500 Word Stories Anthologies March 2015

The Moulsford English Department proudly presents:

Visions

500 Word Stories from the pens at Moulsford Prep School

Contents Introduction ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………. p.1 Life on Mars by Max Benster (8E) ………………………………………………………..………………………….. p.2 Life as a Bench at Jenkins Park by Charlie Ambrose-McCormack (8R) ….………..………………… p.4 The Last Journey Home by Tom Hart (8D) ……………………………………………………………………….. p.5 Money by Dom Osborne (7N) …………………………………………………………………………………….….… p.6 Flicker by Henry Wooding (7M) ……………………………………………………………………………..……….. p.7 The Crucifix by Jasper Laidlaw (7E) ………………………………………………………………………..………… p.8 The Gold Coins by Oliver Kirk (6B) ………………………………………………………………………….………… p.9 In Memory of My Father by Mason Archer (6F) …………………………………………………………….. p.10 The Monster in the Meadow by Archie Hedges (6S) …………………………………………………….… p.11 The Poster Portal by Jamie Firth (5MT) ………………………………………………………………………….. p.12 The Incredible Journey by Euan English (5JT) …………………………………………………………………. p.14 Smelly Ted’s Mission by Oliver Heard (5L) ……………………………………………………………………… p.15

Introduction Pablo Picasso once wrote that “all children are artists.” At Moulsford there is evidence of this every day, and collections such as this ‘Visions’ anthology not only provide an opportunity for the boys to see their work in print, but allow the wider parent-body to grasp a glimpse of just how talented and creative our boys are.

The stories come in response to the BBC Radio 2 500 word competition, which all boys from Year Five and above spent class and prep time drafting, editing and finally submitting. The English department also ran an internal competition, with the winning stories from each form being included in this anthology.

The following stories vary hugely in terms of theme, genre, atmosphere, structure, and just about every other literary commonality, however the one idea that draws them together is that they are all creative ‘visions’ as written by Moulsford boys. As readers we journey across continents, through the past, present and future, and hear all manner of narrative voices, including a teddy bear, money, and a bench! We read classic boys’ own tales of adventures through portals and gothic landscapes, and meet a number of fantastical creatures along the way.

However, it is perhaps the more contemplative pieces that stay with the reader the longest.

There are some sensitive themes covered at times, and it is worth noting that Mason’s story ‘In Memory of My Father’ may be a challenging read for children and adults alike. Please take some time to consider the content before sharing it with younger or more sensitive readers. Mason is an extremely brave young man and my sincere thanks go to the Archer family for allowing us to include his work in this anthology.

All of the authors in this collection have submitted work of an extremely high standard and this is reflective of some of the wonderful writing and creative thought that takes place every day at Moulsford. There is a growing buzz about creative writing here at school, and long may this continue.

Richard Martin Head of English Moulsford Prep School p.s. Whilst this collection will be enjoyed by all ages, perhaps any adult readers can take note of the second part of Picasso’s quote: “All children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.” Hopefully we can all draw inspiration from this anthology and ensure that (irrespective of age) we remain true to our own artistic ‘visions’.

1

Life on Mars

by Max Benster (8E) It came in an email. Just another email. But this would change my life forever. My life on Mars. I would live there, start a family there, and die there. They said it was too expensive to ever return.

The tests lasted ten years. Thousands of people “auditioned”. We were then narrowed down to a few hundred, then to just eight. And the eight of us trained together - for ten years. Four of us would go to Mars. For the rest of our lives.

The tests consisted of several stages. The “mental” stage was the hardest - two years of intense psychotherapy, and mind games challenging us to breaking point. The “educational” stage was designed to teach us everything we could possibly need to know for our new life on Mars. How to survive; how to develop our own food products; how to build and maintain our habitat; how to fix our bodies; how to cope emotionally in the company of three other human beings for the rest of our lives; how to be mid-wives and funeral directors. Thirtythree million miles from Earth.

There would, after all, be just us four. That was the scariest thing about this mission. Those three words resonated in my head from the outset. Just us four. Scared would be an understatement, terrified was more like it.

