Cover design: Anna Bochsler and Ailsa Purdie F6.

Changing Days By Campbell Cunningham F1

Last year he walked in the golden sun He pulled his dusty load of bright crops

Then through the long grass he would run Bird songs from in the tree tops

The wind blowing through his long mane.

The sky is red with men’s blood Dead bodies lying in deep dark mud

The machine guns in the deep woods The sound of shells with deadly thuds

Bullets flying past like rain.

My Chamber Of Thoughts By Anoushay Okhai, 1WA2 The door to my chamber is draped in silver ivy. Behind it lies a sample of my thoughts, unique and wondrous, With a ceiling of secrets and four walls of wishes. A fiery dragon guards the chamber, shrewd and fearless. In my chamber of thoughts, you will find: The infectious laugh of a young child The comforting wisdom of an ancient Japanese monk The delicious smells of mint and vanilla, lavender and cinnamon And the scented perfection of a red rose. In my chamber of thoughts, you will find: The tinkle of wind chimes and the sound of flowing water, The tiny white jasmine blossoms from a bush in Pakistan The beautiful glow of a glorious sunset, scarlet and pink and gold And a glistening chandelier hanging above, crafted from sparkling ice. Roaming my chamber is a golden tiger from the sun, A graceful ivory swan from the moon,

A cheeky, curious red monkey and a black cat, as stealthy as a ninja. In my chamber I can surf through the breeze of the sky I can fly through the deep blue waves of the ocean I burrow deep into my carpet of green leaves, to find buried treasure or to dig up old memories. This is where I hide from the outside world. I am safe in my Chamber of Thoughts.

My Magic Box By Joe Carstairs, F1

I will put in my magic box...

A tugged heartstring and a shivering spine, Hot olive oil, eager-smelling in the readied frying-

pan, And the weeping cries of a cello melody.

I will put in my magic box... A crunch of oat and a bubble of spring-water, The fire of fresh ginger and the mellow beauty of

Dutch cheese, And the slick, crumbling sensation of frosted leaves.

I will put in my magic box... The honey-sweet breath that is an eye's luxurious

view, The fine, smooth caramel, that is rock's wet

fragrance, And dead life; what tastes bland and flat.

I will put in my magic box... Rain tiptoeing, like faeries, on canvas, The two-faced ocean, wafting dull pangs of sea-salt, And a doom-marked storm-cloud propelled by

ungodly winds.

I will put in my magic box... Fresh spring-water's cooling hand, Which is wetly dry on fingers' ends, And love of animation, and animation of words.

I will put in my magic box... Red suns in the centre, and in the corners, Sky-blue shadows frost the heart, But untainted by it's wonder of the contents. Aye, love lest hate competes, these are the bits of

my magic box.

By Joe Carstairs

A Day I’ll Never Forget By Lucie Kelly 1WA1

It was the 4th December - Christmas was fast approaching. My family were finishing a very busy week. Earlier in the week, our washing machine had broken down and now that it was finally repaired, the mountains of washing were gradually diminishing. The smell of washing powder was overpowering but at four years old I was much more interested in our newly put up Christmas tree. Standing at the living room window, the tree looked lovely! There were books on the floor and tinsel on the branches. The baubles and tree decorations glistened and the tree was very warm and homely but the bristles jagged a bit if you went too close!! We closed the blinds, turned the main light off and turned the colourful lights of the tree on. It was magnificent! It was 7.20pm when Gran came round. Gran came round to our house to “look at the Christmas tree” and she thought it was very nice. A while after we were all sent to bed and told to go to sleep. A little later I came down the stairs and complained to Gran that I couldn’t get to sleep, so she said I could sleep on the settee next to her. I was falling asleep when I noticed mum and dad leaving the house. I thought they were just going for a night out but they did usually say goodbye first. I must have fallen asleep a few minutes later because I don’t remember much after that.

I woke up a little while later, realising that my gran was leaving the room. I sat up and heard the phone ringing. I followed my gran through to the kitchen and stood at the door waiting for her to finish her conversation. She put the phone down and noticed I was standing, waiting for her. She took me back to the living room and told me to lie down and go to sleep. I dozed off a little time later.

Sometime soon after, Dad came in to the living room. He thanked Gran and then after they had spoken to each other, she went home. He took me into Mum and Dad’s room and then told me to wake Andrew and Sophie up. When I got up the stairs, I saw that Andrew was awake, so he went downstairs. Then I went into our room to wake Sophie. When she woke up she asked me what was going on. I told her that Dad needed to speak to us so we walked down the stairs together.

We all went in to Mum and Dad’s room and dad showed us a sheet of paper that told us we had a brother called Martin David Kelly. He also told us the news. I was really happy and very excited too! We all went to sleep ready for our day ahead.

In the morning we got up and got dressed. We

had a quick breakfast in the car on the way to the hospital. When we got to the hospital you certainly knew it was clean. The smell of disinfectant was very strong. We went up to see Mum and Martin, our new baby brother. We had a peep in the cot and thought we had a very cute little brother. We gave Mum a big hug and she asked us if we liked Martin. When she went in the shower we all took turns to hold Martin.

