I skipped a week of ”The Boom” due to the length of the chapter (despite it still being rather short) and due to the limited time I had. Well, here is the next chapter…Enjoy!
Then I’m… I’m slapped. Nothing too forceful, more like the slap you would give to an unconscious person in attempt to wake them up. I guess that’s exactly what it is.
It’s Saturday! And what does that mean I hear you ask? Well, it means the next chapter of “The Boom” is published!
Well, here it is! Again, a short chapter but it has to end here! We’re at a really good bit and I’m hoping for the next chapter or two to be really thrilling and exciting!
I look around. I’m in a cupboard. It’s more black in here than my French teacher, Mrs Trotter’s heart.
Who could have untied me?
I’m softly kicked in the back. Only one person I know kicks as pathetically as that.
I turn around.
A very bloody Troy. A very, very bloody Troy. I can just see his face and no more thanks to the little light coming through from key hole.
It’s weird. I can’t see where the blood is coming from. He doesn’t seem to have any wounds where that amount of blood cam escape from. Not even one bruise from his ginger hair to his pointed shoes.
“Troy! I thought you were dead or that you just left me to survive myself! – What the hell is going on? Judy is dead and so are many others and there was an explosion and there was gas and then…”
Troy places his finger on his lip, obviously telling me to shut up and calm down. I do as he wishes.
“It’s terrorists Norman. Terrorists. They’re in the school.” He whispers.
“So I was right then, I thought it was. Or something like terrorists anyway. Can I just ask, why are you covered in blood, yet, I can’t see any wounds on you, not even a bruise!” I reply.
He wipes blood away from his mouth and is clearly about to answer my question, but before he goes any further, I place my hand over his sticky lips.
I hear voices.
Not pupils’ voices. No teachers’.
Not a voice I recognise anyway. And at that, not a language I recognise.
It isn’t foreign. I don’t think.
It is pure Scottish, just like everyone else in the school. Both male by the sounds of it.
The words they use make no sense.
“Package B.L.A.C.K Mars Bar alpha.” is what I pick up.
Troy is moving my hand away from his lips. I signal for him to stay quiet, placing my finger on my lips, giving a haunting stare. He takes the hint.
They’re closer to the door, still talking nonsense.
I pluck up the courage to manoeuvre myself as silently as I can, to try and see through the key hole.
All I can see is legs. One of the two sets of legs belong to someone really fat. I mean, insanely fat. Fatter than Bertha, the dinner lady with about twenty thousand moles on her excuse for a face, and that’s saying something. The other pair of legs boasting designer trousers, belongs to a completely opposite kind of man, one which is really skinny. Maybe even anorexic.
I’m about to position myself to an angle so I can see their faces when I pick up the word cupboard.
The men stop talking. The skinny one is making his way towards the door. I put one and one together and realise that they are the ones who tied me up, and chucked me in the cupboard. They must have done something similar to Troy.
I’m panicked. I don’t know what to do.
Luckily, Troy was tuned in the whole time. He knows just as well as me what’s about to happen. He signals to me something related to death, striking his finger along his neck. At first I think he’s going to kill me but then I realise he wants me to act dead, or at least unconscious. Before I can even close my eyes, I feel the blindfold being placed back on me and ropes being flung on me. Then someone, assumingly Troy, just collapses on my legs, as if he just lost all life.
I hear keys rattling.
A key is inserted into the key hole by the sounds of it.
The door is unlocked.
The door is opening.
Well would you believe it! – It has been roughly a week since I published “The Boom: Chapter 1″ which I loved writing and believe it or not, through Twitter and email, I got quite a good bit of feedback! I may start a feedback page where I’ll post some of the feedback which people have agreed to let me publish, but that’s later in the game.
Anyway, here it is, Chapter 2! – Not as long as Chapter 1, but I once read that a chapter should only be as long as it needs to be and should end where it needs to end. Well, that’s the case here, it’s as long as it should be and ends where it needs to end.
I’m waking. Was I asleep? Am I dead? Am I about to enter heaven or the afterlife? I can’t seem to get my head around what is happening. One minute I was talking to Troy and the next thing I know, there is an explosion and now I’m… Actually where am I?
