Tag Archives: newstory

What Have I Done?

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“What have you done?” The principal roared as we stood over the lifeless body in the playground.

It had started off as an ordinary day. I was sitting alone, in the playground, as usual. Mum had packed the same boring dodgy canned tuna and out-dated mayonnaise. I picked it up with both hands, trying to make sure the runny mayo didn’t leak through the bread. Unsurprisingly, as soon as I took the first bite, mayonnaise ended up on my second-hand school tie. I sighed, using my thumb and my saliva to wipe it off as best as I possibly could. Luckily, the fifty dollar note layed unaffected in the palm of my hand. I shook my head sadly. If I ran away now, then I wouldn’t have to give the money to Michael. I wouldn’t have to look up and into my Mother’s sad eyes and have to tell her that I stole the money out of her wallet. I could almost imagine the conversation word-by-word.
“I understand Bobby. I’m sorry we are so poor, I just, I, I have always tried to be the best mother I possibly could, but, I, I can’t afford you a phone or anything. I’m so sorry honey, I just…” And tears would follow. They would stream down her pale face, past her hollow cheeks. Big droplets and lots of sniffing. There was never away of telling Mum why I had taken it. Michael always forbid me of letting out a single word; as if he knew that what he was doing was wrong.
A shadow towered over me, blocking me from the sun that I had so warmly replenished.
“Look who’s here mates” Michael snarled at my face, his two sidemen, Rover and Greg, copying every move he made. “Do you have the money?”
I tried to cover up my fear. I tried to look up at his face; but I couldn’t. I was too much of a wimp, just as Michael had always told me. I gulped and my fist tightened on the note but I wasn’t fast enough for Michael’s sharp eye. His giant hands reached out and plunged at my tiny fingers. He forced them open and grabbed the note out so fiercely that I was surprised it didn’t rip. I took a deep breath and I knew what I needed to do. My Mum always told me to stand up to bullies, not that she knew I was effected by one. I looked at Michael’s pursed lips covered in droplets of supaliva. He tried to reflect rage and anger, but the only thing I saw when I looked into his eyes, was fear.
“Michael?” I asked. “Does it hurt?”
“Does what hurt?” He asked cluelessly.
“Does it hurt to be lonely? Do you ever feel rejected or upset?”
Michael’s eyes turned into slits and he peered at me. His pupils were like daggers about to lunge onto my torso. Rover and Greg stared at me in horror, as if I had just delivered a death threat to a king.
“You shouldn’t have said that Weasel. I’m going to turn your face into a flat pancake. Your last words?”
Still, the fear overtook his face. All I saw was a useless puppy dog, feeling abused and rejected. I stared at him sadly. Everyone knows that Michael is perfectly capable of turning someone’s face into a soccer ball that looked like it had been run over by a monster truck five hundred times.
“I just want you to know that if you ever want a friend, I’ll forgive you. It’s not too late.”
Michael growled, his teeth baring. I closed my eyes, waiting for Michael’s fist to make contact with my skin. Instead of focusing on the punch, I decided to concentrate on the story I’m going to tell my Mum. When she asks what the bruises are from, I’ll say I ran into a pole walking home from school. Or I can add in a new companion. I’ll say my new friend and I were playing tag and I was trying to run away from him. That’s better. At least she’ll think that I made a new buddy. She is always asking if I want someone to come over for dinner. Surprisingly though, the next few moments weren’t ones of pain, just patience. I opened my eyes slowly, just to find Michael’s clenched fist frozen in front of my nose.
“Come on Michael” Greg whined impatiently.
“Yeah. Punch his face in already” Rover complained.
“I don’t know” Michael mumbled. “My hand kind of hurts from yesterday’s fiasco. Billy’s face was really stiff and my hand is pretty weak because his cheekbone was on a funny angle.”
Rover and Grg looked pretty unconvinced but they didn’t question him or complain any further.
“I don’t know. Maybe we’ll just take his lunch instead.” They all stared at my sand which that layed almost untouched on my lunchbox. It was hardly something I felt any attachment to. I don’t know why Micael wanted it.”You heard me Bobby. Pass it over.” He was trying to be tough, but he called me Bobby. Weasel had become my new name basically. All around the school. Students and even teachers. Last year, when Mr Brown accidentally wrote Weasel on my school report, Mum was very confused, I didn’t dare to tell her how the name has been stuck onto my back with sticky notes almost every lunchtime.
I passed the sand which over, as if presenting an alive dodo bird to a scientist. Michael took a big bite, his face changing colours; I don’t think his stomach had adapted to the taste like mine had.

