Woodland Burial.

Don’t lay me in some gloomy churchyard shaded by a wall,

Where the dust of ancient bones has spread a dryness over all,

Lay me in some leafy loam where, sheltered from the cold,

Little seeds investigate and tender leaves unfold.

There kindly and affectionately, plant a native tree,

To grow resplendent before God and hold some part of me.

The roots will not disturb me they wend their peaceful way,

To build the fine and the bountiful, from closure and decay.

To seek their small requirements so that when their work is done,

I’ll be tall and standing strongly in the beauty of the sun.

By Pam Ayres.

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My day with zero gravity.

Tuesday 16th June

I woke up this morning and crashed through the roof. Things were flying all around me. “What the?” I thought.“ What happened over night? Whatever happened, I need to stay calm.” I seized hold of a passing bird and clung on to it for dear life. However, it was life. I would of floated up, up, up into space if that bird didn’t come by. Bumping into objects, people, things and even some houses, the bird soared through the air. I tried to hold on to anyone or any objects I recognised as mine. Time after time I missed. I caught hold of was a person. It was my friend Bella! “ Hi!” I screeched over all the noise...

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The Alchemist.

She had resided at Raven Cliff Crag for hundreds of years, perfecting her art, honing her skills.

Her concoctions bubbled and frothed in front of her; she let out a hearty laugh. “Not long now” she muttered under her breath. Her creation was almost complete…

(Above is the story starter from the website)

The concoction bubbled furiously. It was The Potion of Death. Whoever drank it, the first person they looked at was infected with the potion. Then they (the drinker and infected)  looked at people and they dropped down dead. Just like that. “2 minutes… nearly ready.” she hissed. “Done!” Beatrice shrieked as she transferred it to a bottle. This was the only potion that needed watching else it would burn (and the antidote). One second late, and it would fail...

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Facing Fears


Who is he to complain? He didn’t just risk his life for a few maps and a look at a few small ‘battalions’.” Sheila thought. “Both of them, in fact. It wasn’t either of them. It was me. I am the amazingly beautiful one; the one so glamorous and gorgeous…” her thought trailed off there. Why was she being arrogant, self-absorbed, and worst of all rude. “Why why why? What was it that had made her… like that. It was just so bad, so terrible, and so rude. So what had made her like that? Sheila knew that nobody was perfect and she always tried to be the best that she could. “Best just to keep it to myself and forget about it. There are more important things to worry about. War or at least a battle is going to happen. We need a force of our own...

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Facing Fears..

More, more, more. When will it ever end? Will it end?

Micah & Erin's most interesting Flickr photos | Picssr

And she wasn’t. Why would she? This was the fate of her people. Who would joke about it.

“Ooh, I got some maps from they-who-must-not-be-named.” Sheila said, remembering. 

They had adapted to calling the sheep ‘they-who-must-not-be-named’ as calling them ‘the sheep’ attracted their attention. Of course, the sheep knew what they meant, but sniggered behind their backs rather than doing something about it. 

“Let me have a look.” it was the ll (lead llama). Sheila  bowed respectively and handed them over.

“I swiped them right under the owner’s nose.” stated Sheila prowedly.

“And they’re in good shape. Well done Sheila.” ll said.

“Thank you kind sir.” replied Sheila, only to be polite...

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Bunny Poem…

They run about,

They make no noise,

Except for what they move about,

The silence they leave is not at all wrong.

The chewing of cardboard,

The chewing of hay,

When you try and pick them up,

They run away.

They boop you hard,

They boop you to show their love,

The rabbits give you the bunny evils,

And don’t like it when you take a picture of them.

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Facing Fears

More, More, More…

And she did. Within minutes she was invisible to Bob. And everyone else. To the world in fact. She was ready.

They litterally flicked her to the sheeps’ field. The anxiety and fear bubbled inside of Sheila like a stewing risotto. “What if they find me? What will they do with me? Torture me? No, they’re peaceful… I hope.” Her thoughts were repetitive and worrying. Distrancting. 

She let her guard slip. Her fur changed back to a porridge colour. Keeping to the shadows, she snuck around the edge, she repeatedly got poked by thorns and brambles and stung by stinging nettles. Sheila came back to her people, they gaped at her state. 

“Did you get anything valuable?” asked Craig, as soon as she came back.

“Not except for the sight of their army...

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