Alone - a story by Squach!

This is the start of a short story that is Squachs' most complete to date. So any constructive feedback from those of you who dabble would be greatly appreciated

Memories - Chapter 1

She awoke with a startled shudder.
‘What was that?’ she thought. The girl was sure she had just heard a twig snap. She brushed off the damp leaves she had used to shroud herself from the autumn cold. The girl looked around and saw a pile of berries and nuts next to her legs. She popped a blackberry into her mouth and chewed it in contentment. Then she picked up a nut, took a small chunk out of it and ate it happily. The nut was hard and cold and tasteless, but to the girl, it seemed to taste vibrant and exotic. It was just a nut. Trying to regain her memory, the fourteen year old girl stood up, and felt a sharp pain as she banged her head. “Owww!” She moaned, clutching her head. The girl sank back down into her pile of leaves and looked up. She (or J as she called herself as she couldn’t remember her real name) saw the underneath of a weak, rotting, bridge. Images and memories of the day before came back to her. J looked around quickly and suspiciously. No-one, no-one at all could spot her; that would be it for J. Ever since… since the… thing. J forced herself to think about it, to feel it, to remember it. Just thinking about it made J feel sick. She just had to accept that she couldn’t change what happened, but sometimes, just sometimes J wondered where she would be if it didn’t happen. J remembered the 23rd of December 2002 like it was happening before her eyes; it was crystal clear. A picture formed in J’s head.
When J was only 6, she, her mother and her father were coming back from J’s aunts wedding. They were walking to their car in the car park late at night. Suddenly, a man in a shabby balaclava and black clothes appeared in the dim, pale light of the street lamps. The thing J recalled most about him was that he had been gripping a gun tightly. She remembered the gun catching her eye, she remembered it twinkling and trembling in the silvery, misty moonlight. “Mummy?” J had said, and sucked her thumb like she was two, not six. The man had said to J’s mum and dad, “Come here. Now. Get in the car. NOW!” He aimed the gun at J’s parents. The man had a rough voice and his breath smelt like he had been smoking. As J remembered this, she could almost feel the poisonous smoke invading her lungs once again. While J’s parents hurried off, the man slowly pointed his gun at J. She could recall looking down the barrel of the gun in terror. “Stay here kid.” The man had told J in a hoarse whisper, “Your parents might be back soon,” He had snarled, grimaced and smirked, thrown J some jeans and a t-shirt that were too big for her and then dashed to the car J’s parents were in. He drove off into the night, and J saw her parent’s ghostly, worried expressions as they peered out the back of the car. This memory was the most painful for J. That was the last she saw of her parents.
“But that was 2003,” J told herself. “It’s 2011 now.” She held the gleaming, gold locket hanging round her neck and opened it. It contained a picture of J, her mum and her dad.
Carefully, J stepped out of her leaf pile under the bridge and out into the open. J breathed in the fresh autumn air. The gentle, swirling breeze caught J’s tangled mess that she called hair and blew it around as if it were a feather. She remembered that she had to move soon. The police had been on J’s trail for eight years. Why were the police after her? The whole world thought J was responsible for her parent’s disappearances. She would have a prison sentence if she was found. Sometimes people would be excused from their sentence, but that was very rare.

I thoroughly enjoyed that Squach. You have a good style developing and I enjoyed your descriptivness, particularly the small touches like the sucking the thumb and the smell of smoke- good attention to detail nice, small details really help bring a picture to life.

I've not much to offer in the way of critiscm as there is little here to critisce. A suggestion might be that its quite awkward to sustain a lead charcater with only a letter for a name, it can be done but its tricky as it instantly distances the reader a little from the character. I assume the letter J is important to your overall story but if you can find a way to work it perhaps calling herself Jay might help (off the top of my head stick something like - 'She (or J as she called herself as she couldn’t remember her real name, although in her head she though tof it as Jay and if she ever had to write it, which she never did, that was how she would have'- although I'm sure you can come up with something better).
And the only other thing I would mention is the final line. It is unlikely the police would arrest a 6 year old for her missing parents, but it is acceptable that a six year old might think they would. But the final line is in the 'authors voice' and therefore seems like a definitive statement being made about the law within your story world, if the law in your story world is like that Squach then its fine, but if its set in the real world the last line won't work unless its J's thought (where it can be erroneous).

