Short Story - Christmas Day Special!

I never usually eat before we set off, there is always food along the way. Also, as the others never cease to remind me, I do get slightly motion sick. Father always comforts me though, he says I came in very useful on that foggy night many years ago, he would never have been able to do it without me. It's our busiest time of year, you see, there are so many places to go all in one night, Father gets quite stressed with the pressure sometimes.

As we line up to get strapped in, the others jostle for front place, but Father comes straight to me and leads me to the most important position. Pride swells in my stomach ... or it could just be the beginnings of nausea. Once we are all ready to go, Father waves goodbye to his wife, and the jingling of bells signals the start of a very long night. I lean forward into my reins, trying to get a feel for the heavy load. Once I am steady, I switch on my bright red light and gallop as fast as I can along the ground, just making it to the end of the runway as we take off into the night sky.

It is not totally dark yet, but it soon will be, so Father flicks on the headlights to illuminate the way for the others. We are picking up speed and I can just make out the familiar sight of Europe's silhouette below. Father instructs us to stop and I turn my head to watch him open the trapdoor on his present carrier. Each gift is programmed to find its destination, and they all hover simultaneously in the air for a split second, before plummeting to the ground.

Father once explained to me that he used to deliver them all himself when he was a young man, but
now technology has grown far beyond my comprehension, as has his beard, and his wife always used to complain when he came home covered in soot. Anyway, it is far easier to let satellite navigation do the work, he said, so that is what we use now. When I asked how the presents entered all the houses, he said that was not for him to worry about, it was no longer in his contract, and did I see any other delivery men waiting for someone to pick up the parcel before driving away? I replied that I had never seen any delivery men in my life, as we lived in a rather sparsely populated area. In fact, I noted that I had never seen another family in all my years. Father did not respond, so I never asked again, as I think it is a touchy subject.

The morning is almost here and we have covered every continent apart from Asia. This is my favourite stretch of the journey, as I can feel the wind urging me on from behind; my hooves hardly need to touch the skyway. Although Father uses us for minor jobs throughout the year, it makes me feel like I am part of something big when we finish our largest, most important task.

Father prepares us for landing and we begin to slow down. All the gifts have been delivered now and
morning is finally here. My hooves touch the snowy runway and we engage the brakes so Father's wife does not get annoyed again. (Last year we didn't manage to slow down soon enough and her ice sculptures got destroyed). Once we have come to a halt, Father unharnesses us all, leaving me until last. "Thank you, Rudolph," he smiles. "You're welcome Father Christmas," I reply.

Short Story - Halloween Special!

"Bye Mum!" Olivia waves goodbye as the car disappears out of view. "Finally," she mutters, "I've got the house all to myself." Suzanne, Olivia's mum, is going out for the night to meet some friends and entrusting her daughter with looking after the house until she gets back. Normally, Olivia would go with her, but tonight is Halloween and Suzanne doesn't want the house to be ruined by the time she gets back.

"I think I'll make some ghost-shaped biscuits to give to the trick-or-treaters." Olivia muses; she's never been one for sweets and was always disappointed on Halloween when she returned home with a bucket full of sugar. Collecting her ingredients, she sets to work and produces some perfect dough in no time. "Good, but I can do better," Olivia has always been a perfectionist and begins to search the kitchen for something to make her biscuits outstanding, "I know! I'll use some of that glow in the dark gel we bought last Halloween for an added twist." Rushing outside into the garden, Olivia finds the gel hidden away in the shed, labelled, 'Use with caution'. "Oh well, what harm can it do?" she thinks to herself as she runs back into the house, away from the cold. Adding a little gel into the mixture, she cuts out the biscuits and puts them in the oven.

A while later, Olivia pops back into the kitchen to check on her biscuits. But they've vanished. The oven is off and the tray is completely empty. As Olivia turns around to start looking in the rest of the kitchen, she thinks she sees a flash of white disappearing into the living room. Curious, she follows it and finds more than she had bargained for. As twelve ghosts descend on her, she screams and desperately thinks of a place to hide, "The shed! The ghosts might not be able to leave the house," scrambling out of the door, she sprints to the shed and slams the door behind her. Peeking out of the window, her heart sinks as she sees the white shapes float through the back door and into the garden. However, almost as soon as they are outside, they go back indoors as if the cold is unbearable. "I don't believe it!" Olivia whispers with relief.

Half an hour later, Olivia checks her watch, "The trick-or-treaters will be coming round soon." Glancing out of the window, she expects to see the ghosts still inside the living room. But they're not anywhere to be seen. Cautiously, Olivia opens the shed door and creeps across the garden. After checking the coast is clear, she enters the living room to hear the door bell ring. "Oh no! I haven't got anything to give them." With all the biscuits gone, she doesn't know what to give the expectant children, until out of the corner of her eye she sees something quite unexpected. A plate of perfectly glowing ghost-shaped biscuits sitting on the table. The bell rings again. Knowing she doesn't have any other choice, Olivia picks up the plate, opens the front door and gives her first Halloween treat to a rather unrealistic witch. As the girl walks away holding the biscuit, Olivia thinks she sees the ghost wink at her.

Poem - Seasons

I never used to notice you,
Until one day I opened my eyes and saw,
That the world was starting anew.

