

Tales from Stocksbridge

A Collection of Short Stories

Stocksbridge High School

Shay House Lane, Stocksbridge, Sheffield, S36 1FD

Published electronically in Sheffield, UK by Stocksbridge High School.

www.stocksbridgehigh.sheffield.sch.uk

© Stocksbridge High School 2013

This publication is copyright. Individual stories are copyright to individual authors and artists named within the anthology.

Smashwords Edition

Cover art designed by Miss Taylor.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors in this collection.

First published 2013.

Contents

1. Preface

Miss Taylor, Teaching Assistant

Mr Parry, English Subject Leader

Mr Cole, Headteacher

Stories:

1. 13 Mary Street

Jessica Singleton, 7VKD

Illustration:

Bethany Jennings, 9ALC

2. A Day in the Life of a 20p...

Megan Jones, 7AD

Illustration:

Niamh Crawford-Thompson, 7FF

3. A Soldier

Poppy Chadwick, 8HW

4. A Work of Fiction

J. H. Simpson, Former Student

5. All About My Achievements

Bethany Peacock, 7SE

6. All is Not Fair in Love and in War

Shelbey Brook, 9AS

Illustration:

Rebecca Monson, 7JM

7. Alone

Abigail Shaw, 8HW

8. Army Dog

Rosie Simpson, 7AD

9. Belief: The Choice is Yours

Deborah Frith, Parent

10. Believe, achieve and you will succeed

Elise Tully, 7VKD

11. Believe, Achieve, Succeed

Chloe Beech, 7SE

12. Believe, Achieve, Succeed

Declan Crofts, 9CB

13. Believe in Number 5!

Cherise Whitham, 8LA

Illustration:

Cherise Whitham, 8LA

14. Believing in Dead Fish

Mr Cole, Headteacher

15. Breaking Free

Emily Jade Johnson, 7SE

16. Bullying

Kayla Broadbent, 7SE

17. Charlie's Story

Naomi Burton, 7AD

Illustration:

Jessica Singleton, 7VKD

18. Conflicting Shadows

Millie Easthope, 7AD

19. Fate

Rebecca Hague, 8HW

20. For All My Worth

Mrs Mitchell, English Teacher

21. Ghost Girl

Heather Hughes, 8CBu

Illustration:

Heather Hughes, 8CBu

22. Grandma's Special Necklace

Paige Hughes, 8CBu

23. Growing

Miss Taylor, Teaching Assistant

24. Haunted House

Anirudh Agarwal, 7SE

25. Hell

Jake Ward, 8HW

26. I Believe I Can

Ellie Wragg, 7VKD

27. I Believe in Ghosts

Georgia Gears, 7VKD

Illustration:

Georgia Gears, 7VKD

28. I Give In!

Holly Peacock, 8HW

29. I Hope the Snow has Gone Next Week

Daniel Jackson, 8HW

30. It was Just a Childhood Dream

Andrew Crowhurst, 9CB

31. Medal of Honour

Isobel Hood, 7VKD

Illustration:

Bo Cooke, 7FF

32. My Journey

Lisa Rees, Parent

33. Rover

Caitlan Cleaver, 7AD

Illustration:

Chloe Nowill, 9JS

34. Run

Ellie Jaques, 8HW

35. Snowing

Mrs Bright, English Teacher

36. Starlight

Eleanor-Andrea Rees, 8LA

Illustration:

Mr Sumpner, Art Subject Leader

37. Super Scotty

Ben White, 7JM

38. Telling Someone

Izzy Mannion, 8LA

39. The Adventures of Baby Bond

Millie Easthope, 7AD

40. The Amazing and True Story of Cliff Young

Mr Parry, English Subject Leader

41. The Anticipation

Miss Beaumont

42. The Body in the Bog

Fox Ross, 8LA

Illustration:

Miss Taylor, Teaching Assistant

43. The Day We Brought Back the Adults

Juliette Holmes, 8CBu

44. The Diary of a Climb in Society

Rebecca Steward, 7VKD

Illustration:

Elizabeth Billinge, 7FF

45. The End is Tomorrow

James Dimelow, 8HW

46. The Girl Who Changed Her Life Around

Alisha Green, 7SE

47. The Prince

Louis Stuart, 7SE

Illustration:

Emily Wyatt, 7FF

48. The Secret of his Success

Mr Chappell, Caretaker

49. The Story of My Life

Lauren Cherry, 8HW

50. The Story of My Life...

Chloe Myles, 8HW

51. The White Ghost

Jordan Meaney, 7SE

52. Three Crows and a Bear

Mr Gittner, Assistant Head

53. TITO

Mr Chappell, Caretaker

54. To Point the Gun

Amy Ward, 8HW

Illustration:

Holly Sampson, 7FF

55. Two Lovely Vampires

Joshua Sidebottom, 7VKD

56. Welcome to My World

Lauren Mitchell, 7VKD

57. Wolf

Anirudh Agarwal, 7SE

Illustration:

Keanne Nicholson, 9JS

Appendices:

1. Greece: A Modern History

James Swift, 8HW

2. Heaven and Hell

Morgan McCall, 8HW

3. Life street

Megan Peace, 8HW

4. What is gone is gone

Ryan Revill, 8HW
Preface

Everyone has a story to tell. Some brilliant, creative, lucky people have many countless stories to tell, too many to pen before their active synapses cease to spark. But not everyone is given the opportunity to tell their stories. There can be many reasons for this: some stories stay shelved away, collecting dust; some are spurned by an editor having a bad day; some just never quite make the jump from the brain to the page. Things are changing, however, with the dawn of electronic publication. Now, anyone can publish anything to be downloaded and read, and while this may have its pitfalls, it is without doubt an incredible opportunity.

I dreamed up this project, Tales of Stocksbridge, at the beginning of the new age of publication, whilst working as a teaching assistant at Stocksbridge High School, an 11-16 comprehensive school in Sheffield, South Yorkshire. There are so many interesting and brilliant students at the school, and I wanted to give them a chance to speak out to the wider world, to get their stories out there. More than that, I wanted to encourage students who might not have really considered writing before to have a go, and then, when the collection was published, to become interested in reading the stories here, which would hopefully lead them into reading more generally.

Tales of Stocksbridge wouldn't be what it is without the dedication and enthusiasm of the English Subject Leader at Stocksbridge High School, Mr Parry. He helped to shape and craft my vision and to spread it to other members of staff. Neither of us could really believe it when, the Friday before we announced it to staff and students, he said, "Right, you know what we have to do this weekend, ready for Monday. Write a story." Yet that was exactly what we both did over the next forty-eight hours, and that was how we stumbled across the theme for the collection: Believe, Achieve, Succeed – the school motto.

Though I had great belief when I launched the project, I have to admit there were odd moments when, late at night, a spike of dread would hit me at the thought, What if no one writes anything? I shouldn't have worried. The students, staff and parents of Stocksbridge High School were fully up to the challenge, and their achievements speak for themselves. What really struck me, as I occasionally helped out students with their writing, was the real joy storytelling brought: it was the happiest I'd ever seen one boy in year 7 – he just couldn't stop beaming.

Now there is only a little more to say: I hope, as you read, all fifty-seven stories will succeed in moving, intriguing, scaring or delighting you – as they did me.

Miss Taylor

Teaching Assistant

Tales from Stocksbridge is a new venture for the school. When we started talking about the idea, it was both exciting and frightening, which is always a good sign. Frightening because we didn't know whether it would work; exciting because it was new, different and unknown.

There were lots of reasons for running this as an invitation and challenge for the whole school community – students, staff and parents. The main one was to celebrate writing. We wanted to show everyone that they could choose to write and could enjoy writing; that they could participate in a project and take pride in getting their work published. We wanted people to recognise and believe that they have a voice and that they can express their ideas. That writing isn't something that is just done in lessons or for examinations, but something which can be used to communicate with others, to explore feelings and to share ideas.

And what a voice! Reading the stories has been an eye-opener. As an English teacher, I'm used to telling people how they should be writing, but here everyone has chosen their own subject matter and their own style. There are lots of ghosts and vampires. There are what appear to be quite autobiographical stories and there are stories of fantasy and wish fulfilment. There are stories with strange and unusual narrators... which I won't give away here. There are stories in very different styles, some of which reveal avid readers... there's definitely one very similar to Louise Rennison's Georgia Nicholson books. There are humorous stories and there are some rather dark tales...

What they show are the creativity and imagination of the students in the school, and the hidden talents of some of the staff and parents. The stories have been a pleasure to read and we hope that you will enjoy them just as much.

I would like to acknowledge and thank Miss Taylor as the inspiration and cheerleader for this project, without her enthusiasm and huge amount of work proof-reading and typesetting the stories, this could never have happened. Thank you to Mr Turner for providing the prize of a Kindle. Most of all, thank you to everyone who took the time to write and submit a story for the collection – it is your creativity and courage that makes this collection what it is.

Hopefully we can make this a regular publication, so keep those pens warm...

Mr Parry

English Subject Leader

I was delighted to be asked to write a few words for the Preface to Tales from Stocksbridge. This wonderful collection is a powerful symbol of all the work that takes place in school to develop engagement in reading and writing – a big focus area for us at the moment. It also does more than this by reflecting the passion, creativity and spirit of our students, staff and community. It is testament to our 'can do mentality'; a perfect example of how a good idea can quickly grow and become an exciting reality. Thanks to all those who have made a contribution to the collection and thanks to you for reading it. Enjoy!

Mr Cole

Headteacher

13 Mary Street

by

Jessica Singleton, 7VKD

"Have you heard the rumour?" says one of my friends at school. We are half way through an English lesson at the time, to be precise in Miss Evans's English where we are learning about a book called The Girl with No Face. It is quite a spooky book with danger and all about believing in yourself. "What? What rumour?" I ask, baffled by the question.

"The rumour about Mary Street?" My friend replies like it is the most obvious thing in the world. Mary Street is supposedly haunted but I don't believe in that rubbish.

"No, I haven't heard it, so tell me," I whisper loudly.

"Yesterday, a new family moved in from Australia." Still, my friend gives nothing away.

"And? Good for them." I am still baffled.

"They didn't move into just any house. They moved into... 13... Mary Street!"

At this point, I think my friend is expecting me to scream or stare with horror but no, I just say sarcastically, "Oh, not that house!" My friend does not take this very well, so we both turn around and get on with our work.

Anyway, I've not had chance to introduce myself yet. My name's Jess; I'm twelve years old and I go to Stocksbridge High School. My friend there who I was talking to is Isobel. We are in year seven and our class is 7VKD.

The next day, a new pupil joined our school. He was Australian, so I suppose some of the rumour may be true but still I don't believe all the nonsense about Mary Street. So the new kid, he is called Shane Pontion, weird name I know but still, he is an Aussie. It just happens Shane has to join 7VKD. As soon as people heard that he was Australian and he had just moved here, he was soon surrounded by a crowd of people, who were asking questions like, "Did you really move into the house on Mary Street?" The poor kid didn't know what was going on. So the whole thing about Number 13 Mary Street was right but it still doesn't mean it is haunted.

Shane has turned out to be a rather nice person and we hang out a lot together now so I guess we are friends; I really just think it is because I was the only one who couldn't care less about where he lived. Today, Shane asked me if I wanted to play out after school with him because Mary Street is not far from my house. I really enjoyed playing out, especially since it was such a nice day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and we had a great time playing out on our bikes. So we are now inside his house, guzzling down a can of coke because it was so hot and we were so thirsty.

The house was all cleaned up since he has been living in it for just over six months now. His room was bright blue with gold stars; it was like being in a sky at day but also a night with all of the stars, and I think this is related to Shane wanting to be an astronaut when he is older. I have been invited around for tea with Shane's family who are really kind and cook great spaghetti. It is getting late now as we sit in his living room playing on the Wii.

Suddenly, there was a creepy scream coming from outside. Shane's parents both went outside with a torch to see who it was, but no one was there. A little creeped out, both Shane and I carry on with our game. Then there was another loud scream, this time closer to the house. We ran to the door but Shane's parents took all of the torches. We peeked outside the living room window and we saw...

The dishevelled face of a disastrous looking woman, who was half dead, stared us in the eye and she pressed her head against the window and moaned. She wandered towards the door and we heard the hatch click...

We hid behind the sofa, away from the creepy figure. Shane was whimpering like a poor little puppy dog. Then a shadow loomed above the sofa...

"Ahhhhhhhahhhhhhhh!" we both screamed with horror.

"I am not that scary-looking, am I?" spoke Shane's mum. So we told Shane's parents everything that happened and they said, "Well, that is one bad daydream."

"But it was true, we really saw a half dead woman in front of our window then she went to the door and we hid and you found us," Shane said, trembling as he was reminded of the horrid thing.

"Okay, okay. Whatever you say. If you saw that, then you saw that," Shane's dad said and then his mum said, "Okay, I think it is getting a bit late now, you two. You'd better be off home, Jess."

I can't sleep. I just keep on getting reminded of that horrid sighting and I keep on checking outside so that no one is outside. On my third check, I wished I hadn't. She was there! The half dead woman again! I screamed, "Ahhhhhhh! Leave me alone! What have I done to you?!"

I told my mum this morning but she didn't believe me, neither did my dad. So now the only people that believe are me and Shane, and even I don't even believe it myself half the time.

"She came back last night," I whispered to Shane.

"She came into my room last night, too. I didn't know what to do."

So today, we organised to stay at his house, wide awake all night, not getting a wink of sleep. The woman appeared again to terrify us. She followed us as we ran to his mum and dad's room and his mum and dad said, "What are you looking at? There is nothing there."

Shane and I were so confused! She was floating right after us and pulling horrid faces; she had a pale coloured dress and was about half a metre off of the ground, floating around, and there was something strange and familiar about her, though I couldn't put my finger on it. She disappeared when we were with Shane's mum so we got sent back to his room to go back to sleep. Then it dawned on me.

"Aha! The girl from the book. The girl with no face. She looks exactly like the pictures it shows you in the pages!" I told Shane and he said, "Oh yeah!" We have finished the book now so we know how it ends; she gets destroyed by the town's people with a huge bucket of water. She eventually vanishes and the town's people are not bothered about the ghost girl, or the girl with no face, again.

"Maybe that is what we have to do," Shane said. "You know, destroy her with a giant bucket of water. To get her here we will do what we did tonight but we will go to yours next week!"

I am so glad that we have sorted this horrid mess.

So it is Saturday again, and tonight is the night. At seven o'clock, Shane came to my house and we got the bucket of water ready and set up our pillows so we were comfy because we could be waiting a while. It soon turned dark but we were ready, and she was here in less than two minutes. We led her into the bathroom, shut the door (not that it would make much difference since ghosts can float through walls, but it was worth a try) and we got her right where we wanted her. We got the bucket of water. "On three... one...two...THREE!" We drenched her in chilly liquid water and poof! She disappeared! "Amazing! We have done it!" We chuckled happily together.

We were never bothered about her again and we were friends as long as forever.

A Day In The Life Of A 20p...

by

Megan Jones, 7AD

I used to wake up in many different places, like pockets and purses, but for the last couple of years, it had been different... Instead of waking up all cosy and warm in a furry coat pocket, I had woken up wet and cold, lying on a hard, grey concrete floor. For the last four years, I had been awoken by my coughs, as all the rubble that surrounded me was disturbed by the daily tram passengers sprinting for the best seats on the tram. If not that, then their heavy and hard boulder-like shoes treading on me! Exactly four years ago, I was off to be swapped with a loaf of bread in a shop named Asda but on the way there I fell out of a furry coat pocket and that got me into a terrible situation, on the floor of a busy tram station in a bustling town.

I had believed that someone would pick me up and take me to a bank and that I would stay there for the rest of my life... Instead, I had been there a while, doing the same things every day: waking and coughing, believing, believing, believing, a bit more believing then sleeping. What is the point in life if all you do is believe and never achieve? That was the question I had been asking myself for years and years until that very special day...

At 3:30pm, after school had finished, a little girl named Penelope came skipping past me. Penelope was a regular passenger on the tram; she went there after school every day to get on. I used to watch her climb on in her grey and burgundy uniform every day and make her way to the same seat. The seat she always sat on had red and blue stripes, with patches of white in the corners. I was pretty sure she got on for a safe journey home from school. Anyway, as she skipped past me this particular day, she stopped about three metres away from the tram and made her way towards me. When both her feet were to my right, she stopped, knelt down and said, "Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck!" As she was saying that, I was picked up and put in a pink pocket in her school bag and zipped up safe. The pocket was not as comfy as a furry coat pocket but at least there was no falling out this time...

After the best (and only) journey I'd had in four years, I finally arrived at Penelope's house. So many things were racing through my head at this time, things like: getting swapped, making new penny friends, sleeping alone but in a warm coat pocket this time, being zipped up in a purse and talking to notes and maybe even going to the bank! I would like that the most. Penelope immediately opened her zip pocket and took me out; once again, I was released into the free, fresh air. I was quickly rushed into the kitchen to her mum, like you would with an in need patient to a doctor or nurse. As I was shown to her mum, she stared at me while Penelope explained to her something about me going in what they called a "savings jar" – for a holiday or something? At this point, I had no idea what was going on but the next thing I knew was that I was locked up in a jar along with other pennies and notes and that jar was locked up in a china plate cupboard! At first, I tried not to panic and look on the bright side of things – at least it wasn't a hard, cold floor – but the more I thought about it, the dimmer the bright side became... It was official, I was once again... USELESS! Why me? I asked myself, why do I have to be the penny that has one simple dream but never gets the chance to live it? I just did not understand.

Days went by, then days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Before I knew it, it had almost been a year! Throughout this year, I had only seen daylight on the occasions where the cupboard had been opened to add more pennies to the jar but these times were very short and seemed so few and far between. The jar wasn't even taken out of the cupboard to add more pennies! Every time they did open the door, I thought that this would be the last and that I would be free of the cupboard for good, but it never happened; it was always: door open, pennies in and the door, once again, shut.

When I was just about to give up on believing and was planning to somehow shuffle myself to the bottom of the jar to lie on the glass bottom as I did on the pavement for four years, I saw... A PEAK OF DAYLIGHT! I couldn't believe my eyes. The daylight grew bigger and bigger, brighter and brighter, until the cupboard door was fully open and this time, finally, the jar was being pulled towards the light. Still inside the jar, we were placed into a large carrier bag with Morrisons written on the side of it; the handles were then tied up in a double knot and the plastic bag was placed in Penelope's mum's hand bag. We were then driven to somewhere special to be swapped, but this time, NOT with food or toys...

The plastic bag was removed out of the hand bag and then the jar was taken out of the plastic bag. Penelope's mum emptied all of us out of the jar into a metal trough, then she pushed us through some glass, where we were given to another lady who counted us up and swapped us... WITH MORE NOTES? Why would she do that? Who would trap money, keep it for a while then give it away for more money? You would only do that if, well, if you were being kept in a... BANK! YES! It is all clear now. "I'm in a bank!" I cried in delight. I had achieved my dream! All I had to do was never give up believing and I would finally achieve! I was so happy.

Ever since that day, I've woken up in all kinds of places, first in a shopkeeper's till, then in a warm furry coat pocket, then in a purse, then in the bank again. It was like my life had started all over again!

A Soldier

by

Poppy Chadwick, 8HW

Shadows swallowed me as I neared the door. The billboards loomed above me, cadets and soldiers grinning as if the world was at their feet. Maybe it was... Maybe, if they fought hard enough, the world would be under them. Weeks of scarred hands and blistered feet lay ahead. I was going for a trial – spending two nights training seemed almost impossible, let alone my whole life. Was I kidding myself? This was a stupid idea.

Someone in uniform opened the door and stared. Coming, ready or not? I raised my head and walked in. I lowered myself into a seat, biting my nails. "This week, I am your mother, father, brothers, sisters, teacher and most of all, your friend." As if I believed that rubbish.

Our kit was out on our dormitory beds, crumpled in a heap. "It must be ironed and washed. Your lockers must be like your minds." What? Dirty? I thought. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about my pregnant mum and six siblings, my drunken, unemployed father and the marriage that I was being forced into.

We awoke at 0600 hours the next morning and dressed in less than ten. "Brooks, believe you can do this." I fought through that day and achieved something. I achieved my award, my award of standing up for myself, not letting the bad times get me down. I did that to protect my sanity.

At eighteen years of age, I now fight for our country, to protect the rich and the poor, the big and the small. I achieved something in my life. From a rundown council kid, to a soldier in Afghanistan, nothing could prepare me for the things I have achieved today.

A Work of Fiction

by

J. H. Simpson, Former Student

When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn't know.

"Oh, sure you know," the photographer said.

"She wants," said Jay Cee wittily, "to be everything."

\- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Anyone's life can change in an instant. I know it's not just me. Some people say I have reached a dead end in life; I prefer to imagine I am at a Stop sign, waiting for a safe place to pull out and join the droves of oncoming traffic.

Whilst I am waiting, I have a lot of time to think, and lately I've been fixated on one random memory in particular: The Hundred and One Dalmatians by Dodie Smith. It was the first novel I ever read, which I considered, at the age of seven, to be quite an accomplishment. The cover I remember vividly: it was a snowy scene, mostly white and blue, where two adult Dalmatians sat alert and proud as a handful of their puppies gathered playfully around them. I could never pinpoint what part of the book this image represented, but I felt it was important. I can recall the feeling upon turning the final page – a dull ache around my heart. I was sad that it was over, but I couldn't wait to start something new.

Young life is crammed full of idealistic clichés. I used to believe I could be anything I wanted to be, but the inescapable reality of life proves that this is not always the case. Aged eight, I wanted to be an archaeologist; I would put on a green t-shirt and plait my hair, imagining I was Lara Croft, and make for the garden with a spade, hoping to discover some hidden relic beneath the bushes. I was particularly interested in Ancient Egypt and Rome: worlds so unlike my own, yet close enough to touch. I longed to go to Egypt and see the pyramids, always pestering my mum to let me bring home brochures from the travel agents to look at the pictures. At school, I read that Tutankhamun's tomb was cursed with a poisonous mist and whoever entered would die. I decided that it was a risk I was willing to take; I never did. Since then, I decided upon many vocations: I wanted to be in the army, a SWAT team sniper, a rock star, a gymnast, an artist, an optician, an author, a screenwriter, a librarian, a book shop owner, a writer, a writer, a writer...

With every change of plan, I reinvented myself, constantly changing my appearance and philosophies to suit. I felt as though sticking to one genre was restrictive. I wanted to be every kind of person I admired, rather than choosing just one. I blame literature for my unrealistic expectations of life. Initially, it was the inspiration, now merely the escape.

Life is like a bookshop, wherein every book contains an individual path for life. Everyone has to choose, eventually. The book I chose looked good from the outside, the premise had a lot of potential. A life led by academic success and a desire to learn. Not knowing what route of employment I wished to pursue, I decided to study what I enjoyed – English Literature (of course). I studied hard, and after four years of lectures and seminars I set out into the world with two degrees under my belt. If finances had permitted it, I would have continued to study at PhD level, to become the best that I could be. To enhance my CV, I decided to undertake a couple of internships and placements at local magazines and publishing houses. At this time, I was convinced I was going to be an editor.

Meanwhile, I was working in a restaurant. I got fired for using my initiative: "I pay you to do, not to think." That phrase has stuck with me like a curse. For someone to be so disrespectful disgusted me. I am not some repressed heroine from literature of centuries past, and I want to be able to think for myself. I am a Jane Eyre, a Vivie Warren, an Aurora Leigh! Another chapter of my book had ended abruptly.

Whether each fleeting episode of life is indeed a chapter, or a book in itself, I have not yet discovered the right one. The one that will last. The one I can rely upon. Slowly and uncomfortably my present phase is dragging on to its inevitable end: forced to close in preparation of its own destruction. I feel as though I am on Death Row, helpless and waiting for my meaningless life to be over.

Yet I believe that every ending produces a multitude of unknown new beginnings. The feeling of anticipation, starting a new book. A new adventure awaits. I just need to get into gear, take a risk, and drive. In the words of Jack Kerouac: "There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars."

All About My Achievements

By

Bethany Peacock, 7SE

Hi. My name's Bethany and this story is all about my achievements in my life.

So, the first one is that I started karate when I was nine years old and finished at a yellow belt. I went to this special place, a hall, and it was really nice and posh. I was feeling nervous because there were lots of people there and they were there for other children. We had to do a move in front of the audience and mine was like step by step move. When I finished, everyone clapped. Then I got my yellow belt and my mum and brother were all there, as well as my sis and Auntie Margaret. They watched me and were really proud of me.

And my next achievement is ice skating. I started ice skating when I was also nine years old. I don't do it any more but when I did, it was fun. I did it at a place called Ice Sheffield and when I did it for the first time, I was feeling scared of falling down. I was scared for the first few days but then I faced up to my fears. I learned how to spin, jump and learned to go really fast. I liked it so much.

I'm twelve now and I'm sure I'll have many more achievements in the future.

All is Not Fair in Love and in War

by

Shelbey Brook, 9AS

On Friday the 21st of May 1932, the night was cold and misty and the rain was pouring. The next morning was nice and sunny and I decided to go to the café down the street, where I went every Saturday, and I noticed that there were three cars in the car park that I had seen before; the people who drove those cars weren't very nice.

I walked inside the café and I sat at the bar; in the corner of my right eye, I could see the owners of the cars outside, and it looked like they were causing trouble. There was this woman with blonde, short hair, and lips as red as a rose; she always wore a pink and white ribbon in her hair. She was brave because she was the only one who went over there where the men were making trouble and I could see that she was scared, too, because I saw it in her eyes.

Then I saw one of the men grab the woman's arm; as soon as I saw it, I rushed up out of my chair and I walked up to the table where the men were sitting and I said to the man, "Get your dirty hands off this woman."

He said, "Go away, you skinny rat." He got up out of his seat and let go of the woman and said, "Should we take this outside?"

I said, "Yes, we shall."

I went outside with the man and his mates followed behind him, the woman standing at the café door. I took the first punch but it didn't do any good, then he took the second punch and it hurt, but I didn't know what happened next, I think he knocked me out, then as I opened my eyes I saw a pearl white hand. I grabbed the hand and I looked up at the woman with the blonde hair.

She said, "Are you okay?"

I said, "I'm fine."

She said, "My name is Beth," and I said, "I'm George." We talked for a long time and we fell in love...

Six years later

It was 12:43am and I heard a scream in the toilets. I rushed to the toilet to find out what was happening. When I opened the door, Beth was standing there and she said, "I-I'm pregnant."

I just stood there, until she said, "Don't just stand there! Say something." I looked at her and I smiled with joy.

The day after, I was walking home from the shop when I saw a poster with a man on it, pointing at me to join the war and I wanted to so I signed up. I went back home and I said to Beth, "I've joined the war."

She said, "What!" in a mad, angry voice. "Why?"

I said, "Because what's the baby going to think about me when he or she is older?"