But those two things really are me just looking for something to say thats just not all blind praise- because otherwise its really very good. Well done Squach, looking forward to reading more.

Keep her at it Kafria- you might be able to retire sooner than planned she keeps it up!

Well, this story world of mine is quite different in a few ways, because there is a victorian school involved (The headmistress is called Mrs Stricktor ) and she is sent there until the 'court' decide what to do with her.

I like to invent stories and I much prefer fiction to fact as there is so much more description that you can almost reach out and grab it and immerse yourself in it.

(sorry if that was a bit too deep, but i was in story mode!)

P.S I have just started on a new story called the Guardian - if anyone would like to read the begginings of it just let me know! Also let me know if you want the next chapter of Alone!

You keep writing them Squach and we will keep reading them! More Alone would be good and anyhting else you want to put up is welcome.

Your wish is my command!


Chapter 2 - The Note

J meandered into the woods. She trudged along the path and kicked a stone in boredom. As the path diverged, J felt deep pangs of hunger in her tummy and grasped her ravenous stomach in pain. J had eaten at least something this morning, but she hadn’t drunk something in quite a long time. She felt dehydrated; her throat was dry. Her whole body seemed to be screaming for a drink. ‘Which path do I choose?’ J thought to herself, ‘Hang on what’s that?’ J could see something white, with a mix of purple and blue lying on the path to the right. She hurried over, and couldn’t believe her eyes. Someone had dropped a £20 note! J picked it up in amazement. The amazement was soon drowned by doubt and anxiety though. J knew it was extremely risky, but her other options were starve to death or die from lack of water. Still clutching her stomach, and now a crisp £20 note, J began to run out of the forest. She had to do what she had to do to survive.
J entered Tesco’s with a forced smile. She was amazed by the array of foods down every isle. They made her mouth water. J picked out the simplest food she could find; a ham sandwich, Ready Salted crisps and a large bottle of Volvic water. As J walked to the checkout, many thoughts filled her head. Would the cashier recognise her? Would they question J about her dirty clothes? Had she spent too much?
Now in the line for a checkout, J studied what the customers were doing, not wanting to seem abnormal. J placed her food on what she guessed was the counter. “Hi,” J took a plastic bag, and waited for the cashier to scan her items. This was very new to J: the beep of the scanner, the humming of the youthful cashier, the gentle buzz of shoppers talking. Everything in Tesco's was an entirely new world. J couldn’t remember the last time she saw something like this. J put her items in her plastic bag carefully.
“That will be $3.52 please,” The cashier said cheerfully.
“Here you are,” J could hardly talk in anxiety as she gave her £20 note.
“Thank you,” the cashier paused, and then frowned for a second. J’s heart raced, but the cashier shook her head and turned back. “Here’s £16.48,” She paused again. “Do I know you?” She asked with a puzzled look on her face. It was only then that J spotted it. Behind the cashier on a wall was a poster. The poster read WANTED. There was a picture of J when she had been collecting berries and nuts to eat a few weeks ago. J took the change and receipt, and thrust them into her bag.
“No. No, I don’t believe so,” J finally replied, stiff in fear.
“Oh. OK then. I just thought… Well, never mind,” The cashier said, “Have a nice day!” She called as J started to walk off. “Thanks. Um…you too,” J replied. She saw a mirror display as she walked to the exit. J checked she didn’t look too wild. As she paused, in the corner of her reflection, she saw the cashier she had just spoken with. To J’s horror, she was turning to face the poster! J seemed to be cemented to the ground as she watched the scene in the mirrors, too frightened to turn around. She saw the shock on the cashiers face, picking up her phone, dialling a number. J stood next to the mirror display for what seemed hours, until she heard a shrill, wailing siren. This was J’s signal to run. As the police entered through the entrance, J dashed towards the exit.

