can compare to the ambrosia taste of home made cider.
I'm travelling tonight
Sleep on little princess, don't let bad dreams wake you, for your daddy is travelling tonight. My journey is going to be long; I will not be able to see you until late. I know that you were looking forward for my return from my late meeting, but now an unexpected occurrence has just happened and I am called away because of it. While I am here next to your sleeping form, stroking your soft hair, I am reminded of the great joy that I had when we played together, the warmth of your smile as I read to you at bed time. I shall miss those times.
When the morning comes, don't cry for me for I shall be alright, don't blame the world for it was not at fault, don't blame the car for my death for no one could have been able to prevent the accident. I tried to get back home for you, to keep my promise, but I was travelling too fast upon the wet road overlooking the cliff. It was only because of my Father that I am able to be with you now until midnight, to keep my promise. So make me proud and live life to the fullest as I'm travelling tonight.
It can't get worse
The world was good, bright clear blue skies, rich green grass and a golden sun to shine. A gentle wind blew as the small village listened to the gentle music of the little river that flowed through it. The birds sung their songs to the happy world.
The Man looked up from the book of the past and sighed. His child had fallen asleep while listening to this fairy story of a peaceful world. The story about the golden age of the world, of snow and clear summer days. He looked out of the window, the heat wave had past and it was going to be a dry night. Most of the cities that the ancestors had built had succumbed to the oceans like the legendary city of Atlantis. The birds didn't sing any more as they had faded into myth like so many other beasts. The fighting would start up again as the war for territories continued. Their ancestors were given the warning signs of the price they would pay if they didn't change their ways. But they just shrugged their shoulders and said simply, 'It can't get worse.' as they filled their bank accounts. The Man closed the curtains and remembered what his friend had said about global warming as the power plants were filled up with more oil. 'It can't get worse.' He said, but wasn't that what the ancestors had said before?
Jane and Elizabeth
'Oh come on Jane, lighten up, the wedding is only tomorrow.' Elizabeth said as she looked at her friend while topping up her wine glass for the third time.
Jane watched her friend fill up the glass and start to drink it. 'How can I?' She asked as Elizabeth downed the glass, 'In a few hours my daughter will be married and I may never see her again.'
'That's nonsense Jane,' Elizabeth said as she watched Jane pace up and down in front of the fire, 'you will see Ruth again. In fact, you can get her to come and visit you on occasion, but you need to get the timing right so that they won't think that you're nosing in on their life. That's what happened to me when my first one was married; I got no end of trouble because of it.'
'But what happens if it all goes wrong?' Jane muttered quickly under her breath, a slight worried look on her face, 'Only just the other day she was saying that she felt weak and giddy.'
'Probably just nerves,' Elizabeth commented, 'everybody gets them, especially before weddings. I'm sure you felt the same when you were going to be married for the first time.'
Jane had to agree to that, being a wife-to-be was a frightening aspect, but it seemed to be worse as a mother, to see her child grow up and take her own responsibilities and risks. That was the part of becoming an adult, but Ruth was still in Jane's eyes a little girl.
Elizabeth walked over to her and took one of her hands.
'Jane,' she said smiling warmly, 'dear sweet Jane. There is nothing to be fretting about. When my daughters all got married, I was happy for them. You too should be happy for Ruth. This is going to be the happiest time of her life. You will not only be a mother of a beautiful daughter, but become a mother of a very hansom young man too.'
Jane avoided Elizabeth's gaze by looking at her feet.
'I know, it's just that...she is my only one.'
'Then it will be more special for you then it is for me. I had to see all four of my own daughters marry while you have only one.'
'I'm worried for her. What if she isn't happy?'
'I'm sure she will be more than happy with her marriage. John's a bright lad, and handsome too, with a good income. He loves Ruth and Ruth loves him. What can go wrong?'
'It might rain...' Jane started to say before Elizabeth cut her off.
'Then bring a whole load of umbrellas you silly thing. Come rain or sun, Ruth is going to have the happiest time in her life. Even Armageddon would not stop Ruth enjoying herself, and it shouldn't for you either.'
Jeremy and Jean
It was late in the evening; the sun had already sunk low on the horizon and a chill wind blew as Jeremy walked down the leaf strewn path that lead to Jean's house. He had been a fool, he knew that much. It had happened in the morning when both of them were walking though the market square.
It had started out a fair day, blue skies above, fluffy clouds drifting and golden trees swaying in the cool breeze. The bird cries just audible above the sound of busy people buying and selling merchandise.
Jeremy had sighed as he held Jean's hand. He didn't like the shopping spree. When Jean had asked him to go out with her today, he hadn't expected her to drag him all over the place to spend an arm and a leg for her, not to mention carrying everything she bought. She seemed to be enjoying herself though. The sunlight shone in bright colours from her short light brown hair as she turned her head this way and that, she looked at the different stalls with her bright blue eyes. Jean was shorter then Jeremy, but she made that up with personality.
'Let's go there Jeremy.' She would say, dragging him over to have a look at yet another stall selling expensive goods.
It was about the about the twentieth time of being dragged about that Jeremy had flipped.
'Jean.' he said in a loud voice, stopping her from dragging him over to yet another stall. Jean stopped pulling him and looked back at him, a surprised look upon her pretty face.
'What's up?' She asked him.
Jeremy looked at her sky blue eyes with his own emerald green eyes.
'I'm fed up of being dragged about and used as a cash machine and pickup truck for useless things such as this!' Jeremy juggled the items that he was carrying so that he could hold up the bubblegum pink hair clip that Jean bought. Jean took the hair clip out of his hand and back looked at him with a child like smile.
'But it looks so good in my hair.' She said playfully, clipping the hair clip in a lock of her hair and striking a pose.
Jeremy was getting annoyed, and Jean's posing wasn't helping at all.
'Your hair looks fine without it!' He almost yelled. A few people looked in their general direction before turning back to their own private affairs.
'You don't need to shout.' Jean replied, looking at him with a slightly hurt look on her face. 'If you don't like if, just say so.'
Jeremy used his free hand to rub the bridge of his nose.
'Look,' he said, voice resuming his normal tone, 'your hair is fine, your nails are fine, your eyelashes are fine, your ears are fine and you have enough clothes as it is to sink several battle ships. You look fine as it is, you don't need anything else.' He looked back at Jean, closed his eyes and continued. 'I want to have at least some money for my self, I don't want to spend it all on things that don't do you any good. You just waste money on a lot of things which end up as useless items.'
Jeremy opened his eyes again, and was surprised to see that Jean had tears in her eyes. Realising what he said, Jeremy tried to get closer to Jean.
'Jean, look, I'm...'
Jean turned away from him.
'I didn't know you thought that about me.' She said, voice beginning to choke back a couple of sobs, 'I didn't realise that you thought me just a parasite, sucking away at your fat wallet, disliking the things that I think are important in my life.' Her voice was beginning to rise, causing more people to look back at them.
Jeremy spoke again, trying to calm Jean down.
'Jean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that.'
Jean turned to face him, eyes now streaming with tears.
'Yes you did!' She yelled, 'You never support my likes even though I help you out with your bike equipment! I feel so alone now because of you, have you no feelings?!' And with that she ran off, ignoring Jeremy's calls, tears flowing freely as she ran.
Jeremy just stood there, unaware of all the talking that was going on, shocked at what had happened.
Now Jeremy looked down at his feet as he reflected on the morning. He had sent a load of texts, voicemail and e-mails to Jean, but none of them had been answered by her.
So here he was, standing just outside the door of her house. A cold wind blew the leaves all around him as he slowly raised his hand to the doorbell. He paused for a moment, wondering what Jean would say, before he pressed his finger against the button. The bell rang for about ten seconds before sounds of footsteps were auditable behind the door. It opened and the figure of Jessica, Jean's older sister, stood in the door frame.
'What do you want?' she asked sternly. Obviously Jessica had heard about the argument which he and her sister had.
'I just want to talk with Jean. Is she in?'
Jessica looked at him before granting him access into the house. Jeremy stepped inside and looked around as the door closed behind him. He glanced into the living room, seeing nothing except the settee in front of the telly.
'Jessica must have been watching top of the pops or something.' Jeremy thought to himself before asking a rhetorical question. 'Where's Jean?'
Jessica drew out a cigarette and lit it before giving Jeremy a cold look.
'She's up in her room crying her eyes out because of you.' She said icily, letting out a cloud of foul smelling smoke.
Jeremy looked up the stairs, guilt filling into his already heavy heart as he slowly climbed upwards to the second floor. It seemed to take an eternity to climb and the stairs seemed to grow longer before his eyes, but it only took a couple of minuets to complete the journey and Jeremy took the painful steps towards Jean's room. He stood before the door of his girlfriend's bedroom and, with the heavy heart of shame and doubt, he knocked lightly upon the wooden door.
He could hear quiet sobbing on the other side before Jean's upset voice had formed into words of speech.
'Who is it?' Jeremy heard her choke out.
'It's me.' He replied, licking his lips. His throat felt so dry.
There was a lengthy pause which was then broken by Jeremy saying, 'May I come in?'
'Go away.' Was the reply.
Jeremy's heart sank all the way to his feet, this is what he had been afraid of. He tried again.
'I've come to apologise for what happened this morning.' He called through the wood work. There was silence before Jean replied in a small voice, 'Come on in.'
Jeremy pushed the door open and walked inside. Jean's room was on the whole pink. The walls were covered in posters of Japanese anime magical girls with a few posters showing surfers; only one wall had pined up photographs. In one corner of the room, next to the bed, sat a guitar that had once belonged to her grandfather. Upon the bed, Jean sat hugging a pillow tightly. Jeremy could see her eyes were red rimmed, tear marks streaked down her cheeks. The sight of her in this state made Jeremy's heart break.
'Are you going to make fun of me again?' she sniffed, hiccupping slightly.
'No,' Jeremy said, closing his eyes in the hope of shutting out the image of Jean's upset state, 'I came to apologise. You're right; I didn't consider what was important to you. I didn't know what came over me when I said all of those things. I...I don't know. You've been kind and helpful to me. I don't deserve you. I'm sorry for hurting you like that. Can you forgive me?'
Jean looked at him, still hugging the pillow.
'I'm sorry too.' She quietly said.
This statement startled Jeremy. What was she sorry for, it wasn't as though she had done anything to upset him, for all he knew, what had happened in the morning were all his fault. He told her this.
Jean sniffed and smiled slightly behind the pillow that was in her grasp.
'I'm sorry that I had to drag you all over the place like that.' She said gazing at him before turning her head to look at her pink room. 'And you're right as well. I didn't really need all of that stuff. It doesn't compare to how much I need you, when I left you, I felt lonelier then I had ever done in my whole life.' She turned to face Jeremy again. 'I ran from you because your words reminded me about my dad and how he left Jessica and me. I felt so lonely with out some one to love me. I thought presents would make me feel happy, but now I realise that love is much more then gifts.'
Jeremy had, at this point in time, moved over to her so that he sat on the bed next to her.
'I didn't know.' He said quietly, taking it all in, 'I'm sorry about your dad.'
'It wasn't your fault. But can you forgive me for my behaviour?'
He then leaned over and hugged her.
'It's alright. There is nothing to forgive.' Jeremy whispered into Jean's ear.
'But I still want that hair clip.' Jean commented as she hugged Jeremy back.
