The Battlefield! - by J.T. aged 14

The Battlefield!

                                         by J.T. aged 14

Mud dripping down blood red material, flashes of white stripes fill the battlefield.

Guns crack, feet march, blood spills – but it’s all part of being a soldier.

No turning back, no going home. It’s fight to the death or don’t come at all.

The enemy’s fierce eyes pierce into the souls of the innocent. Fallen men all around. These are friends, fathers, brothers – bleeding to death, not in vain but in the glory and triumph of their beloved country.

The heart of the battlefield grows steadily denser. The captain is eyeball-to-eyeball with the enemy.

He draws his sword ready to plunge into the opponent’s soft skin when . . .

“Jimmy! Come down here and do your homework!”

Reluctantly Jimmy places the plastic soldiers in his toy box.

My horses - by E.B. aged 14

My horses 

                        by E.B. aged 14

Chapter 1

My horse reared up, excitement and nerves overwhelming him. We steered into the starting gate. My blood pounded in my ears and my mount pawed the ground.

Three . . . Two . . .One . . .GO!

I dug my heels into his side and we surged forward out of the gate. The first jump approached fast and I pulled back on the reins. My horse ignored my cue to slow down, instead throwing himself over the jump. I stood in my stirrups, breathing hard. The crowd fell behind as we dispersed into the horizon, another jump cleared, then a ditch.

It was just me and him now, the perfect partnership. Together we were one.

My chest burned but I ignored it, slowing the horse down for a combination. My boy cleared the combination and galloped onwards . . . Clear. Clear. Clear. We were almost there and making good time. I could see the crowd now and they were cheering. The finish flags were so close, almost there!

I reined in the horse and we both almost collapsed. He was dripping with sweat and his knees were buckling.

I hugged him, thanking him before handing his reins over so he could be cooled down.

I fell into a chair and took off my helmet. Showjumping next. We could do this.

Chapter 2

I squirmed as fluid was pushed through my IV line into my veins. I had always known I’d end up here, but not so soon. I closed my eyes and went over what I had done so many times in my mind.

We were flying, soaring high over ditches, logs and banks. The horse beneath me panted but carried on willingly. She groaned, heaving herself over another jump – higher, higher than we had ever gone before.

“Come on girl. Almost there.”

I urged her on into a gallop. I could feel her tiring but pressed her onwards. The first jump loomed. In the distance a hedge cut into a ring. We had to make it through that ring. We could do this. I put all my trust in my animal, my best friend. She launched herself up, up . . . and then fell. She didn’t have the energy for that last leap.

The last thing I remember is falling and the realisation that we were not going to make it. Then there was impact. Then nothing.

The nurse told me I had been in a self-induced coma for three weeks. The doctors puzzled over why I would not wake up. Only when they told me what had become of my beloved animal did I truly understand.

I pushed her too hard. She had run her heart out for me and yet I still asked more of her. It was my fault. All my fault.

Without her, I would never be whole. I would never live again like I had lived with her by my side.

I closed my eyes and said goodbye.

Chapter 3

There was a new filly waiting for me when I got home from the hospital. She was gorgeous. A blue-grey Appaloosa with large brown eyes.

But I didn’t want a new horse. I wanted my old girl back. But she was never coming back Her stall was empty, her truck had a fine layer of dust.

I didn’t ever want to ride again,

“Just give her a chance,” Mum said as we entered the house.

“I don’t want her.”

“She’s purebred, ready to be broken.”

It was clear Mum was trying her hardest, but it was in vain. I would never ride again.

Days passed and I grew gradually stronger though all I wanted was to die. At least then I could be with her and ride with her for ever.

I lay in my bed, tossing and turning. The nickering of the horses was normally soothing but all it did now was bring back painful memories.

This wasn’t working. I just couldn’t live without my horses. Collecting my jacket I went outside. The filly was in a pen. I realised she was wild – typical of Mum to buy a wild, unhandled horse to ‘cheer me up’.

It worked!

The filly approached cautiously. She snorted and I blew on her muzzle.

I had been working with her for three days and she had started to trust me. I reached out a hand and gently laid it on her neck.

For the first time since the accident I smiled.

Life - by M.S. aged 14

Life

         by M.S. aged 14

I sit and watch life.

Just from the sidewalk I watch the wind whip rubbish across pathways and roads and people walking absentmindedly to their next chore or appointment.

I just sit and admire the pace, the burning speed that everyone seems to run to keep up with. I look, and I think: ‘How did all this happen?’

Because, how did it? How did this crazy wild thing called life come to be? I know people say ‘Evolution’ as though the word can explain anything and everything. But what it doesn’t tell me is how.

Some say ‘God’, so I ask them: “Show me a miracle.” They show me a baby, a new life, a new breath, new thoughts – another building block to our world.

And I think: “There has to be something out there . . . something that created this miracle; something that can withstand torture, both physical and mental, yet still contain the delicate touch to handle this thing we call ‘love’.

Life contains this. This love, this hate, this pain and sorrow.

That is what this amazing thing is. It’s wild and precious, unbreakable yet delicate.

Where did it come from? We don’t know. 

What is it, really? We don’t know

All we do know is what to call it.

We call it ‘life’.

'Haunted' & 'Four weeks to live' by E.P age 14

Haunted

                         by E.P. aged 14

The idea flowed into my mind like a stream. It was always there but all of a sudden it was crystal clear: a haunted house party! It would be perfect.

I opened my eyes and looked around. Everyone was there – well, except Josh. It was his birthday party we were planning, after all. 

“Paintball?” someone suggested.

“Nah. We do that every year.”

”Bowling?”

“Laser tag?” 

“Restaurant?” That was Zac. All he ever thought about was food.

“How about we go to a haunted house? I asked. “He is a scary movie freak anyway.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” Everyone murmured their consent.

“Well, since you thought of it, could you do the arrangement? Thanks,” Anna said. She always somehow got someone else to do the job.

So, I had organised everything: food, hire, for the house, what to bring.

I opened the front door.

“Josh, you first?” I asked.

“No way,” he said. “The first person who walks in always dies.”

Sighing, I walked in. It was awesome. If I had thought the 18^th century Gothic was cool, this was beyond words: high stair case, big ropes for the bells.

Everyone piled into the living room. It looked like the room belonged to a vampire – everything was red or black: slightly creepy but awesome.

All of a sudden the doors opened by themselves . . .

Four weeks to live

                                                          by E.P. aged 14

The full red lips of the doctor were moving but I couldn’t hear. My vision narrowed and I saw her unnaturally white teeth pronouncing the words with a slight English accent.

“You have cancer, dear,” she said. It was probably meant to sound kind and sympathetic but all that my mind registered was she was giving my death sentence.

“You have about four weeks to live.”

I looked out the polished window. There were children playing outside. I suddenly took notice of all the little things: the children were happy; the dog was busy chasing its own tail; the wind whispered gently to the big trees; one of those dandelion seeds flew past the window, each pale white strand shining in the morning sun as it danced on the soft breeze.

There was hardly a cloud in the sky. The sky was so blue, so clear. The few clouds there were wispy like cotton buds.

I opened the door. If the doctor tried to stop me I didn’t notice. 

I walked a little to the park. I sat down on the brown wooden bench. Under my fingertips I felt the names engraved, feeling the sun’s rays, warming every part of my body. The small daisies swayed in the wind.

I was blissfully happy.