Hair

Fidgetsally

United Kingdom

Ruby Whitehouse

I like to think that in an alternate universe, there is version of me who knows what they are doing.

Hair

Fidgetsally (United Kingdom) reviewed:

my girl wears leather jackets

PROMPT: Novel Writing Competition

To address your message - yes this absolutely makes sense and no, it is absolutely not too gay! I agree, although there are growing numbers, there isn't enough queer fiction, especially fiction like this where being gay isn't the forefront...

2 days ago

Hair

Fidgetsally (United Kingdom) reviewed:

the reader

FREE WRITING

You've developed the character really well and you've included lots of little details that all contribute towards a fabulous description - well done! :)

2 days ago

Hair

Fidgetsally (United Kingdom) reviewed:

Darkness take me away

PROMPT: The Peace of Wild Things

This is a fabulous piece; you're descriptions are amazing and your use of sensory imagery paired with details about emotions and feelings really helps to paint a picture. Well done :)

2 days ago

Hair
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Fidgetsally (United Kingdom) started following citywalkers (United States)

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Fidgetsally (United Kingdom) liked my girl wears leather jackets by citywalkers (United States)

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Hair
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Fidgetsally (United Kingdom) published:

holographic

FREE WRITING

 Ethan was stunning. Unbelievably, unreasonably breath-taking - a cherry blossom tree in April, a frosted windowpane on a magical Christmas morning. Her eyes were not chestnut, but brown, like the rich earth from which every life has sprouted, and complimented her natural hair that bounced around her shoulders. She was golden - from the dainty moon shaped clips in her hair to her dazzling highlight and glossed amber lips, she radiated rosy coppers. Her laughs would shimmer, and her...
Seeking Peer Reviews

5 days ago

Hair

Fidgetsally (United Kingdom) liked Call Me a Feminist by Nicole Pomazanski (United States)

5 days ago

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Fidgetsally (United Kingdom) liked Glossy Eyed Violets - My Novel Excerpt by ionaaa100 (United Kingdom)

8 days ago

Hair

Fidgetsally (United Kingdom) reviewed:

Never and Forever

FREE WRITING

You have conveyed emotions really well in this piece and have also really effectively uses repetition to do this. You have emphasised the power that words can have and that pain isn't always physical. Well done :)

8 days ago

Published Work

holographic

 Ethan was stunning. Unbelievably, unreasonably breath-taking - a cherry blossom tree in April, a frosted windowpane on a magical Christmas morning. Her eyes were not chestnut, but brown, like the rich earth from which every life has sprouted, and complimented her natural hair that bounced around her shoulders. She was golden - from the dainty moon shaped clips in her hair to her dazzling highlight and glossed amber lips, she radiated rosy coppers. Her laughs would shimmer, and her presence would glow, she felt glorious and she truly was.
 
Kunal was gentle. He could float among the easy the morning air, delicately brush the canopies and awake the aimless clouds. He wore daisies in his hair, in soft pinks and dainty lilacs, sat in inner city cafes or on the train to who knows where, a blossoming being amongst industrialised robots. He had en ethereal iridescence about him, an extraordinary tenderness and unparalleled empathy that twinkled in his...

The Peace of Wild Things

perks of the middle of nowhere

Just two times around the block
opens your mind and shuts it down,
do laps round the garden to clear
your head, vanish your thoughts,
clean air,
fresh air;
that's all you need to release the 
crushing tightening squeezing,
air uncontaminated
by city fumes and farmyards
and breath and sighs and hiccups,
new rain collapsing from the clouds,
old rain settled on the pavements
peppered with puddles and caked in
mud and sand,
cats watch you from driveways,
stalking and judging
yet pure and wholesome,
pink sunsets behind silhouettes
of wooden pylons and telephone wires
fade into ebony, velvet,
backing the entanglement of stars
seen when the wispy night air 
clears. 

too damn spooky

Sam was a man of many talents - he could solve complex calculations in his head, french braid his beard and fix the most run-down beat-up old fogey car you had ever seen in twenty minutes, easy. He didn't really have a job but always had something to do - he'd potter about in the southern Arizona sun finding unorganised cupboards or an old bike that needed fixing to keep his hands busy. He had a son - Gerald - which wasn't a particularly common name down in the deep south but at time he was born Sam was half way through reading An Inspector Calls and hoped that his son would have the same business savvy as Gerald did in the play. That being eight years ago, he has come to slightly regret his choice but would never admit it out loud. 

On this particular October afternoon, the sun hangs low in the sky over Little Clementine Creek and Gerald...

On the Last Day of the World

we are the past

on the last day of the world i would stop
and wonder where all the time went

one october eve

pretty pretty
lights dangle from the tree,
the wires intertwine with
the leafy canopy,
stars plucked from the sky
encased in tiny plastic shells,
accompanied by crackling flames
and autumnal outdoor smells.

pretty pretty
faces lit up by the fire,
soft and glowing smoke
dances amongst the night's desires,
cheeks turn pink and rosy in
the harsh and silky air,
the twilight whispers truths
that the day dares not declare.

pretty pretty
dusk, slowly encased by nature's drapes,
the shadows cast from subtle glows
make unfamiliar shapes,
look up aand let your eyes delve
into the velvet abyss,
what the perfect night to
share a star-lit kiss.

The Art of Specificity

Cobalt Road

They argued all night, every disagreement resurfacing and turning all their happy years together into a waste of time.

They fought all night, every hiccup or bump from the past three years resurfacing, reshaping each and every happy memory they shared into a blurry waste of time. Their voices bounced from every building on the street, their worries, thoughts and doubts reverberated between the walls.

