He came home bitter now, on most nights. Though I struggle to find the reason why, I remember the first time; the pain, the screaming–
The monster showed up just after midnight.
The door swung wide open. Taking a swig of his drink, he scraped his heavy black boots on the coarse rug. He caught me in the corner of his eye as I stood to get away, and strode towards me.
I paused in terror. Pounding the ground with his feet, I felt him getting closer and closer.
My throat tightened. He was in front of me now. It was too late for me to hide.
He is the keeper of my heart. And he makes sure no one can unlock it or trys to break it. He won’t let anyone hurt me. He’s my solid rock and I’m his fragile box. He’s my bestest friend to the universe and beyond; his name is Tyler Ryan. He’s been my bestest friend ever since I was 4. I'm 15 now. I’m Sasha Kelly.
People think I’m a freak because I’m the only one who can see Tyler but it’s not my fault I have an imagination. Yes, I know I’m weird and strange but I prefer to be called different.
How can someone be so lonely in a room full of people who care about you? That was me. That’s always been me. A boy of almost 18 years and still without friends, real friends anyway.
A normal day, a dreary Tuesday nothing happening as usual. But, I did have French today. Elle was in my French class. No one knew how I felt for Elle, I’m sure she doesn’t even know my name. I adore her. I’m captivated by her every move, and every word that comes out of her mouth. I’ve thought this way for years now. I don’t want to feel this way but my obsession is stronger than me now.
It’s a monster in control of me and the way I think. I go home; to a family who doesn’t love me and I don’t love back. We exchange pleasantries on a daily basis but they only do that to make sure I haven’t killed someone or myself. I’m positive they think I’m a mental case. I escape to my room. From my window there’s a direct view of Elle’s house. I don’t peek or anything disgusting, I just watch her, the way she moves and behaves. The monster is at its most powerful when I look at her. It paralyses my soul so I can’t think or do anything.
I was in bed, not sleeping as usual. I felt lonely and innocent. The monster showed up just after midnight. At its strongest now, I ran to my window and stared at the only light I could see, shining from her bedroom window, calling me like a moth to a flame. The monster is a great beast. I notice her face now, looking straight at me. I can’t move. I don’t know whether it’s the monster or my own fear.
I carry on staring, as does she. I care about nothing else, my surroundings have disappeared. I am in a blank world with only my eyes and hers. A connection I have been longing to feel for too long. My innocence is shattered with just a look. Its school the next day, only me and her notice a difference. When we pass in the corridor, even if it’s only for a second, we glance deep into each other’s eyes and feel emotion, which only we can taste.
Things stay like that. We watch and gaze at each other at night and in the day - nothing but a quick glance. We’ve never uttered a word to each other. But that’s alright because I killed the monster that night. I took a gun and shot it into a million pieces; in the middle of the monster was something incredible. A connection and chemistry between two people. Something prodigious created by something so vile and perverse.
How does one lead a man down death row? It was my first time and I had to make a good impression. I walked down the quiet corridors with my footsteps echoing around empty minds. As I passed darkened cells eyes shrank back into the shadows. All of these men who had defied the rules of the world to live their lives on the edge now lived in eternal fear...all except one. I got to the gate and swiped my ID card. A loud beep sounded and the gates split to allow me entrance to the heart of the prison.
Every cell I looked into I knew the crime. Armed robbery, Triple homicide, Gang violence. The list could continue for days. Oscar Wilde had once said that “One of the many lessons in prisons, that things are what they are and will be what they are” yet most of these people were having lessons beat into them to change who they were and would become. He was the exception. As I finally approached the gate of hell, it slid open with a rattle. The warden joined me and together we walked down the corridor. In this stretch of land the prisoner was god.
Even the Warden looked uneasy while walking down the hall. He had hardly ever been here, a bit out of his comfort zone you might say. You could smell it here...fear. It seemed to ooze from every crack in the walls and from every prisoner’s eyes leaked insanity. A priest ran past, eyes turning back and tears rolling down his face .The first three cells to either side of his were empty. No one could live there. They woke from their first night screaming and sweating saying that he had reached into their dreams with his gnarled hand and caused the to rot and fester. To them, the monster came just after midnight.
We found the king sitting on a throne of iron. Two grey eyes had watched for our arrival. This man had been a war hero but after a dishonourable discharge he had been arrested for mass murder. His nickname had been the Golem .The actual reason for the discharge was, to us at least, unknown. As far as we knew he had just talked to the prisoners for too long and they had just ended up snapping. His gnarled left hand lay on the throne’s arm. He had got it and lost a decent chunk of his face in an accident at a petrol statement.
He rose and I handcuffed him. The three of us continued towards a door at the end of the hall. As we walked the Warden shouted to the world. “Dead man walking down the green mile”, “Dead man walking down the green mile”. We walked past those watching the man with shame in their eyes and entered the room. He sat down on the chair and was strapped in. I closed my eyes and pulled the lever. I heard a titan die that day.
