What happened to my  Mum?

By Kymaani Gordon

Riiing!!! There goes the bell. Chris can now go home and relax - which is what he was thinking when the teacher shouts,

“Don’t forget your homework!”

Chris sighs. This means there is now one more thing for him to do before he can watch his favourite TV show until the sun goes down. Chris walked to the bus stop and put on his headphones. Music  really helped him calm down. Chris shut his eyes and hummed to the rhythm when suddenly the bus came and splashed him all over his uniform.

“Are you kidding me,” Chris whispered to himself.

This was not a good day for him.

Soaked Chris finally arrived at his house and not to his surprise, Chris saw that same piece of paper he dreaded. The one that said:

Put the baby to sleep 

Coming home from work  soon

Love Mum xx

Chris shook his head. Ever since his Dad never came home that one night after his baby brother was born, his mum - Jessica - has had to work two jobs and Chris has had to look after his brother. Knowingly, Chris ordered himself his favourite takeaway - fish and chips - got a jar of baby food his mum bought the night before from the cupboard for his brother, because  when she worked on Thursdays, Jessica came home much later : but not this late. Chris was up until 11:26 at night when Jessica came home drenched in rain.

“Hello, my said child, I shall go to reset in my quarters; now will you excuse me?” she said in a strange, robotic tone.

“Uhh Mum, are you okay? At least put your pyjamas on first, you're absolutely soaked!”

“Yes,” she replied frantically,”I will wear these p…p…pyj…pyjama things you mentioned,”

Chris frowned. His mum was known to be the more quirky and flustered type but not like this. This was weird - some may say out of this dimension, but Chris didn’t take it too seriously. Chris was always like that; he always tried to see the good in people, even if they weren't so nice. You could call it a flaw but his Dad always said it was his biggest strength.

That happened two days ago: two days before something unimaginable happened. Unexpectedly, after a long day of school, Chris came home to not another note but his mum’s cooking. Cooking is a word that can hardly be used in this scenario. Jessica was mixing a bowl that contained neon green slop with what looked like dead, crunchy insects in it. It reeked!

“Mum” Chris said, pinching his nose,”What is that?”

“Dinner!”  Jessica said through a menacing grin.

Chris looked puzzled.

“Don’t look at me like that you wretched nuisance of a boy, if you don’t eat it all I will make sure you will never eat again!” Jessica barked.

Chris gasped. Before this day, Jessica had never spoken to anyone like this no matter how angry she had gotten, especially to Chris. And then Chris saw it - claws. Long claws coming from dark, gnarled, furry fingers attached to the arms of a beast; not Jessica, a monstrous beast who stood before him.

“Mum, what are those?” he quivered, looking up to meet the eyes of what his mother had turned into.

“Have you not seen a demon's claws? You humans bore me,” Jessica - or the demon- sneered, “ I will destroy you and everyone you love, including that annoying infant! You're lucky we didn’t take your mothers soul sooner.”

What is That Crawling Up my Leg?

By Lara Gul

A cough was what started the fall.

Scarce safe zones spared hardly a fifth of humanity, leaving the unlucky bunch to choke on the air that they’d once freely breathed. Makeshift tanks were sent to the survivors, and over time remnants of the smog mutated DNA until humanity no longer held their pride as a badge.

Slaves to smoke. Homosapien turned fauna.

“Did you hear? Clymene’s boy?” A hushed voice of a factory worker whispered in the cleansing department.

“Nothing new, is it? Routine. One second they’re there, and the next just gone. Better than out there, I suppose.” Another gruffed. The murmurs fell silent as a whip cracked across the ground. Well, not a whip. Humans no longer held that authority. Merely a gust of ‘wind’.

Routine was in order, however this week it seemed the famine ached for a thirst of blood. A silent smoke crept up through the factory, a dosage more than the weekly amount. It(?) whispered over amputated stumps that had been taken in exchange for barely a breath that was now life.

It(?) crept through the cracks of vents. A hush. A cough. The dreaded moment of realisation.

“Clymene!”

Gashing spores reaped up her skin, pumping blood through the newfound bumps and sizzling until Clymene gurgled on the gas evaporating in her lungs. She clawed at the pus on her skin for a soothing lick of relief, however mercy was not in order for a weeper. Her thighs now more resembled wax than skin, flesh now turned liquid. And as she slowly found herself unable to prevent the sinking, there was–

Hold on. That… that wet, cold thing, on the floor. By my leg. What is.. what…

…what is that thing creeping up my leg?

