Excerpt
Talking Owl Saves Rabbit
Once upon a time, in a lush green forest, there lived a wise old owl named Hoot. Hoot was not an ordinary owl, he had a special ability to talk. He could communicate with all the creatures of the forest, big or small, and was known as the mediator among them.
By Vikas Mishra3 years ago in Fiction
Tennessee. 1868. Hope
Rain came that fall and outstayed its welcome. The creek gargled its swell and gushed into the river. The river roared out of its peaceful bed and charged away downstream, dragging all it could grasp with it. The chickens became restless in their hovelled enclosure.
By Roy Stevens3 years ago in Fiction
Something's Going On
DOVER, BREE 3 May, 4E94 “It’s time we do som’mink about about all these filthy fucking immigrants.” Gaz spoke up from where he sat on Liam’s settee. He was gathered alongside his mates Craig and Paul whilst Liam prepared the last few lines of synthetic cocaine. “Ay, spitting on the elderly, crowding up the footpaths, dealing shite to our people and robbing bare townies; this town’s going to shit.” Paul answered. “Innit; this is our country and those dirty fucking foreigners are turning it into some sort of third-world shithole.” Craig chimed in as Liam took the first line before passing the tray to him. “Ay bruv; I’ve about had enough of it. Living off the government and looking down on the poor, as if they aren’t siphoning the money like fucking leaches. Fucking bastards.” Paul piped up again. “Fucking right! How come them lot stay in mint Groetshven cars whilst we struggle to afford bus tickets on the regular?” Craig kicked off as he pulled back from having done his line, passing it on to Gaz. “That’s their blood-money though, innit; renting out their child sex slaves over in the brothel and human fucking trafficking.” Paul said in response. “Probably stacking P from their dope peddling too, pumping the town up with their shite heroin and speed. Poor man’s dope; fuck gear and anyone selling it. Those cunts are a fucking plague.” Liam joined in the conversation, waiting for the tray to come back around as he sparked up a cigarette. “So what’s to be done then?” Gaz looked around the room, expectantly awaiting an answer to his question as he handed the tray to Paul, having joined back into the conversation. “Well, we’re running low on beak innit, so we may as well go get some more.” Liam replied, sniffling a little as the tray returned to him before snorting his last line. “Fuck’s sake; I s’pose we should make another trip to Gas Werks then, eh?” Paul spoke up. “Yeah, alright; so how much were you saying a bag costs Liam?” Craig inquired. “It’s twenty quid for a gram bag, but that synthetic charlie is bare light bruv.” Liam answered. “So you lot down to pitch in for three bags then?” Gaz said, lighting himself up a cigarette once he’d finished rolling it. “Bloody hell, that’s a peng plan fam! Let’s get fucking wrecked brethren!” Liam was hype, and not just from the cocaine pumping through him. “So that’s fifteen an head, innit? I’m down bruv; let’s go.” Craig cast his money into a lot on the squat coffee table in the middle of Liam’s sitting room. Liam followed suite and threw his money down as well, followed by Paul and Gaz. “Right then; so we going together or is man doing it on his ones?” Liam asked, gathering up the pile of money from where it sat in a clump on his table. After a moment’s delegation, it was unanimously decided that they would go together as a group, taking the train to the nearby town of Canterbury to score their dope from the newly-opened legal high shop. Liam had heard about the shop’s opening through a mate and after seeing it for himself, he had rung Gaz and their crew. Leaving the flat, they made their way towards Dover Station, but not before stopping in a newsagent to buy some crisps and Orangeades for the trip. They reached the train station with eleven minutes to spare and so the lads each bought their tickets before heading to the platform. The boys took advantage of the time they had before the train’s arrival and used it to roll themselves fags to smoke whilst they waited. Upon the train’s arrival the boys flicked their cigarettes aside and proceeded to board the train, talking in low voices amongst themselves. Their conversation mostly revolved around the high quality of the synthetic cocaine as well as inquiries about the shop and how Liam heard about it. Research chemicals, as the substances were called for legal purposes, were relatively new to the drug scene; many of them were being created and produced in undergound factories and laboratories, as well as universities. The synthetic drugs were being manufactured throughout Aerbon under the guise of research chemicals for medical and scientific purposes, though in reality they were no more than unregulated designer drugs that could be bought and sold freely so long as they were properly labelled NOT SAFE FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION. Some of the synthetic legal highs