Jack Merridew

In the celebration of the didactic nature of Lord of The Flies, Jack experiences a lesson taught by what is inside him: the notion of savagery. This is another piece for school and the choice of novel was nonnegotiable. As always, enjoy. 

The crunch of gravel beneath every footstep rang out across the courtyard in precise repetition; a sickening heartbeat. The steps suddenly quickened and fell into patterns. I observed them with a keen eye. Soldiers of such a caliber still bore furrowed brows and pursed lips, swaying in the heat.

“Halt!” I yelled, thrusting a salute skyward.

The body of men stamped to a standstill and peered onwards, returning the salute in unison. Each face was an emotionless slate, the weathered textile of their hand-me-downs from those who’d gone before dimmed their fresh complexions. Each man was brand new. I was prepared to teach them a thing or two. I was their leader.
The tension snapped in the air between us as I stepped up to a soldier. We stared each other dead in the eyes. A small twitch coursed through his upper lip and he clenched his fists. He was a fidgiter, that would be no good – I could tell. Only the most diligent are suited for such an exercise. I examined the faces and selected one with a stern hand.

“Johnson, at ease!” I barked.

The sudden clap of noise made him jump. He raised a hand to sweep the fringe from his face. He was never destined to graduate, but somehow the cards played in his favour. A pitiful excuse for a male; the results of his cardio fitness reflected that. Despite this, his intelligence stunned us all and it was something I couldn’t quite lay my finger on. Intuition was scarce in a profession for the physically capable, but somehow Johnson had that spark. He was unreal. For the very reason that the exercise intends to demonstrate dominance over the opponent, he would certainly pose no threat. The kid clearly had never fought in his life. I smirked and beckoned to him, invited him forward. The others craned their necks to get a good look. We faced each other in a limbo between angry silence and expectancy.

“What I’m going to demonstrate to you all is essential, vital, in melee combat.”

He was preparing for me. I gave him no time. With a quick swoop, my fist struck him square in the chest and threw off his balance, giving me adequate time to strike again. He tried in vain to recollect, but I forced his shoulder sideways with a heavy palm and swung him over. Adrenalin surged through me as his hands clawed feebly at the dirt beneath him and he cried out, only to take another hit to the abdomen. His eyes bulged. I clenched my thighs as I pinned him down and forced a firm grip on his neck. I stared, searching for the light in his eyes.

“Kill the beast, cut his throat, spill its blood!”

It echoed in the pit of my mind when our eyes connected and an overwhelming sickness replaced the energy which spiked my veins moments ago. A memory surfaced, which I failed to compartmentalize. I saw the flames dancing in the centre, throwing shadows upon the ground. I heard the cry for innocence drowned in the chants of the tribe. I felt the blood on my hands and I felt the power inside me.

Then, the silence came.

And I heard Simon.

~Holly

An Ode to the Constraints of School Curriculum

This is a piece I had to complete for school; a memoir of a past event in my life. My original was based around someone who existed too close for comfort, judging by the fact he walked the very school halls that I did. Thus, I altered the person and wrote from square one. Haven't gotten the grade yet. Here's to an old friend.

You know how you quietly hope that you notice little things about a person that no one else would, that you could read deeper into people? As it turns out, this had something to do with a certain boy. His name was Sam and I liked him a lot. He had a white t-shirt and smelt of a cosy apartment. His eyes were like glass marbles, soulful and rimmed with thick lashes. Sam had this worrying effect on me - I hungered for every detail of his being. I wanted to know more about him. Hell, I still hadn’t exactly met him, and yet I felt a little crush forming. Who’s to judge a character after a brief encounter at a school dance? The first time we met, an encounter which would put speed-dating to shame, still rang fondly through my mind. To explain the dilemma further, this is how it went.

