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ignitingwriting · 8 months

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Igniting Writing ‘Families and Friendships’ Contest 2023, Submission by Anoushka

£5.99

The first January snow had begun to fall on the streets of Frostholm. The roads were coated in a layer of ice, with footprints dotted around.

It was quite early in the morning. However, many people had woken up and were starting their day, just like a young artist named Jackson Cooper. He was not completely covered in snow because he had cleverly laid his worn mattress and thin blanket out underneath a shop building, but his other belongings were completely soaked. He did not think much of this because, since his parents had kicked him out of the house a year ago, he had been living on the streets and was used to things like this happening.

Jackson was in his early 20s, but was completely isolated. His only family had kicked him out and his former friends had gone to university and had successful careers. They were not interested in being friends with him anymore. He was nothing but a beggar to them.

He picked up his wet jumper and squeezed the water out. Then he picked up his mattress and folded up the blanket and went to sit out in the snow. He sat under a statue of a lion in the town square and drew out the most precious thing he owned: a small square sketchbook and a tiny blunt pencil.

He had always carried these around in his pocket, even when he was not living on the streets. In the book he had drawn many designs for buildings which he wished he could bring to life.

His favourite was the house he had drawn. He wanted to live in that house. It was a huge mansion with a giant fountain in front of it. The double doors which welcomed guests in were lined with gold carvings. The windows, embellished with soft, pearl-white curtains, were dotted around each of the red brick walls.

Inside, a huge hallway ran through the house, a path to follow to get to the various rooms inside. A small room in the corner to house his future rescue dog was also drawn onto the rough pages. Jackson knew how horrible it was on the streets and hoped that in the future he could rescue a dog of his own and shower it with love and affection. The sketchbook was so small that he could not fit a whole drawing of his dream house on one page, but he spread his illustrations and diagrams evenly onto around 20 pages.

On this particular morning, Jackson was drawing another one of his creative ideas – a museum. He was just finishing drawing the many sculptures and statues inside when a little girl in a pink coat and a green knitted hat walked towards him.

She dropped a crisp five pound note in front of him and said, “It’s half of my birthday money. My mum said I could do what I wanted with it so… there you go, sir!” She grinned at him and then asked, “Is it hard, you know, living on the streets and everything? My mum says –”

But just then the little girl was interrupted by her mother, who told her she had to hurry if she wanted to get to school on time. She took one look at Jackson, turned her nose up at him and walked off, telling her daughter not to go talking to “shabby people of that sort”.

Jackson was delighted. He looked down at his precious money and ran to the nearest art shop. He was used to being hungry and did manage to produce some sort of food on most days. Besides, to him, art was more important.

‘Why spend money on food when I could on a new pack of pencils?’ he thought to himself. After browsing around in the shop for an hour he came across a decent box of pencils. There was one of every colour in the box – around 8 pencils. He proceeded to the counter and gave the pencils to the shopkeeper.

“That’ll be £5.99, sir!” he said.

Jackson stared at the man and then at the money in his hand. He was 99p short. He turned to look at the shopkeeper and sighed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t afford this, Mr. Can I just leave these pencils at the counter while I go and look for a more affordable choice?”

The shopkeeper nodded and Jackson turned away and was about to walk into the pencil section of the shop when a lady called out to him.

“I’ll pay for it. How much is it?”

“I have most of the money,” Jackson said to her hopefully. “I just need 99 more pence.”

“No, silly. I asked for the full price, not how much you need.” She looked at him dead in the eye.

“I m-mean it is five p-pounds and 99 pence but you really d-don't need to –” he stammered.

She glared at him before he could finish, at the same time handing the cashier the money.

“I myself am an artist,” she said. “I know how much it means to have good supplies.”

She walked out of the shop, leaving Jackson over the moon with a pack of fresh, sharp wooden pencils in his cold hands.

Jackson still couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter a week later. He was not used to kindness and could not help feeling so grateful towards the woman. He was sitting in his usual place under the lion when he saw something. A person in a black hoodie and grey joggers was doing graffiti on the wall in front of him. The formerly dull, grey-ish wall was now showered in bright and vibrant colours.

The spray bottle in the person’s hand was releasing a beautiful yellow pigment and, as Jackson watched, the person finally stood back to admire their work. Jackson was in awe. He simply had to talk to this person, whoever they were. He ran up to them, leaving his belongings under the statue and tapped them once on the shoulder. The person turned around swiftly, accidentally spraying colour into the snow. It turned out to be a woman with black hair with streaks of pink in it and a very familiar face.

“It’s you!” Jackson gasped. It was the lady from the shop who had bought him those pencils. “I-I didn’t know y-you would be such a good artist!” he gawped at the painting again. He tried to thank her for the pencils again and complement her artwork and tell her how much the pencils meant to him all at once, but the words came out as a jumble of odd sounds.

“It’s fine, you’re good” she laughed. “I’m Rachel, by the way.” She held out her hand, only to realise it was covered in red paint and hastily took it down again.

“I’m Jackson,” he said. “I’m sorry, I am poor and homeless and just can’t pay you back at the moment.”

“No worries! I wasn’t expecting any money back whatsoever, Jackson. You carry on making art with those pencils and don’t think about the money.” She grinned at him. “What do you draw anyway?”

“Mainly sketches of buildings. They used to be in grey but, since the pencils you got me, they are all colourful. You want to see?” he asked tentatively.

Rachel nodded and followed him to under the statue. He picked up the sketchbook and she flipped through the book, her eyes wide with pleasure.

“That’s a lovely house. I wish I could live there! You know, if I had the money I would buy some of these. Do you sell your art?”

“No. I didn’t think anyone would appreciate my art much. I guess I could try!”

So from that day on, Jackson worked hard with his precious pencils and notebook. However, he did not have much income just yet. In fact, he had only earned around one pound, but gradually that pound turned into 10, and he went out and got himself a bigger sketchbook. His art changed from just buildings to faces and animals and a couple had even asked him to draw them standing together as a portrait. They were very pleased with the result and gifted him some watercolours and paint brushes.

Jackson refined his techniques with paint and soon was creating art in many mediums, not just pencil sketches. Life got much better for Jackson from then and he had even started to meet up with Rachel more often. Both of them had forgotten about the money he owed her by now, but their friendship was stronger than ever. They were still on the poorer side but they were doing well in life.

Rachel informed Jackson that she had been offered a job at a local coffee shop and asked him if he wanted to join her. He was not in desperate need for money but could do with a little more, so that October they both started working in ‘Cath’s Coffee Shop’ and earned some good wages. Jackson still drew sketches and painted from time to time and Rachel’s murals brought joy to the town because they were so beautiful to look at. This carried on for a long time. They both became successful and were happy in life.

10 Years Later

Jackson Cooper was sat on his front porch one summer morning, a sketchbook in his hand and his rescue Border Collie at his feet. The fountain in his front yard was shimmering in the sun and the gates to his mansion were wide open, because Jackson was expecting a visitor.

“RACHEL!” he yelled and leapt up to go and hug her. Rachel had also bought her own house but, because Jackson did not live on the streets anymore, they did not bump into each other as often.

“JACKSON! CALLIEEEEEEE!” she called and ran towards him. (In case you were wondering, Callie is Jackson’s Border Collie dog.)

“Come in!” Jackson said. He made them both cups of tea. The kitchen had pictures of his artwork on the walls and Rachel took a moment to admire them.

“I missed you both!” Rachel was stroking Callie.

They chatted for a while about their lives and how their art was doing. They had both moved on from the coffee shop and were doing well in their own businesses. Jackson was famous since a newspaper article had been written about him and Rachel, about his journey from a homeless man to a rich business owner.

Jackson’s parents who had kicked him out called him to apologise and towards the end of the phone call, they were asking him for money.

Jackson replied with a smooth, “Did you give me money when I asked for it? Nope,” and cut the call promptly.

His old friends had tried similar techniques but Jackson cut them all off. He had many new friends now, much, much better ones. Rachel was just as successful. She ended up staying for dinner and after a huge meal she said her goodbyes and left the house.

As her expensive car purred off into the distance, Jackson thought about how much Rachel had helped him. If it weren’t for the money she had bought the pencils with, he would not be the man he is today. He realised that, although his biological family were not there for him, he didn’t need them because his friends were his family.

Jackson then remembered something. He ran out of the house yelling after Rachel and her car came to a halt. Panting, he stood there in front of Rachel.

“What?” she asked, ducking out of the car in the middle of the road.

Jackson held out his hand, breathing heavily.

Rachel looked down at his hand smiled at him. In his palm, there was exactly £5.99.

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ignitingwriting · 8 months

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Igniting Writing ‘Families and Friendships’ Contest 2023, Submission by Shaurya

The Scandal

Noah put his ear to the door of his dad’s office. Inside, Samuel, Noah’s father, was talking to his friend, who was a member of congress like himself.

From outside, Noah listened to what his father had just said.

“You know what’s going to happen if someone finds out.”

Then, he heard another voice reply. “Yes, I know, we are taking a huge gamble here but we have all the evidence hidden in this safe and no-one will ever find out about our secret of rigging the last presidential election.”

Noah took a step away from the door. His mouth went dry. He couldn’t believe a word his father had just said. His father. One of the most honest people he ever knew, one of the best politicians in the whole of America, rigging an election.

‘No,’ Noah thought. If this was the case, then his father should be behind bars. Who knows what else he could have done? All his gifts, such his PlayStation 5 or his LEGO Bugatti, bought from money earned by lies and deceit.