were even listed as household products; bath salts, incense, and plant food being a couple examples. These things they discussed together for the entirety of the train ride, disembarking upon their arrival at Canterbury station where Liam took charge. Passing through the ticket barrier and exiting the station, Liam led them through the bustling cobblestone road towards the High Street. It was roughly a mile away, though the time seemed to quickly pass them by as they were all beaked up. Before long the boys saw the bright green sign that read Gas Werks in a thick darker green font that gave off the impression that it had been sloppily painted and screen-printed. The shop itself was tucked neatly on the corner of the street between a used book store and a Stoneshop*, where Hythe Road intersected the High Street. Making their way through the entrance, Liam led the boys inside to peruse the shop’s wares. *Stoneshop is a Brebon store found predominantly in the South and Midland regions of Bree, where everything in the store is priced at one stone ($1). “Welcome to Gas Werks; is there anything I can help you find today lads?” the staff member that greeted them at the door was a friendly-looking lad that looked to be in his late twenties. “Ay bruv; am looking for some of that speed you’ve got, innit. I can’t remember what you lot call it though.” Liam replied. “Oh, so you’re familiar with the store? I’d just like to remind you for legal purposes not to refer to or compare our products to drugs, and also that these products are not for human consumption.” The sales associate said in response to the young lad’s bashful approach. “Yeah, I was just in this morning and you lot had some stuff; Frosty ’N White or som’mink.” Liam said. “Oh, okay; that sounds like you’re looking for our cleaning powder mixes. Some of the more popular brands are Mr. White, Frost, White Lightning, and Crystal. We keep them behind the counter for security purposes, but the cashier can show you the labels.” The lad answered, indicatively directing them towards the till. “So does it get proper busy being back there then?” Craig questioned the sales associate whilst Liam approached the till to browse through the stack of empty wrappers. “Eh, they keep two sales associates on the floor and one behind the till so it’s generally not too bad, but it can get hectic when there’s a rush. The shop’s only been up for a little over a week now like though so it’s more a matter of getting a feel for the customer base to be honest.” He replied. Liam continued his business with the cashier in the meantime, speaking to the man from the other side of the glass. The man on the till was rather older, looking to be in his mid forties, and he was a bit heavyset and balding. He stood behind a glass wall that separated the checkout counter from the storefront for his own protection, as well as to prevent product theft. Asking him what the best stuff was, the man told Liam that Mr. White was the most popular amongst customers, but Crystal was a cheaper brand that still got the job done. He went on to explain the differences between the brands until Liam finally settled on two bags of Mr. White and a bag of Frost respectively. The foil packets were about the size of his hand, and so he slipped them into his pocket before returning to join his mates in browsing the store momentarily before their departure. The storefront was primarily a head shop, stocked with a variety of bongs, bowls, and other smoking paraphernalia, as well as thin glass tubes with metallic filters or bulbed heads that acted either as crack pipes or meth pipes respectively. Upon checking out the wares, the lads made their way back out onto the street and sought out the train station to make the return trip home. Liam opened up one of the foil wrappers for the Mr. White brand of synthetic cocaine, revealing a zip-lock bag filled with white powder. Inspecting the contents of the bag, the boys came to the conclusion that it appeared to be no more than regular cocaine re-branded and packaged as the analogue substance that it claimed to be, though the fact that they could still feel the effects of it after their ingestion over an hour ago told them that it had to be an entirely different substance altogether. The effects of the substance were similar to cocaine, though it was like an amplified version with longer-lasting effects; so much so that Paul mentioned that he’d been experiencing mild anxiety throughout the high. “My heart was beating bare hard in my chest earlier like; I can still feel that shit.” Paul said as the group passed through the train station on their way to the platform. “It’s peng innit. So you good then fam?” Liam replied. “Yeah bruv; shit’s massive power, but it’s chill now like.” Paul answered ecstatically as they reached the platform, ready to await the train. “Nice one bruv; this shit is piff. You looked proper fucking beaked up in the shop mate.” Gaz laughed. The whole crew was hype bouncing with energy, watching