They fought all night, every disagreement given up on and forgotten from the past three years resurfacing, reshaping each and every happy memory they had together into a blurry waste of time. Their voices bounced between every building on the street and all their fears and thoughts and doubts echoed through the walls, waking every life that resided on Cobalt Road that night.

SUPRESSION

Tidy thoughts,
Tidy mind -
Push it away;
Into the cupboard
You don't even realise is there
Until you fill it and fill it..
Maybe you don't realise then -
Bolt the door hard enough -
Refuse to acknowledge it,
Trained not be seen or heard,
All crammed and crumpled,
Pushing back,
The door contorting with the pressure
And you keep filling
And you don't care
And it bends and bends
And even when it breaks 
You'll piece it back together,
Tossing the remnants back behind the door
without a second glance,
and you're alright.

Nostalgia

A postcard shape shifts into a memory, alive and ghostly, transparent.

Fragments of our recollections reflect themselves in the bright eyes of children and in glossy photo paper.

All you need a trinket, a word or small network of brain cells, and time travel is possible.

After all, does the past ever really leave?

softly

Whispers can travel without wind
or without a reason.
They can travel without thought,
travel whatever season.

Nothing stops a whisper from
slipping out it into the air,
it can pass through lips - a reflex,
leave us wondering why it's there.

Light and delicate they barely
leave a mark in people's mind's,
but leave the tell tale smirk
and smugness that reveals itself in time.

They slice through silences,
creating heavy tensions,
even the cold shoulder comes from
from the most innocent of mentions.

Whispers harsh and fleeting
don't always need to be heard,
the act of whispering alone
does need not involve words.

Ophelia

The sun;
glowing orange that
bursts into scarlet.
Setting half way into sky - 
a dusk seen too soon,
what do shepherds make of
a red sun in the
afternoon?

Then the sky;
cloud after cloud
after cloud - blanketing
yellow into amber
into night.
The world is the 
"Nashville" filter -
Everything in black and white.

Not seen upon a
phone screen,
Not picked up by the
camera's lens
Like nothing, I've
seen on this Earth
so maybe,
it's the end.

 

Why I Write

no bounds, no boredom

I do it for the feeling, the euphoria, the warmth. the sense of accomplishment that comes with finishing my last sentence with the final full stop. The ecstasy that fills me from top to toe when I read my words back, each syllable and beat making up a rhythm that that courses and flows - a melody that is made within my mind. The satisfying tip-taps of my fingers on the keyboard, sliding and dancing between the letters and symbols in just the right order, to make something special, important. It can be powerful and beautiful and evil and cold-hearted, it can be anything, anything at all. Boundaries do not exist when you allow your thoughts to spill onto the page, not distracted and uninterrupted - edited, but only within the realms of your imagination.

poison

They are venom.
It's been coursing round their body;
through every single vessel,
vein,
artery - 
for so long,
that they have become it.
 

stars stars stars

Starlight is small and delicate
when you're standing far below.
Starlight is a piercing beam,
it is a subtle glow.
The flames they roar
the gas, it explodes,
the heat it waves and overflows,
a ball of fierce uncensored anger;
to us a glittering light show.
A dainty silver twinkle,
the orange grows and grows,
blinking at us in the night sky,
appearing only a stone's throw.
Our galaxy's crown jewels,
their value is unknown,
unacknowledged by us, earthlings,
but the fire never slows.
 

Flash Autobiography

my peak

A hill, tall and steep. I had seen it a few times before, I had watched the small speckles of people from a distance run up, trying to reach the summit of the mound. They're out of their minds I had thought and then probably slipped back into whatever daydream the music had concocted in my head.

A hill, tall and steep. I stood at the base, watching my friend's younger brother scramble up the slope, grasping onto tufts of maram grass which grew through the dusty earth. My friend went up after him, sticking her feet in the dents in the hillside, hoisting herself up and perching halfway up the ascent. She turned around and looked down at me, still at the base, trying to carve a path with my mind, looking for ridges and big stones that I could use like the rudders on a ladder. She gave me the look - the "am I going to have...

violets

There is a bunch of violets
sitting on the window sill;
a trophy,
a reminder,
a message.
Vibrant hues of lilac stick out of
white porcelain, aged and faded,
gracefully,
in the hazed spring sun.

It's roots are tough,
an entanglement of the past, the growth.
Winding,
Knotting.
Sticking.
They make their mark and do not
budge. Forgotten, invisible,
buried under compost, filling
in the gaps between them.

Leaves browning at the ends,
crumble between my finger tips and
freckle the wood.
A symbol,
a lover letter,
a code.
No matter how long their heads'
hang, in respect or shame,
the bunch of violets will sit here.

A perfect existence that was 
never meant to last, but blossoms.
Still and purple.
Cool and dainty.
Quiet and free.
An innocence that's caked in dirt
and half swallowed with a spoon 
of sugar, only just.
Even now.

to our best times

distance distance distance
it's what keeps us all apart
streets and lakes and mountain ranges
steep and winding paths

changes changes changes
it's what keeps our planet going
fire into ash 
speeding into slowing

timing timing timing
it's what keeps us in our place
it's everything and nothing
as vast as deserts, seas and space

learning learning learning
it's what keeps us all mindful
it's a purpose for our lives
it's valued and it's prideful

fearing fearing fearing
it's what keeps us on our toes
it dictates our decisons
and it follows us like shadows

loving loving loving
it's what keeps us all together
it's stronger than any other force
no matter the adventure

Dialogue Dexterity

a final decision

White lights; familiar but not comfortable. The rhythmic beeps of the monitor next to my bed fill in the silences between my mother's sobs.
"I don't want to live like this." I say. "It's worth the risk to me". My father runs his hand through his hair.
"Well it's not to me." he says after a while. Another shaky sob escapes from my mum. "But it's not my choice - is it." We sit in the almost silence - twiddling thumbs and staring at the speckles on the floor. "Are you sure you don't want anymore time to think about it, it's a big.."
"No." I interrupt. "I'm sure." We give each other a look. A half smile, lips folded in and a gentle shake of the head. A look of acceptance, but not agreement. Of support but not of faith. "I love you." I say.
"Love you too sweetie."