So many lives just beginning,
It seems impossible that anything could end,
For the world will keep on spinning.

But people forget the new starts,
They want an end to work and school.

Much celebration for the joyous times ahead,
Planning, booking, travelling, relaxing.
No time at all to rest your sleepy head.

But play has to stop some day,
And work must continue.

A time for preparation,
Everyone must think ahead for what is inevitable,
Waiting with anticipation.

But time has run out,
Woe betide the unprepared.

Harsh times are to come,
Yet they are blinded by the light of festivities,
Deafened by merriment to which all will succumb.

Book Review - Thank You, Jeeves

This book is both ridiculous and humorous. It makes you look stupid when you laugh out loud in a public place at what appears to be nothing, yet gives you a boost if your day isn't going quite to plan. Definitely a fine bit of bedtime reading, the plot is certainly original, if not just plain odd. At times it can be quite frustrating (watch Mr Bean's Holiday and you'll see what I mean) but I think that is what kept me reading.

The basis of the story is that Bertram Wooster moves to the English countryside because his neighbours and butler hate his banjolele playing. (I didn't know what it was either until I looked back at the front cover and realised how stupid I was being). So Bertie, after receiving notice from his butler Jeeves, retires to a home far away from anyone who can discourage his musicality.

However, his new butler is a loon and after a series of improbably unfortunate events, his banjolele is burnt up along with his new house. Bertie turns to Jeeves for a helping hand and luckily, Jeeves has no hard feelings and suggests he goes back to being his butler.

The novel ends much the same as it started, the only difference being Jeeves who has replaced the banjolele.

An adult with a sense of humour and a love for annoying posh people would be the most suitable reader for this book. But any grown up would do.

A novella - Chapter One - Puppy possibilities

"Exciting news!" I give my mum a withering look as she practically bounces around my bedroom, "At work today Adam told us that his cocker spaniel is about to have puppies!" Mum has always wanted a dog but up until now, the opportunity has never arisen. I must say, I'm quite eager too. I ask, "Really? I didn't know he had dogs."
"Yes, he has four adult dogs already and they're expecting a big litter of puppies. The mum is absolutely huge and Adam's emailed me a picture of her and the dad. Do you think you would be interested?"
"Of course! It would be so nice to have a puppy. Our only trouble is persuading dad."
"Yes, I was thinking that. Let's mention it at dinner and see what he says. We can keep working on him until the puppies are born and ready to be visited." As my mum leaves the room, I can't help but jump around a bit myself. It's so exciting! Visiting the puppies, choosing one, naming it, taking it for walks, the list goes on.

I look up some pictures on my computer of cocker spaniels just as my dad calls me to lay the table for dinner. I wonder what he will say when we break the news . . .

Poem - #itsaGirlThing

I heard about the campaign to promote girls' rights when watching one of Hazel Haye's videos on the channel ChewingSand.

In the run up to International Day of the Girl on the 11th of October, Plan International have started a campaign to "highlight injustices and challenge the world to make changes to ensure all girls access their rights".

I felt that I should do my bit by writing a poem about girl's rights. After you've finished reading, why not play your part?

Are you proud to be a girl?
You should be.

Do you feel equal with boys?
You should do.

Has anyone ever told you how lucky you are?
They should have.

Are you in school?
You should be.

Do you have freedom of speech?
You should do.

Has anyone ever reassured you that you're safe?
They should have.

But what if you're not proud, equal or lucky?
What if you don't go to school, aren't allowed to say what you think or don't feel safe?

Then something has to be done.
Until all girls are proud, equal and lucky to be who they are, we cannot rest.

Stand up.
Shout out.
Make a difference.

I hope this poem has made you realise how important equality is and if all you do is go onto the Plan International website, that is enough to raise awareness and start making a change.

#itsaGirlThing

Watch Hazel's video

Book Review - The Help

I watched the film adaptation of The Help quite a while ago and after seeing it on my bookshelves recently, I decided to give it a go.

It was written by Kathryn Stockett and is set in Jackson, Mississippi during 1962. The chapters have varying narrators throughout, the first being Aibileen. She is black and works for a white woman called Miss Leefolt, raising her child, cooking and cleaning.

Chapter three is told from the point of view of Minny who is quite like Aibileen in the sense that she also earns money from working for richer white families, yet Minny has more of an outspoken nature and is no stranger to being fired. In the beginning, she works for Miss Walters - an old lady who is either deaf or pretends not to notice Minny's rudeness. However, when Miss Hilly (Miss Walter's awful daughter) annoys Minny, she does something terrible to Miss Hilly which causes her to be fired. After this, Minny goes to find another job and the only woman who will take her is the desperate Celia Rae Foote.

Miss Skeeter tells chapter five and we learn that she is a white lady trying to fit in with the others, yet failing because she disagrees with the shocking way black people are treated. She still lives with her parents and their maid is called Pascagoula. Previously, a lady named Constantine was their maid, but for a reason unknown to Miss Skeeter, Pascagoula took her place whilst Skeeter was away at university.

For the whole book, these are the only narrators. However, when all of the characters go to 'The Jackson Junior League Annual Ball and Benefit' in chapter 25, narration is in the third person, which means you only receive the story from an onlooker's perspective. 'The Benefit' as it is more concisely known is a night of fundraising for starving children in Africa.

