Yr 9 Creative Writing comes to town

The Week Away

Rebecca Taylor

The blood soaked her t-shirt. Rivulets of water mixed with eyeliner and mascara streaked her face. ‘Please! Please help me!’ she cried. No one came. Her body heaved, convulsing in pain as an unbearable ache rocked through her body. Her limbs were on fire. She screamed piercingly through the dead silence of the wood. She gripped the rough tree trunk behind her and tried to force herself up. Her legs failed to support her, and she crashed to the ground. ‘Help!’ she cried. ‘Please.’ But all she could hear was the echo of her words, and her mind returned to what had happened two weeks ago.

It was a normal day in the life of Victoria Richardson, the ‘rich kid’ of the estate. She walked into school and people cleared the way for her. Boys would stop and stare. Girls clung to her arm and jabbered constant nothings into Victoria’s bored face. Every part of her, even the way she stood exuded confidence. And she had a right to be. She was outstandingly beautiful day. She had a creamy complexion, and her piercing green eyes seemed as if they were reading deep into your soul. The trouble was, she knew she was beautiful, and flaunted it,

She sauntered into Geography, 10 minutes late. Sir was just talking about a field trip. She personally hated Geography. There was no one to talk to. There were just geeks and nerds that only deserved to be contemptuously ignored. And her parents had made her take it, despite their obvious unnoticeable love toward her, as they were too busy with their own lives to bother with her. She hated her parents. Her thoughts were rudely interrupted when Mr. Ross tapped her lightly on the shoulder. ‘Miss Richardson?’ he said, and handed her the letter. It was still warm as she took it out of his hand. She briefly read it, skimming the most important parts quickly. ‘What the hell’ she thought and she decided to go. At least it would get her out of the house and away from the constant shouting of her house. And this tiny decision inexplicably changed her fate.

The bell rang. Victoria flounced out of class before being dismissed, and tucked her letter into her shirt pocket. She sauntered out of school; Geography had been the last lesson. Her three followers met her outside of the school gates. She told them about the trip. They condescendingly muttered about the people accompanying her.

“Matthew Hurley?” the one called rose cried. They burst out into laughter, and Victoria thought about Matt. He was what you would call a loner; he very much kept himself to himself. He had shoulder-length hair and listened to rock music. He wore clothes like skinny jeans and t-shirts with various unknown bands on. Yes, he was the lowest of the low. And she was out with him on a trip! She laughed a perfect, soft, soprano sound. The three girls gazed admirably at their idol.

As she stepped inside her house, the sound of rough, low arguments and mutterings greeted her. She sighed, and went up to her room. She signed her letter herself, she was very practised at it. She then decided she was bored. She picked up the book all her friends had been wittering on about. “…They stood out like angels in the school…” Her eyes caught that line, and she grinned smugly, knowing who that would have referred to in her school. Victoria, in truth, absolutely loved the fact she was beautiful and admired. She fed off others envy. Admiration was like air for her. She was silly and shallow, but content.

Saturday came quickly. Her pale white limbs lifted her bright purple suitcase, and she climbed onto the coach, 10 minutes late. They were off to Scotland! ‘Yay!’ She thought sarcastically in her head. She climbed up the steps and then her heart skipped a beat and her face fell. The only spare seat was next to Matt. Matthew Hurley. Her perfect features twisted agonisingly and she let out a groan. Her light, almost fairy-like steps carried her to the empty seat. She sat as far away as possible from his tight black jeans.

4 hours later, the coach was still going, but now the teachers were trying to make everyone happy, and sing some songs. The only two that were not participating were Victoria and Matt, who simultaneously bent down to get their iPods out of their bags. Matt switched on Metallica and Guns N Roses, whilst Victoria tuned into Justin Timberlake and Pixie Lott. It was getting late now, and darkness had invaded all of the space, swallowing the coach whole. Victoria saw a flash of something. Something flickering across the sky. She groaned. As if the day couldn’t get any worse, a storm was brewing.