My mother is still crying. Quietly.

morning vertigo

The room is 
spinning

    spinning
                      spinning 
the ceiling is in spirals,

The desk is doing 
         the
loop          loops
in a never ending cycle,

The wardrobe sways and bblluurrss
In a hallucinogenic haze,

The     s        p        a        c        e     
between the bed and door
has morphed into a maze

The light dAnCeS on the walls - 
I think it's doing the flamenco,

The books performing pirouettes
are putting on a show.

The fairy lights twisting 
until the bulbs POP

Say the magic word and 
the spinning might 
stop.


 

Third Person Limited

Apple of the heart

She has given up on trying to read her book. Her wife won't let her turn the light on in the back of the car and she was fed up of catching the odd ends of sentences in the few moments it took to drive past a streetlight. Instead she just sat, staring out of the window and watching the flashes of light dance in and out of the car. When she squinted the raindrops stuck to the glass caught the beams and they looked like tiny sequins. This was her favourite feeling - if it could be described as such - it was warm and familiar. She could feel it settle in her stomach and spread across her face in a small, twinkling, smile. Soon the shimmering city sights faded into misty country back roads, something that twenty years ago, wouldn't send her to sleep.

The car pulls up in her driveway, with the satisfying crunch of stones against...

Third Person Limited

Apple of the heart

She has given up on trying to read her book. Her wife won't let her turn the light on in the back of the car and she was fed up of catching the odd ends of sentences in the few moments it took to drive past a streetlight. Instead she just sat, staring out of the window and watching the flashes of light dance in and out of the car. When she squinted the raindrops stuck to the glass caught the beams and they looked like tiny sequins. This was her favourite feeling - if it could be described as such - it was warm and familiar. She could feel it settle in her stomach and spread across her face in a small, twinkling, smile. Soon the shimmering city sights faded into misty country back roads, something that twenty years ago, wouldn't send her to sleep.

Sports Journalism Competition

PREMIER LEAGUE PLAYERS OR DRUNKARDS WITH A DEATH-WISH?

Football is a widely popular sport across the globe, so it comes as no surprise that players often find their private lives hitting the headlines. However, one of the most talked about issues within in the sport at the moment is alcohol. Alcohol has long been associated with football - excessive drinking was common among many players in the 70s, 80s and 90s, and more recently there have been many incidents involving players drink-driving. So when do clubs plan to crack down on their alcohol policies?

Whilst it's unrealistic to expect footballers to never drink, they are generally advised to steer clear of booze. Not only does immoderate consumption of alcohol damage their reputation, but their health and overall performance. A lousy game shouldn't just anger managers and season-ticket holders, but parents too! Many children look up to players as their idols, and if they are encouraging extravagant nights out with limitless drinking - what message are they sending to...

Wednesday

She is volcanic ash
The air after a storm
What's left after a ship wreck
Bad but very rarely warned.

She's sunburn after heatwaves
She's fire caused by lightening
The aftershock of earthquakes
Your pulse after something frightening.

The rash caused by a sting
The soldiers fighting for Macbeth
She is the aftermath
An empty room after a death.

She is volcanic ash
Terrible but not the worst
Malfoy but not Voldemort
Bad luck but not a curse.
 

Sports Journalism Competition

PREMIER LEAGUE PLAYERS OR DRUNKARDS WITH A DEATH-WISH?

Football is a widely popular sport across the globe, so it comes as no surprise that players often find their private lives hitting the headlines. However, one of the most talked about issues within in the sport at the moment is alcohol. Alcohol has long been associated with football - excessive drinking was common among many players in the 70s, 80s and 90s, and more recently there have been many incidents involving players drink-driving. So when do clubs plan to crack down on their alcohol policies?

Whilst it's unrealistic to expect footballers to never drink, they are generally advised to steer clear of booze. Not only does immoderate consumption of alcohol damage their reputation, but their health and overall performance. A lousy game shouldn't just anger managers and season-ticket holders, but parents too! Many children look up to players as their idols, and if they are encouraging extravagant nights out with limitless drinking - what message are they sending to...

Sports Journalism Competition

PREMIER LEAGUE PLAYERS OR DRUNKARDS WITH A DEATH-WISH?

Football is a widely popular sport across the globe, so it comes as no surprise that players often find their private lives hitting the headlines. However, one of the most talked about issues within in the sport at the moment is alcohol. Alcohol has long been associated with football - excessive drinking was common among many players in the 70s, 80s and 90s, and more recently there have been many incidents involving players drink-driving. So when do clubs plan to crack down on their alcohol policies?

Whilst it's unrealistic to expect footballers to never drink, they are generally advised to steer clear of booze. Not only does immoderate consumption of alcohol damage their reputation, but their health and overall performance. A lousy game shouldn't just anger managers and season-ticket holders, but parents too! Many children look up to players as their idols, and if they are encouraging extravagant nights out with limitless drinking - what message are they sending to...

Choices and Chances

They say
Those cells could have cured cancer
They could have stopped a war
Those cells could have met Beyonce
And then joined her on tour.

Those cells could gave us answers
to what we're doing here and why.
They could have saved the world
if you could just give pregnancy a try.

But they never say
That child could have cured cancer
if we gave her an education.
That child could have stopped a war
is he didn't work nights at the gas station.

That child could have gave us answers
if they didn't walk six kilometres for water.
That child could have saved the world
if their people were not slaughtered.

