Thoughts, by Harriett

My counsellor says make some friends. But I have lots of friends. He keeps saying it though. I tell him he can't speak to me like that. I am royalty I say. He doesn't know what it's like to be a queen. No one does. I am glorious, beautiful, smart and witty. All of my friends, subjects and parliamentaries agree. I tell the people at school this. They laugh and tell me I'm ill. The teachers look at me with sympathy. They must understand how hard it is to be queen. I may be a little overweight, but I'm most certainly not ill. I try to explain this to them. But they just smile and pat me on the back, saying it's a shame I can't be cured. I am queen though, if I was ill I would have been informed. I am their queen.

Name? by Rob

'Peters.' 'First name?' 'Peter.' Pause. 'Sorry... surname?' 'Peters.'
'Oh, first name?' 'Peter.' Longer pause. 'Your name is Peter Peters?'
'It is.'
The first time I had been stopped by a traffic policeman.
At times of stress I often turn to Boyd's short story 'Never Saw
Brazil.' Sometimes I even quote from it without realizing.
'The name was the problem…' I said, 'if you were not happy with your
name… then a small but sustained lifelong stress was imposed on your
psyche, your sense of self.'
'I beg your pardon sir?' He knew then he was dealing with a nutter.
'William Boyd,' I said.
He peered at me.
'Is everything alright?' Amazingly he looked sympathetic.
Then I noticed his name. Police Constable T. Burr.
'Your first name wouldn't be Timothy by any chance, would it?'
He continued to look at me long and hard.
It was. He let me go.

By Bethonie, 15

They're coming. On balloons, on boats, on planes, on foot - they are coming. They come across the sea and the sky, the rock and the sand.

What do they call thmselves? Humans. Mankind. Kind? Not the word I would use to describe them. What do they seek? Answers. We have none, but they want them and they kill for what they want. They say they want peace. They say! They say! They say a lot. And what if they do? What if they do want peace? Peace! With nuclear warfare and self destruction. They can never reach it. They have far too much to learn.

We had much to learn once, and we were told we could never reach it. We did though. Maybe they can.

Ah, little one. You have so much hope...

Try not to let them see it.

Interrogation by Matthew

"I won't do it"
"What did you say?"
"I won't do it, sir."
"It's an order – do it?"
"Its not right, sir."
"It's what we have been ordered to do, now get on with it."
"Why?"
"Because its an order?"
"Who's, sir?"
"Are you stupid. You know who's"
"But he's wrong, sir."
"He's the commander in chief"

"What happened?"
"You passed out."
"His face. I can see his bloodied face, sir."
"Calm down."
"I can here him screaming."
"Calm down. You are getting hysterical."
"Why didn't you tell me to stop, sir?"
"I did."
"You said he was guilty. That he'd give us information. That they must be stopped at all costs. You said it was an order, sir."
"You weren't supposed to kill him."
"Just torture him then, sir?"
"We don't torture."

By Tami

We thought we heard cattle coming. But it was just a stray cat beneath the bed getting a hairball loose. If we were going to run again, this would be the time. But instead we both laid there and said nothing while dew settled on wildflowers growing up between our toes.

When we left, we didn't bring much, and we lost our shoes along the way, but gained some grass, which feels much better on the feet at least until it snows again.

The thieves (they're all thieves) live there now like they're us. Except that they have firearms that can shoot at people for days, and guts. We have none of that. We thought the world couldn't change when we got a cheap mortgage and had 10 kids.

Every night now, they come after us like cattle with kitchen knives in our dreams beneath the bridge.

By John

I once watched an editor turn some very downbeat footage into an upbeat feature: breathtakingly dishonest it told a perfect and seamless lie.

Yesterday I watched a smile as it shone up and across the street, illuminating my astonishment and passing on without a flicker. Today, she's not there but he is. I saw him on the news.

A fall from six floors up. Gravity gets us all I guess. For him, the pavement. For me, what used to be called the cutting room floor. You could look for me in the first seconds of the evening news, but you'll never see me now, I'm leaving his apartment building and I'm smiling. What a world. We snip out the tricky bits and leave you a lie. I snip those tricky bits for a living, but today I did it just for her - him and me both - deleted.

The Tempest by Cliodhna

As momentum built, the water began to whirl and froth, some of it rising in huge waves to crash over the edge. There was no escape. No way to stop the waves other than wait for granny to stop stirring.
"And that," she said, "taking a dishcloth in her hand, is what we call a storm in a teacup."

Forever Friends by Cliodhna

Sean fell off the bar stool. He'd been drinking for three days straight.

"Han'me down my pint. I'll just drink it here."

Charlie, publican and Sean's sometime drinking buddy thought not. Hoisting Sean to his feet, he said,

"Think you've had enough, mate. Maybe you should head home - get a bite to eat and a few hours kip."

"I'mawright," Sean slurred, elbowing Charlie so hard he went sprawling into a table of drinks. From there it descended into a wrestling match. First onto the floor and finally out the door. As a parting shot, Sean clamped down on Charlie's thumb – Charlie screamed like a banshee.

A few hours later, Charlie of the bandaged thumb sees Sean wander back in looking none the worse for wear.

Leaning against the bar, he nods for a pint and asks – with genuine concern – "what happened your thumb?"

Ticket by Clare

He's as creased as a used bus ticket. The librarian waits patiently until he produces an old-fashioned library card.

"It's out of date," she says. "The system's changed."

He looks around, blinking: "I used it this morning. I've been... lost in a book."

"This book?" She asks, opening the first page.

It begins: "There's a dusty road just outside Albertsville that doesn't go anywhere..."

The man at the counter says: "No, don't..."

But it's too late. His voice floats away on the breeze. She turns her face against it and sets off down that dusty road...

Being prepared by Clare

I made her test the GPS in the park before she went. I walked with her, counting the degrees, checking the GPS direction against the compass. I found the weather forecast, printed out maps. I charged her phone for her – arranged a system of communicating, grilled her about risk assessments. I made her promise not to go too deep into the hills if it was foggy... or rainy... or icy.

"Be careful," I said. And: "Take care of yourself." Worrying.

Who would have thought that after all it would be me that was in danger? A week-old ham waiting to finish me off. Me writhing on the floor, poisoned, with no system of communicating, no phone, no map.