We sat on a bench and Dad helped Andrew, then Sophie, then me hold him. I felt extremely proud to get to hold him when I was only four. He was quite heavy so I got lots of help - just to make sure I didn’t drop him! I probably would have been too scared to drop him.

We went to the shop and bought Martin a blue and white sleeping teddy bear. We also went to another shop and bought crisps and juice for us and Mum. We brought them to Mum and gave Martin his toy. I waited expectantly for him to thank us, but not a word!

We all, (not Mum or Martin!) got in the car and Dad drove us to Gran and Grandad’s. When we were in their street I started crying. I was crying, as I had half-finished my bottle of Coke. I obviously couldn’t get another one so I went in a mini-huff. It didn’t last for long though - after all I was a big sister now - I had responsibilities!

When we were in Gran and Grandad’s house, we told them about Martin. They weren’t going to go up to the hospital because Mum was coming home that day. We stayed at their house for a little while longer then Gran and Grandad drove us home.

Mum and Martin were home from the hospital already and we all had a look at our new baby brother. He was in his cot, sleeping. He had his sleeping bear next to him and he looked adorable. Gran and Grandad both held him and gave him a cuddle. When he was back in his cot, you could see the blanket over him moving with his breathing. We were all pleased that Mum was back and it was a plus that Martin was a new member of our family. One of the things that I found great about Martin being born was the fact that my name wouldn’t be last on cards from all the family.

From the experience of Martin being born, I achieved my first ever life’s ambition to not have my name written last on cards from the family!!!

By Caitlin Mitchell, F1

By Lucy Graham, F1

By Lily Bircham, F1

By Lily Bircham, F1

By Glen Davie, F1

By Joe Carstairs, F1

By Alice Raitt, F1

By Alex Smith F2

Its eyes were red slits in its scaled face. It

towered over me with its overpowering height and let out its horrible, low growl. Baring its long teeth, it struck and… I awoke from the nightmare with a start. It was the middle of the night and I could feel my heart pounding against my chest. I had beads of sweat rolling down my face. I panicked until I realised where I was: safe in my little cabin. Dragging myself out of bed, I pulled my dressing gown around myself and slid my feet into my slippers. I trudged through the empty house and into the kitchen to make myself a glass of warm milk, it was becoming a routine. Filling the glass to the brim, I placed it in the microwave and sat down to wait.

I looked out of the window onto the peaceful clearing in the woods outside. The ground was covered with a fresh blanket of snow, and the light from the window shone down onto it, making it sparkle like diamonds. The moon was a thin sliver of light, partly hidden by clouds in the dark, night sky.

All of a sudden, there was a flash of movement in the shadows beneath the trees. Blinking a few times, I looked again but everything was still. I jumped in my seat when the microwave started beeping, frightened until I realised the source of the noise. Letting out a deep breath, I rose and grabbed my milk, but as I turned around to go I looked outside and noticed large footprints, deeply imprinted in the snow, which, I was sure, weren’t there before. My heart started to race and at that moment the window completely frosted up and a hand slammed against it with a thunderous thud! I cried out in fear and my glass slid from my hand, smashing on the floor. Staggering backwards, I held onto the chair for support, but when I looked up again, the hand had gone, leaving an unnaturally large handprint on the frosted window.

I needed to act fast. Gaining my balance, I rushed to the front door and double checked the lock. The lights above me started to flicker and soon I was swallowed up by darkness. Alarmed, I quickly ran through the hall to reach the telephone. I knocked over the desk and the papers of my half-finished university thesis fluttered down to the floor. Feeling around, I grasped hold of the phone

and hastily dialled 999. After 6 rings, someone picked up on the other line. “This is Janie White. Please help, I think someone is trying to get inside-” The line broke off and I was cut short. In frustration, I slammed down the receiver. My legs shook under the weight of my body and I slumped to the floor. Then I heard it: floorboards creaking in the room next door. They became louder and clearer. Closer and closer it came. Something then scraped against the door and it slowly groaned open, revealing a distorted shadow.

The doorbell suddenly rang and a man’s voice called out from outside. I saw the shadow immediately slink away and I cautiously crept to the front door. Pulling it open a crack I saw a policeman standing outside. Relief washed over me as I swung the door open. “Hello Miss, we received a distressing call from you, but you were unexpectedly cut off. We were able to track your location. Is everything ok?” inquired the officer.

Guiding him to the kitchen I explained the disturbing events of the evening. But when I turned to show him the hand on the window, it had disappeared. There wasn’t even a trace of another beings footprint in the snow, apart from the officers. To my amazement, the glass of milk I had shattered was sitting perfectly untouched on the table and the lights had somehow managed to turn themselves on again. Frowning, the policeman shook his head. With a little smile of disbelief, he wished me a good night and walked away without another word.

