WIELDER MAGIC FANTASY
Caoimhe’s tall frame perched like a lone tree on the hilltop, her unruly chestnut hair a rustling mirror of the tangled wilderness spread out below. To a distant onlooker, the young woman’s plain attire and lack of company would suggest her to be a Healer or even the local Witch, but Caoimhe was neither of these, and had the onlooker dared to venture closer, they would have instead recognised the purple flickering glint behind her pearl grey eyes. It was a glint that symbolised abilities far beyond any of Wildemaple’s resident magical folk. A rare but powerful breed matched in strength only by the perilous unpredictability of the sorcery with which they toyed. Bearers of a mighty and unbridled magic handed down through a bloodline almost as ancient as time itself. Caoimhe was a Wielder. And a particularly good one too. But Caoimhe was one of the last Wielders, and although her powers were strong, she had never been formally taught. Her father, also a Wielder, had died when she was a baby and she had never met any others. Her mother had raised her well, and she’d honed her strengths alone, but she wanted to achieve something greater. As much as she loved this tree and her quiet life, she wanted an adventure. But where else could she go? She had never been further than the forest surrounding her little village. Besides, it would break her mother’s heart if she left. But she knew she had to. One day her mother would understand; she was destined for something greater. It had been two weeks since Caoimhe had made the decision to leave. Initially, even the chirping of birds had seemed magical, but now it began to dawn on her that maybe she had made a mistake in leaving her life behind. She felt lost and guilty for not listening to her mother and giving up her powers when she could. Just then the dial in her pocket began beeping, bringing her back to the present. Clutching the dial somehow helped regain focus. She had never met her father, nor heard much about home except for the rare occasions when mother would sing praises of him. The dial was the only remembrance left of her dear old man, and her gut told her that this would help her in seeking answers and guide her through this journey. Although the first thing to find out is why did it beep so much…
While trying to figure out why and how the dial was beeping, she noticed that when she walked in one direction, the beeping would grow slightly faster and if she walked in the opposite direction the beeping would slow down. She had never seen it do that before and was amazed at how her father had found such a thing, for it looked too ancient to be made by him. She thanked the Gods for the sign, and slowly after figuring out which direction the beeping was trying to point her to, she started walking with reignited determination for answers and adventure. After walking for quite some time, she realised that the beeping was taking her farther and farther from the safety of the King's road, to where the trees were grand and archaic. The forest floor looked as if it had been undisturbed for centuries. She was elated - maybe this could be her great adventure. Guided by the dial she crawled through the forest to an abandoned cottage and when she stepped inside, she wasn’t surprised to see in the middle of the room an intricate wooden marionette dressed in a tiny royal sorcerers’ uniform. As she stepped closer, her dial began to glow a bright white, as did the puppets eyes and as if pulled by strings, it jerked to life and sat up. “Damn, what a nap.” It spoke. “Hello, I am Caoimhe, daughter of Ten Le the great Wielder.” “OK.” He stood, moving more fluidly than before, as if lifted by air, and dusted himself off. “I’m Bartleby.” “D-did you know my father?..” “Nope.” He takes the dial from her hands. “Do you know the way to Wildemaple?” This seems unwise, following an unknown magical creature. Mother would be unimpressed, should she really follow him? "How did you come to be here, Bartleby?" Caominhe was curious, especially as the dial that Bartleby held seemed to have stopped beeping as he moved with surprising ease for one made of wood. Bartleby walked through the twisted underbrush, away from the hut he had awakened in. Caominhe walked behind, her clothing getting caught as she followed the being that held the clue to her greatest adventure. Bartleby had yet to answer and she wondered if he had heard her question. Her lips parted again to ask, when he stopped, and she ran into the back of his slight form. The dial began to beep incessantly as a doorway simmered into existence. Wildemaple could be seen through the ripple of the doorway, but Caoimhe knew that when she stepped through, Wildemaple wouldn’t be what greeted her. Bartleby said nothing as he threw the dial through the doorway and with a strength that surprised her, sent her cartwheeling after it.
Caoimhe was elegantly surprised as she entered on through and arrived back at the house she grew up in. However, she was confused when at first, she could not recognise the stunning pregnant lady with luscious long hair weeping next to the water fountain that she had danced around as a child. Unintentionally, Caoimhe found herself walking towards her, being moved by a deep-seated connection. As she moved closer to her, Caoimhe was shocked to realise that the woman weeping was her Mother and that she was the child inside her womb. Caoimhe wanted to comfort her but the woman could not hear her. Caoimhe was completely immersed in the situation, when out of nowhere the dial beeped. The woman looked up. The beeping stopped. “A long time ago, I made a device that would beep like that. It would guide me to where I needed to be.” Caoimhe was silent. Her mother continued, her expression wistful and complicated.“Memories fade over time. Realities and stories get tangled,” Their eyes locked. Her mother drew a deep breath and told her a story. A hundred stories in one. A woman who enchanted dials, a lonely girl who animated a marionette. They were all true, and they were all about her mother. Every bedtime tale her mother had ever told, long after she had forgotten the truth in them. “You have adventure in your blood. I want you to live your own adventure.” A familiar man entered the garden with a puzzled expression. Caoimhe passed him the dial. “One day this will change your daughter’s life,” The simmering door reappeared.