I’m blind. Somehow the gas got to my eyes and so, I’m blind. That’s it. I can’t see a thing. I’ll have to learn Braille and walk about with a stick to vision my surroundings. Surely not. I may just be blindfolded.
At least I’m not deaf. I can hear footsteps from all around me.
At least I’m away from the smell of gas.
I try to get up. It doesn’t take long to realise that I can’t. I’m tied up.
This morning is just getting more and more like a film, or a video game. If only it were a film or game, anything but this hellish nightmare.
I don’t try to do anything else. I feel tired. It’s weird. I’m felling the way I felt when I had that two hour long nose bleed in Spain last year. Have I lost blood?
Things are starting to make sense.
Explosion. Gas. I’m tied up as if being held hostage. There’s only one real possibility. Terrorists. Or something like terrorists – mad people wanting revenge or attention, or something like that. I’m reminded of a documentary I watched in religious studies about terrorists that held children and adults hostage for three days in Russia. Over a hundred children and parents died. That film scared me. I feared for the children and their parents. I feared the non impossible event of it happening to me.
But this isn’t 2004. Security should be tighter, especially in this area of the county, and why would anyone want vengeance or this sort of attention round these parts of the town in such a violent way?
How did these mad men, or women, get into the school? Past the secretaries, past the janitors, past CCTV? Maybe they’re not adults. Maybe they’re pupils. Yeah. That’s more like it. Pupils. Pupils from the past maybe, who have something against the school, or even the present pupils. I just don’t know.
Being tied up and confused gives me some time to think about the situation. A matter of great curiosity hits me.
What happened to him? Where is Troy now? How could I forget about my best friend? The person who was talking to me just before the boom?
He definitely wasn’t in the area we were talking in, which happened to be the same place of the death of Judy. I would have noticed him if he was just lying around. He’s kind of like the male version of Judy, hard to miss. If only he had a smile on his face everyday.
Where could he possibly be? Maybe I was unconscious after the boom, and he got up whilst I was under. -Thought I was dead and moved on. He’s stupid and inconsiderate enough to do such a thing. But, he’s my friend. More than friend. Like a brother from another mother.
Oh well. I’m not really caring about Troy at the moment. I need to untie myself and I need to find out if I am really blind. Well… I don’t have to do anything. These things are done for me soon enough.
Someone, or something, is untying me. But I can’t hear the footsteps anymore. Am I to be untied and forced to witness a suicide bomber… Well… Blow up?
My hands are free.
It turns out I was blindfolded.
I’m not blind.
Greetings reader o’ mines! – Welcome to a new creative writing project I am working on entitled “The Boom”. I plan on publishing a new chapter roughly every week, right here on my blog! I am loving writing it and I hope you love reading it! You can also read it on the official page as I add more and more and more to the story!
This chapter is a key chapter to the whole storyline (which I am making up as I go along), giving us an insight to what the heck started the journey ahead of us. I’m not going to say any more and if you have any questions about anything, just contact me !
“I’m telling you! – They clearly have a thing for each other. It’s obvious. Don’t you think?”
“Troy, you seriously need to catch up in the gossip, he’ll never go out with her because she was the one who posted that photo of him on Facebook so he went all hysterical. It’ll never happen, trust me, you might be in there. You know, if I didn’t know bett…”
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I look down. Blood? No. Much too watery. Then it hits me. The stench of Troy’s unnaturally red/ blue coloured smoothie. How he survives every day after drinking that stuff, I’ll never know- the odour of the stuff is enough to kill a man. I guess I’m used to it by now.
Am I deaf? No. I’m assured my hearing is not gone as I hear the tiny little metal bell above me ring for its usual two seconds. Next period. My instincts tell me I should head to class. But deep down, I know something isn’t right. Well, it doesn’t take a mastermind to work it out. A loud noise of some sort, next thing I know, I’m lying down on the ground.
