The Galactastory of the Galactapiller King and the Galactabacon... (Written aged 10)
Once upon a time the Buddha came into the Galactagalaxy as the Galactapiller King and ruled over 1,000,000 Galactapillers. He was very long and green and tall and strong and had wisdom like a Galactasun. In his Galactakingdom on the banks of the Galactagastream there was a Galactabacon tree as big as a Galactasun. The 1,000,000 Galactapillers crawled from Galactabranch to Galactabranch chatting and eating the lovely bacon that was big and multicoloured and crispy and yummy. Sometimes the cooked bacon would fall from the tree and drift down the Galactagastream. One Galactaday the Galactatron king (A robot t-rex) found a piece of the delicious multicoloured Galactabacon and ate it and his food processors said yum. He needed more of this multicoloured Galactastuff so the Galactatron army went down the Galactagastream. When they got there all the Galactapillers were having a Galactafeast as it was Galactachristmas. There was a Galactagap so the Galactatron army had to quickly build a Galactabridge. When they got to the other side of the Galactagap they destroyed the Galactabridge so the Galactapillers wouldn’t be able to run away with the Galactabacon. The Galactapiller King quickly reacted. He stretched his long Galactapiller body across the Galactagap. All the Galactapillers crawled across him to Galactafreedom. When all the Galactapillers had crawled to safety the Galactatron King asked the Galactapiller King why he had risked his life to save his Galactapillers. The Galactapiller King said that is what a good Galactaking should do. So then the Galactatron King knew that he had been a selfish Galactaking and he should care more for his Galactatrons. And they lived happily ever after.
THE GALACTAEND
INSANE
News Story
"Breaking news: There's been a jailbreak out of an insane asylum in Texas, anyone around this area please stay inside your homes as the prisoners are all incredibly dangerous.
New York City, 13th December
I’ve been planning this for a while… To run away, to find my parents. They disappeared about 4 days ago with no trace of where they'd gone. So we took it upon ourselves to find them. We’ve run away from our Aunt’s house with a backpack of everything we need and we've plotted and planned the route all the way to Pennsylvania where Jasper, my brother would meet me at where our parents last said they were going. They said they had some beef with an old friend (who had just gotten out of prison) near Gettysburg, at the Presbyterian Church. This was normal as they could both be pretty difficult people and they had to settle disputes quite often. But that night they went out as confident as ever but they never came back…
Gettysburg, 16th December
We’ve just arrived at the Presbyterian Church and I’m already getting uneasy. It’s got that creepy feel that you only get from being in the dark on your own… except that I'm not on my own and we aren’t in the dark. I suddenly hear a muffled voice in the distance, shouting "get off me" in panic… Probably my imagination. We climb over the wall and have just started walking through the graveyard when I notice a freshly dug grave, a very fresh grave. I bend over and check the gravestone. It clearly displays ‘Samuel Kobe: born 1953 6th July, Died 1997 16th December’. As soon as I see the date I'm on my knees digging instantly screaming, “Jasper!! Get down here!!”
“Danny what is it?!” his voice shouting out in distress.
“I’ve found dad's grave! It says he died today and it’s only 8 in the morning!”
Jasper was there in a flash, his hands a whirlwind as they dug up the soft, powdery earth. Almost the second we started to dig I hear another muffled sob. I knew then what I had heard back there was Dad. I start digging faster and more vigorously. After digging extensively for almost a minute my hand touches a shirt.
“Jasper, I‘ve found him!”
“We need to uncover his face so he can breathe!” says Jasper. We expose his face and sure enough it was Dad… Except he wasn’t breathing.
“I can do CPR” says Jasper desperately,” I could save him”
He pumps Dad’s chest and breaths into his mouth for over a minute but Dad doesn't wake up. A grim silence comes over us as we realise that even if we could restart his heart, the damage to his brain would be too great.
We sit there for about a minute until we hear cruel, bitter laughter and feminine screams coming from the church. We both sit up straight and look at each other. It's Mum.