I was left speechless, completely stunned by the disappearance of my only evidence. A wave of embarrassment flushed my cheeks. How could I be so silly as to have believed such crazy things? I slowly made my way to my bedroom, trying to convince myself that I had only imagined this mysterious intruder. Stepping in front of the mirror, I looked at myself in despair. There were large dark circles under my eyes and my straggly, long auburn hair stuck out in all directions. My fingernails had been bitten right down and there were big rips along my pyjama bottoms. Then, I saw in the reflection, something move behind me. Keeping my eyes closed, I sprinted towards my bed and leaped onto it. I curled up into a ball and shut out the world around me, rocking to and fro.

I sensed something in the room and a strong smell of the sea hit me. I then felt a cold breath on the back of my neck. A shiver ran down my spine and I couldn’t hold myself from turning around. There, barely a metre away from me stood a creature of a horrible description. It had terrorising features with horrifyingly long fangs. It dripped

water onto the wooden floor, the splashes echoing around the room. Its sinister eyes were red slits in its scaled face, and they searched me hungrily. Coming closer, it towered over me with its overpowering height and let out its horrible low growl. Baring its long teeth, it struck and…

Another Old Alleyway Verity Brown, F2

Alleyways are always weird right? No? Ok suit yourself, but to me they are! To be honest my experience with them isn’t great so I’ll just jump to the conclusion and tell the story. It was a burning hot July, the middle of a heat wave just after my 15th birthday. My bro Max and I had gone down to the skate park to make use of the summer sun. The place was a concrete desert, us, the tumbleweed and the crickets. At around mid afternoon when we decided we were going the walk back into the town centre. We walked for a little while until we came across a hole, a gloomy, black hole. Knowing max he stepped inside. I heard his footsteps trail off into the blackness, enveloping him as his figure faded away. I stood there listening to the rhythm of his steps, 1 2 1 2 1, silence. I stuck my head into the black mass and listened intently. Nothing. I stepped inside and soon found myself in complete darkness as I tiptoed slowly down the alleyway. Something cold ran down my neck and down the back of my spine. I reassured myself that this was just another old alleyway, it was no biggie. My breathing got very shallow and I began to wheeze. It was either very dusty in here or was this hole slowly getting smaller. My head snapped around, I couldn’t see the opening where I came from yet I still couldn’t see and ending. Weird. I fell forwards, my front landing in the dust. I spluttered trying desperately to remove any remnants of sand out my lungs. I scrambled to my feet and doubled over in a coughing fit. I caught sight of an old water fountain at the corner of my eye and hobbled over to it twisting the faucet frantically as a tiny arch of water rose from the spout. I lapped up the water as quickly as possible remembering the time. I had to find Max and be done with this stupid game so I could go home. I noticed that the water was turning thick and gloopy so I swiftly pulled my face away from the stream. It was dark red and splashed onto the dusty ground. It looked almost like blood. I whimpered at the sight of it and turned my head to the right to see a tall sign on two aged wooden poles it read, ‘Spladinskys Carnival.’ I found myself mumbling,” stupid circus elves can’t even spell.” I cautiously slipped under the sign and walked towards a hall of mirrors. I stood at the door way sweeping cobwebs out of my path and then I put one foot through the entrance. All the lights flickered on and off, red and green, many of the light bulbs had blown with age and use but most still flickered on and off. I took a few steps inside minding where I put my feet, in case anything strange happened again. I came across the first mirror. My waist looked large and I looked about two foot tall. I sniggered at the sight of myself and put my finger out to touch the mirror. I couldn’t feel it. I hit the boy right in the face poking him in the eye. He let out a yelp, his eyes turning black. I flung myself back closing my eyes as I fell to the ground. I opened an eye, my reflection restored as before with a sheet of glass separating us. What was that? It looked exactly like me. I straightened myself up dusting my pants off and rubbing at a red stain on my side. I glanced over at the next mirror. I looked tall and gangly like my brother max. If only he was here to see this. A crack began to form at the top right hand corner of the mirror. My smile faded into a sagging frown. I looked old, bags formed under my eyes. A black figure swept behind me, a chill ran down my spine. I shuddered. The figure appeared in the mirror behind me. It stood tall, head bowed and holding a scythe. I swung myself round to my right and threw myself down the corridor. I sprinted down the straight hall striding past every one of my reflections. Clouds of dust kicked up behind me. A loud scuttling noise picked up behind me, it was on my tail. The hall