Heart pounding, Noah ran upstairs to his bedroom. He had to get the evidence and quick. His hands trembled as he opened his computer, created a new file and labelled it ‘The Scandal’. Firstly he typed EVIDENCE in bold letters and then underlined it.

He had to do something.

Noah hatched a plan; tomorrow his dad would be at the Senate, his mum at work and no-one would be at home apart from his careless siblings, who didn’t give a thought about him.

The next day, as soon as his parents’ cars had left the driveway, Noah snuck into his dad’s office. It was a fairly large room with a solid oak desk in the middle. Opposite the desk were three glass bookshelves, laden with books and trophies from his dad’s college years. On the walls next to the bookshelves were picture frames, hung up neatly.

Noah wondered where the evidence could be, when he remembered what his dad’s friend had said: “We have all the evidence in this safe.” Noah opened drawer after drawer, but all he kept finding were his dad’s Montblanc luxury fountain pens or political books from decades ago. After checking each and every drawer, Noah checked every one of the cupboards, each one five times to see if there was a safe, but in the end Noah found nothing, apart from being able to remember every single one of his dad’s books.

After over 30 minutes of searching, Nosh had an idea – to check behind the pictures. As luck would have it, the first one he checked, the one of himself and his father, was the right one. Just a plain simple door with a metal knob.

Twisting the knob, he saw a pile of papers and the smell of his dad’s cologne reached his nose; he knew it had to be them. Grabbing them and slamming the safe shut, Noah ran up to his room to inspect the files.

He sat down at his desk and opened the folder. On the first page there was a bank transfer with a sum of $40,000 printed on it and written next to the transfer was the label ‘BRIBE’. On the next page were the actual results of the election, which showed how the Republicans had lost by a huge margin. However, somehow, they were still in power. Noah continued to flick through the file, finding more and more crisp sheets of evidence.

For three long hours, Noah had inspected the evidence, thinking carefully about what to do and how he should tell the police that his father was a liar and a cheat. Noah grabbed the evidence, shoved it into a folder and dashed out the door.

The police station was only a 15-minute walk from their house and in no time Noah reached it. At the front desk there was a stout, blonde-haired lady who was called Janette. Janette and Noah had met previously multiple times during the presidential run, when Noah’s father needed someone to take care of his presidential papers.

With a puzzled look on her face, Janette asked, “Noah, what are you doing here? Has there been a shooting or a robbery? And if so, is everyone alright?”

“No, no,” replied Noah, “it’s about my father.” He took a pause before continuing. “My father has rigged the election.” After saying this, Noah firmly placed the folder on the desk.

He had done it.

There was no going back from here.

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ignitingwriting · 8 months

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Igniting Writing ‘Families and Friendships’ Contest 2023, Submission by Shreya

The Revolution

A tinkling laugh echoes in my mind. It’s the laugh of a child, sweet and pure.

A garden appears then. The smell of the luscious bright green grass reaches my nose and a golden haze makes everything glow.

The garden is very meticulous: trimmed rose bushes of every variety, flower beds bordering the lawn, bushes carefully placed around the pond in the centre, filled with fish with shimmering scales and blooming lotus flowers.

Then there is the gazebo diagonal to me – painted in a dazzling, pristine white. Standing in the centre of it are a few people dressed semi-formally with glasses or plates of food in their hands. They seem to be talking and laughing.

At the heart of them are four people, two couples who seem to shine. The way they’re holding themselves, it’s obvious they’re the hosts of this event. Everyone there has their backs to me though, denying me a proper look at their faces.

As I look around, I see there are more people and a table full of food in the corner with a barbecue next to it. But all the people have obscured faces or are turned away from me. Those four people too. They seem familiar.

The same laugh from before fills the garden and I finally turn to look in front of me. I’m behind a swing on which a girl, with shiny chestnut hair flowing behind her, sits as I push her forwards.

“More!” she calls. “Faster! Higher!” she squeals. It’s all so bright. So vivid. It almost seems real, yet particular aspects are shrouded with a cloak and the entire thing is masked by an overlaying fog.

Suddenly, I realise that I’ve moved away from the whole scene. The voices have become muffled and black nothingness has crept in at the sides.

My eyes snap open – the dream vanishing in an instant – and I sit upright with a start. My hands automatically go to my face and I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling. The same dream. It was the same dream.

I remove my hands from my face and take in my room. The same sharp and practically furnished room. The wardrobe in the corner, the chest of drawers in front of the bed, the armchair beside the desk: all in monochrome.

I turn my head to the digital alarm clock on the side-table. The glowing red light reads exactly 01:03 AM. It would be difficult to go back to sleep now. And when it would come, it would already be five o’clock.

The dream always feels so real, like a memory. A forgotten one, though. I had grown up in and was still surrounded by luxury. Yet, that girl… I was certain she wasn’t part of my childhood. Nor those four people. Why was she so familiar then? There was no-one like her that I knew. None of my parents’ friends, or anyone I worked with, and certainly not in my social circle.

Who was she?

Why this dream?

Is there something I don’t remember?

For once I was still thinking about the dream hours later, even as I did up the gleaming buttons on my uniform and made some breakfast. I was still lost in deep thought as I grabbed my ID card and my keys, finishing the last bite of my toast and locking the door behind me. From here on, I was smooth. My face completely neutral. Sharp and calculated: a true agent of the Institution.

I already had to be alert. For weeks now, something had been brewing at the heart of our world. Something that could explode and shatter it. The air seemed hot and prickly everywhere, on every level on every floor. From the department heads like me to the cleaners, everyone was on edge.

Recently whispers had begun to fly questioning the Institution and its position. People were getting restless, bored of the decades long peace and order that had been created and instead longing for a revolution.

Today, I had to be prepared for anything. Especially with the important meeting including the section leaders and sector leader present. Realising I had reached my destination, I swiped my card, took a silent deep breath and pushed open the metal door.

The grim face of the Area Management Officer faced me. My heart stopped.

As I quickly saluted and took my seat, I could see every single person in the room was white as a sheet and tight-lipped already. Only then did I realise who was opposite me. The girl. From the dream. Somehow it had all come together, like pieces from a puzzle. A symbol.

It could only mean one thing.

The time had come.

It was here.

#teen writers #writing for teens #writing club #creative writing #writing challenge #writing contest #writing group #igniting writing #writing competition #library

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ignitingwriting · 8 months

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Igniting Writing ‘Families and Friendships’ Contest 2023, Submission by Aisha

Greeting her woodland friends, Dryope soared through the sky and took in the never-ending view of the lush, viridescent plains, the snow on the mountains glistening like hidden gems in the sunlight. She had almost reached the lakes when, with a swoop of her stomach, she halted, remembering that she could not stray too far from her kin, the Quercus Virginiana; otherwise, as she jokingly and lovingly liked to call it, ‘mea mollitia’, which was Latin for ‘my resilience’.

That oak tree was Dryope’s patient soulmate; while she was an eagle soaring through skies with constant curiosity, it remained firm in its everlasting position, watching her fondly as she did somersaults in the sky in delight. And as the lively days turned to star-studded nights, Dryope would return to her mea mollitia, settling delicately on one of its large branches and confiding passionately in her precious tree. Its leaves would rustle in agreement and grow silent just to listen.

It felt wonderful just to connect and bond with her lifelong comrade. As a dryad, the young nymph could not stray too far away from her tree, otherwise the chances that she would meet her inevitable end would heighten rapidly. That was what she was taught by her family anyway.

And as much Dryope loved her dear tree, she was tired of seeing the same sights that her home plains had to offer. The tired beauty of the seeming endlessness of nature did not bring her the delight that it used to and Dryope was eager, desperate, to experience something different.

Stroking her long golden tresses absentmindedly, Dryope knew her internal conflict about the matter was the only thing that she would keep from her precious tree… for a while at least.

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ignitingwriting · 8 months

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Igniting Writing ‘Families and Friendships’ Contest 2023, Submission by Sanvi

The Yearn for Happiness

Dazed, I woke up; my head felt light, from some type of shock I presumed. As strange as this feeling was, I was lying on my bed as I always am on any Monday morning, although I failed to recall any of the previous events that happened during the weekend.

I decided to ask my mum about this weird occurrence after I could drag myself out of my cozy den of covers on my bed. I always hated getting up for school after two heavenly days of rejuvenation.

After struggling for about five minutes, I managed to conquer the challenge of facing the cold air outside the haven of warmth under my blanket. It was then that I noticed something even more unusual – a deep cut on my left arm.

The injury throbbed with pain and the first thought that came to my head at that moment was ‘why couldn't this be on my right arm so I could skip writing a seven-page essay which was due tomorrow?’

Once I finished my daily routine in preparation for school, I grabbed my bag and turned around just to face my mum’s beady eyes staring down at me.

“Yes…?” I stammered uneasily; something about her was very frightening. “Did my grades drop on that history test yesterday? Look, I may have failed yesterday, but…”

“Dear, this is something more important than your history test and as a matter of fact you scored 100% in it. I am very impressed. But as you know I am here to discuss more… ummmm… pressing matters.”

My heart was now pounding with fear. This probably had something to do with the odd feelings this morning or the cut. I impulsively shoved my arm behind my back.

“Have you felt anything out of the ordinary today?” Mum queried, her tall figure looming above me, anticipating an answer.

“No, nothing like that, why?” I lied. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead. I dreaded her reply to my question.