Matt had got up late on Saturday, but had still made it in time to the trip. He sat down on the coach near the back. He had only agreed to come because Mr. Ross was a decent teacher. It looked like he was the last one on the coach, anyway. The mid-afternoon was alight with a tawny glow, and he admired this for a second, and then looked up to see the tall shadow crossed upon it. Victoria Richardson. The one person that made his scenery darken, but also glow at the same time. She was a horrible person, but my was she beautiful. Her brilliant green eyes met his in a look of pure contempt. She held them there; their eyes were locked in a death grip and Matt could hardly break away. She made her way over to him, her limbs moving elegantly across the coach. She sat neatly down next to him, almost on the edge of her seat, with certain poise about her. Neither of them bothered with a greeting, just turned their heads to face the opposite way.

“We’re here!” Mr. Ross’s voice joyously called out. Matt was asleep. Victoria sighed disdainfully, unbuckled her seatbelt, and then dropped her bag on his toe. “We’re here, wake up.” She answered his cry of pain coldly. And no wonder he was in pain, the bag was packed with countless hair products and clothes, with straighteners, a hair dryer and curlers. Matt groaned and his eyes watered with pain. She smirked, and nimbly climbed off the coach.

No wardrobe??? There were only two drawers? Victoria laughed at Mr Ross’s explanation. So what if they were only there for a week?

“Hey, don’t laugh in his face,” Mr Urie said, annoyed, “You never take any notice of what he says. You are always so rude and ignorant! And I don’t even know why you came on this trip!”

Victoria shouted, incensed, “I don’t know either!!!!!” and stormed up to her dorm, and got into bed. There was nothing better to do than sleep. Mr Urie was right. Why the hell did she come on this trip? She thought bitterly, and then fell asleep.

The sun rose too early, too bright in the tantalisingly blue sky the next morning. Mr Ross, always cheerful, knocked on the girls’ dorm door. “Good day for a hike today, eh girls?” he said, “Get some good walking gear on,” But he didn’t come in and check they were awake, he just stalked off, no doubt to find Mr Urie. Victoria groaned, yet again. A hike? She had gotten way more than what she had bargained for. She dragged her tired body out of bed to find some acceptable ‘hiking gear’.

Matt awoke abruptly with a start as Mr Ross and Mr Urie rapped loud on their door. “Boys, get up, we’re going hiking!!!” There were moans from all over the dorm, but it just made them laugh as they sang through the door. Matt realised it was one of his favourite bands, and this spurred him on as he got dressed, singing all the while.

Everyone met in the small hall downstairs for breakfast. Most people were dressed in shorts and tops that were relatively cheap and didn’t matter so much. Not Victoria though, oh no. She sat in a delicate white vest top and denim shorts with a designer price tag. Matt shook his head. How was she going to hike in them? Well, turns out she doesn’t have to.

“Victoria?” Mr Urie called, and her head snapped up in answer. “You’re going to stay indoors today as your behaviour is unacceptable, and anyway, your clothes are completely inappropriate.” All Victoria’s face displayed was relief. “Okay, I’ll just stay here then,” she said very happy with this arrangement.

She silently smirked as they skipped out at around ten o clock. She then took out her headphones, and pressed play. 4 hours, a whole music library and 29 pages later, Victoria had had enough. She was bored out of her head. She decided to venture out herself.

She crept around the outskirts of the building, and she smelt the freshly painted gate, and wrinkled her nose. As the gate was already open, she simply stepped out and decided to go up the short hill on the other side of the wood. So, she made her way over to the lush green of the trees…

Matt had been on the hike for 7 hours now, and they were about to get into the coach to get back. It had been a long and weary walk, but contrastingly, it had been rather fun. He wondered what Victoria had been doing all day, bored out of her head probably. He climbed onto his seat and shut his eyes.

The wood had looked so much more intimidating than it actually was. When Victoria was actually in it, she could still see streams of light from between the trees, and gaps at the top. A bird sang to its neighbour blissfully informing them that spring was here. The tall trees were a hive of activity, with bulrushes and blue-tits and sparrows and thrushes singing away, whilst they were busy building a nest. The trees were starting to get leafy and dense after the cold harsh winter, and the over-whelming green-ness of it all dominated everything else the wood had to offer. She was almost sad to leave it, then saw the blistering sunlight at the top of the hill and thought of sunbathing possibilities.

