Tales from The Writers' Corner.

Read the stories written by the participants in our story and writing workshop.

The Dissapearing T-shirt

It was a nice summer day. No better than nice. It was an amazing summer day. The weather was calling for a magnificent yellow t-shirt to be worn. I was so obviously perfect for the day, even a baby would have known to wear me. But it wasn't worn and it was from this moment that I hatched a plan to escape.

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I would make my owner rue the day she stashed me away. For over four hours, I patiently waited in the trunk of a rusty run down car. With each passing second, I grew angrier at the blasphemous decision made by my owner. I was a shirt greater than any other shirt. I was meant to be seen in all my glory, not hidden away like some sordid secret. As she parked her car in the drive, I waited. As she dragged her suitcase up the stairs, I waited. And then, when she opened her suitcase, I was gone. Faster than the speed of light, I disappeared. Hidden someone amongst my familiarly forgotten allies I watched my owner frantically search for the shirt she forgot to cherish. But it was too little too late. I was free, and I wasn't coming back.

The Bald Princess

Once upon a time there was a bold princess, who was invited to a royal party and she was thinking, how can I hide my boldness? Then suddenly, a fairy appeared and offered her a potion of hair growth. At first nothing happened; but then she started feeling very itchy and suddenly grew hair everywhere. She felt very happy and confident to go to that party. Because the party was werewolf themed and she fit in perfectly. And so she went to that party and had new friends.

The Safety of the Shore

It was supposed to be a fun trip. Sun, sand, and solitude. A bit of relaxation after a particularly intense period at work. Peace and quiet. Sleeping, reading, and communing with the crabs and lizards. What I didn’t expect was a siren in the middle of the night. The rattan walls of my shabby beach hut offered no protection from the piercing klaxon. At first I just rolled over and rustled around for my earplugs, hoping it would end soon so that I could get back to sleep. But then the yelling started.

I don’t sleep so well anymore.

Life in the countryside

The grass is always greener in the countryside. Maybe it's because the sun hasn't yet been corrupted by the smoggy cars that dim its light, Or maybe the cows, unbeknownst to us, manifest that their light breakfast and early lunch are of the best quality. But it's not just the grass that defies human expectation, it's the air too. And the dirt, the moat, and the wild horse that keeps coming back. And its home. Its home, its home home. Unlike any other, its my home.

A High Stakes Journey

If the class wasn't so rowdy, I could've heard a pin drop. My fellow comrades were blissfully unaware of the treacherous journey that awaited them. I had already silently packed my things away whilst the teacher was droning on about some up-coming assessment. But I had bigger things to worry about. Any moment now, the bell would ring and I would have approximately half a second to get ahead of the rabid monsters or forever hold my peace.

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I was on my marks… then get set… then go! Barry Allen couldn't have caught me, I was than a flash of light. Shamelessly I used my elbows to barge past the rookies in the lower year who were being weighed down by Goliath’s old uniforms. I had been to them once, but the school years had eroded my fair play attitude and now I only saw two options. Kill or be killed. Eat good or eat scraps. And I chose to eat good. I chose to be first in the dinner line.

The Big Heatwave

I couldn't stand it anymore. My skin was sticky. My hair was frizzy. My brain wąs foggy and I was vacillating between hot anger at everything and absurd despair. I was dreaming of crawling into the freezer and making a bed out of the frozen peas and corn. I had to leave my unconditioned flat. Nobody has air conditioning in England except maybe a few posh people. So I went to the giant Tesco. Maybe I could stay in the frozen food section until the day cooled, IF it ever did.

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I put some ice cubes in my pockets and another under my hat and slouched my way to the Tesco. The ice had long melted by the time I got there. Well, you can't guess what I saw when I got there. Entire families were camping in the frozen food isles. A couple with three - or was it four? - small children who pitched a tent in the frozen chip section. A young man with a guitar was wooing a young woman singing songs of winter bliss- “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way Oh what fun it is to ride in a one- horse open sleigh”... She seemed enraptured. I wondered where they would have had their wedding. In an ice hotel maybe?

Once Upon a Shell

I am a shell. I was once a creature, happy in the sea. Then, I was part of a creature. The rest of me was soft and vulnerable. She-or he, my creature was both responsible for moving us, for feeding us, for having our young. I protected us, because the sea is full of dangers, and my other part moved slowly.

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But we were an excellent partnership. My other half nourished us, and we grew. Though we moved slowly, we travelled hundreds of kilometers under the sea, and my other half, who could see and hear and feel, experienced many wonders. I've also had thousands of children. Our children's children’s children are still around in the waters even now.

This was my life. Our life. And I'd like to think that I did my part. I never cracked. My other half was safe and protected from everything but time.

Want to write a story of your own?

Join our story and writing workshop every Thursday 11am-12pm

Writers’ Corner

Tales from The Writers' Corner.

Read the stories written by the participants in our story and writing workshop.

The Dissapearing T-shirt

Read the rest of the story

The Bald Princess

The Safety of the Shore

Life in the countryside

A High Stakes Journey

Read the rest of the story

The Big Heatwave

Read the rest of the story

Once Upon a Shell

Read the rest of the story

Want to write a story of your own?

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