Emma W

I’m 16 and I love listening to/making music and

baking. Over the past years I have gained a huge

interest in English literature and the construction

of different styles of writing. I have been

especially keen on experimenting with poetry since

I think the way that words are used to convey

feeling can come across beautifully in poetry.

Esther J My name is Esther, I’m 12, I enjoy reading,

playing the piano and acting. I joined

creative writing club because I liked the

idea that you can write whatever you like

and experiment with types of writing.

EDITORS

Hello, my name is Kaia and I am 14 years old and I am Canadian. I have two younger brothers and my favourite pastimes include pretty much anything out doors, music, and writing. I enjoy free hand, creative writing the best and I find that it's sort of like a window to escape this world and be reborn as someone else in another life and another world with different connections and different abilities. I like to write books on my free time and just let myself be taken into the story by my characters. I could be in the shoes of a deadly assassin or a heroic being or even just something like a tree. Personally, I think writing is a beautifully expressive way to be yourself and not have worry about anybody being mean to you because of it.

My name is Mrs Bradley and I really

enjoy the peace and quiet of the

Creative Writing Club. We have so many

different people from all year groups,

which makes the club interesting and

diverse. I love to write poetry more than

prose; the concentration of language and

consideration of rhythm that poetry

requires makes it fascinating.

Also featuring work by Rebecca Galvin and

Sasa Tranca

You see the wrath of it unfold You see it turn the world to ash You feel it invade your body You feel it rip your heart apart You read it, it wrote the world You read the past it wrote You want nothing more than power over it You want nothing more than to survive You know nothing will withhold it You know you just have to wait Wait until it creeps up behind you: Death AMELIA M

I am ship in the ocean,

Battered this way and that,

Floundering atop the water,

As black and inescapable hands,

Rear up and collapse.

Crushed beneath the swell,

The wood body splinters and

cracks,

As menacing winds scream,

Whipping across the crests,

Of insatiable waves. TABEA R

Malfoy: Is this a wand, I see before me,

The handle toward my hand? Come let me grab you:

I can't hold you but you are still there.

Are you a deadly spectrum, real?

Or are you but a boggart or peeve's cruel trick. If you are a boggart, do you come

from the cupboard?

If so, riddikulus!

You’re still there as real as my

wand.

You tempt fate

Leading me towards my destiny.

There is nothing to trust;

My eyes lie, or they do not?

You're still there but...

Now more evil, like me.

Now green lights flash, avada

kedavra!

Shut up… such a superior pure blood,

Like myself,

Isn't afraid of a little trick. The deed

The oath

The mark

They scramble my brain. Once I've seen a thestral

I've crossed the line.

Voldemort would celebrate,

His rebirth, Dumbledore's fall Watched by Nagini

Whose hiss, her watch, her stealthy slither.

Thy surely enchanted staircases,

Ignore my footsteps, wherever they go.

You ghost, paintings, statues of armour

Whisper not of my movements

For fear someone should prevent me

Reaching my destiny.

Whilst I whisper and wait, he lives.

Death eaters, come forth from the vanishing cabinet.

(A bell rings)

I go and it is done, the final bell.

Hear it not Dumbledore, for it is a knell

That summons thee to heaven or hell.

AMELIA M

If you lived a long time ago, or if you will live in a time a long way from now, you will know the blackness from which the world was born and which will swallow it whole in the years to come. From that blackness in which the world was born, a shadow was born too. His cape is made from the blackness harnessed from the birth and death of stars, his face the light of the moon. His eyes shine bright with the fire that kept us alive and now sustains his decaying soul. His body is the ever changing space, the tiny dimension of shadows. He is the one feared by all, known by many a silent brooding companion. A spirit mentioned by all races, unknown only by those whose life will be as fleeting as a summer breeze, as short as the whisper of a hummingbird’s heart. They will know none other than misery, pain, envy and ultimately death, once enveloped by the fold of his cape which claims us all. Death. Malicious, manipulative, moody. Count Death will come for us all. AMELIA M.