This is a snippet from the mashed up mess that is the beggining of The Guardian.

Before you read it, I suppose I should tell you a bit about what i hope this to be about, and also about 'Guardians'
Guardians are 'angels' that protect humans from death etc. They live in the clouds and they have been at war with 'death demons' under earths surface for millenia. Guardians will never die and don't age and only demon thingys can kill them. I had a pretty good idea of where I want this to go, I think she shall fall in love with a human and a demon thingy shall steal him away to death's lair and she shall go save him , fight , fight etc. then she rescues him and then there is the problem of love etc. and that is my main idea.


I looked up at the hopeful faces blocking my sight. I wanted to tell them to move, I wanted to see the intriguing world around me! But I found only a playful bubble escaped my mouth. I managed to let slip a scream for a few seconds, but that was as far as I was getting.
This was the beginning of my life.
I had been born a few hours earlier. My new world surrounded me like a veil of discovery. My body felt funny, and little bumps rose to the surface of my skin. What was this peculiar sensation? Goosebumps. Cold. The words sprung to my mind, which was buzzing with new, exciting things. Unlike you, and those other babies down below, I knew who I was and what my life’s mission was. My name was Angel and I had to protect as many of you as I could.
From an early age I was surprisingly independent. My life story so far hasn’t much to say, but I remember many things. My older brother, Gabe, had an angelic name, but his attitude was anything but angelic. He was always teasing me and tricking me. It was as if he thought everyday was April Fools Day.
The earliest burrow I remember living in was in Skyes End. Like Earth, The Sky is split up into many counties but my favourite would have to be Skyes End. The burrow was flat and shallow, but wide and spacious, like a bungalow. The clouds were rough and our beds weren’t very comfortable or bouncy, but I loved it all the same. There were beautifully glazed, painted flower pots with the sweetest smelling flowers all year round. In autumn, it there be forget-me-nots. In winter, there would be bluebells, or sometimes snowdrops. In spring it was always the daffodils, but my all-time favourites were the summer roses. The invigorating aroma would always leave me captivated in my bed, and I would picture my own human-like cottage, made completely of roses. There were plants that never wilted, like the ivy up the walls of my room. I loved it so and often played climbing games but I was always scolded; my mother was always fretting for my and Gabe’s safety. I also pegged my ‘works of art’ (usually scribbles or random patterns) onto my ivy wall. I would play outside in summer, on the swing, or pester Gabe to play on the seesaw, or simply make daisy chains. Summer is my favourite season as the air is humid and many more exotic flowers bloom.

I'll read this on Monday in school, cos I'm on the Ipad and reading large chunks of text on there hurts my eyes! But by the raving reviews it's getting, it sounds like a must read thread!

Ok, cool

NO ONE IS COMMENTING!!!

A shameless bump, lovely

I can't read it now, busy studying for an exam I've got tomorrow, but I'll get back to it afterwards! (if I forget, bump it again )

Oh, fine. But you had better comment, and that goes for everyone else too!

(Nice comments only)

I would like to read more Squach to make a fair judgement but from this snippet and your earlier piece one thing does strike me, if I didn't know you were a mere youngsters I would not have guessed it from your writing, it seeme very mature, I don't necessarily mean in content but matured as writing. You make none of the common mistakes I was making writing at your age. Very well done again.
Oh and one other thing -'My name was Angel and I had to protect as many of you as I could.'- Damn good line, well placed- gave me goosebumps.

Well, it defo got the point across and I thought it would deepen the mystery of who/what she was.

Thx! I will put the next chapter of Alone up soon!

Looking forward to it.