for the train expectantly. It was due any minute. “Innit! I was fucking off my nut; I still can’t believe it’s legal.” Paul laughed, “the whole time I didn’t wanna talk cos the geezer would’ve know I’d been doing lines of ‘cleaning supplies.’” “Yeah bruv; it’s mental they’ve managed to make a shop for this kind of thing innit. Just got to be eighteen and you can buy fucking legal gear.” Craig spoke up as the train pulled up to the station. The boys waited for its passengers to disembark before boarding, making their way towards the rear of the car they boarded. “So you lot wanna go a round?” Liam grinned mischievously as he took his seat. The carriage was divided into two rows of booths on either side of the train; each booth seated four wide, with a small table between them. “Yeah, alright; anyone got a note or som’mink?” Craig answered, looking between them. “You can’t be serious though.” Paul spoke up. “Ay, I’ve got a fiver.” Gaz took a five-stone note out of his pocket and rolled it into a straw whilst Liam went about pouring some powder onto the table to make some lines for the group. “We’re so fucked if train security spots us; this isn’t like bunking a ride…” Paul hissed condescendingly. “It’s sound mate; everything is legal here and we’ve all got tickets. If they try to start on us they can fuck off cos we’re not breaking any laws.” Liam answered calmly. So it was that they proceeded to take the line, each taking a fairly-sized line roughly twice as large as one of the lines they’d taken earlier. They’d done three lines each with the single bag Liam had scored from the friend who’d told him about the shop in the first place, so now that they were somewhat familiar with the dose, they decided to amplify it for the sake of the train ride. If they did one big line each, they were less likely to be caught in the act since they were doing more coke in less time. The boys felt the powerful force of it pumping through their veins just moments after knocking back the heavy lines before them. There were only a couple other occupants in the carriage, though the fellow passengers wanted nothing to do with the chavvy lads and so kept to themselves. Once the train pulled into Dover Station, the boys made their way back out onto the streets in their journey back to Liam’s flat. Space and time flew by as they breezed through the streets in their buzzing state. Fellow pedestrians made way for the group as Gaz and his mates pushed onwards between taking massive drags on their cigarettes. Up ahead a group of immigrants approached, travelling in the opposite direction. The immigrants lined up and formed a wall as they drew closer to the boys, though Gaz and his mates weren’t about to make way for them. Tightening their ranks, Gaz and the lads maintained their pace as they prepared to clash the foreign thugs. The rival crews exchanged dirty glares and scowls at one another as they drew near. Taking the lead, Gaz threw an elbow out as they passed by the immigrant crew of five, targeting the one he assumed to be their leader; a tall and lanky youth with darker skin and black hair. They seemed to be Roenian by their appearance and accents, ranging in age from 15-20. “Fuck you, Brebon scum.” One of the fellow immigrants said, aiming a punch at Gaz. Liam pounced on the youth before his blow could land. “Whoa! Whoa, chill bruv! What the fuck is wrong with you lot?” one of the immigrants called out as his remaining mates yielded to the Brebon lads. The three left standing assisted the fallen two to their feet whilst Gaz and his mates stood their ground. “Not so big and bad now then, yeah?” Gaz sneered. “We’ll see who’s big when our families hear about this!” the boy Liam sacked spat back as his group ran onto the other side of the road, away from Gaz and his chavvy crew. “Piss off you cunts; can’t even finish what you lot start!” Craig shouted after them as they fled. “Fucking melts*!” Liam followed up, cupping his hands to his mouth to amplify the taunt. *Slang term equivalent for a pussy; a coward in the face of a fight. Watching the immigrant youths run up the street a ways before calming down, Gaz and his mates returned their attention to the journey back to Liam’s flat. They bigged themselves up and talked amongst themselves of what they would do if they saw the cunts again. Being rather loud and vulgar, the townies quickened their pace and made way for Gaz and his crew as they passed by and mothers either attempted to shield their children’s ears or clung to them tightly as they avoided making eye-contact with the chavs. Though their language and conversational topics were violent and offensive, the boys seemed totally oblivious to everyone around them. A couple people condemned them, saying things along the lines of “watch your language” or “think of the children” to which they responded “fuck off”, “piss off”, “jog on”, or “wanker.” The walk breezed by and before they knew it, the boys were already walking up the steps into the communal hall of Liam’s flat