Concrete Elephants and Coffee Steam

Hello Darling… Is that the best way to start this letter? Maybe Dear Darling would be better? No, that’s far too formal, considering the amount of years we have known each other (that’s twenty by the way, just in case you have forgotten, again).  I could possibly start with: I'm sorry. But I think that would be too negative, and you would get flustered like always and read this so quickly that you won’t really take any of it in. No, I think I was right the first time.

Hello Darling

When you read this, I will no longer be laying next to you, or in the house, or anywhere near Sittingbourne for that matter. I will be gone; just like a misplaced memory, niggling in the back of your mind that you can’t quite summon forward. I finally realised that I can’t be all you want, and I can’t be all you need. Maybe I should have said this to you sooner? But our twenty year illusion was far too good… Change is a scary thing, but I have dispelled the magic now, I know that there is no going back.

Do you remember when we first met? I hope you do. The memory still remains in my mind, like that leaky tap in the bathroom that won’t stop running; every now and then a small splash of memory will ripple in my mind, a tiny drip of emotion will make my body shudder sweetly.  I will probably be thinking about it as I leave our bed today and place this letter on our dresser; even when I'm walking out of Sittingbourne, that tap will still be dripping. (You need to get that fixed by the way; the water bill has gone up a lot recently… But I suppose that’s your problem now).

Friday 18 January, 1993. That seems like another life now. I was hobbling down the road, just back from shopping and carrying those four monstrous bags. They might as well have been concrete elephants that I was carrying!  I remember seeing those heavily pregnant clouds in the morning, but me being me I still forgot my coat. To this day I have never seen such heavy rain as that: sheets of water pouring from the sky, as if a waterfall had been placed directly above our heads; I say I hobbled down the road, but it was more like swimming, or for me, drowning. Then you came hurdling around the corner- late for work as always- and smashed straight into me! The concrete elephants took to the sky and performed a perfect dive into the newly formed pool, while I completed my best belly flop to date.

It was that smile that spun me into your web; it was both charming and innocent at the same time. I never did see that smile again after that day. Then you helped me up and took me to the coffee shop next to the bank, you carried those elephants all the way there! Then we sat and talked nonsense for hours, I remember how the steam from the coffee slowly curled and twisted into the atmosphere, like acrobats performing in the background. Days could have past in that haze of coffee steam, and I wouldn't have cared. I still can’t believe you missed an entire day of work just to talk to me! I can feel the same guilt creep over me now, those tiny spiders scuttling through my veins; how you didn't get fired I will never know…  

I'm sorry that I don’t have the patience of your boss. I wish I knew his secret to his twenty year endurance; maybe then I would still be laying next to you now, getting ready to wake up and make your coffee: no milk, two sugars.

But those bottles were everywhere. Ever since I declared: I do I have been lost within that maze of glass, tumbling through the obstacle course of cans.  

‘It wasn't your fault’ was my mantra: it was the vodka that gave me that black eye, the beer that screamed at me, the cider that broke my arm… Or was it? I loved you after all, or rather, I loved the man in the coffee shop. Are you the same person I wonder?

I think it was hope for the coffee shop man that carried me through these last twenty years. He was there somewhere, drowning within those glass bottles. If only I could dive in and draw him out; then the coffee steam would come back, the acrobats could perform again. But, I failed. I know that man is too far away now; but finally the steam has disappeared and I can see clearly again. It’s taken me a while, but I know now that you can’t be all I want, and you can’t be all I need.

Even with my cuts and bruises that you created, I can carry my own concrete elephants now.

There is one last thing that I will ask of you though: please say goodbye to the man in the coffee shop for me. 

What did the first traffic light say to the second traffic light?

What did the first traffic light say to the second traffic light?

“Wow! This is the worst crash yet!”

“Hasn't been one like that in years,” replied Amber, who was just getting ready to glow again.

“Look at the state of that car! Serves them right really, I was clearly glowing but they just ignored me anyway-“

“Oh stop complaining Red,” retorted a voice from below. “You always moan when people ignore you.”

“Shut up Green,” spat Red. “It’s ok for you; people love to see you glow! All I ever get is abuse when it’s my turn. For once it would be nice to see a smile when I’m glowing.”

“It’s not easy for me either! I always feel guilty when I have to stop glowing to let you have your go!”

“Well I am sorry; I’m just trying to do my job!”

As the two lights continued to argue Amber remained quiet like she always did, silently content with her job.  Experience has taught her that it was best to let them exhaust themselves, interfering would only spark more argument meaning peace would slip even further away.

Amber looked out onto the road, the wailing and screaming soon drowned out Red and Green’s puerile squabble; she did not know which noise was worse. Before her sprawled a scene of twisted metal and blood stained tarmac; a blue car lay on its back, its wheels still gently spinning from the vehicles previous somersault. The remains of its windscreen littered the road, transforming the area into a sea of sharp, jagged shards ready to shred and pierce anyone who dared to swim its waters. Some of the fragments caught the dying light of the sun, casting eerie rainbows over the crash site. A woman floated within the sea of shards, her body contorting into painful positions; her head was bleeding causing a tributary of blood to flow into the glass covered road.

“Why didn't she just stop?” Amber sighed.

A pair of tyre tracks flowed away from the blue car and stopped at a perfectly still, perfectly intact yellow car; the people inside, however, were not so perfect. A man sat petrified at the steering wheel; his hands white from clutching the wheel so tightly, his eyes set on the woman floating on glass. The woman next to him was not so deathly tranquil; her whole body convulsed with fright and fear as she screamed. Her words were inaudible as she thrashed around, possessed by the memories of the blue car driver hurdling through the air and splashing into the pool of glass.

Something stirred within Amber, “Will you two just shut up?!” she snapped. Red and Greed stopped their quarrel, surprised at the break in Amber’s normally concrete composure.

The sound of ambulance sirens crept in from the distance as night began to shroud the crash scene.  

What did the first traffic light say to the second traffic light?

“Don’t get me started on them bloody ambulances!” Red moaned. “They never take any notice of me!”

“Idiot,” breathed Green. “You know they have a job to do, look you can see them now.”

Blue lights ruptured the dark as the ambulance approached the scene. The woman in the yellow car reduced her screams to violent sobs, comforted by the ambulance’s arrival.

“I hope the paramedics can help everyone.” Worry began to tinge Amber’s voice as she watched the scene unfold.

“I don’t know why you are bothering,” mocked Red. “After all, they deserve to be hurt if they don’t follow me when I glow.”

The sirens were silenced as the ambulance came to a halt; its piercing melody echoing into the distance. The first paramedic rushed out of the vehicle and to the side of the yellow car, while the second ran to the blue car driver, splashing waves of glass as he ran. He knelt down beside the woman and checked her breathing.

“I think she is still breathing!” exclaimed Amber.

“Oh who cares?”

Amber ignored Red’s remark, her anger becoming increasingly difficult to restrain.

The blue car driver started to whisper something into the paramedic’s ear; she gripped his arm as pain seared through her body. She would have screamed at him, she would have shouted; but a whisper was all she could muster.  

Suddenly, the paramedic turned and left the woman, sprinting towards the overturned car. He collapsed to the floor and crawled through the broken windscreen, the sharp fragments of glass clawing at his clothes.  After a minute, the paramedic emerged from the wreckage carrying a small bundle; slowly, he approached the blue car driver. The woman began to stir. Her fingers scraped the road as she tried to sit up, but the pain was too much. She fell to the floor, her chest heaving as she gulped down the cool night air.