The Gift of the Seasons A long time ago, there was only darkness in our world. But not even darkness; for there to be darkness there would have to be something. So, to say it correctly, there was nothing. But then, the Creator of our world, gave life to the earth. Created a whole new life force that was unknown until that very day. The Creator had created weather, and scenery. Rolling green hills, plain landscapes, deep blue oceans, dry deserts and snow capped mountains.

But the Creator soon got bored, yes there was life in plants and nature, but other than that there was no life.

So, out of his urge for life, he created four girls, made of the elements. The four girls' names were Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring.

Spring came from the earth, born from the flowers. Winter came from ice, born from snowfall. Summer came from fire, born from the burning sun. And lastly, Autumn came from the wind, born from the leaves that fell. These four girls were as normal as anyone, and everything went well for these girls for a while. These girls respected nature, and grew up in harmony with the world. One day, when all the girls were sixteen, the Creator came to them, and offered them a gift that was like no other, not even the crystals they had gotten at their birth. I will first talk about these crystals. Winter had a crystal that shone an eerie white, Summer had a fiery red crystal, Spring's crystal was a beautiful green and Autumn's was a soft orange. These girls were given these crystals to protect them from all evil. But everyone knows that, no matter how much you try, you can't protect yourself from your own evil. The gift that the Creator gave to them was a gift that could never be given to anyone else. It was to become the Guardians of the seasons, and live in harmony as they made the balance of the

world. All was well, as peace reigned in the land, spreading goodness from the earths core to the skies. But I wish to tell you more about these girls before they became Guardians of what was soon to become the seasons. It was the sixteenth year that the girls had been on Earth, and since they had been created - so therefore born - on

the same day, all four of them celebrated their birthdays at once. It was a warm sunny day and Summer was bathing in the suns rays, her blonde hair splayed out around her head like a halo, and relaxing in the cool grass. "Sister," Spring greeted Summer enthusiastically, gracefully sitting in the grass at Summer's side, fiddling with pieces of the grass in her fingers. "Hello, it's a beautiful day today, isn't it?" Summer mused, opening her eyes and looking

over at her shy sister, her face partly covered by locks of light brown hair. "Yes," Spring giggled lightly, "but you love this type of weather most." "True," Summer agreed, smiling warmly. She really did love this weather, the

heat of the sun filled her with energy.

"Summer, Spring," Winter said urgently, dragging herself over to her sisters, "come, quickly."

Summer and Spring were as clueless as a baby chicken. The world seemed to go by in a blur

as

Winter raced ahead of her sisters, not once stumbling. They came to a clearing in a green meadow and saw Autumn sitting on a stool, sipping Chelis out of a cup. Chelis was a drink that was made from cherries, milk and nectar. It was delicious. "Hello, sisters," Autumn said, placing her cup on a table and standing up as her sisters greeted her. "What is the emergency?" Spring asked, her muscles tensed and her green eyes alert. "I do not know," Autumn admitted, frowning. "But the Creator wanted to meet us, he said it was vitally important we made it." The girls, all frowning or stunned, took their seats at the table. Soon enough, a swirl made up of rainbows appeared before the girls, and the Creator stood before them. He was an old man with a grey beard, a stooped back, and large twinkling eyes. He had been around for longer than there had been anything. He had, after all, created the four girls that sat before him. "I am so glad you could all make it," the Creator smiled, hobbling over on his walking stick. "Hello, O Creator," Winter said quietly, bowing her head as a gesture of respect. "There's no need for that!" the old man laughed, throwing his head back, "We are all equal here." "Of course." Winter blushed, stepping back and seating herself once again at the table. The Creator walked to the four girls, gave a flick of his walking stick and it turned into a staff. Another flick and a luxurious chair appeared behind him. He sat down, eyeing the Chelis. "Take some," Autumn suggested happily, pushing the bottle of Chelis towards the Creator. "Don't mind if I do," he said brightly, pouring the drink into his glass and taking a long swig. The Creator waved his staff at the table, and instantly birthday gifts were presented to the girls. "You shouldn't have, really," Spring stuttered, staring awkwardly at the gifts. "I know, but I wanted to, sixteen is a special age," the Creator said mysteriously, avoiding the girls' gaze as they opened their gifts. "Wow!" Winter breathed, looking at the snowflake-design charm bracelet, clasping it around her wrist and staring in awe at its beauty. Summer opened up her gift and was shocked to see a bracelet with tiny golden suns on it. Spring carefully and politely opened hers, but could not contain her joy and surprise at seeing a charm bracelet that had little animals on it. Finally, Autumn unwrapped the box and held in her hands a bracelet with orange, yellow and red leaves gently attached the bracelet. The four girls looked at each other and shared a glance of expressions unknown. They were beyond happy, grateful, every positive emotion didn't seem to describe how they felt well enough. Their emotion was beyond it all. "And, I have another gift," the Creator began, "It's something that I know you are all ready for." The girls were too caught up in a whirlwind of emotion to know what was happening, but they did their best to listen and pay attention. "This is big, but, I want you to-" To be continued in next magazine FLORA C

