Showing posts with label Day Twenty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Day Twenty. Show all posts
Saturday, 25 January 2014
The Lion King by Carolyn Glass
In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight? Tosh! Everyone knows lions don’t live in jungles!
The Lion King by Lesley Whyte
"Why's it called The Lion King?"
"Because the lion is the king of the jungle."
"Lions don't live in the jungle."
"I...shut up."
"Because the lion is the king of the jungle."
"Lions don't live in the jungle."
"I...shut up."
Monday, 20 May 2013
Two Worlds by Lesley Whyte
"There are two worlds now. Are you listening to me, kid? Because if you want to go back out to highway and carry on scavenging from corpses in burnt out cars, you be my guest." I pause for dramatic effect. There's no freaking way I'm letting this kid out of my sight, but he doesn't need to know that.
He gulps. I can actually see him swallow. Awesome.
"I didn't think so," I say in my most cutting voice. It cracks halfway through - dehydration's a real bitch - but it'll do. "As I was saying, there're two worlds now. The world inside the fence and the one outside it. You're outside the fence, which means you lost. But you found me, so I guess in a way, you also kind of won, didn't you? We got food. We got clean water. Not a lot, so don't be getting any ideas, but a little. We got somewhere sheltered for when the attacks come and we got strength in numbers."
The kid looks terrified, but he looked terrified when I found him. The M16 might've had something to do with that, but it doesn't matter. He's scared. Scared is good. I can use scared. The kids who didn't seem scared, the bolshy ones or the ones who'd just given up, they had to go. I couldn't have them around. Couldn't have them getting ideas and infecting the rest of my army. Because that's what these kids are. An army. And soon we won't be the ones outside the fence, the losers, the ones who got left behind. No, soon we'll be inside and we'll rule both worlds.
I turn and walk away from the kid, pushing through the overgrown field.
"You coming?" I shout back over my shoulder, but I don't look round. I don't need to. There's no way that kid is saying no to me.
He gulps. I can actually see him swallow. Awesome.
"I didn't think so," I say in my most cutting voice. It cracks halfway through - dehydration's a real bitch - but it'll do. "As I was saying, there're two worlds now. The world inside the fence and the one outside it. You're outside the fence, which means you lost. But you found me, so I guess in a way, you also kind of won, didn't you? We got food. We got clean water. Not a lot, so don't be getting any ideas, but a little. We got somewhere sheltered for when the attacks come and we got strength in numbers."
The kid looks terrified, but he looked terrified when I found him. The M16 might've had something to do with that, but it doesn't matter. He's scared. Scared is good. I can use scared. The kids who didn't seem scared, the bolshy ones or the ones who'd just given up, they had to go. I couldn't have them around. Couldn't have them getting ideas and infecting the rest of my army. Because that's what these kids are. An army. And soon we won't be the ones outside the fence, the losers, the ones who got left behind. No, soon we'll be inside and we'll rule both worlds.
I turn and walk away from the kid, pushing through the overgrown field.
"You coming?" I shout back over my shoulder, but I don't look round. I don't need to. There's no way that kid is saying no to me.
Two Worlds by Sara Travis
All I am is what you’ve made me.
You come and go with the days
just like you do.
But there’s no other way to tell you
I love you more.
We’re driftwood for the sea -
from two different worlds,
carried away on the tide.
Our love is an island,
can’t you see it?
Surrounded by a deep, dark unknown.
This much I know -
All I am is what you’ve made me.
You come and go with the days
just like you do.
But there’s no other way to tell you
I love you more.
We’re driftwood for the sea -
from two different worlds,
carried away on the tide.
Our love is an island,
can’t you see it?
Surrounded by a deep, dark unknown.
This much I know -
All I am is what you’ve made me.
Two Worlds by James D. Irwin
Our romance was doomed from the start; we were from two very different worlds. There she was, the beautiful daughter of a senior officer, and here I am a lowly and insignificant sentient gas cloud from the outer reaches of the Quantark Nebula.
Monday, 21 May 2012
African Adventure by Ryan Kane McGuire
“Anyway, chap, could you, uh...?” The large waiter said nothing, but a sad sigh slipped through his lips. “Dreadfully sorry old boy, but I seem to have forgotten your name.”
“Again,” replied the waiter, barely maintaining professionalism.
“Again? I know you coloured people have some exotic names but 'Again' just doesn't sound right...”
“My name is not 'Again.' My name is Jamie, sir.”
The hunched old man sneered and looked over his thin, golden-rimmed glasses. “You shouldn't have bloody said it was then. Jamie, eh?” He furrowed his brow and looked at Jamie quizzically. “No. That can't be right.” The old man turned back to the sea and stared out absently.