The paramedic’s face was stone solemn as he looked at the woman. He slowly shook his head whilst mouthing the words: ‘I’m sorry.’  

The woman’s face twisted with agony. Tears spilled down her face as short sobs burst from her mouth.

“My baby!” she roared, her screams shaking the night’s atmosphere.

“Maybe next time she will listen to me!” said Red, almost revelling in the woman’s suffering.

“How dare you?” screamed Amber. “Is that all you can think about or say? That woman has lost someone she loves, and all you do is make it about yourself. You sit there wrapped in your egotistic world, only caring about who looks at you and does what you tell them to. For once, just forget about glowing; forget about your jealousy toward Green and focus on what’s important. Without Green and I you’re just a single red light, telling people to stop. Like that woman needs her baby to be alive, you need us as well; otherwise, you are nothing. We are nothing. You need to change.”

What did the first traffic light say to the second traffic light? Don’t look now, I’m changing.

    

Don't Call Me Human

I'll be your Rag Doll:
You can play with me till your amusements flee
Rip my seams with your rough play-
Don't worry, you can fix me again
For another day

Just call me your China Vase;
I'll collect your tears
Fill me with your sorrow and pain-
My pattern may fade and my corners chip
But your tears will fill up to my very tip.

I can be your Life Jacket
As you drown into the depths of despair;
Wrap me around you until you float back to the surface...
Throw me away when you are safe.

Just please, don't call me human,
Don't treat me like an equal.
Don't speak to me like I understand.
Don't believe I have emotions;

After all, who will be
Your Rag Doll,
Your China Vase,
Your Life Jacket?
                                       

Beautiful Mercy

A fragment of you still remains-

Taunting my past, our history entwined-

Your shadows still grip-

Where the light ought to shine-

Your face still reflects-

In water, glass, my mind-

Your imprint still burns-

Upon the hole you used to reside-

Please be kind-

Let these memories unwind. 

The Shining

You stand there,

Shining amidst a sea

Of bodies floating

Endlessly throughout existence.

All our words were whispered willingly-

Entire souls were spilled securely.

All but ash now; ravaged by the flames of absence.

Now dawns the evanescence

Of past, present and future.

Yet, I must strive on.

I stand here,

Fading into a sea

Of bodies floating

Endless throughout existence. 

C'est La Vie

Ok guys, here is the second piece for my creative writing portfolio to university. As I am restricted to only four pages in total, I have had to limit the amount I write for this play; this is not all of it! But I hope you enjoy it all the same! 

Production Notes

The Screen Device: Throughout the play, this image must be stationed hanging in the air, to the back of the stage. It should be large enough so that every member in the audience can see every detail, down to the very last car. With this, I hope that the main focus of the play remains with the audience throughout its duration; additionally adding to the visualisation of the play’s location. No other scenery must be used as the minimalism contributes to the plays reception and meaning.  

The Music: When the audience arrive, throughout the duration of the play, and until the audience leave, the sound of a traffic jam should be played. This should include: the constant humming of many engines, the sound of horns tooting in frustration, the distant shouts of angry, weary travellers. The music should not be too loud, more like one would reminisce a distant memory: quiet and not overbearing. Much like the Screen Device, this will provide a greater depth of realism and minimalism.

Costumes: Every character must wear a combination of black and white clothing. The only character whose clothes must be comprised of specific attire is Teller: who must be garbed in black trousers, black shoes, a white T-shirt and a long black Mackintosh. The other characters attire is not specific, just black and white.

Lighting: The lighting of the play should be dark, with only spotlights to illuminate characters when talking. The Screen Device should be lit at all times.

The Play

Act one-

Teller enters the stage, seemingly ignorant of the audiences’ presence. He motions towards the image at the back of the stage, sauntering in a lazy fashion. He stands sideways to the audience and the image, as if torn between the two, yet does no lift gaze from the image.

Teller: Good evening everyone! I say good evening even though we may be in the midst of a blazing summer afternoon, or the beginning of a bitter winter’s day; yet here, we are shrouded in evening’s dying glow… I apologise if you find my speech drowned amongst this sea of engines and horns, but who am I to prevent all these people of their futile journey?

It is humorous! We live in a society where man can traverse the globe in hours; but here, even an inch of advancement is enough to celebrate… [Whispered] C’est la vie! [He moves swiftly from the image and stands at the front of the stage] I apologise! Where are my manners? My name is Teller; I am not part of this play as such, although you may refer to me as your humble narrator, your director of direction, the composer of dreams. [He bows, then hurries back to the image and continues to stare at it] Whilst I have been alive on this Earth, I have learned a great deal. Yes the typical things: five times six is thirty, Shakespeare wrote many plays and the world has engaged in two world wars (so far), but the most valued aspect of life in which I have learnt a great deal about, is this: human beings have a large aptitude for ignorance. [He turns away from the image again, and runs to the front of the stage] All through life we float from cloud to cloud searching for a multitude of things. For some it may be fame, others wealth, while few will just be content with acceptance… We drift through our stages of life focused on our needs and wants, concealed within our self-contained bubble of naivety and greed. Take these people for example [He throws his hand towards the image] each is concerned with reaching their final destination, entrapped within their metal shells. They sit amongst an expanse of beings in the same situation yet; have no consideration for their fellow human…

This evening I shall present to you a slither of life, a fraction of non-fiction, a piece of the picture. [He runs back toward the image] You will experience the lives of a few of these people the very second this image was captured in time. [Slowly exists off stage] I shall return when your journey has ended, farewell for now… [He exits the stage, the music grows louder]

Act 2-

The stage is dark, with only the image illuminated. The music begins to return to its original volume as three characters enter the stage, lit by a single spotlight. A man, Simon, precedes the trio, with two children, Elizabeth and George, following behind. They stop in the middle of the stage: Simon standing at the front, his hands clutching onto an invisible steering wheel, with Elizabeth and George behind him standing side by side. The formation forms a sort of triangle.

Elizabeth and George are arguing loudly, their words blending together to create an incomprehensible din. A look of frustration and fatigue contorts Simon’s face.

Simon [glaring into the non-existent windscreen mirror]: Will you two just shut the fuck up for two seconds? I have had it with your constant arguing! It’s bad enough to be stuck in this traffic, let alone with two screaming kids making my migraine worse as well!

Elizabeth [Sounding as if she will burst into tears]: We, we, we’re sorry Daddy! George won’t stop poking me-

Simon: I don’t care what George is doing! Just shut up!

George: Don’t talk to her like that! She’s only five!

Simon: You can shut your mouth as well! Don’t you dare talk back to me like that!

[They sit in silence for a few seconds; Elizabeth sniffs loudly attempting not to erupt into tears. Simon exhales deeply before beginning to talk]

Simon: Look, I’m sorry for snapping and swearing at you. I’ve just been a little touchy recently and this traffic is not helping. Once we get to Grandma’s and get the funeral stuff sorted everything should be back to how it was.

George: But how can it when Mum’s not here?

Simon: I know it’s been difficult these past few weeks, but we need to be strong for each other. [Simon turns around to face his children] You need to be a responsible big brother for your sister. That means trying not to annoy her. Before you know it everything will be better, just wait and see…

[The spotlight on the characters dims down, and they exit the stage.]

Act 3-

A woman enters the stage with one hand to her ear as if on the phone, and the other on an invisible steering wheel. She stops in the same place as the previous characters.