“Oh, I was just concerned, dear. You know… if you remembered anything that wouldn't normally happen,” she answered, slowly retreating out of my room.

I wondered why she had used this specific wording to convey her message – ‘remembered anything that wouldn't normally happen’ – as I had no memory of the weekend at all and this could have something to do with what she was trying to say. But what if this was all her doing? Instantly, I knew that was a bit too far-fetched and my mum had no intention to do something so inappropriate. However, one dark fragment of my mind failed to believe this.

For the rest of the day my thoughts were not on the lessons but on what took place this morning. My mum's words echoed in my head. ‘Remembered anything that wouldn't normally happen.’

“SAMARA!” a harsh voice screeched.

I jolted awake from my whirlwind of thoughts.

“Daydreaming will lead you to expulsion from Redbrick School. Do you understand?” yelled the headteacher, Mrs Lamp.

“Mmmmmm,” I murmured, rather carelessly; I had better things to deal with rather than to argue with the headteacher.

“Excuse me, Mrs, but I demand your full attention here NOW!" Mrs Lamp screamed, even louder than she had before.

“Yup, you have it,” I muttered.

“That is extremely rude behaviour. Go to my office and I shall deal with you later. Perhaps at lunchtime; that should serve you right.”

I trudged out of the classroom, my face void of emotion. All I needed to do was figure out what was going on at home and if that meant being expelled from this school then so be it.

After what felt like an hour of walking, I arrived at the office. The room was intricately decorated, with detailed engravings on the door and comfortable seats covered with pink fur. I took a second to look at my reflection in the mirror. It was appalling: my brown stands of hair flew in every direction and my jumper was filled with wrinkles.

A few minutes later, Mrs Lamp arrived and gave me a three-hour lecture on how composure is key. To be honest, I barely took note of a word in that talk.

At the end of that disastrous day my mum picked me up briskly and drove home, not speaking a word until we were a few miles away from the school.

“So, have any ‘vision-like’ memories been plaguing you today, Samara?” she inquired, breaking the silence like a bullet flying through glass.

“No, Mum. But what is quite intriguing is the fact that you have been bothering me with crazy, unrealistic questions all day. So you may as well go on and spill the beans,” I uttered, anger bubbling inside me like a volcano about to erupt.

“It is just that...” she stammered.

“Go on,” I urged.

“Ok, look, I've been thinking about your dad. Happy?” she replied in an obviously sarcastic tone.

“No, I’m not happy Mum, because you may as well tell me why I have a random cut on my arm and why I can’t remember anything that happened two days ago,” I roared. All the information I had been keeping secret from her had burst from my mouth – I immediately regretted saying this.

“No, this can’t be, she knows," Mum whispered under her breath. Suddenly, she pulled her phone out and dialled a number. “I need another brainwipe appointment urgently – now, please. I am afraid the effects are wearing off. She will know everything soon. Yes, I will make sure she is unconscious. Thank you,” she said frantically. “Now, Samara, you have to be co-operative here and drink the juice I make you when we get back home.”

“You know I am not deaf, Mum. I just heard everything you said,” I muttered.

“I promise you, I said nothing,” Mum stammered. With a pang of realisation, I knew what was happening. What I just heard was what happened in the past. On the weekend.

“Oh yes, you are right, Mum. You said nothing – it is just me recalling my teacher scolding me in class today,” I fibbed.

“Oh, that is ok,” mum murmured with a sigh of relief.

I knew better than to drink that juice; it was a masterstroke of misdirection. My mum was clearly trying to manipulate me, to make me unconscious so she could take me to another brainwipe session like she did on Saturday. Finally, everything was becoming comprehensible to my mind.

However, there was still another doubt; if my mum was taking me to these sessions, she wanted me to forget something. But what did I forget?

My thoughts turned to my dad. He left when I was young, or at least that is what my mum believed. Or perhaps that is what she wanted me to believe. I contemplated on whether my dad actually left for a good cause and my mum was just scared that I would go searching for him if I regained my memory. So the only theory that made sense was that last Friday… I knew about my dad.

If I knew myself well enough, I knew I would have left notes or a special object that can trigger a memory, just in case I forgot, so all I needed to do was go home and think like my previous self to find them before another brainwipe session. Now that my brain had formed a plan, I wasn’t ready to let go of it – I would pursue this goal despite all the setbacks, I was determined and deep inside me I had a strong feeling that I could pull this off.

The car veered to a halt and I looked at the familiar sight of our house once again. I raced through the front door and upstairs into my room.

I rummaged through the heaps of trash in my room and pulled out a photo. It was a rather unique one. The photo was in black and white with a female that resembled my mum – it was almost like my mum's younger self – and there was a man, a man who had some of my features like my eyes and my nose. That could only mean one thing – this was a photo of my mum and my dad.

Inquisitively, I turned the picture over to come face to face with co-ordinates. I was truly bewildered; the numbers definitely meant something, although I couldn't figure out what it was indicating towards.

“Samara, come drink your juice!” my mum bellowed from the kitchen.

“Coming!” I yelled back. I looked at the world map hung on my wall. The place matching the co-ordinates was an hour from our city. I rejoiced. I opted to act like I was knocked out, but in reality I was going to use my mum’s car ride to get to the co-ordinates – to my fortune, the city was the same as the one that the brainwash place was in.

I hurtled down the stairs and took the cup of juice. The moment my mum turned away I poured it down the sink and followed my mum to the car. For a while she stared at me expectantly and I did my fake faint – I must say it looked realistically believable.

In an hour the car halted. My mum climbed out of her seat, gesturing to some surgeons to come and pick me up. I mustered up my last bits of courage and opened the door. I ran. I ran as fast as my little legs could take me with the map tightly clutched in my hands.

If my calculations were accurate, it would be a few minutes to my destination. The feeling that I experienced could not be described; triumphant, glorious liberty.

“Oi, you come back here, child!” a surgeon screeched, running after me. He was gradually gaining on me and I was tiring. The last thing I felt before eternal blackness was a sharp needle penetrate my skin. I fell limp onto the floor, the drowsiness taking over…

I was engulfed by memories, memories that were from so long ago. I felt nostalgic, but this wasn’t the time to bathe in my previous happiness. A hurricane of realisation swept over me – I was in the present, not in the past, and in the present I was a fighter.

Suddenly, a sharp sensation filled my brain; the surgeons were trying to pull a memory out. However, I wouldn’t let them. I had a premonition of imminent disaster, but I repelled the force, motivated by the possibility of liberty.

I heard screams and a blinding light illuminated the room. Past memories burst from their containers and whizzed away to reunite with their owners. Gradually, the rays of luminescence faded and a familiar face of a man appeared with a woman. I couldn’t see clearly enough to make out exactly what was going on but I think they were hugging.

I rushed towards them and gave both of them a warm embrace. There was nothing better than my family finally being together again.

“Anyone care to explain what is happening here?” I whispered with a laugh.

“That… is a long story darling, but all that matters now is that it has concluded with a beautiful ending,” my dad whispered back.

“You’re right… Dad,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes. But these were not tears of misery; they were tears of happiness, the happiness that I yearned for ever since I was born. There were still dark secrets lurking in the corners of our city and not every thread was tied up, but we could deal with that together… as a family.

#writing group #creative writing #writing for teens #teen writers #igniting writing #writing club #writing challenge #writing competition #writing contest #library

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ignitingwriting · 8 months

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Igniting Writing ‘Families and Friendships’ Contest 2023, Submission by Emily

Home

A connection deeper than our hearts, Built of our blood and bones. A bond that never departs, Despite the unknowns. A feeling you haven’t found before, An ever-lasting tugging tie. A sense of belonging you can’t ignore, A person who’ll never say goodbye. A home you’ll never forget, A fragile peace never upset. A place the best memories belong, A family who loves you for who you are. Those magical moments will never be gone, Friendships a distance never too far. Just you and the people who love you the best, Who love you for you and the rest.

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ignitingwriting · 8 months

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Igniting Writing ‘Families and Friendships’ Contest 2023, Submission by Ishan

My Name is Lark

My name is Lark and I have always believed that friendship is the most powerful magic of all. In the realm of Arcanum, my two closest friends – Kael, who controlled the elements, and Lyra, who could speak to animals – shared my conviction. We were bound not just by our extraordinary powers, but by an unbreakable bond forged through years of shared laughter and countless adventures.

One day, we heard a tale of a Celestial Crystal hidden deep within the Forbidden Caverns. They said it held the promise of unimaginable power. Curiosity and destiny pulled at our hearts and, without hesitation, we embarked on a journey to retrieve this mysterious artifact.

As we stood at the entrance of the Forbidden Caverns, Lyra’s voice held a mix of excitement and caution. “The legends say this place is filled with illusions and tests,” she warned, her eyes reflecting the trepidation we all felt.

Kael’s confidence shone through as he grinned. “Good thing we’re a trio of powerhouses, then. I will blast through any obstacles these caverns throw our way!”

Our powers proved vital as we journeyed through treacherous terrains and faced magical creatures. Kael’s mastery over the elements carved paths through obstacles, Lyra’s ability to communicate with animals provided vital insights and my telekinesis lifted us over chasms that threatened to separate us.

Entering the caverns, an eerie chill enveloped us a prelude to the challenges ahead. Our bond shielded us from the illusions that sought to deceive us, allowing us to delve deeper into the caverns’ heart. And there it was, the Celestial Crystal, bathed in an ethereal light that cast dancing shadows on the cavern walls.