She said, "I don't know..."

I tried to talk to her about it but she wouldn't talk to me. The next day, I told Beth that I loved her but she still wouldn't talk to me. I told her that I had to go on the train to war in four weeks and that I would write letters to her every week...

Four weeks later

It was four o'clock in the morning and I wanted to talk to Beth before it was too late. I said to her, "I will miss you." She was pretending to be asleep but I knew she could hear me. At 8am, I put a letter beside Beth saying that I had to go on the train to war and that I would miss her and the baby very much. I got to the train station and I waited with all the other soldiers for the train to come, then I saw Beth and she ran to me and hugged me, sobbing onto my shoulder. I had to let her go and I said goodbye and I went.

It's been a year now and I'm in the trenches. I hate it here; if you go over the top, you will get killed. Seven of my mates have died and I'm really scared. I've had twelve letters from Beth saying to believe in myself, that believing in myself will make me succeed and achieve as a hero and save lots of lives. She had the baby and I told her to call the baby Mary or Henry. The baby, she tells me in her letters, is a sturdy boy called Henry. Beth and I have achieved in having a child and also Beth has succeeded in having the baby, and I can't wait to get home and see Beth and baby Henry.

It is 1945 and the war is over. After the war ended, I came back home. Beth saw me and she was in shock. My son Henry is six years old and is in school; it was the first time I ever met Henry in person because I only saw pictures of him. I told him about the war and he listened to everything I said. Beth and I are going to get married in two months.

Two months later

Beth and I got married. It was a nice, simple wedding, not too eye-catching and posh, just a nice wedding. In the war, we learnt three words, which Beth and I used over and over in our letters, and they were Believe, Achieve and Succeed. I have believed in myself from the very first time I walked up to that man in the café to rescue Beth and when I signed up for the war. I have achieved my goal in life to have a wife and a child, and I also achieved in the war by never succumbing to fear and despair, I succeeded in the war to be a hero and save people's lives and I have succeeded in doing something with my life, like the war.

So believe, achieve and succeed in life.

Alone

by

Abigail Shaw, 8HW

Ever since I was young, I never felt loved; my mother grew ill and died when I was barely one. Ever since that day I always thought of her but mostly, to my disappointment, my dreams never came true. But I can only look forward even though my past still haunts me; I had four brothers and sisters but they were taken away into care and I was given to a foster family. There was a girl there who I called my sister even though we were not related. One day I hope to find my father but he left as soon as Mum did. I don't even remember his face, only that he had a strong Scottish accent but that's where my memories fade.

It's snowing outside; a sharp breeze nips my skin chilling my bones and freezing my senses. Rolling out of bed, I go to get some food. I stare down at my empty bowl and remember there hasn't been food for a long time. I linger on what to do next. Should I cry for help? The help never comes, no matter how hard I cry.

I have travelled hard to get where I am today, meeting different people, going from place to place. It doesn't seem worth it. Somehow, life has been harder here than anywhere else. I used to go for a stroll in the park once a week; I'd meet all my friends and go for a run. They were the best days of my life. I was the best at catching ball and I would always look at the cricket players and hope to be like them but they were only childish dreams and I should have known better. Now, I share a flat with a man called Mick. We don't talk much and all he does is drink disgusting brown liquid. One day I will escape this place but after all what can I do with no thumbs? After all, it is a dog's life.
Army Dog

by

Rosie Simpson, 7AD

I believed in my dog. Right until that big bomb hit in Afghanistan, I believed in my dog...

My dog was called Tom; he was a professional sniffer dog and he was my best friend. I thought we would be best friends for life, but suddenly, as he was training one day, a sneaky man bombed our area and he blew up our trench and hit Tom. I couldn't bear to let him go, he meant everything to me and he... was... gone... forever. I suffered depression and I felt like I couldn't face the world anymore.

A few weeks later, a bunch of new puppies came to train to be professional sniffer dogs. I asked my boss, Andy, how many people would actually get to have a sniffer dog. He replied with, "Our professional dog handlers." I had no idea who those were, but I assumed that I was one of them, since I had Tom for over five years. Two days later, Andy announced who the lucky people were to get a 'sniffer dog in training', (that's what Andy called them, anyway) and I was one of those lucky people!

There were five puppies in total, three girls and two boys. The boys' names were: Alfie and Harvey, and the girls' names were: Kira, Lucy and Freddo. My army partner, James, was lucky enough to be picked out to have a sniffer dog in training, along with Suzanne, Tony and Linda. We got to choose which puppy we could have as our new partner. I didn't want really to have another Springer Spaniel because of what happened a few weeks ago, so I wanted a dog that I had grown up with, a Labrador. There were two Labradors, Freddo and Harvey. As soon as I saw Freddo, it was love at first sight; she was a brown Labrador and she had the kindest brown eyes. Obviously, I chose her because I just fell for her the minute I saw her. James chose a Portuguese water dog called Alfie. Apparently, those sorts of dogs are incredibly good in water.

After a tiring first day spending time with Freddo, we start training the next day. I like training with Freddo since she's really obedient and she listens to my commands. One thing she struggles with, though, is how to stay still, because she's excited to get on and please her owner! Andy had to observe us working with the dogs earlier and he came to me first and said, "You seem to be getting on with Freddo really well, keep this up!" Andy is a man of few words so sometimes he says things no one else understands. I'm glad Andy actually seems happy with what I am doing because I have no help whatsoever with my dog training (except a little bit, now and then, from James). All of the training I am doing is independent so I have to plan everything I do for this for a week. Apparently, according to Suzanne, next week we are taking our dogs for a sniff around a pretend bomb site, a few miles away from Camp, so we can really test our dogs' knowledge on whether they know if it's a bomb/drug or if it's a treat! If it's a bomb or a drug, we have trained them to bark and get our attention and for a treat we have trained them to sit patiently and wait for the owner to get the treat and give it to them for all their hard work.

This morning, I woke up and couldn't find Freddo! I was straight up and I darted from one place to another, really panicking. Andy and Linda came over and wondered what was going on; I said, "I have no idea where Freddo has gone! I wonder where she can be! I hope she hasn't gone too far! Oh, I hope I can find her!"

"Whoa! Calm down. I'm sure she hasn't gone far because she surely knows where she is and isn't allowed! You did train her where and where not to go, didn't you...?" said Andy in a stressed tone.

"Yes, I am sure I did! You definitely taught us how to teach the..."

I paused, looking in confusion at the long grass ahead. I'm sure I could see a small wag of a tail that seemed to be... FREDDO! I rushed forward, and there was Freddo panting happily and barking like mad.

"I can't believe you ran away like that! You really scared me there, girl! Why are you going so crazy?" I asked her, confused and unaware what was going on right beneath me.

"What is going on over here?" Andy said, puzzled.

"I don't know, she just started barking and jumping around when I came over to her! I don't know what's got into her!" I exclaimed. "What is it, girl?"

She barked and started scrabbling on the floor where my feet were, then she looked at me with those eyes that just say, 'Trust me, I know what I am doing.'

I took a step back and watched her for a moment, and then I realised... there might be a body in there! I had never seen Freddo so determined to do anything before! I decided to call everyone over to help! I really wanted to get whatever it was out of here and to safety before we got spotted on someone else's area, but I decided it was best to let Freddo sniff and dig. All of a sudden, I heard a muffled whine and wondered, Is this an animal or a person? Nobody dared to speak or do anything, they just watched in amazement as she scrambled the dirt behind her, making a cloud of dry, sandy smoke.

"Oh my god!" called out Andy, as we all saw a dog's tail and... her little head. I wondered what breed of dog she was... Well, I couldn't really see her because she was still half buried in the sand. Everyone was crowding around Freddo and the new little dog at this point and Andy fetched a blanket and picked the little dog up. The dog was severely dehydrated because her nose was really, really dry. We decided to call this little dog Hope. We were clueless about how long this lucky dog was under the sand for, for she was indeed lucky to have survived under that heap of dust. Luckily, she wasn't really deep under, so she could still breathe. We are still trying to track down who did this horrid thing to Hope. "Well done, really well done, girl! You're a lifesaver!" I said joyfully to Freddo. She looked quite pleased with herself actually.

Five weeks later, Freddo and Hope became the best of friends and partners. Freddo got given a medal for Best Sniffer Dog and also another medal for Best Companion of The Year. I was so proud of my Freddo; she was one year and eight months old. According to Andy, she was the youngest dog ever to have even learnt to do such an amazing thing!

I believe in Freddo. As a friend, and a partner. I still really miss Tom but I have Freddo to keep me going. I have succeeded in becoming a sniffer dog trainer and I will hope to achieve lots more in my army life, and right now, I will just stick to believing in myself to try as hard as I can to protect our country. Of course, Freddo helps too (with a little help from the little fighter, Hope)!

Belief: The Choice is Yours

by

Deborah Frith, Parent

Strange, isn't it, what we choose to believe in? From being small, we are happy to accept that a tiny fairy comes along and quite happily swaps a fallen out tooth, hidden under a crumpled pillow, in exchange for money, or that an amazing long-bearded man travels the Earth at breakneck speed in a flying sleigh, scurrying up and down non-existent chimneys and passing through locked doors with armfuls of presents at Christmas. We raise our eyes to the skies and look up at rainbows, following their path, imagining a pot of gold at the end; we dare to peer underneath dark beds, or into closed wardrobes, waiting for the terrifying moment the bogeyman will get us. We imagine transparent ghosts wandering along dark, deserted hallways, fairies, elves and goblins, Heaven and Hell; we trust to luck, cross our fingers and make wishes. Yet, when someone asks what we believe in, so many times these imaginary beings are just the sort of things we would answer with.

How often, if asked the question, would we say we believed in ourselves?

A friend of mine was diagnosed with terminal cancer a couple of years ago, not long after he retired from work. He believed he was going to have a wonderful retirement, travelling the world, working his way steadily to the bottom of his bucket list. He already had a very interesting life, living it to the full and then some, but this wasn't what he had expected. He knew there wasn't going to be a dream movie ending, a ride off to the sunset, he knew time was limited but he did believe he could make the most of the time left. He believed that he had two choices: to give in and waste the time he had, or believe he could get in there and start ticking off that endless bucket list. He chose to believe in his bucket list. He may not ever have fully completed it; I don't think it ever would have had an end, anyway, but he had great fun trying and certainly believed he might. Last April, he died, though I think all who knew him probably didn't want to believe he would ever die. He taught me a valuable lesson: you have to believe in yourself to make the most of any situation, good or bad.

We are who we are, we have our faults and our good bits, we are the only person who will truly understand our own deep down fears, our hidden ambitions, our long held wishes, our list of hopes and dreams, and yet how often do we say we believe in ourselves? How difficult it can be to fulfil these things, even with a strong belief, especially when obstacles come along in our way. It is so hard to believe in ourselves sometimes; the problem is we spend so long listening to the negatives, we often forget to grasp the positives. We worry about the way we look, what we haven't done, spend hours of wasted time worrying over silly errors, dwelling over ill thought through words and comments that get blown out of all proportion, we spend fruitless time comparing and judging ourselves against others. What we really need is to believe that what we want to do is possible, to learn to trust and believe in ourselves more, have confidence in our abilities and strength of character and to say, "I'm sure I can, I believe I can, I've just got to give it a go."

Believing can be very powerful. We can believe we can, we can believe we can't – the choice is ours.

Believe, achieve and you will succeed

by

Elise Tully, 7VKD

Marie holds her newborn baby close to her chest. As she slowly rocks the baby, back and forth, back and forth, she whispers into her ear, "I will love you forever; I will know you always, and as long as I live, you will be mine."

23 years later...

Starting a family is never easy, especially when your mother is breathing down your neck and watching your every move. Marie was never pleased with Stacey; she never believed her and she wasn't even sure about Stacey getting married to Richard.

"Is it time?"

"Yes."

Stacey shivers, picks up the test, and whispers, "It's positive."

Tears of happiness stream down both Stacey's and Richard's faces.

As they hug and jump, Richard yells, "I always believed in you, even when you had your doubts!"

"This is it! We're on our way! We're going to be a family."

The hard bit has not even started. The hard bit is what comes next, breaking the news.

10 months later...

Living the life the way Stacey planned it. She got a dream child, Radley. And Richard says softly, "When you believe, you achieve and you will succeed."

While smiling and nodding, Stacey gently rocks Radley back and forth, back and forth she whispers into his ear, "I will love you forever; I will know you always, and as long as I live, you will be mine."

Believe, Achieve, Succeed

by

Chloe Beech, 7SE

This little story is about the meaning of the three words: believe, achieve and succeed; and how ambitions are linked to these three words.

Believe:

Most people have an ambition. Whether it's to be a doctor, and actor or actress, whatever the ambition. You need to have courage and confidence to believe. Lots of people believe in themselves, and go a long way in life. Others don't, as they don't believe in themselves.

Next is achieve:

Everyone wants to achieve their ambition. Once they achieve, it makes them feel proud and happy with themselves. Sometimes, though, achieving is not so good, like when it involves breaking a bone, losing something valuable, and so on. Sometimes, children are encouraged to believe in things they can't achieve.

Finally, succeed:

If you believe and achieve an ambition, you also succeed in an ambition. People can often succeed in other ways, like getting a job, a good grade in school and lots more. When you succeed, you are also very proud and happy with yourself.

These three things are essential in life, and get you a long way. To fulfil your ambitions in life, you will need to believe, achieve and succeed.

Believe, Achieve, Succeed

by

Declan Crofts, 9CB

Chapter 1: Declan is 16

I never thought this day was ever going to occur; it was the night of the Y11 Prom and at this moment, I am on the car journey. The school had rented out the town hall for the Prom.

As I stepped out of the newly washed and waxed mini cooper, my mum's red car with a union jack roof, I just noticed my best friend Nathan Perkings (or Nat as we call him) pull up behind us in a nice shiny black Porsche (this is obliviously not his). "EY DEC!" he yelled.

"Keep you voice down, I am only here," I said in an annoyed but also excited tone, "and since when did you own a Porsche?"

"Since I rented it for tonight, and who are you going to the Prom with?"

"I don't have a partner, I turned down all offers so I am going with myself. Not going to dance, though, you?"

"With Katie Mac-Minnie," said Nat, looking smug. As we walked, the past came rushing back into my memory...

Chapter 2: Declan is 11

I am in the Y6 leavers' assembly and I look around me at all of the parents, their eyes full of tears, the teachers trying to hold back tears, and my friends' faces, their eyes glued to the slideshow of pictures of us when we were younger; then there was Jack Glider (the class idiot) looking emotionless, well, to be honest, he did not have a clue as to what was going on! Oh gosh, all these years here in the grounds of Stocksbridge Junior School, all these years spent in one class when all my friends are in a separate class; it was not at all good for me to be separated from them but my years here were some of my best.

Stocksbridge High School was next. The last school in the chain, the school where it all got serious, with GCSEs and coursework. All the fears came to me: are the teachers very, very strict? Would everyone be bigger then me? Plus, all the rumours that were flying around, such as "you get your head flushed down the toilet", "you get homework every day", "the toilets are haunted", etc.

To be honest, I am scared, no, not scared, TERRIFIED. Then an image from two days ago at the awards ceremony came up on the slideshow: it was me and Millie clutching the Exemplar Pupil award (or the best student award). How embarrassing – all eyes were on me now. I feel sad to be leaving this wonderful school. A single tear trickled down the side of my cheek.

Chapter 3: Declan is 12

"School is out and summer is in," yelled Andrew White at the top of his voice, but he is correct; it's the end of Y7, the first year of High School. Ha! I can remember all of my worries, all of the stupid rumours; I actually believed that my head was going to end up down the bog. Well, I am in a class with Nat and Sedgrick Brailes, and also Vanessa Moore! My three best friends! Also, I have a handful of new friends, and I have had a few arguments with some but that's just how school life is. My form tutor is the best, his name is Mr Bangs.

All of our subject teachers are good and so are all of my lessons, well, apart from P.E. Some of the teachers can shout very loud but they do not shout at me. The only problem is that there is a load of gossip and people saying, "Will you go out with...?" or "OMG... has dumped...!", but I do not get involved. Guess what, I have taken up playing the violin and am in the school orchestra which is brilliant.

So bring on Y8.

Chapter 4: Declan is 12 and ¾

Gosh, I hate getting the results back from tests. Normally, my test scores are not the highest but they are high enough; but I hate people saying, "What did you get?" and people saying, "My test scores are rubbish," when they have a level 6a or 7c. This year, we have got a new timetable. This is good, I suppose, but I have some different teachers when I have just got the hang of my old teachers' methods.

I am now revising for a very important Maths test, which is soon. People need to grow up and revise and realize that this test has an impact on our sets next year in Y9 and we need to be in the right sets or otherwise we will not get the levels we need.

Now I am at the end of my Y8 journey and am telling my friend Nat to have a good holiday. Y8 has been an okay year, but not as good as Y7. I fear Y9 because teachers say we will need to make some important decisions.

Chapter 4: Declan is 13 and ¾

Arrrr, decisions, decisions! I am at home, thinking about what to take for my five choices, of which I only get three, and gosh it is hard but I have got an idea...

1. Catering

2. Drama

3. French

4. Geography

5. ICT GCSE

I am not thinking of taking Music, even though I love it and really like the teacher, because I do not feel that I will be successful. However, I will still play the violin (I just passed my grade 1!) and keep playing with the orchestra. People have been hit hard by realising that we are having to make decisions that will change our lives. I have been offered this EBacc route but I am taking the mixed route because I do not wish to take subjects that I do not feel I will be successful in. I have had my options meeting with Madam Smith (the French teacher); this went okay but it just threw a spanner in the works.

Also, I am doing my Duke of Edinburgh Bronze Award and for my skill, I am doing my orchestra; for my volunteering, I am helping out at Dodworth Library, and for the physical aspect, I am doing a fitness class called Zumba. I am also taking part in the volunteering academy and have already volunteered at Wortley Walled Garden and Steel Valley Project which were both good places to volunteer at.

The other day, when I went to Meadowhall with Nat, I dared him to try one of these fire balls (very hot sweets) so he did; it fell out his mouth and he chased it down the Lanes, HA HA HA HA HA! It was hilarious but embarrassing so I disowned him!

Chapter 5: Declan is 14 and ¼

My English teacher last year said that in Y10, coursework would hit us straight away and hell she was correct. The three choices I got were Catering, Drama and Geography; this is good and I am lucky to get my top three. There is a lot of studying and revision involved, though. This is not bad because I am determined to do well which is more than Danny Malcon who has not bothered to do a single homework probably in his whole life. I am doing my Silver Duke Of Edinburgh Award which is tough but rewarding. I'm glad that I get a break from my form.

Well, it only seemed two minutes since I entered this school. Amazing! In a matter of time, I will be entering the big bad world, but first, two years of hell to get through. Oh how will I cope without feeling super stressed? You know what, I will do this, Malorie Blackman did it, so... so, yes, I will give it my all. I will enter the big bad world with my head held high and saying, "Yes, I am from Stocksbridge High School. I have survived through the years of hard work and I have believed, achieved and succeeded!"

Chapter 6: Declan is 16

"Ha ha ha, those were the days."

"What are you laughing at?" said Nat.

"The past," I said. The past me was right. I am here, have done all of my exams and have got a lot of A's and one A*, which is AMAZING! I will go on and will most definitely become successful but for now I will enjoy the Prom.

"Oh, there's your date, Nat," I said.

"Declan, I do not know how to dance. Last time I tried, I stepped on my partner's toe and she was unable to dance," said Nat, filled with panic.

"She does not know that though, does she? Oh and watch out!" I said as Nat collided with his date; unfortunately she was carrying a glass with red berry juice in it.

"You – you – you idiot, this dress cost me a fortune and you've ruined it!" yelled Katie Mac-Minnie and she burst into tears and stormed off. Not a great start to the Prom!

Epilogue: 10 Years later

"Hi Nat, what can I do for you?" I said from behind the counter in my restaurant.

"Well, just come to see how you are doing," he mumbled. I took him round to the VIP seating and we discussed life. "Well done, Dec," he said in a proud tone.

"For what?" I questioned.

"For achieving your dream! Remember our school motto? Believe, you've done that. Achieve, look at how you got excellent grades, and Succeed, look where you are now," said Nat.

"And look at yourself, Nat, you have a good job as a lawyer and Katie Mac-Minnie has finally forgiven you," I said.

We smiled at each other and then started to laugh. We laughed and laughed until our jaws hurt. Yes, Nat was right, I have Believed, Achieved and Succeeded!

Believe in Number 5!

by

Cherise Whitham, 8LA

Once, fifty years ago, there were two girls called Amy and Heather. They were the best of friends, but one day they saw a poster up on a lamp post: 'ALL WOMEN AGES TWENTY AND OVER MUST NOW ENTER THIS COMPETITION BECAUSE IF YOU DON'T YOU WILL BE BANISHED FROM THE TOWN. WANT TO BE A BILLIONAIRE? THEN YOU HAVE FOUR YEARS STARTING FROM THURSDAY THE 7TH OF MARCH TO GIVE BIRTH TO FIVE HEALTHY CHILDREN. MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOUR.'

Amy said cautiously, "When we have to enter this competition, Heather, even if you win and I don't or if I win and you don't, we will still be the best of friends, right?"

"Of course we will be, don't be silly. If we aren't then who will look after us if one of us has a major meltdown?" Heather said, looking happy, but also worried.

Today was Amy's and Heather's twentieth birthday, so after all the joy of presents and spending time with their families and friends, they both went down to the Church hall to register. Nine months later, Amy had her first child; it was a baby girl and she named her Suzie. Then, exactly one month later, Heather had a baby boy and called him Jacob.

As they got older, they grew into enemies not friends, because ever since they turned twenty, registered and got married, all they really wanted to do was win; to them, friendship meant nothing anymore.

"Babe, do you think that me and Amy will ever be friends again?" Heather said sadly to her husband, Dan.

Dan replied cautiously, "I'm afraid I don't know, Heather, but why do you ask?"

"Well, because I miss her, I miss her being around me, it's like we have never met before," Heather said, crying.

"There, there. You will probably be soon, babe, soon, don't you worry," Dan said, nearly crying too.

The next night, Amy said the same thing to her husband, Frank.

Twelve months later, Amy and Heather are in labour with their fifth child. Both Amy and Heather have a baby boy but unfortunately Heather's baby is not healthy: its brain has not formed properly so Amy is a winner.

Two weeks later, Heather and Amy are home at last. Hugs and kisses all round – well, not for Heather.

"Dan, are you okay, what's wrong?" she happily asked him.

Dan said, shouting, "You, that's what wrong with me!"

When Dan said that to Heather, all of her happiness suddenly dispersed and Heather replied, nearly crying, "Wait, what have I done wrong?"

"You lost, that's why I don't love you anymore!" he screamed.

Crying her eyes out, Heather said, "But I love you, I thought you loved me! You even said so."

"They were all lies! I never loved you. I only wanted to marry you because I wanted to be rich and famous," Dan said, laughing.

So Dan left Heather and all of his kids with nothing. "What happened, Mummy, where has Daddy gone?" said Heather's third youngest child, Jake.

"Everything is okay, Jake, Mummy and Daddy need some time alone, that's all," Heather replied while wiping away the tears.

"Will you look after the kids for a bit, please?" Amy said happily to her husband.

"Where are you going, Amy?" Frank said while trying to get the newborn baby boy Kallum to sleep.

Amy replied happily, "I am going to see Heather and to see how everyone is doing. Love you, bye."

When Amy got to the house, she saw Heather outside in the freezing cold rain. As soon as she saw her, Amy ran up to ask what was wrong.

Heather started crying again and said, "He... he... l...left."

"Shhhh... it's all right. Come over to my house and calm down, then we will talk," she whispered quietly.

So Amy, Heather and all of Heather's kids went to Amy's house but when they got there, Frank was surprised and said, "What's happened? Is everything okay?"

"Dan left me because I didn't win, now I have nothing," Heather said, crying again.

"If it's okay with you, Frank, can Heather and her kids live with us?" Amy said to Frank.

Frank said happily, "That's a fine idea, yes, she can stay."

Six months later, something tragic happened: Kallum died on his birthday. Amy was upset, so upset that she didn't talk to anyone for a couple of days.

Amy's second oldest said, worrying, "Mummy, are you okay? What happened to Kallum?"

Amy eventually came out of her room, pointing up to the sky and said to all her children, "I am okay, darlings, but Kallum has gone up there with all the angels, looking over us."

One week later, Amy, Frank, all of their children, Heather's children, Heather's mum, Heather's dad and Heather proceeded from the house in silence. They buried Kallum in the woods.

They say that if you go to Wood Road Woods and say, "Kallum, I love you," five times, he comes and watches over you at night and wherever you go.

Believing in Dead Fish

by

Mr Cole, Headteacher

The traffic light turned red. George Armitage applied the handbrake. He shuffled his ample rear end in its green jumbo chord against the leather upholstery. His mind turned, inevitably, to fish. Not live ones. Dead ones. But only just dead, glistening, shiny eyed, ready to poach, steam, oven bake, grill or fry.

This love affair with fish began before he could even remember. It was a love nurtured throughout childhood, on chilly Saturday mornings at Horace Baldock's shop on Chesterfield Road. He remembered Horace himself, of course. This was long before Johnny-come-lately Pete and his unnecessarily macho black pickup with its unnecessarily comic number plate P2 COD. Horace had been the perfect fishmonger. Thin, utterly hairless, meticulously devoid of dirt or odour, trim, neat and pointed, not unlike a pike. Mrs Baldock had provided further interest. An absolute halibut of a woman, firm white flesh and plenty of it, and a slightly saggy droop of a mouth.

It had been a good day in the clock business. £1,500 for a fairly standard, late-Victorian grandfather from a punter in Holmfirth. That could buy a lot of fish. The Master Chef heats were only days away and he still wasn't settled on his mains. Fish, obviously, but in what wonderful incarnation? He flicked through memorised pages of Sophie Grigson's book, simply, but brilliantly, entitled 'Fish'. A traditional pie, pollock, smoked haddock and salmon bathing in dill scented cream. But under thick mash, or puff pastry? With hard-boiled egg or not? A Thai red curry, perhaps, enriched with mussels. Or Monkfish with a sharp salsa verde? A fillet of sea bream with ginger foam? John Dory on a potato fondant? Scallops wrapped in prosciutto and served on herb risotto? Or a true celebration of fish – his signature fish stew. An exotic mix of red snapper, mullet and langoustines in an intense fusion of garlic, tomatoes and thyme, served simply with the ends of a fresh loaf and salad? How about a new twist – a dash of pernod, maybe? Or take the flavour to Spain with a good dusting of smoked paprika. Or would that overpower the star of the show? It would – or would it? What would John and Gregg say? He needed the ultimate fish dish to take him through to the next rounds of the competition, a dish he could truly believe in, a dish that would enable to him to achieve, that would enable him to succeed in this, the most important main course of his life.

