Wednesday 8 th May 2013
This is a story I submitted into the YAFF (Young Adult Fiction Festival) Festival at the American Library In Paris! Unfortunately the results aren't out yet, but who knows, maybe I'll win something! :D
Thursday 23 rd February 2012
It was a fresh spring Sunday morning, if a little chilly, and Mama woke me up at the crack of dawn to roll the pastry.
"Today is the busiest day of the market, and people will be cold and hungry. Piping hot apple pie will soothe any hunger!"
So I rolled the pastry and shaped it and poured in the filling and put on the top and baked it in the oven and made little slits on the top.
Finally, at 8 o 'clock, Mama told me to get washed and dressed. I brushed my hair into my usual side braid and washed my face and brushed my teeth and slipped on a green silk dress.
Mama was caring for baby Sid and told me to start selling.
I loved caring for the pie stall. We were quite popular in the village and almost everybody would stop and buy a pie, and if not, they would buy a slice.
I stacked the pies on the racks, and switched the signs from 'Closed' to 'Open'.
All of a sudden, there was a mad rush. I thought that they were all for the pies, but instead they were watching a scene unfold in the market square.
I left the pie stall and ran to the crowd of people.
I recongnised Farmer Jenkins, a old stout man of 50+, with a gravelly voice and wrinkly face. He was strong as a bull, and he was holding a boy my age down to the dusty floor.
"You dare pickpocket me! You filthy young man, why I oughta-"
He was stopped when his wife, who worked in the tavern, caught sight of him and pulled him off the boy.
"Leave him be, you monster, leave him be." She cried.
"That young man-" He said, pointing an accusing finger at the boy, "Comes into our home, eats our food, sleeps on our sheets- and he nicks money!" He made one last dash at the boy, who ran out of the way, through the crowd and down the dusty track that led to the woods.
Farmer Jenkins was led to the tavern to calm down by his wife, and the crowd broke up. I was supposed to go back to my stall, but instead I ran down the track that led to the wood.
"Today is the busiest day of the market, and people will be cold and hungry. Piping hot apple pie will soothe any hunger!"
So I rolled the pastry and shaped it and poured in the filling and put on the top and baked it in the oven and made little slits on the top.
Finally, at 8 o 'clock, Mama told me to get washed and dressed. I brushed my hair into my usual side braid and washed my face and brushed my teeth and slipped on a green silk dress.
Mama was caring for baby Sid and told me to start selling.
I loved caring for the pie stall. We were quite popular in the village and almost everybody would stop and buy a pie, and if not, they would buy a slice.
I stacked the pies on the racks, and switched the signs from 'Closed' to 'Open'.
All of a sudden, there was a mad rush. I thought that they were all for the pies, but instead they were watching a scene unfold in the market square.
I left the pie stall and ran to the crowd of people.
I recongnised Farmer Jenkins, a old stout man of 50+, with a gravelly voice and wrinkly face. He was strong as a bull, and he was holding a boy my age down to the dusty floor.
"You dare pickpocket me! You filthy young man, why I oughta-"
He was stopped when his wife, who worked in the tavern, caught sight of him and pulled him off the boy.
"Leave him be, you monster, leave him be." She cried.
"That young man-" He said, pointing an accusing finger at the boy, "Comes into our home, eats our food, sleeps on our sheets- and he nicks money!" He made one last dash at the boy, who ran out of the way, through the crowd and down the dusty track that led to the woods.
Farmer Jenkins was led to the tavern to calm down by his wife, and the crowd broke up. I was supposed to go back to my stall, but instead I ran down the track that led to the wood.
Wednesday 22 nd February 2012
I entered this story into a competition. Let's see if I win!
Once upon a time, there lived a King and Queen in a beautiful kingdom, and they had a lovely daughter, who they named Lea.
It is pronounced Lee-a.
Oh, I do beg your pardon. They had a lovely daughter called Lea.
Lee-a!
Low-a?
No, Lee-a!
Loo-a!
Oh, move over and let me tell the story.
Right. We’re not having any of that ‘once upon a time’ lark. That’s how normal sappy fairytales start, see. And this is no sappy fairytale. Anything but, my friends, anything but…
I guess it started when I was born.
Everybody in the palace turned up to see me pop into the world. Unfortunately, they all thought I was coming at exactly 3. They had planned around that. At 3, royal birth. At 3:30, group portrait. At 4, first baby stroll in the palace grounds. And at five, a celebratory dinner!
I came at 3:20. That’s not too bad, you say.
I came at 3:20…the next morning.
Yes, I was a bit slow. But that wasn’t as bad as the next surprise… I was a girl.
See, the royal doctor, Professor M. Ad, thought I was a boy.
“You are slightly more round than a woman pregnant with a girl.” He said. I haven’t the faintest idea why that classed my mother as a woman pregnant with a boy, but that’s men for you.