“Whoa,” I breathed, my heart quickening as I gazed at the radiant crystal. “This is it.”

Lyra’s eyes widened with wonder. “It’s more beautiful than any tale could describe.”

As we extended our hands to touch the crystal, a gleam of greed entered Kael’s eyes. Unbeknownst to Lyra and me, the allure of power had ensnared him. In a shocking twist, he shattered the crystal, intending to claim its magic for himself. The cavern trembled and a surge of energy knocked Lyra and me off our feet.

“No!” Lyra cried, her voice laced with disbelief and anger. “What have you done, Kael?”

Kael’s eyes, once filled with warmth, now burned with a hunger for power. “I’ve claimed the Celestial Crystal's magic for myself. With this power, I’ll become unstoppable.” The magic seeped into him as he stood before us with a mocking smile, his eyes turning as black as coal. He exclaimed. “THE POWER IS MINE, ALL MINE!”

In that single, heart-wrenching moment, our bond was shattered by shadows of betrayal. As Lyra and I rose to confront Kael, the friend we thought we knew, my heart ached with disbelief and sorrow, but waves of power resonated from him forcing us away from him. The Kael that stood before us was not the Kael we had known.

Lyra's voice quivered, her eyes teary. “Kael, how could you betray us like this?”

Kael’s laugh echoed, tinged with a darkness I had never heard before. “You two were holding me back. With this power, I’ll rise above everything.”

Lyra collapsed by my side in disbelief. I looked at Lyra and told her. “We fight for our true friend, for the person before us is no longer the Kael we knew.”

The battle that followed was fierce – magic clashed and echoes of our past adventures pierced the air. Despite Kael’s augmented powers, he was no match for the unity of Lyra and me. We channelled our combined strength into a blinding wave of energy and Kael's darkness shattered, the Celestial Crystal’s magic dispersing like stars in the night sky.

As the dust settled, Kael’s form lay weakened on the cavern floor. His eyes, once were pitch black under the influence of greed, were now haunted by regret. “I was wrong,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Coughing, he pleaded, “Please, on our friendship, take me back with you.”

I turned my back to him tears flowing down my cheek. “You broke that friendship with your own hands when you tried to take the power all for yourself,” I replied, choked by anger.

Lyra’s voice was heavy with sorrow as she approached him. “You let greed consume you, Kael. You lost sight of what truly matters.”

Years passed, and our realm flourished under our guidance. Our friendship, once tested by shadows, had emerged stronger than ever. And as we stood at the edge of the Forbidden Caverns, now sealed forever, I marvelled at the unexpected ending of our journey – one that had led us not just to the Celestial Crystal, but to the revelation that true power was found in the bonds of family and friendship, unyielding in the face of betrayal.

#creative writing #writing group #igniting writing #teen writers #writing club #writing for teens #writing challenge #writing competition #writing contest #library

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ignitingwriting · 8 months

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Igniting Writing ‘Families and Friendships’ Contest 2023, Submission by Darsh

The Super Rescue Team: the Heir to the Throne

Millions of light years away from our galaxy lies another, the name unknown. This galaxy had just fought a battle; a costly one. The deaths innumerable. A name given to this was the War of 100 Billion Tears.

All seven of the planets clashed with each other, resulting in one planet, Terramin, winning. A technologically advanced planet with floating cities, they were enforcing large taxes to deprive the three planets that had sided against them, even sending their own kind to do the important jobs.

On one such planet, lived a young boy whose parents had died in battle. Flymen was a planet known for the best pilots and winged creatures in the universe. The boy’s name was Flyboy – an awkward name, but his real name was never given…

Flyboy

As I went to school, I was always looked upon as a freedom fighter, defying the robot teacher, 3DO. The school principal saw me at least twice every week. I wished there was no war. The only two enemies were Genus and Terramin – we didn’t have to side with anyone.

“Hey, Flyboy, what are you planning to do today?” asked my best friends, Giraffe and Giraffey, twins who had brown spots on their white skin. Unlike their parents, they didn’t have long necks. It was perfect to fly planes and drive cars. Their dream was to own the Fire Beast 6,000, the truck with a cannon that could shoot cannonballs, missiles and powerful water jets and the ability for to fly in the air, as well as a polished Korbel steering wheel. A smooth ride, but a vehicle rarely found in Flymen.

Today I put a pan of water on 3DO’s seat and the minute he sat on it his circuits fried and he collapsed on the floor at an uneven angle. Mrs Hawk, the headteacher, came in and dragged me out of the room. She was a winged creature who, if she wanted to, could fly me all the way into space and drop me down as I plummeted to my doom. But the only ones she would do that to were the irritating robots. She hated them but she had to do her job, otherwise she could go to Death Valley, where robots kept criminals.

As I sat in the chair, her beady eyes glared at me angrily. “What were you thinking? Now the robots will surely find us and they are not lenient. They surely weren’t to your parents…” she screamed at me.

“What did you say? About my parents, what did they do to them!” I ordered.

“It’s about time I told you anyway,” replied Mrs Hawk. She told me that they were rebellious people who created an army of varied cultures called the Super Rescue Team. Funded by the Genusian government, they would save the lives of people who were stuck behind enemy lines and refugees fleeing from tyrannical rulers. But one of their own betrayed them and when the robots found them the Genusian government weren’t allowed to help them. If they did the robots would go to war, so they were deemed as international criminals.

It was a lot to take in… But time wasn’t on my side. In minutes, robotic government nationals stormed the room and one tall man in an eyepatch and a robot eye entered the room, followed by five royal robot guards with red capes and shining metal. The man in front of me was him, the son of the great tyrant. Luther was no better. Living like a spoilt prince, with expensive pedicures and catered by a staff of 1,000 robots while he made other planets and civilisations toil.

“Hello Mrs. Hawk. Telling him his family’s treacherous history? Horrifying, isn’t it? Well, Flyboy, hello. Your headteacher is extremely lucky she was a friend of our spy. She might’ve ended up with your mother and father.”

“Where are they!” I shouted angrily.

“Well, I should replace your useless robot teacher with someone more familiar with your pranks. That should be my summer task after my trip to Vouis Litton in Sirap.” And he left.

At night I pondered the thoughts in my mind. They were heroes. Why did nobody help them? How can everyone fear one man?

I heard knocking on my door. Once I opened it a surprise awaited me. My friends, Giraffe and Giraffey, Teddy Bear and all the others in my hostel greeted me. In their hands was a cake and it had birthday candles on it.

“Whose birthday is it?” I asked.

“Yours, silly!” laughed Teddy Bear.

I noticed the time, exactly 12:00am. It’s technically the next day. I laughed with them and invited them into my room, for a good three-hour party ‘til Mrs Hawk caught us.

Those hours with my friends reminded me that, even if I didn’t have a legitimate family, I didn’t need one. I already had one with all my friends in the hostel. Little did we know what would occur a few months later and our excitement would be short-lived for the peril and anguish to come.

What happens next?

A coup is staged in the capital of Terramin; Luther is killed and his brother forcefully takes the throne. He sends all Robotic Corps to find and kill the remaining Super Rescue Team members.

5pro, the new teacher, attacks Flyboy and his friends but Flyboy manages to escape along with his friends, accompanied by Mrs Hawk. They go to a Super Rescue Team safehouse, where Super Rescue Team members are waiting for them. The vehicle they are travelling in is the Fire Beast 6,000. Giraffe and Giraffey are so happy.

Finally, the truth is revealed that all the students of Flymen Academy are all Super Rescue Children who have relatives in Super Rescue Team ranks. But Robotic Corps break into the safehouse and Mrs Hawk dies. The other members and the drivers (Giraffe and Giraffey’s parents) drive to Genus to the Main Super Base.

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ignitingwriting · 9 months

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Igniting Writing ‘Families and Friendships’ Contest 2023, Submission by Usmi

Why We Don't Leave Astrid would not stop until she got what she wanted. It was the sole thought coursing through Kevin's veins as he charged through the cobbled streets and darkened alleyways of town centre. He swooped under stone archways and raced over the canals and boulevards, making sure to avoid the clusters of crowds beginning to congregate for the night's festivities. Upon reaching the auditorium, Kevin's pace didn't weaken. He navigated the audience hall with the same adrenaline, winding through circular lavish tables, polished statues and waitresses with enough tropical delicacies on their plates to feed the entire homeless population. Kevin wasn't used to this much luxury - it was hard for him to tear his eyes away from the tantalising charcuterie boards and succulent chicken breasts. Still, he was here for a reason and he was determined to stay focused. The stage seemed to glare at him from the head of the hall, dark and ominous, as if it was seeking out its next victim. When he finally arrived backstage, she was already there and rehearsing. Like a professional. "Kevin!" she exclaimed, opening up her arms for a hug. "You came!" "I said I would." Kevin had always liked to joke that Astrid looked like the optimal postcard girl. It was his favourite nickname for her when they had first become best friends in college, ever since he'd learned her dream of becoming an actress, ever since she's started going to every single audition to make herself as noticeable as she could. Now more than ever, Astrid fit the image to a T, with her perfect lilac dress, her perfect corkscrew curls and her perfect cherry-stained lips. Her eyes widened. "Oh and you’re just in time, I was just going to do my revised Emily North impression." Swiftly switching into a country drawl, she said, "She was a person who believed so much in the world -" "Riveting," Kevin grimaced, trying to sound impressed. "Are you sure you want to do that one in front of Ford Riley though? I mean, this is a big-time director. If he books you today, that means -" "I know what it means!" she snapped petulantly, twirling around by the curtains. "It means getting to perform on stage every night." "Travelling in rental cars for six months," Kevin pointed out. "Living out all my wildest dreams." "Having to talk to all those people every day." "I'll be famous," she breathed and if eyes could be filled with rainbows and sunsets, Astrid's were full of dreams. Suddenly, the crowd went up in applause from behind the curtain. It was time. "Break a leg, Postcard Girl," Kevin whispered. -- When she came back, Kevin's heart felt like taking up residence in his throat. His blood turned to ice and his pulse went slack. Standing next to Astrid was, in the flesh, famous director - "Mr Riley," Kevin sputtered, patting his hair into a presentable formation and extending his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Ford smiled and shook Kevin's hand. Astrid's arm had encased his and she was grinning from ear to ear. There was something so soft about the way she smiled, so poignant and... real. Almost too real for an actress. "I must say, Kevin, your girlfriend here is quite the actress." Blood rose to his cheeks. "Actually, she’s not my -" "And that Emily North impression, my God!" Astrid turned to him, beaming. "You liked it?" "Are you kidding? There’s no one in the game who can properly nail 'She was a person who believed so much in the world -'" "'- that it was hard for anyone to believe in her,'" they said in unison and quickly burst into hysterics. For some reason he didn't know, it made Kevin's stomach churn in disgust. "Why don't you greet the table back in section one?" Ford suggested hastily. "I'll be over in just a minute."

