writing >> h u r r i c a n e.

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This was for the same contest as 'FF', but I didn't actually enter this. The cover was for another entrant but it, along with two other covers, gave me inspiration for a short story. I don't currently have the third cover and the second and third chapter are still yet to be finished, though I know where I am taking the story. Not edited.

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Whole School assemblies at Miton Secondary School took place every Tuesday during tutor time in the morning. The large hall in which they were held was the sports hall and the teachers would sit or stand around the sides whilst all the students sat in rows in the middle, Year 7 at the front and going back until they reached Year 12 and 13 who sat on the benches usually used in PE lessons. The rest of the school sat on the hard linoleum floor.

Over the years the older students had formed seating arrangements among themselves and so it was unusual to see anyone sitting anywhere new except for the Year 7's in the first term before they had a chance to accustom to the school.

That was why on the sixth Tuesday after half-term a lot of the kids stirred out of their lax state upon sitting down. Mainly it was the Year 9's, the year group which sat behind the year 8's and infront of the year 10's; not the best place to be. The Year 8's though they were oh-so-cool not being in Year 7 anymore and not being the youngest in the school and the Year 10's thought they were oh-so-cool not being in Year 9 anymore and starting their GSCE's and being able to drop French. Year 8 and Year 10 were the two loudest year groups so the stir was unusual in itself because a) it was a stir and b) it could be heard above the clamour of the Year 8 and 10's!

The stir was caused by the fact that 9A (who sat infront of 9B and behind 8B) weren't sitting down becuse they couldn't find their usual seating order. This was because Ryan, the boy who sat 5 people in from the left and 6 people in from the right, wasn't sitting where he should be. Infact he wasn't anywhere along the two Year 9 lines and this was catastrophic because he seperated the two most annoying boys in Year 9 and the boys who made the most trouble.

After the teachers had dived in and placed one of the girls between the boys, stopping them from causing any trouble (as they probably would if they were next to each other) at some point in the assembly.

Then everyone started looking around for Ryan, very nervously. Ryan had broken his arm recently and the teachers really didn't want to lose him. It was only when they found him sitting at the back sitting next to a Year 9 girl did the rest of the Year calm and sit down.

On interrogating the boy they found he was sitting there due to the fact the guy on his left was rubbing against his cast and hurting him. Straight away the teachers agreed to let him sit at the back, partly because they wanted to be kind to the wounded boy and also because time for the assembly was running out, and then rushed off to their own seats; leaving Ryan and the girl on their own.

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Ryan looked over at the girl as the rest of the school rose to sing the first hymn. The girl stood as soon as the third word had passed everyone elses lips, but Ryan only stood once the first verse had been sung. Sitting at the back definitely had it's advantages.

"Hi." He looked up from the girls legs in surprise and at her face. She was looking at him with slight disdain in her eyes.

"Erm...Hello. I'm Ryan."

"Well, Ryan," she said his name warily; as if it was some sort of thing that might contaminate her "take a picture, they last longer." She turned back to the front and when she did he pulled a face at her, starting to sulk already.

Then he frowned in confusion and not in annoyance. "Wait a second, why are you sitting here?" Ryan whispered to her as his eyes flashed back to the board at the front where the words of the last verses of the hymn were being projected.

"I always sit here."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Agoraphobia, Enochlophobia, Demophobia or Ochlophobia." Was her hushed reply.

"What?!" He whisper-yelled, earning himself a glare from a sixth-form.

"Phobias. I have a phobia of crowds." She answered simply before proceeding to sing the last verse along with everyone else. She then sat gracefully on her chair and didn't look at Ryan once as the Headteacher started telling everyone about the new detention classroom and rules for the playground now it was getting wet and slippy on the grass.

"Seriously?" He asked finally as the rest of the student body clapped as the head stepped down and was replaced by the Head Boy who was carrying a large cheque.

"I prefer not to lie." She responded without so much as a flicker in her eye direction.

"Sarah Sullivan, Hannah Danders..." the girl stood as the name Hannah Danders was read out and started walking towards the small stage at the front, along with 5 other girls and 3 boys all in Year 8, 8 and 10. Ryan frowned again until he realised that the slide behind the Head Boy was talking about a charity that these 8 people had raised money for. His eyebrows nearly shot off his head as herealised that altogether they had raised a £1000. That was a lot for 8 kids!