WRITTEN BY:
Sue Donym Alanna Shruti Ali Madison Pmull Tegan Emily
SUSPENSE ON MANDELL STREET SUSPENSE/THRILLER
It was Christmas eve and Angelina sat sipping her hot coffee. Out the window she saw her new neighbour Robert dragging a bag. She hadn't seen him for almost two weeks and was expecting to meet him at the neighbourhood Christmas party. Angelina waved at him but he seemed too anxious to notice her. It was unusual but she didn't bother about it as she was too busy packing gifts for her grandkids. Later that afternoon, Angelina saw a few police officers in the neighbourhood interrogating people. Angelina, wondering what had happened, decided to wake her husband. He was sleeping more and more since his dementia diagnosis. Together they went into the worried crowd on the street. A police officer informed them that a 5-year old child had been missing in the neighbourhood since morning. The officers did not find any signs of struggle at the child's abode, so their current working hypothesis was that the girl had gone to a friend’s house. "What do you think happened hubby?" Angelina asked her husband. "Are the officers coming for tea?" her husband replied, clearly in a daze. He had always been an empathic man; if anything the dementia seemed to have brought that quality out of him even further. "Where's Rupert? He might want some coffee too wouldn't he?" Angelina's husband suddenly added. She was sure he meant Robert, their new neighbour, as her husband was one of the only people to have talked to him for any significant length of time. Angelina looked around - Come to think of it, Robert was absent in the crowd. Should she note his absence to the officers? Better not, she thought. Robert was known to work night shifts and often slept through the day. "Perhaps I'll just go around and knock on the door" she said absently. Angelina went up the front steps of her neighbour's house and knocked. No response. She peered through the windows. All was dark inside. She put her hand on the door-knob. The door was unlocked. "Robert?" she called. Angelina entered the house quietly. "Robert". Nothing. Suddenly a hand was over her mouth. "Listen very carefully." it said. "You're going to come with me through the back and get in the car" Angelina did as she was told.
"Do not make a sound or I’ll shoot,” the man said. Angelina nodded, as she felt a metal tip digging into her clothes, pushing her along. Dreadful sensations coursed through Angelina’s body like a disease. She could feel her blood pounding in her ears, and she felt sick in her mouth. A million thoughts ran through her mind. Who is this? What does he want? She lived in a small town where everyone knew each other, yet this was not a voice she recognised. Suddenly, a sweet scent surrounded her and the last thing she saw before drifting off was the opened trunk of a black car, with a large bag already sitting in it. --In a moving car, Angelina was woken up by the sound of a man shouting, “You should have locked that damn door! What are we going to do with her now?” Angelina blinked groggily, barely able to make out the inside of the car. Robert, her neighbour, was on the passenger side, looking quite pale. The other man, she couldn’t see and she dared not move. Strands of greasy red hair peaked over his headrest, and he said “You're a fool Rob!” Robert was starting to look a little green. “I...I just wanted to make him pay! He stole from me and I wanted to hurt him back! It's not my fault she came in.” “I dont give a crap about your stupid revenge quest Rob! What are we going to do with the hag?” The child, Angelina thought. Slowly, she creept her hand out toward the bag dumped beside. Her heart fluttered as her fingers met with soft warmth - an enveloping small finger bone. Warmth. Life. Silence broke her trance and she jolted back as a gun was held to her face. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have time for any last wishes crap.” The red-haired gangster cocked his gun. Angelina’s heart felt like a train pounding down the tracks. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner last Sunday but I just thought I should inform you that the food was a little salty.” Robert muttered. “Now, do we have to kill her?” “She’s seen too much. She knows too much!” His fingers seem ready to pull the trigger. “I’ve seen nothing. I know nothing!” Angelina cried for help. Bam!! The bullet pierced her skull. Darkness engulfed her. --The next thing Angelina knew she was sitting in her house, sipping her hot coffee on Christmas eve. Zapped. She swore what happened wasn’t a dream. To make sure, she looked out of the window to see Robert dragging a bag. It certainly wasn't.“What just happened? Did she….? Was she…? Should she…?”