She lay on the sparkling grass on the hill, and smiled and shut her eyes. She loved to sunbathe, it was so relaxing, and she felt she could get away from all the troubles in her life if she just lay with her eyes shut, feeling the sun beat down on her body. As she lay there she thought about the week ahead and sighed in distaste. She felt her fatigue looming over her, and promptly fell asleep. Still in deep slumber, she had a disturbing dream. A stalker was following her, and it was terrifying. Just as he extended his arm toward her, she awoke, gasping and sweating. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and she realised – it was very late.

As the clock turned 9, Matt was worrying. He couldn’t go and tell Mr Ross, because him and Mr Urie had gone up to the staff room and locked the door, planning the week probably. Matt had been sat fretting for at least 10 minutes. He gave it another ten, and then decided to go look for her. He had a bad feeling that she was hurt in some way, and no one else would go look for her. He shrugged on his coat, and headed out into the night.

Victoria picked herself up groggily and started making her way down the spiky grass when she heard the deep grumble of thunder. She picked up her pace. She saw a dark shadow cross the full circle of the moon and started to feel uneasy. She felt a drop of rain touch her cheek and then started power-walking so she was almost at the mouth of the wood. The dark trees loomed territorially, marking their spot in the fast landscape that seemed to stretch for miles, when before it had been a mere 10 minute walk. A twig snapped. At once, remembering her dream, adrenaline kicked in and she ran like the wind, pushing through the trees and bushes in the forest. She dodged trees and jumped over trees. Then, suddenly, she fell, screaming in agony. She had fallen back on her leg, so her leg was twisted out of its socket, and a particularly sharp piece of bark had cut into her t-shirt, piercing her soft skin.

The blood soaked her t-shirt. Rivulets of water from the latest downpour, awash with tears, mascara and eyeliner streaked her face. “Please! Please help me!” She cried. No one came. Her body heaved as more blood escaped, convulsing as pain shocked through her body. Her limbs were on fire. She screamed piercingly through the dead silence of the wood. She gripped the rough tree trunk behind her and tried to force herself up, to no avail. She crashed once more to the ground, as her good leg failed to support her on its own. “Help!” she cried. “Please,” But all she could hear was the echo of her words.

Feeling truly alone, she looked over her life, all this time she had been alienating people-inevitably coming up to this moment. She thought of Matt and anyone else she’d previously thought she was better than, and felt a burning sense of regret. Finally realising everything she’d done and how she was now alone, she let her tears take over and she cried, shaking uncontrollably.

In the midst of this crying fit, a dark shadow had crept over her, and her breath caught, and she closed her eyes, not wanting to see who it was, not wanting anyone to see her in this state. “Victoria?” a timid but deep, familiar, welcoming voice asked. Victoria opened her wet eyelashes. “Matt?” she whispered. And he reached an arm out toward her, to help her up, but she just collapsed on him, hugging him. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She said, and then passed out.

Matt had found Victoria, and after she’d passed out on him, he’s quickly taken out his phone and dialled 999. He gave them all the information they needed, and the ambulance had arrived within a matter of minutes. Victoria had been tended to, and she was out of hospital just in time to go home. The coach pulled up outside, and Matt climbed into the exact place he had sat last time. As Victoria stepped on, a cast securing her leg, she grinned widely at him, and carefully made her way with Mr Ross helping her to the seat. He dropped some money, and she pointed it out. “Erm, Sir. I think you dropped that, let me get that for you.” And she bent down and picked it up for him, smiling politely. Mr Ross was a little amazed. “Thanks, Victoria.”

“No problem,” she grinned, and sat down next to Matt eagerly. They chatted excitedly about the net trip, and discussed music and TV and books, and found out they weren’t all that different. Victoria had definitely changed. And the new Victoria was much better.