There are plenty of lives here
Who are not given any chances
But you don't care for them
or their unfair circumstances

You only care for the lives of cells
and that's not logical.
As if you don't care for other's lives
are you "pro-life"...

Your Voice: Globalization

​The Planet We Share

We are separated by countries and continents, but we are all part of one planet. And this planet doesn’t belong to anybody.

Globalisation allows for people to move around more freely, experience different cultures and means we have a greater dependence on each other. Whilst some people would see this as a sign of weakness, (which is understandable), I think people ought to look at it from an alternative perspective. The more dependence we have on others, the more trust we are placing in them, and at times when there are so many devastating things happening, trust is reassuring. It’s a sign of hope, a sign of cohesion. It makes a lot more sense to expect the best in people than to expect the worst.  The thing is; trust takes a long time to build, but can very easily be broken. And so my message, to Theresa May, Donald Trump, and to anybody else afraid to have faith in people...

Your World in Three Senses

barbie season

Nobody else in my family likes celery. Yet every summer, at every BBQ, there's always a solitary cup of it sat at the back of the table, next to sesame bread-sticks and half empty bottles of ketchup and brown sauce. Next-door's dogs drool over the smell of the hot dogs, char-grilled chicken and brioche buns toasting on the barbie. They don't seem that appetising to me, not just because i don't eat meat but because the fragrance is mixed with the stale scent of three-week-old paddling pool water and the seven bottles of Asti that all seem to be open at once. My brothers bicker over the can of Pringles, people pile their plates with pasta and colourful salads, and wait for the much anticipated cheesecake that my aunt bought from Tesco on her way here.

I like celery. I like the way it bursts in your mouth with a flavour that's overwhelmingly subtle - it's barely there at all...

Slow Seeing

early morning lullaby

The blinds are shut. My eyes are shut.

Tiny birds spring from the flimsy branches of a hedge and hop across the stones. They chirp and chat and laugh and pluck small berries from the bush, not still even for a second. They hide under cars and perch on windowsills - charming the elderly with their colourful feathers and round bellies.

The warm summer evening has turned into a cool morning and so I roll over, kicking the covers back over my legs.

The blackbirds in the garden peck at yesterday's bagels. Their feet and beaks are the colour of tangerines, which stick out from their jet black feathers and small beady eyes. Silently, they enjoy their breakfast, then return to the safety of the phone line before the cats wake up.

Now I can feel the sunlight that peeks around the blinds against my cheeks; warm but malicious and biting. I pull the duvet over my face.

Pigeons watch...

Slow Seeing

early morning lullaby

The blinds are shut. My eyes are shut.

Tiny birds spring from the flimsy branches of a hedge and hop across the stones. They chirp and chat and laugh and pluck small berries from the bush, not still even for a second. They hide under cars and perch on windowsills - charming the elderly with their colourful feathers and round bellies.

The warm summer evening has turned into a cool morning and so I roll over, kicking the overs back over my legs.

The blackbirds in the garden peck at yesterday's bagels. Their feet and beaks are the colour of tangerines, which stick out from their jet black feathers and small beady eyes. Silently, they enjoy their breakfast, then return to the safety of the phone line before the cats wake up.

Now I can feel the sunlight that peeks around the blinds against my cheeks; warm but malicious and biting. I pull the duvet over my face.

Pigeons watch...

Innocence

In that moment, her heart could have exploded out of her chest. A wave of affection washed over her, causing her cheeks to flush and any words to drown, turning into incoherent mumbles and whispers.

Chapter One - What Jodie Loves

Jodie loves to cook. When she's in the kitchen, the oven hot and whirring, the steady thud of the knife against the chopping board, an amalgamation of ingredients bubbling in a pan on the hob, she is content. Nobody ever taught her to cook, she just always had and to be completely honest she isn't that great - but she knows that and so it doesn't matter to her if her next creation was to be a delicious master piece or a complete flop - she enjoys trialling new concoctions and not being certain of the outcome.

The other thing that Jodie loves more than anything in the world is her older brother - Fran. He lives in Norwich,...

Slow Seeing

early morning lullaby

The blinds are shut. My eyes are shut.

Tiny birds spring from the flimsy branches of a hedge and hop across the stones. They chirp and chat and laugh and pluck small
berries from the bush.

The blackbirds in the garden peck at yesterday's bagels with their orange beaks. They return to the safety of the phone line before the cats wake up.

Pigeons watch the birds from the tops of chimneys, they build their nests perfectly round so they fit snugly in the holes. Every now and then they coo to their friends sitting in our cherry tree.

No need to check the clock, I know what time it is.
My eyes are still shut.

On my way to school, a sparrow chases it's tiny friends around the houses. He swoops right in front of my feet and I nearly trip over. I don't have to look up to know the pigeons are laughing at me.
 

Flash Fiction Competition

get some rest, kiddos

Not even the cold rush of the ocean could wake my father up. I slammed my body into the door of our old Vauxhall in a frenzied panic, driven by my body's craving for oxygen. The child-lock was on. Rafi had hit his head and I watched the blood that had clung to the dashboard slowly peel itself away and dance around the particles of water like a silk scarf. His eye was twitching. I took one last breath, the icy liquid extinguishing the burning in my lungs. I closed my eyes.

Flash Fiction Competition

get some rest, kiddos

Not even the cold rush of the ocean could wake my father up. I slammed my body into the door of our old Vauxhall in a frenzied panic, driven by my body's craving for oxygen. The child-lock was on. Rafi had hit his head and I watched the blood that had clung to the dashboard slowly peel itself away and dance around the particles of water like a silk scarf. His eye was twitching. I took one last breath, the icy liquid extinguishing the burning in my lungs. I closed my eyes.