Could it have been Troy? Couldn’t take my insults so he punched me? Nah. First of all, he’s never punched anyone in his life and if he did, the victim would only feel a tickle, and second, the loud noise wasn’t just… well, a loud noise, as in, someone bursting a sandwich bag next to me ear, more like… an explosion. Heard by everyone in the school. Speaking of everyone…
Where is everyone? I manage to slouch up against the puke-coloured brick wall with some slight back pain. My vision is slightly blurry, but that’s probably because I left my glasses at home. I can still see quite fine though. Sadly. I look around. The most regretful move I’ve ever made in my life.
Bodies. Everywhere. Not just any bodies. The bodies of my fellow youths, whom I know so well and have done for the past four years since starting secondary school.
Blood. Yes. Not a watery substance belonging to Troy. Blood, and lots of it. An impossible amount of it. More than the entire volume belonging to any human. I can’t put together what exactly is going on. Are they dead? I crawl over to Crabby, an idiotic fat twit, as if I’m scared to walk. Not dead. Yet. He’s still breathing. Never thought I’d think it as a good thing. If he’s not dead, and I’m not, then maybe no one else is.
Crawling in the same, awkward way, I find myself next to Judy. Judy. You can’t not love Judy. She’s the cheeriest person I’ve ever known as well as the ugliest, and by far the most gullible person in the world – such an easy tease target! She’s never depressed (unlike the majority of us stroppy teens), or at least, she never shows it. Something’s not right. She’s not smiling. It has been known that, even when she is sleeping, she’s smiling. She’s not smiling. She’s not sleeping. I manoeuvre myself down to her level, avoiding the blood pool she’s lying in. I look down from the top of her head down to her feet, remembering the first aid lessons I attended not too long ago. Enough to remember the basics. Hoping to see her slightly overweight stomach move even the slightest, I am disappointed. Nothing. I can’t feel any air being forced out of her pig-like nostrils.
This has to be a dream. A prank? It can’t possibly be a dream. My emotions are so messed up. Emotions which would be impossible to experience in a dream. I’m no expert in the whole dream business, but the brutality of everything is just so real. As for a prank? No. No one I know, and no one living in this area has the money or even time for such brutal effects. Gallons of blood, Judy playing dead, the smashed windows in the heavy fire doors where Judy lies. Then I realise how Judy probably came to her death. The pool of blood she is lying in. It’s the blood of her own. I pluck up the courage to turn her over on her side. The result? – Horrifying. I imagine what must have happened to her. The boom, the one which had knocked all of us off our feet, had forced Judy into the one of the glass panes in one of the doors, back first. The glass must have shattered, and as she slouches down against the door, the glass fragments, one by one, pierce through her clothes, and her skin. Every inch of her back is a disgusting pattern of blood, slit skin and glass. Water drips onto the pool of blood.
It’s my own water. I wipe my eyes. I’m crying. I never cry. I’m crying over a girl. A girl who is, or was, so ugly yet so gullible and hilarious in every single way. Remembering the pen I stole from her only an hour or so ago whilst teasing here, I reach into my pocket, take the pink pound-shop-quality pen which was hers, and place it on her chest. I murmur the words “I’m sorry.” Then I can’t help myself. I repeat myself and repeat myself, getting louder every time.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry! I am so sorry! Forgive me, I am so sorry! I’M SORRY!”
The tears are coming out of the corners of my eyes like a waterfall. I’m crying the way I cried when I was four and found out I wasn’t getting a new action figure for my birthday. Making inhumane sounds from my throat, my Adam’s apple expanding by the millisecond or something to that effect.
I know I can’t continue to stay like this. I need to know what’s going on. I may be about to die myself in a matter of minutes. I take the glass covered blazer from Judy’s destroyed back and shake it in a successful attempt to get most of the glass off of it. I take a gulp, still feeling the lump in my throat, and slowly place the blazer over her head in as graceful a manner as possible. I push Judy away from the blood pool, into the corner where Troy and I stood only minutes ago. Well, what seemed only minutes ago anyway. The more and more I think about what was really minutes ago, the longer away it seems.
For the first time since the boom, I stand up. I wipe my nose against my blood stained sleeve and dry my face from sorrowed tears with one of the tissues my mum packed in my blazer only this morning.
Was it an explosion? Surely an explosion would lead to fire? Looking around with caution and sniffing, I see nor smell anything to do with fire. The explosion must have been a big one. I walk past bodies which I do not dare to look at, hopping over them in hope of not tripping over a lifeless one.