Ann [Shouting in a rage]: Tell them I want it finished by Monday or they can find another job to waste their time in… [She is silent for a few seconds] I don’t care if he’s already over seeing two other projects, we can’t afford to lose these clients; they account for over a quarter of our revenue! [Becomes silent again] I have had enough of these excuses! If I don’t see any plans on my desk by tomorrow, he can consider himself unemployed!

[She takes her non-existent mobile from her ear and dials another number] Yes? Hello? Is Mr Weller there? He’s already in the meeting?! Tell him I will be right there, I'm stuck in traffic… [She becomes silent for a few seconds] I'm sorry? He said what? Look this isn't my fault! No! Tell him I can sort this out! No, please don’t do this! I need this contact otherwise how can I continue the business? Hello? Are you still there? [She screams and throws the non-existent mobile to the ground, then begins to sob.]

The light dims out and Ann exits the stage.

Growing into Existence

Let me explain this poem first, before you all think I'm mad! For one of my applications to university I had to provide a creative response to "A place where I grew up" Well I took it literally... Take a look! 

 I lay floating, drifting, turning within human existence,

My undeveloped thoughts embrace me, concreting my near subsistence.

How long have I remained amongst the void and gloom?

I have waited, grown and prepared; when is my time to bloom?

 What lies beyond this isolated world?

Success, happiness, excitement, all I have dreamt, floating here curled.

… It’s dazzling, pure, breath taking and blazing!

This light that engulfs me, simply amazing!

Now is my time, to leave this transitory place

Never to return again, to this growing base…

Practice Makes Perfect: My first English Exam Essay

"Showing convincingly how characters develop and so achieve a sense of identity is an essential way in which novelists and poets engage fully with their readers"

    Authors often use varying techniques to engage fully with their readers. Charles Dickens, the author of Great Expectations, has been analysed to create a sense of identity through demonstrating how characters develop. This technique has been argued to be one of the essential ways in which Dickens engages with the reader fully, as it explores a much untouched area of society for his era- upward social mobility. However, when digesting this novel, it is unambiguous to see that Dickens utilises other methods in which to fashion a sense of identity to engage the readers, rather than showing development; two such approaches being symbolism and setting.

    

    To embark upon this exploration, we first need to analyse the limited ways in which Dickens uses development to create a sense of identity thus, engaging the reader.  A pinnacle aspect of identity development in which Dickens explores is social mobility. This rare progress in the nineteenth century is one of the key elements in which the book revolves around, and commences when Jaggers states “that he be immediately removed from his resent sphere of life and from this place, and be brought up as a gentleman.” (Ch. 18, Pg. 117) However, the beginning of the character Pips’ development of identity can be gleaned to be tainted with negative connotations. The quote stated prior is quite impersonal, and uses the legal dialect of the character Jaggers to describe this otherwise joyous and exhilarating transition in Pip’s life. Due to this, Dickens may very well be leaking his opinions upon his contextual society through this scenario. Mirrored in his novel, Dickens, like Pip, was a poor boy who rose to success and through the social classes, to eventually obtaining a high status. By describing Pip’s identity development into higher standings in such a way, could suggest that Dickens was not content with his new life. From being raised as poor, and to be catapulted into fame and fortune as a result of his writing, Dickens may have found this transition difficult to contend with, and may have been met by adversity from members of the upper class. Alternatively, Dickens could be representing his opinion on the class system as a whole. The author could be implying that to band people as rich or poor is to consume ones identity, and that identity can only be achieved through materialism, not personality.

    Contextual readers in the nineteenth century may have been fully engaged with this novel when reading it. As described before, by developing Pip’s social standing and creating a new sense of identity for him, Dickens explores a much isolated topic within his society. Readers then may have been shocked at such a concept: that a poor boy could infiltrate their lives of money and luxury. Today, contrastingly, readers may not be as engaged with this concept, but rather relate to it easier. The invisible barrier of class has become more penetrable over time; therefore readers may be able to relate to Dickens’ characters more, than during his era. As a result, by showing how characters develop and achieve a sense of identity, readers may become fully engaged within the novel.

    Although the development of characters can be a powerful way to achieve a sense of identity, this is not the only essential way in which Dickens engages the reader fully. Rather, Dickens’ use of landscape and setting can achieve similar or even better results. Many novelists use setting to covey a certain message to the reader. Dickens uses this technique in such a way that the characters identity is portrayed through their surroundings; therefore, engaging the reader. Dickens describes Pip’s home to be “marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea.” (Ch. 1, Pg. 3) There are a lot of connotations associated with this use of setting which can reveal deeper depths to Pip’s identity. Not only does it give immediate impressions of an underprivileged existence, the use of the river and the sea gives certain fluidity and movement associations with Pip. Dickens may be suggesting here Pip’s need for change, as the tide changes; combined with Pip’s confinement, like the water flowing within the rivers course. As a result, a sense of identity is created, without the need to show development.

    This use of setting has many personal connections with Dickens. Dickens, as a child, was moved to Kent with his family. For Pip’s home and further locations in the novel, Dickens draws upon personal experience to fuel his location choice. By doing so, Dickens may be showing his fondness for these landscapes, as they played an important part in his life. On the other hand, Dickens continues to describe Pip’s location as a “bleak place overgrown with nettles” (Ch. 1, Pg. 3) this may indeed draw opposed inferences upon Dickens’ opinion of his childhood home. By depicting the setting as “bleak” with “nettles” does provide negative connotations; implying that Dickens may not have reminisced his childhood with fond memories.

    This novel has often been related to having aspects of the gothic nature. A typical gothic genre includes landscapes and settings that are far away. By using setting to achieve a sense of identity may engage readers as Dickens uses local, familiar locations in his novel, rather than exotic, ostentatious ones- as in line with the typical gothic genre. Both contextual and modern day readers may experience a sense of familiarity within Great Expectations, due to this choice of setting, making it increasingly easier to become engaged with the novel. If Dickens selected a more outlandish setting, readers may not have been able to engage fully with the book; even more so for nineteenth century readers, as travel abroad was not as accessible as it is today. Therefore, as a result of Dickens using setting to achieve a sense of identity will engage the readers fully within the novel.

    The last exploration into Great Expectations takes the form of symbolism. This method is often a favourite of Dickens, and appears throughout the novel. Dickens uses symbolism in such a way, that like setting, it can achieve a more profound sense of identity while engaging the readers fully. Time and Miss Havisham are often related heavily, exposing certain elements regarding identity. When Dickens writes Pip’s first encounter with Miss Havisham at Satis house, he notices that “her watch had stopped at twenty minutes to nine, and that a clock in the room had stopped at twenty minutes to nine” (Ch. 8, Pg. 49) This symbolism of frozen time can demonstrate certain characteristics of Miss Havisham’s identity. A certain air of self-created, timeless pain emits from this imagery. Dickens’ symbolism here may be highlighting Miss Havisham’s prerequisite for self-torture, as she decided to freeze time at the moment her fiancé left her. Ideas of a self-created purgatory exude from this symbolism also; as if Miss Havisham is destined to remain in her timeless state until her revenge has been accomplished. Thus, this symbolism may reflect upon her identity, as her need for pain and continuous torture.

    Such ideas could be imitated from Dickens’ past. Like Miss Havisham stuck in her timeless hell, Dickens’ father was sent to prison for his collation of debt. His father, much like Miss Havisham, created his own ‘unhappy ending’ by not paying his debts. It could be inferred that Dickens is suggesting that people create their own bad outcomes, and inflict pain upon themselves, rather than being products of other people’s actions.