complex. He took out his keys and unlocked the door, granting them entry into his sitting room. They continued to laugh and joke amongst themselves whilst Liam went to fetch his three litre bottle of Captain Jack’s cider from the fridge. He offered his mates a drink upon his return and poured the cheap chavvy cider into few glasses and mugs he had lying around. Captain Jack’s was notably popular amongst alcoholics, chavs, and the homeless; it was roughly 7.5% ABV and three litre bottles sold for just $2.99, making it one of the best deals in the off-license. Pouring four pints, Liam mixed the drinks with some blackcurrant squash* before handing them out to the crew. *Squash, also known as cordial, is a concentrated juice used in beverage making. It is generally mixed with one part concentrate and four or five parts water, though it has also found popularity as an alcoholic mixer. “Cheers bruv; this shit is proper piff after all that charlie. My fucking throat’s been bare raw.” Paul spoke up after taking a massive gulp from his glass. “Yeah fam!” Craig chimed in, “This shit has my throat drier than a nun’s panties.” “Innit! Here I was thinking it was rough from all the shouting and shite, but you were quiet as a clam with them immigrants Paulie.” Gaz laughed. “Yeah bruv, what was up with that? I hope you aren’t thinking of melting on us?” Liam spoke up. “I’m still here, innit? If I was gonna melt I would’ve fucked off and done one, but I’m still here fam.” Paul kicked off. “Yeah, but you haven’t got to run to be a melt if you’re standing by watching us get our heads kicked in, yeah?” Craig replied dubiously. “Oi, leave it be; he’s still got time to show his true colours. I’m sure those Alvarian cunts will be back for more soon enough.” Gaz laughed at the prospect of battering some immigrant cunts in a full-on street brawl. Sensing that it was an awkward subject, the boys changed their topic of conversation back to girls, drugs, and general chav stuff. Liam turned his radio on and tuned it in to the Top 40’s Grime charts, just in time as Sickboy’s new track came on; a banger called Shut Up and Skin Up. The beat had just started and it was about to kick off; the boys were hype to hear it as they’d been waiting months for his new EP to drop. As Sickboy’s voice came on the lads lowered their own as the previous conversation dissipated in light of the new track. “Alright; big up all my fans and big up Shatter on productions. This is grime; fuck the mainstream…” Sickboy started. “I wake up and put my boots on my feet Make sure to grab the tool before I hit the streets Grab my bags of grades and keep an eye out for police Cos it’s dangerous in Stonhelm when you’re dealing with keys Grab the mobile out my pocket, it rings See bare man and they’re all wanting tree Why can’t man-a-man just leave me be? Cos I’m not ticking shit if you haven’t got the P I dunno where these man get the thought that I’m a charity, cos it’s twenty stone a gram if you want my herbal remedies So shut the fuck up and let me skin a zoot, cos if you piss me off I’mma stick my shank in you I don’t give a fuck if you’re having money troubles cos when I invest in kilos my money only doubles If you whinge and you moan you can put down the phone cos if I don’t get my money then I’m breaking all your bones So shut up and skin up a spliff; if you’ve got the dosh then I’ve got the piff I don’t got time for none of your shit cos my time is p and I’ve got none to give.” “Oi, go on then Gaz; shut up and skin up, yeah? Proper fucking banger innit!” Craig laughed as the song went back to the hook. “I don’t know where man got the idea I’m a charity fam.” Gaz rebutted, gaining a round of laughter from his mates as he reached into his pocket for his sack of weed. “Ay, anyone up for another bump while we’re on the subject?” Liam spoke up, grabbing his tray to do up some more lines. “Dunno how grass turned into charlie, but alright then.” Paul answered with a chuckle. “Cos we’re on about drugs bruv, do try to keep up.” Liam replied. “Oi, don’t be such a wanker Liam.” Craig spoke up on Paul’s behalf. “Oh, right? At least I’m not a fucking melt.” Liam kicked off. “The fuck is that supposed to mean bruv?” Paul said, taking the bait. “How ‘bout we do up a couple lines and take the zoot for a walk in town?” Craig said in an attempt to calm the situation. “Ay, that’s a sound plan mate.” Gaz agreed. Liam prepared the lines whilst Gaz finished rolling up in preparation for the outing. The boys finished their pints and rolled themselves each a couple cigarettes for the adventure. After taking their lines and passing the tray around twice, the group unanimously decided to go to the park and play a game with some of Craig’s mates that were already there. He rang them up whilst Gaz, Liam, and Paul text some of their own mates to form a squad. Before long all the arrangements were made and the crew found themselves on their way to Priory Park to link up with their other mates on the football grounds for a match.