Maybe you should judge a book by its cover

By Norshae Lin

As Seraphina entered the classroom she noticed a boy surrounded by her friends. They were in a huddle at the back of the class. Strolling up to them, she waved, flashed a warm smile and queried “Who’s this new guy?”

 “Hi, I am Max!” Max excitedly grinned.

 “Ms Ahmed told us to take him to his lessons this week, so we thought, why not add him to our friend group!” Beatriz exclaimed, eyes wide open.

 “Yeah,” Seraphina replied, “That’d be lovely! Don’t worry we don’t bite!”

 Everyone giggled but that stopped because the teacher came in.

 “ Mornin’ teach!” Max hollered, “I’m new, can I sit with these lot’!”

 He nodded, allocating a chair for him to sit on. During the whole lesson, they made jokes, didn’t do any work at all and just talked, talked and talked!

During food tech, it was even worse! They were cooking and almost got sent out because someone (Max) put foil into the microwave, which almost burned down the kitchen. It got to the point where the teacher almost pulled the fire alarm! Afterwards, you wouldn’t have imagined how irritated she was. She was fuming! But her anger was their fuel to their flames. Although it was a mess, they still had lots of fun. Until next week…

 A week flew by and before you knew it, it was Monday again. When Seraphina came into her first lesson, she was met with a new face but somehow recognizable? She was a brunette, small, adorable and just. Just. Just something… Everybody was with her, crying tears of joy and chuckling like mad men, but no one was with Max. He looked like a lonely puppy, his facial expressions were unreadable and his head hung low, but it never did…

 “Hey Sera!” Beatriz yelled, “Come join us with the new girl, Ayla.”

 Seraphina walked over to Ayla, heels click-clacking on the floor. Despite it being a warm day, she was cold, jumpy, guilty? It felt like someone was watching her. And she knew who that person was.

Honestly, Ayla wasn’t so bad. She was the type of girl who you’d call a bundle of happiness mixed with bubbles, shyness and glitter. Ayla, Ayla, Ayla. Ayla was normal? Shocking. Nowadays people are never normal; people climbing on walls, throwing things and constantly judging. But was she? It was like everyone was wrapped around her finger. She would definitely be on the bottom of a suspect list…
Days passed by however on one particular day, Seraphina paced over to Max’s side. Even with loving hanging out with Ayla a lot, everyday, when she passed by Max, she felt a pang of guilt shooting through her chest acting as a bullet piercing through it. Everybody had just discarded him, as if he was a piece of trash and the problem was, she didn’t know why?

 “Hey Max, what’s up,” Seraphina chimed, a faint smile planting on her lips.

 “Why are you talking to me?” Max scoffed, jaw clenched stiffly.

 “Why wouldn’t I?” she interrogated.

 “Because everyone hates me!” he argued, “Including you…”

 “I don’t hate you!” she screamed, “Stop making these stupid assumptions as if I am somewhat different to you in any way shape or form!”

 Max was silenced, couldn’t speak, didn’t know how to reply. He was never spoken to like this before. Maybe his parents were too soft or-or.

 “I don’t know why everyone hates you as well,” Seraphina groaned, “I felt so bad. I felt pity. I felt empathy. I guess you don’t need it no more’.”

 Then, she began to walk away, not turning around at all until he called out to her.

 “Wait! If you really don’t know, I'll tell you.” he sighed, “Me and Ayla, we have bad history with each other. Do you remember the picture that I showed you of my crazy ex? That’s her.”

 Huh, Seraphina knew she looked familiar, so she responded with, “Is it the one who cheated on you and made fun of you?”

 “Yes that one!” Max happily agreed, bobbling up and down on the bench he was sitting on, “Everybody kicked me out because she lied to everyone and made it seem like it was me! Like I cheated on her instead! But I knew everyone would believe her so I didn't argue with it…”

 “Oh God!” she said, replaying times she spent chattering, cackling and sitting with her while Max’s reputation was suffocating the same fate as others who were unclucky, “I will talk to Ayla about it, don’t worry!”

 And before he could protest, Seraphina had disappeared like your homework when teachers collect it. 

 “Ah I see…” Ayla noted, keeping her face neutral, “Well Seraphina, maybe you should judge a book by its cover.”