   Using symbolism to achieve as sense of identity can engage the readers fully, as they become more involved within the novel. A tone of mystery can be created when introducing symbolism to the reader, as they attempt to interpret its meaning; as a result, the reader becomes actively involved within the novel.

     

   Showing convincingly how characters develop and so achieve a sense of identity can be an essential way in which novelists and poets engage fully with their readers. The use of social mobility to highlight development is quite effective in creating identity and engaging the readers. However, Dickens does use alternative techniques with a more successful result. Using location and setting portray an instant impression of a characters identity, and the familiar of the setting can create engagement; while symbolism can conjure mystery into a novel, that makes the reader engage by interpreting the hidden meanings. However, does identity have to be the central motif to create engagement? Can other motifs such as the class system or the criminal justice system engage the readers just as well?

Bibliography:

Charles Dickens (1992). Great Expectations, Wordsworth Classics, Hertfordshire

Façade

 The mirror,

Its reflective face taunts me as,

I glare into the unforgiving depths.

The hand,

Caresses the un-crafted scars,

Prize of the former and forthcoming.

The tear,

Cascades over the lies and hatred,

Crafting the familiar path. Unchanged.

The silence,

Engulfs the beating,

Refining the veils.

The self-destruction remains.

Concealed by my,

Façade

United in The Dark

Here we stand, our hands will bind; bracing against the roaring tide.

They may bombard us with their fire and blades,

But we will prevail on, their poison aside.

Inch by inch the shadows may creep; in attempts to make us weep.

But they will be met by our resistance- strong!

Compelling us out of our twilight sleep.

The laughing, the jibes, the persistent malicious lies; filling our ears, drowning our cries.

But we look away, towards the light,

Travelling onward, towards fresh skies.

Here we stand, our hands never unbind, prevailing against the roaring tide!

They hurt, they break, and they have lied.

But our unity will keep us strong and alive…

Thoughts in The Night

The void darkness embraces me tightly,

While a cradle in my defeat.

The deafening silence secures me slightly,

As I ponder my mistakes.

The sun seeps through the gaps lightly,

The day of reckoning arrives.

Out of my door, I creep quietly.

I will face my destiny and lies. 

Confronting the Context

 Great Expectations of Class, Crime and Kings

    

    Novels, upon the surface, may appear to be just organised letters of ink printed upon pieces of paper with the aim to entertain. Although, beneath the depths of these words could hoard unlocked secrets of the author and of their time: personal opinions accidentally spilt across the pages, references to events of their era weaved into the story and fragments of their life scattered amongst the imagery and dialogue.

    Great Expectations by Charles Dickens may have the façade of the transgression of a boy’s life into wealth and adulthood. But, behind this novelistic mask may conceal the authors views on the justice system of the 1800s, references to royalty and most certainly class. How has Dickens accomplished in entwining these subjects into his novel, and what does this illustrate to us about the author himself?

    We find that many authors have a tendency to inject their own personal experiences into their work; fuelling their plots with poignant incidents from their life and sculpturing their characters from acquaintances of the past. Many previous explorers of Great Expectations have commented on the extent to which the protagonist Pip mirrors Charles Dickens’s childhood.  “It is impossible to read Great Expectations without sensing Dickens's presence in the book, without being aware that in portraying and judging Pip he is giving us a glimpse of a younger self.” (Professor David Cody, 2000, pp1) As Professor Cody discusses, Dickens may have used fragments of his younger years as inspiration for the character of Pip, and many events which occur within the plot.

    As a boy, Dickens lived the first nine years of his life in the coastal regions of Kent. Contrary to many of the great authors of the nineteenth century, Dickens did not develop within a life of luxury, education and comfort. John, Dickens’s father, was rather unapt at controlling the family finances, resulting in accumulating debts and eventually confronting debtors’ prison when Dickens was twelve. His mother moved his siblings into prison with their father; however, she arranged for Dickens to live outside the prison and work pasting labels on bottles in a blacking warehouse. Dickens viewed this work to be beneath his talents, and spent a wretched three months suffering the labour. Although, his suffering was not prolonged, as when his father was released from his confinement, Dickens returned to school eventually and earned his place as a law clerk before becoming the novelist we celebrate today.  

    The parallel between Dickens’s early life and Pip’s is extremely unambiguous.  Before Pip’s Great Expectations come to fruition, he spends his childhood in the marshes- much like Dickens’s first settlement. Pip also suffered “that curtain [drop] so heavy and black, as when my way in life lay stretched out straight before me through the newly-entered road of apprenticeship to Joe.” (Ch. 14 pp. 91) Much like Dickens experienced when working in the blacking warehouse. In extension, we additionally find that one of the more engaging characters, Wemmick, to be a law clerk; much like Dickens was. Are these just strange coincidences, unconsciously sewn into the fabrication of the novel? Or did Dickens intend to give the readers a sliver of his previous life, before the wealth and fame of his literary success?

    Royalty and politics within the Georgian era was a point of conflict, as the battle of the Georges grew to its climax. Dickens, rather cunningly, may have attempted to portray this royal quarrel within Great Expectations.

    King George III and his son George IV did not have a strong bond, with politics being the core conflict within their relationship. As such, in a statement of rebellion and defiance, George IV married Maria Fits Herbert in 1785 who was not of royal lineage. This juvenile attempt of mutiny had a short duration of only ten years, and George remarried to a Princess Caroline, making George miserable. As such, Caroline was sent to look after the ailing George III.

    These events described may have some connotations within Dickens novel. Wemmick, Pips acquaintance and eventual professional and personal friend, often described his house as a “castle” where his father known as “the Aged” resided. There is one focal scene in which Pip meets “a neat little girl in attendance, who looked after the Aged in the day.” (Ch. 25 pp. 178) We may draw from this phenomenon that Dickens endeavoured to recreate the politics of the era. But the question remains, why? Could by highlighting this event suggest that Dickens agrees with the fact that George had to remarry to keep a royal blood line within the royal family? Or maybe, he agrees with the royal rebellion of the frowned upon marriage to Fits Herbert? For we find that Wemmick does not marry this “neat little girl” who may represent Princess Caroline, but his love Miss Skiffins. Did Dickens intend Miss Skiffins to play Fits Herbert in this indefinite performance of the Georgian reign?  

    The last exploration of context arrives in the form on the justice system. As Dickens travelled through the life as a law clerk, he may have formed strong opinions of the English justice system, in particular, the death penalty. The beautifully written scene of chapter fifty six describes the passing of sentences of criminals, including Pip’s benefactor: Magwitch. Dickens writes the horror that Pip experiences when he “saw two-and-thirty men and women put before the judge to receive that sentence together.” (Ch. 56 pp. 388) The magnified passage Dickens writes notes all of what Pip experiences, down to “the April rain on the windows of the court, glittering in the rays of April sun.” (Ch. 56 pp. 388) By emphasising the sentencing, Dickens may be suggesting his views on the death penalty. The author may be stressing his aversion to the law, accumulated from his days as a law clerk, as the passage sees Pip’s benefactor being sentenced to death.

    Context is a wonderful way for authors to express their own experiences and opinions without causing conflict and controversy. This powerful tool used by Dickens has given us an incomplete key into his past and of his opinions of topical subjects of his era. Through context, authors may be the passive politicians of the world, shedding light on taboo subjects and opinions.