Astrid bounced away happily, like a little girl in a brand-new dress. Like a person who believed so much in the world, it was hard for anyone to believe in her. As soon as she was gone, he turned to Kevin and reached out a ruddy, calloused hand. Wordlessly, Kevin placed the wad of green cash in his palm, watching his eyes dance with heightened ecstasy. "Before I give you the rest, I just have to know." He hesitated. "Was she really that bad?" The man clamped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder; his eyes were drains of pity. "Honestly? I'm surprised you even bother to stick around." And with that, he disappeared into the endless crowds. It was a harmless enquiry, but the question and implications at heart were obvious. Why don't you just leave? The thought curled and twisted around in his mind as he stepped back out into the cool, midnight air. Chords of starlight leered down at him, their eyes full of contempt and judgement. Kevin looked up at the sky, for solace or reassurance, or perhaps the fringes of the answer he was searching for, but all he saw gazing up into the wild, whimsical moon was a perfect lilac dress, perfect corkscrew curls and a perfect honest smile. And in that moment, Kevin knew.

#teen writers #writing club #writing for teens #writing group #creative writing #writing contest #writing challenge #igniting writing #writing competition #library #friends and family #families #family #friends #writing

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ignitingwriting · 10 months

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Launch of the Igniting Writing ‘Families and Friendships’ Contest 2023

Igniting Writing, Wokingham Library's teen reative writing club, is launching another creative writing competition! The contest theme is 'Families and Friendships' and it's open to all Igniting Writing members, along with any Year 6-13 pupils across Berkshire that also want to join in. The rules to enter are listed below: 1) All entries must centre around the contest theme of 'Families and Friendships'. You can interpret the theme however you like, but all entries must link back to it in some way. 2) All entries must be 2,000 words or less. This includes the title and any subtitles you decide to use. 3) All entries must be fiction. You can, however, submit any kind of fictional writing you like (a short story, a poem, a play, an extract from a longer story, anything else that catches your fancy - it’s entirely up to you). 4) All entries must be PG. This means no swearing, nudity, overly graphic gore and that sort of thing. 5) All entries must be your own original work - in other words, no plagiarism or ripping off another writer. Sadly this also means no fanfiction, but if you want to do something loosely inspired by an existing series that’s fine so long as you make an effort to keep it separate from the characters and settings of the series you’re drawing from. 6) All entries must be submitted before the contest end date. The end date is 3 September 2023, 11:00pm UK time. There might be a day or two extra if several of the group need a little more time, but don’t rely on that. 7) To submit your entry, all you need to do is follow the above rules and send it through by email or direct message so that it can be shared with everyone else. The winners will be announced at our first Igniting Writing sessions back after the summer break and there are prizes up for grabs. Until then, best of luck with writing your entry!

#friends #family #friends and family #teen writers #writing for teens #creative writing #igniting writing #writing contest #writing challenge #writing competition #writing group #writing club #library #wokingham #berkshire #families #friendship #friendships

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ignitingwriting · 2 years

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Igniting Writing ‘Return’ Contest 2022 Now Complete!

Our Igniting Writing teen creative writing competition for the summer of 2022, focused on the theme of ‘Return’, has now come to an end. We had eleven contest entries, all of which had some great imagination and hard work poured into them. The submissions can all be read here:

Zhekai’s entry: https://ignitingwriting.tumblr.com/post/692496141681639424/igniting-writing-return-contest-2022-submission

Anoushka’s entry: https://ignitingwriting.tumblr.com/post/693486577626775552/igniting-writing-return-contest-2022-submission

Abigail’s entry: https://ignitingwriting.tumblr.com/post/693871543944609792/igniting-writing-return-contest-2022-submission

Evie’s entry: https://ignitingwriting.tumblr.com/post/694045960805957632/igniting-writing-return-contest-2022-submission

Usmi’s entry: https://ignitingwriting.tumblr.com/post/694408675233775616/igniting-writing-return-contest-2022-submission

Maximilian’s entry: https://ignitingwriting.tumblr.com/post/694474113826390016/igniting-writing-return-contest-2022-submission

Grace’s entry: https://ignitingwriting.tumblr.com/post/694587601777229824/igniting-writing-return-contest-2022-submission

Emily’s entry: https://ignitingwriting.tumblr.com/post/694588257534623744/igniting-writing-return-contest-2022-submission

Natasha’s entry: https://ignitingwriting.tumblr.com/post/694590452372013056/igniting-writing-return-contest-2022-submission

Colette’s entry: https://ignitingwriting.tumblr.com/post/694597848901337088/igniting-writing-return-contest-2022-submission

Annabel’s entry: https://ignitingwriting.tumblr.com/post/694609653195227136/igniting-writing-return-contest-2022-submission

Since we had more entries from active Igniting Writing members than any competition we’ve held before, it this time we selected two winners, one from the Year 6-8 pupils and one from the Year 9-13 pupils. After some tough deliberating, the winners were Emily from the younger group and Annabel from the older group! Well done to both winners and everyone else that entered as well.

#igniting writing #teen writers #writing for teens #creative writing #library #wokingham #writing challenge #writing competition #writing contest #writing group #writing club #return

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ignitingwriting · 2 years

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Igniting Writing ‘Return’ Contest 2022, Submission by Annabel

Photographic Memory "We take photos as a return ticket to moments otherwise gone." Katie Thurmes I traced the letters of my grandmother's neat, cursive handwriting on the back of the camera box. "She wanted me to have this?" I asked, putting the old camera back inside carefully.

"Yes, she specified the camera was for you and now you're old enough to have it," my mother smiled. "I can show you the previous films from the camera if you want?"

I nodded, eager to learn more about my grandmother. My mother fetched another box. I undid the ribbon and opened the box, unfolding the letter inside.

'To Sierra, if you're reading this; happy 16th birthday! Hopefully, I'm there with you today, celebrating all day. Love Grandma.'

I smiled. I couldn't remember what my grandmother was like - she had dementia since I was young - but this letter provided me with some comfort that she knew me once, even if not now.

"I'll go and make some lunch and leave you to look through the photos."

There were lots of smaller boxes inside the large box, each dated with the ages Grandma was when the photos were taken. I started with the earliest: ages 16-20. The first photo was of my grandmother and her friends enjoying their ice creams at a parlour. I squinted to get a better look - suddenly the scene came to life in front of my very eyes.

"Betty, what flavour did you want?" one of the girls asked my grandmother, twiddling her pigtails.

"Aww, come on Peggy, you know she wants cherry and I'll have pineapple; it's the same as always," another girl shouted, rolling her eyes.

Peggy returned with the ice creams. "Here you go, cherry for Betty, pineapple for Linda and vanilla for me!"

They began to eat their ice creams, my grandmother licking hers daintily. The others finished way before her and kept trying to hurry her up, laughing while they began to discuss boys they liked.

"We know Peggy likes John and I like Peter, but who do you like, Betty?" Linda teased. My grandmother shook her head.

"Come on, Betty, you know who we like." Peggy poked her jokingly.

"Ok, ok, I like Joe," Grandma giggled, blushing. Joe was my grandfather's name, but I never knew they had met in their teens. I never liked to ask my mother about them in case I upset her.

The image stopped moving. Watching my grandmother and her friends when they were my age was truly amazing; I felt closer to her than ever before, she was just like how I imagined her. Cherry ice cream was my favourite too - perhaps we were more similar than I thought.

So much of my grandmother's life was documented on these films, all her special moments in early adulthood. Her wedding was beautiful; gentle piano music accompanied my grandparents' first dance under a canopy of white roses. My grandmother wore a flowing white dress with poofy sleeves. It seemed like the perfect day for her and my grandfather, even though they were so young. I wished I could ask her whether it was everything she imagined it to be, as to me it seemed magical.

Even though the photos were in black and white, each moment appeared in vivid colour. I decided to open the next box, ages 21-27. This box was filled with photos of my mother's older sisters, Tiffany and Melissa, in their infancies. I could see the adoring look in my grandmother's eyes as she cared for them, fussing over every small detail.

