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A Word from the Headmaster
Two years ago Bruce and Sandra Rogers from Zeus Publications expressed a desire to produce an anthology of adolescent writing for Somerset College. Due to the tremendous enthusiasm and tenacity of this dynamic couple this initiative has now become a reality. It is with great pride and pleasure I commend to you the 2004 Somerset Collection. Dr Barry Arnison Headmaster
Foreword
“Medicine, law, business, engineering; these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life but poetry, beauty, romance, love; these are what we stay alive for.” [Dead
Poets Society] In our busy,
technologically-driven, information-saturated world, there is often little
encouragement or opportunity for young people to contemplate, reflect and
create. That is why I am always so delighted when students take time to write. In twenty years of teaching I
have always been amazed at the wonderfully evocative and entertaining writing
students can produce. The stories and poems collected in this anthology, I
think, bear testimony not only to the obvious skill of adolescent writers but
also the wonderful fertility of the adolescent imagination. The short stories which appear
in the anthology were all short-listed for the 2003 or 2004 Zeus Publications
Short Story Competition. The poems which appear in the anthology are the winning
entries of the 2000, 2001, 2002 and 2003 Exelby Poetry Competition. I am sure you will enjoy the work which follows and will look forward with great anticipation to the publication of the 2005 Somerset Collection. David Goodburn Head of English Read one of the stories in the book: Hook,
Line and Sinker. Written by
Brhiannon
Stokes
Winner
of Junior Section 2004 Hook,
Line and Sinker
The journalists
that sat in the small conference room eyed the scruffy
sixteen‑year‑old who sat before them; his red‑touched, blonde
hair fell in an unruly fashion to just below his earlobes. “I
guess you all wish to know what happened to my family and to the others
occupying the tour boat?” His voice was soft but slightly cold. He
stared at the journalists, who watched him hungrily, ready for this
news‑breaking story in detail. “Well,
as you know,” the boy continued, “my name is Kai Stone, sole survivor of the
boat massacre.” His amber hazel eyes scanned the room as he moved a strand of
hair away from his very pale face. The
journalists all shifted as they took out writing equipment and paper then looked
over at him. “It
happened two weeks ago, the tour had meant to be a holiday. Staying on a boat as
we traveled around the “Except
it all went wrong. It was fine for the first few days: my sister, my brother, my
mother ... and me. Then more guests began to join the boat. “We
swam, ate nice meals and visited the islands. My sister was a cheerleader
whereas my twin brother was a punk. And my mother …?” He
gave a small smile and shook his head, “My
mother was the one who had to control us all, what with all of Kiara’s
boyfriends and Leo’s band.” He
gave the slightest hint of a grin, running his hands through his hair though it
only seemed to mess it up more, then his face dropped once more as he said,
“Anyway, I’d best tell you what happened. It was a night as usual as all the
others; we had dinner, a shower, and then went to bed. “But
it was in the middle of the night that I heard the voices. Thinking it was just
one of the staff I ignored the voices until I heard footsteps right outside my
door. “It
was then that I realized they weren’t talking in English it sounded like ...
well I’m not sure. I crept slowly to the door then I heard the footsteps fade.
I was starting to worry now; no one on the boat had that accent, or could speak
another language. “I
opened the door silently and walked into the hallway. I was slightly confused,
as anyone would be having been woken up by unknown voices in the middle of the
night, and went to my brother’s room,” he said. “The door wasn’t locked, so I opened it, but there was no sign of him, neither was there a sign of my mother or sister as I checked their rooms as well. “I
began to walk up above deck, rounding a corner, when the sound of more footsteps
nearby came to me; one set coming from the stairwell, the other behind me.
Luckily there was a cleaner’s closet nearby which I could hide in. “I
did so as the footsteps met just outside the closet, then two unfamiliar voices
spoke, this time in English: ‘We
got them all,’ the first male voice said. ‘Good,
we’ll get a fine price for this boat,’
the second voice was also male but seemed older and more superior. “I
knew they were goods traders right from the moment I heard the voices.