 “I’m glad you understood and by the way, what did you mean?” Seraphina enquired.

 “Oh you’ll see.” Ayla hissed, which was very unlikely of her, very, very.

The next morning, as the news appeared on the TV, many people's faces dropped. “Two teens aged 14 both found dead in an alleyway.” It was revealed that it was Seraphina Brown and Max Stephen. The police had ran a toxicology report and found shocking results of drugs in their system when they had passed. The case was building up like a stack of office work on a hectic day and the murderer was soon discovered. I mean it was quite obvious. The bodies had the fingerprints of the one and only- Ayla Smith.

Maybe it would've been better if Seraphina just judged this book by the cover. Oh wait, my book. Have you guessed who I am yet? Hah, I am Ayla Smith.

Ripples of Silence

By Madihah Murshida

The streets were empty except for the flickering lamplight and the smell of wet asphalt. I kicked the puddle, watching the ripples fracture my silence. The weight of every expectation I’d carried home for months. The burden that burnt through my heart grew bigger and bigger the world around me spinning vigorously. I thought about turning back, slipping inside and pretending the night didn’t exist. But I didn’t . I kept walking, jacket soaked, shoes squelching, no one applauded. The world carried on indifferent. I arrived home , but something was different, the air was filled with tension, a journal was left on my desk, black leather covering it. I reluctantly treat towards it , uncovering it, ‘2022, 2023’. It was my writing, but surely I wouldn’t have written these at 3? I read on, every word mirrored what I’ve done over the past days, my head couldn’t understand, but my heart knew something. I turned my head, steady, darting my eyes around, someone was watching… 

The shadow behind her…

By Gracie Murphy

Me and my best friend had always been close; we knew each other inside out. Every secret had been shared by us, every memory created by us. Well that was until now. A few months ago we were hanging out, eating snacks and watching movies then her phone rang loudly and she picked it up… I heard the frantic muffled voices from her phone but couldn't make out the words but I knew something was wrong. Her face turned as white as a ghost, her expression changed, she stuttered I-I-I have to go. I was left on my bed too stunned to speak.

The next day at school I shouted her name and called her over. She looked at me, her mood icy, her face stiff and emotionless. Ever since that day she has never been the same.I look at her all the memories come flooding back. But sometimes I snap back to reality and I realise we will never be the same again.She used to be fun,outgoing and confident now she’s cold,nonchalant and dismissive.

5 years later,I was at home alone eating the food from the night before.Then suddenly the door bell echoed through the hallway.I jumped in fear, my food going everywhere.I got up and crept towards the door I slowly opened it to reveal… her shadow lurking in the darkness.

The Girl in the Rain

By Alyssa Hibbert

No one thought Francis Peterson was a notable person. Not his coworkers, not his family, heck, not even him. He was like one of those people you had to stand next to in an elevator and were forced to make small talk with to make the situation less awkward. Like a greeting, maybe a comment on the weather, but after two minutes, you’d walk out without much thought of the interaction. That was how Francis had been perceived by people for all of his twenty-eight years of living. Not extremely well known, but not invisible either. Just…existing.

He didn’t really do much for a living either. He went to work, talked to coworkers he couldn’t care less about, walked home alone, ate meals that tasted mediocre at most, then went to bed at a reasonable hour.

But, this evening was different. As he was about to leave work, someone he saw once or twice in the break room handed him a new radio and said condolences for dear Evelyn (Francis didn't really care, the whole exchange felt rather one-dimensional). He mumbled incoherently what was supposed to be a “thank you”, and put the radio into his grubby satchel before starting to walk home, with trams and the occasional motorcar rattling past him. It was raining, but more of a drizzle, so Francis didn’t pay any mind to it. But no, it was that sort of rain that went from barely noticeable to overly heavy and obnoxious in a matter of seconds.

He must’ve made it about halfway through the street, his chestnut hair soaked and dripping, before hearing a faint sniffling noise coming from the bushes. That was quite queer. As far as he knew, no animals lived around here. What on Earth was making that noise?

He hopped over to the bushes, making sure not to step in the unusually deep puddles; these slacks were new after all, and he couldn’t afford to ruin them. Curiously, he then peeked inside.

Sure enough, it in fact wasn’t an animal, but a little girl, perhaps no older than four. She was crying, or at least it looked like she was crying. It was hard to tell from the hard rain hitting her face. Her moppy black hair clung to her red cheeks, and her raggedy raincoat was completely soaked. 