I flicked open the pocket mirror in my hand and held it close, sighing at the flecks of mascara that had accumulated under my eyes. Unlikely anyone would notice, however, under the pulse of red and blue lighting, casting waves of colour across the room. A tense beat filled the air and drenched us in vibrations, a song so ever-present that you couldn’t help but move to. I had lost my best friend to a lanky brunette in the back corner and the other was nowhere to be found, possibly lured into a cringe-worthy dance battle. A gaggle of girls teetered past on their heels, sipping at Cokes through straws and giggling fiendishly. Nothing felt more like a teenage movie, and not simply because of that, because I, the stereotypical socially challenged character, was well and truly established. I was the wallflower, may as well have been part of the décor. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing either, because being as undesirable as I was, it left me adequate space to watch the people come and go, who was interesting and who was best left in the darkness. Then, he caught my eye.

I could faintly make out the curl of his lips and glinting teeth, like a feline, under the strobe lights. I never forgot that smile, reminiscent of the Cheshire cat.  A halo of black curls swept across his face and bounced with each step. He didn’t appear to be with anyone. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he gave them a smile, but continued to press through the throbbing mass of bodies in my direction. His hands wavered in front of him, gently moving a boy or two aside to get through. Why was he looking at me? Although his gaze stayed firm, I tried to blend in to the wall. Maybe it’d suck me into its beige skin and then I’d really become part of the décor. Think wallflower, I mused. But the efforts were useless. In the time it took to look down at my feet and smooth the front of my skirt, he had pushed the barrier of people aside and cross the empty space to stand right in front of me.

“Hey, you looked a bit lost. Want to come out and dance? It’s almost ten.”

 I choked on my reply, but managed to squeak. “Oh no, it’s okay, I’m great. I’m really great.”

He glanced behind him, then at my dress, smiled ruefully, then up at me. Didn’t he have somewhere to be? What was he playing at?

People began to file out of the hall and we followed them out. He stopped me by the front door and leant against the frame. There was the smile again. I clutched my phone and fiddled with the buttons feebly, hoping Mum would call me and I would be whisked away. But he kept me there, and motioned to my phone.

“Maybe I could, um, get your number? We should hang out.”  He smiled again and I clambered for breath.

“That would be great. Just great.”  We exchanged phones and typed the numbers in. A group of boys barged through, slicing the conversation in half. I gave him an acknowledging look for his departure, and he returned the favour with an extended hand. Then he was gone.

               

I remind him now of the time we met and we both laugh about it, like we had been protagonists pulled straight of a high-school sweetheart flick – a true romance. 

“It’s strange that you remember it so well, Holly! You must have been studying me intensely!” Sam raised his coffee to his lips and giggled into the foam.

I couldn’t help but crack a little smile. “Yeah, I like to notice the little things.” 

~Holly

The Life and Times of a Sappy Romantic

Just a ramble. Enjoy.

A journey which begins at the dismal hour of one forty two in the morning, the time which insomniacs break free of their medicinal constraints and disregard what is read on the bottle - another hour won't hurt. A time at which you would probably find no more than ten friends on Facebook because the rest have regular sleeping patterns. Here, I sat and I wrote, begging inspiration to wash over. I inspected the lines underneath my eyes, which sagged morbidly. I'm fine, I promise myself. The empty bottom greeted me as I lifted the mug for one last drop, but alas, it was gone. Time for another tea run and only twenty minutes had passed. 

Did that make me an addict? Hope not, but tea rehab would have been a delightfully warm room of old women and cute artsy chicks. Sounds like my sort of environment. 

I'm going to edit this tomorrow because oh my goodness it's 2:12am and my brain isn't connecting all its receptors at the moment. I am a large root vegetable. See you in the morning.

~Holly

Kieth

Long time no blog, I suppose. I'm awaiting the chance to rax my two pieces of writing from school so I can put them on here, but in the meantime, enjoy another old piece. This one's called "Kieth". 

“He’s so smart he doesn't even remember what he knows,” quipped a boy from the back.

“Cut the kid some slack, he’s trying!”