That was the last straw for Jamie. He had stopped and chatted with the old man as a courtesy as he made his way across the deck of the ship, and he seemed nice enough at first, but it was clear after those short three minutes that he was either massively racist or criminally insane. Jamie needed an out. One that wouldn't lose him his job. It was only a part-time thing serving old white people martinis on a cruise ship, but he was seeing the world and getting paid for it.
“Can I offer you a drink, sir? Another Bloody Mary, perhaps?” The words trickled out through gritted teeth.
The old fellow thrust his glass out towards Jamie without turning away from the sea. “Try not to drown it.”
When Jamie returned with a fresh tray of various up-market alcoholic beverages, the old man was in the exact same spot, still staring out at the ocean. Jamie, having calmed down significantly thanks to a sneaky swig of vodka in the kitchens, tapped the old fellow on the shoulder. His head snapped back in surprise, snapped out of his thoughts, and he took the drink.
“Ah, Jamie, my boy! I thought you'd forgotten about me.”
“No, sir.” Jamie felt a pang of sympathy for the old fool. He had been alone every time Jamie had seen him. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”
“No, no, that's fine, lad, you've done plenty. I like you, Jamie, I do. You're a nice young man.” The old man's mouth sagged into a sad smile.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Yes, yes... glad to meet you, indeed.” The sadness left the old man's smile. “It's nice, getting out here, meeting new people, on this little African cruise adventure, eh? Must be a wonderful job.”
Jamie closed his eyes and sighed again. “This is the Caribbean, sir.”
The old man paused, and slurped his drink. After a moment he looked at Jamie and frowned. “Which is in Africa, yes?”
“Again,” replied the waiter, barely maintaining professionalism.
“Again? I know you coloured people have some exotic names but 'Again' just doesn't sound right...”
“My name is not 'Again.' My name is Jamie, sir.”
The hunched old man sneered and looked over his thin, golden-rimmed glasses. “You shouldn't have bloody said it was then. Jamie, eh?” He furrowed his brow and looked at Jamie quizzically. “No. That can't be right.” The old man turned back to the sea and stared out absently.
That was the last straw for Jamie. He had stopped and chatted with the old man as a courtesy as he made his way across the deck of the ship, and he seemed nice enough at first, but it was clear after those short three minutes that he was either massively racist or criminally insane. Jamie needed an out. One that wouldn't lose him his job. It was only a part-time thing serving old white people martinis on a cruise ship, but he was seeing the world and getting paid for it.
“Can I offer you a drink, sir? Another Bloody Mary, perhaps?” The words trickled out through gritted teeth.
The old fellow thrust his glass out towards Jamie without turning away from the sea. “Try not to drown it.”
When Jamie returned with a fresh tray of various up-market alcoholic beverages, the old man was in the exact same spot, still staring out at the ocean. Jamie, having calmed down significantly thanks to a sneaky swig of vodka in the kitchens, tapped the old fellow on the shoulder. His head snapped back in surprise, snapped out of his thoughts, and he took the drink.
“Ah, Jamie, my boy! I thought you'd forgotten about me.”
“No, sir.” Jamie felt a pang of sympathy for the old fool. He had been alone every time Jamie had seen him. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”
“No, no, that's fine, lad, you've done plenty. I like you, Jamie, I do. You're a nice young man.” The old man's mouth sagged into a sad smile.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Yes, yes... glad to meet you, indeed.” The sadness left the old man's smile. “It's nice, getting out here, meeting new people, on this little African cruise adventure, eh? Must be a wonderful job.”
Jamie closed his eyes and sighed again. “This is the Caribbean, sir.”
The old man paused, and slurped his drink. After a moment he looked at Jamie and frowned. “Which is in Africa, yes?”
African Adventure by Emily Chadwick
The jeep trundled along the tired dirt track. Dust flew up from under its wheels, a conspicuous cloud in the vast wilderness of the African bush. A lion roared somewhere in the distance.
At least, that’s what should have been happening. The tin of paint was called ‘African Adventure’, after all.
Instead, I was kneeling on the hard floorboards of my mum’s bedroom, painting the wall a muddy orange colour. Yep.
I’m not entirely sure why this muddy orange colour made anyone think of an ‘African adventure’. There isn’t even the excuse of ‘well, it looks kind of like sunburn’, because who goes orange when they burn.
Perhaps fake tan, but who would bother fake tanning before going to freaking Africa?
I wish I could see a zebra.
At least, that’s what should have been happening. The tin of paint was called ‘African Adventure’, after all.
Instead, I was kneeling on the hard floorboards of my mum’s bedroom, painting the wall a muddy orange colour. Yep.
I’m not entirely sure why this muddy orange colour made anyone think of an ‘African adventure’. There isn’t even the excuse of ‘well, it looks kind of like sunburn’, because who goes orange when they burn.