Talking to “You”

mid-week mood

You're exhausted. You fall onto your bed, arms and legs spread like a starfish, and bury your face into the pillow. You can't really breath properly but you don't care. You don't bother pulling the covers over yourself or changing into your pyjamas even though the heating isn't on and whatever energy you have left is being used to thaw you're frozen body - you didn't even take your shoes off at the door. The light is off but the blinds are open and the yellow glow of the streetlamp is seeping into your room. You'd usually find this comforting but tonight it's almost blinding so you press your face further into the pillow so it holds your eyelids shut. The soft and steady rhythm of your shallow breaths send you to sleep.

****************

You feel the sun on your cheeks. You don't have anything planned for today but you still feel guilty if you spend the entire morning in...

Flash Fiction Competition

get some rest, kiddos

ORIGINAL
My father had fallen asleep, and not even the cold rush of the ocean woke him up. I slammed my body into the door of our old Vauxhall in a frenzied panic, driven by my body's craving for oxygen. The child-lock was on. Rafi had hit his head on the dashboard and I watched his blood dance around the particles of water like a silk scarf. I took one last breath, the icy liquid extinguishing the burning in my lungs. I closed my eyes.

VERSION 2
Not even the cold rush of the ocean could wake my father up. I slammed my body into the door of our old Vauxhall in a frenzied hysteria, driven by my body's craving for oxygen. The child-lock was on. Rafi had a crack across his forehead and his eye was twitching. I watched the blood that had clung to the dashboard slowly intertwine itself with the water and a single bubble escape through...

WE ARE GENERATION Z

We're not cursed, we're not ungrateful
We're not soft and we're not hateful
It's to ourselves that we are thankful
For realising what is shameful
It's not technology that's fatal
Our economy is real unstable
Benefits are not to blame here
You know your lavish lifestyle's wasteful
You say we're not appreciative
To your traditions we must be faithful
Not our fault some are distasteful
We're growing up, I know that's painful

We're here and we are up and coming
Future's bright and blood is pumping
New ideas and innovations
to which others are succumbing
Hair is flowing, make-up stunning
From your gender roles we're running
No more hatred, no more shunning
It's our flaws that we our loving 
We're ready and we're smart and funny
No longer plants that are just budding
We've flowered and it's you we're crushing
Notice us, as we are something.

You find change scary and I do too
but it's good to try things...

Flash Fiction Competition

get some rest, kiddos

My father had fallen asleep, and not even the cold rush of the ocean woke him up. I slammed my body into the door of our old Vauxhall in a frenzied panic, driven by my body's craving for oxygen. The child-lock was on. Rafi had hit his head on the dashboard and I watched his blood dance around the particles of water like a silk scarf. I took one last breath, the icy liquid extinguishing the burning in my lungs. I close my eyes.

Innocence

In that moment, her heart could have exploded out of her chest. A wave of affection washed over her, causing her cheeks to flush and any words to drown, turning into incoherent mumbles and whispers.

Chapter One - What Jodie Loves

Jodie loves to cook. When she's in the kitchen, the oven hot and whirring, the steady thud of the knife against the chopping board, an amalgamation of ingredients bubbling in a pan on the hob, she is content. Nobody ever taught her to cook, she just always had and to be completely honest she isn't that great - but she knows that and so it doesn't matter to her if her next creation was to be a delicious master piece or a complete flop - she enjoys trialling new concoctions and not being certain of the outcome.

The other thing that Jodie loves more than anything in the world is her older brother - Fran. He lives in Norwich,...

Truths and Untruths

ten things i wish weren't true about you

i wish it wasn't true that
your power and popularity was
the result of malicious stories
and tearing other people down.

i wish it wasn't true that
you will hold one bad memory
over her head, just to make her
bend and squirm and snap.

i wish it wasn't true that people find
you funny, as your humour alienates those
who are different and
is rooted in bigotry.

i wish it wasn't true that your dad
is mean and stingy and
that so many things at home for
you are miserably mediocre.

i wish it wasn't true that people
think that it's okay for you
to wipe the smile off someone's face
to replace the ones you've lost these
past few years.

i wish it wasn't true that they
believe you.
you could cry about a wolf and everyone
would follow you like sheep 
trying to find it.

i wish it wasn't true that
you made me think i have...

foggy

When you ask me to make a choice,
I panic.
You are unlocking something deep within my mind
that drowns every cell and every thought,
that turns words into stutters and makes my
body crumple.

I have no trouble with opinions.
Although my need for constant validation and
people's approval often slips into my thoughts,
I think that I am right, and what I think
shouldn't matter to others anyway.

Even though the tiniest remark can imprint
a lasting impression in my head,
What I think about that show or the colour of
her coat will always be at the forefront of my mind,
digging into my skull, desperate to be heard.

I know that when you ask me what I'd prefer or
what we should do next,
you only do it because you care.
But I care more and I always will,
which is why that only you can make these
decisions for me.

Geography of Home

Safe Haven

Nobody can come in my room, unless they want to get screamed at. It's the only place in the entire house where I can have things how I want and nobody but myself can mess any of it up. Everything in my room matches, not exactly, but enough so that there is a consistent theme and it is easy on the eyes. At the moment, all of my trinkets and boxes and knick-knacks are pink and green. I like how they can make me feel cosy and warm on cold winter nights, but also refreshing in the summer when the heavy air and August storms try suffocating me in my sleep. Everyone knows that this is how I like my room, and so on birthdays and at Christmas, people buy me pastel jars and hanging decorations which are cute but just never match, and so i stash them underneath my bed, where maybe in the distant future they will see...