Chapter 3 - Chase

J’s heart raced. She ran as quickly as she could until she thought her legs might drop off. She heard ominous footsteps behind her. J ran past the bakery, the barbers, the local school; everything imaginable, until she finally came to the edge of town. She dashed into the forest, her bag of food bashing her legs violently. J glanced behind her swiftly. The police were closing in on her.
‘What’s that?’ J thought to herself. She thought she could see a hut ahead through the shrubbery. Sure enough, the hut ahead got larger as J ran closer. J’s arm ached with the weight of her food bag. J thought quickly. She really couldn’t bear carrying her bag much longer, so J dropped her plastic bag in front of the hut. If J escaped the police, she could always come back to the hut when she got hungry. J heard her bag rustle loudly as it made contact with the carpet of leaves on the forest floor. J suddenly wished she hadn’t done this, because she felt hungry and thirsty. However, J kept running, running for her life. She jumped over countless logs, darted from side to side to avoid trees until J thought she had lost the police behind her. J was tired from all the running she had done. Little did J know that she was about to run into a gigantic log that came up to her waist. J went flying through the air, and landed with an echoing THUMP. She saw nothing but black.
J seemed to be enfolded in blackness. She was standing in a room somewhere that seemed vaguely familiar, but J couldn’t quite distinguish where. Two figures were next to her. J looked, and saw that the two figures were her mum and dad. J reached out to hug them, but they faded away into nothingness. J felt like she was being carried. J didn’t know why, but she sobbed and cried and wept for what seemed hours. “Hello,” fuzzy voices in J’s head echoed round and round endlessly. “Hello?” The voices became clearer, louder. J opened her eyes and looked around. It didn’t take long for J to realise that she had been dreaming. It didn’t take long for J to realise the voices were from people. It didn’t take long for J to realise where she was. She was in the local police stations check-in area. “Now then,” One of the police officers spoke. He had light, sandy hair that was neatly combed. “We’ve got a few questions to ask you.” The officer paused momentarily. “My name is Officer Shelton. “What is your name, and how old are you?” He tried to make his voice warmer, but failed.
“M-my name?” J stuttered, remembering the prison sentence she would get. She decided to tell the truth anyway.
“I can’t remember my name,” J wondered what her real name was for a brief moment. “I call myself J and I’m fourteen,” She whispered, hoping and praying that the officers would believe her.
“Hmmm,” Officer Shelton toyed with a few ideas of how to get the answers he wanted out of J, but started with talking.
“Listen here young lady… J, I suppose. I don’t think you realise who you are talking to.” Officer Shelton’s voice intimidated J. She leant back as the officer leant forwards. “I think you need to understand that we here at the police station can do a large number of things to you.” The officer leant behind him and pulled out a scroll. He opened it to reveal a list that was longer than all of the officers were tall. The fragile ends of the scroll curled up round the officers’ feet, like a cat. “Now then,” Officer Shelton said calmly, waiting for another officer to pick the annoying scroll up, “Do you know what happened on the 23rd of December, 2003 in the south car park, roughly 11pm?”
“2-2000-2003???” J shook and shivered as if she had hypothermia. She took a deep breath and calmed herself down. “Ok. I’ll tell you what happened on the 23rd of December 2003.” Then J sat up and told the officers everything.

Sory Squach, did not even look up User iction for awhile, until you mentioned it elsewhere. I will have a good look when I get the chance. Sadly, I'm only making a quick visit just now!

Read it soon, Orwell!

Ahem!!!

This chapter is a bit off topic. If you don't understand just give me a shout!