stretched on and on. I tripped over my lace and fell through the floor. I landed outside the hall of mirrors exit and ran a hundred yards before catching my breath. I sat for what felt like forever. Rocking back and forward with my head in my hands, where was I, how did I get here, and who am I. I rubbed dirt out of my eyes and looked straight ahead. Old wooden boards blocked off the entrance to a rollercoaster. I ruffled my now grey hair from all the dust I’d fallen into and picked myself up off the ground. This was not a good idea. I was being pulled over to the entrance, like a magnet being pulled by a force. I swung my foot back to kick at the boards and I thrust my foot forward. It slammed into a piece of concrete. I let out a cry of pain. I fell to my knees and grabbed my foot, tears streaming down my face. I wiped them away. Stupid boy, I shouldn’t be crying like this I’m fine. I glanced up and looked at the piece of concrete. It read ‘Jessica E. Talbot, 9, loving daughter and best friend.’ I jumped up and chucked myself over the wooden boards. I approached the metal frame of the ride and grabbed it. I climbed up like a scary spider creature; the framework creaked and groaned as I pulled each metal rung. My heart leapt into my mouth. I stood at the edge of a gap between the tracks and looked down. The old cart had smashed into pieces when it had fallen. A hand reached up. I grabbed the little frail hand, what was I doing! I craned my neck further over the edge. She was young, skinny, with scraggly hair and a pretty face. Her grey dress was blood stained. Her limp body swayed in the breeze. She looked up. Pupils dilated and opened her mouth. Her voice was almost a whisper, “Help me.” I tried to pull my hand away but she gripped tighter. Her voice was deep and sounded like an older man, “Keep your hands and feet in the carriage at all times, enjoy the ride!” her eyes flared red, the colour draining from her face and she grinned baring razor sharp teeth. She pulled me over. I fell through the old cart, the ground, I just kept falling. I landed on a hospital bed and opened my eyes startled and breathed a sigh of relief. Max dropped his book and mum woke up. She came over and kissed my forehead. Doctors rushed over. Max whispered “I found you in the alleyway. Unconscious.”

The First Commercial Flight Into Space, By Hannah George, F2

The rocket gleamed inside the hangar, every panel shone like a polished trophy. The circular glass windows glinted as the sun reflected off them and beamed down onto the frenzy of activity inside the space station. People ran around with clipboards checking that everything was in perfect condition. Outside the perimeter of the space headquarters, thousands of space enthusiasts and reporters from every newspaper had gathered. They were here to witness the first commercial flight to space. Then, led by their captain, Charlie, and dressed in their bright white space suits, the passengers stepped into the building. The wealthy group that had paid for the trip grinned at the cameras, basking in the fame that this historic moment was bringing them. However Charlie’s hands were clammy beneath his white space gloves and his heart fluttered nervously but he put on a brave face and his deep green eyes twinkled with excitement. He clambered into the cockpit and strapped himself in. Charlie was surrounded by millions of flashing lights and screens, buttons and levers covered every possible surface. Charlie spoke into his microphone to his passengers, ‘’ This is your captain, Charlie speaking. Lift off will take place in five minutes, that’s five minutes. Please make sure that you are seated comfortably and your seatbelt is securely fastened.’’ Charlie took deep breaths as he tried to calm his rising nerves. He had undergone so much training and so many drills that he knew nothing could possibly go wrong. Then, he was given an order through his ear piece to prepare for lift off. Every muscle in Charlie’s body tensed and across the tannoy, a countdown began. Charlie engaged the levers and the space craft began to shake. The onlookers held their breath as the shuttle disappeared briefly from view, engulfed by smoke and flames from the engines, but then it was rising gracefully into the clear blue sky and the crowd erupted with cheers. Charlie spoke defiantly into the microphone, ‘’ Control, we have lift off!’’ The passengers behind him were shrieking with excitement and he allowed a proud smile to spread across his face, the happiness seeping through his veins like sweet honey. Charlie looked through his window as they sped away from Earth. The rolling fields and hills became an intricate mosaic tiled floor and the street lamps were nothing more than tea lights. The sky grew darker as they left the Earth’s atmosphere and soon the

shuttle was swaddled by thick black darkness. Stars scattered the sky like shells at the bottom of the ocean as they sparkled and flickered. Suddenly, a flash of white fire streaked past the rocket’s window and the passengers gasped. It was a shooting star. Further away another star zoomed across the sky, its tail sparkling, arcing upwards, then plummeting towards the Earth where it faded to nothing.

As the earth grew smaller, the silver moon grew larger. The shuttle was so close to the mysterious rocky formation, that the passengers could see the huge craters that riddled the surface of the dusty moon. Enormous craggy mountains rose from the surface of the moon and scars were left down the sides where rocks had shifted and slid. Then, Charlie looked back towards the Earth and his breath caught in his throat. The Earth looked magnificent. The swirling white clouds and fierce blue seas were unlike anything Charlie had ever seen before. He could vaguely make out some land formations in an array of different colours. There was deep forest green stretching for miles and intense orange extending to the sea. It was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. However, Charlie knew that he couldn’t stay in space forever, so he told the passengers that they would be turning round and heading back to Earth. Charlie reported back to the space station and then he adjusted the controls and fired up the engines. Soon, the earth was growing larger by the second but Charlie still had to make his way into the Earth’s atmosphere. The shuttle circled for a while and the passengers grew restless. In the cockpit, Charlie was struggling. The fuel levels were getting low but the shuttle wasn’t at the right angle to enter the atmosphere and Charlie couldn’t make it turn. He had lost control of the shuttle. His breathing became shallow and he tried to stay calm. His hands shook slightly as they fumbled over the buttons. He tried to communicate with the space station but his signals weren’t reaching and the line was crackling. Panic began to surface in Charlie’s chest; he was still a long way from home. Charlie racked his brains and searched for a solution from all his months of training. He frantically tried different buttons but nothing would work. Then his screen went dead. He had now lost all communication and he had no idea where he was. Charlie’s face was as grey as the cloudy skies below him and sweat began to trickle down his forehead, pasting his mop of brown hair to his head. Charlie swallowed down the lump that was rising in his throat and spoke to the passengers. A hush fell over the space craft as Charlie’s voice quivered, ‘’we appear to have missed the entry into the Earth’s atmosphere, so we may be stuck here for some time……………………..’’