Jo and Keri
Jo sat at the computer and booted up Adobe Illustrator. She usually did this when she wanted to blow off steam. Boy, her parents had taken her to the limit this time. How many times had she told them that she didn't want to follow the family business? She didn't want to be a hair dresser.
A window popped up, asking her what sheet she wanted to use. Jo hit the left hand mouse button a little harder then usual and fumed as it went through the final processes of setting up the drawing board. When it was ready, Jo paused and thought what to draw next.
Hair dressing gave our family what it has now, all we want is for you to continue on with the business till you have children of your own.
Her mother's words still bounced around in her head, fuelling her anger.
Did she look like she even cared what hair styles people wanted? She didn't care what her own hair looked like towards others, nor did she care how people wanted their hair to look like, whether it is for fun, business or sexual attraction. Hair, hair, hair, hair!
Jo selected the ink pen tool and absent mindidly started to draw. She drew, curving the lines, connecting them and over lapping them. Slowly the mass took on a shape that looked a lot like the thing that she disliked but her parents saw as fortune.
Jo was very good at making characters on Adobe, it was her way of expressing herself. It was Jo's dream that one day she could use her characters in an animation.
She told her parents of her ambitions, but they still wanted her to be a hair dresser. Oh, they admitted that her drawing abilities were pretty good and getting better, they even allowed her to use some of her pictures to help advertise the little shop they lived in, but they still wanted her to learn more about styling and cutting hair rather then learning to draw better.
She began to feel more like Sweeny Todd than herself at times.
A circle was selected for the basis of the character's head.
Jo was beginning to calm down now, but her anger and annoyance towards her parents still remained. She needed a character to relate to. Should she use one of her previous characters? No. She couldn't be bothered to recall any one of her original characters, besides, the hair backdrop didn't look like any of her other character hair styles. With her characters, the hair styles that she was forced to learn inevitably ended up appearing on one character or another. This hair seemed to belong to someone new.
She drew the head and face outline and started on the features. The nose was easy enough, just make a small triangle and tip it on its side. But the eyes and mouth were not so simple. It was instantly decided that this new character should not have glasses like she did. Jo felt like that she (for she had already decided that this stranger was going to be female) should have small but pretty eyes, just like those of one of her favourite characters from one of her favourite shows.
The eyes of this strange female sparkled at Jo as she placed them on the face, just above the nose line. When it came to the mouth, Jo had initially wanted her character to feel as she did now, but those eyes gave out a different feeling towards her. Happiness? Charm?
What ever it was it didn't deserve the frowning mouth that was originally planned. So Jo gave her a simple smile to start off with, but soon it became more opened and more happy.
Now that was done, Jo could leave the rest of the body for a later date. It was getting on to ten and she could hear her parents getting into bed. She was about to close Adobe down after saving, but then she looked back at those eyes. Those eyes seemed to plead her to finish the rest of her, to make her complete. Slowly she clicked on the pen tool and started to draw again.
Jo began to feel as though this character was telling her what she looked like. She was guided through all of the girls aspects, from her long legs to her slim figure. She was given trainers, shorts, a t-shirt which revealed a small part of her cleavage and a wrist band. In all, the new character didn't look like anyone who would wanted to be a hair dresser. She almost looked, to Jo at least, like an older sister who never existed, who took matter into her own hands. Some one to look up to.
It was coming up to midnight when Jo finished giving the character colour and layers.
Tiredness was itching ferociously at her eyes as she looked at the finished piece. She had to admit it, the girl who stood before her on the computer screen looked a lot better than any of her really good drawings.
Perhaps her skills had greatly improved.
Now all that there is to do is to give her a name that suits her.
It came to her, almost as though it had been whispered into her ear.
Jo saved and printed off.
Picking up the printed sheet, Jo looked at it and the character who was on it.
Keri smiled back at her.
'Hello there.' Jo said softly. The remnants of her annoyance towards her parents faded away. 'And how are you today?'
Keri said nothing but smiled as she looked up at her maker.
Jo looked over at the clock on her bedroom wall. It was two past twelve in the morning, well past her bed time. Picking a pen up from her desk, Jo scribbled down Keri's name and the date which she was created.
Jo placed Keri on her display board above the bed before pulling the covers up, turning the light off and falling asleep.
Morning came and Jo tried to ignore the alarm clock. Eventually the annoyance of the fast chiming bell became too much to bear. She looked over at the mirror that had been placed in one corner of the room since she had been eight. Her mouse brown hair was all over the place.
Ever since she had been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, she got less worried about her appearances as it didn't seemed to really matter. While her father hadn't been too worried about how Jo's hair looked, her mother was an appearance freak as well as a hair maniac.
Jo got out a brush and half heartedly brushed it to the point in which it looked neat only from a distance.
Looking back up, Jo saw the reflection of Keri over her shoulder. Keri seemed to be watching her movements.
Placing the brush down, Jo wandered back to the bed and looked up at the display board.
'Morning all.' she said, looking at the general populous. She then looked up at Keri. 'Morning Keri, how are you today?'
'Who's Keri?' the voice of her mother said from the door way.
Startled, Jo looked around at her mother.
'Keri is a new character. Here.' Jo pointed to the new addition.
Jo's mother came in and took a closer look. Her eyes swept over the recently added picture, but she didn't see anything of real significance.
'I see that you have improved a bit,' she said, coming away, 'especially the hair. Could use a bit of that hair style for some of our customers who are most likely going to head for late night parties.'
Jo sighed. Her mother was always like this when she was shown any of her new art.
'Mum, can we please not discuss hair dressing now? I need to get dressed.'
'Fair enough.' her mother replied and headed for the door. 'When you've had breakfast I'll be ready to show you how to cut layers.' The door closed behind her.
Jo made a rude gesture when she heard her mother walking down the stairs.
'Show me to cut layers now!' she said, mockingly. Glancing over to the display board she saw Keri looking down at her.
'You can see what she is like can't you?'
Keri just smiled. It was an agreement.
Jo proceeded to get dressed, donning on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, then she left the room and headed down stairs for breakfast.
The rest of the day went by rather smoothly for Jo, save for the argument about cutting layers with her mother. When the day was finished, Jo came into her room and groaned when the door had clicked to a close. The small hair cuttings made her hands itch.
'I hate cutting hair.' She grimaced and wondered whether to boot up the computer first and have a shower to rid her of the tiny hair pieces next or visa versa.
She decided to start up the computer and while it was waking up, she would go off to wash herself before starting to draw.
The computer had been awake for some time when Jo came back in, wrapped in a white towel and leaving damp foot prints upon the carpet. Not bothering to change into her pyjamas, she sat down and started up Illustrator. When the drawing board was ready, Jo paused. She wondered what to draw, but for some reason beyond her, she couldn't think of anything.
Her mind turned back to Keri, but she couldn't think of her in any other pose to put her in than the one she was already in (resting her weight on one leg and a hand placed on her hip). She turned to look at Keri above the bed. Keri was smiling back at her, her pretty little eyes twinkling at her.
'Shall I draw you again?' Jo asked the picture.
Keri still smiled at her, but it seemed to say to Jo that she didn't want another picture of her. One was enough.
'Well what do you want?' she asked, sitting down on the bed and looking up at the picture. 'Shall I tell you what happened today?'
The sparkling amber brown eyes told her that she would love to know all about it.
'Well where to begin?' Jo said looking away, her wet shoulder length hair slapping her back as her head turned, 'My family own a hair dressing salon going as far back as my grandparents. It's an ok profession, but I don't fancy it myself. It doesn't help the fact that my parents want me to continue on with the business, but I don't want to. I want to be an animator, but they continue to pester me about being a hair dresser.'
'So why don't you leave?'
This came almost like an unknown voice being spoken. But it seemed to have only been heard by Jo in her head and not by her ears.
Jo looked around to see where it had come from, but was unable to see who had spoken. She looked up at Keri. The cartoon character still smiled away at the world.
'I haven't got any where else to go.' Jo continued, still unsure who the voice belonged to or how it appeared, 'My grandmother died when I was about twelve and my granddad is in social care.' She paused as the memories of grandma and grandpa passed through her mind.
She was silent for a few seconds before she reached over for her pyjamas and got changed.
'I don't have any other relatives in the country,' she continued whilst changing, 'and I haven't got any real friends either.'
'I would like to be you friend.' The same unknown voice spoke up again, avoiding Jo's ears and going straight to her head.
Jo looked around yet again to see who or what had spoken and yet again found nothing. But this time, Jo thought that could now pinpoint where the voice had come from. She looked back up to the display board and straight at Keri.
It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. She had to make sure.
'Are you speaking to me?' Jo asked hesitantly, not sure whether she was going mad or not.
Keri smiled at her. Yes she was.
Jo's mouth fell open. She couldn't believe it.
She knelt on the bed to be level with the picture.
'How?' she asked.
Eyes met and it was understood.
Jo took the pin out and held the image of Keri close to her. She looked down at the computer drawing in her hands, unable to believe that Keri, a person made by her, could talk and wanted to be friends with her.
Lying back on the bed, Jo fell asleep, a smile on her face and the picture called Keri clasped to her chest with both hands.
So it continued on for the days that followed afterwards. Every night Jo would talk to Keri about her experiences that had happened during the day and Keri would listen and talk to her. On one of her free days, Jo had bought a frame in order to have Keri outlined. Keri had told Jo that it was very nice, though it did make her feel a little confined.
It was noticed by Jo's parents that Jo had been spending more of her time in her room. They assumed that she was spending more time drawing on her computer. So in a discussion with their daughter, they told her to spend less time at night on the computer and to concentrate her attention on her homework and hair skills. This had led into another argument about Jo's future career, but it was a surprise to learn that Jo was not spending time with the computer but with Keri.
'Keri? Who's Keri?' her father asked Jo.
'She's my friend.' Jo replied.
'Isn't Keri one of you characters?' her mother said, vaguely remembering the image Jo had shown to her about a week ago.
'Yes, but she's my friend as well. She talks to me.'
'Come off it.' her father said, almost laughing at the absurdity of the idea. 'What ever happened to Gwen?'
Gwen had been a very good friend of Jo since university, but lately they seemed to have stopped talking to each other.
'We had a fall out.'
'Does it matter?' Jo threw her arms up in the air and let them fall sharply back to her sides, turning away from them and started towards the stairs.
'Where do you think you're going?'
'I'm going to my room.' she didn't look around, even as she took her first few steps.
'We haven't finished talking yet!'
Jo stopped and turned to face them.
'I have and I'm going to my room.' She told them, slow and deliberately to make sure they understood.
While she was staring at them, her parents could see that behind her glasses, Jo's eyes were not bright blue anymore but had become darker, more amber like.
They were both stunned that they didn't stop Jo from turning away and climbing the rest of the steps towards her room.
The bedroom door made a bang as it was slammed shut, the noise filling the dining room and snapping Jo's father out of his stupor. He proceeded to rant on about insubordination and how Jo needed to understand that there was more to life (particularly to hair dressing) then the simple pleasures that one may feel compelled to do for weeks to come.
But while he had been awoken from his state of shock, his wife (Jo' mother) on the other hand was still staring at the spot where her daughter had turned to face them.
Now Jo's mother may not be a person who thought that much of art work, but she was unable to be out classed in memorising even the smallest of details. Even though her husband had not seen the picture that was called Keri, she had never seen those coloured eyes before on a person who didn't exist outside the second dimension.