Geography of Home

Safe Haven

Nobody can come in my room, unless they want to get screamed at. It's the only place in the entire house where I can have things how I want and nobody but myself can mess any of it up. Everything in my room matches, not exactly, but enough so that there is a consistent theme and it is easy on the eyes. At the moment, all of my trinkets and boxes and knick knacks are pink and green. I like how they can make me feel cosy and warm on cold winter nights, but also refreshing in the summer when the heavy air and August storms try suffocating me in my sleep. Everyone knows that this is how I like my room, and so on birthdays and at Christmas, people buy me pastel jars and hanging decorations which are cute but just never match, and so i stash them underneath my bed, where maybe one day they will see the...

Writing Small

matter

The Sun streamed through the window and the rays weaved between the blinds. Within them he could see every speck of dust and every atom and every being. He had never felt this small before. But maybe, that was just what he needed. To feel insignificant.

Songwriting Competition

it

I know it shouldn't matter but I just can't help it,
think 'bout it for a second then I just can't shake it,
it seemed like I'd thrown my future in a snake pit,
if nothing else works then I'll fake it 'til I make it.


Eleven years old and sitting in the park,
Group of friends around me,
Boyfriend on my arm.
People half bought it, 'be honest so did I,
was supposed to feel things I
didn't want to deny

It got longer and longer and longer.

We didn't want to force it but my feelings weren't stronger,
We hadn't grown much but his patience was smaller,
We were both unhappy - it was all because of her
and

I know it shouldn't matter but I just can't help it,
think 'bout it for a second then I just can't shake it,
it seemed like I'd thrown my future in a snake pit,
if nothing else works then...

Timeless Counsel

compliments

Tell that person that their hair looks pretty today. Tell them that their t shirt really suits them, or you thought their joke was funny or that they are clever and smart and extraordinary. Tell them that you liked that photo they posted on Instagram last week, and that their drawing looks amazing. Tell them that they can dance as gracefully as a swan gliding over calm waters or they can run as fast as a cheetah. Tell them they're a spectacular star, they're a magnificent planet, they're a vast and stunning galaxy full of mystery and wonder.

They might be having a terrible day, and need a reason to smile. They might be self conscious or anxious or angry or frustrated. It doesn't matter if you've only spoken to them once before or you speak to them everyday, tell them that they're incredible in each and every way. 

Songwriting Competition

it

I know it shouldn't matter but I just can't help it
think 'bout it for a second then I just can't shake it
it seemed like I'd thrown my future in a snake pit
if nothing else works then I'll fake it 'til I make it


Eleven years old and sitting in the park
Group of friends around me
Boyfriend on my arm
People half bought it, 'be honest so did I
was supposed to feel things I
Didn't want to deny

it got longer and longer and longer.

We didn't want to force it but my feelings weren't stronger
We hadn't grown much but his patience was smaller
We were both unhappy but it was all because of her
and

I know it shouldn't matter but I just can't help it
think 'bout it for a second then I just can't shake it
it seemed like I'd thrown my future in a snake pit
if nothing else works then...

Songwriting Competition

it

I know it shouldn't matter but I just can't help it
think 'bout it for a second then I just can't shake it
it seemed like I thrown my future in a snake pit
if nothing else works then I'll fake it 'til I make it


Eleven years old and sitting in the park
Group of friends around me
Boyfriend on my arm
People half bought it, 'be honest so did I
was supposed to feel things I
Didn't want to deny

it got longer and longer and longer.

We didn't want to force it but my feelings weren't stronger
We hadn't grown much but his patience was smaller
We were both unhappy but it was all because of her
and

I know it shouldn't matter but I just can't help it
think 'bout it for a second then I just can't shake it
it seemed like I thrown my future in a snake pit
if nothing else works then...

Your World in Three Senses

barbie season

Nobody else in my family likes celery. Yet every summer, at every BBQ, there's always a solitary cup of it sat at the back of the table, next to sesame bread-sticks and half empty bottles of ketchup and brown sauce. Mouths water with the fragrance of hot dogs, char-grilled chicken and brioche buns toasting on the barbie, mixed with the stale scent of three-week-old paddling pool water and a bottle of Asti. My brothers bicker over the can of Pringles, people pile their plates with pasta and colourful salads, and wait for the much anticipated cheesecake that my aunt bought from Tesco on her way here. But nobody ever touches the celery.

I like celery. I like the way it bursts in your mouth with a flavour that's overwhelmingly subtle - it's barely there at all yet it's refreshing kick stays with me for the rest of the day. The cats lay under the table, waiting for somebody to sneakily...

my nettles

I have always been petrified of dogs. Not in a "I'm worried they'll bite me" way or even just a "I just don't like being around them" way. It's the way they dart around in no particular direction, the way they jump and lick and roll around at my feet, the incessant and unnecessary barking that can wake me from my deepest day dreams and make my breaths half in size.  I am properly petrified of dogs. To the point that when one approaches me, I enter a paralysing panic ~ I quiver, I quake, I shiver, I shake ~ my heart thumps in my chest, loud and heavy, tears brim in my eyes, I hide behind my half clenched fists, attempting to make the ground swallow me up, waiting, waiting, waiting for somebody to do something...
and I
       completely
                        freeze.

The first memory I...

Timeless Counsel

compliments

Tell that person that their hair looks pretty today. Tell them that their t shirt really suits them, or you thought their joke was funny or that they are clever and smart and extraordinary. Tell them that you liked that photo they posted on Instagram last week, and that they're drawing looks amazing. Tell them that they can dance as gracefully as a swan gliding over calm waters or they can run as fast as a cheetah. Tell them they're a spectacular star, they're a magnificent planet, they're a vast and stunning galaxy full of mystery and wonder.

They might be having a terrible day, and need a reason to smile. They might be self conscious or anxious or angry or frustrated. It doesn't matter if you've only spoken to them once before or you speak to them everyday, tell them that they're incredible in each and every way. 