The headboy, headgirl and headteacher were shaking hands with the 8 children, giving them a certificate and a small envelope before making them line up in the centre stage to recieve an applause. Which was accompanied by several wolf-whistles -curtesy of the boys who Ryan usually sat in between.

Once the clapping had died down the line made their way back to their seperate seats, the girl sitting down next to Ryan with as much grace as she had before.

"So...are you some kind of, erm..." He scratched his head as he leant back further in his chair, tipping it slightly so all the wait was on the two back legs "nerd." He finally came out with.

This got her to look at him. And look at him she did. She studied him from head-to-toe, taking in his dishevelled brown hair, blue Hollister polo shirt and skinny jeans, dark brown eyes, black converse and finally his gold necklace, the charm of which was out of sight; tucked beneath his shirt. Her own eyes were bright green and they blazed with fury as they came back up to rest on his face.

"No, I just prefer to spend my time helping people live rather than perving on girls." Somehow she had managed to keep her tone quiet although it was laced with intricate anger.

"Hannah, I wasn't perving. I was admiring. I though girls liked that stuff."

"I'm not Hannah."

"Yeah you are, you stood up when he called Hannah Danders." Their whispered conversation was interrupted as a teacher crossed in front of them, stopping a couple of paces away and leaning forwards, whispering loudly to some girls to stop talking and listen to the deputyhead.

At times Ryan was clever and he got A's in several of his lessons but when it came to other things he didn't always com top.

"I'm Sarah Sullivan." She told him once the teacher had moved on and he nodded in understandment. She just had stood up a bit late.

"Sorry." Ryan wasn't sure what he was apologising for but the anger swept our of her eyes and she nodded at him.

"Apology accepted Winston." He looked at her in honest surprise as she turned back to the front. Winston was his nickname since the first week when he did a Winston Churchill impression behind a fat and old teacher. It had stuck but not many people knew it.

Infact, only the people in 9A knew it and his Mum's friends. Then he remembered Sarah's face. He had seen it before in Year 7 when the Mum's all met up for a coffee morning. His Dad had been working so couldn't look after him and his Sister was on a school trip so he had had to go.

Sarah had been the only other child there until half an hour into the meeting when a couple of boys showed up with their Mums and then a couple of minutes later some girls and their parents piled in. He and Sarah had been talking and he had been struck by the slight feelings he had for her. By the end of the Cofee Morning he had his first proper crush. It stayed with him throughout Year 7, but over the summer holiday he managed to get a new one in a Summer Camp and it had only taken 2 years to forget about her.

But now, as Ryan stared at her soft cheek, he realised he had never forgotten his first crush and the feelings were all coming back.

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As soon as Ryan got home from school that day he ran straight upstairs to his room and switched on his laptop, ignoring his Father's calls to come and say hello and impatiently tapping a beat out on the desk ashe waited for the log in screen come up.

Another 7 minutes later (he kept an eye on the clock) he had opened facebook and was searching through his friends list for Sarah Sullivan. After two minutes of desperately going backwards and forwards between Sara Kingsley and Taylor (Hammer) Pope he realised that he didn't have her as a friend. Which was strange. Because Year 7 was Ryan's first year of facebook and he had pretty much added everyone he had talked to for longer than 10 seconds. However no Sarah Sullivan appeared.

So he shut friends and went to the search bar at the top, tapping in her name with speed there. Scrolling through the lists of Sarah Sullivans he realised that none of them were her. Signing off with a sigh he leant back in his chair and stared at his computer screen background.

The cast of The Inbetweeners Movie stared back at him, all grinning like idiots.

"What if she doesn't have facebook?" A voice from behind him made him jump and he swivelled round, staring at his older brother, who was back that weekend; visiting from Uni.

"Who long have you been there?"

"Long enough." His brother smirked and Ryan frowned, annoyed.

"I just want to know her."

"Talk to her then."

"Nah." He shook his head and shut his laptop "I don't want to know her, just remind myself of her. We met before at a coffee meeting. Mum's coffee meeting in Year 7."

"Yeah well you're an idiot." Ryan stared at his olderbrother as he nodded and stood up before walking out of the room.

"What was that for git!" He yelled once the door had shut and then sighed.

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The next day he couldn't concentrate and had to be hit several times on the arm by his friend before he realised his name had been called for register.

