The tassels above my head rattled as this old tin-can of a bus shook across the dirt beneath us. I was surprised this old thing was still running, ten years old and we're still able to keep it in pristine condition. Well, pristine was a bit of an exaggeration. Over the years we'd modified this bus with a different seat layout – one side of the vehicle facing the other – as well as adding additional seats to fit more troops in. The inside of the bus was mainly metal found from junk heaps, it was easier to find and work with than plastic. Hence why the inside of the bus was the colour of rusted silver.
Two rows of seats occupied ei
“Have you ever fell in love?”
The question had left her lips and struck me from out of no where, taking me aback for a moment. Her voice, her demeanour, it was all so innocent and child-like, yet her words were blunt and to the point. I pondered on the question for a moment as we walked along the dirt trail before us.
“I'm... I'm not too sure. Maybe once or twice. It's hard to know when you fall into an emotion like that,” I responded, somewhat unsure of myself. She chuckled, her pale grey eyes turning to look into mine. There was an air of something unnatural about her, as if she wasn't what she seemed to be. But af
It's one of those nights again.
You stare at the ceiling above, wondering what will happen in today's episode of night-time hallucinations. But maybe they're not hallucinations; maybe these are nightmares or, dare you say it, real.
In your bed, surrounded by the dark of the night, you stare blankly into the black patches that creep across the room. You used to be certain that it was a trick of the eye, but now you're not so sure. They seem so real now, so alive. They're taunting you – how does that make you feel?
It doesn't matter anymore. You've grown accustomed to it. You used to be petrified of these creatures, but now you accept
“You've come back,” a voice echoed out in the distance. It was slightly high in tone, but had an underlying regal voice which conveyed an elegant character. Yet, the character themselves weren't elegant in the slightest, and neither were their intentions.
A boy drifted through the empty space of darkness, the black abyss surrounding him on all sides. He seemed lost, yet his facial expression was vacant. He looked disconcerted and unsatisfied. The boy was young, early teens perhaps, and this wasn't the first time he had been here. Nor was he the only one to have been here, either.
“You're quiet,” the voice stated. The
“Of Two Minds”
FADE IN:
EXT. Chris Andrews' House – Morning
The scene opens with an establishing shot. The camera pans slowly across the house, birds and common morning sounds are clearly heard.
CUT TO:
INT. Chris Andrews' House – Morning
Scene cuts to an over-head shot of a brown envelope with the initials “S.H.” on it, lying on the floor as if it has been posted through the letter box on the door. Camera slowly rotates before and whilst a hand reaches out to pick it up. Shot follows the envelope as CHRIS ANDREWS goes to open it, after pausing at the initials on the front. Chris is currently in casua
You sit there with your fingers hovering over the keys on your keyboard. As you bring the tips of your fingers down, you start to gently brush the “i” and “w” keys. You swirl another round the base of the “a” key, then you sigh and sit back.
This was your weapon, your tool. Your words were everything, the structure and layout of the writing in which you expressed yourself. Otherwise, you were left without a voice. Nobody would listen to a teenager such as yourself; so you do the next best thing and create a fictional world in which you could express how you felt. What did you want to portray in this piece?
This town was made out of paper. The buildings were thin and fragile, swaying gently in the wind. The city was also thin and fragile; The people were thin and fragile; The economy was thin and fragile. Everything and everyone were on the verge of being torn, crumpled and thrown into the waste bin.
Everything was white, as if it were a blank canvas just waiting to be filled in with something – to be covered in whatever colours were provided. I was the painter and this town was my canvas. I held my brush with both hands, the butt of the brush resting on my shoulder. I stared down the view-piece provided – work like this required pr
Parties. It wasn't that I weren't a big fan of them, it was just that I had never really been to many. The benefits of being unpopular – you don't get invited to many house parties. My mum found that heartbreaking, but I wasn't too fussed. Well, mostly anyway.
My university friends had convinced me to join them at this party, claiming it'd be great. I didn't want to say no, purely for the fact that I'd come across as really boring and dull, but there was also the small part of me that yearned to go to a party. This was my one opportunity to really fit in. University felt like a place to succeed where you had failed at College or School