Perhaps fake tan, but who would bother fake tanning before going to freaking Africa?
I wish I could see a zebra.
Sunday, 20 May 2012
African Adventure by Lesley Whyte
"It's called African Adventure? We're thinking about shooting in Africa? Because animal prints are really in right now?"
Why does she do that? Why does her voice inflect upwards at the end like everything's a question? It's incredibly irritating. I should fire her just for that.
"And Africa has lots of animals in it?"
She pauses. I'm required to say something. I look down at the sketches and photos and sample items she's brought in and splayed across my desk. It's not bad, exactly, but it's tired. I mean, come on, animal prints in Africa? What's next, urban styling in a city?
"Hm."
She seems to take this as an encouraging sound. She starts pointing out the features,
sounding a little more confident now. Only every other sentence ends as a question. Africa has lots of animals in it. For God's sake.
"Hm," I say again.
"We can still make any changes that you-"
"It's a lot like the V spread from last July."
"I can see why you'd think that? Because of the animal prints? But they did tiger prints? And
ours is...like a wider spectrum?"
"Hm." I pull one of the sketches towards me, wanting to examine it more closely. It's good,
striking, a pale model in a tiger print bikini against such a dramatic backdrop. I wish we could have something more original, like that damned underwater shoot that Jules Sutcliffe pulled out from nowhere in April. "Fine, go with it. But for God's sake get a black model. Do you know how many complaints we got after we only had white girls in our Indian Exotic spread?"
Why does she do that? Why does her voice inflect upwards at the end like everything's a question? It's incredibly irritating. I should fire her just for that.
"And Africa has lots of animals in it?"
She pauses. I'm required to say something. I look down at the sketches and photos and sample items she's brought in and splayed across my desk. It's not bad, exactly, but it's tired. I mean, come on, animal prints in Africa? What's next, urban styling in a city?
"Hm."
She seems to take this as an encouraging sound. She starts pointing out the features,
sounding a little more confident now. Only every other sentence ends as a question. Africa has lots of animals in it. For God's sake.
"Hm," I say again.
"We can still make any changes that you-"
"It's a lot like the V spread from last July."
"I can see why you'd think that? Because of the animal prints? But they did tiger prints? And
ours is...like a wider spectrum?"
"Hm." I pull one of the sketches towards me, wanting to examine it more closely. It's good,
striking, a pale model in a tiger print bikini against such a dramatic backdrop. I wish we could have something more original, like that damned underwater shoot that Jules Sutcliffe pulled out from nowhere in April. "Fine, go with it. But for God's sake get a black model. Do you know how many complaints we got after we only had white girls in our Indian Exotic spread?"
African Adventure by Sam Smith
Two elephants sat on a bench in the middle of the jungle. The one with bigger ears, called Marcus by his friends, nibbled delicately on a rather large sandwich. He looked like he was having more fun than the other elephant. He had a longer trunk but no sandwich. This elephant was called Jacob by his mother, but no one else knew that. They all called him Trunky.
‘Where did you get that sandwich from?’ asked Jacob/Trunky.
Elephants are quite secretive animals. They tend to not share their emotions or their plans for the weekend. Marcus was actually quite an open for an elephant.
‘None of your fucking business,’ he said.
Jacob/Trunky prodded Marcus in the side with his big, stumpy foot. ‘Go on, tell me.’
Marcus sighed. ‘Fine, I found it in a chest at the end of a big cavern.’
It’s true. He did find it in a glowing chest after fighting his way through the cavern, which was filled with skeletons that had swords and wizards. The whole thing was really quite an ordeal.
‘Was it worth it?’ Jacob/Trunky sat back on the bench, stretching out his legs.
Marcus shook his head. ‘Nah, not really. I was hoping for some purple loot and sandwiches are a bit shit anyway.’
They both nodded slowly and watched the world pass by for a little bit.
‘Where did you get that sandwich from?’ asked Jacob/Trunky.
Elephants are quite secretive animals. They tend to not share their emotions or their plans for the weekend. Marcus was actually quite an open for an elephant.
‘None of your fucking business,’ he said.
Jacob/Trunky prodded Marcus in the side with his big, stumpy foot. ‘Go on, tell me.’
Marcus sighed. ‘Fine, I found it in a chest at the end of a big cavern.’
It’s true. He did find it in a glowing chest after fighting his way through the cavern, which was filled with skeletons that had swords and wizards. The whole thing was really quite an ordeal.
‘Was it worth it?’ Jacob/Trunky sat back on the bench, stretching out his legs.
Marcus shook his head. ‘Nah, not really. I was hoping for some purple loot and sandwiches are a bit shit anyway.’
They both nodded slowly and watched the world pass by for a little bit.
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