City Fox

Ali Forbes, Form 3

I yawned as I woke up from a deep, deep sleep next to the Domino’s pizza bins, waiting for some scraps to be chucked out, maybe even a slice of meat feast! And then I heard a rattle coming from inside the bins. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a rat with a king size slice of a margarita pizza. I hid behind an old sign waiting for this rodent to come past me so I could strike. But the smell of that pizza was too tempting. When I pounced I could only see crumbs. Then the rat was gone. After that I slowly trotted on down the pavement, but it was dark so it was hard to find my way around town.

Suddenly I was blinded by two strong beams of light coming from a machine. Then something – it only had two legs! - came out of the big metal machine and started chasing me into the woods. After that thing had gone back to his machine I

crept back into the big city. It was late and I was getting hungry. So I went back to my favourite bins. The problem was, they were right in the city centre. But this was an easy meal for a sly skilful fox like me. I began my quest for food.

I came across another one of those things that chased me except this time had a metal and wooden thing and it chased me into the wood and made a loud bang which hurt my ears and after that I stayed away from the city. I’m wondering if these things I saw what are known as men? And was that thing he was carrying, what they call –a gun? But just the thought of that pizza drew me back. On my way back there was a furry animal that looked like me but this one barked and got very angry when I started eating some left over sausages but I just ignored it. I couldn’t find my bins so I settled in for the night and rested my head on an old pizza box.

An extract from a novel, by Rebecca Brown F4

Late Again

"Autumn!" Autumn groaned, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "You're late! Come on, get up!" Autumn's mother was shouting from down stairs. Autumn pulled her weary head up from the desk and stretched. She looked at the clock. Half past eight. Half eight? Half eight! She threw on her crumpled uniform and searched for her unfinished history homework. With sudden urgency, she shoved her work into her bag and flew downstairs. She couldn't be late. She could not be late. As she slammed the door behind her, images of silent classes, staring at her as she stumbled in late made her stomach churn. Pockets. Yes she had her bus pass. Key? Yes. She stormed down the street, treading carefully, due to the thick coating of ice covering the pavement. When she reached the bottom of the road, she was suddenly aware that there was less grit covering the ground, and the ice was deadlier than ever. Autumn tried to pull to a halt but she was simply moving too fast. Thud. She found herself sitting on the ground, cursing the lack of grip on her school shoes. She pushed herself up and continued to run - a little slower. The winter sun peeking over the rooftops failed to clear the low haze forming along the ground. Autumn peered out the bus window, trying as hard as she could to see where she was and how close to her stop. It was proving pretty difficult though, the windows were completely steamed up. Then she saw it. A blur of green and blue that was her stop approached at an alarming rate as the bus whizzed onward. Autumn threw her bag over her shoulder and leapt for the nearest stop button. She stumbled down the bus and out of the doors into the frosty winter air. Men and women filled the streets carrying brief cases and shopping bags, going about their day to day business. Usually, the area was not this busy when Autumn got off the bus. She moved into a frantic jog up the busy street, dodging her way through the sea of shoppers and office staff. A clock mounted over a shop doorway encased in an impressive silver frame caught her eye. The hands pointed to five past nine. Five minutes late. Fantastic. Was it worth rushing now? She was late anyway. What difference would ten minutes make? Trouble. That's what it was going to make. She had history next and somehow Autumn did not think that her old school, strait-laced teacher would appreciate her being late and not handing in homework all in the one helping. With that, Autumn took a brisk walk in the direction of doom. Her doom. Ten fifteen. She had arrived, only she still had the dragging task of dumping some of her load in her locker. Shortly before, Autumn had heaved the heavy doors open and made in the direction of her locker room when a hefty woman stomped around the corner clasping a transparent wallet. In it, lay a morning register. The woman halted in front of Autumn, who instantly picked out her name with a massive red question mark beside it. Her eyes travelled up to the top of the paper, where she found the words: "Ms. Stark; Year 2 History; First period” scrawled in perfect script. "Miss Green," the cool voice of the dreaded history teacher hissed. "Would you care explain to me why exactly you did not turn up for class this morning? You are ten minutes late. My! If I hadn't been coming by the office to drop off this attendance slip God knows where you would be right now! Gallivanting into town?" "No Ms..." "Smoking behind the bike shed?" "What? No!" "I knew it! Well young lady just come with me and I will supervise you as we head back to class where I shall fill out a detention form for you." "But Ms. Stark! I was only-" "Enough!" Ms. Stark raised a podgy hand a few millimetres from Autumn's face. Autumn blushed and looked at her feet. Why did she bother? Compared to Ms. Stark's ruthless attitude towards discipline, she was completely vulnerable. In one swift movement, the teacher spun around and stalked off in the direction of the office. Autumn slunk behind, dreading the humiliation she was about to receive from her class mates.