Peanut Butter Rain

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Peanut Butter Rain

We sat in the classroom in utter boredom, no different from any other day. The boys tapped their fingertips and drummed on the table with their pencils. The teacher was asleep standing up, her marker running across the whiteboard continuously as she snored. Raindrops strummed the tin roof of the classroom, like cymbals ringing in a concert hall. I yawned ponderously. In approximately five minutes, the bell would ring and the teacher would wake up with a sudden snort and get down on her knees and tell us that she’ll give us each five dollars canteen money if we don’t tell the principal. I never spend mine and I’ve saved up over one hundred and thirty five dollars attending school. Arguably however, I haven’t got any smarter. The throbbing on the room became louder and louder and turned into an ear-splitting booming. We stared up at the roof in wonder; I don’t think any of us had ever heard anything so loud, eliminating our educator’s snoring. We could hear the teacher next door screaming at her class, competing with the banging on the roof. We had to cover our ears; it was bewilderment the teacher was still asleep. The roof exploded. I’m not kidding. The boy sitting next to me was taking photos of himself on his phone and got it on camera. He screamed the most because he had just got a blow-dry. Instead of rain though, there was peanut-butter. We knew it was the crunchy type because the teacher got hit by a peanut the size of a small meteorite; she was still asleep. The impact was incredible. She smashed into the window and then flew across the playground in the air like a shooting star. Our class cooed in admiration, and then we hid under our desks in horror as she hit a rock and exploded, body parts shimmering in the distance. Our room started flooding, carrying desks and chairs with the rising height. I could swim, but peanut butter was heavier than water. The girl opposite me started having an allergy attack, gasping between breaths. It then occurred to me that three people in our class would have todays date on their gravestone. I shuddered and considered a minute of silence and then decided that that might not be appropriate. Then it hit me.

“Start eating” I ordered. They stare at me as if I were crazy. I don’t think many of them ate peanut butter without jam. “If we eat the peanut butter, I can find the anaphylactic pens in the first aid kit!” I swear that all those five dollar notes hadn’t done them any good. But they ate; even those people I knew didn’t like it ate. Soon people started to look green and vomit began to mix with the golden brown mixture, but they slurped their puke all back up and continued with their task. I was sticky and felt dirtier than I had ever felt in my whole life, but this was a matter of life and death. I spluttered and cough, demanding more of them. People were at risk. The most obese kid in our class was having a whale of a time, causing his clothes to explode. He waded in the peanut butter embarrassingly, girls squealing when one of them came across a pair of underpants big enough to fit a baby elephant, complete with skid marks. Kids were starting to give up, but we were almost there, I inhaled deeply as I caught glimpse of the first aid bucket.

A Recent Story of Mine

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Cheese Ball Bruce

Once Upon A time there was a man who lived in a cheese balls packet. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t want to live in a cheese ball packet; it just kind of happened.

This man was small, tiny, miniature, microscopic, about the size of my thumbnail (my thumbnail isn’t very big). Having lived in a cheese ball packet all his life, this man didn’t have a name, but I like to call him Bruce.

Bruce’s senses are not very efficient. Everywhere he goes (not that he really goes anywhere) the smell of artificial cheese powder overwhelms him. His vision is okay, but is limited to mostly the colour orange. His taste buds can only detect the taste of cheese, but fortunately, his hearing is perfect. Unfortunately, all he really hears is the sound of foil rustling whenever he takes a step. Bruce is living a very regrettable life.

Little does Bruce know, he is sitting on a supermarket shelf at this very minute. Not some weird little shelf in the center of the supermarket, but one of the fancy shelves that you see when you reach the checkout. The one with all the goodies and treats that you beg your Mum and Dad to get, but they always says “no.”