That was the first thing I trusted, the first thing I let my soul believe. It was the one thing keeping me alive for this long. My journey was a journey with no end. It was a road full of mirages; one my mind had formed in desperate need...
Maths, that’s where it all started, We got a new seating plan, I anxiously waited as everyone got called to their new seats. Then I heard Sir screech my name. I dodged passed the other students and desks, and sat down.
Then I heard his name. Luke Jaminson.
The Music of Creaking Hinges:
H.P. Lovecraft Unveiled
Imagine a winding path, labyrinthine, stretching into a withered, grim stretch of dark trees. Despite its fearful image, there is an irresistible pull to follow it, to know where the trail begins. That path is the history of literature of the fantastic, and one of the most interesting curiosities along this venerable road is the irreplaceable writing of an enigmatic master of horror: H.P. Lovecraft.
My most enjoyable holiday read this Easter was Capital by John Lanchester. Residents of one South London street all get postcards proclaiming 'We want what you've got" and we get to see exactly what they've got as the mystery of the campaign on the street develops . We meet numerous residents, relatives and passers-by as they go about their lives.
Each chapter is a change in character or viewpoint and this makes for a pacy read.
People talk about 'reading' and 'readers' a lot, especially in school. They're big and important words, sure, but it can be hard to work out exactly where you stand. Am I a 'reader'? Do I read enough? What kind of reader am I?!
To help make sense of it all, jot down your answers to the questions on this mind map. This is a way to build a picture of yourself as a reader.
We'd be thrilled if you'd then write a short paragraph that describes you as a reader and send it in as a comment or a post. Entitle it 'Me as a reader' and you could even choose an image to go with your paragraph.
The Go-Between was the first book I read that really opened up the world beyond childhood for me. It was the not safe world of good triumphing over evil, where right is always done, and honesty is the best policy.
Instead, it was a world where people do duplicitous things for selfish motives, where trust is abused, and deceit commonplace. As a 17 year old, these themes resonate with your own feelings and you sense that others must have experienced what you feel. You are not alone, and that provides solace from a book that shows you that life will be a challenge, not a piece of cake. Adults will use you, abuse you, then throw you to the wolves if that suits their purpose.
omg. Don’t even know why im doing this. Stupid counsellors making me do some diary about how things are going with Tyrone and Shaquille so they can think about MarshallDrisdales’ future. But anyway...
Today had felt good. Ever since me and Tyrone split, it’s, been the worst up bringing i could ever hoped for Marshall Dris.
The woman, Georgia Harding, could have had a perfect life. Could have met someone, had children and lived a peaceful, insignificant life. She can’t now. I wonder if I’m to blame for that... Wonder isn’t the right word, that thought consumes me. It transports me to a cold, mean world, where I’m a murderer and I ruin lives. It’s ironic because the reason I’m up here, in this “in the middle” world of newly dead, is because of her. My life is over because of her and her life is over because of me. I must be confusing you, sorry. I would say “let me start from the beginning, but there’s no beginning.
Every night I would have had been awoken from this nightmare round about twenty pasts twelve in the morning – it only lasted for about fifteen minutes, I was not bothered that I had been awoken by this, but by the nightmare which was of weird one.
“Do you really think you should be leaving the house looking like...? Well, looking like you?” whispered Ana softly into my naive ear. Instantly I remembered who and what I was. I took a deeper and harder look at myself into the icy cold truth of the brutal mirror. Before me stood a stumpy, fat girl with no self respect and no self control over the things she eats, nothing she did was ever good enough and she always seemed to find herself praying to be skinnier, like the girls she would see in magazines. It took me a moment to realise that the poor girl that I felt so much empathy for was me.
Tubes scattered all around me and decorated a dull and sallow core. Greens, blues, reds-ALOT of reds, mind. Interlocking wires looked as if they were railway tracks or roads. That’s right. The roads were illuminated by bright halogen and LED lights, reflecting off the smooth plastic coating. My body was a small village. My organ systems were communities of people, who had worked at the ol’ salt mines for years and years. Hard labour for a town they loved.
I looked outside to see the beautiful night sky, but when I looked- there wasn’t a night sky; something blocked it... Not something beautiful but something that felt almost unrealistically ugly.
And that’s when the monster appeared.
The tree’s bark is as lined as my hands. Its branches snake through the air like the thin blue veins that are visible through my translucent skin. Autumn has painted the woods scarlet and vermillion red. My dress is almost the same colour as the sky, a thick creamy blue that you can only catch snatches of from under the canopy of leaves yet to fall.
It wasn’t fair! I hated her! So cute and innocent, but she was the worst. Friends are supposed to stick up for you. I aimed a blow at a nearby rock, icy tingles spreading up my toe. Sand swept into my eyes as a gust of wind filled my isolated lungs.
Full of fury, I stepped over the “Danger” sign and onto the rocky cliff side. Well it didn’t matter; now that I was never going back. Who would care if I was attacked by the monster anyway?