By Kelson Hayes3 years ago in Fiction
This Is Bree
DOVER, BREE 13 April, 4E93 “Fuck’s sake.” Gaz grumbled as he reached out to hit the snooze button on his alarm. It was 10 in the morning on as normal a Tuesday as any. Upon dragging himself out of bed, he kitted himself out in a grey tracksuit before going about rolling up a spliff to wake and bake. Remembering that he had an appointment with his career advisor at the job-centre later that day around noon, he let loose a disapproving groan and swore. He quickly checked the time, just to find that he had less that two hours to prepare for his appointment. Gary “Gaz” Austin was what you’d call a chav; he was well-respected amongst his mates, though in the Kingdom of Bree chavs were at the bottom of Brebon society. They were lumped in with the immigrants, junkies, and homeless pisshead bums that polluted the streets of all the major cities. Chavs generally lived off the government, their name being an acronym for Council-Housed And Violent. They caused trouble wherever they went and lived off the tax-payers money; claiming unemployment and housing benefits, taking and dealing drugs, as well as committing robberies and violent crimes just to get by. Gaz was your stereotypical chav in that regard, being one of the main dealers in town with a temper to boot. Taking the last couple of drags off his zoot, Gaz put it out in the ashtray on his bedside table and got up from where he sat on the edge of the bed even as his mobile started to ring. “Yeh, alright; who’s this then?” he said, answering the phone. “Oi, this Gaz, yeah? Shannon gave us yer number mate, I’m tryna score a ten’s bit on tick fam.” some dodgy cunt on the other end answered. “Yeah? Well you can lose this number then bruv; my shit’s twenty a gram and I don’t do no tick.” with that he ended the call and made his way into the tiny kitchen/sitting room situated in the front of his flat. Fucking Shannon, Gaz though to himself, I told that slagging cow not to be giving my number out. He didn’t have the time to dwell on it long however, as he still had to get ready to make the hour-long walk into town for his appointment. Putting a kettle on before jumping in the shower, Gaz heard the switch click on the electric kettle even as he finished drying himself off. Once he was dressed and sorted he poured himself a cup of tea with the freshly boiled water, poured in a bit of sugar from the bag, and rummaged through his fridge for some milk. Taking an initial sip of the steaming cup he’d just poured before setting it down, Gaz returned to the bathroom and took a look in the mirror to sort himself out properly before leaving the flat. He was an average-looking twenty-three year old Brebon chav; shaved blonde hair and a stony face. His skin was taut and his face was rather gaunt, as were most of those living off unemployment in that country, and his cold grey eyes had the heartless calculating gaze shared by the majority of his people. Turning on the cold tap to wash his face, Gaz ran his fingers through his hair and prepared himself for the day. With his final preparations for the job-centre concluded, Gaz brought himself back into the kitchen to enjoy his tea with a hand-rolled cigarette since it was finally cool enough to drink. He smoked the fag until it was almost down to the roach before extinguishing it in the ashtray, where he left it smouldering as he gulped down the last couple sips of his tea. Putting the cup in his sink with the rest of the washing up he would have to do later, Gaz grabbed his boots and laced up for the walk into town. As he walked out the door, he exchanged looks with one of his neighbours in the house; nodding as the Eastern Aerbonean man passed him by in the hallway. The building was actually two houses merged into one, consistent of three floors in addition to a basement, and it housed sixteen flats altogether; Gaz was situated on the ground floor and his neighbour lived on the second across the hall from him. “You alright bruv?” Gaz started as the man continued to give him a dirty look passing by. The foreigner didn’t even bother to respond and Gaz made his way out of the building, spitting on the ground as soon as he was outside. Fucking immigrant cunts; it’s bad enough the place stinks of fucking curry, he thought to himself as he made his way down the road into town. The weather outside was a bit chilly and the sky was overcast, though it wasn’t uncommon