Chapter 4 - Work, work, and work

“Why aren’t you working?” the perturbed master screamed. She had been looking at a picture of her… ‘No,’ she thought. ‘I can’t say it now. Not since…’ Tears streamed down her cheeks as she remembered her deepest, darkest secret. She touched the golden locket around her neck.
“I said WHY AREN’T YOU WORKING???” The master yelled.
“S-so-rry m-mas-master,” She stuttered uncontrollably.
“SORRY isn’t good enough!” Her master had now turned a frightful shade of purple. “Now get… back… to… WORK!” There were screams of pain coming from the warehouse downstairs. She couldn’t help looking. It was him, in pain. He was lying on the floor, motionless.
“O-o-ok,” She tried to stop stuttering, but she couldn’t. Her fingers ached and were cramped from weaving scarves all day in the stuffy upstairs room of the warehouse. ‘If only I could break free and take him, the other slave downstairs, my love, away to somewhere… anywhere better than this place.’ She laughed to herself. ‘Everywhere’s better than here.’ She noticed that the master was eying her suspiciously, and she also noticed that she had stopped. She hastily continued with her scarf, finished it, and tied on some decorative tassels. She put the scarf on her growing pile.
Then she thought of it. Her amazing idea.
“Excuse me,” She said bravely; hoping that her plan would work, “I need the toilet,” A few seconds later, the master sighed.
“Fine. It’s outside. I’ll come with you, after I clear this pile.” The ‘master’ gestured to the scarf piles and picked up a handful. She charged down the stairs like a crazed bull and threw all of her weight against the heavy iron door. She managed to open the door so that a slit of light was lighting up the dark staircase. She groaned with all the weight of the door on her body. She heard a set of slow footsteps gradually getting louder and louder and louder. Her breathing rate increased. Her heart rate increased. She felt sweaty though she felt the cool outside air. Suddenly, the door gave way and she fell onto the crisp leaves. “Freedom,” She thought, even though she wished he could be with her.
* * *
Sweat ran down his forehead like a running tap. He crawled toward the other end of the warehouse. The weight and strain of glass bottles, filled with illegal drinks strapped to his back was almost too hard to bear. He thought his spine would break and give way, the bottles falling onto him and crushing his ribs and organs. It was a horrible, but quick way to die. On many, many occasions he almost collapsed. ‘I have to keep going,’ he thought to himself wearily. ‘For- for my family…’ He stopped to wonder where his ray of sunshine was.
A bloodcurdling scream echoed throughout the warehouse.
His scream.
The woman, that beastly woman, she had made him scream. The ‘mistress’ as she wanted to be called. She had whipped him, leaving deep, bleeding scars on his left leg. He writhed in pain, letting the tower of bottles collapse and smash on the cold stone floor. She whipped again, again, again. He looked up at her with pleading eyes. Her mouth was curled into a smirk. “Please,” He whispered. She kicked him to the ground, leaving a muddy mark on his torn shirt.
“Please.” He said. The glass shards on the floor were digging into his back. She whipped again, harder. “Please!” He cried with more urgency.
“I will only stop if you work!” Her voice was firm and final. He was now covered in his own blood, his ripped shirt now crimson. He was also drenched in
Pungent juice.. The woman whipped him across his chest. Another shrill cry could be heard. The pain, the excruciating pain he was in, it was just too much…
He closed his eyes.
All he thought about was his angel, his ray of sunshine that he had left on the 24th of December eight years ago.
He reached for the light slowly and stepped into it.

The next chapter carries on from Cptr 3 - after J has told the officers everything.