You know, those people who find boats abandoned.” At this the young man
gave a cold scowl, “or so they say. Boats they sell for money. The tour boat
was small but it would be worth quite a bit. “The
second man told the first they should get above deck. I waited until I could
hear only a growing silence before timidly opening the door. “I
knew another way above deck, which I could use, but first I had to alert the
captain. I began walking to his room, which wasn’t that for away. “The
hall was dark and I could barely find the door handle but when I did I had to
wipe my hand on my pants before opening it, the handle was sticky with an odd
liquid. “I
opened the door and inspected the liquid on my hand, the room was dimly enough
lit that I could still see, though sometimes I wish I hadn’t. “The
sticky substance was blood; I looked around the room and froze, suddenly feeling
sick and horrified. “The
room was filled with the bloody bodies of my family. There were the other five
passengers and the eleven crew, including the captain. All were strewn about
like rag‑dolls, and all were suffering from cut throats; the floor was
covered in blood. I had to walk into the captain’s bathroom to clear out my
night’s dinner into the toilet before washing the taste out of my mouth and
emerging back into the horrible room,” he said. Kai
stared at the ground for a moment, throat suddenly tight. He blinked back tears,
wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his black shirt then looked over at the
journalists; they all watched him intently as if he were some kind of wise old
man telling his grandchildren a horror story. He flicked his legs up onto the
chair beside him and continued. “I
knelt down next to my beautiful older sister, who was lying on her side, eyes
closed blankly, but it was no use, they were all dead. “I
tried to wipe the blood off my pants and off my bare feet but to no avail. For a
moment I wasn’t sure what to do. “I
stood where I was, staring at the dead bodies and holding myself from running
above deck and attacking the men who did this with only hands and feet as
weapons. “After
a moment of staring at my dead family, I began to think. Why had I been missed,
was it accident or purpose. I felt like dying myself, how could I live without
my family?” He
paused once more and took his eyes from the floor to look at the array of twelve
people. Some of the female journalists were now crying silently. He averted his
eyes to the floor once more. “I
did the only thing that I knew would work, I searched through my sister’s
pocket until I found her mobile, which she always had on her. I rang the police
and told them what I had found whilst trying to control my shaking voice. “They
seemed to believe me as I explained the location of the boat. They told me that
they would send out a search patrol. “I
stayed where I was for a while, sitting on a chair, head in my hands until I
heard the faint sound of a helicopter. I waited until I heard a voice through a
megaphone, then gunshots. “I
stayed deadly still as the gunshots stopped. I heard footsteps and stood, ready
to jump at whoever came through the door whether they were armed or not. “It
was only when I heard a voice say, ‘this is the police. If there’s anyone in
there, come out with your hands up,’ that I allowed myself to slump to the
ground in a faint. “When
I woke up I was in hospital with a nurse telling me I had been unconscious two
and a half days. An hour later an officer came in and told me my family had been
placed in coffins but not yet buried, then asked me what had happened. “I
told him exactly what I told you now. It’s just ... sometimes I wish this had
never happened. It was my idea that we all needed a holiday and my idea to go to
the Now
finished, Kai looked up, even more people were crying silently, though all still
watched him with wrapt expressions as they wrote everything he had said. He
glanced idly over at a mirror on the opposite side of the room with no luck;
looking into it he seemed to have no reflection. He
watched them for a moment more then stood to walk over and open the door,
closing it behind him as he left them to their work. He
began to walk down a carpeted hallway, where the only light was supplied by the
full moon, and the walls were in shadow. He was walking calmly and, despite the
sad story he had just told, was smiling coldly. His
real family did lie in coffins but they certainly weren’t dead. He stopped as
an arm, overly pale in the moonlight falling from a nearby window, shot out of
the darkness to rest lightly on his arm. “You
always were the liar of the family,” a female voice, the owner of the hand,
commented from the darkness. Despite
pitch darkness around where the voice came from, he could still see the lean
figure of a raven-haired, brown-eyed girl his age as she leant against the wall.
He just grinned at her showing fangs that were still anointed with blood. He
leaned his now released arm on the wall next to the girl’s head; she folded
her arms quite patiently. It felt good to be immortal even if he had never seen
the sun. “Well?
Did they fall for it?” The girl asked casually. He
grinned again. “Hook, line and sinker, cousin.” Ó
Brhiannon Stokes
2004 Click on the add to cart button below to buy this very special book:
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