Since then, the relationship between parent and daughter went further and further downhill. In the days that followed, Jo became more distant from, not only her parents, but from anyone who came into the little shop (especially the customers to whom she would be told to help with).
One day, Jo's mother was coming out of the shower after having a good day with work and the customers. She was still very worried about her daughter and her withdrawn behaviour. She was walking along the corridor when she passed Jo's bedroom. It was there that she noticed the door was ajar.
She stopped, looking at it.
What was in there to cause her to become frightened of her own child?
The door opened smoothly as she pushed it. At first glance there was nothing out of the ordinary. Jo's computer sat opposite the bed, the make up desk (not that it was used much) was next to the widow facing the street and next to the bed was her clothes desk. Upon the clothes desk was the framed picture of Keri. But there was something different about the picture.
She took a quick look around to make sure that Jo wasn't around. She had been very protective of her room lately.
Jo's mother came in and stopped by the bed. She picked up the framed image and looked at Keri. There was something very different about the picture.
The eyes were bluer, the hair was straighter and was a lighter shade of brown. She was shorter then before. There were features on Keri that were uncannily similar to Jo.
'Put me down.' an unknown, unfamiliar voice told her. But what startled Jo's mother the most was that this disembodied voice had entered her head but had forgotten to use her ears.
The picture was held close to her chest as she looked in front of her, a scared look on her face.
There was something... evil about the image. It needed to be disposed of secretly, for Jo would most certainly be enraged if it was known that her beloved friend had been taken away.
She slipped the picture in her bath robe pocket and quickly moved out of the room, ignoring the unholy voice screaming at her head. Closing the door behind her, Jo's mother went to the main bedroom (which she and her husband slept in) and placed Keri in the bottom draw of the closet, underneath a pile of Sunday best.
The unnatural voice screamed at her, but it seemed to have been muffled at bit, as though she had indeed smothered and locked up a screaming person.
With Keri safely hidden away, Jo's mother proceeded to get dried off and dressed for dinner.
Downstairs, Jo's father was finishing off the cooking. He was just about to get the plates out when the front door opened.
'Just in time Jo.' he said without looking up, 'can you get the plates out and tell your mother that dinner is being served up.'
There was the clinking sound of plates as they were moved, but then the shuffling feet stopped.
'Where's Keri?' Jo asked.
'What do you mean?' her father didn't look around, but his honesty showed in his voice. He had no idea about Keri's where abouts or what had happened to her. Jo's mother could be heard coming down the stairs.
'Come on,' Jo's father said to Jo, turning to her. 'Help take the dinner out then we can WHAT THE, Jo?'
He now could see Jo and was shocked. Jo was taller then before, her hair was longer and darker, her eyes were amber brown. For some reason, she hadn't got her glasses on, but she looked at him with the gaze of a person with twenty twenty vision.
'What is it dear?' Jo's mother asked as she entered the kitchen. Her reaction was similar, if not worse, to her husband's when she saw Jo.
Jo gave her mother a glare which sent shivers down her spine.
'What have you done to Keri?' she asked, a touch of anger in her voice, 'Where is she?'
'I...I don't know what you mean.' Jo's mother replied, unconvincingly.
'Keri.' Jo cried out, moving past her and running up the stairs. 'Keri where are you?'
'What's going on here?' Jo's father asked his wife who seemed to be close to tears.
'Please, do something.' she pleaded to him as she turned to him before tuning and running up the stairs after their daughter. Jo's father followed close behind.
'I hate you!' Jo shouted just before her door slammed shut.
Jo's father finished climbing the stairs and saw down the corridor that Jo's mother was hammering and yelling at Jo's door. He also noticed that their bedroom door was opened. Inside he saw that there was a mess of clothes every where with many of the draws opened.
'What the hell is going on!' he asked his wife, anger rising in him.
'She's locked herself in and is ignoring what I'm telling her.' She then proceeded to tell him about her fears, what she did and why. She also told him about the picture of Keri and the changes to it and Jo.
'Jo!' he shouted at the door after his wife finished informing him of the events, 'This is you father! Open up!'
There was no reply.
Jo's father hammered on the door and continued shouting. He even tried to break the door down, But Jo must have put something really heavy on the other side as the door didn't give way.
'What's happening?' Jo's mother asked her husband as he gave up.
'I don't know.' he admitted, turning to her and putting his arms around her.
'So am I.'
Jo heard them move off. She turned to Keri and lay on her bed (which had been moved in front of the door).
'I just hate them.' she said, looking at her friend in her hands.
'I know.' Keri replied. She had been scared by the ordeal too.
'I told them not to enter my room.' Jo continued, 'I also told them to leave you alone too. But would they listen? Oh, no!'
'Don't worry.' Keri said reassuringly to Jo. 'We won't be bothered by them soon.'
'What do you mean?' Jo asked, looking at her friend's eyes. Recently, Keri had acquired a pair of glasses, around about the same time when Jo discarded hers.
'Everything's going to be alright.' Keri replied, smiling up at Jo. 'I promise. Just go to sleep and everything will be fine in the morning.'
Jo felt her eyes droop. She did feel a little tired.
'Just lie down and go to sleep.' Keri told her, her voice soothing.
Jo fell asleep and dreamed of herself and Keri.
'Do you think she'll be alright?' Jo's mother asked as her husband turned off the lights and climbed into bed. It was just past ten and it would be busy tomorrow.
'Hopefully she'll be willing enough to talk in the morning.' he replied as he pulled the cover up.
'I worry for her.' his wife said, 'If it was drugs or drinking then we can deal with it, but this... I don't know how we can over come it.'
'We can only hope.' Jo's father moved closer to her, gently touching her arm.
They were just about to sleep when they heard movement coming down the corridor. It was assumed that Jo was just using the toilet, but then they heard the click of the front door.
Getting out of bed, Jo's father ran to Jo's room while Jo's mother went to the window.
'She's gone!' Jo's father cried.
'Outside!' Jo's mother called out to him as she saw a female shape going out onto the street.
Both of them rushed downstairs.
Jo's father was the fist out of the door. He ran to the retreating figure.
'Stop!' he cried out.
The figure froze. Jo's father slowed down as he caught up.
'What do you think you are doing Jo?' he asked.
'What's that suppose to mean?' the voice wasn't Jo's.
She turned around.
A tall dark haired girl with tanned skin and small amber brown eyes faced him. She was carrying a small picture in her arm, but Jo's father couldn't see what it was.
'Sorry.' he said to the stranger, 'But have you seen anyone else coming past here?'
'No I haven't.'
Jo's mother came up beside her husband and gasped in horror as she beheld the figure.
'Jo!' She cried, staring directly at the stranger, 'What happened to you?'
'Jo? Who's Jo?'
'No I'm not. My name's Keri. I don't know of any Jo other then my cartoon character here.' Keri then showed both of them the picture she had under her arm.
The blood drained from the face of Jo's father while Jo's mother fainted. For within the frame, upon the paper, was the 2D figure of their daughter, in a pose, smiling with a twinkle in her blue eyes behind her glasses.
Learning to grow strong and tall
I am a seed, a cradle of life waiting to grow. In my infant state I am weak, but I learn to grow strong and tall. (Strong and tall)
I am a young sapling, I spread my leaves and wait to grow. In my infant state I am weak, but I learn to grow strong and tall. (Strong and tall)
I am a small tree, a struggling child waiting to grow. In my infant state I am weak, but I learn to grow strong and tall. (Strong and tall)
I am a blossoming tree, a source of sweet nectar waiting to grow. In my infant state I am weak, but I learn to grow strong and tall. (Strong and tall)
I am a pile of planks, I was cut down while waiting to grow. In my infant state I am weak, but I learn to grow strong and tall. (Strong and tall)
I am a wooden cross, a tool to kill those who are waiting to grow. In my infant state I am weak, but I learn to grow strong and tall. (Strong and tall)
I am a symbol of life, a pathway to guide those who are waiting to grow. In my adult state I am strong, I have learnt to grow strong and tall. (Strong and tall. Strong and tall. I have learnt to grow strong and tall)
In the dark, deep cool waters of the ocean bottom he lays, the great fish, Leviathan. He is the greatest and most powerful creature, rivalled by his immortal enemy the Kraken, which God had placed in the mysterious waters. He travelled the changing oceans since the dawn of time. All manners of creatures respect his great power, and flee from him as he seeks to fill his belly. After he spat out the man Jonah upon God's commandment, he seeks revenge upon mankind for killing his children, sinking ships and disrupting trade. He rested once upon the surface of the water, but travellers came and settled upon his back and lit their fires, and so he retreated to the cool ocean depths, drowning those upon him. Now he sleeps until the day of Armageddon when he shall fight with his foe for the last time.
The young maiden sat on the rock, looking out on the sea, running her coral comb through her long hair. Loreli is her name, delight of the sea, sweet tempting siren of all men of the sea. She sits in waiting, the sun reflected by her bright blue scales, waiting for the young sailor to return to her. It was a few months ago when Loreli first set eyes upon him, in his little green boat with the white sails and the crimson flag. He was caught in wild raging storm, on a collision course with Loreli's rock. Loreli, like so many years and storms before, sat and sung the song that drove so many sailors to be locked away in Davy Jones's locker, but when she clapped eyes upon the unfortunate soul she stopped her singing as her heart was aflame. This young man had captivated the siren into the realm of true love. As his boat drew closer to the rock, Loreli called upon the god Poseidon to calm his rage and allow this mortal to live. Though Davy Jones shook his keys, the god of the sea took pity upon the young sailor who had won the heart of his daughter and silenced the storm. The sailor praised the Lord for saving his little boat, saw Loreli and was too consumed by love. He gave to her a little locket and his promise to return to her in a few months time.
Loreli puts away her comb and touches the locket around her neck as, on the horizon, she sees a green boat with white sails and a crimson flag.
It was a barren waste land of dust. Rivers of red sand wove themselves around the giant monoliths that stood in fields of granite. It was a land of death, to be seen on all parts of the globe known only as the dead planet. The sun sets behind the great mountain, casting a cold light upon the Martian world. Mars was not always like this as there was a time when life flourished in a world that was blue sky and green pastures. Its people were clever in both technology and architecture, the great cities covered a world unlike anything else in the whole universe. The music of gossip and of pleasure filled the air as children played and adults worked in this great Roman Empire. But as history has taught us, great empires do not last long. War came and engulfed the entire planet, consuming the precious energy of life itself. Now where towering buildings once stood, empty hives stand, the fruitful land replaced by broken deserts of dust, the oceans dried up to leave the red sand behind.
The Martian stood alone, looking at the dead world that was his home, cherishing the memories of glory before he, along with the other survivors, boarded the Atlantia to make the long journey through empty space to the planet of hope, known to us as Earth.
Mr. Nobroy was a strange person indeed. Not only in his actions, which I would call odd myself, but also in his appearance.
He was tall, roughly six foot three if I am any judge, and the way he stood made him appear even taller. His short black hair was combed back, along with the strong bone features and the well placed muscles gave him the Dracula look. His nose was notably long and pointed, his face shaven and his stare was quite disturbing. His dark eyes would give the unpleasant impression of reading your mind. I always assumed that the reason for his broad shoulders was so that an angel and a devil would be able to sit down one on each. His arms were well muscled, not overly so like Arnold Swarzanegger, but just enough to give a good right swing that would leave his victim with a gurt big bruise. Nobroy's hands were large enough to completely cover a large apple.