Then it came to the show, to decide which four would be selected. Just like any other reality show. Except this one would decide who would embark on the mission, who would change the destiny of humanity forever. The public would vote, and the four contestants with the largest number of votes would be the four chosen people.

It struck me as odd from the outset that the destiny of the human race would be determined by a reality TV show. But whenever any of us questioned this we were told it was simply necessary to fund the trip, and therefore integral to it. It was all about the Show.

And then came the final result. Ten years later, in another email. Just another email: Dear Mr Benster We regret to inform you that your mission to Mars will not proceed. It was never going to proceed. We are a TV production company. We don’t have the technological expertise or resources to colonise Mars. We aim for TV ratings, not the stars. That was our sole ambition.

Our goal. Our great vision. That’s all it ever was.

You have been fortunate to be part of the most successful TV reality show in the history of the world. Thank you for your endeavours and congratulations.

You are world famous. In this world. Planet Earth. Not Mars.

2

You can’t copy, forward or print this email, which will now automatically delete.

Thanks for the last 10 years.

Sincerely yours, Alexa Smythe Head of Human Resources Mars TV Productions Limited That was that. And there was nothing I could do.

3

Life as a Bench at Jenkins Park

by Charlie Ambrose-McCormack (8R) My name is Jenkins Bench, I think, I’m not really sure to be honest but it says that on the back of me so I expect it is. The name Jenkins comes from a man who used to be in charge of the village so a bit like a king I suppose. He was killed in action in 1940 in World War Two and that is when they made me. The people of the world put me here in this park, which is also named after him (Jenkins Park).

Life as a bench is not all that exciting really as there is nothing to do apart from sit there and watch the world go by, my best day is on Saturday because there is usually some type of sports match on. It depends on the time of the year, but my favourite is the winter when they play rugby. I have to say our village is very good at rugby; we normally win when we play matches against other villages.

All the other times are always the same, like it’s on an ongoing script. Every morning as soon as I wake up (at seven o’clock exactly because the church bells go off) I see Mary on her morning walk with her dog Cuddles. (I personally don’t agree with the name because he spends a lot of his time biting one of my legs, which does not hurt me because I do not feel anything that low but it has come to my attention that he is scratching the lovely green paint that has been there from the start but is nearly all gone now!)

After that episode a rather large man called Pat (I call him Fat Pat) comes along with his breakfast from the fast food place. He normally sits on me, which I cannot really complain about because that is the reason I am here and he is a very nice man, not that I talk to him but I can hear him talking to other people in the park and he is a very strong supporter for the village teams; he is always there on Saturdays.

Then just random people for a while until lunch when it is very busy; first some old folks arrive, three to be precise: Mary, James and Steve. Then there is the odd group of runners, cyclists and often some more random walkers arriving at the cafe next to me, and then Fat Pat arrives for his lunch.

That is it for the day until rugby. Training starts at seven after work and ends at eight and that is my day every day. I doze off at about nine and from eight to nine all I do is watch myself rust away into dust and the paint-work shed off in the wind.

That is my life as a bench in Jenkins Park.

4

The Last Journey Home

by Tom Hart (8D) A man stumbled out of the café. He was old, and seemed a little mad, but inside the wrinkly, small head, his brain was nimble and active. The fact that he was aloof and reclusive only added to the assumption that he was mad. He had soft white hair, light as if only just perched on his head, about to fall off at any given moment. I will not mention his name names do not matter; so many suffered that it would be unfair to be specific, to mourn over one man when so many fell.

He had eaten a meagre breakfast; food no longer gave him pleasure or any sustenance; he had lost all sense of taste long ago. He did not fear death or curse old age - he was already dead. The man was on his way to his childhood house, for one last glimpse, a reminder of his youth. He crossed the road without looking, causing a scene of consternation; horns shrieked and people shouted but he did not care, he was so withered that a beating from a car would put him out of his pain. ‘Life’ was not worth living anymore - Rūaumoko was angry and he was heading his way.

He limped along past the active streets and eerie passages to his austere old house crouching timidly on a hill, the wind assaulting it constantly. He stood at the rotting gate for a long time recollecting the memories and this above all else filled him with happiness. He walked up the path, spotted with stones and blighted with weeds. He reached the door and very slowly opened, unsure, for the first time that day, as to what might be on the other side. He wanted to do only one thing - to see his bedroom, only then would he be satisfied.