A Rather Interesting English Prep
After three shots of absinth, my liver was ruined.
(Al) though, my liver was ruined, my cousin was willing to donate his liver.
As my cousin had no liver now, he died a slow painful death.
Because our livers turned out to be incompatible, my mother had to donate her liver.
Before my mother died a slow and painful death, I thanked her for donating her liver.
Even if I had begged her not to, she would have done it anyway.
If she was still alive, she would not regret it.
In case I cried she had ordered a professional tear wiper, to wipe my tears.
In order for this to happen, she had to call five people.
Rather than, saving herself, she chose to save mine.
Since I have killed my mother and my cousin, what little people who loved me, now hate me.
Unless I can raise my dead family members from the underworld, everyone will hate me.
Until my dad tells me his number or comes home, he won’t know my mother is dead.
When he does come home, he will hate me.
Whenever anyone finds out what happened to my mother and why, they are appalled
Where there are family members who are dead because of you, there is hate.
Whereas if you haven’t killed family members, there is love.
Wherever I go, people look at me in disgust and I think… I HATE YOU ABSINTH!!!!!
Whether or not people kill me, I will always hate myself.
While I love eating foie gras de canard, It's Ingredients are: Liver of the duck…
African story (Written aged 8)
It was dark on the summer eve on the Savannah when the humans were out hunting. The boars never stood a chance. They fought to the last but only four survived. Those four were Jame the chief, his wife and his children, Lucas and Maris. The pack lived in a house like structure. Made from trees looming over them. They lived off acorns and other types of truffles. And After this all four swore an oath of revenge to the humans. So they went to the meerkats, the hippos and the Elephants and asked if they would help avenge their fellow boar’s deaths. But only the meerkats and the elephants agreed to help. Next they went to the cape cobras, the rhinos and the baboons. But only the cape cobras and the rhinos agreed to help. So the very next day the wild Boars decided to tell their plan. The plan was...
“The meerkats are to build three main tunnels leading to the Humans Hometown. The cobras are to slither through into the town and Poison the food and water. The cobras are to do this while the elephants and the rhinos rampage in and create a distraction.”
“Any questions?”Only a meerkat and elephant put their hand up. Jame picked the meerkat first “Why do we have to build three tunnels?”he asked
“Ahh that’s because an elephant or a Rhino might step on one.”Next Jame picked the elephant.
“Won’t the humans pelt us with rocks and sticks with rocks and feathers attached to them?
“Yes they will. So that’s why I invented these.” He produced about 25 pairs of bark armour made to fit rhinos and elephants.
“Thank you” replied the elephants.
“You’re welcome. So back to business.”
“ But wait. We have something to tell you. We have been attacked by them too.” They said.
The next day they carried out the plan. The meerkats began to dig the tunnels, the elephants and the rhinos prepared themselves with the armour and the snakes tested their venom. Very soon they were ready. The snakes slithered through the tunnels while the elephants and rhinos charged into the town.
After about an hour, the snakes had managed to poison all of the food and none of the elephants or rhinos had been pierced by the rocks and sticks. They quickly evacuated the village to watch what would happen because they knew that the villagers would be hungry and thirsty after defending their village. Within half a week almost all of the villagers had died and learnt their lesson. So now lots of tribesmen and woman now know not to hunt an entire pack of animals but to save some for later.
Unfinished, nameless story, so don’t judge
Prologue
Seven dead bodies littered the corridors of Mecester Palace that night, one belonging to the king. The culprit of all seven crimes stood staring at a beautiful piece of crystal, the Stone of the Arch Mage. It was supposedly created by the first Arch Mage, Eldrian, but he, along with the magic he practised, were nothing more than legend now. There were a few who still believed in the ancient arts, but none knew of them, as these solitary magicians studied alone in caves and crypts. One of these magicians, Hadeon, has now come out of hiding to wreak havoc upon the country that had laughed at his talent in magic and banished him from the cities as a madman. Behind Hadeon stood a pair of young twins, brother and sister. They stood silently not wanting to disturb their master, but both were clearly impatient to get it over and done with.