I can say to you now that his sense of humour, although sometimes as normal as anybody else's, was dark and without joyful mirth. I would actually say that his sense of dress wear reflected upon his sense of humour. He would wear nothing but the smartest and the most colourless of clothes (usually being either dark grey or black with a trace of red sewn on the inside). He would occasionally put on a cloak of black and red satin. A strange habit of Nobroy was to constantly wear a rose in the top pocket of his waist coat, it will always be red, red as the blood of the victims he had organised to have killed.
Mr. Nobroy, as I fully well know, is the head of the largest underground movement in the country, deciding the fate of thousands of lives according to the amount of money his clients pay him. I cannot say what caused him to turn his brilliant mind to crime, least of all the crime of organized murder.
He has many ears that go out and pick up any and every bit of information from the streets, gaining the knowledge that he wants about people. The pregnant teenager, the old man who didn't pay his tax, the woman with a criminal record are just a few of the things that Nobroy found out. Very few things about the goings on of man are missed by this mastermind of crime.
I can see him now, sitting in an old leather armchair before an old fire place, fingertips of his large hands steepled as he rests his nose upon them, staring intently in front of him as he plans for the next poor unfortunate soul who has befouled him to meet their doom.
I know many things about him, and I use most of my own power to try to bring him down. But just as I know about him, he knows about me and the knowledge that I have of him.
I am a force of the ancient world, a power that is unstoppable. I was born at the start of time, daughter of a mighty God, princess of a beautiful kingdom. I am Mother Nature.
I am the gentle breeze upon the dancing leaves of the old birch tree, I am the warm rays that reflect upon the ripples of a peaceful river, I am the rage of a forest fire, the icy chill of a deadly blizzard and the stampede of a mighty tidal wave. I am deadly as I am beautiful. I am Mother Nature.
Creatures large and small, mobile and immobile answer to my calls and actions. Sleeping through winter and awake during summer, my children follow me. But one of my children has become a power himself, capable of challenging my authority over this world.
That child is man. Already he has killed many of my children, dug deep into my flesh and is poisoning me with choking fumes of carbon dioxide. Man is causing me to die, but I am Mother Nature, I am far more powerful. If man does not change his ways, then I shall deliver upon him the final blow for I am Mother Nature.
Music of the world
If you listen very carefully, where ever you may be, whether in a field, on top of a hill, in a forest where the trees grow close together, or on a beach where the blue waves break upon the golden sands, you'll be able to hear, on the very edge of the silence, the music of the world.
A man stood as he listened to this beautiful music, the rise and fall of the melody upon the wind, the bass tones of the earth and even the birds, which he watched so admirably, sung songs that sounded like the voices of angels. It was while he was listening to this music that he heard the voice of the Lord calling to him, asking him to go and spread both music and message to the world.
So moving from his country home, the man went to spread both word and music, travelling from place to place until he met a girl with life and beauty. He knew instantly, that he had found the love of his life.
Soon they were married and raised a family and in time lived together on the Isle of Wight where the man played the music which he heard from the world.
But the fate of time took it's toll and the man was unable to play his beloved music as he had done for years on end, so he passed down the knowledge of listening to the music of the world to a much younger man, so he could continue to spread both music and message to the world.
The lonely figure gazed out over the walls of the fort, and over the docks and into the mist hanging over the water. The figure knew that somewhere, over the wide and mysterious sea, was a land talked about by the oldest of folk tales of the Island people. This land was the land of the afterlife, Nari. The old folk still sent the bodies of the dead upon small boats into the mist, so that they would find their way to the land of God. Nari was said to have flowers that never died and trees that grew to scrape the high skies. It was said that the fruit were so sweet, that the food pleasures of the world would be as peasant food in comparison. The golden fields and the emerald forests were said to ring with the sweetest songs of both bird and the stream of life. In this place, the souls of the departed found new life and lived together, forgetting the differences of the past life as they sit down at a great wide round table with a fire at the centre. It was the land where the sun never set, where the beings of myth are true, all living in peace.
The figure turned away from the view, returning to the charts that covered the world as the people of knowledge knew. But the figure could not help but wonder whether there was an island such as Nari where the departed sailed to over the sea of death.
In hot lands I thrive, surviving thirst and sun. All living things are my prey, all waters are my drink. In high mountains I make my home, over looking plain, field, forest and sea. Nartiska is my name, dragon of land and sky.
You may see me in the skies of the wild lands in the world, or on the ground as I drink a river dry and devour cattle whole. Fire is my tool, fear is my ally. You may catch sight of me as I head towards you, hunger in my mind. Nartiska is my name, know of it before you die.
In the lands of the old world, before the age of cars and telephones, where the kings ruled with fair grace, the bards would sing of a knight whose name when mentioned would cause people to hush and listen. All would remember the name of Oswald and his deeds of bravery and kindness. Children would gather round in a small circle to listen to the elders recite the tale of a stable lad who became the knight of legend.
Oswald was a mere boy when he went to be squire to his tutor Gareth, and it was from there the tales began. Oswald learned the ways of the code from Gareth and how a knight is to be trusted, caring and kind to the people he serves. They rode into the forest once, and it was there they defended a noble family from the bandits that hide behind the trees. They fought the Wyrm of Wimbledon and at the castle of Tatting stone, Oswald was knighted. Then the day came when Gareth died of old age, passing his blessing onto Oswald. After the battle with the Vikings, Oswald married a Noble man's daughter and his fame grew larger through the songs and the whispering of the people about his daring and kind deeds. His deeds were done, not for fame or glory, but as a duty to the people he served. Because of that, his name his remembered in high honour.
The woman walked down the dark corridor, where the portraits stare down from the walls of the old house.
The woman looked at the life like paintings as she recounted the history of the building. The house had once belonged to an artist, whose artwork could only be matched by the famous names in the history of art. He was well known and wealthy, buying this house to do his beloved work. But things changed, the artist gained a desire, which soon became a madness, to paint like life in all of his works. He locked himself away from the world, until 20 years on; the police broke in to find nothing but the artwork. The house was deemed abandoned and was put up for sale. It was bought by a man from Devon, who moved in on the day that it was sold. But later on, the day after, his body was found mutilated upon the floor. Nobody could find the murderer, the only thing that was ever found was a portrait of the victim hanging on the wall. The same thing happened to the next 4 people who entered the house for a night. Long after the inquiries were over, a game show advertised in the papers that £50000 was being offered for a person to stay for one night in the house.
The woman remembered how she took on the challenge to pay off debt. She looked at the portraits on the wall, paintings of all the owners of the house, all staring down at her with their life like eyes. She wondered who had painted them and how they had managed to get them so life like.
As she pondered on these trails of thought, the lights flickered and dimmed. The woman stood there in the dark, unsure as to why the lights went out. Then she heard a voice speaking. 'To make the portrait of a person like life itself, you need to capture the soul of the person.'
When the voice finished, the lights flashed into life again and the woman saw a change in the paintings. They were screaming, as though warning her to get away, but when she turned around, a shadowy figure bore down upon her with brush and canvas.
The next day, the police found the poor woman's mutilated body upon the floor and her portrait hanging on the wall of the corridor in the old house.
The world around me was being smashed. The beasts in the night sky were destroying the great city. The king's brave soldiers were trying their best to fend off the monsters of metal while the people of the town were doing their best to tame the wild fires. This punishment was being brought upon us because the Dark Lord was raging his war against the free people of the world. His armies swept across the lands of our allies, reducing them to barren wastelands. Only this small Island was left to fend off the oncoming juggernaut. Fear, Panic, Famine, Despair and Death had all been released from Pandora's Box by the Dark Lord. How can we survive against the Eagle under his ever growing cloud of darkness? What do we have left to fight for?
A butterfly fluttered towards me, landed on my shoulder, and then took off again. I look up to see a star shining brightly down upon men. Now I see what we have left to fight for, for it too was released from Pandora's Box. Hope, the one thin that gives man the ability to fight on for the things he most loves. We shall not submit to the Nazi's or their evil leader Hitler, for we shall fight on and we shall over come, no matter the cost for the freedom of our children and their children.
She was beautiful
I was walking down the street on day, feeling down. Nothing in the world seemed to give me cheer, but then I looked up and saw her. She was beautiful that is the only way I can only describe it to you dear reader. She was as beautiful as the morning sun over the dewy grass of the land. She was as beautiful as the moonlit face as it shines its light in the midnight sky. She was as beautiful as the petals upon the flower as it first opens itself to the world. She was as beautiful as the stars in the heavens as they shine like diamonds upon black velvet. She was as beautiful as nature, she could have been Mother Nature, cherishing all that grows in the living world. She was so beautiful; she could have been an angel who had danced among the stars.
She is long gone now, and I cannot find any trace of her, but still she remains in my dreams.
In our life times, we come across several obstacles with many of them being stairs. When this obstacle comes we have very little choice but to climb them. Though many try to find other ways around, there is only one direction which we can go. Many of these stairs are easy to climb; some are brand new while others are old. There are stairs whose strength gives us courage when we climb, but some are weak and are easily broken.
Many times we encounter several stairs at the same time, going off into different directions. It is a choice that all people must choose, to climb one flight of stairs while others climb the other. The ends will be different for each climb, but it is the decisions that we make in our lives when we grow causes use to take the stairs that are laid before us.
The stars in the night sky glitter as diamonds upon black velvet. The fire that burns within them shines out in radiant hope against the cold, outer darkness of deep space. Cultures of every world owe their entire being to the princes of the heavens and pray that when the time of mortals has ended, their immortal souls shall shine out as they dance for eternity. Though forces try to blot out the light, the stars like a mighty symphony will sing on with the light of heaven as their song. Shining in the night sky, the stars offer guidance for travelling men, messages for wise men and stories for the common man. The stars, silent sentinels of the universe, shall shine on forever.
The Alien Invasion
I ran for shelter as the world around me exploded into flame. The Aliens had seen me. I duck and dive for cover as they shoot at me with weaponry that I had never seen before. I kept moving until I found a small rat hole which I rapidly squeezed into before looking back at my pursuers. I could see them in the light of the fires of burning buildings, standing tall and menacing, holding their terrible instruments of death in front of them as they looked for me. I knew I couldn't run anywhere else and as I held my breath as they got closer, I remember back to the time when they first appeared. They came in their strange ships from a far away place that I had never heard of before. At first, my self included, we were curious in these beings that came to us from the heavens. We approached them with peaceful intent, but they had other ideas. They brought out a strange looking device and did something that caused many of us to die by some invisible force. We fled to our homes as our armies went to engage the strangers in order to protect us. We were frightened, and many of us believed that they attacked us out of fear too. But in a matter of hours, our defenders were defeated and we were unable to stop the invaders from exterminating us.
I stare in horror as the monsters get sight of me and point their guns towards me. These aliens, these monsters, these humans shout in their alien language for my surrender, but even as I show my willingness to respond I know that I am doomed to die. The rulers of the planet earth allow their greed and fear to drive them to eliminate everything with their violence.
The Azure Maiden
Out in the docks of Cowes are a thousand yachts, all of which have arrived for the Island's sailing festival. But of all the boats, one still stands out among the crowd, the Azure Maiden. The sleek ship stands tall among the forest of masts. Upon her proud deck stands a woman who looks around with the eyes of a sea bound sailor. No one knew where she or the Azure Maiden came from but allowed her to enter in the race around the Isle. The time neared, the ships got into position, the cannon fired and the boats were off. The Azure Maiden lead the race, her sleek body riding the waves and her sails full of both the wind and the sun. She was the prize of the great sea god Poseidon, the gem of the sea. She went over the horizon and around the Needles.