The Tourists Sarah Emslie-Smith F5

“You’re going to need to hurry up a little if

you want to see this sunrise, my love,” my darling husband calls through to me from the bedroom, “Harry has just texted me. He’s waiting for us in the foyer.” Jeremy is not a morning person, and today he is especially grumpy since I insisted we wake up earlier than usual to watch the sunrise from the Statue of Liberty. He grunted and groaned, telling me that a holiday is not for getting up as early as he would at home. I ignored it however. This is something I have always wanted to see, ever since Harry told me about it when he first moved here. I come out of the bathroom to find my husband in his favourite, and my least, shirt: the one with palm trees on, looking down at his map. A common sight when we are on holiday. He looks up at me, nods and then looks back down at his cherished map.

At first when Harry had moved here I had been, as any mother would be, inconsolable. For me, someone who had never been further than a holiday in Ireland before, New York seemed like a universe away from home. I’ve come round to it now though. Even though I don’t see him as much as I would like, this holiday in New York has been such a treat! Although Harry has been working during the day, even just seeing him at lunch and in the evenings has been lovely. Of course he phones at least once a week when Jeremy and I are at home, but it just doesn’t feel the same. I can’t see him. I can’t see the way his face lights up when he speaks about his gorgeous American girlfriend, or the serious expression on his face when he talks about business with his father, that look that I find so sweet. I can see him now though, I can see him and I never want to stop seeing him. I try and capture what I see every time so that I can go through my mental photo album of him when I get home, and inevitably miss him more than ever.

* * * * * * * * Harry cheerfully agreed to going to the

Statue of Liberty at sunrise when we told him what we had planned. He can’t usually come with us to see the sights of this amazing city because he has to work, but this is early enough for him to be at work by 9am. He stands tapping his watch when we finally appear, but then his wonderful smile breaks through and he saunters up to us.

“Come on slow coaches. I’ve not got all day, like you, remember!”

“Sorry son, you know what your mum’s like. You can’t pull her away from that mirror!” said my charming husband.

“Delightful!” I reply. The sunrise surpasses my expectations by

far. It is spectacular. I get lost in a paradise. I am away from my sleepy old village in Somerset, with my son, watching a sight like I have never seen before. It is like heaven. I even catch Jeremy smiling as he sees the sun rise over the horizon, though of course he would deny it if I said anything.

“We had best get going mum. Time is ticking by. We’ve been here for almost an hour!” Harry snaps me out of my trance. “It takes about half an hour to get to work, and I like to be there about twenty minutes early. I’m sorry to be the one to ruin the fun!”

“Not at all, pet. Let’s go. I am excited to see where you work. We won’t come in of course, but I certainly want to see the outside,” I assure my son. I take in the view for the last time. I make sure that I record all of the beautiful different shades of pink and oranges in my mind.

Our subway train is late, and Harry continues to get more and more uneasy, constantly looking at his watch. I can’t help but watch him. He has grown up so much since he moved here, yet he is still my baby in my eyes. I don’t want to think about having to leave him in two days and not see him for another few months. This week has been the best of my life, only because it has been the greatest joy to see my son. Our train finally arrives, after fifteen minutes of rising tension: Jeremy has tried to make a few jokes, to “lighten the mood” as he puts it, but they have not been received well. Luckily Harry lightens up somewhat when the subway came, in plenty of time in my opinion.

Five stops later we get off. Harry is looking ever the professional, with brief case in hand, and his tie very neatly done up in his collar. He has done better than any of his friends at university. A big company head hunted him and started him on a salary that few of his friends could aspire to earn in a lifetime. Oh how proud Jeremy and I had been. He was the apple of my eye and now he was moving to the “Big Apple” and was going to be living the high life. The contrast between him and his father is dramatic. While he is standing there, looking very dapper in his pin stripe suit, Jeremy is wearing a shirt with a palm tree print and khaki shorts. Instead

of a smart brief case he has a clumsy camera over his shoulder.

