Wednesday, 24 September 2014

Poem - To Help

All I want is to help.
All I want is for you to be happy.
All I want is for you to trust me.
All I want is for them to stop.
All I want is for you to say yes.
All I want is for you to talk to me.
All I want is for them to grow up.
All I want is for you to smile.
All I want is for us to be a team.
All I want is to help.

Poem - Words

Words are powerful things.
They can change a person entirely.
They can help or they can exacerbate.
They can prove someone wrong or right.
They can hurt or they can heal.
They can mean different things when said in different ways.
They can pass or they can fail.
They can show true feelings or hide emotions.
They can save or they can kill.
Words are powerful things.

Monday, 14 July 2014

Riddle - Describing An Object

                It sits, gripping hold of its prisoner. Curling round it to make sure it can’t escape. You can see it looking at you, through its one, big, round eye, and you can tell what it is thinking; Watch me while I make this prisoner suffer. Watch me while I watch this prisoner scream. Watch me, while I torture the prisoner before you. Watch me, before you can watch me no more. So you can’t help but watch this hurtful murderer, while it tortures its prisoner ‘till death.
                First, it stretches the frightened victim like an elastic band. Ignoring the screams and the shouts of fear coming from within. It carries on pulling and stretching until finally, the victim is nearly crushed against the wall. Then, without second thoughts, it throws the poor prisoner against the wall, and leaves it there to lie. You can hear the laughs and jeers coming from within this evil monster.
                But alas! This murderer has not finished with its victim on the wall. Finally the murderer pounces upon this victim, so weak, and snatches it up off the wall, leaving a patch of blood lying in its place. The murderer now stretches the victim even further than before, beyond the wall. It then throws the helpless victim to the ground, injuring it even further. Then, without warning, the murderer kicks it so hard it lands outside the prison. But why? Why did it just let the prisoner go? That must be the end of pain and torcher for the now discarded victim…
                Snap! The victim’s gone. Died just then. Snapped in two. Crushed by the murderer’s jaws. They came up and tore the terrified victim to pieces, leaving blood on its horrendous set of teeth. The teeth being sharp as knives.
                That was the prisoner gone. The victim had been killed. But do not think that is the end of the hateful murderer too. Like any good murderer, it needs another victim to capture and lock away. So beware! When you are sleeping tonight, the murderer may be on its way… To tear you up into tiny pieces like the victim it tortured yesterday. 

Sunday, 13 July 2014

Short Story - Conspiracy of Shadows

             Luckily, I had been standing by the window on that frosty yet sunny evening on December 5th. I had been brooding over how to tell her the news when I saw the shadows. 1. 2. 3. 4. 4 shadows. Huddled together on the wall. Two big, sturdy shadows, towering over the bricks. One small, slight shadow holding a device. The last, a medium sized shadow with long, flowing hair. I stood, clutching my wine glass, in my shabby jeans and my faded t-shirt, staring at the animated shadows on the wall.
             Even though the weather was deteriorating, the shadows met every day on the wall opposite my window, where I stood annotating the peculiar movement of the shadows. They would converse with each other, standing very close to one another on the bricks. Occasionally the medium sized shadow would suddenly do a large exaggerated movement, which was then hushed by the small shadow. Every day I continued to wonder what they were discussing down there, out in the cold. I always watched them, by the window, drink in hand, phone right next to me. Every day I grew more and more intrigued why their body language was so subtle. I always looked over to the picture of her and I. I still haven’t told her. But how can I when she has been acting the way she has? I couldn’t tell her, otherwise the thing that I dread could happen, just might.
             The day came, December 19th, when I was feeling particularly angry. I had told her the news the night before and she had not reacted the way that I had expected. She had speculated on the news for a while and then blew up. Why on earth couldn’t she, for instance, be calm about it? Although I could not stand still, I still stood at the window that evening to watch the shadows. I was fed up, I decided, just watching these silhouettes act out their suspicious story on the wall. I wanted to see their darkened faces for myself. I made a rash decision. The door violently slammed shut behind me as I stormed out of the flat. Finally I arrived at the wall on which they met. But they had gone. Where? Why? Surely it was too early for them to silently slip away?
             My patience was tested as I waited for the evening of December 20th, when I would put my plan into action. The evening finally rolled round and I stood, not by my window, but outside, below the glass hole in the wall, opposite the wall where the shadows met daily. Seven twenty five. They should be here soon. I crept over to the over-sized wheelie bins which regularly consumed the packaging of my ready meals and my empty beer cans. Silently, I crouched down behind the big black one and waited. I didn’t know how long I was going to be waiting for or if they would even show up. Courage built in me as I waited for them to appear. I was excited to see their figures close up and hear what they were discussing.
             Eventually, the four black characters arrived on the wall. As usual they started to silently talk to each other, without using any grand gestures. I strained my ears to hear the voices of the bodies that the shadows belonged to. The only thing that I could hear was a faint whisper. What was it saying? I squeezed my eyes together and concentrated hard on listening to the soft voice. I wanted to know what they were saying. I glanced over to the bricks to watch the shadows whilst listening to the voice. The little voice became harsher and the animated figure of the small shadow seemed to exaggerate their movement. The shadow looked as though it was elaborating on a piece of information. The other silhouettes seemed to keep glancing over at each other.
 I crawled past the large green bin and towards the wall that separated the busy street from the dingy back-alley. I reached the tall graffitied wall and tried to peer round the edge. I couldn’t see them. Footsteps. Fearful that they might see me, I got up and stood with my back against some stacked up boxes. One last step back and my foot caught on something. The boxes came tumbling down with a crash. The floor was pulled from underneath me and my feet where above me in the air. I fell back onto the large pile of rubbish and boxes with one final almighty clatter and then silence. I tensed my body and held my breath tight in my chest. With a terrified look in my eye I stared up at the shadows which were frozen on the wall. Without warning, one of the larger shadows whipped something out of their jacket. They held the weapon firmly in the hands and stretched their arm out, the muzzle pointed at the wall. I lay, fastened to the floor by my own fear, as the shadows walked towards me, getting smaller and clearer as they came. I examined the figures as they walked and my mouth fell open. How? Why? A shiver raced down my spine and my eyes started to sting as I came face to face with the owners of the shadows.

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

Poem - A Prison

She is a prison.
Her hair is the darkness that falls across the criminals when the sun wants to hide,
Her eyes are the torches that flash into every corner, searching for suspicion,
Her mouth is the prison doors that hold many secrets and let very few escape,
Her arms are the cell walls that are scratched every time they see their past scampering across the room,
Her feet are the handcuffs that weight the victim down and prevent them from moving freely,
Her mind is the prison cell bars that lock a person away, not letting them see the world.
She is a prison.
And she cannot escape.

A Little Introduction...


My name is Bethany and I love to read and write. Ever since I was young I have always been making up stories and now it has become one of my favourite hobbies. I read lots of books and regularly write short stories and poems. Recently, I met someone who I very much inspire and who persuaded me to make my work public.
I made this blog in order to share my work and to create a place where I, and other people, can easily access my writing.
I hope that you enjoy reading my short stories and poems and I am looking forward to posting my work online.

Bethany x