I seem to master the art of jumping over possibly dead teens. Why isn’t anyone else standing like me, or even crawling or showing signs of any sort of movement? Then it hits me.
Walking through to the dining area, observing the walls as the damage gets worse. The smell. A familiar smell. If only I could think what it…
Gas. It’s gas. I’ve been breathing it in for the past minute. I look around as my vision becomes more blurred. The faces of the younger pupils of the school are as blue as the colours of our ties. I’m going to become one of the poisoned on the floor. It may be the gas forcing hallucinations in my mind, but I can see a standing figure all the way down the corridor. A tall figure. Not a pupil. Not the build of any teacher I recognise. The figure seems to be all in black, even the face.
Now I’m on the ground. I’m choking for the glorious substance that is air. I crave nothing more than the oxygen which is usually in great supply. My how different this situation is.
Enjoy that? Well, you’ll just have to wait until next week for the next part! Or, why wait? - Follow me on twitter for sneak peaks of what I’m writing and for some spoilers! Alternatively, you could follow my blog which means you’ll get an email whenever I publish a new post here!
Why hello there! Fancy meeting you here!
So, you may or may not have heard me talking about releasing a web-book, a book you can read online for free, on my blog. Well it is true. I’ve started chapter one and I want to create quite a few.
This web-book called, “The Magical Land” will become something you can read along with as I create it and best of all, it’s all here on hawth.me.
And please, let me know what you think!
This is a creative writing piece. It is based on the events of the tragic 9/11 attacks. It is an inspired piece. This piece does not intend to hurt anyone, nor is it mocked. Although I am no eye-witness, I tried to imagine the horrible feelings of people at the time. So please, just like I wrote this with care and seriousness, please read with care and seriousness.
I crawled. I ran. I walked. I cried.
How can metal burn so fiercely? How can it smell so… so… so fiery? How can smoke be so black, as black as space without planets or stars? How can the atmosphere be so broken?
I collapsed. I stood. I continued.
How can every single man, woman and child cry and mourn so perfectly in sync? How can networks cope with so many calls? How can I be alive?
I gasped. I choked. I saw. I fell.
How can dust be so blinding? How can people and vehicles vanish in an instant? How can falling metal make such a horrible clatter? How can spirits be unseen?
I cried. I died. I tried.
How can a dead man walk? How can dust clear so fast? How can a one-hundred-and-ten story building vanish? How can a mountain of metal be so tall?
I returned. I helped. I failed. I died. Again.
How can it happen twice? How can life repeat the same moment? How can so many people can die in the space of a few minutes? How many more?
I stood. I walked. I cried. I saw.
How can so many people run out of a dust cloud? How can streets be so dusty? How can I be so filthy? How can anyone survive?
How can this not be a dream?
This is a piece of creative writing that I chose to write, after seeing a good stimulus online, which was “Write something with the title, “My Life As A Coin”". So, with great excitement, at midnight last night, I wrote part one of “The Adventures and Memoirs of a Coin” Enjoy!
My Life as a Coin
No one has travelled, quite like I have. Of course, that is, referring to any human being. But I am no human being. I am a British Fifty Pence Silver, heptagonal coin. But that’s not to say that I have never been outside of the UK, or have never got dirty and used wrongly. This is a sort of look back at my life as a coin so far, and I have decided to call it, “The Adventures and Memoirs of a Fifty Pence Piece” And I very much hope you will enjoy.
The Adventures and Memoirs of a Fifty Pence Piece
19TH JANUARY, 2000
My Birthday. My actual birth-day. Well actually, it should be called a putintocirculationday, because it was the day that I was put into circulation, the day that I started my channels, and got introduced to the big, bad world. I was shiny, I was new, I was fresh. And almost straight away, I was introduced to my first owner. I was taken from a shop in London, by the name of Harrods and I belonged to a man named George Stevenson. He was Scottish, and he was any coin’s first nightmare. He was a collector.
In the world of coins, we coins only want to do one thing. Travel. Travel as much as we can. And our enemy is the common coin collector. We see them as a sort of reminder that we must be fortunate that we are not possessed by such people. However, I was in real bother. I was the unluckiest coin in the world.