Chapter 5 - Vexing Victorians

“So, you expect us to just believe you?” Officer Shelton raised an eyebrow. J nodded sadly. She was going to say that she was telling the truth, but the Officer had already turned away. There was a grumble of low voices. After a few minutes Officer Shelton turned to face J. “We would like to believe you, but your account is a story we’ve heard before. We can’t just believe something like that.” J was bewildered. How could someone say the same things as her? J felt like someone had just tipped a bucket of ice cold water on her head. “How cou-” J broke off as one of the many police officers gave her a piece of paper with some faint writing on it. “Bu-” J broke off again as she was interrupted by Officer Shelton. “Read it…… J.”
J figured that the officer wasn’t in the mood for arguing, so obediently, she read the writing on the piece of paper. A look of mixed horror, upset and anxiety crossed J’s face. She re-read the sheet three more times before looking up. The sheet clearly stated this: ‘The girl who is unable to remember her name will be attending the Victorian Private School for Girls by law until the court decide what to do with her.’
“I-I don’t want to go to a school. I’ve never been to one ever…” J’s voice trailed off in exasperation. Officer Shelton’s mouth curled slowly. “Well, you wouldn’t want to break the law would you?” he cheered mockingly. He had a smug look on his face. “Well?”
“No. No, I wouldn’t want to break the law.” J knew it was inevitable that she went to a school. ‘A school.’ J said the words again and again in her head in disgust. She would never fit in.
J looked up at the Victorian Private School for Girls. It cast an impossibly large shadow over the street. J shuddered, and stepped into the playground slowly. There were girls playing with marbles, playing hopscotch, singing angelic, catchy songs. To J’s disgust, they were all wearing pink, checked dresses with a heart-shaped logo. J might be a girl, but she wasn’t a girly girl. A tall woman in a flowery purple blouse and a short rosy pencil skirt strode over to J briskly.
“Ah, you must be our new student. Your name is?”
“My name is… well, I can’t remember my name, but I call myself J.”
A puzzled look crossed the woman’s face. “Is that short for anything?” J paused, wondering what J could be short for, but shook her head sadly. The woman was deep in thought. She was thinking of a name that began with the letter J. Janice, Jennifer, Jessica, Jasmine; but none of the names seemed to fit the new girl. Then she thought of one.
“What about Juliet?” The woman’s voice was full of desperation.
“J-Juliet? Hmmm. It’s very… sophisticated. I don’t think it really fits me. Maybe… Charlotte?” J had always liked the name Charlotte, but she didn’t know why. The woman’s face wrinkled in disgust.
“Charlotte?” She spat it out. “How is that refined, or lady-like?” J opened her mouth to reason with her, but saw the huge ‘VICTORIAN’ sign, so closed it again. The woman strode on, pausing momentarily.
“I’m terribly sorry, I’m being so rude. I haven’t introduced myself.” J wasn’t sure she wanted to know the woman, but walked with her.
“My name is Mrs. Stricktor. I am the headmistress of this school. I am very proud of it, Juliet. I have achieved many awards for things like…”
Mrs. Stricktor’s rambling went on and on. ‘Great,’ J thought sarcastically. ‘I’ve got a case of death-by-boring-stuff-that-none-cares-about,’

Once again Squach your writing and your age don't seem to match! I wish I had been writing at this sort of level so young.
Critiscms- J's escape seems too easy (unless its some sort of cunning bluff and she only thinks she has got away!)

Chapter Five (great title by the way quite Doctor Who!) I was confused as to where the conversation is taking place. From the opening of it I had assumed in a police station or similar but then they suddenly seem to be right outside the Girls School (whose Headmistress seems to have been educated at Our Lady! )
I was a little taken aback by the violence- writhing on the floor in his ow blood on broken glass being whipped- I assume you feel it is necessary to the plot or characterisation but if I can make a recommendation vioence in writing is like swearing in real life- if you do it all the time eventually noone notices and it fails to have an impact. I'm not saying thats the case here as its a one off (so far) bit of violence, but just passing on a general rule.

Overall you continue to impress with your writing Squach. I do however have a growing wish that it was in order, as the more I read of it and the more intriguing it becomes the more annoying it is to only have bits of it in the wrong order! Keep up the good work Squach and Kafria will be able to retire young on the profits.

Or I could go to uni! (I'll need all the help I can get at this rate! )

First thing - the paragraph in italics isn't J and some random lad. You'll find out who it was later, or I will have to explain if you don't.
Yes, the conversation carries on from when she is caught by the police, I should have put and extra line just before 'J looked up at the Victorian Private School for Girls' or put the asterix thingys in.
When I was plotting the storyline in my mind, i thought that amid all of the escaping (as you will see below and in the last chapter - (coming soon to a thread near you) - there had to be a tragedy and for the man to die the impact of the violance had to be quite big.

Oopsy, missed a bit off of the last chapter - went onto a new page!

A few hours of boredom later, J was snooping around the school. She had been shown her dormitory, the food hall and her main classrooms. J reached out for the handle on the door of a mysterious-looking room.
“JULIET!!!” J almost jumped out of her skin when Mrs. Stricktor shouted. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! You should be in assembly!” Then, Mrs. Stricktor grabbed J’s outstretched hand and dragged it, along with J, to her first assembly.