Timeless Counsel

compliments

Tell that person that their hair looks pretty today. Tell them that their t shirt really suits them, or you thought their joke was funny or that they are clever and smart and extraordinary. Tell them that you liked that photo they posted on Instagram last week, and that they're drawing looks incredible. Tell them that they can dance as gracefully as a swan gliding over calm waters or they can run as fast as a cheetah. Tell them they're a sparkling star, they're a beautiful planet, they're a vast and stunning galaxy full of mystery and wonder.

They might be having a terrible day, and need a reason to smile. They might be self conscious or anxious or angry or frustrated. It doesn't matter if you've only spoken to them once before or you speak to them everyday, tell them that they're incredible in each and every way. 

P E P P E R S

Permanent
            Puddles
  Pepper
                     the Pavement
People Pop Pills to Pause their Perturbations,
Peaceful, Provincial, this street's many things,
Pandemonium would Panic it's Population.

Zoom Out

a lazy summer

  Sitting up, I brushed the sand from my towel and looked around in a daze. My hair was wavy and full of the salty sea air, my spine stiff from the uneven ground. I had wanted to fall asleep but the not so distant laughter and squealing of children running in and out of the chilly waves made it near impossible. Seagulls bickered over scraps of food and flapped awkwardly over the choppy sea, keeping an eye out for any fish or crabs that were caught up in the summer chaos.
The sky was a vast span of beryl, barely plagued by fluffy clouds, which would stay away because the lack of breeze, even on the shore, meant the air hung heavy around me like my duvet in the winter. The grains had stuck to the cream on my arms, revealing patches I had missed, left vulnerable to the Sun's nasty sting.
I could almost feel it's rays seeping...

Lyrics Unsung

a weightless july

Manage me, I'm a mess,
I can't help but care less and less,
Tangled tentacles tango through
The emptiness.
So much room,
So much potential,
Flying colours,
Nine credentials.

Turn the page - I'm a book
Half unread.

Just the sight fills me with dread,
Stay hydrated
Whole wheat bread,
This does nothing for my head.

Wanna be laughed at,
Laughed with, Just because

My humour's flat.
Too much coffee?
Brain abuzz,
This is my fifth
I wish it was.

Just ask yourself, does is matter?
It shouldn't do 
But I'm still shattered.
Work or rest - 
Prefer the latter.
Just one week left
Then a quiet few months,
I wanna feel weightless
And that should be enough.

 

Living Locales

Rural Repose

Our village, once flourishing and bustling, is standing on it's last leg. It's hair is thin and losing shape, no longer silky and flowing. Freckles used to surface in the summer sun, but now the airless heat has scorched and withered it's skin. It's lungs are crushed by construction, breaths cut short by tonnes of concrete and towering cranes. Winding country lanes extend their finger tips, reach for help, but all that surrounds them are more moribund suburbs and expanses of empty freedom. The heart of the village is the school, pumping a new supply of fresh ideas through it's ageing, twisted veins. These pockets of potential are all the village can rely on. Some might escape, become successful, and put our village on the map. Most, however, never will and are content fading into a provincial existence.

Zoom Out

a lazy summer

  Sitting up, I brushed the sand from my towel and looked around in a daze. My hair was wavy and full of the salty sea air, my spine stiff from the uneven ground. I had wanted to fall asleep but the not so distance laughter and squealing of children running in and out of the chilly waves made it near impossible. Seagulls bickered over scraps of food and flapped awkwardly over the choppy sea, keeping an eye out for any fish or crabs that were caught up in the summer chaos.
The sky was a vast span of beryl, barely plagued by fluffy clouds, which would stay away because the lack of breeze, even on the shore, meant the air hung heavy around me like my duvet in the winter. The grains had stuck to the cream on my arms, revealing patches I had missed, left vulnerable to the Sun's nasty sting.
I could almost feel it's rays seeping...

Zoom Out

a lazy summer

Sitting up, I brushed the sand from my towel and looked around in a daze. My hair was wavy and full of the salty sea air, my spine stiff from the uneven ground. I had wanted to fall asleep but the not so distance laughter and squealing of children running in and out of the chilly waves made it near impossible. Seagulls bickered over scraps of food and flapped awkwardly over the choppy sea, keeping an eye out for any fish or crabs that were caught up in the summer chaos. The sky was a vast span of beryl, barely plagued by fluffy clouds, which would stay away because the lack of breeze, even on the shore, meant the air hung heavy around me like my duvet in the winter. The grains had stuck to the cream on my arms, revealing patches I had missed, left vulnerable to the Sun's nasty sting. I could almost feel it's rays seeping into...

Writing for Children Competition

Ten Tentacles Tovi

If you swam deep down in the North Sea, turned left at the Starfish Rock and then left again at the Dolphin Den, and then carried on past all the fish and the sharks and the crabs and the eels, you would find a cave. And in that cave, you would find Tovi. 
Tovi was an octopus, with a wild imagination and a cheerful smile. He spent all of his time painting pictures on the walls of his enormous cave, baking seaweed cookies and singing the most beautiful songs.

But Tovi was upset, for he lived all alone in his enormous cave and often wondered what it would be like if he had somebody to help him paint his pictures, eat his seaweed cookies and sing his beautiful songs with him. 
So why didn't Tovi invite somebody to his cave? All of the fish and the sharks and the crabs and the eels could hear his singing and smell his...

Writing for Children Competition

Ten Tentacles Tovi

If you swam deep down in the North Sea, turned left at the Starfish Rock and then left again at the Dolphin Den, and then carried on past all the fish and the sharks and the crabs and the eels, you would find a cave. And in that cave, you would find Tovi. 
Tovi was an octopus, with a wild imagination and a cheerful smile. He spent all of his time painting pictures on the walls of his enormous cave, baking seaweed cookies and singing the most beautiful songs.