A horn sounded from behind. The traffic light had turned green. George Armitage released the handbrake and lurched off in search of fish.

Breaking Free

by

Emily Jade Johnson, 7SE

This is a story to show that a child that has a disability can achieve the same as anybody else, believe in themselves and have success in their life. The moral of this story is that everybody is equal no matter what.

In a sleepy village of Wharncliffe Side lived a young boy called Albert. It was Albert's first day at Stockbridge High School and he felt very nervous and isolated because of his disability. In his primary school, other students had laughed at him and called him names. On Albert's first day everything went smoothly, everybody was kind and helpful. At break time, Albert went into classroom W3 to improve on his phonics and spellings.

Albert got into a routine so that every break he would do a little extra phonics because he wanted to get a B in his GCSEs. Even when Albert was ill, he would get his mum to go into school and get his work for the day. So far, after being in Y7 for five months, he had already won ten certificates and two book tokens. Of course, Albert used the tokens to buy books to help him with his phonics.

At the end of year seven, Albert's target was a 4a but due to hard work, he achieved a level 5a.

Bullying

by

Kayla Broadbent, 7SE

Bullying is still too common and this story is about bullying.

One day, there was a boy called Bob and he was the class dummy. There was also a popular kid in the class called Luke. Luke started bullying Bob because he was the class dummy. Every day, he would say things like:

"I don't want to be your friend, because you're the class dummy."

"You're just a sad loner."

That made Bob feel left out and very lonely. Bob also got bullied by a different person called Fletcher, who was best mates with Luke, which was even worse: he got physically bullied where Luke would hit and kick him so Bob decided to tell his teacher. They tried to sort it out but Fletcher still did it and got really annoyed so that made it even worse.

One day, Bob stood up to Luke and Fletcher. He told his mum and dad all about it as well when he got home.

Luke and Fletcher got into trouble for bullying people and were made to apologise to Bob. They never did it again.

This is why you should never bully people. Always tell someone if you ever get bullied because it could just get worse.

Charlie's Story

by

Naomi Burton, 7AD

Once upon a time, there was a little puppy called Charlie. She lived at Number 6 Wood Road with Naomi, who fed her, washed her and loved her.

One day, Charlie was at home, playing with a football in the garden. Then a dognapper picked Charlie up with her fur and put her in a cage and put her in the back of a van and drove away. The dognapper wanted to rip off Charlie's fur to be a coat!

The dognapper took her to a doghome which wasn't nice because there was no food and no Naomi to look after her. Charlie was locked in a room with some other dogs: a brown one, a black and brown one and a ginger one. They were all sad.

The dognapper came back to cut off her fur. Charlie jumped up and bit him on his face. The dognapper cried like a little baby and Charlie ran away as fast as she could through the door.

Charlie ran to the bus stop and tried to get on the bus. The bus took her back to Wood Road. She went through the door and jumped on Naomi. She barked and felt very happy to be home.

Conflicting Shadows

by

Millie Easthope, 7AD

It was easy to find him: just follow the path of destruction he left behind. The sheer terror of the surroundings was almost unbearable, but on I went, knowing that each step brought me closer to the reason I came. My child, my only child. Emily.

I looked up. There it was. A great, looming building, grey and grim. The only building around for miles, it stood out like a sore thumb among the rubble. As I stared, a faint red cross appeared on the front of the building; this was a hospital and my enemy was inside.

I opened the doors to the building, which creaked with rust. Dust fell upon me but I was too taken aback by the horrific surroundings to notice. In front of me was hell on earth. The decayed building scattered bricks and rubble across the whole room. A sheet of darkness covered everything and an eerie silence buzzed around me. Then it hit me: a smell so overpowering, I fell to my knees weakened by it. My eyes darted from left to right, frantically searching for the source. Then my eyes locked on it, and I wished I hadn't looked.

There were hospital beds all around me, some stained with blood, the victims lying under cloths of white; relatives, still clinging to the bedsides, had suffered the same fate as all the rest. That's what the smell was: the corpses of children, adults and innocent people, rotting and disintegrating before me. This was murder, a savage, unforgivable attack. Blood was on his hands and he would pay. I just hoped my Emily hadn't come to the same fate.

A flash of black flew past me. I instantly knew it was him, my enemy, Shadow. I followed and found a door streaked with blood. The person lay below me, cold and still. It was a horrific sight; my eyes closed and I grimaced. I opened my eyes to find that the door was open. Shadow was glaring at me and Emily was cowering in a corner, tied up and gagged.

I was about to rush to her, untie her and escape, when Shadow snarled, "I'd stay there if I were you." Foolishly, I ignored him and stepped forward. That one step changed my life forever.

In the blink of an eye, I was hanging, encased in a barbwire trap. I struggled, tearing my skin as I did. I realised the wire was coated in a black liquid, poison. Eventually, I gave up, exhausted and limp. I stared icily at Shadow, who had watched silently with a smirk on his face. He pulled a dagger from his cloak and stepped towards Emily. "No," I shouted.

Emily cowered away, struggling against her ropes. Suddenly, the ropes trapping her slithered down her body. Instantly, she ran towards me, ripping the gag from her mouth as she did. "Dad," she cried.

"Oh Emily, I love you," I replied.

"I love yo..." She was cut short. Emily fell, the dagger embedded in her back.

I watched as she fell, a look of horror plastered on my face. "You monster," I screamed. "How could you! No, Emily, wake up, please! Emily, Emily! I hate you, Shadow, I hate you."

Slowly, he walked towards me until his face was opposite mine. "Don't worry, you'll be joining her soon," he said smugly and walked away.

I stared at her with a tear-stained face. I stared for what seemed like a lifetime until finally the poison took over my body and I blacked out.

Fate

by

Rebecca Hague, 8HW

9/5/2012

Dear Diary,

Hey. This is my first diary since I was seven in my 'girly' years... so yeah. Hey! How are you? I'm a fifteen year old girl, called Georgia (hate that name so much, so my so-called 'friends' call me G or Gia). I live in the outskirts of Brighton, England and I'm utterly and completely socially awkward! I wouldn't say I'm fat but I'm not slim and curvy like my twin Rochelle. Well, she's just so perfect! Boys just chuck themselves at her and praise the ground she walks on, but she doesn't care, she must have broken the heart of nearly every boy in our school! She's single at the moment but had her eyes on Alfie, my Alfie! I'm not jealous... okay, well, I am bit... well, she does have an effortless slim body but what really spoils her is her personality. She's been spoilt and babied by my mum and is probably the most selfish person in the world – for the past six years, she hasn't contributed in buying Mum's: Birthday, Christmas or Mother's Day gifts. And I'm always skint as it is, buying notebooks and gel pens, for my future career in journalism.

Well, anyway, he's not my Alfie, he barely knows of my existence, but my god, I know his! He is the sexiest boy I have ever laid eyes, he's seventeen and doing English Literature, Mathematics, Science and double PE at our school's sixth form! And is set to get 3 A*s and 2 As or above! WOW, he's clever! I'm not a stalker, I just know my facts... Hahah... well, yeah, hands up, I'm a stalker. He's exchanged here from Washington DC, America and now his family have moved into the estate below mine. Yayayayyay!

Anyway, Rochelle is calling me from upstairs 'cause she wants to know my opinion on her new outfit for school tomorrow, 'to catch Alfie's attention.' It's not like she needs extra help, anyway. He actually talked to her last Friday and asked her the way to the tennis court, he then smiled and bit his lip! I was standing right next to her nearly dribbling, then the best bit was when he was about to leave, he said, 'Wassup,' to me. I stupidly mumbled a few words and lowered my head in shame – how stupid could I be? Wassup Wassup Wassup Wassup, was ringing in my head all day and I couldn't speak; his sexy American accent played repeat in my head. Rochelle didn't bother about him until I told her the one thing I regret: I said he was very nice and I have a little crush on him! She then suddenly started to like him and apparently purposely 'bumped' into him around school. Spiteful, errrr, she may be my sister but I hate her sometimes! Okay, right then, going now before she gets mardy with me!

See ya later, wish me luck ;)

Dear Diary,

Today has been dreadful. My mum couldn't give us a lift to school because she had to got to the court, (to divorce my dad, yayyayaya :D he was such a creep and I wish he wasn't my dad, the things he did yukk! But let's not talk about that now.)

Anyway... so I had to walk with Rochelle to school with her stuck up snob mates. It was torture. I had to walk fast with Ed Sheeran in my headphones, skipping nearly, to get as far away from them and their bitchy culture as I could. I arrived at school for 8.59, which was close! When I walked into form, pure embarrassment hit me; this morning I brushed my teeth so quickly I still had toothpaste on my chin – I'm such an idiot! My teacher Mr Eccles gave me a stern warning not to be late again, but when Rochelle strolled in with her mates, seven minutes later, he said, "Hey girls how are you? Try not to be late again, yeah?" Then winked! Then winked! Gawd, he's a twenty-four year old geography teacher, but he's not bad with his pretty boy face and muscular body. You can tell he flirts with them all the time but Rochelle thrives off the attention; (she would, wouldn't she?) I swear, those two are up to something! I saw Alfie at break and surprisingly, I was okay talking to him today; he has a lot of things in common with me like Doctor Who, historic books, and journalism – I was really quite shocked! Before break ended, I tried to act cool and casually say I had to go and pee! Ohmygoddododo, why am I such an idiot! PEE?! PEE?! Now he's probably imagining me peeing, great! He smiled casually and walked off. He seems genuinely nice, but this is probably just as 'close' as we will ever be! IT'S ALL ROCHELLE'S FAULT!

At dinner, Mia and Jenna asked me to go to Springfield Shopping Centre in the town centre tonight; I had to think about as it would be late at night, and I wouldn't be home until past nine! And my sleeping schedule will be messed up! I decided to go in the end and take a night off finishing my book, (Sisters Are EVIL), which I'm going to publish in a few years. Oh well. It should be a bit of fun and I have £80 saved up from my paper round.

At three o'clock, I sprinted home, to decide what to wear; we arranged to meet up at the Co-op down the road, catch the 203 bus and then go straight to Springfield at 7pm. But I needed plenty of time to choose what to wear; with my grown up body and baby clothes, it was going to be hard work!

After searching through various tops, shorts, jeans, genie pants, vests, ponchos, I finally decided on black flared jeans, a purple and orange v top and a baggy grey cardigan. The finest of the finest! :) I trotted downstairs in my four inch sparkly heels and passed Rochelle. She sniggered.

"What's so funny?!" I asked angrily.

"YOUR FACE, AAHHAHAHAHHA! No, you're pretty, well, prettyish... you look like a ten year old going to a disco party. Just saying, don't take it offensive, little sister, well, not much, but you know what I mean..." Many swear words later from both of us, insults flying everywhere, I handed her a fiver to shut up. She said she was going to meet Alfie and some mates at Springfield. WHY DOES GOD HATE ME SO MUCH why why why why? I had tears in my eyes; after everything she has said to me over the years, I finally broke down and sobbed in the middle of the landing. She awkwardly patted my back and apologised. I repeated cowardly, "I can't go out looking like this." She told me to cancel my plans and she would do the same, then we could go to Springfield to have some bonding time and talking.

We arrived there in the rush hour and the bus was packed. We chatted a bit about school, fashion and journalism, but I could tell she had something else on her mind. (Twin telepathy!) After a while of silently walking around, we had a slush puppy at the dessert stand. ME being the greedy pig I was, I slurped it so fast I got painful brain freeze.

Suddenly, Rochelle blurted out, "I have to tell you! I don't even like Alfie, I've just been pretending, because I'm really in love with..." She leaned closer and whispered a name in my ear.

"No way," I said, shocked. I wasn't sure why, though, because I had been suspicious.

"Yes way," she said. "And he likes me too. But you can't tell ANYONE! I just had to tell someone because the secret's been killing me. You're the only one I can trust."

She can only trust me? Really? I won't tell anyone – I won't even write his name here. All I can say is wow. WOW.

I strolled off and went into the girls' toilets to clean up. After a minute or so, I walked out with my head lowered. And completely and utterly walked into Alfie. And apologised without knowing it was him! He looked up and stroked my cheek, "Georgia, right?" He smiled warmly.

"Yeah, it is," nodding like an idiot, "ahaha I didn't expect to see you here, I look a right mess! Just had a slush puppy malfunction..." I babbled on, and then he tilted my head romantically and kissed me softly.

He then whispered in my ear, "You are beautiful."

Blushing, I kissed him back again and again. MY LIFE IS NOW COMPLETE!

For All My Worth

by

Mrs Mitchell, English Teacher

Abandonment. As the last chink of sunlight peeks through the door, my heart becomes heavy. This is my future. This is my destiny.

Darkness engulfs me and my fellow comrades as we struggle to comprehend a future without hope, without happiness and without belief. The enormity of our journey suddenly becomes a reality. It hasn't always been this way. The predicament we find ourselves in hasn't always existed...

Constructed to offer support and comfort, we were once enlisted to do a very important job indeed. People relied on us in times of woe, to always be a constant in their seemingly depressing life. To aid survival and offer a shoulder to cry on; we were considered the saviours.

From humble beginnings, we have grown stronger, more resilient and able to fulfil our duty. We moulded, offered ourselves and travelled immense distances to reach our destination. Our commitment to the cause never faltered, never drifted far from our minds. We took our responsibilities seriously. This is why we feel bitterly betrayed now.

Despite all this, we will unite and stand tall. We will face this journey together. Though we are cautious of what the road ahead has in store, we will succeed in this arduous battle.

After all, who says a recycled milk carton isn't capable of becoming part of a Ferrari one day!

Ghost Girl

by

Heather Hughes, 8CBu

I've always believed in ghosts – I have done since I was a kid. The unexplained noises in the night, the shadows you see through the corner of your eye... they're ghosts. No-one understands me, though. They say it's an overactive imagination, but it's not. I would know otherwise. This is definitely something else... I can feel it. There was something I couldn't explain, though. I didn't know that my past was creeping up on me, especially in the form of a ghost girl. This ghoulish girl had deep red hair, eyes as black as a bird's wing and white clothes, and she looked very familiar.

I was in hospital for three months, being poked and prodded, after I was involved in a devastating car crash. It was the day that I got out that I first saw her; that day was my seventh birthday. I had a party with my friends and family. Then she appeared out of no-where. Watching, watching like she was waiting for something. I turned my head for a millisecond then... she was gone. I didn't sleep that night, as I kept seeing her over and over and each time it felt like I was reliving the moment. I had nightmares for four years and still had the occasional one now and then even though I was thirteen. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that she looked like me.

I didn't get any closer to finding out who the mystery girl was. All I knew was that the closer to the truth I thought I was, the further away from it I seemed to be. Nothing made any sense. I knew that she only appeared on my birthday and then I realized that every time, she looked older. She was like a mirror image or some sort of doppelganger. She grew as I grew and then had eyes as bright as lit up sapphires. But I couldn't make a connection in my head. I still didn't know the truth.

On my fourteenth birthday, she appeared again. But this time, she didn't disappear. She was everywhere I looked and instead of staring at me, she mimed something. She kept miming the same thing over and over; she lifted her ghostly arm and pointed straight at me. I was frightened so I sprinted into my room, slammed the door shut, and sat in the corner with my arms around my knees, pressing my head against them, rocking backwards and forwards and screaming, "Go away! Leave me alone!" I lifted my head and she was gone. When I had calmed down, I pictured what she had mimed in my head. I thought she said, "You need to know what happened... you need to know the truth." I wished I knew what she had meant.

I waited another year for her to appear, not out of fear this time but out of curiosity. I needed to talk to her and find out the truth. She appeared and this time I was looking for answers. I walked up to her with no expression on my face and stopped about a foot in front of her. I asked what she had meant but she didn't reply. The next time I demanded to know what she had meant. She replied with a slow, hoarse whisper, "You know the truth... about...what happened... you've buried it... deep within you."

I yelled to her, "Tell me the truth, please!"

She replied with a soft whisper this time, "I am part of you, I am your spirit and you are your soul and mind."

Then I whispered to myself, "How can this happen? The only way this could happen is if I was..."

The ghost finished my sentence, "Dead."

At first, I couldn't believe it. But then the pieces began to fall into place. According to my "spirit" I was so against death that I didn't believe that I was dying. I had dreamed up what I believed to be reality but the actual reality seeped through on my birthday. I asked her why and she said in a sad sounding whisper, "You died at midnight when a new day began; you died on your birthday..."

I finally understood. My fake reality was in fact me stuck in limbo due to the fact I had died on my birthday; I had to know that I died on that day in order for me to move on. I finally know the truth.

My name is Sasha Collins, and I am...

The ghost girl.

Grandma's Special Necklace

by

Paige Hughes 8CBu

Victoria's parents wanted her to get to know her grumpy, scary grandma who lived in an old dusty hotel, which had spiders and creaky floor boards. Her parents told her to pack her bags and they'd be waiting in the car. In the car, Victoria looked out of the back window and as they approached the countryside, she watched the houses fade away in the distance.

Finally, when she got there, she saw the big old hotel with broken windows. She began to whine to her parents to take her back as she dreaded going in there. Her parents opened the car door and dragged her out and then drove away before she could get back in. Her grandma stood on the dusty doorstep with her over-sprayed hair and plain holey dress. She muttered, "Get inside," so Victoria walked through the door with her bags.

Inside, she felt angry that her parents had left her with her scary grandma. Then her grandma started to tell her all the rules and the most important one was, "Never ever go in Room 3." She finished by saying, "Go to Room 2, that's your room."

When she got in her room, it only had an old stained bed that smelled of cheap perfume. Her grandma wouldn't let her come out of her room so she got a blanket out of her bag and put it on the bed which she laid on. She watched her thin, translucent curtains move in the wind. It started to get dark so she went to sleep.

The next morning, Victoria woke up to the squeaky sound of the letter box so she got up and peeked out of her door and watched her grandma pick the letter up and walk into the enormous kitchen. Victoria jumped as her grandma yelled her down to breakfast. When she got downstairs, her grandma said, "I've got some bad news." Her face was all scared and sad, and then she muttered, "Your parents have been in a car crash."

"WHAT!" Victoria screamed.

Her grandma said, "Your parents are dead."

Victoria ran up the stairs and into her lonely room. She began to cry but then she suddenly stopped and began to think, Hold on... Grandma hasn't even bothered to check how I am so I'm not bothered about her stupid rules.

Feeling angry and hurt, Victoria ignored the most important rule to "never go into Room 3". She crept down the dusty hallway. As she crept, she could hear her grandma in the next room.

She looked round the corner of the door and saw the most beautiful sparkling necklace ever. She walked closer and closer like she was under a spell. Something in her head was telling her turn back but she didn't want to after what her grandma had done. She picked it up and found that it was lighter than a feather and then she put it on.

Then she saw her gran in the doorway with a horrified expression on her face. She said, "The bed..." and then disappeared in a poof of a black smoke.

Stunned, Victoria paused, but then began to laugh because her horrible grandma had gone. She thought she would leave, and maybe find her parents, but when she got through the woods and arrived in the nearest town, it wasn't just her grandma that had gone. It was everyone.

Victoria's heartbeat began to get faster and faster then she remembered what her grandma had said, "The bed." Her scared, shocked mind stopped for a minute as she thought, What does it mean?

She ran all the way to the bed shop in town but there was nothing there.

Victoria ran back home and looked under all the beds but one, hers. When Victoria bent slowly down, she began to see the white of a piece of paper. It was a letter and it was from Grandma. There was one big word in black marker:

SORRY!

Victoria felt really bad after that. Then she noticed that the necklace was gone. So she ran outside and retraced all her steps. After hours of looking, she finally found it in the bed shop. She ran back home and put it back where it came from.

But nothing happened.

She began to cry. She thought she'd never get her grandma back and wished she'd never taken the necklace. All of a sudden, a beam of light shot down onto the necklace. Victoria began to wipe the tears from her eyes as her grandma reappeared in white smoke. Straightaway, her grandma ran towards her and gave her the biggest, warm hug ever.

Victoria said, "I'm happy now I've got you."

Growing

by

Miss Taylor, Teaching Assistant

In the steep-sided valley of the Little Don River, there was once a village where a young woman called Martha lived. Thrown out from the schooling system at the end of her education, she felt a terrible dread whenever she thought about the future. Adulthood. Could such a thing really be for her? Others around her were busy getting jobs but she slumped further and further into a state of deep paralysis. It wasn't fair. She was far too young for all of this.

One day, Martha heard a story about a hidden place, far away, where the water ran so pure that just a mouthful would freeze the growth of age entirely. She decided at once to undertake the journey, even though no one was ever known to succeed. Her perilous travels brought her to the wild unknowns of the world, to the point where the world of humans blurred into the world of magic. But she persevered and made it.

The glade of eternal youth was beautiful. The still water glimmered, as though a thousand diamonds encrusted the bank. The trees around were young and vigorous, their leaves in such bright green that they too seemed to shine. As she rushed into the glade, however, a strange form materialised before her. It was at once a child and an elder, a male and a female, and seemed to be made from the sparkling water itself.

"You are a fool to come here, mortal Martha, for here is not what you seek." Its childish voice echoed sombrely through the glade. "Turn back now, or your selfishness will be your undoing. Drink from these waters and you will be as old as you are now young."

The figure vanished. Martha hesitated, the words burning her ears. Yet, she had come so far to get here; she couldn't turn back now. The strange apparition must be a trick to put her from her quest, its words nothing but lies. So she strode on, unafraid, and dipped her hands into the water. Minute ripples shivered across the still surface. She cupped the water and brought it to her lips.

With one sip, the world around her began to tremble. Martha fell back, water droplets spraying her. A voice, penetrating deep within her bones, boomed, "Then it is so."

Martha knew no more.

When she awoke in a bed, she didn't know where she was. Then she recognised her quilt and blinked a few times in surprise. Home. How was that possible? Had it all been a dream? She heaved herself out of bed with difficulty, for her bones seemed heavy and slow with sleep.

Heaving and groaning, she plodded to the bathroom, her mind full of her quest. As she entered, she glimpsed her reflection in the mirror.

She froze in shock, unable to comprehend the image playing in her mind.

Peering again into the mirror, a little squeal burst from her lips and she hid again from the sight. Her chest heaved and her hand pressed against her mouth. Then she lowered the hand, absorbing the details bit by bit. Loose, papery skin clung to her bones, and dark purply-blue veins protruded from the back of her hand. Her fingernails, at the ends of stubby, gnarled fingers, were thick and yellowing, trembling in shock. She peered into the mirror once more, viewing the gaunt, shrunken face, the wiry mane of white hair. Her body was hunched, too, making her appear smaller than before.

She was... old.

"Oh no, no, no," she murmured and the sound of her leathery voice sent shockwaves shivering through her. She grasped the sink to stop herself from collapsing. This couldn't be true; this couldn't be possible! She had wanted to halt the progression of years, not speed them!

Utter despondency swept through her and she burst into tears. She cried and cried, there in the bathroom, until she could cry no more and the exhaustion of old age consumed her. She fell into a troubled sleep.

When she awoke, the room around her was dark, blocking out the agonising image of her decrepit body. Though her body ached from her uncomfortable sleeping position, her mind felt alert and clear.

"I am old," she whispered dully. "Old."

She couldn't stay in the house any longer. She crept to her bedroom and flicked on a light, momentarily blinded while her old eyes adjusted. The clock displayed four o'clock; she had never been awake this early before. With a deep sigh, she searched through the wardrobe, looking at all the clothes she couldn't possibly wear. They would look ridiculous on her old, shrunken form. At last, she found a plain tunic and finished it with an old scarf to contain her ugly, wiry hair. Then she stepped out into the dark morning.

She stole through her village with slow steps. No one else was awake and she couldn't help, for all her dejection, a feeling of strange liberation lift her spirits. The dark world was hers alone and the possibilities were endless.

Martha wandered without aim through the deserted cobbled street and followed the path from the village. She walked slowly, trying to acclimatise to the strange body in which she was trapped. Exhaustion came upon her not far from the village and she paused on a crumbling bit of wall, her bones creaking as she relaxed into a sitting position.

As she sat, the sun began to rise to unfold a marvellous sight, which Martha had never been awake before to see. The sky melted from the inky blackness in the west to a deep blue and finally to a faint peach on the horizon. The light gradually spread, casting long shadows around her, while the trees shone in the early morning dew. At last, the bright ball of sunlight burst over the horizon and birds around her rejoiced at the beginning of a new day.

Martha sighed and eased her body into motion. It was time to head back to the village to see what the new day might bring for her.

In the village, people were now tumbling out onto the streets, completing their early morning tasks. Yet as she hobbled past, they would all pause to hail a greeting to her and wish her a good morning. At first, the treatment nonplussed her but after the third or fourth person, she found herself smiling back and returning their greetings. Martha had never felt so popular...

A curious thought occurred as she glimpsed her reflection in the baker's window. These people had no idea who she was, and were respecting her... simply for... her age. No, not just her age. They believed, instinctively, that she had done something worthy of that respect, that she had lived a full and busy life. Martha shook her head. She had never done a thing for herself, had slipped through the years without marking them. And now, what a terrible old fraud she was! Somehow, the thought caused her to laugh, until she was bent double and her chuckling turned to wheezing gasps.

Just as she caught her breath again, a young boy burst from around the corner of the baker's shop and ran full pelt into her. He bounced back and fell in the dirt with a thud as she threw out a hand against the wall to steady herself. Angry cries of "Seize him! Stop that boy!" chased him and Martha acted on instinct, grabbing the lad and pulling him up by his dirty collar.

"Now, you young whippersnapper," she found herself saying, "you'd better give me whatever they're after, or you're going to be in awful trouble, as far as I can see."

The boy gulped. "'S just a bit of bread and cheese, ma'am. I'm ever so hungry." Hanging his head, he handed over the stolen goods from the inside of his jacket, which Martha concealed in her scarf not a moment too soon, as the boy's pursuers burst around the corner.

"There he is!" one roared.

"Excellent work, ma'am," said the other.

They pulled the boy from her hands and gave him a sharp cuff around the head.

"Excuse me," Martha said, "but why are you treating the boy so unkindly?"

"He's a thief," said the first man. "Stole my lunch right out of my bag."

"Oh really? Then you had better give it back, lad." She gave the boy a tiny wink.

"But I haven't stolen anything," he said. "I don't have anything."

The men roughly searched him and found the boy's words to be true.

"He must have eaten it on the go!" the first man snarled.

"My good man, I think that highly unlikely. The speed he ran into me, he'd have a terrible indigestion if he were eating at the same time."

The boy's stomach gurgled.

"You hear that?" she said. "This boy hasn't eaten anything."

Defeated, the men left Martha with the boy. As soon as they were out of sight, the boy breathed out. "Th...thank you, ma'am," he murmured. "Thank you so much."

"Enough of that," she snapped. "You're coming with me and when we have you fed and smartened up, we'll find a way for you to repay this crime."

