Change: 2014 (Heaton Extension Writers Anthology)
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About this ebook
Stories included:
Two Halves - Franki Tellick
Life, or an Explanation of Such - Ben Baillie-Gee
The Thing with the Dudes with the Wings - Laouena Le Louër
Miss Popular - Madi Cooper
On the Inside - Lauren Young
The End of Humanity - Leon Meier
Curiosity - Mia Porteous
Sailing Away from Comfort - Jesse Holmes
Goblins - Oliver Garrett
The Human Child - Jaz Tufau
Witless War - Henry Harrison
In an Instant - Bailey Peterson
The Price of Popularity - Ella Tucker
Beaulah Pragg
Beaulah works for Christchurch City Libraries, as well as teaching creative writing and independent publishing. She is a founding member of the Christchurch Writers' Guild, a free and accessible space for new writers to find encouragement and support. Her novel, The Silver Hawk, is the first in a science fiction / fantasy trilogy for young adults.
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Change - Beaulah Pragg
Change: 2014
Heaton Extension Writers Anthology
Edited by Beaulah Pragg
Smashwords Edition (2018)
Copyright © respective authors (Franki Tellick, Benjamin Baillie-Gee, Laouena Le Louër, Madi Cooper, Lauren Young, Leon Meier, Mia Porteous, Jesse Holmes, Maddie Flynn, Oliver Garrett, Jaz Tufau, Henry Harrison, Bailey Peterson, Ella Tucker) 2015
Cover image by Unsplash (http://pixabay.com/en/users/Unsplash-242387/) and used under creative commons license CC0 Public Domain.
Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favourite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
www.beaulahpragg.com
Table of Contents
Two Halves - Franki Tellick
Life, or an Explanation of Such - Ben Baillie-Gee
The Thing with the Dudes with the Wings - Laouena Le Louër
Miss Popular - Madi Cooper
On the Inside - Lauren Young
The End of Humanity - Leon Meier
Curiosity - Mia Porteous
Sailing Away from Comfort - Jesse Holmes
Goblins - Oliver Garrett
The Human Child - Jaz Tufau
Witless War - Henry Harrison
In an Instant - Bailey Peterson
The Price of Popularity - Ella Tucker
About the Editor
Other Titles by Beaulah Pragg
Two Halves
by Franki Tellick
Olive, a year before:
Olive Smith sat on her plastic chair, her arm leaning against the wooden desk. With the other hand Olive turned a lock of brunette hair while a lady with jet black hair and a crooked nose stood at the front of the class.
Eyes to the front,
her shrill high pitched voice squawked. Olive peered up. Now class, I’ve had an idea that you should write to someone from around the world, since learning about other cultures is our topic,
the teacher said.
Olive raised her hand to the sky.
Yes, Olive,
Miss Crow said.
Miss Crow, how long are we going to be doing this for?
Olive asked.
As long as you like, but it has to be at least a term. I’ll put a chart on the back of the class so we can see who is still doing this at the end of the year,
the large croak replied. Now Olive, you will be pen pals with Jock McCredie who lives in Edinburgh.
The crow burbled on with the addresses of all the pen pals while Olive received her stamps and sat back down at the desk.
Olive now:
I fling my bag on one of the hooks on the door. It’s been horrible since moving to the Council Estate here in London. Dad’s been working longer hours and Mum’s turning into a pig. What happened to the working mother I used to know? She used to be so happy and cheerful, working at Costa Coffee on High Street in Dumfries, but then she got scared by how all those separatists were talking and made us leave.
Now she’s got her eyes fixed on the television, her hoodie pulled right down over her forehead, to cover all the pimples spreading like the plague. With one hand, Mum is holding a cigarette puffing like a dragon, in the other is the remote. We’ve had to stop my ballet because there’s not enough money.
I head to my room. There are two beds, one for my sister Rose, who is sixteen, and one for me. I’m ten. I like to keep things neat and tidy, unlike Rose who just likes to throw all her clothes on the floor after she has finished wearing them. Once, I saw five plates with leftover food under her bed. I almost gagged with the sight of it. I don’t blame her really as it’s not much fun being around Mum.
I’ve got a desk where I write my letters to Jock. But what is there to write about in this dump? Sometimes Rose will come home crying greasy black tears of mascara. I hear her sobbing into her pillow, and when I ask what’s wrong?
Teenage stuff Olive, just stuff you’ll find out one day,
she says in a sore voice.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll come home crying black teenage tears like Rose. The sun is still shining like arms reaching out to me, pushing me forward, making me positive. The vote for Scotland’s independence was a few weeks ago and now there is rioting, even here in London. Wails of the Scots wanting to be free. I sit down at my desk and look over all my letters from Jock.
The first letter
Dear Olive,
Thank you so much for your letter, I really liked it. What are your favourite sports? I play football every Wednesday for my club The Rovers
. I’m thirteen years old. Blonde hair, light blue eyes and lots of freckles. What do you like to do?
Write soon. Jock
I peer down at his most recent letter
Dear Olive,
Everyone of my friends is angry about the vote. My parents voted ‘yes’. I don’t know anyone who voted ‘no’. People say the ballot must of been rigged. Everyone’s angry about their freedom being stolen. I don’t know what there is to complain about… doesn’t worry me, but then again, I’m not much of a historian. Oh I bet they will just forget soon enough.