The Dread Wolf – a small spin-off about an elven god who fell in love with a mortal

elf whilst disguised as a mortal himself. He left her behind in order to try to undo the horror he accidentally unleashed upon the world, and broke her heart. She never learned the truth about who he was.

Imagine..

The dread wolf, phantom of fear, a

hooded shadow, returns to the ruin of

Skyhold. He treads lightly over the

rubble, takes care not to disturb a single

fragment his old world. He lifts his head

at the crumbling walls of the once mighty

fortress, and closes his eyes. He catches

the sweet scent of andruil's grace and

prophet's laurel, the herbs grown in the

Skyhold garden.

He passes under the arch and into the

courtyard, now a mess of upturned soil

and uprooted plants. There is a tree, left

untouched by the destruction, standing

on a small rise. He walks beneath its

shadow, and lays a palm on its bark. The

dread wold remembers this place - feels

the memories tugging from the other

side of the veil. He closes his eyes again,

this time to feel, just for a moment, her

hands on his chest, her weight against

his. He breathes out, and, unable to

resist, curls up on the roots of the tree,

and falls asleep.

When the dread wolf wakes night has fallen, and the ruin of

skyhold is illuminated by the cold light of the moon. His eyes

open, and he takes one searing breath of reality that burns in

the back of his throat. He stands, and moonbeams catch on

the wetness of his cheeks. The dread wolf leaves the ruin, his

shoulders bowed low in the guise of an old man, and

smothers the wasteland of his soul. TABEA R

Every Rose has its Thorn "Rose, darling, can you come up here?" a mother asked her daughter gently, taking the little girl's hand and pulling the girl

towards herself. The little girl nodded, and silently followed her mother up the dark mahogany staircase.

"Come, dear," the mother whispered, urging her daughter onwards and occasionally looking back down the stairs.

"Mummy, what's happening?" the little girl, Rose, asked, placing her hand on her mother's shoulder. The mother turned

round, and a small smile flickered on her face.

"Nothing will, if you follow me," she replied, pulling her daughter after her up the stairs. Eventually they reached an attic,

and the mother pulled herself inside, then helped her daughter. There was a noise downstairs, a noise of a monster.

Growling, snarling, the noises came closer.

"Mummy," the girl whimpered, closing her eyes.

"Hush, dear," the mother replied, "open your eyes. Don't worry, I won't let the monsters get you." But despite her words,

the mother was as frightened as her little girl. She had been dreading the day this would happen, she had hoped it

wouldn't happen.

"Take this," the mother said, pushing a dark velvet package into her daughter's hand, "it will protect you if you wear it."

"But, how do I wear it?" the little girl asked, staring at the velvet.

"Like this," the mother answered, taking out a silver, gold and lapis lazuli covered stone necklace and putting it around her

daughter's neck. At o nce, it began to glow and a sort of force field surrounded the girl, illuminating the attic. The girl was

lost in thought, staring in wonder at the bright necklace around her neck, forgetting her panic from earlier. The mother

smiled weakly, but the moment was broken by a thunderous roar which shook the house.