"Quick, protect yourselves."
The twins muttered a spell under their breath and a veil of pale smoke formed around them.
Hadeon started uttering words too faint to hear, but gradually they grew louder, and a melody started to form. It was beautiful, the twins felt themselves go into a trance listening to the song, but it was sad, as if the person who made it knew they were doing wrong. The spell contained no coherent words, just images of the total chaos it would create that were sent flying into the minds of any who heard it. Images of mutated beings and the death that would surely follow.
Suddenly the music stopped. Hadeon, looking at his right hand, smiled. "It worked." he said, and thrust his hand onto the crystal.
Chapter 1
The wagon was stacked full of supplies and wares to be sold in Cordon. The owner sat at the front, guiding the horses at a slow trot through the gate to the fort which straddled the border between Skyhall, the mountainous country he was entering, and Scalgon, his industrial homeland. The blacksmith nodded his head to the soldiers manning the fort, and thanked the young man who had opened the gate for him. The young soldier replied politely that it was his pleasure and swung the door shut. The very short and fairly squat blacksmith nudged his horses forward a bit faster, as he was keen to sell all he could and bring home the money to his family. The fort was new, and path through the fort hadn't been worn much so the horses had difficulty gripping the freshly laid cobbles, rattling the metal in the back and drawing the attention of the nearby soldiers as they went by. He tried to ignore the inquisitive looks which he knew were aimed at his height. Measuring only 4 feet 10 inches from head to toe, the blacksmith was used to the questioning glances that came his way, but they still irritated him as he straightened his back and tried to sit as high as he could in his seat.
As he passed through the open gate that marked the border between Skyhall and Scalgon, the blacksmith noticed that even though the soldiers of the fort passed freely through the gate, there were fewer of the familiar leather tunics with crocodile scale shoulder guards and more of the goat hide and eagle feather cladding of the soldiers from Skyhall. Then it happened.
All around the fort soldiers were turning round to face the gate the blacksmith had just come through. The blacksmith, too, turned round and looked at the sky. In the distance, roughly in the direction of the capital, a small black dome had appeared. It was slowly growing larger, and the closer it got to the fort, the more ominous it looked.”What is it?” soldiers were asking, only to be answered by whimpers and shrugs. In a matter of seconds it had reached the fort and was swallowing up the soldiers he had just greeted. His horses had ignored his command to stop as he turned around in the saddle to look and bolted just as it reached the border carried him halfway towards the exit into Skyhall. The dome was a stone's throw away from the blacksmith when it seemed to dissolve in front of his eyes and disappeared as if nothing had happened.
Hopping off the wagon, he cautiously took a step forward, and then a few more towards the border. He could hear screams and hesitated for a second, but then curiosity overcame him and he picked his way towards the border, eyes peeled for any suspicious movement. He saw Skyhall soldiers sprinting like mad in every direction and stole towards them, careful not to be seen by anyone lest he be mistaken for an enemy. He heard a sword being drawn and looked in the direction of the sound to see a terrified young soldier slashing at a strange looking man with pale grey skin and a strangely vacant look on his face. He had no pupils and his mouth was hanging open as strange guttural noises came from the throat. He had no weapons other than his hands, and the soldier had managed to slice one of them off, but if he was in pain he didn’t show it. The soldier managed to kill the peculiar man who had attacked the soldier by decapitating him, but had collapsed with the exhaustion a few seconds later. Running over to him, the blacksmith tried to wake him up and get him to his feet, he could hear more of the groaning men coming nearer and the soldier was not safe lying in the middle of the path. The soldier however would not wake so the blacksmith dragged behind a building and went to find some bread and his water skin to revive the soldier with from his wagon.
When he got back the soldier had hauled himself into a sitting position and gladly ate the bread and drained the water skin. “We need to help the others, are you fit to fight?” the blacksmith said.