He climbed the stairs and again stood still at his door for a long time, absorbing the musty smell and observing his surroundings.

Dust accelerated up and over the crusty armchair, as a gust of wind brought a timely reminder of the house’s vulnerability. The air circled his body sapping the heat from it and the little life that remained. He stood up, his emaciated old legs straining to hold him, like the great titan Atlas holding the heavens. He stumbled over to the window like a drunkard and leant against the frail windowsill, the window of which looked over the vast, pure and untouched grasslands of the outskirts of Christchurch. He observed the omnipotent trees, towering above-never to be uprooted? The sky was perfect, unequivocally beautiful, clear of the clouds of trouble. The Sun rose lethargically like a weary schoolboy in the morning. He was content now, satisfied that his memories had been revived. That was when the cries erupted. The scene was shattered; as a pebble distorts a reflection upon water. The high pitched voice screeched vociferously, piercing the air as a knife. The ground began to shake.

5

Money

by Dom Osborne (7N) People use me to get things they want. People work just for me. People murder and steal for me. I live either in a box with lots of sections and lay there until I am exchanged. I also get magically get taken away electronically. People sleep thinking about me. I am the reason people wake up and work.

I live a life of luxury and relaxation. I don’t work and I don’t live in reality. I have more power than the President of America and the Prime Minister of Britain. I make the footballers rich and make the world clean. I provide the people with what they need. Some people even call me God. I control the government and the banks. People worship me. I come in different forms and shapes.

I live in harmony. I save people’s lives and animals lives. I make people happy and I provide them with fun. People wonder the way I live. People work for me, but treat me with no respect. They grasp me and squeeze me. They drop me in puddles of water and try to drown me. People have these creatures that tear me apart. They treat me as a pet.

People live lives up to 100 years old, whereas I don’t die. People print there face on me, I think some are famous. I represent power, love and joy. When people are upset I make them happy again. There is even a shop named after me ‘the one pound shop’. If I wanted to, I could create world war three. I enable people to have cars, trains, aeroplanes and boats. I stop fires, accidents and I prevent robberies. I give people education and opportunities. I heal the injured people. I am pensions, I am the government. When houses are broken and destroyed I restore them and fix them. People rely on me and I deliver. The people that don’t have me live life harder and struggle. People think I am the reason the world will crumble. People think I will destroy the rainforest and destroy nature.

I provide people with food to eat. Without this you would die. I can change a Life with 7 numbers; you could go from a wooden house to a mansion. I have the power to determine a life. All of what I can do is determined on the decisions you make. I can make a life go to prison, or I could make a life turn good. If you have me you should make the decision that is right. Making the simple decision can change your life.

I am money.

6

Flicker

by Henry Wooding (7M) There was a darkness. It was all-consuming, engulfing, and in my opinion, rather in the way.

I say my but it is difficult to claim an identity that you don’t have. I was… myself. It seemed, somehow that every time this process started I changed: gender, race, personality were all different and every day was a new experience. Starting up this was fresh and exciting, I could perceive the world differently every time I awoke but with no filter on who I became, sometimes the experience was… not exactly pleasant.

As time went on I felt more and more stuck in change and longed to be able to depend on something, anything except the darkness. It had been fun to guess who I would be but it was boring after a while and some things (like gender) were frankly quite embarrassing to check.

A sudden flicker awoke me from the trance that thinking had put me in. I knew what would happen. Soon the instructions would start and I would be at the mercy of the instructor as I turned into him/her. Instantly I gave the the instructor the default response. ‘Darkness.

Explore?’ The first words came through. Then, the sudden urge flowed through me and caused me to obey every word typed without question. I couldn’t place the urge but it seemed as if it had been with me since waking up here, it was almost as if I had been programmed to do it. I brushed off the thought and proceeded with carrying out the requests of the instructor. As I searched I found a key.