The key theme in the story is the horrible way black people (maids in particular) are treated by white people. Miss Skeeter seems to be the only white person to want to do something about this and persuades many of the maids to tell her their stories so she can write a book about it. The book is eventually published anonymously and causes a commotion in not only Jackson, but all over America.

I would recommend this book to ages 16+ as it has adult themes such as racism and abuse. However, I wouldn't say the style of writing was too complex for younger teenage readers.

Overall, I think this is my favourite book so far! If you are thinking of reading any of the books I have reviewed, definitely try this one first.

Short Story - Lottie x

Sunday 31st August

Dear Diary,

I've got to be very quiet because everyone else in my dormitory is asleep and I can hear one of the teachers patrolling outside our door. Nevertheless, I thought I had better start recording what happens in my life as who knows what I might forget when I'm older. Adults say your school days are the best of your life. That's a depressing thought. I don't really enjoy school and if it's downhill from here, then I'm snookered. Anyway, I'm Charlotte in case you didn't already know and soon everyone will call me Lottie when I set them straight because that's what I prefer. Charlotte seems awfully long and posh. I'm not either of those things, in fact, the only reason I can come to this prestigious school is because I got a scholarship. I had to audition for the place by performing a dance in front of some daunting teachers because this is a performing arts school and my 'art' is dance. Or if you'd like to be specific, ballet.

I've been doing ballet since I was four years old and I'm eleven now. That means I've just started Year Seven which sounds good until you reflect on the fact that I don't know anyone in this room. That's a worrying thought isn't it? Soon I'll be able to push that worry away though, because I'm going to get to know my dorm over the next year and I'm sure they will all be very nice. Even if they aren't at first, I'm sure I'll be able to win them over. That's the good thing about my personality, people always seem to be nice to me. I hope it's not because they're scared of me. Oh dear, I've started worrying again.

Okay, I'll try and go to sleep now, so that's all for today. Starting from tomorrow though, I will tell you all about what goes on at St Ada's Performing Arts.

With love,

Lottie x

Monday 1st September

Dear Diary,

At St Ada's we have to get up REALLY EARLY! I was just dreaming about pirouetting down the hallway when this terrible ringing sounded in my ears. I looked at my clock and it read 6:30am. I could not believe how soon we had to start our day considering all the learning we were going to have to do later.

There wasn't much I could do about it though, so I hopped out of bed and quickly got ready for breakfast. I wasn't sure what we were supposed to do once we were all set but a girl in our dorm called Lola has an older sister at the school so she took charge and said we had to wait until a teacher came to take us all down to the canteen. I liked the look of Lola until she started ordering us around, pretending she knew all about St Ada's already. I felt it was my duty on behalf of the rest of the dorm to change the subject, so I said I thought it would be nice for us all to get to know each other whilst
we waited. We all sat on the ends of our beds and told the group our name and what our 'art' was.

There's five other people in my dorm and I'm very proud that I've managed to remember all their names. Lola (who I already told you about), Poppy, Martha, Becky and Kat whose real name is Katherine, but like me, isn't fond of her full name. The first two do singing, the next two acting and me and Kat are dancers. I can already feel that Kat and I are going to be best friends.

Breakfast was delicious when the teacher finally came to get us and we didn't do too much learning for the rest of the day which I was pleased about. It was mainly just sorting out timetables, where everyone was going to sit and what we were going to do for the rest of the year.

Each day we will have five lessons which each last an hour. Since my scholarship is for dance, I've got an hour of that every day. I can't wait to get started!

I'll have to say goodbye for now as free period has just ended and we have to go to our after school clubs. Mine is swimming today and I'm really excited to see the pool because my old school was tiny and didn't have anything as fancy as this.

With love,

Lottie x

Tuesday 2nd September

Dear Diary,

Today I had English, Maths, French, Science and Ballet. I was waiting all day for fifth period when I could do the subject I really love. To be honest, I'm not very good at any of the other lessons; dance is my forte. I was very pleased when the ballet teacher, Miss Sharp, complimented my dancing because she seems like the sort of person who can be instantly stern if you don't do what she wants when she wants it. Kat is more academic than me and really shone when we did English and Science, she's going to be a good friend to have when we get loads of homework!

I feel like I'm really starting to settle in here at St Ada's, I haven't missed my parents at all since that first night. My mum told me to text her once a week to let her know that I'm okay but I'm sure she'll relax that rule once the year has properly got going. And if she doesn't, then I will just have to gradually reduce the amount that I text her until I get my way. She won't be any the wiser.

Not much else to report so . . .

With love,

Lottie x

P.S: Swimming was very tiring but the pool was fantastic!

Friday 5th September

Dear Diary,

Sorry I haven't written in ages, I've just been so caught up in boarding school life.

Lots has happened since we last spoke. Firstly, Kat and me have agreed that we will be best friends. It's so nice to have someone to chat to all the time, although Miss Sharp does have to shout at us sometimes to make us quiet. Secondly, tomorrow is my first weekend in Year Seven and we get to go home just this once to see our parents before we come back on Sunday night. Last of all, I have decided that this will be my last entry. I know I only wrote for a very short time and that I was supposed to record all that happened at St Ada's, but I don't feel like I need to any more. Now I have a friend to confide in and I know all the people in my year, I can settle down and just live 'the best years of my life' one moment at a time.