Anyway, after I finally came into the world, my mother was fast asleep, and as for my father, he had abandoned it hours before and gone to bed. So my first hours or so in the world was parentless.
Still, the nurses wrapped me up warm and took me to see the royal doctor. He unwrapped me from my blankets and…
“A girl!” He proclaimed.
“A girl?” The nurses gasped.
“A-ga!” I probably said.
My parents were devastated. They wanted a boy to take over their kingdom when they were old and weary. A Queen… that was bad news. I mean, look at Cleopatra. And Anne Boleyn. And Marie Antoinette…
The point is, I wasn’t wanted. I was a mistake. So my parents hurriedly named me and locked me away in a tower the day I turned 13.
The castle was all right. Sometimes, during the cold winter nights, the dragon that guarded me would blow wisps of fire to keep me warm. We were a happy pair.
Until the prince came.
As I said before, this isn’t a sappy fairytale story. So the prince didn’t defeat the dragon. He tricked it.
He dressed up as a woman and said he was my mother, come to visit me. The dragon let him climb up its scaly back and into my room. When safely inside, he swept off his disguise.
“Hello, Princess Lea!” He proclaimed.
He even got my name right. This was my kind of person.
So we were married, and lived in the tower together, had numerous, lovely children, and lived… oh, all right. We lived happily ever after.
THE END
Once upon a time, there lived a King and Queen in a beautiful kingdom, and they had a lovely daughter, who they named Lea.
It is pronounced Lee-a.
Oh, I do beg your pardon. They had a lovely daughter called Lea.
Lee-a!
Low-a?
No, Lee-a!
Loo-a!
Oh, move over and let me tell the story.
Right. We’re not having any of that ‘once upon a time’ lark. That’s how normal sappy fairytales start, see. And this is no sappy fairytale. Anything but, my friends, anything but…
I guess it started when I was born.
Everybody in the palace turned up to see me pop into the world. Unfortunately, they all thought I was coming at exactly 3. They had planned around that. At 3, royal birth. At 3:30, group portrait. At 4, first baby stroll in the palace grounds. And at five, a celebratory dinner!
I came at 3:20. That’s not too bad, you say.
I came at 3:20…the next morning.
Yes, I was a bit slow. But that wasn’t as bad as the next surprise… I was a girl.
See, the royal doctor, Professor M. Ad, thought I was a boy.
“You are slightly more round than a woman pregnant with a girl.” He said. I haven’t the faintest idea why that classed my mother as a woman pregnant with a boy, but that’s men for you.
Anyway, after I finally came into the world, my mother was fast asleep, and as for my father, he had abandoned it hours before and gone to bed. So my first hours or so in the world was parentless.
Still, the nurses wrapped me up warm and took me to see the royal doctor. He unwrapped me from my blankets and…
“A girl!” He proclaimed.
“A girl?” The nurses gasped.
“A-ga!” I probably said.
My parents were devastated. They wanted a boy to take over their kingdom when they were old and weary. A Queen… that was bad news. I mean, look at Cleopatra. And Anne Boleyn. And Marie Antoinette…
The point is, I wasn’t wanted. I was a mistake. So my parents hurriedly named me and locked me away in a tower the day I turned 13.
The castle was all right. Sometimes, during the cold winter nights, the dragon that guarded me would blow wisps of fire to keep me warm. We were a happy pair.
Until the prince came.
As I said before, this isn’t a sappy fairytale story. So the prince didn’t defeat the dragon. He tricked it.
He dressed up as a woman and said he was my mother, come to visit me. The dragon let him climb up its scaly back and into my room. When safely inside, he swept off his disguise.
“Hello, Princess Lea!” He proclaimed.
He even got my name right. This was my kind of person.
So we were married, and lived in the tower together, had numerous, lovely children, and lived… oh, all right. We lived happily ever after.
THE END
Sunday 13 th November 2011
There was once a girl who could not talk. Her name was Anita. She could hear, she could see, and she could feel. But she could not speak.
Her mother sent her to a special school. Her father hired a special tutor. But still no sound emerged from the girl's throat.
Her parents took her to the doctor. The doctor told them that her daughter would possibly never talk in her lifetime. Her parents were so sad and depressed, they divorced and sent thier daughter away to a boarding school.
The boarding school was full of glamorous, pretty girls who made fun of Anita's scraggly mousey plaits while they flicked thier jet-black or honey-blond or caramel-brown or ruby-red hair. They made fun of Anita's drab faded blue school dress while they wore cute little skirts and blouses and ties.
Anita's only comfort zone was the library, where she immersed herself in other lives. She suffered in the cruelty of the workhouse with Oliver Twist, she survived the Hunger Games with Katniss, she twirled around in beautiful dresses and silver shoes with Cinderella.
Anita never spoke up in class and often read under her desk. She failed most of her subjects and was held back. After 4 long years, she was still in 8th grade at 18. And yet she still read.
Her new teacher was named Miss Partridge. She came in and clapped her hands. Anita dragged herself away from Romeo's speech to anyslase the teacher.