I apologise profusely that I have made him late, but he assures me that he is there ten minutes early anyway. It is half past eight. He works on the 27th floor, and he likes to take the stairs to “keep himself on his feet”, though today he thinks he will take the lift to make sure he will not be late. I find it funny to think of him working at an office in one of these vast sky scrapers that are part of the iconic image of New York. He heads off and Jeremy and I sit on a bench a little way away to catch our breath

after the hurried walk from the underground. As we are getting up my husband shields his face from the sun and looks up.

“That looks very low down don’t you think?” he says, pointing up at the sky.

“So it does. You wouldn’t think they would come so low, what with the skyscrapers and everything. It’s very skilful stuff.”

Then, in a matter of seconds we can’t see the plane or the Two Towers anymore. All we can see is smoke.

La Poupee By Alis Reid, F5

It’s not often that you see magic in the modern world. In fact, it’s almost unheard of. Almost. Those who do happen to see it usually pretend not to. Out of mind, out of sight, they say. That’s why they look away. Out of the darkness and into the light. You see, magic isn’t the wondrous, whimsical art that you are accustomed to thinking of. It’s dark. It’s dangerous. And it’s closely allied with death. ‘Hello?’ I don’t dare to move. Don’t dare to breathe. Otherwise she might see me. The voice rasps again into the darkness. ‘Hello?’ I tense in my hiding place, crouching and watching. It is a young woman who looks to be in her early twenties, with an abundance of orange curls upon her head, her face smooth and pale and flawless like a new piece of paper. Her thin frame is bundled up in a velvet crimson coat which clashes horribly with her vivid ginger hair, and as her mouth opens slightly in confusion I glimpse two rows of perfectly white teeth. Wide green eyes scrutinize the attic, looking for whatever made the noise. I lie still as her eyes scan all the boxes that are piled around the dark room, lit only by her flashlight which illuminates a single, bright spot, like a giant searchlight used when the world was at war. Eventually I see her sigh dejectedly. Her name is Jane, and she decides that must have been hearing things. There once was a time when magic ruled the world. Everyone was obsessed, to the point of infatuation. But their fascination was twisted with fear, and quite rightly so. That’s how religion came about, by the way. There was no Adam, no Eve, no Noah and a boat full of animals. Lies. All lies. If the people believed there was some good in this broken, mangled world, then perhaps they wouldn’t be so scared. Quixotic religions promptly sprouted, stuffed full of tales of saviours and forgiveness and peace on earth. Like I said...a bedtime story. A bedtime story shaped from trepidation, used only to manipulate and comfort the pathetic, defenceless humans against the black arts. They felt as if religion was a shield protecting from the power of magic, that ‘angels were watching over them’. They weren’t so wrong about that actually...but they had the wrong idea about angels. In reality they’re not so ‘angelic’. But that’s a story for another time. Jane is about to leave the dark, musty attic when there it is again. The scratching noise. She whips around charily, and I can hear her heart rate increasing, shining the flashlight over the piles of discarded wooden boxes. Could it be rats? Or...something else. I can’t help it: a slight giggle escapes me. Jane grasps two hands on the flashlight, shaking. ‘Who’s there?’ she calls out nervously into the darkness. I don’t reply. Of course there was some truth that managed to slither its way into the bible. Succubae and Incubi, Lilith and Lucifer, demons and soul sucking creatures. The myths had to come from somewhere. These demons were created by simple incantations. Some still exist today. Ever felt a cold breeze in an empty room? A Haunted Spirit. Ever seen a large black dog from the corner of your eye at night? The Barghest. But this wouldn’t register

with you. You would cast it aside, tell yourself that this was impossible. The Old Ones, the ones who watch you, don’t like this. It infuriates them that in the modern world people aren’t scared by magic. Instead you put it into books and plays and films where magic is a beautiful, miraculous even. They cannot tolerate this, yet their power has been significantly reduced by the pesky invention of science. This is why I exist. A cold, still air takes hold. Her scarlet, fat lips tremble as her heart begins to beat audibly in her chest. CRASH She drops the flashlight and it smashes on the cold, hard, wooden floor, rolling away into a corner. The attic is smothered in darkness. Jane is trembling from head to foot now. She doesn’t understand what is happening. Why it is suddenly so cold? Why she can feel sweat sticky on her forehead? Why did she hear an eerie giggle coming from a cardboard box in her attic? You see, few weeks ago, Jane had been at the local fete with her two little brothers. A fortune-teller had asked to come and read the little boys fortune for some ridiculous price. They had been eager, but Jane had told them firmly ‘no’. She wasn’t going to waste her money on some false, manipulating woman to lie to her brothers. ‘There’s no such thing as magic,’ she had retorted to the fortune teller. ‘Magic is a con made up by people like you to suck people dry of their hard earned money.’ And with that she had taken the boys hands and marched off in the other direction, having spotted that handsome young man near the jam competition. But she thought she had heard the fortune teller whisper something as she left. ‘Beware seven days after Lammas’ Today is that day. The box I am in begins to shake violently. Not quite knowing why she doesn’t leave, Jane slowly approaches the box. She opens it. And sighs with relief. All that is inside is a little porcelain doll dressed in a pale blue dress, with smooth white skin, dark hair and scarlet red lips. Its eyes are closed and it looks peacefully, as if it were sleeping. My eyes fly open. Jane screams. You see, the Old Ones are always watching, waiting. And if you so much as hint at offending magic, you better be watching your back. Because they will find you. And they’ll put me in your attic. And no one will hear you scream. They’ll find no murder weapon, no fingerprints, no evidence. Just your lifeless body and a broken doll. La Poupée. Me.