"Yessir." He answered before going straight back to not paying attention. He had already sussed out that Sarah was not in his form but that still left the other half of the year group. Actually she had to be in the other class.

So it was only at break that Ryan got his first chance to find Sarah. He looked in the sports hall, the common room, waited outside the girls toilets for five minutes, walked up and down the corridor on which Year 9 had their corridors several times and then finally stopped in the refectory where his friends were eating.

"Any luck?"

"None!"

"Did you check the library?"

"No! 'Course, where else would she be?" Ryan stood back up again but as he did so the bell rang.

"Bad luck mate, but you can always find her at lunch." The rest of his friends agreed and Ryan followed them to their next lesson, not really focusing properly.

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wip

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I got the inspiration for this from the fear I had when I was younger of the Joker in a pack of playing cards. It used to freak the cr*p outta me. It stopped when I was around nine but sometimes when I see some of the really freak joker images on the internet I still feel slightly scared. I then edited it and entered it into a contest but I don't think the entry was actually sent, annoyling. It is edited but could probably be improved. All of my stuff could be. But anyway, enough of that, here it is.

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It was late when we found out. We were all sitting in the living room; dad in his pink armchair, grandma and granddad on the sofa, my sister kneeling by the fire, our new puppy in her arms, Doc’ was sitting cross-legged, his back on the radiator, and I was perched on the arm of the sofa. We were playing cards. The fire was roaring and we were all comfortably cosy, wrapped up in woolly jumpers and blankets round our shoulders. Mugs of hot chocolate sat steaming on the low table. Dad was laughing, tears coming to his eyes at one of Granddad’s jokes. I remember joining in; we all did, at least my sister joined in after we explained it to her.
Then the doorbell rang. The Doc’ went to get it and we all carried on, Dad failing at his poker face as Grandma dealt the cards for a new round. Still when he called Dad through we carried on playing, my sister reaching over and attempting to peek at his cards before the puppy started nibbling her fingers softly.
Finally it was when Dad came back through, his eyes blotchy and his face covered in tears, not from laughing this time, did we realise something was wrong. The Doctor came after him, holding his shoulder and steadying him as he sat down. My sister ran over to the curtains and tugged them open and now the flashing lights could be seen. And the wailing sirens could be heard as the room filled with silence. I looked back at Dad.
The sorrow was clear in his eyes, the loss written into his barely lined face made him seem older than ever before. It was as if he had spoken and everyone understood.
Grandma looked at Granddad, her eyes wet. Granddad looked broken, fragile and wispy; an old man. It was like we were set in slow motion. I threw down my cards and leapt up, pushing past the Doctor and my Dad. Past the stopping and warning hands of the police women, and out into the cold night.
I felt nothing though. Everything drained from my body as I saw the figure on the ground, the white sheet covering the body. I stopped. I stared. I broke.
A strong pair of arms stopped mine from pulling back the sheet before I had even registered what I was doing. And I was pulled away. Pulled away from the body of my Mother.
The police tried to console us but we just sat in silence in the living room, shocked. The warmth it had held only a few minute ago had left, even though the fire still burnt and the jumpers were still being worn.
All the police left, taking the body with them and Dad. The Doctor left at midnight and everyone else walked, ghost-like, to their bedrooms. I stayed where I was sitting, on the floor in front of the fire. A minute ago I had been hugging my sister. A minute ago I had been trying to put strength into someone when all I had left was weakness.
An hour later, as the fire was dying I stood and turned, ready to finally go to my room and my eyes landed on the abandoned cards. Someone had put them in a pile but I could see one on the floor still, unnoticed and missed by the person before. I bent down and picked it up, turning to see what it was.
JOKER

The grinning face of the Jester. The crackling orange flames the fire shot out cast shadow and colour onto the cards. As I started to set it down, in the flashing light of the embers it seemed to be laughing.
Laughing at me; teasing me; making fun of me. The Joker made me realise what had happened. I felt something salty touch my lips, a tear. They were coming in torrents now. I threw down the card and ran out of the room again, the emotions I hadn’t felt earlier flooding me now. Sorrow, loss, hurt, anger. Why was it me? Why did it have to be me? The tears flowed down my cheeks and the questions bombed my mind as I dived under my bed covers and shook. When I finally started to fall asleep, I heard cackling. And on my hallway a shadow loomed, one with curled toes and a three-point hat.

The final joke of The Jester was on me.