So for the last time.

With love,

Lottie x

A Reader's Poem

I received an email from a reader who had seen my poems and been inspired to write one of their own. I found it very touching and think you will too.



It's a worrying thought when you become invisible.
I'm not sure when it happened, and it's now a new lifestyle.
I now smile at everyone that I pass, but few respond.
More often it's the infants in their mother's arms,
who still possess the magic senses of the new-born.
The youthfulness of life never dies.
It remains inside, hidden by the aged exterior.
Which like the bark of the tree, few notice or examine.
The thought that all that past never really happened, 
is too terrible to accept.

The consequence that the end can only be a lesser experience
of what we may have imagined has gone before, leaves one request:
Please smile back.

If you would like to write something for the blog, just send me an email at rapunzeltheblogger@gmail.com

Book Review - One Million Lovely Letters

After watching one of Carrie Hope Fletcher's YouTube videos on the channel ItsWayPastMyBedtime, I added the book One Million Lovely Letters to my reading list. It sounded like an intriguing idea which I hadn't ever heard of before, so, trusting Carrie's recommendation, I got round to reading it. 

The author is Jodi Ann Bickley whose life was turned upside down after contracting what her GP at the time thought was meningoencephalitis from a tick bite. This illness severely affected what she could do and made her feel upset quite a bit of the time. 

So, in 2013 she set up onemillionlovelyletters.com. People from all over the world could now email her with their address and why they would like a letter. Jodi would send them a "hug in an envelope" to cheer them up and make them feel loved.

Jodi seems like one of those people who genuinely prefers giving to receiving. When people are asked whether they prefer to give or to receive, most people try to respond 'correctly' with, "Giving, definitely." Even though deep down, they prefer receiving. Yet, Jodi explains in her book how writing the lovely letters gave her as much joy as it did the people who received them. I think it is a beautiful thought that helping others can often give you more pleasure than anything else in the world.

Her book tells the story of her life before and after onemillionlovelyletters.com. It shows how, by small acts of kindness, you can brighten your own day and other's at the same time.

I wanted to give this book a five star review to show how much I appreciated what Jodi was doing after what she had gone through, yet I'm only marking the books on the quality of writing, general concept and whether they would stick in my mind long after I had read them. I can't say that Jodi is the best writer I have ever come across, or that I will always remember her book. What I can promise though, is that I will never forget her remarkable story and even more amazing personality.

I would recommend this book to an age range of 16+, as I think its audience is supposed to be adults, but you don't need to be 18 to read it.

Overall, this book tells an inspiring story and compels its readers to do good.

Poem - Anticlimax

It all begins with ...

"Come on! We're going to be late!"
I know that call only too well
So I slip on my shoes and rush out the front gate.

I watch our car swallow up the road and,
Of course, it is raining.
Slithering, sliding, like a snake on roller blades,
I make my way gracefully to the front door.
Everyone has already arrived,

Eating what looks like a canapé, but I couldn't be sure.
All of these people seem to know me by name,
I have no idea how, but I play along with their game,
They ask, "How's school?"
I reply, "Fine thank you" and quickly move on.
Others state, "What long hair you have!"
What to say to that? I just smile and whisper to mum, "Who is she?"

Making small talk to lighten the mood,
"So ... how are your children?"
Or maybe not, one of them just failed their degree at Uni,
"Are you enjoying the food?"
Yes, better, I can surely say that without any awkward silences,

No.
Wrong again, she's allergic to every food under the sun,
Oh well, I tried, I'll leave the chit chat to the grown-ups.

And this is where it ends, at home, peace and quiet. On an anticlimax.

Book Review - My Name is Mina

I read the book My Name is Mina quite a few years ago and really loved it. So I recently decided to read it again because I'd forgotten what happens and I want to read its sequel, Skellig soon.

I think of this book as David Almond's secret masterpiece. Skellig is so well-known that it almost overshadows this one. Yet, I can't understand why, as I like My Name is Mina just a little more. It's one of those books that leaves you feeling a bit dazed after you've read it; like you're not quite back in the real world yet.

I'm not going to write my usual plot summary, as that would spoil the creativity and spontaneity of this book. Instead, I will give you a feel for the book by showing you my favourite parts.

Here are some of Mina's thoughts:

"When I was at school - at St Bede's Middle - I was told by my teacher Mrs Scullery that I should not write anything until I had planned what I would write. What nonsense!"

"Why is there anything? Why is there something rather than nothing? ... And before there was something was there just nothing? And did that nothing turn into something? And if that nothing turned into something how did it do it, and why? Why? Why? Why?"

"A few weeks later, we were reading an encyclopaedia. It said that if you counted all the people who had ever lived ... until about fifty years ago, there wouldn't be as many as the people who are alive today ... 'So that means,' I said, 'that Heaven only needs to be about as big as the earth.'"

"Ms Palaver ... was wearing a black suit with a white blouse an silver earrings. Mr Trench was also in black and white. I was about to ask them if they were off to a funeral but I thought perhaps not."