The teacher turned around. “Well?”

He just sat in his chair and stared hard at the whiteboard. He thought of staring so hard at it that it would break in two. He liked imaging scenarios. Nothing could shake the concentrated look in his eyes, avoiding distraction or, ultimately, any human contact. Although it was proving a little difficult, sitting in the middle row of a class of twenty four students and one infuriated Geography teacher. She had simply asked him the location of Borneo on the laminated map of the world, Blu-tacked onto the board for the lesson. She asked a simple question, so he gave her a simple answer: silence.

Most kids had gathered the wrong impression of the boy; they thought he was thick, slow, stupid. The boy knew exactly where Borneo was. He could point it out on the board and probably give the national language and animal if he so wished. Underneath his cold exterior, this kid had a mind which was simmering with knowledge, but he was too stubborn to show it. Conservative? Yes.

 But was he stupid? Not in the slightest. It was his test. It was him against everyone else who came into close range of him. You were his victim, drawn to presumptions which you may never correct, given the fact he never revealed his true self. The fascinating thing about this kid was his level of self-control. He could co-operate and show his extraordinary intellect, be the pet of all teachers: yet he did not choose to. He was humiliated. None of his friends were outrageously intelligent and he didn’t quite feel comfortable being the only one. So, naturally, he copped out.

“If I have to ask you one more time, you’ll be out the door.”

Roused from his daydream, he absentmindedly flicked a scrap of paper from the desk and rested all four chair legs on the ground. He looked around. Every kid had their eyes on him. Since the start of the lesson the class had been relatively settled, but every teacher knows that it only takes one student to disrupt the lesson. The boy lifted his head, tilted his chin and stared at Mrs. Thripp, hands firmly planted on her hips; her lips upturned and pinched. He began to imagine her hands sink into her figure like quicksand, and caught the stifled giggle which nearly escaped his lips. Regaining composure, he spoke for the first time in fifty minutes.

“I didn’t hear the question.”

All around him there were sniggers, uncomfortable sounds swimming in an empty silence. They were waiting for an answer. But he wasn’t clueless.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Hasta luego, muchachos~ Holly.

Delilah.

Warning, dated work ahead. Proceed with utmost caution.

Here's a piece I wrote at the beginning of this year, please excuse my ignorance of this subject- I'm writing from a pitifully naive point of view myself. Enjoy. 

Moonlight filtered through the smoky clouds over the campsite where we rested, boxed in by a barricade of pine and birch. I brushed Delilah’s hair from her face and pulled her tighter under the blanket as Tom did the same to Mickey. Her breath streamed in thin wisps. It was nearing two and the moon lay motionless above us, a crisp slice of night. I smiled at the darkness; the weekend away for us had so far gone very pleasantly for all of us, as the breakaway from exams was a much anticipated event. We had all split the cost for a spot at a campsite not too far out of town and Tom had supplied us with a tent - but nothing could beat a bathe underneath the stars, thus the tent lay vacant for quite some time.

The campfire danced in the centre with the four of us perched around it. We had brought out the blankets as the night went on, for the fire alone didn’t suffice the needs of our bodies for long. It was fucking freezing, to tell the truth. I, for one, had never really been a big fan of the outdoors and Mickey suffered from an unfortunate emotional attachment to the local mall, but we had reasoned with each other that to be with each other was the best it could get – even if we were ankle-deep in leaves and unsightly insects. Little did we know, the best hadn’t happened yet, but it was about to.

Tom reached over Mickey into his backpack and drew out a small pouch. He leaned back and eyed up the three of us while toying with the ziplock seal. I knew what it was straight away, as did Mickey, but Delilah hadn’t come to terms with what it was. What a poor thing, living a life of innocence. Growing up with her wings clipped hadn’t let her become street-savvy like we had done.

“Is that a cigarette?” she whispered. You could see her eyes widen, even in the dark.