Robert got to his car and opened the door. Angelina snapped out of her thought bubble back to the present. She had to do something, now. She ran through the hall and out the front door, slowing her pace as she walked to the mailbox. “Hi, Robert!” she called, “How’s your morning been?” “Yep. Ok. Yep.” Robert said, looking like he clearly wanted to escape. “Are you alright with that heavy bag?” Angelina inquired innocently, walking towards him as if to help. “Fine thanks!” Robert replied quickly, his voice breaking. He roughly hauled the bag up and slung it into the backseat. Yikes, Angelina thought. Maybe I’m just making this worse. But she wasn’t going to let this go. She had to help that little girl. Could she call the police now or was that premature? “Rob? It’s freezing out there. Come in for tea.” Her husband’s characteristic drawl resonated through the patio. Robert reluctantly smiled and slammed the car door shut. Once his back was turned, Angelina darted to the car and yanked at the handle. Staring at the bag, she tried to make out the form of a child but instead found the name “Rupert Hansson” emblazoned in gold. She drew a sharp breath and froze momentarily. Returning to confront her husband, Angelina was startled by the sight of Robert reclined in an armchair, tranquil and relaxed - seemingly asleep. “Don’t worry honey. It’s time I returned the favour. The tea won’t last that long - keys are by the mantelpiece.” her husband said. As she unzipped the bag, she felt a warm hand and let out an audible sigh. Gently resting the child on the couch, she noticed the sweet scent of a freshly bloomed Datura flower.
WRITTEN BY:
The Punisher Saphira Harper Iyuser Atalanta Baarn95 Alanna Kenneth
ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND ESPIONAGE LGBTQIA+ It was night in the city. The sound of jazz spilled from nearby clubs and dark cars with leather tops roared along the streets. Ruth was ready. She walked along South Wabash looking for the tell-tale blue door. “Aha!” she thought as she neared a gas lit entryway with number 426 stamped in gold lettering. She stopped momentarily, straightening her tie, suit jacket, and bowler hat. Always make a good first impression. She knocked on the door. It creaked ajar. “My name is Ruth and I’m working tonight”. The door swung wider into a dim hallway. A pair of sapphire eyes surveyed her coolly. “Jordan.” they said, extending a gloved hand. “You’ll be working the roulette tables.” Jordan swiftly pulled her inside and through a second set of ornate doors. “What do you know about Jerry’s?” they asked. “It’s for the wives,” Ruth replied. “Exactly.” This was her first major mission after a decade of training and preparing. Ruth had always been in the 'excellent' group of her training course but the reason she was chosen to perform the task this time was because she looked ‘petite and harmless’. She still felt bitter about that comment, but it would be forgotten soon. Her adrenaline was rushing at the moment. All the sleepless nights researching and memorizing the background of the gang members, all the daily bruises from the martial arts practice just to prepare for this one mission, to infiltrate the ‘Chicago Outfit’. Jerry had only taken over this place three months ago but quickly turned it into the most popular spot in the neighbourhood. Daniel, or Danny, a handsome young Italian man, was reported to be Jerry’s right hand man. However, his role at the bar seemed to be just to entertain the wealthy married women. Ruth knew what she had to do. Find the target - Jerry's wife - seduce her, and infiltrate the Outfit's ranks. She looked around the room at the various tables. Natalie Carraway would be somewhere near the front of the room. Ruth meandered through the tables and ran the dossier through her mind. Dark hair, slight build, grey eyes. “Bingo.”
Ruth spotted her sitting quietly to one side of the roulette wheel and moved toward the table. "Good evening Mrs Carraway," Ruth said, taking her place. Natalie glanced over her martini and Ruth stopped dead. It was the same pair of grey eyes Ruth had spent nights dreaming of, yearning of. It was two years since Ruth had looked deep within those eyes and had felt a sense of belonging. She felt her stomach hurling, a tight knot forming in her throat. She managed to utter a hushed, “Lauren?” hearing her own constricted voice. The grey pair of eyes seemed just as startled. Two years ago, Ruth had spent the most incredible time of her life with Lauren. The two of them had only spent one weekend together, but for Ruth, it was then that she felt her truest self and surprisingly, her safest. The weekend had come to an end when Ruth learnt that Lauren was married. Now Ruth knew to whom and her stomach tightened at the thought. How would she seduce ‘Mrs Carraway’ now? How would she complete her mission? “What on earth are you doing here?” Lauren/Mrs Carraway hissed, looking around to see if anyone was looking at them. The harsh reaction stung Ruth a little, though she tried to hide it. “I’m working a shift here,” she replied coolly, “I didn’t realise you’d be here too.” “Oh,” Lauren said. She looked slightly disappointed that Ruth hadn’t sought her out now that the immediate shock had passed. Ruth looked away, not wanting to see the hurt in her eyes. She glanced back at the bar and was reminded of the Outfit and how important her mission here tonight was. Could she really throw away this mission (and probably her whole career) for love? Yes. Oh, God, yes. Theoretically, nothing had changed in two years. Lauren was still married. Ruth was still devoted to her work. But in reality? With those grey eyes on her, Ruth wanted nothing more than to throw it all away. Tell Lauren the truth and run away with her, run away from the Outfit and from her mission and with Lauren’s soft, warm hand in hers. The love of her past threatened to overwhelm her. The only thing keeping Ruth together was her sense of duty and the knowledge of Lauren’s beautiful eyes on her. This was the moment. She had to choose. Closing her eyes to steel herself, Ruth decided. Years later, she would dream about taking another route, and fantasise about the what if. “Ruth?”