I would recommend this book to an age range of 9-13 because the language used is quite simple and Mina is a young girl. However, I definitely appreciated the humour and thoughtfulness of this book more the second time I read it, when I was older.

Overall, if you want to read something that will take you out of reality for a little while, be sure to pick up 'My Name is Mina'.

Book Review - War Horse

I have just finished reading War Horse by Michael Morpurgo and what a tale it was. Told from the point of view of Joey the horse, it was definitely different to any book I'd ever read before. To give you a feel for it, I will summarise the plot.

The story begins with the sale of a horse called Joey to a farm; consequently separating him from his mum. Luckily, Albert (the son of the drunken farm owner) cares for Joey to protect him from his father and later trains him as a farm horse alongside Zoey, the stoic farm pony.

Joey is sold on to a soldier named Captain Nicholls not long later by Albert's father because he "needs the money bad". Albert tries to stop the sale but does not succeed, yet all is not lost, as Captain Nicholls promises to take good care of Joey and says that when Albert is old enough, he could join the cavalry and maybe find his horse again.

However, Joey doesn't have an easy time of it in army training as he is ridden by the harsh Corporal Samuel Perkins who isn't as kind as Captain Nicholls. Fortunately, after training the Captain spends hours talking to Joey whilst drawing him which comforts the horse and makes his time in training decidedly more bearable.

Joey's luck seems to continue when he meets a new friend, Topthorn, the magnificent black stallion. They are competitors as well as companions and keep each other on their toes. Yet, sadness returns when Captain Nicholls is killed in their first battle. Joey is given Trooper Warren to be his new rider, but Warren is a lot less experienced and doesn't have as light a touch as Nicholls did.

A little after their meeting, Trooper Warren is separated from Joey when he and Captain Stewart are taken as prisoners of war. Joey and Topthorn are lead away and meet Herr Hauptmann who orders his men to give the horses the best treatment possible. However, both horses are needed to carry wounded soldiers away from the battlefields and are stabled elsewhere on a farm owned by a little girl named Emilie and her grandfather.

Although the work is punishing, Joey and Topthorn look forward to seeing Emilie at the end of every day because she cleans, feeds and chats for hours on end to them.

After a blissfully peaceful time working on Emilie's farm, the horses are taken away by soldiers to pull a gun alongside four others known as Heinie, Coco and the two golden Haflingers. After a while, Coco and Heinie both die and the others are left to pull the gun in worsening conditions.

After surviving the long winter, the spring comes and the horses are put under the care of a nicer man named Friedrich. However, Topthorn is still suffering and he dies just before an attack in which Friedrich is also killed by an explosion. Joey is so bereft that he stands guard over the bodies of Friedrich and Topthorn all night until he is frightened by a tank and runs as fast as he can in an effort to escape the war. He is eventually forced to stop running as his injuries and fatigue overcome him. With confusion and panic, he then realises that he is in no man's land.

From either side of him, a British and German soldier approach and flip a coin to see who gains ownership of Joey. The English win and take Joey to hospital. When he arrives, he is put under the care of two men named David and ... Albert! Joey is reunited with his original owner after David cleans him and reveals his unmistakable four white socks and cross shaped mark on his forehead.

Yet, Joey is still fatally ill and requires twenty four hour attention in order to recover from his tetanus. It takes the whole team of workers at the hospital to pull Joey through, but they succeed and all seems well again.

However, when David is killed, Albert falls into a state of depression. Even when the war finally ends, there is little celebration, merely relief for the remaining men that they are still alive.

The horses are auctioned off and just when it seems that Joey will be sold to a French butcher, Emilie's grandfather makes the final bid and buys Joey. He then sells Joey back to Albert for one penny on the condition that Albert will love Joey as much as Emilie did.

Albert takes Joey home with him to meet Maisie, his future wife. The story ends happily, with Zoey and Joey working alongside each other again, just like in the beginning.

I would recommend this book to an age range of 11-15 as the topic might be harder to handle for younger children, but the language used isn't challenging enough for very advanced readers.

I liked the fact that it had a happy ending and all the loose ends were tied up, but if you prefer books which mirror real life (which doesn't have an ending), the end to War Horse may seem too idyllic or unrealistic.

Overall, it's a very original and thoughtful book which could be used to educate children and teenagers on World War One.

Poem - A Rose-Tinted Childhood

Acting out the hairdressers in my pretty pink bedroom,

Asking my customers, “Are you going on holiday soon?”

Playing this marvellous game I would beam,

When it came to the real thing, I wasn’t so keen.                                                                                    

Baking with Grandma to make lemon cakes,

How much longer is it going to take?

For that cake to be ready and cooked right the way through,

So that we can eat it together, just me and you.       

Shoes shining, not a hair out of place,

All to be spoiled when I joined in the race,

Running across the playground as if a tiger was after me,

Then drawing a picture, what on earth could it be? 

Trying to catch a glimpse of the tooth fairy, 

To her I would probably seem very scary.

Maybe if I lie still and pretend to be asleep,

She might come in through the window and then I could take a peep.

So many memories that I have stored in my head, 

I expect there will be countless more on the path up ahead.