Martha brought the boy back to her house, where he told her all about his life over the breakfast of bread and cheese. He didn't have a home or anyone to look after him.

She listened quietly and the boy's sorry tale cut into her heart. How selfish it had been to think she could indulge in childhood forever! Well, no more. She wouldn't sit around worrying about the future for a moment; she would get up and make her future, even if – a cold shiver slipped down her spine – it was only for a few years longer.

She would start with helping the boy. After she cleaned him up, she took him around the village, asking if anyone wanted to take on her hardworking grandson for a reasonable price. An old carpenter finally agreed, and they shook hands to seal the deal. He smiled and patted the boy on his head, promising to put him to good use.

"But my dear," he said to Martha, "did you really say 'grandson' or were my ears mistaken? You look far too young to be a grandmother."

Martha rushed to the window and whooped in delight: five years had vanished from her face.

She knew what to do to break the curse entirely.

Haunted House

by

Anirudh Agarwal, 7SE

As I stepped onto a path leading to an uninhabited house, a sight that had intrigued me for years after passing by it everyday, it was surprisingly peaceful and quiet. The grass and fallen leaves rustled beneath my feet. An over-grown garden which was filled with mysterious plants and broken gnomes was laid out in front of me. It looked like it was once a happy sight. Jinxed by the image, I slowly made my way to the front door that abruptly creaked open.

Carefully, I tiptoed into the house. Before me were dusty candelabras, cobwebs, fluttering decayed curtains, bats and a grand staircase all under one roof. Investigating each and every one of the panelled rooms, suddenly I heard footsteps. What was this? I wondered. Following behind, I thought the foot of an unexpected ghoul was pursuing me. My heart pounding, I turned around with trepidation. Nothing was there. Creeping along as fast as I could, I walked up the stairs of the grand staircase. Finally, when I reached the top, there it was. A chain-bolted door.

My curiosity too strong to ignore, I wrenched the latch ajar and the door flew open. Inside the room, the object that attracted my attention was a portrait of what looked like a husband and wife. Next to it was the picture of four children, which, I presume, was of the aforesaid. Exploring the grand room, something hard hit the bottom of my foot. I froze. I gazed at a trapdoor and automatically I pulled it open. Probably hidden from sight for many years, in front of me was what looked like a flight of never-ending steps. Frightened yet curious, I descended, unnoticed, down the flight of steps into a chamber where there stood an even more tightly secured chain-locked door.

I examined the room thoroughly. Bits of wall were crumbling and I seemed to make out a sort of attic. Next, I saw a wardrobe. I opened it and went inside. I magically entered another world. I assumed it was an old memory of what the house looked like before. The leaves were on the trees and the windows were unbroken; overall, it was a happy sight. As I was about to walk through the open front door, the earth began to shake. Still as a statue, I glanced around. Wrong move. I began to tremble. Then, startlingly, I seemingly turned into nothingness.

I woke up after what seemed like hours. I could distinguish the sight of emerging ghosts. Oh no! Suddenly a flash of despair spread across my face. They tied me to the back of the wooden chair I had found in one of the downstairs rooms. They turned the whole of my body into gashes and wounds. The leader stood directly in front of me; foul language came out of his mouth.

Everyone laughed. But before he could damage me anymore, I kicked him with my legs. He stumbled back, knocking everyone off their knees. As they all got back up, the leader charged at me.

I turned around. He bashed into the chair and broke it. I was free. His face trickled with blood.

"Adam-Adam." I opened my eyes. The sun was shining. I sat up, finding myself in my room.

My mum was shouting at me but I didn't feel bad.

Instead, I was relived because...

It was all a dream.

Hell

by

Jake Ward, 8HW

A story about life based in Stocksbridge? The name I call it is Hell, because it's about most of my life. My life is strange and a bit paranormal...

Well, I was thirteen when this happened. All of my mates were meeting at the Spar. One day, we were there for about ten minutes when the police came over and took everyone's name: mine, Brad's, Lewis', Alfie's, Jordan's, Declan's and a lot more. They also took the girls' names.

The police asked what we were doing so we said, "Well, we're going to Brackenmoor Field to play relivour."

Then the police said, "You're not allowed on there. You'll cause trouble." So we said we were going to Lilac Park instead and they said, "You're not allowed in there past seven o'clock."

So we said, "Where can we go, then?"

They said, "The woods."

But we don't go there. We go to Brackenmoor to do our usual stuff, then we get bored on Brackenmoor so we go to the bottom of the field. There was a house there that people said was haunted but we didn't think it was, so we boys were just about to go in while the girls stayed back, then the girls said, "There was something in the window!"

We boys were like, "No there i'n't!" When we looked, it wasn't there, so we said, "Come on then," and the girls thought we were amazing so they all went in too.

When we got in, we thought, Ha, there's nowt scary! Then one of the boys out of us seven got left behind. He dropped his phone down the cellar and shouted to us, but we didn't hear him. He was the most scared out of the lot of us, but he went down there to get his phone, but when he looked around, there were candles with a red flame. He walked over to the candles and saw there was a Ouija board, which he touched. It started moving and it said:

"There is a ghost in here. It's time for your nightmare."

And we never saw him again.

I Believe I Can

by

Ellie Wragg, 7VKD

My name is Adrianna; I'm twelve years old and I'm German. I know Germany isn't really a British person's favourite place in the world. I understand that, but it isn't our fault that the war started, just Hitler's and his gang of followers – well, that's what my grandpa says. He was a solider in the war and he didn't like Hitler at all but he was forced to fight against Britain or he would be killed.

Anyhow, I would really love to go to Britain, but my mother says it's too dangerous for me to go, as she believes it was England's fault the war started. Let's just say my mother and grandpa don't really get along. It's a shame really because I love my grandpa dearly and I would love to see him a lot more than I do now. If you're wondering why my mother and grandpa don't get along, it's because ever since my father left us, my mum always said it was my fault and if I hadn't been born none of this would have happened. My grandpa says it's not my fault and that I should never believe it ever was. Plus, she says he just puts absolute rubbish into my head. Which, if you're wondering, isn't true – he tells me wonderful stories and poems.

When I'm older, it's my dream to take my grandpa and father to Britain and have a nice holiday there, just us three, no nagging mother to say it's not safe to go there, don't trust them they could be killers. But what my mother doesn't know is that I'm friends with an English girl. I know her through school and we are actually becoming really close. She's like the best friend I have never had before. She's new, you see, flew all the way here so she could see the other side of her family. Grandpa says it doesn't matter what Mother says because she's really nice. I've been to her house before loads of times; I just say I'm going to my other friend's house and Mother will let me. But I can never invite her over to my house because if Mother found out I was friends with an English girl she would kill me.

While I'm in England, I will find a nice flat and job being a journalist for the local newspaper. I've told Mother about my dream but she just laughed and said, "You know you have to be clever to do that." I obviously didn't tell her about the 'moving to England' bit or she would have kicked me out. It's a shame, really... all my friends have a close relationship with their mother but I don't or never will because my mother doesn't listen to me or care about me. She would much rather have me dead. You may be thinking I'm overreacting but it's the truth. I heard her tell it to one of her friends.

I would love it if I lived with my grandpa. He gets lonely now Grandma isn't alive; she died of cancer a couple of years ago. She always calmed everyone down and said to me, "Never let anyone put your dreams down, you can do anything if you try." It was horrible seeing her ill and not being able to give me a hug. That's what I really miss about her, the lovely lavender smell and when I was upset she would always cuddle or hug me, the stuff my mother never did to me.

No matter what Mother says, I believe I can be a journalist in Britain. Grandpa says the war changed his life forever and if the war didn't happen then first off, he wouldn't have met Grandma, as she was a nurse helping the injured. Second, he wouldn't have the proud feeling for himself helping the country even if we didn't quite deserve it. I love it when Grandpa tells me about the trenches and the stories about him and his friends. He is absolutely brilliant at doing the war sounds to say we are getting invaded.

I was walking down the street and a saw a poster saying, "Win a fantastic trip to England for three people. All you have to do is answer the following question correctly." The question was, "What is the capital of England?" Well, that's easy: London; I know I have to sign up for it.

There it was, the draw for who had won the competition. "The winner for the chance to go on holiday to Britain is... Adrianna Walker!" It was me; I had actually won! I have never been so happy in my life. All I have to do is tell Grandpa and Father. What will they say? Will they be happy or sad? Or will they be disappointed in me for not telling anyone about it?

As I walked through the door, my whole body was shaking but I was happy that I could take them somewhere on holiday. "Hello, Grandpa," I said, "I have something to tell you. I am taking you on holiday to England. Well, you, me and Father." I didn't know what he would say.

He then finally answered, "What do you mean? How?"

Well, it could have been worse. "There was a competition, the prize was a holiday for three to England. So do you want to go? It will be brilliant, we will have an amazing time!"

"I will love to come. Does Mother know?"

I shook my head in despair.

Grandpa winked. "Well, she doesn't have to know, now go and tell your father. He will be more than happy to go."

Straightaway, I went and phoned Father up and told him and Grandpa was right: he said Mother won't have to know and he would love it if he could come. I have never been so happy in my whole life!

That was two weeks ago. We are now on an aeroplane, jetting off to sunny England! That's it really, we ended up having a wonderful time and surprise, surprise, Mother wasn't too bothered about us suddenly disappearing like that. My life has completely turned upside down. I'm now living with Grandpa and Father in a brand new house because what I didn't know was that you also won £10,000 to spend on whatever you want! Well, that's where my story ends me and my so-called English friend is no longer my friend because she thinks Germany is a horrible place. I did think of her as an annoying little girl. Anyway, my life it completely better and there's nothing else to say so it's a goodbye from me and I will love to talk some more. Have a lovely day and do sign up for any competition as you may win...

I Believe in Ghosts

by

Georgia Gears, 7VKD

One fine afternoon, I was walking home... It was dark, very weird. It was usually light. I felt scared. I couldn't find my keys for my house so I went round the back to see if the spare keys were there. They weren't. Worried. Let's see if the house is unlocked... It wasn't. Phew.

"Go behind the house," something whispered.

I went behind the house to see what it was. There was nothing there! This morning, there was a trampoline and ten footballs. Now, there were only two footballs and no trampoline. I went next door and saw six footballs and a trampoline. They must have taken them for safe keeping. But...

Where had the other two footballs gone...? They had seemed to have disappeared... Where had they gone? "They were my best," I said. I decided to go next-door-but-one; they might know something. They didn't. But they said something invisible walked out with them; it was scary and freaky.

"Do you think it was a ghost?" asked the next door neighbour.

"I don't know," I replied, scared. "I'll go home and tell my dad and see what he says..."

I went home and told my dad and he said, "I will go out and buy you some new footballs at the shop, just don't worry about it and don't go round the back on your own ever again..."

In the end, I got my two footballs back! My dad found the old footballs down the gutter when it was blocked up with my brother's smelly undies! Yet, just when we thought we could forget all about the ghost... we saw it again in the next door neighbour's garden! We ran round there and said there was a ghost in their garden and they were so freaked out!

I Give In!

by

Hollie Peacock, 8HW

I told my teacher I couldn't do it but in the end I did it and got it right.

I told my mum I can't and won't do my homework because I didn't understand it but in the end I did it: I put my mind to it and got it right.

I told my sister she couldn't do her baking because I thought she couldn't do it but she did it and it was really nice.

I told my dad he couldn't do the job of his dreams because I thought it was too hard for him to do but I was wrong: he got the job and it wasn't too hard.

I told my grandma she couldn't go to town because I didn't think she would get there but she did: she got there in one piece and came back.

This entire thing happened for a reason. It shows that you can do what you think you can't do. So always try your best and you will succeed and always believe in yourself and you will achieve what you want to achieve. You will get a lot further in life if you believe, succeed and achieve.

I never used to believe in myself but now I do. It will help you in life and that's why I say you should believe in yourself. You should never not believe in yourself because that's what gets you down. Just believe and you will succeed in life.

I Hope the Snow has Gone Next Week

by

Daniel Jackson, 8HW

I don't like snow. It has no colour, it is cold, wet and stops me getting to school. I like school because it is awesome and helps me with my learning. I also hate snow because when the council puts grit on it, it is dreadful. I think it is horrible because when grit goes on snow, it turns into slush and I hate slush. It is just so slushy and when I go outside in it, I get wet, because when I stand in it, it explodes like when you walk in a puddle. And there is one more thing and it is even worse. When it gets cold outside (-3) and the slush is still there, it turns into ICE!

I hate ice. It is freezing when you walk outside and everything is worse when there is ice because you start to slip when you walk on it. And you will fall over and hurt yourself. But it gets worse, because on the road there are cars, lorries, trucks and motorbikes, all slipping on the ice. It is dreadful for them to be on ice because they might crash into a wall as they can't stay on ice very well. And that's how accidents happen.

That's why I believe that the snow will have gone next week.

It was Just a Childhood Dream

by

Andrew Crowhurst, 9CB

I had a dream. It was just a dream, a fantasy of the mind. We all had them when we were young; ambitions of what we wanted when we grew up. As we grow, however, we lose these dreams, and we get dragged down by reality, we realise that we're never going to fulfil them, and they slowly drift out of our minds. Some of these childhood fantasies, however, manage to survive reality and, just sometimes, they manage to become reality itself...

Thunder clapped as we drove on through the storm. Rain hammered on the car, the wipers going flat out, but still not doing enough to clear the windscreen. Some people thought we were mad, doing this in such bad weather; we just called it determination.

We pulled up into the saturated field, the rain still bombarding down around us. We got out and made a quick dash to the cabin. I hesitated slightly, then signed my name on the sheet. As I handed the pen to John, there was a clap of thunder. He signed the sheet. We left the cabin, back into the pouring rain.

The thunder subsided, and the rain began to ease slightly as we gently placed the brand new C2 (a two-person canoe) on to the river. John got on first. Once he was in, I followed suit, kneeled in the front of it. With spray decks on, and paddles ready, we set off. This was to become the first of many training sessions.

We lined up on the start line. It was the first race of the season. We'd been blessed with a clear sky. The starter began the countdown: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... GO! We roared off the start line, both of us paddling as hard as we could. Suddenly, we caught an edge and the boat flipped over; I tried to roll it back up but something was stopping me. Running out of air, I had no choice; I bailed out. As I bobbed up to the surface, I saw a surge of white water coming my way. I got dragged back under. I felt a sudden searing pain in my head. Then all went black.

I opened my eyes groggily. I tried to sit up, but I got denied by pain. As I looked around, I realised that I was in a hospital; I had survived! Footsteps approached me and a warm hand touched my shoulder. I turned my head, and looked straight into the eyes of my mother.

"The doctor says you'll be able to come home soon."

I lost consciousness again.

It was been a hard struggle to get my fitness back; the incident had knocked my confidence so much that I had to go back to pretty much square one. To make matters worse, it had scared John so much that he had given up the sport altogether, and wouldn't even go near a river. I may have lost my C2 partner, but this just made want do even better in my K1 (a one-person kayak).

It had taken four years, but I was now back in Division Two, and fighting for promotion into Division One. The incident may have shaken me to begin with, but in the long term, it had made me want to succeed even more than before. It just showed that no matter how bad life can get, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel.

It's now been five years, and I'm in Division One, aiming for promotion into Premier Division. My aim now is to get into the 2020 Olympics and to strive for Gold.

Medal of Honour

by

Isobel Hood, 7VKD

It was Thursday; I sat at the table with my boring cornflakes, awaiting the news on the radio. Suddenly, the radio shut down. Not again! I went over to the forty-year-old radio and tapped it with my hand. A tap turned into a hit but there was no use; it wouldn't come on. Now I would never know whether school is on or not. Typical. I was stuck on my own in the middle of nowhere in my semi-detached house. (First of all, I'm not on my own, really; I'm with my fourteen-year-old brother James and next door are my annoying old neighbours. And second of all, I am not technically in the middle of nowhere: we live in the middle of Barnsley, though I live two miles from school.) Now what should I do? "I know, I'll ask my brother!" (Yes, I do talk to myself.) I went into my brother's bedroom where he was currently engaged in a game of Fifa 13. "Are you going to school today?" I asked.

"Wayne Rooney, you absolute idiot!" he shouted.

"I'm not Wayne Rooney. It's Jess," I replied. Did he say what I thought he just said?! Oh right, he was attached to one of those headphone things. "I knew that," I sighed to myself. Well, that was useful, I thought sarcastically.

It was now 7:45. School would start at 9:00. Right, I thought as I set off to get ready. I got dressed for school and brushed my hair and teeth as I wondered what to do. Here's what I came out with:

1. Stay at home

2. Go and ask the old biddies next door for advice

3. Unplug my brother's Xbox and face the consequences

4. Walk two miles to school

So, as you can see, I chose to walk to school. I should set off if I am going to get there in time. I grabbed my bag and my keys and opened the front door, not knowing what lay before me. Straightaway, I was harassed by a heap of snow that had fallen off the gutter. I set off into the wilderness as my blue and pink wellies crunched in the white concrete-like snow.

An hour drifted by. I should be there now, I thought. But no, I am only at the bus stop, which is one street from my house! And it got worse... Instead of the snow falling straight down, it fell to the side, blowing you back for what seemed to be miles so it was even harder to walk!

Two hours later and I'd just passed Morrisons my feet were killing! The snow was up to the tip of my wellies. It was 10:45 and everywhere I went there were no people, like the whole world was an isolated ghost town. I am not going to give up. I believe in myself. These words kept spinning round in my head. I persevered and carried on, every step an achievement.

Crunch, crunch, crunch went the snow. As I crossed the road, I saw a yellow dot getting bigger in the distance. It was a gritter. As it got closer and closer, its wheels spun out of control and before the driver could stop, the gritter skidded on the ice and tipped over. Even though the giant grit-filled truck was on its side, it still carried on going and was heading straight towards me! Everything went black.

I woke up and found myself in a hospital bed in Sheffield's children's hospital. "No permanent damage," I overheard a nurse say to my mum, who was sat at the end of the bed crying.

"What happened?" I asked wearily.

"Oh, love, are you awake?" my mum cried.

"You're a hero," continued the nurse. "You saved the gritter man by dragging him from the truck that was aflame and you called 999."

"But I don't remember anything," I replied.

"That's because you've just woken up from a coma."

"You have succeeded, Jess, you saved the day!"

Later that day I received a medal of bravery from the mayor and my photo was in the local newspaper! The moral of this story is that if you believe, you can achieve, and you will succeed.

My Journey

by

Lisa Rees, Parent

I sit here and start to question myself, 'What am I doing? Why am I still here? Am I as useless, ugly and a waste of space (his words) like he keeps drumming into my head?' He makes me feel all these things, day in, day out. I try my best all the time to try and make him see I'm not these things but I'm starting to believe it myself.

He goes out yet again and leaves us both here, and it's time to be ourselves. Yes, we can watch TV when we want to, play music, have a bath and just enjoy quality time on our own without worrying and walking on eggshells. It's bedtime for my princess; she goes to bed and I make sure the bath is washed out and dry so he doesn't know that we have used it. I make sure his food is all prepared and ready for him, as this will only start him off and I don't want to give him any reason to start tonight. I go around checking that everything is put away and there's nothing out of place but then the butterflies are starting in my tummy, my palms get hot and sweaty and I can feel my breathing going erratic.

So many thoughts and images are racing through my head: is he going to be nice when he comes home or drunk and nasty? Please let him be nice tonight. My body aches right now and is very tender – I've got enough bruises, cuts and scratch marks over my back from where he seems to like to kick me if I'm sleeping when he comes in. I'm so tired and drained but I keep telling myself, 'Stay awake.' I'm watching the clock and it's 11.30pm already. 'How long is he going to be?' I keep asking myself. Then I get the thoughts of, 'Is he coming home? What if he's been run over or mugged?' So with all these feelings of worrying about us, I also worry about someone who beats and plays mind games with me all the time. Is this normal? Why the hell do I love him so much when he treats me so bad?

Oh, but then I hear the key struggling to go into lock of the door. At this point, I know he's drunk and the adrenaline starts pumping through my body faster and faster, trying to prepare myself for, well, the unknown, really. He comes through to the living room looking kind of angry and just mutters at me. I ask him if he wants a cup of tea and some food, he says, "Yes, you stupid fat cow of course I do." I put the pasta on to boil, and all the time I can feel my body shaking. He asks what have I been doing because it's a mess here. I look around and think, 'Where?' There's nothing out of place.

I dish his food up and take it to him on a tray, he looks at it and says, "What's this?" and I explain with a shaky voice that it's pasta and bolognaise, which he told me to cook earlier. He yells, "I don't want this now. You can cook me something else!" I start to feel annoyed now as it's 12.40am and he wants me to start cooking again. I don't argue with him, I just get on and do it. I asked him to bring his tray back to kitchen while I was doing other things; he just said, "Get it yourself."

I walked over to the coffee table where he had left it, and as I approached very nervously, he just kicked the table and everything went everywhere. My feet were hurting; toes were throbbing as the table had landed on them. I could feel my eyes starting to fill up as I was in so much pain right now. I cleaned it all up and got a bowl of soapy water to get the bolognaise stain out of the carpet. I was scrubbing it on my hands and knees when I felt a bang across my head and then being pulled back by my hair; he got me lower to the floor then started kicking me over and over. I tried so hard not to cry but I was in so much pain I couldn't stop crying or screaming.

Oh no, I've woken my princess up now and she has run into the living room shouting and screaming at him to get off me, she's pushed him flying across the room and onto the floor. I get up and take her back into her bedroom. We close the door and I sit behind it to stop him getting in, he continually kicks the door and screams at us to open it. All the banging, screaming and shouting has made someone call the police, so they have come and have taken him away. We can breathe again now but I'm hurting all over.

I'm still shaking and feel very sick and just constantly crying. I feel so afraid and alone, and that I'm a failure as a mother. Why does he make me feel this way when all I do is show him love and affection? Well, at least he hasn't touched my face this time so I can still go out shopping and face people, and still keep smiling so no one knows there's anything wrong.

Everywhere I go in the flat, I can smell his aftershave and this makes me very edgy and un-easy. I just wonder what time he will be released from the cells again, and what he's going to be like towards us when he gets back.

I've settled my princess back down now so I go and make myself a coffee and think, 'Well, what's gone so wrong again tonight?' See if I can make sense of it all. I'm going to look around bedroom then to find my battery for my phone as when he threw it, I heard the sound of it hitting the wall and breaking apart, so I know it's in bits again! I know he only does it so it stops me phoning for help, but our neighbours hear it all so they phone anyway.

I'm sitting here, drinking my coffee, thinking and looking at the wet patch on the carpet where I tried to clean it, marks on the walls where he's thrown things at me but missed. There's paint coming off the walls from where he's thrown food at it so many times and I've washed it off, I so need to repaint everywhere, but he gives me no money.

It's so quiet here now but any noise is making me jump; I'm so tired but afraid to fall asleep. I got flashbacks of what happened tonight, and I'm so angry with myself over it.

I yearn so much for my parents to be alive and tell me what to do, I feel like a small child so frightened and scared, I want to go back in time and feel their arms around me to make me feel safe and loved like they did when I was little. I guess the small young child came out in me now, wanting them so much.

I go into the bedroom and get out the folder with my family photos in it, as I am not allowed any photos around the flat. I lay them on the bed and stare hard at them; each picture tells a story of where it was, what we were doing, and so many happy memories. I felt a tear rolling down my face, I was happy with all these memories but felt so alone right now at the same time.

I tell myself, 'Okay, tomorrow is a new day, a new start and you will make this work.' Tomorrow came and went, and yes, I had been fooling myself once more. It's just a repeat of most nights, but it was worse, as he was so angry for the police taking him away last night.

This is one of many incidents that happened over a period of three years of my life. I think the police had been out so many times now they decided to act on it and remove him from us. It was very scary at first as we had no family around us, but I had a fantastic support worker from the domestic abuse team, and with her and friends and family, I have started to get my life back on track slowly. They believed in me and have encouraged me all the way to get out of the darkest of places I have been. Yes, there is still so much I can't do by myself yet, but there is so much I have achieved over this past year.

We are so much happier now and content; there's no more walking around on eggshells, and waiting for the bomb to stop ticking and explode.

I suffered financial, mental, emotional and physical abuse for three years. I know myself I have a long way to go, but I now believe in myself to be able to achieve things that he said I never would, and with the support of everyone that I get, I will continue to take on each day as it comes. The baby steps that I'm taking will soon progress into much bigger ones. As soon as you realise that you have been controlled and conditioned, you can then take a hold of it and start moving forward.

I would like to eventually be able to get out there and help other woman going through similar problems and help them to speak up so they too can get on with rebuilding their lives. Life is looking up for me and my princess. I have goals which I WILL achieve and I will keep putting 110% effort into everything to help me to succeed in helping others and making a better life for us both.

BELIEVE... in yourself

ACHIEVE... your goals

SUCCEED... in your life

This is my motto that helps me to keep focused, and you can too. Always RISE up and speak about what you are going through; there's no shame in it and it will help you move on life...

Rover

by

Caitlan Cleaver, 7AD

My earliest memories were sleeping in a dark, damp house with my mother, and the rats that scampered along the beams above my head. I didn't sleep that night. But I remember well enough the day when I was led out of the mysterious building by a human. I didn't know what to think at first. I didn't know if I could trust him. I suddenly realised that my mother had gone a different way to me and that was when my heart fell apart. I couldn't survive without my mother. I howled and barked, but it was no use; she was gone and I would never be able to see her again.

I was not yet two months old. Living in a new home, it seemed to be a clean, bright place. At first, I thought I was on my own, but I heard some footsteps gradually coming towards me. I cowered, wondering what was approaching. I needed my mother's protection.

The door handle started to turn and the door swung open. My whole body was shaking; I shut my eyes as tight as I possibly could. A sweet gentle voice entered my ears. I slowly opened my eyes, still shaking. The sound of her voice soothed me and I was no longer afraid. I crept forwards so I was able to see her up close. The stranger's face looked friendly and gentle. Her hair was radiant and the brightness was like a summer's day. The person's eyes glistened like the stars in the sky. This was the point where I had to believe in myself and venture closer. I presumed that her name was Alice because her fleece had the name 'ALICE' printed on it. Alice reached out her hand to stroke me so I tentatively put one foot in front of the other. Her hand was soft and relaxing. I started to trust her.

Alice guided me into another room; it felt warm and smelt of Alice, which assured me it was safe to walk into. As I entered the room, I caught glimpses of what I thought was Alice's family. One by one, Alice introduced them to me, each one being as warm and friendly as Alice. I had met all of my new family. I started to feel tired and after a while Alice noticed that I was becoming a bit fidgety and uncomfortable, therefore she scooped me up; put me in my brand new cage and gave me a kiss on my nose. As she went through the door, she whispered, "Night night, Rover, sweet dreams."