Hearing Lauren say her name brought back a flash of memories, some darker than the others, but none that didn’t feel like home. However, Ruth knew that if she let her past dictate her future, she would soon be homeless. It took only a few glances for her to realise that little had changed from that beautiful weekend two years ago. Within a few seconds of listening to that affectionate, passionate call, Ruth resolved to use their colourful past to succeed in her mission, and all she needed for that was the love that Lauren had had for her. With the queen of hearts at her fingertips, nothing could stop Ruth from turning her biggest weakness into her strength not even love. “Do those memories of our time together keep you up at night as well, Lauren?”Ruth’s eyes slid down slightly, looking her over. Lauren shied away, covering her face but the tell-tale red creeped onto her face anyway. Ruth understood that this was cruel, but it was her swan song for memories that are best kept as that. With a quick brush of fingertips, Ruth leaned closer to Lauren. Ruth’s breath scorched the red cheeks of Lauren, making her heart beat just that tiny bit faster. “How about we create some more of those memories together? For old time’s sake.”Ruth slid her fingers into Lauren’s, and pressed the queen of hearts into her hand. Written with only a room number and a time, Lauren’s eyes sparked with the fire Ruth remembers from their old trysts. The mission has started off well.
WRITTEN BY:
Harper Mint Amanat Alanna Gabrielle Baarn95 Jo
WOLF 1061c SCI-FI
The Cowal Valley’s latest sandstorm thunderously lapped against the window of Andrew’s quarters. While the station’s walls were soundproofed, the crash of rocks regularly disrupted any semblance of rest. As Andrew dressed, he reflected on his research. While terraforming is a regular practice among the stars, nothing had yet been done to this scale; here on Earth, where lives and cities are at stake. High-pressure winds often carry these storms to Brindabella National Park. Decisive action was needed to protect the capital city from being engulfed by the encroaching desert. Andrew, arriving at his monitors and viewing deck, was reminded of the importance of his task anew. Even though the storm threw itself against the beginnings of the Wolf 1061c alien flora being grown under observation, they continued to withstand its onslaught. At first, introducing the unknown species to reverse the desertification appeared to be well worth the risk. That was until now, Andrew thought as he scrolled through the newest data. Using the original observations from Wolf 1061c as a reference, Andrew noticed mutations already becoming apparent in the plant. While some mutations were expected in order to deal with Earth’s far longer orbit and more gradual weather changes, the mutations that Andrew was observing manifested faster than predicted. The most alarming being the size of the seed pods, which were initially recorded at an average length of 5cm. What Andrew was seeing now appeared double that. Grabbing the day's sample kit, he entered the adjacent greenhouse, when a shift in the soil caught his eye. Concerned, Andrew bent down, gently teasing whatever was out of the soil. With a strangled gasp Andrew dropped the object and it fell amongst the plants. It was a wriggling severed finger, but with roots. As he looked up, he noticed more digits poking out of the opening seedpods. The finger appeared nothing like a human one; it belonged to an inhuman creature. Bewildered, Andrew scurried back to the lab. He ran a scan through the soil and researched the resulting pictures on his device. They matched with those of a prehistoric creature - a dinosaur. “What in the world is happening here?” Andrew spoke out loud as if there was someone else besides him in the station. He had single-handedly led this mission as few peers endorsed it, overlooking the dwindling population on earth. Researching dinosaurs, he remembered the existence of a book handed down to him by his grandfather. He sprinted to his room and pulled out a blood-red cover titled, The End and Beginning of Earth. He re-read the Latin prophecy that translated to “Once in every hundred million years, the life-cycle on Earth will come full circle and return to the beginning.”
He hurriedly read on, running his fingers along the lines of ancient language as his glasses translated them into understandable words. The sandstorm raged on as he read. The heat was unbearable and sweat rolled off of Andrew’s nose onto the book, blurring the line his trembling finger landed on. “All lives must end to allow new life to be born.” The book crudely suggested. “The flower of scales from the earth will devour the warmth and return life to the belly of the Earth.” Andrew forced himself to throw the book down. Nonsense, he thought, humans do not possess abilities to predict the future, after all. These mutations could be used to our benefit, perhaps we just need a bit more data... That’s when Andrew realised the scratching noise was not coming from the sandstorm. Sweating profusely, Andrew dashed out of his room, following the sound of the scratching that stood out in stark contrast to the howling sandstorm. Re-entering the greenhouse, casting a fearful gaze among the Wolf 1061c plantation, he could hear the noise, sounding like a knife being scraped along a plate, coming from his left. Poking up out of the soil was a scaly hand, containing three digits, with sharp claws that were scraping on the metal floor, pressing down hard, as though it was attempting to leverage whatever was connected to the hand out. He instinctively realised he could be in danger. Running back to the greenhouse’s exit, closing and locking the hatch as he went, his first thought was to destroy the plantation, before whatever that... thing was could get out and wreak any havoc. But something incredible, scientifically, could be happening... was it worth destroying over fear? Back in the lab Andrew wracked his brain for a solution, ‘Think! The Wolf 1061c was native to the planet Tazenda, what other species grew there?’ He began to look for the data containing the other species samples that had been brought back from distant galaxies. ‘If there is something that can combat the Wolf 1061c flora in its natural habitat, it might just have a chance of defending itself here on Earth.’ He found the vial with the label ‘Cactinematod’. The round, pale green plants looked quite harmless, so he opened the vial and tipped the sample on to his palm. Two things happened in quick succession; the green plants burrowed into the skin of his palm and a being entered the lab. It was scaled, about 4 feet high and covered in rough thorny spikes. It let out a high pitched wail and its three-fingered hand clawed at the ground with untold strength. Andrew froze in terror, there would be more of these creatures growing and bursting out of the soil, he had to do something! But his body had a will of its own, something was happening to him…
His body felt hot, and he felt excruciating pain, letting out a guttural sound that caused even the creature to pause. Looking down at his hand as he roared uncontrollably, he saw glowing streaks snaking down his arm. It felt like he was being eaten alive, but his hand was clearly still there - or was it hands, his vision blurring as he writhed. Suddenly, a calm came over him. He knew what to do. He stood up and ran full tilt, ducking under scaly legs to arrive in the midst of a swarm. And then, spreading glowing green limbs out, Andrew let himself be consumed. The creatures were sated for now, having feasted on the soft thing. It wasn't until it got bright that they noticed a green glow from their bellies. Suddenly they all fell, writhing in pain. As their bodies were consumed by the glow, their stomachs burst, and countless Andrews clawed their way to freedom. The spaceman landed on the remote desert location; it had been 37 years since the remaining population of Earth had fled after the Wolf 1061c mutation outbreak. He looked around at the decrepit plantation site, there was an eeriness about the place that stayed on his skin, like someone was watching him just out of his peripheral vision. But that was impossible, the scans had come back completely negative; nothing was alive out here anymore. His job was clear; get a soil sample, get a flora sample. He would then take it back to the space station where the remaining population inhabited. He looked down at his feet, ‘that’s an interesting species’, he thought as he reached down and picked up the round, pale green plant. The tiny buds burrowed into his skin. And so all lives must end to allow new life to be born. He headed back to space.
WRITTEN BY:
Lazaras Mooning Cats Muskaan Angela Jonathon Anna Blue Fairy Anna
DESDEMONA'S LUCK SUSPENSE/THRILLER
Leaning back in her chair, her eyes darted quickly to those around the table. You had to be quick when reading the room, so no one caught on to your "luck". As the cards were revealed, it was clear she had cheated best, the king of thieves in this dingy den. Outside, she revelled in the weight of the coin in her satchel before turning the corner, straight into the pain of cold steel puncturing her stomach. She sat up, disoriented, the shaking only stopping after her eyes had taken in too much light to return her to sleep. "Apologies Miss Desdemona, but you were screaming again, and I thought it best to wake you. And this way, you won't miss your classes" said the maid firmly as she left. Audibly groaning, she hurried to pull on the latest fashions - impractical but good for hiding her street clothes before later hijinks. As one of the respectable noblewomen of England, she had little to no space of looking less than agreeable. “God forbid that the gentlemen walking in Mayfair confuse you with a newfangled hoyden, Desdemona,” she could hear her mother’s disheartening tone ringing in her eardrums. After what seemed like a moment of perpetuity, Desdemona stifled a yawn and put her half-finished sampler on top of the imported bonheurs-du-jour. “I shall continue my needlework tomorrow,” uttered Desdemona to Lady Truscott. She excused herself and it was no more than half an hour when she reached the Devil’s Acre, the area she knew better than any duke or viscount. She was about to turn into one corner when a raucous voice brought her to a halt, “Avast! Bird of Paradise like you doesn’t belong in a street reeking of diddle.” Panicked, Desdemona touched the dagger hidden underneath the hem of her stomacher. Before she could turn to face the voice, a grip like a steel trap snapped shut around her arm. Desdemona however was an artist, having painted many red landscapes with her dagger. Her knife stopped inches from the towering man’s face, embedded in the fleshy palm of his enormous hand. “You live up to yer reputation demon, yer as quick with that knife as they say.” the giant man groaned. “Pardon the scare, had to see if it really be you under all that finery. I’ve a job befitting a person of yer particular talents, if you’d kindly unstick yer knife from me hand.” Desdemona withdrew but did not sheathe the blade. She felt the stares of the alley’s denizens. “There’s too many eyes here, we can talk business at the Ram’s Head. And if you touch me again, you’ll find that I don’t miss twice,” Desdemona cautioned.
