Runners-Up

The Discovery – 247tales runners-up  – April 2012

 

Day 27

 

We are still here in this hellhole and feel that we are going around in circles. Our supplies are running low and Ben is still injured. Some of my shipmates have gone mad since the incident and I find it hard to fight the madness myself; others haven’t spoken a word since. Either way, no one on earth can understand what we are going through.

 

I fear that our time is coming to an end and I want you to know that this world is no place for mankind. It has a mind of its own and it grows stronger with our fear as we grow weaker. Anyone who reads this is in terrible danger and I warn you to (try and) leave this place in peace and return to Earth, away from this labyrinthine world.

 

The bloodhounds will be coming back soon and we have nothing left to offer them. Last night they took the last of our stocks and now they’ll come for US. This place is hell itself and I warn you now to go back, if there is a way back…from the Bermuda triangle…

 

Aamina, age 13 (190 words)

 

 

 

Elizabeth shuffled, half-heartedly, through the pile of sepia-toned, fading photographs. Clearing out her dead relative’s house was not a thoroughly enjoyable task, admittedly, but, out of the goodness of her heart, she had decided to give her brother a hand in the mammoth task.

 

A picture of a baby in a ruffled sailor suit, a sweeping landscape of rolling hills, a portrait of a stern-looking woman wearing a cap…nothing seemed to catch her eye, until… “Hey, James, come and have a look at this!” she suddenly shrieked, eyes wide in amazement, hands trembling slightly as she struggled to keep a hold on her astounding discovery.

 

“What? What is it?” Elizabeth heard her brother’s voice from upstairs, “Not another spider again, is it?” he enquired.

 

“Just come and look!” she yelled, exasperatedly. She heard movement and then the thumping of James’ feet on the worn, wooden stairs.

 

James entered the living room to see his sister crouched down surrounded by stacks of paperwork and photos. He approached her and bent down as she showed him the photo.

 

“Is that…?” he asked.

 

“Yes, I think it is…” she replied.

 

“But it can’t be…” James remarked, his eyes also wide in shock.

 

“Well, it seems to be…” Elizabeth retorted.

 

“I think I need to sit down for a bit!” James breathed, flopping down onto the sofa, which groaned under his weight.

 

“Me too,” Elizabeth said, joining him.

 

“Wow,” James turned to his sister, “Who would’ve thought we’re related to royalty?”

 

Annie, age 15 (247 words)

 

 

“Run!” My friend, Ginger, screams. He’s rather misnamed, being a brunette. “I’ll hold them off!”

 

I shoot him a concerned look. I look at the three bullies heading towards us. Idiots. They’ve hated me since I was tiny. And they’re not to be trusted.  “I’ll be fine.” I trust Ginger, though.

 

So I run. My feet pounds against concrete, my heart pounds just as fast. I speed down the street, round the corner, down another street, into an alley. I stop to listen. Shouting. Voices. Theirs. I quickly start running again.

 

I’m out of the alley. I look left. Don’t know that way. I look right. Village High Street. I know my way around there. I head right.

 

I’m dodging shoppers, racing past bright street signs, in and out of benches, of the odd tree. I reach another alley. I don’t know this one. I hear shouting. Them. I sprint down the alley.

 

Running. Running. Stop! Brick wall. I’m panting. Voices. Theirs. I turn to face them.

 

There’s four of them. No, that can’t be right! I count again. There’s definitely four. I stand on tiptoe. Brown hair, green eyes, at the back of the group… No!

 

But the evidence is there, clear as day. Ginger, the traitor!

 

Daisy, age 14 (208 words)

 

 

“Those kids.” Harold muttered to himself. “Don’t they have their own playground?”

 

His angry mumblings grew inaudible, as he carried on down the path by the river. This morning, he had discovered that his farm field had been broken into. His crops were trampled upon, and wooden posts had been knocked down. He wasn’t happy. It was a sunny afternoon, but Harold didn’t appreciate the beauty of his surroundings. He couldn’t see the golden sun dancing merrily on the water; nor hear the chirruping of the cricket, or the gentle rushing of the river beside him. He wanted- well he needed- to find out who had destroyed his field.