I believe that I was given to my new owner, just before he was bound to set off, by train, to Scotland. After a nauseating five hour train ride, I found myself bumping and rattling about in an open end of a wallet. This man was in a hurry to get home, and he got home, eventually. And sadly, I was still with this man.
Days passed, until I was taken out of the wallet, and given an even newer, ‘Home’. I was put in hell. I believe you humans would call it A Money Jar which was rather full. Which was excellent news. It meant that I was only going to be in this glass contraption for a short period of time, until the glass was broke, and I was to be put back into circulation somehow,
And that was what happened. Mr George Stevenson of 560 Chester’s Road broke his jar of thousands of Fifty Pence pieces, put them all in the bank, and I was on the road again, metaphorically speaking.
~ ~ ~
Many months passed and I was making my way around the country quite a bit, being exchanged for items of use to humans. However, it was one day, whilst in Brighton, that I started a great journey.
~ ~ ~
24TH MAY, 2000
At the time, my owner was Mr and Mrs Michael Price, a long married, and happy couple. It was their 25th Wedding Anniversary, and they had decided months before that they were to go on a luxury trip to New York, in America.
For a day or two, I was in a purse, with coins not of my kind, but they were just as nice and friendly. They were of the “Dollar” race and had been living in an exchange circulation in the UK, and now, they were finally going home.
It was one day, that I was feeling rather light-headed, that I seen daylight again. This was the day that Mr and Mrs Price decided to get themselves arrested for attempted murder. Apparently.
They were on top of a building, which I later found out was called The Empire State Building, and it was to my knowledge of the saying or question if you like, What if I throw a coin off of the Empire State building? And there is a legend that goes with that of a man who once threw a cent over the skyscraper and killed a man down on the streets of New York. And it turned out that this couple were slightly drunk after a night of partying at a top NYC club. They were also fans of the myth-busting business, and so, there brain told them to throw a coin off of the Empire State building.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of feet up in the air, Mrs Price picked me out of her leather purse, and with no thought or regret, simply threw me off of the Empire State Building. Just like that.
It was a long and painful fall, and I eventually seen myself coming to solid ground again, until I noticed that a business woman, looking rather depressed was going to be the target of my landing.
I believe this is a very good time to point out that us coins are inanimate. We may be able to think, hear, and talk to our own kind, but we cannot move, at all, in any shape or form.
I tried and tried to move myself, but it was impossible, being inanimate. And yes, I did land on this woman’s head, and yes she was seriously injured, but no, she never died.
It was then, that I was sealed in a plastic bag, and taken to court within the next few days, as evidence. Mr and Mrs Price were sentenced for five years, on suspicion of attempted murder.
And I was in darkness for the next month, until I found myself, somehow, in the United Kingdom again. And it felt bloody good. I had scarred that woman for life, and I was also emotionally scarred for life.
~ ~ ~
Years passed after this. I had several owners, and nothing exciting to recall. Just the usual trading me for other goods. People of all ages had me, and done something with me, and luckily, a coin collector of any sorts, never came across my path. However, I soon became unlucky, and was practically drowned.
~ ~ ~
12TH AUGUST, 2008
It was a lovely, warm end of summer’s day, and I believe I was at the beach. For some weird reason, my owner, who was little older than a toddler, thought that if she threw me in the water, and made a wish, then, her wish would come true. And she did that. She threw me quite far believe it or not, and I could just hear a little voice getting further away saying, “I with I with, I with vat Mummy and Daddy vould thop agewing wiv each ova” Which, obviously made me feel very emotional, and the fact that I could be in that water for the rest of my coin life, scared me to death.
~ ~ ~
And that it was, I was in the water for a great amount of time; possibly a year or two, but it was one day, when the weather was very rough, that I was washed upon the shore with great force and believe it or not, I was starting to be picked up by a very strong wind, and I ended up on the side of a footpath. That was like someone giving you a second chance before death. And yes, I was picked up by an elderly man, and I was put back into circulation, once again.
And I really could say I was back in Circle-ation because I found myself back at the store name Harrods, in London, and I was on my travels again.
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