Francis frowned. What parent would let their child wander around in such weather? This was no place for a child this young.

“Excuse me,” Francis said, trying to sound as friendly as possible. “Where are your parents?”

The girl sniffed, wiping her round face. 

“Mama…?” she mumbled, her small voice hardly audible over the harsh raindrops hitting the ground. “S-She’s gone. Far, far away…”

Francis blinked, bewildered, then held his umbrella over the girl’s head. “...Far away,” he repeated. What on Earth did that even mean? Was her mother at home? Or maybe she just…

By the time Francis snapped out of this trance, the girl was almost halfway down the street, toddling past crowds of hurrying pedestrians. He quickened his speed, trying to catch up to her, and could still hear her soft voice.

“I need to get back…back to the orphanage…”

Francis frowned. Poor thing, she was all alone and had no one to—

Wait a minute, orphanage?

No, no, that couldn’t be right, she must have someone…anyone…

But as he looked ahead, he saw that not a single soul cared enough to even look this child in the eye. They were all going about their business, like she didn’t even exist. Perhaps…she really didn’t have a mother.

Well, no matter. He couldn’t leave this poor infant out in the cold, how inhumane would that be? Besides, she was wandering towards the more infamous part of the city, with that murderer at large. He couldn't possibly let her go alone, the thought of what might happen sickened him.

So, without a second thought, he weaved through the crowds (with surprising ease), and scooped the small child up from the floor. Oddly, she made no protest, and seemed to almost expect this to happen. She turned her head, and pointed a small finger at Francis.

“Ah! It’s you again!” she shouted louder than necessary, smiling.

Francis rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes, it is in fact, me again. Now,” he said sternly, “which way is the orphanage?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Or-phan-age?” She sounded out the word like it was foreign.

“The children’s home. The one you’re staying at, I mean.”

“Oh!” She pointed down the street. “That way. On Far-woth Road.”

Francis sighed. “You mean Fairworth Road?”

The girl nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Then, unprompted: “Can you get me some Licorice?”

“...What?” 

She nodded enthusiastically. “I got some for my lunch once! Miss Clara gave it to me, and it was yummy so I want-”

Francis cut her off. “...No.”

She frowned. “Oh. You’re stingy y’know.”

Francis ignored the pestering child in his hands, and started walking. This was going to be a long thirty minutes.

*

After they had arrived, Alma was changed into clean clothes and waltzed around for a couple of minutes before going to play with the other children. Francis decided to stay a little longer, where Ms Smith, the lady at the front desk, filled Francis in on gaps he didn’t even know existed.

The girl’s name was Alma. She was born in Russia, maybe about a year or two after the Great War.

“Her mother must’ve sent her to America for a better life,” she muttered under her breath, sorting some papers. “It was certainly the right choice, did you know Russia’s been in famine since ‘18? Dear, that poor girl wouldn’t have lasted a day!”

Francis narrowed his eyes. Well, that felt like whiplash. He was expected to hear a lot of things, but not that.

“I-I see…And her mother?” he asked in the most polite tone he could muster.

Ms Smith shrugged. “We don’t know. Alma was just sent here. No papers, citizenship, nothing. Just a note of her name and to take care of her daughter. She’s pleasant to be around though, sometimes. And the other kids seem to like her.”

Francis looked into the playroom. Alma was playing with the other children, smiling and laughing.

She looked…happy. Genuinely happy.

So, he left her there. He walked home, alone in the rain, told himself that some stories shouldn’t be continued, told himself that he was not the kind of man to alter the course of other people’s lives.

He arrived at his humble abode, and sat down in his armchair, feeling so unbelievably exhausted. It was eerily quiet, and for the first time since Evelyn’s death, he wasn’t able to block out the silence. It was deafening.

He was only able to carry on living with this parasite feeding on his thoughts for three days. On the fourth, he hastily returned to the orphanage with a steadiness that surprised even him, signed every paper where he was told, and within a few hours, Francis became Alma’s only legal guardian.

She didn’t seem to mind. She was quite attached to him actually.

And now, after two years, Francis was no longer alone.

And neither was Alma.

And yes, while Francis was highly inexperienced in parenting, he still promised to try his best.

Because he would never let Alma down.

He would never put her in harm's way. Ever.

Right?

…Right?