Short Story - The Future of Cara George

“Your homework due for next week is as follows,” everyone groans as Miss Harrell addresses the class, “write an essay on where you see yourself in twenty years’ time.” I pull a face; how am I meant to know what I’m going to be doing twenty years from now? “Cara George, what do you mean by that rude gesture?” Oh dear, I’ve been caught out, again. “Sorry Miss, I was just itching my nose,” I try it on as a new ploy to avoid being lectured. Miss Harrell shakes her head and with irritation in her voice, says, “I’m fed up with your feeble excuses Miss George, see me after school.” I can’t believe I’ve got another detention; I’ve had plenty this term already. For the last few minutes of the lesson, I mull over what I’m going to do when my mum finds out I’m in trouble yet again. I could just say I was doing my homework for Miss Harrell. A little white lie can’t do much harm.

After scurrying to the English classroom for my detention so as not to be late, I knock rapidly on the door. “Come in,” I hear her voice and it makes me shudder. I go inside and wait to be told what to do next. “Well, are you going to sit down or just stand there like a lemon?” Miss Harrell’s voice cuts through me like a knife. Wounded, I sit down. “Frankly, Cara, I’ve had enough of your tricks and I want this detention to be a lesson that lying gets you nowhere in life except into trouble.” There’s a long pause as I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat, pondering whether to reply or not. “Sorry Miss,” I mumble whilst staring at the faux wood table. She appears to be unsatisfied and forces me to apologise again, “With meaning this time.”

After possibly the most awkward fifteen minutes of my life, I’m released like a bird from a cage and I rush home to recount the sorry tale to my mum, disregarding my previous resolution to fib. Not that Miss Harrell’s right about lying, but I feel like I deserve a bit of compassion.

As soon as I got home, I spilled out the whole tale of my detention to mum who didn’t seem to have much sympathy and merely asked if I needed to get on with my homework. “Probably not,” I replied but she was clearly in a bad mood, “It was a rhetorical question Cara, go and do your homework.” I didn’t budge. “NOW!” I recoiled and hurried up to my room for some peace and quiet.

An hour later, I heard a soft knock on my door, “What?” I asked crossly. “It’s only me,” I could perceive my mum’s apologetic tone. I spoke softly to show I was sorry too, “I’m doing my homework like you asked.”

“That’s good darling,” she pushed open my door, “what’s it about?”

“Oh, just some stupid thing about where we see ourselves in twenty years’ time.”

“Doesn’t sound stupid to me,” my mum is clearly trying quite hard so I give in, “I’ve tried loads of different things but none of them feel right, I know they’re not true. Can you help?”

“Well, the only way to know for sure is to go and see for yourself.” I am really confused now, “How could I ever see for myself?” I ask incredulously. “Time travel of course!” My mum seems excited but surely she’s only trying to cheer me up by playing around. She appears to see my doubt and attempts to reassure me, “I’m serious Cara; I’ll give you the instructions and you need to read them carefully. But, when you get there, even if you forget everything they say, the one thing you mustn’t do is change your future. Who knows what might happen if you do?” I have no idea what she’s talking about but if it’s going to please Miss Harrell, I’m all for it after today’s events.

A few minutes later, I’m standing outside in our overgrown garden, ready to see my future. I clasp the clean, white paper mum gave me in my hands as I begin to follow the commands. ‘Clench your fists,’ it reads, ‘then imagine an older version of yourself,’ in that moment, I couldn’t think of anyone but my mum, ‘now focus on that older self and close your eyes as tightly as you can.’ I focus on the darkness and the tightness of my hand, then picture my mum and I think it works.

The strangest sensation begins to envelop me as I feel as if I’m rolling down an infinite hill into a dark valley. I can see blades of grass all around me and hear rushing water in the distance. I’m not sure whether it’s a river or a waterfall, but either way, I don’t want to land in it. I try to slow down but I only end up rolling faster and faster. Eventually, I give up trying to stop myself from rolling and let my body fall over the land. Oddly, this seems to have the opposite effect and I stop unexpectedly with a hard ‘thud’ on what at first appears to be a grassy bank. However, it suddenly disappears and I feel very enclosed as if I’m in some kind of box, specially designed for human bodies. It’s as if I’m lying down and, feeling around, I touch cold, unforgiving wood at my sides. I have no idea where I am or what I’m inside but I don’t like it.

Panic begins to rise in my stomach as I get the impression that the box I’m in is being picked up and carried towards something. I then hear what I recognise to be the ‘Funeral March’. It finally dawns on me. I’m in a coffin. This is my funeral; twenty years from my fourteenth birthday, I’m going to be dead. I don’t know what to do. If I scream and try to get out, my future changes and that’s the one thing my mum told me not to do. Her words echo through my head, “The one thing you mustn’t do is change your future. Who knows what might happen if you do?” But if I don’t, I’m going to be killed. Straining my ears, I listen for clues as to where I am exactly. I can just make out some shoes click-clacking across the floor and I know I’m inside. It’s a crematorium. I’m going to be burnt alive if I don’t get out of here.

I can’t think of a way to escape without changing my future but I’m going to have to ignore my mum’s advice. I try to comfort myself by thinking about all the times I haven’t listened to her and everything’s been fine. I begin to scream, “AAAAAAH! GET ME OUT OF HERE!” I start pounding my fists against the side of the coffin and realise they’re still tightly wrapped around my mum’s instructions. Reminded of her order not to under any circumstances change my future, I shout, “Sorry mum, I don’t know what else to do.”