Bibliography:

Charles Dickens (1992). Great Expectations, Wordsworth Classics, Hertfordshire

Professor David Cody (2000). Autobiographical Elements in Dickens's Great Expectations, http://mural.uv.es/mobero/dickauto.htm Viewed at: 20/08/2012 15:34 pm 

Season of The Hunt- Chapter 4

  

                      In the Middle of the Night 

  The moon’s pale light spilled into the darkened office. Immense glass panels stretching around the entirety of the back of the room allowed the moon’s waxing spell to enthral the office, casting an eerie ambience.    

     A man sat at his desk, placed with is back to the panels at the end of the oval room. His fingers danced delicately over the computer keys as he slaved mechanically over the machine. The computers synthetic glow poured onto the man’s face- the only source of the light in the room except that composed by the moon. Shadows clung to the edges of the office, as if in waiting for the computers light to dissipate, so that they may embark in their attack upon the man.

    A red light flashed three times upon the desk. The man stopped his typing as a thin smile cut across his otherwise indifferent face. Next to the light the man pressed a button. “She has arrived, sir,” informed a woman’s voice.

The man replied dryly, “You may send her through.”

     

    The man rose from his chair and walked over to the glass panels. He looked out into the metropolis which lay before him. His black, lifeless eyes inspected the concrete mass of buildings, spreading into the distance like a vast ocean. A few cars weaved around the complex series of roads, determined to get to their destination. From the height in which the office sat, the cars resembled small toys, rather than vehicles used to transport people. The city seemed unnervingly still, compared to its cosmic number of its inhabitance.

    Over in the distance an enormous clock chimed its scheduled melody; twelve rings completed the tune as once again the city returned to its state of relative silence.

    Three knocks at the door shattered the dark serenity. “Come,” responded the man with a commanding tone of authority. The door to the office opened and a slim professional looking woman strode in. She was garbed in a plain black suit, with a silver pin constructed of four circles connected so that they formed a sort of square, which was attached to the lapel of her jacket.  All of her facial features were sharp:  her piercing eyes bored into everything her glare rested on, her pointy nose corresponded well with her pointed chin and her black hair was fashioned into a bob style cut. As she walked, the sound of her high heels striking the floor resonated through the room. Following her were two men wearing police officers uniforms; again, wearing the same pin as the woman. In-between the two, they dragged what appeared to be a girl, no older than sixteen, her legs trailing behind her as she was carted across the floor, her hands bound by handcuffs. Her face depicted pure terror as she was thrown to the ground, in the middle of the dark office. Behind the parade, a final police officer entered the room clutching a brown sack, which he gave to the woman, who received it with a look of disgust. The sack was moving.

    The man looking out of the panels- with his back to the performance- raised his hand. As signalled, the party left the room, all except the girl and woman. “As you requested sir,” spoke the woman, as if fishing for praise.

“You have done well Elsa; your efforts will be rewarded.” The man’s silky smooth voice resembled the pouring of honey. It had a hypnotic effect, as if everything he said was the truth, and that nothing else mattered apart from what was crafted by his voice. It was the personification of grandeur.

The woman produced a look of glee at her recognition. “Thank you sir,” she said whilst bowing her head.

    The man still looking out into the world below continued his address, “I have been searching for you for a while, Ren; and now that you are in my presence, it makes me very happy.” The man turned around to face the frightened child. The veins in his hairless head began to throb as he advanced towards the girl; his face still in the same unemotional state. He knelt down to Ren and locked eyes with her. She responded with a look of fury. “You really do not know how special you are.” The man attempted to kiss her on the head, but his efforts were only met by Ren’s hand as she slapped him around the face. “Don’t you touch me,” she spat. The man stood up, his frozen face leaked the slightest hint of wrath for just a second, only to be smothered again by cool composure. “You have caused me some trouble child. Who would believe that you could kill two of my hunters? No matter, you are here now. Although, if you had just followed instructions, blood would not have been spilled.”

“You expected me to just let you take me?” The man placed his hands behind his back and walked over to the panels again.

“No, but what is happening and going to happen is inevitable. You might as well embrace your fate. You should be honoured to play such a vital part; after all, you are the first of the four.” The man paused. “Elsa, please escort our esteemed guest to the holding cells, and take that with you.” The man was addressing the sac which Elsa was grasping. It began to wriggle again as she motioned towards the door. The police officers entered the room, and grabbed Ren by her arms as they dragged her to the door. “And do not fret if you get lonely my lovely. The others should be joining you soon.” The sound of Ren’s furious shrieks trailed off down the hall as the door to the office closed once again.

    The man exhaled heavily, as if exhausted from the events which just transpired. He sat back down at his desk and continued to work, seemingly unaffected by fatigue. As he laboured away a sudden message sprung up in the bottom left hand corner of the screen. The man selected the icon which resulted in an email appearing. The email contained only five words: The second has been found. 

Season of The Hunt- Chapter 3

                                                               Taboo 


“I never wanted to come here in the first place!” roared Iris, as she burst into her substitute bedroom in a wild rage, slamming the door behind her with such vigour the fragile cottage seemed to tremor in fear. Tears began to drown her eyes as she leant against the wall. Iris released a pitiful sob as she slid down to the ground; where she sat hugging her legs to her chest, her head buried within her knees. And there Iris cried, all alone, in the dark unfamiliar room.
  
  Iris and her aunt did not get off to the best of starts. Bella’s effectively schizophrenic behaviour can appear uncouth to many, Iris included. At first her aunt appeared nice enough, just an innocent old lady living in a cottage in the woods by herself. But, with a mention of that picture, her façade soon liquefied…
   
   As Bella hauled Iris over her threshold, an assault of flowery aromas bombarded her senses. The concoction seemed spicy, sweet and fresh all at once; the fragrance tickling Iris’s nose as she inhaled the intoxicating air. It was obvious why the atmosphere was so alive with the floral scents, for everywhere Iris looked were plants of all colours and varieties: roses of every colour potted around the tables, vines with purple and yellow flowers crawled their way around the beams of the cottage, large bush like plants were placed in the corners of the room, all species of plant you could imagine occupied the small house. “Wow!” breathed Iris as she surveyed the area. 
    Apart from the dense forest which filled interior, the cottage looked just as cosy on the inside as it did from the out. To Iris’s left was a small living room: a log fire burned at the back of the room, casting its smouldering red light and warmth throughout the base of the cottage. Iris counted three arm chairs and a rocking chair in front of the fireplace, with a well-worn circular rug in the centre. To her right was an equally small kitchen and dining room. A compact wood burning stove was seen to be stationed there, with a few shelves, working counters, sink, cooling cupboard and a dining table with four chairs surrounding it. It was clear that Bella had eluded the technical advances of electricity and heating, but that added to the charm of the property. Installing industrial amenities would have destroyed the comfortable, rural ambiance.       
    Directly opposite Iris was a staircase, cutting through the centre of the cottage, dividing the living room and kitchen. Bella floated over to the stairs and extended her arm out towards the banister. Tanis slipped off Bella’s arm and twisted her way along the wood. “Welcome to my humble home Iris, I hope you like plants as much as I do! Otherwise you might find the next two weeks rather uncomfortable,” chuckled her aunt. “Unfortunately I have no television or phone, but I’m sure you can survive two weeks without them.”
“What! No tele or phone?!” exclaimed Iris, discussed at the notion of being cut off from modern civilisation for two weeks. “How am I supposed to live in this place without some entertainment?”
“I would thank you not to insult my life style if you please,” rebuked Bella. “Society and I do not exactly get on, so why should I grace it by becoming another zombie glued to a screen for hours upon end? People waste their lives in front of the television; they become so blind that reality and fiction become blurred.  The world is a wonderful place Iris; if you just open your eyes for once in your life I am sure you would be surprised at what you will discover. Now, would you like a cup of tea dear?” Bella’s tone seemed to shift from stern to placid in a matter of words. It was as if she was endeavouring to suppress an inner rage buried deep within her.