I relayed this information to him/her and he/she seemed to contemplate the next decision carefully. This gave me time to understand his/her personality. He/she was very shy and seemed to find comfort in that he/she was able to control me. I sensed that he/she had a taut relationship with his/her parents and turned to me as a friend, someone to be with and explore with. It felt nice to know that someone needed me and I felt touched by his/her sentiment.

Abruptly I was snapped out of thinking by more commands. He/she wanted to find a door for the key and after fumbling through the darkness I found a door, it seemed heavy and metallic. I eventually found a keyhole, thankfully the key slotted straight in. Turning it, I heaved the door open. As soon as I could make out my surroundings, (there was a little light in this room), I relayed the information back to the instructor. Oddly, however, I felt I had missed something. There was a strange feeling in my gut. I dismissed this as I knew my eyes were keen and missing things had never happened before. Then the command came through, ‘Explore’. I did as instructed. But soon I was falling, falling into an endless abyss.

Then the flicker, it had ended.

As her screen flickered and went blank, Sally sighed, she’d never beat this game.

7

The Crucifix

by Jasper Laidlaw (7E) It was late. I lay back on my pillow and felt the soft padding engulf me. My body felt as if it was sinking through the mattress leaving a human-shaped imprint on the bed. My eyelids were heavy as if they had weights attached. I knew that sleep was not far away.

Suddenly I awoke. My bed was cold, prickly and there was icy drizzle on my face. Confused I sat up. But then I realized with horror I was no longer in my bed. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw that I was in a frozen, wet ditch. I was surrounded by trees. I heard voices shouting, dogs barking.

“Down here, maybe he went this way”.

“Hurry, we’ve got to get him!”

“We need to make him pay!”

The voices were dark, sinister and terrifying. Somehow I knew they were after me.

I scrambled up the ditch and they looked straight at me. I was petrified. There was only one thing to do. RUN. I ran through the trees. The damp branches slapped my face and pulled at my clothes. I could hear the men louder now. The dogs had picked up my scent and were yelping and growling. They were gaining on me. I came across a small wooden fence. I leapt over it and found myself in a huge graveyard. It seemed to go on forever. Ivy covered the crumbling gravestones like spiders webs suffocating flies.

I could see the looming tower of the church in front of me. I knew that to hide in it would be my only hope. I slalomed through the graves and heaved open the iron-studded, creaky door. They were gaining, and gaining fast. I looked around in a panic. In the far corner I saw some stone steps that lead to the tower. Heart pounding, I ran up them and came to a ladder. I scrambled up it and discovered a door. A large, mahogany door. The wooden handle was carved into a cruxifix. As I tugged open the door the handle came off in my hand. I thrust it in my pocket. I slammed the door behind me.

I was outside again but at the top of the tower. I looked down and felt sick. It was at least four storeys high.

I could hear them banging on the door. There was only one option. I had to jump. I took a deep breath and leapt.....

I woke up with a start in my bed. I had sweaty palms and was breathing heavily. Thank goodness it was only a dream.

I rolled over to switch my light on but something took me by surprise. Something hard was digging into my leg. I put my hand in my pocket and took it out.

It was an antique, crucifix door handle.

8

The Gold Coins

by Oliver Kirk (6B) It was a picturesque and perfectly idyllic morning. The sun glistened on the sapphire blue sea, as the white horse waves galloped ashore. The spray broke across the entrance to an enticing cave. Two curious children, Judith and Peter, scuttled inside.

The cave opened up like a cathedral. The children looked into the void, awestruck. Its magic dragged them deeper inside, pulling them closer to its heart. Judith clung to Peter’s shoulder as the light faded. Like blind mice, they tapped their way past hidden rock pools.

Whilst other children might by now, have run back out, there was something entrancing, keeping Judith and Peter in the cave. They could barely see. Their other senses began to stir, and they were suddenly aware, they were not alone.

Peter touched the clammy cave wall for balance and as he did, he felt symbols scratched on its surface. He peered closely and made out a crude tally chart, etched in to the limestone.

As his eyes tracked down the wall, he saw a ragged figure crouched on the cave floor. A faint breathing sound indicated the figure was alive. Should they run or should they help?

They froze on the spot, and the figure sensed their presence. His body jerked round in their direction. Judith felt a chill run up her spine, as a shaft of light beaming down from above suddenly lit up his ghostly face.