"Mummy!" the daughter cried reaching out for her mother.

"No," the mother insisted, pushing her daughter gently away. The little girl paid no attention and dragged her mother with

her to the furthest corner of the attic, and they were then both protected by the mysterious glowing necklace on the

child's neck.

"The monsters won't get any of us," the little girl said firmly, taking her mother's hand in her own.

The mother placed her head on her daughter's shoulder and silently wept, shaking as the monstrous noises became

louder and clearer by the moment. It is all going to end tonight, the mother told herself, one way or another.

The first monster came within a minute of that moment, roaring in triumph as it found the mother and daughter curled up in

the corner, shaking with fear. The monster had an odd face, short legs and crouched as though it were an old man. As it

roared, the air was mixed with that very roar and the daughter's scream, piercing through the darkness. It was as though

her words had taken some sort of form, white swirls made of the finest looking particles circled around the surprised

monster and in a flash of bright white light the monster was gone, only a pile of ashes were left behind. But their moment

of surprised hope was shattered as more monsters came into the attic, snarling, growling and hissing.

"Mummy, we need to run," the little girl persisted, stamping her foot. As she did so, a white circle came from that spot

where she'd stamped her foot and disintegrated the monsters closest. The mother stared in shock, then looked into her

daughter's hazel eyes.

"We can't," she replied shortly, dropping her gaze to the floor. A claw came out of nowhere and snatched the mother out

of the protection, causing a scream to escape her lips. The monsters crowded around the mother, frightening the poor

child out of her wits.

"No!" the girl screamed. Huge white clouds of particles came from her and surrounded the whole attic. The little girl's

eyes were white, an eerie glow coming from them as she screamed in rage and fear. The white clouds enveloped

everything, taking all in sight. After a moment, the screaming stopped, and the clouds evaporated. The little girl stood

silently in the attic, looking around frantically. The monsters were all gone, she was safe. But with panic, the little girl

realised that it wasn't just the monsters that had gone. Her mother had disappeared.

FLORA C

Poetry I am human I'm not a monster I'm not a freak of nature Not yet. I am human I'm not a model I'm not a genius And I'm not perfect Not ever. And still I am human I was born real Not perfect And I am destined for a life A life clouded with fog Fog that fades away As each day does pass And I am human A child of the earth A being that can inspire And be inspired I can't be changed Not really No matter how much you try I am a species that has prospered A species that has thrived

Has killed and destroyed Yet rescued and renewed Still I am human

I am myself Go ahead and try Just try to change that. But you can't.

Because you're human too.

KAIA C

Esther J

The Return

A tall and elegant figure strode to a fire pit, their cape flickering

in the whistling wind. The stranger looked quickly to both sides,

pulling their hood down as the wind threatened to throw it off. It was

a cold night, especially on the mountain top. It was nearing winter,

the coldest season and time that was known about to mankind. The

unknown person carefully made their way to a cave behind the fire pit,

walked inside and didn't come back for a few minutes. After a while,

the foreigner came back out with some glass vials in their hands,

walking to the fire pit and throwing them in the pit. A moment later,

green flames roared up, lighting up the figure's face. It was a girl. A

she-elf to be exact. The she-elf had long brown hair tied up at the

sides and serious dark brown eyes. The girl stepped forward slowly,

until she couldn't go closer to the pit.

"Hani ko luvk dir qas lij fon," the she-elf muttered, closing her eyes.

As soon as she opened them, the flames turned blue, orange and black.

One more step, and it would be done. If you looked closer at this girl,

you would see that her eyes were dark brown, but they were becoming

darker by the second, stopping until they were almost black.

"Ulos arev kiw tunil, kefdo nusha vilr xip daq." The she-elf stepped

back as the flames disappeared into smoke. As soon as the flames were

completely gone, the she-elf flicked her gaze towards the pit. Standing

in the place where the roaring flames had once been, was a tall

stranger. The stranger lifted their head, and at once the she-elf knew

she had succeeded. She had brought the Dark Lord back to life.