    Iris walked around the living room, occupying herself while her aunt was making the tea. The red glow of the fire gently kissed the walls of the room, creating fading shadows dripping onto the floor.  The mixture of the heat and low light made Iris sleepy as she inspected the photographs decorating the walls. Every one of the pictures were constructed of black and white film, reflecting their age. Mostly the photographs were of plants or woodland. “The woman is obsessed!” whispered Iris under her breath. 
    As Iris fleetingly glanced at the field of film, one odd picture caught her eye in particular. It was small portrait, rectangular in shape; strangely, the only print to have people as the subject, rather than foliage. Five people posed in the photograph, positioned with two small girls at the front, a man and a woman behind and to the side of either girl, and another woman in the middle at the very back. The image gave the impression of a family portrait; everyone looked happy, with their beaming grins animating the scene. Iris inspected the photograph closer, when she realised who one of subjects were; for the woman placed at the back to the middle resembled her aunt Bella! At shallow exploration, Iris did not detect her aunt in the photograph, as her youth disguised her identity,  but the factor which concreted Iris’s speculation was the snake looped around Bella’s arm. Only her aunt would carry around a snake with her at all times! Her face was smooth and youthful. Life seemed to overflow from her features, with a smile so wide that it drowned out all others.
    Another oddity which Iris spied was that all the other people in the photo seemed to have an animal with them also. The girl in the front left had a small puppy in her arms, the girl next to her -seemingly twins as they looked so alike- had a ferret curled around her shoulders, the woman on the left was cradling a spider, whilst the man on the right had a petit sparrow perched on top of his shoulder. It was indeed an unusual capturing of events! 

    Bella floated silently into the room, laden with a tray containing a tea pot, two cups and some oat biscuits; everywhere Bella walked, she looked as if to glide above the ground with incredible ease, silent as the clouds drifting across the sky. 
    Her features winced at the sight of Iris viewing the peculiar picture. Iris turned around at the sound of her aunt placing the tray down, seemingly unaware of her aunt’s entrance prior. Iris asked, “Aunt Bella, who is in this picture?” Bella continued to prepare the beverage, ostensibly evading the question. 
“Oh that old thing? Just something I found in the attic when I moved in here. It looked nice so I thought I would keep it.”    
“But isn't that you in the picture? I mean, that snake looks like Tanis,” pursued Iris.
“No, don’t be silly! There is many a snake that looks like Tanis. She isn't the only snake of her species in the world!”
Iris could sense her aunt was attempting to conceal something, “But the woman does look like you… Your keeping something from me, aren't you?”
Bella’s face darkened, “There are some things that people do not want to share Iris, it is best not to go on about it-“
“But I want to know! I'm not a little kid any more  Tell me now!” Iris began to revert back to an immature state: she crossed her arms in a defensive position and stamped her feet in the ground. 
“Listen child,” Bella ceased in preparing the tea and drifted over to Iris, her voice deepening with a mixture of annoyance and anger. “If I do not wish to tell you something I won’t. You may think you are old enough to understand the complexities of the world but you are very, very wrong. You may think that you are no longer a child, but you are. And if you think that by throwing a tantrum you will get your own way, you are severely wrong. Now sit down, drink your tea and we will not discuss this topic any longer.” 
Iris’s face flared into a burning red, “How dare you talk to me like that you stupid old woman! No one ever talks to me like that! Now tell me about the picture, now!” Something shattered deep within Bella. The rage she controlled previous was now boiling into an overbearing force, easily defeating the strongest of wills. Her gentle, calm nature was now consumed by pure fury. She raised her hand and slapped Iris around her left cheek; the sound of the contact echoing throughout the cottage. As soon as Bella’s hand met with Iris’s cheek the rage within Bella seemed to dissolve instantly, leaving regret in its wake. “I'm so sorry!” whispered Bella, shocked at her own actions. Iris looked back at her aunt in utter reverence. She never thought that Bella would be capable of such actions! The timid, floaty woman that Iris once knew was no more. Here stood authority and challenge to the immature Juvenal. Iris pushed past her aunt, fleeing upstairs to find sanctuary. “Dear, I'm sorry!” bellowed Bella after Iris. 

    Iris continued her weeping for many minutes. No one- apart from her mother- had ever dared to talk to Iris in such a manner, let alone hit her! Iris felt entirely alone in the cottage. She had attempted to contact Naomi, but her efforts failed when she realised that there was not mobile reception in which to send a message or call. 
    Iris was so engrossed within her misery that she did not even notice the cat which stood on the windowsill. The window to Iris’s room had been left wide open, allowing the animal to enter the cottage with ease. It was probably disturbed by Iris’s din and wanted to see the source of the wailing. 
    It was a majestic creature standing pound upon the windowsill. Its short white fur shimmered in the pale light of the moon. It had a muscular body, with a thin tail that flicked back and forth as if annoyed. Its eyes were spellbinding, glistening yellow; like two candles flickering in the night. But the most prominent feature of the cat was its markings. The creature was almost completely white, apart from the strange black line that commenced in between its ears, and continued in a straight line, discontinuing at its nose. It was like an odd kind of birth mark.   
    The cat stood staring at Iris for a while, as if it was conjuring a plot. After a few minutes, it leapt off the windowsill and landed elegantly upon the bed. It stooped frozen, its tail erect, waiting to see if Iris had detected the cat’s movements. Satisfied that she had not, the cat slickly jumped off the bed, landing next to the crying girl. Again, Iris failed to notice the cat! The animal looked to shake its head in amazement; as if to say: "how can one human be so oblivious!" The cat walked around Iris and brushed its tail along her leg. Iris lifted her head, startled. “Oh! I didn't know Bella had a cat as well! Hello there kitty. You come to keep me company?” The cat did not respond, and just sat on the floor inspecting Iris. “You’re a strange looking thing aren't you? All white then that one streak of black?” Iris stretched out her hand to stroke the cats head. But just like her aunt, the cat seemed to transpire into a fit of anger. Before Iris touched the animal it hissed in displeasure, bearing its sharp fangs. It then scratched Iris’s hand away before leaping off the floor, onto the bed and out of the window, disappearing into the dark. Iris sat bewildered; unsure of the event that just transpired. She looked down at her hand to find her knuckles bleeding from the cat’s assault. It stung greatly as the blood exuded from the wound. 
    Iris arose from the floor and walked over to the window from where the cat made its departure. A slight refreshing breeze nipped at her face as she gazed out into the world: the moon floated brilliantly in the middle of the blackened sky; its silver radiance casting a mystifying spell over the forest below. The expanse was unspoilt be any clouds, allowing the moon to shine unhindered.  To the left of Iris sat New Bud village. A few lights still remained, shining like stars. The village’s serene atmosphere calmed Iris as she shut the window.  

