A Second Chance
"Hey come back here!"

Billy Jones was running as fast as he could through aisle 13 in the local supermarket with a bag full of food and drink. The manager was running after him but could not keep up with the much younger boy. Billy made it to the door and was out in a flash and along the road, still at top speed. The manager had given up trying to catch him saying that it was only a couple of bags of crisps and a few other things. Billy did not stop running until he reached his den where he stopped to examine his takings...

Kirsten Jack

The Holiday Nightmare
The plane lurched. George woke with a start, then relaxed back into his chair. His eyes took in his surroundings before closing again. Big, comfy seats were aligned in rows and a T.V. installed into the back of the chair in front of him. This was important as his long, skinny legs needed plenty of room.

George Freeman was 16 years old and lived in Wells with his mother for most of the year but visited his father regularly. His parents were not divorced but they seldom saw each other except when George's mother came down as well. Richard Freeman was a lawyer who had not only won many influential court cases in Johannesburg but in other parts of South Africa as well. Pauline Freeman, on the other hand, was a shopkeeper who earned a modest income. She had lived in England all her life until she had married Richard. They had both moved down to South Africa and lived a happy life until George came along. Wanting to raise her child in England, she had moved back up to Wells, leaving her husband behind.

George himself was a large, tall boy but skinny. He was black with close cropped hair and bright, blue eyes. He worked in Well's Cathedral as a tour guide and played squash regularly. He was proud to be part South African and was also a firm believer in God. The plane lurched again but this time, George slept on.....  

Lindsay Duncan

Paradise
The July air was brushing against my face and there was a quiet stillness as birds were sleeping, their pinions as bright as gold. The summer breeze was lightly sweeping alongside the leaves of the trees of the unknown paradise; a mixture of yellows and greens, which cannot be distilled by mist, darkness or rain. The river was quietly moving through the rocks and stepping stones; the river like a blue thread, meandering through green cloth. This is paradise.

However, among the emeralds and ambers, a grey giant stands ominously in the middle of the tranquil water. Trees and tulips are darkened by its shadow, shadowed by its darkness, sitting in its iniquitous wake.  The huge pillar of rock and granite, knows not of the mutiny below, just of the destruction that it has caused and of the satisfaction it feels. If you look closer you can see this mutation of nature used to be something of beauty, prowess...awe: but man has dug into its core leaving an eternal scar on the natural splendor.  This paradise has been marred by mankind.

Alastair Hamilton

Paradise
As the majestic oaks sway in the slight breeze, the orange globe caresses the fierce blue sky. The sharp green scent of spring echoes in the woods and fields. There are lambs pattering and ewes plodding on the soft, new grass of spring. As the grass ripples, the clouds flow in the everlasting sapphire ocean above.  Larks harmonize with the song of the wind as the sheep dawdle in the sea of emerald below. The dark green firs are spearing the sky framed by the broad leaved trees with the tender, green foliage of spring. The wind caresses the saplings which dance in the new light of spring while puddles remain as a remnant of a hard winter. The days linger as the sun longs to stay out and play. The badgers peek out of the perpetual forest as the fields bask in the glorious shining light from above.

Spring has come.

Douglas Guthrie

Paradise
The sound of the burn running smoothly away, the sight of the trees waving gently in the warm, night breeze sprinkling their pink confetti over the world and the smell of pollinated flowers assure me that this place is my genuine definition of - paradise. Paradise, in my opinion, is not a place regularly visited and spoiled by Man - but a place where one can be alone to dwell on their lives. This is a place where not even a bird can pass without due regard for decency and decorum. As I stare into the glory I feel like the only person alive. The world, for just one second, has stopped and I am alone.

This place I stare onto is, for certain, magical. So much so that not even a storm could soil its true beauty. Come summer or winter, perfection is almost an ineffective  word to use as description. But perhaps the most affecting time for one to visit such serenity is that of a warm summer's night. For the trees are in full bloom and the bridge invites you to cross it ...