"Hello, Master," she said calmly, bowing slightly as she kept her eyes on the obsidian sword at his belt, gleaming in what little light

remained.

"Tala, you have done as I asked," the Dark Lord stated simply, stepping

out of the pit. As soon as his foot made contact with the ground,

Tala's eyes returned to a light brown and she looked frightened at the

sight before her.

"The Dark Lord!" she cried in horror. "How are you alive and back?"

"You brought me back, I had you possessed," the Dark Lord explained,

unsheathing his sword.

"But why me? Why a she-elf?" Tala asked desperately.

"Because you had the power I needed that would bring me back," he

yelled, lunging at Tala with his sword as her scream pierced the air.

FLORA C

The mind of a writer Ideas into words The pen moves The ink flows Trailing tracks Smooth lines Dots, dashes, loops The story goes on For eternity AMELIA M

My Trial And Error Generation: Part 1 By Rebecca Galvin

Britta finally hauled herself upwards, out of the gushing current of water, and inhaled a deep breath of air. Although the water still threatened to drag her under again, she finally clutched hold of something dangling a over her head. A nice thick rope of cords; perfect. Making sure the cords didn't give way, or electrify her, she pulled herself up, and held on tight. She did not want to go back into the swirling current of dirty, freezing tsunami water. Once Britta finally had a good hold of the cords, she looked out at her city. The bright light of the sun illuminated her dark skin and hair and blinded her eyes, but finally they adjusted, and she was able to see. A wasteland of shattered buildings and rubble rose out of the water around her (which was starting to retreat back to the ocean), full of waste, debris and bodies. Britta also realized that she was hanging eleven meters above the ground, underneath a railway bridge, supported by big metal pillars. But nothing of what happened seemed too shocking for her to handle. In fact, Britta's entire part of the island had grown used to such disasters. Apparently, these things were just everyday challenges, and her city was supposed to get things natural disasters, and other challenges every 2-6 months. Or so she had been taught.... Britta's thoughts were suddenly disrupted by a searing pain coming from her leg. She shakily glanced down at her dangling legs, and noticed a huge scar on her right leg going from her knee, down. She knew it might be a long time until she was even noticed, let alone rescued, so she waited, and watched solemnly as the tsunami departed from the defeated city. Finally, after most of the water had gone down enough, and she heard sirens blaring in the distance, Britta decided that she must get down, before her arms gave way. Previously, while she'd been waiting, she had come to the conclusion, that she would wait for help, but then she realized that rescue teams would probably start at the nearest points, and help people on ground level. So it was now or never. Britta swung on the cords, and tried to reach the nearest metal pillar. She finally wrapped her legs around it, the bulks in the pillar sticking into her thighs. She spun her torso around, so that she could get in reach of the pillar, when suddenly, there was a crack in a pillar further on, and the whole bridge shook. As if it were a signal, the cords she was hanging onto gave way, and Britta was sent falling through mid air; she remembered that in survival classes at school in fifth grade they had taught the students, that falling into water at a high speed or long distance could be fatal. She acted immediately, and flung herself at the pillar next to her. Her nails scrapped the smooth surface of the metal, and Britta knew it wouldn't be long before she hit the surface of the deep water below. She grabbed at the air, in search of something she could grip onto, to possibly save her life. But it was too late, and Britta plunged into the murky water below.

