The Inkling Volume 3

More documents

Recommendations

Info

Victor’s eyes By Freya Alexander Victor The jeep was stifling with the breath of my comrades. Restlessly, they tried to engage in light conversation in a weak attempt to lift spirits. Those conversations were short lived, as in their voices there was a heaviness that ebbed any joviality. In the air, there was a bitter scent of sweat, of blood, of gunpowder and of fear. It clung to everyone in the jeep like a soldier clinging to his gun. The inescapable sound of distant gunshots and screams run in my ears as we travelled towards the noise. I glanced my eyes at the people who sat next to me, with their mud coated faces and sunken eyes, with bloodied hands and permanent scars. Trust me, not all of their scars are visible. Same are in the wary pit of their subconscious, always wriggling and struggling. Always there! Suddenly, the rumbling of tyres on the bumpy dirt track beneath us ceased and all my friends started to slowly clamber out. As soon as I jumped from the jeep, I felt the scorched ground beneath my paws and the heavy heat clinging to my fur. Then I hung my head low, remembering all that has been instilled in me by the people that surrounded me, tousling my fur and speaking words of wisdom under their breath. They taught me how to seek out the devices that shatter the earth, but, most importantly, they have taught me about resilience and bravery. For that, I am thankful. “Right, Victor,” commanded Parker, who was hastily attaching a lead to my collar, ‘”Go seek.” Eventually, the blazing daylight started to fade and we headed back to the safe-house, just for a night, so we could continue our long trek tomorrow. That day was a successful one, but other days we have not been so lucky. I still remember those days, where men don’t come back to camp. Even though they’re gone you can still feel their presence, as if they are still fighting beside you. You can see them in my comrade’s eyes, and sometimes I can see them too. Parker As soon as those words passed his lips, I paced forward, with Parker at my heels. I must concentrate, but the increasing temperature and the sound of gunshots meant I was easily distracted. I ploughed through. Finally, I picked up a scent, just a hint, but enough to put me on the right track. Then I discovered it, the bomb. I barked loud and clear then continued my search. Behind me, I could see the men with shovels and machines who had come to defuse the bomb. I couldn’t pay any attention to them, I had to keep working. So me and Parker kept going… THE END Muscles aching, I slowly lower myself next to Victor. In his eyes, I see that he knows today was a successful one, and that today we didn’t lose a life. We have. So many times. Somehow I am still alive through the torment and torture, through the fear and fighting. I must admit, sometimes I wish I were one of the fallen. There is still Victor though. Always loyal; always brave. I have to remind myself that no matter what I have seen, he has seen it too. Sometimes, after the hardest days. I would sit for hours with Victor by my side, spilling out my feelings in a torment of despair. Even though he is a dog, it gives me solace when he looks up at me with knowing eyes as if to say, I know, I’ve been through it to. I would stare into his eyes for all eternity. They reflect my fear and spread a flicker of hope throughout my friends, the fallen and me. “Oh Victor,” I mumbled, “Where has Smithy gone, and where has Foster gone, and where has Taylor gone?” With a hot onslaught of tears welling in my eyes I think about my questions. I know the answer, but do not want to believe it. Then Victor whispers his silent reply, and somehow I feel at peace for a second. That peace is abruptly ruined, as the sound of gunshots, there is still the unbearable heat and there is Victor. Throughout all of this mess there is still Victor. I suddenly get a horrible image in my mind of what it would be like without him. It would be a world I would not want to live in. Victor may save lives on the battlefield, but to me he is the hero when he listens, and most of all, when he gives me hope. So I look into his eyes again. In them I see myself, reflected back in a haze of brown. I can also see so much more. So much more. Congratulations to Freya Alexander for winning the Melia Prize for Writing in the first term with this fabulous story around the theme of heroism.