Several months had passed and I was now part of a loving, caring family. I was just about six months. In this time, Alice had been teaching me how to retrieve a ball, sit, lie down and roll over. It was so much fun because every time I did something good I got a yummy treat from Alice and it made me feel like I was achieving my dreams. I still thought of my mother and I would never forget her warm comfort.

As the training continued, little did I know that Alice was entering us in a dog competition in the local village. Alice made the training so much easier due to her encouragement throughout. Even when I was having a disastrous day, she would embrace me and give me confidence to carry on. As each day passed, we both knew the training was paying off.

The day had arrived and the great village dog show competition was upon us. Both Alice and I were wide awake at 6:32am, anxiously waiting for the alarm to go off at 6:45am. The competition didn't start until 8:00am; it seemed to be the longest time before we could make our way to the show. I couldn't believe my eyes on approaching the main entrance; dazzling summer bunting was streamed from corner to corner. I felt scared but yet excited as I had never seen so many dogs before. There were short ones, fat ones, skinny ones, shaggy ones and spotty ones. I was that occupied with gazing at all the other dogs that I kept getting in people's way and my paws were quite sore after the torrents of feet trod on them. After we eventually sat down, I started to take in my surroundings and knew that I had to succeed in the competition, if not for myself then for my mother.

Alice and I sauntered over to the edge of the dog course to observe the first dog; it was a black glossy Labrador that went by the name of Maizie; she stood motionless with her head held high and her chest thrust out. No one was stopping her! Maizie made the course seem so simple; she soared like an eagle. After we had watched another few contestants, we went to sit back down to gather our thoughts.

"Alice and Rover to the course, please," the tannoy announced.

This was it. No turning back now. Come on, Rover, I thought to myself, Believe, Achieve and Succeed. Alice crouched down to me at the starting position; she just gave me a kiss on the top of my head and told me that whatever the outcome that she was always proud of me and that they all loved me very much. As I glanced across the course, it appeared to be reasonably effortless apart from the last obstacle, the ring of fire...

BANG went the starting gun. I was off like a cat off a hot tin roof. I glided over the seesaw, scurried through the tunnel, weaved like a slithering snake in between the poles; I cleared the hurdle with just inches to spare. Phew! Finally, the moment had arrived: the ring of fire. I paused for a moment and suddenly it came to me that I could do this; I had people who loved me so... Come on, boy, for your family! I shut my eyes as tight as I possibly could and leaped through the ring of fire. I thought of nothing but my mother and what she would do if she saw me. I felt my feet hit the cold, hard ground. I was safely through the ring of fire. I slowly opened my eyes and the shock of people cheering startled me. I was so proud of myself.

I glanced all around the stadium and caught a sight of a familiar dog. I stopped and stared at the dog and suddenly realised that it was my mother. I ran up to her, my heart pounding. I had never run so fast in my life, as I sprinted along the row that she was amongst. She swung her head and stared deep into my eyes until she realised that it was me. She began to come towards me slowly, but the nearer she got the faster her stride was. We both met and she licked me all over. I could tell that she was overjoyed to see me.

Alice came up to me and commanded me to follow her back home, but I desperately wanted to stay with my mother as I had not seen her in such a long time. Alice noticed that the dog in front of me was my mother and patted her on her head and galloped to her mum and dad. I didn't follow her. She came jogging back with her mum and dad and explained to my mother's owner the situation of how we got parted and wondered if there was any possibility of buying my mother off of them to reunite the family. It took the man an extensive time to answer and I was praying that he would come back with the answer yes. Finally, he agreed and Alice's mum handed over the money to him and we went to find some seats so that we could wait and see if I had won anything. I anxiously waited with my mother whilst the judges were counting up the scores.

The speaker announced that in tenth place was Millie with her owner Claire, ninth place was Duke with his owner Ben, eighth place was Jake with his owner Andrew, seventh place was Megan with her owner June, sixth place was Molly with her owner Stuart, fifth place was Amber with her owner Emma, fourth place was Jack with his owner Blake, third place was Zake with his owner Rosie and we have got a tie first position and they are Rover with his owner Alice and Maizie with her owner Katie. I was so proud of myself. I won a red rosette.

I knew that if I didn't believe in myself then I would not have won a first place rosette, so if you ever lose someone who you dearly loved in your life, always have faith and you will believe, achieve and succeed. My family supported me throughout my difficult but also amusing life.

Run

by

Ellie Jaques, 8HW

I'm suffocating slowly and very painfully. I wish he would just kill me anyway. I mean, nothing's worse than being chased out of the comfort of your home. Made to pack your bags and run.

My mum, ever since my dad died, has been trying to get back into dating. She gave up hope 'til he turned up, made her happy, and made her feel special again. Then the hitting started; he thought that because I was in another room I couldn't hear, but I could. The screaming, the begging, it was too painful. When he was at work one day, my mum took me out of school, no explanation. Nothing.

She was silent the whole way, then when we got home, she told me to go and pack my bags, then run. I did as I was told and gave her a hug, hopefully not the last one. Then I left. I was okay for a while. Mum would text me occasionally from Auntie Liz's phone so she wouldn't risk the exposure that she told me to go. She told him that I had run away, pretended to be heartbroken, but I don't think she was pretending.

Days, months, even years passed with only the occasional text from my mum. She said they had moved, and they had given up on the search for missing persons. In all that time, I was fine; I stayed at a young couple's house. They adopted me, changed my name, everything. But I insisted on my mum's name being my middle name, so I could remember her.

It's been five years since I left when I was just thirteen. One day, I went out to get my driver's licence, which was phenomenal! I had used my new identity. Not even my foster parents knew about my past life but I still kept in touch with my mum, but she wasn't panicked, she could handle him now. She had the police on her side, her brother is a policeman, and she told him the situation so I would never get found.

Every so often I get these nightmares that he's coming for me, that he will find me. If I'm being perfectly honest I don't actually know who 'he' is. I never saw his face; all I ever heard was his yelling. So if he was looking for me, I would never know. I went to collect my driver's licence. I am so pumped and excited; I can drive and visit my mum, without the risk of exposure.

I get there and I check-in to see what cars I am able to choose from, and a man comes out, not Mr Smith but another guy. "Hello Miss... err Lizzie Anne Jones, nice meeting you."

"Hi, yes thanks, but where's Mr Smith?" I stutter.

"On holiday, Miss Jones, sorry for the inconvenience," says the awkward, geeky man. "Here, Miss Jones, I will show you to the car you ordered." He politely showed me the way to this ancient warehouse, which I guessed was just where they kept the new cars, so people wouldn't steal them. "Here we are, ladies first," offers the man as he directs me into a room with a few papers, where my signature is required. "Sign here, Amanda... err, Miss Jones."

"Oh my god! You're... it's you... how... what?" I stutter. And I look around the warehouse, which I now suddenly realise is empty, apart from a few spare tyres. BANG! I collapse, suddenly realising that I now need to RUN...

Snowing

by

Mrs Bright, English Teacher

Snowing. Again. As the minute yet oppressive white baubles fell from the ever-darkening sky, the whole world seemed to shiver.

"When will it stop, Mummy?" Even the youngest of children, wrapped up warm in duvet-like all in ones and wellies, were wondering when they would be able to get back to their houses.

But they were not the ones who were suffering. Not really. It was us, the teens and the adults. Anyone who could really remember what it was like before. Sea blue sky? The golden orb of the sun? Beaches. Parks. Playgrounds.

Had those things really existed at all? It was becoming increasingly difficult to believe.

We were lucky, I suppose. Lucky to still have some artificial light. One working power point per household. The ability to heat our homes in some way. Much of the world had lost that option, and were dependent on only what had been disposed of and could be used for shelter. Or for burning. Destruction was the only future.

Everywhere, makeshift sledges had overtaken cars in terms of primary transport options. The 'roads' were in no way visible, and any cars that hadn't been burnt out or stripped were now metres under the crisp, white blanket.

New doorways had been carved into second storey windows of houses...it had been months since a pavement had been seen. Everything that could still be achieved now took place on a new ground floor – one that had once been known as 'upstairs'. Living rooms were now basements, most kitchens were ensconced in darkness.

Food rations were still available, but scarce. Those of us who could remember fast food still craved it. It was more about the 'fast' than the food these days. In every respect of the word. We were hungry, and knew the only way forward was to be quick. Rush down any meals that did come your way – you never knew who was potentially watching and waiting for the scraps. Expect to fast between meals: after you get your fill, it might be days before food comes around again.

Schools had recently gone, too. People had grasped and clung on to keep them going for so long. To keep people together. Keep them educated. Keep them safe. But that was all over now. All the books had been burnt for fires, all of the rooms stripped for whatever would help the survival efforts. Success that had once been measured in terms of data, charts and graphs, a person's worth once so determined by grades and numbers, was now irrelevant. Succeeding now meant staying alive. Knowing how to stay alive. From what we learnt. From before.

We should have listened. Not looked just to pass the exams. We should have sat, quietly, and listened to the people. Teachers, telling us of their experiences, real life and fictional. Learning from the stories of others. Friends retelling how they had built a fire and camped in the wilderness for the Duke of Edinburgh award. Scientists and food technologists informing us how to be healthy in measures of austerity. How to keep our world healthy. Heads and managers, training us how to get along under any circumstance – even in the midst of such perfect, white, innocent horrors. We all thought we knew better. That we knew it all.

But no-one saw this coming. We shouldn't have taken it all for granted. We should have learnt the lessons, not sat back passively and waited for the world to change. Because change it did. Just not how we thought it might. We should have learnt. We should have listened. We know that now.

Starlight

by

Eleanor-Andrea Rees, 8LA

I guess I have always wanted to go there. Maybe I haven't because it was hidden from me for so long, or maybe even I was going into denial and I wanted to believe that the whole thing never happened. The reason I want to go there most, that I know of, is because I want to see them. To talk to them. To thank them and ask them for forgiveness for all the wrong things I have done since they have been gone. To thank them for bringing me into the world, and keeping me in the world. Most of all, I need to tell them all the things that I could never tell anyone, not even the people I was closest to.

It's a long bus journey that my brothers would never let me take on my own. That's why Luke and Dan are here. James stayed behind, because he has seen them so many times, more than the others. I have never seen them, not really. I think that is why Johannah insisted on coming. Mason wouldn't come, though, because he said it was a family thing, but I think things like this make him cry. I know all his flaws.

I sigh as I look out of the window. I wonder why anyone would do something like that to them, when they were such amazing people. All they did was protect their family, and that's all they ever wanted to do. I keep thinking about them because I just can't seem to stop. They are constantly in my mind. Always.

James was old enough to talk to them, have a good time with them, and know how to love them truly. Luke and Dan were not old enough to hold a real conversation, but they remember them. They remember what they looked like from actual memory. Me? Well, what can a two-week-old baby remember about their parents that died? I don't remember them, though I remember the idea of them. I remember pictures of them, but that's all. It's horrible. I don't really know who they were, but I know what kind of people they were. They were good people. My parents were good people before they got murdered.

The bus makes a stop to fill up the fuel and so we can stretch our legs. Luke and Dan go off somewhere, with an envelope, passing it back and forth. Me and Johannah go to get some coffee without saying a word. If it was any other person, the silence would be awkward, but it is normal for us. It gives us time to think. The best thing about it is that we understand each other. We both ask the counter man for the same at the exact same time. Chocolate coffee with cream. As he goes to do our orders, Johannah looks at me, and we hug.

"It's going to be all right, Starlight, I promise," she whispers into my ear.

I smile a little at this, because of how much Johannah gets me. She's like the sister I never had. The sister I never got the chance to have. I love her for it. I nod, knowing she is probably right. But in a way, it isn't okay. My parents are dead. She doesn't know how it feels. I get angry at her at times, because she says that she understands how I feel, but she doesn't. No one does. The only person that even tries is Mason. I hold my anger back at Johannah, just because I know she is only trying to be there for me. Like she always does. That's why she is my best friend.

We go outside and walk over to my older brothers. Dan smiles as Luke sighs. "Ha! And if that isn't a good reason, then nothing is!" Dan mocks. I smile at them.

"You two done with whatever you are doing with your alien selves?" I ask, sarcastically.

They look at each other, like I said something terrifying. Luke sighs again and turns to me. "Star, let's go for a walk, yeah?"

I nod, like I have a choice. As he leads me away from Johannah and Dan, I can tell that he is worrying about something. By his body structure, I think. Or maybe his eyes... It's just something about him. He sighs, then opens his mouth, and then closes it. This process repeats about six times. Then, he just looks at me and gives me an envelope.

I take it and read the front of it. My darling Starlight is written on the envelope in blue ink. I recognise the handwriting. It is a lot like James'. Only different. More... Elegant. I look up at Luke with questioning eyes.

He sighs, again. "Just open it, Star. Read it, and come tell us what it says. We were never allowed to read it. Just come tell us if you still want to do this after you read it." With that, he left to stand with Dan and Johannah.

I'm left staring at the envelope. I trace the writing with my fingernail, as if it will tell me the name of the person who wrote it. I open it. This is what it says:

My dear baby Starlight,

You're reading this because I couldn't tell you this in person. I'm probably dead. I hope you don't mind me putting this so bluntly, I don't know how long it has been since it has happened. But first, I want you to know I will always love you.

I wrote this letter because I need you to do something for me. I need you to see the world. Do the things that I couldn't do. Become a singer, write a book, everything! Do the things that mean most to you, and not anyone else. Just you. Ask Martin to give you the ticket. That is a scholarship to university. Oxford University. That's where I went. Go up to Tenby, look over the sea at the horizon. The beautiful sunset, turning into the starlight. That's where I met your father. The starlight there, that's what you're named after. Go to university, do what ever you want there, just go. Go to Tenby with the person that means the most to you, and maybe you'll end up marrying them one day. Like I did with your father. Then, after you do that, the rest is up to you.

Love you forever,

Mum xoxo

Is it wrong to cry? My mum actually had something planned for me. She wanted me to follow her. She wanted me to go to the same university as she did. She had the start of my life planned out for me. That's why I knew I had to do it. Do what she wanted me to do. And I will.

I walk over to my brothers and Johannah. I give Dan and Luke a hug. I hold them for a bit. My mother's own words I need you to see the world come into my mind. Maybe she knew that I had always wanted to do that, but I didn't want to leave my brothers alone. But they aren't alone. They have each other. They don't need me as much as I thought they did.

"You still want to go, Twinkle?" asks Dan.

I nod and chuckle at his choice of words. I know how my name came to be. Tenby. Starlight. Sunset. All these words now have a new meaning to me. A new connection. Mum. As I pull back from my brothers, Johannah attacks me with a bone-crushing hug. The bus starts up again and we go onto it and take out seats for the next hour or so.

On the bus, I keep the letter close to me. Close to my heart. That is the place that it will always remain. Forever. The bus pulls up about an hour and half later at our destination. I smile at my brothers, closely wanting to examine their faces. Luke's face is unreadable, but Dan had something hidden in his eyes. Sadness.

We walked off the bus and the boys led the way down a path. Johannah is right beside me, but it feels like everyone is miles away. Suddenly, we are at gate. The boys stop. Luke makes me look him in the eyes as he tells me, "Eighth one from the right, thirteenth row," and he nudges me.

I count as I walk, row past row. Thirteen. I walk part each grave, counting one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. I look at it, with tears in my eyes. It reads in beautiful writing:

Here lies Noah Bethany Hobbs-Peelah. A beloved sister, daughter and friend.

And her husband, Lucas Matthew Peelah. A beloved older brother, best friend and son.

Both truly loved parents of four. Both will be sadly missed.

I sink to my knees, crying. I hear light footsteps behind me. Two weeks! I think. Two weeks is all I had with them! I scream in my head. I feel arms around me, and we all just sit there, with tears streaming down our faces. Just me, Luke and Dan.

It starts to get dark, and I fear we might miss our bus back home. I look behind me and see Johannah still standing by the gate. She has tears streaming down her face, too. I sigh and stand up. It's funny, though, how numb I was feeling seconds before, but now... I feel alive. Like a big weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I guess that's what happens when you do something that you had wanted to do for, like, four years. I look down at my brothers. Both of them have faces that are pale, and their eyes are red, from crying.

"We... we should go... we... we're going to miss the bus if we stay here," I whisper.

Dan nods, whereas Luke just stands up. We all go to join Johannah, but as we walk away from the graveyard, we stay close to each other. That's what we need right now. Each other.

We get to the bus stop to see that our bus had already arrived. We step on the bus and sit down. I sit next to Johannah, and she gives me a reassuring smile and a little hug. The bus starts moving and I look out of the window. I think about everything I have to do when I get back. I need to ask Martin for the scholarship and then, I need to... I need to go see him. I always thought that we had something, but now I know. Now, because of my mum, I know that he is right for me. Somehow....

Five years later...

"Starlight Noah Peelah, History," said Professor Malone. I smile and walk up to the stage. He smiles at me and shakes my hand. "You're just like your mother, Star," he tells me.

I nodded, with tears in my eyes. I got here in the end, because she believed in me. "She's all I ever wanted to be, sir," I whisper, truthfully.

He smiled at me. "She'd be proud of you," he says.

I nod, let go of his hand and walk off of the stage. I sigh in relief. I have done it! I have done nearly everything my mum asked me to do. I have seen the world, and I have been to university. I just have one more thing to do, and I will do it. I promised myself.

Sixteen years later...

I am sitting on the sand, right in front of the wall. I hear laughing, so I tear my eyes away from the star-lit sky. I look over towards the ocean to see a man and two young children. My family. "Mummy! Daddy's splashing me!" screams my daughter, Rayanna. I laugh at this. I was worried until she was past two weeks, but Mason made me calm down a little. I had nightmares all though the pregnancy with her, but Mason was there for me. Like he always has been. I stand up and run into the water. It's cold, but I don't care. I am happy... complete almost. I have done everything my mother had asked me too, except that singer thing, and now I am a mother myself. I am grateful that I am able to be there for my kids, and when they grow up. Maybe, one day, I will tell them exactly what made me realise that I was in love with their father, but not yet.

I walk over to my son, Draydan, and pick him up. He laughs as I throw him to his father and I go to hug Rayanna. I look over to Mason, who is whispering something in Draydan's little ear. This is my life now. And I couldn't ask for anything else. It is mine. My name is Starlight Noah Peelah-Jones. I am thirty years old. I am married to Mason Jones, who I love with all my heart. My daughter is Rayanna Johannah Jones and my son is Draydan Lucas Jones. For the first time in a long time, I know exactly who I am. And I am happy about it...

Super Scotty

by

Ben White, 7JM

Chapter 1: School, please, end quicker...

Fred said, ''I can't believe there is only today left at school. I've got football to finish off the best day of my life; I mean, we have had all the epic subjects, in particular: PE, Art, ENGLISH, which is best, and History, which is okay. The only thing we have that is not as good is GCSEs soon."

''I've only just remembered we are not at school tomorrow, are we?'' said Scotty. ''Thank you, lord!'' he shouted.

But, really, Scotty liked school because he only had to do the excellent lessons that he chose for GCSEs.

As well as GCSEs, he also had to go down to the Wednesday training ground every day because he had three weeks off from training recently as lots of the Wednesday coaches had got flu. Unfortunately, he had also missed about six weeks because he was off on jolly holidays in Spain with his mum and dad, which was superb. Nevertheless, he was still as incredible as he was when he was thirteen, but a bit better!

Chapter 2: What a deal!

Stockbridge Park Steels have announced that Scotty Franklin is moving to Sheffield Wednesday for one million.

The chairman Alee Binge said this after the clash with Rotherham United. ''It was a great deal. For one million, he is one of the best players I know. I have always wanted him to join the club but he was too young, and we had too many players. Since we sold Sam, Lewis and Tom, there has been enough room in the squad."

That night, Scotty was texting Fred and telling him how thrilled he was to play for a Championship side. The only thing Fred was was jealous!

To: Fred,

I av bin scouted by Wednesday!!!! :)

To: Scotty,

Well done mate! :) Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 3: Bad News For Scott.

Scotty was just starting training when suddenly one day Scotty got an awful injury to the head, a terrible injury. All he could do was listen to the ambulance sirens faintly outside. He immediately fell asleep and believed that one day he could be a professional football player and hoped he could achieve and one day succeed.

The next morning, he woke up to a strange smell, a smell of old people and germs. He was in hospital. After the strange smell, he noticed cards from his family and friends, shirts of his favourite teams (Sheffield Wednesday and Stockbridge Park Steels). But the only thing that stood out for Scotty was the videos of him playing on both tellies in the room. The only question everyone was thinking of was: will his head heal?

Chapter 4: Did his belief pay off?

Well, the answer... yes. He did achieve his belief because he is now a professional footballer. The last thing to say is that he succeeded and is still playing for Sheffield Wednesday to this day...

Telling Someone

by

Izzy Mannion, 8LA

Another day, quietly strolling down the corridor alone, with my books under my arms trying not to draw any attention to myself like every other day. As I turn the corner, a group of older girls walk past and shove me out of their way; as they walk off, they shout vile things about my appearance and begin laughing. People in the corridor turn and look for a few seconds then get on with what they're doing shortly after. I continue walking to my class.

As I enter my classroom, I realised that I am slightly late and there are no seats left apart from one next to a girl called Violet at the back; I try not to act disappointed about that and sit down. Violet grumbles and budges her chair away from me.

I don't know why nobody likes me; I mean, I haven't done a thing to them. I always respect people and never criticise anyone. School has been a bore since I moved here; I think that's why people dislike me, because I haven't been here as long as other people so they don't bother getting to know me... All the way through class, I have been receiving dirty looks off numerous students for small things like dropping my pen or asking the teacher a question, and I'm getting rather sick of this now. I just carry on my day as if I'm fine, though, like every other day. It kills inside but if I keep a smile on my face, everything will be okay... Right?

At dinner, I queue up and stand picking nail varnish off since I have nobody to talk to. I get to the front off the queue and ask for a ham salad and strawberry milkshake. The dinner staff and teachers are the only people who I think like me at school. Normally, I sit on a table in the back corner of the canteen alone; however, the staff have put their books there so that's no longer a option. I see an empty seat but a girl that despises me is sitting there. I walk towards it and her friends all turn and glare at me. I'm shaking so much I think I might drop my dinner and books and my heart is pounding so hard... it's ridiculous how scared I am. As I pull the chair from under the table and place my dinner down, one of the girls blurted, "Why do you think you can sit here?"

I replied by saying, "All I am trying to do is eat my lunch, anyone can sit anywhere."

The girls all looked around at each other as if to say, 'Did she really just say that?' One girl picked up her bag and walked off, and a few seconds later the rest of the girls left. I was shocked I had the courage to say that – normally, I would just have frozen up.

I continued the rest of the day and all afternoon I only spoke three words, "It's three, Mrs." I arrived home after a long bus ride of getting shoved around and laughed at, which I tried to ignore by putting my earphones in though it wasn't as simple as it sounds. I sit on my bed and grab my notebook and begin to jot down all of the nasty things that happened to me today; hopefully, when I have the courage, I can show my parents or a teacher.

My mum arrives home about six o'clock. She walks into my room, kisses my forehead and whispered, "How's your day been?" in my ear.

I reply, "Good, thanks."

As she wandered out my room, she replied, "Good, darling."

I know I shouldn't lie to my mum about everything being okay when deep down it's killing me inside but I don't want to upset her; she's too happy at the moment.

A few days pass and it begins to get worse: a shove turns into a slap, one nasty comment turns into four girls screaming in my face. I'm surprised no teachers have noticed. It's a Saturday night and I sit drawing a picture of the beach, which reminds me of my perfect life in California with amazing friends and everything I need around me. One day, I will go back, one day. It's just turned 11:30pm and my mum walks past my room slightly drunk and murmurs, "Night, beautiful, get to sleep now."

I lie in bed and think about everything that has happened to me; I can hear the nasty comments people said in my head continuously and I keep having flashbacks of the slaps and shoves. I feel like there's a seed inside me, and slowly it's growing bigger and bigger with every nasty thing that has happened; now it's a tree, the tree resembles all the nasty things that people have done, and as it continues, it has been building up inside me and now I can't cope anymore and I'm going to end up spilling everything out because I just can't deal with this much longer...

I grab my laptop from the far side of my room and search 'bullying'. Websites with numbers to call for advice appear; I keep looking and I begin reading some examples of bullying, and almost everything says things like 'tell somebody or you will regret it'. I've been thinking about telling somebody a lot recently; it's making me depressed and miserable. Tuesday, I decide, Tuesday I'm going to tell a teacher.

The weekend goes quick even though I spend most of it watching cartoons and eating chocolate digestives. It's Monday morning already and I make my way to all my classes, ignoring the sniggers and shoving. The first two lessons are a blur, mostly because I'm way too tired too pay attention, but secondly because I'm thinking about tomorrow and what I'm going to say. I've been trying to take my mind off it by doodling on my book but it isn't working.

I got to dinner quite fast so I beat the queue and I took a seat on my back table. A few minutes into eating my lunch, a girl comes and asks if it would be okay to sit with me, and of course I let her. She seemed shy at first but after a minute or so, she asked why I seemed depressed. I found it strange that the girl I had never spoke to before knew how I felt. Anyway, we spent almost all of dinner talking about my life and she told me that she used to be bullied and that was how she could tell it was happening to me. I felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off my chest by getting it all out. The bell rang and I realised I hadn't even asked her name; I quickly grabbed her arm before she left and muttered, "My name's Crystal, what about you?"

She seemed surprised that I had asked her and hesitated for a moment or so then whispered, "I'm called Katie, I don't think I should talk to you until you've told a teacher, trust me?"

I seemed confused but I nodded and agreed then we both left for class. The rest of the day went fast, mainly because I couldn't stop thinking about it. My evening went fast and I went to bed roughly 11pm, however I couldn't sleep until at least 4am. Tuesday rolled on fast and it just turned 11am, break time! I walked to the support manager's office and knocked. She shouted, "Come in," so I wandered towards her desk nervously and took a seat. We began talking and I explained the whole situation. I started off by saying how long it had been happening and then got into more detail about what happened and who. Tears were pouring down my face but at the same time I was so proud of myself for letting it out. She seemed to understand my situation very quick and rang for my mother to come into school. My mum arrived roughly thirty minutes later and during that time I had told the support manager almost everything and I handed her my notebook full of everything that happened.

Once my mum arrived, I asked the support manager to explain everything because I couldn't tell my mum; it was heartbreaking seeing my mother cry. It could possibly be the worst experience in my life. All of the people who had been bullying me got brought into the small room and for a strange reason admitted to doing everything and accepted their punishments.

A few days went by and nothing bad happened to me at all. I was so glad that I had told somebody I just regretted not doing it earlier. During lunch one day, Katie approached me and said, "I'm proud of you." I knew she understood what had happened. Me and Katie are now best friends along with a few other girls who decided to tell the teachers about being bullied themselves after they heard about me. My mum doesn't speak about it often in case she upsets me, but plenty of people have said I seem to be a happier person.