Write soon.
Jock Clyde McCredie
I decide to reply. I pick up my pen and write in purple swirly writing.
Dear Jock,
Things are getting hectic here too. I hear the riots outside every night, and I wish people could just get along. How is the project you were doing for school, or have you finished that now? School has been quite hard, with all my homework I have been doing.
Write soon.
Olive Eve Smith
I look at the picture Jock sent me last year. I see a friendly smiling face, bright blue eyes shimmering like the deep blue ocean. Hair wild, thin, untamed in the ferocious wind. In his hands is the photo of me. We are together in the photo. I pin it up on my board. Outside, all the policemen are trying to calm the riot and I wonder if I, Olive Smith, will ever get to meet Jock Clyde McCredie.
The sun glints from the window into my eyes. It is bright, yet a cold breeze creeps around my shoulders and makes the hairs prickle upwards on my spine. Roars of pain fill my ears—voices shouting, I want my freedom
blare louder than Rose’s music, which is roaring like lions from the speakers. I kick the bed, then lay my head on my pillow and try to rest. Suddenly the door handle twists and in barges my Mum and my Dad. Mums tense hands hold a letter, a letter addressed to me. A letter with a Scottish stamp.
What on earth is this?
my mum screams at the top of her lungs, shaking the white piece of paper. A letter from Jock.
I, I, I,
I stutter. I thump my hands against the bed, quickly standing up. I was writing to someone in Scotland, we had to do it at school last year for World Wide Term,
I say quickly.
I can not believe this, my own daughter wanting to write to someone in Scotland! I mean Scotland?
I hear my mother mumbling under her breath.
I’m so confused and angry. But, but, but,
I start to say, but mum interrupts me, her hoodie covering her eyes and her pimples.
That’s enough. I’ve heard enough from you today young lady!
My mum is so red and angry, she suddenly starts ripping up the letter Jock sent me! Even dad looks shocked!
Nooo,
I scream, but they’ve already shut the door. I’m left in my room crying. How can they just make assumptions like that? They don’t even know the nice friendly guy that he is. Hot angry tears roll down the side of my cheek, like pencils rolling off my desk, hot like dragons breath. I bury my head under my pillow and try to erase what just happened with my eraser.
I am angry, sad and confused. How can my parents just walk straight into my room and heave all my favourite hobbies out in a quick whip flash. There’s only one way to get me writing back to Jock. And it might just work. I’ve had an idea that I would have to STOP writing to Jock and obey my parents orders so my parents will be happy, not angry. Once I know that my parents are back to normal and all the riots have finally stopped, I will try to persuade them that Scotland is a good country. In the mean time I will be taking some trips to my school library. This is no Wizard of Oz plan, where she runs away. No, no, no, this is just a simple and sweet idea that will hopefully, just hopefully, might work.
I start writing the final letter to Jock for the meantime.
To Jock,
I’m sorry to say but my parents have just discovered that I have been writing to you all this time and are VERY angry. I do not know why they are being so stupid! I’ve had an idea that I will try to persuade them to think you’re okay, and a really nice person. But for it to function properly I will need to obey their orders and not write to you after this. So please don’t write to me in the next few weeks or I may not be able to write to you again!
Hold on tight Jock!
Olive Eve Smith
One week later
The sun is shining, birds are singing sweetly. London seems happy today, wearing a big fat smile. The streets are silent. Well apart from the beeping horns of cars and traffic. It is silent. There have been no silly riots at all. Today is the day, I think, today is the day. My brain is nearly bursting from all the ideas I’ve crammed inside it. I’ve planned my own speech inside my cranium and yes, I think it is good. The glass of water is beside me. My hands are sweating ferociously, jaw clenched shut, eyes steady on the door, and here I go.
I open the chipped handle of my bedroom and take a deep breath.
I walk into the lounge. My parents are sitting on the couch watching the news. I clear my throat nervously. Her dad looks up. Olive?
I… I wanted to talk to you about… um… Scotland.
Her Mum scowls at the TV but doesn’t look at me.
See,
I hurry on, I read about it at school, and we did kind of steal their country, a long, long time ago, or at least, there was this rock that we put under our throne, and—
Olive, enough,
Dad says. That’s old history. I don’t want to talk about it.
But we used to live in Scotland, and we were happy.
Then they booted us out!
Mum snarls, glaring at me.
That’s not exactly fair,
Dad says. You were the one who wanted to leave.
How could I do anything else? There were horrible riots!
But,
I say. Everything’s calmed down now. They’re going to make a new treaty. So we’re okay now, right?
Mum opens her mouth, but then purses shut it again.
She does have a point, love,
Dad says. Is there really any harm in her writing to her friend again? They’re just kids.
Hmmmmmmm, I’ll think about it.
Later that night
Olive we have been been thinking,
I hear my mother saying in a hushed tone.
This is a bit strange I think.
It was a bit wrong of us to stop you writing to Jock.
A bit wrong? I think.
You were much happier when you were writing to Jock,
I hear my father say.
Finally they know what I’m talking about.
You can carry on writing to Jock, and anyway it’s not that big a deal,
Mum says, but there is now a slight smile painted on her lips. Scotland is a nice country and you have been writing to Jock for a very long time, so your father and I have been planning a family trip to Scotland next week.
"It does not really matter