But Tovi was upset, for he lived all alone in his enormous cave and often wondered what it would be like if he had somebody to help him paint his pictures, eat his seaweed cookies and sing his beautiful songs with him. 
So why didn't Tovi invite somebody to his cave? All of the fish and the sharks and the crabs and the eels could hear his singing and smell his...

Knowing

She looks dishevelled.  Her ill-fitting blazer hangs awkwardly off her left shoulder, which causes the strap of her backpack to hang limply half way down her arm. Her brown shoulder length hair is tied into a low pony tail, gradually growing frizzier and knottier throughout the day as it's tousled and brushed against. I often see her walk around the school, trying not to trip over her plethora of bags or her shoes which look as though they fit, although she walks as if she is wearing flippers. Patiently, she waits to cross the road, and has to step away from the curb as a bus almost knocks her flying. She's in a daze. She wears an expression of total serenity, as though she is seeing a world utterly different from us all. She's just another year seven, who still can't bring themselves to organise their books or tuck in the corner of their shirt that pokes out of their...

Synchronized Sounds

A Tragedy Alphabetised

Angels, all ages, aggrieved and alarmed
Bemused by the bomb, battered but beloved
Celebrations are ceased.

Delighted dreaming during the day
Excitement embodied, erupting, exclaiming
Fresh faced, full of life, families and friends
Groups of giddy fans go in.

Hand in hand, happy hollering is heard
Idolising lights imitate, immerse
Jumping and joking, a jolly good time
Kids concert going, first time in their lives
It's all lights, love and laughter.

Massive bangs rumble among milling mums
They know that this noise is not one of fun
It's obliterated, not time to observe
People panic, paralysed by their peril
Then quickly and quaking run from it all
Those who remained are remembered. 

Suddenly shock shakes the Earth to it's core
Together we love, we treasure, we're torn
Underlying fear unites us all
For victims of violence in a music hall
The whole world is watching whilst stories are told
Complex emotions perplex young and old
Headlines yank and your heartstrings.
...

Living Locales

Rural Repose

Our village, once flourishing and bustling, is standing on it's last leg. It's hair is thin and losing shape, no longer silky and flowing. Freckles used to surface in the summer sun, but now the airless heat has scorched and withered it's skin. It's lungs are crushed by construction, there's barely room to breath. Winding country lanes extend their finger tips, reach for help, but all that surrounds them are more moribund suburbs and expanses of empty freedom. The heart of the village is the school, pumping a new supply of fresh ideas through it's ageing, twisted veins. These pockets of potential are all the village can rely on. Some might escape, become successful, and put our village on the map. Most, however, never will and are content fading into a provincial existence.

Turned to Stone

Baby It's Warm Outside

We lived in a village of cold. The wind was cold. The lake was cold. Even the people were cold.  In the summer, the sun struggled to show itself from behind the heavy wash of clouds and that's the way we liked it. But there was one. They pulled up opposite our house with a box of books and a duffle bag, in a yellow pick up truck so bright it gave Einstein a run for his money. Every morning they absent mindedly dawdled around their garden, watering the tulips that somehow blossomed in this bitter climate, walked to the corner shop without a jacket despite the nip in the air and then returned to their tiny bungalows where they retreated for the rest of the day.

They bothered nobody, and so nobody bothered them. But the people of this chilly hamlet may have thanked us, if only we had noticed One was warm.

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Beautiful Day?

To us it seems everything
is far more beautiful when the
Sun takes centre stage.
When the sky is a never
-ending sea of blue, an extraordinary
expanse of nothingness. It's only then,
do we consider the day beautiful.
But it's brilliant light blinds us;
oblivious.

We are dazzled by his stunning show,
but if we'd only notice that
the grass is crisp and shrivelled,
the ground is dry and bare
the leaves are brown and crinkled
and are scattered everywhere.
The streams once clear and flowing
have all now disappeared,
and the lakes that teemed with life
have been empty for years-
the scorched surface of our earth is just
beneath our feet if we would only look.

But instead, we are bewildered by the blue.
Nothing is more breath-taking
than a blank abyss of beryl.
 

The Subject that Matters

A Whole New Perspective

Over the hundreds and thousands of years that humans have been on Earth, we have formed many colonies and communities - but there are many groups that we will never meet or even hear about from all corners of the planet. There are said to be as many as one hundred “uncontacted tribes” still living in some of the most isolated regions of the world. The members of these tribes have maintained traditions long forgotten by the rest of the world, and so can provide a wealth of information for anthropologists seeking to understand the way cultures have developed over the centuries, and also how we as individuals have changed and adapted to modern life.

My idea for a new subject that should be taught at school is sort of like anthropology, but focused more on these "uncontacted tribes". You would learn about their livelihoods and how their methods of survival differ or are similar to our own, which could...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Beautiful Day?

To us it seems everything
is far more beautiful when the
Sun takes centre stage.
When the sky is a never
-ending sea of blue, an extraordinary
expanse of nothingness. It's only then,
do we consider the day beautiful.
But it's brilliant light blinds us;
oblivious.

We are dazzled by his stunning show,
but if we'd only notice that
the grass is crisp and shrivelled,
the ground is dry and bare -
the scorched surface of our earth is just
beneath our feet if we would only look.
But instead, we are bewildered by the blue.
Nothing is more breath-taking
than a blank abyss of beryl.
 

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We like your photo and your biography.

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Get over twenty favorites for one of your published pieces and you'll be a bestseller.

Luminary inactive

Publish one hundred pieces and you'll be a luminary.