With four other girls, I spent two weeks creating leaflets and posters to pin up around school, and we have received awards in assembly for our braveness and now I have become quite popular for doing that. Some nights, I imagine my life if I hadn't told anyone and it hurts inside knowing there are people who are in the situation I was in a few months ago.

My dream to move back to America no longer seems important, the people I have around me are enough for me and I'm happier than I have ever been here. I started a new notebook called 'friendship' and I write all the nice things people do for me in, then I have to do something kind back. Even the simplest of things are better like catching a bus, going for a walk or nipping to the shop. Everything seems to have a meaning and life is a lot better. I always feel like bullies are people who aren't brave so they get comfort out of upsetting other people, even though their life may have faults I still find it very wrong, but I'm the type of person who would happily be there for anyone no matter what they have done wrong.

My life is better and I'm a better person for telling someone and I hope everyone who was in my situation does tell somebody.

The Adventures of Baby Bond

by

Millie Easthope, 7AD

Baby Bond and Mummy Penny were in the supermarket doing the weekly shop. They were on the vegetable aisle and Mummy Penny was deciding between carrots and peas. Meanwhile, between the cauliflowers, Baby Bond spotted someone, Gums (Gold Diaper's henchman), and he was up to mischief. Baby Bond slipped silently out of the trolley and followed Gums, quickly darting behind shelves when he looked back. Finally, before looking all around, Gums darted quickly up an aisle and Baby Bond followed. Bond then climbed swiftly up the shelves to get a bird's eye view of the situation. He saw Gums slip a green powder into each powdered milk product. Bond was puzzled then it hit him – poison!

"Of course," he whispered. "Gold Diaper wants to poison every baby in the world. Well, he's in trouble!"

After Gums had finished his dirty work, he scuttled quickly out of the supermarket.

I have to do something, thought Baby Bond, but what? In the car, Baby Bond thought of a plan. Hmm, he thought. Tunnel underground... no. Fly... no. Wait 'til Mum goes for her afternoon nap, sneak out, track down Gold Diaper and destroy his plans... perfect! Now all Baby Bond had to do was wait.

As soon as Mummy Penny was snoring on the couch, the door was open and Baby Bond was gone...

"Right," said Bond, "first I need to go to O to pick up some gadgets."

"Hello, Baby Bond," said O. "Milk?"

"Yes please, shaken not stirred."

"Of course."

"So, got any new gadgets?"

"Yes, hot off the drawing board, this way."

"Here's you're milk, sir," said a waitress.

"Ah thank you, dear lady," replied Bond with a winning smile.

"So, as I was saying, here are our latest achievements," said O, and with a flourish, he pulled back a curtain to reveal the top three weapons.

"Wow, I'm impressed!"

"We never fail to deliver, do we?" questioned O.

"It seems not," answered Bond.

O next explained the three weapons. "Here, we have the diaper bomb, it can blow a sidekick fifteen feet into the air." As Bond nodded approvingly, O continued, "And at number two, we have dummy dynamite, ignites on any surface and I assure you will not blow up in your mouth. Finally, we have the rattle revolver, a genius piece of kit that will shoot up to two hundred and fifty bullets." O looked at Bond.

"I'll take them all," said Bond, handing back his empty glass and grabbing the gadgets.

"Gotcha," whispered Bond. Bond was in Gold Diaper's base and had found the factory for the poison powder. He began to shoot with his revolver rattle at the huge metal canister that contained the poison, not so much as a scratch. Then he lit the dummy... BANG! A small hole but not good enough. The diaper was lit and Baby Bond ran. BOOM! "That's that sorted," he said.

Baby Bond ran for his life down a small corridor. Everyone had heard the explosion and was after him. He turned left, then right, then left again. "Oh no," he said, "dead end."

The Amazing and True Story of Cliff Young

by

Mr Parry, English Subject Leader

I like running. I don't run very fast, but I'm determined and I keep going. I've run in quite a lot of races; in the last one, I was 389th out of 515 runners. I ran a marathon once; I couldn't walk for an hour after it, and I could barely talk. I know how exhausting it is to run for four and a half hours non-stop.

This is one of my favourite stories about running and self-belief; it's about an Australian called Cliff Young. It's a true story, which you can check out on Wikipedia if you want.

A marathon is just over 26 miles and that's quite enough for me. But for some people that's just not enough, so they invented ultramarathons! One of these is the Sydney to Melbourne Ultramarathon which is a mere 544 miles long.

Just to make that clear, 544 miles would mean running from Stocksbridge to London then turning round and running back up to Stocksbridge. Even then, you'd only be almost two thirds of the way through the race. As soon as you got back to Stocksbridge, you'd have to turn round and run straight back down to London again, and once you'd got there, exhausted, you'd still have to run the London marathon course to complete the distance.

The Sydney to Melbourne race was considered one of the hardest ultramarathons in the world. When the first race was held, in 1983, only the strongest, fittest, craziest runners in the world turned up to compete. And so did Cliff Young.

The strongest, fittest, craziest runners were in their twenties and thirties. They were properly equipped, well prepared and at the peak of their fitness. They were ready to race and determined to win. Cliff Young was a sixty-one year old potato farmer. When he arrived at the starting line, wearing overalls and wellington boots, everyone thought he was a spectator.

People laughed when they discovered he intended to race; they couldn't believe it. The media asked him if he thought he would die of a heart attack while running. Cliff told them that he'd grown up on a sheep farm that couldn't afford horses or tractors. When they had needed to herd the sheep, Cliff had done this by running after them. He believed that if he could do that, he could run this race.

People laughed more when the race started. The strong, fit, crazy runners sped off into the distance, immediately leaving Cliff behind, shuffling along in his wellies. Most people thought he couldn't even run properly.

But Cliff believed in himself and Cliff kept going. When, at the end of the first day, after eighteen hours of running, the younger runners stopped to rest and sleep, Cliff kept running, and in his wellies and overalls he narrowed the gap between them. The same thing happened at the end of the second day, and the third, and the fourth. When the other runners stopped to sleep, Cliff just kept shuffling along. On the fifth and final night, he'd overtaken every runner in the field.

Eventually, after five days, fifteen hours and four minutes of non-stop running, fuelled by hot chocolate, cups of water and self-belief, Cliff Young crossed the finishing line, way ahead of any other runner.

When the race organisers presented him with a cheque for $10,000 for winning the race, Cliff told them that he didn't even realise there was a prize and insisted on sharing it amongst all the runners because they'd all worked equally hard.

For me, Cliff Young is an inspiration, not so much because he won the race, but because he believed in himself and kept going when everyone else was laughing at him. So when I'm shuffling along, trying to come 388th instead of 389th, I will think of him, in his wellies and overalls, and try to run that little bit harder and faster.

The Anticipation

by

Miss Beaumont, Teaching Assistant

Believe in myself. That's what I had to tell myself, round and round in my head. The anticipation, the butterflies, the silence...

Bang! We all set off. The anticipation, the butterflies, the silence all gone. Instead, the need to get near the front for the break, the roar of the crowd: so many stimulants rushed though my head, yet my running was relaxed, ready to break through.

I did it! I made it to third with 600m to go. Come on, I can do this! As I reached the 100m straight, I could hear my name being shouted, which spurred me on. I can do this. I need to get to second place.

Achieved second place... yes, I know I can do this now... 300m to go; I'm in second, inches behind first. With 200m to go, I can already hear my name being shouted and then again the anticipation, the butterflies, the silence – the whole race becomes a blur. My arms and legs feel like I have turned into the iron man, each stride feeling longer and longer, further and further then bam!

Success! I have succeeded! I have won! All that hard work and effort I put in paid off. Announced on the tannoy is my result: first place with a time of 2.14... a personal best! I'm so happy...

Yet, that all seems a million moonlights ago... I haven't even trained in nine months due to illness that has changed my life. I must get back the life that was me, that made me who I am. In that race I believed, achieved and succeeded, so I must do that again now, in order to get 'me' back!

If I can do it, so can you.

The Body in the Bog

by

Fox Ross, 8LA

Shoo... pat... shoo, clank!

"What was that?" The farmer stopped digging. "Looks like a hunk o' metal." He bent down and started to pull the object from the ground then gasped...

"So, you say that you've found the remains of a Roman soldier in your cabbage field?" asks the archaeologist.

"Yes sir, clothes and all," the farmer replied, "why might that be, surely they would rot?"

"Certain conditions can cause many reactions in different materials."

"Also, this used to be marshland before it was drained for farming," my dad adds.

I stop listening while Dad explains to the farmer. I've heard the lecture about peat bogs pickling corpses before. The interview goes on for a while until finally the archaeologist, the paleopathologist – my dad – and the farmer leave the kitchen through the back door. They tell me that they are going to the site and ask if I want to come with them and of course I eagerly agree.

My name is Lewis Smith. My mum was a writer but she left me to my dad. Dad is a paleopathologist and a great inspiration. I think that may be my own job someday, or I could be a murder detective or a bit of both, but who knows? Anyway, momentarily I'm twelve years old, just started secondary school, in the top set for English, Art, Science and History and already planning my GCSEs. My dad says that you start planning for your GCSEs in year six when you start to revise for your SATs, so I guess that I need to get going...

"Sure does look like an actual Roman soldier, the bog has almost perfectly preserved the body, this should get a lot of money from the museum," says the archaeologist.

The shrivelled up corpse is dressed in what seems to be a Roman legionary's armour, but something's wrong with the different pieces of armour. I know this because at school I'm studying the equipment and strategies of the Roman Empire, so I know bits about how it works. This is what I think but don't say yet. No-one listens to kids.

The archaeologist is absolutely transfixed on this dig. He might need a second opinion just for reference. Well, here goes. I guess I'll try to say something even if I am unheard.

"Look, the pieces of armour are from the wrong periods of time and the wrong types of soldier," I say.

"Hey, kid, I plan on getting paid for this dig, so let's leave it at what we've got," says Dr Brian, the archaeologist.

"But that's false evidence!" I protest. "You can't report a find until you have full evidence to show what it is!"

"I've never had an important find before and this could make me and your daddy quite rich, so if you could just step out of it, that would be great," rasped the archaeologist.

"But..." I start and am cut off by the archaeologist.

"Just leave it to the professionals, okay."

Then my dad agrees! "Look, the police don't want more work to do and it does appear to be an archaeological find. So let's leave it at that, okay, Lewis?"

"Okay, Dad..." For now.

Back at my desk in my bedroom, I start to research, comparing the photographs I took at the dig site to the illustrations in the books my dad gave me. The Gladius is perfect; a smooth golden hilt, leather sheath and wooden handle. I think that the hilt is bronze, not gold, because the metal is slightly corroded with a greenish patina. That's verdigris. Verdigris is a type of corrosion found on brass and bronze, because they contain copper.

I know this because every week on a Saturday, I go to the young archaeologist's club. They help kids interested in archaeology and give us extra information on the subject. We have activities such as handling and protecting bones and things like that. Also, there are lots of different people I can talk to. It's fun, also quite useful as it turns out.

But if this armour is a replica, then the body can't possibly be a real Roman soldier. Why would a body left in a bog be wearing a replica of Roman armour? What if this body is a murder victim disguised as a Roman soldier to cover up the crime! I have to tell the archaeologist. I could be overreacting, but this could be a major case.

Dr Brian is over at my place discussing the find with Dad. They're at the table, drinking. Dr Brian has a small glass of white wine. My dad swills back a Tiger beer. They are friends from work. Dad is on the borderline between believing in the find and suspecting something. "Well, Don, like you say, I'm the bone expert and you're the archaeologist," says Dad.

Dr Brian's first name is Adonis. His parents, a banker and a professor of Classics, thought this was a serious name. Serious suited Dr Brian. Adonis didn't.

I decide to put forward my opinion, based on what I've learned. "Look at these three pieces of armour, the chest plate and greaves are clearly from a legionnaire, but the helmet is an officer's, or a commander of some kind." I point out what I mean on the photos. "The plume is placed sideways, see? It shows importance. An ordinary soldier would wear a forwards plume."

"What if he was an officer but not very high ranking?" the archaeologist says.

"But what about this? He's holding a pilum spear and an officer wouldn't have a spear."

"I'm getting quite fed up with your meddling, so why don't you let me do my job and get this to the museum? I know what I'm doing and you don't, so back off. This is a perfect Roman soldier as all tests have shown."

"All tests? Have you even carbon dated it?" I shoot back, (quite angry now). "Have you even really looked at it?"

"We haven't needed to carbon date it because we already have enough evidence. It is a Roman soldier."

"Let's leave him to win his Nobel Prize," my dad says heavily. "Come on, you can't win everything. Anyway, we'll get some of money out of it so you can at least be a little bit happy for us."

I go up to my desk. I feel defeated and empty. There will be another case like this one and the man's right, I'm only a child. What do I know? After Adonis leaves, Dad starts on some paperwork and I get on with my homework (something I get way too much of). Afterwards, I get in the shower and wash my hair, thinking about today, and life returns to normal. We eat dinner in near silence and go to bed.

The next day I re-look at the facts, even though there's no point in it. Dr Brian's probably right. As he says, he's the archaeologist... The brass or bronze on the hilt could have been alloyed with gold, making it more resistant to corrosion and adding to the colour. Well, he could be right, but I don't know...

"Hello, is it me you're looking for?" Dad's ringtone, "Hello, is it me..." He picks up the mobile and sighs.

"It's Dr Brian, he wants to speak to you," my dad grunts.

"Why are you calling?" I say bitterly.

"It could be to say sorry," my dad speaks up, "he was quite rude to you and I didn't like that."

"I want to say sorry about how I've spoken with you," he says, almost solemn.

"Told you so!" Dad says in the background. His phone's really loud.

"Really, I'm sorry but err... I have a confession to make." He mumbles under his breath, "You were right."

"About what?"

"It's not an actual Roman soldier."

"What changed your mind so easily?"

"Tell your dad to come back to the dig site; I have something to show you."

Our car pulls up to the site and we greet the farmer on the way in. Back on site, the archaeologist sort of slumps and looks sorrowful before showing us the body.

Then he starts to speak. "I spoke to the previous owner of this farm, and to some other people, after we last talked, and it turns out that there was a battle on this site several thousand years ago."

Then he looks at me. "However, more recently, a war re-enactment society came to perform the battle here. It was a couple of years ago, before the current owner bought the farm, which is why he didn't know about it. Well, one of the actors hadn't been seen since. I have come to understand that this is the missing body. You see, I know I didn't believe you, but, well..."

He leans forward to pull back the Kilt and the Gladius. "He's wearing Marks and Spencer's underwear."

The Day We Brought Back the Adults

by

Juliette Holmes, 8CBU

16th October 1969

It's been an interesting year, so much has happened. The trip into space, the Vietnam War protest for peace, the massive hurricane that hit Mississippi Coast in America. But the main event that sticks out in my mind is the day we brought back the adults!

It's now three months after we brought the adults back. Everyone is acting as if nothing happened; we have secret gangs where we can speak of the events then, and only then. If we told the adults what happened then they would either freak, or not believe us. I prefer the second option.

It was an amazing day, but you will want to know how it all started.

Day 1:

We were counting down from ten for the lift off on the journey into space. Everything was going fine 'til now until the bad weather happened: three, two, one... ARGHH!

All of a sudden, lightning hit the top of the space craft and it went toppling over.

No-one was hurt, however, because the lightning struck something small but very annoying. The Dream Lord.

He is from one of my childhood stories; he made the whole world freeze with a little device, like a remote control for your goggle box (television). It must have been a minute after the devastation; everything froze except from the children, just like in my story. I have never been so confused.

Then another strange event happened, we all heard the countdown go off again, but this time at the end of it, the parents were sucked into a giant wormhole, and the spacecraft was put up right.

At the top of it, where the lightning struck, stood a little man, the Dream Lord. With his booming voice, he shouted, "How dare you disturb my nap? You obviously think that my home at this part of the sky terrace is a playground! I can see by your ugly faces that you have no intelligence. Well, let's put you to the test, you have one week to attempt to defeat me. Fail, and you will never see the adults again, succeed and I shall grant you two wishes!" He then closed his speech with, "I am only small, but fairly old. I love stories, even when the bad guy is destroyed by a bucket of 'drip, drip, drip'. The remote is my wand, I can see everything, but can't understand everything. Think about those wise words, as they have a possibility to help you win."

All the children were put into different tribes depending on what they liked to do, and what talents they had. I was put into the "Save Us Team". We were responsible for bringing back the adults.

Day 3

It took us the first two days to figure out the riddle. Here is what we came up with.

I am only small, but fairly old – he is small but wants to be the big guy, taking over famous statues, or monuments might do that.

I love stories, even when the bad guy is destroyed by a bucket of 'drip, drip, drip' – the Wicked Witch of the West is defeated with a bucket of water.

The remote is my wand – the remote does whatever he wants it to.

I can see everything – he will try find out what we are up to.

But can't understand everything – sign language or Morse code will make us win.

Think about those wise words, as they may help you win.

We believed we could do it, and we succeeded!

Laura was our tribe leader; she made all the big decisions. Our plan:

1. Contact other countries.

2. Tell them to guard their ancient ruins, monuments, buildings.

3. Learn Morse code.

4. Tell countries to wait for further instructions.

We got immediate replies from every country across the globe; they had already guarded everything within four hours, very committed young people.

Day 4

Using coded writing and telegrams, we had a plan to put a little magnet on all the guarded buildings and to send a pulse through the air from it, turning them on that night facing the direction of the rocket. It was all planned to happen at 8pm.

The third most anxious countdown that week, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, sizzles... three seconds later, in that very moment, the sky was lit with something that resembled the northern lights, absolutely beautiful!

Day 5

We left them on all night, and nothing happened, then we found a note pinned to the back of a remote control, but not the wand.

On the note it said, "Remember what I told you, fairly old – drip, drip, drip – remote. Here is a clue, what happens to an electrical device when it gets wet? It B..."

Day 6

It was now the night of day six, and we still hadn't figured out what he meant. Then Bernard spoke. "What if the word was break, electrical devices break when they touch a liquid?"

"But what about the remote part?" I replied.

Laura is a very intelligent person; this is when plan B arrived. "Remote, remote," she repeated in frustration, "imagine if all the buildings were actually pieces of a puzzle, put them together and the finished result is the remote."

At eleven o'clock that night, a telegram was sent to every country telling them to investigate their building, and see if there is anything odd.

Day 7

The first reply was from New York, saying the Statue of Liberty had wires coming from the back of it, then Egypt calling about the pyramids, Paris about the Eiffel Tower, India from the Taj Mahal. All calling about the same thing, with each telegram it said there was a switch. Laura had to make the decision, whether to pull the levers or leave them. Bearing in mind that we only had two hours left 'til time was up.

Plan B was finally done.

Laura had decided to pull all the leavers at the same time, 8pm again.

It was now 7:44pm on the seventh day. Something was strange about the world, things had started to disappear, not like a book or a pen, but memory, I couldn't remember my tenth birthday, or even moving into secondary school... it was terrible.

7:50pm

7:58pm

7:59pm

One minute to go, everyone was ready, holding hands, we all thought of the same thing: believe we can do it, we have achieved so much, and we can succeed!

8:00pm

A vibration went through the air, we had reports from across the globe that the guarded buildings were turning around, facing the exact direction of the rocket where the Dream Lord stood. Now shouting loud and clear, the small man said, "You will never defeat me!"

A voice from every statue, monument and building said press the red button. It didn't take two seconds for Laura to decide that everybody would press the button. Press. Then it was done, they had all been pressed. A flash of red beamed out of all of them, then... BOOM! Missile-shaped lights flew into the sky from the buildings, and within ten seconds, they had hit the exact point where the lightning had struck the rocket.

"NOOOO, why does it always end like this?" yelled the angry Dream Lord. "I shall now grant you two wishes. Wish one, please?" He groaned with a dark frown.

Laura knew the two wishes; we were relying on her. "Bring the parents back safely to the exact moment when the rocket was supposed to set off!" Laura exclaimed.

"Wish two, please?"

"Erm, never return to our universe again. Stay in your stupid story books!" Laura yelled in the man's face to show that she meant what she said.

POOF! With a blink of an eye, he was gone. The adults were back, safe and sound, and the Dream Lord hasn't yet returned.

Remember, believe in yourself...

Achieve what you set out to do...

Do this and you will succeed.

The Diary of a Climb in Society

by

Rebecca Steward, 7VKD

Monday 19th October 1855

"That will teach you," he said when he caned me. That's all he does now when I do something wrong; you would think when it's your first week out of the workhouse, you would be given some slack. If you have ever been in that dreadful place, you would agree with me that being out is some sort of a miracle. It wasn't ever anybody's choice to go in there but when your mother is expecting a child and you haven't got anywhere to live, then that becomes your only option. They change your name – they changed mine, those stupid Matrons. So now I suppose my name is Elizabeth Mary Potter, born Friday 10th January 1840, fifteen years old and now in service. I attend to my Mistress of only twenty-one.

Tuesday 20th October 1855

It's six o'clock and I have been up three hours already! My master, Mr Becton, shook me this morning as he had seen the stump of a candle on the floor that I was using last night when I was trying to write my stories. I then had to serve Miss Claire her breakfast; how she leaves her golden toast and hardboiled egg I will never know. But Mr Becton said I should not concern myself with her affairs and should not trouble other people about it either, especially the women down the market. He would not have known if he hadn't followed me there. Spilling my thoughts on the Mistress to strangers is prohibited and if it is exposed, it is an instant dismissal offence. When I dress her, it is very tempting to touch her many glittering jewels. I am not very good at doing her hair but I have a while to practice before her dinner party in December, when a special person called a Duke is coming – he is apparently her father, the scullery boy told me.

Sunday 25th October 1855

We went to Church today. How wonderful the windows are! I loved the singing – the way everyone joined in was so splendid. When we were in the Chapel at the Workhouse, we only prayed.

Saturday 15th December 1855

Today is the big day. The day that I have to accompany my Mistress to her dinner party.

Sunday 16th December 1855

Last night was the best night of my life! I am moving out of this house to go and work for the Duke and his family in Ireland, so I will be getting a much smarter uniform and a much higher pay.

Tuesday 18th December 1855

I have just found out that when I move to Ireland, I have to live in my own house, which means I will be able to look after myself. If I am not living in the Established place I'm working in, they can't cane me. Now that I am ranked higher, I will be able to tell the lower staff what to do and that will be brilliant!

Friday 15th April 1859

It has been so long since I wrote in this diary. When I moved to Ireland, I was completely swept off my feet. I had no idea how busy the Duke's household was – with seven children and three adults, there was no time to do things on my own. However, now I am the housekeeper and free to do as I please, I have started going to fetes and street parties which was then where I met Samuel. I was walking round the stalls when a lovely man asked me if I knew where the town hall was. So I told him where it was and we started talking about the state of the village. He then asked if I was interested in politics so I said, "Yes." Then he told me he is a politician in Dublin and is on a very long holiday to try and find ways to save the country money. The next day we met up for lunch and have done this ever since.

Monday 30th May 1859

Samuel proposed! It was after the committee meeting in the street and of course I said yes but it dawned on me that I would have to leave my place in the Duke's household. But then I thought how good it would be to go back to London. I would love to get back into the hustle and bustle of the winding town streets.

Tuesday 28th June 1859

I have packed all of my possessions in my rickety suitcase which the Matrons gave me when I left the workhouse; that place is very much behind me now as I must start a new life for myself out in the big wide world.

Monday 18th March 1861

Me and Samuel are now married and I am expecting a child. Samuel's start in life was much different from mine as he didn't have to go into the workhouse and of course I would never condemn someone to that kind of misery.

Sunday 20th October 1862

Two – it was twins! We had no idea and weren't prepared but we managed. They are called Alice and Sarah. They are now seven months old and are very healthy happy girls.

Thursday 12th December 1861

Now Samuel is becoming a respected politician, we will have to move closer to parliament so he can do his job better. That will mean that we will have to rent a house in the centre of London.

Wednesday 15th January 1862

Today, we moved into our new establishment. Alice and Sarah were so tired we just had to hand our bags to the butler and go straight upstairs to bed.

Saturday 18th January 1862

The smell in the centre in London reminds me of the workhouse, and the stink of the Thames wafts through our window, giving us the most unpleasant pong at breakfast. Samuel is at home much less than he used to be. I suppose he is bringing our income in but the children rarely get to see him nowadays.

Sunday 8th June 1862

We are to move into Downing Street! The former Prime Minister has just died and it is up to Samuel to take his place.

Thursday 12th May 1864

It has been two years since I have written in my diary. I have been ever so busy. There has been an addition to our family, Winston. He is five months old and Alice and Sarah love him. They help with all the chores now as they are old enough. They are both attending school and are both finding it very interesting.

Monday 29th November 1920

How can I have forgotten this diary after all these years and after all that has happened? Alice and Sarah are fifty-six now and sadly poor Winston died in World War One. That war didn't give any mercy, wiping out children and adults in its wake. Winston was on the front line and didn't stand a chance when a bomb plummeted down onto their trench. Samuel stood down ten years ago, but I'm sure he didn't want to although he was getting very frail and his memory was getting terrible. The grandchildren arrived twenty years ago and they are the sweetest darlings on the planet: Thomas, James and Betty. I wish I had not forgotten about the diary when I was young – it has got me through the hard times in my life and trust me, there have been a few since 1864.

Tuesday 30th November 1920

I must warn you that I have contracted the illness tuberculosis. They say I have days to live but I am not scared; I have lived a long and fulfilling life. This does not mean that I will not miss being with my children and grandchildren but at least Samuel will be with them for a little while longer. The doctors suspect that I have passed it on to him but only a mild case so it will be a while 'til it consumes his lungs.

Friday 10th December 1920

I am getting much weaker. It is giving me a terrible cough and I have now got a chest infection. It means my weeks are shortened. But the children still haven't said their goodbyes yet.

Sunday 12th December 1920

They came. The girls were here when I needed them. In the last final hours, Samuel was here, too, holding my hand.

ELIZABETH MARY POTTER

BORN: Friday 10th January 1840

Died: Friday 10th December 1920

The End is Tomorrow

by

James Dimelow, 8HW

The whole world is going crazy knowing that the world is going to end! These are the last hours of my short life and I am trying to use them well; I haven't done much special to remember in my life but I want to change that.

I'm travelling to my favourite place in the whole world: Bramall Lane, home to Sheffield United. I've always wanted to play football there and now I will. I've got my ball and onto the pitch I go. I know it's the end of the world soon but I still believe I can fulfil my dreams and I am also achieving my dreams but succeeding would mean keeping the world going and that is not possible.

11:50, ten minutes to go. I am so afraid of dying. Even though I kicked a football around at Bramall Lane, I have done nothing with my life, not really. Sitting in my house, all alone in my bedroom, knowing soon the world is going to end, the time is going too fast. Please, just don't end the world.