She had brunette hair like Anita's, cut in a stylish bob. She had a beautiful dress, a gorgeous sky blue. And on her back she had a guitar.
She swung the guitar and started to play a song and sang to it.
Anita cocked her head. She listened hard, replaying it again and again. Miss Partridge wrote the words on the board and Anita hurridley copied them down.
Miss Partridge played the song again, encouraging the class to sing along.
'Lean on me
When your not strong
I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on...'
Anita sat, and listened to the class singing, and mouthed the words, trying desperatley to make a sound come out.
The next day, they learnt a new song.
'When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be.'
Every lesson was a new song, and soon Anita's notebook was filling up.
Anita focused in class. She passed 8th grade with flying colours. She went on the 9th grade, but skipped ahead to 12th grade. She was finally going to graduate, at 19, and go to a musical college. Just because she couldn't sing didn't restrict her ambitions. She played piano beautifully and wrote many compositions that Miss Partridge had sent to hight-power colleges. One day, Anita was writing a new composition, a fast, happy little tune about spring, but she couldn't get the next riff. She decided to go on a walk through the woord for inspiration.
While she was walking, she saw a gazelle emerge from the shadows, limping. Her ear had been savaged and she looked as though she hadn't eaten in days. She wobbled on her frail legs, and Anita rushed over. The gazelle tentativley lent against Anita, but didn't trust her completley. Anita had to get her back somehow, but the gazelle was scared of her. She tried hard to mouth the first song she ever learnt with Miss Partdridge, but the deer didn't understand. Anita got frustrated and suddenly sang.
That day forward, Anita was able to sing and talk. All she needed was a little love.
THE END
Her mother sent her to a special school. Her father hired a special tutor. But still no sound emerged from the girl's throat.
Her parents took her to the doctor. The doctor told them that her daughter would possibly never talk in her lifetime. Her parents were so sad and depressed, they divorced and sent thier daughter away to a boarding school.
The boarding school was full of glamorous, pretty girls who made fun of Anita's scraggly mousey plaits while they flicked thier jet-black or honey-blond or caramel-brown or ruby-red hair. They made fun of Anita's drab faded blue school dress while they wore cute little skirts and blouses and ties.
Anita's only comfort zone was the library, where she immersed herself in other lives. She suffered in the cruelty of the workhouse with Oliver Twist, she survived the Hunger Games with Katniss, she twirled around in beautiful dresses and silver shoes with Cinderella.
Anita never spoke up in class and often read under her desk. She failed most of her subjects and was held back. After 4 long years, she was still in 8th grade at 18. And yet she still read.
Her new teacher was named Miss Partridge. She came in and clapped her hands. Anita dragged herself away from Romeo's speech to anyslase the teacher.
She had brunette hair like Anita's, cut in a stylish bob. She had a beautiful dress, a gorgeous sky blue. And on her back she had a guitar.
She swung the guitar and started to play a song and sang to it.
Anita cocked her head. She listened hard, replaying it again and again. Miss Partridge wrote the words on the board and Anita hurridley copied them down.
Miss Partridge played the song again, encouraging the class to sing along.
'Lean on me
When your not strong
I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on...'
Anita sat, and listened to the class singing, and mouthed the words, trying desperatley to make a sound come out.
The next day, they learnt a new song.
'When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be.'
Every lesson was a new song, and soon Anita's notebook was filling up.
Anita focused in class. She passed 8th grade with flying colours. She went on the 9th grade, but skipped ahead to 12th grade. She was finally going to graduate, at 19, and go to a musical college. Just because she couldn't sing didn't restrict her ambitions. She played piano beautifully and wrote many compositions that Miss Partridge had sent to hight-power colleges. One day, Anita was writing a new composition, a fast, happy little tune about spring, but she couldn't get the next riff. She decided to go on a walk through the woord for inspiration.
While she was walking, she saw a gazelle emerge from the shadows, limping. Her ear had been savaged and she looked as though she hadn't eaten in days. She wobbled on her frail legs, and Anita rushed over. The gazelle tentativley lent against Anita, but didn't trust her completley. Anita had to get her back somehow, but the gazelle was scared of her. She tried hard to mouth the first song she ever learnt with Miss Partdridge, but the deer didn't understand. Anita got frustrated and suddenly sang.
That day forward, Anita was able to sing and talk. All she needed was a little love.
THE END
Wednesday 21 st September 2011
It was one of the last years of snow and ice where no one could live anywhere else apart from the north pole. There was only one polar bear left, and scientists reckoned that this polar bear, if it had survived climate change, he must have caused it. It was the 10th of December 2080. It had been planned, a few years ago that this would happen. Now everyone lived in a world where nobody would believe anyone who hadn’t been approved from the government. Nobody would listen to a small eleven year old girl, who had found the hundredth year old encyclopedia of polar bears, if she wasn’t approved.