A Cat's Diary

May 4th, 2015 I came into the kitchen to hear a slightly horrible sound that I recognised as Tiffany singing. Her voice isn't too bad, but singing loudly early in the morning with notes she can't quite hit is another matter. I recognised the tune too, because I hear it all the time. It was the "Star Wars" theme tune, and Tiffany was also wearing her Star Wars T-Shirt. I know she likes it, but why today? I do get tired of hearing the same things. And then I remembered. Of course, today was Star Wars day, May the fourth be with you. It was actually quite clever, to match up the slogan with the date, for humans. "Morning, Matilda," Tiffany says when she sees me. That's what she named me. I've had to get used to it; it is an ok name, though, personally I would prefer Matilda, Queen of the Universe. "May the fourth be with you and happy Star Wars day!" Tiffany continues, here we go again. She reaches down and strokes my head, I give a short meow of pleasure before going out into the garden for some breakfast. I like to hunt sometimes instead of having a bowl put in front of me. You can get bored of cat food. I'd just caught a medium sized bird and I was taking it to my flowerbed when I heard a rustle in the hedge and my least favourite ebony black Bombay cat( I myself am a white Scottish fold, but that is for later) stalked elegantly through. Sheila from across the road is sooo obnoxious. Last week I caught her on my patch of wall at the front of the house when she thought no one was looking. "What do you want?" I asked. Being polite

doesn’t matter in front of Shiela.

"Oh, Tilly, I didn't see you there, how are you?" I decided not to reply to that "Oh Tilly, don't be grumpy, Is it because she's annoying you with her Star Wars?" She indicated Tiffany, now dancing inside the house "Well, I can help with that if you like." I didn't fall for it.; she loves to pick fights. She flexed her claws, as a reminder of this

very fact "Give me the bird…" That compelled me to speak.

"Shove off. You've probably had breakfast." "I wanted to hunt this morning. Give it here."

"Hunt in your own garden." "We don't have a bird feeder. Just give me the bird!" "Make me!" She paused for a second, allowing all our cat neighbours to come through the hedge. They can smell a fight a mile off. "Alright, I'll fight you for it. The loser eats cat food every day for two weeks." "Fine" There were eight other cats. Tom, Sid, Lucy, and Mary on Sheila's side, and Edgar, Albert, Thalia and Courtney with me. The groups of four formed semicircles behind the cat they were supporting. It's a custom in cat fights. Then Sheila pounced. It was an endless array of scratches and meows and me falling down until I finally got to stand up and scratch back. Then Sheila remembered what she was there for and tried diving for the dead bird. I jumped in the way and hissed. More scratching. Cheers and boos from the spectators. I grabbed the bird in my mouth and quickly batted Sheila's reaching paws out the way so I could take a swipe and win. But she got there first, jumping and knocking me right over, she finally got hold of the bird. Now it was our teeth doing the fighting. I thought the bird would be pulled in half before either of us could free it, but she dragged it from my mouth and when I took a swipe back at her, she blocked it and whacked my shin, sweeping me off my feet. "Grubs up, Tilly!" was her parting remark. Tom, Sid, Lucy and Mary followed, shooting me snide looks. Edgar, Albert, Thalia and Courtney ran to my side and after asking if I was ok a thousand times, helped me up. They wanted to know if I really would eat cat food for two weeks. I told them not a chance. I would have to eat small amounts of cat food every day to keep Sheila happy (and I knew she had only wanted that bird because her owner chased them out of the garden and expected her to go elsewhere) but on the

days when I want something different, she has no idea about the stash I keep in my flowerbed…

The Yellow Flower Petals soft Thorns so sharp Protect her as she sways. Skies of aloft And birdsong harp They lull her as she stays. Howling metal Grinding gears Destroying all she knows. At last It's grey A world once gay Lies dead in winter sorrows

KAIA C

Grow-up!

Either age gracefully

Or else wind up like a pathetic plastic

bag

Gazing, depressed, into the cold mirror,

Eyes lined with bitter disappointment

And lips circled red; once pouting, now

pursed.

You’ll eye youth with bitter jealousy

Seeing her external beauty

Only. The only beauty you want.

Cut your skin. Dye your teeth.

But the clock ticks

And waits for no woman.

You will age further.

It will happen.

Just let it

And avoid the mirror.

Dream of Unicorns by Felix

Molly

That beautiful smile that always dances on your face,

You have glowing green eyes that are their own race.

That pretty golden brown hair, You and me; we're a pair.

