Creative Writing

[stephenmcrae]

Short story
Stephen McRae
As he clambered along the rocky landscape, his small feet smacking against the rocks, he could hear the roaring and crashing of the waves and the caw of the seagull that glided along above his head. As he explored the caves and rock pools he saw a glint of light shining at the bottom of the pool. His tiny arm reached down and cupped the fragile jar in his delicate fingers. He took a closer look, running his fingers along intricate design covering the jar. As he sauntered back to his parents, he started imagining where the jar might have come from. It looked like pirates treasure that had been washed ashore. As he reached the golden sand dunes where his mum was sitting he shouted “Look! I’ve found some treasure”. His mum didn’t take much notice of him. Instead she just nodded and smiled. He ventured further into the sand dunes, the grass grabbing at his feet, trying to trip him up. He stumbled, dropping the glass jar. It rolled away down the down the dune through the grass. He frantically ran after it, scraping his feet on the prickly thorns. As he finally reached the bottom with cuts and splinters on his feet. He saw the jar roll down and into a rabbit hole. He knelt down and felt around to try and find it, he couldn’t. Distraught, he ran back through the prickly thorns and long sharp grass, along the winding sandy paths back to his mum. He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out his spade and ran back to the rabbit hole. He began excavating the hole digging down about five inches. He finally uncovered the jar brushing off the mud and the sand. It was this time two hundred years earlier that a Victorian boy the same age had lost this jar on a day out from London with his family. His initials had been carved in bottom as his birthday present from his father on his travels throughout the world, but clueless of all this the young boy slipped it into a small pocket on the front of his backpack taking it home and placing it on the mantelpiece in the living room. The family lived there lives taking know notice of the jar worth millions of pounds, sitting gathering dust in their home.

[jackmckeever]

there you go ;D

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[jackmckeever]

The Oriental Box – An Autobiography

My cold iron spheres freeze inside of me every day as I am dragged farther and farther away from my homeland of China. I only have my tacky sewn-on oriental patterns to remind me of the time I spent there.

Scotland is an awfully moribund place full of cantankerous people doing cantankerous things. Probably just the weather but that’s just me. I guess it’s pretty much the same as China except it rains a lot more.

The reason I moved from China was my owner at the time and her family had to move to Scotland for work, but the firm my owner worked for expired so we were homeless. They eventually gave all of their belongings to a charity shop. I think they had mistaken “Help the Children” for “Will give Money”. They never really grasped English my family.

So tragically my poignant but melancholy relationship with that family came to an abrupt end.

My original owner had bought me from a craftsman. If I were a human you would say he was my “father”. My original owner was a low ranking soldier in the Chinese army. I think he intended to bring me back from war as a gift to his daughter, but, alas, he died at the hands of the enemy. He didn’t die very nobly, as he was retreating at the time. As he died I fell out of his pocket and onto the mud where I was left to rot for a few days until some scrap dealers came along and picked me up to then auction me off.

My second owner was a widow whose husband had died in the same battle my first owner had died in. She wept a lot and drowned her sorrows in alcohol. And so, being the “busy bee” that she was, she never really had much time for me. So you could imagine my joy at finding out she didn’t perceiver for very long when she lost her life to a night with too much drink and a Magnum Revolver.
I did have some un-enjoyable times in China. Well it’s still better than Scotland.
So this is my, frankly, uninspiring life.
Not very fun to say the least.
If your thinking about taking advice from me by reading this.
Please don’t.

[Euan Newlands]

For years I have been locked up with my older brother. For years I have been kept in darkness. For years I have been unused. For years I was losing hope. Then one day, I saw the light. A giant claw descends from above and snatches up Trevor and then myself.

The five limbed claw sits us in its palm, the five limbs acting as a towering barrier. They suddenly begin to move, forcing Trevor and I to turn round and round on the base of the claw. We are forever touching as we are thrown round in a circular motion.

Eight times. Nine times. Ten. Both of us growing increasingly dizzier each circuit round the large bowl shaped roller coaster. And when Trevor isn’t comfortable he will do anything to get his own way. As our momentum reaches its peak, he barges into me and I manage to find a gap and topple over the edge of the barrier.

Now I am falling faster than ever. The wind rushes in my ears. I smash off a cliff edge and continue falling. I see the fast approaching ground and close my eyes preparing for a catastrophic impact. I stop with a jolt. I open my eyes to see the claw has saved me. It returns me to my home, checking me for scratches. Trevor stares at me as I’m placed back in my seat. The lid closes for another hundred years.