Well, one day a very rude and disobedient Mother went out shopping on her own, and the cheeky women bought her own packet of cheese balls, the greedy beast! So this women went home to find the house empty, left the groceries unpacked in the kitchen, sat on the couch and cracked open a bottle of Ginger Beer (to sum up her selfishness), flicked on the television and opened this particular packet of cheese balls.

At this moment Bruce was lying in between two cheese balls after having quite a similar feast to the one he had yesterday and the day before and so on. He lay down, licking cheese ball flavouring from his fingertips, rubbing his bursting stomach.

Meanwhile, the Mother was throwing cheese balls into her mouth and chewing loudly, bits of unidentifiable orange pieces flying out of her mouth and back into the packet like meteorites.
Bruce stared upwards, shielding his face from these disgusting pieces of food. He tried to find cover, but living in a cheese ball packet and all, it was not that easy. Manicured nails coated in orange, reached into the packet and fished around to find a squirming Bruce in the corner.

Without looking to her fingers, Bruce was thrown into her mouth, screaming with all his might, but because he was so small, even though his face was red with effort, you could hear nothing but the blaring of the television set. Bruce landed on her damp tongue, his yells now echoing throughout her jaw. Even though Bruce was clueless to the outside world, he wasn’t stupid. He knew that soon, the pearly white teeth would crunch down on him. In complete and utter panic, Bruce dived down this lady’s throat before her upper rows enclosed on him. This lady gagged, coughing and spluttering, while she clutched her throat, on her hands and knees in on the carpet. Suddenly, Bruce went flying out of her mouth and onto a table, a little shocked and covered in saliva.

He stood up a little uncertainly, peering at this world so different from the one he had lived all his years. Not knowing English, Bruce could not show any verbal celebration after escaping his near-death experience, but he punched his hand in the air, watching indifferently as the woman vomited on her expensive rug.

The front door abruptly burst open, revealing two boys in muddy soccer uniforms and a man in a business suit. Their eyes were as big as golf balls in shock when they put sight on the half-eaten cheese ball packet. They kicked and screamed, tears streaming down their cheeks, ignoring their pale-faced Mother as she put her head face-first into a puddle of her vomit.

“I knew I should have bought the Twisties” she thought glumly.

The Night we Thought would never Come…

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Icy wing slashed furiously at my face. Grains of sand pelted my bare flesh. Deafening waves smashed onto the shore. rain danced its evil routine upon my head. Still, it came closer and closer until it filled the whole sky above. My breathing became more rapid, my legs became stiffer, but I kept walking. My ankles sank into the heavy sand with every step I took. My eyes drooped and the bags under my eyelids sagged. The night sky turned a murky shade of brown. This was the night that the generation was dreading. The night we thought would never come. Pluto was about to contact the surface of the Earth.

New Story

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My fingertips contain flickering energy. The inside of my pupils flash with electric emotion. My head impulses pure frenzy. No one else will ever feel the things I do; no one else but me. I may be unaware, but I swell with elation at the feel of it all…

I am peculiar. Incomparable; or possibly the most distinctive kid out there. My name is Porphyria Luna Devanda, but Dad calls me Fire because that word can be found in my first name; I am eleven years of age. I have characteristic chestnut eyes that gloss with playfulness, like a puppy in a children’s classroom. My frizzy red hair sticks up in all different angles, making it impossible to brush. Even when wet, it hangs unenthusiastically in front of my face, never going inflexible. I have dusky olive skin from being outside too long, but I like it that way. The scorching sun makes my skin burst with glee, causing sudden, yet jubilant shudders. I live with my Father on a deserted countryside setting in a small, yet comfortable home and attend school every once and a while in the Summer. Other than that, I roam around in my peaceful surroundings, undisturbed and blissful, apart from the rare occasion when Dad undertakes the challenge of teaching me himself, however, he is almost as ineffective at simple operations as myself. To explain my personality, I would say I am adventurous and out-going and up for a challenge, as long as it is not too troublesome or challenging. I may not be the smartest cookie out there, but you do not need brains to complete a straightforward everyday task. Overall, I am your perfectly typical girl, so I don’t know why you chose me. Out of the approximate 1.6 billion children on the globe, it is up to me to save the world.