Desdemona could feel it in her gut that she was getting into something she should steer clear of. After all, she had to maintain her dignified ladylike stature which her mother so articulately preserved to get her married to the county’s prominent Lordship’s son. But here she was walking through a reeking alleyway that was synonymous to mischief and squalor with a man that she nearly gashed. They reached the inn and plodded across to the far corner of the rustic wooden bar. “What is it that you’re here for, old man?”, she interrogated. “Yer man has been snatched by the Hawkhurst gangsters and you gotta save his skin,” he replied. “What a dud!” she mumbled. There he was again, her dangerous love affair coming full circle, creating havoc in her life. Frowning, Desdemona mentally surveyed her options. It was certainly plausible that Sebastien had become entangled in one of Hawkhurst's nefarious webs, but who was this informant before her and how could she be sure his word was an honest one? Desdemona prided herself on her ability to present with the poise and elegance of a lady, while simultaneously dancing across the precarious double-edged sword that was Britain's underworld. But her love affair with Sebastien had propelled her far further into its murky depths than perhaps she had anticipated. A relationship with a Frenchman was risky enough as it was, but Sebastien wasn't just any Frenchman. He was a spy. And that made Desdemona guilty of treason. If she was to believe this man and to go after her love, she would be risking everything. Not just her place in society but her life. The question was, was Sebastien worth it? Yes. Of course he was. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any other choice but to listen to this man, particularly after the rumours on how the Hawkhurst gangsters treated their prey. Travelling by nightfall, the pair approached where Sebastien was supposedly being held. Desdemona cautiously opened the door, keeping an eye out for any traps. Standing in front of her was her lover, his arms behind him. He appeared unharmed, and Desdemona took a sigh of relief. But in her brief moment of weakness, Sebastien ran at her, trying to grab her waist. Confused yet not entirely surprised, Desdemona pushed him away, kicking him down while grabbing her dagger. She spun around, managing to slice through the other man’s arm. Quickly grabbing and squeezing the red rivers beginning to form on his limbs, she managed to push the giant of a man down to the ground where he lay, cuddling his arms.
Sebastien had always been quick to his feet in a fight. She felt the cold kiss of steel at her throat before she had even managed to pull herself off the bleeding man on the floor. Desdemona froze. Sebastien’s lips rested soft against her cheek in a familiar way. “Yield,” he breathed. Desdemona fought a habitual shiver as she brought both of her hands up. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said. “Try me.” His voice was cold and unrecognisable. She let the dagger fall. The sound of steel echoed through the cavernous storehouse. Sebastien pulled Desdemona to her feet and spun her in a slow circle so she could see the five other men, all large and arrayed in weapons, covering the exits. Each bore a small red scar in the shape of a bird’s taloned foot on their cheeks. The brand of the Hawkhurst gangsters. Desdemona's head hurt after seeing those red birds. In her mind, all the memories from when she was 10 years old came back. She now remembered why her grandmother passed away: the Hawkhurst killed her. And she saw a little boy with sea-blue eyes saving her life and hypnotising her to fall asleep. In her dreams, Desdemona still hears the voice of that little boy: "See you Desdemona, my love…” Now, Desdemona looks at Sebastien who had just knocked down all the Hawkhurst gangsters. "Are you the little boy?" Desdemona said. "You remembered?" Sebastien breathed, surprised. He held back a sigh and explained everything. "Your grandmother's death is Hawkhurst's mistake. I wish that you can forget everything and live happily. I love you, Desdemona." Sebastien said in a silvery voice. Desdemona kissed him. "I cannot forget, but I know we will be happy as long as we are together. I love you, Sebastien." Desdemona whispered with tears in her eyes.
WRITTEN BY:
Ashley Edwina Xander Saphira Sue Donym Nomes Gillian Vie Vie
HENDERSON PARK CRIME/MYSTERY
It was a cold night, and the only sounds that could be heard were of owls hooting. Robert was about to drive back home, but within a few kilometres his car broke down. Robert didn’t have the slightest patience at times like this. He was agitated and irritated, that’s when his phone began to ring. He picked up the call but couldn’t get proper reception from where he was now. It was his wife, who thinks he works at the International Bank on Walker’s street. Actually, Robert was busy closing up a case that he had recently solved. Hence the delay to get back home. “Why today?” Robert mumbled to himself. His life was a complete mystery to his neighbours. He seemed like a sociopath to the public which always made things complicated. And right now, he had no choice but to walk through the trail near Henderson park. As he walked, Robert kept trying to ring his wife back. She would be worried that he wasn’t home yet, even if she had no idea what his real job was. However, there was still no reception and Robert felt as if he was walking further and further away from civilisation. Henderson Park was dark and empty even though it was early in the night. No one wanted to be here after dark. But Robert wasn’t afraid, just distracted, his mind flicking back and forth from work to home. He almost didn’t see it, the lost shoe lying by the edge of the path. It seemed odd that a grown woman could lose a shoe without noticing. But as he peered into the darkness under the trees, he saw the woman – wait, women, three of them, lying dead in a pile. Though the scene was unsettling and unexpected, it wasn’t one bit grisly. “There’s no blood”, he murmured. How could three women, uniformly dressed in black crop tanks, teeny tiny checked skirts, fishnet stockings, and sparkling peep toe mesh stiletto heels, be found dead and bloodless? The quiet eerie moment was suddenly broken by Robert’s blaring cell phone. His wife managed to get through him, courtesy of one bar reception. “Where are you honey?”, she remarked lovingly but panicky. “The downtown club we went to last weekend has reported three service girls missing since two days." He plummeted on one knee astonished at what he had encountered. “I’ll call you back sweetheart, keep the doors locked”, he asserted. Robert was convinced that this was his case to solve, and he so hoped he would stumble across a clue that would lead him to find the elusive perpetrator.