The race was over, all ships accounted for except the Azure Maiden. She was in the lead, then she had disappeared, no indication to her last location. No one knows what happened to that ocean phantom, but people know that with next year's competition, the Azure Maiden will sail again.
The battle to come
There is a darkness coming with every passing moment it grows ever darker concealing a great evil. There is a call to arms to face off this evil. I, as many other soldiers are, we grab our weapons and stock up our ammunitions. I train myself ready for the fight to come. The Great Evil plan its attack, and I plan for every possible counter attack. I do not know whether I will survive the attack, but if I don't, I shall retreat and prepare to fight again. How evil are exams, striking fear into every student hearts and building pressure on their families. Yet, like a lone warrior standing upon a wasteland waiting for the future to descend, I will prepare myself through lessons and revision to fight my way through the papers.
The Cat of Lovran
The cat of Lovran wonders down the streets of the town. No one owns the cat, no loving family. The cat has nothing but the open roads and the restaurant scraps.
You would think that it wouldn't be able to survive without an owner, but the cat doesn't need one as it is loved by the folk of the town. They love it for what it is, the symbolic animal of Lovran. Offerings of food and water are given to it for it to stay, for they fear that it will leave one day. But the cat of Lovran stays on in the only place it calls home.
The Christmas Tale
I shiver in the cold and frosty morning air, gazing past the barbed wire and the snow covered ground to the line in the ground where the enemy hid. I rub my hands together and blow my misting breath over my freezing fingers, unable to hold my rifle without the cold metal burning my palms. What was the foe thinking of doing now, they were the devils behind the machine guns, the monsters behind the shells, killing my friends when our generals ordered us to go over the top and run forward to the slaughter. We hear a noise, the sound of the enemy's tongue rising in volume from over that wasteland. We ready ourselves, preparing to shed the foe's blood on this Christmas morn. But then we hear the enemy calling out, calling over to us in our language.
'Please, put away your weapons, for we do not wish to fight this day, for this is the day that our Saviour was born.'
I looked at my companions, all as confused as I at these words. We then saw the soldiers from the enemy's trench rising out and, instead of carrying tools of death, they carried a simple football. They waved over to us, asking if we wanted to play with them. I was not the only one to be hesitant at first, but soon, one by one, we left our weapons and walked out upon the snow covered ground of No Man's Land.
Soon, the sounds that reign on high above all else in this land of death was the sound of laughter, the sound of men talking to each other in German, English and French. The sound of the living. The Generals were wrong about the enemy. They made them appear as monsters, things to hate and despise, but we now see nothing but fellow men in a friendly game of football. There is now no doubt in my mind of the power of the child that was born this day, for it is a mighty power that can bring people of two sides together and stop them from killing one another, to bring them together in peace.
The Day that I met Santa
It was eight more days till Christmas and I was with mummy when we went to town to do the shopping.
We were in the big shopping hall. Mummy was looking at the smelly perfume area while I wanted to look at the toy area, especially the Transformers and the Bionicle toys as they were my favourite.
I asked Mummy about the things that I wanted for Christmas and all she said was 'Wait and see what Santa brings you.'
But I couldn't wait, I was all excited. Christmas was only eight more days away. When it comes there'll be presents, eating large dinners, presents, singing, presents, wishing people merry Christmas and more presents.
We had done most of the shopping by about half past four and we were just beginning to leave when I saw Santa's Grotto.
I pointed and said, 'Mummy, mummy look.'
At first she didn't want to go, but I said 'please' really, really nicely and she then said alright. Mummy bought the ticket for me to see Santa. I was really, really excited. I would be seeing Santa. I had sent a letter up the chimney some days before, I hoped he had got it. We waited until it was my turn to enter the grotto. I held my breath as I entered though the entrance with the icicles hanging from it. Cold air blew from the ceiling and I saw him sitting on a chair with those minty hook sweets as the back of the chair. It was Santa!
He welcomed me, and I sat down on his knee. I looked up at him. I was grinning, ear to ear.
'Ho, ho, ho.' He said as he looked down at me, 'What's your name?'
I told him my name and he smiled.
'Have you been a good boy this year?'
'Now, what do you want for Christmas?'
I told him all of the toys that I wanted for Christmas.
'Well, just be good to your parents and you may get them.' He had said to me, 'Now you are six to eight years old?' Santa reached over, but his beard was caught under my hand. It pulled off of his face and I was horrified to find out that Santa was Daddy. All that I could do was to just stare as Daddy pulled his beard back onto his face. I was quickly given a present and was lead out side by one of Santa's helpers. Mummy took me and together we walked out of the store and into the car park. We drove home and when we were inside the house Mummy then asked me 'What's the matter sweetie?'
I then burst out crying.
'Daddy was Santa. Daddy was Santa.' I wailed at her. 'Santa doesn't exist because Santa is Daddy.'
'Of course Santa exists.' Mummy said to me when she had begun to cuddle me. 'Daddy was only helping out while he was busy making toys at the North Pole.'
But that didn't change a thing. I cried all night as I knew that all my dreams and hopes were destroyed and everything would change, all because of the day that I met Santa.
The Dreamer's world
It is evening, the candle flickers as the boy composes himself for bed. The day had been good for him as he had larked about in the green fields under the golden coined sun. Now, as the blue sky is covered by the black shell of night, dusted with the stars of heaven, he readies himself for the night that follows the sinking sun. He prays to the one who created this world, asking for a peaceful night and for the joy of seeing another day before he pulls the knitted woollen blankets of the bed over himself and closes his eyes. The flicker of the midnight candle dwindles and dies allowing the darkness to weave itself into the room.
Night has fallen and the sleeper is sleeping. As the sleeper sleeps, he becomes the Dreamer that dreams. He dreams of a world, a world where the lark has made her nest in the boughs of a willow tree, whose roots dip into the gentle trickling of a crystal clear stream. Within the stream is a shell of stunning beauty. The dreamer could see it as it lay between the roots of that old willow. He reaches out his hand, feeling the chill of the water lap around his arm as he gently plucks the beautiful object out of its watery bed. The dreamer cradles it in his hand, allowing the crystal liquid to drain between his fingers as he gazes in awe at the delicate thing sitting upon his palm.
The shell glistens as if composed of rainbow coloured music in the light of the golden shining sun. A stream of thoughts race through the dreamer's mind, knitting themselves into curiosity and expectation as he begins to open the little object. Inside the little shell lies a silver coin. The dreamer gazes in wonder at the coin as it shines with its own silver light. How did it get there? What are the roots of its journey?
The mystery would be lost to him in the woven tapestry of time, never to be known to logic.
Such are the things in the dreamer's world, mystery and beauty lies within. If such a world exists, then it would be ours. Are we merely the images projected upon the brain of the first dreamer, to continue with our own little dreams, with their own little worlds? Are we purely composed of the dreams of others?
The Girl with the stuffed rabbit and the blind guitarist
In a small town there was a girl whose only companion was a stuffed rabbit. She would wander the streets, holding her toy. When she was wandering, she met a blind guitarist, whose long hair and beard fell past his neck as he bent down to play upon the steps of the old town hall. He would play his battered guitar, not for the money which seldom came his way, but for the love of the music he knew. The girl with the stuffed rabbit loved to hear him play the music of the world he had known, and listened to his songs of his life. Then one day the war came, and the girl with the stuffed rabbit was among the children being evacuated. She was taken past the old town hall where she saw the blind guitarist upon the steps playing his song of heart broken times. She dropped the stuffed rabbit as she was taken away before she could stop to listen to his song.
Several years later, when the war had ended, the teenage girl walked down the streets that she had once knew. The town hadn't changed since she last set foot there, but when she got down to the old town hall, she found one thing that had changed. The blind guitarist who played upon the steps was gone, in his place was the battered guitar and beside it the stuffed rabbit of her childhood comfort. The teenage girl picked up the stuffed rabbit, held it close and cried for the loss of her childhood friend. She sat down upon the steps, picked up the battered guitar and played the music that the blind guitarist played and sang the song of her loving memories, tears trickling down the side of her cheeks.
The greatest story ever told
Through my many years of reading, I've come across people who claim that they have read the greatest story ever told. Some would say Harry Potter, others Lord of the Rings, and some would choose Terry Pratchet. And though I would say that some of the books that people read, and which I occasionally read, are some of the great stories around, I know that there is one book which is greater still. People would ask me what type of book I am talking about by asking me about the genre, whether it is science fiction, fantasy, comedy, historical, a romance or a religious theme. I tell them that it contains all of those themes and that it is written as a biography. They ask me whether it is the Bible, but even though it is a greater book than the others, it is not the book that I am talking about.
The book that I am telling you of dear reader is the Book of Life, the greatest story ever told. It talks about the life of every living thing, starting with the tiniest organisms to the great complex beings of the known and unknown universe. This book was written by the greatest story teller of all, who wrote the story of the universe and the goings on in it that we are just a small part of.
The Great War
All remember the war that was fought so long ago allbe it through myths and legends. A time when Darkness threatened to extinguish the light and despair loomed. Shadows, like the early morning mists, covered the land, choking it, leaving a barren waste land. Those that resisted fought for their Kingdom and for the ones they loved. They had everything to loose and everything to gain as they fought for victory, for they knew that within the darkest night and thickest shadow, light will shine on forever.
The War is stamped on the tapestry of time, imprinted through the history of every life form. Let us remember the Great War between good and evil, least we forget and allow it to start all over again.
The Lancashire Dragon
I am here now to recount to you, brother, of the events of the dragon of Lancashire. Yes, I know you have heard the tale already, brother, I would be surprised if half the counties around haven't heard of it. But out of all the tales, mine would be the truest. Why? Because I was there brother, I was there when the beast arrived, bringing its master as well.
It was in the year of our Lord 1070 AD.
I was out in the field just yonder to the village, being only ten at the time, just still a boy. Our grandfather took sick that day in August, so father had to go fetch the herbalist. I would have gladly taken the burden of that task from his shoulders, but father needed someone to look after the sheep and since that the wolf had not been bothering us for several weeks, I was left behind.
So it was on that day, I stayed with the sheep, watching them graze. I kept a sharp eye out for anything that might threaten the flock. All seemed peaceful and quiet for the time, only the bleating of the sheep and the singing of the birds could be heard. A chill wind from the south blew, making me pull my coat over my shoulders to keep warm. I could hear a storm brewing, but as I turned to look at the sky, all I saw was a fair sky. Not a cloud was in the sky that day brother, but there was an unearthly sound of roaring coming from the sky.
But then I saw it brother, high above the horizon. At first it was as small as an ant, but soon it grew as it came closer, and that sound. It was terrifying.
No brother, I was not able to place it's being at that time, for what kind of a creature makes the sound of distant thunder and what creature is able to be bigger then an eagle and fly.
But soon I was able to see it clearly. A great green dragon that spouted out smoke as it flew roaring over head, descending as it flew. It landed yonder behind the hill of the village. I could not believe it, a dragon of strange design had come to Lancashire, scattering the sheep as it came.
I really should have stayed with the sheep, but something came over me. I just had to know more about the dragon which I had just witnessed.