“I think so, at least we now know to go straight for head and not bother with the limbs.” the soldier almost joked as he replied to the question. Together they went back to the wagon to get a sword for the blacksmith, though he wouldn't be much help. They sprinted towards the sound of battle where a few brave soldiers were struggling to keep up with the group of enemies assailing them. "Take off their heads, it's the only way to kill them!" the soldier shouted.
The blacksmith ran up to the nearest man and swung his sword at his neck, missed, and swung again, this time hitting the target. With a thud the head fell to floor. Another thud signalled that the enemy was dead. "He's dead." a nearby soldier confirmed.
The soldiers then killed the enemies with easy strikes to the neck. The battle was soon over. The captain of the fort had been injured in the early stages of the battle and had fainted from blood loss, a herbalist was trying to revive him. In the meantime the lieutenant was ordering the soldiers to shut the gates and had set up a guard. The blacksmith was wandering around, staring at each body in shock. Deaths in his village were either of illness or simply old age, and they were never this brutal. He recognised the soldier who had welcomed him at the gate, and a young man who had been drinking some other soldiers. He was stumbling through a patch of the strange men when he stopped dead. The blacksmith stood above a woman's head, her body lying a couple of feet away in a crumpled heap. The face had been defiled and was almost unrecognisable, but the blacksmith knew who it was. The soldier he had befriended notice the blacksmith staring at the body, and walked over to him.
"You all right?" he asked, "The first deaths are always the hardest, but you'll get used to it sooner or later."
"What's your name?" the blacksmith ignored the soldier's question.
"Owyn, son of Baryn." The soldier gave the blacksmith a puzzled look.
"Do you know her name?" he asked, nodding at the woman.
"No?"
"She's Noura, my wife."
Silence.
They stood there.
Silence.
The sun was setting.
Silence.
It was getting cold.
Silence.
Until,
"What's your name?" the soldier asked, "It seems wrong that I know your wife's name but not yours."
"Ferron." he said, slightly pained. "She... she had come to wave me off at the gate." There were tears in his voice. "She... she was so beautiful, my light in the... the horrible darkness." his face was wet. "Someone made her... become... become the savage creature that was killed today. I will find whoever did this to her. I will find them and make them pay."
Midnight. No-one had slept a wink, the groaning coming from the other side of the gate wouldn't stop. Ferron was lying in the back of his cart, staring up at the stars. An image of Noura kept forming itself amidst the stars. She would smile at him, and he would smile back, saying her name, but then she would fade away back into the night.
At some point Ferron had fallen asleep, merely to be woken up again by the birds at sunrise. He had immediately gone to Owyn. He trusted him, and felt he needed to say goodbye, after the horrors of last night. Owyn was in his tent, putting on his leather chest guard.
"I've come to say goodbye, I'm going to ask the king of Skyhall for help. Maybe he could send out an army, to try and stop whatever it is that has happened." Ferron said.
A few seconds passed, and then, "I'm coming with you," Owyn said it with such determination that Ferron just stood there. "And anyway, it will be a lot easier to persuade the king if there is a soldier like me there, and I'll... I'll keep you company, and you're good enough with a sword to go through the mountains on your own. There are all sorts of stories of travellers disappearing, or being swept off cliffs by ravenous birds,or worse."
"As long as you promise to train to be as close to you in skill as a can be." Ferron replied, "Are you ready?"
"I was ready before you came." He said with a glee smile.
Chapter 2
The huge wooden gates stood open, the beautiful carvings depicting the tales of many great kings. Images of brave men fighting off hordes of strange creatures. Ferron and Owyn stepped across the threshold, after four days and nights travelling, they had made it to Deagral, the capital of Skyhall. The city looked like it had fallen out of the mountain, a great tumble of stone buildings, resting on ledges jutting out the rock, all surrounded by a 3 meter thick wall of stone.
Finding their way through the maze of streets, they finally reached the steps up to the royal hall where there stood two, identical, metal gates. The long vertical poles stretched up towards the sky, where they were cut off by a horizontal bar. There were six intimidating barbs on top of each gate, each a foot high, that stared down upon the people that passed through the gate each day. None, it appeared had passed through the gates this day, as there was a huge chain, with a rusty old lock, wrapped around two of the bars.