Beachcombing By Anna Boschler, F6

Fish Circus, Aileen Agar

Tears brimmed at the deep, weather-worn

creases of his eyes when he fingered these seaside objects, which was often now. The objects had been beautiful. The vibrant shells had told stories; each so delightful and so distinctive; innocently pink cowries with their delicate teeth; golden periwinkles with their smooth, helter-skelter depths; merry, sunrise-coloured tulip shells with their full bellies; simple, pale cockles with their graceful, maternal curves. The pleasure and calm with which she had arranged these stories, intertwining them in huge, colourful collages full of texture and depth, or in delicate strings of jewellery, had made them exquisite treasures. The pale driftwood, smoothed by the sea, had been a structure, a work of fine architecture, each splintered edge and curve, a piece of inspiration and thought, of new ideas; a place to write a message. Pebbles, so valuable, with their fine, cool weight and deep changeable colours, smooth surfaces that could skim and tumble with such fantastic noise. Chipped and useless sea glass, in her hands, had become something lovely, deep greens and blues merging and offering new perceptions and depths of thought.

Now, the objects had lost their beauty. The shells, no longer enchanting, seemed chipped and broken, pieces of bone trampled and discarded by the sea. They told no story and became nothing but remains. The driftwood was ugly, pale and meaningless, the sharp branches cruel and useless. The pebbles were only duplicates of a form; too imperfect and battered by the waves to skim and tumble, the colours monotonous and faded. The sea glass became meaningless, useless and ugly. Without her, clouded by grief, he saw nothing of the magic that she had seen in these beachcombings. They were debris.

Through the long years the two of them together had served the same purpose, shared a space in the world in their simple seaside cottage. It had been beautiful once, their warm and golden haven, but now he felt the draughts and the cool shadows of the evening creeping up the walls, the

way the salt air rots things so quickly. That shared space seemed unbearably empty. She had sustained him and without her, he did not know what to do with the death around him. It did not belong in this space where she used to be. A small pot of ashes resting by his bed was all that remained of the joy, and the love which he had felt for so long.

He had watched from the window on many mornings as she combed the beach, sometimes he had even joined her, bravely bundled in coats and scarves, rigid with age, but fascinated by her endless passion for the seashore and her complete absorption in this regular treasure hunt. She would avidly scan the tide-line, hunched over and engrossed in her search, but still graceful in her movements as she scooped remarkable items into the old punnet she carried with her. Her ageing face was still beautiful, flushed from the cold and bright with the exhilaration from the beauty and ideas sought and found on the beach. Her creations and treasures had filled the tiny house, bringing life and colour to their space. But now, there was too much space, and these things were just litter.

Since the swift coming of her death and during the endless, empty weeks that followed, his mind had contained only thoughts of these objects. He sought desperately to find the joy in her creations that he had felt so peacefully during their long years together. He grabbed and fumbled for the memories of her, his stiff, withered fingers catching nothing but the rough texture of the beach. The shells and the glass did not offer a last breathless idea; the patterns of driftwood did not conceal a parting smile or flush of delight. The beachcombings were empty and lifeless and, in them, he saw nothing of the love he had lost, the happiness he was so desperate not to forget. The old man, stooped and drawn from weeks of grief, began to clear the little house. At last he collected the many treasures and filled a large old wheelbarrow, his movements defeated and slow at first, but growing in impatience and determination as he cleared the shelves and surfaces, corners and

drawers of the things that no longer belonged there. Slowly and decisively, he trundled the heavy wheelbarrow down to the beach. There, he unloaded methodically, placing each item carefully along the shoreline, one by one, until the wheelbarrow was empty and the tide-line was full.

When finished, the old man stood back and gazed on her creations, in the place where she had found so many ideas and such a great source of passion. He was overcome, as the beach presented so clearly to him the memory of the love he had lost. Her creations belonged in this space because, as was now clear to him, so did she. This realisation caused him to turn and stumble to the little house, where he rushed to his bedside. There stood the little pot containing the ashes of the one he had

loved for so much of his life. He removed the death which had, for weeks, haunted the space they had shared, and carried the pot carefully down to the beach.

In a joyous movement, the old man flung her ashes across the shoreline; she landed in the waves, gracefully sweeping the beach, and there she would remain.

He knew that someday he might join her in her contented beachcombing, but until then, he would watch from the window, alone and getting older but captivated by the memories of his love’s passion for the beach, the beautiful exhilaration on her face, and the beauty she created in ordinary things; the treasures she had found on the beach.