Chapter 6 - Infuriated

J stormed into her dormitory. “Argh!” She yelled. J had finished her first day. Already she had had enough. J didn’t notice the three girls that were staring at her as she carelessly threw her satchel of heavy books onto her bed.
“Are you ok?” The girl speaking had red hair that came to her shoulders. “Your name, is it Juliet? Tell me if I’m wrong,” She seemed a bit too colourful to be in a Victorian school. J answered both questions.
“No,” J’s voice had no expression. The gathering of girls looked confused.
“Juliet is the name Mrs. Stricktor came up with for me. I can’t remember my real name, but I call myself J. I don’t think Juliet suits me.” A girl with jet black mid-length hair in a tight bun stepped forward.
“Well I think that Juliet is an amazing name. I am Victoria. The girl with red hair is Marie and the girl with long golden curls is Miranda.”
J smiled weakly. “I’ve got something to ask. How do you like it here?”
Astonishment filled Victoria’s and Marie’s faces.
“How could you say that?” “What do you mean?” They spoke at the same time and seemed gobsmacked.
“Well, honestly, the lessons are really boring; the teachers are horribly strict; the lunch made me sick; tomorrow I have to go back to a three hour detention and how on earth do you like these uniforms!?! How do you live with this?” J stopped to breathe. She hadn’t vented like that in a long time.
“This school’s the best in Europe!” Victoria yelled.
“Some people say it’s the best in the world!”
“You really should not be mean like that!” Victoria was very defensive.
“You should not be here if you cannot be respectful!” Marie was the same. There was silence. Victoria and Marie barged past J, out of the room. A few moments later J blushed, grabbed her pyjamas, and ran to the bathroom.
“J, don’t leave!” Miranda called, “Please stay!”
“Why should I? All I say is wrong!” J was furious.
She continued into the bathroom, shaking in frustration. “Why does it have to be me with the stupid life, the stupid so-called friends, the stupid school, the stupid everything???” J cried in annoyance and desperation. “The stupid parents!” She hit her fist against the wall.
J was leant against the wall and slid down slowly. Hot tears ran down her face. Her sweaty palms held her locket, opening it and looking at the picture inside, seeing the three once-perfect faces smiling up at her. Suddenly the door opened. It was Miranda.
“I-I couldn’t help hearing you. What did you mean by stupid parents?” Miranda was nervous; she hardly even whispered.
“My parents left me when I was six. A man came and took them from me. The police think it’s my fault that they disappeared. I’ve lived in the forest here for eight years. Once I found a £20 note in the woods so I went to buy some food. At the tills there was a wanted poster of me that the cashier saw. She rang the police. They chased me to the woods. I tripped over and the next thing I know, I'm in a police station being questioned!”
“Keep going,” Miranda breathed.
“They asked me what had happened on the night my parents… went,” J struggled to find the right word.
“I said what happened, but they said my view matched someone else’s. Then I was sent here. I really don’t like it. And… that’s my story so far.”
“I'm so sorry,” Miranda whispered. J rested her head on Miranda’s shoulder. After a minute J sighed and lifted her head to face Miranda.
“Why do you hang round with those girls, Victoria and Marie? They’re so damn bossy. They’re very protective of this stupid school,”
“Shh!” Miranda hissed gently, “If you get caught saying something like that you’ll be in for it! All the girls here were once like you. They said something like,” Miranda looked around and continued in a whisper, “Damn, oh my god, you get the idea. The girls who spoke like that were put into ‘Training’. They were literally tortured until they learnt not to speak like that. It’s the same with everything else. I only stick with Vickie and Marie because they are popular.”
"Come on. Let’s get some sleep.”