Footsteps

Nathan Taylor

The four men walked into the peaceful bank, their faces grim under their ski masks. They moved quickly along the tacky carpet. They came up to the plump cheerful receptionist. The leader pulled out a sawn of shotgun and carefully aimed it at the woman’s head. Her face went pale and sweat beads appeared on her forehead. She refused at first, but then the leader slowly loaded up his shotgun and she complied straight away with their demands, and then went straight for the alarm. The leader tried to stop her, but the wailing of the alarm filled the whole district. The gang looked around in panic, the wailing of the alarm was soon echoed by the wailing of a siren and soon the police blockaded the bank.

The four men looked around desperately, the arrogance of the leader evaporating quickly. He looked around and gestured to his gang, they set their malicious eyes on the helpless hostages on the floor...

They shuffled out of the bank, two holding hostages, a lady and her son; the police wet their lips nervously and looked to their superior who surveyed the scene with despair, whilst the robbers shuffled toward their getaway van. Indecisiveness shook the police, some yearning to shoot, but worried about hitting the civilians, but the robbers had already reached their beacon of escape: the van. One of them said “Boss, there’s only room for one hostage.” The leader harshly shoved the sobbing lady out and took her son, soon when the van was nearly out of earshot, 4 bullets echoed from within the van...

1 Year later...

The leader later escaped to an idyllic village, where the houses were marble white and the air was fresh and the sweet aroma of the bakery was present.

The leader had bought an immense mansion on a hill, overlooking the village and changed his name to Clive Johnson, severing all ties with his past. Just another anonymous face. As he stepped out of his mansion, he decided to drink at the local tavern and set off.

Halfway down the long cobbled street, his ears pricked up and he heard a noise, a slight pitter patter of feet. The footsteps matched his own, never quickening nor slowing down. Clive broke into sprint pace and hurled down the street. Eventually he slowed to a stop and gasped, his ears strained, but he heard nothing. He let out a relieved sigh and started walking again and heard the footsteps. He spun around and caught a glimpse of a shaggy maned boy and gulped.

He sprinted all the way to the tavern and soon reached the doors. He looked behind him, no one there. Clive released a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding and he steadied his hand against the tavern’s doors and pushed.

He was greeted by the barman with a smile and asked, “What would you like?” Clive sat down relieved and was just about to answer when he saw a wisp of hair behind the barman, who noticed the lack of attention and glanced behind, seeing nothing, Clive turned pale and lurched out of his seat to the toilet, knocking over a customer.

He stumbled over to the sink and splashed his face with cool refreshing water, he glanced up to the mirror and stared behind him. No one there.

He lurched out of the tavern, the barman staring after him inquisitively. Clive sprinted for home, the sun falling over the horizon and darkness engulfing everything. The cobbles of the street seemed intent on tripping him up, the wind howled and a fog descended. He tripped and cursed and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in. His prayers were answered as he approached the immaculate gates and raced through them up to his bedroom and clambered into his bed.

His hand scrambled for a weapon next to his nightstand, knocking over the cigarettes until his hand fastened around a lighter and ignited it to ward off his malignant stalker. His eyes scrutinized the darkness until he became weary and his eyes drooped and he drifted off.

He woke up in a cold sweat, panting, blinking and taking in his surroundings. There was a shape that materialised out of the darkness out of nothing at the end of his bed and took the form of the shaggy maned boy.

His eyes bulging, Clive fumbled with his lighter, ignited it and stared into unwavering, bloodshot eyes. Clive shrank back and tried jabbing the lighter. “What do you want with me?” The boy crept closer, his knees wrinkling the bed. A pungent smell of decay wafted across the room, making Clive gasp.

The boy’s pale hands parted his hair and revealed his face; Clive repeated “What do you want with me?” The boy replied “Do I look like someone you killed?”

Clive started with shock recognition; he flailed his arms and connected with the boy’s face, knocking him to the ground where he lay lifeless. Clive peered with confusion from his bed.

Instantly, the ghost started convulsing, his limbs flailing, and then he dissolved, leaving nothing but the black attire he had worn behind.

Then a figure erupted out of the clothes, tall and exuding an aura of danger. He turned his head towards Clive; it was a skull, as pale and luminous as the moon. His dark, pitiless sockets for eyes focused on Clive who waved his lighter feebly to ward him off. The skeleton laughed a high shrill laugh and said, “You don’t need lighters where you’re going...”