Written by Miss Smiley
Beautiful scarlet roses for Mrs Hawthorne…
I only found the book this morning. Not much I can do about it now. It was weird – I found it in my roses, just outside my bedroom window. That should have triggered me off straight-up, but no. No, sensible Mrs Hawthorn Bridge doesn’t spot anything wrong with this.
Naturally, I opened it up. I’m the person who opens up other peoples’ medicine cabinets, after all. Like I wouldn’t open up a weird book outside my house, my room. Puh-lease.
That wasn’t even my first mistake.
It was all in a weird code. I couldn’t make head or tail of it at first. That was exciting. I love a good puzzle. But I was late for work and what was I going to do, leave it there, right outside my bedroom window? I think not.
So I took it to work with me. Thinking about it, it probably wasn’t my best move, but hey – can’t do anything about it now, can I?
I took another glance at the book at lunch time. I really wish I hadn’t. It wasn’t about the code – that was easy, once I’d started. Just a typical picture code – squiggle means A, small cat means C, that kind of thing. That really wasn’t the problem. The problem was the content.
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Written by Fantasy Girl
“I can’t deal with this anymore. You’ve sat by and watched this happen for years and you’ve never done a thing about it! How can you live with yourself?”
“I tell him not to, I swear! I can’t stop him though!”
“It’s not good enough anymore! I hate it here! I hate you for letting him do it! I hate him for everything he’s done! I hate my life!”
She woke with tears in her eyes, quickly wiping them away. “Ouch,” she mumbled, feeling the tightness in her joints as she walked to the mirror to inspect herself. The bruises that mottled her skin had almost disappeared, but the ache was still there.
Just a few pale yellow patches left.
She shook her head in disgust. She pulled on some leggings, a vest and a light cardigan to cover them up, ran a comb through her hair and quietly left her room.
She could hear her mother and father talking in the kitchen as she stood at the top of the staircase. Continue reading →
Written by Hope75
An abandoned school. A child’s life hangs in the balance.
Image Courtesy of stagesofdecay.com
The child sobbed softly in her arms as she tried to reassure him everything would be OK. The shattered glass crunched loudly under her feet as she and the boy moved slowly through the silent building. Noticing a slightly opened door at the end of the corridor, she made her way towards it.
Pushing it gently with her shoulder, the door opened to reveal an empty classroom. Bright, colourful drawings of dinosaurs, jet planes, and other fragments of children’s imaginations adorned the walls of the room. The seats and desks were scattered and disorganised, while books and pens were still on those that remained upright. Large chalked numbers on the blackboard revealed the day’s unfinished maths lesson, and the teacher’s desk was cluttered with text books and notes, forgotten in the rush.
The boy began weeping uncontrollably as she tried to get him seated on one of the chairs. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she repeated as he hid his head in his hands, tears streaming down his dirty face. Going to the nearest window she peered out into the grey, rain-soaked morning. The school yard below seemingly abandoned as the driving rainfall danced and glistened on the solitary swing set in its centre. She glanced briefly back toward the boy who remained in the same seated position as before. His sobbing had subsided slightly, until it had turned into a quiet moan as he drew circles on the desk with a permanent marker.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted three men with guns at their side slowly entering the school yard below. Using their hands to signal, the men fanned out, each moving in a different direction. Panic now engulfed her as she grabbed the boy and left the classroom, retracing her steps back along the dimly lit corridor. Continue reading →
Written by Ricardo
Drive safely, and always wear a seatbelt.
Image courtesy of lovetoknow.com.
The moon nestled high in the clear black sky as Alexander’s watch hit eleven o’clock. The especially bright light from the full moon illuminated the deserted car park as he made his way across to his car, barely holding five loaded bags and a bunch of assorted flowers wrapped in plastic in his left hand while he fumbled for his keys with his right hand. He got to the scrap heap he called a car; faded blue paint, rust along the skirt and windows, the usual mess, as he retrieved his keys from his pocket. The old thing could at least lock and unlock with one of those wireless key things. Probably the first one they ever made. He opened the door and threw everything into the back, only taking care with the flowers.
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