28-37 contained my mother and her twin brother Christopher's early childhood and Tiffany and Melissa's first days of secondary school. It was fascinating to watch my mother and her siblings grow up, learning more about their personalities as children. My favourite was them all at the beach.

"Who's coming in the sea, then?"

Melissa jumped to her feet. "Me!" She was always the sporty one; now she runs marathons in her spare time.

"I'm reading," Tiffany moaned; no surprises there, her entire house is like a library.

My mother and Christopher were building a sandcastle together in their matching stripey swimsuits, but they stopped and ran down to the sea together, soaking my grandmother and Melissa from head to toe with their vigorous splashing. They all looked so happy playing in the water.

It had been a long time since they were all together; Melissa hadn't visited since Grandma's memory started to decline rapidly. She claimed she didn't want her memories of Grandma tarnished by her fading memory.

The 38-50 box had all four of the children's 16th and 18th birthday parties. They all had personalised cakes with their name and age in their favourite colours. Birthdays were the most special event of the year to my grandma, so the parties were very extravagant. It wasn't the same anymore; Grandma couldn't even remember my name, let alone my birthday.

The final box was labelled 51-. She never finished it before she started to decline. There were several photos of my cousins as babies in my grandmother's arms. The rest of the photos were of me as a baby with Grandma. They showed us until my third birthday party then abruptly stopped.

The final photo was of the letter on the front of the box, a farewell to the collection of photos as she slowly lost her memories of all these events. I smiled sadly; knowing of the wonderful times she had experienced made it sadder that she couldn't remember those happy moments.

My mother returned to the room. "Sierra, ham or cheese sandwich?"

"Mum, can we take the photos to Grandma and see if it helps her remember them?"

She sighed. "Sierra, we can go after lunch and you can try, but I don't think it'll help. She calls you Kelly because she can't remember who you are - she thinks you're me. But we can try, sweetheart."

It wasn't long before we were knocking on the door to Grandma's room at her home.

"Hey Grandma, I’ve got something to show you," I smiled, sitting down next to her on the bed. My mum stood in the doorway, watching fondly as I opened the first box. "Look Grandma, this is you, Peggy and Linda eating ice cream; you had cherry as it's your favourite."

My mum came and sat down next to me. "And this is you and Dad getting married and here's us all at the beach - you and your four children," she explained calmly. "These are of our birthday parties at 16 and 18."

I squeezed her hand and continued. "This is you with me as a baby, Grandma. Remember? I’m your granddaughter."

Grandma smiled as we showed her the photos. "Sierra, Kelly," she murmured, gesturing to the old camera in my pocket.

Although that was the last time my grandmother truly returned to us before she died, she gave me and my mother a special moment to return to whenever we miss her, forever concealed in a photo.

#igniting writing #teen writers #writing for teens #creative writing #return #library #wokingham #writing contest #writing competition #writing challenge #writing group #writing club

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ignitingwriting · 2 years

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Igniting Writing ‘Return’ Contest 2022, Submission by Colette

Paradise I stumble out of the coach, my hand clutching the rail to steady myself. As I hop onto the ground, I can't hide my excitement and I’m sure Myriam, who is following behind me lugging my heavy bag, can feel it radiating off of me. I've been waiting a long while to return to this place and I haven't stopped nattering on about it to my friends for weeks. They're positively bored of my talk, but that's just because they haven't actually experienced it for themselves. Once everyone's off the coach (well not quite everyone - Jeremy's still at the back trying, and failing, to detach himself from the seatbelt), I gather my thoughts. Beaming, I look around at my friends who I've come to know and love. Most of them look bored, although I’m sure they're all secretly glad to be out of the house. One person stands out - Emmeline, with her beaming smile and rather fetching neon sun visor. I knew I could count on my best friend to lighten the mood and match my excitement. She's rallying the group, ushering them along and punching the air, ready for adventure. Myriam tugs at my sleeve, a silent reminder that we must get going. I nod to show her I've got the message, mutter a quick, "Wait here," and clamber back onto the coach to retrieve Jeremy, but it turns out he's already freed himself and is walking down the coach to greet me. "Finally mate, how long did it take you?" I ask him, but I smile and in return he chuckles, knowing that I'm only playing with him. All of us assembled, I wave my dazzling rainbow umbrella in the air like I've seen the tour guides do in London. Jack cries out, "Careful!" and I pretend to whack him with the umbrella, but he knows it's all in good heart and swats it away. The group assemble behind me, Emmeline by my side and Myriam bringing up the rear to make sure no one decides to make a quick run for it. There's a certain air about today, a frisson if you will. We walk slowly, savouring the moment. Emmeline and I link arms and someone in the group starts to whistle a little tune. By the time we've reached the little rickety old bridge that crosses a babbling brook, we're all humming along, quite content with life. Someone starts singing 'It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas' and in unison, we all shout "JE-RE-MY!", elongating each syllable. He's obsessed with the season and while I do like Christmas myself, we draw the line at singing crooners in June. The walk seems longer than I remember, although I know it's not far to go after the bridge. I look up in anticipation at finally seeing it again and I know Emmeline can feel it too. She squeezes my arm gently and I return the gesture, grateful for her company. "Alright everybody, we're nearly there!" I announce and the bubbling chatter dies down. Emmeline releases me and the group huddle around behind me. I take a step forward to push away the brambles that hide the clearing. No one follows and I'm grateful that they’ve allowed me to have my special moment. As I duck under the undergrowth, I'm nearly twitching with excitement. I look up, expecting to see the scene of my dreams and instead... I'm disappointed. Let down. Underwhelmed. Confused. Where once was luscious green grass, grand old sweeping willows swaying gently in the summer's breeze and little chirping crickets… there's emptiness. The only word that can describe this place now is brown. Dark, murky, muddy brown. The grass has died back, draining the woodland floor of colour, and in its place is a squelchy, unappealing bog. No longer do bluetits sit on the trees, singing their cheerful song. Instead, a large, pompous seagull screeches before dive bombing into the bog. It emerges, its beak trapped in the plastic rings that once held together beer cans, the only evidence of a long-forgotten late-night party. Where once bees would have sucked nectar from vibrant flowers to pollinate other nature reserves, faded crisp packets and charred cigarettes lie. It's a dystopian scene that I see before me. Where has the scene of those summer days spent frolicking in nature gone? The place where I first found my love of nature and nurtured that love every single day. Where I met my first best friend and we made daisy chains, sitting cross-legged in the lawn, promising that these chains were a sign of our ever-lasting friendship. Sitting on the dry-stone wall, face warm in the sunlight, where I shared my first kiss. This place is a place of firsts, but I never thought it would be a place of lasts. No longer will children play here, carefree and joyful, running through the meadow with their arms stretched wide. All of it, gone. And for what? I’m jolted out of my contemplation by the jarring sound of a sudden crack! I turn around, fighting my way through the clearing, to see Jeremy lying on the floor at an uncomfortable angle. "He’s just had a fall, it looks like he's broken his ankle," Myriam explains. I'm crestfallen. As if this day couldn’t get any worse! "Don’t worry about me, love, carry on," Jeremy struggles to sit upright but manages to tell me. "Was it all as you had remembered?" I try to keep my composure but emotion takes over me. I slump down on a nearby fallen tree and burst into tears, my sobbing rhythmical. Emmeline approaches, "Deep breaths, come on now. That will do you a world of good." I gulp in large vats of air and I ended up hiccupping. "Now what has brought this on, then?" my best friend asks. From behind me, I hear a voice. "Err, guys, I don't think it was supposed to look like this," Jack says and the others rush to see what he's pointing to. They probably think I'm silly, dragging them all this way to look at a rubbish heap, but I know that this used to look like paradise. I manage to strangle out a reply. "It didn't… it used to be so… beautiful. But now…" I take another large gulp of air, "it looks… horrible. Oh, what has happened?" Myriam's the one who speaks up. "I think it’s the effects of climate change. It's degraded the nature reserve and it looks like people have started using this area for, err, other activities. No wonder the animals don't want to live here anymore. Their home's been destroyed." "My heart's been destroyed," I mutter under my breath. Just then, Emmeline approaches me and looks deep into my eyes. I know that look - she's thinking of a plan. I shrug my shoulders as if to say, 'what?' Gently, she speaks to me, quietly so the others can't hear. "Well as I see it, you have two options. You can either give up and despair at what once was. Or you can put your mind to it, rally the others and we can restore the reserve to its former glory. And you've never been one to give up, have you?" A smile tugs at my lips in response to her words. Emmeline's right, of course. She always is. Taking a deep breath, I hoist myself up off the log and clear my throat. "Everyone!" I call. "Gather round, gather round." The group shuffle over, their faces a mix of disappointment and confusion. "Now, this nature reserve used to be brimming with wildlife. A safe haven for all who sought refuge. As you can see, that is no longer the case. But, after some wise words of encouragement, I have decided that we will, together, work to improve this area so it's brimming with beautiful nature. Who's with me?" At first, it's just Emmeline who responds, punching the air and shouting, "Yeah!" Then Myriam joins in and soon the whole group's whooping and clapping, eager to give back to the environment, to create a special place where nature reigns supreme. Elated, I grin. "Right then people, let's get to work! While we're walking back, I want you to be thinking of what part you can play in this project. On the coach back, we can share our ideas and come up with a plan of action." Jack heaves a dramatic sigh, mock-annoyed at the workload. Emmeline smiles, I think because she’s glad to see me back to my old self. We all start to troop off but hear, "Err, a little help here guys?" It's Jeremy - of course! How could we have forgotten about him? Jack picks him up by the shoulders, Myriam takes his feet and Emmeline does a grand old job at guiding them through the woods. I hang back and take in the sight of my beloved rag-tag group. With them on my team, I know that we can return this nature reserve back to what it once was, a paradise full of tweeting birds, chirping crickets and luscious grass. Together, we can do anything. One year later That was my gran, Lilith. I'm her granddaughter, Myriam, who, with the rest of her friends from the care home, took her to the nature reserve where she used to play as a child. She was never one to give up, my gran. That's why, since she peacefully died in her sleep eight months ago, a vase full of the first flowers we managed to grow on the nature reserve next to her bed, I've decided to carry on her legacy. Emmeline and I are co-leaders, organising the care home group to make sure we can finish what my gran started. And that's what we’re doing today. It will take many years for this nature reserve to return to its former glory, the paradise that my gran remembers, but today is the first sign of improvement. Gran had already planted many wildflowers in the first few months of the project, but today we start on the trees. All of the care home residents are here today, those who can helping with the tree-planting. While we hope to plant many trees in the reserve, there's one special tree that we will plant first. The willow tree, gran's favourite, right in the centre of the reserve where it can watch all the flowers and grasses spring up around it and the insects and birds gradually come back to inhabit it. Jack and Jeremy stumble along, carrying the sapling carefully. They place it in the ground and Emmeline uses her spade to pack soil around it, then gives it a water with the pillar-box red watering can her and my gran purchased together. Next goes the fence around the tree, to protect the vulnerable sapling from animals that might have a go at it. Finally, it's my turn. I take a deep breath and step forward, my hands gripping the plaque tightly. Everyone watches, in contemplative silence. With trembling fingers, I attach the plaque to the tree fence. I step back, checking that the plaque is level. Emmeline comes over to me, and squeezes me tight, whispering to me, "Well done. She would have been proud, love. I'm proud. In fact, we are all proud of you.” Afterwards, she turns towards the group, punching the air in her signature style and the celebrations begin, whooping and clapping, surrounded by the promise of what’s to come. I hang back before joining the celebrations, taking a moment to myself. Emmeline's right, gran would have been proud of me. My eyes find the plaque and I read the inscription: In loving memory of Lilith Rivers 1943-2021 Who inspired us to return this nature reserve back to paradise and knew the importance of valuing our natural world

