19/10/2011 Joe Craig

“How do I get here?”

The voice startled me. I’ve had trouble hearing for the last few years, so maybe the boy had already asked me once and I hadn’t noticed. I looked round to make sure he was talking to me. Of course he was. Everybody else had hurried out of the station while I had to take stairs more carefully.

Now the boy and I were the only people in the street.

“How do I get here?” he asked again, thrusting a scrap of paper at me. I squinted at it. Gradually, I made out the scratchy, biro letters. I blinked. I checked again. This was my address. This boy was asking for directions to my house. Why would anybody be coming to visit me?

I opened my mouth to ask this boy why he wanted to get to this address, but when I looked from the piece of paper to the boy’s face I froze.

I knew him.

At least, I knew his face, and I knew it better than I knew any other. It was my face. I remembered well enough what I’d looked like before my skin became wrinkled and dull. I remembered the time when I could look in the mirror and see a bright, good-looking boy.

Well, this was the same boy, asking me for directions to my own house. It was me.


To be continued… BY YOU

Views: 138

Comment by Sarah Love Mandurah Cath Coll WA on October 19, 2011 at 8:27

“ I’m sorry what was your question young man? I asked him in a polite manner.” “ Ah.. um …. Im sorry to interrupt what ever you where doing there Sir.. But I was just wondering how I could get to the nearest Bus Stop or Station.” “ Well if you go to the front of this station then… turn left and walk about 50m then turn right … and from memory you should be there. As he walked off I couldn’t go past the fact of his tattered ,  smelly old clothes. And his hair it looked as though he had never washed it or had it cut. But the thing that got me the most was that stain on his should of his shirt .. From where I was it looked as if .. wait .. no it cant be BLOOD ?

Comment by R Buckland on October 19, 2011 at 9:40

olivia clinton and scarlet wilkinson, Ripley St Thomas C.E  academy

I stared in wonder at the blood that was spreading like a spilt glass of red wine on his shirt. Was he bleeding or was it someone esle's? The thoughts were racing through my head. What do I do? Nervously I ran after the boy and I put my hand on his shoulder! When he turned around I was in such shock the words wouldnt come out, I suddenly noticed the same jagged scar (roughly the shape of lightening, it was there right on his left cheek under the eye) I traced my finger down my face and realised... I realised it was like looking at a portrait. The scar I received was the result of the most traumatic experience of my life, I must have been about a year younger than the young startled boy staring straight at me...

Comment by Jayne Davidson, WHHS, UK on October 19, 2011 at 10:57

I thought back to that year, that
horrible year. The worst year of my life. A twinge of pain flashed through my
cheek, tracing the line of my scar. In my mind I saw myself, a little younger
than the boy now standing in front of me. My feet felt far away as the
dizziness took me over. I knew that feeling. I heard the boy’s startled gasp as
my eyes rolled up in my head, and I collapsed.

From the fogginess in my head, I
saw those streets again, those of my house, but as a child. I recognised the
dark streets of Whitby, the night of the attack. In a burst of rational
thought, I realised that I must be the only OAP to have an out of body
experience. Zooming over the houses, I saw the dark street corner where my
pre-adolescent self sat, listening to music on a Walkman. I could see the man
approaching from Walhurst Street. Again I felt the fear coursing through me, as
the man pulled out a kitchen knife. Suddenly the fogginess returned screening
me from the horrors unfolding on the street below.

By Zac Cannon, Fred Skipper and
James Wallace. West Hatch High School

Comment by Lorraine French on October 19, 2011 at 12:11

I tried my best to put the image out of my head, but it stuck there, staring into me,

I sat up quickly. Where was I? This dark room was oblivious to me. There where no windows, no doors, I was trapped. I soon realised that I was sitting on an old bed. I tried to make out the gloomy shapes around me. I soon noticed a bedside table with a picture frame and a cup of green liquid. My eyes fell back on the picture frame. It was me, before the accident happened. But why would anyone have a picture of me in a room that was impossible to escape?


All of a sudden, a strange green glow started to make the room clearer to see. It was the bottle of green liquid, only now it seemed to be bubbling and boiling in the bottle.


“Drink it!” said a voice. I looked around. There was absolutely no way someone could be talking to me, I thought it was a dream. “Drink it!” This time I knew I wasn’t dreaming. And somehow, without warning or control, my hand picked up the now steaming bottle. My hand brought it to my lips, and I swallowed……


By Emily & Ravjot

Comment by Adam Lancaster on October 19, 2011 at 13:02

I went dizzy. I couldn’t think straight. And that’s the last thing I remembered.


I woke up to a blinding light; moved my fingers and knew that I was still alive. For some reason I felt younger. I stood up. The room had one bed and a grimy mirror. Not exactly a hotel room. I went over to the mirror; wiped grime off the surface and stared.  A strange young boy stared back. It was the boy from the station. It was me. I freaked.


I looked 13. How is that?  I tried to remember how I got here. There was nothing.

“Oi! Got used to home yet?” I jumped; the voice had startled me.

How long have I been here? I replied.

I heard a noise. A door. I turned and there he stood.



By Stephen Wright, Georgina Shaw, Robbie Clark, Tom Houghton. Monk's Walk School.

Comment by Allison Painich on October 19, 2011 at 15:56
The boy stood there staring at me. My heart started to pump as fast as a race car. I looked up towards the ceiling and pointed my finger. Something fell and hit him. He didn't budge. The earth started trembling! I thought it was an earthquake. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The boy pointed his finger up again. When I closed my eyes, I ended up in another room, and another, and another. The rooms kept changing and changing. When I opened my eyes, the boy did a magical wave and disappeared into the passing wind.

He was gone. I looked at the steaming bottle which was next to me. I knew my life was going to be normal again. I went outside, and the sun was shining. When I saw the boy again, he smiled. I smiled back, and he disappeared into the sunset.

Djene and Stylze
PS 152
Bronx, New York

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