Page No: 17 Founder’s Day Issue 2015
Creative Writing: My Book (Part 1) “The sweat rolled down the back of my neck.” Too clichéd? I kind of agree. Also there was no sweat at all considering I live in Minnesota. God knows how long I had been here, apart from everyone else around me, our outside, or even... I really don’t like that phrase. I kind of think that whoever thinks that is just stupid or impatient and guess who just thought it! I am just going to say this is my thoughts not voice. Imagine how weird it would be if it was me talking to myself! That would be strange. But no I just keep my sadistic and narcissistic thoughts to myself. That way no one can ridicule me unless they can read my thoughts. I really hope they can’t. I don’t think anyone can, but considering what I’ve learnt in the past 24 hours I wouldn’t be surprised if someone could. Story time. I usually can tell the time from stars and also position of the sun because of my dad but there was absolutely no windows or anything except a closed steel (probably) door and the only light was a bare light bulb. He liked to teach me about survival things like that. We went camping hunting made bows and loads of things resembling that. In the end it all just blurred into one but I still remember all of the lessons. I kind of think he just did it to make me forget about Mum, but it didn’t really work on me, or him. Sometimes I would hear him cry out in his sleep, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Being tied up sucks, a lot! Especially considering the thing I am tied up with is barbed wire. Ouch! It really hurts I can easily imagine it gouging out deep trenches into my wrists. It had all started when Dad received a phone call. It was at the end of the day, I had come from home from school and Dad had come home from work. The ringing cut though the silence like a knife through butter causing me to leave my stool in a sharp movement fuelled by fear and surprise. I went downstairs to find out would be calling. Nan maybe, or one of my friends, or more specifically my one friend. When I reached the kitchen I froze the moment I saw Dad’s face it was colder and harder than the ice that stuck my feet to the floor. Who was it? Anyone I knew? Who or what could cause Dad to have this facial expression of complete hatred? Ben Knowles, 7C
Around the World in 80 Reads Reading Challenge Illustration
Alex Richards, 8W
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