The figure was draped in a giant ragged cloth that resembled the sails of a shipwrecked boat. It gave off a smell of horrible decomposing seaweed. His feet were bare, and his hands were frail and bony. His teeth were yellowy black, and looked so decayed they could be plucked out quite easily.

Despite his desperate appearance, the children felt no fear. Peter glanced back at the tally chart, and counted 13. Why was this helpless figure a prisoner in this cave, when he could so easily have walked out, Peter asked himself? As the children helped him to his feet, they saw his eyes were as white as snow. He was clearly blind. Had this kept him from trying to escape or was this cave a holy safe haven for him?

They guided him back through the challenges of the cave, and sat him down on the beach.

Even though he was blind, the bright light clearly made his eyes squint. His weary hands found new energy, and he began to frantically search his pockets. He found what he was looking for.

He held out his hands and offered the children each a shiny gold coin. He then leapt to his bony feet and ran across the empty beach. Judith and Peter gawped down at their coins, imagining what pirate adventures this man had been part of, and what special powers this cave had possessed.

A special feeling warmed their hands, as the coins melted into chocolate.

9

In Memory Of My Father

by Mason Archer (6F) It was Christmas time and my sister and I had arrived home after a trip to Euro Disney. The smell of Christmas trees and cinnamon hit me as I walked through the front door. My Mum asked my sister and I to sit with her and in the pit of my stomach I knew she was going to say something about my father. Nothing could have prepared me for what she was going to say. I screamed out in disbelief and hot tears rolled down my face.

It’s been two months since my father died from cancer. I knew he was dying but perhaps I had hoped that he would survive. Another treatment or operation might save him. Nothing could have prepared me for the news that day, looking back it all seems so surreal. I suppose I am coping well, but still life is tough. I knew that I wasn’t alone, I had my sister, mum and I was sure I wasn’t the only one going through a similar situation. Maybe this makes us part of a unique club, an army of us waiting for our moment to shine. I sometimes wonder why did it have to be him and us, he was such a good father and why couldn’t a horrible person like an extremist or murderer get it. Sometimes I also wonder how things are going to change. I just wish that he was alive again, I even imagine he is sometimes, I know this isn’t going to happen but I think it brings nice memories of him to me. This has been one big journey for me and I’ll never forget it. I loved my father very much for lot’s of different reasons, for his kindness, his coolness and everything that I did with him and the pleasure of that is amazing. What I remember most about him is his ability to be serious in one situation and the kindest most caring father in others. I already miss him loads for all of these reasons. I know that sometimes life can be short but is that just life? My father was all about positive mental attitude. I will push forward like he did and I will always have lovely memories of him. In some ways I’m lucky because some children don’t even know their parents or they just didn’t get along with their parents. This experience has taught me a lot of things that life is sometimes not what you expect it to be and life will throw things at you, but you have to learn that whatever life throws at you, you should always try to fight back.

Perhaps when I smell Christmas trees and cinnamon I will not let the scents remind me of sad thoughts but it will act as a reminder that my life changed that day and I will take all the positivity I can from that.

10

The Monster in the Meadow

by Archie Hedges (6S) It was a crisp, winters morning. The sun had awoken and was gliding through the peaceful village of Moulsford.

It was the perfect day for an audacious and adventurous boy like Jack. Jack loved the outdoors and everything it carried. He loved climbing, walking, running, horse riding and anything else you could think of to do in the countryside. If only he could venture past Bargon’s Meadow. Legend has it that there once was a kind, friendly wizard called Bargon.

He dated back to the time of 1638, to a time of magic and mystery. Everybody loved him and he healed the sick and wounded, he reconciled relationships and could even revive the dead. Later on however, he changed. Something happened, we know not what, and he turned evil!

He created a large castle in the local meadow and from there created the dark ages. Nobody knows why he turned this way but he did. He created a huge fifteen foot monster with huge, onerous horns and fists the size of boulders. His almighty roar sounded like a volcano eruption and the fur that coated him was as shaggy as a sheep dog, or a hundred. Bargon created the beast to defend his castle, we know not why, but perhaps so he could crush towns and dominate the world. The monster was impossible to defeat, as he wielded two gigantic sledgehammers the size of towers. Bargon’s wickedness finally ended after he was poisoned by a curse he himself had cast, but his powers transferred to the beast. The beast however is still alive and roams the meadow to this day….