12:00. It's time and the world hasn't ended. I have a chance, another chance, to show I can make my life a success. This is a message saying that you need to succeed in life.

The Girl Who Changed Her Life Around

by

Alisha Green, 7SE

One day, Lisa, aged sixteen, went to her best friend's house for an amazing Halloween party. There were thousands of people. Lily had an amazing mansion for her party. She was definitely rich, because Lily's dad is a boxer and her mum Kate is a singer, and she gets over £100,000 a year.

"This is my dream place," Lisa thought. But there's one secret about this house which she doesn't know about. Beneath solid rock, there's a secret soon to be revealed...and a few days after the party, Lily's father died and the family moved to Australia.

Lisa decides to move into that lovely house. But then she heard noises from the cellar. She rings her friend in Australia and she tells her why her father died. Lily told her that a beast in the cellar killed her father.

Lisa believes that if she goes down there, she can kill that horrid beast. After five weeks, she finally musters the courage and she went down to the bottom. There were muddy rocks and lots of blood all over the walls and a woman with blood over her. Lisa stepped closer and the woman turned around. She ran at her and with her mucky and old sharp hands and tried to hit her.

As she grabbed her, Lisa got a large stick and stabbed her through her heart. She faintly vanished and all the blood went away. So, because she believed, Lisa achieved and succeeded in killing that horrid woman who hurt lots of children, women and men.

The Prince

by

Louis Stuart, 7SE

In a mystical land far, far away, a fair prince, Ferondeer, had a dream to be a noble king but there was a problem, his dad! His dad wanted his brother, Hadvar, who was mighty, brave and glorious, to be king. To be king, Ferondeer has to do certain quests!

He asked his father, "Where do I have to go to complete this quest?"

He replied, "Two places such Castle Valikar and Sleeping Woods. These places will hold a precious sword and bow."

That night, the prince packed up his bags and set off on a long journey... Galloping out of the castle walls, he was searching for a pebbled road to lead him to his first destination (Valikar).

Slowly walking through a dark and misty forest, leaving his horse behind him, he heard a crack of a twig and he suddenly turned round with a fright! It was a werewolf. Suddenly, he heard the unsheathing of a sword! The next thing he saw was a wolf's head on the floor with a shadowed figure standing behind with a sword drenched in blood. Out of nowhere came a mysterious man with a slender looking face. He had a sharp, silver sword with gold engravements; it looked like a Dwarven sword crafted for royalty. He spoke, "Are you okay?"

Ferondeer replied, "Yes, I'm quite fine." He added, "Sorry for being so rude, let me introduce myself. My name is Ferondeer and I'm on a quest."

The man replied, "My name is Volk, the Dwarven king's assassin. So then, Fer...on...deer, can I join you on this so-called quest?"

Ferondeer replied, "Yes, sure."

Little did Volk know this was going to be a long quest...

Trekking into the sunrise, Ferondeer and Volk were getting closer and closer to their first stop. Eventually, they hit another city called Slate. It was an odd looking town with multicoloured houses.

Luckily, Ferondeer had brought some money so they decided to sleep the rest of the night in a hotel. The bed was itchy so they didn't sleep most of the night but they got a little rest. After waking up, they decided to look around the village for shops which sold food and water. Plodding through the town, they walked past some strange people. They had long grey beards with brown robes on. Volk said, "They looked like the guild of magic."

Ferondeer replied, "What is the guild of magic?"

Shocked, Volk replied, "Great wizards!"

After getting food and water, they eventually continued on their journey. After a few hours, they realised they were being followed but by this time it was dark! The trouble was they couldn't see the person who was following them so they decided they needed to take turns watching for anything suspicious while the other one slept. Gratefully, Volk volunteered to keep watch first so Ferrondeer slowly fell asleep.

Suddenly, he woke up to the cry of pain. It was Volk. He was on the floor with an arrow straight into his leg. Ferondeer jumped up and reached for his sword but it was too late. A crack of a bow silenced the moment, and he knew the person he was dealing with was in for the blood.

Volk crawled for cover and reached for his bow. He takes one of his finest Dwarven arrows and shoots it into a nearby tree. The next thing he hears is the sound of branches cracking, followed by a large thump! Desperately he looks over the rock that he is leant against to see if the shot was a kill. He shouts, "Don't worry now, he's a goner."

Just before they sleep for the rest of the night, they decided to search the body. It was a male who was very slender with a hooded black robe. They found was a note saying, "Kill two people at Shirewood Forest. Reward £1000." It also had a strange looking symbol at the bottom. Ferondeer said, "It looks like a symbol my brother once used..."

Eventually they both fell asleep...

Next morning, they both woke up and realised that in the distance was the castle they had longed to see, though they now wished they were so far away from it; nevertheless they had started the quest and now they have to finish it.

Searching through the last bit woodland, they finally reached their destination. Or maybe their final destination. Entering the dark walls of the castle, they feel drained and tired but they must go on!

Inside the castle, it's cold and full of cobwebs, but they proceed into the great hall. They see a great statue of a knight, which looks almost real. They start to walk to another room in this magnificent castle but they hear the cracking of stone!

They turn and to their horror they see the statue is no longer a statue! As this knight slowly walks towards them, unsheathing his sword, they decide to run. They run from room to room but Ferondeer turns when he hears Volk collapse to the floor, the injury to his leg overcoming him!

Volk screams, "Go, Ferondeer! Complete your quest. I wasn't made to be a hero, I will delay him!"

Running away, Ferondeer takes his last look at Volk before he hears the final blow. He knows he needs to carry on with this quest since Volk is now dead! As Ferondeer comes up to the final room, he sees in the corner of the room a shiny blade so sharp he cuts his hand while lifting it up. He is cornered! The knight is running, smashing door after door, getting closer and closer towards Ferondeer.

Eventually, he's staring into his black helmet slots where eyes should be but there are none. Waiting for the first move, Ferondeer finds himself slowly gripping harder onto the soft material of the blade's hilt. The knight lifts his sword, ready to strike, but Ferondeer thinks, This is my time to strike! Hastily, he feels his blade cleaving through the knight's neck. The next thing he sees is the knight's helmet falling to the floor following a loud crash!

He grabs the knight's helmet and proceeds to the exit but as he is just leaving, he hears a cry for help.

He turns back around to investigate; it sounds like a young women. It's coming from the cellar. He sees her chained to the wall, uncuffs her and gives her a drink of his pure water and piece of bread. She explains how she was captured by the knight in Shirewood Forest and locked her down here for about a week. She adds, "If you didn't come, I would have starved to death. My name's Samantha." As they ran together from the castle, Ferondeer found out she knew the way to sleeping woods.

Stopping off at a mountainside, they gathered up all the food they could get and boiled it up in small pan which they found in the main hall of the castle. After eventually eating their remaining food, they decided to sleep to get all their energy back for tomorrow. While Ferondeer was asleep, Samantha took a dagger from Ferondeer's bag; she was just ready to strike but she says to herself, What am I doing? I can't do this! At that moment, she drops the dagger and Ferondeer wakes. At his astonishment, they are touching lips. She decides to confess that she is his paid assassin and she couldn't do it because she loves him!

That day, they set off on a long journey to the Sleeping Woods. On the way, Ferondeer asked Samantha, "Are you any good with a bow?"

She replied, "I'm okay."

Ferondeer replied, "Well, we're going to need every arrow."

Eventually, they got to the Sleeping Woods. It was a misty place with fog surrounding them. Trekking through the forest, they searched around for anything mysterious. There was nothing!

They approached a tree with a dead body hanging there, swishing from side to side. The body was pale and was wearing a ripped red shirt and torn blue trousers. They turned around to walk the opposite way but SMASH! They turned around with fright and to their astonishment the dead body was chasing after them. It started off as a crawl and then got up to a full on run. They stood strong and Ferondeer sliced at the zombie with his sword while Samantha rapidly shot her arrows. There was a problem: it wasn't hurting the zombie in any way.

Suddenly, Ferondeer had a great idea; he thought, Why don't I use the sword which I used to kill the knight with? So he told Samantha to cover him while he gets it out and he takes off his backpack and reaches for the soft material of the handle and pulls it out. He tightens his grip on the handle and chops through the air but this time, he misses! He's just about ready to retry but the zombie goes to attack. Ferondeer blocks it by turning his medieval sword to the left. He twisted it back and slices the zombie's hand clean off.

Obviously, the zombie is weak now so Samantha shoots the zombie straight through the eye to distract him while Ferondeer takes the final move. He runs up to the zombie, does a 360 twist holding the sword out and slices the zombie's head straight off.

At this moment, a tree splits in half. Inside the tree, he beholds the final piece to his quest. He shouts out with glory, "YES!" and sprints to the bow, feeling the smooth wood of the frame and the dense string. He places the bow in his backpack and calls over Samantha. She jumps down from the tree where she has been shooting her arrows from and slowly jogs over.

Ferondeer began to speak, "I have not been fully true with you. I am a prince and my dream was to be king but my dad said I had to complete these quests to be king. So, to say thank you for helping me through this quest, will you come back to my kingdom and marry me?"

She quickly replied, "YES."

That night they set back to the kingdom, hoping to arrive at about 7am...

Eventually getting to the castle gates, all the crowds were cheering with happiness. They slowly entered, holding hands, and the crowds parted, making a line in the middle for them to walk down. The king was seated on his throne and beside him was a crown sitting on a red cushion with yellow ribbon around it. Ferondeer started to walk a little faster; in the background, he could hear the trumpet playing and all the crowds cheering. He eventually got to the finish line and his father questioned, "Who is this?"

He replied, "My wife and the wedding is tomorrow."

He reached for the crown and placed it on his head.

The Secret of His Success

by

Mr Chappell, Caretaker

I called 'em my junkie food. I couldn't get enough; I'd fry 'em for breakfast, pop 'em raw with my dinner-time sandwiches, and always find room for a half-tin fix with my tea, no matter what our lass'd cooked. She said I'd soon be looking like a tomato, I was eating so many.

I was hooked. I'd beg 'em, borrow 'em and yes, even steal 'em when my neighbour left his greenhouse unattended. It seemed my addiction was turning me into a criminal and there was no cure. Then old Jack walked into the tap room.

He came in bragging he'd won a first prize in the garden show for his tomatoes. I was all ears. I waited until the time was right and cornered him.

"Gi' us a few o' your toms, Jack," I said subtly.

Surprisingly, he refused. You'd think he'd have been only too pleased to let a connoisseur like me sample his produce. Anyway, I can be very persuasive. I kept on at him and in the end, he cracked.

Next time I saw him, he handed me a brown paper bag. There was a twinkle in his eye. He must have been proud. I opened the bag and feasted my eyes. They sat there like big red caviar. I bit one. It was better than that. It was food more than fit for the gods. Ambrosia was nothing compared to it.

From that day forward, I gorged myself. As soon as one bag emptied, I begged another, and good old Jack always obliged. He knew how I loved 'em; that twinkle was in his eyes every time he gave me some.

It was a hot autumn day. Over my sixth pint, I hinted that it would be a pity when the supply died up.

"They've gone quick this year," he remarked.

I came to the point, "I've been wondering how come your toms are so good."

He squinted at me inscrutably.

"What's your secret?" I asked bluntly. "Why are your toms so good?" I leaned towards him like a police interrogator.

He said nothing.

"Come on, Jack, tell us. I want to grow some next year and share 'em out just like you." It was a lie, of course. I'd no intention of sharing. I waited expectantly.

He sat there for a good two minutes. The suspense was killing me. Finally, he shrugged, finished his pint and put his cap on.

"Come on, then," he said.

I could have jumped for joy.

Behind his two-up and two-down, the garden wasn't the Eden I'd imagined it to be. Just a patch of uncut grass, a brick lav and a greenhouse that held, not unexpectedly, much more green than red.

"Go on then," I challenged him, "tell us how you do it."

He led me to the space behind the lav. "There, that's what you need."

"Compost! Aye." It was that simple. I sniffed and the smell of it seemed to stir something inside me. I regretted having finished my last pint so quickly. I shuffled about a bit. It was no good. I had to ask.

"Er, can I use your lav?"

"Doesn't work," he remarked.

"What about inside?"

"Ain't got one."

I thought there were no unmodernised houses left. "So what do you, er, do?"

"Bucket."

My eyes widened. "Really? What do you do with...?" I gulped as the realisation hit me. He was looking at the compost heap. The twinkle was in his eyes. At that moment, there was no way our lass'd think I was tomato looking; I was more like the leaves in Jack's greenhouse.

The Story of My Life

by

Lauren Cherry, 8HW

My name is Holly. I am ninety-nine years old and I live on the village of Lower Ashburn. My village is a quiet little town in the middle of London and here is my life story. In 1894, I was planted; Martin is my saviour, he is the one who gave me the gift of life! When it was my thirteenth birthday, Martin had forgotten about me, he had a family of his own now, although he did water me every day! By 1903, I had reached twenty-two and many things had already happened to me... I forgot to tell you, three years ago they had planted another tree next to me. He was called Luke Rooternsteen and when I first laid my eyes on this magnificent creature, I knew he was the one!

Many months had gone by and we had been getting to know each other a lot better than I had anticipated. One morning, I had the most curious feeling; there was a little sapling growing up through the ground. We named him Jerome and I knew I was going to be a great parent! Everything was perfect and it was not until Jerome had become twenty that things got worse. The park in which I had been planted had been deserted; no one had been there for many years. It is as if there were not a creature in the world, and because people had stopped visiting the park, we all were getting worried!

By the time the war had begun in 1939 (1st September), it had reached us. The smells of death and hatred had just been too much. Luke had been badly injured; I thought we had lost him. I just knew that the pain had been too much for him and by the time of the next morning, he had gone, we just knew it: all of his branches had wilted. All had gone quiet without him. Jerome had got to that stage when he needed to leave; he needed someone else to love and to nature, a partner in life!

When the war ended in 1945, a message was sent round the village. Martin had died. The devastation shocked me, but one thing made my day: his wife and children came to see me, and left a message on me. It read:

"Dear Holly, I am really sorry that Martin had to leave you, especially me and the children, and that every time we enter the park we will always remember you and Martin. I believe that you will be the best you can be."

In 1975, I experienced the most romantic thing. On 11th April, this most romantic couple had a heck of a time; they used me as their bench whilst they were having their picnic. They had the time of their life! The night lasted forever; I had fallen asleep and then, when I woke up, their initials had been engraved in me; it hurt but it was a good feeling. At least I knew that they would be with me forever and ever.

I am now getting to that stage in life when things start to get more difficult for me. My arms are starting to get more and more limp and they ache more and more each day. I am starting to achieve the things in life which I have been meaning to do since I was a little sprouting; relaxing and just enjoying life! Now, the park is in the busiest time of the year since it is summer and more and more families are having their days out here. Memories have just come back to me, just me and Martian at the thankful times. When he said his last goodbyes to his family and me!

By the way, I am a tree with just fabulous memories and I am privileged to share them with you all.

On Saturday 27th March 1984, Holly Rooternsteen, aged one hundred, died. The park is empty now and in her place there will be a new life form who will be the same as Holly.

The Story of My Life...

by

Chloe Myles, 8HW

I believe I can do it. I can do anything at all. I could fly if I wanted to. I believe I can be a superhero. Even superheroes with superpowers want to fly. I believe that if I try that I can achieve everything in the world! Anybody can, even a tin can. Everybody might think they are a piece of rubbish but inside they have something special, and it's not beans... People think you can do anything without trying but that isn't true. You have to work hard and try your best to succeed in life.

Once, when I was younger, I believed I could ride a bike, but I had to try hard to learn so I could achieve my dream. You can't just get on a bike straight away and just start riding it. You have to actually try your best to learn and in the end you will succeed. You have to try to succeed in reaching goals in life.

You have to work your hardest to succeed all your life. Like when you're applying for a job you can't just say I want this job, you need to work hard and have experience so you can achieve in getting the job and that could take you even further in life. You could be a star, even a lifesaver.

So just remember: don't just think you can do anything... Just work hard and then try harder.

Remember those words: Believe, Achieve, Succeed....

The White Ghost

by

Jordan Meaney, 7SE

The superhero the White Ghost is really Zeak Geraro, who is aged fifteen and goes to Elmorre High. He is able to walk through walls and come up, invisible, behind any villain. His mum and dad don't know he is the White Ghost; only Lucy Schuler, his girlfriend, knows the truth!

The White Ghost's rival is called the Black Phantom. He wants to know who the White Ghost is, so that he can make him beg for mercy. The Black Phantom is really Adam Schuler, the owner of a huge newspaper and he issues a cash prize of a hundred-and-six million dollars to whoever can catch him. The police are bamboozled.

The very next day, the famous Adam Schuler drops Lucy Schuler off at Zeak's home and he sees something white in the kitchen, in front of the washer, with blood stains on the suit. Suspicious, Adam invites himself in, winning over Zeak's mum and recognises the undercoat to the White Ghost's costume. He cannot believe it. His daughter is dating his nemesis!

The Black Phantom kidnaps Lucy by beaming her up from school into his spaceship and the White Ghost goes free running on the end of the rocket. They have a space moon battle and the White Ghost kicks the Black Phantom into the sun.

Zeak and Lucy have three kids and settle down in the suburbs and have lots of fun with their kids.

Three Crows and a Bear

by

Mr Gittner, Assistant Head

Dappled sunlight. The wind whispering in the trees. Birdsong. The sights and sounds of the woodland in the early autumn sunlight. Old Jonesey stood motionless in the lee of a tree. His camouflage jacket helping him to blend into the undergrowth. He lifted his camera, the green woodpecker framed perfectly in the viewfinder. Then it was gone, flitting through the trees. Sighing, he set off after it, moving without a sound through the trees, revelling in his recently acquired skill. Since retiring, he's spent hours in the wood, stalking the wildlife, learning their ways, enjoying the quiet and isolation. He taught himself to step lightly through the trees without a sound, carefully placing his feet so as to not to alarm his quarry or disturb the quiet woodland around him. He found the bird again and recomposed his shot. Before he could press the shutter down, it was gone again. Disturbed by something. Its alarm call echoing around the glade. Then Jonesey heard it, too. The whine of two over-revving small engines. He cursed under his breath, the peace of his woodland broken. The harsh noise of the motorbikes drowned out the birdsong, shattering the quiet. Moving once again through the trees, he stopped in the deep shade of a rhododendron where he could see the track.

The woodland, his woodland, was a small plantation that had grown up around ancient iron works. Isolated from nearby woods by open fields, it had one track that led from a gate next to his house into the middle of the trees then petered out. Not extensive enough to interest walkers or mountain bikers, it was largely forgotten and for most of the time unvisited. It was a haven for birds and wildlife and Old Jonesey spent most days stalking the residents of the wood. Revelling in its peace after thirty-five years in the classroom.

In his younger days, he had been the bright young thing, organising trips, involved in school sport, his classroom had a buzz, the children enjoying his teaching. But as the years passed so did his energy. His peers gradually retired and left, the gap between him and the children widened. His lessons became a challenge, the students less respectful, his temper shorter, until one day he'd pinned a student to the wall by the throat and he knew it was over. There had been an embarrassing last day, his colleagues generous but not knowing what to say. There was a cake and a cheque, with which he bought his camera and he left.

Along the track came a boy on a small motorbike. Dressed in full motocross leathers, with body armour and helmet, he revved his bike along the track, its underpowered engine shattering the peace of the woods. He was followed slowly by a friend, his bike not quite so new, dressed in jeans and trainers – not as spoiled. The Brannigan's boy and his friend. Old Jonesey knew the family. Following some way behind came Sean Brannigan, a white England football shirt stretched over his belly, sweating with the exertion of carrying a long scaffolding plank, its ends bobbing up and down as he waddled along the path. Jonesey remembered him from school. He had tried to teach him chemistry, a large, difficult boy with little interest in school, who in his later years had spent more time smoking behind the sports hall than studying. He'd eventually been excluded, the headteacher at the time threatening he would come to nothing. Brannigan had worked as a builder's labourer, and then a bricky and had eventually done all right, running his own building firm. He'd done all right enough to spoil his lad. Jonesey watched him pass then stepped down from the trees.

"They shouldn't be riding their bikes along here, it's a bridlepath, they aren't allowed."

Brannigan stopped and turned; flicking his cigarette stub away, he squinted into the sun. "It's you Jonesey again, isn't it?"

"They shouldn't be riding along here." Jonesey repeated.

"What's it got to do wi'thee? Tha alus woz a weirdo."

"It's a bridlepath, they shouldn't ride motorbikes along it."

"Duz tha' own the path?"

Jonesey failed to reply, his face calm, emotionless.

"Duz tha' own the path?"

Silence. Even the birds and woods were quiet, listening, tense.

"No tha doesn't. So keep tha nose art. And if I catch thee taking photos of my lad, I'll smash tha' camera."

Turning, he continued along the path, wheezing slightly under the weight of the plank, the noise of the two engines getting quieter as they disappeared into the wood.

Jonesey stepped off the track once again into the trees and followed them. He knew where they were heading. The wood was home to a number of ancient bell pits; the remains of iron workings long since abandoned and now forming treeless dips in the woods. The Brannigans had turned one into a race track, riding up one of the slopes, through some trees, before dropping once again into the hollow. The increasingly regular motorbike trips were an unwelcome presence in the quiet of his woods. Noiselessly, he tracked them through the trees, until in some shadowed undergrowth he knelt to observe them. They'd clearly planned this, bringing the plank to create a ramp which the young motorcyclists could use to ride up one of the steeper sides of the hollow and so extending their track. The plank bent alarmingly and it required some skill from the riders. Brannigan junior was confidently gunning his bike up the slope, his friend unsure, not yet braving the ramp. Jonesey watched them for a while, and then Brannigan, finishing yet another cigarette, decided his fatherly duties were over and called time on the riding and set off down the track. A thirst for a pint and the need to check the football scores calling him away. Reluctantly, his young charges followed him along the track and into the gloom of the early evening.

Stepping into the hollow, Jonesey mounted the ramp. He bounced tentatively on the plank, and then more confidently. The wood bent under his weight and he heard it give. He bounced again, this time with more effort. Again the plank cracked, this time with a snap so loud in the silence of the woods he wondered if Brannigan would hear it.

"This is a bit dangerous, someone could have an accident on this," he said quietly to the woods.

He bounced again and the plank cracked and split a little more. He stepped off the plank and turned it over. The newly exposed lighter wood was clearly visible even in the dusk light. He took a handful of dirt and rubbed it into the broken wood and turned the plank back over. He checked round the hollow – it looked like he had never been there – and set off down the track. The silence of the woods returned, the whine of the engine a distant memory; he wrapped the quiet around him and returned to his home at the end of the track.

The news said it was just a "tragic accident". His headmaster was interviewed on television describing how he was a lovely, lively lad, well-liked by his peers. Brannigan was seen comforting his sobbing wife. The local paper put it on the front page, describing in detail how the young motorcyclist had ridden up an old scaffolding plank which had snapped and he been impaled on the splintered end. The isolation of the pit and the locked gate prevented the rescue services arriving in time. His father was quoted as blaming himself for not "burning the old thing" and how he would "live with the guilt forever". There was a quote from the local Police Superintendent, who offered the family his condolences but warned other motorcyclists of the dangers of riding illegally off road. The local TV even came, its over made-up presenter interviewing local residents by the gate. Jonesey watched them from his house but no one asked him. Tens of Brannigans' family and friends brought flowers and soft toys and soon there was a shrine to the dead rider by the gate. Small candles in jam jars illuminating the bouquets. After a few days, there was a tearful funeral, the crematorium overflowing. Then there was another news story, a hospital closing and a girl gone missing and the story was forgotten. The council erected a new sign by the gate and the landowner of the woods asked his gamekeeper to patrol the woods for a while. He put a new padlock on the gate and shot a few crows, which he nailed to the fence near the gate. A warning to other crows or to tell his boss he was doing his job: ridding the woods of pests and vermin. Jonesey talked with him once, on one of his walks. The two of them self-consciously and uneasily exchanged pleasantries one grey autumn morning. Then the gamekeeper left, to tend pheasant chicks that had to be released in another wood, and Jonesey had the winter woods and the quiet to himself.

The flowers died, the soft toys faded, and both rotted in the rain. Jonesey phoned the council a few times but when nobody came to clear them away, he put the flowers on his compost heap and one evening burned the soft toys. He did keep one toy; a miniature teddy dressed as a motorcyclist complete with helmet and gauntlets. Jonesey took nails and a hammer and fixed it to the fence next to the crows. The ringing of the hammer echoing around the wood. He then replaced his hammer in the shed and picked up his camera. He gently closed the shed door, careful not to disturb the brooding woods. He pulled his camouflage jacket around him and stalked into the trees. He sighed, enjoying the silence around him. He'd succeeded. The woods, his woods, were quiet once again.

TITO

by

Mr Chappell, Caretaker

Snowflakes parachuted onto the icy playground. My friends tried to jump on them as they touched the ground. Lasses and lads teetered bambi-like, trying hard not to slip on their backsides. Some failed. I shivered and thought of the teachers who were no doubt enjoying their tea and toast in the warmth of the staff room. There was a place we dreaded. If you were ever summoned you went with a heavy heart; a little because you feared whatever punishment you were about to get; but mostly because you went in breathing normally and came out coughing like an old miner. The foul smoke they produced with their ubiquitous pipes and untipped cigarettes was worse than a whack on the hand from the headmaster's 'correction stick' as he so smugly called it.

Jim scrambled to his feet, brushing melting snowflakes from his trousers. He saw me standing in the classroom doorway stamping my feet against the cold. "C'mon Robbo," he yelled with disdain, "you look a right prat standing there on yer own."

Jim was deliberately trying to annoy me but I didn't rise to his bait. "Not flippin' likely," I muttered. "I broke me leg last year when we were kicking that crisp packet about on the ice. And me nan says if I break it again I'll have to have it cut off."

Jim laughed and turned his back. "Nutter," he said, grabbing a girl's ponytail and pulling it until she slipped to the ground crying.

I stepped out of the doorway and strode carefully towards him. I wanted to teach him that boys should never pick on, or hit girls. It was ungentlemanly, Mum always told me.

Jim had found a snowdrift at the bottom of a classroom wall and was scraping snow into a tiny pile, clearly to throw it in someone's face, as he loved to do.

I was just about to grab him by the collar as a car pulled up on the road outside. I stopped and stared. The car was big and black and American style like the ones I'd seen in James Cagney and Humphrey Bogart films. The driver's door opened. A huge figure walked around the car's bonnet. It was a man of fearsome size and a demeanour as awesome as God. There was something in Him that you immediately knew, without being told, ought to be revered. It crossed my mind that this could actually be God Himself, come to punish us for our playground misdemeanours. Or worse; the Godfather.

Most of Him was covered by the biggest black overcoat I'd ever seen. All I could see of His face was a huge handlebar moustache and deep wrinkles around eyes that matched the colour of His overcoat and His hat. It was a fedora. I knew because I'd seen lots of gangsters wearing them in the films I watched with Mum and Nan.