Tom chuckled and opened the seal, “You don’t need to know what it is. All you need to do is have a go.”

A lighter appeared from his pocket and we all huddled in closer. His hands were shaking, the lighter was failing and the joint jittered around. Somehow he looked like he knew what he was doing with it though. Delilah looked purely confused, which made me smile a little, as Mickey sat there with one hand on her shoulder explaining how to do it and what would happen. She was adorable.

“Just once,” Mickey was explaining, “is all it takes. That little thing makes you feel like no other."

“Honey, you’re making this out to be a bigger deal than it really is.” Tom had already lit up and taken a drag. He held it and then blew out a small plume of smoke. It wouldn’t start working just yet, but it was only a matter of time. He passed it onto Mickey, who took a drag, held it and then blew it out. She held it out to me with an encouraging look in her eyes, which frightened Delilah who clutched me tighter. I whispered in her ear that it was nothing to be afraid of and had my turn, holding it in for longer than usual. She gave me another look, then took it from me and held it to her lips, looking down the joint like it was the barrel of a shotgun. A gust of wind rushed through the trees and frightened the lot of us and we all looked back at Delilah.

“You’ve nothing to be afraid of,” I coaxed. “Just do it once.”

She twirled it in her hands momentarily, then closed her eyes and took a drag. Held it. Blew it out.

~ Holly

The First Post: A Cringe-Worthy Piece.

Hello, hi, how's it going.
As an introduction to a blog, which years later will make me inevitably cringe, a long-winded spiel about myself sounds pretty boring for the wider blogging community to read. Hell, you don't even know who I am. But, seeing as I've made this blog in order to share my character descriptions of people who you'll never meet or don't exist, I will start in the fashion I intend to continue with. So, without further adieu: a relatively accurate description of me.

Imagine you've remained distant at the back of the bus, coming home from a nail-biting day at work. You're a nine-to-five sort, working hard for the family you love so dearly. All you want to do is get home to see the kids, ask your husband/wife how their day was and eat your favourite meal in front of the television. Your eyes twitch back and forth over the road as it falls away behind you; you're on the motorway. Traffic has crawled its way forward and finally the bus squeezes out of constraint. One more blink and you're into the suburbs. You daydream of the rush of warm air tickling your face when you step in the door, the kiss on your forehead and excited screams of your children. And then again, you sigh, as you're only half way home. Time isn't ticking in your favor.

A slight jolt pulls you forward as the bus decelerates suddenly, forcing you back into your seat. People are now curious, peering from behind their Kindles and novels to see who's stopped the bus. But no one's getting off. Strangely enough, no one's getting on either. Until you hear a voice. 

"Oh lord, oh fuck, I'm so sorry. You think you could wait? I need to-" 

You sit up slightly to see a girl kneeling down on the footpath. She snatches halfheartedly at a scrap of paper, which escapes her grasp and flies under the wheels of the bus. She curses again, allowing her dark fringe to fall in her eyes as she attempts to salvage the rest. A shocking folder lies open on the curb - she's dropped it, the clumsy girl. She finally gathers her things - the folder stuffed with notes, two pairs of boots (one for football) and a tattered schoolbag. The whole bus is staring. You've been waiting for a while now. A couple of voices from the front mutter in disgust and an old woman shuffles uncomfortably in her seat. The girl is doing them no favors.

She realizes this and is mortified. A crop of golden brown hair falls over her shoulders as she walks up aisle and throws her load in an empty seat. Her face is pink and embarrassed, so she hides under her mane.

"I'm really really sorry, um, it's two fifty, am I right?" 

She grabs her coin purse and runs back down, throwing some coins at the driver and returns. A few schoolboys at the back snort fiendishly. She's having a bad day. You hear the exasperated exhale as she slumps into the bus seat and begins sorting her mess. The bus finally pulls away from the footpath and continues home. 

It's a pity you had to meet her this way. She's usually much better presented.  

~ Holly