As Jack couldn’t go to the meadow, he jumped on his bike and cycled to his friend Hazel’s house. Hazel and Jack were much alike. They both had creamy blond hair and ocean blue eyes. They both loved adventure and would hang out everyday after school. Jack jumped off his bike as soon as he arrived at her house and knocked on the door. Hazel’s mother was waiting there to greet him with a nice warm, “Hi Jack, come on in Hazel’s in her room.” Jack ran up to her room and the first thing she said was, “I have an adventure worth doing.” She told Jack about how she desperately she wanted to see the monster in the Meadow, “Come on Jack, it would be awesome!” Jack wasn’t sure but her smile made Jack think he had to. “We’re going to need more people though,” said Jack, “How about Jamie, he’s a cool guy?” but Hazel shook her head, “Too wimpy?” At that moment they both said the same thing, “Alex!”

They called Alex over and he came sure enough. Alex was tall, skinny and had curly, chestnut hair. He was intelligent and always knew what best to do. The three snuck out of the house and went to the meadow. As they arrived they heard an almighty roar. “Oh No!” they exclaimed at once…

11

The Poster Portal

by Jamie Firth (5MT) Jim Humphreys loved dinosaurs! He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been fascinated by them and he was now 10 years old. Jim was a quiet, inquisitive kind of boy, with dark blue eyes and dark brown, straight hair. In the holidays when his Mum asked him what he wanted to do, he knew straight away.

“Please can we go to the Natural History Museum in Oxford?”

At the Museum shop, Jim chose a massive poster of a T-Rex and a little toy Triceratops that he could sleep with. Then they wandered round the museum and looked at the dinosaur skeletons. Jim’s favourite was the Brachiosaurus. The final exhibit that Jim and his mum looked at was the Pterodactyl’s skeleton. It had massive wings and huge body.

When Jim got home he couldn’t wait to stick the poster on his wall. The T-Rex had massive teeth and orangey, brown skin, it looked ferocious. He also played with his new Triceratops whom he had named Terry. He had green skin and a red-coloured frill behind his head. Jim thought Terry looked sad and wondered if he would rather be back at the store with his friends in the Museum.

After supper, Jim went upstairs to bed. After his Mum had kissed him goodnight and walked downstairs, Jim crept out of bed to look at the poster. He was carrying Terry under his arm.

The T-Rex looked huge and a bit scary in the moonlight. He slowly reached out to touch the poster to remind himself that it was just a picture.

“ROAR!” The poster shimmered as Jim’s fingers touched it and all he could hear was the sound of a large dinosaur roaring. He stumbled back in amazement and dropped Terry. He crawled slowly forward and touched the T-Rex….. then snatched his hand away. But this time the poster did not shimmer and there was no roar.

He sat on the floor.

“I must be seeing things” he said quietly. So he grabbed Terry and jumped back into bed.

Jim just couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about the wall shimmering and the noise of dinosaurs. He hopped out of bed, took hold of Terry and very carefully touched the T-Rex on the poster with his hand. The wall shimmered and again he heard a loud “ROAR!” As he stepped back, Terry’s eyes glittered in the moonlight.

“I wonder……” he thought.

He put Terry carefully on the floor and touched the poster. Nothing happened. He picked up Terry and touched the poster.

“ROAR!”

12

“Aha! I know how to open the portal” he thought, “I have to hold Terry in one hand and touch the poster with the other hand!”

So, Jim ran to his wardrobe, grabbed trousers and a t-shirt, and pulled on his trainers. He grabbed Terry and ran back to the poster. Without a further thought, he clung to Terry, took a deep breath, stepped into the poster and disappeared in a flash of light.

13

The Incredible Journey

by Euan English (5JT) As I trudged across the hot sand, I saw saltwater fleas dancing and leaping around on the kelp. I jumped into the water swimming as deep as I could to try and cool off. As I swam out into the bay, the water was getting murkier and murkier, but I continued to play around in the tropical waters. After a while, I bobbed my head up, I was in the middle of the ocean! I was lost!