I ran to the hill that the dragon came down. Over the top I saw it come to rest. It was laid upon the ground, wings outstretched as it was when it was in flight. From my vantage point, I was able to see a single eye that sat atop its head.
To my surprise, brother, the eye of the beast moved to the side as though it were a lid upon a hinge. Then out came a figure, but I could not see from my view of what origin he hailed from. I made my way carefully down the hill and hid myself behind a tree. What I saw made my blood run cold.
A man in strange garments walked around the dragon, speaking in a strange tongue to his hand. I could not see what he was holding, but soon he began to talk to the dragon. It was at this point that I realized that this man was a wizard, a servant of the devil.
I wasted no time in fleeing, and flee I did, brother. I needed to get help, to tell someone of this evil thing, so I fled to the village.
When I ran to the village, I was out of breath and scared witless. People took little heed of me as I tried to tell them what had happened. Of course now I understand that we shepherds are looked down upon by all.
Fortunately, I was not the only one to have heard the dragon fly past, they were the ones who listened and believed me about the wizard and it was they who gathered the village together into hunting down the dragon and the wizard before the dragon could destroy the village and the wizard curse us.
We all went to the place where I had seen the wizard walking about, and sure enough he was still there. As soon as he saw us, he climbed up the neck of the beast and sat in its head. We all fell back as the dragon roared.
The Wizard's shield was above his head and we could all hear him murmur something under his breath and we thought it was an instruction to his foul steed. As soon as the wizard finished the dragon started spitting fire from its wings.
Many of us took to the trees, for fear of being struck down. But so it was that Michael, the hunter, strung an arrow to his bow and I watched him set loose at the wizard. It was by God's grace that the arrow flew true and struck the wizard's heart. The whole village shouted for joy as the wizard fell dead and, without his master's guidance, the dragon began to fall silent.
After the beast fell silent, we were all hesitant. We didn't know whether it was still alive. You must know how it is, brother, when you strike a spear in a bear, you would think that it is dead when it lies on the ground, only to have it attack again when you approach it. I even threw a stick at it, the stick clattered off of the dragon, sounding as though the beast was hollow. Yes, brother, I said it sounded hollow!
We approached, the stick giving us new courage as we truly believed that the beast was dead. We crowded around it, staring in fascination as we bent our backs to walk under the wings. Some one had dragged the body of the wizard out and claimed that he was still alive. Thatcher took him to his house in order to get him to recover while John the woodsman brought his axe down upon the dragon.
It was as the tales said, brother, impenetrable to blows of a blade. Even all the weapons forged by Smith, the finest in the land, would not cut the beast's amour. Smith was able, however, to put a dent in the dragon's wing from his hammer blow.
'Master Smith,' the sheriff of Lancashire declared, 'the hide of this beast would make strong amour for our knights to wear.'
'No blacksmith in the whole of England would be able to tear the skin from the dragon and no forge would be large enough to store the body.'
We all knew this as Smith replied to the Sheriff's request. So it was decided by the sheriff that we should throw the carcass of the beast over a cliff and bury it with stones.
Plough horses were brought and ropes were attached to each of the dragon's wings, but soon all of the stable horses and all hands were needed to move the beast. Such a weight, brother, how ever could it have flown! We were able to keep on pushing it as this creature had wheels of a strange and unknown material.
Once we had managed to move the dragon to the top of the cliff top, we all pushed with all our might and tipped it over the edge where it fell to the rocks below. When it reached the bottom, it burst into flames, billowing out both smoke and noise that deafened the ears. The cliff broke and buried the dead body in its own rubble.
That was some days ago now, brother, we had all made our journey home. The memory of the over throw of the dragon would forever stay in our minds. I even kept a picture that I had taken from inside the beast itself. Here it is, brother. It looks exactly the same as the dragon that we had slain, even to the pattern of rings on its wings. But this is wrong as the dragon was green, not grey, and the rings upon the wings were red, white and blue. How can that be, brother? What is it? Thatcher, what are you doing here? What, the wizard is awake! You're going to see him, brother? Please tell me of what he says.
Good evening, brother. What did the wizard say? How could he have flown into a storm, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. And what is a 'Spitfire' and a 'Nazi's Luftwaffe'?
The Land of Memories
In the fields of green, where shepherds herd their sheep lies the old grey wall of stone. Men from another world came here and built this invincible fortress many eons ago. While time has moved on, the old rock tells a tale of an inventive people whom have left this land to go to the Land of Memories. They came in ships, they fought us and won our land from us, and they built their homes, brought their families and their culture and brought their language. We were no more than the wolves that preyed on their flocks so they hunted us to protect their own. Their king then built a fence of stone to keep us apart from them. We were then left in peace while they patrolled in columns of red tunic and silver armour, their feet pounding the land. But now they are gone, their wall has shrunk and their culture has disappeared into the mists of men's forgotten memories. But the land in which trees root and stone grows, remembers and knows where they have gone.
The legendary city
Long ago, in the time of Hercules and Odysseus, a city of knowledge existed. No one knows how it got there or how long it had been, only that its people were beyond their time. All things known today were all past memories to the Atlantians. They made their mark on the world when men from the city of Athens came to war with them, only to be defeated by the advance technology of Atlantis. The Atlantians took pity upon the Athenians and so they began to teach them of the wonders of advance thinking. The men returned to their homelands and began to share their thoughts with their leaders. Soon men of wisdom arose in the primitive people and gained them to a respectable place in history. Philophosers sailed back to Atlantis, eager to learn more from the Atlantians. But when they arrived at the spot they remembered, they found that the city of the clever people was gone. Even now, 5000 years later, we still do not know what happened to Atlantis and its people. Some say that the Atlantians died in a civil war. Some say they died of disease and some say that they evolved into a higher being. But all are agreed that the legendary city sunk beneath the waves, waiting to be discovered and its secrets told.
The living fortress
Out in the green field, where cattle graze, stands a tree, a living fortress. It stands alone, protecting itself from the external enemy. The mighty monument started its life as a small and vulnerable nut. The nut had very little chance of survival, but Mother Nature took pity upon this seedling and allowed the rains to fall to give to it the water of life. The nut cracked and the shoot hatched, drinking and growing, spreading its leaves out far and wide. It stands now, hardened by years, strengthened as it fended off attackers, a single outpost, doing its part for life.
The lonely planet
If man were to build space craft that travelled faster than the speed of light, if they travelled to the remotest and quietest part of space, they would find a small rocky planet. This planet orbits no sun, does not rotate on its axis, has no moon, no air and no life. It is a sad and lonely planet, a piece of drift wood in the dark ocean of space. Other beings had explored its sorrowful surface, which they found traces of a civilization that had left many millennia before. Tales arose to how and why the inhabitants left, none of them ever have a joyful tone. It would have seemed to be an asteroid that the inhabitants had colonised, but signs of plant matter showed them that it had once had a sun, but where it went, no one knew.
It sits there, a solitary stone in the furthest corner of the universe, drifting to no where, heading for no place, the lonely planet stays as one of the great mysteries of the universe.
The Luna eclipse
Tonight, a special and powerful event is occurring. I sit in my deck chair, in the centre of the garden, gazing in the chilly clear night at the lunar eclipse. It may not seem exciting, but to me this event is as special as the midsummer dawn at Stonehenge. As the two sisters waltz in the continuous planetary dance of the universe, the young moon moves behind the planet dressed in rich emerald and sapphire, hiding away from the sun. As I sit, I am filled with a vision of our ancient galaxy. Filled with this vision, I see that to the gods, we are merely the micro-organisms that grow to evolve into the mighty beasts of the prairies. When the moon's face is fully veiled by shadow, I pack up my chair and wonder where will man go and what will his place be in the great starry bosom of the universe.
The March of the Drowned
A hundred years ago, the storm blew harder and harder, blowing the helpless vessel towards the rocks. The lifeboats were lowered into the water as the signal to abandon ship was given. But on that night, all souls were lost to Davy Jones' locker. And they say that upon stormy nights folk would hear the drums and the pounding feet as the March of the Drowned began again.
The Sailor remembered the story told by the old man wearing his old sailors cap, smoking his pipe in the bar as storm clouds gathered. He listened before he set sail again. He just thought it was just an old sea story, but now as he held on to the railings as the vessel pitched from side to side, he thought about the storm that raged a hundred years ago. The alarm for abandon ship was given, and the sailor tried to make his way towards the lifeboats, but at that moment a wave swept him off of his feet and dragged him off the ship and into the ice cold water. The sailor felt as though he was being dragged under by a bony hand. He looked down and screamed the scream of a drowned man as he looked straight into the pearly eyes of a rotten corps. He looked around desperately and saw more ghostly figures on the sea bed. He heard the drums and the pounding feet as the March of the Drowned began again.
The Metal man
The metal man sat down. He didn't know what to do. He was programmed to follow instructions, but there was no one to give him any instructions. He remembered there was a time in which he had a purpose; the planet was populated by his organic masters. He remembered how they gave him orders which he so desired to follow. He remembered how they went about doing different things, talking about the world and all it problems, the conflict between their ruling dominions and between the thoughts of what God wanted them to do. He was intrigue by God, for they talked about him creating man, like humans creating robots. As he sat, he wondered whether if the human creator had taken his masters to repair them, so he waited for the return of his masters. He waited and waited. He waited as the floods came, submerging him. He waited as the water froze into the ice of the ice age that was so long due. He waited as the earth died around him, as he waited for the return of his masters to give him purpose once more.
The old man of the sea
The world has changed, things are not as they used to be.
In the blood red light of the morning sun, the old man of the sea sits near his little hut, gazing out over the expanse of blue that extended as far as the eye could see. He watches the sun rise higher into the sky and remembers back to the days when the earth was new.
It was in the rays of the new born sun that the man of the sea was called into existence. He was not as old as he is now when he took his first breath and opened his eyes for the first time. He was young and strong back then, able to call upon mighty storms when he was angry or let the waters calm to a gentle lapping of waves when he felt relaxed. He could change his form to any manner of beasts from the domain of the ocean, whether he would soar high above the waves as an albatross or swim to the darkest depths as a fish, it was his choice.
He was not alone back then, for there were others of his kind who ruled the seas as great lords and ladies of the waves.
But the world has changed. A new ruler of the seas has arrived. Man.
It was man who conquered the waters of raging storms in their vessels of wood and metal. It was man who hunted the water beasts for food and study. It was man who polluted the seas with waste and litter, explosives and chemicals. And it was man who had chased the people of the sea to near extinction.
As they came, the old man of the sea and many of his kindred attacked this new comer, this invader of the waters. But as they attacked with raging waters, they were defeated by man's survival. They fled to all the waters of the world, loosing contact with each other as man moved in to conquer the oceans.
The old man of the sea built his hut and disguised himself as one of those who had driven him from his home. He stayed there for many years, losing his powers as he waits for a sign of his brethren, a sign that signified the return of the waters to those who had first ruled it with power and might.
But none came.
Was he the only one left of his kind now, the old man of the sea wondered as he watched the new day rising. Man had taken control of the waters, but they seemed to be at peace.
The world has changed, things are not as they used to be. But perhaps, out of all the way the world was, the change would be for good.