 

RUSTLE. He jerked around sharply. There was no one there. RUSTLE.

 

Harold stepped cautiously towards the undergrowth. That undergrowth had been untouched for years, left to grow, and grow it had. The tall branches towered high into the sky, and the bushes were thick and plenty. Harold pushed his way past the first bramble bush, the sharp thorns scraping like knives against his wrinkled skin. He was sure that someone or something was there. He struggled on, until he reached a clearing. The sight that met his eyes was breathtaking. Harold had his answer. It had a huge scaly body, and small pointed spikes running down its back. Two piercing green eyes stared back at him. It looked just like they said in the storybooks. Harold had just discovered the last living dinosaur in the world.

 

Ella, age 13 (245 words)

 

 

“I don’t know who I am.”

 

The young man behind the counter smiles at her as if he hasn’t heard her.

 

“Come again, love?” The man looks nervous as he chuckles at her, as if what she’s just said is a joke. Very funny.

 

“Who am I?” she says again impatiently.

 

I can’t help but wonder who she is myself, why she’s here asking the same question to a man she doesn’t know. If she’s forgotten her identity, the last person to ask is a man in W.H Smith.

 

The boy in the queue in front of me looks up from his phone mid-text, shifts in his tracksuit top uncomfortably. She notices him, turns around to confront him. She glares. “So do you know me?”

 

The boy shrugs. “I’m Darren? From school? Come off it, Miranda. You know who you are. Dinnae go around buggin’ W.H Smith about it!”

 

The girl looks puzzled at the discovery of her name. “Miranda.” She tastes the name in her mouth, unsure as to what to do next.

 

She begins to cry. The atmosphere in the shop is tense.

 

I turn to look at the magazine shelf, embarrassed.

 

The girl runs out of the shop in tears. The boy shrugs. “What you looking at me for?” he says to the man at the till. He takes his crisps and leaves.

 

The queue moves forward. The man looks bewildered as he scans my chocolate, hands me my change.

 

I leave the shop.

 

Elspeth, age 13 (247 words)

 

 

I never used to believe the story of the Guardian, who slumbered eternally in the depths of the Sacred Pool. Apparently, she had existed since the beginning of time, but it sounded like something the Elders had contrived. And everyone knows the Elders are mad, though some wouldn’t admit it.

 

Whenever something bad happened, the Elders would warn: “She is annoyed. We must atone for our sins immediately.” Then the whole community had to watch them perform some mysterious ritual. It was stupid – nobody, not even the Elders, could remember its significance.

 

My friends and I thought it was utter nonsense. We sniggered behind the Elders’ crooked backs and humoured their age-old conventions. The trip to the Pool was just one more act of defiance.

 

We were hurling rocks into its waters, fragmenting the shimmering reflections. Only pebbles at first, but they got bigger. It was like dares – you know you’re going too far, but you can’t stop.

 

Before I knew it, I was helping to roll a cumbersome, mossy boulder to its doom. With an almighty push, it reached the steep bank, spinning out of control. It shattered the dark tranquillity of the surface, scattering myriad water droplets like snowflakes. We were drenched, but laughing, an exhilarating, breathless, uncontrollable laugh.

 

Until it emerged, still materialising, from the pool: a beautiful, terrifying, translucent water-goddess. We had discovered the Guardian; awakened her from her not-so-eternal sleep. Now I’m running for my life. Because she’s coming. And she’s angry.

 

Imogen, age 13 (247 words)

 

 

The trees rustled menacingly as Matt walked purposefully through the eerie forest.  Sticks and autumn leaves crunched under his feet and a faint smell of an old bonfire hung in the air.  Matt did not really know where he was going, he just wanted to get away.  Matt knew nobody would follow him into the forest so he did not waste his breath by running.  Nobody ever went into the forest.