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ignitingwriting · 2 years

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Igniting Writing ‘Return’ Contest 2022, Submission by Natasha

"Tea or coffee?" Maddie asked her friend over the rain pounding on the window. "Tea please. Milk and one sugar," Alexis responded. "I’ll get the kettle on," she said, getting up out of the chair and slowly walking towards the kitchen. She heard Alexis say something, but the kettle made sure she couldn’t hear most of what Alexis said. "I won’t be a minute," Maddie called as she got two treats out for the girls' Siberian huskies, Skya and Luca. The kettle had come to a boil. Maddie got two mugs and poured the boiling water into them. She put a tea bag in each cup, stirred it a little and left it to infuse. A moment later, after she had got the biscuit tin, Maddie took the teabags out and added milk and sugar to Alexis', before adding milk to hers. She put the cups on a tray and returned to the living room, with Skya and Luca in tow. "Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said," Maddie stated, giving the tea to Alexis. "I saw your sister a while ago," Alexis answered before taking a sip of tea. "I don’t have a sister, I'm an only child," Maddie pondered. "Your sister, Sadie Foster, who lives about an hour away." "A sister?" Maddie asked, shocked. "I went to get Luca from her when he was eight weeks old. Sadie is a dog breeder, see?" Alexis said, making it incredibly clear for Maddie. "Ok," Maddie said slowly. "But I still don't understand, I don't have a sister." They chatted for another hour or two, before Alexis and Luca went home. Maddie got out her laptop and searched up the name that Alexis told her: Sadie Foster. Before she left, Alexis had given her phone number to Maddie, so she and Sadie could talk. "Hello?" the voice asked. "Hello. Is it a good time to talk?" Maddie asked. "Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name." "I'm Maddie. Maddie Foster. My friend told me that you are my sister." "Um, who was your friend, sorry?" "Alexis Graves. She brought a puppy from you." "Ah yes, I remember. Lovely girl." "Alexis told me that you are my sister, but I don't have a sister." "Yes. I can. I remember, when I was about seven, I was playing with a girl my age when I heard my mother shouting at my father, and then my mother got in the car and called a name: Maddie. The girl I was playing with ran towards her and got into the car, sped out of the driveway and off into the distance. I was looking at my father, who was nearing tears and calling after them. I asked what had happened, and he responded with, 'They've gone, and they aren't coming back.' I was devastated. I wondered, wished, hoped I would see them again, but I never did. And fast forward a few years, I met Alexis. She told me about her best friend and her only knowing her mother, sharing my last name, names going well with each other. And that is where we are now, in the present." "Wow. That is a dramatic story, to say the least," Maddie said.

"I'm sorry, I’ve got to go. Someone is at my door," Sadie said hurriedly. "Ok, shall we talk again?" Maddie asked. "Of course!" Sadie answered. "Right, bye!" Maddie said happily. "Bye!" Sadie said before I hung up. Would Maddie ever know if Sadie was her true sister? Had her childhood been rewritten? Maddie decided to go to her mother's house, to see if she could find any answers. She got into her silver Audi and drove away into the distance. When she got there, she knocked on the door. "Maddie!" "Hello, Mum! How are you?" Maddie asked. "I'm good, thank you. How are you?" "I'm ok, I came to ask you something," Maddie responded. "Go ahead!" her mother, Lindsay replied. "Do I have a sister?" "I'm sorry?" Maddie then spent the next hour or two explaining what had happened. She loved her mother dearly and they were very close. "Maddie. Darling, you are correct, you do have a sister. She is not pretending, she is a direct relative of yours," Lindsay said. "Me and your father filed for a divorce, as we had a huge argument. He stayed with Sadie and I chose to take you elsewhere." "Mum, do you have the address of the house that my father lives in?" "Somewhere. Let me find it." She got up and turned towards a large bookshelf that was sitting in the corner of the room. Lindsay picked out a large pink book that was decorated with roses. She flicked through the book, stopped when she got to the letter F and then turned the pages slowly, scanning the pages until she got to Foster. "Here," Lindsay said, pointing. "This address. It's a while away." "Thank you so much, Mum!" Maddie said joyfully, hugging her while they laughed. "I think I need to call Sadie." "I think you're right." "Lovely to see you! Bye Mum!" Maddie called from her car to her mum, who was standing in the driveway. "Bye!" Maddie drove out and called Sadie. "Hello?" "Hi! It's Maddie." "Oh, hi Maddie. How are you?" "I'm good, thank you. You?" "Brilliant, if anything. Can I come round to your house? I have some news." "Of course!" Sadie said before she gave Maddie her address, Chelsea, London. "I can't wait to see you!" Maddie said, with much excitement. "Me neither!" Sadie agreed. The conversation went on for a while and the girls also agreed to go to their dad's house. "Right, I'm five minutes away. Shall I see you in a moment?" Maddie said after minutes of talking. "See you in a minute!" "Bye!" Sadie beamed. "Bye!" Five minutes later Maddie was at Sadie's house. It was a small house, with a large garden and a small driveway. She opened the gate, slowly walked up the path to the house and rang the doorbell. There was a lot of barking afterwards. Sadie opened the door. She was very different to what Maddie had imagined: curly mousy brown hair, blue eyes and she was quite tall. "I'm sorry about all of the noise. Apollo is very overprotective," Sadie said, glancing towards the large Siberian husky by the door. "That's ok. I have a husky at home." "Are you Maddie?" Sadie asked. "Yes, I am,” replied Maddie as she and Sadie hugged. "Shall we go inside?" inquired Sadie, gesturing towards the door. "Yes. What a splendid idea!" They walked into the house and sat down in the living room, where Maddie spotted another husky. "Oh, that's Willow. She's very shy. Biscuit?" "Yes please, that would be lovely." "Here we are." She handed Maddie the biscuit tin, where Maddie picked out a jammy dodger. "Also, I was looking at some old photos that dad gave me a while back. That's you, there." Sadie said, pointing to a young, fair-haired girl in the picture. "Wow, I look so young!" Maddie said, laughing. "You do!" Sadie replied. "So, shall we go back?" Maddie replied, "Where we spent some time growing up?" "Yeah. That's a good idea. Dad doesn't live there anymore; he moved out two years ago," Sadie said. "It's a short walk from here." The girls got up and were ready to leave. This was it: Maddie was finally returning to a place that she hadn't visited in twenty years or more, a place that she had been to, but didn't remember, but a place she once called home.