that early in the Brebon springtime on the coast. Gaz didn’t even feel it however, as he was fully kitted in his chavvy gear; the young thug made his way down the street with all the swagger of a hooligan vandal, walking as menacingly as he could. On both sides of the road mixed crowds of people walked to and fro, immigrants intermingled with the chavvy youth, along with young families and the elderly. The majority of passer-bys made room for the passing women pushing prams as well as the elderly, though the Eastern Aerbonean immigrants formed walls, travelling in gangs of anywhere between four to eight strong. They forced oncoming Brebon pedestrians off the footpath and into the road itself to pass them by. So it was that confrontations and passive-aggressive displays of dominance often broke out between the chavs and the Eastern Aerbonean thugs as they fought for control over those streets. Gaz had other things on his mind beyond simple matters of pride in the meantime however, and so he did his best to avoid any altercations with the immigrants and kept his head down as he made for his appointment. A couple of kids tried to stop him outside a newsagent, pleading for him to score them some cheap cider. Gaz coldly told them to fuck off and left them stringing curses after him in his wake as they continued to stand their ground outside the local shop. The scenery passed him by as he tried to enjoy his leisurely stroll. This would be the greatest country in the world, if it weren’t for the people living in it, Gaz thought to himself with a bitter grin as he walked along. “Oi bruv, ‘ave you got a second? Please mate, I was on my way to see my daughter at the hospital, I just need-” a haggard-looking homeless man rushed out to clutch at empty air as Gaz brushed him off before interjecting him mid-speech. “Piss off, you dirty scaghead cunt.” “Yeah, fuck you too mate!” the hobo called out after him as he walked away, “You wanna ‘ave a fucking go then?” Ignoring the junkie’s existence entirely, Gaz continued on his way and passed through the council estates with minimal social interaction. Cars drove by occasionally and there were small groups of people on the footpaths, though these increased in density as he drew near to the roundabout that led into town. Crossing the roundabout from Ramsgate Road onto the High Street, Gaz followed the long curved street into the heart of town. Charity shops, newsagents, electronics repair shops, and various sorts of local shops lined both sides of the street, occasionally accompanied by signs offering daily or weekly special deals scrawled in chalk. As he passed by a small Itanian bakery Gaz watched a young Alvarian-looking lad as the youth outright kicked the sign over, shattering the slate-board and breaking the wood frame as it smashed against the stone cold pavement. Within seconds the shop’s staff were out front shouting as the lad tried to run, but not before spitting on the display window and giving them the middle finger.
By Kelson Hayes3 years ago in Fiction
A dance With The Devils Daughter
The small town of Ravenwood was abuzz with excitement as the annual masquerade ball approached. The town's socialites and elites had been eagerly anticipating the event, and rumors had been circulating about a mysterious woman who had recently moved into the town.
By felix kioko kasinga3 years ago in Fiction
The Enigma of the Time Traveler
The year was 2055, and the world had changed a great deal since the early twenty-first century. The oceans had risen, and cities that once stood tall were now underwater. The few remaining cities were overpopulated, and resources were scarce. Governments had collapsed, and the world was in chaos. It was in this dark time that a stranger appeared, a man who claimed to be a time traveler.
By felix kioko kasinga3 years ago in Fiction
Midnight Sky and a Talking Cat
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. But I don't think many people could see it the way I did. Walking home from the 7-11 that fateful autumn evenning, I didn't know it would be the night my life would change forever. I was fourteen. Listenning to my new favorite punk band: Whiskey Fairy and the Shot Glass serenade, while I sipped my purple Fanta Slurpee in the rain. I don't know why I looked up right then. I have thought about it countless times, and for the life of me, I couldn't possibly tell you.
By Levon Alldredge3 years ago in Fiction