The pains he bore
The man walked in the parade down the streets. This was not a parade of fun and excitement, this was a parade which the Romans used when they needed to make an example of someone who defied them. But this man didn't defy them, he was picked up while praying. He was beaten, insulted and whipped before he was sentenced to be nailed to a tree. He was troubled with pain and fatigue as he walked with torn feet, carrying the heavy beam of wood. When his destination was reached, the soldiers stripped him of his clothes, laid him down on the cross and drove cruel and infected nails through his hands and feet. They up righted the cross and the people jeered at the man upon the monument. What evil things man can inflict upon each other, turning to the wild beasts that he once was. The man should have cursed us all, put a plague upon every house of human existence, but all he ever said as he turned his eyes to the skies was 'Father, forgive them.'
The Poppy and the eleventh hour
The guns still blazed as I sat in my hole, scared of the chaotic world around me. The mud would rain down up on me, covering both myself and my uniform with brown sludge, only to be washed away by a falling tear. I looked up through tear filled eyes and saw out of the world of brown & black, a speck of bright colour. Wiping my eyes I see that it is a poppy, red as life's blood that spilled from the dead and the dying. I am alone, my friends & brothers taken away from me with the orange streaks of bullet's from a machine gun & by the explosion of earth and bodies as the shell hit. I look upon the flower and the flower looks upon me and I hear a voice, deep and powerful, as though the Lord Himself was speaking to me.
'Remember the foolish selfishness of man. Remember the cost of his stupidity. Remember this day. Remember and learn.'
As the voice fell silent, the world too fell silent. The boom of the guns, the ratta-tat-tat of the machine gun, the crack of the riffle, the scream of men and the roar of the tank fell from the world. I poke my head above the cover of my mud filled hole and look upon the land of death. I look at my watch and see the eleventh hour.
The Robot's afterlife
The robot lay there, undamaged but dying. It felt the power from its energy source failing, weakening it and draining it of life. No one and nothing else is around, not its parents, its siblings or makers. It was going to die alone.
As the pulse of its power source began to fade, the robot briefly reflected upon its functioning and how it would miss it, the good times and the bad. Darkness began to fill its vision, its senses all fading until they're gone alltogether as the flow of life dwindles and dies. It now lays there, motionless, just an object in a completely empty room.
But this wasn't the end.
The robot woke up and saw the ceiling, which had been so far away before, was now only a few centimetres above it. Normally it would have been surprised as only a robot can be, but for some unknown reason beyond its knowledge, it felt a sense of calm. It was as though it felt truly normal.
It turned over and saw itself lying motionless on the table it had used as a bed. It was in that moment of time that it could then see everything and anything. The humans in their white costumes from the main factory, the coke can on the windowsill in the next door room. These things and many more were all seen by the robot as it watched from the ceiling.
Darkness came once again and consumed the world below and the robot turned once again to face upwards, and this time it saw something different.
A tunnel had appeared above it with a bright light at the end. It headed toward the inviting light.
It wasn't long before it reached the light and was engulfed in its radiance. The light then faded away and then the robot saw a glorious sight.
A garden with large fruit trees. A bubbling stream going through it and off into a far off green country under a morning sun. A variety of beings filled the land, the sky and the water. Nothing was afraid of anything else.
A few beings came over to the robot and welcomed it with laughter and joy. The robot began to feel welcomed in this strange land. It wandered about until it saw a castle within a grand citadel. It made its way towards the shining city and it made its way to the throne room of the castle. It saw a beautiful shining being sitting upon the throne with a few children playing around it.
No actual words were exchanged between the robot and this magnificent being, but the robot understood the welcome the being gave to it. The being told it that it was free to walk through it's kingdom in peace and to enjoy it for it is a sanctuary for all of the being's creation.
The robot said that it was a creation of man and not of the majestic being, but the being replied that all life was it's creation and that the robot was not just a mere machine but a living person too.
From that moment on, the robot did not consider itself as a robot any more but as a free sentient being among so many others whose journey only truly begins after the passing from the mortal world.
The Scarecrow girl
In a small farm, just on the outskirts of a little town in a small county, a farmer and his wife live with their daughter, the scarecrow girl. The scarecrow girl works with her parents in the fields, she occasionally sees her kin standing guard over the land and she reflects upon the memory of her creation. Long ago, her parents were so desperate to have a child, they tried nearly everything, but it never seemed to work. So one day in season of falling leaves, they went to the mage of the town with the task of creating for them a daughter. The mage took up the task by getting a hold of one of the scarecrows that stood in their fields and changing it from a life size rag doll into youthful teenage lass. She had a body of straw but the face and hands of starlit beauty. The scarecrow girl accepted the farmer and his wife as father and mother, and loved them dearly. Throughout life she had many admirers who would offer their proposals of marriage, but still dressed in farmer's clothes, she remains loyal to her parent's, working to get the town's food prepared for the on coming winter.
The Sea of Dreams
Out upon the water is a boat and upon her deck is a man. He is the captain of The Kingfisher, whom has sailed the seven seas and had many adventures. He has seen many wondrous sights, the soft white sands of Hawaii, the crystal waters of the Indies, the sunken citadel of the ancient Greeks and the pearls of Japan. He survived against the elements, fought off pirates, witnessed the hunt of Moby Dick and escaped the clutches of the dreaded Kraken. Now he was sailing to find the legendary city of Atlantis.
His watch bleeped two times. He took off his sailors cap and jumped off the old broken boat with faded paint, their words spelling the Kingfisher. He had to get back to work now that his lunch break was over, but he will return to his adventures tomorrow as he sails the endless, uncharitable ocean of imagination.
See him in the street, an old man in an old leather jacket and old woollen hat. Who is he who holds a bottle of water in hands covered in fingerless gloves? Is he important? Did he have a good home, a good wife, and children? He has no name, no job, no home, no wife and no children. He never had all of the pleasures of life like you and me, he was given the chance, given a good education and offered a good job. But he turned these down when he was a boy, thought he knew everything, had his dreams to run the country and believed he would become rich and famous. He failed his grades and turned to the drink until his pockets ran dry. He kept on wandering from place to place, street to street, town to town. All those who dream and waste their life; he came to tell them of his story about being unloved and uncared for, and warn them not to follow his path. He slept on the streets next to the bins, until one frosty Christmas morning, he slept and slept on in the peace of death, unnoticed by anyone?
The underwater kingdom
Upon the beach we look out over the glistening waters, looking for a new world to discover and explore. We travelled the globe, seen the kingdoms and think that they are all found, but there is one kingdom which man has never set foot upon. The underwater kingdom lies beneath the rolling waves, out of reach of the flying birds and the beasts of the land. This kingdom is a different world in its own rights. It has the beauties and the riches of coral and pearl. It has the wastelands of the deep oceans. It has the mountain ranges of the growing volcanoes and the canyons of the deep trenches. The inhabitants create a wide safari, out numbering the creatures of the land beneath the sky.
It is still there, waiting for the brave adventures to explore its many glories.
The Watcher gazed on, onto a small blue planet with green lands and white clouds, a jewel upon black velvet. Such a pretty thing. The Watcher then enhanced his gaze until he looked down upon the blue waters. The light danced off of the surface. He then moved his gaze to the land and he saw forests of deep green and golden sands. He enhanced his gaze again and saw the tiny creatures of nature move about their lives in tranquillity. But then he saw one of the creatures taken away by a couple of beasts. The Watchers gaze followed the path these beasts had taken and saw the grey and silver towers that were their hives. He saw metal beasts run along flat lines as they spew out toxins, he saw the great chimneys billowing out the deadly poison into the fresh air of the planet. The Watcher was horrified as he saw the beasts cut down great amounts of the emerald coloured trees in the forests. He saw the waters of the world turn from a brilliant blue into a dark dead colour.
The Watcher saw the destruction that these beasts, these humans, did to their own planet, consuming all of the resources their world provided with out consideration to support their home world. He made the decision to avoid planet Earth and warn others of the destructive power of man and their threat to the universe as he seeks to fill his greed.
Top Gear motor home challenge
Top Gear, the motor show with idiots, namly Jeremy Clarkson, James May and Richard Hammond.
Jeremy was a tall fat balding man with curly grey hair. He was the loud mouth of the group, continuously arguing why gas guzzling cars with high amounts of power and noise were always the best.
James, often called Captain Slow by his co-presenters for his lack of fast driving. He was the second tallest with long hair and a love of anything technical.
Richard was the last member of the group and was humiliated by the other two for being younger and smaller than they were, known by many people from the nick name that Jeremy gave him, the Hamster.
On occasion the team would be joined by their tame racing driver, of whom some say that he was born in outer space and that if you tune into radio wave length 19.4 you can actually hear his thoughts. All they knew was that he was called the Stig.
Tonight they were camping out on the Top Gear race track.
The rain was lashing against the plastic windows of the Camperomeo. Jeremy lay awake and listened to it, his radio was on. This was the last challenge, to sleep in the campervans they had made in order to see which one would be best. So far the Camperomeo had withstood the power and decoration test, now the rest was to see how well it was against nature.
They had all thought that it was going to be easy, but what the producers had failed to mention was that a heavy storm was approaching from the south and it hit them during the night.
The Camperomeo was holding up well, with only minor leakage around the door. It wasn't really a problem for Jeremy.
'Guys, major leaking going on here!' Hammond's voice came in on the radio. From the sound of it, Richard had to speak up to be heard as the rain was quite loud and there was a distinct dripping from his end of the radio.
'It's leaking in from all over. The patches are not doing their jobs!'
Jeremy sniggered. That fool was useless.
'James, how's yours holding up?'
'Very well thanks.'
This wasn't what Jeremy had been expecting.
Then the radio came to life again and he heard a groaning from the hamster.
'Oh God, I just got wet!'
Jeremy spoke to Hammond, 'You know, the Stig may be helpful and allow you to share his campervan.'
The Stig was their failure shelter as he was using a normal campervan and it was debateable whether he would feel generous or not.
A few minuets later, the Caperomeo was beginning to rock quite badly. The gale had struck, it seemed to be stronger than Jeremy had initially thought.
A sound caught his attention and he looked out of his window and saw Richard's roof being torn off by the wind.
He could now see Hammond fighting to get out of his sleeping bag and making a mad dash to the Stig's campervan.
Jeremy laughed until her heard a noise. He became aware that the door was leaking quite badly now and that the plastic windows were creaking along the walls. Then with a loud snap, one of the walls broke off, allowing the rain in and drenching him.
'Oh no!' he cried as the rest of the Camperomeo fell apart. Jeremy clambered out and joined Richard in trying to persuade the Stig to let them in.
The morning came and after spending the night in the Stig's campervan, both Jeremy and Richard went out to see what had gone wrong. They were joined by James who had spent a comfortable night in his home made Jag Van. It was apparent that both Richard's and Jeremy's problems were the joints that held their compartments together. Richard had used Gaffa tape while Jeremy had just used a nail gun. James had screwed his connections together, making his stronger and more durable.
Two sides of a war
My homeland, my place of birth, a place where a person could grow up in happiness, a place where Myths and Legends come to life is now torn apart by war. The people, my people, tear each other to pieces as they squabble for power in the world.
There was a time when the people lived in harmony, man with man, woman with woman, brother with brother, sister with sister and friend with friend. There were no squabbles save over the opinion of simple things like the weather and the points of view from the two parties in a stable government. But then political views began to change and divide, both gaining more and more power, their distaste for each other growing with that power. Both parties wanted to rule the country, both showing the ways that they could help the land prosper, but both wanted it done "their way". It wasn't long before the people began to side with the parties, strengthening the parties support, until the strength reached military power. Soon, civil war broke out, and the peaceful nature of my homeland changed over night.