On this summer's night, I have quite frankly never seen it so beautiful. The moon is just above the hills and the sight would honestly make one believe that the moon is spilling pure crystal over the hill. The water runs just beneath the moon on Mary's Hill and trickles down through the blooming bushes, underneath the bridge and falls away on a small waterfall.

The trees are aligned in neat rows of three. They are ideally positioned to make them look like they are poised to fight for perfection. Though they are aligned in perfect order, they grow in different styles - while one tree is short and overflowing with blossom, another is long and gently nursing its buds. Their beauty is overwhelming.

The knotted heather adds to the vista a touch of wilderness. It tangles its way across the land and up the hill. It covers all the lands secrets and hides them in its roots ceaselessly. Staring onto the paradisiacal landscape you might believe that nothing dire could ever happen to such tranquillity, but the snarled heather speaks otherwise. The silver-sparkle moon rises on the hill as I wonder if anything can be perfect if secrets are at its roots ...

Lindsey Macdonald

Dead End
I walked down the river side, pebbles crunching under my feet and slowly waded into the ice-cold water. Standing there, with the water around my waist, I thought of how I came to this dark day.

I had led a privileged life. I lived in a beautiful house on the outskirts of London.I had had a private education in one of the top schools in England and a wardrobe bursting with designer clothes. But none of these possessions made me happy; only that could be done by my dog, Violet. She was a gift for my thirteenth birthday and was the only gift that I truly loved...

Honor Morris

The Assassin
"Bang" another job well done, another life taken, another day in the life of Russell ‘Rusty' Thompson.  Rusty lowered the gun and put it back in the holster inside his jacket.  He hardly knew anything about the man lying on the floor, the man he'd just killed.  All he knew was his name and where he would be found.  He turned and left the room.

It was a blisteringly cold night in the North of Sweden. As Rusty waited for the taxi that would take him back to the airport, he could hardly see anything through the wind, fog and snow.  Eventually the taxi came and sooner than he knew, Rusty was on a plane taking him back home to California....

Jamie Macdonald

The Mother
The fierce, pitiless wind howled fearsomely as the shrieking storm reached its peak. Wave after bludgeoning wave battered the craggy cliffs. This was not a night for human or animal to be abroad. This was a night for staying in the comfort and security of your own dwelling.

At the top of the cliff, set back from the edge was a single solitary tree. Deep in the foliage of the tree, four pairs of gleaming eyes stared fearfully into the eye of the storm. The mother cat drew her kittens around her into the heart of the nest, instinctively trying to protect them. The little bundles of fur miaowed plaintively and pawed constantly at their poor mother.

Suddenly, a blinding bolt of lightning cracked open the dark night sky and violently smashed into the trunk of the tree, cracking it like a hammer through glass. Mother and kittens were catapulted through the thundering air and were scattered in all directions. Two of the little babies were pitched into a clump of heather and they lay their dazed. The mother was flung in the opposite direction and slammed into a jagged rock, stunned and disorientated. Blood flowed from a gash in her paw. She levered herself up and frantically scanned the surroundings. Through the slashing rain she spotted her two motionless children and limped towards them. She nuzzled the tiny bedraggled creatures and they stirred. She picked them up carefully in her mouth and hobbled towards the relative safety of a thick bush nearby. She placed the kittens delicately in the middle of the bush, turned, and looked towards the cliff. Where was her third child?

The deluge continued. She edged cautiously towards the precipice and stared down into the raging torrent below. A few feet down, the third tiny scrap of fur was hanging onto an overhanging ledge for dear life. In the mother's mind, there was only one thing to do. Inch by inch, she descended. Inch by inch she crept down the slippery surface. Every last ounce of energy was being expended to save her baby. Just as the little one's grip started to slip, the mother, fighting through the pain barrier, extended her neck and grabbed the flailing kitten in her mouth.

Inch by inch she hauled and tugged the tiny terrified kitten towards the top of the cliff. Inch by inch the mother was becoming more and more exhausted. With the wind and rain whipping at her, she put every last scrap of strength into dragging her little kitten to the top. With, faltering steps, she staggered over to the bush and slumped into a heap beside her loved ones. She was worn out with fatigue but her family was safe.

Erin L O'Kane