What feels like hours later, I detect a scrabbling sound at the coffin and light begins to pour in. “Oh my goodness! She’s alive!” I squint and see my auntie standing over me, her face as pale as a ghost. “Auntie!” I exclaim, “I thought I was going to be burnt alive.”

“But … we thought you were … gone.” She is clearly bewildered by my appearance but I don’t have time for explanations. I’ve seen enough of my future to write an essay worth A*, even from Miss Harrell, I think it’s time I went home. But hang on a minute, how am I going to get back? Mum never gave me those instructions.

Short Story - The Unlikely Roadtrip

Sighing, I log onto ‘www.blindroadtrip.com’, I’ve never actually booked one of their long term blind dates, I don’t think I’ve got the courage. I only signed up last New Year’s Eve as an attempt to quench my loneliness and find a friend, whether for a holiday or for life, I’m not quite sure. My name’s Afia Makena Obama by the way. And before you ask, no, I’m not related to Barack Obama, in fact, I’ve never even been anywhere near America.

Scrolling down the list of road trips available, I come across one that catches my eye. England to Germany. I’ve always wanted to go to Germany but I can’t afford it, the only way I can ever foresee leaving England is if I win the lottery, and that’s even more improbable than digging up some dinosaur bones. I’m a rather unsuccessful archaeologist and I’ve been considering finding a different job for a while, but every time I approach my manager, I find some excuse to turn and walk away as fast as my stumpy legs can carry me. As unlikely as winning the lottery or discovering dinosaurs may be, going on this road trip is much more feasible as it’s heavily subsidised. The website knows most people won’t ever take on the challenge of travelling hundreds of miles with a person that they could turn out to hate, so the company can afford to offer hire cars and hotels for extremely low prices.

An hour of hesitation later and I’m already starting to regret my decision. I booked it. I booked the blind road trip and I’m getting the hire car next week on Tuesday. I have to drive it to Chiswick and pick up my blind ‘date’ for possibly the most excruciating holiday I’ve ever been on. Although that would be easy as I’ve never actually been on holiday.

It’s the big day and I’m driving the Nissan Beetle feeling a bit stupid. I want to put a notice in the rear window saying, “I didn’t choose this car, please don’t judge me.” I’d rather have no car than this one but I suppose walking from Hackney to Chiswick with my suitcase might not be a good idea.

I arrive at my date’s house and am surprised to find myself all in one piece. I was shaking all the way here and had to stop a few times in case of an accident. I swing my legs out of the car door and stand up, holding on to the frame for support. “Left, right, left, right,” I have to force myself to walk down the path of what appears to be the incredible hulk, in house form. My flat doesn’t have a patch on this mansion. I grasp the brass knocker and tentatively tap the imposing front door. A tall, lanky looking man opens it and I force a smile. I knew this was a mistake, already I can see that we have nothing in common. “Good morning, I’m Jeffrey Carlyle, what is your name?” Oh dear. He’s going to think I’m ‘common’. “Erm, I’m, Afia.”

“And your last name?”

“Oh, silly me, I’m Afia Makena Obama. And before you ask, no, I’m not related to Barack Obama.” I laugh but he clearly doesn’t get the joke. “I never said you were associated with the American President, what a preposterous notion.” His brow creases into a frown and I realise it’s my turn to speak. “Don’t worry, it was just a joke … Anyway, are you ready to go?”

“Well, yes I suppose I am, although I can’t say I’m very much looking forward to this trip. I usually prefer to fly when I go to Germany on business.” He picks up his smart, black bag and leads the way out of the door. I laugh nervously as we approach the car which looks even more out of place than it did when I arrived. “I promise I didn’t choose it,” I smile, “I hope your bag will fit in.”

“Just about,” he grimaces as he shoves it into the boot and then opens the passenger door to stoop down into his seat. I slip easily into mine and we set off on what is probably going to be the road trip from hell.

I find myself lost for words, so I decide to turn on the radio. Though, this causes more trouble than it’s worth as ‘Kerrang!’ clearly isn’t his cup of tea. “So, what music do you like?” I enquire, hoping for some harmless chit chat as I turn down the volume of the heavy metal background music. “Well, as a famous pianist, I’m more involved with classical and baroque music, although I do veer into the romantic era when I get the chance.” I was surprised by his reference to fame as I’d never heard of him before now. “Well-known, are you? What kind of concerts … erm, you know … music things do you do?” I was out of my depth. “I completed the Bachelor of Music course at the Royal College of Music in London and presently I’m travelling all over the world for films.” I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by films if he’s a pianist and not an actor but for once he clearly sensed my emotions and carried on with his monologue, “I’m the hands of characters in films if there’s any piano playing, such as Tom Selznick, the key character in Grand Piano; it was released in Spain in 2013. The film Shine, in which I played the hands of David Helfgott, was released in 1996 in Australia.”