As he went ahead to investigate, it hit him... how could he take the case when he was fired from 'The Organisation'. The complete scene of what had happened earlier that day flashed in front of him. Jack and Olly had betrayed him and plotted a scenario which portrayed him as 'the villain'. "Bloody scoundrels!", said Robert under his breath thinking about how he had taught and trained them the ways of 'The Organisation'. He couldn't come to terms with the fact that his boss with whom he had worked for over 15 years could believe that Robert would do anything to harm the reputation of 'The Organisation'. The night sky was covered with thick grey clouds making for an eerie sight. Robert decided to go and check on the bodies nonetheless - his conscience wouldn’t let him just walk away. Despite the trees above, the area was clear of plant debris. Sidestepping some torn strips of fabric and puddles of strange fluids, he got up close to the bodies. Haphazardly splayed across one another, it was hard to discern anything. He hesitated, “I can’t leave fingerprints… and it’s not like you can feel it anyway.” He unceremoniously kicked the bodies off each other. “Sorry,” he said awkwardly. Now separated, he caught sight of something odd. Each woman had hands pressed together, as if they were praying. Looking closer, he saw remnants of glue between fingers. Following on, he observed faint track marks in the crooks of their forearms. “Huh,” he raised an eyebrow. He continued his search, mentally apologising to his wife, but before he could find anything else interesting, a loud bark cut through the crisp night air. Robert froze in his tracks. The bark cut through the silence like a foghorn. The LEDs of a torch blinded Robert as he turned around slowly to get a look at what he hoped would be someone friendly. “Look at what the old bat has dragged in.” It’s that voice. Croaky from years of cigars, but always speaking down to you like you were an idiot. “Jack. What are you doing here?” “Finding the killer revisiting the scene of a crime, obviously.” It’s happening again. Robert took a closer look at Jack, making sure to focus on the details this time. Sweat pasted the hair to the face, hands were shaky, and that look in his eyes. Crazed, like he was simultaneously a thousand miles away with tunnel vision. In the other hand, a syringe. “You’re right in one regard Jack. The killer is revisiting the crime scene.”
A warped smile twisted at the corners of Jack’s mouth and he laughed coldly. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you Robert? All that snooping around behind backs. Years of service to a company the government refuses to believe exists. You think you’re god-damned king of the world. And yet, I’ve outsmarted you.” The pair had begun to circle each other, Robert’s eyes trained on the syringe in Jack’s hand, Jack’s manic gaze flicking between his opposition and the corpses before him. Robert knew he was cornered. The likelihood of making it out alive and well was looking grimmer by the second. Until a thought struck Robert and he allowed himself an inward smile. Jack may have the cunning and ruthlessness to pull off a stunt like this, but he had one major flaw. A flaw that would inevitably give Robert the upper hand. Jack hadn’t met Robert’s wife. Suddenly, in came Robert’s wife. The car blazed through the park, only allowing Jack mere moments to swivel back his head and face his doom. The car skidded, ripping up dirt as Jack’s body went flying off into the darkness. The only evidence of the collision left behind was Jack’s lifeless arm and syringe barely illuminated by his torch now laying in the grass. The car’s driver door swung open and Robert’s beloved artificial intelligence beamed to life, “I came as soon as I received an alert that your personal vehicle broke down.” “Found the bodies— and Jack, who in truth found me first,” Robert managed to croak out as his adrenaline pumped. “There is no time, honey. You need to get in. They are looking for you now,” explained his wife, concern nearly overpowering her voice. Robert always knew there would be advantages to being married to the job.
WRITTEN BY:
Allan Alanna Saphira Siddhartha Yoshi Jo Sue Donym Lazaras
THE GIRL NEXT DOOR COMEDY
Why people flocked to this beach every summer, with its grey sand, grey sea, and grey sky, was a mystery. The fact that his family lived there all year round was a tragedy. If you asked his dad, the real tragedy was that the O’Learys next door had sold their holiday home to a cold looking family with no interest in street parties or any of the other communal performances. He would call them smart; at the age of twelve he already knew that the ultimate neighbourly gesture was invisibility. Lodged firmly between his mum and the woman who holidayed on the other side of them, on the corduroy couch, he ate the spring rolls that were being passed around and looked out across the sand dunes. The next morning Charles woke up to the sound of his parents having a heated argument. “For the last time - ” his mother cried. “Mariah Carey is the best female pop singer of the ‘90s!”. Charles had heard this fight regularly and decided to take his leave outside into the backyard. “Salutations” a voice said over the fence. He looked up from his SpongeBob kit. A pale girl with a cheerful expression looked back. “Are - are you one of the new neighbours?” Charles asked. She stared at him, silent. “I’m Charles,” Charles continued. “Daisy,” she replied happily. “Are you out here trying to escape your family too?” he asked. She smiled with twinkling blue eyes. “No, just thirsty”. Charles put down his Patrick figurine. “Oh, did you want a drink? I think we’ve got some lemonade in the fridge.” Her face lit up with glee. “I would love to! Got any blood?” "B - blood?", said Charles.' "Yeah! Don't suppose you have Type O negative in the house? I'm not fussy though... It's like asking for Pepsi when all people ever have is Coke." "N - no," said Charles, looking at Daisy's teeth as she grinned, trying to see if those were just canine teeth sticking out. "But - uh - I can get you lemonade. Or Pepsi as well, actually." Daisy rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, can I have both?" "Pepsi... and lemonade?" "No, Pepsi and blood." "Ah. Right. Of course."