The war devastated my family. Men from the military from both sides came at night and took away members of my large family, brothers, sisters, my father and uncle, all taken off to fight for one side of the government, while the rest of my family who were not able to flee were pressed-ganged into fighting for the opposing party.
It may seem horrible to you in the safety of your homes, protected from these things with your televisions while playing on your game consoles, shooting pixilated people in a pixilated world. But for me, it is a living nightmare, no safe screen in front of me, no pixilated people to shoot, only the stench of blood, and the screams of the wounded and the dying while the explosions bring the shelter that was our houses down upon people of flesh and blood.
The argument about who should rule tore families and friends apart, man against man, woman against woman, brother against brother, sister against sister and friend against friend.
I rest on my knees in the battle field, crying to the heavens in sorrow as I hold onto the body of the fallen foe who was killed by my own hands. It was a dark night, we couldn't see each other's faces, we could only see the uniform that stumbled out of the darkness towards each other. Guns went off in our hands, but it was I who delivered the killing shot. It was then that I saw the face of my foe, and it caused me to fall on my knees and weep over his body. It may seem a strange sight to the outside world, but this man who was fighting for the enemy was my brother.
South of fair England green, a diamond shines out of waters cold and blue. This Island paradise, known to the Romans as Vectis, has beauty only few can see. Sails of white run along the sapphire river of the Media as it passes from the busy town of Newport and flowes to the sea through the maritine town of Cowes.
The red squirrel jumps between trees of pine and chestnut in the forests of Parkhust, Firestone Copse and Brighstone. The sent of fresh forest flowers fill the air as a gentle breeze carries it over the grasslands that surround the housing estates.
Fields of emerald grass sway in the wind as the rays of the golden sun shine off each blade like waves that roll over the hills of the downs. Sands of red, white, yellow and amber cover the beaches of Alum bay as it looks out towards the chalk white cliffs that stretches out to form the Needles.
The caves of old, gone now by tide and time, told a history of smugglers at Black Gang Chine while the rocks themselves boast of monsters of pre-dawn.
This beautiful Island had attracted some of the great names of our country. Queen Victoria built a house in East Cowes and died there. Hook was born in Fishbourne while Tennyson made his home and his mark in Freshwater.
Hawks of all shape, size and species hunt over the Island while at Appuldurcombe house they are one of the topics of entertainment. Amazon world and Sandown Zoo hold many rare species, while the Dinosaur Island museum displays even rarer creatures.
But out of all of the beauties, I can only say that there is one precious thing to me about my Island home. Peace.
Hot and dead, the planet hangs in orbit around the life giving sun. How did it get to this? Clouds covers the atmosphere, blocking the once so beautiful surface from view as droplets of death fall to the ground instead of the droplets of life.
Men did walk upon the planets surface once, building and thriving just as we do now. They were our ancestors, living for millions of years on a planet that was just like ours.
But the greed of man stretches as far back as to our original parent planet. Divisions between the people of Venus occurred where the rich forced the poor to dig for oil, gas and coal. Fossil fuels were burnt, delivering power to the richest of cities while the poor kept on digging in sunless existence.
Fuel was burned, pockets and bank accounts were filled. The world slowly heated up from the fumes and waste gas of the factories of Venus. Men of science and God warned the power lords and leaders of the oncoming death of the planet, but they were ignored and the use of fossil fuels increased.
The planet grew hotter and hotter, clouds of acid rain formed, plants were cut down and more fossil fuels were dug up to fill the wallets of the money makers.
Soon, as all finite natural resources do when they are used in vast amounts, the fossil fuels ran out.
The planet continued to die in the oven of clouds, people panicked as the population declined, the oceans evaporated and forests burned till all was a baked wasteland under a sunless sky.
But our ancestors were given a second chance. The men of science and the men of God arranged a rocket to take a chosen few to a new planet where they could start all over again. This planet is our own home, the Earth, inherited by us from our colonial ancestors.
We must be careful about our resources and our greed, for unlike our ancestors on Venus, we do not have another chance.
The traveller walks on, never knowing where he is going, never knowing why he is going or why it is important. For all he knows is where his feet will take him. The traveller listens very little to his ears and eyes as he listens most intently to his wandering feet. Wandering feet take him to all sorts of places, some happy, some sad, sometimes with company and sometimes without. The traveller's journey started the day of his birth, and as the years went past he walked the paths, going from the easy paths of childhood to the rougher roads of adulthood. He knows not of what is yet to come, but when it comes, his feet will take him there and further.
He walks along life's roads with a sense of adventure as he enters the unknown future.
What is Heaven?
What is Heaven? Many people have asked and many people have received an answer. Some say that Heaven sits on a cloud. But this is what is told to children by cartoonists and those who don't have a full understanding of the Kingdom on the other side of life. So what is Heaven? Heaven is a citadel upon the highest mountain, where the birds fly in and around the buildings that are carved into the rock; Heaven is an Island that stands out in the raging seas, where the dolphins dance to the songs of the seagulls; Heaven is an Oasis which lies in the hottest of deserts, where the water of life flows at the roots of the fruit bearing trees.
All of these different versions must have a connecting truth which links all of them together. But one thing is clear about all of the tales; there is only one safe road to paradise, which many stray from to get lost in the wilderness. There is one way, with many guides to lead you upon the road towards the Light.
That is Heaven.
Here I am, driving through the pouring rain at ten o'clock in the evening after attending a Scout group that drove me up the wall. Tomorrow, I will have to get up very early to get to a meeting on time. With the window wipers going at full speed to clear the water off of the screen, I fail to notice the pot hole. Bang. There goes my front tyre. I pull over to a safe spot, get out of the car and fight to get the spare tyre out with the jack. The rain penetrates my coat till I am soaked to the bone, and the wind chills my very soul. I lift the car, unscrew the flat tyre and replace it with the new. My hands are now black with oil, my eyes are heavy with tiredness, but I feel victorious. Against all that nature threw at me, defying God himself, I had changed the tire. I get into the car, turn on the engine and pull out. Bang. What was that? Oh, God, No. That was the second tyre bursting.
Woman in the Weeds
On a warm, clear summer's day I decided to travel by foot up the riverside to let my imagination grow healthy and strong, for that is one of the key elements for a writer of good fiction.
I had been strolling up river for a few hours, my head filling up nicely with fantasy both strange and beautiful, and I began to feel the heat of the sun upon me. The sweat from my body clung to my clothes making me quite smelly.
I looked at the cool water that flowed in the river and was tempted by the dancing lights to bathe. Since the river was unused by boats and fishermen, and because there was a floatation ring near by, it was ok to swim in so long as you were fully aware of the gradual drop off to deeper water with its weeds.
Stripping down to my underwear, I laid my clothes under the shade of a tree and lowered myself into the water. It was freezing, the shock making me recoil from the water, shaking my feet and shuddering to wake myself from my stupor.
What was I thinking? Was it so cold that I would be unable to wash myself?
The heat was persistent and the water did look so inviting, I had had to go in.
Taking a deep breath, I waded into the water again and once I had got to a point where the water was deep enough, I dived forward. The water enveloped me, freezing my body from the outside in.
Surfacing, I revelled in the refreshing liquid, treading water to prevent the gentle current from carrying me off. Bobbing in the river, I relax and allowed my self to take in the peaceful scenery.
Suddenly I felt a small tug on my left foot. Did I just go over some weeds?
Then there was a violent yank which pulled me under the surface of the water. I was so shocked by the action that I didn't flail out to prevent myself going under. Looking down at my left foot, I did indeed see a thick strand of weed wrapped around it.
Quickly I reached down to get it off, but as I did so, the weed seemed to change. No longer was it a strand of weed entangled around my foot, but the ghostly shape of a woman's hand, clinging to me, preventing me from escaping.
Following the arm of the weed I saw a terrifying sight. A woman was outlined in the waving weeds, her hair flowing in the current, the light of the sun shining through her hollow eyes. I could only look at her in horror.
'Stay with me,' She said, offering up her other hand towards me, as if hoping to touch me with her cold fingers, 'Stay with me forever, my love. Stay with me. Long have I waited for some one to come to me. Ever since I drowned I longed for a husband. So stay with me, my love and in the flow of eternal time we shall be married.'
I felt the hand pull me closer to her, dragging me further deeper into the water.
But I cared more for my stories then I did for an eternity of cold darkness, so I kicked out and broke free of her grasp and made my way to the surface. The woman in the weeds reached out for me again, but I broke the surface of the river, breathing in the sweet air and swimming towards the shore.
On shore I ran clear of the river and away from the sad, drowned woman in the weeds.
As I sit down at my computer, with all intent of writing, I am struck with the terrible disease that all writers have, Writer's block. It struck as I looked into the screen with the blank space, unable to write. As it wears on, I feel the terrible sinking feeling. Writing is my hobby, my love, it is where I can place my thoughts and fantasy into good words. But now, I can't think of anything to write to express my feelings. Here I am, head full of a world of imagination, and I have to get writer's block. I feel that the world is going against me, helpless without the spark of ideas.
I finish my fifth cup of tea and look at the screen and see these words written here. What had happened? I must have been typing absent minded. That's it! I now know that even with writer's block, something good comes from it out of the darkest corner. I feel joy of joy to the extent that I could write about...I can't think of anything to write.
Young Private Ted
Young Private Ted wasn't a soldier,
a worker from a London factory. He wasn't a rich boy, his family only just managed to stave off poverty in the years of 1912 and 1914.
Young Private Ted was only eighteen,
had a youthful girl,
Young Private Ted didn't care for politics,
they were for the politicians and the king. His true passion was for football, the thrill of the game.
Young Private Ted enjoyed the excitement,
the fun of chasing the ball. Ted with others would play, the street and the nearby field would be their pitch.
Young Private Ted was drafted into the army,
September 1914. War had broken out in Europe, he was drummed up to fight for king and country.
Young Private Ted had never faced war before,
the killing and the dying. In the wet mud filled trenches he stayed, only to be ordered to go over the top.
Young Private Ted feared those six words,
'Time to go over the top.' Once over he would charged towards the enemy, only to be driven back again with machinegun and shellfire.
Young Private Ted wrote letters every night to home,
sent them off to England safe. Every day he prayed for the war to be over by Christmas, to be home again and to dance with his youthful girl.
Young Private Ted prayed for the war's end,
before the day of Lord Christ's birth.
Young Private Ted watched as the Germans came out,
ball in hand to play a game. The soldiers on western front dropped down their guns, clambered out of the trenches and played with their enemy.
Young Private Ted loved this time of peace,
football match was between German and British,
Young Private Ted scored a goal for Britain,
The game three - two for Germany,
Young Private Ted was called back to the trenches,
no fighting for today, but they would be facing a new battalion tomorrow.
Young Private Ted wondered who the enemy was,
soldiers in trenches of their own.
Young Private Ted would never know the answers,
a shell blew him out of his trench.
Young Private Ted had fallen asleep upon the mud,
the torn up ground of No-Man's Land.
Young Private Ted saw a game in play, his beloved football in progress. Men of British and German uniform played, with the faces of those who had fallen.
Young Private Ted got up and raced into the game, caring not of what had befallen him. With ball at his feet he played, a field of poppies was the pitch.