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ignitingwriting · 2 years

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Igniting Writing ‘Return’ Contest 2022, Submission by Emily

Return to Life Desperate to take a breath, Not in life, nor in death, Engulfed by murky oblivion, A fog of black obsidian, Senses drowned out by emptiness. Left as an empty husk. Trapped in the cage of my mind. Simply a lost soul, left behind. I claw my way towards the light. I won’t give up without a fight. A phantom voice guides me nearer. The mist is gone, my mind is clearer. Life only a step away. Closer, closer, closer… The light blazes into the back of my eyes. I squeeze them shut, wishing away the sharp knife of pain embedded in my gut. I focus on the steady thump I hear - my heartbeat. Where am I? What happened to me? Mumbling sounds to my left. I force open my eyes, steeling myself against the sting. A tall doctor clad in scrubs hurries to my side and checks the machines at my bedside. "What happened?" I croak, my gritty throat aching more with each word. "Mr Stone," the doctor says calmly, "you have been in a coma for the past nine months." I gape. "Nine months! What about my family?" Flashes of a young girl dances through my head, taunting me, teasing me with a taste of normality. Our daughter, Rowan. My wife, Amy. The doctor hesitates, emotions flying through a conflicted battle on her face. "Maybe we should talk about this when you have recovered more." "Tell me." My voice rages with an icy anger. I feel powerful. In control. But I can't focus on this now, not when the doctor is clearly so afraid to tell me something about my family. "Mr Stone -" she tries again, but I want answers. "TELL ME!" I roar, my voice shaking as I struggle to contain the raging furnace of anger that flames inside. I squeeze my eyes shut, but not too soon to miss the look of pure shock and horror that flits over her placid features. Rage bubbles and boils in my churning stomach so I focus on my ragged breathing, waiting until it became slower and smoother. "There’s no easy way to tell you this, sir, but I'm afraid to say that your wife and daughter were in a car accident and neither made it out alive," she stutters, lowering her eyes. Fury dissolves into pure grief and I sob like never before. Yes, I have returned to life but why has it changed so much? Why did it happen to me? Why me? One month later… My eyes water as I walk away from my family's final resting place. My shackles of dread, dejection and despair that weigh my weary shoulders down are a constant and merciless burden. But as I walk away from my past and towards my future, a flicker of hope sparks inside of me and that weight lifts. My life has been inexplicably spared - I have returned from the darkness and I finally am free.

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ignitingwriting · 2 years

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Igniting Writing ‘Return’ Contest 2022, Submission by Grace

My Father’s Return I never considered myself as someone who scares easily. But now, I cannot ever imagine myself as fearless. Five years ago… "Hurry, Clara, your father's leaving," my mother called from the town square. "Coming, Mother!" I yelled, rushing home with her by my side. My father was leaving for another one of his travels. He was the town tailor and would constantly leave to get materials for clothes. "Now, Clara. Cutting it close, are we?" my father said. "Look after your mother and your sister, Alice. She is your twin sister after all." "No promises," I muttered. I loved my dad more than anything. Alice always made fun of me for that. Alice. Ugh. The worst sister anyone can have. Always getting her lace and her beautiful jewellery from Laurent, the town jeweller, librarian and market stall owner. "Goodbye, Father." Me and Alice both hugged him. Mother cried and kissed him. Father got in the carriage and left for his journey. We went inside and I ran up to my room. I opened my floorboard and looked at all the things Father had brought back from his past travels. "Clara, tea!" Mother shouted from the bottom of the stairs. "Coming, I’ll be down soon!" I yelled back. I closed the floorboard and ran downstairs. "Finally." Alice groaned. "Mother was telling me about the new material you wanted. Really, you still will not tell me what it is?" "It is between me and Father. Now stay out of it. I suppose you will not say what you want?" I asked. "Lace. Laurent said that I could make a parasol with him out of it," she answered. "Laurent? What about Father?" I asked. "Father makes clothes, not lace parasols. Now, stay out of it," she snapped. "Now, girls. Father is gone for a minute and it is bickering all over again. Can we not just have a peaceful evening?" Mother asked. "Of course. Mother, I am terribly sorry." Alice sincerely apologised. "Me too. And I am sorry, Alice," I spoke. The next day… As I awoke from my slumber, I heard the door knock. I heard Alice and Mother and small slices of Laurent’s voice. "I see. Clara, come down." Mother called. I ran out of bed and down to the door. I looked at Alice and saw her gloomy expression. "What’s wrong?" I asked and Laurent gave me a letter. Dear Clara, I hope this reached you well. I am afraid I am not coming home. Thunderstorms reached me and scared the poor horse, Maximus, off. I am so sorry. I got the last piece you needed for your project. Please know, I love you and I tried. Father. "No. No. He cannot be. He cannot be gone. Mother?" I cried. "Oh, Clara," Mother said as I ran into her arms. "He loved you. Alice, please take your sister upstairs while I talk to Laurent." "NO!" I yelled as I ran outside and ran to only a place father knew. I cried and cried until I felt no tears left. He was gone. Five years later… I ran out of the classroom, not waiting to wait for Alice. I ran to Laurent's bookstore and got Mother's favourite books. I ran inside, went to Mother and grinned until she put her book down. "Alright. What is going on?" she asked. "Well, me and Alice turn 18 tomorrow," I spoke. "Wow, really? I had no idea," she said back. "Anyway, tomorrow there is no school. Could I please take Maximus out to the market? It is just past the town," I begged. I was lucky to have seen Maximus after that dreadful night; he had found his way back. "No," Mother said and went to the kitchen. "You cannot leave the town." "What? But you said five years ago that…" I spoke. "Five years ago is a long time ago," Mother said. "Mother, please. Alice could come and we could bring you something back…" I said amazingly fast. "Clara! No! that is exactly what got your father killed. You are all I have. I cannot lose you too." "I know that. But the market is not that far away. Please, please," I begged. "Alright, but be careful," she sighed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I squealed. The next day… As me and Alice went to the market, we saw Laurent. He said nothing but gave me a letter. Clara. I am still here. We got our things and raced home. "Mother, mother look!" I spoke. "Oh, my goodness." She looked pale. "He’s still alive?" "Mother, we have to find him. He could die soon." I spoke. "Contact the police or something. We do not even know where he is," she spoke. "He told me where he was going," I answered back. "You are 18. You are not going," Mother said. I ran up to my room and got my gear that Father gave me in case I ever went with him. Alice walked in as I was preparing myself. She walked out and walked in with the same gear. "We need to go now. I wrote this for Mother," she spoke. As the sun set, we got Maximus ready and started the journey. We were going to find our father. However long it took. Two days later… We were obviously going slower than Father did. Two days and we had only gone two villages over. Even Maximus was bored. "So, you have a bag that holds some mysterious things in it. I am risking my life with you. Surely you can tell me," Alice begged. "Fine. It is a quilt," I answered, waiting for her laughter. "A quilt? That is not what I expected. When did you ever own a quilt?" she asked. "I did not. I made it. Why do you think Father brought me back square pieces of material?" I spoke. "That’s what you were getting it for?" Alice asked. "Yes." I answered. "Where are we going? We have not even gotten close to where he was going to. Wait. How do we know where he is?" Alice asked. "Huh. Max, take us to where Father was. Quickly!" I yelled. "Are you crazy? Father disappeared five years ago. Max will not remember," Alice yelled. "Horses have good memory. Max, hurry!" I shouted. The next day… "Well, we are almost across the river. Once we get past, we will make our way to the next village and go from there," I spoke. "At this rate, Mother is going to catch up to us." Alice rolled her eyes. "We are so tired. Max is going to fall to the ground. We need to eat and sleep." "Fine. Tonight. We will get food supplies when we reach the village and camp out somewhere." I answered. "Good to me." Alice answered. Later that night… "Well, we have food. We have tents. Max is sleeping peacefully. And we will continue in the morning," Alice said. "Alice? What if we do not find him?" I asked. "We will." She answered. The next morning… We got up at dawn and got Maximus ready. As we were going through a forest, there were two people waving at us. "Hello, I am Damien. And this is my sister, Sylvie. Could we ride with you? We lost our way," the man said."Well, where are you trying to go?" Alice asked. "Just to the village. Where are you trying to go?" Sylvie asked. "There is a cave. We are looking for our father. He disappeared five years ago," Alice answered. "Right. Sorry for your loss," Damien spoke. "I suppose we could take you to the village. Max -" I started. "Actually, you should come with us," Sylvie said as they put sacks over our heads. A little later… They pulled the sacks off our heads and we realized we were in the cave we were trying to go to. "What are you doing?" I asked. "What do you think? They are the ones who took Father," Alice said. "I will give you one guess. Why did we take your father?" Sylvie asked. "I'll tell you," a mysterious voice said. "Father?" I asked. "Well, go on then. Tell them. Why did two innocent siblings kidnap a man? Go on," Sylvie said. "On the last journey I went to, I found something. A jewel. I knew it was someone’s jewel. But it was worth too much. I was having less costumers in the shop. No-one wanted more clothes. So, I brought it home. I hid it. And those kids wanted their jewel back. So, they took it back. And they took me," Father answered. "Really? You kidnapped our father because you had a score to settle? And he is the bad guy," Alice said. And I realised. She was stalling. She had learnt how to get out of ropes. "Well. I am deeply sorry, but we cannot stay much longer." Alice got up and charged towards Sylvie while Father freed me. Sylvie was on the floor and Damien rushed over to him. I pushed him to the ground and got Alice and Father. We got on Max and rode as fast as we could. Two days later… We entered the village and greeted Laurent with a big grin. "Welcome back, sir. Glad to have you back." Laurent hugged him and me and Alice. "Thank you, Laurent. All right girls, let us get home to your mother!" We went to our house when the door opened and Mother emerged, crying. She ran over to Father and hugged him. She hugged us and brought us inside to a royally sized feast. We told her all about our adventures, and had the best night ever. My name is Clara, and that… is my story.

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