I was suddenly aware of my school mates gathering around me. We watched, fascinated, as He, with a huge brown hand, opened the passenger door. He spoke in a voice as deep as the disused pit where none of us ever dared to go. Yet there was an unnerving kindness in the voice too.

"Come now, Tito, courage. All is new today but there is nothing to fear. Remember what I told you. You must believe in yourself then you can achieve anything." I recognised his accent from my favourite films. He was surely Mafia!

A small pair of gleaming black boots, grey knee length socks, bony knees and grey shorts dangled from the car's dark interior. Then came the top half of a small boy as he jumped to the ground. He too was clad mostly in black; a black gabardine coat embellished by knitted black gloves, scarf and pompom hat. He looked up at the old man. There was appeal in his dark brown eyes. The appeal was in vain as He pushed the car door shut, led the boy through the school gate, kissed him on the top of the head and pushed him into our midst. "Go make friends," He said and left the boy standing there looking at his boots.

The boy's entrance seemed surreal. I looked him up and down, puzzled by the unsuitability of his clothes. They were not at all like ours. This being nineteen sixty-four, most of us had managed to harangue our parents into buying us T-shirts and denim jeans held up by snake belts. Sneakers were our preferred footwear, though our mothers had the final say when it came to wrapping up against the cold. How incongruous we must have looked with duffle coats and balaclava helmets covering our trendy clothes. The boy, however, stood out like a deer in a lion's den. It was a while before any of us said anything. Then one by one lasses began to giggle. Their giggles were soon superseded by the belly laughs of the lads. Our new friend continued to stand there. Though his head was bowed, I saw his mouth begin to twitch.

I couldn't tell if he was talking or crying. There was so much noise around us.

Then a voice screamed over the cacophony, "Shurrup!" It was Jim pushing his way through the crowd, and as he neared the boy, "SHURRUP!" even louder than before.

The boy jumped back, momentarily startled, then, with his head up, his lips continued to move. I saw now that he wasn't crying.

Jim's voice rose an octave as he look around at us in wonder. "Flippin' eck, he's hummin'."

The crowd fell silent and listened. It was a tune I didn't recognise though it sounded like something I'd once heard in a gangster film. We were spellbound by the surreality of the scenario. Then the spell broke as the boy fell backwards onto the icy tarmac, pushed by a pair of grubby hands. I didn't have to look who owned them. I moved swiftly, and this time succeeded in grabbing Jim's collar. As he tried to wriggle out of my grasp I booted his fat backside three times, once for bullying the boy, once for calling me a prat, and remembering Nan's advice that everything happens in threes, once for good measure. Jim scowled at me and skulked away as I helped the astonished boy to his feet.

"What's your name, kid?" I demanded in what I believed was a passable impression of my hero, James Cagney.

He looked up me and said nothing.

"So you don't want to talk," I continued in the same voice, "well, maybe I can persuade you." I squinted at him threateningly, raising one eyebrow at his perplexed expression.

He relaxed and grinned. "Is Tito," he said. 'Is' sounded more like 'ees'.

"Ah, eet ees, ees eet? What was eet again?"

For a second, he frowned, then realising I was only teasing, "TITO," he repeated loudly, "T. I. T. O."

Lads and lasses gathered round. "Tito from Quito," they chanted. We all chuckled, remembering a recent geography lesson.

"Actually I'm from Italia, and so is Poppa," Tito insisted.

I worked things out quickly. "Who's Poppa? The old man?"

Tito nodded as I led him by the arm out of the cold and into the classroom. As we walked through the door, he was humming again. I somehow suspected this school wasn't going to be an easy place for Tito to be though there was no doubt in my mind that we would become friends.

As I expected, the next day wasn't a great one for Tito. He'd made the grave mistake of dressing as he did the day before. I feared the worst. Trouble was inevitable. I wasn't surprised when, at playtime, a gang of lads approached. I glanced around, uneasy, as they began to circle us. I put myself between Tito and the ringleaders and stretched out my arms. I backed Tito towards a classroom wall and shielded him. I took a deep lungful of icy air and glanced at each gang member, waiting for the first blow to be struck.

"You look a right state," mocked one, pointing to his attire.

"Hey, Tito from Quito with the funny accent," added another with plenty of derision in his voice.

Then I recognised Jim's squawk. "Gerrim!"

Blows rained on me as Tito's skinny arms came around my body in a futile attempt to double our resistance. I fought like I'd never had to fight in my life. I managed to land a couple of good ones on Jim's ugly mug and knocked a couple of others on their backsides before the headmaster appeared. The gang scattered. Jim and I were led by our ears into the opium den of a staff room. We emerged with sore ears, palms and lungs, and shook hands and nodded at each other in the corridor. I knew then that Tito was safe from further hostility.

Later, in the playground, Tito hummed a tune for everyone and drew a round of applause from his audience. He bowed to us in appreciation and, I'm ashamed to admit, we all fell about laughing. Tito simply grinned at us. He had some spirit. I was liking him more and more.

"You are very strong and brave Roberto," Tito said afterwards. "Thank you for helping me. I could not have fought those boys as you did. You will grow to be a sportsman, I think."

I sighed. "Actually Tito, I wanted to be a professional footballer when I grow up but that won't happen now me leg's no good. I suppose I'll end up down the pit like my dad." It was a struggle for me to get the next sentence out. "That's what killed him." I felt my lip trembling at the memory of his early death and I almost lost control.

Tito put his hand on my arm. "I know how you feel," he said simply.

There was something reassuring about the statement and I felt better.

Mum liked how I'd taken to the newcomer and that I'd clearly helped him to settle. She'd asked me to invite him around for tea on Sunday. I was pleased that Poppa had agreed. I walked into the front room and caught Mum and Nan each holding the edge of a separate net curtain and opening a small gap between the curtain and the window frame. They peeped through as the black car drew up outside.

Tito walked slowly up the path, taking in the privet hedge, nasturtiums and irises.

"Hello, Roberto," he said as I opened the front door to him. I quite liked the name he'd given me. It sounded tough. Then, "How do you do?" was addressed with confident politeness to Mum and Nan in turn. I could almost swear Nan curtsied but I think it may have been her arthritic knees playing up.

After dinner, which was pork chops, peas, mashed potatoes and gravy, followed by tinned peaches and ice cream, the four of us sat on the sofa to watch television. It was a black and white oldie. One of my favourites. There were cops and gangsters and big black cars like Poppa's. A chase ended in the gangsters' car crashing into the freezing waters of a harbour. It was the end of the film. The credits appeared and the music began.

Tito hummed along. Nan looked at him. "I know that tune," she said. "It's O Sole mio, isn't it?"

Tito grinned. "Yes it is."

Nan continued. "I'm amazed such a young chap like you knows it."

Mum nodded. "Do you know the words? They sound so romantic."

"Yes, Poppa taught me the words. He is a very good teacher."

"Go on, then, give us a song," Nan demanded, and shuffled over to her arm chair by the fire.

Tito blushed, then took a deep breath, got to his feet, and leaning his elbow on the corner of the mantelpiece, began to sing.

We were captivated by his singing, as sweet as that of any church choir boy.

The words were mystifying to us but it didn't matter. Nan was entranced. She shut her eyes and promptly fell asleep. Tito reached the finale then sat down as we applauded enthusiastically.

At the sound of the applause, Nan sat up and looked directly at Tito. "Why do you live with your granddad?" she asked abruptly. "Where are your parents?"

Tito didn't answer. He looked at me, tears forming in his eyes, then got up and flew out of the door before anyone could stop him. As we looked out of the window, a snowball splattered on the glass directly in front of Nan's nose. She gasped and fell backwards onto a dining chair.

"Of all the, the..." she spluttered. I don't know what she was trying to say but I'm sure it wasn't complimentary.

"Come on," Mum ordered as she wrapped a yellow scarf round her head and put on her winter coat and boots. "Get wrapped up. We'd better get after him. The poor little blighter hasn't even picked up his coat. He'll catch his death."

I knocked tentatively at the brown front door of Poppa's house. It opened. Poppa smiled down at us in a way that filled me with fear. I looked at Mum and saw that she was frowning. I didn't know what to expect. Was He angry with us? Were we about to exchange our winter wear for concrete overcoats?

Poppa bowed delicately at Mum. "Please come in," he said and led us into a front room. "Excuse me one moment." He left us alone to take in our surroundings.

The room held a great leather Chesterfield sofa, three or four dining chairs and something I'd only ever seen in the school hall; a piano. A couple of music stands held sheets of symbols I knew nothing at all about.

Mum was sitting stiffly on the Chesterfield. "Sit up straight," she ordered as Poppa returned with a silver tray that held a flowered tea pot, and matching milk jug, sugar bowl and cups. There were even saucers under the cups. In our house, only Nan had a cup and saucer. Mum and I always drank our tea from cheap mugs from the market.

We heard a shuffling outside the door as Poppa placed the tray on a small wooden table in front of us and pulled up a chair alongside it. He began to pour golden tea into the pearly white insides of the cups. He stopped pouring momentarily and called out, "Come in now, boy. Don't be shy of our guests."

Tito entered the room, head bowed like the first time we met. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Mum stood up and hugged him. "Don't worry, lad. It was our fault you got upset. Nan shouldn't have spoken to you like that."

Poppa, standing now by the piano, with his great long arms folded behind his back, spoke with an air of calm authority. "Please be seated Mrs Brook." He handed her a cup and saucer. "Do you take sugar and milk?"

"Yes, please." Mum went red instantly. I'm sure she loved being treated so nicely.

Poppa sighed. "Now I must explain. Tito here is my grandson. I'm sure you were already aware." He hesitated then took a deep breath. "My daughter and her husband were unfortunately killed while driving in my country. Our hairpin bends are notorious, you know. Tito is their son." Poppa stroked the end of his moustache, cleared his throat and continued, looking directly at me, "Roberto, I am not Mafioso."

Seeing my embarrassment, He chuckled and winked. "Yes, Tito has told me of your suspicion. However, I am less interesting than that; I am a simple music teacher from Florence. I came to this country not to escape the Godfather's revenge, but to be near my other daughter, who, with her husband, owns and runs a restaurant in the city.

Tito looked up at Him. Poppa put a long arm around Tito's shoulders. "From an early age, I taught this boy to play piano and to sing. His piano playing is very good." He held out the palms of his free hand and shrugged slightly then stretched out his arms to his audience and proclaimed, "But his singing is beautiful." Tito beamed as we nodded in agreement. "One day, my friends, this boy will sing at the Opera." He paused and regarded the wonder on our faces. "You know how I know this?" Mum and I shook our heads. "Because he believes in himself." The words were emphatically put and not to be disregarded. "And because he believes, he will achieve everything he wants to achieve in his life. Isn't that so, Tito?"

"Si, Poppa," replied my friend, nodding and smiling.

Poppa turned to me. "You, Roberto must also believe. You are like my boy. You have no father but you have a mother who loves you." I heard Mum sniffle a bit at this. "Roberto, you are strong. Believe in yourself. Then, my young friend, you shall succeed."

They were words I never forgot. Inspired by them I started playing football again. I was big for my age and quickly established myself as one of the best players in school. Two years later, I found myself at a new school. I was now eleven years old and taking my first tentative steps through the doors of a secondary school.

I wasn't particularly overawed by the bigger boys. I played football with them sometimes. After all, I was bigger and more athletic than most of my peers. I became an automatic choice for the school team and the next year I graduated to the City Boys eleven. I thought often of Tito though I hardly ever saw him. He'd passed for the grammar school, and sadly for me, he'd moved to the other side of the city when Poppa became ill and needed to live near his daughter and her husband. Tito and I kept in touch by writing occasionally so each of us knew how the other was progressing.

Then came the most exciting moment of my life. A teacher told me I'd been invited for a trial with Rovers, in the third division of the football league! Naturally I wrote to Tito and told him all about my hopes and fears. It was an exciting opportunity but I was very much afraid to fail. I thought maybe he'd offer some words of encouragement to his friend. Much to my disappointment he didn't reply. I knew he was occasionally travelling to London to train with his voice coach. He had high hopes of becoming a professional singer. In my heart, I was pleased for him. That was what he always wanted and I knew that with his self belief that was what he would achieve.

Two weeks later, I attended the Rovers training ground. I was petrified. After all, you only got one trial for Rovers. Fail and you were probably never heard of again. There must have been fifty of us there, all would-be professional footballers. I recognised some, having played against them for school or city. A crowd of about a hundred friends and relatives surrounded us, as in small groups we passed and headed balls to each other, trying hard to stand out, hoping one of the coaches who were watching keenly called us over for an encouraging word.

I was as clumsy as a donkey. One of my so called passes went not to another player but instead missed him by a goal's width and hit a track-suited coach on the back of the head. I blushed as he turned and glared at me. I thought my chance had gone. My chin dropped.

Then a voice I recognised came from the crowd behind me; "Roberto, what did I tell you?" In His mellifluous Mafia tones, He continued as I turned to face Him, "Believe in yourself, Roberto. Only then you will succeed. Look, I am disabled now but I still move around with the help of this wonderful wheelchair and my fine strong grandson." Poppa thumped the palm of his hand to stress the point.

Tito had grown as tall as his granddad. He had a barrel chest. He grinned like a sheep, let go of the wheelchair handles and stretched across to shake my hand warmly. His voice boomed at me. "You can do this, Roberto. I know you can." His eyes were sincere. It was clear he believed in me, so why should I not believe in myself? I let go of his hand and turned back to the playing field just as a ball bounced off my shoulder and came to rest on the grass nearby.

"Last chance, kid," said the coach whose head I'd previously hit. He folded his arms and waited. Some of my fellow triallists were already trudging dejectedly off the pitch. I didn't want to join them.

I stretched out a leg, spun the ball backwards with my studs, and tapped the ball up in the air with my instep. It rose to head height. I sidestepped towards it and let it bounce off one shoulder then the other. It dropped to my thigh and stayed there, balancing, until I lowered my leg slowly. The ball rolled down my shin and reached my instep again. Lightning quick, I flicked it towards the coach's track suit top. He caught the ball, grinning.

"Come here, kid, let's have another look at you," he said. He led me by my arm towards a heavily built bald man wearing a dark brown sheepskin coat and smoking a fat cigar. I recognised the Rover's manager instantly and my heart skipped a beat. Grinning as broadly as the donkey, I was starting to think I was in and I turned to my friends with a thumb held up in front of me.

"Thanks," I said.

Tito winked at me: Poppa nodded knowingly.

To Point the Gun

by

Amy Ward, 8HW

Life there was harder than I thought. I didn't expect to be sent out, onto the field. It was just a bit of training when I was younger, to toughen me up, that was all. But it turns out that the training was more than just a little bit of fun. It turns out that life seems to pick just the right moments to pull you out and put you through hell. I was becoming bitter and I could see that, but I had the right. I was here, scared for my life and fighting for my country. The country that had been home to me for the last twenty-four years, the country that had been the place of comfort and warmth through my childhood, but also the country that had gotten itself into a war, and it was our job to win it, whether we wanted to or not.

I can remember the face of the first person I shot, the first person I killed. The look of fear in his eyes struck guilt into my heart before I had even pulled the trigger. And even though that was over a year ago, the guilt still stays with me to this very date. I hated it here. I hated the conditions, I hated the constant feeling of fear, but most of all I hated the feeling of loneliness. I missed my family, I missed my kids and that thought of not being able to see them broke my heart. However, it was that very thought, that very feeling, that gave me hope. It was that feeling that made me believe in myself, that made me have the smallest bit of hope in winning this war, so I could go home and see my children.

It made me push through countless weeks of torture, even though the thought of killing somebody made my heart pound. They had a life, the same way I had mine, and they had to make the same decision as me... as every other soldier had to make when they came face to face with another. To shot or not to shot. To kill or not to kill.

To point the gun takes a soldier, but to shoot takes a soldier with a heart of stone.
Two Lovely Vampires

by

Joshua Sidebottom, 7VKD

One morning, I went to school. When I got into class, the teacher put a new student called Ashleigh next to me because she wanted to sit there. At break, I went to have a drink with my family and when I came back for the next lesson, I couldn't take my eyes off her, because she was very beautiful.

A week passed. When we got back to school, I said to her, "Hello, Ashleigh. My name is Joshua. Sorry I haven't introduced myself before. I have been out of town for a couple of days."

She asked me if I wanted to go to her house for tea and I said, "Okay."

When we got there, I found out that I had seen this house before many times... but I couldn't remember where. So she showed me around her house but her sister Rosalie didn't like me.

Ashleigh took me outside and showed me lots of really high trees and she said, "Do you want to fly around the trees?"

"What do you mean?" I asked. "We can't fly."

She smiled, showing sharp teeth. "I'm a vampire."

I couldn't believe it. "So am I!" I exclaimed.

We went flying into the trees and started talking about the view and the massive lake. We were in love.

Welcome to My World

by

Lauren Mitchell, 7VKD

Monday 18th March

7.00am

Bedroom

Woke up to a snowy blizzard, in March. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's March! Last year, I was barbequing. God knows how I'm going to get to school and I really hope the snow's gone in time for tomorrow's athletics trials to represent the school. I've been dreaming about this for years.

7.30am

My big sister Kirsty just broke some fab news (yes): school is still open so operation look gorgy-gorg is commencing.

8.00am

Just got a big sloppy kiss from Yell (short for Danielle), my little sister, because I'm ready for school. So yeah, welcome to my world in the Coiler household. I basically live in a mad house, my address: Mad Mad House, Mad Lane, Mad-Ville, Mad City, Mad World.

9:30am

School

German

My German teacher has turned into Rolph Harris! Problamo amundo.

9:31am

I wonder if all Germans look and act like Rolph Harris. Nnnahg.

Break

11.00am

Met up with bezzie mate Ashleigh; she's had a fall out with her Swedish boyfriend, Sven, so she wasn't very good company. Then was going to see Jessie until someone poured tomato juice all over my new pencil skirt.

11.05am

Toilet

It's not coming off! I've been here for five minutes and I'm gunna be late for lesson. I've tried scrubbing and scrubbing! Ah, stupid tomato juice.

11.30am

I ended up leaving it but it looks like my hips split!

4.00pm

Home

Trying Mum's new perfume. Just hope my mum or Kirsty or Yell don't find out. Eek!

4.02pm

Busted.

4.10pm

Grounded, for a week! I mean, a week, it's sooo not fair. I asked her to buy me some but she wasn't listening and if she was then none of this would have happened!

Tuesday 19th March

7.30am

Yes, snow's gone, so athletics here I come!

7.31am

Oh no! What happens if I slip and fall or accidentally pour water all over the starter or Mum comes to watch? That would be soooo embarrassing!

10.00am

Trials.

I'm up soon. I'm really nervous; I'm shaking like a leaf! Wish me luck.

10.45am

What a race! It couldn't have gone any better. I was up against a right rubbish lot and I thrashed them. Whoop-whoop.

9.30pm

Nice early night for me. So excited about the results tomorrow! Eek. If I get through, I'm on my way to being the next Jessica Ennis! It's my dream and I'll never give up... Ever...

Wolf

by

Anirudh Agarwal, 7SE

Ryan crept around the crumbling door. As he peered around the musty room beside the marshlands, the ivory moonlight shone through the shattered windows as if it was broad daylight. Dusty cobwebs hung in the corners of the walls. It was jet black inside the forbidding place, and years of dust and debris covered most of rooms with a filthy film of grime.

Every step he took echoed. A piercing howl could be heard in the distance. Ryan looked through one of the broken panes. Nothing. Abruptly, the sound grew louder and louder as it came nearer and nearer towards him. He tiptoed out cautiously. All of a sudden, he bumped into a rather furry object...

It all happened this afternoon, when Ryan and his friends went through the eerie forest nearby, to have a delightful picnic. It was luscious! Tuna sandwiches, grapes, apples and all sorts of tasty treats! After they had finished consuming their delicious lunches, they had a game of dares. They dared each other to go further and deeper into the peculiar woods. Unfortunately for Ryan, he was the only person that had got dared to go to the forbidden place.

Ryan froze. He turned around swiftly to see a large furry fiend towering over him with razor sharp teeth along with immensely gigantic claws. He gasped in horror.

Rapidly, his adrenalin started running, not to mention that his heart began to race. In moments, he started sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him. As he raced through the forest, he came across a mouldy twig but his attempt to leap over it was disastrous. The creature was not far from him now so it decided to ambush him. Despite his efforts to escape, the beast dug his blood-covered teeth into Ryan's flesh. Ryan squealed in pain. However, he would not give up.

The wolf still clinging onto him, he tried to get to his feet to start running again whilst shaking the brute off his wounded upper limb. Within moments, he had wounded the beast with his muscular punches and kicks and was up and running in no time.

Meanwhile, at the picnic spot, the girls and boys were trembling with anxiety and crying out for Ryan, but Ryan couldn't hear them, since he so intensely deep within the woods. For, though Ryan had escaped from the wrath of the animal, he was not aware of any way to leave the jungle...

Ryan thought hard and long, desperate to find a method that would get him anywhere elsewhere, just not here, but no success. At this stage in the woods, his consideration was to try to walk unaware of where he was going to perhaps land at the exit of the labyrinth...

And to this day, he could be stumbling tentatively through the woodlands in an attempt to depart, wearing patches and rags covered in dirt and grime...

Appendices

The following are a few fragments of stories that were not quite finished in time.

Greece: A Modern History

by

James Swift, 8HW

The boy stepped outside of his house and took a deep breath, pursing his lips round the two inch cigarette within his gloved hand. His mother never cared for what he did nor did his step-dad Phil. Thing was, they lived off benefits and his mum and step-dad spent the money on alcohol and fags, which the boy stole 'cause he had no pocket money. His mum and dad were drunk, stoned half the time or they were in their room. The young lad wasn't scared of most of this; he was known as that strange child, that naughty child and most definitely that rude child: the language he used was unspeakable and he learnt most of it from his drunken mother. He was always in trouble at his school more than any other child. Smoking, swearing, attacking older students – for a seven year old, he was indeed atrocious.

It was starting to snow, as it did in December in the north of England, when a pillar of light shone through the stratus clouds. Then he heard a voice gruff and fiery:

"Gregory Jones. I am Ares, god of war. I am your father."

Two hours later, the boy woke up to find himself in a dimly lit room with cloth for walls and ceiling. A man stood over him, the man he had seen saying he was his father. He was about five foot eight, had black straight hair to about his shoulders and wore a leather jacket and a Guns N' Roses t-shirt with skulls on it. He stared at the boy with a kind of loathing; his eyes seemed to be on fire. "Greetings, Gregory," he said in his familiar gruff voice.

"Hello," the boy said, scared for the first time in his life.

"I see your mother hasn't changed one bit since I last laid eyes on her."

Gregory smiled, understanding his point.

"I'm sorry for the fright I caused you back in Doncaster. Do you remember what I said?"

Gregory nodded briefly.

"Well, I'm your father. I only saw you once when you were a baby, but I had to go on with my, err, well, business." His expression was empty. "Well, you are needed here now," he said cautiously.

"Where is here?" Gregory said in a croaky voice.

"Camp half-blood."

Heaven and Hell!

by

Morgan McCall, 8HW

A man spoke with the Lord about Heaven and Hell. "I will show you Hell," said the Lord. And they went into a room which had a pot of stew in the middle. The smell was delicious and around the pot sat people who were famished and desperate. All were holding spoons with very long handles which reached to the pot, but because the handles of the spoons were longer than their arms, it was impossible to get the stew into their mouths. Their suffering was terrible.

"Now I will show you Heaven," said the Lord, and they went into an identical room. There was a similar pot of stew and the people had the same identical spoons, but they were well nourished, talking and happy.

At first, the man did not understand.

"It is simple," said the Lord. "You see, they have learned to feed each other."

But when you die, Heaven and Hell are different.

"I will show you the hell of death," said the lord. Before them was a volcano with lava, bodies and two more things: the Devil and death.

The Devil spoke, "Hello. This could be your new home for all eternity if you wish... you can change but there's a catch: would you like to spend eternity with love, passion and geeks?"

"I've had enough," said the clearly distressed man.

"I will show you what you can do when you want to," shouted the Lord so the Devil could hear him. "Welcome to Heaven," said the Lord proudly.

As they both entered the room, a tall man dressed in white spoke, "I am proud of you," said the very tall man. "You can become a saint if you Believe, Achieve, Succeed."

Then the man thought for a while and told the old person, "I will for you."

Then the old man smiled and said, "I'm God."

Life street

by

Megan Peace, 8HW

Main Street was just a normal street with nothing special about it to anyone; besides, it was just a street with a road, a footpath and the run down old corner shop.

Many people walked down Main Street every day but no one took much notice. To everyone else, it was just Main Street, but it was more than just Main Street for Brad. Brad had lived all his life on Main Street in one of the flats around the corner, ever since he was a little boy, he would play on Main Street.

Brad was born in London fifteen years ago. He only once met his dad as he had gone to fight in Afghanistan when Brad was young. He has only two memories of his dad: he was tall, black and had very short black hair. They went to the park to have a picnic and they had so much fun.

Then he had the not so good memories of his dad leaving the flat, crying and pain and fear in his eyes. His mother screaming and sobbing in her sleep while he lies awake at night... still, confused and scared.

Brad often thought of his dad, wondering where he was and what he was doing, he never understood why his father never came back....

He felt as if his mother didn't love him after that; she didn't care for him or want him any longer.

Brad didn't do much at school; he didn't concentrate in lessons.

What is gone is gone

by

Ryan Revill, 8HW

In a city called London, where the moon was right, there was a fellow called Sam Cargo. He had just graduated college and he was all for physics, adventure and believed that nothing is ever impossible if you believed.

He had five friends; they were called Hannah, Lucy, John, James and Lauren. One day, they said: "Why don't we go out on an adventure to celebrate our graduation at college?"

On Saturday 23rd March, the bunch of friends set off at sea. Later that day, Lucy said, "Look, guys, I think we're lost."

Lauren looked through the binoculars and said, "I see an island," as Sam looked at the map and said, "There can't be because this is a brand new map and it shows no island. Anyway, we shall go to the island and camp for night and then we shall find our way from there."

They landed on the island and it is big but they decided not explore it because they don't want to find themselves lost. Sam said, "Guys, where has the boat gone?" Lucy forgot to tie it to the tree.

Hannah began to get scared and started crying. The first thing that Sam said, "Right, start to look on your phones for signal."

Everyone said, "NO!"

Sam said, "Right, don't worry. I have taken four years of survival in college, so firstly, have we got anything left stored in the boat?"

Lucy said, "The boat's gone, idiot."

Sam said, "Right, well, let's just gather any food we have together and then we'll search the island. If we keep it up like this we can succeed."

20 minutes later

"We need water. Let's look for coconuts because if we drink sea water, we will become ill and that means we are not getting our calories."