Season of The Hunt- Chapter 2

                          The Aunt with The Snake

    “… And in other news, a woman has been found dead in her home today in the small village of Treston. The woman, who has been named as Sarah Higgins, was found by her close friend Mary Sheller who was scheduled to meet Miss Higgins for breakfast. Miss Higgins was found in her spare room with a singular stab wound to her chest. Strangely, a dead fox was also reported at the murder scene, with similar wounds to that of Miss Higgins. The police are suspecting that this was a failed attempt of a robbery; believing that when Miss Higgins approached the intruders, they attacked her then fled the scene.  Miss Sheller commented to us saying that: Sarah was a charming woman; I have known her for years. It came as a complete shock that such a thing could happen in this small village! Sarah was a good personvthat wouldn’t even hurt a fly! She will be severely missed by all the villagers.

    When asked about the mysterious fox amongst the murder scene, Miss Sheller stated: I have no idea why a fox was in that room. Maybe it got in the house after the robbers entered, and got stabbed in the process? The police are treating the case as suspicious.

    And lastly, a major wild fire broke out last night in the Silent Oak forest. The fire was reported at three in the morning, and has destroyed forty per cent of the area. The fire service is still battling to get the flames under control.

    That is all from us here at the news centre for Live FM, now back to Tony Keller for your drive time music. Thank you for listening, goodbye…”

    “Shame about the forest isn’t it?” commented a woman, attempting to be heard over the whirr of the engine and music from the radio.

“I know!” responded a man. “I remember going there as a kid. What do you think, Iris?”

The man was addressing a girl in the back seat of the car. She gazed longingly into the sky, tracking the passing clouds as they drifted across the blue expanse; seemingly avoidant at the attempt of a conversation. “Hmm…” she contemplated. “Yeah, a shame,” was her half endeavoured reply. Iris retracted herself again from the world, immersing herself within the sky.

    Iris’s attention was finally drawn when she detected a sound from her bag. She retrieved the carrier and withdrew her mobile phone from its interior. Iris scanned the device with her deep ivory eyes, lit with intrigue and excitement.

    Hey hey girlfriend, it read. Cant believe ur gonna b away 4 the whole of the spring hols. Y ur parents wouldnt let u stay round mine I dont no. Ah well, hope u have a gd time. Txt me wen ur back so we can have a gossip of wot appened. Naomi xxxx

    Iris finished reading the message, and then commenced in typing her response:

OMG! I no! Stupid parents! They let me stay round urs all the time, why is dis time anydifferent? And they r making me stay round my aunts house! She is sooooooo weird! Yeah ill txt u wen my parents save me from her lol! Hope u have a gd time without me.  Luv u lots! Irisxxxxxxx

She pressed the send button, transporting the message into virtual space.

    Iris huffed in frustration and placed her mobile phone back into her bag, then continued to stare into the sky, imagining she was anywhere but in a car on her way to her Aunt’s house.

“Why do I have to go to Aunt Bella’s house? Couldn’t I have just stayed at Naomi’s? I’ve stayed over loads of times,” protested Iris.

Her mother turned around with a look of annoyance, it was clear that this was not the first time Iris had disputed against the matter.

    Iris’s mother was a fair woman. Her lengthy blond hair matched that of her daughters; with the exception that Iris left hers straightened and free flowing, while her mother’s hair was secured in a constricted plat. Small wrinkles appeared in the corner of her mother’s eyes, cracking her near blemish free skin; natures grasp beginning to show. Iris’s skin, on the other hand, was smooth and juvenile; her rosy cheeks lightened her face, leaving it with the luminous glow of childhood. Apart from the age difference, Iris and her mother practically mirrored each other. Many a time had they been mistaken for sisters; complementary for her mother, but embarrassing for Iris.

 “How many times do we have to go over this?” her mother’s tone verging on stern. “We have to go to this training holiday; otherwise we may lose our jobs!”

    Iris’s parents were both GPs in their local NHS practice. Their hospital had been receiving multiple complaints over the last six months, regarding poor service and communication. As a result, the managing directors saw fit that they had to travel three hundred and twenty three miles to a training camp for two weeks to improve on their performance. If not, then they would be replaced.

    Her mother continued, “Your father and I do not wish for you to stay with Naomi and her family for three reasons. One, we couldn’t possibly burden Naomi’s parents with looking after the both of you for two weeks; it just isn’t fair on them. Two, you need to study for your GCSEs, and I don’t think that you will while Naomi is around. And three, when was the last time you saw your Great Aunt? She’s the only family member left on my side, and it would be a shame if we lost touch with her-”

“There is a good reason why I haven’t spent time with her!” retorted Iris.

Her father responded this time, sensing his wife’s accumulating rage, “Look honey, we know that she may be a little… unorthodox, but your mother is right. It will be good to spend some time with her. Anyway, it gives you plenty of opportunity to do your revision.” Her father peered into the wing mirror to confirm that Iris was heeding his words. Iris made eye contact for a split second, before turning away to the window in a stroppy fashion.

    Her father, unlike her mother, could not have been more different to his daughter than if she had been adopted! His dazzling blue eyes contrasted with Iris’s deep ivory pupils. His hair was abyss black and cut short, while his skin was wearing and tired. He discontinued his glare of authority at Iris and sustained in driving to their destination, despite Iris’s objection.

    The journey wound on with Iris staging a silent protest for the rest of its duration. Gradually, the vibrant blue sky begun to succumb to night’s eventual arrival, transforming orange with resistance. Clouds began to congregate slowly across the atmosphere; servants to the dark’s empire. The once serene sky now raged with red disobedience; reluctant to surrender to the sinister night. Silhouetted birds flew across the horizon, looking to escape the inevitable seizure of the sun.

    The trio had been driving on the motorway for three hours now without any break, all were agitated and uncomfortable. At last, some relief was found when a sign for New Bud Village appeared at the side of the road. “Not long now,” reassured Iris’s father, as he turned into an off road.

     A few moments later and tarmac turned to gravel as the expedition neared its destination. The concrete, lifeless surroundings seemed to merge with trees and grass until the car was submergedin dense forest. The roar of traffic faded into the distance as they proceeded into the great hall of trees. Steadily, the vehicle decreased in speed, then grounded to a halt adjacent to a winding path, leading into the clutches of nature. Iris looked around puzzled, “Why have we stopped? I can’t see Bella’s house.”

Iris’s mother turned around to face her daughter,“Oh! I forgot that you haven’t been to Bella’s house before! She lives in the outskirts of the New Bud village, just on the fringes of the forest. Unfortunately, we can’t take the car through the forest, the trees are too close together-“

“You mean I have to walk?!” exploded Iris, outraged at the scheme. She sat back in her seat and folded her arms. “There is no way that I am walking through that!”

“Well you have no choice!” Iris’s mother had tolerated her veto for the entirety of the journey; she had just about reached breaking point. “You are getting out of this car this instant and going to your Great Aunt’s house, whether you like it or not. I haven’t got the slightest clue why you have been acting so defiant lately, young lady, but it will not continue! Your father and I work had to put food on our table, clothe you and make sure you are well, and what do you give us in return? Grief! Well I am not taking it any longer, whether your father agrees with me or not. Get out of this car now, and walk down that path until you come to Bella’s house, it should only take fifteen minutes or so. And while you are there you can get a new attitude. Or don’t bother coming back!”

 Iris looked as if someone had slapped her in the face: tears began to collect in the corners her eyes and her face burned red. Before she broke down in front of her parents, she forced open the door, grabbed her bag and ran outside. She slammednshut the door and stood facing her father through the window. He mouthed the words “I’m sorry” with a look of remorse and drove off, leaving a puff of exhaust in their wake.