“Oh, cool, so you’re doing well for yourself then,” I grin and he appears to stifle a sneeze. However, that could have been his attempt at a smile. “So whereabouts are you from?” I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel now for ideas of conversation topics; all I’ve got to do is keep this up until we reach Germany. As he starts to tell me about his house hunting adventures, I begin to zone out, until I hear about his obvious wealth, “I was born in Chiswick and when I began to earn large sums of money as a pianist, I purchased the house adjacent to my parents’ so that I could help them when they reached old age. How about you?” I was taken aback by his interest in my life but I started to tell him what some may call a brief life story. I’d never confided in anyone like this before, but to be honest, it was a relief.

I spoke of being born in Zimbabwe, Southern Africa, and my parents dying of starvation whilst trying to keep me alive; of my life in an orphanage until I was 20, then moving to Hackney, England. I informed Jeffrey of my studies on the History of Art and Archaeology at SOAS, University of London and how I developed an interest for archaeology. I told him about my fruitless search when I undertook the task of involving myself in an archaeological dig in Shoreditch Park, Hackney in 2006. I wasn’t sure if I was boring him with all these facts, but I certainly knew it was filling the silent void between us.

The sat nav interrupted my train of thought and I realised we had made it to Folkestone. Surprisingly, the drive to the Eurotunnel hadn’t been as excruciating as I first imagined it would be. My right foot slid over to the accelerator pedal as we inched forward into the train. I saw Jeffrey open his mouth to speak but shut it again when he noticed me looking. “Were you going to say something?” I kept my eyes on the queue as I spoke. “I was pondering whether to remark on your autobiographical speech or not.” I laughed, “Sorry, did I bore you?”

“No, not at all. In fact, sympathy was more at the forefront of my mind than mockery.”

“Why?” I was puzzled, why would anyone feel sorry for me? He explained, “You have no family, an unsuccessful job and are living in a dump.” His bluntness felt like a punch in the stomach, “When you put it like that,” I replied, “I suppose my life is pretty rubbish compared to yours.”

Some hours later and we were on the French motorway, with Calais a little way behind us. Jeffrey fell asleep when we were in the tunnel and I’ve got to admit, he is quite good looking. His hair’s blonde and brown all at the same time, yet each strand is individually visible. His eyes are turquoise, veering more into blue than green, and the rest of his face is quite pale. He looked so innocent sitting there, the air conditioning playing with his hair.

He seemed to have fully woken up and started saying, “I forgot to mention how much I admired your dress when I originally saw you,” he smiled kindly as he looked at me and I felt myself blushing. “Thanks,” I shuffled around in my seat as I felt his gaze still on me.

“I’m enjoying this trip more than I thought I would,” he began, “In fact, I think you’re more my kind of girl than I first imagined.” I was shocked, I knew I liked him and he clearly liked me, but I hadn’t ever expected him to say it first. “Despite all the odds, I think I don’t mind you either,” I replied. We both sat awkwardly for a bit until we reached the border to Germany and busied ourselves in the passport checking.

It was late evening now and we had come off the autobahn in Germany and were driving through some smaller streets, trying to find our hotel for the night. However, it was proving to be more of a difficult task than we had expected as the roads were poorly lit and I had no idea what our hotel looked like.

“There!” I jumped at Jeffrey’s exclamation and slammed on the brakes. “What on earth was that for?” I shouted. “Sorry, I just saw the hotel on the right. Look … it’s really … not German.” He was right, it looked like any other English ‘Holiday Inn’ but I didn’t care; we’d made it. 

“I’ve just thought of something,” Jeffrey said as he helped me with my suitcase up to the reception desk, “Do you want to come to a concert I’m playing in after this trip’s over?”

“Sure, that sounds great,” I was trying to sound cool but inside I was dancing and shouting, ‘I have a date! Yes!’ As nonchalantly as I could I enquired, “So where are you playing?”

“Oh, at the Royal Festival Hall,” he said it as if it was nothing, but it sounded really posh. What was I going to wear? Oh dear, I’d already fallen into the trap of trying to impress him, I just needed to calm down and think about whale music … Forget the whale music, that really didn’t help. Instead, I casually asked, “By the way, when is the concert?”

“A fortnight after we get back to England.”

“Fine. Ok. Yes. That’s great.” I was flustered and couldn’t quite think straight so I escaped by heading over to the reception desk and checking us into the hotel. “Night then,” I smiled as I pressed the button for the lift since my room was on the fourth floor and I certainly wasn’t going to bump my case up all those stairs. “Good night Afia, I’ve really enjoyed the journey, thank you. I’ll see you in the morning for some German sightseeing.” Jeffrey waved as he walked off down the corridor.

Sitting at breakfast the next morning, I started to daydream. Jeffrey and I could buy a house together in Richmond, a piano for him and a garden for me should suffice. His parents might take a little while adjusting to him not living next door to them and to me being with him a lot of the time but I’m sure I could change their minds…

“Morning Afia, so what do you want to do today?” Startled, my head whipped round so that I was looking up at Jeffrey. “Sorry, did I scare you? I must admit, you did seem to be in a world of your own.” He chuckled to himself as he sat down opposite me, “I was thinking to myself last night, if we … I mean I, have a child, I won’t be able to travel so much, so I should make the most of it whilst I can.” I heard his mistake and it made me smile, maybe my daydreams weren’t as far away from reality as I thought.