A Valentine’s Surprise... By Gemma bridges, Jenny hall and lorna gillings As I finally closed my eyes, the blur of the TV fading away, I smiled, knowing that the next day - Valentines day - would bring no surprises. A thud on the floor. An intake of breath. What could this be? I force my eyelids open, and glance at the clock; whose silver hands raced past the 12, snapping the finishing ribbon. The flash of the red minute hand against the pale clock face seemed only natural - inevitable. My brain sluggishly replayed the sound of the thud and I yawned. The slightly ajar curtains framed the glaring rays of the full moon, yet dark shadows from the pitch black sky loomed ominously in the corners of the room where the light couldn’t penetrate. More alert now, I made my way towards the staircase, the banisters looming up in front of me. My heart skipped a beat. Then I remembered: it must have been the washing machine. Shaking myself, I placed a slightly trembling hand on the dark oak wood, the only light source being the moon shining through the glass... above the blood red door. I reached the stone floor at the bottom of the stairwell, every step pounding through my brain like thunder. My bare feet curled in protest as they stood on the freezing floor, shivers spreading up my body, as I saw the envelope on the welcome mat. I gasped. My heart fluttered, a kaleidoscope of butterflies, as I locked eyes with the parcel lying at my feet like a heart fallen in love. Could this be my dream come true? But the paper laughed at me now. And slipping the note out of its casket, I saw that behind this night, there was no romance or mystique, but the fear of being watched. This was no love note. “roses are red, violets are blue, and I, I want to kill you…” The words sung in my ear and hung in the air. I found myself singing along, as though this tune was one I recognised; one I had heard before. I lied to myself and tried a laugh. Some stupid joke. But the laugh soon spiralled out of control and I was screaming. A tremble of fear crashed through my body; a wave of pure terror consuming all of my senses, rendering me stunned. I gripped the cold metal handle, and slowly turned the key in the lock. Click. The sound seemed to echo in the darkness, a contrast to the endless silence… I opened the door. At first just a crack, but then until I was framed in the doorway. “Who’s there?”. My voice was no more than a whisper, smothered and consumed by the night. A figure stepped out from behind the bushes, clad from head to toe in black; almost blending into the darkness. A flash of silver caught my eye. Then there was red. Only red.
Page 2 and 3: Contents Opening Culture Creative S
Page 4 and 5: Opening Miss Fletcher Head of the I
Page 6 and 7: Katie Kirkpatrick Xavier St John Ed
Page 8 and 9: Cultur
Page 10 and 11: Hamilton: My Trip to the Musical Se
Page 12 and 13: The Greatest Showman: Rewriting the
Page 14 and 15: Now let's set some ground rules: th
Page 16 and 17: In the last We were a one hundr Aca
Page 18 and 19: The Culture Overview Film TV Shows
Page 20 and 21: Creativ He felt the cold metal in h
Page 22 and 23: “No one ever says go again.” I
Page 26 and 27: Katie’s Poetry The In Between Wee
Page 28 and 29: By Mrs McKenzie EX Libris The books
Page 30 and 31: Up the chimney I go By Claire mcleo
Page 32 and 33: Society We’re all used to the voi
Page 34 and 35: Nostalgia By katie kirkpatrick Why
Page 37: Beautiful By Anonymous Why can’t
Page 40 and 41: What is happiness? By Pia sargent H
Page 43 and 44: Time Travelling… Miss Fletcher ta
Page 45 and 46: Why set new years resolutions? By A
Page 47 and 48: Top ten Most common new years resol
Page 50 and 51: Gingerbread recipe By Jenny Hall an
Page 52 and 53: Pancake day traditions around the w
Page 55 and 56: Mrs morson does \Japan As many of m
Page 57 and 58: Politics
Page 59 and 60: Katie: Let us pretend for a moment
Page 61: and always asking ‘what next?’.
Page 64 and 65: Interview in Industry Jen Twine, In
Page 66 and 67: The future of year 9 By pia sargent
Page 69 and 70: Year 11 Sixth Form applications Han
Page 71: Sports can often be dismissed as co
Page 74 and 75:
SVC Sports Round Gemma Bridges Over
Page 76 and 77:
Svc Event
Page 78 and 79:
Maths Ch By Miss Afford
Page 81 and 82:
OLIVER! review By David makalena Th
Page 83 and 84:
Mr & Mrs Pride 3 By miss fletcher u
Page 85 and 86:
es were free to wander around and p
Page 87:
kling ming soon
show all

The Inkling Volume 3

Create successful ePaper yourself

Delete template?

Save as template?