Water started filling my lungs as I grew tired, then I felt the nice fresh air coming back to me as my head broke the surface of the water. Suddenly I sensed a tight grip on my ankle I looked down I saw an eye as big as a fully inflated football. I quickly knew it was a giant squid, the biggest I had ever seen, including those in any documentary on TV. I did a loudest gulp I had ever done in my life. I was starting to be dragged down in the dark abyss. I found a flint in my jeans pocket (I always carry a flint, you never know when it can come in useful) and I started cutting away on the monster’s tentacle. I finally was freed. I looked down I saw a pool of blood in the dark waters below.

I tried to follow a shark trail back to land (this was the plan anyway) and to find someone who could help me. I got pulled down by a current but this wasn’t the worse thing that happened to me. The current turned on me again. It knocked my head on a dagger-like rock and it destroyed the shark trail which was in the sand. I woke up lying in some floating kelp. Where was I? I took a deep breath and I forgot how cold the ocean was and I saw penguins diving around me. I was in Antarctica!! I the found a piece of driftwood so I jumped on it and I was astonished to find that that it was a Sunfish! I quickly leapt off it and I was pleased I this action as I saw its gaping mouth and big puppy eyes!

Time was running out I needed to find my mum and dad. I asked a Macaroni penguin to swim to the beach but my new feathery friend wanted something in return, and that something was a lifetime supply of fish! I agreed to the deal and we set off. When we finally reached the beach I saw my mum and dad still there after six months! My dad was so hairy he looked like a caveman! I gave the Macaroni penguin a lifetime of pilchards. After all, a deal is a deal!

14

Smelly Ted’s Mission

by Eddie Williams (5L) The name’s Ted, Smelly Ted, Elite Non-Furry protection league. Assigned to a kid named Eddie for the last nine years. Man, I love that kid but it’s been a tough time. Now he’s nearly ten, he’s stopped falling off fences or walking into walls and finally he has stopped chewing my ear and burying me in the garden.

Let me tell you a little bit about my mission. You may not know this but boys’ brains don’t grow until they’re about ten. The non-furrys called mum and dad think they rule the roost but they are lame! It’s me who stops him throwing himself downstairs and skateboarding off cliffs.

Every night when it’s dark Eddie and I practise survival skills on the top bunk and learn data about high performance sports cars. This will come in useful if we ever need to make a quick exit! But mostly we talk, well, Eddie talks, and I listen. That’s what I was trained for. What little I do say is immensely important and you would be amazed at how much I can say with a raise of an eyebrow. The reason I’m smelly, is after we’ve talked, we bed down for the night in Eddie’s stinky pit. It’s a badge of honour.

Not everyone likes my smell. Non-furry mum person is enemy number one. She smiles and pats me fondly when Eddie’s around but I have to lie low when it’s just the two of us in the house.

She poses a persistent threat. Deep down at the bottom of the stairs is the den of torture.

Now, I am an elite furry operative, but this is beyond anything I have ever practised for. At first, I thought it was a Millennium Falcon type thing; like Eddie and I had been training for.

But once I was inside the steel echoey chamber my senses switched to high alert. Suddenly there was a WHOOSH, the spin of a dial and I was upside down in a steamy, watery, terrifying whirlpool of mass destruction. The weirdest thing was that the jets of liquid firing up my nose smelled like the best ever roses. Don’t forget, I’m a bear, I like water. But not this kind. I swam towards the light and banged my paws on the cold hard glass. I couldn’t escape.

I woke up hours later to the sound of Eddie roaring with fury shouting, “I told you thousands of times not to wash him, he smells like a girl!” It was the worst thing I’ve ever heard. It was like my guts had flipped upside down.

Now Eddie and I are constantly on our guard. Each morning he hides me so that I can’t be captured and tortured again. I use the art of camouflage and Eddie uses his wit and cleverness. I’m never going to those murky depths again.

So my mission is almost accomplished. That boy is my partner and best friend. Brain engaged??? Well pretty much!

15