Rock, Paper, Scissors... Shotgun!
It is said, that long ago there were three legendary masters. One practised the way of the paper, another the way of the rock, and the third master, the way of the scissors. They were known respectively as Mr. P, Mr. R and Mr. S.
They dominated the land, running amok and doing as they saw fit. This went on for one hundred years on the dot, until, rumours of another master, Mr. Sh, reached the ears of the tyrants. Apparently he blew away houses and villains and sorts with a single bang and was called Mr. Sh as he silenced whoever opposed him. At least that was what people thought… No one really knew.
The trio of tyrants set off in search of this new hero, they wanted to snatch his powers for themselves. That was, after all how they became powerful.
Their investigation led them to a small cave off the coast where several houses had gone missing. They crept up the cave path, hearing several bangs as they went, to the opening of the cave.
Stepping in, they could definitely see someone was living here. They walked around, looking at various pieces of furniture as they went, before they heard a bang. BANG! Mr. P was gone. The remaining two exchanged looks and carried on. Neither of them really liked him anyway.
They heard another bang and Mr. R turned round to see that Mr. S was gone. He never really liked him either. Then Mr. R heard the scuff of a shoe and whirled round. He expected a wise sensei to be there but it was just an average middle aged guy with a shotgun.
“Ah”, Mr. R said, “That explains the ‘Sh’”.
“Yes”, Mr. Sh replied, levelling his shotgun at him, “It does”.
Then he pulled the trigger…
Not Ready
Dear Diary,
I stopped writing in you years ago. The world has been breaking for years now. That's a bit over-dramatic. The human race has been breaking apart for years now. Even people who once called themselves family stopped caring about others. It seemed silly to believe that writing down my thoughts and feelings in a blank book would be any help. Who would read it? Who would care?
But today is different. Something changed. The people who had lost themselves the most to the uncaring world have morphed into the world's worst nightmare. The world had dreaded (is that a word) the zombie apocalypse for decades - at least until they stopped caring. It is hard to worry when you don't care what happens to anyone. I am writing now to let the people I once cared about know that I never really stopped. I pretended to not care, wore a mask of indifference. I couldn't figure out how to stop caring, perhaps because I cared too much before - to a fault I suppose.
Ben - I have loved you since you gave me your last piece of gum in 7th grade.
Mom, Dad - I will always remember and respect you. I will always appreciate my memories of the short time we had, before we stopped caring.
Tara - You are my best friend - I don't know how I hid that, I never stopped. I hope you make it through more than anything.
But it is getting late. I'll have to move soon. From my seat by the window I see more and more people changing. What are they doing? What can I do? Is there anything to stop it? I don't feel different. I wonder if caring is the cure. If loving my neighbors, my friends, my family with the full, unfettered force of my devotion could in its own way stop the annihilation of everything. Dear Diary, I hope this is the beginning of a new way of thinking.
A Cats World
He sniffs... it's a bad mouse,
Too long, too dead he sniffs.
He sniffs... too late, too far away.
He should have stayed, he sniffs.
He sniffs, under the table, savoury, salty,
A remnant of a lost fellow, he sniffs
He sniffs, from it, a memory! Back from the past,
He is close, he licks his lips... and sniffs
He sniffs, his other is close, too close...
The sense taste of the air, it's wrong it's changed he sniffs,
He sniffs, the ceiling is near, his other is nearer still,
His cover is blown! His other is upon him, not good, he sniffs,
He sniffs, the smell of blood, an accident, she was only playing,
Not good, the hand will come, with it the sound, he sniffs,
He sniffs, the signature smell, the hand is coming, we were only playing…
A question… if the hand never came, then what happened?
The solution… It was all a dream
Cast list:
The sniffer: Maxi the cat
The other: Bibi the Cat (Maxi's Sister)
The hand: Well, the hand is the hand.