Charles didn't know what to think. Was drinking blood normal in her family? Would he offend her if he didn't offer any? At any rate, Charles didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings... especially those of a girl that pretty."You know what?", he began, "If you come inside, I think we might actually have some in the fridge." “There’s a gate out front, you just have to lift the latch!”, he called out. With a smile, Daisy laid her hands on the fence and parkour jumped into his yard. “Woah, how did you do that?”, Charles exclaimed. “Oh my dad hosted the show ‘Man vs Wild’ for ages! He just retired. Have you seen it? This is nothing. I’ve had to rappel down rocks as smooth as butter and eat carcass roasted on a spit.”On closer acquaintance, she looked eerily familiar. Entering the backdoor he felt both dread and excitement. 'Blood lust' and the guts to back it up. Perhaps she could be wooed with some beetroot juice, or a very rare steak? “Have a seat, back in a moment with the er…blood pepsi!”, he called. Grabbing the reddest liquid amongst his mother’s cocktail mixers - cranberry juice – he emerged from the basement, when he saw her, glass in hand, full of red liquid, chatting away with his mother. “Mum?" he sputtered. "- and so he said All I Want For Christmas Is You doesn't count as music, so I said Honey, I'll Be There, One Sweet Day, When You Believe." explained his mum, sipping from her own wine glass of Pepsi. "I have no idea what you're talking about." replied Daisy uncomfortably. "Oh, Chucky, my loonie prince, have a seat, Daisy here is our new neighbour." Daisy shot a pained look Charles' way. Maybe it was the way she disrespected his mother, or maybe it was the way some of the blood dripped slowly from her mouth, but either way he dropped his cranberry juice along with his expensive Spongebob figurines. He was in love. He nervously side-stepped in and sat next to Daisy, he could smell her perfume, the same kind his mum uses, and blood? That really was blood. Daisy offered him the glass. “Try some”. Charles stared from her beaming eyes to the wine glass. Suddenly, the fleeting feeling of love he had for Daisy was eclipsed by the realisation of who she was. Or rather what she was. “Could we have a word outside?” he asked casually. “Of course,” she said quaintly, putting the wine glass aside.
Charles’ mum looked on curiously as they headed down to the beach. Charles stomped ahead. He sensed Daisy arriving behind him. “I know what you are,” he said quietly. “Say it,” Daisy replied. “Your family are cold…they keep to themselves,” Charles continued. “You said, ‘salutations. You’re friendly, engaging, beautiful and…” he paused, “and you have a taste for blood.” “Say it,” Daisy urged.“You and your family… you must be… you have to be… investment bankers,” Charles held his breath waiting for a response. Daisy snarled, her upper lip curling. “This town will be ours. Your holidays homes will be taken and destroyed and turned into a new casino,” she laughed maliciously. Charles could see in Daisy’s eyes her hunger for what she seemed to be describing as a financial reign over the town. He wasn’t entirely convinced that Daisy was an ‘investment banker’. His heart started to race as she edged forward. “So Charles, if you, for some reason, weren’t around anymore, would your family miss you?” she said in a low tone, just inches from his face. “Y- yes, I think they would,” Charles replied nervously.Charles wanted to sprint back to the house, but his feet stayed cemented in the sand. This might be the end for me, he thought to himself. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, because you won’t be going anywhere after you hear what I have to offer,” she said. “You seem good with people, and that’s exactly what makes a great investment banker! How would you like to come work for my family business?” “Family business?” thought Charles. A career in finance is not exactly something he had considered before. He has always pegged it as an immoral occupation, profiting from the financially ignorant. However, he cannot doubt that in this economy, a stable profession would be prudent to have. To let go of such an opportunity would be quite shortsighted indeed .… “Does it have health insurance? ”“Of course!” Daisy retorted, chipper as ever. Charles nodded and extended his hand in a gesture of agreement. Suddenly, Daisy leapt and aimed for Charles’ jugular, sending both tumbling over to the sandy beach below. Charles could feel his blood drain from his neck, as slowly he was overcome with a thirst…a thirst for reaping the profits of gentrification! Daisy gave Charles a peck on his nose and whispered “Your contract will arrive in the mail in a week, taking into account logistical disturbances.”
WRITTEN BY:
Selby Baker Wanda Ivan Plk Count Duckula Saylin Simone Saphira