     Iris had always been a ‘daddy’s girl’. She and her mother had never really seen eye to eye for as long as she could remember. Everything that Iris did never seemed good enough in her mother’s opinion. If Iris came home from school with an A in a test, her mother would look unsatisfied and say, “I want full marks next time.” Even when Iris played the lead role in the school’s Christmas production, her mother would criticise her acting, saying how she could improve. Never a well done or congratulations. Just, “You could do better.” Her father, on the other hand, had a kind and forgiving soul. He would always defend Iris and let her do what she wanted. But what Iris really craved for was her mother’s approval. Just for her to saysomething as little as, “Well done Iris.”

    Iris stood amongst the trees, deserted and enraged. The sound of her parents driving away soon melted into the distance, swallowed by the forest. Night was gaining rapidly upon the earth; soon Iris would be submerged in darkness, alone.

    A cool breeze drifted through the woodland, whispering the trees secret language. Iris wrapped her arms around her body, attempting to warn off the chilling grip. If she had known that she would be trekking through a dense forest, Iris may not have worn a dress and heels. Like a fish in a desert, she felt silly standing there in the inadequate attire. 

    Iris wiped the tears out of her eyes, fixed her hair then picked up her bag. She turned towards the path leading into the maze of foliage and commenced her ramble. Her heels sank into the soggy growth as she walked, making the voyage additionally difficult. As Iris ambled through the forest, the trees seemed to reach out to seize her, bending to the forces of the wind; her dress waved around her legs and hair fluttered around her head.

    Thevbirds commenced in chirping their twilight symphony, saluting the end ofanother day, it was a sorrowful song, as if the birds were pleading for the sunnto remain. The serenity of the forest was unnerving for Iris. She was used to concrete and noise. Not trees and bird song. “I am never going to another forest as long as I live,” Iris murmured to herself.

    Then, slowly out of the corner of her eyesight, something moved. It was like a shadow, slipping in and out of existence for seconds at time. Iris chose to ignore it, after all, she was in a forest and there were bound to be animals living there. She was the intruder in their homes. They have the right to inspect her if they wished. She saw the shadow again. It was too big to be a woodland animal. Iris looked left and right. A wave of panic set upon her. She increased her walking pace;

Bella’s house can’t be far Iris thought. Snap!Something had broken a twig behind her. Iris stopped, her legs froze in terror. Every inch of her being was screaming at her to move, but she could not. Fear had control over Iris, and it refused to release her from its claws. She could feel warm breath upon the back of her neck, heard the sound of heavy breathing. Iris closed her eyes gently, inhaled then pivoted speedily, lashing out her left arm with her hand moulded into a fist.

“Ah!” shouted a boy. “Bloody hell! What did you do that for?!” Iris opened her eyes to find a teenage boy lying on the floor clutching his right cheek.

“I’m so sorry!” Iris apologised. “I thought you were-“

“Were what? A stalker, murderer?”

“Well, yes actually!” The boy chuckled and stood up while patting himself down. He appeared to be about sixteen years of age, and apart from the red mark beginning to spread across his face, he was a good looking lad. His eyes immediately ensnared Iris. Two pools of royal blue occupied his pupils. The colour was mesmerising; look too deep and Iris found herself falling into his gaze, trapped within the blue lustre. The boy had long black hair, fashioned with a fringe finishing just above his brow, which swept across his forehead. His face was spotless, a rarity amongst the teenage society. The youth had a well-defined jaw line, sculpting a handsome face shape.  Iris began to feel her cheeks scorching, and her palms becoming damp with sweat. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you, I saw you walking through the forest and I thought I would see if you were lost. Haven’t seen you around here before. Don’t get many visitors to New Bud village. And I would have remembered a face like yours.” Iris’s face now radiated red. She fixed her fringe, attempting to appear calm and collected; when in reality, she was melting inside.

“Well thank you for your concern. But I’m just on my way to my aunt’s house.”

“Bella by any chance? Well, no one else lives out here. My, you have one… interesting aunt there.”

Iris rolled her eyes, “Tell me about it! Oh, how silly of me! I haven’t even told you my name. I’m Iris, Iris Everhart.”

“Well hello Iris, my name is Keiran Conall, pleased to meet you. I won’t keep you for any longer, looks like it’s about to get dark, and you wouldn’t want to be here at night. And don’t worry about the bruise that’s sure to come, it will go eventually. Anyway, not many people can knock me on the floor like that!” he began to chuckle again. “I’m sure we will meet again.” And with that Keiran turned around and started to walk away. “Oh! By the way! I like the perfume you’re wearing. It’s really nice!” With that he disappeared amongst the trees.

“I'm not wearing any perfume,” breathed Iris, fastened on the spot, swept by awe. The conversation only lasted for a few moments, but to Iris, she felt as if time had stopped when she laid her eyes upon Keiran.

Is this what love at first sight feels like? questioned Iris mentally. She shook her head, struggling to release herself from the romantic trance.

 

  Eventually, Iris continued on her way, occasionally looking behind her to see if Keiran was there.

As she continued through the forest the ever Increasing scent of smoke began to choke the atmosphere, and single white plume could be seen climbing over the tree tops. Iris had been walking for about twenty minutes now, and the sight of human activity supplied a spurt of energy. The trees began to thin out, and soon her aunt’s cottage came into view.

    It was a modest abode which was set in a clearing of the forest, perched on top of a hill overlooking the tiny village of New Bud. The cottage looked like it had been plucked out of a fairy tale. It had a thatched roof placed upon its body, looking barely strong enough to fend off a faint breeze. The amount of windows on the first floor indicated that it had only two bedrooms; and the base looked equally as small. Surrounding the perimeter of the property was a little white fence, with a gate opposite the front door. Within the protection of the fence were patches of plants and what appeared to be vegetables dotted around the land. All in all, the cottage looked cozy and friendly, some what different to what Iris was imagining.

     Outside the front gate stood an elderly woman. Her long white hair was platted and placed over her left shoulder. She seemed to be garbed in a green dress, with an emerald ivy pattern winding up from the base. If she stood still long enough, she could probably have passed for a tree! Her face did not look old, but the wrinkles calved upon her skinvsuggested otherwise; a testament for all the years she has been upon the Earth. The woman looked wise, as if she had many stories to tell about the planet. And there it was… Upon her left arm. The one thing that Iris never understood, or liked about her aunt… That snake. It constricted up her arm, from her wrist to her shoulder. Its colour was most peculiar: it was constructed of both red and purple lines that spiraled up its body; both menacing and beautiful to behold. It had a small head, and beady little black eyes. The serpent flicked its tongue in and out, testing the air. It could sense Iris approaching.

    “My dear! Hello!” hollered Bella cheerfully, while waving over enthusiastically. Iris waved back out of politeness, and attempted not to look too much like she did not want to be there.

    Iris just reached the gate before being pounced upon by her aunt, who imprisoned her in a massive embrace. “It’s been far too long Iris! I’m so glad that you are spending the holidays with me! We have so much to catch up on and do!” Due to the hug, Iris had found herself face to face with the snake. She jumped back in surprise and terror. “Oh don’t mind Tanis! She wouldn’t hurt anyone! Well… Not unless I tell her to!” Bella exploded into a fit of laughter, then ceased abruptly, “Come inside my dear, you must be tired from your long journey. Would you like a cup of tea?” Before iris could respond to the question, Bella was dragging her into the cottage, Iris just about keeping up with her. The door to the home slammed shut, signaling for the birds to continue with their evening concert.