Chapter 7 - Freedom

A sigh of relief filled Dormitory 3721. J had finished her first week. It seemed to have taken forever. One lesson lasted an hour and the school day lasted from half-past five in the morning, to five in the afternoon. She had twelve lessons a day, as well as an assembly. Once, in Science, J had and allergic reaction after smelling a particular Victorian remedy.
Her least favourite lesson was Speech. It usually lasted for five lessons. You actually got lessons on how to speak like an authentic Victorian.
J sighed again, and leaped onto her bed.
“Hey,” Miranda strolled in. “I wanted to give you this.” She held out a silver charm bracelet with the engraving: Friends. “It’s amazing, thanks!” Miranda gently put the bracelet on J’s slim wrist. J stared at it in awe.
“What happened before, I'm sorry. Marie and Vicky didn’t mean to act like that…”
"You really don’t like me, do you?” Miranda’s cheeks flushed scarlet.
“I-I do like you, Mer!” ‘Mer’ was Miranda’s nickname.
“You don’t, do you? And I gave you that bracelet!” Miranda hurried out.
J was desperate. “Miranda, I’m really, really, really sorry! Please don’t go! You’re the best friend anyone could ever have in the whole world. I would rather be here of all places with you than on my own outdoors. Please…”
‘She’ll never speak to me again.’ J thought. She was wrong.
“You promise?” J could hear a shy voice coming from behind the door.
“M-Mer?” J’s face lit up as Miranda’s head peered round the corner.
“Sorry about that. It’s something I do to new friends to make sure they want to be my friend. Sorry. To be honest, I don’t like it here either!” Miranda laughed. “I wish we could escape to some warm place…”
“Mer, you’re a genius! I have the best plan ever!” J exclaimed.
J’s plan was logical. It worked out on paper.
A loud bell rung. “That’s our cue!” J whispered. “Go!”
The girls hurried to the nearest fire door. “Have you got the matches?”
“Of course,” J replied. She showed the tip of the match box to Miranda from under her dress. J clenched her fists around the rim of her dress, grinding her teeth, and ripped a small section off.
“Are you ready?” J struck a match, flinching at the sudden light. It lit the dark corridors, the straight faces on the framed pictures, and the polish on the floor. Miranda clutched a small dusty suitcase stuffed with clothes. Carefully, J rested the flame on the torn dress piece. It lay there, dancing shakily for a few minutes. Then the fragment burst into flame, J dropping it in shock.
“Help me open the door! It won’t open, J!”
“Push the bar down! Quick! Someone’s coming!” Miranda risked a quick glance down the corridor. Just as J had said, someone was coming. She shoved the heavy bar down, and it finally opened. Miranda and J stumbled outside.
“It worked J!” Miranda shouted. J frowned.
“So, you didn’t think it would work?” She asked sarcastically. Miranda rolled her eyes.
“Having fun girls?” There, in a floral patterned dressing gown, stood Mrs Stricktor. She was holding a bamboo cane in one hand, and a torch in the other.
“J?” Miranda said under her breath, hoping Mrs Stricktor wouldn’t hear. “What?” J breathed. She felt she was shaking and tried to calm down.
“Run, on the count of three. One, two… three!”
Quickly, both J and Miranda turned around, and ran for their lives. They sprinted out of town, ripping off their uniform to reveal jeans, t-shirts, and scarves to keep them warm. The tatters lay on the road, occasionally picking up with the wind.
When they were on the outskirts of town, the girls rested on some large rocks. They were so out of breath that they couldn’t even talk to each other; they just smiled and nodded.

One so young, one so wise.... Pretty cool, Squach.

A bit too disrespectful to Head Mistreeses in my opinion! Why not write a story that shows Head Mistreeses in a more positive light? Hmm?

odo banks wrote:A bit too disrespectful to Head Mistreeses in my opinion! Why not write a story that shows Head Mistreeses in a more positive light? Hmm?

Because then J wouldn't want to leave!

I'll accept it this time - in support of solid story telling - but hopefully your next story will be about a nice girl who dreams of becoming a Nun and working with miscreant children at an upstanding institution like Our Lady. A Mary Poppins story but without the Pagan influences. Proceed - but I'll be keeping a moral eye on things, Squatch.