I love you so much, Even when times clutch.

Paint jumps off your page,

With everlasting age. Your colours inspire,

With eternal fire. I love you forever,

Even with your collection of feathers.

You are funny, brave And usually behave,

Only a little bit snappy. I love you a lot,

Even without a yacht.

My heart swells with love, You're my little dove.

I will always look out for you, You and your zoo.

Just remember that I love you Even when you have the flu.

This comes to the end

But don't worry, you can depend On me for all of time.

By Megan C

Message from the editors

The concept behind the title of this magazine materialised in

the 2012 Creative Writing Club. We envisaged a magazine

that just appeared around the school in a very surreptitious

fashion. This then led to the idea that we would make it look

more like a scrapbook than a polished magazine, which is why

it has the look it does today.

The Creative Writing Club is a very informal one which you

can dip in and out of depending on your schedule. We meet

on a Monday lunchtime in room 275 and discuss our ideas,

think of various inspirational ideas and then…write!

We hope you enjoy reading the Spring term’s magazine.

Amelia

Mance

Sometimes dreams are true, sometimes they aren't; that is what my Grandma used to tell me. I find myself in an unfamiliar place where all around me, wherever I look, all I can see is a beautiful shade of light blue, apart from the sun, which blinds me even though I am not looking at it.

I cover my eyes with my hand. It is only then that I realise my long hair is flying upwards, or so it seems. My brain soon jumps to the only conclusion available; I am falling! And fast, for now I can feel it tugging at my skin, my hair feeling almost as though I were being lifted up by it.

And then I see it. I only enjoy the "beautiful" view for a few seconds, but what I see, I will never forget: a vast, wide open plain of clouds, every couple hundred kilometres a beautiful city, soaring towers, castles so fine and detailed with filaments so thin they appear weightless, and, directly below me, an ugly military camp, whatever impression I might have had from the beauty of the cities. I cannot recognise the beauty in this for it is nothing but a blatant camp. Barracks lined up in neat rows; a few big concrete blocks with red crosses on them; the military hospitals, a perimeter fence, and all of it grey. Abstract as it might seem, among all of it, are unicorns.

Unicorns, with their white wings, white horns, and even rainbow coloured manes... I hear a thump, and my belly goes prickly. It feels as if I just hit a trampoline the wrong end first. I realise that this must be what clouds feel like, for that is exactly what I land in; thick, white clouds rolling over the sky of some world still obscured from my sight.

I get up, and sneak towards the perimeter fence. For what reason I sneak, I do not know, but I somehow have a feeling that I should. I see something that almost makes me collapse in on my self and I have to grip the fence, finding it hard to steady myself.

In front of me is spread out a scene of horror. Unicorns, walking about on the training grounds, ripping apart straw dummies uncomfortably resembling humans. As I look, I see one ripped to shreds and then trampled under the hooves of one unicorn. Another unicorn I can see as it sets to work on a dummy, stabbing it three times, right above the heart, where my big brother shows me the big arteries and veins are whenever he's boasting with his knowledge of anatomy.

I can see three more shooting beams of energy and burning to the ground what seem like cardboard models of cars, tanks and planes. And then a loud commanding voice trumpets out over all this: "To your positions men, for this is the glorious day that we fall upon mankind, and let it known they shall never be the true ruler of the universe! Now soldiers, forwards, advance upon the enemy and rejoice in bloody battle!"

I feel the clouds thinning under my feet, and suddenly I find myself in the streets of some city. There they come, a hoard of many millions of them, all shouting a mighty cry of victory, for victory is already theirs. By Felix R

Please join us in room 275 for Creative Writing Club every Monday lunchtime…

When? Monday Lunchtime

Where? In room 275

Creative Writing Club

THE

GREAT CREATIVE

MONDAY LUNCHTIME

ROOM 275

The

Creative Writing Club

Monday Lunchtime, Room 275

Written by any BSN

Student

Any BSN

Student

and the CreativeWriting Club

Room 275 Monday lunchtime

club”