 

It was a warm night and Matt could feel his T-shirt sticking to his chest.  Matt walked a little further, more quickly, as the quietness of everything around him was getting scary.  Just ahead Matt saw a clearing.  Matt wanted to turn back.  “Great!” he thought realising he was lost.  It was then Matt noticed something in the clearing.  It looked like a large black box.  He scrambled down the steep bank, disturbing the sand and stones that had been still for so long.  Examining the object more closely, Matt concluded it was some kind of large jewellery box.  It was large with a dainty lock and beautiful silver patterns covering it.  “What could be inside it?” wondered Matt, “Hundreds of expensive jewels, necklaces and rings?!”  He could just taste the money already.  Matt suddenly thought the box might be locked but opened the dainty catch with ease.  His heart began to beat as he opened the box.

 

There was a flash of light; then the forest was dark once more.

 

Eleanor, age 11 (242 words)

 

 

“I’m leaving you.”

 

It’s funny how three little words can destroy you so utterly. Before I knew what was happening, before I could even utter a word, he was gone, out the door. Just like that.

 

He didn’t give me a chance to defend myself. To ask where it all went wrong. He didn’t even utter a simple sorry. He was just…gone.

 

I sat there for a few hours, trying to process all that had happened. But I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. He wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be! Dylan loved me. If I was sure about anything in our relationship, it was that. So then why had he left?

 

“What just happened?” I whispered to the empty house. A house that was as empty as my heart.

 

It was then that it actually hit me. Dylan was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

 

I expected tears to fall. Expected to collapse to the floor and sob until nothing else came out. But I didn’t. I wasn’t able to. I felt nothing but this strange emptiness that seemed oddly comforting to my broken soul.

 

And that was when I felt it. Ice crept over my heart, enveloping it in its cold embrace. All feeling within my body ceased. I was just…numb. Numb but for one emotion that burned through me, melting away the hurt and the pain.

 

Determination.

 

Never again would I come home to a discovery as awful as this.

 

Lindsay, age 14 (242 words)

 

 

Dressed, with five minutes to spare. Just finished playing with my hair, well my mop of auburn frizz that frequently results in me being asked the question: “Are you ginger?”

 

To which I reply: “In sunlight, yes.”

 

I dash past the hall mirror, check for spots, all clear. Run to the bathroom looking like a demented hurdler as I pass the wash basket. Squeezing the toothpaste onto the brush, I suddenly hear a loud noise downstairs.

 

The dog is trying to get to next door’s cat again. I let him out, glance at clock; I’m now late!

 

Usher dog back indoors, lock door. Snatch bag and keys, dumping toothbrush on kitchen table and run. Jangling down the street I pass old Mr Simmons, who looks at me oddly. Strange man!

 

Sweating profusely I arrive at the bus stop, just as the school bus is pulling up. Classmates are giggling and pointing at me, does my hair really look that ginger today?

 

I get on bus; driver chokes on his coffee as I show him my pass. What is wrong with everyone?

 

I flop exhaustedly into my favourite seat and sigh in relief. I made it. I glance at my reflection in the window: OH MY GOD! Horror!

 

Now I discover it’s not my hair, I have a huge, frothy toothpaste moustache.

 

Lisa, age 15 (221 words)

 

 

Secrets are hard. Sometimes, it’s something small, and they get forgotten about.

 

But not this time.

 

Once you have a big secret, it takes all you have to not let it go. It’s always there, lingering at the back of your mind, stuck on like a leech, ceaselessly reminding you of it.

 

You write it down, but always destroy it. You talk to walls and other objects about it, maybe your pet – but only in a whisper, just in case you’re not alone. You try not to let it slip, slide off the tip of your tongue to unsuspecting strangers.

 

It’s worse when someone realises. They notice you’re suddenly careful on certain subjects, and grow unusually quiet at the wrong moments. They bug you and pester you, delighting in your discomfort. They get support, laughing and prodding at you to tell.

 

Maybe they get bored of it. Maybe not. There are a lot of persistent people on this planet. And you feel like you have the worst of them, when they want to know your secret.

 

But you don’t tell. Nothing will make you open your lips. Because once it’s out, it can never be taken back. And if it’s out, who knows what the consequences will be.

 

They are looking for you. They will find you. And they will get it out of you, no matter what it takes.

 

But if they discover what your secret is, there’s no turning back.

 

Zoe, age 13 (243 words)